by Jack Patton
“Don’t worry,” Barton said firmly. “Now we have a plan—those lizards won’t catch us unawares again. Webster! Send the rest of the fishing spiders out on patrol. Now that we’ve seen one basilisk lizard, there could be more.”
“R-right away, sir!” whispered Webster, springing to action.
With the fishing spiders on duty, Barton quickly explained Max’s plan to the others.
“We should start work on it right away,” Max said.
Barton nodded. “Agreed. You and Spike work well together, so I’m pairing you up to take charge of the construction. I’ll send Buzz to check on your progress later in the day.”
“Yes, sir!” Spike raised a pincer in salute.
Barton assigned a group of fierce-looking soldier termites to act as bodyguards, then called for the termite builders. “Max will be giving you your orders,” he told the foreman. “Obey him just as you would me—we must be quick; there could be another lizard attack at any time.”
Razorjaw, the lead soldier termite, called out to his fellow termites: “Okay, everyone! We’ve got a job to do, so let’s get to it!”
“Hop on, shorty,” Spike told Max. “Let’s get this fortress built.”
* * *
As the sun rose high above the Howling Cliffs, Max and Spike led the way across the baking-hot beach. Two different types of termite followed: One, the soldier termites, had strong-looking pincers that made them excellent guards for the journey. The other, the workers, had pointy mouthparts and looked much less fearsome. However, they were formidable builders, and were sure to construct the fortress watchtower fast.
Since all the bugs could climb, Max figured it made the most sense to go to the foot of the cliffs and then climb straight up, instead of taking the riskier long way around.
“But you’re not a bug,” Spike said. “Are you going to be okay?’
“I’ll make it,” Max said, feeling confident.
The foliage at the bottom of the cliffs was thick, tangled, and hard to get through. It was hot, difficult work, and Max soon dried off under the intense sun. The big climb was still to come. He began to wonder if he should have taken the long way around after all.
Then Spike’s next words made him feel even worse. “You be careful on those rocks, human bean,” the scorpion said. “Bugs have seen all sorts of lizards on the cliffs lately, and you’re always getting yourself into scrapes with them!”
“I’ll be careful,” Max promised. “That basilisk lizard I met … do you think there are more coming?”
“Maybe,” Spike said. “Probably. They don’t have to come all the way over the lava bridge. They can get near the end, then run off across the water and hide up the beach where we can’t see them.”
“Of course.” Max groaned.
“This watchtower idea is fantastic,” Spike said cheerfully. “We’ll be able to see them coming from a mile away! And Barton’s got all sorts of weapons lying in wait …”
Max narrowed his eyes. “Is that what’s hidden under the sand?”
Spike wiggled his mouthparts in what Max guessed was a scorpion smirk. “Whatever’s under there … I’m sure it’ll make the lizards squirm.”
As Max wondered what it could be, he and Spike and the termites approached the cliff’s rocky foothills. As he swung off Spike, the great climb began. The termites had no trouble and swarmed up the rocky face in a living curtain of bugs. Even Spike scuttled merrily up, despite his weight.
Only Max found it hard going. He lagged behind the others, huffing and puffing, trying not to look down. He couldn’t stop himself, though, and craned his neck to see the beach and the waves stretched out far below him. He wished he hadn’t—the ground was very far away.
“Come on!” Spike urged from above.
I can do this, Max told himself. He clambered up the rocks, using strange little hollows in the cliff face as handholds. It looked like something had been burrowing in the crumbly cliff, creating dark little homes in the middle of the rock. But Max didn’t stop to check; he was too busy trying to cling on for dear life.
Nearby, a clump of exposed grass roots dangled from a clump of earth. Max grabbed them and hauled himself up. But suddenly, the earth clump broke free and came loose from the rock face. Chunks of dirt fell and broke far beneath him.
“Spike, help!” he cried out.
But it was no use—Spike was too far ahead to hear him. Max was left dangling from the side of the cliff, hanging on to a few flimsy grass roots. As he tried desperately to grab a fresh handhold, the first of the roots began to tear free …
“Max!” bellowed Spike from above. He and the termites had made it to the top of the cliffs. “Are you all right?”
Max looked down again, feeling panicked. For the second time today he was high above the ground, but this time there was no water to fall into. These weren’t called the Howling Cliffs for nothing—he’d be cut to ribbons on the fierce rocks below. He clung on to the roots with just one arm and tried not to focus on that.
“I’ll be okay if I can just pull myself up …”
Max heaved himself up as hard as he could, trying to get to the handholds above, but as he did, more of the roots broke off in his hand.
“Don’t just stand there, help him!” Spike roared to the termites, who had gathered to peer down at Max.
“Go!” the termites squeaked to one another. “Go, go, go!”
They swarmed over a nearby patch of vines and began to chomp away at it, biting a long length of vine free. It swung down like a rope, dangling above Max’s head. It was almost—but not quite—close enough to grab.
The last root began to fray. It was now or never. Max kicked at the cliff face for a little more leverage and lunged at the vine with his free hand.
Got it!
He clung to the vine and swung out away from the rocks, then back against them, thudding against the hard surface. Max watched as the clump of broken roots tumbled down and crashed onto the sand far below.
“That was close,” he muttered.
“Come on, Max!” Spike called. “You can do it!”
“He’s only got four limbs,” whispered a termite. “No wonder he can’t climb very well.”
Spike snapped one of his pincers threateningly. “He’s doing just fine!”
Max was glad to hear Spike sticking up for him. His confidence surged. As if he’d been climbing a rope in gym class, Max hoisted himself up along the vine’s length.
Spike helped him up the rest of the way, and eventually, Max pulled himself over the rim of the cliff. Brushing off the dirt and dust, he and Spike looked down at the terrifying drop below.
“Phew,” Max said. “Hope I never have to do that again.”
From the top of the Howling Cliffs, Max could see the whole bay below. On the sand, the Battle Bugs were fortifying their defenses against attack from the sea. Ranks of praying mantises lined the beach like soldiers back in the real world. This cliff-top fortress was definitely going to be the perfect place to spy on any lizards preparing an attack—the bugs wouldn’t be caught unprepared again.
Spike grabbed a rock in his pincer and dropped it down the cliff. “Good luck to any lizards trying to attack us from here,” he said.
Max laughed. “I’d like to see them try. Let’s get started on this watchtower.”
Hundreds of termites were already streaming over the plateau at the top of the cliff, looking for the perfect place to build the tower. Right on the edge of the cliff, with a clear view of the bay, the ground leveled out into the perfect place for a dig.
“This’ll do,” grunted Razorjaw. “Plenty of nice, soft dirt to work with. All right, termites, get chewing!”
“Chewing?” Max asked.
All around, termites began stuffing their mouths with mud and dirt, and scurried into position.
“That’s how we build,” explained Razorjaw. “Worker termites fill their mouths up with dirt, then spit it back out again. Their saliva helps stick it all together.” He tro
tted across to a patch of bare earth. “Want to try? Have a mouthful.”
“No thanks,” Max said, backing away.
“Hmph. Some bugs just love to watch someone else do all the work,” a nearby worker grunted. He gulped up some dirt himself and went to build.
Max watched in fascination as the tower’s foundations took shape. One termite on its own could place only a tiny blob of dirt, but thousands of them working together could build a massive structure. Soon, a brown wall higher than Max had taken shape on the cliff edge.
“We’ll put an underground cavern in the middle and fill the whole thing with shelter tubes from bottom to top,” Razorjaw told Max and Spike.
“Shelter tubes?” Spike asked, puzzled.
“That’s our termite transport system! Or any other bugs, for that matter. Shelter tubes let you crawl around inside the mound and get to the top easily—that way we’ll have no trouble spying on the enemy. Of course, I’m going to need some building materials, but I can’t spare any workers to go get them.”
“We’ll go,” Max offered.
“Great! There are two things I need: some plant material and some nice, fresh poop.”
“Poop?” Max wished he hadn’t offered!
“Yes!” said the termite irritably. “There’s nothing better than dung for mixing with earth. Sets like a rock!”
“I’d rather just get you some plants,” Max said with a shudder.
“Come on, shorty,” said Spike. “Let’s head into the jungle and get some leaves.”
While a group of termites went off to collect dung, Max and Spike made their way farther back from the cliff edge. The huge Howling Cliffs soon made way for a thick expanse of jungle, and tall blades of grass and brightly colored flowers dwarfed Max once more.
“Grab some of those big green ones,” Spike called, pointing to some dangling leaves. “They’ll munch up nicely for the termites.”
Max stood on Spike’s back to pull down the branches, yanked off some leaves, and then impaled them onto Spike’s tail. The scorpion grumbled a bit, but he had to admit it was a good way to carry as many leaves as they could.
As he stacked leaves on Spike’s tail, Max had a sudden, creepy feeling of being watched. He whipped his head around, but couldn’t see a thing—there was just the thick green jungle and the sound of bugs calling in the distance.
“Did you hear that?” Max asked.
“Nope,” Spike mumbled cheerily. “Must be your imagination.”
Max frowned—lizards had gotten everywhere on Bug Island; that definitely wasn’t his imagination. Maybe he shouldn’t have used Spike as a leaf stacker—the scorpion couldn’t use his tail to fight while he was carrying all those leaves with it.
But Max didn’t actually see any lizards, so he and Spike continued deeper into the jungle. From time to time, he glanced up and thought he saw something darting out of sight, but it was so quick that it could have just been sunlight, shimmering through the canopy of leaves. Max shook his head and kept working until they reached a clearing. He gasped at the sight above him—something that even Spike couldn’t miss.
Dangling high above, like giant raindrops suspended in the air, were dozens of chrysalises. Some were deep green in color; others were dusty brown with weird spikes running down their sides. Max had never seen anything like it.
“Spike! What are those?” Max asked, all thoughts of being watched in the jungle gone.
“Those are going to be butterflies!” he replied.
“Wow,” Max said in awe. “How long until they emerge?”
“It shouldn’t be too much longer. It looks like they’re almost ready.”
Max sighed, thinking back to when he’d unveiled his own costume at the birthday party. “I just hope I’m still on Bug Island when they come out. I wouldn’t want to miss it!”
* * *
Later, at twilight, Max and Spike emerged from the jungle to an already impressive-looking tower. The chewed-up mud and earth had been transformed into a giant mound, perched on the edge of the Howling Cliffs. To Max, the whole thing looked like a skyscraper under construction; hundreds of termites scurried around the structure at dizzying heights. Razorjaw barked orders to the construction team, and builder termites put the finishing touches on the main structure.
Max gasped in admiration. “Wow!” he said. “That’s some fortress!”
“No kidding!” Spike agreed as he staggered across to the foreman to offload the leaves.
“Not bad,” Razorjaw barked, then turned to Max. “You’ll want to inspect our work, no doubt. Should I show you around?”
“Definitely!” Max cried. “Spike, you stay here and help guard the workers.”
Spike saluted.
The termite led Max inside a small hole in the mound and into a maze of tunnels. Max’s head spun. He wondered how he’d ever remember which way was which. The main tunnel led into a large, cave-like meeting hall. The termites scurried in all directions, bringing in the leaves that he and Spike had collected to construct the tower’s waterproof lining. Other tunnels snaked off the central chamber, spiraling up to where the watch station would be.
“This way leads to the observation deck,” Razorjaw explained. “And down below is ammunition storage and emergency food supply.”
“Wow,” Max said. “It’s so cool!”
But Max didn’t have much time to stop and admire the termites’ handiwork. A sudden yell came from the entrance tunnel.
“Alarm! Alarm!”
Max ran over to see what the problem was. The little termite he found was quivering in fear.
“G-g-geckos!” he stammered. “We’re under attack!” The termite could barely get the words out, he was so terrified.
Max ran out of the mound and into the open area surrounding it. All of the termites were in chaos.
“Get inside the mound!” he yelled.
The termites crowded in through the tiny openings just as the first of the geckos scrambled over the cliff edge. Six or seven more quickly followed. The lizards were slender and long-tailed, with unblinking eyes that stared hungrily.
“How come the sentries didn’t see them until just now?” Max shouted to the panicking termites.
A soldier termite shouted back to him: “They didn’t climb up from the bottom. They were hiding inside the cliff the whole time!”
Hiding? Suddenly, Max thought back to the small handholds in the cliff wall that he’d used to haul himself up to the top—the geckos must have been waiting there to pounce! Even worse, Max looked toward the jungle where he and Spike had been foraging only moments before. He’d been certain they were being watched, and sure enough, a second wave of lizards came charging toward them from that direction, too. Multicolored chameleons, with their long tongues flicking in all directions, lunged for the fleeing termites. It was a pincer attack: geckos on the left, chameleons on the right, and a deadly drop to the sea below them. There was no way to escape.
Spike charged the cliff edge, meeting the oncoming geckos head-on. “Bring it!” he roared. “I’ll fight every one of you!”
“No, Spike! There’s too many of them! Get inside!”
But the big scorpion wasn’t listening. He grabbed two of the geckos, one in each pincer, and flung them backward over the edge of the cliff.
To Max’s amazement, the lizards came scrabbling back up a moment later, with big smirks on their faces. Of course—geckos had unbelievably sticky feet and could cling to almost anything! No wonder they’d climbed the cliff so easily.
Spike jabbed his stinger into another gecko. The scorpion yelled in triumph, but even more geckos were arriving now. To make matters worse, the chameleon forces from the jungle had nearly reached the termite mound.
The last of the termites darted past Max and squeezed into the tunnel. “Come on, Spike!” he called desperately. “We can’t fight this many!”
Spike finally seemed to realize he was outnumbered. The geckos circled him, snapping their jaws, getti
ng ready to rush him.
“Raaaargh!” bellowed Spike, charging forward.
His armored body smashed right through the startled geckos, like a runaway truck. One or two of them bit him, but not hard enough to get through his tough exoskeleton. Before they could regroup and attack, Spike had already broken their line and was hurtling full tilt toward the termite mound.
Max dived into the mound with Spike right behind him. He fell back against a heap of chewed leaves, just as Spike slammed into the opening. He squeezed himself halfway in, but then he got stuck.
“The termites didn’t make the hole big enough for bugs like me!” he grunted. “Help me out!”
Together, Max and the soldier termites hauled Spike into the main underground chamber. A group of worker termites shot forward past him, their mouths packed with dirt. As Razorjaw and the other soldier termites nipped at the snarling geckos, the workers blocked up the hole.
Max breathed a sigh of relief. He looked around to see the termite workers cowering in the main chamber.
“What now?” Razorjaw asked him.
It dawned on Max that he was in charge. Barton had put him in command, and the survival of the watchtower was in his hands now.
“Fill up all the holes at ground level,” he told Razorjaw. “Spike, you and I need to get a better look at the reptile forces—we can’t let the watchtower fall into their hands. Or worse, let them destroy it. Let’s head up to the observation deck.”
Luckily, the upper tunnels were wide enough for Spike. The termites, knowing Max couldn’t climb like a bug, had built a walkway in a spiral around the tower. It was easy, though exhausting, to run all the way up to the top deck.
Max found the observation deck the termites had made, complete with a landing platform and an impressive view across to the sea on one side and the jungle on the other. Looking down, he could see the geckos circling the mound, interspersed with hissing chameleons.
“I knew something was watching us in the jungle,” Max muttered. “The chameleons must have been hiding in there, while the geckos were lurking in the cliff.”
