Raids and Rescues

by Bryan Chick

  “Don’t even think about it!” Richie warned the animal, referring to the scouts’ first visit to the terrace when a tarsier had attacked Richie’s pom-pom, thinking it was a bug.

  The tarsier blinked its big eyes and scrambled to a new spot on Mr. Darby’s jacket.

  Mr. Darby said, “Should we have a bite to eat until our kingfisher friend arrives?”

  The Specters at the table moved their legs and scooted closer to one another, and the other Specters took seats, leaving only one open spot. As Richie pulled back the chair to sit down, Ella slid into it before he could.

  “Wha—! How rude!” Richie said.

  “The rude dude gets the food,” Ella said, making Lee-Lee and Elakshi chuckle.

  Off to one side was a pair of smaller tables. Megan and Mr. Darby settled in at one, and Noah and Solana sat down at the other, leaving Richie the only person standing.

  “Where am I supposed to sit?” Richie asked as he looked around.

  “You snooze, you lose,” Ella said.

  “Dr. Seuss—would you quit with the rhymes already!” Richie shot back. His gaze came to rest on something. “Hey! Look who it is!”

  Noah saw Zak sitting alone at a table for two against one edge of the terrace, his fingers probing through the electronics inside an open box.

  “See you guys!” Richie said as he hurried off toward the person he undoubtedly was most interested in.

  “You try one of these?” Solana asked. She was holding up a small ball of chocolate between her thumb and forefinger.

  “What is it?” Noah asked.

  Solana shrugged. “Chocolate-covered something.”

  Noah reached into one of the bags that the waiter had brought to their table, plucked out a single chocolate, and popped it into his mouth, where it melted onto his tongue.

  “Wow!” Noah said, careful to wipe a drip from his lower lip.

  As Solana bit into another chocolate, she gazed off toward the trees. Noah followed her stare and saw nothing interesting. He took a closer look at Solana and saw the emptiness in her eyes.

  “You’re worried,” he pointed out.

  “Huh?”

  “The Descenders—you’re worried.”

  “Oh,” Solana said. And then she gazed back at the same spot, as if she’d abandoned something there. “Yeah.”

  “That’s okay,” Noah said. “I am, too. We all are.”

  “I just . . . I’ve known them all my life.”

  “And you’ll continue to know them. We’ll get them back.”

  Solana looked back at him. “Are you worried about Saturday?”

  “A little.” Then Noah corrected his lie. “A lot.” He bit down on a new chocolate, caramel bursting onto his tongue.

  Solana went to bite into another piece of candy and stopped. She turned the chocolate in her fingers and then dropped it onto the table. “I wonder if they’re eating.”

  It took a few seconds for Noah to realize she was still talking about her friends.

  “DeGraff . . .” she said, “that maniac—I doubt he’s even feeding them.”

  Noah wanted to say something to ease her fears, but everything he could think of felt like a lie. He settled on the one thing he was certain of. “Your friends are tough.”

  Solana stared at the table. “They need to eat. They need water.”

  “It’s only been a few days,” Noah reminded her. “People can go days without food.”

  Solana frowned. Then she picked up her chocolate from the table and put it back into the bowl.

  “The way he took them,” Solana said, softly shaking her head. “In that cellar . . . he just dragged them off, in and out of the shadows.”

  Noah nodded. “Scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Like they were nothing,” Solana said. “Not people, anyway.”

  Noah nodded again.

  A few minutes passed in silence. Noah reached for another chocolate and decided against it. At another table, someone laughed, and Solana and Noah turned to see a smile on Evie’s face.

  Solana said, “The Specters—they seem to like you guys. That’s saying something.”

  “Haven’t you noticed why?” Noah asked. “It’s Ella.”

  Solana turned back to the Specters. Their attention was fixed on Ella, who was telling a story with theatrical gestures.

  Ella banged her fist against the table and the Specters jumped in their chairs. Startled by the noise, a few tarsiers on the overhead branches took off to new spots, their hind legs kicking like kangaroos’.

  Solana said, “She’s always so . . . so . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Sassy?”

  “Yeah . . . sassy. Has she always been that way?”

  Noah shrugged. “Yes and no. She changed when she lost her dad.”

  “He died?”

  “Worse. He left the house and never came back.”

  Solana stared at Ella. “Yeah, well, the Specters know a thing or two about loss, that’s for sure.”

  “So do you guys,” Noah said. “The Descenders, I mean.” He was thinking about the family members the Descenders had lost during the Sasquatch Rebellion. “What’s going on between you—the Specters and Descenders, I mean. How come—”

  Solana interrupted by sliding a bowl of popcorn over to him. “Did you try this?”

  Noah thought to press the issue, then decided against it. He reached into the bowl, grabbed a small wad of popcorn, and stuffed it into his mouth. On his tongue, a dozen flavors erupted—salt and sugar and honey. Guilt washed over him as he thought of Tank and the captured Descenders, and he wished the tastes would go away.

  “Solana . . .” Noah said.

  “Yeah?” Solana asked.

  “Was it your great-grandparents that were . . . you know . . .”

  “Murdered?”

  Noah nodded.

  “Great-great-grandparents,” Solana answered. “My great-grandparents were kids when it happened.”

  “Were your great-grandparents Descenders?” Noah asked.

  “Some of the first,” Solana answered. “And some of the best. Their anger—it was pure. Their need for revenge . . . it completely drove them.”

  Noah wondered if this was a good thing, but he stayed quiet.

  “We’re a few generations out now,” Solana said. “That type of anger . . . time dilutes it.”

  “But you . . . you still feel it?”

  “We cling to it. It’s a part of our tradition—of what it means to be a Descender. It’s who we are.”

  As Solana used her hand to flip her hair off her shoulder, Noah noticed her glove. Black, shiny leather, it was held on by a wide Velcro strap, and a small velvet patch was stitched to it. Each sleeve stopped short of the first knuckle, leaving much of her fingers exposed. Looking at the glove now, Noah could hardly believe that fifteen-inch barbs could spring from the back of it like the claws of a comic book hero.

  “What’s it like?” Noah asked, suddenly unable to repress his curiosity.

  “What’s what like?”

  “Being a Descender.”

  Solana took some time to answer, her gaze shifting to different spots across the terrace.

  “The truth?” Solana asked.

  Noah leaned forward in his chair and nodded.

  “Awesome. Sometimes terrible and sometimes terrifying . . . but always awesome. There are times when I hate it, and times when I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world—yours or mine.”

  An unexpected feeling coursed through Noah, and it took a few seconds for him to realize what it was. Envy. What it would be like to sprout quills, gloves, or wings? To crash through a wall with a tail attached to his spine? To jump twenty feet into the air? Then Noah had such a strong thought that it consumed all his others. If he were a Descender, what animal power would he take?

  The conversation paused for more than a minute, and then, from nowhere, Solana said, “You know . . . I petitioned for you to go with Evie.”

&n
bsp; “Huh?”

  “Council—I petitioned them. I asked if we could divide up you guys during the rescues—send your friends to the Waterford Zoo, and you to Creepy Critters.”

  “Wha—?” Noah glanced over at the table with the Specters. “Me? Why?”

  “Why?” Solana asked. “C’mon—you really need to ask that?”

  Noah was totally confused now.

  “The Dark Lands—who rescued Megan? Who brought down the portal to the Secret Creepy Critters in Gator Falls? And who rescued me in your school? You bring something unique to the table. You’re different—I don’t know why. I think it’s partly because you’re an Outsider.”

  Noah had no idea what to say.

  After some time, Solana continued, “Council—they’re idiots, sometimes. It’s not a good idea—sending Specters to rescue Descenders.”

  Solana looked over at the Specter table and then back at Noah. “I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t trust Evie’s crew. Sometimes I worry . . .” Her voice trailed off, and when it came back, it was quieter than ever. “Sometimes I worry Evie will leave the Descenders in there. Deliberately. Sometimes I think she’ll come out with Tank but see to it that the others don’t make it.”

  “C’mon!” Noah said. “You don’t seriously believe that, do you? I mean, Evie showed up at my school to help us, remember?”

  “The Secret Zoo was at stake then. Now . . . now it’s just a few Descenders.”

  Noah could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was Evie really capable of something so sinister? She was odd, certainly, but Solana was practically talking about murder.

  “The Descenders want revenge,” Solana said. “But the Specters . . . they want it even more.”

  “Against who?” Noah asked. And then the answer quickly became obvious. “Solana—what did you guys do to them?”

  “Shhh!” Solana said. And she tipped her head to the side.

  When Noah looked over, he saw Evie watching them.

  Ella crunched a handful of mixed nuts and said, “Look . . . I know things are pretty horrible right now—DeGraff, the Descenders, Blizzard and Little Big—but you girls have this . . . power, and I sense you’ve never done anything fun with it. Am I right?”

  The six girls traded glances with one another. Then Evie turned back to Ella. “Fun?”

  “Fun,” Ella said. She looked off into the treetops and then leaned forward, her ponytail sweeping over her shoulder and dangling above the chocolates. “Here, watch this.” Smiling, she walked over to a place behind Kaleena, stood on her tiptoes, and snatched a tarsier from a low branch. The puny animal turned its head back and forth, its big eyes full of fright. “Easy, little guy,” Ella said. “I’m not going to hurt you—we’re just going to have a little fun.”

  She peered over her shoulders to make sure no one was paying attention to her, then opened a zipper on her cargo pants. Chameleons spread along her body, camouflaging both her and the animal.

  “Watch and learn, ladies,” she said.

  One of the Specters giggled as Ella, invisible, headed off with the tarsier carefully cupped in her hands. She walked past a table with two magical scientists, old men with gray mustaches and green lab coats. Then she passed two women sharing a chocolate dessert. At another table, a young girl was reading a book while a young lemur slept on her lap. None of them had any idea that Ella had walked beside them.

  At Richie and Zak’s table, she moved in behind her friend. The two boys were investigating a small, three-pronged piece of steel on the table, probing both ends with their fingertips, as if it were a maybe-dead bug. Zak called it a ceramic resonator, which, to Ella, sounded like something her mother might cook a pot roast in.

  She raised her hands above Richie and very carefully opened her fingers. The sticky pads of the tarsier’s toes popped free from her skin, then the animal plopped down on Richie’s head, where it immediately came out of its camouflage, its round eyes bulging out more than ever. It spotted the poofy pom-pom on Richie’s cap and lunged upon it, biting into its strands of yarn.

  Ella stepped away just in time to avoid her friend as he jumped up from the table. As he reached for his cap, his fingertips grazed the tarsier and he shrieked. Across the length of the winding terrace, heads turned.

  Richie knocked his chair over and moved into the aisle. As Ella made her way back to the table, he screamed, “ERRR!” and “E-RAH!” and other primal sounds.

  Right before Ella dropped back into her chair, she opened her right portal, calling the chameleons back. She became visible within seconds, and as she looked around, she doubted anyone had seen her—at the moment, all attention was on the boy having the conniption.

  Richie doubled over, striking the side of a woman’s head with his rear end, and flung off his cap. As it hit the ground, the tarsier jumped off, dove through the terrace railing, and disappeared into the treetops.

  Richie, realizing he was safe, stood straight and looked around. Seeing everyone’s attention on him, he coughed nervously into his fist, attempted a smile, and gave a little bow to his accidental audience. Then he turned around and grabbed his hat before plopping back into his chair.

  Before Zak could say a thing, Richie peered across the crowd and pinpointed Ella. Still in her chair, she lifted her palms out to her sides, as if to silently ask him what in the world he was doing. Richie looked away, clearly convinced that she wasn’t responsible for this.

  “See how much fun that was?” Ella whispered to the Specters. “Remember that for when things get back to normal.”

  Evie shook her head, pretending to be annoyed. But Ella noticed that part of her grin was showing.

  “Man, bro . . .” Zak said. “You were really freaking out.”

  “There was a tarsier . . . on my head.” Richie spoke as if he were explaining something to a thickheaded child. “Or perhaps you didn’t see that?”

  “Naw, bro, I saw it. Pretty hard not to.”

  Richie straightened his cap with two tugs, saying, “That’s the second time that’s happened, you know.”

  “Bummer,” Zak said. He lifted his gaze to the overhead branches. “Must’ve fallen out of the trees, you think?”

  Richie peered over his shoulder at Ella. “You sure you didn’t see her do anything?”

  “Naw—she was just sitting there, like she is now.”

  Richie considered this. “Hmmm. That’s the part that makes me nervous.”

  Zak reached up with an oily hand and adjusted his goggles, which sat on his forehead just below his mismanaged Mohawk. He looked like a nerd who had been through a war. “I think she’s got a crush on you, bro.”

  Richie, who’d just swallowed a chocolate, practically coughed it up. “Excuse me?”

  “That girl . . . Ellen . . . I—”

  “Ella,” Richie corrected.

  “Yeah. Her. I think she’s diggin’ you.”

  Richie broke out laughing. “You have it sooo wrong—trust me.”

  “C’mon . . . the way she picks on you. I’ve seen flirting, and that’s what it looks like, bro.”

  Richie plucked a pen from his pocket and pointed its tip at an electrical component in the box, dismissing the topic. “What’s that?”

  Zak leaned over. “That’s an accelerometer.”

  “Okay . . .” Richie moved his pen over to a component that looked like a Tic Tac standing on two metal legs. “And this?”

  “Ultracapacitor.”

  He pointed to a circular object with silver tabs. “This?”

  “A voltage step-up coil.”

  “Wow!” Richie said. “You sure know a lot about this thing.”

  “I should—I built it.”

  Richie fell back into his chair. “You’re serious?”

  “Deadly, bro.”

  “All of it?”

  Zak nodded and winked.

  “How did you learn so much?”

  “Books,” Zak said. “Lots and lots of ’em. I do books like other kids do can
dy—I devour ’em. All the Teks do.”

  Richie shook his head, astounded. “Are the other Teknikals as smart as you?”

  Zak smiled. “You could say we’re a high IQ group.”

  “Are you all the same age?”

  “We’re different ages, from eighty-seven to eight.”

  Richie clutched at his chest. “Eight!”

  “Morgan. Smartest girl in the group.”

  Richie leaned across the table so suddenly that his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose when he came to a stop. “I want to meet her! I want to meet all of you!”

  Zak shrugged. “Don’t see why not.” He looked at a dark spot on his hand and seemed to wonder if it was chocolate or dirt before wiping it on a clean spot on his clothes. “Maybe after we get Tank and the others back.” He nodded at the electromagical device. “You done with this, bro?”

  When Richie nodded, Zak went to work closing it up—a screw here, a clamp there. When the Teknikal was finished, he slid the device aside, accidentally bumping Richie’s pen off the table. Before Richie could grab it, the pen rolled along the floor, slipped through the terrace rails, and disappeared into the green, leafy depths.

  “Sorry,” Zak said.

  “No worries, bro,” Richie said. He liked how natural the word felt coming off his tongue.

  “I’m not sure I follow your reasoning,” Mr. Darby said as he reached up and adjusted his sunglasses. “Perhaps you can explain again, yes?”

  Megan pushed aside a bowl of caramel pecans to make room on the table for her elbows. “I’m just saying . . . the Secret Council shouldn’t be the ones to elect new members—the people of the Secret Zoo should do that.”

  “Are you suggesting that a government chosen by the people will better represent the interests of those people?” Mr. Darby asked.

  Megan nodded. “Only in a less fancy way, I guess.”

  Mr. Darby stroked the tiny head of one tarsier with his fingertip. At last, he said, “And you know this to always be true?”