“You see that?” you ask Willie.
He nods and gets his crossbow ready.
All of you are standing on the edge of the river, watching the duck glide right past you. Willie shoots first and misses. Then you miss. Then John Luke and Cole miss.
The duck, still calm for some reason, is ten feet away from you now. But he’s quickly passing by.
You fire more arrows. But none of them get close.
As the duck begins to fade from view, it flies into the sky, then lands upstream. It’s floating down the river again, allowing you to take shots at it.
“He’s mocking us,” you say as the shiny duck comes close once more.
“What do you mean?” Willie doesn’t get it.
“I mean the duck is obviously taunting us. It’s as if he knows we’re stupid enough to try to shoot him with a crossbow, and he wants us to know that he knows.”
“John Luke picked it,” Willie says.
“He’s even watching us,” you say. “Look at that.”
Sure enough, the duck seems to be smiling and giggling at you. If, of course, ducks could smile and giggle. And wait—did it just wave at us?
You use up the rest of your arrows. Like the golden duck, they’re all floating downstream.
Your ammunition is gone. So’s your pride.
“That was the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to me in my entire life,” you say.
“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you do far worse.” Willie’s humor is not appreciated on the banks of this island river.
“I can’t say I want a hog’s head in my living room, but that duck sure would’ve looked nice.”
The hunt is over. Score: One for the gold duck. Zero for the Duck Commanders.
Phil would be so ashamed of all of you. Which is why he’s never, ever going to find out.
THE END
Start over.
Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
DINING WITH THE COUNT
AS WINCHESTER FINISHES taking you on the tour, he tells you dinner is the next event on the schedule. He lets you go to the room you’ll be staying in so you can take a shower and change clothes. You’d love a nap but know there’s not time, so you opt to stay awake. You decide to splash on a little cologne that Willie gave you. It’s called Duck Sweat—he calls it awful, but you rather like it.
When you meet the others in the dining room, you notice several people milling around, all dressed in white clothes. You’re not sure if they’re the cooks or the servers or both. All you know is they ask what you’d like for dinner, offer you various appetizers on plates, and bring you the beverage of your choice. They heavily encourage you to try the little pastries with hot dogs in them. So you happily have several.
You love this place and think you might stay here for a while. It could be a good spot to brainstorm ideas for Duck Commander. You are chief operating officer, after all. You need help getting ideas on how to operate. And this place seems to have some really good operations going on.
You stand around talking with Willie and the boys for half an hour before the count arrives. You’ve been wondering if he’ll wear a cape or a beret and look really goofy, but the guy who shows up appears to be a professional businessman. He’s tall and wears dress pants and a button-down, short-sleeved shirt. He has a dark tan and a clean-shaven head, and he greets each of you with a firm handshake, his bright eyes studying you from behind fancy designer glasses.
“I’m so glad to meet all of you,” Count VanderVelde says. “After meeting your better halves, it’s truly an honor to have you here in my home.”
“So you live here?” Willie asks.
“Of course. Didn’t Korie tell you?”
“There’s a lot Korie neglects to tell me.”
“Well, please blame me,” the man says. “I encouraged them to be as tight-lipped as possible.”
VanderVelde doesn’t have a Transylvanian accent, so you’ll have to rule out the possibility that this could be Count Dracula. Instead, he speaks with a Midwestern accent and seems very friendly.
“Our wives being quiet isn’t something that normally happens,” Willie jokes.
Count VanderVelde smiles. “Part of the fun of this expedition happens to be about the expectations you bring into the hunt. And about what happens when you’re in the midst of battle.”
“A battle consists of two sides,” you say. “When I hunt, there’s only one side that counts. It’s whatever I’m aiming at.”
“Please, let’s all sit at the long table and dine. It may be the only time we get the chance to be together like this.”
“Are you going somewhere?” Willie asks.
“Yes. I have certain obligations and places I need to be.”
“So what exactly are you the count of?” you ask. “Not trying to be rude, but I’ve been wondering about that.”
“It’s an honorary title given to me by a small region of the Netherlands. My family is Dutch.”
“Are they cheap?” you joke.
“Actually, yes, they are. My father likes to collect coupons and can never pass up a free meal. But as you may have already noticed, I didn’t inherit that frugal gene.”
After an outrageous meal of heavily seasoned steak and lobster and shrimp and chicken, you wonder if you’re ever going to be able to stand again. Now you’re really tired.
“I trust all of you have had enough time to think about the locations you’ll be hunting in and the weapons you will choose,” Count VanderVelde says.
“Well, this is a birthday gift for the old man over there,” Willie says, “so we’re gonna let him decide.”
You realize Willie must be talking about you.
“Old man?” you say. “This old man could whip you any day.”
“See?” Willie tells the count. “He’s getting feisty in his old age.”
“This is a birthday present for you too,” you remind him.
“Uh-uh. As I said, I’m hoping Korie’s gonna forget.”
“I’m not gonna let her forget.”
“There are a few ground rules,” the count breaks in. “Just so you’re aware before heading out.”
“Rules?” Willie asks.
“Yes. There is a possibility that this whole trip will be completely free of charge. You could also win the coveted Hunter’s Cup, made of pure gold.”
“How do we get that?” you ask.
“By successfully fulfilling your mission each day,” Count VanderVelde says. “And to do that, you will need to produce one—and only one—trophy from every day’s hunt. Any more or any less than one will be invalid.”
“You’re talking about a dead animal, right?” you ask him, just to be clear.
“I’m talking about the wild game you’ve taken,” he says with an air of mystery. This guy isn’t a big fan of calling a spade a spade.
“Seems pretty easy,” Willie says. “But what do you mean by invalid? What happens if we don’t end up with this, uh, ‘wild game’ by the end of each day?”
“The hunting trip is over. The rest of the week is forfeited. All charges will go on the credit cards given.”
“How can that be?”
“That was agreed to by your wonderful wives, who signed and paid for this excursion.”
You shake your head. Read the fine print, Missy. Always read the fine print.
“So we end up empty-handed on one of the days, and what?” you say. “It’s good-bye, good riddance? Game over?”
Count VanderVelde only smiles. “I wouldn’t put it like that. I have faith in you four. You are the Duck Commandos, right?”
“That would be Duck Commanders,” Willie says.
“So you head to your first destination, succeed there, and in theory, by the end of the week you will have managed to secure trophies from all six locations on the island.”
“Do we pick which destination we go to first?” John Luke asks hopefully.
“No. We’ve do
ne that for you. Each day gets a bit more . . . well, how should I put it—challenging?” Again he smiles.
“Will the animals we’re hunting be different every day?” Cole wonders.
The count doesn’t answer. Once more he simply smiles.
That smile is starting to annoy you.
“So the decision of which weapon you’ll take on your first day is up to you, Jase,” Count VanderVelde says. “What would you like?”
“Can we reuse weapons the next day?”
“Perhaps. If indeed there is another day on which you can choose.”
He gives you a wink, and for the first time since meeting him, you get this ominous sort of feeling.
It kinda spooks you out a bit.
“Decision time,” he says.
“Can you give me a little hint about the first place?”
“Fine, fine. You’ll be hunting in the jungle.”
Which weapon will you take into the jungle?
For the crossbow, go here.
For the shotgun, go here.
For the rifle, go here.
For the sword, go here.
For the dagger, go here.
For the cowbell, go here.
EXPERIMENTS
WINCHESTER IS RIDING IN THE HELICOPTER back to Fiji with the four of you. You’re so glad to get away from Tabu Island, to finally be heading home. Ten minutes into the ride, Winchester decides to tell all of you a little more about the island. And about Count VanderVelde.
“The things you saw on the island . . . you didn’t imagine them. They weren’t in your heads. They were scientific experiments many years in the making. These were the count’s life’s work. But some of them went wrong, as you may have noticed. Terribly wrong.”
You raise your eyebrows at Willie and keep listening.
“VanderVelde was a multimillionaire businessman. The fact that he uses his honorary title of count shows how arrogant he happens to be. He bought this island and dreamed of creating a Jurassic Park. A real Jurassic Park. Of course, he was crazy enough and rich enough to find people who could assist him in performing the experiments. Oh, it wasn’t like he managed to make dinosaurs or any new species. He never even got close—he only created messed-up versions of existing animals.”
You have a question that’s been burning in your brain ever since you climbed Mount Fear.
“Did the count ever—did he ever experiment with himself?”
Winchester gives you a very serious gaze, then shakes his head. “My honest answer is I don’t know. But I’ve wondered. Sometimes he acted strange. Sometimes I saw unusual things. Things that gave me nightmares for days.”
Yeah, I saw some strange things too.
“Well, I’m glad to be leaving the mad professor behind,” Willie says.
“I am too,” Winchester replies. “It’s about time I left that place.”
He pauses for a moment, then asks all of you a question. “Do you have any work for a seventy-year-old?”
You can imagine Winchester and Uncle Si hitting it off. And who knows? With a little practice, this guy might be able to make a duck call with the best of them.
“Maybe.” You clap a hand on his shoulder. “There could be a job at Duck Commander for you. But you’ll have to know some people to get it.” You give him a smile.
Speaking of Duck Commander . . . you cannot wait to get back to West Monroe and the very normal animals you always took for granted. What I wouldn’t give to see an ordinary duck right now!
THE END
Start over.
Read “Let the Good Times Roll: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
FRIEND OR FOE?
THE THUNDERSTORM MAKES YOU FEEL like the whole island lodge is going to blow down. The power has gone out, and now the inside is illuminated with candles. You’ve had dinner but are still waiting in the living room to see Count VanderVelde. If indeed he shows up.
Since he might have gotten shot today.
But just as a blast of lightning illuminates the darkness outside, the door swings open and the count enters the room where all of you are gathered. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and walking slowly.
“Winchester tells me you have a bit of a dilemma,” the count says.
“A bit of a dilemma?” you reply. “Nah. No dilemma. What kind of dilemma would we have?”
“We shot a mountain lion today,” Willie tells him.
“It took an arrow right here,” you say, pointing to your neck. “And then around here.” You gesture toward your side.
The count nods but doesn’t say anything. He looks suspicious and shady, but then again, he often seems that way.
“It is always interesting what the mountain produces, isn’t it? Even I am constantly surprised.”
“Meaning what?” you ask. “There are different animals up on Mount Fear?”
“This island is an unpredictable place.”
“I can predict something,” you say. “I predict we’re going home tomorrow.”
“Never predict what tomorrow will bring. That’s a dangerous thing, my friend.”
You want to tell him that you’re not his friend. And that you’re very dangerous. But you don’t say either. At the moment, he seems to have the upper hand.
A boom of thunder shakes the windows.
“Every now and then we get these storms. It will pass.”
You can’t help staring at his turtleneck. “A bit warm for a turtleneck, isn’t it?”
“I was chilly earlier, to be honest.”
You narrow your eyes as you wonder if he’s telling the truth.
“A bit earlier?” you ask. “Like earlier today?”
“Yes.”
“Were you on the island today?”
Willie interrupts your line of questioning. “What Jase wants to know is when we will be able to head back home.”
You’re glad he didn’t ask if you’ll be able to head back home. That’s the real question on your mind.
“Tomorrow. If all goes well.”
“If all goes well?” you ask. “What’s that mean? If the storm doesn’t take us away tonight?”
The count looks pleasantly surprised by your statement. “Exactly, Mr. Robertson.”
The way he says your name—so formal. Mr. Robertson. Nobody calls you that. You get goose bumps, and you’re not a fan of geese.
“You never know what the night will bring, do you.” He gives you that smile of his.
Suddenly a blast of wind rips open the main doors of the room, and all the candles go out. You and Willie rush to the doors, slam them, and try to find a way to relight the candles.
“Is everybody okay?” you ask as you blindly search the room. With all these candles, there has to be a lighter or matches around. And shouldn’t the count already have them lit again? He’s the one who knows this place.
“Yeah,” John Luke’s voice says.
“Cole, you there?”
“Yep.”
“Count? Are you there?” Willie asks.
Silence.
“Count VanderVelde?”
More silence.
Oh, great. He must have disappeared like a vampire bat. “I think he’s gone.”
You locate some matches in the drawer of a side table and light a couple of the candles.
“Where’d he go?” Willie asks, squinting into the shadowy corners of the room.
“I don’t think I want to know.”
The boys look concerned. Well, you probably do too.
“What should we do now?” John Luke wonders.
Questions. All these questions. You wish someone else would answer them for you.
Do you go to your bedrooms and try to get some sleep? Go here.
Do you stay in the living room and wait for the count to return? Go here.
Do you head to the weaponry room to arm yourselves? Go here.
ARMED AND READY
YOU’VE BEEN DYING TO FIND OUT what sort of weapons are available for this
hunt. Missy said one of the few requirements Count VanderVelde made was that you couldn’t bring any gear with you. Nothing, in fact. No handguns, no knives, no sights—absolutely nothing. (Of course, you each sneaked a duck call onto the island. No way were you guys going on a hunting expedition without those. Duck calls aren’t “gear.” They’re essential.) Everything you could imagine and more would be here, according to your wife. And the weaponry room might be a clue to what you’ll be hunting.
Winchester leads the four of you into an elevator. He punches in a security code to get the elevator moving, and you begin to descend. How far down, you’re not sure. When the door opens, you realize this whole floor must be the weaponry room.
All of you get off the elevator and say a collective “Whoa.” Willie seems more dumbfounded than anyone else, but that’s not hard for him to do because most of the time he just looks dumb.
Every weapon you know of is here at your disposal, including a lot you’ve never laid eyes on before. It’s incredible. Maybe “Count VanderVelde” is really a pseudonym for Batman. ’Cause it looks like this guy has got an arsenal the size of the superhero’s own.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Winchester’s looking at you. “You will select the weapons of your choice each day. You are permitted to have one large weapon—to the right over there, on the wall. Then you’ll be allowed to choose a couple smaller items, which are straight ahead. Gear and clothing are on the racks and shelves to your left.”
“Wait a minute,” you say. “Do each of us get weapons of our choice?”
“You will each receive your own weapon, of course, but all of you will have the same type of device.”
There’s no question where you go first. Gear and clothing are nice, and smaller weapons are necessary, but you want to take a look at the goods. The real good stuff. So you and the rest of the gang head to the wall showcasing all the big weapons.
A massive crossbow catches your attention. It’s a kind you’ve never seen.
“Can we take these off the wall?” you ask Winchester.
Jase & the Deadliest Hunt Page 2
