Zack and the Turkey Attack

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  But then Zack noticed something else. With a couple of hens behind him, the big turkey kept coming slowly toward him, pecking at the grass all the while, not even realizing that Zack was there. Maybe turkeys couldn’t see as well as they could run. Maybe Tailpipe thought Zack was a fence post. Maybe he thought he was a tree.

  Now the turkey was only ten feet away . . . nine feet away. Zack’s heart beat faster, and a trickle of sweat ran down his back.

  He and Tailpipe had never been this close before, except when the turkey was chasing him. The bird was truly monstrous, at least four feet long from the end of his beak to the tip of his tail feathers. Every so often he gobbled to the hens, spreading his wings, showing off his black and red and green feathers in front, the brown and white in back. Grandpa called him a Bronze turkey. Zack called him scary.

  The turkey must have come across a whole bunch of bugs, because he clucked again, loud this time, and the hens came hurrying over. Peck . . . peck . . . peck . . . Their heads moved up and down like pump handles as they enjoyed their lunch.

  Tailpipe had his back to Zack now. Maybe, just maybe, Zack thought, he could move a few feet at a time and slowly . . . slowly . . . get over to the porch. Maybe the old gobbler and his hens wouldn’t notice that the fence post was moving.

  Zack took one step to the side and stopped. Tailpipe lifted his head for a moment, one dark eye staring off to the left. Zack froze. But after a moment the pecking began again, and Zack dared a second step, a big one.

  This time, the turkey saw.

  The tail feathers spread. The wings flapped. The yellow feet moved, and Tailpipe came straight at Zack. In fact, he was between Zack and the house, pecking at him furiously.

  Zack ran for the pickup truck, but he knew that in the time it would take to get the door open and climb up, the turkey would be on top of him.

  The barn was too far away and the tractor shed was open at both ends. The only place left to hide was the machine shack where Grandpa stored his junk.

  Zack raced to the open doorway, ducked inside, and yanked the crooked door closed behind him, almost catching the turkey in it.

  Tailpipe gobbled loudly and pecked hard at the door. You may be fast, but you’re stupid, Zack thought. When the pecking stopped, the gobbler didn’t go away, however. Through a crack in the wall, Zack could see him strutting back and forth, head jerking forward and each foot lifting high off the ground with each step.

  Trapped. Zack’s breathing slowed a little because he knew he was safe, but could he get out? At some point, Tailpipe would give up and go back to the hens, but when? Would the turkey still be here at lunchtime? Would Dad have to come looking for him when it was time to go home?

  He rubbed his arm where the turkey had pecked him and noticed it was bleeding a little. Then he saw blood on his shirt. And then he realized that Tailpipe had pecked a hole in his new Denver Broncos T-shirt.

  That did it! Never mind a map of the farm! Never mind secret paths that didn’t cross the clearing! Zack was going to get even if it was the last thing he did. He wasn’t sure how, but he’d think of something.

  He sat down on a dusty stool and wiped his arm again. He thought about just going out there and charging at the turkey, the way Matthew said to do, yelling and waving his arms like Dad did. Chasing Tailpipe before the turkey could chase him.

  But then he remembered the time a neighbor had stopped by the farm with his dog. A big dog. The dog had seen Tailpipe across the barnyard and run toward him, barking. And before anyone could say drumstick, the turkey charged at the dog—a blur of feathers and feet—and the dog had gone racing back to its master, tail between its legs. Zack knew exactly who would do the running if he tried to chase the turkey. Looked like he was stuck here for a few hours.

  He stood up and poked around the machine shack, looking at all Grandpa’s stuff, the things he didn’t use anymore. They were piled all over the top of the workbench as well as below it, and along the walls. They hung from hooks, weighted down shelves, and half covered the one small window.

  There were old broken-down machines and parts of engines. The wringer from an old-fashioned washing machine, the crank from a butter churn, a rusty saw. There was a lamp without a shade, a wagon without a wheel, an old sewing machine, and a croquet game with broken mallets. Pieces of rain gutters, parts of a bike. Zack’s eyes traveled from shelf to shelf, hook to hook, box to box, and barrel to barrel. He could take this old sewing machine apart and nobody would care whether he got it back together or not. There weren’t any big machines out here, but a lot of machine parts.

  And suddenly Zack had an idea. That old turkey was nothing but trouble, and he was going to build a trouble-shooter. A turkey-blaster trouble-shooter. Something that would scare old Tailpipe right out of his feathers.

  * * *

  Five

  * * *

  WALKING THE PLANK

  When Zack’s dad finally came looking for him later, and the two of them rode home, Zack walked down to Matthew’s house and told him about being trapped in the machine shack. He described all the weird stuff he had found there, and how Tailpipe paced and pecked outside the door. Matthew was the first friend Zack had made when his family moved to the new house, closer to the farm.

  “What you need,” said Matthew, “is an explosion.”

  “You mean, blow up the turkey?” asked Zack. He wasn’t ready to go that far.

  “Not exactly. But you can’t go around being scared of a bird all the time.”

  The two boys were sitting on Zack’s back porch eating chocolate cake. Emilene, Zack’s sister, who was only a year younger, had celebrated her birthday with some of her friends that afternoon. Pink and white balloons were everywhere.

  There was leftover strawberry ice cream in bowls, melted, of course, and leftover pink lemonade in cups. Even the frosting on the leftover cake was pink. Zack was glad he and his dad hadn’t gotten back until all the girls had gone home, and now there was all this leftover stuff to eat. He wiped one finger along the plate and scooped up the extra frosting.

  “So what kind of machine do you want to build?” Matthew asked, when Zack told him about wanting to get even with Tailpipe.

  “Something big and noisy that will make that turkey jump three feet in the air and never come near me again,” said Zack.

  Matthew rested his chin in his hands and thought for a minute. His face was as long and narrow as Zack’s was round, and he had dark-blue eyes that seemed to flash when he had an idea. At last he said, “Let’s start with ‘walk the plank.’ ”

  Zack stared at him. “Like . . . pirates on a ship?”

  “Sort of,” said Matthew.

  “We’re going to drown the turkey?”

  “No. Just listen. Have you got a plank? A board? Any old board?”

  Zack hopped off the porch and went across the yard to the garage. The previous owner had left some of his own junk in the garage, and Zack found a long strip of wood. It was only four inches wide and wasn’t very strong, but he brought it back to the porch.

  When he went up the steps, he saw that Matthew had pulled down a bunch of balloons and placed them in a row along the floor.

  “See if you can hold them still,” Matthew said, and took the strip of wood from Zack, laying it carefully on top of the five balloons. “Now,” he said, “walk the plank and see if we get an explosion.”

  Zack knew what would happen, but he did it anyway. He lifted his right foot and stepped on one end of the board.

  BAM! went the first balloon.

  Zack took another step.

  BAM! BAM! went two more.

  Just as the fourth balloon was popping, Emilene came running out onto the porch in her new pink-and-purple sneakers.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked, and her voice sounded like a whistle factory blowing up.

  “Walking the plank,” Zack told her.

  “You jerk!” said Emilene. “Those are my birthday balloons.”

  �
��You’ve only got a million more,” said Zack. “We were just doing an experiment.”

  “Well, I’m just glad you were at Grandpa and Grandma’s today and not here to ruin my party,” said Emilene. She gathered up all the other balloons, and with them bumping and bobbing around her head, she marched back into the house.

  Matthew looked at Zack and grinned. “That was an explosion, all right!” he said.

  “But how do I turn all this into a machine?” asked Zack. “You should come to the farm with me some weekend when we stay overnight and help build it.”

  “Well, maybe,” said Matthew. “How badly do you want to hurt this turkey?”

  Zack actually hadn’t thought about hurting Tailpipe at all—only scaring him half to death.

  “I just want to build some kind of trouble-shooter that will make him stop pecking my legs and ripping my clothes,” Zack told him.

  “Yeah, but what if we built something that killed him?” said Matthew. “You’ve got to think what would happen then.”

  So Zack did think about it—all the next week. If he accidentally killed the turkey and Gramps was right, the hens would miss him. Zack imagined that the next time he came to the farm, he would climb out of the pickup truck, and fourteen hen turkeys would come flying at him, pecking right through his clothes—a thousand peck marks—and he’d never be able to visit his grandparents again.

  * * *

  Six

  * * *

  PICKUP STICKS

  The next Saturday, when it was time to go, Zack called Matthew and invited him to come along.

  “Oh . . . uh . . . I don’t think so,” said Matthew. “I’ve got a sore leg.”

  “You sprain it or something?” Zack asked.

  “I guess,” Matthew said.

  Zack had seen him the day before, and he’d looked fine.

  “Well, next week, then,” Zack told him.

  “Sure,” said Matthew.

  This time Zack got a squirt bottle and held it under the faucet until it was filled to the top. Then he put the cap on it and ran outside to the pickup, where his dad was waiting.

  “I think your mom and sister like it when we’re gone,” Dad said as they rode along the highway. “It gives them time to do things together. And we get to do guy stuff.”

  “Yeah!” said Zack. “I think I like the farm better than Emilene does.”

  “Well, she has her cornet lessons and gymnastics practice on Saturdays,” Dad said. “What do you do all day when Grandpa and I are out with the tractor?”

  “Climb the plum tree,” said Zack. “Play in the haystack. Fool around in the machine shack.”

  “Same kinds of things I liked to do when I was your age,” said Dad, and chuckled. “A farm is a great place to grow up.”

  But it would be even better if there wasn’t a turkey on it, Zack thought.

  When they pulled into the clearing, Zack looked all around before he got out of the pickup. He put one foot on the ground. Then the other. He had the squirt bottle in his hands, one finger on the button. But the turkey was nowhere in sight, and this time Zack got safely into the house without getting pecked.

  Grandma had biscuits with honey butter and blackberry jam waiting for him.

  “Josie was looking for you early this morning,” she told Zack. “She wanted to wade in the creek. I think she’s trying to catch tadpoles. Wouldn’t you like to do that?”

  Zack would, but not today. “I’ll help some other time,” he answered. The sooner he could build a turkey-blaster trouble-shooter, the better. Josie would just want to talk about burglars.

  Halfway through breakfast, there was a knock at the door and Grandpa answered it. When he came back into the kitchen, a tall young man in jeans and an orange plaid shirt was with him.

  “Adam!” cried Grandma, coming over to give the young man a hug.

  “Zack, this is Josie’s brother, Adam, home from the navy,” Grandpa said. “Came by to say hello, and it’s sure nice to have him back.”

  “How ya doin’?” Adam said, smiling at Zack, and he reached out to shake hands. Adam’s hand seemed as big as a catcher’s mitt.

  “Hi,” said Zack.

  “How does it feel to be out of uniform?” Grandma asked.

  “Feels pretty darn good,” said Adam. “I’ll be heading into town to move some of my stuff to an apartment, and I wondered if I could pick up anything for you while I’m there.”

  “Well, I could use a couple of things from the Safeway, but not until you sit down and have some breakfast with us,” Grandma said.

  “Hey, I’ve already had one breakfast,” Adam said.

  “Why, I’ve never known you to refuse my biscuits,” said Grandma. “I remember once, when you were sixteen or so, you ate nearly a half dozen, one right after the other.”

  Adam laughed. “Yeah, they called me ‘chowhound’ in the navy, too, but I’ll have to save that biscuit for another time. Got two loads of stuff to move today. Glad I found an apartment near the college when school starts this fall. Now what do you need from the Safeway?”

  Zack was happy that Adam hadn’t stayed for breakfast, because he and his father ate every last biscuit on the table.

  Afterward, Grandma had a new job for Zack. She handed him a trash basket and asked him to pick up all the sticks in the yard so they wouldn’t get caught in the mower.

  With his squirt bottle in one hand, Zack went out on the front porch and surveyed the area. He was happy to see that the turkey was off by the pasture for a change. So he lugged the trash basket into the yard and hunkered down to pick up sticks.

  It had been windy the day before, and the yard was full of small branches and twigs. If Matthew had come, they could have done this job in half the time, Zack thought. But he put his mind to thinking about the trouble-shooter he wanted to build. He figured it would have to be a machine with wheels so he could move it around and point it in any direction. You never knew where the turkey would come from next.

  Sometimes the turkey came at him when he got out of the truck. Sometimes it came at him when he walked to the barn. Sometimes it surprised him out by the henhouse, and sometimes it seemed to be waiting just for him in front of the porch. But it spent most of the day in the clearing where it was easiest to scratch for bugs.

  There were more sticks than Zack had expected, and Grandma had more trees than he remembered. He wouldn’t care if Josie Wells came along just then to help out.

  But Josie didn’t come. The turkey came.

  Just when Zack quit worrying about Tailpipe and tried to guess how long it would take him to finish the yard, he heard that low gobble, gobble sound. The next thing he knew, a big ball of brown and red feathers was coming right at him.

  * * *

  Seven

  * * *

  THE BICYCLE MOVE

  Zack dropped the trash basket and reached for the squirt bottle on the grass. But before he could squeeze the handle, the turkey flew straight at him, knocking him over.

  Peck, peck, peck. Zack felt the sharp stabs on his arms, his chest. Arrrghh! He managed to raise the squirt bottle and squeeze. The water hit Tailpipe on one wing.

  Again! Squirt! Squirt!

  This time the stream of water hit the old gobbler just below one eye, but it didn’t even slow him down.

  Peck, peck, peck. Zack lay on the ground, kicking wildly with both feet and yelling at him. It was only then that the turkey moved away, but he stood close by, just waiting for an opening to attack again.

  This is ridiculous, Zack thought as he lay on the ground, his feet pedaling an invisible bicycle in the air. Was this what he had to do whenever Tailpipe came at him? Roll over on his back and kick his feet?

  Finally the turkey got tired of waiting around and strutted off to where the hens were scratching for bugs in the dirt.

  Zack lowered his legs and lay there in the grass, staring up at the tree branches.

  When he built his machine, his turkey-blaster trouble-shooter, it w
as going to go wherever he wanted. It was going to make really loud noises, and shoot out stuff, and roll and rattle and make that stupid gobbler think twice before pecking him again.

  Zack sat up finally and looked around. When he was sure the turkey was gone, he got to his feet and marched straight to the machine shack, leaving the basket of sticks on the lawn. He’d finish this job later. Right now he had something more important to do.

  The old rusty wagon that Zack had noticed before was tucked under the workbench, and he pulled it out. The handle squeaked, but it still turned. If only he could find a spare wheel.

  Inside a box on a broken rocking chair, Zack found a lazy Susan, as Grandma called it—a large tin platter that turned around and around. It was the kind of thing you put in the middle of the table with salt and pepper and mustard and ketchup on it. When anyone needed more ketchup, he’d just reach out and whirl the lazy Susan until the ketchup was right in front of him, and no one had to pass it around the table.

  The lazy Susan had a dent in one side, which was why it was in the machine shack, waiting for someone to fix it. Zack didn’t care about the dent. It still turned. He put it in the wagon. Now, if he could build his trouble-shooter on top of the lazy Susan, he could pull it wherever he needed to go, point it in any direction at all, and fire away. Just let old Tailpipe come at him. Just let him try pecking Zack. One blast from the trouble-shooter and the next time he met Zack, he’d turn his tail feathers around and head for the barn, he’d be so scared. Zack would just have to make sure he didn’t kill him.

  He stopped suddenly and listened. There was a noise outside the machine shack—the kind of noise a turkey might make if it flapped its wings, trying to scramble its way up the woodpile to see in the little window on one side.