Unlike Emmet, Calvin was paying attention to every word Stuke’s dad said. That Calvin was a stickler for rules.
“What?” Calvin hissed, annoyed. After the crisis with Stuke had passed, he had returned to his post-reservation-visit moodiness.
“Why is the Newt here? I thought he got suspended or put on leave or something.”
Dr. Newton was Emmet’s science teacher when he first came to Tasker Middle School last spring. Apparently he came from a wealthy family and had a PhD in biology, but had decided to devote his life to teaching. He was also an environmental activist who donated large amounts of money to preservation groups. When Dr. Catalyst had first emerged with his Pterogators, Dr. Newton had sort of taken his side in the media — even when Emmet’s dad was kidnapped. Emmet was furious at the time. Dr. Newton believed all methods of ridding the Everglades of invasive species should be considered. Even Dr. Catalyst’s. And he had said so publicly.
“Is he still on Dr. Catalyst’s side?” Emmet asked him quietly.
“I don’t know. My mom had him questioned by the FBI, but she said he didn’t know anything. But I heard a lot of parents complained about him being on TV, saying so much stuff about Dr. Catalyst. The school put him on leave for the rest of the semester until things blew over. He shouldn’t have said what he did, especially after what happened to your dad. I know you don’t like him because of that, but he’s still a good teacher. The school just decided that things should cool down. That’s the rumor, anyway,” Calvin said. “I guess with Dr. Catalyst gone they decided he could come back.”
“Yeah, except he’s not gone,” Emmet said.
Calvin shrugged.
Emmet thought about this. After he and Calvin had rescued his dad from the swamp, Emmet had spent a week or so staying with him in the hospital and then at home while he recovered. When Emmet came back to school, Dr. Newton had already been placed on leave. Emmet had nearly forgotten all about him.
“Why are you so curious about the Newt, anyway?” Calvin asked.
“Oh, no particular reason,” Emmet said. “Other than he’s standing there acting like it’s just another ordinary first day of school.”
“Um. Because it is?” Calvin said.
“Yes,” Emmet said. “But he doesn’t usually have his right arm in a sling.”
“Huh,” Calvin said.
Emmet stood and moved past Calvin to make his way down the bleacher steps.
“Where are you going?” Calvin hissed.
“To ask him a question,” Emmet said.
“Wait! What question? Emmet, hold on,” Calvin said.
As Emmet started down the steps the assembly ended and students rushed out of the bleachers and onto the gymnasium floor, milling about before heading to their classes. Emmet kept his eye on Dr. Newton, who was now engaged in a conversation with a couple of the faculty members.
He was jostled by the crowd and had to dart around and through the masses.
“Emmet!” he heard Calvin calling behind him.
Emmet couldn’t see over everyone, but he thought Dr. Newton was moving toward the gymnasium door. It didn’t matter. Emmet knew where he was going. And as he caught glimpses of Dr. Newton through the crowd, his anger started to boil. He felt a little rush. It was good to have a suspect. He wished he’d thought to bring Stuke’s dad with him so he could arrest Dr. Newton on the spot.
Leaving the gym, he headed past the cafeteria to where the hallway ended in a T, and turned left, heading for the science lab. Like a lot of schools, Tasker Middle School was designed with very little imagination. From the air it would look like a giant H, with the gym and the cafeteria in the middle part and the science rooms at one end of the parallel hallways.
Emmet was walking fast, barely acknowledging the “hello’s” he received from teachers who stood outside their classrooms with clipboards, taking attendance for their first-day classes. Dr. Newton’s classroom was at the very end of the hallway, across from Ms. Susskind’s room, the science teacher he’d been switched to last semester. Emmet liked Ms. Susskind. She wasn’t a no-good, dirty, ecoterrorist father-napper.
Dr. Newton stood outside his room holding a clipboard in the same hand that was suspended by the sling. Probably the very arm that was nearly bitten in two by a Pterogator. Ha! Emmet thought. Serves him right. His hair looked like it usually did, all curly and frazzled as if he’d just grabbed hold of a downed power line. As students filed by him into the classroom, Dr. Newton checked their names off on his clipboard.
Emmet stopped right in front of him. Dr. Newton paused and looked up from his list. Emmet watched his face very closely. At first confusion, then curiosity, followed by … Emmet wasn’t sure. One of the things he had learned since his mom died was that a lot of times people said one thing but the looks on their faces said something else. People who hardly knew him would tell him things like, “Oh, Emmet, I’m really sorry about your mom.” But when he looked at their faces, he realized they weren’t all that sorry. Not really. They were just trying to be polite.
Emmet didn’t know all the ways adults lied about things. He only knew that they did. But if he had to guess, he would have said the emotion that crossed over Dr. Newton’s face right then was surprise with maybe a tad bit of fear mixed in. Dr. Newton wouldn’t have to guess what Emmet was feeling because he had his mad face on.
“Emmet. Why, hello. How are … I didn’t expect … I don’t think I have you in my class this year, do I? How was your summer?”
“Hot,” Emmet said. “What happened to your arm?”
“My arm? Oh. I was in a car accident.”
Emmet studied the arm up close. The sling hid most of it, but he could see it was encased in a cast. It would be difficult to determine if the arm had been bitten.
“When?” Emmet demanded.
“When what?”
“When were you in a car accident?”
“I … uh … it was back in the spring.”
“Really? That long ago? What happened?”
“What happened? Nothing, really. I was pulling into my garage, and I hit the side of the garage door hard enough for the air bag to go off. It broke my arm,” Dr. Newton said.
“That’s a long time for you to be in a cast, isn’t it? Bones usually heal faster than that, don’t they? I mean, it’s a whole new school year.” Emmet was really angry now. He didn’t think Dr. Newton had a broken arm at all.
“I … A long time? I don’t know. The doctor said it was a freak accident. I broke both bones so it has to be in a cast a little longer. At least, that’s what I’m told.”
Emmet squinted and stared hard at Dr. Newton. The whole story sounded like a convenient alibi. But Emmet had to be careful. Not everyone knew a Pterogator had attacked Dr. Catalyst. That detail had been kept secret.
“How is your dad doing, Emmet?” Dr. Newton asked. “I heard about what happ —”
It was a simple question. Even a polite one. And Emmet’s parents had always raised him to treat people with respect and to use good manners. But this question? Coming from Dr. Newton? It nearly sent him over the edge. Turning red, he pointed his finger at the startled man’s face.
“Don’t you ever ask me about my dad,” Emmet said.
He spun on his heel and stomped back down the hallway.
SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAD TO LAUGH. DR. CATALYST was doing that now. The reason clichés become clichés is because there is usually some measure of truth in them. And in this case the accuracy of that old saying “the best place to hide something is in plain sight” was proving itself beautifully.
Unlike his Pterogators, which were developed and hatched primarily in the swamp, his Muraecudas presented a far more difficult challenge. They could not live in freshwater. Thus the Everglades were off-limits, at least temporarily. He needed power, a filtration system for his saltwater tanks, and isolation. In the swamp, hiding was not a problem. It must have been pure dumb luck that Emmet and Calvin discovered where he was hiding Dr. Doy
le. In fact, it ate at him a little bit. Maybe he would have a face-to-face talk with Emmet Doyle and find out what he knew. And teach the impertinent little twerp a lesson at the same time. But that would have to wait for later.
Dr. Catalyst had scouted several locations and facilities to serve as a base for his Muraecuda work. He couldn’t risk someone stumbling upon his lab and finding out what he was doing by accident. One wrong turn by a tourist in a rental car, or a group of teenage vandals sneaking into one of his buildings, and everything would come crashing down.
His solution was another stroke of brilliance. On the outskirts of Florida City, a few miles west of Highway 1, was a long-abandoned amusement park known as Undersea Land. About forty years ago, a local entrepreneur tried to create a miniature ocean-themed attraction for the thousands of visitors heading to the South Florida beaches. Everything had a nautical theme. The merry-go-round allowed children to ride on the backs of plastic dolphins and whales instead of horses. Flying pirate ships replaced big-eared elephants.
The entire enterprise had been a huge flop. It barely lasted two years before the investors lost everything and closed it down.
But one of the attractions had been a live dolphin show. Inside a small, enclosed auditorium, dolphins and seals would perform tricks for the underwhelmed guests. It was a surprise to anyone visiting that the park had lasted as long as it did.
But it was perfect for his needs. The aquarium, once the equipment was upgraded and the tanks were filled with salt water, was the ideal place for him to produce his Muraecudas. His only problem was avoiding discovery. And he had solved it by going legitimate.
He created a series of shell companies and hired a developer, Mr. David LeMaire. LeMaire was the unsuspecting stooge in Dr. Catalyst’s investment to refurbish and reopen a newer, better Undersea Land attraction.
LeMaire never met Dr. Catalyst, except via email and voice mail. This was not unusual. All over Florida there were plenty of real-estate developers who would do any deal anonymously, as long as the money showed up in their bank accounts.
LeMaire filed the permits, bought the property, and sent out a press release. He supervised the beginnings of the repairs and improvements, the most important of which was the construction of a nearly impenetrable twelve-foot-high solid steel fence around the entire park.
Shortly after the fence was completed and the aquarium refurbished, LeMaire received an email from Dr. Catalyst. Work on the renovation of the park was to cease. The crews were to be sent home. A problem with the financing had arisen and the new construction would have to wait. David LeMaire received his last bank transfer and went on to his next job with no questions asked. Real-estate deals fell through all the time in Florida. The newer, better Undersea Land was just another victim of poor financial planning, and soon it was forgotten. Again.
But the fence remained. And the refurbished aquarium no longer stood empty. It was where Dr. Catalyst was raising his newest species. Close to the ocean. Someplace no one would ever think to look.
Tonight he stood in front of the tank, watching his Muraecudas feed. They truly were magnificent creatures. Swimming, eating, killing machines, who devoured the lionfish he provided for them every day.
Unlike his Pterogators, these creations were not as … pliable. He could not teach them to seek out a specific prey as easily as he had done with Hammer and Nails and their clones. But he had chosen the exact right combination of aggressive reef-dwelling species. And lionfish lived and fed on the reefs. Well … his experiment had worked out better than he could have planned. By feeding them only lionfish, with each successive generation of clones, he was teaching their primitive brains to seek out lionfish as their first, preferred food source. Once in the ocean they would undoubtedly consume other species. They were predators, after all. But they would consume vast quantities of the invasive species first, and help restore balance to the ocean.
Dr. Catalyst looked at the newspaper in his hand. The headline read GOVERNOR SAYS NO TO DR. CATALYST. FLORIDA’S BEACHES TO REMAIN OPEN. He tossed the paper away. They had not acceded to his demands.
It was time to up the stakes.
Dr. Catalyst opened the digital recorder app on his tablet computer. Pushing the record button, he began speaking. “Attention, people of South Florida. I am asking all of you who truly love our environment to join me in my quest….”
IT HAD NEVER BEEN THIS WINDY IN THE TREE HOUSE before. Calvin and Emmet were doing homework there, as was their habit, after checking in with Mrs. Clawson, the Geauxs’ next-door neighbor. Apollo stayed at the Geauxs’ during the day, and Emmet usually took him for a walk after school. After that they did homework or, if they didn’t have any, played video games or sometimes took their books up into the tree house and studied there.
Dr. Doyle had Emmet coming here with Calvin most days since school started. Emmet wasn’t sure, but he thought it had something to do with the fact that his dad and Dr. Geaux were having so many dinners together. In fact, they usually came home from work together, and then the four of them would all eat as a group, either at one of their homes or at a restaurant. Emmet didn’t really have time or even want to think about that yet.
Calvin didn’t seem to mind him coming over so much. Of course Calvin probably wouldn’t mind if a hoard of rampaging Vikings captured him and pulled out his toenails. Emmet was sure if that happened Calvin would just shrug and say, “They’ll grow back.” Calvin was slowly getting back to normal at school. At lunch he sat at the table with Emmet, Riley, and Raeburn, and sometimes he even participated in the conversation. And it was Calvin who politely kept anyone else from sitting in Stuke’s seat until he returned to school.
Apollo didn’t like the tree house much. They hadn’t figured out a way to safely get him up to their lair. While they were up above he barked and whined and tried to climb up the trunk, until he decided to punish them by ignoring their existence. He would curl up beneath the tree and sleep until they came down. Even if they could get him up safely, knowing Apollo, he would leap through the screen as soon as he saw a bird. Apollo was not aware of his limitations. Especially the one about dogs not being able to fly.
Emmet had become very fond of Calvin’s little hideaway. Somehow, being up above the ground with the tree gently swaying, he gained a little freedom and clarity. Except when he was mad about something. Like today.
“Is this thing safe in this wind?” Emmet asked. The boards were creaking and the branches were really swaying.
“Yes,” Calvin answered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did you file the proper building permits?”
“Yes,” Calvin said, not looking up from his math homework.
He was about to say “Seriously?” but then Emmet remembered he was talking with Calvin. Calvin filed a flight plan with the FAA if he made a paper airplane.
“Dude, what is going on?” Emmet asked.
“What? Nothing,” Calvin said. He looked up from his math homework with a sour look.
“I don’t want to get all up in your business, but ever since you came back from visiting your family, you’ve been a little …”
“A little what?”
“Morose. We did vocab in language arts today, third hour. Morose was on the list,” Emmet said.
“What’s morose? We didn’t do that vocab yet.”
“Gloomy.”
“I’m not gloomy.”
“No. You’re more fun than a platter of bacon.”
“Do you always have to make a joke out of everything?” Calvin sighed.
“Yes. It’s my thing. We’ve discussed this. But I’m sorry. I just thought maybe something was bothering you. I’m all ready to go into a full-fledged rant, but you don’t seem like you’re in the mood. So I thought we’d have an Oprah moment and see if you’ve got something you want to get off your chest.”
Calvin flipped over onto his back and looked up at the roof of the tree house.
“Sorry if I’ve been morose,” he said. Emmet waited, but he didn’t say anything else.
“It’s okay. I just figured you got into some kind of family thing or something. My grandparents and my cousins live a long way away and I never saw them that much, anyway, but my mom and dad were always talking about ‘family drama.’ People get worked up over that stuff.”
“It’s not that,” Calvin said. “It’s just … You can’t tell anyone this … especially my mom. She’d get all upset. And she has enough on her plate.”
“Calvin, I promise, not a word to anyone. Not even your mom. Unless you’re going to run away and join the circus or something. That’s never a good idea.” Emmet grimaced because he couldn’t help himself sometimes. He made a mental note to rein it in. Soon.
“I turn thirteen next year,” Calvin said. “In the old days it was different, and now each tribal group does things their own way, but in our clan, when a Seminole boy turns thirteen, there’s a ceremony where you are given your name. It’s … Usually your father picks it, and there’s a feast and stuff. And …”
“And your dad won’t be there,” Emmet said, understanding.
“Right,” Calvin said quietly.
“Calvin — and this is a serious question — what do you mean, ‘given your name’? Don’t you already have one? I don’t understand.”
“Calvin is my legal name. When you are a Seminole you can have several names during your life. Most of the old warriors’ and chiefs’ names could and did change based on their accomplishments, or things they did to benefit the tribe. If they won a great battle or defeated a mighty enemy, for instance. But your first real Seminole name is usually given when you’re around thirteen. And it’s chosen by your father.”
“All right. I get it,” Emmet said. “But here is another real question. I’m not a big history buff or anything, but I know the Seminoles and most American Indians got treated pretty badly. I’m talking about disease and wars and stuff. So there must have been other Seminole boys who didn’t have fathers when it was time for this ceremony. Can’t a relative stand in? A grandparent or an uncle?”
Feeding Frenzy Page 4
