by Bryan Chick
DEDICATION
FOR JENNIFER BOND AND HER “TEAMS” OF THIRD GRADERS, WHO HAVE LOVED THIS STORY YEAR AFTER YEAR
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1: Into the Shadows
Chapter 2: Out of the Shadows
Chapter 3: Protecting P-Dog
Chapter 4: Packing P-Dog
Chapter 5: P-Dog Gets Schooled
Chapter 6: Wide Walt Arrives
Chapter 7: Retrieving Richie
Chapter 8: Koala Kastle
Chapter 9: The Secret Koala Kastle
Chapter 10: The City Streets
Chapter 11: The Specters
Chapter 12: Operation Divide and Descend
Chapter 13: Wide Walt Strikes
Chapter 14: From PizZOOria to ZOOasis
Chapter 15: Game On
Chapter 16: Little Dogs of the Secret Prairie
Chapter 17: Marlo Leads The Way
Chapter 18: The Secret Butterfly Nets
Chapter 19: The Big White Rump
Chapter 20: Down the Alley
Chapter 21: A Rush of Rhinos
Chapter 22: And the Winner Is …
Chapter 23: The Campout in the Forest of Flight
Chapter 24: The Weight of Evie’s Past
Chapter 25: Halls on Halloween
Chapter 26: The Peculiar Fog
Chapter 27: Trick or Treat
Chapter 28: The Hunt Begins
Chapter 29: The False Alarm
Chapter 30: The Man on Old Cove
Chapter 31: Ella Runs for Richie
Chapter 32: Tank and the Tunnel
Chapter 33: On to Old Cove
Chapter 34: The Missing Pieces
Chapter 35: Tank’s Discovery
Chapter 36: Degraff Pulls Away
Chapter 37: Hannah Runs the Roof
Chapter 38: Solana Walks the Wall
Chapter 39: Tameron Takes the Tower
Chapter 40: Sam Soars Into the Sky
Chapter 41: The Chase
Chapter 42: The Engravings
Chapter 43: The Descenders Close In
Chapter 44: The Fall of Tank
Chapter 45: The Capture
Chapter 46: The On Position
Chapter 47: The Battle on the Playground
Chapter 48: The Padlock
Chapter 49: The Smell of Fear
Chapter 50: The Clutches of the Sasquatch
Chapter 51: A Key to Success
Chapter 52: Inside Locker 518
Chapter 53: Over the Bridge
Chapter 54: Against the Whiteboard
Chapter 55: Along the Walls of Lockers
Chapter 56: The Crawl Tube
Chapter 57: Avast, Ye Scallywag!
Chapter 58: The Steel Confines of Locker 518
Chapter 59: Megan and the Sasquatch
Chapter 60: The Cellar
Chapter 61: The Fall of Friends
Chapter 62: Keeping Secrets
Chapter 63: The Constructor
Chapter 64: An Old Acquaintance
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
CHAPTER 1
INTO THE SHADOWS
He moved across the Clarksville Zoo. In the midnight sky, clouds slipped across a bright moon, claiming its light. Throughout the zoo, animals slept. Most of them. Others were on patrol. The man lifted his pale face and spotted two koalas clinging to tree branches, their dark, beady eyes turned to him. He saw owls, orangutans, and a red panda chewing on a bamboo leaf. They were watching for the man the Secret Society feared most. The Shadowist. DeGraff.
He sneered. The animals were stupid. All of them.
Toward the middle of the grounds, he stepped into Flamingo Fountain, a glass building in which a marble fountain sprayed streams of water straight up. The drone and splash of the artificial spring grew louder and louder until it became the only sound. He walked through a cloud of cool mist, squinting. Then he stepped back outside, the door easing shut behind him.
He had a heavy pack on each of his shoulders, and as he rounded Metr-APE-olis he arched his back in different ways to adjust them. Near Koala Kastle, he spotted a few otters posted in the bushes. Their twitching snouts sniffed the air and traced his passage. He wondered if any of the Descenders could see him. Sam, Solana, Tameron, Hannah—were any of them watching?
The shadowy rooftops of the surrounding neighborhood resembled the peaks of tiny, black pyramids. Smoke streamed from their chimneys, and a few large antennas looked like the cleanly picked bones of strange animals. He spotted a monkey jumping from one house to another. A police-monkey, on patrol. It would spend all night secretly leaping across the rooftops in its tireless circle of the zoo.
The man reached the west entrance, where a bulb buzzed overhead and a cone of light fell across a concrete path that led to a small, wrought-iron gate. He glanced over his shoulder and slipped into a booth beside the path. Inside, a guard sat in a chair, his feet propped up on a small desk. He was gnawing on the end of a toothpick, rolling it across his lips. The two exchanged nods. Then the man carefully set one of his backpacks at the feet of the guard, who quickly looked down at it.
“This it?” the guard asked.
The man nodded.
“When?”
“Soon. In the meantime, just make sure no one finds it.”
“You got it, boss.”
Their conversation ended, and the guard began again to noisily pick at his teeth. The man stared him up and down and decided he didn’t look much different. Not yet.
The man moved to a window and scanned the trees along the perimeter wall. Somewhere in them, animals were posted, hoping to spot the Shadowist advancing on the zoo. In almost a century, it had never happened. And except for the few times Noah and his friends had glimpsed him, he’d never been seen at all.
The man intended to change this. Tonight.
He reached around and patted his remaining backpack, ensuring everything was there. It was. He turned, slipped out of the booth, and quietly stepped through the gate. Now outside the zoo, he sank into the cover of the trees along the concrete wall, dead leaves crinkling beneath his weight. He hunkered in the thick underbrush and eased the backpack off his shoulders.
He waited. He watched the treetops. Nothing stirred. He was certain he hadn’t been seen by any of the animals.
A line of bats flew past, but he had no reason to worry about them. They’d see him, but they wouldn’t notice him.
He waited a few minutes, then dumped the contents of his pack. Seeing them lying there—realizing what they were—he suddenly became nervous. He glanced all around to reassure himself that he was alone.
On the ground lay a trench coat, gloves, and a hat.
First he gathered up the coat, which was long and leather. He stood, fed his arms through its sleeves, and let its length spill down his legs. Next he donned the gloves, finger by finger. Finally he put on the hat. It was a fedora with a tall crown and a wide brim that bent down over his face.
The man pulled up his collar, tipped the hat down to mask his eyes, then fled, his open trench coat fluttering behind him like a cape. He went swiftly from one point to the next, keeping cover under the trees and in the deeper shadows. They were watching, of this he was certain. From the trees, the rooftops, the sky, the ground—owls and bats and tarsiers.
He dashed across a backyard and hurdled a short fence, his long coat slipping across the sharp pickets. He dodged behind a tree and pressed his back flat against the trunk. He listened for movement in the treetops. Nothing. He pushed off and hurried across the lawn, the edges of his coat snapping. He sank into the shad
ow of a small shed. From beneath the curved brim of his hat, he turned his eyes to the star-spotted sky. No owls, no bats.
Something moved on a rooftop, two houses down. He peered out and tried to extract shapes from the darkness. Smoke plumed from a chimney, tree branches swayed, billowy clouds drifted across the sky, but nothing else.
Then, suddenly, two silhouettes rose on the rooftop. Two creatures—police-monkeys, no doubt—charged to the edge of the house and lunged six or seven feet to the next one, their dark forms falling into the shadows there.
He slipped inside the shed and eased the door shut, careful not to make a sound. He wrinkled his nose at the stinging smells: fertilizer, paints, and rust. The small space was silent—no wind, no creaking branches, no drone of faraway cars. He leaned toward a small window and peered out. After a few minutes, the monkeys rose and bounded to the next house, disappearing again. Several minutes later, they rose, ran forward, and jumped to the next roof.
He smiled. It was too easy to fool the Secret Society.
Of course it helped that he knew their plan.
He waited a few more minutes, allowing time for the monkeys to get farther down the neighborhood, then slipped out the door. He headed across the backyard, keeping again to the shadows. He ran between two houses and ducked behind a hedge in a front yard. In all directions, the treetops were perfectly still—he hadn’t been seen.
He ran from the bushes and dashed across the street. In the new yard, he set his back against a tree and scanned the treetops again. No movement of any kind.
He turned to the house. Two stories high and made of brick, it stood behind bushes that were groomed into different shapes. A porch lay beneath a wide picture window with closed curtains. He ran across the lawn and jumped onto the stoop. Leaning forward, he peered through a slit between the curtains. The flickering light of a television revealed a girl sitting on a couch, alone.
He smiled a wicked smile. Then he lifted his gloved hand and pecked with a fingertip against the glass.
CHAPTER 2
OUT OF THE SHADOWS
Ella’s eyes jumped from the TV to the front door. Had she heard something? Because her mom was playing cards at Mrs. Carson’s, Ella was alone in the house.
The sound came again, a simple tap.
She swatted the television remote like a bug and the room fell into darkness. The new silence seemed to have an actual presence—a ghost that had crept in near her.
“Hello?” she asked.
Tap!
She looked out the picture window and realized the curtains weren’t completely drawn. Peering through the gap, she saw nothing but a long sliver of the night. Was someone out there? Megan? Perhaps Marlo or another animal from the Secret Zoo?
She bounced off the couch, stepped into the front hall, and yanked the door open. The only thing separating her from the outside was a flimsy screen door. The cold air washed across her body.
“Meg—that you?”
No answer.
She took a deep breath and the cold rushed into her lungs. She cracked open the creaky screen door and peered across the porch. No one.
“Hello? Marlo?”
Wind rustled leaves on the ground.
As she stepped out, the screen door slamming behind her made her jump. The cold of the concrete rose through the rubbery soles of her fluffy pink slippers. The wind collected in the cavity of the porch, whipping her ponytail about. She wrapped her arms over her chest, moved to a place with a good view of her yard, and stared into the darkness.
“Hello?” she asked again.
Nothing. Just leaves tumbling and grass bending under the breath of the sky.
Across the street, a treetop began to shake. Ella peered at it but couldn’t see much in its inky web of branches. Then something small shot through the air and disappeared into the tree’s silhouette. The limb became still, then the something small flew back out and etched a path through the sky in the direction of the Clarksville Zoo.
Ella felt a fresh chill work across her body—a chill that this time hadn’t been brought on by the cold. She knew the thing headed toward the zoo was an owl. And she knew what this meant.
As she turned to rush inside, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she stopped. Someone had just stepped out from behind a tall evergreen, a man in a billowy trench coat with the collar turned up. He wore boots and gloves and a hat with a wide, circular brim.
The Shadowist.
After tapping on her window to lead her outside, he’d hidden behind the tree. Now he stood with his back to the street, his arms down, his legs braced far apart, his face masked in the deep shadows of his hat. In the wind, his open coat rolled and snapped.
Ella looked down her neighborhood. How long would it take for the owl to reach the zoo? For the guards and Descenders to arrive? She turned back to DeGraff. Her heart banged against her chest. She couldn’t bear the silence any longer.
“What … what do you want?”
The Shadowist simply stood in the dark swirl of his coat, saying nothing. His open hands clenched. A gust of wind scattered hundreds of leaves, whirling some around his boots.
High above the street, a line of bats flew by. But they didn’t stop, or slow, or move in a new direction. It was like their echolocation had failed to detect DeGraff.
Just as Ella thought this strange, the Shadowist suddenly broke into a run, straight at her. But before he could reach the porch, he fell headfirst into the bushes, his trench coat flapping over his head. Branches broke off and whirled through the air.
Ella looked down and saw what had happened. Prairie dogs. At least a dozen were scattered about. They’d tripped DeGraff after springing up from a tunnel somewhere beneath her yard.
Before DeGraff could push himself out of the bushes, the prairie dogs jumped onto him, sinking their teeth into his trench coat. When he finally stood, they slid off his coat, their teeth ripping through the leather, and struck the ground. They quickly found their bearings and lunged back at him, biting into his pant legs. DeGraff snatched a prairie dog by its stubby tail and threw it toward the street. He grabbed a second one by the scruff of its neck and hurled it aside. Ella stood frozen in place, unsure if she should help her animal friends or retreat into her house. DeGraff spun around and then stopped moving, his gaze locked on something in the distance on the street. Ella peered out and saw three figures charging toward her house: two zoo guards and Solana.
As DeGraff broke toward one side of the house, a prairie dog charged straight at him. Ella instantly recognized him as P-Dog, the chubbiest one in the small coterie. Before he could attack, DeGraff kicked out his foot and P-Dog flew through the air onto Ella’s porch, his body crashing hard against the brick wall of the house.
“No!” Ella screamed.
P-Dog lay perfectly still. Ella dropped to her knees and touched his side to ensure he was breathing. When her hand grazed his front left leg, he yipped in pain. He tried to get up and couldn’t.
“It’s okay, P,” Ella said as she stroked his side. “You’re okay.”
She looked up to see DeGraff fleeing between her house and her neighbor’s, the prairie dogs giving chase. Several houses away, Solana and the two guards veered onto the neighbors’ yards, hopping hedges and dodging parked cars. When they reached Ella’s property, they followed DeGraff and the other animals. Within seconds, everyone was gone.
Everyone but P-Dog.
She glanced all around. Had anyone seen anything? The windows of nearby houses were dark and empty.
P-Dog tried to stand and collapsed. He lay on the porch, his side rising and falling with each rushed breath. He was badly hurt, but Ella wasn’t sure how to help him.
Headlights suddenly streaked across the houses on the opposite side of the street as a car rounded a turn. The moon revealed a white minivan—her mother’s car, only five or six houses down.
In a panic, Ella scooped up P-Dog, opened the door a crack, and squirmed back into the house.
Her mother’s van pulled into the drive and light burst along the edges of the picture window curtain. The engine fell silent, then the driver’s door squealed open and slammed shut. Her mother’s heels clicked against the sidewalk, louder and louder until they finally stopped. Ms. Jones was on the porch.
Ella looked into her arms and locked stares with P-Dog. Then her gaze moved to the doorknob and she glimpsed a tiny image of her surprised self in the curve of its shiny brass—eyes wide, lips arched in a small oval.
She stood frozen in place, the upstairs staircase to her left, the living room to her right, and a long hallway leading to the kitchen directly behind her. As she heard the muffled clatter of her mother’s keys, she retreated down the hall. When she tried to round the corner, her foot slipped, causing two things to go airborne: one of her fluffy pink slippers and P-Dog. Both sailed across the kitchen and banged into the base of the cupboards. Ella lay on her back, her limbs and emotions in separate tangles.
The doorknob rattled and spun and Ms. Jones stepped into the house, her greeting a strange sort of song: “Elll—lllaa! I’m hooommme!”
CHAPTER 3
PROTECTING P-DOG
Ms. Jones didn’t immediately see Ella. As the door closed, she continued her semi-song: “Elll-lllaaa.” Ella heard her mother drop her purse on a bench and strip off her jacket, which she flung over the staircase rail. As she turned to the hallway, she gasped and her shoes squeaked to a stop.
“Oh my … You scared me half to—What are you doing?” She seemed to realize Ella’s predicament. “Are you hurt?”
Still on her back, Ella lifted her head and stared around the kitchen. Expecting to find P-Dog, she spotted only her fuzzy slipper. It lay like a half-squashed pink gerbil. She scanned the reaches of the room—beside the fridge and beneath the overhang of the cabinets. There was no sign of her animal friend.
“Ella—answer me!”
Ella looked up and saw her mother now looming above her. From Ella’s vantage point, her mother’s body was totally out of proportion. Even her nose looked strange, like something she could reach up and detach, set on the countertop beside her cell phone and car keys.
