by Adam Gidwitz
“Quiet,” she whispered. “Don’t scream again. If you do, the professor might get stomped.”
The sasquatch lowered its hands from its ears. It scowled down at the humans.
“Don’t make eye contact,” Mack whispered. “Look toward the ground.”
“How can I do so?” the professor wheezed. “Its big foot . . . is on top of . . . my face.”
Uchenna said to Mack, “We have to save him!”
“Shhh,” said Mack. He raised his left hand slowly, and then pressed his palm over his heart.
The sasquatch watched Mack’s sign. Its face softened. It began to lift its foot from the professor’s face.
But just then, a small creature came gliding out of the sky and landed on the hirsute primate’s long arm.
“Jersey!” Uchenna cried. The sasquatch’s weight shifted back onto its foot. The professor made a sound like his head was being crushed. Which it was. The sasquatch lifted its huge hand to flatten Jersey like a human would crush a mosquito.
“No!” Elliot cried.
But instead of crushing him, the sasquatch’s hand slowed, and then gently began to pet Jersey’s head. The scowl left the hairy giant’s face.
It lifted its foot off Fauna’s head.
“Huh. I think she likes Jersey,” murmured Raven.
“How do you know it’s a she?” Uchenna asked.
A sound came from the bushes to their right. Three more sasquatch came out—one a bit shorter than Elliot, one the same height as Uchenna, and one slightly taller than Raven.
“I think that’s their mom,” Raven whispered.
The sasquatch children looked shyly at the humans, and then up at their mother. She walked over to them and then sat down, heavily, on the ground. Jersey stayed perched on her shoulder.
The humans watched as the three sasquatch children crowded around Jersey, petting his head and stroking his wings. He purred and licked their faces.
And then, Jersey scrambled to the forest floor and over to Elliot. He scurried up Elliot’s pant leg and shirt, and perched on top of his head.
“Uh . . . ,” said Elliot. “What is he doing?”
No one answered him. The sasquatch children were gazing curiously at Jersey—and at Elliot. Slowly, they started to move toward him.
“Uh . . . guys?” Elliot said.
The three sasquatch kids moved into a circle around Elliot.
“Any advice?” Elliot asked. “Mr. gәqidәb? Raven? Anyone?”
The sasquatch kid standing right in front of Elliot motioned with a hand. Elliot stared. She motioned again. It looked like the sasquatch child was telling him to sit down.
“Uh, Mr. gәqidәb, what is going on?” asked Elliot.
“Sasquatch talk to one another with sign language,” Mack replied. “All apes do—and a lot of the signs are the same across the ape and human family. You were born understanding many of the same signs that they use.”
“So, what is she saying?” Elliot asked. He wasn’t sure why he thought this sasquatch kid was a she, but he did.
“What do you think she’s saying?” Mack asked. The sasquatch did the hand motion again.
“I think she’s telling me to sit down.”
“So do it, boyfriend,” Raven said.
Elliot sat down.
The circle of sasquatch children tightened around Elliot. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe calmly. Inside his head, he was thinking, What is happening? What are they going to do to me? Why is no one helping? Why is Jersey sitting on my head? Should I scream? Probably not. I want to scream. Maybe I will.
And then, the sasquatch girl lifted Jersey off Elliot’s head. She held the little Jersey Devil in her arms and stroked him like he was a cat. Elliot began to get up. But the sasquatch girl made a hand signal that looked like “don’t move.” So Elliot didn’t move.
A moment later, he felt delicate fingers touching his hair. His eyes went wide.
“What is happening?” he whispered.
Uchenna and Raven were watching, and started to giggle. Professor Fauna was still on the ground next to the sasquatch mother, but now they were sitting as if they’d been friends forever. Mack was crouching nearby, grinning.
“They’re doing your hair,” Uchenna said.
“WHAT?” Elliot cried.
This startled the sasquatch children. The sasquatch holding Jersey frowned and put her hand over her mouth. Elliot nodded. She nodded back. He nodded again. Then one of the sasquatch kids doing his hair grabbed his head to make him stop nodding and stay still.
Finally, the sasquatch mother stood up. The children stopped what they were doing. The girl holding Jersey kissed the top of his head—Uchenna’s heart just about melted—and then handed Jersey back to Elliot. Then they turned and headed into the forest.
In an instant, the sasquatch family had disappeared.
None of the humans moved.
Then they all exhaled.
“Whoa!” Uchenna exclaimed. “That. Was. Awesome.”
“Truly spectacular!” Fauna said, brushing himself off and picking pine needles from his beard. “How fine to see a family of them! All in such superb condition!”
“That was my friend,” said Mack. When Elliot and Uchenna looked at him quizzically, he added, “Who chased me with a stick.”
Uchenna said, “She’s all grown up!”
“We both are,” Mack agreed.
Professor Fauna turned to Elliot. “And the grooming they were doing! Elliot, you look magnífico!”
Long strands of pale green moss and twigs with tiny pinecone buds stuck every which way out of Elliot’s curly mop of hair. Raven and Uchenna broke up in a fit of giggling.
Elliot sighed. “I wish I could see myself right now.”
“No,” said Raven, “you don’t.”
She and Uchenna laughed harder.
And then they stopped.
Mack had tapped them on their shoulders. “Look,” he said.
An all-too-familiar blond woman was standing at the top of a nearby hill, waving her arms and shouting at her harassed-looking cameraman.
As the wind changed, her voice drifted down to them. “Randy, you idiot! What do you mean you missed the shot! You could have had a family of Bigfeet on camera and weren’t set up yet?”
Andy was muttering something about batteries dying and his name being Andy and how he once knew a guy named Randy in middle school who was a real jerk and maybe he should just make a name tag for himself. Sam Brounsnout was nowhere to be seen.
“We’ve gotta lose them,” Mack said. “Quick, follow me.”
He didn’t have to say it twice. Uchenna, Elliot, Raven, and the professor all ducked under the thick-needled branches onto a small trail that led into deep woods. They started to run. They ran and ran and ran, until Elliot’s lungs were burning and Uchenna’s feet felt like iron. Jersey glided from tree to tree above their heads.
Finally, Mack pulled up. “It’s okay. We can stop now. No way they’re going to catch up with us lugging that TV camera.”
“Or in stilettos,” Raven added, her shoulders rising and falling.
“Wait a minute,” Uchenna said. “Where’s Professor Fauna?”
Mack’s head swiveled in one direction and then another. “Mito!” he called. “Mito?”
“Professor Fauna?”
“Professor Fauna!!!”
There was no answer. The founder of the Unicorn Rescue Society was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Professor Fauna was not lost. He prided himself on never being lost. Even that time when he was wandering in the Amazon jungle for two weeks, half naked and nearly starving, he was far from lost. After all, wherever he went, there he was.
However, at the moment, as he wandered through the mossy forest, he did not kn
ow exactly where he was. Sadly, Elliot and Uchenna and Jersey and Mack and Raven were nowhere in sight. They were surely hopelessly lost and needed him to find them.
He also wondered where the sasquatch family had gone. He thought of finding another stick and striking it against a tree. That had worked wonderfully well for Uchenna. Then, as he entered a small clearing, he noticed a mass of something black and organic on the ground. Sasquatch fecal matter, perhaps?
Only one way to tell. He pried a piece off and tasted it. Disgusting. It was rotted fungus. But there was hope. Perhaps that squishier pile over there would prove to be poop.
As he was leaning over to stick his finger into that second interesting, odiferous heap, he heard a stick crack behind him. He turned to look. To his horror, it was a group of the most dangerous and deadly animals in the world.
Humans.
Emerging from the woods was a surveying crew from the logging company, carrying sextants and surveying rods. And then, behind them, emerged two men in sharp navy suits, one tall and thin, the other short and squat. Their eyes sparkled like cut gemstones, matching their tie clips—one emerald, the other sapphire. On their heads they wore yellow hard hats that almost concealed their bald domes.
It was, of course, the Schmoke brothers.
“You!?” Milton Schmoke, the taller of the two, exclaimed, when he saw Professor Fauna.
“Why are you everywhere we go?” Edmund Schmoke demanded.
Professor Fauna pulled himself up to his full, imposing height. “Because everywhere you go, you threaten the creatures of myth and legend! Your treachery and villainy know no bounds!” He turned to the surveying crew. “Did you know that these two men have captured dragons, threatened a Jersey Devil, endangered the world’s mermaid population, and plan to make sasquatch extinct—”
“Men,” Milton Schmoke cut in, “this man is a saboteur. He is obsessed with us, and obviously deranged. He can’t be allowed anywhere near a Schmoke operation.”
The head surveyor said, “So, you want us to—”
“GET HIM!” Edmund shouted.
Quick as a cobra, Professor Fauna pulled off his left shoe and raised it above his head like a club. “Stay back!” he shouted. “I am armed . . . or, maybe, footed!”
The surveyors hesitated. He didn’t look dangerous, but he did look a little unhinged.
“NOW!” Edmund admonished them.
Four burly men in hard hats rushed the professor. He smacked one in the face with his shoe, but the others quickly grabbed his arms and legs. He struggled, but their hands were strong as tree roots.
“Tie him up,” Milton said.
The lead surveyor took some orange cord from his utility belt, and the men bound the professor’s hands and feet. Then they dragged him behind them as they continued on their way. Professor Fauna struggled at first, but soon he found that it was of no use. He had been captured.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After some time, the group of surveyors, led by the Schmoke brothers and dragging Professor Fauna behind them, reached a road. The surveyors’ truck and a black Humvee with tinted windows stood by the side of the road and, parked behind those, the SNERT van. Grace Goodwind and her cameraman were nowhere in sight, but Sam Brounsnout was there, nervously pacing back and forth.
Seeing the Schmokes, he hurried up to them. “Sir! And, sir! Mr. Milton, Mr. Edmund! It is so good to see you.” He held out his hand. Milton waved him off.
“Chairs,” Milton growled.
“Now, Brounsnout!” Edmund added.
Sam caught sight of the hog-tied professor, who had been dropped on the ground by the surveyors. He hesitated for just a moment, before thinking better of saying anything. He quickly produced two folding chairs for the Schmoke brothers.
“Phipps!” Milton called.
Instantly, their faithful butler, Phipps, appeared, wearing his customary black suit, carrying a tray of cookies, cups, and a teapot.
“Report, Brounsnout!” Milton said, as Phipps handed the two brothers a cup of tea and plate of cookies each.
“Mmmph,” Edmund added, stuffing a cookie into his mouth.
“Wonderful news!” The producer beamed. “Grace Goodwind and our cameraman had a sighting. They’re closing in on a real Bigfoot family!”
“Sasquatch! They are sasquatch!” the professor shouted from where he lay. No one paid him any attention.
“Excellent!” Edmund exclaimed, spraying cookie crumbs from his mouth. “Give Phipps their location. Phipps, take these surveyors with you. Subdue the Bigfoot family. Use the nets and tranquilizer guns. We want them alive. Don’t let any of our goons kill them until we’ve extracted what we need.”
Sam Brounsnout, who was suddenly very confused, watched Phipps and the five surveyors prepare their gear, including the tranquilizer guns. A very tall surveyor with bushy blond hair shoved down his hard hat and glared in Professor Fauna’s direction.
“Mr. Milton, Mr. Edmund, I don’t understand,” Sam said. “Capture them? Kill them? What about our live broadcast? The first confirmed sighting of Bigfoot! Think of the ratings!”
Edmund laughed. “Hah! Ratings? Who cares about that? Our aim was to locate and capture them, not share them with the world. You won’t be telling anyone about what you’ve seen here. Have you read the nondisclosure agreement you signed? It was very thorough.”
“Try telling anyone what color socks you’re wearing today,” Milton said through a mouthful of cookies. “Our lawyers will sue you so ruthlessly your children’s children will be destitute.”
“But we’re a news station! Why did you send us here if you don’t want it broadcast?”
“Fool!” Milton sneered. “The same reason we hired half the Bigfoot hunters and documentarians in the country. The good thing about reporters is that they can be excellent at finding the truth.”
“And the bad thing about reporters,” Edmund added, “is that then they want to share it. That is unacceptable. And that is why we started this little news network, so we can only share as much truth as we want people to know. You will not broadcast any encounter with the Bigfeet.”
“They are sasquatch!” Fauna shouted again, though he was being ignored even more than before, if that was possible. “They are not—” His words were cut short as a large hand was clamped over his mouth. He looked around frantically in an attempt to figure out who was muffling him, but he couldn’t see whoever it was. The surveyors were still walking around the site, carrying their tranquilizer guns.
“Catching those Bigfoots is all we care about,” Milton said. “That is why we entered into that contract with those credulous Indians. Because once we level the whole forest, the Bigfoots will have nowhere to hide.”
“Bigfeet,” his brother corrected him.
“No, Edmund, I’m rather sure it’s Bigfoots.”
“But . . . but why?” Sam Brounsnout asked.
“But why?” Edmund mimicked him. “It is not for you to ask why. We pay, you obey. Those are the rules.”
Sam stared at the brothers in disbelief.
Whoever had clamped a hand over Professor Fauna’s mouth was now dragging him, quietly, toward the forest. The surveyors barely noticed, and the Schmokes didn’t notice at all. The professor considered trying to shout for help—except that someone seemed to be kidnapping him from his kidnappers. Which he figured was a good thing? Or was it? He wasn’t entirely—
“Don’t worry, Mito,” a voice whispered into his ear. “I recorded it all the traditional Indian way—on my phone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As Professor Fauna was dragged out of sight, the Schmokes drank their afternoon tea, while Phipps and four heavily muscled surveyors loaded themselves and their guns into the surveyors’ truck.
Sam Brounsnout stood still as a Douglas fir, lost in thought. What would Walter Cronkite have done? he as
ked himself.
Then, a light went on in the young producer’s brain. He set his jaw, straightened his back, stepped up into the news van, and closed the door behind him.
The sound of the door slamming and the click of its lock caught the attention of Milton and Edmund Schmoke. They watched as the satellite dish on top of the vehicle began rising into position.
“What is happening, Edmund?” Milton cried.
“He is preparing to broadcast!” Edmund cried back.
“We must stop him! No news is good news! Where are our muscle monkeys?” Milton shouted. “Phipps! Where have you and our leg-breaking goons gone off to?”
There was no reply, of course. Phipps and the burly brutes, now heavily armed, had already roared off in the truck.
Edmund banged on the door of the van. “Brounsnout, open this door or we shall terminate your employment immediately.”
“In other words, you’re fired!” Milton shouted.
A window near the top of the van opened briefly.
“I don’t care!” the producer called down to them. “I went to journalism school! I want to bring the world the truth! The whole planet is gonna see Bigfoot! And you two can kiss my snout!” He slammed the window shut. Then he opened it again, just long enough to crow, “Stay tuned!” Then he slammed it shut again.
As the window clicked closed, the two brothers stared at each other.
“I thought you said he would do anything for money,” Milton said.
“He had been working at Ferret News before he got this job, so I just figured . . . ,” Edmund mumbled. He brought out a gold-plated smartphone and logged on to the SNERT website. The image of Grace Goodwind’s perfectly made-up face filled the screen:
“Grace Goodwind reporting live from the tribal lands of the . . . where are we again, Fabio? Oh, right . . . live from the tribal lands of the Muckleshoot Indian Nation in the Pacific Northwest. Exciting breaking news! I, Grace Goodwind, of the Schmoke News, Entertainment, and Retail Television network, am about to prove beyond any doubt that a creature from dumb old myths and stories is actually REAL!”
