My Life as Crocodile Junk Food

by Bill Myers

  Dad and Mr. Rodriguez were a little disappointed that we didn’t want to talk to the village kids upriver. They tried to cover it up, but you could tell. It wasn’t that I didn’t love God and all that, but talking to total strangers about Him, well, it just wasn’t my style.

  When Jamie brought up the caves, his dad hesitated a moment, but finally gave his permission. “Just go to the safe ones,” he stressed. “Stay away from the ceremonial ones.”

  “Sure,” Jamie agreed. “No sweat.”

  “Ceremonial ones?” I asked as we headed back to our room to get ready for bed.

  “Yeah, weird stuff happens around them. It’s best foreigners stay away.”

  “What do you mean, ‘weird’?”

  “You know . . .” he hopped into his bed and began pulling the mosquito netting down around him. “Demons, spirits—that kinda stuff. They’re everywhere. Well, good night, Wally. Sweet dreams.”

  SWEET DREAMS!? Fat chance!

  In order to dream you have to sleep. And, at the moment, sleep was not at the top of my list. Other than the spiders, snakes, and cockroaches, I now had to worry about “spirits”! No way was I going to sleep. At least not right away. I planned to put it off for a little while . . . like maybe for the rest of my trip!

  After a few minutes, they shut down the generator outside, and all the lights in the village went out. I mean all. It got dark . . . real dark.

  I reached over and pulled Ol’ Betsy in closer. (Hey, some kids have teddy bears, I have my laptop.) I opened the lid, turned on a switch, and waited for the screen to light up. Ah, there it was, that wonderful, comforting, blue-green glow. Maybe a little superhero story would help me relax. Let’s see . . .

  “RING-RING, RING-RING!”

  Techno Boy hops out of his luxurious bath of 30-weight motor oil, rolls on his tank-tread feet across the white carpet (sorry about the stains, Mom), and plugs his finger into the nearest telephone outlet.

  “Hello?” he answers.

  “Knock, knock,” a voice shouts.

  “What?”

  “Knock, knock,” the voice repeats.

  “Who’s there?” our hero asks puzzled.

  “Idaho.”

  “Idaho who?”

  “Idahon’t want to tell you this, but we’re in a heap of trouble!”

  Suddenly, the voice on the other end breaks into uncontrollable laughter.

  “Mr. Mayor?” Techno Boy cries, “Mr. Mayor, is that you?!”

  “Ho-ho...Ha-ha...hee-hee...”

  “Mr. Mayor, get a grip on yourself!”

  “I’m sorry, Techno Boy, it’s just that, ho-ho-ha-ha-ha, we’ve been invaded by creatures from outer space. They’re zapping our entire planet with a comedy beam!”

  “A comedy beam?” Techno Boy cries.

  “You’re joking!”

  “Of course.” The mayor laughs.

  “Everybody’s joking! That’s the problem. We can’t help ourselves. Hee-hee-hee. Say, did you hear about the woman who swallowed a roll of film just to see what would develop? Haa-haa-haa-ho-ho.”

  “Mr. Mayor! Mr. Mayor!!”

  “I’m sorry, Techno Boy, hee-hee-ho-ho, there’s nothing we can do. But the beam only affects human minds, not printed circuits. And since you’re half computer, you are the only one who can save the day. Say, what’s black and white and red all over?”

  “What’s that, Sir?”

  “A blushing penguin! Ho-ho-ho-ho. Hurry, Techno Boy, it’s getting worse! By the way, did you know that last night I dreamed I shot an elephant in my pajamas?”

  “I’m hanging up now, Sir.”

  “How he got in my pajamas, I’ll never know! Har-har-har...”

  “Good-bye, Sir.” Techno Boy unplugs his finger from the outlet.

  Ever since that fiery rocket crash when the government rebuilt his body using rubber bands, paper clips, and any top-secret computer equipment lying around (plus spare parts from some general’s 1974 Buick), Techno Boy had dedicated his superpowers to Truth and Justice.

  But this...How can Techno Boy possibly fight space creatures with comedy beams and——

  “Greetings, Earthling.”

  His ultrasonic ears pick up a radio transmission tuned to his exact frequency.

  “Resistance is futile,” the voice says. “Turn yourself over to us, and we will put you to good use——perhaps as a coffeepot or microwave oven.”

  Quicker than you can say “This is definitely one of Wally’s weirdest stories,” Techno Boy drops into first gear, lays a patch of rubber on Mom’s carpet, and roars out the door.

  Outside, it’s worse than he feared. The entire planet is bathed in a light greener than the mold on your sandwich after leaving it in your locker over spring break. Everyone’s out in the street wearing lamp shades, sticking pencils up their noses, and telling “knock, knock” jokes.

  Above them hovers the menacing spaceship shooting out its dastardly beam.

  “Hey, Techno Boy, why do elephants paint their toenails red?”

  Our hero swivels around on his ball-bearing hips to see Linda Lottahype, TV reporter for KRUD-TV (and part-time encyclopedia salesperson). Techno Boy is surprised to notice that this older woman of great seriousness (and several layers of makeup) is wearing a party hat and blowing a noisemaker.

  “Ms. Lottahype!” Techno Boy cries. “Not you, too?”

  “We’re all under their power.” She giggles. “But you didn’t answer my question. Why do elephants paint their toenails red?”

  “I don’t know.” Our hero sighs as he ducks the noisemaker she keeps blowing into his face. “Why do elephants paint their toenails red?”

  “To hide in cherry trees! Ha-ha-ha!”

  “No offense, Ms. Lottahype, but that’s the dumbest joke I’ve ever——”

  “Hey,” she interrupts, “have you ever seen an elephant in a cherry tree?”

  “Well, no, but——”

  “Then, painting their toenails works!”

  The poor lady is about to split a gut. She doubles over in laughter, barely able to breathe.

  “Ms. Lottahype, Ms. Lottahype, are you okay?”

  “Techno Boy, you’ve gotta help us,” she gasps. “You’ve gotta——”

  Suddenly, they are interrupted by a loud buzzing. But this is no party noisemaker. This is a giant tractor beam pulling them off the ground and toward the spacecraft. And not just them. Every citizen in the town is being lifted into the air and sucked toward the giant spaceship.

  Quickly, Techno Boy flips through the channels in his channel-selector brain. At one time he could only pick up stations as far as Toledo, but now that he has installed cable, he can pick up anything, anywhere (well, except for MTV——after all, he does have some taste).

  It’s just as he suspected. It’s happening everywhere. Every town has a spaceship above it. Every citizen of every city is being taken prisoner. They’re all floating hundreds of feet in the air and being drawn closer and closer into the ships’ monstrous bellies.

  What will our microchip marvel do? How will he defeat this formidable foe? How can he make the world a safer, saner (but probably not as funny) place to live?

  Stay tuned, dear reader. As soon as I get that figured out, I’ll be getting back to you.

  “You didn’t tell me it was going to rain!” I shouted as the water pounded upon my head and shoulders.

  “Why do you think they call it a rain forest?” Jamie shouted back.

  “They should call it a waterfall forest! This is crazy!”

  The rain poured so hard and thick it was almost impossible to breathe. It was like standing in my bathroom shower and looking straight up into the nozzle (without, of course, the usual pounding on the door by my sister to hurry . . . or Burt and Brock flushing the toilet to cut back on the cold water pressure so I’d fry).

  We’d been walking (or sloshing) for about two hours. And the jungle was just as incredible now as when we started. . . .

  First, there
were the smells. One minute, it was sweeter than when Dad overuses the air freshener in the bathroom—the next, more rotten than my gym socks after five days of nonstop action.

  Then, there were the sounds. When it wasn’t raining (all twenty seconds’ worth), we could hear amazing bird calls and the screaming of monkeys high in the treetops. We could only hear them; we could never see them.

  And, speaking of seeing . . . the trees towered hundreds of feet over our heads. Long vines hung from the branches and huge ferns grew from the ground. There were lots of weird-looking berries and flowers. And, at one place on the path, we stopped to watch a thousand yellow and green butterflies fluttering their wings like a giant, living carpet.

  But that was only the beginning. . . .

  “Wally, hold up a minute!”

  I looked down. A snake no bigger than a giant worm wiggled across the path in front of me.

  “No biggie,” I said, kneeling down for a closer look. After a couple of hours in the forest I figured I was like an expert. Besides, it was so small. What could it possibly do to me?

  “What’s it called?” I asked.

  “A ‘Ten Stepper.’”

  “Oh, really?” I said, leaning in for a closer look. “Why’s that?”

  “’Cause after it bites you, you can only run ten steps before dying.”

  “Augh!” I jumped back and grabbed a nearby vine to keep my balance. At least, I thought it was a vine. But vines aren’t supposed to squirm and wiggle.

  “Uh, Wally . . . that’s a baby boa you’re hanging on to.”

  “AUGH!” I screamed again, letting go of the snake and stumbling backward into a thicket of ferns.

  “Wally, I wouldn’t go in there if I were—”

  But he was too late. My famous McDoogle grace had already kicked into gear. I had fallen and was now lying spread-eagle on my back staring straight up into . . .

  “A Martian!” I screamed. “It’s a Martian!”

  The outer-space alien rose to its feet and brandished its deadly claws. Its mutant ears stuck straight out, and its long black mouth opened and closed in eager anticipation. I was petrified . . . and a little put out with God. I mean, if I was going to be kidnapped by space creatures, why couldn’t it be at home where I could at least get it on videotape and maybe grab a snack for the road?

  The monster lunged toward me.

  Suddenly, Jamie appeared. He hit the alien hard with a rotten log. The creature went flying. Before it had a chance to get back to its feet and draw its ray gun, Jamie hit it again, then again.

  “Get outta here! Shoo! Go home! Go home!”

  The alien finally turned and lumbered off— no doubt to get reinforcements back at its spaceship.

  “You okay?” Jamie asked as he helped me to my feet.

  “Wow!” I gasped.

  “Stupid anteaters.”

  “Anteater?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they’re all over the place.”

  “Anteaters?”

  Jamie nodded again.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and realized I better cut back on writing my little fantasies—they were definitely having an effect on me.

  “Hey, check it out,” Jamie said. “Look at all the bat droppings on the ground.”

  “Bat droppings?” I repeated.

  “Yeah, that means there’s a major cave right around here.”

  “What do caves have to do with bats?”

  “That’s where bats live.”

  “Bats live where we’re going?” I asked.

  “Sure, thousands of ’em—come on.”

  I threw a longing look back to where the anteater had run off. Maybe being abducted by an alien space creature wasn’t such a bad deal after all.

  Chapter 3

  Hello in There . . .

  Suddenly, the entrance to the cave appeared. With all the ferns and trees and vines, you wouldn’t even have seen it . . . except for the bat droppings all around—and the trampled mud.

  “Looks like shoe prints,” Jamie said as he stooped down to examine the soggy dirt. “Lots of ’em.”

  “Human?” I asked nervously. Somehow I figured bats didn’t wear Reeboks, but I wasn’t so sure about those spirit things.

  “Of course, ‘human,’” Jamie said. “C’mon.” He pulled a flashlight out of his backback and started toward the cave.

  I wanted to follow, but my legs weren’t exactly in the mood. It probably had something to do with the way my knees were knocking. “Uh . . . Jamie? . . .”

  He turned back to me.

  “About those bats . . . uh, they don’t, like, hurt people, do they?”

  “Not unless they’re vampires.”

  I broke into a grin. “Yeah, right . . .”

  He wasn’t grinning back.

  “Come on,” I laughed, “there’s no such thing as vampires.”

  Still no grin.

  “Are there?”

  Jamie shrugged. “Not like in the movies, but there are some small bats that bite animals and suck their blood.”

  I swallowed hard and peered into the cave. “You think there are any in there?”

  “Nah,” he said, turning and entering.

  I sighed in relief.

  “The evil spirits scare ’em away.”

  “Now cut that out!” I cried as he broke out laughing.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  The first thing I noticed when we were inside was the smell. It reminded me of something that had died . . . in an outhouse . . . smothered in rotten eggs . . . and covered with a generous layer of Limburger cheese. (Either that or my little sister’s cooking. It was hard to tell the difference.)

  In any case, it was so strong that it over- loaded my nose and made me start to sneeze. “Ah . . . Ahh . . . AHH-CHOO!” Then again, “Ah . . .Ahh . . . AHH-CHOO!” And again, “AH-CHOO!”

  Between sneezes, I noticed a few things— like how cold the cave was. It was a good ten to twenty degrees cooler inside than out.

  I also noticed the rain . . . or lack of it. Everything was very, very quiet. Well, except for the occasional AH-CHOOs!

  Finally, I noticed the floor of the cave. It was moving. Strange. There was no stream. No wind blowing sand around. So why was the floor movi— “Insects,” Jamie answered, reading my mind as he flashed the light down on them. “Mostly insects and grubs . . . though it looks like there are a few rats around, too.”

  “Okay,” I said, turning back to the entrance, “that wraps up my cave exploring. AH-CHOO!”

  “Wait a minute,” he said, grabbing my arm. “Look at that!”

  “Jamie, listen, I, uh . . . I think I can catch most of this kind of stuff back home on the Discovery Channel, so if you don’t mind—”

  “Over there,” Jamie said, shining his light beam through the darkness.

  Common sense told me to keep going. To run out of there and catch the next bus home . . .

  Home: where the only bats you see belong to baseball teams.

  Home: where you can always find a nice, dry, AH-CHOO! Kleenex.

  Home: where the only time the floor moves is when you have a good, old-fashioned, dependable earthquake.

  That’s what common sense said. So, of course, I ignored it and turned to see what Jamie was pointing to. At first I saw nothing. Then I noticed it. A tiny reflection at the far end of the cave.

  “C’mon,” Jamie whispered.

  “What about the bugs?”

  “Just slide your feet—most of ’em will get out of your way.”

  “Most of ’em?” I asked. “What about the rest of them?”

  But he’d already started off.

  “Jamie! Jamie, wait for—AH-CHOO!” I managed to grab his sleeve and began scooting my feet behind him. Already I could hear some crunches and squishes, but I had no desire to look down and see exactly what was crunching and squishing. Somehow I already knew there were going to be lots of little bug families heartbroken that Daddy Bug wouldn’t be making it home that nig
ht.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see large stone pillars rising from the floor. “Stalagmites,” Mr. Reptenson, my science teacher, called them. That meant that above them there would be . . . I looked up. Yup, there they were— long, pointed “stalactites.” Only, like the floor, these little icicles of rock were moving.

  “Uh, Jamie . . .”

  “It’s just the bats,” he interrupted. “They sleep during the day. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe.”

  Sure. What did I have to worry about? Living floors, living ceilings, not-so-living spirits, mysterious glowing objects in pitch-black caves. Sounded perfectly safe to me.

  We were closer to the reflection now. Much closer.

  “It’s a sheet of plastic,” Jamie half whispered. “But what’s a sheet of plastic doing—”

  “STRAW-EEEK!!”

  I leaped out of my skin and onto Jamie’s back.

  “STRAW-EEEK!! STRAW-EEEK!!”

  “It’s a guacharo,” Jamie said, trying to pry me loose. “Wally, will you get off? Wally. WALLY!” But it did no good. I stuck to him tighter than month-old chewing gum under a desk. “It’s just an oil bird, Wally. Will you please get off? We frightened him a little, that’s all.”

  “We frightened him?” I cried. “What does he think he did to us?”

  “Wally . . . please . . .”

  I finally climbed back down to the ground.

  We arrived at the plastic, and Jamie carefully pulled it aside. “Look at that!”

  I leaned forward. “AH-CHOO!” It was a pile of something, but I couldn’t make it out. “What is it?”

  He bent down for a closer look. “Skins . . .”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Poachers.”

  “Mind if we talk English?”

  “These are jaguar skins. Somebody’s hiding them here.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s illegal to hunt animals. It’s like a national law.”

  I started to understand. “So somebody’s . . . somebody’s . . . AHH-CHOO! . . .”

  Jamie finished my thought. “Some poachers are killing jaguars for their skins and storing them in here.”

  “You mean this is like a bad guy’s hideout?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Great,” I muttered, “just great.” I was about to ask Jamie if this was a typical day in his life or if he was just showing me a good time, when suddenly we heard: