“Waterloo” by ABBA blasted from a speaker in Uncle Pogo’s false leg. ABBA was the first artist on Pogo’s alphabetical playlist, and since it had been triggered by all the bouncing around of Nelson’s backpack, ABBA’s greatest hits would now provide the sound track to their stampede across the dusty orange plains toward the dark green strip of jungle on the horizon.
Nelson gripped the shaggy rust-brown hair of the bull with all his might. He was at the head of the herd, which for some reason had fallen into a perfect arrowhead formation, like a flock of geese. Above them Hoot sailed through the sky with enviable ease, the Brazilian sun glinting off his golden feathers in eyeball-scorching flashes of light.
Nelson might have been frightened of falling off, but the deep feeling of certainty that they were headed toward his sister far outweighed any fear that might be bubbling below. Brian’s warning about the danger ahead that had at first seemed so real and scary was being gradually broken into tiny insignificant pieces by this exhilarating ride. With his left hand gripping the bull’s coat as tightly as possible, Nelson reached up with his right and grasped the pendant that bounced against his chest. A howl came out of him as if from nowhere.
Not a scary or sad howl, but a loud and happy howl. A sound that said to the world, “I am going to save my sister!” And apart from Spike, who was feeling weak from all the water leaking out of him, the rest of the monsters howled too. Great hoots and hollers competed with the deafening rumble of charging cattle. Even the cows joined in with the happy feeling and mooed for all they were worth. The sun was beginning to set behind the trees dead ahead. By the time ABBA had gotten around to singing “SOS” Nelson and his monsters had reached the edge of the jungle and the only light left in the sky was the ever-darkening remnants of a pink and gold sunset.