Marge hadn’t forgotten about Vance and TimJim at all. In fact she’d been so concerned about them she’d gone off to round up the cavalry. “The boys are right this way,” she was telling the other guards. “I guarantee you they’re up to no good.”
I was right out in the open. There was nowhere for me to hide. The moment Marge saw me, her gaze hardened. “Teddy!” she snarled. “I should have known you’d be involved in this!”
“Involved in what?” I asked innocently. “I just dropped by to see the sharks.”
I started to back away, but Marge snagged the hood of my winter jacket. “Where are your pals?” she demanded.
I tried to sound as convincing as possible. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m here by myself.”
“Don’t give me that,” Marge snapped. “There were three suspicious teenagers loitering in here a few minutes ago. When I asked what they were doing, they said they were waiting for a friend. And now you’re here. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the connection.”
“Obviously not,” I agreed. “You did it.”
It was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn’t help myself. Behind Marge, two of her deputies snickered.
Marge’s brow furrowed angrily. “What are you hoodlums up to?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m not here with anyone else. I’m on my way to my mom’s office to do my homework and I just stopped in here for a minute. I swear that’s the truth.”
I sold the lie pretty well. The other security guards, who didn’t share Marge’s innate distrust of me, seemed willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. Even Marge wavered slightly.
“Look around,” I continued. “Whoever those teenagers were, they’re not here anymore. If they were up to something, you obviously scared them off.”
Marge cased the exhibit. A slight smile crossed her lips. “Yeah,” she said proudly. “I suppose I did.”
“So can I go, then?” I asked.
Marge took another look around Shark Odyssey. Nothing bad was happening. “All right,” she said, letting go of my jacket. “But I’m still gonna keep an eye on you.”
At which point a tourist gave a bloodcurdling scream. “There’s an arm in the tank!” she shrieked. “A human arm!”
The security guards reacted with alarm, but Marge instantly suspected the truth. “Teddy!” she roared, and lunged for me again.
I sidestepped her with an inch to spare. The security guards blocked my escape, though. I had no choice but to spin around and race into the exhibit.
Marge launched herself after me. “Get him!” she ordered, and her guards dutifully obeyed, falling in behind. And as if five security guards weren’t enough, Marge whipped out her radio and called for backup. “We have a red alert at Shark Odyssey!” she announced, so gravely that one might have thought she’d caught some terrorists armed with a nuclear weapon. “Teddy Fitzroy has really done it this time. I need all available personnel to report here ASAP.”
I raced past the woman who had sounded the alarm. She was with her family, pointing in horror at the center of the tank, where the fake arm now bobbed amongst the dorsal fins. Her husband had gone green with disgust. Their three children, meanwhile, were thrilled, clambering up on the railing to see if they could spot any other body parts.
“I think I’m going to faint,” the mother gasped.
“Just stay calm,” her husband said. “It can’t really be an arm. It must be some debris that simply looks like an arm. . . .”
“There’s a foot, too!” his daughter shouted excitedly. “I see a foot!”
The mother made a weak little noise and passed out.
I continued down the ramp, circling the shark tank. Other guests, alerted by the family’s cries, now spotted the body parts too. The plastic arm and foot had taken on water and were sinking slowly through the center of the tank. If anyone had really taken the time to look closely at them, they could have easily realized they were fake. For one thing, both body parts ended in perfectly straight lines, whereas if a shark had truly wrenched them off a human, they would have ended in torn flesh and shards of bone. But no one was taking the time to look closely. Instead they were gasping in dismay or slapping their hands over their children’s eyes or bolting for the bathroom to throw up. As usual when there was a crisis, many guests’ immediate reaction was to record the event on their phones; thus, instead of watching everything clearly unfolding right before their eyes, they were watching it on miniature screens with poor resolution.
Marge and the security guards pounded down the ramp after me. I had hoped that at least one of them, faced with a potential shark attack, would have thought to look for the victim. Instead they were blindly following orders and chasing me.
Normally, Marge, who was easily a hundred pounds overweight, would have been trailing the pack. But since we were heading downward, she had inertia working for her. Not only was Marge leading the attack, but she was actually gaining speed and closing the gap on me. Even more frightening, she wasn’t in complete control of her body. She was in more of a barely controlled fall, her legs racing to keep up with the rest of her as she hurtled down the ramp. I began to worry that instead of catching me, she’d trample me flat.
Meanwhile, inside the tank, the sharks still hadn’t even noticed the body parts. They continued swimming about without so much as a glance at them, exactly as I’d guessed they would.
Except for Taurus, who lightly nudged the fake arm with his nose. I don’t know if the bull actively homed in on the arm or accidentally swam into it, but whatever the case, the panicked tourists immediately assumed he had just taken another nibble of human flesh. The air was suddenly filled with screams and shrieks, mingled with a few distinct wet splats: the telltale sounds of vomit hitting the ground.
I was quickly closing in on the glass tube. This was always the most crowded part of the exhibit, and today was no exception. Even on a slow day the tube was jammed with guests. Most were staring in shock at the descending body parts or riveted to their phone’s camera screens. As promised, Vance and TimJim had stationed themselves here for the show. They were laughing hysterically at all the displays of disgust and horror around them.
Large Marge was right behind me, her legs pinwheeling madly. In the reflection of the aquarium glass I saw her outstretched hands closing in on my neck.
There was a very large patch of fresh vomit at the bottom of the ramp, right at the tube’s entrance. I leaped over it, but Marge wasn’t quite so agile. She planted her foot in it and skidded, out of control, into the tube. The tourists were all so focused on the events in the shark tank that even Marge’s yelps of fear didn’t grab their attention until it was too late. Marge caromed off the safety rail and bowled over a dozen tourists like tenpins. They all went down in a huge, groaning pile of humanity.
Fortunately, this blocked the tube behind me. The other security guards had to gingerly maneuver around the sprawled-out tourists, which slowed them down long enough for me to get some distance on them. I wove through the crowded tube and slipped past Vance and TimJim.
Marge, struggling to worm her way out from under the pile of tourists, howled when she spotted the bullies. “There’s his friends!” she shouted to her underlings. “Get them! Get them all!”
Vance and TimJim gulped in alarm, then raced after me.
Despite all the chaos around them, a great number of tourists in the tube were still watching the shark tank. As luck would have it, the disembodied arm had drifted right toward the tube and now settled atop it with a resounding thunk, which provoked another round of gasps, shrieks, and puking.
I shoved my way to the end of the tube and bolted for the exit. I’d gained ground on the guards, but now I had Vance and TimJim after me.
“You idiot!” Vance barked. “You led the cops right to us!”
“They were already coming for you!” I shot back. “They knew you were up to something!”
“If we get busted for this, I’m gonna kill you,” Vance threatened.
We burst through the exit doors, only to find a phalanx of security guards racing toward Shark Odyssey, responding to Marge’s call for backup. As the only kid who lived at FunJungle, I was well-known enough for all of them to recognize me at once.
“There he is!” one guard shouted, and everyone veered toward me.
Vance immediately showed his true colors and sacrificed me to save his own skin. He lashed out a leg and sent me sprawling. “We’re not with him!” Vance declared. “He’s the one who did it!”
His ploy might have worked if TimJim had been intelligent enough to play along. But instead of stopping to help implicate me, they kept running.
The guards immediately suspected something was up. “Don’t believe them! They’re all in cahoots!” the leader yelled, and part of the group split off after them. Vance had no choice but to flee as well. The bullies all raced toward the entrance of the park.
As the remainder of the guards bore down on me, I scrambled to my feet, dodged a few hands, and sprinted away.
Large Marge and the other guards emerged from Shark Odyssey just in time to take up the chase as well. Marge was now quite rumpled from her tumble in the shark tube—and there was a huge splotch of someone else’s vomit covering the front of her uniform. She was as angry as I’d ever seen her. I half expected fire to burst from her eyes. “Whoever catches that kid gets a raise!” she bellowed.
I ran as fast as I could down Adventure Road, heading for the rear gate. I shot past the swim-with-the-dolphins area (temporarily closed due to frigid weather) and the Amazing Skyway boarding station.
It was getting near to closing time, and with night coming, most park guests were heading the opposite direction, toward the front gates. I zigzagged through them, topping a small rise, and the Land Down Under came into view. Ahead of me another group of guards blocked the way to the rear exit. For a few frightening moments I thought I was trapped—but then a new plan to escape the security squad came to me. I veered toward Australia.
For most of FunJungle’s existence, the Land Down Under had been the least-visited part of the park. Like the real Australia, it was remote and filled with animals people had never heard of. Creatures like bettongs, bandicoots, numbats, and quokkas. True, there were also a lot of kangaroos, which people liked well enough, but after walking for miles around the rest of the park, few guests felt like taking a fifteen-minute detour to see them. However, in the last few weeks the Land Down Under had become the most popular part of FunJungle, thanks to another of J.J. McCracken’s schemes to boost attendance.
FunJungle had acquired a koala.
Although zoos and aquariums are popular throughout the world, there are very few animals that can draw big crowds on their own. Giant pandas are probably the most notable for this, but koalas are a close second. For one thing, they’re adorable—they’re basically living teddy bears—and for another, they’re quite rare to see. Australia is very protective of its koalas and doesn’t allow many to be taken out of the country, so only a few zoos have them.
J.J. McCracken, however, was rich and influential enough to get anything he wanted. He owned several businesses in Australia and was friends with a lot of politicians there. So he twisted a few arms, dashed off a five-million-dollar check for koala conservation (tax-deductible, of course)—and within less than a week a koala was on its way to FunJungle.
There was only one catch: The Australians hadn’t sold the koala to the park; they’d merely lent the koala for six months as a “goodwill ambassador.” In truth this wasn’t unusual. Every giant panda in the United States has technically only been lent out by China. Australia had done it plenty of times for koalas. However, J.J. was fine with this. He figured that having the koala for a limited time made its arrival more of an event. And so FunJungle’s mighty marketing machine swung into action.
The very first thing was to change the koala’s name. The koala had originally been christened Goongiwarri, which was an Aboriginal Australian word for “swamp,” but J.J. McCracken claimed it sounded “like an elephant passing gas.” Thousands of dollars worth of marketing research indicated that park goers preferred animal names that were short, cute, and alliterative—and thus Goongiwarri was rechristened Kazoo.
Next a deluge of press releases went out. Within a day the story was all over the national news. In FunJungle-mad Texas, it was the lead story in every major market.
A large section of the Land Down Under suddenly became KoalaVille, the center of which was a temporary koala exhibit built in just three days. (Luckily, koalas don’t need much room, so the exhibit didn’t have to be very big.) But Kazoo’s habitat was puny compared to the most significant part of KoalaVille: the Kazoo merchandise area. A huge tent, designed to look like it was part of some exotic bazaar (never mind that bazaars were Middle Eastern, not Australian) was erected and filled with anything you could slap a koala’s photo on: T-shirts, sweatshirts, coffee mugs, backpacks, license plate frames, beach towels, posters, pennants, jigsaw puzzles, plates, napkins, and of course commemorative boomerangs. (The photo on the items wasn’t even Kazoo. It was just some random photo that Pete Thwacker, the head of PR, had found on the Internet, but as Pete explained, “No one will notice. All koalas look exactly the same.”) The bazaar covered an entire acre. There were four aisles of Kazoo the Koala plush toys alone.
The marketing push worked. People who’d canceled their Christmas trips to FunJungle now rebooked. And attendance numbers, which had been dismal, rebounded a bit. People who lived within a day’s drive of FunJungle streamed back to see the new arrival and snapped up plenty of koala merchandise to boot. Given the time of year, the crowds weren’t massive, but attendance predictions for the next few months were beginning to look up, thanks to Kazoo.
Therefore, as closing time approached, lots of people were streaming out of KoalaVille. It seemed as though half that day’s visitors were there. I plunged in, fighting my way against the tide of humanity like a salmon swimming upstream. The security guards quickly lost sight of me amongst all the tourists.
I ducked into the bazaar, veered down an aisle of T-shirts, and slipped around the back of Kazoo’s exhibit. There was a door marked with a sign that read AUTHORIZED KOALA PERSONNEL ONLY. I pounded on the door but got no answer.
Instead of a standard keyhole, the door had a coded entry keypad. Every door at FunJungle was like this. Each had a different code, which was changed almost every day for security purposes. However, there was also one secret code that worked on every door: J.J. McCracken’s personal code. He’d shared it with Summer, who had shared it with me in a moment of crisis. I hadn’t used it since, figuring it was only for emergencies, but at the moment this seemed to qualify. I could hear Large Marge storming through the bazaar close by.
I typed in J.J.’s code, hoping it hadn’t been changed in the last six months.
The door clicked open.
I stepped through it into the koala keepers’ office.
The room wasn’t very big. The koala exhibit had been built so quickly that FunJungle had almost forgotten to add the keepers’ office in the first place. There was a tiny desk and a folding chair, but the space was mostly used for storage. Jugs of water were stacked against one wall. Sheaves of eucalyptus lined another. The desk was piled with books and magazines. A door on the other side of the office led into Kazoo’s habitat.
The door had a window in it, and I peered through this. Kazoo’s room wasn’t a whole lot larger than the office—about twelve feet square. The rest of the exhibit was taken up by the viewing area, which arced around Kazoo’s habitat like a horseshoe. Kazoo’s habitat was filled with eucalyptus trees. I spotted the koala in the central one, asleep as usual. Beyond him, through the foliage, I could see through the glass into the viewing area.
Guests were lined up at the glass, pressing their noses against it for a glimpse of Kazoo. Beyond them I could see the keeper on duty.
It was Kristi Sullivan.
I heaved a sigh of relief. Kristi was one of my favorite keepers at FunJungle. She’d only been hired a few weeks before, as part of the new staff for Kazoo. She was his main keeper, meaning she was on duty most days, but since koalas don’t do a whole lot, much of her job involved standing at a podium in the viewing area and dispensing fascinating koala facts over a loudspeaker. As Kristi was young, pretty, and extremely perky, a lot of the guests ended up watching her more than the koala. (Especially the male guests, Mom liked to point out.) Kristi had always been nice to me. I was hoping she wouldn’t have to get involved in my current crisis, but if she did, I was sure she’d back me rather than Marge.
At the moment it was four forty-five, and Kristi was trying to herd the tourists out of the viewing area. Kazoo’s habitat was actually supposed to close at four thirty, a half hour before most other exhibits, because it was a long way to the park gate. (In the winter, FunJungle closed two hours earlier than it did in summer, on account of darkness.) However, Kristi never had the heart to just kick the tourists out, so it generally took her fifteen minutes to gently coax everyone out the door. “Go on now,” I could hear her teasing the stragglers. “If you folks don’t get out of here, I’ll have to lock you in for the night.”
Behind me, outside the keepers’ office, I could hear the far less sweet sound of Large Marge shouting at her underlings. “He must be around here somewhere, you morons! Just find him!”
Kristi shooed the last tourists out of the viewing area and then slipped out after them.
There was no lock on the door that led into Kazoo’s habitat; the one on the office door was assumed to be security enough. I slipped inside the exhibit.
The room was extremely warm and smelled like cough drops. The heat was jacked up to simulate the hot, dry climate Kazoo was used to—and eucalyptus is a main ingredient in lozenges. Since koalas eat nothing but eucalyptus, they tend to smell a bit like cough drops too.
Kazoo didn’t flinch at the sound of my entry. This wasn’t a surprise, though. If there’s one thing koalas are good at, it’s sleeping. Even sloths are more active than koalas.
This is because koalas have a really lousy diet. Eucalyptus leaves are chock-full of chemicals that are toxic to other animals. For a long time many scientists suspected that koalas were so lethargic because the compounds that make eucalyptus a good medicine also kept the cute little marsupials in a drugged-out haze their whole lives. But more recent research has shown that the leaves are simply so low in nutrients that koalas have almost no energy. Therefore they tend to move as little as possible—and when they do move, they often look as though they’re in slow motion. (They can move quickly when they need to, however.) They rest sixteen to eighteen hours a day and spend most of that unconscious. In fact koalas spend so little time thinking, their brains actually appear to have shrunk over the last few centuries; the koala is the only known animal whose brain only fills half of its skull.
The FunJungle keepers who cared for far more active animals always marveled at how something as sluggish as a koala could attract such crowds. Tourists would walk right past exhibits full of playful monkeys, antelope, or otters so they could crowd ten deep at Kazoo’s windows and watch him sleep. And more often than not he was tucked far back in the eucalyptus trees, so the guests couldn’t even see him well. All most people got was a glimpse of gray fur hidden among the leaves.
“They might as well be looking at lint,” a carnivore keeper had groused to me one day. “Koalas aren’t animals. They’re statues with fur.”
At the moment, however, I was perfectly fine with Kazoo being such a sound sleeper. I was never supposed to enter any animal’s habitat without permission, and I certainly didn’t need Kazoo making a racket. (Kristi had told me that koalas have a startlingly loud cry when they’re upset, though I’d never heard Kazoo make a sound.) I gave Kazoo a wide berth and tried to be as quiet as possible. I took off my backpack and hid behind a thick clump of eucalyptus.
No sooner had I done this than Large Marge burst into the viewing area. Kristi Sullivan was right on her heels.
“I told you he’s not in here,” Kristi said.
“I’d prefer to see that for myself,” Marge replied. She then stormed from one end of the viewing area to the other. The only place for me to hide out there would have been under the bench that ran along the back wall of the room, where guests could sit after getting bored of watching Kazoo sleep. Marge checked under every inch of it.
“Are you satisfied now?” Kristi asked.
Marge fixed her with a suspicious glare. “Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?”
Kristi sighed. “Because it’s closing time and I want to go home.”
Marge kept her gaze locked on the keeper. “You’re friends with Teddy, aren’t you?”
“Teddy is ten years younger than I am,” Kristi replied coldly. “I’m not friends with any twelve-year-olds. But if you’re asking do I like the kid? Then yes, I do.”
“Just as I thought,” Marge said. “I’ll need to see in your office as well.”
Kristi rolled her eyes. “You’re wasting your time. He couldn’t possibly be in there.”
“I’ll decide what’s a waste of my time and what isn’t.” Marge started out the door, then paused and stared through the glass into Kazoo’s exhibit.
I held my breath, hoping I was far back enough in the leaves to be hidden from her view.
Marge stayed frozen for several seconds. Then she raised a fist and banged on the glass. “Hey!” she shouted. “Kazoo! Wake up!”
I heaved a sigh of relief. Marge had been looking at the koala, not me.
“Stop that!” Kristi ordered. “You’re not supposed to tap on the glass! No one is!”
“Oh, pipe down,” Marge said. “Kazoo didn’t even notice. The lazy thing’s been here two weeks and I’ve never seen it awake.”
She stormed out of the viewing area. Thirty seconds later I heard her and Kristi enter the keepers’ office. Marge took her time casing that room as well, even though it was small enough to reach across. Finally I heard her warn Kristi, “If you see any sign of Teddy Fitzroy—and I mean any sign—you’d best report it to me right away. That boy caused some serious trouble today. People could’ve been hurt. And if I hear you’ve protected him, by gum, I will come down on you like a sledgehammer. Understand?”
“Sure,” Kristi said. “I understand.”
I heard Marge leave.
Then, after the door clicked shut, I heard Kristi say, “What a psycho.”
A minute later she entered the koala habitat. As her shift was almost over, it was time for her to do a final check on Kazoo. She moved quietly, doing her best not to wake the koala.
I thought about saying hello, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it without scaring the daylights out of her. After all, Kristi had no reason to suspect that I—or anyone—would be hidden in Kazoo’s exhibit. If I suddenly popped out of the eucalyptus, I’d probably give her a heart attack. Or she’d scream so loud that she’d give Kazoo a heart attack. And then I’d really be in trouble.
So I held still. Kristi’s rounds didn’t take very long anyhow. She spent less than a minute in the habitat. She simply filled a bowl with fresh drinking water, then whispered, “Nighty-night, Kazoo,” dimmed the lights, and slipped back out the door.
I listened to Kristi collecting her things in the office, planning to wait a few minutes after she left to make sure the coast was clear before going myself. However, I was wiped out from my race across FunJungle, the koala habitat was warm and cozy, and all the eucalyptus fumes made me drowsy. Before I knew it, I’d nodded off. I wasn’t even aware of it happening.
When I snapped awake again, it was almost pitch-black in the exhibit. Night had fallen. For a moment I had no idea where I was. Then everything came back to me. I checked my watch and saw it was five thirty in the evening. I’d been asleep for half an hour.
I couldn’t hear Kristi in the office anymore, and I figured that even Large Marge would have called off the hunt for me after thirty minutes. The exhibit was so dark I could barely see my own hands, let alone Kazoo.
Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly got to my feet, slipped my backpack on, and tiptoed out of the exhibit. Outside, FunJungle was dark, cold, and eerily deserted. I hurried off toward Monkey Mountain, figuring Mom would still be in her office there. There was no sign of Marge or any of the other security guards.
I couldn’t help but smile as I crossed the park, proud of myself for outwitting security and eluding capture—at least for the time being.
I had no idea that my troubles were just beginning.