Dad shot a look of betrayal at Arthur. “You tipped them off?”
Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to meet my father’s gaze. “Face the facts!” he mewled. “Teddy’s guilty!”
“Mr. Fitzroy, please step away from your son,” Bubba Stackhouse said. It was the first time I was seeing him up close. He was a big man in every way. He was at least six and a half feet tall, and his shoulders seemed four feet across. Muscles bulged under his shirt, but a large belly did too. He had a big nose, big ears, and a huge anvil jaw. Even his voice was big. It boomed and echoed inside the cave like a depth charge. “We’d like to make this as easy as possible for everyone.”
Instead of doing what Bubba asked, Dad stepped in front of me, the way a buffalo would to protect its young from predators. “Teddy hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Bubba’s muscles tensed in anger. “I don’t want to hurt you, sir, but I will have to if that’s what it takes.”
“I’m not worried about me getting hurt,” Dad replied. “I’m worried about Teddy. I don’t think there’s any need to put handcuffs on him. He’s only twelve.”
“I’ll be the judge of what’s necessary.” Marge stepped forward as well, twirling the cuffs on her finger. “Now step away from the boy.”
To my surprise, Dad complied. He suddenly shifted to the side, leaving me out in the open. Marge and Bubba loomed over me. I felt like a shrimp facing a pair of whales.
“Turn around, Theodore,” Marge said. “And put your hands behind your back.”
I looked to my father nervously, expecting him to stand up for me. Instead, to my surprise, he gave me a slight nod.
So I did exactly as Marge had asked. I turned around and put my wrists together at the base of my spine.
“Good boy,” Marge said, like I was a dog. She took a step closer, still twirling the handcuffs.
Dad suddenly sprang into action. He snatched the cuffs off Marge’s finger and, before Marge even knew what was happening, locked one around her left wrist.
“Hey!” Marge shouted.
Bubba spun toward Dad. He reflexively raised his fists . . .
And Dad snapped the other handcuff around his wrist.
Bubba grabbed for him, but as his right arm was now cuffed to Marge’s left, his reach was suddenly cut short.
Dad easily leaped out of range, then yelled, “Teddy! Let’s go!”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I bolted for the exit. Arthur Koenig lunged for me, but I easily dodged the traitor. He slammed face-first into one of the computer monitors, gave a squeal of pain, and crumpled to the floor, clutching his bloodied nose.
Dad and I raced out of the control room. Marge and Bubba charged after us, though the two of them didn’t coordinate their steps right. They crashed into each other and took out a desk full of computer equipment.
Dad led me back the way we’d come in. Behind us we could hear Marge screaming in rage and frustration. She was so angry she couldn’t even form words. Instead she sounded like a wounded animal.
“Where are we going?” I asked Dad.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m making this up as I go.”
We barged through the exit by the otter exhibit and startled a few tourists as we burst out of the landscaping—although Marge’s angry howls echoing through the tunnel scared them even more.
“Sounds like something’s escaped!” one tourist yelled, and everyone fled in fear. A few more park guests near the lion exhibit overheard them and ran as well. (Given that a tiger had escaped at Carnivore Canyon’s grand opening gala, their reactions actually made sense.)
Dad and I reached the entrance to Carnivore Canyon and found several security guards racing toward us from the center of the park. We turned toward the back gate, but guards were blocking that as well. There was only one way for us to go: For the second time in two days, I found myself running toward KoalaVille.
The number of guests fleeing Carnivore Canyon had snowballed, and the approaching phalanx of guards now confirmed everyone’s fears that an animal had escaped. Panic set in. The tourists screamed and scattered across the park, not so much seeking safety as trying to outrun all the other visitors and thus let them get picked off first.
The guards made no attempt to calm the frightened guests. Instead they charged after me and Dad.
Marge and Bubba emerged from Carnivore Canyon and joined in the chase. Bubba was a surprisingly strong man. Marge would have been like an anchor to most people, but the policeman was dragging her right along with him.
Dad and I raced past the crowded Kazoo merchandise bazaar, but then stopped short on the other side, scanning the length of the back fence.
“We shouldn’t have come this way.” Dad sounded upset with himself. “It’s a dead end.”
“So what do we do?”
“Create a diversion.” Then, at the top of his lungs, Dad yelled, “The lion’s out!”
Everyone in the bazaar started in fear, then noticed their fellow tourists panicking over at Carnivore Canyon. They dropped their koala merchandise and scattered. Within a second the entire shopping area became pandemonium. People were screaming and running everywhere. A shelf full of commemorative Kazoo snow globes toppled and shattered.
The security guards lost us in the chaos. Dad and I doubled back, using the racks of sweatshirts as cover, and circled around the koala exhibit. Despite everything, there was still a line of tourists at the door. Either they hadn’t heard the warning about the escaped lion, or they were so determined to see Kazoo that they were willing to risk being mauled to do it.
Dad and I came around the back side, hoping to find a path to freedom. Instead we found trouble.
Bubba Stackhouse was smarter than we’d thought. He’d kept an eye on us and swung around to cut us off, bringing Marge with him. They ambushed us, blocking our escape.
Dad and I had no choice but to veer into the exhibit. We bulldozed in through the exit. The teenager posted there to make sure this didn’t happen tried to chastise us, but Bubba and Marge flattened him before he could.
The exhibit was even more crowded than it had been earlier. Tourists were packed four deep at the glass, staring at the stuffed toy back in the trees. The newlyweds were still there, having spent an hour and a half patiently waiting for the fake koala to move. Kristi had resumed her post on the podium. Pete Thwacker was now with her. Apparently, the PR man had dropped by to see for himself how well his ruse was working. As always, Pete looked impeccable. His hair was perfectly combed, his teeth gleamed blindingly, and he wore a fancy suit that probably cost more than our trailer.
The crowds were too thick for Dad and me to wriggle through. We were trapped. Marge and Bubba cornered me against the glass.
“Everyone stand back!” Marge ordered. “This kid is dangerous!”
Her voice was surprisingly commanding. The crowd obediently cleared away from me, as though I were contagious.
Only Dad remained close. Once again, he placed himself between the authorities and me. “Leave my son alone,” he warned.
“If you obstruct justice again, we’ll arrest you, too,” Bubba growled. “Your son is guilty of a serious crime.”
“What crime?” Dad taunted. “It seems to me that Kazoo’s right here.” He pointed through the glass.
Bubba looked into the exhibit and gaped in surprise at the koala. Evidently, no one had informed him of Pete’s amoral cover-up.
Dad took advantage of the diversion to try and slip by with me in tow, but Bubba instinctively grabbed for us with his free hand. Dad expertly deflected it, grabbing Bubba’s wrist and twisting his arm down. Bubba, being a good old boy who’d probably had his share of fights, responded to the attack by trying to punch Dad in the face.
Unfortunately, Bubba forgot he was handcuffed to Marge. Marge had already started toward Dad, and now the force of Bubba’s powerful swing yanked her off balance. Dad darted out of the way as Marge sailed toward him. She slammed into the glass wall.
Most animal exhibits are built with extremely strong shatterproof glass, but KoalaVille had been thrown up so quickly there hadn’t been time to get it specially made. Marge hit the glass hard—and pulled Bubba along with her. The glass didn’t stand a chance against the two of them.
The enormous pane shattered into a million pieces. Marge and Bubba stumbled into the exhibit and slammed into the eucalyptus tree where fake Kazoo sat.
The koala tumbled from its perch and landed on its head.
And then Marge and Bubba fell on it.
The tourists had watched the intrusion into the exhibit in stunned silence. But now, seeing what appeared to be Kazoo’s lifeless limbs sticking out from beneath Marge and Bubba, the screaming began.
Tourists of all ages, men and women alike, completely freaked out.
“They killed Kazoo!” the bride wailed, and several dozen other people echoed her.
I stole a glance at Pete Thwacker. His normally tan skin had completely drained of color. He looked as though he’d swallowed a porcupine.
Beside him, Kristi Sullivan appeared to be laughing at his expense.
“People, please!” Pete yelled over the din. “I assure you, Kazoo is not dead!”
“He’s not moving!” the groom yelled back. “They crushed him! Oh, this is horrible!”
A few adults rushed to Kazoo’s aid and tried to pry Marge and Bubba off the prone koala. However, Marge and Bubba—neither being very spry to begin with—were tangled up together and having a great deal of trouble getting up.
Mothers and fathers tried to shield their children’s eyes from the carnage. Most of the children, however, were equally determined to see it. Other guests wept. Still others had dialed 911 and were currently being told that emergency services only responded for human emergencies, not marsupial ones. However, a majority of the tourists were using their phones to record everything that was happening. I noticed at least twenty filming the “corpse” of Kazoo.
A few more security guards burst in through the exit, preventing Dad and me from running. I’m not sure that we would have, though. The disaster unfolding before our eyes was too riveting to ignore. Even the newly arrived guards forgot about us as they saw what had happened. Apparently, none of them were aware that Kazoo was fake either. Upon seeing the flattened koala, a few broke down and cried on the spot.
Finally, with a mighty yank, one of the tourists managed to extricate the koala from beneath Marge. Or at least he extricated most of it. The head popped off, leaving the koala’s savior holding only the body of the doll. At the sight of this, more gasps and screams erupted from the crowd. The bride fainted.
The man holding the koala, however, grew enraged. He turned on Pete and Kristi, the most obvious representatives of FunJungle present. “This is a toy!” he yelled.
A new wave of gasps rippled through the room. Everyone stared at the headless, pancaked koala in shock, unsure whether or not to believe this.
For a moment Pete was at a rare loss for words, unsure whether to admit the koala was fake or claim that it was actually dead. In a panic he went with his standard gut response: lying. “It’s not a toy,” he argued weakly.
The man holding the fake koala pointed dramatically to where the head had torn free from the body. Instead of blood and guts spilling out, there was only cottony white stuffing. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t natural,” the man said.
Every head now swiveled toward Pete, who grew even paler. Kristi Sullivan, fearing the wrath of the crowd, stepped away from him and pretended to have been conned herself. “Where’s the real koala?” she demanded. “What have you done with Kazoo?”
Pete shot her a glare of betrayal, then tried to address the tourists. “Kazoo has temporarily been removed from public view . . . ,” he began.
“Without telling us?” a mother cried. “That’s reprehensible!”
“Was there ever even a real Kazoo?” the groom demanded, still trying to revive his unconscious bride. “Or was this all just a plot cooked up by FunJungle to take our money?”
Much of the crowd angrily seconded this thought.
“I assure you FunJungle has done no such thing!” Pete told them.
“Then tell us where Kazoo is!” one of the park’s own security guards demanded.
Pete started to say something, but then caught himself. I knew Pete well enough to guess that he’d been about to tell another lie—perhaps that Kazoo had been sent to a nice, relaxing koala spa for a few days to deal with the stress of being on display—but had realized that sooner or later this would be uncovered as well and that he and FunJungle would end up looking even worse than they did now.
“Where’s Kazoo?” more people demanded.
“If you have a real koala, then prove it!” the groom ordered.
“I, er, well, um . . . ,” Pete stammered. He didn’t have much practice telling people the truth. “The thing is, while Kazoo isn’t dead, he’s . . . uh . . . he’s not exactly here . . . on these premises . . . at this exact time.”
“Well, where is he?” asked the man clutching the remnants of the emergency backup koala.
“He’s been kidnapped,” said Large Marge.
The crowd gasped again and swung back to face her. She was now on her feet, pink from embarrassment and exertion, brushing glass shards off her uniform. “He was taken last night.”
The crowd now reacted with a wide range of emotions. Some people were even more horrified than they had been before. Others were still angry at the deception. I saw astonishment, shock, confusion, and everything in between. The bride, who had just regained consciousness, fainted again.
Marge focused her beady eyes on me, but continued to speak to the crowd. “However, we are in the process of apprehending the number one suspect at this very moment. We have evidence that this boy is responsible and expect him to reveal the koala’s whereabouts soon.”
The gaze of everyone in the room shifted once again. To me.
Two security guards seized me from behind. When Dad tried to intervene, four more grabbed him.
The crowd exploded. No one seemed to know what to believe anymore. People were shouting at me, at Marge, at Pete, at the security guards.
“He couldn’t have done it!” someone declared. “He’s just a boy!”
But other people were glaring at me hatefully. “Where’s Kazoo?” one demanded. “What have you done with him?”
“I never touched him,” I replied. “I’ve been framed.”
Marge and Bubba stormed toward Dad and me over the carpet of glass shards, which cracked and popped beneath their feet. At a nod from Marge, the guards quickly marched us out of the exhibit.
We reemerged into FunJungle to find the place completely desolate. While we’d been dealing with the chaos inside, everyone outside had evacuated, still fearing an escaped lion.
Pete Thwacker and Kristi Sullivan followed us. Pete was walking backward so he could talk to the angry crowd. “I don’t have the time to answer all your koala-related questions at this moment,” he said. “But I assure you, full details will soon be available on our website.”
The crowd roared in disapproval, wanting to know more.
Marge’s radio suddenly crackled to life. “Marge, this is Tracey. Pick up now.”
That was Tracey Boyd, FunJungle’s manager of operations, second in command only to J.J. McCracken. She sounded angrier than a tiger that had been poked with a stick. The security guards all looked to Marge, concerned.
“I’ll talk to her later,” Marge said. “We deal with Teddy now.” She made a move to turn the radio off.
“Don’t you dare turn that off,” Tracey said.
Marge froze, startled.
“I’m watching you on the security cameras,” Tracey explained.
Marge gulped. She picked up her radio and responded. “Security Chief O’Malley.”
“I want you to report to my office this instant,” Tracey told her.
“Right now? We’re in the process of apprehending a known felon.”
“I can see what you’re doing. It can wait. In fact, I want you to bring Teddy here as well. I want all of you here. The whole darn circus. Now. And tell that idiot Thwacker to come too.”
“Me?” Pete asked, worried, but there was no answer. Tracey was off the radio.
Kristi turned to Pete with a devilish told-you-so grin. “So,” she said. “Looks like that fake koala wasn’t such a good idea after all.”