MAYBECK APPROACHED the bat enclosure from the Maharajah Jungle Trek path. The enclosure was quite large, with colorful prayer flags strung between the facade of a fake building, rock walls, and the large boxlike frame that supported a wall and roof of mesh netting. A three-stage viewing room had been built along the path. A ranger would be on duty once the Park opened at 9 AM, but for now it stood empty. Maybeck avoided the viewing room, just in case, staying outside, moving along the perimeter wall of the netting. He left the path and entered the jungle, keeping close to the enclosure’s netted wall.

It was only then he saw the birds. His first reaction was one of astonishment. He thought it beautiful in a way—a thousand or more dark birds so crowded into the treetops that large branches bent under their weight. He thought how fortunate he was to see such a phenomenon—that it probably only happened in the early hours before guests arrived and scared away all but the most brazen of the wild creatures that had adopted the Animal Kingdom as their home.

Then he noticed something strange about the birds: they all seemed to be looking right at him. He knew this was impossible, and yet…The thrill of astonishment gave way to the electric jangle of raw nerves. They were looking right at him.

Two things happened then: he spotted a door into the enclosure about ten yards farther into the jungle, and the first of the birds left their perches and flew toward him.

He knew he shouldn’t panic. It was only birds, after all. But the way they surrounded him…the way the jungle went suddenly silent…the way the bats in the enclosure awakened with a start—nocturnal animals—a restless jittering as they hung from their perches sent a spike of terror through him. Birds flew in flocks, certainly. But they didn’t attack as a group. Did they?

The birds attacked.

It was as if someone had blotted out the sun. They came at him as a dark cloud of beating wings and unflinching black eyes. Their small bird legs were aimed right at Maybeck. The birds came at him in such numbers that at first it was just plain scary—they landed on his head, his shoulders, his arms, his back. But then it went beyond scary—to dangerous—as the weight of them pushed him down. To an outside eye, it would have appeared as if thousands of birds had landed in the same spot of the jungle at once, but to Maybeck it meant a pitch-black flurry of wings and beaks and scratching claws. He fought them off one-handed—grabbing, poking, sweeping his arm, and knocking the birds away. But back they came.

He knew he could not sustain the weight of the birds. The pecking.

Now, crushed by the heaviness, feeling it might break him in two, Maybeck released the pillowcase to defend himself.

A tiny hand reached out…

A monkey hand! It snatched up the pillowcase, and the monkey took off running. As it did, the birds flew off. In a flutter of feathers, the sun reappeared, and Maybeck watched as the monkey, pillowcase in hand, hurried down the path.

Maybeck took off after it.

He looked himself over as he ran—not a scratch on him. If he were to tell anyone what had happened, they wouldn’t believe him. He had no proof whatsoever. A thousand birds attacked me! It would sound like a lame excuse for his having lost the pillowcase and the captive bat. He had originally thought Finn’s claim that the bat might be Maleficent was a bit of a stretch. But now he reconsidered. Birds didn’t organize like that, he reminded himself. Monkeys were known thieves, but what was a monkey doing loose inside the Animal Kingdom, even if the Park was not yet officially open? He had questions that needed answering.

He ran as fast as he could.

When the monkey stole off into the jungle, Maybeck followed.