Chapter 9
Questions in Fort Scout

Noah fitfully tossed on his bed. He couldn’t sleep. His excited mind kept replaying scenes from the scouts’ excursion through the Grottoes earlier that day. It kept astounding him to think that the web of tunnels extended into his neighborhood. Did they run through his own yard? If so, were prairie dogs in them this very moment?

Noah unknotted himself from the sheets and jumped out of bed. The clock on his nightstand read 1:36. He went to the window, peered out into the distant trees, and tried to pull the image of a tarsier from the shadowy shapes. Nothing. As usual, there was no sign of the peculiar, bug-eyed things.

His thoughts drifted to Fort Scout. He could hardly believe that his tree fort was being used by citizens of another world to guard the border of his local zoo from an ancient evil. He wondered who was out there. Which Descender? And which animal?

“At what point did my life go so incredibly insane?” he asked himself.

Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep any time soon, he snuck out of his bedroom and tiptoed down the hall. He crept down the stairs and into the kitchen. He stared out the window at Fort Scout but could see little more than its basic shape. An idea struck him. It wouldn’t hurt to go out and check on everything. Maybe it would help put his mind at ease, and Mr. Darby had said it was okay.

“I’ll just peek in,” he told himself.

At the back door, he slipped on his jacket and his red hunting cap. He eased himself outside and bolted across the yard, the big earflaps on his cap bouncing. He climbed the ladder and entered the fort. Sitting by a window was Sam, the Descender who used the magic of his jacket to grow wings and fly. Around him were close to a dozen prairie dogs. Sam stared at Noah with a stunned look on his face.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Noah explained.

“Are you—” Sam glanced toward the house and checked the windows. All the lights were off. “It would be just great if your mom woke up right now and found your bed empty.”

“She won’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

“She’s a heavy sleeper. Both my parents are.” Noah paused. “Listen, I’m not going to stay long. I just want to see what you’re doing. Besides . . . it is my tree fort, you know.”

Sam shook his head in irritation, then fixed his eyes on Noah. “You’re killing me with this.”

Noah kept silent as he waited for a response.

Sam finally gave in. “Fifteen minutes—that’s it.”

Noah nodded. He walked across the fort and took a seat beside Sam at the window. As he did, a particularly portly prairie dog yipped twice, bounded across the wooden floor, and launched into Noah’s lap. P-Dog.

Noah petted his animal friend and asked, “How’d they get up here?”

Sam pointed to where a spiral staircase met a hole in the floor. The steps wound around the tree trunk. “And they used the same tunnels the tarsiers use. There’s an opening under your shed.”

“How long has it been there?”

“Probably longer than you’ve been alive.”

Noah glanced at his shed and considered this. Then he scanned the tree fort. The prairie dogs were everywhere, getting into everything, their jittery movements making them seem frenzied. A small one stared into the eyepiece of Noah’s binoculars and jumped back when the magnified images filled his vision. Another one had tunneled into a few Star Wars blankets that the scouts kept in the fort and was now lost in their folds, yipping in frustration. Another was probing through a pile of Richie’s nerd-gear: shiny pens, tiny tools, and little electrical gadgets that blinked and bleeped and probably stored more data than all the computers at Clarksville Elementary.

“Seen anything weird?” Noah asked.

“You mean other than a kid running around his yard at night in his pajamas?”

Noah was about to ask who he’d seen, then became thankful that he’d figured it out before the question had left his lips. He nodded.

“Nope.” Sam pointed out the window to the three rope bridges that connected the fort to lookout platforms on distant trees. “Are we certain the bridges can’t be seen from the houses?” Sam asked.

Noah nodded. “Way too dark. Plus the trees and everything.”

“Good. I’m going to post some of the prairie dogs on them. It can’t hurt to put them to work. You cool with that?”

Noah nodded.

Sam said, “P-Dog . . .”

The prairie dog turned to Sam, who motioned to the bridges. P-Dog jumped off Noah’s lap and, yipping softly, swept twice around the fort and then led six of his companions through the open doorway.

Noah watched in awe. “It still amazes me. The animals—the way they understand.”

“Yeah, well, the communication only goes one way, let me assure you. To me, a growl is a growl, a grunt is a grunt, and a bark is as meaningless as a burp. They’re sounds—nothing more.”

“Can anyone understand them?”

“Some of the old-timers, yeah. Mr. Darby, a little. But with him just about anything’s possible.”

Noah nodded. A part of him already knew this.

Noah turned and stared silently into the night. For a bit, he watched the silhouettes of the prairie dogs move up and down the bridges.

“Who is he?” Noah’s question came out of the blue.

“Who is who?”

“Mr. Darby.”

Sam smiled. “He’s the man. Numero uno.”

“Did he know Mr. Jackson, the guy who created the Secret Zoo?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it, and nobody asks. Some say . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Some say what?”

“Never mind.”

Noah thought to press the issue and decided against it.

After a few minutes, P-Dog scurried back to Fort Scout, his small silhouette just visible against the lighter shadows. He stopped at the window beside Noah, where he stood on his haunches and yipped once. Realizing that he wanted to be placed on the window frame, Noah scooped up his limp, trusting body and set him there.

For the next few minutes, Sam and Noah didn’t speak. On the bridges, the prairie dogs continued to scamper back and forth, staring out at the yard. A few of them seemed to have given up and were now lying down, curled into the warmth and comfort of their own bodies, perfectly still and probably asleep.

Noah grabbed the scouts’ binoculars and surveyed the zoo landscape. When he spotted the Knickknack and Snack Shack, his concern peaked.

“Do you think the sasquatches will try to escape?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “They’re trying to get to DeGraff.”

Noah felt his heart drop. “How do they even know who he is?”

For what seemed a long time, Sam said nothing. On the ground, the wind swirled the dusting of snow and rustled the dead, dry leaves. On the window frame, P-Dog sat on his haunches, his front legs dangling down over his belly.

Finally, Sam fixed his stare on Noah. “Why do you want to know this stuff, kid? It’s only going to get you more involved. You still have a chance to stay out. The burden we’re asked to carry . . . it’s heavy. Too heavy.”

Noah said, “Then share the weight.”

Sam considered this. P-Dog stood at full height on the window frame, his dark eyes fixed on the Descender.

“You need to understand something right away,” Sam said. “There’s a connection between DeGraff and the sasquatches.”

Noah’s stomach dropped. Up to this point, the scouts hadn’t considered the possibility of a relationship between the Shadowist and the sasquatches.

Sam brushed his sloppy bangs out of his eyes. Then he began to talk.