Big Game (12 page)

“What were you even doing over there today?” Mom asked.

“This incredible new project.” Dad's eyes gleamed with excitement. “You know how the public has been dying to see the new tiger cubs?”

Mom and I nodded. The cubs had been born a few weeks before but were too young to go out on exhibit yet. This was driving Pete crazy. He had announced their birth with great fanfare, mistakenly believing the cubs would immediately be available for viewing. Now he was overwhelmed by complaints from angry tourists who'd come to the park expecting baby tigers only to find an empty exhibit.

“Well,” Dad went on, “on the park's website we've had only one stationary camera in their enclosure, so if the cubs went offscreen or hid, that was that. But I rigged up four new cameras to give much better coverage and linked them all to the Internet. So now users can switch viewpoints or even pan or zoom in—and they can take high-resolution photos as well.”

“So they'll be able to control the cameras through the Internet?” Mom asked.

“Yes,” Dad said. “You can control pretty much anything remotely these days.”

We were passing the SafariLand monorail station. I looked up at the spot on the roof where the poacher had shot from, half expecting to see someone there. It was empty, though.

My parents scoped things out as well. There was a viewing platform at the station, from which we could see Rhonda's house down in the Asian Plains. The heaters glowed red through the windows, making it stand out in the darkness.

“Where's the extra security?” Mom asked. “I thought there were supposed to be more guards protecting the rhinos.”

“They're probably moving around,” Dad replied. “There's a lot of area to cover.”

Mom walked to the edge of the viewing platform and scanned the exhibit. “Someone ought to be
here
. There's a clear shot at Rhonda's house from here.”

“There's a guard,” Dad said, pointing. “See? He's down in the exhibit.”

I looked the way he was indicating. At first, I couldn't make anything out in the shadows, but then I noticed some movement. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, a shape took form, someone cautiously slinking toward Rhonda's house, a rifle slung across their back.

Instead of relief, however, I felt worry. “Um, Dad. Are you
sure
that's a guard? He looks like he's trying not to be noticed.”

“And he has a gun,” Mom said.

“The guards aren't armed?” Dad asked.

“I don't think so,” I replied.

Dad stepped to the edge of the railing and yelled at the top of his lungs. “Hey!”

The person in the exhibit froze, turned our way . . . and ran.

“That's no guard!” Mom cried. “That's the hunter!”

Dad was already moving. He climbed over the railing of the viewing platform and leaped down into the Asian Plains. Without even thinking about it, I started to follow.

“No, Teddy!” Mom warned. “It's dangerous in there. Stay up here and alert security. Your father and I will handle this.” Then she scrambled over the railing and dropped in as well.

The hunter was racing toward the far side of the exhibit, where the park fence was, blending into the shadows more and more as he got farther away. Many of the antelope in the exhibit were now running as well, startled by the hunter's sudden movement—and probably put on edge because Dad reeked of tiger, their number one predator. Antelope have acute senses of smell and hearing; even antelope on the far side of the Asian Plains were making calls of alarm.

I didn't have the direct number for park security, so I scanned the station for an emergency phone. There were red emergency phones all over FunJungle, but of course, now that I wanted one, I couldn't see one anywhere.

So I fished out my phone and dialed Summer.

She answered on the third ring. “Wow. You just can't get enough of me today.”

“Are you with your father?” I asked.

“Yes.” She sounded concerned by the tone of my voice. “We're still in the car. Is something wrong?”

“The hunter's back. My parents scared him off, but they need help.”

There were some shuffling noises as the phone switched hands. Then J.J. McCracken got on. “I heard what you said. I'm notifying Hoenekker right now. Where's the hunter?”

“In the Asian Plains. My parents are chasing him.”

There was a sudden pained cry from my mother in the darkness. It sounded like she'd been hurt.

“Where in the Asian Plains?” J.J. asked.

“I don't know,” I admitted, scanning the darkness. I'd lost sight of my parents and the hunter and couldn't find them anymore.

“Charlene!” Dad yelled. “Are you all right?”

“I'll be fine!” Mom yelled back, though I could hear the hurt in her voice. “Stay after him!”

“Is the rhino all right?” J.J. asked.

“For now,” I said. “I have to go.” I jammed the phone into my pocket and jumped over the railing into the Asian Plains.

I wasn't even aware I was doing it until I was dropping into the exhibit. I was thinking only about my mom. Then I landed badly and tumbled through the grass. I could feel the ground trembling beneath me from the thunder of hoofbeats and only then realized that I may have made a big mistake.

I rolled to my feet quickly, scanning the grasslands for trouble. By now panic had spread through the entire antelope and deer populations. I could sense movement in the darkness throughout the exhibit, different herds scattering in different directions. The night air was alive with the rumble of their hooves on the ground. The loudest was coming from my left.

I turned that way to find three nilgai coming right for me. Nilgai are the largest Asian antelope. From the viewing area above, they had never seemed too imposing, merely slightly larger than normal deer. But now that they were bearing down on me at a full gallop, they were far more frightening. They were more than six feet tall, with sharp horns and thickly muscled bodies. Getting trampled by one of them would have been like getting hit by a car.

I scrambled out of their path toward a small tree, grabbing a low branch and hauling myself up as they ran by. They came so close, one's horns scraped my thigh, leaving two thin gouges in my skin.

Then they continued on, vanishing into the night, leaving only a cloud of dust behind.

None of the other stampeding herds sounded close by, so I dropped to the ground again and called out, “Mom! Where are you?”

“I'm all right!” she yelled. “Do not get into the exhibit! It's too dangerous!”

“Too late!” I yelled back. I'd gotten a good bead on her voice and headed that way. I went as fast as I could, but the ground was uneven and strewn with rocks, so I couldn't quite run at full speed for fear of wiping out. I crested a small hill and nearly slammed into a stampede of chital deer. The chital were pretty small compared to many of the other animals in the paddock, but they were still bigger than me. It was like I'd suddenly turned the wrong way onto a one-way street. I curled up, tucking my head into my arms to avoid being gored by antlers. The chital swarmed around me, bumping me from side to side as they passed, and then faded into the night behind me.

I continued onward, searching for a sign of either of my parents ahead. Unfortunately, it was hard to pick out their movements, because now
everything
was moving. All around me, the herds were on the run, giving the impression that the entire landscape was alive. There were so many hoofbeats, it was hard to separate them all, to tell which herds were running away and which were bearing down on me.

Ahead, toward the back fence of the park, I thought I caught a glimpse of two men running among all the other shadows, but then they melted away again.

“Teddy!” Mom's voice came from surprisingly close by. I found her struggling out of the creek bed that rambled through the exhibit. In a month, after the spring rains, there would be two feet of water in it, but at the moment, it was almost dry, a mere trickle surrounded by steep banks. Mom was hobbling, putting as much weight as possible on her right leg, wincing every time she touched her left foot to the ground.

I ran to her side and put my arm around her, taking her weight. “What happened?”

Mom sagged against me, folding her left leg up under her like a flamingo. “I got knocked over by something. A sambar deer, I think. Then I fell down into the creek and twisted my ankle.”

Though I wanted to follow after my father and the hunter, I had no choice but to turn back toward the exit. I could tell Mom was frustrated by this too, but she didn't complain. With her injured, we were sitting ducks out there.

We made our way back across the plains as quickly as we could, though that wasn't very fast, given that we had only three working legs between us. Mom wasn't very big, but she was still bigger than me, and it was tough to support her weight over the rocky, uneven ground.

Luckily, most of the antelope and deer seemed to be calming by now, perhaps because Dad, with his reek of tiger, was out of range. Not nearly as many were racing about, but they were still on edge. I could sense them around us in the darkness, watching us carefully, ready to run—or possibly attack—at the slightest sign of danger. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of their eyes reflected in the distant park lights, riveted on our progress.

However, we didn't see the gaurs until we almost ran into them.

Gaurs are wild cattle from India. The ones in front of us were each more than six feet tall at the shoulder and weighed nearly a ton, with wide racks of horns set across their brows. Thanks to their dark fur, they had blended perfectly into the darkness. Mom and I might have slammed right into the lead female if she hadn't given us a warning snort.

We froze in fear.

In the wild, gaur are usually shy and timid, running away from humans rather than at them, but we'd come upon a small herd of females with young calves, and the mothers were determined to protect their young. They had formed a wall, keeping the calves behind them and aiming their thick, sharp horns our way, prepared to gore—or trample—us at any provocation.

“Back away slowly,” Mom warned me, in a voice barely above a whisper. “No sudden noises or movements.”

I knew this already, but I didn't bother arguing. Instead, I did exactly as she'd ordered. I took a few steps back, and Mom hopped along with me.

The matriarch snorted again, letting us know she wasn't quite ready to back down yet.

We gingerly moved another few feet in reverse.

The gaurs remained motionless as a row of statues.

And then my cell phone rang.

A few bars of music suddenly blared in the night. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to startle the gaurs. They bellowed angrily, frightening a nearby herd of chital deer, which exploded out of the grass around us. Mom and I spun toward them in fright, a far-too-sudden movement, and the gaurs charged.

“Run!” Mom shouted, and before I knew what was even happening, she'd shoved me away from her, removing herself as a burden so that I could escape. There was no way she could hold off their attack, though. Compared to the enormous cattle, she might as well have been made of paper. She was obviously hoping they'd be distracted by her and ignore me.

The cattle charged toward her.

“No!” I yelled.

And then a pair of headlight beams swept across the plains, landing right on the herd. The cattle stopped at once, blinded by the lights but staring into them anyhow, trying to assess the new threat.

An engine's roar carried across the paddock. I was afraid to pull my gaze from the gaurs, so I couldn't see the car, but from the sound, I could tell it was one of the FunJungle safari rovers.

My phone was still ringing. Our confrontation with the gaurs felt like it had taken hours, but it had been only seconds. Now that I had a moment of calm, I recognized the ringtone. It was my father calling.

Things were still too dicey to answer it, though. The gaurs remained on alert. Mom stayed frozen on one leg beside me, watching the cattle carefully for any sign of what they were about to do.

The whole night seemed to light up as the headlights got closer. The rover skidded to a stop between us and the gaurs, kicking up a cloud of dust. The gaurs flinched but stayed put.

Chief Hoenekker was behind the wheel. “Get in!” he yelled.

Mom and I didn't need to be told twice. I started back to help her, but she was already hopping toward the vehicle. We both dove inside, her in the front seat, me in the back, and Hoenekker slammed the pedal down. The rover lurched across the grass.

The lead gaur bellowed angrily, then charged. The females behind her followed suit. One's horn clanged off the rear of the rover as it sped away.

Through the rear window, I watched the angry cattle follow us a few more steps, then pull up, convinced they had dispensed with the threat. They quickly hooked U-turns and returned to their calves.

Hoenekker kept the pedal down anyhow. Normally, park vehicles were supposed to stick to designated dirt roads in the paddocks. Hoenekker had gone cross-country to rescue us, and now the uneven terrain was bouncing us around like popcorn kernels. Neither Mom nor I had had a chance to buckle up. I was nearly thrown to the floor.

“Slow down!” Mom ordered. “Before you kill some innocent antelope!”

Hoenekker glared at her but braked anyhow. “A ‘thanks for saving our lives' might be nice.”

Mom held his gaze a moment, then gave in. “Thanks for saving our lives. How'd you find us?”

“Teddy called J.J. J.J. called me. Lucky for you, I hadn't gone home yet tonight.”

I pried my phone from my pocket and called my father back. I didn't want him to worry about us.

Hoenekker spotted one of the dirt roads to the right and veered toward it. “Where's your husband?”