Poached (12 page)

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“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.”

“Today was not just a
disaster at FunJungle,” Tracey Boyd said. “It was a catastrophe.”

I was seated in her office, along with Dad, Large Marge, Bubba Stackhouse, Pete Thwacker, and half the security staff. It was a large office on the fourth floor of the administration building, with windows that looked out over the entire park.

Another wall of Tracey's office was filled with TV monitors. Some of these were connected to park security cameras, which was how Tracey had known about the latest Kazoo catastrophe almost as soon as it had happened. Other monitors were tuned to a variety of television channels, ranging from the local news to CNN to Animal Planet. All three local TV stations had interrupted their usual daytime
programming to broadcast the latest news from FunJungle. The local anchors didn't know what to cover first: the escaped lion (which they had yet to determine wasn't real) or the revelation that Kazoo had been kidnapped. Out the windows, I could see three news copters circling Carnivore Canyon, searching for the lion—and then, on the TVs, I could see the live aerial footage they were shooting.