Last of the Mighty (10 page)

Uncle Will paid the khaki-clad attendant, and the iron entry gates swung open. We followed a short line of cars into Mandinka's Safari Adventure.

Merryn and I had been quiet, grinning and nervously stealing glances at each other ever since she accepted my smooth invitation to Winter Formal. It was like we were ten again.

The Jeep's speakers crackled with static as Uncle Will tried to find the park's Audio Adventure on the radio.

The radio's fuzz woke the slumbering Committee, and an escalating din of clangs, cries, and shrieks filled my head. If only Mr. Lavender had had the time to teach me how to silence The Symphony before my dream forest went bust.

Merryn looked at me, her lips moving. This was always the worst, not being able to hear her over The Committee. I pointed to my head—a signal we had worked out last year, shortly after I'd told her about my problem—to let her know The Committee was wailing.

She nodded, understanding. Though, I'm sure I saw a frustrated angle to her mouth. Like maybe she thought I was faking it so I didn't have to talk to her.

I put my hand on her wrist and was about to mouth sorry when my attention was drawn to a familiar voice in The Committee. It said,

“So simple to swindle,

the idiot masses.

From tots to teens

even teachers in classes.”

Demon Dr. Seuss again. The one I'd heard before falling asleep last night. Using my new skills, I concentrated on the voice. It was still tricky to listen with just enough intent to hear what was being said, but not so much that the speaker would feel my presence in The Symphony.

“I stick out my tongue

I wave at the young.

A cute, furry deceiver

sowing doubt in believers.”

Merryn nudged me and pointed out her window.

A giraffe was plucking leaves from the top of a tree. Behind it, four elephants roamed past. I smiled, but the Poet cut short the experience.

“I am a revolution,

an animal jester,

selling the hoax of evolution,

and a simian ancestor.”

Then it hit me.

It felt exactly as it had with Mr. Lavender. Right before the dream forest came down. The air was heavy, pushing in on me. Squeezing.

The enemy was approaching.

Another nudge from Merryn.

Five lionesses were loafing in the shade. Suddenly, they stilled, their wary eyes swiveling to the Jeep. Their ears pricked forward. Then, slowly, the cats rose and sauntered toward us.

I panicked, my blood pressure redlining as Demon Poet's words—furry deceiver—painted themselves onto my brain. “Go! Drive!”

“Oh come on,” Merryn chuckled, and pressed her face to the window. “They're so cute!”

“No. W-we're in danger. Can we go now? Please.”

“Smile kitty.” Merryn had her camera out, snapping away.

The pots and pans of The Committee rattled. I zeroed in on The Poet.

“The Mighty One nears

With two of his peers.”

The lions picked up speed, ears back, heads low. Straight for us.

“And all of his fears.”

I poked Uncle Will on the shoulder, encouraged him to find the accelerator.

“The Gibbor will be gutted…”

Twenty yards out, the big cats readied to leap through our windows and slash us to ribbons.

“…and so shall his beloved.”

“Dad!” Merryn huddled into me.

Uncle Will fumbled for the stick shift.

“Crush up the Christians!”

The lions pounced…

“Hushhhh…someone listens.”

And we all watched as the five lionesses sailed over the Cherokee's hood, lightly touched down, and bounded away.

The three of us were still edgy and laughing about our reaction to the lions when we reached The Anteater—Mandinka's snack bar at the park's midpoint. We joked about how scared the person next to us had been, each claiming to have been the bravest in the face of all those claws and teeth. The incident turned out to be a good icebreaker for Merryn and me. The big cats had crowded out the weirdness created by the Winter Formal invitation, and gave us something to talk about. We settled back into our usual banter.

I was relieving myself in The Anteater's luxurious, concrete restroom facilities when Uncle Will pulled up beside me and said, “So…Og…”

Figured he wanted more deets on Phaeus and heavenly weapons.

He said, “About your father…”

Nothing like beating around the bush, eh? Can't say I didn't kind of expect it. He had warned me this was coming.

“It's just that…I know my sister. Sandrine loved being a nun, living at the convent… The solitude... The other sisters…everything about it. She'd never jeopardize that.”

And his point was?

“Even if your mom hadn't made those vows of chastity, she wasn't exactly the type who'd just, you know, go out and get pregnant by just anyone.”

I don't know about you, but for me there was nothing more thrilling than talking about your mom's sex life while whizzing into one of those long, stainless steel, trough-style urinals.

“Unless,” he zipped himself up, “there was some higher calling at play.”

“What are you sayin'? Like my mom was the Virgin Mary or somethin'?”

“I don't know. But come on, you knew Sandrine better than anyone.”

“And?” I‘d finished at the trough and was lava-ing my manos. Did he honestly expect me to believe my mom was a virgin?

“All I'm saying is, don't rule out the miraculous.”

Spoken like a true angelologist.

“God intervenes in the lives of His faithful every day, Og. Unexplained healings. Stigmata. Apparitions, angel encounters, Fatima, Lourdes, Medjugorje...why not Sandrine?” We reached the Jeep. “Just accept the possibility. That's all.”

His eyes weren't going to leave me till I answered. “Okay. Fine.”

He tossed me the keys. “You got your permit?”

I smiled, nodded, then tucked myself into the driver's seat and adjusted it to accommodate my long frame. Tilted all the mirrors so Merryn's face was right in the middle of them.

Uncle Will scrawled down notes about the angel stuff I'd told him while I drove. Stopping at the next section of the park, we watched the antelopes and gazelles graze and spar. The Poet, as expected, had not broken radio silence since catching me eavesdropping on him. Though I didn't expect a word from the demon for the rest of the day, I kept my spider senses on high alert. The Poet's ‘cute, furry deceiver' line had to mean that he was hiding inside an animal.

Another of The Poet's lines that bugged was, “The Mighty One nears with two of his peers.” I was hoping that “near” to demons was like five hundred miles. They obviously traveled much faster than us. Hundred miles to them was probably like a yard to us. There was that feeling, though. The heaviness of the air that told me evil was near.

We drove on to the wildebeest. Other than a few babies, which Merryn and I dubbed childebeest, there wasn't much going on. Cruised to the rhinos.

All along, Mandinka's Audio Adventure was informing us about each different species as we approached them. “Can you spot the leopard?” asked the radio, and, “Zebras are related to the horse, of course. That should be pretty black-and-white.”

We rounded a corner into the park's last section—the great apes.

“Mandinka's,” reported the radio, “is proud to introduce Kong, the alpha male of our ape-cellent troop of gorillas. At six feet, ten inches and five hundred twenty pounds, Kong is the world's largest western lowland gorilla in captivity.”

“He's huge,” said Merryn, clicking a photo of the bruiser.

Kong was on his haunches beneath a tree, a dozen of his cronies milling around him.

A young gorilla startled us by hopping onto the hood of the Jeep. Adorable. Little brown face, big round eyes, tiny hands, fluffy dark fur. Looked straight at us.

“With last year's birth of Kermit, our newest gorilla,” piped the radio, with ape-cellent timing, “the troop at Mandinka's is up to thirty members!”

Thirty? My mind backed up to last night's poetry slam, “…And though he be sturdy, our number is thirty…”

“Ahhh,” Merryn cooed, her camera clacking out a photo of the little guy. “Who's cute?”

Cute was right. Along with furry. And I guessed, deceiver.

I wondered if Kermit was possessed with a demon who was “selling the hoax of evolution,” as The Poet had said.

As I leaned over to make sure Merryn's door was still locked, she rolled her eyes and said, “Oh come on! You think he's gonna attack us?”

The Audio Adventure helped me out here. Said, “Studies show that an average-sized gorilla is eight times stronger than an Olympic weightlifter.”

I widened my eyes at Merryn and pointed to the radio. Chew on that, sister.

“Oh yeah, and he's definitely average-sized.” She shook her head. “For a potato maybe.”

Okay, perhaps I was overreacting. But all I could think about was that animal attack years ago in Connecticut where Travis, a pet chimpanzee on mood enhancers, went spaz and tore the face off that woman.

Kermit, our fuzzy little hood ornament, stuck out his tongue at us.

The hairs on my neck went straight. Hadn't The Poet said, “I stick out my tongue, I wave at the young?”

The Committee rumbled. I ran through it and found The Poet's voice:

“If Og fails to come out…”

Kermit looked directly at me and waved.

“…I hoot and we take her.”

He glanced at Merryn.

“Be a good boy scout,

or my father will break her.”

Kermit made a soft call, and Kong swung his head toward his young son. Slowly, he raised himself up to his full height and threw back his massive shoulders, cords of muscle rippling around his short neck. His bloodshot eyes found me and he showed me his teeth. Fangs, long and sharp. I shivered. Kong was more Godzilla than gorilla.

The Poet warned,

“Gibbor, five seconds,

before my mouth beckons.”

Kong snatched a handful of earth and hurled it at me.

Kong knuckle-walked straight for us. Snorting. Grunting. Hostile.

The Poet began his countdown. “Five.”

I weighed my options.

Merryn asked, “W-what's Kong doing?”

“Four.”

I figured of the thirty gorillas, maybe six would fight. Not including Kermit. What was I going to do, kill ‘em all? With what? My hands?

“Three.”

I rifled through the glove box for anything of use. Like a hand grenade or Glock nine. Nothing but pens and paper.

Uncle Will looked up from his scribbling. “Og, what are you—” He saw the ape coming and removed his reading glasses for a better view.

“Two,” said The Poet as Kermit leaned in close and thumped a finger on the windshield.

“Daddy!” Merryn squashed herself deeper into her seat.

“One.”

“Lock the doors!” cried Uncle Will. Because everyone knows that locking an automobile's doors dramatically increases the tensile strength of the car's windows.

“Zero!”

Kermit screeched.

Kong roared.

Merryn shrieked.

King Kong bolted for the Cherokee.

I slammed it into gear, stomped on the gas. We shot forward. Kermit's little face slapped full into the windshield. Call me cruel, but that made me smile.

A meteor smashed into the Cherokee's roof—Kongzilla making a huge dent that would've brained Merryn if she hadn't ducked.

I wrenched the wheel, hard left, trying to unseat the hulk on top. Yet only Kermit was flung from the car—a dark, puffy fur-ball careening off the hood.

Kong must've latched on to the roof rack. No amount of swerving or braking would throw him.

Off-road now, tires spinning through grass and dirt, the back end fishtailed all over. A cloud of dust. Spray of gravel. What to do? Get to the roof and go one-on-one with Kong? I wouldn't stand a chance. I considered rolling the car to crush the beast. But that might kill us all. Maybe if—

CCRRSHH! Kong's black knuckles and thick fingers busted through my side window. Pellets of glass went everywhere.

I cracked a fist into Kong's forearm. Didn't feel his bones break, but he did pull his arm out of the Jeep.

Expecting another attack, I angled away from the window and as close to Uncle Will as my seatbelt would allow. Glanced through the shards of the driver's side window, hoping to catch Kong's new assault in its early stages. Block it.

What caught my eye, however, were a few younger apes playing along the heavy limbs of a row of trees about forty yards out.

I spun the wheel at the trees.

Just as Kong's heels shattered the windshield.

Merryn screamed.

“Get down!” I told her.

The safety glass had spider-webbed, blurring the entire windshield. At least it'd prevented Kong from joining us in the front seat. Yet, one more strike and the whole windshield would cave.

I shoved it into third, rocketing for the trees.

I hoped Lavender was watching, putting it together that I had attempted to flee from battle. I'd admitted that I was beaten before the encounter even began. I'd exercised humility and not rushed into an unwinnable conflict.

Twenty yards from the trees now. It looked like we were going to make it.

Until…

Merryn's window exploded into shrapnel.

Kong's upside-down head and shoulders pushed through the hole and into the Jeep, only his feet holding him to the roof rack.

“Oo-OO-AAYAAA!” he blared, bloodshot eyes fierce beneath a jutted brow. His four long canines, like tusks, coming for Merryn.

Before I knew it, I was in the backseat battering Kong in the face with my heels, my fists beating into his high-domed skull. Somehow, I had pushed in front of Merryn and got her safely onto the floor behind the driver's seat.

“Go for the trees!” I yelled to Uncle Will. “Low branches!”

Seizing my right ankle, Kong jerked me across the backseat and crumpled me into the inside of the door.

Sirens from the game warden's truck howled in the distance, joining the high-pitched squawk of ape and bird.

Uncle Will had slid over and was shaking it for the trees. Only ten yards from the first line of them. He searched for a limb low enough to sweep Kong off the car.

The gorilla still had his hand clinched tight around my ankle, but had swung the rest of himself back up and onto the roof. He was trying to yank me out of the backseat through the broken window. I jammed my free foot into the upper doorframe to fight Kong's pull.

No use. He was way too strong.

Sirens getting closer.

“Hurry!” I yelled to Uncle Will. My right leg was completely out of the window now while my left was hooked over the headrest of the passenger seat. I gripped a loose seatbelt with one my fists and had the other one cocked and ready for combat.

“There!” Merryn, peeking between the front seats, pointed to a thick branch that looked the right height.

Uncle Will burst toward the limb.

Kong let go a fearsome roar, squeezed my ankle even tighter, and nearly tore my leg off with his next effort.

Uncle Will blasted for the low branch. Only a few yards away. I glimpsed the limb.

It was too low.

The thick tree branch clothes-lined the Jeep, smashing it all along the upper windshield and stopping us like a brick wall. A splintery rain of safety glass chinked our knuckles, necks, and faces with blood as the driver's side airbag went nuclear. It blew up into a big white boxing glove that slugged Uncle Will square in the face, viciously sling-shotting his skull into the headrest. Knocked him out cold, blood pouring from his broken nose.

My leg suddenly free of Kong's grasp, I pulled it back into the car and checked on Merryn. “You okay?”

She'd been slung into the back of the driver's seat. There was only a patch of red on her face that looked like she'd rouged her cheekbone with too much makeup.

And what of Kong? He was nowhere to be seen or heard. Had he jumped into the tree before impact? Had the limb killed him? Was he silently squatting on the roof rack, waiting for me to exit? I had to know.

I threw open the door and dove out, SWAT-rolling well away from the Jeep. The momentum carried me to my feet. Spinning round, I rose into a fighting stance.

Kong was not on top of the Cherokee.

“Please remain inside the vehicle.” The game warden's voice was amplified by his truck's PA. Thirty yards away, the man stood in the crack between his open door and the truck's frame with a shotgun leveled at my head.

I raised my hands and was stepping toward the Cherokee when a piercing animal bawl turned me around.

Kong.

He dropped from a tree and landed with a heavy thud, scowling at me. He pounded a fist into his chest, Tarzan-style. Just once. Grunting and hooting, he revolved in a slow circle, then found my eyes again. Gashed his knuckles into the earth.

With our eyes locked, he loosed a final roar and pelted straight for me.