Traps and Specters (18 page)

“I'm along the west wall,” Charlie said. “I can see the fog moving over Koala Kastle. It's so thick … like the castle's being swallowed!”

Tank's nerves spiked. The west wall was near Clarksville Elementary—close to the students.

“Tank?” Charlie said.

“Yeah?”

“I don't like the looks of this. This fog—it ain't natural. And it's like … it's like it's
coming
from the zoo.”

Tank became very silent, then said, “The Descenders aren't tuned to our channel right now. Get them. And the guards—get anyone you can.”

“I'm on it,” Charlie said.

Tank peered at the fake mountainside. Marlo shot out of the fog—a faint spot of color in a world gone gray—and perched on his shoulder, chirping wildly.

“What?” Tank asked. “You see something?”

The kingerfisher dove into the air, touched down on the rocky wall beside the mouth of a cave, and chirped at Tank, who jogged toward him. The fog was so thick now that Tank felt it beading on his bald head and trickling along the ridge of his brow.

The dark cave, which Tank had seen hundreds of times, looked eerie. Remembering his flashlight, Tank plucked it off his belt and aimed its bright beam into the darkness. The cavity was so cloudy that Tank was certain the fog was coming from there.

Into his headpiece, Tank said, “Charlie, you there?”

No answer.

“You got to be kidding me. Charlie—where'd you go?”

And the big man followed his light into the dark recesses of the cave.

CHAPTER 27

O
utside of Clarksville Elementary, the younger kids found their parents and the older kids found their friends. In groups, they headed toward the foggy neighborhood and its promise of free candy. An uneven chorus of “Trick or treat!” sounded as Jenkins Street was invaded with miniature monsters and superheroes and ballerinas swinging plastic bags and plastic pumpkins.

As the scouts ran from house to house, they cut through lawns, dodged bushes, and squeezed through hedges. On porches, they held open their bags to claim their sugary loot. The fog continued to thicken, but the scouts barely noticed. By eight o'clock, their bags were half full.

As the four friends headed down Phlox Drive, a man ran up to them. Charlie Red. He stopped in front of the scouts.

“Charlie?” Noah said. “What are you—”

“We got a problem,” Charlie said.

“What's going on?”

“This fog …” Charlie gestured with a sweep of an arm. “It's all over the Clarksville Zoo. We're worried DeGraff might use it to move on us.”

The thought sent a wave of panic through Noah—and a splash of shame. The scouts had been running up and down the streets with nothing but candy on their minds. They'd been behaving like children, not like Crossers, not like select individuals pledged to protect the world.

“What do we do?” Megan asked.

“We've already sent the tarsiers out. And the Descenders—they're moving into position. We have—”

“The
Descenders
?” Ella said. “But there are people everywhere! What if—”

“We got no choice!” Charlie said.

Understanding this, the scouts kept quiet.

Charlie continued, “The Specters—they're out, too. And Darby's making sure every possible portal into the Secret Zoo is guarded.” Charlie's face changed with a new thought and he said, “You guys have your headsets?”

The four friends shook their heads. Again, Noah felt a bit disgusted at himself.

Charlie reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out four headsets, the sort the scouts had learned to use. “Take these.” He threw one to each of the friends. As they fitted them into their ears, Charlie added, “Divide up. If you spot anything, radio it in.” Then he turned and ran. Within seconds, he disappeared into the darkness, the misty air swirling in his wake.

The scouts stared at one another. It was Noah who finally broke the silence.

“Let's go.”

The scouts split off in different directions, hoping to cover as much ground as possible. Noah found himself glancing all around, suddenly sure DeGraff could be anywhere.

CHAPTER 28

N
oah headed down Jenkins Street, which bordered three sides of the Clarksville Zoo, and turned onto Timber Trail, a winding road surrounded by old homes. Tall oaks stretched their mighty limbs across the street, making Timber Trail seem like a tunnel cut through a small forest.

He walked briskly, trying to remain calm and not call attention to himself. Empty-handed, he'd since dropped his bag of candy and toy machine gun. Along the curbs sat jack-o'-lanterns, their expressions seemingly carved out of the darkness rather than the pulpy shells of pumpkins. Children rushed between houses and chants of “Trick or treat!” sounded from all directions. Adults followed their kids, and wagons carrying costume-clad toddlers rumbled along.

In Noah's head, a sudden thought washed away all others. What if DeGraff was in a costume? He turned to the adults, many of whom were dressed up. He saw a princess, an Indiana Jones, and the grim reaper, the shaft of his scythe propped against his shoulder.

“Man … this is not good,” Noah said to himself.

“Excuse me?”

Noah looked over to see a man dressed in a beige jumpsuit with a patch of a cartoonish ghost stitched to one shoulder. The ghost was enclosed in a red circle with a diagonal line. A ghostbuster.

“You say something?” the man asked.

“I …” Noah's sentence faded away, and he hurried off.

Down the street he went, searching all around. As he neared the end of Timber Trail, he touched the transmit button on his earpiece and said, “Guys—can you hear me?”

When all the scouts answered yes, Noah then asked if anyone had seen anything. “No” was their response.

CHAPTER 29

M
egan headed down Zinnia Street, which branched from Jenkins to join several other side roads. She scanned the foggy landscape for DeGraff, her plastic sword swinging with her stride.

This is hopeless
, she thought.

She saw something then, a dark figure standing between two houses. She halted and peered at it. A man. A man masked in fog and shadow.

“I see something,” she whispered, the vibrations in her skull transmitting her voice into the ears of the scouts.

A new voice suddenly came through her speaker: “What do you got?” It was Tameron, which meant the Descenders had crossed to the Outside and joined their radio channel.

“Someone …” Megan said. “I don't know … he looks suspicious.”

“Roger that,” Tameron said. “Sam, you getting this?” Apparently the two were separated. The Descenders had likely divided up, like the scouts.

“Roger,” Sam said. “Megan, tell us what you see.”

But before Megan could say more, two trick-or-treaters rushed up to the man and led him across a yard. Megan's shoulders slumped with disappointment … and a bit of relief. “False alarm. It was just a parent.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Stay up.”

Just then, someone grunted so loudly into the airwaves that Megan flinched. The sudden sound was followed by a soft moan that soon shaped into words—words that raised a complaint about an injured “butt.”