She moved increasingly closer to the stump, and now, looking back, she saw the dragon following her. If she climbed on top of the stump, she would be out of reach of the dragon. But what about the wings? Could something like that possibly fly?
She heard the sudden beating of hooves, seconds later mixing with the rumble of a truck engine. A herd of zebras had been released—again to her left—and from somewhere behind her a truck was approaching. If she was going to inspect the stump it had to be now—right now.
She ran the last few yards, and if she’d harbored any doubts as to the dragon’s intentions, they were answered by its light-footed sprint to keep up with her. There was no turning back now. No changing her mind. The dragon raced toward her, its mouth open, snapping at the air.
She reached the side of the stump—though shaped like a stump, it was made of metal, with a small door in the side. She worked the snap lock off the hasp and opened the door.
The dragon charged, seemingly not touching the ground at all. It flicked its long tail back and forth, moving in a snakelike fashion, quickly closing the distance between them.
Willa dove inside and pulled the door shut behind her. It was incredibly warm inside. Enough light filtered in to allow her to see that Jez was not there. There were sacks of food and salt licks. It smelled like a pet store. A coiled hose hung from a hook.
The dragon smashed into the door, then slammed its powerful tail against the stump. Her ears rang. A rumbling in the ground grew louder. Willa looked out a crack in the access door to see the herd of zebras bearing down on her as it crossed the savannah.
The dragon took off for a distant tree and climbed it in a creepy, effortless way.
Willa sagged down to sit, trying to catch her breath.
And then she saw it: freshly scraped into the fake stump’s rusty metal was a simple message that made absolutely no sense—and yet somehow she knew it had been written by Jez.
It read: Change Rob.
She curled up and held her breath, waiting to flee the stump once the storm of zebras had passed.
24
MAYBECK STOOD INSIDE a dark enclosure the size of a large closet. It had a concrete floor from which a low brick wall rose to waist level. From there, framed lumber intersected by long bamboo poles rose geometrically overhead, wrapped on the outside with heavy brown vinyl: fake brick. Together, it added up on the outside to what looked like an Asian temple. But inside it smelled bad—really bad—like one of those Porta-Potties at the state fair. It was surprisingly cool inside—a place for the monkeys to escape the heat. There was a white plastic tub with a metal handle sitting by the door. Alongside it was a neatly coiled green hose connected to a spigot.
The door clapped shut behind him. He turned in time to see the monkey overhead, carrying the pillowcase, climbing effortlessly, up, up, up, pulling himself between the bamboo poles and jeering down at Maybeck.
Sunlight seeped in through several square openings at the top of the temple. The temple provided shelter for the monkeys, a place to hide from storms and a cool place to sleep. The smell was the problem: the monkeys used the concrete floor as their bathroom. He understood the purpose of the hose, then, and felt tempted to give the concrete a spraying off.
If the monkey made it to the top window, the pillowcase and its contents would be gone. Maybeck considered climbing, but that was a race he was sure to lose.
The monkey crossed along the bamboo rafters, and then, to Maybeck’s surprise, began to work its way back down. Maybeck’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. And then something moved from the shadows.
Maleficent.
She stepped out to where Maybeck could see her, regal in her purple-fringed black cape, her startling green skin glowing with maliciousness.
“Hello, Terrance.” A voice like grinding stones.
The monkey handed her the bag. She accepted it with an outstretched arm, never taking her eyes off Maybeck.
“Do you know what happens to children who play where they don’t belong?”
He couldn’t get a word out.
“They get…burned,” she said. A flaming orb appeared in one hand. She cocked her arm back, ready to throw.
Maybeck dove for the hose, swiveled its nozzle, and shot a ferocious stream of water at the witch.
The monkey cried out and leaped up into the rafters.
The water stream knocked the burning ball out of Maleficent’s hand but produced a cloud of steam that immediately filled the small space so thickly he couldn’t see.
A dark shadow shifted inside the gray cloud of steam: Maleficent moving to cut off his path to the door. He abandoned the hose and sprang for the door. But she was much faster than he’d anticipated. He came face-to-face with the green skin and bloodshot eyes. Her breath was like a dead mouse caught in a trap as she said, “No. I don’t think so.”