“Take Spike inside and get help!” I shouted. Rob grabbed Spike, yelped—which probably meant Spike's aim had improved—and fled inside. I shook the umbrella menacingly at the wolf, and then peered over the top to see if it was doing any good.
The wolf had retreated to the edge of the yard. Or maybe it wasn’t a retreat—just a change in plans. I saw two other wolves join him, and the three of them loped toward the break in the hedge that led to the road.
The road that separated us from Mr. Early's sheep pasture.
I reached in my pocket for my cell phone and dialed 911. Debbie Anne, the dispatcher, answered on the second ring.
“Meg, is this really an emergency? Because the chief is—”
“The wolves are loose,” I said. “And for all I know, the hyenas could be next.”
“I’ll put it out to all cars,” Debbie Anne said, her tone suddenly businesslike. She hung up.
I was torn. Should I follow the wolves? Or run to the backyard to recruit help and see what else was happening?
Screaming erupted from the backyard, making the decision for me. I furled the umbrella and ran through the hall toward the kitchen.
When I flung open the back door, it smacked a wolf in the rump. He snarled, dropped the turkey carcass he’d been holding, and whirled to face me. I shoved the point of the umbrella at him, pressing the button to open it as I did. I heard a yelp of surprise, and when I peered over the umbrella again, I saw the wolf fleeing across the yard.
Toward the llama pasture. Great.
Of course the llamas weren’t in their pasture anymore. Two of them were at the far end of the yard, standing protectively in front of a small cluster of Mr. Early's sheep. The rest were wandering about as if enjoying the commotion, except for the smallest one, who was standing about halfway between the house and the pasture, digging in his heels and refusing to move while a man in an SOB T-shirt tugged at a rope tied to his halter. Foolhardy man: as I watched, the llama spat a large wad of green goop at him.
“Eeeeuuwww!” the man shrieked. “Gross.”
The llama curled his lip and wrinkled his nose, as if not all that happy with the smell, either. The man dropped the rope and abandoned his efforts to move the llama. Instead, he ripped off his T-shirt and scrubbed at his face with it.
A lot of the animals were loose. The lemurs had retreated up to the top of one of the sheds and were looking anxious and sorrowful, but then lemurs’ faces always did to me. Perhaps if I read lemur expressions better I would have known that they were inwardly laughing.
I saw a troop of spider monkeys running up and down the picnic tables, snatching food and throwing it at each other and anyone who came near. One of the stouter aunts was shouting,
“Bad monkey!” and trying to whack them with a plastic spatula, but they were a lot more agile than she was.
The camels were pacing slowly across the yard, grumbling to themselves and snapping at anyone who came near.
Several family dogs who’d been brought along to enjoy the party were either running around barking furiously or dragging their owners off their feet in their eagerness to join the party.
From the corner of my eye, I could see small animals fleeing into various hiding places from which we’d have the devil's own time extricating them later.
“Meg! One of the wolves is loose!” Dad shouted, running up to me. “He's heading for the penguin pen!”
“They’re all four loose!” I shouted back. “And the other three are heading for Mr. Early's sheep pasture.”
Dr. Blake appeared.
“You see to the sheep!” he shouted to Dad. “I’ll rescue the penguins.”
They dashed off in opposite directions, each recruiting volunteers as he went.
I realized there was one animal group I hadn’t seen yet. The hyenas. But I could hear their sinister faux laughter coming from the barn. I ran that way.
I dashed into the barn just as Shea Bailey clicked open the padlock that kept the latch to the hyenas’ cage secure.
“Don’t you dare!” I shouted, running toward him.
He smirked, stuck his own screwdriver and dental pick in his pocket, and reached for the latch.
I tackled him.
He was a big guy—five or six inches taller than me and solidly built—but I had momentum and surprise on my side. We landed in a heap on the barn floor.
“Don’t you dare let them out, you moron!” I shouted. “You’ll only—”
He punched me in the face. Hard.
And then he leaped up and ran over to the hyena's cage.
After a couple of seconds of lying on the barn floor, stunned with pain and anger, I jumped up with a scream of pure fury and went for Shea. Luckily Michael and Sammy ran in just as I got my hands around his throat. Michael dragged me away, and Sammy restrained Shea—which didn’t take much of an effort. I suspected he wasn’t trying to break away from Sammy so much as hide behind him.