“We’re looking for flight 119,” I said.
He wiped his hands on a cloth and pointed over his shoulder. “Right over there.”
I looked behind him. I couldn’t believe it. “Zeek. It’s—it’s—the space shuttle!”
The jet was shiny and long, all white, with big fins and wings shooting off it.
I was about to run up the stairs into it, when—WHOOM!—the engines blasted, and it slithered out of the hangar, shot down the runway, and vanished in a cloud of blue smoke.
“But—that’s our flight!” I cried.
“Not that one!” the mechanic shouted. Then he pointed to an old rusty shape in the back of the hangar. “That one!”
Zeek’s face shriveled like an old apple. “Um, Noodle? Isn’t that, like, the first plane the Wright Brothers tried? The one that crashed?”
Just then an old man stepped out from behind the rusty heap and shuffled over to us. Well, really he shuffled right past us.
“Where d’ya go?” he said. Then he turned around and saw us. “Oh!”
He shifted an old foggy pair of goggles to his forehead and stared at Zeek and me for a long time. “You’re not the Emersons.”
“Um, no, sir,” I said. “But we’re looking for their flight. Flight 119 to Maribo?”
“Heh-heh,” cackled the old man. “Well, you’ve found it! And you’ve found me, Montana Smith. Best dad-burn stunt pilot east of the Mississippi!”
“We’re west of the Mississippi,” I said.
He blinked and looked disappointed. “Oh.”
“We have to follow that jet, Mr. Smith,” I said, pointing at the black speck in the sky.
“Heh-heh,” he laughed. “Follow that jet!” He thought that was pretty funny.
He turned around, twice, finally spotted his plane, and shuffled slowly toward it.
We all climbed into the rusty old plane. Montana sat up front in the pilot’s cabin. Zeek and I jumped into the leather seats in back with all the Emersons’ equipment. Expedition-quality stuff. It was really crowded in there.
“Heh,” cackled Montana. “Strap in.”
We strapped in. The engine sputtered, groaned, and finally rumbled to life.
Three hours later Mayville was far behind. We were flying south over the mountains toward Maribo. Into the jungle.
And the mystery of the Golden Lizard.
I looked out the little window next to my seat. Civilization was far behind. The view below was solid green treetops as far as the eye could see.
The jungle. It was awesome.
Far in the distance, I spotted a fat white thing floating over the tops of the trees. “Look, there must be a football game over there. It’s a blimp!”
“Heh-heh. There ain’t no game there!” the pilot said. “Scientists use blimps to pick up and drop off supplies to teams working in the trees.”
CLUNKA! CLUNKA! BLAM!
The plane suddenly shook and dipped left.
“Whoa!” cried Zeek. “What was that?”
“One of our engines sounds in a bit of trouble,” Montana said, checking some dials. “Don’t matter. We’ll make it just fine with the other.”
I looked out the windows from one wing to the other. “Sir, this plane only has one engine.”
“Hmm,” said the pilot. “That is a problem.”
CLUNKA! CLUNKA! BLAM! BLAM!
The plane dropped suddenly.
“We’re going down!” Montana said.
“You mean here? Now? Into the trees?” I screamed.
VEEEEOOOUUUM!
The engine died, the nose turned down, and we dropped.
Yeah.
Here.
Now.
Into the trees.
FOUR
KKKKKREEUUNNNCH!
The plane dived into the jungle, scraping its rusty bottom against the treetops.
Everything in the cabin was thrown around. Our gear hit the ceiling and slammed down to the floor. Zeek was tossed from his seat and landed flat across my stomach.
Ugh! My whole life flashed before my eyes.
Actually, my whole breakfast flashed before my eyes.
Waffles. Juice. Milk.
Then the plane did something weird. It spun around.
NNNYYYOOORRRR! The plane ripped through the trees, twisting and twirling down, down, down until we crashed into the jungle floor.
BLAMMO! We stopped.
Everything was quiet.
“What a mess!” snorted Montana Smith, looking back from the cabin. Everything was everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be. My breakfast was everywhere, too.
Montana kicked open the emergency exit hatch. It fell to the ground.
Heat poured into the cabin.
And I felt it, heard it, saw it, all at once.
The jungle!
Everything was moving. Monkeys jumped through the trees. Wildly colored birds crowed and sang. Insects buzzed loudly all around us.
It was awesome!
I turned to Zeek. I could see from his face that he was thinking the same thing. “The land of the Golden Lizard,” he mumbled. “Noodle, we’re here. This is really it!”
“The real thing,” I said.
Montana Smith adjusted his thick goggles and looked out into the jungle. “I’ll stay and radio for help. You boys better go on to Maribo City. Head for the palace. The Dutchman lives there.”
I jumped down from the plane and stood in the clearing. “The Dutchman?”
Montana’s face wrinkled up as he squinted through the trees. “Maribo City’s about … two miles … thataway.” He pointed into the jungle as if there were a path there. There wasn’t.
Zeek jumped from the plane fully loaded with jungle gear. He handed me the stuff I’d lost in the crash. “Suit up, pal. The Emersons need us.”
“Is Maribo City a big city?” I asked, pulling on my supply belt.
“Big city?” Montana cackled. “Heh-heh.”
He thought that was pretty funny.
We gave him the double thumbs-up anyway and pushed our way into the jungle.
And I mean pushed. The jungle growth was so thick we had to fight every inch of the way.
A couple of purple-and-green parrots fluttered over us, cawing and screeching. Sunlight flickered down through the treetops.
The whole jungle was alive. Tiny tree frogs in hot colors twitched on fat shiny leaves. Snakes slithered up branches. Butterflies hovered above us.
“This is amazing,” Zeek said. “Too bad the Emersons aren’t here.”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “I have to admit I’m worried. They’re in trouble, and it looks like it’s up to us to save them.”
“Just like they’ve saved us.”
“A gazillion times,” I said.
We fought through leaves and roots and vines for a long time. Finally, it all started to thin out.
“Maribo City must be close,” I said.
“We’ll phone.”
“Phone?” I said.
“Sure. It’s a city. Every city has telephones,” Zeek told me. “We’ll just phone for help. It probably has an airport and lots of hotels and restaurants and stuff.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. Maribo City’s got to be big if it has a palace. And there’s a Dutchman, so it’s probably some kind of international hot spot. Boy, could I use a nice cold frosty—!”
Zeek stopped and grabbed my arm. Just ahead through the thick leaves we could see it.
Maribo City.
I counted.
One. Two. Three. Three buildings.
And one of them was a place where you go to the bathroom.
“Big city,” I said.
“Heh-heh,” said Zeek.
Then I heard something. Piano music and loud voices. Coming from one of the three run-down buildings.
A sign above the door read THE MARIBO PALACE.
“Some joke,” said Zeek, swatting a fly away from his face.
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I tightened my supply belt, adjusted my canteen, and walked over to the Palace. Just before we went in, I gave Zeek a little smile and a thumbs-up sign. A fly landed on my thumb.
Zeek curled his lip. “After you, pal.”
I pushed the door open, and we stepped in.
“Hi, everybody, I’m Noodle Newton, and this is my friend Zeek Pilinsky, and we need help!”
Instantly, the piano playing stopped.
The talking stopped.
Everyone turned slowly and stared at us.
No one said a word.
Only the flies kept buzzing.
FIVE
You could hear a pin drop in that place.
Actually, you could hear a cotton ball drop.
And judging from the nasty looks on everybody’s faces, they weren’t exactly happy to see us.
“HEY!” shouted a voice from the back of the room. “Vhat’s goink on up dere?”
Everybody in the place scurried aside when they heard the voice. In the back of the palace, in the shadows, sat a man.
A tiny man.
A very tiny man. You could hardly see him at the table, he was so small. He wore suspenders and a white shirt.
Well, I guess it was white a long time ago. It was sort of gray and stained and wrinkly now.
“Brink dem to me!” he said. But the people didn’t move. They looked like they were scared of him.
Zeek nudged me. “The Dutchman?”
“The Dutchman,” I said.
We walked over to his table. It was like walking to the front of the class when you knew your pants were ripped. Everyone was staring at us.
Everyone except the man. We couldn’t see his eyes. He wore a wide-brimmed hat pulled over his face. It made him look scary.
It probably made him hot, too. He was sweating a lot, and his cheeks were shiny.
But the worst part was, every few seconds he would flip a coin high in the air and catch it in his hand with a slap.
Flip. Slap. Flip. Slap.
He never looked up, but he never missed.
Then he started to speak.
Flip. “The junkie is very scary.”
Slap. “Kids should be home in der beds.”
Flip. “Your mommies vill vorry.”
Slap. “Your teachers vill mark you absent.”
I was getting a little annoyed with the coin thing. But I was willing to listen to a couple more weird sayings.
Not Zeekie. He eyed the Dutchman.
Flip. “At night, the junkie is vull of zounds—”
Then, just as the coin was starting to fall, Zeek reached out and—Whoosh!—grabbed it. “Listen, mister. We don’t have time to be scared. Our friends are in danger, and we need help!”
Everyone in the room gasped.
Then, complete silence.
Then, a wimper.
“Oh! I’m zo zorry,” the Dutchman said, peering up at us from under his hat. He looked like he was going to cry. “Yust don’t tek my qvarter avay. It’s not mine. It’s Mommy’s.”
Zeek shot a look at me.
And I thought the Dutchman was tough. Well, that was before “Mommy” came in.
WHOOM! The back door of the room blasted open. And someone stepped in.
Six feet tall. Three hundred pounds. Scar. Hairy chin.
“Mommy?” I mumbled.
“Who wants to know?” she exploded.
I could see Zeek staring at her chin. “I’d hate to meet Daddy,” he whispered.
“What are you kids doing in Maribo?” growled Mommy. “Don’t you know jungles are for grown-ups?”
Zeek stepped forward again. “But we’re here looking for the Golden—”
“ZEEEEEEEK!” I shouted. I looked around for some mustard to squirt. Nothing.
Everyone in the room tensed up and leaned closer to listen to Zeek.
Mommy eyed him suspiciously. “Golden, you said? Golden what?”
Zeek glared at me. I was drawing a blank. Then, he did an incredible thing. “Golden … um … Cracklies! Yeah, that’s it! We’re looking for some Golden Cracklies cereal. Boy, are we hungry! You know how the commercial goes—
“They’re crackly, they’re crispy!
The flavor’s strong not wispy!
They’re light and yet they’re bold,
So bold!
The color is like—bum-bum—GOLD!”
Zeek can’t sing. With him, it’s like a weapon. It hurt my ears. Mommy looked as if she’d just been told she had to go on a diet. She was quivering all over. And the Dutchman started to wimper again.
But at least Zeekie didn’t give away the secret.
Suddenly, from across the room, a guy with a thin mustache that looked like dirt on his lip slithered toward us.
Zeek nudged me. “Psst, Nood. He’s wearing a black suit! He’s one of the guys who kidnapped the Emersons!”
Yeah, it was the one with the dirty lip. “I seen you two kids at the airport. I know what you’re looking for, and it ain’t cereal. If you want to see a certain couple of husband-and-wife explorers again, you’d better come with me. My boss don’t like to be kept waiting!”
The guy’s dirty lip started to twitch.
Zeek grabbed my arm. “He’s talking about the Emersons. What should we do?”
Before I could think of something brilliant, Mommy stomped over to the dirty lip guy. “Bug off, small fry! Come back when you grow a real mustache—like mine!”
Then she swung out her big stomach and—boing!—knocked Dirty Lip clear out of the Maribo Palace and into the dusty street.
I turned to the big woman and smiled. “Hey, thanks!”
“Sure, kid,” she said. “We don’t like nobody picking on nobody. It’s the code of the jungle. Besides, I like you two little critters. You got spunk.”
Suddenly—RRRROOOWWWW! A shiny black 4 x 4 Jungle Rover came zooming into the clearing. It skidded to a stop in front of the palace. Dirty Lip ran up to it.
The short guy with pudgy fingers opened the car door, listened to Dirty Lip, and pointed at us.
“It’s them!” cried Zeek. “They’re after us!”
“Yee-ha!” screeched Mommy. “Looks like we got ourselves a chase! Come on, boys!”
Then she picked us up by our supply belts, bounced out the back door, and tossed us into a rusty old Jeep.
“Hold on to your hats!” she called out, starting up the Jeep and slamming her foot to the floor.
“I just lost my hat!” shouted Zeek.
“Then hold on to your heads!”
And we sprang across the grassy clearing and plunged into the jungle—with the black Rover just inches behind us!
SIX
I guess we were lucky that Mommy was such a crazy driver.
Every time the black Rover pulled up close, she did something wild with the steering wheel.
Like spin it. ERRKKK! We went slicing through some low bushy trees.
When the Rover caught up, Mommy jammed her foot on the gas and gave the wheel another spin. Errrrkk!
“This old jungle jalopy still has what it takes!” she called out.
“I don’t know if I do!” screeched Zeek.
Then Mommy swung a hard left, and the Jeep jumped off the road and headed down. And I mean down!
WUMPA! WUMPA! WUMPA! We hurtled down a steep hill. I bounced. Then my backpack bounced—and flew off into a tree.
“My gear!” I screamed.
“My rear!” Zeek screamed.
“One more turn up ahead,” shouted Mommy, “then I’ll slow down and you jump.”
“Better than speeding up and we jump!” Zeek snorted.
Mommy made one last crazy spin on the wheel and swerved down another hill. “Now!” she yelled.
We jumped.
Umph! Umph! We slammed into the ground and started to tumble.
I nearly swallowed a bush.
RRRR! The Rover tore off after Mommy’s Jeep. When we stopped rolling, I could hear her laughing
far into the distance.
“Well, Zeek,” I said, pulling a big juicy leaf from between my molars. “Until those guys discover that we’re not in the Jeep, I think we’re pretty safe.”
Zeek stood up and looked into the jungle. “I think we’re pretty lost.”
“Maybe,” I said, “but we’ve got something they don’t.”
“You mean the map?”
I shook my head, forging ahead through the jungle. “No, it’s that danger thing. No one has it but us. We were born with it.”
Swish! Swish! I pushed through the leaves, slithering like a snake. I was getting into it.
Little spider monkeys swung from branch to branch above me as I went.
“But Noodle?”
“Don’t worry, Zeek,” I said, weaving through a thicket of vines. “Danger is what separates us from the rest of the world. Those guys will never even get close. We’ll dart here and there, creep all around them until—ta-dah!—we rescue the Emersons.”
“Noodle?”
“Zeek, we’re on a mission. And we’re good. We are so good that—”
“NOODLE!”
I stopped. I turned around.
Zeek was standing between two ninja guys. They were dressed in black from their ninja caps to their ninja boots, and they were holding Zeek off the ground.
Fingers came huffing up behind them. “Take them to the hut,” he snarled. “I’ll find out where that Lizard is if it kills them!”
He laughed a little at that. “Get it? If it kills them!” he said again. He thought he was pretty funny.
Zeek and I didn’t think he was so funny.
They dragged us far away from Maribo City, even deeper into the jungle. About an hour later we came to a small broken-down hut. It was a mess. All falling apart.
“So that’s where you live,” Zeek said.
“Not funny, kid!” Fingers snapped. “My house is bigger than this, way bigger!”
Then Fingers got angry. He started to stomp his feet.
I guess that’s what Zeek was waiting for.
In that instant, he twisted, flipped, ducked, and ran, just like when the quarterback yells “Hut-hut!” and Zeek leads our team, the Mayville Marmosets, to another amazing victory.
In a flash all that was left of Zeek was an empty space.
“Run, Zeek, run!” I yelled, just like at games.
“Get him!” shouted Fingers. Two ninjas ran through the trees where Zeek had disappeared.