Nelson Peter - Creature Keepers and the Hijacked Hydro-Hide

N O SERVICE.

Jordan Grimsleys very smart smartphone smartly alerted him that he was no longer in an active cellular area. Wi-Fi had vanished about fifty miles back, and now Jordan looked from the tiny, useless screen in his hand to the enormous backseat window of his familys enormous station wagon. The air outside had become muggy and sticky, so all the windows were rolled up. A sign zoomed past. It read: Now Leaving Leisureville, Florida! Take er Easy!

Leisureville was not Jordans hometown. Florida was not his home state. And nothing about this trip had been easy to take since they left the big city where Jordan lived. The city. Where there was an abundance of Wi-Fi, and cell service roamed free.

Jordan had been riding with his family for two days in an embarrassingly ancient 1972 Pontiac Grand Safari, which Jordans dad had nicknamed The Grimsley Family Rambler. Currently, it was rambling the family through the Sunshine State, along a two-lane stretch of broken road called the Ingraham Highway. And according to both Jordans phone and that sign, theyd just officially blown through the last stop before entering a technological dead zone.

Dad. Theres still no Wi-Fi. And now I lost my signal.

Mr. Grimsley glanced at his son in the rearview mirror, then smiled over at Mrs. Grimsley, sitting beside him in the passenger seat. You may as well put that thing away for the rest of spring break, Jordan. The Grimsley Clan is off the grid!

Clan was the term Jordans dad used when they were all doing something he considered adventurousor worse, character-building. Off the grid could only mean one thing: both Jordan, who was twelve, and his fourteen-year-old sister, Abigail, who was sitting beside him, would soon be bored stupid.

Abigail lifted her skull-shaped headphones and glared through dark, mascara-painted eyes. I still cant believe you made me abandon Chunk while hes going through his first molting period! She held up a book: Raising and Caring for Your Reptile . Jordan noticed a picture of a chubby lizard shedding its skin in a moist, moss-filled terrarium, with a lightbulb hanging over the fogged-up roof. Auntie Anne better keep Chunks molting tank at the right humidity level, or shes toast! Chunk was Abigails pet iguana, and the only living thing she cared about.

Dont you worry, Abbie, Mrs. Grimsley said. Auntie Anne is very reliable.

You mean shes old , Abigail said under her breath. She replaced her headphones and buried her face back in her lizard book. I cant stand old people.

Yknow, gang, Jordans dad said. If this house turns out to be fixer-uppable, we could open it up as a B and B! That stands for bed-and-breakfast! See, visitors from all over the world come sleep in our beds, and we make em breakfast! Fresh-squeezed juice, homemade bread, hand-churned butter, farm-fresh eggs...

As his dad continued a list of basic breakfast items, Jordan turned back to the blur of landscape flying by. The thick, tangled woods on either side of the highway did not look inviting. What they did look was full of nasty insects, mucky water, smelly sludge, and probably more than a few alligators. Jordan hated alligators. No one from anywhere would ever want to visit here, he thought.

It sounds wonderful, Roger, Jordans mom said. But lets not get ahead of ourselves. First we have to see what condition this old house is in.

Jordans parents loved old stuff. Anything worn down or tossed out, theyd fix up and give new life. They still wrote and received letters , on actual paper, presumably from other people who also liked old stuff. His dad recently got a letter from a lawyer named C. E. Noodlepen, along with something called a deed. The letter said that Jordans Grampa Grimsley had left Jordans dad an old house in the Florida Everglades. The deed made it official.

Jordan knew exactly three things about his Grampa Grimsley: (1) that he died years ago; (2) that theyd never met; and (3) that they never would (see #1). Jordan could now add two more things to that list: (4) his grandfather left his dad a cruddy old house; and (5) Jordan would be spending his two-week spring vacation fixing it up with his family, without Wi-Fi or cell service, bored stupid.

Just as he was thinking all of this, the Family Rambler suddenly jerked and hit something. WUMP! Scrreech! His father slammed the brakes, skidding to a stop in the middle of the empty road.

Abigail had bumped her head on the seat in front of her and glared at her dad through raccoon-painted eyes. What are you doing?

Roger, what was that? Jordans mother said in a panicked voice.

Some animal, Jordans father said. It ran out of the woods. I swerved to miss it, but I think it bumped the back corner of the car.

The Grimsley family slowly turned around in their seats. Something big, black, and furry was lying in the middle of the Ingraham Highway, fifty yards back.

Roger, what is it?

Jordan peered through the back window. He couldnt make out what it could be, either. But he wondered about something else. Dad, what if its not dead ?

Then itll be angry, Abigail said. I would be if a big, stupid, ugly car hit me.

We cant just leave it there. Right, Dad?

Mr. Grimsley looked at his son, then at the black lump lying on the road in the distance, then finally at his wifes worried expression.

Im sure its just an overgrown possum, Betsy, Mr. Grimsley said. You ladies sit tight. He jumped out of the car and opened Jordans door. Cmon, son. The Grimsley men will tackle this challenge together! Jordan slowly got out, hoping his father didnt mean that literally.

The humid air hit Jordan in the face like a warm, wet towel. It was thick and still as Jordan followed his father to the rear of the car, keeping a sharp eye down the road on the animal lying perfectly still. Whatever it was, that was no possum.

They turned their attention to the back of the 1972 Pontiac Grand Safari . It had a dent in the side panel, and there was a tiny bit of black fur wedged in the bumper. Mr. Grimsley pulled the clump loose and sniffed it. Whew, he said. Whatever it is, it sure could use a bath. He offered a whiff to Jordan. The two of them turned to face the animal that had left the stinky clump.

A chill shot up Jordans back. The creature was gone.

Jordans heart beat faster as he and his dad walked briskly toward the spot where it had been lying. There was no blood, no fur, nothingjust a sharp odor hanging in the muggy air. Well, I guess it couldnt have been hurt too badly, Mr. Grimsley said. So thats good.

Dad, what was it? Jordan asked.

I dunno. Bear, maybe. He sniffed the stinky fur he held between his fingers. Too big to be a skunk, although it sure smells like a He stopped and thought for a moment.

Whats wrong?

Nothing. Mr. Grimsley dropped the fur and chuckled to himself. No, nothing. Cmon. Lets get ramblin again. I wanna see this house before nightfall.

The last few hours of the drive were silent ones. Mr. Grimsley drove a bit slower and each of them kept their eyes peeled for any critters that might leap out of the woods. As the Ingraham Highway took them deeper into the swamp, the twisting vines on either side of the road gnarled higher and thicker. Jordan felt as if the woods were straining to reach out and grab their Family Rambler.