Chapter 8

chapter eight It could be dangerous. I know it could bite or spit poison or say mean. Jump behind your back. Which is the MOST dangerous? The creature's scaly skin shimmers in the afternoon sunlight. It has short, sharp talons that scrape at the ground. Its long, spiky tail swings slowly. And this look on its face—in its

eyes—it reminds me of something I've seen before. But I don't have time to think about that—I hear stomping and cracking in the distance. The Rifters and Ogres will soon be back. I take a slow step forward. I don't want to get attacked by a creature who could easily claw me to death. But I also can't let the Rifters deliver this creature to Thrull. If I do that, I'm basically just serving him our surrender on a silver platter....

I swallow—and I inch closer. I see nothing evil or cruel behind the creature's blinking eyes. In fact, the blur-creature's confused, frightened face reminds me of something else entirely: the Wakefield Hound. Okay, so, quick aside.

The Wakefield Hound was our school mascot. But instead of stuffing some teacher into a big ol' dog costume, our genius gym coach decided to use his real-life, actual dog: Mr. Peppers the chihuahua. "For authenticity!" he said. Well, guess what? Mr. Peppers hated it! Every time they jammed that poor fella into that costume, he'd freak, and then this would happen— was a man eating junkyard beast.

But I had a hunch that little pup was no man-eater. It was bunk. So, naturally—as a reporter—I wrote a story about it. The headline was a doozy— BARKING NEWS! MR. PEPPERS ISN'T MEAN, HE'S JUST PAWS-ITIVELY MISERABLE! The story was a sensation! Everyone stopped trying to stuff him into a costume, and he went back to being a friendly, happy dog. What I'm saying is, sometimes being scared and being hurt makes you act like you're mean. Maybe that's the case with this creature. "Hey," I say, inching closer. "I'm just gonna free you, okay? Then you go your way, and I'll go mine. And you don't let them find you

again, cool? 'Cause you don't want any Thrull in your life—trust me." I stand over the creature and grab the polearm, careful not to get too close. I twist and turn, trying to wrench it out of the ground, feeling like a post-apocalyptic King Arthur. It loosens. An inch. Two inches. The creature is able to move now—but just barely. As I twist again, the creature strains and manages to look back at me. That's when the weird thing happens—the weirdest thing in a day full of weird things. As it stares into my eyes, there's a sudden— KA-SKAK! Like radio static....