They looked like death.
I gaze up at him. I have to crane my neck. “You okay?”
“Yep,” says Stretch. “But from what I can see, a lot of other folks aren’t.”
aardvarks
Across the way, I hear something.
A small squeak.
“Who lives over there?” I ask Stretch.
“The aardvark family,” he replies. “Lovely neighbors.”
Carefully, I venture across Stretch’s domain. The sky is dark as dusk.
I hear a flutter of wings overhead. It’s Mitch, the mockingbird. He’s missing some feathers.
“Bob,” he calls, settling on a fence post. “Was that you I saw up there?”
“Yep. How are things looking?”
“Not good. Lotta damage.”
“Well, take care of yourself,” I say.
“Likewise.” He pauses to straighten a wayward feather. “Little hint, by the way. Next time you fly, try flapping your paws.”
I make my way over a broken wooden barrier, tiptoe over some scattered glass and twisted metal, cross the paved path, and arrive at the aardvarks.
More sounds. They’re coming from what looks like a demolished keepers’ shed. I hesitate, not sure what to do. It’s a big mess, and I’m a small guy.
Also, my head hurts. I feel dazed. Fuzzy. My ears are ringing.
I yank off some small stray boards with my mouth.
For the record, small stray boards have small stray nails in them.
Underneath the boards are three shivering aardvarks, two babies and a mom. They’re strange looking, I gotta say, with their long piggy snouts and bunny ears.
“You good?” I ask.
“W-w-w-what was that?” the mother manages to ask.
“Some seriously bad weather.”
“Is it over?”
I consult the wind. “Doubt it.”
“You think everybody’s okay?” she asks.
“Dunno. Sure hope so.”
And then it hits me.
Ivan. Ruby. Julia. George.
“Look, I gotta go,” I say in a strangled voice. “Any part of your indoor den survive?”
She nods. “Think so.”
“Go there. Lie low.”
“Where’s Pedro?” the littlest aardvark asks.
I feel my head with a front paw. A nice bump is forming. “Who’s Pedro?”
“Our keeper.”
“He’ll come,” I promise.
“Are you sure?” the baby asks.
“I’m sure,” I say, but of course, I’m lying.
sounds
The eerie quiet doesn’t last. Before long, the squeals and shrieks and brays and squawks of the animal kingdom crowd the air.
Terror. Confusion. Pain.
From far off comes the wailing of sirens. Car alarms blare from the parking lot. Now and then, people shout.
Cries for help translate into any language, human or animal, fish or fowl.
Never want to hear those again.
Never, ever.
smells
And the smells! Like I said, feelings have a scent.
I figured I’d smelled pretty much everything there was to inhale in this big ol’ world.
But the smell of sheer terror.
Of helplessness.
Of blood.
Of broken bones.
Of torn wings.
Well.
Turns out there are a whole lot of smells I’ve never encountered. Didn’t know how lucky I’ve been.
surveying the damage
I pick my way past the devastation. The tornado has left a random path of misery.
The African Aviary is gone, simply gone.
The Kids’ Farm nearby? Untouched. Although there are some very flustered chickens clucking like all get-out from the safety of their henhouse.
I see few people. Hopefully, a lot of potential visitors were scared off by the threatening weather.
It looks like some of the animals listened to their early warning systems—those little voices inside telling them something bad was coming their way. Quite a few seem to have taken cover before the brunt of the storm.
Wish I’d paid more attention to my own internal weatherman.
I pass the penguin viewing window, the one that allows visitors to watch their graceful swimming. Several penguins are underwater, swooping and swiveling.
“Joe! Jim!” I call, and they both swim over.
“Bert okay?” I ask.
Baby Bert pops his little head out of the water. “Hey, Bob! Did you know we’re having a storm?”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“All good here, Bob,” Joe says. “You?”
“Yep. Took a little flight, though.”
“Daddy,” says Bert, “can I fly?”
“In the air? Nope,” says Joe. “You fly underwater. You’re a penguin.”
“Bob flew. And he’s a dog.”
“Bob is a very special dog,” says Joe, and he gives me a look, a grown-up, just-between-us look, that says, We’re all right, but what about the others?
baby sloth
I say goodbye to the penguins and continue on my way. So much has simply vanished. Walls. Fences. Barriers. Netting.
The orderly world of the park, with its careful lines defining territory, isn’t so defined anymore. Many of the habitats are still entirely intact. But not all.
What will this place be without fences and walls? You didn’t need to watch the nature channel to know that certain animals like to eat certain other animals.
I pass two squirrel monkeys swinging happily from the children’s carousel. A pelican watches from her perch on a popcorn stand.
I see a camel and a zebra together, looking stunned to be standing side by side.
I notice a red lemur, Merlin, on a picnic table. Lemur eyes are always big, if you ask me. But Merlin’s eyes look like they’re about to pop right out of his head.
I make my way through splintered wood and glass shards and approach the gift shop. It’s roofless. Stuffed toy animals are scattered here and there like they tried to make a break for it. An I LOVE KOALAS T-shirt dangles from a tree branch.
Around a corner I see a baby sloth—Sylvia, I think her name is. She’s resting on a muddy plush giraffe.
“Hey, there,” I say.
She makes a tiny noise. A sloth sob, I guess it is.
“Let’s find your mom and dad.” I’m not one for hugging and licking and such, but I give her a little nudge with my nose.
Sylvia somehow manages to grab the giraffe, then looks up at me like she expects to hitch a ride.
How the heck do you pick up a baby sloth? It’s not exactly part of my job description. And sloths are so . . . you know, slothy.
Carefully, I pick her up by her scruff, the way you do with a puppy. She puts that silly toy in her mouth, and off we go.
Takes a few minutes, but I find her mom, Selma. I deposit Sylvia on a patch of wet grass.
“How can I thank you?” Selma cries.
“No biggie,” I say, and I head on, with fear in my belly and the odd taste of sloth fur in my mouth.
make no sudden moves
I’ve ridden around the grounds of the park in Julia’s backpack enough to know every inch of the place. I’ve even chatted with many of the residents. But now everything is topsy-turvy. I keep finding myself in places I don’t want to be.