Lost in Bermooda Read online

  “Me too! That’s good enough for me!” Ditto echoed.

  “Indeed,” Quincy agreed.

  “Sounds like a right proper attitude,” said Miss Magnolia, nodding her head.

  “Did anyone hear that Wilhelm Wellington today?” Uncle Bo continued. Bermooda grass fell out of his mouth as he spoke. “He was at the herd meeting this afternoon, talking about hu’mans. Trying to get everyone into a stampede. He even said there might be one here on the island. Can you believe that?”

  Everyone around the table chuckled, except for Chuck and Dakota. Dakota was now sweating more than ever.

  “What if he’s right?” Chuck asked. “What if there really is a hu’man here? What would the herd do?”

  Uncle Bo’s chuckle erupted into an all-out guffaw. “You’ve gotta be kidding! What an idea! There’s no such thing as hu’mans!” He threw himself back in his chair, holding his belly and laughing so hard he almost choked on his Bermooda grass. “Hu’mans! What a joke!”

  The orange monkey cackled wildly along with Uncle Bo. “Hahahahaha! Hu’mans!” he screeched. “You’re a great jokester, Chuck!”

  Chuck looked defeated and Dakota wasn’t sure he understood the joke.

  ***

  After dinner, Chuck took Dakota upstairs to his room to get ready for bed. Chuck’s room was small and cozy. Next to the bed was a bamboo table that held a small wooden box with pearly knobs and a glass globe with a metal key. A hammock hung in one corner of the room, and on the wall was a poster of a big blue cow holding a surfboard.

  “Museum trip at school tomorrow,” Papa Porter called from downstairs. “No sunglobes or chatterboxes after nine o’clock. No reason to use up all that boltage.”

  “Boltage?” Dakota looked very confused.

  Chuck explained, “Boltage is like the lightning in a storm, but it’s made by windspinners. It comes into the house through here.” He pointed to a socket on the floor. “We don’t use it for much. Just for sunglobes.”

  Chuck turned the key on the glass globe, which filled the room with a faint warm glow. “And chatterboxes.” He turned a knob on the wooden box, and a voice came out: Hey, this is Angus Atkins, bringing you all the best island news and music…

  A sense of joy ran through Dakota as he realized what he was looking at. Light bulbs! Radios! Electricity!

  “A-ha! Hahaha! Power!” Dakota laughed with delight and relief. Finally, something he recognized!

  “Shhhhh!” Chuck looked at Dakota sideways. “Good gravy, man! Do all hu’mans love power as much as you?”

  The next morning, Chuck and Dakota walked to the schoolhouse in Bermooda Village. Planted on the north side of the island, Bermooda Village stretched from the edge of Mount Maverick to the calm, gleaming shore of Bullhorn Bay. The bay was bordered by Cape Cattle and Cape Cud—twin beaches that started at opposite sides of town and reached far out into the sea.

  The village itself was a bustling center of activity. A whirlwind of cows, pigs, and oxen surrounded Dakota as they trotted to and fro. The village’s simple cobblestone streets were lined with all kinds of shops and stands, and some of the roads even climbed up to buildings that were neatly nestled on the side of the mountain.

  The grandest building in town was the Hortica Center, a big museum at the base of the mountain. This is where Chuck and Dakota were visiting today. They stood inside the museum with a class of calves, listening to a speech from a tropical screech owl who sat on a bamboo perch underneath a brass sign that read, HMS Hortica.

  “Many years ago, a ship crashed here on Bermooda,” the owl said. “A slave ship that herded your ancestors across the waves to satisfy the appetite of a bloodthirsty race of creatures known as hu’mans.”

  “Who’s the owl?” Dakota whispered to Chuck.

  “That’s Cornelius,” Chuck whispered back. “He runs the museum. He knows pretty much everything there is to know about Bermooda, and all about hu’mans too.”

  Cornelius could only be described as stuffy. His puffy gray chest stuck out from his body of fluffy brown feathers. Over his left eye, he wore a gold monocle that never seemed to stay in place. He spoke in a very proper voice and rarely looked directly at anyone.

  “Thankfully, the hu’mans all disappeared during the crash,” Cornelius continued. “The HMS Hortica—whose ruins we now stand in—came to rest at the southern tip of the island, in that wretched place called the Boneyard. It was then that your species came aboard the island to live with the rest of us.”

  Dakota knew that Cornelius was saying something important, but all he could think of was how hot and scratchy his cowmaflauge was. He pulled and tugged on it, until Chuck put a hoof on his arm.

  “Don’t attract attention to yourself,” Chuck warned Dakota. “Just keep quiet and try not to say anything.”

  “Cows, pigs, and oxen are not all that arrived with the Hortica,” Cornelius went on. “Even though no hu’mans ever came upon the island, many of their books and instruments did.”

  Dakota looked around. Indeed, the inside of this museum looked much like the inside of an old sailing ship: books, tools, globes, clocks, a spyglass. It looked as if nearly anything that could have been salvaged from the shipwreck had been brought here. “From these, we have learned to read, write, speak, sail, farm, and form a society in which we can all flourish.”

  As Cornelius spoke, Dakota and the calves began paging through the books on display. There were books about science, astronomy, and art…but the one that really seemed to catch everyone’s interest was a big book titled The Art of Cookery.

  Everyone on Bermooda was familiar with The Art of Cookery. That was because nearly every creature on the island was in there somewhere. Everyone knew the page numbers on which they appeared, along with detailed instructions on how they could be plucked, sheared, baked, broiled, stewed, fried, or roasted and served with a garnish. It was the kind of thing that made your fur stand up on the back of your neck.

  “Cornelius?” asked a dainty girl cow raising her hoof. “How old is Bermooda?”

  “Excellent question, Miss Daisy,” Cornelius said, “and my most educated answer is…I don’t know.” The calves all snickered. It wasn’t often that Cornelius didn’t know something.

  “No one really knows how long the island has been here,” he admitted. “Long before your species arrived, I expect. Probably long before mine too. For all we know, the island itself may have been here forever. But it became ‘Bermooda’ when your ancestors arrived on the Hortica over three hundred years ago and set up our society. A new age…for all creatures who dwell here. Since then, your race has greatly populated this island. For years, we’ve all lived in harmony with the island and with each other. A peaceful Moo-topia.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Chuck saw Dakota raising his hand. KICK!—He hoofed Dakota in the leg. Didn’t I just tell him to keep quiet? Chuck thought to himself.

  Dakota spoke up anyway, “Don’t you ever worry that humans will find your island?”—KICK!—“I mean, this island?”—KICK!—“I mean, our island?”

  “Of course not,” Cornelius hooted. “How ridiculous! Hu’mans haven’t existed for hundreds of years. They are…extinct.”

  “Extinct?” Dakota echoed.

  “Yes, young one,” Cornelius answered, adjusting his monocle. “Extinct. Gone. No longer living. You’ve nothing to fear.”

  “But what if they’re not extinct?” Chuck asked. All his classmates groaned. This was not the first time they’d heard Chuck ask that question. “What if there are more hu’mans out there? After all, they had to come from somewhere, and they had to be going somewhere. Don’t you ever wonder what else is out there?”

  Cornelius closed his eyes with annoyance. “There is nothing else out there,” he said sharply. “In over three hundred years, not a single living soul has ever appeared on this island that didn’t belong here.”

  He directed the calves’ attention to a skeleton on display behind them.

  “This
is what is left of hu’mans!”

  “Holy cow!” Dakota blurted out. The entire museum fell silent as everyone turned their heads and stared at Dakota with their jaws hanging wide open. “I mean, umm…wow,” Dakota corrected himself. “Oh, wow!”

  Dakota examined the bizarre skeleton. Cornelius said it was a hu’man skeleton, but some of the bones were out of place and Dakota could tell there were many bones added that weren’t even human. The jaw was three times bigger than normal, and it was filled with ugly, razor-sharp teeth. Each hand had long, pointed claws at the ends of the fingers. Boney spikes stuck out like daggers along a hunched spine that led down to a whip-like tail. This looked less like a like a human and more like…a monster.

  “This is all wrong!” Dakota whispered to Chuck as the rest of the class shuddered and moved on. “Has anyone on this island ever even seen a human?”

  “I guess not,” Chuck said, scratching his head. “We always assumed everything in the museum was true. But I know you don’t look anything like this. I wouldn’t be surprised if that Art of Cookery book was all wrong too. Maybe everything we know about hu’mans is wrong.”

  Chuck ran his hooves over the artifacts on display. That skeleton isn’t the only thing Cornelius is wrong about, he thought to himself. There is another world out there, and I have living proof standing right here in front of me. He gazed up at the Hortica sign. If only there were some way he could get this hu’man back out there, he might have a chance to find out more about that world. His tail began to twitch wildly.

  “I have an idea!” he said. “The first hu’mans were on a boat. You fell off of a boat. So in order to find out where you came from, we just need…”

  Dakota waited silently for the answer.

  Chuck rolled his eyes in frustration. “A boat!”

  After class had been dismissed for the day, Chuck and Dakota went to the beach and set about building a raft with whatever they could find that would float. The raft was made of sealed bamboo stalks and hollow tree trunks, and lashed together with vines. It was fitted with a small canvas sail, and even had a small canopy to stay out of the sun.

  “We should name it,” Chuck said as they dragged their masterpiece through the sand to the shore. “I’ve heard it’s bad luck to have a ship without a name.”

  “This isn’t a ship,” Dakota said. “It’s barely even a boat. This is a raft. Besides, having a name didn’t do much to help the Hortica.”

  The sky was clear, and the wind was steady. It seemed like a good day for sailing. They dropped the raft into the surf, where it bobbed slightly.

  “Well…at least it floats,” Dakota announced. He took a deep breath and looked at the rough waves. “Do you really think this will work?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Sure it will work! All you have to do is paddle out past these waves and keep going in that direction,” Chuck said, pointing a hoof to the south. He really had no idea if he was right, but this was near where he had found Dakota, so it seemed like as good a direction as any. “Your family is probably out there looking for you right now! I’m sure they’ll find you sooner or later. And when they do, you can all come back here to visit! Maybe you could even take me back to visit you!”

  Dakota’s brow wrinkled with concern as he climbed aboard the raft. “Don’t worry!” Chuck said, handing him a boat paddle and Dakota’s orange life ring. He pushed on the raft with his hoof, shoving it off into the water. “Just keep going that way!” he shouted.

  Chuck watched the raft get smaller and smaller as Dakota struggled to paddle against the waves. He had to admit that he was just a little jealous. There was a big part of him that wished he were the one sailing off on a raft. After all, the hu’man world was real, and now he knew it. How could he stay here?

  Meanwhile, Dakota was having his own problems. The wind and the current were much stronger than Chuck had thought. The waves were washing over the raft, soaking Dakota’s feet. Sea spray suddenly splashed up into Dakota’s face so he couldn’t see. He dropped the boat paddle, which immediately floated away. Dakota was now helpless as the raft was at the mercy of the sea.

  “Hey!” Chuck shouted from the shore. “You’re going the wrong way!” But Dakota only waved his arms frantically as the current swept him around the side of the island.

  Chuck ran along the shore, chasing the raft. He looked ahead and saw that even though the waves were bringing the raft back to shore, it was headed straight for jagged rocks. Chuck started wading out into the water, trying to get to the raft. He hadn’t become friends with a hu’man just so he could get smashed up!

  From the raft, Dakota could see Chuck swimming out into the waves crashing all around the rocks. Is that cow mad? Dakota thought. He’ll get himself killed! Sure enough, Chuck had hardly made it to the rocks before the rough water was too much for him. His head started to sink below the water just as the raft approached.

  Clutching the orange life ring, Dakota dove off of the raft moments before it crashed, splintering apart on the rocks. He plunged his hand into the water and grabbed Chuck by the shirt collar, pulling him up onto the life ring. Both of them kicked and paddled until they got close enough for a big wave to spit them up onto the shore.

  Chuck and Dakota crawled out of the surf and onto the beach, soaking wet and panting for air.

  “See?” Chuck said, spitting out a mouthful of seawater. “I told you it’s bad luck to have a ship without a name.”

  After drying off, Chuck decided they needed a break while he thought up a new plan. Besides, the hu’man had saved his life. Chuck felt like he at least owed him a treat.

  They took a walk to the edge of the village, right in front of Bullhorn Bay. There they stopped at a café that was set up on the beach. There were a dozen or so tables, each covered with little straw roofs. In the middle of the café was a curved bamboo counter, with a jaunty sign that read Leatherneck’s Grill. Music played loudly over a big chatterbox as a beefy cow stood behind the counter, greeting them in a deep voice.

  “Hey there, little ones. What can I get you?”

  Was Dakota supposed to order something? He leaned to Chuck and whispered, “Milk?”

  Chuck wrinkled his brow. “What are you, a newborn?” He turned back to the big cow behind the counter. “Lo’hai, Leatherneck. Two mango juices, please. And some grilled pineapple. Moohalo!”

  Chuck and Dakota sat at a small table listening to the chatterbox while they tried to think up a new idea.

  “Okay, so the raft didn’t work out,” Chuck admitted. “But don’t worry. I’ll get you back out there.” He leaned his chin on his hoof and let out a sad sigh. “You’re so lucky,” he moaned. “I wish I could get out there.”

  Dakota sipped his mango juice and took in all the beautiful surroundings of Bermooda. The salty smell of the sea, the palm trees blowing gently in the warm breeze, the sound of seagulls cawing over the rolling waves…it was all very relaxing. He couldn’t understand why Chuck wanted to leave so badly.

  “Most humans spend their whole lives wishing for a place like this,” Dakota told him. “It’s like paradise.”

  “I know!” Chuck said. “Isn’t it boring?” He thoughtfully chewed on a stalk of sea grass. “Anyway, I’m sure a boat must be looking for you somewhere. I just wish there was some way of knowing what’s going on out there.”

  No sooner had Chuck finished his thought than a familiar voice came over the chatterbox: Hey kids, this is Angus Atkins on WKUD, bringing you all the music…all the news…everything that’s going on out there!

  Chuck’s eyebrows rose. His tail twitched. “I have an idea!” he said. “If there’s anything out there, it would be in the news. And if you want the news, there’s no better source than Angus Atkins.”

  He pointed to the top of Mount Maverick. “We’re going up to WKUD.”

  The WKUD radio station was all the way at the top of the mountain, so it could be heard by chatterboxes all over the island. It wasn’t hard to get to, but it was a length
y walk, so Chuck suggested they start right away. While they hiked up the winding road, Chuck had something important to teach Dakota.

  “It’s not enough for you to look like a cow,” he said. Dakota still didn’t think his costume looked at all like a cow, but it had managed to fool everyone so far.

  “You have to be able to moo,” Chuck continued. “If you can’t moo, someone will eventually find out what you are. Come on, give me your best moo.”

  “Mooooooo…” Dakota said.

  “No, no,” Chuck corrected him. “You’re using your mouth too much. Let the sound come from down in your throat.”

  Dakota didn’t understand. He tried to moo with his throat. It started out as a moo, but it ended up sounding like he was coughing up a hairball. It was awful.

  Chuck shook his head and just told Dakota to keep practicing. Dakota thought it was awfully nice of Chuck to be going through so much trouble to help him.

  “You’re hilarious,” Chuck told him. “I don’t usually get to have this much fun.”

  “Don’t you have fun with your friends?” Dakota asked.

  Chuck didn’t answer right away. He just stopped in the middle of the road and pawed a hoof at the ground. “I don’t really have many friends,” he admitted. “They just don’t like to dream as much as I do! I’m kind of an outcast.”

  “I understand,” Dakota reassured him. “I’m an outcast too.”

  “Not for long,” Chuck said, perking up. “We’ll figure this out and get you back to your kine in no time.”

  “My kind?” Dakota asked, as they started walking again.

  “Not kind,” Chuck said, rolling his eyes. “Kine. It’s a group of cows you come from. Your kine is your family.”

  Dakota didn’t say much for the rest of the trip after that. He walked mostly in silence until they got to the radio station.

  WKUD was in a small shack with a flat roof and a big tower sticking up behind it. Dakota was surprised to see someone he recognized climbing around on the tower.