Fish Finelli Book 1: Seagulls Don't Eat Pickles Read Online Free PDF Page B

you good,” Roger said.
    T. J. winked at me. I shook my head, but I had to admit it: He got me. T. J. is way smarter than he sometimes acts.
    “Time to move out, men!” said Roger. He held up a hand, pinky out. T. J. and I held ours out, too. We all hooked pinkies. Then we did our secret handshake. And said our secret password: “S.D.E.P.” And we bumped fists again.
    In case you were wondering, S.D.E.P. stands for “Seagulls Don’t Eat Pickles.” It’s been our password since second grade, after Summer got mad at Roger and told everyone in school our old password. Okay, I’ll tell you, too—it was A.N.T. (Alien Ninja Turkeys—I know, totally lame, but we were little kids.)
    I headed down the main trail. I tried to walk quietly, but every twig that crunched sounded as loud as my Uncle Norman’s motorcycle when it backfires. I kept glancing over my shoulder, but there was no one there. I walked over a footbridge. On the other side were some benches. A perfect spot for a clandestine
(spy word for secret)
meeting. I crouched behind a bush. Then I moved slowly toward the clearing.
    I stopped and listened. I didn’t hear anything except the pounding of my own heart. And when I looked up, there was no one there, not even a duck.
    I recrossed the bridge back to the main trail. I was about to take the path to the right when my walkie-talkie crackled.
    “Mayday! Mayday!” came Roger’s staticky voice. “They’ve got me surrounded! There’s no way out!”

Duck, Duck, Goose–Pooped!
    "Roger!” I said into my walkie-talkie.
    There was no answer.
    “Roger!”
    “Sorry,” said Roger. “My walkie-talkie got pooped.”
    “Ew!” Goose poop seriously puts the
N
in nasty.
    “Listen, Fish, I need help A.S.A.P. They won’t leave me alone. And they look real hungry.”
    He couldn’t mean Mystery Man and his partner—or could he? But hungry for what? Roger? No way. Mystery Man might be a spy, but he was no cannibal. “Who?”
    “Get away from me!”
    “Who has you surrounded? Who looks hungry?” I yelled into the walkie-talkie.
    Seconds passed. And then, “The mutants.”
    Oh, no!
The mutants. Roger’s hand was going to be chomped off. His blood and guts would be scattered all over. I had to help him!
    “Where are you?”
    There was no answer. Just static.
    “Roger!”
    Still nothing. I didn’t know if I was sweating from panic or from T. J.’s dad’s camo gear.
    I turned back the way I had come. If Roger was somewhere east, that would be to my left, since now I was going south instead of north.
    “Roger, can you give me your coordinates?” I asked.
    Nothing.
    I hurried along, hoping Roger was okay. I was just rounding the next bend when I heard a rustling sound. I paused, listening.
    SWISH! THUD! SWISH! THUD!
    Someone was walking down the path just across from me. I couldn’t see who it was unless I crossed over the central trail. If I did, I would be changing course and going west when Roger was somewhere in the opposite direction.It would just take a minute.
    I darted across the trail. SWOOSH! THUD! I hunkered down so my head was level with the duckweed. I crawl-walked forward. I couldn’t see anyone, but the footsteps were getting closer.
    I hurried around the next bend and ducked behind a beech tree.
Aha!
There was someone in the shadows. I pulled out the binoculars to get a better look, but they didn’t help. Whoever it was just looked like a bigger black blob. Something about the bulky shape made me think it was a man, though. He was definitely slowing down. He seemed to be heading for the bench just over the bridge.
    SQUISH! SWOOSH! SQUISH!
    The man stopped suddenly. “
Zut!
” exclaimed a deep voice.
    My eyes almost popped out of my head. I knew that deep voice. It belonged to Mystery Man. And even though I didn’t know what
Zut
meant, it sounded like some cool foreign word you would say if you had just been pooped. I guess no one told him about the geese.
    Mystery Man knocked his pooped