Galactic Fun Park: Book Three: Galactic Fun Park, #1

By Mason Bell

Galactic Fun Park animals are living their most luxurious life. Eating fresh pickles straight from the jar. Test riding coasters with the friendly mechanics. Having their every need met by the Animal Advocate.

 

Even The Jenkins retirement fails to dampen their excitement for the upcoming summer season. After all, the new manager promises to continue the work of the longtime leader―even offering morning coffee with extra almond milk!

 

But rotten pecans speak louder than words.

 

Each day sees another beloved staff member fired. Favored holiday events are canceled at the last minute. Ticket sales take a nosedive. Worst of all, food shortages spread across all sections.

 

Leaders from all sections are left scratching their tails.

 

Why is the new manager always on the phone with investors? Is the stranger digging by the stream trying to be gobbled up by an alligator?

And what is a diamond, anyway?

 

Join the animals of Galactic Fun Park as they navigate a world of intrigue, sabotage, and unexpected twists and turns. Will they uncover the truth and save the park before it's too late? Find out in this thrilling adventure that will keep you on the edge of your seat until the very last page!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mason Bell
• Release date: Apr 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986606606

Mason Bell

Mason Bell spent many of her teenage years working under the scorching sun in a popular theme park. Serving in positions from ride operation to sweeping trash to managing work crews, she learned the park's secrets and gained an appreciation for the effort that went into creating the illusion.Mason Bell lives in South Texas with her husband and two cats, Frodo and Fat Hobbit.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Mr. Jenkins’ old pair of sneakers had a hole near his left pinky toe, but wearing dark socks hid it well enough for one last walk through the park. His slow pace through Eagle’s Tale quickened when the first beat dropped from the DJ Bernice had hired.

Rushing around the front gate area and along the pea-gravel walkway to the picnic pavilion, he stood along the edge of rainbow lights drifting across the entrance. The metal-covered structure proved handy for celebrating important moments in Galactic Fun Park’s history.

Streamers draped from column to column and blew in the cool summer night breeze. Bits of wilting, green lettuce peeked from the tiny triangle sandwiches placed on tiered plates. A tree of cupcakes towered over the special award to be given to Mr. Jenkins for his years of service to the park.

Mr. Jenkins glanced at the watch looped tightly around his wrist. The number twenty was etched in gold, a gift some years back. He shook his head, realizing he’d worn the time-keeping device for nearly three decades. Ten more minutes remained on his shift. Then he’d be free to retire and not worry about the day-to-day operation of Galactic Fun Park.

A gentle tug on his pant leg made Jenkins look to the ground. Seeing the squirrel, he reached into his jacket pocket. Oh, you want a pecan, do you? I will miss you when I’m home in my quiet house, Mr. Squirrel. I have told Ms. Morrison of your love for coffee, and she agreed to leave a cup for you each morning.

The squirrel gave the peace sign and waved a paw for Jenkins to follow. Spikey leaves of the holly bushes poked his arm as the fidgety squirrel cut him off and ran toward the quiet seating area with two benches. The walkway snaked farther toward the season pass office and then back to the front gate.

Hissing and clicking of the park’s residents had his heartbeat skipping. Roaches covered every trashcan and tented sign along the pathway. Cats and raccoons occupied the curb and the cooler parts of the blacktop.

But his hands trembled when the large grouping of rats separated, making a path for their leader with the bird-feather headdress. The leader wore his usual scowl of seriousness that Jenkins never grew accustomed to. The closer the rat leader marched, the more Jenkins wanted to run away.

The giant rat bowed, offering Jenkins a small silver spoon with a roller coaster etched on the handle. Jenkins lifted it to his eyes and smiled at the souvenir that could be purchased in the carousel gift store.

Thank you, Mister Mousey, and thank all of you for not attacking me all these years. I know we haven’t always been on the best of terms, but I do have a gift for you, as well.

Mr. Jenkins held up his index finger and whistled. The residents stirred as a cake with two spindly human legs stumbled into the private seating area. Over there is fine, Jenkins said, revealing it was no cake monster from the retention pond but a teenage worker who set the cake on a side table.

Thank you, Jenkins said, shaking the teen’s hand and turning his attention to the residents. Ron said you liked cake, so I thought about making it healthier. The first layer is funnel cake with pecan filling, and the middle is ground chickpeas with a dash of sugar. And as you can see, fruit tops the white icing.

The rats dove headfirst into the base layer and pulled out fists full of pecans. Raccoon claws scraped the cardboard plate as they shoved their arms deep into the chickpeas layer, looking far too similar to their cousins the moles.

It’s hard to believe this is my last day on the job, Jenkins said. I never thought I’d work more than a single season, but this park has been my life. I suppose we have that in common.

A tall man strolled into the private seating area, staring at the screen on his giant black camera. The crew is ready, he said, flinching at the insects staring him down like he was a bit of chocolate candy. They are ready for you, sir.

Fine, fine. Jenkins waved as the cameraman disappeared. You’re all welcome to join the party, though I believe you’d rather stay and enjoy the cake. I wish you all well for the future.

Rat Warriors who’d abstained from gulping bites of cake lined up and saluted Jenkins. His stomach lurched at the level of organization the rats had achieved. The idea of rats taking over the world no longer felt far-fetched.

A funky bass line blasted from the speakers in the pavilion area, playing songs requested by the guests. The near-empty pavilion, typically reserved for corporate family day events, was now packed with employees from all departments, still wearing their uniforms from the night shift and dancing under the low-hanging disco ball.

A wood decking sat a foot above the cement floor and made a decent stage for the cascade of speeches lined up for the evening. Jenkins tugged his pant leg and lifted his sneaker to the decking where cables lay like tangled snakes.

Jenkins walked past the microphone stand and yelled, Hello!

Decades of working with large groups taught him to project—a skill all leaders worth their position should master.

A hush spread over the clicks of teenagers who put their phones away and turned to the stage, cheering the manager, who’d not only treated them fairly but also earned their trust.

Thank you. I wish there was a better time to host such a party so that all the talented workers could attend, but that’s how the summers go around here. Let me get straight to the point. My time here at Galactic Fun Park has come to an end.

You don’t have to leave, Mr. J! a kid yelled from the back.

If only that were true. I have no doubt the park will continue to grow in attendance and reputation among theme parks while under your care. It has always been the staff’s hard work and dedication that made us successful—and gave Galactic Fun Park its best season on record!

Jenkins raised his hands and silenced the whooping and hollering of the crowd. Over the last month, several qualified candidates have been interviewed for my position. One stood out among the rest. May I introduce your new operations manager, Ayden Morrison.

A short woman in black pants, a white blouse, and gray sneakers jogged her way to the decking next to Jenkins. Polite but cold applause came from the crowd of teens, most of which returned their attention to the warm glow of their phones.

Thank you for the warm welcome, she said with wide eyes. It’s nearly midnight, so I’ll keep this short. We’re going to have a great season together, carrying on the legacy of Mr. Jenkins into the next decade.

Jenkins! Jenkins! roared from the crowd despite the manager motioning for them to stop. He took Morrison’s hand, and they stepped off the stage.

That’s a tough crowd, Morrison said. They really don’t want you to go. Maybe you should rethink your retirement. Stay on for a while longer while I get my bearings and gain their favor.

That’s the reason for this party. Get out there and meet a few of them. They're great kids if you give them a chance.

Hairs on his neck stood as Morrison bounced off the stage and shook the hands of the Surveyor crew gathered near the cupcakes. Sweat beaded on his lip. Leaving her with the park is the right thing to do. So why are you so nervous about retiring now? Certainly, she will ensure the park stays relevant to the next generation of park-goers, a task I’m too tired to even consider.

Mr. Jenkins snapped out of his anxiety when Ron slapped him on the back. Awesome party. Heard you ordered coconut cupcakes?

Don’t mind him, Bernice said, reaching out for a hug. I can’t believe you’re really leaving.

Yeah, even the residents are bummed out.

Take care of those critters, Ron, Jenkins said, passing him the last few pecans from his pocket. It took me far too long to realize the park needs them as much as they need us.

You can count on me!

Jenkins clasped Bernice’s hands. Thank you for all the years. You’ve been an immense help, not only to me but to this park.

Have a great retirement, Bernice said, holding back tears. You’ve earned at least ten years on a cruise ship sipping drinks with those fancy umbrellas.

Yes, yes. Now go and enjoy the evening, Jenkins said, pushing the two toward the cupcakes, where a few teens tried to up one another with their most crazy guest stories.

Jenkins strolled from the pavilion’s pounding music and sweaty employees. A last glance at the party sent an icy chill down his spine.

Goodbye, dear friend. Don’t change too much while I’m gone.

Chapter 2

Ron bounced from his old truck and passed the operations office, tucking his shirt into his pants and wrangling his bushy hair into a more normal shape. The backpack strapped to his shoulders was lighter than usual. A few outdated electronic devices he’d collected from friends replaced his typical cargo of cat food and fresh vegetables. Being that the devices were all donated, they would prove an easy way to test the residents’ intelligence.

Six months ago, the rats of Eagle’s Tale had gotten their paws on an instant camera, most likely finding it under the Surveyor’s track, but he had no proof. The mischief photographed items they needed, but as the camera’s use rose, so did the cost of supplying the expensive film. Ron hoped to train the residents to use the text function on these old smart phones instead, saving money for other necessities.

Early morning heat blanketed the front gate archway where workers bustled in and out of the Back Lot, setting out clothing rounders and hat racks for the busy summer attendance. The new section, Mars Retreat, had made this summer season the most profitable in a decade.

Bill the Mechanic sped toward Ron, stopping the golf cart a few feet ahead of the temporary queue ropes set in front of the carousel. Hey there. Are you bringing treats to the critters again?

No, sir. I’ve been thinking the residents are smarter than I think they are, so I’m gonna test their intelligence.

With a maze trap or something? Are you sticking those doohickey electrodes to their heads like I see on the news?

There’s not enough money for anything like that. I’ve gathered a bunch of old phones, and I’m gonna teach them how to text.

You oughta set up a class for us older staff in the park, too! Could you imagine a training class with rats up front and us old folks in the back?

You might be onto something, Mr. Bill.

I gotta check the electrical box in Orbit, but say hi to Mister Mousey for me. My round with him ain’t for a few days yet.

Will do.

Ron stepped over the thin, short railing designed to keep sugar-crazed kids from the carousel’s underbelly and just the right height to remind guests to stay out of the gardens—a big problem since the residents came out of hiding and became pseudo-celebrities.

Manure reeked with each step of Ron’s flip-flops along the fresh mulch. Farther behind the ride was the dirt patch where the scent of oil drifted from the large space housing the carousel motor covering the pungent mulch. During operation hours, the ride was off-limits to the residents. But with the park still closed for the morning, it was no more dangerous than a park bench under a shady tree.

Sliding open the gate of the meeting area, Ron sat cross-legged and waved to Mister Mousey standing near the new raccoon who replaced the albino one from the alligator days.

Good morning, Mister Mousey. After three visits, every resident gets a name. How does New Dude sound for you, little raccoon dude?

The raccoon stood on his hind legs and gave a thumbs up. Ron’s eyelid twitched. It was clear the residents were smart, but each new human trait they learned made him nervous. He should’ve never read Animal Farm in high school.

Mister Mousey waddled close to Ron, who unzipped his backpack on the sandy ground. New Dude climbed on his lap and sniffed the bag, turning to chatter something to the other residents, who rubbed their paws and nodded.

I’ve brought you a surprise I think you’re gonna like, Ron said. We should wait for the cat and roach to show up. I don’t want to explain how to use it twice.

Mister Mousey stood on his hind legs and turned his head to the right, speaking in his serious tone that had Ron convinced