It was like wrestling a fourteen-foot noodle. All Beulah wanted to do was curl up and take a nap.

Wahoo glanced at his father and didn’t like what he saw. Mickey Cray was clenching and unclenching his fists.

Derek panted into the microphone:

“Whatever happens, I can’t let this jungle killer wrap her massive coils around my chest! She would literally crush the life out of me!”

Mickey turned to his son. “That’s what I’m fixin’ to do,” he whispered. “Literally.”

“No, Pop, wait-”

It was too late. Wahoo’s dad hurled himself furiously at Derek Badger, but the double vision caused him to miss.

Mickey got up, dusted off and tried again. This time he scored a direct hit, clinching both arms around Derek’s pudgy midsection. He dragged him away from the dizzy python and began to squeeze with all his might.

“Cut! Cut!” cried the director. “Are you nuts? Somebody stop this lunatic!”

The crew members seemed entertained by the scuffle. No one except Wahoo made a move to rescue Derek. By the time Wahoo was able to unfasten his dad, the famous survivalist’s face had turned the color of cranberries. He was down on all fours, coughing and whimpering with Raven Stark at his side, brushing the leaves and twigs from his hair.

“Now you’ve done it,” Wahoo said.

His father looked somber. “Let’s move Beulah back to her tank.”

Mickey took the front half while Wahoo hoisted the tail section.

“That’s the worst excuse for a python I ever saw!” It was Derek, lurching to his feet. “You call that a snake? Ha! I call it an overstuffed earthworm.”

Beulah opened her shovel-sized mouth and burped, displaying rows of hook-shaped teeth. Derek cringed and hopped backward.