Текст книги "The Villain Virus"

Автор книги: Michael Buckley

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Matilda’s teammates subdued her before she could cause any more destruction. She was feverish and raving when Brand came in to see her. It was like watching his own daughter suffering. She was sick with something, but no one knew what. He had taken his fear of losing her out on some of the scientists, demanding answers. Finally, a scientist called a briefing in the middle school’s science lab.

“Why are we meeting up here?” Brand said. In the previous school, he’d never had important conversations outside of the Playground, and he was worried Principal Dove or someone else on the staff would find them and demand an explanation.

“I don’t want to frighten any of the others,” the scientist said. She was Dr. Olivia Kim, a scientist with one of the brightest minds in nanobyte technology in the world. Brand had no idea why she had been the one to call the meeting. What did the little robots that gave the kids their powers have to do with Matilda’s sudden insanity?

“Why would you frighten anyone?” he asked.

The scientist gestured to a microscope resting on a table. “Take a look.”

Brand peered into the lens and saw a milky white world swirling with stringy bacteria. He wasn’t much of a scientist himself, and it irritated him when the big brains assumed he should naturally know what something was. “What am I looking at?”

Duncan stepped over to take a peek, followed by Ruby. Flinch was next. Jackson waved it off. Science wasn’t his thing, either.

“I think I’ve discovered what has caused Agent Wheezer’s drastic change in personality. Agent Flinch was the one who gave us the lead,” Dr. Kim said. “Please, take another look.”

Brand looked again. This time he saw a black dot appear and attack some of the bacteria. It was much smaller than the other creatures, but it was fierce, and soon the bacteria were dead.

“What’s that black thing?”

Dr. Kim leaned over and adjusted the magnification. This time the menacing dot seemed much bigger, and Brand could make out details. It looked like a cockroach with spindly legs and pinchers on its face. It also looked mechanical.

“That’s a nanobyte,” Dr. Kim said.

“That’s what they look like? That’s what we put into the kids?” Brand asked.

The scientist nodded. “Each of our agents has millions of these in their bloodstream, enhancing and manipulating their natural talents and giving them their remarkable powers. They give Gluestick his sticky hands and feet, Pufferfish her superallergies, Braceface his morphing braces, Wheezer her supercharged inhalers, and Flinch his hyperactive strength and speed. At least that’s what our nanobytes do. The nanobyte you’re looking at isn’t one of ours.”

Brand saw Duncan arch a curious eyebrow. He was a technology geek and loved anything that needed a battery. Brand hated to admit it, but if it wasn’t for Duncan, he wouldn’t know how many of the team’s gadgets worked. “Not one of ours?” Duncan said. “How is that possible? We’re the only organization on Earth that has this technology—unless we’ve been infiltrated.”

“No, we haven’t been infiltrated. Our technology is still safe. These nanobytes aren’t from Earth. They’re alien.”

“Like from outer space?” Braceface asked.

“No, they’re from an alternate Earth—the one Heathcliff visited when he built the interdimensional bridge,” Dr. Kim replied. “While he was there, he visited a mirror duplicate of our Playground and he had a new batch of that universe’s nanobytes upgrade his body. They are what has caused his current condition.”

“I knew the bobblehead had something to do with this,” Jackson muttered.

“Is this somehow connected to Stoop’s crime spree and Mr. Miniature?” Pufferfish asked.

“I’m afraid so. I found nanobytes inside of Sherman Stoop, a.k.a. Captain Kapow, and the incredible shrinking scientist, too. There were millions of them in their bloodstreams and attached to the base of their brains.”

Flinch gasped. “Brain eaters!”

“No, not brain eaters. More like tiny megaphones, all blasting a specific message into their heads.”

“The nanobytes are brainwashing them?” Ms. Holiday asked.

Dr. Kim nodded. “Yes, that’s probably the best way to explain it.”

“If these are Heathcliff’s nanobytes, how did Matilda and the others get them?” Pufferfish asked, peering into the microscope again.

“I believe he’s contagious,” Dr. Kim said. “And worse, the nanobytes seem to be infecting people with his personality. Matilda and the others all demonstrated the same symptoms: a sudden elevated intelligence, paranoia, a sense of superiority. I believe if Matilda had the opportunity, she, too, would have begun work on some kind of doomsday device. Heathcliff is turning people into supervillains.”

“How is that possible?” Ms. Holiday asked. “All the kids have nanobytes, but none of them are infecting others. None of them give people superstrength or make them crave Ring Dings.”

Dr. Kim nodded. “It seems that Heathcliff’s nanobytes have been altered by his anger. His mental stability has been in question for some time, and these things are working on his brain. Perhaps the nanobytes were built differently on the alternative Earth. We have no way of checking. There are a number of things that could have mutated them.”

“So they’ve adapted to his crazy?” Jackson asked.

“I’ll have to do more tests,” Dr. Kim said. “But right now we have a much bigger problem. They’re spreading.”

“How can you be sure?” Brand asked.

“Mr. Miniature worked in a grocery store nearly fifteen miles from here. He’s never had any contact with Heathcliff and has never stepped foot in the Playground. That means he got them from someone else. It could have been someone who works in this facility, or it could have been someone who has been in contact with an employee. They could have passed each other on the street or taken the same bus, or maybe he was infected by an unknown third party. We don’t know. But we should be prepared. All three of our infected say they felt a sudden fever and fatigue, followed by a drastic change in mood. They all say they were happy, and then all of a sudden boiling with anger.”

“Um, I had a fever,” Flinch said, raising his hand.

“When?” Brand asked.

“Last night. I was tired and angry, too. I thought people were making fun of me and I wanted revenge, but then I went to sleep and it went away. I feel like myself right now, though.”

“OK, Dr. Kim, give Flinch a thorough exam and let me know if he’s—”

Suddenly, all four of the children sneezed at the same time.

“Is that a call from the Playground?” Brand asked.

“It’s an incident alarm,” Ruby explained. “Benjamin is asking for us.”

Brand ran for the door, but Ruby stopped him. “Benjamin says to sit down at the lab tables. The new entrance to the Playground has been installed and is now ready for use.”

Flinch watched his boss hesitantly sit down.

“How does it—”

And then all of the seats dropped through the floor and into a deep tunnel.

Moments later, Benjamin hovered around their heads like an excited bumblebee. “Police reports are coming in,” he chirped. The video screen displayed a photo of a masked man. “This one is in Atlanta. He’s calling himself the Monkey Master. He’s kidnapped the mayor.”

“Any bets on what kind of animal he uses in his crime spree?” Jackson said.

“The lunch lady has the School Bus ready to go,” Benjamin said. “Ms. Holiday, I suggest your mission kit include a bunch of bananas.”

“Kids, let’s move it,” Brand said. But he snatched Flinch by the arm before he could join them. “Not you.”

“But I feel great!”

Brand had no time to argue with the boy. He could tell Flinch was disappointed, but he would have to get over it. The world was in big, big trouble.

YOU’RE ONE TOUGH COOKIE. I’LL GIVE YOU THAT. OR MAYBE I’M JUST GOING TOO EASY ON YOU. PERHAPS IT’S TIME FOR BIGGER CHALLENGES.

SWIM TEN LAPS IN THE POOL—

WHOA—CAN’T A GUY FINISH? I DIDN’T TELL YOU TO TAKE A BOOK INTO THE POOL. NOW IT’S ALL WET AND YOU LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT. HOW DID YOU GET INTO THIS PROGRAM?

FIRST, GO BUY ANOTHER BOOK AND SET IT ON THE SIDE OF THE POOL IN A NICE, DRY PLACE. SECOND, STRETCH. YOU’RE STARTING TO SEE A PATTERN HERE, RIGHT? THIRD, PUSH OFF THE SIDE OF THE POOL WITH YOUR FEET AND GLIDE THROUGH THE WATER WITH YOUR ARMS EXTENDED AND YOUR FACE POINTING DOWN. FOURTH, KICK YOUR FEET. FIFTH, USE ONE ARM TO STROKE YOU FORWARD, THEN THE OTHER, IN A CONSTANT RHYTHM, TURNING YOUR HEAD TO BREATHE. SIXTH, DON’T DROWN.

TELL ME HOW MANY LAPS YOU DID.

HUH, THAT’S IT? WELL, LET’S JUST HOPE YOU'RE NOT CHASED BY A SHARK ANYTIME SOON.

“A virus?” the Antagonist said as he walked through his fortress’s subterranean dungeon. Every one of his employees was locked in chains and raving like a lunatic. He and Miss Information were the only ones who seemed well. “You’re telling me all of my henchmen are sick?”

“That’s what my sources are saying,” Miss Information said.

“You have sources inside the NERDS organization?” he asked, incredulous.

“They do call me Miss Information,” she said. “I’m hearing that this sickness is a virus—an electronic virus.”

“It’s man-made?” he asked as he cupped the face of one of his henchmen. It was a portrait of murderous anger.

“They’re miniature robots,” she said.

“Nanobytes,” the Antagonist said, recalling his former employer’s obsession with them. “Do you think I’m ignorant? I know as much as anyone about that team.”

“Of course you do,” she said. “These nanobytes attach themselves to the victim’s brain and blast it with signals. It’s the reason why everyone is suddenly superintelligent. It’s also why they believe the world is out to get them.”

The Antagonist thought back over the past few weeks. Hadn’t he suddenly gotten very smart? Wasn’t he incredibly paranoid? … Was he infected with this bizarre illness, and if so, why wasn’t he raving like everyone else who clearly had it?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Miss Information said.

“You do?”

“You’re concerned that this infection will slow down your plans to take over the world. You wonder if you can manage the criminally insane—especially if they are more criminally insane than you. Darling, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Did you just call me ‘darling’?” he asked.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “We hardly know each other. I don’t even know what you look like, but I know all I need to know. You’re ruthless, evil, and brilliant. And that hook! It’s not just the masks and our need to crush our enemies that match. It’s our hearts.”

“But didn’t you say you wanted to kill me and steal my empire?”

“I did, and someday I will, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be happy until then,” she purred. “For now, we should get married. We could have a family. Imagine it, Antagonist. The pitter-patter of evil little feet running through the fortress.”

The Antagonist found himself swept away by the idea. This woman in her skull mask was awfully cute. He loved the way she plotted the destruction of the world capitals. Could he dare to dream of love? Would it distract him from his plots and plans? But then his heart swelled in his chest and he pulled her close. They kissed—a wild, passionate kiss that sealed their love. When it was over, the two held hands; or rather, she held his hook and together they gazed into the masks’ slits where their eyes were.

“Next time, darling, we should take off the masks before we kiss,” she said.

“Agreed,” he said as he spit a bit of lint out of his mouth. “Now, what were you saying about taking over the world?”

“Yes, yes—look around you,” she said, gesturing to his imprisoned soldiers. “What do you see?”

“A hundred lunatics all bent on taking over the world!”

She shook her head. “No, that’s not what you see.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, you see opportunity,” she said. “This virus they have inside them is spreading. Everyone who contracts it joins the ranks of evildoers.”

“And how does that help me?”

Miss Information giggled. “Oh, silly, you don’t have to hide your genius from me. I know perfectly well that you are already planning to set them free.”

“Set them free?”

“Yes, because if we set them free, they will cause chaos, especially for the NERDS. But better than that, the virus will spread. The infected will overrun the world, crippling governments, conquering the military, and doing all our hard work for us. Then they will turn on one another, and while they fight it out, we can sit back and watch it all unfold, ready to take our rightful place when there’s no one left. It’s a genius idea that only my little love puppy could imagine.”

The Antagonist nodded. Of course it was genius. It was his idea. Though some of the details were not so clear until this amazing woman helped him flesh it all out. Right?

“Exactly,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her again, this time more passionately. She returned his affection, and once more they stood and stared, as if seeing each other for the first time.

“Darling, we forgot about the masks, again,” Miss Information said.

“Um, yes,” he replied, spitting out another bit of lint. “Next time. For now, we have a world to conquer.”

Flinch sat on an examination table in the Playground, feeling like a jerk.

“He benched me,” he said to Dr. Kim. “The last two missions I’ve been on I screwed up. Paris is a mess and the Empire State Building is small enough to step on.”

She shook her head. “Flinch, that’s not why you’re here, and even if it was, you can still be a big help to this mission. We need to do some tests. Maybe we can find out why you didn’t suffer from the nanobytes like the others.”

“While I’m on the bench,” he grumbled.

Dr. Kim and several other scientists collected blood and hair samples, peered into his eyes and nose, checked his blood pressure and reflexes, and swabbed the inside of his cheeks. They examined his harness and the connection devices that linked his bloodstream to it. They took his temperature, peered at his tongue, and had him run on a treadmill, both at superspeed and under his own natural power. Then they hurried away to study the results, leaving him alone with Dr. Kim. She was a nice lady, but she spent the next couple of hours staring into her microscope while he tried to keep himself occupied. Not an easy task after you’ve emptied three boxes of hot cocoa mix into your mouth. He was so jittery, he fell out of his chair seven times, but nothing could take his mind off his recent failures. As many times as Dr. Kim tried to assure him that his role in the team was important, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was being punished. For a moment he wondered if perhaps the nanobytes were making him paranoid, but he didn’t feel like a genius or that everyone was laughing at him. He knew he had screwed up. It was just normal, regular, everyday paranoia.

Dr. Kim sat down on a chair in front of him. Her face looked grim, and he panicked. “I have the disease!” he cried before she could say a word. He was going to go crazy, too! He darted across the room and into one of the empty holding cells, slammed the door shut, then took the key and swallowed it. It was the best thing for everyone, he told himself.

“Flinch, come out of the cell,” Dr. Kim said.

“No! I’m too dangerous,” he shouted. “I have to lock myself up for the good of humankind. Just push a plate of gummi bears and a juice box under the door from time to time. I’ll be fine!”

“Flinch, calm down. You’re freaking out for no reason,” the scientist said.

“Don’t try to talk me out of this, Doc!” he said. “I’m better off in here, growing my toenails long and working on a big bushy beard. Don’t worry about me. I’ll make friends with the lint in my belly button!”

“Agent! You’re not sick!”

Flinch was surprised. “Huh? But I had a fever. I wanted to take over the world.”

“You had the virus, but you beat it. The alien nanobytes have been disabled,” she said. “Your body created an immunity.”

“Then … Matilda and the others will get better, too?” Flinch asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Dr. Kim said. “Their bodies don’t have the same fighting power yours does. You see, when a virus invades, white blood cells are sent to fight and kill it. Some viruses are too strong for the cells, and that’s how a person gets sick. That’s what happened to Matilda and Sherman.”

“Then why didn’t that happen to me?” Flinch asked.

“Your white blood cells are different. I’ve never seen anything like them. They are flooded with sugar, which gives them energy, and then your upgrades supercharge them, turning them into little firecrackers. The alien nanobytes never had a chance.”

“So I’m not going to go crazy?”

“Not any crazier than you are right now,” she said with a laugh. “You’re not a danger to anyone, Flinch—except for those who stand between you and a box of chocolate-covered cherries. Come on out.”

Flinch tried the cell door. It was locked tight. He gave his harness knob a twist and then ripped the door out of the wall.

Dr. Kim didn’t seem fazed. “Agent Brand told me to send you back to class. He says the team has the Monkey Master under control and will be back soon.”

“OK,” Flinch said. He left and headed for the middle of the dome. In the center was a panel of blinking buttons. One was labeled RETURN TO CLASS. Before he pushed it he turned to Dr. Kim, who had followed him. “Um, sorry about that door.”

“It happens,” she said.

Flinch grinned and pressed the button. The gigantic fans turned on, and soon he was pushed up through the dome and into the tunnel system. He fully expected to land inside Locker 41, but instead he found himself in his chair in Mr. Gilligan’s health class just as the roll was being called. Flinch popped up so quickly that no one even noticed his arrival.

“Julio Escala? Has anyone seen Julio Escala?” the teacher snapped.

“Here!” Julio said.

Mr. Gilligan sighed. “People! You need to speak up when I’m calling attendance. Tommy Friedman?”

Before Tommy could answer, there was a knock at the door. It swung open, and Ms. Dove and Mrs. Reinhold, the science teacher, entered the room. As usual, Ms. Dove was all smiles, but Mrs. Reinhold looked like a vengeful god from Mount Olympus.

If Flinch hadn’t known any better, he might have thought actual flames were burning in her eyes. He didn’t need to be told they were there for him. He slid out of his chair and followed the two women down the hall and into the principal’s office, where they closed the door behind him.

“Mr. Escala, I find you in my office for the second time this week,” Ms. Dove said with an exaggerated pouty face. “You realize there have only been three days of school so far. You are not starting off very well.”

“He threatened me!” Mrs. Reinhold shouted.

“Threatened?” Flinch said. “I did not!”

“He said he would relieve himself in my classroom!”

Flinch struggled to respond. What was he supposed to say? I had to go save the world, and that kind of thing is usually urgent? But he didn’t have to say anything. Mrs. Reinhold launched into a fiery tirade, describing his high crimes and outlining the bleak future that lay ahead of him.

He was a troublemaker. He was disrespectful. He was a bad role model to the other children. He didn’t take his education seriously. He didn’t listen. He didn’t follow directions. He didn’t play well with others. If he didn’t shape up and fly right, he was going to find himself in a heap load of trouble. He would grow up to be shiftless. He would disappoint everyone, but most important, he would disappoint himself. He would go through life sneering at authority and someday end up in prison. Yes, prison! In thirty years of teaching she had never seen anything like this. She didn’t know what had gotten into kids these days. They had no respect. When she was a student she would never have been so disrespectful to a teacher. She blamed the video games. She truly thought the world was falling apart and wondered if she could find work as a waitress.

When Mrs. Reinhold finally talked herself into exhaustion, she plopped down onto a chair to catch her breath. Flinch turned to Ms. Dove, fully prepared for another lecture, but the big-eyed woman just smiled. “What are we going to do with you, Mr. Escala?”

The answer was another detention.

Mrs. Reinhold and Ms. Dove walked him down the hall to the detention room. Flinch took his seat and put his head down in disgrace. Mama Rosa was going to kill him. In three days he had gone from nerd to full-fledged juvenile delinquent.

“Psst,” a voice said from behind his head. He sat up and turned. The four boys who had bullied him on the first day were all sitting in a row. He expected them to either be angry at his manhandling or completely terrified of his inhuman strength. But they were grinning at him and nodding with respect. He scanned the room and saw that everyone else was also watching him with an odd sense of awe. It was almost as if he was one of them, now that he’d been tossed into detention twice in the same week.

“Yo, bro,” the kid with the red hair said. “Welcome back.”

When he got home, he found a note on the kitchen table. It read, I’m very disappointed. We will discuss this after my stories.

Anxiety made Flinch fidget even more than usual. Mama Rosa must have thought he had lost his mind. He couldn’t wait for her soap operas to be over. He needed to explain himself the best he could. He ran through the house, but before his foot hit the first stair, he was rocked by a massive explosion.

“What was that?” he cried, pushing himself to his feet.

Mama Rosa came down the steps, stomping like an angry bull. Strapped to her back were two silver canisters almost as big as garbage cans. A single tube led from the canisters to a nozzle in her hand. The nozzle was dripping something that smelled like fuel onto the rug.

“Mama Rosa!”

“That’s not my name anymore! My name is Hot Tamale!”

She was infected.

If the name and the flamethrower hadn’t given it away, there was also her flushed face and angry red eyes. Flinch tried to stay calm. He had to keep the old woman from doing anything drastic.

“So, that’s a nice flamethrower, Hot Tamale. What do you plan on doing with it?” Flinch asked.

“I’m going to burn down Mrs. Valencia’s rose garden,” Mama Rosa said as she pushed past him and out the front door.

Years ago Mama Rosa and Mrs. Valencia were the best of friends. They played dominoes on the front porch and drank mojitos at an alarming rate. They loved to talk about gardening, and both considered themselves experts when it came to growing beautiful, blooming roses. But one year they both entered a contest held by the Arlington Botanical Garden, and Mrs. Valencia’s roses won. Mama Rosa never spoke to her friend again. She sat on the porch, envying Mrs. Valencia as she spread her prize, a year’s supply of mulch, across her bulb garden. A confrontation had been brewing for years, but no one suspected it would involve a flamethrower.

“You can’t burn down her rose garden, Mama,” Flinch said. The old woman tried to shoo him away, but he stayed close to her side.

“She shouldn’t have laughed at me!” Mama Rosa said.

There was that phrase again. “They laughed at me.” He had heard Captain Kapow say the same thing. He’d heard Mr. Miniature say it, too. When his own fever was raging, he was certain that others were snickering behind his back. How could he convince Mama Rosa otherwise?

The old woman stopped her march right in front of Mrs. Valencia’s home. She raised her hose and sprayed her flames, scorching Mrs. Valencia’s front yard. When she turned off the hose, the grass was black and smoldering. She cackled proudly.

Flinch pinched his nose and heard the com-link in his head activate. “I’ve got another infected supervillain on my hands.”

“Who?” Agent Brand asked when he came online.

“My grandma!”

“Can you handle it until I can get the team there? Everyone has left for the day. I can’t even get Ms. Holiday on the phone,” Brand said.

“She’s mi familia, boss. I’ll handle this. I’m just letting you know Dr. Kim is right. It’s spreading.”

Mama Rosa blasted the weeping willow growing in Mrs. Valencia’s front yard. Soon the tree was a bonfire. A moment later Mrs. Valencia, wearing an apron and carrying a rolling pin, came racing out of the house. She was angry.

“Rosa, what are you doing?” she cried.

“Something I should have done a long time ago, woman,” Rosa said. “I’m going to settle the score. Don’t believe what they say—revenge is a dish best served hot!”

Mama Rosa blasted fire into the sky to emphasize her point.

“Have you lost your mind?” Mrs. Valencia shouted.

“Quite the contrary! I have finally found it,” Mama Rosa shouted back, blasting Mrs. Valencia’s shrubs.

“You think I’m going to just let that happen, Rosa?” Mrs. Valencia asked. “You think you can stand here and burn my prize-winning roses and laugh about it? Well, I’m sick of you laughing at me. I’m sick of everyone laughing at me.”

From inside her apron she pulled out a whistle. It was covered in blinking lights and knobs. Flinch had never seen anything like it outside of the Playground—which made him very nervous. Mrs. Valencia put the whistle to her mouth … and suddenly his eardrums felt like they were exploding. The high-pitched squeal shattered windows, set off car alarms, and knocked him and Mama Rosa to the pavement.

With ringing ears, Flinch helped Mama Rosa stand up. She was still dazed from the attack, which meant it was the perfect time to relieve her of her flamethrower.

“Every day I have to hear your stupid soap operas blasting through the window of your home, Rosa,” Mrs. Valencia shouted. “All that noise is bad for the air. It’s bad for the neighborhood, and it’s bad for my flowers! I built this little machine to show you what it’s like to not be able to hear yourself think. I guess you won’t be laughing at me again, will you, Rosa? I guess you’ll think twice before getting in the way of the Whistle Wizard!”

Mrs. Valencia lifted her whistle to her mouth, but Flinch was already on the move. He dashed into his neighbor’s yard, leaped over the roaring fire that was once her hydrangea bush, and snatched the weapon out of her hand. Then he pulverized it beneath the heel of his sneaker.

“You fool!” the woman said. “You’ve foiled my plans!”

There was a massive thump that shook the ground, and everyone fell over again, even Mrs. Valencia. That thump was followed by another and then another and another, each one growing in intensity. The trees shook, and one even uprooted, collapsing onto a nearby car. A crack in the concrete grew and grew, widening into a trench and ripping the neighborhood in two. When it was finished splitting, Mama Rosa was on one side of a wide, jagged ditch and Flinch was on the other.

“Julio?” she cried. “What is causing this?”

Flinch looked down the street and nearly threw up his Twinkies. Stomping toward them was a mechanical creature nearly three stories tall. Its body had the shape of a man, but its head was a transparent orb. Inside was a very familiar face—Old Man Augustine. Every kid in the neighborhood knew the old coot, and so did every toy store in a one-mile radius. Old Man Augustine was known as “the ball bandit.”

Old Man Augustine had constructed a six-foot fence around his entire property. Some said it was because he wanted privacy, but the kids knew different. Any stray ball that had the sad fate of flying over the fence and into his yard was never seen again; footballs, soccer balls, stickballs, baseballs—all vanished in the Bermuda Triangle of Fun. There were neighborhood rumors about what the old man did with the captured balls. Some said he made millions selling them on the Internet. Others said he melted them down and sold them to a third world country struggling with shortages of rubber and pigskin. Still others said he kept them all in a bizarre, underground museum dedicated to his efforts in ruining childhoods.

And now Old Man Augustine had a giant robot. Flinch couldn’t help but wonder which kid had accidentally tossed that into his yard.

“I have warned everyone in this neighborhood to keep off my lawn!” the old man’s voice boomed. His voice was electronically magnified, giving it an eerie, mechanical thrum. “I work hard to keep it nice, and you might think that’s funny, but it’s not. I’ve heard you all laughing about it. Well, I’ll show you what’s hilarious!”

There was an explosion of steam and flame and the giant robot’s fist separated from its arm and flew toward Flinch. Instinctively, he leaped into the air just before it crashed into him. He landed on the other side of the trench, right next to Mama Rosa.

His grandmother shook off her insanity long enough to look stunned. “Julio, how did you—?”

“Milk does a body good, Mama Rosa,” Flinch said. He didn’t have time to worry about her discovering his powers and had even less time to explain them. “I’m just going to go and take care of that robot. I’ll be right back.”

Flinch turned and ran with a burst of speed so powerful it blew Mama Rosa’s hair out of the bun on the top of her head. He burned a path toward the colossus while sorting through his possible plans. OK, superpunch? Should he try to tear its head off? Tie up its feet with a big rope?

But while pondering these possibilities, a little voice reminded him that he was a freak. He had screwed up the last two missions he was in charge of, and now he was on his way to screwing up a third. What if he just wasn’t good at decisions?

“Before I put up my fence, you heathens ran through my property like a herd of cows, tearing up the flowers and turning everything to mud. All for your stupid balls! Well, do you want your balls back? Here they are!”

A cannon boom shook the air, and a hailstorm of footballs, baseballs, tennis balls, basketballs, soccer balls, a few Frisbees, and at least one Hula-Hoop flew out of the robot’s chest. Flinch did his best to avoid them, zigzagging through the assault, but there were so many. A rubber dodgeball smacked him on the head, but he shook it off and kept running toward the robot. When he got close enough, he landed a massive punch right at its leg, knocking it clean off its body.