Текст книги "The Villain Virus"

Автор книги: Michael Buckley

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

The giant robot teetered back and forth on one limb before finally tumbling over. The impact knocked down Old Man Augustine’s entire fence, but in a bizarre miracle, the lawn was completely untouched.

“What in the world is going on?!” Mama Rosa demanded.

Flinch looked at her and sighed. “It’s time you knew the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

Suddenly, Mr. Crabapple from down the street squealed into view on a converted riding lawn mower covered in sharp, spinning blades. Not far behind him, Dean Barton from the next block over snapped pictures with a bizarre camera that seemed to steal everything it captured on film. Behind him were the Soreil twins, a couple of precocious girls in pink dresses, each swinging electrified jump ropes as if they were inviting Flinch to join them in a deadly game of double Dutch.

Flinch squeezed his nose to activate the com-link again and soon heard Agent Brand on the other end.

“Did you handle your situation, Agent?” Brand asked.

“Yes and no,” Flinch said. “My grandmother is fine, but my neighborhood is losing its mind.”

Antagonist: How is ur day?

Msinformation: Good. U?

Antagonist: Awesome. Watching the news. There are supervillains everywhere!

Msinformation:

Antagonist: There’s a crazy in Delaware calling himself Captain Cavity. Built a machine that gives people tooth decay.

Msinformation: Everyone is a captain.

Antagonist: lol. Everyone!!!!

Msinformation: Fail!

Antagonist: lol! Can’t wait for our date tonight …

Msinformation: I can’t wait to see you cooking for me.

Antagonist: I’m not really going to cook. I kidnapped the guy who won last year’s goulash cook-off.

Msinformation: Love, love, love goulash!

Antagonist: I love you.

Msinformation: :<3

Antagonist: What Is: <3?

Msinformation: A kiss. Duh! You’re so cute.

Antagonist: Not as cute as you.

Msinformation: No, you’re cute.

Antagonist: Don’t argue. You’re the cute one.

Msinformation: Don’t tell me what to do! If I say you’re cute, you’re cute.

Antagonist: If you don’t stop and admit you are far cuter than I am, then I can’t be held responsible for the pain and misery I will heap on you.

Msinformation: And If you don’t accept the fact that I think you’re cuter, I will make sure that you never get another night of rest for fear of me killing you in your sleep.

Antagonist: You are going to look so cute trying to crawl out of my shark tank.

Msinformation: And you will look cute when my giant laser slices you in half.

Antagonist: We are perfect for each other.

Msinformation: That’s ’cause we’re cute

The next morning Agent Brand found himself in the briefing room with the NERDS (minus Matilda), Ms. Holiday, the lunch lady, Benjamin, and Dr. Kim. General Savage was linked via satellite.

Dr. Kim wore a concerned expression. Brand didn’t like it. Scientists were supposed to be optimistic. They put their faith in numbers and ideas, and they thought the answers to even the biggest questions were right around the corner. When they looked nervous, that didn’t bode well.

“I’ve examined Flinch’s grandmother, as well as the dozen other people from her neighborhood, and all are infected with Heathcliff’s mutated nanobytes. It’s likely that we’re seeing the beginning of an epidemic.”

“An epidemic?” Ms. Holiday repeated, horrified.

Dr. Kim nodded. “Benjamin, can you assist?”

The blue orb darted around the room. “I’d be happy to help, Dr. Kim.”

The walls flipped over to reveal a collection of massive computer screens. One had a map of the greater Washington, D.C., area on it, while another had a highly magnified image of a nanobyte. Then there were charts of the circulatory system of a human body. Another screen showed a gallery of pictures, each a portrait of a normal citizen who had suddenly developed a desire to take over the world. Many of them wore masks and bizarre costumes, and all of them held some strange weapon in their hands.

“Heathcliff’s nanobytes are self-replicating,” the doctor said.

“And that means … ?” Jackson asked.

“They’re cloning themselves,” Duncan explained.

“Exactly,” Dr. Kim said. “And they’re doing it at an astounding speed. Their numbers double every ten minutes. Plus, there’s another troubling discovery. As I told you before, the nanobytes are broadcasting a message into the minds of their victims. Our science team has managed to isolate it … Benjamin?”

Benjamin clicked and a voice filled the room. It had a determined, almost fevered intensity. “You are smarter than everyone else. Everyone you know is a fool. They don’t respect your intellect. But they will pay. Oh yes, they will pay. When you take over the world, they will fall to their knees and beg for your mercy, but they will find you have none! They shouldn’t have laughed at you. You will have the last laugh!”

“That voice!” Pufferfish said.

“It’s Heathcliff,” Brand snarled. “Even when he’s asleep, he’s trying to take over the world. We need to lock down the facility.”

“You can’t lock us in,” Ms. Holiday said.

“Ms. Holiday is correct,” Dr. Kim said. “We’re the only group capable of dealing with the insanity out there. If the team is trapped down here, the problems will get worse.”

“What are your projections, Dr. Kim?” General Savage asked. “What kind of time do we have before it goes global?”

A sectional map of the world appeared on all of the screens. It was scattered with red dots, mostly concentrated on the East Coast of the United States and Western Europe. But as Brand studied the map the dots began to spread. The map zoomed out to show the entire world, and the little red dots appeared on every continent. The dots multiplied faster and faster, and soon there wasn’t an inhabited place on Earth that wasn’t bright red.

“How long?” the lunch lady asked.

“Three days,” Benjamin said. “Maybe longer.”

“But not much longer,” Dr. Kim added.

Brand looked around the room. “So what do we do?”

The group grew very quiet.

Brand slammed his hand down on a desk. “Nothing? We don’t have a plan? We’re just going to let the world end?” He shuddered, envisioning the inevitable. When would Ms. Holiday succumb? The lunch lady? General Savage? The team? What would happen when it was his turn and he was dreaming of taking over the world or building a freeze ray?

“If the virus is mechanical in nature, can’t we just send out an electromagnetic pulse? That usually disables electronics,” Duncan said.

“We tried that,” Dr. Kim said. “Heathcliff’s nanobytes have developed some kind of shield. Perhaps the machine that installed them in his head understood that one EMP blast could kill him, so it came with protection.”

“What about Heathcliff?” Savage said. “If he’s got some transmitter inside him, can’t we just go in and take it out?”

“You’re suggesting some sort of operation,” Ms. Holiday said.

“It’s in his brain, right? Would he survive it?” Pufferfish asked.

“We’ve thought of that, too,” Dr. Kim said. “We located the transmitter, but—”

“Then cut it out!” Savage cried.

“It’s not that simple, sir,” Dr. Kim said.

“The transmitter is as small as a nanobyte, which is microscopic,” Benjamin twittered. “If we had a surgeon who could find it, he or she would have to cut into Heathcliff’s brain, which in its current state is enormous. There isn’t a doctor alive who would know how to find it.”

“And it could kill Heathcliff,” Dr. Kim added.

There was a silence in the room.

“No,” Brand said. “Heathcliff may be an insane monster and full of alien robots, but he is still an eleven-year-old boy.”

“But we’re talking about the end of the world here!” Savage barked.

“We still have at least three days, sir,” Brand said.

“I agree with Agent Brand,” Dr. Kim said. “We’ve got a team of one hundred of the smartest scientists to ever walk the planet dedicating all their considerable brainpower to coming up with a solution.”

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Ms. Holiday asked.

“We screen everyone on the team for infections,” Dr. Kim said. “We’ll do it every couple of hours. Anyone who has as an alien nanobyte will be quarantined immediately to prevent him or her from infecting others.”

“Everyone?” Ms. Holiday asked.

“Better safe than sorry,” Agent Brand said. “Doctor, what can we do to help the science team?”

“Stay out of the way and let us do our work,” Dr. Kim said. “And perhaps spend some time with the people you love while you still can. They may try to take over the world at any minute.”

“If that’s all, the children should get to class,” Ms. Holiday said. “The new principal is watching them like a hawk.”

“Can we stop with the bird references?” Jackson said.

The lunch lady nodded his head in agreement. “Listen, we’re going to have to do something about her and quick. She’s taken too big of an interest in the team.”

Brand nodded. “It’s on the list. Right now, we’ve got more important things to do than worry about Ms. Dove.”

“Easy for you to say,” Flinch remarked. “You haven’t been in detention twice this week. I’m starting to get a reputation.”

“Yeah, I hear some of the kids even think he’s cool,” Jackson said.

WOW, WATCHING YOU DO ALL THIS EXERCISING IS EXHAUSTING. I NEED TO SIT DOWN AND TAKE A BREAK. PHEW! NO, I’M FINE. I JUST GET A LITTLE WINDED SOMETIMES. ALL RIGHT, LET’S GET BACK INTO IT.

THE NEXT FITNESS CHALLENGE IS A LITTLE THING I CALL “BOOK HEFTING.” WHAT YOU DO IS TAKE A BOOK AND THROW IT AS FAR AS YOU CAN.

WHY?

WELL, THERE ARE TWO REASONS. FIRST, IT WILL SHOW US HOW STRONG YOU ARE, AND SECOND, IT WILL MOST LIKELY DESTROY THE BOOK AND YOU WILL HAVE TO BUY ANOTHER ONE—CHA-CHING!

SO, BEND AT THE KNEES AND THROW YOUR BOOK WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT. THEN USE A TAPE MEASURE TO CALCULATE HOW FAR YOU TOSSED IT.

WHAT’S THE DISTANCE?

WOW, I HOPE YOUR BOOK ISN’T FROM THE LIBRARY.

Duncan invited Flinch to stay with his family now that Mama Rosa was in quarantine, but Flinch declined. He didn’t want to be too far away from his grandmother, so he stayed in the Playground on a foldaway cot. Mama Rosa was his only family, and knowing that she was sick kept him up half the night.

He wasn’t alone. Agent Brand drifted from one room of the Playground to another watching Heathcliff and studying the tests the science team had done on the virus. He looked worried and frustrated, but Flinch suspected he wanted to be left alone.

In the morning, Flinch got himself ready for school. Mama Rosa usually made a huge breakfast for the two of them, so it was strange to eat alone. With Ms. Dove’s “no junk food” policy, he decided to load up on sweets before his first class. Mama Rosa would never have allowed him to eat something called Not Really Sugar Smacks, let alone four boxes of it. By the time Flinch was finished with breakfast, he was so wound up, he thought he could see ghosts. But he knew he needed all that sugar to get through the day.

When he got to his first class, he was a sweaty, panting mess. Pushing aside his fears for his grandmother, he took out his books and paper and prepared to take notes. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a figure in the doorway. Ms. Dove’s eyes were glued on him. He gave her a sheepish smile, wanting her to believe he didn’t mind, but he hated being watched. He knew she would eventually see something she shouldn’t, and the team’s secret would be exposed. He had to find a way to distract her, but his mind was so jumbled with half possibilities that he couldn’t focus. The more he thought about it, the more nervous he grew until he was ready to scream. He squeezed his nose and waited for Brand’s voice.

“What is it, Agent?” the director asked. He sounded tired.

“The principal is staring at me,” Flinch whispered.

“That woman!” Brand growled. “Don’t let her shake you.”

“Please, everyone, would you pass your homework to the front of the class,” his teacher said.

Flinch froze.

“Homework!” he whispered. “I didn’t do my math homework. Aaack! I didn’t do any of my homework. Yesterday I was too busy saving my neighborhood from giant ball-stealing robots and grandmothers with homemade flamethrowers. I went to bed without eating dinner! I didn’t even eat dessert! I never do that!”

Suddenly, his teacher, Mr. Poole, leaned over him. “Who are you talking to, Julio?”

Flinch gulped. “No one, sir. Just taking some mental notes.”

“I see. The only thing I don’t see is your homework.”

Flinch tried to smile. “I didn’t get a chance to do it.”

“You didn’t get a chance to do it?” Mr. Poole turned to the class. “Did anyone else not get a chance to do their math homework?”

The room was silent.

“I see. I wonder why they found time to do it and you didn’t. It’s a mystery. Would you care to explain?”

In a panic, Flinch tried to explain, but he was so hyper it came out as nonsense. “I broke my face on a chili pot and there were monkey pirates invading from the sun!” Then he let out a strangled cry. “Aaarrggggheeeeeee!”

“Agent Flinch, you need to relax,” Brand’s voice said in his ear. “It’s obvious Ms. Dove is after you. She’s told your teacher to give you a hard time to try to get some kind of reaction out of you. Maybe she wants you to say something disrespectful or to make a scene in class so she can have another excuse to send you to detention. Don’t give her the satisfaction.” Flinch looked at the door again. Ms. Dove was hovering there, as if waiting for her turn to smack the piñata with a stick. Brand was right, but it didn’t make Flinch feel better. In fact, he felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“I’m waiting, Mr. Escala!” Mr. Poole said.

“OK, kid, listen up,” Brand said. “I went to boarding school and I know how to handle teachers who spend all their time trying to embarrass you. Just repeat everything I say and say it as sincerely as you can.”

Flinch listened to everything Brand said, and he recited it word for word, as seriously as he could.

“There’s no mystery, Mr. Poole. I didn’t manage my time well last night because I was preoccupied with family issues. I realize that by not doing the assigned work I slow down an ambitious lesson plan and make it harder on my peers to learn. I apologize to you and everyone in class for my lack of commitment and vow that this will not happen again.”

Mr. Poole blinked hard as if he had just seen Bigfoot. His eyes were wide and his mouth seemed to be working out some kind of silent response. Flinch watched him struggle to make a sound. “Very well, Julio.”

Brand’s voice was in Flinch’s ear again. “If you talk to them with respect, they will do backflips for you. A teacher never expects an apology. It works every time.”

Flinch glanced back toward the door. Ms. Dove was still watching him.

When class was over, she followed him to the next one, and then the next, and then the next after that. In each class, Brand told him the right thing to say to the teacher to get him or her off his back. By the time lunch rolled around Flinch noticed that Ms. Dove was losing her smile. In fact, her face was curling up in a scowl fit for a hawk.

Flinch sat at his lonely cafeteria table picking at the chicken casserole surprise the lunch lady had prepared. Though Flinch had hoped the pilot had slipped in some candy corn as the “surprise,” there was nothing there when he got to the bottom of the bowl.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Flinch turned and saw a group of kids standing over him. They were the same four bullies who shoved him into his locker. He mentally prepared himself for a barrage of spitballs or an atomic wedgie. “Listen, guys—”

The boys grabbed some chairs from other tables, including a few that still had kids sitting in them, and sat down next to him, uninvited. A moment later they were all talking at once about a million different things, shouting over one another, and occasionally punching each other in the arm.

“So, that was pretty awesome how you threw us down the hallway,” the red-haired boy said. He had introduced himself as Wyatt.

“Yeah!” his buddy Jessie said, whistling with every word. “I’ve got a huge purple bruise.”

The short boy, who called himself Toad, lifted up the back of his shirt. “Me, too! Mine is shaped like Texas!”

“We’re going down to the train station to throw rocks at pigeons after school if you wanna come,” the chubby one said. His friends called him Hooper.

“You want me to come with you?” Flinch asked.

“Yeah,” Toad said.

“Um, didn’t you guys shove me in my locker the other day?”

“Yeah,” Jessie said.

“You realize that bullies don’t usually hang out with—”

“You think we’re bullies?!” Wyatt exclaimed.

All the boys shouted protests.

“We’re not bullies! We’re juvenile delinquents,” Toad croaked. His voice was much deeper than the others’.

“What’s the difference?” Flinch asked.

“There’s a world of difference!” Hooper cried. “A bully is a moron who has to pull down others to make himself feel big. A juvenile delinquent is an artist!”

“An artist?”

“Absolutely!” Jessie whistled. “We don’t paint or sculpt, but what we create is a masterpiece of havoc, whether it’s stuffing squeezable cheese into your socks or unscrewing the cap on the saltshaker in your favorite restaurant. We’re the Michelangelos of Mischief.”

“You guys are pulling all the school pranks?” Flinch asked. These boys must be the ones running Agent Brand ragged as a janitor. “Aren’t you guys afraid of getting caught?”

The boys roared with laughter. “We get caught all the time!” Toad said. “Why do you think we’re in detention? And in you, we see a kindred spirit—another artist, if you will.”

“Me?”

“You must have done something to get the principal on your case,” Wyatt said. “Hey! You’re not the kid that keeps stealing the letters off the movie theater sign, are you?”

Flinch shook his head.

“Whoever is doing that is an inspiration to juvenile delinquents everywhere,” Toad said.

Hooper laughed. “Last week there was a movie playing called Trouble in the Deep Water. He changed the sign to read The Turd in the Bowl.”

“Star Wars Festival turned into Fart Wars,” Toad said.

“Last month the sign advertised a movie called Eat Pray Fart!” Hooper exclaimed.

“It’s truly groundbreaking work,” Wyatt said. “He’s taking the juvenile delinquent world by storm!”

All of the boys laughed. Toad nearly fell out of his seat. Even Flinch laughed, right before he sneezed.

“Wow! You got some serious allergies, bro,” Wyatt said.

“We should record that and make it Ms. Dove’s voice mail message,” Hooper suggested.

“Flinch, I need you in the Playground on the double. We’ve got a problem,” Pufferfish told him through the com-link.

“So what do you say, dude? You hanging with us? Those rocks aren’t going to throw themselves,” Hooper said.

“Listen, thanks for the invite but I gotta go,” Flinch said as he stood up from the table.

“I told you the guy had a secret life!” Wyatt cried.

Flinch froze. How did Wyatt know? Had he seen him sneak into Locker 41? Had he spotted him running to school at superspeed? “Um—”

“You’re the one that keeps letting off stink bombs in Ms. Bailey’s class!”

“Yep—busted,” Flinch lied. It was best for the boys to think he was pulling pranks instead of wondering what he was doing when he disappeared.

“Dude, that’s classic!” Toad croaked.

The other boys all agreed that it was indeed “classic.”

“All right, dude,” Hooper said. “You go do your thing. We’ve got some serious pranks to pull before the end of the day, too.”

Wyatt opened up his backpack. Flinch saw it was stuffed tight with chocolate snack cakes. They were tubes of chocolate with cream filling called Ho Hos. Flinch had eaten a million of them in his day.

“What are those for?”

“We’re dumping them in the girl’s bathroom toilets where they will magically be transformed into floating number twos. It’s going to be hilarious when the girls run out of the bathroom looking like they’re going to barf!”

“FLINCH. We need you now!” Pufferfish shouted loud enough to rattle Flinch’s brain.

“Well, have fun,” Flinch said before he left. As he hurried from the cafeteria, he looked back at the boys. What a strange world middle school was. No one was exactly who they seemed. Even the troublemakers had layers.

Moments later, Flinch leaped into Locker 41. When he reached the floor of the Playground, his team was waiting for him—or rather, what was left of it. Nearly fifty of the scientists were now locked away in quarantine.

“They’re all infected?” Flinch asked.

Brand nodded. “And there may be more, but right now we can’t be certain. The results from the first round of testing were corrupted, so we’re going to start over. But that’s not our biggest concern right now. Suit up. The School Bus is ready.”

“Where are we going?” Flinch asked.

“Pack your sunglasses, shaky,” Jackson said. “We’re going to Hollywood.”

Ten minutes later, the School Bus was breaking the Earth’s gravitational pull and making a U-turn to California. Flinch watched the red glow of the superheated ship’s hull out the window while chewing on his fingernails. The last couple of missions had all been technically successful, but they were also disastrous, and it was mostly his fault. He just hoped that Agent Brand would finally see that he shouldn’t be leading the team.

Ms. Holiday unstrapped herself from her seat. “Time for your mission. Benjamin, can you help me out with this one?”

“Of course,” the little blue orb chirped. Spinning like a top in midair, it projected a 360-degree image along the walls of the rocket. Flinch saw a hulking giant with two heads, four arms, and four legs standing nearly ten feet tall. It was stampeding down Hollywood Boulevard, kicking cars aside and terrorizing everyone it passed. Then the video changed to a news reporter standing on the side of the very same street. She gestured toward the creature that was rapidly approaching from behind her, but much to Flinch’s surprise, she didn’t seem at all concerned.

“As you can see, today’s film shoot is tying up traffic from here to Wilshire, and I have to say, that is one amazing-looking robot,” the reporter said. “The magic of moviemaking is alive and well, folks.”

The video cut to a man sitting at a desk. “Carla, how long do they say the shoot will last? I’m sure that’s backing traffic up for miles.”

“At this moment there seems to be confusion as to who exactly is shooting the movie, but as soon as I get word, I’ll report back to you,” the reporter said.

“Why are we getting involved with moviemaking?” Gluestick asked.

“That’s not a movie. It’s the real thing. We’ve told the local press we’re a production company shooting a movie called The Monstrosity, and it’s important to keep them believing it as long as we can,” Agent Brand said. “People are already tense from the sudden crime wave. If they think a two-headed giant is terrorizing a major city it will lead to panic.”

Pufferfish slipped on her parachute. “So, what is it—a mutant? A robot?”

“No, it’s an actor,” Ms. Holiday said. “I’ve used facial recognition technology on one of the heads and I’ve identified him.”

“Facial recognition technology?” Flinch asked. “What’s that?”

“It’s a computer program. I tapped into a database filled with photos of people from all over the world. It searched every published photo, trying to match the eyes, bone structure, and nose of our giant. It took a bit longer because I was searching criminal records first. That’s the problem with this epidemic. The usual suspects aren’t the usual suspects; it’s regular people who are causing all the problems. Well, anyway, when I expanded the search I found him right away. His name is Justin Maines.”

“The Justin Maines?” Duncan cried.

“You know him?” Brand asked.

“Of course! He was on my favorite show of all time, Space Trek! He was one of the red shirts.”

“What’s a red shirt?” Braceface asked.

“The show was about a spaceship that investigated alien worlds. The people in charge wore yellow shirts, and the science and medical teams wore blue. But if the character had a red shirt on, he was a low-level member of the team, which meant there was a pretty good chance he was going to get killed or eaten or sucked into a time vortex and you’d never see him again.”

“Gluestick, sometimes your nerdiness is frightening,” Braceface said.

“But he’s right, Jackson,” Ms. Holiday said. “Mr. Maines was in fifty-seven episodes of that show, and he died in every single one. Since then, he’s made a career out of playing dead bodies on crime shows. They call him the ‘king of extras.’”

“Which makes a lot of sense when you take a good look at him—he’s got a couple extra arms and legs and an extra head,” Flinch said.

“Let me guess: He’s got a ray gun,” Pufferfish offered.

Ms. Holiday nodded. “We’re not sure how it works, but it appears to duplicate the molecular structure of anything it blasts, and then it rearranges the two copies into one solid form.”

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have two heads,” Flinch said. “I bet I could eat twice the candy!”

“Agent Flinch, you are not allowed to get hit with the ray on purpose,” Brand ordered.

Ms. Holiday helped Flinch put on his parachute, then passed him a sack of red ropes. He slurped down five like they were strands of spaghetti.

She helped Duncan next. “Wow! Justin Maines!” Duncan said, grinning. “When we stop his maniacal plot to take over the world, I’m totally going to ask for his autograph.”

“We’re over the drop site!” the lunch lady announced as he left the cockpit to help open the hatch.

“And remember, if you feel odd, if you get a fever or a sore throat, or feel like you’re smarter than everyone else, you’re probably infected,” Brand shouted over the wind that whipped into the cabin from outside. “You must let us know right away.”

Flinch eyed his teammates warily. Any one of them might be the next to succumb. He couldn’t help but feel suspicious, but he hated to think of his friends that way. They had been through so much together as spies and as buddies. He felt guilty preparing himself to fight them.

And what about the adults? He was very concerned about the lunch lady, who, he had to admit, was a rough-around-the-edges type already. As an ex-soldier, the lunch lady had seen a lot of combat in very dangerous places. There were rumors in the Playground that he was once a demolition expert, only he thought using explosives was cheating and just beat the building silly with his bare hands. Mr. Brand was no slouch, either. Despite his cane, everyone knew the director was the United States’ greatest secret agent. And then there was Ms. Holiday, who looked sweet and loving but was a trained fighter. He hoped he never had to find out what it was like to go head-to-head with any of them.

Flinch shoved three more strands of licorice into his mouth, and fearlessly jumped out of the plane into the open air. In no time he landed next to the team in the middle of Sunset Strip, one of downtown L.A.’s most popular areas. It was lined with shops and tattoo parlors, all night diners and parking garages, each with a flashy exterior that shouted “Look at me!” There weren’t many people on the street, which Flinch considered a major miracle. He hoped their luck would continue.

As he was shoving another handful of red ropes in his mouth, an explosion shook the ground. A thick black plume of smoke climbed toward the sky. Emerging from the smoke was something Flinch’s mind could hardly process. It was the same giant he had seen on the video in the School Bus, but now that it was live and real and right in front of him, with all those extra legs and arms and the second head … well, it made him feel sick.

“Flinch, you’re on point on this one,” Pufferfish said.

“Me? Not again!”

“Listen, this isn’t my idea. Brand wants you out front more. He says you are squandering your potential being in the background. You’re the strongest and fastest in the group.”

Flinch shook his head. “Hasn’t anyone been paying attention for the last two years? I’m the hyper one. I have a hard time concentrating. I’m the freak!”

“I don’t like it any better than you do, but right now there’s a very good reason you should take over. You’re immune to the virus,” Pufferfish said. “Any of the rest of us could get sick in the middle of the mission. So man up, Agent Flinch. You’re the boss.”

“Fine! I’m in charge. I’m in charge? Oh boy. What do we do? What do we do?” Julio felt like he had eaten something that had gone bad. He turned the knob on his harness just to calm his nerves and help him think. There was no more time to argue. The creature was on its way.

“We could attack the monster,” Gluestick suggested.

“Good idea, buddy,” Flinch said. “Let’s attack the monster. So … maybe you could coat the street with some sticky stuff? Maybe it will slow him down a little?”

“Excellent idea,” Gluestick said, and then ran off to do as he was told.

“And me?” Braceface asked.

“Uh, well … can you make something big with those braces? Like a big fist? Once that thing hits the glue, you could give him a big punch—you know, knock him on his back where he’ll get stuck even more?”

Braceface grinned. “I’m on it.”

“And me?” Pufferfish asked.

“You’re allergic to lousy plans, right?”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel? Any swelling of your feet or hot rashes?”

“I feel good. Must be a good plan.”

While they spoke, Gluestick extended his hands and a stream of sticky paste shot from his fingertips. He coated the street with a thick layer of adhesive while Braceface’s braces twisted and turned in his mouth.

“Look at me, Hollywood! I’m Justin Maines,” the creature shouted, completely ignoring the NERDS. “You turned your back on me! You said I didn’t have that star quality! You forced me into the life of an extra! Well, you wanted an extra, so I’m giving you an extra! Extra arms! Extra legs! And extra rage!”

The monster snatched a telephone pole and pulled it out of the ground. Its wires snapped and shimmied, sending sparks into the air like angry fireflies. He seemed unconcerned with the potential ten thousand volts of electricity that could easily kill him. Instead, he hefted the pole onto his shoulders as if he were a big league hitter, then swung for the fences, smashing a car and sending it flipping end over end into a parking garage.

“You laughed at me!” he continued. “You said I would never make it, but I’ve made it! I’m the biggest extra in the business. I’ve played a dead body over seven hundred times! I’ve been a diner in a restaurant on a thousand different prime-time shows. I redefined what it means to play the guy in the doctor’s office! I’m not just any extra. I’m the Extra! You can’t turn your backs on me. I won’t let it happen!”