Dead Guy Spy Page 9

  She shook her head. “Dangerous.”

  I realized the best thing was for me to wait until she could talk. She sat up, took a couple deep breaths, then said, “I did more calculations. I think the bone machine is dangerous.”

  “So is wrestling Rodney,” I said. “At least the bone machine won’t rip off my head and shove it somewhere else.”

  “It could destroy you,” she said.

  I held up my hand and wiggled my fingers. “It worked fine the other day. I can tell it’s wearing off, but my hand definitely got stronger for a while.”

  “That was a small dose. A lasting dose could do terrible things to your body.”

  “So you’re telling me I shouldn’t get my bones strengthened?” I didn’t even want to think about that. Not after being so excited about the machine. “Are you absolutely positive about this?”

  She started to nod. Then she frowned and said, “There’s a small chance I’m wrong. You need to ask them to run a test first. That way, you’ll know for sure.”

  She got up and brushed dirt off her knees.

  “I didn’t know you had a bike,” I said.

  “I borrowed it. I’ve never been on one before. The experience wasn’t quite what I expected.” She picked it up. “I think I’ll walk it back.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “Sure. Good luck down there. I hope I’m wrong.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  “I called Mookie. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  I watched her walk off, then went into the museum and took the elevator to BUM.

  As Mr. Murphy walked with me to the lab, I tried to think of the best way to ask them to test the machine. Usually, adults don’t like being told stuff by kids.

  Dr. Cushing was eager to get started. “Ready for the treatment?” she asked me when I got to the lab.

  “Almost.” I noticed the table was gone and there was a big tub under the machine, filled with milk. “Are you sure it works?”

  “Of course,” Mr. Murphy said.

  “Have you tested it?” I asked.

  He turned and looked at Dr. Cushing. “Not really,” she said.

  “I think it would be a good idea to test it,” I said.

  “That’s not necessary,” Mr. Murphy said.

  “It’s good science,” Dr. Cushing said. “Nathan is right. We shouldn’t take chances. Give me a moment. I’ve got just what we need in the supply room.”

  She dashed out the door.

  “A real spy would jump right in,” Mr. Murphy said.

  “Guess I’m not a real spy,” I said.

  “You are,” he said. “You just need to start acting like one.”

  Dr. Cushing came back about five minutes later, pushing a flat cart like the kind they have in the big hardware stores. There was a pig on it. A small dead pig.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Our test subject,” she said. “It matches your weight pretty well.”

  “It’s a pig,” I said.

  “Pigs are remarkably similar to humans in many ways,” she said. “That why we always keep some on hand.”

  “It’s dead,” I said.

  Dr. Cushing opened her mouth, then closed it.

  “Right,” I said. “So am I.”

  She turned to Mr. Murphy. “Help me put it in the vat.”

  They lifted the pig and put it in the milk. Then she turned a knob on the machine all the way to the right. “Here goes.”

  She pushed a button.

  A hum came from the machine, starting low and then rising. The vat shook. The surface of the milk rippled. I saw a couple bubbles. Then I saw a lot of bubbles. The hum turned into a roar. The roar became a boom.

  Everything exploded.

  It was like someone had set off a stick of dynamite in the milk. It all blew up and shot out with a sound like a thousand pounds of cooked oatmeal getting dropped on the sidewalk from a mile in the air.

  SPLAHBLAP!

  Milk and pig pieces showered down on us. I was drenched with slop. I looked at my shirt. Slimy meat things were splattered all over it.

  Dr. Cushing screamed.

  I didn’t blame her.

  Mr. Murphy screamed, too.

  “Thank you, Abigail,” I whispered.

  “I guess it’s not quite ready,” Dr. Cushing said.

  “I guess I’ll go home,” I said. “Thanks for nothing.”

  “Nathan, wait,” Dr. Cushing said. She put a hand on my shoulder. “I can get it to work. I know I can. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? No way! You can’t help me. You can’t fix anything. All BUM knows how to do is mess kids up. You’re not making the world a better place. You’re ruining it!” I spun away from her and headed into the hall.

  She chased after me. “What are you talking about?”

  “That!” I shouted, pointing toward the storage room. “All the stuff you make to mess kids up, like dangerous chemistry sets with radium.” I barely managed to stop myself from screaming, I’m telling! I’d already revealed too much. I needed to get out of the building.

  Past her, I saw Mr. Murphy slip his hand inside his jacket. I wondered how much damage a bullet would do to me. As I got ready to dive away, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “Nathan, we didn’t make those things. We collected them to get them away from young people like you.”

  “Then who made them?”

  “I told you there are organizations that want to destroy our society.”

  “Yeah. And right after you told me that, a guy showed up with a fake bomb.”

  “The bomb was fake,” Mr Murphy said. “Our enemies are real.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said. “The person who gave Zardo Goldberg the corpse flower had a strange accent and peculiar ears.”

  “Well, there you go,” Mr. Murphy said. “My ears are perfectly normal. And I don’t have an accent.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “I do not,” he said. “You have a strange accent.”

  “What kind of accent was it?” Dr. Cushing asked me.

  I opened my mouth to answer. Then I realized Abigail’s uncle hadn’t said what kind of accent. I’d just assumed it was Mr. Murphy who’d given him the corpse flower.

  “It’s a good idea to get all the facts before forming a conclusion,” Dr. Cushing said.

  I stared at her, halfway expecting her to morph into Abigail. I really liked Dr. Cushing, and I hated the fact that she was part of an organization that was hurting kids.

  “I’m leaving.” I walked down the hall, wondering whether anyone was going to stop me. That alone would be the proof I needed that BUM was evil and had things to hide.

  “My ears are thoroughly average!” Mr. Murphy shouted.

  But nobody chased after me.

  19

  The Parent Trap

  Imet up with my friends around the corner, by the Gas ’n’ Snack convenience store. Abigail had bought a chocolate bar. Mookie, based on the evidence in the trash can next to him, was on his third pack of pretzel sticks.

  He spat out a mouthful of half-chewed pretzels when he saw me. Then he pointed at my pig-splattered shirt and fell to the ground laughing.

  “I take it the machine failed the test,” Abigail said.

  “Big time. If you hadn’t warned me, Mr. Murphy and Dr. Cushing would be wearing pieces of me right now. I guess we’re even. I saved you, and now you saved me. And I guess I’ll never get my bones strengthened.”

  “We can worry about all that later,” Abigail said. “Don’t give up on the machine. But right now, we have something more important to deal with. We can’t let you wrestle Rodney.”

  “No kidding,” I said.

  Mookie crawled back to his feet and held up a pretzel stick. “It wouldn’t be pretty.” He snapped the stick in half. “We’d need a lot of glue.”

  “Maybe the food is ready to come out,” I said. Then I’d be back to my regular weight.

  We went to th
e playground behind Borloff Elementary. A couple little kids stared at me when I hung down from the monkey bars. As soon as Mookie started pushing on my stomach, they giggled and raced over.

  “Can we play?” they asked.

  “Sure,” Mookie said. “Push as hard as you can, but don’t stand right under his face. He’s going to spew big time.”

  They joined him, reaching toward me from the side and pressing their little hands against my big gut. It didn’t do any good.

  “It’s not ready,” Abigail said when I climbed back down.

  “Is there any way to speed it up?” I asked.

  “Heat, maybe. You should take a hot bath. And put a heating pad on your stomach when you go to bed. Just be careful. You don’t want to build up too much pressure.”

  “At this point, I’ll try anything.”

  I was dying to wash the pig bits off me, but I needed to do something else first. I used the computer to call Abigail’s uncle.

  “The guy who brought you the corpse flower—what kind of accent did he have?”

  “I couldn’t place it,” he said. “Maybe somewhere in Eastern Europe or the Mediterranean.”

  “Not British?” I asked. “Like on the vacuum cleaner infomercials?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Did he have red hair, big ears, and green eyes?” I asked.

  “I believe he was bald with brown eyes,” Abigail’s uncle said. “I definitely remember his ears. They were tiny.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up, then went to wash off my body and soak my bloated stomach in hot water. I wished I could soak my brain and wash away all the thoughts that kept drifting through it.

  I spent so much time in the tub that night that Dad knocked on the door, asking if I was okay.

  “I’m just relaxing,” I said. “It’s been a long week.”

  “I know it has, champ,” Dad said. “Take your time.”

  Champ? He never called me that before. I wasn’t going to try to guess what was going on. I had more important things to deal with. If I couldn’t get rid of the food in my stomach, I needed to find a way out of the wrestling demonstration.

  And I had to decide what to do about BUM. I still wasn’t sure I trusted them. Just because Mr. Murphy hadn’t given Abigail’s uncle the corpse flower didn’t mean someone else from BUM hadn’t done it. They claimed they wanted to make the world a better place, but I hadn’t seen a single thing that proved they did any good at all. And they’d tricked me into damaging a government building.

  Before bedtime, I grabbed the heating pad from the closet. I stayed in bed and kept the pad on all night. I could hear all sorts of gurgling. I hoped it was working.

  I got dressed as soon as it was light. I wanted to head over to the playground. I figured I could press on my stomach myself. Maybe the food was finally ready to come out.

  Dad was in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He had a bunch of papers spread out in front of him. I guess he’d gotten up early to do some work.

  “Going out?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I want to jog down to the playground,” I said. That wasn’t a lie. I liked jogging.

  “Good for you. Have a nice run.” He sounded a little sad.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I used to jog. There’s nothing like a good run to clear your head. I haven’t done that in ages.”

  “Want to come?” I figured I could always go back to the playground later.

  He shook his head. “I can’t right now. Too much work. Maybe someday I’ll have time. Don’t let me hold you up.”

  I jogged to the playground and headed for the monkey bars. All the way there, my gut bounced in front of me like a living creature trying to escape from captivity. I climbed the monkey bars and hung upside down. I even pressed on my stomach with both hands. I didn’t have any luck.

  “I guess I’ll have to go with my backup plan,” I told Mookie that afternoon when we were hanging out at his place.

  “Leave the country?” he asked.

  “No. Just skip the demonstration,” I said.

  “You’re going to get in big trouble with Mr. Lomux,” he said. “You’re his big success story.”

  “I’d rather get in trouble than get snapped into pieces,” I said.

  “You’re right. Besides, no matter what anyone else does around Mr. Lomux, I seem to get in the most trouble. He’ll probably yell at me for something tonight.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “You do seem to be able to get him angry.”

  Mookie shrugged. “It’s just one of my many talents.”

  We hung out at his place until I headed home for dinner.

  After we ate—well, after my folks ate and I pushed my stuffed peppers around and cut them up until it looked like I’d eaten some of them—my dad said, “Better get ready, champ.”

  “For what?” I looked at the clock. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “The wrestling demonstration,” he said.

  “I’m not—I didn’t—how’d you—?” I clamped my mouth on the stream of babble as I tried to figure out what was going on.

  “Your gym teacher called the other day,” Mom said.

  “He told us what a star you are in class,” Dad said.

  “We’re so excited about the demonstration,” Mom said. “He’s saving your match for last.”

  “My son, the champ,” Dad said. “Go grab your stuff.”

  As I climbed the stairs, I realized my mind felt as numb as my body. There was no way this evening was going to end well.

  20

  A Leak in the News

  Icalled Abigail and told her what was happening.

  “I’ll meet you there. Maybe we can think of something.”

  “I hope so. Otherwise, the wrestling demonstration is going to turn into a science lesson, starring the break-away boy.” I hung up, then stuffed my shorts and sneakers into my gym bag.

  “Let’s go, champ,” Dad said when I got back downstairs.

  I followed my parents to the car and thought about faking a sudden stomachache. But I was still terrified that mom would drag me to Dr. Scrivella if I acted sick.

  Maybe Rodney won’t show up, I thought as Dad backed out of the driveway.

  Yeah, right. He was so eager to have his shot at me, he’d get there even if he had scoot to the gym on his butt through five miles of broken glass and thumbtacks.

  “You know your father wrestled in high school,” Mom said.

  “It was just one year,” Dad said. “No big deal. But I’m glad my son is following in my footsteps.”

  No pressure there. I leaned back in my seat and stared out the window. Dad switched on the radio. It was set to one of those news stations.

  “We have a major incident to report at a government storage facility in Exley Township,” the announcer said.

  Oh, no. I slunk down in my seat. Exley wasn’t far from here.

  “Firefighters arriving at the scene after a small exhaust-fan fire triggered an alarm discovered several barrels of chemicals that had begun to leak. Local authorities called in the FBI, which confirmed that the chemicals, when combined, form a type of nerve gas. A bit of gas had already leaked. Not enough to harm people, but some small animals and birds were already affected.”

  I thought about the birds and cat I’d seen flying into walls or falling out of trees.

  “But here’s the strangest part,” the announcer said.

  It gets stranger?

  “According to government records, the building was supposed to be empty. It appears someone else had been using it for storage. Authorities are investigating.”

  I had a feeling I knew who that “someone else” was. There are organizations that want to destroy our society. That’s what Mr. Murphy had told me. It looked like one of them had been using the building. Maybe the same organization that had given Abigail’s uncle the corpse flower. Whoever it was, they were pretty bold, and pretty clever, picking a hiding place like that.<
br />
  I listened to the rest of the story. “A hazardous waste disposal team arrived at the scene last night and removed the chemicals. According to a spokesperson, the stockpile was just days, or possibly hours, away from releasing a large toxic cloud.”

  I thought about my friends and my parents staggering around like those birds, cats, and dogs. That would have been awful. It looked like I’d had a chance to do something good with my zombie abilities before I got broken into little pieces. I didn’t know why Mr. Murphy hadn’t just picked up the phone and told someone about the chemicals. But I was starting to see that the world was a lot more complicated place for spies than it was for fifth-graders. Either way, I’d done something good. I’d been a hero.

  Somehow, that thought didn’t cheer me up all that much. Not when I was facing the possibility that I’d be exposed as a zombie in front of a couple hundred of my neighbors. I didn’t want people treating me like I was different—or running away and screaming at the sight of me.

  All too soon, we reached the high school. The parking lot was mobbed. I guess a lot of people were there for the regular match, but plenty of others came for the demonstration. I saw some of my classmates climbing out of their parents’ cars, carrying gym bags. They looked happy. No reason for them not to be. They were going to have an easy time tonight.

  “We’ll be up there in the bleachers, cheering for you,” Mom said when we reached the gym.

  “Go get ’em, champ!” Dad said.

  I waved at them and headed across the gym. Last chance. I looked over my shoulder at the nearest exit. I could run off and vanish into the woods. Unlike other runaways, I wouldn’t have to worry about finding food or staying warm. I’d just have to worry about ants eating my feet when I wasn’t paying attention.

  I walked through the double doors that led to the boys’ locker room.

  “Abercrombie!” Mr. Lomux said when I got inside. “Good to see you. People are going to remember this night. I promise you that.”

  Rodney was in the locker room, too. He only said two words to me.

  “You’re dead.”

  But he said them a couple dozen times. I swear, if I hadn’t been so worried about getting my bones snapped in pieces, I would have tackled him right there. I honestly wasn’t afraid of him. Even if he was strong and tough, I was willing to wrestle him. If I could face a burning house or climb an electric fence, I could face a hulking ape who thought he could get whatever he wanted by scaring people.