The Weakness

by K. A. Applegate

  Six feet tall, seven, more. Muscles on muscles. Bones so thick they could have been dinosaur fossils. Matted fur that was like a suit of armor. I was power made flesh. The most powerful land predator on planet Earth.

  I was a grizzly bear.

 

  I slammed into the door.

  WHAM!

  The door came off its hinges. It fell with a clatter.

  We were in! A narrow hallway. Bright lights. Moving shapes and figures, all blurry to my weak eyes.

  But we were in. Grizzly, gorilla, Andalite, wolf, and hawk — bent on destruction.

 

  Down the hallway we tore.

  A scream! Papers flung in panic. I swatted down a framed picture and left gashes in the Sheetrock.

  “What the … ?”

  “Oh my God!”

  I dropped to all fours and ran full-out. A bear on the move is like a semi on the interstate: Get out of the way.

  I brushed a Xerox machine and sent it tumbling. Marco punched a side door and crumpled it in. A security guard loomed up, trying to draw his weapon.

  FWAPP! Ax’s tail cracked, fast as a bullwhip, and the guard fell unconscious to the floor.

  A man with a clipboard. I hit him like a bowling ball hitting a pin. He rolled over my back and hit the floor. Cassie leaped nimbly over him.

  Suddenly we were out of the hallway. Out in the open. Backstage. I could see the bracing for the set.

  I reared up and shouldered into a big TV camera on a dolly. It went spinning and crashed into the back of the set.

  I was pumped. Exuberant. Nothing could stop us!

  “Tseeer!”

  “What the … Get those An — animals out of here!”

  Ah. Christine Kaminsky. Our favorite Yeerkish morning news personality.

  All dressed up in her tight but tasteful two-piece red suit and understated, expensive gold costume jewelry.

  We’d caught her in the middle of her read-through. She looked really, really unhappy.

  I cried.

  Cassie said.

  I jumped in one easy bound onto the anchor desk. It collapsed. I rolled away.

  Marco cried.

  Cassie said, growling and backing Christine’s blandly handsome weenie sidekick up onto his news desk.

  CRASH!

  Another news desk upended. I slid it across the floor and into the weather map “green screen” for good measure.

  ZZEWEEEEEE … SSZZZZ …

  Marco yanked microphones and other electronic equipment from the overhead grid while Ax went off to find the control room, pull some key levers and switches, and put WKVT off the air.

  Tobias called as he landed on an overhead lighting fixture.

  I whirled as quickly as my shaggy brown mass would allow. Coming into the studio, led by an employee guide, was a group of about twenty visitors. Adults and kids. I guess even local “personalities” have their fans.

  The guide stopped cold. She screamed. She fainted. Grizzly sight isn’t great, but I could make out most of the visitors standing frozen, mouths hanging open.

  I turned back to the destruction. To the crew, long since scattered. To Christine and Bobby, now both huddled and crying behind Bobby’s crumpled desk, menaced by Cassie’s growling, snarling wolf.

  I thwacked a rolling coffee cart with my big bear paw. Sent it careening into a wall. Bagels and pastries flew. A chocolate frosted donut rolled toward the visitors.

  Tobias said.

 

  The seats for the occasional live audience were bolted to the floor, ten rows of five chairs each, one after the other up a slight incline.

  RIIPP!

  One less seat!

  CRAASH!

  The seat flew into the wall, knocking down a chunk of plaster the size of a truck tire.

  Then, “Oh, no!” A vague voice from the cluster of onlookers. “Someone, help!” And, “Grandpa!”

  It was Ax. From the control room, unseen by the visitors.

  I ordered.

  Marco grabbed the screaming, resisting Yeerk anchorwoman by her blouse and held her motionless. I put my huge bear face up close to hers.

  I give her credit: She had some courage.

  “You don’t scare me, Andalite,” she hissed.

  I said.

  She said nothing, just drew back from my teeth.

 

  I nodded to Marco. He released her. She straightened her clothes and glared hatred at us.

  We were in the studio for less than five minutes. By the time we left, there was no studio.

  We bailed, ran, and demorphed well away from the police cars, ambulances, and news vans that were racing toward the site.

  Ax commented.

  “I can’t believe we had a live audience,” Cassie said, laughing. “It was more than we could have hoped for. In one way.” Suddenly, she didn’t seem so sure. “Maybe it would have been better if we’d known they were in the building. Gotten them out first somehow.”

  There was a moment of weird silence. Like everyone was suddenly thinking real hard about those visitors.

  Tobias began, silent until now.

  I felt a chill. Something like fear. Or guilt. And then the chill was chased away by a hot rush of — something else. Self-defense? Something.

  “Yeah, what if he just tripped? Come on. Casualties happen,” I said coldly. “We didn’t mean for the guy to get so scared. Besides, for all we know he’s a Controller, too.”

  My team looked at me. And that weird silence was still hanging around.

  But they had a job to do. And they’d just have to toughen up and do it.

  “The raid was a success,” I said. “End of story. Now, we have a schedule. Next stop, bookstore.”

  We demorphed from birds behind the massive stacks of cardboard boxes in the alley behind the local bookstore.

  “Somebody grab me a Laa-Laa doll when we’re inside, okay?” Marco said. “I really like that little yellow one.”

  I gave him a look. You know the one.

  “What?” he said defensively. “I’ll send the manager a check tomorrow. Even though he’s a Yeerk. It’s not like I’m going to steal it or anything.”

  “Uh, Marco, you do know Teletubbies are for preschoolers, right?” Cassie said.

  <“Eh-oh, Laa-Laa,”> Ax said. <“Big hug.”>

  Tobias grumbled.

  Tobias said,

  I deliberately interrupted him. “We’re in and out in five minutes tops,” I reminded everyone. “Just like the studio. Five minutes of rock and roll. Ax? You keep us honest, okay?”

 

  Tobias said.

  “Hey! I thought I was giving the orders,” I blurted, annoyed.

  Tobias turned slightly away and stared into space.

  “I mean, am I wrong about that?”

  “No, you’re right. But you might want to consider one of thos
e leadership workshops, Rachel,” Marco said mildly. “The ones that teach communication skills. Like how not to be a jerk.”

  “We’re ready when you give the word, Rachel,” Cassie said calmly.

  I let it go. No point getting into it with Marco. Or Tobias, for that matter. I was proving all I needed to prove.

  “Let’s do this,” I said.

  Cassie yelled, racing toward him.

 

 

  He rested a ham-sized fist on a rack, preparing to push it over.

  Cassie warned.

  I grabbed the edges of a six-by-six-foot table on which were piled seriously discounted books and —

  WHOOMMPPFF!

  The Yeerk manager wailed in his corner.

  Hundreds of oversized art books and fancy address books and biographies about some boy who was a star for about a minute went piling onto the floor.

  “Look, Mommy!” I whipped around to see some little boy yanking on his mother’s jeans and pointing at Marco. “It’s Curious George!”

  Marco picked up a slightly smashed box from the floor.

  “WAAAAAAH! Curious George is mean!”

  The kids’s mother dropped to her knees and threw her arms around her howling son.

  Marco said, sounding genuinely contrite.

  Ax announced calmly.

  I lumbered over to the Controller manager. Reached down and wrapped him in a bear hug. I squeezed him tight, crushing the air from his lungs. His face was inches from my muzzle. He was shaking and gasping for air.

  I squeezed harder. Harder till the veins in his neck stood out.

 

  His face was turning blue.

 

  “Next stop, Style-a-riffic!”

  “What’s that?”

  Cassie, of course.

 

  “And men,” I pointed out.

  Ax inclined his head.

  Cassie held up a hand. “I get the picture, Ax.”

  “TV commercial?” Marco guessed and Ax nodded.

  “So, why Style-a-riffic?” Cassie asked. “What’s the Yeerk connection?”

  “First, it’s the largest beauty salon in town,” I said. “Second, Tobias learned that Mrs. Chapman is their best client — and co-owner. You tell me there’s not a Yeerk running the place.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Marco asked me.

  “Yeah. I am. We’ve taken it and taken it, and barely fought back. Now they’re scared. And they’ll be more scared, soon. Should have done this a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, well, we didn’t have the mighty Warrior Princess in charge before,” Marco said.

  I heard the tone of sarcasm. But I didn’t care. That’s right, I thought, but now I am in charge, and now the Yeerks are going to pay.

  Jake would be proud of me when he got back. Or maybe a little jealous. Maybe even a lot jealous. That was okay, too. Things changed. People changed. Situations changed. Jake had been the leader for a long time. Maybe it was time he took a well-deserved rest.

  Again, we struck. Quick and unexpected as lightning.

  “Ahhh!”

  “Ohhh!”

  “Eeek!”

  Marco said. <“Eeek”? What am I, a mouse?>

  This time, we came in through the front door. The bored, airhead receptionist didn’t even look up.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she said, cracking a piece of smelly, grape-flavored bubble gum.

  And then she looked up. And then she fainted.

  CLUNK! Facedown on the desk. It was pretty funny. Plus, she used way too much hairspray.

 

  Then we hit the nearest sporting goods store. CRAASSSHHH!

  BOOMPP. BOOMPP. BOOMPPBOOMPPBOOMPP.

  An entire wire container, six feet high, crammed with basketballs, hit the floor!

 

 

  “Aaahhh! What are you doing to my store!” Tasset. Owner of All That! Sporting Goods. Controller.

  Cassie. Chewing through the mesh on a tennis racket. she growled.

  Tobias, using talons and beak to deflate rubber rafts and rowboats suspended from the ceiling.

  FWAPP!

  Ax, smashing glass cases full of sports watches with well-aimed blows of his blade.

  Announcing,

  * * *

  SCREEEEEPPPP! EEERRREEEPPP!

  The metal bars of the gate separating the safety deposit boxes from the rest of the bank just kind of — fell apart in my paws.

  I commented.

  BONK!

  The armed guard was down. Something about the sight of a grizzly and gorilla playing with metal made him knock himself in the head with his own nightstick.

 

  I taunted.

  Marco shot back, dragging the felled guard across the marble-floored room and propping him into an armchair.

  Cassie had herded the bank customers into a small office and stood outside, growling menacingly, barring the closed door.

  “Ah! Help! Somebody, call the police! Ask for Sergeant …”

  It was the Yeerk-controlled bank manager, Mr. Arundel.

  Arms in the air, navy blue suit and yellow power tie askew. Shouting to be heard through the door of the closed office.

  FWAPP!

  Ax, coming up from behind the panicked bank manager, smacking his head with the side of his tail blade.

  Mr. Arthur Arundel, down for the count. Unable to call out the name of a Controller cop.

  A cop who’d no doubt know exactly how to deal with the Andalite bandits. By alerting Visser Three.

  Tobias said, flapping up from a desktop he’d been ravaging.

 

 

  I grumbled.

  * * *

 

 

  Tinkletinkletinkletinkle!

  The plate glass window was gone!

  I shook a few shards out of my shaggy brown fur and stepped up into the tobacconist’s shop.

  CRUNCH! Glass compacted beneath my feet. Whatever.

  Tobias soared in after me, flared, pulled up, and dove for Assistant Principal Chapman.

  “Tseeer!”

  “Aaah!”

  Chapman swatted at the red-tailed hawk menacing h
im.

  Big mistake.

  “Ow!”

  Chapman fell back into an overstuffed armchair, the kind Bruce Wayne and rich old men in smoking jackets are supposed to laze around in. Lines of bright red blood trickled down his cheeks.

  The owner bent and grabbed something from behind a counter.

  Marco none too gently removed the thirty-eight special from the man’s shaking hand.

  BONK!

  The guy went down, the impression of a gorilla fist plastered on his face.

  Cassie butted at a wooden Indian until it toppled, destroying a glass case of silver cigar cutters and pocket-sized leather carrying cases. she muttered.

  I loomed above Chapman and delivered the same message I had been delivering all day.

  I said.

  said Ax, proclaiming our job was done. Again.

  We ruled! The old standbys — force and surprise — served us well. Put us totally in charge of the town!

  I was pumped! Psyched! This was my plan and I was in charge and we were kicking butt in the spectacular way I knew we would.

  Hard to believe I’d ever doubted myself, even for a moment.

  Hard to believe that even for a minute I’d questioned my ability to rule, lead, direct. Make tough decisions in the depths of crisis. Exploit my soldiers’ particular talents.

  I was made to be leader! Hero, warrior, king. I’d known that all along. Character is destiny….

  After the cigar store we hit Fred’s Fitness Center on Peach Street downtown, where at least two of the most popular trainers were Controllers. Maybe some day Kirk and Kristen will get over the embarrassment of Ax’s slicing off their gym shorts in front of their worshipful yuppie clients. Maybe.

  Two blocks away, we rampaged through Kinko’s. The manager was a kid I recognized from around. He went to the local high school now. A seventeen-year-old loser who’d joined The Sharing to get a life.

  What he’d gotten was a Yeerk in his head. And now he was Mr. Career Path and all, Mr. Responsibility, Mr. Self-Importance in a pathetic short-sleeved white dress shirt and clip-on tie. Please.