“I’m hoping it’s just a coincidence,” Ms. Holiday said. “Our target is a lunatic calling himself Mr. Miniature. Benjamin, do you have any information on him?”
Several screens dropped down from the ceiling. They showed a video of a man struggling to hold up a gigantic ray gun. Everything he pointed at got really small really fast. Flinch saw normal-size cars, trucks, buildings; one ZAP! and they were the size of children’s playthings. Mr. Miniature scooped up everything he shrank and stuffed it all into a sack, like a child who won a toy-store shopping spree.
“How is he doing that?” Duncan asked, his mouth open in amazement.
“We’re not sure,” Benjamin told him. “We have a science team in the Playground working on similar technology, but they report that they are probably a decade away from having a working prototype. It’s very advanced tech.”
“And there isn’t a scientist or lab in the world that is any closer than us. This guy and his machine just sort of appeared out of nowhere,” Brand said.
“This guy must be supersmart to build something like that,” Gluestick remarked.
“He’s a stock boy at a grocery store,” Ms. Holiday said, and the screen showed a picture of an ordinary-looking—perhaps even a little dull—man in a green stock-boy apron. Below his picture were the words “Employee of the Month.”
“Seriously?” Wheezer cried.
“What happens if we get shrunk?” Flinch asked.
“We have no idea,” Brand said. “We’re hoping that his ray can also reverse the process, but we can’t get close enough to see.”
“We’re in our descent,” the lunch lady shouted from the captain’s chair. “Manhattan in three minutes.”
A warning light on the wall blinked. Ms. Holiday opened a panel and removed five parachute packs, one for each of the children. Flinch had never seen anything like them. The fabric seemed to take on the color of whatever it was near, making them almost invisible. It was only then that he realized his jumpsuit was doing the same thing.
“Awesome!” he shouted.
“These are the new camouflage drop suits and parachutes. They’ll allow you to blend in with your background,” she said. “We can’t have Mr. Miniature or anyone else seeing five kids parachuting into the city.”
Duncan admired his, peering closely at the fabric. “They must refract the light around us.”
As Flinch pulled on his parachute, Brand opened the hatch, and the wind blasted into the rocket’s compartment. “Make this as fast as possible,” he shouted. “It will be very hard to explain to the media why all the tourist attractions have shrunk.”
“All right, everyone! We’ll put together a plan on the ground,” Pufferfish said as she put on her goggles. “Let’s move!”
Brand turned to Flinch. “Actually, I want Flinch to take point on this one.”
Flinch shook his head. “Um, you are aware I broke Paris yesterday?”
“He’s really not ready,” Pufferfish said.
Brand frowned. “It’s not open for discussion.”
“Time to go!” the lunch lady shouted.
Ms. Holiday pressed a chocolate-covered cupcake into Flinch’s hand. “I thought you might like this,” she said.
“Did you bake it?” Flinch asked. Ms. Holiday was a great librarian and an amazing spy, but her baking was downright criminal.
She shook her head. “No, this one I bought at the store. It has all the preservatives and chemicals you love.”
“Yum!” Flinch said. He took a huge bite and immediately felt the sugar in his system. He beat on his chest, shouted “Grabbberler!,” and leaped into the sky.
New York City from ten thousand feet was eye-popping. The steel buildings shot skyward in a crown of silver and glass. A grid of streets and avenues covered nearly every square inch of the island. But there was something even more amazing for Flinch to gawk at—himself. His suit was a creamy blue that matched the color of the sky. When he fell through clouds, his suit turned white to mimic them.
“Pretty cool, amigos!” he shouted into the com-link.
As he was admiring the new technology, he heard Pufferfish’s voice in his head. “Our target is on the move, team. He’s on Thirty-third Street heading east, and I don’t like where he’s going.”
“You’re worried about a specific place?” Flinch said.
“One of the biggest and most famous buildings in New York City: the Empire State Building.”
“That’s not cool!” Braceface cried. “He can’t shrink it until I get to see it first.”
“So what’s the plan?” Pufferfish asked.
Flinch had no idea, but he was smart enough not to admit it. He sorted through all the possibilities, but the boost of sugar from the cupcake made it hard to concentrate on a single plan.
“Flinch, did you hear Pufferfish?” Wheezer asked. “How do you want to handle this?”
“Let’s go beat him up,” Flinch said, tilting his body so he was facedown and plummeting fast and furious toward the ground. His teammates did the same, and together the five of them were missiles speeding toward the ground.
“Prepare to deploy parachutes!” Wheezer shouted. “On three. One! Two! Three!”
Flinch pulled his rip cord, and his parachute exploded out of his pack. Suddenly, he was jerked up as air filled his chute. He and the team drifted down like feathers.
He spotted a park, so he directed the others to it. They touched down on green grass, where crowds of people were enjoying the lovely day. The team detached their chutes, which were now just as emerald as the lawn, and tucked them into their backpacks. Normally, they would have just left them, but they didn’t need someone tripping over space-age technology.
Pufferfish had her computer out and was already tracking Mr. Miniature. “We’re about ten blocks from the Empire State Building,” she said, scanning the horizon and then pointing above the trees. “There!” Flinch glanced down the street. It was a beautiful building, like a tall, silver Popsicle.
“Let’s get moving,” Pufferfish said, but they hadn’t taken a single step when a mob of people ran straight at them, screaming and shouting for help. The mob ran through traffic into the park, and because the NERDS were still invisible, they were nearly trampled.
“I guess he’s that way,” Flinch said. “We need some transportation, Braceface.”
Jackson’s braces sprang out of his mouth, forming an enormous dune buggy. Everyone climbed aboard and they motored in the direction of the skyscraper.
“So what’s the plan?” Matilda snapped. Flinch turned to her, surprised by her angry tone. Her face looked pale and she was sweating.
“Are you OK?” Flinch asked.
“Just a headache. I’ll be fine. Let’s do this,” Matilda said.
Pufferfish was furiously at work on her computer. She pulled up a street map of the area. “OK, I’ve deactivated all security cameras in a five-block radius and grounded all news helicopters. Plus, I shut down cell service so whatever happens, it’s not going to end up on the Internet. Now, I think the best thing is—”
“It’s Flinch’s mission,” Duncan said.
Pufferfish’s arms swelled up to the size of eggplants. She was allergic to not being in charge. “Yeah … OK.”
Flinch cringed. It was already hard being in charge, but to not have the confidence of the team was quite another thing. The truth was, Pufferfish should have been in charge. She had the most experience, and she was good at it. He wanted to just let her take over, but he suspected giving up would land him in hot water with Agent Brand.
“OK—Gluestick and Braceface should race around the block and come at him from the left. Matilda and I will go the other way and come at him from the right. Once we’ve got him surrounded we’ll do what we do best.”
“What do I do?” Pufferfish asked.
“You’re the bait,” he said. “You lure him into the intersection and keep him distracted.”
“Whatever!” Matilda cried.
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“Huh?”
“This plan sounds like a way for you to hog all the glory for yourself,” she said. “Typical Flinch.”
Everyone turned to Wheezer. She had a sharp tongue, but it was rarely aimed at a teammate.
“Um, there’s nothing typical about it,” Flinch said. “This uses everyone’s talents, and—”
“Hardly. It makes you the center of attention,” Matilda grumbled. “We all saw how you undermined Pufferfish with Agent Brand. You practically stole the leadership of the team.”
“What?” Flinch said. “That’s not true. I didn’t ask for this. I’m no leader.”
“Don’t I know it!” Matilda cried. “And it’s about time you handed over the reins to someone who is!”
Flinch hadn’t been in an argument like this since Heathcliff was on the team. Choppers, as he was called back then, spent most of his time questioning orders and grousing about his jobs. Matilda was always eager to be part of the plan. This was so unlike her that it left him and the others speechless.
Matilda wiped her brow. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. This is a good plan.”
Pufferfish nodded. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Flinch turned the knob on his harness and felt the energy fill his limbs. Once Matilda had used her inhalers to fly into the air, he leaped out of the buggy and ran down the street to follow her.
After a few turns, they came up squarely behind their target. Mr. Miniature was firing his ray gun with wild abandon, shrinking everything in sight. A taxicab was suddenly the size of a toy car. A hot dog cart was as small as a dollhouse. Even a gigantic red double-decker tour bus was abruptly no larger than a Twinkie. Flinch shuddered to think about the people in those vehicles, suddenly finding themselves very tiny and being shoved into a sack. Miniature had to be stopped.
“I’ll take him at his knees and you go for the ray gun,” Flinch said.
“What kind of imbecile are you?” Matilda snarled. “Your silly little ideas smell of foolishness! I am the brains on this team. You should be listening to me!”
Again Flinch was taken aback. “Huh? What is wrong with you?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong! I have to work with a bunch of morons and nincompoops and I’m expected to keep my mouth shut and not say a word. Well, I’ve had it! I’m not the kind of person who takes orders from an incompetent ape.”
“Wheezer, um, there’s a mad scientist shrinking everything,” Flinch said. “Can we talk about this later?”
“NO!” Matilda turned her inhalers on Flinch and fired. A red-hot blast of sound and light hit him right in the chest and he flew backward, slamming into a wall. His head throbbed as he staggered to his feet in a pile of brick and dust. His harness had absorbed much of the impact, but he wasn’t invulnerable. Matilda’s attack had hurt a lot.
Wheezer aimed her inhalers at him a second time, but Flinch wasn’t about to give her another shot. He took off, going from zero to sixty miles per hour in two seconds, sending trash into the air behind him.
“This is the bait! What’s going on back there?” Pufferfish’s voice said in his head.
“Something’s wrong with Wheezer!” Flinch shouted.
“Don’t call me that name! Wheezer is no name for someone as important as me. From now on, you will call me the Asthmatic Assassin.”
“Did I hear that right?” Gluestick shouted over the com-link.
“Concentrate on the bad guy,” Flinch said. “I’ll take care of what’s-her-name.”
Wheezer’s inhalers fired again, nearly taking Flinch’s head off. He survived only by jumping straight into the air, soaring twenty feet up, then using his incredible strength to dig his fingers into the side of a nearby building. He clung there like a spider until Matilda spotted him. She fired again, and he sprang higher, clawing into the brick with his feet and hands.
“You think you can get away?” Wheezer seethed. “You’re wasting your time.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but we’re not here to fight each other,” Flinch said. “We’re supposed to be stopping a bad guy. You need to get control of yourself!”
“I’m in control of myself for the first time in my life!”
“Buddy, we’ve got a big problem,” Gluestick replied. “Miniature is attacking us!”
Suddenly, a pink light enveloped the Empire State Building. Craning his neck, Flinch saw the light reaching all the way from the ground to the very top.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
And then, one of the tallest buildings in New York City—in the world, even—shrank to the size of a shoe box. Mr. Miniature plucked it off the ground and shoved it into his bag. He laughed an insane, high-pitched cackle and shook his fists in the air in triumph.
“Attention, world! I am the master manipulator of size and shape. Today’s demonstration is just the first of many! Soon, I will shrink all of your most precious landmarks—Mount Rushmore! The White House! The Taj Mahal! To get them back, you will have to pay my ransom. Empty your pockets and turn over all control of the world to me in twenty-four hours—or else. I’d say it’s a bargain!”
Flinch hardly had time to process what had just happened, because Wheezer’s attack didn’t stop for a moment. She made a beeline straight for him.
He dug into the wall and braced himself for the fiery spray of her inhalers—then he got an idea. He crushed the bricks in his hands into powder and tossed the dust into her face. It blinded her and she flailed in the sky, scratching at her eyes.
While she was distracted, Flinch jumped down from the side of the wall. On the street, he opened his backpack and pulled out the invisible parachute. He shook it open and held it the way a matador holds a red cloak out to an angry bull. He just hoped he didn’t get run over by this particular bull.
“Hey, Wheezer. I’m over here!” he shouted.
Still rubbing her eyes, Wheezer turned in midair and flew in the direction of his voice. Her flight was erratic, but that didn’t make her any less dangerous. He shouted again, hoping to steer her with the sound of his voice. When she was nearly on top of him, he tossed the parachute directly at her. The fabric wrapped around her and she slammed into the ground. Flinch heard a groan and then nothing. After a moment he peered inside. His friend was still breathing but seemed to be out cold.
“You stay here, Wheezer,” he said. He tied the ends of the parachute into a knot so it formed a bag around Wheezer, then looked for the rest of his team. He spotted them several blocks away. They were tracking Mr. Miniature, who had moved his reign of terror in the direction of Times Square. Flinch raced to catch up to his friends, guessing that Miniature was going to take a few more landmarks for his collection.
“Put your ray gun down!” Pufferfish demanded, dodging a blast from Mr. Miniature’s weapon and kicking him in the calf. “You’re under arrest!”
“Yeah,” Braceface said. He was trying to snatch the bag of miniaturized items with his braces, which had morphed into claws. “You’re in big trouble.”
“Did they send children to stop me?” Miniature cried as he turned his weapon on Braceface. “How appropriate that pint-size heroes are sent to stop the Terrorist of Tiny!”
Flinch knew what was coming next, and with all the speed he had in him he bolted to the rescue, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Unfortunately, he moved so fast, he broke the sound barrier. With a tremendous BOOM! the windows shattered in every building for two blocks. Mr. Miniature had only a split second to wonder what had caused the noise when his ray gun vanished from his hands. The wind was still blowing back his hair as he was knocked to the ground. Before he knew it, both his legs and feet were cuffed.
“What happened?” he asked, dazed.
“I happened,” Flinch told him. Miniature’s bag had split open in the fall, and the ground around him was covered with dozens of tiny little cars, all filled with tiny little people, honking their tiny little horns.
“We’ll get you back to size as soon as we figure
out how,” Flinch said to the tiny crowd, but the honking didn’t stop.
“What happened to the two of you?” Pufferfish asked. “Where’s Matilda?”
“She attacked me. I don’t think she’s feeling well. She was talking crazy,” Flinch said.
Suddenly, Pufferfish began to scratch, then she grabbed Flinch and together they fell to the ground. “Get down!”
There was a loud explosion behind them. They spun around to find that Wheezer had used her inhaler to blast through the parachute fabric. Little bits of flame burned around the edges of a hole that appeared to be standing in midair, and then Matilda crawled through it with revenge in her eyes.
“I’m allergic to surprise attacks,” Pufferfish said.
Wheezer flew into the air, then sprayed the ground with inhaler blasts. The results were several huge, smoking craters in the street. Flinch could do nothing more than watch a circle of them appear around him, until the very ground he stood on collapsed beneath his feet.
He fell, then slammed into something hard. If he hadn’t been wearing his harness, he was sure he would have broken a leg, but the impact still hurt. He clamored to his feet, feeling the agony from his injured knee and ribs.
It was dark—pitch black, just the way it had been in the Parisian catacombs, only this tunnel stretched out behind him, and there were tracks beneath his feet. His old panic returned.
“Great,” he groaned, but his complaints were drowned out by a peculiar sound filling the space—a rumbling that grew louder by the second. It was then that he understood where he was and that something big, bright, and loud was coming right at him.
Flinch spun around and ran in the opposite direction. He wanted to turn his speed up to the max, but his knee was killing him. He could barely break twenty miles an hour, limping with every step.
“This isn’t my fault!” Flinch cried. “I didn’t want to be in charge. I’m better as part of the team, not leading it. And now I’m going to get run over by a train.”
He veered to the left at a fork in the tunnel. He hoped the train would go in the other direction, but it didn’t. It followed him into the turn like a big silver bloodhound and, worse, he could feel his harness starting to sputter from a lack of fuel. He looked back over his shoulder and saw the train close behind. He turned the knob all the way to maximum and allowed the power to overtake him. Then with a sudden blast of speed he zipped ahead. But his tank was now on empty and he was running on fumes. The train would overtake him at any moment.
The Villain Virus Page 7
