The Villain Virus

by Michael Buckley

  “Well, how do we know who has it?” one of the other scientists asked. “We tried to do blood tests, but someone deleted half the results.”

  “They were tampered with?” Brand scowled. “I was told it was some sort of computer malfunction.”

  “It’s starting to look like someone intentionally destroyed the records,” Dr. Kim said.

  “But who?” Ms. Holiday asked. “And why?”

  “Someone is infected and doesn’t want us to know. He or she may already be in quarantine, or it might be one of us. We’ll have to worry about that later,” Dr. Kim replied. “For now, there’s only one person who we know for sure is safe from the virus.”

  Every head in the room turned toward Flinch.

  “Agent Flinch is our only candidate. He is immune to the infection,” Dr. Kim said.

  “I am so jealous!” Jessie cried, his breath whistling. “Do you have any idea what the potential for juvenile delinquency is inside a body?”

  “I’m not going,” Flinch said. “I’ve been the team leader now three times, and each time something crazy has happened. Paris is a disaster, they’re still trying to get the Empire State Building back to its original size, and Hollywood—well, Hollywood is weird already. But anyway, I’m not good with the pressure. My brain is too scattered. The more sugar I take to fuel the harness, the harder it is for me to think. What if I get in there and screw up? What if I accidentally hurt Heathcliff? No way. There has to be someone else.”

  Brand put his hand on Flinch’s shoulder. Flinch looked up into his boss’s face and could see him struggling with what to say. The man wasn’t good with words. He could take out an entire army of terrorists but often lost the battle to say something inspiring. He looked straight into Flinch’s eyes and said one word: “Tough.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tough!” Brand shouted. “So it’s hard. So you’ve made some mistakes! You know what? Everyone does. That doesn’t mean you don’t have to go and do your job. Flinch, I’ll admit, I kept you in the background because you’re unpredictable. But during the past week I’ve learned to respect that unpredictability. Your plans may not always be the best in the beginning, but when the crazy stuff happens, as it always does, your mind can adapt faster and more creatively than any person I have ever met. So listen, you’re in charge. Don’t give me any nonsense about how you don’t feel confident. It’s time to save the world, Flinch. That’s what you do.”

  “Was that a pep talk?” Flinch asked.

  Brand frowned. “Get in the containment suit, buster.”

  Flinch was strapped into a harness and lowered into one of the containment suits, and then the remaining science team locked it closed. A number of electronic panels lit up along Flinch’s arms and chest. The tips of his fingers glowed, as did his feet.

  Dr. Kim handed him a helmet with a clear visor to protect his head. “The feet and hands of the suit have propulsion tech so that you can motor about—they work like Matilda’s inhalers and should help you move through the bloodstream. And don’t forget the harpoon guns on the side of your arms and legs for tethering yourself. Use them sparingly. There’s only so many feet of cable at your disposal.”

  Flinch turned his head and saw a huge pack strapped on the back of the suit. “What’s that?”

  “That, my friend, is fruit punch,” Dr. Kim said. “It runs into the helmet via a tube. There aren’t any vending machines inside Heathcliff, so you have to bring your own fuel. I’ve calculated your daily sugar intake, which happens to be quite frightening, and have estimated how much you will need for two hours.”

  Ms. Holiday stood nearby. Her face was dark with worry.

  “No cupcakes, Ms. Holiday?” Flinch asked.

  “I don’t think this is the best idea, Julio,” the librarian said. “Be careful.”

  Flinch promised he would.

  “Dude, you have to be the coolest kid we know,” Jessie said as he and the rest of Flinch’s new friends gathered around him. “Do you get to do stuff like this all the time?”

  Flinch thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Where do we sign up?” Toad croaked.

  “Good luck, bro,” Wyatt said, handing Flinch a can of black spray paint.

  “What’s this for?”

  “You’re going somewhere no human being has ever gone before,” Hooper said. “You should leave your tag.”

  Flinch tapped a button on the front of his chest plate, which opened a compartment just big enough for the can. He grinned, thinking about marking the inside of Heathcliff’s skull with the words FLINCH WAS HERE!

  He put on his helmet, and the scientists pulled the chains to hoist him over the tank. “Agent Flinch, this is Benjamin,” Flinch heard through his com-link. “Can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Flinch said.

  “Good,” the little blue orb’s voice said. “A thought just occurred to me. They say if you want to stop the bad guy you have to get inside his head. This time they mean it quite literally. Good luck, Agent.”

  The scientists lowered Flinch into the tank. There was a dramatic dip in temperature, and he shivered until his body adjusted. He was halfway submerged when he suddenly plummeted to the bottom.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as he peered through the saline and the tank’s glass. He saw some kind of commotion, though it was difficult to make out.

  “It’s nothing,” Brand said. “One of the scientists is showing symptoms. The others have him under control.”

  Flinch took a big swig of fruit punch and felt the sugar race through him. “OK. I’m ready. Let’s get pequeño!”

  “Good luck, Julio,” Dr. Kim told him, and then she turned on the beam. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for it to slam into his body and nearly knock him out. This was followed by a wave of cold all around him that made his teeth chatter. Then he felt as if he were falling off a cliff. He opened his eyes, but nothing looked familiar. The tank was gone, as were the hazy forms of the scientists and his friends. He was awash in fluid. He tried to swim but could do nothing but flop about in the thick and syrupy liquid.

  “You still with us, Flinch?” Brand’s voice came through his com-link.

  “Loud and clear, sir,” Flinch said. “Did it work?”

  Benjamin’s voice was next. “Perfectly. You’re in the hypodermic needle now. Dr. Kim is preparing the injection.”

  “How did it feel?” Agent Brand asked.

  “Kooky.”

  “As good a description as any,” Brand said. Flinch wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the man chuckle. “OK, Agent. Prepare for the injection.”

  “I’m ready,” Flinch said, and then he was swept away in the liquid. The lights went out and he was suddenly floating, untethered, and unable to get his bearings.

  “Flinch?” Dr. Kim’s voice filled his head.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I can’t see anything, but I’m fine.”

  Benjamin’s voice was next. “I’m going to remotely activate some of the more basic functions of your containment suit.”

  Two lamps on either side of Flinch’s helmet lit up. What he saw was incredible. He was swirling around gigantic, yellowish blobs that kept slamming into one another. He reached out to touch one and was surprised to find they were spongy and sticky.

  “What are these things?” he asked.

  “Just a second while we pull up visuals,” Ms. Holiday said. “OK, there it is. Oh my. That’s amazing.”

  “Flinch, what you’re seeing are fat cells,” Dr. Kim told him. “They’re harmless, but you’re going to have to use your boosters to move through them.”

  “Is there a lot of fat in a brain?” Flinch asked.

  “Um, Flinch, we couldn’t inject you into Heathcliff’s brain. His skull is too tough for that. We had to find someplace softer.”

  He heard the troublemakers laugh.

  “Where am I?”

  “Um … well—”

 
“Where am I?” Flinch cried.

  “You’re in Heathcliff’s butt!” Wyatt roared.

  The Antagonist walked up the sidewalk to Thomas Knowlton Middle School and eyed the steel barricades on the doors and windows. This wasn’t what he’d expected. He reached into his pocket for his phone, dialed a number, and waited.

  “Hi, honey bear!” Miss Information said when she answered. “I hope you’re feeling evil.”

  “I’m feeling very evil, but there’s a problem. There’s no way into the school. It looks as if it’s on some kind of lockdown. I’m afraid they knew we were coming.”

  “Does someone have the boo-boo face?”

  “No.”

  “Is my shmuggins feeling saddy-sad?”

  “It’s just depressing. I wanted to take over the world today!”

  “Shmookin, kissy bear, don’t be sad!” Miss Information said. “I’m working on fixing the problem right now. You’ll be inside sooner than you can say ‘I love my superawesome girlfriend.’”

  “I love my superawesome girlfriend,” he said.

  Miss Information laughed. “Oh, silly, be patient.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do?” he groaned.

  “Just relax,” she said. “Listen, evil is afoot and I have to get back to it. I’ll see you soon, my little love monkey.”

  He put the phone in his pocket and looked around at the surrounding neighborhood. It was a bright, clear day. The street was empty. The circumstances were ideal for taking over the world. He sat down on the steps outside the school and wondered how far away the closest convenience store might be. He could go for a soda—maybe a bag of chips. World-conquering gave him the munchies. But he was feeling lazy. What if his girlfriend opened the school and he wasn’t there to storm in and take over?

  No, he would just plant himself where he was and wait.

  A car drove by.

  Two birds fought over a worm.

  Somewhere, someone was using a leaf blower.

  He lay on his back and took out his phone again.

  She hadn’t called. Luckily, he had just downloaded sudoku. That would keep him busy.

  Flinch was flying through the fat cells using the containment suit’s foot boosters. Occasionally, he flew right into one of the cells and bounced off it as if he were in a bouncy castle. Eventually, he came across a massive tube.

  “What am I seeing, Doc?” he asked.

  “That’s the femoral artery, and you need to be inside it. It’s going to pump you up to the lungs. We can’t take you through the heart, which is the most direct route, because at your size its chambers would crush you with a single beat.”

  “How do I get in?” Flinch asked. “There isn’t exactly a welcome mat.”

  “You’re going to need the laser,” Dr. Kim told him. “Cut a hole just big enough to crawl through and no bigger. Platelets will come and repair the damage, but if you make it too big they won’t be able to get the job done and you’ll cause internal bleeding.”

  “Great. Now I’m a surgeon,” Flinch grumbled. He pressed the button on his glove that activated the laser, then aimed carefully and fired. He cut a small incision, as he had been instructed, just big enough for his body, then fired his rocket boosters and flew right into the hole.

  The second he was inside the artery, his body was swept away in a massive current as if he had fallen into the rapids of a mighty river. He was moving fast and was completely out of control.

  “Flinch, your heart rate is spiking,” Brand said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m freaking out!”

  “Just relax, Flinch!” Dr. Kim said. “You’re in the bloodstream and traveling fast. You need to get ready because the lungs are coming up. When I say ‘fire,’ aim a harpoon at the artery wall.”

  Flinch struggled to get control of his body. After a while, he did the only thing he could think of and swam with the current. He glanced around. His helmet beams illuminated the way, and he saw what looked like huge red beanbag chairs floating around him.

  “What are the red things?” he asked.

  “Those are red blood cells,” Benjamin said. “They’re carrying oxygen through the body. The arteries carry them, along with white blood cells and a substance called lymph, all through the circulatory system. They shouldn’t be much of a threat.”

  One slammed into Flinch, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Glad to hear it!”

  “How is the suit?” Ms. Holiday asked.

  “It feels fine, but it’s awful loud in here,” Flinch said, holding his hands to his ears. Something was thumping loudly and getting even louder by the second. “I can barely think.”

  “That’s Heathcliff’s heartbeat,” Benjamin chirped. “I’ll remotely adjust the volume from here.”

  At once, the thump was quieted.

  “Gracias!” Flinch said.

  “OK, Flinch, prepare your harpoon,” Dr. Kim said. “Now, fire!”

  Flinch pushed a button on his arm. There was a loud POP! and a long tether shot out of his hand. He could feel a rope unraveling from his chest plate as it trailed the harpoon, and then the harpoon’s sharp tip punctured the spongy artery wall. Suddenly, he was jerked out of the stream, flailing.

  “OK, that worked.”

  “Luckily, the artery you’re in is taking blood to the brain and so you’ve been pulled closer to your target,” Benjamin said. “Look up.”

  Flinch did as he was told and saw a huge tunnel. At its center was a massive red muscle, opening and closing. It was the source of the pounding. “Is that Heathcliff’s heart?”

  “Yes, it is,” Dr. Kim said.

  “Good to know he has one,” Flinch muttered.

  “You’re close to the lungs, which means you have to get out of this artery. Use the laser to cut another opening and zip through it.”

  Flinch did as he was told, and, once on the other side, he saw two massive pink objects that inflated like party balloons and then deflated just as rapidly. He didn’t have to ask what they were.

  “Do I go inside the lungs?” Flinch asked.

  “Not yet,” Dr. Kim said. “We need to adjust your suit’s environmental controls for their increased pressure. We don’t want you to pop.”

  He could feel something happening in his helmet and assumed Benjamin was tinkering remotely.

  And then there was another commotion in his ears. It sounded like someone had tossed a chair across the room. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s another member of the science team,” Mr. Brand said. “He’s showing symptoms. We’re dealing with it. Just focus on your mission. If you destroy the transmitter soon, they won’t be sick much longer.”

  “OK. Let’s go then.”

  But he would have to wait. From the corner of his eye he saw more beanbags, but these were white and they were coming right for him. “Um, I think the white blood cells have found me.”

  He took a long drink of fruit punch and went on the offensive, socking the first one with a huge punch. It exploded all over him. “Gross!”

  Two more came from behind. He leaped up and delivered a roundhouse kick that exploded them as well. But that wasn’t the end of the assault. A hundred more white blood cells were swirling up the artery, preparing to kill him.

  “Flinch, report!” Brand cried.

  “I’m a little busy,” he said, drinking more juice. Full of sugar, he punched and kicked and slammed with all his might. One cell fell after another, but there were too many—more than any one person could handle, no matter how strong and fast.

  “Can I use the laser?!” Flinch asked.

  “Carefully!” Dr. Kim replied.

  Flinch turned on the weapon, aimed it, and fired, cutting the cells in half as they approached. One after another they fell, but each one was replaced by ten more. Soon they had him backed up against the wall of the artery with nowhere else to go.

  “I have to get out of here,” he said, turning the laser on the wall of the lung. He cut a hol
e big enough for him to squeeze through, then fought his way toward the opening. The cells were everywhere. One latched on to his arms, then his legs. Others clung to his juice pack. He kicked at them, but they stuck like glue, and worse, they were trying to puncture his suit. With a huge twist on his harness, he felt a wave of sugar so intense he could do nothing but shake. He was so out of control, he couldn’t speak, but it worked. The supershaking dislodged the cells. The moment he was free, he readjusted his harness then dove into the hole.

  Unfortunately for Flinch, the inside of the lung was even more treacherous. He was battered and squeezed as it expanded and contracted. The feeling reminded him of a camping trip he had gone on with his parents shortly before they passed away. They had all devoured a dozen sacks of roasted marshmallows, then crawled into their brand-new sleeping bags. That’s when the good times turned into a sugar-fueled nervous breakdown. His sleeping bag was so tight and constraining, Flinch felt wrapped up in the body of an anaconda. In the middle of the night, he crawled out of the tent and threw the sleeping bag in the river. Heathcliff’s lungs felt like that sleeping bag.

  “I’m in the lungs,” Flinch said, fighting back panic. “Get me out of the lungs!”

  “Just keep moving forward. You need to find another artery. This one will be large. It’s called the aorta, and it will take you directly to the base of the brain,” Benjamin chirped.

  Flinch crawled forward, unable to see more than a few feet in front of him. The noise and the wind of the lungs were so intense. It felt as if he were inside a hurricane. Benjamin turned the volume on the suit all the way down, but the sound still raged in his ears. He tried to breathe steadily so that he wouldn’t hyperventilate. The last thing he needed was to pass out inside of Heathcliff. He pressed on and finally found another of the massive tubes.

  “Just a small slit,” Dr. Kim said. “The aorta is a major artery. If you cut too big it could kill Heathcliff in minutes.”

  Flinch did as he was told and gingerly sliced a hole just big enough to squeeze through. This time he was ready for the fast-churning bloodstream and managed to not lose total control of himself.