Mutant Mantis Lunch Ladies

by Bruce Hale

  “Inhabited?” I asked.

  “Er…took over. Like a virus. It happened with cats, raccoons, and, um, some larger beings.”

  Benny’s eyes found mine. I gasped. It was hard to catch a breath. Now we knew what had happened to our real cafeteria workers.

  “Oh, those poor ladies,” I said. “I knew they weren’t themselves!”

  Clutching his stomach, Benny said, “That’s awful. Maybe you’re right, Carlos—maybe we should tell someone, like the army. Or the marines.”

  “No, no!” The scientist hurried over to us, his eyes as big as tortillas. “You mustn’t!”

  “Give us one good reason why not,” I said.

  He bit a knuckle. “I, er, I can cure them. With time, I can create a serum that will freeze the mantids in their human form. They may not ever be quite the people they used to be, but at least they’ll be harmless.”

  “Seriously?” said Benny.

  “Absolutely.”

  “How long will it take?” I asked.

  “Just a few days in the lab,” said Mr. Sincere. “That’s all I need.”

  I hesitated. “Well…”

  “That’s excellent,” said the scientist. “Thank you both.”

  Crossing his arms, Benny said, “We haven’t said yes yet.”

  Mr. Sincere spread his hands. “But what more do you need?”

  “More answers.” Benny scowled, rising to his feet. “You said that the army base was shut down years ago. What happened to the mantises—mantids, mantii, whatever?”

  Examining his scuffed shoes, the scientist cleared his throat. “Abandoned,” he said, “just like the base.”

  I jumped from my chair. “Shut the front door! You just walked away and left your creepy experiments behind?”

  “It’s not my fault,” Dr. Sincere snapped. “I was only following orders.”

  “So were Darth Vader’s storm troopers,” said Benny. “But that doesn’t make it right.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  The bug expert hung his head again, his fire fading. “We gassed the laboratories, locked the door, and left. We thought they’d all been destroyed.”

  “You thought wrong,” I said. “And now these things are taking over our school.”

  “What do they want?” asked Benny, taking a step toward the scientist. “To lay their eggs all over the cafeteria?”

  “Actually,” said Dr. Sincere, “they’re sterile.”

  Benny frowned. “Like Bactine?”

  “No, like they can’t have any babies,” said the bug expert, as if he was talking to a three-year-old. (Sometimes with Benny, this is the best approach.) “They’d have to find other ways to multiply.”

  “Never mind that,” I said. “How do we figure out what they’re up to?”

  Dr. Sincere looked as miserable as a wet cat at a water park. He gave an apologetic shrug. “That’s just it,” he said. “They’ve been mutating for over twenty years. Who knows what they want?”

  “Ay-yi-yi,” I muttered.

  Nervously, the scientist picked up one of the butterfly nets and turned it in his hands. “I…Please, I want to develop the serum. I feel responsible.”

  “That’s because you are!” Benny blurted.

  The bug expert started to say something in his defense, then abruptly shut up.

  “So, do it,” I said, leaning forward. “Find the cure that’s going to give us back our lunch ladies.”

  “I will,” Mr. Sincere promised. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “Meanwhile, we’ll work on this from our end,” said Benny.

  “But we need some advice first,” I said.

  “Name it,” said the scientist.

  I raked a hand through my hair. “How do we stop these mutants? What are their weaknesses?”

  Dr. Sincere picked at the butterfly net. “Well, mantids do have natural predators,” he said. “Frogs, monkeys, birds.”

  Benny snorted. “To eat these suckers? The frog would have to be the size of an SUV.”

  “A condor is the only bird big enough to take them on,” I said. “And they’re endangered.”

  With a grimace, the scientist said, “Er, the mantids do have one weakness.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Tell us,” said Benny.

  Dr. Sincere reached out a finger and ran it along the praying mantis photo. “They don’t self-regulate well.”

  I cocked my head. “Um, in English?”

  “They can’t control themselves,” said the scientist. “Especially around food. They could, potentially, eat until they explode.”

  Goose bumps erupted on my arms as a thought occurred. “But what do they eat?” I asked.

  One of Dr. Sincere’s big hands reached up and scrubbed his jaw. His eyes shifted. He looked like he was trying to keep his mouth from talking.

  “What is it?” Benny demanded.

  The bug expert’s shoulders hunched. “Normally, mantids will eat other insects, perhaps even a lizard or mouse.”

  Turning to me, Benny said, “So that explains what happened to all the pests in the cafeteria.”

  I nodded slowly. A bad feeling was burbling up in my stomach, like the aftereffects of too many refried beans. “But these are mutant mantises,” I said, pinning the scientist’s gaze with my own. “What do they eat?”

  He squirmed. “Theoretically?”

  “No,” I said, “really, truly.”

  Dr. Sincere turned his palms up. “Anything smaller than them.”

  My stomach gave a twist, then tied itself into a sheepshank knot. I had trouble swallowing. “A—and what’s smaller than them?” I choked out.

  “Us?” said Benny in a voice as tiny as Jiminy Cricket’s lunchbox.

  “Us,” I said.

  As the light dawned, Benny’s horrified gaze found mine. “So the only way to stop them…” he began.

  “…is to feed them the entire student body of Monterrosa Elementary,” I finished.

  “Heh,” said Benny. “I’m sure Principal Johnson won’t mind.”

  Dr. Sincere cleared his throat. “Well, not the entire student body.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “When it came to mealtimes, our mantids showed a distinct preference for males.”

  “Males?” I gulped, turning to my best friend.

  “So you know what that makes you and me, Carlos?” he said.

  I nodded, and grabbed my gut.

  “Bug bait,” I said.

  WERE WE WORRIED? Hey, you’re talking about two guys who have laughed at danger, who have taken the worst the supernatural world could dish out and come up swinging.

  We were terrified.

  Seriously, I defy you to stay cool when you discover you’re the main course on some mutant’s lunch menu. And to top it off, our task seemed impossible. Using only our wits, we had to defeat three superstrong, supertricky predators who wanted nothing more than to snack on our giblets. It would’ve been easier to arm wrestle a T. rex.

  After leaving Dr. Memphis Sincere, Benny and I pedaled homeward, shaking like guava jelly on the San Andreas fault. Yes, the scientist was working on a way to cure the lunch ladies, but until he succeeded, it was up to us to stop the giant bugs. We needed a plan, and we needed it quick.

  Who knew when the mutated cafeteria workers would switch from feeding us to feeding on us? And if the vanished boys were any indication, they might have already started.

  My stomach went all queasy at the thought.

  “What do we do?” Benny asked. Our shadows fled before us as we rolled down the streets in the late-afternoon sunshine.

  “I don’t know, but we’d better do it quick,” I said. “Those mutant freaks have been feeding us boys all that good stuff to fatten us up.”

  “And what about the girls?” said Benny.

  I considered. “Well, they’re getting different food, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Maybe even something with bugs in it
, so…”

  “Ooh.” Benny’s eyes widened. “Do you think the lunch ladies are trying to turn the girls into mutants like them?”

  “Maybe…”

  “I mean, I’ve always thought girls were freaks,” he said, “but this is ridiculous.”

  Leaning into the corner as we rounded Jasper Street, I said, “It makes sense. Dr. Sincere did say the mutants were sterile. How else could they make more of themselves?”

  Benny shivered. “Gross. It does explain why the girls are getting so aggro, though.”

  I nodded, seeing it. “Bit by bit, the mantises are turning them into heartless predators. No wonder Tina acted like such a jerk.”

  “We’ve got to stop them.”

  “No duh,” I said. “Let’s go figure out how.”

  When we reached my house, Veronica and her little friends Maya and Hannah were making a ruckus—great, more aggressive girls—so Benny and I retreated to the tree fort for some serious thinking.

  Our tree-fort clubhouse is basically a platform in one of the oak trees that stands in a field between Benny’s house and mine. Ever since we were old enough to climb, it’s been our retreat from the world. But this time, our retreat was short-lived.

  I slumped against the tree trunk. “Ay huey, are we in trouble.”

  “Trouble is practically our home address,” Benny agreed, picking at the splintered edge of one of the boards. “The question is, what are we gonna do about this?”

  I tapped my chin, thinking. “Well…flies get stuck in flytraps, so maybe we can make some kind of giant, sticky mantis trap?”

  Benny shook his head. “With what—tar? Quick-drying cement? They’re so big—it’d never hold them.”

  “Okay, genius,” I said, “then what’s your idea?”

  He cocked his head. “Um…what if we…flooded the kitchen with water and drowned them?”

  “Perfect,” I said, “except (a) it’d take forever to fill that room with a hose; and (b) if those missing kids are still alive and locked in the pantry, we’d drown them too.”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Benny.

  I straightened as an idea hit me. “Hey, what about that old bear trap of your dad’s?”

  Benny made a game-show buzzer sound. “Wrong-o. They’re not as dumb as were-hyenas, and there’s three of them.”

  I tugged on my hair. This being a hero and coming up with plans was harder than it looked.

  “I know,” said Benny. “We could light them on fire!”

  “And burn down the cafeteria? Maybe the whole school?”

  “Bad idea?”

  “Bad idea.”

  After a long pause, Benny looked up. “So where does that leave us?”

  I sighed. “In deep, deep doo-doo. Dr. Sincere better come up with that cure soon.”

  “There’s got to be some way we could—”

  At that moment, a shout from below penetrated our gloom.

  “Hey, doody-heads!” It was my sister, Veronica. And, judging by the giggles, both of her friends.

  “Go away!” I yelled. “We’re busy.”

  “It’s our turn for the tree fort,” said Veronica.

  I poked my head over the platform’s edge and gave her my death-ray stare. “We were here first. And besides, Mom says you can’t climb up here until you’re seven.”

  Apparently my death-ray stare was losing strength. My sister put her hands on her hips and mustered up her own glare. “That’s only three weeks away. And b’sides, I’m a great tree climber.”

  “Beat it, little blister,” I said. “Boys only.”

  She crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip, a pose I recognized from her TV show. Her friends copied her. “Girls can do anything boys can,” said Veronica.

  “More!” said her friend Maya.

  “Not in this tree fort,” Benny said.

  This wasn’t a new struggle. Veronica had been trying to get up here for over a year. Usually, she just made herself obnoxious for a while (an easy thing for her) and then went away.

  Not this time.

  “Come on, girls,” she said. “Let’s take this tree back from these doody-head boys!”

  “Yarrgh!” her friends cried.

  All three of them charged us like a pint-sized army. With growls and grunts, they began to actually scale the trunk.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Get down from there.”

  “No!” Veronica’s teeth were gritted, and the light in her eyes was as crazy as a hatful of doodlebugs. She climbed a couple feet up, then slid partway back.

  “Get down now, or I’m telling Mom,” I said.

  Benny motioned at the broomstick we kept up there for knocking down acorns and stuff. “You want the stick?”

  I watched Hannah slip back down. “I don’t think we’ll need it,” I said.

  “When I get up there, I’m throwing you guys over!” screeched my sister, regaining some ground.

  “And then we’ll bite off their heads and suck out their guts,” said Maya, her blond hair dancing.

  “Yeah!” growled Hannah.

  I met Benny’s eyes. “Okay, is it just me, or is this getting weird?”

  “It’s getting weird,” he said.

  I picked up the broomstick and was considering using it, when a welcome call cut into the grunting and growling below. “Kids! Dinner!” my mom yelled from the backyard.

  “Hear that?” I said. “Time for all munchkins to go inside.”

  “Grrr,” said Veronica. The whites of her eyes were showing.

  “Your sister is creeping me out,” said Benny.

  “You’re not alone,” I said.

  The little girls below us snarled some more and gained another foot or so. I don’t know where it would have ended if my mom hadn’t appeared at the back gate.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” she said. “Come inside, it’s dinnertime.”

  Quick as a flash, Veronica and her friends slid down the trunk. They turned to beam angelic smiles at my mom.

  “Were you just climbing that tree?” Mom asked.

  “Us? No,” said my little sister. “We’re pretending.”

  “Playing monsters,” Maya added helpfully.

  I looked from Benny to the little girls. They were doing something more than just playing. And if we didn’t put a stop to it in a hurry, I might find myself the big brother to a mini mutant mantis.

  Loads of fun for the whole family, I thought.

  Until she ate me, that is.

  DINNER THAT NIGHT was…interesting. Not the food, which was yummy—fish tacos, rice, and salad—but the conversation. Mom started it off.

  “So, Carlos, I hear you had to stay after school today,” she said, taking a sip of water.

  Inwardly, I cursed. I’d forgotten that principals sometimes like to talk with parents, especially when their kid is in trouble.

  “Ha ha, detention!” Veronica singsonged.

  “Um, yeah,” I said. “But it’s really no big deal.”

  “Detention?” My father looked up from his rice. “Why did they give you detention?”

  “Carlos started a food fight!” squealed Veronica.

  “A food fight?” my mom echoed. “And this is the first we’re hearing of it?”

  I glared at my little sister. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

  Veronica’s wide smile was full of malice. “The whole school got into it. Lunch was allll over the place. What a mess!”

  “Carlos?” said my dad.

  “We, uh…okay, it did get a little out of hand.” I took a bite of salad.

  A vertical crease appeared between Mom’s eyebrows. “We didn’t raise you to be the kind of boy who starts food fights. You know better than that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Was it Benny?”

  My chest felt tight. Although my mom was always polite to my best friend, she blamed him for most of the trouble I got into. Accurate though that might be, I didn’t like it.

  “It was both of us,” I said firmly. “We were
protesting some changes at the cafeteria.”

  Dad spread his hands. “Surely there’s a better way to protest,” he said. “Ever hear of petitions?”

  “He threw Jell-O!” my sister cackled. “Doody-head!”

  “Language,” Mom warned her.

  My jaw tightened. I couldn’t very well tell my parents that petitions wouldn’t stop the mutant lunch ladies from taking over our school and eating all the boys. But maybe it was time I filled them in on some of the weirdness. I decided to start small and see how things went.

  “We had to take a stand,” I said. “The lunch ladies are feeding the boys something different from the girls.”

  My mom cocked her head. “Different how?”

  “The girls are getting protein and healthy stuff, while we’re eating junk food,” I said, oversimplifying a bit. Well, quite a bit.

  Mom’s frown deepened. “That’s not right. Growing boys need protein too, and nobody should be filling up on junk food.”

  I leaned forward. “But that’s not all. It’s affecting the girls’ behavior.”

  “What do you mean?” my dad asked around a mouthful of fish taco.

  “They’re getting rude and aggressive,” I said. “Haven’t you noticed how Veronica’s been acting?”

  My sister made a wounded, innocent expression that looked rehearsed. She put a hand to her chest. “Me?”

  Mom patted her arm and chuckled. “Don’t be silly. She’s just our little diva.”

  Veronica gave Mom a wide, fluttery-eyed smile. But the lightning-fast glare that hit me when Mom looked away revealed her true nature.

  Dang, my sister was a better actress than I’d thought.

  “But she—” I spluttered.

  “Now, Carlos,” said my mom, “cut your sister some slack. She’s going through a lot of changes.”

  You have no idea, I thought.

  “Okay, she’s adjusting to being an actress,” I said. “I get it, but this is different. She’s been acting deranged.”

  Dad shot me a look over his glasses. “Envy doesn’t become you, Carlos. I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” he said.

  “I’m not—” I sputtered. “This is about her, not me. She doesn’t even care that her friend Justin is still missing.”