“Even the smartest person in the world doesn’t know everything. There are just too many things to know.”
Wilmer sighed. He knew even the greatest scientists weren’t right 100 percent of the time. Albert Einstein once insisted the universe wasn’t expanding, but most scientists think it is. Einstein called it his “biggest blunder.” If Albert Einstein hadn’t known stuff, then it was okay that Wilmer didn’t know stuff, too.
Scientists observed. Wilmer just needed to observe and he’d find his way back.
He hadn’t been doing very much observing lately.
Wilmer plunged his hand into his back pocket. That’s where he often kept his small magnifying glass, although he had left it at home. Instead, he found a wrapped strawberry-colored hard candy. A small bit of string tied a note around it. Wilmer squinted to read in the dark: Don’t have a hard time this weekend. Love, Mom.
Ernie grabbed the treat. “I’m not missing out on candy again,” he said, tearing open the plastic and popping the candy in his mouth. Within seconds he coughed, gagged, and spit it out. “Help! Help!”
“Mom’s fish-oil-and-strawberry-shoe-polish hard bites,” said Wilmer with a nod. “Not one of my favorites.”
Ernie’s violent coughs were drowned out by a deafening loudspeaker crackle from the enormous radio tower nearby. Wilmer was glad he’d brought his earplugs; he quickly plunged them inside his ears.
“Cover your ears!” he yelled to Ernie, but it was too late: Ernie was already staring blankly forward, drool dripping onto his collar.
Despite his earplugs, the sound was so loud that Wilmer’s ears quivered. His brain turned fuzzy. His vision grew cloudy. He wanted to punch someone. He staggered forward, as if his entire soul had been wrenched out of his body, barfed onto a nearby tree, and then pecked by woodpeckers.
It was not a good feeling.
“Attention, dear, dear students,” spoke the voice, as garbled and distorted as ever. “Doughnuts and cider are being served. Also, eat apples every day for healthy teeth, and make fruit baskets for people with sinus congestion.”
“Fruit has plenty of antioxidants to help combat colds,” said Wilmer.
The voice stopped, the final squeal faded away, and Wilmer felt his wits return. “Man, what was that?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow. “That jarred my head even more than usual. Do you think it’s because we’re so close to this tower, Ernie? Ernie?”
Ernie stared forward, his eyes bulging. He reminded Wilmer of a zombie, but with less color.
Wilmer looked at Ernie uneasily and poked him on the shoulder. Ernie hissed.
“Ernie! Buddy!” yelled Wilmer. “Snap out of it!”
But Ernie didn’t snap out of anything. He kept staring forward with glassy, emotionless eyes. “Must smash pumpkins,” he mumbled. “Must belt buckles.”
“Ernie?” gasped Wilmer. “What are you talking about?”
Ernie glared and cracked his knuckles. “Must batter pancakes.”
There was menace in his voice, a low rasp that made Wilmer uneasy. They needed to get back, and fast. Wilmer grabbed Ernie’s hand. “Come on!” Ernie stumbled forward.
But which way was back? Wilmer still had absolutely no idea.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DANGER!
BEYOND THIS POINT: RADIO FREQUENCY FIELDS MAY EXCEED ALL POSSIBLE SAFETY RULES FOR HUMAN EXPOSURE. IN FACT, WE CAN PRETTY MUCH GUARANTEE THAT THEY DO.
ALSO WATCH OUT FOR: LOOSELY BURIED ELECTRICAL WIRES AND CABLES, RADIOACTIVE CONTAMINATION, FALLING BOLTS, LOOSE SCREWS, LOUD NOISES, AND PIGEON DROPPINGS.
FAILURE TO OBEY THIS SIGN MAY RESULT IN SERIOUS INJURY AND OTHER UNPLEASANTRIES. SO STAY AWAY FROM THIS TOWER IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU.
Wilmer approached the radio tower. It was massive and imposing, like a giant iron monster camouflaged in the darkness. Ernie trudged next to him. Although it was just a steel structure, something about it raised the hairs on the back of Wilmer’s neck. He placed his fingers against the metal, the steel icy to the touch.
“Cracks,” mused Wilmer, feeling thin slivers spreading throughout the base. “That’s odd. I guess this radio tower must be as old as the hotel. Maybe older.” He closed his eyes and concentrated. It felt good to exercise his science brain muscles. It would have felt even better if Ernie wasn’t staring at him and mumbling strange, slightly frightening things.
“Must waste baskets.”
Oddly, Ernie kept Wilmer calm. He felt his own anger bubbling inside him, but Ernie’s craziness was a reminder that he needed to keep those emotions under control. As a scientist, he had spent his entire life making unemotional, science-based decisions, and he needed to keep it that way. He was a trained scientist, after all! Ernie was depending on him. And maybe everyone else was too.
Wilmer spoke out loud to himself. The sound of his voice made the evening feel less frightening. “Observation. That’s the key to scientific discovery,” he muttered. “Like Columbus discovering the new world by crashing into it. Of course, that was a bit hard to miss, what with it being a giant continent in the middle of the ocean. You’d really have to be a lousy observer to miss that one.”
“Must crush velvet,” murmured Ernie with an eerie, threatening-sounding purr.
Wilmer barely heard his friend. The gears in his head spun rapidly. “So, what can we observe here? There’s an old radio tower in the middle of the forest. But we don’t get any reception for electronics. You’d think a tower of this size would produce radio waves that could reach miles away. So maybe . . .” Wilmer’s brain neurons were firing quickly. It felt good to be lost in scientific thinking. “Maybe this doesn’t use radio signals at all. Maybe it’s a closed system used only to amplify announcements from the hotel, so that they can be heard for miles. In that case this tower would use telephone lines or cables—”
“Must crash helmets,” mumbled Ernie.
“Will you be quiet?” grumbled Wilmer. He needed some light. If only Ernie had a flashlight.
“Must engulf Mexico.” Ernie moaned.
But Ernie had something that would work just as well as a flashlight.
“Ignore me,” Wilmer mumbled as he plunged his hand into Ernie’s jacket pocket. Ernie snarled, but didn’t stop Wilmer’s searching arm. Finally, Wilmer pulled out a crumbling, glowing-orange Marmalade ChocoBUZZZZ! cupcake.
Its light was even brighter than a flashlight.
Basked in the glow of the chocolate dessert, Wilmer knelt down next to the tower. He was looking for wires, and after a few moments he found an assortment of colorful ones leading down the side of the tower and into the ground.
Ernie grunted. “Must box car kids.”
“These cables must have been buried for decades,” said Wilmer, so he was surprised when they lifted easily from under the soil, as if they had only recently been laid. “We’re in luck. These should lead us back to the hotel. And if we hurry, maybe we can be back in time for doughnuts. Ready, Ernie?”
“Must jam traffic,” muttered Ernie.
If the lure of doughnuts didn’t wake up Ernie, then he was in bad shape.
Wilmer continued tugging on the wires, yanking them out of the dirt and following their trail through the forest. They weaved through the trees, around bushes, and over plants. Ernie plodded slowly behind. Soon the forest grew less dense, and the evening stars once again flickered overhead. There was the North Star, or at least what Wilmer thought was maybe the North Star. And shortly after that, the lights from the hotel glimmered in the nighttime air.
“We did it!” yelled Wilmer. “We’re back!”
“Must butcher blocks,” Ernie growled.
“You’re really giving me the creeps,” said Wilmer.
They crossed the wide-open lawn, Ernie trudging slowly and Wilmer stopping repeatedly to let him catch up. Finally, Wilmer pushed through the hotel doors. He hoped the smell of doughnuts wafting across the lobby might jar Ernie from his trance, but it had no effect. Meanwhile, Wilmer could see that the dining room w
as filled with kids. Apparently, Wilmer and Ernie were the last to return. But the room was also surprisingly quiet. Dazed kids ate listlessly.
“Must burst bubbles,” murmured Ernie.
Wilmer spied Vlad approaching and dove behind a giant plastic plant, pulling Ernie with him. Ernie had grabbed a seat cushion and was chewing on it quite happily, so he didn’t object to being moved.
Wilmer peeked out from under a fake leaf. Vlad had exited the dining room, adjusted his bow tie, looked right and then left, and quickly dashed down the hall. Where was he going? He was acting very suspiciously, like always. And as scientists say, where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
Well, maybe scientists don’t say that, but lots of people say that, many of whom are just as smart as scientists.
“We should follow him,” said Wilmer to Ernie.
“Must steal curtains,” said Ernie between cushion bites.
Wilmer shook his head. “Vlad went this way.” Wilmer stepped out from behind the plant and hurried down the hall, stopped to wait for Ernie, then hurried again, and then stopped, hurried, stopped, and so on, until finally, after moving about ten feet, he said, “Hurry up. He’ll get away.”
“Must hurt lockers,” muttered Ernie, seat cushion crumbling from his mouth. Wilmer sighed.
They continued to advance. Where was Vlad? The halls were lined with doors to various hotel rooms. He could be in any of them. There. One door was slightly ajar, with light streaming from the open crack. Wilmer almost missed it. It wasn’t marked with a room number or a sign. It was probably a closet. Wilmer cautiously nudged the door open a few inches.
“Hello?” whispered Wilmer. “Anyone here?”
A soft beeping escaped from inside, but no voices, so Wilmer pushed the door open all the way and entered.
He gasped.
This wasn’t a closet, but a state-of-the-art radio control room. This must be where all the loudspeaker announcements originated. A table in the middle of the room was covered with charts, graphs, and assorted papers. Against the far wall was a large radio control panel with a few hundred lights, buttons, and faintly blipping monitors displaying moving zigzag lines that resembled a heart monitor.
But that was only a small part of why Wilmer gasped.
Covering nearly an entire wall was a map of the world. Pins were placed all about, with different colored strings tied between them, crisscrossing the globe—a purple string led from New York to Hong Kong, an orange string from Phoenix to Bangladesh. Taped to the map was a note that read:
Today the hotel. Tomorrow the world! Mwa-ha-ha!
People laugh “Mwa-ha-ha,” but they didn’t usually take the time to write it down. That made the note much more disturbing.
There was also a map of the hotel grounds with complex mathematical notations written on the side that Wilmer didn’t understand. A big, fat circle was drawn around the radio tower, with a big skull and crossbones over it and a note:
The final brain purge.
“That doesn’t sound good,” mumbled Wilmer.
Ernie staggered into the room behind him. He had finished eating his seat cushion and giant balls of foam covered his lips, creating a sort of foam mustache.
Wilmer closed the door behind them. He peered closely at a pie graph taped to a closet door that read:
Mind control: 94%
Minds turned to mush: 6%
Not bad!
In the corner were the initials CD.
“CD! Claudius Dill!” shouted Wilmer. Finally! Here was the proof he needed!
Wilmer heard footsteps clomping outside the door and out-of-tune whistling that sounded like an untalented ruby-throated hummingbird.
Scientific name: Archilochus colubris.
“That must be Vlad!” Wilmer exclaimed to Ernie. “We’ll fight him! Together!” Wilmer flexed his arm, but failed to see a muscle.
Ernie drooled some more. “Must push daisies.”
“Okay, never mind about the fighting. Quick! Hide!”
Ernie stared forward. “Must munch—”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Wilmer interrupted. He pushed Ernie toward the closet. The whistling outside the room grew louder and the doorknob clicked. The door swung open just as Wilmer closed the closet door in front of them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RESULTS OF MIND-CONTROL WAVES ON MICE
Mouse 1 Deceased
Mouse 2 Deceased
Mouse 3 Deceased
Mouse 4 Deceased
Mouse 5 Deceased
Mouse 6 Deceased
Mouse 7 Deceased
Mouse 8 Deceased
Mouse 9 Deceased
Mice 10–768 Deceased
Mouse 769 Alive! Deceased
Mouse 770 Deceased
Mouse 771 Deceased
Mouse 772–902 Deceased
Mouse 903 Alive! Alive! Alive! Dead as a doornail
Mouse 904 Deceased
Mouse 905 Deceased
Mouse 906 Deceased
Mouse 907 Deceased
Mouse 908 Deceased
Mouse 909 Deceased
Wilmer saw nothing but blackness in the cramped closet. Although Ernie was quiet, Wilmer didn’t feel entirely safe hiding next to someone who had just eaten an entire seat cushion. Who knew what or whom Ernie might nibble on next?
But more importantly, what was Vlad doing?
Wilmer heard drawers opening, papers rustling, more whistling, a fart, and then the main door opening and closing again . . . and silence. After a few additional seconds of anxious waiting, Wilmer pushed open the closet door. He and Ernie fell out and onto the floor.
“Must pound cake,” said Ernie. Wilmer tried to ignore his fuzzy-brained friend as he rose to his feet.
“Let’s look around,” suggested Wilmer.
He scanned the dozens of papers scattered about the table in the middle of the room. Random, half-finished mathematical formulas were scribbled on many of them. Wilmer was beginning to panic; he was a scientist, not a mathematician!
Wilmer picked up a report with the heading, “Results of Mind-Control Waves on Mice.” It listed 1,285 mice, with the word “Deceased” scrawled next to each.
He also found a few recipes for chicken soup.
But what did it all mean? Wilmer was sure there was something he was missing.
What had he heard when he hid in the closet? A fart. Whistling. A drawer opening.
A drawer!
There was a drawer on the side of the table, and Wilmer pulled the handle. It only opened a few inches. Wilmer yanked harder, but it was stuck.
Still, something was inside. Wilmer reached his hand into the drawer. He felt a notebook and slid it out.
His heart skipped three beats, beat twice, and then skipped once more. It wasn’t just a notebook, but a scientific journal! Wilmer stared at it, his heart racing.
Scientific Journal Detailing My Evil Plan
CD
This was it! Claudius’s own pen would spell out his evil plot!
With trembling hands, Wilmer opened the book. In messy, sprawling writing, it said:
Journal Log:
Our scheme is almost complete. After months of failure, we finally found the right loudspeaker frequency. The mice now do exactly what we say. Eat cheese! Run through a maze! Build a jet-powered mouse car!
Okay, they couldn’t do the last one. But it wasn’t from a lack of trying.
Mwa-ha-ha!
They must be brainwashed slowly. That’s the key. We can’t just hit them with the full frequency all at once. It’s too strong! But with repeated low-level Squeals and our Commands, the mice become our slaves! Permanently! Or their brains turn into soup. One or the other.
Actually, all the brains turn to soup eventually. But it takes longer this way.
The world has been filled with would-be villains. Genghis Khan! Attila the Hun! They had cunning and power and evil! But none of them had a brain-controlling loudspeaker soup-brain machine, like me. So I’m
better than they are. Nyah-nyah-nyah!
No one suspects us, either.
But soon everyone will fear the name of—
There was a page missing from the book. It had been ripped right out! The entry concluded on the very last page of the journal:
We’ll gather the smartest seventh graders in the entire state to put our plan in motion. With all those sniveling little geniuses in our power, there won’t be anyone left to stop us, except the stupider seventh graders.
I would slap myself on the back with congratulations if my arms were longer. But they don’t quite reach.
It’s about time people bowed to me and acknowledged my greatness. Our greatnesses. The two of us! Together we shall rule!
CD
“Must squash rackets,” purred Ernie.
“Not now, Ernie,” snapped Wilmer. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Wilmer stared at the journal. This was the proof he needed. Claudius had brainwashed mice! He had turned their brains into soup! He wasn’t sure what all of it meant, other than something bad.
Wilmer needed to examine the room more thoroughly for details. But who knew when Vlad might return? Ernie wasn’t looking well, either. “Just another minute,” Wilmer promised his muddle-brained buddy.
“Must grate Gatsby,” hissed Ernie.
Wilmer walked to the audio control panel and ran his hands gently over the dials. He didn’t really understand how any of it worked and was hesitant to randomly press buttons. But the scientist who was afraid of making a mistake wasn’t a very good scientist. Why, it took Thomas Edison over ten thousand failed attempts until he created his first lightbulb. Trial and error! That was one of the keys to scientific knowledge.
Of course, the error part was a problem, and why trials often led to exploding test tubes, scorched eyebrows, and feverish lab rats. Not all error ended well.
Oh, if only it was called “trial and succeed.”
A giant red button attracted Wilmer’s attention. It was the biggest on the console, more than twice the size of the others. “Here goes nothing,” Wilmer said, pressing it.
A loud squeal erupted from the soundboard and Wilmer’s head spun. He saw stars and felt woozy. His brain seemed lighter, as if it was escaping from his ears into a misty vapor. He staggered back, and as he did his finger lifted from the button. The sound stopped. Wilmer’s head cleared.
The Amazing Wilmer Dooley Page 8
