The Amazing Wilmer Dooley

by Fowler DeWitt

  “We’re wasting time,” interrupted Roxie. “We have to save the world! Come on!”

  While running to the doors, Wilmer kept glancing at the cousins. He bit his lip. He couldn’t believe that, once again, he was teaming up with his sworn enemy. But Wilmer swallowed his pride and followed the group of would-be world-savers out of the hotel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SAC À PUCES PALLADIUM, LODGE, AND RESORTLIKE HOTEL

  About the Hotel

  The Sac à Puces was built in 1928 by a group of Canadian immigrants who took a wrong turn on the way to Alaska. A very wrong turn. But the men in the group didn’t want to stop and ask for directions, so they stayed and built a hotel instead. Many felt a hotel in the middle of nowhere, miles from civilization, would struggle to find guests. They were right. Most of the guests who come here take wrong turns going somewhere else, don’t like to ask for directions, and so decide to stay.

  The hotel was completely renovated this past year in anticipation of the 45th Annual State Science Fair and Consortium. The old wood supports were replaced by shiny steel beams, installed by our own handy Mr. Sneed. A new loudspeaker system and radio tower were built to amplify our announcements. And brainwashing devices new drapes were installed.

  Some of the students had wandered onto the hotel grounds and were beating bushes and terrorizing trees.

  “Once Mr. Sneed and Elvira issue their final announcement, it’ll be too late to save them,” said Roxie as she surveyed the chaos.

  “This would have been a much better science project than our volcano,” said Vlad. “Maybe next year?” He and Claudius exchanged high fives.

  “Can you please keep your plans for world domination to yourselves?” said Wilmer testily. “At least until we stop this plan for world domina­tion?”

  The five of them rushed across the lawn and into the woods. The radio tower was easy to spot, since it rose high over the tree line. But once they were within the forest, the leaves obscured their view.

  “Which way?” asked Claudius. “Do we look at tree moss for directions?”

  “That doesn’t work,” said Wilmer. “Just follow the wires.” He pointed to the exposed cords still lying on the ground from when Wilmer had pulled them up the night before. “But be careful of tree roots and stuff. I can make a splint if you need one, but it takes time.”

  They ran, Harriet in the lead and Wilmer at the back. Wilmer almost tripped a few times, but they all managed to avoid twisted ankles and skinned knees. After a few minutes Roxie yelled, “There they are!”

  Sure enough, a slight hole in the canopy of leaves revealed the enormous tower. Two small figures scampered up the endless flights of stairs. Mr. Sneed and Elvira! Even from far away, Wilmer was sure it was them.

  Just looking at them makes me so angry!

  Wilmer gulped. He needed his full wits about him if he was going to stop this scheme. He pushed his anger down and took a deep breath, and soon they reached the tall steel structure. Stairs went up and up and up, with dozens of landings. A lone ladder was the only way to climb the final hundred feet to a platform at the very top. Mr. Sneed and Elvira had already reached it. It looked dangerous; one slip would send them hurtling to the ground. For a moment, Wilmer had second thoughts about following them. But this wasn’t the time for queasiness. “Hurry!”

  “I think I’ll wait down here,” muttered Claudius, his face turning green. He looked up, seemed to grow dizzy, and then looked back down and kicked a rock.

  “You’re not scared of heights, are you?” asked Wilmer.

  “Um, m-maybe?” stuttered Claudius.

  “I’ll keep him company,” said Vlad. “Besides, I don’t want to scuff my shoes.” Vlad pointed down at his black wingtips, then adjusted his bow tie.

  “Are you scared of heights too?” asked Wilmer.

  Vlad pulled at his collar, a bead of sweat dripping from his neck. “No, but Mr. Sneed is pretty big, right? How do you plan on stopping him?”

  Wilmer hadn’t thought about that. But he couldn’t sit back and do nothing—even if, now that he thought about it, Mr. Sneed would probably just toss Wilmer off the side of the tower.

  “We’ll stop them in the name of science!” Wilmer declared. “We’ll stop them with brain power!”

  “That sounds pretty wimpy,” said Vlad. “I think I’ll stay down here and keep an eye on Claudius if you don’t mind, thank you.”

  Wilmer bounded up the stairs, two steps at time. Roxie and Harriet followed. The tower was in even worse shape than Wilmer had thought. Cracks lined the metal floor. Fissures spread across the rails and beams. A few screws spun off their supports and bounced along the ground. Mr. Sneed was definitely not a skilled radio-tower builder. How sturdy was this thing? Wilmer continued racing up the stairs, but with each step the metal seemed to groan and shift beneath him.

  Soon Wilmer was panting. His calves burned. Usually, Wilmer’s only exercise was from twisting microscope knobs. That meant he had very strong fingertips, but his stair-climbing skills were weak. He ignored his shortage of breath as best he could. He couldn’t dawdle—not when every extra second brought Mr. Sneed and Elvira closer to making that final, dreaded announcement.

  Well, maybe he could dawdle a little. Just for a few seconds. Ten seconds. A couple more. Okay, now back to climbing!

  The stairs ended. Wilmer grasped the ladder attached to the tower exterior. He put his foot onto the bottom rung. One big wind gust would send him hurtling to certain death. Well, science wasn’t for the weak-kneed. It was about intellect! Cunning! And good calves, apparently.

  He pulled himself up one rung. And then another. Up and up.

  “This . . . is . . . exhausting,” said Wilmer, but he said it with considerable panting, so that it sounded more like “This . . . pant, pant, pant . . . is . . . pant, pant, pant . . . exhaust . . . pant, pant, pant . . . ing.”

  “But we can’t stop! Too much is at stake,” shouted Roxie, who didn’t seem nearly as out of breath as Wilmer.

  “Faster, you guys!” cried Harriet. She didn’t sound tired at all.

  Wilmer bit his lip and kept on scaling.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever, they reached the very top of the ladder. Wilmer practically fell off the final step and onto the grated metal floor of the platform, gasping.

  Mr. Sneed and Elvira stood next to an audio control board. While much smaller than the one in the hotel, it was still fairly impressive, with dozens of knobs, a microphone, and a monitor that displayed sound patterns. Wilmer wondered how they had lugged it all the way up here.

  “We’ve . . . ,” said Wilmer, still panting, “. . . come . . . to . . .” He put his hands on his knees and wheezed.

  “You’ve come to what?” asked Elvira.

  Wilmer raised his hand. “One second . . . ,” he pleaded as he fought for air. Finally he blurted out between pants, “We’ve come . . . to stop . . . you.”

  Elvira laughed. So did Mr. Sneed, who didn’t even glance at Wilmer as he continued twisting knobs on the control panel. “You stop me?” he said. “Ha! I’m twice your size, you know.”

  “Well, yes,” admitted Wilmer. “But I’ve got brain power!” He winced. That really did sound wimpy, he realized.

  “He’ll stop you because he’s Wilmer Dooley!” shouted Harriet, stepping forward and jabbing her fist in the air. “The most amazing kid scientist ever. You’ll be sorry you messed with him.”

  “Um, maybe you can keep that down,” whispered Wilmer. “No sense bragging.”

  “How about I just throw you off the tower?” snarled Mr. Sneed. He puffed out his chest and rolled up his sleeve as he flexed his enormous arms, engorged veins etched on his muscles.

  “I was afraid you’d suggest that,” whimpered Wilmer.

  “Show him your biceps, Wilmy!” shouted Harriet, pushing him forward.

  “Um, no thanks.” Wilmer squirmed.

  Mr. Sneed snarled, “We’re ready to transmit, my dear.” />
  “Wonderful!” Elvira let out a loud cackle. “One transmission and all the kids at the hotel will be under our control forever! Or at least until their brains turn soupy.” She pointed to Wilmer and his friends. “They annoy me. Toss them off the side.”

  “With pleasure.” Mr. Sneed laughed.

  Roxie still had her tape recorder strapped around her shoulder. She put her headphones over her ears and yanked the plug from its socket. “I don’t think so!” she howled.

  “This isn’t the time for an interview,” whispered Wilmer.

  “I’ve got this,” answered Roxie. “No need for the Subliminal Message Muddler now.” She pressed the play button. A loud crackle erupted from the machine. Harriet and Wilmer wedged their earplugs into place as Roxie twisted the tape recorder volume up to its highest level. The Squeal she had recorded in the audio control room blared with its full brainwashing power.

  “You will end your mean tricks!” she yelled. “You will let us go and stop what you’re doing!”

  Mr. Sneed hooted. “That won’t work on us! You need to say the Trigger first. And you don’t know what it is.”

  Squeal, Trigger, Command. That was the exact order. They needed the Trigger, the key phrase that put brains into a hypnotic state.

  Mr. Sneed stepped closer. “I think it’s time we threw you kids off the tower.”

  Wilmer thought back. Science was about observation. What had he observed? What was the Trigger?

  Mr. Sneed grabbed Wilmer by the collar. It was impressive how easily he lifted him. Wilmer might have admired the man’s strength if he didn’t think he was going to die in about four seconds.

  Unless . . .

  Of course!

  Every announcement that weekend had begun with the exact same words! They must be the Trigger.

  “Attention, dear, dear students!” screamed Wilmer as Mr. Sneed carted him to the railing. Wilmer’s voice rose over the screeching drone of Roxie’s tape recorder. “I said, ‘Attention, dear, dear students!’ ”

  Mr. Sneed froze. He still held Wilmer over his head, which was rather uncomfortable for Wilmer. But Mr. Sneed wasn’t tossing him over the railing, so he wasn’t about to complain.

  “You will stop your mean tricks,” Wilmer ordered. “You will become good people! You will stop trying to take over the world! And . . . and . . . love unicorns and rainbows.” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s hard to be mean if you love unicorns and rainbows, right? Oh, and can you put me down, please?”

  Roxie turned off her tape recorder as Mr. Sneed slowly lowered Wilmer. The man stared blankly forward. A bit of drool fell from his lips. “Must love unicorns,” Mr. Sneed muttered.

  “Must fill world with rainbows,” Elvira mumbled.

  The two stepped forward in unison, their menace dissolved like hot cocoa powder in a steaming mug of milk. They lowered themselves onto the ladder and began to climb down from the tower. Blank smiles radiated from their otherwise vacant faces.

  They left a small trail of soupy brain behind them, dripping from their ears.

  “I love rainbows,” muttered Elvira.

  “Unicorns are my friends,” mumbled Mr. Sneed.

  “That worked surprisingly well,” said Wilmer. Then to Roxie he said, “I think it’s time you gave the best Mumpley Musings broadcast ever.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  How to Build a Thousand-Foot Radio Tower by Yourself

  - Get twenty-five tons of sheet metal

  - Learn how to weld

  - Use lots of wire

  - Be careful of cracks in the support beams, and loose screws

  - Cross your fingers. I mean, come on. You’re going to build a thousand-foot radio tower by yourself? Are you crazy?

  It was a fairly standard soundboard, and Roxie was an expert. She adjusted a few knobs, tweaked a few dials, and then leaned into the microphone. A high-pitched squeak erupted, the sound bouncing off the trees and echoing across the property.

  Wilmer felt his head becoming cloudy as the voice reverberated inside his skull.

  “Attention, dear, dear students,” said Roxie. “You will all go back to being normal now, and you will never listen to orders to join a brainwashed army and take over the world ever again.”

  Roxie lifted her finger from the board. Wilmer’s brain cleared. The sense of anger that had been swirling inside him the last couple of days was gone. A peaceful silence filled the air. A satisfying calm swam through Wilmer’s brain.

  “Do you think that did it?” asked Roxie.

  Wilmer nodded.

  Harriet pointed. “Look!”

  They were so high up on the tower that they could see over the tree line and all the way to the small figures wandering out onto the hotel grounds. Kids shook hands. Two boys danced. A group of girls hugged. No one kicked bushes or hit flowers. No one punched the air.

  “We did it!” exclaimed Harriet. She held out her arms, waiting for Wilmer to hug her.

  Wilmer wanted to embrace Roxie, not Harriet. He yearned to look deeply into his love’s eyes and say suave, clever things.

  Instead, he looked away and coughed awkwardly.

  Suddenly, a loud metallic crack reverberated from above. The tip of the tower directly over them snapped. The metal antenna, now a dangerous twenty-foot spike of death, smashed into a beam above them, bounced off, and then plummeted one thousand feet to the ground.

  It landed, spike down, only a foot from Claudius below.

  “What happened?” asked Harriet.

  Loose screws. Cracks.

  Wilmer had assumed they had formed because the tower was poorly built, just like the hotel. But what if there were another factor? The realization shocked him. “Sound waves!” he shouted. “Harriet, I’m no expert, but do you think the high-pitched Squeals from the announcements are part of the reason the tower is fracturing? And why the hotel is falling apart too?”

  Harriet looked up, thinking. “If the metal was already weak, and a sound wave hit just the right frequency, and caused just the right vibrations, it could split metal. In theory, yes. But I doubt that could actually happen—”

  The platform under their feet snapped. The metal grating fractured. The cracks grew and spread like manic, evil eels, swimming through the floor and up the metal beams.

  “Okay, maybe it could happen,” Harriet admitted.

  “Let’s get out of here!” yelled Wilmer.

  They scrambled over the railing and down the ladder. Harriet went first, then Roxie, and finally Wilmer. Just as Wilmer grabbed the top rung, he heard a violent smashing of metal, and the platform above him collapsed. The control panel and computer plummeted to the ground. Wilmer ducked as a large chunk of metal skidded across the deck and over the side, narrowly missing his head.

  “Faster!” yelled Wilmer. Beams cracked as they raced down the ladder. With a deafening snap, the top railing of the tower broke off. The metal clasps that were holding the ladder split. There was nothing mooring it except for a single metal clip on the very bottom.

  It was scary enough climbing down the side of a tower, where one slip would mean immediate death. But climbing down a wildly swaying ladder while screws and metal shards plummeted past was much more frightening. Roxie and Harriet hurled themselves off the final rung and onto the metal staircase. The ladder fell backward. Wilmer jumped. For a moment he was in midair, grasping at nothing, his arms flailing. But then the tips of his fingers grazed the platform railings. He dug in with his outstretched digits.

  He thanked his microscope-twisting for his superstrong fingertips.

  He pulled himself up and onto the platform. But the metal walls were still fracturing around them. The cracks in the floor were spreading like quickly growing vines.

  They clambered onto the stairs: down a flight, across the next platform, and then down another flight. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of steps. Each brought them closer to the ground, but they still had so far to go!

  Then the entire tower shuddered
, as if the supports below had shifted or perhaps had grown angry at all the climbing. The staircase ripped from its position, tearing completely off the structure. The metal beneath them sheared in half. The platform quivered to the left while the steps leaped to the right.

  “Jump!” yelled Wilmer.

  Harriet leaped from the staircase and fell onto the platform below. But as she landed, the floor moaned and shifted even more to the left, and the stairs fell more to the right. There was a large empty gap of space between them. A poor jump would mean plummeting like the metal hunks that fell around them.

  “Roxie! Go!” cried Wilmer.

  Roxie leaped across the crevice. It was a good jump—Wilmer remembered that Roxie had won the school long-jump competition in fourth grade—and she landed solidly on the platform. But it shifted under her weight, clanking loudly as the floor inclined a few feet farther. The platform was now steeply angled, and both Roxie and Harriet had to cling to the grating to keep from sliding off. The staircase fell farther from them, with Wilmer still on it.

  “Come on, Wilmer!” cried Roxie. “You can do it! Jump!”

  He could. Just barely. Maybe. He wasn’t a good jumper. He had entered that same fourth-grade long-jump competition as Roxie, coming in forty-fourth out of forty-five. But he needed to try.

  The platform slipped again. Wilmer feared it was about to plummet to the ground, with Harriet and Roxie on top of it. But it only plunged a few feet before wedging itself onto a bent steel support beam and stopping.

  That was the good news. But it was otherwise bad news for Wilmer. The platform was now too far for him to jump to. He’d never make it, even if he hadn’t come in forty-fourth place in fourth-grade long jumping. “Go ahead,” he yelped. He remembered Ernie’s heroic gesture the night before. “Save yourselves.”

  “No! Leap!” yelled Harriet. “You can make it!”

  “You really think so?” asked Wilmer.

  Harriet shook her head. “No, you don’t have a chance, actually.” Tears ran down her cheeks. Her voice was choked with emotion. “I’ll always remember you, Wilmy! My precious Wilmy! We would have had such lovely, smart children!”