War of the World Records

by Matthew Ward

  Arthur’s father, hands on his knees and wheezing like the rest of his family, cocked his head toward Rex Goldwin and rasped, “What did you put out here?”

  Rex looked puzzled. “What do you . . . ? Ohhh—you’re not having a bad reaction to the Sim-o-Trees, are you? I’m told it takes a few months for the advanced polymers to stabilize, and that in the meantime, they might give off a slightly noxious gas, which may cause temporary dizziness and respiratory trauma to the unconditioned. But we’re so used to being surrounded by plastics, we haven’t noticed it! Ohhh—I really feel terrible about this. I should have warned you—I sometimes forget that not everyone has upgraded to the luxury of plastics like we have.”

  Another bout of coughing broke out amongst the Whipples.

  Mr. Boyle stepped forward. “I think you’ll find this covered in Article Seventeen of the Intention of Rivalry form: ‘Rival A shall not be held liable for any health complications of Rival B resulting from side effects of artificial vegetation.’”

  “Ooh,” said Rex. “It does say that, doesn’t it? Not to worry, though—you’ll all be right as rain in just a few minutes. Deep breaths now.” Rex checked his watch a moment later and added, “Hmm. I really wish we could delay the start time, but it is already on the books.”

  His eldest daughter Rosalind spoke up. “We could always fit them with gas masks from the new Reek Chic collection, couldn’t we, Dad? Sure to improve their wardrobe at the very least. . . .”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Arthur’s father wheezed. He gritted his teeth and stifled a cough. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “Very well, Charlie,” said Rex as both families returned to their starting points. “Good luck to you.”

  Uncle Mervyn, still wheezing himself, lifted the megaphone to his lips and cried feebly, “Go!”

  The Goldwins scattered into the surrounding fake forest while Arthur and his family did their best to stand up straight and count down from one hundred.

  “. . . five, four, three, two, one,” the Whipples coughed at last. “Ready or not, here we come!”

  • • •

  An hour and a half after leaving home base, the Whipples had largely adapted to the effects of the Sim-o-Trees, but had yet to find a single member of the Goldwin family.

  Arthur had been assigned the specialized position of “flusher,” whose job it was to wander alone and flush out any hiders he might stumble upon. So far, he had stumbled upon a plastic owl, three plastic squirrels, and a section of synthetic shrubbery that looked exactly like Rita Goldwin from ten paces away, but nothing yet that would qualify as an actual human being.

  As he crept into an exceptionally dark section of Sim-o-Trees, Arthur glimpsed a hint of movement to his right and lunged toward it, only to discover a live barn owl swooping off with a plastic field mouse in its talons. Arthur had no trouble identifying with the disappointment the owl would shortly be experiencing.

  Arthur turned around with a sigh but was halted in his tracks by a curious sound overhead.

  “Pssst,” called the noise.

  Arthur peered into the branches above him but saw no sign of its source.

  “Pssst,” it called again. If it was some other confused woodland creature, he did not recognize its call.

  Arthur took a small step forward to adjust his vantage point and looked up once more. This time, he could just make out the shadowy face of a girl between the branches.

  It was Ruby. And she was beckoning him to join her.

  By the time he had clambered up the rubbery trunk and onto Ruby’s branch some twenty feet off the ground, Arthur’s hands and clothes had become as clean as they had been all day—apart from the strong smell of synthetic pine that now clung to them.

  He took a seat beside Ruby, who turned to him with a smile. “Looks like you’ve found me,” she whispered.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around,” he said, panting from the climb. “You’re quite the hider, aren’t you? You’ve managed to stay hidden for nearly two hours.”

  Ruby shrugged. “Didn’t really do it on purpose.” She held up her copy of Poise and Poisonousness. “Just catching up on some reading.” She lowered the book and clapped it shut. “You know,” she added, “this is a bit like our very first meeting, isn’t it? Though it was you up a tree stalking me then. Not far from where we are now, I reckon.”

  “Yeah,” said Arthur, rubbing the back of his shoulder. “Glad to see the branches on these new trees are a bit sturdier.”

  Ruby gave a smirk. “I seem to recall it wasn’t the fall that sent you running away screaming that night. Come on now, was I really that terrifying?”

  “Sort of,” said Arthur. “I mean you did look a bit like . . .” He shifted his gaze toward the ground and mumbled the rest of the sentence under his breath.

  “What was that?” said Ruby. “I don’t think I quite heard you.”

  Arthur cleared his throat. “I may have kind of thought you were . . . a ghost.”

  “Really?!” Ruby snickered. “Do you see ghosts often?”

  “Well, no,” Arthur said defensively. “But you must admit—you didn’t look completely un-ghostlike back then, what with all the black nail polish and eye makeup. And have you ever considered it might have been easy in that particular setting to mistake anyone for the vengeful spirit of a child murdered by a toffee mogul? I mean, surely you’ve heard about the Crosley ghosts.”

  “Can’t say I have. But if that’s the sort of conclusion you come to every time you see a defenseless girl sitting alone in the woods, you probably shouldn’t be leaving the house. Quite the sensitive type, aren’t we?”

  “Hey—I wasn’t the one crying my eyes out, if you recall.”

  As the words left Arthur’s mouth, the haunting image of the ghost girl’s swollen green eyes and tear-stained cheeks suddenly filled his mind. “By the way,” he added, “why were you crying?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a very polite thing to ask someone.”

  “No. You’re right,” said Arthur. “I’m sorry.”

  Ruby nodded—then closed her book and set it beside her on the ledge. “Well,” she said, “if you really want to know—that was the day I found out about the trees.”

  Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Found out what about the trees?”

  “That they were all going to be cut down, and replaced with—” Ruby knocked on the hollow-sounding Sim-o-Tree branch beneath them “—these man-made monstrosities. Just when I thought I was going to have actual trees of my own. . . . It was such a beautiful grove, wasn’t it?”

  Arthur thought back to the gnarled, gloomy entanglement of vegetation that had nearly served as his final resting place. “‘Beautiful’ may be a bit strong. . . .”

  “Ah, what do you know, anyway?” snapped Ruby. “Your house has more trees than you know what to do with. This was going to be my first real house, you know. I thought it was going to be different from the compound, but it’s turned out to be more or less the same. They didn’t have real trees there either.”

  “Wait—what do you mean compound?”

  “The place we lived before we moved here. Elite fitness facilities, world-class tutors, electrified fences—that sort of thing. What, you never had to grow up in a remote high-tech training station?”

  “Um—no?”

  “Of course you didn’t. You got to have a normal childhood.”

  Arthur bristled at the accusation. “Look, you don’t have to get personal. I was only asking a question.”

  Ruby’s fiery expression dimmed. “I know,” she sighed. “Sorry for getting worked up. It’s just that . . . Arthur, have you ever felt like you were a stranger in your own family? Like maybe you were adopted or switched at birth or something?”

  “Gee, I hope I wasn’t. I mean, I don’t think I was. They appear to be telling the
truth when they recount the story of my recordless birth—they do seem to remember every detail. . . . But then again, I am awfully different—so I guess it’s possible. But why should you think you’re adopted? You’re a world-record holder just like everyone else in your family.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just feel out of place—like this can’t be my real family . . . like I’m an impostor. And I guess sometimes I just wish I was adopted—that my real family was out there somewhere, and that someday they’d come and rescue me.”

  “Why would you wish that?” Arthur puzzled. “I mean, if you actually did have an alternate family, they surely wouldn’t hold half the world records your current family does. And then where would you be?”

  “I don’t know—truly and utterly content?”

  “With no world records in your family? I doubt it.”

  “Arthur, have you learned anything since I’ve met you?”

  “What do you mean? I know being a record holder doesn’t automatically make you a saint or something. But I just can’t believe it’s better not to have records than to have them.”

  “Even if it means living a lie? Tell me, Arthur, how did you like dinner tonight? Satisfying, was it?”

  Arthur swallowed. “Perhaps it wasn’t the Most Filling Meal of All Time, but it was a satisfying world record nonetheless.” The thought of food sent up an audible growl from his belly.

  “Hmm,” Ruby grunted. “You know what the Goldwins really had for dinner, just before your family arrived? Nutrient-rich, powdered protein shakes.”

  “Wow,” said Arthur. “You’ve got your own shake machine? Your family’s got everything, haven’t they?”

  Ruby let out an exasperated sigh. “Anyhow, I guess I just imagine my real family as being a bit more like me.” Ruby glanced down toward her dangling shoes. “You know—not so perfect.”

  “You seem pretty perfect to me,” said Arthur. “I mean, you’re a world-record holder . . . you live in the house of the future . . . you’re a first-rate junior detective . . . oh, and your hair—it really is a pleasant shade. And have you ever noticed how perfectly it goes with your name? Your parents really outdid themselves coming up with that one.”

  “Actually,” said Ruby, “they named me Rubilda.”

  “Oh,” said Arthur. “Well, then you have the perfect nickname.”

  Ruby sniffed and gave a subtle smile, then glanced again toward the ground.

  After several seconds of silence, she picked up her book again and flipped it open.

  “Can you even see the words?” Arthur asked. “It’s completely dark out.”

  “It isn’t completely dark,” said Ruby. “One can hardly consider herself a serious reader until she’s read by moonlight.”

  “If you say so,” said Arthur.

  “Back on the compound,” Ruby explained, “moonlight was usually the only light I had. Reading for pleasure was prohibited till we’d finished all the books on the Academy’s required reading list. But who wants to slog through a tower of boring, tedious books when there are so many wonderful others out there? Sometimes, the only way to read what I wanted was to wait until everyone else had gone to sleep—and then sneak past the guards and security alarms out into the moonlight.”

  “Isn’t that a bit drastic?” said Arthur. “I mean, it’s only reading.”

  “Only reading? Reading was the one thing that kept me from completely losing my mind in that place. Books were all I had. In fact, they’d still be all I had, if it weren’t for—well, if it weren’t for certain recent events and certain people involved in those certain recent events.”

  Arthur scrunched up his brow. “What events now? Which people?”

  Ruby let out a frustrated sigh. “Never mind,” she said.

  Convinced he had missed something, but not sure what, Arthur fiddled with a plastic twig for a few moments, then let out a sigh of his own. “All right, then. Well . . . let’s go.”

  “What do you mean, ‘let’s go’?”

  “Honestly,” replied Arthur, “are you even remotely familiar with the basic rules of hide-and-seek? After tagging someone on the hiding team, a member of the seeking team escorts the captured hider back to base.”

  Ruby looked puzzled. “And why would you want to do that?”

  “Because I’ve got to help my family stop yours from breaking the record for Longest Time to Remain Hidden in a Hide-and-Seek Match,” Arthur explained. “I know that sort of thing might not matter much to you, but it does to me. It’s bad enough I’ve never broken a world record of my own . . .”

  “Why is that so important to you, Arthur?” Ruby shot back. “World records aren’t so great, you know.”

  “That’s easy for you to say; you’ve already broken one.”

  Ruby sighed. “I wish I could give my record back.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “You’d wish the same thing if you’d broken the record I have.”

  “But I don’t know what record you’ve broken. Remember how you’ve never told me, no matter how many times I’ve asked?”

  “Believe me,” said Ruby, shaking her head, “you don’t want to know.”

  “But I really do want to know,” insisted Arthur. “And to be honest, I think it’s a bit weird you won’t just tell me.”

  “Rex and Rita would be seriously angry,” Ruby scowled. “God knows, I’ve already shamed them enough—just ask them.”

  “I can’t see how you could have shamed them so much, being a successful world-record breaker. And anyway, isn’t it sort of your mission in life to make your parents angry?”

  Ruby contemplated this a moment, then narrowed her eyes. “Do you promise not to tell another soul as long as you live?”

  “I promise,” said Arthur.

  “Do you swear to gouge out your eyes and swallow them whole if you ever do?”

  “I swear.”

  The truth was Arthur had often considered gouging out his eyes and swallowing them whole, as a last-ditch attempt at getting his name in the Grazelby Guide—but he didn’t mention this to Ruby.

  After an extended pause, Ruby drew a deep breath and looked Arthur straight in the eye. “Well . . .”

  At that moment, there was a bloodcurdling scream.

  In his sudden confusion, Arthur could not tell whether the scream had come from the girl in front of him or from some other source. When he heard the next scream a split second later, it was clear it had not been Ruby.

  “What on earth was that?!” she cried.

  Arthur’s face was now pale and panic-stricken. “I think it’s one of my sisters,” he spluttered. “She sounds close by—we’ve got to help her—come on!”

  Arthur tore through synthetic leaves and branches as he scrambled down the tree. He dropped to the ground and dashed off toward the screams with Ruby trailing just behind him.

  They burst through a wall of artificial bracken into a narrow clearing—and froze in their tracks.

  Ten yards ahead, dangling by one arm from an elevated Sim-o-Tree branch, Arthur’s little sister Abigail screamed in terror. While this in itself would have been distressing enough, it was the sight of what waited beneath his sister that turned Arthur’s blood to ice.

  Rearing up from the ground below her, its snapping jaws inches from Abigail’s dangling feet, stood a gigantic bloodthirsty lizard, wearing a velvet smoking jacket and a monocle.

  Midnight Snack

  Anyone who has previously crossed paths with an uncaged Komodo dragon is a lucky individual indeed—either lucky to be alive or lucky to be done with the dreadful business of being eaten by a Komodo dragon.

  According to Dr. Scarwood, Arthur’s Wilderness Survival instructor, the Komodo dragon is the World’s Largest Species of Lizard—as well as one of its most brutal killers. Blessed with uncommon intelligence,
the Komodo dragon is content using its sophisticated brain to think up the most insidious methods of making meals of its neighbors—devising such dishes as defenseless deer, wide-eyed water buffalo, unsuspecting village child, and, of course, baby Komodo dragon.

  Arthur had needed little convincing that such a crafty, cold-blooded creature should be avoided at all costs, and would have promptly run in the other direction—had the creature’s menu that night not included his own sister.

  “Help, Arthur!” Abigail screamed as her shoe slipped from her foot and fell through the air.

  A split second later, the Komodo dragon caught it in its teeth, snapped its head back, and slung the shoe down its gullet, swallowing it whole in one revolting gulp.

  Arthur and Ruby traded horrified glances, then grabbed whatever they could find to throw.

  “Get out of here, you scaly sack of guts!” Ruby shouted as she released a stone into the air.

  “Yeah,” cried Arthur, hurling a fallen Sim-o-tree branch. “Go back to your own time, you reject from the early Cenozoic era!”

  Ruby shot him a quizzical look, then turned and landed a direct hit on the beast’s shoulder. “Take that, you slimy son-of-a-skink!” she yelled.

  Unfortunately, Komodo dragons are endowed with incredibly thick skin—both physiologically and emotionally—and are not easily wounded either by small stones or disparaging remarks. And so, despite the children’s best efforts, the beast did not budge.

  Abigail, on the other hand, began to budge in a most worrisome manner.

  “Arthur!” she cried. “My hand is slipping!”

  The Komodo dragon, sensing the girl’s swelling panic, rose to its tippy-toes and strained its neck, so that its forked yellow tongue flicked the bottoms of Abigail’s feet.

  Arthur knew he only had a moment to intervene before his sister became lizard food. He had one stone left.

  He drew back his arm and flung the stone with as much force as he could muster. An instant later, it smashed into the side of the creature’s head.