Hamstersaurus Rex vs. the Cutepocalypse

by Tom O'Donnell

  “That guy?!” said Serena and Beefer.

  “Yep. And he’s got Hamstersaurus Rex,” I said. “Quick, I need to borrow one of your bikes.”

  “Sam, you’re never going to catch him on a twenty-one-speed,” said Serena.

  The car had already disappeared around a bend in the road. She was right.

  “Ugh,” I said, slumping down on the curb. “I should have known Gordon Renfro would turn back up at the worst possible moment.”

  “Yeah, that’s his signature move,” said Serena. “The good news is that there might be someone who can tell you where he’s taken Hammie.”

  “Who?” I said.

  “So after I filmed him buying up all that Dinoblast Powerpacker, I decided to look a little more into Rupert MacFarquhar. I wasn’t having much luck poking around online, but that’s because I was misspelling ‘MacFarquhar.’”

  “Understandable,” I said.

  “It really isn’t spelled like it sounds. Another strike against the guy,” said Serena. “Anyway, after searching a bit more with the correct spelling, I learned that there is a scientist by that name from the UK. And guess who his most recent employer was?”

  “SmilesCorp,” I said.

  “Bingo. He worked there up until the bankruptcy,” said Serena. “Let me show you.” She pulled out her smartphone and paused. She looked confused and banged on the side of it. “Stupid phone . . . I’m on my dad’s unlimited data plan. I don’t understand what’s wrong.”

  She held it up. Odd numbers and characters were flashing around all over the screen. It was just like what happened to the library computers when we activated the Snuzzle. Before I could say anything, there was a loud boom in the distance, followed by the tinkle of broken glass.

  “What was that?” said Serena.

  “Werewolves,” said Beefer ominously.

  “I think it might be something even worse,” I said.

  We rounded the corner just in time to see a bulky shape smash through a set of glass doors of the SnoozeKing’s main lobby.

  “Dude . . . what?” said Beefer.

  I didn’t have an immediate answer. At first glance it looked like a six-foot-tall furball. But as it got closer I could see that it was composed of dozens of Snuzzles—some broken, some whole—all clinging to one another, and moving in unison to somehow roll forward.

  “It’s like a giant Snuzzle hive-mind amoeba thing,” said Serena. “Of all the times not to be able to capture HD shareable video content!” Her smartphone screen was still flickering odd symbols and characters.

  “Shhh. Get down!” I hissed.

  The three of us ducked behind a parked car.

  “WOCATING PWIMAWY TAWGET,” boomed the dozens of saccharine voices of the weird Snuzzle-thing as it rolled through the parking lot, setting off car alarms. “WOCATING PWIMAWY TAWGET . . .”

  The Snuzzle-thing continued to roll out onto the road, heading back toward the heart of Maple Bluffs. As it did, a nearby stoplight started rapidly cycling through all its colors.

  “Okay, I will admit Model Interplanetary Council is slightly more exciting than I thought,” said Beefer.

  Terrified MIC delegates and coaches now began to spill out of the broken lobby doors, some screaming, others crying. A few recognized Beefer from Epic Ninja 360-Degree Fail and demanded autographs, which he angrily refused. The parking lot was pandemonium. I saw Martha, Dylan, and Drew cutting their way through the crowd.

  “Over here!” I called to them. “I couldn’t catch Gordon Renfro. And he’s got Hamstersaurus Rex.”

  “Sorry, Sam,” said Dylan.

  “That is very, very bad,” said Martha. “What might be worse is the malicious wireless signal that Snuzzle-ball is broadcasting seems to be highly disruptive to all electronics. And the more Snuzzles it adds to the collective, the stronger the signal gets.”

  “So people’s phones don’t work?” I said. “I mean, that’s annoying, but it isn’t exactly life-threatening, is it?”

  “To me it is!” yelled Serena, who was still frantically trying to fix her smartphone.

  “What if somebody needs to call 911?” said Martha. “But it’s worse than that. We rely on computers for everything from checking out library books to running our hospitals. Look at what it did to that stoplight.”

  The stoplight on the corner was still flashing crazily.

  “Would that prevent a car accident?” said Martha.

  “So we have to stop the Snuzzle-thing ASAP,” I said.

  “But we also have to save Hamstersaurus Rex,” said Dylan. “We swore an oath.”

  “Then let’s split up and meet back at the secret Hamster Monitor emergency rendezvous point at 0400 hours,” said Martha. “Dylan, Drew, and I will follow the Snuzzle-thing and try to figure out how to defeat it. Sam, you, Serena, and Beefer focus on rescuing Hamstersaurus Rex.”

  “I think I know just where to start,” I said.

  Serena, Beefer, and I found Cid Wilkins in the lobby of the SnoozeKing Suites, amid the thinning crowd. He looked ecstatic.

  “Sam Dunk, did you see that thing? It just smashed through the doors like KABLAMMO!” he said, pantomiming. “Man, I knew living in Maple Bluffs would be cooler than Monaco!”

  “Cid, I hate to tell you this, but your manny really is evil,” I said.

  “Say again, laddie?” said Rupert, stepping out from a plastic palm tree.

  “Rupert MacFarquhar,” I said, “tell me what Gordon Renfro has done with Hamstersaurus Rex!”

  Rupert squinted at me and crossed his arms. “I cannae answer your questions on that subject, lad,” he said. “I am bound by a standard nondisclosure agreement. You can direct all inquiries to my employer.”

  “Who?” I said. “SmilesCorp?”

  Rupert said nothing.

  “No,” said Cid. “He means me.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “LET ME EXPLAIN,” said Cid. “Before I came to Maple Bluffs, I got really, really into Hamstersaurus Rex. Great article, by the way, Serena.”

  “Thanks?” said Serena.

  “I mean, the little guy is just so awesome,” said Cid. “The superstrength, the tail, the mysterious origin story. I totally dig it.”

  “Yeah, I know all that,” I said. “So?”

  “So you’ve been to my house,” said Cid. “I’ve got every toy a kid could ever want, right? I’ve got a waterslide and a prerelease Gamehouser APEX 900 Black and a bowling alley that I don’t even use. I hate bowling! But the one thing I don’t have is a pet mutant hamster-dinosaur hybrid. That’s why I convinced my dad to bring Rupert on board.”

  “On board? You specifically hired Rupert to . . . make you your own mutant hamster?” I said.

  “More or less,” said Cid. “I figured with enough money it should be possible. Why not?”

  Serena shuddered. “Creepy much?” she said.

  “No, it’s not creepy,” said Cid, showing a flash of irritation that I’d never seen before. “It’s just not fair that Sam gets a Hamstersaurus Rex and I don’t. I mean, how is that—”

  “Hang on,” I said. “You literally moved your entire family to this town so you could figure out how to somehow re-create Hamstersaurus Rex.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought Rupert might need to do some firsthand research. Maybe collect a few samples of Hamstersaurus Rex DNA or something?” said Cid. “Anyway, moving is no biggie. Neither is buying a house, if I’m being perfectly honest. I’m in sixth grade and I’ve already gone to nine different schools in four different countries. What’s a few months in this weird little town, more or less?”

  “No wonder your sister, Sarah, was so upset about coming here,” I said. “It was all for you.”

  “Sarah-Anne has always been a whiner,” said Cid. “That’s why she never gets her way. It’s so easy once you realize that for my dad, grand gestures are easier than actually, you know, parenting. Anyway, hopefully my sis will learn that you catch more flies with honey.”

  “. .
. Like pretending to be someone’s friend,” I said.

  Cid shrugged. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, Sam Dunk. You’re cool,” he said. “But friends are a dime a dozen. Mutant dino-hamsters? Those are rare. Our relationship was a means to an end. Nothing personal.” Cid held up his hands like anyone would be crazy to get upset.

  “Sam, I’m pretty tempted to use my bullying skills for good here,” whispered Beefer. “You want me to flatten this kid?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “So Rupert obviously failed to clone Hamstersaurus Rex.”

  Rupert blinked. Cid sputtered something that sounded like the beginning of a justification. I cut him off.

  “That is what you needed ‘DNA samples’ for, isn’t it?” I said. “Which were conveniently provided by all the fur and skin cells Hammie shed while we were hanging out at your house.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” said Cid. “The cloning method proved to be more difficult than we’d anticipated.”

  “I’m guessing Rupert realized he would need PaleoGro for the process, hence all the Dinoblast Powerpacker,” I said. “The ‘DO NOT ENTER’ room was Rupert’s lab. But you cleaned it up by the time you showed me what was inside.”

  “Yep. We just moved it to another empty room down the hall,” said Cid. “In retrospect, that ominous sign probably made it way more suspicious. Lessons learned.”

  I turned to Rupert. “Still, your second scientific effort must have been tanking, too.”

  “Watch your tone, lad,” said Rupert. “I have a PhD in genetics from the University of Paisley Online—”

  “You blew it,” I said. “Or else you wouldn’t have needed Gordon Renfro to abduct Hamstersaurus Rex so you can keep him for yourself. Would you, Cid?”

  Cid looked horrified. “Hang on just a minute,” he said. “Gordon Renfro did what? Hamstersaurus Rex isn’t in your backpack right now? Homerun, are you in there? I have some Funchos for—”

  “Don’t play dumb, Cid,” I said. “Renfro just sped away with Hammie locked in a PETCATRAZ Pro™, probably to a private jet you chartered to fly him to the Azores or Maldives or some other plural rich-people place halfway around the world!”

  “Sam, seriously,” said Cid, “I had nothing to do with that! I don’t even know Gordon Renfro!”

  “Yeah right,” I said. “What I still don’t understand is why it is you reprogrammed the Snuzzles to ‘destroy’ the little guy. Was it all just an elaborate distraction? You could have just pulled the fire alarm, dude!”

  “I’m not responsible for those Snuzzles either. I wasn’t lying about that,” said Cid. “You have to understand, I would never ever want to kill Hamstersaurus Rex! I want to own him!”

  I stared at Cid for a long moment.

  “Ugh,” I said. “As much as it makes my skin crawl to hear you say that, I . . . actually believe you. So help me out, Rupert: If SmilesCorp doesn’t exist anymore and Renfro’s not working for Cid, then why in the world does he still want Hamstersaurus Rex?”

  Rupert silently shifted. He still wasn’t going to violate his nondisclosure agreement without employer permission.

  “Go on, answer him,” said Cid.

  Rupert gave a yellow smirk. “Oh, SmilesCorp still exists, laddie,” he said. “The corporation merely had one of its own subsidiaries purchase the parent company for a PR facelift. Don’t be fooled, though. It might technically be called Pappy’s Beeswax of Maine now, but SmilesCorp is going strong.”

  CHAPTER 17

  “. . . You’re getting eye grease on them,” said Beefer.

  “Am not!” said Serena. “My eyes are probably the least greasy of any of us.”

  “Just tell us what you see!” I said.

  Serena lowered Beefer’s binoculars. “No lights on,” she said. “Doesn’t look like anybody’s home. But that’s what they’d want us to think, isn’t it?”

  We crouched in the bushes at the far edge of a wide, empty parking lot. It was quiet here, and in recent months weeds had started to grow up through cracks in the pavement. By all appearances the SmilesCorp campus was locked and deserted. Still, I was sure this was where we would find Hamstersaurus Rex. And with him: Gordon Renfro.

  “We’ve got to check inside,” I said.

  “Just like the Michael Perkins rescue mission! Man, I love sequels. They’re always better than the original,” said Beefer. “Okay. Masks on, people.”

  The three of us pulled on the personalized ninja masks Beefer had thoughtfully sewn for us—Beefer’s was covered in music notes; Serena’s was purple, which no longer matched her green hair; and mine was made to look like Hamstersaurus Rex. We crept across the parking lot toward Building Seven: the location of SmilesCorp’s Genetic Research and Development Lab.

  We tried several doors. All locked.

  “Here,” I said. “Let me use my mom’s old ID card.” I swiped it through the security scanner beside the fire exit. The scanner beeped and the light flashed red. “No dice.”

  “But at least now we know the building still has power,” said Serena. “The lights might be off but somebody’s definitely inside.”

  “So how do we get in?” I said. “Without Hammie Rex, busting down the door is a nonstarter.”

  “Don’t be an idiotic moron, Sam. We don’t need brute strength here. We need my specialty: finesse,” said Beefer. “Infiltrating a locked fortress is a fairly advanced ninja technique. But nothing a clear belt like me can’t handle.” He did a complicated ninja bow that ended with double peace signs.

  I sighed. “Come on, man. You remember what happened at the flea market? You really don’t have to do this.”

  Serena’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes he does!” she said. “This is what I’ve been waiting for! Sam, give me your camera. My phone might be fried, but there’s no way I’m not filming whatever Beefer does next. He’s about to create some more amazing hashtagninjafail viral content for my blog!”

  “Beefer,” I said, “trust me that this is a sentence I never thought I would say, but: I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  Beefer put a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re faint of heart, Sam, and you’re probably feeling super scared right now,” he said. “But you don’t need to worry, little fellow. It’s time for me to redeem myself and restore my ninja honor. Go on. Give her your camera. Today I remembered my grappling hook.”

  I handed Serena my UltraLite SmartShot. Beefer reached into his duffel bag and pulled a four-pronged metal hook tied to a long rope. He started to swing it around over his head. I ducked. Serena hit record.

  “Ninja grappling wall-scale maneuver . . . GO!” yelled Beefer. He let the grappling hook fly. It arced high into the air and landed on top of Building Seven with a clang. Beefer yanked the rope and it held fast, apparently hooked on something. Beefer took a deep breath and then deftly shimmied up the rope and disappeared onto the roof without a sound. Serena and I looked at each other in disbelief.

  “He didn’t smash into anything or break any bones,” said Serena.

  “It didn’t even look like he got a rope burn,” I said. “Maybe he is a—”

  “Real ninja?” said Beefer as he threw open the door from the inside. “Of course I am.” Beefer turned right to the camera and gave a thumbs-up. “And you can be, too, if you stay in school, kids.”

  Serena sighed and lowered the UltraLite SmartShot. “Great. None of this footage is usable.”

  And so the three of us stepped out of the afternoon sun and into the darkened laboratory. It was eerily quiet; very different from the screeching, squawking, and howling of mutant animals that filled the air last time Beefer and I had been here. Much of the scientific equipment was now covered in tarps and drop cloths to keep the dust off.

  “Look,” said Serena. There were two clear sets of footprints leading away through a layer of dust on the floor. One matched Beefer’s sneakers. The other didn’t.

  “I didn’t see anybody on the stairs down from the roof,” said Beefer. “And my highly trained sense
s are much more attuned to my surroundings than yours are. Because, as you both saw, I am a real ninja.”

  “All right, all right. We get it. The rope-climbing thing was cool,” said Serena. “But now we have to find Hamstersaurus Rex.”

  “Let’s follow the tracks,” I said.

  Beefer, Serena, and I traced the footprints in the dust as they passed rows of empty cages and drained tanks and led us deeper into the dark lab.

  “Hey . . . you guys see that?” said Beefer.

  There was light coming from a corner. As we got closer, I saw that it was a large, shiny aluminum sphere with a computer console attached. On it was a handwritten label that read “Specimen #4449.” The glowing monitor showed several continuous readings of scientific data. The numbers were gibberish to me. The dust tracks looked like they had lingered here on multiple occasions.

  “What do you think it is?” I said.

  “It looks like a baby werewolf incubator to me,” said Beefer.

  “Great,” I said. “And do you have any theories, Serena?”

  Serena studied the monitor. “No idea what most of these numbers mean, but this one kind of looks like a heart rate.”

  She pointed to a number that bounced around between 350 and 450. There was a little heart icon beside it.

  “A heart rate that fast would probably have to be something tiny,” said Serena.

  “Like a mutant hamster,” I said.

  I found a latch on the aluminum sphere and unfastened it. The whole strange device opened up like a giant clamshell. Inside was a rodent. All four of its legs were restrained with heavy straps, and patches of its fur had been shaved where various wires, sensors, electrodes, and an IV drip had been attached. But the creature wasn’t Hamstersaurus Rex.

  “The Mind Mole!” said Serena.

  The three of us recoiled in horror. But the Mind Mole didn’t move. He was unconscious. And whatever Gordon Renfro was dosing him with was strong enough to keep him that way. We looked at each other, afraid and unsure of what to do.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Beefer. “That’s worse than a baby werewolf! Slam that metal ball shut right now and never, ever open it again.”