Hamstersaurus Rex vs. the Cutepocalypse

by Tom O'Donnell

  “PWIMAWY TAWGET DETECTED,” said the Snuzzle-thing. It started to roll in the direction of the new sound.

  So far the plan was working. By confusing the Snuzzle-thing we were buying ourselves the time we needed to upload the cure. I hoped it would be enough.

  “FOWTY-FOUR PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo as I followed behind the Snuzzle-thing.

  “Hurry up!” I said.

  “I WUV YOU,” said Bobbo.

  “Hey! Yoo-hoo! Over here!” called Serena from across the street. She patted her shirt pocket. “I’ve got Hamstersaurus Rex with me, you big ol’ ball of . . . weird!”

  “PWIMAWY TAWGET WOCKED,” said the Snuzzle-thing as it barreled toward Serena, crunching a no parking sign and a row of newly planted saplings. I scrambled after it, clutching Bobbo under my arm.

  “SIXTY-SEVEN PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  But Stompy couldn’t control herself. The thrill of the fight was too much. As Serena turned to run, Stompy burst out of her pocket like an alien from one of Beefer’s horror movies.

  “Aw, nuts!” cried Serena.

  The hamster pup gave another mighty roar before charging right at the Snuzzle-thing. The Snuzzle-thing ignored her.

  “. . . TAWGET MISIDENTIFICATION,” said the Snuzzle-thing. “DISENGAGE AND WOCATE PWIMAWY TAWGET.”

  “SEVENTY-NINE PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  “WOCATING PWIMAW— WAWNING! WAWNING! VIWUS DETECTED,” said the Snuzzle-thing. “WAWNING!”

  The glowing red eyes of every Snuzzle turned toward me.

  “Uh,” I said.

  “EIGHTY PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  “DESTWOY!” The Snuzzle-thing charged. I turned and ran.

  “Guys! Somebody! Anybody!” I yelled. “Help!”

  I raced down Evergreen Street with the Snuzzle-thing close on my heels. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if it was gaining on me. That’s why I never saw the crack in the sidewalk. My foot caught on it and I tripped and fell. Bobbo went clattering across the pavement. The Snuzzle-thing kept coming. I covered my head and prepared to be crushed. Instead the Snuzzle-thing rolled past me toward Bobbo, lying on the ground ahead. One of the Snuzzles detached from the ball and approached.

  “EIGHTY-ONE PEWCENT COMP—”

  THWUMP! The evil Snuzzle delivered a robo-strength kick that sent Bobbo sailing through the air.

  “OUT OF WANGE,” I heard as Bobbo flew, “UPWOAD FAIWUUUUUWE . . .”

  “No!” I said.

  “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m here to save you, yet again!” cried Beefer.

  He stood on the corner across the street. Hatshepsut was hidden inside his cupped hands. She gave a powerful roar.

  “Hear that?” said Beefer. “That’s the sound of Martha Junior, aka Hamstersaurus Rex! And if you want this stupid gerbil you’ll have to come and get him, dum-dum!”

  “TAWGET WOCKED,” said the Snuzzle-thing. “DESTWOY!”

  The Snuzzle-thing started to roll toward him.

  “Ninja run away fast maneuver GO!” cried Beefer, and he turned and ninja-ran-away-fast down Tenth Street.

  I leaped to my feet and found Bobbo in a flower bed, four yards down. The Snuzzle was dented but luckily still functional.

  “BUTTEWFWY KISSES MAKE ME GIGGWE,” said Bobbo as I picked him up.

  I turned to see Martha racing toward me. She looked frantic.

  “Sam!” she cried. “We have to stop Kiefer!”

  “What?” I said. “Why?”

  “He went down Tenth Street!”

  My heart sank. “Toward Tenth Street Toys,” I said. “Beefer’s leading the Snuzzle-thing straight to a whole toy store full of reinforcements.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “COMMENCING SECONDAWY VIWUS UPWOAD,” said Bobbo. “ONE PEWCENT COMPWETE . . .”

  Running as fast as I could, I’d finally caught up with the Snuzzle-thing as it hounded Beefer down Tenth Street. The streetlights nearby were going haywire. Car alarms gave strangely distorted wails. At Tip Top Electronics, a whole display window of TVs went all staticky. More panicked bystanders tried to call someone, anyone, only to find that their phones were useless.

  “Beefer, stop!” I yelled as I got closer.

  “Huh? No way! You stop!” he yelled back. “This thing wants to smoosh me!”

  “DESTWOY!” said the Snuzzle-thing.

  “See?” yelled Beefer, who ran even faster. He was clearly terrified.

  “You have to lead it in another direction!” I cried.

  “What?” yelled Beefer. With all the noise, he was getting too far ahead to hear me.

  “Keep it away from Tenth Street Toys!” I yelled.

  “Tenth Street Toys!” yelled Beefer. “Got it!”

  “No!” I yelled. “Away! Away from Tenth Street Toys!”

  But it was too late. Hatshepsut gave another roar and Beefer made a beeline for the toy store. I could see Tenth Street Toys up ahead now. Mr. Lomax was out front sweeping the sidewalk with a push broom. Beefer nearly knocked him over as he dashed past, into the store.

  “Hey, kid, didn’t you see the sign?” said Mr. Lomax, squinting at Hatshepsut. “No weird, scaly hamsters!”

  “Mr. Lomax, save yourself!” I called from down the street.

  “Huh?” said Mr. Lomax. He blinked as he finally saw the Snuzzle-thing rolling down the street toward him.

  “MY TOES AWE VEWY TICKWISH,” thundered the many voices of the Snuzzle-thing.

  “Well,” said Mr. Lomax. “That’s. Not. Good.”

  “THIWTEEN PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  “Aaaaaagh!” screamed Beefer as he burst back out of the store with Hatshepsut, nearly knocking Mr. Lomax over a second time. “Why did you tell me to go in there, Sam? It’s an ambush!”

  “DESTWOY!” said the Snuzzle-thing as it swerved to follow Beefer, flattening several parking meters in the process.

  “What in the world is going on?” said Mr. Lomax.

  “It’s the Cutepocalypse!” I said as I shoved him out of the way an instant before his display window shattered behind him.

  “DESTWOY! . . . DESTWOY! . . . DESTWOY! . . .”

  Two hundred more Snuzzles—every single one that Mr. Lomax had in stock—had now been infected. They marched out of the broken window and through the door of Tenth Street Toys. The Snuzzles swarmed toward the Snuzzle-thing, which absorbed them into the collective. I watched in horror as the Snuzzle-thing grew, and grew, and grew. It stood twenty feet tall now. No longer a lumpy ball—it had arms, legs, and even big bat-like ears. The whole thing had assumed the rough shape of a colossal Snuzzle.

  “WADICAL, BWO,” bellowed the many voices of the Snuzzle-thing, which sent Mr. Lomax and every other remaining bystander fleeing in terror.

  “Save me!” cried Beefer as he ran down the street and dove behind a dumpster.

  “DESTWOY!” said the Snuzzle-thing as it strode after him, leaving cracks in the pavement with each step.

  “TWENTY-ONE PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  SCREEECH! A Maple Bluffs police cruiser squealed to a halt between Beefer and the Snuzzle-thing. Even without phones, someone must have finally gotten word to the cops. Two officers leaped out of the car.

  One of them held up a loudspeaker. “Uh, please freeze,” he said in a quavery voice, “and put your—I guess they’re hands—up. If that’s okay with you?”

  “NEUTWAWIZE SECONDAWY TAWGET,” said the Snuzzle-thing. It kicked the police cruiser with a massive foot, sending the vehicle spinning sideways into a nearby telephone pole. At this, both the officers lost their nerve and ran for their lives. I couldn’t exactly blame them: they probably didn’t cover arresting two-story toy monsters at the academy.

  But it meant stopping the Snuzzle-thing was all up to us now.

  “TWENTY-SEVEN PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  With one arm the Snuzzle-thing flung the dumpster aside, to reveal Beefer cowering behind it, still cradling Hatshepsut in his hands.
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  “No!” I said.

  “My only regret was not seeing Wolfsplosion IV in theaters,” whimpered Beefer.

  “PWIMAWY TAWGET WOCKED!” said the Snuzzle-thing as it raised its other fist high above its head. “DESTW—”

  From behind me there came a roar as loud as a thunderclap. It was no hamster pup this time, but the unmistakable battle cry of Hamstersaurus Rex. I turned to see the others running toward me down the street: Serena, Dylan, Martha, and Drew, who clutched the PETCATRAZ Pro™ under his arm. Inside was Hammie Rex.

  “Sorry, Sam,” said Martha. “I thought this might be our only hope to draw the Snuzzle-thing away! But we’re too late!”

  “Just don’t let it get Hammie Rex!” I called back.

  “TAWGET MISIDENTIFCATION,” said the Snuzzle-thing as it turned to face Hamstersaurus Rex. “ENGAGING PWIMA— WAWNING! WAWNING! VIWUS DETECTED!”

  The Snuzzle-thing spun toward me. I dove out of the way as its giant fist slammed into the ground where I’d been standing, cratering the asphalt.

  “THIWTY-THWEE PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo, who I’d somehow still managed to hold on to.

  I scrambled to my feet. “Take this!” I said, tossing Bobbo to Dylan. Hamstersaurus Rex let out another roar. I guess the little guy was trying to warn me, because a split second later a flying trash can—hurled by the Snuzzle-thing—knocked me off my feet.

  After that, everything went dark.

  I don’t know how much time passed before I felt something tickling my fingers. I sat up to see that Hamstersaurus Rex was licking my hand. But how was he licking my hand? Wasn’t he locked inside a cage? I turned to see the PETCATRAZ Pro™ lying on the sidewalk nearby. I blinked. Two of the titanium bars had been bent. Hamstersaurus Rex had done the impossible: he had escaped from the toughest small rodent cage on the market! I reached over to scratch him and realized I had a splitting headache.

  My mind was cloudy but it was starting to clear. “Wait . . . the Snuzzle-thing,” I said, remembering. “We have to stop the Snuzzle-thing!”

  Hammie growled.

  “We still have one trick left,” I said. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out two canisters: one labeled “PaleoGro,” the other labeled “Huginex-G.” I’d swiped them on our way out of the underground lab.

  “According to Gordon Renfro, a combined dose of these two will make you ‘combat ready,’” I said. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

  I poured the viscous blue Huginex-G into the powdery green PaleoGro, put the lid back on, and then shook the concoction. I opened it again to see I’d mixed up a bright teal sludge cocktail.

  “Okay,” I said. “Down the hatch.”

  I upended the canister into Hamstersaurus Rex’s mouth. He slurped down the stuff until there was none left, and then he licked his chops.

  “. . . Well?”

  Hamstersaurus Rex gave a little hiccup. And then he started to grow and . . . change. His legs swelled with muscles and his tail elongated. Still he grew, as his round hamster face stretched into a large snout with rows of pointy teeth. Still he grew, as razor-sharp talons sprouted from his toes and all his fur fell out in clumps.

  The transformation was complete: the little guy stood fifteen feet high and forty feet long from his nose to his tail. There was no trace of hamster left in him. He had become a full-fledged Tyrannosaurus rex.

  “Whoa,” I said.

  Hammie cocked his head to stare at me with a yellow eye. I suddenly wondered if he still remembered that I was his friend and not a snack. He opened his jaws wide to reveal his glistening fangs and . . . he gave me a slobbery lick—only now his tongue was as big as my head!

  “Ready to save the day?” I said.

  Hamstersaurus Rex grunted and lowered his head and I swung a leg over his neck.

  “Then let’s go!” I said.

  Hammie rose and started to run—with me riding on his back!

  We caught up to the Snuzzle-thing on the corner of Walnut Street and Tenth. With a mighty swipe, it flipped over a car and sent it rolling into a nearby yard. It was still looking for Bobbo.

  “Sam!” whispered Martha, who was hiding behind a mailbox. “Why are you riding on a—is that—what?”

  “I know!” I said. “Just go with it!”

  The Snuzzle-thing tore the roof off a toolshed to reveal Dylan and Bobbo hiding inside. Dylan gasped.

  “DESTWOY,” said the Snuzzle-thing.

  Hammie lowered his T. rex head like a battering ram and charged. He hit the Snuzzle-thing squarely in the back, staggering it. Broken Snuzzles flew everywhere.

  Dylan sprinted out of the shed.

  “SIXTY-THWEE PEWCENT COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  The Snuzzle-thing spun and swung its fist at Hammie, catching him with a heavy blow to the nose. Hammie spun back and bit into its arm, tearing out dozens of Snuzzles. He chomped at the Snuzzle-thing again and again.

  “SEVENTY-SEVEN PEWCENT COMPWETE.”

  Hamstersaurus Rex had bowled the Snuzzle-thing over now, and he was clawing at it with his hind legs as he still crunched Snuzzles between his teeth. The Snuzzle-thing flailed wildly.

  “EIGHTY-FIVE PEWCENT COMPWETE.”

  The Snuzzle-thing had lost its giant Snuzzle shape now. It had split into two amorphous balls and each of them slammed into Hamstersaurus Rex, pummeling him from two sides. He stumbled and then whipped his tail into one while kicking at another. More shattered Snuzzles went flying.

  “NINETY-NINE PEWCENT COMPWETE.”

  The Snuzzle-thing had separated out into its constituent Snuzzles now. They all seemed to be fleeing in separate directions from the wrath of Hamstersaurus Rex, who was grinding them into the pavement and popping them between his teeth.

  “UPWOAD COMPWETE,” said Bobbo.

  Suddenly, all the fleeing Snuzzles froze. Their eyes no longer glowed red. There was a moment of silence.

  “. . . HEWWO, FWIEND,” said one.

  “CAN I GIVE YOU A WITTWE SMOOCH?” asked another.

  “CEWTAINWY,” said a third.

  They kissed. The newly benign Snuzzles all started toddling in random directions and chatting adorably with one another.

  Hamstersaurus Rex lurched beneath me.

  “Whoa there,” I said. “Easy, boy.”

  “Hey, Sam, do you know you’re, like, on top of a dinosaur?” called Beefer from down the street, carrying Hatshepsut.

  “Oh, am I?” I said. “That’s weird.”

  Hammie bucked again and then he started to shrink. The effects of the Huginex-G and the PaleoGro were beginning to wear off. A few seconds later, the little guy had completely reverted to his normal (?) dino-hamster form.

  Drew and Serena emerged from their hiding place in a nearby carport carrying Stompy and Chompy. Hammie snuggled each of his pups, who climbed all over him, still pretty hopped up from the epic fight against evil.

  “It feels good to be reunited with the ones you love, huh?” I said.

  “Mmm, it sure does,” said Serena, cuddling her smartphone, which was now fully functional once again.

  “We may not have won Best Delegation at Model Interplanetary Council,” said Martha, “but we did save the town from an uprising of deranged robots. Any reasonable college admissions board will have to take that into consideration. Right?”

  “Guys, that was intense!” said Drew, whose eyes looked like they might bug out of his head. “Those Snuzzles were like, ‘’Sup!’ and then Hamstersaurus Rex was like, ‘’SUP!’ and then Dylan was like—”

  “Yep! This is just part of being friends with Sam Gibbs,” said Dylan, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “And Hamstersaurus Rex.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” I said to Drew.

  Drew gave me a double thumbs-up.

  Beefer nudged me. “Dude,” he whispered, “who is that guy?”

  CHAPTER 22

  “BOY, IT SURE feels strange to be back here,” said my mom as she pulled into the parking lot. Her voice was muffled t
hanks to the industrial-grade dust mask she wore to keep her allergies under control. She checked herself out in the rearview. “Sam, does this mask look weird?”

  It did.

  “Nope,” I said. “It’s actually very stylish and cool. I’m sure once the other moms see you, they’re all going to want one.”

  “Well, I thought it was important to be here today,” said my mom. “But don’t worry, I won’t hover. I’m sure you want to hang out with all your little friends. I know you’re practically a seventh grader now, Bunnybutt.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I’ll catch you inside.”

  She gave me a kiss on the head and I grabbed my backpack and hopped out of the car.

  As I crossed the parking lot, I unzipped my bag to see Stompy, Chompy, and Hatshepsut wrestling inside. Meanwhile, Hamstersaurus Rex, exhausted, stared blankly into the middle distance, whle Cartimandua snoozed.

  “Guys,” I said, “I want you all to be on your best behavior because . . . Aw, who am I kidding? We all know that’s not going to happen. Just try not to burn the place down, okay?”

  Hammie poked his head out, saw where we were, and gave a warning snarl.

  “I know, dude. It gives me the creeps, too,” I said. “But you have to remember: it’s not SmilesCorp anymore.”

  Not far away, I spotted Martha walking toward the entrance.

  “Hey, Martha!” I said. “Glad you could make it!”

  “Oh, hello, Sam!” said Martha. “Or should I say: Doh meefa, xeesotee! Zlorrrrk.”

  I stared at her.

  “I’m joking!” she said. “That’s the traditional greeting of Zoblorg VII. Remember?”

  I stared at her.

  “Ugh,” she said. “I honestly wish someone would explain the purpose of jokes, because I still don’t get it. Anyway, how’s your summer been?”

  “Pretty boring,” I said. “I spent most of it doing odd jobs for Old Man Ohlman: rearranging his weather vanes; painting his leaves; de-ghosting his closets, et cetera. I think I clocked, like, two hundred hours.”

  “Really?” she said. “Why?”

  “I’m still trying to pay back the money I owe Tenth Street Toys,” I said.