“But you saved Mr. Lomax’s life!” said Martha.
“I know, I know,” I said, “that’s why he gave me an extension. I have until Labor Day and at this point I only owe him $11.21. Feels good to be in the home stretch.”
Martha and I joined a line of people queuing up to get inside Building Seven—formerly the SmilesCorp Genetic Research and Development Lab. A banner that read “Grand Opening” hung across the door.
“Hi, guys!” Dylan bounded over and joined us.
“Hey, Dylan,” I said. “How was disc golf camp?”
“Amazing,” said Dylan. “Alonso ‘The Wrist’ Chapman really helped me add some distance to my hyzer throw and he sold my dad a used station wagon! It was a win-win.”
“Very cool,” I said.
Drew joined us, carrying two ice cream cones. He handed one to Dylan.
“Howdy,” said Drew.
Martha and I looked at each other.
“Howdy?” I said. “Not ‘’Sup’?”
“I’m just trying something new,” said Drew with a shrug. “Don’t box me in. I’m a complex, three-dimensional person with hopes and dreams. For example, did you know I—”
“What do you mean Michael Perkins isn’t on the VIP list?” someone up ahead yelled.
I looked at the front of the line to see Beefer arguing with the ticket-taker. Michael Perkins, his feathery boakeet, was coiled around his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the woman, looking at her clipboard, “but I don’t see that name here.”
“Well, check again!” said Beefer. “Ever seen Epic Ninja 360-Degree Fail? That’s me! As a celebrity I think I ought to be able to get a plus-one to this thing!”
I intervened, and after a bit of negotiation, we all agreed that for a mutant snake, half-price admission was fair. The rest of us were on the list, which I have to admit was pretty cool.
Inside, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Building Seven looked totally different now. No longer dark and filled with strange lab equipment, it was now bright and friendly, divided up into spacious animal enclosures. Nearby, tourists snapped pictures of the duck with fur as it paddled around a realistic, simulated pond. Another enclosure held a woodland habitat with a sign that read: “Behold the Mighty Squirrel Kong!” Inside sat a grumpy-looking, regular-sized squirrel. A third enclosure, full of tall climbing trees and rope ladders, held the Chameleonkey.
“Mom, I don’t see anything,” said a disappointed kid, pressed up against the glass.
I spotted Serena over by the snack table. She was interviewing Coach Weekes.
“. . . You know, if Hamstersaurus Rex had never eaten my Dinoblast Powerpacker, none of this would have ever happened,” said Coach Weekes. “So in a way, if you think about it, I’m the real hero.”
“Uh-huh,” said Serena.
I waved to her and she cut her interview with Coach Weekes short.
“Hi, Serena Sandoval, legitimate journalist for my own blog,” she said, pointing the microphone in my direction now. “Sam Gibbs, how does it feel to attend the grand opening of the Maple Bluffs Sanctuary for Atypical Animals?”
“Great!” I said. “For better or worse, our town has become known for mutant hybrids. Why not lean into it and make it a tourist attraction? Plus, it gives us something to do with all the weird critters.”
“Weird critters indeed,” said Serena, “and none weirder than Hamstersaurus Rex. Isn’t that right?”
Hammie hopped out of my bag and gave a little bow. He was honored at the distinction.
“Well, I definitely think his kids are going to give him a run for his money in the weird department,” I said. I peeked into my bag and saw that the only hamster left was a sleeping Cartimandua. “Wait, where are his kids?”
Hammie gave a panicked yelp and dashed off through the crowd to find them.
“Care to comment on the huge, anonymous donation to purchase the campus from Pappy’s Beeswax of Maine and convert it into this facility?” said Serena.
“I have a theory on who the donor is,” I said. “But I’m sure they’d prefer to remain anonymous.”
Across the room, I saw Sarah Wilkins. Instead of scowling or eye rolling, she was eating hors d’oeuvres and chatting with some kids her age, laughing a little. For once, she’d been able to pester her dad into doing something that she wanted: creating the Maple Bluffs Sanctuary for Atypical Animals.
Suddenly, Cid Wilkins slid into my field of vision.
“Sam Dunk!” said Cid. “Long time no see, buddy. Hey, I’ve got this new indoor hang glider course at my house. No big deal. You should really drop by and check it out sometime!”
“Thanks for the offer,” I said. “I think I’m good, Cid.”
“Speaking of offers,” said Cid, “I’m glad I completely coincidentally ran into you at this little shindig because I am prepared to make you a substantial cash offer to purchase Hamstersaurus Rex—”
“Sorry, I’ve got to go, Cid,” I said. “My friends are waiting.”
I found Martha, Beefer, Dylan, and Drew standing by a wooded enclosure with several “DANGER!” and “KEEP BACK!” signs posted on it. It held the Grizzly Hare, a fearsome beast that was part hare, part grizzly bear.
“What are we looking at?” I said.
“That,” said Dylan. She pointed.
Inside the enclosure, the Grizzly Hare stalked back and forth, growling and baring its fangs. Suddenly, a tiny shape popped out from a hollow log and blew a raspberry at the beast: it was Hatshepsut! The Grizzly Hare snarled, but Hatshepsut ducked back inside the log just in time to avoid getting chomped. In the meantime, Stompy crept out from under a rock and kicked an acorn at the Grizzly Hare. The Grizzly Hare ran at her but she dove back into her hiding place. While all of this was happening, Chompy was gobbling down everything in the Grizzly Hare’s food dish.
“Perhaps we should intervene?” said Martha.
She pointed to Hamstersaurus Rex, who stood at the edge of the enclosure. The little guy looked like he was about to hyperventilate.
“Nah, I think they’re okay,” I said. “Maybe taunting deadly mutant beasts is just, you know, part of growing up?”
“If you say so,” said Martha. Cartimandua snuggled up beside Hammie. (I hadn’t even realized she’d escaped from my bag. Maybe Hamstersaurus Rex wasn’t the only one the pups got their adventurous streak from?) Hammie took a deep breath, and the two of them watched their babies play along with the rest of us.
Somehow it felt like the end of an era for Hamstersaurus Rex. They say he was a giant among rodents, a folk hero for all time, even the pride of Mr. Copeland’s sixth-grade class. To me, he was a friend. And I’m happy to say, one of many.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR
TOM O’DONNELL has written for The New Yorker, McSweeney’s, and the television shows Jeff & Some Aliens, TripTank, Right Now Kapow, and Billy on the Street. His comic strips have been featured in The New York Press and The Village Voice. He lives with his wife and family in Brooklyn, New York. Read more at www.tomisokay.com.
TIM MILLER is the author-illustrator of Moo Moo in a Tutu and What’s Cooking, Moo Moo? and the illustrator of the picture books Snappsy the Alligator (Did Not Ask to Be in This Book!), Snappsy the Alligator and His Best Friend Forever! (Probably), and Margarash. He lives in New Jersey with his wife and their cats. You can visit Tim online at www.timmillerillustration.com.
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BOOKS BY TOM O’DONNELL
Hamstersaurus Rex
Hamstersaurus Rex vs. Squirrel Kong
Hamstersaurus Rex Gets Crushed
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COPYRIGHT
HAMSTERSAURUS REX VS. THE CUTEPOCALYPSE. Copyright © 2018 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book o
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Cover art © 2018 by HarperCollins Publishers
Cover design by Joe Merkel
Digital Edition OCTOBER 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-237761-6
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-237760-9
1819202122PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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Hamstersaurus Rex vs. the Cutepocalypse Page 18
