“Didn’t Stan say this place had shut down?” Tina asked as they approached.
“Yeah, why?” Darren asked.
“Because,” Tina pointed at a window off to one side, “there’s a light on in there!” Sure enough, the window was lit up from the inside.
Darren led the way to the factory and stopped right beside a grimy, dirty wall. The lit window was up at least eight feet above the ground. “Walter, do your thing,” Darren said.
“Indeed,” Walter replied, pulling his goggles down over his eyes, “one aerial surveillance, coming up.” He took a deep breath, then let out a series of short, squeal-like farts. Then Walter began to drift up in the air, his gas lending him buoyancy like a helium balloon.
The others waited while he floated up to the window and peered inside. When Walter gave them a thumbs-up, they dragged him back down to the ground using his boots, then his cape. “A wizened old man is within,” Walter reported. “He is tinkering with some contraption and cackling to himself.” Walter leaned in. “I believe I may have located the missing intimate apparel as well.”
“Hey, Poindexter!” Tina shout whispered. “When’re you going to drop the brainiac act already?”
“It’s not an act, but rather an authentic expression of my true essence, and thus, I plan to keep it up in perpetuity. . . .”
“Focus!” Darren clapped his hands together. “Let’s get in there and find out who this old guy is and why he couldn’t just buy underpants like everybody else!”
They walked along the factory wall until they spotted a small door. Tina darted ahead to try it. It was unlocked.
Stepping inside, Juan-Carlos almost choked. “Oh gross,” he muttered, covering his mouth and nose with one hand. The air was thick with that same pungent fart smell from his bedroom the other morning. That explained the smell that was left behind! But whose farts were they?
“Yeah, well, watch your step,” Tina warned, narrowly avoiding a dark puddle Juan-Carlos hoped was just water. It was hard to tell for certain, since the only light was coming from that one room and the dim sunlight filtering in through the grimy windows. He could see more puddles, though, and dirt and dust were everywhere. All four of them took care to watch where they walked, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they headed toward the light.
A few minutes later, the Squad stopped to stare. They were on the factory floor now, one enormous room with the rusty machinery still placed in rows down its length. But at the far end was a different machine, bigger and darker and newer than the rest. A little old man darted back and forth before it, muttering to himself as he adjusted dials and knobs and buttony-type-things. Then he glanced up and saw them.
“Ah, the infamous Fart Squad,” he announced, his voice sharp and wavering, but strong. “You’re just in time . . . to see my greatest creation!”
“Who are you?” Tina demanded. “And what have you done with all the underwear?”
“I? I am Doctor Lucius René Bottom,” the man answered proudly. He was barely taller than Tina, with great tufts of white hair sprouting out all over his head, above his eyes, on his chin, under his nose, and even from his ears. He had on a white lab coat that had seen better days.
Juan-Carlos nudged the others. “René Bottom?” he said quietly. “Runny Bottom? Really?”
Doctor Bottom heard him. “Yes, yes,” he said, frowning through his great big mustache. “Congratulations, you’ve hit upon the exact name my old classmates gave me when I was your age. You have no idea what it’s like going through life as Runny Bottom.” He gazed around them, at the rundown factory. “But that didn’t stop me. I worked hard and became the Underwear King of Buttzville! ‘We’ll get to the Bottom of things!’ was our motto, and we did! People may have still laughed at me behind my back, but I was rich and powerful!” His face twisted into a ferocious glare.
“And then the city took my company away from me and shut down my beautiful factory. I became a laughingstock again! ‘Bottom hits bottom’ all the papers said!” He glared at the Squad. “For years, I’ve wanted revenge. And after reading about that Fartasaurus, I finally realized how to get it!”
“How?” Darren asked.
“At first I foolishly thought I could replicate your powers by amassing a cache of fart gas. My children and I worked day and night to fill up silo after silo. But as you might guess, gas is a very difficult substance to harness, and”—Bottom sighed—“our farts simply don’t have the powers that yours do.”
Of course they don’t, Juan-Carlos thought. They’re missing the secret ingredient . . . radioactive bean burritos!
“But the smell has been impossible to shake!” Bottom said.
“Well, that explains the mysterious crime scene odor!” Darren said.
Doctor Bottom nodded in agreement, then inhaled deeply and smiled, as if he were smelling a fragrant flower.
“Eventually, I realized,” he continued, “that if I wanted what you had, I’d have to go directly to the source. So I stole your underwear and collected whatever remaining power I could scrape together in order to weaponize my own super-team—and now I’m using them to destroy this stupid town!” He gestured at the machine behind him, and the kids saw underwear churning about within its tubes and coils. There were bins of more underwear beside it, all wrung out like they had already been through the process.
“There are so many strange things happening in Buttzville lately,” Doctor Bottom told them. “And the four of you have been right there every time. There’s so much power in those farts of yours! And what do those farts have to pass through every time?” He paused, clearly waiting for them to answer.
“Underwear?” Juan-Carlos finally offered.
The doctor beamed at him. “Exactly! And if there’s one thing I know, it’s underwear! So by stealing yours and running it through this special extractor I built”—he patted the side of the machine fondly—“I could drain off the power, condense it, then inject it into new underwear of my own design.”
“Okay, but why did you take everybody’s underwear?” Tina demanded. “That’s just cruel!”
Doctor Bottom shrugged. “I didn’t know who you four really were, did I? So I just went through everybody’s until I found yours!”
“But you still kept all of them,” Darren pointed out. “And now people are hurting!”
“That’s the best part!” Doctor Bottom laughed. “When all this is over, they’ll be begging me to make them some fresh, clean underwear. But for now, they’ll have to suffer, because the worst has just begun. My invention worked! I siphoned all your powers—into these!” He gestured off to the side, and the team turned—to find themselves facing four kids their own age. Each one was wearing some kind of costume with their underwear proudly displayed.
“Fart Squad,” Doctor Bottom declared, “meet the Bottom Brigade! My grandchildren,” he added proudly.
“I’m Jockstrap,” one boy announced. He was as tall as Walter, but powerfully built where Walter was just heavy. He was wearing what looked like a wrestling uniform, but with the jockstrap on the outside.
“I’m Bikini,” the only girl called out. She was tall and slender, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she had on a bikini over her shorts and halter top.
“Thermal,” said a second boy. He was small and slight and wore his underwear on his head.
“And I’m Tighty Whitey,” the last boy offered. He wasn’t tall or short, skinny or heavy. In fact, except for the gleaming white underwear he wore on top of his clothes, he looked completely normal. He didn’t sound normal, though—he sounded slightly crazed, his voice high and fast as he laughed, and stated, “and we’re going to use our new powers to make this city pay!”
“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Darren replied. He turned to the others. “Fart Squad, it’s time to gas things up—let’s go!”
And the two teams charged toward each other, shouting and screaming and ready to fight.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Juan-Carlos darted right in front of the hulking Jockstrap. He paused and set off one of his “time-delay” farts—but before he could get away, the bigger kid grabbed him and held him easily in place, forcing Juan-Carlos to bear the brunt of his own attack. The smell was enough to make Juan-Carlos almost pass out, and a quick smack to the head from Jockstrap left him on the floor, too dizzy to stand or even speak, his vision blurry. Score one for the Bottom Brigade!
“You’re going down!” Juan-Carlos heard Tina shout, leaping at Bikini. But the other girl twisted, sidestepping the attack. She was so thin that, from the side, she completely vanished from view! Tina paused, trying to see where her opponent had gone, and then reeled backward as Bikini reappeared and punched her full in the face.
“No, you are,” Bikini replied with a laugh as Tina sprawled on the ground, unconscious. Two down.
“I shall take to the air,” Walter decided, using his farts to lift off. Thermal eyed him closely. The smaller boy didn’t seem to be doing anything, really, but Walter was beginning to sweat and turn red in the face. “It is surprisingly warm up here,” the largest Fart Squad member declared, fanning himself. “I am feeling light-headed.” Then he fainted! Fortunately, without being awake to control them, his farts faded, too, and Walter drifted down to the factory floor.
But that was three down, and Darren was now the only Fart Squad member left standing. “Things are about to get too hot for you to handle,” he warned Tighty Whitey, turning to present his butt to his rival. “Fire in the—”
But before Darren could finish his catchphrase, much less get off a fart, something long and thin wrapped itself around his arms and chest. Then something else wrapped around from the other side, and then two more things circled his legs. Darren was glancing down in confusion. Juan-Carlos was puzzled, too. There were what looked like four thick white rubber hoses coiling about his friend! What was going on here?
“Better not fart now,” Tighty Whitey warned, and Darren glanced over his shoulder, surprised. The other kid was right next to him, so close they were practically hugging. No, wait, they were hugging—it was Tighty Whitey’s arms and legs that were wrapped around Darren! The boy was like a human boa constrictor! “If you let that fire loose, you might explode,” Darren’s rival continued.
It was true—Juan-Carlos knew Darren didn’t dare fart as long as he was all wrapped up. He tried to break free instead, but the other boy’s limbs were too strong. And they were so tight Darren was clearly having trouble breathing. He gasped, still struggling, but Juan-Carlos could see that his friend was getting weaker. Eventually Darren went limp, all the fight drained out of him.
“Looks like our Bottoms are fart-proof!” Tighty Whitey said with a laugh as he released Darren at last, who slid to the ground, barely conscious.
The battle was over. And the Fart Squad had lost.
“Don’t get in our way again,” Tighty Whitey warned as he and his teammates dragged the Fart Squad over to an oversize laundry cart and dumped them in. “Or we’ll do a lot more than knock you out.” Then they shoved the cart out through the factory doors, spilling the Fart Squad onto the dank, dirty ground around the factory and slamming the doors shut behind them. That was all Juan-Carlos saw—the impact when he hit the ground was enough to complete what Jockstrap had started, and he passed out right afterward.
“What happened?” Tina asked when she woke up a short time later. “All I remember is that Bikini girl disappearing, and then nothing.”
“She dispatched you with alacrity, I am afraid,” Walter replied, groaning and levering himself up as well. “Not that I fared much better.” He glanced over at Darren, who was shaking his head to clear it. “I take it from your appearance that you did not emerge victorious either?”
“No,” Darren admitted glumly. “They beat the pants off all of us.” It was the first time the Fart Squad had really been beaten, and it felt terrible. Especially since they’d gotten beat by a bunch of kids whose abilities were stolen from their fart powers!
“We should get out of here,” Juan-Carlos suggested. “Before something worse happens.” For once, he didn’t even try to make a joke. None of them were finding anything very funny right now.
The kids dragged themselves up and Darren led the way out of the factory yard. They all stayed silent as they headed back into town and toward their homes, bruised, exhausted, and dejected.
Then they rounded a corner and a shout rang out. “There they are!” It was some man in a suit. “Give us back our underwear!” he demanded, racing toward the kids.
A whole group of other men and women were behind him, and they all charged the Fart Squad as well. “Yeah, we want our underwear!” the mob cried.
“We don’t have them!” Darren shouted back. “We didn’t take them! The Bottoms Brigade did!”
But nobody was listening.
Walter tugged on Darren’s sleeve. “I suggest a hasty retreat,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” Tina agreed. “Run!”
“I have a better idea,” Walter offered. He held out his hands and squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks puffing out with effort. “Hold on!”
With the mob closing in, and clearly not willing to talk, the team had no choice but to grab onto Walter and let him fart them up into the air and out of harm’s way. Especially since they didn’t want to turn their powers on innocent people—and probably weren’t up to another fight right now anyway.
So they fled. Fortunately it was dark enough that, once they’d drifted up ten feet or so, the team could disappear into the shadows. Walter used a series of smaller farts to propel them forward, and once they’d slipped around a corner and over a narrow alley, they descended again, on the next block.
“Whew, that was close!” Juan-Carlos said after they were sure they were safe. “Imagine getting flattened by the same people we keep saving—that would’ve really been awful!”
The others just nodded.
“Guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow at school,” Darren muttered when they reached the spot where they’d all split off toward their homes.
And with that, the Fart Squad members went their separate ways.
“Something got you down, son?” Mr. Finkelstein asked as he stuck his head into Juan-Carlos’s room later that night. “Because if you got any lower, you’d be underground!”
Even one of his dad’s jokes wasn’t enough to make Juan-Carlos crack a smile this time. “Sorry, Dad,” he answered. He almost told his dad what was really going on, but at the last minute managed to stop himself. He couldn’t reveal the Squad’s secret, not without the others’ permission. The closest he could get was to say, “It’s just this whole underwear thing is really getting to me.” Which was true—he was so sore he could barely stand it.
“Don’t worry,” his father replied, as he entered the room and sat down on the bed beside Juan-Carlos. “This underwear drought won’t last forever. One way or another, it’s going to get fixed. Who knows, maybe the Fart Squad will take care of it.”
“No, they won’t!” Juan-Carlos snapped, finally sick of hearing his dad go on about the Squad. “I know you think they’re the best thing since toilet paper, but they’re just kids! And right now, they’re kids everyone else thinks are criminals! There’s nothing they can do! They can’t fix everything!”
“Uh, okay, maybe not,” his dad agreed, clearly surprised by Juan-Carlos’s blowing up at him. “But I’m sure it’ll all work out somehow, anyway.” He patted his son on the arm carefully, like he was afraid touching him would set Juan-Carlos off again. “In the meantime, why don’t you get some sleep?”
“Yeah. Good night, Dad.” Juan-Carlos flopped back and then twisted around to bury his face in his pillow as his dad got up and left the room. Great. His dad still thought the Squad could do no wrong, but now he probably thought Juan-Carlos himself was losing it.
Could things get any worse?
CHAPTER SIX
Apparently things could get w
orse. And did.
“No need to worry about getting up,” Juan-Carlos’s mom told him the next morning, peeking into his room. “School’s closed.”
“What? Why?” Juan-Carlos realized his mom was looking at him funny. Who ever heard of a kid complaining that he couldn’t go to school? “I mean, I was looking forward to hanging out with my friends.”
“Well, you could still get together with them, maybe. Rivkah’s over at Jennifer’s house. They issued a curfew and closed the school to keep children off the street. This way, if any of those Fart Squad kids are on the loose, they’ll be easier to spot. But if there’s an adult who can supervise you, that’s fine. I would, but I’ve got my bridge club this afternoon.”
Juan-Carlos reached for his glasses. “Don’t worry—I know just the one,” he promised.
“All right,” Stan said. He’d agreed immediately to Juan-Carlos’s plan, and now the five of them were gathered near the town’s drive-in movie theater, where they’d trained a few times before. “Tell me what happened yesterday.”
“They cleaned our clocks,” Juan-Carlos answered. “We never stood a chance.”
“I need more details,” their mentor insisted. “Walk me through the entire thing.”
So they did— starting with reaching the Bottom Factory, then describing Doctor Bottom and his machine and then the Bottom Brigade. Finally each of them recounted what had happened when they’d fought the other team.
“. . . and then he dropped me on the ground like a piece of trash,” Darren finished. He shuddered, probably from the memory of those arms and legs wrapped around him like snakes. “I didn’t even get off a shot.”
“Me neither,” Tina agreed.
Underpantsed! Page 2
