Chet looked at his watch. “Could one of you grab me a cola?” he asked. “I’m parched, but I don’t want to miss the start of the event.”
“Sure thing,” Frank replied. “Want anything, Daphne? Joe?”
“I’ll keep you company and grab something myself,” Joe said.
“Nothing for me,” Daphne replied. “I’m going to hit the rest room before the game starts. Here, Chet—you could use some good luck.” She handed the ring on the string to Chet. He slipped it around his neck.
“See you in a couple of minutes,” Frank said.
The brothers turned and picked their way through the set, heading for the refreshment area. Daphne disappeared behind some rubble toward the nearest rest room.
As the Hardys ducked under an old water tank, a strangled cry reached their ears.
“Ack, Help!”
8 That Was No Monster . . .
* * *
“That’s Chet’s voice!” Joe said.
They turned and ran back the way they’d come. The fake rubble slowed them down—it made moving in a straight line difficult. They could see what lay ahead of them, though, and what they saw gave them a shock.
Chet Morton was struggling with someone against one of the sets. But the thing he was fighting wasn’t human. It had blue skin, bug eyes, and clawlike hands. The thing had Chet in a half nelson, and was trying to slip its other claw behind the big teen’s neck.
Chet thrust himself backward, smashing his assailant into the wall. The insect-man grunted, and Chet slipped free of his grip. As he did, though, the mutant kicked Chet’s legs out from under him. Chet landed hard on the floor, belly-flopping onto his face. The air rushed out of his lungs. The monster paused before reaching for Chet’s neck.
“Hey, you!” Joe yelled as he and Frank charged forward.
The creature turned, slipped between two wide pillars, and disappeared into the darkness behind the set.
Joe ran after him as Frank stopped to help their friend.
“I’m okay,” Chet gasped. “Just get that guy!”
Frank rose and pushed his way between the rusting pillars. On the other side he ran into Joe. “It’s no use,” Joe said. “The guy disappeared into this maze somewhere. I lost him.”
“Rats!” said Frank.
He and Joe squeezed back between the pillars to Chet. Daphne had returned during the brief time they’d been gone, and was kneeling next to their friend. The big teen was sitting with his back up against the wall, taking a breather. “I’m fine,” Chet said. “Did you bring that drink I asked for?” He smiled halfheartedly and coughed.
“Sorry. We didn’t make it that far,” Joe replied.
“Yeah—we got a little distracted,” Frank added. He knelt down and patted Chet on the shoulder. “Next time, we’ll keep our priorities straight.”
Just then, Ward Willingham poked his head into the start of the maze and said, “Everybody ready to rumble?”
“What, are you kidding?” Chet snapped.
“Having a monster try to grab one of the contestants before the start of the game is a really stupid stunt,” Joe said angrily.
“Maybe it was ‘cool’ TV, but Chet could have been hurt,” Frank agreed. “All of us would have been happier if he’d clobbered your monster.”
“Mr. Willingham, I think you’ve taken the ‘realism’ of this game way too far,” added Daphne.
“Whoa! Slow down,” Willingham said. He stepped from behind the set into the starting area of the metal maze. “What are you talking about? What monster?”
The teens rose to confront the producer. “The monster that popped out of the set and attacked me,” Chet replied. He pointed to reddish marks on his neck.
“He was wearing a blue-skinned, bug-eyed mutant costume,” Frank said.
Willingham looked puzzled. “I didn’t script any scare tactics before the start of the game,” he said. “That might influence the competition. Plus, we don’t have any bug-eyed monsters. They’re a cliché. Ask Ms. Kendall if you don’t believe me.”
“You mean there’s someone running around this warehouse in a monster costume who’s not part of the game?” Joe asked incredulously.
“I hope not,” Willingham said. “I’ll notify security. Mr. Morton, you take all the time you need to recover before starting your next challenge.”
Chet nodded.
“Could your cameras have caught the attack on film?” Frank asked.
“I doubt it,” Willingham replied. “The crew is just moving in from another set now. I’ll check, though. Excuse me. I have to start another game. Morton can rest, but I’m still expecting you two boys on the set on time.”
Frank and Joe nodded, fighting down the anger they still felt over this latest incident.
As Willingham walked away he punched the walkie-talkie function on his mobile phone and began checking with the rest of his crew.
“Could this all be part of some crazy publicity stunt?” Joe asked.
“Hard to tell,” Frank replied. “If the story turns up on the evening news, we’ll know. Chet, do you and Daphne need us?”
“We’re fine,” Daphne said.
“I’ll be ready to go in a couple more minutes,” Chet replied. “Then—mutants, watch out!”
Joe and Frank chuckled. “I want to poke around a bit,” Frank said, “and see if we can figure out who was under that monster costume.”
“Whoever attacked Chet was a pretty big guy,” Joe said. “Bo Reid, Jay Stone, or even Willingham might have fit in those shoes.”
“Jay’s way too skinny,” Chet said. “I could take him any day.”
“Maybe not if he caught you from behind,” Frank said.
“What about Todd?” Daphne asked.
“His ankle is busted up,” said Chet.
“Maybe that’s just what he wants us to think,” Frank said. “Come on, Joe, lets see what we can find out before our game starts.”
“Good idea,” Joe replied. He and Frank ducked through the rusting maze set and headed back toward the center of the warehouse complex.
They passed through a number of the other game areas on their way back, but didn’t see either Jay or Bo in any of them. They found Lily sitting on a darkened set, but neither Bo nor her brother was with her.
“Todd was here a minute ago. He just went to find Bo,” Lily said. “Our next event is starting soon.”
“How long has Bo been missing?” Joe asked.
“I haven’t seen him since lunch,” she replied.
“How’s Todd’s ankle?” Frank asked. “We haven’t seen him this afternoon.”
“He’s been hanging out with me since lunch,” Lily replied. “His ankle’s getting better. Too late for the competition—unfortunately. The doctors said it’s a minor sprain.”
“Not enough to stop him from searching for Bo,” Joe noted.
“One team member has to stay in the event staging area,” Lily said. “Otherwise, we could forfeit.”
“Speaking of forfeiting,” Frank said, “we don’t want to miss the start of our own event. See you later, Lily.”
“Yeah,” Joe added. “Good luck.”
“You too,” Lily said, waving as they left.
“Well,” Joe said when they were out of earshot, “Todd may have an alibi, but Bo Reid’s on the loose somewhere.”
“That doesn’t mean he attacked Chet,” Frank said. “And we still don’t know what Jay Stone’s been up to.”
A few minutes later they arrived at the staging area for their next event.
“About time you got here,” Missy Gates said. She and Jay were leaning against a nearby wall, looking bored.
“So much for Jay’s whereabouts,” Frank whispered.
“You’re our competition in this event?” Joe asked.
“Good work, Sherlock,” Jay replied.
Before the banter could degenerate further, Ms. Kendall stepped in and explained the rules of the new game. She handed out several plastic
gizmos that looked like flattened silver eggs attached to black elastic armbands. One end of each silver pod had a red crystal set into it.
“These are your wrist-laser blasters,” she said. “You can fire with the round button.” She demonstrated, pressing a red button atop the silver sphere. “Your teams are on a monster hunt, trying to rid the area of mutants. Each enemy will have green target areas on their monster costumes. Hits in those areas will score points for your team.”
“Where do we have to blast the Hardys to score points?” Stone asked.
Ms. Kendall frowned at him. “Shooting your opponents won’t score any points at all. However, if a mutant hits your laser with its blaster, you’ll lose points. If you drop below zero points, you’re out of the event.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to flash lasers around?” Frank asked. “They can damage people’s eyes.”
“They’re not real lasers,” Ms. Kendall said. “It’s just an infrared system—like the remote control on a TV. The studio special-effects department will add the laser effects later.” She smiled and handed the blasters to all four teens. “Now, take your starting positions, and remember to keep to the marked trails. Monsters could be lurking around any corner. One Klaxon will sound to start the game, and another will end it. Ready to rumble?” Everyone nodded. “Good!”
She left as the two teams took their starting positions.
“Break a leg, Hardy,” Jay said.
“Break both, Stone,” Joe replied.
The siren sounded, and all four teens sprinted into the hunting area. Glowing greenish paint marked the areas that were out-of-bounds. As in most of the other games, the course was strewn with rusting machinery and other “postapocalyptic” props.
A mutant popped out from behind a rotting door. Joe blasted it with his wrist blaster. The monster howled and retreated.
“Pretty cool,” the younger Hardy said.
Frank laughed and fired his fake laser as another creature appeared on a catwalk above them. The mutant shrieked and backed into the darkness once more.
After ten minutes the Hardys had tagged quite a few of Willingham’s fake abominations. They’d taken a couple of hits themselves (their wrist lasers screeched each time they got blasted), but both brothers felt sure they had run up a good score.
Occasionally, they spotted Jay or Missy lurking around the ruins. Once, they saw Stone blasting in their direction. The Hardys resisted the urge to fire back.
“He’s just wasting his time,” Frank reminded Joe.
The mutants kept falling back, leading the brothers ever deeper into the game setting. The monsters’ tactics were getting better as time wore on too. First they attacked only singly, then in twos, and now they appeared to be setting ambushes for the players to walk into.
Joe and Frank fought bravely onward. A screeching sound from the other side of a rusty wall told them that either Missy or Jay had been hit. Moments later a second screech indicated the other had been blasted as well.
“Sounds like they’re in serious trouble,” Joe said. Neither he nor Frank could resist smiling.
The brothers rounded a corner and saw Jay and Missy pinned down by five mutants. Frank and Joe waded in, blasting the monsters as they came.
“Get out of here! We don’t need your help!” Missy shouted.
Suddenly a loud bang resounded through the warehouse. In the silence that followed, an eerie noise began to build. It was a scrabbling, screeching sound, like thousands of rusty door hinges.
Everyone, even the mutants, stopped and looked around, searching for the source of the clamor. A dented metal bulkhead lay thirty yards away—in the out-of-bounds area of the game. The portal yawned wide, opening into the dark maintenance tunnels beneath the warehouse.
As the contestants watched in horror, an endless swarm of rats burst from the basement.
9 Rat Rampage
* * *
A wave of dirty-furred rodents swept out of the underground and across the wooden floor. The rats’ eyes gleamed red in the semidarkness of the warehouse. Their tiny voices squeaked and chittered, building into an awful cacophony.
Missy shrieked, but her cry was nearly drowned out by the noise from the pack.
“Everyone, outside! Quick!” Frank yelled.
The fake wreckage strewn through the warehouse hindered their progress as all four contestants, plus the mutants and Willingham’s crew, scrambled to get out of the way of the ravenous horde.
The rats scampered forward like a hideous moving blanket covering the ground. The obstacles that blocked the humans’ exit did little to impede the vermin’s progress. The rats squeezed under rusting chicken wire and scrambled over corrugated pipes.
A cameraman stumbled and fell in the path of the rampaging swarm. Frank and Joe grabbed the man’s arms and scooped him up. The rats nibbled at his shoes as the brothers dragged him to his feet.
As quickly as they could, they dodged through the set’s obstacles and toward the nearest emergency exit.
The rats kept coming, though the swarm was less coherent now. The rats spread out, trying to find places to hide. The fake rubble set up by Willingham’s crew presented plenty of concealment.
“They’re almost as afraid of us as we are of them,” Frank said, though no one but Joe and the cameraman heard him. The three of them kept running. The rats came right behind, nipping at their heels, threatening to overtake them.
Joe turned and toppled a big corrugated drainpipe into the path of the scurrying rodents. The rats squealed and scattered out of the way, buying the Hardys a few precious moments.
“Good work, Joe!” Frank said.
The cameraman stumbled again, but the brothers grabbed him under either arm and carried him out the emergency exit and into the parking lot.
Many people, both contestants and crew, were already outside. Stacia Allen stood across the unpaved street near her news van, filming the sudden exodus. Clark Hessmann was standing near Allen, and it appeared she might have been interviewing him before the commotion started.
“Allen and Hessmann are digging this,” Joe said.
Frank nodded. “They both have something to gain from all this trouble.”
The Warehouse Rumble cameraman thanked the brothers and joined the rest of the game crew. Moments later Chet and Daphne exited another area of the warehouse. They looked pale and shaken, but otherwise unhurt.
“Suddenly there were rats everywhere,” Daphne said breathlessly, going over what had just happened.
“Our event was located in Rat Central Station,” Joe replied.
“Ugh!” Chet said. “Where did they come from?”
“We heard a loud bang, and then they just started swarming up out of the underground,” Frank said.
Ward Willingham emerged from the old warehouse looking angry and shaken. Stacia Allen and her crew rushed over to him. “What can you tell us about this latest setback to the trouble-plagued Warehouse Rumble?” Allen asked.
“There were rats in the warehouse,” Willingham replied. “Is that my fault? We’ve had some bad luck, is all.”
“You’ve had more than your share of misfortune,” Ms. Allen said. “Some people are saying that all this trouble is an attempt to drum up publicity for show that hasn’t been getting a lot of attention from your network.”
Willingham’s face reddened. He took off his sunglasses and glared at her. “Your show has been getting more publicity out of this than I have,” he said angrily. “Maybe you’re behind all our problems. Maybe you set those rats loose!”
Ms. Allen didn’t back off. “So you admit there’s been a lot of trouble?”
Clark Hessmann poked his head into camera range. “I told you there would be. I told you there were hidden dangers in these warehouses. Production should be closed down until a thorough—”
“That’s enough!” Willingham said, cutting Hessmann off. He put one big hand over the lens of Allen’s camera so that filming would be futile, then lit into the report
er and the activist. “You two can either back off or I’ll have you ejected from this property. Hessmann, you shouldn’t even be here to begin with.”
“The restraining order only covers my proximity to Mr. Jackson. I’m well within my rights.”
“And the unpaved road leading to the factory is public property,” Ms. Allen added. “My van is parked on the road.”
“Well, right now you’re in my parking lot, and in my face,” Willingham growled. “So move it or lose it. Our truce is over. Get away from my production before I call the cops.”
Reluctantly, Ms. Allen, her crew, and Hessmann retreated from the lot and returned to the WSDS van across the street. Once there, Allen began interviewing Hessmann again—though her camera often seemed to be pointed in the direction of Willingham and the crowd outside the factory.
“Bet she’s got that zoom lens working,” Chet ventured.
“Focused on Willingham, no doubt,” Frank said.
Willingham wiped the sweat off his forehead and raised his hands to silence the crowd. “I’ll talk to you all about this incident in a moment,” he said. “Just hang in there with me. We’re not licked yet. Not by a long shot.” He turned to Ms. Kendall. “Get me an exterminator,” he said. “I want the best. I want the set cleared out and ready to go tomorrow, no matter what the cost. The network will back me up.”
“Yes, sir.” Julie Kendall pulled out her cell phone and began dialing, then walked to a secluded area of the lot, away from the noise.
“All right,” Willingham said to Hardys and the rest of the crowd, “this isn’t the kind of wrap-up I’d planned for today’s shooting. But, given the circum-stances, I think we’re done for the day.”
A disappointed murmur ran through the crowd.
Willingham raised his hands once again for silence. “However,” he said, “there is some good news to go along with the bad. First is that we got some great footage today. The competition is really shaping up, and Warehouse Rumble is going to be a super television show.
“Second, we’ve got a cast party tonight at Java John’s in downtown Bayport. You’re all invited, and I hope to see every one of you there. There will be food, refreshments, and music—all on the house, of course.”
Warehouse Rumble Page 6
