I’m coming for you soon, Bolt thought, but he did not aim his thoughts at the Stranger, for the voice was gone now, faded away as quickly as it had come. But his thinking gave him strength. And when I do, I will be ready.
19.
PEWD
The next morning, when all the were-creatures were human once again, Bolt stood near the entrance to the freshly dug mole tunnel. Zemya and Topo were covered with dirt. Bolt handed the rubber scissors back to Topo, who eagerly accepted them, although not before carefully inspecting them for scratches.
“Good luck,” said Zemya, wiping a crust of dirt from her upturned nose. “And be safe. You too, Grom.”
“I will,” Grom said. “We’ll be back soon.” He glared at Bolt. “Follow me and keep quiet. If we’re lucky, most of the penguins will still be sleeping. Just don’t forget: I’m helping you because I promised and not because I like you.”
“I won’t forget,” Bolt assured him. He took a deep breath to steady his always jumbled nerves, and followed Grom into the tunnel.
The tunnel was crudely made, but for being dug in one night, it was impressive. It was so tall that Bolt barely had to duck. The ground was uneven in spots, but Bolt’s penguin eyes noticed the divots. Grom kept whispering, “I should let you trip on that divot because I don’t like you” and “I should let you stumble on that rock, person I don’t like,” which also helped Bolt avoid the small holes, although unpleasantly.
They walked longer than Bolt would have guessed they needed to, and the tunnel curved and twisted several times. “I think we’ve gone in a circle,” said Bolt finally.
“Two circles,” said Grom. “That’s the problem with digging underground. You never know where to end it and pop back up. You’re like, ‘How about now?’ And then, ‘Or maybe now,’ and then, ‘Nope, wrong again.’ Anyway, we’re here, so stop complaining.”
“I wasn’t complaining, I was just remarking.”
Grom hissed at him. “Did I mention I don’t like you?”
Above them, a thin shard of light peeked through a crack. Grom reached up and pushed aside a small rug that had covered the hole, before pulling himself up and out. Bolt followed.
They stood behind a reception desk in a cavernous room at the front of the building. As Grom had guessed, it was too early for anyone to be working; the room was empty of people or penguins. Bolt had never been to a hospital—the orphanage treated every injury with Band-Aids no matter how severe, including broken bones—but this is what he imagined the waiting area of a hospital might look like. There were long rows of white plastic chairs, potted plants, and some television sets hanging from the ceilings. There were also two vending machines selling sugar-free fish snacks, but Bolt didn’t have any coins to buy any. His stomach rumbled.
Grom sneered at Bolt. “Stop thinking about food. We have to go in there.” He pointed across the room to a large door made of solid steel. “It’s probably locked, and looks way too strong to break down.”
“Then how do we get past it?” asked Bolt.
“We wait.”
“What do we do while we’re waiting?”
“You could twiddle your thumbs,” Grom suggested. “I hear some people enjoy that.”
Bolt scanned the area, trying to sense nearby penguins. But all he could pick up was fuzziness. Last night, as he swam in the sea, Bolt read penguin thoughts, even though those thoughts were horrible and disturbing. Why then were the PEWD penguins’ heads so difficult to read? As if they were blocked somehow?
But there was . . . something. A penguin guard. Bolt couldn’t scan its head, but he sensed it coming. He motioned for Grom to be quiet. They ducked down to avoid being seen, and peeked over the desk. A moment later the sound of webbed feet flopping against the ground confirmed Bolt’s suspicion. The penguin wore a lab coat, and a head mirror was strapped across its forehead. Bolt gently tried to dip inside the penguin’s head, to control it, to speak to it.
Nope. No success.
The penguin stopped in front of the steel door. There was a small electronic device on the wall, and the bird stared into it. A red laser flared from the gizmo, fanning up and down across the penguin’s head. A retina scanner! The door clicked open, and the penguin stepped inside.
“Quick,” said Grom, jumping out from the desk and toward the door. “Before the door closes.”
Bolt stretched his mind toward the penguin. Hold the door. Don’t let it close.
But the penguin didn’t stop, and the door clicked shut before Grom reached it. Grom pulled the handle, but it didn’t budge. “Too late,” Grom muttered in frustration. He glared back at Bolt. “You coulda tried to help.”
“I did try,” said Bolt, still confused why his thoughts couldn’t penetrate the heads of the PEWD penguins.
He joined Grom by the door. Bolt didn’t know much about scanners, but he did know it would be difficult to program a scanner to read every set of penguin eyes in the complex; there were hundreds of penguins here, and penguins don’t like to stand still for long periods of time. That’s why there are so few penguin portraits in art galleries.
It would be easier to program a scanner to read penguin eyes in general, as they were quite distinctive from the eyes of people. Bolt’s eyes were human, or mostly so, but they were also part penguin. Would that be enough for them to work with the scanner? He put one of his eyes in front of the small machine. If he was wrong about this, an alarm might sound and they would probably be immediately captured. His heart beat faster. He blinked, blinked again, and then forced his eyes open. Retina scanners don’t work well with blinking eyes.
A laser crisscrossed Bolt’s retina. Nothing happened, but no alarm sounded either. That was promising. Bolt’s heart still pounding, he blinked again and then refocused.
A laser flicked across Bolt’s eye once more. Again nothing happened.
And so it continued.
Blink. Scan. Pounding heart. Blink. Scan. Pounding heart.
“I’m waiting,” said Grom, tapping his foot.
Blink. Scan. Blink. Scan.
The machine’s lights twinkled; it seemed confused.
Blink. Scan. Blink. Scan. Faster and faster.
Buzz.
Click.
The door opened.
And Bolt’s heart slowed to a steadier pace.
Grom danced through the open door, and Bolt danced after him. Grom shimmied along the side of the hall. Bolt shimmied, too. Grom sidestepped. Bolt sidestepped. Grom galloped. Bolt galloped.
“Can’t we just walk?” Bolt asked.
“I thought it would be more interesting to dance, shimmy, sidestep, and gallop,” said Grom. “But whatever.”
They continued down the empty hallway, listening for sounds. Bolt tried to send his mind ahead of them, through the penguin-verse and down the hall, but sensed nothing. He wasn’t sure if that meant that there was nothing, or if that mysterious fuzziness blocked him.
Up ahead, the hallway forked. One way was dark and dingy, with yellow paint peeling off the walls. A sign read:
this way to the toothbrushing room, the teeth-polishing room, the good oral hygiene room, and the extra-fancy toothbrushing and teeth-polishing and good oral hygiene combo room.
“It doesn’t look like this hallway is used much,” said Bolt, feeling uneasy. “But if they aren’t brushing, polishing, and practicing good oral hygiene, what are they doing here? I thought this was a dentist’s office.”
“A dentist’s fortress,” corrected Grom. “I’ve never been in this building, but I don’t think they do much dentistry. It’s just a front for their real purposes.”
“Which are?”
Grom gestured toward the very next sign, which pointed down the opposite hallway, a hallway that was bathed in light and looked like it had recently been painted. According to the sign, this hallway led to:
<
br /> the world’s biggest fish fryer, the universe’s greatest tooth collection (featuring the tooth of the ilversay oothtay ealsay), and our secret-plan-to-rule-the-cosmos room.
“Wow,” said Bolt. “The World’s Biggest Fish Fryer! How big do you think it is? How many fish do you think they can fry at once? Let’s go there!” His fear dulled, quickly replaced by hunger pains. Bolt was suddenly famished.
“We need to go to the Universe’s Greatest Tooth Collection and then get outta here,” said Grom firmly.
“Right. Of course,” said Bolt, but he couldn’t mask the disappointment in his voice. How big was the World’s Biggest Fish Fryer? Maybe they could come back for a tour later?
Ignoring his grumbling stomach, Bolt followed Grom past more doors and down the corridor. As they walked, the air grew hotter and more humid. Bolt felt sticky. Up ahead, the tight hallway widened into a vast open atrium with a large floor-to-ceiling window aquarium crammed with fish. The fish made up a kaleidoscope of colors: emerald greens, cobalt blues, and bright golds.
As Bolt stared into the glass, he wondered if he could jump into the aquarium and grab a snack? It would only take a few minutes. His growling stomach was interrupted when the fish scattered away, frightened by something approaching.
From the dark depths of the water came a giant white whale.
That aquarium must be massive, thought Bolt.
As the whale swam closer, passing only a few inches from the edge of the glass, Bolt noticed a white sling wrapped around its mouth. A low disgruntled murmur rumbled from the mammal.
Bolt put his hands up to the glass, trying to feel through it and into the penguin-verse, wondering if his powers extended to other sea creatures. After all, penguins and whales and fish had lived together for eons. Surely they were connected somehow?
And they were, faintly. Bolt didn’t feel any fuzziness either. He couldn’t understand much—Bolt’s connection with the whale was not as deep as it would be with a penguin. But he sensed the whale’s sadness—sadness for being kept in an aquarium, sadness for being away from other whales, and, mostly, sadness for having very sore gums.
“All its teeth are missing!” exclaimed Grom, gasping. Sure enough, the whale was entirely toothless, and obviously quite unhappy about it.
I’m so sorry, Bolt thought.
Tell me about it, complained the whale.
The whale softly moaned and slowly swam away from the glass, back into the murky depths of the aquarium. Its space in the tank was quickly replaced by colorful fish.
Bolt’s neck birthmark burned, something that only happened when he was in danger or something was threatening nearby. There was more to these missing teeth than a few whale cavities. “I don’t like this.”
“Well, I don’t like you,” said Grom. “But let’s keep going.”
Just beyond the aquarium was an open staircase that disappeared into a billow of smoke. As they stepped forward, they were engulfed in a wave of wet heat; it felt as if they had walked into a sauna. Bolt’s skin was not only wet but oily to the touch. There was a sign on the wall. In order to read it, Bolt had to wipe off the condensation that coated it.
welcome to the world’s biggest fish fryer.
caution: floors slippery when wet and oily, which is always.
extra caution: wearing clothes made of vegetable oil is not recommended.
Bolt’s mouth watered. The fryer was so close! He closed his eyes and inhaled the glorious aroma. Rather than the hot stickiness bothering him, Bolt embraced it, sucking in the intoxicating scent of fried bread crumbs, although they were a bit over-peppered, and he almost sneezed. Maybe they could run up the stairs and grab breakfast? He took a step up the staircase.
“Where are you going?” Grom asked.
“Getting breakfast?” Bolt paused. I have to keep my eyes on the prize, he reminded himself. He gritted his teeth and took a step back down. “Um, never mind.” They needed to get the tooth! Still, as they walked away, Bolt had regrets.
They hadn’t gone far down the hallway before spotting a cluster of glowing bright lights shining from the end of the hallway.
“That must be it,” said Bolt.
“Really? Do you think so?” asked Grom, rolling his eyes. “What gave it away? The giant neon sign?”
Above the door, an enormous sign blinked and crackled:
you’ve arrived at the universe’s greatest tooth collection (featuring the tooth of the ilversay oothtay ealsay). come on in!
As they approached, Bolt’s knees buckled. He and Grom hugged the wall. They inched forward. Slowly, slowly. There were no penguins around. Nothing stopping them. Could this really be as easy as Bolt had hoped?
They peered inside the doorway. Bolt steadied his knocking knees.
The room was filled with standing glass display cases, like in a museum. But rather than holding Aztec vases and ancient artifacts, the glass shelves were lined with sets of teeth. Bolt was amazed at their many shapes and sizes: he spied large elephant teeth, medium-size turtle teeth, small anteater teeth, and even teeny-tiny bee teeth.
“I didn’t even know some of these animals had teeth,” admitted Bolt.
But the most prized tooth in the collection was straight ahead. A red carpet led right up to a pedestal topped with a glass dome in the middle of the room. A spotlight shone down upon it. The silver tooth inside the glass glistened. It looked as long and sharp as a knife.
Bolt rushed down the red carpet. This was it. He would simply grab the tooth, run back down the hall, past the whale aquarium, maybe take a peek at the fish fryer—no, scratch that—and head back through the tunnel behind the desk. He had expected guards! Alarms! What a relief he had been wrong. He reached his arms out to lift the glass dome covering the tooth, when—
“Wait a second,” Grom whispered loudly. “It could be a trap.”
“Good thinking.” As Bolt rested his fingers on the glass, his birthmark felt like it was on fire. Bolt’s birthmark burned when there was trouble nearby, but it also burned if he had a really huge mosquito bite on his neck.
Slap!
Bolt turned around to see Grom rubbing his palm against his shirt. “Sorry. I think I killed a mosquito. Lots of bugs here.”
Bolt stared at the glass. Of course it could still be a trap, but Bolt didn’t see anything that looked trap-like, such as a large net overhead or giant lasers pointing at him. He just needed to be quick! So, ignoring his increasingly aching birthmark—just a mosquito bite, he told himself—Bolt lifted the glass lid. Nothing happened. He rested the glass gently on the floor. Still nothing happened. He then reached out and touched the edge of the silver tip of the tooth. It was so sharp, it punctured Bolt’s finger on contact, and a drop of red bloomed from the spot.
Bolt froze, his neck now so hot that he had to bite his tongue to keep from howling. He inched backward. His birthmark screamed at him: Stop! Go! Run!
Slap!
“Another mosquito,” said Grom from behind Bolt, wiping his hand on his shirt again.
Ignoring his neck as best he could, Bolt stepped forward and lifted the tooth.
“Never mind,” said Grom. “Those weren’t mosquitos. They were fruit flies.”
A thousand lights—maybe a million—lit the room, moving and twirling and blinking like an insane disco. An alarm sounded, a foghorn so loud it hurt Bolt’s ears.
Bolt held the tooth in his hand but looked up to see twenty penguins dashing into the room, each wearing a head mirror and armed with one of those humongous steel toothbrushes. Standing among them was a tall woman with jet-black hair wearing a white doctor’s jacket lined with a fur collar. With her long nose and bushy eyebrows, there was no mistaking who she was.
“Velcome, you must be Bolt,” said the woman. She sounded vaguely European, perhaps Russian, or German, or the accent could have been
entirely made-up. She smiled, golden teeth glinting off the lights in the room. “My name is Dr. Valzanarz.”
“Gesundheit. But is it Valzanarz or Walzanarz?”
The woman sighed. “Walzanarz. With a W. Ah, never mind.” When she continued, she no longer had an accent. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. You came alone?”
“No, I . . .” Bolt turned around. Grom had disappeared. Bolt scanned the room but saw no sign of him. “Yeah, just me.”
Had Grom run away? The boy had seemed brave, but at the first sign of trouble had he abandoned Bolt? So much for “moles help one another.” Well, as he had made quite clear, Grom didn’t like Bolt anyway.
Bolt was alone now. Fine. This was his mission. He’d find a way out of it. Maybe.
“You’re much scrawnier than I thought you’d be,” said the woman, eyeing Bolt up and down, frowning.
“I may be scrawny, but I’m . . .” Bolt hesitated. What was he? Fierce? Mighty? No, he was neither of those things. As he stared at the dentist and her penguin guards, he felt a familiar helpless panic crawling up his spine.
“I think you have something of mine.” Dr. Walzanarz held out her hand and sneered. “I want my tooth back. Now.”
Bolt spied the silver tooth in his palm. For a brief moment, he considered leaping at Dr. Walzanarz, stabbing her with it. He could defeat her, just like that!
Or not. Bolt was no killer. Instead, he was going to be brushed to death by one of those steel-bristle toothbrushes, or something equally unpleasant. The mission was over. Why did he think he ever stood a chance? His legs felt like jelly. He just wanted to hide, hide, hide forever.
But. There was one thing he could do. Control penguins. He might not be a natural-born fighter, but he was tightly bound to the penguin-verse. He needed to get past whatever was standing in the way of his connection to these penguin guards. He had to find a way to reach into their minds. We are family. Stand down!
The Battle of the Werepenguins Page 10
