Squirrel Kong hunched over the canister, greedily slurping at the pressurized flavoring as fast as it pumped out into the air. I could see the wind wildly blowing the bright orange cloud this way and that. I crept toward her, the Microcyll bottle at the ready. She focused intensely on the flavor canister, which was starting to lose pressure. I only had a few seconds left, but I was close now . . . ten feet . . . five feet . . . two feet. Suddenly her ears twitched. She turned and stared right at me. With a shriek of pure rage she opened her jaws wide and—
BAM! Hammie Rex landed on Squirrel Kong’s back, pinning her to the ground. I shoved the Microcyll bottle toward her nose and sprayed. She sniffed; then snorted; then sneezed with such force that it actually bucked Hammie off.
Squirrel Kong stood, with a wild, terrified look in her eyes, and started to run. But each step was shorter than the last. Shrinking as she went, she made it twenty feet before she was the size of a normal squirrel.
“Get her!” I cried to Dylan.
Both of us ran after Squirrel Kong as she darted across the green. We followed her down into a ditch and back out again and through a row of bushes toward the Cannon Park parking lot. There, in a far corner, sat a silver hatchback. Inside the car a woman was fiddling with huge remote control, complicated enough for a quadcopter.
“It’s Roberta Fast!” I cried.
Roberta Fast turned and saw Dylan and me running toward her. Her eyes widened with panic. She reached across and cracked the passenger-side window. Squirrel Kong scrambled up the side of the car and squeezed inside.
“Stop right there!” I cried. “Don’t move!”
Roberta Fast didn’t listen. She started the car and peeled out, speeding past us.
“No!” cried Dylan. “She’s getting away!”
Her car sped toward the exit of the lot. Roberta Fast was seconds away from escaping forever when—
CRASH! A gigantic Hamstersaurus Rex landed on the hood of the hatchback, crushing it into the pavement and popping both of the front tires off their axle. Hammie stared through the windshield, his dino-fangs bared, and roared as loud as he could. In response, Roberta Fast screamed at the top of her lungs.
I heard sirens approaching. I got to the car and quickly spritzed Hammie Rex with a dose of Microcyll. He sniffled and sneezed and started to shrink. By the time a beige cruiser—with a strange medallion of an angry possum emblazoned on its door—pulled into the lot, he was regular old Hammie size again.
Animal Control agents Gould and McKay leaped out of the vehicle holding nets, followed by Martha Cherie.
“That’s her, officers,” said Martha, pointing to Roberta Fast. “She’s the one.”
Roberta Fast jumped out of her car and started to run.
“Stop right there!” cried Agent Gould, and she swung her net down over Roberta Fast’s head and shoulders. Roberta Fast lurched to a halt. She slowly put her hands up under the net.
“Roberta Fast, you’re under arrest for unlawful possession of a dangerous animal, reckless endangerment, and destruction of property,” said Agent McKay as he slapped a pair of handcuffs on her.
“You can probably add a few more crimes to that list if you check her office at the Antique Doll Museum,” I said.
“No!” cried Roberta Fast. “I’m not the villain here. It’s SmilesCorp! SmilesCorp is evil! This is just bad optics. I’m the good guy! That’s why I tried to destroy that middle school—”
“Ms. Fast, you probably don’t want to say any more without a lawyer,” said Agent Gould as she slammed the door, locking Roberta Fast into the back of the cruiser. Gould turned to us. “Are you kids all right?”
“Well, I’d say the First Annual Maple Bluffs Disc Golf Exhibition Tournament is a bust,” said Dylan.
“And the museum is probably going to have a hard time finding a new PR director after this,” said Martha.
“I think I got a tooth knocked out,” I said, poking my tongue through a hole where my upper premolar used to be. “But yeah, I guess we’re pretty much okay.”
In a pair of heavy gardening gloves, McKay gingerly hoisted Squirrel Kong out of the driver’s side of the car by her tail. She looked so puny and scared I almost pitied her. McKay carefully placed her into a cage and locked it.
“Don’t worry, kids,” said McKay. “She won’t be getting out of here anytime soon. This here is the PETCATRAZ Pro™. Strongest small rodent cage on the—”
“We know!” said Dylan, Martha, and I in unison.
Gould cocked her head. “Say, you children haven’t seen any other dangerous exotic animals around, have you?”
Dylan, Martha, and I looked at one another and shrugged. Thankfully, inside my shirt pocket, Hammie Rex didn’t make a sound.
CHAPTER 25
PRINCIPAL TRUITT’S MOUTH was moving and there were definitely sounds coming out of it. If I had to guess, I’d bet those sounds were words; probably even sentences. But I wasn’t listening. Instead, I was doodling in my notebook. “Mutant Half Hamster, Half Dinosaur Battling Vampire Army” was really starting to take shape.
Dylan nudged me with her elbow. “Sam, people can see you,” she whispered.
She was right. Dylan, Martha, and I sat on the stage in front of the entire student body of Horace Hotwater Middle School, while Principal Truitt spoke at the podium. I put my notebook away.
“Indeed, many of us are still trying to wrap our heads around the strange and frightening events of the last few weeks,” continued Principal Truitt. “But one thing is certain: Hamstersaurus Rex displayed a courage and resolve that is rare among humans, much less small rodents. In fact, our very own Coach Leslie Weekes owes his life to his hamster heroism!”
“That gets a huge ‘Namaste’ from me!” cried Coach Weekes from the audience.
“Which is why I am proud to officially declare this Horace Hotwater Middle School’s first Hamstersaurus Rex Day!” said Principal Truitt. “And if Hammie Rex ever returns, I will be honored to award him this.”
From behind the podium she pulled out a large novelty check for three hundred dollars, made out to Hamstersaurus Rex. In the “Memo” section was written “For Defeating Giant Evil Squirrel.”
The crowd applauded even though it’s probably not legal for a hamster to cash a personal check. Jimmy Choi and Caroline Moody clapped along with everyone else.
“Now,” said Principal Truitt, “I’d like to introduce a student who displayed at least as much bravery as Hammie Rex. Please give a big Horace Hotwater Horace Hot-welcome to Sam Gibbs!”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the microphone, “I’m not, um, great at public speaking or whatever. But if Hammie Rex was here, I know what he’d say.” I leaned closer to the mic and burped.
The crowd erupted with applause.
“Wherever you are, Hamstersaurus Rex, I love you, little buddy,” I said. “Also, there were two people who really helped me and Hammie a lot. And even though he’s gone, so it’s more of an honorary thing now, I’d like to officially award Dylan D’Amato and Martha Cherie the title of ‘Hamster Monitor, First Class.’”
Dylan and Martha stood and I handed them lanyards and cage keys. Dylan grinned while Martha choked back tears.
“Thanks, guys,” I said, shaking their hands. “Oh yeah, and everybody remember to attend the rescheduled First Annual Maple Bluffs Disc Golf tournament this Saturday. It’s going to be awesome!”
“Thank you, Sam,” said Principal Truitt, retaking the podium. “Now I’d like to ask everyone to please return to their classrooms and, of course, have a Happy Hamstersaurus Rex Day!”
A projector behind her played my raw footage of Chinchillazilla vs. MechaChinchillazilla with upbeat, inspirational music over it, as students stood and started to file out of the auditorium.
“Wow, your movie’s not bad, Sam,” said Dylan as we walked back to class. “I liked the part when Chinchillazilla ate the Biblioteca Nacional de la República Argentina.”
“Eh, I feel like the giant mon
sters battling each other thing has been done before.” I said. “Anyway, I’m working on the script for Final Payback: The Revenge now. The part of Vanessa McSteel is yours if you want it.”
Dylan grinned.
“Sam, I’ve been thinking,” said Martha as she caught up to us. “What if your new movie also had this super-smart lab tech character who was a master of foreign languages and disguise?”
“Well, I might have to change the story a little bit,” I said. “But maybe it could work?”
“Speaking of stories,” said Dylan “I still can’t believe there wasn’t a single one in the news about what really happened.”
“Well, there was that one two-hundred-word online article that described it as ‘a freak bear/ alligator/puma attack,’” said Martha. “That almost counts.”
“The worst part is they said it happened at an ‘ultimate Frisbee match,’” said Dylan shaking her head. “Who plays ultimate Frisbee?”
“In a weird way, Roberta Fast was right. SmilesCorp has a lot of power in this town. Enough to keep the truth from getting out,” I said. “Anyway, Beefer promised me he’d keep an eye on Building Seven. If their creepy animal lab ever reopens, he’ll be the first to know.”
“I still can’t believe Beefer’s a good guy,” said Dylan.
“It takes some getting used to,” I said. “Anyway, I’ve got something to take care of. I’ll catch up to you guys later.”
I split off from them and made my way toward the stairs.
The halls were mostly empty now. After making sure nobody was watching, I ducked into Room 223b. If anyone was still searching for Hamstersaurus Rex, I figured that school would be the last place they would look.
I pulled four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of my backpack. “All right, dude, time for your mid-morning snack. Now remember, you’ve got to make these last until lunchtime, so don’t—”
But Hamstersaurus Rex was nowhere to be seen. He was actually gone.
The bell rang as I stepped back out of Meeting Club headquarters. Where was the little guy? I walked through the empty halls, looking for any sign of him, when I noticed that the door to Room 117 was slightly ajar. I stepped inside.
The lights of the science lab were off. Principal Truitt hadn’t found a long-term substitute since Mr. Duderotti-Renfro had gone on extended “medical leave.”
From the back of the room I heard a little growl. I opened Mr. Duderotti’s desk to see Hammie Rex, gnawing on a balsa wood model of a pterodactyl skeleton.
“Come on, Hammie,” I said as I hoisted him out of the drawer. “You have to be more careful.”
He gurgled and licked my face and I couldn’t help but laugh. I extended my index finger to give him the world’s tiniest high five. Then I tried to slide the desk drawer shut, but something stopped it from closing. I tried again, but it seemed to be bumping up against some obstruction. I fumbled around underneath the drawer and pulled out a manila envelope that had apparently been taped to the underside but had come loose.
“INTERNAL USE ONLY” was stenciled across it in bold letters. I unwound the string tying it closed. Inside the envelope were two folders. The first was labeled “SC Specimen #13108.” It was filled with pages and pages of surveillance photos and information, SmilesCorp’s dossier on Squirrel Kong.
The second folder was labeled “SC Specimen #00001.” I opened it and gasped. On the first page was a photograph of Hamstersaurus Rex. Beside it was a sticky note that read “Neutralize and Recover.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND ILLUSTRATOR
TOM O’DONNELL is the author of Space Rocks and its sequel, For the Love of Gelo! He has written for The New Yorker, McSweeney’s, and the show TripTank on Comedy Central. His comic strips have been featured in The New York Press and The Village Voice. He lives with his family in Brooklyn, New York. Read more at www.tomisokay.com.
TIM MILLER is a satirical illustrator who specializes in picture books. He illustrated Snappsy the Alligator (Did Not Ask to Be in This Book) by Julie Falatko, which Kirkus Reviews praised in a starred review as a book “with bite.” Tim studied at the School of Visual Arts, where he earned his BFA in Cartooning. He lives in Queens, in New York City. You can see more of his work at www.timmillerillustration.com.
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Cover art © 2017 by HarperCollins Publishers
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HAMSTERSAURUS REX VS. SQUIRREL KONG. Copyright © 2017 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 on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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