Even super ones.
The Fartasaurus squawked in frustration. It snapped at Walter, who was now barely out of reach. It stomped down the middle of the street on its hind legs, moving a lot more quickly than Darren expected. Its tail smashed cars and lampposts as it ran. It had worked up quite an appetite over the last 150 million years!
“Keep going!” Darren shouted, cheering Walter on. “You’re almost there!”
“So near and yet so far,” Walter moaned. “My formidable flatulence is all but exhausted!”
Dragged down by the weight of all those cabbages, Walter hovered dangerously close to the frantic Fartasaurus. The museum was just around the corner. Darren knew now that the F. Rex didn’t actually want to eat Walter, but still, it was dangerous. The last thing Walter needed was to get dragged down to earth by a two-ton lizard that didn’t know its own strength. A final desperate toot propelled Walter out of harm’s way just in time. He was falling more than he was flying at this point. One burrito hadn’t been enough.
“Dump the veggies!” Darren yelled. “Save yourself!”
“Negative!” Walter flapped his arms to try to stay in the air. “I can still achieve our objective. . . .”
Darren ran as fast as he could to keep up. He darted through the broken fence surrounding the museum grounds.
“Watch out for the tar pit!” Darren warned.
For a second, it really looked like Walter was going to splash down into the gooey pool of liquid asphalt, but he made it just past the pit before crash landing on the grassy lawn. A hefty heap of cabbages squashed beneath him to cushion his landing.
“Oomph!” Walter grunted. “I do believe I need to work on my landing technique. Or perhaps invest in a parachute. . . .”
“Later!” Darren helped Walter to his feet. The Fartasaurus leaped over the sticky tar pit and landed on the grounds between the pit and the museum building. Darren and Walter darted away, hiding behind a row of shrubs, but the hungry dinosaur was only interested in the pile of smushed cabbages. As it gobbled down the gas-producing veggies, a monstrous fart snuck out from beneath its tail.
“A unique defense mechanism,” Walter speculated, “intended to stun predators.”
“That sounds about right,” Darren said. Evolution had given the Fartasaurus a very stinky way to protect itself. “That smell would kill the appetite of most meat-eaters!”
Darren was breathing hard after running back and forth across town. Even his excess energy had its limit and he was nearing his. He appreciated the time-out while the F. Rex pigged out on cabbage, but he knew the veggies weren’t going to occupy the restless creature for long. The Fartasaurus was bound to go stomping off again unless he found a way to keep it here, safely out of trouble.
Good thing he knew just what to do.
Leaving Walter hiding behind a leafy palm tree, Darren sprinted into the empty auditorium, where the 3D simulation of the Age of Dinosaurs was still playing. A door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY led to the theater’s control room, which had been abandoned in the panic. Darren turned up the volume on the show. Prehistoric bugs and lizards made a tremendous racket, which sounded just like Buttzville had . . . 150 million years ago.
Or so Darren hoped.
Darren ran back into the auditorium while sirens blared outside. The police would be here any minute. Time was running out for the innocent Fartasaurus. There was only one thing to do. He pulled the spare burrito from his back pocket and tore open the foil wrapping. The recycled cafeteria fare was cold, soggy, and unappetizing, but this was an emergency. He crammed the burrito into his mouth whole. As usual, it was super-spicy, with a peculiar flavor he could never quite place. Gushy beans and atomic salsa tingled his tongue and oozed down his throat, reigniting the rumbling volcano in his gut. He clenched his teeth to keep from barfing it up.
It was like throwing gasoline on hot coals. All at once, Darren felt another eruption coming. He heard the homesick dinosaur squawking mournfully outside, trying to get in. Giant claws scratched loudly at the too-small door. He aimed his butt at the theater door.
“Fire in the hole!” Darren shouted.
The explosive blast scorched the rear of Darren’s jeans and blew a hole in the wall big enough for a twenty-foot-tall dinosaur to pass through. He ducked out of the way as the Fartasaurus charged into the auditorium. It screeched happily to find itself back home in a prehistoric swamp—or at least a convincing imitation of one. Its tail wagged back and forth.
Darren grinned.
The Fartasaurus was back where it belonged—sort of.
CHAPTER NINE
Weeks later, the fourth grade returned to the exhibit, which was now called the Buttzville Prehistoric Tar Pit & Dinosaur Habitat. It was a lot more crowded than before. Wide-eyed tourists from all over lined up for hours to see the world’s only living Fartasaurus, who was now grazing happily in its own specially designed habitat, complete with genuine palm trees, ferns, fresh water, and generous amounts of fresh veggies. Now that the museum was a success again, it could afford to buy the friendly dinosaur all the cabbage, broccoli, and Brussels sprouts it could eat. Filter masks came with your ticket, just in case the atmosphere got a little too pungent. The crowd cheered and clapped as the F. Rex lifted its tail and proved once again that, yep, it was a Fartasaurus all right. Professor Paleo, now wearing a gas mask as well as a pith helmet, greeted another batch of sightseers.
“So much for turning this place into an airplane hangar,” Darren said to his friends. “Look at all these people!”
The Fartasaurus had saved the museum, after the Fart Squad had saved the dinosaur. There had been a few tense moments when the SWAT team finally reached the museum, but once they saw that the “dangerous” creature was under control and not out to eat anybody, everyone had calmed down. Nobody wanted to hurt a harmless plant-eater who was happy to stay where it was.
Everything had turned out okay, except maybe for the Buttz family, who would have to stow their private jet elsewhere. Darren noticed Harry scowling in the background.
A contest was being held to name the F. Rex. “Thunder” was in first place . . . and not because of its heavy footsteps.
“I think we should make it an honorary member of the Fart Squad,” Tina whispered. “Or maybe our official team mascot.”
“Works for me,” Darren said.
He had always loved dinosaurs.
THE END
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About the Author and Illustrator
SEAMUS PILGER is an awardwinning fartologist and a burrito enthusiast. He first became interested in superfartabilities while studying the alternate forms of propulsion for space travel. While intergalactic gastroenterological propulsion failed, Seamus has made many discoveries in the fermentation of foods in humans. Seamus is a graduate at FRT. He is a lifelong vegetarian and lives on a bean farm in Minnesota.
STEPHEN GILPIN is the award-winning illustrator of dozens of children’s books and has worked for tons of awesome clients. He lives and works with his wife, Angie, in Hiawatha, Kansas.
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Credits
Cover art © 2015 by Full Fathom Five, LLC
Design by Victor Joseph Ochoa
Copyright
FART SQUAD #2: FARTASAURUS REX. Copyright © 2015 by Full Fathom Five, LLC. 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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Library of Congress Control Number: 2015005617
ISBN 978-0-06-236632-0 (trade bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-06-229047-2 (pbk.)
EPub Edition © August 2015 ISBN 9780062290489
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FIRST EDITION
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