Darren held on, trying to steady himself. Then something moved nearby. Darren looked up and realized they weren’t alone in the bathroom.
“Attack!” a soldier standing by the door shouted. He and two others charged at Darren and Juan-Carlos, waving their heavy plungers.
“Whoa, back up, dude!” Juan-Carlos yelped. “Do I look like a clogged drain to you?” He ducked around the soldiers, and a moment later one of his stinky time bombs went off right where he’d been standing. The soldiers paused their headlong rush, shaking their heads side to side, eyes watering. But they kept coming.
“Clear the way, coming through!” Walter announced an instant before he arrived outside the stall, breathing hard. He hadn’t slipped like Darren and Juan-Carlos had because he was still floating a few inches off the ground. “Well, that was certainly—oh my, what have we here?” He’d spotted the soldiers.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this one,” Darren assured him. Turning around and bracing himself against the sink, he let loose a stream of fart-fire that stopped the men dead in their tracks. They scuttled away from the stinky heat, waving their arms to put out the fire licking at their wrappings.
“Nice work!” Stan said, having just appeared. Tina was with him.
“Quiet! Listen!” she told the others.
They all did as she said, stopping and listening—and right away they heard the stomping of many heavy feet. It was coming from out in the hall.
“There are more of them out there!” Tina announced.
“We need to stop them before those soldiers find their way out of the school building and hurt somebody!” Darren said. The others nodded. “Come on, Fart Squad, let’s save some lives!”
They pushed past the three cowering soldiers, out into the hall. Fortunately, it was after school, so there weren’t any teachers or other students around. But the hall was still full—of TP soldiers! They all turned when they heard the bathroom door open, and the kids found themselves staring up at a mob of large, angry-looking figures wrapped in toilet paper.
“It’s those kids!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Get them!”
Stan eyed the mess. There were puddles of dirty water and crumpled garbage and scraps of used toilet paper everywhere.
“Well, this is going to take a while to clean up,” he said, shaking his head. “But I’ll worry about that after.” He grabbed his mop and swung it at a pair of soldiers, knocking them on their butts.
Walter nodded and ducked into a nearby classroom, returning a few seconds later carrying a flagpole. “I will strike from above!” he declared, a strong, sustained fart lifting him six feet into the air. Several shorter farts propelled him forward, the flagpole slamming into the soldiers’ heads as Walter flew past, knocking them off their feet.
“Nice one, Walter!” Juan-Carlos cheered. He ran after his friend, stopping for a moment next to each downed soldier. A few seconds later, his farts erupted, knocking the men down just as they got back to their feet.
Tina went next, and a wave of her silent-but-deadly farts soon filled the hall with a powerful odor that left the soldiers unconscious.
Darren came last, using his fart-fire to drive away any men trying to hit his friends. Stan was right beside him, shoving the soldiers away with his mop. Between them, they managed to herd all of the remaining invaders back into the bathroom.
“That’s all of them for now,” Darren said once they were all gathered again outside the bathroom door. “But you know the Royal Flush is going to send more of them through any second. What’re we going to do then?”
“We need to find a way to shut that toilet down!” Tina declared. The others agreed.
“Any ideas?” Darren asked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Oh, I do!” Juan-Carlos announced. The others groaned, expecting another lame joke, but this time their friend was serious. “That toilet’s overflowing now, right?” he said. “And the Royal Flush changed the portal so it’s spitting his people out into our world instead of the other way around. Maybe if we can get it to flush again, it’ll switch back to pulling people in, and we can send them all home!”
“Nice!” Darren agreed. “Stan, can you work your magic?”
“Absolutely!” the janitor agreed.
The five of them stormed back into the bathroom—and froze.
Standing there just outside the stall was the Royal Flush himself!
“You!” he shouted when he saw them. “This is all your fault!” He waved his scepter at them. “You tried to cook me alive!” Darren saw that the king’s toilet paper was singed black here and there. It was also slipping in places, exposing what looked like gold scales underneath.
“You’re trying to take over the world!” Tina yelled back. “You deserve to be cooked!”
“Or flushed!” Juan-Carlos added.
The Royal Flush glared at him, his big eyes narrowing. “Never again!” he declared, taking a step toward the Squad. “This time I’m here to stay!”
“This time?” Darren stared at the king. “What do you mean? You’ve been here before?”
“I was born here,” the king snarled, inching forward some more. “And I was happy! Until I was flushed down the toilet!” He scowled, the spike on top of his head waving. “I almost died! Fortunately, there was magic in the sewer—the same magic I used to create the portal. It healed me, made me bigger, stronger. I found a new life there. But you humans kept raining poo and pee down on us!”
“Humans?” Walter asked, peering around Darren. “You say that as if you are not one of us.” Then he gasped. “You are not, are you?”
“No!” The Royal Flush grabbed at his wrappings and tugged, the flimsy burnt toilet paper tearing away. “I’m not!”
Darren stared. So did his friends. Standing in front of them—was a goldfish.
A really, really big goldfish.
That explained the spike of hair, Darren thought. It was actually a fin. The two side fins were arms, and the tail had grown thick and strong and split apart to form legs.
It was like the goldfish had become a fish-man.
A really angry one.
“That’s why you want to take over the world!” Darren realized. “To get revenge! On your owner, and all the other owners like them.”
“They thought I was dead,” the Royal Flush agreed, shaking loose the last scraps of paper. “Or they were just tired of me. I don’t know. But they wanted me gone. So they flushed me. Just like my men.” He gestured at the soldiers passed out by the sinks. “All of us, fish that were flushed away. The magic of the sewers made them big and strong, just like me.” That was why they moved so easily through the water, Darren realized. The TP soldiers were actually fish-men!
The king was still talking, though. “We were all thrown away, left to rot down there.” He sniffed. Then he scowled. “Well, now it’s your turn!”
“I don’t think so.” The voice came from behind the king, and he turned. Somehow, Tina had snuck past him while he’d been talking. Now she smiled up at the big goldfish.
And the Royal Flush fell to the floor, gills fluttering as Tina’s fart overpowered him.
“Hurry!” she told the others. “I don’t know how well it works on fish!”
CHAPTER NINE
“You hold them back!” Stan announced. “I’ll deal with the toilet!” He slipped and slid his way across the wet floor, past the unconscious Royal Flush, and to the stall. The rest of the Squad was right behind him. Stan’s heavy wrench was still on the floor next to the toilet, right where he’d dropped it. Now he grabbed it and got to work.
“You heard the scent-sei,” Darren told his teammates. “Keep those soldiers down!” He fired off a fart at a soldier who’d woken up and was reaching for his plunger. The soldier yelped and ducked away.
Juan-Carlos ducked back out through the bathroom door. A second later he returned. “We’ve got more soldiers headed this way,” he reported. There was a muffled burst outside, and the sounds of co
ughing. He grinned. “But not anymore.” Obviously another one of his time bombs had gone off out there.
Two other soldiers had gotten back to their feet and were trying to charge past the Squad and the sinks to rescue their fallen leader. Walter floated up toward the ceiling, hovering over the others’ heads, and used Stan’s mop to push the men back.
Then Tina was next to them. The soldiers dropped once more.
“Got it!” Stan called out. The sound of rushing water ended as the toilet bowl finally stopped filling. He stood up, backed away, and jiggled the toilet handle.
Flush!
Stan quickly hopped out of the stall and ushered the kids to the far side of the room as the toilet began working properly again. The portal immediately started sucking the nearest soldiers back down to the sewers.
“No!” the Royal Flush shouted. He had woken up and was flopping about on the floor outside the stall, trying to push himself to his tail-feet with his fins. But it was no use. The portal had him. “This isn’t over!” he shouted as he was sucked back into the swirling water. “I will have my revenge!” Then he was gone. His crown and scepter were swept away with him.
“Quick, get them all over there!” Darren told the others. They began using their farts and Stan’s mop to force soldiers into the stall. Walter went out into the hall and began airlifting those soldiers who were still unconscious. Tina contented herself with kicking and shoving, since her farts would only knock them out again.
It took a few minutes, but finally all of the soldiers had been flushed back to their own world. The bathroom was empty except for Stan, the Squad, and a lot of water.
The toilet finally stopped, and the bathroom was filled with a welcome silence.
“We need to make sure this toilet never runs again,” Tina pointed out.
“I can take care of that,” Darren replied. He turned and aimed his butt at the toilet, or more precisely at the spot where it met the wall. “Fire in the hole!” He released a short, sharp fart, the stench wafting over them as the flames burst forth from his backside. It hit the place where the water pipe ran into the toilet, and melted right through it. “Done!”
It was true. With the pipe melted, the toilet would never be able to fill and flush again. Problem solved.
“I think I would have just turned off the water,” Stan commented, “but this way is a lot more permanent.” He grinned at them. “Thanks for coming to get me, kids!”
“Of course,” Darren replied. “We couldn’t let our scent-sei down!”
“What if they open more portals?” Juan-Carlos asked. “Won’t they just try to come through again?”
Stan rubbed his chin. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” he promised. “In the meantime, I’ll make sure the toilets here at school all work properly. As long as they don’t turn into portals, that guy shouldn’t be able to bother us again.”
“Maybe we can find a way to help him clean up the sewers, or at least part of them,” Darren suggested. “It is seriously disgusting down there.”
Tina nodded. “If anybody could help, it’d be us,” she agreed. Then she looked around. “Which is why—I’m out of here!”
“Go ahead on home,” Stan agreed. “I’ve got this.” He smiled at the Squad. “Thanks again.”
“No problem,” Darren told him.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” Tina grumbled. “Can we go now?”
“She’s right,” Juan-Carlos joked. “Time to quit stalling.”
The others all groaned as they left the bathroom. All except Stan, who grabbed his mop and bucket and started cleaning. Finally things in Buttzville were back to normal again.
For now, anyway.
THE END
Excerpt from Fart Squad: Underpantsed!
Read a Sneak Peek of Book Five, Fart Squad: Underpantsed!
CHAPTER ONE
Juan-Carlos Finkelstein was already late for school when the harsh reality of an empty dresser drawer stopped him in his tracks. “Mom!” he shrieked. “Where’s my clean underwear?”
“I just bought a whole new bunch!” his mom called from downstairs. “Stop going through underwear so quickly!”
You have no idea, Juan-Carlos thought as he closed the empty drawer. That’s when he noticed a pungent fartlike odor that wafted over his dresser. He was pretty sure he hadn’t farted all morning, and besides, he didn’t recognize the smell as his brand. But he had more important things to concentrate on at the moment, anyway, namely getting to school on time. So he turned his attention to his laundry hamper in the hopes of scrounging up a decent pair of boxers. When you’re a superhero whose power comes from your superpowered farts, it tends to take a toll on your underwear collection.
A familiar voice from his clock radio made him pause. “Can you believe those kids?” a man asked. “Running around in masks, farting on everyone—I’ve heard of loving the smell of your own farts, but, these kids must think other people love the smell, as well!”
Juan-Carlos’s father was a radio personality. He had his own morning show, “Shockin’ Sheckey,” which he recorded live in his home studio, right in the Finkelstein basement. People either loved him or hated him—or, loved to hate him. Juan-Carlos, of course, thought his dad was a comedic genius. Even if he was picking on the Fart Squad right now.
His dad continued, “But seriously, folks, I’m just playing around. I actually think those kids are great! They really saved our butts—ha-ha!—with that whole itching thing, and again with that dinosaur, and who knows what else. They’re stinking up the town—in the best possible way!”
Dad’s a fan! Juan-Carlos thought happily. Too bad I can’t tell him that his son is one of those kids he’s cheering for! Well, maybe someday.
In the meantime, there was school to worry about. And that required clean clothes.
Pulling open the hamper, Juan-Carlos found two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, five mismatched socks, and what looked like one of his dad’s Grillmaster aprons. But no underwear.
Oh well. Mom must have already grabbed them, Juan-Carlos thought, peeling back the waistband of his pajama bottoms. “I’ll have to wear these a second time.”
Only when he looked down, there was nothing between his pajama bottoms and himself.
“I’m sure I was wearing them when I went to bed,” he muttered under his breath. “Maybe they came off during my sleep somehow?”
He wanted to ask his mother—maybe she’d taken them? But that didn’t make any sense. Besides, even if she had, it wasn’t like he could yell at her for doing his laundry. He’d just have to manage. She’d probably have a whole pile of clean underwear waiting when he got home.
By the time Juan-Carlos’s bus arrived at school, he was in agony. Without underwear to provide a protective layer, his jeans were rubbing him raw! He had to move really slowly as he stepped off the bus and carefully made his way up the stairs and into the building. All around him, everyone seemed to be in slow motion, moving in the same cautious, pained manner he was.
When he finally reached his classroom, Juan-Carlos gratefully slid into his assigned seat. Now that he was sitting down, he noticed that his classmates were also moving slowly. They all look exactly how I feel, Juan-Carlos thought. But there was no way his mom was washing all of their underwear, was there?
Clearly something else was going on here.
At lunchtime, Juan-Carlos sought out his friends. They were all wincing every time they shifted in their seats.
“Let me guess,” tiny Tina Heiney said as she looked around the table. “No underwear, right?”
“Nothing,” Juan-Carlos admitted. “Even the dirty pair from last night is gone. And I don’t know about you guys, but there was an awful fart smell that most definitely did not come from me!”
“Same here!” Tina exclaimed. “Nothing like smelling other people’s farts first thing in the morning to ruin your day.” Tina might have had a dainty appearance, but she talked like a truck driver.
“And do you g
uys believe that my mom actually accused me of throwing my underwear in the garbage!” Darren said.
The other three all nodded as if on cue.
“Indeed,” said Walter.
“Pretty much!” Tina answered.
“Sounds about right,” said Juan-Carlos.
“I guess you guys are right,” Darren said, with a sigh.
The truth is throwing underwear in the garbage after one use is exactly the kind of thing Darren would do. He often acted without thinking, which got him in trouble at school, but made him the kind of quick-on-his-feet leader a team of superheroes like the Fart Squad needed.
“Apparently the problem is widespread. Your father referenced the undergarment situation this morning during his broadcast,” Walter commented to Juan-Carlos. “He joked that all of Buttzville had been drafted into special forces, because we’re all ‘going commando,’” Walter continued. When the others stared at him blankly, Walter explained, “Going commando means going it alone. As in, getting dressed without putting on any underwear.” Walter was as brainy as he was wide. He spent half the time explaining things to the rest of the Squad, and the other half of the time acting as their private blimp.
Tina rolled her eyes. “Guess we know where Juan-Carlos gets his sense of humor,” she muttered.
Juan-Carlos brightened. “Really? Thanks!” That just made Tina roll her eyes again.
“It does seem that our current plight is widespread,” Walter pointed out.
The four Squad members studied the crowd. One of the science teachers was tugging at her pants under the table, like she was trying to make them looser. And even their math teacher looked like she was in pain as she gingerly made her way across the cafeteria.
“Weird,” Juan-Carlos agreed. After all, how did a whole school’s underwear just disappear? And why?
The Toilet Vortex Page 3
