Wanted: A Superhero to Save the World

by Bryan Davis

  Taking her by the hand, I walked a few steps away from Sam and whispered the confession, including my knowledge that Milligan is our half-uncle. She raised a hand to her mouth. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, but she managed to keep her composure.

  She kissed me on the forehead and said, “Thank you, Eddie. Your father would be very proud of you. And I am, too.”

  When Barney returned, he carried a short paddle, a small handgun, an air pump, and a bundle of plastic. “Found my old rafting boat. Should be a lot better than an air mattress.”

  “Great. Thanks.” I stuffed the deflated boat into Mom’s backpack. Since she had only a couple of water bottles and three cereal bars inside, it fit without a problem.

  Sam gave Prince Edward to Barney and set the air pump and paddle at her side, while Mom slid the gun into her pants pocket. We were ready to go.

  After saying good-bye to Barney and the cat, we set out toward the city boundary, Mom on her bike and me pushing the wheelchair. When we merged into the crowded street, we slowed to a crawl.

  I looked at the sky. The clock had ticked down to 9:41:19. We could make it to the address on Graham’s card long before the quake, but would Mephisto be ready for us? The sooner we got there, the better.

  As we drew nearer to the city limits, most people forked off onto wider roads, clearing the narrow street we had chosen. I looked to the rear. The pavement was deserted, except for a gray tabby cat trotting several yards back.

  I groaned. “Prince Edward followed us.”

  Sam leaned to the side and clapped her hands in a calling gesture. “Prince Edward Thomas Oscar Stephen Horsey O’Ryan, come here.”

  We stopped and let Prince Edward catch up. He jumped into Sam’s arms and settled into her lap.

  Letting out a sigh, I looked back. Home lay at least two miles away. “What are we going to do with him?”

  Mom stopped her bike and turned. She, too, gazed at the long stretch of road leading to our apartment. “Take him with us, I guess. With so many people leaving town, we’d be fighting against a stiff current if we tried to go home.”

  “Yay!” Sam held Prince Edward close. “I’ll hold him in the boat. He won’t be any trouble at all.”

  I mumbled in a sarcastic tone. “A cat in an inflatable boat riding over a swamp filled with snakes and scorpions. Sure. That won’t be a problem.”

  We found a sign that said Mosquito Lagoon – Four Miles. An arrow pointed toward an even narrower street that led into a flat, grassy expanse. After we had traveled a few miles past the city limits, the sounds of the city faded.

  Along the way, we drank from our water bottles, and Mom ate her cereal bars while Sam and I shared one of Victor’s sandwiches — meatballs again. After we ate half of it, I wrapped the other half in its bag and stuffed it into my pocket for easy access, then put the second sandwich in my backpack.

  Soon, a dirt road forked to the left, and a wooden marker identified it as Snakepit Gulley. We turned that way and continued on. Fortunately the dirt was hard packed, so the bike and wheelchair had no problem rolling over it.

  The sun rose above a distant tree line. My legs ached. My head hurt. And we hadn’t slept a wink all night. Yawns passed from me, to Sam, to Mom. Even Prince Edward yawned. But at least he could go to sleep in Sam’s lap.

  I checked my watch — 7:42 a.m. That meant eight hours and eighteen minutes till the big quake. Still plenty of time … I hoped.

  The dirt road ended at a swamp. We halted and scanned the area. Cypress trees rose from the water, their split trunks resembling legs standing in floating green scum. A snake slithered over the surface, making a forked ripple in its wake — probably one of hundreds of serpents in this murky pool.

  A thick spider web spanned a gap between two of the biggest trees. At the center of its intricate network, a huge black spider dangled, waiting for unsuspecting prey.

  But scorpions? So far no sign of them.

  At the far side of the swamp, a big house sat on a low hill. It looked like an ancient mansion, but from this distance, the details were fuzzy.

  “Well,” Mom said as she slid her backpack off, “no time like the present.”

  A mosquito stung the back of my hand. I slapped it, splattering blood across my skin. “No sign of guards. That worries me.”

  Mom slapped her neck, squashing another mosquito. “You mean, it’s too easy? Suspicious?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Good point, but we can’t turn back now. We have to keep going.”

  I sighed. “You’re right.” Using the hand pump, I inflated the boat while Mom hid her bike in some nearby trees. Sam sat in the wheelchair and petted Prince Edward. Normally she would be bouncing around begging to help. Her ankles must have been hurting pretty badly.

  When the boat reached its full size, I tossed the pump into it and looked it over. Obviously it was meant for one person, two at the most.

  Mom flipped a switch on the air mattress. As its motor whirred, the material unfolded. Obviously its batteries still functioned. “You, Sam, and Prince Edward ride in the boat,” she said. “I’ll take the air mattress.”

  “But you’re the heaviest of all of us.” I picked up the paddle and handed it to Mom. “You and Sam and the cat ride in the boat. I’ll take the mattress. Just make sure it’s as full of air as it can get.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” Mom helped Sam sit on the ground, then pushed the wheelchair into the trees next to the bike.

  After Mom and Sam had boarded and shoved out a bit with the paddle, Sam reached for the cat. “Come here, Prince Edward Thomas Oscar Stephen Horsey O’Ryan.”

  I reached him toward her, but he twisted back and latched onto my shirt, digging his needlelike claws into my chest. As I pulled, I muttered, “If you don’t go, you’ll have to stay here and be snake bait.”

  “Don’t you dare leave him here,” Sam said. “He trusted us.”

  “You tell him. He’s not buying what I’m selling.”

  After pulling and sweet talking the cat for another minute, I let him go. He still hung on, clinging to my shirt, though his claws no longer impaled my skin.

  “Since he’s so attached to you,” Mom said, winking, “maybe you can get on the mattress with him.”

  “I’ll give it a try.” While Mom and Sam paddled farther out, I used my foot to push the mattress into ankle deep water, waded to it, and sat at the center. The cat hissed and again dug his claws into my skin.

  “Ouch.” I tried pulling him away, but that just made the pain worse. The mattress tilted from side to side, sending water over the edges.

  Mom guided her boat next to mine, reached for my belt, and grabbed the spool’s claw. As line reeled out, she said, “Just talk softly to Prince Edward, and we’ll pull you along.”

  “All right.” I looked up at the brightening sky. No sign of any eagles. “Keep your eyes open for a trap.”

  Mom gave the spool claw to Sam. “Hold tight.”

  Sam clutched it. “Don’t worry, Eddie. I’ve got you, and I won’t let go.”

  “All quiet now,” Mom whispered as she slid the paddle into the motionless water. “We don’t want to startle the scorpions.” With a silent stroke, she sent the boat forward. When she had paddled a few feet ahead, I locked the spool. The line tightened and pulled me along.

  Another snake surfaced and swam parallel to the mattress. Its gray body and triangular head made it easy to identify — a cottonmouth. Fortunately, the cat didn’t seem to notice. He released his claws and sat in my lap, though he stayed in an erect posture, his ears perked and eyes wide.

  When Mom maneuvered around a cypress tree, another cottonmouth dropped from a limb and landed on the front of the mattress. I kicked it into the water. The cat hissed and leaped onto the material. His claws dug in and punctured it.

  I jerked the cat
up and tossed him over the water to Sam. She caught him and hugged him close. New hisses erupted, air leaking from the puncture points as the mattress slowly shrank.

  Mom called, “Hang on” and dug the paddle into the water with furious strokes. We shot ahead. I clutched the edges of the mattress as it rode lower and lower in the water.

  At a cypress tree to the left, scorpions rained from the branches and skittered along the thick scum toward my raft. With Mom’s strong paddling, we surged ahead of them, but more scorpions converged from a tree to the right. As they crawled onto the mattress, I swatted them away, but they swarmed from all directions, too many to swat.

  Three cottonmouths swam from one side and two from another, drawing closer and closer. “Mom! Hurry!”

  “I’m trying!” She dug in hard and deep. What appeared to be a shoreline in the distance loomed closer and closer, but there was no way we could make it before the mattress and I would sink and be covered with scorpions and vipers. What could I do? I just kept beating the bugs with my hands and hoped I wouldn’t get stung.

  Ahead, we approached a gap between two giant cypress trees with a spider web stretched between them, draped high enough for us to pass underneath. An electronic eye was imbedded in each trunk, both pointing toward the gap. Could it be an alarm device?

  “Mom, if we go between those trees, we might set off an alarm!”

  “If I don’t, you’ll sink!” She paddled on, not slowing a bit.

  A scorpion stung my wrist. Pain shot up my arm. I batted it into the water and bit my lip to keep from yelping. It felt like hot acid and an electrical jolt at the same time.

  The boat shot between the electric eyes. A loud groan rode the air. Ahead, the swamp sank away, and we rushed into a downward plunge, taking water, snakes, and scorpions with us. Darkness enveloped everything. Although the venomous creatures disappeared in the murky depths, I kept swatting with both hands.

  Seconds later, the angle eased. We rushed forward horizontally as if we were riding on a gentle waterslide. A door rose in front of us, opening to a lighted chamber. When we passed through, we dropped to a concrete floor and tumbled into each other, covered by tangled spool line, swamp scum, and scorpions.

  Chapter 18

  Spies? Would Spies Cross a Swamp

  On an Air Mattress?

  Water surged over us and washed most of the scorpions away. As we righted ourselves, the door closed, shutting off the flow. Prince Edward shot out of Sam’s arms and vanished in the room’s dimness.

  Sam spat out a wad of scum. “Yuck.”

  “Did anyone get stung or bitten?” Mom asked as she batted away what appeared to be the last of the scorpions.

  “I got stung once.” Now sitting with her and Sam on the raft, I showed her my wrist. Swelling and redness ran from my forearm down to my fingers.

  She touched the wound. “Not much we can do about it. Let’s hope it didn’t inject a lot of venom.”

  As my eyes adjusted, our surroundings clarified. We sat in a cage with bars on three sides and a wall with a vertically sliding door on the fourth side. The cage appeared to be bolted to the wall and the concrete floor. The top — another set of bars — perched about four feet above the floor.

  Opposite the wall, a closed padlock hung on the cage’s hinged exit door. I sat on the wall side, Mom sat next to the exit, with Sam between us.

  The cage stood in a spacious room with a nearby desk and high-back swivel chair. A computer and keyboard sat on the desk, apparently a workstation for whoever was supposed to guard our prison. A circular analog clock on a wall provided the time — 8:14 a.m. That meant less than eight hours remained before the big quake would strike.

  I checked my watch. The digital readout agreed. The water hadn’t damaged the mechanism.

  A cottonmouth slithered under the desk and lay motionless in the shadow. No other snakes appeared anywhere, though scorpions sat here and there along the edges of the room

  “Where did Prince Edward Thomas Oscar Stephen Horsey O’Ryan go?” Sam asked.

  Mom pointed. “There.”

  I looked that way. The wet cat sat in a corner licking his fur. Sam called in a whisper, but he ignored her and continued licking.

  Cramped and soaked to the skin, I untangled the tow line and drew it into the spool on my belt while Mom let the air out of the raft and gathered it and the deflated mattress into a corner of the cage.

  I crawled to the cage’s door and tested the latch and lock. They held firm. I then crawled to the door in the wall, but it wouldn’t budge. Even if it opened, we couldn’t possibly climb up the slide. “I guess with this automatic trap installed, they weren’t worried about intruders. They’ll just check the cage when they show up for work.”

  Sam climbed to her feet, short enough to stand, though her head brushed the top. As water dripped from her hair and clothes, she grabbed two bars over her head and shook them. The framework rattled but stayed intact. “How are we going to get out of here?”

  Mom crossed her legs and looked around. “Do you see the padlock key anywhere?”

  I scanned the desk, chair, walls, and floor. No key in sight. But with only a single fluorescent lamp in the ceiling, maybe shadows hid it from view.

  The room’s door opened, and more ceiling lights flashed on. “Well, well, well,” a man called in a sarcastic tone. “What do we have here? Three rats caught in a cage?”

  We all turned toward him. A lanky man in a security guard uniform stood with hands on hips, an amused expression on his face. “With this kind of catch,” he continued as his gaze followed a scorpion skittering toward a wall, “I’d better call the exterminator. Both for the bugs and for the humans.” He lifted and lowered his legs in turn, his shoes making ripples in the inch-deep water. “And I need to call the janitor.”

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” He drew a handgun from a hip holster. “You weren’t on a family holiday boat ride.”

  Sam shivered but stayed quiet. Mom gave the guard a hot glare. “Put that gun away. You’re scaring my children.”

  “Shut it, lady.” He pointed the gun straight at her face. “I know a spy when I see one. You’re using these kids as cover.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Do we really look like spies?”

  The guard’s eyes shifted as he scanned us. “Can’t see what’s in your backpacks. Hand them over. And the boy’s belt, too.” He pulled a key ring from his pants pocket.

  While he searched for the right key, I stealthily unhooked my spool line and claw and sat on it. Although the claw pricked my skin, the pain might be worth it. With any luck, maybe he wouldn’t see it.

  The guard pinched a short silver key and opened the padlock, leaving the keys hanging in the lock. With his gun drawn, he lowered the cage’s door like a drawbridge. “Push everything out.”

  Mom passed the paddle, deflated boat, and the wadded mattress to the guard. I unfastened my belt, shrugged down my backpack, and gave them to her. She handed them and her backpack over as well.

  The guard shoved everything to the side and looked through the opening. “Now empty your pockets. Turn them inside out.” We all obeyed. Sam produced a plastic frog, explaining that it was a copy of Princess Queenie’s pet Horatio. The guard let her keep it. I withdrew the leftover sandwich, now soggy, while Mom reluctantly produced the pellet gun and extended it toward him.

  The guard snatched the gun and smiled. “This and those gadgets on the kid’s belt prove that you’re really spies.”

  “Don’t be an ignoramus,” I said. “It’s a pellet gun. To scare rats away.”

  “An ignoramus, huh?” He looked the gun over. “Okay, so it shoots pellets, but the belt has a knife and a gun.”

  I growled, “It’s an air gun. It shoots little disks.”

  “But you had some other stuf
f. You spies can make escape gadgets out of bent paper clips and nose hairs.”

  “Even a soggy sandwich?” I asked as I passed it to Mom.

  He took the sandwich, unwrapped it, and looked it over, smelling it twice. “I never seen a spy use a sandwich before.” He tossed it back inside. When it landed next to me, it spilled open over its wrapper. Although the bread was falling apart, I repaired the sandwich and rewrapped it in case we got hungry later.

  “Now I don’t have to feed you.” the guard said. “Not that you’ll need any food if the boss decides to kill you.” After closing the door and relocking it, he slung the keys onto the desk and set the pellet gun beside them. He pulled a phone from his pocket, punched in a number, and held it to his ear. “Yeah, boss. Got some news for you. We caught three varmints in the swamp trap.”

  “Twelve?” He squinted at us. “Well, the boy’s kind of puny for twelve years old, but his face looks that age. Talks like he’s thirty, though. The girl looks spot on for eight.” He laughed. “Damocles? Mr. Graham, if Damocles was the third one, I don’t think I’d be talking to you right now. He would’ve broken out of the cage, stuffed this phone down my throat, and strung me up by my toes. The third one’s their mom.”

  I scowled. More proof Chet Graham really was in cahoots with Mephisto.

  “Sure. No problem keeping them here that long. They ain’t going anywhere. … Right. See you then.” He sat on the desk chair and began typing on the keyboard, his stare on the monitor. “Gotta put in a work order to get the janitor over here. He’s not due till this evening, though. The trap’s a great setup, but it sure makes a mess.”

  “How many others have you caught?” I asked.

  “You’re the first. Mr. Graham said it might happen soon. Said to watch for someone later today. If not for the trap, I guess you spies would’ve gotten through to Mephisto’s secrets, but his genius inventions put a stop to that.”

  “What secrets?”

  The guard laughed. “I know your tricks. I’m not giving anything away.” He leaned back in his chair. “You might as well make yourselves comfortable. My boss won’t get here for a while.”