“His mood swings are really getting old,” I mumble.
“Maybe it’s got something to do with the load of zombie- maker spores he inhaled?”
I wipe my palms on the front of my skirt. “He’s just being a jerk. It’s not the fungus.”
* * *
Heat rises in swirls off the asphalt in front of the Marble Falls community. On the other side of the wrought iron gates, a fountain sprays water onto a shining pond. The security guard buzzes me in, and I rehearse my speech as I hurry down the azalea-lined sidewalks. When I reach the Croft’s mansion, I ring the bell and a woman in a pressed gray dress opens the door. Her eyes burrow into me.
“Hi. I’m Magnolia Stone. I’m here for a meeting with the board of directors.”
“Come along.” She leads me past a foyer filled with white orchids in porcelain vases. The sound of voices and tinkling cups drifts from a room down the hall.
Sitting in a circle of plush armchairs are Shady Pines’s richest, smartest, and most noteworthy citizens: Mayor Quimble, Dr. Rose Balantino, Superintendent Alistair Silverton, and Charles and Lydia Croft. A silver tray with flaky pastries rests in front of them on the coffee table.
“Hello, Magnolia, so glad you could make it,” Lydia says. Her silver hair is shiny and snipped into an angular bob. She wears a crimson pantsuit that reminds me of Amazonian poison dart frogs. “You’re Thomas Stone’s daughter? He worked for my company recently, I believe.”
Heat creeps to my cheeks. I was hoping to save talking about Dad until I’d impressed everyone with my findings. “Yes, ma’am. He works in Yellowstone National Park now. He’s been doing some research on the thermal pools there. It’s pretty impressive stuff.”
“He always was drawn to pools of liquid.” Mayor Quimble chuckles.
A panicky feeling flutters in my stomach. “He didn’t mean to let those rats get in the Vitaccino supply. I know he feels really bad about––”
“Don’t tease the child.” Lydia’s eyes snap to the mayor, who wilts like a forgotten houseplant. “Please, Magnolia, proceed with your presentation. We were all quite taken with your photographs.”
I glance around the room. Five pairs of eyes stare back at me. I can do this. I’ve done my research; I know the facts. I open Dad’s journal and spread my photos over the coffee table. “You’ve all seen the pictures of the bioluminescent fungi. But since then, I’ve made some even more startling discoveries. Insects and mammals around Shady Pines are sprouting unusual growths.”
Lydia crosses one deep red pant leg over the other. “What sort of growths?”
“Stalks, like this.” I point to the photo of Old Man Bell’s doberman.
“And this is what the stalk looks like under a microscope.” I motion to the sketch I made of the jellyfish-like tissue.
“Hmm, that’s really something, isn’t it?” Superintendent Silverton murmurs, tugging on the edge of his mustache.
Lydia takes a sip of water and lifts her eyes to me. “What do you make of it? Any theories?”
I have to get this part right. Show them that I’ve got a good head on my shoulders. “I think it may be a type of parasitic fungus called Ophiocordyceps. It attacks carpenter ants in the Amazon rain forest and makes them infect their own colonies. It’s also known as the zombie ant fungus.” I dart my eyes around the room, hoping I haven’t said too much, but they’re all leaning forward, gazes fixed on me. “I’m worried it could even spread to… people.”
“That’s quite a theory.” Mayor Quimble lifts a gooey pastry from the platter.
Lydia smiles. “I’m sure your father is quite impressed with your discoveries.”
“I haven’t actually told him much yet. He’s been kinda busy with his new job. Plus, I wanted to go about everything the right way. Observe, gather evidence, test my hypothesis and all that.”
“Well, you’ve certainly come to the right group.” Lydia leans over the photograph of the doberman. “We’d be happy to assist you in testing your hypothesis, if you’d like.”
“Really? That’d be great!” Getting the Crofts on board might be easier than I hoped. “What did you have in mind?”
Lydia taps a manicured finger on her chin. “For starters, you’d need to gather more evidence. Take additional pictures and find some specimens, too.”
All of that would involve returning to Old Man Bell’s woods. I’ve known I needed to go back ever since Ezra told me about the creepy caretaker, but I’d sorta been using my research as an excuse to stall. “I guess I could do that.”
“You’ve truly impressed us, Magnolia. Not many children, or adults for that matter, could have pieced together everything you’ve brought us.” Lydia reaches for a cream-colored envelope on an end table. When she lifts it, I see it has my name written on it in swooping calligraphy. “We don’t normally decide this early, but we’ve all agreed that you have real potential. That’s why we’re awarding you with Vitaccino’s Junior Naturalist Merit Award right now.” Lydia extends her hand to me.
“You’re giving me the prize?”
“Our hope is that the award money might make it easier for you to continue your research. Buy yourself some shovels and petri dishes. Collect samples. Really dig in and find out everything you can.”
I was worried that the board might think badly of me for trespassing to get these pictures, but they haven’t even asked where exactly I got them. Instead, Lydia seems eager to keep the investigation going. I wonder if she’d feel that way if she knew all the details. “So you don’t think Ophiocordyceps is a danger to anyone? Because I sorta know someone who crossed paths with it and I’m a little worried that––”
Lydia shakes her head. “For a fungus to go from infecting insects to humans would be quite a mutation. I think you’re perfectly safe to keep researching. I know you’re going to make us all very proud.”
Quitting midway through is no way to score points with the board. “I’ll do my best.”
“Glad to hear it.” Lydia presses the envelope into my hand. There’s a business card paper-clipped to the back. “I can’t wait to hear what you discover.”
I take the envelope, then glance at Dad’s journal resting on the coffee table. “There was one more thing I was hoping to talk to you about.”
“What is it, dear?”
“It’s about my dad. Tommy Stone. Like you said, he worked for you. I know things didn’t end all that well.”
“It was months ago. I’ve nearly forgotten what all the fuss was about.” Lydia smiles.
I don’t really believe she’s forgotten about the rats swimming in vats of her health drink, but it’s nice of her to say it. “That’s good, because it’s been hard for him to find work close to home, and I’d been thinking, maybe you could give him another chance at Vitaccino.”
“I see,” Lydia says. “And what was your father’s specialty again?”
“He’s good with tons of things.” I lift the journal off the table and flip through his drawings. “Rocks, plants, astronomy. He’s got all sorts of ideas.”
“Is that your father’s notebook?” Dr. Balantino asks.
“Yes, ma’am.” I press the journal close. “I know he could do a lot for your company if he just had another shot.”
“I’d be willing to take a look at his research,” Lydia says. “Perhaps there’s a position with us that might fit his skill set.”
I clasp my hands together. “That’s fantastic!”
Lydia extends a hand toward the journal.
“Oh.” She wants Dad’s book. The thought of parting with it feels like giving up my right eyeball. I grip it a little tighter.
“Unless you know a better way for us to see what your father has to offer, without getting his hopes up. Besides, from the sound of it, he’s overqualified to be a lab assistant.”
“You really think so?”
“No way of knowing for sure yet, but I’m optimistic.” Her gaze shifts to the journal. “I’d only keep it for a few days, bu
t if you’re not comfortable with the arrangement, I understand.”
If I say no now I’ve got a feeling Vitaccino will never rehire Dad. “My notes are in the back half, but you can tell the difference. My section’s labeled ‘Maggie’s Work.’ ”
“That will be an interesting read as well.” Lydia’s fingers close around the journal. “Mind if we hold on to the pictures? There are a few more board members who weren’t able to attend today.”
“That’d be okay, I guess.”
Lydia straightens and points to the section in the journal with the torn-out pages. “It appears something’s missing.”
I grit my teeth, angry at Ezra all over again. “I lost them. I’m sorry.”
She nods. “Well, if they turn up, let us know. The more we can understand about your father’s ideas, the better.”
The board murmurs, flipping through the photos. Everyone seems to have forgotten I’m here. I shuffle my shoes against a red floral rug. “Dad really is a genius.”
Lydia glances up. “And the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. We’ll be keeping our eye on you, Magnolia Stone.” Lydia flashes a toothpaste-commercial smile, and then returns to studying the journal.
I see myself out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
As I hustle past a trellis of flashy red roses, I peek into the envelope. There’re five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills inside. It’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. Not only that, but the board is seriously considering rehiring Dad. Everything I’ve worked for is coming together. The final piece is solving the mystery at Old Man Bell’s. I kick a pebble down the sidewalk and watch it skitter away. It’s the last place on earth I want to go, but there’s no way around it. It’s time I figure out what’s really happening there and what it means for Ezra and the town.
At the Marble Falls security booth, Nate’s chatting it up with the guard. When he sees me, he heads my way. “How’d it go?”
I hold out the envelope. “I got first prize. And they said they’d consider rehiring Dad.”
“Score!” Nate holds up his palm for a high five, and I give it a slap. “What do you say we hit up Slippery Joe’s Water Park? Do the slides till we’re so dizzy we barf?”
“Actually, I had another idea.” I arch an eyebrow and try to make my voice sound all mysterious and dramatic. “You want excitement, maybe a whiff of danger?”
“Uh, yeah. Have you met me?”
“How do you feel about joining me for a little recon work at Old Man Bell’s woods tomorrow afternoon?”
Nate wrinkles his nose. “I thought we decided that place was quarantined. The whole mutant fungi and creepy caretaker thing?”
“You said you wanted excitement.”
“Excitement, not death.”
“Come on, Nate. I need more specimens. Plus, I’ve got a plan to make it completely safe.”
* * *
At dinner that night, I share the news that I’ve won the Merit Award, but leave out the part about needing to snoop around Bell’s place again.
“I’d say this calls for rocky road ice cream,” Gramma declares, and heads for the freezer.
I give Ezra’s leg a little kick under the table.
“What was that for?” he grumbles.
I hold one finger over my lips and look to the kitchen. Gramma’s just getting started filling the first bowl.
“Me and Nate are going back to Bell’s tomorrow,” I whisper. “We could use your help.”
Ezra shrugs one shoulder. “I’m kinda busy. I have a job, you know.”
“This is important. We need to figure out what’s going on out there.”
“I don’t think you should go,” Ezra says, leaning away from the table with his arms crossed.
“I have to.” I glance to the kitchen. Gramma’s starting the second bowl. “I’m still researching the fungus for the Crofts and I need to get them some samples. Besides, you’re not looking so great these days. We need to know what we’re dealing with out there.” On top of the dark circles under Ezra’s eyes, his skin’s taken on a shiny look, like a wax-museum version of himself.
“I’m fine. It’s just allergies.” He rubs the back of his hand across his nose. “You’re wasting time going there. The whole thing’s pointless.” Ezra pushes away from the table just as Gramma arrives carrying the two bowls.
“Where are you going, Ezra? Don’t you want some rocky road?”
“No thanks,” Ezra says, giving me a final glare. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
Gramma slides into the chair next to me and lifts a spoonful of chocolate to her lips. “Early to bed and skipping dessert. Your brother’s really growing up.” But she doesn’t sound so happy about it this time.
I poke my spoon into my ice cream, not feeling hungry anymore either.
* * *
That night, I toss and turn and can’t fall asleep until well after midnight. When I finally wake up the next day, it’s nearly lunch time. After plates of fish sticks and fried okra, Nate and I suit up for our investigation.
“I look ridiculous.” Nate frowns at his reflection.
“You look prepared.” I adjust the jumbo-size trash sack around my shoulders. The suits looked cooler in my head. But Gramma’s rubber dish gloves, trash bags, and duct tape were the best I could do on such short notice. “Try on the bandanna. We need to make sure the head gear is going to work.”
Nate pulls his swim goggles on and tugs the bandana over his nose. Even through the foggy plastic lenses I can tell he’s giving me the stink eye. “At least ninety percent of being a hero is looking cool while you’re doing it. If we show up at Old Man Bell’s like this, we’re pretty much guaranteed to die in a really humiliating way.”
“Quit griping,” I say. “These suits are going to keep us from breathing in any gunk.”
“Too bad Ezra didn’t have one when Bell was hacking spores all over him.”
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my eyes framed by fuchsia swim goggles. It feels like we’re running out of time. Ezra’s getting worse. And we don’t have any solid answers. We need help. The Crofts have loads of money and connections and would be able to fix this thing in a snap. But first I’ve gotta convince them that the fungus is actually a threat. I turn to Nate. “You ready?”
Nate adjusts his goggles. “I was born ready. Well, technically, I was born colicky and a little constipated, but––”
“Let’s roll.”
I glance at Ezra’s closed door. I’d sorta hoped he might surprise me and join in last minute. I even set aside a pair of gloves and an extra trash bag for him. But right after lunch he bolted to skateboard with Jack. Nate and I will just have to solve this on our own.
On the way out, we pass Gramma in the front yard. She squints at our trash bag suits as she snips a wilted hydrangea with a pair of clippers. “You kids heading to a costume party?”
“We’re doing some field work, Gramma. Our get-up is scientifically imperative.”
“Whatever you say, honey. I’m just glad that award seems to have raised your spirits.”
We wave goodbye to Gramma and head down the road. At the railroad tracks, an earthy sweet smell drifts off the stagnant pond. We cross into the woods, and a trickle of sweat runs down the back of my shirt.
Up ahead a ray of sunlight glints off something white and shiny in a tree. Bark grows around a metal square the size of my palm. There’s writing on it… RESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECU… I swallow. It’s the remnants of a NO TRESPASSING sign.
Nate spots it too. “Did that tree eat a sign?”
“It must have been there a long time and the bark grew over it.” I peer into the woods. Bark creeps over the signs on another dozen trees. Fragments of words peek out: WILL BE PROSECUTED… and PRIVATE PROPER…
I move from tree to tree, feeling like I’ve somehow gotten sucked into an old Twilight Zone episode. All of the NO TRESPASSING signs that were here a couple of weeks ago are now nearly swallowed up by ba
rk.
“A forest can’t do its own landscaping, can it?” Nate asks.
“What?”
“It’s just that the signs were keeping people out. If the zombie fungus didn’t like that, maybe it buddied up with the trees to change things. Make it so people would come strolling in here without thinking twice.”
I run my fingers over the edge of a bark-covered sign. In my fungi research, I read about how trees can talk to each other using fungi. The fungi help the trees find better soil and water reserves. As a thank-you, the trees feed the fungi from their roots. But destroying NO TRESPASSING signs is taking their partnership to the next level. “Fungi don’t have feelings. They can’t actually want things.”
“Maybe not feelings exactly. But stuff wants to survive, right? The signs were keeping people out. Scaring off potential victims. Now anybody might waltz through here. That seems like a mega-win for some evil mutant mushrooms. Villains are always willing to do whatever it takes to rule the world.”
The forest is too quiet, like the trees are holding their breath waiting for us to speak. “Whatever it takes,” I whisper. I’ve researched enough to know life can be found in some of the most hostile environments on earth. Adapting. Thriving even. Like the microscopic tardigrades in Antarctica that spend their lives frozen solid. Or the eyeless fish of the deep sea that hunt by detecting changes in water pressure. Life makes a way.
As we march along, Nate pans his camcorder over the still woods. Up ahead, brambles twist around something metallic. A layer of thick green moss stretches across a propeller and patches of mushrooms dot the ground. I push away some of the fuzzy overgrowth on the wing. Geronimo is painted in blocky orange letters. It’s Old Man Bell’s crop duster, looking like it’s been rotting here a hundred years.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It’s only been two weeks since I last saw the thing in the air, but thick roots curl around its tail and tendrils of ivy carpet the cockpit. Low chirping sounds come from a shadowy opening in a hill behind the plane.
The Mutant Mushroom Takeover Page 8
