Dad pulls in a long breath. “This is hard for me, too. Really hard. But I’m working as fast as I can. That’s why I go wherever they ask me, take every extra shift. As soon as I get promoted, I’ll be stationed someplace permanent, close to the schools. Then you and Ezra will be able to move out here and we’ll all be together again.”
I blink. Dad expects us to leave Shady Pines? And Gramma and Nate and everything I’ve ever known? That’s not the plan. Him coming back is the plan. “So you’re never moving home?”
“I didn’t say that. But… I grew up in Shady Pines. It’s a small town and there’s not a lot of hope for a person to get ahead there, especially in the sciences. I’ve always dreamed of doing something big, really seeing the world, you know?”
It’s just like Ezra said. Dad wanted something more. More than us. More than home. Only I could never see it before. “Lydia Croft is a scientist and she’s doing great things here. She lives in a huge house and has tons of money. Maybe it’s not Shady Pines that’s the problem.”
“Maggie, that’s not fair.”
“Well, neither is leaving us behind to explore a bunch of stupid geysers and rocks. Things keep happening and you’re not here for any of it.” I spent half the summer figuring out how to help Dad. But it turns out he never wanted that at all. My head throbs. I shove my plate of tetrazzini into the sink. It lands with a crash.
“Magnolia, please. You’re not letting me explain.”
I grip the edge of the sink and peer down at the sunflower border of my tetrazzini plate. A thin crack runs down the middle. “Then explain.”
“Someday soon we’re all going to be together again and everything will be better. I promise you.”
I think about Old Man Bell hacking out spores and Ezra zombie-walking in the woods. “It might not be soon enough. Ezra’s been sick, and there’s a weird guy in—”
“Ezra’s sick? Has Gramma taken him to the doctor? Because if she’s worried about the money, she knows I’ll pay for it, whatever it costs.”
“It’s not exactly the type of sickness Dr. Warbley can help with.” I’m not sure I wanna tell Dad all the details. He already thinks Shady Pines is a dump he’d rather leave behind. There’s no need to add zombie fungus to the strikes against us.
“Ezra won’t take my calls anymore,” Dad says. “Or when he does, he barely says a word.”
Dad sounds so disappointed that I can’t help but feel sorry for him. “Ezra misses you. He’s just got a different way of showing it.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve made this rough on everybody.”
“It’s okay.” I don’t know what else to say. I hate having Dad so far away. And I’m still mad, but not so mad that I want to end the call in a fight. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“Do you know of any household goods that can kill mushrooms?”
Dad chuckles. “You doing a little experiment?”
I twist the phone cord around my hand. “Something like that.”
“Check the medicine cabinet. Anything antifungal is worth a shot.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“I love you, Magnolia.”
“You too, Dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I rummage up athlete’s foot spray and a tube of ringworm cream. They both say “antifungal” right on the container, so I’m counting that as a win.
I tug on Gramma’s dishwashing gloves, grab my supplies, and head behind the trailer. My bagged mushroom samples have all quit glowing, but still look fleshy and alive.
I flip to a fresh sheet on a pad of lined paper––since Lydia borrowed Dad’s journal, it’ll have to do.
Mushroom Killer Experiment
Specimen One: Squirted down with athlete’s foot spray
Specimen Two: Spread ringworm cream on with a plastic knife
Specimen Three: Poured on a generous dose of Albert’s jelly
Specimen Four: Control group. It gets nothing.
Back inside, I type some notes for my report, then hit print. Dad made it pretty clear Shady Pines isn’t where he wants to be, but I’ve got to see this thing through. It’s my scientific duty.
I glance to the bulletin board hanging above the computer. There’s a photo of me and Dad pinned in one corner. He’s smiling and his arm’s draped over my shoulder. I swallow hard. I know I shouldn’t keep hoping. But part of me still thinks there’s a chance the Crofts just might offer Dad a job so amazing it’ll be impossible for him to say no. Vice president of scientific research. Chief discoverer. Chairman of all things interesting and important. It may be a long shot, but Dad’s the one who always says, “You gotta have big dreams to do big things.”
* * *
The next morning my bedroom door swings open bright and early. Gramma flounces in wearing a coral dress with purple polka dots. “We’ve got Bell’s service, hon. Put on something cheerful.”
“Aren’t you supposed to wear black?”
“That’s what your brother said too.” Gramma tsks. “How’s anybody supposed to feel better if everybody goes around wearing gloomy sacks?”
I hurry and get dressed—still opting for all black—and grab a blueberry muffin from a platter in the kitchen. I swallow it down in a few big bites, then jog to the front door. “I’ll be ready in a sec. I gotta get Nate.” Plus, I need to check on my mushroom-killer experiment, but Gramma doesn’t need to know that part.
On the way out, I grab my notebook, rubber gloves, and a trash bag, then skitter down the porch steps. My test groups are all still perfectly lined up. The ones I hit with the athlete’s foot spray and the ringworm cream are a little soggy but overall about the same. But the last two—the one I gooped up with Albert’s cure and the control group––have changed. And not in a good way. Albert’s group hit a growth spurt overnight. Three shimmery mushrooms the color of toothpaste sprouted from the pile of white jelly. Two more crept over to the control group.
Albert’s jelly doesn’t kill mushrooms. It GROWS them.
Mushroom Killer Experiment Results
All tested remedies useless against mutated Ophio.
Albert’s cure is bona fide miracle grow for mushrooms.
I tuck my nose into my shirt and scoop all the samples into the trash bag. I haul it up to the tree house and shove everything in a corner. When I finish, I toss the rope ladder up into the clubhouse. Headquarters is officially quarantined.
I hurry to Nate’s and ring the bell. He opens the door wearing a pair of faded Midnight Kingdom pajamas. I frown. “Bell’s memorial, remember?”
“Can’t. I’m stuck babysitting the twins.”
“What about researching later?”
“My dad will be back in a couple of hours. Just come by after the service.” A sippy cup rockets through the air and pelts Nate in the shoulder, splattering grape juice across his neck. “I gotta go.”
A car horn blares. “Move your buns, Magnolia. We’ve got the dearly departed to honor.”
* * *
The church’s wooden pews are shiny and smell like lemon- scented cleaner. Purple-and-blue-tinged light streams in from the stained-glass windows. Besides me, Gramma, and Ezra, only three other people are here: Pastor James behind the pulpit and Sheriff Huxley and Deputy Ronald up in the third row.
“Guess Bell didn’t have too many friends,” I whisper to Gramma.
“It’s not polite to speak ill of the deceased.” Gramma fans herself with a leftover bulletin from last Sunday’s services. “But of course he didn’t have any friends. A person can’t go holing themselves up in the woods for eighty years if they want to be popular.”
I glance at the lone vase of daisies at the front of the church. Bell tried to warn us. He knew something dangerous was living on his land. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ezra slump deeper into the pew. I imagine how things might be different if we’d never gone out exploring that night. If Ezra hadn’t tried to save Bell and gotten too close. We wouldn’t be sitting here now, that’s
for sure.
Pastor James glances around at the nearly empty sanctuary. “Well, I suppose we’d better get going.” He rests one hand next to a framed photograph of Old Man Bell wearing his wrinkly hat and denim overalls. “We’ve come here to honor the life of one of our own. He wasn’t close with many, but he was a member of our community all the same.”
I close my eyes and say a speedy prayer that the service wraps up quick. I need to get back to gathering evidence for the only people in town with the smarts and resources to fix this thing.
After reading from the Psalms and leading us in a round of “Amazing Grace,” Pastor James finally closes his hymnal. “Anyone who’d like to say a final goodbye to Hiram Bell is welcome to come up front.”
I don’t really know how to say goodbye to a photograph so I stay in my seat. The deputy slides out from his aisle and trudges toward the front. He’s holding three loops of silver chain. He drapes them over the photo of Bell, then returns to his pew.
“Now, that’s a funny thing to do,” Gramma murmurs.
“What is it?”
“What sort of person gives dog collars to a dead man?” she says under her breath.
“Dog collars?” I crane my neck. Sure enough, a metal name tag hangs from each of the silver chains. “Why would the deputy give collars to…?”
The snarling dobermans. Their eerie howls as the lights went out in the woods.
The strange stalk growing from one of their lips.
The air in the sanctuary is too thick.
Maybe the dogs got new collars. Maybe they’re curled up somewhere right now, gnawing on bones and dreaming of sinking their teeth into trespassers.
Or maybe they aren’t.
“You ready to go, Magnolia?” Gramma rises, purse in hand.
“Um… can I have a second?”
“All right, hon, but try to make it quick. I’ve got a broccoli rice casserole to make for LuEllen Marpa. Her kitty bit her finger pretty bad last night and then ran off into the woods after a family of opossums. Poor thing’s devastated.”
Ezra sits up straighter, suddenly looking a lot less zombified. “I’m gonna hang back a minute too, Gramma.”
“That’s a good boy.” She smiles and saunters down the aisle.
“We need to talk, Mags,” Ezra says, fingers twitching.
Before I can answer, the sheriff and deputy pass by and I hop to my feet. “Morning officers, how do you do?”
The sheriff shuffles his cowboy hat from one hand to the other. “Right nice of you kids to come out and pay your respects. I’m sure Bell would think kindly of you for it.”
I bite my lip. “I noticed you put dog collars on Bell’s picture. And I was just wondering why. I mean, weren’t you planning to train them? Did someone adopt the dogs or…”
The sheriff dips his head. “I’m sorry to say things didn’t work out like we hoped. The dogs got real sick, skin rash, weird things growing out their ears. Took ’em down to Dr. Laghari, but she said she’d never seen anything like it. When they turned on us, that’s when we knew something had to be done.”
I tug on the hem of my shirt. “What had to be done?”
“We put them down. That’s what you gotta do in situations like this, kiddo.”
They wave goodbye, and I think I’m going to be sick all over my patent leather shoes. “In situations like this.” When something gets sick and changes… for the worse.
The dobermans were infected, and now they’re dead. I turn to Ezra. Colored light from the sanctuary’s stained-glass windows falls over him, tinting his face shades of violet and cobalt. “They died, Ezra. Because of the spores.”
“I know,” Ezra replies, and for a moment the glazed-over look in his eyes lifts completely. “There’s something you need to know. What’s happening in the woods. It didn’t start with Bell or Albert.”
“What do you mean?”
Ezra’s hand slides into his pocket and starts to pull something out, then stops midway.
“What is that?” I ask, a sick feeling spinning in my stomach.
“The Crofts.” Ezra’s jaw tenses, like it’s a struggle to get the words out. “They own the land. Old Man Bell worked for them.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” I shake my head. “If the land was the Crofts’, then they’d know about the fungi growing there. But neither of them said anything when they saw my photos.”
“I told you, I did some investigating of my own. I found stuff.” Ezra’s hand fidgets at his pocket again.
“Show me.”
A bead of sweat rolls down Ezra’s temple as he slides out a crumpled photograph. The cloudy look that’s become too familiar slowly drifts over his face. He shoves the picture into my hand. “I gotta go.” He turns and jogs down the aisle.
I peer at the crinkly photo. It’s three people in white lab jackets. Lydia and Charles Croft and a man with jet-black hair and pale blue eyes. Goose bumps prickle along my arms. He’s not as pasty in the picture, but it’s definitely him. The new caretaker, Albert Eldridge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I race to the car, but when I get there, Gramma’s alone.
“Where’s Ezra?”
“He saw Jack and Zion skating down to Lil’ Saucy’s for the lunch buffet and decided to tag along.” Gramma studies my face. “You okay? You look mighty flustered.”
“We need to follow them and make him come home. He can’t leave the house until further notice.”
“My, my, someone’s getting a bit big for her britches. Why don’t you leave the rule-making to me and your daddy?”
“I’m not kidding.” It’s time she knew what we were really up against. The whole truth. “There’s a parasitic fungus living in Bell’s woods. It used to just infect ants, but it’s mutated or something, and other species are getting sick too. Maybe even people. Like Ezra.”
Gramma sighs. “Magnolia Jane, will you listen to yourself? No fungus is taking over this town or your brother. You’re upset because Bell passed away.”
“This isn’t about Bell… well, it sorta is, but not the way you think. Please, Gramma. Bell’s dogs are dead. LuEllen’s cat is probably infected too. This is serious!”
“I want you to take a deep breath and relax. You’re starting to turn red in the face from all your hollering.”
“It’s better than turning blue,” I mutter.
“Pardon?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.” Gramma’s never gonna believe a zombie-maker fungus is on the loose in Shady Pines. If I want help, I’ll have to go to the only people with answers.
As soon as we pull into the driveway at home, I jump out of the car and race to Nate’s.
“What’s set your legs on fire this time, Magnolia Jane?” Gramma whirls her head in my direction.
“Science stuff,” I call.
“If it’s not one thing it’s another,” she says, climbing up our porch steps. “I’m heading to LuEllen’s in a bit. Buzz me if you need me.”
I wave to her and ring Nate’s doorbell. Glory, his basset hound, pokes one eye open, then gives a long yawn. As soon as Nate opens the door, I blurt, “There’ve been more developments in the fungus situation.”
He runs a hand through his mess of curls. “What kind of developments?”
“The kind that require an emergency visit to the Croft mansion.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly. Grab your camcorder and I’ll update you on the way.”
* * *
We’re out of breath when the iron gates of Marble Falls glide open. “So you’re telling me the Spore King used to work with the Crofts?” Nate stares down at the photo. “And that they own the land at the epicenter of the outbreak?”
“Like I said, they’ve got some explaining to do.”
The housekeeper barely lets us in this time, but when I flash the photo of Albert and the Crofts, she finally agrees. With plenty of huffs and puffs, she escorts us down an unfamiliar corridor to a large office.
Lydia sits behind a spotless desk and Charles leans over her shoulder. When the housekeeper clears her throat, they both glance up at us.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but they insisted on seeing you.”
“Not a problem.” Lydia waves the housekeeper away and motions for me and Nate to come in. “What a surprise, Magnolia and…?”
“This is Nate Fulton. He’s been helping me with some of my research.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Nate.” Lydia gives a tight smile. “But I’m a little surprised to see you back so soon. We’ve barely had time to look through everything you left us.”
“This couldn’t wait.” I nod to Nate and he raises his camcorder. “We went back to the woods yesterday and got footage of what’s happening there. You need to see this.”
Lydia and Charles peer down at the small screen on the side of the camera. Nate hits a few buttons and the video starts playing. There’s the radiant emerald and aquamarine of the bioluminescent fungi, then the downed crop duster. All of a sudden audio cuts in. “And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the ship the extraterrestrials crash-landed in.” Nate fumbles with the player but manages to turn it up louder instead of stopping it. “It may look like your average farm plane, but don’t be fooled. This is next-gen alien tech––”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Nate stammers, jabbing at more buttons.
“I don’t understand.” Lydia glances from me to Nate. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“He makes funny videos. He was supposed to mute it.”
Nate’s muttering to himself and flipping through videos on the camera. “Sorry, Mags. I shouldn’t have come. Science isn’t really my thing.” He turns and races down the hall.
“Wait, Nate!” But he’s already disappeared around the corner.
Lydia blinks up at me. “Well, that was unexpected.”
“The video was a mistake, but something really is going on out there. The fungus I told you about is spreading fast. Someone has to stop it. I could really use your help.”
The Mutant Mushroom Takeover Page 10
