The Mutant Mushroom Takeover

by Summer Rachel Short

  “To survive one must adapt,” Albert answers. “The weapons that once killed the fungus have grown dull and rusty.”

  “Anti-microbial resistance,” Lydia murmurs.

  Albert snaps his fingers and one by one the workers rise. Ezra, Zion, Jack, and the others slog to Albert’s side. Fungicide drips off their arms and legs like soapy foam. “Bell should have noticed weeks before his death, but the old man underestimated Ophio. When the children came, Bell failed to properly suit up. He didn’t expect an attack. A fatal mistake.”

  I’ve heard of antibiotics not working anymore because the bacteria became resistant to the medicine. I guess fungi can do the same thing.

  “I’m not going to let you destroy our family’s legacy.” Lydia picks up the empty hose and shakes it at Albert. Bits of white fling out from the nozzle.

  “The time for surrender has arrived.” Albert raises his arms and a piercing squeak fills the air. From the shadows, a black swarm scurries out. Dark masses with ropey tails and fur mottled with brilliant green flood toward the Crofts and their lackeys. Rats. Hundreds and hundreds of rats. Long, skinny stalks bloom from the back of every skull.

  Something hits my foot and I scuttle back. Tiny claws snag at my rain boots as a rat bolts up my leg. I grab the tail and hurl it away.

  The rats scramble over the Crofts’ team until each yellow suit is completely covered. Like the locusts that swarm in summertime, the rats gnaw through the suits and strips of cloth and rip away plastic. In a matter of seconds, they’ve shredded the suits to rags.

  Albert claps his hands and the rats draw back with shrill squeaks and disappear into the forest. “Now!” Albert opens his mouth and a whirling spore cloud spins out.

  “Wait, Albert!” Lydia shrieks, tearing at a vine that’s wrapped itself around her ankle.

  The rest of the yellow suits turn to run, but the branches all around them shudder, bringing their limbs together like prison bars. Albert rises, growing taller and taller, like he’s more spore cloud than man.

  I race from the field and duck behind a thick tree trunk. White blasts from his mouth, coating everything in sight with spores. My throat tightens. Nate was right. He really is the Spore King.

  I try to run, but the neon chasms in the earth open wider. I zig around a newly formed ravine, heading for the clearing. When the spore fog finally clears, Lydia, Charles, and their men drip with fuzzy white. The first flecks of turquoise flicker around Lydia’s lips.

  Albert plods toward her and takes her hand. “This way, Dr. Croft. We’ve got a big order to fill.”

  The men in the shredded yellow suits follow Albert in step with the other workers. At the end of the row is a glowing boy in bright orange rain boots. It’s Nate. Joining the Spore King and leaving me all alone. For good.

  Even though I know it’s stupid, I jog through the field, dodging the glowing cracks in the earth. When I’m close enough, I half-whisper, half-scream, “Nate, don’t!”

  His head tilts and he blinks back at me. “Mags?”

  Taniesha Jones from the deli counter pivots toward my voice. Her eyelashes are dusted with spores. “Sir. There’s another.”

  Nate’s face twists up like he’s fighting a massive sneeze. “Run, Mags.”

  Down the line of workers, heads zing my way. The entire procession shifts and stares at me with cloudy eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Albert’s voice rings through the trees. “I’ve given you all the time I can spare, Magnolia. You’re mine.”

  I turn and sprint. The ground splits and lime-green mushrooms rise from the cracks. They spread wide like umbrellas opening in a nightmare storm. The center of each has a gaping mouth that pumps out swirling fog.

  My lungs burn, and my feet sting where blisters are cropping up on my toes. I come around a bend and spot the crop duster. The Vitaccino van is parked nearby, and the MegaBlaster 3000s lie abandoned on the ground by the driver’s-side door. I almost run for them. Until I remember that the fungicide won’t do me any good now.

  The air stirs, and I spin around, expecting to see Albert and his workers at my heels. Instead, it’s the bats. They’ve come out of the cave and are flapping overhead like a swarm of stirred-up bees.

  Voices shout out in the woods behind me. My eyes flick to the opening of the cave. At least it should be mostly empty. As I slide inside, a trio of workers skulks by.

  “Where’d she go?”

  I slink back farther. The space reeks like sweaty gym socks, and something wet and gooey mashes under my boots.

  “Check the crop duster,” one says.

  After some more stomping, a pair of sneakers appears in front of the opening. I press myself against the rock, hoping to disappear into the shadows. A heap of bat pellets slides off the cave wall and trickles down my neck. I press my lips together to keep from squealing.

  Finally, the sneakers retreat and the voices drift away until all that’s left is the bats’ squeaks and flaps.

  There’s a buzzing at my side. I freeze. Earlier, Nate said he felt a buzz in his bones. Just before the fungus sucked him in. The vibration stops and I exhale. Then it’s back. I blink into the darkness. There’s a faint glow coming from my backpack. I unzip the front pouch. It’s Ezra’s cell phone. I snatch it up and press the phone to my ear.

  “Dad!”

  “Magnolia? Where’s Ezra?”

  “Long story––now’s not exactly the best time.”

  “But on your message you said you were in trouble. That a fungus is spreading through town. That Ezra’s sick and that things aren’t safe and that you were gonna try to fix it all? I called at Gramma’s place and then Nate’s. I’m so glad I finally found you. ” Dad sounds like he’s in full-blown panic mode. And for the first time it hits me: Being away is just as hard on him. Dad was always the first one to help us when we needed it. Now he can’t do a thing. “Were you really serious about all that?”

  I could try to hide the truth from Dad, but he has a right to know what might happen to his family if I can’t pull off this rescue. “I was. And it’s even worse than I said.”

  “Worse than a mutant fungus turning your brother into a zombie?” His voice is muffled and there’s a woman talking in the background. It sounds like she’s telling him to sit down.

  “Is everything okay, Dad?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Fill me in.”

  I rattle out everything from Old Man Bell’s death to Vitaccino’s secret ingredient to Albert Eldridge taking over in the woods and the fungicide not working anymore.

  “That’s a doozy,” Dad says. “I always thought something fishy was going on at the plant, but I could never prove it. Of course, that doesn’t help you now. What you need is a new remedy.”

  “Any ideas?”

  Dad mutters to himself and I can picture him rubbing his chin with that deep-in-thought look he gets. “When everything happened with the rats, I did some research on fungus. It might not be anything, but I read an article about frogs who survived a fungal infection because of the bacteria on their skin. You might be able to formulate a bacteria-phage serum—”

  “I don’t even know what that means, Dad. I don’t have time to go to a lab or––”

  “I’m gonna help you through this, Mags. We need to find something that can kill the fungus. Something that––”

  “Sir, I already told you, you can’t be on that phone.” The woman’s back and she sounds ticked.

  “But I’m speaking to my daughter and she needs––”

  “We have rules for a reason. I’m taking your phone for the duration.”

  “But ma’am, please––” There’s a rustling, then the distant sound of Dad calling out, “Don’t give up, Mags!”

  The line goes dead.

  And just like that, I’m on my own again. Without Nate. Without a plan. Without a glimmer of hope for solving this. I slump against the cave wall. The best I can do is make my way back into town and see if there are any uninf
ected grown-ups who might be able to help.

  I poke my head out of the cave. The bats swoop down like bits of night sky tumbling to the ground. They’re about the only thing around here that’s not glowing. I glance behind me. Them, and the cave.

  In fact, there’s no fungi here at all. I creep to the crop duster, looking at the place where Nate noticed the shriveled mushrooms. I’d figured some fungicide had leaked and killed them. But that stuff quit working. Which means there’s gotta be something else killing the mushrooms.

  A bat chirps as it dives for a fluttering brown moth. Goose bumps prick along my arms. This is the only place in the woods we’ve spotted bats.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out the crinkled sheets from Dad’s journal. If he were here he’d probably know exactly what to do. But since he’s not, I’ve got to try to think like him. On my feet.

  The bats just might be the answer. I pace in front of their cave. They haven’t grown stalks. They don’t glow. But they fly around the woods eating all sorts of bugs that have definitely been exposed to Ophio. Somehow, they’re naturally resistant. But how?

  My boot squishes into a mound of bat guano. As I fling off the sticky pellets, I think about what Dad said about the frogs who survived a fungal attack because of the bacteria on their skin. I wipe the side of my boot against a rock. Poo’s loaded with bacteria.

  It would take months of research to be 100 percent sure, but I don’t have months. I’ve got minutes. And a gut-zinging hunch that the microbes in the bat’s guano might kill Ophiocordyceps and keep the bats from being infected.

  I bend over and scoop up a handful. It rolls around on my glove. This is not the way I imagined my big breakthrough to go, but science isn’t always pretty.

  Footsteps tromp through the woods in the distance. It’s go out on a limb or turn into a spore-spewing zombie.

  I kneel and lift one of the MegaBlasters from the dirt. I bite my lip. Sticky little guano pellets aren’t exactly going to squirt out real well. I peek into the Vitaccino van. There’s a few water bottles on the floor, plus two coffee thermoses in the cup holders. It’ll have to do. I swing the door open and divide the water and coffee between two blasters and head for the cave.

  When I finish dropping the pellets into the blasters, I give them a hard shake to stir it all up. It’s the best I can do. I’ve still got a few packs of water grenades, but I’m all out of liquid to mix with them. I move the grenades to the outside pouch and open my bag wide.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I grab another handful of guano and drop it into my backpack. I keep at it until my bag is completely full of the brown pellets. At least I’ve got plenty of ammo for a reload.

  I hoist the MegaBlasters over both shoulders and march through the woods. The forest is so still I can hear every breath I take. I’m on my own, surrounded by zombified townspeople with a crackpot cure as my only defense. I suck in a breath and force my feet to keep going until Old Man Bell’s cabin peeks out from between the dark branches. I tiptoe closer. A handful of workers lift wooden crates into the backs of two flatbed trucks.

  The national order. People all over the country are going to get the new spore-filled recipe. If that shipment goes out, the infection rates will skyrocket. I scan the faces around the trucks. There’s no sign of Ezra, Nate, or Albert Eldridge.

  The weathervane staked in the yard whirls and something dark shifts in front of the window inside the cabin. A flash of Nate’s curly hair.

  I wait until the workers’ backs are to me, then creep behind some overgrown bushes and make my way to the cabin. The porch creaks as I step on a loose floorboard. Heads swing in my direction. I press against the wood and hold my breath. After a moment, they go back to loading boxes.

  The door is partially open and I push it wider with my hip. The air inside smells old and damp like a storm shelter that’s been shut up too long. Shadows fall from a faded rocking chair and music drones from an old-fashioned record player. It’s a song I’ve heard Gramma sing, but it sounds different here––like it’s coming out at the wrong speed. Too slow and deep.

  “Sugar, ah honey honey…”

  I yank up the arm of the record player and stop the music. Footprints mark the dusty hall, and there’s a soft rustling up ahead. I hold my finger against the MegaBlasters’ triggers and follow the footprints to a closed door. I open it. A staircase leads to blackness. Going down is just plain dumb. Like a fly buzzing directly into a spider’s web. I take a step back, but a moan rises from below.

  “Maggie.” It’s Nate. Only different. Flatter, colder. “I’ve been waiting for you. Come on. I’m stuck. It hurts.”

  I shouldn’t go.

  “Please, Mags. Don’t leave me here.”

  I can’t stop myself. I feel for the first step, then the next. Nate’s cries get louder and my feet move faster. I stumble over the last stair and skid onto a cool concrete floor. It’s dark, and there’s a dripping sound. “Nate?! Are you here?”

  A light flickers and the basement goes from inky black to fluorescent green. “We’re all here now,” Albert croons. “One big, happy family. At last.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Twisting ribbons of fungi wind across the basement walls like nuclear centipedes. Nate slumps on the concrete behind Albert. His shoulders sag and his mouth droops, making him look like somebody’s tossed-out ragdoll. Ezra stands at Albert’s side, his eyes glassy.

  I point one blaster at Albert. “Let them go!”

  “I can’t do that. They mean too much to me.”

  Nate’s eyes shift to mine. “Run,” he mouths.

  I put my finger on the MegaBlaster’s trigger, ready to soak them all. But something falls from above. Cold scales scrape against my neck as a foot-long black snake coils down my chest. I scream, reaching for its tail with both hands. The blasters crash to the ground and Ezra kicks them away. I fling the snake toward the corner of the basement.

  “It’s only a little reptile. Nothing to fear.”

  I scramble up a few steps as a puff of alligator-green dust swirls around Albert’s ankles. I press my bandanna close to my nose. Albert opens his mouth and the first curl of wispy white tumbles out. I hurtle up two more steps, but the spore cloud whirls up fast after me.

  “Stop!” Nate cries from below. He’s on his feet and gripping one of the blasters. “Leave Maggie alone!”

  “Maggie?” Ezra presses his hand against the side of his head like he’s waking up with a whopping migraine.

  “It’s too late for doubts,” Albert says. “We’re all in this together. Get the weapon from the boy, Ezra.”

  Ezra jerks his head from me to Nate, then trudges over. But before he can grab the MegaBlaster, Nate pulls the trigger. There’s a whizzing sound and then… splat. Brown liquid splashes Ezra’s face and he stumbles back.

  Nate squirts him again and the mixture fizzes and bubbles as it sinks into Ezra’s skin. The Day-Glo blue fades from his lips and he blinks at me, looking more like himself than he has in days.

  “What’s that stink?” Nate asks, sniffing the end of the blaster.

  “Bat guano.” I stand and meet Albert’s murky eyes. “You’re not the only one with a new recipe.”

  “Get away from my friend.” Nate points the squirt gun at Albert.

  Albert gives a moldy smile. “It’s been a pleasure, but I must be going now.” There’s a rush of wind. I squeeze my eyes shut and when I open them again a cloud of white vapor hangs in the air. Albert’s gone.

  Ezra sits up and rubs one eye. “Maggie? What’s going on?”

  “No time to explain.” I trot down the stairs, grab the other blaster, and turn to Nate, who still gleams cerulean. “Close your eyes. It’s about to get real stinky.”

  “What do you mean it’s––”

  I pull the trigger and drench him in guano. It sizzles and foams over Nate’s entire body.

  “That stings, Mags!” He wriggles around like I’ve just dropped a pile of fire ant
s down his shorts.

  “You’ll thank me later.” I keep spraying until his arms and legs are coated in a goopy layer of liquid brown. When I finally quit, he slumps to the floor with a groan. “I smell like my Uncle Tony’s house after his sewer system got clogged.”

  I can’t argue with that, but it worked. At least, I think it worked. Neither of them glows anymore and the guano hasn’t burned through their skin or turned them into jerky. “How do you feel?”

  Nate scratches the back of his head. “I’d kill for a bag of pizza rolls and a two-liter of root beer right now.”

  I smile. “If we get outta here, I’ll buy you all the pizza rolls you can snarf.” There’s a rattling outside the cabin. The fungi on the basement walls fan out and creep down the floor toward us. If I had more ammo, I’d spray it all down too. “We gotta move.”

  We trot up the stairs and into the living room. The record’s spinning again, only now it’s crazy fast and high-pitched.

  I grab the record and snap it over my knee.

  The porch creaks. I pull back the curtains and peek out. Taniesha and Kirby plod back and forth in front of the door like a couple of sleepwalking soldiers. “We need to start spraying the rest of them.”

  Ezra glances from the blaster in my hand to the one in Nate’s. “I can’t fight empty-handed.”

  I swing my backpack to the ground and pull out the packs of water grenades. “The rest of the bag’s loaded with ammo. Just mix with water. Should be enough to treat all the workers.”

  “On it.” Ezra grabs the bag from me, then pauses. “Mags?”

  “Yeah?”

  His eyes are soft and hopeful like the Ezra I remember from before Dad left. “I’m sorry… about, well, you know.”

  I nod. “You’re forgiven.” I grab the doorknob and pause. “Mostly.”

  I push the door open. Taniesha and Kirby stalk toward us, and I soak them with the MegaBlaster. They sizzle and squeal. A red-haired boy a couple of years older than Ezra leaps onto the porch and Nate fires a steady brown stream in his face. As the guano drips down his chin, he blinks back at us. “Where am I?”