The Villain Virus

by Michael Buckley

  “Less history lesson and more rescuing me from the skeleton people!” Flinch shouted, pulling fruitlessly at his bindings.

  “The tunnels are why we have to stop the bombs from exploding. If they go off, every house, business, car, and person above them will collapse into the earth.”

  “I didn’t know that!” he said.

  “IT WAS IN THE BRIEFING!” his teammates shouted through the com-link.

  Duncan’s voice returned. “All right, buddy, take a deep breath and calm down. Try to relax and stay positive. What is it that your grandma always says?”

  “De que tocan a llover, no hay más que abrir el paraguas,” Flinch said.

  “What does that mean?” Wheezer asked.

  “If it’s raining, all you have to do is open your umbrella.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Pufferfish said.

  “We’re going to find his umbrella,” Gluestick responded. “Now, feel around for something to loosen the ropes.”

  Flinch reached out until something sharp jabbed his wrists. Was it a knife? What did a skeleton need a knife for? Were the skeletons not satisfied with scaring him to death, and now they wanted to stab him? He pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on his situation. He had learned in his secret agent training that anything could be a tool—even a pointy thing in a stack of dead people. So he fought the urge to pee his pants and rubbed the ropes against its sharp edge.

  “Maybe I need to go in after him,” Braceface said. “I’ll just morph my braces into a motorcycle and zip down there. If we don’t act fast this place is going to be French toast.”

  “They don’t eat French toast in France,” Pufferfish grumbled.

  Flinch continued tearing at his bindings. Soon he heard a snap and his hands were free. Against his better judgment he turned to see what the sharp object was. It was a skull with a jaw full of broken teeth. He had put his hands into its mouth!!! Ugh!!! He danced around, trying to shake the creepy feeling.

  “Now, for the harness,” he said when he got himself under control. He eyed it closely, searching for damage. As one of the most hyperactive kids in the world, Flinch was doomed to a life full of the jitters until he received his upgrades. Tiny robots called nanobytes turned the sugar that he consumed into raw power, then channeled it into the harness, which focused it and allowed him to dial it up or down at will. Without it, he was just a kid who ate too many cupcakes and rambled when he spoke. But how had the thugs known to disable it?

  One of the harness’s power cords had been yanked out. Flinch reinserted it, and the chest plate glowed to life with a familiar blue light. Immediately, he felt the energy coursing through him.

  “Problemo numero dos has been solved. How much time do I have?”

  “Nine minutes,” Pufferfish said.

  “I need someone to guide me through these tunnels. Can we scan them for the bombs?”

  “Already done,” Pufferfish said. “Each bomb is producing a low-grade electronic signal, which I can detect because there is very little power down there. But they’re spread out, and worse, these tunnels are hundreds of years old and some have collapsed, so be careful. The first one is only a few yards ahead of you.”

  Flinch blasted forward, fueled by the harness. He left a trail of dust and bone behind him.

  “Make a left at the fork ahead,” Pufferfish said. “Radiation signatures tell me the explosive device is just beyond.”

  Flinch did as he was told, tearing through the tunnels. He rounded a bend in the path, noticing stones inscribed with strange dates and numbers. One read OSSEMENTS DU CIMETIÈRE DES INNOCENTS DÉPOSÉS EN AVRIL 1786.

  “What’s with the markers down here?” he asked.

  Pufferfish cleared her throat. “They’re sort of on-site lists of when people were taken from the original cemetery and brought to the catacombs. They’re not important to the mission.”

  “I’m trying to keep my mind off all the dead people,” Flinch said.

  “The bombs aren’t enough distraction?” Wheezer asked.

  “There!” Pufferfish cried.

  Flinch came to a screeching stop. The first explosive was crammed into a dark corner of the tunnel. It was about the size of a small paperback book, with a timer on the front and several glowing lights. “Got the first one!”

  “Describe what you see,” Pufferfish said.

  “It’s small and metal and there’s a clasp on the side. Hold on, I’ll open it. OK, there are two long tubes filled with liquids. One looks like cream filling and the other like fruit punch. At the ends of the tubes are needles, like in a doctor’s office, and they are inserted into two small bricks of white clay that look like saltwater taffy. And it’s all hooked up to a black box—the timer.”

  “Plastic explosives,” Wheezer said.

  “Only worse,” Gluestick said.

  “Huh? Why is it worse?” Flinch asked.

  “Don’t panic,” Gluestick said.

  “Don’t tell me not to panic! Now I’m panicking!”

  “It’s a hybrid bomb. The plastic explosive is probably enough to knock the ceiling down, but the explosion isn’t enough for the whole tunnel, so Kapow added a chemical element. I can’t know for sure what is in the tubes without doing tests, but I suspect it’s a form of acid. The bomb knocks out the tunnel and the chemicals eat the limestone from below. It spreads and disintegrates everything it touches until there’s a gigantic hole that can’t be filled in or built upon. Not only is this lunatic trying to cave Paris in on itself, he’s making sure no one can fix the damage.”

  “And how do I stop it?”

  “Just a second. I’m accessing the information now,” Pufferfish said. “OK … remove the cover of the black box, and inside there should be some wires.”

  Flinch reached down and delicately removed the cover, but he didn’t see just a few wires, as he had expected. Instead, he saw dozens … scores … hundreds. The guts of the timer looked like multicolored spaghetti spilling out all over the place.

  “Find the green wire,” Pufferfish said.

  The green wire? There were a hundred green wires! The more he dug, the more he found. There was no way he was going to be able to do such delicate work.

  “OK, Plan B!” Flinch said, shoving the bomb into his pocket. “Where’s the next one?”

  “Flinch—”

  “Andale!” Flinch cried. “We don’t have time!”

  “Fine! Keep moving down the tunnel, then make a left at the curve ahead and go up to the next level. Wow! Some of these tunnels run parallel to one another. It’s like an ant farm down there. Anyway, the next explosive is in an alcove,” Pufferfish said.

  “This is going to take forever! What if I just knock down the wall?”

  “Well, I—” Flinch slugged the wall and the limestone collapsed, opening a passage to another tunnel. There he found the second bomb. Finally, one of his decisions had worked. “We’re on a roll now. Where’s the next one?”

  Pufferfish led the boy through the catacombs. One by one he smashed through the ancient limestone walls and found Kapow’s bombs. He tucked each new device into his pants and hoped that he wouldn’t accidentally set off the chemicals inside.

  “How many left?” Flinch asked.

  “One,” Pufferfish said. “It’s in a section of the tunnels called the Port Mahon Quarry.”

  Following her instructions, Flinch smashed his way to the last of the explosives. What was it the teachers said in math class? “The shortest distance from point A to point B is a straight line”? They were right. It was even shorter when you had a superpunch.

  Finally, he found himself standing before an iron gate with a concrete wall on the other side.

  “OK, I’m here,” Flinch said. “Looks like they don’t want anyone to go past this point.”

  “Records show the city closed up this tunnel because the ceiling was collapsing. A few workers died here about a decade ago.”

  “How did he get a bomb back the
re?” Flinch asked.

  “There are other ways into the quarry,” Pufferfish explained. “This is the most direct. How are you doing?”

  Flinch looked down at the light on his harness. Knocking down walls and running at over seventy miles an hour had used up a lot of fuel. He turned the knob on his harness to the highest level and then pulled with all his strength at the iron gate. It came away in his hands. Now he just had to punch through the concrete.

  He gave it two wallops. There was a huge orchestra of rumbling, a thick cloud of dust, and a blast of cold air. When the dust settled, he could see the last bomb waiting on the other side. He scooped it up and shoved it into his pocket with the others, then turned to make a dash for the exit. But he wasn’t feeling all that fast. The powerful punches had sapped almost all of his strength.

  “I hope there’s an exit nearby because I’m on empty,” Flinch said.

  “It’s just off to the left,” Pufferfish told him.

  Suddenly, everything went black.

  “What happened to my contacts?!” Flinch cried. He blinked furiously but nothing happened. He still couldn’t see anything.

  “The battery must have died,” Gluestick explained. “They last only a few minutes. Don’t you remember the—”

  “Yes, I KNOW! The briefing!” Flinch growled. “I’m in the dark. I’m out of power. I’ve got ten bombs shoved in my pants, and I’m surrounded by skeletons. This is the worst mission ever!”

  Desperate, he reached out for the wall and felt the cold, ancient bones on his fingertips. Fighting the urge to gag, he started walking as quickly as possible, stumbling occasionally on something—what, he dared not imagine. But after a while he saw a shaft of light shining down on a spiral staircase. With what was left of his power, he raced up the steps and darted out onto the streets of Paris. Gluestick and Braceface were waiting for him at the exit.

  “I have to get rid of these bombs!” Flinch said, gasping for breath. “Do you have any sweets?”

  The boys fumbled in their pockets, searching for a stick of gum or a forgotten piece of taffy, but there wasn’t any. Even the emergency lollipop Flinch kept in his shoe was gone. He cursed himself for his late-night snacking.

  “I have to use the emergency stash,” Flinch said.

  He pushed a button on his chest plate, which activated a panel that slid away, revealing a glass plate and a tiny red hammer. On the plate was written the warning BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. EAT ONLY IN DESPERATE SITUATIONS. He shattered the glass, reached into the tiny compartment, and pulled out a candy bar. It was called the Heart Attack Bar—a nine-thousand-calorie concoction of nougat, coconut, chocolate, caramel, and almonds, with a filling of high-fructose syrup. It was a candy bar on steroids shot out of a cannon at a mountain of firecrackers.

  “There must be another way!” Duncan cried. “They tested that thing on a dozen hamsters, and eleven of them exploded. Literally blew up!”

  “What happened to the twelfth one?” Jackson asked.

  “He stole a semitruck and drove it through a shopping mall,” Gluestick said.

  “I saw that on the Internet!” Braceface said. “That was real?”

  “I have no other choice,” Flinch told them as he unwrapped the candy. The chocolate glistened. It was a creamy, dreamy work of art. He had no idea what it would do to him, but the situation was desperate. “Well … here goes nothing.”

  He took a bite of the candy bar and his taste buds exploded. The nuts and nougat swirled around his mouth, sticking to every surface, causing him to drool. Each bite assaulted his teeth like a jackhammer. It was the most delicious and painful thing he had ever tasted, and he let out a little scream that was part joy, part horror. His heart began to pound, and blood raced through his body like a tidal wave. He was pretty sure he saw angels telling him to “not go into the light.”

  “Grrrgggaggggabbb! I AM MIGHTY!” he shouted as he beat on his chest.

  “Flinch! Flinch!” Gluestick shouted over the boy’s excited yelps. “Are you OK?”

  Flinch wanted to respond, but he couldn’t work his mouth right.

  “Is there any chance that he died and his body is just so wound up, it doesn’t know yet?” Braceface asked.

  “Flinch! If you can hear me, we need to get the bombs away from the city,” Gluestick said.

  Flinch shook the clouds from his head and started to speed down the road. He underestimated the power at his command, and slammed face-first into a bus, nearly tipping it over. “Sorry!” he cried.

  “What are you doing with the bombs?” Pufferfish asked through the com-link.

  “NO … TIME … GRRAAGGH!!!” Flinch said as he ran. “NEED … GAAARGGGH … TOSS … RIVER … AIYYYYYYY!”

  “You can’t toss them in the river!” Gluestick said. “The chemicals will destroy the fish life and then flow out into the English Channel. It will be devastating.”

  “YAAAAAGHHH?” Flinch cried, though what he was wondering was where he could dump the bombs if the river was out of the question. Scanning the horizon, he found his answer. In the distance he saw a tower soaring high above the Paris skyline. It was made of wrought iron girders and its tip touched the clouds.

  “TOWER?”

  “Tower? You mean the Eiffel Tower,” Gluestick said.

  “YESSSSSSSSS! WHEEZER! TOWER! MEET!” Flinch screamed, slipping into a string of nonsense words because the sugar had overwhelmed him. He took off like a streak, leaving his teammates behind, and bounded down crowded cobblestone alleys.

  “BOOM! KAPOW! EXPLOSIONS! AAARGGGH!” he shouted to the people in his way, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. They just looked at him like he was crazy. So he had to dart back and forth like a spastic bumblebee, zigging and zagging down one street and then another, all the time checking the horizon for the Eiffel Tower.

  He sped across the Charles de Gaulle Bridge, scattering terrified pigeons. The bridge spanned the Seine, the waterway that cut Paris in two, and led him closer to the tower. After dashing through a park, he reached the tower’s base. The place was full of tourists, and the French police were trying to evacuate them. He spotted a couple of familiar faces—Pufferfish and Wheezer—and a strange man wearing a mask with a clock painted on it and an overcoat covered in real alarm clocks. He was in handcuffs and yammering about his master plan.

  “You foolish children. Don’t you know with whom you are dealing? I am Captain Kapow, the mad bomber! Do you think you can stop me? My intellect is beyond anything you can even imagine.”

  “Agent Brand is going to love this,” Braceface said as he and Gluestick arrived on a motor scooter formed out of Jackson’s superbraces. “Aren’t we supposed to keep a low profile?”

  “You’re the one riding a moped that is coming out of your mouth,” Wheezer said.

  “We’ll worry about the fallout later,” Pufferfish said. “Flinch, what’s your plan?”

  Flinch pointed a shaky finger toward the top of the tower. “UP!! SKY!!!” he said, still struggling to speak through the sugar overload.

  “That’s crazy!” Pufferfish cried.

  “That’s Flinch,” Gluestick said.

  “You’ll never make it!” Kapow roared, his words broken by a series of obnoxious high-pitched giggles. “Your time is almost up. I may not have gotten to cave in the city, but by bringing the bombs here, you have unwittingly helped me destroy one of the most recognizable tourist attractions in the world!”

  “Yawn,” Matilda said, as she intertwined her arms around Flinch’s waist. “You clearly have no idea who we are. We’re the kids they send when James Bond can’t get it done.”

  With a squeeze of her inhalers, she and Flinch blasted into the sky. The tower’s graceful girders flew by in a blur. Wheezer landed on the highest platform, where she and Flinch now stood completely alone.

  “Hand over the bombs,” Wheezer said. “I can fly up into the stratosphere and let them go off where no one will be hurt.”

  “NO! GRAAAGGGH!” Flinch
dug into his pants and removed the explosives. Then, using every ounce of power he could muster, he hurled the bombs, one by one, into the sky. They flew higher and higher until he could no longer see them. When they exploded, there was a massive fireball, and the shock wave sent Wheezer and Flinch tumbling off the observation deck and into the air.

  Flinch saw the ground approaching fast, but then Wheezer’s inhaler rockets were blasting in his ears and he was no longer falling.

  “You’ve got quite an arm there, buddy,” Wheezer said. “You know, if this whole ‘saving the world’ business doesn’t work out, I hear the Nationals are looking for a new pitcher.”

  Flinch could hardly speak. The shock of the Heart Attack Bar, and then the subsequent draining of all its power, had exhausted him. “I am mighty,” he said with a whimper.

  “Good job, shaky,” Pufferfish said through the com-link. “Your first mission in charge and you save Paris. Pretty sweet.”

  Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound from below. Flinch and Wheezer hovered to get a good look. Several avenues and streets began to crumble and give way. A few apartment buildings sunk into the ground and were swallowed whole. Cars vanished, trees disappeared, and even a small park was pulled into the destruction. The damage snaked through five neighborhoods before it stopped.

  “I thought we got all the bombs!” Wheezer said.

  “That’s not from the bombs,” Pufferfish groaned as her voice came on the com-link. “Flinch must have knocked down too many tunnel walls. There wasn’t enough to hold up the streets, and they collapsed under their own weight.”

  Flinch gaped at the destruction and then did what he did best. He freaked out.

  The Antagonist was irritated. When he got irritated bad things happened. Nasty, irrational ideas sprouted in his mind and spread like little angry weeds. The weeds grew and grew, choking anything sensible, until his mind was a garden of death, destruction, chaos, and fires. He knew he should try to calm down. But he just hated to shop. He hated it!