by Andrea Beaty
“That reminds me,” said Moopsy. “I’m hungry. Can we eat one of the small humans tonight? The pink ones look delicious.”
“Their brains are not ready. They will not provide enough energy,” said Commander Cottonswab. “Remember the last one? The brain was not ready.”
“It was better than the dud man,” said Moopsy. “He tasted like suntan lotion.”
“The other man tasted like hand sanitizer,” said Floopsy. “Blech.”
“Can we just have a nibble?” asked Moopsy.
“No,” said Commander Cottonswab. “They will be ready in the morning. After we begin the satellite transmission, we will feast. Now, we must return to camp and save our energy until dawn.”
Commander Cottonswab whapped Moopsy and Floopsy upside their furry heads with his enormous floppy ears and hopped back toward camp, disappearing into the darkness.
Moopsy and Floopsy followed the leader, hitting and kicking each other as they went. Long after the Fluffs had disappeared into the dark, Joules, Kevin, and Nelson could hear the sounds of things that go and bump in the night.
The kids waited a moment to catch their breath and make sure the Fluffs were not coming back before stepping out onto the path.
“Thanks, Nelson,” said Kevin. “That was some kind of rescue.”
“Yeah,” said Joules, rubbing her elbow. “That was actually pretty good.”
“You’re welcome,” said Nelson happily. “I knew I had to do something when those creatures showed up in camp. Now what?”
“We have to find the others,” said Kevin. “I bet they’re in that building.”
“But first we need a plan,” said Joules.
Kevin looked with surprise at his sister. She usually mocked his need to think through a situation before attacking it. Perhaps she had learned something from him after all.
Joules searched the ground and found a thick stick. She picked it up and took a few swipes at the air to test its strength and balance.
“Now that’s a good plan,” she said, pointing the stick toward the dim light coming from the building. “Let’s go!”
The trio hurried down the path toward a run-down octagonal brick building surrounded by tall grass that had not been mowed in a long time. It was nearly to the kids’ knees, but they barely noticed. Their attention was focused entirely upon a gigantic ear. Well, more accurately, a picture of a gigantic ear painted on a gigantic satellite dish that towered above the whole facility. A sign in front of the dish said:
A huge “No Trespassing by order of the U.S. Government” sign was nailed to the door of the brick building. Kevin and Joules peered through the side windows. They could see light under a door across the lobby.
“Get a brick,” said Joules. “We’ll break the window and get in.”
“I have a better plan,” said Kevin, reaching for the doorknob. “Let’s try the door.”
He turned the knob and the door swung open.
“Lucky,” said Joules.
Kevin smiled and led them inside. They heard the sound of voices and … was it …
Singing?
Perhaps you have found yourself in a similar situation as Joules and Kevin and Nelson—trying to rescue a band of campers from killer alien rabbits bent on eating everyone on the planet while avoiding becoming lunch yourself. If so, what did you do? Really. This would be a great time to speak up because our heroes would really appreciate knowing.
Just sayin’….
The sound of singing came from behind a wooden door just off the lobby. Joules, Kevin, and Nelson crouched outside the door.
“Count of three,” said Joules, raising her stick.
One …
Two …
THREE!
Kevin threw open the door and Joules jumped into the room, ready to strike.
“Omigosh,” said Kevin.
“Wow,” said Nelson.
“What?” asked Joules, dropping her stick.
The door opened onto a large, well-lit room with rows of television monitors and complicated control panels all facing an enormous screen at the front of the room. The kids had seen images of such a room on history shows about the space program. This was Mission Control.
Campers sat at the control stations, their unblinking eyes spinning slowly in opposite directions as they stared at the monitors in front of them.
The same image was displayed on every monitor and on the enormous screen at the front of the room. For only a moment, the twins looked at the giant screen, but what they saw was so horrible, they had to look away.
“Those monsters! How could they make them watch such a thing?” Joules asked as two dozen young teens in gym clothes broke into a Broadway musical dance number about school lunches.
“Junior High School Musical Seven,” said Kevin. “The horror.”
“It’s kind of catchy,” said Nelson, who stared blankly at the screen, swaying along as a squeaky-voiced seventh grader sang, “Your love is like a Tater Tot. Sometimes cold and sometimes hot.”
Joules punched Nelson on the arm.
“Snap out of it!” she said. “Don’t you see what they’re doing? They are trying to turn everyone’s brain into sweet mush so they can eat them! You shut it off, and we’ll get everybody out of here!”
“C’mon everybody!” Joules yelled at the campers.
No response.
“Hey!” said Kevin, shaking Avery by the shoulders. “You’re in danger! Wake up!”
Avery stared at the dancing teens on his monitor with a sappy smile on his face. Kevin blocked his view of the screen, but Avery looked through Kevin as if he weren’t there.
“The override is engaged,” said Nelson. “I can’t stop the transmission.”
“My plan will stop it,” said Joules, raising her stick.
“No, it won’t,” said Nelson. “This system is wired to keep running. If one thing breaks, the others keep going. The emergency backup is probably at some remote location.”
“Why?” asked Joules.
“This is Mission Control. What if they had a rocket launch going and then a tornado or something hit this facility?” said Nelson. “They’d lose control of the rockets.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” said Kevin, looking at the campers who smiled sweetly at the screens. “We’re too late. They’re zombies.”
“There’s something else,” said Nelson nervously. “That satellite dish outside can send signals around the world if it syncs up with an orbiting satellite.”
“That’s what the aliens are doing!” said Kevin. “They’re going to use that satellite to hypnotize people and make them an easy meal!”
“They’re going to broadcast this show to the entire world!” said Joules. “This goop will turn everyone’s brains to syrup! I guess there’s only one thing to do.”
“What?” asked Nelson.
“Let’s find some food,” said Joules. “I’m starving.”
Joules walked back into the lobby. Kevin glared after her.
“I’m staying here,” he said. “We can’t just leave these guys!”
But at that moment, the cast of Junior High School Musical Seven broke into a song that was either about winning the big basketball game or dissecting frogs.
“You gotta have the guts to get the glory!” they sang.
Kevin shuddered.
“Wait for me!” he yelled, running out of Mission Control. “Wait for me!”
Joules, Kevin, and Nelson searched the building, wandering down hallways and poking their heads into each room they passed. Most of the rooms were offices or defunct computer labs. Many of them still had furniture and books stacked in corners. A few still had papers on the desks, but it was clear that no one had been in the facility for a long time.
“This gives me the creeps, like that movie Don’t Look in the Bathroom!” said Joules. “Remember the one where the students at a boarding school disappear one by one and the last kid goes into the bathroom and finds a killer zi—”
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“Not the same,” interrupted Kevin, pointing to a memo taped to the wall.
In the basement, the kids found a large kitchen lined with cabinets. The kitchen counters were stacked high with heavy-duty cooking pots and boxes filled with foil-sealed white packets. Each packet was printed with black letters. “PEAS.” “CARROTS.” “ASPARAGUS.” “BEEF STEW.” “ICE CREAM.”
“Astronaut food!” squealed Nelson, picking up a packet of beef stew and ripping the end open. “I saw a show about this once. This stuff is amazing, and it never goes bad!”
“Blech,” said Joules. “It starts out bad!”
Joules hoisted herself onto a countertop and dangled her feet over the edge.
“Still,” she said. “It’s all we’ve got.”
She plucked a packet of “ICE CREAM” from a box, broke off a piece of the chalky, freeze-dried pink square, and touched it to her tongue.
“Hey,” she said. “That’s pretty good.”
“Hello!” said Kevin. “Kind of need a plan here. Or have you forgotten the situation we’re in? We’ve got a room full of zombies up there and three aliens back at camp who could come here any minute. That’s bad!”
“The aliens are recharging their telereceptors. Remember? They won’t come back until dawn,” said Joules, hopping off the counter. “You boys figure out a plan, and I’ll look around for something useful like a secret weapon and a vending machine.”
Kevin opened his notebook to the list he and Nelson had started earlier. So much had happened since then. Nelson and Kevin talked about Sparkletooth, the Fluffs’ disguises, and their awful breath.
“It’s kind of weird how the aliens didn’t like you and Joules,” said Nelson. “I think you’re nice.”
“They didn’t like you, either,” said Kevin. “Remember when Jammer stepped on your foot? He acted like you bit him.”
“It’s a good thing I had my shoe on,” said Nelson. “He might have broken my toe. I wish I had my shoe now. I miss my shoe.”
“Stop worrying about your shoe,” said Kevin. “The aliens don’t care about your sh—Wait a minute. Maybe they do. When Jammer hit your foot and jerked away like it was poison, maybe it was your shoe!”
“Or something on my shoe!” said Nelson.
“That’s it!” said Kevin. “It was the sauce! Remember the sauce that dripped on your shoe? The aliens hate the secret sauce! It’s probably why they don’t like us and why Jammer’s disguise melted when he touched me and Joules. Eating Mom’s secret sauce probably mutated our DNA or something.”
Joules did not hear this discussion. She had just walked into the pantry at the back of the kitchen and flipped on the light.
“Joules!” yelled Kevin. “I know just what we need to fight the aliens!”
“So do I!” Joules yelled back.
She was looking at the stack of crates that reached from the floor to the pantry ceiling.
SPAM!!!!!
Kevin and Nelson ran to the pantry, where Joules stood with a can of SPAM in each hand.
“It’s perfect!” she said, throwing a can at Kevin’s head.
“Hey!” yelled Kevin, ducking out of the way. “That could kill a guy.”
“Exactly!” said Joules. “All we need now is some kind of cannon or catapult or something. Maybe we can make one!”
“That could kill a guy,” said Kevin. “But we’re not talking about guys. We’re talking about aliens. Ferocious, furry, fanged aliens with bad breath. But don’t worry. I’ve got a plan!”
“Is it a good plan or a stupid plan that has lots of charts and diagrams and not much fighting?” asked Joules.
“It has a stick,” said Kevin.
“Count me in!” said Joules.
“Okay,” said Joules. “Let’s get cooking. If secret sauce freaks out the aliens, maybe it can stop them, too.”
Kevin, Joules, and Nelson opened can after can of SPAM, draining the clear(ish) juice into the large copper soup pot on the stove. They left the cubes of meat in the metal cans and packed them back into the cartons. Next, they set to work ripping open packets of freeze-dried astronaut food. They opened packets of asparagus, beef stew, peas, and spinach and tossed them into the pot. The mixture turned a disgusting greenish brown as the astronaut food dissolved and the secret sauce started to boil.
“This will be good,” said Joules, pulling out a new case of freeze-dried food. “And by good, I mean good and deadly! Just like Mom makes!”
She tossed in freeze-dried prunes, squash, rice pudding, and liver. The brew changed from a greenish brown to a purplish greenish brown and rapidly started to thicken.
“How will we know when it’s done?” asked Nelson.
Splurp!*
The molten sauce heaved and splurped, releasing a toxic, faint-purple vapor that knocked the campers back a few steps.
“IT’S DONE!!!!”
“Hey, look at this,” said Kevin, who had been reading a framed article hanging on the wall. Nelson and Joules came over to see. The article included a picture of two men in suits standing in front of a rocket exactly like the one the kids had seen in the forest. In fact, it was the very same rocket. Only the picture was taken a long time ago and the rocket was not, therefore, crunched and burned out and covered with bits of Fluff fur.
It was shiny.
Remember this when you’re grown up. It explains a lot about grown-ups.
“Okay,” said Joules. “So now we have a toxic death potion. How do we use it? It’s not sweet, so they aren’t going to drink it.”
“I don’t know,” said Kevin. “What if we spray it on them?”
“Do you have a squirt gun?” asked Joules.
“Don’t need one,” said Nelson. “We’ll use the fire sprinkler system! All we have to do is feed the goop into the right water lines, and when the sprinkler goes off, it will rain secret sauce! That’s easy.”
“You can do that?” asked Joules.
“I told you,” said Nelson with an enormous grin, “all the cool kids watch the Plumbing Channel!”
“So I hear,” said Joules. “So where does the stick come in?”
“Well …,” said Kevin sheepishly. “I kind of lied about that.”
“I knew it,” said Joules, giving Kevin a fake stink-eye. “That’s why I’ve come up with Plan B!”
Kevin smiled as Joules started hauling drained cans of SPAM upstairs to Mission Control. Most people would be offended by a sister who felt the need to come up with a backup plan, but not Kevin. He had seen enough movies to know that you always need a Plan B. Sometimes a good Plan B can keep you from being squished by truck-sized cockroaches or gnawed on by a two-ton hamster. It stands to reason that when faced with ferocious alien bunnies, a Plan B is definitely a good idea. In fact …
“I’ll get busy on a Plan C. Just in case,” said Kevin, giving the sauce one last stir and heading upstairs with a box of astronaut ice cream.
It was almost dawn when Nelson finished the plumbing work for Plan A. However, he could not test the sprinklers without using up all the secret sauce. There was enough secret sauce to get one—and only one—good shot at the aliens. If the sprinklers didn’t go off when he flipped the manual switch, it was Plan B time.
Joules had been busy fortifying a corner of Mission Control for Plan B. She stacked SPAM cans into pyramids behind a semicircle of desks. From here, the kids could neutralize the rabbits by hurling cans at their heads. Joules had hoped to find a cannon or catapult sitting around. No luck. However, she did fashion a kind of SPAM chucker from her stick and a pair of dirty gym socks she found in the janitor’s closet. It wasn’t much, but it might help.
Besides the socks, Joules also found a bucket, some matches, and a mop handle. Kevin could use these for Plan C. There were three matches, and they were the big old-fashioned kind that would ignite when struck against any rough surface. That was the good news. The bad news was that they were the big old-fashioned kind that would ignite when struck against any rough
surface. This meant Kevin had to be very careful not to light them by accident. And worse, it meant that they were old. Very old. This type of match had been replaced by safety matches years ago. If they had absorbed too much moisture over the years, they would crumble and not light. And with only three matches, Kevin was afraid to test one. He crossed his fingers, bundled the matches together so they wouldn’t snap off when struck, and used Nelson’s lanyard to lash them to the mop handle. (If you’ve ever tried to do anything with crossed fingers, you’ll know how hard that must have been!) Kevin spent the rest of the time opening packets of astronaut ice cream and crumbling the chalky cubes into the bucket.
At one end of Mission Control was a special area with a microphone and four cameras aimed at a large E.A.R.S. emblem on the wall. If the aliens planned to send a transmission to the world, this was where it was going to happen.
“What about them?” asked Joules, pointing to the smiling camper zombies.
“There’s nothing we can do,” said Kevin. “They won’t move, and we can’t carry them. But we have to stop the aliens or these guys are on the menu!”
Junior High School Musical Seven had ended. As had its sequel and its sequel and its sequel and …
The zombified campers stared at Junior High School Musical Thirty-three. The same teen actors who had been singing about Tater Tots were now singing about graduation day. At least Joules thought they were the same kids. She was pretty sure one of them had grown a beard since the last time she looked.
A thirty-year-old cheerleader sang to a guy in a graduation gown, “Your love is like a graduation hat. Weird and square and sort of flat.”
Joules groaned.
“This better work,” she said. “Or we’ll all turn to zombies. What happens if Plan A fails, Plan B fails, and Plan C fails?”
“There’s always Plan D,” said Kevin.
“What’s Plan D?” asked Nelson.