Attack of the Fluffy Bunnies

by Andrea Beaty

  “RUN!!!!!” said Kevin.

  Fluffs are many things. Fluffy. Ferocious. Fanged. And a little stinky. Okay, a lot stinky. But there is one thing they are not. Stealthy.

  It was easy for the twins and Nelson to hear the Fluffs arrive at dawn. They spent five minutes whomping and stomping and whapping and slapping at one another in the lobby while trying to get through the doorway at the same time. As the aliens approached, Joules ducked behind her fort and Nelson crouched behind a chair at the back of the room, where he could pull the fire sprinkler switch at the right moment.

  Kevin could not hide. For Plan C to work, he had to be close to the Fluffs. Very close. He stashed the bucket of freeze-dried ice cream and the “matchstick” beneath a control station next to the E.A.R.S. emblem and sat down. He pretended to be hypnotized. Like the zombified campers, he sat stiffly and stared blankly at the screen, where the actors were doing a montage of every single adventure they had shared during the last thirty-two movies about life in middle school.

  The Fluffs threw open the door and tumbled into Mission Control snarling and slapping at one another with their long ears. They looked cranky, tired, and mean.

  About time, thought Kevin, who could feel his brain turning to mush as a boy and girl with braces sang a duet: “I love the way your braces shine. Full of pizza just like mine.”

  The Fluffs tumbled onto the stage area in front of the cameras. They were just feet away from Kevin. They smacked their lips at the zombie campers.

  “Delicious,” said Commander Cottonswab. “Their brains are ready. We shall dine soon! First, we must begin our transmission.”

  “Once it is complete,” said Moopsy, “all the crunchy sweet earthlings will be ours!”

  At that moment, the movie flickered on the screen and went black, a light turned red above the four cameras, and the three Fluffs were projected onto the screen and command monitors.

  Showtime.

  The lights on the control stations began to flash. Then, one by one, they stayed on. The remote connections were complete. Around the world, people were watching.

  “The satellite is in range!” said Commander Cottonswab. “Smile.”

  Floopsy and Moopsy showed their fangs and waved at the camera. Their eyes began to swirl faster.

  “Earthlings of Earth,” said Commander Cottonswab. “Yes. We mean you. We are not here to conquer your delicious planet. That would be bad. Tasty, but bad.”

  He smiled his creepy fake smile while Floopsy and Moopsy shook their heads in the background.

  “Bad,” they said.

  “Would you like to hear a joke?” Commander Cottonswab said flatly. “It is a funny one. You will like it. Ha ha. Come close to your television set and look into our eyes.

  “That is the way. Closer … closer …,” said Commander Cottonswab, his eyes glowing brighter and brighter and swirling faster and faster.

  “Look into our eyes!” he said. The Fluffs’ eyes swirled so fast they throbbed. “The connection is made. You are now under our power. Ha ha ha ha. The joke is on you!”

  “You must do as we say,” said Moopsy. “Parents, feed your children candy. They must eat only candy and marshmallows to prepare them for the Brain Readiness Transmissions you call Junior High School Musical.”

  Kevin knew they had to interrupt the transmission before parents around the world started sugaring up their kids to become the ultimate alien buffet.

  The Fluffs smacked their lips. But then a terrifying sound rose around Kevin as all of the zombie campers began to smack their lips, too.

  Now, thought Kevin. C’mon, Nelson … Pull the switch!

  He could not yell to Nelson without sacrificing any hope of his backup plan working. And he feared, in his gut, that they would need every plan they had to defeat the aliens.

  Joules was also watching. She peeked over the barricade at the Fluffs.

  “Now, Nelson!!!!” she yelled. “NOW!!!!”

  “I’m trying!” yelled Nelson.

  In fact, the moment the Fluffs had moved into position on the stage and stood beneath the fire sprinklers, Nelson had jumped into action. He flipped open the plastic case that covered the switch and pulled on the lever. It would not budge. He pulled and tugged and whacked at it, but the switch was stuck.

  At the moment Joules yelled his name, Nelson was whacking the switch with his sneaker. Also, at that moment, two other things happened.

  1. Moopsy turned away from the camera and, in three horribly hasty hops, grabbed Nelson and flung the barefoot boy over his shoulder. Nelson banged his shoe against the Fluff’s head, but the Fluff did not even notice. Plan A: FAILURE.

  2. Floopsy hopped directly toward Joules, who grabbed the SPAMChucker and took aim. BAM! A can of SPAM smacked the Fluff in the eye. Floopsy recoiled from the blow for just an instant, then hopped again. SMACK! Another can hit its target: Floopsy’s nose. This time, Floopsy did not slow down. As Joules loaded the next can into the sock weapon, Floopsy scooped her up by the feet, tossed her over his shoulder, and in two hops was back to the stage. Plan B: EPIC FAILURE.

  When Plan A and Plan B failed, Kevin knew that there was only one hope of stopping the aliens from eating all the humans in the world, and it was him. What he did not know, at that moment, was that the swirling eyes of the campers were trained like lasers right at his head.

  “Watch out!” yelled Joules as the lip-smacking zombies stood and closed in on Kevin, their outstretched arms clawing the air in front of them.

  Kevin pulled the “matchstick” and bucket from beneath the control station and kicked at Avery. The zombie boy fell back, knocking Jack, Eric, and SmellyCat into a heap on the floor. Kevin jumped onto the stage.

  “Hey Bunny Foo Foo!” he yelled. “Come and get it!”

  “Dud!” said Floopsy. “I will come and get you.”

  “Smell this!” yelled Kevin, pushing the bucket of sweet-smelling astronaut ice cream into the Fluff’s face.

  “Mmmmm?” said Floopsy. “Yum.”

  Floopsy dropped Joules and grabbed the bucket from Kevin. In one tilt of his enormous paw, he dumped the ice cream into his mouth.

  Kevin pulled Joules up from the floor and handed her the stick.

  “Will you do the honors, sis?” he asked.

  “Wha—” Joules started, but a deep rumbling grumbling noise began in Floopsy’s belly.

  Joules smiled at Kevin.

  “Now that’s a plan I like!” she said as the sound grew louder and rose higher and higher in the Fluff’s body.

  Like a golf pro, Joules swung the mop handle low, striking the matches on the floor and ending her stroke with a tiny flame six inches from Floopsy’s face as the Fluff leaned back, opened wide, and …

  A ball of flame shot toward the ceiling.

  The fire sprinkler was activated. Purplish greenish brown rain showered down upon Mission Control, drenching three heroes, a band of zombie campers, and the hollow fur of three very surprised Fierce, Large, Ugly, and Ferocious Furballs.

  The splurpy sauce splashed into the Fluffs’ eyes, which swirled slower and slower until they stopped swirling completely. The sauce clogged the Fluffs’ telereceptors, blocking their communication and at the same time making the Fluffs shrink. The process looked a lot like this:

  Cottonswab silently twitched his cute bunny nose. Moopsy silently wiggled his cute bunny ears. Floopsy silently waggled his cute (and blackened) bunny tail.

  The sprinklers shut off.

  Standing in a puddle of purplish greenish brown splurp were three very soggy, very stunned, and very silent little bunnies with eyes that did not swirl at all.

  As the Fluffs lost the power to communicate, they also lost their power over the zombified campers. One by one, the campers snapped out of their daze and looked around.

  “Where are we? What’s going on? Why is it raining inside? Where did the TVs come from?”

  “CanBunFluffUs?” asked SmellyCat, grabbing up the cute little bunnies on the stage
and kissing them on the tops of their adorably cute little bunny heads.

  “I don’t know,” said Joules. “Maybe it’s okay if you don’t let them eat any sugar. Wow! I speak GiggleSnort!”

  Joules looked at Nelson and Kevin and smiled.

  “JobGuysGood,” she said.

  “You too,” said Nelson.

  “Let’s get everyone out of here,” said Kevin.

  The campers and three ridiculously adorable bunnies left Mission Control and headed back to Camp Whatsitooya on the shores of Lake Whatsosmelly, where they spent the day napping, swimming, and relaxing.

  The rest of the week at Camp Whatsitooya was everything the Rockman twins had hoped for in a summer camp and more. The campers, it turned out, were gifted chefs. Well, they were gifted pancake-makers, and that was fine with Joules and Kevin.

  SmellyCat spent their days at Craftland bedazzling collars and beading lovely felt hats for the adorable little bunnies. Each day, they held bunny fashion shows beneath the elm tree and dressed the lovely creatures in sparkly pink and purple bunny dresses and made them dance by lifting the bunnies under the armpits and bouncing them up and down.

  They fed the bunnies carrots and tiny cubes of SPAM. The bunnies growled a little, but got used to it.

  Joules, Kevin, Nelson, and the rest of the campers split their time between the lake and the forest. They swam, sailed, canoed, hiked through the woods, and told ghost stories around the campfire. Kevin intended to work on his chart of Annoying Movie Characters or his list of Things to Avoid, but somehow, the days drifted by without much time to do so. And to his surprise, he was glad.

  Joules and Kevin could have stayed at Camp Whatsitooya forever. But as all good things must come to an end, so must summer camps and SPAM festivals.

  On Saturday morning, Joules and Kevin packed their bags and said good-bye to the other campers. Kevin got Nelson’s address and promised to write.

  “I bet you will, too!” said Nelson happily. “Mom says I’m a good judge of character, and I can tell you really will write!”

  “I won’t,” said Joules. “I’ll be busy watching the Plumbing Channel like all the cool kids I know.”

  She gently jabbed Nelson in the arm with her stick and Nelson grinned.

  Joules and Kevin hiked past Stinky Boulder, through the deep woods, and back to the road where their parents had left them standing in the weeds seven short days before.

  “How was camp?” asked Mrs. Rockman as the family drove away from Camp Whatsitooya.

  “Okay,” said Joules.

  “Did anything exciting happen?” asked Mr. Rockman.

  “You know,” said Kevin, “the usual camp stuff. Hiking. Canoeing. Saving the world from enormous alien rabbits with fangs.”

  “Wonderful,” said Mrs. Rockman. “I knew you would learn about wildlife. I was thinking about next year’s festival. How do we top our SPAMaphone surprise? This year we won because we dropped the phone into the batter and it went off during judging. Why don’t we bake a speaker into a quiche next year and make it talk! In fact, we could …”

  Kevin smiled at Joules, who rolled her eyes and smiled back. Joules put in her earphones, tilted her seat back, and closed her eyes. Kevin leaned against the window and watched the van’s shadow slide along the edge of the road as they drove. The road followed the winding path of a small creek, and the van rocked gently this way and that, making Kevin’s eyelids grow heavier and heavier until—at last—he fell into a deep sleep.

  Had Kevin and Joules been awake when the van climbed the hill that looked down on their hometown, they might have seen a strange object streak across the sky and disappear in a sudden flash of light in the woods. They might also have heard Mrs. Rockman wonder about that flash of light and hear Mr. Rockman’s answer that it was probably nothing, and even if it was something, it probably couldn’t hurt you, and besides, it was probably dead, so there was really no need to worry.

  No need to worry.

  Ah, yes.

  Famous Last Words.

  THIS BOOK WAS ART DIRECTED AND designed by Chad W. Beckerman. The text is set in 12-point Adobe Garamond, a typeface originally drawn by the sixteenth-century French engraver and punch-cutter Claude Garamond. Garamond modeled his typefaces on those created by Venetian printers at the end of the fifteenth century. The modern version used in this book was designed by Robert Slimbach, who studied Garamond’s historic typefaces at the Plantin-Moretus Museum in Antwerp, Belgium. The display font is House of Terror. The art was created by Dan Santat.

  * Those of you who skipped Table 1 a few pages back might be wondering why these Fluffs seem to be thinking all the time instead of talking to each other. Hint: It’s not because they are smart. This might be a good time for you to go back and read that table before it’s too late. We’ll take a nap while you read it. Wake us up when you get back.

  * Possible exceptions include, but are not limited to, poison oak, poison ivy, ivy league, little league, 20,000 leagues under the sea, sea sickness, seesaws, spider bite, snake bite, trilobite, and overbite. Results may vary. Guarantee not valid in Illinois, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, or any other state.

  * Splurp is a rare sound made only by vats of SPAM juice and astronaut food bubbling in a thick, oozy, purplish greenish brownish molten lava kind of way. Splurp is not a good sound.