by Lee Bacon
Once his briefcase was empty, Dr. Fleming began filling it with other objects. Sticks of dynamite, time bombs, detonator switches.
The teacher glanced up at us. “Couldn’t hurt to have a bit of protection, don’t you think?”
When it was full, he lifted a magnet from the side of his filing cabinet. Underneath the magnet was a photograph. A picture of a log cabin surrounded by trees.
Milton pointed at the photo. “What kind of weapon is that?”
“It’s not a weapon.” Dr. Fleming slipped the photo into his pocket. “Nevertheless, I wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”
I still had no idea why a picture of a log cabin was such a huge deal, but right now we had bigger concerns. Like finding Principal Alabaster and securing the school. My friends and I stumbled back into the hallway. Fleming joined us a moment later.
“Any idea where we can find Principal Alabaster?” Sophie asked.
“His office would be a fair bet,” said Dr. Fleming. “He’s there most nights. It’s on the third floor. Follow me.”
We set off in the direction we’d come from. We were halfway to the stuffed tiger when a sound stopped us in our tracks.
CRAAASH!
At first, I assumed it was thunder. But a couple of seconds later, another explosion rang out. And this time, I was sure. It had come from inside the school.
“Please tell me that’s another one of your experiments,” Milton said to Dr. Fleming.
The teacher swallowed hard. “Afraid not.”
I raced to the nearest window. It was tough to see anything through the storm. Rain fell in sheets. Wind howled past the stone walls. A burst of lightning exploded across the sky. Suddenly, a shape emerged from the darkness: a charcoal-gray boat tied to the dock, pitching up and down on the waves.
And it definitely wasn’t the ferry.
Another blast rang out, even louder than the first two. There were other noises too—shouts, the clatter of footsteps, a strange rumble.
“Come on.”
Dr. Fleming was already running in the direction of the stairway. My friends and I trailed him. As we hurried down the stairs, the rumbling grew louder and louder.
Milton paused. “What is that? Sounds almost like … like—”
“Motorcycles.” Miranda gripped the banister even tighter, concentrating to focus her Gyft. “Lots of them. They’re ransacking the school.”
“You mean people riding motorcycles?”
“No. I mean—the people are the motorcycles.”
“Huh?”
Miranda let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s complicated. There’s too much going on right now. Everything’s fuzzy.”
“I have a feeling we’re going to find out soon enough,” Dr. Fleming said. “Whether we want to or not.”
He had a point. The sound of revving motorcycles was getting closer. We’d made it to the third-floor landing when a blur of silver appeared at the corner of my vision. Smoke. It quickly transformed into a human shape.
Cassie had joined our group.
Her ivory skin was splotched with red from crying. She looked at us, wide-eyed and worried.
“I’m so glad I found you!” Her words came out in a breathless tumble. “Those things. They’re everywhere. Attacking the school. They—they captured my dad.”
“What things?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t know. Some kind of monsters. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” Cassie grabbed my wrist, her gray eyes wet with tears. “We have to help him!”
“We will.” Even with the fear growing inside me, I tried to keep my voice steady and calm. “Tell us where we can find your dad.”
“I’ll take you there. I know a shortcut.”
“You mean like one of your dad’s portal thingies?”
“Different kind of shortcut. Come on.”
Cassie led us down another stairwell, explosions echoing all around. I was still clueless about what was attacking us. Motorcycles? Monsters? I kept expecting to see them around every corner. But all I encountered were students and teachers racing in the other direction. One boy slid up the banister. The purple rabbit we’d seen earlier hopped frantically from one step to the next. This time Milton didn’t try to pet her.
At the second floor, Cassie took off at a run. Her silver hair streamed behind her. She skidded to a halt in front of a huge framed painting.
The painting of Herman Alabaster.
But what did a haunted painting have to do with our shortcut?
Cassie’s great-great-great-grandfather looked just as spooky as ever. His gray eyes followed me everywhere. His frown was buried behind a silver mustache.
“I’m not sure this is the best time to admire the artwork,” Milton said.
Ignoring the comment, Cassie placed her hand on the golden nameplate at the bottom of the frame. With a sharp twist, she turned the nameplate upside down. Then she reached under the frame and—
Click!
The painting swung open on hidden hinges. Behind it was a dark tunnel. For a second, I was too stunned to move. The haunted painting was a … secret door?
Miranda looked from the tunnel to Dr. Fleming. “Did you know about this?”
The teacher shook his head. “It’s news to me.”
Cassie climbed onto the ledge of the tunnel and motioned for us to follow. “We’ve got to hurry!”
Once we were all inside, she pulled the painting closed behind her. As the frame clicked back in place, the last sliver of light vanished, engulfing us in absolute darkness. I felt blind—at least until Cassie flipped on a flashlight.
As the beam of light sliced through the black, tossing around our distorted shadows, I remembered what I’d been told about the ghost of Herman Alabaster. People claim he lives in the walls.… You can sometimes hear him rattling around.… He emerges from his painting in the middle of the night to roam the hallways.
“It’s you.” I stared at Cassie in amazement. “You’re the one walking behind the walls and climbing out of the painting. You’re the ghost of Herman Alabaster.”
Cassie sighed. “It’s true.”
Miranda glanced deeper into the tunnel. It stretched a long way, fading into darkness. “What is this place?”
“I know it’s not the shortcut you expected,” Cassie said. “I’ll explain on the way.”
She started walking. The rest of us followed, footsteps echoing. The tunnel was just tall enough for us kids, but Dr. Fleming had to hunch to avoid hitting his head. We moved through the narrow space in a single-file line. Every so often, another path would branch off to the right or left, disappearing into the shadows.
Cassie began speaking. “Alabaster Academy was designed by my great-great-great-grandfather—”
“The dude in the painting,” Milton said.
“Exactly. Back then, people with special powers weren’t superheroes. They weren’t celebrities. People saw them differently. As freaks, outcasts, weirdos. For centuries, they’d been put on trial, accused of witchcraft, burned at the stake. With this school, Herman Alabaster wanted to create a safe place for Gyfted kids. So he built this fortress on an island. And as extra security, he designed a network of secret tunnels inside the walls.”
Cassie turned a corner. I got the feeling she was glad to have her story to tell. It was an excuse to take her mind off the trouble her dad was facing.
“Herman Alabaster kept these passageways secret,” she said. “Only he knew they existed. The only people he ever told were his children. Eventually, they told their kids. It went on like that. The family secret. And when I was six, my dad took me here for the first time.”
“What about the ghost?” Sophie asked.
“That was my grandfather’s idea. By the time he was a student at Alabaster, people had been noticing strange noises behind the walls for years. Footsteps. Rattling picture frames. Students and teachers were becoming suspicious. He knew the family secret was at risk. So he came up with a story: the ghost
of Herman Alabaster.”
Cassie went quiet at the sound of an explosion. Everyone froze. We could hear screams on the other side of the wall, followed by revving engines and squealing tires. Cassie waited until the noise faded, then started walking again at an even faster pace.
“The crazy thing is—it worked.” Her voice quivered, but Cassie kept talking, as if that could make the horrors beyond the tunnel go away. “Any time there’s a strange noise, people debate whether it’s the ghost of Herman Alabaster. Which means they’re not debating whether there’s a secret tunnel.”
“It’s quite clever,” said Dr. Fleming. “A story gives people something to believe. Even if it’s a ghost story.”
“My dad loves hanging out in these tunnels,” Cassie said. “It’s his way of escaping from the responsibilities of being principal. Like he’s a kid again. One time, Veronica spotted him climbing out of a painting. He thought for sure the secret was over. But that night all she did was brag about how she’d seen the ghost of Herman Alabaster.”
Cassie chuckled, but I didn’t have any right to laugh. I’d made the same mistake. The night that I first encountered the painting. At least for a moment, I’d been sure that Principal Alabaster was the ghost of his relative.
“Here it is!”
Cassie aimed her flashlight at the wall, revealing a narrow door, which she pulled open. On the other side was a second door. This one was made of steel and shaped like the outline of a human body; head, shoulders, legs. I was still trying to make sense of the odd sight when Cassie nudged the body-shaped door open a half inch and peered outside.
“All clear,” she said. “Let’s go!”
We followed Cassie into the hall. Glancing back, I saw what the secret door looked like from the other side. A suit of armor. It was split down the side, so that the front opened like a refrigerator door and the back remained attached to the wall. Once we’d all stepped into the hall, Cassie pushed the door closed and twisted the hilt of the sword, locking it.
From where we were standing, I could hear the revving motors much louder than before. It sounded like a Harley convention was going on around the corner.
Our little group crept toward the classroom where all the noise was coming from. I leaned forward just enough to get a glimpse inside.
What I saw filled me with horror.
At the other end of the room, Principal Alabaster was hunched beneath a blackboard. He looked like he’d been on the losing end of a street fight. One eye was swollen shut. His forehead was slashed. Blood flowed into his silver beard.
He was surrounded by a dozen dudes on motorcycles. Each guy looked identical to the next: hulking muscles, shaved heads, stubble. They obviously had a thing for black, because that was the only color they were wearing. Black sunglasses, black leather jacket, black gloves. And yeah, their motorcycles were black too.
And one other thing: where their legs should’ve been, they had dark pipes that curved and blended into other parts of the engine. A spinning fan for a knee. Gleaming valves instead of thighs.
From the waist up, they looked human. Torso, arms, head. But from the waist down …
They were attached to their motorcycles.
Sophie yanked me back into the hallway. “Cyclaurs,” she whispered. “Half cyborg, half motorcycle. Hundred percent deadly. Straight from the twisted mind of Phineas Vex. My dad fought a bunch of them a few months back. He was lucky to survive.”
“What do we do?” Milton asked. “No way can we take those things on.”
“We have to do something,” Cassie pleaded. “Those monsters are holding my dad hostage!”
From inside the room, one of the Cyclaurs spoke. His voice was a mixture of human and machine sounds, a revving engine that had learned to talk.
“This is your final chance, Alabaster. Tell us where Fleming is.”
“I—I told you already.” The principal’s voice came out weak and desperate. I could barely hear him over the motorcycles. “I don’t know where he is.”
“This is an insufficient answer.”
A sharp crack sounded. Principal Alabaster howled in pain. Glancing into the room, I saw him clutching a bloody lip. Looming over him were two enormous Cyclaurs. One of them reared back. The motorcycle’s front headlight glowed a piercing red and released a plasma beam that struck the chalkboard. The explosion sent chalk and stone fragments scattering across the room like shrapnel. When the smoke cleared, all that remained was a crater in the wall.
The Cyclaur’s engine voice rattled my chest. “Next time I aim for your head. Now tell us—where is Fleming?”
Beside me, Cassie shivered with fear. “Please. We have to save him.”
“Not to worry,” Dr. Fleming said. “These Cyclaurs clearly have an affection for pyrotechnics. Let’s show them what I have to offer.”
Dr. Fleming opened his briefcase, bent over, and began fiddling with the contents. He lit the fuse on a stick of dynamite, turned the switch on a time bomb, set some detonators.
And then he stood, clutching explosives in both hands. He took a step into the doorway and cleared his throat.
“Well, hello. I heard someone was asking for me.”
All twelve Cyclaurs turned. If it’s possible for bionic motorcycle monsters to look surprised, they did. Dr. Fleming tossed his bombs into the room. One flew into the right corner, another slid to the left, and a third skidded straight down the middle.
Fleming’s eyes moved from the explosives to Principal Alabaster. “Might be a good moment for a bit of IGF, wouldn’t you say, Edwin?”
Principal Alabaster snapped into action. With the Cyclaurs distracted, he brought his hands together. When he pulled them apart, a shimmering portal appeared in front of him. He leaped through the opening just as the first bomb went off.
KA-BOOM!
I dove away from the door. A wave of heat and sound surged past. For a moment, it felt like the world was ending. When the devastation was finally over, all that was left was a shrill ringing in my ears and a cloud of smoke that hung over everything.
I climbed to my feet and peered through the curtain of smoke and ash. The explosion had obliterated the classroom wall and turned the gang of Cyclaurs into a gruesome junk heap. Bionic body parts were scattered among twisted scraps of metal—half a tire, detached handlebars, an impaled engine.
At least my friends seemed to be okay. Sophie rose, her skin glowing from all the action. Milton and Miranda were wiping dust off their clothes. Dr. Fleming groaned as Cassie helped him up.
“You saved him.” Her voice shook with emotion. “Thank you.”
Dr. Fleming attempted a weak smile. “Happy to help.”
Miranda tilted her head, concentrating. “More bad guys are on their way. We’d better take cover.”
“I’m on it.” Cassie hurriedly led us back to the suit of armor. She twisted the hilt of the sword and yanked the door open. All of us tumbled through it. Just as she pulled the door closed, I heard two sets of footsteps moving in our direction. One set was small and quick. The other sounded like a cement truck with legs. BOOM! CRACK! FWUMP!
Then I heard a familiar voice.
“What the heck happened here?” Grifter asked.
The last time I’d heard her voice, she and her evil friends had been attacking us in the food court. And if she was here, the massive footsteps must’ve belonged to her concrete pal. Sure enough, a moment later, Lunk spoke in his gravelly drawl.
“Looks like an explosion,” he said.
“No duh, rock brains,” Grifter spat. “Whoever caused it couldn’t have gone far. Come on!”
The two took off running down the hall. Once the sounds had faded, Cassie flipped on her flashlight and turned to face me and my friends. “Okay, seriously? What’s going on? Who were those jerks?”
“It’s kind of a long story,” Milton said.
“Go ahead.” Cassie shrugged. “Unless you’ve got someplace you’d rather be.”
An explosion echoed
somewhere in the distance. I looked at Sophie, Milton, and Miranda. And in the span of a split second, we came to an unspoken agreement: now that we’d all shared a near-death experience, we might as well tell the truth.
I turned to Cassie and Dr. Fleming. “We’re not who we say we are.”
I started from the beginning, telling them about how my parents were actually the supervillain team the Dread Duo and Sophie’s dad was Captain Justice. And about how Phineas Vex had once abducted my parents and tried to kill Sophie’s dad. When I got to the part about being mysteriously recruited to join a superhero group, Cassie interrupted me in a voice that squeaked with excitement.
“You four were in the Alliance of the Impossible!”
“That’s right!” Milton said, puffing out his chest proudly.
Cassie beamed at us like she was going to start asking for autographs any second. Dr. Fleming looked less impressed.
“Who—or what—was the Alliance of the Impossible?” he asked.
“A team of tween and teen superheroes!” Cassie explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Dr. Fleming rolled his eyes. Not that Cassie noticed. She was too swept up in her enthusiasm.
“They were huge for like five minutes during the summer. Fought Multiplier and his clones in Times Square. Appeared in an episode of Hangin’ with Justice.”
Dr. Fleming only stared at her with a blank look.
Cassie let out an exasperated sigh. Her silver hair whipped around as she turned to face us. “Which one of you was Supersonic?”
Milton’s eyes lit up. “That was me!”
Cassie jumped with such excitement that she nearly banged her head on the tunnel’s low ceiling. “OMG! You were my favorite!”
“Really? Me?”
“Definitely! Those rocket shoes! And all the cool gadgets you kept in your utility belt! You were so much cooler than the Nameless Hero.”
I should’ve felt offended to hear the Nameless Hero getting insulted right in front of me. But the weird thing was—I didn’t care. My brief stint as a celebrity superhero now seemed like a bizarre dream, like it had all happened to someone else.