The Mighty Odds

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The Mighty Odds Page 12

by Amy Ignatow


  “Ooof!” Abe fell to the ground below them and Farshad watched in frozen horror as Mr. Friend emerged from behind him, holding a shovel in his hands.

  “Maggie?” he asked, lurching unsteadily toward the flailing science teacher.

  “Ryan, help me!” Ms. Zelle yelled, and Mr. Friend took a swing with the shovel. It landed midair with a dull thud, followed by a second thud as Ed the bus driver’s body hit the ground. Farshad looked at Martina.

  “He hit him in the butt,” Martina whispered. “He’s down but I don’t think he’s dead.”

  “Maggie . . . ,” Mr. Friend said as Ms. Zelle scrambled to pick up the Taser. “Maggie, what’s going on? Where am I? I was trying to find you . . .”

  She walked across the barn and hugged him. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Maggie,” Mr. Friend said, “there are people. Bad people. They tried to take me out of the hospital, but I didn’t want to go . . . We have to get away from them . . .”

  “Don’t worry,” Ms. Zelle said. “You’re going to be all right. I’m going to take you back to the hospital.”

  Mr. Friend took a step back. “We can’t go back there,” he said, his voice shaking. “You have to listen to me. They came to my room and tried to make me come with them. We can’t go back!” He began to hyperventilate.

  “Ryan,” Ed’s voice called out weakly, “you have to stay calm.”

  Ms. Zelle’s head swiveled back and forth, trying to ascertain where the sound was coming from.

  “There’s another car coming,” Cookie whispered.

  “Come on, Ryan,” Ms. Zelle said. “Come with me. I know people who can help you. Just come with me.”

  “Don’t trust her,” Ed pleaded. “She’s one of them.”

  Mr. Friend looked around frantically and a pile of hay behind Ms. Zelle burst into flames. Cookie gasped. Farshad felt his heart racing. They had to get out. He was not going to die in a fiery barn in the middle of Amish country.

  “Come on!” Ms. Zelle yelled. “Let’s get out of here. Come with me!”

  Mr. Friend stumbled to where Abe was lying on the ground. “Help me!” he yelled, trying to lift him up.

  “Leave him!” Ms. Zelle screamed as the flames climbed up the frame of the barn. “We have to get out of here!”

  “We can’t let him burn!” Mr. Friend pleaded.

  “We most certainly can.” Ms. Zelle lifted her gun and shot Mr. Friend. He screamed and convulsed before passing out. Two men in hazmat jackets burst into the barn. “Took you long enough,” Ms. Zelle snapped as they hauled Mr. Friend out of the building. “When you’ve got him situated, there’s another one in here somewhere. Invisibility . . .”

  A huge flaming crossbeam fell from the ceiling, and Ms. Zelle ran out of the building. The fire was spreading.

  “What do we do?” Cookie screamed.

  Farshad looked around. “Where’s Ed?” he asked Martina.

  “He’s trying to get Abe,” she said. Below, they could hear the awful sounds of terrified animals squealing and stomping in their stalls.

  Farshad stood up and ran to the back wall of the hayloft. He pressed his hands to the wall, trying not to inhale the rising smoke, and pushed at the wood with his thumbs. A large section of wall burst out and fell two stories to the ground. Cookie ran up to Farshad and grabbed his arm before he could plummet down after the shattered planks of wood.

  “We’ll break every bone in our bodies if we jump!” she yelled.

  “Probably not every bone,” Martina said, “but we will be in some pain.” She began grabbing bales of hay and hurling them out of the hole in the wall. Farshad, Nick, and Cookie joined her, and soon there was a decent-size pile.

  Cookie looked at Farshad. “This sucks,” she said, taking a few steps back and then running to hurl herself out of the hole. Farshad, Nick, and Martina looked down to see her lying in the pile of hay.

  “That sucked!” she yelled, scrambling off the pile to make room for the others.

  Martina went next, clutching her backpack and yelling, “WHEEEEEE!” all the way down.

  Farshad looked at Nick. “Let’s do this.”

  “I do not like being a superhero!” Nick yelled as they plummeted down to the haystack.

  “We have to get Abe and the animals!” Martina gasped once they were all on solid ground. “We have to find a way to get them out!”

  Everyone looked at Farshad.

  “Didn’t I just get everyone out of the fiery barn?” he asked. “What, now you want to go back in?”

  Martina gave him two thumbs up. Farshad rolled his eyes and headed to the back of the barn, using his thumbs to blast another hole in the wall. It was smaller than the first, but large enough for Nick, Cookie, and Martina to reach in and pull away pieces until they could all see what was inside.

  The animals were gathered together in the center of the barn, which had become a blazing inferno. But no flames touched them, or Abe, who was standing in the middle of the sheep and the goats and the horses.

  “Cool,” Martina whispered.

  “Abe!” Nick shouted. “Abe, buddy! We’re over here! Come here!” Abe’s eyes opened and he slowly began walking through the fire toward them. The animals calmly moved with him without seeming the slightest bit affected by the flames or the smoke.

  “Wow,” Martina breathed.

  “Is Ed with him?” Cookie asked her.

  “No,” Martina said. “But I’m pretty sure he made it out.”

  Nick looked worried. “Are you sure, or pretty sure?”

  Martina looked off into the fields behind the burning barn. Her eyes were bright blue. “He’s okay.”

  The group backed away as Abe and the animals emerged from the back of the barn to safety. In the distance Farshad could see people running toward the blaze. Abe watched the animals he saved ambling farther away from the barn to safety.

  “We have to get out of here,” Cookie said. “I am never going to be able to explain this to my mom.”

  “I can give you a ride back into town,” Abe said, glancing across the darkened fields at the people headed their way. “There are some questions I really don’t know how to answer right now, either.”

  “Is there maybe a different horse you could use?” Nick asked.

  THE DAILY WHUT?

  * * *

  It has been four days since the fire at the Zook farm, and the alleged Muellersville arsonist, Ryan Friend, is still on the loose. Should we be frightened? YES. WE SHOULD BE TERRIFIED FOR OUR LIVES.

  There are those among us who just want to cheer and say, “Oh The Hammer, why do you have to be so negative? It’s all over. There were some fires, but no one got hurt, so everything is just A-OK.” I’ll tell you why I’m so negative. It’s because NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE.

  Do you know where Ryan Friend was on Thursday evening? He was still in the hospital recuperating from the school bus accident. What sort of person goes to work teaching kids, is in an accident that puts him in the hospital, and then while he is still in the hospital decides to start setting cars on fire? I don’t know about you, inquisitive reader, but last month I had a slight head cold and I didn’t want to leave the house, let alone run around setting fire to things. Now, as some commenters have pointed out, yes, Ryan Friend was just a substitute teacher, so we don’t know a whole lot about him, but isn’t that in and of itself something to question? Who is Ryan Friend? How did he get hired? Did Principal Jacobs hire him? Was there any sort of background check? Is he a deranged firebug, or just an unattached and therefore convenient scapegoat? And why did he end up in the middle of Amish country?

  Something about this whole situation stinks, and it’s a smell stronger than burning cow poop. But don’t worry, dear reader: The Hammer is on the case.

  Keep asking questions,

  The Hammer

  * * *

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank all of the amazing people at Abrams Books who have worke
d so tirelessly to bring this book to the world: Maggie Lehrman, Chad Beckerman, Jason Wells, Caitlin Miller, Maria Middleton, Michael Clark, and of course my wonderful editor, Susan Van Metre, who never hesitates to follow me into the deep end of the pool of absurdity. Extra thanks to the Little Friends of Printmaking for fantastic cover art.

  Thank you to Tori Doherty-Munro at Writers House, and to my beloved agent Dan Lazar, who for the past decade has been thoughtfully considering every wackadoo idea I feel the need to email him at four in the morning.

  Much thanks as well to Leeann Wallett and the wonderful staff at the National Constitution Center for letting me run around their offices with a camera.

  Thank you so much to all the friends and family members who have been so supportive and inspirational, as well as all of the librarians and booksellers and bloggers and readers. Special thanks to my children for being terrific nappers, and to Mark for always loving me, challenging me, believing in me, and shoveling all the snow.

  AMY IGNATOW

  is the author and illustrator of the Popularity Papers series. She lives in Philadelphia with her family and knows some of the words to many songs.

  THE DAILY WHUT?

  * * *

  WHERE IS RYAN FRIEND?

  That’s right, faithful readers, the Hammer has made the artistic choice to press down on the CAPS LOCK button because I can’t believe that a suspected arsonist is still running around Muellersville. Where will he strike next? Whose house or car will go up in flames? Why aren’t the police more concerned? WHERE’S THE MANHUNT?

  I’ll tell you why there isn’t a manhunt. It’s because RYAN FRIEND IS INNOCENT. Isn’t it just so convenient that the only suspect that the police have is a substitute teacher with no friends or family nearby? The only person that The Muellersville Sun could find to say anything about him was some lady who went on three dates with him two years ago. But longtime readers of The Daily Whut? know very well that The Muellersville Sun is in the pocket of local law enforcement and possesses the journalistic integrity of a ham sandwich. A HAM SANDWICH WITH NO JOURNALISTIC INTEGRITY.

  Oh, Hammer, you say, you’re making crazy, unfounded statements again. Am I? AM I REALLY? Let’s all remember the time that I was right about Freshtush toilet paper rolls getting shorter so that the company could make more money per roll. My track record is spotless, which is more than I can say for The Muellersville Ham Sandwich.

  Ryan Friend never once showed any violent tendencies. He was a substitute teacher who loved yo-yos and occasionally sent a deserving little twerp to the principal’s office. He wasn’t some highly trained firebug with the ability to vanish into thin air.

  WHERE IS RYAN FRIEND?

  Ever questioning,

  The Hammer

  * * *

 

 

 


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