Kid Normal

by Greg James

  “That must be where they’re keeping everyone,” whispered Hilda as they cowered at the corner of the corridor. “Okay,” she went on, thinking fast. “So all we need to do is get past Mr. Flash, then get that door open.”

  Just contemplating this made her let out a small whimper of fear. And not out of her mouth either. But this was no time to hesitate. She grabbed Billy’s arm: “Come on, let’s get in there and pop him!”

  Mr. Flash saw them as soon as they rounded the corner. In his brainwashed state, he continued to believe that his primary function was to serve Nektar, and as with Mr. Drench, the mind-control helmet had also apparently amplified his nastier side. “WHAT THE PURPLE SPROUTING BROCCOLI ARE YOU TWO DOING HERE?” he roared at them. “I WAS EXPECTING A GENUINE RESCUE MISSION, NOT A PAIR OF LAME GEESE.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Flash,” replied Hilda, who had been taught that good manners should never be forgotten. “Your eyes look, er, very striking.”

  “Shut up, horse girl, and get in the cage with the rest of them,” ordered the teacher.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Flash,” began Billy politely, summoning up his head-popping Capability. But Mr. Flash was ready for him. He seemed to vanish, appearing suddenly behind them and bellowing so loudly that Billy inflated his own nose in shock. They spun to face the teacher, but he moved again, so fast that it was impossible to keep track of where he was.

  “Billy . . . ?” Hilda said nervously out of the corner of her mouth.

  “I . . . I can’t,” wailed Billy. “He’s too fast for me to get a fix on him!”

  Mr. Flash appeared on the far side of the room, roared with laughter, and produced a set of keys, which he dangled from one meaty finger. “Did you really think you were going to defeat me, get these keys, and rescue these folks?” he shouted like a sarcastic steam train. “Some have tried to escape already. I had to have a word with a couple of them.” He gestured toward the bars, behind which they could just make out a prone figure lying on the hard floor. “Knocked out cold,” Flash gloated, “just like your precious Mr. Souperman.”

  Suddenly he flung the keys to one side. “Come on, then,” he goaded them, as the keys tinkled on the concrete floor. “Let’s see what Fat Finger Boy and Little Horsey Girl can do, shall we?”

  Before they could react, he was right in front of them, hopping from foot to foot and smashing his fists together. “I will overpower you for the glory of Nektar,” he gloated.

  “Keep him talking,” whispered Hilda, as she concentrated hard.

  “What about?” hissed Billy.

  “Anything!” she said urgently. “Sports, cheese, marsupials . . .”

  “What’s your favorite bird of prey?” screeched Billy in a panic.

  “What?” Mr. Flash stopped hopping and looked at him furiously.

  “Mine’s an eagle,” said Billy eagerly, and proceeded to do his best impression of one: “Ka-kaaark!”

  “That’s nothing like an eagle, idiotic boy,” snapped Mr. Flash, forgetting what he was supposed to be doing for a moment. He didn’t notice the whinnying sound as, away to his right, two tiny horses appeared out of nowhere. “An eagle’s much higher-pitched than that.”

  “What, more like ka-keeeeeek!” suggested Billy, covering up the faint clinking sound as the first horse picked up the keys in its miniature teeth and cantered toward the bars.

  “No! It’s more like a screech,” began Mr. Flash, but then he remembered he was supposed to be destroying his master’s enemies, not discussing birdcalls. “Anyway, shut up. It’s time to finish you off. Like you ever stood a chance against me—two kids against the mighty Mr. Flash!”

  “Actually, Iain,” said Hilda, “I think you’ll find our odds have improved.” She flicked her head toward the cage behind him.

  Flash turned just in time to see the doors swing open and the students and teachers of The School file out, each and every one looking directly at the man who had imprisoned them, with an expression that said, “You’re about to pay for that.”

  “Bit of a rookie mistake, the old ‘fling the keys away’ move, wouldn’t you say?” continued Hilda.

  There was a moment of tense silence as Mr. Flash contemplated his situation. It was Billy who broke the deadlock. “Charge?” he suggested politely, inflating himself to block the entrance to the staircase.

  High above them, Murph, Mary, and Nellie continued up the spiral passageway to Nektar’s lair. Murph wondered what they were about to face.

  Mary and Nellie had seen Nektar when he attacked The School, but all Murph had to go on was their description. Crazy images flashed through his mind as the papery floor crackled under his feet. A wasp that could talk? A man who could fly? A normal wasp, but two yards long? An inch-long man-head with a wasp’s body?

  Regardless of what Nektar was, Murph told himself, he was dangerous and had managed to do some serious damage to their school, teachers, and fellow students. They’d come too far to give up now, no matter how scared they were.

  At the final corner before the top of the tower, the passageway was blocked by the huge silhouette of a guard—the figure was lit from behind and cast a giant shadow. It was clear that Nektar had chosen the most beefy, the most enormous, the most impressive specimen he could to protect his inner sanctum. Murph, Mary, and Nellie froze on the spot.

  “Who are the intruders?” they heard a peevish voice cry out in the distance. The huge silhouette moved slightly as the guard peered in their direction.

  “They are no one to fear, Lord Nektar,” belched a deep voice. “It’s a lame kid called Murph and two of his friends. I shall eliminate them.”

  “Well, hurry up—PICNIC!” they heard the faint voice shout. The giant figure started to move down the passageway toward them, the crispy covering clicking and cracking under his enormous feet.

  “Uh-oh,” whispered Murph. “Now what do we do? And who on earth is that?”

  “Stay calm,” said Mary. “Let me do the talking.” She raised her voice and spoke in a calm tone, as if trying to soothe an anxious cow: “Hello! You seem like a reasonable guy. I want to make a deal with you. How about—”

  But there was to be no deal. The guard strained his huge muscles and cried out: “Defend Lord Nektar! Activating Capability!”

  Murph and his friends waited, terrified. What Capability could this beast have, to have been chosen as Nektar’s final guard? Super-strength? Breathing fire? Spitting out rocks?

  Murph could just make out that the figure was opening his mouth, baring two rows of very large white teeth. All at once, there was a piercing, screeching noise.

  “It’s Barry Talbot!” Mary cried. “The boy who can make a screeching noise with his teeth!”

  “Worst. Cape. Ever,” said Murph grimly, sticking his fingers in his ears.

  Suddenly there was a flash and a bang. Barry flew off his enormous feet, hit the wall behind him, and slumped in a heap on the floor. He was out cold.

  Mary and Murph turned around to see a very sheepish Nellie with a startled expression on her face.

  “Nellie!” exclaimed Murph, but then ran out of conventional words and just added “Mahumbah?”

  “Um, sorry, it just sort of happened,” squeaked Nellie. “That noise was really, really annoying. And besides, I’m sick of people treating us like useless ants. Plus, we haven’t got time to mess around; we have a school to save.” It was the longest speech she’d ever made by a factor of . . . well, a lot. She put her hands on her hips in the internationally recognized Hero pose.

  “Wow, you go, girl!” said Murph.

  “Don’t ever say that again,” Mary warned him. “You can’t pull it off.”

  The three of them stepped over the giant snoozing form of Barry Talbot, kicking the final mind-control helmet from his head as they went, and approached Nektar’s command center.

  Their feet were still sticking to the tacky, lick-infused floor, and as they climbed the final part of the staircase, they started to hear crackly, dist
ant music. It sounded scratchy and old-fashioned and, frankly, unnerving.

  At the top of the tower, a set of wooden double doors stood slightly ajar. The team pushed them open slowly and surveyed the round, window-lined room at the top. It was lit with yellowish sunset light. The walls were plastered with Nektar’s nesting materials, and they could see a few wooden cupboards and cabinets stuck in among the goo. An old-fashioned record player was the source of the creepy music.

  And right in the middle, sitting in a chair with his back to them, was the wasp himself.

  Nektar was softly singing along with the reedy voice on the old record:

  “Free, free, free, and busy as a bee.

  Oh, I mustn’t grumble, always be humble,

  That makes me a bumble,

  I’m free, free, free, and busy as a bee.”

  It sounded awful—out of tune and croaky. If you want details—just imagine what it would be like if a wasp started singing at you.

  The man-wasp interrupted his own singing: “Hello, little pests.” He continued with the universally approved bad guy opening remark: “I’ve been expecting you. Did you like my song?”

  “Um, not really,” said Murph honestly. “It was quite disturbing.”

  In fact, the music had just become even more odd. The record had stuck and kept repeating the same line over and over again:

  Free, free, free, and busy as a bee.

  “Why are you listening to a song about bees when you’re a wasp?” Mary wanted to know.

  Nektar lurched to his feet and advanced toward them in total fury. “Why doesn’t everybody just SHUT UP ABOUT BEES! Bees, bees, bees. Oh, we’re so cute and bumbly. Look at us sipping the pollen from the pretty flowers! Look at our fuzzy little backs! I’m sick to death of bees! Why does everyone think bees are so great, eh? ANSWER ME!”

  Free, free, free, and busy as a bee.

  By now he was looming over them, eyes bulging, spit flying from his mouth, fists clenched, and venom dripping from the stingers on his wrists. It was quite terrifying. For just a second, Murph felt he had seen inside the mind of a wasp—a lonely, mean bully who doesn’t understand why everybody prefers bees.

  “Honey?” he suggested rather lamely.

  “Honey?” roared Nektar, turning away from them and kicking the record player over, which was something of a relief. “I’ll give you some honey.” This made no sense, but his next sentence clarified things somewhat: “I am Nektar and you are about to become extinct, and your stupid friends and your stupid school are all going to bow down to KING NEKTAR! The king . . . bee . . .”

  “Queen bee?” suggested Mary, at exactly the same time Murph suggested, “King wasp?”

  “SHUT UP!” roared Nektar, glaring at them with total hatred. “This is where your little rescue mission ends. In DEATH!”

  And he charged at them, flailing his stingers around wildly. The Super Zeroes scattered—Mary diving between his legs, Murph throwing himself to one side. As Nektar lunged to try to intercept him, Nellie saw her moment. She jumped as high as she could and swung her hand at his face, hoping with all her might that she had some electrical charge left from her lightning bolt.

  She didn’t.

  Nellie’s open palm landed on the side of Nektar’s pale face with a sharp smacking sound. Her momentum carried her on past him, within inches of one of his dripping stingers, but she managed to roll as she landed, coming up beside Murph and Mary, who were now regrouping off to one side, panting and looking worried. She looked down at her hands, but the tiny blue lines of electricity had disappeared. She was out of charge. A giant man-wasp had charged at them, and basically she had just slapped him across the face.

  Murph, Nellie, and Mary all felt the same feeling at the very same time. They had made it this far, but if they were being honest with themselves, they hadn’t expected it to go quite so well. Now, at the end, they were out of powers and temporarily out of ideas.

  The slap seemed to have startled Nektar, but he quickly composed himself. He swung around to face his three enemies, apparently noticing their worried expressions.

  “There’s no stopping me now,” he cackled. “I control the minds of your most powerful friends. And you know what that means, don’t you?” He lifted the control unit on his wrist to his mouth. “Human drones! Protect Lord Nektar! Come to me! Destroy the intruders!”

  In preparation for watching his final victory, he backed away toward the open doors to the balcony. The wind was blowing and the sky moody.

  But the human drones did not come.

  “Give it up, Nektar,” said Murph, rallying slightly. “You’re done. There’s no one left to help you now. We’ve taken out your mind-controlled servants—you’re on your own.”

  Nektar frantically pressed the buttons on the black watch, muttering, “Human drones! Protect your master! Knox! Do you read me?” but after a moment he seemed to realize there was no point. Angrily, he ripped the box from his wrist and threw it away. It skittered across the floor past Mary’s feet and came to rest against the wall. Nektar raised his head, looking straight at Murph with a rather unnerving expression.

  “You always were a courageous little fighter,” he crooned, ramping up his creepiness by several notches.

  Murph looked puzzled. Glancing around at Nellie and Mary, he responded in the only way possible to this new development.

  “Huh?”

  “Yes—even as a baby,” continued Nektar.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t . . . Hang on, what on earth are you talking about?” Murph demanded.

  “Oh . . . you don’t know?” said Nektar.

  “Know what?” replied Murph cautiously.

  Nektar looked at him fondly. “Murph, I am your father.”

  There was a pause. A long pause. Nellie and Mary froze in horror.

  “No, you’re not,” said Murph disgustedly. “My dad moved to Bristol with his new girlfriend years ago. I see him most holidays. Plus, you’re a wasp and my mom wouldn’t be seen dead with you.” All three of them laughed.

  “Well, it was worth a try,” said Nektar.

  “Not really,” Murph replied. “You’re even crazier than we thought.”

  “Don’t be so mean to your old daddy!” said Nektar, stung by this.

  “We’ve literally just gone over this. You’re not my dad!” Murph reminded him. “You’re a crazed wasp-based villain and we’re about to finish your reign of terror.”

  “I don’t think so,” threatened Nektar. “All this messing around is futile because you’re about to become kid soup.” He laughed maniacally and grabbed the remote-control unit clamped to his belt. He pressed the single yellow button in the center: “Attack drones, stand by!”

  The lights dimmed, and Murph heard a horribly familiar humming sound.

  There was a smashing noise from below as the two remaining attack drones roared into life down in the boardroom. They disconnected from their electrical outlets, crashed through the windows, and within seconds rose up behind Lord Nektar, flanking him on either side, looking angry and fiery and ready to take out the Zeroes. “Say hello to my little friends,” gloated the man-wasp. “And wave goodbye to your lives.”

  All three of them gulped. There was nowhere to hide, no time to run.

  Nektar twisted his face into an ugly, smug grin, confident he had the upper hand. But suddenly there was a shout from outside the half-open doors: “Stop right there, you waspy loon!”

  The door was kicked open to reveal Hilda framed in the passageway. She had her arms stretched out in front of her—and Nektar’s already massive eyes widened even further as her two horses neighed into being and made a beeline—or possibly wasp-line—toward him. Momentarily freaked out, Nektar backed away, out onto his balcony. But then he composed himself.

  “Miniature horses? What on earth do you think you’re going to do with those stupid things?”

  Hilda’s eyes darkened. If there was one thing she couldn’t bear, it was anyone insulting her hors
es. All three of them tossed their manes angrily.

  “Well, I’d rather be a small horse than a big wasp,” taunted Hilda furiously. “And besides, you look like a stupid wasp anyway. You’ve got the big eyes and the bad attitude, but you don’t even have the one useful thing wasps have!”

  “Oh yes,” said Nektar, preparing to wipe out these infuriating little insects. “And what might that be?”

  “Wings!” cried Hilda. “Pop ’em, Billy!”

  Billy appeared at her shoulder, and with a confident flicking motion, he gestured toward the horses. There was a sound like a neigh mixed with the noise of a balloon inflating as the horses enlarged into two huge, powerful stallions. They reared on their hind legs in front of the terrified Nektar.

  Murph, Mary, and Nellie had taken shelter behind what turned out to be Nektar’s jam cabinet.

  “Who has a jam cabinet?” asked Nellie scathingly.

  “At this point, I’m afraid to say that the jam cabinet is one of the least weird things about this guy,” Mary replied.

  Nellie nodded in agreement. “Fair point.”

  Nektar was cowering at the very edge of the balcony as the horses reared in front of him. “No! Stay back! Good horsey! Want a carrot?”

  Nektar didn’t have any carrots. And, quite frankly, it wouldn’t have mattered if he did. Because he was very quickly on the receiving end of an almighty hoof in the chest—which sent him teetering dangerously, flailing his arms in circles as he tried to keep his balance.

  But as he was about to fall, his waspish brain concocted one last evil thought. Grasping his remote control, he pressed the button and screamed, “Attack drones! KILL THE SUPER ZEROES!” just as Hilda’s second horse lashed out with a white hoof and punted him over the edge like a novelty wasp-shaped football.

  As he fell, the remote control flew out of his hand and seemed to hang in the air for a moment.