Tales from Adventureland the Doomsday Device

by Jason Lethcoe

  “That…won’t keep him for long,” huffed Rusty. Andy glanced at him, glad to see him but also alarmed at how beat up and pale he looked.

  “What happened to you?” asked Abigail.

  “Wandered into the jungle after the shipwreck,” said Rusty, looking around anxiously. “For now, we need to get the Dingonek off our scent. Follow me.”

  He plunged through the jungle. Andy and Abigail had no choice but to follow. Rusty took them in a wide half circle, twisting and turning through various spots difficult for a creature the size of the Dingonek to traverse, then crossed the river farther downstream to ensure that the monster wouldn’t be able to track them by scent.

  They were dripping wet. And although Abigail and Andy didn’t have nearly as many cuts and bruises as Rusty, they both felt like they’d been run over by a convoy of trucks.

  “Any sign of Betty and Dotty?” asked Andy.

  “How should I know?” spluttered Rusty. “All I know is that after being washed up like a drowned rat and entering this blasted jungle, I’m fairly certain that this is the most dangerous mission I’ve ever attempted. I’ve been nearly killed ten times already.”

  And just then, before Andy or Abigail could reply, the sound they’d come to dread echoed through the air. The third chime of the Doomsday Device struck, and with it, the same painful ringing in their ears.

  Swear your allegiance to me and give me the artifacts. Obey me and stand by my side.…

  Andy, Abigail, and Rusty exchanged worried glances. Each could tell what the other was thinking. There’s no way I’ll ever swear allegiance to her, thought Andy. But on the heels of that thought was I wonder what’s coming next?

  Unfortunately, none of them had to wait long to find out.

  The boils that sprouted on their arms, legs, and backs were painful. But what made them infinitely worse was the fact that they itched like crazy. And with every scratch, burning pain seared from the wound, causing the three explorers to gasp and curse with every attempt to relieve their discomfort.

  Rusty roared like an angry bear. “Blast the Potentate and all she stands for!” he shouted.

  “Keep it down,” said Abigail. “You might attract more of those giant animals.”

  Andy was so uncomfortable he forgot that he was hungry. Every movement he made seemed to irritate the red bumps. It was torture!

  “Let’s just keep moving,” he said. “The sooner we find Patrick Begorra, the sooner this will all be over.”

  “You mean if we find him,” Rusty grumbled. Then he added, “Remember, Crumb thought the tree was somewhere on this island, and he never found it. We don’t even know for sure if we’re on the right path! Besides, if we do find him, then what?” He grimaced as he scratched one of his festering boils. He didn’t have to finish the statement for Andy and Abigail to know what he’d been about to say. It was a harsh reminder that even if they found the leprechaun, there was no certainty that he would be willing and able to help them stop the Doomsday Device.

  But what other chance have we got? thought Andy. He knew that Rusty must really be feeling miserable, because his usual optimism wasn’t there.

  Feeling downtrodden, the three set off down the winding path by the river once more. Fortunately, it had grown a bit wider than when Andy and Abigail first found it and was easier to follow.

  The mosquitoes were still thick and the air humid. The trees, which had been varied before, became more uniform.

  Eucalyptus, Andy observed. The tall trees gave off a pleasant scent, the only refreshing thing that they had experienced in a while, and Andy was grateful for it. “Abigail said that the ‘tea’ Zeus gave us was actually venomade,” Andy said to Rusty, trying to make conversation.

  “Figures,” said Rusty. “I’ve heard of it, of course. Your grandfather said that during his encounter with Bungalow Bob, the witch doctor, he was forced to drink it.”

  “Wait,” said Andy. “You mean the witch doctor at that hidden temple, the one who shrank his head?”

  “The same,” Rusty grunted with a nod. “That’s why he can’t recall everything that happened. When he woke up, he was in the…er…condition he’s in now.”

  Andy had a queasy feeling when he thought about his grandfather’s encounter. In all his adventures to date, there hadn’t been much that frightened him more than the idea that such a thing was possible. He couldn’t imagine a worse fate than having his head shrunk and then being imprisoned in a glass cabinet for the rest of his life.

  Grandfather always said to be careful around jungle magic, Andy thought.

  He scratched the bumps on his arm, wincing. He thought about his parents. They thought he was spending a rather uneventful summer at his grandfather’s mansion. He realized that he missed them. He wanted to go home, tell them about the adventures he’d had, and show them how much he’d learned.

  For the first time since he’d started going on adventures, he felt a wave of homesickness. He missed his mother’s home cooking, especially her fried chicken and mashed potatoes. He also missed the quiet evenings playing chess with his father, when they talked about their days and he told Andy about the latest books he’d acquired at the town library. His father had been the librarian in Thousand Oaks for the last thirty years and knew every single book on the shelf. Andy’s eyes stung a little and he wiped them quickly before the others could see.

  If we can just get to the tree and end all this, I’ll never take them for granted again.

  A sudden movement in the foliage on his left startled him. But before he could react, one of the terrible vines that had trapped Abigail snaked out and grabbed his ankle.

  “Help!” shouted Andy as he was dragged rapidly backward, bumping and banging over the rocks and foliage toward the hungry man-eating plant. He struggled, kicking his trapped leg as hard as he could, but he couldn’t wrest himself free. Before Abigail or Rusty had time to respond, a battle cry emerged from the bushes and a figure came flying through the air.

  Two figures, actually.

  Betty and Dotty were masters of the martial arts, and with a well-aimed slice, they cut through the vine in a single swipe of their deadly knives as they flew past Andy and landed in an expert crouch on the other side.

  The plant let out a horrible screech as sap spewed from the opened wound. Betty and Dotty grabbed Andy by the back of his shirt and, with one strong jerk, hoisted him to his feet.

  “Run!” Betty bellowed, and Andy didn’t have to be told twice. Together, he and the twins dashed back to the river, where a stunned Rusty and Abigail stood, staring.

  “Go, go, go! There’s something much worse than those vines behind us, and that’s saying a lot!” shouted Dotty.

  Galvanized into action, the five of them raced downriver, staying as close as possible to the banks without losing sight of the parallel path they’d been following.

  While they ran, they heard an unearthly howl from somewhere behind them. Andy couldn’t stop images of werewolves and other monsters from entering his mind as he ran. He had no idea what was back there, but from the look of panic on the normally serene sisters’ faces, he knew it had to be something terrible.

  They were so busy running and looking back over their shoulders for any sign of pursuit that they failed to notice the pile of dead branches on the path. To the observant eye, the placement of the branches was incongruous with the rest of the terrain. They were haphazardly organized into a kind of lattice that covered a hole.

  Which everyone discovered as they tumbled down into the darkness.

  Andy didn’t even have time to scream before they hit the bottom, falling together in a painful heap. He landed on his side with the wind knocked out of him, unable to breathe.

  Then everything went black.

  Andy must have been unconscious for almost an hour, because it was the chime of the Doomsday Device that woke him up, echoing in the cavern that they’d fallen into with redoubled volume and sending a paralyzing feeling of dread through the ent
ire group.

  He opened his eyes, feeling dizzy.

  Then the voice that had become all too familiar echoed in each of their heads along with the persistent ringing noise. And this time, Andy noticed that the Potentate didn’t have a long speech. She said only four words. But they were the four words that, when acted upon, would stop the torment. For the first time, Andy wondered if listening to them and doing what they said might be better than the misery he’d been enduring—and the unknown misery that was yet to come. All he had to do was reach into his pocket and offer her the keys.…

  Give me the artifacts.

  Her heart swelled with pride as she surveyed her army.

  The Collective.

  They all awaited her orders…and she, a new dark empress of unlimited power, was ready to tell them her commands. Once she had the J.E.S. and their artifacts under her control, together they would be able to conquer the entire world.

  The idea felt very good. And the Potentate seemed to swell with the sense of power that the Doomsday Device had afforded her.

  There was only one thing that troubled her, and it was the fact that none of the Jungle Explorers’ Society, her archenemies, had caved in.

  Give it time, she told herself. But she was by nature an impulsive person. She wanted what she wanted, and she wanted it now. It rankled to be forced to wait, and it put her in a foul temper.

  “Your Majesty,” came a voice by her shoulder. She turned her blank ivory mask to see who had addressed her. It was one of her loyal soldiers, a woman known as the Velvet Knife. She was an unmatched assassin and had been responsible for the deaths of many unsuspecting world leaders.

  “Yes?” the Potentate replied.

  “When do we attack?”

  The Potentate flicked her wrist in irritation. “Soon.”

  The Velvet Knife stared up at her with a questioning look. She didn’t dare ask what the Potentate was thinking, but her eyes said enough.

  Oftentimes, the Potentate wouldn’t deign to dispense her private plans to her underlings. But because the Velvet Knife had served her well in the past, she decided to let her in on a little secret.

  “I know what they’re doing,” she said.

  “Your Majesty?” the Velvet Knife replied.

  “The J.E.S.,” the Potentate answered.

  When the Velvet Knife remained quiet, she continued.

  “They have only one recourse. The pieces on the chessboard are all but taken and only one move remains. They seek the leprechaun.”

  The Velvet Knife wisely held her tongue, which made her master willing to continue.

  “We will march with our vast army to stop them short. Ned Lostmore might think he still has a chance to defeat me, but he has another thing coming.”

  The Velvet Knife didn’t know anything about leprechauns—what they were, whether they existed, or where one might be located. But time and experience serving the Potentate had taught her to disregard her own feelings on the matter and instead accept whatever her master said without question.

  “I hear and obey, Your Majesty,” the Velvet Knife replied. “We await your command.”

  Beneath the ivory mask, the Potentate smiled. “I see great things in your future,” she said.

  And, fingering the handle of her thirsty blade, the Velvet Knife slipped away to communicate what she’d been told to the other lieutenants.

  Andy realized that the pit they’d fallen into was actually part of an underground tunnel. It was dark, damp, and filled with the ends of wriggling worms hanging from the ceiling. But it wasn’t the oppressive atmosphere that gave Andy the willies. It was the persistent, horrible scuttling sound in the earthen tunnel. And every time he looked over his shoulder to see what had made the noise, it seemed as if he were too late and had just missed whatever had been haunting his steps.

  “I really don’t like this place,” said Andy.

  “Thanks for stating the obvious,” replied Abigail.

  “No, seriously, I mean it,” said Andy.

  Maybe it was because the Doomsday Device was taking its toll on all of them, but Andy thought that the entire group looked haggard, and though there were no mirrors nearby, he was fairly certain that he himself looked the same or worse. The last toll of the bell had the effect of turning the boils into something worse. Every festering sore that had decorated their bodies had become a dark, horrible spot. Andy wasn’t sure, but it looked like the descriptions he’d read of the plague in medieval Europe. If so, it was a death sentence without treatment, and he knew that as sure as the Doomsday Device was a clock, time was short.

  Andy’s head swam with fever. He’d never felt more miserable in his entire life.

  Rusty had managed to salvage a small amount of provisions from the ship. It wasn’t much. The rations were meager and rather wet, but they were better than nothing, and the group members all tried to keep down what they could. Thankfully, none of them had been seriously hurt in the fall. But Andy knew he would be feeling the bruises for days to come; in addition to his new sickness, his ribs already felt sore.

  “Does anybody else hear that scuttling noise?” asked Andy as they rounded another corner in the dank tunnel.

  “What scuttling noise?” said Abigail.

  “That—right there!” said Andy.

  Rusty tilted his head to listen in the direction Andy was pointing and then shook it slowly.

  “Can’t hear a thing,” said the bush pilot. “It’s probably all in your head. If I were you, I’d keep my ears peeled for animal growls instead.” He gazed ahead, looking concerned. “Could be anything in here.”

  They walked along in silence for a while longer. Andy could have sworn that he still heard the scuttling of insect legs, but since Rusty hadn’t heard it, he wondered if he was imagining it. The truth was, any kind of dark, enclosed space frightened him, and he was starting to feel more anxious than he liked to admit.

  After a few more minutes of walking, the tunnel opened up and revealed the crumbling ruin of an ancient temple.

  “Wow,” said Andy. The ruin was impressive. Gigantic chipped blocks of emerald-green stone had unknown deities etched into their surfaces. Looking closer, Andy saw lizard-headed men and women surrounded by human supplicants.

  “Does anybody else get the feeling that whoever this temple was built for was not a very nice person?” he asked. Then Andy noticed that there were huge spiders crawling up and down the uppermost stones, and suddenly he knew the scuttling he’d been hearing hadn’t all been in his mind.

  Oh, great, he thought. Giant spiders. I hate spiders.

  “Well, let’s hope that whoever it was built for isn’t upset that we’re trespassing. We’ve got no choice but to go back or go through, and I’m too tired to go back,” said Abigail.

  And with that, she strode toward the crumbling entrance of the temple without looking back. The others, who weren’t in the mood to debate, followed after.

  As soon as they walked underneath the stone archway, Andy felt the familiar prickling on his skin that indicated the presence of jungle magic. But instead of something slight, the feeling was very intense and made him so light-headed and dizzy that he had to lean against a nearby pillar for support.

  “Anybody else feel that?” he gasped.

  “Who couldn’t?” exclaimed Rusty. “Whatever is creating that magical field packs one heck of a wallop.” He turned a metal knob on his Swiss Army hook, and a sharp blade emerged from the artificial appendage. “Everybody stay on guard.”

  Andy took his Zoomwriter from his pocket.

  They inched forward into the main part of the temple, moving as quietly as they could.

  The walls of the interior of the temple were covered with carvings of tiny skulls. Andy glanced at each one as they passed, wondering why they were so small, but then suddenly stopped short, noticing a freshly made carving.

  “Look at this!” he exclaimed.

  The others gathered around, looking at where Andy was pointing.
The stone looked out of place next to the ancient ones. It was of a smallish size and had been crammed in between two of the larger stones. Carved upon it in a neat, elegant hand were three letters.

  JES

  “What do you think it means?” asked Andy.

  “Only one thing,” replied Rusty. “That one of our members has already been to this place. Here, see if you can pull it out from between that crack in the stones.”

  Andy tugged at the rock, and after a bit of effort it popped loose. Tucked behind it was something small, wrapped in a leather casing. Andy removed the little parcel and after undoing the thong that tied it up, opened it to reveal a message in familiar handwriting on a piece of expensive-looking parchment.

  To whom it may concern. I have reason to believe that this is the ancient ruin of Ankor-Ra, a temple that once held great power and significance. There is powerful magic here, and, I believe, a great artifact that generates it. I underestimated everything about this place and the witch doctor who resides here. The things that I have seen in this place, beings that have been created by the darkest of artifact magic, would defy the imagination and will most certainly haunt my nightmares for many years to come.

  I write these, perhaps my last words, in hopes that any member of the Society will find them. My name is Ned Lostmore. The witch doctor in this ruin, a man known as Bungalow Bob, has left me for dead. To anyone who finds this message, please see to it that my grandson, Andy Stanley, is notified of my untimely demise and ushered into the Society as my designated heir.

  This is my last will and testament.

  Kungaloosh.

  Ned Lostmore

  Everyone stared at the note, hardly able to believe what they’d all just read.

  “I can hardly believe that my grandfather was here,” said Andy. “This must be the temple where…you know…it happened.”