by Paul Tobin
My phone sailed across the yard and landed on the windowsill. Pony, inside the window, moved an inch back, then yawned. I waddled across the yard to the sound of Godzilla’s roar coming from my phone, which meant Nate was calling. Maybe he was going to offer me some sort of ultra-medicine that would cure my bee stings and instantly un-freak me?
“Hello?” I said after picking up my phone and losing a staredown with Pony.
“Delphine,” Nate said. “We need to talk.”
“Then it’s a good thing you called me,” I said. “Because we could do that. We could talk. Right now on the phone.”
“It’s about the Red Death Tea Society,” he said. “Bring Sir William to my house.” Then, before I could say anything, he disconnected.
“You’re kidding me,” I said to the silent phone, which was soaking wet from how I’d been holding it while standing in the spray of the lawn sprinkler.
“Screech!” Sir William said as I picked him up. He was equally soaking wet, and vibrating like crazy. I tucked him under one arm, fully aware that I was holding a high-tech container of angry bumblebees. I carried him out to the car where my friends were still cowering. Stine tentatively rolled down a window.
“Are the bumblebees gone?” she asked. Her eyes were darting in every direction.
“Yes,” I said. “All gone.”
“You’re carrying a seagull,” Ventura said.
“I do that sometimes.” It wasn’t the best cover story I’d ever devised, but I was in pain and had a melon head and two butts’ worth of bee stings. None of my friends were truly aware of how smart Nate was, and I had to keep it a secret. It wasn’t all that difficult to pretend Sir William was an actual seagull instead of a robot. Nate built Sir William to pass almost any inspection. Although, I have to say, he was a little heavy. Or at least I was a bit weak. Sluggish. If for nothing else, I’d eaten a thousand pounds of cake (that’s hyperbole; I’d eaten no more than five hundred pounds of cake) before all the excitement began. Unless you count eating cake as excitement. Like I do.
“Are you okay?” Liz asked.
“She doesn’t look okay,” Wendy said.
“Screech!” Sir William said.
“Oh, he sounds odd,” Stine said. “Did he get stung?”
“Umm, yes,” I said. My arm was starting to go numb from holding him. Too much vibration. “I think I’ll take him inside and give him some medicine. And then I’m going to nap.” My friends were warily getting out of the car, looking for bees. It’s amazing how a little thing like getting attacked by hundreds of bees can make you paranoid about being attacked by hundreds of bees.
“Should I call my mom?” Wendy asked. Her mom is a doctor. I shook my head, which made me go dizzy, but I heroically didn’t topple over, though I did drop Sir William. He landed on the ground and cocked his head quizzically, watching me.
“Sure you’re okay?” Stine asked. I nodded. This time it didn’t make my head throb any harder.
“If you’re okay,” Liz said, “then tell me which is better. Cake or pie?”
“Cake,” I said. “Duh.”
“Wrong,” Liz said. “We should get you checked out.”
“How is she wrong?” Wendy scoffed. “Cake is better than pie. We all know that!” Ventura was nodding in a vigorous fashion, the way people can do when they adamantly believe in something and also haven’t had bees transform their heads into a melon.
“Pie!” Stine yelled. She threw her hands up in the air, stomping on the sidewalk. “I’m not saying that cake isn’t good, but it only comes in third, behind pie and more pie!”
“Idiot!” Ventura yelled.
“If liking pie makes you an idiot, then I’m the world’s biggest idiot!” Stine yelled back, then paused as she realized that her words weren’t quite on the mark.
I left the four of them on the sidewalk to battle it out.
I had a seagull to deliver.
I showered.
I put on fresh clothes.
I stared in the mirror to see what the bees had done. They hadn’t changed my red hair, of course, and my eyes were still green and I still had freckles and I was still about four feet and seven inches tall, unless you counted the bumps from the bee stings, because then I’d grown another inch, at least.
I decided to wear a hat in order to disguise the horribly unappealing bee stings on my head, but, unfortunately, the only comfortable clothes I had . . . loose-fitting clothes to avoid irritating my countless bee stings . . . were my workout clothes, meaning that I eventually stepped out of my house looking like I was on my way to the gym carrying a vibrating seagull.
And that’s when the helicopter landed in the street.
Five men with automatic rifles leaped out, yelling about securing the area, running here and there, ordering people to get off the street and back into their houses, even checking under cars, where I guess they thought people normally hide?
I stood transfixed in my yard. The rush of the helicopter’s blades had blown off my hat, and it was bouncing down the street, tumbling farther and farther away, escaping.
A gray-haired man in a bright green suit stepped out of the helicopter after the soldiers had given the all clear.
The man was chewing bubblegum. He blew a bubble. While staring at me.
From the side of his mouth he said, “Delphine Cooper. Come with me.”
The bubble popped.
The helicopter was huge, and I was strapped into a harness that was made for someone much larger than myself, which meant that I was basically dangling like a wind chime from the helicopter’s interior, except instead of musical notes I was just saying “ooof!” each time the helicopter shifted and bounced me off the wall. The five soldiers were glaring at me as if they expected me to make a daring escape. The roar of the helicopter was that of a gigantic lion with something caught in its throat.
“Delphine Cooper,” the gray-haired man said again. It was the third time he’d said my name. He hadn’t said much of anything else, except he’d twice offered me bubblegum. I’d declined him the first time because I never take anything from strangers in helicopters. I accepted the second time, though, having decided I could use the bubblegum to aid in my eventual escape, as soon as the soldiers let down their guard. Unfortunately, I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d use the bubblegum in any escape, so I was hoping the soldiers wouldn’t let down their guard anytime soon, not until I was ready.
I was, as far as I could determine, being kidnapped. There’d been no discussion if I’d wanted to go with these men. No chance to contact anybody. When I’d tried to call my dad the man in the green suit had simply taken my phone away from me, putting it in his pocket, shaking his head as if I’d done something mean and he was disappointed in me. Then, one of the soldiers had nabbed Sir William from me, and another had picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, marched me into the helicopter, and strapped me into the harness, locking it shut. In the interest of how my memoirs are likely to become required reading material, I’ll say that I endured this treatment in a noble manner, not doing much kicking (I landed a few good ones) and mostly not swearing all that much.
So, I was strapped into a kidnap machine, and a man in a bad suit was staring at me as if I were a particularly difficult puzzle. The winds rushing through the helicopter were making my hair fly all about, and if I turned my head a certain way, and opened my mouth just so, then the wind made my lips flap like a dog with its head stuck out the window of a moving car. It made a noise like flobble flobble flobble.
That part was kind of fun.
“My name is Reggie Barnstorm,” the man in the green suit said.
“That sounds made up,” I mentioned. I blew a bubble with my gum. It was choice.
“It is made up,” Reggie said. “You don’t have the clearance to know my real name.” He paused, and then with a sweep of his hand he indicated the other men sharing our luxurious helicopter accommodations. “They don’t have the clearance, either, for that m
atter.” None of the men responded. They didn’t seem insulted. They just kept staring warily at me, and then at Sir William, even though he’d been stuffed into a lead box with a lid that had taken two men to lift.
“Why kidnap me?” I asked. “Is this about my science paper?” I’d written my last science paper about a benign virus that could be injected into cats in order to give them the ability to change colors, like chameleons. Nate had helped me with some of the more scientific aspects. To be more precise, he’d run everything past me saying, “I wish cats could change colors, like chameleons.”
“It’s about your association with Nathan Bannister,” Reggie said.
“He only helped a little on the paper,” I said, blowing another bubble.
“I’m not sure what paper you’re talking about,” Reggie said. “This has to do with the Red Death Tea Society.”
“Piffle,” I said. “Are you with them?” I was suspiciously sniffing the air, but there wasn’t the slightest scent of tea, and none of the men were drinking any.
“Hardly,” Reggie said, aghast. “Well, we were. But our goals differ now. You could say that we’re at scientific odds with them. You could even say we’re opposed to them. In fact, you could say that we’re deadly enemies.”
“Could I say who you are? Because you haven’t. Altogether, with the kidnapping and the complete lack of introductions, you’ve been awfully rude.”
“Oh,” Reggie said, and the soldiers all echoed him, giving that sigh you give when you not only realize you’ve done something wrong but you’ve been caught doing it. I am unfortunately and intimately familiar with this sigh.
“Is a helicopter kidnapping traumatic to a young girl?” Reggie asked.
“Um, yes. A bit. Kind of. Completely and totally.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” Reggie said. “We’ve all been flustered. Things have been happening rather quickly, of late. I suppose you might have noticed the bees?”
“Um, yeah,” I said. “Somewhat. A little. Painfully and entirely.” I was glancing meaningfully to my arms, where the bees had accomplished the equivalent of a bombing run.
“Oh,” Reggie said, with that sigh again. He started to say something else, but the pilot called his name and he went up to talk with her. I, of course, stayed right there, strapped into my harness, bouncing off the side of the helicopter, which I believe is called the cabin, which doesn’t sound right to me because cabins are in the woods, not in the air.
I kicked my heel back against the wall and asked the soldiers, “Is this called the cabin? Are we in the cabin?”
No answer.
“So, are you guys sworn to silence, like monks?”
No answer.
“So, that Reggie guy? A green suit? Who wears a green suit?”
No answer.
“Look! I can blow a bubble!” I blew a bubble.
No applause.
“I’ll just play over here by myself, then,” I said, looking around for any items that seemed like they could aid in my escape. It would’ve been handy, just then, if life were more like a video game, meaning that any necessary items would glow softly, signifying their importance. But . . . no, nothing was glowing, unless you counted my bee stings, which at least felt like they were glowing. Or burning.
“Could you at least play some music?” I asked the men. They just stared at me. Not music lovers, I guess. I tried to decide where Reggie and his men were taking me. And . . . why was he so familiar? Ever since he’d first stepped down from the helicopter, I’d felt like I’d seen him before. And what was it with the suit? Who wears a green suit? The only other time I’d seen a green suit was when—
“Oh,” I said. The soldiers looked at me. Well, continued to look at me, but now with narrower eyes.
“Nothing,” I said. But it wasn’t nothing. I had seen Reggie before. He was one of the experts who’d come to our school to test Nate. So . . . now I knew. But what did it mean?
“Hmm,” I said. The soldiers tensed, as if I was dangerous. I narrowed my eyes and tried to look menacing, but the helicopter shifted and bounced me like a sack of potatoes against the wall, and it’s very hard to look menacing when you are a sack of potatoes.
I sighed.
I hung there, in my harness, on the wall.
From my angle, I could see outside the open door, all the way down to the city of Polt, far below. The wind was swarming through the cabin, investigating everything, sending my red hair flying. Not a single strand on any of the soldiers’ heads budged. I wondered if soldiers train their hair. Do they make their hair lift weights, maybe do push-ups? Thinking of their hair made me remember the GPS tracker that Nate had put in my hair. I wondered if he was still tracking me.
“I am,” Nate said.
Or at least it was Nate’s voice. It wasn’t Nate. Couldn’t be. Because Nate wasn’t there. Not in the helicopter. How could he be?
Nate said, “I calculated this was the time you’d remember the GPS tracker in your hair. I could see it in your eyes when you thought of it. Stay there for a minute; I’m going to get Sir William.”
There was still no Nate to be seen. I decided I was hallucinating his voice. Maybe I shouldn’t have chewed the bubblegum? Maybe it had some weird chemical in it, one that made me hear things?
The top of Sir William’s lead box began to slowly rise in the air. The soldiers looked over to it, confused. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing that would blow around in the wind.
“Sir?” one of them said, trying to get Reggie’s attention, but the roar of the helicopter and the rush of the wind devoured his voice, and Reggie didn’t hear him.
The robot gull peeked out of the metal box.
“Screech?” it said.
“Sir!” one of the soldiers said, louder, trying to get Reggie Barnstorm’s attention, frantically waving his hand.
“Screech!” the robot gull said, now perched on the edge of the box. He flapped one wing, as if waving back at the soldier.
“Sir!” another soldier said.
“Screech?” said the robot gull. It was then that I realized the problem.
“His name is Sir William,” I told the soldier. “He thinks you’re talking to him.”
At that moment, Reggie came walking back and saw what was happening. He trembled, then peeled back the sleeve of his green suit to reveal an amazing array of electronics on the inside of the cloth, with multiple screens displaying streams of data. He studied them for only a second before gasping, and then yelled, “He’s here! Bannister is here!”
“He is?” I said. “So I wasn’t just hearing things?”
“I am here,” Nate whispered in my ear. There was a flash of light and then my harness became unconnected. I fell down against the wall of the cabin, perilously close to the open door.
“Sometimes the cabin can be called a ‘fuselage,’” Nate whispered to me. I still couldn’t see him. I did not think it was the appropriate time to be discussing the proper names for helicopter parts. I did, however, think it was the appropriate time for not falling out of a helicopter. It usually is.
“Secure Delphine!” Reggie yelled. “And flood the cabin with—”
But whatever he was about to say, it was too late.
“Screech!” Sir William said, but this time he kept his mouth open.
And the bees flew out.
There was an immediate panic, because as any soldier can tell you, guns are not very useful against bumblebees, not unless you are a very good shot. Also, for a well-trained group of muscle-bound men, the five of them certainly did act frightened, but in their defense they’d had me to look at, hanging from my harness on the cabin wall, a clear illustration of The Evil Bees Can Do.
“Come on!” Nate said. He appeared beside me, wearing a wet suit, which is not proper attire for a helicopter. He took me by the arm and tugged me toward the open door.
“Long ways down,” I told him. I hoped he’d noticed. I hoped he wasn’t as panicked by the bees as eve
ryone else.
“Sure,” he said. “It’s currently fourteen thousand three hundred and seventy-nine feet to the ground. No problem. We’ll just jump.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s jump!” I’ve learned to trust Nate. No, scratch that, I haven’t . . . but I’ve learned that it doesn’t ever matter if I trust him or not. Everything still happens, and I’ll only waste my breath talking about it, when I should be saving my breath for any screaming I might need to do while falling fourteen thousand three hundred and seventy-nine feet to the ground.
One of the soldiers tried to grab me, but several bees started stinging his face and he said, “Glaggt!” and fell over backward. The others were rolling around on the cabin floor, trying to get bees off them. Nate was tugging me toward the open sky. Sir William flew past me, and out the door he went. Reggie Barnstorm was yelling orders to everyone, including to all the soldiers, to me and Nate, to the pilot, and even to the bees, but none of us could hear what he was saying because of the rushing winds and the anguished cries of the men being stung by the bees.
“It’s time to go!” Nate told me, urging me toward the door.
“Just a second!” I said. I had something very important to do.
I ran up to Reggie and grabbed my phone from his pocket. Then I took the chewed-up bubblegum from my mouth and stuck it on his forehead.
“There!” I said. “I’m escaping!”
With my Grand Bubblegum Escape Plan now in action, I ran back to the open door, grabbed Nate’s hand . . .
. . . and we jumped.
So we were falling.
Totally expected.
Didn’t bother me at all.