by Shiloh White
Just before the knife connected with Scott's chest, all hell broke lose in the form of a half-shriek of terror and a half-battle cry. Everyone in the room freaked out for a second. All the crowd's cheering came to a halt, wondering where the sound came from. Dart hesitated, looking around in a daze.
“Finish the job!” Damian stressed, over to my right.
A few thumps across the stage told me the sound came from none other than Woodstock.
Before Dart could place the knife in Scott's chest, Woodstock ran across the stage shrieking again and tackled him. The knife flew out of Dart's grip as they hit the ground. The two other Agents jumped into the mix, letting go of Scott and trying to pull Woodstock off of Dart. But Woodstock held fast to Dart's shoulders, shaking him back and forth to try to wake him up from the brainwashing.
“What the Dust is happening down there?” Damian demanded. I looked up at him and watched Lara come tap him on the shoulder.
“What the Dust is that?” she asked, pointing to something behind me. Damian must have been too divided to control his powers, because I was able to move enough to see a funnel of smoke burst through a doorway at the far end of the balcony. It flew at Damian at blinding speed. A few inches away, the smoke morphed and changed until Chug was flying through the air at the evil man in a suit.
Chug crashed into Damian's face, knocking the both of them to the ground. He punched and clawed and grabbed at him while Damian tried to get him off of his face. Lara ran over and kicked Chug off, hitting him in the gut, and from what I could see, narrowly missing Damian's face. Then she helped him to his feet.
Chug shook off the pain from the kick and backed up to me. I stood up feeling stiff, but free of Damian's power nonetheless.
“How did you get away from Takao and the others?” I asked. Chug scowled.
“He lured me into a fight,” he said, “but then he left me to the number of Agents. He took his chance to escape, the coward. So I didn't stick around either. I shook those guys and came lookin' for you. It helped that you weren't wearing the hood. By the way, I found this in the process!” He tossed a small yellow stick and me and I caught it.
“My paintbrush!”
“It was in that old broom closet,” Chug said. “Probably fell out of your bag when those goons tried to grab you."
“Thank you, Chug!” I refilled the paint and opened up the paint whip. It felt good in my hand. Chug grinned, and put his hand on his gun.
“You can thank me by puttin' that whip to good use against these guys. What's he doing here anyway?” I looked over at Damian and scowled. He whispered something to Lara and her eyes lit up.
She put her hands together and smoke started to slip out of them. Lara opened her hands and more smoke shot out into a pile next to her until it was the same height as Lara. Then the smoke solidified until we were staring at Damian, Lara, and Lara's new twin, Lara.
Damian stepped back from Lara and Lara, and slashed his hand through the air in front of him. A black swirl of smoke appeared there.
“I'll tell you later,” I said to Chug. “We can't let him get away!"
Chug and I ran across the balcony to stop Damian, but Lara and Lara dashed in front of him, cutting us off. Damian walked through the dark portal and disappeared. Chug cursed.
“Where'd he run off to now?” he asked. Lara giggled and held up her syringe.
“Why don't you let me finally assimilate you, and then I'll tell you?”
“Yeah, I tried that.” Chug shook his head. “Wasn't for me.” He shot his gun straight at Lara's face. Lara dipped below it and ran at Chug. I flicked my paint whip at her and it wrapped around her leg, tripping her in the process. Before she could fall flat on her nose, the Lara-clone dashed forward and pulled her back up. Then she took her syringe and drove it into my paint whip.
Everything past Lara's syringe melted onto the floor and dried into yellow splotches of paint. The rest of my whip retreated back to it's normal length and the two Laras backed up, planning their second charge.
“Should've stuck to the red brush.” Lara said. “At least that one's supposed to melt."
The brittle sound of my teeth grinding against each other echoed in my head. I took a step forward and raised my whip, but when I did, it started to shake. It felt weak in my grip, like it would collapse at any moment.
“Lucy, you gotta keep your anger at the right source!” Chug said.
“Easy for you to say.” I barked. “I'm not used to fighting dead people twice in the same day!” Chug looked at me like I was crazy.
“You think I am?”
“Well, I thought—"
“Look out!”
I faced our enemy just as they threw their syringes at us. Chug tried to shoot one out of midair and missed. He did hit Lara-clone, though, knocking her to the ground. Didn't stop the flying medical tools, though.
I pulled my paint whip off the floor and began twirling it like one side of a jump rope. The sticky part of the whip must have pulled it taut because it picked up speed super quickly, and hit the syringes out of the air. They shot to the ground and sunk themselves in the floor.
“This is our chance!” Chug shouted. “Go for the one that's already down—I'll cover you!”
And cover he did. Running from Takao and all those other Agents must have given him the break from his gun he needed back in the valedictorian room. Maybe he couldn't hit a syringe, but every shot he made on Lara stopped her from advancing against me while I ran to her clone.
She'd been trying to stand, but Chug's shot must have got her good. She was still on her hands and knees. Once I was close enough, I jumped up and flung the whip at her. It wrapped around her stomach tight. As I fell to the ground, I put all the momentum and gravity into bringing the paint whip over my body and toward the edge of the balcony. Lara-clone was lifted off the floor completely and launched over the side of the railing where my paint whip let her go. She screamed something as she fell, but she fell too fast for me to hear.
“Nice one!” Chug said. I grinned. Then Lara turned around and saw her clone was no longer there. She let out a growl and backed up so she could see both of us.
“We're not done yet,” I said. “There's still one more.” Lara's growl turned into a dark smirk.
“You're right about one thing,” she said. Lara began spinning around in a circle, which caught me off guard. Then Depression Agent smoke enveloped her whole body and shot out into three separate lumps of shadows. One of them almost landed on top of Chug, but he dodged it before it fell.
Each of the shadows molded to Lara's shape and solidified, changing from shadowy smoke to skin and color. Three new Lara clones.
“You gotta be kiddin' me,” I grumbled.
The first of the clones, the one closest to Chug, made it's move first. It ran at him, syringe in hand, almost tripping over itself to reach him. I flicked my paint whip at it, narrowly connecting with it's ankle. Only, this Lara-clone didn't stop running. It pulled me along for a moment like I was riding a water ski until I was able to plant my feet. Then I twisted my body like I was about to hit a baseball and swung my paint whip over my shoulders.
I was pretty sure the Lara-clones were a lot lighter than Lara herself, because the clone I launched cleared the balcony as well, falling to the room below.
“Ugh,” Lara said. “Laras, attack them—"
“AAAAGH!"
Chug and I looked at one another, but neither of us had screamed. Even the Laras hesitated to move.
“That came from down there.” Chug pointed over the side of the balcony. I bit my lip.
“Woodstock ..."
“You have to go help him, Lucy.”
I shifted from foot to foot. The two Lara-clones were regaining their senses from that scream. They were going to attack us any second. Plus there was still real Lara to worry about. As if to prove my point, she dashed past her clones and picked up the two syringes that had embedded themselves in the ground.
“I'l
l be okay,” Chug said. “just like last time. Now go!” I turned and ran towards the balcony. Behind me, a Lara-clone cackled with crazy laughter. “You're not going anywhere!” she yelled. Her cackle got louder and closer until she was almost right behind me, but I didn't turn to look. If I did, I'd slow down and that would be it.
Instead, I poured on speed. Behind me came the familiar BANG! of Chug's gun chamber, and Lara-clone's cackle suddenly dropped silent. I didn't turn around, but stuck out my hand with a thumbs up.
I'll be okay.
Yeah, you better be, kid.
In front of me, distance quickly disappeared between me and the edge of the balcony. Through the railing, I could see the chaos ensuing with the Agents below. I forced myself not to stop and stare. I flicked my paint whip and it shot out and wrapped around the railing. Keeping each step of momentum—and none of my sanity—I sucked in a deep breath of air, then jumped over the edge, into the chaos below.
46. How NOT to Hire a Vice Principal
I'd like to tell you leaping over the side of a two (maybe three...possibly three...totally three) story building filled me with vigor and courage and energy.
I'd also like to tell you I'm best friends with Bob Ross.
In reality, falling just filled me with more adrenaline than I knew what to do with. The sticky, elastic consistency of my whip acted as a bungee, sucking up the momentum before I hit the ground. Unfortunately, I was too busy quietly screaming—didn't want to attract onlookers, right—to realize that was my best chance at landing safely.
I shot back up in the air, and got another clear look at the sheer amount of Agents down below. They had spread out, creating a large circle around...something.
When I reached peak height, I could see what it was and I wished I hadn't. A wave of Agents closed in around Woodstock. He was punching and kicking for all that his body would let him, but it was a losing fight. Every time he was lucky enough to punch one of them into smoke or knock them unconscious, three more Agents came back at him with another hit.
Woodstock was strong, not invincible. On top of that, the Agents he did beat into smoke ran back into the room through open doorways just moments later.
The adrenaline surge I felt began to overflow into anger. I shot towards the ground again ready to land. At four or five feet from the ground, I yanked the paint whip, and the end I was holding tore off from the chunk connected to the railing above.
Unfortunately, I was too early. I hadn't fallen enough for the paint whip to bungee up all the momentum. So when I pulled the paint whip, I fell five feet alright, but I fell a lot faster than just five feet.
When I landed, I stumbled forward a few steps to keep from breaking something from the impact. I tried to eat up a lot of momentum and force with each step so I didn't end up driving straight into the slew of Agents crowding the center room. The result was an awkward five-step dinosaur run that made my legs wobble.
On the last step I fell backward and landed on my butt, and I sat there for a moment and just thought oowwwwwww.
I caught my breath and looked up at the balcony, realizing I just threw myself over the top of that thing, trusting in paint. And paint wasn't the reason I was in pain right now. But it was a numb pain, thanks to the adrenaline in my system. It surged me to stand and figure out a plan to save Woodstock.
My body had a different idea.
I used the momentum of standing to launch into a run. I put the cloak hood back on and charged through the sea of Agents clambering over who'd get to punch Woodstock next. I shoved aside boys and girls and even a fully grown man—who I figured was a faculty member—rushing to get to my friend. Most of them shoved back, and I was afraid at one point, they were going to figure out who I was. Or at least that I was a Topsider. I still wasn't sure how Depression Agents could figure out that part, but the cloak did its' job, allowing me to be treated just like the other Agents.
I shot through to the front, where the sight was much more gruesome. The closest of Agents formed an opening around Woodstock, taking turns wailing on him. He staggered back and forth, unable to keep his feet planted in one spot thanks to the blows. Each time he delivered one of his own blows, they were rarely connecting now. His strength remained, however, so the one or two Agents he was lucky enough to pummel went flying. But they were replaced by more than ran past me to get a piece of the action.
Above all this, I saw the Headmistress look on in indifference. Her own son the source of this chaos, and she did nothing about it.
My entire body beat under one emotion now. In anger my arm moved the whip, flinging it to the nearest Agent's arm before he could drive it across Woodstock's cheek.
“What the?” he said, trying to pull back against the paint. I pulled with all my rage, flicking the whip upward. With little effort, the whip took all the momentum and at the end, snapped the Agent skyward in the Headmistress' direction. She yelped and swatted him aside, leaving nothing but a pile of Depression Agent smoke in the air.
“Where the heck did Terry go?” An Agent next to him asked. I decided he was next and launched him airborne.
The other Agents started to freak out, becoming easy targets to give Woodstock time to breathe. Even the Headmistress was too occupied with the Depression Agents flying up in her face to notice me. And all the other Agents rushed forward to take the missing ones' places.
I pulled three more Agents into the sky, amazed by the power of my Handle as they went flying into the Headmistress' face. I couldn't help finding the sight of her funny as she screamed in fear when they flew at her. However, the humor left when I saw she was swatting each of them down just like the first.
She was treating them with the same amount of respect she had for her son—none. I sent two more airborne, and the Headmistress solidified my answer. Her brow flexed and her eyes focused as they came up. She was ready for these two, and made no attempts to catch them, swatting them into more smoke. These Agents truly meant nothing to her.
I shoved the Headmistress away from my thoughts and went back to helping Woodstock. There were three more Agents on him, and a bunch more were running from of the crowd to fight. One Agent ran past me, shoving me to the ground and knocking my hood off. I rose to my feet and brushed myself off when I heard someone shout, “Topsider!”
Across the crowd, I matched the voice to an Agent pointing his bony finger straight at me. Some of the group that could hear him turned to look at who he was pointing at, which wasn't so great for me. The hood. That's why they never noticed me. I'd pretty much forgotten I was wearing Lionel's cloak. Now me and everyone else knew.
The only plus was that some of the Agents around Woodstock looked too, making his job easier for a few minutes. As Agents raced towards me, he fought back the few that stayed focused on him. I swung my paint-whip this way and that way, flicking Agents back and launching others skyward. Before long, we'd cleared enough to reach each other, and we put our backs to one another.
“Are you okay?” I asked. Woodstock stepped forward, punching an Agent into the ground where he evaporated.
“A little dizzy,” he said. “but I'm fine. The Headmistress wasn't able to keep me down AND influence Dart. She's got him like a total zombie. What happened with Chug?” I glanced up at the balcony.
“He's okay.” I said. Or at least I hoped he was. Then another Agent charged me, shifting my focus back to the fight. With this sheer number of foes around us, I couldn't afford to be distracted. I slammed my whip down on him and he exploded into dust. But then three more Agents inched closer from behind him and my heart sank. This was never going to end.
“Why don't they give up?” I asked.
“They're probably wondering the same thing, mija,” Woodstock said, “since they outnumber us a thousand to one. They keep fighting for the same reason we do: they believe in what they're fighting for."
“But they've been brainwashed into believing it. That's not the same at all!” Woodstock gestured to the space around our feet
dwindling thanks to the Agents closing in around us.
“It seems to be enough for them—"
The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the swarm of Agents that charged in to finish us off.
✽✽✽
“Look out!” I shouted. An Agent had jumped above the crowd from behind, aiming for Woodstock. I went to grab him with my whip, but another Agent grabbed my arm. Woodstock turned and grabbed the Agent out of the air, swinging around and throwing him into the one holding me down.
“Thanks.” I said. He shrugged. Then he turned and continued to fight his side of the masses. But with ever Agent he knocked back, our situation just seemed to get worse. We weren't getting anywhere. Our tactics had to change. Then I realized something—when I first saw Woodstock, he'd tackled Dart to the ground up on the stage.
I called over my shoulder to him, saying, “How'd you—"
“AAAA!” An Agent ran at me. I tried to push him back with my whip, but he dodged each attack. He ran past his fellow Agents and grabbed me by the cloak, raising me above his head. I struggled and kicked my legs, trying to get free, but his grip was very tight. His eyes were red and he growled at me angrily. I wasn't sure what happened to make him this upset, but I didn't want to find out.
Underneath the cloak, I wriggled my free hand into my art bag and pulled out my red paintbrush. Then I flicked the brush out of it's canister and threw back the cloak to aim it at the Agent. Acid paint shot onto his arm, releasing me from his grip. He fell to the ground and the Agents around him began to back up, giving me a little space to breathe. And an idea.
“Woodstock, duck!” I yelled. He was somewhere behind me, so I could only hope he heard. Then I spun around, splattering red paint in a circle around me on the floor. Some Agents found themselves in the splash zone and began writhing in pain from the burning acid. I was silently hoping I hadn't hit any of the Agents that belonged to the Abandoned. But then I realized, a great many of these Agents had been brainwashed. Who was to say it was fair to hit any of them?