Epic Zero: Tales of a Not-So-Super 6th Grader Books 1-3 (Epic Zero Box Set)

by R. L. Ullman

  C-A-M-E-M-B-E-R-T.

  Nothing.

  Okay, I’m officially a dead kid walking.

  Suddenly, a loud BING echoes down the corridor, and the console turns green. I hear several mechanical locks rotate and unhinge from the inside. And, to my sheer and utter delight, the door swings wide open.

  I breathe a sigh of relief and step inside. The interior is much larger than it looks from the outside. There are dozens of filing cabinets all neatly organized in rows. Each cabinet has a number and name beneath it. I quickly deduce that the number must represent the corresponding prison cell number at Lockdown and the name must be the prisoner held captive inside. I move through the rows, recognizing many of the names listed as dangerous Meta 3 criminals with unbelievable powers:

  Bone Crusher. Lady Killer. Gargantuan.

  All locked away under one roof.

  My destination, however, is the last filing cabinet. The top drawer reads:

  Cell# M27 -- Meta-Taker.

  I reach up and pull it open. Inside is a long tube. I take it out and twist off the cap. I unroll the blueprints onto a nearby desk and look them over.

  They’re the plans for Meta-Taker’s cell.

  There are lots of technical specifications outlining the dimensions of the cell, thickness of the walls, location of the air ventilation system and so on. What I’m most interested in, however, is located in the bottom right corner. It’s the containment plan. I read it closely:

  Prisoner is to be kept in a continuous state of suspended animation (otherwise known as hibernation). The temperature of the room is to be kept at 20°F (-7°C) at all times. This will keep the prisoner in a state of hypothermia. The lower body temperature will stop all cellular activity, decreasing the body’s need for oxygen while keeping the cells alive. The prisoner will not have any need for food or water in this state. This containment plan replicates the hibernation pattern of animals. Room temperature is to be monitored 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

  Okay, that rat is amazing. But, I sure hope his containment plan works because I can’t think of anything worse than a ticked-off Meta-Taker waking up inside a facility loaded with hundreds of Meta prisoners.

  I NOW WISH TO BE CALLED AWESOME BOY

  So here we are, Grace and I, two kids with Meta powers heading to school via a sub-atomic teleportation device. We land at the Prop House when Grace finally blows a gasket.

  “You got lucky,” she says. “That’s all.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t exactly call it luck,” I say, buffing my fingernails. “Sounds like someone’s upset she’s no longer the only Meta kid around.”

  Grace turns a deep shade of purple and huffs, “It’s dumb luck until you do it again.”

  Let’s just say the ride to the Prop House was a chilly one. Grace is miffed because, apparently, everything in my “dream” came true last night. The Freedom Force arrived seconds after Taser, Brawler and the mysterious Makeshift escaped from the scene of the crime.

  Then Mom and Dad spent the entire morning asking me all sorts of questions about my dreams. When did they start? Could I see people clearly in them? How did I know when they would happen in real life?

  Oh, they did stop for a minute to ask Grace how she wanted her eggs. And then they turned right back to me.

  Me. Me. Me.

  It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day.

  We exit the prop house to find a surprise sitting on our front steps.

  It’s a girl.

  “Who the heck are you?” asks Grace.

  “I’m Cammie,” says the girl, her bright, green eyes sparkling. “Elliot’s friend.”

  Wait, she knows my name? And did she just say she’s my friend?

  “Elliott’s friend?” Grace says. “Elliott doesn’t have any friends.”

  “Shut up, Grace,” I snap. “I guess you should be walking to school now.” Grace hated to walk anywhere when she could fly. Now, because of Cammie, she’s stuck.

  “We’ll continue this later,” Grace says, her eyes throwing daggers at me. She pulls her backpack over her shoulder and storms off.

  As I lock the door, it hits me that I’ve never really talked to a girl alone other than my sister.

  We look at each other awkwardly and start walking.

  “Well, she seems lovely,” Cammie says.

  “You have no idea,” I say. “So, um, what are you doing here?”

  “I pass by your house on the way to school, so I thought I’d walk with you,” she says. “You know, in case you need protection or something.”

  I look over to see if she’s serious. Her smile tells me she’s not.

  “Thanks,” I say. “But that bully hasn’t come within five-hundred miles of me since you clobbered him.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” she says. “I didn’t mean to step in, but... ”

  “No, it’s okay,” I say. “You did the right thing. I never did get to say thanks. So, thanks.”

  “No problem,” she says. “I actually wasn’t even sure you were home. Your lights were off the whole time. It’s, like, totally dark in there.”

  “Oh, are they?” I say, looking back at the house. Yep, she’s right, it’s pitch black inside. I have to think fast. “Um, yeah, Dad gets a little crazy trying to save money on the electric bill. We’re all so used to it we operate on radar now. You know, like bats.” Note to self: have TechnocRat fix that asap.

  Time to change the subject.

  “So you’re new, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “My dad, he ... moves around a lot. I guess you could say he doesn’t stay in one place for very long.”

  “Wow, that sounds rough,” I say.

  “Yeah. I don’t have many friends because of it,” she says. I can tell by her slumped shoulders that this makes her sad.

  Is that why she was waiting for me? Maybe she knows I don’t have friends either.

  “You sure seem to know a lot about the Civil War,” I say. “Maybe even more than Mrs. Gittes.” Mrs. Gittes is our Social Studies teacher. She kind of looks like a frog, especially when she wears that green turtleneck.

  “Oh, yeah,” Cammie says. “I guess I like studying things like that. My dad always says it’s good to learn about history so you don’t end up repeating the mistakes of the past.”

  “Makes sense,” I say. I can tell there’s something more she wants to say about her father, but she doesn’t. And, given my own family dynamics, I don’t want to press her.

  We walk in silence for a bit.

  “So, what do you think about Glory Girl?” she asks.

  Well, that was unexpected. I want to say: Well, you actually just met the old sourpuss a few minutes ago after we teleported to earth. But I think better of it. All I manage to say is, “Um ... ”

  “I think she’s an egomaniac,” says Cammie.

  “You do?” I reply, my voice raising a full octave higher. I clear my throat. “I mean, you do?” I say, regulating my voice.

  “Oh, please,” she says. “Didn’t you see her on the news last night? She made it all about her. Give me a break! I don’t understand why she’s all the rage. I think she should call herself Ego Girl.”

  “Now, that’s a good one!” I snort. We just may get along after all. “So, if you’re not a fan of hers, then who’s your favorite hero?”

  “In comic books or real life?” she asks.

  “You read comic books?”

  “Of course I do,” she says. “They’re not just for boys, you know.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” I clarify. “I’ve just never met a girl that liked comic books before. I read them all the time.”

  “Well, so do I,” Cammie says. “And, to answer your question, my favorite comic book hero is Saturn Girl. She’s pretty deadly.”

  “And in real life?” I ask.

  “That’s easy,” she says. “It’s Ms. Understood.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” Cammie says. “She just seems so—down to e
arth. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “I know.”

  “How about you?” Cammie asks. “Who are your favorites?”

  “That’s easy,” I say. “In comics it’s definitely Batman. And in real life—”

  “Wait,” Cammie interrupts, “let me guess. Shadow Hawk?”

  “Hey, how’d you know that?” I ask.

  “Well, it’s only logical. Isn’t Shadow Hawk the real-life version of Batman? He’s just the smartest and most athletic man on the planet.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I never thought about it like that. I guess they are similar.”

  “And like you, they’re both a bit mysterious,” she adds.

  I feel my cheeks flush. “You think I’m mysterious?”

  “I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, Elliott Harkness.”

  I’m pretty sure I’m redder than a tomato by now. Fortunately, we reach the school entrance.

  “Well, it was great walking and talking with you,” she says.

  “Yeah, thanks for protecting me,” I say. “You’re like the Secret Service for sixth graders.”

  She laughs. “No problem. See you in Social Studies.” Then she smiles and walks away.

  ***

  School was pretty much background noise for the rest of the day. Cammie and I talked a bit in class, and she asked me if I wanted to grab a milkshake after school, but I was still grounded. I breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t ask me why.

  My luck continued after school as I also received a new stream of texts from Idiots Incorporated:

  >Taser: New job. Who’s in?<

  >Makeshift: I’ll play!<

  >Demento: In.<

  >Brawler: ☺ What is it?<

  >Taser: Gold. Truck.<

  >Brawler: They make gold trucks?<

  >Taser: No u dufus! Gold arriving by truck!<

  >Brawler: My bad.<

  >Demento: Time?<

  >Taser: Midnight.<

  Flipping back through the Worm’s contact list, I confirm that Demento isn’t a breath mint, but rather a villain named Dr. Demento, a Meta 1 psychic. Then I see this, and my heart drops to my toes.

  >Taser: U in Worm?<

  >Brawler: Plus, I still have your crowbar.<

  Great. Now the floodgates have opened.

  I don’t know what to tell them? Sorry guys, thanks for inviting me to hit the truck, but I’m actually not the Worm at all, but just a twelve-year-old kid that picked up his phone by mistake while my super-hero family was putting away some Meta creep.

  I breathe in deeply and exhale.

  Just relax, and cut it off quickly.

  >Worm: Sorry. Prior obligation. U keep crowbar.<

  Did it work? Please, please work.

  >Taser: OK no prob.<

  >Brawler: I can? TX! ☺☺☺<

  Whew! I’m off the hook, and the Worm is short one crowbar.

  After the criminals go through another exhaustive sequence of planning their crime, I have all the pertinent information. Now it’s time to prove my “dreams” are more than just “dumb luck.”

  I wait until after dinner, and find Mom and Blue Bolt hanging out in the Galley. Here goes nothing.

  “Mom, I had another dream.”

  “You did?” she says. “Tell me about it?”

  “There were four villains,” I say, “All after one truck transporting gold. Same three from the night before plus a fourth with psychic ability. It’s going down at midnight.”

  Blue Bolt rounds up the others in a flash, and I brief them as well. The look on Grace’s face is priceless.

  Now all I have to do is wait.

  Dog-Gone and I play the longest game of fetch known to man.

  When eleven o’clock rolls around, the heroes throw me a curve ball I’m not expecting. Since the villains got away last time, the Freedom Force decide to leave early to lay a trap. My flirtation with powers is about to end prematurely.

  I can’t let that happen.

  So, as soon as they split, I hit the texts.

  >Worm: WARNING! FF setting trap!<

  >Taser: WHAT? How u know?<

  >Worm: Trust me.<

  I wait for the inevitable text telling me the job is off. Instead I get this:

  >Taser: No worries.<

  Wait, what? No worries? What the heck does that mean? He must not have understood me.

  >Worm: YO! I SAYS FREEDOM FORCE!!!!!<

  >Taser: Yep. I SAYS NO WORRIES. ☺<

  Something isn’t right.

  How are those morons going to stop the Freedom Force?

  I start to panic. If these guys think they can take out the most powerful heroes in the universe, then they have something up their sleeves. I need to warn the Freedom Force. And, pronto!

  Dog-Gone and I run up to the Meta Monitor and pull up the communication system.

  “Waystation to Freedom Flyer II,” I call.

  There’s no response, only static.

  “Waystation to Freedom Flyer II,” I call again.

  More static.

  This isn’t good at all. I have to get down there. Somehow, I have to help the criminals escape while, at the same time, keep the Freedom Force from being ambushed.

  I just need a way to get there.

  I can’t use the Transporter because there’s no nearby connection. I have to find some other way. But how?

  Then it hits me.

  I flip to the hangar bay camera.

  And there it sits, waiting for the joyride of its life.

  Freedom Flyer I.

  I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO DIE NOW

  Of all the stupid things I’ve done, this is probably the one most likely to get me killed. My plan was simple enough. Hijack the Freedom Flyer I, set it on auto-pilot, and swoop in to save the Freedom Force. Unfortunately, my plans usually have a way of backfiring on me.

  After the infamous Master Mime-Brutal Birdmen scuffle, I knew that steering the Freedom Flyer I was going to be a challenge, but I had no idea that the auto-pilot had been junked as well. So here I am, flying a supersonic shuttle at 5,000 feet above the ground with a broken steering column, a damaged auto-pilot and no clue as to how I’m going to land this thing.

  Getting the Freedom Flyer off the Waystation was no big deal. I’d played around in the computer flight simulator for so many years that I knew how to start it up and get it going. Bringing it back down, however, is another matter altogether. I never practiced landing. Flying was always the fun part.

  I try several more times to get in touch with the Freedom Flyer II, but all I hear is static. There are no new texts on either my new mobile or the Worm’s. I have an empty feeling in my stomach that something’s wrong.

  I just don’t know what.

  But that will have to wait because the problem with the steering column is even worse than I thought. The air is so choppy that it’s constantly throwing the shuttle off course. When I pull back for more altitude the shuttle lurches to the right. I correct this by pulling the steering column down, which straightens the shuttle sometimes, but other times throws it to the left. I’m working really hard to just keep a consistent cruising speed and stay flying in one direction.

  The only thing that is working is the navigation system. It’s automatically synched to the Meta Monitor, which tracks any signs of Meta powers and provides the exact coordinates of their location. So, I have a pretty good read on where the action is happening. I just need to get there without overshooting it by hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye.

  But, I’ve totally got this!

  I hope.

  There is one other small issue to sort out. I have no idea what I’m going to do when I actually get there. I need to help the bad guys escape so I can continue my charade, while simultaneously ensuring that none of the good guys get hurt. Plus, my parents are absolutely going to flip out when they see me. I’m actually not sure who will kill me first.

  I’m lost in thought when the Freedom Flyer chimes in,
“Visual confirmation at 0300.”

  I zone in on the area the Freedom Flyer is signaling. There are dozens of trees felled in the same direction, as if some giant steamroller plowed them over at the roots. My eyes follow the path of destruction, stopping at a very large fire where giant plumes of black smoke billow up to the clouds. At the center of it all is a familiar object that looks like it’s shattered into a million pieces.

  It’s the Freedom Flyer II.

  Two thoughts cross my mind. One, it took something awfully powerful to do that to a Freedom Flyer. And two, I’m flying a much weaker version.

  I have to locate my family and get out of there fast.

  It doesn’t take me long to find them.

  Several miles ahead it looks like a Fourth of July celebration gone wrong. There are massive explosions everywhere accompanied by blinding flashes of light. I’m still too high to identify specific people, but I can see them all down there, scampering around like ants.

  I can’t shake the horrible feeling that this whole thing is my fault. I have to help, but my first job is to figure out how to safely land this thing without getting myself killed.

  Apparently, someone else has other ideas.

  I notice the purple energy rocket about two seconds before impact. There’s no time to pull up the reflector shields. I brace myself for what is sure to be an epic collision.

  I’m not disappointed.

  The explosion is deafening. My head slams into the console, which can only happen if the pilot’s seat I’m strapped into has completely detached from the cockpit floor. I feel woozy, like I’m floating outside my own body, but somehow stay conscious. It takes a few seconds to reorient, then I realize I’m not exactly floating, but rather free falling through the air, debris from the Freedom Flyer plunging all around me.

  The good news is that I’m not dead.

  The bad news is that I have seconds to act before I become the world’s largest pancake.

  My right hand fumbles to open the armrest and access the remote pilot touch pad. After some careful manipulation, I activate the propulsion jets mounted to the bottom of the pilot’s chair. They engage and the upward thrust of the jets slows my descent. I’m safe for now, but I know there’s only enough fuel to bring me to the ground. I have to find a safe place to touch down before another rocket knocks me clear out of the sky.