“That’s it,” Grayson said. “What we need is the rapid expansion in volume associated with an extremely vigorous outward release of energy.”
“Huh?” I grunted.
He grinned. “We need to blow the portal up!”
I SENSED SERIOUS TROUBLE.
Grayson had set up his whiteboard and filled it from top to bottom with the kind of math formulas that caused the common man to lapse into drooling brain comas.
“Uh ... what’s going on here?” I asked, not really wanting to know.
“This is a diagram on how we’re going to obtain enough red phosphorous to blow up the portal.”
“Oh,” I said. “Isn’t red phosphorous the stuff they use in fireworks?”
“Correct,” Grayson said. “But I figure we’ll need a few tons of it.”
“How are you going to come by that stuff? Order it on Amazon?”
“I looked. They don’t have it in stock. We’re going to have to make our own by heating common white phosphorous to 482 degrees.”
“With what?” I quipped. “A flame thrower?”
“Oh!” Garth said, raising his hand. “We’ve got a couple of those!”
“Excellent,” Grayson said.
“But Mr. Gray,” Garth said, “Isn’t white phosphorous poisonous and highly combustible when in contact with air?”
“I sure hope so,” Grayson said. “Because I’m counting on it.”
“Uh ... Grayson, I just want to put in my bid for not being the one who has to strike the match on this fiasco.”
“No need. We’ll be using the built-up static-electric charge of the black phosphorous as a detonator.”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
Not.
“Okay, troops,” Grayson said. “Now all we need is a covert vehicle to transport ourselves and our supplies to the portal site.”
“Well, you can forget the RV,” I said. “It’d never make it. Besides, Earl’s still locked in there.”
“What about Earl’s monster truck?” Jimmy asked.
“No,” Grayson said. “We can’t risk explosion blowback through the windows. We need something with an enclosed passenger capsule. Something impenetrable that can make it through swampy terrain and up sandy ridges.”
The brothers exchanged glances. Then they nodded and shook hands.
Jimmy locked eyes with Grayson. “I think we’ve got just the vehicle. Follow me!”
WE FOLLOWED JIMMY AND Garth along a narrow, weedy trail behind their trailer that wove its way around various heaps of rusting junk. Finally, we arrived at a large, aluminum shed. Jimmy opened the padlock on the door and raised the hangar door.
My mouth fell open.
“Pandora and Mr. Gray, meet Bimbo!” Garth said proudly.
“Bimbo?” I asked, staring at the strange vehicle that looked like the bastard child of a weekend bender between a jeep, a jet, and a WWII tank.
“BIMBO stands for Biological Impact Mobile Bug-Out,” Jimmy said. “We built it ourselves.”
Bug-out was right. The contraption looked like a flattened mechanical beetle on tank treads.
“We modeled it after the most indestructible organism on the planet,” Jimmy said.
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “Tartagrades?”
Jimmy shook his head. “No. Cockroaches. They’ve been around since the dinosaurs. They’ve survived everything from extinction events to nuclear blasts.”
“Intriguing,” Grayson said, walking around BIMBO as if performing a military inspection. “I see it’s equipped with tank treads for all-terrain travel.”
“Yes sir,” Jimmy said. “Steel plated with chain-link traction!”
“Armor-plated passenger transport?”
“Complete with aeration fan and a week’s water supply!”
“Periscope?” Grayson asked.
“Dual action, with night-vision capabilities!”
“Cargo space?”
“No,” Garth said. “Car go road. But it can really burn up the asphalt, can’t it Jimmy!”
Chapter Sixty-Two
The sun was hanging low in the sky. I wondered if I’d see another sunset. Soon, I’d be climbing into a giant cockroach packed with a ton of highly combustible materials and three trigger-happy guys toting flame throwers.
I should’ve eaten that damned Tootsie Pop.
I needed to say goodbye to Earl, just in case this was, you know, the last time I’d ever see him.
I picked up Grayson’s pointer stick and walked over to the dilapidated old RV. I tapped the charcoal-stained end on the window above the banquette.
The blinds moved. Eyes peeking out between them.
“Hey, Earl,” I called out.
He yanked up the blinds and stared at me through the window. Even though the pane was open, the window frame was too small to allow Earl’s girth to escape from between it.
“Lemme out,” he said.
“I can’t. We locked you in there for your own good.”
“I’m starvin’,” he said.
“No you’re not. Listen, Grayson says we’ve gotta destroy Queen Kristie’s portal. From the sound of it, it’s gonna be pretty dangerous.”
Earl frowned and placed his open palm against the pane. “Don’t go, Bobbie. Don’t leave me here.”
“You’ll be okay. I hid a door key inside there, Earl. Just keep looking.”
“Why’d you hide it?”
“So you couldn’t follow us. You’re not in your right mind for a mission right now. I hope getting rid of Queen Bimbo will also get rid of your brain fog.”
“But I don’t feel foggy. Just hungry.” Earl shot me a puppy-dog pout. “I sure could use a donut, you know?”
My heart pinged.
I know, buddy. I know.
“Listen, Earl. If I don’t come back, I want you to know I put the keys to Bessie under her front wheel.”
Earl frowned. “What do you mean, if you don’t come back?”
“I gotta go.” I turned to leave.
“Don’t leave, Bobbie!” Earl called after me. “Don’t go!”
I stopped in my tracks.
Maybe Earl is over his infestation. Maybe he really is cured.
I started to take a step to turn around.
Earl let loose a bellow.
A horrible, blood-curdling, Cruller Holler.
I wiped a tear from my cheek, set my jaw to lockdown, and marched toward my date with destiny.
I FOUND THE GUYS SWARMED together, eating leftover tacos off the hood of the giant, brown cockroach.
John Keel was right. Who says the Universal mind has to be sane?
“All right,” I said. “Let’s get this roach-coach rolling! It’s time to kill two bimbos with one stone.”
Grayson poised mid-bite. “This isn’t a suicide mission, Drex.”
I shot him some side-eye. “I meant the blonde bimbo queen and this stupid machine,” I said, kicking the cockroach’s tank treads.
“Biological Impact Mobile Bug-Out,” Garth said, patting its fender.
“Whatever,” I said, hitching up my camo sweatpants. “Come on, guys. Let’s roll.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
When I saw the familiar, faint orange glow emanating from above the forest, my Rambo-like bravado evaporated. Panic shot through me like motor oil through a busted carburetor. My knees started knocking—which was hard to hide, considering I was sitting on Grayson’s lap.
BIMBO had only been designed to hold two nerds. Yet there we were, four idiots crammed inside the tight passenger cabin.
Jimmy was seated at the vehicle’s bizarre control panel, which had more indicators on it than a nuclear power plant. Grayson had shotgun position beside him, with me perched on his knobby knees. Garth, odd man out, had been relegated to standing in the space between us, his head sticking out the round opening in the ceiling we’d all squeezed in through, his mullet flapping in the breeze like a hound-dog’s ears.
&n
bsp; And flap it did. True to its reputation, BIMBO could really haul ass—on the asphalt, at least. So it didn’t take long until I sighted the glow in the woods—even before lookout Garth had—thanks to BIMBO’s handy, night-vision periscope.
“We’re here,” I said, squeezing the words from my suddenly tight lungs.
“Before we go into battle, I’d like to say a few words,” Grayson said, his breath hot on my neck. “Troops, as we face our enemy, our best weapon against fear is the ability to choose one thought over another.”
“Huh?” I grunted, squirming in his lap.
“The human mind can only focus on one thing at a time,” Grayson continued. “I want everyone to assuage their fears by focusing on their safe places. Got it?”
Jimmy shifted to a lower gear and nodded. “I’m there, Mr. Gray.”
“Me, too,” Garth said, forming an okay sign with his thumb and forefinger.
As for me, I envisioned curling up in my Grandma Selma’s lap. I tugged my imaginary blanket over my head, closed my eyes and nodded. “I’m there.”
“Good,” Grayson said. “Now tell me. What are your safe places?”
“Inside BIMBO,” Jimmy said with a shrug. “She’s indestructible.”
“Me, too,” Garth said.
“And you?” Grayson asked, resting a hand on my thigh.
“Uh ... in a lap,” I squeaked.
“Excellent.”
Then, to my shock, Grayson squeezed my thigh. Before I could react, he turned to Jimmy and said, “Okay, troops. It’s time for BIMBO to kick some butt.”
“Yes, sir!” Jimmy said, and turned the giant cockroach toward the glow in the woods, taking us into the swampy, hilly terrain of the Hi-Ho.
Riding off-road inside BIMBO was like taking a spin inside a clothes dryer, where the sheets and towels had been replaced with knees and elbows. By the time Garth called out that he could see the old propane tank on the top of the ridge, I was pretty sure I’d already suffered a concussion and a black eye.
“Hold up,” Grayson said to Jimmy. “Take her slow and easy from here on out.”
“Will do.” Jimmy shifted into low gear and aimed the cockroach toward the hill.
Slowly, like a tortoise digging a nest to lay its eggs, BIMBO climbed the sandy ridge. I could tell we’d reached the top when the gravity inside the cockpit leveled out, and my back was no longer glued to Grayson’s chest.
“Good work,” Grayson said, then tapped the back of Garth’s knee with two knuckles, making it buckle. The buck-toothed geek responded by popping his head down into the guts of the roach cabin.
“What’s up?” Garth asked.
“Let me have a look,” Grayson said.
The two exchanged places—only Garth was the one who sat on my lap.
“Just as I suspected,” Grayson said, surveying the scene with night-vision goggles. “It’s business as usual for Kristie’s Frickin’ Crullers.”
“What’s the game plan?” I asked.
Grayson tucked his head back into the passenger cabin. “We’ll lay low here for a bit and wait for an opening. I don’t want to run over anyone with BIMBO. Not if we can help it, that is.”
“Why can’t we just wait till the meeting’s over, and blow up the bonfire when everyone’s gone?” I asked.
“Because everyone could be gone before that,” Grayson said. “This could be the night Queen Kristie chooses to harvest them as Krull Krispies with her portal of doom.”
I chewed my lip. “But what if she really is just a dingbat pushing a new donut chain?”
“The time for discussion is finished,” Grayson said. “We’ve opened this can of worms. It’s time to lie in it.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Despite all odds in the known universe, Grayson had been right.
It did indeed appear to be D-Day for the donut dingdongs.
As we peered from the ridge with periscopes, night-vision goggles, and thick, nerdy glasses, we watched silently as Queen Kristie organized her robed minions and had them add a new section to the path of hot coals—one that connected directly to the blazing fire pit.
“Looks like somebody’s in for a robe awakening,” Grayson said, peering through his goggles. “I wonder how much she spent on those things.”
“We’re staring down the sphincter of some intergalactic butt-hole, and that’s what you’re worried about?” I said, grabbing his goggles. I took a look for myself and gasped.
“Oh my lord,” I said. “I think she’s getting ready to send the first batch into the rotisserie.”
“All right, troops,” Grayson said. “Battle stations!”
We all crammed into the cockroach mobile, arms and elbows hanging up on each other like a barrel of monkeys. Once we’d all claimed our own body parts, Grayson said, “Gentlemen, start your engines.”
“Yes, sir!” Jimmy barked. He turned the key. BIMBO didn’t budge.
“Huh,” Grayson grunted. “Try again.”
Jimmy turned the key again. It broke off in the ignition. “Uh ... looks like we’re going to have to go to auxiliary power, Mr. Gray.”
“Excellent,” Grayson nodded. “Make it so.”
Jimmy grimaced. “Uh ... that means we have to get out and push, sir.”
Suddenly, an unearthly wail pierced the air. Queen Kristie had just given the Cruller Holler. A moment later, it was echoed by the horde of robed fat guys.
“Hurry,” Jimmy said, pushing Garth through the opening in the ceiling. “The meeting’s finishing. She’ll be sending them down the coal paths next!”
Jimmy disappeared out the hole behind Garth.
“You next,” Grayson said.
I nodded, then scrambled up the ceiling hatch, Grayson pushing my butt-cheeks from behind. As my head popped out, I saw Garth and Jimmy staring at the woods—in the opposite direction of Queen Bimbo and her bonfire of doom.
“I thought we were gonna push,” I called out to them. They didn’t react.
Then I saw what they were staring at.
Beams of light were barreling through the woods, heading right for us.
“Move it, Drex!” Grayson yelled from below, pushing on my butt again.
I unfroze and scurried out of the hatch. I crawled over the cockroach’s back and jumped onto the ground. Then I sidled up next to Garth.
“What is that?” I asked.
Garth whispered, “The mothership.”
“UNBELIEVABLE!” GRAYSON shouted.
I turned to see his head and elbows protruding from BIMBO’s ceiling like a hatching larvae. He aimed his night-vision goggles at the light beams heading toward us from the woods.
“What is it?” I cried out.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, lowering his goggles. “It’s my RV!”
I gasped. “Earl must’ve hotwired it!”
Or he found the key I hid for him.
Grayson piled out and scrambled over the giant cockroach. I grabbed his goggles and had a look myself.
“Dear lord!” I cried. “Is he wearing a Star Wars bedspread?”
Grayson grabbed the goggles back. “I bought it online as surprise for you.”
I grabbed the goggles again. “You really don’t know anything about women, do you?”
Grayson gave up trying to command the goggles. “In my own defense, who does?”
“Ugh!” I grunted, then lifted the goggles to my eyes and stared, as Earl barreled up the ridge in the ratty old RV.
“What’s he doing?” Garth asked.
“Yeah. Is he coming to help?” Jimmy asked.
“Obviously,” Grayson said. “The question is, who is he coming to help? Us or Queen Kristie?”
THE RV CAME TO A SCREECHING halt at the top of the ridge. We couldn’t tell if it was intentional, or it was because the middle had bottomed out and left the RV stranded with both front and rear tires spinning in the air.
Earl rolled down the window and waved.
“Howdy, fellers,” he said,
as calmly as if he’d just dropped by for a beer.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helpin’ y’all get rid a that Kristie critter,” he said, fiddling with his Star Wars toga. “Now, what can I do to be of service?”
“BIMBO’s dead,” Jimmy said. “I say let’s put her payload in the RV.”
We all looked over at Grayson. He nodded. “Make it so.”
“NOW, YOU UNDERSTAND the plan, right?” I asked.
Earl grinned. “I’ll get her aimed right, then bail out. And if’n it don’t work out, just remember, I had me a big ol’ time workin’ with y’all.” Earl winked at me. “Anyways, Bobbie, it’s you what’s got the brightest future. Now, y’all gonna give me a push, or what?”
“Good luck, Earl,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek.
Then the four of us lined up and pushed up on the back end of the RV, trying to raise it enough to let the front tires find traction.
As soon as the tires met sand, Earl let out a Cruller Holler and stomped on the gas.
The RV’s tires spun.
The front end fell forward.
Then Earl and that old motorhome went barreling down the ridge, making a beeline for the bonfire.
“Poor, heroic, stupid Earl!” I wailed, watching the RV rambling down the ridge like it was being chased by revenuers. “I don’t understand. How does he have the guts to be so brave?”
Grayson touched my hand. “Probiotics have been shown to lower our reactions to threatening images.”
I jerked my hand away and turned to stare at him. “Is that why you eat yogurt?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
My mouth fell open. “All this time, you’ve been cheating on that damned EEG machine!”
“I wouldn’t call it cheating. You could eat yogurt, too.”
“Not on your life!” I hissed. “And while we’re at it, tell me this. If you could have a new mattress delivered overnight, why couldn’t you order me a new sofa-bed, too?”
Grayson winced. “I had my reasons.”
Scatman Dues (Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures Book 6) Page 22