Hamstersaurus Rex Gets Crushed Page 11

  “Hamstersaurus Rex,” said Serena, pondering it. “That’s kinda . . . meh.”

  “I know!” said Beefer. “Some people wanted to call him ‘Martha Jr.’ but nobody even cared what they thought.”

  Serena opened the cage and took the little guy out. As she did, he cooed and nuzzled her hand. I felt a momentary pang of something.

  “Aw, man, your gerbil totally loves her,” said Beefer, prodding me with his elbow. “Maybe more than he loves you? Wow, that’s got to hurt. Does it hurt? It’s got to!”

  “Just drink your pickle water, man,” I said.

  “Gladly,” said Beefer. And he loudly savored a big slurp.

  It was true, though. Hamstersaurus Rex seemed to like Serena, maybe more than anyone (except me!). In fact, he didn’t seem depressed at all anymore. And it was clear that she really liked him, too. She grinned and her eyes twinkled as she tickled his scaly belly. I felt like I’d seen her eyes somewhere before, I just couldn’t put my finger on where.

  Serena handed Hamstersaurus Rex over to me. The little guy jumped up and down and slobbered all over my face, neck, shoulders, and legs. Some got on my shoes, too.

  “Good to have you back, Hammie,” I said, scratching him on the tip of his dino-tail. He gurgled.

  “For what it’s worth, I think Spikehead really missed you,” said Serena.

  “So why have you been following us?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Beefer, wiping a pickle-water moustache off his lips with the back of his sleeve. “And more important, how do we know you’re not a werewolf?”

  “Dunno.” Serena shrugged. “I’m a vegetarian?”

  “Ugh,” said Beefer, crossing his arms. “Worse than a werewolf.”

  “Anyway,” said Serena. “I figured out it was you two who broke into SmilesCorp, and then I figured out you helped stop that giant squirrel . . . and, I dunno.”

  “How did you possibly figure all that out?” I said. “SmilesCorp made sure there was no news coverage of either one of those things.”

  “I know. Too bad I’m super awesome at figuring stuff out,” said Serena. “Plus I had an in at SmilesCorp. My great-aunt Sue used to work there.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head. “That’s where I recognize you from!” I cried. “You look just like the portrait of Sue Sandoval that we saw inside SmilesCorp! She was your great-aunt? Now I don’t know if you’re evil or not again!” I hugged Hammie Rex close to me.

  “I’m not!” said Serena. “You’re getting thrown by the purple hair!”

  “But Sue Sandoval used to be head of the SmilesCorp Genetic Research and Development Lab, where they made Squirrel Kong and a bunch of other freaky mutant animals!” I said.

  “They turned Michael Perkins into a boakeet,” said Beefer.

  “No idea what that means, guy,” said Serena. “But you’re right, my great-aunt was lab chief until last year. And she did help make those weird animals! But by the end she really regretted it.”

  “The end?” I said.

  “She passed away a few months ago,” said Serena. “We were pretty tight.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  Serena shrugged. “Luckily she left behind boxes and boxes of papers and journals. I started reading through her stuff, and I realized that she eventually regretted a lot of her choices. She thought what SmilesCorp was doing was wrong, and she worried that the mutants she had helped make could be really dangerous. Especially if they ever escaped from SmilesCorp.”

  “Which they totally have,” I said.

  “Bingo,” said Serena. “I figured that out from all the local chatter I read on truthblasters.com.”

  “See! It is a reputable journalistic source!” cried Beefer.

  “Nah, it’s basically full of cranks,” said Serena. “Anyway, I wanted to learn more. So I used the ol’ family connection to get an externship at SmilesCorp.”

  “So you do work for them!” I said.

  “Not really. I’m embedded,” said Serena. “I’m, like, deep, deep undercover. On alternating Wednesday afternoons.”

  “Undercover?” I said.

  “See, what I actually am is a journalist,” said Serena. “Well, I want to be one. I’m going to start a blog one day. When the time is right. Anyway, I’m working on my first story, and it’s going to blow the lid off SmilesCorp, and this bad boy gets me in the door.” She showed me a SmilesCorp ID card that looked just like my mom’s. “While I’m fetching coffee for people and pretending I care about what bagels we should have in the conference room, I can poke around and learn things they don’t want me to learn.”

  “But that still doesn’t explain why you followed us,” I said.

  “Right. Okay, so I was trying to make sure we were on the same side,” said Serena. “I think we are. And this is going to sound awkward, but I figured we could, you know, team up or whatever.” She stared at the floor like she was embarrassed.

  “Fat chance,” said Beefer. “We don’t work with vegetarians! Right, Sam?”

  “Ignore him,” I said. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “For starters: here are my great-aunt’s notes on all SmilesCorp’s mutant creatures. I think they might help,” said Serena. She hefted an overflowing manila folder out of her messenger bag and slapped it down on her desk with a thunk. As she paged through it, I could see that each sheet had a photo of a strange mutant animal attached. I recognized scaly mice, the Grizzly Hare, and a chicken that looked like a turtle. Serena found the pages she was looking for and handed them to me. “Feast your eyes on this handsome devil,” she said.

  The document was titled “Specimen #4449—Scalopus psionicus.” It was columns of numbers and incomprehensible text, a whole lot of scientific jargon I didn’t understand. I certainly recognized the photo stapled to the corner, though. It was a blurry image of an evil-looking mole with a grotesquely oversized head.

  “The Mind Mole,” I said with a shudder. “But I don’t really get what the file, um, means.”

  “Honestly, he’s not that smart,” said Beefer to Serena.

  “Yeah, I’ve read it roughly one bazillion times myself and I still don’t understand most of it,” said Serena. “But the gist of it is, Specimen #4449 is this genetically engineered mole. His brain size was increased five thousand percent, granting him superior intelligence, mind control, and telekinesis. My great-aunt was worried. She thought he was probably the most dangerous mutant SmilesCorp ever created.”

  “After the past week, I’d say that checks out,” I said. “He nearly dropped a plaster sea turtle on me with his mind.”

  “Far out,” said Serena.

  “So does Specimen #4449 have any weaknesses?” I asked.

  “You mean like a food allergy or something?” said Serena. She shrugged. “Like I said, man, I don’t understand all the science-speak myself.”

  “Good thing I know someone who does,” I said.

  “. . . Are you talking about me?” whispered Beefer.

  “No, I obviously mean Martha,” I said with a sigh. “All right, you’ve got a deal, Serena. It’s a good old-fashioned team-up.”

  I held out my hand and Serena shook it. Hamstersaurus Rex let out an eager snarl. The little guy was back, and he was itching for action.

  “Serena, he was super bummed out when you found him,” I said. “What changed his mood?”

  “I dunno. I just showed him a bunch of pictures and some old home movies of my great-aunt Sue,” said Serena. “She really loved the little guy. And I can understand why.” She made a weird face and crossed her eyes at Hammie and he grunted happily.

  “Wait. Dr. Sue Sandoval knew Hamstersaurus Rex?” I said, shocked.

  “Duh,” said Serena. “She was the one who created him.”

  CHAPTER 18

  BACK AT MARTHA’S house, Ms. Cherie was pleasantly surprised that her daughter apparently now had four friends.

  “Hmm. I wonder if Martha could win some sort of
medal for her total friend count,” said Ms. Cherie as she led us up to Martha’s room. Dylan was already waiting inside.

  Before I could say anything, Beefer elbowed past me. “Salutatorians, Martha,” he said, offering an awkward bow. “Sorry we meet again under such indigestible circumstances. But I hope this small token of my amalgamation will brighten your day, m’lady.” He held out a necklace that looked like it was made of interlocking metal spiders. “I got it out of a claw machine,” he added.

  “Thank you, Kiefer,” said Martha, taking the necklace. “Perhaps I can wear this on August twenty-third, which is National Brown Recluse Awareness Day.”

  “Or any time!” said Beefer. “Formal, unformal, Halloween, Earth Day. You can wear a spider necklace whenever you want!”

  “Hmm,” said Martha, dropping the necklace into a drawer.

  “Guys, look who’s back,” I said. I took Hamstersaurus Rex out of my pocket and put him on the floor. Dylan and Martha cheered. The little guy gave a triumphant stomp that rattled the windows.

  “Martha?” called Ms. Cherie from downstairs.

  “Horseplay, Mother!” screamed Martha.

  “Also, I want you to meet Serena Sandoval,” I said. “She’s totally not evil!”

  “Vegetarian, though,” said Beefer.

  “Hi,” said Serena, looking around. “Your room is really . . . organized.” She picked up a label maker.

  “Please don’t move that,” said Martha, putting it back where Serena had gotten it.

  “Sorry I hit you in the face with a golf disc,” said Dylan. “Somebody add it to the long list of mistakes I’ve made.”

  “No hard feelings,” said Serena. “It made a cool welt that kinda looks like Japan.” She showed everyone. It was pretty cool.

  “Martha, Serena has something else you need to see, too,” I said. “Besides the Japan welt.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Serena. She handed over the manila folder, opened to the Mind Mole’s file.

  Martha scanned it. “Wow,” she said. “Where did you get this?”

  Serena gave Martha and Dylan the whole backstory of her great-aunt’s work at SmilesCorp.

  “So Sue Sandoval somehow created Hamstersaurus Rex?” said Martha.

  “Crazy, right?” I said. “I guess he’s technically an escaped SmilesCorp mutant, too!”

  “Yeah, Spikehead’s file is in there if you want to take a look,” said Serena.

  “Spikehead?” said Martha.

  “No time. We need to focus on the Mind Mole,” I said. “At this point we’ve got less than a day to come up with a plan to save Cartimandua and end that little caped creep’s reign of terror.”

  Hamstersaurus Rex gave an angry snort. I could tell he hated the thought of Cartimandua being held captive.

  “Right,” said Martha. “I’ll study Specimen #4999’s file. Try to determine whether there’s something in it we can use against the Mind Mole.”

  “Awesome,” I said.

  “So RaddZone is where he’s keeping Carburetor?” said Serena.

  “Cartimandua,” said Martha.

  “If you say so,” said Serena. “Anyway, maybe I can poke around a bit and find the blueprints to the building. Could give us the edge?”

  “Great,” I said.

  “And I can make custom ninja masks for everyone!” said Beefer. “I need a new one ’cause mine ripped.”

  “Huh. Okay, fine. I guess,” I said. “Dylan?”

  Dylan gave a shrug. “Dunno. I should probably sit this one out.”

  We all stared at her. Even Hamstersaurus Rex.

  “But you’re a Hamster Monitor,” said Martha. “You took the oath.”

  “I know, I know,” said Dylan. “But I’ve done nothing but make the wrong choice at every single turn lately. Yeah, I’m not actually cursed by a vengeful pioneer ghost, but the alternative is even worse. Besides, I’ve got a broken ankle.”

  “But we need you,” I said. “Right, guys?”

  Martha and Beefer nodded.

  “I just met her, but sure,” said Serena. “What was that about a pioneer ghost?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “Okay, okay,” said Dylan glumly. “I guess I could, uh, try to figure out what PaleoGro is. I probably won’t be able to.”

  “Fantastic,” I said. “Hammie and I will go back to Maple Bluffs Animal Control. We can try one last time to get them to take the case.”

  “Tomorrow is Saturday, which means unfortunately we don’t have school,” said Martha. “Let’s reconvene here to strategize at nine a.m. sharp.”

  “See you then!” I said. I grabbed Hamstersaurus Rex and ran for the door.

  Half an hour later, I was standing in the lobby of Maple Bluffs Animal Control, pleading with Agent Gould.

  “Good news: your complaint is now number fifteen in the queue,” said Agent Gould. “We’re probably going to get to it next week.”

  “Next week?” I said. “But tomorrow, the evil mole that I reported earlier—who’s called the Mind Mole, by the way, on account of his dangerous mental powers—is going to kill our new class hamster, Cartimandua!”

  Agent Gould cocked her head. “Sorry, kid, but there are certain protocols we have to follow. We’ve got to catch that chicken that looks like a turtle first. Off the record, that case has really been throwing us for a loop. We keep arresting innocent chickens.”

  “It doesn’t even look like a chicken!” I cried. “Can you please, please, please, please, please just send someone to RaddZone to check it out? It’s an emergency!”

  Agent Gould sighed. She drummed her fingers on the table. She looked at the queue, then at the clock. She sighed again. “All right, kid, let me radio McKay.”

  “Yes!” I cried, and pumped my fist. I felt Hammie Rex squirm for joy in my pocket.

  Agent Gould got on the office’s dispatch radio. “Verminator Two, this is Verminator One, do you copy? Over.”

  The radio crackled. “Verminator One, this is Verminator Two. Go ahead. Over.”

  “Verminator Two, we’ve got reports of a telepathic mole infestation at RaddZone—that’s the big arcade and mini-golf place out at the West Oaks Shopping Center beside the Coat Barn. Over.”

  “Home of the RaddSpudd? Over.”

  “That’s the place. Over.”

  “I’m on it!” said Agent McKay. In the background I heard tires squeal. “Over and out.” The radio crackled and was silent.

  I waited there for ten minutes or so, forced to make awkward small talk with Agent Gould. She had her eye on a new propane grill. But it was probably too expensive. But she still might buy it. I looked at the clock myself. Suddenly the radio crackled again.

  “Verminator One, this is Verminator Two. Come in, Verminator One? Over.”

  “I copy you, Verminator Two,” said Agent Gould. “What’s the status on that telepathic mole dealie? Over.”

  “Yep, that’s a negatory, Verminator One,” said McKay. “RaddZone was totally deserted. No moles, repeat no moles, telepathic or otherwise. Over.”

  “But I know the Mind Mole is there!” I cried. “I know he is!”

  Agent Gould frowned. “You absolutely sure, Verminator Two? Over.”

  “Absolutely. But we have received reports of a dangerous mutant hamster in your area; answers to the name of Hamstersaurus Rex. Could be rabid. Neutralize and apprehend with extreme prejudice!”

  “What?” I said, backing away and reflexively clutching at Hammie, hidden in my pocket. “That’s not— Oh no! Listen to me; Agent McKay has been mind-moled!”

  Agent Gould stood up from her desk. “Kid, do you know anything about what my partner is talking about? Have you seen a dangerous mutant rabid hamster?”

  “No,” I said. “Gotta go.”

  “Wait!”

  But I was already out the door. I could hear the sound of evil, high-pitched laughter crackling over the dispatch radio behind me.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE NEXT MO
RNING, I stood on Martha Cherie’s porch at 8:59 a.m. Everyone else had gotten there on time, too: Dylan, Serena, and even Beefer. I rang the doorbell.

  Martha answered the door, grinning. “Friends! I stayed up half the night studying Specimen #4449’s file,” she said as she led us up to her room, “and I found the Mind Mole’s fatal weakness!”

  “What is it?” said Dylan.

  “Physically, he’s pathetic,” said Martha. “All his increased brainpower stunted his muscular development.”

  “Hmm,” said Beefer. “So he’s sort of like the Sam of the animal kingdom.”

  “Exactly,” said Martha.

  “Hey!” I said.

  “The Mind Mole couldn’t claw his way out of a wet paper bag,” said Martha. “And one good bump on his soft, swollen head would probably knock him out cold.”

  “Rad,” said Serena. “Except between the telekinesis and the mind control, how exactly is somebody supposed to get close enough to do that?”

  “I have no idea,” said Martha, still beaming.

  “Great,” I said. “So he has a weakness, we just can’t exploit it.”

  “Correct,” said Martha. “Would anyone like a sugar-free, flour-free beet muffin?”

  She held up a tray of them. Everyone passed.

  “Well, at least I was able to find the blueprints for the West Oaks Shopping Center on the town archives website. Investigative reporting!” said Serena as she pulled a bunch of crumpled printouts from her messenger bag. “Did you guys know there’s this window in the basement around back of RaddZone that we could use to—”

  “We know,” I said. “And the Mind Mole does, too. It’s not a secret anymore.”

  “Thanks to me,” said Dylan with a sigh. “Oh, and I didn’t actually figure out what PaleoGro is, by the way. Sorry.”

  “Wow,” said Beefer. “Looks like I’m the only one who promised and delivered.”

  “Oh, so you made the custom ninja masks for all of us?” I said. “Fantastic, Beefer. Thank you sooooo much.”

  Beefer frowned and turned to the group. “So rude. Now do you all see what I have to put up with?”