Brass Monkeys (19 page)

“Go, go, go!” Ray yelled. He fired another stone and I heard a bellow of rage from one of the Stormies. Holding the slingshot in one hand, I grabbed my trumpet, then got down on my knees and began wriggling out of the hole.

Abruptly, a powdery-yellow Stormie face appeared in the opening.

“Not trying to sneak out the back, are we sonny?” he rumbled.

Without a thought, I lashed out with the slingshot and the end of the drum stick went up his nose. He snuffled in pain and jerked out of sight, taking the slingshot with him. Ray shoved me out the exit. When

I rolled to my feet, I found the enraged Stormie, his eyes watering, the slingshot handle still stuck in his nose. He hitched his eraser gun around, but I didn’t even pause. I swung the trumpet and hit him in the shins. He roared in pain and stumbled back.

Panicked out of my mind, I was actually trying to pull the sling out of the guy’s nose when Ray popped up beside me.

“Move! Move!” he yelled.

I let go of the slingshot and stumbled along behind him. I noticed he still had his slingshot, and he had also managed to snatch up his knapsack. We raced off a few yards and Ray skidded to a stop.

“Okay, play!” he commanded. He had a wild look on his face.

“What?”

“I couldn’t get to my sax!” Ray screeched at me. “You have to play!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Stormie with the hurt shins start to get to his feet. Ray grabbed my arm and pushed the trumpet to my lips.

“Play ‘Boots’!” he wailed.

In a muffled, dumb way, I started playing the song. I’d only gotten out the first four notes when there was a deafening
KA-BLAM
and Ray’s truck hideout exploded. It lifted out of the sand, along with a small fireball, then came down with a deafening crash. The Stormie with the hurt shins was now flat on his back.

“Yes!” cried Ray exultantly. “I knew it would work!”

I stood there like a fence post. “What the heck happened?” I said.

“Simple,” replied Ray. “I rigged the gas up to a battery on the keyboard so when you played the first four notes of ‘Boots’—”

“Ka-blamo,” I said.

Ray grinned. “You got it. I don’t think we killed any of them. They’re too tough for that, but it’s got to slow them down. Let’s move!”

He slung his knapsack over his shoulder and started off at a quick jog.

“Wait, Ray,” I called to him. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“What are you talking about?” He stopped and looked back.

“I mean, Ming’s school is back there. That’s the way we’ve got to go.”

Ray came back with a grim look. “Listen, Bumpus-man, we went through all that before. And all the talk in the world ain’t going to change anything.”

“Yeah? Well, you know what, Ray? Sometimes you have to stop the talk and do the walk. You have to put the old boots on.” Without another word, I turned and started toward Ming’s school. Ray didn’t move.

“Don’t lose your nerve, men,” I whispered to myself. “You can do this.”

As I said that, I suddenly knew what Lilah had signed to me. “
You’re the one
.” That was it! I remembered now how she had signed it to me in her shop, then again in the van. She had confidence in me! Just knowing that made all the difference in the world. I threw my shoulders back and increased my stride. A second later, Ray’s shadow eased up and joined mine.

“This is about the sorriest dumb thing I’ll ever do in my life,” he said.

I grinned at him. “Yeah, but ain’t we having fun?”

Ray and I trudged through the sand hills for a good thirty minutes, but Ming’s school didn’t seem to get any closer. Sometimes it was out of sight as we went around a particularly large hill, but then it would reappear like a shadowy beast shimmering in the heat. We stopped finally behind a big boulder, and Ray uncapped his canteen and passed it over to me.

“Better drink up now,” he said, “and eat too. ‘Cause when we get closer to that building, we may not have a chance.”

“Good idea,” I said. I took a few swallows of the water, then passed the canteen back. In return, Ray tossed me a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.

“I think these last two are grape deals,” Ray said. “Grape jelly is my favorite.”

I bit into one, and sure enough the sharp tang of grapes along with the great nutty flavor of peanut butter filled my mouth.

“Oh, wow, this is fabulous,” I said.

Ray nodded mournfully. “You’d better enjoy it, Bumpus-man, ‘cause that’s the last of the grape boys. Got some more raspberry ones, but no more grape.”

He sighed. “I had enough grape jelly at my hideout to feed the U.S.

Marines. Now it’s all gone. My comics and my saxophone too.”

“I know, Ray. I’m really sorry about your hideout. Especially your sax.”

“Oh, well,” he said quietly, “maybe I’ll get another one someday.
If
I survive Ming-daddy’s school.”

A sudden, deep-sounding bell boomed out from the school and I jumped in alarm. It echoed ominously and I turned to look at the distant building.

“What the heck is that all about?” I said.

“That’s Ming-daddy’s bell. It means she’s getting the kids together in the gym for some kind of deal called psychopathic evalutation or something.”

“You mean psychological evaluation,” I said. “How’d you know about that?”

“Renegade drones, man. I’ve talked to a lot of them. They know the scoop about all of it, including the old Amberlight deal.” Ray’s voice trailed off. “And that last part ain’t pretty—suckin’ out your hopes and dreams. And drinking it!”

“I know,” I said. I stopped eating. I had a sudden image of Ming twisting Harriet’s head around to show her Amberlight spot. I jumped to my feet.

Ray looked at me in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We’ve got to get going,” I said. “I’ve got to get Harriet out of there.” And then, realizing what I had just said, I added lamely, “and the others.”

Ray got up, grinning at me. “Harriet? Who’s this Harriet? Man, you never mentioned having a sweetie before.”

“She’s not my sweetie,” I said much too quickly, and I knew I was blushing hotly. “She’s just this … girl I know.”

Ray laughed. “Yeeow! Ring-a-ding! Let’s get going and rescue Harriet!”

I laughed in embarrassment and said, “You fool,” in a joshing way, but it was drowned out by a deafening roar as something big went by at tremendous speed.

Ray’s eyes grew wide, and he began frantically ripping at his backpack. He was yelling something at me, but with the noise I couldn’t hear it. When he tossed me my camouflage cloth, I understood in a flash. I didn’t wait but unwrapped it fast. I looked up once and saw a weird-looking aircraft banking and coming back.

“Get in the cactus!” yelled Ray, and I knew he meant the bunch just ahead. And then he added one last word—”
Devos!”

Fumbling with my camouflage, I followed him among the cactus. In a confused blur, I saw Ray twirl and drop his cloth over his head. I began to twirl mine awkwardly, but when I released it, it didn’t have enough spin and the weights seemed to barely wrap around me. I knew instantly there was no time to do it again. Through the thin cloth I saw the craft approaching.

The ground shook with the powerful blast from the ship’s engines, and I felt my heart pounding in fear. I had never seen anything like Devos’s hovercraft. It looked like an upright yellow and black vacuum cleaner with an attitude. It was flying in a horizontal position, and instead of one vacuum head it had two, the second at the opposite end. The engines were evidently in those heads, and it looked like they could be rotated to thrust the craft in any direction. The “vacuum bag” was in the center, and suspended below that was a small cabin for the pilot. Right next to that hung what looked like a huge vacuum hose.

The engine noise began to let up now and the craft settled slowly to the ground. I knew we were in big trouble, and I silently prayed that the thin cloth, which I could see through so easily, would be enough to keep me hidden.

The cabin door opened with a jet of steam and out stepped a small, misshapen man. He looked like a pale bug with legs. He had on a black leather uniform with small silver bells attached to it. I could see he had some kind of hump on the side of his back. His head was shaved and he wore pink sunglasses.

“I saw you fellows when I flew over,” he called suddenly, his voice high and fluty. He sounded like a little kid. He lifted his nose and sniffed. “Did suspicious Uncle Deevy see two bad little drones out here?” He drew a strange-looking pistol from his holster.

“Or is it someone else perhaps? Some renegade boy named
Eugene?”

I closed my eyes and tried to keep my legs from shaking. When I looked again, he was moving in a jerky way, as if one leg were shorter than the other. He was coming straight for us, the light winking off his glasses.

“Don’t make Uncle Deevy have to walk too far to find you,” said Devos in that high voice. “That wouldn’t be good for my nervous system. And I tend to lose my temper when I get nervous … don’t I, boys and girls?”

He giggled and stopped maybe thirty yards from us. With a sudden motion he raised the pistol,
aimed it in my direction, and fired
.

I think I gasped aloud when he shot, and the next thing I knew the cactus on my right was cut in two and fell at my feet. It was a miracle I didn’t jump or move.

Devos spun around and checked behind him. “Not running yet?” he cried. It was obvious he had no idea where we were and was firing blindly.

“Uncle Deevy is getting overheated and angry,” said Devos. He turned and started forward again in that lurching gait, still coming toward us. “I get very upset when boys and girls don’t cooperate with me. I don’t ask for much, but I do expect a polite response when I call to you.” He released a clip of ammo from his pistol and thrust in another. “I’m afraid you’re forcing me to use some very nasty ammunition.
Staples
.”

He stopped again, this time not more than twenty feet from me. He peered around slowly, and while he did, he unwrapped a pack of what appeared to be mints. He put one in his mouth and sucked loudly on it.

“Last chance, boys and girls. Better speak up now.”

When he said this, an awful minty odor drifted over. For a moment I thought I might throw up. Somehow I controlled myself, and after what seemed like a million years, Devos grunted angrily and started toward the hovercraft.

“Oh the pain, the pain,” he chortled in his high voice. “You can’t imagine what
pain
you’re in for now!”

He climbed into the cockpit and the door steamed shut.

“Don’t even wiggle yet,” Ray whispered hoarsely. “But as soon as I yell at you, get out of the camouflage, grab it up, and run for your life.”

With a rumble the hovercraft engines started up, then began bellowing furiously as the craft rose from the desert floor.

“Move it!” yelled Ray. “Move like you’ve never moved before!”

I struggled frantically to get out of the cloth and glanced up just in time to see the hovercraft start a lazy bank. Devos was coming back. I grabbed the cloth with one hand and, holding my trumpet with the other, went streaking down the side of the sand hill, trying to keep up with Ray.

“Faster!” he yelled. We went up another small rise and he dove in behind a bunch of cactus. “Get down and don’t move!”

I burrowed in next to him and then peered out to see what was happening.

Devos brought the big craft low over the bunch of cactus, exactly where we had been standing moments ago. A high-pitched whine screeched from the vacuum hose, and in a flash, the sand and cactus were sucked up and disappeared inside the craft. This went on for several seconds, then abruptly stopped. There was a pause as Devos kept the craft hovering.

“What’s he doing?” I whispered.

“He’s looking over the stuff he sucked up, trying to find our bones and stuff.” Ray’s voice shook a little. “I’ve seen him catch other kids that way.”

There was a backfiring noise now, and a black object fell out of the cabin and landed on the sand below. The hovercraft rose up and accelerated away.

“Aw nertz,” groaned Ray. “I was hoping he wouldn’t do that.”

“What’s wrong? Is it a bomb?” I was poised on all fours, ready to run.

“Worse,” said Ray. “Listen.”

At first I heard nothing, then the ominous music started up and an old, familiar feeling of depression rolled over me. It was the “March of the Midnight Scholars.”

“Oh man, I hate that song,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“That’s the whole idea,” replied Ray. “Anytime you start feeling a bit uproarious or good about something, they play it. Devos checked through the stuff he just sucked up and saw we weren’t in it, so he dropped the music box hoping to really screw our minds up. He thinks the music will depress us so much we’ll just sit here until we’re caught.”

“Man, let’s get the heck out of here,” I said. I began folding up my camouflage.

“Good idea,” replied Ray, “‘cause for sure Devos is going to report to Ming-daddy, and it won’t be ten seconds before this area is crawling with Stormies.”

A half hour later, after a lot of huffing and puffing, we stopped behind one of the biggest sand hills I had seen out there. The school was just on the other side.

“We’re close,” whispered Ray. “Can you feel it?”

I nodded. I didn’t trust my voice. We crawled around the hill and peered out from behind some prickly thistle-like plants. And there it was—Ming’s School of the Brass Monkeys.

For a moment, I stopped breathing.

We were less than fifty yards from the side of the huge school, and believe me, if I live to be a thousand, I’ll never see anything like it again. The whole structure was one long, leaning, sprawling ten-floor nightmare. I’m guessing it ran for two or three hundred yards along the desert floor, the walls rising up in a wild mish-mash of cafeteria tables, bulletin boards, student lockers, desk tops, bleacher seats, basketball backboards, football pads, knapsacks, books, and computers all bonded with some kind of clear cement.