Crisis Zero (9 page)

T
HE WORST PART ABOUT THE DETENTION I'D GOTTEN FROM
Ms. Pullman was that it kept me from being able to follow Junior to investigate his activities. Instead, I was stuck in a room with a few other kids, just sitting there and staring out the window into one of the school's parking lots.

A few minutes after I got there, two construction trucks rolled up and guys in overalls and hard hats began setting up orange cones. Moments later, one of them was hammering away at the pavement with a jackhammer.

“I wonder what's going on,” I muttered, more to myself than anything.

But the kid next to me must have thought I was talking to him, because he answered me.

“My dad said it's a controversial new project to install a solar-powered snow-melting system under the school's parking lots that the new principal finally got pushed through,” he said. “Apparently, Gomez had been dragging his feet on it all year, worried about the construction causing a distraction and also thinking that all that solar-powered hippy crap never works. Anyway, now they have to hammer out the whole structural base of the east parking lot to try to get it installed in just a few days before winter
really
sets in.”

I recognized my detention neighbor. It was Vance Wheeler. His dad was a sixth-grade teacher and had a big mouth at the dinner table, which meant that Vance always had the inside scoop on the school and other teachers.

“Huh, interesting,” I said.

“Yeah, sure,” Vance said as if he thought I was being sarcastic. “It's like watching a fireworks show with a sugar high.”

But I had actually meant it. Perhaps that was why
Gomez was framed? He wasn't approving this project, which could very easily have something to do with the Agency headquarters located a few miles down from where they were breaking up the parking lot pavement. Then again, even if that was why Medlock framed Gomez, it didn't necessarily mean that Pullman was in on it. Maybe Medlock simply knew that Ms. Pullman, who struck me as a lady who knew how to get stuff done and was way more willing to take chances on new things, would push the project through right away.

This was getting complicated. I didn't know what to think or believe anymore. And all I could think about as I sat there and watched the W Construction crew tear up the parking lot, was how much I missed having Agents Nineteen and Blue around to talk to. They had always been there for me, a kind of safety net that I could land in if I needed to.

But now they were gone and I was on my own. Danielle was a great friend, but she was just as inexperienced as I was. There was no net anymore.

I didn't like being the last line of defense. Being a secret agent had been so much easier when there were other agents who knew what they were doing, when it
felt like there was a giant machine behind me every step of the way.

I had never seemed so weak. So vulnerable. And it was all because of Medlock. One rogue agent. One man going back on his promise had taken down the whole operation, and basically all that stood between him and world domination was me.

A kid stuck in detention.

E
VEN WORKING WITH REDUCED MANPOWER, THE AGENCY
scared me. They could still pull off the impossible. Like, getting a message into my dinner at home that night. How they did that, and made sure that it ended up on
my
plate, I'll never know. I didn't even want to know.

But nonetheless, it was there, in my third bite of stroganoff.

MEET US BEHIND THE GARAGE IN YOUR ALLEY AT 8:19 P.M.

By “us” I had kind of hoped they meant Agent Nineteen and/or Agent Blue. But instead it was Agent Smiley, along with Danielle, who had apparently gotten a similar message in her corn chowder that evening.

“Status report,” Agent Smiley said without so much as a wave or greeting of any kind.

We filled her in on everything we'd found so far. What I saw near Agent Nineteen's office. The names we'd crossed off our lists. The names we still had to go—the fact that I'd spotted Junior with a hooded sweatshirt just like the music room intruder's. What I'd found out about the construction site. We told her everything.

And her face never changed the entire time. It remained blank. If it weren't for her occasional nods and blinks, I'd have suspected she was sleepwalking, or dead. When we finished, Agent Smiley didn't offer any sort of compliment. Instead, she just gave us another assignment.

“New objective,” she said. “Try and get closer to the construction zone. Find out what is going on there as soon as possible. This is in addition to your ongoing work locating the enemy spy.”

“Why can't you investigate the construction zone?” I asked. “You could have a team there right now checking it out.”

She stared at me and I wondered briefly if she was trying to decide whether or not to slap me. But if that was the case, she apparently decided not to. Her face remained calm and unemotional when she replied. “We are looking into it independently,” she said. “But we'd like you to do so as well. I don't think we need to justify why. That's not how this works. We give an assignment, and then you carry it out.
That's
how this goes.”

I sighed and nodded. I wished they trusted me enough to tell me more than they did. But at the same time, that was the reality of being a secret agent. The secrets never ended. Covert was the name of the game. If you didn't like it . . . well, I guess you became Medlock.

“Okay,” I said, starting to feel overwhelmed by all of my missions. And never mind school. That was over. I didn't think I'd gotten anything above a D on a test or assignment in weeks. I'd flunk out before I even completed any of my missions at this rate.

“Also,” she said offhandedly, “I'm supposed to tell you that Agent Nineteen has regained consciousness and is doing well.”

We both perked up at that. “When can we see him?” Danielle asked.

“Soon,” Agent Smiley said. “Come to the shed
tomorrow after school for another progress report.”

And then she turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the alley.

I looked at Danielle with my eyebrows raised.

“Wow,” she said.

“No kidding,” I agreed. “Wait, are you saying that about Agent Smiley, or the news on Agent Nineteen, or the additional assignment?”

“Uh, all three,” she said. “I think.”

“What about Ophelia?”

Danielle shook her head.

“It's not her,” she said. “I don't think she even knows that she has an uncle Medlock at all. But even further, I found out she has debate team after school every day, and was there yesterday when Nineteen's office was ransacked, confirmed by three other students and the debate coach.”

I nodded, not questioning her further. After how many times she'd saved my skin the past week, I trusted her probably more than anyone else in the world. Even Agents Blue and Nineteen. Danielle and I went back way before the Agency, our friendship cut right through that stuff.

“So that leaves us with Junior,” I said.

Danielle shrugged. “Lots of kids have black hoodies, but considering the circumstances, it
is
pretty incriminating. I'll help you keep an eye on him.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Since I have detention after school, I think I'm going to have to get there early to scope out the parking lot construction. Can you make it?”

“Shoot, I can't,” she said. “Dillon would get too suspicious. He's already been asking me a lot more questions than usual lately. If I'm already gone when he gets up early to collect more fungus samples, it's going to be an issue.”

“Oh, man, that's right!” I nearly shouted. “I forgot all about that.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“I made plans to help Dillon with his weird mushroom collection thing tomorrow morning,” I said.

I knew it would upset him to cancel; I'd been basically ignoring him lately with all this Agency madness. But I had to back out—there was no way I could blow off my assignment for some ridiculous mushroom collecting thing that was completely pointless. I had no choice, so I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.

I can't make it tomorrow, sry man . . . don't hate me . . . I gotta go to school early for xtra help.

“Yeah, he'll definitely be bummed,” Danielle said as I typed. “He'd be even more disappointed and suspicious if I take off early now, too. Maybe I will help him instead. Are you sure you can cover the construction thing alone?”

“Yeah, totally. We don't have much choice anyway,” I said. “Besides, if you snuck out early, Dillon would probably think you were going to some kind of Meeting of Hooded Figures in the Woods Plotting Creepy Ritualistic Things Better Left Unsaid or something.”

Danielle smirked at first and then a laugh burst from her mouth like it had forced its way out. She covered her mouth in surprise, which made me laugh, too. And that's how our night ended, somehow in spite of everything happening, with both of us standing in my dark alley, laughing at nothing like lunatics.

I
T WAS AN ESPECIALLY COLD MORNING, EVEN FOR NOVEMBER IN
North Dakota, which made riding my bike to school instead of taking the bus torturous. I'd actually rather have been getting tortured by Mule Medlock's little psychopathic friend, Packard, than have to spend another minute out in the subzero temperatures. Thankfully there was no snow to add to the misery—it was too cold outside for snow to fall. Yes, that's a real thing that happens in awful places like this.

And don't ever let anyone tell you that people get
used to weather this cold. Trust me, there is no getting used to negative ten-degree weather. It's impossible. It's simply too painful. You don't get used to it, you just get slightly better at surviving it.

There were times just like this one every year, where I cursed my ancestors for settling down in North Dakota instead of a normal state. There were dozens of perfectly normal, nonfreezing states they could have lived in. Why on earth had they chosen this one? But there wasn't much I could do about that now except pedal faster.

By the time I got to the school, I had frozen boogers crusted to my upper lip and it felt like shards of icicles were stabbing my eyes repeatedly. But I couldn't head inside the building just yet. There was still the matter of the parking lot investigation to attend to. Besides, the school doors weren't open for students this early anyway.

I locked up my bike just as the glow of the sun appeared behind the horizon. The sun had not yet risen, but the promise of it doing so soon seemed to warm me a degree or two. My phone vibrated just after I finished securing my bike. It was from Dillon, his first response to me backing out on him that morning.

whatever man i guess Danielle might help me anyway.

I texted a quick reply.

Thnx for understanding. U sure youre not mad?

His response came right away.

Whatever. U do what you have to do I guess.

I sort of got the impression that he was holding back. That he was actually hurt and angry about it all. But I couldn't worry about that at the moment. I had a job to do.

It was still too early for the work crew to have arrived, and it was eerily silent as I approached the construction zone. They had made a lot of progress in just one day. Several large yellow and orange construction machines loomed silently next to a shockingly deep and wide hole in the parking lot.

The hole was probably fifty feet in diameter and at least fifteen feet deep. Pipes and broken concrete were scattered across the frozen ground inside the pit, covered in a sparkling layer of ice crystals—like winter's version of dew. There were several trucks and other equipment with W Construction Co. logos stamped on them surrounding the hole.

I got right up next to the large door on a giant machine that was basically an oversized shovel. I walked around to get a better look inside the pit. And that's when I saw the large plastic bin attached to the other side of the machine.
It was a translucent plastic container that looked to have several rolled-up blueprints inside it.

The container wasn't locked and the lid snapped off easily. I reached inside to pull out a tube when the huge digging machine suddenly sprang to life. The diesel engine roared and gurgled a few feet from my face and I tripped over a loose chunk of cement behind me.

Then, I was falling.

I tumbled backward into the pit, grabbing at the sides, trying to catch myself. The cold and numb hands inside my mittens couldn't really get ahold of anything and I slid all the way to the bottom of the pit. My flailing had slowed me enough to keep from shattering any bones in the fall, but that didn't matter since I quickly discovered that my snow boot had gotten wedged in between two frozen pipes in the dug-up ground below me.

The pipes squeezed my ankle as I attempted to pull free. Then I heard the hiss of hydraulics. The huge shovel started descending right toward me. And I knew that any machine that could tear a hole in this frozen ground would have no problem crushing me like an overripe grape, splattering my insides all over the bottom of the pit like spilled juice.

The shovel moved slowly but steadily. Ten feet away.

Then eight.

Then four.

I yanked at my foot with both hands to no avail.

This was it. There was no escape. My mission and life were about to come to a crushing defeat.

Pun intended.

U
NLESS I COULD SOMEHOW CHEW THROUGH MY ANKLE IN THE
next twenty-five seconds, I was going to die. Once again, the image of my hot insides splattering all over the frozen pit, steaming like stir-fry in the cold air, flashed into my mind.

It would not be a pretty way to go.

It certainly wasn't the hero's death that all secret agents probably hoped for if they were going to die in the line of duty. I had survived two assaults on the hideouts of dangerous criminals, only to die at the hands of a
stupid power shovel. I thought again about the possibility of cutting off my own leg somehow, even as the giant metal scoop descended to just a few feet away. It was so large up close that it blocked everything else from my view, enveloping me in darkness.

But the grisly thought of chopping off my own foot brought with it the easy solution to my problem. A solution so blatantly obvious that I was ashamed it had taken me this long to figure it out. I could have freed myself long before it had come to thoughts of popping like a grape and self-amputation.

I ripped off my mittens with my teeth, exposing my fingers to the harsh air. They dried up and turned pink within a fraction of a second, losing most of whatever feeling the mittens had been preserving. But the adrenaline kept them from shriveling up into useless, shivering fists.

Untying my boot with nearly frozen, clunky fingers that I couldn't feel was not as easy as it might sound. But the direness of my situation helped, as I ripped at the laces. The lowering metal scoop was so oppressively close to me now that I'd have slammed my head against it were I to sit up straight.

Finally, I loosened the laces just enough to allow me
to tear my foot free from the boot. The force of finally breaking away slammed my shoulder into the hard metal of the scoop. I winced but knew there was no time to waste. I spun onto my belly and scrambled up the side of the pit just as the scoop finished lowering and smashed into the ground and pipes where I'd been stuck just a second before.

I sat there and took as many deep breaths as I could manage, the icy air stinging my lungs like poison. Then I shifted my gaze up toward the cabin of the giant machine. It was empty. Whoever had powered up and lowered the scoop was gone.

The hydraulics groaned as they continued to press the scoop into the cold ground. I stood up, my exposed foot already turning into a block of clunky, frozen flesh. After retrieving my mittens, I clambered up to the side of the pit and tried to climb out. There was nothing to grab on to. My painfully cold foot was not helping.

There was a real risk that I could freeze to death inside this pit if I couldn't get myself out. In this kind of weather, a person could get frostbite in a matter of minutes. I wish I was kidding or exaggerating. Do you now understand the insanity of choosing to live in North Dakota?

I assessed my situation, looking all around the pit for
any kind of handhold or ladder or anything I could use to climb out. And once again the solution was so obvious that I had missed it by overthinking the problem.

The giant scoop.

I ran over and climbed up onto the hydraulic arm. It vibrated with energy, since no one had shut it off. Once at the top, I dropped to the ground carefully. My foot was now all the way past pain and just felt completely numb. Instead, the pain was working its way up my leg and into my very core. I climbed into the cockpit and turned the key in the ignition.

Then I hopped down and ran toward the school's front door, desperately hoping that I could catch a teacher arriving for work who would let me inside early before I lost my foot to frostbite.

Although, come to think of it, having a robotic foot like Mr. Blue might be kind of cool. He certainly hadn't seemed that bummed about it. I used this thought mostly as a distraction as I hobbled across the sidewalk.

Just as I rounded the corner, I spotted someone entering the building.

“Wait!” I yelled out.

The figure stopped and looked my way. They waited as I hobbled up.

“Carson?” the figure said in a familiar voice.

“Oh, shoot,” I said, recognizing it even though I couldn't see her face under the bundle of scarves that covered it. “Uh, I mean, hi, Ms. Pullman.”