Flash Virus: Episode One (4 page)

“Throwing something in the garbage doesn’t make it go away,” I said. “It just changes where you keep it, is all.”
 

“You’re absolutely right,” Jemmy said – smiling at me like I’d surprised him. “That’s the law of conservation. Throwing something away doesn’t change a thing.”
 

“Whatever, Greenpeace.”
 

Right now - I was torn right down the middle.
 

You see - my Dad just didn’t make enough money for me to buy a cell phone. We just depended on that old black thing that hung in the kitchen and only rang when the telemarketers were calling. I didn’t want to give up my new free cell phone. I mean, who was to say that this whole thing wasn’t some sort of advertising gimmick and any minute someone would jump out from behind a door with a camera crew and a microphone and ask us how we felt being scared stupid by a children’s Christmas song and a red-blue-green flashing light.
 

Only Jemmy wasn’t so certain about that.
 

“I think the whole thing was done by terrorists,” Jemmy Daniels said. “I’ll bet you anything that’s what it is.”
 

Like I told you before - Jemmy was my best friend. Friends are important here in high school – maybe the most important thing there is. A friend can be a little like a life preserver in the middle of a shark-filled ocean. A good friend won’t necessarily protect you from all of those sharks – but at least they’re good company while you are getting chewed on by bullies.
 

And Jemmy was a really good friend.
 

What struck me a little funny was that I didn’t see any of Billy Carver’s so-called friends getting anywhere close to Billy up there by the windows. You would think that if he was their friend then all that they would want would be to make sure that he was all right – but I could see that Lonnie Tarkins and Bigfoot Hansen  - whose real name was Ben – were both standing just about as far away from Billy Carver as was humanly possible.
 

“So what do you think?” Jemmy asked.
 

What do I think?
 

Heck, I was standing closer to Billy Carver than either Lonnie or Bigfoot were and it didn’t bother me one bit at all. The fact was I was kind of enjoying seeing him doing something else for a change besides stealing my lunch money, throwing my toque into the toque-eating tree or swirly-dunking my scalp into a peed-in toilet bowl.
 

“I think we’re all right so long as we don’t answer one of those phones,” I said. “After that, I’d bet that all bets are off.”
 

The only real difference between Jemmy and me was that Jemmy always seemed to be able to find the funny inside of every lousy situation that the bullies put him into. He’d just stand up from the toilet bowl following his swirly-dunk and he’d give his head a little dog-shake – even if someone had actually just peed in the toilet bowl that his head had been dunked into – and then he’d say something like “Thanks for the free shampoo” or “Do you want fries with that?”
 

“I mean about who did it,” Jemmy asked. “Who do you think is behind this?”
 

“How the heck should I know?”
 

I knew it was the Black Masks. I expected Jemmy knew that too – but sometimes when you’re scared absolutely to freaking death the very best thing that you can do is to ask a buddy just what he was thinking about.
 

“I think you might have a theory, at least.” Jemmy went on.
 

Only I didn’t know.
 

Which made me angry.
 

“I think you think too much,” I replied. “That’s my theory.”
 

“Think again,” Jemmy cracked. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
 

So did I – but I didn’t want to worry him any more than he already was.
 

You see – Jemmy was one of those kinds of people whose feelings were mostly right – every time.
 

Let me put it this way.
 

If Jemmy told me that he had a feeling it was going to rain – I’d run for an umbrella.
 

“Do you have a theory on that?” Jemmy asked. “I know that I do.”
 

When it came to fighting with words Jemmy could out-talk a dictionary. I don’t know if Jemmy was some kind of a secret evil genius or else the worst sort of mentally depreciated loser. I wasn’t even sure if Jemmy was getting just as big of a kick as me out of seeing our nemesis – and how’s that for a dictionary word - Billy Carver looking like he did – standing there and whispering to a red-green-blue flashing cell phone.
 

“It’s got to be terrorists,” Jemmy said. “Secret terrorist hackers who are trying to ruin the Christmas season for all of us kids.”
 

“Terrorists with free cell phones?” I asked.
 

 “Sure,” Jemmy said. “Terrorists with cell phones. What better way to spread terror. Probably tomorrow they’ll crash the internet and then later on they’ll put out a press release proving that the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy are something that dentists dreamed up.”
 

 “What would a terrorist be doing at our little high school?” I asked. “Stealing copies of the final exam?”
 

“I don’t know,” Jemmy said. “Maybe this is just a trial run. Maybe these Black Mask dudes are secretly practicing to hack into the cell phones at the White House.”
 

 “They don’t use cell phones at the White House,” I said to Jemmy.
 

“Well, what DO they use then?”
 

“I don’t know what they use,” I admitted to Jemmy. “Something better than cell phones, I bet.”
 

Jemmy shook his head like he was trying to break it off at the hinge-bone.
 

“It’s terrorists for sure,” he said. “They’re probably out there in the woods, just past the baseball field. Just the other night I was out there and I heard trucks and what sounded like a couple of tanks.”
 

“What, like oil tanks?”
 

“No, like tank kind of tanks. You know – the kind with treads and armor and cannon and machine guns?”
 

Tanks?
 

Who was Jemmy trying to kid?
 

“Now what would an armored tank be doing out at the baseball field?” I asked.
 

“I don’t know,” Jemmy admitted. “I guess I was too scared to go and look.”
 

I guess I couldn’t blame him for being scared if his story was true – but there was no way that I could believe that he was actually telling the truth about those tanks.
 

“Jemmy – you are so full of ripe old horse manure that they ought to sprinkle you on the golf course to help the grass grow green.”
 

I had had about enough of Jemmy’s wild-assed theories. As near as I could tell the whole classroom was having a moment dedicated to freaking out – all day long. The last thing we needed in here was for a panic to break out. As it was I was thinking it might be a good time to sneak out of class and go home and watch some Bugs Bunny cartoons.
 

“SHUT UP!!!” I shouted.
 

I hadn’t meant to shout that loudly but the truth was I had been wanting to shout my head off ever since about Grade Primary.
 

It worked, anyway.
 

Everyone in the whole class stood still.
 

The only sound we could hear were the cell phones Santa Clausing and the half a dozen taken kids standing over at the window saying their whisper-whisper-whisper prayers.
 

“It isn’t terrorists,” I said loudly. “Just you wait and see. Whoever is behind this is probably sitting in his mother’s basement at his home computer, hacking into the county cell towers, sucking on an economy jumbo sized tin of Pop Rocks flavored Red Bull and leaving little orange Cheese Doodle fingerprints all over his keyboard.”
 

Some of the kids were actually listening to what I was saying. I almost wanted to laugh. I had never dreamed that so many kids would listen or even care about something that I had said here in high school – or anywhere else.
 

“Oh yeah,” Jemmy said. “So what are THEY doing out there?”
 

He pointed out the window just as the biggest armored battle tank that I had ever seen outside of a video game pulled up into the school parking lot.
 

A freaking track-tread-driving, cannon-wielding, machine-gun-toting, I’m-going-to-die-in-a-hail-of-gunfire-and-explosions tank!
 

Holy freaking Rambo.
 

We had just been invaded.
 

I made up my mind fast.
 

This was no time to hesitate.
 

“Come on!” I said to Jemmy. “We’re getting out of here.”
 

Only I’d waited just a little bit too long.
 

I stepped towards the classroom door – figuring on making an escape.
 

Just before someone kicked the door down.
 

I like those old style castle and moat movies.
 

You know – the kind with knights and swords and battles?
 

There’s always a point in those movies where a drawbridge crashes down and an entire army of sword, mace and spear-wielding barbarians come charging through the gate and tear the castle into pieces. They’re either good guys or bad guys and it doesn’t really matter to me – but that’s the point in which I jump up and start to cheer.
 

Only I wasn’t cheering as the first barbarian stepped over the kicked-down classroom door and stomped into our history classroom. This particular barbarian had left his sword, mace and spear
hat home in the castle. He was actually wearing combat khaki and was wearing a set of headphones over his ears that looked as if they’d been looted from off of an airfield employee’s head – most likely after it had been completely severed.
 

I’m trying to tell you that this guy was very stormtrooper-scary.
 

I bravely tried to duck around the stormtrooper and squeeze out through the doorway and maybe flee madly for my life waving my hands in the air and making little pig-squealing-panic-sounds but he reached one gloved hand out and caught me by the throat and shoved me back inside. I hit the floor like a fumbled pancake, nearly getting stomped on by Burt Hertle – who was still trying to kick old Santa Claus from out of his red-blue-green ringing cell phone.
 

“What are you laying down there for?” Jemmy asked, reaching one hand down to help me back up to my feet. “Are you tired or something?”
 

I took Jemmy’s hand and pulled myself up before Burt Hertle improved the aim of his stomping boot. Another dozen stormtrooper-soldiers crammed into the classroom, all wearing full combat gear. All of them were likewise wearing a pair of those oversized headphones. I wondered if maybe there were listening to music or something on them.
 

And each of those stormtrooper-soldiers kept on smiling the same kind of smile that you might see on a department store mannequin. The smile was pasted on, like they’d been trained to smile that way. It was evil and it was weird and I could imagine them getting up from their barrack cots every morning for push-ups, sit-ups and practice smiling.
 

“So are we saved or what?” I asked – as the soldiers began moving the desks out of the way and lining us kids up against the wall. “Are these good guys or bad guys?”
 

It was that hard to tell.
 

“I don’t know,” Jemmy said. “These guys look more like stormtroopers than any real army soldiers I’ve ever seen.”
 

“That was my first thought,” I agreed.
 

The two Black Masked black suits walked in behind the stormtrooper soldiers. The Black Masks looked a little darker and a whole lot scarier than they had looked to me outdoors in broad daylight – and those goofy looking flashing black fish bowl helmets looked pretty scarifying to me too.
 

Harbor no fear. Harbor no fear.
 

Only my harbor was over-filling with fear.
 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Jemmy said.
 

“Me too,” I replied. “What do you think they want here?”
 

“Maybe they want their cell phones back,” Jemmy said. “Maybe the warrantee has expired?”
 

Displays of panic are apple-less and a waste of good useable energy.
 

“Apple-less?” I asked.
 

“I think they mean fruitless,” Jemmy said. “At least that’s my guess.”
 

Meanwhile, the headphone-wearing stormtroopers kept lining us up against the wall.
 

Some of us lined up better than others. Burt Hertle was having a hard time interrupting his phone-stomping fandango but one of the soldiers caught him in mid-stomp, while another bent to pick up and move Burt’s free cell phone closer to the wall – where Burt could continue to happily stomp on it and still manage to keep his place in the line-up.
 

Cooperation equals safety. Remain vertical in uniformity
 

“I think that means we’re safe if we just line up and cooperate,” Jemmy said. “At least that’s my best guess.”
 

“These fish bowl dudes need a set of subtitles on their black masks,” I said.
 

Which was right about the time that we all decided to call them Black Masks.
 

“It’s all right,” Jemmy said. “I have a black belt in Babel Fish.”
 

I blinked twice.
 

Sometimes Jemmy says things that just plain hurt my head.