The Nerdy Dozen (14 page)

But only a second passed before Neil was shoved inside the dirty vehicle. They rode back toward the warehouse with Harris in silence. At least this time there wasn't a sack over Neil's face.

They crossed the connecting suspension bridge and pulled into Harris's compound, the doors of the security fence shutting firmly behind them. The car stopped, and Harris led Neil into the makeshift prison with the others.

“Not keeping your side of the bargain?” Neil protested as the guards pushed him inside the room and locked the door behind him. “I won, fair and square!”

“I'm sorry, but I didn't see your name on the high-score card.” Harris laughed, then turned and whirled away, talking to himself. “Now to get into wardrobe for the wire transfer.”

“Are you serious?” Trevor yelled, trying to jump out of his chair but only succeeding in knocking himself sideways to the ground. Neil winced, but Trevor just kept screaming. “He won! You can't just put him back in prison like that! You promised!”

“It's okay, Trevor,” Neil said, reaching out to pull Trevor's chair vertical. He was lucky the guards hadn't taped him to a chair, too—otherwise his new plan would be much more difficult.

“What are you smiling for? You're back in here with us!” Trevor demanded.

“Not for long,” Neil said proudly. From the large cargo pocket on the right side of his Five-Piece Bandwidth pants, Neil brandished the wire cutters he'd stolen from the toolbox behind the arcade game while Harris was too distracted to notice.

Neil quickly made the rounds to cut everyone free of their restraints, starting with Jones. The moment Jones's hands were untied, he ripped the duct tape from his mouth and spit a wet clump of sunflower shells onto the floor.

“Grooooosss,” Jason 1 and Jason 2 said in unison, then quickly looked away as Jones stared in their direction.

“How long those been in there, Jonesy?” Biggs whispered, his face contorted in disgust. “Surprised those seeds didn't start sprouting from your mouth.”

“Nice work, Andertol,” Jones croaked, nodding at Neil and ignoring Biggs.

Neil couldn't help feeling a prickle of pride that he'd done something to impress Jones.

“Now, listen up, recruits. We've got to get out of here.” Jones grimaced, rubbing his cheeks where the tape had been. “We're just going to get one shot at this, so we'll need something to distract these jokers.”

Neil's eyes immediately flew to the glass panel of their door. They would have to break through it in order to clip their lock to freedom. But the guards were only five feet away—they would come running in an instant.

As his mind raced to create other guesses at an escape plan, Neil heard a commotion coming from the front hallway. A frazzled henchman pushed open the swinging double doors and staggered into the center of the warehouse.

“Fire!” he gasped, wheezing as he bent forward. The other guards in the room rushed over.

“Penny's . . . at Penny's,” the sweating guard relayed in broken sentence shards.

“Everyone, I just heard Penny's is on fire!” came another guard, sprinting in from the main hallway.

“You mean the pizza place? You mean the
only
pizza place!” one of the guards cried out.

“Stop, everyone! You must stop!” yelled the last guard, a feeble-looking man with a squeaky, high-pitched whine. “You're all going to be fired!”

Neil watched as Harris's guards pushed one another out of the way, completely abandoning their outposts, rushing to help protect their precious pineapple pizza.

A SINGLE GUARD STAYED BEHIND, HIS PANICKED EYES DARTING back and forth. He'd started to run out with the others but hesitated after realizing the warehouse would be left empty. He now paced furiously between the swinging metal doors, the door of the makeshift prison, and the computerized command post in the center of the room.

“Now's our chance. How should we do this?” Neil whispered to the others. Then he locked eyes with Yuri, who nodded. “I know,” Neil said. “Let's let the dice decide.”

Yuri smiled and produced the twenty-sided die from his pocket. He rolled it on the cold and unforgiving ground.

“We're gonna roll for this? What are we waiting for!” yelled Waffles, who jumped up, his plastic restraints falling to his feet. He grabbed the white die and threw it forcefully at the window of the door. Everyone watched as, in near slow motion, the small projectile ripped through the thin pane, which erupted in a storm of broken glass on the floor of the warehouse.

Dale turned to the sign boasting
DAYS WITHOUT INCIDENT
. He erased the
87
printed on it now and replaced it with a big, looping
0
.

The guard turned at the noise, then, his eyes widening, fumbled to grab a radio to communicate with the other henchmen attending to the Great Pizza Fire.

“My lords and ladies, our plan needeth a hero!” shouted a nervous Riley. “Of super proportions!”

Wait. We've got one!
thought Neil.

“Jason Two—er, the Shrieking Salamander. Now's your time, buddy!” Neil said, looking directly at Jason 2. Jason looked worried for a second, then nodded and ripped his uniform off in a single motion. Underneath it, he was wearing his sparkly green costume, with a white utility belt clinging around his waist. He ran up to the still-locked doorway and faced the guard, who was running at them fast, fingers fumbling for his weapon.

“Cover your ears, everybody,” said Neil. Everyone did, except for Jones, whose bad ear was aimed Neil's way.

“What'd you say? Cover our wha—” Jones started, but an ear-piercing scream rang out before he could finish. It brought Jones to his knees, as well as the guard, who stumbled forward, trying to block out the shrieking noise.

Man, maybe Jason Two really is a superhero
, Neil thought.

Jones, his good ear now muffled from Jason 2's scream, grabbed hold of the bolt cutters and reached through the broken window to snip the lock trapping them inside. As it fell to the floor with a thud, Jones pushed open the door, stepping over the broken glass and the shaking guard, who'd been rendered useless.

“We're back in business, everybody,” Jones said. “Now, let's get out of here.”

“You heard the man, you scum-sucking sacks of grain!” Corinne yelled, doing her best drill sergeant impression. “I want the location of every Chameleon, stat! Let's get out of here—now!”

Following her lead, everyone funneled out of the room and into the hallway toward freedom, swiveling their heads to look for any lingering guards.

“JP!” Corinne was still yelling. “You get your fighter jet and pilots, and I want you off this island in one minute! You got me?”

“Nicely done, pilot,” Jones said.

“Our plane,” mumbled one of the captured pilots to Neil, his head rolling side to side from exhaustion and Feather Duster prison. “It's over there.” He nodded to a remote corner of the warehouse, behind a line of wooden boxes packed full of video games. Neil and Trevor scooped the pilot up on their shoulders and walked toward the corner.

As they slid through a wall of ostrich-themed crewneck sweatshirts, Neil saw a giant open space. He assumed it housed a hidden Chameleon, and on looking closer, Neil saw it wasn't completely invisible. Neil could make out its outline. He walked over and pressed his hand to the plane, breathing a sigh of relief when the hydraulic compartment opened with ease. Since this plane had gone missing before he was entered in the system, he hadn't been a hundred percent sure that it would work.

“I'll take our men with me,” Jones said, hoisting the small pilot over his shoulder. Neil glanced to see Wells and Lopez shuffling out with the other captured soldier. “I want to keep a close watch on them. You just get this thing out of here. Andertol”—he looked Neil in the eyes—“why don't you drive?”

Trevor ground his teeth in frustration as he and Neil climbed into the stolen Chameleon. Moments later, they heard three sets of footsteps running toward them.

“Don't think we'll have enough room with everybody out there,” said Sam, with Jason 1 at her side. Riley trailed just behind her, doubling over to try to catch his breath. “Mind if we ride with you?”

“Sure thing,” said Neil. He was ecstatic. Not only would he get to pilot the fighter, but he'd do it with only his fellow recruits along for the ride, like a real pilot. They huddled in, Jason taking the emergency jump seat.

After buckling himself into the pilot's seat, Neil started the fighter. “Where's our exit, copilot?” he asked Trevor, reaching for the controls. Trevor pointed directly to the old shipping port shuttered by rusted fencing. “Bingo.”

Trevor eased forward on the throttle as the Chameleon slowly began to trample boxes of games and promotional materials. Stuffed ostriches squeaked, then popped, under the tread of the landing-gear tires. The Chameleon accelerated through the confines of the video game warehouse and burst through the gates at the end of the shuttered loading dock. As the nose of the fighter tore through the building, misshapen chunks of chain-link fence shot far into the ocean. They splattered and skipped on the warm surface of the water, thrown out like a handful of skipping rocks.

“Let's see what this baby can do!” Neil shouted as Trevor instinctively pushed forward on the throttle and they took off. The Chameleon skimmed over the glistening water, flying low enough to leave a bubbling wake behind it.

Neil pulled back on the ship's virtual reins, feeling the thrill of gravity pushing down on him as he spiraled upward. His chest throbbing in triumph, he confidently rolled his fighter until they were upside down, covering miles of ocean in mere moments.

“Riley, uh, maketh thine . . . ,” Neil stammered, trying to think of words that Riley would understand.

“Prepareth the cloak of un-vision,” Sam suggested. Everyone smiled. Suddenly realizing that they were flying without helmets and he needed to be safe, Neil flipped the Chameleon back over and started heading northeast, back toward the
Martin Van Buren
.

“As you wish,” said Riley.

But as the Chameleon began activating its scales, something struck Neil as odd. He scanned the altimeter and radar, wondering what was bothering him, but everything was completely normal. Trevor noticed Neil's eyes darting around.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Is something . . . off to you?” Neil asked, keeping firm control of the fighter.

“Not that I'm seeing.” Trevor surveyed the cockpit. “Listen, Ashley, don't get paranoid on me now. Relax. You did it, somehow. There's nothing but open sky from here until that ship full of sideburned weirdos.”

Neil laughed and shrugged. Maybe Trevor was right, and he was just overthinking everything. He had done it, after all—he had rescued everyone and was piloting the most top-secret fighter jet in history after freeing it from the clutches of a crazy billionaire. He took a silent moment to let this sink in. And then it struck him.

The buzzing.
That high-pitched, Grandma's-house-TV droning that somehow only Neil could hear. He'd heard it on the flight in, but now it was gone. Neil was certain of it. But before he could determine how they'd fix the scales, he was startled by the wailing alarm of the jet's radar.

“Uh-oh,” Trevor said. “We've got company.”

They turned back to see two jet fighters in hot pursuit.
Do these guys work for Harris, too?
Neil thought. One looked like the same attacker that had harassed them on their flight in. Missiles clung to each craft like suckerfish to a shark. Neil watched as a few warning shots fired past his right wing.

Time to fly
.

Without having to say anything, Trevor pushed forward on the throttle. The Chameleon shot forward as if it had been shoved by someone. But the two fighters kept pace, firing shots dangerously close to Neil's wings. Neil expertly dodged back and forth, keeping his jet safe.

“Do they have some kind of radar that can pick us up?” Sam shouted. “They can't see us, but their shots are coming straight for us!”

Neil dipped the controls down, diving toward another small outcropping of rocks. A giant stone arch connected two lush, overgrown islands ahead. Neil pitched his Chameleon and flew closer to the lapping waves below, well beneath the ceiling of the rock bridge ahead.

“Stick with me on this one, Trevor,” Neil said to his copilot.

Trevor pushed them faster and faster, streaks of water spouting up in their tailwind.

“So, that split-S move? I'm thinking about a split capital R. Or maybe even one of those German U's with the dots over it. Is that a thing?” Neil asked.

“It is now. Let's do it,” Trevor said.

Their fighter threaded through the smooth opening of the arch, leaving plenty of space on all sides. The two bogeys were directly behind them, following intently on their tail.

Neil pulled hard on the controls, looping back until they were upside down, staring at the top of the rock bridge. Neil cranked the controls to his left, and the responsive fighter quickly cut over, slicing down to make another pass.

“Maybe more of a lowercase Q,” Neil corrected, his limbs humming as they plunged down to the water below. He swooped back through the arch and heard the sound of the enemy fighter skidding into the water with a splash.

“A pox on that bogey!” screamed an excited Riley.

“You got one!” said Sam. “At least I think that's what he said.”

Neil leveled out and flew forward, glancing back to see the second enemy fighter swirl from behind the bubbling wake of its fallen comrade.

“Let's set coordinates for the USS
Martin Van Buren
, everyone,” Neil said, hoping to outrun their pursuers and get some muttonchop backup. But before he could even start entering the coordinates, a rocket streaked past the nose of the plane and exploded in bright orange-and-red plumes.

Neil panicked. There was only ocean in front of them, no other rocks to use for help. It would be a real dogfight, one that might last all the way to the aircraft carrier miles away. Neil's breath grew short, and he slipped back into old habits, wishing for a natural disaster to whisk him out of nervous situations.

Tornado. Lightning bolt. Flash flood. Vol . . .

“Volcano!” yelled Neil. He yanked the plane up and over to head back to the spooky face of the island chain they had just fled.

As the enemy followed in close pursuit, Neil dodged its fire, moving his wings to avoid a targeted missile lock. A bullet barely grazed the right wing, and a frantic siren started up in their cockpit. As the string of islands approached, Neil could see Ostrich Island, where he'd met Weo, and headed for it.

He was flying so low that the tops of palm trees shook and bristled as he jetted past. Behind him, Neil heard the whirling of the enemy's missile targeting system and cringed. They had a lock on him. Just as he reached the lip of the crater, he pulled back, steering clear of the exceedingly hot temperatures of the magma below.

But the Chameleon barely pulled up and began to spin out of control, just the way it had when Trevor had flown over the volcano. Neil struggled to stay firm on the joystick, the plane rattling like the old clothes dryer in his basement. He looked back and saw the enemy jet fly right over the crater. Its wings shimmied violently as the bogey flipped end over end and then turned to head back in the other direction, giving up the chase.

But the Chameleon was still twisting all over the map, flailing like a slow-moving Frisbee. To power out of the revolutions, Trevor slowly pushed the throttle forward. Neil was starting to feel like he was a part of the plane again, just as Jones had said. He tilted the wings, feeling the wind beneath them, almost as if the wings were his own arms. He smoothed the fighter out and triumphantly skimmed just above the whitecaps below.

“Way to go, Neil!” Sam exclaimed. “That was unreal!”

Now the only thing between the recovered Chameleon and the safety of the muttonchop-covered
Martin Van Buren
was a few hundred miles of airborne freedom. Trevor and Neil started to climb to a cruising altitude, guiding the tip of the jet toward the rising sun.

But in the far reaches of his brain, a small, vocal part of Neil knew the Chameleon had to stop.
Something is still wrong with this plane.

“Guys, I . . . I think we have to land. Now,” Neil voiced.