Warehouse 13: A Touch of Fever (21 page)

Where was her Farnsworth? Peeking around the side of the ladder, she spotted it lying on the floor too many feet away. She kicked herself for dropping it before. Now how was she supposed to send out an SOS? The totem was still on the lookout overhead, its claws and talons ready to slash at her again. The Farnsworth taunted her, tantalizingly out of reach. Should she risk making a dash for it?

The totem didn’t give her a chance. With an ear-piercing squawk and a couple of roars, it swooped down at her again. The bear on the bottom slammed into the top of the stairs and it spun away from Claudia, leaving her exposed. The ladder’s wheels collided with the fallen Farnsworth and knocked it under a shelf, where it disappeared from sight. Her heart sank.

“Really? My karma’s
that
bad?”

So much for calling for help. No way was the totem going to give her a chance to go digging around under the shelf, groping for the lost device. Running for her life took priority at the moment.

Hands over her head, she sprinted down the aisle. Adrenaline kicked her into gear. High above her, the totem executed a graceful turn and came gliding after her, the thunderbird’s wooden talons extended ahead of its snapping beak. Claudia wondered which part of the totem was the hungriest: the bear, the puma, or the bird?

“No fair!” she protested. “Three against one . . . sort of!”

She tried not to panic. It was just an artifact, after all, albeit a particularly antisocial one. There were ways of handling it. What would Artie do at a time like this? She looked around frantically for the nearest emergency neutralizing station. There had to be one somewhere around here, just for unfortunate incidents like this. She remembered Artie pointing them out the first time he gave her the nickel tour.

“Searching, searching . . . there!”

What looked like a coiled fire hose hung upon a support column, next to a circular metal handle.
NEUTRALIZING STATION,
a convenient label read.
FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY.

Just what the doctor ordered! She made a beeline for the hose and tugged on it with both hands. The dusty hose refused to budge; it probably hadn’t moved in years. “C’mon,” she pleaded with the stubborn mechanism. “Don’t be like that! Not now!” A hard yank finally got it unspooling. Squeaky gears whined for oil as she pulled the hose away from the pillar. “That’s it, baby. Keep on coming!”

The totem dived at her. Talons, claws, and fangs raced each other to rend her tender flesh. The thunderbird’s fearsome screech hurt her ears. The bear and the mountain lion were eager for their turn. Their gaping jaws slathered impossibly.

But Claudia was ready for them. She aimed the hose at the oncoming creature, holding it up with one hand while the other spun the metal handle next to it. The valve stuck at first, but then it rotated freely, opening the tap. A pump beneath the floor chugged to life. The hose stiffened in her grip. Instead of water, a thick stream of purple goo sprayed from its nozzle.

“That’s more like it!” She directed the goo at the totem. “Open wide!”

Easier said than done. The totem banked sharply to the left, dodging the spray while still coming at her. Claudia gulped, finding it harder than she expected to control the spray and send it where it belonged. She was a geek girl, darn it, not a firefighter! Claudia felt like she was trying to shoot down an angry hornet with a squirt gun. Why couldn’t the stupid totem just stay still for a moment? Didn’t it know she was trying to neutralize it?

The Indian arts-and-crafts project flew in descending circles above her. Claudia spun around, practically wrapping herself in the hose as she tried unsuccessfully to catch the totem in the purple spew. Cawing and snarling in harmony, the hostile artifact dived for her. She jumped out of the way and swung the hose around to defend herself. The totem veered away from the spray. The mountain lion’s front paw slashed at a length of hose between her and the column. Sharp claws sliced through the hose. Unchecked goo gushed onto the floor.

“Uh-oh.”

15

WAREHOUSE 13

The severed end of the hose went limp in her grasp. The spray from the nozzle slowed to a trickle. Claudia shook it violently, but only a few drips fell out.

You know,
she thought,
I don’t remember this being covered in the manual.

The totem came swooping back around. She hurled the now-useless hose at the creature like an old-time TV mobster flinging his empty gun at Superman—and with about as much effect. The nozzle bounced harmlessly off the thunderbird’s crest, barely slowing it down.

“Feet, don’t fail me now!”

She made tracks away from the totem. A spreading puddle of goo threatened to slip her up, but she bounded over it without missing a step. An intersection beckoned, and she ducked around a corner in hopes of losing the creature . . .

. . . only to run headfirst into a full-size New England lighthouse.

The whitewashed brick structure rose at least fifty feet above the floor, dwarfing the surrounding shelves. A red steel cupola crowned the lighthouse, whose upper chamber was dark, its lamp long extinguished. The tower blocked the aisle completely. There was no way around it.

“Great,” she muttered. “What genius left a lighthouse lying around?”

The totem was right behind her. A weathered wooden door faced her.

The only way out was up.

“Please don’t be locked!”

She shoved the door, which swung open before her. She darted over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind her. The totem crashed into it a moment later, the impact rattling the heavy oak door. Frustrated growls and squawks penetrated the building. Claws scraped angrily at the wood.

The totem wasn’t giving up. Claudia threw herself against the other side of the door, holding it shut with her body. The soles of her sneakers were braced against the rough cement floor of the lighthouse. The creature pounded against the door like a battering ram. Every blow jarred her spine. The solid oak bulged inward. The hinges started tearing loose.

She searched the murky interior of the building for something to bolt the door with. A spiral staircase led to the lamp room above. A few cobwebbed trunks and coils of rope offered little hope. By the time she could shove the jumbled jetsam against the door, the totem would already be inside.

“Go away!” she shouted through the door. “Find somebody else to harass! Shoo!”

Wood splintered. A lion’s claw tore through the door, only a handsbreadth from her head. Another claw, this one belonging to the bear, broke through next to her hip.

Yelping, she jumped away from the door, which was knocked off its hinges. The shredded remains of the door crashed to the floor. The totem lunged forward, but its outstretched wings were too big for the opening. Screeching impatiently, it had to back up and fold its wings against its sides in order to squeeze through the narrow doorway.

Claudia took advantage of the delay to make for the staircase. She took the steps two at a time, the decrepit iron structure wobbling beneath her tread. The totem burst into the lighthouse right behind her. Three sets of carved wooden nostrils sniffed the air. Painted eyes turned upward, spotting its prey. The totem dropped onto its bear and lion legs, then charged up the stairs on all eights. The thunderbird led the way, its wooden feathers ruffling. The monster climbed the staircase with surprising speed. Bird, lion, and bear moved in sync with each other, much to Claudia’s annoyance.

Did they
have
to work together so well?

She reached the top of the stairs only slightly ahead of the totem. A glass-walled chamber held the lamp and lenses. A complicated array of polished silver mirrors surrounded an old-fashioned kerosene lantern. She flung the door shut and bolted it securely.

Taking a second to catch her breath, she considered her options. Was there any way to use the lighthouse to signal Artie for help? She quickly inspected the lantern but couldn’t figure out how she was supposed to light it. Claudia didn’t smoke, but even if she did, smoking was strictly verboten in the Warehouse. She had no matches, no lighter, not even a pair of sticks to rub together. Why couldn’t this stupid lighthouse have come with an electric lamp instead . . . ?

She searched her pockets anyway, hoping to find a miniature soldering iron or something, but time was not on her side. Triple growls announced that the totem had reached the top of the stairs. It rammed itself against the door once more. The hinges went flying off.

Drat!

A open metal gallery circled the lantern room. She rushed out onto the balcony and leaned over the safety rail, looking for an escape route. The top of a tall shelf was only a few yards below, but separated from the lighthouse by a gap of at least five feet. She scrambled over the railing and faced the gap. Could she make the jump? It was a long way down if she missed, and this time there was no zip line to hold her up. She peered over the edge.

I don’t know about this. . . .

The relentless totem didn’t give her any choice. Glass shattered as it crashed through the window behind her. She could feel the thunderbird’s hot breath at her neck. It smelled of sawdust.

“Geronimo!”

Trusting her fate to the fickle whims of gravity, she leaped from the balcony. Her life flashed before her eyes as though dancing across a certain zoetrope several aisles over. She closed her eyes, afraid to look down, and didn’t open them until her feet hit the shelf a long heartbeat later. She fell forward into a roll, then sprang to her feet, frankly amazed not to find herself spattered way down below. A dislodged birdcage hit the floor instead. It landed with a loud metallic clang.
Better it than me,
Claudia thought.

“And she sticks the landing!”

She would have an appreciated a moment to savor her death-defying feat, but the grumpy totem refused to oblige. The bear snarled at her from atop the lighthouse. The thunderbird spread its wings and took flight. The entire monster swooped down from the balcony.

“Ohmigod,” she exclaimed. “Give it a rest!”

This routine system check was turning into a real workout. She ran along the top of the shelf, jumping over and around the topmost collection of artifacts as though the shelf were the world’s most cluttered balance beam. She deftly evaded Bill Clinton’s saxophone, only to step onto a loose waffle iron, which slid out from beneath her sneaker. Oops! She lost her balance and teetered along the brink. Her arms semaphored madly to keep her from falling. Both feet landed back on the shelf. She gasped out loud. That had been a close one.

A few more inches and she would have been a Claudia pancake.

She kicked the waffle iron out of the way. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the totem gliding toward her again. She looked around for something—anything—that might increase her odds of reaching drinking age.

A judge’s gavel? A ventriloquist’s dummy? A chunk of Halley’s comet?

None of those struck her as very useful at the moment. To buy time, she snatched an artist’s easel and hurled it at the totem. Growling at the top of his timber lungs, the mountain lion knocked it aside with a sweep of its paw. The lightweight wooden easel crashed to earth twenty feet below. Claudia winced at the clatter.

“Sorry, Artie,” she blurted. “You, too, Renoir.”

The totem was still coming. Was there anything else she could use? She was running out of shelf and hope until she spied a large wooden barrel stacked at the end of the shelf. Sturdy pine staves were held in place by rusty metal bands. A postcard of Niagara Falls was stapled to the side of the barrel. The faded souvenir showed a smiling daredevil in turn-of-the-century swimming trunks emerging from the very same barrel as Niagara cascaded majestically behind him. He had clearly just survived a reckless plunge over the fabled falls.