***
“Billy, I think you’d better get right in bed,” my mom said, feeling my forehead for the first signs of a fever. “A summer cold can turn into pneumonia just like that!” And she snapped her fingers to show how fast such a dire event could occur.
I glanced at my watch: it was half past six. Only two-and-a-half more hours to solve the last two Story Plagues and figure out the identity of our mystery villain. A well-meaning mother couldn’t sidetrack me now!
I broke out my secret weapon, a whining voice so annoying that it seldom failed to get me whatever I wanted. “But Mom, I don’t have a fever!” I sneezed. “It’s just a dumb old summer cold! And it wouldn’t be fair to Marisa. Who would she hang out with while I was in bed?”
That last comment surprised her. Any sign of concern for my cousin, however slight, was a major breakthrough in our relationship.
“What do you think, Jim?” Mom asked.
Dad, who was reading the newspaper in his favorite reclining chair, looked over the top of the sports section. “I think,” he said slowly, “that a summer cold is no cause for concern, and that an ice cream cone and a trip to the mall might be the best cure. Wait outside, kids, and I’ll back the car out.”
Good old Dad! Marisa and I broke for the door, exchanging high-fives on the way. Outside, we found Pluto hiding beneath a bush. He looked up at us with his one eye and purred as we stroked his black fur.
“Well, at least I escaped bed rest,” I said. “But unless the last two Story Plagues show up on the way to the mall, we’re still sunk.”
Marisa grinned. “Don’t worry, that’s exactly where they’ll show up!” She explained: “These Plagues have a way of popping up directly in our path, in case you haven’t noticed. If we hang around your house much longer, we’ll probably trigger one here!”
I shivered. “No thanks. Come on!” Dad and Mom had backed the car out of the garage and we hopped in the back, leaving Pluto behind.
Minutes later, we were enjoying Dairy Queen cones in the back seat as Dad drove west on State Street toward the mall. A newscaster on the radio rattled off all the strange sightings reported in the city, then cut to an “expert” who dismissed them as mass hallucinations brought on by the heat. Marisa and I smiled. Adults didn’t know everything, after all.
We turned left into the mall and headed for the rear entrance, nearest the food court. My parents offered to take us to the movies. Marisa and I made excuses, not wanting to waste our last two hours of Plague-solving inside a theater.
Not that our excuses mattered. As we headed into the mall, a mob of terrified shoppers raced out.
My father opened the door as a young woman stumbled past. “Miss, what’s the matter?”
She screamed, “M-monsters! Run for your lives!” Then she sprinted into the parking lot, followed by dozens of others.
I looked at Marisa. “This could be it! Come on!”
We bolted inside. My mom screamed for us to stop, but we kept running. I felt bad about disobeying, but I had a hunch that Mom would understand if she knew the future of our city depended on it.
We fought through the panicked crowd. A shadow passed over me, and suddenly I was knocked to the floor.
“Look!” yelled Marisa.
I followed her gaze upward and was shocked to see a full-sized pterodactyl, one of the great winged creatures of the Mesozoic age, swoop into the crowd. Its leathery wings were extended to their full width, and its beak-like mouth and sharp teeth were filled with buttery popcorn. The creature landed on one of the tables in the food court, its sharp talons scraping for a foothold.
Further back, in the main concourse of the mall, I could see another pterodactyl roosting on a bench, its open mouth emitting a terrible Caw! Caw! as shoppers rushed past.
I looked for Marisa and found her talking with a large, bearded man who was dressed for a safari. He had an enormous head, bushy eyebrows, and black hair that was plastered down over his huge forehead. “Marisa, what are you doing?”
She turned. “Billy, this is Professor Challenger, one of the explorers in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World.” I had heard of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – he was the creator of Sherlock Holmes. I never knew that he’d written a book about dinosaurs.
“Pleased to meet you, young man,” said Challenger. “It appears that I’ve misplaced the rest of my party: Edward Malone, Lord Roxton, and that insufferable idiot, Professor Summerlee.” Challenger acted like this was all a Sunday picnic.
“Look, Professor, I hate to interrupt,” I shouted, “but we have a situation here!” I gestured at the pterodactyl circling above us. “We’ve got to get that...that bird away from these people.”
“Well, yes, quite so, young man,” Challenger snorted. “And how do you propose we do that?”
Marisa answered. “I have an idea. Follow me!”
Challenger and I sprinted to keep up with her. She weaved through the crowd, heading for the concession stand at the theater. Once there, she dipped three large sized boxes into the popcorn machine, filling them with the buttery treat.
“That pterodactyl has a taste for popcorn, so let’s use it to our advantage,” she said, handing the professor and me one box each. “Come on, we’ll lead them toward the front doors.”
Glancing back, I saw that panicked shoppers had bottlenecked the rear exit. If we could get the pterodactyls to follow us to the front, it would give folks a better chance to escape.
“Okay, you ugly thing,” I shouted at the bird. “Come and get it!” I threw my box of popcorn, bouncing it off the creature’s head. It whirled toward me, and dived in my direction. “Let’s go!” I yelled, racing for the center court.
Marisa, Challenger and I skidded around the corner, heading east toward Kmart, when the second pterodactyl joined the pursuit. Marisa hurled one of her popcorn boxes in its direction. The creature gulped it down greedily and lunged after us, hungry for more.
We had just passed Radio Shack when I heard a tremendous roar ahead. Challenger swept both of us behind him protectively. “A carnivorous dinosaur!” he exclaimed.
I peeked around his back in time to see a Tyrannosaurus rex stomping toward us. The creature’s tail sent a line of vending machines crashing against one of the walls, spewing gumballs and trinkets in all directions.
“Now what?” I screamed.
“I believe the young lady’s plan is still sound,” said Challenger. “We must proceed to the exit.”
The tyrannosaur reached us at the same time as the two pterodactyls. The winged creatures attacked the T-Rex, who turned his attention from us to deal with this new threat.
“Run!” yelled Challenger, and we ducked beneath the tyrannosaur’s legs and dashed to our left, heading for the doors. Unfortunately, the creatures spotted us and quit fighting to follow the smell of buttery movie popcorn.
We threw open the doors and raced for the parking lot. Behind us, the tyrannosaur smashed through the glass entrance and emerged on the sidewalk, roaring. The two pterodactyls followed him.
Believe it or not, things were about to get worse.
“What in the name of Copernicus is that?” shouted Challenger, dropping his box of popcorn.
Out on West State Street, making its way toward us, was a gigantic metallic machine, shaped like a steel octopus. It towered over the Carnation Mall sign, then crushed it with one Teflon tendril.
“That’s a Martian war machine,” whispered Marisa, “straight out of The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells.”
Behind us, the T-rex roared and advanced. Ahead of us, the Martian machine smashed its way through the parking lot, attracted by the noise of the dinosaurs.
And we were caught in the middle.
To Be Continued
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