***
“Out of the proverbial frying pan and into the proverbial fire!” said Professor Challenger, stroking his thick, black beard.
Marisa, Challenger, and I were standing in the parking lot of the mall. Behind us, stepping through the shards of broken glass strewn around the mall entrance, was an enormous Tyrannosaurus rex. A pair of pterodactyls circled above, their leathery wings glinting in the twilight. In front of us, a huge Martian war machine was heading our way. It moved like a daddy longlegs spider, crawling on long metallic legs that projected from a shiny, silver body.
“This is a first,” I said to Marisa. “Two Story Plagues happening at once!”
Just then, a car in the parking lot erupted in flames. The Martian machine had blasted it with a heat ray! The tires melted into the macadam and the windshield shattered from the heat. In seconds, the car was a pile of smoking ashes.
Attracted by the blast, the tyrannosaur rumbled past us, stomping toward the alien. The Martian machine whirled on its axis, drawn to the huge dinosaur roaring beneath it. While both creatures were distracted, we ran back to the mall. The Professor and Marisa reached the doors first. I had almost caught up to them when I started to sneeze. My stupid summer cold had picked a rotten time to show itself!
“Billy, look out!” Marisa cried. I sneezed again, wiping tears from my eyes as a dark shadow passed between the setting sun and me. Something clamped around my waist. I’d been caught in the huge talons of a pterodactyl. The creature lifted me into the air, emitting a horrifying Caw! Caw! as it cleared the roof of the mall.
Great! I thought, first flying monkeys, now a flying leather jacket. What’s next? I soon forgot to be cocky, however, as the creature flapped its wings and turned toward the tyrannosaur and the Martian machine.
The war machine had the dinosaur’s legs wrapped in one of its tendrils, pulling the creature closer. The tyrannosaur used his tail like a whip, smacking it against the legs of the machine, rocking it backward with each slap.
Above all this, the pterodactyl and I circled, spiraling closer and closer. A tendril shot from the Martian machine, wrapping around the pterodactyl. The creature’s talons opened, and I dropped like a stone onto the top of the war machine.
Rolling with the impact, I bounced down the curved exterior of the machine. My left hand caught a corner before I plummeted over the side. And there I dangled, hanging by my fingernails as the silver creature rocked from side to side. I looked down, into the huge mouth of the Tyrannosaurus rex, snapping at my legs.
Carefully, I pulled myself up. Far below, Marisa and Professor Challenger waved. Marisa was yelling something, but I couldn’t hear over the roar of the dinosaur.
The tyrannosaur struck the Martian again, and the jolt almost sent me toppling off my perch. I had to find a way down or a way inside the machine – fast! Another glance convinced me that down wasn’t an option: the Martian machine must have been sixty or seventy feet tall. It was inside or nothing.
I looked for some kind of latch or lever to open the machine. At the very top of the shell was an oddly shaped button, designed for alien hands. I pressed it. A door sprang open, and I ducked inside.
Inside the dimly lit cockpit, I saw three creatures straight out of my worst nightmares. Of course, there is no alien life on Mars, and these were fictional Martians, created by the imagination of H.G. Wells.
But what an imagination he had! The Martians were each the size of a bear, with wet, leathery skin similar to the pterodactyls overhead. They had large dark eyes; their lipless, quivering mouths oozed saliva. They moved slowly, working the controls as if it hurt them to do so. When I dropped in among them, they turned in my direction.
And that’s when I started to sneeze again. And again. And again! The creatures pulled back in horror at the sound, and as I wiped my nose on my forearm they waved their tentacles fearfully.
One of the Martians collapsed onto the floor of the cockpit. Another lurched painfully before he, too, collapsed. The third backed away as far as he could before falling over. All three lay in front of me, unmoving.
Marisa explained later that H.G. Wells’ Martians, while more advanced than humans in other ways, had no protection from simple Earth germs and viruses. My cold had killed them!
At that moment, however, I had no time to celebrate. The cockpit shook again. The entire war machine had almost tipped over from the force of the tyrannosaur’s attack. I stepped over the bodies of the Martians and settled into a seat, staring at the dashboard.
One of the controls was a red joystick with a trigger grip. I pulled back on it, and the laser mounted to the front of the cockpit moved. Aiming the laser at the tyrannosaur below me, I pressed the trigger. The dinosaur disappeared in a burst of red flame, and I could smell something that reminded me of barbecued chicken.
I aimed the cannon straight up, toward the trapped pterodactyl above, and fired a second lethal blast. My third and final shot vaporized the remaining pterodactyl, destroying the last living dinosaur in North America.
It took a few minutes longer, but I learned how to lower the cockpit of the war machine to the ground, where I jumped out. Marisa and Challenger were waiting.
“Good show, young man,” Challenger cried, thumping my back. “I could use this machine in The Lost World, believe me!”
Already, the professor was beginning to blur around the edges. In a few seconds, he was gone, and so were the Martian war machine and the smoking remains of the tyrannosaur and his flying friends. We had cured the last two Story Plagues!
“Billy! Marisa!” My parents were stepping carefully over the glass on the sidewalk, heading toward us.
“What in Heaven’s name is going on here?” my mother asked.
On the way home, Marisa and I told them the whole story. They were skeptical, I could tell. When we got home Marisa showed them the book, and the addition of two more titles to its pages: The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells. Beside both were the final two clues to the identity of our mystery villain: I Love Name Games and I ripped myself in two.
Suddenly, everything clicked. I excused myself and ran for the attic. There, beneath a pile of old toys in a cedar chest, I found the final piece of the puzzle. I smiled, remembering my grandmother and the stories we used to share.
When I returned downstairs, Marisa and my parents were still sitting at the kitchen table, deep in thought.
“Do you believe it yet?” I asked Mom and Dad.
My father looked at me. After a long pause, he said, “I believe you. But it’s already 8:30, and I have no idea who your mystery villain is.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “Because I do.”
To Be Concluded
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