Hurriedly, Amber raced to the helicopter and jumped in just as the doors closed.
She leapt up on the dashboard and looked out through the tinted bubble of the cockpit to watch Lady Blackpool. Even before the helicopter lifted from the ground, a red-tailed hawk came sweeping out of the sky. It swooped low to the ground, and Lady Blackpool leapt onto its back without the hawk even stopping. Soon Lady Blackpool was borne away, her army of birds flitting along behind as silently as ghosts.
Chapter 16
MUTAGENIC MIRACLES
All that is required for good to triumph over evil is for evil flies to do nothing!
—BELLE Z. BUG
The sun was dropping rapidly at the landfill, descending into a haze of red that lined the western hills. The day was nearing its end.
Belle Z. Bug watched it with her ten thousand eyes, and her heart felt heavy. Trouble was brewing, she knew. The humans had stopped bringing their tribute of garbage again. That meant that an attack was imminent.
Somehow the knowledge buoyed her spirits and gave her a little thrill.
But what the humans might try next Belle couldn’t quite guess.
The humans were at a disadvantage. Her flies were everywhere, descending upon the streets of Los Angeles. The news crews were catching it all, sending it over dozens of television channels. Belle could see the images in her mind.
People had begun looting in the merchant districts, and fires roared out of control all across the countryside. She saw images of police officers playing chicken with each other on the freeways.
“Kill the flies!” the reporters were warning on some channels. “The flies are making us do it!”
But other reporters were laughing maniacally and yelling into the cameras, “Save the flies. Flies are our friends!”
Amid such chaos, Belle didn’t see how the humans could put together any kind of organized response to her takeover. Even now, her flies were sweeping across the country, through every state and region. Within the hour, she anticipated that the entire continent of North America would be groveling at her feet.
Well, let them grovel,
she thought.
She put a smile on her face and turned to address her adoring fans. Trillions of flies had gathered, and their buzzing filled the air, as constant as the beating of her hearts.
“Are you feeling tired?” she called to them. “Do you need a little lift to get airborne? Then you should try one of my latest products . . .” She waved toward a nearby container of waste from a nuclear reactor. “I call it Atomic Sludge Fudge. One gulp in the morning and you’ll have endless energy all day! There’s no power like
nuclear
power!”
The flies cheered the news and buzzed approvingly. Belle strode along the prow of her little boat, raising her arms to encourage the cheers.
Now was the moment that she had been waiting for all day. She had been having her research and development team working with various toxic chemicals, mixing them in containers of discarded hair gel. Now she had developed a formula that was just what she needed to keep the humans off balance in the coming battle.
“And for our latest development,” she said, “I’ve got a special treat for our double platinum members! Today only you’re invited to come forward and get a dose of Mutagenic Miracle Grow, made from only the finest-quality mutagens. One dose and you’ll get
big
results!”
A tiny whitefly stepped forward, beaming proudly. It had the full treatment of Belle’s products—from the fly-liner to carapace color. He was indeed a truly beautiful little whitefly, with sparkling eyes and a perfect complexion.
Belle Z. Bug strode forward with an eyedropper and squeezed out a single droplet of gray-green ooze. It splattered on the fly, and for a moment the tiny thing looked as if it would drown.
Suddenly it began to grow, and grow, and grow—until soon he was a strapping monster of a fly, all glistening white and larger than a hound.
There were gasps of excitement among the crowd. “Look,” someone shouted, “an abominable snow fly!”
“Now,” Belle said gleefully, “if a single drop can do this for a little whitefly, imagine what it can do for a horsefly. Imagine what it could do . . . for
you!
”
The flies began to cheer wildly, and they surged forward to get a dose of Mutagenic Miracle Grow.
Belle smiled secretively. Now if the humans attacked, they’d find a foe worthy of battle.
Chapter 17
THE TROJAN GARBAGE TRUCK
It is only when we are faced by the most troubling times that we discover who our true friends are!
— LADY BLACKPOOL
Governor Harold Shortzenbeggar slung a rocket launcher over his back, shoved a pair of miniature machine guns into his boots, and hefted his .55 machine gun.
All around him, CIA sharpshooters stood with cans of fly spray poised, squirting any fly that dared get too close. The governor was making his final preparations for his assault on the state’s largest landfill. The smell of fly spray filled the air in a toxic cloud, much like the odor of a Los Angeles freeway.
His iPod was blaring into his ears one of his favorite songs from the band Throat Kultcher:
I am the Trashman,
And I’m takin’ you out tonight!
I’m wagin’ war against human garbage,
And my guns are blazing bright!
He punched the FORWARD button on his iPod and instantly brought up the familiar strains of Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust.”
He smiled in satisfaction. It was the perfect music to launch an assault with.
“The first rule of battle,” he explained to one of the CIA agents, “is that you should always go into it with the proper inspirational music!”
The governor was standing beside an enormous dump truck. Technicians in the back were setting the timer on the Big Bug Bomb. The governor took some comfort in the knowledge that even if he didn’t make it out of the battle alive, the bomb would detonate, and the casualties among the flies would be devastating.
Once the technicians were done, they grabbed some shovels and covered the bomb with garbage, a tempting mix of horse manure and an assortment of foods one would find at a picnic—potato salad, watermelon, black olives, and the greasiest fried chicken west of the Rockies.
The agents heaped the truck high with garbage and then topped the entire mess off with a maraschino cherry.
The governor was just getting ready to hop into the truck when he spotted a helicopter drawing near.
He waited for it to land and watched as the Ravenspell family leapt out.
“Good to see you,” Governor Shortzenbeggar said to the family. “I’m just getting ready for our assault on the landfill. Care to join me?”
“Uh, no thanks,” Butch Ravenspell said, nervously eyeing the rocket launcher and various machine guns.
“Oh, come on,” the governor begged. “They’re just flies. I could really use your help.” He smiled down at Amber and Ben, who had poked their heads out of Mona’s pocket.
“I’m sorry,” Amber apologized, “but I’m afraid that I won’t be able to come. I’ve used up all of my magic and can’t cast a spell yet for two more days.”
“Oh, what a shame,” the governor said. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to have all the fun blowing them up.” He tossed a grenade launcher on the seat inside the truck and then started to climb in.
“Are you sure all of that is really necessary?” Butch Ravenspell asked. “I mean, why not just wait for a cold spell so that the flies die off?”
“This is a magical fly,” Amber said. “She’ll find some way to protect herself, making her live longer.”
“Yeah,” Governor Shortzenbeggar said. “Besides, Los Angeles doesn’t have cold spells. Lucky for me, I’ve got guns.”
He turned the key in the ignition and began pumping his foot to give the truck some gas.
“Wait a minute,” Amber shouted. “Maybe . . . I guess maybe I should come.”
“You can’t!” Ben objected. “You could
die
if you cast a spell.”
There was a hissing noise as a couple of CIA agents zapped some infiltrators with fly spray.
“Well, it’s been a whole day since I cast a spell,” Amber said. “I’m thinking maybe I could just cast a really tiny spell—and only if I have to.”
Ben shot back, “We should ask Lady Blackpool.”
“Who’s she?” Governor Shortzenbeggar said.
“She’s a friend,” Amber explained. “She’s a shrew with magic powers—and she’s coming with an army of birds that can eat the flies. Maybe Ben’s right; maybe we should wait for her!”
The governor bent his head in thought. “Hmmm . . . a green solution to the problem. I kind of like the idea. On the other hand, the longer we wait, the more things will go wrong. Right now there is rioting in the streets. I’m afraid that if we wait even for five minutes, the whole state could go down the toilet.”
Amber gave him a long look, and her little ears seemed to droop. “Okay,” she said. “I guess I’ll come with you!”
“Yay!” the governor said. “We are going to have such fun!”
He scooped up Amber and Ben in his hand and set them on the dashboard of the truck so that they could see.
“Wait a minute!” Mona Ravenspell shouted. “You’re not going without me!”
“Okay,” the governor said, “what kind of weapon would you like: automatic shotgun, or maybe a bazooka?”
“Just give me a flyswatter,” Mona said. “I’ve lived in a dump all my life, and I can swing a flyswatter like a ninja master!”
A CIA agent handed her a pair of flyswatters, one for each hand.
Mona jumped into the front seat and asked, “What’s the plan?”
The governor glanced down, trying to figure out how to work the gears on the truck. “You ever hear of the Trojan horse? Back in ancient times, the Achaeans were trying to take over the city of Troy. They couldn’t break down the walls, so they built a big, hollow horse out of wood, and shoved it up to the city gates, pretending it was a gift. When night came, some warriors hidden inside the horse crept out and opened the city gates, letting in an army.
“My plan is something like that . . . except that I’m using a garbage truck instead of a horse. And instead of warriors, I’m going to sneak in a bomb.”
The governor slammed and locked his door, started up the truck, honked the horn twice so that everyone would get out of his way, then floored the gas and went roaring off into battle.
“I’m sorry that I don’t have iPods for everyone,” he said. So he cranked the truck’s radio up to full power. He found a classical station, one that was playing Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.”
The road ahead was four lanes wide; it wound through some hills where the dead vegetation had turned brown. The governor shoved the gears up a notch and hit eighty miles per hour. He wanted plenty of speed, just in case the flies had set up a roadblock.
The sky overhead was red, and the sun slanted in from the west. The whole sky looked as if it glowed from distant fires. In another hour it would be dark.
He knew that he was getting close to the dump when the flies appeared. They began smashing against the windshield like a grisly rain. The skies overhead suddenly grew dark as a cloud of flies rose from the dump.
Harold Shortzenbeggar blew the horn on his big rig. “Come to Papa!” he shouted in greeting.
He grabbed the truck’s radio and called in. “This is Little Bo Peep, over.”
“We read you loud and clear, Little Bo Peep,” a voice shot back over the radio.
“I’m at the gates of the wasteland. A cloud of sheep is rising above it, but I have not sighted the Lost Sheep. Hold your fire until you get my signal.”
“Roger. We’re locked and loaded and awaiting your signal . . .”
Mona Ravenspell frowned. “What’s going on here?” she asked. “I thought we were going in alone?”
“Oh, we are,” the governor answered. “But I’ve got the air force on standby with a few missiles, just in case we need them . . .”
The cloud of flies was growing thicker. The ugly insects filled the sky like a plague of locusts, blackening the heavens. It was so dark that it felt as if thunder and lightning should fill the skies.
But the only sound was the ominous humming of flies, a sonorous buzz that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Flies were bouncing off the windshield like hail, making a sound like popcorn popping in a pan.
The truck’s automatic headlights flipped on, but so many flies covered the lights that they were almost useless.
A few flies made it up through the air vent, into the cabin of the truck. Mona Ravenspell made quick work of them with her flyswatter, and Ben Ravenspell leapt out and stabbed a huge horsefly with the little needle that he used as a spear. It sat on the needle like some grotesque shish kebab.
“Way to go!” the governor congratulated Ben.
Suddenly Governor Shortzenbeggar gave a cry of horror. Amid the black cloud of flies, something enormous came hurtling toward him—several somethings. He squinted, but could not see them clearly. Too many flies clouded the way.
Then he saw it: a squadron of enormous flies sped toward him, giant flies as big as cows!
“Holy moly!” the governor shouted. He grabbed his radio. “I’ve got bogeys coming in at twelve o’clock, about a dozen of them!”
“Bogeys?” the voice on the radio asked.
“Superflies!” the governor screamed. “They’re as big as buffalo some of them! As big as wild boars. I could use a little help here!”
“The packages are on the way,” the voice assured them.
The superflies buzzed the truck, seven of them winging to the left, six of them zipping to the right. They sped over and around the truck in a blur, moving so fast that it gave the governor a cramp in the neck just trying to look at them.
One fly yelled in an amplified voice, “That’s far enough. Stop the truck and surrender your cargo!”
Oh, great,
the governor thought.
Just what I need—talking giant flies!
The governor gritted his teeth. “Let’s party!” he said, reaching down into his boots and silently pulling a machine gun out of each one.
He hit the brakes, and the truck ground to a halt. Immediately a cloud of flies descended. He peered into the rearview mirror and saw the giant flies land. They began buzzing loudly, giving orders to the lesser flies. These monster flies moved with incredible speed.
He’d seen flies dart about on hot days, moving almost quicker than thought. Well, these flies were doing the same, only they were giants.
Hordes of little worker flies landed on the garbage and began picking up the greasy chicken and watermelon then lugging it through the air. Sometimes thousands of little houseflies clung onto a piece of chicken at once. They worked quickly. Too quickly. In only seconds the superflies had uncovered the bomb.
“Hey, what’s this!” a giant fly demanded. It reached down and tried to pick up the bomb, but it was too heavy and far too large. The bomb, short and squat, filled the entire bed of the truck.
“It’s a trap!” a second fly shouted.
Now was the perfect time to attack.
“You want something to eat?” the governor shouted at the flies. “Try some bullets!”
He whipped out his machine guns and slammed the barrels through the back window. A hail of bullets swept through the bed of the truck, but the superflies were fast—too fast. The governor had tried swatting flies on hot days, and as a child had been amazed at how they could dart off so quickly that they could seem to disappear.
That’s what happened when he opened fire. A dozen of them had been hanging on to the side of the truck, but instantly they leapt into the air and seemed to vanish!
Only two lowly flies took lead in the rain of bullets.
Mona Ravenspell sat there with her flyswatters for a moment, looking at the useless things. “Forget this!” she said, tossing them aside. She grabbed a rocket launcher, pointed it toward the front windshield, and sat fiddling with some buttons and levers.
“Hey,” the governor told her, “I wouldn’t push those if I were—”
Slam! A giant superfly hit the windshield, shattering it into ten thousand pieces. The monster fly hovered menacingly over the hood, glaring into the cab of the truck with its faceted eyes. The fly had a metallic-green body with a golden sheen to its back. A wide reddish brown band, like the mask of a raccoon, ran across its black eyes. The governor couldn’t help but think that it was a rather handsome fly.
“Looks like we’re going to have a little picnic after all,” the superfly said. “And you’re the main course!”
In that instant, Mona Ravenspell accidentally set off the rocket launcher. A rocket blasted out, catching the superfly in the midsection.
“Mother!” it whimpered. The fly hurtled backward, out over the hood, and suddenly exploded in a million pieces.
Tens of thousands of angry flies began to pour through the cab. Ben Ravenspell leapt onto the dashboard with his needle and valiantly began to skewer them like an expert swordsman.
The governor saw a blur in the darkness and realized that the superflies were coming back. He whipped out his machine guns and laid down cover fire, clearing the area above the hood. He was hoping to keep them at bay.
Suddenly he heard the wrenching of metal and looked out the driver’s window of the truck. A giant fly had landed, and it was using all six legs to peel the metal door from its frame.
The governor wheeled, tried to get off a shot, but instantly the fly vanished. The governor glimpsed it flying off—carrying the door with it!
A giant fly hit the back window, and the governor tried to wrench around. He glimpsed another one of the monsters out the front.
“They’re everywhere!” Mona Ravenspell shouted.
“Not for long!” the governor assured her. He began firing both machine guns at once—one through the front window, one out the back.
That’s when he heard the buzz. Something grabbed him through the open door hole, something enormous. A fly ripped the guns from his hands with two arms then tried to yank him from his seat.
Fortunately, he was buckled in.
He grappled with the giant fly, biting it on one of its hairy arms. Mona Ravenspell screamed. The governor glanced down at Amber and tried to yell, “Do something!” But his mouth was full of fly leg.
The monster grabbed him with all six arms and buzzed angrily as it jerked him again. If the governor had been a normal man, the power of the beast would have broken every bone in his body. Fortunately, for one of his movies Governor Shortzenbeggar had been fitted with a skeleton that was made from a titanium alloy.