Bringing Down the Mouse (20 page)

Feeling the weight of all two hundred of the dollar bills in one pocket, the “borrowed” iPhone in the other, Charlie doubted that he himself would be sleeping soundly anytime soon.

In less than ten hours, Charlie and the Carnival Killers were going to take on Incredo Land.

WARDEN WALKER WAS FIGHTING
a losing battle. There was simply no way a gaggle of sugar-infused, over-stimulated sixth, seventh, and eighth graders were going to pay attention to a red-faced, bespectacled middle-school principal reading names off a clipboard, while a futuristic air train whiffed along an elevated track, twenty feet above the shiny crown of his rapidly balding head.

“Quiet down!” Walker piped, but his words were lost in a sudden burst of the train's laser cannon, which seemed to crack the very air. “Mrs. Cauldwell's group will include Michael Thompson, Peter Crockett . . .”

Even Charlie had trouble concentrating on the names as Walker droned on from the clipboard; Charlie's gaze, like everyone else's, was drawn to the buglike, glass-and-steel
docking station that served as the entrance to Incredo Land, and the glistening curves of the air train, which was passing directly above Warden Walker as it slid along to the starting point of its circular route around the amusement park.

When Charlie looked past Walker to the bank of turnstiles that led into the wide tunnel piercing the heart of the docking station, an artery pumping brightly clothed tourists into the park at a steady pace, even at eight in the morning on a bright, sunny Thursday, it was obvious that that was exactly what the creators of the park were going for. An enormous, three-dimensional movie come to life. The monorail, the docking station, the turnstiles—you were about to take part in a real live movie, but like with a movie, you had to wade through the previews before you got to the big reveal.

“And lastly,” Walker continued, raising his voice ever louder as the train caterpillared by “we have Ms. Sloan's group. Daniel Gordon, Jake Tucson, Greg Titus, Sam Ashley, Finn Carter, Michael Buster, and Charlie Lewis. Okay, everyone, that's it, so line up behind your proctors and we can enter the park. And no pushing!”

Hearing all their names in a row like that was sobering, and Charlie was awed by how carefully Miranda had planned everything, down to the last detail. Since
the kids would all be separated from one another, each group with a single adult proctor, nobody would be witness to the Carnival Killers as they plied their scheme.
One less level of subterfuge,
Charlie thought to himself. Then he heard Jeremy sigh next to him as the kids started to separate themselves into the three groups to head into the turnstiles.

“Shoot, maybe I can trade with someone,” Jeremy mumbled. “It's not going to be half as fun riding the Space Drop without watching your screaming mug in the seat next to me.”

Charlie was pretty certain nobody from his group was going to trade with Jeremy.

“It will be okay,” he said. “And we've got three days; maybe they'll change up the groups tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but it's still going to suck.”

Jeremy pointed to the row of kids lining up to their right, in front of Mrs. Cauldwell, who was positively beaming in tune to her bright yellow halter top and white skinny jeans. Charlie immediately caught sight of Dylan's hulking form between the simian shapes of his two cackling buddies. Jeremy was in for a long day, but that couldn't be helped.

“Just do your best to stick close to Cauldwell.” Charlie shrugged.

“Thanks, you're a big help,” Jeremy shot back glumly. Maybe he was angry that Charlie didn't seem more sympathetic, or that Charlie hadn't offered to trade with someone himself. Charlie felt truly bad about how he was acting toward his friend, but what else could he do? Charlie tried to think of something else to say, but Jeremy had already moved away, finding a place in his line behind an eighth-grade girl with a long blond ponytail and Hello Kitty purse, and a seventh grader in cargo shorts and a Nagassack athletic T-shirt.

Nothing to be done about it,
Charlie thought to himself. He had to be strong. If Jeremy was back to being angry with him, that was something he'd deal with when this was all over. He did his best to wipe his mind of Jeremy as he strolled into his own line, taking up position right behind Finn and Magic, who were helping Miranda dole out the admission tickets to her group of seven. Then they were headed to the nearest turnstile. Miranda stood to one side as they each moved through, one at a time.

When it was Charlie's turn, she reached forward with a manicured hand and pushed the cool metal bar of the turnstile for him. Her face had become intense, her features narrowing into something truly feral. Leaning close, her breath was like a hiss against his ear.

“Pace yourself. Just picture yourself back in the art
room. Concentrate on what we're here to do. Everything else is a distraction.”

And then she was back to her amiable self, waving Charlie through as she gave Warden Walker, at the head of his own group a few yards away, a cheery smile over the bank of turnstiles.

A moment later, Charlie was moving through the tunnel in lockstep with a veritable mob of Nagassack kids and babbling, bubbling tourists, inching his way into the park by way of Solar Avenue, or as Loopy called it on the cartoon, a little taste of Earth at the gateway to the stars.

•  •  •

Ten feet of shuffling his way through a crowded tunnel beneath the docking station, and then a sudden, instantaneous hundred-year dive forward in time; Solar Avenue was jarring to Charlie's senses. A blast into the future, everything was brightly lit and made out of shiny chrome, steel, and bulbous glass. The sidewalks moved, like at the airport, though most people were walking anyway, in a rush to see as much of the shiny avenue as quickly as possible

The first thing Charlie noticed was the smell. The very air was sweet: a potent blend of cotton candy, chocolate cake, ice cream, even popcorn. Finn might have
cynically pointed out that the scented atmosphere wasn't an accident; every morning before the visitors arrived, the sugar-tinged air was pumped out of vents above a futuristic-looking candy store. But Charlie didn't care how the air was flavored; for this one brief moment, he wanted to experience the place the way it was designed.

Stepping deeper into the circular courtyard that served as the base of Solar Avenue, he tried to take everything in at once. The electronic music that seemed to throb right out of the moving sidewalk below his feet; the wonderfully futuristic-looking storefronts on either side, beginning with the Space Explorer's Outpost, a general store peddling everything from Loopy the Space Mouse umbrellas to state-of-the-art recording equipment; the Lunar Theater, with its half-moon-shaped windows and neon marquee, showing the first Loopy cartoon that started it all, “Loopy Goes to Mars”; the Space Cake Bakery; the extraterrestrial architecture of the Alien Trading Post, from the twisting arch of its gilded laser tower to the saucer-shaped mock spacecraft visible in the open docking port.

It was all perfect, designed to evoke wonder in the adults and to create an attitude of awe in the children. To Charlie, strolling behind Finn and Magic, Miranda a few steps ahead, everything seemed fresh and magical.
It was everything he could have imagined: astronaut ice cream, hot dogs shaped like rocket ships, park employees dressed in shiny futuristic garb.

From the giant, welcoming, green-skinned Martian that stood guard in front of a meteorite store to his left, to the supercooled ice sculpture of astronaut Buzz Aldrin standing outside the rocket-ship hot dog restaurant to his right, all of it represented a look into the future. And Charlie was so swept up in the experience, he didn't realize that Finn, Magic, and the rest had stopped walking until he stumbled right into Greg, nearly knocking them both over. Greg shot him a glare, while Magic laughed and wagged a finger.

“You still haven't mastered the First Rule of the Carnival Killers, have you Charlie? Keep an eye on your surroundings.”

Charlie started to mumble an apology to Greg, when he realized why they had all stopped so abruptly. Ten feet to their right, in an alley next to a brightly lit moon-boot store was the entrance to a striped circus tent.

From Charlie's vantage point it was difficult to tell how big the interior of the tent might be, but from the sounds emanating from inside, it was obviously vast. Bells, whistles, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of carnival barkers, hawking various games of skill
and luck. Charlie's eyes instinctively shifted to the sign above the tent. It was neon and blinking:

Charlie had no doubt what he'd find inside. Miranda gave the team a wink, then sauntered a few feet away, reaching for her cell phone. One by one, the rest of the team moved toward the entrance. In a moment, only Charlie was still standing where they'd started, gathering up the energy to follow them inside. He was just about ready, when a voice from behind took him by surprise.

“Oh, that kind of sucks. Carnival games? You could have stayed home to play carnival games.”

Charlie turned and saw Jeremy sauntering toward him. Jeremy's group was about fifteen feet away, still heading down Solar Avenue toward the park proper.

“You sure you don't want to sneak along with me?” Jeremy continued. “I think Allison Clark would switch groups; she doesn't particularly want Dylan yanking at her ponytail all morning, anyway.”

Charlie didn't know what to say to that, so he just shook his head. Jeremy got a hurt look on his face, and stopped a few feet from Charlie. Then he shrugged.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever, man.”

And then he turned on his heels and was moving back toward his group, his long legs pumping to catch up. Charlie almost ran after him—but again, forced himself to be strong. He turned away, toward the entrance to the midway games. The rest of the Carnival Killers were gone. He tossed one last glance at Miranda and was surprised to see she was no longer on her phone. Instead, she was chatting with a young man wearing what looked to be a clerk's uniform: a tan collared shirt with a name tag on the lapel, and matching tan pants. The guy was obviously a park employee of some sort. He had a scruffy, scraggly halo of spiky brown hair, and an easily visible, mean-looking scar above his lip. He was grinning as Miranda spoke to him, and when she leaned close to say something particularly important, he nodded vigorously, obviously excited, the greasy locks of his hair flipping about.

Charlie wondered who the guy could be. Probably nothing to do with the Carnival Killers, but still, the sight of the two of them made him strangely uneasy.

But before Charlie could run with that thought, Miranda was peering his way. She caught his eyes with her own, and with a determined flick of her head, reminded him where he was supposed to be.

Charlie nodded, took a deep breath, then headed through the entrance to the circus tent.

“WHO THE HECK IS
this kid?”

“He's on fire.”

“It's like he doesn't even look at the plates.”

Charlie's eyes were near slits beneath the wide brim of a Florida Marlins baseball hat as he leaned against the counter, one elbow crooked to support his weight while his other hand casually scooped a gold coin off the burnished wood. It was true, he barely even looked at the plates; his face was completely impassive, his breathing regular and soft, and he let the muscles of his wrist do the rest. It was strange—in real life, the thought that at least a dozen kids were gathered behind him, pointing and gawking and analyzing his every move, would have filled him with anxiety. Especially since about half of
them were girls, varying in age from ten all the way up to seventeen. But at the moment, he felt nothing. He was cool, he was calm, he was totally in control.

Clank.
The coin hit the plate as if it was magnetic, sticking so solidly that he half expected the carny to scoop it up and look at the underside for glue. Instead, the guy, who was in his mid-twenties, dressed in a shiny silver vest, matching suspenders, and a cone-shaped hat that was supposed to look vaguely spacey, just grinned at him and cupped a hand around his lips.