Crisis Zero (10 page)

“W
HAT WERE YOU DOING OUTSIDE WITH ONLY ONE BOOT?”
Ms. Pullman asked as she herded me inside the school. “Are you having problems at home, Carson?”

She unfurled the layers of scarves around her face and there was a look of genuine concern on her face. She really seemed worried about me.

“No, it's nothing like that,” I said, still limping despite being inside the relatively warm school. “It was just a minor bike mishap.”

Ms. Pullman gave me the squinty eye. You know, the
eye of disbelief. Every kid who had ever told a lie to a teacher or parent had probably seen it before. She had a good one. It cut my lie to pieces like a samurai.

“Must have been some mishap,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said, not really knowing what else to say.

“Why are you at school this early?” she asked. “You know students aren't allowed inside for another twenty minutes. It's dangerous, Carson, to be outside for that long on a day like today.”

“My alarm clock must be broken?” I said, disappointed at my own effort.

“Okay,” she said, likely pretty cold and tired herself by that time. “Let's just get you to the nurse's office.”

Ms. Pullman walked me there. The school nurse, Mr. Looper, still had his coat on when we arrived.

“An injury already?” he said, taking it off and hanging it up in a small closet. “I knew the kids wouldn't fare well in the weather today.”

“Carson, you better hope I don't find out that you were up to no good,” Ms. Pullman said from the doorway. “I don't think we'd recover from another breach of trust.”

Then she left without waiting for an answer. Not that I had one for her anyway.

“Wow, sounds like you might be in trouble,” Mr. Looper said.

I shrugged. “I just lost my boot.”

“Let's have a look,” he said, and patted the padded table. I hopped up and took a seat, extending my foot up toward him. “Oh no, that's going to have to come off,” he said, frowning.

“What?” I gasped. Was it really that bad? How was that possible? I'd only been outside without a boot for like five minutes. Ten maximum. Could my foot really have frozen that badly that quickly?

“The sock, I mean,” Mr. Looper said. “That sock needs to come off.”

He carefully peeled off my crunchy, icy sock as I sighed in relief. My bare foot was red and pink and turning white in places as it adjusted to the heat. Some feeling was starting to return to it, which meant the pain was as well.

Mr. Looper grabbed the top of my foot and I winced.

“Well?” I asked nervously. “Is it frostbitten?”

“No, no, you'll be fine,” he said. “You got lucky to catch Ms. Pullman and get inside when you did, though.”

I breathed out another sigh of relief. The truth was, he didn't even know how lucky I'd gotten. I'd almost just
been squashed like a bug under a huge shovel. I envisioned them carting what was left of me into Mr. Looper's office inside a few buckets. How would he have handled that?

The thought forced out a quick laugh that I tried to cover with my hands, but it was too late.

He gave me a look.

“Sorry, I just now realized how lucky I really am,” I said.

“Yeah, whatever you say.” He looked at me as if debating whether or not to refer me to the school psychologist. “Do you have different shoes to wear today?”

I nodded, patting my backpack where my regular shoes were stashed. Some kids opted to just wear snow boots around all day during the winter. But I was in the camp of bringing different shoes and changing at the start and end of each day. Who wanted to clomp around indoors in those things?

“Okay, I'll see if I have a dry, warm pair of loaner socks for you,” he said, turning to root around inside his supply desk.

I didn't particularly like the sound of “loaner socks” but had to admit that the thought of something warm and dry on my cold, aching foot sounded better than nothing.

“Here we go.” He held out a pair of mostly clean-looking black socks.

“Thanks,” I said, reaching for them.

“They're clean,” he assured me.

I nodded and put them on. Already my foot was feeling better. I put on my sneakers.

“All right, you're good to go, Carson,” he said, opening the door for me. “Try to bring those socks back by the end of the week if you can.”

“Okay, thanks, Mr. Looper,” I said, wrapping my lone boot in a plastic grocery bag and then stowing it inside my backpack.

I left the nurse's office and then started toward my locker through the empty hallways. There was still another five minutes before the school doors would technically be open. Which is what made it so weird to see another kid sneaking around a corner in front of me.

A kid in a black hoodie.

T
HE KID IN THE HOODIE STILL HADN'T SPOTTED ME AS FAR AS I
could tell.

I crouched and waited, allowing some distance to develop between us. He was also down low, moving cautiously forward, cradling something in the front pouch of his sweatshirt. He got to a junction in the hallway ahead and looked around. I quickly ducked into the doorway alcove of a classroom.

After waiting a few seconds, I tiptoed after him. He wasn't getting away this time. I was going to find out who
he was and what he was up to. Was it Junior? It had to be. The figure was certainly too big to be Ophelia, that was for sure.

As I followed him through the deserted school hallways, it didn't take long for me to figure out that he was headed toward Agent Blue's classroom. Even still, I didn't give up my position just yet. I didn't want to jump the gun—I had to catch him in the act, just to be sure.

He stopped at the closed and locked door to Agent Blue's classroom. Most of the teachers were probably already at school, but since Agent Blue had a substitute, his classroom was still dark. Substitutes typically didn't show up any earlier than they needed to.

I wondered briefly how he planned to break in. But it turned out he didn't have to break in at all. He pulled a key ring out of his hoodie pocket and inserted a key in the lock. When he slipped inside the classroom, that's when I made my move. I darted toward the door as it slowly swung closed. I slid feetfirst across the slick, freshly cleaned floor and just was able to jam a foot inside the doorway before it clicked shut.

I stood up and quickly slipped inside the room myself.

The figure spun around. It was Junior. He was standing near Agent Blue's desk, holding a bottle of Jack
Daniel's whiskey. What was he doing? Trying to plant the bottle on Agent Blue and get him fired? With me blocking the doorway, he was now cornered.

Panic spread across his face.

“Gotcha,” I said and then immediately felt stupid for not being able to come up with something cooler to say. Maybe something like, “Who's your daddy now, Junior?” But, no, that sounded even lamer and kind of creepy. Maybe “gotcha” wasn't so bad after all.

But it didn't matter either way. Because it turned out there was a lot more to apprehending someone than merely cornering him in a classroom and saying something stupid.

Junior reared back and threw the bottle of booze at my head. I dived out of the way as the bottle crashed into the door and smashed to pieces, spraying shards of glass and whiskey everywhere.

I stood up and recovered, shaking the glass off me, just in time to see Junior charging me, his face contorted into panicked determination. He slammed into me and I went sprawling backward, crashing into the door and then slumping down onto the whiskey- and glass-covered floor.

Junior pulled open the door as I slid across the floor,
still dazed from my head connecting with the hard wood. Then he slipped out into the hallway and was gone, just like that.

But, like I said before, there was no way I was going to let him get away this time.

I sprang to my feet, ignoring the cuts on my knees from the shattered bottle and the throbbing knot already developing on the back of my skull and the strong reek of whiskey that followed me. I'd obviously never tasted whiskey before, but if it tasted even ten times better than it smelled, I'd have no idea why anybody would ever want to drink it.

After collecting my bearings, I burst into the hallway. Several kids nearby stared in shock, not at me but at Junior, who was sprinting down the hall away from where they stood.

The school doors were open and the building was starting to fill up with students, which made running after Junior something of an obstacle course. I spun and wove my way through the startled crowds, keeping my eye on the streak of black hoodie twenty or thirty feet in front of me. I didn't have time to stop and try to explain why I smelled like everyone's favorite drunk uncle.

Junior fled into the gym.

I followed.

We both wove around the orange cones the gym teacher was setting up for first-period basketball drills.

“Hey,” was all he managed to say as we ran past him.

Junior was losing ground and he knew it. His pace became more frantic as he headed out the side door and into the empty boys' locker room. He leaped over a row of benches and darted behind a wall of lockers.

I followed. Or, I tried to. I tripped over the edge of the bench, slammed into a nearby locker, and dented the door. But I was able to recover quickly and only lost a few steps as I followed him through the side exit and into the backstage area of the school stage, which was at one end of the gym.

It was almost total darkness since the thick velvet curtain was closed.

I heard a crash ahead of me as Junior tripped over the set of whatever play was currently in rehearsals. I pulled out my phone and switched on the flashlight.

Junior was sprawled out, draped across a row of fake bushes. He tried to get up, but flopped onto the floor instead. I dived on top of him, pinning his arms down, using all of my weight. He was pretty lanky and had no chance to throw me off as he struggled wildly.

“It wasn't my idea,” he finally said, “I swear!”

“I know, Junior,” I said. “I know. And I'll let you go. Just tell me where he is and what he's planning.”

“Who?” he asked as he finally stopped struggling.

“Don't play dumb,” I said. “Mule Medlock.”

“The milk guy?” he asked, confusion flooding his eyes, erasing the panic.

Mule Medlock had first come to our town under the guise of the owner of a custom milk bar. It had been pretty popular until it closed down. Of course, I knew the real reason it closed down was because I'd managed to foil his plans and drive him into hiding. But that's a whole other story.

“Come on,” I said. “Spill it. Medlock. What's he planning? And why did he recruit you?”

“Seriously, Carson,” he said. “I'm just doing this for the money. I got paid fifty bucks to put the booze in Mr. Jensen's desk. That's all I know. I just needed the cash.”

“And what you did to Agent Nine—I mean, the other Mr. Jensen's music office? What was that all about?”

“Same thing,” he said, his eyes wide with genuine fear. “I was paid to go in and mess the place up a bit. That's all.”

“Who paid you?” I asked.

“I can't”—he shook his head—“I can't tell you.”

I lifted and then slammed his shoulders onto the stage, putting more pressure on them. I felt bad for a moment as he cried out in pain, but then reminded myself that he was working for a known terrorist.

“Tell me,” I demanded.

Junior started crying. Tears streamed down his red cheeks as he panted, struggling for breath.

“Don't you know?” he said. “You have to know. You of all people . . .”

I let up on him slightly.
I have to know?
What did that mean? But Junior took advantage of my momentary lapse in restraint and thrust a knee right into my ribs.

It felt like someone had just jammed a broom handle directly in between two of my rib bones and then rattled it around for good measure. I grunted and rolled to the floor, writhing in pain. It hurt even more to do that, so instead I just tried to lie still for a moment. The pain was so sharp it sucked all the breath from my lungs. Which was just fine since it hurt to even breathe.

Junior had gotten to his feet and was running toward the pale green exit sign at the other side of the stage. But I couldn't run after him. I couldn't even move. I thought for a moment that he might have broken one of my ribs.
That I might never be able to move again. But then, slowly, the pain began to subside. Kind of. Enough for me to move again, at least.

I rolled over to my hands and knees; the pain was still immense, but not nearly as bad as it had been just a few seconds before, and it was fading more with each second. I took a deep breath and then stood up.

The faint glow of my cell phone caught my eye a few feet away. I picked it up and shoved it into my pocket before jogging out the same exit Junior had used, down a short flight of stairs, through another door, and out into the school hallway. It was fully packed with kids now. The buses had just arrived, which meant homeroom started in a matter of minutes. Junior had gotten away.

But, given everything he'd said, I was starting to wonder if he was really the guy I was after anyway.

A
T LUNCH THAT DAY, I GRABBED DANIELLE AND WE RAN DOWN
to the shed by the swallow nest hill. I wished I could have told someone sooner about my encounter with Junior, but I hadn't had a chance. I was already on thin ice with Ms. Pullman after this morning; ditching class would likely earn me a suspension at the very least.

We didn't even bother trying to make up a story for Dillon. He was going to be curious about our no-show at the lunch table, especially after me ditching on him earlier that morning, but we could worry about that later.
We had an enemy spy to deal with.

A few minutes later, Agent Smiley arrived. She didn't invite us down; she merely crossed her arms and waited for our status report with that same grim expression that she always had on her face.

I told both her and Danielle about everything that had happened to me that morning. Investigating the dig site and almost getting killed. Seeing Junior trying to plant booze in Agent Blue's desk. Catching him and getting him to admit that he was paid to do it, but he wouldn't tell me by who. I even included the odd comment he'd made about how I should know, of all people.

Agent Smiley's face never changed. She merely listened, and blinked every once in a while. Then, at the end, she uncrossed her arms and gave a nod, which I'd come to realize was as close to a smile or compliment that Agent Smiley would ever give me.

“It seems our suspicions were right about the parking lot project,” she said. “You two keep a low profile for now. We'll take care of Junior. Check back here after school—Director Isadoris has another special assignment for you both.”

“What do you mean you'll
take care
of Junior?” I
asked, remembering from several movies that that was often slang for whacking somebody. “You're not going to . . .” I couldn't bring myself to finish.

“We'll handle the situation,” Agent Smiley said. “It's no longer any of your concern.”

“Yeah, but—” I started, but Danielle stopped me.

“She said she'd take care of it, Carson,” she said, pulling at my sleeve.

I glanced at my friend. I knew her well enough to know that look she was giving me.

Drop it.

And so I did. I nodded at Agent Smiley. She said nothing else and simply turned and disappeared into the darkness of the shed, leaving behind just her last exhale swirling in the cold air. Danielle and I trudged over the frozen ground back up toward the school.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I'm with you, Carson,” Danielle explained. “I didn't like the sound of that either. But I think we need to let them handle this. The whole thing is starting to make me uneasy.”

“Starting to?” I said.

She laughed, and then we both fell silent for a few
moments. I shivered. It was a little warmer than it was this morning, but it was still stupidly cold outside that day.

“What do you think our special assignment will be?” she asked.

“I have no idea. I just hope it doesn't involve me sneaking around the school and breaking into classrooms again. I have a feeling that if I get caught one more time, I'm never going to be allowed back in school again.”

“Don't get your hopes up,” Danielle said.

“Right?” I said, smirking.

Except that I definitely wouldn't have been smirking had I known just how accurate her words (and my suspicions) actually were.