Attack of the Spider Bots (8 page)
The boy â Jack â spoke with a drawl like Scilla but with a little country-western flair. Beamer stood up awkwardly and threw a wobbling pass back to him. “Where'd you get the football, anyway? Steal it?”
“Look here,” he answered with a sudden hard look. “Jack's no thief. I only take what other folks lose or throw away. You wouldn't believe what they toss out â especially the rich folk.”
“What about my wallet, huh?” Beamer asked with a cocky look. “I didn't just âlose' it.”
“Hey, I was gonna pay ya back. In fact, I've got it right here.” He threw what looked like a little ball at Beamer's feet. “Just consider it a little investment.”
Beamer picked up the object and discovered that it was a few dollar bills wrapped around a rock and held together by rubber bands.
That's when Scilla came running out of the station awkwardly carrying a half-torn paper box that bumped against her body. “Whatcha got?” she asked.
“The money he stole from me,” said Beamer, pointing at the boy on the roof as he examined the ball of money, “and one dollar more.”
Scilla turned and shielded her eyes against the bright snow to see him, dropping the box in the process.
“All right,
go long,”
Jack yelled at Beamer, waving the football in the air.
“Wait, I'm â ” Beamer protested as he started to backpedal.
“No, the other way,” Jack yelled. “Come on, I said
long
!”
Beamer ran, slipping and sliding across the snow and ice. Jack heaved the ball in an almost perfect spiral. Beamer stretched out to catch it and fell onto the ice. Amazingly, especially to himself, he still managed to hold on to the ball as he slid on his belly.
Jack leaped off the roof like Peter Pan in a wintry Never-Never Land. “Way to go, what's your face â nice catch!” Jack yelled. He leaped up, cocking his arms like a pro player on TV, or maybe a rooster on Animal Planet.
Scilla ran over to see if Beamer was all right, but he waved her off. “My name is not what's your face,” Beamer grumbled after he spit out a mouth full of snow. “It's Beamer, Beamer MacIntyre.”
“Okay, Beamer,” Jack said agreeably. But then he stopped to think about it. “You sure it's Beamer? I've never heard of anythin' besides a car called a Beamer.”
“I am not âa Beamer,' just Beamer, and I've never heard of anybody who lived in a trolley car either,” Beamer threw back at him.
“Hey, it beats being locked up in some government joint. Here I've got my freedom and a pretty cool playground. Now tell the little guy next to you to go out for a pass.”
“I'm not a guy!” Scilla said in a huff as she whipped off her stocking cap to reveal her dark blonde ponytail. “The name's Scilla.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Jack with a grimace. “Here, kid . . . uh . . . Beamer. Hit me over middle.” He was just starting to run when Scilla cut in front of him.
“Hey, what do y'all think you're doing?” she shouted at Jack. “Just because I'm a girl, doesn't mean I can't play football. Come on, Beamer, I'm gonna cut right.” She ran about ten strides and then cut right. Beamer lofted the ball but it wobbled away behind her.
“Whoa there, Beamer,” Jack said as he ran to scoop up the ball. “Your passing technique's strictly in the toilet. Here, let me show ya,” he said as he walked toward Beamer, tossing the ball up and down several times.
He worked like a coach showing Beamer the way to hold the ball, until Beamer's passes started losing their wobble. Surprisingly enough, they all started having fun, catching and passing or trying to block or intercept. They plopped and skidded, getting face-fulls of snow and throwing alley-oop passes over the trolley cars. By the time the sun was low in the sky, they were so caked in snow they could have passed for gingerbread cookies â iced.
“Hey, we gotta get goin',” Scilla finally said. “My grandma doesn't even know where I am. If she start's worrying, I could be in big doo-doo.”
“Me too,” chimed in Beamer.
Jack looked disappointed, and his eyes started moving like he was thinking up something. “Well, y'all are about the worst football players I've ever seen,” he finally said with his rooster laugh, “but I can work you into shape. When y'all comin' back?”
They looked at each other and shrugged almost at the same time. “I don't know,” Beamer mumbled. “We're not supposed to be here at all.” After an awkward silence, he shrugged again and said, “We'll see what we can do. Where can we find you?”
“Nice try, Beamer,” Jack said with a smirk. “I'll find y'all, but only if y'all are alone.”
That night Beamer had to face some heavy-duty interrogation. Luckily his parents weren't into thumb-screws and electric shocks. When the questioning was over, it was torture enough that they forced him to clean up his room. Brushing the dust off his wall-length Lego monorail system took him a whole hour! “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” they'd always say, as if it was in the Bible or something. Frankly, as far as Beamer was concerned, cleanliness was way overrated. Nobody ever had to sweep the forest floor or dust the rocks on a mountain.
Well, the Star-Fighters did have to dust the instrument panels in the tree ship from time to time. Otherwise, they couldn't read them. But that was a definite exception. In fact, it was while they were polishing things up a few days later that the crew got their first airmail delivery. Beamer heard it bang off the side of the tree ship.
Beamer ran out the door and picked it up off the outside platform. It was another wad of paper wrapped around a rock with rubber bands. “Hey, Jack!” he yelled down toward the ground. “Are you down there?”
“Nope, jus' me,” yelled Beamer's little brother. “Who's Jack? Anyway, some man in a fancy suit delivered this to the house a few minutes ago. Dad asked me to give it to you, and this seemed the fastest way to do it.”
“Thanks a lot, bubble brain,” Beamer grumbled. “I can hardly read this wrinkled wad of trash. At least try using a Frisbee next time.” Beamer smoothed the paper out enough to read the typed message beneath an elegant letterhead. “Hey guys,” he yelled to the others inside. “You won't believe this!”
Seconds later, Ghoulie and Scilla crowded up next to him over the message. Beamer read it out loud: “Mr. Parker requests the presence of the Star-Fighters at his home at #2455 Colonial Street this coming Saturday at 2:00. Please be mindful of Mr. Parker's condition and prepare to act with respect and the utmost courtesy.” Beamer folded up the message neatly.
They looked at each other in amazement. Finally Scilla said, “Judgin' from the last sentence, I'd say it was Mrs. Drummond who wrote it, and she's not overjoyed with the idea.”
“Well, at least she gave us a code number to input at the gate,” said Ghoulie.
On Saturday, the Star-Fighters appeared at 2:00 sharp and were dressed just as sharply. Scilla even wore a dress. Beamer and Ghoulie almost didn't recognize her. She couldn't stop wiggling and pulling the hem down to cover her spindly legs.
Ghoulie's mom drove them to the gate and flooded them with a thousand dos and don'ts. You'd have thought they were going to the White House. Ghoulie plugged in the code, and the gate opened obediently, though with a lot of grating and squealing. They waved good-bye to Ghoulie's mom as the gate closed behind them, and they turned to walk up the lonely, broken driveway.
Mrs. Drummond met them at the door, her face as dark as a storm cloud. “Follow me,” she said like a drill sergeant, “and keep your hands to yourself.” Scilla saw Beamer open his mouth to speak. “And no talking,” she added. His mouth snapped shut.
The house was the closest thing to a palace Scilla had ever seen. The entry room was as big as a hotel lobby. Grand doorways bordered by columns led to rooms on either side of the large room. Mrs. Drummond led them straight ahead, beneath a double staircase that circled from either side of the entry room to a second-story entry above. Everything was polished and gleaming, but the house still seemed dark and old â as in Dark Ages old. Scilla looked around for a suit of armor â one with moving eyes and a sword ready to lop off somebody's head.
As they walked down the wide hallway, Scilla sensed something familiar about the house. It took her awhile, since she'd never been in a house this grand, but then it hit her. The furniture, curtains, decorations, the figurines, and pictures were like what you'd find in any older woman's house â and Scilla had been with her grandmother to many such homes. As they moved toward the back of the house, Scilla looked into one room after another. There were no big chairs, no heavy cabinets or tables, but lots of glass cabinets filled with delicate figurines. But this was supposed to be a man's house â Mr. Parker's house!
Mrs. Drummond took them up a narrow flight of stairs at the back of the house. Upstairs was a whole different world. Here were long carved tables, huge stuffed chairs and sofas, large grandfather clocks, and heavy carved bookcases. Here was a man's world â but a much-abandoned man's world. Nothing was out of place, but the dust on the floor, rugs, and furniture was as thick as turkey gravy. Windows were so covered with grime, you couldn't even see out. Even worse were the spiderwebs. They were in the corners of every door and entryway, winding through and around the furniture like superhighways. Strangely, the webs were the brightest objects in the rooms. Their delicate designs provided the only thing close to beauty among the ruins.
Mrs. Drummond finally stopped before a large set of heavily carved double-doors. She turned back to the Star-Fighters with a dour look. “I am going to open these doors, but you are not to step into the room. Nor are you to utter a single word. Do you understand?” She waited until they had all nodded their heads before she turned and opened the doors.
The room behind the doors was the largest Scilla had ever seen outside of a movie. It was also brighter than the other rooms. That was because the curved wall on the far side of the room was lined with tall, arched windows. Once upon a time this might have been a beautiful ballroom, like in
Beauty
and the Beast
. But that mood was ruined by the large ghostly objects which were spread about the room like mountainous islands in a sea of marble. You couldn't tell what they were because they were covered with milky plastic sheets, which is why they all looked so ghostly.
Scilla almost missed seeing the object next to the windows. At first it looked like a small square on wheels, but as Scilla's eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that it was a white-haired man in a wheelchair.
“That is Mr. Parker,” the woman said. “He has spent his days in that same place, looking out those same windows, for nearly fifty years.” Mrs. Drummond took a deep breath. Now, if you will follow me quietly, I will introduce you to him. No running around, shouting, or screaming, or I will pull you out of here by your ears. Is that understood?” she added through clenched teeth and in a voice as harsh as gravel. She glared at them as if hoping they would give her an excuse to throw them out right then. The kids, however, nodded sheepishly, their lips tightly sealed.
The covered objects loomed over them as she wove a path through the room. Making them look even more ominous was the network of cobwebs that connected them. Scilla could almost feel her skin crawl when she ducked beneath a web and stood back up to see a huge object with long arms (or claws or pinchers) that stretched over her head. She clamped her eyes closed, expecting to be snatched up and cut in two. That's when she bumped into Ghoulie who yelped in fright. Mrs. Drummond wheeled around so quickly they felt a gust of wind. “What was that?” she asked, glaring at them so hard that Scilla thought her red eyes were going to pop out. Then she heard another voice.
“Mrs. Drummond,” the words sounded breathy and crackling. “Are those the children you have with you?”
She held their gaze a moment longer before turning toward the old man. “Yes, Mr. Parker, I have them right here. I urge you to reconsider your decision. These children are particularly unruly and lacking in discipline. I am afraid their presence will only upset you â ”
“That is quite all right, Mrs. Drummond,” he said. “A little noise will probably be good for me after all these years.”
“That is total nonsense,” she responded with a temper. She quickly caught herself, though, and spoke more gently. “If you will permit me, I will be happy to stay here with you and make sure that they do not misbehave â ”
“No, no, I appreciate your concern, but I want to speak with them alone. I will call you when they are ready to leave. Thank you very kindly, Mrs. Drummond.”
“Yes sir,” she said, nodding her head. Then she turned and walked back across the room.