Academic Assassins (23 page)

The ace up Merridew's sleeve had been Babyface. She held onto him all this time, knowing she could pull him out from the Black Hole whenever she wanted.

She knew I blamed myself for what happened to him.

Now she was using him against me.

That was cold.

Just how heartless can one headmistress be?

Merridew stepped over several ants to reach me, while Babyface tagged along. “I want that book, Mr. Pendleton. Give it to me now or so help me…”

“We can't stop,” a Screaming Mimi said. “We're just at the end!”

More ants chimed in. “Yeah—what happens? Tell us what happens!”

A chant slowly rose up—
“What happens?”

“What happens?”

“What happens?”

Merridew took in the mob. She spun around once, twice, glancing at the surrounding ants as they continued to chant—
“What happens? What happens?”

“What happens?”

“What happens?”

“Enough,” she ordered.
“ENOUGH!”

The chanting died out.

Merridew teetered on her feet. She shook it off and regained her equipoise with a quick sniff, pulling out her C.R.U. “Mr. Grayson—use whatever force you deem necessary. I want that
book.”

I tightened my grip around the paperback as Grayson and his Men in White stormed down the aisles. “I won't stop read—”

Merridew pressed her thumb against her C.R.U.'s button
and I feel the cold surge of electricity run through my neck and
DON'T LET GO OF THE BOOK DON'T LET GO OF THE BOOK
DON'T LET GO OF THE BOOK
but the electricity is stronger so much stronger than me and
it pries the paperback out from my fingers.

Peter Pan dropped to the floor.

“Pick it up,” Merridew ordered. “Pick it up!”

Just as Grayson reached for it, Table Scrap scooped the book up and tossed it to a Screaming Mimi, who quickly tossed it to an Orphan, who threw it to a She-Wolf.

Several Men in White surrounded the Wolf before she could lob the book. She pressed
Peter Pan
to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around it, clutching the book's tattered
pages to herself like a favorite stuffed animal, refusing to let go.

Grayson tried yanking it from her hands.

“Let go let go let gooooo….”

She pulled free from Grayson's grip and shuttled the book through the air.

It's a pop fly, folks…

Time seemed to slow down to a syrupy sludge. I watched as the book spiraled over every ant's head, coming my way.

Here it comes…

I picked up my feet and started running, hands held out before me.

Keep your eye on the ball…

The book was only inches away from my clasping hands.

Keep your eye…

Babyface intercepted the book before I could catch it. “I got it!” He raised
Peter Pan
above his head and waved it back and forth.

Et tu, Babyface?

Babyface didn't budge. His blank stare felt cold. Miles away. He handed the book to Merridew. “Listen to what Merridew says.” His voice even, no emotion whatsoever. “It
is better this way.”

“Thank you,” she said, smoothing out her crumpled skirt with her palms. “This room is closed until I can decide a better use for it. No more library privileges. Now. All of
you—return to your pods or there will be severe consequences.”

Nobody moved.

Merridew's eyes tightened as she lifted her activator. “Is that understood?”

“You think a little shock is gonna stop us?” I asked. “We've been strapped to your electric chair for months. Years for some. We're used to the pain by
now.”

“True.” She nodded. “Several of you are now inured to our responses. Your bodies are rather resilient. That is why I have granted orderlies permission to extend the allotted
response time from three seconds—
to five
.”

Grayson and the Men in White were already shocking ants into submission. A Mimi screamed as she was dragged out from the library by her legs.

I was losing them. I needed to act.

The book!

Merridew still held the paperback. I'd have to wing it.

I did a quick mental reread to determine what I remembered—
Who wins the sword fight? Was it Peter Pan? Or Captain Hook?

How did the story end again?

No time to map it out. Just go!

Go!

Go!

“There was a sword fight!” I shouted, holding up my hands as if the book were still there, open and ready to read. “One of the biggest ever!”

Merridew looked down at her own hands, just to double check that I hadn't snatched the book back when she hadn't been looking.

“That is quite enough, Mr. Pendleton—”

“Peter gallantly battled Hook across the ship's deck,” I continued. “The two lunged at one another….Like this! And this!”

I did my best swashbuckle down the aisle, lunging my invisible sword through the air.

I saw the spark return to the Mimi's eyes as soon as she realized I was telling the story—with or without the book. “What happens next?” she asked.

“What happens?” a Napoleon echoed as the chant picked up again—
“What happens? What happens? What happens?”

Merridew tried to interject. “That's quite enough—”

“Hook himself was a brilliant swordsman,” I continued. “Even with one hand he was able to parry Peter's blade. He used his hook as a dagger. He swung his sword with one
hand—
like this!
And swept the barb through the air—
like this!
”

“Mr. Pendleton! I am warning you—”

“Peter ducked—like this! The hook missed him by barely an inch.”

“If you do not stop—”

“With Captain Hook hovering above him, Peter went in for the kill and stabbed Hook in the ribs—
Yaaaaaagh!
”

I staggered back several steps, clutching my own stomach with one hand.

But I never let go of the book.

The book inside me.

“SPENCER!”
Merridew shrieked. The public facade of her face, that impenetrable mask as fake as her perm, crumbled away like a shattered porcelain doll. What was left behind
was a desperate expression. A look of powerlessness.

You might be able to take away all of our books, Merridew, pecking our shelves clean—but you can't take away the words inside us.

Not from me.

“What happens? What happens? What happens?”

“The sword fell out of Hook's grip,” I shouted. “He fell back, grabbing his innards and—”

The first jolt of electricity knocked the words out of my mouth. I had to take a deep breath before finding my place and starting up again.

“His back was up against…the ship's railing—”

The second third
fourth fifth
shock sent me to my knees.

Table Scrap struggled to keep the chant going—
“What happens? What happens? What happens?”

“The sea. At his shoulders…And there—”

The sixth
seventh eight ninth tenth eleventh twelfth thirteenth fourteenth fifteenth sixteenth seventeenth
shock forced me forward. I had to plant my hands on the floor before me, just to
keep me from falling over.

“
What happens?
What happens…? What…?” The chant lost momentum, voices fading away.

“Waiting…in the ocean…was the croc—”

My hands gave out with the twenty-fifth shock, sending me to the floor.

I couldn't breathe. Sweating all over. A pain deep in my stomach. I was going to be sick. My skull wouldn't stop throbbing, pulsing with excess electricity.

Something was burning.

What is that? Burnt bacon?

Then it dawned on me…

That's me.

I was smelling my own singed skin.

Forty two shocks later, darkness took over and
Peter Pan
was done.

“They'll grow up with what the psychologists used to call an ‘instinctive' hatred of books and flowers.”

—
Brave New World
by Aldous Huxley

“The only evidence to the contrary was the mute protest in your own bones….”

—
Nineteen Eighty-Four
by George Orwell

I
t took Grayson and three of his Men in White to personally escort me to the Solitary Housing Units. Each grabbed an arm and leg and carried me
through the bowels of the building, plowing into one set of control-locked doors after another.

The air quickly grew damp. I could feel the temperature drop, as if we were descending into some subterranean bunker miles below the earth's surface.

I don't remember seeing this part of the building on the grand tour….

We stopped at a control station monitoring the corridor. A pale orderly slouched behind a Plexiglas window, dozing, reminding me of a teenage boy working a drive-thru window. Grayson rapped his
knuckles against the frame, waking him.

“I'd like a cheeseburger,” I mumbled. “Fries and a milkshake, please.”

At the push of a button, a metallic school bell
rat-tat-tatted
in my ears as a set of heavy automatic doors opened before me.

“I'll take my order to go,” I called out as the Men in White carried me away.

The hallway was dimly lit by a series of slender fluorescent tubes. Lining both sides of the corridor were thick metal doors. Each door had a pair of eyes staring out from a miniscule
window—haunted eyes drifting lifelessly in their sockets. Looking deep into those peepers, I could've sworn there was no soul left within them.

“Sully?!” I shouted. “Sully—are you down here? Where are you?!”

As soon as those dead eyes locked onto mine, I heard the blunt pummeling of fists against the other side of each door, banging to get out.

“Sully—it's me! Spencer! I'm here to break you out….”

I just didn't know how quite yet.

The Men in White halted before a door at the farthest end of the hallway.

“Open twenty,” Grayson shouted. A metallic buzz vibrated through the door. I could hear a latch grind free from its bolted position within the lock. He tightened his grip on my arm
as he used his free hand to open the door before shoving me in.

The cell, six feet by eight feet, was vacant.

No windows.

A rusted cot was bolted into the wall, a thin mattress with faded stains on top. A dented sink and a steel toilet with no seat were tucked in the far corner.

“Welcome to the Black Hole,” Grayson said.

Nothing, not even light, was capable of escaping these rooms. Once the automatic steel door sealed me in, I might as well not exist anymore.

I rushed for the door, but Grayson swung his arm out and hooked me under the jaw, flipping me onto the floor. I landed on my back with a thud.

I closed my eyes, a dull pain throbbing through my body.

“Sweet dreams, #347678….” Grayson muttered.

I could hear the Men in White chuckle as they stepped over me and out of my cell. The door squealed shut behind them and the latch ground back into place.

I rolled over the floor. The cool concrete soothed my temples.

I heard a fly buzzing about the room.

No, not a fly—it was the lights. The slightest hum from the bulbs droned over my head. It seemed to increase in volume. I couldn't keep myself from hearing it now, this persistent
zzzzzzzzz
.

Flipping onto my back, I saw a pair of slender fluorescent bulbs extended along the ceiling, encased behind a thick wire mesh.

The cinder block walls had been painted in an elephant-skin gray. I traced my fingers through the groove between bricks, wondering if I might find a crack.

A miniscule blotch of graffiti sprouted out from the far corner—