“Wheezer!” Agent Brand shouted as he pushed through the crowd of Matildas the best he could on his cane. Ms. Holiday followed close behind him. “You are our Wheezer, right?”
Matilda nodded and made introductions. “This is Matilda 1. She’s a member of a multiverse fighting team called MISFIT.”
“I brought the Matildas,” the girl said proudly. “It’s quite an honor to meet you, Mr. Brand.”
“You know who I am?”
Matilda nodded. “Alexander Brand 217. I work with your brother, Thomas Brand,” she said. “He’s our director.”
Brand looked as pale as a ghost. “My brother died in combat.”
Matilda watched Ms. Holiday take his hand.
“Not on my world. He says hello. He wanted to meet you but he’s trying to broker a peace treaty. When Earth exploded all of its population was moved to Earth 64. Turns out tiger people and zebra heads don’t get along.”
A terrible explosion interrupted their conversation. Everyone turned in the direction of the blast, where they saw that despite the attack of over a hundred Matildas, Brainstorm had recovered. He was shooting fireballs from his eyes and tossing cars at the girls using his telekinetic mind.
“You can’t stop me!” he roared, sweeping away his attackers like toys. “Even if you send a thousand pip-squeaks at me! I am Brainstorm. Bow before my intellect!”
Matilda looked out at the battlefield. Those who had escaped the destruction were helping the victims back through the portal. Matilda looked at her sadly. “Time’s up. I’ m sorry We did what we could, Wheezer. I’m afraid I’ve seen what happens to a world when a Heathcliff takes over. Do you and your friends want to evacuate to our world?”
“We can’t leave,” Ms. Holiday said.
“We’re the only thing standing in the way of that monster,” Brand said. “We’ll stay and fight him as long as we can.”
Wheezer clenched her fists. It couldn’t end like this! She had to do something. There was no way she was going to let Heathcliff Hodges, or whatever his stupid name was, take over the world. She would stop him even if this world lost its Matilda.
She reached into her utility belt and found her inhalers, but her hand brushed up against the stone statue her mother insisted she take with her to cheerleading camp. She looked down at it, remembering that her mother had told her old grandfather would protect her from danger. Heathcliff qualified as dangerous. With a blast she rocketed into the air. Though her heart was racing, she focused all her mind on her hands, willing the nanobytes in her bloodstream to congregate there, to turn on their power, and to let it build and grow. She could feel her fingers burning as she stopped a few yards from Heathcliff’s gigantic noggin.
“Only one Matilda left?” he said, laughing maniacally.
“You never thought much of me, Heathcliff. You thought you could label me—misfit, nerd, fighter—but it turns out there’s a lot more to me than even I knew.”
“Yes, now you’re a cheerleader. What a complete waste of time. Now fly away before I swat you.”
Matilda was starting to feel dizzy. The power in her hands was intense and threatened to overcome her. She only had to hold on for a few more seconds until the nanobytes were at their maximum charge. She reached into her utility belt for the old grandfather statue, then shoved it into the tip of her inhaler.
“Give me an O!” she shouted.
Heathcliff smirked. “What is this silliness?”
“Give me a U!”
Heathcliff fired another stream of heat vision at her, which she narrowly avoided. “Why won’t you die, already?”
“Give me a C!” she said.
“When I get my hands on you—”
“Give me an H! What’s that spell?”
“Ouch?”
“Yeah, ouch!” And then she squeezed the trigger on her inhaler. The stone statue blasted toward Heathcliff. Its blunt end slammed into the glowing bridge device and the helmet shattered. It also smacked Brainstorm in the skull with a savage force. There was a huge explosion and Matilda flew backward, slamming her head hard onto the ground. She could feel blackness overtaking her. She was sure she was going to die. Her heart felt like it was ready to leap from her chest. But she had to see. She sat up and watched Heathcliff’s giant head waver off balance. There was a loud groan and then he fell over backward. The last thing Matilda saw was a nasty red welt form right between his eyes.
When Matilda opened her eyes, she found her six brothers standing over her.
“Awww, man! She’s alive,” they cried.
“No one is getting my room,” she said.
“Monkeys! Out!” she heard her mother shout and the boys scattered. Her mother and father were standing over her hospital bed. Molly was holding the old grandfather statue in her hand. Ben was pacing.
“Um, am I OK?” Matilda said, looking at the monitors and tubes attached to her arm.
“The doctors say you’ll be fine,” her father said. “I’m sure we don’t need to tell you that you’re grounded until you’re forty.”
“Your librarian says it was a cheerleading accident. I say shenanigans!” Molly said.
Matilda took a deep breath. It was time to tell them the truth. She sat up in bed and described the last year and a half of her life. She told them about her abilities and the missions she had been on. She talked about walking in space and going to alternate realities. She told them about Mr. Brand and Ms. Holiday and the lunch lady and the rest of the team. She explained about Nathan Hale Elementary, and when she was done, she sat back and looked at her parents’ astonished faces.
It was then that Mr. Brand stepped at the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Choi, I am sure you have a million questions. I am fully prepared to answer them when you are ready.”
“Oh, you will!” Molly said.
“What happened to Brainstorm?” Matilda asked.
“He’s heavily sedated. They’re pumping him full of drugs to keep him asleep. The science team believes that if he wakes up, he’ll be able to cause more chaos, so he’s going to stay in dreamland for a while.”
“If he wakes up, I’ll be ready,” Matilda said. “And the cheerleaders?”
“All safe and sound,” Agent Brand said, “though McKenna broke her phone in the chaos. I don’t think she’s ever going to be the same. The rest of your team has recovered and their nanobytes have been re-installed.”
“Did we save the world?”
Brand nodded. “As far as I can tell, we saved all of them. Get some rest, Agent Wheezer. It won’t be long before we need you to save us again.”
The goon knocked out the window at a tiny roadside motel room and let himself in. He went straight for the bathroom and stood before the filthy mirror staring at his bandaged face. He had to know what was underneath. Using his hook he slashed at the bandages. What he uncovered could hardly be called a face—red and raw with exposed skin and muscle. It was grotesque.
In anger, he punched the mirror. It shattered and fell into the sink.
“You sacrificed me for your own foolish plan,” he raged, as if his boss, the child, were standing in front of him. “You threw me away like I was trash, and look where it got ya. You’re a freakish monster filled with sedatives. They ain’t never going to let you wake up. Well, I’m not sitting around waiting for ya anymore. It’s time this goon got promoted.”
He reached into his coat pocket and removed a black mask with a skull painted on the front. He slipped it over his wounded face and then stared at the menacing villain before him.
“Looks good on ya, bud. It’s got just the right amount of fear and mystery. That’s the kind of face that makes people tremble. And tremble they will. Look at me, world. Look at the man who’s going to rule this planet. Look at the Antagonist!”
GIVING YOU THIS TEST HAS BEEN HARD ON ME. LOOKING INTO YOUR FREAKY EYES HAS GIVEN ME NIGHTMARES. WATCHING YOU SWEAT AND STAMMER AND TALK TO YOUR BELLY BUTTON HAS NOT HELPED, EITHER. THE TRUTH IS IF I HAD TO DO THIS ANY LONGE
R, I MIGHT GO NUTS MYSELF! SO LET’S SEE HOW YOU DID. GO BACK AND TALLY ALL THE QUIZZES FOR YOUR NUMBER. HEY, WE’RE DOING MATH—THIS TEST TOTALLY TIES IN WITH THE CASE FILE!
OK, TELL ME THE TOTAL.
OH BOY!
36–100: PASS. YOU ARE CERTAINLY ECCENTRIC. YOU PROBABLY HAVE A FEW RESTRAINING ORDERS ISSUED AGAINST YOU. STILL, WITH A DOCTOR’S SUPERVISION YOU WON’T HURT ANYONE. YOU CAN STAY ON THE TEAM.
101–212: PASS. IT MUST BE EXHAUSTING TRYING TO KEEP YOURSELF FROM STRANGLING PEOPLE, BUT SO FAR, SO GOOD! JUST TRY TO REMEMBER THAT THE SATELLITES AREN’T WATCHING YOU AND YOU’LL PROBABLY BE FINE. YOU CAN STAY ON THE TEAM.
213–392: CONDITIONAL PASS. WOW! YOU’RE PACKED AND READY TO MOVE TO CRAZYTOWN. YOU NEED LOTS AND LOTS OF SUPERVISION AND PROBABLY QUITE A BIT OF BRAIN SURGERY, TOO. IF AFTER THAT YOU CAN STILL FEED YOURSELF, WE’LL CONSIDER PUTTING YOU BACK ON THE TEAM.
393 AND BEYOND: FAIL! OK, KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM. WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? YOU’RE CARRYING A DEATH RAY AND YOU’RE NOT AFRAID TO USE IT? THAT’S A BANANA, PAL! NOW LISTEN, THESE MEN IN THE WHITE COATS ARE GOING TO TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE YOU CAN REST. YES, THEY’RE YOUR FRIENDS. AND LOOK! THEY BROUGHT YOU A NEW JACKET! WOW, LOOK AT ALL THOSE FANCY BUCKLES AND LOCKS! YOU SHOULD TRY IT ON TO SEE HOW IT LOOKS ON YOU. THAT’S RIGHT … PUT ON YOUR STRAIT—I MEAN, YOUR NEW JACKET. WHAT’S THIS? OH, IT’S JUST A LITTLE INJECTION TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. IT WON’T HURT AT ALL. YES, JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES. SOON YOU WILL BE SOMEWHERE VERY NICE, AND GUESS WHAT? THERE IS GOING TO BE JELL-O! MMM, JELL-O! THAT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL MUCH BETTER.
Acknowledgments
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Susan Van Metre, my editor and friend, has worked to make this book into something better than I imagined it to be. It was also coedited by Maggie Lehrman, who has been a tremendous help to me on my Sisters Grimm series and continues to push me toward more interesting and meaningful stories. The unsung hero of these books, though, is Chad W. Beckerman and his inspired art direction. Everything cool about how these books look comes from him and his team. Ethen Beavers—thanks for turning my words into pictures that make kids, and the kid inside of me, so thrilled.
Jason Wells and his staff, including Laura Mihalick, deserve particular praise for spreading the word about NERDS to bookstores, teachers, librarians, and kids. Many thanks to Joe Deasy for reading and enjoying this stuff. And everyone at “the office” aka Starbucks: Marissa Mitchell, Leah Mathurin, Abdalla Ortega, and Sam Cates.
But the people that deserve the most thanks are my loving family, Alison and Finn. Aside from being my agent and co-owner of the Stonesong Press, Alison is my love. She gave me Finn, who gives me inspiration. If you like these stories, Alison and Finn are the reason. Thank you for every single day, and Finn, your little smile is my own personal bedtime story. Grow up strong and good and hopefully a little nerdy.
About the Author
Michael Buckley, a former member of NERDS, now spends his time writing. In addition to the top-secret file you are holding, Michael has written the New York Times bestselling Sisters Grimm series, which has been published in more than twenty languages. He has also created shows for Discovery Channel, Cartoon Network, Warner Bros., TLC, and Nickelodeon. He lives with his wife and their son, but if he told you where, he’d have to kill you.
This book was art directed and designed by Agent Chad W. Beckerman. The illustrations were created by Agent Ethen Beavers.
THE BOOK IS OVER!
THATS IT!
STOP TURNING PAGES!
ARGH!
WHAT DID I JUST SAY?
YOU CAN’T FOLLOW A
SIMPLE DIRECTION.
BUT SINCE YOU’RE HERE,
YOU MIGHT AS WELL TAKE
A LOOK AT THE NEXT
CASE FILE.
The Villain Virus
By Michael Buckley
Read NERDS: Book Four today!
Julio “Flinch” Escala was freaking out. Ten bombs had been planted beneath the streets of Paris, and they were set to go off at any minute. The destruction they would cause would be cataclysmic: hundreds of thousands of people would die and one of the world’s most beautiful cities would never be the same. It was his job to prevent it. But at that moment he was too busy with the freak-out mentioned above. He screamed and kicked and struggled and screamed some more. And then he did it again.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
The NERDS had easily located Captain Kapow’s bombs, which had been stashed in the Paris catacombs, a series of intertwining mazes that turn the French city’s underground into Swiss cheese. All the team had to do was go into the tunnels, find the bombs, and deactivate them.
Easy, right? Well, it probably would have been easy if General Savage hadn’t put Flinch in charge.
The general must have thought that having the fastest and strongest member of NERDS in charge was a natural choice. But the fact was, Flinch wasn’t leadership material. He was hyperactive, and he had a hard time concentrating, especially when he was full of sugar, which was most of the time. When put on the spot, Flinch sorted through hundreds of plans all competing for center stage in his mind. It gave him a headache trying to untangle them. So he had done what came naturally—he plunged into the tunnels head-first all by himself . . . and was promptly surrounded by a gang of thugs. He fought most of them with ease, but one had clocked him in the back of the noggin, and then it was lights out, Flinch!
And then he woke up, and the freaking out began.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but figured it hadn’t been long. After all, the bombs hadn’t exploded and he was still alive—though he had no idea how much time was left before they sent Paris, and him, sky high.
He felt a powerful tickle in his nose, and with a trumpeting release he let out one of the loudest sneezes of his life. There was a crackle in his ear as a com-link came to life, and soon he could hear a familiar voice inside his head.
“Agent Pufferfish to Agent Flinch, can you hear me? Please respond.”
“I’m here,” Flinch said.
“What are you doing?”
“Having a nervous breakdown!” he cried. “I’m in a tunnel, tied up, and surrounded by bombs!”
“Flinch!” Pufferfish said. “Stay calm. You can’t freak out. Take some deep breaths . . . OK, are you breathing?”
“I think so,” Flinch said.
“Good, now use your super strength to snap the ropes,” Pufferfish instructed.
Flinch tried and failed. The more he pulled, the more the ropes dug into his wrists, which meant he had an even bigger problem. His hyperactivity was channeled through a harness he wore that gave him superhuman strength and speed. If he couldn’t break the ropes, then the harness must be broken or missing, which meant for the time being he was just an ordinary—albeit very hyperactive—boy.
“No can do, Pufferfish,” he said. “My upgrades are offline.”
Suddenly, he heard the sounds of scratching through his com-link.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s me!” Pufferfish cried. “I’m allergic to freaking out. You’ve only got fifteen minutes before Paris goes bye-bye.”
The two of them screamed and shrieked and freaked out until another voice came on the line. This one belonged to Agent Wheezer. From the sound of the wind, Flinch guessed she was soaring over the City of Lights, using her inhalers to propel herself through the sky. “This is Agent Wheezer, your eye in the sky. Captain Kapow is making his way toward the River Seine, where he has a getaway boat waiting for him. I’ll do what I can to slow him down, but I could really use a hyperactive strongman with super speed to help out.”
“I’m a little tied up at the moment,” Flinch whimpered as he pulled at the ropes again. He wished he could see what was bound around his hands. If only it wasn’t so dark. Wait! Hadn’t the scientists given him something special for just this kind of problem? Yes, the contact lenses! But how did they work? If only he had paid attention during the missi
on briefing, but there had been bear claws in the briefing room that weren’t going to eat themselves.
“Uh, Gluestick, how do the lamp contacts work again?” he said.
Duncan came on the com-link with a sigh. “I knew you weren’t listening! The T-477 Contact Bulbs have a nuclear core that—”
“You can read him the instruction manual later!” Pufferfish snapped. “Just tell him what he needs to know.”
“Geez! OK, blink your eyes three times fast and say ‘Spotlight,’” Gluestick said.
Flinch did as he was told, and suddenly his eyes lit up like the high beams on a Gran Torino. Unfortunately, he immediately wished he could go back to not knowing where he was.
He was in a narrow tunnel whose walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bones—hundreds and thousands of bones. Hip bones, legs, feet, fingers, ribs—all of different sizes and stacked on top of one another in neat rows. The tunnel was getting smaller. The bones were getting closer. The skulls were turning their lifeless gaze on him and their cackling jaws unhinged to eat his soul.
“MUERTO!!!!” he cried.
“Here comes the freak-out again,” another voice said. This one belonged to Agent Braceface. “I don’t know why Savage didn’t just send me. My braces could have gotten this done fifteen minutes ago and we’d have time to see the Eiffel Tower.”
“Flinch, you must calm down,” Pufferfish said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. This was all explained in the briefing.”
“Bear claws!” Flinch cried.
“You’re in the Parisian catacombs, also known as the City of the Dead.”
“City of the Dead!!” Flinch cried.