Invasion of the Scorp-lions Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Bruce Hale

  Cover art © 2017 Scott Brundage

  Cover design by Tyler Nevins

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN: 978-1-368-00115-1

  Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  About the Author

  To Stephanie, ace editor and partner in crime,

  with mucho aloha

  THE ONLY THING more dangerous than a dare is a double-dog dare. Most kids I know are powerless to resist one, and Benny Brackman and I were no exceptions. That’s why nighttime found us creeping around the school’s mechanical room searching for a ghost—despite common sense, good judgment, and the risk of missing my favorite TV show.

  “Darn Tyler Spork,” said Benny. He shone his black-light flashlight into a shadowy corner behind one of the massive boilers.

  “We didn’t have to take his dare,” I said.

  Benny gave me The Look. It could mean different things at different times, but just then it meant Stop being a total doofus, Carlos.

  “No, really,” I said, playing my own flashlight beam over cobwebs big enough to snare a Buick. “What kind of fool deliberately risks supernatural danger, just on a dare?”

  Benny smirked. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  He was right, so I ignored him.

  I turned slowly, taking in the room. It was chilly and grim, smelling of dust, oil, and that funky wet-cat-with-gas odor we’d come to associate with whatever was haunting our school. The room was packed with pipes and ducts and mysterious machines. Darkness enfolded it, except for our lights and a faint red glow from the control boards.

  The perfect place for a paranormal ambush.

  The tiny hairs on my neck raised as my imagination kicked into gear. I pictured headless skeletons, leering monsters, creatures made of ectoplasm and raw, bloody flesh. (Yes, I watch too many movies.)

  Something skittered behind a boiler.

  “What was that?” I whipped around, aiming my flashlight toward the noise.

  In the purplish-black light, Benny’s eyes glowed as huge and white as brand-new volleyballs. “I d-dunno,” he whispered. “Do ghosts make that kind of noise?”

  “You’ve known me since kindergarten. Have I ever mentioned meeting a ghost?”

  Slowly, ever so carefully, we crept past thick conduit pipes that would’ve looked right at home in Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory. At the far edge of the boiler, Benny and I paused, gathering our courage.

  He nodded, and together we peeked around the corner.

  I gasped.

  “Whoa!” cried Benny.

  The creature captured in our flashlight beams was no ghost. No animated skeleton. In fact, it was so strange I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

  The thing looked…wrong, somehow.

  Roughly the size of a pit bull, it glowered up at us with the hungry amber stare of a big cat. Its head and muscular body resembled a lion, but two thick pincers, like those of a crab, curved forward from its chest, clicking and snapping. Segmented armor plates along the spine led to a thick scorpion tail, which arched forward, dripping poison.

  Not exactly the kind of thing you want to meet in a dark room. Or even a well-lit one. My heart thudded so irregularly, it felt like it was beat-boxing.

  The creature hissed, tail twitching.

  Benny and I stumbled back.

  “What the heck?” he rasped.

  I backed into a pipe with a thunk. Behind us, another hiss.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, shining my light toward the sound, “but I think it’s got a friend.”

  My beam found a second monster, right behind me. It snarled, bared some serious fangs, and bowed its chest to the ground like a playful puppy. But this thing was no puppy.

  “¡Híjole!” I swayed, off-balance.

  “Look out, Carlos!” cried Benny.

  The creature’s tail lashed forward at me. My feet seemed frozen in place, as its razor-sharp stinger plunged down, down…

  Ugh, I’ve done it again. I started my story at an exciting spot, like our teacher always says to, but I forgot to mention a few important things. Like who Benny and I are. Like what’s going on. And like how we ended up in a room full of monsters in the first place.

  I don’t know how authors do it; this writing stuff is hard.

  Maybe I should take you back to the beginning. No, not to the day I was born. The day we realized that someone, or something, was terrorizing Monterrosa Elementary, and that someone (namely Benny and I) had to do something about it.

  THE FIRST THING you need to know about my teacher Mr. Chu is that although he used to be a were-hyena (a whole ’nother story), he’s one of the best teachers at Monterrosa Elementary. The second thing to know is, when he teaches a subject, he really gets into it.

  So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when Benny and I returned from lunch to find that our entire classroom had transformed into an ancient Greek temple, with fake pillars and all. Mr. Chu stood at the front of the room wrapped in a white bedsheet, a wreath of green leaves perched on his bald head.

  “Welcome, citizens!” he bellowed, strumming some kind of horseshoe-shaped harp.

  “Citizens of Crazyville,” muttered Tyler Spork, taking his seat. But I could tell that even the class jerk was impressed by Mr. Chu’s nutty getup.

  “May the Muses inspire our learning, and may the gods smile down upon us!” Our teacher wailed on his funky-looking harp like some ancient Greek rock star. Then he struck a pose. “I sing of the immortal Greek heroes—of mighty Hercules and clever Theseus. For today, we study ancient Greece. Quick question: Who knows what tree the Greek civilization was founded upon?”

  Hands shot up. “The redwood?” said Big Pete, who’d been amazed by the giant trees on his family’s trip to Sequoia National Park.

  Mr. Chu smacked his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alas!” he wailed. “That is incorrect. The gods weep!”

  Amrita’s upraised arm whipped back and forth like a palm tree in a hurricane. I knew she’d have the right answer, but we didn’t get to hear it that day. Just then, our classmate José burst into the room, eyes wild, clothes rumpled, and hair sticking up at funny angles.

  “Take a seat, citizen, and—” Mr. Chu began.

  But José acted like he hadn’t heard a word. He staggered across the front of the room, gripping his hair in two fists. I suddenly understood how he’d gotten his new hairstyle.
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  “Ohhh, beware!” he wailed. José’s jittery eyes looked at everyone and no one. “They are here, here among us!”

  Kids laughed uncertainly. Was he joking?

  “Zip it, weirdo!” called Tyler Spork.

  “Yeah, zip it good,” echoed his sidekick, Big Pete.

  “José?” said Mr. Chu, suddenly serious.

  José ignored all three of them. Clawing at the front of his T-shirt, he moaned, “The horror! Oh, the horror!”

  A chill dribbled like ice water down my back. Ever since Benny and I had rescued Mr. Chu from his fate as a were-hyena, we’d found more than our share of horror—real horror—in Monterrosa. And after tackling the mutant mantis lunch ladies, the two of us had even developed kind of an underground reputation as monster hunters.

  This was cool, yes. But it also tended to land us in situations that risked life and limb, which was not so cool.

  Benny half rose from his seat. “What horror?” he asked José. “What is it?”

  Our classmate’s unseeing eyes brimmed with tears. “Everyone sent back to Belize.” His voice quavered. “I’m all alone. So alone.”

  Stepping to José’s side, Mr. Chu wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to your family?”

  “Gone, all gone…” José shook his head over and over, his voice cracking.

  Mr. Chu guided our classmate toward his seat. “There, now. Just—”

  “Aaiieee!” Throwing off our teacher’s arm, José vaulted onto Cheyenne’s desk in one bound. Pretty impressive for a guy with no gymnastics training. He shielded his head as if expecting vampire bats to burst from the ceiling.

  “The monnnsters!” he keened. “They’re heeerrre!”

  Monsters? I thought. Not again.

  Everyone flinched, staring up at the ceiling tiles.

  And with that, José gave a low moan, swayed, and crumpled like a wall poster when the masking tape gives out.

  “Catch him!” cried Tina Green.

  Cheyenne squealed. But Mr. Chu snagged José before he could squash her. Cradling our classmate in his arms, he carried him back down the aisle and laid him gently on the floor beside the funky harp.

  “Is he dead?” asked Big Pete, jumping to his feet. “’Cause I’ve never seen a dead guy. That would be cool.”

  Mr. Chu scowled. “You’ll have to check that off your bucket list another time. He’s not dead. Just unconscious.”

  Everybody crowded around, offering advice and trying to help. José lay still, his face slack.

  “Raise his feet,” said AJ. “That’s what you do for shock.”

  “No, raise his head,” said Gabi.

  “Bundle him up,” said Benny.

  “Give him air,” said Tina.

  “Everyone take your seats.” Mr. Chu tugged his sport coat off the back of his chair, folded it up, and slipped it under José’s head. “Amrita, go get the nurse.”

  She spun and dashed out the door.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Mr. Chu motioned for us to back away from José. “Too much sun,” he said. “Probably got heatstroke and fainted. Everyone, sit down.”

  I glanced out the window at the overcast skies.

  “Heatstroke?” said Benny. “In December?”

  “More like monster stroke,” I whispered.

  Benny nodded grimly.

  Despite Mr. Chu’s efforts to awaken José, our classmate was out cold. He didn’t even respond to a wet towel on his forehead. And when Ms. Kopek, the school nurse, showed up, her smelling salts had no effect. José was hibernating harder than a groundhog in December.

  Before we knew it, Ms. Kopek had carried José to her office and phoned his parents. Mr. Chu resumed talking about the heroes and legends of ancient Greece.

  “Odysseus fought in the Trojan War, then tried to sail home with his men,” our teacher said. “But he had the worst luck. He kept running into mon—uh, monsters, at, uh, every turn.” Mr. Chu clutched the front of his bedsheet toga and stared out the window with a haunted expression. The pause stretched.

  “And?” said Tyler. “Don’t stop at the good part.”

  Mr. Chu blinked. “Oh. Um, most fearsome of these m-monsters was the one-eyed giant Cyclops.”

  Was he remembering his own personal monster mania?

  He gave a little shudder, the moment passed, and he went on with his talk. Class seemed back to normal.

  But I was sure—sure as I knew that a dish called Chef’s Surprise is always a surprise, but never a good one—that normal was a long ways off. Something was wrong at Monterrosa Elementary. Again.

  And if the past was any indication, Benny and I would have to put it right.

  AH, AFTERNOON RECESS. Since we’d lost our PE teacher to budget cuts, this was our gym period, normally a time for playing tetherball and soccer, avoiding bullies, and blowing off steam. But not today. José may not have been my best friend, but when something bad happens to your classmate, you do something about it. As soon as Benny and I stepped outside, we cut through the crowd and huddled in a corner of the playground.

  “Okay,” said Benny, “tell me that wasn’t deeply strange.”

  “That was deeply strange,” I said.

  “Our own classmate, raving and passing out?”

  I nodded. “Things are getting weird again.”

  Benny grinned. “And when the going gets weird—”

  “The weird get going,” I finished. I shook my head. “I can’t believe we’ve got another monster problem so soon.”

  “Lucky us.”

  We didn’t waste time debating whether or not to take action. After twice tackling supernatural baddies at our school, putting on the hero hat was getting to be a habit for Benny and me. And we weren’t the only ones.

  “So,” said Tina Green, popping up from nowhere, “where do we start looking for the monsters?”

  “What do you mean we?” said Benny.

  Tina scowled. She had a good scowl. “Duh. You guys plus me equals we.”

  Everyone called her Karate Girl, although Benny and I had learned that she’d gotten all her moves from kung fu movies rather than actual karate classes. We didn’t blab about it, though—Tina could still punch harder than most boys. And she was a good person to have on your side.

  “I don’t remember inviting you to tag along.” Benny’s lips clamped together. He was in a cranky mood, for some reason.

  “Benny—” I began.

  “Oh, yeah, Brackman?” Tina thrust her chin forward, the movement making her beaded braids click together with a tik-tik-tik. “And I don’t recall your complaining when I helped you take down the alpha hyena.”

  “Guys, guys…” I said.

  Benny’s fists landed on his hips. “And where were you when we were fighting those mantis lunch ladies? Oh, right—chasing after us and trying to eat us!”

  “Not fair!” Tina said. “I was—”

  “Enough!” I stepped between them, raising my hands. “Chill out—we’re all on the same team.”

  Tina snorted. “I’m not playing on any team where I’m not wanted.”

  “Karate Girl, please.” I reached out, but she turned and walked off.

  She called back to us, “See if I lend a hand when you get carried off by giant vampire chickens.”

  I wheeled on Benny. “That was rude. She was trying to help.”

  “We don’t need her. We’re the heroes here.”

  “But Tina—”

  Benny tugged my arm. “Are we going to waste our recess yakking, or are we going to find out what happened to José? Let’s go, Carlos. Chop-chop!” And he marched off without a backward glance.

  I sighed and followed him. When Benny gets in his bossy mood, sometimes it’s easiest to just go along. But the way he treated Tina gave my gut a twinge. It’s no fun being in the middle when your friends fight.

  After asking around, Benny and I learned that José was last seen
at lunchtime, near the portables. (I’ve always wondered why they call those big temporary classrooms portables. They’re about as portable as a beached blue whale.)

  The classrooms would’ve been locked at lunchtime, so we knew José hadn’t been inside. We circled around the buildings searching for clues. Benny and I pored over the ground like my dog, Zeppo, when he’s hunting for a dropped tortilla chip.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” I said.

  Benny flapped a hand vaguely. “Anything suspicious. We’ll know it when we see it.”

  Hands on knees, I squinted down at some torn candy wrappers. Suspicious? Only if some kid had managed to save his Halloween candy for over a month—that’s supernatural self-control.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, a spiked stick lanced down and speared the trash. I gave an involuntary cry, tumbling backward. Were we under attack?

  “Dudes,” said a familiar raspy voice. I relaxed. It was the head custodian, Mr. “Malibu” Decker, known to most kids as Mr. Boo. He looked like a cross between a blond Wookiee and an unmade bed. Just then he was on trash patrol.

  “Hey, Mr. Boo,” I said. “Did you hear about José?”

  He nodded his shaggy head. “Major bummer, dude. He’s in the hospital, and they’re saying he’s in a coma.”

  A coma?! Benny and I traded a wide-eyed look. This had gotten serious fast.

  “We’re trying to figure out what happened to him,” said Benny.

  “And this is the last place he was seen before he flipped out,” I added. “Any idea what might have caused it?”

  Mr. Boo scratched his head, scrunching up his face. “Some dudes are allergic to bees and stuff. Maybe he got stung by a bee? Or bitten by a spider?”

  “The only things José’s allergic to are peanut butter and homework,” said Benny.

  The lanky custodian planted his stick and leaned on it. “I hear you on that. It’s like Michael Jackson said: ‘Beat it, beat it, no one wants to eat a peanut.’”

  “Uh, right,” I said. “But José just gets a rash and a runny nose from peanut butter. I’ve never heard of it putting someone into a coma.”

  “It’s a mystery, all right,” Mr. Boo agreed. “And here’s another one. Look what I spotted.” He lifted his stick and pointed it at some tracks in the mud.