25 - Attack of the Mutant (5 page)

Libby didn’t reply.

I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I saw what Libby was
staring at.

“Where are the other elevators?” she cried.

We were staring at a smooth, bare wall. The elevator that had brought us down here was the only elevator on the wall.

I spun around, checking out the other walls. But it was too dark to see very
far.

“The other elevators don’t come down here, I guess,” Libby murmured in a
trembling voice.

I searched the wall for a button to push to bring our elevator back. I
couldn’t find one. No button.

“There’s no way out!” Libby wailed. “No way out at all!”

“Maybe there are elevators on the other wall,” I said, pointing across the
huge, dark room.

“Maybe,” Libby repeated doubtfully.

“Maybe there’s a stairway or something,” I said.

“Maybe,” she said softly.

A sudden noise made me jump. A rumble followed by a grinding hum.

“Just the furnace starting up,” I told Libby.

“Let’s find a way out of here,” she urged. “I’m never going in an elevator
again as long as I live!”

I could feel her hand on my shoulder as I started to make my way through the
darkness. The huge, gray furnace rumbled and coughed. Another big machine made a
soft clattering sound as we edged past it.

“Anybody down here?” I called. My voice echoed off the long, dust-covered
pipes that ran along the low ceiling above our heads. I cupped my hands around my mouth and called again. “Anybody here? Can anybody hear
me?”

Silence.

The only sounds I could hear were the rumble of the furnace and the soft
scrape of our sneakers as Libby and I slowly crept over the floor.

As we came near the far wall, we could see that there were no elevators over
here. The smooth plaster wall was bare except for a thick tangle of cobwebs up
near the ceiling.

“There’s
got
to be some stairs leading out of here,” Libby whispered,
close behind me.

Dim light shone through a narrow doorway up ahead. “Let’s see where this
leads,” I said, brushing stringy spiderwebs off my face.

We stepped through the doorway and found ourselves in a long hallway.
Dust-covered ceiling bulbs cast pale light onto the concrete floor.

“Anybody here?” I called again. My voice sounded hollow in the long tunnel of
a hallway.

No reply.

Dark doorways lined both sides of the hallway. I peeked into each door as we
passed. I saw stacks of cartons, tall file cabinets, strange machinery I didn’t
recognize. One large room was jammed with enormous coils of metal cable. Another
room had sheets of metal piled nearly to the ceiling.

“Helloooooo!” I called. “Helllooooooo!”

No reply.

Flashing red lights inside a large room caught my eye. I stopped at the
doorway and stared in at some sort of control panel.

One wall was filled with blinking red and green lights. In front of the
lights stood a long counter of dials and gears and levers. Three tall stools
were placed along the counter. But no one sat in them.

No one worked the controls. The room was empty. As empty as the rest of this
strange, frightening basement.

“Weird, huh?” I whispered to Libby.

When she didn’t answer, I turned to make sure she was okay.

“Libby?”

She was gone.

I spun around. “Libby?”

My entire body shook.

“Where are you?”

I squinted back down the long, gray hallway. No sign of her.

“Libby? If this is some kind of a dumb joke…” I started. But the rest of
my words caught in my throat.

Breathing hard, I forced myself to retrace our steps. “Libby?” I stopped at
every door and called her name. “Libby?”

The hallway curved, and I followed it. I began jogging, my hands down stiffly
at my sides, calling her name, searching every door, peering into every dark
room.

How could she get lost? I asked myself, feeling my panic rise until I could
barely breathe. She was right behind me.

I turned another corner. Into a hallway I hadn’t explored yet. “Libby?”

The narrow hall led to an enormous, brightly lit room. I had to shut my eyes
against the sudden bright light.

When I opened them, I found myself nearly face-to-face with a gigantic
machine. Bright floodlights from the high ceiling covered it in light.

The machine had to be a block long! A big control panel, filled with dials,
and buttons, and lights, stood against the side. A long, flat part—like a
conveyor belt—led to several rollers. And at the very end of the machine stood
a huge white wheel. No—a cylinder. No—a roll of white paper.

It’s a printing press! I realized.

I lurched into the room, stepping around stacks of paper and cardboard
cartons. The floor was littered with paper, ink-smeared paper, crumpled, folded,
and ripped.

As I staggered toward the huge printing press, the sea of paper rose up
nearly to my knees!

“Libby? Are you in here? Libby?”

Silence.

This room was as empty as all the others.

The paper crackled under my sneakers. I made my way to a long table at the
back of the room. I found a red stool in front of the table, and I dropped down
onto it.

I kicked big sheets of paper away from my legs and glanced around the room. A
hundred questions pushed into my mind at once.

Where is Libby? How could she disappear like that?

Is she somewhere close behind me? Will she follow the hallway to this big
room?

Where is everyone? Why is this place totally deserted?

Is this where they print the comic books? Am I in the basement of Collectable
Comics, the company that publishes
The Masked Mutant
?

Questions, questions.

My brain felt about to burst. I stared around the cluttered room, my eyes
rolling past the gigantic printing press, searching for Libby.

Where was she?
Where
?

I turned back to the table—and gasped.

I nearly toppled off the stool. The Masked Mutant was staring up at me.

A large, color drawing of The Masked Mutant stared up at me from the table.
Startled, I picked it up and examined it.

It had been drawn on thick posterboard in colored inks. The Masked Mutant’s
cape swept behind him. Through his mask, his eyes appeared to stare out at me.
Evil, angry eyes.

The ink glistened on the page, as if still wet. I rubbed my thumb over an
edge of the cape. The ink didn’t come off.

I wonder if Starenko drew this portrait, I thought, studying it.

Glancing across the table, I saw a stack of papers on a low counter that ran
along the entire back wall. Hopping off the tall stool, I made my way over to
the counter and began shuffling through the papers.

They were ink drawings and pencil sketches. Many of them were of The Masked
Mutant. They showed him in different poses. Some of them showed him moving his molecules around, changing into wild animals and
strange, unearthly creatures.

I opened a thick folder and found about a dozen color sketches of the members
of The League of Good Guys. Then I found a stack of pencil drawings of
characters I’d never seen before.

This
must
be where they make the comic books! I told myself.

I was so excited about seeing these actual drawings and sketches, I nearly
forgot about Libby.

This pink-and-green building must be the headquarters of Collectable Comics,
I realized.

I was starting to feel calmer. My fears dropped away like feathers off The
Battling Bird-Boy.

After all, there was nothing to be afraid of. I hadn’t stumbled into the
headquarters of the world’s most evil supervillain. I was in the basement of the
comic book offices.

This is where the writers and artists worked. And this is where they print
the comic books every month.

So why should I be afraid?

I shuffled through folder after folder, making my way down the long counter.
I found a pile of layouts for a comic book that I had just bought.

It was so exciting seeing the actual art. The page was really big, at least
twice as big as the comic book. I guessed that the artists made their drawings
much bigger than the actual page. And then they shrank the drawings down when they printed them.

I found some really new pencil drawings of The Masked Mutant. I knew they
were new because I didn’t recognize them from my comics at home—and I have
them all!

Drawing after drawing. My eyes were practically spinning!

I never dreamed that Collectable Comics were made right in Riverview Falls.

I flipped through a sketchbook of Penguin People portraits. I never liked the
Penguin People. I know they’re good guys, and people really think they’re great.
But I think their black-and-white costumes just look silly.

I was having a great time. Really enjoying myself.

Of course it had to end.

It ended when I opened the last folder on the counter. And stared at the
sketches inside.

I gaped at them in disbelief, my hands trembling as I shuffled from one to
the next.

“This is impossible!” I cried out loud.

I was staring at sketches of ME.

I frantically shuffled through the big stack of drawings.

You’re just imagining it, Skipper, I told myself. The boy in the sketches
only looks like you. It isn’t really you.

But it
had
to be me.

In every drawing, the boy had my round face, my dark hair—cut short on the
sides and long on top.

He was short like me. And just a little bit chubby. He had my crooked smile,
up a little higher on one side. He wore my clothes—baggy jeans and
long-sleeved, pocket T-shirts.

I stopped at a drawing halfway through the pile and stared hard at it,
holding it close to my face. “Oh, wow!” I exclaimed.

The boy in the drawing even had a chip on his front tooth. Just like me.

“It’s impossible!” I cried out loud, my voice tiny and shrill in the enormous
room.

Who had been drawing me? And why? Why would a comic book artist make sketch
after sketch of me?

And how did the artist know me so well? How did the artist know that I have a
tiny chip on one front tooth?

A cold shiver ran down my back. I suddenly felt very frightened. I stared at
the drawings, my heart pounding.

In one drawing, I looked really scared. I was running from something, my arms
out stiffly in front of me.

Another drawing was a close-up portrait of my face. My expression in the
sketch was angry. No. More than angry. I looked furious.

Another sketch showed me flexing my muscles. Hey, I look pretty cool! I
thought. The artist had given me bulging superhero biceps.

In another drawing, my eyes were closed. Was I asleep? Or was I dead?

I was still staring at the drawings, shuffling from one to the next, studying
each one—when I heard the footsteps.

And realized I was no longer alone.

“Who-who’s there?” I cried, whirling around.

“Where
were
you?” Libby demanded angrily, running across the room
toward me. “I searched everywhere!”

“Where were
you
?” I shot back. “I thought you were right behind me.”

“I thought you were right
ahead
of me!” she cried. “I turned a corner,
and you were gone.” She stopped in front of me, breathing hard, her face bright
red. “How could you leave me by myself in this creepy place?”

“I didn’t!” I insisted. “You left me!”

She shook her head, still gasping for breath. “Well, let’s get
out
of
here, Skipper. I found some elevators that are working.” She tugged my sleeve.

I picked up the stack of drawings. “Look, Libby.” I held them up to her. “You
have to see these.”

“Are you serious?” she cried. “I want to get
out
of here. I don’t want to look at comic book drawings now!”

“But—but—” I sputtered, waving the drawings.

She turned and started toward the doorway. “I
told
you I found some
elevators. Are you coming or not?”

“But these are drawings of me!” I cried.

“Yeah. Sure,” she called back sarcastically. She stopped at the front of the
big printing press and turned back to me. “Why would anyone draw
you,
Skipper?”

“I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “But these drawings—”

“You have a sick imagination,” she said. “You seem like a normal guy. But
you’re totally weird. Bye.” Libby started jogging over the paper-cluttered floor
to the door.

“No—wait!” I called. I dropped the drawings onto the counter, slid off the
tall stool, and chased after her. “Wait up, Libby!”

I followed her out into the hall. I didn’t want to be left alone in this
creepy place, either. I had to get home and think about this. I had to puzzle it
out.

My head was spinning. I felt totally confused.

I followed her through the long tunnel of hallways. We turned a corner, and I
saw a row of elevators against the wall.

Libby pushed the button on the wall, and one of the elevators slid open silently. We both peered carefully inside before
stepping on. It was empty.

We were both panting. My head was throbbing. My side ached. Neither of us
spoke a word.

Libby pushed the button marked LOBBY. We heard a soft hum and felt the
elevator start to move.

When the door slid open, and we saw the pink-and-yellow walls of the lobby,
Libby and I both cheered. We burst out of the elevator together and ran across
the marble floor to the exit.

Out on the sidewalk, I stopped, lowering my hands to my knees, sucking in
deep breaths of fresh air. When I glanced up, I saw Libby studying her watch.