In March, book number thirty-seven in the Chillers series was published. It was called Sinister Serpent Surprise.
The weather was unusually warm, though naturally the school thermostat was still set for winter, so hot air was being pumped in through the vents at full throttle, till we thought we’d all suffocate. Mrs. Lamb had to open all the windows just so we could breathe. I looked at Beamer several times, back there in the last row, slumped down in his seat, with those long legs sprawling out into the aisle. He was gazing out the window, like he was a million miles away. Probably creating constructions in his head. If I’d been close enough, I would have poked him. I wasn’t, though, so I didn’t.
The morning dragged on miserably. I think the only thing that kept us going was the prospect of lunch. Beamer and I ate out on the far side of the playground, where there are a few trees and a nice cool grassy place to sit. There was even a little breeze.
Then the bell rang and we trudged back to the classroom.
During the lunch break, Mrs. Lamb had put some math problems up on the board. I guess she figured that going up there to solve them was more entertaining than sitting at our desks doing work sheets.
She asked Adam, Claire, and DeeDee to go first. They all went up to the board, got some chalk, and went to work. I secretly enjoyed watching DeeDee do this, because for once she was the one on the spot. I’m no great shakes at math, but compared to DeeDee, I’m a regular Einstein. She went through all sorts of poses as she studied the problem (resting chin in hand, crossing arms and leaning back for a really good look, tapping her teeth), but she didn’t come up with an answer.
Adam and Claire finished their problems and went back to their seats. DeeDee just stood there, chalk in gracefully upraised hand, smiling beautifully, with her eyebrows raised in a positively adorable plea for help. This never failed. Mrs. Lamb went over and talked her through the problem.
“Okay, DeeDee,” she said, “nine times five is . . .”
“Forty . . . forty-five?”
“That’s right.”
DeeDee beamed.
“So put down the five and carry the four.” Mrs. Lamb showed DeeDee where to put the four.
“Now, nine times eight is . . .”
“Ssss . . .” DeeDee said.
“Seventy . . .”
“Sssssssssssssssss!” DeeDee said, only now she had dropped the chalk and was beginning to slide down toward the floor. Mrs. Lamb just stood there, stunned, while everybody gasped.
“SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” DeeDee hissed, and she was stretched out on the linoleum now, slithering like a snake. Her skirt rode up, so you could see her panties; her beautiful hair was dragging around in the chalk dust under the board.
Mrs. Lamb knelt down and took DeeDee’s face in her hands to keep it from thrashing around. “Will somebody please run get the nurse,” she said urgently. “I think she might be having a seizure.”
“I’ll go,” I said, and leapt out of my seat. But before I could reach the door, Jonah rolled out onto the floor and began hissing and slithering, too.
“NOW!” shouted Mrs. Lamb. “Hurry!”
I practically killed myself tripping over backpacks and Beamer’s legs on the way to the door. Once I was out in the hall, I heard the sound of hissing coming from other rooms. I took off in a dash down the hall. To my left, a door opened and out came a third grader with a panicked expression on his little round face. We sprinted side by side the rest of the way to the nurse’s office.
I knew, even before I opened the door, what I would find in there. I could hear it. But I had been sent to fetch the nurse, and my brain was slow to adjust to a new plan. The infirmary was like the snake pit at the zoo. The floor was filled with writhing, slithering students. The nurse gave me a frantic look and shut the door. “I’m busy!” she said.
Well, obviously.
I put my hand to my chest and took a big, deep breath. Then I headed for the principal’s office, with the third grader trailing behind me in tears. I knocked.
“Not now!” called a voice from inside. I opened the door anyway. Mrs. Jessup was holding the telephone receiver with one hand and a pale, writhing, hissing child with the other.
“Hang up and dial 911,” I said.
She didn’t have a free hand to wave me away, so she sort of bared her fangs at me.
“Yes, please get here as soon as you can!” she was saying into the phone. “You will probably need to take her to the emergency room. . . . No, I have no idea. Really. Please just get here as soon as you can!” Then she hung up and got a better grip on the little girl, who was hissing loudly and sliding back down toward the floor.
“Can’t you see I’m busy!” she shouted.
“Dial 911!” I repeated. “She’s not the only one. The infirmary is full of them. This is going on all over the school!” She looked at me for a moment in stunned disbelief, then dialed the emergency number.
“This is Martha Jessup at Park Place Intermediate. We have something strange going on here. . . . A large number of students seem to be having seizures or something.”
After a pause, she said, “No, it’s more like—well, this will sound really strange, but it’s as if they’re pretending to be snakes. Slithering, hissing.”
I was sure the emergency personnel on the other end of the line could hear the hissing perfectly well. It was very loud.
“Oh, no. I hadn’t considered that. It has been very hot in the building, but I don’t smell any fumes or anything. And I believe that most of the kids are fine. Should we take them all outside till the ambulances come?”
Another pause.
“I couldn’t begin to tell you,” she said. Then she looked up at me. “How many, do you think?”
“Well, two in my class. . . .” I turned to the third grader, who was cowering in terror behind me. “How many in yours?”
“Just Alicia,” he whimpered.
“That’s three, plus this one.” I indicated the child in the principal’s arms. “At least seven in the infirmary, and I heard hissing all down the hall. I’d guess at least fifteen, but maybe a whole lot more.”
“Did you hear that?” Mrs. Jessup said into the phone. “Send as many as you can.”
She hung up and flipped on the loudspeaker. “May I have your attention!” she said. “We are having a medical emergency here. Teachers, will you please assist your affected students out onto the front lawn. The rest of you, please stay with your teacher and exit the building in an orderly manner. I repeat: Walk, don’t run, but please leave the building.”
It was a madhouse, of course. The principal and I managed to get the little girl outside; then Mrs. Jessup went back in to help get more kids out. I was impressed by how fast the ambulances came. Hissing students were fitted with neck braces and loaded onto stretchers, two or three per ambulance. A few of the kids who had been just fine when they left the building suddenly fell down and started hissing, too.
While they waited in little clusters outside the school, a couple of the teachers started passing their cell phones around so the students could call their parents. Within minutes, frantic moms arrived in droves, managing to block the exit, so the ambulances couldn’t get out. Mr. Clark, the PE teacher, had to wade into the mess and direct traffic.
I stood there in the midst of all that bedlam, wondering what to do. I couldn’t find Zoë or J.D. Beamer offered to give me a ride home, but who knew when his dad would arrive? I was on the verge of freaking out.
“Thanks, Beamer,” I said, “but I need to get out of here now.”
So I walked home.