Chapter 9
The halls were quiet, and the science lab was empty. Sarah and Billy pulled up a couple of chairs in front of the back table where the projection microscope was still plugged in.
She pulled the glass jar out of her backpack. They saw that the ant was still ramming at the glass walls of the jar with its head.
“Hey, hot head, feeling a little bit of anger, are you? Well, so am I, after those burns on my arm. We are about to see what you are all about. I guess it didn’t need much air because it’s still going and glowing red hot. How are we going to do this, Billy?”
“You said the tweezers got hot, so put on a glove. Hold the thing tight under the lens of the scope. I’ll need your cell phone to take a picture of what we see. Whatever happens, don’t let it get away!”
“Billy, could you hold it and let me take the picture? I can’t tell how hard I’m squeezing the tweezers with the glove on.”
“Yeah, OK. The glove’s too bulky for you. I got him. Wow. I’m squeezing hard enough to split him in two, and he just keeps squirming around.” Sarah and Billy both stared into the jar.
Sarah cranked up the magnification while Billy held the ant under the scope.
“What the heck? Do you see that, Sarah? It looks robotic up close! It’s obviously made of some kind of metal!”
Sarah snapped a couple of photos of the image on the microscope screen. The ant continued trying to squirm free, but Billy held it firmly in the tweezers.
A voice that sounded like a low, quaking, rasping growl came from across the room and behind them. “What do you two think you’re doing? You have no permission to be in the lab.”
Sarah sprang up and turned, knocking her chair between her and the enraged science teacher. It was Mr. Phelps, alright, but certainly not the mild-mannered teacher that taught their class earlier that day. He staggered toward her, his reddened face contorting and seething with anger.
“Get it in my jar,” Sarah whispered to Billy. He dropped the ant into her jar, and Sarah quickly twisted the cap on to seal it. Mr. Phelps’ shaking hands were twisted like claws, but he could still move them swiftly. He made a grab for the jar, but Sarah was too fast for him.
“It’s not one of your specimens. It’s mine!” Sarah cried out as she backed up against the wall. She was about to drop the jar into her backpack when Mr. Phelps snarled and grabbed the backpack from her. Sarah tossed the jar to Billy, who caught it in mid-air. She promptly dived under the table and slid out the other side.
Mr. Phelps spun around. His eyes were bulging, and his mouth was hideously twisted. The teacher staggered closer and spoke in an unearthly high-pitched scream, “Give me that jar.” The strange pitch of his voice sent a shock wave of fear through Billy.
He flung a chair between himself and Mr. Phelps, who momentarily stumbled backward.
Sarah was now six feet behind Billy. He tossed the jar back to her and yelled, “Just run, Sarah.” Sarah sped to the doorway, but she had no intention of leaving Billy behind in the lab with a teacher who was way out of control. Mr. Phelps was reeling and only a distorted rendition of himself.
Billy ripped the electric cord out of the wall and grabbed his scope off the table. He saw the teacher’s veins protruding and throbbing on his neck and face. The teacher was covered with dripping sweat. In a panic, Billy gave a chair a hard kick. It slid straight into the knees of the approaching Mr. Phelps. The teacher staggered into the display table. Insect specimen jars sailed through the air and scattered to the floor, spinning and rolling in every direction. Billy gave Sarah’s backpack a quick kick to propel it to the doorway, and she quickly scooped it up.
They both raced like the wind down the hall and out the entrance to the school. The janitor came sprinting down the hall, yelling for them to stop, but they had never hesitated while they ran for the school door. It seemed only a few split seconds, and Billy and Sarah were nearly three blocks away. They finally ducked into a yard and stopped to catch their breath.