The Villain Virus

  BY MICHAEL BUCKLEY

  The Sisters Grimm

  Book One: The Fairy-Tale Detectives

  Book Two: The Unusual Suspects

  Book Three: The Problem Child

  Book Four: Once Upon a Crime

  Book Five: Magic and Other Misdemeanors

  Book Six: Tales from the Hood

  Book Seven: The Everafter War

  Book Eight: The Inside Story

  Book Nine: The Council of Mirrors

  A Very Grimm Guide

  NERDS

  Book One: National Espionage, Rescue, and Defense Society

  Book Two: M Is for Mama’s Boy

  Book Three: The Cheerleaders of Doom

  Book Four: The Villain Virus

  Book Five: Attack of the BULLIES

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for and may be obtained

  from the Library of Congress.

  ISBN: 978-1-4197-0415-4

  Text copyright © 2012 Michael Buckley

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 Ethen Beavers

  Book design by Chad W. Beckerman

  Published in 2012 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact specialsales@abramsbooks.com or the address below.

  115 West 18th Street

  New York, NY 10011

  www.abramsbooks.com

  For Sharon Handler,

  defender of nerds

  and readers

  In this great big world, there are plenty of lousy jobs, and if you aren’t careful, you might grow up to have one. Without the right encouragement and education you could get stuck being:

  1. An alligator massage therapist

  2. A cat food taste-tester

  3. A toilet bowl shiner

  4. A roadkill collector

  5. A screenwriter

  6. The guy who scrapes boogers off the bottoms of movie theater seats

  Which one of these jobs is the worst is open to debate, but all of them are soul-crushing nightmares. Still, none of them are as bad as Sherman Stoop’s job. Sherman guarded a humongous head.

  To be clear, it wasn’t just a humongous head. It had arms and legs, but they were teeny-tiny and useless. The head had feet and hands, too, but they were even smaller and less useful. But if you were pressed to describe the bizarre creature to a friend, it would be safe to call it a head—a gigantic, RV-size, tiny-limbed head.

  Sherman’s bosses told him that this head was evil and could destroy the world, so it was put into a drug-induced sleep. Sherman was also told that if the head were to ever wake up … well, it would be very, very bad—so Sherman had to watch it very, very carefully. It snored, mumbled in its sleep, drooled, and frequently passed gas.

  Worst. Job. Ever.

  Or was it? It seemed to Sherman that there had been a time when he loved his job. In fact, it seemed like just yesterday. Maybe it was yesterday. He couldn’t be sure. Things were foggy lately, but somewhere in the hazy reaches of his memory there were hints of a time when he thought his job was cool. Didn’t he use to think it was epic to be working around spies in a secret headquarters built beneath a school? Hadn’t it been thrilling to help a secret organization save the world on a daily basis? Wasn’t it awe-inspiring to wear a uniform that was covered in fancy body armor that made him look extremely tough? And what about his oversize laser gun that could burn through metal? None of his friends from high school had a laser gun! And the dental insurance! The dental insurance ruled!

  Or did it? He couldn’t be sure. He was so angry now and much of his frustration had to do with his job. What was once exciting and new about working for the NERDS was now tedious and stupid. What used to make him feel important now made him feel disrespected. And the spies and scientists he once admired now seemed like a pack of mouth-breathing apes.

  He couldn’t be sure when his change in attitude had occurred, but it all seemed to begin with the flu. It hit him all at once—dizziness, sore throat, and a fever so hot he felt like a marshmallow roasting over a campfire. He tossed and turned in bed, too sick to even call a doctor, and then suddenly the fever, nausea, and aches were gone, replaced by a newfound clarity about the world and his place in it. His job guarding an evil, gigantic, RV-size head was not a matter of national security but a task for a monkey, and his employers knew it! They were jealous and fearful of his brilliance. They wanted to squash his potential and steal the glory that was rightfully his, so they stuck him with a thankless chore. Well, he wouldn’t stand for it. Sherman Stoop was destined for greatness, and it was about time the whole world knew it!

  “Sherman, you don’t look well,” Andrea said. She was a coworker on the security staff, and lately the two of them had been eating lunch together. They had a lot of interests in common—kung fu movies, Hungarian goulash festivals, and kitten calendars. Sherman had been building up the courage to ask her out on a date for months, and finally he had the perfect romantic evening—the annual goulash cook-off was a week away. What could be more romantic than taste-testing a hundred different goulashes? He was sure to sweep her off her feet! But now … well, what had happened to all those good feelings? Instead of being smitten by a beautiful woman who shared his love of heavy Eastern European cuisine, he saw a manipulative, cruel jerk who laughed at him behind his back.

  “I’m fine,” he seethed. “Not that you care.”

  “Sherman, what does that mean?”

  “Be gone, woman! Can’t you see I’m thinking?” he replied, enraged.

  Andrea’s face fell. As if he had hurt her feelings! What an actress. She should have been in Hollywood, making movies. She probably didn’t even like goulash! He turned and walked toward the door.

  “Sherman! You can’t leave your station—”

  “Watch me!” Sherman took off his helmet and tossed it to the floor. It bounced around. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

  The noise caused everyone in the lab to gasp, and all eyes turned to the slumbering head. Its horrible, stretched face grimaced, and it snorted. Was it waking up? What were they supposed to do if it woke up?

  But then it licked its lips and went back to its incessant snoring, and the staff breathed again.

  Sherman wasn’t going to wait around for the scientists to scold him like a child. He stormed through the exit doors and nearly ran straight into his boss, Dave Hobin. Dave was a short, dumpy man with a full mustache.

  Several nights a month, he and Sherman got together to play a card game called euchre.

  “Sherman, why are you leaving the holding cell? Are you not feeling well?” Sherman’s answer came in the form of a punch to Dave’s nose.

  “You wouldn’t listen to my ideas, and you laughed at me! All of you laughed at me!”

  “What ideas?” Dave cried as he held his sore snout. “Is this about wanting Cheese Curls in the employee snack machine? I told you I’d look into it.”

  For a moment the anger faded and Sherman realized what he had done to his friend. He was horrified and wanted to
apologize. But before he could, Andrea rushed into the hall and helped Dave to his feet. Sherman could see the hurt and confusion in their eyes.

  “Sherman, explain yourself!” Andrea cried.

  Sherman’s tongue felt as if it were in the grip of a boa constrictor. He couldn’t form an explanation, and even if he could, his actions were just as baffling to him as they were to Andrea and Dave. Why was he so angry at his friends? Why was he so angry at his life?

  And then the fever returned and his regret turned to scorn. These two simpletons should have been apologizing to him for masquerading as his friends. They were no different than the others—just trying to keep him down.

  “You are all going to pay!” he shouted as he stomped away. “I’ve already begun work on a plan that will show the world my brilliance, and everyone will beg for mercy when I take my rightful place as their ruler.”

  “Did you eat at the Goulash Hut again?” Dave shouted after him. “I told you that place has about a thousand health code violations. You probably have food poisoning. Come on, I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

  Sherman turned one last time. “My name is not Sherman! From this day forth, those who are lucky enough to live will call me Captain Kapow!”

  “Captain who?” Andrea asked.

  But Sherman did not reply. He stormed away, his brain hard at work on complex math equations and chemical formulas. His ideas had never been so clear, so crisp, so brilliantly dangerous! All he needed were the materials to construct his inventions and the money to buy the parts. But that wouldn’t be a problem. He knew exactly where to turn for the cash. All he had to do was find the man in the skull mask. Sherman’s dreams the night before had been filled with the mysterious stranger. Whoever he was, Sherman was certain the masked man would help him take over the world.

  But first he was going to stop by the Goulash Hut. He was starving.

  NO WAY! YOU’RE BACK! GEEZ! I CAN’T GET RID OF YOU. EITHER YOU REALLY WANT TO BE A SECRET AGENT OR YOU’RE JUST A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT. YOU ARE AWARE THAT THIS LINE OF WORK HAS A HIGH DEATH RATE, CORRECT? YOU COULD BE KILLED IN A NUMBER OF TERRIBLE WAYS! PLUS, YOU HAVE TO BUY YOUR OWN TUXEDO!

  FINE! THERE’S NO TALKING YOU OUT OF IT. I GUESS THAT’S HOW IT SHOULD BE. MEMBERS OF NERDS ARE MENTALLY TOUGH AND AREN’T SWAYED BY A LITTLE THING LIKE EXCRUCIATING DEATH. STILL, DON’T COME CRYING TO ME IF YOU GET YOURSELF KILLED, ’CAUSE ALL YOU’LL GET FROM ME IS AN “I TOLD YOU SO.”

  OK, PAL! LET’S GET STARTED. FIRST, TELL ME YOUR CODE NAME.

  HA! THAT CODE NAME IS DOWNRIGHT GOOFY. YOU SHOULD HAVE A SUPERCOOL CODE NAME LIKE MINE: BEANPOLE. THAT’S THE KIND OF NAME THAT STRIKES FEAR IN A VILLAIN’S HEART. YEAH, BEANPOLE! WHAT’S SO FUNNY?

  GRRR. ENOUGH WITH THE GIGGLING! I HEARD YOU WERE BELLYACHING BECAUSE YOU HAVEN’T BEEN SENT ON ANY MISSIONS YET. WELL, THERE’S A PERFECTLY GOOD REASON FOR THAT. YOU HAVEN’T SIGNED THE WAIVER. WHAT’S A WAIVER? IT’S A LEGAL DOCUMENT THAT FREES OUR ORGANIZATION OF ANY RESPONSIBILITY IF YOU HAPPEN TO SUFFER A LOSS OF LIMB OR DIE. YOU NEED TO SIGN IT BEFORE WE CAN GET STARTED.

  THE “I KNOW I COULD DIE” WAIVER

  I, __________________________________,

  AM PERFECTLY AWARE THAT THE LIFE OF A SPY IS ONE WHERE I COULD BE KILLED IN A NUMBER OF VIOLENT AND TOTALLY GROSS WAYS, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO:

  A BEAR ATTACK; A KILLER BEE ATTACK; FALLING OUT OF A PLANE; BEING PUSHED OUT OF A PLANE; FALLING THROUGH THE GLASS ROOF OF A SWORD FACTORY; A RACE CAR ACCIDENT; A MOTORCYCLE ACCIDENT; A GOLF CART ACCIDENT; AN ATTACK BY MUTATED OR HYBRID CREATURES; BEING BEATEN TO DEATH BY GOONS, THUGS, TOADIES, MINIONS, OR OTHER LARGE-MUSCLED CHARACTERS; A SPEED BOAT CRASH; DROWNING; BEING FED TO: SHARKS, PIRANHAS, ELECTRIC EELS, ANY OF THE GREAT CATS, OR ANY OF THE LESSER CATS; BEING LOCKED IN A SAFE AND TOSSED INTO THE OCEAN; A LASER BLAST TO THE FACE; BEING TIED TO A ROCKET AND LAUNCHED INTO SPACE; BEING VAPORIZED; BEING DISINTEGRATED; BEING RUN OVER BY A TANK; BEING RUN OVER BY A BUS; BEING RUN OVER BY ANYTHING; HAVING MY HEAD CHOPPED OFF; BEING BLOWN UP; AND PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING ELSE I CAN IMAGINE AND QUITE A NUMBER OF THINGS I CAN’T.

  I AM ALSO AWARE THAT I COULD BE TERRIBLY INJURED IN A HOST OF TROUBLING SCENARIOS THAT WOULD CAUSE MY OWN FAMILY TO AVERT THEIR EYES FROM MY HORRIBLY DISFIGURED FACE AND BODY, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO, BEING: BURNED, PUSHED INTO A TUB OF ACID, DRAGGED BY A SPEEDBOAT ACROSS A CORAL REEF, USED AS A GUINEA PIG BY AN EVIL SCIENTIST, USED AS A GUINEA PIG BY A GOOD SCIENTIST WHO IS FORCED BY SOMEONE ELSE TO PERFORM EVIL SCIENCE, MELTED, PUSHED INTO A WOOD CHIPPER, STRAPPED TO AN OUTRAGEOUSLY LARGE PENDULUM FEATURING AN ALMOST RIDICULOUSLY GIGANTIC RAZOR AND THEN SLICED IN HALF, ATTACKED BY VARMINTS, DUNKED IN HONEY AND BURIED NEAR A FIRE-ANT COLONY, PLUS SUBJECTED TO A WHOLE HOST OF REALLY GROSS THINGS I WOULDN’T EVEN FIND IN A HORROR MOVIE.

  I AM ALSO AWARE THAT IN THE LINE OF DUTY I COULD BE SO BADLY MAIMED THAT I WOULD STRIKE FEAR INTO BABIES AND PETS OR I COULD SUFFER MALADIES, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO: FACE-THIEVERY, HAVING MY ARM EATEN BY AN INSANE BEAVER-CHAINSAW HYBRID, PRETTY MUCH ANYTHING EATING A PART OF MY BODY, AND HAVING MY NOSE CUT OFF IN A SWORD FIGHT. (I THINK YOU GET THE IDEA—AND I DIDN’T EVEN INCLUDE ALL THE NORMAL WAYS A PERSON CAN DIE.)

  BEING FULLY INFORMED OF ANY POSSIBLE DAMAGES TO LIFE AND LIMB, BOTH REALISTIC OR SOMETHING THAT I COULD NEVER IMAGINE WOULD BE POSSIBLE BUT THEN ONE DAY I GO TO WORK AND—BAM!—IT’S VERY MUCH POSSIBLE, I RELIEVE THE NATIONAL ESPIONAGE, RESCUE, AND DEFENSE SOCIETY OF ANY RESPONSIBILITY AND CLAIMS TO DAMAGES. ’CAUSE, LIKE … THIS IS A DANGEROUS JOB NOT MEANT FOR CRYBABIES.

  SO SWEARETH YE,

  __________________________________

  NOW THAT THE LEGAL STUFF IS TAKEN CARE OF, LET’S GET STARTED. THE BOOK YOU HAVE IN YOUR HANDS IS A NERDS CASE FILE. READ IT CAREFULLY AND DON’T SKIP OVER ANYTHING. AT ANY MOMENT, A QUIZ COULD HAPPEN, AND THEN YOU’LL WISH AN INSANE BEAVER-CHAINSAW WAS ATTACKING YOU.

  Secret Agent Alexander Brand was a man of danger, action, and intrigue. He once subdued a raging elephant with nothing but a dress shoe and an apple pie. He incapacitated a dozen trained jujitsu fighters while simultaneously deactivating a bomb. He hang-glided into a raging forest fire to recover the plans for a deadly laser cannon. All this and more had earned him the title of America’s Greatest Secret Agent.

  But now, as he looked up at the imposing building before him, with its chained doors and barred windows, he felt nervous about his latest mission.

  Ms. Holiday, his partner and fellow spy, stood next to him. The two had worked together for nearly a year. They’d been at the center of saving the world more than once, and they had become close. Lately, she had been urging him to express his feelings. But it didn’t feel natural to talk about such things. Luckily, she seemed to be able to read his mind even when his lips were closed tight.

  “It’s going to be OK, Alexander,” she said, patting him on his arm and smiling. “We’ve had tougher assignments than this one. Remember Syria? Remember when we infiltrated that street gang in Mexico? Or the time we were tied to a rocket and shot into space?”

  Brand nodded. Perhaps she was right. The current mission was no more dangerous than any of the others. Mustering his courage, he hobbled up the steps, using his cane for support. Once at the top, he cupped his ear to the building’s massive door. Inside there was a tremendous racket. It sounded like a battle zone or a full-scale riot—obviously, a bigger job than two secret agents could handle.

  “We’re going to need backup. Call SWAT, the FBI, CIA, Special Forces, the Green Berets—whoever can get here the fastest. Tell them to bring tear gas and riot gear. We’re probably going to need some air support, too.”

  Ms. Holiday joined him at the top of the steps and pushed the double doors open. “Alexander, calm down. It’s just middle school.”

  The duo stepped inside and were immediately surrounded by chaos. Spit wads flew through the air, children ran in all directions, trash spilled across the floor, and slamming locker doors assaulted the ears. Near the front door was a portrait of Thomas
Knowlton, one of the United States of America’s first secret agents. Knowlton was a striking man with a thick head of hair and a courageous face. Unfortunately, someone had drawn a curly mustache on him and blacked out a few of his teeth. Brand wondered what kind of juvenile delinquent would be so disrespectful to a national hero, and then he realized any one of the kids in the hall could be a suspect. They darted about like maniacal jackrabbits, while the teachers staggered down the halls, shell-shocked and disillusioned.

  “Alex, I know you don’t like change, but we couldn’t keep the kids at Nathan Hale Elementary any longer. It was time to move on. It’s part of what happens with the NERDS,” Ms. Holiday said.

  “But I had just gotten my office the way I like it,” Brand said. “Now we’ve got a new school, new teachers, a new Playground—”

  “Everything is online and fully operational,” Ms. Holiday said. “The new Playground is even better than the one before. Don’t worry, you’re going to think of this place as home in no time.”

  A soccer ball whizzed through the air and, instinctively, Brand tapped his cane on the floor, releasing the dagger-sharp tip. Right before the ball smashed him in the face, he impaled it on the end of the cane. A tubby kid with an upturned nose rushed toward him. “Hey, that’s my ball!”

  Brand pulled the now-flat ball off his cane and stuffed it into the kid’s hand. “Try to be more careful with this in the future.”

  The kid looked down at his ball and frowned. Then he walked away, just as deflated.

  “Oh, our new friends are here!” a voice cried from down the hall.

  Brand squinted into the sea of children and spotted a little woman barreling toward them. She was short and stumpy, like a smushed Twinkie, with long hair the color of straw and the wide-eyed expression of a porcelain doll. She gave Brand a hug he did not expect and could not escape from.

  “Welcome to our nest, new friends!” the woman cried.