Free The Bully Bug by David Lubar Page A

the ground shaking through the hairs in my legs. I looked over and saw a truck. A couple guys jumped out of it and pulled a hose from the back. It wasn’t a fire truck. It was some kind of truck with a tank.
    The guys slipped masks over their heads and onto their mouths and noses.
    They pointed the hose at the trees.
    There was a hiss, and this big, foggy cloud sprayed out of the hose. It shot over the trees and started to sink down.
    On the side of the truck, I saw the picture of the dead bug. The one on its back with its feet in the air. I looked up over my head. The fog was drifting down. All around. There was no way I could get out in time.
    And I couldn’t fly up. I’d go right through the spray.
    If it touched me, I figured I was one dead bug.

 
    Nineteen
    CAN YOU DIG IT?
    Â 
    There was no time to think. Even if there was, I never was any good at thinking my way out of trouble. Norman had said I did stuff by instinct. Maybe that was my only hope. I shut my brain down—that wasn’t so hard—and let my body take over.
    It worked.
    I dropped to the ground and started to dig. My arms were so strong and fast, I made a hole right away. I slipped into it and I kept on moving. It was easy. It sort of felt like swimming through something real thick. I just scooped out some space ahead of me and then pushed my way forward. I didn’t need to make much of a hole, since I could squish through just about any small space.
    It was dark, but that didn’t matter. I knew exactly where I was. I moved toward Norman’s house. Every inch of my body helped tell me things. There were thousands of clues. I could feel and hear stuff all around me. I knew when I was under a road. I felt the cars rolling along.
    It was nice underground—cool and wet. It was tempting to close my eyes and rest. Maybe take a nap, down here safe and dark, surrounded by soil. Nice and safe. Maybe just stay here. Sleep for a while.
    No. I realized I was starting to think more and more like a bug. If that happened, I might never get better. I kept digging.
    Finally, I popped up from a hole in the middle of Norman’s front yard. I shook the dirt off my body and climbed up the side of the house. The window was open, but there was a screen on it.
    He was lying in his bed, reading.
    â€œHey,” I called. “It’s me.”
    He looked over. Then he jumped up and ran to the window. “Good grief. I told you to avoid hot places. What did you do, spend the night in a furnace?” He pulled off the screen and stepped back.
    I crawled in. “Attic,” I told him.
    â€œWell, this pretty much verifies the heat hypothesis,” he said. “Though I imagine that’s much more satisfying a realization for me than it is for you.”
    â€œWhat do I do?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure something out.”
    His doorbell rang.
    â€œWait here,” he said.
    I started to sit, then decided I’d feel better off the ground. So I crawled up the wall and across the ceiling to the corner over his bed.
    I heard two sets of footsteps a moment later. He came back into the room with his show-off friend, Sebastian.
    â€œLud,” Norman said, “I brought someone who can help.”
    I watched as Sebastian looked around the room. “What are you talking about, Norman?” he asked. “There’s nobody here. Let me guess—you have a new imaginary playmate.”
    I dropped down from the ceiling, landing lightly on Norman’s bed.
    Sebastian snapped his head toward me. He opened his mouth to scream. But no sound came out. Instead, his eyes rolled back and he fainted. Dropped right down on the floor with a thud.
    â€œI forgot about his fear of bugs,” Norman said. He looked at me. “Wait here while I get some water.” He ran out, then came back a minute later with a glass of water.
    Norman managed to get Sebastian to wake up.