Free Lab 6 by Peter Lerangis

1
    “T ELL ME WHY I shouldn’t smash your face.”
    Bart Richter could hardly get the words out. His teeth were clenched, like a mousetrap that had snapped just short of its prey.
    Sam Hughes felt like the mouse.
    Run.
    He’s crazy.
    Sam knew he should have given Bart the computer class homework — just handed him a copied disk, no tricks. He should have let Bart cheat, same as always. Maybe change a line here and there so it wouldn’t be too obvious.
    Planting the virus was stupid.
    What was I thinking? Sam asked himself.
    The plan seemed foolproof at the time. It wasn’t a killer virus. It was easy to fix. Bart would insert the disk into his computer. His files would disappear. He’d call Sam in desperation. Sam would rush over, suddenly the hero. He’d agree to retrieve the files — but only if Bart agreed to stop the cheating.
    But foolproof was not the same as Bart-proof.
    Bart had never opened the disk. Instead, he had just handed it in.
    The first person to open it had been Mr. Antonelli, the computer teacher.
    And his files had been wiped out.
    His class notes, his family finances, his e-mail, and the first seven chapters of his Great American Novel — all were gone in an instant.
    By the end of the day, Bart was gone, too. From school, that is. Suspended. But only after Mr. Antonelli had yelled at him, flunked him, and threatened to sue him.
    Which was why Sam was in the back of the Blue Mountain Mall on Friday evening, facing doom in the form of a fourteen-year-old halfback bent on vengeance.
    “Mr. Antonelli’s a smart guy,” Sam said, backpedaling. “It’s an easy virus. He — he can undelete those files, no sweat. I can tell him how, if you — ”
    Sam’s back made contact with the brick wall. He looked to his right, toward the mall entrance, but a Dumpster blocked it from view.
    Bart kept approaching. “I don’t get it. What idiot would put a virus on his own homework?”
    “It wasn’t on my disk.”
    No.
    Sam, you fool.
    The realization slowly spread across Bart’s face. “You did it to me on purpose — ?”
    “I didn’t think you’d hand it in — ”
    Bart swung. Fast.
    Sam ducked, but he wasn’t quick enough.
    He was jolted off the ground, following the trajectory of his flying jaw. With a resounding CLANG, he slammed against the side of the Dumpster.
    “Use your brain NOW, smart guy,” Bart growled.
    He reared his arm back again.
    Sam gripped the lip of the Dumpster and pulled himself up. The smell of rotting food wafted up from inside.
    He felt Bart’s hand close around his calf.
    “BART!”
    Jamie Richter’s voice.
    Bart’s twin sister. The lead singer in the worst garage band Sam had ever heard, Inhuman Phenomena. “The voice of a dying tomcat on a rainy night,” he had said in his school newspaper review.
    Maybe he’d been too harsh.
    You’ve sabotaged one Richter. Insulted the other.
    Great, Sam.
    No way out of this one.
    “Hulllk— ”A cry for help choked in Sam’s throat. He coughed out a glob of saliva.
    Bart’s grip loosened. “What the — ?”
    Bart was stumbling backward. Wiping goo from his face. Sam’s goo.
    Dead.
    You are dead.
    “BART, YOU FATHEAD!”
    Jamie’s footsteps rang out. Coming closer.
    Bart turned. “WHAT?” he snapped.
    NOW.
    Sam jumped back onto the blacktop. The impact sent a stab of pain through his already swelling jaw.
    Bart spun around and lunged for him.
    But Sam was gone. Running across the lot.
    “Sam?” Jamie called out.
    Sam darted out onto the sidewalk.
    “SAM, I HAVE TO TALK TO YOU!”
    Now they were both chasing him.
    He ran down the hill. Toward Rio de Ratas, “River of Rats,” the brownish waterway that bordered town. The river had a real name, but no one remembered it. Pollution from Blue Mountain’s factories had ruined the water ages ago. Nowadays the factories stood empty and abandoned, but the look and stench of the river remained.
    Just before the river was a cyclone fence. Sam squeezed through a hole,