She paused.

  "I tested for Malathion. Negative. I tested for cyanide. Negative. Arsenic? Negative."

  She stopped pacing and looked at us, wringing her hands as though she was washing them in thin air.

  "I tested for every kind of poison I could think of," she said. "Then I looked in reference works for rarer kinds of poison. And I tested to see if any of them were in the water. They were not. The results were all negative, negative, negative."

  I cleared my throat, but still my voice came out in a squeak.

  "But you told me that you had found out what was in the water," I said.

  "I have," Dr. Cumberton said. "Finally, completely out of ideas, almost as a joke, I tested for one last thing. I was certain that this test would prove negative, as well. But, to my astonishment, the test was positive. I must say, my jaw dropped. I knew, though, what kind of poison was in that lagoon at the milk factory. I know now what killed the cow and the bird."

  "Well?" I croaked. "What was it?"

  Dr. Cumberton swallowed hard and looked at us.

  "Anthrax," she said. "It was anthrax."

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Anthrax!" I yelled. "How in the world... ?"

  I was shocked. I could not believe my ears. How in the name of Saint Peter could anthrax have gotten into a lagoon at a state-of-the-art milking factory?

  I noticed that Freddy was looking at me with a funny expression on his face — sort of amazed, sort of amused.

  "You know what anthrax is?" he asked. "I thought you weren't interested in science."

  "Yes, I know what anthrax is," I said, still agitated by what I had just heard. "And this isn't science. It's politics."

  Dr. Cumberton interrupted us.

  "Sometimes," she said, "science and politics overlap. Why don't you tell us what you know, Melvin."

  "Well, anthrax is a biological weapon," I said. "I guess you'd call it a germ that's really deadly, and some countries have developed it so they can threaten other countries with it. The way I get it, a little bit of anthrax can kill a lot of people really fast. If you released it in a big city, thousands of people would die."

  "That's right," Dr. Cumberton said.

  "I read about something that happened in Russia a long time ago, like in the 1970s, I think," I said. I squinted as I searched my mind, trying to remember. "It created a big political stink. I think there was an explosion at a factory making anthrax, and a lot people in the city that was right around there died. It's incredibly dangerous stuff."

  "I am very impressed, Melvin," Dr. Cumberton said. "You are exactly right. The year was 1979 and the city was Sverdlovsk. As a result of the explosion, more than 1,000 people died."

  "But here's what I don't get," I said. "The U.S. has agreed not to make biological weapons any more. So how in the world could a deadly poison like anthrax wind up in a lagoon outside the Nacirema Dairy Production and Research Center? It just doesn't make any sense!"

  "I can answer that, Melvin," Freddy said. "You said it yourself: Anthrax is a germ. What it is really, in nature, is an animal disease. If you had paid any attention in science, you'd know that. Mrs. Ziggernaut told us about preventing outbreaks in animal herds, but you must have been daydreaming during that class."

  I made a face at Freddy, but he ignored it,

  "Anyway," he continued, "you find the anthrax disease in horses, sheep, goats — and cows. You said you saw a cow was lying right there by the lagoon. Obviously, that cow had anthrax and died from it right at the water's edge, polluting the whole pool of water."

  "Oh," I said.

  "No, Freddy, I'm afraid that's not it," Dr. Cumberton said. "It's an excellent theory, given what you know, but it is disproved by one scientific fact."

  "What's that?" Freddy asked, looking perplexed.

  "If the lagoon had been polluted by contact with the body of an infected animal," she said, "the levels of anthrax in the water would have been relatively low. Oh, the lagoon would still have been quite poisonous. Certainly poisonous enough to kill a bird. Poisonous enough to endanger a lot of people. I cannot tell you how glad I am that you boys were so careful when you collected the sample. But still, the

  concentration of anthrax in the water would be quite low."

  "Yes?" Freddy said. "And?"

  "The concentration of anthrax in the sample you brought me was very, very high. Unbelievably high."

  I was thinking hard, trying to take it all in.

  "None of it makes sense," I said for the second time. As I said it, I remembered vaguely having heard someone else use that phrase recently. But there was no time to think of that now. "So, how did the anthrax get there?" I asked. "Outside a milk factory?"

  "I've been thinking about that," Dr. Cumber-ton said. "You seem to have read a lot about the explosion at the anthrax plant in Russia."

  I nodded.

  "Do you recall whether, after the explosion, the Russians admitted that the factory was manufacturing anthrax?" she asked.

  I could feel the wheels of my brain turning.

  "No ..." I said slowly. "I think they denied it. But you don't mean..."

  "I don't know what I mean," Dr. Cumberton said. "But right now, that's the only explanation I can think of."

  "So that explanation about it being a state-of-the-art milk factory is just a cover story," I said, and a chill ran up my spine. "And what we have right here in Atkinson, Nebraska, is a factory that actually manufactures anthrax, a deadly biological weapon capable of killing thousands and thousands of people all at once."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Silence descended upon the room like a shroud.

  This whole thing seemed too serious, too frightening, too deadly to speak of. I felt as if I were at a funeral.

  For a minute, the three of us stared at each other. I felt very sad, somehow. It seemed impossible to believe that our peaceful little town was in such danger. To think that someone had put our town, and everyone who lived in it, in such danger on purpose made me feel like crying.

  Afraid the tears would come and embarrass me, I looked away from Freddy and Dr. Cumberton and gazed out the window. Everything outside looked dark and gray and gloomy. Rain spattered against the window and ran down the glass.

  I bit my lip.

  Suddenly, Freddy, normally the most quiet of people, broke the silence with a shout.

  "I knew it!" he yelled. "I knew it!"

  Dr. Cumberton and I stared at him.

  "You knew that plant made anthrax?" I asked.

  "No," Freddy said. "But I knew something wasn't right. I told you — remember? The thick, heavy walls that you noticed, the heavy security, the fingerprinting, the people in space suits. Remember? I told you none of it made sense! None of it made any sense at all!"

  Now that he said it, I did remember. I knew I'd heard someone say that before. And he was right. None of it did make any sense.

  I realized that Freddy and Dr. Cumberton were looking at me, as if they expected me to say something.

  They were waiting for me to take the lead.

  I knew I had to so something. Doing nothing was unacceptable.

  I stared out the window, thinking and watching the raindrops streak down the glass.

  "We have to act quickly," I said.

  "Why quickly?" Dr. Cumberton said.

  I pointed out the window. Freddy and Dr. Cumberton looked.

  "It's raining," I said slowly, as the thought formed in my mind. "The river is rising. If the Elkhorn floods the

  lagoon or the factory, it will be polluted with anthrax. It will become a running river of death." I paused. Neither Freddy nor Dr. Cumberton spoke.

  "And the Elkhorn runs into ... ?" I asked.

  "The Platte," Freddy breathed.

  "And the Platte runs into ... ?"

  "The Missouri," he said.

  "And the Missouri runs into ... ?"

  "The Mississippi," he whispered. I saw horror in his eyes.

  "And the Mississippi River provides the water supply for the whole middle of the country, from here on down to New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico," I said. "I read about it once in a book on how Herbert Hoover got to be president. A huge part of the country relies on the Mississippi for water."

  No one spoke.

  "Dr. Cumberton?" I asked. "If the Elkhorn became polluted with anthrax in the concentration you found in our sample, and the anthrax was carried downstream into the Platte and the Missouri and the Mississippi, how many people depend on the Mississippi for their drinking water? How many people could be poisoned? How many people might die?"

  "Millions," Dr. Cumberton said. "Millions."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next few days were among the worst of my life.

  Freddy and Dr. Cumberton and I decided that the only thing to do was to notify the authorities. The factory had to be shut down and steps had to be taken to make sure that the poison already there did not find its way into the river.

  I started with the mayor of Atkinson, Mel Hootersen. He let me into his office, and listened while I explained the whole thing.

  But he wasn't too happy about what I had to say. The whole time he listened, he looked as if someone were holding a piece of dog poop under his nose.

  Finally, he interrupted me.

  "Son," he said. "Do you know how hard I worked to get the Nacirema Dairy Production and Research Center to build its new factory here in Atkinson? Do you have the slightest idea how much that center pays this town each year in taxes so little twerps like you can go to a decent school with computers and all that newfangled nonsense? Do you?"

  I shook my head.

  "A lot!" Mayor Hootersen said. "Hundreds of thousands of dollars every year! And if that factory were shut down, do you know what would happen? I would have to raise taxes, and then I'd be voted right out of office. No one wants to pay higher taxes, whether it's for education or anything else, and they'd just kick me out."

  "What about higher taxes so that millions of people don't get poisoned?" I said, a little angrily.

  "Listen, son," the mayor said. "That plant doesn't produce poison. It makes milk, for cryin' out loud."

  "But Dr. Cumberton told me ..."

  The mayor held up his hand to cut me off. He leaned forward and spoke to me in a confidential tone.

  "Son, I don't care what that crazy professor told you. But between you and me, I think scientists are all a little nutty. I've never understood a word they said, and I'm not sure they understand what they're saying, either. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

  He stood up and showed me out the door.

  I tried to call the governor, but I only got through to an assistant. He said someone would call me back, but no one ever did.

  I called both of Nebraska's senators and I got nowhere. On one of the calls, I heard the secretary cover

  the phone with her hand, giggle, and say to someone else, "This is so cute! It's some kid calling who thinks he's got a problem for the senator to solve."

  That made me mad. I don't understand why people don't pay more attention to what kids have to say.

  They might learn something.

  I finally decided that the only person who could help, the only person who could stop millions of people from dying, was the president of the United States.

  I called information in Washington, D.C., and asked for the number for the White House. When I dialed, I got some man on the phone who said, "White House?" as if it were a question.

  I told him I needed to speak to the president.

  "I'm sorry, but the president does not take calls from members of the public," the man said in a voice as sweet and gooey as syrup. "If you tell me what you are calling about, your concern will be recorded and tabulated for our records."

  "There's a milk factory in Atkinson, Nebraska, that's not really a milk factory but a biological weapons factory," I said. "And it's raining, and the river's rising, and if that stuff gets into the Elkhorn River it will flow into the Mississippi River and millions of people will die."

  On the other end of the line, I heard the clicking of a computer keyboard. The man muttered as he typed:

  "Milk ... weapons ... flow into Mississippi.. . millions ... die," he said. "OK, thank you very much for your comments, sir. I want you to know that the president appreciates your call very much."

  Click. The line went dead.

  I realized then that no one would help prevent this disaster from happening. Public officials didn't believe me, or else they didn't care.

  The mayor was not going to act. Neither was the governor, and neither were our senators, and neither was the president.

  If anything was going to be done to avoid this tragedy — if anything could be done — I had to be the one to do it.

  At least I knew the score. It was all up to me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Something happened to me in those few days. Something that changed me so much I didn't even feel like the same person.

  I got angry. Really, really mad.

  A disaster was bearing down on us, and nobody was going to do a darn thing. The mayor worried more about keeping taxes low than about doing the right thing, more about his silly little political career than about saving lives.

  And the governor and the senators and the president of the United States all kept themselves so isolated from ordinary people that you couldn't get messages through to them even if the messages were incredibly important.

  What good did it do to have those people in those jobs if they weren't going to do anything when it really counted?

  White-hot anger burned inside my chest until I couldn't stand it. I was so mad I could hardly see. I slammed my fist into the wall of my room in frustration.

  Then the anger drained away.

  I saw clearly now that being angry did no good. Pounding my fist into the wall was about as much help as the mayor talking about low taxes, or some idiot at the White House telling me that the president appreciated my call.

  Only action would help. But what could I do?

  I sat on my bed and tried to think as carefully as I could. I felt willing at that point to do whatever I could, no matter how difficult.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a noise in the outside in the distance. It sounded tinny and metallic, like

  a voice coming from inside a can of sardines, and I could hear it coming closer and closer. The noise blared louder and louder.

  Finally, I realized it must be a loudspeaker mounted on top of a car or a van. As it came closer still, I was able at last to make out the words.

  "Attention, please! Attention, please!" the voice said, echoing loudly through the street in front of my house. "The Elkhorn is rising. More rain is forecast. All able-bodied citizens are asked to report at once to the riverside to help fill sandbags and build dikes. Please, help save our town. The Elkhorn is rising.

  The Elkhorn is rising."

  Chapter Nineteen

  I met Freddy down by the riverside.

  I had run down to the Elkhorn at once, of course. Building walls of sandbags to hold back the water didn't seem like a permanent solution to me. But if that was what was needed right now, I was willing to pitch in.

  Besides, I couldn't think of anything better at the moment.

  Hundreds of people had already arrived at the banks of the river, and more were coming every minute.

  One thing you could say for the people who lived around Atkinson: They would pull together and fight to save their town.

  The river ran rough and angry between its banks, and much higher than usual. I could not believe the force of it. It looked powerful enough to uproot trees and tear down bridges.

  And it was dangerously close to spilling over its banks and spreading over the flat lands beyond, flooding everything around — including the grounds of the Nacirema Dairy Production and Research Center, and, of course, the lagoon.

  The area was buzzing with activity. Fire trucks pulled up, their lights flashing, and so did police cars.

  In one area, one dump truck after another pulled up and poured out load after load of sand. People grabbed burlap bags and held them open while other people shoveled them full of sand. People heaved the full sandbags hand-to-hand-to-hand along a line of people that stretched from the mountain of sand the dump trucks had created all the way to the banks of the river.

  There, people laid the sandbags one on top of another like bricks to build a big wall to hold the river within its banks.

  I picked up a shovel and prepared to do my part. By helping to keep the river out of Atkinson, I thought, maybe I could help save the lives of countless people downstream.

  But Freddy grabbed me by the arm and pulled me away.

  "I need to see you," he said quietly.

  He led me a short distance to a place where Dr. Cumberton waited.

  "Let's go back to your house," Freddy said to me.

  "What . . . ?" I tried to ask, but Freddy motioned me to be quiet.

  In silence, the three of us walked until we came to my house. My parents were out, probably helping with the sandbagging. We walked up the stairs to my room.

  Without a word, each of us took a seat — Dr. Cumberton at my desk, and Freddy and me on the edge of my bed. Freddy stared at me hard.

  "Do you want to do something to fix this situation?" he asked me quietly.

  "Of course I do!" I burst out.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "What do you mean vhyT I exclaimed. "Because otherwise people will die! Lots of them!"

  "And why do you want to stop them from dying?" Freddy asked. "So you can be famous? So you can be a hero? So you can get elected president?"

  "No!" I shouted. "I don't care if no one ever knows who did what! I don't care about being famous or any of that. I don't even want to be president any more!"

  "Then why?" Freddy asked. "I want to save them for only one reason," I said. "I want to help because it is the right thing to do." , ,

  "Good," Freddy said. "Then I have a plan.

  Chapter Twenty

  It is almost impossible to describe what happened next.

 

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