Attack of the forty foot.., p.1
Attack of the Forty-Foot Chicken, page 1
part #1 of The Second Book of Bonkers Series
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PRAISE FOR BONKERS
“You better read Bonkers right now! Or you will have no one but yourself to blame when a Snerb starts growing out of your armpit . . . Required reading for anyone who loves fast, furious, weird, bonkers adventures.”
—Jon Scieszka,
first National Ambassador for
Young People’s Literature
“The first book in the new adventure series called Bonkers is definitely, well, bonkers. It’s a fun and funny sci-fi story that will have you laughing and biting your nails at the same time, which may make it hard to turn the pages. Patrick Carman has done it again!”
—D. J. MacHale,
#1 New York Times bestselling author
“A fun, funny, and gripping read and, like all Patrick Carman books, full of memorable characters that suck you into a wonderfully weird, layered world . . . It all adds up to a fabulously good time.”
—Joe Purdy,
TV animation writer for
Arthur, Llama Llama, and Hey Arnold!
“This book is gross, hilarious, chaotic, funny, and scary . . . Maybe it’s the madcap plot, maybe it’s the deadpan humor, or maybe it’s the tale of friendship at its core, but this book grabbed me and didn’t let go. I can’t wait for the next installment!”
—Stephen Bramucci,
award-winning author of the Danger Gang series
“Patrick Carman is a lovely and kind man with a wacko sense of imagination. I couldn’t have imagined this tale if I had fifty lifetimes to think about it. It’s wild, funny, outlandish, and outrageous. Boy, does it move!!! Take the wild ride. It’s a blast!”
—Richard Kind,
actor
“This book is the pits! And I mean that in the best way. So much laugh-out-loud fun and adventures from one armpit! I love this series—you’ll go Bonkers, too!”
—R. L. Stine,
author of Goosebumps and Fear Street
“This suspenseful and hilarious Bonkers adventure has it all: embarrassing underarm problems, a mysterious abandoned lab where all the wacky and gross trouble starts, and three wisecracking friends trying to figure it all out. Patrick Carman knows exactly what tickles the funny bones for kids!”
—Rachel Lipman,
Emmy Award–winning writer/producer of Rugrats, Recess, and Sabrina the Teenage Witch
BOOKS BY PATRICK CARMAN
the bonkers series
The Terror in Jenny’s Armpit
Attack of the Forty-Foot Chicken
Escape from the Dungeons of Snerbville (coming soon!)
the skeleton creek series
Skeleton Creek
Ghost in the Machine
The Crossbones
The Raven
Phantom Room
Skeleton Creek Is Real
Skeleton Creek: Seven Secret Stories
the fizzopolis series
The Trouble with Fuzzwonker Fizz
Floozombies!
Snoodles!
the pulse series
Pulse
Tremor
Quake
the land of elyon series
The Dark Hills Divide
Beyond the Valley of Thorns
The Tenth City
Stargazer
Into the Mist
the dark eden series
Dark Eden
Phantom File
Eve of Destruction
the floors series
Floors
3 Below
The Field of Wacky Inventions
the elliot’s park series
Elliot’s Park
Haunted Hike
Walnut Cup
the atherton series
The House of Power
Rivers of Fire
The Dark Planet
the trackers series
Trackers
Shantorian
standalone novels
Thirteen Days to Midnight
Mr. Gedrick and Me
The Inventors
Towervale
contributing author
The Black Circle (The 39 Clues Series, Book 5)
Ghost Vision Glasses (The Guys Read Series)
Omega Rising (The Voyagers Series, Book 3)
ATTACK OF THE FORTY-FOOT CHICKEN
THE SECOND BOOK OF BONKERS
PATRICK CARMAN
Copyright © 2024 by Patrick Carman
E-book published in 2024 by Blackstone Publishing
Cover and interior illustration by Kristin Houser
Cover layout by Sarah Riedlinger
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Trade e-book ISBN 979-8-212-56480-9
Library e-book ISBN 979-8-212-56479-3
Juvenile Fiction / Horror
Blackstone Publishing
31 Mistletoe Rd.
Ashland, OR 97520
www.BlackstonePublishing.com
This one is for my good buddy Joe Purdy, a storytelling genius and a truly fabulous friend. Plus, there’s a rumor he makes a great omelet.
CONTENTS
1. Hi There, I’m Barker Mifflin
2. The Tree of Shame
3. McTokens
4. Commander McMegan
5. Five Things
6. Always Pass on the Pudding
7. Night Stalkers
8. The Mini Marshmallow Trail
9. Mary McFadden Isn’t Normal
10. Into the Top Secret Barn
11. Chaos Theory
12. Pickles!
13. Attack of the Forty-Foot Chicken!
14. Disaster!
15. Maybe I’m the Problem
16. A Throne of Garbage
17. Chicken Tracks
18. Into the Woods!
19. The Kid Who Fell in a Hole
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ONE
HI THERE, I’M BARKER MIFFLIN
As you can see by the chapter title, my name is Barker Mifflin. You may have noticed me hanging around in a story called The Terror in Jenny’s Armpit. Jenny is a pal of mine who had some trouble with her armpit, so I tried to help her out. I mean, let’s be honest, most eleven-year-olds just aren’t prepared for trouble in their armpit, especially the kind of trouble Jenny was dealing with. It’s times like these when you need someone like me around—but we’ll get to that later. Right now, there’s something a little more pressing I need to tell you.
I’m riding a forty-foot chicken. It’s like riding a horse, only it’s a chicken, and the chicken is forty feet tall.
I can understand how this might sound hard to believe. But for an eleven-year-old survivalist like me, it’s exactly the kind of poultry pickle I’ve been preparing for my entire life.
I saw this coming a mile away.
But Barker, you say, you’re only eleven years old! Were you really preparing for terrible trouble all the way back when you were two?
I shouldn’t even dignify that question with an answer, but I will because we just met.
Of course I was prepared for disaster when I was two years old.
And I’ll tell you why: because when you’re two years old, a lot is coming at you (like forks and spoons and carrots.) Danger lurks around every corner for a two-year-old, and the world could go pear-shaped at any moment. There is no better time to be prepared than when you’re a human baby. Sure, I’m stating the obvious. A normal onesie-wearing human infant is a defenseless blob of skin and bones. So consider this a warning: do not be a bundle of useless baby! You’re better than that.
When I was two years old, I took naps with one eye open, I wore floaties and a bicycle helmet to bed, and I lined my crib with trip wires. And why did I do these things? Because the house could flood at any moment, the light fixture could fall off the ceiling, or a zombie could wander into my room. And I was ready for all three.
Since we’re on the subject of me being prepared, here’s the first of many famous Barker Mifflin adages you will find scattered throughout this book. I call them Survival Nuggets, not to be confused with Survival Chicken Nuggets, an amusing dinner game my little brother likes to play.
Barker Mifflin’s Survival Nugget Number 4, written when I was two years old: Your first mistake was thinking bad things wouldn’t happen.
No truer words have ever been spoken, am I right?
I’m not sure if I mentioned this already, but the giant chicken I’m currently riding through the woods is chasing a fully grown llama that’s about the size of a pigmy goat. So yeah, I’m having a strange and confusing day. But like I said, I’m prepared.
But how did you find yourself riding a forty-foot chicken, you ask, and where did it come from?
These are excellent questions.
Survival Nugget Number 117: The answers are out there; all you have to do is ask.
And so, since you asked, I will give you the answer. The answer in this particular case is going to require me to go back two days and start from the beginning. But don’t you worry, I’
And so it begins.
TWO
THE TREE OF SHAME
Two days ago was the first day of work at McFadden Farm, where I spend three weeks every summer picking strawberries. Jenny, of recent armpit trouble, and her oddball buddy Fen Stenson also work at McFadden Farm. Between you and me, I try to avoid them as much as possible because they’re incredibly slow strawberry pickers, and that sort of thing can rub off on a guy.
I never leave home without a go bag strapped to my back. Jenny and Fen may have each other as travel buddies, but personally, I’d take a go bag over a travel buddy any day of the week. A good go bag has everything I need to survive. Besides, a travel buddy would only slow me down in a chase scenario.
The Barker Mifflin go bag is filled with exactly what you’d expect: ropes, an assortment of useful hand tools, water bottles, and ziplocked containers of food rations. But obviously that’s just the stuff other kids know about. There are other things in my bag, like my secret-recipe zombie-repellent, my journal filled with Survival Nuggets, an ace bandage wrap in case I break a limb, night vision goggles, an— I should stop there. The rest is classified.
Okay fine, I’ll tell you. No need to thank me, but you should, because I’ve never told anyone. I also keep bubble gum, extra underwear, an oven mitt, an extra sock, two fly swatters, a pancake spatula, and bird-watching binoculars in the bag. Plus, other stuff I can’t tell you about. Sorry. It’s a big bag.
Survival Nugget Number 405: Always bring an extra sock.
You’d be surprised how often one sock wears out before the other one does. There is nothing more annoying during a survival situation than a big toe hanging out of a sock. Don’t be that guy.
Even when it’s pushing one hundred degrees, I wear army boots, fingerless gloves, and a neck gaiter to McFadden Farm. I also just so happen to be the fastest strawberry picker anyone has ever seen. It’s not uncommon for people to walk by while I’m picking a row of strawberries and stare in disbelief. They usually mumble something like . . .
How is that possible?!
I’d prefer not to draw attention to myself, but I can’t help picking strawberries faster than anyone else, because I need as many McTokens as I can get my hands on.
“Hey, Barker Mifflin!”
I was about to tell you all about McTokens, but Fen Stenson just showed up. On top of being Jenny’s oddball travel buddy, he’s Swedish, he talks a lot, and he’s woefully unprepared for disaster. Fen would be a terrible travel buddy. Today he’s got a green headband strapped across his forehead, holding down his gigantic blob of blond hair.
“What’s shakin’, shakey-shake?” Fen asked.
This is just the kind of useless thing Fen Stenson is always saying. Most of the stuff that comes out of his mouth I consider a waste of carbon dioxide, with no business escaping into the atmosphere. Words like shakin’, shakey, and shake should be stricken from the English language. But if I didn’t answer him, he’d keep talking, and that was an even worse outcome. I had to get rid of him fast and use the smallest number of words doing it.
“I’m working here, Fen,” I said.
“Cool, cool. You do know they haven’t even blown the start whistle yet, right?” Fen asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “This is chill time. It’s you time, Barker! Want some of my leftover pizza from last night?”
He took a huge bite of cold pizza and Jenny walked up next to him.
“Check me out,” Jenny said, waving her arm up in the air. “No armpit trouble! It’s pretty great.”
“Pizza, Jen-Jen?” Fen said, holding his half-eaten slice about two inches from Jenny’s face. This guy had a nickname for everyone, and two for Jenny: Jen-Jen and Jenster. So, you’re right: he was endlessly annoying. You can go ahead and say it. I don’t judge.
“No thanks,” Jenny said. “Hey, Barker.”
“Hey,” I said. I shuffled a few feet further away from them into a new section of strawberries.
“I think Barker Mifflin might be the fastest strawberry picker in the world,” Jenny said.
“I’m fast because I’m focused,” I said. “Also, thank you for the compliment.”
“The kid’s got talent,” Fen agreed through a mouth full of pizza crust.
“Where’s our row again?” Jenny asked. She glanced around with a confused look on her face.
“Over there, by the tree of shame,” Fen said, then he made an ominous dun dun dunnnnnnnn sound and laughed. It was Fen’s first time picking on the farm, so Jenny must have told him about the infamous tree.
“Ugh,” Jenny went on. “I hate that thing.”
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Fen said, but Jenny and I were on our second season at the farm, so, when it came to the tree, we knew better. Fen Stenson was just the type to spend half his summer there.
The tree of shame was a dead, leafless stump with a broken piece of weathered plywood nailed into it. Someone, probably the crew boss, had spray-painted two words on the plywood in white paint: You Stink. It was the hottest most barren part of the whole farm, and it was also where the garbage cans were kept. It smelled like rotting sandwiches and reeked of failure.
Only the slowest, weakest pickers got sent to the tree of shame. The ones who talked too much, got into berry-throwing fights, or attempted a cat nap in the boiling heat.
I moved again, even further down my row, and kept my head down.
“At least we won’t have to walk very far if we get sent to the tree,” Jenny sighed.
“I bet Barker Mifflin has never been to the tree of shame,” Fen said to Jenny, then he yelled in my direction. “Hey Barky Bark Bark?! You ever been—”
“No,” I said before Fen could finish asking. Why would I ever get sent to the tree of shame? It’s for slow strawberry pickers, and that ain’t me.
“Yeah, I figured,” Fen said. “Sure you don’t want some pizza? I’ve got more.”
They kept talking, I kept picking, and eventually they wandered five or six rows over just in time for the start whistle to blow. It wasn’t really a whistle, that’s just what they called it on the farm. The start whistle was the crew boss leaning on a tractor horn that blared across the field, where a little over two dozen kids were staring into their phones.
A collective groan rose up and promptly ended summer vacation for twenty-seven kids.
THREE
MCTOKENS
I’m already half a flat into my first McToken, and I’m in luck—the crew boss is about to explain what a McToken is so I don’t have to.
A voice boomed through a bullhorn across the field: “Welcome pickers! And I don’t mean nosepickers! Hahahahahahaha.”
No one else on the farm laughed. You could hear a pin drop as twenty-seven kids stared at the tractor.
“If you’re a first-timer, listen good! Because I’m only going to explain this stuff once,” the crew boss yelled into the bullhorn.
