She lowered the receiver with a despondent sigh. I guess I shouldn't have expected anything different, she thought. "My parents have lost it as well," she told Francine, who was waiting for her turn on the phone.
A savory aroma greeted the noses of Arthur, D.W., and Vicita as they marched, uninvited, into the Nordgren home. "Mmm, someone's making pizza!" said D.W. with delight.
"Hi, Arthur," said George, who was changing the cold compress on Jenny's overheated forehead. "Where are your glasses?"
"Broken," replied the aardvark boy. "Thanks for asking, Binky."
"Let me guess," said Francine, hanging up. "Your mom and dad have gone off their rockers."
"That's about the size of it," said Arthur with a nod. To George he added, "Can I talk to Jenny?"
"I'm afraid she's dying at the moment," said the moose boy.
Arthur gaped. "Dying?"
"Or getting better," George went on. "I can't tell."
"She's got alienitis," Sal chimed in.
Vicita curiously looked over the ailing Kressidan girl. "After we moved here from Ecuador, the food made us really sick," she recounted. "We made up a name for it—Davy Crockett's Revenge. I think that's what Jenny's got."
"So you think she's reacting badly to Earth food?" said Francine with concern. On the couch, Jenny shook her head so vigorously that the compress fell to the floor.
"Goody," said D.W. eagerly. "More pizza for the rest of us." The alien girl groaned miserably.
The house became even more crowded with the unexpected arrival of Alan and Fern. "Looks like everybody's got the same idea," Alan observed.
"How are your folks doing?" Jenna inquired of them.
"Horribly," replied Fern. "My mom won't let us drink water from the tap because she thinks it's poisoned. She said something about 'precious bodily fluids'."
"We don't know what's causing it," said Alan, "unless it's some kind of Yordilian brain scrambling weapon."
"Either that," Fern added, "or there are more Brainchildren on the loose."
Alan sniffed the air. "You're having pizza?"
"Jenny's having pizza," George told him. "She's sick, but she just keeps asking for more food."
"Interesting," said Fern, laying a finger on the alien girl's artichoke-like head to gauge her temperature. "Maybe the old saying about 'feeding a fever' really works on her planet."
Alan stepped over to the television, reaching for the power button. "Maybe the news will tell us something," he said.
"I repeat, we have lost contact with the White House," stated newscaster Wolf Blitzen. "From all accounts, the wave of delusional behavior has completely engulfed Washington D.C., and is spreading into nearby cities. The situation is similar in New York and many foreign cities, including London and Moscow."
"London!" exclaimed Jenna, arching her eyebrows. "That's where…"
She cut herself off abruptly. "That's where what?" said Francine.
"Er…ah…" Jenna stammered. "Er, that's where Beat's from."
"Experts at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention are working on the assumption that a coordinated biological attack, perhaps engineered by terrorists, is the cause of the mass paranoia," Blitzen continued. "They have not ruled out the possibility of extraterrestrial…"
Mrs. Nordgren, who had been cowering quietly in a corner of the kitchen, charged into the living room and switched off the set. "I said, no TV!" she bellowed.
The moose woman strolled away, wringing her hands nervously. "What's her problem?" Fern wondered.
"She thinks the Communists are spying on us," said George.
With the television off, there was nothing to break the ominous and uncomfortable silence—nothing but the singing of the crickets in the back yard.
"Think about it," Alan mused darkly. "All the grownups in the world infected by this weird plague. No one left but the children."
"And the crickets," Francine added.
"What will we do?" Alan worried. "How will we take care of ourselves?"
"You're right," said Fern anxiously. "We'll end up just like the boys in Lord of the Flies, only with girls."
"I wanna be Lord of the Flies!" exclaimed Vicita.
"It's the Yordilians," said George boldly. "I'm sure of it. They're softening us up for a full-scale invasion."
"I hate to say it," said Francine, "but this time George is right."
Sal stared glumly at her knees. "No grownups," she lamented. "No doctors. No nurses. Jenny will die."
"No firemen," said D.W. "Our houses will all burn down."
"No religious leaders," said Fern. "We'll all go to hell."
"No David Beckham," said Francine.
"No opticians," said Arthur. "I'll never get new glasses."
"No teachers," said Alan. "No schools."
George and Sal gazed hopefully at the bear boy.
"That's bad," Alan concluded.
"There's only one solution," declared Fern. "We need to elect a leader—someone all the other kids in Elwood City can look to for direction. Someone fearless. Someone smart."
All eyes turned to Alan, who only shrugged. "I'm not fearless," he told them.
"Get real," said Francine bitterly. "He's smart, but he's not that smart."
"It's hopeless," moaned Arthur. "Where do we find a kid who's smart enough to take care of hundreds and thousands of other kids?"
"Right here," uttered a weak female voice from the doorway.
George, Sal, Jenna, Francine, Arthur, D.W., and Vicita were surprised at the sight of Tommy and Timmy, and between them an emaciated bear girl in a hospital gown, bent over in a wheelchair. When Fern and Alan recognized her face, their eyes nearly burst out of their heads.
"Tegan!"
----
to be continued