4. Welcome to Our Village, Please Invade Carefully

"Hands up," the nearest one said tightly.

"That's right!" said another one. "Got you, Jerry!" Mateo stared before self-preservation kicked in and made him raise his hands. They were all dressed like the kid, more or less, and talking with the thickest British accents he'd ever heard. "I'm not Jerry! I don't know any Jerry! Sheesh! Put -- put those down, you might kill somebody!" "Yes, we might, if you give us any trouble! Tie him up, Colin! We can put him in your shed until the police arrive!" At least that was his best guess — everybody in this town talked like they had a mouth full of marbles. "What the hell, man!" Mateo managed, voice strangled. Was this some kind of cult? Like Amish but they murder people instead? Ohshit, if that was Colin he could be a linebacker.

They tied his hands tightly with what looked like clothesline -- he was pretty sure he'd get murdered if he tried to fight -- and marched him down the main street to a farm on the outskirts, everyone in weird costumes staring at him, shoved him into a tool shed at gunpoint, and slammed the door. He heard it lock, and voices outside.

The police arrived a few hours later. They -- as best he could hear through the door -- were British too. What the hell? He was leaning his swimming head against the rough wood of a support post, sitting on what looked like a broken upside down wheelbarrow in the dark, when the door cracked open, letting in brilliant overcast light.

Sure enough, there were cops outside. The uniforms were weird, though. Definitely English, he realized, he'd seen them in a movie once. "Hey!" he said, hope rising. Maybe Avi's Science Doughnut had dumped him in some paranoid backwards village somewhere in England or Ireland or something and they thought he was a terrorist or something. That terrorist attack in the London subway had been less only a month or so ago. And if he'd landed in Europe -- thank God he hadn't landed in the ocean! -- that explained his cell phone not working. "Hey I don't know what's going on, officer, but could you take me to the, uh, American embassy? I've got my ID on me but--"

But they didn't answer, just pulled him out of the shed, past the whole town of Murder Amish -- who were watching with expressions of grim, creepy approval -- cuffed him like the clothesline wasn't enough, stuffed him into the back of yet another classic car, and drove off.

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