It had been two days since the "terrorist attack" hit the news, and Dib hadn't gone to school since. He'd cried sick, started carrying a full water bottle around (I've been so thirsty lately, he reasoned with himself, but the bottle remained full), and became jumpy at every little noise. "That's silly," he said aloud once, "if Zim was about to attack I certainly wouldn't hear it. Most of his machines were too quiet to be picked up by a human ear. I'd need to get out dad's sonic sound tracker again, and I'm pretty sure its still packed away in the basement since the move."
He had immediately smacked a hand up to cover his mouth and blushed.
But as the hours ticked on and he became more nervous, Dib found himself worrying about the attack he knew would come. He paced the bedroom as he thought and finally found himself standing stock still before the closet door.
"He'll go home. It would be pointless to come here just to attack me."
"He won't go home until his mission is complete and Earth is destroyed or under the rule of the Irken Empire."
"He can destroy Earth without me."
"He won't."
I had access to things I probably shouldn't have been playing with...
Reaching out a quivering hand, Dib pushed aside the clothes and boxes that lined the inside of the closet until he found the safety deposit box with the tall, thin house on the front. Zim's box. He still had the number memorized and his fingers flipped deftly through the code until all five numbers lined up in perfect order, springing the lock and allowing him to open the top. And there inside, safely tucked away from the disbelieving minds of all others, was the last of his proof. A single photograph of the alien without his contacts, his red eyes glaring in horror as the flash went off, his fingers dripping with the acidic chemical that had made the handprint on Dib's right side. Out of the entire roll, this was the only photo that had survived the attack, but as he was developing it Dib had been given the news of their impending move and he had taken it with him as a comfort blanket.
"I'd give anything to get that house back," he whispered to himself and closed the lid of the deposit box hard on itself. He kept it under his arm as he made his way across the room to the computer, shaking the mouse until the black screen disappeared and his icon-riddled desktop showed. My Computer, Disk C, My Documents, Homework, Science, and finally at the bottom of all the research papers on the effects of the round goby on the great lakes ecosystem (results inconclusive he reminded himself), and the lab reports about the effect of terbium to naturally occurring yeast cells (terbium was lethal to all yeast cells in any concentration his mind latched on to in a desperate attempt to stay sane), was an inconspicuous file marked only 'House'.
Dib double-clicked on the folder marked 'House' and held his breath while his computer began listing all the files within.
"Advanced Irken Technology"
"GIR: Standard-Issue Information Retrieval or Stupid Incompetent Robot?"
"House Schematics"
And finally: "Zim's Doom"
Dib double-clicked on the last file and smiled secretly as all his information on how to defeat Zim lit the page. If it was a war the alien wanted, it was a war the alien was going to get.
"I need your largest capacity super soaker and a dozen or so bags of water balloons."
The girl standing behind the counter (her nametag read "Lindsey") raised an eye at the brown-eyed kid before her and smiled knowingly. "Only one super soaker? We've currently got three backpack models in stock; the XP300, the SC Power Pak and the SC Big Trouble. If you can wait a week or two though I hear we have a new shipment of Monster XL's coming in soon." She had leaned over and whispered in discretion, "but don't let my boss know I told you. He doesn't like us pushing stock before it's in."
Dib chopped the air with a hand; "I don't have time for the Monster XL, give me the biggest of the other three." He rubbed his fingers across his mouth in thought and then changed his mind, "actually, I don't suppose you have a backpack that you could hook two guns up to?"
"I can see you're a serious gunman. The Power Pak is going to be your best bet there – no pumping required." She looked critically at the wall of water guns before her as she contemplated the problem. "You could always do a halter with smaller guns strapped in. The CPS 1000 might be a good choice – it's a little bulky for throwing around your waist but you look like you could manage well enough. And ultimately the best strategy is to back your opponent onto the pier and off the end. You can modify the Power Pak to a bigger tank, maybe even hook up the CPS to it as well and really just slam him back into the ocean."
She turned and grinned at him, "I've used that tactic quite a few times myself. I've got a friend who can tinker around with these and make you a custom, but it sounds as if you're in a hurry."
"No need," he waved the suggestion off, "I've had a little experience in modifying water-projectiles." But that was just kid stuff, he thought, this is war. "I'll take the Power Pak, the CPS and a few of the smaller guns. And then whatever you suggest for the water balloons. I'll need something small, easy to throw with good aim, and quick to burst on contact."
She reached out and grabbed a bag from the wall, "no popping problems with this brand. I take it you've had that problem before?" At his serious nod she smiled her condolence, "I've had the same problem myself. But I've been using these for years, and they haven't failed me yet."
By the time Dib left ToysRUs, Lindsey had loaded him up with all the best and latest in water-combat products and served him a bill of well over $200. All in the name of saving the world - as soon as he glimpsed one of those red, bug-like eyes he would open fire and wreak havoc on the alien's world.
Dib set a test-run for the morning of the third day. Strapping on the large water cooler he had stolen from his dad's lab, he connected two tubes to the Power Pak and CPS guns, respectively, and strapped two smaller water guns to their altered holsters. He placed a few full balloons into a bag also attached to the holsters, and then deemed himself ready for practice combat. He looked like a very wet and stupid Rambo.
"What are you doing?" Gaz asked as he walked between her and the TV.
"None of your damn business," Dib replied sourly as he walked past. "You wouldn't understand anyways, its…"
"Fate of the world type stuff?" Gaz looked up at him pointedly. "Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before."
Dib flipped her the finger and continued to the backdoor, the glug of the water cooler drown out by Gaz's new game – the Return of Pig Zombies from the Planet Vorg.