Читать книгу The Last Kids on Earth and the Cosmic Beyond - Max Brallier - Страница 11

This is monumentally unexpected. This woman atop the monster is the first other human we’ve seen. Until we heard that radio broadcast, we didn’t even know other humans still existed!

June grabs my sleeve and twists it tight. Her eyes are high-beam wide.

‘Hold up, hold up!’ I say. ‘This human’s intentions may not be great. She is, y’know, riding a giant fanged beast!

June shakes her head. ‘You ride Rover! He’s a giant fanged beast!’

‘Maybe technically he’s a beast – but really he’s just a big fluffy monster-dog!’ I say. ‘This monster here looks like something out of a demon’s nightmare! Plus, it ate Quint’s sled!’

Quint is jittery beside me. I can almost hear the wheels in his brain spinning away with curiosity and excitement – clink, clink, clink.

And like that, he goes to make contact . . .

From the tunnel, we watch the human eye Quint. Then the monster tilts its head. Then –

HARRRUGH!

The monster raises its fist, and I can see what’s coming – Pancake Quint. ‘Crud!’ I scream as I race out to grab my friend.

‘I miscalculated!’ Quint cries out. ‘That human is a villainess!’

‘No kidding!’ I yell, pulling him across the snow. ‘And that monster’s a meathook!’

Meathook’s fist comes slamming down, snow erupting, throwing us back into the car wash.

The monster’s fist opens and it reaches into the tunnel. It swipes and thrashes. Luckily, the arm is not long enough to reach us.

And he’s not pleased about it.

But then –

Footsteps outside. Human footsteps. Suddenly –

POP! SIZZLE! An electrical hum. Harsh fluorescent overhead lights flash on.

‘THE CAR WASH! IT’S ALIVE!’ screams Dirk.

The automatic car wash conveyor suddenly jolts us forward . . .

So, I’ve been through a drive-through car wash many times. Always in a car, naturally. And I thought it would be just so goofy and fun to go through one on foot. Not true.

The nozzles are as strong as fire hoses! Snow, dirt, and gunk fly off us.

A roar echoes down the length of the car wash tunnel. I see the monster appear at the exit. It is now waiting for us, where the conveyor ends. Our conveyor belt of cleanliness is now a conveyor belt of doom, carrying us on a deadly path to a fang-filled mouth.

‘Run back! The other way!’ I shout.

But the whole thing is moving too fast – it’s like trying to walk down an up escalator. Our only choice is to embrace the conveyor!

Massive brushes whack us! Then we’re dried off – hit with high-pressure air and smacked with huge strips of towel.

We race down the belt. Every step is like Flash-style hyperspeed. We burst through a big wall of flapping thingies and then the conveyor belt hurls us out of the tunnel.

My feet slide across black ice. I spin past Meathook, managing to stay upright. In an instant, I’ve lost track of my buddies.

I reach out, feeling for something I can use as cover. My hand finds metal. Hmmm . . . smells like a Dumpster. I yank open the Dumpster lid and dive inside. It clangs shut behind me.

I hold my breath, because I don’t want the monster or the Villainess to hear me, but also because the Dumpster smells like death.

I grip the Louisville Slicer tight against my chest. I expect a long, dramatic moment to pass – with breathing, and terror, and waiting – but it’s only an instant!

YANK! The Dumpster lid is ripped open, and something awful enters . . .

KRAK!

Meathook’s grey-purple tongue snaps and smacks me across the face. I half expect it to follow that with a French kiss of death. Instead, small, fleshy slivers of tongue wrap around the Louisville Slicer!

I throw my other hand around my weapon’s handle. Meathook pulls – a vicious, terrible jerk. My arms are nearly ripped from the sockets, like I insulted a Wookiee, and then –

‘Give that back!’ I demand, as I crash to the ground. ‘That’s my weapon, I named it the Louisville Slicer, and it’s not for you!’

CRACK!

I see June, beneath the monster, whacking its leg with her flagpole spear. But she might as well be hitting it with a very long pretzel rod, because it does nothing.

Atop the monster, glaring down, is the Villainess. She chuckles, Meathook’s tongue snaps, and my blade is thrown upward, flipping end over end, until –

‘Jack, forget about it!’ June shouts.

She pulls me away. And as she does, I see that the enemy has dropped something. A card on the ground. I scoop it up, as –

SPLATOOT!

The monster spits, but it is not a monstrous puke-wad that flies from this brute’s mouth. It’s . . .

OUR SLED!

It crashes to the snowy ground, flips, rolls, and completely shatters.

Quint whimpers. ‘My creation . . . it is no more.’

A screen of snow is kicked up, giving us enough cover to race down the street. After three blocks I pause to look back. Through the haze of snow, I see bits of the monster. One second, just white flakes – and then the dark shadow of the thing.

And the Villainess.

On top, holding my blade.

She must know we’re still watching – because she suddenly screams. But the words that come out – they’re – they’re not human.

I gasp. We all do. That’s the language of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds.