Читать книгу Last Kids on Earth and the Midnight Blade - Max Brallier - Страница 12

chapter three

This lair is huge and sprawling: a combined snack bar, arcade and bathroom.

Bits of light filter in through cracks and holes in the walls and ceiling. Vine-Thingies creep along the floor, glowing neon green and purple.

“Ghazt’s not looking so hot, huh?” June whispers.

Peering through the zombie horde, I see Ghazt.

June’s right – the general isn’t exactly awe-inspiring.

In fact, Ghazt now looks more like some sort of –

LAZY TUB-O-GOO CHEESE BEAST !

“He’s constructed a bed from nacho squeeze cheese,” Quint remarks. “How inventive.”

I’m so focused on Ghazt’s transformation that it takes me a moment to notice the weirdest weirdness going down.

The zombies inside this strange, dark base – they’re different.

“These robed zombies aren't just shambling about mindlessly,” I whisper. “They're, like, doing stuff.”

What we’re looking at, right now – it is mindblasting and world-alteringly new. These zombies aren’t just possessed – they’re productive . . .

At the movie theatre, we saw Ghazt move the zombies. And we saw the zombies carry him. But this is more than that – these are zombie servants. One’s even serenading Ghazt with bongo drums!

Honestly, it has the vibe of an almost cool but actually really awkward birthday party with a not-so-gracious host.

A few zombies shuffle to the side – and I spot it. The thing that we came for: Ghazt’s tail. The nasty, slithering source of his zombie-controlling power . . .

“Jack, we need to hide . . .” June whispers, tugging on my sleeve.

“This way!” Quint points to Dino Rampage – a vintage arcade game enclosed by a curtain.

We zombie-shuffle our way over – then quickly cram inside. Dino Rampage is built for two players, so the four of us are forced into an uncomfortable pile.

I feel heavy breathing on my neck – it’s Dirk, huffing and sweating with claustrophobia.

And I’m feeling the way Dirk looks. We’ve done dangerous junk many times – but this time we’re behind enemy lines, inside enemy robes! If we’re not careful – this will go south before you can say “zombie bowling league.”

Quint and I sneak a peek through the curtain.

And I see her. Evie.

She stands at Ghazt’s side. We can faintly hear her speaking into his shrivelly rat ear.

Evie nods. “Of course, but the sooner we release these zombies – the sooner they can DO BAD!” she says, her voice cracking. “There are human settlements to crush – and monsters to enslave. We could start in Wakefield.”

I gulp. Wakefield. Our home.

And human settlements. That could mean the people on the radio at the Statue of Liberty. That could mean every last survivor, everywhere.

Quick pause for a backtrack! For a long time, we thought we might be the only survivors of the apocalypse. But then, a few months ago, we found a radio and heard LIVE HUMAN VOICES and we were like, “Oh-Em-Gee-Whiz!”

There was a broadcast from an entire colony of humans hunkered down in the Big Apple! It was major . . .

But then winter set in, and we couldn’t go to NYC – and we haven’t heard anything from the radio since. Quint and June are jazzed because there’s a possibility their parents are still alive – but we can’t leave Wakefield, because Evie and Ghazt are here doing bad stuff.

Still – Quint and June want to at least know if their parents might be OK . . .

OK, un-pause the backtrack!

June leans in close. “If Ghazt ever stops being a complete lazy butt – we’re all in trouble. Not just us – everyone . . . everywhere.”

At that very moment, Dirk’s claustrophobia goes from bad to ultra-bad. “I can’t take that whispering, moaning sound any more!” he says, grabbing his head, plugging his ears.

“Put a sock in it, dude!” June says.

Quint, being quite literal, removes his shoe, yanks off his sock, and stuffs it into Dirk’s mouth. Toe jam flies. It’s odd.

Dirk just about barfs up the sock. The next instant, he’s tumbling through the curtain, bursting out from our hiding place.

“Dirk!” I cry, trying to stop him. “No!”

But it’s too late.

Dirk’s eyes are locked on a nearby claw-grab game – and the pair of headphones inside. They’re huge headphones, like hip DJs and air traffic controllers wear.

In a split second, our super-spy Mission Operation surveillance turns into what my old third-grade teacher would’ve called “a ruckus.”

“I CAN’T TAKE THESE ZOMBIE MOANS!” Dirk cries out.

He grips the claw-grab machine. Then, with one mighty heave, brings it crashing to the ground.

SMASH!!! The Plexiglas case shatters – Dirk grabs the headphones and jams them on to his head.

The entire lair goes quiet. The old “could hear a pin drop” moment.

Then . . .

“Ahem.” It’s Evie.

Evie is staring at us.

Ghazt’s staring at us, too.

And so is his army of the undead.

“Bring the dorky human ones before me,” Ghazt says. His tail lifts and points at us, and then the zombies approach, arms raised, to drag us before their master.