Читать книгу Clash of the Worlds - Ned Vizzini - Страница 18

Seven miles north, in the Fernwood Cemetery, near the expensive mausoleum for Mr Marlton Houston, Brendan Walker’s phone flashlight shone directly on to a man several feet away. He wore a grey security guard uniform and had his hand on the butt of a gun.

“What’s going on here?” the security guard asked.

“Uh, nothing much,” Brendan said. “You know, just visiting my uncle’s grave. Yup. Definitely not performing magic spells to raise the spirits of the dead. No way.”

The guard sighed.

“Come on, kid,” he said. “Give me a break. I just wanted a quiet night. But now I’ve got to arrest you. There are signs everywhere that say no trespassing after visiting hours. Didn’t you see them?”

“I guess not,” Brendan said, already trying to plot his getaway.

He could not afford to get arrested.

“And where are your friends, kid?”

“Friends?” Brendan asked. “It’s just me.”

“Are you kidding me?” the security guard asked. “Nobody sneaks into a cemetery alone. Who would be that dumb? Unless you’re some kind of weirdo …”

“Now you sound like my sisters.”

“Look,” the guard said, “just tell me where your friends are hiding and I woooon-aaaAAAHHHHHH!”

Brendan stumbled backwards a few steps as a pair of rotting grey arms emerged from the darkness and wrapped around the security guard’s neck, turning his last sentence into a horrifying scream. The arms dragged the guard into the shadows. There was one final scream. And then silence.

“Mr Security Guard?” Brendan called out. “This isn’t funny, man. It’s not cool to play sick jokes on kids.”

From the darkness, the only reply was a deep, guttural groan. It sounded … hungry.

Brendan took a few more steps backwards until his calves hit the cold marble steps of Kristoff’s mausoleum. There was another groan, this time followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. The groaning got closer as Brendan fumbled with his phone’s flashlight. It felt like his heart had stopped beating, as if the pure terror of the situation had shut down all of his bodily functions.

He pointed his flashlight up again and found himself face to face with a dead guy. Most of the corpse’s flesh was gone. His face was basically a skeleton with a few scraps of skin stretched across it, covered by a mop of long grey hair in desperate need of a shampoo. The corpse’s left eye was gone and an eye patch covered the right eye socket.

The zombie groaned again as it continued to shuffle towards Brendan.

“Um, hi,” Brendan said, terror welling inside his chest. “We haven’t met. I’m … Brendan. I should inform you that according to my sisters, and that security guard you just killed, I don’t really possess a brain, so you’re probably wasting your time.”

The zombie stopped walking. It almost seemed to cock its head like a confused dog. And for a moment, Brendan thought he actually might have saved himself with his sense of humour for the first time ever.

But then the zombie suddenly lunged at Brendan and wrapped its bony fingers around his right arm. Before he could even scream in shock or terror, the zombie leaned forward and sank its teeth into Brendan’s fleshy forearm.