But, just as I began to move, Mom suddenly turned and stalked out of the lobby.
I let out a long breath that I didn’t know I’d been holding in. I felt like I’d dodged a bullet, but one thing was for sure—if Mom ever found out for certain that I was the mastermind behind all this, I was toast.
SIXTY SECONDS AFTER the bunyip first appeared there was no one left in the lobby apart from me and The Outsiders. Even The Surf Gorillas who had fainted had managed to crawl off into the night. Mayor Coogan had slid down his pole and disappeared. There was no sign of Frost DeAndrews or Marie Antoinette or my mom, and not a single ballerina, Elvis, pirate, punk, dinosaur, boxer, or bear was to be seen.
Crackling like an out-of-tune radio, the bunyip lurched unsteadily across a floor littered with fancy-dress props—false teeth, wigs, eyeglasses, hats, a wooden pirate’s leg, a stuffed parrot, the head of a panda. An abandoned camera had jammed and it flashed at odd intervals, making the lobby look as though there was a lightning storm outside.
“Anything?” I asked Ellie, who was still fiddling with the remote.
She shook her head. “It’s like it’s got a mind of its own.”
The bunyip reached the opposite side of the lobby, hit the wall, then turned toward the open door. Flames began to lick upwards through holes in the creature’s skin.
Sal grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall. “Well, we can’t let it burn the place down.”
“Hold on a second, Sal,” Ellie said. “It’s heading outside.”
“There’s not too much damage in here,” Nico said. “Some water on the floor and a few broken glasses. We could disappear. No one knows it was us.”
I had a sudden flashback to Mom looking in my direction when the bunyip appeared. Was I really sure she knew? Or was that just guilt talking? Whatever, Nico’s idea was definitely worth considering. Deny everything. Let the bunyip become one of those urban myths.
“Look,” Mikey said.
The bunyip had made it outside and started to put some distance between it and the surf club. Good. Every step it took meant less danger and less chance of us being found out. It looked like we were going to be okay.
We followed the bunyip outside and watched it stagger toward the splintered remains of the toilet Brad had smashed up. It was almost completely on fire now and moving much more slowly. Every so often it made a little electronic beep or squawk, which somehow made it sound weirdly alive. It was like it knew it was dying.
“Maybe the best thing is to let it burn out,” Nico said. “Destroy the evidence?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s probably the be—”
Chemistry isn’t something I pay much attention to but, as the bunyip crossed the last few feet to the smashed toilet block, one word leapt into my mind like a great big flashing neon sign: METHANE.
“Run!” I yelled.
“METHANE,” MR. HERNANDEZ SAID—YEP, the very same Mr. Hernandez whose mustache I’d yanked all those pages ago—“is a very combustible gas.”
When he was covering science one day, he showed us a film about methane that had been trapped underground and was the cause of a terrible mining disaster. Methane, Mr. Hernandez told us, was produced by rotting vegetation, by the underground release of gas from coal seams, by rice fields, by the digestion systems of cows … and from the rear ends of human beings. We’d all laughed at that, which was probably why I’d remembered it.
A toilet block was more or less a collecting station for methane, and we had a flaming bunyip on a collision course for one right now.
It was too late for Sal’s fire extinguisher.
It was too late to try to fix the remote control.
It was too late to do anything except get out of Dodge and do it now.
As the bunyip stepped into the toilet block, we turned and ran for our lives. I had no idea how big a methane explosion could be, so I ran about as fast as I have ever run in my life. Every step would take me a little closer to saf—
The universe exploded behind me in a blast of orange light, and I was thrown head first through the air.
THE GRIM REAPER’S long shadow covered me as he took a couple of steps forward, his heavy scythe sliding across the dry grass. My feet were glued to the floor. When the black-clad figure was no more than a scythe-length away, he lifted an arm and a long white finger pointed directly at me.
“Rafe Khatchadorian,” the Grim Reaper said, his voice like dust. “This time you have gone too far. Your time as the Hills Valley art representative has come to an end. Your career as an artist is over before it even started. It is time to pay the piper.”
My mouth went dry. I tried to say something but I couldn’t. Besides, what could I say? Sorry? Did the Grim Reaper have a court of appeal?
The Grim Reaper ran a finger along the scythe before pushing back the hood of the robe to reveal a familiar face.
“Mom?” I said.
“No, it’s me.”
I opened my eyes to see Ellie’s face floating above me.
“Can you hear me?”
“You’re floating,” I said.
“No,” Ellie said. “I’m not. You’re lying in a ditch.”
Ellie had clearly lost her mind, and I was about to tell her exactly that when I realized she was right. I was lying in a ditch. I couldn’t remember getting there or why I would be there. I don’t even like ditches.
And then it all came back to me, just like that. Bunyip. Fire. Explosion.
Ellie, Nico, Sal, Mikey, and Dingbat came into view. Mikey’s eyebrows were singed and Dingbat’s head was smoking but, other than that, they seemed fine.
I got to my feet, brushed off the worst of the dirt, and breathed a sigh of relief. This was bad—really bad—but at least I hadn’t killed anyone.
“Everyone okay?” I said.
“We’re fine,” Dingbat replied, “except you did have your butt in my face when we landed.”
“You had your butt in my face,” Ellie said with a shudder.
“We’re all good,” Nico said. “No one hurt.”
We staggered up to the top of the embankment and stood in silence, watching a great plume of fire and smoke rising from what remained of the toilets and our zombie bunyip.
“Woah,” Dingbat said.
Woah was right. Woah just about covered all bases.
Lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed closely by a crack of thunder. The storm that had been threatening earlier was about to hit.
I glanced up just as a fat raindrop landed on my head. Within three seconds the skies had opened and the heaviest rain I had ever seen came down. The fire spat and hissed and then went out like someone had thrown a giant bucket of water over it. In the distance I could see red and blue flashing lights heading our way.
You know how in movies, at moments like this, someone always comes up with a smart line that sums everything up and is kinda cool and tough at the same time?
That doesn’t happen in real life.
IT TOOK SHARK Bay exactly twenty-two minutes to figure out who was behind The Great Surf Club Zombie Bunyip Disaster.
The first hint that no one was going to believe we were innocent came when I arrived back at the Coogans’ place. I had hoped to slink in unnoticed under the cover of darkness. I was soaked to the bone and all I wanted to do was have a shower, get dry, and get into bed. Instead, everyone was gathered in the living room waiting for me when I opened the door.
All eyes turned to me as I stood there, dripping all over the shag pile and trying not to look guilty—which, if you’ve ever tried it, you’ll know is a hard look to pull off when you are innocent. When you’re actually guilty, it’s practically impossible.
“Oh,” I said. “Hi, everyone.”
Brad, wrapped in a blanket, gave me a look of pure hatred.
Ditto Belinda.
Ditto everyone except, maybe, Mom.
She gave me a look that combined suspicion, shame, anger, fear, and relief. You’d think that would b
e a hard one to manage but she did it without blinking. Another one of those mom skills, I guess.
“Do you have something to say to us, Rafe?” Biff said.
Barb stood next to him, her arms folded.
Did I? I didn’t know. Other than an exploded toilet block and a spoiled exhibition, there was no real harm done, was there?
“You know Brad was injured?” Mom said.
I looked at Brad. “What happened?”
“He ran into the woods to get away from whatever that was back there,” Barb said, “and got bitten by a possum.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad,” I said.
“That depends where you get bitten,” Brad whimpered. “I might need a rabies shot!”
I tried not to smile. It was difficult. The idea of a possum giving cowardly Brad a nip in the privates was just about the funniest thing I’d ever heard. And if anyone deserved a rabies shot it was Brad Coogan. I wrestled with my lips but couldn’t stop the smallest smirk from appearing.
“Any sign of Kell?” I asked Mom.
She shook her head. Only an expert on Jules (like me) could tell that Mom was about two seconds away from bursting into tears. My mini-smile disappeared like snow on a griddle. I walked over and gave her a hug.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I said.
Mom nodded and sniffed. “I hope not,” she said, and we both smiled. Mom walked to the kitchen and I headed upstairs.
That hadn’t been so bad. They were all suspicious, but it wasn’t like anyone had any proof.
That’s when the mob of zombies arrived.
OKAY, THIS IS where we started, so it might be worth reminding everyone of the situation.
I said my prayers and hoped that the mob would stop short of actually killing me, but I couldn’t rule it out. The only crumb of comfort I had was that the zombie mob weren’t real zombies, just an entire town of enraged partygoers who had been frightened half to death by an animatronic bunyip.
Maybe they’d just give me a very stern lecture and tell me not to do it again. Maybe when they got real close they’d see that deep down I was a nice guy and they’d rethink their plans for bloody retribution.
Or, then again, maybe they wouldn’t.
And they were just a few of the nicer things they said. Some of the more colorful ones can’t be repeated here. A woman dressed as Tinkerbell, who I recognized as the local librarian, was swearing so much I thought her head was going to explode.
Brad had got most of the poop off, but I noticed that most of the other zombies were standing a few paces away from him. It was like he’d activated some sort of poop force field. I was pretty sure that wouldn’t do anything to improve his mood. Belinda also didn’t look like she was ready to forgive anything. Being puked on, she had more against me than most, I guess.
“Oh boy,” Leo muttered. “This is worse than I thought.”
“Gee, is that supposed to cheer me up?” I turned around but Leo had vanished. Even my imaginary brother had chickened out.
I leaned closer to the window and saw Biff Coogan below me, standing outside his front door arguing with the ringleaders. I couldn’t hear much of what Biff was saying but I think he was pointing out that, while I probably deserved anything they were suggesting as punishment, he, Biffly Algernon Coogan, Mayor of Shark Bay, could not stand by and watch his guest being torn limb from limb.
“Think of the publicity!” Biff reasoned. “And the mess! The police will want to know what happened to him.”
“No, they won’t!” a man dressed as a punk rocker said. “I’m Sergeant Dick Dooley and most of the department is already here.”
“And the Fire Department,” someone else shouted.
“Everyone’s here, Biff!” Sergeant Dooley said. “So let us at the little blot, and we’ll see he gets what’s coming!”
Biff was clearly jolted by the unexpected appearance of the Shark Bay Police Department in the zombie mob but he did a good job of not letting it show. He crossed his arms and jutted out his chin defiantly. “Now, that might be the case, Dick, but it’s still no way for a town to b—”
“There he is!” Brad squealed like a pig that had found a trench full of slops.
Everyone looked up at me, and the effect was like dropping a match on a petrol-soaked bonfire. A great roar rose from the mob and all the pitchforks and flaming torches and surfboard splinters were lifted in the air. The zombies pushed Biff aside like he was made of straw and swarmed toward the door.
I was doomed.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!”
A voice split the night air. It was like an atomic bomb going off, and it stopped the mob dead in its tracks. It was a voice that demanded to be obeyed. It was the voice of authority.
It was the voice of Mom the All-Powerful.
I leaned over the rail of the balcony and looked down at the Coogan hallway below.
Mom, wearing her superhero costume and a steely expression, faced down the mob. She stood toe to toe with Sergeant Dooley, her hands on her hips.
“No one move a muscle,” Mom snarled. She jabbed the cop in the chest with a finger. “If anyone so much as touches my kid, they’ll have me to deal with. Understand?”
Now, I’m not a teenager who cries much but I have to admit my eyes welled up seeing my mom like this. There wasn’t a tiger on earth who would have protected her cub with more determination or sharper claws. If Dooley and the rest of the zombie mob knew what was good for them they’d quit now.
“He’s made a fool of us all!” Dooley barked. “He’s got to pay!”
Behind him, the mob muttered agreement.
“He’s made a fool of Shark Bay!” a voice yelled from the back.
“I hate him!” Brad declared.
“He puked on me!” Belinda shouted.
A few of the mob did double-takes as if they hadn’t heard right. Not only was this guy a slimy bunyip-releaser, I could hear them thinking, he’s also a lowlife girl-puker-onner?
“And these pitchforks cost money!” someone else piped up.
Mom stepped forward. “First, there’s no proof that Rafe was involved in anything.”
I gulped. Mom was on thin ice here. I was on thin ice.
One false move and the mob would push her aside and start handing out some homemade justice. But Mom wasn’t finished, not by a long shot.
“Secondly,” she said, raising her voice, “if he was involved, then he has made a fool of you all.” Mom’s voice got sharper, something I hadn’t believed possible until I heard it for myself. It had an edge to it that could have sharpened a scimitar. “And I imagine the rest of Australia would be very interested to see exactly how ‘Australia’s Most Fearless Town’ ran away from a rubber toy.”
I could almost see everyone’s brains working as they processed the information. Mom was right. If this got out, Shark Bay would become a laughing stock.
Dick Dooley narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening us?”
“That’s rich,” Mom said, “coming from someone holding a pitchfork and standing at the head of a bunch of angry zombies.”
She had a point.
“But, yes, since you mention it,” she continued, “it is a threat. Now get off my property!”
Technically, it was Biff and Barb Coogan’s property, but we all knew what she meant.
“No one will believe you bunch of blow-ins!” Dooley said. “Where’s your proof?”
“Right here.’ Ellie stepped forward and held up her phone so the mob could see.
“Where did you come from?” I said.
“Never mind that now,” Ellie hissed. Her finger hovered over her phone screen. “If I press this button, the evidence will be uploaded to the internet. Everyone will know you all ran!”
“How?” Sergeant Dooley asked.
Ellie smiled. “I filmed the whole thing.”
“WE PLANTED CAMERAS around the surf club,” Ellie said smugly. “I just spent the last hour editing, and now it’s waiting to be uploaded to
my video channel. I just need to press one little button.” She paused dramatically and eyeballed the mob. “Of course, in all the excitement, I might have accidentally deleted most of the clip.”
She looked down at Dooley, who, it seemed, had assumed the role of leader of the (almost) zombie mob.
“So what you have to ask yourself is: Are you feeling lucky? Well, are you, punk?”
It turned out he wasn’t.
And neither was the rest of the zombie mob. They lowered their pitchforks and flaming torches and surfboard fins. Faced with a choice between global humiliation and revenge on me (assuming they could get past the Mom of Steel) and backing down, the mob chose to back down. One by one they began to drift off into the rainswept darkness.
“Were you really going to download the clip?” I whispered.
Ellie lowered her phone and smiled. “What clip?”
IF YOU DON’T mind, I’ll skip over the rest of my time in Shark Bay as quickly as possible.
It wasn’t pleasant.
Mom postponed any action over my possible involvement in the Great Zombie Bunyip Disaster until we were home.
The Coogans treated us well enough for the remainder of our stay—by which I mean they treated us like we were radioactive. The weather may have been hot outside but the temperature at 22 Sunspot Crescent was arctic. The cultural exchange experiment between Hills Valley and Shark Bay had been a total disaster.
I didn’t even see Brad or Belinda again, which was just fine by me. I would happily spend the rest of my life never seeing either of the twins again, and they must have felt exactly the same. In that way, and that way alone, we had something in common.
After having time to think about it, I decided that it had been worth it. No one had been badly injured (unless you counted Brad having his privates nibbled by a possum), no real damage had been done (other than one exploded temporary toilet block), and I had hit back for being almost killed riding Big Nige and publicly humiliated (three times!). Not to mention The Surf Gorillas getting punished for wrecking Revenge of the Teenage Zombie Bunyip From Mars. And there was the little matter of Kell vanishing.
Middle School: Rafe's Aussie Adventure Page 8
