“Die with some dignity boy,” Tom muttered beside me.
I hoped Tom would join the Followers next.
And he did.
Phil and I came up with a plan the next night. We waited until the others were asleep and grabbed two torches each and set off walking through the darkness.
It is just us now.
We did the same the next night. Using plant fibers chewed and twisted to create a makeshift rope. In the dead of night, when our last torch spluttered and died, I untied the link between us and set off into the darkness alone. I heard him shouting for me for almost an hour afterward, as I lay down no more than twenty feet away in a low ditch, where fatigued sleep took me.
He had joined the others by the time I roused from the ditch, just in time. I drank my last dribble of water and ate my last scrap of food, as my former wife and fellow survivors in the Followers ranks pursued me. Hounding me, getting closer as I stumbled along.
I was about to give up, to sit down and await my fate, when I saw something shimmering in the heated haze before me. Like a ship on a lake, it seemed. Water and a riverboat rescue sprung to mind. I found new vigour from my tired bones and jogged away from the dusty Followers, heading for what I hoped was safety.
The shimmer calmed as I grew closer to my prize. The water was only a sun glanced illusion of the flats, and there was no boat. Just the plane we had crashed in all those days and miles ago. I staggered closer, hoping the plane would turn out to be the mirage, but it wasn’t. It was real, with luggage and ripped metal scraps lying around it. I touched the metal skin of the aircraft and burnt my palms.
There are no fluids in me left to cry.
I turn to see the Followers in a semi-circle around me, three or four deep blocking my escape. They shuffle forward, their dead hands reaching for the only life left in the flats for miles around. The only way now is back into the main fuselage of the plane. I duck and hurry inside. But I am not alone.
All the seats are full of the dead. Proper dead, non-breathing, non-moving people. I see Margaret’s corpse, too. Her head lolling to one side, wearing that awful gaudy red patterned blouse I hated. She had her headphones in and flies were using her mouth and nostrils as a motorway to the softer putrefying parts inside. All the Followers are here: Tracey, Lee, Don, Sarah, and the rest. Only one seat is vacant next to my wife. My seat.
Walking forward I pick up my book from the pouch in the back of the seat in front, next to the sick bag, in-flight information, and magazine.
I push Margret’s head over to clonk against the plane window and sit down next to her. Putting on the seatbelt, I recline the seat, and close my eyes, hoping for the blackness of the void, that is death and the end to my suffering.
It doesn’t come.
When I open my eyes, I am outside the plane again with twenty-six other survivors of the initial crash. We’re setting off across the flats, away from the aircraft, Margaret in her gaudy blouse at my side. She’s smiling at me and patting my arm with hopes of rescue. The Followers are pulling their bodies out of the wreckage and coming after us already.
I head left this time instead of right, hoping, this time, I will escape them.
A BATHTUB AT THE END OF THE WORLD, OR, HOW MR. WHITTAKER ACHIEVED KNIGHTHOOD
LANE WALDMAN
Mr. Whittaker knew these were Dark Days, Dark Days indeed. In fact, he said to himself, I am not sure how Our Queen will lead us through them this time. For she and her most loyal subjects had been exiled to a desolate Land of Ice and Snow, known to some as Bathroom. Only four had been able to accompany her on the flight from Bedroom: Mr. Whittaker, Mrs. Tibblekins, Sheldon the Pig, and Actual Cat. Outside their walled kingdom, a Zombie Menace spread its Zombie Fingers with devastating swiftness across the land.
But there was no need to panic; they would be perfectly safe, as long as they didn’t open the door. They had a box of granola bars to eat and plenty of tap water to drink, and all they had to do was wait until someone came for them. The orders had come down from On High, from the Queen Father himself, before he had gone away. He had been rather disheveled and out of breath, but his authority was beyond question. Normally, the Queen Mother would have preceded him in the chain of command, but the Queen Mother had not been seen for some time.
***
Our Queen had called for a Tea Party Council. Her loyal followers milled around outside the great Palace Under the Sink, waiting for her to emerge. It was thanks to the hospitality of their hosts, the Snow Giants, that they were able to use the palace. The Snow Giants were a white and crumply people, round of body, with soft white skin that tore easily. They had been very kind to Our Queen and her followers in their current difficulties.
Of those followers, Mr. Whittaker was perhaps best equipped to handle a crisis, for he had served with distinction at the Battle of the Upstairs Landing, and indeed lost an eye for his troubles. (He now wore a prosthetic button eye, which gave him a very Distinguished Air.) He was well aware of the importance of keeping the others calm.
“This is a strange place,” mused Mrs. Tibblekins, who had fallen into a Swoon after being informed about the Zombies, but now seemed nearly recovered. Mrs. Tibblekins was a China Doll and prone to excesses of emotion. She stared up at the long blue swathes of fabric that hung from rods high above. All around them sprouted large, smooth surfaces of porcelain. High above, sunlight wobbled in through a beveled glass window framed by matching blue curtains.
“Yes,” said Mr. Whittaker (admiring Mrs. Tibblekins’s bobbing black curls, and hoping the lace doily pinned atop her head would not come loose), “we have never journeyed so far from home before. There seems to be a great deal of water here.” He eyed the various fixtures, endeavoring to hide his unease.
Mrs. Tibblekins shivered and drew her voluminous blue satin sleeves closer to her chest, as far as her arms would bend in that direction.
“Harrumph,” said Sheldon the Pig. “Never journeyed so far, indeed. I’ve been here before—when the lot of you were still on Shelves. Caught a terrible cold, too, took me weeks to dry out.” He snuffled to himself. “If you ask me, we should all go directly back to Bedroom and wait to be rescued.” Sheldon was a Pig of the Pink Plush variety.
“Oh, no!” cried Mrs. Tibblekins, waving the small lace fan glued to her left hand in alarm. “Don’t you remember, Sheldon? We mustn’t leave this room. Because of the Zombies.”
“Don’t you remember what the Queen Father said?” Mr. Whittaker added. “Bathrooms are Impervious to Zombies.”
“But only if you keep the door latched,” said Mrs. Tibblekins. “It is a well-known scientific fact that no Zombie can get through a latched door.”
Actual Cat licked an orange paw in agreement.
At that moment, Our Queen emerged from the Palace Under the Sink, attired in a long sage green robe that did not in any way resemble a bath towel. On her head, she wore the famed Soap Dish Crown.
All of her subjects bowed low, except for Actual Cat, who had a philosophical objection to bowing. His friends patiently tolerated this behavior, remembering that he was an Actual Cat and thus prone to certain eccentricities.
After the ceremonial tea (sadly tepid and watery) had been drunk from the ceremonial paper cups, Our Queen began to speak. “My subjects,” she began, in a voice of great dignity and breeding. But just then, there was a loud thud and a groan from the hallway outside. Our Queen paused and waited to be sure this uncouth interruption had ceased before continuing. “We find ourselves in a Grave Predicament. Not only are we Exiled to this desolate land of Ice and Snow, but we are also experiencing a Drought. In short—though I do not wish to alarm you—our granola bar supplies are inadequate.”
The Snow Giants, of course, did not have any food, because they ate only snow.
At this announcement, there was a gasp of shock from Mrs. Tibblekins and a grunt of alarm from Sheldon the Pig, while Actual Cat stared at the door with his fur on end. There was a whispery sound, as of something
heavy being dragged down the hall, but thankfully, it soon quieted. Mr. Whittaker reached out a comforting paw to Mrs. Tibblekins’s shoulder.
(Mr. Whittaker, it must be confessed, had for some years been nourishing very tender feelings for Mrs. Tibblekins, ever since her late husband, Eric the Perpetual Baby, had been beheaded in a tragic stair-skiing accident.)
“Henceforth, our supplies will be rationed,” Our Queen went on in solemn tones. “You may drink all the tap water you like, but everyone will receive no more than one half a granola bar per day. And even this is only a temporary measure.” Her subjects looked on in awe as she steeled herself, with indomitable spirit, to continue. “There is only one chance for survival. We will have to send out an Expedition across the sea to search for food.”
“An Expedition!” cried Sheldon. “In these uncharted territories? Sheer madness!”
“Who knows what terrible perils may lie in wait for us?” murmured Mrs. Tibblekins, swaying gently as if another Swoon might be imminent.
Mr. Whittaker steadied her with a paw against her back. “But is there no hope of rescue?”
Our Queen gazed into the distance. “It is true that the Queen Father promised to return for us, but we have no way of knowing when he will be able to. For now, we must fend for ourselves.”
A hushed silence greeted these words, broken only by the brief patter of running feet outside the window.
Mr. Whittaker, as a Seasoned Soldier, immediately volunteered for the mission. Mrs. Tibblekins, after she had recovered from her Swoon, volunteered as well, saying that she would not leave him to face peril alone. As Sheldon the Pig grudgingly added himself to their number, Mr. Whittaker and Mrs. Tibblekins gazed at each other for a long, charged moment.
Actual Cat did not volunteer, as he was in the midst of an important Licking Project.
***
Preparations for the Expedition began immediately. While Sheldon set off to find a ship, Mrs. Tibblekins and Mr. Whittaker sat together at the foot of the waterfall that roared down from a great silver tube into the ocean far below. The spray flecked their faces.
“Mr. Whittaker,” said Mrs. Tibblekins hesitantly.
“Yes, Mrs. Tibblekins?” said Mr. Whittaker with great attentiveness.
“What does a Zombie look like?”
Mr. Whittaker hesitated. “Oh,” he said, with an air of wisdom, “You can always identify a Zombie by the way they walk around waving their arms above their heads and saying ‘Zombie, Zombie.’”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Tibblekins, greatly enlightened.
Mr. Whittaker gazed longingly at Mrs. Tibblekins’s fine profile. How he yearned to tell her the deepest feelings of his heart—but he knew this was not the time. Their minds must be focused on the voyage ahead.
“But what if they don’t have arms?” asked Mrs. Tibblekins.
“That’s true,” said Mr. Whittaker. “Sometimes they don’t have arms.”
He was spared from further elaboration on the subject, however, for just then Sheldon the Pig returned with the ship.
“And a pretty penny I had to pay for it, too,” he groused, pushing the ship with his nose. “I’ve promised them half my marble collection if we ever get out of here.”
“Is she seaworthy?” asked Mr. Whittaker, who thought this had an impressive nautical sound to it. He gazed up at the translucent plastic sides of the boat and the festive red handle that served it as a rudder.
“Seaworthy? Yes, of course,” said Sheldon. “They were using her to store cleaning supplies, the ignorant fools, but she’s in quite excellent condition.”
They set sail at once. For many days the H.M.S. Bucket traveled serenely over calm seas. The sun beat down mercilessly overhead. Conditions were cramped, but tolerable, and Mr. Whittaker was not averse to his enforced proximity to Mrs. Tibblekins (though he was, of course, a Perfect Gentleman at all times). He did, however, discover in himself an unfortunate propensity for Seasickness, and spent many hours leaning miserably over the side of the Bucket.
Mrs. Tibblekins, on the contrary, took to the role of Seafarer as if she were born to it, though the intense heat obliged her to fan herself constantly.
“It’s very strange,” she commented to Sheldon the Pig one night, as they watched the stars wheel overhead. “I thought this was a land of Snow and Ice.”
“Oh, no,” said Sheldon. “That was only before, because we were farther North. Here the climate is nearly Tropical.”
“You astonish me, Sheldon!” said Mrs. Tibblekins. “However did you learn so much about geography?”
Sheldon was forced to confess that, not only had he visited these foreign lands before, but he had spent a considerable amount of time there (in his Wild Youth) and made all sorts of daring sea voyages. When he had talked about an Expedition being sheer madness, he had actually only been trying to conceal his Checkered Past. This was fortunate, for Mrs. Tibblekins felt sure that without his expertise, she and Mr. Whittaker would have been lost in no time.
***
Meanwhile, far, far away, Our Queen sat in the secluded Palace Under the Sink, with her precious box of granola bars wedged under one arm to protect it from Actual Cat. She peered out at the slick and chilly landscape, pondering the fate of her subjects. She knew all too well the Plague of Zombie was spreading, and that even in this isolated realm, her subjects were not safe from its ravages. She only hoped they would have the fortitude to survive without her guidance. What uncharted waters would they have to traverse? Would Our Queen be safe, here in the confines of her palace of ice? They had left her unprotected.
But no, actually, it was all right, because actually of course they had left her guarded by the brave Snow Giants, whose touch was as soft as tissue paper, and who would never allow any danger, no matter how great, to come between themselves and their Esteemed Ruler. The Snow Giants were natives of this land, of course, so technically Our Queen was not their Esteemed Ruler. But she had so won them over with her nobility in the face of Great Trials that they had all switched over to her side at once, and also the Snow Giant King was recently deceased of a tragic heart defect, so they were desperately in need of leadership. Our Queen stoically firmed her jaw. Her Royal Parents had taught her from a very young age that a Queen is never afraid.
***
Aboard the Bucket, the next day dawned warm and bright, and the water sparkled like emeralds. Around ten o’clock, by Sheldon’s reckoning, a tropical isle appeared on the horizon, with a long narrow beach of glittering sand and palm trees waving in the breeze. Beyond the beach, sheer cliffs of blue tile rose as far as the eye could see.
All was strangely quiet as they moved through the still water toward the beach. Not so much as a bird sang. Mr. Whittaker raised his head and sniffed the air. A foul odor was wafting its way to them from somewhere far off.
“Do you smell that?” he asked Mrs. Tibblekins. It was a sickly sweet scent, as if someone had forgotten to take out the garbage. But Mrs. Tibblekins shook her head. Not being a Bear, her sense of smell was not so well developed as his.
“It makes my fur prickle,” said Mr. Whittaker. “Perhaps we should turn back.”
“No,” said Mrs. Tibblekins resolutely, though she shivered. (Perhaps this was only because it had become necessary to push open the bathroom window a crack for fresh air, and the breeze was chilly.) “We must go on. Our Queen is depending on us.”
***
“A Queen is never afraid,” said Our Queen to herself. She hugged her knees regally to her chest. That was just to protect her Royal Gown, of course. Obviously she was not afraid, because the Good Fairies were there watching over her. There were two of them, and now they left off their intricate buzzing dances around the light fixture to circle her head, weaving spells of protection.
“Close your eyes, my dear,” said the Good Fairies, “and don’t worry. The Rain Giants will protect you.”
“I thought they were Snow Giants,” said Our Queen.
One of the Good Fairi
es perched on the floor in front of Our Queen and rubbed her delicate hands together. “Yes, but they got wet. They melted.”
“I can’t see them anywhere.”
“That’s because they’re invisible, and your eyes are closed, and also they went away. They had to go away. But a Queen is never afraid. You must be brave, my dear, and it will all come out right in the end.”
Our Queen bit her lip and nodded.
***
Having docked the bucket, the Expedition went ashore. As they walked inland, the tree cover grew thicker, and soon they were hiking through a jungle. The light was dim and green-tinged, and strange flowers bloomed everywhere. Unearthly cries came to them now and then—whether bird or beast, they could not tell—but nowhere could they find anything to eat.
By midday, they had reached the base of the cliffs. They shared their meager granola bar rations in glum silence. It seemed as though they would have to leave the island and continue their search elsewhere.
After lunch, Sheldon and Mr. Whittaker sat and dozed, but Mrs. Tibblekins paced restlessly about the campsite. As she was circling the spot where they sat for the third or fourth time, a glint of something in a cave high up the cliff face caught her eye. She decided to climb up and explore.
“By yourself, Mrs. Tibblekins?” asked Sheldon. “Why, it could be dangerous. There could be Bears.”
Mrs. Tibblekins glanced at Mr. Whittaker, amused. “I believe I am quite equal to the challenge of Bears.”
“But what if they are Zombie Bears?” asked Mr. Whittaker. “Very well,” said Mrs. Tibblekins, “come with me, if you like, but I am going.”
Mr. Whittaker got to his feet, and after a moment, Sheldon stood as well. They all began to make their way up the cliff, with Mrs. Tibblekins in the lead.
The ascent was arduous, but at last they pulled themselves, panting, onto the floor of the cave. Inside, it was cool and moist, and a great silver tree branch drooped over them, dripping water.
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