Wipeout of the Wireless Weenies

by David Lubar

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  For Doug Baldwin, Connie Cook, Fern, Heather, and Sylvia—priceless friends who have done so much to help make these stories possible

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  After the Apocalypse

  Dead Meat

  My New Hat

  Fabrications

  Plague Your Eyes

  Control Issues

  Mr. Chompywomp

  Flesh Drive

  Gothic Horrors

  In a Class by Himself

  The Dumpster Doll

  M.U.B.

  Sympathy Pains

  Rough Road

  No Thanks

  Coffin Fits

  Walnuts

  A Litter Bit of Trouble

  Moving Stairs

  Matters of Fax

  Casting Magic

  Swim Safety

  Drawn That Way

  Wipeout of the Wireless Weenies

  Shell Shocked

  Feed the Kitty

  Mummy Chase

  Being Green

  First Contact

  Bark like a Duck

  The Rarest of Monsters

  Choose Your Own Misadventure

  Killer ID

  A Word or Two About These Stories

  Reader’s Guide

  Books by David Lubar

  About the Author

  Copyright

  AFTER THE APOCALYPSE

  “Zombies!” Dad screamed, pointing out the living room window.

  “Where?” Fear and curiosity fought a short battle in my brain. Curiosity won. I rushed over to see for myself.

  “No! It’s too gruesome,” Dad said as he snatched me off my feet, tossed me over his shoulder, and ran toward the basement door. I’m almost twelve, but I’m pretty skinny.

  Mom grabbed my twin brother, Eli, and hurried down the stairs right behind us. Eli’s also skinny, and Mom’s pretty strong.

  “Into the shelter,” Dad said. “You know the drill.”

  We sure did. Mom and Dad had us practice our Zombie Apocalypse drill once a week. Whatever we were doing, when Dad screamed, “Zombies!” we had to drop everything and run to the shelter.

  “I guess it’s not a drill this time,” Eli said as Dad bolted the steel door that would keep us safe from the throngs of walking dead.

  “Guess not. They never do two drills in one week, and we had one three days ago. This must be the real thing.” I sighed and sat on the couch. The shelter was comfortable enough. There was plenty of food, and a small toilet in a separate room. We had beds and chairs. But it was kind of boring. I like to go outside and play with my friends. Especially now that school was out for the summer. And I had a birthday coming up in less than a week. So did Eli, of course, since we’re twins. A zombie apocalypse would ruin everything.

  Dad turned on the radio, but all we got was static. It looked like we wouldn’t be able to find out what was happening. I grabbed a book and settled down. When I got tired of reading, I unfolded my cot and went to sleep.

  The next morning, after breakfast, Dad said, “I’m going to go take a look outside.” He grabbed an ax from its peg on the wall and headed for the door.

  “Be careful,” Mom said. She unbolted the door, then locked everything up again as soon as Dad stepped out. She waited right there with her hand on the bolt, ready to let him back in as soon as he shouted the password.

  Dad was only gone for about ten minutes. When he came back in, pounded on the door, and shouted, “Off with their heads!” He was panting, like he’d been running. I spotted something splattered across his shirt. It looked like brains, though I didn’t really want to get close enough to it to find out for sure. I noticed the head of the ax was coated with slimy clots, too.

  “Is it bad out there?” Mom asked.

  “It’s not good. We’d better stay here until things calm down,” Dad said. “According to everything I’ve read, they’ll start to fall apart eventually. They’re rotting. We just have to wait them out.”

  He checked outside every morning. Each time, he was gone a bit longer. I lost track of the date. But at some point, Mom pulled a cake from the freezer and stuck candles in it.

  “Happy Birthday, boys! I put this here just in case,” she said. She pulled a small pile of presents from under her bed.

  So Eli and I celebrated our birthday in our zombie shelter.

  The next day, after Dad went out to check, he came back, hung the ax on its peg, and said, “Good news. It’s over.”

  “They’re all gone?” Mom asked.

  “All gone,” Dad said. “And the government troops removed the bodies.”

  “Yay! We can go outside!” I shouted. I raced for the door.

  “Wait!” Dad grabbed me and Eli by the shoulder. “Remember, this was a terrible experience for all of the survivors. If you see the neighbors, they might not want to talk about it. Okay?”

  “Sure.” I threw the bolt and flung open the door.

  Eli followed me through the house and out to the front yard.

  “I hope none of our friends got killed,” I said.

  “They didn’t,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Think about it,” he said.

  “Think about what?”

  “Remember when we turned eight?” he asked.

  “Sure. We had that huge party, with the magician and the ice cream cones. It was awesome.” I could still taste the hot fudge. I even licked some of it off the couch after it got spilled there.

  “Right—it was awesome. But it was kind of a mess, too.” Eli said. “And remember when we turned nine?”

  “Yeah. Dad took a bunch of us bowling.” That was definitely memorable. Dad threw his back out. And my friends got so rowdy, we were banned from the bowling alley for life. Then, Eli threw up in the car. I guess he shouldn’t have eaten five hot dogs. Neither should I. But at least I didn’t puke until I got back home. I glanced at the couch. The puke stain wasn’t nearly as bad as the fudge stain.

  “What about when we turned ten?” Eli asked.

  “We didn’t have a party. Remember? There was an alien invasion.” As the words left my mouth, I realized how crazy they sounded. Alien invasion. Almost as crazy as last year, when we’d missed our party because of the killer solar flare. Both times, Dad had suggested the neighbors wouldn’t want to relive the experiences, so we never talked about it.

  “Eli,” I said.

  “What?”

  “There aren’t any zombies, are there?”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the case,” he said.

  I thought about the cake. It was hard to believe Mom had just happened to think of putting one down there, in case the zombie apocalypse overlapped our birthday. There’d been a cake, and presents, down there last year, and the year before, too. “So our parents would rather hide in the basement for a week than throw another birthday party for us?”

  “It seems that way.”

  “What about that stuff on the ax?” I asked.

  “Blueberry pudding,” Eli said. “I tasted it.”
<
br />   I thought about all of that—alien invasion, solar flare, zombie apocalypse.… “What do you think it will be next year?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But I do know one thing. We need to get a video game system down there before then.”

  “Yeah, but no zombie games,” I said. “I’ve definitely had enough zombies for a while.”

  I grabbed our basketball and headed toward the playground with Eli. As I walked down the street in the fresh air and sunshine, I realized that the one thing I’d never liked about being a twin actually turned out to be an advantage.

  “It could be worse,” I said.

  “What do you mean?” Eli asked.

  “Imagine what would happen if we didn’t share a birthday,” I said. “We’d get stuck in the shelter twice a year.”

  I threw him a bounce pass and promised myself that if I ever had kids, they could have as many parties as they wanted, no matter how messy things got.

  DEAD MEAT

  The place smelled like sawdust and blood. But in a good way. Beneath those smells lurked subtler scents of aged salami and smoked sausages. Tyler liked the mingled aromas. He liked the slippery feel of sawdust on the wooden floor. And he liked the way the meat tasted when his mom cooked it. But he didn’t like the butcher.

  The man was big, as if all the years he’d spent wrestling slabs of beef and large sections of pork had shaped him in the image of his offerings. He was loud, too—shouting at his assistants if they moved too slowly, and even yelling at customers if they dawdled while placing their orders. But this was the only butcher shop in town, and his meat was much better than what was offered in either of the two local supermarkets. So people put up with his anger and his tantrums.

  Normally, Tyler entered the butcher shop only when he was running errands with his mother. Until now, he’d never had to face the man alone. Today, he was on his own. His mother wanted to bake a peach pie for a neighbor who’d been restricted to bed while she recovered from surgery. So Tyler was given the shopping list and instructions not to anger Mr. Schmatzler.

  No way I’m doing that, Tyler thought as he approached the store. I’m in and out.

  The brick single-story building was squeezed between a shoe-repair shop, which had its own rich aromas of leather and polish, and a bank, which smelled of nothing. A hand-scrawled sign in the window of the butcher shop advertised lamb shanks and kielbasa.

  Tyler rubbed his thumb and fingers against the folded bills in his left front pocket. He shifted his hand and touched the list his mother had given him. Then he reached out and put his fingers on the door handle.

  In and out.

  He pulled the door open. A shout greeted him.

  “I don’t need your business!” Mr. Schmatzler yelled as a woman escaped through the doorway, nearly knocking Tyler over.

  “Don’t ask for a pound when you want half a pound!” the butcher screamed at her fleeing back. “I can’t unslice it!”

  Tyler recovered his balance, briefly considered heading home and telling his mom the shop was closed, realized he was a terrible liar, sighed twice, then made his way inside. He felt as if the butcher’s scream had the ability to push against him like a fierce, hot wind.

  Before Tyler even reached the counter, with its splayed out steaks and chops, its mounds of ground meat speckled with white flecks of fat, and one horrifyingly large beef tongue, the butcher was glaring at him.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Uh…” Tyler reached into his pocket for the shopping list. I should have had it ready, he thought.

  “I’m dying of old age while you make me wait!” Mr. Schmatzler screamed. “Hurry up, boy. It’s closing time!” He flipped a switch, turning off the light in the meat case. The early-evening winter darkness spilled in through the front door.

  Tyler repeated his “uh.” The meaningless grunt morphed into a gasp as he searched through his pocket. He had the money. But the list was gone.

  Tyler glanced back over his shoulder. I dropped it. The list was on the sidewalk. He was sure of that. “I’ll be right back.” He turned toward the door.

  “Stop!” Mr. Schmatzler screamed. “I’m closing in ten seconds.” He flicked another switch, killing half the ceiling lights.

  Tyler spun back. I can do it, he told himself. He’d seen the list. He tried to picture the words in his mind. He knew what his mother wanted. Steak. Some kind of steak. “Uh, a pound, no, wait, a pound and a half of…”

  What kind of steak was it?

  Mr. Schmatzler yanked off his blood-splattered apron, threw it to the floor, and stormed around the counter. “I’ve had enough for one day!”

  Tyler flinched. But the man blasted right past him and headed for the door.

  “Delmonico!” Tyler shouted, remembering the name. “Delmonico steaks.”

  But the butcher was already past him and on his way out the door. “I’ll give you some time to think,” he said. He hit a final switch, high up above the top of the window, then stepped out and slammed the door behind himself.

  Tyler looked at the butcher case, thought about what his mother would say if he returned without the meat, and then looked out the door just as the butcher locked it.

  Click.

  “Wait!” Tyler screamed.

  But the man headed down the street.

  Tyler ran to the door and yanked at it. It was locked tight. He yanked harder. It didn’t matter.

  “Come back!”

  His words bounced off the door. Tyler stood, gasping to catch his breath.

  Smack.

  The sound came from behind him, like two muddy hands clapping together just once.

  Tyler spun toward the meat case. It was too dark to see anything. He turned back to the door and stretched up, but the light switch was out of reach. Even with his best jump, he fell short. He looked at the other switch, behind the meat case. He started to inch his way toward it.

  Smack. The sound shot from inside the case.

  “Stop! You’re just dead meat!” Tyler yelled. “You aren’t alive.”

  He rushed past the case and flipped the switch on the back wall. The light flickered on, washing away the darkness.

  In the movies, light banished horror and brought hope. In the butcher shop, light banished hope and brought horror.

  Tyler could see everything now. The meat was pulling together, gathering into one large, wet, red mass of muscle and sinew. Steaks, chops, cutlets, even the ground beef—the meat was merging into a single creature. It formed a crude cylinder, the size of a small boy. The whole tube pulsed, as if it were somehow breathing.

  Tyler backed against the wall. A ripping sound tore through the silence. A bone jutted out from the side of the tube, near one end, slanting downward so it touched the bottom of the case.

  A second bone thrust out opposite the first. Two more burst through at the other end. The bones scratched against the bottom of the case, as if trying to gain traction.

  The meat pulled itself to the rear of the case, pressed against the glass until it slid open, then fell out the back. It hit the floor with a splat. Tyler felt moist droplets shower his face. He could smell stale blood now. The rancid tang made his eyes burn.

  He raced to the door and threw himself against it, not caring if he got cut when the glass smashed.

  The door held.

  “No! Let me out!” He threw himself against it harder, ramming it with his shoulder. The whole door rattled, but nothing broke.

  Behind him, he heard the scrape of bones against the wooden floor. He didn’t want to see what was there, but he had to look. The creature reminded him of an animal that had been poorly skinned with a dull knife. Meat had slid down to cover most of the four protruding bones, creating crude legs. A head of some sort had started to form. It was mostly a sphere, with a gaping opening in front, cushioning the drooping beef tongue.

  Chips of bone lined the top and bottom of the opening, forming teeth. The tongue pulled back and the mou
th snapped shut. The clack of bone striking bone shot through the air. The mouth gaped open again.

  Tyler screamed, took two steps backwards, then threw himself at the door with all his strength.

  The glass shattered. Tyler tumbled through the opening, landing hard on the sidewalk. A sharp pain shot through his left wrist. Lesser pains washed over his knees where they had struck the pavement.

  Tyler pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the jolts of agony radiating from his wrist. That’s when he saw the blood. His right leg had been slashed by the glass. The cut wasn’t deep, but the skin had flapped open.

  The creature dragged itself outside. Tyler tried to run, but his ankle betrayed him. He dropped back to his knees.

  The creature moved across the sidewalk, leaving a smeared red trail of raw, shredded meat. When it reached Tyler, it rose up. The bone-lined mouth gaped wider. The creature was poised like a snake preparing to strike.

  “Please … no…” Tyler held out a hand.

  The creature paused. The head tilted toward the gash in his leg, then inched lower until it was hovering just inches above Tyler’s torn flesh.

  The mouth moved. The words were soft but clear.

  “One of us.” The creature turned and moved back toward the butcher shop, adding a second layer to the smeared trail. “The little monster is one of us.”

  As Tyler watched it walk to the door, he recognized something. He rolled to his knees, reached out, and grabbed a slab of meat from the side of the creature. “Delmonico steak,” he said. That’s what his mother had sent him for.

  Slowly, making sure he didn’t overstress his ankle, Tyler got to his feet. Clutching the dead meat in his hand, the live meat hobbled home.

  MY NEW HAT

  Mom took me to Fairbrink’s Department Store for a new winter hat, because my old one was worn out. The old hat would have lasted longer, but kids were always snatching it from my head and throwing it around. Then, when they got tired of that, they’d toss my hat in the road right when a bus was coming along. So it got run over a lot. I guess that was better than having them toss me around.

  I figured I should look for a sturdier hat this time.

  “Here’s a nice one, Daniel,” Mom said, holding up a knitted hat made of dark green wool.