by C. M. Gray
‘But this was no accident!’ boomed Mr Trotter. ‘The bridge didn’t collapse by itself!’
A ripple went through the crowd. People shifted their feet, trying to get a better view.
‘I know for a fact that it was . . .’ he paused for a couple of seconds as he glared around, ‘blown up!’
The murmuring grew louder. A few people in the crowd shouted out in surprise or disbelief.
‘Why?’
‘Who would do that?’
Again Mr Trotter put up his hands for silence. ‘I don’t know why it was blown up, but I know who did it.’
Sophie and I exchanged a glance. I could tell she was thinking the same thing as me: did Mr Trotter know about HAZMAT? Did he know about Mr Bill? Did he know about zombies?
‘It was blown up,’ continued Mr Trotter, his face growing redder, ‘by the Knights!’ He swung a thick meaty arm around and gestured toward a section of the crowd where I guessed Sophie’s parents must be standing. ‘Mum! Dad!’ Sophie pushed her way through the mob, dragging me along behind her.
‘Sophie!’ Mrs Knight sobbed, and grabbed Sophie, pulling her close.
They were still dressed head to toe in combat gear. Slung over their shoulders were backpacks with suspicious-looking bulges. And now that Mr Trotter had singled them out, people around them were starting to take a closer look.
‘I know this,’ boomed Mr Trotter, ignoring me and Sophie, ‘because my son managed to escape from their house, where he was being kept prisoner!’
There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Every eye swung in the Knights’ direction.
‘That’s not quite true,’ said Mr Knight calmly. ‘It is partially true — but there’s a good reason for it!’
‘A good reason to kidnap a young, innocent child?!’ Mr Trotter dragged Tank’s burly form onto the merry-goround. The kid’s face was barely visible behind the massive block of chocolate he was gobbling.
‘He glowed blue when I saw him through the infrared lens of my upgraded Zombie Blaster,’ Mr Knight said to us in a low voice. ‘We couldn’t contact HAZMAT because the phone lines were down. So we tried to keep him at our place.’
I quickly flicked on my infrared. Sure enough, Tank shone blue, which meant he’d been infected sometime after we’d seen him. I turned to Sophie. ‘Your dad’s right. He’s a zo—’ I began.
‘But that isn’t all!’ interrupted Mr Trotter, over the growing rabble. ‘When I went to their house, I discovered this.’ He leant down and picked up a roll of paper, then straightened up, waving it over his head. ‘A map of Seabrook! On it, the Knights have listed what they call “easy targets”!’ He counted them off on his fingers. ‘The electricity system! The phone network! And the bridge!’
The crowd erupted. Mr and Mrs Knight were shoved from behind. Mr Knight frantically reached round to grab something from his backpack, but it was too late — the crowd was surging all around them. Two burly men pinned their arms to their sides as they tried in vain to explain.
‘We have to do something!’ cried Sophie.
She was right. But what could we do?!
12
I pushed my way forward, and before I knew it I was climbing onto the merry-go-round. Mr Trotter glared at me but didn’t stand in my way. I took a deep breath.
‘People!’ I shouted. It seemed like a good way to start and I’d noticed that a lot of teachers said it when they wanted us to be quiet and pay attention.
‘Ben!’ It was Mum. She was half hidden in the crowd but I could see she looked pale and worried. I tried to ignore her — the last thing I needed right now was a distraction.
‘Mr Trotter is right. The bridge has been blown up. But it wasn’t blown up by the Knights. They were trying to protect it. That’s why they had the map!’
‘Are you denying they kidnapped my son?’ Mr Trotter loomed over me.
There was no way to explain why Tank had been at the Knights’ house without telling the truth about Sophie and me. But how would people react? Would they try to kill us? Would they lock us up? They wouldn’t like it, I knew that much. But maybe it was time everyone knew; maybe it was time to let my secret out.
‘There’s something you all need to know.’ I took another deep breath. ‘I AM A ZOMBIE!’ The crowd murmured again, but nobody sounded scared — a few people started laughing and a teenage girl dressed up as an undead bride yelled, ‘Me too!’
Surprise!
‘I’m not joking,’ I added quickly. ‘Tank’s a zombie too. That’s why the Knights were . . . looking after him.’
The laughter grew louder.
Even to me, it sounded unbelievable. There was no way anyone was going to swallow this.
Mr Trotter shook his head. ‘This is serious, young man. Go back to your parents.’
‘I’m telling you the truth!’ I yelled more loudly. ‘The Knights were trying to stop the zombie apocalypse!’
A slow smile spread over Mr Trotter’s face. He turned to the audience. ‘You know, I think he actually believes this.’
My parents were looking at me with their mouths hanging open. Dad buried his face in his hands. I gazed around. If people wouldn’t believe me, I’d have to show them. ‘If I’m not a zombie,’ I yelled out over the crowd, ‘then how can I do this?’
I flicked my infrared vision on and off a couple of times, first to one side of the park then to the other so everyone in the crowd could get a good look.
The laughter died away as everyone stared. There was an eerie silence for what felt like years but must have only been a couple of seconds. I could see Sophie’s face in the crowd, eyes wide.
‘It’s just a trick!’ boomed Mr Trotter, stepping in front of me and shattering the silence. ‘He’s wearing those contact lenses that make your eyes glow!’
Man, the guy was annoying. But if he thought he could convince everyone I wasn’t a zombie, he was wrong.
‘AAAGGGHHH!’ he yelled as I picked him up. I spun him onto his side and pumped him up and down over my head like a barbell. Sure, the guy was massive, but to me, he weighed no more than a toddler.
There were gasps and screams from the crowd.
‘Put me down!’ he cried.
I finally had their attention. ‘You see?! I’m not normal! I was infected a while ago but others have been infected tonight. Do not let your kids eat the brain-candy! This is how the virus is spreadi—’
Something sharp hit my shoulder and suddenly I was paralysed. As I fell, I saw the wires running from my body up to Mr Trotter’s hand, which held a Taser gun.
We both crashed onto the platform of the merry-go-round. Mr Trotter scrambled to his feet but I couldn’t move. I could hardly even breathe. Electricity ran down my limbs and across my chest in prickling waves. My muscles were rigid.
‘You’ve caused enough trouble for one night,’ said the policeman, panting heavily, his face bright red. ‘A few hours in the lockup might teach you not to be a show-off.’
I closed my eyes and concentrated on moving my arm enough to pull the wires out of my clothing, but my muscles were frozen stiff. I was trapped.
Suddenly, all around me the crowd fell silent once again. In the distance, a familiar voice cut through the still night air. ‘Thank you. That is most . . . convenient.’
There was a rustle of clothing and shuffling of feet as everyone turned in the direction of the voice. I couldn’t see from my position on the merry-go-round wooden boards, but I didn’t need to look because I already knew who it was.
It was Mr Bill, a.k.a. the Lurker.
He was here.
13
Just as suddenly as it had started, the electrical pulse rippling through my body stopped. I sagged as every bit of energy drained from my body.
‘Thank you! I’m most grateful!’ rang out Mr Bill’s voice again.
The low murmur of the crowd rose to a roar. A few teenagers clambered up onto the play equipment to get a better view. People stumbled as they shuffled or were pulled
backward and a pathway opened up.
Mr Bill smiled and nodded from side to side as he limped through the crowd toward me. Behind him were Tank and Muzza. The three of them formed a semi-circle around me. ‘You’ve somehow managed to disable my only real opponent,’ Mr Bill said to Mr Trotter, who had crouched down and was unhooking the electrodes from my shirt. ‘Now, put those on, please.’ He gestured toward the handcuffs dangling from Mr Trotter’s belt.
‘Ahhhh,’ began Mr Trotter, ‘I’m not sure if there’s any real need for them. He’s just a kid.’
‘Oh, I don’t mean him. He’s a zombie, so a pair of ordinary handcuffs won’t hold him. I mean you,’ said Mr Bill coldly.
‘What?! Not more zombie talk!’ yelled someone from the crowd.
‘Must be because it’s Halloween,’ shouted someone else.
There were jeers and wolf-whistles but Mr Bill ignored them. He turned to Tank. ‘Unclip your father’s cuffs from his belt and attach one to his wrist. Attach the other to the bars on the merry-go-round. That should keep him from doing anything silly.’
If only I could move! But the Taser had drained me of every ounce of energy. I could barely even lift my head.
Without hesitation, Tank lumbered over to his dad and snatched the handcuffs and key. There was a brief scuffle then Mr Trotter was knocked to the ground. ‘Tank! Stop!’ he shouted. But instead, his son snapped one metal handcuff around his father’s wrist and the other round one of the bars on the merry-go-round.
‘Let him go!’ A couple of the men in the crowd pushed their way to the front. Mr Bill nodded to Muzza, and after a brief scuffle, the men were tied up beside Mr Trotter.
‘Good work,’ said Mr Bill. He tossed the boys a lolly each, which they snapped out of the air with little growls.
‘Enough!’ growled a familiar voice. Mr Knight and Mrs Knight were standing behind the merry-go-round, their Zombie Blasters aimed squarely at Mr Bill. I guessed the guys holding them had let them go when they’d seen what was happening.
Mr Bill frowned at them. ‘Aaaah . . . the Knights . . . the pesky pair who’ve worked so hard to stop me. I always admired your conviction, even if it was misguided.’ He turned to Muzza. ‘Tie them to the swings.’
The boy obediently plunged toward the Knights.
‘Get back!’ yelled Mr Knight. His finger tightened around the trigger and with a sudden WHOOOOSSSHHH a dart flew out of his weapon. Muzza ducked and it sailed harmlessly over his head then landed, quivering in the dirt, at Mr Bill’s feet.
‘Good try,’ Mr Bill smiled. ‘But the living are no match for the undead.’
My muscles were finally starting to feel less stiff. I rolled over and pulled myself into a sitting position. By the time I’d managed to stand up, the Knights had been dragged, shouting and fighting, over to the swings. There was no sign of Sophie. Perhaps she’d managed to get away.
‘You’ve caused me so much trouble,’ Mr Bill glared at me. ‘But not even you can change fate. This is meant to be.’
He motioned with his hand toward someone at the back of the crowd. There was a ripple of movement as people parted and a figure appeared.
I blinked. This was the mysterious zombie we’d chased all over town? It couldn’t be!
14
My brother Michael slowly walked toward us.
‘What a surprise this must be,’ said Mr Bill, in a satisfied tone. ‘And didn’t he do his job well?! Without him, you might’ve managed to track me down, but as it was, you were always a step behind.’
Michael stopped in front of us.
‘Michael!’ I said, but my brother didn’t even seem to notice me — his eyes were fixed on Mr Bill.
‘He can’t help you,’ said Mr Bill to me as he tossed Michael a gum drop. Michael snatched it out of the air and popped it into his mouth. ‘The only part of his brain that is functioning is the part that craves lollies. He will do my bidding now, as he has done all night. Right from when he stumbled across the lollies I’d left at The House, he was working for me.
‘When you thought he was trying to steal lollies from Sophie’s trick-or-treat bag, he was actually planting brain-candy into it. The moment this job was done, he was instructed to disappear: to pretend to be ill from all the sweets. I didn’t want you getting suspicious about his strange behaviour, you see. And I hoped that you’d share the lollies around, perhaps poison your friends or your parents. How ironic it would be if the Knights, those heroes from HAZMAT, became infected!’
He broke off to cackle loudly. ‘But of course you did manage to share them around when Tank and Muzza stole the bag. I couldn’t have planned it better: hoping to find more candy, they followed your trail back to the Knights’ house. Tank was captured briefly, but as they say, all’s well that ends well, and now they’re lucky enough to be henchmen of the apocalypse, thanks to you!’
‘My son will never be your . . . your henchman!’ shouted Mr Trotter.
Mr Bill ignored him and gazed at me with his cold, dark eyes. ‘And as for your fateful trip to the bridge . . . when I hung that poster in my office, I hoped you’d find it. Blowing up the bridge was a necessary part of my plan but I didn’t want to bother with the explosives myself. Instead, I made a few frantic calls to HAZMAT, telling them that the island was overrun with zombies. One look at you two running toward them across the bridge through their infrared lenses was enough to convince them I was right and it was bombs away!’
He turned to his silent, fearful audience. Everyone looked too shocked to move. ‘But why do you all look so glum? This isn’t bad news! You’re the lucky ones, for soon you will be transformed. You will become more than human!’ He laughed triumphantly. ‘And when the strong among you have devoured the weak, we will leave this island and storm the country. No town or village will remain untouched.’ His voice rose to a roar. ‘CALL IT WHAT YOU WILL: THE DAY OF THE DEAD! ARMAGEDDON! THE APOCALYPSE!’ He glared around the crowd, then in a lower tone added, ‘I will leave you here under the watchful gaze of my lieutenants. Don’t do anything stupid, or you mightn’t live to regret it!’
‘Ben!’ My father’s voice rang out over the crowd.
Mr Bill nodded to Muzza and Tank, who vanished instantly into the sea of people. Seconds later there was a brief scuffle, then all was silent except for muffled sobs which I guessed came from my mother.
‘And as for you, young man,’ Mr Bill clapped a bony hand onto my shoulder and smiled, revealing his oddly shaped teeth, ‘I’m not one to hold a grudge. You can still be part of our great future if you come with me.’
He gave me a shove and I stumbled off the merry-go-round.
‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ I said.
‘You will if you want Michael to survive. You see, if you don’t come with me now, I’ll take him instead.’
Mr Bill paused and, when I said nothing, he smiled. He prodded my back with his cane, pushing me before him as he led me away. ‘I thought so. Your greatest weakness has always been that you care.’
15
The crowd watched silently as Mr Bill and I headed across Henderson Park, toward the cemetery. It wasn’t far and we were soon deep among the tombstones. Mr Bill prodded my back and snapped ‘left’ or ‘right’ until we were in the oldest part of the graveyard where stone angels and crosses marked the plots.
I wondered what he planned to do next. Would he kill me? Would he turn me into a full zombie by making me kill him? Either way, I was going to lose.
We made our way toward the small church that stood in the middle of the cemetery. The place hadn’t been used in years. For as long as I could remember, the heavy wooden doors had been locked tight. We stopped in front of them.
‘Open the door,’ said Mr Bill, dangling an old metal key over my shoulder. ‘And in case you get any ideas, I’ve also got this little fellow.’ Mr Bill slid his hand inside his jacket and drew out a small black bundle.
‘Corvus!’
The bird gazed up at me with frightened, red
eyes. My heart raced as I turned away and unlocked the door. I couldn’t let anything happen to my pet.
Inside, moonlight flooded in through the narrow, stained-glass windows that lined the walls. Rows of ancient pews faced the altar. We stepped over the threshold. Mr Bill pulled the door shut behind us. In the dim light, my infrared vision slid smoothly into place. Now was my chance.
I spun around, sweeping my leg out in one smooth motion. The walking stick clattered to the ground and I pounced on it then straightened up, pointing the round, bulbous end of the cane toward Mr Bill’s throat.
‘Drop the bird,’ I said.
‘This bird?’ Mr Bill held out his hand and began to close his fingers. Corvus wriggled and squawked. With his other hand, Mr Bill stroked the tiny, black head. ‘This bird is the reason you are here. It was him, was it not, that infected you with the zombie virus? Oh, I know someone commanded him to attack, but the bird still struck the fatal blow, didn’t he? He attacked you. He infected you with the virus. Without this bird, you would still be living your ordinary, boring little life.’
‘Corvus didn’t understand. He was following his instincts. Now, let him go.’ I was beginning to feel desperate.
Mr Bill squeezed tighter. Corvus’s eyes flashed red then black. His long talons clawed the air. He wasn’t squawking now. He was using all his strength to struggle against the iron grip. ‘He infected you with the zombie virus and yet you care about him. As I said, that is your weakness. Now, drop the stick or I will crush him like a bug.’
I tossed the stick at Mr Bill’s feet.
Mr Bill leant down and snatched the walking stick off the ground then straightened back up. ‘You want the bird?’ He raised Corvus high in the air and squeezed. The raven’s beak opened in a silent scream. There was a crunching sound as his tiny bones shattered.
Mr Bill tossed the small, black carcass to the ground at my feet. ‘There you are,’ he dusted his hand on his jacket. ‘This was your final test, Ben. And you failed. You should have finished me off when you had the chance. Instead, you tried to negotiate because of a bird! I don’t want you leading my army. I don’t even want you in my army!’
