Dead Guy Spy

by David Lubar

  “Okay.” I guess there was no reason not to. And he was right—it was sort of cool.

  I flexed my finger. Even though it wasn’t attached to my body, it curled. I made it crawl across the grass toward me like an inchworm. When it reached my feet, I picked it up and pulled out the glue bottle I always carried. As I twisted the cap open, I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Mookie asked. “I mean, beside seeing your finger fly through the air?”

  I held up the glue bottle. “I used to carry my inhaler wherever I went. I was afraid to leave the house without it. Now that I finally got rid of it, I have to carry this.”

  Mookie laughed, too. “I never thought I’d be friends with someone who was so stuck up.”

  “Or stuck together.” I smeared some of the mixture on the broken end of my finger. Mookie stepped back and clamped his hands over his ears, since he knew what was coming.

  “Ahhhgggggg!” Even though I was expecting it, the pain from the nerves knitting back together was enough to make me howl like a coyote.

  The soccer players stared at us from across the field. Mookie looked back at them and howled. He dropped on all fours, ran around like an animal, and pretended to bite at my ankles. The soccer players shrugged and went back to their game.

  By then, the pain had faded. I didn’t want to think what it would be like if—or when—I broke something bigger than a finger. But I knew I’d have to face that sooner or later. I just hoped I didn’t lose my head. I couldn’t imagine looking up at my body from a head that was rolling across the ground.

  “You want to quit?” Mookie asked.

  “Yeah. The glue needs to set. Hey, what’s that noise?”

  “I don’t hear anything,” Mookie said.

  “Something’s buzzing. I think it’s coming from that car.” As I turned, I saw a flash of light. The woman in the parked car was watching us with binoculars.

  Without thinking, I ran toward the car. Before I got there, she peeled out, swerving away from the curb and flying down the street. Something tumbled from the window as the car disappeared around a curve.

  “She’s a he,” I said, pointing to the wig that had fallen to the street.

  “Wow, he took off fast,” Mookie said. “Maybe he had to go to the bathroom.”

  I shook my head. “I think I’m the one whose life is about to end up in the toilet.”

  Mookie and I both jumped as we heard a crash like someone ramming into a hundred metal garbage cans.

  “Let’s go!” We ran down the street. When we got past the curve in the road, I saw that the car had smashed against a telephone pole.

  “I hope nobody’s hurt,” Mookie said.

  We raced to the car. Part of me didn’t want to get too close. I really didn’t want to see someone who’d been smashed up.

  I slowed down enough that Mookie got there ahead of me. “She’s not a he,” he said.

  I stared through the driver’s window. “She’s an it.”

  The driver wasn’t a person. It was some sort of mechanical dummy. The flash of light I’d seen hadn’t been from binoculars—it had been from electronic eyes. They looked like the zoom lenses on a camera. There was a bunch of equipment in the backseat, including something with an antenna.

  “How did it drive?” Mookie asked.

  “Badly,” I said. There weren’t any other cars around. Whoever was doing the driving was doing it from somewhere else. So they’d seen everything. “It must be remote controlled.”

  A couple sparks shot from the thing’s head.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Just a second,” Mookie said. “I want to check out the stuff in the backseat.”

  Smoke drifted from the robot’s ears. Its face started to melt. I remembered what had happened to the squirrel.

  I grabbed Mookie’s arm and yanked hard. “Run!”

  We were less than a half block away when the thing inside the car exploded, blowing the doors off the car. A moment later, the car exploded, too. But I’d saved us. I couldn’t help imagining the applause of a crowd of spectators. I could almost hear their conversations.

  Who is that amazing zombie hero?

  So dead, and yet so brave.

  I want to be like him when I die.

  “What next?” Mookie asked as we jogged away. “Helicopters? Flying saucers? Guys with jet packs?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  Mookie looked back over his shoulder. “I never thought hanging out with a dead guy could get you killed.”

  6

  Model Behavior

  When I got home, I headed for the computer. I really wanted to see if I could find out who would have that much electronic spy stuff. But I remembered what Abigail had said. Don’t go online. The last time I’d ignored her advice, back at the field, it had caused trouble. This time, I was going to listen to her. I left the computer alone.

  It was just me and Mom for dinner, since Dad had to work late. Mookie’s folks were back from their trip, so he didn’t stay over. That was okay. He’s my best friend, and I like hanging around with him, but when he’s asleep, he makes all sorts of noises. From both ends. It’s sort of like having a barnyard in your bedroom. Or a tuba convention.

  I got under the covers and closed my eyes. Every once in a while, I still tried to sleep. It never worked. I didn’t need covers, either. I don’t ever feel hot or cold. But habits are hard to drop. And there’s something nice about being under a pile of blankets.

  I got out of bed, reached behind my bookcase, and pulled out my sketchbook. It was all there—my whole superhero plan. I was still trying to come up with the perfect name for myself. Zombie Guy. Zomboy. Mr. Undead. Captain Corpse. None of those seemed right. But I had the costume figured out. It would be black, with a big Z on the front, made out of three bones.

  Mookie would need a costume, too, since he’d be my sidekick. He’d need a name, too. I was sort of thinking it would be “The Stumbler.”

  Abigail could make me all sorts of cool stuff, like Batman had. I could slink through the shadows of East Craven, looking for people to save. It would be perfect and awesome. Best of all, it really could happen—unless the guy who was spying on me messed everything up.

  After a while, I put the sketchbook away and dug through my closet. At the bottom of a box of old toys, I found a half-finished model of an Indy race car—the kind with the big spoiler. I dumped the parts on my desk and unfolded the instructions. I took my time putting the model together, but I was still finished way before morning.

  I got back in bed. Around me, the house creaked and groaned. Outside, I could hear cars going past. I could swear I could almost hear them all the way across town. After a long wait, the sun rose. I heard someone in the kitchen. I waited a while longer, then got out of bed and put on my school clothes. I was at the kitchen table before Mom came downstairs.

  She ruffled my hair. “Well, you’re up with the chickens. Did you get enough sleep?”

  “Sure. I got as much as I needed.” I noticed there was a half-empty coffee cup in the sink already. “Dad left?”

  “He had to go in early again. He’s finishing up an important project.” She walked over to the fridge. “How about a nice, big breakfast?”

  “I’m okay with cereal.” It was one of the easier things to pretend to eat. Especially puffed cereal. I could push it around in my bowl, smush it down, and then dump the whole mess in the garbage without my parents getting suspicious.

  Before I left, I peeked out the front window. As far as I could tell, everything was normal. All the way to school, I kept trying to spot someone following me. But the street was quiet. None of the people driving by even looked at me. I didn’t see the same car more than once. There were no squirrels with cameras. There weren’t even any suspicious-looking plants.

  “Any sign of that guy?” Mookie asked when I got to school.

  “Nope.”

  “That’s good. Maybe he lost interest in you.”

  �
��Lost interest?” I thought back to our game of catch in the park. “I’m pretty sure whoever was controlling that car saw me make my finger crawl across the field.”

  “Then maybe you scared him off,” Mookie said.

  “That would be nice, but I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

  Mookie started to laugh. “Hey—you made me think of a joke. How can you tell that zombies like music?”

  “I don’t know. How?”

  He snapped both thumbs, then looked around like he’d dropped something. “They’re always snapping their fingers!” He collapsed to the ground, shaking with laughter.

  There was no way I’d admit it, but I guess it was sort of funny.

  Abigail had a different theory about why nobody was following me. “I think he saw what he needed to see. Now he’s planning his next move. Or maybe he’s analyzing whatever he saw. It’s not every day you deal with a zombie.”

  “So you think I’ll see that guy again?” I asked. “Or one of his robot thingies?”

  “Probably. But it works both ways. The more of them we see, the better chance we have of figuring out what’s going on. I already have a clue or two. The battery in the squirrel is from Australia. But the body seems to be made from American steel.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “I have no idea yet,” Abigail said.

  That didn’t make me feel any better. I tried not to think about it as we headed toward class.

  That night, I finished the other three half-done models in my closet. Now, I had two race cars, a jet plane, a rocket ship, and nothing to do.

  Maybe I really did scare him off, I thought as I walked to school Wednesday morning.

  “I need a hobby,” I told Mookie. “I have way too much time to kill after my parents go to bed.”

  “You could collect butterflies,” he said.

  “That’s sort of hard to do at night.”

  “So collect moths. They’re cooler, anyhow.” He squeezed his fingers into a fist. “Especially the ones with the fat, squishy bodies.”

  I didn’t ask Abigail’s advice. I figured she’d tell me to do something way too complicated, like build my own nuclear reactor or raise striped rabbits.

  There was a weird silence mixed in with all the noise at lunch. We were halfway through the period before I realized what was missing. “You aren’t making any jokes,” I said to Denali. “You didn’t even make a joke about when we learned about pi in math class this morning.”

  She answered me with a small shrug.

  “What’s wrong?” Abigail asked.

  Denali opened her mouth, closed it, sniffed, sobbed, then finally said, “We might have to move.”

  “Why?” we all asked.

  “My folks’ shop isn’t doing too good,” Denali said. “Everyone is going to the new dry cleaner in Hurston Lakes. If business doesn’t get better, Dad says we’ll have to move to Florida and stay with my grandparents.”

  “Things will get better,” I said. I couldn’t imagine our lunch table, or my classes, without Denali.

  The other kids all said encouraging things. Except for Abigail, who seemed to be thinking deep thoughts. By the end of lunch, Denali looked a little less sad. I guess it helps to know that people care what happens to you.

  Let’s get you paired up,” Mr. Lomux said at the start of gym class. He began calling names. Rodney got matched with Omar Wilkes, who’s big but not very strong. I watched Omar’s face when he heard the news. He looked like he was trying to swallow a fistful of sand.

  Mookie ended up with Dilby, and I was matched with Ferdinand. We lined up on the mat, face-to-face with our partners. I noticed Ferdinand was trembling.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him.

  “You’re going to hurt me,” he said.

  I almost laughed, but I could see he was totally serious. “How am I going to hurt you?”

  “You could break my neck,” Ferdinand said. “Lots of wrestlers get their necks broke. Or you could rupture my liver. There’s tons of ways you could hurt me. I’m fragile.”

  I glanced at Mr. Lomux to make sure he wasn’t paying any attention to us, then leaned toward Ferdinand and whispered, “Look—I don’t like this any more than you do. Let’s cooperate and we won’t get hurt. Okay?”

  “Cooperate?”

  “Yeah. We’ll make it look like we’re fighting hard. But we’ll take turns getting pinned and stuff.”

  Ferdinand nodded. “Good idea. But just don’t hurt me. Okay?”

  “Let’s see what you got,” Mr. Lomux said. “One pair at a time. Let’s go.”

  When our turn came, Ferdinand and I pretended to struggle. He grabbed my legs. I grunted and leaned toward him for a second, like I was fighting hard, then flopped back. I made sure to fall softly, since I didn’t want to snap anything. We kept at it until Mr. Lomux blew his whistle.

  “I didn’t break my neck,” Ferdinand whispered as we got up. “That’s great.”

  “I know the feeling.” I watched the rest of the kids. When it was Rodney’s turn, he dove toward Omar, wrapped his arms around Omar’s legs, lifted him up, and slammed him down on his back, driving his shoulder into Omar’s stomach.

  Omar produced a sound I didn’t think a human could make. It was sort of like what you’d get if you crossed a bagpipe with a goose and a bassoon.

  “Signature move!” Rodney shouted.

  I figured Mr. Lomux would yell at Rodney for being too rough, but he just smiled and said, “Good start.” Then he showed us a takedown and told us to practice it with our partner.

  That was even easier to fake. As Ferdinand and I were going through the moves, I noticed every kid around me suddenly grab his nose and make gagging sounds. I grabbed my own nose and pretended I was suffering.

  The whole class looked over at Mookie.

  “Hey—I didn’t do it,” he said.

  Everyone kept staring.

  “What? Really—it’s not me.” He sniffed the air. “That’s not mine. No way. I had hot dogs last night.” He sniffed again. “Definitely not a hot dog fart. That smells like a broccoli fart. Or brussels sprouts. They’re pretty hard to tell apart.”

  “All of you—knock it off!” Mr. Lomux screamed. “Don’t be such big babies. Real men can handle anything. We don’t go crying about a little bit of gas. It’s time to get tough. I know just how to do it.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that, the look in his eyes, or the scary smile on his face.

  7

  A Sock in the Face

  Take off your socks,” Mr. Lomux shouted.

  “Our socks?” Mookie said.

  “You heard me.” Six veins bulged in Mr. Lomux’s forehead.

  We slipped out of our sneakers and took off our socks.

  “Hold them against your nose,” he said.

  We all stared at each other. Mr. Lomux repeated the command, at full volume, with the help of seven veins.

  We smelled our socks.

  I didn’t mind, since I didn’t actually have to breathe in. But I could tell it was pretty hard on the rest of the kids. I saw bodies jerking as kids gagged. Mookie dropped to his knees. Then he flopped on his side and started shaking.

  I was about to run for help when I realized he was joking.

  Mr. Lomux didn’t even look at Mookie. “This will make real men out of you.”

  He had us spend the last five minutes of class breathing through our socks.

  “Man, I wish they’d transferred him,” Mookie said when we were leaving the gym.

  “It’s your fault they didn’t,” Adam said to me.

  He was right. Mr. Lomux would probably have been transferred to Borloff Lower Elementary if we’d lost the field day competition against Perrin Hall Academy. Before that, our school had lost six years in a row. But thanks to my zombie skills, I’d won the day for us and made Mr. Lomux look good.

  “Yeah,” Mookie said. “I heard the new gym teacher at Borloff is awesome. I’ll bet he’d lo
ve to come here.”

  “And Mr. Lomux has gotten even worse since we won,” Adam said. “He’s trying to turn us into some sort of superkids. I think he’s like a tiger that suddenly got a taste of human flesh. Now he wants more.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Except he’s like a loser who suddenly got a taste of victory.”

  “All I can tell you is, I’m wearing clean socks from now on,” Mookie said. “If I’d known they smelled that bad after just three days, I would have changed them sooner.”

  “You should be happy it wasn’t your underwear,” Adam said.

  Mookie nodded. “That would be a death sentence.”

  “And I should never eat broccoli again,” Adam said.

  I saw another squirrel on the way home. But this one was flesh and blood. And not very bright. It ran right into the side of a tree. At least it didn’t explode in a shower of metal parts.

  “I made your favorite,” Mom said at dinner. She plopped a stuffed cabbage onto my plate.

  “Thanks. It looks great.” I couldn’t even guess how or when she got the idea that I loved stuffed cabbage. But at least, like most stuffed things, it was easy to make it look like I’d eaten some.

  Dad had work spread out at the table. “Big project?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “It’s a killer.”

  “You really should take a break while you eat,” Mom said.

  Dad nodded and pushed the papers aside. He looked tired. I figured, unlike me, he’d have no problem sleeping.

  That night, I sat in bed, wondering whether it was safe to go online. Abigail said the guy was probably off analyzing what he’d seen. Actually, right now, he was probably asleep in bed, like everyone except me.

  I searched through my closet for something to do. I didn’t find anything, unless I wanted to try to beat myself at checkers or Battleship.

  I really needed to use the computer. I’d been playing this huge multiplayer game, Vampyre Stalker, for a couple weeks now. I’d advanced my character up to level 42, and was just about to enter the crypt of Nastydamus, a level 48 vampire. I’d saved all the money I’d earned in the game and bought a hollow silver cross that was filled with a superconcentrated mixture of garlic and holy water. I was dying to try it out. I was pretty sure it would turn Nastydamus into a pile of steaming ashes.