Zombie Dog

by Clare Hutton

  For James, Fiona, and Matt, with whom I would

  face zombies any day.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rotten Apple Books

  About the Author

  Copyright

  “I’m coming to get you!” Becky Nolan called. Her two-year-old Labrador retriever, Bear, whuffed excitedly behind his mouthful of purple octopus toy and barreled down the porch steps.

  Becky leaped down the steps after Bear and grabbed hold of two of the stuffed octopus’s legs, pulling the toy toward her as her dog set his legs and growled playfully.

  They yanked the octopus back and forth for a few seconds, until Bear suddenly dropped his head and whined softly.

  Becky automatically let go of the stuffed toy and reached for Bear. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” she asked softly, patting his glossy black side. “What’s up, boy?”

  Bear danced backward out of reach, the octopus clutched triumphantly in his mouth. His eyes were shining and he was grinning a big doggy grin: Becky was sure that he was laughing at her.

  “That dog is so the boss of you,” Becky’s best friend, Charlotte, said from the porch. She was laughing at Becky, too. “Look at how he outwitted you.”

  “Naughty boy,” Becky said. She lunged playfully toward him, but Bear quickly dodged away from her. A minivan pulled up in front of the house. From inside, Charlotte’s mom waved to them.

  “Gotta go,” Charlotte said, pulling her backpack onto her shoulders and tightening her ponytail. “See you at school tomorrow.”

  Becky stared at the minivan with dismay. “You just got here!” she complained.

  Charlotte laughed. “We did homework together and made brownies and you showed me your new clothes and we talked and played with Bear,” she reminded Becky. “I’ve been here for ages.”

  “I know,” Becky agreed. “I just miss hanging out with you all the time.”

  The year before, when Becky’s family first moved to this town, her family had rented an apartment on the street where Charlotte lived. Charlotte had come over almost every afternoon. But over the summer, Becky’s family had moved to this new house on Tulip Street, which her parents called their dream house, and now it felt like she hardly saw Charlotte outside of school. “Maybe you can spend the night this weekend?” Becky asked.

  Charlotte’s mom beeped her horn impatiently.

  “Maybe,” Charlotte said, moving off toward the minivan. “That house next door to you is pretty creepy looking, though. I might be too scared to sleep here.” She made a joking grimace as she pulled open the passenger door.

  “Wait, what?” Becky said. Charlotte waved and climbed into the minivan, slamming the door as her mother pulled out.

  Becky blinked in confusion at the back of the van and then climbed slowly back up her porch stairs. She looked over at the empty house on the other side of the fence. Creepy? It was just an empty house. Her parents called it the “old McNally house,” but she didn’t know who the McNallys were, or had been.

  Becky sat on the porch swing to think. The McNally house had clearly once been a pretty house like the others on the street. But now it was obviously neglected — its paint was peeling and the windows were boarded over.

  Becky could see why Charlotte thought it was creepy. The house was pretty dilapidated, and the yard was overgrown. Thick dark evergreens grew close around the walls of the house. Altogether, it looked as if something had been shut up inside it, something that might try to get out, and the trees and boards were there to hold it back.

  The chains on Becky’s porch swing creaked as she swayed, and she almost thought she heard an answering creak from the other house.

  She stilled the swing and listened. Nothing.

  Another creak came from somewhere in the old house on the other side of the fence. The late afternoon light dimmed as a cloud passed over the sun, and, suddenly chilled, Becky shivered.

  She automatically began to reach out for the comforting warmth of Bear’s thick fur, but didn’t find it. Where was Bear?

  “Oh no,” she muttered. “Dad’s going to kill me.”

  Ever since the Nolan family had moved to their new house, Bear had made a habit of cheerfully trotting off to visit the neighbors whenever he could — and sometimes he came back with a souvenir. Mrs. Baxter down the street had been so mad when Bear stole the cushions from her lawn furniture and dragged them through a bush, and when she’d complained to Becky’s parents, they’d made Becky replace them with her own money.

  Becky had begged for a dog for years before they’d gotten Bear. She’d promised that she would take care of everything her dog needed. But her parents had been really reluctant, especially her dad. He thought a dog would be too much work and inconvenience for everyone.

  When her parents had finally broken down and given her Bear for her eleventh birthday, he had been a soft, round, little bear cub of a puppy who had squirmed in her arms and eagerly strained to reach and lick her chin and face, giving happy puppy yips the whole time. She and Bear had been crazy about each other from first sight. But her dad still sighed and rolled his eyes whenever Bear got into trouble. And now that they lived in a house with a big yard for Bear to run around in, he expected Bear to behave better than he had in the apartment.

  “Bear!” Becky called, standing up to scan the neighborhood. “Where are you, boy? Come on home!”

  She was peering off toward the far end of the street when she heard Bear’s license tags jingling. Turning, she saw him trotting up the driveway. He was clearly proud of himself; his ears looked perky and his tail was straight up in the air. Becky breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t going to have to spend the evening looking all over the neighborhood for him. “You’d never go too far when it’s almost dinnertime, huh, boy?” she said affectionately, and Bear, understanding the word dinner, sped up.

  There was something in his mouth, though — a ball. Becky held out her hand and he dropped it into her palm, not fighting her this time, and then barked eagerly, as if expecting her to throw it for him.

  Ugh. The ball was about the size of a tennis ball, and it might have been blue once, with a pattern of stars or dots, but it was filthy and ripped now. There was a patch of greenish mold growing on it, and Becky almost gagged at the nasty, rotting smell it gave off. He’d probably dug it up somewhere. “Yuck, Bear,” Becky said, holding it gingerly between two fingers. “That better not make you sick.”

  At least no one will be mad that he took this, she thought. Holding the ball away from her body, she dropped it in one of the trash cans at the end of the driveway.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, and Becky looked up in surprise. It had been such a beautiful, sunny afternoon a few minutes ago, but now the sky was filled with ominous black clouds. Another crack of thunder came, and Bear pressed against Becky’s legs, trembling a little. He hated thunderstorms.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Becky said uneasily. She usually liked thunderstorms, but it was strange how this one had sprung up from nowhere.

  A flash of lightning lit up the sky. Becky grabbed hold of Bear’s collar, and they ran together toward the house. Thunder cracked once more as she threw open the front door, and Bear whined.

  Letting go of his collar and closing the fron
t door, Becky breathed a sigh of relief. They’d gotten into the house before it started raining, luckily: Wet dogs stunk. “It’s okay, Bear,” she said comfortingly again, and petted his head. Bear whimpered loudly.

  “What’s the matter with Bear?” her mom called from the living room.

  “He’s scared of the thunderstorm,” Becky called back. She pulled out an old towel from a basket near the door and wiped the dirt from the yard off Bear’s feet, then took off her own shoes. Bear followed her, his tail wagging lazily and his fears apparently forgotten, into the living room.

  “Thunderstorm?” her mom asked, frowning at her quizzically over the book she was reading on the couch. “What are you talking about?”

  Behind her, sunshine streamed through the windows.

  Becky blinked in surprise. “It was thundering a minute ago,” she said. “And it looked like it was really going to pour.”

  “How strange,” her mom said. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you and Charlotte get your homework done?”

  “Uh-huh,” Becky said. She flopped down in a chair and stared out the window. Bear rested his head on her leg, and she petted him absently. Outside the window, the sky was bright and blue and peaceful.

  Weird.

  The next day in social studies class, Becky stretched, yawned, and doodled a dog’s head on the corner of her notebook page. She gave it quizzical eyebrows, floppy triangular ears, and a grinning mouth. Bear’s friendly face looked back up at her.

  With a rueful smile, Becky added a ring of ripped cushions and uprooted plants around her drawing. Even she had to admit that her Bear was such a naughty dog sometimes. But so cute, and so sweet and loving. Such a good dog in all the ways that mattered. Becky felt happy just thinking about Bear. She yawned again and looked around the room.

  Lots of the other kids were doodling, too, or staring off into space. Even though it was mid-September and two weeks into seventh grade, it was still as warm as summer outside, and the smell of hot grass came through the classroom windows, reminding Becky of the long, lazy days of August. The voice of Mr. Clauson, their social studies teacher, was just a steady drone in the background, easy to ignore.

  Becky shaded in the dog’s face and turned in her seat to show it to Charlotte. But Charlotte was looking straight ahead, her brown eyes fixed attentively on the teacher, and didn’t notice.

  Sighing, Becky turned her own attention back to her drawing.

  “Okay, everybody, take a minute and partner up,” Mr. Clauson said, breaking her concentration. “Oral presentations will start on Monday, and I expect you to have some kind of visual aids.” Becky stiffened. Clearly, she had missed something.

  “Partner up for what?” Becky whispered frantically to Tonya Zimmerman, who was sitting in front of her.

  “Mythology,” Tonya whispered back. “Everybody’s supposed to pick either a historical or modern myth system and do a report on it.”

  Becky automatically looked to her left, but Charlotte had her back turned to her and was talking to Lila Kenzie on her other side.

  “Char?” Becky said.

  Charlotte glanced back at Becky. “Oh, uh,” she said awkwardly. Her cheeks flushed. “Lila and I were thinking we’d talk about Northwest Indian myths. She used to live in Seattle, and her parents have some books and stuff about them.”

  “Wait,” Becky said, confused. “But I thought we’d — we always do projects together!”

  Charlotte shifted in her chair and tucked a stray wisp of hair back behind her ear. “I know,” she said, “but Lila and I thought it would be fun to work together on this one.”

  Becky’s heart sank right down to the bottoms of her shoes. Why would Charlotte not want to be her partner? Was Charlotte mad at her? Last year they’d always done everything together, but this year Charlotte had already joined chorus and was talking about trying out for the drama club’s musical, even though Becky couldn’t carry a tune. And she hadn’t been interested in joining art club, even though Becky was really excited about it.

  Charlotte bit her lip and gave Becky a small guilty smile. “Next time, okay, Becky?” she said, and turned back around toward Lila. There was something weird about that smile, Becky thought. Was there something Charlotte wasn’t saying?

  Looking around, Becky tried to catch Tonya’s eye, but the dark-haired girl had started talking to the girl next to her about whether they should do their report on Bigfoot or Greek myths.

  In fact, Becky realized as she looked around the classroom, all of her friends were already partnered up with other people. Her heart started to beat faster. It was almost as if they were ignoring her on purpose, she thought.

  What if everyone had decided they didn’t like her anymore, and she hadn’t found out about it until now?

  “Okay, everybody,” Mr. Clauson said from the front of the room. “I’m passing around the sign-up sheet. Each team needs to write down what they’ll be doing their presentation on.”

  “Can we do monster myths from different cultures?” Paul Greenberg asked from the back of the room. “Like, could I look at how zombie stories are told in different societies?”

  “Absolutely,” Mr. Clauson said. “It can be fascinating to find similarities that show up across cultures.”

  He went on about different kinds of myths that turned up over and over again around the world, but Becky was barely listening. When the sheet landed on her desk, she stared at it in dismay. How had this happened? She’d thought the class was full of her friends, and now she didn’t even have a partner for the report. Was she the only one left?

  There was a flash of white, and a folded note landed on her desk. When Becky looked up, Nate — her new neighbor from Tulip Street — gave her a little half wave from a few seats away. Becky unfolded the note and read:

  Want to be partners? We could do Egypt: cats and mummies!

  Becky hesitated for a split second. Why did Nate want to be her partner? He seemed totally nice, but she really barely knew him. Then she shrugged, sighed with relief, nodded to Nate, and wrote down Becky Nolan, Nate Wikowski, Egyptian myths. She didn’t care what they did, she just didn’t want to have to do the presentation alone. At least everybody didn’t hate her.

  After class, Becky stopped at her locker to drop off her books before heading for the bus. Charlotte came up next to her and peered into the mirror inside her locker door.

  Becky didn’t know why Charlotte was bothering: She looked as neat and put together as she always did, from her tight blond ponytail and tiny touch of pink lip gloss (the only makeup her parents would let her wear) to her clean pink sneakers and socks folded down exactly the same amount at the top.

  Glancing at the bits of her own reflection she could see behind Charlotte’s, Becky sighed. Her wavy dark hair was frizzing up from the heat, freckles spattered across her cheeks, and she glimpsed a smear of purple paint across her nose that must have been there since art class that morning. In contrast to Charlotte’s neat preppy outfit, Becky’s green T-shirt looked sloppy and the hems of her jeans were ragged.

  “Did you take notes during math class?” Charlotte asked, tightening her ponytail. “I’m not sure I understood what Mrs. Michaels was saying about angles.” She had the assignment down perfectly, Becky was sure, but Charlotte always liked to double-check things.

  “Yeah, I got it — you can just call me if you have trouble with the homework,” Becky said. She hesitated and then asked, “Charlotte, are you mad at me or something?”

  “Of course not!” Charlotte stared at her, her brown eyes wide. “Why would you think that?”

  She looked sincere, but Becky still had that little wriggle of anxiety deep in her stomach. “Then how come we hardly hang out anymore?” she asked, realizing as she said it how true it was. “Yesterday was the first time you’d come over in ages. And you never ask me over to your house.”

  Charlotte frowned. “You know my parents don’t let me have anyone over when they’re working.”

 
And your parents work all the time, Becky added silently. Out loud, she said, “But you used to come over to my old house a lot.”

  Charlotte looked at Becky for a moment, frowning a little as if she was trying to work something out. Then she seemed to make up her mind. “Look, Becky,” she said. “I’m sorry, it’s not you. I’m still your friend. I’m just — sometimes I’m hanging out with people from chorus. And you live far away now. Plus” — she hesitated, gave a little crooked smile, and continued in a half-joking voice — “your new house is creepy.”

  Becky shook her head. Her family’s new house was not creepy. It had four bedrooms and a wide wraparound porch big enough to hang out on, and the flower beds in front were full of late roses and pansies. The kitchen was sunny and spacious, and there were two fireplaces, one in the living room and one in the dining room. Out back was a big fenced-in yard for Bear.

  “It is not. It’s a nice house,” she said, hurt.

  “Well, your house isn’t creepy,” Charlotte said, looking back into Becky’s mirror and automatically straightening her collar. “But it’s right next door to the McNally house. Like I said yesterday, I don’t know how you can sleep at night with it just outside your window.”

  A guy’s voice came from behind them. “The McNally house?” he asked.

  Becky and Charlotte turned around to see a couple of eighth grade boys, Tyler and Will, staring at them.

  “Becky lives next door to the McNally house now?” Tyler said, grinning.

  Will started to laugh. “Are you serious?” he said. “Why would you move there?”

  Other people had overheard Tyler, and Becky realized that a small circle of people was gathering near them. Becky looked around at them all. “What’s going on?” she asked, confused. “What are you guys talking about?”