Johnny Graphic and the Attack of the Zombies

by D. R. Martin

  “So,” Nina said, interrupting his thoughts, “would you rather have Mel traipsing around the world with you, maybe on a wild goose chase, while Percy is out wreaking havoc? Or would you rather have her doing what she can to put him back behind bars?”

  “What you’re saying makes sense, Sparks. But I just keep thinking that a lot of bad stuff in my life seems to involve Percy. After all, he invited Mom and Pop to go on that expedition to Okkatek Island five years ago. And that was the last time I ever saw them.”

  “He does seem to be a big thorn in your butt,” Nina agreed. “But there’s nothing you can do until he’s captured again.”

  Out of nowhere, someone cleared his throat.

  Johnny looked up. There stood Colonel Horace MacFarlane, the ghost soldier who had been a Graphic family aide since Johnny was a baby. The colonel was on foot, so apparently his ghost horse, Buck, was outside.

  “What are you doing here, Colonel?” Johnny asked, surprised to see him in the malt shop.

  “Commander Graphic knew you would be here and asked me to fetch you both. Something important has happened.”

  “What’s up?”

  “The commander simply said to bring you home.”

  Though Johnny liked flying on aircraft well enough, soaring through the sky on a ghost horse made him very nervous.

  “We’d rather take the bus, Colonel, if you don’t mind.”

  “As you will, Master Johnny. See you in a bit. But please, don’t tarry.” The ghost touched an index finger to the bill of his campaign hat and floated away, out toward the street.

  Johnny conveyed the colonel’s words to Nina. She quickly gobbled up the last of her hot dog, left some money on the table, and then rushed out with him to catch the streetcar.

  Johnny hadn’t even had time to order a shake.

  Maybe this was the news they’d been waiting for—a big break in the hunt for Percy Rathbone.

  Chapter 2

  Forty-five minutes later, Johnny and Nina were trudging up the serpentine driveway through the birch, poplar, and pine that sheltered the big brick house they lived in. They called it Birchwood. It was the only home Johnny had ever known. Nina lived there, too, with her guardian, Louie Hofstedter—Johnny’s uncle.

  Johnny sniffed the air and could smell the crisp scent of the evergreens. He knew he had the best of both worlds—the city close by, the big woods a stone’s throw behind the house. Why would a fellow want to be anywhere else?

  As soon as they walked in the front door, they heard a shout from the living room.

  “Is that you, guys?” hollered Mel.

  “Who else would it be?” Johnny hollered back.

  “Get in here right now,” his seventeen-year-old sister commanded.

  Johnny trotted into the living room, with Nina on his heels. He felt like he’d arrived late at a party.

  Dame Honoria stood over by the bookcase, her horse face looking less dour than usual. In fact, the stout old lady was actually wearing a broad and very uncharacteristic grin.

  Mel stood in the middle of the room, in front of the big stuffed chair Uncle Louie was sitting in. She was bent over, fussing with something on his head.

  That’s when Johnny realized what was going on, why the colonel had summoned Nina and him. Johnny had been waiting for this moment for weeks now.

  “Holy maroley! Does this mean they’re ready?”

  As if to answer, Mel stepped back and Uncle Louie stood up.

  Catching sight of the big man, Nina broke into a fit of giggles.

  Still in the overalls he wore to work at the Babbitt aeroboat port, Uncle Louie flashed a crooked grin. Over his eyes, he had on the most remarkable pair of goggles Johnny had ever seen.

  Johnny’s previously gloomy mood lifted. Not just because Uncle Louie looked pretty darn comical. But because if Mel had actually succeeded, this could be big news.

  Johnny had been there when the eyewear started its life as a pair of ordinary aviator goggles. Over the last few months, Mel had transformed them. She had removed the glass, replacing it with special optical lens crystal of exceeding purity. She had set the round lenses into delicate copper frames, then coated the glass with a special liquid prepared from a culture made with her own tears. Using ordinary batteries and fine copper wire, she energized the matrix of glass and dried culture. To Johnny, the goggles looked like something that belonged on the cover of a Captain Justice adventure book.

  “They don’t fit perfectly,” Mel said. “But I think I’ve got the formula pretty close to optimum. The coating is delicate. I don’t know what kind of endurance it has or how it will wear.”

  “But do they work?” Johnny asked. If they did, it meant that the ninety-seven percent of the population who couldn’t see ghosts would now be able to. It would be an incredible achievement. And the patent would be worth millions—way more than enough to pay off the mortgage on Birchwood and provide a secure future for the whole family.

  “Do they work?” Nina echoed, her own eyes wide with wonderment.

  Mel and Uncle Louie could barely contain themselves. And Dame Honoria was bubbling as much as an old, plump dowager was able to bubble.

  Turning to Colonel MacFarlane, who was standing at ease back by the wall of bookshelves, Mel said, “Colonel, do something unexpected for Uncle Louie.”

  “Such as?” the ghost officer asked.

  “Something funny.”

  Now Johnny wanted to see this, because “funny” was not something he normally associated with the dead—and dead serious—Border War cavalryman. He understood, though, what Mel was up to. Uncle Louie didn’t have etheric sight. So if he could describe what the colonel was doing, it meant the etheric goggles really did the job.

  The first thing that impressed Johnny was that Uncle Louie looked right at the bookshelves, directly at the spot where the ramrod-straight ghost officer was standing.

  “Holy cow!” said Uncle Louie. “There he is.”

  Then the colonel did indeed do something funny.

  For ten seconds or so, he danced a lively little jig, his arms straight down by his sides, his legs pumping.

  “The colonel is dancing!” Uncle Louie exclaimed.

  Nina rushed toward Mel and grabbed her in a big hug. “You did it! You did it!” Then she turned and embraced Uncle Louie. “Now let me try them!”

  Johnny was not one to normally give people hugs. So he gave Mel a pat on the shoulder. He was pretty proud of what his big sister had just accomplished.

  Even the colonel was grinning as Uncle Louie took off the etheric goggles and gently rested them on the bridge of Nina’s nose. Mel spent a couple of minutes adjusting them to fit her.

  Then, her black corkscrew curls bouncing, Nina twisted around, holding the goggles tightly up to her eyes. “Wow!” she yelped.

  Johnny watched her stare at the colonel, her mouth wide open with amazement. He could barely imagine what it must be like for someone who had never seen a ghost to catch sight of one for the first time. Maybe it was like being blind and suddenly seeing.

  “I had no idea how handsome Colonel MacFarlane is,” Nina said excitedly. “I am so happy to know what you look like.”

  Being a ghost and dead for over seventy years, the colonel lacked the capacity to blush. But Johnny suspected that’s just what he wanted to do, somewhere beneath his translucent features.

  “Miss Nina is too kind,” the colonel said. “I’m just a plain old horse soldier.”

  Then Nina gazed around the room and smiled.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lundgren,” she said, waving at the ghost housekeeper. “And hello, Bao. You’re very, very pretty.”

  The little girl ghost giggled, her black headdress bobbing. Then she did the curtsy that Dame Honoria had taught her.

  “It’s just a prototype,” Mel explained, taking back the goggles from Nina. “A bit rough and bulky. It needs a lot more work. But the principle is solid.”

  Just then, the telephone in the hallway began to r
ing. Uncle Louie strode off to answer it.

  Johnny was giving the goggles a close inspection when his uncle returned. The big man looked worried.

  “What’s up, Uncle Louie?” asked Johnny.

  “It was your boss, Mr. Cargill.”

  “Does he need me for something?” Johnny was all ears. When the editor-in-chief of the Clarion called you, you hopped to it.

  “He said he needs to see us,” replied Uncle Louie. “There’s someone we have to meet. He didn’t want to explain it over the telephone. But he said it couldn’t wait. They’re coming out here right away.”

  Something’s happened, Johnny thought. If Mr. Cargill couldn’t delay his news until tomorrow, it was probably something bad.

  Chapter 3

  An hour later, the front doorbell rang.

  Johnny jogged out and swung the door open. There stood his boss, Carlton Cargill, editor-in-chief of the Zenith Clarion. Wearing a rumpled pinstriped suit, the fireplug of a newsman looked exceptionally grim. The guy standing behind him—tall and thin, in a crisply cut, double-breasted gray suit—was a stranger.

  “Howdy, Chief,” Johnny said.

  “Hi there, Johnny,” Mr. Cargill responded, an unlit cigar jammed in the corner of his mouth. He stepped slightly aside. “I’d like you to meet Sir Colin Mariner, a diplomatic representative of the Royal Kingdom.”

  The Royal Kingdom was an island nation located thousands of miles east, across the Lesser Ocean. Dame Honoria was one of its most prominent citizens. She must be why this guy was here. But what was he doing with Mr. Cargill?

  The tall, thin man nodded and came forward, offering his hand. “So very pleased to meet you, Master Graphic. Thank you for receiving us on such short notice.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Sir Colin,” Johnny said. He grabbed the hand and shook it. “Come on in.”

  In the living room, introductions were made again. It turned out that Dame Honoria and Sir Colin were casual acquaintances from some years before. But when Dame Honoria asked Sir Colin how a mutual friend was doing, threatening to lead into a longer conversation, Mr. Cargill interrupted.

  “Excuse me,” he rumbled, “but perhaps you two could discuss old pals later on. We have some serious business to transact here.”

  Johnny loved how the chief always managed to cut right through the clutter and get to the point. There were no wasted words with Carlton Cargill.

  “Quite right,” Dame Honoria replied. “I assume that you have some news from the Royal Kingdom, Sir Colin. Shall we all be seated?”

  Sir Colin lowered himself into a chair near the fireplace and began to speak.

  “Within the last seventy-two hours, in two northeastern counties of the Royal Kingdom, a series of concerted, brutal raids were made on schools, libraries, and colleges. Many buildings were burned to the ground. Electricity is out here and there. We know that a number of people were attacked. We have no idea of actual fatalities, let alone injuries.”

  “That’s just crazy,” said Johnny, who was on the sofa with Mel and Nina. “Who would want to destroy schools and libraries?”

  “Our thoughts exactly,” Sir Colin answered, giving Johnny a nod. “But I’m afraid it gets worse. Well over a hundred boys and girls have vanished from their schools.”

  Dame Honoria looked shocked. “Students are being kidnapped? What sort of lunatics would do such a thing?”

  “Dame Honoria, my superiors in the Royal Kingdom have a certain notion of who is behind these events,” Sir Colin said. “And you and your friends here are the only people on earth who have thus far been able to defeat him.”

  Dame Honoria shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She shook her head, then pulled herself upright in her chair. Looking straight at Sir Colin, she said only one word: “Percival.”

  So, it was starting all over again, Johnny thought. Another horror show, orchestrated by that monster Percy Rathbone.

  “You know Percival Rathbone better than anyone on earth, Dame Honoria,” Sir Colin continued. “We think that he returned to the Royal Kingdom soon after his escape here in Zenith.”

  “But he vamoosed only a few weeks ago,” Uncle Louie pointed out. “It’s hard to believe that the guy could’ve pulled something like that together so fast.”

  Dame Honoria sniffed. “My son has always taken a long view of things. He probably made plans for these atrocities some time ago. And that odious Worthington-Smythe woman almost certainly did a lot of his legwork.”

  Johnny knew that Dame Honoria despised Pamela Worthington-Smythe, who had been Percy’s girlfriend when he was alive. Now that he was a ghost, she was probably the living person who gave him his powers.

  “Sir Colin, please tell us exactly what happened,” Mel said.

  The diplomat took a blue folder from his briefcase, then opened it and glanced at the paper inside. “We have fairly good information from a place called Chippington-in-the-Vale,” he said. “It’s a little town in MacFreithshire, one of the northern counties.”

  “MacFreithshire?” Mel repeated. “Isn’t it famous for its moors and bogs?”

  “Right you are, Miss Graphic.”

  “In fact, I recently read an article about it,” Mel recalled. “Scientists found ancient bodies in one of the bogs that were preserved almost totally intact. They’re revealing all sorts of new information about life there centuries back.”

  Johnny looked at his sister with admiration. That girl was a walking, talking encyclopedia—she could always be counted on to know her science.

  “Correct again, Miss Graphic,” Sir Colin said. “The area up there remains an inhospitable landscape. But Chippington itself is a pleasant enough sort of village. A couple of miles outside of town is an institution called St. Egbert’s School for Boys.”

  “Where the lesser sons of the nobility and the wealthy are sent for their educations,” said Dame Honoria, clearly familiar with the school.

  Sir Colin nodded. “Late Tuesday night, unknown individuals slipped onto the St. Egbert’s campus and, using petrol bombs, set fire to the library, the chapel, and the administration building.”

  The diplomat described how several of the adults of the school—including the headmaster—had been knocked senseless. “But here’s the odd thing. The attackers were described as strange figures wearing leather and canvas capes and tunics.”

  “Unusual attire, certainly,” Dame Honoria observed. “Perhaps some locals had a grudge against the school, and disguised themselves, so as not to be identified.”

  “That might be a plausible explanation, but for one thing,” Sir Colin said. “Witnesses who got good looks at these attackers claimed the skin on their faces looked like old black leather. Everyone who saw them swore they were not wearing masks.”

  The room went silent.

  “According to the groundskeeper,” Sir Colin continued, “the faces he saw looked remarkably like those ancient bog corpses that Miss Graphic just mentioned.”

  Mel gave him a puzzled look. “But that doesn’t make sense. Those bog men have been dead for ages. So they’re not exactly going to swim up through the peat and muck.” Suddenly her face went pale and she looked at Johnny. “Unless…”

  Johnny couldn’t help himself.

  “They’re zombies!” he blurted out. “They’re bog zombies!”

  “First-person accounts strongly suggest that conclusion,” Sir Colin said.

  This definitely sounded like Percy’s handiwork, Johnny thought. What was that weasel up to now? Was he trying to build an army of bog men? And how in heckfire did he manage to reanimate such ancient corpses?

  Dame Honoria’s face showed gritty determination. “Sir Colin, I take it that Melanie and I might be more useful if we moved our operations to the Royal Kingdom.”

  “I gather from Mr. Cargill that you’ve already devoted great time and energy to the recapture of Percival Rathbone,” Sir Colin said.

  Johnny knew how hard Mel and Dame Honoria had worked in the days after Percy�
��s escape. Together they had organized troops of ghost searchers to hunt for Percy and his sidekicks—Pamela Worthington-Smythe, the zombie Ozzie Eccleston, and the ghost Steppe Warrior Burilgi. They had written letters and sent telegrams to etherists around the world. They even had Nina contact people everywhere on her radio set.

  “So, yes,” Sir Colin confirmed. “Your help would be invaluable to us right now, closer to the problem areas. Of course, you understand we’re keeping all of this under wraps. If word about bog zombies got out, there could be widespread panic.”

  “Sir Colin, I understand why you’d want Dame Honoria and Mel over there,” Johnny said. “But Mr. Cargill, why are you here?”

  The gruff newsman peered at his star photographer. “Sir Colin wants you and Nina to go to the Royal Kingdom, along with Melanie and Dame Honoria, under the cover of news photographer and reporter. While Melanie and Dame Honoria are doing their bookwork, you two will be doing secret footwork. Since you work for me, I had to okay your leave of absence from the job.”

  “Your part of the mission would be every bit as important as that of the two ladies,” Sir Colin added. “If not more so.”

  Nina was almost vibrating with excitement and flashed Johnny a big grin. He was relieved that she’d be with him on this adventure. She had gotten him out of tough scrapes in the past. There was nobody he’d rather have watching his back than Nina Bain.

  But what did Mr. Cargill mean by “secret footwork”? Sounded an awful lot like the cloak-and-dagger stories that Johnny read in the pulp magazines. Then it dawned on him.

  “You mean you want us to spy for you?” he asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Sir Colin said. “You’ve got a newshound’s nose. We want you to keep your eyes and ears open for anything that seems important up in those northern counties.”

  “To all appearances, you’ll be over there as representatives of the Clarion and the World Press Association,” Mr. Cargill said. “We’re making up new press credentials for the both of you. Of course, we won’t be able to print any of your reports right away. But once Percy is captured, and your stories are okayed by the officials over there, what you two have to say will make an incredible scoop.”