The Last Kids on Earth: June's Wild Flight

by Max Brallier

  THUNK!

  I scoop Globlet up, carrying her like a football in the crook of my arm, as I speed toward the massive vine that leads up and over the house.

  We scramble up, finally reaching the top—the point where the baby Wretch disappeared. Behind us, zombies are swarming the lawn and pawing at the thick vine. But I don’t look back— I just look forward.

  “We better not see that Wretch again,” I say as we set out.

  “Don’t worry!” Globlet says cheerfully. “I’m sure we won’t!”

  chapter eleven

  Globlet and I followed the thick vine, which led us down to a narrow, crooked alley that we never would have found otherwise. And from there, we escaped the head-spinning neighborhood maze.

  And I thought we left this thing behind us too.

  But nope. He’s here.

  He doesn’t bare his teeth or flash his talons or anything. He just . . . watches us.

  “Maybe it’s like, y’know—when you see a spider,” I say. “And it’s just as scared of you as you are of it.”

  “Which is NOT SCARED AT ALL!” Globlet exclaims. “HI, WRETCH! HUG PARTY?!”

  “Globlet!” I snap, throwing my hand over her rubbery mouth hole. “Just, like, don’t pay attention to him—and maybe he’ll leave. Don’t look him in the eye or anything. Just be, like, nonchalant. . . .”

  I glance back, just to see if he’s still there.

  He is.

  He’s hanging behind, but doesn’t get too close. It’s almost like HE’S wary of US. Which is insane.

  He just, like . . . wants to be nearby.

  Which would be fine, if he wasn’t evil. Finally, I’m just too fed up. . . .

  I turn to the Wretch and exclaim, “I don’t know what you want—but whatever it is, I don’t have it!”

  The creature looks at me, and our eyes catch. Suddenly, a brief burst of Wretch-like vision appears in my mind.

  A tennis ball hitting the zombie. . . .

  My locker at school—

  All my shouting works.

  The vision, which was just beginning to bubble up, stops.

  But as it clears, my eyes catch sight of a huge electrical tower in the distance, and I can’t help but think—TOWER.

  Argh. I look away, shaking my head. My gut is overriding my brain in a big way.

  “Globlet,” I say softly. “I know what we have to do. . . .”

  “Yup.” She nods. “Rob a bank!” Globlet says, just as I say, “Get him back home.”

  “Nope, Globlet. Not ‘rob a bank.’ The answer is never ‘rob a bank.’”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  She kicks the ground and mutters.

  We need to get him someplace safe. Someplace the Rifters won’t find him—because if they do, they’ll hand him over to Thrull.

  This creature is just a baby. A Winged Wretch baby, but still. He’s alone and he’s hurt, and that was why I helped him back at the playground.

  I can’t just stop helping him now. Solo adventure or not.

  “Okay, here’s the deal, Wretch,” I say. I pace a little bit, trying to find my words. Finally, I set my jaw and tell him. . . .

  The creature squawks. I think it’s with delight.

  “Y’know,” Globlet says. “He needs a name, if he’s going to be your trusty friendship chum—”

  “He’s not my ‘trusty friendship chum’! Didn’t you hear what I just—”

  Suddenly, some sort of rat-rodent critter skitters past us, and the Wretch chases after it, like a beagle puppy after a squirrel. All I see is a flash of neon and—

  “COME BACK, NEON!” Globlet shouts.

  “Wait . . . Neon?” I ask. “Where’d you get the name Neon?”

  “Helloooo. He’s all neon-looking!” Globlet says. “Why? You think it’s a bad name?”

  “No, it’s fine. We just hadn’t, like, agreed on it. And then you just started using it. I was just caught off-guard.”

  And then I’m caught off-guard again: Neon reappears, poking his head over a pile of rubble.

  “Okay, Neon, so now we get you home,” I say, taking a big, dramatic, first-man-on-the-moon sorta step forward. We brave souls are going to get you home and away from Thrull.

  “And where is his home?” Globlet asks.

  “Oh right,” I say, and stop. “Good question. We should probably know that before we—”

  WHACK!

  And the ground beneath my feet SPRINGS open with a loud SNAP. I go tumbling back. Wiping dirt from my eyes, I see that the ground I was standing on was not ground at all. It was the door to a port-a-potty!

  First of all, gross.

  Second, who opened the door?

  “Well, hello there, fine gentlefolks!” a voice says. A little monster is climbing from the overturned toilet, like it’s emerging from a secret, underground bunker.

  And then, half a second later, just as I’m getting a glimpse of this thing—

  chapter twelve

  Neon is on him in a flash, growling, talons pinning the monster to the ground. Neon’s mouth is half-open, and pink-yellow saliva is dripping onto the creature’s face.

  “Whoa!” I cry. “Neon, stop! We don’t attack strangers!”

  “We HUG strangers!” Globlet says.

  I groan. “No, Globlet! Not that. DEFINITELY not that. No attacking, no hugging!”

  Neon sniffs the creature, then glances over at me—like he’s asking if he can eat the thing.

  “That’s a hard no, Neon,” I say.

  Neon reluctantly retreats, allowing the monster to compose himself. The creature stands, brushes himself off, and I finally get to see him—really see him—for the first time. He vaguely resembles an oversized owl on his way to a beginner’s magic class.

  Suddenly, this oversized-owl dude breaks into a huge smile. “Oh-ho!” he exclaims, pointing a finger at me. “I know exactly what you are!”

  “Confused?” I say.

  “Please! Remain still while I fetch my publications!”

  The owl-type monster dives back into the port-a-potty. I hear crashing and banging, like a bunch of pots and pans are having a wresting match. When he re-emerges, his goggles are on and he’s balancing a huge stack of books.

  Neon apparently isn’t amused by any of this— because he jogs off, sniffing and exploring.

  “I know it’s in one of these . . .” says the owl dude, pushing the books forward, then lifting himself out of the port-a-potty.

  He riffles through the books, then stops and buries his beak in one. “Of course! I know from my expertise of this dimension that you are surely a . . . parakeet and a microwave, two earth-bound creatures known for their closely bonded relationship.”

  “Nope. Human.”

  “And I’m Globlet. I’m not a microwave. Anymore.”

  “Of course!” the owl barks. “That’s what I said!”

  “You said parakeet and micro—”

  “No, you misheard. See, I don’t want to brag,” he says, in the tone of someone who is definitely about to brag, “but I am something of a human EXPERT. However, you are actually the first human I’ve met in the flesh!”

  “Ya don’t say . . .” I manage. I might be hangry because I’m feeling extra impatient.

  “Ooh!” he exclaims, suddenly very excited. “Can we do the human thing?”

  I blink twice.

  “You knowww,” he says. “The one with the hands!”

  I guess he means handshake? The only non-human I ever met who shook hands was Mr. Peppers, and that’s only because we spent like seven months training him. And even then you had to give him a bacon-flavored biscuit as a reward.

  I stick out my hand, then pause. “You wash your hands after using your . . . uh, home, right?” />
  Too late—

  “Okaaaay, that’s enough of that!” I say, yanking my hand away. “And I’m sorry, did you say your name was Johnny Steve?”

  The owl-type monster—Johnny Steve—nods enthusiastically. “I named myself so that I would fit in with any humans I encounter. I chose a name from your giant yellow books of telephone numbers!”

  “Aww man, I wanna name myself!” Globlet whines. “From now on, call me PATTYCAKE HAMBURGER JONES!”

  Johnny Steve bows graciously. “PLEASED TO MEET YOU, PATTYCAKE HAM—”

  “NOPE! NOPE! Shutting that down!” I say. “Globlet, you’re Globlet. And sure—why not—you’re Johnny Steve. I’m June. And this ferocious weirdo is Neon.”

  Neon is busy poking his snout around Johnny Steve’s port-a-potty. Glancing back, Johnny Steve explains. “You see, being a human expert,” he says, “I chose to make my home in the place humans love most . . . THE TOILET. Did you know humans LOVE toilets? Even more than flowers, pizza, or the internet!”

  I’m about to explain that he’s mostly wrong there. And that, also, you never really know how much you love toilets until all the real ones stop working. But then—

  KRR-CHHHHHH!

  A hiss at my belt!

  The walkie!

  It startles me, and I do a little leap backward. We must be back in signal range! I’m eagerly reaching for it, yanking it from my belt, when—

  POW! Neon pounces, snatching the walkie from my hand in his teeth!

  “No!” I cry. My hand is grasping the base and we’re locked in a tug-of-war. “No! Give . . . it . . . back! Bad Wretch! Bad Neon!”

  I pull harder, but that only makes Neon pull harder. He’s bouncing happily from paw to paw, like this is the best game ever. His glowing saliva splashes the walkie. My hands are slick and I feel my grip loosening. “Tug-of-war is fun,” I groan, “but this is NOT the time—”

  GULP!

  He swallows the walkie, as my hands slip and I fall backward.

  Neon thrusts his chest out and smiles proudly. He seems to think he just saved me from some sort of buzzing, box-shaped bug.

  “Just great,” I say with a sigh. No walkie. No getting in touch with my friends. No hope of the cavalry showing up to help me. I plunk down on a nearby rock, shoving my backpack aside, feeling pretty hopeless.

  Johnny Steve waddles over. He pulls back his hood and looks me in the eyes. “You look like you have chosen to embark on a grand quest.”

  “Ehh,” I say with a shrug. “Not sure I chose to embark on a grand quest. But yeah, me and Globlet are trying to get this walkie-eating monster back to his own kind. Only, I have no idea where to find his kind. Or what I’d even do if I did find them. Wretches are—”

  “Evil,” Johnny Steve says in a mysterious whisper. “Indeed, the adults of that species are very foul. They serve . . .” He looks around, then whispers, “He Who Shall Be Named a Whole Bunch.”

  “Wait, wait—what? He Who Shall—”

  “Dude!” I bark. “I know about Ŗeżżőcħ. That’s why we’re trying to get Neon someplace safe! A band of Rifters are after him and—”

  “Ahh, Rifters,” Johnny Steve interrupts. “Interdimensional pirates! Bad business. Very bad business. I mean, pirating is a good business to be in! Lots of freedom, no pants required. But what you speak of is, overall, a bad business.”

  “These Rifters are trying to deliver that Wretch to Thrull.”

  “Thrull!” he exclaims, nodding. “The talk of the land! Of course the Rifters would go to him—they side with whoever has the most power.”

  “Wait,” I say. “What do you know about Thrull? Do you know about the Tower? And, ugh, did you say Thrull is the talk of the land?”

  Johnny Steve goes quiet. After a moment, he whispers, “We shouldn’t speak of the Tower, human. Leaves a bad taste in our brains. A very bad to-do, it is.”

  “I know it, duder,” I say as I take a tired seat on the ground. “I know it.”

  Johnny Steve eyes me. Then Globlet. She waves at him. He waves at me. Everything is odd.

  Johnny Steve looks like he’s considering something major. He paces for a few moments, then suddenly—whack!—he taps his staff against the ground. I see that it’s both a walking stick and a sword.

  “Human June,” he says. “I will guide you. I know where there is a Wretches’ nest—not so far from here, but not so near either.”

  I shoot him a skeptical glare. “Why would you help us?”

  His little nose pinches inward. “I have explored these lands. I know where you must go, and I know you will not make it alone. Humans are notoriously breakable.”

  I look at Globlet, hoping she might offer some sage advice. But Globlet is currently attempting a handstand.

  “However!” Johnny Steve says. “I must ask you for something in return.”

  Of course. This’ll be the part where he bargains for my soul or one of my friends’ souls or asks me if I know a place where he can bargain for a soul, quick, no questions asked.

  “In exchange for guiding you,” Johnny Steve says, “I request conversation. As I said, I’m a human expert—and now that I am in the company of a real human, I am excited to discuss your strange species.”

  Not bad, I think. Weird, but not bad.

  However, there’s one problem. “I’m not super into being led around on a string,” I tell him. “I kinda pride myself on being independent.”

  “Okay, relax, Beyoncé . . .” says Globlet.

  I shoot Globlet a look. “How about this, Johnny Steve: you tell me where the nest is, and I’ll let you tag along with us.”

  “And we’ll talk human stuff?” he asks excitedly.

  “You betcha.”

  “Deal!” he says.

  And with that, I tighten my sneakers, jerk my backpack straps, and make sure the Gift is secured around my wrist.

  In a flash, Neon is at my side—but I don’t shoo him away. I’m ready to get on with this, ready for whatever comes.

  And so, we continue our journey—only now, we have a defined destination.

  chapter thirteen

  It’s a strange, haphazard path.

  We cross crumbling bridges that nearly collapse beneath our feet. We march along freeways that have become zombie-filled parking lots. We pass gas stations that are now home to giant, sleeping slugs that sip on gasoline while they snore.

  It’s a long walk—and Johnny Steve talks the entire freaking time.

  “I am just so thrilled to chat with a bona fide human!” he explains. “My previous attempts at communication have not gone well.”

  “That was a zombie,” I say. “You’ve been talking to zombies.”

  It turns out, though, that Johnny Steve doesn’t actually much care what I think about human life. Instead, HE wants to tell ME about being human. He rattles off a list of his favorite human facts. . . .

  1.) Humans can breathe underwater, but they choose not to (because of the odor).

  2.) Humans didn’t always have hair. However, they were cursed by a magical being known as the Hair Bear and humans now have too much hair. No more feathers or scales. Also, the Hair Bear lives in North Dakota in a beautiful motorhome.

  3.) “The most famous human in the history of human history” is a wizard named Barry Potter.

  “Okay, hold up!” I say. This guy can mangle human anatomy all day long—but I will not let him mess with HP. “It’s HARRY Potter.”

  Johnny Steve gives me a quizzical look. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs. “Harry Potter is a fictional wizard from a book!”

  “Wait. But, you said—”

  “Also,” I add, getting a little peeved, “I AM a human! So you don’t need to explain human stuff to me. Don’t you think I’d know if I could breathe underwater? No human can. Except for Ke
vin Costner. And I don’t know what that means, but I heard Jack say it once in his sleep.”

  “Oh, indeed!” Johnny Steve says. “No one can breathe underwater like Kevin Costner! He’s top-notch! But you’re certainly able. You just haven’t tried hard enough.”

  For a moment, I wonder if Neon had the right idea when he almost ate Johnny Steve’s face.

  Now, though—Neon’s in his own world. He’s like the world’s most untrained, out of control, harebrained puppy. He just keeps rushing ahead, eating stuff, breaking stuff, then hurrying back to us like, See? See what I did there? Did you see me eat that street sign? Wasn’t that just AMAZING?

  “There,” Johnny Steve says, interrupting my train of thought. He’s pointing ahead. “We need to cross that to get the creature to his family.”

  My heart sinks.

  chapter fourteen

  Water.

  So much water.

  It is a town, completely flooded. And there’s no way around it. . . .

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this. And not just because I didn’t pack a swimsuit.

  “How are we supposed to get across?” I ask.

  “Ooh! I got it! I got it!!” Globlet exclaims. “What if . . . I inflate like a life raft and pull us all across?”

  “Wait, you can inflate like a life raft?!?” I ask.

  “Oh. Oh, right. Yeah, no. I can’t. Never mind, ignore that idea.”

  I sigh and take a step forward. I evaluate the situation like a reporter, mining the facts for any information we can use.

  There appears to be enough floating wreckage—cars, trucks, garbage—for us to jump from one to the next. I think, Just like crossing a stream by hopping from rock to rock. Only way more intense.

  Neon runs to the edge of the water, then looks back—he’s eager to cross. “Okay,” I say. “I’ve seen you leap about and launch yourself. Now you’re gonna do the same—from thing to thing—all the way across.”