Last Kids on Earth and the Midnight Blade. Max Brallier
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when I realize – hoo boy – my hand stings.
It stings way worse than it should after a regular ol’ friendly back slap. It feels like I jammed my hand into a flaming bonfire or grabbed a handful of red-hot coals.
“Argh,”I moan, shaking my hand back and forth. Thankfully, Rover bounds over and showers my palm with cold slobber. The pain subsides some. “Thanks pal, needed that.”
Bardle grabs my wrist. Rover saliva splashes the ground as Bardle turns my hand over, examining it. He blinks quickly. “I suspect that using your blade to manipulate the undead causes it to become hot,” he says. “So hot that wielding it becomes near impossible.”
June stops walking. She cocks her head. Looks me up and down. Then she brings up the ninety-pound Dozer in the room. “Yeah . . .” she says slowly. “We should probably talk about the craziness that went down back there.”
Quint’s eyes are wide. “Jack,” he says. “You controlled a zombie . . .”
I kind of hoped no one would mention it, honestly. I feel a little numb. There’s this feeling like yay, that was rad, but also kind of like yah, this is scary?
“I, uh . . . I guess I did,” I say with a weird little shrug.
Quint, Dirk, and June surround me. Like I’m a specimen at a laboratory. Like I’m some new Jack. Some different Jack.
Then, all together, they explode –
“Wait, wait, hold up,” I stammer. “I feel like there’s a bunch of undeserved credit here. I didn’t do anything! The Slicer did! And the Slicer just happens to be mine! I mean, it’s just a Little League bat!”
Warmth creeps up my neck, across my cheeks.
“Aww, he’s blushing!” Quint says.
June sees that I’m a big bit uncomfortable. Our eyes catch, then June winks at me. Super quickly, she says, “Yeah, but Jack will probably be lousy at the whole ‘Slicer powers’ thing anyway!”
Which is, like, a jab at me. But also a way of removing everyone’s feeling that wow, that was big. The teasing – it makes it all feel normal again. And I appreciate the crud out of June for it.
“Look,” I say. “I – uh – I felt the Slicer burn like that once before. With Ghazt, at the movie theatre. But I didn’t know it could do that . . .”
My friends nod. Bardle’s fingers trace his beard. It’s quiet, and then –
Zombie moans. Loud.
“OK, enough raving about Jack’s strange zombie-controlling ability. We must discuss them,” Quint says, pointing behind us.
June sighs. “We cut off Ghazt’s tail so that he couldn’t control zombies any more. But the zombies weren’t supposed to follow us!”
Quint’s hand shoots up like Hermione Granger in Potions class. “I will study the tail! I will uncover its secrets.”
Bardle looks at Quint – like he’s sizing him up. “Find a weakness in the tail,” Bardle advises. “It may provide insight into weaknesses of other Cosmic Terrors.”
Quint nods. “Wow. Using science to discover the vulnerabilities of interdimensional terrors . . . I will not let you down!”
“But what do we do with these undead bozos?” I wonder aloud.
Skaelka pokes her head in with a scary solution to that problem . . .
Bardle tugs at his rucksack as he thinks. “I suggest, strongly, that you keep them,” he says. “Who knows what is to come . . . ?”
I shrug. “Fair enough. But where are we going to put four hundred zombies?”
“When my hamster died,” Quint says, “my parents told me she went to live on a hamster farm.”
“Your parents sound most deceptive!” Skaelka says happily. “A fine quality in a parental figure!”
June chuckles – she knows what Quint was getting at. “We can ask her,” she says. “But she’s not gonna be happy. . . .”
“She’s not on the can . . .” June says, sighing and pushing through us. “Warg, it’s June! We’re here to give you – um – a really overdue thank-you.”
Oh crud! I realize we never thanked Warg for the whole “saving our buddy from turning into a zombie” thing.
I mean, if your weird aunt sends you a bad book for Christmas – you have to write a literal, physical thank-you note! Warg gave us one of her EYEBALLS to save Dirk – yeah . . . that definitely deserves some gratitude . . .
After a long moment, the door opens. It’s not Warg – it’s one of Warg’s eyeballs, using its body to nudge open the door.
“You first,” I whisper.
“No way,” June says.
“I will go either second or third,” Quint says. “Not first, not last.”
“Aww, geez,” Dirk groans, and he finally just shoves us all inside.
We’re not greeted with a warm welcome.
I flash a grin. “Ahh, you’re just saying that, Wargy. We’re buds! And we owed you a major league thanks for saving Dirk!”
Warg glares. With every eyeball.
“Sooooo, we got you a thank-you gift!” I say.
“What is this gift?” Warg asks, brooding.
“Oh you’re gonna love it! It’s a – um – massive HORDE OF ZOMBIES! All yours! They’re outside! Don’t know where you wanna put them, but we thought maybe the Christmas tree farm? And that way they can’t get out and bite us good folks and also you could maybe look after them? Again – this is a GIFT and you are SO, SO WELCOME.”
“Jack’s just rambling,” Dirk interrupts.
“Am not!” I exclaim. “This is a wonderful gesture I’m doing. It’s the gift that keeps on, uh, decaying!”
Dirk sighs. “Warg, I do wanna say thanks. They told me what you did. And I should, uh, return this.”
Dirk reaches into his bag and pulls out – oh no. The eyeball. It’s flattened and deflated – but it is most definitely the eyeball . . .
I whisper, “Dude, you’ve been carrying that around this whole time?!”
“So cool . . .” Quint says.
The eyeball is gnarly. A month in a backpack can gnarly-fy anything. But a deflated eyeball? Massive nasty.
Warg silently takes it from Dirk and sets it on the ground. Dozens of eyeballs roll off her body, surrounding and inspecting the