Pete McGee: Dawn of the Zombie Knights. Adam Wallace
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From above the ground, if anyone had been there, nothing would have seemed unusual. Everything was as it should be. A cemetery with the usual stuff: headstones, graves, tombs, crows, rats, mice.
From twelve of the graves though, quiet but definitely there, sounds could be heard … if there had been anyone there to hear them. Groans from beings awakened after many centuries. The sound of dirt being displaced.
A tree also fell in the woods, but that’s beside the point.
Suddenly a bony hand thrust its way through the surface, flinching and returning underground at the feel of fresh air after so many years. It slowly resurfaced again, hesitated, and then with dirt flying everywhere rose high above the ground, followed by the entire body of a knight, long dead yet still alive!
Unfortunately, this first zombie knight did things a little too quickly, and in bursting through the surface its body wasn’t able to handle the forces and fell apart, bits flopping left, right and centre.
The head rolled to a stop at the base of the headstone. The zombie knight rolled his eyes in frustration, picked them up, put them back into their sockets, and started to reassemble.
A hand, with arm attached, started to scramble towards a shoulder.
Legs stood up, stretched, and then walked of their own accord over to hips that they attached themselves to.
The head, with some effort, rolled over and joined the neck and shoulders at the end of the mound of dirt that had been home for so long.
The knight stood, rolling his head around to loosen up. He looked down at his body. It wasn’t too bad. Well, you know, one eye was loose in the socket, most of his skin was only staying on him because he had been buried in his armour, he was rotting badly, and his left arm was trying to climb a tree. He sighed and walked over to it, his movements rusty and out of practice. The arm struggled for a bit, holding onto a branch, but being right-handed meant the strength was with the nearly fully-formed knight, and eventually his left arm was attached and he was whole (sort of) again.
The knight stretched his arms high, gently so they stayed attached, and wondered what forces of magic had returned him to a living (sort of) state. He looked around. The visor on his helmet fell down and knocked off his nose. He took the helmet off and bent down to pick up the nose, but in doing so his entire upper body fell off at the hips. He rolled his eyes again, picked them up, and reattached himself to himself. This was going to take some time.
He walked over to the tree his left arm had been so fond of, sat down, leaned back against the trunk and waited. He knew he could not be the only one.
Pete McGee was rapt. Even with the money coming in from Marloynne, Ashlyn and his mum, he knew there wasn’t a fortune to go around. This meant that the presents he received had even more meaning.
From Ashlyn, he got his very own tiger eye crystal. She had handed him her own at the start of his previous quest. It had given him great courage and comfort, and had also been crucial in snapping Marloynne out of the spell he had been under.
From his mum, there was a hug and a new jacket she had made him. His old one had seen better days, and the new one was for him and him alone. It only had one sleeve, so he didn’t need to worry about tucking the spare sleeve away, or having it hang loose for people to stare at.
It also had extra pockets, inside and out, to place his new crystal in, as well as the note from his mum that he carried everywhere. A hood, a zipper, and Pete was rapt! Of course, being a mum, Mrs McGee had also written his name on the label in case he lost his jacket. That was a little bit dorky, but Pete didn’t mind too much.
From Marloynne, fourteen birthday punches.
‘That is the worst birthday present ever,’ Pete said, rubbing his arm. ‘You didn’t even say happy birthday after you did them.’
Marloynne laughed and went outside to feed the pigs. Pete sadly watched him go. He had become great friends with Marloynne, and looked on him as an older brother … which probably explained the punches and no present. Pete shrugged and tried to ignore his disappointment. His mum squeezed his shoulder.
‘Boys will be boys, Pete. Don’t worry, Marloynne thinks the world of you. Maybe if you go and help him feed the pigs, do normal activities, it will take your mind off things. And besides, your special birthday meal will be waiting for you when you return from the castle.’
Pete nodded and headed outside but didn’t feel any better. Maybe he could do normal things, but he didn’t want to. This wasn’t a normal day! This was the day he turned fourteen and had to go to the castle and apply to become a OH MY GOD!
He stopped walking and stood with his mouth hanging open in shock. A fly flew in and he didn’t even flinch, he just kept staring. There, standing by the pigs, in the spare pen that never had any animals in it, was Marloynne. Okay, so that wasn’t so amazing, but it was what Marloynne was standing next to that was impressive.
It was a horse!
A young colt, skinny like Pete, but also starting to fill out, the muscles defined amongst the skin and bones. It lifted its front legs into the air, shook its head and whinnied, forcing Marloynne to grip the reins tighter, speaking to the horse softly.
Pete kept on staring, hoping against hope that the horse was what he thought it was (not that Pete’s stupid or anything. He wouldn’t look at a horse and think, ‘Oh man, I hope that’s a horse.’ He was hoping against hope that the horse was meant for him, that it was his birthday present from Marloynne).
Marloynne laughed out loud at Pete staring, not moving.
‘Get over here, rat-brain!’ he cried out. ‘A present is no use to its giver. Come and say hello.’
Pete wandered over, his mouth still hanging open. The fly flew out, a little damp. Pete looked back at the house and saw his mother and Ashlyn standing at the door with huge grins on their faces. He smiled, still in a daze, and went inside the pen, locking the gate behind him. Almost instantly the horse calmed down and stared at him. Pete stared back, wary about walking over in case the horse disappeared or something.
Marloynne loosened his grip and the horse trotted towards Pete, who stood his ground. The horse stopped just short, then leaned in and sniffed. It let its breath out in a snort, right into Pete’s face, who gagged on it, laughing. The horse whinnied, sounding as though it was laughing too. Pete reached out his hand and the horse sniffed it, before letting Pete stroke him. There was a white streak of fur up the horse’s nose which looked just like a lightning bolt. Aside from that he was brown, and not that wussy light brown like those show ponies either, but a deep brown that said, ‘Do not mess with me, my friend.’
Pete smiled, braver now, and moved closer. He ran his hand over the horse’s body, feeling the muscles, feeling the curves and the strength in the slightly built body. A hand clapped him on the back.
‘Well?’ Marloynne asked impatiently. ‘What do you think?’
Pete looked at him, trying his hardest to avoid crying.
‘It is amazing,’ he said softly. ‘Is it really mine?’
‘What? No,’ Marloynne said. ‘Oh wow, no, I am so sorry. The horse is to carry goods for your mum and Ashlyn. I don’t like seeing them carrying all those heavy things.’
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