The Last Kids on Earth and the Zombie Parade. Max Brallier
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OK, so . . . we are going to be eaten. Devoured. Swallowed whole. Or maybe swallowed in bits. Really, whole or bits? Does it matter? Bottom line: EATEN.
’Cause see that train-sized beast behind us? It’s not a train. It’s a humongo worm monster. The Wormungulous.
Now, why are we running from a humongo worm monster?
A very good question.
With a very silly answer. We are . . .
See, about a month ago, I defeated this big evil beast named Blarg. So I was like, ‘We’re heroes! Post-Apocalyptic Action Heroes. And Post-Apocalyptic Action Heroes need quests!’
We’re basically the modern version of old-timey King Arthur-y knights. And old-timey King Arthur-y knights were always questing all over the place. That was when my best friend, Quint Baker, declared, ‘We should build a bestiary, friend!’
What’s a bestiary, you ask?
Also a good question! I asked Quint the same thing. Quint looked at me like I was completely brain-dead, grabbed the dictionary, and read, ‘An illustrative, encyclopedic compendium detailing a myriad of mythical creatures.’
‘That just sounds like a fancy way of saying “monster notebook”,’ I said.
‘But better!’ Quint said. ‘“Notebook” implies school and study. “Bestiary” implies BEASTS. A book filled with crinkly yellow pages that smell of ancient history.’
I was def digging that, so I said . . .
And now we’re building a complete bestiary of every single strange creature that has arrived in the town of Wakefield after the Monster Apocalypse began this past summer. You need two things for a bestiary entry:
One: a picture. That’s my job. You know that’s my job ’cause I’m Jack Sullivan, monster photographer extraordinaire.
Two: you need INFO. Like stuff about the monster – strengths, weaknesses, where does it hang, what does it eat, what are its hobbies, does it stink like evil, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Now, I realize in terms of, like, all-time ultimate heroic quests, ‘writing a book’ doesn’t exactly rank up there with Frodo carrying the ring to Mount Doom, but whatever. I learned that just by calling any random old chore a quest, you can make life a LOT more fun.
For example . . .
Separately, our friend Dirk’s quest is to build a vegetable garden. That’s not a joke. Dirk apparently loves fresh tomatoes. He says he can’t maintain his hulking mass by surviving on Wotsits and Snickers alone. Which is BONKERS, since I’m pretty sure those are major food groups.
Dirk’s part of my monster-fighting crew. He was a terrifying bully back before the end of the world, but now he’s a terrifying monstercrushing man . . . with a soft side, as you can tell from his vegetable garden quest.
Dirk told us that if he had some tomatoes, he could probably make some bootleg pizzas over a fire. And I haven’t had pizza – legit or bootleg – in months.
June Del Toro (who is kind of my favourite girl in the world) was in agreement with Dirk on this – she was dying for some non-junk food. Buncha crazies, if you ask me.
Anyway, these two very epic quests are the reason Quint, June, Dirk, and I are at the Circle One Mall right now. It’s the reason we’re racing down the mall’s main corridor. It’s the reason we’re being chased by the Wormungulous. It’s the reason –
KA-KA-KRASSSSH!!!
I crane my neck as my feet pound the floor. Ah, fisticuffs – it’s catching up!
My heart is slamming against my rib cage as I race around the corner, past the fancy-pants Belgian Godiva Chocolatier store, past the Build-A-Bear Workshop, and past the always-tasty Millie’s Cookies stall.
Suddenly –
SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
Footsteps behind me. As far as I know, worms – even monster worms – don’t have feet.
I twist my head. I’m both very relieved and supremely annoyed to see that it’s Quint.
‘Quint!’ I bark. ‘I said split up. Why didn’t you split?!’
‘I did split!’ he replies. ‘When I split, I split left. That’s how I split!’
‘Splitting up isn’t difficult, Quint!’ I shout. ‘Everyone just goes in different directions! That’s the definition of “split up”! It’s not rocket science!’
‘Jack, I find rocket science easier to comprehend than your silly action plans!’
I yell at Quint, but he doesn’t hear me. It’s hard to hear anything over the sound of the worm slithering and slicing its way around the corner.
‘Great job, Quint!’ I holler. ‘Because there are two of us, the Wormungulous decided to follow us!’
There’s a KA-BAM as the worm barrels through Foot Locker. The sound of shattering glass, twisting metal and bouncing Nikes echoes down the corridor.
It’s time to try out my newest toy . . .
– The BOOMerang –
(a weapon that goes boom)
Quint, of course, is the designer of this particular gadget. It’s supposed to ‘distract and disorientate’ monsters. I raise my hand, ready to throw, and –
The BOOMerang does NOT come flying back to me in the way it is supposed to – y’know, the one quality that actually makes a boomerang a boomerang. Without the ‘coming back to you’ part, you’re just flinging around curved wood – not much fun.
The BOOMerang does not return, but it does whack the Wormungulous in the face. There’s a BLAST as smoke bombs and sparklers explode. The monster jerks to the left, veers back to the right, and then –
I take that split second, when there’s nothing but glass and metal in the air and wreckage in the worm’s face, to grab Quint and yank him into the closest store. We tumble over a display table and crash to the floor.
‘Stay