"Five points for hitting the zombie, ten if it doesn't get back up." Misty sounded almost cheerful.
"No way. I am not hitting a zombie with this car."
"What? That's what you do, Nathan. Plow through zombies. How else are we going to kill them?"
"I'm not hitting it, end of conversation."
"But—"
"No!"
"At least pass it on the left. I don't want to look at it." Misty folded her arms across her chest.
As I passed it, the thought occurred to me that it might dive at the car, like the grandma zombie. I hit the gas and dropped it back down a gear, only I forgot the clutch again.
The car lurched, the zombie lurched, and the next thing I knew a rabid zombie was knocking at my window—knocking with its head, that is.
"Nathan, get the car started, now!" Misty started crawling up the back of her seat.
"I'm trying, I'm trying." Thick green goo dripped out of its eye and smeared all over the window. It took me a few seconds to think. Clutch in, turn key, a little gas, first gear, clutch out, more gas.
"You so cannot drive stick," Misty said as we sputtered away, leaving the zombie behind.
"Oh no. No. No!"
"What, what's wrong?"
"Zombie snot—it's all over the window. That stuff will eat through the paint like your brothers at an all-you-can-eat buffet."
"Don't panic, we'll wash it off."
"If anything happens to this car, my dad is going to kill me."
"Nate, we're driving around an abandoned town overrun by zombies. I think you might get a few scratches on the paint."
"No, no, unacceptable. See if you can find a hose."
"There's one by the mall. Pull it up on the sidewalk." She pointed across the intersection.
Misty jumped out and ran for the hose. I followed out on her side. "Nate, there's no knob. It's one of those security things."
I dove back into the car and popped the trunk. Dad always carried a tool kit for just such emergencies. Well, not just such, but you know what I mean.
I grabbed a pair of vice grips and dashed to the spigot. Misty sprayed the window as I supervised.
"The paint's okay." A wave of relief washed over me. "It's a sign. We're going to make it through this."
"Oh, brother." She shook her head. "We're already here. Might as well get your cinnamon rolls."
"We'll drive right through the middle," I said cheerfully.
I'm not sure who decided our mall qualified as a real mall; there must not be any actual standard for the word. Ours was really more of a large, beat-down shopping center. A couple dozen shops ringed an old three-screen theater.
Together, we dragged a cement trashcan aside and drove down the mall's center walkway.
Looking around, I realized we could easily get cornered here. Suddenly I wasn't so eager for my cinnamon roll fix.
We slowly drove down the main walkway. Sappy jazz music floated overhead. Stores wide open, welcoming us as if we'd been expected.
"Miss, take the left side; I'll go right. Get as much food as you can and keep an eye out for anything else we might use," I said, trying to sound as if I had everything under control.
"You sure you're feeling okay, Nate? No sudden craving for raw hamburger?"
"If I do, you'll be the first to know." I tried to smile. "Just get going."
It wasn't long before we'd loaded the trunk with cold cuts, cinnamon rolls, even gourmet cookie dough. One thing was sure: we weren't going to starve. By the time we reached the end of the mall, we'd made a pretty good haul.
"Hey, Miss, I'm going to check out the Sharper Image. You finish up the food court."
"Got it." She wasn't carrying food, but rather an armful of clothes and one of those big handbags, the kind you always see photos of stars carrying puppies around in.
"What the heck?" I said, pointing to the stack of loot in her arms.
"I have to replace my backpack and stuff."
I couldn't put together any sort of response to that, so I turned and left.
At the store, I got a bag and started stuffing it with one of everything in sight. When I got to the binoculars, I took my time. Lots of models were on display. As I picked up the most expensive-looking pair, I heard a scream.
I ran back as fast as I could.
"Nate, help!"
Misty stood behind the counter of the Krazy Karrot Smoothie Bar, a zombie close behind.
I didn't worry about the car. It was in my way, so I hopped up and slid over the hood. Just like a guy in those old car movies they play on free movie channels, except that I slid right over and onto my butt. I would have been embarrassed if I weren’t so panicked.
By the time I got to the counter, Misty was cornered. The zombie almost on top of her. She desperately held up a stool—the only thing between her and its teeth.
I headed toward the counter when I realized I'd messed up. I'd left the axe in the Shelby. There wasn't time to go back and get it. The muscles in her arms visibly straining, I had to find something to hit this thing with or Misty was zombie chow.
I picked up a plastic chair and threw it at the zombie, hoping to draw its attention. It just bounced off its head.
The zombie, inches from Misty, pushed against the stool, jaws full of brown, rotting teeth snapping at her.
I grabbed the largest thing in reach, a five-gallon bucket of lemonade. Struggling, I got it over my shoulder. Somehow, I managed to swing it over my head and upside-down onto the zombie. Lemonade flew everywhere. I was about to tackle the thing when I heard an ear-piercing scream. It wasn't me. It wasn't Misty. It was the zombie.
This guy really didn't care for lemonade. It fell, first to its knees, then flat on the ground. Its legs jerked and kicked, like its head was in an electrical socket.
A second later, it stopped. Smoke rose out of the bucket, still stuck on its head. The monster lay motionless.
Rather than step around it, Misty climbed on top of the counter and walked over to me, not once taking her eyes off the corpse.
"What was in that lemonade?" I said.
"Nothing. It was just lemonade, even tasted some." I looked over at her. She was shaking slightly, splashes of lemonade on her face and shirt. I wanted to take her hand, but guys don't go around taking their best friend by the hand—even if they had just fought off a killer zombie together.
There were tails on its retro tux. "Misty, I'm really sorry. It's the same one. I should have hit it with the car. It's all my fault."
"Don't be sorry. This is the best break we've had. We've found their weakness. We know how to kill them." She looked down at the puddle of lemonade and zombie pus pooled on the floor.
"What—lemonade? You think lemonade kills zombies?"
"Probably not lemonade, but something in it. The sugar, maybe? I don't know, but look, it works."
I couldn't argue. Smoke still billowed out of the bucket. This zombie was toast. "Should I kick the bucket off its head?"
"No way, that's sick."
"This from the girl who stuck gummy worms all the way up her nose."
"Not gummy worms, it was just one, and it's only went halfway up each side." I could see her starting to blush. "I was just a kid then, anyway."
"Wasn't that on our last camping trip?"
"Remember how we got that dorky kid from the dry campsite to eat it?"
"You mean, how you told him you'd give him five bucks if he ate it? Only you didn't have five dollars and I had to pay up to keep him from telling our parents?"
"Your dad gives you a huge allowance for just taking the trash out." She looked around and seemed to suddenly remember we were standing over a zombie corpse. "Let's get more lemonade and get outta here."
"If you're right about the lemonade, we'll need some weapons. There's a CB's Toys down at the corner. Go grab some water guns. I'll find more lemonade."
Before running off, she grabbed a large cup of the stuff to take with her.
/> I found three full buckets of lemonade in the fridge and several cases of lemons in back.
Misty returned with the largest Super Soakers I'd ever seen. These things had tanks you wore on your back. I wondered what kind of terrible people my parents were for never buying me one of these.
"Says they shoot up to fifty feet," she said.
"Um, yeah, that should do the trick."
We used an entire five-gallon bucket filling up the two Super Soakers and a few smaller guns. I grabbed a few tools, like the lemon masher and funnel, so we could turn the rest of the lemons into zombie-killing juice.
I strapped the tank on and started pumping the gun. "Now we're ready. Bring on some zombies."
Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb is available for a special introductory price.
* * * * *
Zack & Zoey's Alien Apocalypse
Alien Busting Ninja Adventure
Chapter 1 – To Serve Man
Sure, you might have had a mean teacher or two, but I bet you've never had a teacher as mean, nasty, and horrible as Ms. Brass.
"Class, settle down." Ms. Brass slapped her favorite ruler against her palm. "Anyone who doesn't sit—eyes forward, trap shut—will be locked in the closet and miss the Martian landing." She'd been teaching so long, I think she still remembered the good ol' days when she could use that ruler to smack kids on the knuckles for talking out of turn.
"Ms. Brass, the aliens aren't from Mars." Sunny Rosa looked up from sorting her pencil collection. "They're from a planet orbiting Sirius, the Dog Star, which is actually a binary system. That means it has two suns. Except one of them—"
"Shut up, Sunny." Ms. Brass slammed her ruler on Sunny's desk, sending pencils jumping for their lives. "It's not polite to correct your teacher."
"Zack, the aliens are from the Dog Star!" Tommy Traddles yelled as if he wasn't sitting right in front of me. "They're Extra Terrierestrials." He was the only one who laughed.
After locking Tommy in the closet, Ms. Brass led us to the auditorium.
"I don't like this," whispered my best friend, Zoey Perrybingle.
"What, why not? I mean, they've been transmitting peace messages for weeks," I said as we walked. "Plus, they just sent the cure for cancer and the common cold."
"I still don't trust them. I mean, how can one cure work for both cancer and colds?"
"I don't know." It did seem a little odd. Especially since the cure was to marinate overnight in a bath of onions and honey mustard sauce.
I sat next to Zoey on the floor of the auditorium right as something flew overhead. Behind us, Susie Jo Sikes was shooting spit wads with the accuracy of heat-seeking missiles.
"Ew, gross!" Zoey shrieked. "Give me your hat."
"No way. This is my Giants World Series—"
She ripped it from my head. "Where's your sense of chivalry?"
"I think you've beaten it out of me."
She glared at me, but broke into a smile when a glitter-coated paper airplane crashed in my hair.
Amid the battle cries and flying shrapnel, the lights went down, and the projector lit up.
On the screen, a huge flying saucer descended on the White House lawn. Everyone shut up real fast. The president, vice president, secretary of state, and a bunch of other self-important-looking people stood around nervously while the aliens floated out of their ship on beams of amber light.
The aliens had big, bald heads and crazy, wide smiles. They were a pale shade of green and really fat, with slimy hands and tentacles instead of feet.
Chapter 2 - Never Offer an Alien a Hand
"I am Admiral Nact-bauk, commander of The Third Zaphod Fleet," said a big, particularly nasty-looking alien with a huge scar dripping down his forehead.
"Did he just say his name was Admiral Nut-Bag?" I whispered to Zoey.
"Shhh!"
"On behalf of the People of Earth—" As the President spoke, dozens of photographers snapped pictures. "I would like to offer my hand in friendship." He thrust out his hand.
"Don't mind if I do." An extra slimy alien bent over and chomped down on the President's hand. "Mmmm." Before anyone could react, he leaned in, un-hinged his jaw like a giant excavator scoop, and swallowed the President whole.
"Delicious." The alien let out a massive burp.
"Lieutenant Muck-tauk, you moron. You just ate their President." Admiral Nact-bauk smacked the belching alien upside his huge head.
"He offered a hand, and it was so tasty, I couldn't help myself," Muck-tauk said sheepishly. "I saved their Secretary of State for you." He pointed at the trembling Secretary of State, who promptly fainted.
"She's too ugly to eat. Besides, she smells like tentacle rot." Nact-bauk eyed the government officials, who seemed to be in shock. "This fat one smells pretty tasty, though." He reached for the vice president, who barely managed to jump and hide behind the Secret Service agents.
Finally, one of the Secret Service guys pulled out a little machine gun. He quickly emptied the gun, firing at the nearest alien. Unfortunately, the aliens had some sort of invisible force field that blocked the bullets.
That's all we got to see 'cause Principal Blathers pulled the plug on the video projector.
"Don't be alarmed." He wiped sweat off his forehead. "I'm sure that wasn't what it looked like."
"You mean aliens didn't eat the President?" some kid yelled. Susie Jo laughed, but I didn’t think the kid was trying to be funny. He sounded pretty freaked.
"Well... um... I think..." The principal was greener than the aliens. "It's just... Oh, frickleflop." That's when Principal Blathers wet himself.
Chapter 3 – It's All Downhill After the Principal Messes His Pants
The teachers, in a state of semi-panic, began shooing us back to class.
"Wow, I wish I'd caught that on my phone," I said, stepping over a pile of barf left by a kid with a weak stomach.
"Zackary B. Weller, what’s the matter with you?" Zoey hit me with my own cap. "Aliens just ate the President, and you're upset you didn't snap a picture?"
"Yeah, I suppose it would have been cooler if they'd eaten Hillary too, but hey, you can't have everything."
"Sometimes your violent tendencies worry me."
"My violent tendencies? I'm not the Central Valley Regional Karate Champ."
"It was Shaolin Kung Fu and I don't take it anymore." She moved away and started brushing her long blond hair. "Besides, the martial arts are about self-defense, not killing people."
She had a point. Zoey had never actually killed anyone. There was only the one maiming. But her mother made her quit after that, saying she wasn't going to deal with another broken arm—not hers, some kid she faced.
As we headed back, I thought about what Zoey had said. Some kids were crying. One muttered incoherently to himself.
"You're right, Zoey. Eating people is wrong. Even if they're politicians." I gazed down at the frayed ends of my shoelaces. "I guess I was trying to put a positive spin on it."
"Forget it, Zack. That's not what worries me." Zoey sat at her desk. "It's the aliens. They're obviously here for some sort of extraterrestrial potluck."
"Yeah, but how many people can they possibly eat? I mean one person must fill up an alien for a week."
"Maybe, but the news said there are dozens, maybe even hundreds of those ships coming. That's an awful lot of freakishly big mouths to feed."
Ms. Brass didn't seem to know what to do. At first she told us to read quietly. But when Toby Bucket started crying, she pulled out a lesson on the principle agricultural industry of Montana.
"Hey, Toby." Carefully, I flicked a paper ninja star at his head. "You okay?"
"They're coming for me," he said between sniffles. "I know it."
"The aliens? Why do you think they're coming for you?"
"Look at me. I'm the fattest kid in school. They'll eat me first."
"You're not the fattest—" Oops, how many times had Mom told me it's never okay to lie to people? "They aren
't coming here. They'll head to Weight Watchers or Ben and Jerry's and get the real fatties before eating little kids."
"You think?"
"I guarantee it." I smiled.
We hadn't been back in class for more than thirty minutes before the fire bell rang. I hated that thing. Sure, it got us out of class, but it was so loud and would just ring and ring and ring. Even when we got outside, I couldn't stand the noise, and it wouldn't stop until it was darn good and ready.
"That was really nice of you, what you said to Toby about fatties," Zoey said over the ringing. We walked with the rest of our class to the field. "That's why I don't dump you like everyone says I should."
"That would be nice if we were a couple instead of just friends." Zoey was under the perpetual misconception that she was my girlfriend.
"We're best friends and a couple." She tried to take my hand, but wasn't fast enough. I got it planted in my pocket before she could grab it.
"You can't date your best friend. That's not how it works."
"Don't make me hit you." Her hand balled into a fist. I probably outweighed Zoey by twenty pounds, but I still decided it was best not to argue.
Honestly, the whole girlfriend thing was sorta my fault. I'd kissed her way back in third grade—right on the lips even. I'd explained to her it was only to win a bet with Jack Bunsby. Five dollars. I'd even kiss my own mom for five dollars. After that, Zoey insisted we were a couple. I even offered to give her the fiver if she'd shut up about it. But according to her, we've been an item ever since.
The whole school lined up on the field. Everything was going like we'd practiced twice a year, every year—until the spaceships showed up.
Chapter 4 - My Guarantee Goes Down in One Giant Gulp
It happened fast, really fast. One minute, we were staring at the school, hoping to spot smoke, and the next, we were running for our lives.
"Not the library, please don't let it be the library," Sunny prayed while hugging one of her favorite books.
"I hope the whole place—" I stopped when three huge flying saucers swooped down, and five or six aliens jumped out. They had these high-tech jetpacks on and were flying around like humming bees—except instead of buzzing, the packs belched thick flames.
Before anyone knew what to do, beams of amber light shot out of the ships and started pulling kids up. It must have been some sort of tractor beam, 'cause no matter how they kicked and screamed, once caught in those beams, they just kept floating up toward the spacecraft.