Chapter Nineteen

The front of the towering theater is a wall of broken glass. Sheets of ice and frozen Vine-Thingies hold it all together.

“Wait here, Rover,” I say. “We’ll be back. I think . . .”

We stomp over mounds of snow and duck beneath icicles as we enter the lobby.

“Great . . .” June says. “It’s frozen horror.”

Half-frozen zombies fill the lobby. Their upper bodies move freely—but they don’t stagger or skulk or shamble. They’re stuck. . . .

Everything smells like drenched dogs.

But there’s another smell, too.

The movie theater smell.

The floor is a sheet of ice, a foot thick. Peering through, I see old ticket stubs and bits of popcorn and icy Goobers on the floor. It’s like some preserved Jurassic Park frozen-in-time scene of the theater before the world ended.

The smell never left. It’s baked into the walls.

Can I say something? The movie theater is my favorite place on earth. It’s the one place where I could always go and just, like, shut down. The lights dim and you dig into popcorn—and you just get lost. Butter drips through the bag and stains your shirt and chocolate melts on your jeans but it’s OK, because it’s the movies.

Movies are escape.

Escape from the cruddy parts of everyday life.

But now I’m amid the cruddiest part of my weird everyday life—and it’s happening in my temple.

I growl. “Evie has taken my happiest place—and turned it against me!”

Quint pats my shoulder. “I know, friend. I know. . . .”

We pass huge standees for movies that have been filmed but will never be released. Water drips and the cardboard sags.

I realize: There are completed movies, sitting there, in a Hollywood basement somewhere! They’d better be preserved correctly! If the world ever returns to normal and I discover there’s some secret, unseen director’s cut of Iron Man 3 that got “lost”—well, let’s just say I won’t be happy. . . .

Quint snaps me out of it. “Jack, are you thinking about the movies you’ll never see?”

“No,” I lie. “Maybe. Maybe no. Maybe yes. What if—”

June says, “Dude! Don’t get distracted. We have to be laser-focused. We are in DIRK WILL SOON BE A ZOMBIE danger!”

June suddenly stops. “Tracks,” she says, pointing to the floor. We see two pairs of fresh, snowy footprints across the icy carpet. One pair is staggered—like the person was becoming more and more undead as they walked. Dirk.

“Good,” I say. “I wasn’t wrong. They’re here.”

We follow the tracks to the second level of the three-story theater. We check each theater. Every time, it’s like opening up the doors to a big room full of horror. Zombies shamble about, moaning hungrily.

June checks a theater. “No Dirk!” she calls. “Just zombies.”

Quint checks a theater. “Same! No Dirk! Just zombies!”

I check a theater. “Nothing but more zombies!”

Soon, only one theater remains: the biggest of them all. The IMAX.

I’m about to charge in, when June points to a half-open door. “That goes to the balcony.”

We climb the winding steps. My bag bounces against my leg. “Guys, I know this isn’t the time,” I whisper, “but I’ve never watched a movie from a balcony. I always wanted to.”

“Let’s hope this movie has a happy ending,” June says, and she pushes the door open. We step out onto the balcony: a few hundred seats, overlooking another thousand seats below. And the massive IMAX screen towering up ahead.

There’s only one person in the audience.

Dirk.

He’s at the very center seat. And he sits there. Perfectly still.

It’s eerie. Creepy. Freaking terrifying looking.

And then Dirk moans. It’s an awful combo cry: a howling human and a groaning zombie, mushed into one awful noise.

“I don’t see Evie,” June says. “Let’s get down there! Feed Dirk this eyeball and blow this popsicle stand and forget about all this—”

But that’s when I hear the snarl beneath us.

Meathook. The entire balcony quakes. I catch a whiff of monstrous body odor, and then hot breath as—But that’s when we hear the snarl. It comes from below.

My heart jumps, my stomach rolls, and I’m suddenly thinking only of escape. A way out. Leaving this place and this moment.

It’s Meathook. He is beneath us.

The balcony trembles and sways. I catch a whiff of evil body odor, and then hot breath blows over us . . .

Meathook emerges: rising up, bit by bit, until we’re staring him right in the chops. His one massive paw swipes, slashing the air, engulfing me.

“His fat, stupid hand has me!” I holler, as I’m swung and—

“ARGH!” Quint cries. He’s scooped up, too. Our heads clonk together and my world spins.

It’s a blurry mess, but I get a glimpse of June leaping over a seat, trying to get away. But the beast’s tongue SNAPS out and plucks her.

In just moments . . .