chapter four

I’m pretty fast.

Not bragging, just saying.

Every grade always has “the fast kid.” I was never “the fast kid” but I was “a fast kid.”

I used to be able to run from my house to the school bus stop, three blocks away, in ninety-nine seconds.

The bus left at 7:12 a.m., and my dad always insisted I leave the house at 7:00 a.m. sharp. For no reason! I could have left at 7:10 and still made it to the bus stop with thirty-two seconds to spare! More, if the driver stopped off for a chocolate chunk muffin (which he usually did)!

And do you have any idea just how much stuff I could get done between 7:00 and 7:10? Give me ten minutes and I’ll write you a detailed list.

But, you know what?

None of that speed matters when you are—

If I could get off, I could run. But I can’t get off because the Rifter’s chain has turned this DoomKart into a tiny version of a space shuttle re-entering Earth’s atmosphere. Bits and pieces flying off, sparking, screeching, metal nearly melting. And I’m just stuck here along for the ride.

I try to pay attention to where we are, where we’re going, but it’s all a blurry jumble of scenery. Suddenly—

SHRIEEEK!

The creature’s monstrous howl. The Rifters must be closing in. And then, suddenly, a wooden shed ahead. The Ogre is stomping through an overgrown backyard. “YIKES!” I cry out, lifting the shield, just as—

SMASH!

The shed does serious damage.

The steering wheel pops up and nearly takes off my left ear. My fancy new shield is busted up. My spear, slung over my back, snaps in half. But it’s not all bad. Looking down I see that—

“I’M FREE!” I shout.

The chain is now hooked to the pedal—not my foot! Sure, I’m still inside a quickly disintegrating DoomKart—but at the very least, I’m not trapped.

Now I just need a way off this thing. I need something I can jump to—something that will break my fall without, y’know, breaking me.

Like a haystack.

Or a bouncy castle.

Or the world’s most epic pillow fort.

Unfortunately, within my immediate range of vision, I see no haystacks, no bouncy castles, and no epic pillow forts.

But—hmm—I do spot something like a mound of oversized M&Ms. Globes of color: oranges and blues and faded greens. I realize it’s better than any bouncy pillow haystack fort: “A ball pit!”

Okay, ya germy pool of plastic, I think. Here I come!

And with that, I hurl myself from the DoomKart . . .

I land in a heap and sink into the ball pit. I keep my eyes screwed shut, listening to the sound of the Ogres’ trampling feet fading into the distance.

My elbows and knees are scraped, my teeth seem to be vibrating, and I’m mostly positive I swallowed a bug . . . possibly a bird.

But that’s okay, ’cause. . . .

“I’M ALIVE!” I cry out. “Alive! Alive and . . . I have no idea where I am!”

I look around, trying to get my bearings. But I have no bearings.

Zero bearings.

Until . . . a clue! All the balls have the letters “B.B.” on them. That means that this is—or was—a Blooper Burger.

Looking inside, I see an old jukebox, a soda fountain, and a statue of the big guy himself: Sir Blooper Burger. But his head is hanging off his body and his creepy French fry fingers are broken off.

Although, that’s not a huge help—Blooper Burger joints are everywhere and they all look identical. No joke, their slogan is “It’s not a town without a Blooper Burger!”

At least, that’s usually their slogan—sometimes the end of the world writes its own slogan. . . .

I drag my tired, wounded body across the ball pit, which is a bit like moving through rainbow-colored quicksand. I manage to pull myself up and out and flop onto the cracked, broken Blooper Burger floor.

After the sound of bouncing plastic balls stops, I notice something.

It’s quiet.

Extra quiet.

Over the past year, I’ve gotten kinda used to constant, nonstop, forever-and-ever noise. There’s Jack’s yakkity-yakking, the hum of Quint’s electricity-sucking gadgets, the shrieks and roars of passing beasts, and the never-ending chorus of snores and belches and barks that drift over from Joe’s Pizza.

But suddenly, now—it’s like someone hit the mute button.

This is silence I haven’t known since the months after the world ended. Since I was alone in Parker Middle School.

Back then, I hated the silence.

But now it’s kinda peaceful—kinda perfect. It’s like the silence is telling me, “June, you are on your own. In the mysterious, unexplored unknown that lies beyond Wakefield.”

It’s a new world.

And I’m here.

Alone.