CHAPTER 14

“That’s brilliant, Seb!” Darren jumped up. “It’s so simple. We turn off the power, people’s computers and phones go flat and they snap out of it. Voilà, zombies-be-gone.”

Talia stood up too, the swing chair rocking gently behind her. “Just Seb’s place, though, right?” she said.

“Why just my place?” I asked. “Why not the town power? Bridgetown’s Power Hub isn’t that far away. It’s over by Riverview Park. We could bike there.”

“And just how do you propose shutting down the power once we get there?” Talia said, tapping her foot on the deck again. At this rate, she was going to wear out her trainers.

“There’ll be a big switch somewhere obvious,” I replied. “Most likely a big black one.”

Talia sighed. “We can’t,” she said.

“Why not? Darren thinks it’s a good idea. It’s two against one.”

Talia looked at me like I was dog poo stuck to her shoe. “Because, goofball, there might be people on respirators or tiny babies in incubators, that’s why. Those people need electricity to stay alive. We can’t just go turning off the power willy-nilly.”

“Then we rig up bikes to the equipment, use mechanical power. Get our friends to help—”

Talia put her hands on her hips. “Honestly, Seb, do you really think—”

Darren stepped between us, like a referee. “Guys, let’s just start with this house. See if it works first, okay?”

I looked at Talia. Her eyes were welling up with tears, making them all glossy. I forgot girls can be emotional. Mum and Ava were often emotional. Dad used to say we boys just had to roll with it. Anything for an easy life, he said.

Right now, I could really do with an easier life.

“Okay, sure,” I said, giving Talia a goofy grin, ’cause I thought she needed cheering up. “The plug board is this way.”

I led my friends through the kitchen to the laundry. The push­chair was still out from yesterday, so it was a squeeze to get us all into the tiny space. I stepped into the basket of dirty washing and opened the plug box. Inside was a checker­board of black and white switches.

With one hand on Darren’s shoulder, Talia peered into the box. “Which one is it?” she asked.

“It’ll be the big black one,” I said, feeling smug. I was pretty sure I’d seen Dad flick that one the last time all the fuses blew. At least, I think I did.

“You sure?” Darren said.

“Yes.”

“Seb—” Talia warned.

I jumped up and flicked it. I hadn’t even landed back in the washing basket before Dad’s beer fridge stopped its humming, and the lights blinked out on the washing machine.

“I guess it’s the right one,” Darren said.

“Let’s see if it worked,” said Talia.

We crept around the corner, almost too scared to look.

So far nothing had happened. Dad and Jason were tapping away as usual. Their computers were still working.

In the kitchen, an empty teacup in her hand, Grandma was switching the kettle on and off. She shook her head and made that tsk-tsk sound that old people make when they’re not happy about something. “Oh dear. Seb, I think your mum’s kettle has finally given up the ghost,” she said.

Ava lifted her juice box to Grandma.

“For me? What a kind girl you are, Ava,” Grandma said, taking a pretend sip from Ava’s chewed up straw.

“It’s not working,” Talia wailed.

I dragged my attention back to the zombies. Dad and Jason continued to tap at their screens. Mrs Howard was peering at her phone. The only thing that had changed was that Jason had removed his headphones.

I felt my shoulders droop. “Well, that was a waste of time,” I said.

“Give it a chance,” Darren said. “We have to be patient. It’s going to take a while until the batteries die.”

He was right. Eventually, the computers would run out of juice. What would the zombies do then? Would they snap out of their trances?

Mum came downstairs. I couldn’t have been more surp­rised if Bigfoot had appeared in our living room.

Talia gasped, and I could see why. Mum could have been Bigfoot, or at least a long lost tramper come out of the forest after days of sleeping rough. Her clothes were crumpled and her hair was a mess. She smelled bad too. Even from here. I didn’t need to feel her toothbrush to know she hadn’t cleaned her teeth for two days.

Ava rushed forward and flung her arms around Mum’s knees.

“Mummy,” she shouted, but Mum pushed her out of the way, gently, as if she were a cobweb, and carried on.

Ava’s bottom lip wavered. I knew how she felt because I was struggling to keep my own lip from wobbling. I strode across the lounge to pick her up, but Grandma got there first.

“Mummy can’t cuddle you right now, sweetheart. She doesn’t want to give you her nasty germs,” Grandma said. “Would a cookie help?”

Sucking on her lip, Ava nodded. Grandma whisked her off to the pantry.

Meanwhile, Mum went to the sideboard and rifled around in the top drawer. It was our junk drawer, the place where we put paper clips and glue and raffle tickets that hadn’t been drawn yet. What could she be looking for in there? I stepped forward for a better look. Oh no. She’d found the solar battery charger we used for camping.

Crossing the room, Mum opened the window and hung the solar charger from the window latch. She plugged her tablet into the socket, then sat on the sofa next to Darren’s mum.

Mrs Howard looked up, a smile on her lips. Dad and Jason did the same. They’d seen the solar charger and they knew they could keep their devices running. I frowned. So, they weren’t your normal brain-dead zombies. These zombies were smart.

“Seb,” said Darren, his voice tired.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, getting a chair so I could switch the power back on.