We reached the corner of my street, and I saw my mom running toward us.
“Larry! Thank God!”
I had to be in trouble. “Uh. We went to the park to hit a few balls.” I hated to lie to Mom, but I figured she wouldn’t want to hear I’d been slugging the cheerleading squad. I held up my bat. I thought I’d gotten it clean.
“No, it’s Honor. She took Mr. Snuffles out for a walk an hour ago. I thought you might have seen her.”
I shook my head.
“So, you didn’t see her over at the park?” asked Mom.
“Nuh-uh,” I replied, although I’m pretty sure my face was red. Could she tell?
Jermaine stepped in. “We didn’t see her, Mrs. Mullet, but we came back down Yew Street. I guess we might have missed her. We could go back and look for her right now.”
My mom patted Jermaine on the head. She’s always liked him. I guess she doesn’t know how sneaky he can be. Which was good, right then. “Larry, go right there and come back if you don’t find her. No more baseball practice today. I’ll get the car and drive down toward the school in case she went off in that direction.”
We headed for the park.
I wasn’t sure if Mom would worry so much about Honor being gone so long if we hadn’t had all that stuff about Mr. Phalen in church. I mean, for a moment, when she passed the hymn book to me to throw, she understood about the zombies, even if it was like she’d forgotten all about it now. But an hour was a long time for an eight-year-old kid to be gone, even if there were no zombies in our town. Which, of course, there were.
It was a pretty cloudy day, and it looked like rain coming on. So we didn’t see a lot of people as we walked to the park.
And then we did.
A small figure was standing by the swings, yelling at a dog that was barking at a bunch of people. Mr. Snuffles does that sometimes. He’s not the smartest dog in the world.
I just hoped no one would complain to my folks about Snuffy. Most people in our neighborhood know where we live. It’s a small town.
“Quit that!” I shouted. The dog kept barking. Then the people started moving, in a bunch. They were walking toward the swings, real slow.
“Honor!” I screamed.
She turned toward me and waved. Not waved like she was happy to see me. More like she was one of those drowning swimmers in the movies. You’ve seen them.
I ran forward. Jermaine did too. The group of zombies advanced. Mr. Snuffles was still barking at them. Dumb dog. But he’s our dog, and I had to make sure he was okay.
Plus, I didn’t want to own a zombie dog.
I couldn’t whistle ’cause I was running (you try it!), but as soon as I got to the playground, I stopped a moment and let out a real good whistle. Jermaine shouted, “Here, boy!” although Mr. Snuffles never comes for Jermaine, ever. He always comes for me, though.
The dog picked up something and bounded toward the swings. The zombies picked up speed. They were staggering forward, arms flailing about. I could hear them. What I heard was: “NGAAAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!! BRAINSSSSS!!!!”
Honor was rooted to the spot, one hand tight around the, um, that bit that stands up to support the swing part. The upright, yeah.
Holding on like it would keep her safe.
“Honor!” I yelled out. “Run for it!”
It was like my shout broke a spell or something. My sister ran toward us. Her face was real pale. She was crying.
“Larry! Help!”
The zombies were still a ways off—like about as far as home plate to the outfield fence. I could run it in maybe ten seconds. Okay, twenty.
Mr. Snuffles waddled closer. He’s one of those short-legged dogs. A basset hound. Not real fast, even when he’s running. His tail was wagging.
What did he have in his mouth?
A bone? But it was green and had a black-and-white tennis shoe on one end. Converse, I think.
Zombies fall apart easily.
“Drop the bone, Snuffy!” I called out, real low. He usually listens when I use that voice. “Good dog. Drop it now.”
Mr. Snuffles dropped it.
“It’s a severed leg,” announced Jermaine. I could tell he was impressed. “It’s like the whole leg from the knee down.”
Well, sure. You don’t think a basset could carry a whole leg, do you? You’d need a German shepherd or a Great Dane for that.
The zombies were getting closer. Zombies don’t move real fast, either. It’s a good thing for us. One of them had only one leg. He fell down and sorta wriggled about on his butt trying to get up again. He was wearing a black-and-white tennis shoe.
One of the zeds was way ahead of the others, a tall guy in a basketball uniform. I guess even if you are a shambling creature, having long legs makes you go faster.
While zombie movement is slow and spasmodic (except when prey is within reach), evidence suggests that a recently zombified athlete or a ghoul with unusually long legs will shamble at a faster rate than one who had been less mobile in life. This may be why no reports of zombie outbreaks beginning in nursing homes have ever been recorded.
Jermaine pulled out his BB gun and fired. Missed, I guess. No reaction from Basketball Zombie.
He was, like, from home plate to the pitcher’s mound now. Fifty feet, tops. Real close.
“Jermaine! Take Honor and the dog and get out of here!” I yelled.
I was the big brother. I was the one with the bat. I had to do this.
But what was I supposed to do when my target was about two feet taller than me?
I ran toward the swings, waving the bat. The zombie changed direction. He was following me. Good. Jermaine ushered Honor toward home. Mr. Snuffles picked up the severed leg and went with them. (I guess it was dinnertime in doggy world.) Maybe I should have just ran to stay ahead of the zombies and then made for home as soon as Jermaine could get Honor and the dog out of the park and away.
Basketball Zombie was pretty fast now he had the scent. He must have been twice as fast as the regular zombies. This wasn’t good.
He cornered me over by the swings. I didn’t have a lot of room. I jumped up onto a swing. It made me taller, sure, but have you ever tried to use a baseball bat from the seat of a swing? The hanging chains were in the way, and I couldn’t get my balance. Dang, this was a bad idea!
Basketball Zombie stretched out to grab me. He had real long arms as well as legs.
Oh boy. I was in all kinds of trouble now.
