Zombie Bums from Uranus

by Andy Griffiths

  At first Zack was thrilled.

  He knew that it was good luck to make a wish on a shooting star, and for the first few hours Zack made a wish on every single one of them. Well, three wishes actually. The same three wishes every time. That his bum would settle down, his parents would come home, and everything would return to normal.

  After a while, however, Zack grew uneasy.

  He wondered if it was normal for quite so many shooting stars to fall all at once. He shrugged and kept right on wishing, but when morning came and Zack could still see strange lights trailing across the sky, he realised that it was definitely not normal.

  And whatever they were, they were definitely not shooting stars.

  Zack swallowed hard, but his throat was dry.

  And as he crested the hill that overlooked the out-skirts of Mabeltown, Zack felt his throat grow even drier.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said his bum.

  ‘See for yourself!’ said Zack.

  Zack’s bum detached itself and stood beside Zack.

  Below them they could see the aftermath of a massive bum-blitz. Huge cracks in the ground. Enormous craters. Most of the buildings—mainly factories and warehouses—had been badly damaged. And, if any further proof of hostile bum activity were needed, there were skidmarks all over the road.

  ‘I thought the bum-uprising was over,’ said Zack.

  ‘It was!’ said Zack’s bum. ‘I mean, it is!’

  ‘Then how do you explain all this?’ Zack asked angrily, sweeping his arm across the scene of devastation in front of them.

  His bum shrugged. ‘I’ve got no idea!’ it said.

  But Zack wasn’t listening. He put his hand over his face and shook his head. ‘The Kicker was right,’ he said. ‘I should never have trusted you!’

  ‘Zack!’ said his bum, sharply. ‘This has nothing to do with me or any other bum on Earth. Look!’

  Zack’s bum pointed to four objects—all with brilliant blue-green tails—hurtling down out of the clouds. Zack watched as the objects smashed through the roof of a warehouse. There was yelling and screaming, and then a group of four men came running out of the building with four large bums in hot pursuit.

  Zack gasped.

  They were not like any bums he had ever seen.

  They were big.

  And blue.

  And very fast.

  Zack willed the men to run faster. But the bums were faster still. They caught up with their prey and—joining hands—surrounded them in a menacing circle.

  ‘What are they doing?’ said Zack.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Zack’s bum, trembling. ‘But I don’t think they’re playing ring-a-ring-a-roses.’

  The bums advanced towards the men in an ever-tightening circle. Zack could see the men kicking and punching the bums, but to little effect.

  Then, all of a sudden, the bums jumped up onto the men and squeezed themselves down the backs of their trousers.

  Zack shook his head in disbelief. He hadn’t seen anything so disturbing since he’d witnessed the bum-catcher being rearranged at the midnight bum rally. He watched, horrified, as the men staggered around with their new super-sized rear ends, their trousers bursting at the seams. It was a horrible sight. What made it even worse was that one of the men’s trousers had actually ripped open, clearly revealing the large blue bum clinging parasitically on to his real bum.

  ‘I’m scared,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘No,’ said Zack. ‘We should help them.’

  ‘No way,’ said his bum. ‘If we stay we’re the ones who’ll need help.’

  Zack sighed. ‘You can be so selfish!’ he said.

  ‘I am NOT selfish!’ shouted his bum. ‘I only want what’s best for YOU!’

  ‘Oh YEAH?’ shouted Zack. ‘Since when? You are the most—’

  ‘Um, Zack . . .’ said his bum. ‘I hate to interrupt, but I think we’re in trouble.’

  Zack looked down the hill.

  Their bickering had attracted the attention of the men. They looked up at Zack and his bum and then began to walk slowly towards the hill, their arms outstretched in front of them.

  Zack shuddered.

  As the men began climbing the hill, Zack noticed their glassy eyes and blank expressions.

  ‘That’s weird,’ he said. ‘They look like . . .’

  ‘Zombies?’ said his bum.

  ‘Right!’ said Zack. ‘Zombies! That’s exactly what they look like!’

  Zack didn’t know much about zombies, but he’d seen enough movies to know what they did to their victims. He went white with fear. ‘Get us out of here!’

  ‘With pleasure!’ said his bum. ‘Prepare for lift-off. 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . .’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Zack. ‘You’re not attached!’

  ‘Oops,’ said his bum, quickly jumping down the back of Zack’s pants. ‘7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . . BLAST OFF!’

  They rose into the air at tremendous speed—up and away from the zombies and over the town.

  Zack braced himself for landing.

  It was going to hurt.

  He knew that—but anything was better than where they’d just been.

  Or so he thought.

  Zack hit the ground bum-first. ‘Ouch,’ he said.

  ‘Double-ouch,’ said his bum.

  ‘That was your best ever,’ said Zack. ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘I’m not completely sure,’ said his bum, ‘but I think it had something to do with that sausage.’

  Zack stood up, looked around and tried to work out where he was. He was in a street—that much was obvious—but although Zack knew the neighbourhood well, it was impossible to tell exactly which street he was in.

  It bore the signs of the same aerial bumbardment as the area where they had just been. Most of the houses were wrecked—those still standing looked like they wouldn’t be standing for long. A few hardy plants and trees remained, but they had been stripped of their leaves and the ends of their branches were chewed. Skidmarks, again, were everywhere.

  Zack shook his head and moved cautiously down the road, taking care not to fall into any of the freshly formed cracks. Then he noticed a thin strip of white leather on the ground in front of him.

  It looked strangely familiar.

  He crouched down to study it.

  It was a collar.

  A cat’s collar—splattered with crimson spots.

  With a shock Zack realised that it belonged to Mittens, his gran’s cat.

  Poor Mittens, thought Zack, wiping a tear from his eye.

  ‘What’s the matter, Zack?’ asked his bum. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘It’s Mittens,’ said Zack. ‘They got her.’

  ‘Never did like that cat,’ said Zack’s bum.

  ‘That’s not very nice,’ said Zack, shocked by his bum’s callousness.

  ‘That cat wasn’t very nice to me,’ said Zack’s bum. ‘Sometimes she would just walk up to me and scratch my cheek, for no reason at all! She was a mean cat, Zack.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Zack. ‘But does that mean she deserved to die? Like this?’

  Zack’s bum thought for a long time. ‘Yes,’ it finally said and then quickly changed the subject. ‘Hey, isn’t that your gran’s letterbox?’

  Zack, who had been too preoccupied with Mittens’ collar to notice where they were, looked up at the red letterbox with the number 12 on the front. He gasped.

  With a dawning horror, Zack realised where he was.

  He was in Gran’s street.

  Standing outside her house—or at least what remained of it.

  Zack stared at the house, blinking back tears.

  He wished he’d returned sooner.

  The letterbox was leaning so far over that it almost touched the ground. The picket fence was smashed to pieces. And there was a crater where the garden had been. But at least, Zack noted, the house was still standing, unlike the hou
ses on either side, which were little more than piles of rubble.

  Zack remembered how Gran, in one of her rare moments of lucidity, had told him that she and her husband Percy had built the house themselves out of bluestone. It had taken them two years, but their effort had clearly been worthwhile. It was more like a fortress than a house.

  Then Zack noticed that the windows had been boarded up from the inside.

  His heart skipped a beat and then he smiled to himself.

  Gran always seemed to be imagining that some sort of war was going on. Now that there really was a war going on, it was possible that her madness was going to be her best protection. If anyone was going to be prepared, it was Gran.

  Zack stepped over the remains of the fence and walked gingerly up the driveway in the fading light.

  Suddenly a black shape leapt from the tree above Zack and wrapped itself around his face. He felt hot needles of pain in his cheeks.

  He tried to yell to his bum for help, but his mouth was full of fur.

  Zack grabbed his attacker with both hands and pulled as hard as he could. The pain was intense, but finally he succeeded, throwing it down onto the ground in front of him.

  Zack assumed the kicking position that the Kicker had drilled into him at the Academy, but then he froze.

  His attacker miaowed.

  ‘Mittens!’ he said. ‘It’s me! Zack!’

  With a loud purr of recognition, Mittens leapt into Zack’s arms.

  She was thin, dirty and bedraggled, but otherwise okay.

  ‘Zack!’ said his bum. ‘Check her bum. Make sure it’s not zombie-bummified!’

  At the sound—and smell—of Zack’s bum’s voice, Mittens hissed.

  ‘Hiss at me and I’ll gas you again!’ said Zack’s bum.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ said Zack, noting that Mittens’ bum was its normal size. ‘Calm down, both of you. This is not the time to be fighting amongst ourselves!’

  Mittens snuggled into Zack and purred loudly. Zack’s bum scowled.

  Zack looked around him to check that nobody was watching and then cautiously mounted the front steps and knocked on the door.

  There was no reply, but he could hear movement inside. It sounded like furniture being scraped across the floor in front of the door.

  ‘Gran!’ called Zack. ‘It’s me!’

  But there was still no reply.

  Zack knocked again. ‘Gran! Open up! It’s me—Zack!’

  Zack peered through a crack in the boards that were nailed against the windows.

  He pressed his face up close and saw an eyeball peering back at him.

  ‘Gran?’ he said.

  ‘Zack?’ said Gran.

  ‘Yes!’ he said. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Show me your bum!’ said Gran.

  ‘Gran?’ said Zack, a little embarrassed.

  ‘I have to be sure that you’re not one of them!’ she said.

  Zack understood.

  He turned around and bent over.

  ‘It looks in order,’ she said. ‘Come round the back door. Quick!’

  Zack ran around to the back of the house.

  He heard scraping and then the noise of the bolts being drawn.

  The door opened a tiny crack and he squeezed through.

  Gran slammed the door shut.

  But before she could barricade it again, there was a loud crash.

  Zack jumped backwards as an axe head sliced through the top half of the door and a sledgehammer smashed a hole in the bottom.

  Gran grabbed Zack and pulled him out of the way, just in time to avoid being flattened by the door as it came crashing inwards with an almighty thud. Two people came with it and fell onto the laundry floor in a sprawling heap.

  With a shock Zack realised they were Mr and Mrs Jenkins—the old couple who lived next door to Gran—and that their bums were huge.

  Mr Jenkins, glassy-eyed and drooling, grabbed Zack’s ankle.

  Zack searched desperately for a weapon, but all he could see was a box of soap powder. It would have to do.

  Zack grabbed it and brought it down hard on Mr Jenkins’ head.

  The box exploded and soap powder went everywhere.

  Blinded and spluttering, Mr Jenkins still held fast to Zack’s ankle.

  Gran picked up the hose attached to the laundry taps and blasted him with water.

  Suddenly everything was slippery.

  Zack managed to yank his leg out of Mr Jenkins’ grasp.

  ‘Good work, soldier!’ yelled Gran, grabbing Zack by the collar and dragging him out of the laundry, and along the hall to the foot of the staircase.

  Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Jenkins crashed around on the slippery floor, desperately trying to stand up.

  ‘Come on,’ said Gran, bounding up the stairs.

  There was another tremendous crash behind Zack. He looked back and saw the axe head and sledgehammer that had reduced the back door to splinters were now doing the same to the front.

  He turned and sprang up the stairs after Gran.

  As Zack raced up the stairs—trying his best not to squash Mittens, who had taken refuge inside his jacket—the front door splintered and crashed open.

  Zack glanced behind him.

  Zombie-bummified men and women with huge bums were streaming into the house.

  ‘Gran!’ yelled Zack. ‘They’re coming!’

  But Gran didn’t reply.

  Zack looked back up the stairs.

  She was gone!

  ‘Gran?’ he called.

  ‘Up here!’ said Gran. ‘Grab my hand!’

  Zack looked above him and saw the entrance to the attic. Gran had somehow managed to get into it and was now hanging from the small rectangular hole by her feet—like a trapeze artist—with her arm extended towards Zack. Zack gasped. He had never seen his gran do anything as athletic as this. But he didn’t have to think twice. Mr Jenkins was already halfway up the stairs.

  Zack grabbed Gran’s hand. In one fast, powerful movement she pulled him up into the attic. She let go of Zack’s hand. He slid rapidly across the floor and crashed into the wall on the other side of the room. Gran slammed the trapdoor shut and then pushed a large wooden trunk over the top.

  ‘I’d like to see those zombies try to break through that,’ she said.

  Zack nodded dumbly, marvelling at his gran’s transformation.

  ‘Now,’ she said, patting the wall, ‘where’s that switch?’

  Gran flicked it on.

  As amazed as Zack was at his gran’s transformation, however, he was even more surprised at the transformation of the attic. There was a whirring noise and Zack watched, stunned, as the roof parted and the walls slid down to waist-height to reveal a fully trans-parent bum-proof dome. On the wall underneath the dome was a range of panels filled with blinking lights and instruments that Zack recognised as being like those in the cockpit of Eleanor’s bum-mobile. He realised with a shock that he was standing in a well equipped—if slightly old-fashioned—bum-fighting control centre.

  Zack could not believe his eyes.

  To imagine that this had been here under his nose—or rather, over his head—all the time he had been living at his gran’s.

  He wondered what else he didn’t know about his gran.

  In fact, he wondered whether he really knew her at all.

  What was going on?

  He’d suspected her of knowing a little more about bum-fighting than she’d let on. After all, she had told him to remember to wash his hands after fighting bums—something only a bum-fighter could have known—but he’d had no idea that Gran was involved in bum-fighting to this extent.

  He remembered Silas Sterne telling him that he had bum-fighting blood in him.

  Could it be that his bum-fighting blood had come from his gran? But if that was true then that would mean that his parents—well, at least his father—must have it too. The idea seemed so preposterous that Zack could hardly believe it.

  Gran was bent over
the bum-radar.

  ‘Gran,’ said Zack, ‘we need to talk.’

  ‘No time for talk, soldier,’ she replied, turning around. ‘Right now I need you to take over here.’

  Gran pulled Zack in front of what looked like an antique bum-gun sitting on a tripod.

  ‘You know what this is?’ she said.

  Zack shrugged. ‘An old-fashioned bum-gun?’ he guessed.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, boy!’ snapped Gran. ‘It’s a K-TEL three-six-zero PT-XR fourteen thousand and two point five HRH triple turbo automatic multi-speed bum-splitter/dicer and slicer. It also juices but hopefully we won’t need that—the attachment is very difficult to clean. Anyone or anything tries to get in here then you just pull the trigger! The K-TEL three-six-zero PT-XR fourteen thousand and two point five HRH triple turbo automatic multi-speed bum-splitter/dicer and slicer will do the rest.’

  Zack nodded dumbly.

  He put his finger on the trigger, pointed the barrel through a slot in the dome and peered out into the rapidly approaching night. That’s when he saw them. A horde of dark objects—each of them with the now familiar blue-green tail. Flying straight towards the control centre.

  ‘Bums to starboard!’ yelled Gran. ‘Fire!’

  But before Zack could fire, there was a deafening crash.

  Despite being bum-proof, the dome shattered, spraying Zack with shards of broken glass. A group of three bums—all blueish-black in colour—fell wriggling onto the floor behind him. They were twice as big as most earth bums and twice as smelly, filling the room with the overwhelming stench of decaying flesh.

  Mittens screeched and leapt from the neck of Zack’s jacket.

  ‘Well?’ said Gran to the trembling Zack. ‘What are you waiting for? Let them have it!’

  The bums, now recovered from their violent entry, picked themselves up and walked jerkily across the room towards Zack.

  Zack fired up the K-TEL three-six-zero PT-XR fourteen thousand and two point five HRH triple turbo automatic multi-speed bum-splitter/dicer and slicer. Despite its seeming antiquity, it came to life in his hands, filling the attic with an ear-splitting noise.

  But it had little effect on the bums. They seemed to absorb the bullets as easily as a sponge absorbs water.

  ‘It’s not working!’ Zack said to Gran.