Zombie Bums from Uranus

by Andy Griffiths

  Gran fell back down into the middle of the pieces that were already beginning to move towards each other.

  The Forker turned around, grabbed a large fork from his belt and plunged it down towards Gran.

  Zack gasped.

  But he needn’t have worried.

  Gran rolled quickly out of the way. The fork hit the ground so hard that sparks flew.

  The Flicker drew his towel back and launched an enormous flick but Gran rolled quickly back the other way. A chunk of cement flew up and whistled past Zack’s ears.

  ‘You chuckleheads!’ said Gran as the Forker and the Flicker prepared to mount a double attack. ‘It’s me, Mabel! Don’t you recognise your old leader?’

  The Forker, momentarily confused, stopped and stared at her.

  Zack watched as a light dawned in his eyes . . . and then set again.

  ‘More zombie-bum trickery!’ yelled the Forker, preparing to plunge again.

  ‘No!’ said the Flicker, reaching out to stop him. ‘Hold your fork!’

  But the Flicker was too late.

  The Forker forked.

  ‘Watch out, Gran!’ yelled Zack.

  Gran tried to roll out of the way but this time she wasn’t fast enough. The massive fork pierced the ground, catching the hem of her dress and pinning her to the ground. Meanwhile the Forker drew a handful of smaller forks from his belt and hurled them towards Zack and Eleanor—surrounding them in a circular prison of forks.

  Then the Forker raised his fork high above his head.

  ‘No!’ said the Flicker, flicking his towel and sending the Forker’s fork flying.

  The Forker pulled another fork from his belt. ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ he said, looking angrily at the Flicker. ‘You—’

  ‘Mind your language!’ warned Gran.

  The Forker froze, mid-fork. ‘Pincher?’ he said.

  ‘Yes!’ she said with relief. ‘It’s been a long time. Don’t you recognise me?’

  ‘The Pincher died many years ago,’ said the Forker, raising his fork high above his head. ‘You are a zombie and to honour the name of Mabel Freeman, it is my sacred duty to kill you!’

  ‘She’s not a zombie!’ said the Flicker. ‘Check her bum!’

  The Forker prodded Gran’s backside with his fork.

  ‘Hey!’ said Gran. ‘Put a hole in my false bum and I’ll pinch your head so hard it will pop!’

  That seemed to be all the proof the Forker needed. ‘It really is you!’ said the Forker using the prongs of his fork to scratch his head. ‘But how in the univarse—’

  ‘Language!’ said Gran.

  ‘Definitely the same old Pincher!’ laughed the Flicker. ‘We thought you died in a bum-blitz.’

  ‘No,’ said Gran. ‘There was no bum-blitz. My disappearance was part of a secret relocation scheme organised by the FBBI for my own safety.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell us?’ said the Flicker.

  ‘I couldn’t!’ Gran replied. ‘To do so would have put both myself and you in extreme danger. It was horrible, I know, but I didn’t want you at the mercy of ruthless bums who would be able to torture the information out of you. It was better that you didn’t know. Now unfork me this instant!’

  The Forker pulled his fork out of Gran’s sleeve.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse the Forker,’ said the Flicker. ‘But he’s getting old and his eyesight isn’t what it used to be.’

  ‘My hearing is fine!’ said the Forker.

  ‘His hearing’s not too good either,’ said the Flicker. ‘He’s getting old.’

  ‘I may be getting a cold,’ said the Forker, spinning a fork like a gunslinger and then sliding it back into his belt, ‘but I’ve forked more bums than you’ve flicked this morning.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said the Flicker, twirling a towel. ‘I’ve flicked more bums than you’ve forked!’

  ‘Stop your bickering,’ said Gran. ‘We’ve got bums to fight!’

  ‘Watch out behind you!’ shouted Eleanor. ‘That bum has reformed!’

  The Forker and the Flicker spun around.

  ‘I’ll get it!’ they both yelled, elbowing and pushing each other.

  But before they could sort themselves out the bum leapt at them, knocking them both over.

  Gran jumped up and threw herself on top of the bum. It jumped into the air trying desperately to buck her off but she clung tight. Then, in the most spectacular display of pinching prowess Zack had ever seen, Gran pinched it into two halves, the two halves into quarters, and then the quarters into eighths. Her fingers were just a blur as she shredded the bum into smaller and smaller pieces.

  ‘Is there a tap around here?’ said Gran, when she’d finished, holding her hands out in front of her.

  ‘Over there,’ said the Flicker.

  Gran went over to the tap and began washing her hands.

  ‘Hey,’ said Zack, rattling the forks like the bars of a cage. ‘What about us?’

  The Forker pulled one of the forks out of the ground and Zack and Eleanor squeezed through the gap.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘I’m the Forker!’

  Zack shook his hand. ‘It’s an honour to meet you. My name’s Zack,’ he said.

  Eleanor stepped forward. ‘And I’m Eleanor,’ she said.

  The Forker studied her closely. ‘You’re Silas Sterne’s little girl, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not a little girl,’ said Eleanor. ‘I’m a bum-fighter.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the Forker. ‘No offence intended. Any friend of Mabel Freeman is a friend of mine,’ he said offering her an enormous dirt-encrusted hand.

  ‘And mine,’ said the Flicker. ‘Pardon me if I don’t shake your hands, but I’ve only just washed them.’

  ‘Where’s everybody else?’ called Gran, still scrubbing her hands under the tap as if preparing for an operation. ‘Have they all been zombie-bummified?’

  ‘No,’ said the Forker. ‘We’re the only two left. The rest have all passed on to the great bum-fight in the sky. The Poker, the Splitter, the Slammer, the Bruiser, the Tickler, the Scalder, the Brander, the Plugger, the Torcher, the Biter and the Detonator . . . all gone.’

  ‘It’s a quiet life,’ said the Flicker, cracking the end of his towel against the zombie bum that had reassembled yet again. ‘Well, it was until now.’

  ‘Stop complaining,’ said the Forker. ‘It sure beats sitting around talking about the good old days! We all have to go out sooner or later and what better way to go than in the bum-fight of all bum-fights! I’m only sorry those zombie bums wrecked my garden!’

  ‘I’m only sorry that we’re going to lose!’ said the Forker.

  ‘We haven’t lost yet, soldier!’ said Gran, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up to her face. ‘Or my name’s not the Pincher!’

  As Gran spoke, the sky darkened.

  Zack looked up.

  Coming towards them was a fresh swarm of zombie bums.

  ‘Assume attack positions!’ yelled the Forker, crouching low with a fork in each hand. The Flicker leapt into place beside him, twirling a towel covered in brown stains.

  But Gran stepped in front of them both.

  ‘You boys go and wash your hands and get ready for dinner,’ she said. ‘I’ll finish up here.’

  ‘But, Pincher!’ said the Flicker. ‘It’s too dangerous. You can’t hurt them. They don’t feel pain!’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said the Pincher. ‘Stand back!’

  Gran flexed her arms and then, snapping and clicking her claw-like fingers like maracas, she walked forward until she was in the middle of the circling zombie bums.

  ‘I hope she knows what she’s doing,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Me too,’ said Zack.

  The bums were close now. So close that Gran could reach out and grab one. Which is exactly what she did.

  Zack flinched.

  But instead of pinching the bum, as Zack had expected, Gran seized its arms and legs and deft
ly tied them together. Then she grabbed a second bum and knotted its arms and legs together with the first.

  She continued this until she was standing in front of a big pile of wriggling, writhing, trembling, jelly-like, knotted-together zombie bums—including the bum that she had previously shredded, which despite her and the Flicker’s best efforts had put itself back together and joined in the attack.

  Zack applauded, proud of his gran.

  Even Eleanor had to nod approvingly.

  The Flicker cracked his towel so loudly that it made Zack’s ears hurt.

  The Forker raised a fork high into the air. ‘Victory!’ he yelled.

  But Gran wasn’t happy.

  ‘Victory-schmictory!’ she said, wiping her brow. ‘The battle’s not over yet, soldier. Those knots won’t last forever. We still have to destroy them.’

  ‘But how?’ asked the Forker.

  ‘The sauna!’ said the Flicker. ‘We can’t defeat them by force, but we might be able to sweat them down to nothing.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ said Gran.

  The Forker jabbed a fork into the zombie bum boulder and began pushing it towards the sauna, causing the bums to emit a particularly foul and putrid gas. In fact, it was so horrible that even Zack’s bum started coughing and gagging.

  ‘That’s absolutely disgusting,’ it rasped between coughs. ‘They should be ashamed of themselves!’

  Zack pinched his nose.

  With each of the Forker’s jabs, Zack was reminded yet again that, despite the profession’s glamorous image, bum-fighting was a dirty, unpleasant business. He was tempted to turn around and go home . . . until he remembered that he didn’t actually have a home to go to. Or a town for that matter. Or even a family.

  ‘Open the door!’ shouted the Forker.

  The Flicker pulled the heavy wooden door open and was immediately engulfed by a cloud of steam.

  ‘YAH!’ yelled the Forker as he forked the bums through the door with one last mighty thrust.

  ‘Language!’ said Gran.

  The Forker turned around, steam pouring out behind him as he triumphantly raised his fork to the sky.

  Zack felt a lot safer than he had for a long time.

  But as he watched the Forker forking the air, Zack noticed something moving inside the sauna.

  The zombie bums!

  They’d broken free of their knots!

  And they were heading for the door.

  Zack leapt forward and, knocking the Forker flying, slammed his shoulder against the door.

  ‘Good work, Zack,’ said the Forker, picking himself up off the ground. ‘I was just about to do that.’

  Zack peered inside the little square window at the top of the door. The zombie bums were going absolutely nuts. Far from slowing them down and melting them, the heat seemed to be speeding them up.

  Zack gulped.

  Normal zombie bums were bad enough, but supercharged zombie bums . . . well . . . he shuddered at the thought.

  Zack could feel them slamming against the door.

  ‘They’re going crazy,’ he said. ‘It’s not working!’

  ‘Turn up the heat!’ said Eleanor.

  ‘It’s already up pretty high,’ said the Flicker.

  ‘Turn it up higher!’ said Gran.

  The Flicker nodded and adjusted the dial on the temperature unit.

  Zack trembled as he watched the bums bounce around the sauna faster and faster until they were just blue-black streaks barely visible through the steam.

  The sound of them hitting the walls was deafening. The sauna door was beginning to splinter.

  ‘Higher!’ commanded Gran.

  ‘I’ve got it up higher than it’s ever been,’ said the Flicker, sweating. ‘It’s higher than any human could possibly stand!’

  ‘I hardly have to remind you that those things aren’t human,’ said Gran. ‘Step aside!’

  ‘No, Pincher,’ said the Flicker. ‘If they spontaneously combust, you’ll blow us all to Uranus!’

  ‘Language!’ said Gran.

  ‘I meant the planet!’ said the Flicker.

  But Gran wasn’t listening. She pushed past him, grabbed the temperature control with her pincer-fingers and spun it like a top.

  ‘No!’ said the Flicker, backing away from the sauna, holding his towel out in front of him like a shield.

  ‘Yes!’ said Gran, a strange light shining in her eyes.

  Zack was scared. When it came to bum-fighting, Gran didn’t seem to have any fear. She was prepared to go all the way. And then even further.

  Both Zack and Eleanor took a step backwards.

  ‘Stand your ground, soldiers!’ barked Gran. ‘Tell me what you see!’

  Zack was paralysed.

  He was too scared to stay there, but too scared to disobey.

  He stayed.

  Zombie bums were scary, but right at that moment, his gran was even scarier.

  He stepped forward, peered through the window and was stunned to see the bums lying on the floor in a puddle of blue-black liquid.

  ‘Well?’ said Gran.

  ‘They’ve stopped moving,’ said Zack. ‘They’re just lying there. It looks like . . . like . . . they’re melting.’

  ‘Good,’ said Gran. ‘That’s good.’

  The Flicker halted his retreat and peeked out from behind his towel.

  ‘Yes, I thought so,’ he said. ‘Just as I planned!’

  But nobody was taking much notice of the Flicker.

  They were all crowded around the window of the sauna watching the zombie bums melt. All of them, that is, except Eleanor. She was looking worried.

  ‘What’s the matter, Eleanor?’ said Zack.

  ‘I don’t know if this is any solution,’ said Eleanor. ‘We can’t just leave the puddle there. The sauna is going to run out of power sooner or later, and when the puddle cools down there’s no guarantee that it won’t reform into one gigantic zombie bum, and then we’ll really be in trouble.’

  Zack began backing away again.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said the Forker. ‘All we have to do is mop up the mess with one of the Flicker’s towels and then we’ll take it to the incinerator and burn it.’

  ‘No worries!’ said the Flicker.

  Zack and Eleanor watched as the Flicker grabbed the towel around his waist and began to pull it off.

  ‘Urggh!’ they said, covering their eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the Flicker. ‘There are plenty more where this came from!’

  Zack peered out from behind his fingers at the Flicker and saw—to his great relief—that the Flicker was wearing another towel underneath the one he had just peeled off. The Flicker bunched up his towel and put it onto the end of the Forker’s fork.

  ‘Pincher,’ said the Forker, ‘fire up the incinerator. It’s behind the greenhouse. We’re going to have a good old-fashioned burn-off.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Gran and she ran off across the croquet lawn towards the greenhouse.

  ‘All right,’ said the Forker, his hand on the door handle. ‘Nose-pegs everyone! I’m opening the door!’

  Zack barely had time to pull a peg from his belt and snap it onto his nose before he felt a blast of stinking heat.

  Through the haze he saw the Forker entering the sauna and pushing the towel on the end of his fork into the puddle.

  ‘There’s too much!’ said the Forker, dumping the first towel on the ground behind him. ‘I need another towel!’

  The Flicker peeled a second towel from around his waist and passed it to the Forker.

  It wasn’t long before the Forker asked for a third towel.

  And then a fourth.

  ‘I can’t believe you have so many towels wrapped around your waist!’ said Zack, amazed.

  The Flicker smiled. ‘A good bum-flicker is always prepared!’

  Finally the mess was all soaked up.

  The Forker emerged from the sauna, dug his fork into the pile of towels on the groun
d and, holding it out in front of him, marched to the incinerator.

  Zack, Eleanor and the Flicker followed him.

  When they arrived at the incinerator Gran had a huge blaze going. The flames were leaping high into the air.

  The Forker dumped the soggy blue-black mass into the incinerator.

  WUMMMMPPPHHH!

  The pile of towels exploded into flame and produced clouds of black smoke. It was the most toxic, foul-smelling smoke Zack had ever had the misfortune to encounter.

  The stench was worse than the stenches of the midnight bum rally, the Great Windy Desert, the Brown Forest and Stenchgantor combined.

  Zack put his hands to his throat, gasping and choking.

  Through his stinging, watering eyes he saw the others had their hands up to their throats as well.

  It was the last thing Zack saw before his vision failed and he fell to the ground.

  Zack coughed.

  His throat was burning.

  His lungs were burning.

  He opened his eyes.

  It was dark.

  He tried to sit up, but his wrists and ankles were tied together and it was difficult to move.

  Zack didn’t know where he was or how long he’d been lying there.

  It could have been a few minutes.

  It could have been a few days.

  He had no idea.

  The last thing he could remember was being choked by the black smoke created by the burning zombie bums, but after that, nothing.

  On the wall beside him Zack could see a ladder leading up to a rectangle of light high above. It didn’t provide much illumination, but it was enough. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Zack was able to make out that he was in an enormous cavernous space filled by a forest of towering concrete pillars. The roots of trees grew through the walls, cracking the concrete and winding across the floor into the pitch-blackness beyond.

  Zack shivered.

  It reminded him of the drain that he’d been blown into by the cluster bum after the midnight bum rally. The drain where he’d been captured and interrogated by bums . . .