As far as Zack could make out, however, he was alone.
And he was frightened.
‘Ahh,’ said a voice. ‘Awake at last!’
Zack froze.
The voice sent fresh shivers through his body.
Zack peered into the darkness and saw the out-lines of two bums coming towards him. One of them was wearing a small paper crown.
There was no mistaking who it was.
The Prince! Leader of Bum Intelligence. And standing next to him was none other than his faithful servant Maurice.
‘You!’ said Zack, surprised to say the least. The last time he’d seen the Prince he was being carried off by a wedge-tailed bum-eater. And Maurice had fallen off the side of the bumcano. Neither of them could possibly have survived.
‘Yes, it’s us!’ said the Prince. ‘Unless I’m very much mistaken, eh, Maurice?’
‘Yes,’ guffawed Maurice at the Prince’s little joke. ‘Unless you’re very, very much mistaken!’
Zack tried to pinch his nose to protect himself from the fumes of Maurice’s amusement, but remembered he couldn’t move his hands. He looked down and saw they were bound with toilet paper.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ said Zack, struggling to untie his hands. ‘And what have you done with the others?’
‘Relax,’ said the Prince. ‘Your friends will be here any moment. They’re coming to help save you, just as we knew they would.’
As if on cue, they heard Eleanor’s voice far above them.
‘Zack!’ she called. ‘Zack?’
‘Ah . . .’ said the Prince. ‘There they are now . . . right on schedule. That’s the one thing I like about bum-fighters. They’re very predictable, aren’t they Maurice?’
‘Yes, Prince,’ said Maurice. ‘Very, very predictable.’
‘Zack, are you down there?’ called Eleanor.
‘Call to her,’ said the Prince. ‘And no funny business.’
‘If you think you can bumnap me and use me as bait to catch the others you’re sadly mistaken,’ said Zack.
‘Just call her,’ said the Prince. ‘Or else.’
‘Or else what?’ said Zack.
‘Or else your bum gets it,’ said the Prince. He nodded to Maurice.
Maurice yanked hard on a long piece of toilet paper trailing behind him and Zack’s bum, attached to the other end, came flying out of the darkness and hit the ground next to Zack.
Zack could see his bum was in a bad way. It had obviously been crying and it had a nasty red rash across both cheeks.
‘Help me, Zack,’ it pleaded. ‘Please . . . they’ve got home-brand toilet paper . . . and they’re not afraid to use it!’
‘That’s enough from you!’ said the Prince, shoving a wad of rough-looking toilet paper into Zack’s bum to shut it up.
Zack shook his head. Home-brand toilet paper . . . He knew from experience the Prince and Maurice were ruthless, but he’d never suspected they would stoop this low.
‘Zack!’ called Gran. ‘Where are you?’
‘Call them,’ said the Prince.
Zack looked at his trembling bum.
He had no choice.
‘I’m here,’ he called.
‘We’ll be right down!’ yelled Eleanor.
‘Good boy,’ said the Prince, as he and Maurice stepped back into the darkness, yanking Zack’s bum with them.
‘Very, very good boy,’ said Maurice.
Zack could hear the ladder creaking as Eleanor and the other bum-fighters began their descent.
He felt terrible betraying them like this.
Suddenly there was a loud crash and the bum-fighters landed in a sprawling heap right next to him.
‘Get off me, you idiot!’ said Eleanor.
‘Why don’t you get off me, you idiot!’ said the Flicker.
‘Don’t call me an idiot!’ said Eleanor.
‘I’m not talking to you, you idiot!’ said the Flicker. ‘I’m talking to the Forker.’
‘I’m not an idiot!’ said the Forker.
‘Yes, you are,’ said the Flicker. ‘You’re sitting on my towel, you idiot.’
‘Language!’ said the Pincher.
‘Pincher!’ said the Forker. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m okay,’ said the Pincher. ‘But I’d be a lot better if you’d all get off me!’
Eleanor was the first to extract herself.
‘Zack!’ she said. ‘We came as soon as we could! The Forker saw you and your bum being bumnapped. He woke us all and we followed you in the bum-mobile. Any idea where the bumnappers are?’
Zack nodded.
‘Where?’ said Eleanor.
‘Right here,’ said the Prince, stepping forward.
‘At your service!’ said Maurice.
Eleanor swung around. ‘You parasites!’ she hissed. ‘I thought you were dead!’
‘When the wedge-tailed bum-eater dropped me into its nest I thought I was too!’ said the Prince. ‘I had ten baby wedge-tailed bum-eaters with razor-sharp beaks snapping around my cheeks . . . but they didn’t realise who they were dealing with. And Maurice, well, I’m not saying he’s fat, but he’s got enough blubber on him to protect him from a little fall . . . or a big one for that matter.’
‘Are you saying I’m fat?’ said Maurice.
‘Yes,’ said the Prince.
‘Thank you,’ said Maurice. ‘It’s very kind of you to say so. Very, very kind.’
‘Where in the univarse are we?’ said the Forker. ‘This place stinks!’
‘Manners!’ said Gran.
‘It’s quite all right,’ said the Prince. ‘No offence taken. Our home may be humble but you are all very welcome, aren’t they, Maurice?’
‘Very welcome, Prince,’ said Maurice. ‘Very, very welcome.’
‘Who are these bums, anyway?’ said the Flicker. ‘Are they zombies?’
The Prince looked pained. He spat. He looked impatiently at Maurice.
Maurice took his cue. He spat too.
‘Zombie bums?!’ exclaimed the Prince. ‘Now I DO take offence! The lowest of the low!’
‘The lowest of the lowest of the low!’ intoned Maurice.
‘No, they’re not zombie bums,’ said Eleanor, levelling a 4502 Laxative Launcher at them, ‘just a couple of bums who are about to die.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said the Flicker, twirling his towel. ‘I’ll have them flicked in no time.’
‘No!’ said the Forker, fingering the array of forks strapped across his chest. ‘Let me. I can fork faster than you can flick.’
‘Oh yeah?’ said the Flicker. ‘I can flick faster than you can fork!’
‘Language!’ said Gran.
‘Your friends aren’t very friendly,’ said the Prince.
‘No,’ said Eleanor, ‘and neither am I. Let go of Zack’s bum and stand back against the wall.’
To Eleanor’s—and Zack’s—great surprise, the Prince and Maurice did exactly that.
‘Thank you,’ said Eleanor, sweetly. ‘Now, do you have any last words before I blow you both apart?’
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ said the Prince coolly.
‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,’ said Eleanor, her finger tightening on the trigger of her bum-gun.
‘I can give you a thousand!’ said the Prince. ‘And Maurice can give you a thousand more, can’t you, Maurice?’
‘Thousands and thousands and thousands!’ said Maurice.
‘I’m all ears,’ said Eleanor.
‘Then listen,’ said the Prince. ‘And you’ll hear them.’
‘What?’ said Eleanor, and then she froze.
Curious noises began to echo around them.
In the blackness beyond the small patch of dim light they were standing in, Zack began to make out a vast sea of writhing, glistening shapes slithering towards them.
He knew exactly what they were, he’d seen them before—in the bumcano.
Maggots.
Gian
t maggots.
But as they drew closer, Zack realised that these giant maggots made the giant maggots he’d seen in the bumcano seem tiny in comparison. These maggots were mutants—some of them three metres long and at least half a metre wide.
Zack and the other bum-fighters shrank back as the mutant maggots crowded around them. They slid in from all sides, completely cutting off any possibility of reaching the access ladder.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Forker, fingering his forks with his forking hand. ‘I’ll have them forked in no time.’
‘No!’ said the Flicker, twirling his towel. ‘Forking’s too good for mutant maggots. Let me flick them!’
‘That’s not a good idea,’ said the Prince. ‘You’d never make it out alive.’
‘You little fink!’ said Eleanor.
‘Language!’ said Gran. ‘If you can’t say something nice, then it’s better not to say anything at all.’
‘But he is a fink!’ said Eleanor. ‘He trapped us!’
‘Think of it not so much as a trap as an invitation,’ said the Prince.
‘An invitation for what?’ asked the Forker. ‘To become maggot-food?’
‘Oh no,’ said the Prince.
‘Oh no, no, no,’ said Maurice.
‘An invitation to help our Master,’ said the Prince.
‘The Great White Bum is dead,’ said Zack. ‘Remember the bumcano? The explosion? It’s dead!’
‘That was our old master,’ said the Prince, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘But we have a new master now. And we’d very much like you to meet him. He’s very keen to meet you, isn’t he, Maurice?’
‘Oh yes, sir, he is very keen. Very, very keen indeed. Very, very, very, very . . .’
‘That will do, Maurice,’ said the Prince.
‘Well, where is he?’ asked Eleanor.
‘He approaches now,’ said the Prince, and he turned, bowed and removed his crown. The others turned to look in the same direction and saw a small figure dragging itself through the maggots towards them.
‘What is it?’ whispered Eleanor.
‘I don’t know,’ said Zack, ‘but it’s giving me the creeps.’
Zack glanced across at Mabel’s Angels. The Forker had his hand on one of his biggest forks, ready to draw. The Flicker was slowly twirling a towel in each hand. And judging from her smile and her twitching fingers, it was clear that Gran was relishing the prospect of a mutant-maggot pinching spree.
As the figure drew closer, Zack could see that it was completely wrapped in hessian—even its head.
Finally it stopped and the maggots moved in close, gently rubbing themselves against it.
‘Welcome to the Maggotorium!’ said the creature in a soft voice. ‘I am the Maggot Lord. The Mutant Maggot Lord. It’s very kind of you to come and it’s always nice to see old friends.’
Zack frowned. Old friends? What did he mean, old friends? He’d never even seen a Maggot Lord before—especially not a Mutant Maggot Lord—and he’d certainly never been friends with one. And yet, he did have to admit that there was something familiar about his polite and charming manner.
‘Get to the point,’ said Eleanor. ‘Why are we here?’
‘Because I have a proposition for you,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord.
‘Well, what a coincidence,’ said Eleanor, ‘because I’ve got a proposition for you. Why don’t you take your mutant maggots and your little toady bums and shove them right up your mutated . . .’
The Mutant Maggot Lord blanched.
‘Language, young lady!’ said Gran.
‘Hear me out,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘That is all I ask.’
‘All right,’ said the Forker, gripping his fork so hard that his knuckles were white. ‘Just get on with it.’
‘My pleasure,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘I understand that the planet is currently in the process of being zombie-bummified by zombie bums from Uranus.’
‘Language!’ said Gran.
‘I mean the planet, dear lady,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord.
‘Oh,’ said Gran. ‘That’s all right then. I thought you meant . . .’
‘And conventional bum-fighting methods are useless against them,’ continued the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘Am I correct?’
‘Mostly,’ admitted the Forker. ‘We managed to melt some . . . but . . .’
The Mutant Maggot Lord finished his sentence for him. ‘But you’re fighting a losing battle, am I right?’
Nobody answered.
‘Am I not wrong?’ demanded the Mutant Maggot Lord again.
‘You’re right,’ admitted Gran, reluctantly.
‘My intelligence is good,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. He reached out a wizened hand—well, at least Zack thought it was a hand—and patted the Prince. ‘You have served me well.’
At the Mutant Maggot Lord’s touch the Prince seemed to go weak at the knees.
‘And your point is?’ said Eleanor, looking like she was about to be sick.
‘I believe we can help each other,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘I have a vast army of mutant maggots—as you can see—and they have a vast appetite. The Prince and Maurice do their best to procure what road-kill they can, but there is, of course, never enough to go around.’ He said this sadly, patting the head of one of his maggots as he did so.
‘Never enough of what, exactly?’ said Eleanor.
‘Well,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord, ‘being maggots, they need dead flesh.’ He paused for his words to sink in. ‘Lots of dead flesh.’
Eleanor leaned forward, suddenly interested. ‘Like zombie bums?’ she said.
The Mutant Maggot Lord nodded. ‘They would do very nicely,’ he said, raising his mutated hand underneath his hessian shroud to touch his mouth.
The gesture reminded Zack of someone, but he still couldn’t think who it could be.
‘So what do you want with us?’ said Gran. ‘Why don’t you take them up to the surface and let them have their fill?’
‘Ah,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord, raising a hand to his mouth again. ‘That’s where I have a little problem . . . I mean, we have a little problem. You see, my precious babies don’t have any legs. It’s difficult for them to move around. At least to move around quickly enough to catch zombie bums, that is. What I need is somebody to round up all the zombie bums and bring them down here . . . I’ll have my maggots waiting, and I can assure you, it won’t take long.’
The bum-fighters looked at each other, nodding slowly.
Zack had to admit that the Mutant Maggot Lord’s plan made sense—well, at least the sort of sense that made sense in a world that seemed to have stopped making any sense whatsoever.
The Mutant Maggot Lord raised his hand to his mouth and coughed politely. ‘Well?’ he said, ‘do we have a deal?’
Suddenly Zack clicked his fingers. ‘I DO know you!’ he yelled, finally placing the politeness, the charm and the constant mouth-touching. ‘You’re . . . the Kisser!’
‘The Kisser?’ said the Flicker.
‘Who’s the Kisser?’ said Gran.
‘A bum-fighter,’ sneered Zack. ‘Or should I say, an ex-bum-fighter.’
‘What?’ said the Forker. ‘You mean he kisses bums? That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard!’
‘What are you talking about, Zack?’ said Eleanor. ‘Have you gone mad?’
‘Look,’ said Zack, stepping forward and reaching toward the hessian sack that covered the Mutant Maggot Lord’s head. ‘I’m sure of it.’
Suddenly the maggots rose up together, like an army of snakes about to strike.
‘NO!’ cried the Mutant Maggot Lord, putting his arms over his head. ‘Not my face. Nobody sees my face. Leave me that much dignity.’
‘See?’ said Zack, holding his hands in the air and backing away, having proved his point. ‘It must be the Kisser. Who else would be so vain?’
‘Kisser?!’ said Eleanor to the pathetic figure in front of her. ‘Is it true?’
‘I used to be the Kisser,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord after a moment’s silence. ‘But not anymore. Not now that I have no lips. Not since you so cruelly abandoned me and left me to die in the brown lake.’
Eleanor spat on the ground in front of him. ‘You’ve got a nerve,’ she said. ‘We didn’t abandon you. We tried to help you, but you wouldn’t help yourself, you bum-sympathising traitor!’
‘I understand how you must feel,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘It is true I was guilty of some errors of judgement, but that’s all in the past now. The important thing is that I have learnt my lesson. And I am keen to make amends.’
‘But how did you survive?’ said Eleanor. ‘You were pulled into the brown lake by giant maggots. How could anybody survive that?’
‘Ah, don’t you remember, Eleanor?’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘They pulled me into the lake out of love, not hunger! You might say they loved me to death. But they also saved me. True, not before the prolonged exposure to the toxic effects of the lake mutated my body, but I survived and apart from losing my good looks—and my lips—am richer for the experience. I have a family now.’ He turned and stroked the heads of his maggots who were pressing in close all around him.
‘Family?’ scoffed Eleanor. ‘You had a family then. They were called the B-team. But you betrayed them. Worse. You tried to kill them. You tried to kill us. How do we know you won’t do it again?’
‘I was confused,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘What I did was unforgiveable, I know. But I’ve changed.’
‘You say you’ve changed,’ said Eleanor, ‘but less than an hour ago you bumnapped Zack and his bum and used them to trap us all.’
‘Would you have come if I’d asked you?’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord.
Nobody replied.
‘Just as I thought,’ continued the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘Given the circumstances, it was the only way I could get you here. If we don’t act quickly, the zombie bums will end up multiplying beyond even what my maggots can consume and we will all perish.’
‘If you think we’re going to cut a deal with you then you’re crazy,’ said Eleanor. ‘You’ve betrayed us before. You’ll betray us again!’
‘Think about what you’re saying, Eleanor,’ said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘Are you saying you would prefer to watch the entire world laid waste by zombie bums—the atmosphere poisoned by ever-increasing clouds of methane—rather than prevent it with a simple act of forgiveness?’
Zombie Bums from Uranus Page 11