Memoirs of a Neurotic Zombie

by Jeff Norton

  ‘You were dreaming, Adam,’ said Corina, as my eyesight readjusted to our treetop trailer. We were stationary and I could smell the fumes of idling traffic combined with something else – a fresh mist in the air.

  ‘You were freakin’ out,’ said Ernesto. ‘It was awesome!’

  ‘Where are we?’ I asked, groggily.

  ‘You’re not going to believe it,’ said Corina. ‘Look.’

  I slowly raised my head and looked down, instantly regretting it. Below, far below, was nothing but raging water. I shook and trembled.

  ‘Easy there, zom-boy,’ said Corina, calmly. ‘Look.’

  I glanced around and saw that the truck was in a line of traffic high above a river on a very long bridge. And then I saw the source of the mist: Niagara Falls.

  The water rushed over the horseshoe-shaped cliff to our right. Water vapour billowed into the sky, clouding out the sun and creating a triple-rainbow bridge over the gap that separated the two countries.

  I’d been here before, when I was in second grade, on one of Mom and Dad’s epic road trips. We stayed in a motel that had more mice than guests, and we lined up along the edge of the Falls to watch some daredevil barrel over in a … well, barrel. It was one of those things that adults did because it was there – tempting death with feats of stupidity. On the plus side, there was ice cream.

  ‘We’re on the bridge between cannibal land and Home of the Brave,’ said Corina.

  I looked back at the start of the bridge and spotted the Canadian flag flying next to the stars and stripes. I exhaled, a sigh of relief. ‘We made it.’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Corina, pointing to the checkpoint up ahead. The American border police were checking every car, every truck, every passenger. Two uniformed guards held mirrors on sticks, checking the undercarriages of trucks and cars for things that shouldn’t be there. And they were looking on top of every truck. I didn’t know if there was an illegal immigration issue from Canada, but these zealous border guards weren’t letting anyone in without a passport.

  Which we didn’t have.

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘We’re Americans returning home and we’ll just explain everything to the guards.’

  But Nesto shook his head and looked more scared than when I told him we were destined to be turned into doughnuts. ‘But what if I’m not American?’

  ‘You’re, like, fourth-generation American,’ I reminded him. ‘That makes you as American as apple pie, or at least apple tacos.’

  He shook his head urgently. ‘No, I just tell everyone that. I was born in Guadalajara and my parents smuggled me in when I was a baby. That passport I have is a fake. It’s a really good fake, but without it …’

  ‘If they find him, they will deport him,’ said Corina. ‘You know that, right?’

  The truck rumbled forward, inching towards the border … and the border control. I couldn’t let my friend get caught.

  ‘C’mon,’ I urged. ‘Let’s get down.’

  ‘Not down there!’ Nesto said, pointing to the raging river below.

  ‘Well, not yet,’ I said. ‘There’s more than one way to cross the border.’

  I pointed to the Horseshoe Falls. Masses of water rushed over the falls, sending a plume of mist high into the sky. The water poured into the lower Niagara River, which washed up onto the north shore of the United States.

  That’s when it came to me, an idea for how to sneak into our homeland.

  * ACB is a Citizens Band radio, like a short-distance mobile phone used by truckers and people who really like to say ‘ten-four’.

  22

  In Which We Sneak Back into Canada

  We clambered off the trailer and, crouching down, weaved though the idling cars, quickly and silently slipping back into Canada.

  ‘I think Adam’s brain has fully decomposed,’ said Ernesto.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you,’ said Corina.

  As we approached the Canadian border, a uniformed man with a bushy moustache that nearly covered his mouth held up his hand to stop us. ‘Where are you kids going?’

  ‘We have to pee really, really bad,’ I said. It actually wasn’t a lie. I needed to go.

  ‘All of you?’ asked the moustache.

  Nesto crossed his legs and did a pee dance. ‘I can’t hold it,’ he said.

  He unzipped his fly and made to let his little chup loose.

  ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ he said. ‘The bathrooms are at the back of that building. Get going and then get back in your parents’ car. You’re on Canadian soil now and we’re not a toilet.’

  We ran behind the building … and kept on running. The traffic was near a standstill approaching the bridge, and we cut across a green field and then along the road overlooking the roaring Niagara River.

  ‘Nice acting, Nesto,’ said Corina.

  But then he stopped at a tree and unzipped his shorts for real. ‘C’mon, Adam, sword fight!’

  ‘Uggh,’ Corina grunted as she looked away.

  ‘I can hold mine,’ I said, not totally sure that I could.

  As Ernesto watered the tree, a lady wearing shiny, tight-fitting running gear jogged by while pulling her golden retriever on a leash. Upon seeing Nesto, the dog tugged his athletic owner over and lifted his leg.

  ‘Get your own tree,’ hissed Ernesto.

  Woof woof.

  The dog barked, defending what it clearly thought was its territory.

  The lady removed her ear buds and looked at us. ‘You really shouldn’t let your friend pee in public.’

  My hypocrisy alarm went off.

  ‘Tell that to your dog,’ I said. ‘It’s spraying bacteria and germs all over the place.’

  ‘It’s what dogs do,’ she said. As if that were an excuse.

  Suddenly, the pooch yelped with fright.

  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Nesto had chupafied his face. The quick change from prepubescent boy to lizard face shocked the dog and it pulled its owner away.

  Nesto shook off his chupa look and calmly put away his watering hose.

  ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen you do that before.’

  ‘Well, if you can’t pee in front of your friends then who—’ started Nesto.

  ‘Actually,’ I interrupted, leading us along the pathway towards the roaring Falls. ‘I meant the quick change into chupa. That was pretty amazing.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. I’m getting better at controlling it. I was practising with Melissa.’

  We kept walking along the river until we reached the throngs of gaping tourists marvelling at one of the wonders of the world. The water rushed right past them as we, three monstrous wonders, walked among them. It did briefly make me wonder how many people would come to see us if we were ever caught and put on display? How much would the tickets go for? How long would the lines be?

  ‘Adam,’ snapped Corina. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To get our ride,’ I said.

  I led them through the busy crowd and across the street to the Niagara Falls Museum.

  I still had some money, so I bought us three tickets to a glimpse into Niagara’s past. We whizzed through the rooms about the native Canadians, first explorers, geological make-up of the area (bedrock granite) until we reached the daredevil display.

  There was a tightrope above us with a mannequin balanced on it. Below, photos showed Charles Blondin, a French guy who was the first person to tightrope walk across the Niagara gorge. Next, we found a life-sized photo of Annie Edson Taylor, an old lady who, at 63, was the very first person to survive a trip over the falls. And then, around the corner, we found what I was looking for: a modern-day barrel.

  It was silver and sleek, like a slice of a rocket.

  ‘That’s our ride home, guys,’ I announced.

  ‘It looks heavy,’ said Nesto.

  ‘You know I could just fly you over the river,’ suggested Corina.

  ‘Over one of the world’s most watched tourist attractions?’ I a
sked. ‘You’d be a YouTube sensation in seconds.’

  ‘I could tunnel underneath,’ offered Nesto.

  ‘Didn’t you pay attention?’ I asked. ‘Niagara is built on bedrock. I know you’ve got razor-sharp claws, but I think we’d need dynamite to bust our way in and somehow I don’t think that’d lead to a warm welcome.’

  ‘Okay, zom-boy, how do we roll out this barrel of fun?’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘Give me a hand.’

  ‘This is insane,’ Corina said, nonetheless lending me two pale hands to push the barrel off its display.

  Nesto guided the silver cylinder towards the double doors at the back as Corina and I rolled it quickly, but deliberately.

  ‘Where are you going with that?’ called a voice.

  I peeked around the barrel to see a bored-looking teenager wearing a uniform and name tag entering the daredevil room. He held a walkie-talkie and was about to use it to radio in our barrel theft.

  We were done for.

  I noticed Corina’s fangs extend and I held her back. ‘Wait, not yet.’

  She was clearly considering giving in to her hunger. But instead of letting her, I eyed the guard’s name tag and tried to reason with him.

  ‘Bernie,’ I said. ‘Before you call anyone on that, we’ve got one heck of a story to tell you.’

  ‘Does it involve me getting fired?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably,’ I said, ‘but at least you’ll get to see something I bet you’ve never seen before.’

  ‘You’re going over the falls, aren’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘Bernie, we may look like ordinary kids to you—’

  ‘You don’t actually, you all look a bit, well—’

  ‘Different?’ I asked. He nodded his head. I decided that faced with being stopped, and then arrested, for stealing an artefact from the museum, our best way out was the truth. Nobody would believe the truth. ‘We are different. And now we’re going to show you just how different.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Nesto.

  ‘Is this a good idea, zom-boy?’

  ‘Bernie, I’m a zombie, Corina here is a vampire, and Ernesto is a …’

  Suddenly, Nesto transmutated and Corina revealed her fangs. Bernie leapt back.

  ‘Is this a trick?’ he asked.

  ‘The only trick,’ I said, ‘is that we’re taking this barrel and going to make it disappear. If you try to stop us, my hungry vampire friend will feed on you. And Nesto may later chew on your bones. He likes bone.’

  Bernie froze, trembling and nearly hyperventilating. Finally, he spoke.

  ‘Awesome,’ he uttered.

  ‘Huh?’ I grunted.

  ‘I’ve worked here for three summers,’ he said, ‘and I’ve never seen anyone actually go over the Falls. I’m going to record the whole thing on my phone.’

  ‘Awesome,’ I agreed.

  23

  In Which We Have a Barrel of Fun (Invading America)

  We literally stopped traffic pushing the barrel across the road, but nobody official stopped us. A few tourists snapped photos on their phones, but that was the extent of the attention we attracted. Slowly, we pushed the aluminium barrel along the sidewalk, upriver, until we reached a small park overlooking the rushing water.

  We moved it as close as we could to the edge and Corina snapped the steel barrier fence with her bare hands.

  ‘Roller coaster’s open,’ she said with a grin. ‘And you’ve got to be this high to ride.’

  She held her hand out level with the ground, at shoulder height. Nesto rushed over. He stood under her palm on his tippy-toes, pushing his head against her hand.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m never big enough at the state fair!’

  I climbed up the barrier and on top of the barrel.

  ‘This isn’t going to be like anything they’ve got there,’ I said, turning the wheel to open the hatch, and peering inside.

  The chamber inside was dank and dark, with straps and cushions, but only built for one man. I hoped that since Ernesto was so small, and I wasn’t exactly being invited into professional wrestling, we could all fit.

  ‘Nesto, you and Corina hop in and I’ll go last.’

  Ernesto clambered up and then down into the chamber. ‘It smells in here.’

  ‘Smells like fear,’ Corina said, floating herself down and finding a strap to hold on to.

  ‘It’s going to be a rough ride,’ I said. ‘But we can take it.’

  I lowered myself into the dark chamber and sealed us in. It was pitch-black since I hadn’t thought to find the interior light.

  ‘All right, guys, now push on the wall.’

  At once, we all pushed in different directions.

  Booof.

  We slammed into one another.

  ‘Let’s try that again,’ I said. ‘Okay, put your hands in the middle, and then swing and push the way my hand leads.’

  Everyone popped their hands on mine and I counted to three before moving my hand in the direction of the river shore.

  We tilted, but didn’t topple.

  ‘Okay, again!’ I called.

  Still no movement.

  ‘One more time,’ I urged.

  With a heave, we slowly toppled over, and over, and over, until we bounced into the water. I could feel the wave bob us up and down, like my rubber duck in the bath.

  ‘So this is nice,’ said Corina.

  ‘Thanks for getting me off the bridge,’ said Ernesto.

  ‘We weren’t going to risk you getting deported,’ I said.

  Corina laughed. ‘He’s willing to risk your untimely death in an aluminium can going over a massive waterfall, but deportation … nah, that’s a risk he just won’t take.’

  ‘I didn’t hear any better ideas,’ I said. ‘Besides, this is me trying to relax. Have either of you—’

  And then my stomach jumped into my throat.

  ‘Wheeeee!’ squealed Ernesto.

  My head was upside down. Then sideways, then pressed into Ernesto’s stinky armpit.

  We tumbled and tossed and plummeted. I had no idea what was going on, but I now knew what my clothes felt like when I put them in the dryer.

  ‘Maybe we should have just flooooooooown,’ I said, just as the barrel slammed into the water below. But the tumbling didn’t stop. We rocked and turned until finally the shaking stopped.

  ‘Can we get out now?’ asked Ernesto.

  ‘Wait ’til we’ve come to a full and complete stop.’

  ‘Adam,’ said Corina. ‘What if we bank on the Canadian side of the river?’

  ‘I think that’s when we move to the power of flight. Maybe you could drag Nesto and me across the river – make it look like we’re swimming?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said with a huff.

  Finally, we stopped moving and the barrel keeled over onto one side … my side.

  Nesto and Corina flopped on top of me.

  ‘Ouch, careful of the cartilage,’ I said.

  ‘I guess we’ve landed,’ said Nesto. I reached over to the side and turned the locking wheel. I pulled myself out and onto the sandy bank of the river. At first, I couldn’t see which side of the border we’d landed on. As I stood up, an unfriendly, but distinctly American, voice told me to put my, ‘Hands up!’

  I turned to see my own double reflection in a policeman’s mirrored sunglasses.

  ‘I’m so glad to see you,’ I said.

  ‘I’m about to arrest you for illegal stunting over the border – I wouldn’t be that glad, son,’ he said.

  Nesto crawled out of the barrel, followed by Corina.

  ‘Any more?’ the cop asked.

  ‘Just us,’ said Corina, rubbing her head.

  Nesto twitched nervously. I could tell he was nervous about risking deportation.

  ‘What’s going on here, kids?’ he asked. ‘And tell me the truth.’

  ‘Officer,’ I began, ‘the truth is we escaped Canada, a nation of doughnut-munching cannibals. We were at a camp that tur
ns kids into doughnuts, and we got out to get help because there’s almost sixty more fine Americans left behind.’

  ‘Good God.’ He trembled, took off his glasses and crouched down to our level. ‘It’s just like ’Nam.’

  ‘You were in Vietnam?’ I asked.*

  ‘Yeah, last year the missus and I were on holiday there and, well, let’s just say that the all-inclusive resort didn’t include much. We got out but left some good people behind. I said I’d alert the travel agent and go back for them, but … but we never did.’

  ‘What happened to them?’ Nesto asked.

  ‘Never saw them again,’ the cop said, hanging his head. ‘But a few weeks later I noticed on TripAdvisor that a few of them posted pretty nasty reviews. I don’t think they had a good holiday: unclean sheets, unruly staff, and drinks watered down … with dirty water.’

  ‘Sounds like Hell,’ I said.

  ‘It was,’ the cop replied, starting to tear up. ‘And I never went back.’

  ‘But it’s not too late for our friends,’ said Corina. ‘Will you help us?’

  The cop stood up and exhaled, breathing out his guilt. ‘I will. What do you need?’

  ‘We need a ride to Croxton, Ohio,’ I said.

  ‘That, I can do,’ he said.

  * Vietnam is a country in South East Asia that grown-ups like to go to on holiday. But before I was born, America fought a big war there and not even my history teacher is sure why.

  24

  In Which We Return Home

  We were crammed into the back seat (behind the steel divider) of Officer Campbell’s patrol car for about seven hours of interstate driving. Officer Campbell, whose first name was Bob (not short for Robert, but Bobert … his parents misspelled his birth certificate), was actually a really nice guy, had three kids slightly younger than us, and a penchant for show tunes.

  Bobert and I sang our way across upstate New York, north Pennsylvania, and into good ol’ Ohio. Either he was tone-deaf or just very polite, but either way, he didn’t arrest me for being hopelessly out of tune. Corina and Nesto, however, were not so kind. They pleaded with me to stop, but sometimes, and being locked in the back of a police car with a vampire and a chupacabra is one of those times, you just gotta sing!