If past parties are anything to go by, the sequence of events will be as follows:
1. Awkward beginning where no one really talks to one another.
2. Dad will play really bad ’80s and ’90s music.
3. An argument will start about something that happened twenty years ago.
4. Someone will say something bad about Star Wars, and Dad will get into a huge argument.
5. Someone (most likely Dad) will sing “Danny Boy” very loudly and very badly.
6. The end.
There are usually slight variations to the theme, but that’s only window dressing, something to keep everyone guessing. Like the time Uncle Stuart and Aunt Bev were on a trial separation, and Aunt Bev brought her new boyfriend to the party. He was fifteen years younger than she was. Uncle Stuart challenged him to a duel outside on the lawn, and the police had to be called in.
9:00 a.m. Uncle Stuart and Aunt Bev have arrived. Ten hours early! Mom is freaking out in the kitchen while Uncle Stuart and Aunt Bev sit at the dining room table. Aunt Bev is in power-saving mode, staring blankly out the window. Uncle Stuart is reading an old romance novel.
10:00 a.m. Dad brought the folding table in from the garage and started going through his CD collection. Dad is DJ every year, despite all our attempts to stop him. I think he looks forward to it. A few hours of power, where his decisions hold sway over tens of people. I tried to speak to him about entertaining Uncle Stuart (his brother), but he was singing something about it being “Safe to Dance,” so I just let it go.
11:00 a.m. I spent most of the day checking the yard and house for Anti-Snuffles.
List of Protective Gear
1. Hockey mask.
2. Towels wrapped around my arms.
3. Dad’s leather gloves.
4. Mom’s boots that go all the way up to her knees. On me they go all the way up to midthigh, which is perfect zombie-hunting protection.
5. Metal TV dinner tray strapped to my chest.
6. Second metal TV dinner tray strapped to my back.
7. One old butterfly net.
I looked at myself in the mirror, then decided it wasn’t enough, so I put on Dad’s padded winter jacket as well.
The weight was a bit much. I tipped slowly over onto my back and rocked there like an upturned turtle. I kicked my legs, but it was no good. I couldn’t get up again. Had to call Mom. She helped me up, looked at my getup (paying close attention to her boots), and asked me if there was anything I wanted to talk about.
When I told her I was hunting zombies she looked relieved and said good luck.
No sign of Anti-Snuffles anywhere. Very worrying. What should I do? If I tell the Zombie Police, Dad will get into trouble. But I can’t just leave a deadbeat hamster running around Edenvale. Who knows what will happen? Nothing good, that’s for sure.
8:00 p.m. Party off to a good start. Healthy turnout. I helped Mom scrape the burned part off the bottom of the appetizers, so at least there’s food. Charlie, Aren, and Calvin arrived at seven. Calvin just stood by the chips, stuffing one after another into his mouth. He would have done that all night if Mom hadn’t slapped his hand and moved him away.
9:00 p.m. Horror! Dad decided to take to the dance floor.
My dad is … not a good dancer. You realize that’s an understatement? It’s like saying zombies like to eat brains. Have you ever seen a toddler trying to jump? They clench their little fists, bend their knees, screw up their faces in concentration, then try to make the leap. They launch, they jerk up, but their feet stay glued to the floor.
That’s how Dad dances. He picks a spot and doesn’t budge from it, dancing in his strange, jerky bounce with a fierce look of concentration on his face.
And pity the poor fool who tries to change the music while Dad’s away from his DJ table. His normal, easygoing gaze turns on anyone going within two feet of our old CD player and freezes them on the spot. He doesn’t stop bouncing, just turns his head and shoots invisible hate rays from his eyes until the offender backs away from the music.
1:00 a.m. Party went off without a hitch. Everyone surprised. Especially Mom. She floated around the house congratulating herself on a great party. I understand why she did it, but it must have looked a bit self-absorbed to those who didn’t know our history of terrible events. Even Dad’s rendition of “Danny Boy” got a smattering of polite applause. Everyone’s gone home now. Time for sleep.
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1
New Year’s Day
I couldn’t be bothered writing this last night because I was too exhausted after the party, but as I was closing my curtains to get ready for bed I saw a movement in the yard below. I opened the window and leaned out into the cold air, trying to see what had caught my attention.
Then I saw him.
Anti-Snuffles.
He was sitting in the middle of the lawn, basking in the glow of the streetlight. Staring at me. Seriously. He was staring directly at me. If he’d had fingers he’d have been doing that pointing-at-his-own-eyes-then-pointing-at-me thing. You know, the one that means “I’m watching you.”
I grabbed the butterfly net and ran downstairs, but by the time I opened the front door he’d vanished.
Seriously worried about this. Was he coming for me? Did turning into a zombie hamster give him some sort of superintelligence? Was he the world’s first zombie hamster supervillain?
THURSDAY, JANUARY 2
I e-mailed Charlie and told her to come over. I couldn’t keep this a secret any longer.
“So let me get this straight,” she said, after I’d explained it to her. “Your dad bought you a hamster from a sleazy store, and now it’s turned into a zombie?”
“Yes!”
“And it’s escaped?”
“Yes!”
“And you called it Snuffles?” she asked, trying not to laugh.
“I didn’t call it Snuffles! The name sort of came with the hamster. But now he’s called”—I paused dramatically—“Anti-Snuffles.”
Charlie frowned at me. “Auntie Snuffles? That’s a weird name for a zombie hamster.”
“Not ‘Auntie’ as in a relative. ‘Anti’ as in the opposite of. The evil version.”
“Got it. Well, I like the name Auntie Snuffles. Was the hamster a boy or a girl?”
“I have no idea.”
“A girl, I think. Auntie Snuffles, the zombie hamster. It has a nice ring to it.”
“It’s Anti-Snuffles!” I protested. I mean, come on. It’s kind of hard to be freaked out by a hamster called Auntie Snuffles.
“Do you want my help?” Charlie asked.
“Well, obviously,” I said. “Why else would I call you over?”
“Then what’s her name?” asked Charlie pointedly.
I sighed. “Auntie Snuffles,” I mumbled.
“Good,” said Charlie brightly. “Now, let’s see if we can find her and release her into the wild.”
I should point out here that Charlie is a bit of an activist, even though, in my opinion, she sometimes gets a bit confused about what she’s being an activist for. She’s currently a member of the Undead Liberation Front, a group of students campaigning to allow deadbeats to roam around outside the walled cities and live their own lives without interference from us. Free from Zee-Zees and that kind of stuff. When I tried to point out to her that it was hard to give zombies their freedom when all they really wanted to do was leap for your throat, she told me it was an internal liberation.
Then she punched me in the arm.
We put on our deadbeat defense uniforms. Charlie had a hockey goalkeeper outfit. I was a bit jealous of that, especially when I pulled on my mom’s boots and Charlie laughed and headed out into the backyard.
We spent ages searching for any sign of Anti-Snuffles (I refuse to call him Auntie Snuffles), but couldn’t find anything. I even got my Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass to check for footprints, but the ground was frozen solid.
Charlie eventually got bored and went home
to play Runespell against Calvin and Aren.
FRIDAY, JANUARY 3
Had to come up with a plan. I couldn’t let Mom or Dad find out about Snuffles. I mean, that’s obvious. First, I’d get into trouble because I let the hamster die, even though it wasn’t my fault, and second, Dad would get into serious trouble (from Mom and from the authorities) for buying a pet without the proper paperwork. So I took Katie to the local Toys ᴙ Us. (I had to take her with me. What if I’d been spotted buying what I wanted to buy? My already shaky street cred would have gone up in smoke.)
Of course, getting Katie there in the first place wasn’t exactly easy. When I went upstairs to ask her, she was playing with her Cally and Edward dolls, the ones she got for Christmas, pushing them in Cally’s pink car. But as I watched she rammed the car full speed into her new dollhouse. Cally’s head flew from her shoulders, and an explosion of red burst from the headless doll, splattering up everywhere. Tomato sauce. I hoped.
Edward was flung from the car as well. Katie made him crawl across the carpet and propped him up against the dollhouse with Cally’s plastic head in his lap.
“Oh, Cally,” said Katie in her Edward voice, “this is all my fault. If only I had a brain instead of good looks, I would have told you to put your safety belt on. But my brain is the size of a walnut, and now all I’ve got left is your head.”
Katie then put on her Cally voice. “Oh, Edward. Did you realize that the human brain can still function for up to three minutes after decapitation? Kiss me, my love. Let my last sight be your beautiful but stupid lips.”
She then switched to her Edward voice again. “Eew, gross, Cally. Anyway, I was bringing you here to break up with you. I’m seeing your sister Sally. So this all worked out really well for me. Ha-ha-ha.”
Cally voice: “Foiled again! It serves me right for not paying attention in school and relying on my good looks to get me through life. If only—eurgh.”
Edward voice: “Good. Now she is dead. Perhaps a bear will eat her, and I won’t even have to bother with a funeral.”
It was at this point I closed my wide-open mouth and interrupted her, asking her to come with me. She agreed, but only if I bought her a Wednesday Addams doll.
A small price to pay to keep from being found out, I’m sure you’ll agree.
So I’ve kept up the suspense long enough. I bet you’re wondering what I bought. I went down there planning on buying a small remote-control dog, or a hamster or a guinea pig. Anything that I could bury in the sawdust and activate whenever Mom came near. My thinking was that I could move it around in the sawdust so she thought he was still alive.
I found something even better. Okay, it’s a kitten, but a kitten that activates whenever someone comes close to it. Some kind of infrared sensor or something. I had to take out its voice box, though, seeing as it meowed and purred every time you walked past it.
(Katie walked in on me doing that. A knife poised above the toy’s throat. She stared at me for a while, then nodded and said, “I approve, big brother. Carry on.”)
But it’s all set up perfectly now. I’ve put the cage in the corner of my room, by the top of my bed. No one needs to go near there for anything. If Mom does venture up that way, Snuffles 2.0 will wriggle around a bit beneath the sawdust, looking like a real, living hamster.
It’s even brown, just like Snuffles 1.0.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 4
10.00 a.m. Had a visit from the Neighborhood Communications Officer. She was a tall, thin woman with her hair tied up so tight it pulled her face back as if she was standing in a gale-force wind. Every time she talked, the tension made her hairline shiver and tremble. I kept expecting her hair to burst free from its bindings, erupting into a huge, bushy halo, while her face sagged back into its natural wrinkles and lines.
“Is your mother/father/caregiver or nanny in?” she asked when I answered the door.
I thought about this. “Yes, yes, no, and no.”
She frowned slightly. At least she tried to, but the only outward appearance was a tiny line appearing in the center of her forehead.
“May I speak with one of them?”
I thought back to the last time I had seen my parents. Mom had been standing in front of our faulty oven, scolding it hysterically and trying to stop it from popping open, and Dad had been trying to do something he called the moonwalk instead of writing like he was supposed to be doing.
“They’re a bit busy,” I said. “Can I take a message?”
“I suppose so. But make sure you tell them, yes? Failure to pass on a message from a designated NCO can result in a fine and/or imprisonment. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Good. Message is as follows: All families are to report to the town green tomorrow at eleven a.m. sharp, when there will be an important government announcement. Good day to you, child.”
10:30 p.m. As I was drifting off I suddenly realized I had forgotten to tell Mom and Dad about the meeting on the town green. Will cook them breakfast before I break the news. That should soften them up.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 5
Plan failed. Mom and Dad in miserable mood. Sure, I forgot all about it and only remembered to tell them with twenty minutes to go, but is that any reason to get upset?
Freezing cold today. Our breath misted before us as we all waited outside city hall. Vendors were selling hot chocolate and coffee, and my freezing hands were wrapped around a cup of boiling brown water while I tried to stamp the circulation back into my feet. I couldn’t tell if I got the coffee or hot chocolate. It tasted terrible either way.
The doors of city hall finally opened. The mayor stepped out, blinking in the bright winter sunlight, clutching Pugsley to his chest.
But no one paid any attention to him. Everyone’s attention was focused on the man emerging behind him.
He was about six feet tall. His dark skin and long leather jacket stood out against the snow-draped buildings and trees. The mayor opened his mouth to speak, but the man stepped in front of him and surveyed us all with a penetrating stare. I couldn’t help feeling he looked vaguely familiar.
“Hey,” said Dad. “That’s—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish, because the man put his hands on his hips and started speaking.
“My name,” he called out, “is Kilgore Dallas. And before anyone asks, yes, that’s my real name. I had it legally changed.” His voice was deep and booming. It resonated around the square outside city hall. “Some of you may recognize me from the movies I used to make before I retired from acting to become a full-time zombie hunter. But I want you to know that was a different life.” He flashed a bright smile. “That’s right. I’m Kilgore Dallas, and I’ll be your new head warden.”
This caused a wave of impressed murmuring to sweep through the crowd. Since the formation of the Zombie Squads, every town now also had a head warden, an experienced zombie hunter whose responsibility it was to educate and protect the town in case of an attack.
Our previous head warden was Old Man Ebenezer, who, despite his name, wasn’t actually a villain from a Scooby-Doo cartoon. It was about time he was replaced, though. He was about a hundred years old or something. The zombies were in better shape than Old Man Ebenezer.
“Now I just want you to know that I don’t think I’m better than any of you because I can obliterate a zombie’s head at thirty feet while simultaneously wielding a bowie knife with my teeth. And make no mistake, I can do that. I lived with a wolf pack in Siberia. I became a member of their pack. They taught me their wolfy ways.” He gave us a long stare. “The reason I’m better than you is a combination of genetics, intelligence, and charisma.” He cracked a smile. “Plus I’m easy on the eyes. Am I lying, ladies?”
An old man standing next to me leaned down to whisper in my ear. “He’s not lying, sonny. That’s as fine a specimen of a man as you’re ever likely to see.”
“This town has become lazy,” continued Dallas. “Soft. Your security is a joke. You need t
o toughen up, and I’m the man who’s going to make sure that happens.” He swept us all with a fierce look. “And I know there’s one person here who agrees with me. Thomas Hunter? Where are you?”
Thomas Hunter? Dad? What did Kilgore Dallas want with Dad?
Judging by the sudden sickly color of his face, Dad didn’t know, either.
“What have you done now, Tom?” whispered Mom.
Dad shrugged helplessly and slowly raised his hand. Dallas zeroed in on him immediately.
“There he is. My man in Edenvale. Give that man a round of applause. Come on. Do it!” Dallas waited until the hesitant applause had died away. “Never in the twenty years the Zombie Zappers have been in use have I heard a better voice track. Honest! Truthful! None of this poetry garbage! None of this whining about dead relatives. Just pure, honest, gutsy tell-it-like-it-is. You, sir, are the man.”
I tried to shrink down into my shoulders. Dallas had obviously heard about the Zee-Zee recordings and thought Dad did them.
“Okay, listen up. There are some changes I’m going to make over the next few months, but the first thing I want to do is make sure you guys are prepared in the event of a zombie invasion. To that end, it’s now compulsory for all citizens, male and female, over the age of ten to participate in zombie preparation drills. What that means is, I’ll lead you outside the wall, and we’ll hunt us some zombies.” He raised his hands in the air. “And before all you parents start freaking out about your kids, just don’t. Okay? Just don’t. I’ll be there, and I’ll protect them with my life. No stinkin’ deadbeat is going to take one of Edenvale’s kids. Not on my watch!”
A burst of spontaneous applause broke out.
“Now, any questions?”
Dad raised his hand. So did quite a few others. Dallas pointed at Dad.
My Zombie Hamster Page 3