“Names?”
“Matt Hunter.”
He shifted his gaze to Charlie. “And you?”
I tightened my grip on Charlie’s hand. She responded, then lifted her head high.
“Charlie Atkinson.”
Dallas frowned even more. “Is this some kind of joke? Ask me how much I like jokes.”
Neither of us said anything.
“I said, ask me how much I like jokes!”
“How … how much do you like jokes?” we both said.
“I don’t! Now I’ll ask again. Name?”
Charlie released my hand, then slowly lowered the hood, revealing her white face and gray eyes to Dallas.
“My name,” she said, “is Charlie Atkinson. And I’m a deadbeat.” Dallas opened his mouth but paused when Charlie raised her hand in a commanding gesture. “But as you can see, I’m very obviously a new kind of deadbeat. One who has intelligence, one who can think, speak. One who has friends. Also, this is partly your fault. I got scratched when the deadbeats invaded our camp.”
Dallas crouched down, staring hard at Charlie’s face. He reached out slowly, gently, and put a hand against her neck.
“Now ain’t this a right pain in the butt,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at the Zombie Squad still waiting behind him. None of them had lowered their weapons.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” he said. “I’ve got to put you under arrest.”
“But you can’t!” I shouted. “You can see she’s normal. She’s like us!”
“Kid, she’s not like us. Besides, I’m doing this for her protection as much as ours.” He inclined his head to indicate the Zombie Squad, who had moved closer.
“Matt,” said Charlie. “It’s okay. Maybe we can still do your plan?”
I looked around in desperation, seeking a way out. But there was none. Dallas was right. If Charlie tried to run now it would only end badly.
“Come on, kid,” said Dallas, putting a hand on her shoulder. “My van’s just up the hill.”
He led Charlie off. The Zombie Squad moved aside, keeping their weapons trained on her as she passed them by. Charlie glanced over her shoulder once and gave me a small wave.
Then the night swallowed her up.
THURSDAY, JANUARY 30
When I got home last night the first thing I did was wake Mom and Dad up and tell them what happened. They went next door to give Charlie’s mom the bad news.
This morning we headed over to the police station next to city hall. Me, Mom, Dad, and Charlie’s mom. The police confirmed that Charlie was in one of their cells, but they refused to let us see her. When Mom started making a fuss, the police put a call through to city hall, and the mayor himself waddled on over, Pugsley the pug cradled in his arms. Dallas came in behind him. He stood at the rear of the police station, arms folded, looking really uneasy.
“I’m sorry,” said the mayor to Charlie’s mom. “I really am. But your daughter is a stinkin’ deadbeat, no offense meant, and has thusly lost all her rights to be treated as a human being.”
“But you can see she’s not like the others!” shouted Mom.
“I can see no such thing. Haven’t even laid eyes on the critter. Don’t want to.”
I looked to Dallas. “Tell him! You saw her. She’s not like the others.”
Dallas was silent for a moment, then unfolded his arms and nodded. “It’s true. She seems to be holding on to her intelligence. Who she is. She can still think.”
“That may be,” said the mayor smoothly. “But it’s out of my hands. Washington is sending someone on Monday to collect her. It’s all signed and sealed. I’d love to help, I really would, but I’m afraid I have a pet show to organize.”
He smiled a fake smile and hurried out of the police station. I saw him on the big patch of grass outside city hall, shouting at some workmen who were assembling a wooden stage.
“What are they going to do with her in Washington?” I asked Dallas.
He didn’t answer. But the look on his face didn’t fill me with hope.
“Can’t you do anything?”
“Sorry, kid. My hands are tied.”
FRIDAY, JANUARY 31
His hands are tied. Huh. Well, maybe his are, but mine aren’t. I got Aren and Calvin and filled them in on everything that had happened. Then we spent the day coming up with a plan to bust Charlie out of prison. Aim high or go home.
Hmm. Not bad. That will be the tagline when they make this into a movie. Or, “They took his friend. He took their lives.” No. Maybe not. I don’t actually intend to kill anyone. “They took his friend. He … took her right back.” No, that makes Charlie sound like a possession. Anyway, I’ll sort all that out later, once I’ve written the screenplay.
We headed over to city hall. The small park outside was bustling with activity, so we were pretty much left alone to do our reconnaissance and sneakily film everything we could. The stage had been completed. It was even bigger than last year’s. The runway where the owners walked their pets was easily thirty yards long. The mayor was making sure his time in the spotlight was as long as possible. A huge tent was also being put up. Caterers were unloading plastic tables and chairs from huge vans.
We walked nonchalantly toward the police station, then headed around the back, filming the windows and even managing to check how secure the metal guards were over the glass. (Answer: very secure.)
I checked the Dumpster that was sitting against the wall. Inside was a load of junk. I grabbed an old plastic milk crate, slammed shut the lid on the Dumpster, and steadied the crate on top. Then I climbed up and peered onto the roof. Holding my phone up, I scanned the area, then dropped back to the ground.
Sneaking Charlie out the back in a Mission Impossible–style escape wasn’t going to be easy.
But I had a few ideas. I was sure I’d come up with a plan before tomorrow.
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1
6:00 a.m. I’ve run out of time! I’ve been awake all night trying to come up with a concrete plan of action. I even scoured my old books and comics to see if there were any prison breaks in them that I could copy. There were, but they all involved some form of weaponry, and that was something I didn’t have access to.
It looks like we’re just going to have to wing it.
What I do know is that we need some form of distraction. A big one. One that will get all the police to leave the station so we can enter and let Charlie go. I mean, most of the police will be out on security duty anyway, covering the crowds at the carnival and pet show. So it shouldn’t be that hard. Should it?
Anyway, here’s what I’ve got.
Mission Breakdown for Rescuing Charlie and Saving the Day
10:00 a.m. The day starts. Music, clowns, that kind of thing.
11:00 a.m. Meet up with Calvin and Aren. Make sure they know the plan.
12:00 noon Pet show begins. It lasts for about an hour, so that’s our window. When everyone will be focused on the show. Cue distraction.
1:00 p.m. Cause distraction at police station. Rescue Charlie. Broadcast a message from her on YouTube so everyone can see she’s the same as us. Just with a bit of a skin condition.
2:00 p.m. Settle in for a marathon game of Runespell with Aren, Charlie, and Calvin. The day is saved. I’m a hero.
6:00 p.m. Write screenplay of our adventures. Sell it to Steven Spielberg, Tim Burton, or Peter Jackson for a million dollars. Live carefree, happy life with servants and butlers and as much dessert as I want.
There. Not bad, huh?
10:00 a.m. I headed out to the park without Mom and Dad. They were both working with Charlie’s mom to come up with a way to get Charlie out of jail, but I knew it was a lost cause. Sometimes grown-ups talk and talk when what is really needed is action.
The park outside city hall was already filled with people. These events have always been popular in the past, but this year’s was the biggest ever. Music played over the loudspeakers. Kids were running around, then falling over and c
rying. The snow had been shoveled away from the park, but at the bottom of the rise was a frozen lake where people were skating. I could smell roasted chestnuts in the air.
Luckily, it hadn’t snowed in a week. The sky was blue, so it was a pretty good day for it, despite the cold.
I was happy with the turnout. Crowds were good for us. It meant we wouldn’t be noticed.
I met up with Calvin and Aren on the steps of city hall. It was about ten thirty, so we were ahead of schedule. Calvin was eating a hot dog with one hand and sticking his face into a bag of popcorn in between bites. Aren was very carefully testing the wind with a piece of ribbon tied to a fishing rod.
“You guys get the mission breakdown?” I asked.
Aren pulled the fishing line down. “It was a bit vague.”
I shrugged. “Better to stay loose.”
“I think Charlie would call it making it up as you go along.”
He was right. She would.
11:00 a.m. The waiting is killing me. My stomach feels like I’m about to take every single test and exam I’ve ever had. All in one go. And the longer we stand around, the more I start to realize that what we’re doing is incredibly dangerous.
But I don’t know what else to do. Charlie’s our friend. We have to get her out of there. Otherwise, who knows what will happen to her?
At least the crowds are getting heavier. A few minutes ago, five policemen and three policewomen left the station. I saw them wandering around and keeping an eye on the festival. That meant fewer of them inside.
11:30 a.m. The chairs around the runway and stage are filling up with people taking their positions for the highlight of the day. I take a deep breath and check on the others. Calvin was taking huge gulps from a Slush Puppy, and Aren was attaching a Velcro exercise strap around his head. It was holding his iPhone, facing outward.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m filming the breakout.”
“You’re what?”
“Come on. You don’t think we’re going to want to look back on this day? It’s going to be chaos in there. At least this way we’ll have a record of how it went. Think about it. We can sell it to television networks.”
Hmm. It was a good point. I wish I’d thought of it. I could use the footage for when I write the movie.
“Equal shares in the footage?” I said.
“I suppose,” said Aren. Then he put his ear-buds in.
I pulled them out of his ears. “What are you doing now?”
“Music. For the breakout. I saw it in a movie once. My own private soundtrack.”
“Aren, I very rarely get a chance to correct you about, like, anything, so forgive me if I make the most of this. But are you out of your ever-living mind?”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to be the smart one! If you’re pumping music into your ears, how are you going to hear what’s going on around you? Someone could be sneaking up right behind you and you wouldn’t know. Calvin and I could be trying to talk to you and you wouldn’t hear us.”
I felt a bit bad. Aren looked a little depressed about the whole thing. “But I saw it in a movie.”
“What movie?”
“One of the Blade films, I think.”
I rested a hand on his shoulder. “Need I say more?”
12:00 noon Showtime. (I’ve always wanted to say that. Oh, and “Wait’ll they get a load of me.” But you take what you can get.) I turned around and clapped my hands together once to get the others’ attention.
“Showtime.”
Aren looked frankly ridiculous, with his iPhone strapped to his head. And Calvin was surrounded by a pile of junk-food wrappers. He looked a bit sheepish.
“Sorry. I overeat when I’m nervous.”
Not the most professional crew for a breakout, but I suppose I had to make the most of what we had.
“First, pick up that litter.”
We waited while Calvin took his trash to the closest bin. As he was doing this an emcee skipped up onto the stage and was warming the crowd up. I think it was Brad Johnson’s dad, the local used-car salesman.
“Hi there, you beautiful people. You really are a stunning crowd. Really, I mean that. Especially you,” he said, pointing and grinning at a young lady in the crowd. Someone threw an apple at his head. I stood on tiptoes and saw that it was Brad Johnson’s mom.
“Ow. Okay. Well, yes. We have a lovely show for you today, we really do. Some amazing specimens, and some really weird ones—and they’ve brought their pets along!” He paused, waiting for applause that didn’t come. “Okay, yeah, cool. Moving on. Our first contestant is a Pekingese poodle called Genghis Khan. Really?” he said to someone offstage. “Yes, Genghis Khan. Okay then. Khan the Pekingese poodle.”
Calvin came back, and we hurried across to city hall and snuck inside. (It was deserted. It was a public holiday, after all. And it was a weekend. And if anything Dad says about politicians is true, then that was two more reasons than they needed not to come into work.) Each of us took a fire extinguisher from a wall. (There was one on each floor.) Then we headed back outside, skirted around the edge of the park, and headed toward the rear of the police station. The Dumpster was still where it had been. (I know you’re thinking, Why wouldn’t it be? But I’d had nightmares about this. That someone would come and move it or something.)
We retrieved the milk crate I’d found yesterday, then closed the Dumpster lid. We climbed up onto the Dumpster, tossed the three fire extinguishers onto the roof, and used the crate to boost ourselves up. We kept low and moved to the three skylights we had spotted when reviewing our footage yesterday. I glanced along the line. Calvin was grinning at me. Aren was serious but ready.
I nodded, and we pulled the skylights open. We got our wire ready, pulled the pins on the extinguishers, pushed the handles down, and quickly wrapped the wire around them to keep them open.
White smoky powder exploded from each extinguisher as we dropped them into the police station.
We scrambled down off the roof and around to the front of the station. I pulled three pairs of safety goggles and three mouth masks from my backpack, the kind painters use. I picked them up from the hardware store on the way to the carnival. We put them on, then waited for the first police officer to run outside and slipped in behind him.
The smoky powder was thick. Aren switched on the LED light on his phone, and we hurried down the corridor, avoiding the coughing and spluttering police who were staggering around.
We knew the layout well enough. We’d been here a few times in our lives. Not for breaking the law, but for school trips, that kind of thing.
We made our way to the rear of the building and into the jail. It was deserted. We hurried along the corridor, looking into each of the cells.
We reached the end and turned around in confusion.
They were all empty.
“Where’s Charlie?” whispered Aren.
Very good question. Where was she?
There was a noise behind us. We whirled around. A faint whirring sound was drawing closer and closer. We watched in alarm as a white, glowing light materialized, illuminating tiny whirlwinds in the smoky powder. The light grew brighter, the noise louder, the smoke turning in twisting spirals around us.
We shrank back against the bars of the cell behind us.
A tall shadow materialized in the smoke. The minitornadoes gusted away to the sides, and the shadow moved forward to reveal—one of those little portable hand fans.
And Kilgore Dallas.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
I opened my mouth. Then closed it again. Because, really, what could I say? The one thing we hadn’t come up with was an excuse if we got caught.
“Um … we got lost?” said Aren.
“Sure you did. You got lost and accidentally ended up back here. Where your friend was being held.”
“Where is she?” I asked.
Dallas was silent for a moment. “She really is di
fferent, isn’t she?”
“I told you! I said she was.”
“Keep your hair on, kid. What was I supposed to do? Surrounded by the mayor’s Zombie Squad?”
“So where is she?” I asked again.
“Thing is, the mayor decided to move her. Seems your town always has one or two incidents during this … festival. Whatever it is. Seems your police have to lock a few rowdy souls up overnight. The mayor didn’t want any of them seeing your friend.”
I took a step forward. “What has he done with Charlie?”
Dallas held up a hand. “Hey, chill.” He stared at me. “You dig?”
I stopped moving. “I dig.”
“Good. Now, Kilgore Dallas is a good guy, you know? I signed up to protect people like you from deadbeats. That girl—she isn’t a deadbeat. Least not like any I’ve ever seen. I’m not happy with her getting sent off to government labs in Washington. That’s not right. Besides, we had conversations. She’s a smart girl. She told me you guys’ theory about why she’s … like she is.”
“And?” I asked. “Do you think we’re right?”
“I think you’re right.” He sighed. “You realize how big this is? How she’s going to change the world?”
“For the better.”
“That remains to be seen.”
“I think I need the toilet,” said Calvin in a trembling voice.
“Where is she?” I said.
“Can’t tell you that.”
“But you just said—”
Dallas held his hand up again. I chilled, without him even having to ask.
“Telling you that would be breaking the law. But if I happened to be talking to you about, say, a school project or something? About city hall? About how there are old cells in the basement level? Built during the first zombie war? And that the keys for those cells happened to be hanging on a hook in the mayor’s office? If I was talking about that, then I don’t see it would be a problem.”
There was shouting from behind Dallas. I hadn’t realized, but the smoke had nearly all cleared away. Dallas glanced over his shoulder, then took out some keys, moved along the corridor, and unlocked a heavy door that led into the alley behind the station.
My Zombie Hamster Page 9