We were toast.
And that’s when I saw the cow.
It was at the top of the little hill overlooking the baseball field where the bleachers were, and where families would sometimes spread out blankets to watch the game.
The cow was just kind of standing there, looking confused and dizzy. It staggered a little, then got its footing again, almost like it was drunk.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating because of the fight and the pain, but then that cow looked at us, and I swear it looked hungry.
It started down the hill, stumbling and unsteady, but gathering speed. A big lumbering freight train of a cow, barreling straight for us.
What the…?
The cow gave a weird groan, low and then rising. And then again, louder: “MMMMOOOOOOoooooooooo!”
Everyone else was so busy fighting that they didn’t notice. Miguel was still getting kicked, and Joe was still getting wiped.
“MMMMMOOOOOOOOOOooooooo!”
Uh-oh.
As it charged down the hill, I realized what was coming for us:
Zombie cow.
A thousand pounds of undead bovine threat, scratched and beat-up and leaking blood, and it was coming right for us.
I tore away from Dale Toomey and tackled Otis, dragging him off Joe. Joe got up to boot him, but I grabbed him and shoved him around, pointing.
“Look!”
Joe’s eyes widened at the charging animal. Otis was coming back at us, but I waved him off. “We’re done! You win!” Praying that he’d listen. Otis wasn’t all bad. At least when Sammy wasn’t around.
Otis stopped for a second. “You win!” I said again. Otis grabbed Dale and held him off. I pointed at the cow behind them. “We all better get out of here.”
Otis turned and gaped at the charging cow. “What the—”
But I wasn’t waiting to see what Otis did next. Joe and I dove into the fight, where the other five guys were kicking the stuffing out of Miguel. We got hold of our buddy and dragged him out.
Miguel was bloody and scraped, but he was still spoiling to get back into the fight. “Come on!” he shouted. “I’ll take you all on! I’m not afraid!”
The cow was coming. I could actually feel the ground shaking. I yanked Miguel around and pointed. “Zombie cow!” I shouted as it crashed toward us. “Run!”
Miguel finally got it. We ran for our lives.
Behind us, the older boys laughed.
Well, they laughed for a second.
CHAPTER 25
I thought I heard Otis and Dale shouting at their friends to shut up and run, and then all I heard was screaming and the craziest, loudest mooing in the world.
I looked back.
The cow had grabbed Bart Lewis by the arm and was shaking him around the way a dog shakes a rat with its teeth.
All the other boys were beating on the cow with their bats, but it was huge, and it didn’t seem to notice at all. With a final shake of its head, the cow tore off a chunk of Bart’s arm, and Bart flew through the air. We winced as the cow gulped down the flesh and went after the other guys.
“Should we go back?” Joe asked.
“No way,” I said. “No way we can fight a cow with just our bats.”
“But cows are stupid and slow. We should be able to chase it off.”
“Not that one.”
And it was true. That cow wasn’t calm and stupid like the normal cows we’d grown up around. Watching that zombie cow, you could see why old-time cowboys feared cattle stampedes. Cows were fast when they wanted to be. And a zombie cow… well, it was vicious, too.
A bunch of the guys were sprinting for the far side of the field now, chased by the zombie cow.
Bart lay where he’d landed in the field. Otis separated from the other five and ran over to Bart.
“This doesn’t look good.” I got on my bike and rode into the baseball diamond, to Otis. He knelt over Bart. As I got close, he looked up at me, eyes wide with shock.
“Sorry about your friend,” I said as I came to a stop.
Otis was patting Bart’s face. “He’s okay,” he said. “He’s going to be okay.” He stared after the zombie cow. It had disappeared off the field, chasing Sammy and the other three boys. “What was that all about?”
“It’s a zombie cow,” I said.
“Right.”
“Seriously. I’m not making it up. And you should get away from Bart. He’s going to be a zombie soon, too. You should probably run.”
“He’s my friend.”
“Not anymore. Now he’s a zombie.”
“I still got to help him.”
I looked down at Bart. He lay there, moaning. I’d never liked Bart much, because he was so mean, but I kind of felt bad for Otis, losing a friend like this. If it had been Miguel or Joe, it would have killed me.
“Look,” I said, “at least don’t let him bite you, or you’ll be a zombie, too. Seriously. Watch out for it. I’m not crazy and I’m not joking. If he turns weird, you got to keep him from biting you.”
I got on my bike and pedaled back to my friends.
Joe scowled at me as I rejoined them. “Why’d you do that?”
I looked back at Otis. “He was the only one who fought fair.”
“Do you see my face?” Joe pointed at the mud and blood and scraped skin. “He practically rubbed it off.”
“Yeah. But he did it alone. And when we wanted to stop fighting, he didn’t keep beating on us.”
Miguel nodded. “Yeah. He’s okay,” he said. “Maybe he won’t get bitten.”
“Now what do we do?”
The cow came lumbering back to the baseball diamond, apparently having missed catching any other snacks. Otis grabbed Bart and threw him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and stumbled off the field. I really hoped he was smart enough not to get himself bitten.
The cow staggered around the field, eating grass and then spitting it out like it didn’t taste right.
“We’ve got to call the police,” I said. “This time we’ve got a whole cow to show them. This is real evidence, now.”
“You want to tangle with the cops again?” Miguel asked.
I thought about it. “They think I’ve got a big-time lawyer.”
“That lawyer isn’t our friend. He made us sign papers not to get involved and to stay quiet about all of this.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a zombie cow, right in the middle of the baseball field, so I don’t think it’s much of a secret.”
“We could call it in anonymously,” Joe said.
“That’s better,” Miguel agreed.
So we did.
And then we waited and watched.
CHAPTER 26
But instead of the cops showing up, what we saw was a big white truck and a couple of those rent-a-cop cars drive up, and a bunch of guys in heavy leather clothes get out.
They roped the cow right up with lassos and dragged it into the truck. And then more guys got out, and they cleaned up all the blood and dug up some patches of grass, taking away the last of the evidence.
“What do you want to bet that’s Milrow Meats?” Miguel said.
“They’re running around covering everything up?” Joe asked.
“Looks like it.” I said. “But how’d they know where to go?”
Joe looked thoughtful. “My old man listens to police scanners. Maybe they heard it that way. We called in a mad cow, and they knew they were looking for zombie cows on the loose, so they knew right where to go.”
“Didn’t Maximillian say something like that when he came and got me out of jail, too? Something about the police talking all the time, or something?”
“He also said he had eyes everywhere,” Miguel said.
“Kind of seems like he does.”
The cleanup squad slammed its doors and zipped off.
A few minutes later a police car came by and tooled around the edge of the baseball field. Baby Face Boone, keeping us safe from nothing at all.
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“You know this is just going to keep getting worse,” I said.
“You mean Bart turning into a zombie?”
“And whoever else that cow bit. And whoever any other cows have bit. Milrow’s probably got a ton of those zombie cows, by now.”
Joe sort of grinned at that. “I wonder what would happen if those cows got turned into zombie burgers?”
“They’d never let that happen,” I said.
Miguel looked at me and laughed. “Milrow Meats? You mean the guys who just deported my whole family? They’d do anything to make a buck.”
“You really think they’d do something like that?” Joe asked. He had a light in his eyes that I didn’t like—a look that said WOULDN’T IT BE COOL IF THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE HAPPENED, AND I GOT TO SMACK UNDEAD ALL DAY LONG?
“If it saved money, or made money, they’d do it for sure,” Miguel said. “I’m pretty sure they called ICE on my uncle and every other worker there, and got them deported so no one could report any weirdness. Cash is king.”
“Then we’ve got to tell the police…” I started to say. I stopped halfway into the sentence as we watched the police cruiser go around the loop again.
Miguel laughed. “There they are.”
Miguel was right. The cops were idiots. Baby Face Boone wasn’t going to save us from squat.
“So it’s on us,” I said. “We’ve got to find some proof that they can’t ignore, and that Milrow can’t cover up.”
“Yeah!” Joe said. “Milrow meat raid! Throwdown! Final Battle at the Zombie Meatpacking Plant!”
“Dude. You read too many comics.”
“They should do a Left 4 Dead in a meatpacking plant. I’d totally order that with my mom’s credit card. It’d be worth getting grounded for.”
“I’m not going,” Miguel said suddenly.
I turned around, confused. “Why not?”
“Why should I?” he asked. He waved at the town. “Milrow already got rid of my family, and any day now, ICE is going to get hold of me.…” He shrugged. “What’s the point? Everyone’s always telling me this isn’t my country, and I don’t belong. Good old Sammy, you know.” Miguel touched his lip, which was fattening up from our fight. “If these people don’t want me around, I don’t see any reason to worry about them.”
“Don’t listen to Sammy,” I said. “He’s a jerk.”
“Yeah, well, so’s everyone on TV. And all those politicians running for office, saying how they’re going to get tough on immigration, like they’re going to get tough on some kind of rat infestation.” He shrugged. “The heck with them. This is their zombie apocalypse. Not mine.” He frowned. “Now that I think about it, maybe I wish I did get deported. I’ll bet Mexico’s totally safe. No way a zombie’s going to be able to cross the border.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Why not? I’ll be safe.” He shrugged again. “Anyway, it’s not my problem.”
“Then why the heck did I stand up for you?” I said. “I just got completely pounded for you.”
“If you want to come south, I’m okay with that. I think I’m going to Mexico, though. I’m done with America.”
“Miguel,” I said. “You’re the only way we can get into the meatpacking plant.”
“I already told you, I’m not going.”
“Come on! It’ll be cool!” Joe said. “I bet they got tons of zombie cow, and zombie steak, and zombie burger, and zombie intestines.”
“Who eats intestines?” I asked.
Joe shrugged. “I dunno. But I bet someone does.”
“I don’t eat any of it,” I said.
“Don’t gimme that Hindus don’t eat cows stuff,” Joe said. “Burger is too good not to eat.”
“Yeah.” Miguel nodded. “Except for zombie burgers. Anyway, they grind up all the bits of intestines and tendons and stuff and turn it into this pink slime stuff that they pour back into the burgers. My uncle told me about it.”
“That’s nasty,” Joe said. “I’m okay with zombie burgers, but pink slime? That’s going too far.”
“Okay, you guys,” I said. “Seriously, we got to make some kind of plan.”
“And like I said, I’m not going.”
“Come on, Miguel! We can’t just sneak into Milrow,” I said. “It’s locked. But your aunt and uncle used to go in and out all the time, right?”
Miguel looked stubborn. “I don’t even know if the key’s still in the house.”
“So let’s go find out.”
“Why?”
Joe was looking at Miguel. “ ’Cause we aren’t all like Sammy?”
There was a long pause. Miguel looked disgusted. “This better not get us killed.”
“Trust me. I don’t like it any better than you do.”
“What if child services or ICE or someone is watching? They’ll bust my butt.”
“A second ago, you were planning on bailing to Mexico. Now you’re worrying about ICE?”
Miguel looked down at the ground, then up at me. “I guess I owe you, for the fight. But unless you’ve got a plan to get into my house without ICE or the police or child services catching us, it still doesn’t matter.”
“No problem.” I slapped Joe on the back. “That’s why we got all-American Joe, here. No one cares what a nice blond good boy like this does, right?”
“I’m a good boy?” Joe asked, surprised.
“Today you are.”
“Cool.” He wiped his bloody nose on his arm. “Does that mean I have to clean up?”
* * *
Cleaning Joe took a while, because he’d managed to bleed all over his shirt and stuff, too. And then we had to sneak up to Miguel’s house so we could scout it out. After about ten minutes of sneaking, we ended up peeking through a hedge across the street from Miguel’s house.
“What do you think?” I asked Miguel as we surveyed the street through the bushes.
Two doors over, a dog was barking like a loon. I sure hoped it was fenced in, because I seriously didn’t want it suddenly appearing and jumping on my back.
“Dunno. It looks empty, and I don’t see anything suspicious.”
“Are you ready for me to do my thing?” Joe asked.
He was freshly scrubbed and psyched to play All-American Good Boy. He’d tried to bring a slingshot, but I’d confiscated that from him.
“No weapons!”
“What am I supposed to do if I run into ICE?” Joe protested.
“Don’t pick a fight, that’s for sure,” Miguel said.
“How come you’re the only one who gets to pick fights?”
“ ’Cause I actually win,” Miguel said. “Just get in there and see if anyone’s around.”
Joe went around the back, and a few minutes later he rode down the street on his bike, looking like some kid in a Norman Rockwell painting. He rolled up to the door and unlocked it. A second later he came out and waved for us.
“Guess nobody cares about a leftover Mexican kid,” Miguel said, as we grabbed our bikes and shoved through the hedges.
The way he said it made me worry.
He didn’t sound mad. It was more like he sounded lost.
I started to ask him what he meant by “nobody caring,” but as we were rolling up the front walk, Miguel’s nosy neighbor Mrs. Olsen came out.
She looked at us for a second, her face surprised.
“HEY!”
“Her? Again?” We dropped our bikes. Joe opened the door for us, and we all piled inside.
“Close the door!” I shouted.
But, of course, Joe was just standing there, sticking his tongue out at the lady instead.
“Get in here!” Miguel yanked Joe inside and slammed the door and locked it.
Mrs. Olsen started pounding. “I know you’re in there!” she shouted.
“We know you’re out there, too!” Joe shouted back.
Miguel smacked him upside the head. “Shut up, you idiot.”
“Ow.” Joe rubbed his head.
The lady kept banging on the door. Miguel finally came back with a plastic card. “Got it!”
“That’s the key? Is it going to work?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said. “You just swipe it.”
I looked at the card. “What if it’s like a hotel key, and they turn it off when you check out?”
Miguel said, “Well, then you’ll have to figure something else out, mastermind. This is what we got. You want to try using it, or not?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I peered out the door’s peephole. Mrs. Olsen was still out there, pacing back and forth.
“Uh-oh,” I said.
“What?”
“Looks like she’s calling someone on her cell.”
“Should we go out the back?” Joe said.
Miguel shook his head. “She’s got our bikes out there.”
“Why’s she got to butt in?” Joe scowled. “It’s not even her business.”
“You’re the one who made faces at her,” I pointed out.
“How’re we going to get around without bikes?”
Miguel looked from me to Joe. “Forget this.” He grabbed his baseball bat and opened the door. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Is he going to hit her?” Joe asked.
“Dunno.”
But I was worried. Miguel was walking toward the lady fast, the bat loose in his hands. “Please get off my lawn, ma’am,” I heard him say. “You’re trespassing.”
The woman took one look at him and bolted.
Heck, I would have been scared, too. Come to think of it, he was kind of a bigger guy than he used to be. A couple years ago, he would have looked like a bratty little kid. Now he looked like serious business.
Miguel waved at us. “Come on,” he said. “She’ll call the cops for sure now.”
“Are you crazy?” Joe asked.
Miguel shrugged. “I’m already in trouble. I’m tired of worrying about it.”
There it was—that weird tone of voice, again.
I didn’t like the sound of it at all. It sounded like someone who had lost all hope and didn’t care about consequences anymore.
Zombie Baseball Beatdown Page 11