Rise of ZomBert

by Kara LaReau

  He spent time with her just as the sun went down, allowed her to run her gentle hands over his fur. Her kind wasn’t always gentle, but she was. He liked the way she looked into his eyes as she talked to him. He trusted this girl, even though he knew he shouldn’t. But he always let her know when their time together was done, and she always opened the window for him. She gave him his freedom, unlike the others.

  Night after night, he hunted, and with each meal, he could feel his strength not just returning, but growing. He needed his strength for what would come next.

  On Tuesday, Bert left three headless birds on our back porch.

  On Wednesday, I found five headless mice.

  On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I found two headless moles, a headless chipmunk, and a headless garter snake.

  On Sunday, I found ten headless crickets. Each time, I managed to bury the evidence before my parents saw it. I hoped they wouldn’t notice how lumpy our backyard had become.

  “Meow,” Bert would greet me in the morning from under the rhododendron bush. His fur was growing back and looking sleek, and he definitely didn’t look scary-skinny anymore. His all-brain diet seemed to be working.

  Each time he attempted to share his “feasts” with me, I made sure to thank him. I kept blinking at him, but he wouldn’t blink back. I tried not to feel too disappointed. We were still family, I kept reminding myself, even if he didn’t want to kiss me.

  Monday was the first day of our organism reports. Since I picked number three, I had to give mine that day. But I was ready; I drew a picture of a cat on poster board and labeled all the body parts. Thanks to my phone, I had lots of pictures of cats from The Cat Book, and photos of Bert to share: sleeping under the rhododendron bush, sitting in my lap, and even scent marking against my fingers. And of course, I had all my cat facts.

  When Danny and I got to school, we saw a bunch of kids crowded around Carl Weems. He was giving his report first that day, and I could see he was even more prepared than I was. He was holding a cage covered with skull-and-crossbones stickers, and inside the cage were two actual rats.

  “Maybe I should have brought Bert?” I said as we locked up our bikes.

  “He’d probably would’ve been asleep the whole time,” Danny reminded me. He was probably right.

  Other than the living visual aids, Carl’s report wasn’t all that great. He hardly had any facts about rats, other than what they ate (everything, apparently) and what their poop looked like. But it didn’t matter; aside from me and Danny, everyone in class was fascinated.

  “So, this is Chunk and Zoomer,” Carl said. He opened the cage and took out the rats, holding one in each hand. They seemed pretty wriggly and twitchy, and their paws looked like tiny pink human hands. Their tails were long and hairless.

  “Which one is which?” Marco Lanza asked.

  “Chunk is the fat one, duh,” Carl said. “But they both eat a lot.”

  “Can we hold them?” asked Will Gorton.

  “Sure!” said Carl. But when he went to hand Chunk and Zoomer to Will, Mr. James stopped him.

  “I think it’s best if we all observe these animals while they’re in their cage,” he said. “We wouldn’t want anyone to drop them.”

  “Or contract the bubonic plague,” Danny whispered to me.

  Carl and the rest of the class seemed disappointed as he put the rats back in their cage and gave the latch on the cage door a little extra nudge to lock it in place. The rats looked out at all of us with their beady eyes. I was glad that was as close as I was going to get to them.

  Owen Brown went next with his stegosaurus report. He didn’t tell us anything I didn’t already know about dinosaurs, but he did make a pretty cool diorama with a plastic stegosaurus and T. rex, and an action figure he’d dressed like a caveman. Mr. James gently reminded him that cavemen and dinosaurs never coexisted.

  Carl snorted. “Looks like Brown’s diorama is a big fat turd!” he exclaimed.

  “We’re not always going to have the right answers,” Mr. James informed the class. He clapped Owen on the shoulder before he sat down. “What’s important is that we’re all here to learn. Now, who’s next?”

  “Me,” I said. I set up my notecards and my poster board with my cat diagram, and Danny helped me hook up my phone to the projector so I could start the slideshow I put together from the photos I took. But I didn’t even get to start talking, because everyone in the class was laughing.

  “What . . . is . . . that?” Nina Chen asked, pointing to the image of Bert projected on the screen.

  “A cat,” I said. I cleared my throat. “This report is about cats.”

  “My cat doesn’t look like that,” Nina said. “Felicity has both her ears. And all of her teeth and fur. And her eyes don’t look . . . evil.”

  “That’s because it’s a zombie cat. They even call it ZomBert,” Carl informed everyone. “It’s way uglier in person, and it smells worse than garbage. It even eats brains.”

  “Many animals enjoy eating the heads of their prey,” Mr. James said. “The head is very rich in nutrients.”

  “Eeeeeewwwwww . . .” It was as if the whole class was saying it at once.

  “Okay, settle down,” Mr. James said. “Like I said, we’re all here to learn. So let’s give Mellie our undivided attention.”

  But I didn’t want everyone’s undivided attention. I wanted to disappear.

  “Cats are small, furry, carnivorous mammals,” I began. I showed an image from The Cat Book of two kittens snuggling.

  “They’re not all furry,” Carl muttered when I showed a photo of Bert curled up under the rhododendron bush.

  Everyone started laughing again.

  Somehow I managed to get through the rest of my report. While everyone snickered at my photos of Bert, I kept my eyes on my notecards and read them as fast as I could. When I was done, I rolled up my poster board and rushed back to my seat. “Good job,” Danny whispered.

  “A little rushed, Ms. Gore, but very informative,” Mr. James said. “So . . . who’s next?”

  I was glad Danny was with me on the ride back to my house. He knew I didn’t feel like talking, so he didn’t say much, either. We just pedaled together in silence, our tires bumping over the cracks in the sidewalk.

  “I keep forgetting to hang up those YummCo Animal Pals flyers my mom gave me,” he said. “Want to help me?”

  I nodded. I was glad for the distraction. We pulled over and Danny got the flyers out of his backpack; we started putting them up on telephone poles with the tape Ms. Hurley gave us. It’s nice of YummCo to support such a worthy cause, I thought. Even though, technically, they owned the animal clinic, too. And the flyer was mainly a YummCo logo and a photo of Mr. Yumm giving his trademark thumbs-up.

  “Maybe we should bring Bert there,” I said. “The vet can check him out and make sure he’s really okay.”

  “But how are we going to get him there?” Danny asked.

  I thought for a minute. “I have a plan,” I said.

  An hour later, we were wheeling Bert through the neighborhood in the suitcase my parents bought me last year when we visited my grandparents in Michigan. I made sure to leave one corner zipped open, so Bert could get some air.

  “He doesn’t sound happy,” Danny said.

  “Well, no one likes going to the doctor,” I said. “But trust me: this is for your own good, Bert.”

  Inside YummCo Animal Pals, the wallpaper and the furniture were brown and green. The YummCo jingle was playing softly in the background.

  YummCo brings the fun-co!

  The fun has just begun-co!

  Be smart, not dumb-dumb-dumb-co!

  And fill your day with YummCo!

  “Look,” said Danny. “It’s actually him. The big man himself.”

  “Who?” I said.

  I was almost too distracted by everything else to notice that Stuart Yumm was standing there at the counter. He posed next to a bulletin board of cat photos, shaking the vet’s
hand as a photographer took their picture. He looked larger than life, with his fancy suit and brown-and-green striped tie, and his swirled orange hair looked even brighter in person. His daughter, Yolanda Yumm, was by his side.

  “It’s always fun-co to check in on one of my businesses,” he said, giving a thumbs-up for the camera. “Especially one that’s helping animals and the community.”

  “Yes, such fun-co,” Yolanda cooed. Then she flipped her perfectly straight, shiny red hair and flashed her perfectly straight, white teeth as the photographer snapped away. My parents were always raving about her best-selling cookbook and her lifestyle blog, Yumm Life, where she talked about how she balanced being a glamorous celebrity and helping her father with his business empire. I wished I had that problem.

  The only one who didn’t seem impressed by it all was Bert. We were barely inside the clinic when he started going crazy. I could barely hold on to the suitcase handle.

  “Easy, boy,” I said, trying to sound soothing. But Bert wasn’t having any of it.

  Mr. Yumm and Yolanda craned their necks.

  “Did you hear that?” Yolanda asked.

  “What?” asked Mr. Yumm.

  “I thought I heard something. And now the door’s open,” she noted.

  “Oh, that happens all the time,” the vet explained. “Especially on windy days.”

  That was it. In a flash, Bert busted out of the suitcase and ran down the street.

  “Aww, I wanted to get a photo with Mr. Yumm,” Danny said. “There goes that idea.”

  We tried to catch up with Bert, but there was no sign of him. And then Carl was behind us on his bike. Chunk and Zoomer’s cage was attached to his back fender with bungee cords.

  “That was some presentation today, Gore-eyes,” he said. “I nearly lost my lunch when you showed us those photos.”

  I didn’t say anything, because I knew the more attention Carl got, the more he’d bother us. Instead, I focused on getting as far away from him as possible, though it was hard to fast-walk while dragging the suitcase behind me. Danny did his best to keep up. Unfortunately, Carl was pedaling next to us before long.

  “You think you’re supersmart. But admit it — my report was awesome compared to yours.”

  “You didn’t even give a report. You just waved your dumb rats around,” Danny said.

  “At least my rats are cute and fun,” Carl said. “Not like her nasty zombie cat. It looks like it ate itself, and then threw up!”

  “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Danny said.

  “You don’t make any sense,” said Carl. “No one wants to be friends with you, except for a girl, Girly Hurley!”

  “Shut up, Carl!” I shouted. “Shut up and go away!”

  “MEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOW.”

  It was Bert. He must have heard me yelling. He ran toward us. When he got to Carl’s bike, and saw Chunk and Zoomer shifting around in their cage, he stopped and opened his mouth a tiny bit and sniffed. His vomeronasal organ must have been going crazy.

  “Well, if it isn’t ZomBert,” Carl said. “I bet if I ran it over with my bike, it’d be an improvement.”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  Carl rolled his bike forward.

  “Cut it out!” Danny yelled. But Carl just laughed. He flashed his dead tooth. Then he put his feet up on the pedals. “Stop!” I cried.

  “ROOOOOOOOOOWR,” Bert growled, focusing his bright yellow eyes on Carl. He puffed up what little fur he had. His ears (well, what was left of them) flattened against his head. And then, he leaped.

  “Bert! No!” I yelled. Danny almost dropped his phone, which he was using to record the whole thing.

  The next few seconds were a blur. I dropped my suitcase and lunged forward. Bert hissed and flew at Carl’s head, and Carl fell on the grass. His bike clattered to the pavement with Chunk and Zoomer still in their cage.

  “My rats!” Carl cried. “Are you okay, boys?”

  Carl opened the cage door and pulled out Chunk and Zoomer and inspected them. They seemed okay, though they were even more jittery than usual.

  “Y-you’d better keep that demon cat away from me and my rats,” Carl said. He was pale and shaky, but he still managed to get Chunk and Zoomer back in their cage, get back on his bike, and ride away.

  “He’s not a demon cat, he’s a zombie cat!” Danny called after him.

  As soon as I could catch my breath, I wanted to make sure Bert was okay.

  “Bert?” I called. But he was nowhere to be found. I ran around the back of the house and looked under the rhododendron bush, but he wasn’t there, either.

  “Maybe he’s hiding. He’s probably afraid,” Danny said.

  “Why would Bert be afraid?” I asked.

  “You did yell pretty loud,” he replied. “You kinda scared me, actually.”

  “Sorry,” I said. But the one I really wanted to apologize to was Bert. I knew he was only trying to protect his family — though I had to wonder what would have happened if Carl hadn’t jumped out of Bert’s way at the last minute.

  That night we had a thunderstorm. Just in case, I left my desk light on so Bert could find his way, and I left my bedroom window open a little bit, so I could hear if he was meowing for me to let him in. But all I saw were flashes of lightning, and all I heard as I fell asleep was the heavy patter of raindrops, the rumbling of thunder, and the howling wind. Wherever Bert was, I hoped he was safe and dry. And I really hoped he wasn’t afraid.

  I thought your ploy with YummCo Animal Pals was going to bring me results,” the Big Boss growled. “You know how much I hate photo ops.”

  “I was sure it would work,” Kari said. It had been her idea to offer the free cat food coupons for the exam. If Y-91 was being cared for by someone in town, she figured they’d bring him in for proper care. But the vet had provided photos of every cat they’d treated, and there was no sign of him.

  “It was definitely a long shot,” Greg said. Kari glared at him.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Get the hazmat team back together!” boomed the Big Boss, banging a fist on the desk. “This time, scour the whole town — I want that thing back here, dead or alive!”

  “A ‘long shot’?” Kari said to Greg after they’d left the Big Boss’s office. “Like you’ve had any better ideas. In fact, you haven’t had any ideas at all.”

  Greg shrugged. “Maybe Y-91 really is dead,” he said.

  “Even if he is dead, we still need to find him,” she reminded him. “There are all sorts of tests we need to run.”

  “Well, we’re not going to find him tonight,” Greg said, consulting his phone. “We’re in for a big storm.”

  “We’re in for a bigger storm if we don’t find that thing,” Kari said, motioning to the Big Boss’s office. “For now, we need to get back to the lab. YummCo Animal Pals just sent us a new batch of strays, and they need to be processed and tagged. Even if Y-91 doesn’t turn up, our work still continues.”

  “If Y-91 doesn’t turn up, we might not even have jobs,” said Greg.

  “Speak for yourself,” said Kari, sneering. “I’m not coming back from another search empty-handed.”

  By Tuesday morning, the storm had passed. Bert was still missing, and he hadn’t left me any headless creatures. But I did find something else on our damp back porch. I showed it to Danny on the way to school.

  “Is it a sticker?” he asked, running his finger over the skull and crossbones on it. “It looks familiar.”

  I nodded. “It’s from Chunk and Zoomer’s cage. Carl had these stickers all over it.”

  “Whoa,” Danny said. “Bert means business.”

  “He was just defending us,” I said. “Hopefully Carl will leave us alone from now on.”

  “He will, if he knows what’s good for him,” Danny said.

  But as soon as we arrived at school, Carl was in my face.

  “Chunk has been acting weird ever since your cat attacked us,” he said. “If my rat turns into a zombie,
you’re in big trouble.”

  “If your rat turns into a zombie, we’re all in big trouble,” Danny said.

  “Bert didn’t even touch your rats,” I said. Even though I didn’t know that for sure. We couldn’t see everything that happened during their run-in, even when Danny and I watched his video in slow motion. And Bert did get close enough to get that skull-and-crossbones sticker. Did he do something to Chunk? If he did, it would be all my fault.

  “If Bert really wanted Chunk and Zoomer, they wouldn’t have heads by now,” Danny said.

  All of the color left Carl’s face.

  “Just stay away from me, and stay away from my rats, if you know what’s good for you,” he managed to say as he backed away.

  “Whoa. He seems really scared,” I said.

  “Bullies are the biggest wimps. It’s a fact,” Danny said.

  All day, I wondered if Bert was going to come back, and if he was okay. But when I got home from school, he wasn’t under the rhododendron bush. Danny and I walked around the block, calling for him and looking under shrubs and in our neighbors’ garbage cans. It was hot and smelly work, and still, no Bert.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “You have all those photos of him on your phone,” Danny reminded me. “Maybe we could make some Lost Pet signs and put them around the neighborhood.”

  “But we can’t use my phone number on the signs, or my parents will find out,” I said.

  “We can’t use mine, either. I’m not allowed to give out my number,” Danny said. “But my mom never said anything about an e-mail address. I can make a new alias.”

  “Works for me.” I sat on the curb and sighed. “Do you think Bert’s gone for good?”

  “I’m an expert on ghosts, zombies, vampires, and werewolves,” Danny reminded me. “Cats are an alien species to me.”

  Though it seemed hopeless, we printed out some signs featuring our best photo of Bert along with Danny’s new e-mail address, FindBert@yummail.com, and hung them around the neighborhood. When I got home, I did my best to wash up before dinner, but I just couldn’t shake the garbage smell. In a way, it comforted me, because it reminded me of Bert.