Rice and Zoe leaned over the breakfast table, reading the story.
“The evil genius of BurgerDog,” Rice said with a hint of wonder in his voice. “What’s the plan, Zacky boy?”
Zack spread the road map open now. “We gotta get from here to here.” He dragged his pointer finger from Memphis, where they were, all the way west to Montana.
“Awesome plan.” Zoe rolled her eyes skeptically.
“Wait, what’s in Montana?” asked Ozzie.
“Here,” said Rice, tossing Ozzie the newspaper.
“We can’t drive to Montana,” Zoe said. “We’ll never make it!”
“We made it this far, didn’t we?” said Rice.
“Yeah, when we had a freakin’ airplane or a helicopter,” Zoe argued. “And when Ozzie’s leg wasn’t broken.”
“You guys, we have to find this guy!” Zack pleaded. “He’s the only one who can help us.”
“Okay, but…” Rice thought for a second while Ozzie and Madison finished reading the BurgerDog article. “Maybe this Duplessis guy won’t want to help us. Maybe he just wants to zombify everything for, like, world domination. Or maybe it’s a mind-control experiment gone horribly wrong. Or maybe he’s trying to create an army of—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ozzie interrupted. “This guy’s got a high-tech lab, so either he’s gonna help us out, or we’re gonna bust him up. End of story.”
Just then, a hulking, shadowy figure darkened the doorway. The faceless voice bellowed in a Southern twang. “She’s a beaut, ain’t she?”
“Hey!” Zack swung around. “Where the heck did you come from?”
“Suppose I might ask you the same dog garn question,” the big man said and stepped the light. He stood about six foot four was dressed hideously—red-and-yellow checkered pants, a light blue corduroy sport coat over a pink button-down with a wide collar. A twisted tangle of gold chains dangled around his thick flabby neck. “Name’s Leon Swanberg.” The used-car salesman stuck out his hand. “Looks like you’re in the market for a vee-hickle. Am I right or am I right?”
“Right you are, sir,” Rice shook the man’s hand. “We’d like to borrow this Winnebago, please.”
“Borrow?” A frown fell over the salesman’s face.
“You know, kind of like a loaner.”
“I don’t think so, kid. Cash is king, and I’m King of Cash. Just lendin’ stuff out for free…” He shuddered. “Don’t seem natural.”
“Mr. Swanberg, we really need this RV,” Zack pleaded.
“For what exactly?”
“So we can unzombify everybody and save the world, duh…,” Madison said.
“Unzomblify?” The salesman looked at them dubiously. “Is that a fact?”
“We have the anti—” Zoe started to say, but Zack silenced her with an elbow to the ribs. “Ow!” Zoe grabbed her side.
“We just need it,” Zack said. “That’s all.”
Big Leon grabbed his chin and thought for a moment. “I can let y’all take the Winnie for oh, say, ten thou.” He puckered his lips and nodded.
“Ten grand,” Zoe scoffed. “Give us a break!”
“Tell ya what, I’ll even throw in a copy of the yellow pages … so y’all can see over the steering wheel.” Swanberg let out a beefy chuckle.
He was the only one laughing.
“We’ll bring it back when we’re done,” Madison promised.
“It’s a lose-lose for me, dontcha git it? Chances are you are all gonna get eaten by those zombie suckers, in which case I ain’t never gonna see my car agee-in. Or now say you do unzomblicate everybody…”
“Unzombify,” Rice corrected.
“Don’t talk when I’m talkin’, boy!” the salesman snapped. “My point is either way I ain’t never gonna get compensated for this here fine vee-hickle.” He slapped the tin siding of the Winnebago and left a dent. “If y’all save the world, yins probably be on the cover of magazines, gittin’ spots on all the late-night talk shows, and y’all’ll forget all about old Leon Swanberg, who gave yee the necessary means to accomplish your mission.”
“Fine, if we get famous, we’ll pay you,” Zack said. “And we won’t get eaten.”
“That’s what they all say.” Old Leon’s face went rigid. “I need a guarantee.”
“Listen, Mister,” Ozzie said. “We’re guaranteed by the executive branch of the United States government, and you, sir, are in direct violation of numerous federal statutes.”
“Nice try, kid” He pushed the little army brat away. “But you can’t con a con man. Now if you’re not gonna make a purchase, then I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Fine!” Zoe dug through her mom’s purse. “But all we have are credit cards.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so, little lady?” His voice perked up. “Lemme go draw up the paperwork and this puppy is all yours.”
“Here.” Zoe handed him Mrs. Clarke’s American Express card.
“Don’t leave home without it.” The plaid-panted sleazebag took the credit card and strolled off toward his office.
“Zoe!” Zack strained in a low voice. “We can’t buy a car!”
“Why not?” she said.
“Mom’s gonna kill us!” he said.
“Mom’s a zombie, Zack. She was gonna kill us anyway.”
A few minutes later, Swanberg returned holding a bunch of contract papers. Zack winced and cosigned his name next to Zoe’s. “Pleasure doing business with you.” The salesman said, handing over the keys.
“Yeah, thanks,” said Zack. He swiped the keychain while Rice and Ozzie began to load the jugs of gasoline into the compartment beneath the cargo hold.
Mr. Swanberg opened the gate, smiling.
What a jerk, Zack thought as they pulled out into the zombified night.
CHAPTER
The Winnebago sped over a long, flat bridge spanning a wide river, driving into downtown Memphis. On the sidewalk, a black crow perched on a decapitated zombie head and nipped at the undead meat with its beak.
Ozzie swung a right onto Beale Street, and they coasted under a gigantic neon guitar outside a blues club and past a skull-and-crossbones hanging above a voodoo souvenir shop. Both signs buzzed and flickered in the darkness. A few scattered zombies roamed the streets, barely noticing the RV shuttling through the city.
A short while later, the Winnebago made a wide left turn onto Elvis Presley Boulevard and passed a sign for Graceland. Up ahead a small shopping mart came into view, and Ozzie steered the Winnebago into its parking lot. “All right, guys,” he said. “Lets stock up quick and get back on the road.”
They hopped out of the Winnebago and moved toward the entrance in silence. Zack noticed a Holiday Inn set back from the road. The billboard out front read WELCOME TO ELVIS WEEK!
In front of the store, Rice pulled on the doors, but they were locked. Zack cupped his hands on the glass and peeked inside. The place was deserted, the inventory untouched.
Zoe picked up a brick lying at the side of the building. “Looks like we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way.” She raised her arm to throw, but Madison caught her by the wrist.
“Simmer down, Zoe.” Madison walked up to the door and pushed on the handle. The door opened, jingling the welcome bell. She cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Come on, dummies.”
Once inside the store, Zoe and Madison went straight for the bath and body section to pick out some cosmetics. Rice walked down the snack aisle sweeping items into a basket. “Chips, soda, gummy worms, Cheez-Its, raisins for Madison, chips for moi.” He then wandered over to a Halloween display, investigating all the weird costumes and gigantic bags of candy.
Zack’s stomach growled. It was the first time since this whole thing began that he was actually hungry. At his feet, Twinkles panted, tongue hanging out. Someone else was hungry, too. Zack took a can of fancy dog food off the shelf and pulled back the tab. He set the puppy chow on the ground and petted Twinkles as the tiny pooch feasted away.
“Rice, get me some of those peanut butter M&Ms,” Zack called out, walking down an aisle. “And some Sour Patch Kids.”
Nobody responded. “Rice,” Zack said loudly.
Still, no answer.
“Guys?” Zack called out, getting nervous.
Silence, then laughter.
“This isn’t funny!”
Then Zoe’s voice rang out. “There’s a special on chill pills, little bro… You should pick some up for yourself.”
“Thanks,” Zack shouted back. “I’ll get you a two-liter bottle of shut the heck up while I’m at it.”
Then as he turned the corner at the end of the aisle, something jumped out in front of him.
“Rarrrrgh!”
“Ahhhh!” Zack leaped back into a soup-can pyramid, knocking the display to the floor.
Rice laughed, pulling off a zombie Halloween mask.
“Stop doing that!”
“Sorry.” Rice shrugged. “I can’t help it sometimes.”
“Come on, children,” Ozzie said one row over. “Quit messing around.”
Zack and Rice turned down the next aisle, where Ozzie was grabbing two boxes of protein bars and a couple of Gatorades. “Ready?”
By the end of the supermarket sweep, their shopping baskets overflowed with every road-trip necessity imaginable: snacks and drinks, candy, toilet paper, disinfectant, batteries, paper towels, more snacks, toothbrushes, toothpaste, flashlights, water jugs, rubber gloves, plates, napkins, plastic forks and knives, travel-size board games, a deck of cards, CDs, electronics, DVDs, celebrity magazines, lip gloss, the Halloween mask, and, perhaps most important, Febreze.
When the boys walked to the front, Madison and Zoe were over by the register, scanning their items one by one.
“What are you doing?” Rice gave the girls a weird look.
Zoe punched in the total to the credit card machine and swiped the card in the reader. “Checking ourselves out. Duh!”
Zack rolled his eyes. “What else is new?”
As the girls bagged up the last of their goodies, a limping figure barged inside through the front door, clutching at the air. “Raaaaaaaargh!”
The zombie man wore a tight white jumpsuit with a bald eagle bedazzled on the front. Thick curly chest hair spilled out of the V-neck, all matted with sludge.
“OMG,” said Madison. “Somebody call the fashion police.”
Zoe picked up a soup can, wound up like a major league pitcher, and hocked a fastball at the zombie freak’s noggin.
WHAM! The zombified weirdo dropped to the floor.
“Strike one!”
“Nice shot!” Madison high-fived her friend.
Rice walked over to the fallen zombie and studied its funny-looking costume, the oversize sunglasses, slick black hair, and swooping sideburns. “Elvis impersonator,” he concluded. “Cool.”
“Not cool!” Zack glanced out the storefront, where a large gang of zombies obstructed their path to the RV and now threatened to block their only exit.
“Come on!” shouted Ozzie, and they hauled their booty outside, navigating through the broken doorway.
A dozen big jowly men with sideburns and thick chest fur gawked at them with lazy-eyed sneers. Some rocked big sparkly sunglasses with cracked lenses. Others wore red-and-gold capes. They all wore the same blank, dark liquid stare.
“Elvis convention…” Rice’s eyes went wide with delight. “Sick.”
The zombie Elvises plodded toward them like a goal line defense, frothing at the mouth, twitching vigorously with each rigorous step.
One of the Elvis lookalikes veered forward, grunting and grinding with a pelvis-led shimmy. Zack tried to sprint away, but the ghoulish freak lunged forward and took him by the elbow.
“Ouch! Let go!” Zack yanked his arm back as hard as he could, but the undead Elvis impersonator hung tight with a firm grip, panting at Zack, who kept pulling. The man’s meaty hand wouldn’t let go.
CHOMP!
The zombie clamped its scraggly brown teeth into Zack’s forearm.
A sharp volt of pain shot through Zack’s chest as the ravenous glutton tore into his skin like a turkey drumstick.
“It’s eating me!” Zack screamed and ripped his arm away, as the Elvis lookalike chewed the armflesh with its mouth open.
Nom nom nom…
Zack staggered back and fell to the pavement in a daze of pain and shock.
The beady-eyed beast thrust its jaw forward and lunged at Zack for a second helping. Zack clambered to his feet, clutching his arm. He spotted a clear lane to the Winnebago and went for it. WHAM! He slammed into a wall of polyester as another zombie Elvis hip-checked him back to the ground with a sidelong pelvic thrust. Zack’s head bashed back on the cement and his eyes flashed red.
“Hoobity-hoobla!” The Elvis zombie raised its claws, and Zack could hear his own heart thumping as he cowered on the blacktop. He shielded his eyes with his bleeding arm, steeling himself for the zombie’s death clamp. But none came. Instead, something heavy plopped beside him on the ground.
Zack’s eyes popped open to see the zombie galoot splayed out on the pavement. Ozzie Briggs stood over him, blowing imaginary gun smoke off the rubber end of his crutch.
“Come on, slowpoke!” Zoe yanked her brother’s good arm and pulled him to his feet. “Giddyup!” Zack half-ran, half-fell as she dragged him away from the undead lounge lizards and toward the Winnebago. Ozzie galloped on his crutches and plopped into the driver’s seat next to Madison, riding shotgun with Twinkles. Zack and Zoe dove in the getaway ride, and Rice slammed the door.
Zack collapsed on his back while the swarm of undead Elvis wannabes pummeled the sides of the Winnebago with their fists.
Boom! Bang! Whap!
“Go!” Madison yelled, and Ozzie hit the gas.
The engine vroomed, and the rear tires spun up smoke as they peeled out screeching into the bloodred dawn.
CHAPTER
Twinkles slipped off Madison’s lap and trotted back to Zack, lying wounded on the bottom bunk. The little puppy jumped up on Zack’s chest and touched his face with its paw. As they shuttled up the highway, Madison turned on the radio and tuned the knob through the stations. There was nothing but static on every channel. The national Emergency Alert System had long since given up.
“Ugh.” Madison pouted. “I just want to hear some music…”
Zack’s arm throbbed, searing with pain, and he bit his lip as Rice tended to his zombie bite. Rice was humming a little ditty when he suddenly broke into song. “You ate nothin’ but a BurgerDog … growlin’ all the time.” It was his made-up version of an Elvis classic. “You ate nothin’ but a BurgerDog … all covered in slime.” Zack glared at his friend, wishing he would stop singing.
“You ain’t never caught a Chaser, but you bit a friend of mine.” He smiled and did his best Elvis imitation. “Thank you very much.”
“I don’t think she was talking about that kind of music, Rice,” Ozzie said.
“Ew.” Zoe leaned down from the top bunk. “He isn’t going to turn into a zombie again, is he?”
“Yup,” Zack said. “And then I’m going to eat your face off.”
Zoe punched her fist into her hand and snorted. “I don’t think so.”
Zack wondered if he might really turn back into a zombie. He didn’t feel sick yet. Despite the pain in his arm, he felt fine, actually. But he didn’t know for sure if he would rezombify. Madison couldn’t, but that was Madison. She couldn’t zombify at all. Zoe hadn’t been rebitten yet, so there was no way to really know.
Rice finished wrapping the gauze and looked at Zack. “Tell me if this hurts.” He jabbed his index finger into the bandaged-up bite wound.
“Ow!” Zack yelped. “Dude!”
“You’ll be fine.” Rice patted Zack’s head. “Just get some rest.” Then he called to Ozzie in the front of the Winnebago. “Hey, Oz, so, like, we’re the only two left who can turn into zombies… Isn’t that cool?”
“Yeah,” Ozzie replied, keeping his eye on the road. “Totally.” He weaved the Winnebago through an obstacle course of undead flesh-eaters cluttering up the highway.
Zack could hear their subhuman moaning over the hum of the motor. He pulled the window curtain to the side and stared out at the interstate, watching the trees whiz by silently. The sun blazed brightly in the clear blue sky as they sped along the northbound highway up the east bank of the Mississippi River. An infinity of zombies stumbled over the rolling hillsides, casting long shadows in the morning light.
Same nightmare. Different day.
Madison and Zoe rolled down the windows as the road opened up and the zombies grew sparser. The air was crisp, whisking in from the cool morning. They rode on for some time in silence. Things were almost peaceful for a while, and Zack’s mind started to drift.
Then out of nowhere, the Winnebago slowed to a halt. A sickening scent wafted in through the open windows, and everything reeked of old toe jam. Madison covered her mouth and sprayed Febreze air freshener.
“Why are we stopping?” Zack asked, covering his mouth. “It stinks!” He stuck his head between the front seats and peered through the windshield.
A cloudy sky loomed over the Mississippi, and distant lightning pulsed behind the pine-clad hills on the western horizon. In front of them, a massive traffic jam clogged up the bridge the entire way across. Dozens of zombies lumbered through the gridlock.
They had no choice but to turn around. Rice studied the map intently now. “Keep going north, and we can cross at this other bridge.”
“Roger dodger, Rice-man.” Ozzie shifted gears and reversed the RV down the sloped pavement back the way they came.
“Rice, are you sure you know where you’re going?” Zack asked.
“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll be there in no time.”
While they wended their way through the smalltown streets of Collinsville, Illinois, Madison and Zoe sat in the back, painting their nails at the breakfast table.
Sludgment Day Page 3