My Zombie Hamster (10 page)

“Is—is your friend all right?” asked Mrs. Wilson.

“I’m afraid we just don’t know,” I replied, glaring at Charlie. “Her parents dropped her on the head when she was a baby. Repeatedly.”

“Oh, what a shame. She does look a bit … you know … funny.”

Charlie stopped snorting and straightened up.
I knew she was probably about to say something incredibly rude and offensive, so I quickly stepped in front of her.

“The thing is, Mrs. Wilson, we’re actually searching for other missing pets in the neighborhood as well.” (True, by the way. Not a lie.) “We’d really like to take a look to see if we can spot anything.”

“Well, okay then. Come on.”

She led us around the side of the house and into the backyard. A wooden fence surrounded it. A small lawn in the middle and flower beds around the edges.

“She was over there,” said Mrs. Wilson, pointing to a mound of earth against the back fence. “It’s where she does her … business.”

We headed over to the … well, the poo graveyard, really. (What? That’s what it was.)

“What do you expect to find here?” asked Charlie.

“Yes, the odds of anything remaining are—well, they’re pretty low,” said Aren. “I could work them out exactly based on the weather, snow cover, rain, and average temperature, but it might take a few minutes.”

“Don’t tell me the odds,” I said in a gruff voice.

“Was that supposed to be Han Solo?” asked Charlie. “Because it isn’t.”

I ignored this baseless attack on my impersonating skills and studied the fence behind the spot where the cat went to the toilet.

“Look.”

There was a hole at the bottom of the fence. We all got down to study it and found some hair stuck to the edges.

“Aha!” I said triumphantly.

“That proves nothing,” said Charlie grudgingly.

“Why are we here?” said Calvin, looking around in confusion. “I think someone promised me ice cream.”

We climbed over the fence to the street on the other side. We checked the sidewalk, and sure enough there were little dark spots on the ground.

Blood.

We followed the trail all the way to a storm drain in the side of the road. The metal grating that covered it was loose, so I lifted it and peered into the huge floodwater pipes. They really were massive. I reckoned we could walk along them without having to bend over much. I hung my head through
the hole and looked both ways. There was more blood on the walls. I could see lots of tiny footprints in the mud and sludge that had collected in the drain. There could be only one conclusion.

I straightened up and faced the others. “Anti-Snuffles has an underground lair,” I said in awe. “And he’s creating an army of deadbeat pets.”

“This hamster is, like, the
coolest
zombie
ever
,” said Charlie with glee.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 15

Had a bit of a standoff with Mom today in school. I knew it was coming. After I defeated her in the War of the Seats, she had to respond. She had no choice.

See, here’s the thing. We both have everything to gain and everything to lose. If I let the class see me acting any differently from how I normally act, they’ll call me a mama’s boy. And if Mom lets me get away with anything, then everyone will say it’s unfair and I’m getting special treatment.

So I decided to kill two birds with one stone.

I got up early (which shows you how committed I was) and headed into school before Mom got there. I then superglued everything on her desk.
Everything
. The pens, the pencils, her stapler, her desk calendar, the apple that was there from yesterday.
Everything
.

She wasn’t happy when lessons started, I’ll tell you that. She tried to lift her pen. Then another pen. She stopped moving for a bit then, and the rest of the class could sense something was happening. She briefly prodded a few other items, then leaned over her desk and stared at the class.

“Who,” she said calmly, “has superglued my belongings to my desk?”

No one said anything. There were a few gasps, a few sideways looks. This was big. This was serious.

“Let me rephrase that,” said Mom. “Someone has superglued my belongings to my desk. If the person doesn’t own up, the entire class will get detention. For a week.”

There. Exactly as I thought it would happen. I waited to let the tension build (hey, I’m a bit of a showman), then I loudly scraped back my seat and stood up.

Mom locked eyes with me. I could sense the class looking at me in wonder and (I think) awe.

“Do you have something to say, Matthew?”

“It was me.”

More gasps. This was like a courtroom drama on TV. All heads swiveled to face Mom. Her mouth set in a firm line and she nodded.

“Fine. Report to the principal. And you’ve got detention.” She paused here for effect. I must have inherited my showman skills from her. “For a month.”

Gasps of horror from everyone. A
month
! That was simply unheard of. The record for the longest detention goes to Lowbrow McNee. This was before my time, but it has entered into school legend. He found boxes and boxes of industrial-strength gelatin. It was out of date or something, thrown away by Jell-O makers. And during the course of one night he threw all of it into the school swimming pool. Needless to say, the sight of divers bouncing and skimming along the wobbly surface of the pool was something that would always be remembered. And McNee had to own up. You couldn’t do that kind of thing and not take responsibility. He spent the rest of his school career as one of the cool kids.

He got three days’ suspension and two weeks’ detention.

So as you can see, I’m a bit ahead of him here.

I trudged out of the class, and only when I was in the corridor did I smile. I had done it. Now no one could call me a mama’s boy or a teacher’s pet, and Mom gets to look tough because she sentenced her own son to a month’s detention.

Everyone wins.

Well, except for the fact that I had a month of detention ahead of me.

Still, I
think
it was worth it.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 16

I’ve been noticing a lot more lost pet signs stuck to lampposts around town. So many, in fact, that they’ve started to overlap.

We’re talking the whole range of animals here. Lost cats. Lost dogs. Lost guinea pigs. A lost chinchilla. (I don’t even know what they are.) A lost pig. (Who had a pig? Honestly, that’s insane. And why hadn’t I heard about it before now?) Lost snakes. Lost mice. Lost rats. A lost chameleon. Even lost fish. I had to read that one twice, but it was legit. Someone who said her fish had gone missing was offering a reward for their return.

What was Anti-Snuffles’s plan? Was he just acting on instinct, or was it something more evil?

11:00 a.m
. The missing pet scandal has finally hit the big league, which means my time is running out.

See, for the past five years, the mayor has organized a Best Pet competition for the whole town to take part in. And every year the scale of the event has gotten bigger and bigger. It’s not just the competition. It’s a daylong event, with a minicircus, rides for the kids, live bands, food stalls, and games.

And every year, guess who wins?

If you guessed the mayor and Pugsley, the walleyed pug, you’d be absolutely right.

It’s not as if the voting’s rigged or anything, just that everyone knows whose dog it is and no one wants to make the mayor angry.

Of course, if he were a decent person, he wouldn’t even take part. But he’s not. He’s an idiot with a wig so bad it looks like an animal is living on his head. (The prize for best pet should go to his wig.) Anyway, the point is he’s announced a reward for anyone who has information about the missing pets. He’s under the impression that it has something to do with the competition, that someone is trying to ruin his yearly moment of glory where he takes a victory lap around the park in front of city hall in his golf cart while his aide holds up Pugsley for all to see, like that scene from the beginning of
The Lion King
.

The pet competition takes place at the beginning of next month, so that means I’ve got a couple of weeks to deal with it. Despite the Zombie Police being staffed by cavemen, they do have advanced equipment back at their headquarters. So if they find the missing pets before we do, it’s possible they can trace them back to Patient Zero: the first of the pets to turn deadbeat.

Which means it could come back to me.

And to Dad.

10:30 p.m
. Aargh! Tomorrow is our Outdoor Acclimatization Program. I completely forgot about it! They want us to be at the city gates at
six
. In the
morning
. That’s just … inhuman.

11:45 p.m
. Can’t sleep. Keep thinking about how early I have to get up tomorrow.

12:34 a.m
. Why do you torture me so, mind? You know I need to get up in a few hours. Why are you keeping me awake?