My Zombie Hamster (7 page)

Plan failed. Mom and Dad in miserable mood. Sure, I forgot all about it and only remembered to tell them with twenty minutes to go, but is that any reason to get upset?

Freezing cold today. Our breath misted before us as we all waited outside city hall. Vendors were selling hot chocolate and coffee, and my freezing hands were wrapped around a cup of boiling brown water while I tried to stamp the circulation back into my feet. I couldn’t tell if I got the coffee or hot chocolate. It tasted terrible either way.

The doors of city hall finally opened. The mayor stepped out, blinking in the bright winter sunlight, clutching Pugsley to his chest.

But no one paid any attention to him. Everyone’s attention was focused on the man emerging behind him.

He was about six feet tall. His dark skin and long leather jacket stood out against the snow-draped buildings and trees. The mayor opened his mouth to speak, but the man stepped in front of him and surveyed us all with a penetrating stare. I couldn’t help feeling he looked vaguely familiar.

“Hey,” said Dad. “That’s—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish, because the man put his hands on his hips and started speaking.

“My name,” he called out, “is Kilgore Dallas. And before anyone asks, yes, that’s my real name. I had it legally changed.” His voice was deep and booming. It resonated around the square outside city hall. “Some of you may recognize me from the movies I used to make before I retired from acting to become a full-time zombie hunter. But I want you to know that was a different life.” He flashed a bright smile. “That’s right. I’m Kilgore Dallas, and I’ll be your new head warden.”

This caused a wave of impressed murmuring to sweep through the crowd. Since the formation
of the Zombie Squads, every town now also had a head warden, an experienced zombie hunter whose responsibility it was to educate and protect the town in case of an attack.

Our previous head warden was Old Man Ebenezer, who, despite his name, wasn’t actually a villain from a
Scooby-Doo
cartoon. It was about time he was replaced, though. He was about a hundred years old or something. The zombies were in better shape than Old Man Ebenezer.

“Now I just want you to know that I don’t think I’m better than any of you because I can obliterate a zombie’s head at thirty feet while simultaneously wielding a bowie knife with my teeth. And make no mistake, I can do that. I lived with a wolf pack in Siberia. I became a member of their pack. They taught me their wolfy ways.” He gave us a long stare. “The reason I’m better than you is a combination of genetics, intelligence, and charisma.” He cracked a smile. “Plus I’m easy on the eyes. Am I lying, ladies?”

An old man standing next to me leaned down to whisper in my ear. “He’s not lying, sonny. That’s as fine a specimen of a man as you’re ever likely to see.”

“This town has become lazy,” continued Dallas. “Soft. Your security is a joke. You need to toughen up, and I’m the man who’s going to make sure that happens.” He swept us all with a fierce look. “And I know there’s one person here who agrees with me. Thomas Hunter? Where are you?”

Thomas Hunter?
Dad?
What did Kilgore Dallas want with Dad?

Judging by the sudden sickly color of his face, Dad didn’t know, either.

“What have you done now, Tom?” whispered Mom.

Dad shrugged helplessly and slowly raised his hand. Dallas zeroed in on him immediately.

“There he is. My man in Edenvale. Give that man a round of applause. Come on.
Do it
!” Dallas waited until the hesitant applause had died away. “Never in the twenty years the Zombie Zappers have been in use have I heard a better voice track. Honest! Truthful! None of this poetry garbage! None of this whining about dead relatives. Just pure, honest, gutsy tell-it-like-it-is. You, sir, are the man.”

I tried to shrink down into my shoulders. Dallas had obviously heard about the Zee-Zee recordings and thought Dad did them.

“Okay, listen up. There are some changes I’m going to make over the next few months, but the first thing I want to do is make sure you guys are prepared in the event of a zombie invasion. To that end, it’s now compulsory for all citizens, male and female, over the age of ten to participate in zombie preparation drills. What that means is, I’ll lead you outside the wall, and we’ll hunt us some zombies.” He raised his hands in the air. “And before all you parents start freaking out about your kids, just don’t. Okay? Just don’t. I’ll be there, and I’ll protect them with my life. No stinkin’ deadbeat is going to take one of Edenvale’s kids. Not on my watch!”

A burst of spontaneous applause broke out.

“Now, any questions?”

Dad raised his hand. So did quite a few others. Dallas pointed at Dad.

“Hunter. Shoot.”

“Uh, I was wondering … what was in the briefcase? You know, from
Pulp
—”

“I can’t say.”

“Oh.” My dad paused. “Do you still have your lightsaber?”

Kilgore Dallas’s smile became a bit forced. He looked at all the raised hands.

“Any questions
not
relating to movies I’ve been in?”

All the hands went down.

“Then we’re finished here. Have a good day, citizens.”

MONDAY, JANUARY 6

1:00 p.m
. Charlie had come up with a plan regarding Anti-Snuffles.

“We need to speak to Old Man Ebenezer,” she said. “See if he has any tips for us. You know. Like how to trap zombies and stuff.”

Remember when I said before that Old Man Ebenezer wasn’t a
Scooby-Doo
villain? Well, that was true, but he does look like one.

When we knocked on his door, he yanked it open immediately, as if he had been waiting there. His white hair stuck up from his head, looking like he’d just had an electric shock. He scanned the street behind us, then stared at us suspiciously.

“Breathe onto this,” he ordered, thrusting a small mirror at us.

Charlie looked at me. I shrugged and breathed on the mirror. Charlie did the same, and only after checking that our breath had misted on it did the old man relax a bit.

“Have to be sure,” he said. “Don’t trust the new warden to keep out deadbeats. Now, what do you want?”

We told him we were doing a school project and needed advice on hunting and trapping zombies.

He told us to wait, then disappeared inside for about ten minutes. He came back and handed us a piece of paper, then muttered something about meddling kids and slammed the door on us.

We headed back home, reading the paper as we walked.

Old Man Ebenezer’s Top 10 Deadbeat Dos and Don’ts

“I can’t help feeling he didn’t really think that last point through,” said Charlie. “There’s no mention of how we actually catch a deadbeat once it turns up.”

“The basic idea is sound, though.”

“What, we find someone we don’t like and tie them up in your yard?”

My thoughts turned briefly to Aaron Miller, the class bully. But I’d probably get in trouble for that.

Instead, I shook my head. “We adapt it. I’ve got an idea.”

8:00 p.m
. Charlie has gone home now, but not before we prepared our trap for Anti-Snuffles. It consisted of a raw steak from the freezer (Dad is not going to be happy when he finds it missing), a heavy wooden box propped up with a stick, a short length of string pushed through the steak and tied to this stick, and one really old iPhone found in Dad’s office.

Charlie and I recorded ourselves talking on the iPhone, and I pushed play and turned the volume up just loud enough for Anti-Snuffles to hear. Then we put it beneath the crate. Hopefully he’ll come before the battery runs out.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 7

7:00 a.m
. Anti-Snuffles is toying with me. I know that now.

I went down to check on my trap and saw that it had been sprung. The stick had been yanked, and the box was down. I threw my sack over the whole lot, then yanked it up.

I heard the iPhone knocking on the wood, but that was about it. No enraged squeaks and squeals.

I carefully opened the sack to check and saw that Anti-Snuffles wasn’t there.

But the steak was gone.

And, even stranger, the iPhone wasn’t playing anymore. It was recording instead. I moved the
slider back to the beginning and pressed play.

I expected to hear Charlie’s voice and mine coming out of the tiny speaker, but I didn’t. I heard something much worse.

The zombified squeaks of Anti-Snuffles.

A cold chill ran through me. What was he saying? Was it some kind of zombie rodent warning?

I looked around warily, and as I did so, I caught a glimpse of beady eyes in the flower bed. Then there was a rustle of leaves and they were gone. I went to check and saw tiny footprints in the snow.

The problem was, there wasn’t just one pair of footprints, but quite a few. And of different sizes.

I swallowed nervously and retreated inside.

Anti-Snuffles had made this personal.