Max Brallier - The Last Kids on Earth and the Nightmare King

• There’s a weekly wrestling match where these two big lugs – Thonn and Gronn – duke it out. They got the idea after I showed them an old episode of WWE Raw I had on DVD.

• Sometimes at night, we watch movies. Y’know, to show the monsters about life on Earth – and to show them that movies are the best.

There are restaurants, too. The monsters are still learning how to cook with Earth food – a few of their things came through the portal with them, but not much. The food is – well – interesting . . .

After we grab a bite, Quint yawns. ‘I’m exhausted from the day’s adventures. And I should get to work on repairing the radio.’

‘Yes!’ June exclaims. ‘No dillydallying. Straight to work, Quint.’

I won’t lie – I’m beat, too. And a little freaked from the King Wretch encounter. So we head home. Home is a tree house – and the tree house is mind-clobberingly cool . . .

The tree house used to be in my backyard. But – thanks to a monster called the Wormungulous – the whole thing was transplanted here, downtown, into the Joe’s Pizza parking lot . . .

So this is life right now.

And as we stroll back to the tree house, I’m thinking that life is good!

In fact, life is perfect !

Of course, in a post-Monster-Apocalypse world, life is never perfect for long . . .

chapter four

Just a few days later, I’m up early, playing with my Helidrone. I hang beef jerky off it, and Rover tries to pluck it in mid-air.

That’s when Quint calls me up to the tree house. Minutes later, we’re all gathered upstairs – me leaning against the doorway, trying to look Star-Lord cool.

Quint has a smile on his face that’s different from any Quint smile I’ve seen before. Closest comparison: when we got opening night, midnight tickets to see the second Avengers movie.

The look is a mixture of shock and excitement – like he won the dork lottery.

He flicks on the radio, and the little light turns green. It’s working!

‘I repaired it. But the issue,’ Quint says, ‘is the range of the antenna. I need parts to make the antenna fully functional. But I can and will . Soon, we will be able to listen to whoever is talking out there.’

June looks at Quint, down at the radio, and then back to Quint. And she erupts . . .

Quint is beaming. I see tears in June’s eyes. Big, fat, happy tears. ‘Jack, isn’t this wonderful?’

‘Um, yes! ’ I say. ‘Imagine the cool stuff we can do now! We can meet monsters! We can trade weapon designs! Exchange key information about Ŗeżżőcħ! We need to learn radio jargon – I want to know all that classic long-haul truck driver lingo.’

And suddenly, I’m imagining myself as a tough guy post-apocalyptic truck driver – possibly the most macho job ever . . .

‘Jack,’ June says, snapping me out of my end-of-the-world truck driver fantasies. ‘Jack, my parents . Our families . We can find out where they are. Remember what I told you, at the school?’

I think back to that moment on our middle-school roof, many months ago . . .

‘Of course! That too!’ I say. ‘I mean – that’s fantastic. Right? Obviously fantastic. Finding your parents. Good. Great.’

I look to Quint. He still has that odd smile on his face. ‘Quint, buddy. Who knows . . . You might get to see your family again.’

Quint exhales very slowly, then nods. The corner of his mouth is upturned in a cautious smile.

And again I feel that anxious, sweaty, pit-in-the-stomach feeling I had at the fire station, when we first discovered it was a radio making the noise.

My head starts spinning. Dirk and June are discussing the radio, and Quint is already sketching plans for how to boost the range. My friends’ voices swirl around me, and I feel sweat pouring down my forehead. I try to swallow, but my mouth is desert dry.

‘Guys, I just need a little fresh, um, what’s the word . . . Fresh cookies . . . ? Fresh breath? I mean . . . ah . . . fresh air, I think . . .’ My voice trails off as I step through the door, out onto the deck. It’s late autumn – or as I call it, ‘fancy fall’ – and the air is cool.

But my entire body is hot.

My heart is palpitating. I have a palpitating heart. And that’s a BAD KIND OF HEART!

Why? What’s happening?

Like – like, panic . Real panic. I’m freaking out . And I don’t know why!

My legs feel wobbly and useless. I need a cool drink. I’d kill for an ice-cold Capri Sun. I reach into our rainwater collector, scoop some water into my hands, and splash it on my face.

‘JACK!’ a monstrous voice suddenly bellows

I blink. Looking down, I see the monster Skaelka in the Town Square. Her shouting pulls me out of my panic. Skaelka was a vicious warrior in the monster dimension: scary savage and fiercely ferocious, from the stories we’ve heard.

‘Huh?’ I ask, my head still fuzzy. ‘Oh. No, no. We were just, um, celebrating. A few days ago, we – ah – we heard voices.’

Skaelka’s spinal-spikes flex – her sign of suspicion. ‘Voices! Inside your brain folds? Are you going insane? Should I put you down now by slicing off your head? I would be honoured to perform the dance of decapitation on you, Jack.’

‘No. No, no,’ I say. ‘No decapitation dancing desired. Thanks, though. I meant, we heard voices on a radio.’

‘Radio?’ Skaelka asks.

‘Um. It’s like a TV, but for sounds.’

Skaelka thinks this over for a moment. ‘Fine. Inform me if you require decapitation services. Or if you discover you are going insane,’ she says, and she clomps away, dragging her massive axe. I think, man , I’m really glad that barbaric looney-tune is on our side.

I take three deep breaths, then I step back into the tree house. My friends are already celebrating. June is cranking up the speakers on her ‘bomb sound system’ while Dirk shakes Sprite bottles and blasts soda around the tree house like we just won the World Series.

This radio changes everything .

Everyone joyous.

Everyone happy.

Everyone except for me.