Max Brallier - The Last Kids on Earth and the Zombie Parade

‘All right,’ I say, ‘let’s find June and Dirk.’

We’re walking the upper level of the mall, looking down at the corridor below. I see all sorts of little kiosks that sell T-shirts and fancy cell phone cases and other crud that’s really dumb but I also totally really kind of want. Most of the mall is a mess – looted and plundered by panicked people when the Monster Apocalypse first began.

Passing the Apple Store, I catch a whiff of something. A strange, sweet sort of odour, hanging in the air.

And I catch a flash of movement, below us. A figure, slinking around the corner, past Gap. An almost-human figure . . .

Seeing that – something almost-but-not-quite human – sends a chill of terror down my spine. My heart starts palpitating.

Maybe it was just a figment of my imagination . . .?

But no.

My eyes might play tricks on me, but not my nose. And the strange, sweet odour is growing stronger.

But it is not the odour of evil. It is not the foul stench that the villainous beast Blarg emitted. It is not the same stink that the Dozers and the Winged Wretches and other Wakefield monsters emanate. That is the smell of evil.

But this?

Honestly? It smells like a middle-school dance. It smells like, I realize, cheap aftershave.

‘Quint, did you see that?’ I whisper.

He nods. A huge helping of fear has appeared on his face. Fear with a side order of curiosity.

I pull my weapon, the Louisville Slicer, from its sheath.

It’s been one month since we rescued June (sorta rescued) and we’ve still not seen a single other person. No kids, no adults, no nothing. Just zombies and monsters up the backside. And recently, even the zombies seem to be popping up less and less. In fact, it’s like they’re disappearing.

I mean, we’ve been at the mall over an hour now, and we haven’t seen one zombie. And if you’re a zombie expert like me, you know zombies are supposed to be, like, all over the mall. Ever see a zombie movie? Play a zombie video game? Zombies are ALWAYS at the mall. They just love shopping or something.

Quint believes something is taking the zombies. We haven’t seen them migrating, and we haven’t seen them just, like, dying off. I’ll tell you this much: if something is taking the zombies, I do not want to meet whatever that ‘something’ is.

The sweet scent snaps my mind back to attention.

I drop to one knee and rub Rover behind the ears. ‘Buddy, can you drag my space marine suit back to Big Mama?’ I say, pointing in the direction of the parking lot, where Big Mama, our post-apocalyptic pickup truck, is waiting.

Rover tilts his head, then growls in understanding. A moment later he’s trotting down the corridor, my space marine suit banging and clanging behind him.

‘OK, Quint,’ I say. ‘Let’s see what this thing is.’

Quint follows as I creep down the escalator to the main level. We duck behind a kiosk called Stuffed Stuff – it sells stuffed panda bears and piglets and ferrets. Holding my breath, I peek around the corner.

I see the figure again. And if it’s a person, it’s a big person. It’s rattling one of the metal gates that hang over most of the storefronts.

Quint and I exchange terrified looks, then quietly sneak ahead to the next kiosk. We’re like ultra-lame James Bonds. Do you think James Bond ever had to hide behind Cate’s Custom Candles while trailing a target?

The strange figure comes to a stop in front of the Cinnabon bakery. I finally get a solid look at the thing. And what I see – it turns my blood to ice water.

I whip my head back around and drop to the floor. ‘Did you see that?!’ I ask Quint, trying to keep my voice to a whisper.

Quint nods. He doesn’t speak. He’s shaking like a leaf.

‘It was like a monster-person. Or a person-monster,’ I say. But before we can even begin to process the bonkers implications of that, a piercing shriek echoes down the hall.

It’s June. She’s rushing toward us. Dirk speeds alongside her. And behind them, colossal and charging with vicious fangs exposed, tearing through the mall like a train that’s jumped the tracks, is the Wormungulous.

We need to find cover. Safety. Something to shield us from this beast.

But the giant metal gate that guards Sears department store looms ahead of us. Every store around us is gated. Locked tight.

We’re in a dead end. Trapped.

No way out.

I remember how I felt the instant before I defeated the big, bad, odorous, evil Blarg: terrified but confident. Frightened but alive.

That’s how I feel now.

Brave.

Stupidly brave.

This is my moment.

The moment of Jack Sullivan, Post-Apocalyptic Action Hero.

The Wormungulous will be upon us in seconds. Its massive form is barrelling forward, turning everything in its path to dust. And I can’t let my friends fall into the category of ‘dust.’ That’s my biggest fear. That’s what keeps me up at night (well, that and thoughts of Selena Gomez – I hope she’s safe somewhere!).

I step toward the beast like some sort of samurai ninja Jedi.

‘Jack, what are you doing?’ June screams.

‘June, Dirk, Quint. Get back,’ I say. ‘Behind me.’

‘I’ll try to open the gate into Sears,’ Dirk says. ‘If you can slow it down, maybe we won’t all die today.’

I nod.

If Dirk gets that gate open, they can get to safety. But if not – they’ll be squished, squashed, splattered. Done-zo.

‘Jack . . .’ June pleads.

‘GO!’ I shout. This feeling of samurai ninja Jedi heroism is totally beating out my feelings of butt-clenching fear, and I raise the dramatics up a notch.

June knows my goofiness. She knows I pretty much stumble and bumble my way through every monster encounter.

I blush. ‘Sorry. Carried away. Just, please? Ah, please, go?’

KRAKA-SMASH!

The Wormungulous rips through the cell phone case kiosk. The walls quake. Glass falls and shatters from the railings above.

At last, June sprints toward Sears.

I stand tall. Blade at my side, like a cool, calm warrior. I can’t take this ferocious, fanged beast head-on. But if I can do some nifty light-saber type moves, I might be able to buy my buds enough time to –

Jagged cracks spread through the floor like ice splintering on the surface of a pond. The Wormungulous’s mouth opens, revealing a fat tongue darting around in the darkness of its gullet.