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

Something like a smile appears on Thrull the man-monster’s face. He hunches over and does a sort of impression, swinging his free arm.

‘Blarg!’ June suddenly exclaims. ‘He means Blarg!’

Blarg is the titanic beast I defeated a month ago. He was crazy creepy and crazy evil – but now he’s just crazy dead. ‘Oh yeah, I felled him,’ I say proudly. ‘I totally felled him. But we didn’t call him Œŕŗūæŀ, servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds, or whatever you said. We called him Blarg. ’Cause, ah, that’s just the sound he made when he roared.’

I’m suddenly very embarrassed by our ability to creatively name monsters.

The man-monster Thrull takes three pained steps forward until he’s fully towering over me. I’m afraid if I try to crane my neck any more, my head will pop off.

I gulp.

Was Blarg a friend of his? If so, he’s probably pretty ticked about me slamming a blade into his buddy’s brain. Should we be fleeing right now? I feel like maybe we should be fleeing . . .

But the next thing the man-monster Thrull does makes my jaw hang open . . .

‘It takes a great hero to defeat a creature from the time before time,’ Thrull says as he starts to stand up. ‘To defeat a servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds.’

I timidly reach out and take the blade from him. ‘Um. Well, thanks,’ I say as I slip it back into the sheath. ‘But it wasn’t just me. I had my friends. This is Quint.’

Quint sticks out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘And June and Dirk,’ I say.

They both wave awkwardly.

‘So what are you doing here?’ I ask.

‘Here? Now? I am just trying to survive. But in my dimension? There, I was a monster hunter, like you.’

I feel myself blush. ‘Monster hunter? Little old me? I’m not really a monster hunter,’ I say.

‘Wait,’ Quint says. ‘Do you know what happened here? On Earth?’

‘Yeah!’ June says, jumping in. ‘You know what caused the Monster Apocalypse?’

Thrull’s eyes narrow. ‘Only pieces. But I know some, yes.’

Quint’s giddy. ‘We can finally learn, friends!’ he says.

Suddenly, the man-monster Thrull drops to the floor. He moans in pain. His leg is worse off than I thought. ‘My movement is limited. Help me?’ Thrull says. ‘To my friends? Home?’

I gulp. A monster home? Full of monster friends? ‘Ah, where do you live?’ I ask. ‘Like a cave somewhere? Or an ancient castle? Or under a bridge?’

‘ßăġņœ Ŕ∂ėʼn,’ Thrull says. ‘But I believe in your tongue, it is pronounced “Joe’s Pizza”.’

Quint and I look at each other, way beyond confused. And way beyond excited.

See, Joe’s Pizza was an after-school hangout for middle-school kids, and an all-day hangout for older delinquent dudes, plus Dirk. On half days, kids would head there, grab a few slices, and generally cause mayhem.

Quint and I dreamed of being regulars there. Y’know, like on TV shows, how there are restaurants and hangouts where everyone knows you. Whenever you walk in, you’d just find your friends, chilling out. I imagined we’d just stroll in, everyone would wave, greet us, practically screaming our names – and our usual orders would be brought immediately.

But Quint and I were never invited to Joe’s Pizza. And no way we were ever going to just show up and have all the other kids eyeing us and whispering, ‘Who brought the dork squad?’

So yeah, it wasn’t really our scene. I wanted it to be our scene. I would have given anything for it to be our scene. But it wasn’t. Our scene was more ‘stay at home, play Minecraft, let Quint’s mom cook us Bagel Bites.’

But now . . .

Well?

Now it sounds like Joe’s Pizza is an entirely different scene. A monster scene. And that causes Quint to begin rapidly hitting me . . .

Thrull looks up at me. I hand him my hockey stick (the one I conk zombie noggins with) to use as a crutch and we all help him to his feet.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We’ll get you back to Joe’s Pizza.’

Dirk gathers up his gardening supplies. I sheath my weapon. Quint sniffs his armpit. And with that, our very strange group hobbles out of the Circle One Mall, home of the Wormungulous.

I have big plans for this mall – plans to never return.

Thirty minutes later, the five of us – plus Rover – are standing across the street from Joe’s. And my brain is just like, ‘What the huh?!’

I see ample evidence that this is not the Joe’s Pizza we’re used to . . .

– Ample Evidence –

‘Mr. Thrull, what exactly is this?’ Quint asks.

‘This is where I live,’ he says, shifting and adjusting his weight on the hockey stick. ‘Come.’

That sounds reasonable enough – but something stops me.

‘Um, one second, Mr. Thrull!’ I exclaim. ‘Quick buddy huddle!’

I grab my friends and we all dash out of hearing distance.

‘Should we go in there?’ I ask.

Dirk and June both nod. ‘I think so . . .’ June says.

‘Why not?! You know how old folks always tell you not to trust strangers? Great advice! You know what’s better advice? Don’t trust monster strangers! The dude’s wearing bone jewellery.’

Quint opens his mouth to respond, but a strange sound interrupts us. It’s like the sound of a blade, slicing between us, silencing us.

‘Do you guys hear that?’

It’s like the wind, rustling through the trees. But louder. The sound fills the air. Like a flute or a, uh – what’s that lame plastic instrument from elementary school? A recorder! It sounds a bit like that. But the sound is deeper, rougher – and the longer I listen to it, the more it begins to sound like a strange, devilish, musical scream. There’s no other way to describe the sound. It is an inhuman SHRIEKING.

But there’s no time to ponder the strange sound, because Thrull is limping toward Joe’s. If we’re going in, the time is now.

‘Come on!’ June says.

I listen to the noise a moment longer. The sound enters my ears and proceeds to march straight down my spine, twisting it, terrifying me to my core.

It’s only a noise.

Yet it scares me beyond belief.

‘Jack!’ Quint barks. I shake my head, trying to shake out the fear, and I reluctantly follow my friends. From inside Joe’s, I hear glass shatter and freakish, inhuman laughing.

But I continue following.

We all do.

Rover trots beside me. As we step up onto the sidewalk, I tell him to stay, and he flashes those puppy-dog eyes at me. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll be back, buddy,’ I say. ‘I think . . .’