Max Brallier - The Last Kids on Earth and the Cosmic Beyond

Meathook’s grey-purple tongue snaps and smacks me across the face. I half expect it to follow that with a French kiss of death. Instead, small, fleshy slivers of tongue wrap around the Louisville Slicer!

I throw my other hand around my weapon’s handle. Meathook pulls – a vicious, terrible jerk . My arms are nearly ripped from the sockets, like I insulted a Wookiee, and then –

‘Give that back!’ I demand, as I crash to the ground. ‘That’s my weapon, I named it the Louisville Slicer , and it’s not for you !’

CRACK!

I see June, beneath the monster, whacking its leg with her flagpole spear. But she might as well be hitting it with a very long pretzel rod, because it does nothing.

Atop the monster, glaring down, is the Villainess. She chuckles, Meathook’s tongue snaps, and my blade is thrown upward, flipping end over end, until –

‘Jack, forget about it!’ June shouts.

She pulls me away. And as she does, I see that the enemy has dropped something. A card on the ground. I scoop it up, as –

SPLATOOT!

The monster spits, but it is not a monstrous puke-wad that flies from this brute’s mouth. It’s . . .

OUR SLED!

It crashes to the snowy ground, flips, rolls, and completely shatters .

Quint whimpers. ‘My creation . . . it is no more.’

A screen of snow is kicked up, giving us enough cover to race down the street. After three blocks I pause to look back. Through the haze of snow, I see bits of the monster. One second, just white flakes – and then the dark shadow of the thing.

And the Villainess.

On top, holding my blade.

She must know we’re still watching – because she suddenly screams . But the words that come out – they’re – they’re not human .

I gasp. We all do. That’s the language of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds.

The whole walk back to town, our heads are spinning. I mean, not really spinning – that would be weird because human heads are not designed to spin. In fact, a spinning head is probably fatal . . .

Unless you’re a zombie.

Oh man, zombie heads can spin. One time I whacked one with my hockey stick, and –

So maybe not technically spinning, but yeah – we are confused. We just got whooped.

Whooped by a human!

A human who speaks the language of Ŗeżżőcħ!

A human who stole my Louisville Slicer !

I’m lost in a general sort of ‘feeling sorry for myself’ vibe – which is not a Jack Sullivan-type feeling. I never feel sorry for myself. The worse things get, the more gung-ho positive I am. That’s like my trademark!

Well, actually, the Louisville Slicer is my trademark. And . . .

CRUD, SHE STOLE IT THE HUMAN STOLE MY TRADEMARK!

I mean, what’s Luke Skywalker without his lightsaber? Just a farm boy with a whiny streak. Or what’s Katniss without her bow and arrow? She’s probably the first tribute to bite the big one, that’s what.

We’re coming into Wakefield Town Square – the place where me, my human buddies, and the good-dude monsters live in awesome harmony. Monster City!

And in Monster City I see worried monster faces.

‘Aww,’ I say. ‘That’s nice. They’re sad for me ’cause I don’t have my bat.’

‘Jack, they have no idea you lost your bat,’ June says.

‘Didn’t lose,’ I say. ‘Stolen.’

June sighs. ‘You know what I mean . . .’

‘Um, no – actually I don’t know what you mean. Retainers are lost. Phone chargers are lost. This is GRAND THEFT !

June groans. ‘OK, fine, Jack, whatever. Bottom line: the reason the monsters are bummed is just because now they’re extra afraid of the snow.’

June’s right. I see it on their faces. Fear.

‘No, no – the winter didn’t hurt us. It was a bad human and a giant monster!’ I shout.

I catch sight of Bardle. He’s the first monster friend we got to know well. And he’s eyeing me like he knows something is up. He beckons to us from the doorway of his home base, Joe’s Pizza.

Moments later, we’re inside, sitting in an old grease-stained booth. Bardle’s across from me . . .

Bardle pours me a cold grape soda, and I knock it back it one big swig. I was going to deliver a very serious, dramatic speech – but I start talking, my friends get excited, and it just comes out . . .

Bardle’s face freezes. ‘A human spoke that language? Are you certain?’

I nod.

‘What did she say?’ Bardle asks. ‘I must know the words!’

Quint is good with languages. He’s been taking French, Spanish, and Bulgarian since like third grade. ‘I’m not certain I can pronounce it,’ he says. ‘It was something like . . . SOO ZUT CROOLER.’

June knows Spanish, because her parents spoke it at home. Her attempt sounds like, ‘ZOUL SUT CRULLER.’

‘Guys, she didn’t say cruller , I say. ‘Why would she say cruller ? Crullers are delicious snake donuts and I don’t think she was talking about snake donuts.’

June sighs. ‘Jack, crullers aren’t snake donuts. They’re just long pastries that have –’

‘NOPE! SNAKE DONUTS!’ I say.

Dirk suddenly slams his fist on the table. His voice is a growl. ‘Guys, this is serious . Stop talking about snake donuts.’ He seems embarrassed to try, but then says, ‘Bardle, I heard something like – ahem – SUU ZOULT KRUELER.’

Bardle’s eyes narrow. Whatever Dirk said – he got it right. Bardle gently massages one of his long ear hairs. ‘This means . . . IT HAS BEGUN.’

‘Wait – what’s begun?’ June asks.

Suddenly a cold darkness seems to pass over the room. I shiver. The lights flicker. It’s a coincidence, I’m sure – just ice on the generator – but it’s eerie.

Bardle shakes his head. ‘I do not know what’s begun. But for some reason, a human speaks the language of Ŗeżżőcħ. That human stole your blade. And with it, that human has begun something .

Bardle suddenly stands . . .