Zombiekins - Kevin Bolger [19]
Stanley and Miranda were tossing a ball around by themselves at the back of the yard when two zombies stumbled through the flower garden beside them, choking and biting each other.
“Mind you don’t trample the tulips, boys,” tutted Mrs. Plumdotty.
“We have to tell her,” Stanley said. “This is out of control.”
“Tell her what? That you accidentally turned all the kids in school into zombies?” Miranda replied. “You’d be in detention till you’re eighty.”
Stanley noticed she didn’t say “we.”
“Let’s just worry about finding Zombiekins for now,” Miranda went on. “Then after school, we’ll go ask the Widow about the antidote.”
She tossed the ball lightly to Stanley, but it bounced through his legs and rolled away under the dumpster by the back fence.
“Don’t worry,” Stanley said reassuringly a moment later, lying on his stomach. “I see it.”
It was dark and filthy as a cave under the dumpster but Stanley thought he could just make out a shadowy bump way at the back that might be a ball. He started to crawl under to get it. His head bumped against the bottom of the dumpster with a loud thunk!
Ouch! That smarted. Stanley shimmied forward, more carefully this time. But to his surprise the noise rang out again, like some strange, delayed echo: thunk!
And then again: thunk!
“Weird,” Stanley mumbled, crawling further under.
Above him, there was a loud skkkkrrrrrrrkkkkk like claws scratching on metal . . . then a creeeeeakkk like the lid of a dumpster opening . . . .
“Uhhh, Stanley . . .” said Miranda.
“Hold on,” Stanley replied, stretching as far as he could. “I’ve—almost—”
“Stanley, you really ought to—”
But Stanley didn’t catch the rest of her remark because it was drowned out by a low, vowelless growl: “Mngrbrgngnlll . . . ”
“Got it!” Stanley announced triumphantly, backing out from under the dumpster and rising to his feet. He dusted off his shirtfront and proudly held out the dirt-covered ball.
But Miranda didn’t even give it a glance. She was staring right past Stanley, her eyes wide with terror and fixed on something just over his shoulder . . . .
Behind him, there was another growl: “Mngrbrgngnlll . . .”
This time Stanley started to turn around . . . .
Rising slowly from the dumpster behind him was Knuckles. Pale as a corpse, with cold dead eyes and wild matted hair, drooling garbage juice down his chin, he looked even more like a monster than usual.
When Knuckles recognized Stanley, his zombie eyes flashed with rage—or maybe it was hunger. He spat out a mouthful of garbage and growled again, more distinctly: “Mnaarrhaarbwragnagnylll. . . .” Then, slowly and awkwardly, Knuckles started climbing out of the dumpster.
Too scared to run, Stanley could only watch in horror as Knuckles hoisted himself over the side of the dumpster with stiff, clumsy movements—then lost his balance—teetered on the edge—and fell headfirst on top of Stanley!
28
“GET HIM OFF ME!” STANLEY BEGGED MIRANDA. “HE’S trying to kill me!”
Actually, Knuckles was sprawled motionless on his back on top of Stanley as though the fall had stunned him. But when Stanley started to squirm out from under him, Knuckles grabbed Stanley’s leg.
“Don’t let him intimidate you, Stanley,” Miranda said. “This is your chance to stand up to him!”
But Stanley was in no position to stand up to anyone at that particular moment because Knuckles was dangling him off the ground by an ankle.
“Go on, Stanley, show him he can’t push you around,” Miranda urged as Knuckles pushed Stanley around, then pummeled him about, then pingponged him to and fro.
“Helllllllllp!” Stanley pleaded as Knuckles twirled him around and around. “Doooo somethinggggg!”
Miranda just shook her head.
“Okay,” she said in a disappointed voice. “Keep him busy till I get back.”
So