Zombiekins - Kevin Bolger [20]
Stanley was just lying down on the pavement to strike Knuckles sharply and repeatedly in the foot with his stomach when Miranda reappeared with a wooden baseball bat.
“What are you wait-ait-aiting for-or-or?” Stanley pleaded as Knuckles shook him upside down like someone trying to squeeze the last drop out of a ketchup bottle. “Hit him-im-im!”
“No, Stanley,” Miranda said. “You have to be the one to do it. He’ll never leave you alone until you show him you can stick up for yourself.”
Knuckles flipped Stanley high in the air like a coin and Stanley slammed down on the pavement on his back. Taffy spilled from his backpack like a splatter of guts.
“You’ll thank me for this later,” Miranda insisted. “That is, unless. . . .”
She trailed off without finishing, and with a little shrug, threw the bat to Stanley.
Before Knuckles could pick him up for another toss, Stanley sprang to his feet and backed away with it cocked over his shoulder.
“Stay back,” Stanley warned. “I mean it.”
Knuckles just kept staggering toward him, snarling and drooling and snapping his jaws in hungry chomping motions.
“Aim for the head,” said Miranda. “It’s the only way to stop a zombie.”
Stanley’s fingers tightened around the bat handle....
“Do it, Stanley,” Miranda urged. “He’s not Knuckles anymore. . . .”
But Stanley just let the bat fall to his side. He couldn’t do it.
And the next moment, Knuckles grabbed Stanley around the neck and started pulling him closer with his mouth stretched wide....
“Don’t let him bite you!” Miranda shouted. “You’ll be turned into a zombie!”
Stanley fought and squirmed, but Knuckles’ grip was like iron ... His teeth were inches from Stanley’s neck....
With his last drop of strength, Stanley swung the bat—
And with a loud crack!, it splintered against the side of Knuckles’ head!
“Now, boys,” Mrs. Plumdotty tutted. “Use words, not sticks.”
Knuckles wobbled backward, holding his temples like someone with a splitting headache. He staggered to a halt in front of the swings. He growled at Stanley with eyes full of hate, bared his teeth, and lurched forward. . . .
Into the path of a zombie swooping down on the swings!
Knuckles was knocked backwards—toward the roundabout, which a couple other zombies were steadily and robotically spinning.
Knuckles’ belt loop caught on the roundabout, and like someone sucked into a tornado, he spun around, and around, and around. . . .
“Ouch!” Stanley winced. “Turbo wedgie.”
Stanley started sweeping the Widow’s taffy back into his knapsack
“Did you see that?” Stanley bragged to Miranda. “That’ll teach him to pick on Stanley Nudelman!”
“Uh-oh . . .” Miranda said beside him.
“‘Uh-oh’ what?” asked Stanley, looking up.
“Uh-oh that—”
29
THEY WERE SURROUNDED by an army of zombies. A sea of zombies. Or a bunch of them, anyway. All staring at Stanley with blank, hungry looks.
“Hrnrgrghnrr,” remarked one of the zombies.
“Yarrghhhh,” commented another.
Then the whole crowd started hrrgnghrring and yaarghing—and suddenly they all surged forward, snapping their jaws like hungry nestlings fighting over a worm.
Stanley was cornered.
“The slide!” Miranda called to him from the other side of the mob.
Zombies came grunting and groping, groaning and moaning, snapping and snarling toward Stanley on every side, closing in around him with their awful zombie eyes and their even awfuerl zombie breath . . . .
Stanley started to back away and bumped up against the play structure—trapped!
He was zombie food. A Stanley sandwich. A lunch buffet for the walking dead. A—
Wait a minute . . . . What was Miranda doing on the other side of the mob?
“Use the slide,” she repeated calmly. “Just climb up and escape down the slide.”
In a flash, Stanley understood. Well, maybe it took a couple of flashes. Actually, maybe it was more like when you’re trying and trying to