The sound of shattering glass, twisting metal and bouncing Nikes echoes down the corridor.
It’s time to try out my newest toy . . .
– The BOOMerang –
(a weapon that goes boom)
Quint, of course, is the designer of this particular gadget. It’s supposed to ‘distract and disorientate’ monsters. I raise my hand, ready to throw, and –
The BOOMerang does NOT come flying back to me in the way it is supposed to – y’know, the one quality that actually makes a boomerang a boomerang. Without the ‘coming back to you’ part, you’re just flinging around curved wood – not much fun.
The BOOMerang does not return, but it does whack the Wormungulous in the face. There’s a BLAST as smoke bombs and sparklers explode. The monster jerks to the left, veers back to the right, and then –
I take that split second, when there’s nothing but glass and metal in the air and wreckage in the worm’s face, to grab Quint and yank him into the closest store. We tumble over a display table and crash to the floor.
‘Stay down!’ I whisper.
An instant later, the Wormungulous barrels down the corridor, streaking past the store like an oversized snot rocket come to life.
I catch my breath, get to my feet, and inch out into the corridor. The Wormungulous left a trail of yellow worm goo in its wake and the floor is now a slick mess. I watch the worm crash into a clothes store and disappear in a cloud of dust as the wall crumbles behind it.
‘I didn’t get a photo!’ I exclaim.
‘PHOTO FAIL,’ Quint says.
I cock my eyebrow. ‘Don’t talk like that, Quint. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘A failure of photographic proportions, friend.’
‘Better,’ I say, slapping my best bud on the back. ‘Now where are we?’
Looking around, I begin to tremble and shake as I realize: WE’RE INSIDE GAME!
‘Dude!’ I exclaim as I begin to walk the aisles. ‘Could I have picked a better place for a last-minute hideout?’
‘Quite perfect!’ Quint exclaims happily.
Near the Nintendo 3DS section, I spot something I want so bad that it causes my gut to tighten up and my extremities to get all warm and tingly.
I’m staring at a giant, life-sized suit of space marine armour from my favourite game, NIMBUS: Call to Action. It’s shiny, practically GLOWING.
There’s a big sign next to it that says, ‘Coming soon! The hottest sci-fi space marine first-person action shooter ever to hit the planet Earth! NIMBUS: Call to Action 14.’
Suddenly, I’m punched in the face by sadness. I’m thinking about how many amazing video games were being designed when the Monster Apocalypse happened. And now they’ll never be released! I’ll never get to play them!
I knock on the chest piece. DONK DONK DONK. It’s definitely metal or some sort of fancy plastic.
Quint’s eyes go wide. ‘I was mistaken!’ he exclaims. ‘This silicone-plastic-Wonderflex is the finest in video game promotion!’
‘I’m totally taking this,’ I say. ‘I’ll be like an unstoppable space marine hero! I’ll stuff some bottle rockets in the side here – any monsters get close and VA-SHOOM! Eat rocket!’
Quint grins. ‘I must agree. It’s quite impressive.’
‘Now,’ I say, ‘where is our transportation?’
A moment later –
After about twenty clumsy attempts, Quint and I manage to get the space marine armour into Rover’s saddle. Rover is my monster dog, and he can haul anything. I pocket a few PS4 games for the road, then step out into the gooey, slippery corridor.
‘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
