The Last Kids on Earth and the Zombie Parade

I begin clawing and tearing at the debris. But it’s all too big. Too heavy. My fingernail snaps as I struggle to lift the massive metal gate that blankets them.

My breath becomes ragged. I feel my eyes well up with tears.

And I smell – I smell –

I smell that pungent aftershave.

I spin around to see it. Gigantic and towering. The man-monster . . .

- The Man-Monster -

I don’t draw my blade. I don’t run. I just stand there. And then, still having said nothing, I turn around and continue trying to pry my friends free.

A warm hand grips the back of my neck. The man-monster’s fingers close around my collar and I’m lifted into the air. He gently sets me down a few feet away.

The man-monster begins digging through the rubble, carefully pulling away huge chunks of ceiling. He removes bent and twisted pieces of gate. With one tremendous pull, he lifts the final piece away. And I see them.

My friends. Alive.

A little bloody, a lot dirty – but very much OK.

Relief floods through me. ‘You’re OK!’

June grins as she crawls from the pile and gets to her feet. ‘You’re OK! Why did you just stand out there and try to stare the monster down? What is wrong with you?’

‘I was trying to do a samurai thing.’

‘No more samurai things, Jack.’

Quint stumbles from the rubble and throws his arms around me. My friends and I are not big huggers. But Quint squeezes me and slaps my back. ‘I thought we were all done for!’ he exclaims.

I smile. ‘We’re good, buddy. We’re good.’

‘Yes, we are,’ June says, waving toward the man-monster. ‘Thanks to him.’

Dirk nods. ‘He punched through the gate. Pushed us inside. He took the brunt of the blow from the Wormungulous.’

So this . . . this man-monster, he not only freed my friends – he took the hit that saved their lives. And in a way, saved me – because without my friends, I might as well not exist.

This terrifying, wicked-looking thing is our saviour. Just goes to show – never judge a monster by its cover. Or its bone jewellery.

The creature suddenly gasps for breath and drops to one knee. I see that his right leg is injured. Probably battered while blocking my friends. Pulling them free has taken everything out of him.

The man-monster braces himself on a rack of clothing and manages to stand again. And then he opens his mouth.

The words practically knock me off my feet. ‘You . . . you speak English?’ I ask, stuttering.

‘I speak more languages than you know,’ the man-monster says. His voice is a throaty growl. He repeats, ‘You are OK?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We are.’

‘You are human?’ the man-monster asks. He says ‘human’ like it’s the first time he’s ever spoken the word.

‘Uh, yep,’ I say, stepping forward. ‘Sure am. Jack Sullivan is the name. And what are you?’

‘Your tongue could not form the words,’ the man-monster says.

‘Oh. Well – do you have a name? A name that my, uh, lame, subpar tongue could form?’

‘Thrull,’ the man-monster says slowly.

‘You saved us,’ June says.

‘Properly rescued our lives,’ Quint chimes in.

‘Real solid, monster bro,’ Dirk adds. ‘We owe you.’

Thrull is looking me up and down. His eyes focus on my shoulder. No – over my shoulder. The Louisville Slicer, in its sheath. He quickly reaches out and snatches it.

I take a very nervous step backward.

The Louisville Slicer is comically tiny in his big monster hands. His eyes narrow and he lifts the blade, gazing with focus.

‘Your weapon . . .’ he starts, his voice suddenly a notch softer.

‘Yes. My weapon. And I’d love it back. But, uh, no rush. You’re the boss here.’

His head tilts slightly to the side, causing the apparatuses and instruments around his neck to rattle and clang. ‘This is the blade that felled the Œŕŗūæŀ, the ancient evil, servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds.’ ‘Uhhh . . . felled?’ I ask.

‘That means destroyed,’ Quint whispers. ‘As in: slain.’

‘Oh. Oh yeah!’ I exclaim. ‘Yep! Well, I mean, it’s my blade. I don’t know who or what Œŕŗūæŀ is. Or who he serves. Did you say Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds? Isn’t he a Marvel villain? Or is that DC?’

The man-monster Thrull’s eyes scrunch up and he looks at me like I’m slow. ‘Marvel villain?’

Trying not to sound slow, I dive right back in. ‘Oh yeah. Marvel. Um. Superheroes and stuff. They make all the best movies. Well, they did, when movies were still being made. But that’s not important. So who is this Œŕŗūæŀ? This thing that you think I, uh, “felled”.’

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.

chapter six

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 . . .’

Continuing forward, we pass the monsters hanging out outside. I try to give them good, solid, manly nods – but they just look at me like, ‘Buddy, you are in the wrong place.’

Thrull places his hand against the door, and pushes it open, and we step inside. Inside, to the strangest sight imaginable . . .

Tentacles dance in the air! Furry beasts armwrestle! Scaled things play some strange version of darts. At the counter, insect-like monsters suck down entire pizzas in a single bite. Small flying creatures swoop through the air, delivering food. And everywhere, at tables, in booths, are HULKING MONSTERS chatting it up in some sort of monster language.

A few speak English. Bits and pieces of strange monster dialogue float over:

‘. . . ONCE POUNDED A GURLAK INTO THE MUD WITH JUST MY TAIL . . .’

‘. . . MORE SNOZZLE STEAKS, CHEF! . . .’

‘. . . TASTES BETTER WHEN IT’S STILL BREATHING, IF YOU ASK ME . . .’

A massively round monster behind the bar wings a pizza pie through the air, directly into the mouth of a heaving creature that is seemingly all mouth and nothing else.

And then there’s us.

There’s me.

The thirteen-year-old human.

The scared, confused, overconfident-but-only-overconfident-in-order-to-hide-his-crippling-fear kid.

‘My friends!’ Thrull bellows. ‘Listen!’

The grumble of monster voices grows quiet. They turn in their chairs. Some crane impossibly long necks. I can feel their eyes – some with thousands of little eyeballs, like flies – watching us.

Thrull purses his lips. He sighs through his neck-gills, then says, ‘Œŕŗūæŀ, known in this world as BLARG!’

The monsters simply stare. Silence hangs in the air like a poorly timed fart. Finally, a small, zero-armed creature, perched on a chair, laughs and leans forward. ‘This small human defeated a servant of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds? HA! Not likely!’ the creature says, cackling.

Hey! Are they calling me a liar?! I’m many things. I’m lazy. I’m clumsy. I’m a sucker for girls with British accents. I’m pretend-charming but not real-charming. But I’m no liar.

Well, that’s not totally true, either. I mean, I’ve lied plenty. Who hasn’t?

But I’m not lying about this!

I cough into my fist, take a deep breath, and step forward. ‘Um. Ah. No. It’s true. I did. For real. With this,’ I say as I pull the Louisville Slicer from its sheath.

The way the monsters react, you’d think I’d just pulled a severed donkey head from my back pocket. Some gasp like humans. Others make sounds that I can only assume are monster versions of gasps.

They begin to sniff the air and then start to smile. It’s like they can smell Blarg on the blade.

Thrull looks at me with a grin that’s all teeth. He rests one massive paw on my shoulder. I can’t help but feel all warm inside . . .

And then –

‘And these are my friends!’ I say, shouting to be heard over the roar. ‘I didn’t do it alone! They helped! Like, a whole bunch!’

The crowd cheers louder. June and Quint beam. Dirk gives me a slap on the back. And that is how we’re welcomed into the strange new world of Joe’s Pizza.

Soon, monsters are surrounding us, asking questions, telling stories, offering us food. A dozen monsters crowd around me as I recount the tale of how I battled Blarg. They keep pouring me flat Joe’s soda and I keep talking.

Later on, I spot Thrull, off in a dim corner, sitting at a table. He’s talking with another creature – this one thin, with spindly limbs and a rough, jagged beard.

Thrull catches my eye and beckons me over. I pull Quint, Dirk, and June with me.

‘Please sit,’ Thrull says, then indicates the other monster. ‘This is ßàŗġťŀ – pronounced “Bardle” in your tongue.’

Bardle smiles – an act that seems to take him great effort. His face scrunches up, revealing deep scars slashing this way and that.

‘Bardle is aged,’ Thrull says. ‘For many lifetimes, he was a conjurer in our dimension.’

‘Dimension?’ Quint asks, leaning forward.

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