Attack of the Zombie King Page 2

  “Yeah,” grumbled Lester, not feeling quite as charitable as my mom. “We’re gonna be late, thanks to you. This better not ruin everything.”

  I kicked Lester under the table to make him stop blabbing, but it was too late. “What are you talking about?” Darlene said. “Late for what? And what does ‘ruin everything’ even mean?”

  Lester’s face turned a light shade of red as he realized he’d said too much. “Nothing. I mean, you know, it’s Evan’s birthday, so we want to make sure that, you know, we can get to the store and get a cake before it closes or something.”

  Darlene stared at Lester. “I’m sorry for being late, like I said, but you are totally not making any sense at all right now.” She turned to Evan. “Dude, happy birthday, by the way. And I promise you, we are going to get you the sweetest cake you’ve ever seen.”

  Evan, who had been watching this whole exchange with the liveliest expression I’d seen on his face in weeks, nodded vigorously. “Oh, I’m not worried about it, Darlene. Tonight’s not even my birthday—tomorrow night is—so if I don’t get a cake tonight, I’m sure I’ll get a great one tomorrow.”

  “Of course we’re getting you a cake tonight,” my mom said. “It’s the night-before cake.”

  “Too bad you can’t have any, Mr. Jelly Bean Man,” Lester said to me with a hint of irritation still in his voice. Even though we basically got along really well, whenever he was mad about something—or mad at someone—he tended to take it out on me by reminding me that I was, in fact, a zombie. And zombies, as everyone knows by now, can only eat jelly beans.

  “Be nice to your brother,” my dad said. He didn’t tolerate any kind of fighting, and especially any kind of fighting in public.

  “Semi-brother,” Lester mumbled.

  “What did you just say?” My dad’s voice had taken on a new level of intensity.

  “Let’s everyone just calm down,” said my mom. “This is a celebration, remember?”

  “Should I go?” Darlene asked.

  “Maybe,” Lester said.

  “You stay right there,” my mom ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Darlene said.

  “This is going great so far,” my dad said. I was pretty sure he was kidding.

  I caught Evan’s parents glancing at each other. They hadn’t said anything during this entire exchange, but now it seemed like they’d had enough. “Okay,” said Mr. Brantley. “Perhaps it’s best if we head out and leave the Kinders in peace to work things out, shall we?”

  I was thinking to myself that actually that wasn’t a bad idea, when Mr. Brantley gestured to his wife and son. “Honey? Evan? Shall we?”

  Huh?

  I realized with a slight jolt of horror that Mr. Brantley didn’t know about the surprise party.

  Evan stood up glumly. “I really wanted to see that movie. And have cake.”

  “We’ll have cake tomorrow,” his dad reminded him.

  Luckily, before the night turned into a complete disaster, Mrs. Brantley saved the day. “Horace, why don’t you and I go, but let Evan stay,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to try out that new ice cream place downtown, anyway.”

  Mr. Brantley thought for a second. “Do they have rocky road? You know I love rocky road.”

  “I’m sure they have rocky road, honey.”

  “Fine.” Mr. and Mrs. Brantley got up. “Evan, we’ll pick you up later,” said Mr. Brantley. “Enjoy your party.”

  Wait, did he just say that out loud? Now I was really confused. Did he know about the party or not? Either way, he was blowing it big-time.

  Evan’s eyes crinkled. “What party?”

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” tittered Mrs. Brantley, way too excitedly. She yanked on her husband’s arm. “That’s tomorrow night, dear; you know that!”

  “Wait a second,” Evan said. “I said I didn’t want a party, remember?”

  I sank lower in my chair. Things had gotten way out of hand, and we hadn’t even gotten our drinks yet.

  “Not party, exactly,” said Mrs. Brantley. “Just a family gathering, that’s all. Tomorrow night. Just the family.”

  As I stared at Evan’s mom with grateful appreciation, I thought about what she was like when I first met her. It was hard to believe she’d been the one to turn me in to the authorities way back when.

  Boy, times had sure changed.

  “Okay,” Evan said, but he still looked suspicious. “I’m just not really in the mood for a party these days. I thought I was pretty clear about that. And don’t even think about a surprise party, because that would be worst of all.”

  Luckily, the waiter came right then, and we could change the subject once and for all.

  “Who’s ready to order?” he said.

  Evan raised his hand. “I am. I’d like to order everyone at this table to not throw me a party.”

  It was starting to look like it was going to be one of those nights.

  Luckily, we got through the rest of the meal okay. Darlene and Lester made up, the food was delicious (everyone was oohing and aahing over the fried chicken, which did look delicious, even to a zombie), and by the time we paid the check and headed out to the car, Evan was excitedly singing the lyrics to “The Bare Necessities.”

  That’s a song from The Jungle Book, which was the movie that Evan thought we were going to be watching when we got back to my house, but which we weren’t, because we were throwing him a surprise party, which he’d told us earlier would make him very upset.

  But hey, a plan’s a plan, right? So there we were, in the car on the way home, when I texted Kiki: We’ll be there in 10 min.

  We’re ready! she texted back. This is going to be so AWESOME!

  I wasn’t sure what to say to that one, so I just let it lie.

  As we drove up the driveway, I noticed the house was dark. As in, completely dark. Unnaturally dark. Everyone leaves at least one or two lights on even when they’re not home, right? But this was pure blackness.

  “Jeez, your house is really dark,” Evan said, right on cue.

  “We must have forgotten to leave a light on!” shouted everyone in the car, basically at the same exact time. Evan looked a little startled at our group enthusiasm, but luckily didn’t seem to put two and two together.

  My mom opened the front door and went in first. She turned a light on in the kitchen. We followed her. The house was deadly silent. We all stood there for a few seconds, each waiting for someone else to say something. It was the most awkward moment in the world. If someone wrote a book on how to throw a surprise party, I’m pretty sure the first rule would be, “Don’t walk into your own house and freeze in place as if you’re in a play and you’ve forgotten your lines.”

  But still, Evan was clueless. “What time do you want to start the movie?” he asked. “My mom is picking me up at nine thirty.”

  Lester, bless his heart, was the first one to step up to the plate. “Hey, Evan,” he said, “can you go into the living room and grab the big bowl that’s on the coffee table? I’m gonna rustle up some popcorn.”

  “You bet!” Popcorn always got Evan excited, since it was the one semi-unhealthy treat his mom let him eat.

  Sure enough, Evan raced into the living room, turned on the light, and was greeted by a room full of sixth graders leaping up from behind couches, chairs, and tables, and all screaming, “SURPRIIIIIISEEEEE!”

  Evan froze in place like he’d seen a ghost. Or, more accurately, about twenty-five ghosts.

  Kiki, Ross, Brett, and all the other kids in our homeroom class charged at Evan, yelling “Happy birthday!” and “You’re the man!” and “You should have seen your face!” and stuff like that. Sarah Anne waited until all the chaos had died down a bit, then went over and gave Evan a hug.

  I stood in the doorway, scared stiff, waiting to see how Evan would react to the exact thing he’d said earlier he didn’t want.

  After five seconds that felt like five years, I had my answer: A giant smile crossed his face.

  “YESSSSS!” he crowed. “A SURPRISE PARTY! LET’S DO THIS!”

  And so I was reminded once again you can never take anything an eleven-year-old human boy says too seriously.

  Even if he’s about to turn twelve.

  I have to hand it to my parents: They broke out all the greatest hits for Evan’s party.

  We had a popcorn machine, because I remembered he’d loved it at his birthday party last year. We had a karaoke machine, so everyone could sing their favorite songs (I confess, I have not been able to adjust to this whole thing they call “pop music.” It’s really just a series of random noises, with someone singing words that are often impossible to understand.) There was a little dancing, a little flirting, a lot of hot dogs, a water balloon fight, two kinds of cupcakes (chocolate and vanilla), and a make-your-own-caramel-apple station.

  Evan was in heaven.

  As the party was winding down, I thought we were home free, because everything had gone perfectly. As some kids started to get picked up by their parents, Lester made the perfectly innocent suggestion of playing a pickup basketball game in the driveway while everyone else waited for their rides.

  “Under the lights, it will be sweet!” he said. “Evan and Arnold, you guys be captains.” Even though only a few kids were still there, it was a little thrilling to be asked to be a captain of anything sports-related. It didn’t exactly happen every day.

  Evan picked Ross, and I picked Lester, and Evan picked Kiki, and I picked a tall girl named Angie, and Evan picked a kid named Philip, and then we both realized that the last one standing there was Brett.

  He didn’t look happy.

  “Are you guys serious?” he moaned. “I’m, like, usually one of the first kids picked.”

  “Well, now you know how
it feels to be one of the last kids picked,” said Evan. He was obviously feeling a little bolder than usual, it being his party and all.

  “You’re on my team, Brett,” I said, and he harrumphed his way over to my side of the court.

  “I’ll ref,” said my dad cheerfully.

  It was the last cheerful thing anyone said all night.

  It turned out Brett wasn’t kidding when he’d said at school that he wasn’t happy about Ross and Kiki. They were both on Evan’s team, so Brett decided that it was the perfect excuse to make their lives miserable, at least until someone’s mom or dad came to pick them up.

  First, he tripped Ross.

  “Foul!” announced my dad. “Brett, that was uncalled for. It’s a friendly birthday party pickup game, not game seven of the NBA finals.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Kinder,” Brett said, but he didn’t seem all that sorry, especially since two plays later, he gave Kiki a healthy push from behind, and she went sprawling into the bushes.

  “HEY!” screamed Ross. “You just pushed a girl! My girl! That was so not cool!” And he gave Brett a healthy shove of his own. But Brett didn’t go sprawling into the bushes, he went SPLAT! onto the concrete driveway, and came up clutching his arm and wailing.

  “I think I broke my elbow!” he moaned. “I mean, I think you broke my elbow!”

  “The game is over!” bellowed my dad. “Everyone, back inside!”

  Angie and Philip followed my dad over to Brett to see if he was okay, while Kiki dashed over to Ross and put her hand on his shoulder, as if to say, It’s not your fault, honey.

  Evan, who was standing there with his mouth open, trying to figure out how the end of his party went so wrong, saw Kiki and Ross huddled together and decided that was the last straw.

  “That’s it! I’m sick of this! I’m sick of you two just being all lovey-dovey and ignoring everyone else! Kiki, I thought we were best friends, and you know that Ross and Brett have been making fun of me for, like, forever, but you just don’t care, and now he just broke Brett’s arm, and you’re still standing there next to Ross like he’s so awesome, and I don’t want to be friends with any of you guys anymore, and this was the WORST BIRTHDAY PARTY EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD!”

  And right then, as if on cue, Evan’s mom drove up the driveway, and without another word Evan ran to the car and got in. Mrs. Brantley got out of the car and was on her way up the front walk, probably to say thank you to my parents for the party, when Evan stuck his head out the window.

  “MOM! LET’S GO! HURRY UP! I WANT TO GO!”

  My mom ran over to Mrs. Brantley. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “There was a minor incident at the end of the party. I’m sure it will all be fine, but Evan got a bit upset. You should probably get him home.”

  Mrs. Brantley nodded and gave my mom a quick hug, then went back to her car and got in. Evan stared straight ahead as they backed out of the driveway.

  The rest of us stared as they drove away. Brett, who’d forgotten all about his supposedly broken elbow, kicked the basketball into the yard. No one said anything until Sarah Anne, who’d been watching this whole thing from the porch, walked over to us with her letter board.

  HE FORGOT HIS PRESENTS.

  I didn’t see Evan for a few days after that, except in school. We all decided it was best to leave him alone. At lunch, he sat by himself, at the same table and in the same seat he had been sitting in when I saw him on my very first day of school. He was even eating the same unidentifiable healthy gloopy green stuff.

  Ross and Brett made up, of course. In fact, they made up about thirty seconds after Evan left in a huff. Kiki helped by telling Brett that even if she and Ross liked each other, Brett and Ross would always be best friends. Brett seemed to accept that. It turns out even obnoxious kids get their feelings hurt every once in a while.

  As for my parents, well, let’s just say they’ve decided that maybe we’ll hold off on surprise parties for the foreseeable future. Which is just fine with me.

  And Lester? He thought the whole thing was hilarious. I believe his exact quote was, “Holy smokes, that whole thing was hilarious!” But later that night, when he realized that I was actually really sad about losing my best friend—at least temporarily—he knocked on my door and sat down on my bed.

  “Sorry about today,” he said. “Fighting with friends can be a real drag. But it never lasts.”

  “I guess,” I told him. “But it wasn’t just today. Something’s been up with Evan for a while. At first I thought it was because of Kiki and Ross, but I’m not sure anymore. Maybe it’s something else.”

  Lester lay back on the bed with a big plop. “Well, give the little dude his space, and eventually he’ll be ready to tell you what’s up. Aaaite?”

  Lester said aaaite a lot. Humans use it as a faster way to say all right.

  Five minutes after Lester left my room, I got a text from Evan: Sorry about today. I didn’t mean to ruin the party. I have a lot on my mind, I guess. Thanks for everything.

  Wow, I thought to myself. Maybe Lester is right!

  It’s okay! I texted back. Do you want to talk about it?

  It took Evan about five minutes to respond.

  No.

  Two days later, I was walking home from school when I got a text from my mom: Are you on your way home?

  I scratched my head in confusion. That was a weird question. I almost always came home right after school.

  Yes, I responded.

  My mom texted again: Great!

  My mind jumped to the possibility that maybe Evan was at the house. Although that didn’t make sense, since Evan was anti-me right now.

  Why? What’s up?

  Just hurry home.

  Is something wrong?

  NO!

  Excitement surged through my bloodless veins. I started to run before remembering that running and me didn’t get along. So I walked as fast as my rubbery legs could take me, and made it home in about ten minutes. I would have been out of breath, but I don’t breathe.

  I turned the corner to our street and saw an army vehicle in our driveway.

  That would have made me stop breathing, but again, a quick reminder—I don’t breathe.

  But just because I don’t breathe, and can’t run, and have no warm blood in my body, it doesn’t mean I can’t feel emotion. And the emotion I was feeling right at that moment was fear.

  Intense fear.

  It was the exact kind of military vehicle—a jeep, with darkened windows and a deep green paint job—that they had in the Territory. Those were the vehicles that were driving all over campus looking for me when I was trying to escape. I’d learned to not like those vehicles.

  So why was one at our house?

  I had a flashback to the last time I’d had this feeling about someone visiting our house. It was when Dr. Grasmere, the director of Project Z, had come to convince my family and me that I should go back to the Territory to help the zombies enter regular society. I’d agreed. Big mistake.

  I walked slowly up the front steps and opened the door, pretty sure I wasn’t going to like what I saw.

  But I was wrong.

  Because sitting there, having coffee with my parents, was Sergeant Kelly—the nicest human person in the whole Territory. She protected me when everyone else was against me. And she helped me when I thought I was going to be punished for trying to escape.

  “Sergeant Kelly!” I exclaimed. Then, without thinking, I ran up to her and gave her a big hug.

  “Oh!” she said, in a voice of awkward surprise. That was when I realized that maybe you weren’t supposed to run up and hug sergeants in the United States Army.

  I immediately pulled back and said, “Whoops! Sorry about that. I was just … happy to see you, I guess.”

  Sergeant Kelly laughed. “Oh, it’s all good,” she said. “I’m not exactly a stickler for regulations, and what harm can one hug do, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  My parents were sitting on the couch, but unlike when Dr. Grasmere visited, they didn’t seem tense at all. In fact, they were both smiling broadly.

  “Sergeant Kelly has come to see us with an interesting piece of news,” said my mom.

  “That’s right,” my dad chimed in. “The big cheese wants to see us.”