Chapter 2

chapter two Yep, we completely miss Tiny Splotcher and instead just crash through the train's roof panel like a pair of fleshy missiles. crash Ever fallen through the roof of a train, then capped it off with a face-plant into a monster? I don't

recommend it. "We would've been better off going with the exploding-bird plan," I groan, sitting up. We just landed in a tin can packed with monstery badness, a train hurtling toward a door that will explode us on contact. Also, I think I rolled my ankle, so yeah, nothing is going well right now. Oh boy. This is embarrassing, But I think we got on the wrong train. Is this the express or the local We meant to board the not full-of-monster's train. So the express

"Just mortifying," I continue. "Sorry to intrude. We'll get outta your hair," I add in my most nonchalant voice, as I attempt to casually grab the train's EMERGENCY EXIT lever. One Splotcher barks something to the others, which, if I had to guess from their reaction, roughly translates to, "GET 'EM!" "From now on," June says as she leaps to her feet. "Leave the big action plans to me, 'K, Jack?" "This WAS your plan!" "No, no. I don't think that's true." "It was totally your plan!" I say. And then I don't say anything else for a bit because it's battling time. It's almost too chaotic to describe. A prize fight in a bread box. Monstrous claws lash out, talons slice and cut through the air—it's a whirlwind tornado of action.

I hear a muffled boom, and two Splotchers shoot upward into the ceiling. "And stay off!" June says, dusting off her Blasty arm. The Slicer feels at home in my hand—but it's not totally at home in this train car. I try to unleash some home-run-derby, crush-the-cover-off-the-baseballl evel destruction, but when I swing— THUNK! The blade jams into the wall—and stays there. "Argh! Stupid Slicer, stupid wall..." I mutter as I try to rip it out. A Splotcher cocks back its arm— which is not really an arm, but more of a jagged, meat-and-bone sword appendage. "OK, it is simply too tight in here to fight!" I say. "I mean—can we at least agree on that?"

Suddenly, my head whips back. Another Splotcher has grabbed a handful of my jacket and is ripping me off my feet. Guess he doesn't agree. "Hey, hey, hold on a sec, would ya!" I stammer. "Wanna talk this out? We just need to put our heads together!" And with that— correct? Oh, nobody wins in a head, but Jack, OK, I need a heavy swig of Tylenol. Extra strength. Also, my "put our heads together" line didn't sound as

cool as I thought it was going to. But it worked. The Splotcher drops me—probably surprised by the pure stupidity of the head-butt maneuver. I finally manage to rip the Slicer out of the wall, then I dive between the monster's legs, sliding toward the emergency lever. I reach for it, just... a few... more inches. But then— "ACK! Get... OFF!" It's June—her angry cry fills the car, followed by a —THWOCK! June cries out in pain. Through the melee, I see her. You're gonna be so sorry.