Chapter 9

Chapter Nine Beyond the Town Square, by the old marsh swamp, is a trio of zombies. They're stuck in the mud, totally unable to move. So Skaelka, Dirk, and I are using them for lasso practice.

I'm terrible at lassoing. Just then, I hear June calling Dirk and me back to the tree house. We find Quint and June leaning against our post-apocalyptic truck, Big Mama. Normally, Big Mama is a classic monster- battling vehicle with gadgets and weapons galore. Like this... But not anymore... Big Mama has changed. The bottle-rocket launchers, the arrow turret, the monster-slugging weapons—everything that fills the truck bed has been removed. And been replaced by the couch. "Um. What am I looking at here?" I ask.

June shrugs. "Quint built it." Dirk elbows me in the side. "I helped yesterday. But barely." "Jack, where are the sleeping bags that I requested you retrieve?" Quint asks. Last week, Quint tasked me with tracking down some heavy-duty, outdoorsy, "I'm about to climb a mountain"–type sleeping bags. It went well—until I met the zombified staff of Dick's Sporting Goods.... Anyway, I toss the sleeping bags into Big Mama, and we all climb in. Minutes later, we're pulling up

to Big Al's Junk Palace. The zombies are everywhere: surrounding the walls, crowding the gate. Dirk parks near the fence. The zombies swarm, moaning, pawing at the windows, and generally being gnarly. June leans forward in her seat. "Quint, how do you plan on getting us inside?" Quint simply says, "To Big Mama's roof!" Dirk yanks open the sunroof, and we all clamber up. Looking down at the rotting zombie faces surrounding the truck, I gulp. Their saliva drips and their undead skin stinks. If we fall over the side, we're zombie chow. "Quint, any chance that whatever we're doing— we could, ah, do it quickly?" I say as a gnarled zombie hand paws at my jeans. "Moving with haste!" Quint replies as he hops into the truck bed. He gives the couch a final once- over, then turns around and announces, "Friends, meet... the Couch-a-Pult!" Um. We're looking at Bardle's fold-out couch.

I'm not sure how to verbalize my confusion. But, thankfully, June knows exactly what to say: "A COUCH?! This is your solution?! This is how we get inside?! My hot-air balloon idea was better!" "My tunnel idea was better!" Dirk says. "My pogo-stick idea was not better," I admit with a shrug. "But still... couch-a-pult?" "Trust me," Quint says, and he tries to say it in a soothing, reassuring sort of way, but it's hard for anything to be soothing or reassuring when there are undead fingers poking at our sneakers. I think one is trying to tie my laces together. Suddenly, a zombie hand grabs Dirk's shin, and my big bud yells, "Anything's better than zombies!" and then we're all following Dirk's lead, slipping into the sleeping bags, plopping down onto the couch, and squeezing in. Moments later

"In a moment, we will be launched over the wall. When you hit the ground," Quint says, "try to roll." "Roll?" I ask. "Correct," Quint says. "To absorb the impact." "How do I roll? I'm in a sleeping bag. My arms are by my sides." "Bundle yourself." "Bundle?" June asks. "How do I bundle myself?" "Just sort of bunch up," Quint says. "Bunch or bundle?" I ask. "I'm getting mixed messages."