Chapter 27

chapter twenty-seven We lead the zombies to the farm, depositing them there—even though Warg is nowhere in sight. It's only when we get to the crumbled remains of Dandy-Lions ice cream parlor that we find her carrying Bardle in her arms. The other monsters are back at Joe's, celebrating our victory. They do not mourn Bardle. Only Warg does. She is different from the other monsters. She doesn't quite fit in. And man, it's a weird reminder that being different and not fitting in —that's good sometimes. "What will you do with Bardle?" I ask. "We have our own customs," Warg says. "You need not know any more than that."

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The next few days are a weird, hazy blur of nothing. I read comics that I've already read a thousand times—just looking for the comfort of familiarity. Quint immediately gets back to work— probably drawing up a blueprint of his cool new weapon. June curls up on the couch, watching her parents' names scroll down the cracked TV on a loop, for hours and hours a day. And Dirk. Dirk is quiet. It's almost three days after our big battle when Quint comes flying out of his lab. He's carrying the football helmet. "Dirk!" he says. "Put this on! No delaying!" Dirk's flopped out on a beanbag in the corner. "Whaddya want me to find this time?" Quint shakes his head and says softly, "I want you to find the peace and quiet you deserve, friend." "That's so corny, bro," Dirk says. But he smiles, sits up, and cracks his neck. Quint

reaches up to place the helmet on Dirk's head. "I made some modifications," Quint says. "The helmet now blocks intrusive zombie thoughts. I've added custom settings, too, so this knob here, on the side, allows the zombie thoughts back in, if you like." For a split second, it looks like Dirk might cry. "You mean...?" "Yep." Quint nods, all proud. "Zombiecancelling helmet."— I feel better already.

It's a whole week later, and I'm itching to play video games—but June's still watching the names on the screen. I'll be honest, she totally monopolizes the TV—but I guess these are special circumstances. But it's the siren call of the video game that causes me to grab a spare console and head out to the football field early one morning. I fire up the system—no Battle Royale today, just some retro, single-player side-scroller stuff. Rover curls up on the grass, and I lean back against him—sinking into his warm, soft belly fur. I grab the controller and realize this new Squishy Mitten of Power is going to take some getting used to on the video game front. And it also needs a name that isn't the Squishy Mitten of Power. I play for hours. Happy to have knocked Thrull back—big-time. I play for so long that I actually drift off midgame— soothed by the sounds of 16-bit tunes. But then Quint's shaking me awake. He's with Warg and Dirk. I rub my eyes, confused.

They have Evie's book: Interdimensional Terrors: A History of the Cabal of the Cosmic. "Uh, hey, guys," I say, wiping drool from my chin. "What's up?" Quint taps the book. "After all my research on the tail, I needed to know how Bardle was able to give you the ability to absorb the tail's energy. I kept thinking there had to be a scientific reason. So, I consulted the book." "And what did you find?" I ask. "Nothing good," Quint says. "Jack, when you pulled the power from the tail—did the tail appear to retain any of that power?" "No. It was all bone. There was none of that inky, oily stuff left." "Are you certain?" Warg asks. "I think so! I mean, it was kind of a high- stress situation—I wasn't exactly taking notes. Why?"