Chapter 6

chapter six Well, guys, pretty successful mission operation, huh? Indeed, Fist bumps. Friends feel the awesome

Bardle doesn't seem to be enjoying this. He's not fist-bumping. He's not feeling the awesome. "Bardle?" I ask. "Why aren't you feeling the awesome?" "Yeah," June says. "We crushed that!" "Exactly!" I say as I give Bardle a big ol' slap on the back. Which, I discover, is a bad idea, just awful, 'cause in a flash... whoa, easy dude. A PALM TO THE BACK IS THE SIGN YOU WISH TO BATTLE TO THE DEATH. IS THAT WHAT YOU DESIRE?

"Nope!" I say. "Totally not what I desire. In this dimension, a slap on the back just means, like, 'Hey, cool, good times, buddy—friendly back slaps!'" Bardle's confused. "You slap for friendliness?" "I mean—we don't say 'slap for friendliness' because that sounds deranged. It's just a—um—" I'm trying to figure out how to explain when I realize—hoo boy—my hand stings. It stings way worse than it should after a regular ol' friendly back slap. It feels like I jammed my hand into a flaming bonfire or grabbed a handful of red-hot coals. "Argh,"I moan, shaking my hand back and forth. Thankfully, Rover bounds over and showers my palm with cold slobber. The pain subsides some. "Thanks pal, needed that." Bardle grabs my wrist. Rover saliva splashes the ground as Bardle turns my hand over, examining it. He blinks quickly. "I suspect that using your blade to manipulate the undead

causes it to become hot," he says. "So hot that wielding it becomes near impossible." June stops walking. She cocks her head. Looks me up and down. Then she brings up the ninety-pound Dozer in the room. "Yeah..." she says slowly. "We should probably talk about the craziness that went down back there." Quint's eyes are wide. "Jack," he says. "You controlled a zombie...." I kind of hoped no one would mention it, honestly. I feel a little numb. There's this feeling like yay, that was rad, but also kind of like yah, this is scary? "I, uh.... I guess I did," I say with a weird little shrug. Quint, Dirk, and June surround me. Like I'm a specimen at a laboratory. Like I'm some new Jack. Some different Jack. Then, all together, they explode—

You have the bootleg version of the force. You got like powers, duod kind of weird, kind of rad. "Wait, wait, hold up," I stammer. "I feel like there's a bunch of undeserved credit here. I didn't do anything! The Slicer did! And the Slicer just happens to be mine! I mean, it's just a Little League bat!"

Warmth creeps up my neck, across my cheeks. "Aww, he's blushing!" Quint says. June sees that I'm a big bit uncomfortable. Our eyes catch, then June winks at me. Super quickly, she says, "Yeah, but Jack will probably be lousy at the whole 'Slicer powers' thing anyway!" Which is, like, a jab at me. But also a way of removing everyone's feeling that wow, that was big. The teasing—it makes it all feel normal again. And I appreciate the crud out of June for it. "Look," I say. "I—uh—I felt the Slicer burn like that once before. With Ghazt, at the movie theater. But I didn't know it could do that...." My friends nod. Bardle's fingers trace his beard. It's quiet, and then— Zombie moans. Loud. "OK, enough raving about Jack's strange zombie-controlling ability. We must discuss them," Quint says, pointing behind us.