Chapter 11

chapter eleven That night, we're all still pretty shaken and freaked by what happened. I suggest we relax with a board game night. It's a good idea, but then Quint goes and picks Risk—the least relaxing game ever. Also, the slowest game

ever. Playing a game of Risk is like adopting a turtle—you're in it for the long haul. And the game's usual sluggish pace becomes downright glacial when zombies join in.... Come on, go already. Dirk makes popcorn balls coated with peanut butter and stuffed with M&M's and some leftover candied carrots he salvaged from his

demolished garden. Sounds gross, but the carrots actually worked. After a few bites, I find myself staring at my Zombie Squad. "Hey, Quint," I finally say. "Do you think they need to, like—y'know. Like... y'know." June looks up. "Go to the bathroom?" "No, no. Like—eat." Quint considers this for a moment. "I do not think so," he finally concludes. "I've noticed the zombies do not fall apart or decay. They are not like the zombies portrayed in comics, film, and television. It's been over a year—and the zombies don't look all that different now from when this all started. I believe they bite not due to hunger, but only to create more zombies." It's an interesting theory. It would mean the zombies are only here as part of .e...c.'s larger plan. And it's pretty smart, when you think about it—portals open up, .e...c. sends through this zombie plague: a plague that can turn almost every person in our dimension into one of his soldiers. In fact, it's downright brilliant.

Why send your own army when, instead, you can unleash a plague that turns the existing population into endless legions of subservient zombie soldiers? But, of course, .e...c. didn't expect his general, Ghazt—the one who was supposed to lead that army—to lose his power. To me. "OK, I lost Kamchatka. That's enough Risk for me," June says with a yawn. She stands and heads for her bunk bed. "Let's hope those vines don't come knocking tonight." "Ha. Let 'em come," I say. "I'll sic my Zombie Squad on 'em. Alfred can probably take down Thrull alone." My friends laugh—but it's an uneasy laugh. Because we have no reason to be that confident. What we saw on Interstate 8 took us by surprise. We almost lost Big Mama, and we did lose that poor little monster. I tell my friends good night, then take my zombies to their trailer. Lefty and Glurm quickly resume staring at the wall, per usual. But Alfred's got his head up—watching me as I try to leave.

I feel a tiny connection to the guy. After all, we've seen stuff together in Wakefield. He saw what Thrall was capable of, and he saw Rezo through the portal. Some part of Alfred might still remember that we need to stay ready, buddy. Ready for thrill and whatever he throws at us?