Flesh of the Zombie (5 page)

“How did the zombies know what?” asked Vein, sounding bored.

“How did the zombies know that the venue had been changed?”

Vein jerked a thumb back in the direction of the tent. “Twonk, our drummer, runs the Brain Drain fan club. He must have contacted everyone.”

Luke stared thoughtfully at the slim opening in the black silk. “There’s a list!” he exclaimed. “We don’t need Fool Spectre; the drummer’s got a list of every zombie here. We can find our zombie that way!” He took a step towards the tent, but Vein slapped his hand on his shoulder.

“You are not to disturb anyone in my band before we perform,” he warned. As he spoke,
three other zombies came out of the tent carrying musical instruments and climbed up onto the stage.

“You don’t understand,” said Luke. “I need to find a particular zombie.”

Vein leapt up onto the stage and glared down at the trio. “It’s bad enough having to play a dive like Scream Street, without kids like you hanging around as well!”

“And what would
you
know about Scream Street?” Resus asked hotly.

“I used to live here,” said Vein over his shoulder as he strode off after the rest of the band. “In fact, I believe I was the first zombie ever to do so.”

Luke, Resus and Cleo
ran round to the front of the stage.
“He’s
one of Scream Street’s founding fathers?” spluttered Resus.

“But, he’s horrible!” said Cleo.

“I guess you don’t have to be pleasant to be
the first of your kind to live somewhere,” said Luke.

“We should look on the bright side,” said Resus. “At least we don’t have to search through the drummer’s fan club list now.”

“That’s true,” agreed Luke, “but we
do
have to ask Vein for his relic.”

An eerie hush filled the square as Fool Spectre materialized before the microphone at the front of the stage. “Lamies and gentlemoans,” he announced. “Today is the happiest day of your deaths. The greatest rock group ever to taste flesh has arrived here — yes,
here
— in Scream Street. It’s … Brain Drain!”

The audience went wild, cheering, applauding and screaming.

“Looks like we’ll have to watch the show first,” said Cleo.

Fool Spectre continued. “On drums, the monster that puts the beat in ‘deadbeat’ — Twonk!” The spotlight fell on a jolly, round-faced zombie clutching a pair of arm bones. He sat at a kit of drums covered with stretched human skin and began to pound out a powerful rhythm.

“On bass,” continued Spectre, “it’s the quiet
one — although that could be because his lips fell off during their last tour — Porridge!” The female zombies in the audience screamed as a tall, thin creature appeared in the lights, his long green hair flopping down over his eyes. Porridge plugged in a bass guitar made from a leg with tendons for strings, and joined in with the drums.

“Next,” said Fool Spectre, “on lead guitar, the sultry siren who makes those strings sing — Jazpants!” This time it was the male monsters’ turn to go crazy as a female zombie dashed out onto the stage clutching a guitar formed out of a human spine, on which she played a wild solo. Cleo nudged Luke and pointed to the guitarist’s hands. Jazpants had eight fingers on each hand, the extra digits having been stitched on beside her own.

“And finally,” announced Fool Spectre as the musicians continued to play, “the greatest superstar ever to crawl out of a coffin. The viscount of vocals himself! Give it up for the one, the only — Vein!”

The lead singer of Brain Drain sauntered casually onto the stage to deafening applause and cheers. Several of the zombies near the front of
the crowd fainted from excitement, crumbling to the ground.

Vein took the microphone from Fool, paused theatrically, sending the crowd insane, and began to sing in a deep, gravelly voice.

“If I rip the heart right from your chest,

They’ll take me away; cardiac arrest …”

Fool Spectre shimmered into existence beside Luke, Resus and Cleo. “What did I tell you?” he shouted over the noise of the band. “Aren’t they great?”

“Wonderful!” yelled Resus, twisting the corners of his cape and pushing them into his ears.

“I’ll let your blood flow like a river
,

Mop it all up with your juicy liver,”
Vein sang to the entranced crowd.

“Catchy lyrics,” said Luke.

“It’s called ‘Zombie Feasting Time’,” shouted Fool Spectre. “It was written by one of the band’s fans and delivered anonymously to Vein this morning.”

“Composed by the decomposed. How appropriate!”

Cleo scanned the audience of madly dancing zombies. Heads, arms and torsos flew into the air as the creatures clashed against each other in the musical mêlée. Suddenly she spotted a familiar face. “Tee!” she screamed, racing into the crowd.

Resus grabbed Luke’s arm. “Come on!” he shouted.

The trio pushed their way through the heavy crowd, searching for the young zombie. “Tee!” yelled Cleo, the pumping music almost completely drowning out her voice. Resus pulled a tennis racquet from his cloak and began to batter dancing monsters out of their way.

“Are you OK?” Cleo asked as they reached Tee.

The young zombie shook his head, dazed. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s OK,” said Resus. “We’ve only got the vaguest grasp ourselves!”

“Let’s get out of here,” said Luke. “We can talk to Vein after the show.”

Resus began to create a pathway through the zombies by batting them with the tennis racquet. Body parts bounced around.

Cleo grabbed Tee’s hand and began to steer him through the crowd, with Luke bringing up the rear. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

Suddenly one of the zombies who had found himself on the wrong end of Resus’s racquet spun round and grabbed Luke’s shoulder, digging its nails in deep.

Luke yelled in pain. “What did you do that f—” He staggered as a familiar feeling began to wash over him. “Cleo …” he managed to croak before his mind was wrapped in darkness.

“Resus,” called the mummy. “Luke’s transforming!”

The bones in Luke’s arms cracked noisily as they stretched, muscles growing and wrapping themselves around the stronger limbs. Long yellow talons burst from the ends of his fingers.

This was one of the many partial transformations Luke had experienced since moving to Scream Street, where only one part of his body changed into that of a werewolf. He was often not fully in control over what would change: this time his arms rippled with brown fur and ended in powerful claws.

The werewolf inside Luke glared up at the zombie still gripping his shoulder. Lashing out with his paws, he sliced at the creature’s chest, sending it crashing to the ground.

Having seen one of their own injured, the other zombies around the part-werewolf pounced. Luke punched out again and again, desperate to keep his attackers at bay. Resus thrust the racquet
back into his cloak and pulled out the flaming torch.

“Get away from him!” he shouted, jabbing it into the crowd as Brain Drain’s music continued to pound across the square.

The zombies stepped back, spooked by the flame. Cleo and Tee hurried to Resus’s side as he twisted from left to right, trying to keep the monsters back, and the group found itself in a circle of angry, snarling zombies.

“OK,” said Cleo slowly. “Any idea what we do now?”

“Chewing on you, you’re tasting good
,

Gnawing your bones and—”

Suddenly a piercing scream rang out through the sound system and all eyes turned towards the stage. Vein’s feet were wrapped in a swirling green mist which quickly rose up his body until, with a flash, the singer disappeared.

“What on earth …?” Resus asked, amazed.

As the audience watched, another cloud of green gas appeared and wrapped around Jazpants, her instrument clattering to the floor as she vanished.

The bass guitarist was next to be swallowed
up by the vapour. Porridge gave a gurgled yell as the mist enveloped him.

Twonk, the only member of Brain Drain left on the stage, stopped playing as the gas began to hiss around his feet. The drummer jumped up and leapt from the stage in an effort to escape, but the green cloud was around him within seconds; he disappeared before he hit the ground.

The zombie crowd stared in silence as a figure strode out onto the stage where their heroes had so recently stood. A large man puffed hard on a noxious cigar.

“I have two things to say,” Sir Otto Sneer roared into the microphone. “One: never,
ever
mess with me. And two: meet the composer of Brain Drain’s latest hit!”

Fool Spectre materialized beside the landlord. “
You
wrote ‘Zombie Feasting Time’?”

“Not bad for a first try, is it?” grinned Sir Otto. “I had a bit of a problem finding a rhyme for kidney, but I got there in the end.”

“What happened to the band?” demanded Spectre.

“Let’s just say there was magic in the music,” crowed Sir Otto as a zombie with lank ginger hair
climbed onto the stage and stood beside him.

“That’s the zombie who raided the emporium,” hissed Resus.

The red-haired zombie’s skin began to ripple and clear of its scabs as his body twisted back to its original shape. Fully transformed, the thin figure waved cheerily to the crowd from his uncle’s side. “Coo-ee!”

“It’s Dixon!” said Cleo. “He shapeshifted into a zombie to break into Everwell’s!” Beside her, Luke groaned as his claws transformed back into human hands.

All across the square, zombies began to complain. “Brain Drain!” shouted one of the creatures. Those around it joined in with the chant. “Brain drain!”

Fool Spectre raised a hand to silence them. “Where
are
Brain Drain?”

The landlord sucked hard on his cigar. “They’ve set off on a neverending tour,” he said, his voice echoing through the speaker system so no one could fail to hear his words. “To the Underlands …”

At the mention of this, a shocked hush fell across the crowd, then the zombies began to lurch forward, pressing against the stage. Sir Otto remained unmoved by the moans and growls around him.

“If you freaks ever want to see Brain Drain again,” he roared, pointing directly at Luke, “bring me
that
werewolf!