The Swiss Family RobinZOM (Book 3) (7 page)

Twenty-One

Bill and Fritz had just felled another tree by the time Liz rounded the corner.

“They’re coming!” Liz said.

“Who’s coming?” Bill said.

“My parents. Who do you think?”

Bill looked over at their traps.

“But we’re not ready,” he said.

“What’ll we do?” Liz said.

“When did the bells start ringing?”

“About five minutes ago.”

“Then we have about twenty or thirty minutes before they get here.”

Bill punched a tree.

“Crap!” he said. “We need more time.”

“How much longer do we need?” Liz said.

“I don’t know. Thirty minutes. An hour. The longer the better.”

Liz hopped onto Lightfoot’s back.

“Then you keep building,” she said.

Bill stepped in front of the donkey.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said.

“To give you your extra time,” Liz said.

Bill shook his head.

“We’ll head for the boat and get out of here,” he said.

“No. We’re fighting. And somebody has to do this. You’re better at building than me. Do you really want one of the boys to do it?”

Bill thought for a moment, then stepped aside. Liz pulled up next to him, leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.

“I love you,” Bill said.

“And you always will,” Liz said. “Now, get back to work, slacker.”

She turned toward the jungle with a determined look in her eye.

“Giddyup!” she said.

The donkey sprang into a sedate pace. Bill’s heart swelled with equal parts pride and concern as his beloved rode with a distinct lack of grace into the foliage.

“What do you want me to do, Dad?” Fritz said.

“First, help me put this trunk into position,” Bill said.

They grabbed a vine each and put all their strength and weight into hefting the trunk, and then tied it off. They picked up an axe each and felled another log. They stripped it, prepared it, and hoisted it into position. They completed two more in quick succession before they stopped.

“There,” Bill said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Go get your brothers.”

Bill took a deep breath through his nose and got his breath back. He stood with his hands behind his back surveying the area they had turned into a booby trap artist’s paradise. The holes were covered with broad leaves, indistinguishable from the greenery surrounding it. Lumps of dripping meat hung above each of them. Half a dozen trunks with obsidian fringes sat perched in the boughs of half a dozen trees. The nets of coconuts hung overhead, precarious and ready. The Robinson boys strode over to their father.

“You wanted to see us?” Ernest said.

“Yes,” Bill said. “The Lurchers are on their way, and there won’t be just a few of them. They will come in their hundreds, in their thousands, maybe. But we must be ready for them. Do not hesitate. Because they will not hesitate.”

For a moment he said nothing and looked from one son to the next, taking them in.

“I’m very proud of you,” he said. “All of you. Fritz, for your strength. Ernest, for your wisdom. Jack, for your bravery. Francis, for his curiosity. You boys are the greatest achievement of my life. It makes me proud to see you all standing here before me today. No father could have better sons.”

His sons smiled back at him.

“You boys have been lucky enough never to have experienced war,” Bill said. “Today you might just get a taste. It won’t be sweet, it won’t be honourable, but we will be victorious. The Lurchers are a flood, and though it may not seem like it, their numbers are not limitless. Let’s show those Lurchers what Swiss Robinsons are made of.”

“Yeah!” Ernest said, getting carried away. “Let’s do it!”

He looked at Fritz and Jack with sheepish eyes and blossomed red.

“Jack,” Bill said, “I want you in the trees with the vines attached to the coconut bombs. Ernest, I want you to take care of the trunks in the trees.”

“Can I suggest we call them ‘trunks of terror’?” Ernest said.

Bill thought for a moment.

“No,” he said. “Get into your positions.”

Jack and Ernest slung their bows and a full quiver of arrows over their shoulders. Ernest climbed a tree with slow deliberate movements with the air of a man not comfortable with his own body. Jack took to a tree and scaled it as easily as if he were walking.

“I’m not sure whose brother Jack is,” Fritz said. “Ours or Nip’s.”

“If he’d been born after we got to the island, I would have had serious words with your mother,” Bill said.

Fritz chuckled.

“What do you want me to do?” he said.

“I want you by my side,” Bill said. “If any of those Lurchers get through this assault course, I want us ready for them.”

Fritz felt at the handle of his baseball bat jutting up from the sheath on his back. Bill slid his machete into a specially-made sheath at his waist. They nodded to one another and took up their bows. The foliage at the end of the booby trap corridor rustled. The Robinson men nocked their arrows and waited. The foliage burst open. Liz emerged, riding Lightfoot. She led the donkey deftly around the traps.

“They’re here,” Liz said.

She was out of breath, face drawn and pale. She climbed off Lightfoot.

“They’re here, and there are too many of them,” she said. “We’ll never hold them back.”

“We have to try,” Bill said.

“This is all that stands in their way between us and them,” Fritz said, gesturing to the booby traps before them. “I hope it’s enough.”

“So do I,” Bill said.

The death groans began as a deep guttural grunt. Quiet, and yet somehow piercing – not to the ear, but to the soul. The foliage rustled and shook. A torn arm hung at the side of a middle aged blonde woman who was the first to come through. Then an old man’s shredded face emerged, his moustache pink with blood, his white eyes vacant and cold. They came like they were entering through a portal from another world.

They stepped forward, and the flood began.

Twenty-Two

The Lurcher had eyes only for the meat. She approached, arms outstretched and grasping. The meat came within a hair’s width. The Lurcher took a step forward and fell through a false jungle floor and into the pit, a dozen spikes impaling her body at once. There were hard thuds and wet cracking noises as more Lurchers piled into the pits. But still, moaning their low groan of the dead, they pushed on. One Lurcher made contact with the meat, but it swung there, above the hole, the movement making it even more irresistible. A brunette Lurcher wearing a pink bikini with blood splatters on the cups had half her face missing, her eye hanging from its socket.

“That has got to be the least sexy thing I’ve ever seen,” Fritz said.

Then a three hundred pound man in a tight pair of speedos stumbled through the foliage.

“I remain corrected,” Fritz said.

“That’s enough sightseeing,” Bill said. “Form up!”

The whole Robinson family nocked their arrows and raised their bows. They fired. The arrows sailed through the air and struck the Lurchers in the head, neck and chest. Only those struck in the head went down, trampled underfoot by those pushing from behind. The other Lurchers continued forward with arrows jutting from their torsos. Those not impaled got to their feet and reached for the meat with outstretched fingers.

“Jack!” Bill said. “Release Coconut Bomb one!”

Jack lowered his bow and pulled on the vine. The net opened, spilling its contents onto the hapless Lurchers below. The coconuts smashed open skulls and squirted brain matter over adjacent Lurchers. Proceeding Lurchers tripped over their fallen comrades.

“Ernest!” Bill shouted. “Release the first trunk of terror!”

Ernest pulled on a vine, and the trunk was released from its restrictive struts. The razor-edge glinted in the embers of daylight, and slammed into the Lurchers. It cut through the first row, slicing off heads and arms. The Lurchers behind took the force of the blow, and got knocked sideways, spilling into the open jaws of a pit. Spikes pierced their bodies in a dozen places, entering the soft rotten corpses like a finger in jelly. Some were impaled, but still alive. They put their arms out to either side to push themselves off the spikes, but lacked the strength to do so. The family continued to fire arrows at the Lurchers, aiming for the soft tainted flesh of their faces. Ernest pulled on the vine, returning the trunk back to its resting position, and released it again.

“We should have made the holes deeper,” Fritz said.

“Yes,” Bill said. “All the way to Brazil.”

Only once the hole was packed shoulder to shoulder with Lurchers could the undead stumble forward over their comrades’ heads and grab the meat. Tiny morsels fell into the waiting mouths and grasping hands of those below. The Lurchers bit one another and fought over the tiny scraps. The vine holding the bait snapped, and the meat fell into the pit along with the Lurcher. As the Lurchers stumbled over one another in the pits, they came to the next row of holes, and fell through the leaves.

“Get back!” Bill shouted to Ernest and Jack, who were standing on branches over the hoard.

Jack jumped with easy agility to another branch. Ernest crouched down and crawled to another limb. The rest of the family took aim and continued to fire arrows.

There was a booming roar from one of the pits. The tiger growled, and the Lurchers groaned back. The tiger backed into a corner, and the Lurchers converged. The tiger swung out with its paw and caught a Lurcher’s knee, knocking the leg off. The Lurcher fell to his remaining knee and crawled toward the tiger, who swiped again, taking off the Lurcher’s head. The tiger rose up on his back legs and swung his paw again, crushing a second Lurcher’s skull. Another Lurcher, with legs that dragged behind him, fell into the hole, landing on top of the tiger, who, startled, leapt across to the other side of the pit. The Lurcher opened his jaws and bit into the tiger’s flesh. The tiger roared, grabbed the Lurcher and tore it off. The other Lurchers lumbered toward the tiger, who, feeling fear, backed into the corner again. The Lurchers fell on the tiger, which clawed and bit and chewed and roared, but was overpowered by the incessant Lurcher onslaught. The tiger jumped at a Lurcher, coiled her legs, and sprang off him at the pit’s edge. She reached with her claws, piercing the earth, and pulled herself up, back legs clawing at the side of the pit, kicking dirt over the Lurchers below. She pulled herself free, but a Lurcher was on her. He bit deep into her back, crunching bone. The tiger roared, kicked him off, took his head in her jaws and brought them together like a vice. The Lurcher’s body went limp, and he fell to the ground. The tiger leapt across another pit, hopped onto a tree trunk that made up one side of the corridor, and took off into the jungle.

“Jack, Ernest!” Bill said.

They pulled their respective vines. The coconuts fell and the trunk scythed in. The coconuts crushed the skulls of a dozen Lurchers, but bounced ineffectively off the bonce of an imposing figure. The trunk of terror sliced through two rows of Luchers before striking the ribs of the same large Lurcher. He bore the brunt of the trunk. He bit at it, tearing a vine with one bite.

“That has got to be the biggest man I’ve ever seen,” Fritz said.

Over seven feet tall if he was an inch, he lumbered over to a pit, stood at the edge, reached for the bait and plucked it like it were a piece of fruit from a low hanging tree.

“Stop him!” Bill said. “He’s eating the bait! Shoot him!”

The whole family took aim and fired at the huge Lurcher. He was as bald as a cue ball, and though he wore no helmet, it seemed to act as protection anyway, the arrows bouncing off his skull. Ernest, the closest of all the Robinsons, edged to the fringe of the tree branch he stood on.

“Hey!” Ernest said.

Three dozen heads, including the big man’s, turned. Ernest pulled back the bowstring and aimed dead centre at the big Lurcher’s forehead. He released. The arrow shot through the man’s head and out the back. It embedded itself into the foot of another Lurcher. Some brain matter was attached to it. The big Lurcher stood for a moment, put a hand to the hole in his forehead, and then slumped forward onto his knees, and then his face. Some of the Lurchers spotted Jack and Ernest, precarious on their branches, and approached the trees they were in. They began chomping at the bark, eating, biting and scratching with their teeth and clawed fingers.

“Get out of those trees!” Bill said. “Move to another one!”

Jack leapt to the next tree without a moment’s hesitation, but Ernest lacked the same confidence. He sat down and edged his way along the branch inch by laborious inch. The Lurchers gathered underneath him, arms outstretched, fingertips grazing the tip of his boots. The other Lurchers continued to gnaw at the tree trunk.

“He’s not going to make it!” Liz said.

The branch Ernest held onto was not thick. It wobbled up and down, and there was the sound of snapping wood fibres. Ernest stared down at the chomping teeth and outstretched arms reaching for him. He looked over at his family.

“Help me!” he said.

Fritz took a step forward.

“No,” Bill said.

“We have to do something!” Fritz said.

Bill reached into his pocket and took out his gun. He opened the chamber. Four bullets. He pulled the hammer back and aimed it at a random Lurcher. He pulled the trigger. The bullet smashed into the head of a Lurcher, hitting the side of its head and caving it in. Thick blood oozed out of the hole, and the Lurcher fell to the ground. The Lurchers turned to peer at the origin of the sound, and though not all the Lurchers turned to head toward them, many did. Bill fired again, blowing away another Lurcher. More Lurchers turned to face the family.

With the number of Lurchers clawing at him reduced, Ernest got to his knees, and then his feet. He edged back along the branch to the trunk of the tree, which swayed slightly. The Lurchers were still busy chewing at the tree. Ernest found a sturdier branch and edged along it to the next tree. No sooner was he across than the tree he’d been on creaked, and fell to the ground. The Lurchers, forgetting why they’d bitten at the tree in the first place, turned and ambled toward the Robinsons.

Bill, Fritz and Liz lined up their bows, took careful aim and fired again and again. Their aim was now sharper. One in every two arrows they fired found its mark and dropped a Lurcher, but still they pressed forward, falling into the next pit.

“Coconut Bomb three!” Bill said.

Jack pulled the vine, but the trap didn’t release. He pulled again, but nothing happened.

“It’s not working!” Jack said.

He picked up a rock and threw it at the net, but missed. He picked up another rock, and missed again. Jack picked up a third rock, judged the distance, wound up his leg, and threw like a baseball pitcher.
Thonk!
The rock collided with the top of the net. Nothing happened.

“It’s jammed!” Jack said.

Jack felt a tug at his trouser leg. Nip held up his arms as if he wanted to be picked up.

“Not now, Nip,” Jack said.

But Nip tugged at Jack’s trouser leg again. Nip pointed to the coconut trap, and then himself. Jack picked him up.

“Are you sure?” Jack said.

Nip nodded.

“Okay…” Jack said.

He held Nip in one hand, drew him back and threw him the way a shot putter throws, but aiming for height rather than distance. Nip flew through the air, hands outstretched, and latched onto the netting. He scaled his way to the top and bit at the vine. He spat out green fibres, screwing up his face and poking out his tongue at the taste. The vine creaked and snapped. The coconut trap fell, crushing a dozen Lurcher skulls below.

“Yeah!” Jack said. “Well done, Nip!”

Nip gave Jack a thumbs up. There was another snap. Nip looked up at the branch he was holding onto. The light brown coloured fibres were showing. He looked back at Jack. The branch snapped and he fell to the ground.

“Nip!” Jack said. “No!”

Nip stared up at the white eyes surrounding him. His fur stood up on end. He got to his tiny feet, but flinched when he put weight on his left foot. He limped toward Jack’s tree. A Lurcher picked him up. Nip screamed and pulled at the Lurcher’s iron grip, but it was no use. The Lurcher opened his mouth wide.

Crunch!

Nip opened his eyes. The Lurcher’s head was caved in. It slumped to the ground. Nip pulled the Lurcher’s fingers off from around his waist. He looked up at the branches of a nearby tree. Stood there, throwing coconuts down at the Lurchers, were a family of apes. They screeched and pummelled the trees they perched on. One ape slipped and fell. A Lurcher was on him before he could turn around. Another ape tossed a coconut and smashed the Lurcher’s head in. The bitten ape scaled the bark of a tree and disappeared into the jungle.

Jack climbed down from his tree, swept Nip up in his arms and ran to his father. Bill looked out over the assault course. Lurchers had over-spilled from one pit to another, and still more were coming through the jungle foliage. Bill turned to Ernest in his tree.

“Ernest!” Bill said. “Come down here.”

Ernest did.

“Jack,” Bill said, “I want you to go back to Francis and watch over him.”

“But you need my help!” Jack said.

Bill rested his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“You’ve done enough here,” Bill said. “Now, you must protect Francis.”

Bill reached into his pocket and came out with the gun.

“There are two bullets,” he said. “If the worst comes to the worst, you’ll know what to do.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, tears stinging his eyes. “If I voted differently, we would be on a boat now, somewhere safe.”

“We all voted,” Bill said. “And for the record, I think you were right.”

The Lurchers’ groan of death filled their ears. They were approaching the last row of pits. Bill leaned down and kissed his son on the top of the head. Jack hugged his brothers and kissed his mother, who was in tears.

“You come back to me and Francis,” Jack said, looking up at his family. “You come back to us, you hear me?”

Jack took off into the foliage, heading for Falcon’s Next. Bill and the others shared sad expressions. Bill unsheathed his machete. Fritz drew his baseball bat. Ernest raised his golf club. Liz gripped her garden fork.

“What say we send a few more of these demons back to hell?” Bill said.

They all donned facemasks and stepped toward the pit.