The Swiss Family RobinZOM (Book 4)

by Perrin Briar

The Story

What Happens Next?

Be Kind, Review

About the Author

The wind ruffled the vibrant purple petals, the unusual circular pink spiral pattern at the flower’s centre taking aim at the sun like a child seeking attention from a negligent parent. Tiny specks of pollen evacuated the anthers and drifted out over the jungle canopy below to colonise anywhere it might find a loving home.

Jack looked up at the plant, which was perched on a small rock protruding from a cascading wall of water. Occasionally it ducked low, bowing, the petals grazing the stone, having been struck by a stray droplet. It straightened up and returned to looking directly and defiantly at the sun. It was the most beautiful flower Jack had ever seen, and that thought made him smile.

There was the snap of foliage behind him, somewhere on the jungle floor. Jack turned and walked along the branch he stood on, heading deeper into the jungle.

Something landed without grace on Jack’s shoulder. Jack didn’t even double take.

“Nice to see you decided to join us, Nips,” Jack said.

Nips yowled.

“I know you need your own private time too sometimes,” Jack said. “Or should I say primate time?”

Jack chuckled to himself, and then became silent as something crashed through a thick wild bush below. Jack crouched down low on the tree limb, waiting as the hedge shook and a figure fell out of it.

The figure’s foot snagged on a clinging arm of foliage. The man growled and seized the bush, tearing at it with his hands and gnashing it with his broken teeth. He pulled his leg free, hissing at the jungle around him, daring an unseen challenger to face him. Then he became very still, his shoulders heaving with heavy breaths.

Jack crept closer, almost directly above the figure. The back of the man’s head was matted with blood. His teeth jutted through a torn hole in his cheek. He stared, unblinking, gormless in expression. Flies buzzed about his head like a living halo. The man stood, eyes glazed, taking an unhealthy interest in the tree before it. Jack knew it was actually sleeping, or as close to sleeping as it was capable of getting.

Jack turned and ran his eyes over the shrubs dotted around the area. His eyes passed over half a dozen before he stopped at a fine specimen two dozen yards away. A course rounded object rose up, peering over the top, and then ducked back down again.

Jack’s eyes scrubbed the jungle floor again, and this time came to the trunk of a large baobab tree. He made out the curved outer skin of a small coconut shell he knew to be one of his brother’s kneepads. And then again, he saw a protuberance of scruffy unkempt hair over the top of a fallen log.

Jack pointed down at the zombie, and from behind the hedge, the tree and the fallen log came OK hand signals.

Bill stepped out from behind his shrub first, followed by Fritz from behind the tree, and Ernest the fallen log. Each wore a hollowed-out coconut helmet, shin, knee and elbow pads of the same material, and boots of a tar-like substance Bill had found bubbling up near the west coast of the island. Itchy and uncomfortable, the tar nonetheless was hard and moulded well to any shape before it set. They each also carried a long stick with knobbly protrusions on the end.

Bill crept up to the foliage of the hedge the zombie had fallen through and peered between the leaves at the unfortunate creature. The jungle was silent, disquieted by this most unnatural of beings in its midst.

Bill raised his hand and flicked his fingers forward.

The foliage on two sides of the zombie rustled, and Fritz and Ernest burst out, yelling at the top of their lungs, brandishing their cudgels. The zombie growled, looking from one target to another, and in his momentary confusion Bill rushed from the foliage and brought his stick down on the back of the zombie’s rotten skull. It caved in with a satisfying wet crack. The body hit the jungle floor in a formless lump.

“Well,” Fritz said, taking off his helmet. “That was uneventful.”

“What would you prefer?” Bill said. “For it to breathe fire?”

“No,” Fritz said. “But something more exciting than that.”

“It’s the safest way,” Bill said, using the zombie’s clothing to wipe the blood off his cudgel. “It’s when it gets exciting that it’s most dangerous.”

“Couldn’t we make it a bit of a challenge sometimes, though?” Fritz said.

“You want to dance with it first?” Bill said.

“At least it would make it more exciting,” Fritz said.

Bill pulled half a dozen broad leaves off a tree and laid them on the floor like a big blanket.

“When they attacked us, washing over us like a swarm, was that exciting?” he said.

“Yes,” Fritz said with a grin.

“You say that now because we lived through it,” Bill said.

“By the skin of our teeth,” Ernest said.

“Precisely my point,” Bill said, bending down to pick up the zombie’s body. “Give me a hand with this, would you?”

They laid it on the leaves and folded them over like they were wrapping a present.

“It was exciting though,” Fritz mumbled. “I mean, we can cut back on hunting them for a little while, can’t we?”

“We can’t,” Bill said. “There could still be others out there. And others could come to our island at any point.”

“But let’s tone it down a bit,” Fritz said. “Sweeps every other day.”

“What will you do on the other days?” Bill said.

“Anything,” Fritz said. “Nothing. Chill sometimes, enjoy the beach. I’m not saying we should completely relax – someone will always have to stay on watch, but the rest of us can relax a little. We’ve been here almost a year and we haven’t enjoyed any of the island yet.”

“We’re not on holiday,” Bill said.

“But we’re not in a prison either,” Fritz said.

“Did you know that when the crossbow was first invented the British refused to use it?” Ernest said. “It required no skill, and they thought that to take someone’s life ought to require skill and honour.”

“This is a zombie,” Bill said. “I’m not sure it cares much about honour.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Fritz said with a sigh. “At least the island’s getting clean now.”

Bill shook his head.

“It’ll never be clean,” he said.

“This is the first one we’ve seen in, how long? A month?” Fritz said. “We’ve swept the whole island four or five times. There can’t be anymore left.”

“Take this cudgel,” Bill said, holding the weapon up for them all to see. “Once dowsed in the blood of our enemies it will never be clean again, no matter how many times we scrub it. There will forever be evidence of them on it. We must stay vigilant. It took a month to find this one, but that doesn’t mean we won’t find a dozen next time. Or a thousand.”

“I said
getting
clean,” Fritz said.

“It’s either clean of them all or not at all,” Bill said. “One of them could get the drop on us at any time.”

Jack snatched a length of vine down from the tree and handed it to Bill, who wrapped the package up into a nice bundle.

“Every time you say this I wonder if you really understand the situation we’re in,” Bill said.

“I understand,” Fritz said. “I also understand the need to let our hair down sometimes.”

Jack hung on the branch by one hand. He let go and dropped to the jungle floor.

“You’ve only got a few hours left,” Ernest said to Jack, taking the opportunity to change the subject. “Aren’t you worried?”

“I’ll get it later,” Jack said.

“Later?” Ernest said. “There isn’t much time later, is there? It is happening today, you know.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Jack said. “You just worry about how much Mum is going to love me, and how much she’ll forget all of you.”

“Forget us,” Ernest said, nodding. “Yeah… That sounds just like Mum all right.”

Foliage crunched somewhere to their right. The Robinsons snapped to attention, clubs grasped tight in white knuckles. They waited, but there was no other noise.

“Is this more exciting?” Bill said to Fritz.

“It’s a start,” Fritz said, not taking his eyes off the jungle.

“It’s okay,” Bill said. “I don’t think there’s anything-”

The zombie lurched from nowhere, mouth mawing open, and fell upon Ernest’s back, who was knocked onto his front. The zombie bit at the back of Ernest’s head, its teeth grazing the coconut helmet. It bit into it and tore a chunk out of it.

Fritz seized the zombie by the back of its jacket, lifted it, and threw it against a tree, its head snapping back and smacking the trunk, leaving a splatter of blood.

Fritz swung his cudgel and buried it in the zombie’s face, caving in its head. Its eyes popped, dribbling over the cudgel, a thick putrid green liquid running down its face. It slumped onto its knees and then its face. Fritz remained alert, watching the unmoving figure and casting about them for any other aggressors.

Ernest screamed, his face twisted and contorted in pain.

“He got me!” Ernest said. “He got me!”

Bill pulled the collar of Ernest’s jumper back and checked his skin.

“He didn’t bite you,” Bill said.

“He did!” Ernest said.

“No, he didn’t,” Bill said. “Your skin’s not broken. You’ll be fine.”

“Not my neck, my leg!” Ernest said.

“He didn’t get anywhere near your leg,” Bill said.

But Ernest clutched his leg, clearly in some discomfort. Bill knelt down beside him.

“Stop your whining,” Fritz said. “Wuss!”

“You try getting mauled by a zombie and see how you like it!” Ernest said.

“It doesn’t count as mauling if there’s no contact,” Fritz said.

“There was contact!” Ernest said.

Ernest’s jeans had been torn. Blood caked the material, making it stick to his skin. Bill tore the jeans open, revealing a nasty-looking gash just under Ernest’s knee. Blood dribbled down his leg.

Bill looked at the place where Ernest had been pushed down onto the ground. There were thin jutting flint stones, standing up like a Stegosaurus’s frilly spine plates, one of which had been licked with blood around the edges like a murderer’s knife.

“You’ve got a bad cut to your leg,” Bill said. “Nothing too serious. Though the pain might be severe.”

“You think?” Ernest said through gritted teeth.

Bill turned to Jack.

“We need some Pain Killer Pansies,” he said.

“Which colour?” Jack said.

“Blue ought to do it,” Bill said.

“You can get your present while you’re at it,” Fritz said.

“I’ll get it later,” Jack said.

“Fritz, wrap the other zombie body up,” Bill said. “We’ll bury them together.”

Jack flew up a tall baobab, hands finding the handholds with ease, and popped his head up above the canopy, disrupting a nesting parrot, who cawed, “Tosser!” before taking wing. Jack had taught the parrots the virtue of self-expression himself.

Jack couldn’t remember the complicated names Bill had for the plants with medical properties that grew over the island, but he could recall them if they described their appearance or special properties, like Pain Killer Pansies, Yellow Pokka Dots, Disinfectant Geraniums, or Jack’s personal favourite, Diarrhoea Daisies.

A delicate blue flower with yellow flecks on the petals poked above the canopy. Jack plucked one and then dived back down the tree, the hard skin on the bottom of his feet heating up under the friction. He hit the ground hard, bending his knees to absorb the impact.

He took off at a run, throwing his arms back as far as he could, stretching out his strides to their full length. He skidded to a stop beside Fritz.

Bill had cleaned the wound and wrapped a tourniquet around it. He took the blue flower from Jack. He tore up the petals and mashed it between his hands. He put them into a concaved leaf in the middle of his palm and added a splash of water, turning it into a thick paste-like substance.

He handed it to Ernest, who swallowed it. After a moment the relief washed over Ernest’s face.

“Let’s get him home,” Bill said. “Fritz, can you give me a hand?”

Fritz wrapped Ernest’s arm around his shoulder.

“Jack, aren’t you coming?” Bill said.

“No, I need to get Mother’s present,” Jack said.

“Still haven’t got it sorted?” Bill said. “I haven’t seen you making anything.”

“That’s because I’m not making it,” Jack said. “Nature’s making my gift.”

Bill smiled.

“Have you ever thought about becoming a poet?” he said.

“No,” Jack said with a frown. “Why?”

“No reason,” Bill said. “Come on, let’s get Ernest to the treehouse.”

They carried him away.

Jack turned and ran through the jungle, a broad smile on his face. He moved through the jungle like he’d been born there. Of all the family members Jack was the one who took most to their new surroundings. Every time he headed into it he didn’t feel like was entering a dangerous landscape – quite the opposite, in fact. He felt like he was heading home.