The Swiss Family RobinZOM (Book 4) (2 page)

He wore no gloves or shoes. He loved the crunch of the vines he gripped with his hands and used to swing up into the trees. He liked to feel the rough bark on his skin, the squelch of wet moss and sticky sap between his toes. The hard skin on his hands and feet were like wearing natural protection anyway.

And, always at his side, his trusty climbing companion Nips, who kept pace with him every step of the way.

Jack flew up the first tree of sufficient height. He stood in the crook of a tree branch, a branch that for all the world had the appearance of an old man’s bent crooked elbow, and looked out at the jungle around him.

A flock of blue and yellow parrots took wing, shimmering like flashes of gold in the bottom of a river. The truth was Jack had planned his gift with great care. He had scouted the entire island and found the most beautiful and rare flowers. He based his opinion of how beautiful and rare they were by how difficult they were to reach, a train of thought that would bring him every bit of satisfaction in retrieving them as he hoped his mother would in receiving them.

He would begin with the most difficult plant to reach first, a purple pretty with bright pink spirals, which jutted from a small rock in the middle of a cascading waterfall, and then work his way back toward the treehouse, stopping off to pick the easier ones along the way.

He stood at the bottom of the waterfall, cracked his knuckles, and began to scale it, the water rushing over him, washing away his sweat and exhaustion. The water roared, pushing against him, resisting him, but Jack’s movements were confident and sure.

He got to the rock in the vertical river and looked upon his quarry: the purple-pink flower. It was beautiful, and would serve as the centre piece of the whole bouquet. He plucked it, and was surprised when the broken stem retracted back into the ground, like a tortoise in its shell. Jack descended the waterfall and took off back into the jungle.

The sun beat down hard on him, drying his hair and clothes before he even got to the next flower. His heart raced in his chest. He couldn’t wait to see his mother’s reaction.

Liz held the ladder with one hand and carried a silver tray of sandwiches in the other. She sat the tray on a large table in the centre of the clearing crammed with food. There were fruit pies, a pork stew, freshly made bread, salad, and potatoes cooked half a dozen different ways.

The centrepiece was an evil-looking goblet with a skull worked into its handle, and large jewels inset around the rim. It was the only really decorative thing they had. Liz screwed up her face. She always felt like she should have been wearing a mask made from a man’s skull every time she picked it up.

Liz cast an eye over the dining table. The sausage roll plate looked suspiciously empty. Francis sat beside it.

“You haven’t been eating the sausage rolls, have you, Francis?” Liz said.

Francis shook his head, some of the crumbs falling from his lips.

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Liz said. “There seem to be a lot less here than there were when I went inside.”

“I’m sure,” Francis said, wiping his lips with his sleeve.

“Hm,” Liz said. “I suppose I’ll just have to trust you, won’t I?”

Liz turned and looked up at the pair of treehouses. They were like something from a painting or museum – beautiful to behold but not meant to be lived in.

After the zombie horde had attacked, the Robinsons had searched amongst the treehouse wreckage. The family was able to salvage a good number of their personal items as well as the panels they had used to build the treehouse in the first place. They had dragged the pieces to one side.

There were enough to rebuild a single treehouse. For the other, they went into the cruise ship and took apart a cabin, lying the pieces down in the clearing. The cruise ship slipped into the sea like a woman committing suicide, never to be seen again.

Bill had stood with his hands on his hips and said: “We need nothing but a little double-sided sticky tape and good old elbow grease.”

He got to work the very next day, chopping down trees, clearing away those closest to the tuft of clearing in order to give them a clearer range of any approaching creatures. It worked, as while they toiled on their new home they had to stop occasionally to deal with straggler zombies, who emerged in ones and twos.

At the end of each day, Bill and Fritz took the rotten, emaciated fly-infested corpses down to the cemetery where they were buried. Bill complained that there were so many graves now, each marked with a simple wooden cross, that they would soon need to expand it.

It had taken three months but they had rebuilt the treehouse, and it came with one important improvement: it now stood on a tall pile of heavy square flint blocks.

They had used Lightfoot the donkey and Valiant the bull to drag the rocks from the bottom of the incline up to the top of the hill. Only Francis could handle Valiant, who would glare at anyone but the small boy.

Once they were finished, Bill said: “I’d like to see them eat through this!”

“They could,” Liz said.

“With rotting teeth?” Bill said.

“They’d chew through the rocks even if they only had gums to chew with,” Liz said.

“Yes, but that should give us enough time to drop a few heavy rocks on their heads,” Bill said.

Bill had also formulated a strong bleach using materials from his natural apothecary. They washed everything that had come in contact with the zombies, and burnt their clothes.

They were offered a dramatic reminder of the danger that existed in the world, where great swathes of the jungle were left empty, like a wild fire had torn through it. Wherever zombie blood had spilled no plant life could be coaxed into growing there again.

Bill and the Robinson boys emerged from the jungle. The smile on Liz’s face curdled when she saw what they were carrying between them.

“What happened to Ernest?” Liz said, rushing to him.

“He’s fine,” Bill said. “Just a bit of a scraped knee, that’s all.”

“You don’t normally need to be carried if you scrape your knee,” Liz said. “Ernest, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ernest said. “Wow, the spread looks incredible.”

“You see?” Bill said. “If it was something serious he wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Ernest could be at death’s door and he’d still notice the food,” Liz said. “Where’s Jack?”

“Jack?” Bill said. “Who’s Jack?”

“Don’t joke,” Liz said. “Where is he?”

Bill grinned.

“He was just behind us,” he said. “He’ll be here soon.”

Bill and Fritz deposited Ernest on a seat before the table.

“I’ll eat myself healthy,” Ernest said. “Don’t worry about me. Hey, where have all the sausage rolls gone? You could have made more.”

“Ask your youngest brother,” Liz said.

“It’s a mystery,” Francis said with a grin.

“Good use of vocab,” Ernest said. “But try not to have such a guilty expression on your face next time you lie.”

“It’s not a lie,” Francis said.

“Then it was even more poorly told than I thought,” Ernest said.

Jack came running through the foliage. He held something behind his back.

“Have you given your presents yet?” he said with a big grin on his face.

“Not yet,” Bill said. “We were just about to.”

“We’ll go get our gifts,” Fritz said, climbing the ladder into Robin’s Nest, the treehouse the boys shared.

“Can you bring mine too?” Ernest said. “Not sure if I can get up there with my leg.”

“All right,” Fritz said.

“Can I give you my present first?” Jack said.

“Of course you can,” Liz said. “What is it?”

“I got you this!” Jack said, bringing out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

“Oh, Jack, they’re wonderful!” Liz said.

She took them from Jack and breathed in their scent.

“And they smell so good!” she said.

“I searched the whole island and these are the best flowers here!” Jack said.

Liz breathed in their scent again.

“They truly are gorgeous,” Liz said. “Have you seen this, Bill? The flowers Jack got me?”

“They look great,” Bill said. “Well done, Jack.”

“I’ll put them on my gift table, is that all right?” Liz said. “I have just the vase to put them in.”

Liz put the flowers in the centre of the table in a chipped vessel. She put her nose to the flowers and breathed in their scent one more time, and smiled a smile that made Jack’s heart soar.

“They’re really beautiful, Jack,” Liz said. “Thank you.”

Jack beamed.

“It’s nothing,” he said, hands behind his back and kicking his feet in a caricature display of bashfulness.

Fritz and Francis descended the ladder. Francis handed Liz a round piece of glass with bubbles in the centre.

“If you look at it this way the bubbles make a heart shape,” Francis said.

“Wow,” Liz said. “It’s like magic!”

Liz placed the glass ball on her gift table. Next, Fritz stepped up and gave Liz something that fit in the palm of his hand.

“Oh, Fritz, it’s beautiful,” Liz said.

It was a stylish bracelet consisting of bird feathers and glass beads.

“Help me put it on,” Liz said.

Fritz affixed the bracelet around Liz’s wrist.

“I’m being spoilt this birthday!” Liz said.

“It’s not every day a lady turns twenty-five for the fifteenth time,” Bill said.

Ernest stood up, limping on his sore leg to hand Liz a wide-brimmed straw hat.

“I made it for you to wear while you’re gardening,” he said.

Liz put the hat on. It was so wide it would even shield her shoulders against the sun.

“Look at all these extraordinary gifts!” Liz said. “No mother has ever been more proud or happier than I am right now. Thank you all, really. I’m touched. I’ll take these off for now so I can eat, and put them on again later.”

She took the hat and bracelet off and moved to the gift table.

“Now, let’s eat!” Ernest said.

“Shall I get the cups?” Bill said. “We can make a toast. Liz?”

Liz had become very still. She stood with both her palms flat on the table. She shook her head, but this only made her sway side to side. She fell forward onto the gift table, and slid onto the ground.

Bill rushed over to her and held her in his arms.

“Liz?” Bill said. “Liz?”

She didn’t react to him. He held her head in his hands and gently rapped her on the cheek.

“Liz?” he said. “Are you all right?”

Liz mumbled something, her eyes fluttering, but not opening. Bill spotted something under Liz’s chin. He turned her head to the side with a finger. A blood-red rash wove its way up Liz’s neck. She still had the straw hat in her hand. Bill took it and tossed it aside.

“Let’s get her inside,” Bill said.

Fritz helped carry Liz up the ladder and into the bedroom in Falcon’s Nest. Bill leaned over her.

“Bring her some water,” Bill said.

Francis ran to the water bucket and brought a cup over. Bill wet a rag and dabbed Liz’s forehead with it.

“She’s burning up,” Bill said. “Liz, you need to drink some water, love.”

Bill held the back of Liz’s head, lifted her up, and raised the cup to her lips. He laid her head back down. He felt something on his hand. It was wet, damp with sweat from the back of Liz’s neck.

Ernest panted with the struggle up the ladder.

“What about me, Pa?” Ernest said. “What can I do to help?”

Bill turned his cold hard eyes on him.

“I think you and your hat have done quite enough, don’t you?” he said.

Ernest’s mouth flapped open and closed. His eyes shimmered. He looked to his brothers, who looked everywhere but at him. He turned and left the room.

Bill sat at the kitchen table, a broadsheet newspaper opened out wide, arms fully extended. With every turn of a page he took a bite of toast and washed it down with a sip of black coffee. Francis sat opposite him, a mirror reflection of his father, a comic book in place of a newspaper, orange juice in place of coffee. Liz stood at the kitchen counter making packed lunches.

“Don’t forget I don’t like butter,” Ernest said, entering the kitchen with his nose in a book.

“I’ve remembered for the past fifteen years, Ernest,” Liz said. “I’m not about to forget now.”

Ernest turned away to pile the last of his books into his backpack. Liz hastily scraped the butter off his sandwiches and jammed them back into his lunch bag.

“Some last-minute cramming, huh?” Bill said to Ernest.

“As if he needs it,” Fritz said, having to turn sideways slightly to squeeze his shoulders through the doorway. “He’s the smartest kid in the valley! We don’t need a competition to prove that.”

“Still, nice to be validated,” Bill said.

Jack, eleven years old and short for his age, ran into the room, ducking under Bill’s outstretched arms without stopping.

“No running in the house,” Bill said without conviction.

Jack picked up a piece of black toast, leaned over in front of Liz, and scooped a large dollop of butter.

“You’re eating a lot today,” Liz said.

“One piece of toast?” Jack said.

“Usually it’s none,” Liz said. “I thought you were watching your weight?”

“Need to load up on carbs today,” Jack said.

“Oh?” Liz said. “Why’s that?”

Jack’s hand froze at his open mouth, fearful of having said too much.

“No reason,” he said.

“I can’t have more than four hundred calories on my sandwiches,” Fritz said, kneeling down on the kitchen floor and combing his hair in the toaster’s reflective metal case. “Don’t forget I’m on a special diet.”

“I remember,” Liz said with exasperation.

She removed one half of Fritz’s sandwiches and stuffed it into a lunch bag labelled ‘Bill’. She turned and bumped into Fritz.

“Do you have to do that here?” she said.

“The mirror in the bathroom is still warped,” Fritz said.

“You were supposed to fix that, Bill,” Liz said.

“Sorry,” Bill said, not taking his eyes off his newspaper. “I’ll do it this weekend.”

“You said that last week,” Liz said.

The toast hopped out of the toaster and onto the table.

“Toast’s burnt,” Fritz said, still fine-tuning his hairstyle.

Jack reached over, blocking Fritz’s reflection, causing him to scowl. Jack added another thick dollop of butter to his toast and then shoved an arm through a strap on his backpack. His other arm flapped around. He spun in a circle, knocking the jam and marmalade jars over.

“Bill, can you help Jack put his bag on, please?” Liz said.

“Hm?” Bill said.

“Jack’s backpack,” Liz said. “Can you help him?”

Bill looked up from his paper and began to put it down. Fritz stepped forward.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“No!” Jack said, turning to escape Fritz, but smacked his head on the fridge instead.

Fritz seized Jack’s backpack straps and pulled on them, lifting Jack’s feet up off the floor.

“It’s too tight!” Jack said. “It hurts! It hurts!”

“You don’t want it to fall off, do you?” Fritz said.

“My
arms
will fall off if you don’t loosen the straps!” Jack said.

Fritz sighed.

“You just can’t please some people,” he said.

“You’re strangling me!” Jack said.

“Stop squirming and I won’t!” Fritz said.

“Mum, Fritz is strangling Jack again,” Ernest said, never taking his nose out of his book.

“Fritz, stop strangling your brother,” Liz said in a tired voice.

Fritz put Jack down with a triumphant smile on his face. Jack looked up at Liz with angry tears in his eyes. Liz smoothed out Jack’s blazer and rearranged his crow’s nest hair style.

“You’re all right now,” she said, loosening his bag’s straps.

“Why’s Fritz so mean to me?” Jack said.

“He’s your eldest brother,” Liz said. “They usually are.”

“He’s an asshole,” Jack said.

“Jack!” Liz said. “Language!”

“Well, he is,” Jack said.

“Save language like that for the bullies,” Liz said.

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m saving a lot more than that,” he said under his breath.

Liz frowned at Jack’s tone, as if there was a deeper meaning to his words than he was letting on. Before she could ask him what he meant the boys were already heading for the door. Bill folded up his newspaper and tucked it under his arm.

“Is this one mine?” Bill said, picking up the lunch bag with ‘Bill’ written on it.

“No,” Liz said, following Bill to the door. “It’s for my other husband Bill.”

“Living a double life, ay?” Bill said, kissing Liz on the cheek. “No doubt one of your many adventures while we’re out of the house.”

Bill and the boys bustled out of the door, taking their cacophonous noise with them. Francis made to follow them. Liz took his hand, holding him back. She looked over the kitchen.

The counter was covered in crumbs, and jam lay in lumps over the dining table from the cracked glass jar. Liz tossed the butter knife she still held in her hand into the kitchen sink, where a pile of dirty crockery protruded like a tank’s turret.

“Adventure?” Liz said, her shoulders slumping. “Chance’d be a fine thing.”