The Swiss Family RobinZOM (Book 5) (8 page)

The Spinner suddenly changed direction, getting snagged on the tree roots that crisscrossed the jungle floor. It tore free, but before it cartwheeled even once, Bill slammed into it. A single goat strike did little, but one after another, like a pulse engine, it produced the desired result.

The Spinner banged into a tree, its humerus snapping in half. It stood on its floppy appendage and maimed leg, but before it could complete a full revolution it was clobbered into again, this time by Liz on Lightning. The Spinner teetered on the edge of the clifftop, the strong wind dying down for a moment, exerting no pressure on the creature.

Bill gripped his reins tight, eyes boring into the beast’s mottled chestnut brown eyes, lifeless in a caved-in skull atop its head. The creature had bronzed sun-beaten skin that had been torn and shredded almost beyond recognition. Almost.

“What is it, Bill?” Liz said.

“It’s Rohit,” Bill said, his voice strained. “Or, was him. In a past life.”

“You don’t have to watch,” Liz said. “I can take care of him.”

“No,” Bill said. “I want to do it. That’s not him. It’s just a lifeless body with too much energy, that’s all. I’d like to put him to rest once and for all.”

Bill snapped the reins and the goats charged forward, heads down, necks in alignment with their spines, and all four careened into the creature at once. The body fell over the edge and exploded on the sharp rocks below.

“Rest in peace,” Bill said quietly.

The water was tainted red with blood, lumps of flesh floating on the surface, squirming and disappearing into the depths. Liz put her hand to Bill’s back. Bill smiled at her, though it was tinged with sadness.

“Come on,” Liz said. “Let’s cheer ourselves up by sending a few more of these monsters to where they belong.”

Francis hated being the baby of the family. Not all of the time, of course. He liked getting more than his fair share when his brothers gave him some of their food. But he hated when he was treated like a baby. He wasn’t a baby. He had his own teeth and could go to the toilet by himself. How much more proof did they need? He shook his head and crouched to begin climbing down the ladder.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stood up and hit the railing with his hand in frustration. He massaged away the pain in his palm. He’d hit the railing thirty times in the past three hours.

Across the clearing, something slapped the thick foliage. Francis jumped in surprise. His breath froze in his throat and suddenly he did feel like a baby. He felt betrayed by his own heart. Something pale and festering emerged out of the bush, like a monster out of a portal from one of Ernest’s movies. It made a strange noise, like when Mark Jonson shook his head, letting his flabby cheeks slap against his teeth.

The figure moved into the dying sunlight. Francis’s mouth fell open. He had seen zombies before. He had seen more of them than he would ever wish to, though he would never admit that to his parents and brothers. But every time he did see one he was mesmerised, unable to think clearly, looking at their every detail. There was something somehow
otherworldly
about them, forbidden, like he was watching a film with an inappropriate age rating. He was excited and yet scared at the same time.

The figure that emerged out of the foliage did not really resemble a zombie, at least not the ones he had seen. It didn’t have a head for a start. Although that was strange, it wasn’t really what captivated him. It was the way the figure moved – jerking, like a break dancer receiving electroshock therapy. No wonder his family called it a Spinner. It never stopped moving. There was another boy in his class at school in Switzerland who was epileptic. He dropped to the floor one day and shook when he saw flashing lights. That was the kind of movement the man had. He didn’t seem to know which direction he was heading in, wandering one way, and then another. He walked on his hands, then one hand and a foot, and then two feet, like he couldn’t decide what was best.

The animals in the pen on the other side of the treehouse bayed, crowed and grunted, rising up on their back legs and kicking in the figure’s direction, as if they could reach him from a dozen yards away. Even Valiant looked spooked. He snorted through his nostrils and dug deep divots in the ground with his front leg.

But the creature didn’t seem to have heard them. Francis watched it as it rushed over the clearing and smacked into the flint block at the treehouse’s base, leaving a bloody splatter. The man bounced away. He spun, heading across the clearing in spiral circles.

Francis picked up some rocks they kept in a pile for when a zombie had found their treehouse in the night while they slept. Francis couldn’t pick up the bigger ones, but he could toss the mid-sized ones. He missed twice before striking the Spinner on the chest. It tilted back, almost losing its balance, before rocking forward again, getting closer to the animal pen. Francis tossed more rocks at the creature, but there was little reaction. The man wandered around the treehouse, drawing closer to the animal pen.

The animals pressed themselves into the farthest corner of the enclosure. The fence posts holding them did not give way under their combined weight. Valiant stood before the other animals, pacing up and down and displaying his impressive bulk and muscles, strutting in an effort to scare the assailant away. It didn’t work. The creature wandered closer.

“No,” Francis said. “No…”

He gripped handfuls of his hair, watching the horror unfolding. His parents and brothers would all be so disappointed in him. It was his job, his responsibility, to protect the animals, but he was going to fail. This was his chance to prove to them he was a grown up, a man. He had to prove to them he wasn’t a baby anymore. In that instant, he made a decision. He would save the animals. First, he would have to climb down the ladder. For the thirty-first time that day, he crouched down.

This time he descended it.

Liz ran at the Spinner as she had done with two dozen of the creatures before. As she flew at it she recognised there was something different about this particular specimen. It wasn’t until she was almost on it that she realised what it was. Liz’s eyes widened in fear, and she pulled back on Lightning’s reins. The zebra’s front legs locked but failed to stop in time. Lightning’s chest plate struck the Spinner across the head, and not the chest like other Spinners.

The creature hit the ground and spun, striking Lightning low on the legs, sweeping them out from under her. Lightning screamed. Liz threw herself off the zebra for fear of being crushed. She hit the ground hard but knew instinctively she hadn’t broken anything. Lightning got to her feet and trotted to the treeline.

Flap, flap, flap.

Liz turned in time to see the Spinner head straight for her. She raised her arms. The Spinner smashed against the shield attached to Liz’s forearm, knocking her arms aside and slapping her over. She returned to her defensive position as the Spinner’s small but powerful limbs struck again, this time beating Liz to the ground. She began to get back up, but the Spinner was already on top of her, striking the shield again and again and again with the force of a wrecking ball. Liz screamed as her shield was dented, pressing into her skull.

“Lightning!” Liz screamed. “To me! Come to me!”

Lightning took a step toward her, and then heard the
flap flap
of the Spinner, and backed away.

The Spinner whirled around, its foot hooking under Liz’s shield, flipping it back, pulling Liz’s arm up and twisting it, wrenching her muscles. Liz gasped through clenched teeth. The Spinner tossed the shield aside. Its arm flew down at Liz, who shut her eyes tight and flinched back.

Thonk!

The blow had struck something solid, and it wasn’t Liz’s skull. She opened her eyes to find Ernest crouched over her, his shield held up in retaliation against the blow.

“Get up!” Ernest said. “Head for the trees!”

In any other situation Liz would have ensured Ernest got to safety first, but shock clouded her senses. She took off at a run.

Thudding footsteps followed in her wake. She ran faster, but her pursuer kept pace. Then large black and white stripes flashed past her, blocking her entrance into the jungle. Liz had never been so happy to see a familiar face in her life.

She looked back to see Ernest holding his own against the small Spinner, his shield deflecting the blows, but there was no way he could last long under such an onslaught.

Liz bent down and picked up her own dented shield that had been tossed aside. She climbed onto Lightning’s back and ran at the Spinner, this time not aiming to slam into it, but run alongside it. She swung her shield down, connecting with the short Spinner.

“Get back on Clementine!” Liz said, clouting the Spinner again.

Ernest took a step back, regaining his breath and composure. The letup wasn’t to last.

Uhhhhhhhhhhh

The deep guttural groan chilled Ernest to the bone. He turned to find the white glazed eyes of a zombie lurching toward him, her eyes wide and viscous, the fingers on one hand chewed off.

Ernest felt the cudgel in his hand. He brought it up and around, knocking the zombie aside. She stumbled, her bottom jaw broken, her cleft chin resting on her chest. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth like she was giving him a raspberry. She hissed at Ernest and made a claw with her one good hand, ambling toward him.

“You know, I’m actually relieved to be fighting you,” Ernest said to the zombie. “How mad is that? Not as mad as talking to you, I suppose.”

Ernest took stock of the moment and realised how slow and easy to dispatch she was compared to their relentless spinning brethren. But then, zombies were horde hunters. He doubted he would feel quite so relaxed if there were a thousand of them.

The zombie’s mouth opened wide for the taste of fresh flesh. Ernest dove aside, rolling up onto his feet. Something crashed into the clearing behind him. It was Fritz on Lightfoot, a Spinner hot on his heels.

“You know, it’s meant to be you chasing these things,” Ernest said. “Not the other way round.”

The zombie turned its head, studying its spinning cousin. The zombie hissed and grunted, and then moved toward the Spinner, claws raised. The Spinner’s limbs flew out, striking the zombie on the head, neck and arm in quick succession, and then moved forward, gripped its throat and tore it out. The zombie’s thick congealed blood splattered to the ground. Another swipe, and the zombie’s neck was snapped clean off its shoulders. The Spinner’s legs spun around like the whirlwind manoeuvre a break dancer performs, sweeping the zombie’s legs out from under him, snapping its legs in a dozen places.

“There’s not much love lost between them, is there?” Ernest said to Fritz.

Ernest ran to Clementine, who he’d hitched to a tree, and jumped onto her back in one fluid movement.

A grey-purple lump lumbered out of the darkness and careened into the Spinner, knocking it aside as if it were a rag doll. Jack drove the Spinner back with a head butt from Herdy. The Spinner rolled with the strike, using the momentum to fling itself forward and away into the jungle.

“Great,” Jack said. “Just when I thought we had him.”

“Fritz,” Ernest said, “Mother is shepherding a Spinner by herself. Can you go ahead and help her?”

“What are you going to do?” Fritz said.

“We’re going to get that Spinner back,” Ernest said.

Fritz took off into the jungle. Jack turned to Ernest.

“How are we going to catch the Spinner again, exactly?” he said. “It took off at about a gazillion miles an hour.”

“I’m the ideas man, remember?” Ernest said.

He stood up in his stirrups, reached up, and grabbed a vine. He gripped Clementine the ostrich with his knees, led her backward, and pulled the vine from the tree. It snapped clean off. He let one end trail along the ground as he tied the other end with a slipknot and waved it over his head.

“We’re going to do it John Wayne-style,” Ernest said.

He took off into the dense jungle, a snorting Herdy falling behind. The jungle here was flat, with hundreds of large trees rising up to the sky-like canopy overhead. The trees could have been columns in an ancient and beautiful church.

The Spinner zipped to the right. Ernest heeled Clementine forward, guiding her between the trees like a giant slalom course. He pulled up behind the Spinner, lasso in hand. He wound it up and let go.

The Spinner dodged to the right with no preamble. Ernest’s lasso missed its target. He pulled it up, steering Clementine with his knees, and began to wave the lasso over his head again. He lowered his body, moving with Clementine as she jumped over a fallen tree. He threw his lasso. This time it latched around the Spinner’s flailing arm. Ernest pulled, wrapping the vine around the cleat-like protrusion on Clementine’s saddle.

Clementine grunted as the Spinner jerked to a stop and then pulled in the opposite direction. The Spinner crouched down, its limbs digging into the soil, looking for all the world like a giant’s resisting hand. Ernest pulled in one direction, the Spinner in the other. Stalemate.

Another length of vine flew out and snapped around the Spinner’s leg. Jack pulled up alongside Ernest.

“Ideas man?” Jack said with a smile at Ernest. “Don’t you mean action man?”

They turned and began to jog, dragging the thrashing creature behind them.