Zombie Bums from Uranus (17 page)

‘But how did you survive?' said Eleanor. ‘You were pulled into the brown lake by giant maggots. How could anybody survive that?'

‘Ah, don't you remember, Eleanor?' said the
Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘They pulled me into the lake out of love, not hunger! You might say they loved me to death. But they also saved me. True, not before the prolonged exposure to the toxic effects of the lake mutated my body, but I survived and apart from losing my good looks—and my lips—am richer for the experience. I have a family now.' He turned and stroked the heads of his maggots who were pressing in close all around him.

‘Family?' scoffed Eleanor. ‘You had a family then. They were called the B-team. But you betrayed them. Worse. You tried to kill them. You tried to kill
us
. How do we know you won't do it again?'

‘I was confused,' said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘What I did was unforgiveable, I know. But I've changed.'

‘You say you've changed,' said Eleanor, ‘but less than an hour ago you bumnapped Zack and his bum and used them to trap us all.'

‘Would you have come if I'd asked you?' said the Mutant Maggot Lord.

Nobody replied.

‘Just as I thought,' continued the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘Given the circumstances, it was the only way I could get you here. If we don't act quickly, the zombie bums will end up multiplying beyond even what my maggots can consume and we will all perish.'

‘If you think we're going to cut a deal with you then you're crazy,' said Eleanor. ‘You've betrayed us before. You'll betray us again!'

‘Think about what you're saying, Eleanor,' said the Mutant Maggot Lord. ‘Are you saying you would
prefer to watch the entire world laid waste by zombie bums—the atmosphere poisoned by ever-increasing clouds of methane—rather than prevent it with a simple act of forgiveness?'

Eleanor just laughed. ‘That's rich, coming from you! If you really have changed, prove it by doing the decent thing and letting us all go!'

‘But how do I know you'll help me?' said the Mutant Maggot Lord.

‘You're just going to have to
trust
us,' said Eleanor. ‘We want to see an end to the zombie bums as much as you do—and maybe your maggot army is the answer—but it's not going to happen if you try to force us. Or trick us. Or deceive us. You've tried that before and look where it's got you. You betrayed our trust, and now you have to earn it back.'

The Mutant Maggot Lord was silent.

Zack bit his lip as he stared at the abject figure on the floor in front of him. The Kisser's betrayal of the B-team had cost him dearly. His looks. His body. His lips. And now he was condemned to live under-ground—a ghost of his former self—with only maggots for company. Mutant maggots. Even though it was all his own fault, it was hard not to feel a little bit sorry for him.

Zack looked at the others.

He could see he was not the only one who felt this way. Gran was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. The Flicker blew his nose on one of his towels. The Forker, sniffling, reached across to the Flicker's towel and blew his nose on it. Even Zack's bum was blinking back tears.

Eleanor, however, was clearly unmoved.

She stood there, tapping her foot as she waited for the Mutant Maggot Lord's response.

‘You're right, Eleanor,' the Mutant Maggot Lord finally said in a soft voice. ‘You're absolutely right. Deceit has got me nowhere.' He turned to the Prince and Maurice. ‘Let the prisoners go,' he said.

‘But, Master . . .' said the Prince.

‘Do as I say,' said the Mutant Maggot Lord, firmly.

‘Yes, Master,' said the Prince, unwrapping the toilet paper from Zack's arms and legs, while Maurice removed the leash and the wad of paper from Zack's bum.

‘About time, too,' said Zack's bum, getting up and joining Zack and the rest of the group.

‘So, do I have your word that you will help me?' said the Mutant Maggot Lord.

Eleanor stared at him. ‘Yes,' she said, at last. ‘You have my word.'

Eleanor's response shocked Zack. It was the last thing he'd expected her to say. But he was glad she had said it. He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

The Forker smiled.

The Flicker smiled.

Gran smiled.

Eleanor glared at them.

The Mutant Maggot Lord nodded and the maggots that had closed in around them parted, leaving the way clear for them to climb the ladder back to the surface. ‘Thank you!' he said. ‘I won't let you down! Bring the zombie bums to me as soon as you can and you'll see. You won't regret your decision, I promise.'

A
fter a long climb Zack emerged from the drain, which was located at the edge of a large park.

Zack's throat was still sore from the smoke and the stench of methane that permeated the air was making it very difficult to breathe. He looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant blue. There must be an enormous amount of methane in the atmosphere he thought.

Zack shielded his eyes with his hand. He was no genius, but you didn't have to be Einstein to understand the second law of physics, known to bums and bum-fighters and schoolchildren throughout the univarse:

Bums + Food = Methane

Only in this case, Zack realised it was an equation of an even greater magnitude:

Lots of Bums + Lots of Food = Lots of Methane

Just exactly how much methane the zombie bums had produced, Zack had no way of knowing. But they hadn't been here for very long and if the awful stinking haze around them was any indication, it would eventually be more than enough to kill every man, woman and child on Earth. Not to mention every other living organism as well.

‘Looks like we don't have much time,' said Zack, as Eleanor pulled herself up out of the drain. ‘Just one question: how do we get them to come back to the Maggotorium with us?'

‘Are you kidding?' said Eleanor, helping Gran out. ‘We're not actually going to help that dirty double-crossing mutant. I only said that to get us out of there!'

‘But it could work!' said Gran. ‘And a promise
is
a promise.'

‘Not to the Kisser, it's not,' said Eleanor. ‘He was going to kill us!'

‘We have no evidence of that,' said the Forker, squeezing himself out of the narrow hole with difficulty, ‘and he
did
let us go.'

‘He shouldn't have trapped us in the first place!' said Eleanor.

‘But his maggot army may be able to help get rid of the zombie bums!' said the Flicker, jumping out after the others. ‘There's no other way. Even if we could burn them all we'd choke to death on their fumes!'

‘Listen, everybody!' said Eleanor. ‘Think, think,
THINK! The zombie bums are ZOMBIES. Even if I thought it was a good idea to deal with the Kisser—which I don't—but even if I did, we haven't got a snowball's chance in hell of getting the zombie bums to do what we want them to do!'

‘Language!' said Gran.

‘Hell isn't “language”,' said Eleanor. ‘It's a place—and it will be right here on Earth if we don't act fast. Fast
and
smart.'

‘So what's your plan?' asked the Flicker.

Eleanor shrugged. ‘I don't know yet,' she said.

Gran cleared her throat. ‘I've got a plan,' she said.

‘What is it?' said Zack.

‘Well,' said Gran, ‘why don't we all go back to the bum-mobile, put the kettle on and have a nice cup of tea?'

‘That's ridiculous!' said Eleanor. ‘We have a code-brown situation here and you're suggesting that we sit down and drink tea? You must have methane madness!'

‘Mind your manners, now,' said Gran. ‘A code brown situation is no excuse for rudeness.'

‘Well, I for one could sure use a cuppa,' said the Forker.

‘Me too,' said the Flicker.

‘Me three,' said Zack. ‘My throat is killing me.'

Eleanor shrugged theatrically. ‘Oh, I just remembered,' she said. ‘I don't have a teapot on the bum-mobile. Or teacups. Or any tea for that matter. And I'm clean out of milk and sugar.'

‘That's quite all right, soldier,' said Gran, lifting up her cardigan to reveal a bum-fighter's belt equipped
with a teapot, teacups and three small cannisters: the first marked ‘tea', the second ‘milk' and the third ‘sugar'. ‘When you've fought bums for as many years as I have, you learn to pack all the essentials.'

Twenty minutes later they were all sitting in the bum-mobile sipping English breakfast tea. Even Zack's bum was sipping, although—it must be said—not very elegantly.

‘Stop slurping!' said Zack.

‘I can't help it,' said his bum. ‘It's too hot.'

‘Then blow on it,' said Zack, and immediately wished he hadn't.

There was pandemonium in the bum-mobile as the bum-fighters fumbled for their clothespegs.

‘This is all very pleasant,' said Eleanor, after the bum-fighters had all finished coughing and gagging and resumed drinking their cups of tea. ‘But I hardly see how it's helping us fight zombie bums.'

‘Well I'll be a bum's uncle!' said the Forker who was holding a teacup in one hand and scanning the horizon with a pair of bumoculars in the other. ‘Would you look at that!'

‘What?' said Zack.

‘Zombie bums,' said the Forker, handing him the bumoculars. ‘Bigger than I've ever seen them! And one of them's trying to dance!'

Zack looked through the bumoculars at a shopping centre carpark about half a kilometre away from
the bum-mobile. There was a group of the hugest, most enormous zombie bums Zack had ever seen. They were standing in a circle. But as extraordinary as the sight was, what was even more extraordinary was that there was a zombie bum in the middle of the circle, moving its arms and legs in a repetitive, almost rhythmic way.

‘It does look like it's dancing,' said Zack, handing the bumoculars to the Flicker.

The Flicker nodded and then shook his head. Then he nodded again.

‘Let me see,' said Gran, taking the bumoculars from Flicker.

‘That's impossible!' said Eleanor. ‘Have you all got methane madness?'

‘Here, see for yourself,' said Gran, handing her the bumoculars. ‘It's dancing all right.'

Eleanor looked and then handed the bumoculars back to the Forker.

‘Well?' said Zack.

‘I think I must have methane madness, too,' said Eleanor.

‘It's dancing, all right,' said the Forker, watching the bum, ‘but not as we know it. I could be wrong, but I think that zombie bum is talking to the others.'

‘Talking?' said Eleanor. ‘But they're zombies. They can't talk.'

The Forker drew his breath in. ‘I used to keep bees,' he said, ‘and they do a similar sort of thing. That's how they communicate. They use simple repetitive gestures to tell each other where to find food.'

‘But the zombie bums don't eat food,' said Eleanor.

‘No,' said the Forker. ‘Not directly. They need a victim to attach themselves to. And judging by the size of those bums, they've outgrown their original hosts and are looking for some bigger ones. You know, this could be the break we've been looking for.'

‘Are you saying we should go out there and dance for them?' asked Gran.

‘Not exactly,' said the Forker. ‘They'd probably try to attach to us. We need a bum.'

Zack's bum went pale and almost choked on its tea. ‘Why are you all looking at me?' it said.

‘Relax,' said the Forker. ‘All you'd have to do is to tell them where they can find lots of new victims.'

‘The maggots?' said Eleanor.

‘Yes,' said the Forker.

‘No way!' said Eleanor, raising her voice. ‘We're
not
dealing with the Kisser. I thought I made that clear!'

‘I understand your reluctance, Eleanor,' said the Forker, ‘and believe me, if I thought we had any other option, I would try it. But we don't.'