Authors: Alan MacDonald
Zombie! (3 page)
DONG! DONG! DONG!
The clock in the hall struck midnight. Bertie had been lying awake for hours. Loud snores came from the next sleeping bag. Darren was useless, he’d barely stayed awake for five minutes.
THUMP!
Bertie sat up. It was starting – Eugene
was off on his travels once more! Bertie watched him open the door and slip out of the room. He leaned over and shook Darren by the shoulder.
“Wake up!” he hissed. “He’s at it again.”
This time Bertie was prepared. He’d hidden a torch under his pillow so they wouldn’t have to blunder around in the dark. They followed Eugene downstairs.
Darren stopped. “Wait, what if he attacks us?” he whispered.
“It’s only Eugene,” said Bertie.
“Yes, but zombies have the strength of ten men,” said Darren.
“Don’t worry, last night he didn’t even know I was there,” said Bertie.
They pushed opened the door to the kitchen. Eugene was sitting at the table
in the dark. He had a knife and fork, and the chocolate cake in front of him.
“Hi, Eugene, what’s up?” said Darren.
“He can’t hear you,” whispered Bertie, waving a hand in front of Eugene’s face. “He’s in zombie world.”
Eugene suddenly spoke, making them both jump.
“I’ve laid the table,” he said.
Bertie and Darren looked at each other. It seemed safest to play along and sit down. Eugene cut a fat slice of cake and crammed it into his mouth in one go.
“Crumbs! He’s pretty greedy for a zombie!” said Darren.
“At least Mum can’t blame me this time,” said Bertie.
Upstairs Mum was awake, sitting up in bed. She shook Dad by the arm.
“Listen! Someone’s downstairs!” she hissed.
Dad rolled over. They both listened for a few moments. There were definitely voices.
“Burglars?” said Dad.
“You better go and see,” whispered Mum.
“Me?”
“Well, I’m not doing it!”
Dad looked in the cupboard and
found one of his old golf clubs. He crept downstairs clutching it, while Mum followed at a safe distance. They could hear the intruders in the kitchen.
“Go on!” hissed Mum.
Dad gripped the golf club. He was sure you weren’t meant to tackle burglars – right now he’d rather be hiding under the bed.
He kicked open the door and rushed in.
“YAAARGHH!”
“AAARGHH!”
Two of the burglars jumped to their feet. It was dark but they seemed to be wearing pyjamas.
“Don’t move! I’m calling the police!” yelled Dad. He wished he was holding his phone instead of a golf club.
“DAD! IT’S ME!” cried Bertie, switching on the light.
Mum and Dad stared.
“Bertie! You scared us half to death!” groaned Mum.
“What are you doing down here?” said Dad.
“Following Eugene,” said Bertie. “I told you, he’s turned into a zombie!”
They all looked at Eugene who hadn’t moved from his seat. He was on his second slice of chocolate cake.
Mum gasped. “He’s not a zombie, he’s sleepwalking!”
“What?” said Bertie.
“It’s happened before. His mum mentioned it on the phone.”
This was news to Bertie.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” he said.
Mum shrugged. “I forgot all about it.”
“Well, shouldn’t we wake him up?” asked Dad.
Mum shook her head firmly. “No, that’s the last thing you should do.”
Just then, Eugene suddenly stood up and walked past them. They followed him upstairs where he climbed into bed. Unfortunately it wasn’t
his
bed.
Dad groaned. “Now what? He can’t sleep in our bed.”
“He’ll have to,” said Mum. “We mustn’t wake him.”
“Then what do we do?” asked Dad. “It’s almost one in the morning!”
“I know!” cried Bertie. “We could play
Zap the Zombie
!”
“At the window!”
“Quick!”
“Get him!”
ZAP! SPLAT!
“Yesss!” shouted Mum as another zombie bit the dust.
Bertie high fived Darren and his parents. This was turning out to be the best sleepover ever!
“Hurry up, Bertie!” sighed Mum.
“You’ll make us late,” moaned Suzy.
Bertie trailed after them into the leisure centre. Saturday morning and his mum had dragged him along to watch Suzy’s dance class. Could anything be more boring? Why couldn’t Suzy choose something interesting – like karate or skydiving? Bertie wouldn’t have minded watching that. But dance – he’d rather be
doing his homework. At least he didn’t have to take part. That would be torture!
“Bertie, get a move on!” grumbled Mum.
They reached the hall. Miss Foxtrot’s dance class stood around in puffy tutus and tights, pointing their toes.
Bertie flopped into a seat beside his mum. Uh oh, Miss Foxtrot was coming over. She was tall and thin, like an ostrich in a cardigan.
“And who is this young man?” she asked.
“Oh. This is Suzy’s brother, Bertie,” replied Mum.
“And does he like dancing?” asked Miss Foxtrot.
“NO, he doesn’t,” said Suzy firmly.
“I’ve just come to watch,” said Bertie.
Actually he’d come because his mum had made him.
“Nonsense!” clucked Miss Foxtrot. “You won’t learn anything by watching. You must join in!”
Join in? Bertie almost choked. “It’s okay, I’ll just sit here,” he said.
But Miss Foxtrot was dragging him up by the arm. “Don’t be silly, there’s no need to be shy,” she said.
“I’m not! I can’t dance,” said Bertie desperately. “I don’t have the right shoes.”
“Don’t worry,” smiled Miss Foxtrot, “I always keep a spare pair, just in case.” She dangled a pair of ballet shoes before him. They were pink – the same colour as Bertie’s face.
“I … I can’t!” he gasped.
“Really, he’d better not,” said Mum.
“He’ll just get in the way,” said Suzy.
But Miss Foxtrot was already helping
Bertie on with the ballet shoes.
Bertie stared at his feet in horror. This was turning into the worst day of his life. What if anyone from school saw him dancing – with a class of girls? It didn’t bear thinking about!
Suzy hissed in his ear. “Don’t you
dare
mess this up!”
Bertie stuck out his tongue. Hang on, that gave him an idea. Maybe if he messed up, Miss Foxtrot wouldn’t want him in her class…
“Places, children, places!” cried the teacher, clapping her hands. She pressed a button and syrupy music began to play.
“Let’s begin by making ourselves
ever so
small!” trilled Miss Foxtrot. “Imagine you are teeny, tiny seeds in the earth.”
The class obeyed, curling up small.
“Teeny, Bertie, not droopy!” frowned Miss Foxtrot. “Now, with the music, slowly start to grow. Up, up, spread your leaves to the sun!”
Bertie grew bigger – and bigger. He grew into a giant. A huge, angry giant stamping on the ants in his way…
“OWW!” cried Kylie.
“ARGHH!” yelled Flora.
“Bertie kicked me!” howled Smeeta, clutching her leg.
“BERTIE!” screeched Miss Foxtrot. The music skidded to a halt.
“Yes?”
“That is NOT how we behave in class! Go and wait outside!”
Bertie smiled to himself. Dance lessons were over for the day. He left the ballet slippers on the floor and headed for the door. The row of parents glared after him.
“Can I get a drink?” he asked his mum.
“No!”
“Can I borrow your phone then?” begged Bertie. “Just to play one game.”
Mum handed it over. “Try to stay out of trouble,” she sighed.
Bertie sat against the wall playing
Wacky Worm Racer
on his mum’s mobile. Suzy’s dance class had been going on for hours. He wandered down the corridor to look in the other rooms.
The first one had a toddler group singing nursery rhymes. The second had a yoga class tying themselves in knots. From the last room came the sound of loud, thumping music. Bertie looked in and saw rows of women stomping to the beat. Some of them were as old as his mum! He pressed his nose
to the glass. His eyes grew round. No, it couldn’t be! It was! In the back row, wearing an orange leotard and stripey leggings, was Miss Boot, his teacher!
