Zombie Bums from Uranus (14 page)

He jerked it to the left, narrowly avoiding the first bum, and then jerked it hard right, barely avoiding a collision with the second one.

The sudden turn, however, threw the ship around
so violently that Eleanor and Gran were thrown from their seats.

‘Zack!' yelled Eleanor, picking herself up. ‘What did you do that for?'

‘Zombie bums!' said Zack. ‘You were too busy arguing to see.'

‘It was my fault,' said Gran quickly. ‘I distracted you, Eleanor. I'm sorry.'

Eleanor shrugged. ‘No, I'm sorry,' she said, extending her hand towards Gran. ‘I guess bum-fighting is not—and never has been—easy.'

Gran nodded, took Eleanor's hand and shook it.

Zack smiled. It was good to see Eleanor and Gran making their peace. But the smile was quickly wiped from his face by what he saw when he turned and looked out of the windscreen.

The rest home for retired bum-fighters was directly in front of them.

But the scene was anything but restful.

At the front of the main building there was a massive battle going on between two elderly bum-fighters and a swarm of zombie bums.

‘That's them!' said Gran. ‘My old team! The Flicker and the Forker!'

‘Looks like they've come out of retirement,' said Zack.

Eleanor immediately cut the bum-mobile engines and began to descend.

Zack stared at the scene in front of him.

One of the bum-fighters appeared to be naked except for a green towel around his waist and a yellow towel on his head. In his hand he was
brandishing a large red beach towel like a bullwhip, his mighty flicks cracking like gunshots against the hides of the zombie bums swarming around him.

Meanwhile, the other bum-fighter—a huge man wearing a gardening apron and black rubber kneepads—was spearing zombie bums in mid-air with a seemingly inexhaustible combination of gardening and kitchen forks that hung from two belts strung across his chest.

‘All right,' said Eleanor, gliding the bum-mobile to a silent landing at the back of the retirement home. ‘Let's get suited up fast and get out there! They look like they could use some help.'

Zack pulled down one of the bum-fighting suits. He chose a brown one to help camouflage him.

‘I don't want to go out there,' said Zack's bum, as Zack put on the suit.

‘Why not?' said Zack.

‘I don't like zombie bums,' it said.

‘Me neither,' said Zack. ‘But that's exactly why we have to go. If we don't fight them, everybody in the entire world will end up zombie-bummified—including you and me—and we'll like that even less.'

Zack checked his belt to make sure his sauce bottle was still attached.

Eleanor opened the hatch and they all climbed out.

The grounds, apart from zombie bum blast craters, were beautifully kept. The bum-fighters ran crouching across a carefully manicured croquet lawn, past a sauna room located at the rear of the main building, and then cautiously made their way around the side. As they drew closer to the action, the sounds of the
fighting grew louder and more frightening. Zack could hear the gunshot-like cracks of the Flicker's whip and the sickening squelches each time the Forker's fork connected with a zombie bum.

Eleanor nodded, signalling for Zack to go first. He edged up to the front of the building, closely followed by Gran.

The Forker and the Flicker had their backs turned to them. Their attention was completely focused on a large blue bum cannonballing towards them at high speed.

‘Should we let them know we're here?' said Zack.

‘What, and spoil the surprise?' said Gran. ‘Not on your life. Watch this!'

Gran ran up behind the Forker and the Flicker and—with a mighty leap up onto both of their shoulders—grabbed the incoming bum and pinched it so hard that it burst-apart like a rotten watermelon. Well, like a burst apart rotten watermelon except
much
smellier.
And
able to slowly reassemble itself—an ability for which it must be said that burst apart rotten watermelons are not generally well noted.

Gran fell back down into the middle of the pieces that were already beginning to move towards each other.

The Forker turned around, grabbed a large fork from his belt and plunged it down towards Gran.

Zack gasped.

But he needn't have worried.

Gran rolled quickly out of the way. The fork hit the ground so hard that sparks flew.

The Flicker drew his towel back and launched an
enormous flick but Gran rolled quickly back the other way. A chunk of cement flew up and whistled past Zack's ears.

‘You chuckleheads!' said Gran as the Forker and the Flicker prepared to mount a double attack. ‘It's me, Mabel! Don't you recognise your old leader?'

The Forker, momentarily confused, stopped and stared at her.

Zack watched as a light dawned in his eyes . . . and then set again.

‘More zombie-bum trickery!' yelled the Forker, preparing to plunge again.

‘No!' said the Flicker, reaching out to stop him. ‘Hold your fork!'

But the Flicker was too late.

The Forker forked.

‘Watch out, Gran!' yelled Zack.

Gran tried to roll out of the way but this time she wasn't fast enough. The massive fork pierced the ground, catching the hem of her dress and pinning her to the ground. Meanwhile the Forker drew a handful of smaller forks from his belt and hurled them towards Zack and Eleanor—surrounding them in a circular prison of forks.

Then the Forker raised his fork high above his head.

‘No!' said the Flicker, flicking his towel and sending the Forker's fork flying.

The Forker pulled another fork from his belt. ‘You shouldn't have done that,' he said, looking angrily at the Flicker. ‘You—'

‘Mind your language!' warned Gran.

The Forker froze, mid-fork. ‘Pincher?' he said.

‘Yes!' she said with relief. ‘It's been a long time. Don't you recognise me?'

‘The Pincher died many years ago,' said the Forker, raising his fork high above his head. ‘You are a zombie and to honour the name of Mabel Freeman, it is my sacred duty to kill you!'

‘She's
not
a zombie!' said the Flicker. ‘Check her bum!'

The Forker prodded Gran's backside with his fork.

‘Hey!' said Gran. ‘Put a hole in my false bum and I'll pinch your head so hard it will pop!'

That seemed to be all the proof the Forker needed. ‘It really
is
you!' said the Forker using the prongs of his fork to scratch his head. ‘But how in the univarse—'

‘Language!' said Gran.

‘Definitely the same old Pincher!' laughed the Flicker. ‘We thought you died in a bum-blitz.'

‘No,' said Gran. ‘There was no bum-blitz. My disappearance was part of a secret relocation scheme organised by the FBBI for my own safety.'

‘But why didn't you tell us?' said the Flicker.

‘I couldn't!' Gran replied. ‘To do so would have put both myself and you in extreme danger. It was horrible, I know, but I didn't want you at the mercy of ruthless bums who would be able to torture the information out of you. It was better that you didn't know. Now unfork me this instant!'

The Forker pulled his fork out of Gran's sleeve.

‘You'll have to excuse the Forker,' said the Flicker.
‘But he's getting old and his eyesight isn't what it used to be.'

‘My hearing is fine!' said the Forker.

‘His hearing's not too good either,' said the Flicker. ‘He's getting old.'

‘I may be getting a cold,' said the Forker, spinning a fork like a gunslinger and then sliding it back into his belt, ‘but I've forked more bums than you've flicked this morning.'

‘Rubbish,' said the Flicker, twirling a towel. ‘I've flicked more bums than you've forked!'

‘Stop your bickering,' said Gran. ‘We've got bums to fight!'

‘Watch out behind you!' shouted Eleanor. ‘That bum has reformed!'

The Forker and the Flicker spun around.

‘I'll get it!' they both yelled, elbowing and pushing each other.

But before they could sort themselves out the bum leapt at them, knocking them both over.

Gran jumped up and threw herself on top of the bum. It jumped into the air trying desperately to buck her off but she clung tight. Then, in the most spectacular display of pinching prowess Zack had ever seen, Gran pinched it into two halves, the two halves into quarters, and then the quarters into eighths. Her fingers were just a blur as she shredded the bum into smaller and smaller pieces.

‘Is there a tap around here?' said Gran, when she'd finished, holding her hands out in front of her.

‘Over there,' said the Flicker.

Gran went over to the tap and began washing her hands.

‘Hey,' said Zack, rattling the forks like the bars of a cage. ‘What about us?'

The Forker pulled one of the forks out of the ground and Zack and Eleanor squeezed through the gap.

‘Sorry about that,' he said, holding out his hand. ‘I'm the Forker!'

Zack shook his hand. ‘It's an honour to meet you. My name's Zack,' he said.

Eleanor stepped forward. ‘And I'm Eleanor,' she said.

The Forker studied her closely. ‘You're Silas Sterne's little girl, aren't you?'

‘I'm not a little girl,' said Eleanor. ‘I'm a bum-fighter.'

‘Sorry,' said the Forker. ‘No offence intended. Any friend of Mabel Freeman is a friend of mine,' he said offering her an enormous dirt-encrusted hand.

‘And mine,' said the Flicker. ‘Pardon me if I don't shake your hands, but I've only just washed them.'

‘Where's everybody else?' called Gran, still scrubbing her hands under the tap as if preparing for an operation. ‘Have they all been zombie-bummified?'

‘No,' said the Forker. ‘We're the only two left. The rest have all passed on to the great bum-fight in the sky. The Poker, the Splitter, the Slammer, the Bruiser, the Tickler, the Scalder, the Brander, the Plugger, the Torcher, the Biter and the Detonator . . . all gone.'

‘It's a quiet life,' said the Flicker, cracking the end of his towel against the zombie bum that had reassembled yet again. ‘Well, it was until now.'

‘Stop complaining,' said the Forker. ‘It sure beats sitting around talking about the good old days! We all have to go out sooner or later and what better way to go than in the bum-fight of all bum-fights! I'm only sorry those zombie bums wrecked my garden!'

‘I'm only sorry that we're going to lose!' said the Forker.

‘We haven't lost yet, soldier!' said Gran, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up to her face. ‘Or my name's not the Pincher!'

As Gran spoke, the sky darkened.

Zack looked up.

Coming towards them was a fresh swarm of zombie bums.

‘Assume attack positions!' yelled the Forker, crouching low with a fork in each hand. The Flicker leapt into place beside him, twirling a towel covered in brown stains.

But Gran stepped in front of them both.

‘You boys go and wash your hands and get ready for dinner,' she said. ‘I'll finish up here.'

‘But, Pincher!' said the Flicker. ‘It's too dangerous. You can't hurt them. They don't feel pain!'

‘Neither do I,' said the Pincher. ‘Stand back!'

Gran flexed her arms and then, snapping and clicking her claw-like fingers like maracas, she walked forward until she was in the middle of the circling zombie bums.

‘I hope she knows what she's doing,' said Eleanor.

‘Me too,' said Zack.

The bums were close now. So close that Gran could reach out and grab one. Which is exactly what she did.

Zack flinched.

But instead of pinching the bum, as Zack had expected, Gran seized its arms and legs and deftly tied them together. Then she grabbed a second bum and knotted its arms and legs together with the first.

She continued this until she was standing in front of a big pile of wriggling, writhing, trembling, jelly-like, knotted-together zombie bums—including the bum that she had previously shredded, which despite her and the Flicker's best efforts had put itself back together and joined in the attack.

Zack applauded, proud of his gran.

Even Eleanor had to nod approvingly.

The Flicker cracked his towel so loudly that it made Zack's ears hurt.

The Forker raised a fork high into the air. ‘Victory!' he yelled.

But Gran wasn't happy.

‘Victory-schmictory!' she said, wiping her brow. ‘The battle's not over yet, soldier. Those knots won't last forever. We still have to destroy them.'

‘But how?' asked the Forker.

‘The sauna!' said the Flicker. ‘We can't defeat them by force, but we might be able to sweat them down to nothing.'

‘Brilliant!' said Gran.