Fartsunami Page 6

  “RIIIIIBBBBBBIIIIT.”

  “What the heck was that?” gasped Ben. “It sounds like a massive frog!”

  “Perhaps we should move a little faster, gentlemen,” said Director Z. The Nurse repositioned Gordon on his shoulder and we picked up our pace.

  “RIIIIIIBBBBBIIIITTTBRAINS!”

  “Brains?!” I said. “Did that frog just ribbit, ‘brains’?”

  “RIBBBRRAAAIINNNS!”

  “RIBBBBRRRAAAIINNS!”

  “RIBBBBBRRRAAAIIINNNNSSS!”

  “Make that four or five frogs,” Director Z said.

  The vegetation ahead of us shook, and a massive frog, slick with slime and covered in sores and gashes, flopped out of the jungle.

  “BRAAAAAIIIINNNNS,” it croaked, and flopped toward us.

  Two more frogs flopped out of the jungle just in front of the Nurse. They shot their bloody tongues out of their mouths, nearly tripping him. He jumped to the side, kicking one in the head with a wet SQUISH and we ran past them.

  “Almost there,” Director Z said.

  FLOP. FLOP. FLOP. FLOP.

  “There are a bunch of them behind us!” screamed Ben.

  I took a peek behind my shoulder. The frogs were bright red and green, like the poisonous frogs I’ve see on the Internet. But these were huge! They stumbled over each other on the narrow path, tongues lashing.

  “Here we are,” said Director Z.

  We approached two Nurses, who stood guard on either side of the path.

  “Four, perhaps five zombie frogs are right behind us,” he yelled at the Nurses as we passed. “Please halt them, and arrange a frog-leg fricassee for dinner.”

  We spilled out of the jungle into the resort. It looked like the kind of place parents would go for a romantic getaway. All the walkways were open to a blue sky. As we passed a small open-air theater, I could see Horace, the old organ player, playing steel drums for a small audience of old monsters. We flew past an infinity pool. A zombie floated facedown in a bubbly Jacuzzi.

  “The Jacuzzi better be heavily chlorinated,” gasped Shane, “or I’ll be sticking to the beach.”

  We ran farther back into the resort. The cool white adobe walls gave away once again to jungle, although this time we were in a clearing, and surrounded by the resort on all sides. There was a large hut set up in the center of the clearing, and out of the large hut came screaming and moaning.

  “Oh dear,” said Director Z. “I do hope the Nurses have everything under control.”

  We headed inside the thatch hut to find Nurses and witches frantically running around from bed to bed, doing their best to soothe demented old monsters.

  “Griselda!” the Director called to one of the witches. “Please help me with this child immediately. He’s had a severe reaction to your sea worm.”

  The Nurse threw Gordon onto an exam table, and Griselda rushed over, opened up one of Gordon’s eyes and peered inside. She then leaned down to listen to his breathing. We held our breaths.

  “Hmmm,” Griselda mumbled aloud to herself, “let’s see…antihistamine spells…”

  She held her hands high and chanted a spell.

  Gordon sat up, gulped a lungful of air, and fell back in the bed.

  Griselda turned to us and said, “He’s going to be fine.”

  We stopped holding our breaths.

  Gordon might have been on the road to recovery, but the others in the infirmary were not. The Director and the witch tended to Gordon while the three of us watched the panic.

  “I didn’t think there was any way these guys could look older,” said Shane. “But, look at them—they’re practically skin and bones.”

  “Yeah, but they’re wild,” said Ben. “Look at them kick around. They look old, but they act…possessed.”

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this,” I said.

  We walked closer to Gordon’s bed to have a better look. Director Z and Griselda were in a heated argument.

  “Well, Zachary,” said Griselda angrily, “I could probably do a better job if we had taken the time to pack the right herbs before leaving. These facilities are a mess! I’m a modern witch working with old materials here!”

  “First off,” said Director Z, “it’s ‘Boss’ or ‘Director.’ Secondly, I apologize for the facilities, but I’m told the witch doctor actually does a good job with the resources he has on the island. You may just need to tweak your recipes.”

  “Tweak the recipes?” she asked, flabbergasted. “Tweak the recipes, Zachary, dear? That’s all I’ve been doing all day. And all I’ve gotten for it is a bunch of farting, angry old monsters.”

  Gordon stirred on the table. He moaned, but the two arguing adults didn’t seem to notice him.

  “Coach,” he groaned. “Coach…am I up?”

  “Um…Director Z.” I pulled gently at his suit.

  “What?!” he snapped at me.

  I pointed at Gordon. Griselda continued her examination.

  “Oh, yes, quite right,” he mumbled. “Did you say ‘farting old monsters’? Is the core issue digestive, Griselda?”

  “Hmmm…,” Griselda said, staring at Gordon. “I believe all this one needs now is an herb-based restorative talisman.”

  She rummaged around every basket nearby, before grabbing a small doll made of leaves.

  “Sage,” she said, and held it out to Gordon. “Here, take it.”

  “Noooo,” he whined. “I don’t want that. Where’s Coach?”

  He looked around confused, searching for Coach Grey.

  “Zachary,” Griselda said one more time, and Director Z scowled. “I need to make sure this child, of his own free will, accepts my talisman before I cast a final spell. This could take a while. Why don’t you touch base with the Nurses about the farting? They’ll fill you in.”

  Before heading into the back of the hut and all of the screaming, frothing monsters, Shane gave Griselda a tip: “Put the herbs in a football, and pass it to him. He’ll hold on to it tight then.”

  Ben snickered and we walked away.

  There were three old monsters strapped to small, squeaking beds in the back of the hut. Each of them was fighting, gnashing his teeth and screaming.

  “Let us go, and ve’ll spare your life, beefcake,” a vampire spat at his Nurse. He was practically rotting away in front of us.

  “You look stringy and far too chewy,” said an ancient-looking werewolf, “but we will tear you limb from limb and chew you down to your bones if you don’t let us go. We need more juice—these are nearly dry!”

  The werewolf howled so loud that his eyes bugged out. They popped, but didn’t squirt—the juice stayed on him as if he were covered with a thin film, like saran wrap.

  “What’s wrong, guys?” asked Shane.

  “Shut up, young one,” said the dried-up zombie writhing on his bed. “You are neither ripe with the juice nor a tool worthy of manipulation. You are worthless to us. WORTHLESS.”

  “Nurses,” said the director. “Please give me a status report.”

  “Boss,” said a Nurse, “reason for lebensplasm drainage unknown. Residents appear to be covered by something. No herbs can help. Strange side effects.”

  “That’s the most I’ve ever heard a Nurse talk,” said Shane.

  “This must be serious,” I said. “The Nurses are talking. Director Z is freaking out. What’s going on here?”

  “What do you mean, strange side effects?” Director Z asked the Nurse. “Are these the digestive issues that Griselda had mentioned?”

  “Not caused by drainage,” said another Nurse. “Caused by herbs.”

  “Show me,” said the Director.

  The Nurse closest to him gulped and grabbed a sack of herbs from the floor. He jumped up on the bed and pinned the already strapped-in zombie with his knees. The zombie’s head thrashed about and even more foam poured from his mouth.

  “Look at that,” said Ben. “The drool isn’t dripping off his face; it’s just pooled under his chin.”


  “It is quite bizarre,” said the Director. “It would appear that he’s captured by some invisible force that has sealed itself to his body. We can’t even take a fluid sample to see how low his lebensplasm supply is.”

  “EEEEEEEEEEEEEE,” the zombie screamed, and the other sick old monsters joined in, thrashing even harder. Dust rose from the dirt floor.

  The Nurse took a large wad of freshly-ground herbs and shoved them directly into the zombie’s screaming mouth.

  “EEEEEEEEEE-gug.”

  The zombie swallowed, and for a minute, seemed to be calm. The other two monsters, on the other hand, went insane.

  “Noooooo,” they screamed, in unison, “he is ours now. We shall take him back.”

  The zombie’s eyes blinked. He looked at the Director.

  “So weak,” he whispered. “Help me.”

  The zombie’s eyes then went wide, and he grunted hard.

  “Nooooo!” he wailed. “Not again!!!”

  He grunted and spasmed, as if being attacked by some invisible force. He shuddered in his bed so hard that the Nurse was thrown off and onto the floor with an “OOF.”

  The zombie paused for a moment, gasped, and then…

  BLLLLLLLUUUUURRRRRRFFFFFFFT!

  Let out the most earth-quaking, neighbor-waking fart I had ever heard in my life.

  His body went limp for a few moments, and the other monsters were silent.

  The Nurse on the floor got up slowly, and said, “Strongest herbal remedy…doesn’t work.”

  He leaned down to check on the zombie, when suddenly…

  RIIIIIIIIIP!

  The zombie’s torso tore free from his arms, and he sprung forward, biting the neck of the Nurse. There was a meaty crunch as the zombie dug in deep and chewed frantically on the Nurse-flesh. The Nurse fell back with a grunt, and brought the zombie with him. The zombie’s feet popped off the ends of his restraints.

  “I’m free,” he gurgled, and then used the stubs that were left at the bottom of his legs to run out of the hut.

  The Nurse stood up, staggered, and fell back on the bed, which still had the wiggling limbs of the zombie shaking it. The other two monsters laughed and laughed.

  “Is he okay?” shrieked Ben.

  “Griselda! GRISELDA!!!”

  Security Measures

  “Should have moved,” the Nurse moaned. “Was too slow.”

  He coughed up a wad of blood and passed out.

  The other Nurses and witches immediately surrounded him and went to work.

  “Wait,” said Ben. “Isn’t he going to be a zombie now?”

  “Not likely,” said the Director. “The Nurses have undergone years of medical processing to assure that they are immune to vampirism, zombieism, werewolfism, mummification, and more.”

  “Ooooh…,” we all said. Finally, an explanation for why the Nurses never turned into monsters.

  “He’s going to make it,” said Griselda. “That old zombie just missed the jugular.”

  One Nurse pulled out a huge needle and twine.

  “But after these stitches,” continued Griselda, “he’s gonna have one heck of a scar.”

  “On the bright side, at least one of the Nurses will finally look different from the others,” said Shane.

  Someone screamed in the resort.

  “That sounded like one of the banshees,” said Director Z.

  A Nurse came running through the door. “He’s run into the jungle.”

  “We must institute security measures and capture that rogue zombie,” said Director Z. “But I don’t want the residents who have yet to be exposed to this dreadful sickness to know anything about it. They should be able to go about their daily lives—the better their moods, the stronger their lebensplasm will stay.”

  “I have an idea,” I said. “Let’s get them all into the theater for Ben’s trivia. They love that stuff.”

  “Yeah,” said Ben, “I could keep them distracted while you guys search for the zombie.

  “They would all be safe in one place,” said Director Z.

  “Excellent!” I said. “So, I’ll start the search for the rogue zombie with Shane…”

  “WAIT,” said a voice.

  We all turned to see Gordon sitting up on his table.

  “I’ll go with you,” said Gordon. “I’m a little amped up from my nap. Nap…wait, I was sleeping?”

  “Gordon,” said Ben. “Are you okay?”

  “I feel GREAT,” he said.

  “Are you ready for your home game?” asked Shane.

  “What!?” said Gordon. “I thought we were battling a rogue zombie.”

  “Welcome back, Gordon,” said Director Z. “You and Chris should grab a half-dozen Nurses and execute a search for the rogue zombie. Ben will host Monster Trivia in the amphitheater, while Shane stands guard with a few of the karate-trained Nurses. First, however, please allow me to show you to your rooms. You could probably use a shower and a break.”

  I looked down to see my shirt caked with dried sea worm slime and wet with sweat. I took a whiff of my armpit and nearly passed out.

  “Wow,” Ben said, looking at his own clothes. “I almost forgot how I got here.”

  “How did we get here?” asked Gordon. “And where is here?”

  Our break wasn’t long—the Director gave us fifteen minutes. We met in the hallway.

  “Whoa!” said Shane, as the door slammed behind him. “Did you see that view!? Amazing!”

  “How can you think about the view when there’s a deranged zombie on the loose?” asked Ben.

  “Look, I know how to handle zombies,” said Shane. “Maybe we should enjoy a nice fruit smoothie and kick it on the sand for a bit.”

  “I hate to break it to you,” I said, “but we’re not exactly on vacation.”

  We walked back down to the theater to meet with the Nurses. Shane pulled the karate-trained Nurses to the side.

  “Now, this guy is fast, but with no arms and just stubs for feet, his center of gravity is off,” said Shane. “Low sweeping kicks will be the easiest way to stop him.”

  Ben headed down to the stage with Horace. All the monsters gathered in the theater, dressed in relaxing beachwear. They all seemed happy, filled with energy, tanned, and fit. They were still old, but they didn’t seem completely incapacitated anymore.

  “Chris the Sussoroblat Wrecker! ’Sup, Duder?”

  The voice came from behind me. I turned around swiftly and stared at an old but amazingly fit-looking zombie surfer, complete with a surfboard impaled through his body.

  “Huh?” I said.

  He reached out a rotten green hand that had seaweed strands stuck between its fingers. I gave it a shake.

  “Yo,” he said, “I’m Clive. Director Z asked me to show you around our facilities.”

  “I told you the zombies could talk!” Shane said.

  “Some of us better than others,” Clive said. “With all the sun and the sea here, and the relaxed lifestyle, I’ve been able to keep in pretty good shape. Maybe all the seawater has pickled my brains!”

  “The zombie in the infirmary was talking,” I said. “But, he was so old—how was he able to talk? And he said weird things, like we didn’t matter because we were just young ones.”

  Before the zombie surfer could answer, Gordon jumped in.

  “Cool,” said Gordon. “Nice surfboard.”

  Gordon gave the board a knock and Clive winced.

  “Yo, that’s a little sore, dude!” he groaned.

  “Sorry!”

  “Wait,” said Shane. “Why didn’t you head to Raven Hill with the rest of the residents?”

  “We got a pretty good run of waves,” said Clive, “and I was so busy hanging ten that by the time I was done, everyone was gone! When a wipeout can’t kill you, you could just surf forever!”

  “But how do you surf with that thing sticking out of you?” asked Gordon.

  “It ain’t easy,” said Clive.

  “All ri
ght,” I said. “Ben’s about to start. Let’s get going.”

  I grabbed a few Nurses, gave Shane a thumbs-up, and turned to Clive.

  “Okay,” I said. “Where should we start?”

  “The resort towers are pretty well guarded,” Clive said, “so I don’t think that the rogue zombie got into those. He’s either still in the jungle, on the beach, or at the aquarium.”

  “Aquarium?” I asked. “Director Z didn’t say anything about an aquarium.”

  “Well, Directors are never going to tell you everything,” Clive said. “They’ve always got something up their sleeves.”

  “What sort of aquarium?” Gordon asked.

  “Aw, it’s cool, man!” said Clive. “Like SeaWorld for sea monsters. With all the monster juice drainage, it’s hard for some of these creatures to be out in the open ocean anymore.”

  “Wait, you call lebensplasm monster juice?” Gordon asked. “That’s what we call it!”

  “Yeah, my dude, it’s gotta be monster juice! It just sounds so much cooler,” said Clive, while high-fiving Gordon.

  “Let’s start at the aquarium,” I said.

  “You got it!” said Clive.

  SeaMonsterWorld

  I thought I knew everything about monsters working at Raven Hill, but then I visited the Paradise Island Aquarium and Sea Creature Rehabilitation Center. We stood in the main entrance—glass walls towered ominously in front of us. Dark figures shifted in the tanks.

  “This is freaking me out a little,” I said. “How thick is that glass?”

  “Forget about the tanks,” said Gordon. “That freak could be hiding in here, and it’s really dark.”

  “Yeah, most of these sea monsters prefer the dark,” said Clive. “Except for the mermaids. They have a display with big rocks. They like to lay out and catch the rays.”

  The Nurses handed out flashlights and we turned them on. An ominous glow filled the massive room.

  “How should we split up?” I asked Clive.

  “Uhhh…” Clive scratched his head. A clump of hair and seaweed fell out. “Two Nurses should head down the west wing toward Moby Dick. Two should head toward the sea serpent display—make sure Hydra still has three heads. Two more should go talk with the mermaids and sirens, but DON’T get too close. The three of us will head toward the Kraken.”