Zombie Dog (8 page)

Suddenly, a branch snapped sharply behind them, and Becky and Nate both screamed.

As she screamed, Becky whipped around and saw a human shape behind her.
Not the dog
, she thought, and her scream cut off even as another part of her mind wondered, despairingly, if maybe Dr. McNally had created some human zombies, too. Maybe the whole house was crawling with them. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, so hard that she could hear its beat.

“Hey,” the shadowy figure said, coming forward. “Wow, what are you guys doing here?”

Paul
, she realized, her heart calming, and she drew a deep breath.

“What are
we
doing here?” Nate said. “What are
you
doing here? You don't even live on this street! And it's raining out!” His normally laid-back voice
was furious, and Becky could tell how scared he had been.

“I thought I'd check out the McNally house at night,” Paul said. “It's only drizzling — I thought the rain would make an even cooler, spookier atmosphere. And I rode my bike over.” Even though Becky couldn't really see his face, she thought he sounded embarrassed. He had something in his hands that reflected the little light there was, and Becky suddenly realized it was his camera. “I would have called you, but I didn't think you'd be into it. When we were over at Becky's house, you both seemed kind of irritated with the whole zombie thing.”

Nate gave a surprised half laugh, but before either of them could answer, Paul was looking past them. “Hey,” he said. “What's that?”

Becky whipped around, hearing Nate gasp behind her.

Something was moving slowly across the pale stretch of driveway toward where they had left the ball. Becky could hear nails clicking against the concrete. She peered forward through the darkness. Was the zombie sniffing at the ball and paste? It was so still for a moment, a huddled shape in just the
right place. Maybe it would take the ball and go away, go back to rest again.

Slowly, the figure seemed to stiffen, and its head came up. Green eyes flashed eerily and the creature's thick wet growl filled the air. It charged past the ball, leaving it ignored — the paste untouched — and came toward them.

“Wow!” Paul said happily, raising his camera.

Nate and Becky each grabbed hold of one of Paul's arms and
ran
, slipping in the wet grass, shoving evergreen branches out of the way, fumbling at the fence between the houses to find the loose board, and finally racing across Becky's lawn toward her house. Her feet skidded on the grass and she almost fell, gripping Paul's arm to pull herself up.

The whole way, Becky was sure she heard tiny footsteps racing behind her, felt cold and clammy breath at her back. At every moment, she expected to feel small, sharp teeth on her leg.

Finally, they got inside the house. Becky slammed the door behind them and locked both locks. She thought she heard the scrape of claws against the door and another low snarl as it closed, but it was hard to tell over the patter of the rain shower.
Gasping, she looked around at the others, who were panting from the run and dripping water onto the floor. Nate was so pale that his freckles stood out clearly in little golden dots against his skin.

“That was amazing!” Paul said cheerfully. “Did you guys fix that up? What was it, like, some kind of motorized thing? Is it for Halloween?”

They both stared at him. Finally, Nate stretched what looked to Becky like a clearly false smile over his strained face. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we're working on it. It's not ready yet.”

“So stay away from the McNally house, okay?” Becky added, her voice squeaky with nervousness. “Because it's not ready.”

“Becky?” her dad called, coming down the stairs. He frowned when he saw Paul. “I didn't realize you had another friend over. It's almost dinnertime.”

“I know, Dad,” Becky said quickly. “Paul just came by to get Nate. They're going now.” Nate and Paul, thankfully, nodded.

Her dad waited. After a moment, it was clear that he was waiting for the boys to leave. Becky hesitated. What if the zombie dog was out there? She was almost sure she had heard claws against the door.

But her dad was waiting. She and Nate stared at each other, frozen.

Finally, Paul reached out and unlocked the door before Becky could warn him. “See you later, Becky,” he said, swinging it open. “Bye, Mr. Nolan.”

A cold breeze swept in the door, bringing the sound of rustling leaves. There was nothing waiting on the porch. Nate followed Paul out, grimacing back at Becky. At least they were heading
away
from the McNally house, toward Nate's end of the street.

Becky had dinner with her family, barely able to concentrate on what she was eating or to follow what her parents and Jake were talking about. She kept thinking of the zombie Chihuahua's angry snarl and how it had charged toward them after sniffing the ball.

It must not have fallen for their trick, Becky thought, because that certainly hadn't been anything like being put to rest. It was more like the zombie was angry they'd tried to fool it. Clearly the paste wasn't going to work without the right ball.

She went up to her room, thinking hard about what they could do to stop the zombie. Later, once everyone had gone to sleep, she tiptoed down to sneak Bear upstairs. Poor Bear had been so nervous
and agitated lately that she couldn't stand to leave him alone downstairs. He stuck close to her, his fur brushing against her leg, while they were going upstairs, and then slunk under her bed when they got into her room.

Becky climbed back into bed and lay down, listening to Bear's little whines slowly change to steady breathing. Her stomach hurt with anxiety, and she crossed her arms over it, clutching her elbows.

She only had one idea, and she hated it. She wasn't the kind of person who stole and lied, but the only way she could see that they might get rid of the zombie was if they stole the ball — the
other
ball, the one that had belonged to ChiChi, Mimi's sister — from Mrs. McNally's shadow box.

The next day was Sunday, and Becky was putting the finishing touches on her anti-zombie plan when the phone rang.

Becky was happily surprised to hear the voice on the other end say, “Hey, it's Tonya.”

They chatted for a little while, and Becky was glad to be distracted from all things zombie. Then Tonya said, “Paul e-mailed me the pictures he took at the house next door to you last night.”

“Yeah?” Becky said uneasily. She remembered how freaked out Tonya had seemed the afternoon they had all heard the weird howling from next door. The last thing she wanted was to encourage the freaky rumors about her street, or worse, for anyone to find out there actually
was
a zombie.

“It was cool,” Tonya said, laughing a little bit. “What did you use, some kind of old stuffed animal? And maybe Christmas lights? I couldn't see that well in the picture, but it looked really interesting. And Paul said it moved, too. How'd you do that?”

“Um, a remote control thing,” Becky said, thinking fast.

“Are you going to use it for Halloween?” Tonya asked.

“Maybe,” Becky said cautiously. “We haven't figured it out completely, though. It might not work.”

“Awesome,” Tonya said. “I wanted to say” — she hesitated — “um, that I was sorry I got so freaked out just from a dog howling when I was over there. I think it's really creative and cool the way you and Nate are using the rumors about your street to make scary, fun stuff.”

“Um.” Becky was so surprised by this that she couldn't quite think what to say. “Uh, thanks.”

“Anyway,” Tonya went on. “I was mostly calling because I wanted to ask you about the art club. You're in it, right?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Well, I was thinking about joining. I mean, I'm not good at drawing like you are,” Tonya said, sounding
embarrassed, “but I like making stuff, and I thought it might be fun. It's on Wednesdays, right?”

“You should join,” Becky said. “It's really fun.”

“Yeah?” Tonya asked. “It's just … I don't really know anyone in it except for you, and I was worried they might all be really good artists and that I would be sort of the lame one in the group.”

“Not at all,” Becky said, laughing. “I didn't really know anyone either, but everyone seems nice, and they're just normal people. Like, it's not van Gogh in there, just people who like doing art projects.”

They talked for a while longer, and Becky got off the phone feeling good for the first time in a while. It was nice to know that Tonya didn't
really
believe there was something evil about her street (even if she was wrong), and fun to think about spending more time with Tonya and working on projects with her in art club. Maybe they could actually go ahead and
do
something spooky for Halloween based on the rumors about the McNally house. If she and Nate managed to get rid of the zombie first.

 

Becky had to spend the rest of the morning at Jake's soccer game, even though it was still gray and raining
on and off. She worried the whole time about what might be going on back at the house, but finally, in the afternoon, she and Nate took the bus over to Vantage Place once more.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Nate asked as they walked inside the building. He swallowed unhappily. “Are we — are we really just going to
take
it?”

“I know,” Becky said, and heard the guilty quaver in her own voice. She spoke in a whisper and smiled shakily at the security guard, who seemed to be looking at them suspiciously. “But I don't see what else we can do. We have to try this.” Her stomach was hurting, and she already felt horrible.

It would be
wrong
to steal ChiChi's ball from Mrs. McNally, she knew. Mrs. McNally was clearly devoted to — or more like obsessed with — her dogs. Becky shuddered at the thought of seeing the preserved ChiChi again.

Becky had taken another of Bear's balls — a red one this time — to replace ChiChi's ball in the shadow box, but she didn't think Mrs. McNally would be deceived at all. But what else could she do?
Getting rid of the zombie is more important than Mrs. McNally's feelings
, she told herself. But she didn't like it.

The night before, for a moment, she had really believed the other ball was going to work. The zombie Chihuahua had seemed to give it a lot of attention, its hunched form crouching over it for a long time in the darkness before it had snarled and turned its glowing gaze on them. If they could just get a ball the dog would accept, Becky was sure (well, almost sure) that their plan would work. She didn't want to think about the alternative.

When they reached Mrs. McNally's condo, Becky muttered, “Here goes nothing,” and tapped at the door.

Mrs. McNally did not look especially pleased to see them. “You're back,” she said, raising her eyebrows a little. “Was there something else you wanted to ask me, children? You'll forgive me if we keep this short, but I have my book group in half an hour.” She didn't move away from the door, and Becky looked desperately at Nate, who went into his prepared speech.

“I'm sorry to bother you again, Mrs. McNally,” he said, blue eyes wide, “but I told my mom about how you had ChiChi … um … preserved, and she, um, really wanted to know who did it for you. Because she has this cat who's pretty old, and, uh …”

He sounded really nervous and unsure, and part of Becky expected Mrs. McNally to know he was lying.

But instead the older lady opened her door wider. “Come in,” she said to them. “I think I can get what you need for your mother.”

Inside, she led Nate down the hall to look through her filing cabinet for the information. Becky lingered in the living room, waiting until they were around the corner and out of view, then pulled out Bear's ball. She flinched as she caught the glassy eyes of ChiChi, poised beside the couch, and hesitated. She almost wanted to apologize to the dog. But Becky turned away and reached up to take the shadow box down from the wall. Mimi and ChiChi were staring at her from their photograph, their brown eyes wide and appealing. She pulled her hand back, a wave of guilt washing over her.

I can't do this
, she realized, putting Bear's ball back in her pocket.
I can't steal ChiChi's ball.

She had a new plan of action, and she didn't know if it would work, but it seemed like the only choice left.

 

Nate and Mrs. McNally came back down the hall a few minutes later, Nate holding a manila folder that must have been full of taxidermist information. Becky stood up and took a deep breath.

“Mrs. McNally,” she said, “I'm sorry, but we didn't tell you the truth about why we came to see you today.”

Mrs. McNally turned to Nate inquiringly and raised one eyebrow, her face chilly. Nate turned beet red but nodded, shamefaced.

“We were hoping to talk to you about Mimi,” Becky went on, “and about your house.” She could see that Mrs. McNally was about to say no: Her face was drawing into a frown, her lips turning down. “
Please
, Mrs. McNally,” she said. “Everything's gone really wrong, and I think you're the only one who can help us.”

Becky could hear the desperation in her own voice. Something about what she said or how she said it must have gotten through to Mrs. McNally, because she stopped looking annoyed and started looking worried.

“You'd better tell me all about it from the beginning,” Mrs. McNally said finally, and sat down.

They told Mrs. McNally everything. Becky did most of the talking, Nate sitting beside her and chiming in occasionally with details she had forgotten, but mostly just offering moral support, his eyes steady and reassuring.

Mrs. McNally listened. A couple of times she frowned and drew breath as if she was going to start arguing with them, but she didn't say anything.

At last, Becky said, “So … Bear's toy didn't work. But we thought that if we tried ChiChi's toy, maybe that would work better. Since it's like Mimi's, except a different color, and it belonged to Mimi's sister, so she would be familiar with it.” Becky took a breath. “Mimi — she's — it's not safe. She could bite other animals, or people even, and turn them into zombies. She's angry — she snapped at me — and she might bite someone eventually. And … it's not right, her being like that. That's not how a dog is supposed to be.” Becky hadn't thought about it before, but now she did, contrasting her happy, lively Bear with the green-eyed, snarling creature that dragged itself through the darkness.
Poor Mimi
, she thought.
I'm sure she never wanted this.

Becky's voice trailed off into silence, and Mrs. McNally didn't answer immediately. She was staring
past them at the shadow box on the wall. Slowly, she rose and took down the shadow box.

“Mimi was a good dog,” she said finally, tracing her fingers above the little dog's picture. “My husband and I loved her, her and ChiChi both, and they were so sweet together. ChiChi was heartbroken when Mimi died. And then,” her voice went hoarse, “Mimi became my husband's first successful experiment. We were horrified at what she became, and we managed to put her back to rest.”

“How?” Nate asked quickly. “How did you make her go to sleep?”

“With the voodoo paste you two found the recipe for. That's why we had the angel's trumpet bush: We researched to find out what the mythology said would be effective. That recipe is the only nonviolent solution I know of. We couldn't bear to have Mimi suffer. But in this instance, she woke up because her ball was taken, so the paste won't work by itself. If Mimi's ball is gone, ChiChi's
might
work. But I can't promise it will.” Mrs. McNally sighed, and reached over to stroke stuffed ChiChi next to the couch. Becky flinched a little as Mrs. McNally touched ChiChi, but could see the sadness in the woman's face.

“Mimi loved her sister,” Mrs. McNally said softly. “And we loved them both. That's the reason I haven't been able to make myself put the house on the market. I couldn't disturb Mimi's last resting place, and I couldn't make myself face the evidence of what happened in that house.” She stared down at the picture in the shadow box for a moment more, pressing her fingers against the glass so hard that their tips were white with pressure. “Yes, I will help you,” she said at last. “Mimi needs this.”

She opened the shadow box and slowly took out the red star-spotted ball and held it for a moment before handing it to Becky. “Good luck,” she said. “I hope it gives Mimi her rest.”

Becky felt like she was going to cry. “We'll do our best,” she told Mrs. McNally, squeezing the ball tightly. “We'll try to take care of Mimi.”