GRANDMA? Part 1 (YA Zombie Serial Novel) by J.A. Konrath (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📗

"Why did you turn Grandma into a zombie? You just bit her once. You're trying to eat me, but you didn't try to eat her."

They looked at each other, and then began to giggle in a creepy, gurgly way. Like they had a secret joke they wouldn't share.

While they were preoccupied with alienating me, I dashed left and headed for the dock. I managed to get around them, but they reacted fast and were quickly right on my heels.

I looked ahead and saw Josh in the boat. He shrugged his shoulders with his palms facing the sky.

"Josh, get ready! I got them!"

I was jingling the keys in the air, like he would hear them. Josh pointed.

"They're behind you!" he yelled.

No duh. I didn't need to turn around to see, because I heard them on my heels. Practically close enough to grab me.

I couldn't make it to Josh in time. And if I did, the zombies would get on the boat behind me.

For some reason, I thought about this morning. Me, Dad, and Josh fishing on the boat at sunrise. I hooked a big one and Dad coached me as I played the fish.

"Careful, son. Don't pull too hard. Let him wear himself out."

Someone shoved my shoulder. I fell forward, skinning my knees.

"That fish is huge, Randall!" Josh said, ready with the net. "A giant bass!"

I managed to hang onto the boat key, but while I was on my knees Grandma grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.

"We got him, Randall!" Josh lifted up the net as if the bass was his, so proud even though it was just a little two pounder. I unhooked it and threw it back. "You'll be next," I said to Josh.

But he hadn't caught any fish that morning.

"Randall!"

I stared at Josh, waving his arms on the boat, and realized something for the first time. We said I love you all the time, same as we said it to Mom and Dad. But until that very moment, I didn't really understand what it meant.

It meant I couldn't let the zombies get my little brother.

"Josh! Catch!"

I threw the boat keys as hard as I could. My aim was good, but my self-sacrifice turned to poopy when the keys hit Josh square in the face, bounced off, and plopped into the water.

"You s-word, Randall! You hit me in the nose! You suck!"

Stupid Josh never could catch anything.

I felt teeth on my neck. But I fought as hard as I could, and watched as Grandma's uppers fall onto the pier next to me.

"Damn dentures," she cursed.

"Don't you have any Poligrip?" Phil asked.

"I use Fixodent."

As they debated the various merits of their preferred denture creams, I mourned my failure. I was going to get devoured, and so was Josh. It was going to be awful. Have you ever seen old people eat? It's gross. Now imagine them eating you.

I looked ahead to say a final goodbye to my brother, and him holding the fishing net, lake water dripping off it, the keys inside.

Apparently that little yellow sponge thing on the key ring was so the keys floated. Good thinking, somebody.

Josh held up the net, triumphant, like he'd done earlier with my bass.

"Randall! Come on!"

Grandma still had a tight grip on my hair. I couldn't get away without scalping myself.

"Go without me, Josh!"

Above me, the undead argument continued, becoming even stupider.

"Poligrip is zinc free."

"So is Fixident."

"Why does it matter that they're zinc free?"

"I'm not sure. What does zinc do anyway?"

"I don't know."

I watched Josh sit in the captain's chair and put the keys in the ignition. He'd never driven the boat by himself, but he'd sat in my lap, or Dad's, and steered before.

"You can do it, Josh," I said under my breath.

And he did. He started the boat, gunned the engine, and took off.

He got all of two feet away before the mooring line held him back. Stupid Josh had forgotten to unhook the stern, and the boat was still attached to the dock.

"The line!" I yelled. But he couldn't hear me with the motor on. He just revved the motor more.

"I have zinc in my Geritol," Grandma said. "So why do I want zinc free denture adhesive? Isn't zinc good for you?"

"I like cats," Phil said. "Do you like cats?"

"I love cats."

"I have an old tabby named Eisenhower who is quite the rascal. Tore up my rug the other day."

"Don't you have rug runners?"

"Of course. But the rascal managed to get under the plastic. The rascal."

"Sounds like a real rascal."

"He is. The rascal."

As I listened to the inane ramblings of the geriatric undead, and watched bonehead Josh try to drag the whole pier into the lake with zero success, I realized that I wasn't ready to die yet. Not with all of these morons around me.

I pulled hard, ripping out a nice chunk of my hair, but getting free. Then I headed for the pier, starting to sprint. Screw the foot pain.

I was just ready to hop into the boat when the mooring line pulled free. I must have done a bad job winding it around the tie-down cleat on the pier. My bad.

The boat took off just as I jumped. I missed it and landed in the shallow water, my flip-flops coming off and my bad foot landing right on a sharp rock.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Hurt like hell.

I must have screamed loud enough for Josh to hear me, because he slowed the boat and began to turn around.

I couldn't believe it. I was actually going to live though this nightmare.

That's when Grandma yelled, "CANNONBALL!" and jumped onto my head.

For a little old lady, she hit like linebacker. I went under, pinned to the bottom of the lake, my face in the sand and very little air in my lungs.

I wondered if drowning was better than being eaten alive. They both sounded bad. But then, there weren't many ways to die that were appealing. Smothered by swimsuit models? Getting hit in the head by a home run