The Zombie Adventures of Sarah Bellum (71 page)

I check Crispin and the
others who are remaining behind. Homer has stuffed his pom-poms into
his ears against the Squidmorph-song, and Luke and Beneficience have
done the same with what's left of the dried flowers from the altar –
but it hasn't stopped them arguing. Carvery Slaughter is still an
immovable onyx statue –
damn it
…

Crispin is tugging on the
harpoon in the middle of the deck, trying to remove it. Unwillingly,
I feel the hot guilty blush creeping over me, knowing exactly how a
merman Squidmorph nursery-nurse would have got his hands on one of
those…

"Ah, that seem to be
working!" announces Justin Time, pleased.

I look down at the mat.
The clockwork hand is alight, with a full spectrum of colours.

"So pretty!"
says Frankenminky. "Like
Somewhere Over The Rainbow
…"

I throw her a suspicious
glance.

"Oh," Justin
Time nods in approval, as the beam of rainbow light arcs up out of
the clockwork hand. "You travel this way before, young lady,
yes?"

And we leap into the sky,
just as the timbers of the deck fall away beneath us.

I'm aware of passing by
Atum's giant paternal Eye, and then we're above the scudding clouds.
Distant lightning bolts and vapour-trails show where Higham Dry
Senior and his men are still battling any Nine a.m. Lounge fighter
jets that have managed to take off.

The little high-speed mat
chases the rainbow, as it arches above the Earth.

"So…"
Justin says, crossing his legs more comfortably and steepling his
fingers. "You come here often? What your name, young lady?"

A passing Boeing jumbo
jet aircraft with the
Iron Maiden
logo drowns out the answer.
I nearly fall off the mat, as a loud belch in my ear out of nowhere
is followed by a friendly nibble on my newly-chopped hair.

"Don't mind him."
Justin pats the billy goat, who has managed to join us with only one
forefoot on the mat behind me. "Maybe we celebrate with goat
curry later!" His face turns hopefully back to my housemate.
"Can you cook?"

We dip below the clouds
again, once we pass the zenith of the rainbow. Rising up to meet us,
I recognise the huge mansion on Crispin's estate – his Cadillac
outside – Luke's taxi – and yes!

My little
Pizza Heaven
scooter!

Slightly less reassuring,
is the way the rainbow seems to end at one of the chimneys on the
crenulated rooftop…

"Hold on!" says
Justin. "Turbulence! It going to be bumpy landing!"

Everything is suddenly
coughing and spluttering and Guinness-burp scented darkness.

God… how Father
Christmas does this five billion times in a night is beyond me…
it must be something in the sherry…

We land with a crunch.

"Everybody okay?"
says Justin. "We nearly took wrong turning! Old fireplace
bricked up back there. Don't want to end up like Santa Claus. Now,
where is door?"

I put out my hands
tentatively, and feel splintered wooden sticks.

Are we in the kindling
store?

"Here it is!"
Justin kicks it open, and the billy goat, now quite sooty and
blackened, trots outside happily.

I crawl out into the
daylight, onto gleaming parquet flooring.

It's Crispin's entrance
hall. Behind me, the door to the vast cellars is locked, alongside
our own escape door…

"Oh, look at the
poor things!" says Frankenminky, holding up a snapped broom
handle, shedding birch twigs.

…
The
broom closet?

Hmmm. I'm going to have
to keep an eye on her…

CHAPTER
EIGHTY-TWO
:

TRUE LICE

"
Thank
you, Justin!" I remember to say, retrieving the clockwork hand,
while he rolls up the little doormat and tucks it under one arm.
Although I'm not sure I fancy another stroll through the hen-house,
mingling with the monitor lizards again straight away – Higham
Dry Junior might have to wait until I've at least had a lie down and
several Sloe Gin Slings before getting his toy back. "How can I
repay you?"

"Oh…" He
pauses and looks thoughtful, and it occurs to me that making open
cavalier offers to the rickshaw pilot might be unwise. "I like
your little clockwork thing…"

"What?" I was
right.

How stupid am I? I can't
give him the clockwork hand!

"Yes, with the
little sparkly light," he says. "I saw you pointing it at
aircraft carrier. Flash-flash. Good for signalling."

"Oh…"
Relief bursts inside me. Fortunately, my bladder and everything else
in there is empty. "The
Trevor Baylis
torch! Yes, of
course…"

I pull it out of my
pocket and pass it to him. He gives it an experimental twirl and a
click on-and-off, looking very pleased.

"This good for busy
air-traffic," he says. "I make special sequence for
'Get
out of way, Stupid!'
But not tell anyone else what it is…"

"Phew," I say,
holding up the clockwork hand. "For a moment, I thought you
meant this…"

"Oh, really?"
His eyebrows go up. "Well, if you insist…"

And he snatches it from
my grasp, and runs out of the front door.

"You get back here,
Justin Time!" I yell angrily.

"And don't forget,
your friend promised to cook me dinner as well!" he calls over
his shoulder. "Goat curry!"

Damn, damn,
damn!
And
as I hurry after him, I hear an engine start.

Oh no – the
Trevor
Baylis
torch was attached to my keys!

I tumble down the
impressive stone steps, as my poor little
Pizza Heaven
scooter
races away down the drive.

"No!" I shout,
struggling back upright and spitting out gravel. Already, I'm getting
flashbacks of musical push-along cart, and
Old MacDonald Had A
Farm
. "No, no, no!"

"Has he gone?"
Frankenminky asks, appearing in the doorway. "I didn't even get
his number…"

Something nudges me
sharply in the behind.

Old MacDonald had a
goat
…

"Baaahhh,"
bleats the billy goat, giving me the drunken eye.

"Right," I say.
"I've ridden camels, clams, donkeys and doormats today!"

I grab the goat by the
curly horns, and lean forward to whisper in its bearded ear.

"We are going to
follow that scooter," I tell it. "And in exchange, you will
not become my housemate's special, Goat
à
la
Soggy
Cheerios!"

I just remember to lift
my feet off the ground, as the indignant billy goat bolts. We skid at
the end of the driveway, and give chase down the main road.

How could I have been so
stupid?! I should have learned by now that he isn't to be trusted!

Justin must know we are
on his tail, because he takes a short-cut through the park on the way
into town. A park full of Saturday morning strollers, duck-feeders,
and unwary fairground visitors…

Oh no – so many
innocent bystanders…

My billy goat pounds
after him untiringly, stopping only to divest a small child of its
ice-cream.

The scooter, meanwhile,
has become stuck on the Merry-Go-Round between a Cinderella pumpkin
carriage and a fibreglass rocket, and Justin finds himself giving
rides to children who pull on his whiskers and insist on calling him
Ali Baba.

"Stop!" I
shout, once my goat has polished off a ball of candyfloss and a blue
raspberry
Slurpie.

"Haha!" Justin
cries, finally managing to kick the scooter free of the ride, and
vanishing into the mirror maze.

We clatter after him,
like the proverbial bull into a china shop. A china shop full of
incredibly sticky children, and the occasional excitable puppy.

"I know you are in
here, Justin!" I shout at my many distorted reflections. I
already know what my goat is thinking – it's thinking that
maybe that last Guinness was one too many. "I can smell the
two-stroke oil! Give back the clockwork hand! That was given to me to
look after!"

"Can I pat your
horsey?" asks a little girl with Elastoplast covering one lens
of her glasses.

"My Dad says your
pizzas are always cold," adds her brother informatively, who is
wearing a striped jersey with his spectacles, in a typically mean
parental act of inferring that their child resembles
Waldo
.

"Well," I say,
while the billy goat receives his scratch around the ears
magnanimously. "You tell your Dad that when his tips turn out to
be legal tender in this country, maybe his pizzas will magically turn
up on time."

"Just in time?"
says the little boy.

"Where?!" I
look all around, but only see more reflections. "Where's Justin
Time?"

"Who?" asks the
little girl.

"Creepy man, evil
laugh, riding a motor scooter." I struggle for descriptions that
match First Grade interpretation. "
Ali Baba!
"

Both the children point,
to a gap in the mirrors that only small (and possibly
bifocally-enhanced) eyes would notice.

I see a flash of
Pizza
Heaven
top-box whizzing past.

"Tell your Dad the
next pizza is free," I say, and spur my steed to follow. "With
onion rings!"

We gallop out of the
maze, in time to see Justin and the scooter mount the Helter-Skelter,
going up the spiralling slide the wrong way…

I race to the gate, but
the attendant blocks my path and tells me my goat isn't tall enough.

"No!" I scream,
as Justin reaches the top, revs the tiny engine, and opens the
throttle.

The
Pizza Heaven
scooter flies through the air, high above the funfair.

The billy goat butts the
attendant out of the way, and we dash for the steps…

In slow motion, I watch
the poor little work scooter falling, falling – the poor
children beneath running, scattering, as fast as their slippery socks
will allow…

…
We'll
never reach the top before it…

The scooter lands smack
in the middle of the bouncy castle, which nearly folds up double. And
then springs back up, catapulting Justin Time far over the treetops
beyond, and out of sight.

"Jump!" I shout
at the billy goat. "He mustn't get away!"

But instead, my billy
goat merely joins the queue at the top of the steps, to slide down
the Helter-Skelter the more usual way.

"Oh my God, you are
such a pussy!" I grumble, once we reach the bottom.

The goat takes no notice,
but rewards itself with a bag of popcorn from a passing
Disney
princess.

"Never mind,"
says the princess's big sister, as she starts to cry. "Look up
in the sky – at the lovely rainbow…"

I look up too, and pretty
soon I'm crying as well.

CHAPTER
EIGHTY-THREE
:

DÉJÀ
VOODOO ~ FIFTY SHALLOW GRAVES

I wake up eventually.
It's already Monday morning.

I can hear my housemate,
the newly-christened Frankenminky, singing in the shower. I strain my
ears, suspiciously. Is that
Somewhere Over The Rainbow
she's
murdering in there? I'll definitely have to watch her…

By the time I had
recovered the
Pizza Heaven
scooter, it was covered in sticky
finger-marks, candyfloss, bogeys, and several thoughtful parents and
dog-owners had used the insulated top-box as a diaper/baggie bin.