Return of the Jed by Scott Craven

Author:Scott Craven [Craven, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: middle grade, zombies, bullying, humor, middle school, friendship, social issues
Publisher: Month9Books, LLC
Published: 2015-10-15T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

If I could reach my arm, I could whack Vampiro Tijuana over the head while he was still dazed from my vicious head-butt. Unfortunately, my other arm also was out of reach. And if I could reach them, just how was I supposed to pick them up?

The moment summed up perfectly the plusses and minuses of being a zombie luchador (wrestler, Mexican style). On one hand, I could use all of my 130 pounds as a weapon, a bash-seeking missile meant to inflict pain while feeling little in return. On the other hand, I didn’t have hands at this point. Or arms.

Against the better judgment of anyone not a zombie, I’d accepted Mendoza’s offer with one condition: Tread would be my faithful wrestling sidekick. Mendoza agreed even before I showed him how easily you could teach an undead dog new tricks.

After nearly a week of training, Mendoza declared us ready for the ring. Everything went according to script in our first few matches, complete with Tread jumping into the fray when I needed a distraction.

I also came clean about my undeadness, having a gut feeling (which proved correct) that I could trust Mendoza. He’d watched my every move and knew I was not simply a marvel of double-jointed abilities, especially when my lower arms detached a few times. When he knew the truth, he simply nodded and said, “Good news for our insurance rates.”

But based on my performance against Vampiro, perhaps I’d bitten off more than I could chew (a saying I didn’t take lightly as a zombie).

Still, I was happy about two things: Dad had no idea I was wrestling because he was so caught up in his work, and Luke stood in my corner with staples and duct tape at the ready.

A few minutes earlier, Vampiro Tijuana—310 pounds of easily agitated luchador—had put me in a full nelson, locking my shoulders in an iron grip from behind.

According to the script, I’d dislocate my shoulders and slide out, darting between his legs to complete the escape. But I fell victim to Vampiro’s short attention span, because he clearly didn’t read that far.

He squeezed and with a loud pop like that of a cork launched from a champagne bottle, my arms flew from my body. Even more impressive was how the limbs hit the mat at the same time. If synchronized dismemberment were an Olympic sport, Vampiro earned a ten.

I slid away and crawled through Vampiro’s legs, the bout’s storyline destroyed with one move. The script had me climbing Vampiro’s back, grabbing his mask and twisting it front to back, giving Vampiro two eye-holes on the back of his head. As Vampiro stumbled around the ring, I’d snap off my left forearm and beat him about the head and shoulders. Well, mostly the shoulders, because that was as high as I could reach. Vampiro would fall through the ropes, crashing onto a collapsible table that would quickly give way, the match ending when Vampiro slammed onto the concrete, out cold, and with cut-out eyes staring from the back of his head.

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