Ernestine, Catastrophe Queen by Merrill Wyatt

Author:Merrill Wyatt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2018-08-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

When Confronted With a Zombie, Panic

THURSDAY, 12:17 AM

Step four of Ernestine’s zombie survival guide stated quite specifically that as soon as you were finished panicking, you should arm yourself with something deadly before confronting the undead. Without something to kill them when you ran at them, you were pretty much offering yourself up as fast food.

Now, confronted not only with a zombie, but a zombie carrying a weapon, Ernestine found herself armed with nothing more deadly than chickens. Chickens. It was too humiliating for words.

Oh, well. If all she had for a weapon was chickens, then she’d just have to use chickens as a weapon. As the zombie slashed the candelabra toward Mrs. MacGillicuddie’s head, Ernestine screamed, “You wanna eat something? EAT CHICKEN!” and flung the birds right at the creature’s head.

As these things went, “Eat chicken” wasn’t terribly clever. But it was a zombie. Its brain was liquefying in its skull. It wasn’t like it would appreciate witty banter, anyhow.

Ernestine’s shriek woke up Mrs. MacGillicuddie, who saw the danger and rolled out of the way just in time. Rather than breaking open her skull to reveal a delicious, juicy brain inside, the candelabra tore her pillow apart. A cloud of feathers puffed up into the air, joining those already flying from the furious birds as they landed on the zombie. They took out an entire evening’s worth of aggression by pecking mercilessly at its decaying flesh. Ernestine had just wanted the zombie to eat the chickens rather than Mrs. MacGillicuddie, but she was fine if they wanted to eat the zombie instead. Birds. Who would’ve thought they’d be excellent allies in the coming war against the undead? Ernestine would have to make a note of it in her zombie survival guide.

Worried that her allies might not be able to finish the zombie off all on their own, Ernestine launched herself forward and pummeled it right in the stomach with her outstretched hands.

It turned its hideous, deformed face to gaze at her with a slack jaw and purple, mottled skin. Ernestine swallowed hard, wishing she’d kept one of the chickens to defend herself with. Whatever she had seen in the alleyway this afternoon, the creature before her definitely had a skin problem. As in, its skin was rotting away and hanging in flaps off its cheeks, which Ernestine assumed would be a problem for most creatures, even ones who hadn’t gotten out of their coffins much the last couple of decades.

While Ernestine was wishing she’d thought to bring along a rain poncho in case it decayed all over her nice coat, the zombie fell to the ground and tried to crawl away. Mrs. MacGillicuddie clutched her satin sheets to her chest and shrieked, “What is it? What is it?”

“Mrs. MacGillicuddie, meet Ella James, deceased! We just raised her,” Ernestine yelled as the zombie sprang to its feet. It swung the candelabra at her and would have gotten her on the nose if Ernestine hadn’t jerked back in time. Then it kicked her with a stiletto heel, which smarted like anything.

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