The Last Kids on Earth and the Cosmic Beyond

First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2015

This edition published in 2019

By Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2015 Max Brallier

Illustrations copyright © 2015 Douglas Holgate

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted.

First e-book edition 2019

ISBN 978 1 4052 9512 3

Ebook ISBN 978 1 4052 9513 0

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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For my Lila Bean.

– M. B.

For Turtle and Panda.

– D. H.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map of Wakefield

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

Acknowledgments

About the Author

chapter one

So, we are about to be astro-blasted. Catapulted and launched. Propelled off the roof of our tree house by something called the Sled-Shot.

Why? Why load ourselves into a massive slingshot and blast ourselves off the roof?

Why did some old guy climb Mount Everest? BECAUSE IT’S THERE!!!

Actually, that’s not the reason at all. The Sled-Shot was of course not just ‘there’. My best friend, Quint Baker, built it.

‘Quint, are you sure this is safe?’ I ask.

He thinks for a moment, then says, ‘No. But I’m not not sure.’

‘What’s the matter? A little nervous, Jack?’

That’s my buddy-crush, June Del Toro. I know she’s teasing me, but I actually do feel kind of queasy. Usually, I’m super gung-ho about all things action, no matter the danger. But not this.

I give the Sled-Shot a final look before I slide in. ‘Quint, this looks like a weapon for medieval siege warfare! Or for defending a castle against an army of orcs! Or for storming a castle with an army of orcs! This would be helpful if we were under siege, but we’re very much not under siege.’

June grins. ‘We are under snow.’

‘Not the same,’ I say. ‘Not even kind of sort of the same.’

‘But they think it is,’ June says.

They are the monsters who are our friends. The dozen or so monsters up here with us in the tree house, helping us prepare for blast-off. And the many other monsters down below, in Wakefield Town Square.

And it’s true. The monsters are probably more worried about the snow than they would be about an army of orcs. They are not inspiring confidence . . .

Hey! No one’s got dibs on my monster buddy Rover and definitely no one is sleeping in my bed! I glare at Skaelka. She’s the one with the big axe.

My big buddy Dirk Savage – the final member of our foursome of friends – says, ‘Enough talk! We’re going. Equip helmets.’

‘Helmets equipped!’ we respond.

‘Equip inflatable donut rafts!’ Quint shouts.

‘Equipped!’ my buddies say.

‘Equipped!’ I say. But that’s only partly true. See, Quint designed instant-inflate donut rafts. They’re basically airbags for your body. But I’m Jack Sullivan! I don’t need that! Quint’s a worrier, though, so I agreed to wear it.

What I didn’t tell him is that I filled mine with delicious snacks! I mean, honestly – what are the odds I’m going to need an instant-inflate raft? Not high. But the odds I’m gonna want delicious snacks? WAY HIGH. Plus, I get to walk around looking less lame than my buds – see?

‘You may fire when ready!’ Quint says to the monsters. There’s a big grin on his face. It is the grin of someone who has always wanted to say ‘you may fire when ready’ and just finally got his chance.

Skaelka cocks back the sled. The tree house rattles. I hear whirring, I hear clanking, I hear gears turning. This is happening and there’s no stopping it. And then . . .

My stomach doesn’t just flip. My stomach does a jackknife, a cannonball, and follows it with an atomic belly flop. We fly through the air for so long I feel like E.T. And . . .

SMASH!

We crash through the roof of a Chinese takeout joint, barrel through Wendy’s, explode through the Blue Point Diner. A total sled rampage.

Ahead of us is a truck, tilted on its side, covered in ice. It looks like something out of a racing game.

And I see something else just past the truck.

A monster.

A monster, standing massive in the swirling snow, waiting for us. A single, giant fist rests on the ground. The monster leans forward. It snarls, and –

Actually – y’know what. HOLD UP!

Now is a good time to explain a few things. Like, y’know – WHY we are sailing through the sky in a death sled. In fact, it’s time for a real-deal recap . . .

PREVIOUSLY ON. . . THE LAST KIDS ON EARTH:

It all started seven months ago – with the Monster Apocalypse. Interdimensional portal doors opened above the earth – like this . . .

Those portals flung crazy stuff into our world: massive monsters, creepy creatures, and slimy shrieking strangeness. Plus – and this is big – the horrible zombie plague that turned most of humanity undead.

There are good monsters and there are bad monsters. The good monsters are now our buddies! They live in our little town – Wakefield – in the Town Square.

The bad monsters are bad. They worship the diabolical ultra-villain Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds. But, good news . . .

Ŗeżżőcħ is still stuck in the other dimension! He tried to come to our world to do bad stuff ’cause that’s what inter-dimensional villains do. But we shut down his plan!

For a while, life was great! Me and my buddies and our monster pals battled evil and had fun. But a month back, everything changed . . .

We found a RADIO.

And that radio picked up a broadcast from OTHER HUMANS . . .

So, just last week, we were like: ROAD TRIP! Destination: NYC. We packed up our monster-battling truck, Big Mama, and we were about to start our journey. But then . . .

A snowstorm hit. A snowfall so strong it might have been sent by the ice lords themselves!

This nasty snow storm trapped us and put our journey on hold. That didn’t actually bother me at all, ’cause I felt bad leaving our monster buddies, anyway. See, the concept of snow was totally new to the monsters.

And it freaked them out.

Big time.

So, we were TRAPPED and the monsters were FREAKED.

And I mean – Earth is my dimension. My world. And I didn’t like the monsters being afraid of the snow – I felt like a bad host!

So I was like, ‘I will PROVE that snow is nothing to be afraid of! I’ll prove it in the most death-defying and dramatic way possible! We’ll attack the snow head-on – by sledding! INSANE sledding – like ROCKETING OURSELVES FROM THE TREE HOUSE IN A SLED!’

First, we winterized the tree house. Take a peek . . .

The biggest winter addition was the Sled-Shot. See, the first rule of life after the Monster Apocalypse is that there are zero rules, so you can and should do everything in a totally ridiculous fashion!

Actually, I lied – the first rule is don’t get bitten by a zombie and also don’t get eaten by a monster – but after that, it’s the rule about over-the-top ridiculousness.

So, we climbed into the Sled-Shot, our monster buddies flung us, we went sailing way too far and way too fast, and now . . .

‘Dudes!’ June cries out. ‘We are on a direct collision course with that one-armed monster’s mouth!’

‘I know it, I know it!’ I say.

Rapid-fire, I analyze the situation, seeing every possible manoeuvre and attack. I think it’s a skill I picked up from watching too many movies, reading too many graphic novels, and playing too many video games . . .

So as we sail toward the great monster’s maw, I realize the courageous, valiant, lion-hearted action that must be taken . . .

‘OVERBOARD!’ I scream. ‘FLEE! EMBRACE YOUR INNER COWARD, BUDDIES!’

‘But my vehicle, Jack!’ Quint cries out.

Quint’s brain is not an action hero brain. It’s a different, awesome brain. But he simply cannot process abandoning something he’s worked so hard on. He doesn’t worry about the imminent death.

So I have to worry about it for him. I grip his sweater and –

chapter two

Overboard was the right decision.

There’s a gulp – and the great beast’s belly rumbles. The sled has been swallowed. Two seconds later and he would’ve swallowed us, too.

A monstrous roar cuts through the air.

‘C’mon!’ June shouts. She yanks me to my feet. Dirk pulls Quint from the snow, and we race out onto a wide street.

Snow whips through the air, like I’m inside a snow globe. It’s like when you have to get up in the middle of the night to pee but you can’t see anything. Only then, the worst-case scenario is you fall into an open toilet. Here the worst-case scenario is – y’know – death by monster.

Our bodies bounce. The snow-cracking CRUNCHES are deafening. The monster’s coming after us, but I only see its huge stomping legs.

‘Guys! We need to get to cover!’ I shout.

I’m using my Louisville Slicer like a cane, staggering forward while poking around. And that is not what the Louisville Slicer is for. It’s for battling monsters! It’s my ultimate weapon. I slayed Blarg with the Louisville Slicer! I battled Thrull with it! I sliced the lassos that held the King Wretch with it!

BLARG:

Big, brutal beast.

THRULL:

Man-monster! Undercover traitor monster!

KING WRETCH:

This dude gave me weird dream-visions and then his chest opened so Rezzoch could talk to me and, yeah, it was nuts.

THE LOUISVILLE SLICER:

My radical weapon.

It did damage to all these bad dudes.

I mean, that bat is basically my lightsaber!

CRUNCH!

The monster stomps grow louder. Up ahead, I see an opening – like the mouth of a cave . . . What the – where are we? I thought we were in the suburbs, but now we’ve stumbled upon some sort of cave situation?

‘Whoa, whoa,’ Dirk says. ‘Could be frost giants. Frost giants live in caves – learned that from Conan the Barbarian.’

June sighs. ‘Dudes, really? It’s not a cave! It’s the car wash!’

Another CRUNCH!

‘In we go!’ I say, and we race into the car wash tunnel.

Even inside, the cold is crippling. Quint’s teeth are chattering. We really need to upgrade our winter outfits – if we don’t, hypothermia might take us down before a monster –

RAWRRR!

The monster’s howl slices through the car wash, bouncing off the walls. ‘The big guy found us!’ June cries. It’s at the entrance.

The beast’s hot breath warms the air, turning the car wash tunnel into a humid haze.

Through the mist, I see the monster: a giant, one-armed beast with a single fistacular paw. One massive . . .

-MEATHOOK!-

This monster – Meathook – bends down. It peers into the car wash tunnel.

And that’s when I see there’s something on top of the beast. A figure wearing a dark cloak that snaps in the wind.

I gulp.

We carefully inch forward, peeking out around the tunnel’s corner. We watch the figure’s arm raise and clasp the cloak.

A hood is pulled back.

And then –

‘Whoa!’ I exclaim.

‘Oh my,’ Quint says.

June stammers, ‘It’s – it’s – it’s a person. A human!’

chapter three

This is monumentally unexpected. This woman atop the monster is the first other human we’ve seen. Until we heard that radio broadcast, we didn’t even know other humans still existed!

June grabs my sleeve and twists it tight. Her eyes are high-beam wide.

‘Hold up, hold up!’ I say. ‘This human’s intentions may not be great. She is, y’know, riding a giant fanged beast!

June shakes her head. ‘You ride Rover! He’s a giant fanged beast!’

‘Maybe technically he’s a beast – but really he’s just a big fluffy monster-dog!’ I say. ‘This monster here looks like something out of a demon’s nightmare! Plus, it ate Quint’s sled!’

Quint is jittery beside me. I can almost hear the wheels in his brain spinning away with curiosity and excitement – clink, clink, clink.

And like that, he goes to make contact . . .

From the tunnel, we watch the human eye Quint. Then the monster tilts its head. Then –

HARRRUGH!

The monster raises its fist, and I can see what’s coming – Pancake Quint. ‘Crud!’ I scream as I race out to grab my friend.

‘I miscalculated!’ Quint cries out. ‘That human is a villainess!’

‘No kidding!’ I yell, pulling him across the snow. ‘And that monster’s a meathook!’

Meathook’s fist comes slamming down, snow erupting, throwing us back into the car wash.

The monster’s fist opens and it reaches into the tunnel. It swipes and thrashes. Luckily, the arm is not long enough to reach us.

And he’s not pleased about it.

But then –

Footsteps outside. Human footsteps. Suddenly –

POP! SIZZLE! An electrical hum. Harsh fluorescent overhead lights flash on.

‘THE CAR WASH! IT’S ALIVE!’ screams Dirk.

The automatic car wash conveyor suddenly jolts us forward . . .

So, I’ve been through a drive-through car wash many times. Always in a car, naturally. And I thought it would be just so goofy and fun to go through one on foot. Not true.

The nozzles are as strong as fire hoses! Snow, dirt, and gunk fly off us.

A roar echoes down the length of the car wash tunnel. I see the monster appear at the exit. It is now waiting for us, where the conveyor ends. Our conveyor belt of cleanliness is now a conveyor belt of doom, carrying us on a deadly path to a fang-filled mouth.

‘Run back! The other way!’ I shout.

But the whole thing is moving too fast – it’s like trying to walk down an up escalator. Our only choice is to embrace the conveyor!

Massive brushes whack us! Then we’re dried off – hit with high-pressure air and smacked with huge strips of towel.

We race down the belt. Every step is like Flash-style hyperspeed. We burst through a big wall of flapping thingies and then the conveyor belt hurls us out of the tunnel.

My feet slide across black ice. I spin past Meathook, managing to stay upright. In an instant, I’ve lost track of my buddies.

I reach out, feeling for something I can use as cover. My hand finds metal. Hmmm . . . smells like a Dumpster. I yank open the Dumpster lid and dive inside. It clangs shut behind me.

I hold my breath, because I don’t want the monster or the Villainess to hear me, but also because the Dumpster smells like death.

I grip the Louisville Slicer tight against my chest. I expect a long, dramatic moment to pass – with breathing, and terror, and waiting – but it’s only an instant!

YANK! The Dumpster lid is ripped open, and something awful enters . . .

KRAK!

Meathook’s grey-purple tongue snaps and smacks me across the face. I half expect it to follow that with a French kiss of death. Instead, small, fleshy slivers of tongue wrap around the Louisville Slicer!

I throw my other hand around my weapon’s handle. Meathook pulls – a vicious, terrible jerk. My arms are nearly ripped from the sockets, like I insulted a Wookiee, and then –

‘Give that back!’ I demand, as I crash to the ground. ‘That’s my weapon, I named it the Louisville Slicer, and it’s not for you!’

CRACK!

I see June, beneath the monster, whacking its leg with her flagpole spear. But she might as well be hitting it with a very long pretzel rod, because it does nothing.

Atop the monster, glaring down, is the Villainess. She chuckles, Meathook’s tongue snaps, and my blade is thrown upward, flipping end over end, until –

‘Jack, forget about it!’ June shouts.

She pulls me away. And as she does, I see that the enemy has dropped something. A card on the ground. I scoop it up, as –

SPLATOOT!

The monster spits, but it is not a monstrous puke-wad that flies from this brute’s mouth. It’s . . .

OUR SLED!

It crashes to the snowy ground, flips, rolls, and completely shatters.

Quint whimpers. ‘My creation . . . it is no more.’

A screen of snow is kicked up, giving us enough cover to race down the street. After three blocks I pause to look back. Through the haze of snow, I see bits of the monster. One second, just white flakes – and then the dark shadow of the thing.

And the Villainess.

On top, holding my blade.

She must know we’re still watching – because she suddenly screams. But the words that come out – they’re – they’re not human.

I gasp. We all do. That’s the language of Ŗeżżőcħ the Ancient, Destructor of Worlds.

chapter four

The whole walk back to town, our heads are spinning. I mean, not really spinning – that would be weird because human heads are not designed to spin. In fact, a spinning head is probably fatal . . .