The roar was echoed by another zombie, and soon, the whole graveyard was alive with the angry howling of a hundred undead monsters. They began to advance on him. Dib's eyes widened. "H-hey," he said. He held up his hands. "What are you doing? Stop! I command you to stop!"
"Hrraauughrhlrghhh!" said a zombie. "Hurrrgh braaaaainnssss! Big hrrrrgh hhhheeeead! Biggg brrraaaainssss!"
Dib touched his head. "It's not that big!" he snapped.
The monsters moved slowly but steadily, and Dib backed up. The iron fence behind him was much too high to climb, and big head or no, he'd never fit between the bars. "Stop!" he cried again. "I am your master! Obey me!" The hoard paid him no heed.
Dib looked frantically around. There was a tree not far off. If he could get into its branches, maybe the monsters wouldn't be able to follow him. At least a tree branch would make a better weapon than nothing. He turned and made a dash for it.
A nearby zombie spat at him, and the ground behind him sizzled. Dib looked back and saw with horror that the spittle had burnt the grass to a crisp. With new panic rising in his chest, he ducked his head and pushed himself to a full-on sprint.
He was nearly to the tree, and there were no monsters in his way. He stretched out his arms, leapt to catch the lowest branch, and started to pull himself up.
A green-gray arm shot out from behind the trunk of the tree and grabbed Dib by the leg. Dib howled and struggled to free himself as the zombie emerged. It was a tall, lanky specimen, drooling acid from an unhinged jaw. Its head was tilted sideways. "Glaurrgh," it said.
"Let me go!" Dib shrieked. "Let go!" He kicked with his free leg, but the monster held fast. Its grip was like an iron clamp. It was starting to cut off Dib's circulation. He held on to the tree branch with all his strength and lashed out again at the zombie. His foot met the rotting head and sent it tumbling across the grass. Dib felt a momentary thrill of victory, but it was short-lived. The zombie's body did not seem perturbed by the loss of its head. It still held tight to Dib's leg, and its other hand came around to grasp him near the knee. It started to pull.
"Aaaah!" Dib could feel his fingers slipping. "Help! Someone help me!"
He kicked and struggled, but the zombie was relentless. The masses were approaching. Dib could see one of them gearing up to spit. He writhed and twisted, but he couldn't hold on much longer, and the zombie was about to tear his leg out of its socket. Dib was close to tears. "Let go! Please, let me go!"
There was a loud bang, the ground beneath them lit up, and the zombie flew backward, its detached hands still clinging to Dib's leg. At the same time, his fingers slipped, and he dropped from the tree. He hit the ground with a thud, and the wind left him in a rush. He gasped for breath.
There was a burnt spot on the ground where his attacker had been. The other creatures howled in rage and began to turn around, casting their gazes back and forth. There was another blast, and a zombie went careening into two others to fall into a charred, smoking pile not ten feet from where Dib lay. His eyes flew open and he leapt to his feet.
"Over here!"
A deep, human voice that Dib recognized. He looked wildly around for the source. There it was—a tall figure silhouetted by the moonlight, crouching at the entrance to the cemetery. His coat billowed around him, and his goggles reflected light from the streetlamps. He toted the biggest gun Dib had ever seen—the muzzle had to be a foot in diameter—and it was smoking.
Dib nearly choked with relief. "Dad!"
Professor Membrane reloaded the cannon, took aim, and blasted two more zombies out of Dib's way.
"Son, to me!" called the professor. "Hurry!"
Dib was bruised all over, he still had two dead hands clamped around his leg, and his lungs were already bursting from exertion. But the prospect of safety brought the adrenaline racing to his veins, and he found a second wind. He made a beeline for his father, ignoring the howling zombies around him.
A monster lunged for him, but its head was blasted off. Two more blocked his path, and they were incinerated. Dib dodged a tombstone, hopped a disembodied head, and skidded to a stop beside his father.
The professor reached out a massive hand to scoop his son behind him. "Stay back," he said, and Dib was happy to take shelter and enjoy the view.
And what a view it was. Professor Membrane had already eliminated half of the swarm, and now that Dib was out of the way, he could fire more quickly and with greater abandon. He took out five zombies with a single blast, reloaded, and took out another twenty with three consecutive shots. Dib could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen his father like this before. Admiration swelled within him. He had the coolest dad.
In a matter of minutes, the graveyard was a smoking heap of ash and rubble, and every last crawling menace had been eliminated. The zombie cannon was emitting a low beeping sound, and a red light flashed on what Dib assumed was the battery pack. He wondered faintly what the thing ran on.
The professor straightened up and rested the huge gun on his shoulder. The piece of machinery was bigger than Dib, yet his father handled it with a single arm.
Dib stepped back, awestruck. "Dad—that was awesome!" he said. "You totally annihilated those things! That was epic!" He closed one eye and pantomimed a bazooka. "Bzhoo bzhoo bzhoo. Wham, pa-ksshhhh! Kaboooom! They didn't stand a chance!"
Professor Membrane turned his head slowly to look down at Dib over his shoulder. Dib wasn't expecting his expression. His brow was furrowed in a deep frown. Dib's grin faded.
"Are you all right?" asked the professor.
Dib checked himself. The hands clutching his leg had come loose and fallen away, though his calf was still sore where they had held him. He was bruised and scraped all over, but nothing felt seriously wrong. "I'm fine," he said. "Mostly."
Membrane turned to face him full-on. He had always towered over Dib, but right now, he seemed even more imposing than usual. Dib watched him nervously. He didn't like the look in his eyes.
"What happened?" asked Membrane.
Dib opened his mouth, but he found himself unable to speak. He only shrugged his shoulders and turned his eyes guiltily upward.
Membrane studied him for a moment. Then he bent down and retrieved something from the ground. It was the spell book, the cover charred almost beyond recognition. The professor held it up and raised an eyebrow. Dib hesitated. He halfway considered denying having anything to do with it, but somehow he doubted his father would buy it. He hung his head.
Membrane went rigid, though he didn't look exactly surprised. Dib guessed he'd only confirmed what his father had already suspected.
"Again with the dead!" said the professor. His booming voice was unusually sharp, and Dib shrank back. "How many times must we go through this? Did you forget what happened last time? Or were you trying for a repeat performance?"
"No," said Dib in a small voice. "No, I just…"
"I specifically forbade you from trying anything like that again, and you disobeyed me. What if I hadn't gotten here in time? You could have been killed! Or worse—unkilled."
"I know," said Dib. "I'm sorry."
Membrane pressed on his temple and gave a frustrated sigh. Dib stared at the ground. When his father spoke again, it was in a much lower voice, and almost strained, like he was actively reining himself in. "Go home," he said. "We'll talk when I get there."
Dib glanced at him. "What are you gonna do?"
"I have to clean this up." The professor waved at the graveyard, which now more resembled a newly-plowed rock garden than a cemetery. Gravestones were upturned, smoldering ash lay in heaps and drifted through the windless air, disembodied zombie limbs littered the ground. "I shouldn't be long."
"Okay."
Membrane reached behind the graveyard wall and retrieved a duffel bag that Dib hadn't even noticed until now. He unzipped it and pulled out a flame thrower. Still in the bag Dib could see were an extendable metal rake, a bag of grass seed, and even fertilizer. He had come prepared. The knowledge made Dib feel suddenly queasy. He turned to head home, head reeling.
As usual, his brilliant plan had gone horribly wrong, and to make things worse, his father had to clean up his mess for him. As Dib thought about it, he realized… the cannon, the supplies, the perfect timing with which he'd arrived… it meant Membrane knew exactly what Dib was getting up to, even though it had been forbidden. And raising the dead had been forbidden, quite expressly, a year ago when Dib tried it the first time. His dad had probably built that gun exactly for this purpose. Dib imagined he'd been storing it for months in an emergency cabinet labeled, "BREAK GLASS IN CASE OF SCREW-UP SON."
Dib kicked a stone. It skittered across the sidewalk, hopped a crack, and tumbled into the street. He sighed. He was a screw-up son. It was bad enough that his father thought him insane. Now Dib had to go and get him angry. That in itself was quite an achievement. The professor was patient by nature and usually too busy to get more than a little annoyed by anything his children did. But it didn't take a genius to see that this incident was testing the limits of his tolerance. Dib didn't know the last time his father had yelled at him like that.
Membrane's disapproval for the undead was lost on Dib. He had a hard time seeing how a reanimated corpse was any more evil or impure than the masses of cybernetic creatures the professor was always splicing together. But whether or not it made sense, after the incident a year previous, Membrane had let Dib know in no uncertain terms exactly how he felt about experimenting on the dead, and there was no question that the reanimation of corpses was not to be attempted ever again. And now Dib had to go and revive an entire graveyard.
He must be the worst son in existence.