Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie
Chapter 10

A VERY BAD DAY

CYRUS AND NIELS HURRIED from the mayor’s tent. The rumble and quake of the Hoblkalf War effort droned across the farm.

“What are we going to do?” Cyrus asked.

“We have to stop the construction and save Mom,” Niels replied.

Cyrus could hear the roof goat bleat in the distance as the rhythmic beating of a pile driver clanged through the trees.

“What about the Mayor? He said he’d hang us,” Cyrus said.

“If we listen to Hoblkalf, Mom’s going to drown. Come on.”

Cyrus did not like the idea of risking his life for his abusive stepmother, but he knew his half-brother would not understand, so reluctantly he followed.

Amongst the grass and sparse trees, the recent traffic had etched a dirt path through the LongBones’ field. The roar of a drill filled the air.

“We have to hurry,” Niels said.

As they jogged past the worksite, Cyrus could smell the scent of tree sap and sawdust. He could also sense an excitement amongst the workers. If he had not known better, he would have thought that the newly erected beams and scaffolding were part of a town fair. There were villagers hauling freshly cut trees, sawing and sanding wooden beams, and digging and drilling large holes. Several hefty men used a large rope-and-pulley operated piledriver to pound foundation beams into the earth. Cyrus thought the whole structure looked more like the framework for some sort of circular arena, rather than a crane.

The two workers operating the drill became startled as its rotor jammed and the machine blew a gasket.

“I told you not to force it,” one of the operators shouted.

“What do you know about drilling?” the other barked.

CRACK!

The ground quivered, and dust sprang up from the soil like mushrooms. The workers stood crouched, as if on broken glass. Lightning-like fractures ripped outwards from the center of the site, creating a lacework of dust and rubble.

One of the men screamed, “Run for your lives!” and both leaped from the contraption.

The workers reinforcing the foundation beams scrambled from their posts like fleas from a drowning mutt. Some jumped two stories from their wooden platforms.

“It’s happening again,” Cyrus shouted, “We have to go back.”

“We have to help Mom,” Niels said, pressing forward.

The noise of the island’s crust splintering sounded like a thunderstorm. Cyrus pulled on his brother’s arm.

“You don’t understand. It’s going to cave in,” he said, digging his heels into the earth.

“What in Kingdom…” Niels gasped.

Cyrus looked back. A large plume of dust filled the air as the crane’s foundation began to twist and sink. Again, he tugged at his brother’s arm. This time Niels followed.

From behind, frantic and condemned voices screamed as the two brothers ran towards the village square.

The cave-in spread rapidly as a faster boy sped passed them, crying, “Run, it’s the Sea Zombie.”

Cyrus and his brother dashed up ChickenLop Lane, through the village main street and towards the Virkelot Ring Road. Cyrus turned back and saw a wave of trees and houses tilt and slide off the edge of the earth, vanishing into a large cloud of dust. The wave stretched across the entire island, and it was growing near.

“This way,” Niels said.

The two brothers hopped a fence and began to make their way across several farms and groves.

It must have seemed that they knew what they were doing, for other people decided to follow their footsteps.

Cyrus saw a mailbox ahead that read, ‘CobblePop Corn Farm.’ The cornstalks barely came up to his shoulders, and their ears looked like bunches of white raisins emerging from cigar paper.

The ground shuddered. A small hole in the earth opened before them. Niels tripped. His right foot fell into the hole. He crashed hard to the ground, knocking his head against the mailbox’s thick post. The earth shunted. The pit grew larger, swallowing Niels whole.

“Niels!” Cyrus shouted, diving to grasp his brother’s hand.

Niels clung feebly to the edge by one hand, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead.

“Climb,” Cyrus shrieked, pulling at his brother’s wrist.

Niels struggled and gripped the ledge with both hands. His skin was pale and his expression confused and pained.

“Come on,” Cyrus groaned.

With all his might, he tried to pull his brother out. He heaved until his face turned red and his back became numb. He felt the bloody, E-shaped welt on his side split open. Cringing, he held on. At the same time, Niels grappled with the ledge, attempting to climb free, but he was too weak and disoriented.

“Cyrus, I- can’t hold on,” Niels breathed.

Cyrus turned to the villagers passing by.

“Help!” he shouted.

But they only ignored him and leaped over the chasm, terrified. He grabbed at their clothes. They shook him off like mud.

“You’re all cowards!” he screamed.

He even cursed them by name, but nothing worked. No one would come to their aid.

From the strength of the tremors, Cyrus felt that the cave-in was mere moments away.

“Come on, Niels, you have to climb,” he said, panicking.

“I can’t,” Niels gasped, his hands slowly slipping.

He seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open.

“I can’t do this myself,” Cyrus yelled, still hanging onto his brother.

He felt as if he was being ripped in two.

“I can’t hold on,” Niels groaned.

“You have to climb!” Cyrus cried.

A nearby tree splintered from its roots. Twigs and soil snapped into the air. Then the tree began to lean and moan. Cyrus watched in frozen terror as the giant started to tilt in their direction.

“Cyrus, move,” his brother groaned.

Faster and faster the tree descended towards them.

“Move,” Niels screamed.

Something inside Cyrus took over. He rolled instinctively away from the hole. The tree smashed the earth. Cyrus’ bones rattled in their joints. Branches clubbed his body while pine needles showered his flesh. Dust filled the air, along with the scent of sap and split timber. His head reeled while his very soul hummed and rang.

“Niels,” he wheezed.

He tried to look about. Dirt scratched and burned his eyes.

“Niels,” he coughed a second time.

He could hear nothing over the ringing in his ears.

“Niels…”

He began to drag himself from beneath the fallen tree. Branches tore at his clothes and skin while sap stuck to his hands. After much effort, Cyrus climbed free and found his footing. Again, the ground shunted and shook and he lost his balance. He slammed headfirst into a tree trunk. His mind flashed white. He took a deep breath and again tried to call for Niels. His throat filled with dust and he began to choke.

The earth continued to rumble as Cyrus tried to feel his way through the dusty haze. His head ached, and he could sense something warm running down his face. He kept moving in circles, unable to replace a path around the sharp branches and thick cornstalks. His breathing grew labored.

With all the breath he could manage, Cyrus screamed, “Niels!” then fell into a heap on the ground.

He coughed and sobbed as he punched the earth, feeling frustrated and helpless. How long could Niels hold on? Cyrus tried to crawl blindly along the ground but met only thick brush and broken timber. He did not even know in which direction he should move. Then he began to hear hundreds of tiny voices calling out. The cries seemed to echo. He moved on all fours in the direction of the shouts, using his shirt to filter each breath.

He crawled head first into a mailbox’s post. The mailbox read ‘CobblePop Corn Farm.’ Cyrus squinted his stinging eyes and looked about for his brother. The quaking had stopped, and the dust began to clear. At first, Cyrus’ eyes could not focus. Then a queasy falling feeling punched through his ribs. He scrambled away from the mailbox.

Where moments ago, a cornfield had stretched out row upon row, there was now a crumbling ledge and a dizzying drop. Three-quarters of the island’s center had vanished into the once-underground lake, and like the top of a caved-in pie, only the outer crust of the island remained. Forests of trees and clumps of undergrowth floated freely in the enormous bowl of island soup. Villagers, lost in the pit, clung to what scraps of buildings and farm equipment they could replace. They screamed in pain and called out for help.

Cyrus searched the waters for any sign of Niels, but he was gone, lost between the swimming pigs, splashing goats, bubbling houses and sinking orchards.

“Niels, I’m so sorry,” Cyrus sobbed, “I tried. I’m sorry…”