Zombie Dog by Clare Hutton Read Free Book Online Page A

floor.
    Becky’s mom had already gone upstairs. Becky flicked off the hall light and was about to follow her when, once more, she heard a slow scrape against the front door, as if something was asking to come in.
    Shivering, she hurried up the stairs. She tried to make herself believe she was imagining the sound and that, if there had been some creature digging its way under the McNally fence that night, it had been a stray cat or wild raccoon going about its private business.
    There was no way it could have been a zombie.

The next morning, Becky sat at the breakfast table with dry eyes and a pounding headache. It had taken her a long time to fall asleep after shutting Bear in his crate, and it felt like almost no time had passed before her alarm went off and she had to get up again. She poked disinterestedly at her cereal.
    The rotting smell was weaker but still lingering, and it was making her feel sick at the thought of eating anything.
    â€œWhat’s up with you?” Jake asked, staring at her. “You look like you’re about to fall off your chair.” Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “Hey, did you tell Mom and Dad about the zombies?”
    â€œZombies?” her mom asked, sounding highlyamused. Becky tuned out her little brother’s explanation of what Paul had told them. Her mom looked like she was having trouble not laughing; she clearly wasn’t going to take seriously any suggestion that there might be some kind of monster next door.
    Becky’s dad had gone outside to call Bear in from the yard. He reappeared at the door, frowning, and called to Becky. “Come out here. I want you to see something.” Becky groaned and got to her feet. She was just so sleepy.
    Outside, Bear galloped over and pressed lovingly against her side. Becky’s dad led her into the yard and pointed silently at a yellowed, dying patch of grass.
    â€œHuh, weird,” Becky said, not sure why her dad was showing it to her. “It wasn’t like this yesterday.”
    Looking at the grass, she realized the patch led from the fence between their house and the McNally house, across the lawn, and toward their front door. In fact, it wasn’t so much a patch as a trail . A trail that seemed to begin about where she had seen the creature tunneling under the fence last night.
    Below the fence, just where the dead grass began, was a space, one that might have been scraped outby paws. Becky gasped, remembering what Paul had said about plants dying around zombies. The creature had been scratching at their front door last night.
    â€œLook,” her dad said accusingly. “Look what Bear’s done now.”
    Becky stared at him. “Bear didn’t do this,” she said.
    Her dad spread his arms wide, indicating the spread of yellowed grass. “Honey, look around,” he said. “The grass is dead where that dog goes, over and over again, pacing between the fence and the front walk. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to, but he’s just destructive. This is exactly why I didn’t want to get a dog.”
    Becky stared sadly at the dead grass. Then she saw something move. She bent closer, but pulled back in disgust. A big black beetle crawled across the dirt beneath the grass. Beside it, worms squirmed past the stalks. All through the patchy grass, insects and worms twined together, thick and revolting, covering the entire path below the yellowed, patchy grass. Bear snuffled next to her, then pulled back, snorting.
    â€œDad …” Becky said, wanting to point out the squirming insects, but her father wasn’t looking atthe grass anymore. He was staring straight at her, his face heavy with concern.
    â€œBecky, if you can’t figure out how to keep your dog under control,” he said, “we can’t keep him.”
    Â 
    Her dad’s words echoed in Becky’s ears all morning, making her anxious and snappy. She had trouble paying attention