My Zombie Hamster Read Online Free PDF

there for anything. If Mom does venture up that way, Snuffles 2.0 will wriggle around a bit beneath the sawdust, looking like a real, living hamster.
    It’s even brown, just like Snuffles 1.0.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 4
    10.00 a.m . Had a visit from the Neighborhood Communications Officer. She was a tall, thin woman with her hair tied up so tight it pulled her face back as if she was standing in a gale-force wind. Every time she talked, the tension made her hairline shiver and tremble. I kept expecting her hair to burst free from its bindings, erupting into a huge, bushy halo, while her face sagged back into its natural wrinkles and lines.
    “Is your mother/father/caregiver or nanny in?” she asked when I answered the door.
    I thought about this. “Yes, yes, no, and no.”
    She frowned slightly. At least she tried to, but the only outward appearance was a tiny lineappearing in the center of her forehead.
    “May I speak with one of them?”
    I thought back to the last time I had seen my parents. Mom had been standing in front of our faulty oven, scolding it hysterically and trying to stop it from popping open, and Dad had been trying to do something he called the moonwalk instead of writing like he was supposed to be doing.
    “They’re a bit busy,” I said. “Can I take a message?”
    “I suppose so. But make sure you tell them, yes? Failure to pass on a message from a designated NCO can result in a fine and/or imprisonment. Do you understand?”
    I nodded.
    “Good. Message is as follows: All families are to report to the town green tomorrow at eleven a.m. sharp, when there will be an important government announcement. Good day to you, child.”

    10:30 p.m . As I was drifting off I suddenly realized I had forgotten to tell Mom and Dad about the meeting on the town green. Will cook them breakfast before I break the news. That should soften them up.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 5
    Plan failed. Mom and Dad in miserable mood. Sure, I forgot all about it and only remembered to tell them with twenty minutes to go, but is that any reason to get upset?
    Freezing cold today. Our breath misted before us as we all waited outside city hall. Vendors were selling hot chocolate and coffee, and my freezing hands were wrapped around a cup of boiling brown water while I tried to stamp the circulation back into my feet. I couldn’t tell if I got the coffee or hot chocolate. It tasted terrible either way.
    The doors of city hall finally opened. The mayor stepped out, blinking in the bright winter sunlight, clutching Pugsley to his chest.
    But no one paid any attention to him. Everyone’s attention was focused on the man emerging behind him.
    He was about six feet tall. His dark skin and long leather jacket stood out against the snow-draped buildings and trees. The mayor opened his mouth to speak, but the man stepped in front of him and surveyed us all with a penetrating stare. I couldn’t help feeling he looked vaguely familiar.
    “Hey,” said Dad. “That’s—”
    He didn’t get a chance to finish, because the man put his hands on his hips and started speaking.
    “My name,” he called out, “is Kilgore Dallas. And before anyone asks, yes, that’s my real name. I had it legally changed.” His voice was deep and booming. It resonated around the square outside city hall. “Some of you may recognize me from the movies I used to make before I retired from acting to become a full-time zombie hunter. But I want you to know that was a different life.” He flashed a bright smile. “That’s right. I’m Kilgore Dallas, and I’ll be your new head warden.”
    This caused a wave of impressed murmuring to sweep through the crowd. Since the formationof the Zombie Squads, every town now also had a head warden, an experienced zombie hunter whose responsibility it was to educate and protect the town in case of an attack.
    Our previous head warden was Old Man Ebenezer, who, despite his name, wasn’t actually a villain from a
Scooby-Doo
cartoon. It was