Free Zombie Surf Commandos from Mars! by Tony Abbott Page B

cannons in front of the Drive-in.
    Liz remembered last week’s movie opening. The night sky had been white with crisscrossing spotlights. They were supposed to attract people from out of town, but it never really worked.
    No one came to Grover’s Mill unless it was by mistake. But Mr. Vickers always had hope.
    â€œBe there tonight at eight P.M. sharp. You’ll be thrilled! You’ll be chilled! Hmm. Speaking of chilled, I’d better keep Pudding Boy on ice till tonight.” Mr. Vickers smiled and hugged Holly. Then he pushed the blubbery blob up the street.
    â€œThe lake is calling us!” Liz pleaded.
    A moment later, the hot sidewalk came to an end. The three friends were at the beach.
    To the right was an old shingled beach clubhouse, with a multicolored awning and party lights. To the left was a hot dog stand. Straight ahead was the lake.
    Young and old alike were lying on the sand or frolicking happily in the water.
    â€œAh!” Liz gasped as she took in the scene before her. “Behold the splendor of Lake Lake, chums. Notice the wide sweep of sandy beach, washed by the gentle sudsy lap-lap-lap of surf. Gosh, it’s beautiful!”
    The giant O of water, surrounded by sand, just sat there like warm milk at the bottom of a cereal bowl.
    Holly gave Liz a look, unrolled her towel, and plopped down in the sand. “Lake Lake? I always thought that was a strange name. Did somebody run out of ideas?”
    â€œNo,” said Liz, taking a step toward the water. “The lake was named after an old man called Lake.”
    Jeff nodded. “Cool. What was his first name?”
    Liz shrugged. “Old man.” She watched a few teenagers paddle out on surfboards to the calm center of Lake Lake. Surf’s down, she thought.
    Farther up the beach another bunch of teenagers was having a cookout. One of them was tapping on a set of bongo drums and groaning a teenage song about kissing and love and stuff.
    Liz curled her lip and rolled her eyes. “Yuck.”
    â€œAnybody want a hot dog?” asked Jeff.
    â€œFor breakfast?” said Holly.
    Both girls shook their heads, so Jeff ran off to the hot dog stand. In a few moments he was back, holding something dripping with gobs of mustard.
    Liz leaned back on her towel and closed her eyes. Her nose wrinkled suddenly like a worm when you touch it. She opened her eyes. “What’s that gross smell?”
    Jeff sniffed his hot dog and shook his head. “Not me.”
    â€œIt’s him!” Holly gasped, pointing. “He’s wearing socks with his sandals! Black ones! Eew!”
    Liz stood up and gazed across the sand to see waves of heat rising up from the feet of Mr. Bell, principal of W. Reid Elementary School.
    The tall bathing-trunked figure of Principal Bell, so terrifying during the school year, seemed out of place on the sunny beach at Lake Lake.
    Holly stood next to Liz and watched Principal Bell walk slowly up to the beach clubhouse. He went into the public rest room.
    â€œZoner,” whispered Liz. Holly nodded.
    But something else was happening, too.
    The teenagers who had paddled out on surfboards suddenly came running back from the water. Their faces were pale. They waved their arms.
    â€œStrangers stole our boards!” one of them cried out, pointing toward the very center of Lake Lake.
    The lake was rumbling and bubbling up from the depths like water boiling for spaghetti.
    Suddenly, the lake’s surface broke in a rush of smoky air. It wafted into Liz’s nostrils. “Pee-yew!” she cried, backing up. “That’s the smell!”
    But that wasn’t the worst part.
    When the bubbles broke, the water immediately erupted into a tall wave, frothy white on top and deep blue-black in the middle.
    But even that wasn’t the worst part.
    The huge wave built up and up and began to fall, thundering forward from the middle of the lake and heading right for shore!
    But even THAT