The Swiss Family RobinZOM (Book 5) by Perrin Briar Page B

throat, the flap of skin slapping its headless neck. He reached for Francis. The hand jolted forward and then stopped, inches from Francis’s nose. The ragged fingertips juddered forward and then pulled back.
    Francis opened his eyes and peered up at the creature, its limbs still flailing. It was two feet off the ground, a long spike through its chest.
    Valiant shook his head and threw the Spinner off to one side. The creature wasn’t dead, but twisted and crumpled on the ground. Valiant stepped in front of Francis and lowered his nostrils to the small boy, his breath blowing Francis’s hair back from his face. Francis smiled and leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the bull’s head, feeling its heat through his clothes.
    Francis got to his feet and led the bull out of the pen, closing the gate behind them. The Spinner spun in circles, banging against the fence posts, for the moment unable to break free. Francis poked his tongue out at it.
    “Serves you right,” he said.
    In the clearing, arranged on a large worktable strewn with woodchips and sawdust, was Valiant’s armour. Francis began affixing it to him piece by piece. Then he put his own armour on. He climbed onto the great bull’s wide back and into the saddle.
    He turned Valiant to face the jungle that grew dark with the death of the sun. The baby of the Robinsons would be adding to his family’s ranks. He was a man now, a Robinson man. He had proven himself. Francis had a smile on his face. He flicked the reins.

Chapter Seventeen
    “I can’t hold on!” Fritz said, the sweat running down his face.
    “Is your father conscious?” Liz said.
    “No,” Jack said.
    At the bottom of the root rope, Jack was almost eye to eye with his unconscious upside-down father.
    “I’ll come down and give you a hand!” Liz said.
    “Stop!” Fritz said through clenched teeth.
    “Why?” Liz said.
    Fritz’s whole body was covered with protruding veins and arteries. He couldn’t spare the energy to explain.
    “The rope moves when you climb,” Ernest said. “It makes it harder for Fritz to hold on.”
    “But Fritz needs help!” Liz said. “He can’t hold on by himself!”
    “Jack,” Ernest said.
    “Yeah?”
    “Can you see any more strong root rope like we’re holding onto?” Ernest said.
    Jack peered around at the cliff face.
    “No,” he said. “But there’s a bit on the bottom of this rope we can use. Why?”
    “Can you cut some of it off?” Ernest said.
    “With what?” Jack said.
    “Anything,” Ernest said.
    “I haven’t got anything to cut it with!” Jack said.
    “Use your T-shirt then,” Ernest said. “Take it off and then climb – slowly – up and tie Fritz’s hand to Father’s leg.”
    “Why?” Jack said.
    “I’ll do the same with Fritz’s hand holding the root rope here,” Ernest said. “That way, Fritz can keep hold of Father easier.”
    “But this is my favourite T-shirt,” Jack said.
    “I think there are more pressing concerns right now,” Ernest said.
    “That’s easy for you to say,” Jack grumbled. “It’s not your favourite T-shirt.”
    Jack unfastened his armour and let it fall into the raging sea. Then he took his T-shirt off.
    “Now what?” he said.
    “Climb up the rope,” Ernest said. “Slowly. And tie Fritz’s hand and Father’s leg together as tight as you can.”
    Fritz let out a gasp.
    “I can’t hold on!” he said.
    “Quickly!” Ernest said, climbing down the rope. “Hurry!”
    Jack climbed up the rope. An experienced climber, it was easy for him. Fritz’s arm was violently shaking. The veins stood out on his forearms, his muscles strained all over his body. The sea beat on the sharp rocks below, roaring and angry.
    Jack wrapped his T-shirt around Fritz’s hand and his father’s leg, but his T-shirt was too small. He sighed and held his T-shirt in his teeth and tore strips out of it. He wrapped them around Fritz’s hand and Bill’s leg, winding it tight like a boxer with bandages