My little green friend was stretched out on a table in the employee’s break room of Price Town. His hat and glasses had fallenoff in the chaos, leaving his face on full display.
“He gave his life for us,” VGRF said.
I sniffed and teared up.
“I…I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“I can’t believe your kid was so ugly,” Bernie said. “No offense dude but you might be better off.”
“He wasn’t my kid,” I said. “He was Alien Jones, the wisest, most intelligent diplomat, space explorer, and warrior the universe has ever known.”
“What?” Bernie asked. “You’re saying that alien who writes on your blog is real?! I thought that was just you pretending! I thought you pretended to be all the characters.”
“No comment,” I said.
Alien Jones shot his head up into the air and let out a loud gasp. It scared the crap out of all of us.
“Sweet Zanacostia’s Upper Filter!!!”
Alien Jones was always saying phrases that sounded like they might have been outer space forms of swearing.
“AJ!” I said as I hugged my little friend. “You’re alive!”
“But I checked your neck,” VGRF said. “You didn’t have a pulse.”
“You don’t even want to know where I keep my pulse.”
Together, we walked out into the store. It was fully stocked. From hardware to groceries, it had everything we needed to survive.
Everyone was gone. I assumed all the employees and customers hightailed it when they heard everyone becoming zombie lunch.
“Guess we picked a good spot to ride out the zombie apocalypse,” Bernie said.
“Ignorant human,” Alien Jones said as he pointed at the zombies pounding on the security gate. “The structural integrity of that barrier will not last forever.”
“So you can just do that bubble thing again,” Bernie said.
“It saps me of all my energy,” Alien Jones said. “I will not have the power to make another one for a full twenty four hours, and only then, it will last for about five minutes.”
“We’re screwed,” Bernie said.
An eternal optimist, VGRF tended to look on the bright side.
“At least we have each other.”
“AJ,” I said. “Can’t you just call the Mighty Potentate and ask him to send some shock troops to cook these fools?”
“No,” Alien Jones replied. “For the time being, the Mighty Potentate is following Intergalactic Space Law, which mandates that no advanced world get involved in the affairs of primitives such as yourselves.”
“Right,” VGRF said. “The Prime Dir…”
“Intergalactic Space Law!” I interrupted. “Come on, VGRF, the last thing I need is to have Shatner shove a lawsuit up my ass.”
“The MP is bending the law enough already just by having me aid BQB with his insipid bloggery,” Alien Jones said. “He gets away with it because BQB only has 3.5 readers and aside from VGRF, the other 2.5 do not believe I am real. He won’t take the chance of landing battle units.”
Alien Jones pulled out his phone. It was silver, had a screen that displayed holographic images, and looked incredibly expensive.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Consulting news reports. It seems that the zombie infestation has spread all throughout East Randomtown in a matter of moments.
“Is West Randomtown safe?” VGRF asked.
I knew she was worried about her family.
“It appears the surrounding communities were evacuated in time. Military units are descending on the area to cut East Randomtown off from the rest of the world.”
“Alien Jones,” I said. “Can I borrow that for a minute?”
“Be careful,” AJ said. “It’s official Mighty Potentate property.”
I love technology so I relished the chance to look over a phone constructed by aliens.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A Kondoferian Class Sub 9NM1 Intergalactic Communications Unit.”
“Whoa,” I said. “A space phone!”
“No, it’s a Kondoferian Class Sub…”
“We’re calling it a space phone,” I said. “It can call anyone anywhere in the world?”
“Anyone anywhere in the universe,” Alien Jones replied.
“Is it fully charged?” I asked.
“It is powered by a plutonium pod with a half-life of a thousand years. There is no need to recharge it until the year 3015.”
“I know exactly what to do with this,” I said.
“Call the Army and ask them to rescue us,” VGRF said. “Thank God!”
“Take some dope ass selfies in front of the zombies and post them all over the Internet,” Bernie said. “Shit, with publicity like that the Funky Hunks will be back in no time. High five!”
I left him hanging.
“No,” I said. “I’m going to call…ZOMBIE AUTHORS!”
“What?” VGRF asked, incredulously.
“As the owner of a magic bookshelf, I am beloved and revered throughout the literary world! With AJ’s space phone, I can call the world’s foremost zombie experts, individuals with vast knowledge of the undead, and they’ll be able to advise us on how to extricate ourselves from any zombie related situation!”
“I’m pretty sure we should call the Army,” VGRF insisted.
“Perhaps you should call your charges back at Bookshelf Battle HQ,” Alien Jones suggested.
He was right. It was my duty to make sure that the various literary characters who called my magic bookshelf home were ok.
I dialed my number.
“Bookshelf Q. Battledog! My noble Security Chief! Is everyone ok?”
“Woof. Woof woof.”
“And the Yeti?”
“Very well,” I said. “Keep the entire facility on lockdown. No one is to enter or exit. Be safe, noble hound.”
I hanged up the phone.
“Well?” VGRF asked.
“Battledog says the zombies have already made it to our neighborhood, but they’re no match for BQB HQ’s high fortress like walls. The bookshelf characters are safe and ready to fight if necessary. My nemesis, the Yeti, remains imprisoned in the basement.”
I was able to get a lot out of those “woofs.”
“We won’t be able to stay here indefinitely,” Alien Jones said. “Gather supplies and prepare bug-out bags should we need to leave in a hurry.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I know just who to call about that.”