Bookshelf Battle

“TWO NERDS ENTER! ONE NERD LEAVES! TWO NERDS ENTER! ONE NERD LEAVES!”

So went the chant of the unruly crowd, my former friends, neighbors, and townspeople turning into monsters worse than the zombies on the gym floor below.

I don’t know if it’s the lack of law and order, or the never ending danger, but something about a zombie apocalypse sure brings out the worst in people.

The scaffold was rickety. One wrong step was going to send me sailing to the ground.

WHIFF!

Hauser’s mop handle passed an inch above my head.

“Why, Hauser?” I asked. “Why did you cut a deal with Morganstern? You didn’t have to frame me!”

BQB took another wack at me. I deflected the attack.

“BQB, from the moment you stepped in here, I’ve been plotting your demise! I was going to kill you whether the General got involved or not!”

I jumped over a thrust that was meant to knock me off my feet.

“You really think I’d allow a little piss ant like you take away my statue?”

CRACK! Our mop handles met in the heat of battle. We were at a stalemate, pushing our weapons against each other, holding each other back.

It reminded me of the time Capt. Kirk and Dr. Spock had to fight each other on the old Star Trek TV show. I can say stuff like that because I’m a nerd.

“I had nothing to do with that!” I cried.

“Bullshit!” yelled. “You know you lobbied Bramble to take down my statue and put up one of you in its place!”

“You’ve got to believe me, Doug,” I said. “I’ve ALWAYS believed that there isn’t a finite amount of success. There’s plenty of room for everyone to make it, so I’d never bring someone down just to prop myself up. I talk about this on my blog all the time.”

With one swift motion, Hauser swept my leg and I was down, the scaffold shaking as I heard the board.

“You know only 3.5 people read that shit!” Hauser said.

The crowd was divided on who it wanted to win.

“Miami Vice forever!” yelled one lady from the bleachers. “Doug Hauser is a God that walks amongst men!”

“LIES!” shouted another spectator. “Bookshelf Q. Battler’s 3.5 readers have put East Randomtown on the map!”

And it degenerated from there.

“Finish him, Hauser!”

“Kick his ass, BQB!”

Hauser raised his mop handle/bo staff high in the air, preparing to bring it down in a crushing blow.

“Let’s see you try to blog your way out of this, EDUARDO!”

I did the only thing I could think of.

I brought my leg up fast and kicked my opponent…right in the wang.

The Johnson. The Twig and Berries. Mr. Happy.

“Ugh,” Hauser said as he dropped his handle to grab, well, his other handle. “That was a bitch move!”

It was. It really was. Men understand how much that hurts so its definitely reserved for life or death situations.

This certainly was one, as the zombies below were grabbing hold of the scaffold and rattling, hoping to shake us loose so they could snack on us.

Hauser’s face was one of tremendous pain and he staggered backwards, misjudged the amount of space he had left, and ended up stepping off the scaffold.

I stood up and investigated. There was a single hand clutching the board.

I knelt down and looked over the side.

Hauser was barely holding on as a pack of dirty zombies, at least a dozen or so, were snapping their teeth at an expected treat.

The crowd cheered at the possibility of an impending fatality.

I reached down.

“TAKE MY HAND!”

Hauser looked up at me, confused.

“You’d…you’d save me?”

“Yes! Let’s end this madness!”

Hauser used his free hand to grab mine and began using the leverage to lift himself up.

But then he removed the hand he was using to hold the scaffold and used it to grab the back of my neck.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Hauser’s had a dead look in his eyes.

“I’d rather us both die than see my statue replaced by a dirty stinking loser with only 3.5 readers!”

Down we both went, hurtling to the ground below, where the snarling undead were waiting for a feast.