All eyes were on me as I walked to the center of the gym to address the survivors.
“People of East Randomtown,” I said. “First, thank you for voting for me to be your Mayor. Just want to say it’s a job I don’t want at all and as soon as the zombie apocalypse is over, I look forward to not being in charge of a town full of inbred dummies who nominate their leaders based on what TV show they appeared in for thirty seconds in the 1980s, or whether or not they have a blog with an audience of 3.5 readers.”
A random citizen shouted from the crowd, “Don’t forget the man who met James Van Der Beek! Leo McKoy will ALWAYS be better than you, BQB!”
“Damn,” I said. “This town is really divided. Anyway, I’d like to propose that we all pack up everything, take all the cars left in the parking lot, and travel by convoy to my home, the Bookshelf Battle Compound, where the forty foot high walls of my home base will keep us safe. There, we’ll ride out the zompoc together. What do you say?”
“You’ll never be as good as Doug Hauser!” a woman yelled. “I’ll never trust a leader who wasn’t in a 1980’s cop show for thirty seconds!”
I wasn’t without my defenders.
“Silence, all of you!” cried Father O’Neil, the parish priest at Our Lady of Random Suffering, East Randomtown’s Catholic Church. “Let he who is without 3.5 readers cast the first stone!”
“Thank you father,” I said. “So listen. Talk amongst yourselves, survivors. Hash it out, then take a vote.”
The survivors talked to each other. The conversations were loud, wild, and full of inappropriate hand gestures.
“BQB,” VGRF said. “What about Morganstern? Won’t he blow us all up if we leave the rec center with you?”
“He’d never kill all these people just to get to me,” I said. “Would he, AJ?”
“He totally would,” AJ said. “However, the zombie hordes outside the rec center fence grow larger and nastier every day. It’s only a matter of time before they crash through our defenses and gobble everyone up. Your plan to reconvene to BQB HQ is risky, but it is our only hope.”
A few minutes later, Mario called out from the crowd.
“Mayor Battler, we’ve reached a decision.”
“And?” I asked.
“The results are as follows,” Mario said, reading off a piece of notebook paper. “Suck It, Nerd. 499 votes. What the Hell, Let’s Go to the Geek’s House? 501 votes.”
“Wow,” I said. “Not exactly a mandate but it’s a majority. Thank you ladies and gentlemen. Take the rest of today and all day tomorrow to pack your things. Grab all the food and supplies. Don’t leave anything important behind. We’ll leave tomorrow night as soon as it gets dark.”
“Good idea, BQB,” Alien Jones said. “A night move will make it harder for Morganstern’s drones to spot you.”
“Are you going to call another zombie author?” VGRF asked.
“No,” I replied. “You know, I’ve been thinking. This zombie author interview series has been irresponsible on my part. Here I am, responsible for the whole town’s safety, and I’ve been wasting time promoting my blog with zombie author interviews. Sorry, but I can’t even spend one more second on zombie authors.”
Alien Jones forked over the space phone and pointed to a book with a massive, red eyed zombie dinosaur with a mouth full of enormous, razor sharp teeth.
“Holy Crap, that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. “Screw the town. Let’s get these dudes on the space phone immediately.”