How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 33

I had fun writing this chapter.

Lots of stuff happening here.

1) It begins with Blythe having a headache. Signs of his headache continue throughout…I hope this means you, the reader, want to know what is causing his headache.

2) The Buchanan Boys are destroying Miss Bonnie’s saloon. Again, other than Smelly Jack, the Buchanans are superfluous and interchangeable. Think of them as the minions, except not yellow or bean shaped and instead, they are cowboys.

3) Some character development for Miss Bonnie. She loves her place and protests its destruction but when told she’ll be reimbursed, she immediately decides to pad the bill. So, if you hadn’t already noticed, she’s not exactly a solid citizen. We see that again when she comes to Roscoe’s defense, only we find out she’s worried about him because he is a paying customer and not him personally.

4) Doc is getting them all to drink his Miracle Cure All.

5) And we learn…pretty much…though without it being expressly said…that Doc was the dumb dupe that started a cross country zombie apocalypse currently making its way for Highwater.

6) It is hard because I feel Doc and Blythe are very similar – both educated, both have high opinions of themselves, both use fancy words – Blythe isn’t stupid though whereas Doc is naive and his ego can be stroked to disastrous results.

7) You learn what caused the headache at the end. I feel like I invented something here. I’m sure nerds out there can point out other books where characters “meet inside their minds” so ok maybe I didn’t invent it but I think it is somewhat original and unique.

Basically – Blythe is an employee of “the board” and the board can call him into a mind meeting, regardless of whether he wants to be in one. His head starts to hurt, his eyes turn red, he freezes still like a statue and “the mind meeting” begins.

Bookshelf Battle

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The Bonnie Lass was a madhouse. More so than usual. The Buchanan Boys were out of control – laughing, singing, drinking, shouting, shooting, fighting, helping themselves to the hooch, breaking and/or stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down and chasing Miss Bonnie’s girls around with nary an interest in their right to refuse service.

Miss Bonnie walked over to the back corner where Blythe sat, holding his aching forehead in the palm of his hand, oblivious to all of it.

“Mr. Blythe,” Miss Bonnie said.

Blythe didn’t respond.

“Mr. Blythe!”

He looked up. “What is it?”

“Mr. Blythe,” Miss Bonnie said. “I’ve had all I can stand of this. These men need to go before I start using their asses as target practice.”

That ticked Blythe’s funny bone, but the laughter made his head throb harder. “I apologize, Madame. I’m a bit under the weather.”

“Well, I don’t give a good…

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