Category Archives: Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 34

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Inside his mind, Blythe was in Hell, the realm of the damned.

He stood in a field of blank, black space that went on forever in every direction. Abruptly, a ringed wall of fire shot up into the air. It too went on to infinity.

In the center, an alluring blonde woman, all in white appeared. Her hair was up. Her right cheek had a subtle beauty mark. She held out her hand. Blythe kissed it.

“Lady Blackwood,” Blythe said.

“Counselor.”

As vice-chairwoman of the Legion Corporation’s board of directors, Lady Blackwood was an exceptionally powerful vampire. She spoke with a Scottish brogue, reminiscent of her highland ancestors long past.

Blythe looked around. “Perhaps a change of scenery? Something more fitting for your beauty.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Lady Blackwood said. In the blink of an eye, the pair found themselves strolling across the beach of a tropical island. The water was a clean, sparkling blue. Palm trees could be seen further inland, along with the occasional parrot fluttering about.

Gentleman that he was, Blythe offer the Lady his arm. She took it.

“To what do I owe this honor?” Blythe asked.

“The Chairman is pleased with the invasion thus far,” Lady Blackwood said. “The remaining board members, however, demand assurances that the next phase will proceed as planned.”

“My lady,” Blythe said, “The New World burns from Colorado to the edge of Missouri. Our lycan friends have proved to be remarkable herdsmen, pushing the undead horde across country in a wide swath of destruction.”

“Their attacks are disorganized,” the Lady noted.

“Yet effective,” Blythe said. “When I am within range of them, our army will be unmatched.”

“And are they OUR army?” Lady Blackwood inquired.

“An offensive insinuation,” Blythe said.
“But one that has been made,” Lady Blackwood said. “Zebulon has been on a tear about how convenient it was that only your blood was disseminated en masse and therefore the only one who can control this army is you.”

“Control of the army requires one to be on the front lines of battle, my lady” Blythe said. “That was a task I don’t recall Zebulon raising his hand for.”

“Of that I am aware,” Lady Blackwood said. “And I am also aware of complications.”

“Complications?” Blythe asked.

“Joseph Freeman,” the Lady said. “And Rainier Slade. What is your counsel?”

“That each should be dispatched immediately without hesitation. What is the board’s will?”

“You won’t like it,” the Lady said.

“And yet as I’ve been so often told, that does not matter,” Blythe said.

“They wish to see Freeman suffer still,” the Lady advised. “Find his son and make it so.”

“I must protest,” Blythe said. “Had Freeman been killed outright a decade ago, he’d be of no concern now.  The board is making the same mistake twice.”

“I agree,” Lady Blackwood said. “But my vote is but one and the board is not without reason. Our alliance with the lycans has always been tenuous. They do not fear death but their weakness has always been that they wish to live amongst men, to have families of their own and to make it known we can reach them there is to ensure their continued submission.”

“And Slade?” Blythe asked.

“He is resistant to glamour,” Lady Blackwood said. “You know how rare that is.”

“Only a handful have ever been discovered,” Blythe said. “He is the first that has ever resisted me to be sure.”

“The board wishes you to rally him to our cause,” the Lady said. “If you can, he would be a tremendous asset.”

“Genghis Khan was resistant to glamour,” Blythe said. “As was Napoleon. Slade is nothing like those men.”

“But he was so cold that you found no hope within him to exploit,” the Lady said.

“There’s a lack of exploitability and then there’s sheer incorruptibility, my lady,” Blythe said. “The difference is subtle but it is there.”

“All we do is to bring about the end of days,” Lady Blackwood said. “To make the living conditions of the world so unbearable…”

“…that one leader emerges, convinces the humans that he is their only hope for survival and then once all power is trusted within him, he betrays humanity and becomes its undoing, making way for the Chairman to step into the world of men. Trust me, my lady, Slade is not that man.”

“How can you be so sure?” the Lady asked.

“He loves,” Blythe answered. “Two women, in fact.”

“The antichrist has lived and died many times before,” Lady Blackwood said. “Never being placed within the right set of circumstances to pursue his true calling.”

“The board proposes an Antichrist can be made?” Blythe asked.

“Perhaps you can use his loves against him,” the Lady said.

“My lady,” Blythe said. “Any other time I’d recognize that as a delightfully wicked notion but let us focus first on our conquest of America.  We’ll then spread our reign to the rest of the world and once humanity is under subjugation, we can spend all of eternity on a search for…he who the Chairman waits for.”

“A sentiment I already expressed,” Lady Blackwood said. “It was rebuffed.”

Blythe released Lady Blackwood’s arm and faced her. “We are teetering on the edge of victory and these imbeciles would have me play the role of a cat, batting Freeman and Slade about like playthings instead of crushing them immediately.”

“Bite your tongue, counselor,” Lady Blackwood said.

“I will not,” Blythe said. “I grow weary of bureaucratic machinations thrust upon me by fools who haven’t lifted a finger to help the cause in centuries!”

Lady Blackwood’s eyes turned yellow, her otherwise pleasant voice grew darker, colder. “Bite…your…tongue.”

Blythe knew she meant business. He took a seat on the sand. Lady Blackwood followed, her demeanor returning to normal. The duo sat on the beach for a moment, staring off at the ocean. Under normal circumstances, a man and a woman in their Sunday best lounging on the ground would have appeared odd, but then again, the sand wasn’t real.

“That comment wasn’t directed at you, Colleen,” Blythe said.

“I know,” the Lady replied.

“Of all the board members I’ve always felt you and I see things as they are,” Blythe said.

“Whereas the others see things as they’d like them to be, casting threats aside to the wind and letting others pick up the pieces,” the Lady said. “But you must know your place, Henry, and insulting the board is a surefire way to forfeit your existence.”

“Indeed,” Blythe said.

“You give me pause for concern when you speak so treacherously,” Lady Blackwood said. “Our last associate who did so sold us out to the greatest vampire hunter of them all.”

Blythe took the Lady’s hand and held it. “A situation you remedied with your cunning as I recall. Hickok has become quite an asset, has he not?”

“He has,” Lady Blackwood said. “But his former colleagues Ms. Canary and Mr. Utter nip at my heels at every turn. You whine about Slade and Freeman as if you’re the only one with problems, Henry.”

“My apologies,” Blythe said.

“The silver mining boom in Tombstone is troubling,” the Lady said.

“I have full confidence in associates Ringo and Brocious,” Blythe said.

“I don’t share it,” Lady Blackwood said. “Nor do I believe rumors that Wyatt Earp has retired.”

“Certainly the board doesn’t expect me to toy with him?” Blythe said.

“No,” Lady Blackwood said. “Get a bullet in his head the sooner the better.”

“Hickok’s meddlesome companions,” Blythe said. “Slade and Freeman finding their way to Highwater. The discovery of vast silver deposits…”

“I know where you’re going with this,” the Lady said. “But the board will not hear conspiracy theories. God has given up on humanity long ago as far as they’re concerned.”

“Humans have long sat around waiting for the man upstairs to send them some kind of protector,” Blythe said. “They’re mind numbingly oblivious to the fact that their Creator put them on Earth to serve that very role.”

“He manipulates situations to put the best humans where they need to be,” Lady Blackwood said. “The wise ones stand and fight. The rest wait for some miracle that’s never coming to fix the world for them.”
“But the board scoffs at that,” Blythe said.

“They do,” the Lady said.

Blythe rubbed his thumb over the back of Lady Blackwood’s hand. “I don’t believe it’s treacherous to note that a request for the Chairman to review the board’s competence is always in order.”

“And a good way to stop existing if the Chairman sides with the board,” Lady Blackwood noted.

“But one would simply…”

Lady Blackwood patted Blythe’s hand. “Enough scheming, Henry. You’ve already curried plenty of favor with the Chairman when you convinced us to incorporate our assets so many years ago.”

“Ahh, yes,” Blythe said. “Truly, the most vile of all human inventions is the corporation.”

“An entity capable of committing all manner of atrocities and when a culprit is searched for all the humans find is a tangled web of paperwork, dead ends, and a never ending blame game,” Lady Blackwood said. “Your success is the only reason why the Chairman allowed you to proceed with your current gamble.”

“Gamble?” Blythe asked.

“You’re rolling the dice,” Lady Blackwood said. “Henry, up until now, the greatest trick the Chairman ever pulled was to convince the world that he does not exist, that beings like us are boogeymen, the stuff of tall tales told to convince naughty children to behave lest monsters get them. We thrived in the shadows, closing deals to put the most despicable humans in positions of power and ruining other humans who would shine a light on corruption. The process is slow but eventually, it would have led to the end of days. If you fail now that you’ve put our cards on the table…”

“I’ll forfeit my medallion,” Blythe said.

“That will be the least of your worries,” Lady Blackwood said.

Lady Blackwood pecked Blythe on the cheek. “I must away. I have my own matters to attend to. Please the chairman and we’ll talk about a restructuring of the board.”

Poof. Lady Blackwood was gone. Blythe laid back on the sand, allowing the warm sun to tan his face. He closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

“It’s the most of my worries,” the vampire muttered to himself.
Blythe opened his eyes to find his two henchmen in werewolf form, staring at him. Startled, the vampire jolted to his feet.

“How many times have I told you two not to leer at me while I’m out like that?!”

Hewett and Becker morphed to their usual, naked human selves.

“Sorry sir,” Hewett said.

“Didn’t seem right to leave you alone,” Becker added.

“I’m fine,” Blythe said. “Find Freeman’s son and bring him to me.”

“Don’t you think it would be better to find Freeman and…” Hewett finished his thought by dragging a finger across his neck as if it were a knife.

“Don’t tell me what I think just do as I say,” Blythe said, shooing his lackeys away like bothersome pests. “Go!”

Hewett and Becker stepped out onto a veranda that overlooked the town. It was just after dusk. The moon bathed the town in pale light.

They returned to werewolf form, jumped across the street to the roof of the bank and were off.

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How the West Was Zombed – A Note on Chapter 34

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Hello.  I’m noted awesome person Bookshelf Q. Battler and for the 3.5 readers paying attention to How the West Was Zombed, here are a few notes:

  • First, you’ll probably say, “Oh boy, here are some new threads.”  Well, yes and no.  The mentions of “Ms. Canary and Mr. Utter,” Wild Bill Hickok, Wyatt Earp, “Associates Ringo and Brocious”  and so on…they’re basically hints at the future, should enough of you like this enough that I continue with a series.  Attorney Donnelly has advised me to keep quiet about the possibility of sequels tentatively titled “Calamity Jane vs. Zombies” and “Wyatt Earp vs. Zombies.”  They are partially written in my head and they are pretty awesome.  If only I could just hook my brain up to the computer and have it all dump out into a novel that way.  But basically, that’s why they’re mentioned, so hopefully How the West Was Zombed will be a success so that Calamity Jane and Wyatt can have their turn at the zombie mayhem.
  • I realize in an earlier chapter I had Blythe telling his werewolf henchmen to find Miles.  Disregard that part.  He now does that for the first time in this chapter.  You see, the problem I’ve faced is I didn’t want Blythe to be the typical dumb villain, toying with the heroes only to be hoisted on his own petard.  Instead, Blythe wants to kill Slade and Freeman immediately…
  • …but he has a bureaucratic board of vampires to answer to.  “I don’t really want to do this but my boss is making me…”  I feel like that’s a sentiment most people can get behind and start to understand why Blythe isn’t just whipping out a gat and blowing Slade’s head off while he’s taking a nap, which he very much wants to do.
  • This will probably be the one and only time you’ll see Lady Blackwood in this novel.  If this book leads to a steady source of cash money bling, Lady Blackwood will most likely be Calamity Jane’s nemesis in the sequel so…give me some notes as to what you think about the lady.

As always, thanks for reading.  I know.  This all still kinda stinks but I’m working on it.  I’m trying.  I’m continuing to press forward and have yet to give up, which I have a tendency to do but am pushing myself not to this time.

Let me know what you think, both good and bad.

Thanks,

BQB

 

 

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 33

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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 golly what you…”

Blythe looked at the businesswoman, ready to hit her with his red eyes again, but a migraine split his skull. He grabbed his forehead once more then after a moment, stood up and buttoned his jacket.

“Pardon me.”

Blythe stepped out onto the main floor.

“Who’s going to pay for all this?!” Miss Bonnie shouted.

“Keep a running tab, my dear,” Blythe said. “The Legion Corporation shall reimburse all damages promptly.”

“Corporate reimbursement?” Miss Bonnie mumbled to herself. “Hell, I’m gonna invent some shit these asshole broke then. HEY!”

Miss Bonnie was none too pleased to see Roscoe Crandall getting roughed up by Jasper and Kirk Buchanan. Jasper punched Roscoe in the gut while Kirk rummaged through Roscoe’s wallet. Miss Bonnie felt strongly in the fact that only she was allowed to do the latter.

“Knock it off! That’s a paying customer!”

Jasper and Kirk divied up Roscoe’s cash then split. Miss Bonnie helped Roscoe to his feet.

“You all right?” Miss Bonnie asked.

“Yeah,” Roscoe replied. “I’d be a lot better if we could get some alone time.”

Miss Bonnie slapped him across the face. “I told you I don’t do that anymore, dummy!”

By the bar, Doc peddled his elixir to a bevy of bewildered Buchanans, who were taking bottles and handing Doc money as fast as he could grab it.

“It cures rabies, scabies, and every variety of pox, chicken on down the line,” Doc said. “Genital fungus, every abnormality among us and you can even spread it on toast.”

Jeremiah Buchanan released a foghorn grade belch then tossed back another beer.

“Does it cure alcoholism?”

Doc slapped the drunk on the shoulder. “My good man, as a medical professional I can tell you that the quickest way to beat one addiction is to trade it for another and this product is filled with the most splendid drug to be hooked upon – cocaine!”

“Cocaine?” Jeremiah asked.

“Indeed sir!” Doc said. “Good for what ails you. It is an undeniable scientific fact that when you are under the effects of cocaine, it is virtually impossible to worry about any of the other things going wrong with your body, thus rendering all of your problems cured!”

Jeremiah took a bottle and gulped it.

“That’ll be two dollars sir,” Doc said.

“Two dollars?!” Jeremiah balked. “Up yours!”

Doc flipped his wrist and out popped his revolver, which he pointed straight at Jeremiah’s nose.

“I don’t control the free market, my good man,” Doc said. “It’s all about the law of supply and demand.”

Jeremiah begrudgingly slapped two bucks down on the bar for Doc to collect.  Doc flicked his wrist again and his revolver retracted back up his sleeve.

“A pleasure doing business with you sir!” Doc said. “Remember, you can’t put a price on good health!”
Out on the floor, Blythe’s attempt to walk off his headache wasn’t working. He winced in pain as he walked past the bar. Doc noticed the counselor and abandoned his customers to follow Blythe upstairs.

“Mr. Blythe!” Doc said.

Blythe rubbed his temples and ignored the fast talker.

“Mr. Blythe! So wonderful to see you again! Doctor Elias T. Faraday by way of Boston, Massachusetts…”

Blythe interrupted and concluded Doc’s patented self-introduction, having suffered through it in the past. “But no relation to those infernal Chestnut Hill Faradays who will pick my pocket and so on. Good day, Doctor.”

“Good day, Mr. Blythe!” Doc slapped the counselor on the back. That didn’t help Blythe’s condition at all.

“Mr. Blythe,” Doc said. “I surely would like to thank you. I have been able to help so many people improve their health thanks to your company’s ingenious formula.”

“So glad to hear it,” Blythe said as he continued up the steps.

“And I can’t complain about how wealthy it’s made me either,” Doc said. “But mostly for me it’s about seeing the smiling faces of my patients when they are restored to full vitality.”

“Lovely,” Blythe said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Doc pressed on. “Mr. Blythe, if I may be so bold, shouldn’t Legion Corporation’s name be on the bottle? I do appreciate that you allowed me lend my good name to the concoction your scientists invented, but I feel a bit guilty that your fine company isn’t receiving the credit it so richly deserves.”

“Think nothing of it,” Blythe said.

“Such modesty,” Doc said. “Especially in light of how you’ve allowed me to keep a hundred percent of the profits.”

“The Legion Corporation could care less about money when it comes to this matter, Doctor,” Blythe said. “All we wanted was for a renowned medical expert to make the case for this revolutionary formula to ensure this great nation is healthy, strong, and able to take full advantage of all the products and services that Legion has to offer.”

“What a visionary bunch you must work for,” Doc said. “And to think, when you were searching for a spokesman to extol the virtues of this miracle elixir, every other doctor you met with turned you down.  How fortunate I was to have been passing through Colorado when you were interviewing candidates.”

Blythe put a hand on Doc’s shoulder. “You were the forward thinker we needed, Doctor. Only a man of your brilliance and oratory acumen can pitch the curative properties of a drink consisting of cocaine, laudanum, and spider eggs mixed in for texture. Now I must insist that we part, for I am feeling quite ill and must lay down.”

“Heavens!” Doc said. “Would you care for a sip of some Miracle Cure-All?”

Blythe turned the knob to his room. “No thank you. I had cocaine for breakfast.”

The counselor entered the room and slammed the door in Doc’s face, then locked it behind him.

“What an asshole,” Blythe said.

Blythe found a quiet place just in time, for once he was inside the room, the pain in his head knocked him down to his knees. Blythe’s eyes turned red.

“Oh how I despise board meetings,” Blythe said.

The vampire’s entire body froze like a statute, with his face staring at the ceiling and his mouth gaping wide open.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 32

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Gunther dozed with his feet on the Marshal’s desk until the front door opened and rousted him awake.

“Say Joe, what do you know?”

“Hello Gunther,” Joe said. “I was hoping I could…”

The old man opened the top right drawer and pulled out a rusty cash box. He pulled out some bills and handed them to Joe. “Say no more. Seven days. Seven dollars. You earned it.”

“Much obliged,” Joe said, tucking the money into his pocket.

“Afraid there’s no more work for you here,” Gunther said. “Actually, there’s no more work for me here either.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Joe said.

“Might be some work for you around town,” Gunther said. “Lars Gustafson was looking for help at the livery if you know how to shoe a horse.”

“Nah,” Joe said. “Reckon I’ll be moving on soon.”

“Too much excitement for you in this thriving metropolis?” Gunther asked.

“You could say that,” Joe replied.

The two men shook hands.

“If you could thank Mr. Slade for me, I’d appreciate it,” Joe said.

“Not sure when I’ll see him again but I’ll pass it along,” Gunther said.

“It’s just…”

“What?” Gunther asked.

“You two were the first bosses I ever had who…”

“Didn’t make you kiss their asses?” Gunther asked.

“I was going to say treated me like an equal but yeah,” Joe said. “Say Gunther, I hate to ask…”

“What’s on your mind?” Gunther asked.

“Can you spare some cartridges?” Joe asked.

“Personally, I cannot,” Gunther said.

“Oh,” Joe replied. “Ok.”

Gunther opened up the bottom right desk drawer and laid out a box of ammo. “But luckily there’s a going out of business sale here at the Marshal’s office. What for?”

“Just going on a little hunting trip,” Joe said.

“Big game?” Gunther asked.

“Just a couple of dirty animals,” Joe replied. “Ummm…”

“What?” Gunther asked.

“Pistol rounds?”

Gunther set another box on the desk. Joe picked them both up.

“Must be some trip you’re going on,” Gunther said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Joe replied.

“Care to tell me?” Gunther asked.

“Not especially,” Joe said. “Thanks again.”

Joe left and Gunther returned to his nap. “What else is new? No one ever tells me anything around here.”

Leo banged on the cage bars.  “Some of us are trying to sleep here!”

“Aww who asked you ya’ drunk?”

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 31

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1880

Of all the farmers in Highwater, Phil Tucker was by far the laziest. He rarely mucked out his pig pen and while a certain amount of slop is to be expected, most farmers take it upon themselves to grab a rake and tidy up before their neighbors feel like they’re ready to drop dead from the stench.

Even worse, Tucker just threw the pig’s food directly onto the pig poop so there was a fair amount of poop that had been eaten, digested, and turned into poop again.

Super poop, if you will.

Miles held his nose and stepped up backwards onto the pen’s fence. He closed his eyes, stretched out his arms, and fell backward into a pool of brown, disgusting, fly ridden, liquefied poop.

Slowly, he emerged with the mess dripping off of him. A few snorting pigs waddled over to check the intruder out but he shooed them away.

The youngster brushed himself off, removing what he could from his face and skin. His clothes, on the other hand, were beyond ruined.

“The things I do for family,” he said.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 30

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1870

History has an uncanny way in which it repeats itself. Eleven years had passed since Joe discovered the monster that dwelled within him. For a time, he found money. Happiness. Success. A wife. A son. A home.

Alas, when he found himself in the middle of a dank, dark dungeon, his hands and feet bound to a stone table by silver chains, he began to realize that compared to his new master, Lorante had been a teetotaler.

An iron door opened and two werewolves lumbered in, their heads just barely scraping the ceiling. Blythe stepped into the room as merry as could be, as if he were off to a stroll in a park and not a torture session.

Joe struggled but the silver burned his skin. The more he moved, the worse it got.

Blythe looked down and wagged a finger in his captive’s face. “Bad dog. Bad, bad dog.”

The counselor turned to one of his wolves. “Mr. Hewett, have at it.”

Hewett dragged his claws across Joe’s chest, forcing the prisoner to cry out in pain. Then as quickly as Joe’s wound was made, it was gone. Nothing but bare skin remained.

“Joseph, I had a soul once,” Blythe said. “I can remember what it was like to be in the terrible position of caring. ‘Waah I want love. Waah I don’t like being sad. Waah I don’t want to kill anyone.’”

Blythe nodded at Hewett. A hot blast of air shot out of Hewett’s snout as he slashed Joe’s stomach again, producing even more agony.

“I blame myself for this, Joseph,” Blythe said. “Really, I do. I trained you poorly.  Somehow, you thought the only thing your new position required of you was to just stand around and keep me safe.”

Blythe chucked. “And somehow…you got the silly idea in your head that my orders are optional. Again, Mr. Hewett.”

Another slash. Another scream.

“Would you like to tell me what you were thinking?” Blythe asked.

“They were just…people. Innocent people,” Joe said.

Another wag of the finger from Blythe. “That’s that pesky soul of yours talking. You see them as people and I see them as blood bags. And not just any blood bags. Excellent physical specimens. Good health and breeding. Procured at some expense for the board of directors’ pleasure and you just opened up their cell doors and let them walk away.”

Splat. A giant loogie hit Blythe right in the face. Hewett took that as an invitation to slash the prisoner again.

“Just kill me and get it over with,” Joe said.

Blythe wiped the spit off his face with a handkerchief. “If it were up to me I would let you off so easily but I have a board of directors to answer to and our chairman is a real bastard in particular. Mr. Becker, if you please.”

Becker ducked his furry head under the door frame and left the room.

“Have you ever read the works of Plato, Joseph?” Blythe asked.

“Is that a trick question?” Joe replied.

“Not at all,” Blythe said. “I never read them myself but that’s only because I had the chance to listen to him speak about them in person. He theorized that there were three classes of people: gold, silver, and bronze.”

Hewett, used to his boss’s tendency to prattle on, leaned up against the wall to rest.

“The gold class, they’re the thinkers. The politicians. The business tycoons. The big picture people,” Blythe said. “The silver class, they protect the world that the golds create and the bronze? They’re the lowly grunts who do the work that’s beneath the silver and gold.”

“I wish I could kill myself just so I wouldn’t have to listen to you anymore,” Joe said.

“The humans follow this system,” Blythe said. “And evil follows this system as well. At the very bottom of our food chain is the pathetic zombie. No soul. No brains. Mindless instruments of destruction who just bite and eat and destroy whatever is in their way. They’re ultimately useless until given some direction.”

Blythe pointed to the silver chains. “You’re a silver, Joseph. An unfortunate analogy seeing as what silver actually does to beings like us but an apt one just the same. Werewolves have been tasked with the noble duty of guarding the property of vampires since the dawn of time. We don’t ask you to think. We just ask you to do.”

The counselor stroked his hand through Joe’s hair just as one would a well-behaved puppy.

“Did I not take care of you, Joseph?” Blythe asked. “Provide you with a generous wage? Raise you to a higher station in life? And did I not protect you from those humans who’d protest that your shade of color disqualifies you from either? There is no one else on this planet who could have offered you the life I did and you thanked me by making me look like a fool in front of the board.”

Joe stared at the ceiling, praying for a swift resolution.

Becker returned with Lydia slung over his shoulder. He set her down. This time around, she was very, very scared.

Joe wrenched at the chains but that only made him scream. “HOW?!”

Blythe grinned. “Thought you hid her from me did you? Oh Joseph, the eyes, as they say, truly are the window to the soul and once you allowed me to look into yours I knew your achilles’ heal was your family.”

Lydia shrieked as Blythe pulled her body close to his. The counselor opened his mouth and hissed like a snake as two sharp fangs popped out. He used them to bite open a vein in his wrist.

“Henry, please,” Joe said. “This is between us. She did nothing to you. Let her go.”

“The board has already made a ruling, Joseph,” Blythe said as his blood dripped all over Lydia’s dress. “I am but a cog in a greater machine.”

The vampire wrapped his hand around Lydia’s mouth.

“Open,” Blythe said.

Lydia struggled and then relented. Drip…drip…drip went the vampire blood down her throat.

Joe lost control and yanked at the chains with all his might, the silver searing into his flesh.

“Your love and I are bonded now,” Blythe said. “A greater connection exists between us for my blood flows in her veins. It calls out to me, yearning for my guidance. My direction. My control.”

Joe’s eyes turned yellow. The beast fought to take over his body but the silver chains held it at bay.

“Of course,” Blythe said. “She’s burdened by that pesky soul of hers that tells her not to listen to me so let’s relieve her of that, shall we?”

A shot rang out, smashing its way through Lydia’s heart. Once she fell to the ground, Blythe set a smoking revolver down on a small table.

Had any humans been in the room, Joe’s roar would have popped their eardrums.

“Oh enough of the theatrics,” Blythe said. “Her soul’s in a much better place.”

Joe couldn’t see it but he could hear Lydia grown. Then she snarled. Ever so slowly, she rose to her feet. Her eyes were blank white, the retinas completely gone. Her movements were mechanical.  She had become a gruesome automaton.

Unsure of her steps, Lydia walked like a toddler towards Joe, then sunk her teeth into her husband’s shoulder. She snapped off a piece of flesh and devoured it, blood dripping from her lips. Joe’s flesh grew back immediately.

“I can’t be damned twice,” Joe said. “You killed her for nothing! NOTHING!”

“Did I?” Joe asked. “Mr. Becker.”

The werewolf henchman exited the room. Lydia moved into Joe’s neck for another bite but Blythe stretched out his hand in a “stop” motion.

“Down girl,” Blythe commanded.

Lydia instantly complied and stood quietly, staring at the wall.

Becker returned with little Miles wrapped up in his paw. The boy was merely five years old and petrified for his life. He was set on the floor and he immediately scurried underneath the table his father was laid out on.

“Please,” Joe said, reduced to sobbing. “Just kill me.”

“If I had any emotions I’d sympathize with you Joseph,” Blythe said. “I truly would.”

Blythe stared at the bullet in his hand. It was remarkably shiny. A glint of candlelight bounced off of it. The vampire loaded it into the pistol then set it on the smaller table by the door.

“I’ll let you figure this out,” Blythe said. “The bullet’s silver in case you’d like to take personal responsibility for what you’ve done and call it quits. If not, well, you know what to do. The board has declared that either your head or hers will be sufficient to consider your debt repaid.”

Hewett and Becker got in front of their boss and formed one gigantic hairy wall of protection. Blythe reached for a lever on the wall, yanked it down, and Joe was released.

Joe lept from the table and charged at his captors.

Blythe snapped his fingers. “Feed at will, dear,” was his last order to Lydia.

Hewett backhanded Joe to the ground and the trio escaped, locking the iron door behind them.

Joe stood up to find the undead body of the woman  he loved on the floor, desperately clawing her hand underneath the table, attempting to snatch a crying Miles.

“Lydia,” Joe said.

Lydia waved her arm under the table furiously.

“Miles,” Joe said.

“Papa?”

“Stop…” Joe caught his breathe. “Stop that crying now. Mama’s just playing a game with you.”

“She is?” Miles asked.

“Yes,” Joe said.

“Silly Mama,” Miles said. The boy sniffed and the crying stopped. “What are we playing?”

Joe grabbed Lydia by the waist and pulled her away from the table but like a wild animal she kicked and growled.

“LYDIA STOP!”

It was no use. She wrestled herself out of Joe’s grip and dove to the bottom of the table again, the boy’s delicious flesh the only thing on her mind.

Joe grabbed the revolver. “Hide and seek,” Joe told Miles.

“I’m losing,” Miles said. “Mama keeps finding me.”

“I know,” Joe said as he pulled Lydia away again. She shrieked and waled, digging her nails into Joe’s sides and ripping her teeth into the arm he used to hold her with.

“You just have to try harder,” Joe said. “Close your eyes and count to ten.”

The little boy’s voice counted. “One…two…three…”

“Stick your fingers in your ears and sing a song,” Joe said.

Lydia’s teeth cut Joe’s arm all the way to the bone. He fought through it as he raised the revolver to his wife’s temple.

“Then she’ll hear me and find me!” Miles said.

“Nah,” Joe replied. “Mama’s sneaky. She’ll ask you where you are and if you can’t hear then you can’t tell her.”

“Oh,” Miles said. “Row row row your boat…”

Joe kissed his wife on the cheek. She snapped her teeth at his face.

“I love you,” Joe said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Joe pulled the trigger. The shot tore through Lydia’s brain and her undead body went limp. Gently, Joe laid her down on the table he’d been held on. He wolfed out, punched the iron door off its hinges, then morphed back into human form.

Miles was still singing. “…merrily merrily merrily…”

Joe picked up Lydia and carried her in his arms. He walked out of the room, down a dimly lit hallway, and found another cell. He laid his wife down again, then returned to collect his son.

He reached under the table and pulled Miles out.

“Where’s Mama?” Miles asked as Joe grabbed the boy by the hand and led him down the hallway.

“Her turn to hide now,” Joe said. “She’s hiding pretty good so I think it’ll be awhile before we find her.”

“Oh,” Miles said. “Why are you naked?”

“Lost my pants,” Joe said.

“I lose mine sometimes too,” Miles said. “Mama always finds ‘em for me. She’s a good Mama.”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Yeah she is.”

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How the West Was Zombed – A Note on Chapter 30

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Hello 3.5 Readers.

Chapter 29 had a note and Chapter 30 has a note too.

As I’ve said before, I’m not an outliner, I’m a pantser.  I have a general idea of the story in my head and I’m not sure where it will go until I set fingers to keyboard.

So if you’re offended, please know I never really intended to write a scene in which a woman is zombified and then tries to eat her young son and her husband is faced with the Sophie’s choice of having to either shoot his zombified wife in the head or allowing his son to be eaten but…hey…the story goes where the story goes.

Really, it’s the story’s fault not mine.  As the evil Blythe said before and is about to say again, “I’m just a cog in a much larger machine.”

But hey…30 chapters and roughly 25,000 words in and there’s a zombie.  So there’s that.

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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 29

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Louisiana, 1859

THWAP!

The whip cracking across Joe’s back might as well have been a knife. It cut just as deep and with as much precision. There wasn’t much he could do about it. His hands were bound tight and tied to a hook above his head. His body had already told him to fall down, but his captors wouldn’t allow it.

THWAP!

The man wielding the whip was Edmund Lorante, Overseer of the Marchand Plantation. That was more or less a fancy title that meant he kept an eye on slaves and made sure they didn’t get out of line. He relished “educational opportunities” and had called in over a hundred of Monsieur Marchand’s pieces of property from the field to watch. A few of his white subordinates stood by, shotguns at the ready.

THWAP!

“What did you do with it, n****r?” Lorante asked. He tossed out the word so nonchalantly, as though using it didn’t phase him in the slightest.  It was a word used casually in those days.

Joe was out of strength, but mustered up enough to answer, as he’d already done a dozen times, “I…I didn’t take it.”

THWAP!

“Enough of this foolishness,” Lorante said. “It’s no use to you. You can’t spend it. There is not a single reputable merchant that would see a n****r with money and not conclude it to be stolen. Turn it over and this all ends.”

“I didn’t take it,” Joe repeated.

Blood seeped out of Joe’s wounds, dripping to the ground below. The blaring sun didn’t help, covering him with blisters until he felt like he was inside an oven.

Lorante performed for the crowd, as he enjoyed doing. Joe’s plight was a perfect “this could be you” scare tactic to rattle the other slaves. The overseer took full advantage of it.

“Your Master, Monsieur Marchand, takes care of you doesn’t he?” Lorante asked.

Joe knew the drill on this one and knew there was no answer other than “yes boss” that wouldn’t lead to the whip being cracked again.

“Yes boss.”

Lorante turned to the slaves. “All of you! He provides you with food and water, room and board. All that he asks is that you put in a day’s work to earn your keep and how is he repaid? With thievery.”

He turned his attention back to Joe. “Come on now. Where is it?”

“I swear I don’t know,” Joe said.

THWAP!

Lorante shook his head and made a “tsk tsk” sound. He patted his forehead with a handkerchief, dabbing the sweat away, then continued his lecture.

“You n*****s,” the overseer said. “You all think you’re so smart, don’t you? Most of you behave and do as you’re told but then once in awhile one of you comes along and starts filling your heads with ideas – that you ought to be paid, that you ought to be educated, that you ought to hold office and become businessmen and gentlemen and take on jobs that not a one of you has the brains to handle. I’d no sooner hire a n*****r for a thinking man’s position than I would my dog. Joseph!”

Joe spit out some blood. One of the lashings had made him bite his tongue.

“Boss?”

“You were the only n****r allowed in the house when Monsieur Marchand noticed his money was missing. Do you take me for a fool?”

Another one of those “only one answer will do” questions.

“No.”

“Then tell me where it is!!!”

“I don’t know.”

THWAP!!!

Lorante coiled up his whip, walked over to the whipping post (because this was a time when such a thing actually existed) and got in Joe’s face.

“If we have to do this all day then so be it but by God…you will learn your place boy.

The boss motioned to his men. “He wants to do it the hard way. Cut him down. Bring her out.”

A knife chopped through the rope, leaving Joe to crash to the ground. Though exhausted, sick, and in tremendous pain, his blurry eyes watched as the love of his life was walked to the whipping post.

Lydia. So sweet. So beautiful. She didn’t cry or fight it. She’d seen scenarios like this before and knew it was no use to protest. She put her arms up to be tied, aware if she didn’t they’d be held up for her anyway.

“NOOOO!!!” Joe cried. “No boss, please, please…I didn’t do it. I’d tell you if I did…”

“You’re doing this Joseph,” Lorante said. “Not me.”

“I’ll help you look for it,” Joe said. “Please. I’ll look over every inch and turn over every stone until I find it for you.”

As soon as Lydia was hooked, Joe began hyperventilating. He felt like a trout pulled out of the ocean, gasping for air and unable to find any. His stomach felt sick, but far worse than any feeling he’d ever had before.

“Lydia,” Lorante said. “Do YOU know where Monsieur Marchand’s stolen bills are?”

“No sir.”

Joe’s eyes turned yellow and his muscles bulged. Sweat didn’t just drip out of his pores. It flooded out.

“Your little boyfriend here never whispered in your ear what he did with it?” Lorante asked.

“No sir.”

Lorante uncoiled his whip. “What a pity.”

There’s a little bit of beast dwelling inside everyone, some more than others. Most people go through life without ever letting their inner monster out. Most are just naturally gifted with the ability control it without even knowing its there. Others are just lucky enough to never experience an event awful enough to be overcome.

But when that whip tore across Lydia’s back, Edmund Lorante saw himself staring up at a massive growling, snarling, bloodthirsty werewolf. The last words of the slave master’s life was, “What the?” before he was ripped apart at the torso, each half of his body thrown far away from one another in an explosion of blood.

Lorante’s men were equally astonished and opened fire. The buckshot blows might as well have been kisses as that didn’t stop the beast from slashing the men to ribbons.

Though Joe intended them no harm, the slaves, as you can imagine, ran away as fast as they could. Who wouldn’t upon seeing a werewolf? Many of them were able to run to freedom. Some, sadly, were caught and held accountable by death for something they didn’t do.

Lydia felt the understandable urge to run herself but that went away when the beast cut her down with a single flick of his claw. She put her hand out and Joe met it with his paw. He stood there in disbelief at what he’d just done, his mind one big fog. He passed out, fell down, and moments later was back to his old self.

The event was written up in the papers as “The Great Marchand Plantation Slave Revolt of 1859.” An ill-tempered slave named Joseph conspired with his fellow slaves to murder the kind and noble Mr. Lorante and his dedicated assistants.

That’s the story Madame Marchand told the press anyway. She and the Monsieur had witnessed the whole spectacle from their mansion’s veranda and immediately barricaded themselves in their room afterwards. It wasn’t necessary as Joe just walked away with Lydia. He wasn’t interested in any more bloodshed and at the time, didn’t know he was able to call upon the beast inside him at will.

Astounded by the sight, the Monsieur dropped dead of a heart attack shortly thereafter. And the Madame only went with the revolt story after being laughed off as a crazy slave sympathizer by the local authorities. She never did live down her reputation as a crackpot who made up a ludicrous story about a loathsome wolf man to protect her late husband’s property from being pursued and punished.

As for the missing money, Gerard, the Marchand’s youngest son, would later confide in his mother that he took it to finance a trip to Europe to “sew his oats” as he called it.

Meanwhile, as days on the run turned into weeks, Joe, with Lydia at his side, learned all he could about his new power and sought out those who shared it.

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A Note on the Next Chapter of How the West Was Zombed

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Hello.  I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler, Noted Nerdventurer, Magic Bookshelf Caretaker, and Champion Yeti Fighter.

How is it possible that a werewolf was once a slave?

That’s a fine question.  After all, wouldn’t he just slash the shit out of the slave master and walk away?

Well.  You know, I never intended to put myself in a position where I felt the need to write a chapter in which a slave turns into a werewolf and slashes the shit out of the master, but…here I am.

I did my best to handle the sensitive subject matter in a non-offensive way.  The 1800’s were terrible times.  My intent was to neither exploit nor sugar coat it.

Keep in mind the next part of this book is called “History Repeats Itself.”  That means the chapter after this one coming up won’t be much better.

But I think there might be an actual zombie so…hey, zombies!

And if you are offended – a) I’m very sorry and b) The master gets slashed up by a damn werewolf.

You could almost say its a historical revenge fantasy, just like how Quentin Tarantino was nominated for an Oscar for his movie about Hitler and the Nazis getting burnt to death in a theater.

Where’s my Oscar?  Oh right.  I’m not pretty.

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Read How the West Was ZOMBED on Wattpad

Hey 3.5 Readers,

BQB here.  How the West Was Zombed has gone up and down the Wattpad horror charts.  It’s currently #610.  Comments, reads, votes, they all factor in to moving it up the charts and the higher it goes the more readers it gets so feel free to follow me @bookshelfbattle and give me your feedback.

Not on Wattpad? You can still read it and my other stuff here at bookshelfbattle.com

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