I didn’t get any time today, folks, so enjoy the nothing.
Do you have anything to share with my 3.5 readers?
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How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 95
Major Culpepper’s men stood on the Missouri side of the Sturtevant Bridge, rifles drawn and pointed at a large crowd of people who were undeterred.
The Major himself withdrew his saber and rattled it wildly in the air.
“Back, you rabble! Back, I say!”
An angry farmer wearing a straw hat let the Major have it. “You can’t send us back there! There’s nothing to go back to!”
An elderly woman with three teeth chimed in. “We’ll all be eaten alive by dead folk if you turn us away!”
“Can’t any of you filth read?” Culpepper asked as he pointed his saber at the lone piece of paper that Corporal Bartlett had tacked to a tree. “The president has declared that you are all to be presumed zombies and shot if you attempt to cross. My hands are tied. Disperse immediately.”
A weeping woman wearing a shawl held up a crying infant wrapped in a blanket.
“Please sir,” she begged. “At least take my baby so that he might have a chance.”
The major’s glare at the fussy baby was interrupted when the corporal tapped him on the shoulder.
“What is it, Corporal?” an annoyed Major asked.
“A word sir?”
The Major nodded and walked a few feet back onto the bridge with the Corporal, leaving his men to keep the crowd at bay.
“Sir,” the Corporal said. “Can’t we take the baby?”
“That is the ugliest baby I have ever seen, Bartlett,” the Major said. “For all I know it could be a tiny zombie.”
“Clearly none of these people are zombies,” Bartlett said.
“Oh, and I suppose you’re an expert on the subject now?” the Major asked. “There’s nothing clear about it, Bartlett. We know very little about zombies. Any one of these people could be carriers of the dreaded zombie contagion. What am I supposed to say to the Eastern seaboard when it gets wiped out? ‘Oh sorry, Eastern seaboard, but Bartlett tripped over his vagina when it was time to secure the Sturtevant Bridge?’”
“But sir…”
“No buts about it, Corporal,” the Major said. “Our orders are to deny passage to anyone who attempts to cross this bridge and that’s all there is to it.”
“But sir surely you could exercise some discretion,” the Corporal said.
“What are you on about?” the Major asked.
“This is a confusing situation, isn’t it?” Bartlett asked. “No one’s keeping track of the time. We let the people cross. We blow up the bridge. Who’s to say they didn’t all cross before we even got here? I’ll swear on a stack of bibles I never saw any of them if we ever get court martialed.”
The Major looked at the woman holding the baby. He surveyed the crowd. So many young frightened faces. Children clutching their parents.
“Bah,” the Major said. “Blast you, Bartlett. I suppose no one could judge me too harshly if I save the women and children but I swear I’ll lop off your balls and stick them in a mason jar on my mantle if this ever comes back to bite me in the ass.”
“That’s only fair, sir,” Bartlett replied.
“Robards!” the Major shouted.
The Major’s demolition expert was crouched over a bundle of dynamite, carefully tying it to a support beam.
A flick of ash fell on the bundle. Robards looked up to see a smoking private.
“Are you trying to make us all go kerblooey?” Robards asked as he stood up and smacked the smoke out of the private’s hands. “Get some sense, numb nuts!”
“Robards,” the Major repeated as he drew closer. “How long?”
“Depends,” Robards replied. “You want it done fast or you want it done right?”
“I want the whole damn thing blown to smithereens so I can get back to camp and take a shit,” the Major said.
Robards took off his hat and scratched his head. “Bout an hour.”
“Very well,” the Major said.
Culpepper and Bartlett walked back to the line of soldiers standing between the crowd and the bridge.
“Attention rabble,” the Major shouted. “In one hour’s time, all women and children will be allowed to cross. Men will be expected to return West to fight the zombie menace with honor. Say your goodbyes. There will be no further discussion of the subject.”
Various angry groans and complaints emanated from the crowd as the people talked amongst themselves.
Culpepper and Bartlett headed back onto the bridge.
“God help us if even one of these people is a zombie, Bartlett,” the Major said.
“Sir,” the Corporal replied. “I am absolutely positive that none of these people are zombies.”
The crowd stretched back for a quarter mile. Doc and Annabelle arrived on Hercules, unable to pass through the mob.
“Look at all these people,” Annabelle said.
“Yes,” Doc whispered. He pulled up his collar, turned down the brim of his hat, and pointed his head downward. “I do hope none of them suspect that I am a zombie.”
How the West Was Zombed – Part 9 – The Not So Great Escape
Tribal shaman Wandering Snake guilts Standing Eagle into coming to Highwater’s aid.
Slade gets his crew to the livery stable, with a plan to send Miss Bonnie, the Widow Farquhar and Miles south to seek refuge with Eagle’s allies.
Meanwhile, Doc and Annabelle plan to head East to pursue their dreams of becoming international cocaine peddling gynecologists. (Yes, it makes more sense if you read it.)
But with an army of obedient zombies under his control, Blythe interferes with these plans.
The Reverend’s attempt to find some good in Blythe backfires in a big way.
Miles will need to figure out how to be a werewolf before its too late.
Chapter 79 Chapter 80 Chapter 81
Chapter 82 Chapter 83 Chapter 84
Due to my incompetence, I skipped making a Chapter 87 and went right to 88, so:
Chapter 88 Chapter 89 Chapter 90
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 94
Miss Bonnie headed south, maneuvering Doc’s wagon down a bumpy path through a forest. The trees were tall and in the moonlight, just the slightest bit spooky.
“Oh I don’t know about this Miss Lassiter,” Sarah said as she looked around. “We will be safe without any men to protect us?”
The driver felt like chewing Sarah out for making that statement but erred on the side of diplomacy. “I think we’ll manage.”
Miles stretched out in the back. Occasionally, he nodded off, only to be jostled awake when Miss Bonnie took the wagon over a rock.
He could hear everything the women were saying.
“I wish I shared your optimism,” Sarah said. “Perhaps life is easier for someone with a…carefree spirit.”
Miss Bonnie raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“Oh no,” Sarah said. The bride examined her wedding dress. The train had ripped off hours earlier and between the blood stains and dirt it was more of a reddish brown now than white.
“It’s just that, you lived such a glamorous lifestyle,” Sarah said.
“I did?” Miss Bonnie asked.
“I would imagine a saloon keeping prostitute has many interesting stories,” Sarah said.
“Drunk perverts parting with their pay for pussy is about it,” Miss Bonnie replied.
Sarah blushed. “Good heavens.”
Chance plodded along at a steady speed.
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t lived such a provincial life,” Sarah said. “Between my father and my departed husband, the only thing I have ever done is cook and clean for men. Why, if it weren’t for all of the sinful debauchery guaranteeing your place in eternal hellfire I’d have half a mind to trade places with you.”
As a dedicated church lady, Sarah had a habit of speaking straightforward, oblivious to how her words could be construed as insulting. Miss Bonnie picked up on that but did her best to not take offense.
“Word to the wise, darling,” Miss Bonnie said. “If you spend your life depending on men to take care of you, you’ll be mighty disappointed when they let you down.”
“I suppose,” Sarah said. “Oh but I’ll never have to worry about that with Rain. Such a rugged and hearty man’s man. Perfect in every way. He’s brave and bold and has no problems whatsoever. And he’s so dedicated to me.”
Having no interest in carrying on that line of discussion, Miss Bonnie changed the subject. “Kinda chilly isn’t it?”
Sarah rubbed her hands over her elbows, hugging herself. “It is.”
In the back, the scent of three werewolves wafted through the air and up into Miles’ nostrils. The boy opened his eyes and sat up.
“Have you and Rain been acquaintances long?” Sarah asked.
“Huh?” Miss Bonnie replied.
“He seems to hold a high opinion of you,” Sarah said. “Trusting you to look out for me and all.”
“Oh you know that old expression,” Miss Bonnie said. “‘If you can’t trust the town whore to look out for your bride then who can you trust?’ Right?”
“Is that an expression?” Sarah asked.
“Sure is,” Miss Bonnie answered.
“I’m not sure it is,” Sarah said.
Miles opened the back doors, allowing them to sway in the breeze. In the distance, he saw three glowing yellow eyes. They grew bigger and bigger until he could see three furry faces.
King Zeke and his two flunkies were closing in.
The boy knocked on the front of wagon. Miss Bonnie could hear Miles’ muffled voice from behind the boards.
“Miss Bonnie!”
“What?” the redhead asked.
“Company!”
Miss Bonnie craned her neck backward and caught a glimpse of the three sets of yellow eyes.
“Son of a…”
The redhead snapped on the reigns, prompting Chance to run as fast as his hooves would carry him.
Sarah turned to see what was going on. “Oh Lord save us.”
Miles drew his rifle and aimed for the glowing eyes, but the wagon shook uncontrollably as Chance bolted. The boy fired and missed. Zeke’s henchwolves flanked either side of the wagon, while the King himself followed behind.
One henchwolf ran along the left side of the car. He jumped up and dug his claws into the wagon to hold on. As soon as his face popped up, Miss Bonnie filled it full of buckshot. Unfortunately, it wasn’t silver buckshot, so it didn’t kill him, but it was painful enough that he let go and tumbled to the ground.
Sarah shrieked as the other henchwolf wrapped its paws around her waist. Miss Bonnie dropped the reigns, allowing the wagon to swerve all over as she grabbed hold of Sarah’s ankle. Though she tried to keep the bride in the wagon, King Zeke’s lackey was too strong.
The last thing Miss Bonnie saw was Sarah kicking and screaming as she was flung over the henchwolf’s shoulder. The wolf turned around and ran back towards town, upright on two feet as he carried his prize.
Miles watched as Zeke grabbed hold of the back left wheel, causing the wagon to jerk so abruptly that it started to flip over.
The boy thought fast. He morphed into werewolf form, becoming so tall that his head crashed through the roof of the wagon. After slashing through the boards that separated him from the driver’s seat, he picked up Miss Bonnie and jumped just in time to avoid being caught amidst the flying debris as the wagon crashed into pieces on the ground.
Chance managed to twist himself free of the wreck, then ran off into the night.
Miles felt sharp claws dig into his back. He put Miss Bonnie down and turned to find himself facing the henchwolf that had been shot by Miss Bonnie. His wounds were heeled.
The boy was angry. First his father. Now his newfound friends. He scratched his claws across the henchwolf’s face, then connected an uppercut to the attacker’s chin, launching him into the air then down to the ground.
Miles jumped on top of him, drew his hand back and was ready to deliver a death blow when he saw it. A look of fear in the henchwolf’s eyes.
The kid put his paw down, stood up, then started to walk towards Miss Bonnie, who was searching around for her shotgun to no avail. She picked up a piece of wood and prepared to defend herself.
Miles sensed the henchwolf was behind him. He turned just in time to see a paw coming for his face, only to be stopped when a grey paw grabbed it.
King Zeke’s voice crawled its way into Miles’ mind.
“Now is that any way to treat a fella who did you a good turn?”
The henchwolf was confused. “He got in the way.”
“That bloodsucking lawyer aint paying us to kill our own kind,” Zeke said. Then he asked the kid, “What’s your name, boy?”
“None of your business,” Miles replied.
“Helluva way to talk to your elders,” Zeke said. “Why don’t you run along now before I put you over my knee?”
Zeke and his henchwolf gathered around Miss Bonnie. The redhead got a few good whacks in on the henchwolf’s snout before he grabbed her board, snapped it in half, and picked her up.
Miles put a paw on Zeke’s shoulder. “Tell him to let her go!”
The sound of Zeke’s laughter flowed through Miles’ mind. Zeke turned around, socked Miles in the face, causing him to soar several feet backwards until he landed on the ground.
Zeke gripped the back of Miles’ head and looked him in the eye.
“Here’s some free advice, kid. Either join a pack and do as you’re told or find a cave to hide in, because the next time you put your paw on an alpha, you best be an alpha.”
Zeke let go of Miles’ head, allowing it to fall on the ground. The boy looked up as his assailant walked away.
“And you’re no alpha.”
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 93
Gunther only had the one good eye, but that was all he needed to land a shot straight through the neck of the werewolf that had Standing Eagle pinned. The werewolf roared in pain and became distracted just long enough for the Chief to spring to his feet and bash the beast backward with multiple tomahawk smashes to the snout.
Once the monster was within range, Gunther put a silver tipped bullet right in the back of its hairy head. Eagle side stepped just in time to avoid being crushed by the collapsing carcass.
In a blood and guts fueled frenzy, Slade was using his twin pistols to pop putrid zombie heads as if they were ripe watermelons.
Eagle’s warriors fought valiantly. Bobcat jammed his blade into a zombie’s forehead, then hacked off the creature’s hand, stole its gun and used it to blow out the brains of three more zombies.
Fox scalped a zombified Buchanan Boy, using his knife to peal away the undead man’s hair and skin, not to mention the top half of his skull. Once the zombie’s brain was exposed, Fox plunged his blade deep inside it, putting the zombie’s lights out for good.
The zombies kept attacking, as did the two remaining werewolves. The cowboys and natives closed ranks, fighting in close proximity to each other as they hacked off and shot off all manner of disgusting zombie parts.
“It seems I have saved your useless hide again, Slade,” Eagle said as he chopped the arm off one of his attackers.
“I don’t feel too safe yet,” Slade replied as he put a silver tipped bullet right through the eye of a werewolf, dropping him cold. “But thanks.”
“Are you two going to kiss or are you going to kill zombies?” Gunther asked. The old timer pulled the trigger of his rifle only to hear a click. Out of ammo, he improvised and bashed an incoming zombie’s face in with the butt of his Winchester.
“We make our ancestors proud today, Eagle!” cried Bobcat as he lopped a zombie’s head clean off and tossed it into the air. It remained alive until Slade put a bullet between its eyes before it hit the ground. It was an epic trick shot.
“Am I seeing things or are there even more of these fuckers than before?” Gunther asked.
“You aren’t,” Snake replied as he conked a zombie over the head with his staff. “We kill more and more and they just keep coming…ugh!”
Two zombies grabbed Snake’s arms and attempted to pull him into the sea of undead that surrounded the heroes, but Screeching Owl put an arrow in each of their heads in order to free the shaman.
High up above the brawl, Blythe hovered in the air, directing his zombies in their gruesome carnage. Slade took a few shots at the vampire, but Blythe dodged them adeptly.
From his vantage point, Blythe could see a mile in any direction, and to his delight, the entire town had become filled to capacity with zombies and werewolves.
The drive was finally complete. The werewolf herdsmen had brought their zombie cattle in. With his mind, the vampire directed several hundred of the undead to converge on the mayhem outside the livery.
Gunther smacked and punched away the undead hands that grabbed him, but there were too many. The old man was hoisted into the air and held there by several different pairs of hands. Soon, Slade was overpowered and ended up in the air as well, as did Fox, Owl, Bobcat, and Snake.
All heroes resisted but they were unable to break the undead grips that held them up over the zombie crowd below.
Eagle wasn’t so lucky. With a werewolf’s paw around his throat, he was lifted into the air. The werewolf squeezed…and squeezed until…CRACK! The Chief’s neck snapped and his body went limp.
Slade cried out in anger and struggled to free himself to no avail.
Down the road, a female rider approached on a horse. As she drew near, the zombies parted to let her through. At least twenty hulking werewolves followed in her wake.
Molly Harper. Queen of a wolf pack out of Colorado. She was older, in her early forties at least, but still a looker with long brow hair pouring out from under her hat. Her leather coat was scuffed and worn, looking like it had seen a lot of action on the trail.
Blythe motioned for the zombies to clear a circle. Molly rode into the middle of it. Her spurs jangled as her boots hit the ground. Blythe landed next to her.
“Miss Harper,” Blythe said.
“Counselor,” Molly replied in a Southern twang.
“I trust your ride in was riveting?” Blythe asked.
“Sacked and burned everything from Colorado to Missouri,” Molly replied. “Every pack around joined in. These zombies are dumber than a bunch of inbred aardvarks during mating season but they respond to the whip all right. Got quite an army on your hands now.”
“The chairman will no doubt reward you and yours ten fold,” Blythe said.
“Well, my mama always said it was impolite to talk money in front of company but I hope so,” the lady wolf said. “We didn’t drag these sons of bitches cross country for our health.”
Slade, Gunther and the natives were on their feet now, being restrained by the zombie hordes. The werewolf who bested Eagle tossed the Chief’s carcass at Blythe’s feet.
“Good boy,” Blythe said.
“Glory be,” Molly said as she looked over Eagle’s muscular frame. “What a specimen. Shame.”
Bobcat refused to be silent. “You know not what you do, demon. You have taken the life of a warrior far, far better than you could ever be and the spirits will demand justice. They will demand…”
“Shut him up,” Blythe said. His undead stooges obeyed and clamped their hands tightly over Bobcat’s face.
Gunther and Slade were already subdued in a similar manner, disgusting hands over their mouths preventing them from saying anything.
“Miss Harper,” Blythe said. “I hate to give you another job before you’ve had a moment to put your feet up, but there is an urgent matter in need of your skill.”
“Let’s hear it,” Molly replied.
Blythe pointed to Slade. “This one has two women.”
“Two?!” Molly balked then looked over Slade’s face. “Eh, I can see it. He’s right purdy.”
“They escaped,” Blythe said. “I need them back unharmed.”
Slade winced as Molly sniffed his neck. “He reeks of both of them. I got their scent.”
The Queen flexed her muscles. They grew and grew until her clothing ripped off of her. She morphed into a mighty werewolf but unlike the others, her fur was luxurious -silky smooth and alabaster white.
She dropped down on all fours and scurried through the zombie hordes. Two male wolves joined her.
“Take them inside,” Blythe commanded. His zombies obeyed and carried the prisoners into the livery.
Blythe rose into the air and flew back to the Marvel, where Mr. Mayhew and the other conductors were waiting.
“Shall we begin boarding sir?”
“Yes, Blythe replied as his feet touched down on the platform. “But your men can handle that. I need you to head off to the bridge and make sure it’s clear of any rabble.”
“Consider it done sir,” Mayhew replied.
BQB’s Random Thoughts #1
Hello. I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler. As the Mayor of East Randomtown, here are my random thoughts.
Musings of a general nature in no particular order:
- Sometimes I’ll watch an old movie, spot an actress who’s a really hot chick, then do the math and realize she’s either dead by now or slurping back jello in a nursing home somewhere. It makes me sad and defeats the purpose of watching the movie. I watched it to avoid reality and now I’m worrying about the grim reality that life is short and the reaper comes for us all. After that, I worry about why my blog is so depressing. Then I wonder whether or not it’s ok to oggle the young, hot vibrant version of the actress in the old movie I’m watching, given that she’s either dead or a vegetable now. I err on the side of yes as she probably got into acting in the hopes that future generations of men would be oggling her in her movies until the end of time, right? It would almost be rude not to oggle her.
- I hate it when I sit in a chair that someone sat in previously and it is still warm from their ass warmth. Though irrational, the warmth of someone else’s butt on a chair coming into contact with my butt instantly causes my mind to believe in a most steadfast matter that a zillion of the other person’s butt germs are invading my butt. Alas, all I can do is grin and bear it because when you’re in a situation that calls for you to sit down in a chair someone else was just sitting in, you can’t exactly break out a thermometer, then wait a minute and test it to see if the chair has cooled down now, can you? (No seriously, I’m asking, is this socially acceptable? Because if it is I’ll start carrying a thermometer to test the ass warmth of chairs I have to sit in from now on.)
- Ladies, no matter what your boyfriend tells you, it’s never cool or acceptable if your boyfriend tries to sell you into a foreign businessman’s harem. Say no to harems.
- It has just been brought to my attention that it was politically incorrect of me to express concern about the harems of “foreign businessmen” when I could have just as easily pointed out the dangers of being sold into the harem of any one anywhere at any time. Indeed, if there are any domestic harems, you should avoid being sold into those as well. I will now attend sensitivity training and flagellate myself with a cat of nine tails as penance.
- I have never left a penny in the gotta penny give a penny need a penny take a penny tray. It may be too late for me to avoid eternal damnation now as I’d have to leave so many pennies now to make up for it, and that’s not even considering inflation.
- Bums like me. I assume this is because I look non-threatening and thus they can wear me down by following me and repeatedly asking for change until I give up toss and toss a few scheckels their way just to get rid of them. Part of me wishes I appeared more menacing to bums. Then part of me just wishes the world would improve so the bums would have somewhere to go where they could be happy and warm and collect change from people whose egos aren’t so fragile that they end up wondering what is it about them that makes them look like a good mark for bums.
- I’m sorry. I’ve just been notified that “bum” is a politically incorrect term. Hobo, vagrant, transient, and/or poor person are also terms that are off limits. The correct term now is “person of limited means and stifled upward mobility.” For example, I must look like an easy mark for people of limited means and stifled upward mobility.
- I’m fairly certain the first person who ever ate a lobster was either extremely hungry or a raging psychopath. Otherwise, who looks at a creature that looks like a red sea insect and things, “Mmm yummy!” (Then again, who looks at a cow and thinks “Mmm yummy?”
- But at least there’s a degree of separation between me and the cow. A cooked cow isn’t heaped onto my table. I just get a tasty burger instead. Meanwhile, I have no idea how someone can take a boiled lobster carcass and not look at it while they’re eating it and wonder about the lobster’s life? Did the lobster have a wife? A family? Had the lobster fallen on hard times? Maybe he lost his job, got depressed, turned to drinking, pushed his lobster wife and lobster kids away but then he finally got a new job and was ready to put his difficult past behind him and make amends and be happy when he got tossed into your put and a fork shoved up his butt to take out his innards and dip them in butter.
- When I was but a mere boy, unknowledgeable about the birds and the bees, I thought it was possible for men to get pregnant. I’m not sure why I thought that but I assume since all I was ever told at the time was that babies come out of a woman’s stomach, that men’s stomachs were also prime pieces of real estate for baby production. Later, the truth that only women can get pregnant was revealed to me. “Boy, I really dodged a bullet there” was my immediate response. I remember it like it was last week. Probably because it was.
Do It Yourself Post Day
I’ve got nothing to offer today, 3.5 readers.
So instead, tell me what’s on your 3.5 minds in the comments.
How the West Was Zombed = 70,000 Words
Hey 3.5 Readers.
BQB here reporting another milestone – I have hit 70,000 words on How the West Was Zombed.
And with some cool chapters lately (the Reverend becoming vampire chow, Doc’s impromptu escape plan) have me feeling my second wind.
Still a lot of work to go but it is happening.
Have you been reading, 3.5 readers? What do you think?
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 92
The double doors at the back of the livery were secured with a long board shoved between two handles, one on each door. A pair of werewolf claws smashed through it and the doors were swung open.
Morris and Vaughn stomped in with their pointy teeth bared. Gentry, still in human form, entered with his pistol drawn.
What he saw next astonished him.
Annabelle’s body was laid out on the floor, completely motionless. Her eyes were closed. Her face was soaked with blood and guts.
Doc was straddling her. Blood dripped from his lips as he slowly lifted his head away from Annabelle’s neck to look at Gentry.
The physician was not his usual chatty self. “Gack…ack…ack.”
“Son of a bitch!” shouted Gunther.
Gentry and his companions stepped past Doc to find Gunther on the ground, clutching his stomach with his left hand. With his right, he struggled to grab his gun. It too laid in the dirt, ever so close but just out of his reach.
“God damn you to hell, Doc!” Gunther cried. “Why did I ever trust you?”
As Doc turned his attention back to Annabelle’s body, Morris and Vaughn stood together and watched as Gentry knelt down beside Gunther and pointed his pistol at the old man.
“Where is everyone?” Gentry asked. “And don’t take me for a fool or it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“That bastard,” Gunther said. “Tricked us all into throwing down our guns. Said he’d go out and smooth talk your boss into letting us go but…”
Gunther coughed and gasped for air.
“…then the cocksucker just up and executed everybody one by one! Stuffed all the bodies in the wagon. Said he was going to bring them all out to your boss as a peace offering so he’d let him go.”
Gentry grinned. “How fiendishly clever.”
Gunther let go of his stomach to reveal the blood all over his shirt and vest. He grabbed Gentry’s arm.
“But just as he was about to leave…he…he turned into a damn zombie and ate his girlfriend!”
“Well,” Gentry said. “Now I’ve seen everything.”
Coming from behind their heads, Morris and Vaughn could hear the distinct clicking sound of two gun hammers being cocked.
Gentry was facing the old man, but his ears picked up Doc’s voice.
“I wouldn’t say that just yet, my good man.”
Two shots. Two silver bullets pierced the backs of two werewolf heads. Gentry turned just in time to see their gargantuan hairy buddies hit the ground with colossal thuds.
Very much alive, Doc and Annabelle stood there with smoking guns in their hands. Doc had used one of his spring loaded weapons while Annabelle made use of Miss Bonnie’s derringer.
Meanwhile, Gunther appeared to be feeling a whole lot better as he reached for his gun and blew a hole right through the back of Gentry’s head, which led to his carcass collapsing next to the other werewolves.
The back doors of Doc’s wagon flew open and Slade poked his head out. “Did we get ‘em?”
“Oh we got ‘em all right,” Gunther said.
The old man looked at his clothes. “Aw dang it. Rabbit blood all over the vest Mavis made for me.”
Doc took Annabelle’s hand. “Yes, and I do apologize for rubbing a bunny corpse all over your face my dear.”
Annabelle shrugged. “Eh, it’s ok. After working in Bonnie’s joint for five years, it’s actually not the most disgusting thing that’s ever been rubbed on my face.”
Doc nodded. “That’s the spirit.”
Miss Bonnie jumped out of the back of the wagon and walked over to Doc. “I stand corrected.”
“Yes,” Doc said. “’Tis quite alright, Miss Lassiter I suppose in my new life as a partial zombie I shall have to suffer all manner of aspersions on my character.”
“Just shut up and take an apology, asshole,” Miss Bonnie replied.
“So taken,” Doc said.
Miss Bonnie hugged Annabelle, doing her best to not get any blood on herself. “Take care of yourself.”
“I will,” Annabelle said.
The redhead hopped up into the driver’s seat. Slade took Sarah’s hand and helped her out of the back of the wagon.
“Rain,” the bride said. “Do you really think it wise for us to split up?”
“Things aren’t safe here,” Slade replied as he handed Miss Bonnie her shotgun.
“But you won’t be able to protect me if I leave,” Sarah said.
“Miss Bonnie’s got you covered,” Slade said.
“Oh Rain,” Sarah said as she went in for one last hug. “I know you’ll be ok, you’re so perfect and all. But should something happen to me I want you to know how much I love you.”
There Sarah stood, with her big eyes staring up at Slade, waiting for the customary reply a woman typically expects when she tells her man that she loves him.
“God damn it,” Slade said.
Miss Bonnie slapped her forehead upon hearing that response.
“What?” Sarah asked, her face giving off the expression of a wounded doe.
“Uh,” Slade said. “God damn it that we have to part ways is all…but…”
The stoic looked up at Miss Bonnie. Exasperated, she nodded her head up and down.
“I love you too,” Slade said. “And don’t worry. Everything’s going to be ok. I don’t want to hear any more talk about something bad happening to you.”
Slade helped Sarah up into the passenger’s seat next to Miss Bonnie.
“This isn’t goodbye, Rain,” Sarah said. “It’s just, ‘see you later.’
“Right,” Slade replied. “See you later.”
“Later,” Sarah said. “When all is well and we can have another wedding…bigger and better than ever.”
The groom paused. “Right.”
Slade walked around to the back of the wagon where Miles was sitting. It was a delivery wagon so there weren’t any seats in the back, but the boy made do on the floor.
Miles passed Slade the ammo bag and the two Winchesters. Slade took one then handed the other back to the kid.
“You know how to shoot?” Slade asked.
“Pa taught me,” Miles replied.
“It’s yours,” Slade said. “Every cowboy needs a Winchester.”
“Wow,” Miles said. “Thanks.”
Gunther walked over to say his goodbyes. “You’re the toughest kid I’ve ever seen, Miles.”
“I am?” Miles asked.
“Well, I don’t know any other dog monster kids so…”
Miles started to correct the old man. “Were…ah, you know what? Screw it.”
“Protect the womenfolk,” Slade said.
“You got it,” Miles said.
Slade closed the back doors and slapped the back of the wagon.
“Miss Lassiter…”
The driver turned and looked at Slade. They both caught each others’ eyes and there was no need to say anything. They knew how they felt about each other. Miss Bonnie cleared her throat. “Mr. Slade?”
“Roll out.”
Miss Bonnie snapped the reigns and Chance trotted away, pulling the wagon behind him.
A commotion broke out outside. Snarling werewolves. Growling zombies. War whups and battle cries.
Gunther and Slade rushed to the window just in time to see Blythe fall down with an arrow stuck in his chest.
“Holy shit,” the old timer said.
“He came,” Slade added.
Most improperly, Annabelle wiped the bunny blood off her face and onto her dress, then took Doc’s hand as he helped her up onto the back of a black horse.
“Meet Hercules, my dear,” Doc said as he climbed up into the saddle. “He’s been with me for quite some time, a very reliable beast.”
Annabelle patted her hand across Hercule’s coat. “Nice horsey.”
“Gentlemen,” Doc said, grabbing just enough of Slade and Gunther’s attention to get them to look away from the window. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Slade grunted, recalling in his mind a time his mother had told him the old line about how if a man can’t think of something nice to say then he shouldn’t say anything at all.
“Yeah ok then,” Gunther said. “Thanks for stopping by and starting a zombie apocalypse ya’ horse’s ass.”
Annabelle wrapped her arms around Doc’s waist.
“Hold on my dear,” Doc said. “And we shall be addressing the Queen of England on the curative properties of cocaine before you know it.”
“Oh gosh, the Queen?” Annabelle asked. “I don’t even have a dress fancy enough for that meeting.”
“You will my dear,” Doc said. “As many as you wish.”
The physician snapped the reigns on Hercules and away they went out the back of the livery.
Slade and Gunther looked out the window again just in time to see Blythe stand up.
“Shit,” Gunther said.
Slade handed Gunther the Winchester. “You’re better with it than I am.”
Gunther racked up a bullet and took one side of the front door. Slade withdrew his twin pistols and took the other.
“On three then?” the old man asked.
Slade nodded. Gunther started counting. “One..two…”
Slade interrupted the count. “In case I don’t get to say it later, its been nice knowing you, Deputy.”
The old man nodded. “Well holy shit. A compliment from Rainier Slade.”
“Don’t ruin it,” Slade replied.
“Right,” Gunther said. “And likewise, Marshal.”
The two men took a deep breath and then Gunther shouted, “Three!”
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 91
Flames danced all across the right side of Blythe’s body, from his torso to his face. Still, he needed to maintain focus. The arrow was less than an inch from his heart so the slightest mistake would leave him a pile of dust.
Lying flat on his back on the ground, he gripped the arrow tightly and pulled it slowly until it was out, the stone tip covered with his putrid black blood.
He rolled about and slapped the fire that had engulfed him out. His coat was ruined, the fabric singed beyond repair. The bubbling blisters on his face, on the other hand, disappeared quickly. The vampire was back to his handsome self again.
Blythe rose up and looked to the roof of the livery. There was Standing Eagle, drawing another arrow out of his quiver and preparing to take aim with his bow.
To his left and right were Crafty Fox and Screeching Owl, each with bows drawn. Fox sent an arrow sailing through the air until it entered the eye of a zombified Buchanan Boy, piercing its brain and dropping its carcass to the ground.
The vampire was packing a shiny nickel plated revolver. In a rare display of panic, he shot indiscriminately at the rooftop, waving his free hand to signal his zombie firing squad to join in.
Undeterred by the heavy fire coming at them, the trio jumped from the rooftop. Standing Eagle withdrew a tomahawk and swung it furiously, decapitating zombies left and right. He locked into a formation with Fox and Owl and together, they watch each others’ backs, slicing up all zombies that came their way.
Werewolves Taylor and Browning made a run at the intruders. Meanwhile, Wandering Snake and Charging Bobcat had other plans in store for Werewolf Miller.
Atop Townsend’s shop, Snake rapidly twirled a bola over his head. He let it loose and Miller’s paws became tangled in a web of rope and wooden balls, causing him to trip and face plant into the ground.
That gave Bobcat the chance to do what he did best – attack his prey. He jumped from the roof top, landed on Miller’s back and used his long knife to hack away at the beast’s back, only to be shocked as the wounds instantly healed.
Snake’s feet hit the ground. Calmly, he stuck his knife in the forehead of an attacking zombie, then used his staff fend off the undead as they circled him.
“Eagle!” Bobcat shouted as he stabbed away at Miller to no avail. “The dog monsters cannot be hurt!”
Eagle was preoccupied as he laid on the ground, holding open Browning’s jaws with his bare hands, desperately holding them back from chomping down on his face.
“I’ve noticed!” Eagle replied
Bookshelf Battle 