After Miles gives the survivors a crash course regarding the Legion Corporation’s evil plans, Doc must acknowledge his tarnished past in order to come to grips with a terrible mistake he’s made in the present.
Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68
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Literary Classics with Professor Nannerpants – An Introduction
Good Day 3.5 Readers.
Professor Horatio J. Nannerpants – Esteemed Literary Scholar/Poop Flinger
In the first year of this ridiculous blog, Bookshelf Q. Battler took on the role of a cool, hip online literary lecturer, educating his 2.5 readers (his stats weren’t as high then) about classic novels and poetry in a fun manner.
In year two, he turned the blog into a chronicle of his life as a magic bookshelf caretaker/yeti fighter/human selected by an alien despot to change the world through his writing.
Personally, I found that change to be tres blasé and ever so derivative. If I had a nickel for every blog about a magic bookshelf caretaker/yeti fighter/human selected by an alien despot to change the world through his writing I’d be a fabulously wealthy simian.
Now in year three, BQB has turned his attention yet again to actually writing a novel in an effort to appease the Mighty Potentate. Occasionally, when he is unable to think what his novel characters should do next, he writes top ten lists implying your significant others are all manner of horrible abominations and helps his staff of malcontent columnists spread their ridiculous opinions.
Ironically, BQB has found that his first year posts are the most searchable, most likely by high school or college English students writing papers about the classics.
(And between you, me and the four walls, 3.5 readers, if any of these kids are citing Bookshelf Q. Battler in their papers and getting A’s then I weep for the state of our education system.)
Ahh, but I do drone on, don’t I? This is where I come in.
Have you ever heard of the old saying that if you were to lock a thousand chimpanzees in a room filled with typewriters, one of the chimps would eventually produce a clean, error free copy of Hamlet?
I am that chimp.
It all began as an experiment at the Advanced Science Institute of Science University. BQB, literary lover that he was, was studying under the esteemed Dr. Hugo Von Science (they were still friends in those pre-East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse days.)
As part of a research project, BQB rounded up a thousand lab chimps, locked us in a room with a thousand typewriters and over the course of a year, my colleagues produced:
- 179,854 pages covered in doody
- One clean, error free copy of a James Patterson novel. Ashley Judd and Morgan Freeman were immediately cast for the movie version.
- One typo laden copy the collective works of Digital Underground. “The Fumpty Fance is Your Fance to Do the Fump.” Oh chimps, you try so hard and yet you fail, for there can only be one Humpty Hump.
And finally, I was the first chimpanzee in the history of the world to prove the assertion true.
I typed a clean, error free copy of William Shakespeare’s Hamlet.
And then I smeared it with my doody.
BQB got an A+ for his project. Dr. Hugo had other plans for me.
Curious about my abilities, the mad scientist performed all manner of tests on my brain.
Dr. Hugo wanted to know if it was possible to educate a chimpanzee.
So he hooked my head up to electrodes and forced me to watch PBS for three weeks straight.
So many documentaries. So many British TV shows. So much Masterpiece Theater.
During a storm, an errant thunderbolt zapped the Science Institute, sending a current to the electrodes, which in turn, shocked me.
This left me with the ability of speech….in a British accent.
I used my newfound skill to plead for my freedom with Dr. Hugo but he would not have it.
Bookshelf Q. Battler proved to be kinder and when the coast was clear, he left my cage door open.
For many years, I traveled the world, experiencing all that I could.
Highlights include:
- Climbing Mount Everest. What a waste of time. There’s nothing to see up there.
- Visiting my friends and family in the jungle. Alas, Thomas Wolfe was right when he said you can never go home again. All those chimps wanted to do was laugh and throw their poop. Sure, it’s fun for the first five minutes but after that I’m the only one who wants to talk about the collective works of Lord Byron.
- I was briefly a member of Congress. I had to quit because everyone there was better at poop flinging than I was. (I’m not even joking.)
And finally, by donning a disguise, and holding myself out as a hirsute little person from London, I was able to convince a renowned university to accept me as a student of literature.
There I stayed for many years, immersed in my love of the written word, obtaining a doctorate I used to obtain a position as a professor of the classics at the same aforementioned institution.
Note that I haven’t said which one as I continue to hold this position and I don’t wish to be outed as a chimpanzee. I think I’m safe though as only 3.5 individuals read this blog.
Long story short, BQB would like to continue to put his stat counter on the rise by increasing this blog’s search ability amongst students in their late teens to early twenties who stayed up all night smoking refer and playing video games and need to whip up a last minute paper about Longfellow in order to do their parents proud by pulling down a C-.
Under my alternative name, I have written articles in the world’s premiere academic journals. Thus, I loathe the idea of having my work appear in a poorly studied blog.
Yet, I do owe BQB a favor for helping me escape.
Naturally, I won’t use my nom de plume so I will use the name I was given back when I was but a lowly lab chimp.
Horatio J. Nannerpants.
Yes. Based on the filthy stereotype that chimpanzees love…excuse me I have to finish this banana.
Oh…oh yes! Oh sweet, sweet curved yellow potassium stick! You are better that hot sweaty chimpanzee sex!
Pardon me. Where was I?
Oh yes. Class in now in session, aspiring literary scholars.
And by the way.
That’s Professor Nannerpants to you.
How the West Was Zombed – Book #1 of the Zombie Western Series
SUMMARY:
Highwater, Missouri. 1880. The Old West was a time of expansion and opportunity for some, oppression and violence for others. Dangerous desperadoes ran wild leaving lawmen struggling to maintain order.
U.S. Marshall Rainier Slade is a genuine stoic, a quiet man with a raspy voice, a permanent scowl on his face, and a disdain for humanity that leaves him using the bare minimum amount of words necessary to get his point across. His deputy, the elderly, pragmatic yet loyal Gunther Beauregard does most of the talking.
Together, they work to enforce the law in a town filled with drunkeness, debauchery, and mayhem. Meanwhile, there’s a tentative peace between the townsfolk and a nearby Native American tribe, made possible only by the good rapport between Slade and Chief Standing Eagle.
The world Slade knows crashes down around him when the dead start refusing to die, thanks to the evil endeavors of Henry Alan Blythe, Attorney-at-Law for the Legion Corporation, and his newly recruited flunkies, the Buchanan Boys.
Zombies aren’t the creatures our heroes will have to worry about. Vampires and werewolves are on the prowl too.
Will Slade save the day? Will the West be lost to the zombie hordes? And when the dust settles and the last undead brain gets a bullet through it, will our hero choose the scandalously alluring brothel owner Miss Bonnie, or the prim and proper bible thumping Widow Farquhar?
U.S. Marshall Rainier Slade and his trusty deputy Gunther Beauregard are joined by traveling snake oil salesman Doctor Elias T. “Doc” Faraday in a stand against the nefarious Buchanan Boys.
Smelly Jack and the Buchanan Boys have been captured and now our hero, US Marshal Rainier Slade, has to wait a week until the arrival of Judge Sampson.
In the meantime, a love triangle blooms. Scandalous brothel madame Miss Bonnie is the only woman Slade can be himself around but…the bible thumping Widow Farquhar is there.
Never underestimate the power a woman who is there has on a lonely man.
Plus, there are some damn werewolves.
A day of reckoning comes for the Buchanan Boys. Judge Sampson comes to town and is hankering to pass out some hangings.
But “simple country lawyer” Henry Allan Blythe and his werewolf lackeys have other plans in mind.
PART 4 – History Repeats Itself
Joe Freeman’s past haunts him again and again and his longstanding feud with Blythe is about to come to a head.
Blythe, a villainous vampire/counsel for the Legion Corporation’s board of vampire directors, has dreamed up a scheme to conquer the United States with a zombie army that responds to his will.
But the board’s bureaucratic maneuvering threatens to throw his plan off the rails. His bosses want him to toy with Slade and Freeman, rather than kill them outright.
Though his heart belongs to fiery redhead Miss Bonnie, Slade just can’t bring himself to say no to his fiance, Sarah “the Widow” Farquhar. Slade and Sarah head to Highwater to plan a wedding for the evening. Actually, Sarah does most of the planning. Slade acts like a depressed hostage.
Meanwhile, a heavily armed and armored train arrives in town. Despite an argument filled with chest puffery, Slade is unable to get any information out of villainous lawyer Blythe.
Smelly Jack crashes Slade and Sarah’s wedding in a big way, though as it turns out, in a much bigger way than expected…
PART 6 – Miles Freeman, Amateur Werewolf
When Blythe’s evil werewolves attack the Bonnie Lass Saloon, Highwater finds itself in the grip of a terrifying zombie outbreak.
But for young Miles Freeman, there’s no time to feel sorry for himself when he loses his father.
Miss Bonnie needs his help…and Blythe’s wolves are on the hunt.
Somehow, Miles will have to figure out how to use his werewolf powers to save the day.
It won’t be easy for him. After all, he might be a werewolf…but he isn’t a very good one.
After Miles gives the survivors a crash course regarding the Legion Corporation’s evil plans, Doc must acknowledge his tarnished past in order to come to grips with a terrible mistake he’s made in the present.
Plans. Everyone has them.
Slade’s isn’t much of one. He intends to send his bride away in the care of Miss Bonnie, the woman he loves the most. After that, he and Gunther will take Blythe head on, hopefully with Standing Eagle’s help.
Meanwhile, Lady Blackwood beseeches the Chairman to set aside the board’s plans in favor of her own.
And Doc? He’s planning to do something with two mysterious documents.
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.
Part 10 – Dying with Your Boots On
Blythe has loaded his vile army of the undead aboard a train headed East, schemes to backstab his furry friends and enlists the aid of a strange vampire colleague for some sinister doings.
The vampire lawyer makes Slade an offer he can refuse, but in turn, the counselor refuses to take no for an answer.
Blythe separates Slade’s women. Will our hero be able to save them both before it is too late?
Gunther wishes his boots were off.
It’s do or die time for Slade.
A train full of zombies is barreling East. If it crosses the Mississippi River, the United States is surely doomed.
Will our hero save the day?
And while he’s at it, will he save the woman he loves?
Will he even get to save the woman he likes?
The West has been zombed. Cut off from the rest of the country, our heroes contemplate their next moves.
A year has passed since the West has been zombed.
Miles makes a deal with a suspicious new acquaintance.
Annabelle takes up Doc’s cause.
Slade and Miss Bonnie head to Arizona and get a visit from Wyatt Earp.
And finally…a master outdoorsman is put on the path to the presidency.
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 85
The Sturtevant Bridge was an impressive architectural masterpiece, spanning over a mile across the Mississippi River, connecting Missouri to Illinois.
Robards was going to make it go boom. He and the other soldiers attached bundles of dynamite to support beams as Major Culpepper supervised.
“Speed and precision, men,” the Major advised. “We must move quickly but we don’t want to blow ourselves up either. Bartlett!”
As always, the Corporal was standing at the Major’s side. “Sir?”
“Ah, there you are,” the Major said as he handed the Corporal an official document. “Be a good man and tack this to a tree on the Western side, will you?”
The Corporal perused the document:
An Executive Order of President Rutherford B. Hayes
In recognition of the following facts:
- That dangerous creatures, identified by experts in the occult arts as “zombies” have cut a wide swath of destruction from Colorado to Missouri.
- That eyewitness reports describe the aforementioned zombies as dead men capable not only of movement, but also in possession of the ability to turn the living into moving dead men by biting them.
- That further reports claim large wolf like men are working in consort with these zombies.
- That Secretary of War George McCrary has advised that direct military action against the zombies is ill-advised at this time.
It is so ordered…
- That the United States Army shall oversee the construction of a wall along the entire length (2,320 miles) of the Eastern side of the Mississippi River, from its start in Minnesota to its end in Louisiana. The start of this wall will be connected to a wall currently being constructed by the Canadians across border with our nation.
- All bridges across the Mississippi River are to be destroyed immediately.
- All peoples West of the Mississippi River shall be considered to be carriers of the dreaded zombie contagion and will be shot on site should they attempt to cross over to the East side of the river.
- To that end, sentries shall be posted across the Eastern banks of the river and will be under orders to shoot all trespassers without reservation or delay.
- For purposes of the wall construction efforts, all citizens East of the Mississippi River shall be required to forfeit any and all property as deemed necessary.
- All able bodied men, regardless of age, shall be required to aid in the wall construction effort.
- All foreign nations are hereby put on notice that all lands West of the Mississippi River, from the river itself to the Pacific Coast, are still considered the property of the United States. The U.S. government reserves the right to repopulate these lands in the event that the zombie menace should subside. Therefore, any attempts to invade, conquer or colonize these lands shall be considered an act of war.
- All living humans West of the Mississippi River are advised to fight the zombies in any method they deem practical.
- All living humans West of said river continue to remain citizens of the United States and are expected to obey the laws of the same. Attempts to form an alternative Federal government in the West shall be deemed treason.
- All duly appointed Federal officers in the West shall retain their positions, are expected to continue in their duties and make arrangements for their replacements should they become incapable of continuing in office. However, no compensation can be offered in exchange for these duties at this time.
- All living humans in the West who engage in activities that would normally result in the payment of Federal taxes and/or fees shall continue to pay said sums to their nearest Federal tax collector, who shall hold such sums indefinitely in the event that the zombie menace subsides.
Signed this 4th day of June, 1880.
Rutherford B. Hayes, President of the United States of America
The Corporal looked up from the document. “All due respect sir, if I were a Westerner, I’d wipe my ass with this.”
“I don’t give a shit what they do with it, Corporal,” the Major said. “Just get over there, tack that paper to a tree to put them all on notice then get your ass back here.”
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 83
A zombified Clem Buchanan scratched his head, bewildered by the gun barrel he was staring down.
“Ungh.”
Zombie Clem slapped the side of the weapon. Nothing happened. He shook it. Rattled it. Wrapped his teeth around the steel and ground them back and forth.
Nothing.
“Grrr?”
The zombie stared at the barrel again, pulled the trigger and…POW! His brains were splattered all over the surrounding zombies.
At Highwater Station, Blythe had assembled his own personal undead goon squad. In life, they had been Buchanan Boys, random cowpokes, assorted townsfolk, and of course, Miss Bonnie’s working girls.
Now they were about to become a zombie fighting force.
Mayhew and the other werewolf conductors armed the zombies, placing pistols and rifles into the creatures’ boney hands. Under normal circumstances, arming a zombie isn’t the smartest, or safest idea.
Pow…Pow…Pow! Two more zombies blew their own heads off. That last pow was made when one of the zombies accidentally shot one of the werewolves in the leg. Said werewolf clawed the offending zombie in half.
Hovering several feet above his decrepit soldiers, Blythe pressed his fingers against his temples, lost himself briefly in meditation and finally, took control of the motley crew.
What had once been a brood of ignorant monsters quickly became a highly functional regiment. The zombies snapped to attention, formed lines, and rested the ends of their rifles on their shoulders.
The vampire drifted through the air into town.
“Forward march,” he ordered.
They did just that, marching lockstep in perfect formation behind their master.
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 82
“Oof!” was Doc’s cry as he doubled over to clutch his stomach shortly after Miss Bonnie sucker punched him in the gut.
“You dirty spy!” the redhead said.
“Spy?” Doc inquired as he righted himself. “Oh no, madam. You have me all wrong. As a citizen of this fine country, I simply had a business matter to discuss with the marshal. I had no idea I would end up walking into a display of your torrid affair.”
“Doc,” Slade said. “How did you escape?”
“Outfoxed you, dear boy,” Doc said. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We all can’t be Harvard men.”
Doc found himself on the business end of Miss Bonnie’s finger as it wagged an inch away from his face.
“You better keep your stinking trap shut about this you damn dirty zombie or so help me…”
Doc turned an imaginary key in his mouth and mimed throwing it over his shoulder.
“I assure you, my good woman, my lips are sealed vis a vis your transgressions,” Doc said. “It had not occurred to me that the two of you were canoodling in secret but as the bible says, ‘let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’ I, of course, cannot.”
Slade tried a less violent approach.
“Doc,” Slade said. “We’re about to take the battle to Blythe. Sarah’s already a wreck. Now is not the time to…”
“Not another word of it, please,” Doc said. “You have nothing to fear from me. Marshal, I too have long been a patron of practitioners of the world’s oldest profession so it does not surprise me that you have taken a shine to the vivaciously alluring Miss Lassiter as opposed to the chaste and pure Widow Farquhar. Two women to choose from. Would that we could could all have such problems, eh old boy?”
Doc nudged Slade with his elbow in jest but the move did not go over well.
“I’ve had about enough of you,” Miss Bonnie sneered.
“Oh Miss Lassiter, you misunderstand me again,” Doc said. “I’m simply saying in my own experience, I prefer the company of prostitutes because they are, despite their lowly status in society, some of the most honest women around. Every romantic relationship will inevitably cost a man dearly in some manner. At least ladies of the evening have the common courtesy to demand cash on the barrel head as it were.”
Slade noticed that Miss Bonnie was fuming. “Doc, you may want to quit before she slugs you again.”
“Quite right,” Doc said.
The trio awkwardly looked at one another.
“Isn’t this cozy?” Doc asked. “The three of us warming ourselves by a fire. And rather ironic, when you think about it, that the two of you require my assistance in containing the effects of your immoral doings while as it so happens I too require your aid in a most delicate bit of business, Marshal.”
“What?” Slade asked.
The good doctor handed over the documents he’d drawn up and the Reverend’s quill pen, dripping in ink.
“Your signature, if you please.”
Slade took the papers and looked them over. “What is all this?”
“Oh, you’ll find everything in good order,” Doc said.
Upon reviewing the second paper, Slade’s reaction was the same as the Reverend’s. “This is a lie.”
“Is it?” Doc asked. “Or is it a little white lie? Little white lies make the world go round, good sir. People don’t need to hear the absolute truth. They just need to hear what they wish the truth to be. Little white lies such as, ‘Yes Grandmother, I find your cooking to be superb’ even though it is rubbish or ‘No, Miss Farquhar, I do not recall seeing your betrothed inhaling the face of a known prostitute…”
“I quit that,” Miss Bonnie said.
“Did you?” Doc asked. “Well, buck up and get back to it my dear, for as they say, ‘if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.’ No one likes a quitter.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Miss Bonnie said as she took the papers away from Slade and looked them over.
“Is this for real?” she asked Doc.
“Indubitably,” Doc replied.
Miss Bonnie handed the papers back to Slade. “You should sign it then.”
“Indeed,” Doc asked. “All I require is for a public official in good standing to sign as a witness.”
“I’m not the marshal anymore,” Slade said.
“Yes,” Doc said. “But if you’ll notice, I took the liberty of dating these documents two days ago, back before you tendered your resignation. Although, for all we know, you may very well still be the marshal. I doubt very much given the current zombie crisis your resignation will be processed through the proper channels anytime soon, if at all.”
“Back dating a document?” Slade asked. “Doesn’t seem very honest…”
Slade instantly recalled what Doc had walked in on him doing and took the pen. Doc turned around to offer his back as a makeshift writing desk and Slade signed both papers.
“Yes,” Doc said. “You scratch my back and I shall scratch yours. Oh, that does feel good…”
The marshall forked over the papers and pen.
“Thank you, my good man,” Doc said. “You have my gratitude and if I may, I should very much like to aid you in escorting Miss Lassiter and company to the livery. From there, Annabelle and I shall make our departure.”
“Do you really love her, Doc?” Miss Bonnie asked.
“Indeed,” Doc said. “So rare is it in this world that two people with a consummate understanding of one another’s strengths and weaknesses join together that when such a match is found it must be nurtured, as one would a tiny sapling until it becomes a majestic sequoia.”
Miss Bonnie was baffled. “So…yes?”
“Yes,” Doc said as he folded the papers and placed them in his coat pocket. “Oh, and Miss Lassiter, one more thing. Some time ago, I saw you make quite a trick shot with a derringer in order to break up a squabble amongst roughhousing ruffians in your establishment.”
“What about it?” the redhead asked.
“I wonder if I may be so bold as to ask for it,” Doc said.
“I don’t know,” Miss Bonnie replied. “It has some sentimental value for me. Besides, I don’t remember where I…”
Doc interrupted. “It’s for Annabelle to use to shoot me in the head should I become a full zombie.”
“Now I remember.” Miss Bonnie hiked up her skirt, fished the piece out of her garter belt, and handed it over.
“Isn’t this grand?” Doc said as he accepted the minuscule weapon. “Friends helping each other?”
“It sure is,” Miss Bonnie said. “I hope Annabelle uses it in good health.”
“Oh, Miss Lassiter!” Doc said as he chuckled. “You are a card!”
Slade and Miss Bonnie watched Doc walk back into the church.
“He’s still an asshole, right?” Slade asked.
“The biggest ever,” Miss Bonnie replied.
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 80
Gunther walked into the the church to find Doc and the Reverend chatting away, thick as thieves. The old man noticed the broken chair parts and rope pieces all over the floor.
“Shit,” the deputy said. “He try to eat you, Rev?”
“No,” the preacher replied.
“Hell with it then,” Gunther said as he took a seat at the table. “Pour me one of those.”
Miles, a human once more, came in, all wrapped up in his blanket. It was a bit singed but extra toasty from the fire. He sat down next to Gunther, who in turn, took the Reverend’s bottle and poured the boy a shot.
The kid stared at it. “Am I old enough?”
“You killed more zombies today than I did,” Gunther said. “You’re a man.”
The boy took a sip and instantly sprayed it out of his mouth. “What the?”
The adults laughed. “I didn’t say it was tasty,” Gunther said. “It’ll put hair on your chest all right.”
Gunther pondered that statement then upon remembering that Miles was a werewolf, added, “Not that you need anymore.”
Sarah entered in a daze. She sat down at the table, making a point to stay far, far away from Doc. His eyes remained a ghastly sight.
“Miss Sarah,” Gunther said as he poured another shot and slid it towards the bride. “Not that I want to turn you into an alcoholic but if ever there was a time to turn to the booze to help get you through, this might be it.”
“No,” Sarah said as she slid the drink back. “I’ll be seeking penance for the rest of my days for imbibing earlier and I cannot allow myself to sin any further.”
“Suit yourself,” the Reverend said as he helped himself to Sarah’s drink.
“While we are on this subject, Reverend, I must say your behavior throughout this entire ordeal has been less than holy,” the bride said.
The Reverend sighed. “Miss Sarah. Despite my internal doubts, I have lived a pure life, a penchant for liquor being my only weakness, one which I have done my best to atone for. I have helped my fellow man, put many lost souls on the right path and yet here I am, trapped in a zombie infested nightmare.”
Sarah scowled. “I have yet to lose my faith.”
“Are you sure?” the Reverend asked. “Cowering in the corner isn’t exactly a sign of a person who is sure the lord is going to swoop in and save her at any moment.”
Sarah stood up. “Well, I never!”
“Perhaps you should,” the Reverend said. “A life of faith has gotten you the same place it has gotten me…nowhere.”
Sarah stomped her foot and stormed off, only to stop abruptly. “All of my prayers have brought me Rainier Slade,” the bride said. “The bravest, toughest man in the entire West. He will see me through this. I’m sure of it.”
The bride found a pew to sulk in silence in. The Reverend reached for the bottle only to find Gunther’s hand on his.
“We all got a part to play in this, Rev,” Gunther said. “And a preacher that can’t lift people’s spirits aint of much use to anyone.”
The Reverend’s face flushed with embarrassment. He put the cork in the bottle. “Duly noted.”
The good doctor felt a hand on his shoulder as the scent of a familiar perfume wafted through his nostrils.
Annabelle had just entered the room and was surprised to see her companion not tied to a chair.
“You’re free and you haven’t bitten anyone,” Annabelle said.
Doc kissed Annabelle’s hand. “I wouldn’t count yourself safe though, my dear. You look so ravishing that I should very much like to consume you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
Every one at the table let out a collective groan.
“A word?” Doc asked Annabelle. She consented and together they walked toward the open door frame, finding a spot to speak in private.
“Dearest, I must present you with a difficult choice,” Doc said.
Annabelle’s bright eyes were fixated on Doc, waiting for what he had to say next.
“The safest option for you would be to accompany Miss Lassiter and seek refuge with the Indians,” Doc said. “I haven’t the slightest clue of what my condition will bring and the possibility that I may lose control and attack you is quite real.”
“I’ll take the chance,” Annabelle said. “I won’t leave you.”
“Selfishly, I hoped you would say that,” Doc said. “As I am not welcome in Miss Lassiter’s party due to my condition, I intend to press on eastward. My Miracle Cure-All may be a failure, but I will still pursue my dream of spreading news of the curative properties of cocaine to the world. If you come with me, I shall protect you with my dying breath and if we make it to Boston, we will catch a vessel to Britain and begin our new lives together, free of this zombie infested continent once and for all.”
Annabelle’s eyes welled up as she wrapped her arm’s around the doctor. “Oh Doc. You had me at cocaine.”
To her surprise, Doc pushed her away. “But my dear, you must promise one thing.”
“Anything.”
“If I am overcome by my condition and become a wretched beast, you must save yourself and put a bullet directly into my brain.”
Annabelle frowned. “I couldn’t possibly.”
Doc stepped back. “Quite understandable. Very well, my dear. Then with regret I must insist that we end our courtship at this time…”
“OK!” Annabelle cried.
“I must hear you promise my dear,” Doc said.
“Fine,” Annabelle said. “I promise to shoot you if you become a zombie.”
“Lovelier words have never been spoken,” Doc said. “If you’ll excuse me now, I must have a word with the Marshall.”
These Yummy Mozzarella Sticks Will Be in My Belly
Oh, sweet cheesy mozzarella sticks. Italian herbs and cheese in stick form, perfect for dipping into marinara sauce. Once ingested into my stomach, they will bind me up and make me drop a brick but it will be so worth it.
Attorney Donnelly advises me to note this is not a photo of Applebee’s mozzarella sticks per se but just random sticks in general. Either way, so delish and nutrish.
The Applebees website lists their mozzarella stick appetizer at eight bucks. (I assume Mrs. Applebee comes out and gives you a back massage or something.)
So, I’m thinking I’ll price How the West Was Zombed at 2.99 and then once you factor in Jeff Bezo’s cut, I’ll probably need to sell four copies just to make sure I have enough.
You know what? Let’s go for five copies. I’ll want a soda to wash all that gooey cheese down.
What a world we live in. Never did I once dream that I would ever be a successful enough writer to buy my own plate of cheese sticks and now I’ll be wolfing them down.
I don’t know exactly when. There’s still a lot of work to do. But there’s definitely a light at the end of the tunnel for the first draft and thus that’ll be a first for me.
Not sure how long, could be a year or two before it gets self-published but now I know it is not a question of if but when.
Those cheese sticks will be mine and I owe it all to my 3.5 readers.
Oh wait. Damn it. I’m going to need 5.5 readers to get cheese sticks and a coke. Come on people, I need 2 more readers to make my dream of a delicious appetizer come true.
In the meantime, 3.5 readers, would you do me a favor and read what I have written so far of How the West Was Zombed?
Your comments (good or bad) bring this project closer to fruition. If you help me whip this book into good enough shape I might even…no…dare I dream it?
Get an entire fiesta lime chicken entree. Oh sweet, delicious chicken seasoned with lime…
How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 79
Standing Eagle and a dozen of his warriors galloped their horses to the top of a hill overlooking the valley that contained Highwater below. Wandering Snake trained his spy glass on the smoke signals as they rose into the air.
The tribe’s shaman translated the signals out loud. “Attention…Injuns…”
The Chief slapped his forehead. “Oh spirits give me strength. They’re even racist in code.”
“White men…in heap big trouble…”
“There,” Standing Eagle said. “Right there. That is a vicious stereotype. None of us use the word ‘heap’ to describe anything.”
Screeching Owl, one of the tribe’s younger warriors, rode his steed up to the group and peered at the puffs of smoke rising above the town.
“Sorry I am late,” Owl said. “Wow. That’s a heap many smoke clouds.”
Eagle looked to Snake, who shrugged his shoulders. “Oh fine. So one of us uses the word ‘heap’ in place of ‘many’ or ‘very’ and to the white man that means we all do it. I swear the white man judges every other group based solely on its dumbest member. Owl!”
Owl turned his gaze to the Chief. “Chief?”
“Stop saying ‘heap!’”
Owl nodded. “I’m heap sorr…I’m very sorry.”
Snake continued the translation. “Monsters have…overrun…town. Soon will…take over…country. Please…send help…so we can defeat…leader of monsters.”
“Give me that,” Eagle said as he grabbed Snake’s spy glass and trained it about the town. Wherever he looked, he saw buildings on fire, half-eaten bodies in the streets, and dead men traipsing about.
“What in the…Snake!”
“Chief?”
“What’s going on down there?” Eagle asked.
The shaman lit up a stick that was doused with sweet smelling incense, the aroma of which he believed would ward off evil.
“The spirits are angry.”
Eagle kept using the spy glass to take in different views of the carnage until he spotted old man Knox and his boys standing on the back of a flipped over cart, shooting every last bullet they had at a throng of zombies until they were torn apart, severed limbs being tossed everywhere.
“The white men need help,” Eagle said as he handed the spy glass back to the shaman.
Like his namesake, Charging Bobcat was lean and wiry. His hair was styled in a mohawk, with tattoos inked along the shorn sides of his head. A feather dangled from his ear.
“Let the white men die, Eagle,” Bobcat said. “This is likely their doing. Some sort of experiment they did to ‘improve’ over Mother Nature’s wishes coming back to bite them…literally.”
“Right,” Eagle said. “Start a fire and send them my response. ‘Dear White Men. So sorry that another group just showed up one day and started taking all of your shit even though you all had clearly been there for awhile. We have no idea what that’s like…”
Snake shook his head.
“What?” Eagle asked. “Too much sarcasm?”
The shaman peered once more at the town through his telescope. “Spirits would say that the evil of others is no excuse for you to commit evil. Those in need must be helped by those who can.”
“Damn it, Snake,” Eagle said.
“Eagle!!!”
The Chief turned his attention to his scout, Crafty Fox, who was quickly galloping in from the south side of the mountain, flanked on either side by two more scouts.
There was a look of terror on Fox’s face.
“Come quickly!”
Eagle and his braves followed the scouts to the South side of the mountain. Though they were all battle tested fighters, the warriors’ mouths gaped in awe at the sight that unfolded before their eyes.
Lines of werewolves marched in formation from the West, snapping whips across the backs of the zombies ahead of them, herding them toward Highwater. It was a massive army, thousands in total.
Eagle was calm and resolute in his orders. “All of you. Return to the village. Gather the women, children and the elderly and seek refuge with our friends in the south.”
“And what of you?” Bobcat asked.
“I will do what I always do,” the Chief said. “I will stand.”
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