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?
Chapter 103 Chapter 104 Chapter 105
Chapter 106 Chapter 107 Chapter 108
Chapter 109 Chapter 110 Chapter 111
The blood and guts in her hair didn’t phase Slade. Once Standing Eagle’s warriors were cut loose, Slade grabbed hold of Miss Bonnie and kissed her deeply. Passionately.
Slade pulled back. “I thought you were dead.”
“I thought you weren’t going to come for me,” Miss Bonnie replied.
“Looks like you didn’t need me to,” Slade said.
“I know,” Miss Bonnie said as she rested her head against Slade’s chest for a moment. “But it’s nice to know that you tried.”
The pair kissed again, madly swapping spit and tongues, lost in each other, oblivious to the world.
“Ahem.”
Miles was back to his boy form and standing next to the couple, pretending to clear his throat.
Petrified, Slade froze up.
“She’s awake?” Slade asked.
“Yup.”
Slade turned around to face his bride.
It isn’t easy to describe a facial expression. The English language has words like “unhappy” or “disappointed” or “sad” but really there isn’t a single word that can sum up the pain that the Widow Farquhar was in upon seeing her fiancé sucking the face of the Highwater’s most infamous prostitute.
The best attempt at a description would require you, the noble reader, to imagine that you’re a child again, and your beloved grandmother just gifted you an adorable puppy dog on Christmas morning. You’re sitting there, petting it, stroking it, bonding with it and then all of a sudden your grandmother produces a revolver, blows the dog’s brains out, declares that Santa Claus is non-existent, then blows her brains out. Finally, your parents walk in and upon seeing the mayhem, they too produce revolvers, inform you that you’re a loathsome disappointment, and then blow their brains out.
The look on your face as you sit there amongst the rotting carcasses of your puppy, granny, and parents would not only be a perfect blend of shame, sadness, depression, anger, confusion, agony and despair, but also it would be more or less similar to the expression that enveloped Sarah’s face that day.
Sarah’s voice wavered. She’d lived a sheltered life, cared for by men all of her days. Confrontation was something she just was not used to.
Her voice faltered.
“You…”
Slade stammered. “Sarah…I…umm…”
Sarah’s hair was a bird’s nest like mess from all the turmoil she’d been through. Her dress was wet, filled with holes, covered with so much mud and blood that it looked nothing like a wedding dress anymore but rather like the tattered rags of a common street beggar.
She drew closer. “You thought that I…was her.”
Slade’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Miss Bonnie stepped back.
“No,” Slade said.
“You were disappointed when you saw me on the train,” Sarah said.
Slade shook his head. “No, no. Not at all…I…”
Sarah looked Slade in the eye. “You called me Bonnie.”
Slade dropped his head in shame. “Yes.”
The Farquhars were good Christian folk, people who believed that the bible wasn’t just a collection of useful morality tales but rather, that all that hullaballoo actually happened. Thus, from a young age, Sarah had been taught to be a good person, to behave herself and mind her P’s and Q’s, lest she be denied entry into heaven, or be turned into a pillar of salt, or end up in hell pushing a boulder up a never-ending hill forever and ever.
But in that moment, she forgot all that and unleashed the most breathtakingly obscene tirade that had ever occurred in the history of Highwater.
“You fucking cocksucker!” Sarah shouted.
She slapped her dainty hands across Slade’s chest. He stood there and took it like a man. It wasn’t that difficult. There wasn’t much power behind those slaps.
“You dirty son of a bitch bastard, fucking two-timing, philandering, rancid piece of shit out of cow’s smelly ass!”
“Whoa,” said Miles as he stepped a few feet backward to avoid the fray.
“I hate you!” Sarah cried. And she was, literally crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her swears were interrupted by sobs. “ I fucking hate you, you fucking disgusting pig and I hope that you contract a fucking disease that makes you shit blood out of your asshole until you fucking die!”
“Sarah,” Slade said. “Can we…can we just talk?”
In response to that question, Sarah balled her hand into a fist and launched it at Slade’s jaw. There was power behind that blow and in terms of pain, it ranked right up there with all the socks in the jaw Slade had received from various criminals in his career as a law man.
“And you!” Sarah shouted at Miss Bonnie.
Miss Bonnie closed her eyes. She figured she deserved a good punch of her own for stealing a bride’s groom but instead felt something small bounce off her cheek.
The redhead looked down to see Slade’s mother’s ring lying in the dirt. Sarah had screwed it off her finger and thrown it at Miss Bonnie’s head.
“You can have him…whore!”
Sarah stormed out of the barn and into the road. She walked off. Slade, Miss Bonnie and Miles followed.
“Sarah!” Slade yelled.
Sarah kept walking. Slade kept following.
Down the road, Standing Eagle’s warriors could be seen marching toward the barn. They were carrying a large bundle of some kind, so big that it required men on each side to hoist it over their shoulders.
“Sarah!” Slade yelled again. “I can’t just let you leave on your own! There are zombies out there!”
Sarah did an about face, balled her hand, gritted her teeth and screamed like a raging, rabid animal.
“Shit!” Slade said as he put up his hands to protect his face from the series of blows that rained down upon him. “Ok! Ok!”
Sarah gave up and kept walking. Slade stayed in place but shouted one more time, “Sarah.”
“What?” Sarah asked without turning around.
“I’m sorry.”
Sarah kept walking. “Fuck your sorry in the ass with a syphilitic donkey cock.”
“Jesus,” Slade said to himself.
Slade didn’t move but he could feel Miss Bonnie’s presence next to him. Together, they stood silently for a moment and watched as Sarah walked past the incoming warriors.
“Did you know she had that in her?” Miss Bonnie asked.
“I did not,” Slade replied.
Slade was about to walk to the barn to collect his mother’s ring when Miss Bonnie held up her hand and twitched her fingers to show that she was wearing it.
The lawman sighed.
“What?” the redhead asked.
“The vampire,” Slade said. “Said I wasn’t able to feel hope. That I’d never be happy. No one around me will be happy.”
Miss Bonnie took Slade by the chin and kissed them. “I doubt it,” she said.
“What if he’s right?” Slade asked.
“Then we’ll be unhappy together,” Miss Bonnie said.
The couple embraced and kissed again.
“But what if…”
Miss Bonnie cut her man off. “Fuck that vampire! Now you get down on your knees and you beg me for my hand, Rainier Slade!”
Slade smiled, as did Miss Bonnie. Neither of them felt the need to say it, but for a man who was allegedly unable to feel hopeful, Slade was looking very happy.
He got down on one knee and took Miss Bonnie’s hand.
“Bonnie,” Slade said. “If you’ll have me…”
“Oh shut up,” Miss Bonnie said as the two hugged and kissed again.
The newly engaged couple walked hand in hand down the road. Their joy quickly turned to sadness when they caught up to the warriors. Miles had already joined them.
Wandering Snake directed the warriors as they laid their bundle down.
It wasn’t just any bundle. As Snake pulled the sheet away, the lifeless face of Standing Eagle was revealed.
Miss Bonnie was feeling rather discouraged.
Her hands had been tied behind her back. Her legs were bound together. Like a slab of beef, she was left to hang upside down from the rafters of a dusty barn by a length of rope tied around her feet.
There was enough slack in the rope that her head was only a few feet off the ground. She felt dizzy as all the blood rushed to her head, turning her face roughly the same color as her hair.
Her resilience remained.
“This is bullshit,” she said.
Standing Eagle’s warriors had been similarly restrained. Charging Bobcat and Screeching Owl hanged to the left of Miss Bonnie, while Crafty Fox and Wandering Snake hanged to her right.
Charging Bobcat flexed, shook, shimmied, writhed his body all about, grunting and groaning, fighting for his freedom.
“You will strain yourself,” a calm Snake said.
“So we just do nothing?” a belligerent Bobcat replied.
“We wait for the spirits to make their will known,” Snake said.
“That’s a good way to get yourself killed,” Bobcat said.
Bobcat gritted his teeth as he struggled. Finally, he shouted loudly. Angrily.
“Arrrrrrrrrrrrghhh!”
The room went silent.
“It is a good way to not lose your mind,” Snake said.
The barn doors swung open.
Lamont walked in and laid his bag down on a table that had been set up for him in the middle of the barn.
“Oi,” the cockney vampire said. “Let’s have a lil look see at me crowded space, yeah?”
The vampire opened his bag and laid out a variety of tools. First, there was a rusty pair of pliers.
“Pinchers they is,” Lamont said. “Yank your scratchers right off your pointers.”
Filled with fear and confusion, the hostages took in the show. Lamont was happy to spend some time instructing his captives on the tortures he had in store for them.
Next was a pair of scissors. “Nice snip snips,” Lamont said. “Take off a toesy woesy they will.”
Out came a long, sharp knife. “Slasher. Now that’ll rearrange your gullivah all right..”
“What’s he saying?” Bobcat whispered.
“I don’t know,” Miss Bonnie replied.
“What tongue is he speaking in?” Bobcat asked.
“English,” Miss Bonnie said. “But I think like…from England.”
Lamont pulled out more items. A cat of nine tails. A length of chain. A few collars with spikes pointing inward.
He chuckled as he pulled out the last item – a corkscrew.
The vampire walked over to Miss Bonnie, leaned down in front of her face and held the corkscrew in front of her eyes.
“One lil pop in your thinker in just the right spot love and youse a thinker no more,” Lamont said. “A blood bag forever after. Stay nice and fresh and give us some drinky poos you will.”
“I don’t get it,” Bobcat said.
“He’s going to perform a crude surgery on our brains so we won’t think any more but we’ll remain alive and pump blood that will be harvested for his kind to feed on,” Snake explained.
“Shut yer gob,” Lamont said as he shook his knife at Snake. “You’ll get your turn.”
Lamont picked the knife up off the table and sliced the rope that was holding up Miss Bonnie, allowing her to drop face first on the floor.
“Miss Bonnie said as she lifted her head up. Her face was bruised and bloodied from the fall. “And here I just thought he was some kind of fucked up pervert.”
Lamont brushed the palm of his hand across Miss Bonnie’s cheek.
“Mmm,” the vampire said. “Nice and soft. A pretty piece of flesh.”
“Shit,” Miss Bonnie said.
“Upsie daisy now,” Lamont said as he grabbed Miss Bonnie by the arm and dragged her over to the table. The vampire propped his vampire up in a chair and looked down on her.
“‘Ello poppet,” Lamont said. “Fancy a spot of fun? A bit of rough and tumble, ay? A little bit of the ole in and out? Nice day for a proper rogering in’it?”
Miss Bonnie responded with a gooey glob of spit that launched from her mouth to her captor’s face.
“We need to do something,” Bobcat said.
Snake’s eyes were closed as part of his meditation. “If we are meant to do something the opportunity will present itself.”
“But…”
“Trust in the spirits to make all right,” Snake said.
Lamont wiped the spit off his face and laughed. Then his eyes turned blank and blood red. He stared into Miss Bonnie’s eyes.
“You want it, don’t you love?” the vampire asked.
All the fight went out of Miss Bonnie. “Oh…I do…”
“That’s more like it,” Lamont said with a grin. He cut the rope away from Miss Bonnie’s feet and hands, then set his knife down on the table.
Miss Bonnie’s lips went all pouty. She batted her eyelashes. “Please. Don’t make me wait for it any longer.”
Lamont picked up Miss Bonnie, threw her down on the table, then started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Snake!” Bobcat said. “The woman!”
Snake kept his eyes closed. “Patience.”
Lamont and Miss Bonnie’s lips met, their tongues twirled together. But as the vampire reached a hand into the redhead’s blouse, her hand was reaching for something else.
The knife.
She seized it and with a swift motion, sliced open Lamont’s throat. Black blood rained out of it and onto her face.
The vampire stumbled back as Miss Bonnie stood up and pointed the knife at him.
Lamont reached for his throat, which was already beginning to heal. By the look on his face, he was clearly perplexed.
“A trick doesn’t work on someone that knows it’s coming, asshole!” Miss Bonnie said as she poked the air with her new blade, putting the vampire on the defensive.
Bobcat registered his disbelief. “What the…”
“Spirits,” Snake said.
“Spirits my ass,” Bobcat said. “That is one crazy white bitch.”
Lamont charged at Miss Bonnie. Together, they crashed into the table, smashing it to pieces. The knife was lost in the scuffle, leaving Miss Bonnie defenseless.
The vampire stood and grabbed Miss Bonnie’s feet. He started to drag her away. In vain, Miss Bonnie dug her nails into the dirt, as if that would somehow make her immobile.
Luckily, she grabbed a broken table leg just in time.
Lamont’s fangs popped out. He raised his right arm up ready to strike only to recoil in pain as Miss Bonnie plunged the table leg into his heart.
Shocked, the vampire looked at his impaled chest, then at Miss Bonnie, then back to his chest. He did this a few more times before finally voicing his confusion.
“But…but…youse a girl!”
The vampire’s eyes bugged out of his head, his veins pulsed, his skin turned purple and then like an overfilled balloon, his body exploded, sending black blood, bile, guts and parts everywhere.
Miss Bonnie wiped the blood out of her eyes. She was drenched.
“And don’t you forget it, motherfucker!”
“I…I am impressed,” Bobcat said.
Snake’s eyes opened. “Spirits. Am I right?”
“Fucking men,” Miss Bonnie said. “Always thinking with their peckers.”
The doors bursted open again. Miles entered in werewolf form, with Slade and Sarah on his back.
“Bonnie!” Slade shouted. “I’m here to rescue you!”
Slade hopped off of Miles’ back, allowing Sarah to rest on the werewolf as if he were a big furry couch. He looked around at the blood soaked room, then at Bonnie. He instantly realized how stupid his words were.
Miss Bonnie picked up the knife then walked over to Snake. She started sawing away at the rope that was holding the shaman captive.
“Fucking men,” she repeated.
The Missouri shoreline was littered with wreckage and zombie parts. Slade and Sarah held on to to their furry life raft as he swam to shore. The young wolf deposited his humans into the sand then become a boy again, huffing and puffing from exhaustion.
Slade removed Sarah’s gag.
“Why…why did you call me…”
Sapped of all her strength, Slade’s bride passed out.
“Oh God,” Slade said. “She’s dead.”
Miles looked at Sarah. “She’s fine. I can see her breathing.”
“No,” the lawman said. “Bonnie.”
“Oh,” Miles replied.
The boy sniffed the air. “She’s fine too.”
Slade shook his head in disbelief. “How could you possibly…”
Miles shrugged his shoulders. “My nose knows.”
Slade grabbed hold of Sarah’s limp body and hoisted it over his shoulder.
“Come on!” Slade shouted at the boy.
“You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do aren’t you?” Miles asked just before he returned to wolf form.
“Yeah, yeah,” Slade said as he climbed up on the werewolf’s back. He held Sarah close with his left hand and clutched a clump of fur with his right. “Mind your own business, fur ball.”
Annabelle was lost amidst a turbulent sea of survivors, all running into the forest that lined the Illinois side of the Mississippi River. People surrounded her on all sides and she didn’t dare stop moving for fear of being trampled to death.
She craned her neck back to briefly see the Sturtevant Bridge become consumed in an inferno, then collapse. Just moments earlier it had been an architectural wonder. Now all that remained were twisted hunks of flaming scrap metal that were flying everywhere.
Annabelle kept running. Shrieks of fellow survivors pierced her ear drums. She looked up to see half off a torn up box car sail just a few feet over her head. People ran for their lives, dispersing in every direction to avoid being crushed underneath it. Trees cracked and gave way as it landed.
The blonde watched as a gnarled hand popped out of the wreckage. A head followed, that of a zombified Buchanan Boy. It snapped its teeth and growled until a bullet pierced its brain. Annabelle turned to see a squad of soldiers closing in.
They ran over to inspect the box car, shooting a dozen zombies they found inside. It was all a blur to Annabelle. She listened to the soldiers bark orders at each other, how they needed to search the area for any undead.
Annabelle stopped and looked around. The ground was littered with pieces of metal and body parts. Hands. Feet. Guts. A few headless torsos.
She leaned up against a tree to catch her breath and watched as the soldiers ran to the shoreline. Growls. Shots.
“Gaaaaaaack!!!!”
As if it were a globule of rain dropping down from the heavens, a zombie flailed its arms and legs about wildly before face planting right into the ground a few feet in front of Annabelle.
She drew her derringer and inspected the creature’s charred body. It rolled over. Its face was mangled beyond recognition. It wasn’t even clear whether it had once been a man or a woman.
Whatever it was, Annabelle shot it in the head and it stopped moving.
She looked around. It instantly dawned on her that she’d never traveled further than a ten mile radius from Highwater before and now nothing stood between her and the world.
After a deep breath, she checked her pocket to make sure the documents her love had given her were still there.
“Oh Doc,” she said. “I hope you ended up somewhere they’ll appreciate that big genius brain of yours.”
Holy Crap 3.5 Readers.
Six months later, I finally closed the major arc of the book.
Every great story begins with a question. Or questions.
The main one was would Blythe carry out his mission to transport zombies across the Mississippi River?
Answer – spoiler alert – no!
Still much more to go, but now it is mostly batting cleanup.
Oh I can taste all that sweet, sticky Amazon cash. I’m going to eat at Applebees for a week.
The zombies clawed over each other until they finally poured out of the hole that Zeke had torn through the box car roof. A few cars back, they were emerging through the holes that Miles had torn as well.
Slade laid down the heat and put bullets into brains. He quickly ran out of ammo and with no time to reload, he drew Gunther’s knife and stabbed furiously at the zombies that surrounded him, all the while struggling to maintain balance as the train cars rattled due to the increased speed.
A zombified Mr. O’Brien, once Highwater’s friendly photographer, was decapitated by Miles’ claws while Slade plunged his blade into the brain of what had once been Leo, the town’s preeminent drunk.
As soon as they cleared out the zombies in their way, the lawman and the young werewolf ran, with more zombies in hot pursuit.
Slade reloaded, fumbling to fill his pistols with silver-tipped bullets and maintain his footing at the same time.
It was day now. The sun shined brightly and warmed Slade’s face as he blasted a zombie that was grabbing his arm.
The zombies stopped. Slade was puzzled by this until Miles pointed up ahead.
Blythe.
The vampire was using his covered up hostage as a human shield, one arm locked around her neck while his free hand pointed his revolver at Slade.
“Stand down, zombies,” Blythe said. “Mr. Slade and I need to have a little chat.”
Slade and the vampire locked eyes.
“Drop your steel,” Blythe ordered.
Reluctantly, Slade set his pistols down on the boxcar roof.
“And you,” the vampire said as he looked to Miles. “Lose the fur.”
Miles morphed into his boy form.
“Bonnie!” Slade shouted. “Are you all right?”
“Mmmphh!” was the hostage’s muffled reply.
Blythe shook his head and pulled the sheet from his captive’s head.
Sarah. Her mouth was gagged but the fear in her eyes was palpable.
The vampire guffawed. Slade, for the first time since he’d become a U.S. Marshall, displayed a moment of weakness and dropped to his knees.
“Oh,” Blythe said. “Look at you, Slade. You’re too easy.”
“But you said…”
“What?” Blythe asked. “That I took the woman you love the most with me? I lied! That’s what vampire lawyers do!”
Slade stood up.
“The tiny fragments of whatever was left of your heart just snapped, didn’t they?” Blythe asked. “Ms. Lassiter is gone. I’d tell you that she’s dead but that’d be too easy. She’ll wish she was I guarantee you.”
The vein in Slade’s forehead pulsated to a boiling point.
“You’ll hate yourself forever for failing her,” Blythe said.
The vampire nudged his head toward Sarah. “You’ll hate this one for not being your beloved Bonnie…and you’ll hate yourself for hating her.”
Blythe pressed the revolver up against Sarah’s head. “Do I have to splatter her brains to get you to make a deal? Or will you realize once and for all that all a soul does is tear a man up inside and keep him from being his best possible self?”
Miles tapped Slade on the shoulder. The lawman ignored it.
“I’ll draw up a new contract later,” Blythe said. “But for now, a verbal accord will do. Agree to sell your soul to the Chairman or your say goodbye to your second best squeeze.”
“Slade,” Miles said as he continued to tug on the lawman’s arm.
“Not now,” Slade replied.
The vampire cocked the hammer of his revolver with his thumb. “What’s it going to be, Slade?”
Slade stammered. “I…I…”
“Slade!” Miles shouted.
“What?!” Slade shouted back.
“It sure is a nice day, isn’t it?” the boy asked.
Slade squinted his eyes as he looked toward the sun, then back at Miles.
It was time for Slade to hope.
The lawman dove for one of his pistols. The boy wolfed out to his massive furry form, then picked up Slade and through him off the side of the car.
Slade hurtled through to the air in a leftward arc. He took one shot at the vampire before being caught in by Miles’ left paw.
The young werewolf had dug the claws of his right paw into the side of the box car. With all his might, he held on.
Slade looked down. The ground below quickly turned into water. The train was now over the Sturtevant Bridge, darting across the Mississippi River.
Blythe, still holding onto Sarah, peaked over the side and scoffed. “You missed!”
Slade sneered. “Did I?”
Blythe looked himself over, wondering what he’d missed until he saw it. Slade’s crack shot had pierced the chain holding his golden medallion, the gift from the Chairman bestowing upon him the right to be one of few vampires allowed to bask in the sun.
The vampire, for once in his long existence, was afraid. He dropped his revolver and fumbled to catch his talisman but it was too late.
It slipped off his neck and fell through the air into the water below.
Blythe hyperventilated. His face turned purple.
The vampire let go of Sarah and clutched his neck and struggled to breathe.
“Do you think…”
Blythe could barely get the words out.
“… this changes anything?”
The vampire’s eyes bugged out of his head. The veins in his face turned black. “We are legion…for we are many!”
Blythe pushed Sarah off the side of the box car. He then exploded in a burst of sticky, black blood. What had once been the Legion Corporation’s most cunning strategist now painted the roof and side of the box car.
There was no time to celebrate. Sarah screamed through her gag as she fell through the air. Slade reached for her but missed.
Miles roared. He let go of the box car, pulled Slade closer to his body, then caught Sarah.
As the trio fell, a few words from a familiar, overused voice carried through the wind into Miles’ highly sensitive werewolf ears.
“…the open minded masses of the future will no doubt look upon him with great reverence as the man who destroyed the Sturtevant Bridge…”
The young werewolf recognized Doc’s voice and realized no good could come out of this third person tirade. He hugged the two humans tight then maneuvered himself to take the impact of the water landing with his back.
The trio plunged deep into the river as they struggled to reach the surface, the sounds of a tremendous explosion filled their ears.
Mayhew responded to Doc’s request with a deafening roar.
“A fair point,” Doc replied. “But consider this. My legacy as a world class thinker is at stake. No matter how wise I am, no matter how many suffering I have saved with the curative properties of cocaine, no matter how many women’s lives I have saved through gynecological examinations, I shall forever be remembered as the imbecile who caused a zombie apocalypse to grip the burgeoning Western region of the United States of America.”
The henchwolves roared.
“Ergo,” Doc said. “You are dealing with a man with nothing to lose. Relinquish the box.”
It was a three way standoff and no one was budging.
“Very well,” Doc said. He blasted both henchwolves dead then trained his guns on Mayhew.
Before Doc could get off a shot, his left leg was severed clean off by Mayhew’s claws.
The good doctor fell to the ground. Mayhew ran.
“Thought you’d get away that easily, did you?” Doc asked as he fired three silver bullets into the fleeing werewolf’s back.
Mayhew whelped. He too, was on the ground.
Doc used his hands to drag himself down the bridge. Blood poured from the werewolf’s wounds, but that didn’t stop him from getting up and slowly walking away with the box in hand.
Though Doc was falling apart, his mouth was still operational as usual.
“One can only presume that there is very little difference between human and werewolf anatomy,” the good doctor surmised. “Therefore…”
Doc took a shot and sent a silver-tipped bullet through Mayhew’s left ankle. The beast was immediately grounded.
“Would that you would have only turned over the device and vacated the area,” Doc said as he pulled himself over to the werewolf. “But like so many in this world, you too underestimate my resolve.”
The werewolf rolled over on his back and breathed heavily.
“Rest now, my good man,” Doc said as he put a silver-tipped bullet through Mayhew’s skull.
The train whistle blared.
Doc looked down the track. The Marvel was on the bridge now, about twenty feet away but gaining speed.
He picked up the detonation box and wrapped his hand around the plunger.
“And so ends the journey of Doctor Elias T. Farraday,” Doc said. “A misunderstood genius, reviled by the dimwitted masses of the time he had the misfortune of being born in, but once the dust settles and the history books are written, the open minded masses of the future will no doubt look upon him with great reverence as the man who destroyed the Sturtevant Bridge, keeping the zombie hordes away from the East and…”
The train whistle blared again.
“Oh for the love of God,” Doc complained. “A man can’t even finish a monolog around here.”
The good doctor closed his eyes, gripped the plunger tightly, then pushed.
The soldiers fired at the rampaging werewolves, but their bullets, with nary a trace of silver in them, were of no use. The wolves just kept coming.
All order was lost. The women gave up on the line and ran towards Illinois. Even some of the men, upon noticing that the soldiers’ attention was diverted, added to the madness by running across the bridge.
Major Culpepper rattled his saber high above his head.
“Halt, filthy dog monsters!” the Major yelled. “By authority of the President of the United States, I command you to…”
“I don’t think they’re listening, sir,” Bartlett said as he emptied his pistol at the werewolves. “And shooting at them is pointless.”
Bartlett snapped to attention and saluted his commanding officer.
“We’ll die with dignity, then sir, for a good soldier would never…”
“Retreat!” Major Culpepper shouted with roughly the same tone of a crying school girl. “Run for your lives! Every man for himself!”
“Oh Hell,” Bartlett said as he ran behind his fearless leader.
The werewolves made it to the bridge. They slashed soldiers and innocent bystanders alike.
Doc flicked his wrists to draw his six-shooters. He was about to take aim at a henchwolf when he felt a tug at his arm.
“Come on!” Annabelle urged him. “Now’s your chance.”
The good doctor surveyed the bridge. So many men were fleeing now. It would have been so easy for him to have joined them.
But then he spotted the Major and the Corporal running towards a very confused Robards.
Each officer gave a the demolition expert a different order.
“Blow the bridge!” the Corporal hollered. “Now! Before it’s too late!”
“Damn it, man!” the Major shouted. “Keep your grimy hands off that plunger until I’m on the other side!”
“What are you two yammering about?” were the last words Robards spoke before Mayhew’s teeth chomped through his carotid artery, spraying blood all over the faces of the Major and the Corporal.
Mayhew pulled the detonation box out of Robards’ hand just before the body of the demolition expert hit the ground. Then he looked at Culpepper and Bartlett and snarled.
“You there!” the clueless Culpepper bellowed. “That is official government property! Set it down at once!”
“But carefully,” Bartlett added.
An indecisive Doc stared at the unfolding chaos between the werewolves and the soldiers, then back to Annabelle’s sweet face. To the soldiers. To Annabelle. Back and forth went his head until he saw Mayhew’s henchwolves reach their claws into Culpepper and Bartlett’s backs and rip out their entrails.
“Woooooo! Wooooooo!”
The train was getting close. It’s whistle was carrying through the air.
With the fate of the nation resting in the paws of a damn dirty werewolf, Doc knew what he had to do.
He snuck one last kiss from and one last glance at his beloved.
“Remember me, my dear.”
Doc walked toward the werewolves, but continued to shout instructions at Annabelle.
“And tell the world of my story.”
The good doctor was free of fear as he stepped down the bridge.
“For when men of great intellect and excessive humility such as myself dare to leave their mark upon the world, even the most scholarly of scribes will scarcely understand how to record the doings of such remarkable men, and thus it is up to the common folk to…”
Doc stopped and turned back.
“Oh right. She’s gone.”
The trio of werewolves surrounded the half-man/half-zombie.
“Right then,” Doc said as he pointed one pistol at a random henchwolf and the other at Mayhew’s head. “I shall be taking that box, my good man.”
Bookshelf Battle 