Tag Archives: zombies

Apr 21 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 85

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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.”

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Apr 21 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 84

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Standing Eagle raced his horse across the valley, bound for Highwater.  For a good part of the ride, he watched as grain silo on the edge of town catch fire, only to eventually break apart and collapse upon itself.

Suddenly, the Chief heard galloping hooves behind him.  Screeching Owl and Wandering Snake flanked Eagle on the left.  Charging Bobcat and Crafty Fox took their leader’s right flank.

Eagle brought his horse to a halt.  His warriors did the same.

“Why do you defy my orders?” the Chief asked.

“If you are Standing Eagle, then tonight, we are all Standing Eagle,” Wandering Snake replied.

“Our people,” the Chief said.

“In safe hands with Solemn Bear,” Crafty Fox said. “He leads them south as we speak.”

“I will not have you die for white men who lie to you,” Eagle said. 

Charging Bobcat had applied menacing warpaint to his face.  He’d covered his face with a black base and on top of that, he’d drawn a white skull.  He almost looked like a zombie himself.

“We do not do this for the white men, Eagle,” Bobcat said.  “We do this for you.”

Eagle’s stern face did not betray the sense of pride that swelled within him.  He nodded and together, the group made haste for Highwater.

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Apr 20 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 83

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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.

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Apr 18 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 82

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“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.

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Apr 18 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 81

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“Do you think he’ll answer?” Miss Bonnie asked as she watched the flames dance.

“I don’t know,” Slade said.  “He was mighty sore at me.  And I let Gunther flap the blanket for awhile so he probably did some of that fake Injun talk shit.  The Chief hates that.”

The marshall and the redhead watched the bonfire for a time.  Slade reached for Miss Bonnie’s hand and held it. 

“I love you Bonnie.”

They were words that Slade had never spoken to another woman before. And though many women are often touched by such a warm gesture, Miss Bonnie grumbled a curt reply.

“I don’t blame you.”

A few beats skipped until she finally relented.  “I love you too.”

More fire watching.

Slade rubbed his thumb back and forth over the back of Miss Bonnie’s hand.

“When this is over, you and I have to be together,” Slade said.

“Your fiancé might have something to say about that,” Miss Bonnie said.

“I don’t care,” Slade said.  He grimaced then added, “I do care. I don’t want to hurt her. But my whole life I’ve been pretending to be someone I’m not and if I make it out alive I’m not going to do it anymore, not with her, not with anybody.”

“Rain,” Miss Bonnie said. “I’m too exhausted to be your discount head shrinker so just spill it.”

“When I was twelve I hid under the bed while a bandit shot my Ma dead,” Slade said.  “My Pa sent me away because he was disgusted with me.  I’ve been trying to prove myself ever since, shooting and stringing up every criminal I could get my hands on, talking in a tough guy voice that isn’t even mine.  None of it matters.  None of it makes me feel any tougher.  Whatever I do, I’ll still be that boy hiding under the bed.”

“That’s awful,” Miss Bonnie said.

Silence.

“Now you think less of me,” Slade said.

“No,” Miss Bonnie replied.  “I’ve done bad things.”

Slade held his left hand up in a stop motion. “Please. Everyone knows your ‘bad things,’ Bonnie.  Roscoe Crandall tells everyone who’ll listen.  I don’t care about that.”

“I shot my husband,” Miss Bonnie blurted out, abruptly.

Slade was taken aback.  “What?”

“I was married,” Miss Bonnie said. “To a man who started out nice then turned into a real horse’s ass.  Beat me half to death so many times I lost count so one day I got tired of it and I just up and shot him.”

Slade fumbled for a response.  He couldn’t think of one.

“It was him or me,” Miss Bonnie said. “And I chose me.”

“That explains a lot,” Slade said.

“I suppose,” Miss Bonnie said.

“Those dog monsters you killed,” Slade said. “All those zombies you shot up like they were nothing.  Your offer to shoot Doc…”

“OK,” Miss Bonnie said.

“…your stubborn bull-headedness…your cold demeanor when it comes to romance…your money grubbing tendencies…”

“OK!” Miss Bonnie repeated.

Slade put his arm around his lady love.  “I don’t care.”

The pair stayed like that for awhile until Slade started up again. 

“A year ago Pa wrote me a letter,” Slade said.  “Read an article in the paper about me and one of the outlaws I dragged in.  Told me he was sorry.  Said I’m welcome to come visit him if I were so inclined.”

“Fuck him,” Miss Bonnie said.  “You were twelve and couldn’t have done any better had you been an adult.”

“I know,” Slade said. “But hearing it from him might put my mind at ease.  Nothing else has.” 

“Do what you want then,” Miss Bonnie said.

“Come with me,” Slade said.

Miss Bonnie scrunched up her face. “What?”

“To Arizona,” Slade said.  “This town’s in ruins. There’s nothing left for us here.”

“I’m not going to be ‘the other woman,’” Miss Bonnie said.

“You’ll be the only woman,” Slade replied. “Once this is over, I’ll sit Sarah down, spill my guts, and take my licks.  Then we can be together.”

“I…I don’t…”  Miss Bonnie stammered.

“Just think about it,” Slade said.  “And in case I die….”

Without warning, the marshall scooped Miss Bonnie up in his arms, dipped her, then kissed her passionately.  The redhead let her guard down and returned the favor.  Tongues were surely touched.  Spit was definitely swapped.

Once the smooching subsided, Slade finished his thought. “…I don’t want to go without having done that.”

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The couple’s hearts sank as they heard a pair of hands applauding them from behind their backs. 

There was a witness to their illicit secret, one with blank eyes that served as mirrors, reflecting the bonfire’s flames.

“Bravo!” Doc said between claps. “Bravissimo! Encore! Encore, I say!”

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Apr 18 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 80

shutterstock_320226569Gunther 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.”

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Apr 18 2016
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Zombie Western

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.

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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…

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Apr 17 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 79

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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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Apr 17 2016
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Zombie Western

How the West Was Zombed – Chapter 78

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All by his lonesome, Doc rocked back and forth in the rickety chair he was tied to.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

“Scoundrels,” Doc said to himself.  “If they think they can imprison the likes of Doctor Elias T. Faraday then they have another thing com…”

Smash.  The last rock went all the way backwards and the chair collapsed underneath Doc’s weight.  The ropes gave way and he was free.

When he stood up, Doc found himself face to face with the Reverend, who had grown weary of the bonfire outside.

The two men stared each other down.

“Are you going to bite me?” the Reverend asked.

“I should think not,” Doc replied.

The Reverend headed for his pulpit.  In the stand he used to deliver his sermons, there was a drawer.  He opened it and produced a bottle of whiskey.  “Then have a drink with me.”

“I suppose it would be impolite of me to turn you down,” Doc said.  “I say, Reverend.  Have you any writing paper?”

Curious, the preacher looked at the doctor.  “I do.”

“Might I importune you for two sheets please?” Doc asked.

The Reverend chuckled at Doc’s big words.  “You may so importune me.”

“And some ink if you can spare it,”  Doc said as he took a seat at the table.

Moments later, the Reverend returned with some paper, a quill pen, a jar of ink and a drink for the good doctor.

“Tell me,” the Reverend said. “Do you think you will remain as you are now or will you become one of the damned?”

Doc dipped the pen into the ink then proceeded to scrawl words in calligraphy across a page.

“I suspect I’ve been damned for quite some time due to the life I have lived, my good man,” Doc said as he dotted his I’s and crossed his T’s.  “But if you are asking if I will become a mindless flesh consuming zombie then I haven’t the foggiest.  I could live comfortably for many years in this harmless state or I could drop dead instantly and proceed to cannibalize the person next to me.

The Reverend gulped and slid his chair a few inches away from Doc.

“Not that I feel as though I’ll drop dead presently, mind you,” Doc said.

The two men sat and drank.  Doc finished writing on one paper, then took a second sheet and wrote on it.

“I suppose that is that is the nature of life,” the Reverend said.  “Whether or not you are about to become a brain sucking son of a bitch, none of us know how much time we have left.  We think we know and we plan accordingly but…”

The Reverend snapped his fingers.  “…at anytime we could go just like that.  Tragic, when you think about it.”

“I try my very best not to,” Doc said as he slid the second page across the table to the Reverend.  “Sir, you’d be doing me a kindness if you were to sign this document for me.”

The Reverend pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his pocket and studied the paper.

“This is a lie,”  the Reverend protested.

“Does that matter in times such as these?” Doc asked.

“My integrity may be misplaced at the moment,” the Reverend said. “But I assure you it’s still around.  If you’re asking me to be a part of something sinister…”

Doc slid the first paper across the table.  The Reverend studied it.  “Oh.”

Without thinking a second longer, the Reverend dipped the quill into the ink jar and scratched his name across the bottom of the document.

The doctor and the preacher clinked their glasses together.

“To science and religion,” Doc said. “Working together for the common good.”

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Apr 16 2016
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Zombie Western

BQB Breaks the 60,000 Word Mark on How the West Was Zombed

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Zombie BQB

Hey 3.5 readers,

BQB here.  I have a small milestone to celebrate.

With Chapter 77 of How the West Was Zombed, I have, for the first time ever, written 60,000 words of a novel.

Yup, all it took was a snippet about a lesbian vampire getting assaulted by a goblin pervert on her way to see a Chairman who may or may not be Satan to put me over the top.

Aunt Gertie would be so proud if she still read this crap.

Further, there are writing experts who will differ on what the key parts of a novel are, but for example, if you figure that the main three have to be:

  1.  The Set-Up – Who is everyone, where are they, drop some seeds of what’s in store for your 3.5 readers.
  2. The Conflict – What will happen to trouble your characters?
  3. The Resolution – How is that conflict resolved?

I have written two out of three of those.

1)  The Set-up – Cowboys vs. an Evil (Literally Evil) Railroad Corporation.

2)  The Conflict – Evil Corporate Lawyer/Vampire (Redundant) wants to conquer America with the help of werewolf henchmen and an army of zombies.

Those parts are done!  And now I must write:

3) Resolution – How will the cowboys stop the zombies?  (Or will they? Muah ha ha!)

If the standard novel length is around 100,000 words or so, then I am beyond the point of no return and closer to being finished than starting.

Is there more to go?  Yes.  It still needs a major rewrite.  Then various pros to give it the ole look see.  Then all the formatting.  And honestly, I might just write the first three just to make sure they all go together continuity wise.

So…time…so much time.  But it is starting to look like persisting in writing a little bit now and then does build up and eventually puts you in the right direction.

So thank you, 3.5 readers, for your support and your 7 eyes.  For the first time ever, I actually believe a BQB has a good chance of being published.  And with sales to my 3.5 readers, minus Jeff Bezos’ cut, that mozzarella cheese stick basket at Applebee’s is calling my name.

Mmmm…mmm…that’s good eating!

 

 

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