George Washington Zombie Slayer (6 page)

“John,” Washington began. “I fear that your reaction to the present crisis has been…less then exemplary.”

“But Father!” the child pleaded. “They were monsters!”

“Yes, they were monsters,” George Washington explained. “But there are many monsters in the world. Some animal, some human, some inhuman.”

“I was
SO a-frighted, Father,” Johnny explained.

“I was frightened also,” George Washington admitted.
“But it is in our moments of fear that we find our manhood. It is in these moments that we must… face fear …like men.”

Johnny stood there speechless.

“And the women, your mother and sister,” George explained further, growing somewhat more angry, “why, they depend upon us for their protection. We must be strong for them.”

Johnny remained speechless, while he could see his father growing angrier.

“What I’m saying,” Washington said, raising his voice, “is that
you don’t need to take a giant stinking shit every time you’re scared!”

“But Father--,” Johnny pleaded.
“I couldn’t help it!”

“Last week you crapped yourself when you were scared by a bumblebee!” Washington exclaimed. “And the week before when one my Mr. Kindly’s dogs barked at you!”

“It was a large bee, father,” Johnny explained. “And a loud dog!”

“It’s
unmanly!
” Washington chastised angrily. “And so help me I would put you over my knee but for the fact I would get shit all over my hand while spanking you!”

Johnny burst into tears, opened the door and ran crying from the room. George sat speechless on his stool, and his wife Martha walked in silently and stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders.

“You were hard on the boy,” Martha said softly. “He’s not as fearless as his father.”

“There may come a time,” Washington said, “when his life may depend on action and fearlessness. And in that moment, I don’t want him to simply cry and crap himself.”

Martha rubbed his shoulders and sighed. “Well,” she said at last. “At least he gives us much good fertilizer for the flower beds.” And they both chuckled softly.

Chapter 13

Benjamin Franklin Discovers Electricity

(And Something Else)

The day after the zombie attack at Mount Vernon, there was almost no sign that the assault had ever happened. Washington’s slaves, skilled craftsmen with years of training, had restored and repaired the house with immaculate precision. The glass windows were replaced, the wood repaired, walls repainted and carpets cleaned. Perhaps the only sign of the attack was the smoldering burnt circle in the back yard where
the day before, nine zombie bodies had been incinerated into ashes.

“Shall we go back into the barn and continue our interrogation and examination of the creatures?” Washington asked.

“Aye,” Franklin sighed
, thinking of the unpleasant business ahead. “Let us head back to the barn.” A slight rain began to fall, with the sound of distant thunder.

Upon entering
the barn, they saw the same three naked zombies that were chained here since yesterday. Washington and Franklin, with Mr. Kindly, had spent most of the previous afternoon attempting to interrogate the imprisoned creatures with no success. Their uniforms and bodies had been examined with medical precision. They had spent yesterday evening using more “persuasive methods” of interrogation, also with no success.

The most surprising fact was that these creatures, although animated, appeared to be truly dead, or rather un-dead. They were cold to the touch and had no pulse or heartbeat. Their flesh appeared pale whit
e or gray and their blood was black in color and foul smelling in odor.

The zombies seemed to lack
any higher mental functions for language, communications or higher reasoning. They could grunt and groan and growl, but never speak. They could neither ask nor answer any questions. And they seemed to lack any discernible emotion besides anger and the hunger for living flesh.

To Washington, it was important to find the weaknesses of these zombies. But t
he creatures seemed impervious to fire, branding, whipping, cutting, stabbing, name calling, sarcasm, offensive odors, country music, the breaking of limbs and other assorted creative discomforts applied by Mr. Kindly.  They knew as much as they did before, that the only way to kill the creatures was by beheading them.

Hearing the thunder outside growing louder, Benjamin Franklin had an idea.

“Let us take one of the creatures outside and chain it to the fence post behind the barn,” Franklin said to Washington and Mr. Kindly. The naked zombie was hurried outside into the rain, quickly chained to the post and Franklin hurried back inside the barn, grabbing some sticks and a piece of sailcloth.

“Do you have a spool of string?
” Franklin asked, and Mr. Kindly reached into a small cabinet and handed a spool of twine to Franklin. Working with speed and precision, Franklin grabbed some small tacks and nailed the sticks into a diamond shape, and tacked the sailcloth across the front, then tying another strip of knotted cloth to the base.

“What are you fashioning?” Washington asked.

“It’s a kite,” Franklin replied. “Remember I was telling you about my research into electricity? Well this is how one calls forth electricity.”

The thunde
r and wind outside were growing ever louder. Franklin tied one end of the twine to the center of his kite, and sifted through his pockets,  soon pulling out a metal key, which he tied to the twine about twelve inches from the tail of the kite.

Franklin walked towards the door and was quickly followed by Washington and Kindly. Stepping
into the rain and wind with his kite, Franklin threw the kite into the air and ran a few steps forward just as a strong gust of wind blew forth and pulled the kite heavenward towards the flashing clouds of the approaching thunderstorm.

The kite continued its ascent in the strong winds as Franklin held the end of the twine in his hand and walked towards the
zombie chained to the fence post.

Franklin briefly thought about tying the twine about the creature
’s neck or arm, but he wanted the electrocution to be introduced at a more centralized location so as to judge the anatomical effects throughout its entire body. Reaching down, Franklin securely tied the twine to the zombie’s testicles in a tight knot, and then took a several steps back.

And so was set in motion one of the great
scientific experiments in all of American history. The naked zombie stood chained helpless to the fencepost in George Washington’s rainy backyard, with Benjamin Franklin’s kite string tied securely to the zombie’s lifeless balls, the kite bobbing in the wind and flashing clouds.

“What happens now
?” Washington asked loudly, yelling above the wind.

“
Well, the metal key tied to the string near the kite ‘attracts’ the electricity,” Franklin explained. “So as the thundercloud passes by, lightning should strike the key with a powerful electrical voltage.”

“I see,” Washington replied.

“The rain-soaked string will act as a conductor,” Franklin continued, “channeling the electricity from the key through the string and down into the body of the creature through its John Thomas.”

At just that moment, a power
ful bolt of lightning flared across the sky and struck the key on Franklin’s kite with a tremendous shower of sparks.  A booming crack of thunder followed an overpowering flash of light which illuminated the kite, the string, the zombie and even the spectators in its blinding intensity.  Washington, Franklin and Mr. Kindly were all knocked to their asses on the wet grass, momentarily stunned by the electrical discharge.

The three men stood up as tiny
, smoking remnants of the exploded kite fluttered back to earth in the wind of the passing storm, the rain finally stopping. The fence post where the zombie had been chained was splintered and fully aflame, but the zombie was no longer attached to it. One severed, burning leg of the creature was ten feet to the right, the other smoking leg draped over the fence to the left. One of the creature’s severed, burning arms lay just in front of the three spectators, while the creature’s fiery, legless, one-armed torso was propped against a nearby tree.

             
“My God, said Franklin, looking at the smoking zombie torso. “It’s still alive!”

             
The zombie torso was almost entirely aflame, its testicular area now vaporized in testimony to the power of Franklin’s discovery and harnessing of electricity.  The creature’s hair was burned fully away and its flaming skull held only one functioning eye.  But even thus disabled, the creature began crawling forward, clacking its teeth together, using its one good arm to crawl towards the three observers, eager to feed upon them.

             
“Fuck me,” Washington said. “These things are truly tough cocksuckers to kill.”

             
Benjamin Franklin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, loaded dueling pistol, wrapped in cloth to keep the powder dry. Franklin took careful aim at the zombie that crawled towards them, pointing the gun right at the zombie’s forehead. He squeezed the trigger and the ball shot from the barrel with a puff of smoke and shower of sparks.

             
The projectile hit the zombie in the center of its forehead, passing through the skull and into the creature’s brain. The creature made a growl, followed by a gurgle, and then fell silent and motionless into the wet grass. The three men were all a bit surprised that this single gunshot appeared to immobilize the creature.

             
“Well,” Franklin said to George Washington, “It appears that electricity did not harm the creature. But a shot to the head seems to do the trick nicely.”

             
A few hours later, Reebok climbed aboard his horse, Ballbuster, and Washington and Franklin handed him the leather pouch bearing their letters to leaders throughout the thirteen American colonies. They bid him safe journey and watched him ride off down the main road of the Mount Vernon estate.

“I hope they all don’t think we’re crazy when they read those letters from us,” Benjamin Franklin said. “We are hittin’ them with some really unbelievable shit.”

“Hey, if they don’t believe us,” Washington said. “Then fuck ‘em.”

“Well if they don’t believe us,” Franklin laughed, “then we’re all fucked!”  The two men laughed together
for a moment and Washington walked Franklin to the barn, where Franklin mounted his own horse for his journey home to Philadelphia.

“I hesit
ated to give you this,” Franklin said, handing Washington a package of folded papers. “I thought these might be a temptation to get you into trouble.”

“Trouble?”
Washington asked. He opened the pages and saw the heading: 

His Majesty’s British Forces

Zombie Soldier Patrol Routes and Field Assignments

Revised for the Year of our Lord -
1766

“
I managed to ‘borrow’ a copy of that document from the locked desk of one of the British zombie trainers,” Franklin said, winking at his friend when he said the word borrowed.

“A document like this could get a man into some trouble,” Washington admitted.  “
If the wrong person got hold of this, he might be inclined to take…covert action against the British.”

“Covert action, you say,” Franklin said. “Hmmm, that would be a real shame.” The two men laughed.  “Please be careful, my friend,” Franklin added. Franklin shook Washington’s hand from the
saddle, wished him goodbye, and rode north, towards home.

 
Chapter 14

The British Plot Di
scovered

             
British Lieutenant Smithers beat a hasty retreat from the edge of the Mount Vernon grounds when he saw the light of a distant bonfire burning. In that moment, he realized his zombie soldiers had been stopped and their bodies were being incinerated. An informant had confirmed his worst fears that there were no human casualties, while nine of the zombies were beheaded, and three of the zombie soldiers had even been captured. Washington and Franklin had both survived.

             
About a day later, he arrived back at the Richmond headquarters of Colonel Cornwallis. Smithers knew that his superior would not be pleased that both Washington and Franklin were still alive, and that they had sent messages alerting colonial leaders to the existence of the British zombie force.

             
Smithers slunk dejectedly into the office of Cornwallis and stood in front of the desk where the Colonel sat, head down, writing a letter with his quill pen. Cornwallis made him stand there silently and awkwardly, having already received preliminary reports regarding Smithers’ failure.

             
Smithers coughed softly and Cornwallis ignored him entirely. Smithers waited nearly a full minute, then cleared his throat again, and was again ignored. After nearly three full minutes, Cornwallis spoke.

             
“I am writing a letter to His Majesty,” Cornwallis began, “informing him of your failure to do your duty in regards to the secrecy of the existence of zombie soldiers serving in his Majesty’s armed forces.” Cornwallis was so angry he never even looked up at Smithers.  It was well known that British officers took personal offence at the failure of subordinates and, in most cases, would rather have a subordinate piss in his shoe than fail in a military assignment.

             
“I am sorry, Sir,” Smithers said meekly, giving Cornwallis the opening he needed to administer a good tongue-lashing.

              “Yes, I see,” Cornwallis scoffed. “Well it is, indeed,  a pity that the energy and effort required to manifest your present state of personal sorrow was not more gainfully employed in the execution of your military assignment in fulfillment of your duty to your King, your country, and your military service.  It is bad enough that your failure has blemished your previously exemplary record, but even worse, has now reflected negatively upon
my own
military service.”

             
“I am truly sorry, Sir,” Smithers said softly.

             
“Oh, you’re
truly
sorry
?”
Cornwallis mocked, looking up and glaring at Smithers.  “You’re
truly
sorry? Don’t diddle me with that codswallop! Is your purported sorrow supposed to excuse your incompetence in this matter?  Well, is it?”

             
“No, Sir,” Smithers replied.

             
“Indeed, not,” Cornwallis replied.  “I would much rather that you had pissed in my shoe,” Cornwallis continued, “than you had failed in this assignment.”

             
“Yes, Sir,” Smithers replied, being red face and somewhat flustered. “I’d be happy to piss in your shoe now, Sir, if you think that might help.”

             
“It’s a figure of speech,” Cornwallis sighed. “And it would not help.”

             
“Sorry, Sir.”

             
“I must say how profoundly disappointed I am,” Cornwallis admitted. “And a less forgiving officer might clap you in irons, have you cock-pecked by parrots, or have your banger mashed. Why, last night I was feeling a bit squiffy and was all set to give Mrs. Cornwallis a good rogering until I received the news of your failure, which ruined my whole evening.”

             
“Yes, Sir,” Smithers replied. “Sorry, Sir,” he added, in the great British military tradition of taking a dressing down by a superior officer by answering with mainly-- yes, Sir--no, Sir- and sorry, Sir.

             
“So we know that Washington and Franklin have notified others of the existence of our zombie forces,” Cornwallis admitted. “The question is… will anyone believe them?”

        
Chapter 15

John Hancock

The letter was delivered to John Hancock at Hancock Manor on Beacon Hill in Boston, late one afternoon in November of 1765, about two weeks after it was written. Hancock opened the envelope carefully and read the message enclosed, and then read it again, and yet again. It was incredible.

Hancock
personally knew both George Washington and Benjamin Franklin well, and trusted that the message must be true and authentic. For the briefest of moments, he considered that the letter itself might be a forgery, but he knew Franklin’s hand well, and his writing style was unmistakable.

“Zombies in the American Colonies,”
Hancock whispered softly to himself. He unbuttoned the top button of his finely tailored silk shirt, as he was warm in his chair near the fireplace, and took a long, slow, sip of tea. He pressed the toes of his bare feet firmly into the thick, shag carpeting of his parlor and leaned back in his chair.

“What was that you said?” asked Bubba Hancock,
one of John Hancock’s closest cousins, who had just walked into the parlor.

“Oh, Bubba,” Hancock said. “I did not see you there.” Hancock placed the letter back into the envelope and threw it into the fireplace, according to the directions in the post script of the message. The letter was burned away in seconds.

“Was that a secret message?” Bubba asked.

“Something
like that,” John replied. “Or at least, the writers wish the information to remain… confidential.” Hancock trusted Bubba, but also knew he had a bit of a “loose tongue.”

“Oh, now I’m truly interested,” Bubba said excitedly.

              “Honor forbids me from disclosing the contents of the letter,” Hancock stated. “But I will say, these recent, newly disclosed British atrocities may well have planted the seeds of …an American Revolution!