George Washington Zombie Slayer (9 page)

The horse of the driverless wagon stopped near the side of the road, leaving an available horse for the hooded man
to use later. The two other wagon drivers escaped.

“Damn, I wanted to question him,” said the hooded man. “Not kill him.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Reebock exclaimed. “You’re a one man Seal Team!”

“Are you all right?” Was
hington asked the man.  “My name is George Washington.”

Washington could see the hooded man was a well dressed gentleman with a fine silk shirt and matching coat and trousers
. He wore fine silk stockings, and hand-crafted leather shoes. But when the man pulled the hood from his head, Washington was again completely astonished.

The well-dressed gentleman who had just slain thirty six zom
bies single handedly was a dark-skinned black man! 

“My name is Thomas Jefferson,” the man said, extending his hand in friendship to Washington, who shook it still in a state of shock. “I received one of the letters you sent about the British zombies and came to investigate.”

“YOU’RE Thomas Jefferson?” Washington said in complete shock.

“I am, Sir,” Jefferson replied.

“But, you’re BLACK!” Washington stammered.

“Yeah,” Jefferson said. “So?”

“Well,” Washington stammered again. “I just thought, I mean, I expected, that, I mean that I was not aware that…”

“You didn’t expect that I was black,” Jefferson said.

“Well, um, no,” Washington relied truthfully.

“Yeah,” Jefferson replied.  “I get that a lot. You see, my father owned lots of
slaves, and he happened to knock up one of them, my momma Jane. So then nine months later I came along.”

“I see,” Washington said.

“My father freed me in his will,” Jefferson continued. “And I inherited some of his lands and money after he passed on. So I built myself a plantation and became self-educated.”

“But as a plantation owner,” Washington observed, “you own slaves!”

“Yeah,” Jefferson replied. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Washington asked.

“I will tell you,” Jefferson explained. “But not here. We must depart, lest more British come.”

“Will you accompany me back to Mount Vernon?” Washington asked.

“I would be honored, Sir.” Jefferson replied.

Jefferson unhitched the horse from the British wagon and
Reebok took a flint-stone and kindling from his pocket and started a small fire at the base of the pile of zombie bodies. In moments, the entire pile was aflame as the three men rode off into the darkness towards Washington’s home.

Chapter 21

The Treason of
Jefferson and Washington

George Washington and Thomas Jefferson each sat in a rocking chair on the back porch of the main house at Washington’s Mount Vernon estate.
The warming sun of mid-May cast a pleasant glow upon the green grass and wildflowers of the gentle hillside that they overlooked, which sloped down to the shore of the sparkling Potomac River.

“Anyway,” Jefferson continued, “I found things exactly as you described in your warning letter.”  Jefferson took a d
eep puff of Washington’s marijuana in his pipe. “Mmmm, this is some premium shit,” Jefferson added, enjoying the relaxing, mellow buzz of George’s home grown weed.

“Why thank you,” Washington said smiling
with pride in his homegrown. “But what I really want to know is, where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Well you see,” Jefferson began,
“as a child, I travelled to Japan with two boyhood friends named Lewis and Clark.  We all spent several years of our childhood with the Japanese, training with martial arts masters, and learning the fighting skills of the ninja.”

“Ninja?”
Washington asked.

“Ninja are expert
fighters, soldiers, spies and assassins,” Jefferson explained. “Highly skilled in weaponry, tactics, subterfuge and physical combat. By the time we had returned to the Colonies, I was a Master Ninja, expertly trained by my Sensei, Pie Mei.”

“I see,” Washington said.

“Now, normally,” Jefferson continued, “I tend to keep a low profile in regards to physical combat, as a black man in Colonial Virginia wielding a sword or a knife or nunchucks is not exactly a beloved commodity.”

“True,”
Washington agreed, even though he didn’t know what ‘nunchucks’ were.

“
But spurred on by your warning letter, I decided to investigate,” Jefferson stated. “And so I have been spent the last several weeks spying on the British zombie deployments, infiltrating their training operations,” Jefferson continued, “and fighting their zombie soldiers. I even allowed myself to be captured so I would be taken to the headquarters, where the zombie soldiers are made and trained.”

“Made?” Washington asked.

“Indeed so,” Jefferson confirmed. “They are using condemned men who are killed and reanimated to create full divisions of these zombies, and training them to march, to fight, and to attack.”

“Fuck,” Washington said somberly.

”Yup,” Jefferson replied. “And I fear, as you do, that these zombies are being bred for use, not against foreign invaders, but against the American Colonists and any potential political uprisings.”

“I agree,” stated Washington.
“I believe you have struck upon the correct course of action, to infiltrate and disrupt their operations, and to eliminate as many of the zombie troops as possible. Discreetly, covertly. ”

“You understand, of course,” Jefferson stated, “that what I have done, and what you have suggested we continue to do, falls within the technical definition of treason.”

“One man’s treason is another man’s fight for liberty,” George Washington stated.

“It will be difficult,” Jefferson admitted. “I think you are correct that as few people as possible should be made aware of the zombie soldiers. It would cause a general panic amongst the Colonists were it more widely known. Many
Americans might even flee to Britain, or France or even fucking Canada.”

“I feel the same,” Washington stated. “As long as the wealthy, educated gentlemen and Colonial leaders are aware of the situation, preparations
against the zombies can be made covertly.”

“So
, then,” Jefferson asked, “we shall implement additional nighttime raids on the zombie training exercises and troop deployments in the months to come, throughout Virginia?”

“We shall,” Washington stated. “And as Virginia is their main training area, we should be quite successful in disrupting their operations. But I had a thought, I would
, perhaps…” George paused.

“Please go on,” Jefferson urged, sensing his new friend’s hesitancy
about some matter.

“It’s just that, I have always been a soldier and a military man,” Washington explained. “And yet, watching you in comb
at, I realize my own skills are lacking. And yet…”

“Are you hesitant to ask me for assistance, because I’m black?” Jefferson asked.

“Well it’s not
all
a black thing,” Washington admitted, “but that’s part of it. It does seem strange for a distinguished, white gentleman, such as myself, to ask a black, even a free black man, for assistance in any matter.”

“Yeah,” Jefferson said, a bit annoyed. “Well you’re gonna have to get over that
shit.”

“Indeed so,” Washington replied, taking a deep breath. “Mister Jefferson,” George Washington asked sincerel
y, “will you train me in the mysterious ways of the Ninja, to become a Ninja warrior like yourself?”

“Mister Washington
,” Jefferson replied, taking his new friend’s offered hand in friendship and shaking it vigorously. “It would be my pleasure, Sir.”

Chapter 22

More
Bad News for General Cornwallis

The two officers who stood before General Cornwallis had been subjected to at least seven minutes of angry verbal chastisement for the loss of their zombie platoon, as well as a one of their own fellow British officers. The two officers returned with two emp
ty wagons, with a third wagon missing, and they now faced the wrath of Cornwallis.

“Well, what have you to say for yourselves?” Cornwallis asked, finally taking a breath to calm the fiery redness of his face.

“General,” one of the officers replied, “there were at least twenty armed Colonials who came to the rescue of the prisoner.”

“Mutton-head!”
Cornwallis thundered. “Twenty you say? Well, I should think that three of his Majesty’s highly trained officers and thirty six trained zombie soldiers should be equal to twenty of these preposterous Colonials. That is, if those officers were not entirely and completely incompetent in the fulfillment of their duties.”

“Yes, Sir,” one of the officers replied.

“So in summary,” Cornwallis resumed, “you managed to lose one of his Majesty’s wagons, one of his Majesty’s officers, and the entire platoon of his Majesty’s zombie soldiers under your command?”

“Yes, Sir,” the officers replied.

“Sergeant at arms!” Cornwallis shouted, calling three guards into the room. “Take these two men to the holding cell where I shall convene an immediate hearing of court martial.”

“Yes, General,” the guards replied, seizing the two
officers and binding their wrists.

“And as I am the only judge in th
e hearing,” Cornwallis stated matter-of-factly, “you will most certainly found to be to be guilty of dereliction of duty and sentenced to death!”

“Sir?” one of the officers pleaded in shock and disbelief as he was being taken from the room.
The other officer remained calm, in a complete state of shock.

“It is my hope
, however,” Cornwallis added menacingly, just as they left the room, “that you both make better zombie soldiers than you did living soldiers!

With that, the two officers were led away to be convicted, sentenced and executed, and reborn with the most serious of military demotions.
They would soon be turned to zombies.

Cornwallis pulled out his daily log book and opened it to the spot where today’s
entry would be recorded. If his British forces were truly attacked by twenty Colonial militiamen, it could only mean that the ungrateful locals were arming themselves in the beginnings of the treasonous uprising that Cornwallis believed to be inevitable.

General Cornwallis dipped his quill pen into the inkwell and made the following entry in the log book:

A squadron of his Majesty’s British forces were this day attacked by an armed party of treasonous Colonial rabble, the Colonials being repelled in full force and driven off.

And with log book updated, Cornwallis set off to the court martial hearing and the enjoyment of the rest of his day.

Chapter 23

Wax the Carriage

Thomas Jefferson walked George Washington over to the Mount Vernon Carriage House and handed him a small container of Turtle Wax, which was in colonial days made from real turtles and designed for waxing carriages.

“Wax the ca
rriage,” Jefferson said bluntly, prying open the real turtle shell container that held the wax.

“Certainly,” Washington said. “Let me summon Denzel or LL Cool J and have them--“

“No, YOU,” Jefferson stated firmly. “Wax the carriage.”

“I don’t see why I can’t have one of the slaves—“

“Do you want me to train you to become a Ninja?” Jefferson interrupted.

“I do,” Washington replied in irritation. “But I don’t understand how waxing a carriage-“

“You don’t have to understand,” Jefferson said, cutting him off again. “Just do it.”

Washington, pissed at being talked to in this manner, especially by a black man, angrily slathered the do
or of the carriage with wax using the sponge he was holding, and Jefferson actually slapped him lightly across the back of the head.

“NOT like that,” Jefferson chastised. “Like this,” Jefferson continued, making a clockwise circular motion with his right hand. “Wax on, like this.”

Washington’s eyes flashed with anger after being struck and his nostrils flared, but he realized that this man was far more skilled in combat than he was, and that Jefferson might actually give him a rather serious ass-kicking. Washington was a man of great self-control, and realized that following this man’s directions would be required if he were to become a Ninja. But he didn’t have to like it.

“You take the wax off like this,” Jefferson said, raising his left hand just above the surface
of the carriage and rotating a dry cloth in a counter-clockwise motion.

“I understand,” Washington replied.

“Wax on, wax off, wax on, wax off,” Jefferson said as he walked away, still rotating his right and left hands in opposing circular motions.

Wa
shington worked for over two hours, waxing the carriage and then removing the wax, until the carriage sparkled and shimmered in the dappled sunlight of the carriage house.

“I’m finished,” Washington said upon Jefferson’s return.

“Wax them all, “Jefferson now said simply, pointing to the three other carriages in the carriage house. “A man should sometimes be burdened by doing his own menial physical labors,” Jefferson added, while walking away. Washington grew angry and was about to say something, but thought better of it and went towards the next closest carriage and began applying wax to it.

Jefferson returned to the carriage house at dusk to find Washington completing his task by torchlight.  Even in the darkness, all of the carriages glimmered with a lustrous hard
shell, turtle wax finish, although they tended to smell somewhat like dead turtles. Washington, for his part, was cranky, sullen and hungry. Jefferson handed him a ham sandwich.

“Eat this, and then off to bed,” Jefferson commanded. “We will be up at first light to continue your ninja training.”
              “This is Ninja training?” Washington asked.

Jefferson
turned and walked away, ignoring the comment, and retired to his evening’s rest in his guest quarters. Washington finished his ham sandwich and also retired for the evening.

The breaking dawn came far too soon for George Washington, who awoke hungry and sore from his extended carriage-waxing experience. His wrists and forearms were swollen and painful to the touch
from his previous day’s hours of physical exertion. He rose and dressed quickly and found Jefferson already outside, standing with an axe. Jefferson motioned for George to walk with him down a long path behind the main house. The two men walked for an hour until coming to a large, pleasant grove of cherry trees.

“Isn’t this a lovely place?” Washington remarked as the two stepped into the grove of trees. “Mrs. Washington is very fond of this grove.
She sometimes comes here to do her needlepoint.”

“Cut the cherry trees,” Jefferson said bluntly, handing Washington the axe. Washington said nothing, as if dumbstruck, and just stared at his teacher. “All of them,” Jefferson added.

Washington had had enough of being spoken to in this way, especially by a black man, and for a moment lost the self-control for which he was noted.

“Now look here,” Washington challenged, raising his voice and pointing an angry index finger at Jefferson, which he was about to thump on Jefferson’s chest.
“I am a respected soldier, Sir, and a gentleman, and will be spoken to with respect!”

His index finger was just about to make contact with Jefferson’s chest when Jefferson
sidestepped the motion, swung his arm up, grabbed Washington’s wrist, and twisted it counterclockwise. The painful wristlock forced Washington to tilt to his left and lean forward, still standing but finding himself entirely unable to move.

“Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”
Washington exclaimed, still held immobile in the painful martial arts wrist hold.

“There will be NO touching your Sensei,” Jefferson said softly. “Sensei means teacher, and you have much to learn.”

“OK-ok-ok-ok-ok-ok-ok!” Washington said in severe discomfort, before Jefferson released the wristlock, allowing Washington to stand up straight and rub his sore wrist.

“Fuck,” Washington said
. “I apologize… Sensei.”

“
Good. Now cut down all the cherry trees,” Jefferson repeated. “I will return when you are done,” Jefferson added, before walking away.

George Washington knew that further discussion or argument was pointless. Picking up the axe, he began chopping at the trunk of the closest cherry tree. And he continued to chop down the cherry trees
well into the evening, until at last all 18 trees had gone from vertical to horizontal, and not a single cherry tree remained standing.

Jefferson returned, as yesterday, to find George Washington working by torchlight, and again handed him a ham sandwich.

“Eat this, and go to bed,” Jefferson said matter-of-factly as Washington ate his sandwich. “We have a full day of training tomorrow,” he added, before leaving to return to his guest quarters. Washington was frustrated, to say the least.

When Washington returned to his house, sweat-stained and exhausted,
Martha Washington was waiting up for him and was shocked at his disheveled appearance.

“Mister Washington!” she exclaimed upon seeing her haggard husband. “Whatsoever have you been doing that you are thus
conditioned?’ She took a cool, wet wash cloth and wiped his brow of sweat and dirt.

“Sensei Jefferson has had me chopping down trees,
lots and lots of trees,” Washington said as he slumped into the La-Z Boy recliner in the corner of the room as Martha continued to clean his face.

“What trees?” she asked, and could see her husband close
d his eyes as if in pain.

“Well
..um…” he stammered, not wanting to tell her.

“Oh, NO!” she remarked. “
Not some of the trees in my favorite cherry tree grove!”

“I cannot tell a lie,” George
Washington replied to his wife. Jefferson had me cut down every single god damn cherry tree in the grove.”

“
You fucking assholes!” Martha Washington shouted. “Two fucking assholes, the both of you!” she continued angrily.

“I know, I know
, Honey,” George replied. “But he’s training me to be a Ninja.”

“Oh, a Ninja!”
Martha shot back. “A Ninja! Well that’s just what we all need, a pot smoking, carriage waxing , cherry-tree-chopping NINJA!” She flung the dirty wash cloth into the wash basin with an angry splash.

“First of all,” George relied calmly, “I only smoke weed because it helps with my rheumatism.”
He sat up straight in the recliner. “And secondly,” he continued, “Sensei says that I am not permitted to question the methods of my training.”

“Well that’s just great!” Martha chastised. “You’re not permitted to question your t
raining!” she repeated sarcastically. “What will he have you doing next for your Ninja training, pissing in a tea kettle and fucking the goats?”

“Now sweetie-pie,” George implored.

“Don’t sweetie-pie, me, god dammit,” Martha replied, leaving the bedroom and slamming the door behind her. George knew that Martha Washington was a loving wife, and would forgive him, in time. But exhausted as he was, George Washington could only slump back into his recliner where he fell quickly to sleep before his next morning’s training.

And so it was that George Washington’s Ninja training continued day after day, week after week,
for months in a row.  Each day the two men would rise at dawn and Washington would be given some physically laborious task to complete alone. Some days he would paint the fence while on other days he would stomp the wine grapes.  His training had him chasing the greyhounds, climbing trees, swimming the Potomac and many, many other tasks. He would retire each evening sore, hungry and exhausted.

After many months of training, the two men stood along the bank
s of the Potomac river after Washington had completed a 25 mile swim. Although he was tired, Washington did not find himself as previously exhausted as he used to be by such a task. Many of the tasks he now accomplished no longer tired him at all.

“May I respectfully ask,” Washington began, “
if you might possibly be able to explain to me how these activities will make me a Ninja warrior, Sensei?”

With that question,
respectfully posed as it was after so many months of successful training, Jefferson knew that his student was ready to enter the next phase of his training. And he was also ready for the answer to his question.

“Show me wax the carriage,” Jefferson said
simply.

Washington made a circular clockwise motion in the air in front of him with his right hand, and a counterclockwise with his left.

Without warning, Jefferson then swung a single, straight punch with his right fist at Washington’s head, which Washington immediately blocked.  Jefferson then threw a single left, which was also blocked. Jefferson then threw a series of blindingly fast punches at his student, all of which were deflected and blocked by George Washington. The repetition of the “waxing” motion had made this blocking movement natural for Washington, almost instinctual.

“Months ago,” Jefferson observed, “
you would have been on your ass.” Jefferson then moved to the side of his student. “Show me paint the fence,” he said, throwing a punch at Washington from beside him. As before, Washington deflected the blow, this time using the much repeated “painting” motion, which was also now instinctive.

“Show me kick the slave
in the ass,” Jefferson ordered, before sending a low kick towards his student. But Washington’s leg kicked forward first, blocking the kick with a kick of his own. Repeated kicks by Jefferson were all blocked by kicks from Washington.

“Do you now understand?” Jefferson asked.

“I do, Sensei, Washington replied. “All of these tasks have been training me in the motions of combat and defense through repetition. And building my endurance.”

“Correct,” Jefferson replied. “And you are now ready to enter the final phase of your training in combat, stealth and concealment.
This is the heart of Ninjitsu. You will be taught to …embrace the darkness.” Jefferson handed his student and friend a package wrapped in brown paper tied with string.             

Washington took the package and opened it immediately, finding inside a tight black bodysuit with a black hoo
d where only the eyes were visible.

“By day, you may dress as a soldier or statesman,” Jefferson stated. “But this, this is the clothing you shall wear at night.
This is the uniform of the shadow, of the darkness. This… is the uniform of the
Ninja
. Though it does tend to be a bit snug in the crotch.”