George Washington Zombie Slayer

by Wiles, David

  Two of the zombies now had their hands on the man, and were about to sink their teeth into his flesh. The hooded man raised his dagger slightly.

  Before becoming a gentleman farmer, Washington had been trained in the military as a British officer. He had commanded men in the field during the French and Indian War and had trained soldiers of exceptional speed, strength, ability and endurance. But nothing in his experience had prepared him for what this hooded prisoner was about to do.

  In a single fluid motion, the hooded man swung the bayonet blade from left to right in an upward arc and pierced the skulls of the four zombies closest to him. The motion was so swift that Washington saw only a blur of the arm and a glint of the bayonet blade, and the first four zombies dropped immediately to the ground.

  Now untied, the still-hooded man spun to his left and stabbed two more of the zombies in the skull and rendered them inert. Two more were quickly upon him, but he spun right, placed the bayonet blade between their skulls, and pierced the skull of each through the ear in two fast stabbing motions.

  Dozens more of the zombies came on, and this single warrior began to dispatch them one by one as they approached him. Some he stabbed through the ears, others from under the jawbone upward, piercing he brains from below. He moved fast, with blinding speed, faster than any warrior Washington had ever seen.

  Washington and Reebock stood stunned and speechless from behind the fence and made no further effort to help the hooded man. He did not need the help.

  By sound alone, this hooded man continued his fantastical assault on the demonic creatures that attacked him. He swung the bayonet and stabbed another, and another. And another. Soon, a pile of zombies lay surrounding the man, and he stood atop the summit of the motionless creatures, as more climbed up the pile to attack him.

  Washington was not easily impressed, but he was truly astonished at the speed of this hooded man, and watched in wonder as the man dispatched the last of the undead creatures. Thirty six zombies, all slain by one man in under a minute! The three British officers, panicked by what they had just seen, turned and ran. Each officer mounted his own wagon and spurred the horses to a fast escape.

  The hooded man, hearing the British officers galloping away, stood still for a moment, cocked his head to one side, listening intently. Then he drew his right arm back and let fly the bayonet, high into the air in the direction of the wagons, over two hundred yards away! The bayonet struck the last British officer clean in the back of his neck. He screamed, falling dead from the front seat of the wagon onto the road below.

  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?” Washington 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 zombies 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 deep 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 combat, 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 sincerely, “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 empty 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 the 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 carriage,” 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 door 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.

  Washington 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 compl
eting 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.