A group of tourists was filing back aboard a bus after their tour of the park, ready to be shuttled downtown to look at more historical monuments. After making sure all the passengers were seated and secure, the bus driver drove towards the center of town.
As the bus slowed down to enter Fredericksburg National Cemetery, a group of shuffling figures crossed the road directly in front of the front bumper. The driver slammed on the brakes and yanked on the wheel, narrowly missing the crowd. The occupants of the bus screamed in surprise as gun shots rang through the air. A zombie from the crowd, right outside the passengers’ side windows, was hit in the shoulder, blowing his arm clean off. Another zombie, this one wearing a stained blue dress, stopped fleeing and turned around to help her wounded friend. She picked up the remains of his arm, hugged him, then wrapped his good arm around her neck to help him keep moving.
“Somebody needs to help the poor man!” pleaded a confused little girl who couldn’t have been any older than five.
Her mother started to object to her when an elderly gentleman interrupted. “She’s right. Come on!”
The tour guide stood in front of the doors and announced, “Please, everyone, for your own safety, please stay on the bus.” A middle-aged gentleman on vacation with his family moved the guide aside and forced open the doors.
The group of tourists were following the horde of zombies further downtown, when they heard gunshots ahead of them. They arrived on the scene to find the zombies hiding behind the Kirkland Monument.
“Wait, stop,” the middle aged man called out to the men with the guns. “They need help. They aren’t hurting anyone.”
A young lady ran around him and approached a zombie whose back had been grazed by a bullet. She took off her white cotton cardigan and draped it around the zombie’s shoulders. “Thank you,” the zombie said to her in a hoarse voice.
The tour guide had caught up at the point and stepped in front of the crowd, between the zombies and the militia. She held her hands up to the statue. “Not here,” she demanded. “Don’t you know what this statue stands for?”
She directed the onlookers’ eyes up to the reclining figure on the statue. “That man on the ground is a wounded Union soldier, one of 8,000 injured or killed in December of 1862. It was an absolute victory for the south, and a slaughter of soldiers from the north.”
Pointing to the top figure, she said, “That man there, Richard Kirkland, couldn’t bear to see the suffering of the soldiers. As the battle had already been won by the confederacy, he took pity on the wounded soldiers on the other side of the wall below. Armed with nothing but a canteen, leaving even a white flag behind, he crossed the wall and began to give water to the dying Union soldiers.”
“Even in the time of war, gentlemen, like Kirkland, we still need to show some compassion.”
(back to TOC)
****
Friends and Enemies
In the summer of 1942, the American army discovered evidence of a secret German laboratory in the Austrian Alps. American scientists spent the next 6 months developing clothes and gear to keep their soldiers warm in the harsh cold climate. The plan was to attack in the dead of winter, in the middle of a snowstorm, when the Nazis would be least expecting it. They anticipated that the opposing soldiers would be trapped in their own laboratory.
A snowstorm was brewing in the west Alps, building over the Swiss mountains. The allied army gathered their troops on the south Austrian border and made the long trek through the mountains to the north.
Fifty miles south of the purported secret base, the troops saw a strange sight in the mountains. Hundreds of Nazi soldiers stood on dangerous cliffs awaiting their approach. It seemed impossible that anyone could reach those outcroppings without falling to their certain death, but it gave the enemy soldiers a significant advantage.
When the figures didn’t move, the approaching soldiers wondered if they were merely statues, decoys placed there to make it seem like the hidden base was guarded. In fact, some of them looked deformed, with limbs askew, as if they were dummies dropped onto the cliffs from above.
Their hopes were crushed when the figures raised guns to their shoulders and began firing. But the snow was falling so thickly, they couldn’t see, and very few shots reached their mark. The troops marched onward. The gunshots continued to ring through the air, with a regular rhythm, like a wartime metronome.
As they got in sight of the attacking soldiers, more of their fellow men were seriously wounded. They hid in the snow, carefully aimed their shots, and shot the men in the rocky hills. The lifeless bodies tumbled to the ground.
The troops set up camp and began to plan their continued attack on the Nazi laboratory that must be just over the next ridge. The snow stopped falling as dusk settled into the mountains. The camp was quiet as they treated their wounded mates. As the medics were hard at work, the men around the fire heard moans of distress approaching the camp. Many of the seriously wounded soldiers had been left for dead in the snow, and they thought perhaps some had survived and were coming to the camp for help.
They ran to the edge of camp to meet their compatriots, but were surprised to find many more soldiers than they expected. Over the hill came a line of Nazi soldiers, their wounds apparent, their exposed skin frostbitten, many limbs broken to the point where the bones had found their way through the flesh. The soldiers were clearly dead, yet continued to walk forward. And in their arms, they carried the dead and dying soldiers the Americans had left behind.
Most of the weapons had been left back at the camp, but the guns they had were pointed at the approaching figures. “Stop, wait!” one of the enemies called out. He set the dead soldier on the ground. “Your comrade fought bravely. He deserves an honorable burial. Let us help.”
“But you’re--” one soldier tried to say, before depositing the contents of his stomach in a nearby snow covered bush.
“Zombies!” another soldier finished.
The lead Nazi zombie put his hands up to show he was unarmed. The zombies who still had arms mirrored his gesture. “Please,” he pleaded. “This wasn’t our choice. You won this battle fair and square. We will help you, then let us go on our way, and you can continue with your mission.”
“Our mission is to find a secret structure in these mountains.”
“And so you will. You are close, less than a day’s walk over that ridge.” He pointed to the horizon. “But tonight, you need rest. Your troops need tended to. We don’t have supplies, but if you have shovels, we can take care of your men who are not doomed to our fate.”
The Nazi zombies and allied soldiers worked together to bury the dead. The undead hunted for food and roasted the meat over a fire. Together they shared a meal.
When the sun rose the next dawn, the zombies went on their way, leaving the American troops to their mission. Unfortunately, neither group was heard from again. The theory is that a group of zombies are frozen in place wearing the shambles of Nazi uniforms, sitting around piles of rocks marking the graves of the fallen American soldiers. Later, they were joined in their vigil by zombies with the flag of the United States of America embroidered on their torn shirt sleeves.
(back to TOC)
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A Christmas Miracle
It was dark and snowy. His limbs were freezing off. Literally. Without the blood coursing through his veins, he didn’t have the body heat to stay alive.
The zombie hunters had been pursuing him for hours. Luckily, the snow was falling so thickly that it covered his blood splattered tracks in the snow as he ran away from the town. He could hear heavy breathing behind him, and he realized the hunters were catching up.
Up ahead, a light broke through the snowy fog between the trees. If he was lucky, it was a barn that he could hide in. If he wasn’t, it was a house filled with anti-zombie zealots, ready to join in the hunt. Seeing no other alternative, he took his chances and ran toward the light.
Soon he felt the gravel of the driveway be
neath his shoeless feet. He looked down to find that another frozen toe had broken off sometime in the chase. Another piece of humanity he will never get back. If it was warm enough for them to run, tears would be falling down his cheeks.
Following the gravel towards the yellow glow, soon he could make out the shape of a roof. It was a house, definitely a residence. The curtains were drawn, but bits of light escaped through the fabric at the sides. The owners of the house were apparently still awake.
Next to the house sat two vehicles, one a small, snow-covered car, the other something larger like an SUV or a truck. There was no garage. In fact, he couldn’t even see a shed. There was no place to hide.
He considered climbing a tree, but what would happen to him if he slipped and fell. Even if he evaded the hunters, he could break his back and be paralyzed yet still alive, left to rot in the snow.
As he approached the house, he saw the ramshackle state it was in. All the lights inside appeared to be on because there was pretty much only one room. But smoke came from the chimney, and he could almost taste the meal that he could smell roasting inside. The aroma was distinct. His mother used to always make the same meal for their Christmas back home, back before he died. This family most certainly was roasting a goose. He inhaled deeply. With mashed potatoes and gravy. Another whiff indicated some green beans. And pie, a Christmas pumpkin pie.
Steeling himself for the worst, he knocked on the door. Involuntarily, he cringed as it opened.
“My dear, you look awful. You poor thing. Come, come inside.” The little old lady was holding only a towel. There was no rolling pin in her hand, no cast iron pan above her head. She wasn’t wielding a poker for the fire. Her smile was warm, and she stepped aside to let him through.
“I’m sorry to bother you ma’am. I’m just so cold.”
“Please, call me Edith. Edith Henderson.” He noticed she didn’t try to shake his hand, but he was grateful to be spared that awkward moment. He wasn’t sure if it was frozen, and could only imagine the disgust she would have if she broke a finger off. Then she would attack him for sure. “The fire’s nice and warm, son. Go have a warm up.”
A big comfy chair sat next to the fire, and a book was turned upside down on the seat to mark the place. He avoided the chair for fear of losing the spot in the book and wetting the fabric from his dripping clothes. Instead, he squatted down on the rug.
It was so tempting to stick his hands in the fire, but he knew better. He wouldn’t feel the pain, but it was possible that he would dry enough to catch fire. He extended his arms as much as he dared, and he thought he could feel a little warmth.
Edith Henderson pulled some clothes out of a drawer and handed them to him. “I know they won’t warm you up, but they’ll surely do you more good than they’ll do me.” Folded together in the pile was a pair of jeans, a white undershirt, a henley shirt, and a flannel jacket. Like a cherry, on top of the bundle sat a small white square of a pair of folded underwear.
He took the underwear off of the top of the pile and held them up. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to, I included them just in case.”
“I’ll wear them. I couldn’t tell you the last time I got a pair of nice, clean underwear. It’s hard to go shopping for necessities like that when...” he trailed off. Surely, she hadn’t noticed his condition, or she wouldn’t have invited him in. He didn’t want to make her aware of it so early. Perhaps he would have time to defrost before he ran for his life again.
Mrs. Henderson moved the book and sat in the chair. “What’s your name?”
“Amal,” he said tentatively.
“I miss Mr. Henderson greatly,” she said. “Many times I regret that I did nothing to bring him back. It’s probably for the best, I see how many of your... kind? I’m sorry, I don’t know the appropriate term.” He shook his head that it was okay. “I see how you’re treated and hunted. And I know it ain’t your fault. I could get in a lot of trouble for having you here. But it’s Christmas, and there’s a place in this house for all kind souls.”
Standing in front of the fire, Amal let the tears flow. They were no longer salty, and tasted instead of muddy water. “There’s a bathroom over there,” she pointed to a small door at the far end of the room. “You can get changed and cleaned up, and we can sit down for a nice Christmas dinner.”
He choked out, “Thank you. Thank you for all of your kindness.”
The bathroom was warm from the heat of the fire. He soaked a washcloth in hot water and ran it over his face. Layers of grime and blood were wiped away. After depositing the wet, torn clothes in the waste basket, he examined himself in the mirror. Cleaned up, he looked almost human. He pulled on the clean white underpants, and felt ashamed that he was being allowed this little luxury. But when he pulled the shirt over his head, his heart sank to hear a knock on the front door. He put his ear to the bathroom wall to hear the conversation better.
“Good evening boys. Leave those outside, there’s no place for them here. Put your boots over by the fire to dry out, and I’ll get you each a cup of coffee. I’m Edith Henderson.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Henderson. I’m Joey Salzberger.”
“Mikey Granger, ma’am.”
Amal could envision the friendly handshakes.
“It’s a right state out there tonight fellas. How are you going to find your way home?”
“Frankly ma’am,” he could tell this was Mikey speaking, “I don’t know. We’ve come too far.”
“We’re stuck out here in the blizzard,” Joey said. “If it weren’t for your house, I don’t know what we would do.”
“You’re welcome to stay here until the storm blows over,” Mrs. Henderson said. “I was just finishing up a Christmas dinner for me and my guest. There’s plenty to go around.” Then she called out, “Amal, honey. Supper is ready when you are.”
He could feel the tension in the house. The hunters were surely inspecting every inch of the room to find where he was hiding. The bathroom had no window, the door was the only way out. He was trapped. The reflection in the mirror looked back at him. He couldn’t believe how he could have fooled himself into thinking that looked human. They would know him at once. But what else could he do? He combed his hair back, stood up tall, and opened the door.
“Amal, do you like roast goose?” Mrs. Henderson asked. She was holding a plate.
He licked his lips. “I do, it’s my favorite. My mother used to make it every Christmas.”
She piled mashed potatoes high on the plate next to a drumstick, and spooned gravy over the top. The plate was placed at the setting next to her own. “I doubt this will be as good as your mama’s, but it’ll do. Come and sit here next to me, this one is just for you.”
He kept an eye on the hunters as he passed. The first one, Joey he guessed, nodded to him politely, and Mikey followed suit. He sat at the table, and waited as Mrs. Henderson made plates up for the two other men as well as for herself.
The roast goose was the best thing Amal had ever tasted in his afterlife. It may even have been as good as his moms. As dinner progressed, they sat and talked together, all four of them, without a bit of animosity. Mrs. Henderson set blankets out for them, and they bundled up next to each other in front of the fire and fell asleep.
In the morning, Mrs. Henderson bid the hunters goodbye and sent them back to spend Christmas morning with their families. Joey was on the front porch when he said to Amal, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Go on your way, we won’t meet again.”
Mikey said, “The driveway leads to a road. We’re going east, back to town. If you continue to the west, I think you might find some friends.”
“Thank you,” said Amal.
Mrs. Henderson smiled and waved them goodbye.
(back to TOC)
****
Love
Just Another Bum
It was just another trip to the grocery store. Nothing special.
I turned down the soup ai
sle and saw the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on. Before seeing him, I had never thought a man could be beautiful before. He was tall and lean and dressed impeccably in a nice suit, but didn’t look pretentious. He had a dark complexion, deep brown eyes that seemed to beckon me like being wrapped in a big fuzzy blanket, and high cheekbones. His facial structure along with his long dark hair, braided down his back, made me think he had a lot of Native American descent.
I was so busy looking at him that I forgot where I was and what I was doing, and my cart hit an aisle display straight on. It was knocked clean over, and boxes of saltines scattered all over the floor. Embarrassed, I dove into picking the boxes up, but when I looked up he was gone.
I rushed through my shopping hoping to run into him again, and only saw him again in the parking lot when he was getting into his car. I debated following him, but what would that get me other than a restraining order?
The next week, I saw him again, eating inside my favorite restaurant as I was picking up take out. Over the next few months, he kept popping up around town, just out of reach. I went into the bank and saw him pulling away from the drive through. I was leaving the laundry mat as he was taking his clothes in. He passed me on his bike as I was walking down the street.
It got so awkward, all the times I’d seen him and stared at him, that if I could get the chance to say something, I didn’t know what I could say. Whenever he was around, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He had to know that he was being stared at, and I was probably, “that weird girl,” at this point.
Brains for the Zombie Soul (a parody) Page 6