by Will Lemen
Although non-iodized salt works best for tanning, the kitchen salt was all I had, and it would have to do. It would take longer, but I had all the time in the world, that is unless I got myself killed running around this planet from hell.
With the tit salted and bagged, I wiped down my knife and stuck it back into my front pocket, then returned to the living room and to the one tit wonder still sound asleep on the floor.
I tucked the tanning breast underneath my arm and unlaced the white cord from one of Cassandra's afore mentioned high-heeled sneakers. Later I would use it for the drawstring of my new leather diddy bag, or titty bag, whichever you prefer.
Stuffing the shoelace into my pocket, I conducted a quick search of the house for Carla's stash of 12 gage shotgun shells, which I found rather quickly hidden behind the same couch she had laid in wait behind to ambush me, and was now slumped over.
It wasn't much, just a couple of boxes, but it was enough to justify dragging the double barreled shotgun with me.
I wrenched the coach gun from Carla's rigor mortis grip and collected my machete, pistol, and whiskey, then headed for the door, stopping briefly to take a furtive look through the curtains decorating the front window to make sure that I wouldn't run head-long into a swarm of ravenous maggot magnets malingering by my truck.
With the coast as clear as it was ever going to get, and Cassandra beginning to stir, I bid her a fond farewell just before I bolted out the front door and jumped into my truck.
"Goodbye Cassandra or whatever your name really is. Remember, I just wanted to play doctor with you, not become your doctor, but don't worry, no matter what happens from here on out, I'll keep abreast of the situation for you."
As I tossed Cassandra's salted tit onto the passenger seat along with my pistol, donated shotgun, and the rest of my stuff, and started my getaway vehicle, I realized that I didn't want Cassandra waking up screaming in pain, or screaming just because she was no longer symmetrical, or maybe a little bit of both, thereby inviting every undead and unfed flesh eater that was within earshot of Carla's house in for dinner.
I mean, how in the world is she ever going to learn her lesson if she doesn't get to walk around one tit lighter and maybe slightly off balance for at least a month or two?
I spotted a couple of small hordes of the undead that had seen me make my exit from the house and that were approaching my location as rapid as their unstable staggering could bring them. So I decided to lure them away from Cassandra to give her a fighting chance to enjoy her newly balanced life.
I put the truck in gear and drove out of Carla's front yard and onto the street, where I slowly drove back toward the river honking the horn and shouting.
"Fuck you eaters, come and get me, you disease-ridden pieces of shit."
I have to admit; sometimes I can be quite the charmer.
My ploy worked as my engine idled and pushed the truck down the street at a speed equal to that of a normal adult's pace who was briskly walking along.
With the horn bellowing out its harsh and annoying sound at equally timed intervals, along with a few choice words yelled from the cab of my truck, I led several of the gathering hordes, and many of the smaller groups of two or three (their flies included) down the road behind me in pursuit of what they hoped would be their next unholy meal.
As a last ditch effort to make a distracting noise in the opposite direction from which I'd come. Before continuing on to the interstate 40, I stopped the truck about a mile into my journey back to the river because I just couldn't resist taking a couple of potshots at the lead zombies in the growing herd that was following.
My choice of weapons to carry out this task was the trusty Kel-Tec Sub-2000 which I pulled from behind the seat where I had stashed it.
The Sub-2000 is an inexpensive, but difficult to obtain (at least it was before the zombie plague decimated our world) high capacity 9mm carbine.
A non-assuming yet effective pistol caliber weapon, the Sub-2000 folds in the middle and locks in place at half its functioning size for easy and safe transport, while standing ready to be called into action at a moment's notice.
By sliding a latch and flipping the barrel back into its firing configuration, with one slap of the bolt handle a round is chambered and the rifle is ready to be fired.
The whole operation can be accomplished in well under five seconds.
This impudent little firearm is lightweight, rugged, reliable, and was my deceased son Jacob's favorite gun, which he used very successfully in the ongoing war against zombies and reprobate humans alike.
"Okay ladies, come and get it," I yelled at the mix of male and female zombies nearing the tailgate of my truck, as I flicked the blued barrel of the folded rife into zombie killing mode.
I popped off two full metal-jacketed lead projectiles of the 9mm variety into the head of the undead walking corpse nearest to me (about twenty yard away). And watched as my bullets penetrated its face and slammed into the inside of the back of its skull, causing the usual large chunks of diseased brain to be ejected out of the back of the head, along with generous portions of hair-laced skin and shattered bone.
My generosity stopped after the first zombie collapsed in the middle of the road, two bullets per zombie was not only a waste of ammunition, but a waste of my valuable time as well.
For this particular crowd of flesh eaters, from this point on, I would allocate only one headshot to each of the remaining trailing zombies that I chose to put down.
Unless one or two of them begged for more than a solitary shot to their cranium, and because I am a kind and generous man, then of course I would be more than happy to oblige them.
Although I enjoyed watching every one of the zombies that I shot die just feet away from me, my plan was not to spend a lot of time annihilating this horde of the starving undead that I had led away from Cassandra.
The main purpose of leading the zombies away from the house, was to try and insure that Cassandra could live to enjoy the surprise that I had left for her, the surprise that in my opinion she had begged for, and that I was congenial enough to give to her free of charge.
I was anxious to leave the scene and continue on to Indiana in pursuit of my former friend the Sarge, so I incorporated extreme prejudice as I weighted down five more of the walking cadavers with hot lead, and was back in my truck before the last one hit the ground.
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ADJUSTMENTS MUST BE MADE
"Lieutenant Zeem!"
"Yes Captain Xarr?
"Your report Lieutenant!"
"As per your request Captain Xarr, I have compiled a list of recommended adjustments in the experimental groups that I think will enhance the outcome of our mission," Lieutenant Zeem answered.
The Captain of the interstellar spaceship stared at his new Lieutenant with a curiously angry look on his face.
"So far Lieutenant, your report consists of only one sentence, and I have already found issue with two of your statements within that sentence," Captain Xarr complained.
"Captain Xarr, please illuminate me," Lieutenant Zeem begged with as much dignity as he could muster, as his thoughts turned to the previous officer that had been 2nd in command.
"First of all Lieutenant Zeem, do I look like the kind of Ship's Captain that might request something from one of my crew members?" the irate Captain inquired.
"No sir, Captain Xarr," Lieutenant Zeem answered, his eyes bulging as he looked from side to side hoping to get some kind of sign from another member of the crew of how to handle this frighteningly awkward situation.
However, all members of the bridge crew now focused intently on the mechanism in front of them, pretending that they were busy doing their jobs and not listening in on the conversation between their Captain and his newly appointed 2nd in command.
All except the security detail, they stood at attention, poised and ready to take Lieutenant Zeem into custody if the ship's Captain so ordered.
"Pardon me Captain
Xarr, I did not mean any disrespect, it was a figure of speech," Lieutenant Zeem whined, as he lied through his alien teeth. "I am still attempting to master the vernacular of the language in this sector of the planet."
"Then I suggest you spend a vast amount of your off duty time in the ship's library getting familiar with the speech patterns of the inept indigenous people of this world."
"Yes Captain Xarr, I will take your advice under consideration," Lieutenant Zeem answered.
"I see. Well thank you so very much for considering my unassuming and deficient attempt to counsel you in the ways of improving yourself. Which by the way, would make you a better staff officer under my command, and thereby make you much more fit for duty as second in command on my inadequate little interstellar spaceship," the Captain stated in a monotone voice, as he glared at his newly appointed underling.
"You are most welcome Captain Xarr," the unwitting officer answered, as the bridge crew looked at each other and cringed.
"Lieutenant Zeem, would you like to know the other issue I have with your report so far?" Captain Xarr asked, gritting his teeth.
"Yes sir, Captain Xarr!" the young office answered loudly, oblivious of his captain's ire.
"Well Lieutenant Zeem, you stated earlier, and I quote."
"I have compiled a list of recommended adjustments in the experimental groups that I think will enhance the outcome of our mission."
"Yes Captain Xarr, those were my exact words," Lieutenant Zeem boasted. "I have researched the past performance of all of the experimental groups, and I believe that I can recalibrate our instruments both aboard ship and the microchips implanted in the experimental groups to the proper adjustments, which might greatly enhance the outcome of our mission.
Tired of the language games, and wondering if the up and coming officer's promotion was one of the few mistakes he had made in his career, Captain Xarr blurted out.
"I think, I believe, it might, I keep hearing these words that reek of insecurity, words that cause me to believe that you're not too sure of yourself, yet you seem to expect me to risk the success of this mission on your obvious self-doubt."
"Yes sir Captain Xarr, I mean no sir Captain Xarr," Lieutenant Zeem gasped, involuntarily exercising his already strained sphincter muscle once more.
"Lieutenant Zeem, the aura of complete ineptitude that you have chosen to display to myself and the other members of this crew is of monumental proportion.
Normally I would have already had a security detail taken you into custody and you would be joining Private Jol in the indoctrinating persecution chamber as we speak.
However, due to the unique circumstances that surround your particular case, I feel a rare dose of leniency is called for."
"Yes... Captain Xarr," Lieutenant Zeem stammered, not yet feeling totally relieved.
"Lieutenant Zeem, you will accompany me to the indoctrinating persecution chamber in which Private Jol is occupying," Captain Xarr exclaimed.
"Yes, Captain Xarr," the lieutenant barked, his body becoming rigid as he sprang to attention.
Lieutenant Zeem, although he did feel somewhat relieved that he was not being escorted to join Private Jol in the indoctrinating persecution chamber by members of the ship's security force, and instead seemingly taking a tour of the chamber with the Captain, he still felt uneasy about the impromptu visit.
"Number 3, take the helm, Lieutenant Zeem and myself will be on deck 13, Bay 5, indoctrinating persecution chamber 35 until further notice," Captain Xarr ordered. "That is unless Lieutenant Zeem decides to resign his commission and make his visit with Private Jol a permanent one."
"Aye aye Captain Xarr," the ships third in command responded as he too sprang to attention.
A unified sigh of relief gushed onto the bridge of the alien ship, as several command officers released the breath that they had been holding in anticipation of being on the receiving end of Captain Xarr's rage, and the possible forthcoming demotion of the new lieutenant in charge.
"Keisaf aae ehgssie fornaka," one bridge officer remarked in his native tongue.
"Are you insane, you know that Captain Xarr ordered all crew members to speak in the language, dialect, and vernacular, of the semi-intelligent indigenous creatures on the land mass of which we hover over?
Hell, even the gynandromorphs contained on deck 69 are being made to comply with that decree, there are no exceptions," another bridge officer reminded. "If Captain Xarr hears you speaking Annunaki, if you're lucky your new quarters will be on deck 69 with the gynandromorphs, and luck isn't something that you want to count on around here."
"Thank you comrade for the reminder, I hope my indiscretion will go no farther than this bridge," the offending officer begged, as he looked around the bridge to see if his remarks in his native Annunakian tongue had been overheard by any other crewmembers.
"We will see, indeed, we will see," was the cryptic reply from the shipmate, as he began to consider ways of turning his fellow space-mariner's slip of the tongue to his advantage.
Upon arriving at Bay 5, one of the indoctrination and persecution areas of the ship, Captain Xarr addressed the enlisted guard securing the door of chamber 35.
"I do not hear Private Jol, he is stationed here in Bay 5, chamber number 35 is he not?"
"Yes Captain Xarr, Private Jol is stationed right behind this door," the guard answered.
"Then why do I not hear the private? If the persecuting officer is not malingering, I should hear Private Jol being indoctrinated," Captain Xarr insisted. "Do not you agree Lieutenant Zeem?"
"Absolutely Captain Xarr, we should defiantly be hearing the sounds of former Lieutenant Jol's rehabilitation," Lieutenant Zeem concurred.
"You see sergeant, Lieutentant Zeem agrees with me because he knows that we will be able to hear his rehabilitation in progress if he continues to... how do those Americans down on the planet's surface say it, oh yes, if he continues to fuck up," the Captain warned, raising his voice and leaning in close to his Lieutenant's face.
"Isn't that right Lieutenant?"
"Yes... Captain Xarr," Lieutenant Zeem hesitantly confessed.
"The persecuting officer assigned to this bay is Rylo Kesbvoff of the Science Academy on Tarsa II," the sergeant at arms told the Captain. "He has been decorated many times for his unwavering devotion to his duty and his attention to detail."
Captain Xarr gave Lieutenant Zeem a knowing look as he nodded his head, revealing his confidence in the persecuting officer behind the door of chamber 35.
"Open the door sergeant," Captain Xarr ordered.
"Yes, Captain Xarr," the sergeant replied, as he pressed the protruding octagonal mechanism that operated the chamber's door.
The indoctrinating persecution chamber door opened and the former Lieutenant Jol, now Private Jol was seen sitting perched several feet off the deck in a shiny metal chair that was suspended from the ceiling and which resembled what one might describe as an early twentieth century art deco battery-operated execution chair.
The state of the art Annunaki rehabilitation seat came complete with a riveted reinforced skull cap that sprouted from the back of the seat and curved back down to encapsulate the upper portion of the victim's (the one being indoctrinated) cranium.
The heavy metal straps that pinned Private Jol's wrists firmly to the arms of the chair reflected the dim greenish-yellow light that flooded the chamber as the two Annunaki officers entered the room.
"Rylo Kesbvoff of the Science Academy on Tarsa II, it has been many cycles of Oraiya since we last served together," Captain Xarr said gleefully, as he greeted the persecuting officer in charge of Bay 5.
"Pacal Xarr my old friend who's name reflects his storied ancestor Admiral Pacal Xarr from our distant Anunnakian past." Rylo Kesbvoff stated, as he greeted the ship's Captain with the traditional Anunnaki military salute.
******
The traditional Anunnaki military salute is performed by standing at attention with the heels of the feet toget
her and toes pointed out at a 45° angle. The left arm is held stiff, straight down along the left side pressing against the body with the left hand clenched in a fist, and with the knuckles pointing to the left of the military personnel doing the salute. At the same time, the saluting subordinate bends the right elbow at a 90° angle, and places the right forearm into a horizontal position across the front of the body just below the rib cage. With the right hand bent upward at the wrist at a 90° angle to the forearm, and with the thumb touching the sternum and the fingers pointing straight up, the soldier stands rigid and does not look at the superior officer, even if eye movement is necessary to adhere to that regulation.
Then a slight bow of the head to show the proper respect, and admission of subordination within the military hierarchy is required, which completes the salute.
Done properly the soldier should look like he or she is standing at attention and momentarily praying to the Anunnaki Gods with only one arm. Similar to what it would look like if one could hear the sound of one hand clapping.
However, if the soldier's right arm has been severed from their body, then the maneuver is performed using their left arm, provided it is still attached to the soldier's body.
The only acceptable way a militarily ensconced Annunaki can lose their limb and still maintain their status in the current branch of the Annunaki armed forces, is to lose said limb during an active combat role in the service of the Annunaki Confederation.
If the soldier looses an arm or a leg in any other way, such as an accident, that soldier would be immediately drummed out of the Annunaki military and placed in a civilian organization for the remainder of what would have been their military service contract.
In the rare case that a soldier has been unfortunate enough to have had both of their arms dismembered from their body during combat, then he or she is deemed unworthy to serve the Annunaki cause and is summarily executed on the field of battle by his comrades.
