George Washington Zombie Slayer

by Wiles, David

  “Have faith, my friend,” Benjamin Franklin said, patting George on the back. “Have faith. For on this night, we enter the new age of Military Science!”

  Chapter 59

  Zombie Camp Infiltration

  Using their ninja skills, Thomas Jefferson and George Washington silently crept to the far side of the camp, scaled the stockade fence with black hemp rope, and slipped undetected into the British Zombie Training Camp. The zombie cabins were aligned in two columns, with the last cabin in each column just a few feet from the stockade fence. Washington stepped onto the roof of the last cabin on the right side, Jefferson to the left.

  Jefferson just now noticed two British sentries approaching but, before he could act, he heard a slight displacement of air beside him as Washington threw two black metal ninja throwing stars, called shuriken, at the two soldiers. Each soldier was struck in the temple and fell to the ground, instantly dead.

  “Only six thousand, five hundred and ninety eight to go,” Jefferson whispered. “If your estimate is correct.” Both men chuckled softly.

  Jefferson and Washington each placed a small ball of C4 on the roofs of the cabins on which they stood, set the timers, and crept along the rooftops to the next pair of cabins.

  In the front of the camp, Benjamin Franklin, with a little huffing and puffing, rolled three barrels of gunpowder next to the front of the British stockade fence, directly adjacent to the barracks where the living British troops were bedded down for the evening. Two sentries briefly approached but, seeing nothing in the darkness, walked away without incident.

  “I’m getting too old for this shit,” Franklin admitted to himself as he hid, still huffing a bit from his exertions with the barrels. Franklin checked his pocket watch with illuminated dial (a patented Franklin invention) and saw there were only three minutes to go before the explosions started. Using his own disposable pocket lighter (another Franklin first) he lit the three minute fuses on each of the three gunpowder barrels near the fence, and climbed to the top of the nearby hill to await his friends.

  Franklin strapped on his new electric assault rifle battery pack over his shoulders, tied the straps snugly across his chest, and plugged the battery cable of the rifle into the jack on the side of the pack. The pack was fully charged, but even he didn’t know how many electrical discharges he could fire off with this vastly improved battery pack.

  The three Founding Fathers had previously lined up the five remaining gunpowder barrels at the top of the hill where Franklin stood waiting as both Washington and Jefferson arrived.

  “All of 8 the C4 charges are set,” Washington said happily.

  “We’re good to go,” Jefferson agreed.

  “Only one minute until detonation,” Franklin said, checking his pocket watch yet again. “Get ready to unleash hell.”

  Chapter 60

  Washington, Franklin and Jefferson

  Blow Up Many Zombies

  “Cover your ears,” Franklin said to his two friends as he looked down one last time at his pocket watch. Ten seconds…nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…”

  Almost on cue, the three barrels in front of the stockade fence exploded in a great fireball of destruction. The fence was gone, and the barracks also, which housed the 500 living British soldiers, was almost completely destroyed. They could hear the surviving hundred or so living British troops blowing the bugle alarm calls.

  Jefferson lit the five gunpowder barrels at the top of the hill where they stood and the three men kicked the barrels into a speedy roll down the hillside. Sadly, two of the barrels hit trees before reaching the camp and exploded in flames on the hillside. The remaining three flaming gunpowder casks sailed directly into the British camp, exploding and causing much destruction.

  Several of the more inexperienced British officers, panicked by the large explosions, had fled to the rear of the camp, which was presently going to be a very bad place to be. Because at that moment, just as about 20 soldiers fled to the rear in cowardice, the C4 charges that Washington and Jefferson set began to explode.

  From their perch atop the hillside overlooking the British camp, the three men were startled at the size and force of the paired, explosive fireballs as the two rearmost zombie barracks, and the retreating British shirkers, were completely obliterated. Only a pair of smoking craters remained.

  “Jesus Christ!” Washington exclaimed in delighted laughter. “Your little putty balls worked!” Washington went over and kissed Franklin on the forehead. “Why do I ever doubt you?”

  “Amazing, Doctor Franklin,” Jefferson said. “Truly amazing.”

  Another pair of explosions erupted from the camp, and another, and another. It was the same every time as the C4 was ignited, a blinding flash of light, followed by a pair of giant fireballs, and then an aftermath of absolute destruction.

  Washington took great joy in watching the rows of gallows burn near the front of the camp. No more living souls would hang here and become the undead pawns of the British.

  In all, over four thousand zombie soldiers, and over 500 living British Redcoats, were blown to pieces and completely destroyed. But to their credit, the surviving British soldiers were not giving up. From the flaming camp below could be heard the frantic bugle calls ordering the zombies into attack formation. There were still nearly two thousand zombies that still survived and they were going to be used to try to repulse this attack.

  “Gentlemen,” Washington asked, “These British cocksuckers aren’t giving up. Shall we proceed with the fontal assault?”

  “Lock and load!” Franklin said as he activated his electrical assault rifle. “Let’s go kick some zombie ass!”

  Chapter 61

  The American Founding Fathers Kick Some Zombie Ass

  George Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin stepped through the flaming debris which was formerly a British stockade fence and were startled to see several hundred zombie Redcoats being marched directly at them amid the flames and chaos within the camp. Washington and Jefferson unsheathed their swords, but Franklin stood fast just in front of the other two.

  “Wait,” Franklin said to his friends. “We need to draw them in close. My new weapon works better up close. Please stay well behind me.”

  The zombies advanced in perfect formation and line of battle, steadily approaching the three men, snarling and longing to feed upon their living flesh. Jefferson and Washington shifted nervously, ready to spring forward but awaiting the effects of Franklin’s new weapon. The zombies drew ever closer. Fifty feet away. Forty.Thirty.

  “Bennie…?” Washington asked nervously.

  Now,” Franklin said softly.

  Franklin carefully aimed and fired the weapon, and roughly thirty bolts of lightning flashed instantly forward from the tip of the gun, crackling angrily and striking the heads of the thirty nearest zombies, which exploded instantaneously. Franklin pulled the trigger of the electrical assault rifle again, and got the same result. Another thirty bolds of electricity shot from the weapon, striking thirty more zombies in the head, and the exploding heads showered the trio with a misty spray of zombie blood.

  “God-damn, Bennie!” Washington exclaimed. “You are truly the father of lightning!”

  Washington and Jefferson stood in awe behind Benjamin Franklin as he continued to fire his deadly invention, gritting his teeth in fierce focus, until soon there was a pile of hundreds of headless zombie corpses forming a wall before them. Franklin continued to blaze away at his foes, blasting their fiendish heads from their bodies with his scientific taming of nature, the lightning continuing to flare repeatedly from his electrical assault weapon.

  The British continued to order the advance of even more zombie soldiers at Franklin and his friends. After several minutes, with countless hundreds of smoking, headless, zombie corpses already strewn before them, the three noticed that Franklin’s weapon seemed to be losing its potency. Instead of 30 bolts of lightning with each shot, there soon came on
ly 20, and then ten. In a few moments, only three or four bolts came from the weapon, until at last only one lightning bolt issued forth with each shot.

  “The charge is nearly gone,” Franklin yelled to his two friends, drawing his sword from his walking stick with one hand while still firing his weapon with the other.

  “You did well, Doctor Franklin,” Washington said raising his sword. “And we knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.”

  “Our turn,” Jefferson said as he and Washington raced forward into the oncoming zombie lines with swords out, stabbing and slashing at the inhuman creatures in merciless attack.

  Now it was Benjamin Franklin’s turn to be impressed as he watched his two friends in hand to hand combat with nearly a thousand zombie soldiers. Jefferson and Washington were as two whirlwinds of death, spinning and slashing in defiance of the hopeless odds against them. Franklin, too, continued to fire again and again, while slashing with his sword as well. But there were simply too many zombies to be stopped.

  Washington saw the hundreds more zombies surge forward until at last he was separated from both Jefferson and Franklin. They were gone, to what fate only God knew. But Washington never stopped fighting. Hundreds of zombies yet surrounded him, snapping and snarling at him, their teeth mere inches away from his flesh now. He continued to stab and slash with heroic defiance, cutting and chopping zombie flesh again and again and again, screaming in anger and rage, felling hundreds of zombies, until at last, in silence, soaked with zombie blood, breathless and exhausted, he stood before one living man.

  The zombies were all defeated, but the aide of General Cornwallis, Lieutenant Smithers, stood defiantly before Washington with a pistol aimed at Washington’s head.

  “Drop your sword, General Washington,” Smithers barked. “Immediately!”

  Washington did as he was ordered and dropped his sword upon the blood soaked battlefield. He had no weapons left upon him. He had used everything upon the field. Smithers still nervously aimed the gun directly at Washington’s head, well aware of the General’s prowess as a ninja warrior. Washington knew that to move would mean his death.

  “That was most impressive,” Smithers taunted. “But it was all for nothing. Because while you may have killed many thousands of our zombie soldiers, we will have you as our prize, the great and famous General George Washington. The great traitor and Soldier of rebellion. The man who defied his King. We shall march you back to General Cornwallis in chains, where you shall be tried and hanged as the traitor you are.”

  Washington remained silent but could see ten British officers emerging from an underground bunker a few yards away.

  “Yes, you didn’t know we officers were quite safe from your attack in our little bunker,” Smithers boasted. “And now, Sir,” Smithers said still pointing the gun. “Upon your word of honor, you will pledge to me that you shall not try to escape my custody, or I shall shoot you dead this moment like the dog you are.”

  George Washington said nothing.

  “I am not joking!” Smithers said nervously. “I will kill you, Sir.”

  George Washington said nothing.

  “Very well then,” Smithers said, cocking his pistol. “Since you refuse to comply... by the authority granted me by the King and service in the King’s Army, under Lord General Cornwallis, I hereby sentence you, General George Washington, to death. Have you any last words?”

  “Yeah, go fuck yourself,” Washington said simply. “Cocksucker.”

  “Defiant to the end,” Smithers laughed as he steadied his pistol. “Though I shall report to his majesty that you cried and begged for your life, on your knees, like a coward. THAT shall be the final legacy of General George Washington!”

  Suddenly, a ninja throwing star whistled past Washington’s head and embedded itself in the skull of Lieutenant Smithers. Then another. And then a third. Smithers seemed shocked for a moment, unable to move, knowing he was dead, standing there in stunned silence as only an Englishman can do.

  “What was that you were saying, cocksucker?” Washington asked, before Smithers fell dead to the ground.

  Washington turned around to see the blood-soaked Thomas Jefferson on one knee, about ten yards away, breathless and exhausted, after flinging his last three throwing stars at Smithers.

  “For a moment there,” Jefferson said, “I thought you might actually let him shoot you.”

  “Naw,” Washington said, walking over to his friend and helping him to his feet. “I knew you had my back.” The two men hugged.

  Hearing a noise behind them, Jefferson and Washington turned to see the ten remaining British officers from the bunker, standing a short distance away, with their muskets aimed directly at the two of them. The British were just a second or two from unleashing a fatal volley of musket fire. “Ready….aim….”

  From behind a large pile of zombie corpses to the left of Jefferson, there suddenly emerged the solitary, gore-speckled figure of Benjamin Franklin. In his hands, over his head, he held the smoking and sparking battery-pack of the electrical assault weapon he designed.

  “Get down, my friends!” Franklin shouted as he flung the pack at the British. “I have it set to overload!” The three men leapt to the ground as Franklin threw the battery pack at the British. It landed just in front of the British officers with a large, explosive discharge of lightning, vaporizing the remaining, screaming soldiers in a blinding shower of sparks and blue flame.

  “Nice,” Washington said to his friend Franklin, who fell exhausted on the ground beside them. “Thanks for the assist.”

  “My pleasure,” Franklin said as he reclined upon the ground near his to friends.

  The three men laid there for over an hour in silence, utterly spent and exhausted from the monumental task they had accomplished. Against all odds, these three Founding Fathers had defeated nearly 7,000 zombie and living soldiers, and had emerged victorious. Never again would the British be able to create or use large numbers of zombie soldiers for combat against the Continental Army.

  “No one said being a Founding Father was going to be an easy fucking job,” Benjamin Franklin said at last, laughing.

  “You should put that in your almanac,” Washington said chuckling.

  “Hey, do either of you have any weed?” Jefferson asked. “I could really use a little help chilling out right about now.”

  “Well, Mister Jefferson,” Franklin said, “I just so happen to have a little bit of Washington’s finest Mount Vernon grass sequestered right here in my coat pocket.”

  “Bennie, you’re a lifesaver,” Washington said as Franklin filled and lit his pipe, and passed it to the other two.

  The first red rays of sunrise found these three heroes smoking peacefully on a blood-soaked Virginia hillside, surrounded by thousands of zombie corpses, with a new found confidence and hope in the ultimate success of the American Revolution.

  Chapter 62

  The Dark Revenge of General Cornwallis

  Lord Cornwallis was about as pissed off this evening as any Englishman could be, so angry that he failed to have his afternoon tea and pastries. He failed to have his daily manicure and pedicure. He failed even to partake in his usual mid-afternoon masturbation and sponge bath. This was shocking conduct, unheard of in polite English society. A true gentleman was supposed to disregard the difficulties and travails of one’s career and focus instead on the routine enjoyment of life’s pleasures.

  But Cornwallis was too upset to care. It was bad enough that his “southern strategy” in the Revolutionary War was being defeated by American General Greene, but he now learned that Washington and a small party had completely destroyed the British Zombie Development Facility just outside of Richmond, Virginia. Thousands of troops he had counted upon in his battle plans were now no longer available. Truly, it was a sad day for King and country and, for the first time, Cornwallis actually contemplated the thought that the British might lose the Revolutionary War.

  Also, it appeared that Washington and
Lafayette had convinced the god-damn French to ally with the Americans and provide them with ships and troops and ammunition and weapons. Under normal circumstances, the British held the French in low regard as warriors, believing that France produced lovely wines and cheeses, and generally substandard soldiers. But in this case, with the recent loss of the zombie troops, the arrival of the French generated much anger in Cornwallis.

  In his fury, Cornwallis summoned a tall, hooded stranger into his private office. The man walked with military bearing and poise up to the desk and stood proudly before the General, even though his face was concealed.

  “You are certain you have no problem in carrying out my order?” Cornwallis asked the man directly.

  “No problem at all, General,” the hooded man replied as Cornwallis scribbled the official order on a small piece of paper. “Why do you ask?”

  “This is the type of order that many men might find…difficult to carry out,” Cornwallis admitted. “I wanted to be certain that you have no reservations about doing something that some might regard as…ungentlemanly.”

  “I am no gentleman, General,” the hooded man said plainly. “Although I aspire to be.”

  “Well,” Cornwallis replied, “if you fulfill your mission, I can assure you of a financial payment that will provide …a very prosperous and gentlemanly future.”

  “That’s all I ask,” the hooded man said as he took the order from Cornwallis and put it in his pocket. “Fair compensation for services rendered.”

  “You may expect payment upon your return with your prisoner,” Cornwallis said happily. “You may meet us at our new position in a few weeks. I am withdrawing the British army to a city called …Yorktown.”

  “I shall return within ten days with the prisoner you have requested,” the hooded man said before leaving the room and climbing aboard his horse. Cornwallis watched out his window as the hooded stranger rode quickly off into the setting sun.