Undead Cheesehead (Monsters in the Midwest Book 3)

by Scott Burtness

  He didn’t have time to consider what he had expected, and had even less time to consider what he was seeing. The myriad of rodents chattered madly behind him, the aliens hooted and honked, and Stanley Prime was yelling at them to calm down because Wisconsin rodents thrive on fear. With a quick prayer to Dallas’s Great Wolf or whoever else might be listening, Stanley leapt from the opening to the pavement beneath and took off at a run between the rows of parked semi-trucks.

  “Hey! Stop!” a voice yelled.

  It wasn’t Stanley Prime’s voice - Prime didn’t have an accent or sound like a girl - so Stanley hit the brakes and skidded to a halt. When he looked back, he saw a woman running toward him.

  “Aletia!” he cried.

  The hunter came to a stop in front of him, shock plain on her face.

  “Stanley?” she gasped. “Where did you come from?”

  In response, he pointed over her shoulder. The woman turned in time to see something that neither she nor Stanley had expected.

  Stanley Prime and two agitated footstools shook a fist and a large collection of tentacles from the back of a semi-trailer lit from within by an undulating yellow glow. A plethora of squirrels, mice, pikas, moles, and a really annoyed marmot managed to jump free before the doors of a non-descript semi-trailer swung shut. While Stanley and Aletia rested their jaws on the snowy parking lot’s pavement, the semi transformed before their eyes. Little puffs of steam shot out from the seams where the trailer’s sides met its roof, and a series of sharp reports sounded out like a string of firecrackers. The trailer’s roof and sides fell off and revealed a smooth, oblong shape. Every inch of the strange object that had been concealed inside the trailer was a softly glowing yellow, just like what Stanley had seen on the inside.

  The shape floated up from its hiding place, looking for all the world like a yellow submarine hovering about fifteen feet above the ground, tethered by an orange extension cord that snaked its way back to one of the truckstop’s outdoor outlets.

  “Dios mío,” Aletia breathed. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  Stanley gulped. “Um. Okay. It’s n-not a spaceship.”

  “Gracias.”

  “No p-problem.”

  The craft’s steady yellow glow started to pulse, each one brighter than the last. After five consecutive pulses, the pattern shifted to ripples that started at the craft’s conical front end and raced back to its flat posterior. The ripples increased in speed to the point where the whole parking lot was lit up like a rave. Right when Stanley thought the ripples couldn’t possibly move any faster, the extension cord fell free. The alien ship rocketed forward and vanished into the horizon a split-second later. A sonic boom rattled Stanley’s teeth, and then all was quiet.

  “Was that a spaceship?” a low voice asked from behind him.

  Startled, Stanley whipped his head around. The large, bald, and bearded hunter was standing a short ways behind them, eyes still focused on the empty piece of sky that had just held a spaceship.

  “Si,” Aletia said.

  “Cool,” the giant rumbled. “Always wanted to see one of those.”

  Before Stanley could agree, he was suddenly staring at the sharp point of Aletia’s blade.

  “You were a zombie.”

  It was a statement, not a question. Even so, Stanley figured he’d better clear up some details before the hunter sliced him up like a summer sausage.

  “I am a z-zombie,” he started, and realized it was the wrong place to start. Aletia moved the blade closer, and the giant gripped his shoulder with a huge hand.

  “No, not like th-that,” he sputtered. “One of me is a z-zombie. I’m the other me that’s not a z-zombie.”

  The giant chuckled, low and loud. “And how many of you are there, friend?”

  Stanley held up three shaking fingers, and bent them each down as he counted.

  “Well, there’s the original me, Stanley P-Prime. He’s the one that g-got snatched up by aliens back in high school and was inside that spaceship. The one that looked like me, n-not like a footstool. Then there’s m-me. I’m a c-clone, but Lois and Herby say that’s okay, and that I’m still a real me. And there’s a zombie me. We just saw that me for a second, b-but no mistake, it was d-definitely me. And that me’s a clone t-too, but it was a c-clone that got bit by a fly that bit a zombie. That t-turned it into a zombie, which means it died and set off the cloner,” he explained, holding out the alarm clock, “which made me. Well, me a few me’s ago. I’ve d-died a few times since and keep g-getting cloned. But anyway, that one of me that got bit and d-died and t-turned into a zombie did all that before it c-could be reclaimed so there wasn’t an extra Stanley around.”

  “I actually almost followed that whole thing,” the giant said with quiet wonder. “But you’re a little Energizer Bunny when you get going, aren’t you?”

  Stanley didn’t know if that was a question, or a rhetorical question. Since the giant still had a painful grip on his shoulder and Aletia hadn’t lowered her blade, he decided it was probably rhetorical. He quivered, terrified at the thought that she’d stick him with the sword and he’d die with the unplugged cloning device clutched in his shaking hand.

  “He’s always like that,” Aletia said, not unkindly. Lowering her blade, she looked at the giant. “He’s the one I told you about. Friends with a vampire and a witch and a,” she said before her throat caught. “A werewolf. But he’s human. Or a clone of a human, or whatever. Let him go, Jonah.”

  The pressure that had been threatening to snap his clavicle vanished, and Stanley collapsed to his knees.

  “Holy c-camoly, you got strong hands, mister.”

  The giant named Jonah chuckled again and extended one of those strong hands in greeting. Stanley took it and the hunter pulled him to his feet easy as lifting a half-empty pint of beer. During their exchange, a few other people had gathered around. Stanley didn’t recognize them, but they were obviously with Aletia and Jonah. With curt instructions to a couple of them to get back on patrol, the giant took Stanley’s arm and started walking him across the lot.

  The excitement of the past few minutes had blinded Stanley to a surprising revelation. He was at Ronnie’s. The truckstop had a parking lot for semis in back. When truckers took a break from the road, they could park in back and rent a private cot inside, or just nap in their truck if they drove one with a sleeper. The semi that had concealed the alien’s spaceship was parked at the far corner, completely innocuous.

  Good place to hide, Stanley realized. Gosh, them aliens sure are clever.

  As he, Aletia, and Jonah got closer, Stanley picked up on more details. Ronnie’s had changed since he was last there. A number of semi-trucks were circled up like wagons from the old west, forming a protective perimeter, and all of the plate-glass windows on the diner and gift shop had been boarded over from within.

  “Wow, you g-got this place looking real safe, yes sir,” he commented. “B-boy oh boy, it’s like the movies. I was watching Mad Max, you know, the old one with Mel G-Gibson when he still talked funny. They had p-places like this. No zombies, though. At least, I d-didn’t see any in the movie. There might’ve b-been, though. Sure could’ve b-been. But that Max, he was mostly fighting these really wild g-guys. Real bad news. They…”

  “Seen it, Stanley,” Jonah cut in.

  “Oh,” he murmured, deflated. No one ever wanted to talk movies with him.

  The hunters ushered him through a makeshift gate in the barricade and into the diner. The plate-glass windows facing the front parking lot were covered with heavy sheets of plywood, and the tables groaned under the weight of a wide assortment of weapons and supplies. A mismatched group of people occupied various tables. They were all engaged in cleaning guns, polishing knives, oiling the pulleys on compound bows, wrapping barbed wire around baseball bats, and other odd pastimes. Only one face in the bunch was familiar.

  “Hey there, Ronnie!” Stanley said as he waved happily. “G-gosh, they sure d
id make a mess of your diner.”

  “Ruined. Absolutely ruined,” Ronnie complained. “My life’s work. My life’s mission. Flushed down the toilet.”

  If Stanley had expected friendly commiseration, he apparently wasn’t going to get it from Ronnie. The truckstop owner buried his head in his hands and started to quietly sob.

  “Don’t mind him,” Jonah said, steering Stanley to an unoccupied booth. After Stanley had slid into one side, the hunter dragged a sturdy chair over and propped his elbows on the edge of the table. “I keep telling him we’ll fix everything when the zombie apocalypse is over. He seems to be the glass half-empty type, though.”

  “When it’s over?” Stanley asked excitedly. “You mean you g-guys know how fix everyone up? I d-din’t know there was a cure for zombieitis, but Lois thinks there’s g-gotta be. But when I was t-training with Dallas and C-Colton and Randall, they always said there wasn’t no way t-to stop a zombie apocalypse. ‘J-just smash their heads in.’ That’s what Randall kept saying.”

  At the mention of Colton and Randall, Jonah’s broad face darkened perceptibly.

  “Randall was right. And from what I heard, he was right about a lot of things,” the hunter said ominously, “so let me give you some friendly advice.”

  Jonah’s glowering face drew closer and closer to Stanley’s. Stanley tried to shrink back, but he was trapped inside the booth.

  “Advice is g-good,” he stammered. “Everyone needs advice. Especially,” he gulped, “especially the f-friendly kind.”

  The hunter stared at him for a long, tense moment before saying, “Don’t mention Randall or Colton again. They’re dead because of your monster friends. You really don’t want to remind me of that fact.”

  Stanley tried to swallow. His Adam’s apple bobbed convulsively, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets. Finally, after a tremendous amount of effort, he squeaked out an, “Okey d-doke.”

  Jonah nodded and leaned back. “Now, just so we’re clear. There won’t be any ‘fixing everyone up.’ That’s not an option. Only option is to put them all out of their misery, and make sure no one gets turned in the process. We’ve got hunters making their way here from all over the country so we can go on the offensive. When things get bloody, anyone that can use a weapon will. Anyone that can’t stays inside and finds some other way to help.” He looked skeptically at Stanley. “Can you use a weapon?”

  Stanley blanched. “N-no sir. No way. I don’t g-got no skills when it comes to the g-guns or the knives or the b-bats or the sling-shots or the b-boomerangs or nun chucks or,”

  “Okay. No weapons,” Jonah said, holding up a massive palm to stop Stanley’s rambling. “So you’ll do other stuff.”

  “Like save everyone,” Stanley said.

  Jonah looked shocked, the expression completely unsuited to his granite-like features. When Stanley didn’t say anything more, he waved a hand at Aletia.

  “Tia, get over here.”

  The hunter made her way across the diner, each step making it clear that she had plenty of places she’d rather be.

  “Que pasa?” she asked in a slightly annoyed tone.

  “Want to hear something funny?” Jonah asked. When Aletia shrugged, he pointed a thick finger at Stanley and said, “Say that again.”

  “I, uh. I d-don’t got no skills with the g-guns or the,”

  “Nope. Not that part. What you said after that part.”

  Stanley looked from one hunter to the other. Jonah’s voice did a fine job of filling the room, and other people were now paying attention. Even Ronnie had stopped his pity party and was looking curiously at Stanley.

  “Oh. The other p-part. Well, I was j-just saying that maybe you guys can’t save everyone, but I c-can. With this,” he said and held out his alarm clock.

  Aletia borrowed Jonah’s shocked look, and then started to laugh. She had a beautiful laugh, rich and full and infectious. Jonah immediately joined her, his laugh a loud rumble that reminded Stanley of a gigantic Santa Claus. In a matter of moments, all of the assorted hunters in the diner were laughing heartily, some so hard that tears streamed from their eyes.

  “Gracias, Jonah,” Aletia said when her peals of laughter finally crested and started to ebb away. “I needed that.”

  Stanley crossed his arms and hmph’d.

  No wonder Lois and Herby and Dallas all don’t like these guys. The thought was sour, but he was undeterred.

  Turning a cold shoulder on the still-laughing room full of hunters, he set the alarm clock on the table, carefully pried its plastic case open, and started to tinker.

  Chapter 21

  Stanley figured if his friends were going to have a surprise party for him, it would probably be at his house. He decided to take the most direct route, which meant cutting through a long stretch of the Wisconsin woods. The zombie wasn’t worried about off-roading it. His tube socks were little more than soaked rags, and his feet were bloody ruins, but they didn’t hurt and still worked well enough. Stanley trudged forward, Laura limping contentedly along at his side, and hundreds upon hundreds of his friends lurched and stumbled behind him. He didn’t give them much thought. He was too preoccupied with the knowledge that he was soon to be reunited with Dallas and Herb and Lois.

  Stanley didn’t know how long it took to walk to home. Time didn’t really mean much anymore, so when he saw the lights of the familiar windows and a giant, electric blue, chrome-trimmed pickup truck, he didn’t really have an opinion about how long he’d been walking. He was just excited to finally be so close to his friends.

  Having outpaced the horde, he was the first to arrive at his home. “Suuuuurrr. Priiiissse,” he moaned while slapping at the door. “I’mmmmm. Heeeeere.”

  The door opened, and Stanley’s dream came true. His best buddies were there, right there. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go and leaned in.

  “Holy shit! You weren’t kidding!” he heard Dallas say.

  Before his jaws could find anything to bite, strong hands grabbed his shoulders, lifted him off his feet, and swooped him into the room. When Dallas deposited him in his living room, Stanley turned his head and looked for Laura.

  “Heeeeeyyyyy,” he grumbled when he realized she wasn’t there. “Whhhyyyyy?”

  “Hooves on a Holstein,” Dallas exclaimed. “You really are a fricking zombie. What did you go and do that for, Stanley?”

  In response, Stanley stepped forward, bony hands grasping and jaws snapping. He didn’t even get close. Dallas grabbed his forehead with a rough hand and held him at arm’s length. When Stanley finally stopped waving his arms and chomping his teeth, Dallas let him go.

  “No. Bad Stanley,” he chided. “No bite Dallas.”

  “I don’t think he can help it,” Lois said. “And he can’t understand you. In this state, he’s just a mindless killing machine.”

  “Heeeeyyyyy,” he moaned again. This wasn’t the reunion he’d expected, and he certainly didn’t expect his friends to be so mean.

  Herb appeared from the laundry room and announced that he’d blocked the back door with the washing machine.

  “One out of two ain’t bad,” he said, hooking a thumb at the zombie. “I really thought the new Stanley clone would be here, though. Oh, gosh. I should probably block that window, huh?”

  The vampire pulled a tall bookcase from the far wall and positioned it to block as much of the broken front window as possible. After an appraising look, he dragged the couch over to push up against it. With a shrug that clearly indicated he didn’t think the makeshift barricade would do much good, he asked if there was anything else he should do.

  “Maybe figure out how we can get past a few hundred zombies?” Lois asked.

  The first wave had just reached the house and were piling up against the outside. The bookcase Herb had just shoved into place started to rock and shudder.

  “Lois?” Dallas asked. “Now’d be a fine time for witchy stuff.”

  The witch glowered and made some comment a
bout how the Hero of Trappersville had a bad habit of asking everyone else to do stuff.

  “What? I’m watching this guy,” Dallas said, tilting his head toward the zombie.

  As if on cue, Stanley lurched eagerly forward.

  “Not so fast, stinky,” Dallas said as he easily plucked Stanley up and redeposited him a few feet back.

  “Aaaaawwwwww,” Stanley moaned. Why wouldn’t they let him bite them? He just wanted to be friends again.

  “I still can’t believe you turned yourself into a zombie,” Dallas complained. “Talk about a bonehead move. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “Oooooopraaaahhh,” Stanley answered.

  “Ha! That’s funny. You guys hear that? Sounded like he said Oprah.”

  “Oooooopraaaahhh,” Stanley repeated.

  “See? He did it again! What else can you say? Can you say, ‘Daaaalllaaas?’ Or, um. I dunno. ‘Beeeeer?’”

  “Beeeeeeeerrrrr,” Stanley said. “Iiinnn. Fffriiidge,” he added, waving at the kitchen.

  Dallas stared. “Herb? Did you hear that?”

  The vampire gulped. “Um, yep. Lois?”

  “What?” the witch asked, exasperated. “Working on a spell here. You know, to save us from the horde of zombies outside? But if you really have something more important that staying alive, I’m all ears.”

  “Stanley talked.”

  The witch tried to rub the exhaustion from her face, and pulled her long, blond hair back into its ponytail.

  “What’d he say? ‘Ooooohhhhh,’ or, ‘Aaaaahhhhh?’ Wait, I know. He said, ‘Uuuuuuhhhhh.’”

  Dallas shook his head. “He said there’s beer in the fridge.”

  “He what?” Lois had time to ask, and then the barricade blocking the window collapsed and zombies started to pull themselves through.

  “Basement, quick!” Dallas yelled.

  The zombie watched Herb grab Lois and pull her away from her books and candles. Stanley’s house had a small basement. The door was set into the wall under the stairs. Swinging it open, Herb pushed his girlfriend inside and quickly followed. Dallas was just a step behind, and managed to slam it shut a second before Stanley caught up with him.