to cleanse themselves of their disease – the only way possible. Fred stood and-”
The moment Vern said the words, “Fred” rose to his feet.
“Fred stood up and picked three random friends to be his assistants.”
Vern watched as Fred slowly raised his bony arm and pointed at three other zombies.
“Fred instructed the assistants that they needed to build a huge bonfire.”
A gurgling sound came from Fred, and the three other zombies began to shuffle out the door.
“Fred explained that he and his friends were to be the fuel for the fire. He explained that this was how it had to be.”
Fred, his assistants, and the twenty or thirty remaining zombies all made their way slowly out the front of the cabin and began piling themselves up on the lawn.
Vern followed, bringing a candle and the last of his current supply of fuel.
Like a pied-piper of the undead, he continued to tell his bizarre story to the group as he doused the pile of bodies with the fuel.
“Once the pile was ready, Fred, as their leader, climbed atop the pile, and the doctor, Vern Charles, lit a match that would bring healing to all.”
With that, Vern ignited the zombie-pyre.
“And they all lived happily ever after,” he mumbled as the flames rose, consuming the zombies.
As the creatures became charred and blackened, their shredded clothes enveloped in crackling flames, he thought that if only he’d been published back in the Days Before, his zombie-controlling writings would’ve been available the world over.
Perhaps he could find a way to disseminate his writings. They were no longer mere entertainment – they were more valuable to a free and safe world than hollow-point bullets.
The acrid smoke rose into the darkening sky, and Vern collapsed from exhaustion.
THE END
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