A Cheerleader Miscalculation

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The pipe bombs and bullets fired in the direction of the factory workers started having an effect as they changed their tune from “Zom… zom… zom…” to “Moz… moz… moz” and retreated back into the helmet factory.

The cheerleaders made short work of the football players, using their hammers to cause the football players' batteries to malfunction.

“That was close,” said Mrs. Brombach.

“What is going on here?” asked Chief Martin.

“It’s the Zombot Approximation,” said Albert Bringlebaum. "They’re not exactly zombies and it’s not the apocalypse, but it’s not good either.”

Harry Wagfoot, the high school quarterback, removed his dysfunctional dystopian football helmet. “What happened?”

“You put on the wrong helmet,” I said. “Now we have to shut down the helmet factory.”

“Any ideas on how to do that?” asked Marylou.

Albert Bringlebaum waved a pipe bomb. “I’d crash the factory with the pickup filled with pipe bombs. I’ll time one to blow at about the time the pickup makes its way through that open truck entrance next to the main office. When the pipe bomb blows, it’ll make the rest of the bombs explode with it. Bye-bye factory.”

“And it’ll kill all the zombots inside?” Mrs. Brombach asked.

“Most of them. The rest we can either shut off with a hard smack to the helmet battery or simply shoot them. I’ve got enough guns and ammo in the pickup.” Albert Bringlebaum distributed the weapons while Chief Martin called for backup.

The explosion flattened the building. Turned out there were some highly inflammable chemical compounds used in the manufacture of helmets.

Later that evening, Mrs. Brombach cooked dinner while Marylou and I made out in the parlor. Albert Bringlbaum and Betsey Olson necked along side of us. We heard a loud truck noise outside on the street. Since Marylou and her mom lived on a quiet sidestreet, the four of us took a gander out the window.

We saw one of those eighteen wheelers rolling by. The side of the trailer was emblazoned with the helmet factory logo and a giant football player wearing a helmet. The driver looked a lot like Uncle Rantly.

"Daddy!" Betsey cried while hinting at another story best left unspoken considering Uncle Rantly's bachelor ways and Mrs. Olson's second husband Oliver who worked night shift at what used to be the helmet factory and my own tendency to write long sentences like this one.

The End… for now.

Zom… zom… zom

You have completed Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It was the product of my morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

By the way, if you enjoyed reading this series, try my full-length novel Hags for less than $3 by clicking here.

Read a Short Story
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In Egbert, you'll learn that the remarkable thing about him was his glass cane, not his enormous girth. But what made him fly off like that? More horror than humor but good for a smile.

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