Fiction that explores the monsters and strangers among us.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Fighting Zombots

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You have to fight the zombots. Not everyone believes that, but you do. Otherwise, you will be turned into one. And yes, like regular zombies, zombots thrive on eating human flesh. So it’s either convert or be eaten.

Uncle Rantly, the inventor of the zombot, tried to explain it to me. Unfortunately, since he had become the second zombot when the first one he invented attacked him, his English wasn’t as good as it once was. Most of his words came out, “Argh, bup, groop, morp.”

The first time Uncle Rantly spoke this way, I listened until he ate the cat. The cat was minding his own business sitting by Uncle Rantly’s chair like he owned the place. You know how cats are. Anyway, right in the middle of his diatribe, Uncle Rantly reached down and that was the end of Buster.

I know eating the cat sounds horrible and you should never kill a pet in a story, but you have to consider I was in the room not more than three or four feet from Uncle Rantly at the time. He could just as easily have leapt upon me.

One of the things Uncle Rantly taught me at an early age was how to take a hint. In those days, before converting to zombattery, Uncle Rantly had a better sense of humor. He said, “The best way to take hint, young man, is to sneak up behind it and grab it by the ears. Hold on tight and run off with it. There, now you have taken a hint. Once you get it home, you can boil it and eat it at your leisure.”

Rather than grab Uncle Rantly by the ears, I chose to take off without him. I hid out in the home of Marylou Brombach until the coast was clear, but of course the coast wasn’t clear and wasn’t likely to ever clear any time soon with zombots running around Warrenville, Illinois. This was about the time Uncle Rantly converted the local high school football team. And the cheerleaders.

This is also when Marylou Brombach stopped our make out session long enough to inform me she was so glad she hadn’t made the cheerleading squad.

And it was the first and last time we heard the zombot cheerleaders marching down Marylou’s street.

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