What in Dignation?

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Mrs. Brambach floored the pickup. Three cheerleaders fell off the back from the sudden lurch.

“You’re going to get a ticket,” said Marylou.

“I don’t think a ticket is valid when all it says on it is zom… zom… zom…” Mrs. Brambach replied. She screeched the pickup to a full stop so the fallen cheerleaders could climb back aboard. Meanwhile, I passed the first aid kit from the glove box back to the girls so they could repair their scraped knees.

“We have to put a stop to this nonsense,” I said, feeling my own invitation to be in Dignant, Nebreska.

“How do you propose we do that?” Mrs. Brambach started slower this time, but soon roared back down the four lane Rt. 59 heading south towards Naperville. She swerved around a crashed tractor trailer and three empty sedans but didn’t lose any of the precious cargo in back.

I jammed one hand against the ceiling of the truck cab and the other on Marylou Brambach’s right thigh. “The zombots can’t convert you to zombottary unless they have one of Uncle Rantly’s special helmets. We have to find out where they’re producing them.”

“And then what,” Marylou smiled at me.

“We blow it up.” I replied.

Mrs Brambach snuck a peek in my direction with a face that said, “What, are you nuts?” That’s when she said, “What, are you nuts?”

“No, I’m people,” I replied but it went over her head.

“We need Albert Bringlebaum,” said Marylou.

“Of course, Albert Bringlebaum,” I repeated. It must have been the beans we had for lunch.

“Mrs. Brambach, turn left on Butterfield. I’ll show you the way.” I pointed left, but apparently Mrs. Brambach had already figured out what direction left was.

We pulled into the driveway of a brick bungalow in the old part of Warrenville. Warrenville had two parts. The old part consisted of the houses built in the mid-nineteenth century before the railroad decided to go to Wheaton and West Chicago to the north and to Naperville and Aurora to the south, leaving Warrenville with no railroad. Since the towns in our area developed around the railroad lines, no more development occurred in Warrenville until about the nineteen seventies. Thus, the town had an area of old houses and one consisting of a number of now aging “newer” sub-divisions and town houses. Maybe I should have said, "All Warrenville is divided into two parts, the old part of town and the even older part of town, but you got the idea, right?"

The cheerleaders ran into the house without so much as ringing the bell. Albert Bringlebaum came running out of the house.

“What’s going on?” he asked, which goes to show what kind of guy he was. Anyone else would be inside entertaining the cheerleaders. A guy shouldn’t question a gift like that.

“We have to blow up the helmet factory,” I said.

“I’ve got a load of pipe bombs in the garage,” Albert said, again confirming the kind of person he was. To make matters worse, his father was an avid gun collector. Why is it that the gun collector dads are the ones with the destructive teenage sons?

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You are reading Jude Nerdworthy, Monster Fighter in the Zombot Approximation. It's the product of my  morning writing exercises rather than polished work like my novels and short stories.

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Read a Short Story
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