The gang gather in the dilapidated house.
Dastardly Deano is nowhere to be seen.
Outside the storm rumbles on. Lightning streaks the sky, thunder rumbles, the wind howls, and the rain floods down in torrents.
"Where'd he go?" Buck shouts.
"Fucker disappeared innit," Nick says.
Then something strange happens. There's a chattering sound, and the pitter patter of feet on bare floorboards. Many feet. Shadows flit, many shadows. They start to ominously fill up the periphery.
Massing.
Ready to attack.
"Stand firm friends," Abel Zorro says.
"We're with you bro. Don't sweat it," Buck says.
Nick holds his .357 Magnum at arm's length, swivelling left and right, concentrating only on the massing shadows.
Quietly, without fuss, Abel Zorro steadies the AK47. He knows that the shit's about to hit the fan, as they all do. But he's ready for it. They all are.
Bear snarls. Bear's a good dog who loves good people, but he senses something seriously wrong. There's bad stuff going on here and he doesn't like it at all.
The chattering increases in volume.
Bear bares his teeth and snarls. Madame Bitters, who is holding the dog close strokes him under his chin and hushes him.
Bear whines and licks her face.
Madame Bitters has a Derringer. Anticipating a whole lot of bad shit, she holds the gun ready.
Buck and Abel Zorro exchange glances.
More shadows gather, ready to pounce.
Buck decides that enough is enough.
"YOU INBRED MUTANT ZOMBIE MOTHERFUCKERS GOT SOMETHING TO FUCKING SAY TO US THEN BRING IT THE FUCK ON YOU BASTARDS!"
No response.
Only the high pitched chattering and the ever growing shadow crowd.
It's tense.
Then a shadow breaks ranks and launches itself at Abel Zorro.
It hurtles horribly through the air.
But Abel Zorro is up for it.
One well aimed slash of the sword and a decapitated zombie body thuds to the floorboards, while its severed head bounces to a gradual halt, like a tired football.
The onslaught begins.
The shadowy zombies launch an all out assault.
They come chattering, baying for blood.
Abel Zorro lets rip with the AK47. Nick blasts away with the .357 Magnum. Buck runs amok with the Colt .45 Navy Special. Madame Bitters adds her contribution, shooting then reloading and shooting again and again the Derringer.
The gunfire seems to go on forever, as red-eyed, pointy toothed zombies bite the dirt one after another. They go down, and they keep on going down.
The floorboards resonate the sound of one after another zombie biting the dust.
THUD BUMP THUD BUMP
Dastardly Deano's deadly zombie hordes are clearly taking a good ass kicking.
It quickly becomes clear that the zombies don't have the stomach for the fight.
The remaining zombies filter away.
Our people stand in a blue haze of cordite tinged gunsmoke.
"Wow," Angie of the protuberant nipples exhales. "You guys are good."
"Good?" Fran shreiks. "They're the cream of the fucking crop! Especially you my Abel Zorro!"
She wraps herself erotically around Abel Zorro like a vine.
"Whoah there," Abel Zorro says. " I already told you I'm a happily married man. Your attention is really flattering, but I'm just not interested. Gimme a break willya?"
"You guys effed up the mutant zombies!" Lola squeals. "So that's it. We can all go home now!"
"Not quite."
All eyes turn to the wife of the dastardly Deano.
"He's still out there," she says. "And as long as he is, I'd say we have unfinished business."
Buck is surreptitiously leering at Lola, and thinking that while she may not be up to much in the titty department, she really does have luscious lips.
He lets it go for now.
Mind you, his willy is all atwitch.
"So let's go finish the business," Abel Zorro says.
"I got you on that one buddy," Buck says.
Madame Bitters strokes Bear under his chin again.
She makes eye contact with the wife of the dastardly Deano.
"What are we waiting for?" she says.
Our friends emerge into the storm.
They are lashed by rain and pounded by strong winds.
"Where did he go?" Buck asks.
"I dunno," Abel Zorro says. "But he can't have gotten far..."
"Well well, look what we got here..." Nick mouths as the torrential rain hammers off his face.
"What?" Abel Zorro wonders.
"A sleazeball hiding up a tree!" Nick shouts.
The others follow his gaze, and sure enough, right there, swinging from a tree branch is one bony-assed motherfucker wearing a really bad 1980's David Bowie style suit. But with none of Bowie's class or elan.
"Fucker's mine..." Nick grunts as he straight arms the .357 Magnum.
"No," Abel Zorro cautions. "This ain't your business."
"Then whose business is it?" Nick protests in the driving rain as lightning streaks the sky and thunder rumbles.
"It's hers," Abel Zorro says.
He hands the AK to dastardly Dean's wife.
She nods and takes aim.
"YOU FUCKIN' BITCH! DON'T YOU DARE PULL THAT TRIGGER! I NEVER BEAT YOU ALL THAT BAD... AW C'MON!"
The woman fired.
Her aim was true.
The prick in the bad suit jerked a little, then slumped.
In the tree.
As his lifeblood drained away.
The woman hands the AK47 back to Abel Zorro.
"Thank you sir. My work is done now," she says as she walks off into the teeming rain.
"Erm, Abel Zorro..." says Fran...
"It's over baby," Abel Zorro says. "And I'm going home. Goodnight."
Which leaves us with one last life defining excuse to ogle Angie and Fran's Chevrolet wheelnut outstanding nipples in wet tee shirts in the pouring rain.
Lola is still hungry.
"Hey Buck," she says. "How about that blow job?"
"I'm game," Buck grins.
"So where do I start?" Lola says.
"Probably with...
THE END"
THE END
Author's note: Thanks to everybody who's read and rated this serial. It's appreciated. With a special thanks to Abel Rodriguez who supported it from the start. I tried to get as many writers in it as I could, but it started getting too complicated. Apologies if I missed anybody out.
Special thanks to the Band Of Brothers.
Skoob.
