Zombie Killa - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Louisiana Sucks, But Not As Much As Florida

In typical fashion, the Louisiana police weren’t playing ball with the feds. In defiance of orders from Washington, they blocked off I-10 west entirely, declaring that no one but no one was going to break the speed limit on their watch.

The caravan saw the line of white state trooper’s cars and slowed down as they approached, stopping a few yards short of them.

“I’ll handle this,” High-C said, getting out.

“Don’t,” Myf said. “They’ll arrest you at the very least.”

“Naw,” High said. “These are my people.”

“What seems to be the problem, you boys?” High asked one of the troopers.

“Damn feds. They said to just let y’all blast through here, fast as you please. Ain’t gonna happen.”

“Shit,” High said. “Y’all got a beer for me?”

The cop looked surprised for a moment, and then walked to his car and got a long-necked Budweiser, ice cold, from a cooler in the backseat.

“Thank you, sir. Mighty refreshing. All I’ve had lately was Miller High Life.”

“Damn communists,” the trooper sympathized.

“So, did they tell y’all why we need to book it to Texas?”

“Some fool nonsense about zombies, undead army. Craziest shit we ever heard.”

“Oh, now I get it,” High said. “I’m not surprised Louisiana folk didn’t fall for that. That’s just the latest federal code talk. You know we can’t say things directly.”

“Oh, yeah? For what?” the trooper asked.

“Negro-Mexican uprising…”

“No kidding?”

“No, sir. I shit you not. They’ve formed some sort of anti-white, anti-Christian army in Dallas. Took a bunch of white women hostage.”

“The hell you say!” the cop said.

“Yes, sir. I’m sad to say it’s true. See that nigger?” He pointed at Myf, who smiled and waved. “We’re transporting him for a hostage exchange.”

“Well, I’ll be,” the trooper said. “We knew something like this was going to happen some day!”

“That day has arrived, sir. Today is the day. We have a white girl who escaped. They didn’t even let her take her shirt, the poor thing.”

“Fucking savages,” the cop said. “Let’s roll. We’ll give y’all an escort to the state line.”

“Let me go get the girl. She can tell you the whole story on the way. In six hours, they’re going to start killing the women if we don’t get their leader back to them.”

High walked over to Nursie. “Take off your shirt,” he said.

“Fuck you, High-C,” she said, taking it off.

“Come on. Turn on the tears. You were kidnapped by a bunch of black and Mexican gang members and escaped. Only you can find their hideout.”

“How utterly contrived,” she said. “Slap me.”

High slapped her across the face. “Will that help you cry?” he asked her.

“No,” she said. “I can cry on cue. I just like to be slapped, and Karl won’t do it.”

He slapped her again, happy to oblige. They walked to the line of troopers, and Hella started tearing up and sobbing.

“Poor thing was hysterical,” High said. “We’ll pick her up at the state line.”

“Can I run the siren?” Hella asked, getting in the front passenger side of the trooper’s vehicle.

“Little lady, you can run whatever you want,” he said.

YT and crew touched down at Dallas International at about the same time that the nerd caravan reached the Texas border. He sent Nursehella a text asking for their whereabouts, and she replied: “Five hours out”, so they checked into a hotel to rest and wait.

Nursie worked the lights and sirens until she got bored, smoking cigarettes all the while. Then she flirted on the radio, eventually performing “Nursehellamentary” acapella for the troopers.

At the state line, the trooper who drove her there said, “God speed, little darlin’. We’re sorry to see you go.”

“Me, too. You boys are good people.”

He gave her a Louisiana state trooper jacket to keep her warm, and she walked back to Karl and Bbear.

“The asshole could have given you the jacket before the two-hour car ride,” Karl said.

The economy of Dallas was in a shambles. Crime was up, food consumption was down. Router had no clearly defined goals aside from domination. Her army ate, but they weren’t shopping at H-E-B or Kroger’s. They favored the flesh of children, pure and relatively untainted by a lifetime of toxins, unlike the adults.

Vigilant citizens killed a few of the zombies, but then they reverted to human form, causing the best of the community to be arrested and thrown in jail or the mental wards. It was bedlam. Within a week, if unchecked, the rest of the country would be in the same sorry shape.