George Washington Zombie Slayer Read Free

sunset to find Reebock there sitting alone smoking a small, hand rolled cigarette.  George spoke candidly to this slave, as he was perhaps the only person who would be able to discuss this specific topic with him.
    “Have you given any thought to the…creatures… that attacked us?” George asked directly.
    “I have tried for deez last two weeks to avoid tinkin about dem,” Reebo ck replied. “But in my country, dey have legends of such men. Legends of the undead. Voodoo magic. Dey call them…Zombies!”
    “Zombies,” George repeated, contemplating the attack upon his father. “They are formidable,” he stated.
    “Dey are evil,” Reebock said as he sat smoking a small, rolled cigarette, pinched gently between his thumb and forefinger. George had smelled this strange herb several times before. The smell was markedly different from that of tobacco, one of the main crops of the Ferry Farm.
    “What is that strange herb you smoke, Reebo ck,” George asked with genuine curiosity.
    “Weed, ” Reebock replied, taking a slow, deep inhalation. “Dis’ here from my personal stash.”
    “It’s a weed?” George inquired.
    “Not a weed, it is weed,” Reebock clarified, getting only a strange, quizzical look from his master. “You know man, black seed, astro turf, mary jane?”  George still looked puzzled. “Black gungi, bobo bush, Reefer rope, skunkweed, puffinstuff, you know…marijuana?”
    “I know this not,” Washington replied truthfully.
                  “Well then,” Reebock said, handing George the un-lit end of the rolled cigarette. “Have a hit of this my man.  Breathe in the sweet aroma of my homeland and de-stressify yourself.”
                  George took a long, deep puff and coughed a few times.
                  “That there’s pure Jamaican,” Reebock stated.
                  “It’s a bit harsh,” George noted, still coughing.
                  “Aww, that’s just the first hit,” Reebock explained. “You getting’ acclimated.”
                  “Mmmmmm, “George said as inhaled again. In a few moments, he could indeed feel a relaxing sense of serenity wash over his troubled mind, a sense of both pleasure and relaxation.
                  “Dat’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” Reebock said. “What you feelin’ now is the love of the Jamaican Gunji Queen.”
                  “Her love is indeed potent,” Washington concluded, inhaling the last of the herb. “Perhaps we shall consider planting it during the next crop rotation.”
                  Just then Oprah burst into the stable, rushing up to the startled young men.
                  “Massah George, yer Mama is a-callin for you! Yer Father Colonel Gus has done woken up!” Oprah exclaimed.  George rushed from the stables and back to his father’s room in the main house. But whatever blossoming hope George felt at his Father’s newfound consciousness was quickly extinguished as he entered the room.
                  Augustine Washington was now nearly unrecognizable as he sat up in bed, his eyes straining to stay open. His pale flesh and sunken eyes gave his face a skeletal look that George felt was a certain portent of death.
                  “You father wishes to speak with you,” Mary Washington said simply, and walked from the room.
                  “I have spoken with your mother regarding our family affairs, and all is in order,” Gus said to his son. Then, to George’s shock and amazement, his father swung his pale legs over the side of the bed and made a wobbly effort to stand. “Here, boy, help me up,” Gus ordered.
                  Gus placed his arm across his son’s strong back, while George gripped him gently around the waist. Gus put on his long overcoat, which was now many sizes too large for his emaciated frame and began walking