George Washington Zombie Slayer Read Free Page A

towards the bedroom door.
                  “Help me to the work shed,” Gus said resolutely. George grabbed the small lit candle and holder from the bedside table and walked with his father out of the bedroom. Augustine Washington spoke carefully and thoughtfully as they made the slow walk to the work shed out behind the stables.
                  “I fear I have been…infected with whatever malady afflicted those poor souls that tried to devour us,” Gus stated plainly. “I have heard tales of such creatures, of dead walking, feeding off the living, but always thought such tales were told only to frighten children. I now know otherwise. I just wish it wouldn’t have bitten me on my fucking balls.”
                  “I was frightened, father,” George admitted. “Both then and now.”
                  “Aye you may be frightened, George,” Gus explained. “And such fear is a wise thing, a good thing. But you are no child. You have seen nearly eleven summers, but you are more of a man now than most men shall ever be. You shall bear our family honor and our legacy unto greatness,” Gus stated as they unlocked and then entered the work shed. “Of this I am sure.”
                  George set the candle down to illuminate a shed that was an overflowing storehouse packed with lumber and nails, panes of glass, iron tools, saws, ropes, shackles and chains, casks of gunpowder, knives, muskets and the various valuable odds and ends needed for the operation of a large southern plantation. Gus sat upon a wooden stool and drew his son in close.
                  “I have been having dreams, son,” Augustine said ominously. “Dark, frightful dreams of being dead and yet walking among men. Dreams with evil thoughts in which I am craving the taste of human flesh!” he whispered energetically, almost frantically.  “I would not have that happen. I will not have that happen. I will not become one of those poor, soul-less creatures that tried to feed upon us. And yet, how do you kill that which is already dead?”
                  “I do not know, Father,” George said sadly. “Those creatures seemed unharmed for all our efforts against them.”
                  “I have only one idea,” Gus said. “Go and fetch Denzel and bring him back here.”
                  George left immediately, leaving Gus alone in the shed. He hurried to the stables where he found the handsome slave, and directed Denzel to return with him to the work shed. The two made the short walk in the darkness, but as they approached, George could see his father standing with a candle in the yard, well away from the work shed. They were still far away from the structure, although George could see his father was holding some object under his arm.
                  As they approached the work shed, George could see that his father was holding a one-gallon wooden cask of gunpowder. The plug on the top had been removed, and Augustine Washington clutched the cask tightly to his chest. The early night air was totally quiet and absolutely still and George could hear his father’s whispered words even at the distance of twenty five yards.
                  “I love you, my son,” Augustine Washington said. And then he touched the lit end of the candle against the uncapped end of the gunpowder cask. And Augustine Washington was no more.
                  The cask exploded in a blazing sphere of orange flame and a deafening roar. The force of the blast knocked both George and Denzel from their feet. But when they sat up, near the small, smoking crater left by the explosion, George knew that his father had perished instantly.
                  The slaves all rushed out, as did Mary Washington, to see what caused such havoc. With ears ringing, George stood and stared dumbstruck into that smoking crater where his father