In the remaining minutes before the sun began its majestic descent, a black stretch limousine pulled up to 133 C-Street. The driver stared incredulously from under the bill of his black cap. He shook his head, as if the movement would clear the horrible visage from his view. It didn’t.
"Are we there yet?" a folksy female voice asked. But. And. Also. Too."
"Y-yes, but I-I don’t think you should g-get out," stammered the driver.
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
"Hogwash! Also, if and but!"
Sarah Palin didn’t wait for the driver to get out and open the door for her. She stepped out and her mouth formed a perfect O. She spied a pack of kids running down the street; the back of a postal truck smeared and splattered with blood; some of her former colleagues emerging from an alley wearing red paint. Her mind raced, as fast as possible (which wasn’t too fast, and also, but too) and she took a step forward.
"That’s not red paint, too, also. I can see Benjamin Moore from my house so I am a paint expert, if, but, and also," she muttered.
They hadn’t seen her, at least not yet. She considered getting back into the car and telling the driver to drive away, but that would make her a quitter. If there was one thing she wanted all Americans to know, it was that Sarah Palin did not quit. Ever.
Suddenly, one of their blood-mottled faces locked on her. It looked like Senator Richard Shelby, but his face was covered in burns. He reminded her of the Frankenstein monster. And that thought reminded her of how much she hated science, and how it was just a liberal plot to dismiss the will of the Almighty. The thought turned into another thought...and then another.
"I’m thinking," she gasped. "I’m actually thinking."
Shelby broke from the rest of the pack. The others were caught in bloodlust, chasing after the teens hauling ass down the block.
Sarah reached into her boot and pulled out a Rambo-style hunting knife. The blade caught the sun just right and a haloed reflection glinted off its polished surface. Despite her unwillingness to kill a friendly politician (she had great respect for Shelby) Sarah knew there was something terribly wrong with the situation. The witch doctor at her church in Wasilla had once conducted a sermon about the gates of Hell opening, about the apocalypse, about the End Times. He had said the dead would walk. The dead would rise. And now it was happening. In an instant all her paranoia and conspiracies were validated.
"If I can field dress a moose," she leered at the shambling Shelby-thing, "I can filet you back to Montgomery, Hellabama."
Shelby charged, but Palin was waiting. All her running and fitness did two things: 1) let Republicans see her as a sex object rather than a human being; 2) gave her cat-like reflexes and surprising strength for someone her size.
She deftly sidestepped an off balance swipe, spun on her heels, and arced the blade across Shelby’s exposed ribs. The thing moaned softly, just like Todd did when they were intimate, dontcha know, and staggered. It didn’t lose its balance, and went for the former governor again. Again, Palin was ready. She jump kicked him back into a "No Parking" sign. His arms were spread out and for a moment he looked like an undead Jesus on a cross.
"How fitting," Palin said, scoffing at the evil before her. "This is much easier than shooting wolves from a helicopter."
Palin grunted and rammed the knife through the Shelby-thing’s neck, penetrating the two-inch metal post behind it. The creature gargled blood, tongue lolling from its mouth. It was pinned, and should have stopped moving, but it reached for her; it longed for her flesh.
Palin wiped beading sweat from her brow. She took a few measured steps back and knelt down. A quick movement inside her boot revealed a second knife. She flipped it in her hand, catching the blade with a fine manicured hand. Palin inhaled, and on the exhale, she threw the weighted blade. It turned over, point to hilt, as it soared towards the undead thing. There was a sickening crunch as the blade struck home, right between the Shelby-thing’s eyes. The body went rigid, exceptionally so, then went limp.
"That’s what I call gotcha journalism," Palin said, approaching the corpse. She grabbed both knives, put her boot on its chest, and pushed. The blades came free. Palin turned toward the group of demons heading toward a Starbucks down the block. Her hair fluttered in the breeze.
Then a funny thing happened; they split up. She couldn’t tell exactly who each of them were, but she had an idea of the identities of a few of the group. She could make out Congressman Cantor, even though he was almost completely red, as he broke down another street, flanked by a few other demons. She recognized Marsha Blackburn, who she really admired. Blackburn had stopped about twenty feet from the Starbucks, gazing at it with a look that could only be described as absolute wonder. The rest were in front of her, trying to get into the coffee house.
"Mrs. Palin," yelled the driver. "We need to get out of here right now!"
His plea seemed to snap her out of her own bloodlust. It felt good to kill one of those things, even if it was one of her most ardent supporters.
"No," she said, clenching her knives in a white-knuckled grip, "I’m going on foot, you betcha."
She took a step forward and wiped the gore-stained blades on her shirt. The red streaks looked like modern war paint. Then she did something rather curious, at least to the eyes of the driver. She removed a pen from her pocket and proceeded to write on her hand. If he would have been closer, he might have actually seen the message: KILL DEMONS.
"You betcha," she said, then adopting a blank stare. She looked down at her hand and grinned broadly.
"And. Also. Too."
TO BE CONTINUED...as always, choose your own adventure!! Probably a good idea if you start from the beginning for, full, unrelenting Republican Zombie action!!!