“You’ll need to do better than that if you want to survive out there,” growled the typing professor. Built like an ex-football player, with ink-stained hands the size of small hams, he glowered down at Agent-in-training Steve Miller. “The way you misspelled ‘A-U-T-H-O-R-I-T-A-T-I-V-E’ you’d be lucky to crawl away with both legs intact.” He harrumphed to himself and strode away angrily. Miller gulped and looked down at the keyboard hanging from his shoulders, attached to the heavy powerpack he wore on his back. “I hate target practice,” he thought glumly.
Ever since the zombies started their rampage across the city, Miller wanted desperately to do something more than the desk job he was stuck in at the precinct. It wasn’t something he liked to think about, but he guessed the rate at which the bureau was losing agents was a big part of his application being accepted. Now he was almost done with his training and, at nearly 120 words-per-minute, he felt ready for some action in the field.
It turned out he didn’t have long to wait. The Thursday after his run-in with the grizzled typing tutor, the call came. Grabbing his sunglasses and suitcoat, he ran out the door and down the hallway of the barracks. As he ran along he met Sarah Beacon, a pretty young agent he knew from his forensics and keyboard maintenance classes. “Hi Sarah,” he puffed as he slowed to match her pace. “Hello Steven,” she replied, managing to stifle a small laugh at his harried appearance. “I guess this is the big day for both of us. I wish we could ease into this, but I guess there’s no easing into fighting zombies.” “No,” Steve admitted, “I guess not.”
They rounded the corner together and came face to face with Agent Mitch Benson, a veteran whose partner had just last week perished at the hands of a pack of flying zombie imps. “Watch it,” he snarled. “Hey, sorry,” Steve mumbled sheepishly. “You two Miller and Beacon?” Benson asked. “Yes we are,” replied Sarah cooly, “I guess we’re your new partners.” Steve glanced over at her. He wished he felt as self-assured as she looked. “Then let’s go,” Mitch grunted. He turned on his heel and was halfway to the barracks doors and the waiting patrol car before Steve could muster up the courage to follow.
The city was a mess. Roving bands of the undead certainly weren’t a tidy bunch. They also weren’t interested in using things like doors. Holes the size of full-grown men had been smashed through plate glass store fronts and brick walls. Steve swallowed hard, having forgotten how strong zombies could be. He flexed his typing fingers and distractedly moved them to home row position. At least he was well-trained. He silently touchtyped a few of the longer phrases they’d been taught, hoping he wouldn’t have to use many of them on his first day of combat. WHAM! Suddenly the car lurched violently to the left. Steve barely saw the right side of the car crumple inward before his head slammed against the window and the world began to go gray…
Steve awoke and noticed immediately that he was in a dark, damp alley. He reached a hand to his face and felt for his sunglasses. They were gone and he felt a sticky substance he could only assume was blood. He reached down toward his chest and breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the hard plastic of his keyboard. He reached an achy arm to his back and flipped the switch on his power pack. There was a low hum as the pack powered on.
Almost before he could react, he heard them coming. There are few things that chill the blood the way a groaning zombie does. He leapt to his feet and stared down three zombies staggering toward him. Luckily they weren’t strong, and a quickly typed “C-C,” “M-E” and “K-2″ later, they lay motionless on the ground. He knew in his heart using a computer keyboard as a weapon was sort of dumb, but you can’t argue with success. Before he could congratulate himself too much, he heard a noise off to his left, like a muffled squeak. He turned quickly and saw Sarah, gagged and held fast by the ugliest hell-creature he had ever seen. Mitch was nowhere to be seen.
“Sssssooooo…” the beast gurgled, “You fancy yourself a slayer of demonssss.” Steve felt the perspiration breaking on his forehead but swore to himself he wouldn’t give his enemy the satisfaction of hearing the terror in his voice. “I took care of them and I can take care of you just as easily. Let her go.” The creature made a noise Steve could only assume was supposed to be a laugh. “You dare sssspeak to Granulon Destroyer of Souls like this? You are either very brave or very ssstupid. I would kill you mysssself, but the massssster has planssss for me… and for her. I leave you now… for my minionsssss.” Moving with more speed and agility than his size suggested possible, Granulon whirled and disappeared down the nearest manhole, still clutching Sarah, whose diminishing scream could be heard through the gag.
They descended on him almost at once. From the rooftops—from behind crumbling walls—out of garbage cans they came. He saw them coming and begain typing furiously. “L-E-T-T-U-C-E-P-R-A-Y” BLAM! One down. “D-I-S-C-O-Q-U-E-E-N” BLAM! Two down. Then the stronger ones moved in.
“J-U-M-P-Y-A-S-A-S-Q-U-I-R-R-E-L” BLAM!
“G-O-L-F-I-S-S-E-V-E-N-T-E-E-N-H-O-L-E-S-T-O-O-L-O-N-G” BLAM!
“B-U-R-N-E-D-L-I-N-G-D-O-N-B-E-R-R-Y-P-A-N-C-A-K-E-S” click!
Wait! Does “Lingdonberry” have a “D”?
As Steve mashed the delete key they were on him, pulling at his pack. His sleeves. His arms. As he felt himself falling down the same manhole that had engulfed Sarah, he could think of only one word… a word he was certain he could spell: “H-E-L-P-!”
