George Washington Zombie Slayer (3 page)

Chapter 5

The Master of His Domain

In the full year that they had been married, Martha Washingto
n had asked George on only one occasion about the fearsome creature that had attacked them during their evening walk the first night they met.  For his part, Washington had few answers for her.

What were these creatures? Were they once men? Why did they attack?
What had caused their condition? Where had they come from? George had simply hypothesized answers, telling Martha that the creatures were likely once men that had been infected by some corruptive pestilence. Thus sickened and delusional, these poor souls would attack anyone they encountered. He cautioned her that he had seen such creatures before, and that they were deadly and to be avoided at all costs. Thus ended Martha’s inquiry.

But George Washington knew more then he let on. He knew the
creatures were cannibalistic. He knew they sought to devour human flesh. Most shockingly, they were highly impervious to the infliction of mortal wounds by sword or fire.  They were ferocious, even when severely injured. And most recently, George had learned that the one certain way to kill the creatures was by beheading them.

He has also heard rumors regarding these creatures, strange stories and tales told by passing travelers and sailors. In one village where five of these zombies were sighted and later killed, a corresponding number of villagers had “gone missing” at about the same time.  In another township, two zombies had been sighted, where previously two of the tow
nsfolk had disappeared. It seemed likely that the missing souls were, in fact, infected and corrupted into becoming the walking dead. The missing people had
become
zombies!

George Washington also possessed the one fact that was most important
of all: He was nearly certain that the bite of these creatures was the means by which the pestilence was transmitted. If a man were bitten by a zombie, he would die and become a zombie himself!  So if a man could avoid the bite of these fearsome creatures, he could thereby prevent his own untimely demise, and an unwanted resurrection and conversion into a zombie.

Washington did not know why he and Martha
were attacked that evening, or where the creatures had come from. Most strangely, he did not know why the body of the creature he had slain had disappeared, or was removed, unreported.

But as more time
passed after he and Martha were married, George Washington put memories of these creatures far from his daily thoughts. He had so much else to do.

Of all the things that George Washington had
done or would ever do in his entire life, he did no job more successfully than that of a wealthy farmer and plantation owner. His new estate at Mount Vernon would become, under his guidance and leadership, one of the most successful plantations in the nation.

Mount Vernon boasted extens
ive farmland and stables, a blacksmith, as well as a butcher, a baker and candle-stick maker. The now thriving plantation soon had hundreds of slaves and produced vast crops of both wheat and tobacco.  Washington himself found Reebock’s magical herb in his reference books, and was soon planting and harvesting vast crops of cannabis indica, or marijuana.

The herb provided a nice, relaxing smoke for Washington on those rare occasions when he felt overly stressed or anxious. But the herb had a more valuable use that Mr
. Kindly, now Chief Overseer at Mount Vernon, had found quite by accident. Kindly found that by giving a small amount of the herb to the more defiant and rebellious slaves, he could render them more placid and docile.  Thus controlled, they could be more easily handled.

And so it was that
defiant slaves at Mount Vernon were eventually given a weekly allotment of cannabis, and soon became known as “the happiest slaves in America.”

As a younger man, before his marriage to Martha, George Washington had worked as a land surveyor and later as a British soldier against the French. As a wealthy gentleman farmer, Washington used his knowledge of land and men
to greatly expand the facilities at Mount Vernon. Soon the plantation boasted facilities for fishing, flour milling, horse breeding, weaving, and even a distillery for making rye whiskey.

Washington also established facilities for barre
l-making, meat smoking and slave breeding, as well as a dental clinic for the making of dentures. Slaves “volunteered” to donate their teeth to the dental clinic, that they might be used to make dentures for wealthy whites, including George Washington himself. Slaves were paid one cent for each donated tooth, the first time in American history that slaves were given cash compensation of any kind.

S
lave-tooth dentures were greatly welcomed by George Washington, who heretofore had only wooden dentures that were far from sanitary or comfortable. Those wooden teeth also created a problem for George and Martha in the establishment of “physical intimacy.” Doctor Kimble, the Washington family physician, noted in his journal, on 24 May, 1760, that he treated Martha Washington for “wood splintering in her most private feminine and vulval of nether-regions.” The reader may use his or her imagination in this instance.

George and Martha Washington spent many of those early years together living the busy, full lives
of a well-respected lady and gentleman.  In their private times, on cold winter nights, they would often sit beside each other near the fireplace, George reading a favorite book, while Martha clipped newspaper coupons. They were wealthy, and yet frugal.

By
Fall of 1764, Martha occupied much of her free time in baking the most exquisite of apple pies, a delicacy for which she became famous throughout all of Virginia. Martha directed her house slave Oprah, one of many former Ferry Farm slaves now moved to Mount Vernon, to spend nearly five hours picking and peeling bushels of green and red apples. Beyonce was ordered to prepare the flour, salt, water and lard for the crust. While Oprah cut the apples and mixed them with nutmeg, brown sugar and salt, Beyonce laid the many pie crusts across the baking pans. Through trial and error over many months, the slaves had perfected the mixture of ingredients to produce pies of renowned sweetness and tartness.

Martha would often watch with amusement as her two house slaves worked in the kitchen, their faces covered in flour and their heads damp with sweat from the heat of the ovens. Their preparations complete,
Oprah would then fill each pie pan with the apple mixture, while Beyonce set each filled pan in the oven for baking until they were a delicious, golden brown. The slaves then placed the finished pies in a pie safe, a giant wooden cabinet with perforated tin doors designed for the cooling and storage of pies and pastries.

“Has my talented wife been hard at work a-baking?” George would say coming into the kitchen. “Are those her delicious apple pies I smell cooling in our kitchen?”

“You know very well I have been working like a beast of burden in this kitchen all morning,” Martha would reply. “No pie for you until dinner,” Martha added. “Now scat,” she threatened, “before I go fetch Mr. Kindly and have him tie you to the oak tree for a-whipping.”

Thus threatened, George Washington would skulk back to his farm ledgers an
d books and leave the kitchen in the capable hands of his “hard-working” wife.

Upon leaving the kitchen, George returned to the main house at Mount
Vernon, where he ran into his adopted children John, age 10, and Martha, age 9. John was playing with the family dog, Syphilis, by tugging on its tail and attempting to light his floppy ears on fire with embers from the fireplace.

John was a spoiled pisspot of a child, rude and pouting. He was called by Jackie by his mother and Poopy by his father, for his singular habit of taking a large shit in nearly every room of the Mount Vernon estate. Young Martha was a sweet looking child, more often called Patsy by her parents. The child
’s health was poor, and she was often struck with convulsive fits now known as epilepsy. Martha cherished young Patsy above all things, and even George fell in love with his adopted daughter. He had to keep reminding himself that, burdened by epilepsy as she was, the child was most certainly in league with the devil and an evil hellspawn that, being thus cursed, would certainly suffer in hell for all eternity.

George Wa
shington’s insightful Mount Vernon Journal entry from March, 1765 makes clear his thoughts on his children:

“
This day was one of much consternation.
John-Poopy once again took an enorumous shit in the main house, this time right in my study whilst I was out attending to the fields. That little fucker.  Upon viewing the odiferous deposit, his sister Patsy laughed gleefully, with so much delight and excitement that she thereupon had one of her convulsive fits, spasming right into the poo pile her brother had so thoughtfully left. Her fit being over, she cried and cried as her favorite dress was a-fouled with crap. The poor child! Her devil fits prove she is beguiled by Satan and doomed for hellfire and perdition. Alas! I love my step-children dearly, and yet they try my patience. I sometimes wish Patsy would return to her master Satan, and take her shit-cannon of a brother with her.”

In addition to his fatherly duties, George Washington loved foxhunting. It was his favorite hobby and endeavor, this
sport of gentlemen. Fox hunting had flourished since the days of ancient Rome, had blossomed throughout Europe for centuries, and was now firmly embedded in the American colonies. With his fearlessness, ample land and his skill as a horseman, the foxhunt was a sport at which Washington excelled.

The hunt was as much ritual as sport, a combination of men and canine worki
ng together to catch the fox, the honored beast of the hunt. The gentleman riders, Washington and neighboring plantation owners, would assemble in their custom jackets and riding pants, gloves, hunting hats and tall English leather riding boots. Traveling ahead, Overseer Kindly released his bloodhounds along a woodland trail to sniff out the scent of the fox.

Having picked up the
fox’s scent, the dogs would race at full speed into the trails of the wilderness, while Mr. Kindly and his two sons flanked the ever-barking hounds, using whips and shouted calls to keep them in a tight group. The riders would then follow behind the hounds, by the quickest route possible, jumping fences and streams, hot on the trail of the cunning fox.

If the hunt were successfu
l, the hounds would “run down” the fox before he could hide in an underground burrow. In most instances, the riders looked on in delight and shouted their success as the hounds apprehended the honored wily fox and ripped it to pieces in a splendid melee of flying entrails, blood and fur. In rare cases, the hounds “flushed out” the fox towards the waiting riders, where it would be shot with a musket.

The successful
hunters, leading exhausted dogs homeward, would return to the starting point for a tankard of ale, a glass of whiskey, or a goblet of wine, all appropriate celebratory beverages for a successful hunt. Mr. Kindly would secure the remnants of the bloody fox pelt and nail it over the barn door after a good cleaning, a fine trophy of the hunt. And so it was that the crossbeam over the barn door at Mount Vernon was soon covered with tens of fox pelts, victorious remembrances of Washington’s skill and ability.

In these days of hunting and farming and the man
agement of his vast estate, with his wife and children beside him, George Washington lived an idyllic life of prosperity and contentment. Yet somewhere in his bosom, George Washington longed for more, for fame and recognition and an opportunity for leadership.  Washington longed for greatness in service to the American Colonies.

What Washington did not
know was that there were decisions being made far across the Atlantic Ocean, decisions that would give him just the opportunities he sought. For the British Empire was jealous of its colonies, and was even now was taking steps to increase its own control of America through increased taxation and imposed regulation. Washington could not yet see them, but there were dark and ominous storm clouds gathering on the American horizon.

Chapter 6

Dark and Ominous Storm Clouds

Gathering
on the American Horizon

Charles, the Earl Cornwa
llis unlocked his desk drawer and once again opened the envelope that contained his orders from the Advisory Council of His Royal Highness. Noting the royal wax seal of the King, he flipped the tab of the envelope open and read the contents of the letter once again, for the fifth time.

Confidential
, by Order of His Majesty-

The Year of Our Lord

One Thousand Seventeen Hundred and Sixty Six

To
The Honourable Charles, The Earl Cornwallis:

Dear Sir:

By Order of his Majesty, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Colonel in his Majesties Armed forces in his Colonies on the American Continent. As a member of the British House of Lords, you were previously advised by the Royal Advisory Council of the possibility of implementation of the CONFIDENTIAL plan then designated “Project Z.”

By Order of His Majesty, you shall make all necessary prep
arations required for the full implementation of the CONFIDENTIAL Project Z, and are hereby placed in command of those operations in His Majesties Training Barracks in Richmond, Virginia.

This correspondence is to be burned after being read.

Though he had
received the directive many months ago, Cornwallis had kept it locked securely in his desk.  Finally, he placed the letter back in its envelope and tossed it into the fire. There was now no official, historical documentation that Project Z existed, or that Cornwallis was involved in it.  

Colonel Cornwallis stood to leave his office for his daily Training Barracks Inspection. Although he had done this now for many weeks, he still could not quite overcome his personal displeasure, or the sickening feeling he had in the pit of his stomach each day at this time.

He sought personal advancement, above all things. If the King and his Advisory Council ordered him to complete preparations for Project Z, then he would do so to the best of his ability. His personal feelings would be put aside in this matter in exchange for personal gain.

Cornwallis rose from his chair just as a knock sounded at his door. He opened the door, greeti
ng Lieutenant Smithers briskly.

“Colonel Cornwallis,” Smithers began, “sh
all we begin the daily inspection, Sir?”

“Yes, lead on Lieutenant
,” Cornwallis replied. He always pronounced Smithers’ rank as LEF-tennant, like any good Englishman should. He might be temporarily stationed in these colonies, he thought to himself, but he would be damned if that would make him any less of an Englishman or a gentleman.

“Sha
ll I alert the barracks Captains to prepare for your arrival?” Smithers asked.

“Make it so,” Cornwallis responded. Smithers stepped away for a moment, handing a small rolled paper to his subordinate, then returned to the side of Cornwallis holding a small ledger and a pencil. They walked outside together and approached a large, stone building, which stood on a row with countless identical buildings. “Barracks Number One,” Lieutenant Smithers said as he opened the door of the building for his commander.

Cornwallis entered and was followed quickly by Smithers. The sight of what lay before Cornwallis sickened him at first, as it always did. For here in this barracks stood row and after row of undead zombies, chained to metal posts in long, double rows that extended the length of the interior of the building. The creatures were wearing the uniforms of British soldiers, including the distinctive red coats.

These zombie soldiers stood almost disinterested, chained by their ankles and nearly immobile as they were. There were four
living British soldiers in the room, guarding and supervising these creatures.

“Sound Attention,” Cornwallis spoke softly to Smithers.

“Sound attention!” Smithers shouted aloud in the barracks.

From the rear of the room, one of the living British soldiers
, called the Regimental Musician, began playing a slow “tap-a-tap tap tap,” on his drum, and immediately these zombies stood at attention and faced the drummer. Through much training, it was discovered that these undead creatures could be trained to respond to various stimuli of sight, sound and smell. Like well trained dogs, the zombies could be made to stand, walk in formation, and attack.

“One hundred soldiers in the F
irst regiment, Battalion Two, present and accounted for,” shouted the Captain of the barracks. Smithers made a small notation in his ledger.

“Very good, Captain,” Cornwallis said nonchalantly and w
alked out of the barracks with Smithers trailing behind.

“
Barracks Number Two,” Smithers said as he opened the door of the second barracks. And so it went, with clockwork efficiency, as they made their way from building to building in the camp. Cornwallis would take a walk down the main aisle inspecting the undead, zombie troops, and Smithers would make the appropriate notation in his ledger. After two hours, they stood at last inside barracks Number Twenty Five, the final building to be inspected.

“Two Thousand, five hundred
and forty seven zombie soldiers present and accounted for in total,” Smithers said as he walked and read aloud the total in his ledger.

As
Smithers and Cornwallis walked down the main aisle of Barracks Twenty Five to complete the inspection, neither man noticed a small length of excess chain from around a zombie’s leg looped into the walkway. As Smithers passed, the tip of his boot snagged the chain, and caused him to stumble and fall off the narrow walkway and land on the floor between two of the undead British soldiers.

Smithe
rs stood up and brushed himself off in embarrassment but realized in an instant that he had a small abrasion on the palm of his hand, with a few small droplets of blood. The two zombies chained near him, smelling the fresh blood, were on him in an instant.

The pair of undead creatures
each grabbed the Lieutenant’s forearm but pulled in opposite directions, causing a loud snap, with the jagged edge of bone now protruding from the arm.  Smithers screamed but did not fall and instead, with quick thinking, stepped back into the safety of the walkway as two British guards pushed the zombies back with long, sharpened sticks.  The Regimental Musician immediately began to play the “yield” command on his fife, and the zombies all dropped to one knee in unison, conditioned as they were to do so after many months of training.

Cornwallis was exceedingly upset at this injury.
“Look here,” Cornwallis said, picking up the small ledger that Smithers had dropped when he fell. “Look here!” he repeated angrily. “You’ve smudged the ledger!”

Smithers stood ashamed and embarrassed holding the arm with the compound fracture. It dripped just a sma
ll amount of blood, and he wrapped it with a white cloth that one of the guards had just handed him. “I’m sorry, Colonel Cornwallis” Smithers apologized.

“And now it’s nearly tea time,”
Cornwallis said with growing irritation. “Who’s going to make my tea with you in the infirmary?”

“It’s not too badly broken, Sir,” Smithers replied. “I
’m sure I have time to brew us up a spot of tea before I see the company physician.”

“Are you sure?”
Colonel Cornwallis asked. “You do know that I just
cannot
tolerate the manner in which Corporal Biggs brews tea.”

“No, Sir,”
Lieutenant Smithers replied.

“And his fresh crumpets are a travesty,” Cornwallis added.

“Yes, Sir” Smithers agreed. “I’ll just head over to headquarters now and get to work on our tea.”

“That’s a good lad,” Cornwallis said happily. “But once we’ve finished our tea, I want you to head
directly
to the infirmary,” he added. “As soon as you’ve cleared and washed the cups and saucers.”

“Very good, Sir
,” Smithers said, heading back to headquarters.

And so it was that the British
officers demonstrated innovation in military training of zombies, a strict sense of duty, and an almost complete lack of common sense.