Employees Only

As the attack was taking place in DC, Mick and his group took up shelter just two blocks away from the White House in a Walgreen’s pharmacy.

“Almost there, everyone. We can do this; just a bit further,” Larry boasted.

“How the hell are we gonna get past those zombies? They’re farting all over the place! If they hit us with that butt mist, we’re done for,” Tad said.

“Tad,” Kitty called out, “You go draw them away from us. We’ll run for the gates.”

“Hardy-fuckin-har-har,” Tad said.

Larry turned to the group, “We all break out the side door and haul ass down that way as fast as we can. We shoot down any fart monsters that get in our way.”

“Are you insane? That’s away from the Whitehouse,” Tom the waiter said.

“It’s a secret tunnel. We won’t make the gates, but we might make the tunnel entrance.”

“Might?”

“It’s okay; in situations like this, the virgins always live,” Tad said.

“I’M NOT A VIRGIN!”

“Tad is right, anyone fucking in a horror film gets killed; everyone knows that,” Larry said.

“Masturbation doesn’t count, hey,” Lorenzo said.

“Well then, I feel a bit better. Thanks, Tad.”

“Don’t mention it, pervert.”

***

A few streets over, Yukon and Melvin have fought their way through the crowds of frightened people trying to flee the city on foot, and a handful of zombified attackers.

“It’s just a blocks away; we probably won’t have anywhere to hold up when we get there,” Yukon said.

You can stay here; you don’t need to come any further, Melvin.”

“I go where you go. Besides, there’s no booze here.”

“I can’t ask you to keep risking your life for me.”

“Have you seen this?” Melvin asked as he jiggles his belly. “I risk my life every time I eat a fried chicken sandwich, and I eat the hell out of some fried chicken sandwiches. I could go for a chicken sandwich from Chick-fil-A right now; those homophobes make a tasty sandwich.”

Yukon smiles at him and places his hand on Melvin’s shoulder. “You are a true friend, Melvin.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just remember this when Christmas comes. I want a Panini press.”

A gun is fired; the sound came from around the corner of the building. They tighten their grip on their weapons. Melvin, with his club that he fashioned out of the parking meter, that they ran over in the crash with Katie and Rose earlier, and Yukon with the umbrella he found along the way. Thankfully, Yukon had taken up fencing a few months ago, and an umbrella was as dangerous as a lightsaber in his hands.

As they made their way towards the corner of the building, the gun fire was getting louder. They could hear someone, possibly one of the shooters, yelling out, “There’s another one, hey!”

“That’s the dude from the sandwich shop. I’d recognize that accent anywhere,” Melvin said.

They peek around the corner and to Yukon’s surprise; his wife was running toward them.

“Kitty!” Yukon yelled.

“Yukon!”

The secret service and Mick fight off a few zombified attackers, while Yukon and Kitty come together in an epic embrace.

“I can’t believe this; what are the chances of us meeting up like this?  We were headed to the basement in this very building. There’s a tunnel to the White House here.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Yukon said as he pulled her back into his chest.

“Sup, Yuke?” Tad said, interrupting their scene that was right out of a Lifetime movie.

Yukon looks at Tad, and then takes a quick glance around at the others in his wife’s party.

“Looks like you have a pretty good story to tell me later.”

“I do; I’ve had a full day.”

Mick fires his gun at a zombie directly in front of him, then spins around into a squatting stance, where he fires up at one running up on his right. The bullet passes up through its chin and out the top of its head, creating a red fountain effect. He rolls backwards and rises up just in front of Yukon.

“Nice to meet you,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m Mick.”

Then without waiting for a response, Mick springs forward and leaps into a kick, both feet connecting with a zombie’s face, snapping its neck. As he lands, nimble as a cat, he frees a knife from his ankle holster and plunges it into the fallen zombie’s skull.

“He’ll feel that one in the morning,” Mick said calmly, as he rises up, staring into the distance.

“Kanye Christ. He’s as badass, as he is in, Sex and the City and Death,” Yukon said.

“Yeah, he’s really enjoying himself,” Larry said and made a waving motion to follow him. “Come on everyone, let’s get to the tunnels.”

The group runs inside the building from the shattered glass doors. All the looting and damage suffered make the place unrecognizable. The group hurdles over clutter, following closely behind Larry. They make their way down the stairwell and at the bottom, Larry gives a knock and said, “shave and a hair cut” on the door marked Employees Only.

“Really, that’s the secret knock?” Tom the waiter asked.

A heavy safe-style lock spins behind the thick door and it opens to reveal a brute of a man. He was as solid as he was tall; the man looked as sturdy as the door to the tunnel.

“Good to see you, Eastwood,” Larry said.

“Glad you could make it to the party. The President sent me here to wait for you. Who are your friends?” Eastwood asked.

“This is Kitty Catan and her husband, Yukon. She was interviewing the First Gentleman when the looting happened. These are her friends Tad and Geoff, and the Cherubim Cafe owner, Lorenzo.”

“Don’t forget about me,” Tom the waiter said.

“Oh, right; I did forget about you. This is Tom… the waiter,” Larry said.

“Everyone forgets about him,” Tad said.

“Nice to meet you all, but we’re a little short on room. I hate to be a Yoko, but I’m afraid I have to break up the group,” Eastwood said.

“Kitty and her husband are with me,” Mick said.

“I can’t just abandon Melvin,” Yukon said.

“Go, I’ll be alright. I’ll stick with Lorenzo and these other guys.”

“He’ll be okay. The Darryl’s and I are staying behind. You guys take the tunnel and we’ll be along as soon as we secure this entry way. Get to the White House, and Melvin, you and the others wait for us. You guys will remain with us at the White House. You’ll be safe,” Larry said.

Darryl and Darryl make their way back up the steps, as Larry watches the door to the tunnel close, like a sad puppy in a pet store, watching a kid leave. A puppy… with a gun.

***

President Evan Bacon arrived at the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD), along with Eggs, his Chief of Staff, Director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson, General Usrodd, CIA Director, Ted Striker, Secretary of State, Cecilia Hammerstein, a.k.a. “the Hammer,” and Secretary of Defense, Victor Kankoff. It was a veritable whose, who of names, that sounded like they were from some action movie. Evan noticed the head of NASA, Dr. Fritz Rommel, was already there.

“What the hell is that?” Evan asked pointing to the W.O.P.R. “Does that actually work?

“No sir, it’s just a bit of nostalgia. We stole it off the set of War Games. You can play Global Thermonuclear War on it though. Also, it has Ally Sheedy’s number on it, if you’d like to call her,” one of the NORAD engineers said.

“Okay, I’m going to need a briefing. I will have to address the nation again soon and I need to know everything,” the President said.

“Well sir, the zombies—“

The President interrupted General Usrodd. “What do you mean zombies? I thought they were supposed to be aliens.”

“Based upon their behavior, it would be more accurate to characterize them as zombies. Although, if you want to be technical, you can call them alien zombies,” the General said.

“The zombie aliens are spraying some sort of mist from their butts, a noxious gas, if inhaled, can turn you into one of them. Once you become one of them, you fart on others around you and they become one; it all multiplies very quickly,” Ted Striker said.

“Farting? You’re telling me the end of the world might happen, because zombie aliens are farting on people?”

The group looked at one another. They were hesitant to answer, because it sounded as ridiculous as it did implausible.

Finally, it was Dr. Rommel who answered. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“How many casualties so far?”

“We’ve had some reports from major cities. There are over 5,000 in San Francisco. I think New York has lost upwards of 8,000 people and I was told we lost Gary Busey,” the Hammer said.

“Those god damn bastards,” the President said.

“We have sent out ground troops; we are hoping that we don’t have to send any planes. We are reluctant to bomb at this point, because there would be a lot of civilian casualties. Also, the South has sent out all their rednecks with AR-15 rifles, shotguns & beef jerky,” General Usrodd said.

“Are we sure that they are dead? I mean, can the process be reversed? Can they be unzombified?”

“That is a good question and it’s one NASA has been working on. We have not come up with a solution yet though,” Dr. Rommel said.

“The problem isn’t that the zombie aliens are hard to kill, a shot to the head will take care of them; it is just that there are so many of them and they are turning others into zombies at an alarming rate. If we don’t nip this in the bud soon, there will be too many of them and not enough people left to fight them off,” Stanley Johnson said.

“So, what in the hell are we going to do, and what am I supposed to tell the American people?”

“You will have to pull a Bill Clinton,” Victor Kankoff said.

“I’m not suave enough to pull off a Bill Clinton.”

“Don’t lie; just finesse the truth a little bit. Tell people to get to a safe place, like in a basement, or bunker, or Ted Nugent’s house.”

“Are all the other leaders of the world telling people a similar message? I mean, are we all on the same page?” The President asked.

“Kim Jong-un told the people of North Korea, that the aliens are just American propaganda. China is already making alien zombie action figures with spaceships, that should be out in time for Christmas. Putin has gone rogue; he’s single-handedly taking out the zombie aliens with his bare hands. There is a picture of him shirtless on the cover of Time Magazine, strangling an alien. He was voted Time Magazine’s Person of the Year. Most other countries are on the same page as us though,” the Hammer said.

“Are networks still broadcasting? How many people do you think I’ll reach?”

“CNN and MSNBC are no longer broadcasting. They didn’t have anyone left to do Wolf Blitzer’s makeup and Chris Matthews got so drunk, he was slurring his words even more than usual. I’m afraid Fox News is the only station still broadcasting. Bill O’Reilly is hoping to get one of the aliens to come on the O’Reilly Factor. He’s already working on his next book, Killing Alien Zombies,” Ted Striker said.

“We are all set up ready for you to broadcast Mr. President,” a young camera man said, waving from behind a camera.

“Are you ready Mr. President?” The cameraman asked.

The President waited for his cue. “Good evening my fellow Americans. I’m speaking today during America’s darkest hour, next to Pearl Harbor, 9/11 and that Bay of Pigs thing. As you know, hostile zombie aliens have arrived on our planet and are attacking with impunity. They are admitting a noxious gas, which when inhaled, turns you into one of them. I have been advised to tell you to gather your food, water, weapons and if you have them, gas masks, and get to a safe place. If you have a basement, go down there, if not, stay inside with the doors and windows locked. Don’t worry about me; I’m in a nuclear bunker in the Cheyenne Mountains, surrounded by an Air Force base. If you come upon one of these aliens, a shot to the head will kill them. If you are unarmed, you need to flee from them as quickly as possible. Our military has been deployed and are hunting down and killing these alien terrorists. We are not planning on using bombs or the nuclear option at this time, but we are keeping all options on the table. I will be broadcasting again when I’ve learned more, but until then, stay safe America and God speed.”

The light went out and the camera man said, “We’re out.”

“How did that sound? Do you think I should have been more upfront?”

“I think that was perfect; you don’t want to alarm the public anymore than they already are. They needed to see their President calm and in control,” Stanley Johnson said.

“Alright, let me charge my phone and see if I have anymore texts from my husband.” The President saw that there were two texts. One was from his husband.

My phone is about to die, so this will be my last text to you for a while. We are making our way to the Whitehouse and hopefully we’ll be there soon. I love you pumpkin!

 The second text, was a dick pic from someone named Melvin Morgan.