It was Nurses’ Executive Officer, second grade teacher Mrs. Prachett, that woke her with the morning report.
“Ma’am, severed four hundred heads last night in North America. Europe’s reporting two fifty nine. Middle East contingent bagged six hundred.”
“Six hundred?”
“Ma’am, they’re really good at beheading. It comes naturally to them.”
Nurse stretched. It had been a long six weeks. Tom had taken over most of the eastern seaboard with his undead Army. Maryland was the last refuge, even the undead wanted to avoid Baltimore and so that’s where Nurse had set up shop.
The West was mostly contained. By the time word got out over the news networks, most states west of the Appalachia were standing over their dearly beloveds with shovels and pick-axes ready to whack away. There were still heavy casualties. Los Angeles was gone. San Francisco, too. In San Francisco there had been protests for zombie equal rights. In Los Angeles they didn’t have any guns. Except Compton. Compton held on for a bit.
Across the rest of the globe the reports were more scattered. CNN reported lower numbers. Fox reported higher numbers. Mrs. Prachett averaged them out for the morning report. As far as they could tell, England barely had a problem at all. With so many people trained in Cricket, and so much pent up anger toward their elders it was a near wash, the zombies never had a chance. Everyone missed France. Africa was a trouble spot. Australia seemed to enjoy the carnage. There was little news from China. In the Middle East there was peace for the first time in millennia once the ayatollahs had rebranded the undead as the new infidel. All in all, things were looking up for the living except on the eastern seaboard, and that was because of Tom.
She was up to a pack a day.
She had no intention of leading an Army against the undead. It wasn’t until that news reporter and that youtube video that people started to rally around her. “Savior of the Beating Hearts” or some such is what they called her. People, always needing saving.
She lit a cigarette and poured a cup of coffee from the pot over the fire at second base. Orioles stadium made a fine fortress. They had outposts at the local Sam's Clubs for supplies. They could hold out indefinitely, the trouble was gaining the offensive.
She looked at her army. It was the republicans that had survived, thank god. Most of the democrats were dead. No guns. Simple as that. Most of her army consisted of former soldiers, active duty soldiers -- she’d recruited most of the US Army after the president was eaten -- elementary school teachers, and nurses, anyone who had a healthy respect for rules, really.
“Your orders, Ma’am?” Mrs. Prachett checked the blade on her bowie knife with her thumb.
Tom’s army was stronger than the rest. He had powers, awful powers combined with adolescent mood swings and a headache from that tumor of his. He had leveled most of New York when he found out his girlfriend preferred the living. She'd taken the news that her first love was the destroyer of humanity fairly well though.
Nurse lit a second cigarette off her first.
"Get me his parents please. And the girlfriend."
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