Attack of the Fairytale Zombies! (7 page)

He really did have the hots for Heather, not to mention she seemed like a nice girl. He only hoped good witches actually did exist, because if Heather turned out to be bad like the rest of them, he didn’t know if his heart, or his balls, could take it.

“They’re getting closer, Barth!” Drag squealed.

Lost in the preceding four internalizing paragraphs, where Barth had to demonstrate his inner turmoil as he struggled to comprehend the depth of his feelings for Heather, he’d completely forgotten that the town square was filling up with zombies.

Heather dropped her centerpiece and backed up toward Barth. The zombies ignored the goo she’d set out for them and continued their slow advance.

“Brains!” they cried.

Heather shrieked and scrambled up Drag’s back.

“I don’t think they want the cake.” Drag nudged Barth in the back with one talon. “Let’s go. That one has a sword.”

Barth looked up at the tall knight who was leading the throng of zombies. Even though he was missing an eye and part of his lip was dangling from his face, Barth still recognized the zombie as the knight who liked to torment him on a daily basis.

“Hey, it’s Reginald,” he called back to Drag. “Reg!” Barth waved wildly at the knight. “It’s me, Barth.”

Reginald stared back with a vacant expression. “Brains.”

Barth leaned over the cauldron and scooped up some of the potion. He cautiously walked up to Reginald. “How ‘bout some goo, Reginald?”

The knight knocked the ladle out of Barth’s hands. “Brains.”

Barth nearly tripped over his own feet as he jumped back. Luckily, the zombies were slow. Really, really slow.

“Barth! Duck!” Drag cried.

Somehow, Reginald had managed to pull his sword from his scabbard and was advancing toward Barth with the weapon raised above his head.

Instinctively, Barth unsheathed his sword as well and lopped off Reginald’s head with one swipe.

The other zombies converged on Reginald’s rolling head and began sucking the goo out of his severed cavity.

“Gross!” Heather cried.

“Whoa!” Barth jumped up and then turned around and high-fived Drag’s talon.

“Sorry, Reginald, but you were a dickhead, anyway.” Barth raised his sword again and got to work hacking off zombie heads. Most were so slow and dazed, they didn’t even see Barth’s swift and powerful strokes. Streams of blood shot into the air as Barth hacked and severed his way through the throng of zombies.

“Barth,” Drag called. “You’ve never killed anything before.”

“I know,” Barth yelled back, with maybe too much glee in his voice.

“You gonna be okay, buddy?” Drag yelled.

“Yeah,” Barth answered enthusiastically, as if he was winning the coin toss at the county fair. “This is fun!”

“Fun?” Heather shrieked. “You think killing zombies is fun?”

“Sure,” Barth looked up at her with a shit-eating grin. “They’re really slow and easy targets.”

* * *

“Well, did you feed them all cake and turn them back to normal?” The king leaned back in his padded chair and eyed Barth with derision.

“No, but I slayed about fifty of those mother-fuckers.” Barth tossed his bloody sword on top of the king’s desk and grinned.

“Goddammit Barth!” The king shrieked while jumping out of his chair. He quickly scurried away from the sword while making a face.

“What else was I supposed to do?” Barth held up his hands. “They didn’t want the cake.”

“Whom did you slay?” the king groaned.

Barth tilted his head while tapping his chin. “About a dozen knights, a few hobbits and goblins, an evil step-sister, a wooden puppet, one or two princesses, oh and Bill Murray. He wasn’t a zombie yet, but I lopped off his head just for the hell of it.”

The king slapped his forehead. “I can’t believe you killed Bill Murray.”

Barth arched a brow. “Have you seen Garfield?”

“You’ve got a point.” Groaning, the king slumped back into his chair. He used a tissue to push the sword toward the other side of his desk. The king gagged as blood streaked across the gold plating.

“Slaying zombies was so much fun.” Oblivious to the king’s growing ire, Barth picked up his sword and began prancing around while lopping heads off invisible zombies. “I think I’ve found my calling, King Dump.”

“You dumb fuck!” The king pounded on his desk. “Those are tax-paying citizens. Evil step-sisters and knights are worth at least twenty pounds of gold a year.”

Barth’s sword halted mid-air. He shot a glance at the king and shrugged. “Well, you should have let us make spaghetti.”

“Fine, Goddammit!” The king rubbed his temple as he slumped in his chair. “Feed them spaghetti, but their taxes are going up after this.”

“No, no, no this is all wrong! The consistency is supposed to have elasticity, not feel like mush.” Barth swore as he dipped his sword into another pot and pulled out more soggy noodles.

One of the sniveling royal kiss asses sidled up to Barth. “I imagine it’s not easy boiling spaghetti for five thousand zombies.”

Barth ignored him and walked over to the next pot, seemingly unfazed by the chaos he was creating in the royal kitchen.

A team of red-faced chefs, each wielding either large butcher knives, rolling pins or frying pans, grumbled behind him.

Barth fanned his face as the sweltering heat from the royal ovens was becoming unbearable. Not to mention the continuous stream of steam emanating from Drag’s nose was making breathing difficult. The dragon’s breath smelled like old bacon and stale beer.

“Hey, Drag.” Barth looked up at his friend whose large snout was protruding in through the kitchen door. “Could you exhale outside please?”

Drag rolled his eyes and then inhaled an entire pot of steamed clams.

One of the chefs swatted Drag’s nose with a broom. “Back, you stupid dragon! That was food for the king.”

Annoyance flashed in the dragon’s eyes before he belched clam residue all over the irate chef. “That’s a lot of food for one king. No wonder the town is going broke.”

The chef dropped his broom and swatted shards of clam off his clothes as he stumbled backwards and knocked over several baskets of fruit. The monster only laughed as he withdrew to the kitchen gardens.

“Barth, I’ve got terrible news!” Arms flailing wildly, the wizard rushed into the kitchen.

Barth sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “What can be worse than mushy spaghetti?”

“Douchebagga has stolen my potion!” the wizard cried. “See, she left this note.” He held out a yellow Post-it with an image of a cute little black cat, along with Douchebagga’s cell number and email address. Beneath her address was a message printed in Papyrus font.

Barth scowled. Nobody used Papyrus anymore. It was such an outdated and ugly font, almost as bad as Comic Sans. No wonder she was considered the most evil and vile witch in all of the kingdom.

He read her message aloud. “If you want your potion back, bring me the dragon. Cackle. Cackle. Sincerely, Douchebagga.”

Heather, who’d been conveniently standing there the whole time, but didn’t have any dialog until now, gasped.

Drag burped again, then growled as he stuck his head back inside the door.

The wizard sobbed into his hands. “What do we do? I’m not cut out to battle witches. I should have gone to law school.”

Barth wadded the note up into a ball and tossed it into an oven. “There is NO way I’m sacrificing my best friend’s balls to Douchebagga.” He turned to the wizard. “How long will it take you to make some more potion?”

The wizard threw up his hands. “I can’t make any more.”

“Why not?” Barth, Drag and Heather asked in unison.

“I’m out of Snurf turds and all the Snurfs have been zombified.”

“What do we do?” Heather asked.

“Looks like we need to stick to our original plan and flee the kingdom,” Drag said with finality in his hardened expression.

“We can’t flee.” Heather’s voice rose several octaves as she stomped up to Drag. “What about all these innocent people?”

Drag flinched. “What innocent people? There’s nobody left but a bunch of zombies and a few royal dickwads.”

“Drag, we can’t leave them as zombies forever,” Heather groaned before turning her pleading gaze to Barth. “Would you please talk some sense into Drag?”

Barth was torn between helping the girl he really wanted to land in the sack, and risking the life, and possibly even the balls, of his best friend.

But it had been a really, really long time since Barth had been laid, so in the end, he decided to do what was right for the kingdom. He turned to Drag. “Look, you just need to fly in there, pretend you have the hots for her, then we steal the potion and get out.”

Drag snorted and arched a brow. “And you think it’s going to be that easy?”

Barth scratched his head. “Well, this book is only about 15,000 words so far, so probably not.”

Heather struck a prayer pose and bent down before Drag. “I’ll make you all the ale you want.”

Drag’s huge eyes narrowed to slits. “A lifetime supply.”

“Okay,” Heather said.

His ruby red lips turned down in a pout. “And I want a pair of Dragon-sized Blahniks.”

Heather leaped to her feet and eagerly nodded. “I’m sure that between me and the wizard, we can conjure up a Blahnik spell.”

“Okay.” Drag huffed and a gush of steam shot out his snout. “But you all had better not forget that you owe me, especially
you
.” His angry glare rested on Barth. “Mr.
There is NO way I’m sacrificing my best friend’s balls
.”

“Drag.” Barth held out his hands. “What choice do we have?”

“You want to screw the witch,” Drag snorted as he nodded toward Heather. “That’s what this is really about.”

“W-what?” Barth stammered.

Beside him, Heather averted her gaze while whistling to the tune of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’

Drag’s heavy jowls turned a frown. “You’ll do anything she asks, including risking my balls. Fine, if that’s how you want it,” he cried, “I’ll go be Douchebagga’s love slave so that you can live out your happily-ever-after.”

Drag backed his head out of the kitchen and jumped into the air.

Barth ran through the kitchen door and called up to his retreating friend. “Drag, where are you going? Let me come with you!” His pleas were barely audible beneath the din of the beast’s flapping wings.

Drag looked down and answered with a loud, steaming fart.

“You’re lucky that wasn’t wet,” he called before flying away.

* * *

“What have I done?” Barth leaned forward on a bench in the wizard’s chamber with his head in his hands.

“He’ll be fine.” Heather sat beside him and patted him on the back. “He’s much bigger than Douchebagga.”

For one moment, Heather almost felt sorry for Barth.

Then she remembered what an incredible ignorant dick he’d been the night before.

Barth turned to her with watery eyes. “He’s not like other dragons, Heather. He’s sensitive.”

Heather stifled a groan. She still couldn’t get over Barth’s prejudice against witches—this dragon slayer who was worried about a dragon’s feelings and not hers. And worst of all, before he actually opened his big dumb mouth and insulted her coven, she was actually starting to like him—really like him.

She should have known her knight-in-shining-armor would turn out to be a jerk. Wouldn’t have been the first time it happened. She remembered what Drag had said earlier about Barth wanting to screw her. Wouldn’t be the first time a guy used her only for sex, either.

Well, not this time.

After Barth helped her save the kingdom from the zombie curse, she was through with him and all men like him.

Barth jerked to his feet and rushed to the wizard who’d been sitting at his computer. Unfortunately, but convenient to the plot, the wizard’s computer had been infected by malware from a pixie porn site, and his giant pussy had been infected as well. They had no way of seeing what Douchebagga had done with Drag. The wizard was trying to install a new virus scan onto the hard drive.

“He should have been back by now,” Barth said to the wizard. “Any luck with your pussy?”

“No,” the wizard sighed. “It’s still infected with this virus. I can’t seem to get it clean.”