Your Fifteenth Literary Gift of 25 Gifts

Your Fifteenth Literary Gift of 25 Gifts to Christmas. I’m your friendly humorous, SciFi author Andy Zach. This blog will give you–supporting characters.

They’re from the Paranormal Privateers, Lulu Guitierez and Sharon Windham are bodyguards for the Paranormal Privateers and Diane Newby in particular. Why? You’ll have to read My Undead Mother-in-law to find out. But they’re a coloreful pair. Your free excerpt is below.

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My past gifts to you are here:

• 25 Days to Christmas – 25 Literary Gifts for You
• Your Second Literary Gift! – 24 Gifts to Christmas.
• Your Third Literary Gift! – 22 Gifts Until Christmas
• Your Fourth Literary Gift! – 21 Gifts Until Christmas
• Your Fifth Literary Gift! – 20 Gifts Until Christmas
• Your Sixth Literary Gift! – 19 Gifts Until Christmas
• Your Seventh Literary Gift! – 18 Gifts Until Christmas
• Your Eighth Literary Gift! – 17 Gifts Until Christmas
• Your Ninth Literary Gift – A New Book! – Is it Christmas?
• Your Tenth Literary Gift – More from My New Book!
• Your Eleventh Literary Gift – My Non-fiction Book
• Your Twelfth Literary Gift of My 25 Gifts to You
• Your Thirteenth Literary Gift of My 25 Gifts to You
• Your Fourteenth Literary Gift of 25 Gifts

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Your Fifteenth Gift: Paranormal Privateers

Chapter 2 – Haradhere

The reek of high explosive hung in the black cargo container as I awoke. My whole body ached like a two-a-day football practice followed by a sound beating. I knew that meant I was no longer a zombie.

My last memory was shielding the women with my body. Where were they? Where was Diane?

“Diane?” My voice came out as a croak.

Someone groaned in the dark. “Is that you, Diane?”

“No, it’s Lulu. Diane’s here. You awake, Diane?”

“Oooh,” Diane moaned.

I felt grit, dirt, fléchettes, and blood on the bottom of the container as I crawled to her voice.

“I’m here, honey.” I took her into my arms. She felt small—and bloody. “Are you OK?”

“I hurt all over. I haven’t felt this bad since we battled the zombie ninjas and I got impaled with the naginata.”

“They must have used fléchette rockets.”

“Yes, they shot you, and then they shot us. Lulu, Sharon, how are you doing?”

“I’ve been better,” Lulu said.

“This is what we signed up for when we became your bodyguards. We haven’t done too well so far,” Sharon said. She sounded…good.

“Sharon, are you still a zombie?” I asked.

Sharon Wyndham

“No and yes. I lost my zombie infection and power—and then I reinfected myself with my zombie blood capsule as soon as I awoke a couple of minutes ago.”

“I forgot mine! It’s been so long since I was in battle. I left it in my room.”

“You can have mine, Diane,” I offered.

“No worries. Sharon and I both carry spares.”

We all injected the blood capsules. They looked like EpiPens, used to treat anaphylactic shock from allergic reactions to bee stings. Punching the capsule into one’s leg shot a milliliter of blood through a needle into your bloodstream.

The zombie bacteria doubled in quantity every twenty minutes. When it encountered damaged tissue, it replaced it by copying the DNA into itself. Over time, a zombie would become almost entirely this replicated tissue. The zombie tissue was twice as strong as normal tissue. The muscle fibers flexed twice as fast. Even one’s skin became as tough as nails.

That was how we survived the saltwater fléchettes. Although they killed the bacteria in the blood, it took a while to kill all the bacteria. The surviving bacteria patched us up enough to live—and then it died. Whoever planned our capture—probably Ogala—knew a lot about zombies.

Lulu Guitierrez

“I’m glad they didn’t think to search us for our capsules,” I commented.

“Perhaps they didn’t know about the technology?” Lulu speculated.

“They should!” Diane insisted. “I helped invent that with Maggie, my daughter-in-law, three years ago when we first began fighting for zombie rights!”

“But, dear,” I murmured, “Zombies are mostly confined to the US, where people have a right to be a zombie. The rest of the world, especially a backwater like Somalia, doesn’t know all the tech that goes with us. They fear zombies, like the old US, and don’t allow us to immigrate or any zombie blood to be transported.”

“Hah!” Diane snorted. “Do you know how many millions of dosages of blood we’ve shipped around the world in the past three years?”

“Yes, I know it’s used to treat disease worldwide, but people usually get—and governments require—the anti-zombie antibiotic afterward.”

“Dummies!”

I chuckled. Diane had no understanding of anyone who had the least fear of zombies.

George Newby

We sat quietly in the darkness for an hour, gaining strength and healing.

“I know they’re sending the zombie animals to attack, but I’d like to get out and greet them.” Diane cared for all the zombie corgis, bulls, and turkeys that we kept on board the ship.

“I’m feeling pretty good. Let’s see if I can make a dent in that door.” I went to the door and felt carefully around the edges. There were no gaps, but the door wriggled slightly against the steel rods holding it closed.

“Hmmm. I might as well attack the sides of the container as the door. I don’t want to bang against it, but that’s the only way to fatigue the metal and bust out of here. What’s to stop them from coming and firing another fléchette rocket or two?”

“How about if we get out with one big bang?” Sharon said.

“How do we do that?”

“I’ve got two shaped explosive charges right here.”

“And I’ve got two more,” Lulu added.

“How? How did you smuggle them in?”

“Let’s just say our figures had some additional padding,” Lulu said, smiling in the dark.

Padding Their Escape

“Oho! Your padded bras have C4 explosive!” Diane exclaimed. “I wish I had thought of that. I’ll do that from now on!”

“You got it in one,” Sharon admitted.

“You don’t need any more padding,” I said sotto voce.

Our bodyguards fixed the four shaped charges around the door, right behind the two steel rods holding the door closed. We retreated to the other end of the container and covered our ears as Lulu detonated them.

BANG! The pressure wave bounced off our end of the container and slammed into the back of the door, now containing four holes where the rods used to be. The door squealed on its hinges and opened.

“It worked!” Diane said.

Your Fifteenth Literary Gift – What do you think?

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