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by Michael A. Kechula

“Relax and have another drink,” said the mistress of the President of the Reorganized States of America.”

“How can I relax when 1,000 renegade zombies are still running loose? The Army can’t find them. With elections only two weeks away, that bitch, Elsie Snerd, could win. Do you want to see her President? She’ll turn this nation into a Fourth World toilet.”

“Why aren’t all the zombies dead? You told me the Army had the latest portable flamethrowers and chain saws.”

“This bunch isn’t the same kind that invaded us during the last zombie war. Back then they were easy to defeat, because they walked slowly, were completely disorganized, and had no objectives except to eat human brains.”

“What’s so different now?”

“They’re a different breed. They’re uniformed, organized, and have weapons. An unknown rogue nation must’ve refined the zombification process and created a new class of zombies. They have some ability to think, although their implanted electronic brains are the size of sugar cubes. The CIA’s still analyzing DNA samples to discover where they came from. We will find out. And I will severely punish the nation that unleashed a zombie sneak attack against us on Christmas Eve!”

“I love when you get so stirred up,” she said. “Let’s get comfortable so I can help you get rid of all that nasty old tension.”

As they disrobed, the President’s red phone rang. He spoke so quietly, she couldn’t hear his conversation.

Hanging up, he said, “The CIA discovered who created the zombies.”

“North Korea?”



“Nah. They wouldn’t dare.”

“Then it must’ve been Iran.”

“Guess again.”

“I give up,” she said, nibbling his ear.

“Switzerland did it. I just ordered a massive nuclear attack. That beautiful, mountainous country will be soon transformed into a bleak, flat-as-a-pancake desert. Plus, it’ll be several hundred feet below sea level.”

Kissing his neck she said, “What a shame. We had a fabulous time when we were there. Hey! Isn’t that where all your gold and money are stashed?”

“Oy!” Grabbing his phone, the President called his top general. “Call off the bombers. I’ve received false intelligence. Reroute them to—” He held his hand over the mouthpiece and asked his mistress, “Which country was it where you had the worst vacation of your life?”

“Tahiti. A typhoon blew in and ruined everything.”

“Nuke Tahiti,” he said into the phone. “They’re the bastards responsible for the zombie sneak attack.”

The President’s decision provided an unexpected bonus. Turned out Elsie Snerd had gone to Tahiti incognito to relax before facing the rigors of Election Day.

The President attended Snerd's funeral service. He had an empty coffin placed in the Capitol Rotunda to honor her. He even gave the most touching eulogy the nation had ever heard.

His ratings jumped fifty points, and he was reelected.

After seeing what happened to Tahiti, Switzerland never again sent a zombie invading force to the Reorganized States of America.