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Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten III \ From He
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten III \ From Here to
Insanity
Written 4-9-93 by: David Minter
Based on the movie Night of the Living Dead @1968 by Image
Ten Productions, the concept of the Book and Record Set
@1984 by Buena Vista Records, Night of the Living Dead:
Rewritten II \ Guess Who's Coming to Dinner @1993 by David
Minter, and Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten \
Something Dead this Way Comes @1993 by David Minter.
This is the story of Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten
III \ From Here to Insanity. To celebrate this story that
really has nothing to celebrate, we've packed it in a
poly-bag. As you've discovered by now, included was a
silver plated trading card, a rookie trading card of Billy
Peltzer, copies of all the previous stories, a cassette of
Charles Nelson Riley narrating this story on one side and
reading Xanadu on the reverse, and a limited edition
collector's plate. After being dazzled by the gold-foil
stamped embossed chromium cover, you've had to had seen
the instructions on the front to read the back of the
silver trading card to receive instructions on breaking
open the collector's plate to obtain the secret key that
opens up the creative little lock on the front cover of
this story. Immediately thereafter, the key
disintegrated, the copies of the other stories burst into
flames, and as the tape runs along, it is being erased.
Therefore, after spending $39.95 for this story, you're
left with just the story! HA, HA! You're all so
gullible! A piece of plastic around something will make
you all buy two copies! HEE, HEE! Anyway, you'll know
it's time to turn the page when you hear the zombie
rending human flesh like this... BLORCH! Let's begin
immediately since I've wasted so much time already
bantering you. Remember to turn the page every time you
hear the sound of the zombie mutilating human flesh.
BLORCH!
The roughest night of their lives was about to begin.
Their beat was definitely off the beaten path tonight. As
per customary political decorum, the officers rose to
their feet when their superior shuffled into the room
followed by one of the men from down in the morgue. Chief
Emorby motioned his fellow officers to sit down, which
they were more than happy to do since they were so out of
shape. Emorby gathered his strength and began. "Gentleman
and, if Farmer was still alive, lady, we have a very
unique problem presented before us. A most unusual group
of assailants is overrunning Kingston Falls. Due to the
odd nature of the attackers, I will turn this briefing
over to Chief Mortician Emkommapost." Emkommapost shoved
Emorby aside rather rudely and picked up a pointer.
"According official police records, the first known
presence of the killers was along the city limits between
here and Hazzard county." He pointed to the location on a
map of the city and surrounding counties. "There were
three officers stationed there." He paused. "Only two
corpses were recovered." BLORCH!
Various murmurs, voodoo curses, and racial slurs
broke out from the gathered policemen. Emkommapost tapped
his pointer against the map to get their attention; he had
to thrust his pointer firmly into someone's eye to get him
to shut up. "A second assault began here," he pointed to
the Kingston Falls Power Facility. "According to
eyewitness accounts from survivors, a small group of
people, mostly men dressed as Native Americans, approached
the complex's entrance from the north and proceeded to
slaughter everyone that they could get their hands on."
Further murmurs began, but the officers, remembering
Mort's treatment of that one cop who wouldn't shut up,
quieted down. "Examination of Farmer's and Kembal's
bodies bear out with a strong distinction that the victims
died of massive hemorrhaging resulting from human bites."
"Wait a minute!" one officer shouted as he arose, clearly
demonstrating the utter contempt for manners that police
officers secretly harbor. "You're saying that these
'people' eat their victims?" Emkommapost tapped his
pointer so hard that it broke. "Are you that stupid? Of
course that's what I'm saying!" The officers knew better
than to start murmuring again. BLORCH!
Chief Emorby took the podium back from a now fuming
Mort Emkommapost. "And since we seem to have an invasion
of murderers on our hands, we've got to mobilize all
available efforts to combat it. I've already contacted
the National Guard Reserves of Kingston Falls. They've
deployed themselves in a semi-circle arc around the
western and northern ends of the city, where this killing
spree seems to have originated. One battalion of officers
will be sent to the nuclear power plant to investigate the
slayings. Volunteers will compose that group; you all
know who you are." They indeed knew who they were, even
though no one had volunteered yet. "The rest of the
available men will encircle the remaining portion of the
outskirts of the city. I will command the second team,
personally, with the help of Sergeant Worthlesston. TV
and radio stations, coordinated through BTCH and Civil
Defense will, hopefully, inform the citizens. But, that's
not our concern. Our concern is showing these criminals
that NO ONE gets the better of the police! Okay, men.
You've got your assignments, now go get your weapons!" The
men started to disperse. "AND, HEY!" Emorby's voice
stopped them momentarily in their tracks. "Let's be
-careful out there! But, that's not to say to be careful
with any human life other than your own." This little
organization of effort, despite its uncaring undertones,
was the last known endeavor of such magnitude on the part
of the Kingston Falls Police Force. BLORCH!
"INDIANS?!" Rand shouted as he rounded a corner,
sharply trying to adjust the wheel. They had been driving
through the nearly deserted streets of the city for nearly
ten minutes. Currently, the truck he was driving was
plowing through a small band of the living dead. Several
bones broke as the vehicle dashed away, leaving bloodied
but still alive pulps in its wake. He couldn't believe
that the former Indian inhabitants of Kingston Falls had
returned to life and killed many of his friends down at
the power plant where he worked. Also, he couldn't
believe that he had just plowed through a group of those
self same Indians. "How in the world could an Indian
return to life?" Rand hastily swung around another turn
and redirected the truck back onto the sidewalk. Passing
by a street sign, Billy noticed that they weren't heading
for home at all! They were heading for the city limits
and into nearby Hazzard County. BLORCH!
"Dad, where are we going?" "We're heading for the
city limits and into nearby Hazzard County." "But, why?
What about Mom!? We can't just leave her!" "Of course we
can't, Billy! How could you even think I'd do such a
thing?! I love you and your mother, even though sometimes
I get the feeling that you two don't love me." Billy hung
his down in shame and truth. "I'm taking the long way
which should be clearer. We'll take the highway and try
to get along the bypass into the southern entrance to the
city. Surely, the zombies can't have gotten that far by
now." Oh, if only Rand Peltzer knew. BLORCH!
Old Man Deagle was a very diligent sort of
individual. Even though his prize winning roses had died
months ago, he still went out every night to water and
prune them. Amazingly enough, tonight he noticed that one
of them was dead. It was the last thing that ever made
any sense to Old Man Deagle. He fished in his toolbox,
which he always carried out into the garden ( for a reason
that he never divulged to anyone ) and pulled out a spade.
Mrs. Deagle, Old Man Deagle's cat loving wife, was
impatiently waiting at the door. "If I've told him once,
I've never spoken to him about it," she thought to
herself. "Those roses are dead." Yes, she was always
ready to cajole her husband about the dead roses, yet she
could never believe the evidence of her own eyes whenever
she went into the hall and saw the dead bodies of her
cats, lying where they had fallen six years ago from
asbestos inhalation. BLORCH!
A foot rustled the dying sunflower stalks next to Old
Man Deagle. He looked up. "Hello there, young feller."
He adjusted his spectacles to try and get a better look at
the welcome intruder. "We don't get many visitors around
here. The rank smell of dead cats usually chases people
away. Hmmmm, I wonder why you didn't dash off in mortal
terror?" A mangled fist pushed its way through Old Man
Deagle's chest. BLORCH!
Mrs. Deagle came dashing out the door at the sound of
her husband's screams. Some young hoodlum-esque punk was
pretending to be a cannibal with her husband. When the
zombie looked up from its meal and stared into her eyes,
she knew it wasn't a game. Her best friend came tottering
around the corner. "Mardge? Mardge Emorby?! What's
happened to you?" All she did to answer her was stretch
her torn arm out in a gesture to capture some fresh meat.
Mrs. Deagle turned around and ran for her life, leaving
her husband to die, if he wasn't already dead. This old
man made a good meal for the zombies. Old Man Deagle
lasted a good twenty minutes before reviving. The still
hungry group stumbled on its merry way; their newest
member still clutching onto a garden spade that had meant
something to him in a former life. BLORCH!
Mort Emkommapost returned to the morgue where he had
spent a majority of his adult life. Debbie, his assistant
vivisector, was bent over the body of Officer Farmer. Her
nice butt was waving deliciously in the air. He had to
start examining Kembal's body before he went insane.
"Debbie?" he asked when he finally realized. "What did
you do with Kembal's body?" Debbie, who had realized all
along that Mort was mesmerized by her ass, turned away
from her rotting work. "I haven't done a damn thing with
his body!" she shouted defensively, even though she had
removed his kidneys for her secret experiments. "Then I
wonder where it is?" Mort questioned as Officer Kembal
stumbled out of the broom closet that he had actually
managed to shut himself in. BLORCH!
Debbie screamed as Officer Farmer arose and allowed
the organs that had been exposed during dissection to
tumble out onto the floor. As she covered her mouth to
keep from vomiting, Farmer walked over to her and took a
healthy chunk out of her shoulder. She screamed, vomited,
and died at the same time. Farmer pounced on her fallen
body and devoured it with much the same passion as the
Mogwai had done with the corned beef way back in Gremlins:
Rewritten II. Mort could not believe what he was seeing.
Nature reversing its own laws; the dead were returning to
eat the living. It was all insane! Kembal had finally
found a meal, and joined Officer Farmer. They backed away
after Debbie had become cold. They turned and advanced on
Mort. Mort reached for a scalpel and shoved it through
the skull of Kembal. He staggered back as Farmer
continued on. Kembal put his hands to his forehead,
extracted the blade, tossed it aside, and tried again to
get at this new meal. Mort was stunned! He threw Officer
Farmer's body aside and dashed for the exit. Out of the
corner of his eye, he saw Debbie rise, one eye dangling
from its socket by its optic nerve. Blood poured from the
socket and Debbie's now loose jaw. A scalpel was jutting
from one of her breasts. It was all Mort could stomach,
and he was a professional mortician. He had to get this
information to radio station BTCH and to the people.
BLORCH!
Rand brought the truck to a screeching in front of a
large group of people. "DAMMIT!" he shouted and banged
his fist half way through the steering wheel, lodging the
horn stuck. Its loud call annoyed the men and attracted
some wandering minstrel zombies. "More of them!" He soon
saw he was wrong. One man pointed to the truck and
several guns went blazing. Rand and his son ducked as
bullets and glass went flying through the cab. Shots
ricocheted off of the asphalt, but clearly missed the
tires, gas tank, and occupants. It is a lucky thing that
cops are such shitty shots. Rand brought his head up
enough to see to steer and brought the truck into life
again. It sped toward the cops which soon scattered in
response. Suddenly, Rand turned the vehicle away from the
men, back down the street, and into another group of
approaching zombies. Billy looked up enough to see their
original attackers. "Cops? Why would they shoot at us?"
"Because they're bumbling incompetents who don't want us
to do their job for them!" he said through clenched teeth
as he sped the truck through the zombies. "They can't
stand to be proven wrong. Looks like we'll have to go
through the center of town, which is sure to be flooded
with these creatures, to get home." BLORCH!
A loud shot rang out and drew Chief Emorby out of the
command tent that had been erected in front of the city.
His eyes widened as they took in the vast panorama of
horror that laid before them. Gnarled, mutilated, and
generally dysfunctional people were slowly walking towards
their position. "They all look dead!" he said to
himself, knowing full well that that couldn't be true.
"This must be some kind of new bunko/Bilko scam." "Hey,
look!" Sergeant Worthlesston, who was supposed to have
been scanning the perimeter for unusual activity and who
had just gotten back to his position from trying to pick
the lock of the door to the nearby Dunkin' Donuts store,
said to Emorby. Emorby drew his pistol, pointed it at the
nearest officer, shot him dead, then pointed it at the
nearest attacker, and shot it. It fell back and
collapsed. "Now they know what's coming," he said and
withdrew into the tent to formulate further defense plans.
If only he had waited a moment longer to see his kill
shuffle back to its feet. It might have saved his life.
BLORCH!
"Dead! They're all dead!" Worthlesston shouted and
started firing randomly. These words pleased Emorby
inside the tent. He didn't catch the implied word
"already" included in Worthlesston's speech. "They're
dead! We shoot them and they continue to rise!" Harry
tried to make his voice heard over the sounds of lead
flying. Through the haze and mist of smoke, distorted
parts of human beings could be made out. Some were still
attached to their owners; some weren't. A cluster of
three ghouls gathered around Worthlesston. Frantically,
he drew his revolver and fired two shots through the
brains of two of his nearest attackers and turned his
attention to the third. Blood poured from its mouth, the
sides of its eyes, and from two gunshot wounds in its
chest. The flesh had been torn from its right arm, the
lower portion of which hung uselessly out in space. The
remaining muscles in the upper arm that were still wrapped
around the bone tried their best to support the arm, tried
and failed. It tried to growl through the ooze in its
mouth but succeeded only in gurgling. Worthlesston
brought up his gun fired into its head. It fell, blood
and brain trickling from the gaping hole in its face.
Worthlesston stared in horror at the rising conglomeration
before him. He pulled the trigger repeatedly and a wave
of disappointment engulfed him as he realized he was out
of ammunition. BLORCH!
Worthlesston flung the drum of his revolver open just
to check and make sure. Yep, as empty as Adam West's
stomach. He turned at the sound of a fellow officer
screaming as two zombies bit at his legs which they had in
their grasp. At the same time, they were dragging him
away into their midst so that others could feed tonight
too. Worthlesston wet his pants ( He had a bad habit of
doing that. ), and ran away, deserting his fellow officers
and leaving them to the mercy of the undead. He wasn't
quite the fool that the press made him out to be. BLORCH!
People just barely above the margin of being legally
classified as torn to pieces encircled the still vainly
fighting cops. Hissing with hunger, they engulfed all the
fresh flesh that they could get their greedy mouths on. A
zombie wrestled a rifle away from one of the officers and
threw it to the ground. The officer in question lunged
for his rifle and snatched it up, but tripped and fell to
the street. A foot plodded to its resting place beside
his face. He looked up to see Old Man Deagle loom over
him, still holding his garden spade. He screamed out as
Old Man Deagle shoved the spade into his cheek, just below
the eye and partly into the nose. Old Man Deagle
abandoned the spade and bit into the officer's throat. He
fell backwards as blood and flesh poured out of his neck
and eye. BLORCH!
Officers picked up whatever they could their hands on
to use as weapons: pistols, rifles, Gatling guns, knifes,
bayonets, nightsticks, stun guns, mace, hatchets, axes,
throwing stars, smart bombs, concussion grenades, tear gas
launchers, anything and everything was employed to fight
the enemy and their friends which were rapidly turning
into enemies. An officer brought his rifle up and blasted
one creature right in the eye. Almost angry, the zombie
reached a hand out, captured his face, and removed the
officer of its burden. A stray shot hit another officer
right in the skull above his left eye. One zombie got
clubbed with the butt of an officer's rifle. Another
officer's bullet sliced right through a monster's neck.
Bullets and the various other bludgeoning weapons went
right through the bodies of the attackers with very little
effect. Finally, the army pounced on their warm meat.
BLORCH!
A cop glanced behind him to see a twisted, gaping
mouth, many of its teeth caked with blood, biting into his
face. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The right eye and the
bridge of the nose came off in the zombie's mouth. The
officer's words trailed off as three other zombies trotted
up and tore one of his arms off, ripping him open down the
side. Clawed hands ruptured his chest and removed the
esophagus and lungs. It was clearly evident that the
zombies had won yet another skirmish. The screams had
finally gotten to Chief Emorby. He appeared betwixt the
open flap of the tent. "What the hell is going o-" he
was cut short by his own startled gasp. Standing in the
spent ammunition shells that lay all about him and in the
rapidly dissipating smoke, Emorby just stared at the large
crowd of disfigured beings that were before him, some of
them wearing blue uniforms. They had thought that most of
the meal was over; they were wrong. The zombies advanced
one last time. BLORCH!
Emorby withdrew his service pistol and pointed at an
advancing naked woman, also horribly shredded. "Ohmigod!"
It was the stumbling, dead form of his wife. "MARDGE!"
He fired into her left breast; the force of the bullet
forced some of her loose teeth from her mouth. Seeing
that his wife was among the army, he knew that he had
lost. So, like any good cop, he got the fuck out of
there. He turned around and made a mad dash for some
means of escape. He turned again, seeing that his current
course of action was blocked. He turned again and
stumbled away in a mad, shocked daze. He tripped over a
body and bent down to examine it. It was his eldest child
who had just joined the force a few weeks ago. He put his
fingers to his son's throat, and felt for some kind of
pulse. There was none, but blood soaked his fingertips
when he withdrew them. As he stared at the fresh, warm
blood of his son, his son sat up and made an advance at
his father who was now just some piece of meat to be
devoured and discarded. Emorby got up and ran away as
fast as he could, discarding the now useless empty
"pistola" that he still held tight in his grip. He jerked
to a halt as two impassive forms rose to bar his way. A
look of shocked recognition took over his face as he
finally knew the war was over. Johnny and Barbara stood
there, blood staining their features. Chief Emorby of
the Kingston Falls Police Department did not die quietly
that night. BLORCH!
Rand spun around the corner leading to his driveway,
plunged into some more zombies and trash cans, and brought
the truck to a halt. Quickly, Rand raised his forehead
from the steering wheel that it had landed upon, wiped the
streaming blood away from the fresh cut, and surveyed the
scene. A group of about fifteen zombies were mindlessly
milling about his yard. They were gradually gaining the
intelligence to advance on Rand's truck. That was when he
saw it. The front door was wide open! BLORCH!
"They're inside!" Rand shouted to his son, turning
to him. "We'll have to move quickly!" Rand grabbed his
rifle from the backseat, closed the barrel, and cocked it.
"Better get your gun ready, son." It was one of the
oddest phrases that a father ever said to his boy, one
that many adolescents miss out on due to the mostly
non-violent constraints of the American society. Billy
filled the barrel. "Ready?" Rand questioned. Billy was
about as ready as a thirteen-year-old boy could be to
fight zombies. "Right!" "Okay, son. NOW!" BLORCH!
Billy swung open the door on his side. Rand actually
kicked his door off its hinges and sent it flying into a
near by ghoul. Rand fired a shot into a zombie's brain;
it only staggered the creature. Billy brought his pistol
to bear against the nearest zombie's chest and fired.
Blood squirted against Billy's clothes, but had little
effect in stopping the monster's advance. Rand shouted
over his struggle with a zombie to keep his arm in its
socket. "Billy, try to make it inside! ACK! We can-
Take that!" His rifle went off. "We can shut out the
zombies then! We must see if Fran is alright!" Billy
spun back to his zombie. This time he was going to try
and attack his attacker's groin. We already know it's not
effective, but we can have fun seeing how Billy's breaking
mind will handle it. BLORCH!
Just as he was about to pull the trigger, another
zombie reached over his shoulder and opened its mouth,
eager to take a bite out of crime by taking one out of
Billy. Billy's head jerked back in a combination of
surprise and trying to keep his shoulder intact. In his
struggle, his gun went off. He elbowed the newcomer in
the stomach, which actually seemed to do some good. It
staggered back, holding the remnants of its hands to its
stomach. "By now, the first zombie must almost be upon
me!" Billy reasoned in what passed for his mind. So, he
spun around, lifted his weapon, and prepared to fired. He
didn't; he was too stunned. Before him was his attacker;
a mixture of blood, flesh, and oozing green mass that
looked like bread dough was pouring from a bullet wound
just above and to the left of its stomach. The zombie
tried its best to contain the vitals that were escaping
from the gaping hole. It gurgled a most unearthly,
throaty scream, accompanied by blood flowing through its
teeth, and promptly collapsed. What was really great was
the fact that it didn't get back up! "Apparently, during
the struggle, my wild shot must have hit its stomach,"
Billy found himself actually saying out loud. "Hmmmm,
that's odd. I smell baking bread." BLORCH!
"What was that, son?" Rand asked from across the
yard. "Did you say something?" He buried some buckshot
in a zombie's shoulder. "Dad!" Billy shouted. "Don't
waste your ammunition! You gotta hit 'em in the stomach!"
He rand, er, ran up beside his father. "Like this!" He
pointed his pistol into the zombie's solar plexus and
fired. It died in the same agonizing way. "Wow!" was
all Rand could say. "If your puny pistol did all that,
then what could my big shotgun do?" He turned, aimed at
some stomach, and fired. The zombie's torso flew away
from its legs. Neither the torso nor the legs moved
afterwards. "Son, I think we've finally found a use for
you after all!" Billy blushed. BLORCH!
With this newfound knowledge at their side, Rand and
son successfully made it to the door. As they stepped
inside, Rand tripped over a severed foot caught in the
doorway. "What in the world?" Rand asked as he brought
his gun up and blew the foot to bits. He just barely
missed his own foot. But, this little comic relief had
been long enough for some of the zombies outside to come
close to pouncing upon Rand. Rand scrambled in as Billy
provided cover fire. Rand shuffled to his feet, dashed at
the door, and shut and locked it. "Whew!" Billy
breathed, his foul breath attracting some of the zombies
still inside. "That was close." Rand was about to
suggest a good breath mint, Mentos, that he had heard
about at a movie theater, when a woman's scream filled the
house. BLORCH!
Rand and Billy's commotion, as stated earlier, drew
some of the zombies inside to them. Some of the ones
whose attention had been diverted away from the stairs
changed their direction and headed back the way they came.
One zombie had been on the first step of the staircase
leading to Fran's bedroom. He turned around and stepped
off of the staircase upon hearing Rand enter. He turned
around again and stepped back up onto the stairs when Fran
screamed. His hellish existence ended when Rand and Billy
rounded the corner, spotted the zombie, and blew its
stomach out. They took the time to slaughter all the
zombies downstairs before they realized that they had
forgotten all about Fran upstairs. They raced up the
stairs, only to be blocked by a salivating, heavy
breathing, and chain smoking kangaroo. BLORCH!
Rand stared at the Christmas gift he had bought for
Billy and thought for a moment. Then, he raised his rifle
and turned the dingo into so much fresh Australian meat.
Billy stared at the running blood stains dripping on the
wallpaper, covered with animal hide. This was another
factor the drew Billy closer to that divine edge of
madness. Sounds like a great name for a soap opera,
doesn't it? "THE EDGE OF MADNESS!" No, it doesn't. Rand
rushed into the room that he and his wife shared as their
marital bed. Three zombies were in the room; one was
stalking Fran; another was running its hands through the
silky underthings in Fran's lingerie drawer, and the other
was trying to understand the concept of the bed. Rand
fired at the zombie on the bed, drawing not only its
attention, but also that of the zombie with a pair of
panties on its head. The third zombie was content with
harassing Fran. Billy came rushing in after gathering his
fragmented mind enough to do so. Rand was firing
aimlessly at the second zombie. Billy brushed the barrels
of Rand's rifle down to floor. "Can't you get it through
your thick skull?" Billy asked, sarcastically pointing to
his own thick skull in reference. "You gotta hit them
just above the left side of the stomach!" Billy took out
the pantied zombie. Rand, finally getting the message,
laid waste to the zombie on his bed. BLORCH!
Billy aimed his gun at the zombie taunting his
mother. Rand brushed Billy's gun aside with the barrel of
his rifle. "Don't shoot, you fool! You might her! Let
me shoot her instead." He brought his rifle back up.
Unbeknownst to the two living men in the room, the only
living woman in the room had noticed the conversation.
"You dolts!" she shouted, bringing her palm up into the
zombie's chin. It was a lot like one of those forehanded
karate chops that David Carradine used on that wonderful
new series "Kung Fu." Fran took advantage of the stunned
creature and dashed away from it. "NOW!" all three of
the living individuals in the room shouted as the two
armed individuals fired simultaneously at the zombie's
stomach. BLORCH!
Rand ran up to his wife to comfort her, lovingly
stroking her < DELETED >. "There, there. There, dear.
It's alright. Tell us what happened." Fran started
sobbing as she told her part of the story. "First, my
mother came over shortly after you left. She knew it was
the middle of the night but didn't care. I was glad to
see her. You hadn't come home yet, so she decided to
wait. That was when we heard the odd scratching sound
coming from the basement. We went to investigate and
found this cute kangaroo." She took a deep, sob-like
breath and continued. "It looked like it hadn't been fed
in days, so I took some veal and corned beef from the
refrigerator. It seemed to like the veal, so I left
Mother downstairs with the animal while I went back
upstairs to put the corned beef back. I know how much you
like corned beef. When I went back downstairs, I couldn't
believe my eyes! The kangaroo had gone crazy or rabid or
something. It was frothing at the mouth, growling in the
weirdest way, and struggling madly to escape its bonds.
Well, it finally succeeded. IT JUST SNAPPED THE CHAIN
BINDING IT IN TWO! It pounced on Mother and... and
devoured her!" BLORCH!
Rand put his hand to his mouth for three reasons;
1.) To keep from vomiting.
2.) To keep from yawning.
3.) To keep from belching.
Fran continued. "It just up and ate her. Well, most of
her. Next, it took the pack of Camels form her pocket and
just lit up like a madman. Or maybe a mad kangaroo.
Anyway, somehow, in its madness, it had gained the ability
to smoke! I just ran out of the smoke-filled, hazy
basement and locked the door. That was when Oreida came
over." Oreida was Fran's best friend. And, yes, she was
black. WAS! Ooops! I'm giving to much away. "Oreida
told me to turn on the TV. As I was heading for the set,
the doorbell rang. I answered it, and a Jehovah's witness
appeared. I promptly shut the door to try and keep him
out of my house, but he got his foot in the door. I
continued to try and shut the door anyway." BLORCH!
"Through screams of pain, he told me about how his
mission in life was to spread his falsified views of
religion to unsuspecting dullards such as myself. Soon
though, his words were replaced by nothing but screams.
Trickles of blood were oozing onto the carpet. I opened
the door to see if he was alright or if it was just
another of his items in his bag o' tricks. S-several...
things were biting at his leg. They- they had already
separated the foot; some were biting at the foot. Oreida
screamed, which drew some of the free things into the
house. One carrying a crowbar slowly plunged it through
Oreida's eye and pushed up on it, extracting it. I don't
think I'll ever get the stain out of the rug. By now, the
Jehovah's witness, with several open, bleeding sores on
his body... AROSE AGAIN AFTER ONLY THREE MINUTES AND MADE
ITS WAY INTO THE HOUSE! I backed away to the staircase
and noticed the pounding sound that the kangaroo was
making trying to get out of the basement. I turned back
to see Oreida rise and come after me alongside the others!
The basement door finally gave way, and the angry kangaroo
tumbled out. It tried to take me down, but I wrestled it
to the floor and made my way into the bedroom.
Eventually, they actually made it up the stairs and into
the room. Then, you guys came and saved my bacon, and
bacon, and bacon, and bacon, and bacon, and bacon, and
eggs." Rand looked back to the zombie that had been
through Fran's panties. He thought he had recognized her;
it was indeed Oreida. BLORCH!
"Well, it's alright now, Mother," Billy tried to
soothe her over. "Yes," Rand added. "But right now, we
better search the rest of the house and see if any more of
these things are still inside. Then, we'd better check
and lock all the doors and windows. And, if there is
enough time and wood, we'd better board up the doors and
windows. Come on, dear. I'll help you up back
downstairs." Fran drew back. "Oh, NO! I'm not going
back down there! That kangaroo is there!" "No, it
ain't." Rand held up his rifle. "Old Missy here took
care of it." He licked the barrel of the rifle, made a
face of disgust, and spat out some loose gunpowder. A
search of the house proved no more zombies. Only the
basement remained to be searched. Cautiously, they made
their way downstairs into the bowels of the house. Fran's
mother was lying where she had been devoured, blood
coagulating into a little pool around it. Fran buried her
face into Rand's chest and sobbed. "We must make sure
that her mother's body doesn't come back as one of those
things," Rand whispered to his son. Billy nodded, drew
his gun, and stepped over to the body. He put his gun to
that special place where these zombies seem to be
vulnerable. "HEY, MOM!" Billy called to his mother who
looked up. "WATCH THIS!" Fran watched in shock as Billy
blew her stomach out. She turned back and sobbed further.
Billy giggled madly during the rest of the search. BLORCH!
Half way across town, Mister Futterman was working in
his garage. During the colder portions of late fall,
winter, and early spring, he had a job driving the town
snowplow and clearing the town's streets. But, this is
ridiculously past Christmas time, and no snow has fallen
in months. When he is off on hiatus, Mister Futterman
likes to tinker on things in his garage. He is a far
better inventor than Rand will ever be. In fact, Rand has
tried to wheedle the secret out of Mister Futterman
unsuccessfully on many occasions. Rand holds a deep set
hatred for Mister F. Mister Futterman was welding some
circuitry together as the 8-track tape player in his plow
reached the "Ode to Joy" movement of Beethoven's Ninth.
His greatest invention was almost ready. All he needed to
do was finish the Arithmetic Logic Unit he was working on.
Also, all he needed was his wife, Martha, groaning in his
ear. BLORCH!
"Don't you think we should be preparing to get out of
here instead of working on that piece of crap contraption?
We should at least get back inside the house! This creaky
old shack could go at any second. I've also heard reports
on television about those things outside. They're
dangerous!" Zombies had been trying to claw their way
into Mister Futterman's shed ever since he and Martha had
dashed into it seeking shelter from the invasion. She
grabbed her husband by the shoulders and shook him. "CAN'T
WE GET OUT OF HERE, PLEASE!?" "Yes." "Yes?" "Yes. Yes."
He had been fitting in the final component when she had
started to shake him. "Get in." She climbed into the cab
of the plow and her husband did likewise. She couldn't
believe what happened next. She was glad though that they
could finally get out of Kingston Falls. She wanted to
head to a safer place, a little cabin they had bought many
years ago near a camp along a place called Crystal Lake.
The new vehicle crashed through the flimsy door of the
garage and plowed ( Ha, ha! ) through the troupe of
zombies gathered around it. BLORCH!
Like Old Man Deagle, police chief Emorby also made a
good meal for the mass of zombies. What little remained
of the police chief of Kingston Falls's elite returned
from the dead roughly half an hour after he was legally
demised. What remained of his legs had a little
difficulty supporting their framework, but they eventually
got used to it by giving up trying. His devourers backed
away from the cold meat. Emorby hissed as he turned and
faced the city limits. He began the slow march into
Hazzard County, leading an army of the dead with him.
BLORCH!
It had taken a little under an hour for Fran, Rand,
and Billy to lock and board up the doors and windows. Fran
and Rand had turned on the television and were watching a
radio ( ? ) report about the zombies. The newscasters
tried their best to convey what little information that
they had on the zombies and what safety precautions the
populace should take to safeguard themselves. Billy had
wandered into his room. His mind was held together only
with brain glue. He rolled off the bed, sweating. He sat
up and looked at his bookcase that Rand had made from the
metal of discarded toxic waste drums. Out of all the
glowing books that he could have noticed, one particular
series of books just happened to be lined up in a row, all
of them dealing with the same topic. Four books about the
dead coming back to life met his gaze: I Am Legend by
Richard Matheson, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, Dracula by
Brahm Stoker, and The Vivisector Vivisected by H. G.
Wells. The longer he stared at the books and the more he
read their titles, the deeper into madness Billy plunged.
He though about the zombie invasion, his family, the books
on the shelf, and the molten beginnings of the Earth. He
snapped and went insane all at the same instant! BLORCH!
Billy made a made dash at the bookshelf, knocking it
over in the process. After fishing through the pile of
books, he finally found the book on human anatomy. He
thumbed through the book and finally came to the
gastro-intestinal tract map. "Yes, yes! There! There it
is! Just above and to the left of the stomach! Right
atop the left kidney; the spleen! You've got to hit them
in the spleen! Don't ask me why," he said to no one in
particular. "I just know! The proof of their death is in
the pudding of the book before my eyes!" He tossed the
anatomy book aside and began fishing again. There! He
raised the book, Everything You Always Wanted to Know
about Insanity ( but were too stupid to ask! ), with
triumph. He clamored through its contents and found the
page on what to do to prove that you're insane. "Run up
to the nearest television set, turn it on if it isn't
already, and bury your fist into the screen. If, despite
the fact that you're cut and bleeding, you feel no pain,
then you're definitely insane." Billy hurled the book to
the floor and ran into the living room. Rand turned to
his son. "Hey, Billy boy! Say, we heard a crash coming
from you room. Are you alright?" Billy walked over to
the tv, drew his fist back, and plunged it through the
glass, much to the confused consternation of his parents.
"HEY! We were watching that!" Rand had always thought
his son was slightly odd, but in a positive way. He felt,
somehow, that Billy was destined for greatness. Slowly,
Billy withdrew his bloodied, injured fist. It was cracked
through and through. Glass filled some of the cuts. All
the bones in his hands were broken. Blood poured from
every possible part of his hand. "Yep, no pain. I'm
definitely insane!" "What, Son?" Billy grabbed the rifle
from his father's hands and cocked it. "Why, nothing,
Dad. It's just that we're gonna kick some zombie ass!"
This is the end of Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten
III \ From Here to Insanity. Well, not only has the whole
town of Kingston Falls gone to pot because of this
invasion of walking corpses, but the police force has
fallen, Mister Futterman is trying to do their job for
them, and Billy has snapped. He's gone bonkers, and
you'll see just how badly next time in Night of the Living
Dead: Rewritten IV \ Billy Goes Berserk. It's not your
father's Oldsmo-Factoid!
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten III \ From Here To
Insanity @1993 by David Minter. Based on the movie Night
of the Living Dead @1968 by Image Ten Productions, the
concept of the Book and Record Set @1984 by Buena Vista
Records, Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten \ Something
Dead this Way Comes @1993 by David Minter and Night of the
Living Dead: Rewritten II \ Guess Who's Coming to Dinner.
Night of the Living Dead @1968, 1984, 1986, 1988, 1989,
1990, 1992, 1993 by Image Ten Productions and George
Romero, John Russo, and Russ Streiner.
Buena Vista Records is a subsidiary of Walt Disney.
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