|
|
 |
|
|
|
register |
bbs |
search |
rss |
faq |
about
|
|
|
meet up |
add to del.icio.us |
digg it
|
|
|
|
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten II \ Guess Wh
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten II \ Guess Who's
Coming to Dinner?
Written 4-1-93 by: David Minter
Based on the movie Night of the Living Dead @1968
( Erroneously reported as being copyrighted in 1964 last
time. ) by Image Ten Productions, the concept of the Book
and Record Set @1984 by Buena Vista Records, 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
II \ Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?. This is your book, so
keep it a secret from enemy agents. It's also useful for
reading along with. You'll know it's time to turn the
page when you hear the zombie rending human flesh like
this... BLORCH! Let's begin now. Remember to turn the
page every time you hear the sound of the zombie
mutilating human flesh. BLORCH!
Many generations ago, the White Man had arrived in
the area of the New World that would eventually become
Kingston Falls, Ohio. For several generations and moons
thereafter, red and white blood filed the plains. Today,
in 1976, white blood still flows in Kingston Falls. And
just this once, red flows again. What sets this blood
apart from all the other forms of red blood ( As if there
is any other color of blood? ) is the fact that until a
few minutes ago, it wasn't flowing. BLORCH!
The recently revived tribe of Indians stood on the
outskirts of the city. This had been their land; they
wanted it back. But first, they must feed, and food
awaited them in the vast expanse of city that lay before
them. Johnny also had a job to do. He had to see someone
named Barbara again. He had no idea who this Barbara was,
but he just had to see her. Somehow, he knew that Barbara
would feed him. Stumbling along their way, these members
of a new tribe, a tribe never before seen on the Earth,
made their trek into Kingston Falls. The sun finally set
and the night of the living dead had begun. BLORCH!
Along those self same outskirts, police car
fifty-four was sitting along the city boundary in its ever
vigilant nightly duty to harass all visitors that dared to
poke their probing proboscises into Kingston Falls.
Officers Kembal and Farmer were necking in the backseat.
Farmer, Kingston Falls's first and only female officer,
was slowly removing her uniform. An officer who looked
enough like Erik Estrada to avoid a lawsuit was giggling
at the ramblings of Rockin' Ricky Rialto on the police
scanner band. He switched off the radio when the station
went for a commercial break and swung around to face the
back seat. "Howya doin' back there, Kem?" Kembal looked
up momentarily to face his partner and get some air.
"You've got eyes, haven't ya?!" he snapped. "Yep," the
officer in the front seat sighed with jealousy. He turned
around to turn the radio back on. "You're doing just
fine... unfortunately." Immediately after he finished
saying that, a clawed, withered hand smashed through the
back window. BLORCH!
Farmer screamed as the hand grabbed the top of her
head, and the fingernails began to dig into her skull.
"What the-" Kembal began as he pulled up his pants. The
back door swung open, and someone dressed as a Native
American grabbed the back of his neck. The grip was
amazingly strong for someone who looked like they had been
dead for generations. The Indian dragged Kembal out of
the car and onto the ground. By now, the officer in the
front seat had gathered enough intelligence together to
get out and see what in the world was going on. He swung
out of the car, which was rather hard to do because of his
belly, and drew his revolver. He almost threw up at what
he saw. BLORCH!
A nearly dead Indian, with organs showing through
various decayed sections of his skin, had bitten a large
chunk of flesh from Kembal's throat. It prevented him
from screaming; blood was pouring onto his uniform and the
ground. During the last few moments of his life, the
front seat officer would never forget the way that Kembal
twitched in the throes of death. He turned to see another
Indian tugging on Farmer's body, trying to get her out
through the broken window. The remaining jagged pieces of
glass were tearing away at her face and chest. The
remaining skin on her face was being eaten by the zombie.
As the two enjoyed the first decent meal that they had had
in centuries, a third Indian came stumbling from the
woods. After a few hundred years, the effects of rigor
mortis still make their presence known. "HALT! Stay
where you are! I SAID, 'HALT!' ONE MORE STEP AND I'LL
SHOOT!" The officer tried his best to sound confident as
the zombie continued on unabated. "Awright! That's it!"
He took careful aim at the zombie's head and fired his
pistol. The Indian uttered a most unearthly sound, threw
its hands to the wound on its head, staggered back, and
stumbled forward onto its face... dead. The officer
momentarily lowered his gun. The Indian he had just shot
shook its head free of the cobwebs of pain that had
suddenly invaded its mind and got back up. The only
reason it had fallen over dead was because it was already
dead in the first place. BLORCH!
The officer fired again, this time at its chest and
groin, but the zombie advanced unheeded. Seeing this was
getting him nowhere, even though it took two more shots to
realize this, he ran back to the car and took hold of the
CB. Above the roof of the squad car, he could see one of
the Indians tearing away at what was once Farmer's face.
Right now, the ghoul had pulled one of her eyes out,
popped it in its mouth, and chewed it up. Bits of it
seeped out from cracks in the Indian's mouth. The officer
managed to get one last report into his commander before a
powerful hand was thrust through the back of his chest and
his still beating heart was extracted. BLORCH!
Rand Peltzer pulled his truck into the driveway of,
first, the next door neighbor's house and then his own. He
banged into numerous obstacles along the way. He was
always tired after the long drive to Chinatown, and he had
so much trouble keeping that damn kangaroo quiet. He
unhitched the beast, went up to the front door, took a
leak in the bushes, unlocked the door, and tied the
kangaroo down in the basement, Sport! He quietly trudged
up the stairs and slowly opened the door to his bedroom.
There, Fran lay, sleeping her life away, peacefully. He
ever so gingerly walked over to the inert form of his
wife, bent down, passed gas, and kissed her on the cheek.
He straightened up, spat trying to get rid of the awful
taste he got in his mouth whenever he kissed his wife, and
walked back downstairs. He went into his laboratory.
Actually, it was only a laboratory in the academic sense
of the word; labor went on inside. It was actually the
cubby hole that Rand used to tinker on his silly
inventions. He gently removed something covered with a
sheet from the top shelf. He pulled the sheet back from
his latest electronic idiocy and went to work. But all
the while, he had this overwhelming feeling that he had
forgotten to do something on his way back from Chinatown.
"Oh, well. If I can't remember what it was, it must not
have been that important," he rationalized and went back
to work. If only he had known, the whole story might have
ended here. BLORCH!
D.J. Friday's is one of the many businesses in the
nation that is barely above the line of bankruptcy. It's
main problem was that the sign out front said, "D.J.
Friday's. We serve only zombies." What they had meant to
say was that they only serve the drink called a zombie and
the majority of their customers are the midnight dregs.
Its owner, proprietor, chef, janitor, and main problem was
once again leaning on the sizzling grill. He hadn't had a
customer in so long that he had worried himself into a
nearly numb state. He whipped to attention when a
Japanese man actually walked in. "Hi! What can I get
you, Bub?" The man smirked. "My name is not Bub! It's
Tan, Tan Lord. And yes, I am related to Jack Lord,
Dan-o, and I need to get wasted. Give me a zombie." It
took more than what the chef had to control his rising
anger. "THAT'S ALL ANYONE EVER WANTS!" He went over to
his make shift bar and returned with the drink in
question. In the intervening years since he had opened
D.J. Friday's, he had memorized how to whip up a zombie.
He slammed the glass down onto the formica counter top.
For some odd reason, he also wanted to hurl his spatula at
the man's arm and slice it off. BLORCH!
But this night would not be as uneventful as the chef
had thought. Another customer walked in and made the
owner feel somewhat better, but not by much. "What can I
get you, Bub?" he used his universal greeting. He was
met with a hand enveloping his face and tearing a healthy
part of it off. The police officer pulled the flesh back
and began gnawing at it. The chef stumbled back onto the
grill, screaming. He fell face first onto the hot, greasy
metal. The exposed nerves finally let their owner know of
their presence before he died. Several Indians poured
into the diner and pounced on Tan. Two of them bit at the
elbow of one arm as another tore it off. The blood and
flesh oozed out of the wound like macaroni and cheese
mixed with pasta sauce. Soon though, their meal became
cold and they left. No one likes cold meat. They were
still hungry. The chef, sans most of his face, tottered
over to the remains of Tan and was about to dig in when
Tan looked at him in a familiar way. They were now on the
same team. BLORCH!
Police chief Vince Emorby was relaxing in the
extremely comfortable chair that tax payers dollars had
made possible. He really had work to do, but why work
when you can settle in a nice chair, with a nice pipe, and
read a nice newspaper while the department makes up some
lie to explain your departure? He looked up from the
article on a new miracle form of yeast when he heard the
front door slam. Some ashes from his pipe fell on the
paper and it burst into flames in his hands. Apparently,
he didn't notice. Figures. Cops! "Hello, Barbara. How
was your date, dear?" Barbara was pressing all of her
rather shapely features against the door to try to keep
the ghosts screaming and laughing in her head away. It
wasn't doing a bit of good. "Huh?" she shouted
incoherently and turned a sweat drenched head in her
father's direction. She tried to control her labored
breathing, brought on not from her date as her father had
surmised but from running across town bare footed. "Yeah.
Yeah. He dived right in!" She turned and ran up the
stairs to her room. Just as the door slammed, the
telephone rang. It was the department, and they needed
their chief's expertise on a rather odd case. BLORCH!
In some unnamed part of Kingston Falls, an unnamed
woman was lying face down on her sofa made by an unnamed
company. Her husband had started her crying; the man in
question had earlier run out of the house in shame without
even bothering to shut the door. She didn't mean to
laugh. Men get that way sometimes; she just thought she'd
never see it happen. But, he didn't have to say those
harsh things to her. She was contemplating whether or not
she should apologize first, but the decision was made for
her. BLORCH!
She felt a pair of hands tightly grip her buttocks.
They began to knead and squeeze the supple flesh. He
always did that whenever he saw sorry about something he
had done to her, which was very often. She just lay
there, savoring every second. She rolled over, and the
hands moved up to her breasts. Her nipples hardened
against the material of her blouse as the hands roamed
freely. She moaned slightly and licked her lips.
"Ohhhhhh, darling. Darling!" She knew something was
wrong when she felt another pair of hands pawing her groin
while another tried to reach at her butt, which was now
pressed against the cushions of the couch. "Darling?
Umm, darling?" She reached over the back of the couch and
flipped on the light switch. A gnarled, disfigured face
greeted her. Blood, drool, and chunks of fresh flesh in
various sizes poured from its gaping mouth. She
frantically looked over the arm of the couch and saw her
husband tottering into the room, multiple wounds erupting
their tenants onto the floor. "JAMES!" she screamed out
her husband's name. "Su-sannnnnnnnnnne," the now dead
creature breathed. She screamed as the zombie above her
took a bite out of her arm. The other zombies that were
gathered around her began tearing at various parts of her
anatomy. All she could do was scream as James slowly came
over to join in the feast. Her breasts were ripped from
her body. Clawed hands dug right into the flesh of her
behind. A pair of hands tore her stomach open and began
to remove the yummy contents inside. Soon, they began
splitting her down the middle by her sexual organs. James
and the other zombies ate her out... literally. Minutes
later, James and his new dead friends stumbled out of his
house, joined by a new female companion. BLORCH!
( End of gratuitous sex scene. )
A loud crash awoke Fran. Not even bothering to put
something on to conceal her nakedness, she dashed down the
stairs and into the ante room that Rand had tried his best
to convert into a work room. He had failed. There, Rand
was lying on his knees, hunched over the remains of his
latest uncompleted gadget, in the center of the room. He
was crying and muttering incomprehensibly while smashing
his tightly clenched fists into the sharp metal and broken
circuitry of his latest invention. He was so distraught
that he didn't even feel the pain or notice the flowing
blood from the numerous cuts on his hands. Fran walked
over, bent down, placed a hand on her husband's shoulder,
chanted a quick mantra, and sat down beside Rand. "It's
no use!" he was sobbing. "I can't do it! I'm a failure
as an inventor!" Fran knew this all too well, as I'm sure
you all do, too, but now was not the time for the truth.
"I'm..." He paused searching for the proper phrase.
"I'm... another Adam West!" He threw his head back and
buried it in his hands, blood, sweat, tears, oil, grease,
and broken glass mixing together. BLORCH!
Fran patted her husband affectionately. It was the
first time anyone had shown Rand the slightest bit of
kindness in a long time. "There, there. It's alright.
You're NOT Adam West. NOT ADAM WEST! You haven't sunk
low enough to appear in soft core porn... yet. You've got
a job!" Rand looked up, his face covered in grime. "By
God, you're right!" "Now then, what's got you so riled
up?" Rand waved a bloodied, bruised hand over the
wreckage. "I was working on my beta version of a device
designed to record television programs... RIGHT OFF OF THE
TV!" FRAN WAS STUNNED! Her eyes widened at the shock of
such a horribly improbably useless invention. "But, no one
would ever buy such a machine!" Suddenly, Fran thought of
something. She looked up, searched wildly about the room,
and turned her attention back to her husband. "Rand,
dear. Where's Billy?" She had not seen him come home
yet. Rand quickly looked up. That was what he had
forgotten to do on his way home from Chinatown! BLORCH!
All Billy Peltzer could do was sit on the floor and
cry. How could he possibly have known that pushing a
button marked, "Push this button to cause a nuclear
accident and seep toxic radiation into the soil, bringing
life to inanimate flesh." would do just that?! Nothing
ever does what is says it will do! Does it? Damn
Wisemann, his jokes, Rand, and his ICS course in nuclear
chemistry! All he wanted to do was please his father. He
didn't know why; he had never had such a desire to do so
before. But, his father had always said that playing with
control rods would put hair on your chest and do various
other things. Billy cupped his thirteen-year-old hands to
his ears to try and block out the commotion outside; all
of it his fault! People screamed as zombies took large
bites out of their bodies. The living dead were moaning
in such a horrific way at the prospect of food.
Technicians were trying their best to escape. Zombies
scratched about the place, bumping into anything and
everything in their way. Yes, they were that stupid.
Crashes and bangs and all sorts of sounds that betrayed
demolition filled the reactor room and Billy's rapidly
breaking sanity. BLORCH!
Barbara had finally regained enough composure to go
down to the kitchen and join her mother for supper. It
was the first time in a long time ( In fact, it was THE
first time. ) that they had spent a meal without the head
of the house being there. Being Chief of Police usually
entails no work, just sitting around at home and soaking
up the people's money. She rounded the bottom of the
staircase when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it, mother!"
she called in such a sweet fifties-sitcoms-ish tone. She
undid the latch and pulled open the door. There, oozing
and glistening from his still fresh wounds, was Johnny.
BLORCH!
Hunger driving his actions, Johnny reached out and
grabbed the top of her head. He pressed his fingers into
her skull until eventually, it collapsed. Gray matter and
pieces of bone flew across the room. The Emorby family
dogs, Mario and Daisy, came up to drink the blood and eat
the brains. All Barbara could think of before the breath
of life left her body was, "They're coming to get you,
Barbara! Look! There's one of them now! They're coming
to take you away and you are not ready! Ha, h-" She also
managed to utter one last, blood-curdling scream. Johnny
withdrew his hand which was now covered with blood. He
joined the pets in the blood part, but decided to tear
open her blouse and eat her breasts. An Indian, a
Japanese man, and a man dressed as a short order/fry cook
walked into the house. The Indian and Tan grabbed hold of
the animals and started devouring them while the Indian
joined Johnny in eating his date out. Barbara's mother
came into the room upon hearing all the noise; she had
decided to eat a little first though, the fat slob! Tan
dropped his dog and lunged at Mrs. Emorby. He grabbed her
hair, fumbled for her ear, and tore it off. Johnny and
the Indian backed off; their meal had grown cold. Barbara
rose and came over to Tan and her mother. She placed a
hand over her screaming mother's face and forced her
fingernail under her mother's left eye, splattering it
against the back of her skull. With such a good angle for
her grip, Barbara yanked out most of the skin covering her
mother's forehead as well as most of the left optic nerve.
Tan reached into her still shrieking mouth and tore out
her tongue. It tasted rather good. But, soon the meat
cooled off, and another recruit joined the ranks of the
army of the living dead. BLORCH!
Down in the morgue adjacent to the Police Department
Building of Kingston Falls, Chief Emorby was staring at a
covered body. Mortician Mort Emkommapost ( I'm sorry, so
sorry! Truly I am. I thought it was funny! ) walked over
to the table and removed the cover. Emorby jumped back in
shock. "What is it?" Emkommapost checked the tag on the
corpse's toe. "Officer Bert Kembal." "What's happened to
him?" Again, Mort consulted with the tag which, in his
mind, talked back to him. It wasn't that Mort was insane;
it was just that the morgue was haunted. "Hmmm. The
cause of death was loss of blood due to..." He paused,
trying to find the energy to say what the cause was. "-due
to... lacerations of the throat and jugular... most likely
attributed to human teeth biting through it!" Emorby
gasped in horror. "CANNIBALS! Cannibals in Kingston
Falls?! Oh no! Not again!" "Officer Farmer over there
died of basically the same injuries, just compounded.
There was a third officer who radioed in the slayings, but
he wasn't found at the sight." Mort swallowed. "There
was a trail of blood leading away from the vehicle."
Chief Emorby and Mort Emkommapost walked out of the
sepulcher; they had people to inform and warn and a squad
to gather together. Minutes later, the tag on Officer
Kembal's toe began waving in the air. BLORCH!
Billy heard some shuffling in the control room below.
He walked over to the glass viewing booth and stared down
into the well. Director Wisemann was looking over the
shoulder of a female technician manning the computer while
another woman was waiting for Wisemann. He was
frantically shouting orders, queries, and trivia
questions. "Get me visual scans of all the major control
reactors. Who are these attackers? Who narrated the
'Fractured Fairy Tales' segment on 'The Rocky and
Bullwinkle Show?'" "Yes, sir. Cameras impaired on
modules seven through ten. We don't have a camera in
sector 13. Edward Evert Horton." Television screens
flickered to life. Misshapen, distorted parodies of human
beings roamed randomly about, killing anyone other than
their disfigured kind. "Modules seven to ten, eh? I knew
I shouldn't have hired that Arte Johnson! Serves me right
for trusting another actor named Johnson. I'm glad I got
rid of him, though, despite the fact that we no longer
have security surveillance when we need it. Didn't he
move to New York? Oh, well. It doesn't really matter
now, does it?" BLORCH!
Wisemann began tapping at the keyboard. He began
typing harder when the desired actions he wanted never
occurred. "I've overloaded the buffer. I can't type
anything else. It's caught in an infinite loop!" He
began scanning the controls. "I can't find any off
switch! How can I reboot this machine without a power
switch?!" "Press and hold down the control, alternate,
and delete keys, sir," the technician answered. Wisemann
spun around. "I KNOW THAT! I'm a systems analyst, damn
it!" He reached into the pocket of his lab coat, pulled
out a gun, and murdered the technician. "That'll show you
who's the wise ass, eh?" He pushed the dead body aside
and sat down at the controls. Suddenly, a dead hand came
bursting through the door, buckling the metal inwards.
BLORCH!
The hand finally got a hold of something warm, the
other woman in the room. Tilting her head to one side, it
pulled the screaming woman closer to the jagged metal. She
continued calling for Wisemann's help, but to no avail.
Slowly, her beautiful face came close to being ruptured on
the metal. The zombie spared her somewhat. Twisting her
head around again, her right eye was poised directly above
a sharp piece of metal. Finally, it pulled her head over
the metal and shoved the metal through her eye! It made
the most ghastly squishing sound imaginable. Coupled with
her high pitched screams of pain, it would have sent the
shivers up anyone else's spine. Wisemann continued typing
away. The creature jerked the woman's head back, and the
piece of metal broke away from the door, still embedded in
her eye! She was hauled through the door with the help of
some other newly dead technicians, one of them her
boyfriend. Her screams died away as she was eaten alive!
BLORCH!
"Could you please keep quite!?" Wisemann shouted
over his shoulder. He turned back to face the computer
screen, and then turned to face the rising form of the
technician that he had just shot! It rose to its feet and
hurled its carcass at Wisemann. It tried to bite him on
the shoulder, but Wisemann brought his knee up into the
zombie's bread basket. It toppled back, but regained its
balance. This gave Wisemann enough time to draw his
pistol and fire into the demon's face. It staggered
again, but still came back to dine on this feisty little
feast. Wisemann picked up the chair he had been sitting
in and tossed it at the monster. "This has to be the
fault of that Rand Peltzer! If he had done his duty, we
wouldn't have had that dangerous waste!" He fired again
at the fallen zombie. "Are people so stupid that they
cannot read simple notes on three by five cards!?" He
fired again. It still had no effect. He had only one
bullet left. "But, it shan't be I who has to deal with
the likes of you!" He put the gun in his mouth and blew
his brains out. This made no difference to the zombie. It
just meant that the meal would now be easier to get.
BLORCH!
Billy turned away in disgust, and put his hands on
his stomach to try to hold his lunch in. He hadn't had
dinner yet. Then, the pounding came. It grew louder as
the fists continued to bang on the door. Billy drew back.
"This is the end!" he thought. The door finally gave in,
and Rand came rushing in. "Oh, Daddy!" he cried and ran
to his father, tears streaming down his face. For one of
the few times in his life, he was actually happy to see
his father. "It's so awful! Terrible! And, it's all my
fault!" Rand patted his son's head. All his fault? He
must have snapped. "Yeah, yeah. Too bad. Well, right
now, we've got to get out here; get back home! First,
though, we'll stop at the control booth where I work to
get something to fight back with!" As they ran down the
back stairs, dodging a few of the zombified technicians,
Rand offered the only piece of his mind that he could
afford to spare. "They're everywhere in the complex! I've
never seen anything like it. Friends, workers, even
enemies are being slaughtered by these 'things' and then
they come back to life to seek victims themselves!" Rand
kicked an approaching zombie as they entered the room
where he worked. "How could such a thing be happening?"
"Well," Billy began. "It's partly your fault." BLORCH!
"My fault?!" Rand shouted, drawing the attention of
some passing ghouls. "I heard Wisemann, just before he
shot a technician, talking about you nearly causing a
meltdown." "Shooting a technician? Hmmmmmm, I see. He
must have had another computer problem. He's really self
conscious about that. He has a degree in computers and
systems analysis, but he doesn't know diddly about them!
He doesn't even know about the control, alternate, delete
warm boot command. He doesn't want anyone to see his
weakness, that he doesn't know anything about computers."
"He also griped about how he had to try to cover it up."
Rand paused. "Oh. Yes. Well, I guess I have some
explaining to do, young man, after smoking eighty thousand
million cigarettes, that is." Billy thought about
questioning that last remark, but didn't. "Won't do you
any good." "Why not?" Rand asked, sarcastically. "He's
dead. Shot himself right through the head." Rand did a
strange, little jig and took out the pistols and bullets
from his desk. "Here. Take these. We'll need them."
Once again, Billy felt it prudent to keep his questions to
himself, even if he anxiously wanted to know why his
father kept weapons lying around in his desk. But, all
questions would have to wait for the moment. By now, Rand
and Billy had noticed the approaching mob of flesh hungry
abominations. BLORCH!
Rand raised his gun and fired point blank at the
creature's heart. The zombie momentarily stopped, but
eventually continued advancing. "We'd better run, Dad!"
Billy shouted. "Wisemann fired four shots at one of them,
one of them to its face, kicked it vigorously, and threw a
chair at it! Didn't faze it!" "I see! You're probably
right. C'mon! I'll lead the way to our truck." The pair
headed back down the halls, corridors that had become
monuments to death. Dead, dying, and returning from the
dead bodies crowded the area. One managed to grab onto
Billy's leg, but he just blew the hand from its owner's
arm with his gun. The hand still managed to live
momentarily from the arm. It thrashed about for a few
seconds, but finally ceased movement. "Lucky thing you
made me take fencing lessons, Dad." Rand looked puzzled,
which means his expression didn't change in the slightest.
"What do you mean, Son?" "Well, fencing is for French
fags! So, I took the dough you gave me for fencing
lessons and illegally bought a Magnum. Later, when you
insisted that I continue taking those silly lessons, I
used that wad to finance some shooting lessons." "We'll
discuss the various laws that you've broken later, Billy."
Rand suddenly stopped. "Oh, boy! Donuts!" He ran over
to the still intact box from Dunkin' Donuts. Just as he
reached for one, a lurching form appeared behind the table
that the donuts were resting on. "Dear Lord, no! Doctor
Blake!" The mutilated form of his fellow co-worker lunged
at Rand. BLORCH!
"No! Nooooooooo!" Rand was shouting madly and
firing sporadically. One shot ricocheted and nearly hit
Billy. Billy ran up beside his father. "Dad. Stop. Stop
it! It won't do any good! You'll just attract their
attention to us. We've got to get out of here!" Rand
looked down and sighed. "You're right. It's just... I
wanted those donuts!" He hadn't even given a damn about
her. The pair used some gun fire to cover their escape
past her and pushed her aside. As they came closer to the
entrance of the power plant, the screams of agony were
dying down. They were still evident, but not as strong as
they had been before. The zombies had effectively taken
over the complex! BLORCH!
Eventually, Rand and Billy made their way into the
still lighted parking lot of the plant. Here and there,
technicians were grappling with zombies, trying to make
their way into their cars, and fighting off other
technicians for the rights to those cars. While some
fought amongst themselves, the zombies took the chance and
ambushed them. A free lunch should never be passed up.
People fell dead; dead people rose to make others fall to
rise again. It was like a scene right out of hell. The
gates of Hades had been opened that night, and Kingston
Falls was the first stop on its itinerary. In a period of
roughly two hours, the whole complex had gone mad. Was
there any hope for anyone to survive? Or, would the
zombies take control of the town and eat its inhabitants?
BLORCH!
A few short feet away, Rand's pick-up awaited its
passengers. "There it is, Son! We're home free!" Not
quite. A few zombies were plodding around it as if their
actions would make human beings appear out of thin air.
Apparently to them, it had worked. They turned towards
Rand and Billy. Rand fired his gun at the closest zombie
and barely missed striking the gas tank of his own truck.
The bullet, however, did strike the gas tank of Wisemann's
limousine that Rand had, once again, crashed into pulling
into the parking lot. Like all expensive car models do
when faced with destruction, it went up in flames
immediately and the damage was irreparable. It did serve
a purpose, despite whatever you might think. The leaping
flames caught the zombies milling around Rand's truck in
their full force. Flesh really does go up easily, you
know. They started dashing all around, hoping that such
silly actions would extinguish the flames. We all know it
didn't. Amazingly enough, the explosion left the truck
intact. "What an amazing stroke of luck!" Rand shouted
as he and Billy climbed into the truck, rolled up the
windows, locked the doors, and sped out of the parking and
away from the nuclear power complex, heading for home and
sanctuary. Rand tried to comfort his trembling son.
"Don't worry, Billy. We'll head for home where we'll be
safe." Billy looked over his shoulder and back down the
road at the plant. The plume of smoke and fire from the
limousine was still rising higher and higher into the
night sky. It cast an eerie illumination that almost
seemed like a faint dawn. He turned around and sighed.
"Yeah. We'll be safe at home, if any place in Kingston
Falls is safe anymore."
This is the end of Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten
II \ Guess Who's Coming to Dinner. I had intended writing
this story on 3-29-93 to coincide with the first
anniversary of Gremlins: Rewritten III, but because I
couldn't muster the energy to get up off of the couch and
do it, I decided to start it on April Fools' Day for
obvious reasons. Well, will Kingston Falls survive the
night of the living dead? Will anyone survive? You'll
surprised who dies at the end! I guarantee it! Don't want
to give away too much too soon, though. So, what's on the
docket for next time? We have Night of the Living Dead:
Rewritten III \ From Here to Insanity. The zombie army
has grown quite large, large enough to overrun the power
plant. They've already started marching into the city
itself. What can possibly happen to make the situation
worse? The army and police force mobilize to take the
situation into hand! Oh, boy! This could get messy!
HEE, HEE! Be there or fight Ric Flair!
Night of the Living Dead: Rewritten II \ Guess Who's
Coming to Dinner @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, and Night of the Living Dead:
Rewritten \ Something Dead this Way Comes @1993 by David
Minter.
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.
|
|
|
To the best of our knowledge, the text on this page may be freely reproduced and distributed.
If you have any questions about this, please check out our Copyright Policy.
totse.com certificate signatures
|
|
|
About | Advertise | Bad Ideas | Community | Contact Us | Copyright Policy | Drugs | Ego | Erotica
FAQ | Fringe | Link to totse.com | Search | Society | Submissions | Technology
|
|
|
|
|
|
