On Zombie's Editorial

This post was supposed to be the resumption of the tale of how I returned to the world in physical form and found my way back to blogging this tale for your benefit. But you know what? That post was boring the ever-loving-shit out of me. Let me tell you, when a zombie gets bored, then there isn’t much hope for the living.

From this point forward, this blog is going to return a little bit to its roots. I originally started this blog as one pissed-off dead man trying to figure this undead shit out. Over the years, as I’ve muddled my way through the story you’ve read so far, this blog has morphed into a long-winded narrative of events that—while perhaps interesting to some—has lost the edge that I now know makes it more interesting and relevant.

I will still be telling you about some of the adventures that I seem to fall into by virtue of my very existence, but I will also be sprinkling in a few juicy editorial bits into the mix. You should be duly warned, however, that I’m not going to restrict my editorial voice to the strange shit that I get mixed up in—I’m going to let loose a few barrages on your crazy-assed world.

For example…I’ve been sitting here for days trying to figure out how to make my return from the Alaskan wilderness worth reading and just running into a brick wall as much more interesting shit is happening around the world that is just crying out for semi-intelligent commentary from an undead cop.

First of all, in the span of time it has taken for China to put on the 2008 Olympics, Russia has started and ended a war of occupation in one of its former satellite states, Georgia. This short, bloody affair has demonstrated that the fine words and bold predictions of the current administration regarding the promise of democracy and freedom are but a thin veneer covering a very hollow foreign policy. The petals of the Rose Revolution have been crushed beneath the bloody treads of Russian tanks while everyone counts their gold, silver and bronze medals. Just imagine how much worse it would have been if Georgia had actually been a member of NATO? Are you telling me that the United States and all of its NATO ‘partners’ would actually go to war with Russia over Georgia? I think the answer to that question is best said in Russian…nyet. That failure would have put to rest the bold-faced lie that is the NATO ‘alliance’ faster than is already happening in Afghanistan.

Speaking of Afghanistan, isn’t it amazing that that one shit-hole of a country will have humbled the military forces of three of the largest and most powerful militaries of their respective eras. First, the British Empire had its ass handed to it by the Pashtuns back in the day. Then the mujahudeen humbled the mighty Soviet machine in the eighties with a little help from the CIA and their international playboy turned rabid holy warrior, Osama bin Laden. Now the afore-mentioned NATO is in the process of being humiliated by a raggedy band of religious students and hard core extremists trained and in part led by the same kidney-disease-ravaged bin Laden who our president promised to bring back ‘dead or alive’ right after that guy masterminded the largest terrorist attack ever perpetrated on the United States, nearly seven years ago.

Of course this humiliation is only possible because this country is led by a simple-minded buffoon who used the opportunity of that tragedy to initiate a war of choice against old adversary of his father on the false pretext of illusory ‘weapons of mass destruction’ that never materialized. This bogged down our military, bled the country of hundreds of billions of dollars and thousands of lives all while besmirching our national honor with the torture of hundreds of prisoners and killing of thousands of innocent civilians.

Meanwhile, the emperor fiddles as the economy burns. Ordinary people are losing their homes at the fastest rate since the Great Depression while the Republican presidential candidate who once appeared to be a man of honor and integrity can’t remember how many homes he actually owns while his PR staff tries to paint the other main presidential candidate as an out-of-touch elitist and a celebrity. All of this despite the fact that his opponent just happens to be the first serious minority candidate for the highest office, a man who made it to one of the best universities in country by virtue of scholarships and hard work. That same Republican candidate was the son of an admiral who parlayed his family connections into a career as a navy pilot despite his barely passable skills and study habits.

Closer to home, we have the mayor of the Detroit racking up felony charges faster than he type out ever so embarrassing text messages to his various mistresses. When he’s not too busy ruining the careers of vigilant police officers, he’s finding creative ways to cover-up mysterious parties or pay off his pliant show-wife with free cars and phony city-funded contracts to her ‘charity causes’.

Whew…just venting some of that stuff has gotten my fingers flowing once more.

My next post will catch you up on some of the doings in my renewed undead existence, and will focus less on the shit that pisses me off. But you can rest assured that this blog will have a lot more Lewis Black-like commentary as the need arises.

A Strange Welcome...

Darkness surrounded me as I stepped into the Shadow unsure of where it would take me.

The voice of Me’shwara rang in my mind one last time. “The one you once called El Diablito holds the key to finding Alexa, although he may not yet realize it.”

Just as I tried to wrap my mind around this little nugget of wisdom, I was hit by a blast of cold air. I soon found myself knee deep in frigid snow, my feet crunching through the top crust and slipping on the icy rocks below. It was so painful I dropped my clothes and gear out of shock.

Before I bothered to look around, I started grabbing articles of clothing and throwing them on as quickly as I could. The cold quickly numbed my hands—I could no longer feel my feet at all—so getting dressed became an exercise of frustration that involved more than a little cursing.

The clothing I had with me was hardly designed for a hard winter. I had a pair of ragged black jeans, a long-sleeved black turtleneck shirt, a pair of ankle high black leather boots and the black leather biker jacket I had worn more to hold gear and cover my batons than for warmth. I didn’t have to worry about getting cold before.

I strapped my batons back into place in their special drop holsters on each wrist before slipping into the jacket. By time I was fully dressed I realized that while I was still feeling very cold, I was able to put the discomfort out my mind and force my limbs into working properly.

Standing up straight again, I finally took the time to survey my surroundings. I took a deep breath, tasting the cold, clean air infused with the tangy taste of the surrounding pine forest. It felt so strange to breathe again that it took me a moment to realize that not only could I smell and taste the scents in the air, but I could feel the rushing pulse of a heart pushing blood through my arteries and veins.

I reveled in all of these fresh sensations even as my fingers and toes began to ache with the cold and my stomach let me know that a single fish wasn’t going to last very long.

Layers of fresh snow covered the field of battle, but there were also any number of fresh animal tracks leading up to and around a number of suspicious looking lumps that seemed to correspond to where many of the enemy had died.

A broken shaft of wood protruded from the nearest mound only a few dozen feet away. I pushed through the thigh-deep snow to reach the spot and pulled on the shaft. It came loose with a little effort, revealing the butt end of a thick spear. I used the three foot long shaft to clear away some of the snow to reveal a pile of rotting Reaver carcasses. Their formerly human faces twisted in grim snarls, forever frozen in this final, nearly forgotten death.

Looking down at the remains of these poor bastards, I debated the merits of rifling among the bodies to search for any weapons that might help me take down some fresh dinner, but the distant, high-pitched whine of a motor echoing through the forest caught my attention instead.

I stood up and concentrated on pin-pointing the sound. It could only mean that someone else was nearby. Whoever it was, they were coming closer, perhaps even coming to this very clearing.

I considered whether to hide or not, but decided that meeting an enemy would be better than not seeing anyone at all. I began to plough through the snow towards where I estimated the snowmobile was coming from.

Before I could reach the edge of the clearing, a single snowmobile emerged from the tree line along a path that I failed to notice before. The rider pulled up the machine and disengaged the transmission as soon as he saw me.

The rider was a big man, a rugged man by the look of his clothing. He was dressed in furs from the neck down, including heavy mittens and boots that had a home-made appearance. The only concession to modernity was a heavy black motorcycle helmet with a full-mirrored visor. I could tell that he was a man though by the long, thick beard that pushed out beneath his visor, even if it did almost blend in with the furs he wore. He had a long, large caliber rifle slung over his shoulder and a holstered revolver strapped to his side. Trailing behind his snowmobile was a small sled that was packed high with gear.

The man stood up on while still astride the idling machine and lifted his visor before calling out to me. “Howdy stranger. Are ye the one called Bones?” He spoke with such a thick, rolling accent that it took me a moment to puzzle out his words.

I nodded. “Yes, Agent Rusty Bones. Were you expecting me?”

The man pulled off his helmet, letting his full head of long hair and his thick beard flow freely. He was sweating profusely even in this cold. “Ah, it’s good to have this blasted thing off, but better’n getting poked in the eye by a stray branch, eh?” He stepped off of the snowmobile, leaving the helmet on the seat. “Agent Bones, I’ve been waiting and watching for you for the better part of three months now. I cannae tell you how glad I was to finally see the alarm go off.”

“Alarm?”

He nodded as he pulled of his right mitten and reached out his beefy hand towards me. I shook it, amazed at the feel of another person’s skin in contact with mine. The warmth was quite welcome.

“It’s more like a gemstone I reckon. It was given to me by the fire-haired witch friend of yours, Ravyn, I think she called herself. It lights up whenever magick is used in this clearing. She said you might return this way and asked me to keep an eye out for you.”

“Well, I’m glad that is alright, she was hurt when I had to leave.”

“Ooch, she’s a right tough one, that one is. But I like my gals a little meatier, if you know what I mean.” His left hand clomped me on the shoulder with that comment. “Now, the Frau, she gets my juices flowing, as they say.”

“Was the Frau here as well? I don’t remember seeing her at the battle.”

He shook his massive head. “I don’ rightly know, mate. I wasnae there meself. I was asleep when all of the ruckus took place.” He loosened his gun belt and dropped the belt with the holstered sidearm onto the small sled. He slipped the sling of the rifle over his head and placed that into a special slot on the sled before kneeling down to unhitch the sled from the snowmobile as he continued to talk.

“I don’ want to be rude, mon frere, but it is time for me to get back to my home. This place is too warm for my liking, why this global warming is going to drive me crazy.”

Once the sled was unhitched, he pulled out a very large, loose looking harness and snapped it into place. He then slipped into the harness and nodded towards the snowmobile with the balck helmet sitting on the seat.

“This machine, she’s for you. There’s a GPS unit on the dash and enough fuel to take to the cabin that has been set up for you by your friends.”

“What about you? How will you get back?”

He rocked his head back with a hearty laugh. “Ooch, I’m heading north, my friend. Donnae worry for me, I’m in my element. Adieu, Monsieur Bones, until we meet again. Give my regards to the Frau.”

With those final words, the giant man shouldered his even larger harness and began trudging north through the snow.

"Hey, who should I tell the Frau sent the regards, what is your name?"

With a throaty laugh, he called out one word. "Raxgar!"

I was less than surprised to see his body begin to shift into the form of an extremely large grizzly bear. “That helps to explain his infatuation with the Frau.”

(To be continued…Tuesday, August 5.)