Your 21st Day Gift for Christmas – My Newsletter. Why a newsletter? It leads to free books–and books on sale. Click here to subscribe. It is Advent, with me giving you gifts each day. Here are this month’s gifts.
Your 21st Day Gift – 49 Free Books of Various Genres
Your 21st Day Gift – 34 Free Books from Kindle Unlimited
Magic breaks out on the Earth. Suddenly, liars pants catch on fire. Stuffed animals stop gang members. But no one knows how the magic works. Welcome to the new Earth: eight billion sorcerer’s apprentices. Everyone is magical. Everyone gets their wishes granted. Does that sound frightening? It’s worse. Nuclear scientist Katie Garcia is doing her best to figure it out, using all the resources of Oak Ridge National Labs. Will she learn the rules of magic before humanity destroys itself—or her? Find out inside Magic Arrives.Get your free copy of Magic Arrives here!
Get your Zombie Turkeys here. You get a bushel of laughter with each book.
I’ve got another book available on royalroad.com for free!
Sam Melvin, an underachieving e-reporter from a small town, changes forever when he meets turkeys that won’t stay dead. You can shoot ’em, chop ’em, burn ’em—they come back stronger. The undead plague of poultry spreads uncontrollably, rocking the whole country. As Sam tracks down the zombie turkeys and how to eradicate them, his editor, Lisa Kambacher, nags him to turn his stories and expenses in on time.
During their years of working together, Lisa has mellowed into an irascible pinchpenny. Lisa snipes at Sam for plebeian writing but uses her intelligence to pursue the lucrative carnivorous turkey story.
Sam and Lisa ricochet across the landscape, tracking turkeys and fleeing the bloodthirsty hordes. Careening from shell-shocked grocery store owners fighting turkeys crawling out of refrigerators to machine-gunning turkey farmers to secret militia, Sam and Lisa doggedly report.
Throughout the turkey apocalypse, they dare ravaged cities, plow knee-deep in gore and corpses, and upload streams of zombie turkey video news to the world. With paranoid militias clashing with the federal government and unkillable turkeys, Sam and Lisa doubt their ability to survive.
Sam and Lisa have no superpowers. If you have a heart condition or lack humor, you should not read Zombie Turkeys, no matter how much you want to find out what happens.
Your 21st Day Gift – A Meme
One of my teen superheroes has a pair of prosthetic legs. Read about her in the next book, Secret Supers in Space
Secret Supers in Space audiobook cover. Click to listen.
The Secret Supers are bored out of their minds during summer vacation-until they go to Space Camp. They learn all about the space program, try out moon gravity and zero-g simulations, and practice docking with the International Space Station.
But that’s the easy part. The villains they defeated in the past are back with a diabolical plot that renders the middle schoolers’ superpowers ineffective. Jeremy, Aubrey, Dan, and Kayla face the biggest challenge of their lives. Even if they escape the villains’ clutches, will they survive?
Ace zombie reporter Sam Melvin has been fired–by his wife, Lisa. Their paper, The Midley Beacon, is barely surviving. How will they make ends meet?
Sam decides to give being a detective a try. He advertises his business–but his zombie experience comes with it. All across the country, people bring their zombie problems to Sam. Squirrels? Bulls? Sam’s on the case. But can his experience with zombie turkeys transfer?
Sam finds out in a series of deadly adventures–and so will you when you read this book. See if you can keep from dying from laughter.
Ten Books, Ten Chapters Free, all for Advent 20. I’m giving a gift daily. These books were from the previous ten days. Today, you get the gift of convenience. All the books are in one spot for you.
He felt different. More energetic, more alive. He bred with female after female in his flock without tiring. The tom stayed awake through the night. He feared no predator.
Then a turkey hunter shot him.
The setting sun overlooked a crisp, clear evening in early November. South of Bartonville, Illinois, a farmer had leased his wood lot to two turkey hunters. Big and burly in their bulky camouflaged outfits, they had just bagged one.
“Good shot, Pete!”
“He’s a big ‘un!”
Pete and Bob walked up to the tom turkey, bleeding on the cold ground. The rest of the flock had scattered into the woods. He had exceptionally good plumage and weighed perhaps twenty pounds. Pete reached down and picked him up by the neck.
“He weighs at least twenty-five pounds!”
Then the turkey’s eyes opened—and gleamed red. He kicked with his spurs and pecked savagely at Pete’s arms and eyes. Dozens of his hens attacked the men from behind.
“Gobble! Gobble!”
He felt different. More energetic, more alive. He had no memory of being shot, but a certain turkey satisfaction at killing his killers. The tom also enjoyed pecking at their dead meat. He had always liked frogs, but this meat tasted better. He led his flock down the road in search of more predators to eat.
“Sam, you’re fired.” Lisa’s green eyes met Sam’s brown ones.
“What? Lisa, you and I have worked together at the Midley Beacon for ten years! And we’ve known each other for fifteen! And we’ve been married almost two months!” Sam broke eye contact, stood up from his desk, and paced about their small office.
“Sorry, Sam. Romance has to take a backseat to finances. Ever since the bottom dropped out of the zombie turkey news market since the first of the year, the Midley Beacon hasn’t made enough to pay your salary.”
“But that’s our salary. We share and share alike.”
“We can still live on my salary. And you can apply for unemployment now that you’re fired.”
“But what’ll I do all day? I can only play Fortnite for so long.”
“What did you do before I hired you ten years ago? What did you do while I was in college?”
“Uh, mow lawns. Handyman repair. Stuff like that. But I’m a grown man now. I want more.”
“Hmm, you are a decent reporter.”
“Thanks, Lisa. That’s high praise coming from you.”
“Well, it’s the truth. You’ve grown from a crappy reporter, like ninety-nine percent of all reporters, to well above average. I did lay off everyone else on the staff before you, you know.”
Sam’s eyes misted. “Aw, you’re making me feel warm and mushy.”
“You know I love your mother. But your mother’s a zombie. Who wants to see one zombie, let alone four of them?”
“Now that’s not fair. Mom and Dad have adjusted to their zombiism very well. Mom still volunteers at church and bakes cookies and pies for the bake sales. Dad still works as an accountant at GM. There’s nothing to worry about!”
“That covers Diane and George. I know them. I guess I’m ready for them. What about your brother and this new girlfriend of his? I don’t think Don has said two whole sentences to me since I’ve known him!”
“He’d never get a word in edgewise with you, Ron. You said it yourself—you’ve had diarrhea of the mouth since you were born. He and his friend Maggie will be fine.”
“Whatever you say, Karen.” I knew when to surrender. I focused my eyes on the Indiana turnpike ahead.
“Hmmph!”
I glanced at Karen while I drove. Her arms were crossed under her breasts, and she looked out the window, away from me. Trying to make peace, I said, “I thought we dodged a bullet when the zombie turkey plague just missed Gary, Indiana. I never dreamt this zombie thing would hit our own family.” I kept my tone neutral
“So far it hasn’t hit us hard. Life goes on as usual.”
Great! At least she was still talking to me. “As great as it can with glowing red eyes,” I said with a big grin.
“Maybe. I hadn’t really thought about how hard life would be like that.”
Dirac sighed with relief when the US flag came down, and the surrender flag went up on the mast of the titanic luxury yacht. He didn’t mind firing rounds from his AK-47 over their heads, but he hated killing people. He knew they were only infidels, but they were still people.
Chapter 1 icon of Paranormal Privateers
Inhaling the salted breeze, he grinned back at Muhammed. He cheered and laughed in his seat behind the M2 machine gun in the bow of the boat they used to patrol the coasts and fishing waters of Somalia. The sun gleamed off his white teeth.
“Look, Dirac!” he said. “They’re stopping!”
True enough. The bow wave ceased as he watched. A pod of dolphins ended their sporting on the wave and submerged. The gleaming white yacht loomed above them. What were they doing in the fishing waters of Somalia? He couldn’t imagine the wealth on board. Enough for their whole village to eat well for a year!
Their supreme leader, Omar Ogala, organized Somali fishermen and former coast guard sailors to patrol their fishing waters. He ordered them to capture any fishing or cargo vessels they spotted. He told them the Americans and Europeans no longer cared about Somalia with the other crises around the world and they could defend their coasts from foreign competition—and dumpers. Many foreign nations, knowing Somalia’s military weakness, sent cargo ships full of pollutants and dumped them into their waters.
Dirac never expected to see a luxury ship here. It was as big as a cruise liner, but apparently a private yacht. He’d seen one once before when an Arab sheik visited Mogadishu. This one was three times the size! The owner would pay big to get it back. Maybe even a billion dollars? He couldn’t imagine that much money, and he was good with numbers. Let’s see: fourteen million people lived in Somalia. Divide a billion dollars among them would give each about seventy dollars. Unbelievable. A family of five could live comfortably for a year on that!
Now, what was he going to do? His boss just told him to double the productivity of Vegan Inc.’s pickle strain they used for their Kilwowski Pickle brand. That was completely impossible.
But keeping his job required it. Bryce was the low man on the genetic engineering totem pole at Vegan Inc., the last one hired and the first one to be fired if another recession hit.
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t face this. So he cruised the internet.
“The origin of Zombie turkeys? I didn’t know they’d found that. Hmm, a Midley Beacon exclusive, the foremost zombie news source,” he read to himself.
Zombie turkeys had ravaged Illinois and the US at Thanksgiving. Thankfully, they hadn’t hit near Terre Haute, where he lived. He skimmed the article rapidly. Corn All, one of their agribusiness rivals, had genetically modified its corn to fight off corn disease. The genetic modification would adapt to the disease at a cellular level and neutralize it by copying the DNA from the disease organism, whether fungal or bacterial.
“Dear diary,” Jeremy Gentle dictated into his app on his tablet in his bedroom. “Today, I became a superhero.” Jeremy stopped, uncertain. Was that the best way to start his journal? Might as well just tell the story. He needed to sleep. He had a big algebra test tomorrow at Maryville Middle School.
Yesterday, school went as usual. It was the same old seventh grade. Same handicapped kids in the same class. Same problems transferring to the toilet from my wheelchair. Nothing new.
Oh, I take that back. I had one new, bad thing happen— I fell during physical therapy. There I was, between the parallel bars, halfway done. I tried with all my might to take another step. I couldn’t. My muscles screamed, at their end. My legs collapsed, and I hung like a marionette from the gait belt, held by my therapist, Fred Bernstein.
How fascinating! This book says there are libraries where hundreds of books live. It also says the fiction books are in order by author name.
Dancer scurried off Your Sixth Year Reader to look at Jeremy Gentle’s bookshelf again. Jeremy was Dancer’s owner and unknowing educator. Ever since he’d taught himself to read by studying the newspapers lining the bottom of his cage, Dancer had craved reading.
He hadn’t figured out why he’d started reading. One day Dancer had noticed patterns in the markings. He saw they repeated themselves in clumps which then formed more patterns. Then he started listening to his owners differently. They also spoke in patterns. “Jeremy” was always called “Jeremy” or “Jeremy Gentle” by his mother and sometimes by his father.
Dancer had learned to understand Jeremy and his parents, and then he’d put the terms they said with the clumps on the paper. Each letter had a sound, and together they formed clumps his master called “words.” The idea was brilliant. No wonder they were his owners and he was only a hamster.
Dancer read each paper eagerly to the point of memorizing it, but reading started to bore him. Jeremy only changed the lining about once a week. So he’d watched Jeremy open and close his cage door. Then he copied the motion, using his paws and nose. He left to search for more words to read.
Startled, I looked up from my computer and turned around in my wheelchair. My best friend, Dan, had slipped silently into my lab. I still thought of it that way, but we’d made it into the Secret Supers clubhouse almost a year ago. Dan’s round, brown face smiled down at me while his tall, wide frame loomed behind me. His dark glasses hid his blind eyes.
“I didn’t hear you come down the elevator.”
“I took the stairs. Your mom made cookies, so I came over. I could smell them from my house.”
“You mean, you could smell them from my mom’s thoughts?”
“And your’s and your dad’s. You were all excited, so I couldn’t help myself from taking a sniff from your mom’s nose. I didn’t snoop any further than that.”
“I know you respect everyone’s privacy with your mindreading power.”
“Except maybe yours. You did permit me to read yours anytime. But I haven’t read your mind about what you’re concentrating on. C’mon, tell your old friend Dan.”
“Don’t tell anyone. I want to surprise the Secret Supers.”
1 The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
The Pre-Existence of Jesus Christ
The Gospel Medley back cover
John 1:1–5, 10–13
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. [1]2The same was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through Him. Without Him was not anything made that has been made. 4 In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness hasn’t overcome it.[2]
This is the Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show to his servants the things which must happen soon, which he sent and made known by his angel to his servant, John, 2 who testified to God’s word and of the testimony of Jesus Christ, about everything that he saw.
What is the origin of the book of Revelation?
How did John get the book of Revelation? Through which Persons did the Revelation pass?
What is the purpose of the Revelation?
Who is the intended audience of Revelation?
What is in the Book of Revelation?
Prayer: Thank You, Almighty God, for giving us the book of Revelation, directly from You through Jesus Christ our Lord. Thank You for using Your created angels and sons of men to spread Your truth through all the world. Amen.
God gives us the name of the book: the Revelation of Jesus Christ. He gives us the topic, things which must happen soon, and shows the provenance of the book as the knowledge flows from His throne through Jesus, to His angel, to John, and then to the whole church.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Chapter 1 for You. – Happy 13th day of Advent! Enjoy chapter 1 of my book Paranormal Privateers. Merry Christmas to all!
Dirac sighed with relief when the US flag came down and the surrender flag went up on the mast of the titanic luxury yacht. He didn’t mind firing rounds from his AK-47 over their heads, but he hated killing people. He knew they were only infidels, but they were still people.
Chapter 1 – Somalia
Chapter 1 icon of Paranormal Privateers
Inhaling the salted breeze, he grinned back at Muhammed. He cheered and laughed in his seat behind the M2 machine gun in the bow of the boat they used to patrol the coasts and fishing waters of Somalia. The sun gleamed off his white teeth.
“Look, Dirac!” he said. “They’re stopping!”
True enough. The bow wave ceased as he watched. A pod of dolphins ended their sporting on the wave and submerged. The gleaming white yacht loomed above them. What were they doing in the fishing waters of Somalia? He couldn’t imagine the wealth on board. Enough for their whole village to eat well for a year!
Their supreme leader, Omar Ogala, organized Somali fishermen and former coast guard sailors to patrol their fishing waters. He ordered them to capture any fishing or cargo vessels they spotted. He told them the Americans and Europeans no longer cared about Somalia with the other crises around the world and they could defend their coasts from foreign competition—and dumpers. Many foreign nations, knowing Somalia’s military weakness, sent cargo ships full of pollutants and dumped them into their waters.
Dirac never expected to see a luxury ship here. It was as big as a cruise liner, but apparently a private yacht. He’d seen one once before when an Arab sheik visited Mogadishu. This one was three times the size! The owner would pay big to get it back. Maybe even a billion dollars? He couldn’t imagine that much money, and he was good with numbers. Let’s see: fourteen million people lived in Somalia. Divide a billion dollars among them would give each about seventy dollars. Unbelievable. A family of five could live comfortably for a year on that!
Part 2
He came along as a navigator, fighter, and boarder, guiding their boat along the shore of Somalia and into the Arabian Gulf for several days, before leading them back. Besides Muhammed and him, there was Zahi, another fighter and boarder, and Ali, their captain.
“Dirac,” Ali said, “you and Zahi board this ship and take the helm. You will follow us back to Hobyo. Muhammed and I will stay on the boat and keep the machine gun on them.”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
Ali took the megaphone they carried for ship-to-ship communication. “Let us board! Let us board! Or we will gun your ship!”
Dirac didn’t understand English, of course, but he knew what Ali was saying. Ali was the only one who knew any English.
“Don’t shoot! Give us time! We have to get our ladder!” Surprisingly, the person spoke in Arabic. Good Arabic too, but with a strange Saudi and European accent. More surprisingly, it was a woman, a blonde, from what he could see of the figure leaning over the railing far above us. He kept a close watch on her. Strictly for security purposes, of course.
They kept their boat about fifty meters away from the ship and watched the crew scurry about the many decks. Dirac counted five including the main deck, and there were at least three more decks below the main one.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 3
Finally a rope ladder unrolled from the main deck, perhaps ten meters above them. They came close to the ship. A pod of dolphins flashed under their boat. Then they leapt out of the water and into it.
Only, they weren’t the dolphins he had seen earlier. Four people in green wet suits landed with heavy thumps in Dirac’s boat. They had no breathing equipment, not even snorkels. They took off their goggles, and their eyes shone bright red in the sun.
“Zombies!” Ali cried. “Shoot them!”
Automatically, Dirac sprayed the nearest with his AK-47. He heard the others fire too. Muhammed shot the largest one with the big .50-caliber machine gun. That could cut a man in two.
Dozens of red craters appeared in the black wet suit of the one Dirac shot. But she—a white, brown-haired woman—didn’t go down. Her brows furrowed in anger, and shouting in English, she ripped the gun from his hand and threw it into the ocean. He was like a baby with a rattle taken by his parent. The other zombies did the same, except the big one. He grabbed the barrel of the machine gun in both hands and wrenched it from Muhammed. Dirac could hear the zombie’s flesh sizzle on the hot barrel. Then the big zombie bent the barrel into a right angle. Rubbing his hands together afterward, the burned skin fell on the deck of their boat. Pink skin showed on his palms.
He was enormous, bigger than two Somalis put together. His red eyes looked out of his calm, square face. The bullets from the machine gun had sliced the wet suit open across his chest, and more pink skin showed in the gap. As he watched, brown hair grew.
Part 4
George Newby, wide-body zombie.
The fighters were all struck dumb with shock and terror. Then the woman Dirac had shot called up to the blond woman on the main deck. She yelled down in Arabic, “All of you, lie down on the deck, and you will live.”
They quickly obeyed.
Dirac heard a splash. Apparently, she’d dived into the water. She then leapt from the water and landed in their boat.
“I will direct you, and you will listen and obey,” said a tall, shapely blond woman with bright-red eyes. She asked each of their names and roles and plans for taking the yacht. She consulted briefly in English with the others. “Very well, we will follow through with your plans. Dirac and Zahi will come on board with us. Ali and Muhammed will stay in the boat, and we’ll all go to Hobyo.”
Numbly, Dirac climbed the rope ladder to the deck, following Zahi. He tried to process all he had learned in the few minutes of their aborted attack. They hijacked us. But they’re zombies!They want to follow our plan. But they’re zombies! We’re going to Hobyo. But they’re zombies! What will happen there? But they’re zombies!
He tried to remember everything he’d heard or read about zombies. They were some kind of Western fad, and then they’d become real. There had been fights with them in the US and in England. They were fast and superstrong, just as he’d seen in the last few minutes. And they regenerated. Quickly. Even from death!
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 5
Zahi went over the railing and onto the main deck. Dirac followed him, looking around. A crowd of people greeted them, led by the red-eyed man and the woman he had shot. They talked in English among themselves, and most held phones.
He heard a female voice behind him, the translator from the boat. She spoke in English to the crowd and then to them in Arabic.
“I’ll translate for you, but most people have English-to-Arabic translator apps on their phones. Please be patient and answer any questions we have. We have a lot to learn from you before we get to Hobyo.”
Her words barely registered as Dirac’s eyes feasted on her curvy figure under her wet suit. He tore his gaze off her figure to her eyes. They shone bright red under a broad brow, with blond eyelashes and a square chin. She could be a marble idol from a Greek temple. A zombie goddess.
“What are your plans when you get to Hobyo?” he asked.
“Why, we’ll be kidnapped and held for ransom!” She smiled.
It was the most terrifying thing Dirac had ever seen.
“My name is Sharon. Let me show you the ship and your quarters, Dirac and Zahi.”
To the aft on the main deck was a beautiful swimming pool overlooking the transom dock between the two outside hulls. Dirac marveled at the luxurious wooden paneling on the inside.
More wonders followed. They climbed marble—marble!—steps to the next deck. Many rich staterooms surrounded the enclosed atrium. Ahead was a movie theater.
“Here’s your room. You and Zahi will stay here.” She went to the adjacent room and called out in English. An adorable little dog ran to her and jumped three feet into her arms. Its eyes glowed blood red too.
Part 6
“This is Her Majesty Margaret—Maggie, for short. She’ll be your personal escort.” She grinned and spoke to the dog in English. “She only understands English, but she knows to follow you wherever you go. She’ll make sure you don’t do anything bad.”
“How?” Dirac asked.
“Watch.” Sharon went into the stateroom and came out with a meat-covered bone. It was nearly as big as the dog!
The dog sat and watched her with beady red eyes, its whole body quivering. Sharon tossed the huge bone to the dog. Before it hit the ground, the dog leapt, grabbed the meat, and with a shake of its head, ripped it from the bone. It gulped and grabbed another bite. Before Dirac’s eyes, in less than a minute it stripped the meat from the bone and began gnawing. Sharon spoke again, and it stopped.
“Maggie’s a great guard dog, but she’s the kind to bite first and ask questions later. Don’t provoke her by going into other people’s rooms, striking people, or damaging anything. Her bite is much worse than her bark.”
“Uh, will you keep her fed?” he asked.
Sharon looked at her watch. “Oh, it’s time for their feeding. Let’s watch!”
Sharon led them down to the main deck, then to a set of stairs going to the transom dock. A ten-meter boat nestled there with its catch of fish.
“Watch!” She pointed to the deck of the boat.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 7
The men dumped their net full of fish. A ten-foot shark wriggled out, still snapping. The fishermen gaffed it in the gills with a hook and swung it to the deck next to the dock. A howl of barking and yipping came down the stairs. Forty, fifty, a hundred of the zombie corgis attacked the thrashing shark. It didn’t thrash long. After the corgis gobbled for a minute, only a skeleton remained.
“Allah deliver us!” Zahi gasped.
Dirac never knew him to be pious, but he sounded devout, for a change.
Sharon’s red eyes glinted as she said, “I’d be really careful not to provoke Maggie. These doggies can smell blood anywhere on the ship, and they all come running. I’ve got things to do now. I’ll give you these and go.” She handed them each a phone and showed them how to use the translator app.
“Just speak Arabic into it, and out comes English. Try it.”
“Who can I ask to give us a tour?” Dirac asked.
Out came English gibberish.
“Allah akbar!” Zahi said. He still sounded devout. Maybe he was reforming. Out came “Allah, gobbly-gook.”
“Good. You’ve got it! Have fun exploring! Lunch is in an hour, on the deck above you.” She walked away.
The dog eyed them redly.
“Good doggie!” Dirac said into the translator. The English noise came out, but the dog’s watchfulness didn’t change.
* * *
I saw Sharon enter the video conference room.
“Everyone’s here now, General,” said my wife, Diane Newby, in her normal, cheery voice.
My eyes feasted upon my wife of thirty years. How far we’d come from Gary, Indiana, where I wooed and wed her!
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 8
General Ramon Figeroa, assistant head of the National Security Agency, looked out from the huge screen mounted on the bulkhead at one side of the conference table. We conferred daily before lunch to apprise him of developments and to receive any intelligence pertinent to our assignment. Around the table, looking at him were Diane and me on one side. We’d turned zombie three years ago, after the zombie turkey apocalypse. You can read all about it in the Midley Beacon online archives or in Andy Zach’s book Zombie Turkeys.
At the next side of the table sat our friends, Sam and Lisa Melvin, fellow zombies and owners of the Midley Beacon, the worldwide authority for all zombie news.
On the fourth side of the rich wooden table sat Lulu Gutierrez and her friend Sharon Windham. They’d become our loyal bodyguards after Diane saved their lives from sharks during a battle on this very yacht. They, in turn, saved Diane’s life. We were embedded with US Marines at the time, assaulting the last hideout of Sid Boffin, a reclusive billionaire and criminal megalomaniac. The Midley Beacon documented it all just this spring, so you’re probably familiar with the whole story. If you’ve been living on Mars and missed the story, get a copy of Andy Zach’s book My Undead Mother-in-Law. The title refers to Diane, of course. I guess that makes me, George Newby, the undead father-in-law.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 9
These daily meetings had become routine since the Resolute Too‘s commissioning as a US privateer at the beginning of the year, three months ago. Our letter of marque, issued by the US Congress and signed by President Trump, hung on the conference room wall. The ship’s name came from me. I researched the history of US privateers. There was a dirigible in World War II named the Resolute. Technically, it wasn’t a privateer, but it was a privately owned craft directed by the navy to watch the West Coast for subs, so it was almost a privateer. Diane added the “Too,” and we had a name for the yacht.
I vividly remember the rechristening of the yacht, formerly named Rule Britannia, in January in New Orleans.
Diane had held the bottle of champagne at the boat dock and smashed it against the prow. The sheet covering the new name had slipped down, revealing Resolute Too—and the figurehead.
“George, is that supposed to be me?” Diane yelled in excitement.
“Of course, Diane. Can’t you see the resemblance?”
“Yes, in the face. She even has cat’s-eye glasses just like me. But she’s too buxom.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” I knew that part of her anatomy very well. The sculptor had actually made Diane’s waist narrower, which made her seem more buxom, but I hadn’t wanted to point that out.
General Figeroa interrupted my reminiscence. “You’re all looking fit and tan today.”
He usually conducted our daily meetings casually. He’d done that for the past three years we’d worked with him against Sid Boffin.
“Have we got news for you!” Diane said, enthusiastic as usual.
“Did you find Somali pirates?”
“They found us! They tried to hijack the ship, and then we hijacked them.”
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 10
Diane Newby, in her natural environment.
“How will you find the leader behind the pirates?”
That was the key question and was the reason we were here off the coast of Somalia. As privateers, we were not in the direct chain of command of the military. We reported to the president, who’d made General Figeroa his liaison to the Resolute Too.
“That’s next on the agenda,” I said. “We’re acting like they have control of the ship, and we’re following them to Hobyo, a fishing port. We’ll be there tonight. We’ll go in as their hostages and hope to get to Omar Ogala.”
“I can’t imagine anyone holding you hostage, George. Or Diane. Still, do you have a backup plan?”
“To make sure, we’re also taking Lulu and Sharon as ‘hostages.’ Meanwhile, Sam and Lisa will remain on the ship in case we need further reinforcements. They have the V-22 and our zombie animal backups.”
“That’ll do it. I assume you’ll spring free when you meet Ogala?”
“Yup.”
“When will you complete the operation?”
“We’ll be there tonight. Then we have to meet Ogala, who’ll determine our ransom and use our phones to call. That’s their usual protocol. It’ll probably be after midnight after we tie up all the loose ends.”
“Call me when you’re done, no later than tomorrow morning.”
“Will do.”
“Figeroa, out.”
Later that afternoon, Diane and I sat in our stateroom, awaiting our arrival at Hobyo. Diane knit a complex afghan for our bed. A skull and crossbones with cat’s-eye glasses and red eyes decorated it. She found knitting very relaxing.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 11
I scrapbooked. I’d found out about it by reading the Scrapbook series by Jackie Gillam-Fairchild. Diane and I went to Her Majesty’s Tearoom in Dunlap, Illinois, and I saw it there. I loved saving and collecting things and organizing everything into a timeline. I found scrapbooking a great way to unwind after a hard day fighting criminals.
Into the scrapbook, I taped an AK-47 bullet, a piece of my burned skin, and a splinter that had entered my hand from the pirate’s boat. I was trying to figure out what else to add, when there was a knock on our door.
I opened it, and it was Dirac and Zahi. Dirac spoke into his phone. “Could we see your stateroom? We’re taking a tour of your ship.”
“Of course!” Diane gushed. “Here. Have some cookies!”
Diane loved baking and giving away her goodies. They each took a chocolate chip cookie, tried a nibble, and then wolfed it down.
“What is that?” Dirac asked into his phone, pointing at the scrapbook.
I explained scrapbooking to him through my phone app. Then I took a picture of him and Zahi eating cookies. I printed it out on photo paper and taped it into my book. “There. Do you see how it works?”
“That’s great! I’d like to try that!”
“Sure. I have lots of blank ones.” I gave him one, along with tape and glue, some African and sea-based stickers, and a coaster from our stateroom. It had the Jolly Roger with cat’s-eye glasses on it. “You can put anything in it. Here are some ideas.”
They thanked us and went to their room to scrapbook.
* * *
“We’re here!” Lulu Gutierrez announced from our stateroom doorway. Her dark-brown eyes gleamed with excitement.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 12
I looked up from my book From Good to Great. Diane had finished knitting the paranormal Jolly Rogers bed cover and was sorting through her recipes.
I glanced at the clock: 11:00 p.m. East African time. “You ready, Diane?”
“Sure. This’ll be a new experience—the first time I’ve been held hostage! I’m eager to try it!”
We weren’t wearing our Kevlar armor, nor taking any weapons, to maintain the image of helpless hostages. We’d decided to wear just basic US clothing: jeans and T-shirts. Certainly, we hadn’t needed our armor when we took over the Somali boat.
We also put in our contact lenses that hid our red eyes. They hampered our night vision, which we’d received when we became zombies.
Sharon waited for us at the railing, as well as Dirac and Zahi. I heard the boat’s motor, smelled the warm salt air, and saw a few lights in the small fishing village a half mile away.
“Let’s go.” I descended the rope ladder.
* * *
Dirac followed the four zombies down the rope ladder, and Zahi trailed him. They’d been given AK-47s from the ship’s armory. The zombies didn’t look nearly as fearsome without their red eyes—except George. His fingers were thick as a tent stake, and he still seemed like he could break any of the Somali fighters in half with his bare hands.
Of course he could. They probably all could. Dirac had to remember that.
Zahi and he hadn’t had a chance to plan how to signal that their “hostages” were not actually hostages but were severe threats to their nation’s coast guard. He hoped Ali and Muhammed had a plan. He’d watch what Ali did.
They all assembled in the boat. Ali held an AK-47. “Zip-tie them all!” he shouted.
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That was their normal practice. Dirac watched Ali carefully as they zip-tied the four hostages. He didn’t show fear but seemed on edge.
“Gather their phones!” They did, following their standard operating procedure with hostages.
“Ali, how will we tell the base?” Dirac whispered in his ear as they cruised to the dock. The only one he had to worry about was Sharon hearing him, and she was in the bow with the other hostages, guarded by Muhammed. They sat in the stern, ten meters away.
“Leave it to me,” he said.
He looked directly into his eyes and seemed confident. Dirac relaxed.
The other vessels in their fleet were docked there: two more ten-meter boats with machine guns and the thirty-meter “mothership” they used when they traveled far into the Arabian Gulf.
“Ho there, Ali!” yelled the dockmaster, Bashiir. “You’ve caught a big fish tonight!”
“Bigger than you know, Bashiir!” Ali called back. “We’ve got four hostages. Do you have guards ready?”
“Yeah, we’re ready for them.”
They tied to the dock and climbed onshore. Four local fishermen armed with AK-47s met them, cheering and blustering.
“Look how white they are!”
“Are they all Americans?”
“They look rich!”
“We’ll get a lot for them!”
“Quiet, all of you!” Ali commanded. “We have to take these four to Supreme Leader Ogala tonight. Get the truck.”
Once the truck pulled up to the shore, Ali directed the four prisoners, Zahi, and Muhammed into the back of the truck. I climbed into the cab and drove, and Ali sat beside me.
As soon as we were off, headed for Haradhere two hours away, I asked Ali, “What’s the plan?”
“This.” He pulled out his phone and called the supreme leader.
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“Sir, we’ve got four rich prisoners. Millionaires, maybe billionaires… Yes, we also have their ship, a luxury yacht… We’ll be at headquarters in an hour, hour and a half… Yes, sir, I’ll do that… One more thing you should know… They’re zombies… Yes, just like the ones in the US… Superstrong and fast… We have them in zip ties, but I don’t think they’ll hold them. OK, I’ll drive there.”
“What did the supreme leader say?”
“He wants us to park in his private garage. He’ll hold them securely there.”
“I don’t know how.”
“I don’t either. But I trust our leader. He’s really smart.”
After a fast, bumpy trip to Haradhere, instead of going to the main compound, Ali drove around back to the leader’s house. It was large and heavily fortified, with an underground garage. Inside the garage, instead of the supreme leader’s luxury cars sat a metal shipping container.
The truck backed up to the open end of the container. Muhammed and Zahi pushed the hostages into the container with their rifles. The door was slammed, bolted shut, and locked with a heavy padlock.
Omar Ogala entered. A tall, burly man, he carried a grenade launcher. “I had your backs, men, in case they jumped you.” His round face and bald head showed a grim smile. “I’m proud of you for bringing them in. Zombies are no joke. Cabdi, come here.”
Cabdi, the supreme leader’s chief bodyguard, stepped up carrying a rocket launcher. It didn’t carry the normal antitank shell, but a bulkier one Dirac didn’t recognize.
“Ali, you open the feeding door, and then Cabdi will fire in.”
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“Supreme Leader, are you going to kill them?” Dirac asked. That wasn’t their usual procedure for hostages. They kept them alive to prevent an undue military response and to maximize the ransom.
“You’re Dirac, aren’t you? No, the rocket shell won’t kill them, probably. It’s a fléchette shell with salt water, to dezombify them. Don’t worry about killing them. Worry about them staying alive and zombie.”
Ali opened the small steel door on the bottom of one side of the shipping container, used for feeding prisoners. As soon as he unlatched it, he slid it up enough for the shell to enter, and Cabdi fired.
Even outside the container, the exploding shell made Dirac’s ears ring.
“Check and see if you got them. If not, fire another shell.”
Cabdi rotated a steel disk above the feeding door and peered into the smoky darkness. He shone a flashlight in, then closed it.
“The women are gathered around the man who caught it,” he reported to Ogala.
“Fire another shell. We can’t leave any in a zombie state.”
Ali opened the door again, and again the concussion battered his ears. What was it like inside there? How could they still be alive?
“Check again.”
Peering in, Cabdi reported, “They’re all down, and they’re all bloody.”
“Good. That’ll hold them. Now let’s go to my conference room and call for ransom. You’ve got the phones, Ali?”
“Right here, Supreme Leader.”
“Whose cell will you use?”
“It doesn’t matter. They all gave the same number to call for ransom.”
“So they’re all in this together. It’ll probably be some lawyer or insurance agent of theirs. I hope they have enough insurance!” Ogala laughed.
“How much will you demand, Supreme Leader?” Dirac asked.
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“One billion dollars—each. And another billion for the ship. How’d you like to use that to patrol our coasts, Dirac?”
“I’d love it, but we can use the money more.”
“Right you are. The people of Somalia need help. This could put us over the top and fund a full-time, official navy. That would supply thousands of jobs. We can also build an industry here.”
“Inshallah,” Dirac murmured fervently. “Let it be God’s will.”
They all settled in the conference room. “You do the call, Ali. You have the best English.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Put it on speakerphone.”
“Corporate legal office, how can I help you?”
“We have arrested George and Diane Newby, Sharon Wyndham, and Lulu Gutierrez for trespassing in Somali waters. You must pay one billion dollars for each for us to release them. For the ship, Resolute Too, you will pay another billion.”
“I don’t believe you. Put them on the phone.”
“They resisted, and we had to knock them out.”
“Fat chance. They’re zombies! You’re bluffing.”
“They’re locked in prison, and we knocked them out with salt water. You know that kills the zombie germ that regenerates them. Now, quit arguing and send the money! It must be US cash and bills of fifty dollars or less. Drop it off at Hobyo Airport.”
“It’ll take at least a day to get the money and another to fly the cash there.”
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“We’ll keep them safe for at least two days. Don’t try any military force, or we’ll kill them immediately. We’ll burn them with napalm. Even zombies can’t take that.”
“OK! You know this much cash will weigh tons. Even using fifty-dollar bills, that’ll be a hundred million bills. That’s a hundred tons.”
“Let me check.” Turning to Omar Ogala, Ali said, “The weight of the bills is a hundred tons.”
“A hundred thousand kilos? That’s within the capacity of a 747 freighter. Tell them to hire one and land it at Aden Adde International Airport in Mogadishu. I’ll take it from there.”
Ali relayed the message in English.
“Also, tell them we’ll check all the counts, and if there is any shortage, no one is released!”
Ali also repeated that.
“This’ll take at least a week! We’ll have to get the cash and rent the plane.”
“We have time. We have plenty of saltwater to keep the zombies down. Your week begins now.” Ali hung up.
Copyright (C) 2025 Andy Zach. All rights reserved.
