Read Free Secret Supers Chapter for You. – Why? It’s the 15th day of Advent and I’m giving a gift per day! Enjoy chapter 1 of my book Secret Supers. In it, four seventh graders with four different disabilities get four different super powers. Merry Christmas to all!
“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.
For once I was glad I was a skinny, twelve-year-old. Soaking wet, I don’t even weigh eighty pounds.
I gave up completely and flopped bonelessly. I might as well be on the floor, I thought. And then I was.
“What?” yelled Mr. Bernstein. “Jeremy, are you okay? The belt must have slipped. I’m sorry about that!”
“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Bernstein.”
“Here, let me help you up.” He picked me up and put me in my electric wheelchair. “Now let’s see that belt. Ah, this little pin popped off. Bad design. I’ll complain to the manufacturer.”
Part 2
I made it through the rest of my otherwise boring day with no problems but a few bruises on my arms and face. With CP, cerebral palsy, you have no reflexes to break your fall. After that, all I wanted to do was get home and play in my science lab with my new equipment.
Jeremy, superhero
My parents, Denise and Bradon Gentle, both have good salaries from their jobs as an occupational therapist and Certified Financial Planner. When I showed interest in math and science in elementary school, they bought me lab equipment for experiments. Over the years, they kept adding to it as my interests changed and grew. Eventually, I had a whole room in the basement of our home as my lab.
My dad bought me a new set of super magnets yesterday. I experimented using magnetic fields on living creatures and tested them on my pet hamster, Dancer. He seemed to get a little dizzy, but I saw no other effects.
I read up on bioelectromagnetics on the internet and discovered not many experiments had been done on frequencies above 300 hZ. Then, I rigged up a frequency modulator to test a variety of frequencies. I could hardly wait to try it with my new super magnets.
I assembled the magnets into my variable frequency circuit. Just as I was about to try it I heard, “Jeremy! It’s time for dinner.” It was my mom.
My parents make a big deal out of eating together and discussing the day’s events. It was interesting, hearing about Dad’s job in finance and Mom’s in occupational therapy. I didn’t have much to say, as usual. Quickly, I excused myself and left as soon as possible.
Read Free Secret Supers – Part 3
I tried the new arrangement on my hamster and got him dizzy again. Then I thought of adding the power of my capacitor array. That would give a sudden burst of magnetism.
I connected it to the circuit and released the twenty-five thousand volts it contained. It knocked me out! Later I found out the whole house went dark.
Dan-from-Secret Supers, superhero
“Are you okay, Jeremy?” asked my Mom, shaking me awake.
“Uh, I think so.” I slumped in my wheelchair, as groggy as my hamster.
“We lost power for a few minutes, and then we thought to check on you.”
“I’m sorry about the outage. I ran an experiment with the new electromagnets, and I must have overloaded the home circuits.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Dad. “Are you okay? Do we need to call the doctor or the ambulance? You were out when we came in here.”
“I think I’m okay,” I repeated. I stretched and sat upright. “Don’t bother calling the doctor. Let me see what happened to my experiment. The capacitors all discharged correctly,” I commented, checking my instruments.
“What does that mean? You know we don’t know as much as you do about electronics,” Dad said.
“Oh, it just means I used all the stored power for my experiment. I discharged the capacitors into the new magnets you bought me.”
“Were you tormenting your poor hamster again?” asked Mom.
“No, I just wanted to see what would happen with more current. I found out. It knocked me out, and I wasn’t even in the center of the magnets. It must have caused a power surge that tripped the house’s circuit breakers.”
“Are you sure you feel okay?” asked Mom.
“Yeah, I’m just tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”
Read Free Secret Supers Part 4
“That’s a good idea,” said Dad. “Let’s see how you feel in the morning.”
The next morning I felt great. I wriggled out of bed and dressed, as usual, crawling around my carpeted floor. My legs were hopelessly spastic, but my upper body was strong enough to drag me around my room.
Kayla of the Secret Supers, superhero
After packing my chair’s pannier with my school supplies, I pulled myself into my chair. Getting in and out was a long, painful process. I picked up my phone, preparing to leave my room, but it slipped from my hand to the floor.
Crap. Now I have to climb down again. Desperately, I bent over and tried to reach the phone where it lay, tilted against my bed. Not quite.
With a burst of frustrated anger, I said, “Come here!” And the phone zipped into my hand.
Wow. That never happened before. There was a pencil on my desk, across the room. “Come here,” I said.
Zip! It smacked into my palm.
Then, I experimented. I could make my bed far more efficiently than from my knees. I even tidied my desk.
“The bus is here,” called Mom from the kitchen.
I went down to the bus more excited about school than I ever had been before.
At school, I tried different things. I secretly moved chairs and other blockages to my wheelchair out of my way. In therapy, I tried to move my limbs with my newfound power. Success! At least I didn’t fall or get exhausted.
“That’s great, Jeremy,” said Mr. Bernstein, his voice rising in excitement. “You got all the way through the parallel bars. Do you think you can go back?”
Part 5
“Let’s try it.” Going back was even easier. I got the hang of moving my legs with my mind.
“This is a breakthrough. That’s it for today. We may be able to get you out of that wheelchair!”
“Fantastic!”
Aubrey, superhero
Driving out of the room to the bathroom, I got another idea: could I actually pick up myself with my thoughts? Why not try? Focusing on my whole body in my chair, I imagined myself lifted up in a sitting position from my chair and onto the toilet.
At first I thought I had failed, for I felt no difference from sitting in my chair. Then I realized I was looking down at the toilet from a height. I eased myself down on the toilet.
I was so excited I could hardly go. It was as if I was Magneto of the X-Men! I wondered how much I could pick up. I tried to lift my electric wheelchair. It weighed more than two hundred and fifty pounds. Slowly, carefully, I made it float an inch, then a foot, then two feet off the floor.
I felt no strain. The chair hovered there as easily as if it were suspended from a cable. I lowered it and levitated back into my seat. Now, I had study hall. I wonder what my limits are?“
“Miss Smith, could I have a hall pass to the gym? I’ve got some new PT I want to try,” I said to the study hall teacher.
Read Free Secret Supers – Part 6
“Sure, Jeremy. Physical therapy is always a top priority.” I went to the weight room next to the gym. No one was there during the school day. Moving the pin holding the weights, I set the bench press machine to three hundred pounds and lifted it with my mind. Up it went like a balloon.
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I added forty-five-pound iron plates to the machine. Three-forty-five, three-ninety, four-eighty! All rose like soap bubbles in a breeze. One more plate to add. Five-twenty-five. Nothing. It was like I had no power at all. Replacing the forty-five-pound plate with a twenty-five, I tried five hundred even. It stirred, moved up one inch, and stopped. So that was my limit.
I wondered if I could make my wheelchair fly. I concentrated, and it slowly rose, with me in it. Zip! I moved around the weight room, circling faster and faster. Then I heard someone coming. I set myself down with a clump.
“Hi, Jeremy,” said Mr. Finney, the PE teacher. “What brings you here?”
“Uh, I had a good day in therapy,” I said, thinking fast. “I wanted to see if there were any weights I could lift.”
“Good for you. Did you find any?”
“Yes, but I’m tired now.” There. I satisfied him, without really lying at all. And I was tired, from all my concentrating.
I had another study hall at the end of the day. I had one more experiment to try. After getting another hall pass, I went outside to the batting cages used by our baseball team. They had speedometers to measure the pitching machines.
Looking around and seeing no one, I turned one on remotely with my mind. I was gaining finer control. With a pen, I could write well using just my thoughts.
Part 7
I picked up a bat and ball. I floated the ball to the pitching machine and the bat over the plate. Using my mind, I pushed the ball toward me. Zip! It went over the plate. I swung and missed. It was way faster than I thought.
Looking at the speed readout, I saw eighty-eight mph. Woah! That’s a major league fastball. I hadn’t even tried my best.
I repeated my experiment, trying with all my might. One hundred and one. I tried again and again, but I couldn’t beat that.
I glanced at my phone. It was time for the bus. I’ll never get there in time. But, what if I flew?
If I skimmed the ground, people wouldn’t notice I was flying. I did it and got to the bus stop faster than a person could have run. I wonder what my top speed in my scooter was? Why not try it on the road?
“Hey, Mr. Williams!” I called out when my bus driver opened the door for me. “I won’t need a ride today. I’ve got another ride home.”
“Okay, Jeremy.”
I waited until the bus pulled away and then slowly moved down the sidewalk to the front of the school. I sped up on the sidewalk until I matched the speed of the cars in the street. It was great! I didn’t have to worry about curbs or bumps, as I just sailed over them.
Since I didn’t have to worry about stopping to let off other students, I went straight home and arrived ten minutes earlier than usual. My mom got off work first and would be home in half an hour. How fast could I go?
Read Free Secret Supers – Part 8
I skimmed to the end of our street, where it dead-ended into the freeway. Then, I hopped over the fence and traveled on the green grass margin next to the road. I matched the highway speeds of the cars and then surpassed them. I zoomed home and flew to my lab. Literally.
I had an accelerometer in my lab. I tested it by swinging it in my hand. The electronic readout on the remotedial on my lab bench fluctuated between .1 and .3 g. Now, how much acceleration could I generate with my mind?
I zoomed the instrument from my hand to the wall and back again. No apparent acceleration. I repeated it, going faster and faster. Nothing.
Puzzled, I sat and thought. How could there be no acceleration? I must be affecting the whole instrument, every atom of the it, so that it detects no acceleration at all.
I was still thinking through the implications of this when my mom came into the lab.
Jeremy stopped dictating. That was enough. He’d have a lot more to say tomorrow.
You don’t want to read your free short story? Enjoy this performance of “In A Pickle” on Youtube:
Read Your Free Short Story “In A Pickle”
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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 their 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 bacteria.
Part 2
When wild turkeys ate the corn, it modified the E Coli in their gut, creating the zombie turkey bacteria, e coli gallopavo. That got into the turkeys’ bloodstream and made them zombies, able to regenerate any lost or damaged body part, even bringing turkeys back from the dead.
Oops! cover. Click to get your signed copy
What caught his eye was the reproduction rate: zombie cells reproduced every twenty minutes. Could that work for pickles? Why not try?
He read the article more carefully and found it sourced from a Dr. Edwin Galloway of the Northwestern Poultry Institute. He followed the link to Dr. Galloway’s original paper.
There it was. The whole DNA sequence of Corn-All’s modification and the zombie turkey bacteria, e coli gallopavo. Now, he just needed to get a sample. Nothing like going to the source.
He called Dr. Galloway.
“Hello? Dr. Galloway? This is Brice Butterworth with Vegan Inc.”
“Hello, Mr. Butterworth. How can I help you?”
“I read your paper on E Coli Gallopavo, and I’d like to test it on various vegetables. Could I get a sample?”
“I can send you a sample, but the bacteria only affects turkeys, not plants.”
“But Corn-all used the sequence in corn.”
“Yes, but the zombie effect only showed up in turkeys. E Coli is an animal-specific bacteria.”
“No other animals?”
“We only tested turkeys, pigs, chickens, and cows.”
“I’ll test some other animals.”
“All right. I’ll send you some of the bacteria and some of the Corn-all corn. Let me know what you find out.”
“Will do. Make it a next day shipment. Vegan Inc will pay. We’re under a time crunch.”
“I’ll ship it today.”
“Thanks so much! This may help solve a problem for me.”
Read Your Free Short Story – Part 3
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“Great! Let me know your results. Be sure to give the Poultry Institute of Northwestern credit.”
“You’ve got it. Bye.”
Brice spent the rest of the day thinking about how to get the zombie growth bacteria to grow in the pickles. Maybe he could genetically engineer them so they appeared to be turkeys to the bacteria? That would be a kind of chimera, a hybrid, between turkey and cucumber. He went out and bought a pair of live turkeys from eTurkey, the online turkey delivery service. They too would be delivered tomorrow.
He created his project plan. He’d try to insert turkey DNA into the cucumber genome and then infect it with the zombie turkey virus. That’d double the growth rate of cucumbers, easily!
The turkeys, bacteria, and corn arrived the next morning. First, he ensured the zombie bacteria worked. He injected the bacteria into the two birds and watched their eyes turn red. That was the first sign of zombiism.
He had already moved them from standard chickenwire pens to the Zombie Turkey Farmers of America (ZTFA) approved steel cages. They couldn’t defeat the quarter-inch steel bars, but they kept trying.
They’d peck at them until they were bloody. Then they’d pause and heal and try again. So that’s what Dr. Galloway meant when he wrote that the zombie bacteria caused increased aggression.
Using the Vegan Inc. lab’s waldo, he extracted fresh blood from turkeys and separated out fresh E Coli Galipavo bacteria. The turkeys pecked at the mechanical hands, to no avail. He injected the ECG into living cucumbers at various stages of growth. No effect.
Part 4
No surprise. Now for the second branch of his research. Even though a cucumbers DNA was far simpler than a human’s he had thousands of sites where he might splice it in. He picked the ten likeliest and planted twenty chimera seeds.
Only half even sprouted. He tested them with the ECG bacteria. Failure. He tried ten different DNA sites each day to make his ‘turkeycumber’ as he called the chimera. After a month of failure, he gave up. He had to try something else.
Scanning the internet for inspiration, Brice read the Midley Beacon again. The headline ‘Zombie Squirrel caught on video’ leapt out at him.
He read, “The hawk nabbed the squirrel, as hawks normally do, but in midair, the squirrel revived, ripped open the hawk’s belly, bit off its leg, and fell a hundred feet to the ground, where it scampered away unharmed. It was captured on drone video.”
That’s it! He’d try some other animals and see if they’d turn zombie. First, he made a squirrelcumber. No effect. Then a cowcumber. Failure. Then a deercumber. Nothing.
Another month down the drain. His boss, Wilma O’Reilly stopped by.
“Hi Brice, how’s it going?” That meant ‘had he doubled the cucumber growth rate yet.’
“Success is just around the corner,” he lied. He knew what to say to get her off his back.
“That’s great! So you’ll have this solved in another month?” That meant she didn’t believe his lie.
“Maybe a month and a half. Or two.” He had no clue when he’d solve it.
“Fantastic! That’s a commitment to have something by June, then. Right?”
“Uh, right.” She had him nailed to a wall. He had three months to solve this and he was no closer than when he started.
Read Your Free Short Story Part 5
“Wonderful. When you succeed, you’ll easily pay for the money you’ve spent on the research. Oh, and by the way. If you can’t solve this problem, we’ll have to let you go in the mid-year budget cuts. But I’m sure you’ll solve it.” She smiled brightly at him and walked away.
Ugh. Now what? His mind was blank. He filled it up with social media. A tweet on a hummingbird picture led him to an article about them. Fastest metabolism of all animals. Insectivores as well as herbivores.
Huh. They were like turkeys. They were like turkeys on speed!
Why not? Brice thought. What have I got to lose—besides my job? Could he buy hummingbirds on Amazon? Nope. Not legal, since they’re migratory birds. But he could become a hummingbird rehabber. He already had a biology degree, as well as a masters in recombinant DNA.
Brice volunteered at the nearest bird rehab center. They were delighted to have him. He nursed several birds back to health, bound broken legs and wings. He also extracted some hummingbird blood and sequenced its genome.
Bryce brought one hummingbird back to the lab instead of releasing it to the wild. He fed it Corn-all GMO grain and studied its droppings for any E Coli. Yes! It produced the zombie bacteria too, just like turkeys.
He sprayed the zombie e coli (ZEC) at the bird. Soon its eyes turned red. It rammed the birdcage, faster and faster, bending the bars. It was a zombie.
Brice extracted its blood and put it in a cage of bulletproof glass. It settled down, slurping up the nectar from the feeder, eating twice as much as usual. Higher metabolism was another sign of zombiism.
Part 6
No time to waste. He had only one week left until June. Over the next two days, he spliced the zombie hummingbird DNA into the three hundred spots he’d found on the cucumbers DNA and planted them all.
Only one came up. He injected the hummingbird’s zombie bacteria into it. It began to grow even as he watched it, flowering. He hand pollinated it and by the time he left for home, he had twelve full-grown cucumbers. Success! Brice could hardly wait for the next day.
The cucumber plant filled the lab when he got in, covered with flowers. He pollinated hundreds of them.
Then Brice pickled his twelve cucumbers. Now they just had to pass the taste test. It’d be a week before they were ready.
Brice took the brine solution and sprayed his zombie hummingbird with it. As everyone knew, five months after the zombie turkey apocalypse, salt water was the most effective way of eliminating zombiism. He watched the bird until its red eyes turned to black. Then he let it go back to the wild.
“Thanks, little guy,” he murmured.
While he waited for the pickling to complete, he picked hundreds of cucumbers. He tested their seed to ensure the hummingcumber chimera bred true. It did. The second generation grew just as fast. The rest of them he canned in brine.
The next Monday, Brice tasted the pickles. They were a beautiful light green on the inside. They tasted heavenly, better than any pickle he’d ever tasted before.
Brice called Wilma into the lab.
“Hi, Wilma. These are the results of my research.”
“Wow! What do you have, a hundred quarts of pickles? How long did that take?”
Read Your Free Short Story Part 7
“That’s a week’s growth, from one cucumber plant. I’ve got a couple more plants growing, but we need to transplant them to a field. We’ll have to harvest them daily.”
“How? I’ve never seen anything like this!”
“I made one difficult genetic modification. I made a chimera, combining a cucumber with a hummingbird. Then I infected it with the zombie bacteria.”
“That’s insane! What made you try that?”
“I wanted the cucumbers to grow as fast as the zombies do.”
“Brilliant. You’re promoted to a senior researcher, right now.”
Brice proudly watched the fields of zombie cucumbers grow and harvested daily all that summer. If left unharvested for a day, the cucumbers would turn iridescent green, like a ruby-throated hummingbird.
These colorful vegetables became even more popular than the plain zombie hummingbird pickles.
One morning, overlooking a beautiful field of jewel-like green, Brice noticed a waving motion. Walking into the field, he saw the cucumber wriggling on the ground. The wriggling became waving, and then flapping. Each cucumber grew a pair of flapping iridescent emerald wings.
In one motion, the entire field of cucumbers rose in a sparkling green murmuration from the ground.
With his mouth agape, Brice watched the glittering vegetable cloud head south.
After it was out of sight, Brice looked around the bedraggled field. Not one opalescent pickle remained.
“Hi Wilma, I’ve got some bad news,” he said into his phone.
“What’s that Brice?”
“The pickles have migrated south.”
“What? I have a connection problem. I thought you said, ‘the pickles have migrated south’.”
“Yes, that’s right. Apparently, the hummingbird DNA is more powerful than I thought. Their migration instinct has been spliced into the pickles.”
“You realize that field is worth over a million dollars. You’ve got to get it back.”
Part 8
“Calm down. I have a plan.”
“What’s that?”
“The pickle hummingbirds will probably instinctively migrate to Mexico, like regular hummingbirds.”
“Get going then. We need you to capture those flying pickles!”
“I’m leaving today.”
Brice arrived in Mexico City that night. He read the news and tracked the pickles by the news reports and Instagram photos and Twitter gifs. Louisiana. Texas. Reynosa Mexico. Xalapa. Where was that? The picture from Twitter showed iridescent pickles with wings nesting by the thousands in the trees.
He found Xalapa on the eastern side of the Mexican Rockies. He rented a truck, loaded it with the supplies he had shipped with him, and headed there.
Brice drove to the grove of trees where the zombie cucumbers nested. He started the power washer in the back of his truck and headed to the trees, dragging his hose. He sprayed a jet of salt water over the cucumbers in trees, killing their zombie bacteria. They dropped to the ground by the thousands and tens of thousands.
Brice then hired local farm workers to place them in jars filled with brine. He had enough for a whole semi.
He didn’t catch all the escaped cucumbers, but he had enough to make up for the lost harvest.
Read Your Free Short Story – Part 9
After that, Vegan Inc prevented the pickles from developing to the winged stage. But enough escaped Brice, that they became part of the annual pickle migration from Mexico to the US. People captured thousands each year along the Mississippi migration route. Some people felt the wild zombie pickles tasted better than the domestic, farm-raised ones. Vegan Inc. took advantage of this and built canning factories in Mexico near the pickle nesting sites.
Vegan Inc. even sold their iridescent wings separately as a pickled delicacy. This became their most profitable item. Until they dried the wings and sold them as earrings.
Author’s Comment
This story is set just after my first book Zombie Turkeys. I got the idea for flying pickles while joking with my daughter Tori. When I picked her up to take her somewhere, I’d say, ‘Watch out for the flying pickles as you go into the car. It’s the season for their annual migration.’ From that, we built up a whole life cycle for flying pickles. Naturally, it had to be my short story collection.
What Did You Think of Read Your Free Short Story “In A Pickle”?
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
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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.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 13
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.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 14
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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.”
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 15
“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.
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 16
“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.”
Read Paranormal Privateers Free Part 17
“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.
