TO HELL WITH IT!
When everyone regained consciousness, they found themselves standing on a giant chuck of ornage volcanic rock suspended in a sea of churning red energy. The red energy stretched on into infinity, with pieces of debris and lighting storms hovering in the distance. Hell-Zombies were everywhere, standing motionless around them with their pale eyes gleaming in the fire light. The air was thick with the smell of brimstone and sulfur and the screams of the dead echoed in the distance.
A lone marshmallow floated past in the energy vortex. Hanz Irontheighs reached forward and swallowed it. “How does it taste?” asked Ben.
“Just like a marshmallow,” said Hanz, eyes wide with terror, “only WITHOUT A SOUL!!!”
Suddenly there was a noise of creaking joints and rattling metal and everyone turned around. There before them were dozens of acolytes and a vast throne assembled from the remains of a thousand human corpses. On top of the throne sat a hideous skeleton creature clad in familiar red robes and finery. Burning green light poured out from its eyes.
“Alright guys, seriously?” Said Bullet Man. “You called me and asked me for a “little favor”. This doesn’t fall into that category. Where’s the exit? I’ve got like twelve episodes of Poirot on my Tevo.”
“Greetings fleshy ones,” gasped the skeleton creature rising to its feet, “I am the Dark Pope of Living Death, Spiritual Leader of Church of Death and Emperor of the Necroverse!”
Nobody said anything. It was hard to think up anything appropriate to say. The Dark Pope of Living Death grinned a horrible grin of evil and climbed down from the podium. Max Powers Had slowly put his arm around Sherry’s shoulder. It made things soooo awkward.
“This is the realm of the dead, a transition point for souls before moving on to new realities. But we are the souls of the WICKED and the CRUEL and we are doomed to remain here forever in perpetual agony! To wither against the burning winds of the Necroverse! We are the DAMNED! We are the UNHOLY GHOSTS!”
“But no longer! At long last the stars and the planets are in the proper alignment and the boundaries between our dimensions are at their weakest! When the required arcane rituals are completed, they will shatter, merging our worlds into a single universe! Then the Legions of the Hungry dead will spill forth and devour the living! Light will be extinguished and earth will be consumed by a shadow of living death! DESPAIR MORTALS! This is the hour of ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE!”
“We know all that,” shrugged Mary The Mistress of Madness, “Carvin” Kervin figured out your plan and explained it to everybody on the helicopter ride to Boston.”
“SILENCE!” shrieked the Dark Pope of Living Death. He spewed forth a jet of blazing hellfire filled with the laughing faces of the damned. Mary Didn’t even see it coming, because she had no eyes. Before you knew it Mary the Mistress of Madness was Mary the Pile of Human Ashes.
The Jim Rage's Elite Zombie Hunting Squad's No Swearing Policy (or JREZHSNSP) was temporarily forgotten about.
“ANYONE ELSE WANT TO INTERUPT?” screamed the Dark Pope of Living Death, spitting blood and froth. Everybody mumbled “no” and stared down at their shoes in silence.
“Good,” smiled the Dark Pope. “You miserable bastards have hindered the good work of my church for a very long time. Not even the annihilation of your offce could slow you down. But that’s all in the past and it’s time to discuss your future. I have decided that you will fight fo
r my amusement in the Arena of Death. You will fight without weapons, or rest, or food. You will fight until your bones shatter and your muscles split and you drop to your knees; weak and ready to die!?
Somebody, we’re not sure who, screamed like a little girl. It was embarrassing. Although we can’t be sure it’s generally accepted it was Jono.
“We’re ready when you are” shouted Sherry Anderson cracking her knuckles.
With a chuckle, the Dark Pope made a gesture and summoned forth the vengeful spirits of Attila the Hun, G
enghis Khan, Ivan the Terrible, Charlie Starkweather, Vlad the Impaler, Idi Amin, Lucretia Borgia, Rasputin, Judas, The Marquis De Sade, Pol Pot, Jack the Ripper, Torquemada, Countess Bathory, Caligula, Josef Stalin, and William Shakespeare; easily the most vile people in the history of mankind reborn as warriors of doom. They roared with fury and clawed at the air. Adolf Hitler was notably absent but we just thought it best not to ask why.
“Now,” commanded the Dark Pope, “TEST YOUR MIGHT.” 
Everyone split up and the fight became a l
ong series of one of one tournaments. The sheer brutality of the fight that followed, the animality, was staggering. It was clear friendship was no option. Only one thing was truly certain: fatalities were going to be high.
The warriors of doom fought with inhuman ferocity, like Chinese ninja warriors they were cold, so cold.
Caligula slithered into battle like some kind of reptile, dodging every punch
thrown by Justin Famous.
“Get over here!” Justin finally shouted, dragging Caligula to his side and landing him with a fireball haymaker straight to the jaw.
Torquemada, a lost soul bent on revenge, charged at Rick Ironside, but he had hadn’t counted on his opponent’s amazing strength and Ironside, in an outstanding move, ended up twisting Torquemada up like a pretzel.
The punches of Rasputin stung like a scorpion, but Drew slammed the 
Mad Monk of Moscow with an excellent bicycle kick.
Genghis Khan, born to rule, born to conquer, engaged Sherry Anderson in a ferocious swordfight. Blades flashing, the two neared the edge of the orange rock with Khan pushing Anderson towards the churning energy vortex.
“Didn’t I just say NO WEAPONS? Jeez. Am I talking to myself?” Yelled the Dark Pope from his throne.
At that moment, Anderson stabbed Khan in the stomach and hurled him 
over the side into the great beyond. It was a flawless victory.
Strangely enough, Baxter Black fought just like Goro from those old Mortal Kombat games.
When the dust settled, Thorn Hammerfall terrorized Ivan the Terrible, Peter Fury subjugated Charlie Starkweather, Carvin’ Kervin attacked Attila the Hun, Sherry Anderson conq
uered Genghis Khan, Justin Famous crushed Caligula, Baxter Black overpowered Idi Amin, Bullet Man trampled Judas, Max Power beat up Josef Stalin, Drew Peberdy routed Rasputin, Hanz Irontheighs “owned” Vlad the Impaler, Holly Hellyeah toasted Lucretia Borgia, Sport had a bone to pick with Pol Pot down 
on the killing fields, Alice Thompson thrashed Countess Bathory, The Mad Hatter mashed the Marquis De Sade, Rick Ironside trounced Torquemada, Dirk Razor ripped Jack the Ripper, and Ben Peberdy taught 
William Shakespeare a thing or two about the poetry of pain.
“This time you’ve gone too far,” snarled the Dark Pope, “I see I’m going to have to kill you myself. Eat mindblast!” His eyes glowed bright green and a mindblast shot forth from his throbbing skull. Everyone writhed in pain as our brains were flooded with raw, red agony. It seemed like the end.
Slowly and with grim determination, Ben climbed to his feet, pushing past the pain. His eyes narrowed and his hands started to twitch and shake. Amazingly he suddenly began to float off the ground, with white light streaming forth from his mouth and eyes.
“I KNOW EVERYHTING!” shouted Ben, his body crackling with lightning. He thrust his arms open wide to the sky. His skull cracked open and out sprang Rye “Let’s Say No to Litterbugs” Crofter, clad in shining white battle armor and his customary gem sweater over top. Ben collapsed to ground, unconscious. For a few seconds everything was silent.
The Dark Pope stood up, flabbergasted. “Sooo…”
“I am now Rye the White,” Interrupted Rye the White. “Since my physical body was destroyed months ago, my essence has been incubating inside Ben’s skull. I have returned to save this world from evil.
An army of Hell zombies swarmed in front of the Pope of Living Death. “You thrice-damned fool!” sneered the Dark Pope, “the Necroverse is MY domain! You are alone and powerless to stop me!”
“That’s what you think,” said Rye the White and soon as he had finished his sentence the spirits of dead zombie hunters flashed into existence alongside him. There they stood: Guido “Deathwish” Castiglione, Rory Gory, Eric “Deathwish” Chabot, Pablo “The Flame” Vandross, John Islington, Pat Gray (or is it Grey? Who know?), Tom Van Voorhees, Mr. Deffner, Mary The Mistress of Madness, a few people we’d forgotten ever existed, and all of the Toad-Eating Yes Men’s righteous souls who had returned to bring justice. Company loyalty runs high at JREZHS, but we never anticipated that it would run high enough to motivate employees to assist us after death. It was pretty kick-ass.
Rye the White led the charge, the ghostly zombie hunters following behind him. While they fought the Dark Pope and his acolytes, the rest of us rushed the scores of Hell Zombies; knocking them to the ground and pushing them off the orange rock and falling out into the energy vortex.
“I’ll tear you to red ribbons, you insufferable morons.” shouted the Dark Pope breathing hellfire all over Rye the White, “I”ll suck the marrow from your knuckles!”
Rye the White shook his head sadly, shrugging off the hellfire like it was a warm summer breeze. “Sorry mister, you can’t beat me. You and the rest of the Church of Death are just trying to get attention in a bad way and I’m darn sick of it. Be gone Dark Pope, dissipate into nothingness.”
And with that, Rye the White reached forward and tapped the Dark Pope gently on the forehead. The sheer goodness of Rye the White’s touch was too much for the hellish creature.
“Ahhhhhh! It hurts! Please stop! Oh God no! Stop! Stop! Why!?” Screamed the Pope as he began to disintegrate into cosmic dust, overpowered by benevolence, and reduced to atoms by the white light.
Suddenly the rock underneath our feet began to shake violently. Red lighting exploded off in the distance. Rips in the space/time continuum began to appear all over the place, opening wormholes to Earth. The Dark Pope laughed a final hideous laugh.
“You fools! The merging of our worlds has begun! Earth will be destroyed and there’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO! REVENGE IS MINE AT LA ---? but at the moment the Dark Pope dissolved into nothing and disappeared. We pretty much got the point though.
“Jumping butterballs, this sure throws a monkey into the wrench guys,” frowned Rye. “We still have a chance. I’ve got a hunch that the rips in the space/time continuum can be destroyed, but they’ve got to be destroyed from within the Necroverse. That means one of us will have to stay behind and sacrifice their life for the good of the team.”
“You’ve got a hunch? Where did this hunch come from. Is there a guide to the Necroverse I’ve been needing to read or something? Indigently said Rick Ironsides.
“Yes. It’s called “Interdimensional Zombie Warfare and You”. It’s a standard handout with employment.” Said Rye, matter O’ factly. “Well chums, I volunteer---“
Suddenly Sherry Anderson bashed Rye across the jaw and knocked him straight into unconsciousness.
“You’ll wake up in a couple of days Rye,” said Sherry. “You’re needed on the other side. I’m the one to stay behind.”
Everyone was stunned. We tried to get her to change her mind, explaining that nobody had really missed rye all that much, (The whole jumping butterballs thing made everybody insanely furious.) and besides, she had already scarified her life for the good of the team once before. (Well okay, technically she actually survived that time and she’d been studying sociology at college the whole time, but we thought she was dead and that was good enough for us.)
“Sorry guys,” said Sherry shaking her head, “but this is no time for a debate. I’m the only one here who has a shot at destroying those rips in the space/time continuum and you all know it. Sport and I had the foresight to load up the chopper with twenty tons of unstable nitroglycerin in case something like this were to happen.
“Like what?” Interjected The Mad Hatter.
"Wait!" Yelled Max Powers. "I'll stay here with you." Everyone bit their lips.
"Uhh, no, no. You have lots of, uh, important things to do too. You know? On the other side. I read it like in a prophecy or something." Explained Sherry Anderson.
"Well, alright. But I'm doing it for you." Suddenly Hell Zombies didn't seem so bad.
Sherry turned to the assembled spirits of the dead zombie hunters. “Yo! Dead guys, let’s go! We’ve got us a universe to save!? The ghosts nodded and flew off towards the space/time rips.
Sherry climbed up into the cockpit of her helicopter, her trusty German Shepard, Sport at the gun turret. She lit a cigarette and gave a salute. “See you in the afterlife comrades. Crash and burn.”
“Crash and burn.” We all sadly replied with thumbs up. With that, Sherry activated her helicopter and flew off into the crackling energy vortex. We barely had enough time to watch to her leave before we were forced to turn towards the portal home. Dodging fireballs and streams of lightning, we jumped into the portal carrying the unconscious bodies of Ben “Bloodscorn” Parazynski, Rye Crofter, the smoldering ashes of Mary The Mistress of Madness.
As we were sucked into the dark abyss of the portal, Carvin’ Kervin was heard to mutter under his breath: “She was the best goddamn helicopter pilot we ever had.” He spoke for all of us.
And then everything went black. Then navy blue, then indigo, then black again.
EPILOGUE
We awoke hours later to find ourselves in a gigantic pile on the streets of Paris, France. The portal from the Necroverse had randomly deposited us thousands of miles from Boston and Blue Springs, but ironically where all this trouble had begun. We’re spending some time in Paris for a while. That’s mainly because after paying for funeral services and hospital bills we haven’t got enough dough to buy plane tickets. Right now we’re trying to earn money by selling baguettes, berets, and black and white horizontal stripped shirts to French cyclists. We don’t make much, but we’re getting there. So help us out and send us some money or buy something off our merch page.
In the meantime, we’re mourning the dead and licking our wounds. The brain-eating madness of the ZOMBIEAPOCALYPSE was averted but at only at a great cost. Frank Gritt and Jim Rage are still missing, out there in danger somewhere. The endless quest continues...
SHERRY ANDERSON
1978-2003-2006
THE BEST GODDAMN HELICOPTER PILOT THIS COMPANY EVER HAD.
Plus the best goddamn savior of the universe we ever had.
EPILOGUE “Redux” SPECIAL EDITION!!!
Not too long ago Alice Thompson found Ben “Bloodscorn” Parazynski standing on some rocks looking into the fading sun.
“Ben, you’ve been up here for five hours, so we know you have something important to say. We drew straws to see who should come up here and Baxter Black got the short one but then Chico poured boiling molasses on him and he had to take an “emergency shower”. So I decided to be the responsible one and see what’s up.”
Ben bit down hard on the toothpick he’d gotten at the Italian food restaurant. “I’ve been thinking Jim Rage’s Elite Zombie Hunting Squad isn’t for me anymore. It’s not just that Sherry and Mary got killed in the Necroverse (Ben paused to reflect on the coincidence that Sherry and Mary rhyme). It’s not just that Rye Crofter commandeered my brain and has now manifested himself into a glowing ball of pure goodness. It’s really just the pay. I mean I was told I’d get a base salary of ten dollars an hour. That never happened. I haven’t even gotten a raise from minimum wage. After all I’ve been through saving the world and all I can’t even afford “Better Shred Then Dead (The Dick Dale Anthology)” and I love Dick Dale!”
After a brief pause where Ben tried to remind Alice of Dick Dale’s face melting guitar abilities by humming “nitro” unsuccessfully, Alice replied. “What will you now?”
“I’m thinking of going to Africa. I’ve only ever been there on business.” Announced Ben.
“Where will you go after that?”
“Which ever way the wind blows.” Said Ben far too dramatically.
“Do you have a cigarette?” Asked Alice.
"No. smoking’s bad for you.” And with that Ben applied some Neosporin to his, still recovering eye, and went to Africa.
