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A Zombie Poacher

Updated on May 13, 2013

A bead of sweat fell down across his face, causing him to blink. When his eyes re-opened, there in his cross hairs was a beautiful tiger. Grinning to himself, the poacher lined the scope up, breathed in, released the breath and squeezed the trigger. Two roars echoed through the plains, one from the gun, and one from the lion.

Walking forward with a slight swagger, he approached the dying lion. For spite he kicked it a couple times, taking delight in watching it suffer. The natives he hired approached the dying beast respectfully, even sadly. Selling their animals to feed their family disgusted them, but they bore it with a stoic attitude. The poacher nodded to the lead guide, and they began to rapidly prepare the lion for transport. It would be smuggled to a taxidermist, then smuggled to the USA where the poacher lived.

Swatting the mosquitos away, the poacher mumbled and grumbled to himself, paid the guides, then got in his vehicle and drove to his room. He would spend the night, then fly back home tomorrow morning. He went to sleep with dreams of his friends toasting his bravery after the tale of his latest hunt was told, complete with a stuffed lion.

The lion carcass made its way slowly to the taxidermist, as the guides grumbled about being left without transportation. Between themselves they thought up 1000’s of ways to get back at the poacher. It was decided, with the help of the taxidermist, to place inside the lion a large mess of mosquito eggs, along with some water, some algae, and a few other things to keep the mosquitos alive. They laughed amongst themselves at the thought of the poacher opening the crate and being swarmed by mosquitos.

1 Weeks Later

He awoke feeling worse than he had felt in his life. Trying to get up, he remembered today was the day his lion was being delivered, and tried to use that as motivation. He felt stiff, lethargic, and was having problems moving. Skimming through the channels he noted a restriction on all things to and from Africa, due to some new disease that was spreading. A small smile crept to his face, his lion was out, and now with the travel and goods ban, if he so chose, he could probably get a small fortune from the lion.

A knock at the door brought him to his feet, and he shuffled rapidly towards his lion. Opening the door he heard a gasp from the driver, who was staring at his face.

“Are you all right Senor?” Inquired the driver, peering intently at the face. Snarling with a sudden anger he growled out a barely understandable “yes” before slamming the door. He felt pain ripping through his body, sweat and blood pouring from his pores. Staggering he made his way to the crate and ripped it open with nothing but his hands. Grinning he reveled in that strength, although he was terrified inside. He lifted the tiger out with one hand and ripped the plastic sealing off, having a need to eat, kill, destroy. With the plastic removed, a swarm of mosquitos exploded from a tiny hole in the tiger’s ear, part of the joke on the great poacher. Snarling, barely coherent he jumped back, swatting at competitors for blood. With a great scream of anger he jumped through the window, letting the mosquitos out. Sniffing the air, he found the smell of blood next door. With a burst of speed he jumped the fence, landing on the porch. No longer thinking he exploded through the door, a snarling, slobbering mindless beast, attacking the young man with a razor cut on his cheek.

The mosquitos, matured by their trip, began their trip through the neighborhood, ready to drink the blood of whatever they could find.

Washington DC, 2 days later

“Sir, there appears to be a problem. The test in Africa seems to have gone awry. Somebody managed to get out of the country, infected.”

“Bring him down, any way necessary!!” screamed the operative.

“Sir, he has killed everything within a 15 mile radius. And Sir, you know what will start to happen over the next 24 to 72 hours. Depending on blood type, weight, ethnicity, they will begin to change, to rise.” Whispered the field agent.

“And sir, we are not sure how, but a hospital 50 miles south has 15 patients with symptoms indicating they are near the final stage of transmutation.” The field agent mentioned.

“Dammitt to hell!” cursed the operative. “We need containment now. Prepare for a terror attack. Nuke the whole area, blame it on the Koreans. We cannot let this go on, especially if it shows the same sings it showed in lab test.”

“We are going to use nukes? On our own people, on our own soil? Sir?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Won’t be the last. Now get to work, we are racing the clock here.” Replied the operative, tersely.


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