Chapter 31.
George wakes me from my stupor by handing me the reigns to a rusty colored horse. His name is Paco, it’s etched in his saddle. Maybe the dead slave trader was named Paco, but it sounds like a nice enough name. I go with it.
I try not to stare at the ever increasing puddle of blood streaming from Tiara’s head. She now wears a fitting crown, I guess. The lesson to learn is not to get chummy with dead people. For her sake, and mine.
The village is on fire as we travel down the path. Some of the trees crackle, the heat is stifling. We’re on our feet, as we lead the horses into the center of the village. An Amazon, blonde braids, big boobs, struggles at the well with an old spackle bucket. Besides her is another buxom blonde, and down the bucket brigade goes mounds of boobs and buckets and blonde hair.
George and I are a brief curiosity to them. Their village has just been torched, and they are not attacking strangers. These are Vegas Show girls. We have reached the Promised Land, and it is aflame.
George speaks slurry, and they shake their heads. One girl down the line points to a big rusted pipe along the side of the road.
“Hurry, Senor,” George says.
I follow him as he follows the pipe. It leads down to a river. There are two hulking Amazons, wearing skimpy bikinis, massive toned thighs, struggling with a valve. They’re startled as the see George and I.
One of them grabs a spear. She’s a statue, and a cliché, and in need of upper body strength. Unfortunately, I can offer her none. But George does. He politely shoulders between the two she-hulks, and grips his big paws around the valve.
His teeth shine white as he grits against the rusted valve futilely. The veins in his neck bulge as he tries again, straining with every ounce of strength.
I get a brainstorm (it happens…we’re dealing with a story containing zombies and Amazons, it’s possible in such a realm for my brain to spark into action). I ask one of the girls for her spear. Big mistake. The two girls look at each other, and then they take to pointing their spears at me.
I hold up my hands, “No, no, I mean put the spear tips in the spokes of the valve, give you some leverage. You know, leverage.” I try to pantomime while I’m talking, but they just start thrusting their spears at me more.
I look around, and find a long straight sapling. “George, gimmie your knife. We’ll use this try to pry at the valve.”
He’s winded. He’s not a young man. Neither am I, but I haven’t been struggling for minutes trying to open a water valve. The girls start chattering like monkeys when George tosses me the knife. The universal language of the holstered gun tells them George is not a threat. Me? Scrawny bald guy dancing around trying to help? I’m a threat. I chalk it up to my black hat. People in black hats can’t be trusted.
I back away slowly from the Amazons, and find a nice round rock. I hold the edge of the knife against the sapling, and give the back of it some nice hard raps with the rock. The Amazons catch on to what I’m do