Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Sunday, April 03, 2016

Atomic Fallout

Charles Wu was back at Longview Gallery, a convenient meeting place he had used frequently during the nuclear summit at the Washington Convention Center.  He was standing in front of the ugliest painting there, flanked by agents Apricot Lily and Camisole Silk, discussing new intelligence and their next trip to Asia.  His daughter Delia was scampering around under the careful eye of her governess, waiting patiently to visit Lynnette Wong for lunch in Chinatown.

"Does the State Department believe you?" asked Lily.

"More or less," replied Wu.

"And the Chinese?" asked Silk.

"More or less," he repeated.  "They were very impressed with the Humvees in the street--the total militarized zone of the neighborhood, keeping the civilian population under tight control.  It was ugly and scary, a real police-state feel.  Beijing loves that."

"And Britain?" asked Lily.

"Less satisfied.  They want China to handle North Korea."  (The agents snorted in unison.)  "Just do what you can--I'm not expecting miracles.  Now what can I buy you?  I need to purchase something after so many visits here."

A couple of miles to the west, Laura Moreno was taking in her final block of sunshine and cherry blossoms before walking into Prince and Prowling.  A few weeks ago, she was preparing the Cuban Practices Group delegation for President Obama's historic trip to Cuba.  Now she was laid off as a staff attorney and back to working as a contract attorney after rebuffing the sexual advances of former Senator Evermore Breadman in the Havana hotel.  How did I let this happen?  A few friends told her that it wasn't her fault, but nobody at P&P believed her story over Breadman's--at least, not publicly.  Suing P&P would put her out of work indefinitely, blacklisted all across Washington.  Her choice was to return to working as a peasant or leaving DC.  She stopped fifteen feet from the front door, bile rising up her esophagus.  This place will be the death of me.

Up in Dupont Circle, Angela de la Paz had finally put together a plan to channel the vengeful rage of Dulles Samuelson over the murder of his sister.  Angela suspected that Dick Cheney was responsible, but that type of revenge was simply not part of her mandate.

"It's the one arriving in the black sedan," she said to Dulles, pointing down the block from the window of the Brewmaster's Castle room they were hiding in.

"Are you sure?" asked Dulles dubiously.

"Absolutely," she lied.  "I know you had trouble believing the things I told you about this town, but he's a zombie."

"Are you really sure?" asked Dulles.  His heart was pounding at the twin terrifying thoughts that his sister was killed by a Heurich Society zombie member and that he could avenge her death himself.

"I can do it if you can't go through with it," she said.

"No, I'll do it!" he declared, even though he felt totally paralyzed.

"Alright," she said, leading his leaden feet down the backstairs to the hallway they would surprise the zombie in.  (It was a recently turned member of Congress whom had not yet been identified by the Anti-Zombie Caucus.)  She saw Dulles--who had neglected to keep his gloves on--having trouble holding the axe in his sweaty hands.  "Now!" she cried, as the zombie walked in, and she telekinetically directed the axe to fly out of Dulles's hands at the zombie's neck.  The head came off, and maggots started spilling everywhere.  "Come on!" Angela exclaimed, pulling Dulles towards another exit.  "The Heurich Society can clean it up." 

Dulles looked back at the maggots and vomited on a $3,000 Oriental carpet.

A mile away, Kevin "Monkey" Mundy was using his day off from DC Water to pan for gold and diamonds in Rock Creek Park.  Ever since finding the (cursed) Rolex in the sludge treatment plant, he had become convinced that other treasures were lurking in the waterways all around Washington.  He had tried using a colander and sifting through the silt the way he had seen it done in some old Westerns about California gold diggers, but it was a cold day and his patience had worn out.  "Mercury," he heard whispered, and turned around to see who was there, but Monkey could see no one.  "Mercury," he heard again.  Puzzled, he scratched under the cursed Rolex, left the colander to rust in the water, and headed home.

Glenn Michael Beckmann discovers the conspiracy lurking in Rumsfeld Churchill solitaire!


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