Like Rachel.

I looked at Mr. Damned Soul and asked him "Who are you?"

"Where am I?" he asked again.

Doc hovered close, three of his eight tentacles pointing at the corpse-thing.

"You're on a dirigible," I said.

"Over Kentucky," added Brigitte.

"Kentucky?" Mr. Damned Soul said.

I heard a crackle and looked up. So did everyone else except Mr. Damned Soul. The edge of the dirigible's inflated section was starting to peel. I peeked up over the edge and saw that the cops below had gotten a better shot.

Doc scooted up and pulled on the chain. The burner lit, and we rose higher. I felt the heat of the ray gun as we rose past it. I wondered how high we could go.

"Paducah, Kentucky," said Brigitte, and she knelt down next to Mr. Damned Soul.

"Brigitte, I don't know that you should get that close to him. I brought him back from Hell."

"Thank you for that," said Mr. Damned Soul.

"Accidentally," I said to him.

Brigitte knelt by him. I saw her nose wrinkle. "Do you hurt?" she asked. He was certainly more calm now than when we'd first woken up or arrived or whatever we did. She reached out and touched him with just the tip of one finger. "You're cold," she said. "Really cold."

"I don't feel it," he said. "But, then, I expect that the dead don't feel very much."

"Lemme try something," said Brigitte. She held out her hand, palm towards Mr. Damned Soul, and placed it on his arm, gently clasping him. She closed her eyes. He looked at her without any curiousity at all, the way people will look at an ad on the wall of a bus stop because they've got nothing else to look at.

She opened her eyes. "Nothing. He doesn't share." She looked at me. "Like you."

"Like me." I said. I looked over Mr. Damned Soul's raggedy body, still slouching limply like he had no bones or muscles. His skin was all clammy white and peeling in places. His eyes were runny and pussy. His teeth were falling out. He didn't have much in the way of clothing. He stunk. "Like me." I said again.

"Like you," said Mr. Damned Soul.

They've got ray guns.

I edged up, woozily -- I'm always a little dizzy when I first wake up/get back from Hell -- and looked over the edge of the gondola that hung below the dirigible. I heard the buzzing of the solar engine as it pushed us through the air. The dirigible, I noticed, was bright yellow. All dirigibles are brightly colored, but I wished, in that moment, that we could have maybe had one that would not glow like the sun even at night. A bright yellow dirigible held in the sky by hot air, which air is heated by a flame which lights up the inside of the dirigible, is no doubt a desirable thing to have if you are a dignified southern gentleman, or even the sexy lesbian daughter of said gentlemen. But it makes it easier for the cops following you on the ground to see you.

I looked at those cops now, and saw two electrocars scooting along the road. We were not moving fast enough to make them use their gas engines. They were struggling, I could tell, because Brigitte or Doc had opted to pick a course that slanted across the roads. From the passenger side of each of the two cop cars that was following us, a cop hung out, and I guessed that they were hollering directions to the drivers inside.

Then I saw one taking aim. I guessed wrong.

A flash of slightly-glowing air appeared in front of me and I felt a little bit of heat. I looked up, worriedly, in case the ray gun had done something to the dirigible, but it hadn't.

Doc, a long time after all this, explained to me how ray guns worked. It has to do with heating each molecule in a chain between the gun and the target or something. I was sorry I asked him. But this ray gun, despite zapping the dirigible directly, didn't do anything.

The cop continued to point it at us. I felt the heat again, saw the air glow a little brighter off to my left, and saw the gondola melt a little near my left hand. The plastimetal burbled and boiled and dripped and it was melting down.

Doc scrambled up to the chain that hung down from the solar heater and pulled it down. I heard a buzzing sound, louder than our engine, and saw the yellow above me glow a little brighter. The dirigible rose, slowly at first, and then more rapidly.

The cop wasn't smart enough or good enough to adjust his aim, and the ray gun stopped melting the gondola. We rose a little higher and then a little higher.

Mr. Damned Soul looked at me with dull eyes, and then said, in a croaking voice,

"Where am I?"

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It just keeps getting better


Welcome to
Lesbian Zombies Are Taking Over the World

A serialized story updated 1-2 times per week.

Two weeks ago, Rachel was a waitress in a coffee shop in New York City. She doesn't remember anything in her waking life before that. In her dreams, she remembers a lot longer, but she also spends time in Hell in her dreams. And her Octopus wants her to take over the world.

The story is told in parts:

Rachel wakes up one day to realize that she doesn't know anything about her life. On the advice of her octopus, she walks south and meets Brigitte. And the revenants.

Running from the Revenants, Rachel wakes up in Hell and seeks help from a Valkyrie.

With Mr. Damned Soul tagging along, Rachel and Brigitte goes where Doc tells them to go.

Part Three: Heading East

The Dog Sicced The Cops On Us.

I'm not sure how most people go from sleep to waking. Judging by Brigitte, who's the only person I've seen waking up since I can remember, it's kind of a gradual thing. I see her waking up, slowly, and I envy her. I can lean over and run my fingers from the base of her neck, along her lovely bare back down the whole spine, barely touching her, and finish up just above the crack of her butt, resting my index finger lightly just at the spot where the cheek begin to separate, and watch her slowly wake up.

First there's a little shiver she gives. I feel her skin get all goose-bumpy.

Then she murmurs. Something, usually, like Ohmmm.

Then her butt tenses up and I feel her fleshy cheeks rub against my fingertip.

She murmurs again.

Then she wiggles and I know she's almost back. She wiggles just a little and I press into her.

Then she rolls over and presses her lips against mine.

I don't wake up like that.

I've watched her do that all six times I've watched her wake up. That's how I've woken her up each of the six times I've woken before her, twice on naps and four times in the morning. I hope I can watch her wake up at least 29,200 more times and count them all and have them all be more or less like that and more or less like they've always been, feeling her smooth skin and the sunlight coming in through the window of the apartment over the restaurant where she worked, dust motes twirling in the sky, the sheets soft and smelling like sweat and us as they twist around our legs. The soft sounds of silverware and plates drifting up from below.

I wish I woke up like that. I usually, though, wake up more suddenly. Like this time. I woke up suddenly, to feel the rush of wind around me, hearing police sirens below, and feeling the wind get knocked out of me as the soul of the man that was clinging to me in the waterspout flopped onto me, all stinking and wet and shrieking louder even than the police sirens I could hear.

I couldn't breath as that guy flopped on me and kept trying to grab at me. All I could see was his wild eyes and all I could feel was his dead, stinking wet weight and all I could smell was his damned breath and fetid odor like rotten cottage cheese and almost all I could hear was his shrieking which would not stop. But on top of that I could hear Brigitte say "What is that?" but she didn't sound scared, she's so great. And I heard Doc make kind of an alarmed series of beeps. And I heard those sirens.

I was back. I struggled to get Mr. Damned Soul off of me and pushed at him. I saw Doc float down near me and hold up a tentacle, maybe to zap him, but Brigitte said "No, he's touching her, it'll hurt her, too," and Doc floated back, and then Brigitte reached down and I saw her face and her hands and she was grabbing at Mr. Damned Soul and pulled him off me. Together, we shoved him into the corner of this little cubicle we were in and then Doc did his zapping thing and the guy stopped and went down.

I looked around. No Ivanka, no horse. I felt my head. The hair was not pulled out. I did not feel acid-burned like I had a moment before. I was in a little sort of wooden box with slats and seats and could feel the wind rushing. There were the police sirens.

"You're awake," said Brigitte, cradling my head against her cheek.

"What happened?" I asked. I was trying to catch my breath and didn't want to. Mr. Damned Soul really stunk. I wondered if he was an actual corpse.

"You were just lying there and suddenly you opened your eyes and that guy appeared out of nowhere and flopped onto you."

"Where are we?"

"Daddy's dirigible. We got you loaded on it and took off. Rex wouldn't stop going crazy."

"What's the sirens?"

Brigitte pointed. I looked out one of the slats, which I realized served as windows on the gondola below the dirigible. There was a police dirigible, about a half-mile back.

"Rex called the police on us," Brigitte said.