The Power Wagon

I worked on the 1945 power wagon. A new diesel engine, transmission, and some special electronics that make it impossible for anyone other than me to drive the beast. This truck is going to be big and powerful. With six tires, two in the front and four in the rear on two axles, it looked impressive.

Tired

The streets would have to get by on their own tonight. After working all day and patrolling the streets after dark over the previous fortnight, it had finally caught up with me. I need sleep.

Bubba's Bar and Grill

It was two in the morning in the city I protect. I had already broken up seven muggings, two beatings, and pulled mad pit-bull off its master. The later had me fighting both the pit-bull and its master, after he felt I was too rough with his pouch. Being punched and bit by both dog and master, I walked away, only to hear the master screaming for me to help get his dog off him once again. I kept walking.

I was hungry. I removed my Mirrorman garb and stepped in to an all night diner, ?Bubba?s bar and grill.? The bar part was closed, I rarely drank so that didn?t matter, but tonight of all nights I could have used a single malt straight. Instead, I settled for a big Bubba burger no cheese or mayo and water. Bubba?s was on Main street in Huntington Beach, near the coast and far enough away from the zombie zone that I could relax. Bubba wasn?t in, but the late night cook and waitress were. She had jet black hair, pulled up like and puffed up like the pin up model Betty Page. Her unhealthily skinny body spoke of drugs, but I knew Maggie and drugs were not her vice, she was anorexic. Chuck the cook was big and burly, a remnant from Americas past he was a living breathing piece of nostalgia, complete with a scarcity of tattoos picked up at tropic ports of call during his service in the Navy.

Generally it was quiet here, and by that I mean crime was rare, but every since the dregs of society were forced to leave the zombie zone, crime had gone up in what was once low crime areas. Even the movie stars weren?t safe, several had been attacked, and many were now seen escorted by armed bodyguards. It was only a mater of time, before they chose to leave the state. I couldn?t blame them, if people have the means I would encourage them to leave. I was going to stay around, I wanted to see the zombie zone given back to normal humans. But how? I didn?t have the answer to that and neither did Maggie. She was disgusted that the zombies were given free reign of the area, and she freely voiced her opinion every time I walked in.

I tried to explain to her the root of the problem was with the government and their policies. But she wouldn?t believe it, she had been an Obazy supporter and was loath to accept that she had made a poor decision. But now as bits and pieces of America were given away to the zombies and more and more money and rights were being stolen from the citizens she was slowly waking up to the fact. I hoped her and her kind woke up to the fact before they ended up on the dinner table of a zombie horde.

L. A. is dying

My city has a tumor in its heart, a cancer that is threatening to destroy the host, destroy the state, destroy America.

The government, more so, the members of congress in their infantile wisdom have handed over a large portion of Los Angeles to the Zombies. It has been named the zombie zone by elected officials and zombie homeland by the degenerate half dead monsters that infest it. Explained to the public as a way of reaching across the aisle and finding common ground on which to base human zombie relations, the zombie zone is a huge blow to humans. With one sinuous line of the governor?s pen, and the president Obazy smiling over his shoulder, a large swath of Los Angeles was given over to the zombies. The creatures flooded the area within days, and the humans that failed to leave beforehand were as cattle at the slaughter. Some humans remained behind to fight for their property, given away by the government without their consent or recompense; others did not have any means to leave, or anywhere to go. The feeding frenzy of the zombies was and orgy of screams heard all around the perimeter of the zone, yet most of America sat secure in their homes, blissfully ignorant of the happenings in the heart of L.A., denying that it could ever happen to them.

Some citizens learned of what was happening, and in their outrage they went to their representatives in congress begged and demanded that something be done to help those trapped in the zombie zone. Their pleas were ignored. Other citizens begged for congress to send in the National Guard, and once again, congress remained resolutely silent.

Within days, the zombie zone was declared human free, eradicated as if they were offending vermin. Some few humans clung to life and learned how to survive and fight in the zone. However, they were seriously outnumbered and lacked much to defend against the walking dead.

I could not sit by any watch this horror without attempting to help, so I snuck in to the zone.

Throughout my career as a costumed crime fighter, I haunted the night and protected those that ventured into that world. But night in the zombie zone was death for a normal human, so I explored the zone during the day, avoiding darkened areas, as I quickly learned this is where the zombies rested and would awaken at the lest amount of noise. I found that most zombies stayed in large groups and hunted as if in packs. But some, for what reason I cannot fathom, chose to be by themselves. It was one of these monsters I came across, and learned how to tune my fantastic goggle to read what I could from their near black soul. It was from this beast I learned what it took to kill a zombie.

After my foray into the zone, I realized I would need a better mode of transportation than walking on foot. I went home and bought a 1945 Dodge power wagon and began making some modifications.

I am the Mirrorman, I protect humans, I protect good citizens, and I hunt zombies. Your doom or triumph will be at your own hand.