The Zee Brothers Vol.1 & 2 Box Set [Zombie Exterminators] Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Want a Free Story?

  Book 1 - Curse of the Zombie Omelet

  Part I - Mr. Pembleton

  Part II - The Zee Brothers

  Part III - Winter Oaks

  Part IV - Zombie Omelet

  Part V - Spleen Soup

  Part VI - The Hembrooks

  Part VII - The Ego and The Amulet

  Part VIII - Out of the Frying Pan

  Part IX - Escape From Lancaster Street

  Part X - Shibari

  Part XI - Winter Oaks Reclamation Department

  Part XII - Tag You're It

  Part XIII - Once Bitten

  Part XIV - And Chocolate

  Part XV - Xanadu's Story

  Part XVI - Lost & Found

  Part XVII - Leftover Larry

  Book 2 - Zombie School Lockdown

  Part I - Tombie

  Part II - The Zee Brothers

  Part III - Savini Charter School

  Part IV - Kick Ball

  Part V - The Lunch Lady Special

  Part VI - Nantucket

  Part VII - Musical Chairs

  Part VIII - Dirty Laundry

  Pink IX - Pink Slime

  Part X - Weird Science

  Part XI - Queue in the Loo

  Part XII - Zombie Swirly

  Part XIII - Eyeball Bomb

  Part XIV - Judas Loves Bobbie

  Part XV - Bye Bye Bobbie

  Part XVI - Of Boys, Men & Dogs

  Part XVII - Farmhouse Fresh

  Part XVIII - The Farming Dead

  Part XIX - Pots & Pans

  Part XX - Toxic Relationships

  Free Bonus Story - Pests B' Gone

  Part I - Training Day

  Part II - Chesterfield Manor

  Part III - Pantry Panic

  Part IV - Pests B' Gone, Gone

  Dear Reader

  The Undead Worlds Anthology

  Free Zee Brothers Short Story

  Zee Brothers Prank Call Promo

  About The Author

  More From Grivante Press

  Bonus Sample Story from MASHED : The Culinary Delights of Twisted Erotic Horror

  MASHED: The Wrath of the Buttery Bastard-Taters

  Want More Zombies?

  THE ZEE BROTHERS:

  CURSE OF THE ZOMBIE OMELET

  & ZOMBIE SCHOOL LOCKDOWN

  Zombie Exterminators Vol.1 & 2

  + Pests B’ Gone Bonus Story

  Written By Grivante

  Illustrated By Elbert Lim

  Edited By Katy Light

  Published by

  Copyright © 2017 Grivante

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:1-62676-019-5

  ISBN-978-1-62676-019-6

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.

  Visit us online at www.grivantepress.com

  Dedication:

  Book 1 is dedicated to a dear and departed friend, Donavon. Had he been here to read it, I hope he would’ve enjoyed it.

  Book 2 is dedicated to you the fans because without you, there would be no book 2, thank you!

  Want to try out The Zee Brothers?

  Get The Zee Brothers: Revenge of the Zombie Yeti short story for free,

  Just visit http://zx.grivantepress.com

  Come give us a like on Facebook at

  facebook.com/thezombieexterminators

  Or check out our website at www.thezeebrothers.com

  Book 1 - Curse of the Zombie Omelet

  Part I - Mr. Pembleton

  “I’m sorry sir, it doesn’t appear to be a rodent problem.”

  “What do you mean? Not rodents? All that scratching and scurrying all night long? What type of bugs can be making that kind of racket?”

  The man from the pest control company looked down and rubbed his name tag, which read ‘Burt’, with his right hand. “Sir, do you know if this area may have once been home to a graveyard?”

  Mr. Pembleton’s brow furrowed. What kind of question was that? “Well, yeah, this whole area was once Pakatini tribal lands. My neighbor Shirley told me there are small family buried plots all over. Just last week, the Hembrooks over on Lancaster, dug up a pile of bones and some kind of am-let thingy. They threw it all out in the trash. Bones in their back yard. Can you believe it?”

  Mr. Pembleton stopped there, a sparkle of realization dawning. “Wait, are you trying to tell me there are bones down there and a dog or some feral cat got in ‘em?”

  Burt’s eyes widened at that. “Um, no Sir. From the way the earth is disturbed and the scratch marks on the floor joists and foundation, I would say you have a zombie infestation.”

  Mr. Pembleton blinked twice. He rubbed his grey and black whiskered jaw and adjusted his false teeth, then asked, “How much is that gonna cost?”

  “I don’t know Sir, we don’t handle zombies. We only make living things dead, not, um, dead things dead.”

  “Who does then?”

  Burt, sweating a little from his brow, broke his stance and started checking his pockets. “We, uh, technically aren’t supposed to recommend anyone, but, um, there are these brothers. They have a little side business and I’ve got their card here somewhere. With the apocalypse coming there’s been more and more of a need for their services.” He was now flipping through his wallet, his pockets having revealed nothing but lint and old cough drop wrappers. He ate them constantly to keep the smell of the poisons he used from making his nose itch.

  “Which apocalypse is that? Was it that Nostradumbass fella again? He predicted Hitler and the Obamanation of our country, or wait, I saw one on TV the other day that said George Clooney was the anti-Christ and if he sees his reflection in the mirror at the Vatican—”

  “Ah,” Burt pulled a tattered business card from his wallet and thrust it at Mr. Pembleton, interrupting his rant. “Here you go!”

  Burt made his way to the door.

  Mr. Pembleton looked up from the card. “Are these guys any good?”

  Burt’s hand was on the front door knob. “Well, I don’t know, Sir. No one I’ve given their card to has ever called to tell me, I just know they’re a bit... different.” He twisted the knob and swung the door open.

  Mr. Pembleton opened his mouth to speak but Burt spoke first.

  “Best of luck Mr. P., no charge for the inspection. Have a Pest Free Day!”

  Slam!

  Burt scurried down the drive, popping a cough drop into his mouth and breathing in the sweet menthol, never hearing, but knowing exactly what Mr. Pembleton had wanted to ask: “What do you mean, different?”

  Inside, Mr. Pembleton’s eyes drifted back to the card. He shambled off to find his phone, muttering under his breath. “Different, huh? This better not cost too much.”

  Part II - The Zee Brothers

  Ring!

  “Zee Brothers!” a male voice answered. “How can we help you?”

  “Uh, yes, is Jenny available?”

  Laughter erupted from the other end so loud that even though Mr. Pembleton’s hearing wasn’t the best, he had to hold the phone away from his ear until it died down.

  “This is Judas, Owner, How—, OW!”

  There was a clambering and clamoring on the other end for a moment, then a different voice came back on the phone. “This is Jonah, Owner of Zee Brothers, Zombie Exterminators. How can I help you?”

  “My name is Larry Pembleton. I live at 547 Westerly Drive, the pest c
ontrol man just left and he gave me your card. He thinks I might have a zombie infestation.”

  “Mhm,” the voice on the other end responded. “Just a minute, Mr. Pembleton.”

  For a moment all Mr. Pembleton could hear were muffled voices as it sounded like someone had placed their hand over the receiver.

  “Sir,” the second voice came back on the line, “Ok, what else can you tell me?”

  “Well, Burt asked if the house was built over any kind of cemetery.”

  “And is it?”

  “Well, yes, yes, it is. Most of this development was built over the old Pakatini Reservation for the new county dump and our fabulous gated community of Winter Oaks. Progress, you know. The Pakatinis all died off years ago.”

  “And you said Burt? From Pests B’ Gone?”

  “Yeah, that’s what his tag said.” Mr. Pembleton was getting annoyed. “Look mister, how much is this going to cost?”

  “Mr. Pembleton, I need you to listen really closely to me. The infestation, is it in the crawl space under your house?”

  “Why, does that cost extra?”

  “No. Look, it’s almost sundown. I need you to go and make sure that Burt closed and locked the cover to your crawl space.”

  “Alright, alright,” Mr. Pembleton grumbled as he got up out of his chair. “But seriously, how much is this going to cost me?” He shuffled off down the hall to the closet.

  Behind the closed door, the hatch to the crawlspace was indeed open. A skeletal hand of bone and decayed flesh fumbled around, looking for leverage to lift itself.

  “We’ll talk price in a minute Mr. Pembleton. Let’s just make sure that thing is locked up tight for now. These native zombie types generally only rise after sundown and they’re usually searching for, or upset about, something. Can you tell me if you’ve been doing any yard work lately and maybe disturbed some bones?”

  Mr. Pembleton came to a stop just outside the closet door. “Now listen here, mister. I don’t know what kind of negotiation tactics you’re playing at, but all these games ain’t gonna make me do anything more till you give me a price! And I ain’t done no landscaping, it was the Hembrooks over on Lancaster. If they were the ones that caused this, then they the ones that need to be paying for it! I don’t care if he’s president of the Homeowners’ Association and what not!!” Mr Pembleton was full on shouting now, his hand resting on the knob and he pulled the door open.

  “I keep my grass cut, just like it says in our covenants and if he up and disturbed some kind of zombie omelet he’s gonna pay!”

  “Zombie omelet?” Jonah asked.

  “Ahhhhh!”

  Mr. Pembleton fell over backwards, more in fright then from the weight of the small frame lunging at him. The phone fell from his grasp and his screams were soon replaced by the rending of flesh and gurgling of blood.

  Then a low guttural moan, “Ommmmllet.”

  His brother raised his eyebrows as he watched him. “Well? We got a customer or not?”

  Jonah sighed, his lips flapping as he did so. “No, I’m pretty sure he just died.”

  “What!? I knew you shoulda let me talk to him!” Judas’s head bounced with each word, spit flying.

  Jonah glared at his brother. “Burt left the crawl space open when he left.”

  “Burt from Pests B’ Gone?”

  “Yeah. That Burt.”

  “Well, shit. What we gonna do now, Jonah?”

  Jonah shook his head, “Load up Sasha. We’re gonna have to go clean this up before it gets outta hand.”

  Judas stood, grabbing a shotgun from the couch next to him. “Wait a minute. What was that about a zombie omelet? Did that guy have some sort of weird cannibal fetish?”

  Jonah shrugged. “I’ve no idea, but don’t forget to feed Fido before we go.”

  Part III - Winter Oaks

  Sasha, the brothers’ 1950s Chevy pick-up truck, tooled down the road, a small stream of smoke puffing from Jonah’s open window as he dragged and released on his pipe. On the other side of the bench seat, past the giant 8-ball gear shifter, Judas sat with his own window down, lip bulging and his door covered in dark gooey strands of tobacco spit. The engine rumbled like gentle thunder behind the sounds of Jonah’s classical music CD.

  Spit! “Really, Jonah, didn’t we listen to this last time?”

  Jonah puffed away on his pipe that he held in his three fingered left hand, the gear shift in his right and his knee guiding the wheel. He said nothing.

  Judas slipped his hand along the dash toward the eject button. Before he could depress it, Jonah’s hand flew off the vibrating shifter and smashed his brother’s hand against the dash. “Driver’s choice!”

  “Ow!” Judas let out a scream as his brother pressed harder into his hand, illustrating the point. “But you always drive!” Brown spittle oozed into the whiskers on his chin.

  “You haven’t passed your driving test.”

  “Well that thing ain’t fair. It’s got all them choices to make and signs to memorize.”

  Jonah raised his left hand, the pipe pinched between his thumb and pointer finger, wiggling his middle finger and the two tiny stumps where his index and pinky used to be. “Life ain’t fair, Judas.”

  Judas pulled his hand away and sulked. They drove in silence for a few minutes. “Are we there yet?” Judas asked.

  “No. We had to go around, there was some sort of taco truck accident on the highway between Winter Oaks and the new dump, grease all over the road.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “It was on the news before we left.”

  “Hmph.” Judas slunk down in his seat, rubbing the palm of his left hand. “That hurt, Jonah.”

  Jonah turned and glared at his younger brother. “Well, so did this!” He waved the two stumps on his left hand at Judas and then shoved his pipe halfway into his mouth but, feeling stubborn, he left it there as they turned onto the road leading up to Winter Oaks.

  They pulled to a stop just before the large metal gate which closed off the elitist community of Winter Oaks from the rest of the world. The gate was black iron with large spikes at the top and a stand of metal trees that met at the middle above the words, ‘Winter Oaks’.

  Aside from a number of small pedestrian entry gates that dotted the brick and mortar barrier around the community, this was the only real entrance.

  “How we gonna get in there, Jonah?”

  Jonah looked down at the little keypad outside his window, set his pipe on the seat next to him and reached over and typed in the numbers 0420. Nothing happened.

  “Hmm.” He sat, thought for a moment and then typed in four more numbers. Still nothing.

  “Jonah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you try 0420?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t work?”

  Jonah turned to look at Judas. He looked at the closed gate, then back at his brother and raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh. Right.” Judas turned his head and looked out the window, slipping a finger in his lip and clearing out the black chunks of chew and tossing them on the pavement. His lip continued to stick out even when empty.

  Jonah kept punching four digit combinations into the box to no avail.

  “Jonah?”

  “Yes, Judas, I tried our birth year too.”

  “No, Jonah, look over there.” Judas pointed out the window and through the gate to a yard a couple of blocks up the road.

  Jonah leaned forward, his left arm still dangling out the window. There was a shadowy shape moving slowly across the yard of a cookie cutter ranch house. “Shit.”

  “We gotta get in there Jonah, they could be everywhere.” He slipped a new fat wad of chewing tobacco into his lip and lifted the shotgun off his lap.

  Jonah turned back to the box and screamed as a cold hand wrapped around his dangling arm. The woman standing there let go and jumped away, tripping over the leash of the small dog at her feet. She stumbled backward until her startled mome
ntum carried her ass over tea kettle onto a small grassy knoll, next to the brick wall.

  “Oh shit, oh shit!” Judas, having only heard his brother scream and then seen the flailing body fall away, scrambled. Swinging the shotgun up, he smacked himself in the face with the barrel, knocking the fresh wad of chewing tobacco free and down his throat.

  Jonah jettisoned himself from the truck and rushed to offer the woman a hand. “Are you alright, miss?”

  The woman’s shiny strawberry-blonde hair covered her face, she blew it up and out of the way as she leaned forward and giggled.

  Jonah’s mouth fell open and his heart pounded. He self-consciously stuck his three fingered left hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

  Judas, meanwhile, coughing and spitting tobacco from his mouth, got out of the truck, shotgun in hand and made his way around the back. He too stopped short, heart pounding, when he saw the beautiful woman lying on the ground. “Sasha!” He shouted, then his face turned green and he doubled over to his knees. “Ughhh.”

  The woman looked at the enamored faces of the brothers as her giggling died down and she was over-run by her dog’s yelping bark. “Shh pup,” she said, then her face wrinkled as Judas began to vomit. “Oh my.”

  Jonah stretched out his right arm, offering his good hand. “May I help you up? Please.”

  She glanced at his hand and took it, then turned back to look at Judas. “Why did he call me Sasha and then throw up all over the place?”

  Jonah pulled her up from the ground. As she came to her feet, she stumbled, a little lightheaded and he pulled his other hand free to steady her. She saw his hand and grabbed it with her own hand, examining the missing fingers.

  “Oh no, what happened?”

  He pulled his hand away, but her grip held firm and he ended up pulling her into an almost full embrace against his chest. “It was an on-the-job accident,” he said, standing tall and trying to regain his composure.

  He stepped out of the embrace and answered her other questions. “He called you Sasha, because you look exactly like the Russian supermodel, Sasha Borinvisky. We have her calendar on the wall of our garage. I have no idea why that made him throw up.” He turned away from her and stepped toward his younger brother.