Once upon a time in a land not far from here, in a regular American state, in a regular American town, in a regular American suburban neighborhood, a group of regular American kids were playing the regular American game of cricket in the neighborhood park. Careless childhood screams echoed through the late golden afternoon as the hot sun beat sweat out of the young children. Big “Babe” Christianson stepped up to the plate and pointed her bat to the far fence.

“Uh-oh,” thought the right-fieldsman Abercrombie. The pitcher nodded to the catcher and changed his grip on the ball in his hand. He reeled his arm back for the pitch, and with a jerk of his body let the ball fly out of his hand at an incredible speed. The ball cut through the air like a bird being sucked through the engine turbine of a large airplane, and Big “Babe” Christianson moved her whole body into the swing. A loud crack was heard as the bat relentlessly hammered the ball into the rotisserie-baked afternoon sky. Abercrombie followed the ball with his head, planning its trajectory to be slightly to the right of him.

“Oh no, I’m going to have to catch this one,” he thought to himself. Not being the best player on the field, indeed being kind of pale, awkward and lanky, Abercrombie stumbled a few steps to his right and stuck his arm up above his head. Shutting his eyes, his whole world warped into concentration, hoping the ball would somehow land in his glove.

Suddenly, however, his concentration was broken by a sound in the distance. It was the most terrible sound he had ever heard, like someone playing Foreigner extremely loud.

“God I hate Foreigner,” thought the pitcher BWC. Just as he thought this, everything became darker, dimmer, as if a giant rain cloud had just moved in front of the sun. All the children let out quiet moans at the prospect of rain. But as they all turned to see the rain clouds coming, they were surprised by the largest, blackest rain cloud they had ever seen. As far as their vision stretched, nothing but unbroken blackness covered the sky. It was moving past them at remarkable speed, beginning to cover the other side of the sky.

“How did I not see that?” said the batboy Colin.

Slowly, BWC came to the realization that something was not right with this particular rain cloud. It almost seemed to be moving within itself, as if tiny black hands kept reaching out of the cloud and then retracting. At that moment, something swooped down from the sky and pecked Colin’s eye out. “A bat!” thought BWC. “Why, that’s no rain cloud at all,” BWC said aloud. “It’s a BAT-CLOUD!”

Almost immediately after coming to this realization, killer bats began swooping down from the sky attacking the children. If you don’t think this is scary, obviously a bat has never attacked you.

“Oh no!” kids started yelling as they fell on the ground crying. All the kids except BWC, that is. His parents had prepared him for this. Packing up his things, he began running off of the field toward his home. He passed other players who were dropping like sacks of dirt to the ground as the bats attacked their little eyes, blinding them. As he ran past Big “Babe” Christianson, she called out his name, and he didn’t have the heart to leave her. He picked her up and put her in his sports bag with his baseball gear.
The run home was not easy. Every step was difficult as BWC trudged through the onslaught of bats. The little bats resisted his every movement, as if he were trying to run at the bottom of a pool or pass a federal law raising minimum wage. Eventually he made it, however, and found his parents in the living room watching Star Trek.
“Mom, Dad, don’t you realize what is happening?!” he yelled as he switched it to the news. Having no idea what was happening, they responded “No.”

“Giant killer bats are taking over the world, which is bad for everyone except the zombies, who think now might be a good time to come out because no one will notice,” BWC exclaimed to them as he pointed to the TV. On the news there was a diagram of the world laid out with giant pictures of bats over certain areas of different countries, indicating where the bats were attacking.

“Oh, no, that’s terrible,” cried BWC’s mom. Just then a bat broke through one of the windows in the living room and fluttered into the house, going for the necks of all inside. The whole family screamed, but BWC picked up a piece of the broken glass and stabbed the bat in the belly. It dropped straight to the floor and bled all over the new rug.

“What ever are we going to do?” cried Big “Babe” Christianson, who had unzipped herself from the duffel bag and joined the family. “Giant killer bats are attacking everyone, darkening the day-time sky!”

A group of survivors from the neighborhood, including little one-eyed Colin, opened the front door of BWC’s house and ran inside for sanctuary. “We’re the last survivors from the neighborhood,” they said, oddly in unison. “We need to form a plan.”
“Let’s move into the battle-bridge,” said BWC as they all followed him down the hall. Taking a right, the entered a large room, roughly the size of a warehouse with a sign on it that said “War Room”. The only light came from computer monitors and incandescent displays at various terminals scattered throughout the room. Chatter could be heard among different groups of tactical and battle officers, discussing plans at their various stations. Perhaps most impressive was the large screen on the far wall, displaying various images of bats and zombies from across the globe. A man in a blue dress shirt and a tie approached the group and attacked them, eating their brains. BWC cut off his head and then another man in a blue dress shirt and a tie approached them.

“Good to see you, BWC,” said the man. “Good to see you, too, Mr. Hruska,” BWC responded. “What’ve you got for me?”

“The President wants to speak to you.”

“Patch him through to the main viewer.”

After a couple seconds of static, the President’s face appeared before them on the large screen on the far wall. “Hello, BWC,” said the President.

“Hello, Mr. President, what can I do for you?” responded BWC.

“Well, as I’m sure you know, bats are attacking people.”
“Yes, I know.”

“Well, we think this may be the latest weapon deployment from Iraq, intended to hurt American civilians,” said the President angrily.

“No, that’s not true,” said BWC. “Remember, Iraq was required to disarm all of its bats in the early 90s. UN sanctions don’t allow them to have bats.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” said the President. “Nevertheless, the bats must be stopped,” he continued.

“I’m already on it, sir. We’ll have this little problem cleaned up before long,” BWC said confidently. “BWC over and out.”

BWC then got in his B-2 Stealth Bomber and flew around the world, launching anti-bat weapons. Bats were killed but BWC cried at the humanity of it all. “C’est la vie,” he told himself, wiping tears from his eyes. He killed lots of bats all through the night, only suffering minimal damage to his B-2 Stealth Bomber. He fired lots of guns and missiles at them, really whooping their butts. Those bat jerks kept coming, but he followed them to their source—a giant cave in South America.

When BWC flew his B-2 Stealth Bomber into the cave, he found the giant Queen Bat waiting for him, ready to fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Queen Bat,” BWC said “You’re really running me amok,” he continued. He smirked as he fired his ICBM missiles at her, but when the smoke cleared he was astonished to see that they had no effect on the Queen Bat. She struck his bomber with her huge winged arms, and the aircraft went into a nose-dive. BWC hit the eject button, and landed on his feet in front of the Bat.

She towered over him several hundred feet. With each war-cry shriek she let out, BWC’s eardrums were shattered. But he knew this one was for all the marbles. The Queen Bat beat the hell out of BWC and knocked him to the floor. Then he got up and knocked her to the floor. She was being such a jackoff.

BWC made a fist and pulled his arm back and punched her in the face. She exploded and BWC knew he had won this round. He went home to the cheers of his comrades as they all thanked him.

“It’s all in a day’s work,” he said, taking Big “Babe” Christianson in his arms and kissing her passionately. Confetti fell and trumpets sounded as everyone cheered for BWC. The sun shone again on the regular American town, and everyone was there to celebrate. Right-fielding Abercrombie, Mr. Hruska, Mrs. Bergeron. Even little one-eyed Colin was there.

Then suddenly a dead zombie man came and ate Colin’s head.