Valley of Death & Zombies

by William Bebb

  “Nice club, Tarzan. Where are you going now?” Issac asked, looking up.

  “I'm not done checking. A club is a great weapon, but I'd rather find a shotgun or something.” Jeremiah said, knocking spider webs out of his way as he went slowly down the hallway to the back of the trailer. The floor felt soft and creaked loudly as he walked.

  “Be careful.” Issac said, from the living room.

  “Yes mother.” Jeremiah said, opening the first door on the left. He shined his light into the bathroom and walked in. The water faucets turned when he tried them, but nothing came out. There were dead roaches scattered around the floor and a skeleton of what looked like a rat near the toilet. The bathtub was empty, except for two plastic bottles of bubble bath and an old scrub brush.

  The next room down the hall, took his breath away. It had obviously been a kid's room, from the look of the posters hung on the walls and the race car shaped bed. But it was the type and number of dusty toys that made his eyes widen in disbelief. A plastic three foot long Millennium Falcon spaceship from Star Wars, sat on a table in the corner of the room. Unable to resist, he walked over and stared at the dozens of plastic action figures scattered around the ship. It looked like the kid had almost a complete collection and he shook his head trying to imagine why he would have left it all here in a rotting trailer.

  Jeremiah knew people who would pay good money for this kind of stuff and reached down to pick up a Darth Vader action figure. He stared in fascination as he saw it had a telescoping light saber that retracted into his arm. Having never seen one like it before he came close to putting it in his backpack and then shook his head and put it back where he'd found it before walking back to the door to the hall. He glanced back as he closed the door thinking, Maybe when everything is back to normal, I could come back and rescue the toys. Or would it be stealing, he wondered, as he approached the last door.

  It was locked. Opening his backpack he looked for a screwdriver small enough to fit through the hole in the doorknob, and grunted in disgust when nothing he had was small enough to fit. The door seemed like one of those cheap hollow core types and he knew knocking it down would be easy, but his conscience was bothering him. It's bad enough we trespassed in here, but now I want to smash in a door to see if there's something I can steal. He thought, returning the tools in his backpack. However, before he could turn around and go back to the living room several distant screams echoed outside in the dark.

  God forgive me, he thought while turning and kicking in the door. There was a brief crack sound as the flimsy lock broke and the door swung open. Walking in, the first thing he noticed was the skeleton on the bed, but a close second was the neon red hair the on top of it's head. The badly deteriorated curtains fluttered in the breeze, from the open windows, and he was careful to keep from shining the flashlight any wider than needed. He went to the bed and saw a piece of paper clutched in the skeletal fingers of the body and curiosity got the better of him. The paper was brittle from years of exposure to the heat, yet at least he understood why the kid had left all his toys. The letter was an official notification from New Mexico's Children Welfare Department, dated January 1986.

  Feeling like the worst kind of intruder, he read the letter which announced that due to a wide variety of reasons her son would be removed from the home and placed in foster care until the mother could prove to the court that several problems had been remedied. Not the least of which was her drug problems with Heroin. He saw the glass vials on the nightstand, the needles, and the skeletal arm that had been holding the piece of paper had a skinny rubber hose wrapped lightly around the bones. The red hair was just a wig he noted as he was unable to help, but feel bad for this family in general and the drug addicted mother in particular. He went to the closet and found a sheet, that wasn't too rotten with age, and spread it over the skeleton.

  The only other thing he found in the closet was a toy plastic guitar with one string. He left it and wandered back to the living room feeling like he wanted to cry.

  “You know what I think this is?” Jeremiah asked, as he sat down on the wooden console TV.

  “Don't say the rapture, please just don't do it. I'm tired of arguing about it and what does it matter anyway. We're going to die here. And as if that were bad enough I bet we won't even get to rest in peace. You've had plenty of time to come to grips with this situation. It's a zombie apocalypse.”

  “I wasn't going to say the rapture. You always do that. You always try to guess what I'm thinking and it's really annoying.” Jeremiah said, looking out the trailers front window.

  “Well, if I'm that annoying, feel free to go trailer shopping and find your own place. Send me a postcard when you get settled in. Wish I could help with the moving only between my bad back and the chance of getting eaten by zombies I think I'll just sit here.” Issac said, reclining on the beanbag chair that had a big tear in its side making more little white pellets spill out each time he moved.

  Jeremiah looked at his friend while shaking his head. “I was going to say I think this is a test. A test of our faith. Think about it for a second. We're both supposed to be men of God. We travel the country preaching the good news. But outside this trailer the handiwork of the devil himself howls and walks on shambling legs. We either believe in God and put our trust in him or we hide in here like cowards.” Jeremiah said, holding the wooden kitchen table leg he had found.

  “A test of faith?” Issac asked, looking doubtful. “So what are we supposed to do? Go outside and bash in their heads for God? Come on Jeremiah please be serious. If we go out there while those things are on the prowl you must know what will happen to us.”

  “Let me ask you this Issac. Do you see anything Godly about these creatures out there? Do you think a zombie can be born again? They are walking abominations. For God’s sake they can't be saved. But there might just be people living around here in need of help. Did you ever consider that? What if just a few trailers away a group of children were trapped, terrified, and praying that someone would come save them, yet we decided to hide in here. Who was it who just a few hours ago reminded me of the good Samaritan story?!” Jeremiah asked, while his voice rose from a near whisper to an almost shout at the end.

  Issac whispered “Shush, calm down and be quiet. I agree with what you're saying so just calm down, and be quiet. Let's think this thing through. I haven't seen any sign of other living people, have you? Of course not, we're alone in this nightmare. If we just play it safe and wait for the cops to come we'll both be okay.”

  “You can hide and think and if you come up with a plan fine, please tell me what it is. Me? I'm going to be doing some serious praying. And this might shock you Issac, but I won't be praying for the cops or the army to come rescue us. I'm going to be praying for a sign. Some message from God that we can be his servants to overcome these undead terrors of the night.” Jeremiah said, then sat down with his back to the wall and bowed his head in prayer.

  Issac thought for a long time. He looked at his wristwatch, to make certain was still working, and reluctantly had to agree with his friend. Thinking alone would not help them. He knelt his head in prayer and began by asking God to care for Daphne, the lady they had both managed to anger without intending to. He then gave thanks that they were both alive. Then he prayed hard- harder than he ever before in his life. Not our will be done Lord, but yours. Grant us a sign, oh Lord, so we may know and do your wishes.

  CHAPTER 7

  Maria swore as she leaned under the hood of Mrs. Remlap’s dark green 1975 Chevy Nova. Her white peasant blouse and blue jeans were smudged with patches of grease and oil as she continued to pull on the wrench, while sweat trickled down her skin. Her long dark hair was tied in a ponytail and she wore a red and white checkered bandana around her sweaty forehead as she worked. The two car garage itself was quite large, yet all the cardboard boxes and crates made her feel a little claustrophobic. There was a washer and dryer by the steps that led into the kitchen. An old wood panel,
late 1960's, Caprice Station Wagon was covered with all manner of junk and a thick layer of dust next to the Nova.

  The walls were decorated with a Hodgepodge of just about everything imaginable- Bamboo fishing poles, dozens of expired license plates, and a few old tires with no tread hung from large iron hooks. The tires had undoubtedly been circular at one time, however they had hung so long that they were more egg shaped than round now. There were hundreds of fly strips hung, like some crazy persons idea of party streamers, from the ceiling. The grim faced General Douglas MacArthur stared down from a large painting behind the workbench that was covered in dozens of mason jars filled with every kind of nut, bolt, and screw imaginable. Two Coleman lanterns gave off the only light as she worked under the car’s hood.

  “My Henry was a great mechanic, God Bless his soul.” Mrs. Remlap said, while reclining on an aluminum lounge chair next to the washing machine. Sipping from a tall glass of lemonade she looked around the garage. She was wearing a blue housecoat and fuzzy blue slippers that had bunny faces on the front. Staring up through the old windows, up along the ceiling of the garage, she saw the bright stars twinkling in the sky. She wondered if there was some way to get them open and maybe catch a breeze.

  Clucking her tongue she looked at her wristwatch, “Young lady, you've been fooling around long enough under my Henry's car. If you haven't gotten it started after twelve hours of playing mechanic you never will. I cannot believe it’s still this hot, and here it's almost midnight.” The old lady said, as she continued looking up at the stars through the window. “I really should clean those windows, they're absolutely filthy. Oh, how I wish he were still alive. It was just a year ago when I found him out here sitting in that very car you're fooling around with. Poor Henry, it was such a silly way for him to die. He had been working on the Nova and had forgotten to open the garage doors and the exhaust fumes accidentally killed him.”

  She had raised Hell with the officials who said it was suicide. Eventually they agreed it could have been an accident especially since no suicide note was ever found. Of course, they never found the note because she had destroyed it after she found it on the dashboard of the car when she found him sitting behind the steering wheel with a dopey grin on his dead face.

  Maria was tired, hungry, scared, and pissed off. After the old woman told her about the new battery that she had delivered, but not installed, she had begun working on the old car. Four hours after starting she had managed to pump up all four tires which were nearly flat, check the spark plugs, hoses, and the radiator. But she was growing more angry by the minute trying to disconnect the old battery. The nuts and bolts were covered in a thick greenish crud that she had painstakingly scraped off. She had hurt her wrist, several times, trying to remove the nuts which she was beginning to suspect were inexplicably welded in place. More than once she was tempted to take a hacksaw to the cables and try to rig up some kind of connectors for the new battery.

  She coughed and blew her nose in a greasy rag she had found while Mrs. Remlap looked at her in disgust. The filthy cat litter box, the musty dusty smells of the garage, and it's contents were making her sinuses swell and eyes water. She felt her stomach aching for food, yet kept ignoring it knowing if she got the car running she'd be in town in twenty minutes and away from the nonstop rambling old bitch sitting in the lounge chair.

  Maria grunted and tossed the wrench aside, flinching as it clattered loudly across the floor. She went back to the workbench and opened more cardboard boxes covered in dust and continued to find all manner of interesting things, but not a can of WD40 or its equivalent. She kept seeing that damned rusted nut in her mind, which held the battery cables in place. Ripping open a big box, which was under the workbench, she saw it was filled with hundreds of pornographic magazines. One cover caught her attention.

  It had a photo of an obviously sexually aroused male donkey and a naked young girl who looked frighteningly similar to how she remembered her mom looking in family photo albums. She felt a wave of dizziness and nausea hit her as she looked closer at the girl on the cover of the magazine. “Momma?” she whispered, running her fingertips over the girl's face in the picture.

  “So you're goofing off? I thought better of you. I swear, I never thought of you as just another lazy wetback.” Miss Remlap said, before sipping from her glass of lemonade.

  Maria screamed, grabbed a long rusty screwdriver and held it like a knife pointing it at the old woman. “JUST SHUT THE HELL UP YOU OLD BITCH! Or, I swear to God, I'll stab you in that wrinkly flat chest of yours until I can find and cut out your heart- if you even have one!” Maria shouted, as spittle flew from her lips while still holding the magazine in her other hand. Her vision blurred as tears started to flow down her cheeks.

  The old lady's mouth hung open, as she stared at the trembling young girl pointing a screwdriver at her. She saw the tears beginning to leak out of her eyes and stood up slowly, holding her hands out to her. “I'm sorry Maria. I say stupid things, especially when I'm upset. You look exhausted, come here girl. Come here, calm down and please forgive me.”

  Maria glanced down at the magazine clutched in her trembling fingers, and threw it far back under the workbench. She started crying harder thinking of nothing except her mother, and how much she wished she was with her. Her body shook harder and she felt like she might be sick or faint thinking back how her mom had told her she used to be a model. She remembered after asking if there were any pictures of her modeling how her mother’s face had blushed and she quickly changed the subject. She shook uncontrollably as she staggered into the old woman's arms. Maria was much taller and bigger, yet she was comforted and led to the lounge chair.

  “You just sit and rest awhile dear. Here have some lemonade, you'll feel better. Just rest and I'll look for that can of lubricant you said we needed.”

  Maria sat back in the chair and wiped her eyes with the bandana she had been wearing. “I'm just so tired.” she said, as she dried her tears. “It feels like I haven't slept for years and whenever I do manage to doze off I just keep having nightmares about those things outside.” She coughed and sipped some lemonade, watching the old lady open a metal cabinet and listening as she moved things around inside it.

  “Do you know what my father used to say when things were bad?” Mrs. Remlap asked, as she moved things around, still searching. “It will all work out. And he was right, you know. No matter how bad things may seem, eventually it always works out. Maybe not always the way you wanted them to, yet every bad time eventually comes to an end. I remember when I was nine, or maybe ten years old, my father got hurt really bad in a car wreck. The doctors had to remove his left arm at the shoulder. And I still remember him smiling, as I hugged him crying my fool little head off, when he eventually came home from the hospital. He told me to quit crying, that it would all work out and he was right. He said to always remember his philosophy of life; It could always be worse.

  Instead of just losing an arm he could have been blinded, lost his legs, or just flat out died. My father was a wise man Maria, just remember his two favorite philosophies. It will all work out. And no matter what happens things could always be worse. Oh, what’s this?” She asked, pulling a rusty can out of the bottom of the cabinet. Smiling she turned and tottered back to Maria.

  “See, I told you it would all work out.” She said holding a small blue can of WD-40. Maria was sleeping, curled up on her side, in the lounge chair with a peaceful look on her face.

  The old lady picked up the wrench and looked at the bolt that didn't want to move. She sprayed it with the can and after a few seconds she tried to remove the nut from the bolt. It slid off so easily she wondered if the girl had been trying to turn it the wrong way all the time.

  Maria awoke with a yelp and looked around the garage. The old woman was gone.

  “Miss Remlap?” she called softly. There was no answer. One lantern was still lit, sitting on the workbench and the garage seemed full of ominous shadows cast by its light.
She heard distant screams from somewhere outside and shuddered.

  A door creaked behind her and she spun around, eyes open wide.

  Mrs. Remlap was coming down the steps from the kitchen holding a plate. “Oh, I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to wake you up but since you are how about a sandwich? I made peanut butter and honey on wheat bread. I would have used jelly, but since it was in the refrigerator without electricity for about five days I thought honey might be safer. Honey is an amazing food you know. I read, in some book or magazine, that archaeologists actually found honey in some Pyramid over there in Egypt once and believe it or not even after five thousand years it was safe to eat.”

  Maria got up, from the lounge chair, and asked “How long was I asleep?”

  “Oh,” the old lady said, looking at her wristwatch. “Almost four hours. Now have a sandwich.” She said, handing her one. Maria took it, and ate it in giant bites, as she glared at the car with a determined look on her face.

  “Slow down sweetie, you're going to choke if you aren't careful. I bet that’s how some of those Egyptians died and became mummies. You need to slow down and chew your food.”

  “I gotta get those stupid nuts off the bolt so I can swap out the car's battery. Once that's done we can go get help.” Maria said, between bites.

  “Relax child, I took them off hours ago.”