by William Bebb
Maria jumped up, looked under the hood and stared at the old battery cables hanging loose. She smiled at the old lady then laughing sat down on the lounge chair and ate her sandwich a little bit slower.
She pointed to the battery sitting on the workbench “How old do you think that other battery is?”
“Oh my goodness. Don't you listen girl? I told you that man Dominic, I think his name was, from the filling station brought it out last Christmas. He was going to install it so I could drive in to town for church services, but he was just so uncouth and rude- really just a remarkably unpleasant man. He was short, with a big nose, bad breath, and that swarthy Italian kind of look. He reminded me of gangsters I used to see in movies. Back when they had stories and not a few hundred explosions in slow motion with a lot of vulgar language disguised as dialogue. Anyway, I gave him a check for the battery, and told him to just get out and I'd put it in the car myself. Imagine, a grown man passing gas in front of a lady. And as if that wasn't the worst part he actually laughed while he did it. Just laughed, like a mental defective, as I told him to just go on and get out of here. Why if my Henry were still alive I know he would have beaten that little man to a bloody pulp.”
“And you're sure it was this last Christmas, not maybe a few years ago when all this happened?” Maria asked, as she tugged the old battery out of the engine compartment and let it fall onto a badly stained recliner.
“Careful girl, that's my Henry's chair God rest his soul. He was always out here working on something or other, and when he'd take a break he'd sit in that very chair and look at his magazines.” Maria tensed for a second, then kept working. “He was always out here reading his National Geographic’s, and all kinds of other magazines, and telling me about whatever he read that he found interesting.”
Maria was scrubbing the corroded battery connectors and asked under her breath “Did he ever tell you anything about donkeys and girls?”
“Did I show you his photograph from when he was in the service? He fought in Germany, against the Godless Nazis, and earned a lot medals. The medals are up there in the attic crawlspace if you want to climb up and see for yourself.” She said, pointing her cane toward the partial second floor of the garage. Where there were indeed hundreds more boxes and crates stored.
She looked at the windows again and said “When the police get everything sorted out with your nasty friends outside, how would you like to earn a few dollars cleaning the windows out here? I could do it myself of course, but I believe in helping people like you whenever I can. I've always believed in charity and helping people who have the gumption to make something of themselves. I know you like to think of yourself as an auto mechanic, but I need to be honest with you. I really think, during all that time you were messing around with the battery, you were actually turning the nut the wrong way. My Henry made up a rhyme that went 'righty tighty lefty Loosey' to help remember which way to turn things like nuts and such. I told him he should copyright his rhyme, but did he listen to me? No ma'am, he was like all men stubborn and set in his ways.”
Maria lifted the battery off the workbench and carried it slowly over to the old car. With the battery resting on the edge of the fender she looked confused. She was trying to remember which cable goes to which terminal on the battery. Positive is red? Or is positive black? She grunted and sat down on a stool next to the old woman and poured some lemonade into her glass. Maria chugged it down in mere seconds, followed momentarily by an enormous belch to come from such a small woman.
“Don't you have any manners? First you come up here last night bang on my door, scaring the denture adhesive out of me. Then you tell me everyone’s turned into monsters, barge your way inside, slam my door, and then lock it as I hear some of your friends outside beating on my door. I'll grant you they do look a tad more disgusting than usual, but really dear, monsters?” She gave Maria a look that was a combination of pity and confusion.
Maria went and looked in the car's glove box, pulled out a very old drivers manual and flipped the pages as she said, “You saw what they did to your cats outside. You heard them yowling as they were ripped apart and eaten.”
“Shut your mouth! I saw and heard no such thing.” she said, with a tremble in her voice as she pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped at her eyes. “I don't know what's really going on around here, but I guaran-damn-tee you one thing Missy. When we get to town I'm going to file papers to have your nasty cat killing, friends evicted.”
She looked at the cat litter box, she had kept in the garage, and could still see her furry friends as they were: Angel with the snow white fur, Mr. Naughty a gray and brown stray she had taken in, and Mr. Sourpuss solid black with a bad temper sometimes.
“Yes indeed, when we get to town, I’m going to call someone to deal with your gross looking cat killing, friends. That’s the very first thing I’m going to do.” She still couldn’t stop remembering how the screaming bloody men had come up on her porch and began beating on the door, while some of them had eaten her cats. They ate her only friends in the whole world. Maria had dragged her back toward the living room and kept saying “Be quiet” as the cats yowled and screamed as they were torn apart on her porch. The old lady shuddered and closed her eyes as she leaned back crying softly.
Maria shrugged and continued looking through the car's owners manual. As she tried to figure out which cables go to positive and negative, she hadn't heard anything the old lady had been saying.
It was four in the morning, when the cell phone alarm began beeping in Billy's room under his pillow. He opened his eyes and saw Boris on his bed, his head tilted as he listened to the electronic chirping of the phone. He slid his hand under the pillow and quickly silenced the alarm. His mom had a cell phone just like it and he knew how to set the alarm, take pictures, make videos, and of course make phone calls too.
He was a boy with a plan. He was going to make a phone call from the top of the valley before sunrise. Billy felt bad about borrowing (some might say stealing) Josey's phone, but he would give it back after he got everyone rescued. So if it was stealing, he thought, it's not really bad stealing. He knew he'd make his grandpa proud by going out and getting help all by himself. Besides the big guy must be crazy to say it wouldn't be fair to the monsters if he outran them. Fairness in dealing with monsters? he thought, and shook his head.
He laid on the bed, with the cell phone on his chest, thinking about how his grandfather had dealt with the monsters from Germany in World War Two. Did the Americans say to themselves 'Gee-whiz the German Air force or Luftwaffe was almost completely wiped out in the last year of the war, and in a sense of fairness stop using their airplanes?' No, the whole idea of dealing fairly with monsters whether they're brain hungry zombies or brain washed Nazis didn't make any kind of sense, he thought.
Sometimes he had dreams he and his grandfather were together fighting the Nazis, side by side, and in the dreams they always kicked ass. He smiled bigger and remembered a dream where grandpa was using a riding crop and sitting on a saddle atop Adolph Hitler, like a cowboy on a bucking horse, whacking him on his butt with the riding crop as the Fuhrer cried and begged for mercy.
The cell phone chirped, and Billy woke up again. He quickly shut it off and realized he must have dozed off. He pinched his arm and felt more awake as he bit his lip and whimpered.
“Falling asleep before the mission even begins,” he quietly berated himself. “If grandpa had done that, in the war, we'd all be eating sauerkraut for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
Boris yawned and looked at the boy who was talking to himself.
“It's true Boris, there would only be sauerkraut to eat. I bet Nazis made everything out of sauerkraut: pizza, ice cream, hamburgers, chicken nuggets, probably even dog food made of sauerkraut. Well, as bad as that sounds, imagine what zombie food will taste like if they win this war: Brain flavored tacos, potato chips, or blood flavored soda pop? Well I say no way, Jose. This kid will fight and when I get the cops here to
deal with these fart knocker zombies I'm going to be a hero, just like grandpa.”
Boris stared sleepily with his head resting on his front paws as he listened to the boy's whispered, yet apparently heartfelt speech. When the boy stopped talking Boris rolled over and went back to sleep.
“Fine go back to sleep. Don't worry about me, fuzzy butt, because I don't need your help anyway.” Billy slipped out of bed and put on his zombie fighting uniform, which consisted of blue jeans, a T- shirt with Optimus Prime his favorite Transformer Autobot on the front, and his hiking boots. He tied his boot laces and remembered winning second place at the school wide athletics day just a week before school let out for the summer. He knew none of the bad guys outside would ever be able to catch him, unless they cheated like George Mason did during the race. He would never forget that George had started running almost a full second before the coach shouted go. Of course the fact that coach Mason was George's dad has nothing to do with him not being disqualified.
He slipped on his blue backpack, which contained a borrowed cell phone, two bottles of water, and three plastic baggies of Oreo cookies stuffed inside. He then pulled his BB rifle out of the closet, making sure it had a full load of BB's and checked that the safety was engaged. Stepping back he looked himself in the mirror. He looked tough and ready to become a hero, but still felt a little- not afraid, no not that but maybe a little nervous, as he slung the rifle over his shoulder and quietly opened his door to the hallway. The moon wasn't full, yet it still cast plenty of light on the hallway carpet as it shined through the window. He looked back at the sleeping dog on his bed, and felt a horrible moment of indecision.
“'Goodbye Boris, I'll see you tomorrow.” he whispered and sneaked down the hallway toward the backdoor of the trailer.
He felt more nervous, not afraid mind you, with each step he made. Secretly, he'd hoped the dog would come along as a companion- Not a bodyguard, he thought, trying to feel brave, just a buddy to keep company with on the trip. A brief loud scream and several snarling grunts erupted from the front side of the trailer and he froze in his tracks. The snarling went on for a few more seconds then subsided into the nearly continuous grunting sounds he had almost become used to. He felt like he had to pee, but held it thinking if he used the bathroom either grandpa or Josey might hear it and investigate.
Creeping to the back door, he heard Josey snoring in the living room and peeked out at the backyard of the trailer through a window. It looked all clear, as far as he could see. Taking a deep breath, he unlocked the door and slowly opened it peeking left and then right. He was looking for bad guys, but didn't see any. Reaching around he hit the lock button on the inside of the door and looked down at the ground.
It was about three feet to the dirt below, since there never had been a backdoor staircase, but Billy lowered himself so he was sitting on the doorway's threshold and then slowly climbed down into the dusty backyard. He paused and listened hard and looked at the large desert expanse beyond. He could see boulders, a few patches of grass, and a long ditch that went ran north and south. The bleak sandy expanse, that his grandpa sometimes called the New Mexican Sahara, was very quiet. Aside from a few occasional grunts, coming from the front of the trailer, everything was quiet and Billy turned to close the door.
A fanged mouth with a million teeth was just inches behind him. He nearly screamed and wet his pants a little as he sighed quietly and looked up at Boris. The dog was in the doorway looking at the boy.
“You suck. Don't sneak up on me.” He whispered, looked around again and continued. “Do you want to stay or go?”
The dog whined softly and looked toward the front room where Josey was snoring.
“Shush, you're going to wake everyone up. Okay, if you're too much of a scaredy cat, stay here. I'll be back by breakfast.” He started to close the door and Boris leapt down into the dirt and glanced up at the boy before looking in every direction nervously whining.
“Shush we gotta be quiet.” He whispered, as he closed the door and heard a quiet click when it latched shut.
The boy and dog were like ghosts in the night as they quietly crossed the backyard. The moon was low on the horizon and the stars were beginning to lose some of their brightness as a faint lightness on the horizon slowly grew. It was blessedly cool, compared to being stuck in the trailer for the last few days. After a couple of minutes of moving slow and extra quiet, he stopped by a tall patch of prairie grass and whispered “Keep watch for a second.”
The zipper sounded as loud as a machine gun, at least in his own ears, as he unzipped his pants. Looking all around as he tried to take a leak, but felt like something was close by. He stood still feeling the need to pee, yet unable as he felt more and more scared. Then he heard running water, saw the prairie grass swaying slightly, and looked down to where Boris had lifted a leg as if to demonstrate to correct way to urinate. He almost laughed, as he was finally able to let go the yellow flow as grandpa sometimes called it. Covering his mouth with his other hand he managed to avoid an all out laugh, but still couldn't help giggling. The giggles dried up instantly as he heard a scream and running footsteps back toward the trailer, then a gradual return to the regular grunting and snarling followed.
They had only been walking for another minute when a sound off to the right made Boris stop short and stare toward a halfway burned out trailer. It had caught fire several years earlier, when the shed next door had exploded. After extinguishing the flames, the fire department determined the meth lab that was in the shed had not been an entirely successful one.
He stopped and looked where Boris stared and unlatched the safety switch on his BB rifle. It was no ordinary rifle, in fact, it was a very powerful one. His grandpa had bought it for him on his last birthday. But his mother had made him leave it at his trailer.
The more you pumped the rifle the more powerful the shot would be. Over the last few days Billy had begged his grandpa to let him shoot the zombies, but he wouldn't. Before they left the trailer and began their expedition he pumped it up as much as he could. He looked where Boris stared, and aimed the rifle in his shaking hands. Billy glanced back the hundreds of yards to his grandpa’s trailer, then heard a sound near the burned out trailer. Something was moving in the clutter around the yard and he thought it might be coming this way.
This was probably not a great idea after all, he thought, hearing the distant grunting of the undead and the much closer rustling of something in the wild prairie grass near the trailer. He saw the tall grass moving only about twenty feet away and fired. The rifle was nearly silent, but the cat's screaming yowl was deafening as it jumped up about three feet into the air and took off running after being shot in the butt. He watched the cat run south and looked down, red faced, at Boris who looked up with a grin only a dog who has seen something very funny can give.
“Oops,” he whispered. “Well at least we know-” Something rattled in the darkness nearby and he could hear other sounds coming closer. “Time to run.” He said quietly and sprinted away from the grunting sounds between the mostly burned out trailer and an old oil barrel on it's side still heading north, he hoped. There were more noises behind him in the darkness, but he and Boris were running hard and very fast with no desire to look back.
CHAPTER 8
The moon was bright and riding high as Charlie Farro drove his battery operated scooter along the rows of his plants, stopping every couple of feet to inspect the buds and trim those that looked ready for harvesting. He cared for his small plot of marijuana like a nervous father who tried to do everything he could to have his children grow up to be a success, albeit children he would eventually smoke.
Charlie enjoyed his quiet peaceful existence. His trailer was cleverly hidden in an out of the way part of the park. The original road that led here was overgrown with nearly twenty years of plants and trees. A narrow winding path, he occasionally took to visit Hector and his other associates in the trailer park, was just wide enough for his scooter and he like
d it that way. Hector was always interested in buying his marijuana and was happy to go into town for him and buy things he might need.
Colonel Lester was right when he called Charlie a hermit. He enjoyed being self sufficient and loved being alone. People are no damn good was his motto and he believed it with all his heart. He heard Cha-ka hooting in the garden and smiled to himself as he drove his scooter thru the small creek that ran through his compound. Smiling up at the moon, as the scooter's wheels rolled over the rocks in the stream, he felt life couldn't get much better.
The only thing that slightly concerned him were the screams coming from the trailer park over the last few days. While it was only half a mile away he wasn't worried, just a bit concerned. His six foot chain link fence that surrounded his trailer was well hidden from the park itself and he'd been living on his own for the last thirty years with an occasional visit to town to gather what items he couldn't grow on his own.
He believed in himself and enjoyed the life of solitude. His little acre of paradise legally belonged to the trailer park, but he never told them when he had his trailer brought into the little hidden valley back in 1987. No one knew he was here, and why should they? he thought. His home was totally off the grid, no phones, no power lines, and no TV filled with crap masquerading as entertainment. He drove his scooter next to the trailer and gathered the power cords that connected to his solar panels on top of the roof and hooked them to the charger.
Grunting loudly, he lifted his prosthetic legs off the scooter and grabbed his wooden staff with his left hand and made his way over to wooden porch next to his trailer. The porch had a large homemade lounge chair, constructed of two by fours, that was next to the front door. He had a hammock, made of tough nylon netting, strung between the trailer and a flag pole. His old somewhat tattered flag was a big green marijuana leaf on a white background. Several old discolored plastic jugs were scattered near his lounge chair, most of them were empty, and they all smelled strongly of urine.