Trailer Park Zombies

by Jason H. Jones

  The last thing I felt comfortable enough with was letting someone else have my shells. Phooey on that.

  Not that we had that much to begin with. There were four boxes left in the bag and each held 25 shots. I emptied the box I’d taken out and refilled the shells in my various pockets. It wasn’t exactly comfortable and I was a little jingly but I did feel a little safer. I waited until I was a few feet from Fannie Mae before I loaded two of the cartridges into the shotgun. I felt infinitely better for having a fully loaded shotgun, even though that was still only eight shots. My guess was that if I got into a scuffle and had to fire all eight I was probably dead anyway.

  But I didn’t want to think about that either.

  The first place I wanted to hit before making my rounds was the bathroom. I’d forgotten to go when we got here and Fannie Mae laying on me had pushed the appropriate buttons. Of course, now that I’d thought about it I desperately had to go. Everyone studiously avoided looking at me as I made my way through the House. The bathrooms were in the back so I pretty much had to pass everybody. It felt like there were eyes on me everywhere although when I turned to look none of them were. My guess was that my exploits outside had made the rounds. As far as I knew I was still the only to kill one of the zombies. That was either an object for admiration or fear; I couldn’t really tell which by the side looks I was getting. It had either elevated my status or made me a pariah.

  Regardless, I made my way to the restroom without any incident. It was a single-use one size fits all kind of restroom. Which by definition meant it was always disgusting. The door was shut to guard against the smell and when I turned the knob and pushed it open all that greeted me was the midnight darkness of the room inside – and the unassailable smell of shit.

  Awesome.

  I stepped into the tiny room and reached out with one hand searching for the light switch. It seemed to take an eternity to find it and any second I expected something to jump out at me and eat me. But eventually I did find the stupid light and flipped it.

  The fluorescents came on and immediately blinded me.

  I went into the room and shut and locked the door behind me. I didn’t really need to search the room because there was nowhere to search. There was a tiny closet off to the side that had no door and had shelves full of single ply toilet paper. There was a toilet off to the corner of the room and a sink with a beaten up mirror above it. Someone had nicely placed a towel and some soap next to the sink and I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. I felt like I was covered in zombie goo and mud.

  I flicked the safety on the shotgun and put it down next to the toilet. I wanted to get used to turning it off and on so that I could remember to do it quickly in the face of a zombie. Now I’m not going to mince words here. I know in movies and books the heroes never really have to go to the bathroom unless it’s to further the plot but in real life that’s just not the case. There were no zombies lying in wait for me and nothing bad happened in the bathroom.

  To me, that is.

  The toilet is another story entirely. I’d been holding in this massive crap since the moment we’d been attacked by zombies and Barrett had been… killed. Something must have shaken loose and now that I’d been given it the chance it wanted out. And out it came. Massively and explosively.

  That’s really all the details you need on that.

  When I was done and used half a roll of single ply to clean myself up I flushed the toilet and said a quick prayer to God that it didn’t back up. He answered my prayer and the full bowl slowly emptied out. The stink still remained but since most of that wasn’t mine I wasn’t too worried about it.

  I washed my hands in the sink and while I was at it I scrubbed my face as best I could. It was covered in mud and grime and I hoped I could wash off some of the memories of this night but of course that just wasn’t meant to be. When I was on the toilet I’d gingerly rubbed my hand on the knot on my thigh and even though it still radiated a fair amount of pain it wasn’t debilitating or anything and I could barely feel it with my jeans on. Thankfully. I was almost able to walk normally now.

  My reflection sighed bitterly after I turned the water off. Well, I sighed, you know what I mean. The restroom was insulated enough from the rest of the House that I had a few moments of solitude. I didn’t really like what I saw in the mirror and the thoughts that were running rampant through my skull. I didn’t see how this situation could ever be over. Would we just sit here in this building forever and ever? Would the zombies just come crashing in and eat us all up? And even if we could get out of here wouldn’t the situation just keep going on and on as the zombies spread until they took over the world and the world was nothing more than a rotting carcass feeding on itself?

  Lightning lit up the room from the small window set high in the wall. I could see small drops of water on the window and realized it was finally starting to rain. Of course, cause wasn’t that just what we needed? Zombies and dead friends and rain galore. I had a feeling the rain wouldn’t slow them down at all.

  In the silence I heard something slithering outside the window. It shook me to my core, sending shivers up and down my spine. It was just the rain, right? Yep, just the rain. I strained to listen harder, willing my ears to become super ears. The slithering repeated, but thankfully the window was too high or I’d have felt obligated to look out. Saying screw it, I quickly exited the bathroom, shutting off the light behind me.

  Since I was closest to the back of the House I decided to start there. I guess you could call it my perimeter search. There was only one man on the back door: Mr. Wilkinson. The three tufts of hair sticking wildly out of his mostly bald head would have been comical if we weren’t in the middle of the apocalypse. He turned around to look at me and grunted a hello, then, “What are you doing back here, Duke? Shouldn’t you be in the front with everyone else?”

  I said, “I don’t feel comfortable out there unless I know that we’re covered on all the doors and windows. It’ll only take one of them getting in to screw us.”

  “You don’t need to worry, boy. Let the men handle this work. I’ve got this door covered. Washington’s a good man, he’ll keep us safe.”

  I looked pointedly at the back door, but he seemed oblivious to my look. The door was a relatively typical back door with wood on the bottom and a giant window in the middle of it. The window wasn’t covered or braced in any way whatsoever. Neither was the door for that matter.

  He closed the gap between us and put his hand on my shoulder. I think he meant to hug me but at the last second realized we were both male and that stopped him. “I was sorry to hear about your friend, Duke. I know he meant a lot to you. Have you heard anything about your parents?” He took his hand off my shoulder and reached into a pocket and pulled out a bottle. Took a quick swig of it and then stuck it back in there.

  I grimaced. Mr. Wilkinson was another of my dad’s friends who worked at the plant. He was also on duty the day that Fannie Mae’s dad had died and I’d heard him and my father make jokes about her father’s arm getting stuck in the machine after they tied a few on. They seemed to think getting pulled into the machinery was funny.

  “No,” I said finally. “I haven’t seen dad since Thursday when I got home from school and mom wasn’t home when me and Barrett got home last night. I have no idea where anyone’s at.”

  “Well that’s a good thing, Duke. Maybe they’re safe in town somewhere.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said, flashing on to mom in her shroud on her bed. “Hey,” I said suddenly, realizing something. “Where’s your gun?”

  “My gun?” He looked at me confused.

  “Yeah. Your gun,” I said. “What you’re supposed to be protecting us with.”

  “Oh,” he waved that off with his hand, “all the guns are with the men in front. I don’t need one back here.”

  I was flabbergasted. “Then what kind of weapon do you have back here?”

  He cackled, “Um, I’ve got my bottle, I guess.” />
  My jaw dropped to the floor and I turned around quickly, before I beat him senseless. I stalked around the house after that, seeing hole after hole. Sure, Washington had men at every window, but they weren’t shoring up the windows at all and these weren’t exactly shatterproof. One good whack with a zombie hand would take care of these windows. The men at the front door were the only ones who seemed to be taking things seriously, and they had the easiest job of it. The front door was a mass of solid wood with a heavy lock on it. If the zombies wanted to come in through that it’d take a lot of power to get it open.

  I opened the door to the basement and stopped on the top stair. Talk about darkness. The heavy darkness filled the gaping hole before me and lay there like a pall of night. I backed up the one step and turned around, jumping about four feet in the air when I saw that Washington stood before me. Well, not really, but you know.

  “Jesus Christ, Washington! What are you doing? Trying to give me a heart attack?”

  He had a pinched look on his face. Either his headache was getting to him or he was pissed. “I was about to ask you the same question, Duke. You’re stalking around here like a nut and scaring people. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I’m just making sure this place is sealed up tight. Want to make sure the zombies can’t get in here, you know?”

  He sighed and crossed his arms on his chest, giving me a withering look. “Uh huh. And what’s your professional opinion?”

  I pointed behind me at the darkened stairwell. “I haven’t checked the basement yet. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll tell you?”

  He turned and looked down the hallway, checking out the front. “All right, Duke.”

  Fortunately for me he decided to lead the way down to the basement. I didn’t really feel like being the one to test the waters first on that one. He flicked on the light switch and we both looked down as the flickering light bulbs came on. It was feeble light, but I guess at least it was light.

  We made quick work of the stairs and entered the basement proper. It was supposed to be our tornado shelter if we ever had enough notice about one coming. As I’m sure you well know tornados head for trailer parks like a bee for honey so the shelter got used a lot. Usually my parents didn’t feel like making the trek over here and just wanted to hunker down inside and wait the tornados out, but we’d actually come in here at least a couple times that I could remember.

  There was a huge stack of blankets in one corner; carbon copies of the blankets being handed out upstairs. Another corner held a stack of mats like they use in gym class at school. I guess in the absolute worst case scenario those would be used for sleeping, although the cement floor looked more comfortable. Stacks of food and water bottles were arranged throughout the rest of the basement.

  Smack in the middle of the far wall lay the door to the walkout. This was what I had remembered and why I’d wanted to come down here. I pointed at it, “Is that locked from the outside or is it wide open?”

  He frowned, “I’d forgotten about that stupid thing. It’s got a padlock on it. I’ve got the key right here.” He patted his hip pocket absently.

  I whirled to face him, my concern showing plainly on my face. “You want to hear my security issues, Washington?”

  “Yep,” he nodded. “You’re what? 16? Give me your professional opinion.”

  I had to count to three to keep from screaming at him. Jabbed my finger in the direction of the walkout again. “Case in point. You should have someone watching this door like a hawk. Two someones. All your security should be working in pairs in case something happens and he gets attacked. The other one can run off and warn the rest of us.”

  “What’s wrong with that door, Duke? Huh? It’s padlocked from the outside. Sure, I forgot about it, but that’s okay. We’re still safe. Nothing’s come in it yet.”

  “Yet,” I said. “Yet.” I dragged him closer to the door. It was one of those ones you always see in movies set in rural America that lay parallel to the ground. You’d go up four or five steps and then your head would be pushing against the top of it. Then you’d push it out above you and be level with the ground.

  “Look at it,” I commanded. “Sure it’s got a padlock on it, but have you ever tried to stand on it? How much weight do you think that door could stand before it would just shatter into tiny little bits?”

  He looked at me. If I was lucky that expression on his face would be one of growing concern. But I don’t think I’d gotten through to him yet. “I don’t know, Duke. A thousand pounds?”

  I nodded. “Okay. How many zombies do you think it would take to reach a thousand pounds? Five? Ten? Once they realize we’re in here all they’d have to do is stand on that, it’d shatter, and then they could get in.”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point,” he said, looking at the door speculatively. “I’ll send Graham down here to watch it.”

  I growled in frustration. “You’re not getting it, Washington. What happens when they come bursting through it and surprise him and kill him before he can warn us? Then the next thing you know they’re streaming up the stairs and we’re all dead. You need to have your guards watch in pairs.”

  “Fine,” he said, getting pissy. “I’ll have the men at the doors watch in pairs. We don’t really have a lot of men to spare, Duke. In case you didn’t notice.” He paused. “Anything else?”

  I could tell I was pushing him too far, but I knew he had to know everything. “Your men at the doors all need to be armed. I don’t care how you re-distribute the weapons, but they all need to have something. They’re our first line of defense and if they have nothing then we’re all screwed.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off again. “And another thing. Some of them don’t seem to be taking this seriously enough. Half the men at the windows are barely looking out. What do you think would happen if a zombie crashed through one of those things? You need to barricade the windows as best you can. And the back door.”

  Washington blew up at me. “What makes you the expert? Do you want to be in charge, Duke? Do you want all these people relying on you to keep them alive? I don’t want this, but everyone keeps looking at me to do all this. You don’t think I’d rather be hunkered underneath a blanket with the rest of you?”

  I don’t really know what had happened to me this weekend. If a grown man had blown up at me like that two days ago I would have felt shame for talking back to my elders and wouldn’t have been able to look at him. In short, I’d have been scared shitless. But seeing your friend get eaten right before your eyes and killing a man has a tendency to make you grow up pretty fast. I met his eyes without flinching.

  “No,” I said quietly, “I don’t want that responsibility at all. I wish we weren’t in this situation, Washington, but it is what it is. For some reason the dead are walking and trying to kill and eat us. We have to deal with that the best we can and these people look up to you as their leader. You’re a good man, Washington. There’s not one person out there who doesn’t know that.”

  I put my hand on his arm, gripping it tightly. “But we need to be safe, Washington. I don’t know much about zombies. Barrett was the one who watched the horror movies, not me. But he taught me a lot after,” I paused, shifting through the lies, “after what we saw this afternoon. Ways to protect ourselves. You’re our leader and I just want to make sure you know those things. We have to make sure all the doors are covered, barricade all the windows, and protect ourselves with weapons. Zombies are like cockroaches: they will find a way in if there’s one to be had. They’re not smart, can’t think for themselves,” I hoped, “but they do have animal instincts and they’re relentless. They’ll just keep coming.”

  He swallowed back his anger. Looked at the walkout and then back up at the stairs to the House. Then back at me. Finally he nodded, perhaps reevaluating my manhood. “Do you think we have any chance, Duke?”

  I hesitated, wondering how honest I should be. Do you really want your ch
osen leader to be completely hopeless? I decided honesty was the best bet. Then maybe he’d take this seriously. “Not much of one, Washington. Very slim. Eventually all the lights we have blazing will attract them like moths to the flame and they’ll come. Maybe we’ll be lucky and they won’t find a way in, but I’m not holding my breath. Our only true hope is that we get help from outside and they blow all the zombies away and this will just go away.”

  He barked a laugh. “And what do you think is the chance of that happening?”

  “Um, slim to none? Then our hope at that point is that they get them all and this whole thing goes away. Then we can go back to normal.” Not that I ever thought I’d be able to get back to normal. “If not,” I shrugged, “then we’re facing the end of life as we know it.”

  “Peachy,” he said as we began the climb back up the stairs.

  “Yep.”