Trailer Park Zombies

by Jason H. Jones

  He screamed again. The sound was piercing and shook me to my core. I couldn’t believe how fast she’d come up behind us. And we’d been watching for her. She pulled one bloody hand out of his face and shoved it into his mouth. His screams went silent as she ripped his tongue out of his mouth and threw it into her own. I could hear the click of the gun hitting empty, but he still kept trying to reflexively pull the trigger. She reached back in and grabbed more of his face, scooping it into her mouth by the handful.

  “Madre de dios,” Felix whispered from behind me.

  All of this had happened in no more than five seconds.

  I pulled the shotgun to my shoulder. Everything was happening in slow motion. I could still hear Stubby’s muffled screams from somewhere deep within his chest, but the zombie had her arm buried down his throat to the elbow. She kept pulling out more and more things that I didn’t want to recognize.

  I could see the moment the zombie lost interest in him. Her arm was still buried in his throat and her head slowly swiveled toward me. Ten more seconds had passed. None of the guys had fired a shot for fear of hitting him. I didn’t have that compunction. I took one slow motion step forward and lined the sights on her stinking head. That was the moment she looked at me. I took a deep breath and it seemed like the world stopped. I could no longer hear the grunts, groans and screams from around me and there was nothing but me, the trigger, the shotgun and the zombie. I finally pulled the trigger an eternity later.

  The top of her head came off in a spray of blood.

  She collapsed to the ground in a heap, pulling Stubby down on top of her. Neither of them were moving. I sensed Felix taking a step forward and held my hand out to him. “No. Wait. Hold your post.”

  Stubby began to twitch on top of her. He finally got his hands on the ground and pushed. Inch by inch her gore-streaked forearm appeared out of his throat. He shook his head like a dog as he tried to get the last of her hand out. Broken teeth, spit and blood flew everywhere around him as he worked her hand from his mouth. It finally came out and flopped down onto the ground. It was clutching what looked like a lung.

  He turned to face us, sensing food. His mouth was an open, gaping ruin. I don’t even know that he had anything left to eat us with. Felix cursed or prayed to his god some more behind me as I stepped forward, chambering another round, and blew off Stubby’s head. He collapsed to the ground in a heap.

  I turned around to look at the others. They were staring at me like they’d seen a ghost.

  “What?”

  None of them said anything. I took two more shells out of my pocket, quickly reloading the gun. I bent over and picked up Stubby’s flashlight and shone it behind us. I didn’t see any more of the zombies, but…

  “They never seem to travel alone,” I said to the group. “Be on watch. You see how quickly this can turn.”

  I looked at them again. They kept looking around them and back at me as if they couldn’t understand what they were seeing.

  “What?” I asked again, exasperated. When I didn’t get an answer I said, “Let’s go. I’ll take rearguard.”

  So we went on. Slower than ever.

  16.

  Time has no meaning in the middle of the dark. It could have been five, 10, or 20 minutes before we reached the cluster of cars. There’s no way to tell when your adrenaline is pumping on high and your heart is beating five thousand times a minute. You’re wet and soaked from the rain and your mouth is dry from the fear and you want only to be somewhere safe. Somewhere where the monsters can’t find you. Maybe even somewhere you can pull the blanket over your eyes and huddle and hide and weep for friends lost.

  We tiptoed through the darkness and arrived at the car park some interminable time later in total silence. I doubt there was a man with us who didn’t wish that he hadn’t volunteered for this little rescue/suicide mission. I also doubted any one of us would make it out alive.

  Silence greeted us, silently of course, as we stood in the car park. The stupid kid had finally shut up, right when we’d got there. None of us really felt like screaming for the kid and asking him where he was. The four of us looked at each other from our little square, stealing sidelong glances and wondering what we should do next.

  “What should we do next?” Felix asked.

  Washington nodded at me and whispered, “Any ideas, Duke?” I guess killing a few zombies while the men around me stood there doing nothing had raise my stock in their eyes.

  I raised my eyebrow at him. Unfortunately I think the trick was lost on him in the darkness. “Well, we can either stand here with our thumbs up our asses or start looking for him.”

  He grimaced at me and rolled his eyes. “How do we do that, genius?”

  I eyed the 20 or so cars sitting there and then did a slow circle, turning in place. Everything was quiet. Dare I say that it was too quiet? Only the sounds of our shoes squishing in the mud made any noise at all. “We’re here,” I said. “We might as well call out for him. If the zombies are coming, they’re already coming. They heard our shots and the kid has been screaming for God knows how long.”

  Washington nodded and said, “All righty.” Next thing I knew he was screaming at the top of his lungs, “Hey, kid! We’re here! Where are you?”

  He yelled a few more times and then stopped, listening. Finally we heard a faint: “I’m here. Please help me.”

  “That’s helpful,” I muttered.

  We shone our flashlights at the cars. About four cars back we finally saw a hand waving and a head stuck up from a backseat. It looked like a boy in his early teens. Maybe thirteen. I breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, that’s when Felix started shouting. Isn’t that always the way?

  He was shining his flashlight behind us, behind me to be perfectly frank. Almost instinctively I dropped to the ground and rolled to my back. There was a horde of zombies coming our way. Thankfully none were in grabbing distance of me, so I only looked like a complete dumbass. Washington looked down and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Help me up,” I said, holding out my hand. He pulled me easily to my feet.

  “What do we do?” He asked.

  The zombies were shambling slowly toward us, arms already held out beseechingly in our direction. There were no more than 20 in the pack; maybe 15. I looked quickly through the faces for Barrett but he wasn’t in the group. Mr. Haskett was, though, shuffling in his underwear. Mrs. Banks, a friend of my mom’s who usually spent the day in chocolate heaven and watching the soaps. Chocolate and other goo was trickling from her mouth. The zombies were in various states of disarray. Some had disgusting bits dangling here and there and were missing some parts. Others looked almost normal, like they were just out on a Saturday night stroll and happened to be tagging along with the group. I somehow doubted that was really the case.

  I glanced around at the others. They all looked sick to their stomach (Rodriguez threw up as my gaze crossed his) but resolute. I thought that maybe none of them would falter. “Well,” I said in answer to Washington’s question, “how about we blow them away? They’re between us and the House.”

  He nodded. I could see his eyes calculating the odds. “Rodriguez, go get that boy out of the car and bring him back here.”

  Rodriguez eyed the empty space between us and the car and then wiped the chunky bile off his face with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah, boss.” He ran towards the cars.

  Washington looked at me and Felix. “You guys ready?”

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  Felix just nodded.

  We spread out in a line like gunslingers out of an old West movie. All we needed was a tumbleweed going past and frightened townspeople huddled behind us to make it right. A clock tower tolling the hour. And the sun of high noon, too. That would have been helpful. I raised my shotgun to my shoulder and sighted on a zombie. I wasn’t sure how well the shotgun would work from the now 15 feet or so that was between us but I was willing to give it a try.

  Before I could fire my shot a
blast went off right next to my head.

  “Jesus, Washington. Warn a guy why don’t you?” He grinned at me. I looked at the zombies. One of them was now on the ground and a few behind him were falling over as they tripped on the body. I guess the shotgun was deadly enough from this distance after all. “Good shot.”

  “You can’t be the one having all the fun,” he said.

  We set to firing with a will. Not every shot found its mark but quite a few did. It’s not like in the movies where suddenly everyone is a crack shot and can hit the zombies right between the eyes. Still, we did manage to fell half of them within the first few seconds of the firefight – not that it was a firefight as such since they weren’t exactly firing back, they just kept coming. The seven or eight that were left were no more than 10 feet from us when I got down to one knee and started reloading my shotgun. I had two shells in when I turned around to see what was taking Rodriguez so long.

  Another line of zombies was coming our way. They were between us and the cars, strung out in a very thin line. The closest was not three feet behind me. She was butt naked.

  “Fuck,” I screamed. “Wash!” I dropped the shell I’d been about to load and cocked the shotgun, loading the shell into the chamber. I braced the shotgun on my bad thigh and fired at her. The shot hit her in the throat, taking out most of her neck and spine. The gore flew out behind her and splattered on the next zombie. I cocked another shell in the chamber to take her out but she collapsed to the ground. Her head rolled to a stop at my feet.

  A wave of agony rolled through me at the kick back of the shotgun on the goose egg in my thigh. I bit back the scream and gained my feet. Fired at the zombie behind the naked chick and felled him quickly.

  “Wash!” I screamed again. “They’re coming from behind us.”

  “I know, dammit!” He yelled back. “But we have a problem up here, too.”

  I looked back at the horde in front of us. They must have called in reinforcements as the numbers had swelled back up to near 20. Shit.

  The next zombie was no more than three feet from me, arms outstretched and blood-encrusted fingers reaching for me. I brought the shotgun back up to bear and shot him. Tried to, at least. The click of the empty chamber seemed extra loud on the night air. The zombie’s fingers closed around my throat.

  Panic welled up in my brain as my breath cut off. The others had no idea what was going on. I could still hear their guns firing from a few feet away. Black spots welled up in my eyes as I held my arms and the shotgun in front of me trying to keep the zombie at bay. I fumbled in my pocket for a shell as the zombie began to squeeze harder. My fingers finally found one, but it skittered away from my touch. Darkness closed in on me and I knew I was only moments away from unconsciousness and then death. And then undeath.

  My fingers finally found the shell again and I closed my hand hard around it, bringing it out of my pocket. I gave the zombie a shove with the shotgun, using the last of my breath to give it a little extra oomph. It didn’t release or loosen its grip, but its feet slid back in the mud and gave me a few extra inches to work. I quickly slid the shell into the chamber and did my best to cock the shotgun where it was pressed against my chest.

  I didn’t have the time or leverage to brace the gun as I brought the barrel underneath the zombie’s chin. My finger finally found the trigger and I pulled it. The top of the zombie’s head flew off in a spray of blood and bone. His fingers tightened for a second on my throat and then let go and he collapsed backwards onto the ground. I fell back to my knees, wheezing and trying to catch my breath. I reloaded the shotgun as quickly as I could, eyeing the line of zombies coming up.

  Suddenly the head of the zombie nearest me burst apart in a spray of blood. I looked over toward the line of cars as I heard the pop pop of a handgun. Rodriguez was coming up the lane holding his gun in one hand and firing at the zombies while pulling the boy behind him with his other hand. The boy could barely keep up and kept slipping in the mud but Rodriguez had his hand in a death grip.

  Apparently Rodriguez was a crack shot. Every bullet from his gun took out the head of another zombie. The line of zombies behind me was quickly eliminated. Thank God. I gripped my throat, feeling for any breaks in the skin or any blood but all I felt was what I’m sure would become a nasty looking bruise by the morning. I’d been very lucky that the zombie hadn’t had a hangnail or gotten the chance to take a chomp out of me.

  I turned around to see how Washington and Felix were doing and saw them putting the last two zombies down.

  We had a break in the action, thankfully. Felix held his hand out to me and I took it, rising to my feet slowly. My breath came to me slowly and the lining of my throat was burning. Felix kept a hold of me once I was standing to make sure that I was okay on my feet.

  Washington grabbed me by my other shoulder and stepped in close. “You okay, Duke?”

  I nodded at him and whispered, “Yeah, just peachy. Can we get out of here?”

  We all turned to look at Rodriguez. He’d stopped just in front of the last car and was reloading his gun. The boy, some young pup on the verge of manhood that I didn’t recognize, was leaning back against the car, hands covering his eyes. From the look of him I’d say that he’d be lucky if he didn’t live the rest of his life in an insane asylum. He whispered something and Rodriguez stopped in the act of pulling a clip from his back pocket.

  “What’d you say, boy?”

  He spoke a little louder. “Where’s Tamara Rogers? She was right here a few minutes ago. That’s why I stopped crying for help. She was trying to get in the car.”

  Tamara? Oh, hell.

  Rodriguez looked at the boy with a confused expression on his face. “Who?”

  She came out of nowhere, rising out of the dirt behind Rodriguez and the boy. Rodriguez cursed and jumped back, dropping the clip in his hand. The boy was looking at Rodriguez and didn’t see anything. He didn’t have a chance. She reached out and used her long, manicured fingernails to rip his throat open. He collapsed to the ground without a sound, his neck in tatters.

  Tamara was looking right at me. She looked just as we’d seen her this morning: beautiful, torn and deadly. Her eyes were locked on my throat. It was like she didn’t see anyone else. She seemed to be walking better than the other zombies had as she took several steps toward me. Rodriguez, God bless his soul, stepped in front of her, brandishing his gun like a club. She didn’t even notice him, digging both her hands into his shirt and simply shoving him away. I don’t know if she was that strong or he was just that much off-balance. He landed next to the boy, who hadn’t yet had the chance to finish dying. The boy was flopping like a fish on the ground with his throat gushing blood.

  I brought my shotgun up to my shoulder, sighting for her head. It was so easy. She was just heading in a straight line for me. She was maybe moving a little faster than the others, but she was still a zombie. Still only had eyes for my throat and my meat. I could sense the others bringing their guns to bear next to me. I whispered to them, “No, please. Let me do this.”

  I could sense them waiting as I whispered an apology to Tamara. I said it mostly under my breath but I hoped that on some level she was truly there and she could hear me and maybe it gave her some easement from her pain.

  I shot her in the face.

  She took another shambling step or two toward me and then collapsed forward, her head at my feet. My tears dropped on the hole in the back of her head.

  The pop of Rodriguez’s gun filled the air as he re-killed the boy. Tears were streaming down his face, too. For some reason it’s always harder to kill a child.

  The Acres were now truly silent.

  17.

  We made it back to the House without further incident. Maybe it was because we ran like bats out of hell. We no longer cared about being quiet or hunting for the zombies. We only wanted to rest in the last bastion of humanity and wanted to shelter in the light.

  They saw us coming and opened the door right w
hen we got there. The four of us ran pell-mell through the door and shouted at them to close it. Wilkinson quickly closed and barred it and Felix, Washington and I collapsed to the floor, leaning against the walls. All of us were out of breath and my whole chest and throat felt like it was on fire. My leg felt surprisingly spry given all the damage I kept dealing to it. Fannie Mae came out of nowhere and crashed to the floor next to me. She saw my throat and burst into tears, holding onto me tightly.

  Wilkinson said, “Where’s Stubby?”

  Washington just shook his head, refusing to answer. I managed to whisper, “He didn’t make it.”

  “And the boy you went out to save?”

  A bitter laugh escaped my throat. I could see Tamara ripping the boy’s throat out with her nails. “No, he didn’t make it either.”

  He sighed. “We heard all the shots. Did you kill any of them?”