Valley of Death, Zombie Trailer Park

by William Bebb

Sweat was making his vision blur as it ran into his eyes while the sun baked him inside the old smelly leather coat, but Josey stubbornly trudged on. His ear ached and he wished he could stop and do something about the blood that continued to ooze from the wound the pellet caused. It didn't hurt too much, but the blood attracted a small determined following of flying bugs that seemed drawn to the blood like a magnet to steel.

  Billy, looking tired and dejected, followed right behind him.

  Josey heard the gunfire coming from somewhere near the park’s entrance and wondered what was going on. His biggest worry was that he hadn't heard any sirens of additional police arriving. Even if they wiped them out, surely they would have called for more police to secure the area, he realized, before stumbling on some slippery sand and almost fell.

  Up ahead, he spotted the clearing with the abandoned trailer next to the uncovered well where he'd found the signs of Billy and Boris' earlier passage. Stopping in the shade of the trailer, about twenty feet from the well, he looked cautiously around and didn't see anyone.

  “Sorry kid. I’ve got to stop and rest for a couple of minutes,” he said slowly, while gently setting the dog in the shade. Josey stretched and slipped off the overcoat. His coveralls were soaked in sweat and his knee was aching fiercely as he sat down on the wooden steps attached to the trailer by the front door.

  Josey pulled a greasy red bandana out of his pocket and tied it around his leg where the man with the meat fork stabbed him earlier. He tied it in a secure, but not too tight, knot and yawned hugely. Leaning back against the trailer door in exhaustion, he closed his eyes.

  Billy sat cross-legged next to Boris' head with his rifle resting across his legs. He stroked the dog and looked around listening intently. The screamers all seemed far away and he felt strangely calm while continuing to pet Boris.

  “I've got to be the stupidest man alive. I can't believe I went out to find you two without any water. And thirsty as I may be, I don't think that well water would be very good to drink,” Josey grumbled with his eyes still closed, as echoed snarls and growls drifted up from the well.

  Billy slipped off his backpack, reached inside, pulled out a nearly full bottle of water and said, “Catch,” before tossing it to Josey.

  He caught the bottle, spun off the cap, and started to chug then paused to ask, “Hey kid, you want some of this?”

  Billy shook his head and continued to softly stroke the dog's head.

  After finishing off the bottle, Josey threw it in the well where the splashes and snarls momentarily increased in volume. He burped loudly and closed his eyes again. “Just give me a few more minutes and then we'll get you home. Okay, kid?”

  Billy shrugged and said, “Whatever,” in a small quiet voice.

  Josey had never felt so tired in his life. Leaning back against the abandoned trailer he tried to relax. He intended to rest for just a couple of minutes, but when a welcome breeze came in from the west it felt wonderful. He felt the sweat cool and quickly evaporate from his skin and sighed in utter contentment.

  Billy heard Josey breathing softly behind him while he looked at Boris and again wished they'd never come out there. He laid his head on the dog’s chest and listened as the brave heart somehow miraculously continued to beat.

  A few minutes later, a shadow cast by an enormous man wearing a pair of bright neon pink underwear, and nothing else, staggered his way into the clearing. The man had been dead for more than four days and could have claimed without argument the prize for fattest man living or undead in the trailer park; probably in all of Albuquerque New Mexico as well.

  The reason he could win such a dubious award was because even before he died and came back from the dead his driver’s license had an official recorded weight of three hundred and fifty pounds. (This had only been about a hundred and thirty pounds short of the truth.)

  In politically correct terminology: He was extremely large and rotund. But to everyone who knew him he was usually just called The Fat Fucker.

  His reanimated body's enzymes and various bacteria had been busy breaking down the cells, internal organs, and bodily fluids over the last several days. As a result, a growing mixture of various gases trapped inside his body made him swell up like a balloon. His head had also bloated and expanded so much that it resembled a rotten pumpkin, albeit one with long brown hair, that had been left to rot outside for several weeks after Halloween.

  Wandering blindly and aimlessly, he fell over the rusty chain that surrounded the well. Had it been a week earlier he might possibly have had the coordination to avoid what happened next. He flipped over the chain, rolled to the lip of the well and tottered on the edge of the hole.

  The impact of his hyper inflated body hitting the ground made a slight flatulence occur.

  It was a small sound, but the accompanying aroma was the worst thing that Boris had ever smelled.

  The dog that seemed asleep opened an eye and watched as the struggling undead wobbled near the well.

  The dead man's swollen belly was so immense that he couldn't get his legs to reach the ground to stand up again. As the zombie's arms and legs flailed around, Boris flicked his tail weakly and growled yet felt too tired to do anything more.

  Billy heard the dog's growl and looked up at the exact moment another gust of wind blew the undead fat man in pink underwear onto the well.

  The fat zombie's body began rolling around the sides of the well several times.

  The sight reminded the boy of basketball games he'd seen where the ball hit the rim and rolls around a few times before finally going in or out. He couldn't help laughing as the zombie eventually stopped rolling with its body stuck like a cork in a bottle over the open well.

  Josey awoke instantly, stared in surprise at the unlikely looking zombie cork, and chuckled too. He slowly stood and slipped on his coat again before picking up the sword. “Okay kid, break time's over. We better get moving.”

  Billy looked up in confusion as Josey stood and carefully tested his bad leg.

  “Aren't you going to stab him?” Billy asked, hopefully.

  “I don't think he's going anywhere. Besides he looks pretty pitiful for a zombie,” he said, while bending over to scoop up the dog.

  Billy shook his head as he pumped his pellet rifle and took aim. “Pitiful maybe but I'm not leaving it out here where it might get loose again,” he said and fired before Josey could say anything else.

  The resultant hole was tiny where the pellet hit him in the bulging belly and for a second it seemed like nothing had happened. Then a sound like a giant balloon deflating filled the air.

  The sound made Billy want to laugh, but the accompanying hideous rotting smell made him want to puke. He stood up coughing and chased after Josey who had already started limping away as fast as he could.

  “Couldn't leave well enough alone, could ya, kid?”

  Billy only smiled as the sound went on for a few more seconds before being followed by a distant splash.