Valley of Death, Zombie Trailer Park
Page 74
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A black scorpion several inches long was the first thing the young man saw as he opened his eyes. The second thing was a vulture perched on a speed limit sign looking down at him with a bit more than a casual interest. He was sprawled out on the edge of a steep road and experimentally rolled off his stomach and checked to see if all his aching parts were still intact.
The vulture took flight with a disgusted squawking noise. It preferred less active meals.
Dizziness and nausea made crawling difficult, but after a couple of minutes he made it to the speed limit sign and used the pole to pull himself to a standing position. His face was covered in scrapes and scratches and his nose continued to bleed, but not as much as it did when he slammed head first into the dusty road earlier.
At first he thought it was just a part of his colossal headache but gradually realized it was an actual police car siren he was hearing somewhere in the distance.
He peered around in confusion wishing for a pair of sunglasses. Looking down the road into the valley below, he spotted a squad car being chased by a group of people as it slammed into the back of a bus. His eyes widened when a few seconds later the back of the bus exploded into a fireball that climbed into the sky.
What the heck is going on? He wondered and leaned back against the speed limit pole. The smoke and screams drifting up from the valley below convinced him that going down there was probably a bad idea. Shakily turning around, he started slowly walking up the road.
After nearly half an hour of climbing, he reached the summit of the steep road and saw far off in the distance a little building. It seemed a million miles away as he trudged forward feeling near exhaustion.
A lone tree was not very far off the side of the road. He stared at its inviting shade for a few seconds before staggering toward it. Sitting with his back against the tree the man wearing black pants, white shirt, and black tie pulled a wallet out of his pocket and looked inside. He saw a driver’s license and stared at the picture for a few minutes. The young man in the photograph seemed unfamiliar. He read the name printed on the card then put the wallet back in his pocket and stared at the empty barren sandy landscape stretching away into the distance.
The shade was welcome, but he wished there was some water as he closed his eyes and rested- wondering if he could be the same guy the wallet belonged to. Who is Jeremiah Whitfield? Could that really be my name?