Jones Jason H.

Trailer Park Zombies

Trailer Park Zombies

By

Jason H. Jones

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There are a whole bunch of people I could thank here.

But I won’t!

Thanks to every horror and zombie movie I’ve ever seen.

Every novel I’ve ever read.

Every nightmare that they’ve all ever given me!

That’s all the inspiration I’ve ever needed.

And, as always, thanks to my Jessie for being there for me.

1.

The tragedy and heartbreak that follows is something that happened to me when I was young. Ish. Relatively young-ish, anyway. I was 16 going on 30 and thought the world was my oyster. Okay, maybe not my oyster. I probably hadn’t ever heard of oysters when I was 16. I certainly know I’d never seen one or known anybody who had, except for maybe Barrett. But if there was some equivalent to oysters in a white trash trailer park, then that’s what the world was to me.

I was only a couple years away from graduating high school and leaving the trailer park behind forever. I fully planned on never looking back the day I received that diploma. Whatever crappy car I had at the time would already be packed with all my worldly possessions and not one person in this God-forsaken town would see my ass ever again. You could count on it.

But at the time I was just 16, six feet tall, and in relatively good shape. My sandy brown hair was cut fairly short so that I could do just about anything I want with it. Get up in the morning and just go? Check. Gel it up and make some wicked spikes? Check. I was in pretty good shape for a non-athletically inclined person. My parents didn’t acknowledge my birthday beforehand, didn’t say one word to me that day when I got up, and certainly didn’t say anything to me that night. They completely ignored me and the day all together. It wasn’t like on “Sixteen Candles” where it was all cutesy and wonderful and everything worked itself out. And I was more than happy that that’s the way it went. The last thing I needed was drunk mom and dad acknowledging my presence. That was the absolute last thing I wanted, believe me.

The day started out just like any other day. It was a Friday, so it was a school day. I scooted out the door without breakfast. It’d be a cold day in hell before breakfast was served in my house. Mom never got up before noon and we were lucky to even see Dad in the trailer before two. He worked nights but for some reason was never able to stumble home after the end of his shift. My grades were the only thing saving me at this point (how else was I going to get the scholarship to Harvard?) so I always tried to get to school a little early. Sports had never been my thing even though I was a wiry little bastard. There was too much of the trailer park in me.

“Duke Johnson!” The screech of a 14 year old girl’s voice grated on my ears like a set of fingernails down a chalkboard. Just for effect she said it again, “Duke Johnson! How are you this morning? Happy birthday!”

Fannie Mae Jennsen bounced to a stop before me, her blond braids slashing through the air. A huge grin was on her face. It was the same grin she always had when she saw me. At the time I suppose I’d have said that she was cute, if you held a gun to my head. Blue eyes to go along with her blond hair and a small smattering of freckles on her nose. About 5’5” and bustling with energy every time she saw me. My friend Barrett told me that she had a crush on me but I always told him to shove it when he started that crap. Fannie Mae lived three trailers down from me and she’d hung around me for as far back as I could remember. She was like the little sister I’d never had and I’d be damned if I let anyone sully that for me.

“Hi, Fannie Mae,” I said, taking my books out of my locker, trying to maintain my coolness. “I’m fine this morning. How about you?”

She punched me in the arm and laughed at my formality. “I’m fine. You know that. I’m always fine! But it’s your birthday, Duke. You’re 16 now. You can get your license, get a car, do anything you want. Doesn’t it feel amazing?”

I sighed and shut my locker. “Yeah, Fannie Mae, it feels amazing. Mom and dad woke me up this morning with the keys to my very own car: a Corvette. Can you believe it? Then they said they’d pay for all four years of college plus medical school. Then they said I’d never have to come back to Litchville my whole life. Can you believe it?”

It was obvious from the tilt of her head that she didn’t find me that funny. “I don’t find that funny, Duke,” said Fannie Mae. “You have to come back here so I can see you. You know I’m never getting out of here. I’m third-generation trailer trash and that’s all I’ll ever be.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Hey, Fannie Mae, that’s not true. You’ll get out of here just like me.”

She wiped tears from her eyes. “No, I won’t. Don’t bother lying to me. You know what it’s like around here. No one ever leaves. We all live and die here and our kids will live and die here and our parents live and die here. The cycle will just happen forever and ever.”

I really didn’t have anything to say to that. I knew as well as she did that she was probably right. There was a greater than even chance that she’d be pregnant by the time she was my age and that I’d be working in a factory like dear old dad about the same time. But I’d be damned if I allowed that to happen to me. I didn’t care if I had to hitch my way out of here. I’d be gone before the ink on my diploma was dry. It was just a matter of making it the two more years.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the love birds,” said a new voice. Barrett Inman, my sometime best friend, and all around pain in my ass. A couple inches shorter than me and hair so dark it was almost black. The color of his eyes shifted with the clothes he wore but most of the time they were green. Or blue. I didn’t really go around checking out my best male friends eyes, okay?

“Shut up, Barrett,” I said. Fannie Mae pulled away from me, wiping at her eyes. She grumbled a quick goodbye to me, glaring at Barrett as she walked away. I gestured to her as I glared at Barrett.

He read the expression on my face but didn’t care. Grinning at me, he said, “Hey, Duke, happy birthday. Mom get you booze or cigs this year?”

He was one of those guys you just couldn’t stay mad at. It wasn’t worth the effort. “Booze, actually. The smokes cost too much these days.”

Barrett nodded sagely at me. “Of course. Good plan. Cause then when your dry ass doesn’t drink it she can just go into your bedroom and use it as backup. Nice. Didn’t know she was that smart.”

That surprised a laugh out of me. My first of the day. “She’s not that smart. You know that.”

He nodded at the departing backside of Fannie Mae, “What’s going on there? You profess your love or something?”

I shook my head. “No, just commiserating on life in the trailer park. You know how it goes.”

He nodded his head at me, “No, not really. Thank God.”

I smiled again. Barrett was always good for a laugh. It was one of the few reasons he was my best friend and that I allowed him to hang around. That and the fact that he didn’t live in the trailer park and never had. He actually lived in a house that didn’t roll or sway in high winds. Lucky bastard.

“Let’s go to class, smart ass,” I said.

Barrett and I only had a couple classes together. Fortunately they were the best ones: English in first period and Physical Education – Gym – last period. Our schedules were fairly well opposite each other so that we didn’t get to see each other much during the day. Which on some days was kind of nice because there was only so much of him I could take at any given time. He was a small doser kind of person, if you know what I mean.

The only other time we saw each other during the day was at lunch. Fannie Mae, unfortunately, ate lunch in the same period as us and sometimes her and Barrett had issues. Like today.

“I just don’t see why you’re such an ass, Barrett,” she said, picking at her lunch. It was a cornucopia of wonderful flavors today: runny mac and cheese, clumpy mashed potatoes and some meat-flavored solid stuff. Yum.

Barrett shrugged. “What do you mean? I’m not an ass.” He was shoveling the food in his mouth without any regard for taste or consistency. Or decency, for that matter. Half the food was on his chin.

Fannie Mae threw down her fork. “You’re kidding me, right? Today’s his birthday and all you can do is give him shit about Tamara Rogers. Can’t you leave it alone?”

I sat between the two of them. Fannie Mae on my left and Barrett on my right. I tried to ignore the conversation as I stared across the lunchroom at the girl in question. Tamara Rogers, never Tammy. Not even to her friends. She was just that formal kind of girl. And you had to say it with just the right inflection or she’d get pissed off. It wasn’t “Ta-Mar-Ah”, like my mom would say “tomorrow”. You had to call her “Ta-Mare-Ah”. Anyway, Tamara Rogers was sitting right in my line of sight, hence why I chose this particular table. There must be a game that night as her and everyone else at the table was wearing their white and green cheerleader’s outfit. Miniskirts and tight sweatshirts. A smorgasbord of flesh greeted the eyes and awaited all comers. Well, not really all comers. Mainly just the football team.

Tamara and I hadn’t really been in the same circle since grade school, but we did both live in the Rosie Acres Trailer Park so we knew each other. Once upon a time we’d even been friends, before she realized what hanging out with me would do to her reputation and that smiling prettily and batting her eyes would get her more than I could ever give her. She held onto her place on the cheerleading squad by the skin of her teeth and was known to be a total bitch if anyone tried to get in her way. Most of the other girls on the squad were the daughters of the rich men in town – those guys who owned the businesses and made their money off the sweat, tears, and blood of men like my father.

On the few times when my mom was coherent enough to string two sentences together she liked to say that the Roger’s girl was getting ready to be the town slut. I really hoped not but it did appear that she was applying for the position.

“What?” Barrett didn’t even have the decency to look offended. “I just said that he should go over there and say ‘hi’. All he does every day is sit here and not eat lunch while he stares at her. He’s lucky she’s too into herself to notice or she might get upset at him.” I could sense his sidelong gaze, “Lord knows that Mason has.”

“Give it a rest, Barrett,” I said. I picked up my fork and swirled it around in the cold lump of mashed potatoes. “See, I’m eating,” I said.

“You have to actually put it in your mouth to qualify as eating,” he said.

“Fine,” I sighed. I choked down one mouthful and put the fork back on the tray. “See. There you go.”

Fannie Mae giggled as my face turned several shades of red. The potatoes really were pretty bad. Ever eaten cold paste with a hint of garlic? Well, that’s better than what I had just shoved in my mouth.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” She asked. “We can do whatever you want. It’s Friday and we have the whole weekend to celebrate.”

She missed Barrett looking at her over my head. I could see him out of the corner of my eye with a smirk on his face and raising his eyebrows. His mouth opened to say something that I’m sure would have been extremely witty (and thus funny) and extremely hurtful to her. I kicked his foot and he quickly shut his mouth with a shrug. I didn’t take my eyes off Tamara while all this was going on.

I shook my head at Fannie Mae. “I don’t want to do anything for my birthday. I’m fine, Fannie Mae, really. I don’t want to celebrate.”

Her face fell. “Really? Please, can’t we do something? You never want to go out anymore.”

“I’m saving my money, Fannie Mae. You know that. Every penny counts.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we go somewhere and you pay, Duke. You could come over and watch a movie. My mom’s not going to be home so I’ll be by myself anyway. I can make you a cake for your birthday. I already got the mix.”

“That’s okay, Fannie Mae,” I said. “You don’t need to do that for me. Thank you, though.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Barrett said conspiratorially.

We both looked at him. I knew that tone of voice. “It’s never a good thing when you have a good idea of something to do,” I said.

He grinned winningly. That’s usually when he says something that gets me in trouble.

He reached into his pocket and pulled a key ring out, twirling it on his finger. His grin got wider as he placed them on the table in front of me, shoving my tray out of the way. He flicked them toward me with his finger.

I looked at them and then looked back at him, raising my eyebrow. He raised his in return to me, his grin getting so wide that I was surprised his face didn’t split in two.

He leaned closer to me and Fannie Mae. She pressed in on my back, sliding her arm around my side. I sighed and chose to ignore it. “Well,” he said, licking his lips, “my parents are out of town, too. And my dad didn’t take his car. He still thinks I don’t know where he keeps the spare keys.”

“The convertible?” I whispered, my throat suddenly dry.

“Yep,” he nodded. “I was thinking,” he said, “that maybe we could take it out for a spin and then maybe take it out somewhere I could teach you how to drive a stick and then you could drive us around a little bit if you want.”

Silence reigned at our table. “Really? You’d let me do that?” I asked.

“Sure,” he shrugged, leaning back. “You are my best bud, after all. Someone’s got to teach you how to drive.”

“Can I come, too?” Fannie Mae said excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to go in your dad’s car.”

He looked at me, a smile twitching across his lips. “That’s up to Duke.”

My eyes were riveted to his. I couldn’t believe he was doing this. He knew how much I loved his dad’s car. I waved my hand in her direction. “Sure. Sure. That’s cool.” My hand hovered over the keys, not wanting to believe my luck. “Where can we go?”

“I was thinking we could go back behind the old Pleasant Rest Cemetery. There’s a good dirt field back there that’d be perfect for it. Should be pretty quiet back there, too. Once you get the hang of it maybe you could drive us back home.”

My hand twitched possessively over the car keys as my eyes swiveled back to look at Tamara. The keys felt a little bit like freedom.

“Thanks, Barrett,” I said. “You’re almost not half bad.” I pulled Fannie Mae’s hand off my side as Barrett snorted and went back to eating.

This was going to be the best birthday ever.

2.

Ever have one of those perfect days? One where everything just goes completely perfect and all is right with the world? Birds are singing and the sky is a perfect shade of blue and everything is just the way it should be?

Yeah, me neither.

The skies were dark and the clouds were so full of unfallen rain that they looked pregnant. I stared sullenly at them while Fannie Mae and I sat on her porch. There was a slight chill in the air, too, but I stubbornly refused to go back to my trailer for my jacket. Mom was finally up and in rare form. God knows where Dad was. Mom said he’d come home just long enough to change his clothes and then he’d taken off again. He was probably at the bar or at a girlfriend’s house. It was unlikely we’d see him all weekend. I didn’t really blame him for staying away as much as possible. I would too, if I were him.

Fannie Mae was wearing one of her dad’s old army jackets. It was about ten times too big for her but it’s what she always wore whenever she could. He’d died a few years back in some freak accident at the plant. His arm got pulled into a machine. Apparently the safety inspector forgot to inspect the machine for safety cause the automatic shutoff didn’t automatically shut off and half his arm got yanked in before anybody noticed. By the time they got the machine shut off the only thing left was the glistening knob of his shoulder bone. He’d bled out right there on the floor.

According to my dad, anyway. He was the safety inspector.

She didn’t hold that against me, but Fannie Mae really didn’t like being around my parents. Not that she did before that, anyway. I didn’t either, obviously.

She tried to huddle up against me for warmth but every time she did I kept scooting my butt a couple inches away. If she kept this up I’d have to get up or I’d run out of porch. Barrett was late, of course. He was one of those people who had no sense of time. Tell him to be somewhere at 7 P.M. and he’d show up right on time at 8:30. Grinning that shameless grin and shrugging his shoulders and not even acknowledging his lateness. I’d long ago given up on yelling at him about it.

It was only a week to Halloween and usually we could count on it being warm for at least a little bit longer. But there was just something in the air that promised change. A taste of something on the back of my tongue. Change was coming and I could feel it my bones. The pregnant clouds made my head hurt with anticipation.

Barrett roared up in the convertible with the radio blaring rap and the top down. He skidded to a stop in front of us, spitting gravel in the air. You could hear it pinging off the metal side of the trailer. Fortunately they all missed me and Fannie Mae. He grinned and waved us to the car.

“Are you nuts?” I yelled at him. “Turn that shit down before someone calls the cops.”

“If it’s too loud you’re too old!”

I put my hand on the passenger door and yelled at him again. “Turn it off!”

“What?” He said, turning it down. “Come on, Duke, get into the spirit of things. It’s your 16 birthday, we’ve got a hot car, and it’s time to go celebrate.”

I leaned forward, “And if one of the old biddies around here gets upset by your music and calls the cops on you, so much for my birthday and my driving lessons, dumb ass. Come on. Please?”

He pointed at the nearby trailers. “You know as well as I do that if anyone is home in the Acres tonight they’re probably watching Deal Or No Deal and getting hammered or stoned. This is a trailer park, man.”

I shook my head in disgust at him while I held the door open for Fannie Mae to get in the backseat. I slid in the passenger seat and barely had time to put my seatbelt on before he took off with another squeal of the tires.

“Dude,” I said, “not everyone here is a stereotype. It’s entirely possible to have normal people living here.”

He looked at me with an eyebrow raised and said nothing. Even Fannie Mae giggled in the backseat. I raised my arms in defeat. “Okay, you got a point,” I said.

The next two hours were full of hooting, hollering and much screaming from the back seat. In other words it was a grand old time. Litchville, Kentucky, isn’t very big and isn’t really known for having tons of stuff to do. There was a movie theater two towns over and a bowling alley one town over. About the only thing we had going for us was a Wal-Mart on the outskirts of town. There were a bunch of people in the trailer park who thought that made us somewhat special. They were the largest employer we had and if it wasn’t for them and the factory Litchville would have just blown away in the dust a couple years ago.

The only thing we had in abundance was the bars and we were just chock full of those. Of course none of us were old enough to go near those so on weekends kids around town mostly just hung around in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart or went out into the woods to make out, booze it up, and party. There wasn’t that much else to do. None of the adults seemed to understand that the high rate of pregnancies might have something to do with that.

Regardless, Barrett zipped us up and down a bunch of back roads and even ventured onto the highway for a short bit. He’d only had his license for a month or so himself so he was as happy as the rest of us to go hotrodding everywhere. I think Fannie Mae was just happy to be included. Happy enough that when Barrett pulled out a bottle of his dad’s whiskey and passed it around she didn’t even complain too much. She even had a nip or two, though each swallow was followed by a coughing fit as the whiskey burned its way down her throat.

I didn’t want to have a drink myself. I’d seen enough of what the poison did to mom and dad (hell, the entire trailer park) that I didn’t want too much to do with it but Barrett finally convinced me that since it was my birthday I had to take a hit or two. Not to mention that if I didn’t he wouldn’t teach me how to drive the car.

He could be an ass at times. But I took a couple swigs. God, did that stuff burn. Though I managed not to cough like Fannie Mae. A man has to have his pride, if nothing else.

It took about two hours for me to convince him to take us over by the cemetery so that he could teach me. I’d never driven a stick before but I knew the basic mechanics. I’d only been behind the wheel of an automatic a few times and those were only when dad was feeling nice enough to let me drive down the Acres main road. Which wasn’t very often, truth be told.

So it was about ten o’clock by the time we got to the gravel lot behind the cemetery. There were only a few lights back there so it was pretty dark. It hadn’t started to rain yet but the clouds were still threatening to. The lot was a good makeout spot so I was glad to see there was only one other car parked there and it looked like it was empty.

Barrett turned the car off and looked at me, that shit-eating grin on his face. “You ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready, dammit. Can I drive now?” I started to get out of the car but he grabbed my wrist.

“Listen,” he said. “You need to be very careful. This is my dad’s car.”

“I understand -.”

He cut me off. “I’m serious. Driving a stick is a little tricky so I want you to pay attention before you get behind the wheel.”

“Okay,” I said impatiently.

He ran me through all the steps for how to start the car: clutch in, little bit of gas, car in first. How I needed to have the clutch in every time the car was stopped, or have the car in neutral. How to get the car moving I needed to let the clutch out just a little bit until it caught while pressing the gas just a little bit until it started rolling. How to tell when I needed to shift into a higher gear and how to quickly let the clutch in, shift, then let it out again. He said as I did it more and more I’d get used to the whole process and wouldn’t think about it anymore. Blah blah blah.

Finally I said, “Now?”

He grinned and said, “Oh, yeah.”

We quickly switched places and I just reveled for a minute behind the wheel. All this power was going to be controlled by me and I would be making us go. It was awesome.

It only took three tries for me to get the car going without killing it. Give me a break, it was hard to remember to leave the clutch down all the time. The car would just jerk and shudder to a stop, slamming us all into our seats. I finally told Fannie Mae that if she didn’t stop muttering she could go ahead and get out and walk home. It didn’t stop her running commentary but she did at least finally start doing it under her breath.

When I finally had the car running I slowly eased up on the clutch while giving the car a little bit of gas. The car shuddered almost to a stop and then shot forward like a bat out of hell. I could hear the engine whining as it wanted me to shift into second. Everything was happening too fast and both Fannie Mae and Barrett were screaming at me to stop. I slammed on the brakes. We skidded to a stop and gravel flew everywhere. I could hear a few rocks hitting the other car in the lot. Apparently I’d gotten closer to it than I thought. Oops.

Of course the car died because I’d forgotten to put the damn clutch in again. Silence filled the night air. We were enough off the main road that we couldn’t hear any traffic and for a few minutes all I could hear was the harsh breathing of the others in the car. I could feel the shit-eating grin on my face as I looked around at Barrett.

“That was awesome! Show me how to go in reverse so that I can do that again!”

He shook his head vehemently. “No, I don’t think so, Duke. Lesson over.”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Nothing happened. I just gave it more gas than I intended. I know better now.”

He held his hand out. “Give me the keys, Duke. I think I just pissed my pants and my dad would kill me if I got that on the seats.”

I took them out of the ignition and held them tightly in my hand. “No way, Barrett. You promised. It’s my birthday, remember?”

He sighed and who knows what he would have said but that was when Fannie Mae cut in, “Isn’t that Mason Smith’s car?”

Both our heads swiveled forward to look at the car that was now bathed in our headlights. Yep, it was Mason Smith’s car.

“Shit,” we both said clearly, at the same time.

Barrett looked at me and said, “Maybe we should go home now.”

“Yeah, that sounds like an excellent idea,” I said. “I’ll drive.”

No protest from Barrett as I tried to put the keys back in the ignition. Mason Smith was a senior at our school. He was the quarterback of the football team. Out-weighed the both of us by at least 100 pounds and was the meanest son of a bitch our high school had ever produced. The only thing that kept him out of jail was the fact that he was leading our team on to the first state championship we’d ever had and that helped grease a lot of wheels. Not to mention that half of the teachers were scared of him. And his dad was the sheriff. Peachy, huh?

Of course, his girlfriend lately happened to be Tamara Rogers. Mason and I had had a few words over what he considered my inappropriate staring at his girlfriend. He did most of the talking. And by “words” and “talking” I, of course, meant that his fists pounding into my face tried to convince me not to look at Tamara anymore. Bruises and black eyes aside, I still remained unconvinced.

Barrett called me a fool for not listening to Mason’s convincing arguments. While at the same time trying to goad me into talking to her. He was incorrigible.

I still had the keys in my hand, trying to find the ignition, when a piercing scream cut through the air like a knife. It was followed by a guttural yell that was too low for us to make out. Fannie Mae whimpered in the back seat and Barrett grabbed my arm. He whispered, “Can we go now?”

The scream cut through the air again. It cut off abruptly. “Ah, shit,” I said, cupping the keys back in my palm.

“What?” Barrett spoke through clenched teeth, “Whatever’s going on is none of our business. Let’s go, Duke, before they realize we’re here.”

I pointed at the car in front of us. “That’s Mason’s car, Barrett.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So who do you think that is screaming in there? Huh?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” he said. “Has nothing to do with us.”

I looked at him. “You can be a coward if you want, Barrett, but I’m going in there. That has to be Tamara. I can’t just let that go.” I held the keys out to him. “You can go if you want.”

“Fuck,” he whispered, shoving my hand away. “Let’s go.”

He and I got out of the car and gently closed our doors. The small click they made as they latched was almost too loud for the night. I winced and turned toward Fannie Mae, “You stay here. If there’s any trouble -.”

“Shit all over that, Duke Johnson. You should know me better than that,” she said as she climbed silently out of the car. Her tennis shoes hitting the gravel made even less noise than the doors had.

I looked hard at her for a second, wanting to will her to stay there but I could tell by the set of her hands on her hips that she would have none of it. “Shit,” I said.

“Exactly,” said Barrett as he finished coming round the car to stand next to me. “What’s the big plan, cahuna?”

I shrugged. “Uh, go in and see what’s going on?”

“Great plan,” he said, slapping me on the back. “You first.”

Turns out there’s a rhythm to sneaking into a graveyard in the dead of night under a dark sky with a moon that’s edging toward full. You sneak. Try to avoid any rocks on the gravel and then squeeze through the barely opened gate. The well-worn path was a blessing at least, since we didn’t need to worry as much about tramping through the grass. There were twigs here and there but we managed to sidestep them all. If there were any bugs or bats or animals afoot in the cemetery that night they’d all gone to ground, sensing the evil that lay afoot.

I felt like hiding in the grass myself but the thought of Tamara’s screams egged me on.

Grunts and groans were coming from the center of the cemetery ahead of us. We inched slowly farther in, waiting for the clouds to part to reveal what was waiting for us. Neither of the other two would take a step in front of me, electing me leader by default. I’m pretty sure neither one would have entered the graveyard by themselves, scream or no. Whatever happened here would be all on me. Yay for initiative.

I briefly flashed on the cell phone that I wished I had. Yet another one of those presents I’d never gotten. I didn’t think Fannie Mae had one, but Barrett should. I turned to him and whispered, “Do you have your phone with you? Maybe you should call 911.”

He put his lips to my ear and breathed, “Already thought of that, cahuna. We left it back in the car. Can’t get much signal out here anyway.”

Great.

I shrugged and turned back to the area where we could hear the sounds coming from. The moon was hidden by clouds and as if God heard my thought the clouds parted and we could suddenly see what was before us. Tamara Rogers lay on the ground, spread-eagled. Her cheerleading uniform lay on her in tatters, ripped open to reveal her breasts. Her skirt was pulled up to her waist. Her panties were probably somewhere in the grass on top of one of the graves.

She was crying silently and staring at the sky, doubtless not seeing anything.

Mason Smith, star quarterback, sat a few feet away from her. He was leaning against a stone monument, a small smile on his face. His pants were around his ankles and his penis flopped uselessly against his thigh. It glistened wetly.

I looked at Tamara again, noticing for the first time the trail of blood oozing down her thighs.

I saw red. Before I knew it I was rushing toward Mason, not feeling the arms of my friends as they tried to haul me back. He saw me coming but didn’t have time to react before I kicked him square in the balls as hard as I could. He howled silently, not able to catch a breath. The cords in his neck stood out in stark contrast against the night.

“Motherfucker!” I screamed at him. I honestly couldn’t tell you what else I screamed at him, but there were definitely quite a few choice obscenities in there. I turned toward Tamara, who hadn’t reacted to my presence. She was still staring at the night sky above her, her hands flung out above her head. The only sign that she was still alive was the tears slowly leaving a trail down her cheeks.

I took a step toward her, but that was when Mason grabbed my ankle and yanked me back with all of his football quarterback might. I tumbled to the ground with a whumpf, landing with my face in Tamara’s stomach. She screamed again and shoved me off her, trying to scuttle away from me. I whimpered and rolled to my back, trying to catch my breath.

Mason loomed over me, buckling his belt and zipping his pants. An evil grin was on his face, accompanying the scratch marks that trailed down one of his cheeks. At least Tamara had gotten her licks in. “You’re gonna pay, Johnson. Oh, are you going to pay.”

I tried to gain my breath, gain my legs, something, but before I could Mason lashed out with a kick of his own and got me square in the upper thigh. I screamed as a lightning bolt of pain welled up inside of me. For a second all I saw was white. If he’d gotten me in the nuts it would have been all over. My dreams of getting a vasectomy at 21 and living a carefree life of random sex would have been all over. Just give me an invitation to the falsetto section of the choir and I’d sing my heart out for the rest of my life.

Thankfully, he’d missed.

Where are friends when you need them?

I glanced behind me as I struggled to get a handle on the pain and tried to get my hands under me. I could feel nothing except for the throbbing in my thigh. It felt like my leg was broken, though I was pretty sure it wasn’t. Barrett and Fannie Mae were both behind me trying to pull Tamara away from the fight. She was letting Fannie Mae touch her but wouldn’t have anything to do with Barrett. He and I locked eyes for a moment and all I saw in them was shame. In that moment I knew there’d be no help for me coming from him. He was a coward.

I looked back at Mason, who apparently thought I was incapacitated. He was looking at Fannie Mae with a gleam in his eyes and rubbing his crotch. Maybe this was a normal Friday night for him, but I’m pretty sure if it was I’d have heard about it at school. I don’t know what had gotten into him, but I was going to take it out.

Ignoring the blazing pain, feeling the anger blossom like a solid thing in my head, I managed to get to my knees. I swayed like a prize fighter going down for the last count, but some reserve of strength managed to well up within me and I finally managed to get to my feet. Mason looked at me.

“Something wrong there, Johnson? You might want to stay there on the ground or I’m going to have to put you out again. I think I’m going to have a taste of your little friend over there. She’s probably even tighter than old Tammy. Who’d have thunk that that little slut was a virgin, huh? With the way she flashes it all over town?”

I roared as I launched myself at him. Well, it sounded like a roar inside my head anyway. It caught him completely by surprise as I tackled him like a sack of potatoes. He flew backward with me still attached to his hips, my arms wrapped around him to keep him off balance. We came to a sudden stop as he hit the granite monument behind him with a sickening crunch.

My face landed in his lap as we hit the ground again, whipping my head back with a grunt and catching my tongue with my teeth, quickly filling my mouth with blood.

Barrett pulled me to my feet. “Are you all right, man?”

I spit the blood out of my mouth in the general direction of Mason Smith. Doing it again and again, trying to get the taste out of my mouth. I shook my head to clear it, then put my hand up to my face. “Ow,” I said.

I tried to put my weight on my leg but it buckled beneath me. Fortunately Barrett still had a firm grip on me.

“Someone needs to take the car into town to get the cops,” I said.

Barrett looked at me blankly. “Why?”

Maybe my head wasn’t very clear. “What do you mean, why?” I said around the blood. “He just raped Tamara and we just kicked the shit out of each other. We need to explain it all to the cops so he can go to jail.”

Barrett didn’t say a word. He just pointed at Mason. Looked at me. Pointed again. “If we call the cops you’re the one going to jail, Duke.”

“What?” What? I turned to follow his finger, keeping my weight firmly off my leg. “Oh, shit,” I said weakly.

“Yeah,” Barrett said.

Mason lay against the monument, his eyes open and glassy, staring into nothing. His neck lay at a crooked angle and I could see smears of blood decorating the stone behind him.

I gripped Barrett tightly. “That’s it. I’m done. So much for dreams. No more escape from the trailer park, from this state, from this life. I’m going to jail forever, man.”

I couldn’t help it. I started to cry. Everything was gone.

A new voice spoke up behind me, “It doesn’t have to be that way, Duke.”

“Huh?” I asked, not turning around. “How’s that? I just killed a man.”

Tamara appeared in my line of sight, wrapped loosely in Fannie Mae’s coat, leaning heavily on Fannie Mae. Much as I was leaning on Barrett. The tears on her face had dried up, although it looked like they’d started on Fannie Mae’s.

Tamara said, “We don’t call the cops. I was never here. You were never here. You don’t go to jail. Easy.”

My jaw dropped. “But he raped you, Tamara. People have to know that he was with you tonight. There’s no way around that. They’ll come for you and you’ll tell them what happened. It’ll be better if I tell them now.”

“No, Duke,” she said, coming to a stop before me. “No one knows that he was with me. We didn’t leave the game together. Plus, I’m his girlfriend. Why would he rape me? I’m the slut of the Acres, remember?”

“Tamara, you’re not,” I said.

“Shush,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. It is what it is. I’ll go back to the trailer, take a shower, trim my nails, scrub every inch of my body down. They can say what they want, but I’ll never tell them what happened.”

I looked at Barrett and Fannie Mae. “Talk some sense into her. This isn’t right.”

Barrett opened his mouth, but it was Fannie Mae who spoke first. “She’s right, Dukey. This is the only way. You’re the only one of us who has the chance to get out of here. I couldn’t stand the thought of you rotting in jail. He was a monster,” she nodded down at Mason, “and you don’t deserve to go to jail in his place.”

Barrett just nodded when I looked at him. He couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Fine,” I said wearily. “What do we do about him?”

Tamara looked down at Mason’s body. “Screw him,” she said. “Let the animals have him. Let him rot. Someone will find him.” She nodded at the sky. “The rain will come down eventually. That will wash the body clean for us.”

“All right,” I said simply. “Let’s go home.”

Happy birthday to me.

3.

Who knows what magic breathes in the empty spaces, in the dark of night? On a cursed body rapidly cooling on the grounds of a now unconsecrated burial ground? Who knows what secrets lurk in the heart of the world and the places that man cannot see?

How the hell should I know?

All I know is that as midnight arose and the four of us stumbled away to try to heal our wounds and forget the horror behind us another nightmare somehow managed to find purchase in the world. It slunk somehow through the night and we did not sense it as it passed us. It crept into the fading shell of the quarterback on the ground. Maybe it was a demon or a disease or some creeping nothingness from beyond the realms of knowledge. But from somewhere it came and it found purchase there in that shell.

And a dead finger twitched.

Barrett dropped Tamara off first. The rumble of the engine seemed muted somehow, as if even the car understood the tragedy and the need to be silent. She and Fannie Mae both got out of the car, Tamara hugging the coat around her nearly naked body and Fannie Mae’s arm strung tightly across her shoulders. Barrett asked Fannie Mae if she wanted him to wait and she just shook her head silently. I glanced at them in the rearview mirror as Barrett turned around to take me home and I could see them both standing at the bottom of the stoop staring at us. The things I wish I would have said.

We stopped in the parking space in front of my trailer and Barrett turned off the car. The tick of the engine cooling was the only sound to be heard for a minute or two until the twang of some country music warbled through the air at us from a couple trailers away. That seemed to break the hold that the silence had on us.

“Barrett,” I said.

He broke in, “We’re not talking about it, buddy. Not tonight, maybe not ever again.”

“Okay,” I said, wondering to myself if that were true. Would the events of tonight never again pass our lips? Would I be able to push it all aside and never again think of the crack of Mason’s neck against the stone as we piled to the ground?

Barrett pulled the bottle of whiskey from under the seat and took a long swig. He shuddered and closed his eyes, putting his forehead on the steering wheel. His shoulders shook and I thought I detected a sob but I pretended not to hear it. I was still in shock and staring out across the Acres. It was midnight and the place wasn’t booming like you’d expect a trailer park to be. Half the residents were probably in town getting drunk and the other half were apparently hunkered down, probably doing the same thing.

Barrett proffered the bottle in my direction without looking at me. “Want some?”

“No, I’m good,” I said. “Think I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.”

“Yeah,” he said, “tell me about it.” He pulled the bottle back in and took another deep swig.

“You know, maybe you should stay here tonight. Doesn’t look like dad’s home yet, so he probably won’t be back til late and mom’s oblivious to the world. She won’t notice.”

“Duke,” he said slowly, “I’d rather be home.” I could see the thought passing through his mind that he’d like to turn away and never come back again, but we were friends and that meant something to him. “But I think you’re right. I probably shouldn’t drive.”

He turned the key to the car and hit the button to close the top. It latched firmly and we still just sat there. In the dark. I could hear him putting the cap back on the bottle and sliding it into his jacket.

“Tonight was completely f’ed up, cahuna.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t agree more.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel a couple times and then took the keys out of the ignition and put them in his pocket. The silence was getting heavy. “Let’s go,” I said. “I need some sleep.”

We got out of the car. I was moving a bit slowly. My leg was feeling a little better, although there was a deep throbbing in the thigh that was trying to scream for attention. It would hurt in the morning, that’s for sure. I was able to walk at least, that was a good thing. That would have been hard to explain to my parents, if they’d notice.

Mom was passed out on the couch when we went outside. A cigarette had burned out between her fingers and a bottle was pressed firmly between her thighs. Eerily, it was the same whiskey that we’d been drinking from earlier and that Barrett had mostly finished off in the car. The TV was on but the sound was turned low enough to be nothing more than unintelligible noise.

We stumbled by her, not even trying to keep quiet. Mom would be out until at least noon on Saturday judging by the empty bottle. At some point she’d probably get up and go to bed but even that couldn’t be guaranteed. I’d spent quite enough Saturdays cleaning up a piss-soaked couch to know that she didn’t always get up to use the bathroom.

My bedroom was down the hallway, off to the side, right next to my parent’s room. It was a fairly good sized bedroom for being in a trailer. Usually when people hear “trailer” they think of tiny things that you can haul around behind your truck but the truth is that most trailers are just houses on wheels. A little cramped, but still a good enough size to trick you into thinking you’re living in a small home.

I had a twin bed and a futon in there. Barrett had spent enough nights there over the years, so he knew right where to go. I don’t think he even took his shoes off before pitching himself face down onto the futon. He was snoring less than 30 seconds later. I was glad I hadn’t let him drive home.

I was exhausted. Felt like I could use about 20 hours of rest and that someone had beat the crap out of me with a tree trunk. I guess they kind of had. Part of me wanted to go take a shower and another big part of me wanted to just lie down and put my head under the covers and collapse. But I had to clean the cuts on my face if nothing else. See how bad they were.

I went into the bathroom and locked the door, staring into the mirror. The fluorescents put my face in stark relief. I looked awful. My eyes were sunken back into my head and my skin was waxy and pale, covered in a cold sheen of sweat. The scratches on my face from where Tamara had reacted and pushed me away actually weren’t too bad, though. Very shallow, superficial cuts. I wet a wash cloth and picked at them, trying to scrub some of the night away. I’m not sure that it worked but by the time I was done my face had at least regained some of its color. The night was still there in my eyes, though. I wasn’t sure if I could ever get that haunted look out of them.

The cuts didn’t look like they’d bled that much and washing them hadn’t opened them back up thankfully. They were faint trails going down my cheek. Unless sleeping on them made them come back out I thought I was okay on that front at least. I looked down at my pants and brushed my hand over my thigh. The pain wasn’t as sharp or as deep as it had been, but my thigh was definitely swollen. I briefly considered taking my pants off and having a look at it but after a quick internal debate I said screw it and decided to leave it for the morning.

I looked out the bathroom window as I stood over the toilet and did my business. Something didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Not in an “I just killed a guy who raped the girl I was in love with” kind of way – that certainly didn’t feel right, either, but it was something I could work with – things just felt wrong somehow.

Whatever it was, it could last until morning. I was beat. I kicked my shoes to the side and took my shirt off as I limped my way back to my bed and threw the shirt in the general direction of the hamper. It missed, but then there were more clothes on the floor in front of the hamper than there was inside it anyway. I lay on my back on the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. After a few seconds of that I rolled over onto my side, facing the window. Next thing I knew, I was asleep.

A gripping fear woke me sometime later. My heart was beating wildly and I could feel my pulse throbbing everywhere in my body. It felt like the whole world was shaking and I could hear a rumbling in the air. A peal of thunder broke the air like a gunshot and the flash of lightning seared the backs of my eyeballs. Sweat broke out over my body and chills swept up and down my spine. It felt like I was drowning.

I swam my way out from under the covers as another crash of thunder sounded right on top of the trailer. At some point in my sleep I’d curled into a tiny ball at the bottom of my bed and wrapped myself in the blanket. It felt like I was suffocating and when I finally managed to break my head out into the air I breathed in hard like a marathon runner at the end of the race.

I just lay there for a few moments trying to catch my breath until another peal of thunder surprised a cry from my lips. There was not a single light on in the house and none was shining through the window. Looked like the power was out. A pretty common occurrence here at the Acres in the middle of backwoods Kentucky.

My heart was in my throat and I was doing my best to calm down and get my body back under control. I’d had dreams of being trapped in the dark and chased by some faceless enemy. Constant running and hiding and never quite managing to get away. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had caused that dream.

Thunder rattled the windowpanes three more times. Each one made me jump like I’d been shot. The night was quiet after the last one so I wondered if that was going to be it for the storm. It didn’t even look like it’d rained yet judging by the dryness of the window and sometimes God just let the sky knock at our doors a few times and then leave without the rain actually coming.

“What was that?” I muttered to myself.

I’d been looking at the window to see if it was wet and I could swear I’d seen a shadow flit by. It had paused and then moved on again. It wasn’t distinct enough to see what might be causing it, but something had definitely gone by my window. That wasn’t odd in and of itself since my window did face out onto the rest of the Acres, but no one should be that close.

I tried to rise out of bed but when I put my weight on my leg a sharp burst of pain radiated from my thigh and went straight to my mouth. I fought to hold back the scream and all that came out was a grunt. Tears rolled down my cheeks from holding in the hurt. Damn, I should have taken off my pants. The jeans around my thigh were swollen enough to fill in every crease. My thigh had swelled to at least twice its normal size.

I gingerly put that leg back down on the floor and tried to put weight on it. It hurt less now that I was geared up for the pain but it still hurt worse than it had when I went to bed. However many hours ago that was. Bracing myself for the pain and leaning on my wall with one hand I put my weight on both my legs and rolled to a standing position. I stood like that for a good 30 seconds or so and let the pain roll through me. I could do this. I could deal. Mind over matter.

The first step I took toward the window brought a hiss of pain to my lips. I was able to bite it back on the second step and by the third I was able to take my hand off the wall as I stumbled to the window. I uttered a small cry of victory as I reached the window, sparing a quick glance for Barrett splayed out a couple feet from me. He was sleeping heavier than the dead. Nothing was going to wake him up.

I moved the curtain and held it aside with one hand. It definitely hadn’t rained yet although I could see the lightning flickering off and on in the distance. Maybe we’d lucked out this time and missed the rain. Driving and walking through the gravel in the Acres was a pain at any time, let alone if it was wet with rain.

The Acres was completely and utterly dark. No street lights or gas lamps came from any of the trailers. I glanced at my watch: 3:00am. The witching hour. It was doubtful anyone was still up and most people would have just rolled over once they saw the lights were off. Nothing that needed to be dealt with this late at night.

I’d slept for a little over two hours and even though I’d been heavy with exhaustion when I lay down I was now completely awake. My heart still thudded a little bit in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling of the dreams and the wrongness that had pervaded it. Even though I could see nothing looking out my window it still seemed like things were a little off.

I’m sure it was just the nerves of what had occurred barely three hours ago, but still. I felt wired.

From my window I could see the back end of Barrett’s car and I could tell that something didn’t look right but I couldn’t figure out what it was. It seemed off, too. I knew his dad would kill him if something happened to that car and since I was wide awake anyway I figured I might as well go outside and check it out. He didn’t deserve to get in trouble over me. I’d shield him and Fannie Mae from everything that happened as much as I could.

There’s no way the cops wouldn’t zero in immediately on the trailer park and Tamara; and I had no faith that she’d be able to not say anything. I didn’t blame her at all, of course. She’d do whatever she needed to protect herself. There was a small chance that the cops would believe he’d raped her and she’d fought him off and knocked him into the monument and killed him. If they did that’d be the end of it, but there really wasn’t much chance of that happening. I’d watched enough CSI and Law and Order.

I picked a shirt up off the floor and put my shoes on. Hopefully no one in the park had messed with Barrett’s car. It was too nice of a car to park in a shithole like this and that was more likely than not to have attracted a few vandals. If there were scratches on it or dog crap thrown on the windshield at least I’d know who to go to: Donny Marsters across the way. He was 14, a freshman like Fannie Mae, and the resident leader of the pack of hoodlums. If someone’s car was broken into or something was missing from your trailer he was the one to go to. His mom almost always made him give the stuff back but it never seemed to stop him.

I grabbed my flashlight off my dresser. I kept one there for emergencies and for bathroom runs in the middle of the night. If mom or dad happened to be home and sleeping and I managed to wake them up there would invariably be a lot of screaming and yelling and general dismay. It was best to just avoid the problem. I never flushed either, but mom always blamed it on dad and dad never remembered if he’d flushed or not.

It always gave me the giggles when mom sat in the pee because I forgot to put the seat up and screamed at dad to come in there. I’d seen her get up and make dad sit on the wet toilet seat to see how he liked it. That one never got old.

Regardless, I slipped out the front door to the trailer (yes, trailers have back doors, too) and flicked the light on. I cocked my head at the total silence. Usually at least one dog or two was always barking. Hell, the Marsters had their own little pack of yipping mutts. And not one dog was making a sound. I shrugged and turned to Barrett’s car, letting the light play on the side of the car I’d seen from my bedroom window.

I froze, the light shaking in my hand.

Holy crap. Who would do this? Not even Donny Marsters would have done something like this. Deep gouges ran down the length of the soft top. It hung in tatters around its metal frame. It was caked in filth that looked like mud. All of the windows were coated in filth as well. I thought it was mud until I took several steps closer to the car and played the light on it fully.

Dark, red blood coated all the windows. Streaked as if someone had dragged their hands through it completely. It looked like someone had tried to wash the windows in blood. Or like something bloody had tried to get in the car from all angles and finally decided to tear through the top to get in.

I felt my heart rising in my chest again and tried to swallow it back down. My throat was suddenly as dry as an AA meeting. Maybe I should go back inside and check this out in the morning.

I backed away from the car. Took two whole steps and then collided into something that felt as solid as a tree. Something that hadn’t been there 30 seconds before when I’d walked through that space.

Oh shit.

4.

I drew in my breath to scream and that was when the thing reached out and put its hand over my mouth. It whispered my name, “Duke. Duke.”

I struggled to free myself and that was when it registered that the voice speaking my name was Barrett’s. I slumped back against him.

“Bastard,” I said. “You scared the crap out of me.” I turned to him and he had that usual grin on his face, spreading his arms in a shrug as if to ask me what I expected. He was right. It was Barrett, what else should I expect?

He obviously hadn’t seen his car yet.

“You looked like you were already spooked,” he said. “I figured if I called out your name or tried to grab you or anything you’d freak out and wake up the whole trailer park. Last thing we need is a trailer park posse out here at 3 A.M. What had you spooked, anyway?”

Wordlessly I pointed the flashlight at his car. I think the shock got to him because he didn’t react for a few seconds. Then with a cry he launched himself toward the car. It was my turn to hold him back. I grabbed his arm and wouldn’t let go. He fought to get free, putting pressure on my weak leg, but I wouldn’t let go.

Finally he stopped struggling and looked at me. “What? Let me go. I have to see what they did to my dad’s car. He’ll kill me.”

I shook my head at him. “Barrett, look. That’s blood all over the car.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Duke.” He looked at the car as if to point out to me how it wasn’t blood but his voice just trailed off as I raked the flashlight over the car, lingering over some of the worst spots. It was very apparent that it was blood in the light of the flashlight.

“It looks like someone was trying to get into the car,” I whispered. “When they couldn’t get through the windows they went through the top.”

“But why? There’s nothing in there they’d want. And why would they be all bloody?” He whirled to face me. “Stupid trailer park. I should have known better than to come here. First you ki-,” he stopped, stuttered, then went on, “and now this. My dad will freaking kill me, Duke.”

I ignored his outburst, still staring at the car. “Barrett, we can worry about all that later.”

“Later? Seriously, Duke.”

“Seriously,” I said. “Maybe we should make sure there’s no one and nothing inside the car. Obviously someone was trying to get in and they managed to get in. Why? Are they in the car? Did they put something in the car?”

“Put something?” He looked at me, confused. This his face cleared. “Do you think someone saw? And they put him in the car?”

“I doubt that, Barrett. But we need to go look.”

He shook his head at me. I just stared at him. He’d already pulled the wussy card on me once tonight and look at what it cost us. I didn’t need to say anything, just continued staring. It wasn’t exactly a staring contest, but more of one of those silent communication things friends can do when they’ve known each for a while. I told him he owed me and that this was his car and his trouble and we needed to go see the damn thing and see what we were dealing with. He told me a big fat no and I told him to stop being a coward.

This went on for what seemed like eternity but was likely no more than a few seconds. Finally he just said, “Whatever,” and I knew that was good enough.

We skulked forward slowly to the car.

Lightning still flashed on and off in the distance, giving us that last creepy little bit of ambience that we needed to make the night feel just right. Blood on a car? Check. Power out? Check. Freakish storm? Check. Two idiots creeping forward to look at said bloody car with the power out and lightning breaking the sky? Check. If I was watching this in a movie I’d be the first one to scream at the idiots to not go check out the car and to run back inside.

And I knew that while I was going forward to the car. Reality is a big suck-ass sometimes.

Barrett hung a foot or so back and let me take the lead of course. If nothing else came of tonight it was nice to know that he was a big coward. I didn’t realize that, as my friend, when he told me he had my back he meant it literally. At least his girly screams would help if we got attacked.

The gravel crunched softly under our feet as we approached. I played the flashlight around the car but everything looked like it had from far away: filthy and torn and bloody. I shone the light in a wide radius around to see if there was anybody or anything weird around us, but I couldn’t make out anything that I hadn’t already expected to be there.

The rag top on the car was cut to ribbons. I couldn’t tell what tool had been used on it. Hell, it almost looked like someone had done it with their bare hands, which was just silly. It had been torn in such a way that you couldn’t see through the windows. All the torn flaps were dangling on the inside and were all you could see through the bloody smears.

There were only two ways to see inside the car. One was to stand on tiptoes and lean far over the top of the car and peek inside. I shivered at the sudden image of giant, bloody hands suddenly coming out through the hole and yanking me inside headfirst. And I could hear the splash of my blood hitting the leather seats and windows. Barrett would have a hell of a time cleaning the seats if that happened.

I decided that was maybe not the best idea.

The other option was to open the door, yank it as hard as we could and run back 20 steps and shine the flashlight through. That seemed like the puss way to do it but it certainly had its merits.

I told Barrett that’s what we were doing.

He was all for the puss/coward option. To no one’s surprise, least of all his own.

He started protesting when I told him that he was going to be the one to go open the door while I stood back with the flashlight. A hurried, whispered argument ensued where I told him he was going to do it because it was his car, he had the keys and I had the flashlight. His offer of the car for my 16 birthday present didn’t really make that big of an impression on me at that point. I told him if he didn’t do it that I was going back inside and going to bed and he could just drive home.

That pretty much put an end to it.

I had the flashlight trained on the front passenger door while he slowly leaned over as far as he could to open it. He was standing by the front tire so that nothing could come out and eat him. His hand shook in the light of the flashlight but I’ll give him credit for actually doing it. He put his hand on the door and looked at me. I nodded and he nodded back. Then he pulled the handle and yanked the door back as fast as he could and ran back to me in about a half second flat.

There was nothing in the front seat.

I muttered some choice profanity.

“Now what?” He looked at me blankly as he asked it.

I looked at him, “What do you think? Now you do the back door.”

“Crap.”

He scuttled back to the car, taking a wide path from where we were standing so that he could approach the car from the front. He closed the front door with a satisfying thud and then reached for the back door. With his hand on the release he looked at me again to make sure I was ready. I nodded and he yanked this one open as well, pulling it wide and doing the run back to me.

The hanging soft top was in the way.

“I can’t see anything, Barrett,” I said.

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

I looked at him in disgust. It was obvious he’d about reached the limits of what little courage he had. I strode forward purposefully and pulled the top out of the way so that I could see. A stench rolled out of the car at me and I jumped back so fast that I landed on my ass. The pain in my leg woke up and let it be known that it wasn’t happy about it.

“What happened, Duke? What’d you see?” Barrett called from ten feet back. He didn’t move an inch closer to help me.

I didn’t answer him. Didn’t even hear him, honestly. I got back to my knees, barely, wincing at the pain in my thigh. I had eyes only for what I’d seen in the car. I was still on my knees as I reached in, using the hand holding the flashlight to pull aside the flaps and the other to reach inside the darkness. I could hear Barrett behind me whimpering and whispering my name. It was like a small buzz at the back of my head.

My reaching hand slid across the wet seat, grasping for what I’d seen. It was getting wet and covered with the slime that was on the seat. Reaching inside that car, that maw of darkness, was like putting a hand into Hell itself. I kept expecting something to grab my hand and pull me in. I’d fight heroically but in the end it would get me and I’d disappear into the car and never be seen again. My fate would be whispered around the Acres in spooky little campfire tales.

But my hand finally touched the edge of the fabric. I went forward a little more to get a better grip on it and gave it a firm tug, saying a quick prayer of thanks to God that nothing tugged back. It slid across the seat toward me and I slowly got it out of the car, keeping it at arm’s length. I stood up and took it back to Barrett, gripping it in my fist and holding it in front of me. We looked at it silently and I dropped it to the ground. My arm from my elbow to my fingers was coated in cold blood. The smell of copper filled the air and I could veritably taste the blood in the back of my throat.

Barrett turned to the side and violently threw up on the ground. I turned my head quickly. I can’t stand puke. If I watched him do it I was likely to do it, too. It was hard enough keeping my dinner down as it was. I grabbed a towel off of mom’s clothesline and cleaned my arm off as best I could. Yes, we had a clothesline in the front yard. Stuff it.

He stopped and the smell of bile now filled the air, combining with the blood to create just an awesome scent. I shuddered, breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Do you recognize it?” He asked me.

I gave him a look of disgust. “Of course I do, dumbass. Don’t tell me you don’t?”

“No,” he shook his head vehemently. Then he sighed. “I do. How’d that get here? What’s going on, Duke?”

I didn’t answer him. Lying in its own pool of blood in front of us on the ground was a letterman’s jacket from Litchville High. The Litchville Lions logo was prominent on the sleeve and on the front was a last name written in script. Even though it was a common name there was only one of them on our football team. He was the quarterback. The jacket was soaked in blood and the white lettering looked red in the light of my flashlight, but it was still very easy to read.

The name stitched on the jacket was Smith.

5.

We sat in the small yard by the trailer staring at the jacket on the ground a few feet away from us. Neither of us could take our eyes off it for very long. We sat on the patio chairs that mom had strewn haphazardly in the yard on the edge of the road. She occasionally liked to get drunk and stumble out here and throw stuff at passing kids. The neighbors had gotten tired of calling the cops on her so most days if mom was out here everyone knew not to walk by. Except for that stupid Marsters kid.

I’d been smacked from a few of her rocks myself, so I could see why we weren’t liked in the neighborhood.

Barrett kept opening his mouth to say something but nothing ever came out. I think he was trying for something witty but the well had evidently run dry. I’d turned off the flashlight and we were sitting there in near total darkness. Which was a little unnerving. Occasionally the moon would escape the cloud cover and give us a little bit of light but that almost made the darkness worse.

Finally I could stand the silence no longer. “He was dead, Barrett. No doubt about that. We all saw it.”

“Maybe he wasn’t,” he said. “We didn’t check for a pulse. He could have still been alive.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Barrett. He was dead. His neck was broken and his head was bleeding like crazy. You could tell from his eyes, he was dead.”

He waved toward the jacket. “Then how do you explain that? And my car? Someone beat the shit out of my car and wiped blood everywhere and threw a dead man’s jacket in there.”

“The only explanation I can think of is that there was someone else there and they saw what happened and they’re screwing with us.” I shook my head. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Barrett laughed bitterly. “That doesn’t make sense. If someone had seen us they’d have called the cops. Not gone to all the trouble to strip a body down, come all the way over here and do this and then throw the jacket in my back seat. Hell, one of the arms is inside out like Mason took it off himself.”

I looked at him, suddenly feeling much older than my 16 years. I could feel the vise of the trailer park closing in around me. I’d never get out of this place.

“Then what’s your suggestion, Barrett? How’d this happen?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “But it’s three in the morning and any ideas I can think of are too scary to even think about.”

I scoffed. “You’ve watched too many horrors movies.”

He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. “Yeah. Exactly.”

A scraping of slow footsteps on gravel reached us. It was coming from the direction of my neighbor’s trailer. We both whipped our heads around to look, but of course couldn’t see anything. It was dark, after all. I flipped on the flashlight and shone it in the general direction of the footsteps and both Barrett and I screamed and fell out of our chairs, scrambling backward.

“Ha, ha,” said Fannie Mae. “Very funny.”

My heart beat wildly in my chest. I looked wide-eyed at Barrett and saw the same look in his eyes. I’m not sure what either one of us were expecting but it was obvious that for a moment when I’d turned the flashlight on that we’d both seen something completely different standing in front of us.

I forced myself to control my breathing, pushing the air out of my lungs. I rose shakily to my feet, leaning heavily on the lawn chair. Barrett was still on the ground looking like he was in the middle of a massive coronary.

Fannie Mae stood there about 10 feet in front of us, in the middle of the road. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a little tank top. She had a hoodie on, but it wasn’t zipped up, and a pair of flip-flops. Her hair hung in wet strings down her back. She had a shit-eating grin on her face. I’m guessing it was because she’d scared the living crap out of us.

“Dammit, Fannie Mae,” Barrett wheezed. “Was that really necessary?”

“What?” She smiled sweetly. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Why are you so jumpy?”

She looked at me, a twinkle in her eye. I could tell through her white tank top that she wasn’t wearing a bra and it was either a little cold or that she was glad to see me. I rolled my eyes.

“Because of that,” I said. I flashed the light on Barrett’s car.

“Oh my God!” She ran over to me and put her hand on my arm, gripping me hard. “What happened to the car?”

“We don’t know. I woke up during the thunder and looked out the window and saw it. We came out to get a better look.”

She took a step toward it, letting go of my arm. I sighed and grabbed her hand to keep her from going closer. “Is that blood on it? Oh my God,” she gasped.

“Yeah, that’s blood,” Barrett said. He’d finally regained his feet.

I flashed the light on the jacket where it lay on the ground. I squeezed Fannie Mae’s hand. “Look.”

She let out a little scream and buried her head in my chest. “What… what is that? Where’d it come from?”

I pulled her off me. “That’s Mason Smith’s letterman’s jacket. He was wearing it tonight. We found it in the car.”

She looked back at the car, gripping my hand so hard it hurt. “Is, is he in there?”

“No. Just the jacket was. In the backseat.”

“He was dead, Dukey.”

Barrett came over to us. “Yeah, we’ve been over that part already.”

She stepped away from me, still holding my hand. Tried to look at the car and then finally sighed and let me my hand go. She had more courage than Barrett and I combined as she just walked up to the car and inspected both the front and back seat. She didn’t say anything as she looked over the car completely. Barrett and I let her have at it. She was smarter than the both of us combined and we all knew it.

She finally came back over to us and looked at me with a critical eye. “Are you guys screwing with me?”

“No,” I said, taking her seriously.

She pointed, “That’s Mason’s jacket?”

“Yes.”

She pointed behind her, “You found the car this way? Broken into? Blood smeared everywhere? And the jacket was in the back seat?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

Fannie Mae bit her lower lip in concentration. “Then what the hell happened?”

Barrett broke in, “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out. I told you.”

She completely ignored him. “Is someone playing a prank on us, Dukey?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said. “It’s pretty elaborate if they are. They stripped the jacket off his body, got a bunch of blood from somewhere, smeared it everywhere, and then broke into Barrett’s car and smeared it some more. It doesn’t make sense as a joke. Or a prank.”

She nodded. “You’re right. And I know he was dead. I could tell. Should we go back and see if the body is still there?”

I looked around the Acres, noting the quietness of the night. Not even the usual troublemakers were up and about. The power was still out and I could taste the rain we’d missed on the air. We weren’t done with that storm yet if my nose had anything to say about it. A cool breeze rustled the air and swayed the swing in my neighbor’s yard. The sky was heavy with the mostly full moon that still struggled to free itself from the clouds. It was more than a mile walk each way to the graveyard but I knew they’d do it if I asked them to. Even under the best of circumstances I wouldn’t want to do it, but at three in the morning on a crazy night like this?

“No way,” I said. “It’s too far and it doesn’t add up. Regardless of if he’s still there or not, someone is still screwing with us here. We should stay together here and wait things out.”

Barrett was looking at Fannie Mae with a new look in his eye. It wasn’t often that he had a flash of intuition but I could tell by his face that he’d just thought of something. Fannie Mae could tell, too.

“What, Barrett? Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why are you here, Fannie Mae?” He pointed at her trailer where it stood several down from mine. “You should be in bed, just like us. Why are you out and about?”

She flicked her wet hair at him, “I couldn’t sleep, dumbass. After what happened tonight and with my mom out of town I couldn’t sleep in that tin can by myself. I made sure that Tamara got home okay and then I went home, too. I tried to sleep, couldn’t, then finally took a shower. I was getting ready to fix myself something to eat when the power went out. I looked out the window and saw a flashlight over here so thought I’d check it out.” She waved at the carnage, “Like I could even do something like this.

“Dumb ass.”

Barrett had the sense to look ashamed, but I had to admit it was a good thought. I was so used to Fannie Mae always being around that it hadn’t even occurred to me to wonder what she was doing out here. But wait.

“Tamara,” I said. Both of them looked at me with dumb expressions on their faces. “If someone is screwing with us they’re probably screwing with her, too. We should go make sure she’s okay.”

“It’s after three in the morning, Duke,” said Barrett. “You want to just go knocking on her door and make sure she’s okay? Her parents would kill us.”

I shone the flashlight full on his face. “You’re just afraid, Barrett. Look at what they did to your dad’s car. Look at this bloody jacket here on the ground. Do you think they’ll stop there? Mason raped her and beat the crap out of her. Judging by your car it looks like someone is pretty well pissed at us. The only one of us who’s alone is Tamara. We have to at least warn her that something is going on.”

“Fine, then” He ran over to the car, took a deep breath, and pulled his cell phone from the dash. “Why don’t you just call her then? Then we don’t need to tramp over half this trailer park in the dead of night by the light of the moon so that we can knock on her door and have her dad yell at us and wake everyone in the world up.”

I looked at him, dumbfounded. I’d never had one so it still never occurred to me to use a cell phone. “Oh, yeah.” I took the phone from him. “What’s her number?”

“How would I know?” He slammed his hands in his pockets, turning his back on us.

“Fannie Mae, do you know her number?”

She grabbed the phone out of my hand and started punching numbers into it. Barrett still had his back to us but Fannie Mae and I stared at each while she held the phone to her ear. The rings from the phone were loud in the silence of the night. We could all hear it go to voicemail. She sighed and dialed it again. Did it three more times until finally handing the phone back to Barrett and stating the obvious, “No answer.”

I looked at Barrett. “Satisfied? Can we go now?”

“What time is it?”

I shone the flashlight at my watch. “Half-past three.”

“What time’s sunrise?”

“How the heck should I know? I didn’t bother checking my almanac today.”

“How about we wait til sunrise? It can’t be more than a couple hours away. Please?” He looked sincerely, severely scared. I didn’t blame him, but still. The situation was what it was and we had to deal with it.

“You can stay here if you want,” I said, gesturing to my trailer. “Just go in there and lock the door and let us in when we come back. I don’t want to wake up my mom.”

He looked at the trailer and back at me and Fannie Mae. I could see him trying to will himself to come with us, but something in him was just broken. He had no backbone and never had. When we were kids he was always the one who wouldn’t jump into the swimming hole. Always the one who wouldn’t steal the cigarettes from old man Brody’s store. Always the one you couldn’t get to do anything bad or against the rules. He was deathly afraid of getting into trouble or getting hurt (although it still never stopped him from being a wiseass or giving me trouble). I’d seen him give bullies all the money in his wallet before with them barely asking. He was a coward and that was just the way that was, too.

I could see the knowledge enter his eyes as he looked back at me and Fannie Mae. He wasn’t a coward by choice, but the choices he’d made turned him into one. Fannie Mae looked away with a snort of disgust.

He looked at me and I looked at him. “Just be ready for us when we come back,” I said. He nodded and went silently inside.

“Ready?”

Fannie Mae gave me a nervous but resolute smile. “I was born ready.”

6.

The shadow moved through the darkness with ease. It saw things in a different way now than It had before. It didn’t know this, of course, as it was nothing but a shadow. A shadow without forethought or memory or a mind at all. All it knew was hunger and it could smell its food on the air. A smorgasbord of food to fill its empty belly. Only a basic drive pushed it forward. All else had been crushed from its mind. It didn’t know why it did the things it did, why it had gained such savage pleasure from destroying the car. It didn’t even know what a car was. Fleeting impulses drove it past other food that could fill its belly but somewhere inside it the shadow knew that other food awaited it. Better food.

“You ready?” I’d asked her. We stumbled through the dark like we’d never walked outside before. Scraping our shoes on the gravel and making enough noise to wake up everyone in the Acres. It didn’t help that the ache in my leg hadn’t abated at all. Fortunately it hadn’t started hurting any worse. Fannie Mae saw me wincing and kept trying to help but I just waved her off. If she tried to “help” me walk it’d take us twice as long to get there. Tamara lived a couple gravel streets over and several trailers down so the easiest way to get there was to cut through people’s lots.

You ever walked through someone’s yard? Stepped on the various and sundry crap they have in there? Dog toys, swings, tires, planters. Multiply that by about a hundred and you might get an idea of what people in trailer parks leave in their yard. Tiny grills that are about six inches off the ground, rusted out gardening tools, random pieces of barbed or chicken wire, old washing machines. You get the idea. Now try walking through that while you’re limping and carrying a flashlight. In the middle of the night. With the power out.

See how good you do.

Going through the Acres in the dead of night was a little frightening. It felt like Fannie Mae and I were in some sort of post-apocalyptic world and that we were the only survivors, struggling to make our way. The silence and the darkness made it the spookiest thing imaginable. I couldn’t even conceive of how bad it would have been a couple hundred years ago when there was no electricity and people had to actually survive this way. Give me my MTV any day.

Of course, the car and the jacket weighing heavily on our minds didn’t help the spookiness level at all.

Fannie Mae stayed fairly closely to me as I limped through the yards. I half-expected to see at least someone out and about, but we didn’t see a soul. I guess I’d never been up this late and moving through the Acres. No one was out this late. Except us poor saps.

We finally made it over to Tamara’s street and Fannie Mae whispered to me, “Which one is it? I can’t tell in the dark.”

I counted the number of trailers from the road silently in my head and then pointed the flashlight at the right one. “It’s that one,” I said.

She smirked at me. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. How many times do you think I’ve managed to casually walk by it?”

We slowed as we neared the trailer; both feeling like something was off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until Fannie Mae whispered, “Duke, the door. Is there something wrong with the door?”

I flashed the light on the door and immediately saw what she’d seen: the door stood ajar several inches. Fannie Mae gripped my arm tightly and dug in with her fingernails. A flare of pain went through me but I ignored it. Why would Tamara’s door be open?

“Did you close it when you left earlier?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Tamara’s parents were asleep – I could hear her dad snoring – and she wouldn’t let me come inside. She said she was fine. She was gonna stuff the clothes in the back of her closet until she could burn them and was going to take a very hot shower and scrub the hell out of herself. She said you didn’t deserve to get into trouble because of her so she was going to do her best to get rid of all the evidence. She even tried to laugh it off a little bit and said that she was glad she’d finally got rid of her pesky virginity.”

I looked at her in horror. I couldn’t believe that Tamara could laugh it all off like that.

Fannie Mae saw the look in my eyes. She shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, she was still torn up about it. I could see that she was about to cry but just holding it back. What else could she do, Dukey?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Anyway, when I left she gave me a hug and closed the door behind me. I could hear her turn the lock. She’s still got my dad’s coat, actually.”

“And now it’s open,” I said, staring sadly at the door.

“But her parents were home. Like I said, I heard her dad snoring. If something had happened wouldn’t all the neighbors be outside? Someone would have called the cops.”

I shook my head. “Maybe. Depends on if anything did happen, how loud it was. The trailers on both sides of hers have been empty for a while. It would have to be fairly loud for it to reach further than that.” The lots in the Acres were actually a fairly good size, for a trailer park. Not as big as the size of a normal yard, but this was backwoods Kentucky we were talking about. There was lots of space to move around in.

I stopped moving and sighed, still shining the flashlight on the door. Fannie Mae didn’t even slow down. I grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

She looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face, then gestured at the trailer, “I’m going to check on Tamara.”

“We have to… we have to… check the place out or something. I think.”

She gently took my hand off her arm and squeezed it tightly in her own. “Checking it out won’t tell us anything, Dukey. Just like checking out the car didn’t really tell you anything. We have to go in and see if everyone’s okay or if there’s anything we can do to help.”

I flashed my light around the trailer. There was only one car parked in front of it. “Maybe,” I said, “they’re not home. Maybe they drove off and accidently left the door open. Simple explanation.”

She shook her head. “There’s the same number of cars there now that there were when I left a couple hours ago. They didn’t go anywhere, Duke. They’re still here.”

I sighed and said, “Okay, but I’m going first. I am the man, after all.”

She snorted. “Whatever.”

We snuck up the walkway as best we could. Fannie Mae was a much better sneaker than I was. As we got to the steps leading up to the door I shone the light on it again. “Crap.”

“What now?” She whispered.

“Um, there’s a bloody handprint on the door.” I focused the light on it. It was in stark relief on the middle of the door. Right next to it was a big dent covered in blood.

“Crap,” she said.

“Exactly. It’s not too late to go back, Fannie Mae. We’ve got options. Call the cops or whatever.”

“Screw that, Dukey. She’s a friend.”

I didn’t say another word as I nudged the door open with the flashlight. If something vile had gone on in there the last thing I wanted was my fingerprints everywhere. As I’ve mentioned, I’d seen enough detective shows to know that they’d find me in a heartbeat. Plus I was majorly weirded out by the idea of touching the door covered in blood like that. For some reason it seemed different than touching the car. More intimate.

The inside of the trailer was blanketed in darkness. Of course. What light there was inside was shining through the windows from the moon, so it was just ambient spooky light. My flashlight lit the place up good, in pretty little cones of light. As flashlights do. You ever watch a horror movie where the hero has the flashlight out and pointed at a benign wall and he’s shining it around with nary a thought and thinking everything was all right with the world and you, the viewer, can see the monster just out of reach of the light by about two inches? And you’re screaming at the screen for them to run, run, run?

Well, I kind of felt like that.

I turned in a quick 360 degree circle to make sure there were no monsters creeping out of the darkness and then did it again just to make sure. I was trying to catch them by surprise but, of course, there was nothing there. There never is when you’re looking for it. Not that I was expecting monsters. Monsters weren’t real. It was just that kind of night.

Fannie Mae stood a step behind me with a couple fingers gripping my belt loop. I could feel her tugging on me and it was more a reassurance than anything else. Everything would be okay as long as she was there. She was the innocent girl who always survived the monster movies. Plus I knew that if something did come screeching out of the darkness at me that she’d yank me back out of its reach. Again with the hopefully.

There was nothing in the living room to indicate any trouble. A few muddy tracks on the floor but those could have happened at any time. There was no reason to suspect that someone had jimmied the door open and shuffled straight across the floor to the hallway leading to the bedrooms, leaving muddy tracks everywhere. No reason at all.

As we started walking down the completely dark hallway (no windows there) I began to feel an itching in the middle of my back, between my shoulder blades. I whirled around, throwing Fannie Mae off balance, and shone the flashlight at the hallway behind us. Nothing there. The itching continued and I whirled back in the direction of the bedrooms.

Mason Smith stood before us.

Fannie Mae let out a little scream. It seemed little over the roaring of sound within my ears at least. For a second I thought I might pass out, but I knew if I did that it would be all over. I didn’t allow myself to do it, but it was close.

His head was cocked at a weird angle, the same one it was in the last time I’d seen it when he’d been leaning against the monument in the cemetery. Back when he was dead. His mouth was open in a wide smile, the muscles pulling tight against his cheeks. His teeth were black and stained with blood. He reached out to me with his hands, straining across the gap of six feet or so to reach me. But he didn’t move forward at all. His mouth opened and closed as if he were trying to talk. Or, as I realized suddenly with horror, like he was trying to eat us.

He still had on the jeans and shirt he was wearing before, but they were completely coated in mud and dirt and blood, as if he’d dragged himself on the ground for a while before remembering how to walk. His hands were coated with gore and his nails looked broken and jagged. Several were pulled back completely, resting at a 90 degree angle against his fingertip. I was guessing he’d somehow used those to force the door open.

He took a shuffling step toward us, sliding his foot on the floor, making a scraping sound that just set my teeth on edge and made my tongue burn. Then he stopped and sniffed. His eyes opened wider and a low moan came from his throat. And yes, it sounded just like the moans zombies always make in movies.

Then he turned around and shuffled back into the bedroom he’d just come from. A few seconds later I heard the tinkle of breaking glass and a sound that could only be interpreted as a zombie pulling itself through a window. Hard to describe but you know it when you hear it.

I’m guessing it’s just one of those things.

Goosebumps the size of walnuts trailed down my flesh. A line of them started on the back of my neck and traveled down the length of my body. I started shaking, shivering. My teeth chattered so hard that I thought a few would snap in two. Every hair on my body stood on end. I was scared spitless, that is no lie.

Fannie Mae gripped my hand so hard that I thought it would break. I could feel her shivering next to me.

Neither of us spoke.

I forced my legs to unfreeze and did my best to run gimpily down the hallway to the bedroom we’d seen him go into. It was the master. There was only one window in there and it faced the back of the trailer. The curtains billowed silently in the wind. I could see jagged strips of glass still set in the frame. They were covered in globs of blood.

I shone the flashlight around the room and rested it on what was on the bed. What was left of Tamara’s parents. The goosebumps left my flesh in a flash of heat and my body broke out in a quick sheen of sweat. I felt like I was going to throw up. The sound of Fannie Mae retching behind me didn’t help.

Tamara’s parents were strewn around on the bed like sacks of meat. Blood splatter covered the walls and the bed was soaked through with what looked like gallons of it. Great hunks of meat were missing from their bodies. Her father was missing most of his stomach and gray loops of intestines spilled out of the hole looking like roles of sausage links. Hunks of them were randomly missing, too.

Her mother was half on the bed, her top half on the floor. Her arms were splayed out above her head and were somehow still providing support. Her hair was arrayed around her on the floor as if she’d been primped especially for this position. She was nude. I registered that as a side fact as I tried to take in the tableau before me. Tamara had gotten her good looks from her mother, there was no doubt.

But those good looks were not in evidence before me.

Her left breast was just gone. Torn from her body like so much meat. Deep gouges as of teeth scraping the flesh were on practically every inch of her body. Half her neck was gone. Ripped and thrown to the side. Her spine glistened wetly through the wound. Hopefully that was the first hit and she hadn’t felt every other indignity done to her body.

I stood frozen, just taking it all in. I couldn’t stop looking. Every horror imprinted itself on my brain.

Fannie Mae pulled roughly on my arm. “Let’s go, Dukey. Please. Let’s get out of here.”

I let her drag me behind her as we exited the bedroom. My eyes were still drawn to that bed and the massacre of Tamara’s parents. Had they made no sound? I knew the neighbors weren’t that close by but surely someone would have heard the screams coming from this charnel house of death.

Tamara.

Fannie Mae was trying to drag me down the hallway, bypassing the next bedroom completely, heading straight for the front door. I reached out with my hand and gripped the doorframe of the other bedroom tightly, jerking us both to a shuddering stop.

She didn’t notice that we were no longer moving.

I felt like a wishbone, being tugged between her and my own hand on the doorway. I finally reached deep within me and found my voice.

“Fannie Mae. Stop.” She didn’t listen to me. Just tugged relentlessly. I returned her grip, tightening my hand on her own, and pulled gently backwards. Raised my voice a touch and said, “Fannie Mae!”

She looked back at me. Tears glistened down her cheeks. She was sobbing silently. It was only then that I realized that my cheeks were wet as well. I’d been crying this whole time.

“Let’s go, Duke. We need to get out of here.”

I shook my head. “We have to see about Tamara. This has to be her bedroom.”

She shook her head back at me vehemently. “No, Duke. If she was okay she’d be gone or out here already. We don’t want to see what’s in there.”

I jerked my hand out of hers and she opened her mouth in pain. “I need to see. Whatever’s happened here is all my fault. If I hadn’t hurt Mason, hadn’t killed him, then we’d be okay. Everything would be normal. I have to see.”

She didn’t say anything as I went through that darkened doorway.

Tamara could have been sleeping. She looked so peaceful. It was only if you looked closer that you could see a huge hunk of flesh was missing from the leg that was casually tossed out from under the covers. A bite had been taken from her thigh like she was a piece of chicken dinner. Her lips had been savagely ripped off, leaving her face bloody and caked in filth. As if someone had kissed her and then bit down and taken everything off with one savage rip. One arm dangled from the bed, fingertips grazing the floor.

I collapsed to my knees, feeling a rush of emptiness fill my brain. Circuits and synapses were misfiring and shutting down. My eyes were dilating and it was like I was seeing everything from a million miles away. I could feel my breath coming in huge gasps of air. It was all like it was happening to someone else.

Then a huge slap across the back of my head brought me back to myself. The pain brought a grunt from me and I could feel my face burning with the ache of it. I looked at Fannie Mae. She was nursing her hand.

“Had enough?”

I nodded, not able to say the words. She held her hurt hand to me and whispered softly, “Please, Dukey, let’s go.”

I nodded again and wobbled to my feet, not even registering the pain in my thigh. Fannie Mae took my hand and led us from the trailer. I unthinkingly closed and latched the front door behind me. We stumbled slowly through the Acres back to my home, using the flashlight to search every nook, cranny and shadow for Mason. He was nowhere to be found, thankfully.

Neither of us noticed the drumbeat in Tamara’s room as her fingers began twitching and rapping a staccato rhythm on the floor.

7.

It felt like we ran across the Acres for an eternity or two. Every shadow looked like Mason reaching out to grab us. Every sound or brittle crunch of the gravel sounded like the shambling footstep of the dead. What’s the shambling footstep of the dead sound like, you ask?

Scary as all hell.

I wanted to beat on the door like hell had broken loose to get Barrett to let us in but my guess was that if he heard someone beating on the door like that that he’d go hide under the bed or something. There was a deep itch between my shoulder blades and I could just feel the darkness looking at me.

So I calmly knocked on the door and whispered to Barrett to let us in. The back of my trailer was on the edge of the park and beyond the border lay a few acres or so of deep woods filled with wild Roses (“Rosie Acres,” get it?). They were spooky at the best of times and this wasn’t really the best of times.

He opened the door an inch or so to make sure we were alone and then I yanked the door the rest of the way open and ran into the trailer, pushing him out of the way and dragging Fannie Mae behind me. The look on his face was grim in the flickering light of the candles strewn throughout the front room. Apparently he’d been digging in the kitchen. Too bad he hadn’t gone back into the bedroom for the lantern we kept back there.

He began to speak but I waved him off, turning around and locking the door. I threw the dead bolt and still didn’t feel safe. If mom wasn’t still passed out on the couch I would have dragged it over to barricade the door. I was still considering it with a critical eye when Barrett finally put his hand on my shoulder and whipped me around.

“What happened? What’s going on?”

Fannie Mae collapsed to the floor, leaning her back against the couch. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them, burying her face in them. Her shoulders shook with sobs. I ignored Barrett and went into the kitchen, slamming drawers open and closed as I looked for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Barrett followed me, asking repeatedly what had happened. I finally stopped with my hand in the silverware drawer, cupping a butcher knife in my palm.

“They’re all dead,” I said. “Tamara and her family. All dead.”

“What?” Barrett asked, confused. “How can they be dead?”

Fannie Mae’s voice carried to us from the front room. She spoke in a quiet voice but every word was crystal clear. “Butchered. Eaten. They were torn apart, Barrett.”

He looked at me, “Torn apart?”

I nodded. “Yeah. By Mason Smith.”

The confusion on his face was almost comical. If it wasn’t for the whole, “Tamara’s family is dead” part I’m sure he’d have been laughing in the aisles.

“Mason Smith? Mason fucking Smith? Are you guys putting me on? He’s dead. Are you saying he’s alive?”

I shook my head sadly. “Unfortunately, I’m not saying that at all. We saw him there, Barrett. Just standing in the doorway to her parent’s room. He was very definitely, very definitively, dead. With a capital D. But still, he was standing there. And then he turned away and jumped through a window. It’s like he was playing with us.”

Barrett looked like he was about to collapse. He gripped the counter like his knees were weak. Undoubtedly they were. He looked at the couch behind us, glancing at Fannie Mae and then flicking his eyes to where my mom lay in the shadows.

“Are you saying he’s dead, but not dead? What? Do you expect me to believe that he’s what – a zombie?” His voice was rising toward the end, like he was about to crack.

“Yeah, I guess I’m saying that,” I said. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead on it. To actually put a label on it, but yeah, I guess I’m saying he’s a zombie. It’s about the only word that really applies. He’d eaten whole hunks of their bodies, Barrett. You should have seen -,” I shook my head. “No, be glad you didn’t see it. Tamara and her parents are all dead.”

“Are they really dead?”

“What?” I pulled my hand from the drawer, gripping the butcher knife tightly.

“Are they dead? Or undead like him? Zombies?” He gripped his hair tightly, yanking on it. When he was done his hair stood up in wild clumps. “Zombies in the trailer park? God, am I in a horror movie?”

I put my hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently, the knife still in my hands. “Why would they be anything but dead, Barrett? Barrett!” I almost slapped him full on the face, but his eyes finally focused on mine.

“Haven’t you ever seen a horror movie? Paid any attention to them, at least?” He searched my eyes and I could see the wild, crazed look in his. “Why do you think the world always gets overrun in zombie movies? A zombie’s bite is infectious. One touch from them and you’re damned. Even if you survive the initial bite and get away it’s already done. The virus, or whatever animates them, starts working in you and some amount of time later you’ll be dead, but not dead, and hungering for flesh.” He shrugged. “That’s the way it works.”

“They were most definitely dead,” I said. But were they? God, I hoped so.

He sighed. “We have another problem.”

“Great, what’s that?” I rubbed my forehead. I could feel a headache coming on. I was majorly dehydrated.

“Um,” he said. His eyes flicked over to the dark recesses of the couch, where my mom was still passed out. She was blithely unconscious during all this, thank God. “It’s your mom,” he finally blurted out.

“What about her?” I started pouring myself a glass of water. I really needed a drink.

“Well, um, I wanted to see if she had any booze left in her bottle. I couldn’t find her cache and I’d left mine outside. And I wasn’t going back out there.” He stopped.

I sighed and drank half my water at one gulp. God did that taste good. “Just spit it out, Barrett. We’re kind of in the middle of a crisis over here.”

“She’s dead.”

I dropped the glass in the sink. Thankfully it was a plastic glass or I’m sure it would have shattered all over the place and cut my eye or something. It was just one of those nights. “What?”

“She was stiff when I went to grab the bottle. I felt for a pulse and there was nothing. She’s dead, Duke. I’m so sorry. She must’ve had a heart attack or something after she passed out. The booze finally got to her.”

I barely heard him as I dropped the knife and raced over to the couch. I grabbed the flashlight as I went by the edge of the couch and flashed it on her. I dropped to my knees, not even feeling the pain throbbing from my leg. I gripped her hands, noting the coldness of her clammy flesh. I felt for a pulse on her wrist but couldn’t find one. There wasn’t one on her neck either. She’d been dead for hours. I shone the light on her eyes but they were closed. Barrett was right; she must have died in her sleep.

I felt a wave of something through my body. Fannie Mae’s hand dropped on my shoulder and it was then that I began to laugh. The wave that had threatened to turn to grief broke and all I felt was relief. She was dead. My mom was dead.

Fannie Mae put her arm around me and didn’t say anything. I think that she more than anyone else could understand what I was feeling. Barrett had heard the stories throughout the years but there was no way he could comprehend the amount of hate I’d had for that woman. Maybe her death didn’t deserve a laugh and a huge feeling of relief, but that was the legacy she’d left for herself.

I looked up at Barrett. He was still in the kitchen where I’d left him. No doubt he didn’t want to get any closer to her body than he absolutely had to.

“Let me have your phone,” I told him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, gripping it tightly. “Why, Duke?”

That surprised yet another laugh from me. “You really have to ask? Should we count the number of things we need to talk to the cops about? Um, one, we have my dead mother here. Two, we’ve got a slaughtered family down the way. Three, we’ve got a murderous zombie on the loose. Don’t you think any one of those things merits an intervention by the police?”

“And what are you going to tell them? That you accidentally killed the guy who raped the girl you’re in love with and then he came back from the dead and trashed our car and then he murdered that girl and ate her family? Oh, and by the way, your mom just happens to be dead, too? The situation hasn’t changed, Duke. We still can’t call the cops.”

I looked at him wearily, “Then what do you suggest, Barrett?

Fannie Mae spoke up, “Why don’t we get in the car and take off? I know it’s covered in blood but we could still get out of here. Wait for everything to sort itself out.”

Barrett got a sheepish look on his face. “We, uh, can’t.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“After I found your mom I decided I couldn’t deal and blood or no blood I was getting out of here. Sorry, Duke, I just couldn’t stay in here by myself. I thought it best if I just left.”

“Best for you,” I said.

He nodded. “Yeah. But the car wouldn’t start. It doesn’t look like,” he paused, “Mason got into the engine compartment but it still wouldn’t start. I fiddled with it for a couple minutes but I got the willies and came back inside.” He hung his head, “I’m sorry for trying to abandon you guys, but I just couldn’t….” He trailed off.

“Whatever, Barrett,” I said. I got up from the floor and peeked out the front window. “What time is it?”

“Almost five,” said Fannie Mae from the floor. She was struggling to rise up, too. None of us wanted to be too close to the corpse of my mother.

“The sun comes up at what, six?” I looked at the sky, looking for any kind of light in the east. A huge part of me welled up at the thought of seeing the sun. This night seemed to have lasted forever. The sky was still as dark as ever.

“Something like that,” Fannie Mae said. “This time of year? Maybe 6:30. Ish.”

I nodded. “If we’re going to try to wait it out here then we need to do something about the car. A busted up car covered in blood might be a pretty big hint to my neighbors that something’s going on.”

Barrett came up behind me, looking out the window, too. “What about your mom? And Tamara and her family? And Mason Smith out there?”

I looked at my mom. “We’ll leave her there. Get up in the morning and pretend we just found her. Or hope my dad comes home at some point and finds her. We’ll all be shocked and dismayed at what we find.”

Fannie Mae spoke up, “What if she, you know, comes back?”

Barrett shook his head. “If this was a movie she would have already. Plus she wasn’t killed by Mason so hopefully that means we’re okay.”

I was still staring out the window. “Then what brought Mason back?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what, Duke. No clue whatsoever.”

“And you’re sure that Tamara and her parents will come back? 100%?”

He snorted. “No. How can I be sure of something like that? It’s like we’re in the middle of a horror movie right now. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life. I don’t know what brought him back. He may not even be a zombie. He may or may not be infectious. But I wouldn’t count on it being any other way. In the movies I’ve seen people usually come back within seconds of being killed by the zombie. How long were you in there after he’d killed them?”

I shrugged. “No idea. But he was still in there so I can’t imagine it was too long. I think we interrupted his feeding.”

“Say it was 10 minutes then. Or, hell, five. In the movies they would have come back by then. That’s why zombie movies are so apocalyptic. One bite and you’re infected and they’ve increased their numbers by one. Within hours you have an army. I’m not that good at numbers but just imagine if each zombie only bit one person an hour. The whole city would be wiped out within a day.”

I smiled, “Granted, we have a small city.” It was a grim smile.

“Yep.”

Fannie Mae broke in. “So we may or may not be facing a zombie horde. Tamara and her parents may or may not be coming back – from the dead. We may or may not be fighting for our lives in a few hours. Oh, and we need to go out in the middle of the night to do something about our car that the dead guy attacked so that the neighbors don’t think we have anything to do with it.”

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Groovy,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

Barrett looked at us with a tinge of wonder and a goofy grin on his face. “You guys are nuts.”

We both ignored him. I still wasn’t looking at Fannie Mae as I scoured the night outside for any movement. My one hope was that whatever was going on with Mason was unique to him and wasn’t communicable to others. Or, hell, maybe he wasn’t dead after all and we’d just driven him nuts. Yeah, I’m sure that was it.

The last thing any of us wanted was to back out into the darkness and deal with the car but we had a small window of time in which to do it. Even though it was Saturday and we were in a trailer park there would still be those random old birds that would get up at the crack of dawn and go for their walks or get up and about. I reminded them of that little fact and Fannie Mae was quick to point out that one of the intervening neighbors of ours – not the Marster’s – was well known for getting up super early. He’d woken up her mom many times on his early morning ramblings.

That still left the question of what exactly we were going to do with the car.

Barrett said, “I think my dad has a car cover in the trunk. We could go get that out of there and just cover the car up.”

I looked at him with a critical eye. “You don’t think anyone would think it was weird that I’d have a car parked in front of my trailer with a car cover on it? I’m sure that first thing in the morning Donny over there,” I pointed across the way, “wouldn’t take but two seconds to peek under it. Him or one of his hoodlum friends.”

“Got a better idea?”

Fannie Mae broke in, “Even though the car can’t start, you can still push it, can’t you?”

Barrett nodded, “Yeah. You just have to put it into neutral.”

She had a little grin on her face. I asked her, “What’s on your mind, Fannie Mae?”

She pointed at the rear of the trailer. “We could push it into the woods. There’s enough of a gap between the trees back there to get the car in. Then we could put Barrett’s cover on it and cover it with a little bit of brush.”

I thought about it for a second and then nodded. “That’s not too bad. Probably the best plan we have. We shouldn’t need to go back much more than 20 or so feet to make it not visible. The trailers here on the back cover it well enough and no one really goes back there. It’d probably be good for a couple days at least.”

Barrett pointed out the flaw in the plan. Of course. “That’s a pretty hefty haul there, cahuna. We’d have to back it up from the parking spot, steer it through the gap between the trailers, and then steer it over dirt and grass and get it back in there. I hate to break it to you, but neither of us is in that great of a shape.”

“We’d better get started then,” I said.

As we left the trailer I heard him mutter under his breath, “Not to mention the horde of zombies.”

Worrywart.

8.

In the end we managed it – barely – before the sun rose in the sky. No hordes of zombies came crashing out of the trailers to attack us. No snoopy neighbors came out to see what was going on. No cops came by to see what us pesky kids were up to.

Not that we didn’t worry about any or all of those things.

Barrett got in the car, muttering all the while under his breath, and put it in neutral. He tried to show Fannie Mae how to steer the car but she just pushed him out of the way and called him an ass. It was a little bit of an experience pushing the car backwards while Fannie Mae tried to steer. But we managed not to hit anything.

Once we had the car pulled out enough Barrett and I got behind it and started pushing it again. We were both out of breath already and we’d barely begun. We called instructions lowly to Fannie Mae through the torn soft-top as we steered it between the trailers. That wasn’t as difficult as we thought it’d be, but getting it onto the grass and pushing it into the tree line proved as hard as Barrett had predicted.

One of us would stop every thirty seconds or so and shine the flashlight around us to ensure there was nothing sneaking up behind us. Or no thing as the case may be. That certainly didn’t help with our time.

Eventually we made it though. Covered the car and went back near the trailer to see if it could be seen. It couldn’t, but then it was still the dead of night with just a hint of sun peeking through the sky. We’d done as best we could though and decided that was just the way it was going to have to be. Hopefully it was out of the way enough that’d we be okay.

Barrett said it was all a waste of time anyway. Kept mentioning the zombie hordes.

Again with the worrywart.

Fannie Mae finally smacked him upside the head and told him to shut up about that crap. Said we had enough to worry about without borrowing trouble. She was right, of course.

We made it back into the trailer just fine and closed the door again. I scooted the couch down just a little bit so that it blocked the door, hoping that if Mason did try to come in that he’d have the decency to knock first. I shone the flashlight on mom and then realized there was enough light coming in the windows now that I could see well enough without it and shut it off.

She still looked dead.

Fannie Mae and Barrett collapsed in the kitchen. Barrett was sucking down water like crazy. He was in worse shape than I was and pushing the car almost gave him a coronary. Not to mention that he was still worrying about what his dad would say about the state of the car. And the zombie hordes.

I wanted to take a rest, too. My bones ached for it, honestly. But I wanted to check out my leg and make sure that nothing had snuck into the trailer in our absence. I resisted the impulse to tell the others, “I’ll be back” before I left the room, but it was close. Sometimes humor always finds a way.

It didn’t take long to make sure the rest of the trailer was empty. I hadn’t been too worried, but I still felt a sense of relief after searching under all the beds and in the closets. I ended up in the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. My face was caked with dirt and the startled whiteness of my eyes stood out in stark relief from the rest of my face.

I braced myself and slowly undid my pants, wincing as I pulled them down my leg. I tried not to look at my thigh as I took them off the rest of the way. Once they were off I sat down on the edge of the tub and finally looked down at it. My thigh was swollen to about twice its normal size. Amazingly colorful black and purple bruises emanated from a central goose egg that stood up about a half inch from the rest of the flesh. My guess was that all the pain I’d been feeling was emanating more from the knot than anything else. I touched it and very quickly ascertained that I was right.

Yep, that bitch hurt.

I turned the tap on the tub to see if we had any hot water, but of course we didn’t. No power equals no hot water and out here on the fringe of Litchville, in the backwoods of Kentucky, home of hillbillies and hicks, we’d likely be without power for days. We weren’t important enough to get power that fast.

A quick debate inside my head satisfied the matter of whether or not it’d be a good idea to take a cold bath. It’d definitely shake the weariness from my bones and I knew I needed the cold to try and take down the swelling in my leg. The only pants I had that would go back over that thigh the way it was were sweats and I didn’t want to wear those.

I filled the tub with cold water and when it was about halfway full I stepped in it, wincing at the bitter coldness as it hit my feet. I slowly lowered myself into it, wincing again as each new part of my body met the coldness. My thigh felt immeasurably better the second it was submerged in the water. I decided I’d sit in there for about 20 minutes and let it soak and wash the grime off and then get out.

I’m pretty sure I fell to sleep the second my head hit the back of the tub.

It was dark, everywhere. A bitter wind ravaged my face and I turned around and around, in circles, trying to find a way to shelter myself from it. But it came at me from all directions. I put my arm up to shield my face but even then it felt like it was coming through my sleeves. I was in the middle of a forest. There were trees everywhere, reaching up to the sky with their dark branches. I leaned on one to catch my breath and try to find a way out of the wind, but even that did no good.

I touched the tree but my hand came away covered in redness. The tree was bleeding. Even as I touched it I could feel the brittleness of the bark and the skin of the tree shattered in my hands, sloughing away like the boiled skin of a pig. More blood ran down from the tree and covered my hands. I pulled away from the tree in disgust, wiping my hands on my coat, trying to clean myself, but my hands were stained with it. No matter what I did it wasn’t coming off.

Both my hands were stained with the blood of the tree.

A full moon hung in the sky. It appeared to cover at least a third of the night sky and almost seemed like I could just reach up and touch it, but I didn’t want to. Something about it frightened me. It seemed to be mocking me.

Ignoring the cold and the blood on my hands I began to walk. I picked a direction at random. I had no idea where I was or where I was going but walking seemed like an excellent idea. I needed to get out of this place. I know they say that when you’re lost in the woods you should just hunker down and wait for someone to find you but in that place I was afraid of what might find me. There was something wrong about that place.

I don’t know how long it took me to notice but by the time it finally registered I realized I’d been hearing it for quite some time. There were steps in the forest matching mine. Creak for creak and stomp for stomp. I only noticed it because every so often I’d put my foot down and hear a twig break; only I hadn’t stepped on one.

I stopped, surveying the forest, but could see nothing. The moon still hung fat in the sky and its light shone everywhere but it didn’t seem to actually illuminate anything. I stayed unmoving for what seemed like forever and still there was nothing. It was only when I’d finally decided to start moving again that I heard the snarl behind me. I whirled around with a cry but there was nothing there. Thank God. Then I heard the snarl again. Behind me, of course. Rancid breath blew softly past my ear.

I whirled again and standing behind me less than a foot away was Mason Smith. He was covered in boils and sores and rotting flesh. Even as I watched a hunk of skin fell off his face onto the ground with a sickening plop. He grinned at me and the muscles in his cheeks gleamed wetly as he silently reached for me again. The skin had pulled away completely from his fingers leaving the bones exposed. The bone shone in the moonlight as the naked claws reached for me.

I cried out and fell to the ground. He stared at me, arm still reaching out for where I’d been standing. Something crawled over me and I looked down at my body, crying out in disgust as I saw the maggots streaming from the ground to crawl on my flesh. I slapped them off in panic and scrambled to my feet again, running back in the direction I’d come from.

I ran, breathing heavily. The air seemed so thick and I was so tired. I couldn’t hear him behind me anymore but I knew he was still there. Watching and waiting. Smelling the blood that coated my hands.

Wait! What’s what? I could see a campfire in the distance. Not too far ahead, actually. Thank God. Maybe I’d get out of here yet. I ran even harder, feeling my chest burn with the exertion. My throat was sore and dry and every inch of my body was pounding. I needed to stop and rest but I knew there was no rest for such as me.

I stumbled into the clearing and saw my friends by the campfire. They were sitting with their backs to me but I could see their shoulders and head moving as if they were talking to each other. I would recognize them anywhere: Fannie Mae with her braids and her father’s coat and Barrett towering over her. I breathed a sigh of relief and ran past them, stopping a couple feet from the flames. The warmth felt so good on my face and hands. I was chilled to the bone and beyond and it felt like I’d never get warm again.

Fannie Mae grabbed my hand and squeezed gently. Barrett put his hand on my shoulder. It felt so good to be with my friends again. I basked in the warmth of the fire as I leaned back into their cool embrace. I turned my head to thank Fannie Mae and apologize for ever being mean to her and that’s when I finally saw her face.

Her right eye was missing and a strip of flesh hung loosely down her cheek. A quick tug would take care of it ripping it free. Her mouth was open and her tongue was missing. Only a rotten piece of flesh lay where it used to be. Her other eye rolled wildly in its socket and I couldn’t tell if it was looking at me or not. But I could feel her gaze resting heavily on me nonetheless. Her hand still squeezed mine gently.

Barrett looked even worse. His face was nothing more than a grinning skull. All the flesh was missing; having been eaten away by God knows what. His very big, very white teeth grinned at me gently. It was surprisingly recognizable as a Barrett grin even with his face gone. His clothes hung on him in tatters and I could see wounds covering most of his chest and body. Knife cuts and slashes, small holes as if from a gun and even what looked like pockmarks from a shotgun blast.

I shuddered helplessly, feeling the warmth of the fire being leeched from my flesh. I looked beyond them and saw Mason Smith not 20 feet away. He was just standing there watching his children do their work. Barrett’s fingers dug into my shoulders and with a wrench and a tearing sound he pulled away a hunk of flesh. Waves of pain rolled through me. I felt dizzy and heavy and my breath was coming in quick gasps. Only Fannie Mae stepping forward kept me from falling into the fire.

She put her arms around me in a tight hug and pressed her cheek against my chest. Gripping me tightly with one arm her other hand snaked down to my pants, undoing my belt buckle. Doing what I’d always known she wanted to do and pulling my pants and underwear to the side so that she could grip my penis. Her cold, dead hand caressed it gently and then cupped my balls. I was, not surprisingly, repelled by this and my penis hung limply in her palm and tried to shrivel up inside my body.

I almost didn’t feel the pain as she yanked gently and tore my equipment from my body. Endorphins rushed through my head and I felt lightheaded as I rose above the pain. She raised her hand to her face and I could see my penis lolling gently in her palm as she slipped it in her mouth. She didn’t even bother to chew it, just raised her head back and let it slither down her throat. Then she cradled me in her arms again.

My legs could no longer support me and she and Barrett gently lowered me to my knees. They kneeled next to me and both hugged me tight. They were done with whatever feeding they wanted to do from me. I could feel the change begin to work its magic in my flesh. Darkness skittered across my vision and shadows flitted just out of the corner of my eye. My brain stopped pumping the chemicals through my body and yet there was no pain. My limbs stiffened and yet I could still move. Peace was over me and then quickly left my body to be replaced with an implacable hunger. It felt like I’d never eaten before in my life and only flesh, flesh, and more flesh could satisfy me. A small part of my brain wanted to fall backwards into the fire, to try to free me from this prison, but the rest of me wouldn’t let it. That small piece withered and died with the rest of me.

I woke up screaming.

Barrett and Fannie Mae were inches from my face, so I decided to scream some more.

Barrett put his hand behind my neck and lifted me out of the water a little ways. Fannie Mae’s face was bright red and blushing but it was very obvious that she couldn’t take her eyes off of what I was showing underneath the water. That only recalled the dream even more vividly for me and I quickly reached to cover my genitals.

“What the hell are you guys doing?”

Fannie Mae opened her mouth to speak but she was too mortified or embarrassed or whatever to even get any words out. She finally threw her hands up in the air and ran back to the doorway, turning her back on me and Barrett.

He looked at her and rolled his eyes at me, the ghost of that familiar grin crossing his face.

“Don’t start, Barrett. What are you guys doing in here?”

“You’ve been in here for about an hour, Duke. We were getting worried that maybe you’d done something or gotten hurt or something. We heard the water running and then nothing.” He looked at me sheepishly.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and then sat up fully, pushing his hand away. “Worried about what? What’d you think I’d do?”

Fannie Mae spoke from the doorway, “You were pretty distraught over Tamara and Mason. I thought maybe you’d hurt yourself.”

“Like kill myself? Geesh, Fannie Mae, give me a little bit of credit.”

“Sorry, Dukey. It’s just been one of those nights.”

“Yeah, whatever. Can I have five minutes to myself to get dressed?”

Barrett backed up and shrugged at me, then turned to shut the bathroom door. That’s when I began shivering, either the cold from the bathwater or the dream finally hitting me. I’m not really sure which it was but either one alone was enough to do it. I could still feel the cold wind pulling at me and didn’t even want to think about what Barrett and Fannie Mae had done to me in the dream. I pushed it to the side as much as I could and pulled the drain in the tub.

I stood up, testing my weight on my hurt leg. The swelling had gone down significantly. It was still tender and hurt to put my weight on it but at least I’d be able to put pants on and be able to walk on it. I went to the mirror and inspected myself again. The dream had been so vivid that I expected to see hunks of flesh missing from my body. Thankfully all the equipment was there and in working order. I even field tested it by taking a piss in the toilet. It felt awesome although everything was all shriveled from the ice cold water.

I dried off as quick as I could, trying to will away the cold. Light was shining in the window but it was very murky and dark. I should have known it was going to be one of those days. I’d forgotten to bring clothes in with me so I peeked out the door to make sure Fannie Mae wasn’t lying in wait and went to my bedroom and quickly got dressed. I put on one of my old gray hoodies and a pair of jeans that was at least marginally cleaner than the ones I’d been wearing the night before. As I slipped my socks and shoes back on I thought about our situation and what – if anything – we could do about it. Not much really came to mind.

The only things we really had in the house that could be construed as weapons were the knives in the kitchen and my old aluminum baseball bat from my short days in Little League. I’d briefly thought I’d be the next Hank Aaron but those dreams were quickly dashed by my dad. Not only did he berate me at every opportunity but he actually came to a couple games. Drunk, loud, and full of piss and vinegar. It only took a few games before the coach told me I was no longer welcome on the team.

I made a conscious effort to wall the dream off in my brain and try to box it in with bricks and mortar. Not sure how successful I was but I hoped I’d at least be able to look Barrett and Fannie Mae in the face without thinking about it. I kept seeing my penis disappear down her throat and it only made me want to crawl into bed and hide, but I steeled myself for it, threw it all in the back of my head, and went out into the living room.

They were both standing in front of the window staring out at the trailer park. They had the curtains drawn a little bit and were standing far enough back that they couldn’t be seen from the outside. Hopefully, anyway. They stood about two feet apart and from their stance I could tell they’d been arguing yet again. I chose to pretend I didn’t see it and strode up to stand between them at the window.

“Anything going on?”

Barrett answered me. “Not really. Old man Simmons came out about an hour ago for his morning walk. We saw him strolling out back toward the middle of the park but he hasn’t come back yet. Fannie Mae and I were arguing whether or not he should be back by now but haven’t come to any conclusions. What do you think, cahuna?”

I shrugged. “I’m never up this early, so I have no idea. I’d think he’d be able to walk around the entire Acres in an hour, though. I guess he could be walking in the woods or something.”

He nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really,” Fannie Mae said. “A couple people took off in their cars. I’d guess to go into town and get supplies or go into work. The power’s still out. It’s still pretty quiet. It’s only 7:30, after all.”

“Any sign of,” I swallowed, barely able to get the words out, “Mason?”

They both shook their heads at me. “Nothing that we’ve noticed,” Barrett said. “No shambling zombies.”

Fannie Mae smirked, “And no zombie hordes, either.”

I sat down on the couch, as far away from mom as I could get. I’d studiously ignored her since I came into the room. “Barrett, I think it’s time you explained some things about zombies. Educate us.”

He pulled a chair from the kitchen and sat across from me, leaning on his knees so that we were eye to eye. Fannie Mae sat at the window but I could tell she was listening.

“I’m not exactly an expert on this, Duke. I’ve just watched a bunch of horror movies and scared the crap out of myself.”

“That’s better than either one of us,” I said. “Talk. Tell us what you know. Or what you think you know.”

He shrugged and stared off into the distance, eyes unfocusing as he racked his brain. “There are as many different legends or myths as there are movies. What’s common is that zombies always transmit the infection by bite. They seem to need to feed on living flesh. Once the victim is dead they stop and go on to the next person and the person they just killed gets up and starts killing, too. In some movies it affects every dead person, even the ones in the grave or who die naturally. It seems to be dependent on how the original infection starts.”

I opened my mouth to ask a question but he held his hand up to stop me.

“None of the movies ever really address how the infection starts. I’ve seen movies where it’s because of a meteorite crash landing with the virus or some kind of alien infestation or even just cause it’s the end of the world and that’s the way it is. If Mason did rise up just because you – we – killed him then the sky’s the limit on what caused it. Maybe there was something in the soil or he made a deal with the devil or some weird shit happened. Maybe there’s just no explanation.”

“Okay,” I said. “What else?”

He shrugged. “If he’s just out for revenge and he’s cognizant of what he’s doing maybe he’ll only kill those involved: you, me, Fannie Mae and Tamara. That’s a good bet. If that’s the case maybe he’s not infectious and will just rest when he’s done killing us all. Or if he’s just a brainless zombie he’ll go where the food is and wipe out everybody. Impossible to say. He may or may not have any brains left with which to make decisions or think. Most zombies are just revenants: out to kill and eat. No more mind than a mouse. In some movies they seem to remember and feel and know things. In those they’re usually more dangerous and more cunning. Out for maximum damage.”

I recalled my dream of him and Fannie Mae warming themselves by the fire and shuddered.

“What about killing them?” Fannie Mae said quietly from the window. She didn’t take her eyes off the view. She was our little watchdog.

He shrugged again. “As many different ways as there are movies. Bullet to the brain or some kind of trauma to the head seems to be pretty common. Usually. I’ve seen movies where they can’t be killed at all, but I refuse to accept that. Anything can be killed. Fire could probably do it.” He thought for a few seconds and then just raised his head. “I guess that’s it.”

“Not much to go on,” I said. “Fire or guns for the safe bet.” I pointed to the bat I’d brought into the room. “Would knocking them in the head with that do it?”

He sighed wearily. “How should I know, Duke? Maybe? If you hit them in the right spot with the right amount of force?” He gestured toward the knife that Fannie Mae had not two inches from her hand. “The knife would probably work, but only from certain angles. The skull is a big piece of bone and you have to destroy the brain. The knife would more likely get stuck and then you’re too close to them and that’s it. All she wrote.”

I laughed. “Okay, then. Either of you happen to have a gun?”

“My dad does,” Barrett said. “In town. Locked up in his gun safe. He takes that key with him, though, and honestly, if I got the hell out of the Acres I wouldn’t be coming back. Sorry, Duke, but that’s the truth.”

I waved that off. “Fannie Mae. Your mom have any guns lying around the house?”

She shook her head. “Nope. She doesn’t believe in them. Sold my dad’s guns after he died.”

Barrett looked at me. “How about you?”

“If we had any guns here mom probably would have taken it to dad a long time ago. Sounds like we’re screwed there.”

Fannie Mae sighed. “Not necessarily.”

Barrett and I both swung our heads to look at her. “How do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, for one, we’re in the middle of Kentucky. You can’t tell me half these trailers here don’t have guns up the wazoo.”

“Granted,” I said. “But we can’t just go knocking on doors asking to borrow a gun to go killing zombies.”

She nodded. “Tamara’s dad has a shotgun.”

I stood up and approached her. “You sure?”

“Yeah. When I was there last night she said that if her dad saw what Mason had done to her that he’d break out the shotgun and blow his nuts off. She seemed pretty serious about it.”

“Crap.” I sat back down.

Barrett caught my eye and we looked at each other for a minute. “If you’re going back over there I’m coming, too.”

“You don’t have to do that, Barrett. I’ll go by myself.”

“Shit on that, Duke Johnson!” Fannie Mae got up from her perch in front of the window and stuck her finger in my chest. “If you’re going, I’m going. We’re a team and no one is going out there by themselves.”

I looked at her, floundering for words. All I could see was her and Barrett in my dream and I wanted to do anything I could to make sure that didn’t happen.

Barrett stepped forward and they both stood in front of me. “We’re all going, Duke. There’s no way around that.”

I sat back down. “Fine. How are we going to get all the way over there without being noticed and get the shotgun out of there and get it back here?”

Barrett sat back down, too. “You worry too much, cahuna. All we have to do is walk over there like we own the place and no one will say anything. They all know we go to school together so no one will think too much of it. Especially if Fannie Mae goes with us.” He thought for a minute, stroking his chin. “You still have your Little League equipment bag?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. We can use that to carry the shotgun and baseball bat. And anything else we think we’ll need.”

So in the end I pulled the bag out of the back of my closet and we packed it full of little goodies: my bat (although it was a fierce debate as to whether we should just carry that or not), a bottle of acid, some holy water, hand grenades. Stuff like that. I wish. All we had in there was a bat and the butcher knife. Fannie Mae carried her knife in her sleeve. She wouldn’t be parted from it.

I ended up carrying a lighter and a bottle of lighter fluid that we used to start the grill when we were cooking out. It was a squeeze bottle and it was about half full. It was the closest thing I had to a real weapon.

Hopefully none of it would be necessary. Hopefully the Rogers were still the quiet dead and we could just grab the shotgun and go. And hopefully we’d never have a need for the shotgun at all.

If hopes were wishes maybe we’d all still be alive.

9.

My little army of three set out across the Acres about 7:45 or so in the morning the day after my 16 birthday. We tried to look inconspicuous as we watched all three angles of approach on our position. You could hear that the Acres was finally stirring and waking up. Doors were being slammed and kids could be heard yelling. Only the little kids, of course, the older ones knew enough not to be up at this insane hour.

The trek across the Acres went a little faster than it had a few hours ago, in the dead of night. It was easier to see our way and easier to see if any creatures were coming out to get us. My leg felt a million times better after the soak in the tub and I was actually walking with hardly a limp at all. We ended up in front of Tamara’s trailer in little more than five minutes. Far too soon for my taste.

It just looked dead sitting there.

The empty trailers on both sides looked more alive than the Rogers’ trailer did. Its emptiness stank of death to us. Of course, we knew that death was the only thing awaiting us on the inside but still.

We tried not to look shifty as we approached the front door. The bloody handprint stood out in stark contrast against the whiteness of the door. Barrett whispered, “Oh, fuck,” under his breath and shivered.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “You can wait outside and cover our backs.”

He shook his head. “Screw that, cahuna. I told you: I’m in for the count.”

I grasped the doorknob, hoping against hope that it had locked behind us when we ran pell-mell out of here. No such luck, of course. The knob turned easily in my hand. I opened it a couple inches and yelled, “Hello,” into the house.

There was no answer, not that I was expecting any. I think an answer back would have scared me more than anything else. But the main reason behind yelling was to see if I could hear any kind of shuffling or shambling or anything to indicate that I was about to be attacked by Barrett’s horde of zombies. Silence greeted my ears. The silence of the dead.

I wouldn’t let either of the others go first as I entered the trailer. Ambient light filtered in from outside but the sunlight wasn’t strong enough to come in too well so I still had to turn on the flashlight. I hated wasting a hand on it but that was the best I could do. Fannie Mae had her knife out and Barrett brandished the bat like he knew how to use it. I was more afraid of him bashing my skull in than anything else, but any port in a storm I guess.

We did a quick search of the living room and kitchen to see if the shotgun was in there but found nothing. Not that we’d expected it to be that easy. Barrett wanted to go first down the hallway and since he had the bat I let him go at it. I stood in the middle of the line about two feet back from him, shining the light in front, and Fannie Mae brought up the rear. I hoped that her standing back there would at least give her a fighting chance at escape if something happened.

Barrett reached the door to Tamara’s room and looked in it. His face paled noticeably. Crap. He turned to look at me. I hoped he wouldn’t faint. That was about the last thing we needed. As far as I knew Barrett had never seen a dead body before (other than my mom). I should have warned him how bad she looked.

I closed the distance between us and put my hand on his arm. “Barrett, it’s okay. Just ignore her. They wouldn’t keep the shotgun in her room.” He didn’t answer me, just kept staring into the room. I finally turned and looked myself.

Fuck. The body was gone.

I reached into the room, all my nerves alive with fire, and grabbed the doorknob. I quickly pulled it shut, making sure not to slam it. I turned back to Fannie Mae. “Keep your eye on that door.” She nodded silently to me, wide eyed.

I was afraid that Barrett wouldn’t be able to go on and that I’d have to take the bat from him and grab the lead but he completely surprised me and asked me if I was ready and when I nodded we kept going. There were no bodies in there either.

“What’s the chance that someone came and took the bodies?” Barrett asked quietly.

“I’d have to think that the chances of that are very small,” I said. “What purpose would anyone have in doing that?”

“I didn’t think so.” He looked around the room. “I would think we’d have been attacked by now if they were still here. Why don’t you two look for the shotgun and I’ll stand guard?”

Fannie Mae and I stepped gingerly around the blood as we began to search the room from top to bottom looking for the damn shotgun. We found a couple boxes of shells fairly quickly in the closet but the shotgun was nowhere to be found. It was only when I bent to look under the bed that I saw the edge of the barrel peeking out between the mattress and box spring. I breathed a sigh of relief as I grabbed for it.

That was when the hand snaked out from under the bed and grabbed my ankle. Hard. I’m pretty sure I screamed like a little girl.

It started to pull me under but I pulled back and I’m not real sure how the tug of war would have gone but that’s when Barrett and Fannie Mae came out from behind me and started pulling me. The strength in the hand wasn’t enough for all of us and we pulled its owner out to face the light. It was Tamara’s mother. Barrett cried out when he saw her and turned around looking for his baseball bat wherever he’d dropped it when he’d moved to help me.

He screamed like a little girl, too. At least I wasn’t the only one.

I turned my head to see what he’d screamed at and that was when I saw Tamara’s dad in the doorway. He just stood there not moving, looking at us. Thankfully he hadn’t moved in when we were distracted or he could have had us. I looked back down when I felt the grip on my foot release and I saw Tamara’s mom crawling out from under the bed.

I screamed his name, “Barrett!”

I faced me wildly. “Use the baseball bat! Try to clear us a path.”

He swung the bat at Tamara’s dad and managed a glancing blow on his shoulder. He rocked on his feet but it didn’t seem to affect him at all. Hopefully Barrett would remember to try for the head because I had enough trouble of my own getting to her feet before me. She looked just the same as she had a few hours ago when she’d been dead. Ripped apart. Naked. There was no gleam of recognition in her eyes – no sign of intelligence. There was nothing there and no one home.

I ran through about a thousand scenarios in my head in the three seconds it took her to reach me, but other than that I was completely frozen. If it wasn’t for Fannie Mae I’d be dead right now. Ish, that is. Dead-ish. Fannie Mae came out of nowhere behind me and shoved Tamara’s mom hard. Who apparently hadn’t found her zombie balance yet because she tumbled over easily back onto the bed. You could tell that her equilibrium change hadn’t even registered on her because she still kept reaching for me with that undeniable, implacable reach.

I still stood frozen.

Fannie Mae stepped forward and shoved her knife to the hilt in Mrs. Rogers’ eye. The questing hands immediately fell to the covers and whatever force was animating her left her body.

“Thank you, Fannie Mae,” I said breathlessly, finally able to move. “You saved my life.”

She was trying to tug on her knife, but it looked like it was stuck hard in the bone. She gave up with a cry of disgust as blood and other things started to weep out of the naked eye socket. She looked at me, “At least we know they can be killed.”

I sighed, “Yeah, and we know it’s infectious.”

We’d entirely forgotten about Barrett in our own struggle.

“A little help over here,” he cried out.

It looked like the bat was doing no good against Mr. Rogers. Either his skull was too thick or Barrett wasn’t strong enough because the blows just kept glancing off of him. Barrett pulled back for one more strike and that was when the zombie just reached out and took the bat from him. It looked at it curiously for a second and then fixed its gaze back on Barrett. It didn’t release its grip on the bat as it started to shuffle forward.

Barrett scuttled back the few feet to where Tamara and I stood. “Any ideas?”

I reached into the sports bag that I’d completely forgotten about when confronted with Mrs. Rogers’s naked form. The only thing we had left in it to protect ourselves with was the lighter and the lighter fluid. I scrambled to get the lighter fluid out and twist the top open. I squirted it on the slowly approaching form of Mr. Rogers from several feet away. Fortunately the contents were most definitely under pressure and I was able to soak him fairly well. He didn’t even register what I was doing.

I dropped the lighter fluid on the floor and reached into my pocket for the lighter. It was an old Zippo but thankfully it started on the first strike. I threw it on Mr. Rogers and sent up a quick prayer to whatever God there may be that it didn’t go out.

It didn’t. He lit up like a Christmas tree. But it didn’t stop him. He still moved forward like he didn’t feel a thing at all. He was limned in a halo of fire and now not only did we have a zombie between us and the door out of here, we also had a zombie that was on fire. Awesome.

The fire began to spread with every step that he took. I kicked the lighter fluid container across the room as I realized it would explode if the fire reached it.

Mr. Rogers began to move a little more slowly as the fire really began to catch hold in his flesh. I guess it took a bit for the fire to reach the brain. Smoke curled from him and began to circulate through the room. I could hear Barrett and Fannie Mae coughing behind me as Mr. Rogers continued his inexorable steps forward. His eyes were locked on mine; or mine were locked on his. I felt hypnotized.

Fannie Mae tugged on my arm. I didn’t respond and she almost ripped my arm from its socket. I tore my gaze away from Tamara’s dad and Fannie Mae pointed toward the window. She bent over suddenly as a rack of coughing came over her. I looked at the window, confused. Suddenly a wave of understanding washed over me and I found I could move.

“Barrett,” I yelled. “The window! It’s broken. Get her out of here.”

He nodded and waved at me as he bodily picked Fannie Mae up and headed toward the window. I could feel a wash of heat at my back. I turned around and saw Mr. Rogers at my back not two feet behind me. His eyes and hair were on fire. The smell of charred flesh was overwhelming. He reached out to me with the hand that was holding the bat. Miraculously, it was almost untouched by the flames. I grabbed it from his hand. He released it easily.

I almost just pulled back and swung and then realized that was just as likely to cause him to fall on me as anything else. I gripped the handle with both my hands as hard as I could and straightened it out in front of me like I was holding a lance and shoved it forward with every ounce of strength I had. It wasn’t a good angle for me and I could feel my wrists protesting as the fat end of the bat made contact with his chest. I dug in with my feet and pushed even harder. He stumbled back a couple of steps but he obviously had better balance than his zombie wife had. He pushed forward against the bat, straining to reach me with his hands.

The heat was beginning to get to me. I could feel the burning in my lungs and the skin on my hands and face felt stretched taut. I didn’t think I could last too much longer. I gave one more shove with the bat and he slid back another foot. His arms pinwheeled madly through the air as he finally lost his balance. It was almost comical as he tried to find his balance and fell over backwards. I knew I didn’t have more than a few seconds so I turned to the window. I was alone in the room with the zombies. Thankfully both Barrett and Fannie Mae had gotten out.

I went for the window, remembering at the last minute to grab the shotgun from under the mattress and grabbing my Little League bag as I ran by it. The shells were in there and we’d need all of it to survive this day. I threw them both through the window as I started to climb through it. Barrett and Fannie Mae were standing about five feet away, safe and sound, thankfully. I looked back behind me and saw Tamara’s dad struggling to get to his feet.

His face was melting.

As I continued going through the window I saw his struggles finally stop and he lay still. The flames were consuming every inch of his body, and the trailer.

I jumped down onto the grass below the window, going down to my hands and knees as the cool morning air greeted my lungs. My throat felt like it was coated in smoke and filth. I so wanted to be out of here. I finally rose to my feet and grabbed the shotgun and the bag.

“We need to get out of here,” I coughed, “before people start showing up. The bodies will burn and no one will ever know.”

A new voice rose out of nowhere. “Hey, you kids. What’s going on here? What are you doing?”

We all swiveled around to face the newcomer. It was old man Simmons. I was moderately glad to see him. From the description the others had given me about this morning’s events I had half-expected that we’d either find his eaten body somewhere or that his shambling zombie body would attack us at some point. Not that seeing him at this moment was really much of a help.

None of us said anything. I was still trying to cough the smoke out of my lungs.

He stepped closer. He’d approached from the direction of the woods so it made me wonder what he might have seen out there. We really didn’t need anybody gumming up the works at this point. “I asked you some questions, kids. What’s going on here? Did you set that trailer ablaze?”

I shook my head and cleared my throat, trying to work up the spit to speak. Before I could get it out Fannie Mae spoke up. “No, we didn’t set it. Our friend Tamara lives here. We were just coming by to say hello and ….” She broke off and looked at me helplessly. Apparently Fannie Mae’s invention had reached its limits.

He looked at us with a critical eye, eying the gun in my hand. He looked ready to bolt, if you could say that a 70 year old man could do anything close to bolting. “Then why are you coming out through the window, eh? And why the gun? And where are the Rogers’?”

His gaze rested on me. I guess he figured since I had the gun I was the obvious leader of the group. “Did you hurt them, boy? I know you. You’re the Johnson boy.” He spit some chewing tobacco on the ground. I could see dribbles of it clinging to his white beard and it seeped slowly from his toothless mouth. Chewing tobacco – “baccy” – was a common substance out here. You could buy it in hard chunks in baggies and just bit a hunk off to chew. It was the most disgusting thing you’d ever want to see and you don’t even want me to tell you about what happens to a young boy who accidentally takes a swig from a spit cup. Let me just say that using an empty Coke can is not the best thing when you have little kids around.

Simmons looked at Fannie Mae. “And you’re the Jennsen girl.” He turned to Barrett. “I don’t know you, boy, but I’ve seen you around the Acres. I think you should all stay here while I go call the cops and the fire department. There’s a reckoning that needs to happen here.” He pointed at me, “Why don’t you put that shotgun on the ground, boy, and step away from it?”

I nodded and did as he said. No point in getting him worked up over that. Our story was completely unbelievable, even with the evidence of the bodies inside, so there was no point in making it worse. I almost relished the thought of going to the police station and getting out of here. The Acres had soured even more for me in the past 12 hours or so.

When I stood up from letting the shotgun go I looked back at old man Simmons and let out a yell for him to watch out, but it was already too late.

Tamara stood a few steps behind him, looking like she had the night before, what felt like eons ago. She was wearing some tiny boy shorts and a little tank top – her jammies, I guess. I hadn’t noticed what she’d been wearing in the dark when she lying dead on her bed. The gaping wounds in her leg gleamed wetly although they no longer bled. The semblance of a grin on her face was marred when you noticed that she had no lips. I could only picture Mason tearing them off of her while she lay sleeping, giving her that one last kiss. Her arms were outstretched before her, fingertips grazing old man Simmons’s shoulders.

“What the hell?” He turned and tried to scream but that was when she struck. She pulled her head back like a cobra and buried her mouth in his neck. Blood sprayed straight in the air, sparkling in the small amount of light the clouds were letting down. He struggled under her mouth but it was long past a time when that would help him. He flailed and struck her repeatedly in the head, gurgling helplessly. Finally, his struggles ceased.

Tamara continued to guzzle and chew. She didn’t stop to take a breath or pull back to get a better grip or anything like that. Just kept digging in further and further.

Barrett, Fannie Mae and I all stood there frozen; silent witnesses to the horrors before us. None of us had so much as moved. I finally bent down and picked up the shotgun, opening the breach to see if it was loaded. It wasn’t, of course. I’m not sure if my movement had finally attracted her or if she’d taken enough out of him but it was at that moment that Tamara just let Simmons body fall to the ground. He fell like a sack of potatoes and landed with a sickening thud. I’d swear on a stack of Bibles that his hands were already twitching.

Tamara’s eyes were locked hungrily on the three of us where we stood in our little group. The lower half of her face and the whole front of her body was coated in blood. I pulled the equipment bag off the ground and stuffed the shotgun into it, pulling it back in close to my body. I tugged gently at both Barrett and Fannie Mae.

“Let’s go,” I said. “There’s nothing we can do for him now.”

Barrett couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was one thing to see a zombie in the dead of night in a darkened hallway or inside of a trailer at close space. It was a completely different thing to see one under overcast sunlight. It made it more real somehow.

“Shouldn’t we do something about her?” He asked.

“If we shoot her in the head right now it will cause people to come running. They’ll see her dead body, a trailer on fire with bodies inside of it, and the three of us standing here. That won’t turn out well for us.” Screw the police. My sense of self-preservation was coming back.

“All right,” he said.

We took off running. As we rounded the corner I turned my head back to look at Tamara. She was still moving toward us slowly but there was no way she could ever catch up to us at that pace. I knew we’d have to deal with her later, but I sincerely hoped not. No one had yet noticed the fire but I could see smoke floating lazily toward the sky over the trailer. Someone would notice soon and I wanted us to be back in my trailer before that happened.

10.

We made it, barely, before we heard the sirens coming from town. I dumped the equipment bag on the floor next to the door and quickly turned around and locked it, moving the couch to block the door again. I looked at Barrett and he nodded at my unasked question and quickly did a check of the trailer. He came back several minutes later and said that everything looked okay. No broken windows or zombies lying in wait.

We hoped. It was hard to tell with the zombies since we had no idea where Tamara’s dad had come from. It was like he appeared out of nowhere. Which was a disturbing thought all on its own.

Fannie Mae opened the bag and took out the shotgun and boxes of shells we’d found. It wasn’t much, but the 100 or so shells we had might make the difference. Again with the hope. I never knew I was this much of an optimist.

Of course in the back of my head I could feel the death knell tolling for us all. We had no transportation and no options. No one would believe us until it was too late. How many people would have to die before the rest of them would be able to accept alternative options? And by then I was guessing that it would be way too late for us to still have any good alternatives left. The outlook was bleak.

“Does anyone know how to work this?” She asked.

Barrett shook his head silently and resumed his position by the window. I went over to the bag and broke open the shotgun to make sure it was in good working order. I loaded eight shells into it and then rapidly ejected all eight out of it to make sure the gun didn’t get jammed. None of them stuck and they all flew out of the chamber. Fannie Mae watched all this with a little awe on her face.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?”

I grinned. “Barrett may have his horror movies, but I have my action ones. I’ve seen more than enough shooters in my day that I could tell you how to fire almost any gun.”

I slipped another half dozen shells in my pockets and stuffed myself as full as I could get. I’d never actually fired a shotgun before but I had heard of the “shotgun effect” so my hope was that I would be able to deal a few death blows before I got eaten. Although reloading in the middle of a zombie horde wasn’t my idea of a good time.

“The fire engine’s here,” Barrett said from his perch by the window. “A bunch of cops, too.”

“What’s going to happen next, Barrett?”

He looked at me. “What do you mean?”

I sighed. “We just got attacked by a couple zombies. Somehow managed to kill them. Barely. We saw Tamara out and about and she looked spry enough as she attacked old man Simmons. In your horror movie buff experience, what’s next? What can we expect to happen?”

He chuckled. “Well, we’ll probably put up the good fight since we are prepared. Might take out a few dozen, if we’re lucky. In the end, we’ll die. There aren’t that many options, cahuna. At some point we’ll run out of bullets or get overwhelmed or both and we’ll die. They’ll either pick us off one by one or got us in one massive chomp, but it’ll happen.”

Tears streamed down Fannie Mae’s cheeks as she asked, “Are there no other options, Barrett? No hope?”

“We could always go steal a car and try to get the hell out of here before all hell breaks loose. That’s my favorite option. The other options we have all revolve around how long it takes us to die.” He eyed us both critically. “If this were a movie at least one of us would already be infected and hiding it. Then at some point in the story when the drama and tension are high we’d turn and attack the others.”

He smiled grimly. “Fortunately this isn’t a movie, right?”

I nodded and then looked at him and Fannie Mae. I could see the same look on both their faces. “Okay, then, Barrett, how could we tell if one of us were infected?”

“The easiest way would be if we stripped down and looked at each other for bites or scratches, but,” he waved at Fannie Mae, “we’d have to do that nude and I don’t see us….” He stopped as Fannie Mae shrugged and started stripping down.

I stepped forward, holding my hand out to stop her.

She waved me off. “It’s okay, Dukey. He’s got a point. We have to know so that we’re not wasting time watching each other when we don’t have to. Let’s just get it over with.” And with that she pulled the rest of her clothes off and stood naked before us. Barrett looked away, blushing furiously. He couldn’t handle it.

I sighed and stepped forward so that I could inspect her. She had no shame and just stood there in front of me holding her arms out to the side. Her breasts were small and perky and a thin layer of hair ran down between her legs. My face was as red as Barrett’s as I knelt before her and inspected her body. As I knelt there she put one hand on the wall and lifted one leg up in the air after the other so that I could see her inner thighs. I nodded quickly at her so that we could get this over with. She turned around to show me her back and then I inspected her arms and this was finally over with.

Parts of me were stirring in response to her that I’d never thought would stir when looking at Fannie Mae. I could see her in a whole different light now. I stood up.

“You can, uh, get dressed now,” I said as I turned my back on her. I looked at Barrett out of the corner of my eye. He had a strained smirk on his face.

“I’m dressed,” she said sweetly from behind us. “Who’s next?”

“There is no way I’m getting undressed in front of her,” Barrett said to me.

“It’s only fair,” I said, turning around to face Fannie Mae. “She did it for us.”

Fannie Mae looked at both of us innocently, with a little smile on her face. She must have seen something when she looked at me as her smile got even bigger and she settled back with her arms crossed on her chest.

“You first then,” Barrett said.

“Um, that’s probably not a good idea. You go first, Barrett.”

He looked at me and opened his mouth to protest again and then looked at me harder and got a huge grin on his face. He looked at Fannie Mae and then looked at me again. Laughed a little. “All right, then. Fine.”

Barrett stripped down and I did a quick inspection of him. He was as clean as Fannie Mae. And looking at him took care of my little problem.

It was my turn then and I took my pants off with a wince. Though the swelling had gone down significantly it still hurt like a bitch. I looked off into the distance, not looking either one of them in the face, as I stood there for my inspection.

“It’s hard to tell,” Barrett said.

“What?”

“You got pretty beat to hell last night. You’ve got scratches on your face from Tamara, your knee is pretty banged up and your thigh looks like crap. That knot is huge. And you’ve got various scratches all over your body.” He shrugged. “I don’t really know, Duke. I think most of these are just from the fight, but it’s impossible to tell.”

Fannie Mae was on her knees looking at my leg. She leaned in closer to look at my thigh and that put her face perilously close to, um, areas. Private areas, you know what I mean. I backed up a step, “All right, that’s good enough, Fannie Mae.”

She rose to her feet with another grin.

I sighed and turned my back on them, getting dressed. “You guys have my word that I haven’t been scratched or bitten or anything like that. If that helps.”

“They all say that,” Barrett said. “Right until they eat their friend’s faces off in the movies. I wouldn’t be concerned, Duke, except you were alone with Tamara’s dad for a few seconds there. Anything could have happened.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “You have my word that nothing happened. But if you don’t believe me,” I pointed at the door, “you have my permission to go find somewhere else to be.”

He looked at me sourly and finally shrugged. “Okay. Just know that I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I sent them off to bed shortly after that. Barrett was giving me the stink eye, but he went, too. He’d had a couple hours of sleep and I’d had that extra hour or so in the tub but Fannie Mae hadn’t even had a wink. They both swore there was no way they could sleep with what was going on but I told them they had to try. We had to get our rest where we could.

I spent the rest of the morning camped in front of the window. I decided to use the milk from the fridge before it went sour, so scrounged a bowl of cereal from the almost-empty box. Mom’s body on the couch began to stink. Or it seemed to, anyway. She’d only been dead about 12 hours so there was no way she could really be stinking yet, but it was still weird to be sitting not five feet from my dead mom.

Not much out of the norm was happening out in the Acres that I could see. There were more people out and about than usual and kids were out yelling and screaming and horsing around. I wanted to go open the door and scream at them all to get back inside and barricade themselves in, but I knew I’d look like a madman if I did. I guess the power being out was forcing more people out of their trailers. When there’s no power there’s no TV, no videogames, nothing much to do but sit around and talk. The folks around here weren’t exactly known for fascinating conversation so it didn’t surprise me that they were outside.

It seemed like people were having fun. Around lunchtime a few of the guys pulled their grills together and started cooking meat for everybody. Nobody wanted it all to go to waste. I had the window cracked so that I could try to hear conversations. And to air the front room out if I’m going to be honest. Mom really was starting to smell. I heard a few people talking about the fire and how the police had found Tamara’s parents dead. It sounded like they were considering it an accident right now. The fire truck and the cops took off somewhere around mid-morning. I’m sure they’d be back at some point but I guess they’d done all they could at this point.

I had visions of her parents sitting up on the slab at the morgue and shuddered, pushing that thought away. That was the last thing I needed to think about.

Every so often I thought I heard scratching on the trailer. Real soft and just outside the range of hearing, but I swear it was there. I kept doing circuits of the trailer trying to track it down but it always seemed to stop when I started moving. I checked every window over and over again but never saw anything I wasn’t expecting to see. I even braced myself and opened the trailer’s back door a couple times to see if there was anything out there. Thankfully there never was, but staring at the woods behind the trailer kept giving me the willies so I’d shut the door pretty quick. I braced the door as best I could, but it opened out (not in like a normal door) and I didn’t see how much I could really to do it. It was definitely a weak point.

I checked on Barrett and Fannie Mae a couple times to make sure they were okay and sleeping. Barrett was passed out in my parent’s room and snoring away peacefully. Fannie Mae was sleeping in my bed. She was in a different position every time I checked on her but she was always sleeping, too, at least. I hoped they got their rest as I didn’t think the time for it would last much longer.

It just felt like we were in the eye of the storm. That forces were building and building and reaching higher and that soon the bubble would burst and everything would come crashing down on us.

So I was restless and fidgety and kept my vigil at the front window.

Fannie Mae was the first to come out, around noon. I heard her get up and take a quick shower and she came to the front room about 15 minutes later wearing one of my sweatshirts and her pants from the night before. She came over and held my hand and looked out the window with me. I surprised myself by not pulling my hand away. It felt nice somehow.

“That looks good on you,” I finally said, to break the silence.

She squeezed my hand and said, “Thanks. I hope you don’t mind but my shirt was kind of dirty and stinky and I wanted something clean to put on.”

“No, that’s fine. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

She nodded out the window and pointed to the little BBQ that was going on outside. “Nice party. I wish there was some way we could just warn them. Some way we could tell them they were all in danger.”

“I know. I’ve sat here all morning trying to figure out a way to do that, but there’s no way to go out there and yell ‘zombie’ that will sound credible. Until bodies start showing up no one’s going to believe us.”

“What do you think they’re doing?”

“Who?”

She looked at me with her typical don’t be stupid expression. “The zombies. Why aren’t they attacking?”

I shrugged. “I’m not really sure. According to Barrett they don’t really have brains or intelligence but maybe they’ve got an animal’s survival instinct. Maybe they’re in hiding or maybe they’re on the fringes of the trailer park just picking people off and building their little zombie army up and when they’ve got enough they’ll burst forward and attack.”

“Barrett’s zombie horde,” she said.

“Yeah, that’s the only thing I can think of that might explain it. When you and I saw Mason he took off when he saw us. We outnumbered him two to one. Tamara’s parents attacked us, but maybe that was because they had us surrounded and it was only three to two. Slightly better odds. Tamara,” I shuddered, “attacked old man Simmons from behind and when we ran she didn’t come after us. Maybe they are intelligent and are working on some master plan of revenge against us or it’s just simple animal survival instincts.”

She nodded, thinking deeply. “Maybe they’re a pack animal.”

“Yeah, that could be it. They can’t move fast so they take the easy prey and then once their army is big enough they’ll pour over us like locusts.”

“That’s comforting, Dukey.” She smiled grimly. “I know Barrett’s car is out and your dad has your only car so we don’t have any vehicles available to us, but why don’t we just walk out of here? It’s noon and there’s people around. We might be okay.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been thinking about ways out of here and that’s pretty much the only option available to us. But it’s about 10 miles into town and we’re surrounded by woods. I’m half-afraid that if we do it we’ll be attacked. Maybe I’m crazy but it just feels like we’re being watched and I’m afraid that if we make ourselves vulnerable that they’ll come right after us.”

I looked at her and sighed. “Plus, I have to admit, I feel 100% responsible for what’s happened here. I killed Mason and started all this. All these deaths are on my hands and it’s my responsibility to stop it. If I run away I’m not sure I can live with myself. Tonight I’m going out zombie hunting one way or the other. I’d do it now if I didn’t feel like any one of those people out there would stop me. My hands are stained with all their blood and I need to stop this.”

I took my hand out of hers and put both my hands on her cheeks, making sure that she couldn’t look away from me while I said this. “But I want you and Barrett to try. Take the gun and walk out of here. You might not be attacked. Or go ask someone out there to drive you into town, they’ll take you, and then this will be over for you.”

She shook her head and reached up and grabbed my hands. “It’s as much our responsibility as it is yours, Dukey. If you’re staying than I’m staying and we’ll take care of this ourselves.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she finally broke my gaze. She pulled away from my grip and took my perch in front of the window.

“Go lay down, Dukey. You’ll need your strength tonight, too, if we’re going to do this.”

I didn’t say anything as I went back down the hallway to my room. I did stop and look back at her as I left, though, and saw her wiping the tears on her hands. I couldn’t help but feel doom hanging over us all as I lay down and felt myself sweeping along toward dreamland.

11.

The zombies shambled slowly through the forest. Wandering aimlessly through the night as they looked for food. They could sense the life-force, the heat, of their prey as they methodically hemmed it in. Their stumbling and awkward gait was oddly choreographed and in sync as they wove a pattern through the trees. They made no sound as they moved through the forest, almost gliding on the soft dirt.

The forest was full of them. By the hundreds and the thousands they roamed through the countryside. All the animals stopped and were still as the zombies passed within feet of them. Most rained hot urine down on the ground beneath them, unable to control their bladders as the undead shuffled past. The zombies ignored the wildlife, hunting and searching for stronger prey and tastier meat. They wanted to eat the life force, the very soul, of the men and women and children they hunted.

Only that could sustain them.

Some of them were relatively untouched by the death that filled them. These looked like normal men and women you’d see walking down any street. They’d have maybe a hunk of flesh missing here or a bite from teeth marks there or maybe even just a tiny scratch on their arm that they’d tried to hide from their friends.

Standing next to them were the horribly malformed or terribly mangled remnants of their friends. These were the ones with eyeballs dangling from their stalks and slapping on their cheeks with each stumbling step. Arms or legs missing. Great hunks of flesh chewed up and discarded. Gaping holes in their chests, arms or necks. Bone and gristle showing in the moonlight. Maybe they walked a little slower than the others – maybe they could only crawl – but still they kept moving. Always on the hunt, always on the prowl, always searching for new prey and trying to assuage their deep, burning hunger.

A hunger that was never fulfilled.

At the head of the pack was Mason Smith, zombie patriarch. His rotted flesh hung in tatters about his face and his head was still crooked at an awkward angle. He appeared to notice none of these things as he and his pack hunted on and on, looking for that one prey they could never quite catch.

Me.

I hunkered down in the branches of a large tree as the horde moved slowly below me. They’d been at the search for days and just kept crossing and re-crossing the forest. I’d climbed up here in an act of desperation, a last act of self-preservation, and had fully expected the horde to crowd around the bottom of the tree and try to get at me. They’d use their low moans to draw the others toward them and then there’d be thousands of the undead below me, reaching arms grasping for me and waiting for me to fall. The dead did not sleep or rest or tire. They’d just go on and on and on and wait for me to fall. I knew it was just a matter of time. I was already exhausted from the hunt and the days of no sleeping. I needed food and water and rest, not necessarily in that order.

When I’d climbed the tree I broke the lower hanging branches beneath me so that they could hopefully not climb up behind me. I’d seen them hunt and chase prey and agility was definitely not their strong suit. Their implacable will and unflagging hunger was what drove them on and it was frightful to watch them wait out their prey. Especially now that the prey was me.

I hung in the tree in a natural hollow created by the joining of several branches. I didn’t have to worry about falling as long as I didn’t allow myself to sleep. Occasionally I closed my eyes and would sleep for a minute or two before shaking myself awake. I couldn’t allow myself to have that luxury. I could sleep when I was dead.

Ha.

I only had four shells left for the shotgun that was strapped to my back. There was no longer any reason to shoot the zombies on sight. For every one you shot and killed four more would step forward and take its place. Barring a machine gun and unlimited bullets there was no way the horde could be stopped. The virus had spread and broke far beyond Litchville, Kentucky, and now encompassed most of the U.S., if not the world. And it was all my fault. No doubt about that.

The occasional familiar face broke out from the crowd below: my dad, whose presence was missed on the weekend of infection. Old man Simmons, who had proved to be one of the most unstoppable of the horde. I had shot him several times with the shotgun myself, and he’d still kept coming. Donny Marsters, the troublemaker from across the way. And my beloved friends, Barrett Inman and Fannie Mae Jennsen. They hung close to each other in their hunt for me. I was the food and the prey they wanted.

And, as I said, at the head of the pack was Mason Smith. He drove the others on when they would have spread out looking for more food. Something tied us together and he knew I was nearby. Whenever I got away from the horde for even a short while it was always him who ended up on my trail and made me start running again. Everywhere I stopped he would eat those who’d helped me and they would join his ranks.

My fault. The destruction of the world was my fault. But how could I know the harm that would come from defending my love?

I slept, in this dream of mine. In hopes that the dream would shatter and I would awaken to a world where monsters such as this did not exist.

The sound of claws on the bark woke me from my perch. I turned my head and there in front of me were Fannie Mae and Barrett. They were sitting cross-legged on the branch inches from me, waiting for me to wake up. I stared at them silently, waiting for them to eat me. They didn’t, for some reason, as I knew they wouldn’t.

Fannie Mae’s shirt hung on her in tatters, exposing most of her chest. I remembered the day on which we’d stripped for each other, looking for that tell-tale mark. I’d felt something for her that day that I’d never felt before and I remember being both scared and relieved at that feeling.

Barrett was missing an arm, which begged the question of how he’d managed to clamber up the tree, but I pushed that thought aside. The arm he was left with hung limply in his lap as he stared at me. His chest was covered in bullet holes and marred by scars from burns. The dead did not heal.

My friends. I missed my friends. These weren’t my friends. If the eyes are the windows to the soul then it was obvious no one was home. These were nothing but monsters sitting here before me. Maybe monsters with vague memories and flashes of their former lives, but monsters nonetheless.

As if waiting for that thought to hit me they moved forward in unison, grabbing my arms. I didn’t struggle as I waited for them to eat me. This was a fitting end to my life. I only began to fight back when I realized they weren’t going to eat me after all. They pushed me to the edge of the branch and held me there for a second.

Below us waited the open mouths and reaching hands of thousands of zombies. Mason Smith stood directly below us, with the biggest mouth of all.

They threw me down into the waiting crowd.

I awoke with a scream. Dammit.

Barrett came running and pounded into my room. “You okay, cahuna?”

My heart was pounding and I was covered in sweat. The sheets were damp with it. But yeah, other than that I was fine.

I nodded at him and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I whispered through my dry throat. “Just a bad dream. Again.”

He grimaced, “Yeah, me too. But at least I didn’t scream like a girl.”

I shook my head, “Punk.”

“You bet.”

I sat up and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. I could feel a dull ache in the back of my head from not enough sleep but it was manageable so I tried not to worry about it. “What time is it?” I asked.

“About three. Fannie Mae said I should let you sleep but I thought you should see what’s going on.”

“Crap. What now?” I’m sure I would enjoy whatever new issues had arisen while I’d slumbered.

I followed him back out through the hallway to the living room. Fannie Mae was sitting before the window munching on a sandwich. It wasn’t until I saw her eating that I realized how ravenous I was. Saliva immediately flooded my mouth and my stomach complained noisily. Barrett heard it and let out a little laugh.

“I’ll make you a couple sandwiches, cahuna. We’re trying to eat the meat before it goes bad.”

Flashes of zombie hands and zombie mouths chomping on flesh went through me and I felt queasy at the thought of meat but I knew I needed to eat something to maintain my strength so I just nodded.

I walked over to Fannie Mae and put my hand on the back of her neck and gave her a little squeeze. It felt natural, but once I thought about what I did I snatched my hand back. Thankfully I don’t think she noticed that last part. “Barrett said something’s going on.”

She nodded. “I told him not to wake you up yet. Nothing’s really happened that warrants you to be up and missing your rest.”

“Just spill it, Fannie Mae,” I replied, rubbing my eyes some more. “I’m up.”

“Okay.” She stabbed a finger at the window. “Notice anything strange out there?”

I looked for about 45 seconds or so and then shook my head. “Not really. There doesn’t seem to be as many people out as there were.”

“People were randomly leaving and coming back up until about an hour ago. And then the people that left came back pretty quickly. I could hear the ones who came back yelling at the ones who hadn’t left yet so I opened the window to see if I could make it out a little better and I did.” She looked at me wide-eyed.

I sighed. “What were they saying?”

“That a couple of very large trees had fallen down across the road. Large enough that the road was impassable. I heard someone say they’d called 911 but that the cops said the city would have to deal with it at some point after getting the power back on. They think we might not be able to get out by car for a couple days.”

I swore under my breath. Not that we’d had a car to get out with anyway.

“Dukey,” she put her hand on my arm, “do you think the,” she paused, “zombies had anything to do with this?”

I shook my head. “I don’t see how, Fannie Mae. You’re asking me if the zombies worked together as a team and managed to cut or bring down some trees and dragged them into the middle of the road? I don’t think they work together like that.” Scenes from my dream flashed through my head but I pushed them aside. It was only a dream.

She looked back out the window. “How else would the trees have come down then, Dukey? It didn’t actually ever storm last night and it definitely hasn’t stormed today.”

“I don’t know, Fannie Mae. I surely don’t.” Images of the zombies working together in my dream flashed through my head again. No way was that possible, though. I hoped. “Do you think a lot of people are stuck on the other side?”

She started to answer me but then she let out a piercing scream. Loud enough to wake the dead. Har har. I looked at the window again, wondering what she’d seen.

Suddenly I jumped back a foot as I registered what I was looking at. Across the way from us a zombie – someone I didn’t recognize – was shambling slowly forward from behind one of the trailers. He was missing his right arm and in his left he was holding the tattered remnants of a foot. The flesh had been stripped from about half the foot and several bones were exposed. The zombie appeared to have been wandering aimlessly. His head was cracked open and I could see brain peeking out the hole; dull, gray, and lifeless. Blood and other fluids leaked slowly out of the hole.

The zombie stopped as he reached the edge of the trailer. He munched slowly on the foot like it was a crispy drumstick from KFC. If you didn’t know any better you’d think that he was chewing thoughtfully on it as he looked out at the people strolling aimlessly through the Acres. The arm holding the foot dropped to his side as he just stared at the feast before him. Apparently this one hadn’t gotten the memo as he shambled slowly into view of everyone.

No one noticed him.

Donny Marsters was the first to really see him. I felt bad about that, kinda. Though Donny was a holy terror and I’d wished he’d go away many a time he didn’t deserve this. He only noticed the zombie when the zombie bent over from the waist and took a chomp out of his neck. Great gouts of blood sprayed in the air as Donny started screaming. He struggled to get away and since the zombie’s one hand was full he had nothing to grip the boy with.

Bile rose in my throat as Donny pulled forward. The zombie hadn’t let go and wasn’t about to give up his pound of flesh. Gristles and strings of skin trailed between Donny and the zombie as Donny tried to get away. His piercing shrieks sounded like the playful screams of a nine year old girl, but there was nothing funny about it. The only thing I could liken the sight to was pulling a very cheesy slice of pizza away from the rest of the pie. Get it?

The tensile strength of the skin was finally reached and the tendrils snapped like so many pieces of cheese. Donny fell face down on the earth, still screaming and writhing madly. The zombie chewed intently as he looked down at the boy.

It was only then that I registered the screams of the rest of the people in the road. Most were frozen in shock but some parents were coming out of nowhere to scoop up their children and run away. A few of the dads were looking at each other with a what do I do now expression on their faces. Finally one of them went forward and shoved the zombie as hard as he could.

In the midst of this Donny finally stopped screaming. And moving. His bright red blood flowed heavily into the dirt.

Once the zombie was on the ground the other men came forward and they started kicking viciously at it. It kept trying to rise back to its feet but for some reason it wouldn’t let go of the foot and with that being its only good arm it couldn’t get enough leverage to get up. So it just lay there and took the beating. I don’t think it felt a thing as they beat at it. Four or five men stood in a circle around the zombie, all staring down at it as they took turns kicking it. This was Kentucky, after all, so they knew all about ganging up on and beating someone.

Suddenly one of them screamed and fell forward, landing on top of the zombie. The rest of the men pulled back, not understanding. Fannie Mae and I, from our perch at the window, understood all too well.

Donny had woken up.

He hadn’t even bothered trying to get to his feet. He’d just slithered forward on his belly like a snake in the dirt and clamped both hands on the ankle of the man who’d fallen forward. When he got enough leverage he pulled his head back and bit through the ankle, severing the Achilles tendon in one bite. His hands were gripping the foot tightly as he began to work his way up the leg. Unlike foot-zombie he wasn’t taking his time savoring the meat. He was biting and swallowing rapidly, trying to get in as much as he could. Within seconds the entire lower half of the leg was nothing but a raw mess.

The other men turned around and backed up a step. A couple screamed and took off running. This was far beyond anything they could understand. They stared dumbly at Donny as he munched on their fallen comrade. I could hear one of them calling to him.

“Donny? What are you doing, boy? Stop that now!” It was Donny’s dad. I hadn’t recognized him from the back. He bent down to grab Donny away from the leg but Donny snapped at him viciously, moving faster than I had seen any of them move so far. His dad barely managed to pull his hand back quickly enough. One of the other men looked like he’d had enough as he took two shuffling steps back and then turned around, apparently in an effort to take off running.

The foot-zombie stood behind him. While none of them had paid attention he’d just risen casually to his feet and stood there. Broken bones jutted out at odd angles from his body and he was hunched over oddly but he was still capable of standing. His open mouth gleamed wetly and broken teeth spilled out.

He lunged forward and ate the guy’s face. No lies and no exaggeration. Just ate his face. The guy fell down in a heap with the zombie riding herd on top of him.

The rest of them scattered like sheep and took off running. Foot-zombie and Donny were still chomping away. They stopped almost in unison and faced Donny’s dad where he still stood there, resolutely yelling at Donny for eating his friend. Both were silent as they stood, one in front and one behind his dad. Neither of them attacked for some reason. Maybe it took a few minutes for their “food” to digest.

The other two dead mean on the ground changed from being food to hunters in a magical instant that seemed to fill the air. I swear I felt a tingle in me when their limbs started to twitch. I’m sure it was just Fannie Mae gripping me tightly where her tears soaked through my shirt. The other two rose to their feet silently and they all stood in a ring around Mr. Marsters. He looked at them wordlessly, his face, if it were possible, losing even more color. He was as pale as a sheet of paper and getting even paler.

One word ghosted through the air:”Fuck.”

Then the zombies set to with a will and tore him limb from limb. His guts spilled out on the ground and were gobbled up like so many sausages. They tore hunks of meat from him like they were butchers and he was the side of beef. One of them – Donnie, actually – finally pulled his head loose from his neck with a twist and walked away from the rest of the group carrying it and casually eating the ears off.

I doubted that Mr. Marsters would be coming back.

He was one of the lucky ones.

12.

Right about now you may be wondering what was going on inside my trailer and asking the question – the very good question – of why the three of us didn’t do anything about it. We were standing witness to a terrible, terrible tragedy and had the firepower to do something about it. If your mind can wrap itself around the tableau in front of us and still think of other things, that is. You may be calling us all cowards and wussies and say that all those deaths lay at our feet.

And you’d be right.

Fannie Mae stopped watching at some point and cried helplessly into my shirt, gripping me in a tight bear hug. Barrett came around to see what she was screaming about and promptly threw up on my floor. The sound and the smell of his putrid bile about made me throw up but I hadn’t eaten much so I managed to keep it all down. And me?

I stood there watching it all stoically, bearing witness as my punishment for being the one who’d started all this.

I could have picked the gun up from the couch and rushed out madly, Indiana Jones-style. I could have fired on foot-zombie and maybe hit his head without taking out anyone else. Doubtful, but it was possible. Or I could have charged in and shot Donny Marsters as he scrambled forward to eat the leg of the man who’d come to his aid. And maybe me shooting a shotgun into that group of men wouldn’t have harmed any of them. Maybe I could have done it without harming anyone else.

Or maybe, since I’d never actually shot anyone before, I’d have only managed to kill one of the other men in the group and they would have promptly attacked me. Or maybe none of my shots would have gone true and I’d have faced the pack of zombies that stood out there now, eating the ruined shell that had once been Mr. Marsters.

Then maybe that pack would have come after me and I’d now be one of them, shambling around looking for a nice little snack.

That was the most likely thing to happen.

That’s not to say I logically thought this through when this all happened. The truth is that I did reach for the shotgun with every intention of trying to target shoot but that’s when Fannie Mae grabbed me and gripped me tightly and wouldn’t let me go. She kept sobbing and whispering no at me and telling me I wasn’t going out there, that it was already too late and that there was nothing I could do about it and that she wouldn’t let me.

And it honestly took longer to tell it than it did for it to happen. The whole experience from the time we’d seen the zombie chewing on the foot to the time the street had emptied out and there were now four zombies wandering around was maybe three or four minutes. The bastards were quick when they wanted to be.

Plus that was about the time that a dreadful screeching and grinding sound began to permeate through the trailer. It started slowly and was little more than a whisper. It was like the sound I’d heard on my first watch in the hour before dawn. Like something was being dragged slowly along the exterior of the trailer. Then it was joined by another one on the back side of the trailer. We couldn’t see anything out of any of the windows.

Boom… drag… boom. It was coming from all sides now. Someone or some thing was beating slowly and methodically against the back wall of the trailer. We only had one window on that side and whatever was going on was in a blind spot. Barrett and I left Fannie Mae to stand guard by the front window – with the shotgun – while we ran back there. We couldn’t see anything.

The back door began to shake and I could see that the hammering was popping in dents along the edges of it. I whispered to Barrett. “Go in my mom’s room. I think she has some laundry line – some rope – in her closet. Hurry!”

He stood there staring back and forth between me and the door. The look in his eyes was one of a frightened rabbit. I was afraid that Barrett had almost reached his limit, but this day was far, far, from over.

I slapped him hard across the face. As hard of a shot as I could give him.

His head whipped to the side with a grunt and a red imprint of my hand stood out on his cheek. He looked at me, extremely pissed off, blood trickling down his nose. He stepped forward threateningly, then shook his head to clear it.

“Sorry, cahuna. I’ll go get it.”

I braced myself by the door, waiting for the zombies to find their way in. Judging by the sound of it they’d all migrated to the rear door now, apparently sensing the weakness in our tin box. Every so often one of them would get a good blow in and I could hear the metal of the exterior crimping and popping back out like the side of an aluminum can. A trailer isn’t exactly made to withstand nuclear attacks or zombie hordes. Hell, it’s barely made to withstand a rain storm.

Barrett finally came running back from my parent’s room brandishing the clothesline. He was quicker than I thought he’d be. Maybe a good slap upside the head was all he needed. I winced at the sight of my red handprint on his cheek.

“Sorry, dude,” I said, pointing to it as he handed the line to me.

He shrugged, embarrassed more than anything else. “That’s okay. I needed it, cahuna.” He gestured toward the line in my hand. “What are we going to do with that?”

I looked at the door and then at the line. “This door opens out, so we can’t really brace it like we need to and did with the front door. All I can think of is to tie this to the doorknob and then tie it to something in my bedroom,” which lay across from the backdoor, “and hope for the best.”

He eyed the flimsy backdoor and then the rope and looked at me. Gave me the raised eyebrow. I gave it back to him. For a moment a ghost of a grin crossed both of our faces. Then he said, “I guess it’s the best we can do for now, huh?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think the windows are high enough that unless they figure out how to piggyback or build a pyramid that we’re okay there. We just need to brace the doors.”

He looked at the windows down the hall and shuddered, “Don’t give them any ideas, cahuna.”

We made short work of tying the clothesline to the doorknob and bracing it in my room. I had no doubt the zombies could still break it in and get inside but it should at least give us a little bit of time. After a quick debate we dragged the kitchen table down the hallway and jammed it against the door as well. The legs made a pretty good brace for wedging it against the other side of the wall. It would be a bitch to go down to my parent’s room if we needed to but we decided that was a small price to pay.

We went back down to the living room and watched Fannie Mae looking out the window. I don’t know about Barrett, but even though my mom was most definitely dead I was still very spooked by her corpse sitting on the couch in the room with us. Barrett watched me eying it and then suggested that we take her back down to her room and close the door.

I liked the idea, but not the execution. I didn’t like touching her when she was alive, let alone now.

Finally I sighed and nodded and went back to her room to grab the blanket off her bed. I had to scootch between the legs of the table to do it and get perilously close to the backdoor, but I managed. I could hear the fingernails scratching against the tin on the other side and for a moment when I passed it I stopped and listened. The whisper of sound it made almost sounded like a voice talking to me. I could hear the silent screams from my dreams and for a moment I was thrown back to the fireside and the cradle of the tree limbs and could see my friends as zombies standing before me. I closed my eyes to clear my head and hummed under my breath to try to drown out the sounds.

It worked – barely – and I did the same as I made the trek back through to the living room.

The scrabbling of their claws was somehow worse than seeing them eat everyone in the road. It jarred relentlessly in the brain and bounced around enough to make you think you’d go off gibbering in madness.

I came back with the blanket and Barrett and I stared at each other. We both looked sick at the thought. Neither one of us liked my mother and you’d be hard pressed to name a time when either one of us had last touched her and the thought of touching her dead body – even through the feeble protection of the blanket – made both our skins crawl. But it was better than sitting there with a dead body sharing the room with us while a bunch of other dead bodies scrambled to get inside and eat our brains.

Something about it just gave me the willies. I’m sure you can understand. And if you can’t, give it a shot yourself and see how you feel about it.

I reached out and gingerly pried the empty bottle from between her legs and set it to the side. I nodded at Barrett and he took a corner of the blanket and we both reached forward to wrap it around her. My hand brushed her cheek as I did so and a shudder went crashing through me like a wave. Every fiber of my being was on alert and that touch sent everything into a tailspin. I breathed deeply to try to calm myself, which was a mistake all on its own. The familiar smell of my mother – B.O. mixed with multiple layers of booze and cigarettes – filled my nostrils along with the new scent of decay.

It wasn’t pleasant.

So I held my breath as we gingerly lifted her and wrapped her. On the count of three and with a “heave-ho” we lifted her in her arms cradling her body between us. She was frozen with rigor mortis into a sitting position so were basically carrying her sitting up. I had an arm cradling the backs of her knees and another on her back. Barrett’s…

“Man, you owe me for this,” he said. “I’ve got my hand on your mother’s ass. Not once in the years I’ve known you has this ever occurred to me as something I wanted to do.”

“Them’s the breaks,” I said, mentally congratulating myself on maneuvering my hands into the right spot first.

He nodded toward the window. “Why don’t we just throw her outside and let the zombies take care of her? Then it’s off of us and we can just say the zombies got her.”

I nodded to mom’s shroud. “What would happen if the virus or whatever revived her? Even with her being dead so long? I’m happy that she’s dead and about the last thing I want is for her to come back. The only way I’d want that to happen is so that she could eat dad. I really don’t want to have to re-kill my mom, Barrett. I might have hated the bitch, but I don’t want her blood on my hands.”

He stared at me silently, then nodded.

I muttered to myself, “I have everyone else’s blood on my hands. I don’t really want hers, too.”

We carried her slowly through the hallway and then cursed each other when we hit the table. This was something we should have thought of before we put the table in. Neither one of us felt like wrestling with the table again so I finally left mom in Barrett’s arms as I threaded myself back through the chair legs, humming silently. When I was all the way through I reached back for her and Barrett and I somehow manhandled her through the bottleneck. It was short order from that point on to get mom into her bedroom.

We made it back into the kitchen and both vigorously washed our hands. I swore I could still smell her stink on my hands but after a couple washes decided it was only in my head. I went back to Fannie Mae and looked out the window over her shoulder. She leaned back into me, shivering, and I sighed and wrapped my arms around her. She wiggled in my embrace, making herself comfortable. In the process she made me a little uncomfortable, but I tried to ignore it and will it away. (What can I say? I was a 16 year old boy with raging hormones: and I was a virgin to boot!)

Barrett came into the room and prudently decided not to comment on our arrangement after a dark look from me. It was amazing what pettiness we could get away with in the midst of all this madness.

I looked out the window again. The road was deserted. No zombies. No people. No bodies. Well, there were scraps of bodies, but they don’t count. Especially since they were, thankfully, not moving. “Anything else happening, Fannie Mae?”

She shook her head. “No. Donny got Mrs. Smith right after you guys went back to take care of the backdoor. She was trying to hide behind a car. He just went straight for her and tore her apart. About halfway through munching on her he just stopped and stood up and started to wander off and she got up and followed him. The rest of them wandered off, too, like they’d lost all interest in the people.”

“Which way did they go?” I asked.

“This way,” she replied. “They headed toward this trailer and went around the back.”

“Barrett?”

He didn’t even have to ask what I was asking of him. He just nodded. “I’m on it.” He went to the back side of the trailer and peeked one of the windows we had over there. “I can’t see anything, cahuna. It’s a weird angle to see anything right behind us, but I don’t see anything back to the tree line.”

I pointed to the other window, the last one before the hallway. “What about that one?”

He went to that window and pulled the curtain back, peaking out. “I think I can see –.”

A hand slammed against the window. Bloody and covered with all kinds of filth it rattled against the window panes. The fingers squeezed and closed trying to get through to Barrett but the window held. The hand slid down the glass, making a squeaking sound. Later in life I could never clean my car windows and not see the zombie’s hand against the glass. It came out from underneath the window again and slammed back into the glass. Moments later it was joined by another hand. This one obviously belonged to either a shorter zombie, a zombie with a shorter arm, or a zombie with no legs, as it could only reach the edge of the glass, but you could see the fingertips tapping playfully on the glass.

Fannie Mae shuddered even more in my grasp. She turned to me and buried her face in my shirt. “How much longer do we have to put up with this, Dukey? I don’t know how much more I can stand.”

“I don’t know, Fannie Mae. I don’t know. Maybe the cavalry will come charging in soon and help us.”

“You don’t really think that, though, do you?” She whispered that into my chest.

I didn’t bother to answer her, but we all knew what the answer to that question was.

We sat there in silence for God knows how long and eventually the hands stopped scratching at the windows and the zombies stopped trying to get in. We hoped. Occasionally I thought I could hear a whispering echoing through the trailer and a small scraping on the outside, but I’m sure that was all in my imagination.

Yeah, right.

13.

This time I knew from the beginning that it was a dream – I think. It started with the same imagery we’d just seen: Donny, the foot-zombie, and the quick zombie horde forming outside the window. The big difference was that no one ran. They all just stood there when the zombies attacked so the zombies just went from person to person and a quick chomp later and we had a new zombie. It only took minutes to transform the 50 or so people watching into zombies.

Then as one they turned to face our trailer.

They silently came forward in zombie formation to line up outside my trailer. Wordlessly and without so much as the whisper of leaves to mar their presence. Once they were all in formation the foot-zombie stepped forward away from the rest of them to close the distance to my trailer. He passed out of view when he went up on the porch and we heard his soft treading on the stairs. Then a soft tap tap tap on the door.

The bastard was knocking. It was civilized, even.

When we didn’t answer he did the same three tap on the door again. This went on for several minutes with him knocking every ten seconds or so until I finally went to open the door. Fannie Mae and Barrett tried to stop me, but I just shrugged them off. Didn’t they realize that I had to answer the door?

I opened the door and foot-zombie and I stared at each other across the three-inch gap of the threshold. Silently (of course, since zombies can’t speak), he extended his only arm and offered the foot to me. Confused, I took it. The foot was squishy in my hands and was heavier than I would have expected. He turned around to leave and then stopped again, staring down at the waiting horde. Then he turned back to face me and held his hand back out, questing for the foot.

I looked down at the foot in my hand, taking my eyes off the zombie. It was mine. Why did he want it back?

When I looked up again his face was only inches from mine. I gave the foot back to him. He looked down at it in his hands and then looked at me again. He opened his hand and let the foot drop to the floor with a thud. Then he reached for me, mouth open wide. I closed my eyes, waiting to be eaten.

That’s when I woke up with a start. Dammit.

I looked around the darkening living room. Barrett was asleep in one of the kitchen chairs, head down, chin resting on his chest. I would guess he was going to be majorly uncomfortable when he woke up. Fannie Mae was sprawled out next to me on the couch. Her head was resting on my thigh. I was lucky my waking up hadn’t jerked her awake, too.

I had no idea why we were all asleep. Last I remembered we were sitting around listening to the zombies and wondering how long it was going to take before we were all dead. Or not-dead. You know.

That was when somebody rapped on the door with a tap tap tap.

I shot to my feet like a bat out of hell. Fannie Mae rolled to the floor with a grunt and Barrett fell out of the chair.

“Johnson’s,” somebody whispered. “Mryna? Bobby? Duke? Anyone in there.” Off to the side, “I told you no one was here.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I was too surprised, awe-struck, flabbergasted, pick your adjective. I finally found my voice, “Wait!”

I moved the couch out of the way of the door and opened it a crack to see who was there. In the fading sunlight I could see that it was Mr. Thompson. He lived a few trailers down from Fannie Mae and wasn’t really a very nice guy.

“Oh, thank God,” I heard someone else whisper. I peeked out the door and saw that it was Herbert Jennings. He was another neighbor and a pal of my dad’s. I was actually surprised that he wasn’t wherever my dad was.

Thompson shone a flashlight in my face, blinding me. “You okay in there, Duke? Anyone else in there with you?”

I opened the door wider and looked behind me. Fannie Mae stood only a step or two behind me and Barrett stood on the other side of the room. He had the shotgun cradled in his arms and had it pointed in the general direction of the front door. Thankfully it was pointed mostly at the floor. Thompson shone the flashlight on the both of them and then sighed.

“Just the three of you, Duke?”

“Yes, sir.” I briefly debated on what to tell him and then settled with, “I don’t know where my parents are. Mom wasn’t here when we got in last night and I haven’t seen Dad since Thursday.”

That would probably come back and burn me later but it was the best I could come up with on short notice.

He nodded at me and then looked pointedly at the shotgun that Barrett was holding. “I take it you saw what happened here earlier?”

“Yes, sir. And the,” I paused, “zombies have been scratching at the back of the trailer. We haven’t heard them for a while, though.”

He grimaced. “Zombies, huh? Yeah, I guess that’s what we have to call them.” He shone the flashlight around the outside of the trailer. “We’re rounding up everyone we can and heading over to the House. It’s the only place that can fit all of us.”

Let me stop for a minute and explain about the House. Horace House was the only piece of real estate in the Acres that actually had a foundation. I suppose in some places it would be called a community center or a meeting house or some such. We used it here for any kind of community meetings that required voting or celebrations or things like that. In the summer there was a wedding or reception there almost every weekend. As the only place of stone in this place of tin it held some kind of hold over the rest of us. Not to mention that, like Thompson said, it was large enough to fit most of the park.

He nodded at Fannie Mae and then looked at Barrett again. “Who’s that, Duke?”

I bristled at his tone but said evenly, “That’s my friend, Barrett Inman. He lives in town.”

He grunted and I don’t know what he would have said, but Herbert – Mr. Jennings – behind him whispered, “Who gives a shit, Thompson? We need to stay on the move.”

I don’t know what we did to set him off, but Thompson was giving all of us the stink eye. He finally just nodded and said, “Come on, kids. Let’s go.”

I shut the trailer door firmly behind us as the three of us followed the two men. They were looking around warily as they began to lead us through the Acres. Fannie Mae and Barrett stayed close behind me. They were practically tripping on my heels. It felt like there were a million eyes on us.

Every ten feet or so Thompson would have us all stop and shine the flashlight in a circle around us. The sun had gone down enough that there were shadows everywhere. At the second stop he shone the light on the three of us and said, “Maybe you should give me that shotgun, boy.”

Barrett looked at me and shook his head. I spoke for him. “That’s ours, Mr. Thompson. I’m not giving it up.”

He eyed me and said, “You’ll give it up if I say you’ll give it up, Johnson.”

I grinned at him and reached behind me to take the shotgun from Barrett. Fannie Mae shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, gripping the straps of the bag carrying the shotgun shells tightly. I pointed the shotgun at the ground between our feet. “This is ours, Mr. Thompson.”

He just grunted at me. “We’ll talk about that later, Johnson.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, sir. I won’t give up our protection.”

Fannie Mae broke in then, trying to break the tension. “Mr. Thompson? What happened after Donny and the others were killed? That was the last thing we saw.”

He didn’t answer her for a few seconds, eyeballing me. I didn’t take my eyes off him as I stood there in an offensive stance. After everything we’d gone through to get that gun I’d be damned before I let anyone take it from me.

He finally looked away from me dismissively. I could tell this wasn’t over yet. “The zombies attacked a handful of other people who were outside. I don’t know how many. About 20 of us barricaded ourselves in the House and then when things died down we decided to go see if there were any other survivors that we could bring back. Plus we wanted to go get us some weapons.” He lifted his shirt, showing us the gun he had in the waistband of his pants.

Mr. Jennings waved the shotgun he held in his hand at me, to show me his gun, too. At least they weren’t complete morons.

“Did you find any other survivors?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. We split up into pairs and went knocking on doors. Last time I took a group back there were about 50 or 60 people in the House. Your trailer was the last one on our watch, so we don’t need to check anymore. We can just go back to safety now.”

Barrett asked, “Are the police coming? Has anyone called them?”

Thompson shook his head. “No one can get reception on their cell phones. You know that service out here is spotty, anyway. And none of the regular phones have worked since the power went out.”

“Has anyone tried to go for help?” I asked.

Thompson barked a bitter laugh. “Yep. I’m sure you heard the road’s blocked?” He waited for our nods. “A few men went out in their car a couple hours ago to where the blockage is and were going to hoof it into town from there. We haven’t heard anything more from them. Hopefully they made it.”

Barrett looked nervously around us. “Do you mind if we keep walking? I feel like a sitting duck out here.”

We started walking again. After a couple minutes I asked, “Have you seen any of the zombies out here when you were bringing people to the House?”

Thompson didn’t answer but Jennings did. “No, we haven’t seen anything and we haven’t been attacked. None of the others we’ve seen at the House have seen anything either. It’s like they’re just waiting. I’ve seen a couple shadows that seemed to be moving, but every time I shone the light on it there was nothing there.”

“I’m sure you’re just seeing things, Jennings. Man up,” Thompson said.

He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world as we walked down the middle of the road. Idiot didn’t have his gun at the ready. We walked in silence for a couple more minutes and then Barrett closed the gap between us and whispered softly into my ear, “I have a bad feeling about this, cahuna.”

I nodded at him. I did, too. It felt like there were a million eyes watching from all around us. A million mouths opening and closing in hunger for our flesh.

You ever see those movies where the group of heroes is walking in the middle of the night and you, the viewer, can see all the monsters watching them from all sides just out of range of the lights and their vision? You can see the monsters closing in silently, closing the gap slowly as they hunted the heroes. You’re yelling and screaming at the screen for them to turn around and see the monsters and run like hell to get out of there but of course the heroes continue blithely on because they can’t hear you.

Why the hell weren’t you yelling loudly that day?

A zombie appeared out of nowhere in front of Thompson where he was leading the five of us. He really should have had his gun out. I have no idea where the zombie was before, but it was just suddenly there in front of Thompson, hands reaching for him. Thompson screamed like a little girl and fumbled for the gun in his pants. I didn’t know who the zombie had been, but I recognized him in passing as one of our random neighbors. His hands closed on Thompson’s throat and his mouth clamped tightly on the top of his skull.

The teeth weren’t sharp enough to get through the skull with one bite, but the zombie was working it like a dog with a bone.

Jennings had started screaming the second the zombie appeared and he ran from the back of the pack to aim his shotgun at the zombie holding Thompson. His face was pale and his eyes were so wide that all I could see were the whites of his eyes. I yelled at him to stop but he didn’t hear me. All he had eyes for was that zombie. He pulled the trigger on his shotgun.

The recoil from the blast shot him back at least a foot and the barrel was pointed at the sky. My ears were ringing from the sound of the shot, but I could still hear Fannie Mae’s screams behind me. Her scream could pierce through anything.

Jennings had missed the zombie completely.

Thompson’s head was nothing but a bloody stump. To give Jennings credit he’d blown the head right off.

The zombie stood there for a moment chewing the air. It hadn’t quite registered the change in its food yet. Jennings was screaming at the bloody heap of Thompson as it slid to the ground, neck stump pumping arterial blood into the air and all over the zombie. The zombie was covered in gray brain matter and bits of white skull. I don’t think it had even been nicked by the shotgun blast. Jennings had his shotgun pointed at the ground and I don’t think he even registered that the zombie was still there. He was off in la-la land.

I raised my shotgun and pointed it at the zombie. I guess my movement finally made it register my presence. It stepped over the completely dead body of Thompson. Thankfully I didn’t think he’d be rising again. I aimed the shotgun as best I could and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Ah, shit.

I remembered loading it and making sure there was one loaded in the chamber. What the hell was wrong with it? Had Barrett screwed me? Had he unloaded it? I dropped to my knees and looked back at him. Screamed, “Barrett! What the hell?”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the approaching zombie. Fannie Mae stepped back and cold-cocked him on the cheek. He fell to his ass with a thump and that finally made him pull his gaze away. He looked at me, blinking rapidly. Finally he found his voice. “The safety, cahuna. I turned on the safety.”

Fuck. I had no idea where the safety was. I tried to ignore the zombie as it closed the distance on us, looking for the safety in the fading light. No fucking idea. Thanks for killing me, Barrett.

“It’s next to the trigger, Duke! A little push button rod!”

I looked up at the zombie. It was no more than three quick paces from me. Its reaching hands were stretched out the length of its arms. It wasn’t looking at me anymore. Fannie Mae was the only one of us still on her feet. Its eyes were locked on her flesh. I flashed on the images from my dreams of Fannie Mae as a zombie, ripped to shreds. Shit, shit, shit.

That was when my fingers found the only thing resembling a “push button rod” on the gun. I pushed it and it slid easily to the other side of the gun with a click. I’m pretty sure I was the only one who heard it underneath the screams of Jennings and Barrett. My breath was coming out of me in wheezing gasps as I braced the shotgun on my stomach and aimed it up at the zombie.

I pulled the trigger.

Oh my God. The shotgun pushed back into my stomach with the force of a train. All the breath rushed out of me in a gasp and black spots appeared in my eyes. I refused to pass out and die. Not while my friends needed me. I pushed the faintness away, forcing my body to take in air. Each breath burned in my throat.

The zombie was still on his feet. He’d stopped at least. There was a gaping hole in his chest from the shotgun blast. He looked down at it and pushed one of his hands into the hole. Then he must have dismissed it as unimportant and took another shambling step toward Fannie Mae.

“Screw this,” I mumbled as I swayed unevenly to my feet.

The zombie finally looked at me. I took a step forward, pushing the release button so that I could chamber another round into the barrel of the gun. The smoking shell I had just shot ejected onto the ground, rattling on the gravel. As I stepped forward I brought the gun up to my shoulder, bracing it as best I could and pointed it from no more than a foot away at the zombie’s head.

I’d like to say that I had some witty quip for it as I pulled the trigger, they always seem to in the movies. When they say it it always sounds like the exact perfect thing to say, but I had nothing. All I had was my rage and anger and sorrow that this was all somehow my fault. So I screamed as I pulled the trigger, pouring all my anger into that shot.

It flew true. The zombie’s brains splattered out behind it and it fell to the ground in a clump, resting atop Thompson’s body.

I was shaking with the heat of my rage. The shotgun was still pointed where the zombie had stood. Smoke rose from the barrel of the shotgun and rose into the dark evening sky. I could hear thunder rattling in the distance. Every breath I took in was followed by a sharp hiss of pain. My stomach felt like it was on fire. I looked over to where Jennings was sitting on the ground. He had his legs tucked underneath him and the shotgun was lying next to him. He was still staring at the headless body of Thompson.

I went over to him and jerked him to his feet. He looked at me, a confused, shocked, where the hell am I look on his face. I considered slapping him but instead punched him as hard as I could. He went back down in the dirt and instinct must have taken over as he went for the shotgun lying at our feet. I stepped on his hand.

“You’re a worthless piece of crap, Jennings.”

He broke down crying again. Great.

I put my shotgun down and put my hands in his armpits, dragging him back to his feet. I took a page out of Thompson’s book, “Man up, Jennings. We need to get to the House. We don’t have time for your mewling.”

A piercing shriek broke out behind us. Now what?

I turned to Barrett and Fannie Mae and saw what they saw. A veritable zombie horde was coming out of the dark toward us. They were in various states of disarray and distress. Some were missing limbs or giant hunks of skin. Some were missing pieces of their skulls. All were coming for us, moving slowly, at the pace of the damned. I don’t know how many were in the pack. Twenty? Thirty? Some I recognized as friends and neighbors. Others I didn’t recognize at all.

All were coming for us.

I screamed at Fannie Mae, “Get Thompson’s gun!” She scrambled for it as I bent over and picked up my shotgun. Jennings broke and couldn’t handle it anymore. He took off running in the direction of the House. The last I saw of him he fell to his knees and crawled a few feet before regaining his legs.

Fannie Mae struggled to turn Thompson over and grab his gun from his waistband as the horde came for us. I don’t think any of us had any brave ideas of making a stand, we just knew we needed the weapons if we were going to survive at all. I only had six shots left in the shotgun and Fannie Mae had all my shells. There was no way I had time to get the bag from her, open it, dig the box out and then load the shotgun. And no way would six shots be enough to kill the horde.

I bent over to pick up the other shotgun and my hand met Barrett’s. He’d crawled across the ground to come meet me. Our eyes locked. He saw the question in mine and nodded. “I can do it, cahuna. I can do it.”

Those were the last words I ever heard him utter.

The idiot picked up the shotgun and chambered a new round with a scream and charged into the approaching horde, gun blazing away. Shot after shot struck zombies. I have no idea if they were kill shots, but he was definitely hitting them. I made as if to charge after him but suddenly Fannie Mae was there before me. She put her hands on my arms.

“No, Duke. No!”

I paid no attention to her whatsoever, tears streaming down my face as I lost sight of my best friend in the world in the horde of zombies. They circled around him, ignoring Fannie Mae and me. She got a firm grip on my hand and tugged me away from them, pulling me the opposite direction.

I knew this was why Barrett had done what he’d done, so that we could be saved, but I couldn’t reconcile that in my head. So Fannie Mae dragged me behind her as I watched my best friend in the world being buried in the mass of zombies.

I flashed to meeting Barrett many years ago in school: the rich kid befriending the white trash.

Looking at porn together once when he’d stolen one of his dad’s magazines.

Smoking our first cigarette together and taking our first swig of my mom’s booze together.

Throwing up violently together moments later.

The easy grin on his face as he offered me the keys to his father’s car what seemed an eternity ago.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as he disappeared beneath the pile of zombies and the shotgun blasts finally stopped.

Fannie Mae and I ran and ran and finally came upon the last bastion of sanity in this small corner of hell.

We saw no more zombies on the way. Apparently they were all off doing other things or eating other people. Or eating my best friend Barrett.

The fuckers. All my fault. All my freaking fault.

We finally arrived at the House.

14.

The House blazed with the safety of electric light. They must have had the generator going. Once I thought about the generators all I could hear was their angry motors going off in the silent night. Smoke rose to the sky from the back of the House where the generators ran. As my gaze followed the smoke to the sky I saw the lightning flashing in the distance again. Apparently the storm was coming –soon. I had no doubt the clouds would break tonight and dump the rains on us.

It just seemed like that kind of night.

Fannie Mae was still dragging me behind her, leading me by the hand. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I couldn’t even begin to voice the horror I was feeling. Why would Barrett do such a thing? Why would he sacrifice himself for us? For his friends?

For his friends.

I guess at the end he’d found all the courage he’d ever needed.

We reached the door of the House and Fannie Mae started banging on it, yelling for them to let us in. Less than 30 seconds later the door opened a crack and a gun barrel poked out.

“Who’s there?”

We had run straight there from the shootout and Fannie had half-dragged me the whole way so she was completely out of breath. She finally managed to breathe out, “Fannie Mae Jennsen and Duke Johnson. Please let us in.”

The door opened wide enough to let us in and we stumbled quickly inside. They shut and bolted the door behind us. When I looked around I could see at least five or six different guns pointed directly at us.

Stupid Herbert Jennings sat not thirty feet away from us with a blanket over his shoulders sipping something out of a coffee cup. I got to my feet and held the shotgun threateningly in my hands.

“Stand down, Duke,” said another man from behind the group that had their guns trained on us. He stepped through them and approached me. It was Washington Jones, the manager of Rosie Acres, our trailer park.

He stopped in front of me, getting close enough to force me to point the shotgun at the floor. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with his caring, brown eyes. Washington was one of the only few black (okay, African American) men in the trailer park. Hell, in most of the town if I’m being honest. He’d lived here most of his life and had faced many a tough time against the white trash in town. I’d heard tell that as a young man of 20 when he’d showed up in town that a lot of the men – my father included – had tried to show him the way right back out. He’d stood his ground and gave as much of a beating as he’d taken and somehow won their respect after many years.

He stood about 6’2” and was as thin as a rail. Many of the men had thought that’d made him weak, but he’d beaten men twice his size more than once. His head was shaved bald and shone to a high gloss. Even though he was one of the toughest men in these parts he was also one of the most gentle and there’d been many a kid who’d fallen in the trailer park and been picked up by him.

It was no surprise that he’d be the one leading the men.

“Washington?” I asked, blinking up at him rapidly.

He took me in his arms, the shotgun smashed between us, and I wept like a baby. I felt no shame for it. None at all. I cried for my friends and for the things I couldn’t unsee and the things I’d done.

I don’t know how long I cried or how long we stood there together, but finally my tears slowed to a trickle and I backed slowly away from him. He let me. But he had his hand out for the gun.

I shook my head. “Sorry, Washington, but this is mine.”

He looked at me and I could see him weighing the thoughts in his head and he finally nodded and shrugged, letting me keep the gun. Maybe he saw in my eyes that I wasn’t willing to give it up. I looked over to Fannie Mae, but she’d already hidden Thompson’s gun somewhere on her body and I don’t think any one of them had seen her do it. At least we were armed.

“You want to tell me what happened?” He asked.

I snorted and pointed at Jennings cowering in his little blanket. “I’ll tell you what happened. That coward over there got my best friend killed and shot Mr. Thompson.”

Washington glared darkly at Jennings and steered me toward a couple chairs. “Why don’t you tell me from the beginning?”

I hesitated and then glanced at Fannie Mae. The look in her eyes told me that it was my call what to tell. I skipped over most of what I’ve already told in these pages and picked up the story with the three of us sitting in my trailer this afternoon and seeing the foot-zombie attacking Donny Marsters and the subsequent issues. He nodded along with my story. I guess he’d been out in the crowd although I hadn’t seen him. Then I told him about Thompson and Jennings coming to my trailer and taking the three of us to the House and I filled him in on every single detail and laid all the blame entirely on Jennings.

I could have shot Jennings myself right then and there with no qualms whatsoever.

He nodded at the end of my story and looked at Jennings again, long and hard. Then he looked back at me. “I’m sorry about your friend, Duke. He sounds like a real stand-up guy.”

“Yeah,” I nodded sourly.

“I can’t fault Jennings for the shot he took at the zombie when it had Thompson. Any one of us would have done the same thing, although hopefully we wouldn’t have missed it. The guilt for that is on him and if we ever get out of this alive and everything goes back to normal then maybe he can face justice. Until then there’s nothing I can do about that.”

He paused but I didn’t say anything in reply to that. What was there to say?

“I can, however,” his voice deepened, “fault him for being a coward and abandoning three children to the zombies.” I opened my mouth to protest being called a child but he waved it away. He knew what I was going to say. “Don’t worry about him having another gun in his hands or having any kind of responsibility in here.”

“How about you give me five minutes alone with him?” I asked Washington seriously.

“And me, too,” Fannie Mae piped in.

He looked at us with a grim smile on his face. “I don’t think so, Duke. I think you’d kill him and we can’t risk any more of those things.” He shuddered. “We still don’t know what caused them or where they came from.”

I did, kinda. Fannie Mae did, too. We locked eyes on each other and I realized I didn’t want to take the chance to beat Jennings to a pulp and have something like Mason Smith happen again. Maybe it was a fluke or God knows what happened, but I knew I didn’t want to chance that again.

I nodded at Washington. “Okay, I’ll let it drop for now.”

He got up off his chair and sighed, rubbed his forehead with his hand. “Good. Thanks, Duke.”

I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter. “Um, Washington?”

“Yeah, Duke?”

“Can you tell me what’s been going on here for the past few hours and what the plan is and everything?” I’d been in charge too long on that day to just trust handing over the mantle of leadership.

He sat back down and rubbed his forehead again. I think the pressure of the leadership was getting to him. It’s not too often that you get to practice your leadership skills in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

“Well, we’ve got about 65 people here in the House. At last count there were about 312 people living in Rosie Acres. There’s no way to tell how many were out of the park when this all started. Some people were just out of town and some are stuck in town now that there’s a blockage in the road.” He threw his hands up in the air. “I hope that we got everyone in that we could before it got dark. Yours was the last search party out there. We knocked on every single door in the Acres. It’s possible some people were too scared to answer their door.”

He waved at the groups of people huddled around the meeting room. There were some people crying and some people just staring blankly in the distance. There were a few others who were on guard duty and trying to look out the windows. “At our best count we’ve got 20 people that we know were attacked. Most of them were seen getting right back up. We’ve got a few people that we know were missing before everything started; like Don Simmons and Tamara Rogers. Her body wasn’t found in the fire at her trailer. Simmons was seen this morning on his walk and then just disappeared.”

He leaned forward and locked eyes with me. “How many people – things – were in the group that you saw? The one that attacked you?”

I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, Washington. I didn’t stop and take down their names. Probably at least 10 or 15. Maybe 20. It was dark. It was impossible to tell.”

He sighed and sat back, rubbing his forehead some more.

“Do we have any supplies in here?” I asked. “Food? Water? Phones?”

“We’ve got some canned goods and bottled water here. Fortunately the place is fairly well stocked up since it doubles as our tornado shelter. None of the land lines work and no one can seem to get a cell signal.” He leaned forward and whispered, “What’s going on, Duke? Why would the road be blocked, the power be off, and none of the phones work? Are they that smart?”

He had an insane look in his eyes.

“I don’t know, Washington. They didn’t seem that smart from what I saw, but I wouldn’t put anything past them. Hell, I couldn’t tell you how to kill the land lines so I have no idea how a zombie could.”

“Zombies,” he said, incredulous. “Is this the end of the world?”

I shrugged. “I hope not. It was my birthday yesterday.”

He wandered off and I went and sat by Fannie Mae on the floor. She had a blanket over her and offered an end to me. I sighed and accepted it and we scooted close to each other under it, sharing body heat. Regardless of the zombies and everything else going on, I certainly could not have imagined myself here 24 hours ago. Sitting next to Fannie Mae with my arm around her and not being too bothered about it? Being completely aware of her as a female and liking the idea?

Nope. Certainly not me.

That made me think of Barrett and his relentless teasing of me about her and a wave of sorrow passed over me. I couldn’t believe he was gone. There were so many things we were going to do together and now the best I could hope for was that the zombies had taken his head so that none of us would have to shoot him. I don’t think Barrett would make a good zombie. He’d have to eat people and he certainly wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with that.

I sighed and was almost surprised by the tears I felt running down my cheeks. I’d never been this weepy before. Hell, I hadn’t cried when Barrett told me my mom was dead. Fannie Mae reached up and touched the wetness on my cheeks. She didn’t say anything as we looked at each other by the fading light. She leaned forward and I could tell what she wanted. A part of me wanted it, too. My heart was full of sorrow and it needed filling with something just a little happier.

She leaned forward and tilted her head up. I kissed her. It was a chaste kiss, no moving of the head or tongues rammed down each other’s throats. It was just the pressing of our lips together. Yet. And yet, still, a tingle of electricity shot through me and every hair on my body stood on end. The electricity was coming from our lips but I could feel it like a ball of energy in the pit of my stomach.

We finally parted and just looked at each for a moment without saying anything. Then she sighed and leaned into me, placing her head on my chest. She was asleep in moments. I squeezed her shoulder tightly where I had my arm around her and put my chin on the top of her head. I tried to close my eyes and sleep but nothing happened. I could feel the dreams and the horror just behind my eyelids, waiting for me to fall to sleep.

So I shook it off and looked around the room.

Parts of my brain were happy and confused. Confused, but happy. I decided now wasn’t really the right time to think about me and Fannie Mae. The next thing to intrude was to see all the suffering and fear and crying in the room and to flash on the at least 20-ish zombies roaming around outside and to think about how that was all my fault, but I pushed all that away, too.

Then thoughts of Barrett intruded in, but I wouldn’t even allow myself to go there, so I threw that aside, too. Not much was left at that point.

I looked around the room at the 65 people there. Most looked like they were in shock and couldn’t believe what was going on. I didn’t blame them as I still had trouble with it myself. This wasn’t what it was like in the movies. On film the survivors always banded together and had a virtual arsenal they could use to mow down the zombies. There was usually one or two like Jennings – I sneered in his direction – but usually all the others were true survivor-types.

That certainly wasn’t the case this night.

I counted maybe eight guns in the room, not counting what Fannie Mae and I had on us. I’d say half of them were shotguns. A couple looked like they were .22’s. I’m not sure what they intended to do with those little rifles. You’d have to be a crack-shot to kill a zombie with one of those. I’d rather have a pointy stick. And the rest were an assortment of handguns. They’d probably work all right but I’m thinking the shotguns would be the best bet. Who knows exactly where in the brain you’d have to shoot a zombie to kill it? I certainly didn’t and I was probably the only one in this room who’d actually faced one down.

I’d much rather go with the wide spray of a shotgun shell.

No wonder Washington had wanted to take the gun away from me. He had men stationed at every window but I’d say less than half of them had weapons. If we were attacked the best they’d be able to do would be to yell really loud and run like hell, but there was no way he was getting this weapon from me. The three of us had gone through way too much to get it.

Thoughts of that made me think of Tamara. It seemed like forever since she’d crossed my brain, which was odd in and of itself since she used to be all I could think of in my hormone-laced teenager dreams. It’s amazing what a difference 24 hours can make in your priorities. Survival becomes the top issue, depending on the type of person you are. I know rape isn’t the girl’s fault but in this instance I felt like she had at least an even amount of responsibility for our current predicament. I wouldn’t want rape to happen to anybody and I definitely didn’t want anyone to become a zombie, but if she hadn’t been in the middle of a graveyard at midnight with a thug like Mason Smith than none of this would have happened and I’d be whistling away none the wiser at what the real world really held.

Real world? Was that what this was now?

I wish Barrett was still here. I’m sure he’d have all kinds of lore and good information we could use for the final group of survivors holing up in the last bastion of safety. He’d know good things we’d need to watch for and holes we’d need to fill to make sure the zombies didn’t get inside. But Barrett was gone.

I shoved that thought aside again.

I knew I should take the rest while I could but after a half hour or so of Fannie Mae snoring softly on my chest I knew there was no point in even trying anymore so I slowly extricated myself from underneath her. It wasn’t easy doing it without waking her up but I finally managed it. I laid her down on her side on the floor and let her use my jacket for a pillow.

I stood and stretched, hearing my back crack like an old man. A skittering part of me wanted to run and find a bolt hole and hide but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I didn’t feel safe here at all. There were too many personalities and moods and minds involved for this to be that safe of a place. They all took the idea of the zombies seriously because they’d seen what had happened out in the road with Donny but I don’t think they truly took it seriously. The zombies hadn’t attacked the House yet.

Yet.

But I’m sure they would. The lights shining through all the windows would surely appeal to them when they were ready. My guess was that there were still a few people out there huddled in their trailers with the lights off trying to hide from the zombies but I could easily see them in my mind’s eye being attacked and overwhelmed. It would only take one or two zombies to really get the job done. One would make two, those two would make four, then eight and on up to infinity. There was no defense against that kind of madness and the zombies seemed to go for the easy pickings first.

I wanted to go for a walk and check the windows and doors myself but I wasn’t sure how Washington and the other men would really feel about that. The only other guys there my age were cowering under blankets with their families. They weren’t men, but I felt that my responsibility and my deeds this past day surely qualified me for that job and I think Washington sensed that when he let me keep the shotgun. So screw it. My safety depended on it as much as anyone else’s and I didn’t trust any one person here to keep me safe, except for Fannie Mae, and I wanted to make sure I could keep her safe, too.

I felt almost naked without the gun now, so I bent over and picked up the shotgun and cradled it in the crook of my elbow like I’d seen men do on Western movies since time immemorial. It felt weird there resting against my arm, but it actually was fairly comfortable holding it that way. I almost went out on my little circuit until I realized I hadn’t reloaded the shotgun since I’d fired those shots at the zombie attacking Thompson. Fannie Mae had the pack sitting on the floor next to her so I bent over again and took out one of the boxes of shells. I squatted down next to it as I thought for a minute. I hid the box with my body because I didn’t want any of the other men to see it. My guess was they’d take the shells as community property and want to add it to the arsenal.

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 chosen 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.”

15.

I still couldn’t sleep. I could feel the dreams on the edge of my consciousness and could see them out of the corner of my eye. I walked around the House one more time and could feel every eye watching me. When I turned my head to catch them looking at me most looked away but a few actually returned my gaze. I could see doom and hopelessness in every eye.

Feel it in my gut. We were all doomed.

I tried not to disturb Fannie Mae as I sat back down next to her but my jostling back into position woke her up. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and yawned. “What time is it, Dukey?”

I looked at my wrist, at the watch that was not there, and then looked around the room for a clock. I squinted at it. “Eight, it looks like. A little after.”

She sighed. “Where were you? I woke up once and you weren’t here.”

I debated on what to tell her, but we’d been pretty honest with each other today so I didn’t want this to be between us. I told her where I’d been and what I’d been doing.

“Are we safe?”

I shrugged. “As safe as we can be, I guess. Washington took me seriously and he’s upped the guards on the doors. I saw him send a couple guys to the basement a little bit ago and he even took Wilkinson off the back door. We might be okay, Fannie Mae.”

She took my hand in hers and tightened her fingers on mine. I looked at where our hands met and flashed onto seeing her in my dream. I shuddered. “But you don’t think so, do you, Dukey?”

“I don’t see how we can be, Fannie Mae. We’re talking about zombies here. All of our friends are dead or dying. We’re huddled in the House with no hope of rescue and a handful of bullets to protect us.”

She sighed and bit her lip. “Let’s not talk about it anymore. Change of subject.”

“What do you want to talk about then?”

“Us?”

I grinned. “I think that’s too heady of a subject for right now. Maybe we can do that when we get out of this mess.”

She grinned back. “So never then? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Pretty much.” A thought occurred to me. An even bigger grin crossed my face. It occurred to me that this wasn’t really being respectful to Barrett but then I realized that he would want us to go on with our lives.

She saw the look on my face and said, “What? What did you just think of?”

“I’ve got something we can talk about.”

“What?”

“Your name. Why can’t I ever just call you Fannie or FM or something like that?”

She shook her head. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“Please?” I fluttered my eyelashes at her.

She giggled. “Okay, then. I’ll let you in on a little secret. My name isn’t really Fannie Mae.”

“What?” This actually was news to me.

She frowned and looked down and played with my hand. “I was actually born Francine Mary Jennsen. My mom used to go around just calling me Francine when I was little.”

I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a good story. I opened my mouth to stop her but she cut me off. “I never told you about my grandma, Dukey. My Mamaw. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to run away from the trailer and live with her. She lived in town and I probably spent at least two or three nights a week with her. Even when I was little mom was just such a terror to me. She’d yell and scream and just be so hateful and daddy was such a wimp that he wouldn’t say anything. Mamaw was the only one who’d step up to her for me.”

She wiped tears from her eyes. “Mamaw used to call me Fannie, since its short for Francine. Or that’s what she always said, anyway.” She smiled at me through her tears. “She used to call me Fannie Mary and when I was really young I’d always go up to her and say ‘Mamaw, your Fannie Mary loves you,’ but since I was real little I couldn’t say it very well. It became Fannie Mae to me. So Mamaw started to call me that all the time and it kinda stuck.”

I’d never heard her mention any of this in all the years I’d known her. “What happened?”

“I was six when mom came home one day and told me that Mamaw was dead. She’d had a heart attack in the middle of the night and died in her sleep. Ever since then I’ve made everyone always call me Fannie Mae, no shortening and no nicknames. I do that for my Mamaw. Even mom finally relented and started calling me it. I think it pisses her off to no end, but a six year old can be stubborn when you don’t call them by the name they want to be called.”

I put my arm around her. “I’m sorry, Fannie Mae. I didn’t think the story would be anything like that.”

She looked up at me in my embrace and said, “That’s okay, Dukey. I wanted you to know.” She smiled at me. I don’t know what else would have happened because that’s when Washington Jones came up to us and interrupted.

“We have a problem.” He looked concerned and scared as hell.

I sighed and stood up. “Of course we do.” It must have been a big problem for him to come to me.

He tried to lead me away and Fannie Mae stood up, too. “Duke?” Concern was etched all over her face.

I smiled at her. “I’ll be right back.” Hopefully.

Washington led me to the back of the House. There was a group of three or four men standing by the back door. I was glad to see that they’d at least done what they could to cover up the glass. I had my shotgun cradled in my arms again. I wasn’t about to leave that bad boy behind.

Jennings was back there, too. He studiously ignored me.

“What’s going on, Washington?”

He sighed and looked around at the other men. It was apparent that they were leaving this all up to him. “Do you hear that, Duke?”

I cocked my head. “All I can hear is the rain, Washington.”

He pulled me closer to the back door, pushing the other men out of the way. “Listen.”

So I listened as hard as I could. Beneath the rain, behind the noise of the men shuffling and whispering around me, over the noise of the people huddled for safety in the front room, I heard something. I cocked my head at it and got as close to the door as I could. Finally I looked at him.

He nodded at me silently.

I grimaced. “How long has that been going on?”

“About 10 or 15 minutes,” he replied, looking grim.

I looked around at the group of men. What a bunch of cowards. “So you’ve been hearing someone crying out for help for the past 15 minutes and not one of you has done anything about it?”

Jennings spoke up. “What are we supposed to do, boy? Risk all of us to help one person out there?”

“Yeah,” I said, getting up in his face. “How can you call yourselves men if you’re not willing to do that?” I got even closer to him. So close that I could feel the shotgun pressing up against him. He backed off a step. I looked around at the rest of them. “I don’t expect Jennings to do anything. He’s nothing but a coward, a chicken in men’s clothes. But the rest of you? Are you really willing to let whoever that is die out there?”

I walked back to Washington. “Does that sound like an adult out there to you, Washington?”

He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. Calm down, Duke. That’s why I called you in here. We need to figure out what we’re doing and do it soon. You’re the only person in this place who’s faced one of these things down today. We need your help.”

I heard Jennings mutter something under his breath. I whirled back to him and rapidly closed the distance. Before I could stop myself and before anyone there even had the chance to do anything I shot out with the stock of the gun and smacked him in the belly as hard as I could. He dropped like a stone to the floor, wheezing and grunting for breath. I looked back at Washington. “Get him out of here. He’s a worthless sack of shit.”

Washington nodded to a couple of them and they dragged Jennings out of there. I’d felt a savage satisfaction at hitting him like that but I also felt a touch of shame. I hadn’t intended to hurt Mason the night before, either, but that’s what had happened. I didn’t want anything else on my conscience. There was enough as it is.

“What should we do, Duke?”

I sighed and looked out the window. “Do we have any idea where it’s coming from?”

Wilkinson stepped up behind me. “No. We’ve tried to pinpoint it but the rain’s making it too hard to tell.”

I looked back at Washington. “We’re going to have to get a few men – maybe four or five of us – and go out there. We’ll need that many so that we can watch all four sides. If that kid really has been crying that long I’m guessing the zombies are heading straight for him, too.”

He nodded. “You have your men right here.”

“You’re not coming, too.”

“Yes, I have to, Duke. I can’t ask anyone, especially a 16 year old boy, to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”

I stepped closer to him. “These people here need you. In case,” I stopped and took a deep breath, “we don’t make it back.”

“There’s no point in talking about it, Duke. I’m going.” It was weird how quickly they’d accepted me as one of them.

I searched his face, looking for any pause or weakness. There wasn’t any. I sighed and shrugged. That’s when Fannie Mae walked into the room.

She looked around at each of the men. None of them would look her in the face. Finally her eyes rested on me. She didn’t say anything. Her arms were crossed on her chest and she looked pissed.

“You heard?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I heard.”

“I have to do this, Fannie Mae.”

“I know, Duke,” she said, shuddering. “I know. Your courage is one of the reasons I love you.”

A thunderous silence followed that statement. My mouth was open wide enough to catch flies. One of the men behind me coughed and shuffled his feet. I took a step forward. “Fannie Mae. . .”

She closed the gap between us and put her finger on my lips. “Hush. You go do what you need to do. Just make sure you come back. I’ll be waiting for you.” She pulled me into a hug and put her lips next to my ear. She whispered so low that I could barely hear her. “If you have to run, you run. Don’t look back and don’t sacrifice yourself for these men. They’re not worth it. Come back to me.”

She pulled back from me and held me at arm’s length. Searched my eyes and said, “Do you understand?”

I nodded without saying anything, trying to keep my emotions off my face, and she finally nodded back, squeezed my hands and turned away, going back to wait for me.

Geesh.

Pressure, much?

“All right,” I said, looking around the room. “If we do this everyone needs to make sure that they’re fully aware of what’s going on. Someone needs to watch each side. They could come out from anywhere.” I felt like I was channeling Barrett. “They make no noise other than their feet on the ground and in this rain we’d be lucky to hear even that. Shooting them anywhere but the head doesn’t seem to really slow them down. Shoot for the head or you’re wasting a shot. From what we saw earlier it seems they travel in groups. Even if we get attacked by a group in front someone needs to always watch out behind us or we’re screwed. I don’t think they’re that smart but if we’re not paying attention one will slip through. All they want to do is eat us.”

I looked around at the men, for a moment amazed that they were actually taking orders from me. Not a one of them would have looked at me twice a day ago.

“Does everyone understand what we’re doing? We go find whoever’s yelling for help and we bring them back here. That’s it. No other side missions, no lollygagging, no nothing. There and back. That’s it.”

Washington looked me in the eye. He looked spooked, but resolute. I nodded at him. “Any other parting words?”

He shook his head. “No. Everyone stick together.”

Wilkinson stayed behind and guarded the door as the rest of us exited slowly. I guess he’d been relegated back to guard duty out of necessity. The House would be screwed if we didn’t make it back. We were taking most of the firearms with us.

Washington went outside first and did a quick recon on both sides of the door to make sure nothing was waiting for us. He waved at the rest of us and we went out in order: Rodriguez next, then me, then Felix and then some guy whose name I didn’t know. We’d all seen a movie or three in our day so we tried our best to treat this like a military operation. Each man fanned out a little and made sure that we were at least safe for a minute or two.

I had my shotgun braced against my shoulder and pointed at the ground. The safety was off, of course. I wasn’t going to have that issue again. As soon as I stepped outside I was soaked to the skin with the rain. It was coming down hard enough that you couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of you.

“Shit,” I said.

“What?” Washington hissed.

“Does anyone have a flashlight? It didn’t even occur to me.”

Three flashlights popped on simultaneously, all pointed at my face. I hissed and put a hand over my eyes. Washington, Felix and the unknown man all had flashlights out. I looked at the guy I didn’t know. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t bother looking at me. He was stabbing the dark with the flashlight like it was a lightsaber. He looked scared shitless. “Stubby.”

I looked at him. He was as skinny as a beanpole. “Stubby?”

Felix chuckled behind me. “Don’t ask.”

Whatever. “Okay, guys,” I whispered, “We need to keep moving. Keep your eyes open and make sure nothing sneaks up on us.”

We trudged slowly through the dark. With no power and no moon to guide us the only light we had was the little shining from the House behind us and the feeble light from the flashlights. The rain was cold and I was chilled to the bone already. The night seemed full of hate and probing eyes and relentless hunger. Occasionally lightning would cross the sky and light our way a little bit but it didn’t really help.

Washington led the pack and Stubby was watching our rear. Felix and Rodriguez took the sides. For some reason I was smack dab in the middle of the group, not that I was complaining. I don’t think they did it consciously, but maybe on some level they wanted to protect me as the youngest one there.

The cries of help coming from the darkness were sporadic but we were definitely getting closer to them. As best I could tell they were coming from a cluster of cars up ahead. I could sense more than see the cars. They were about a hundred feet up ahead. The skin on the back of my neck prickled and I could feel a tightening in my gut. Abruptly the rain slackened and stopped. We were already soaked to the skin but at least now we would maybe be able to move a little faster.

Stubby let out a little scream and fired his gun, a 9 millimeter. He fired a half dozen shots before I could swivel around to see what was happening. I brought my shotgun to bear but couldn’t see anything. His breath was coming in quick, wheezing gasps and I could see that his hands were shaking. He finally stopped firing.

“Stubby,” I hissed. “What did you see?”

“I, I,” he stuttered and pointed. “There was something over there behind that trailer. I think I got it.” His chin quivered. Hell, I thought maybe he was about to pass out.

Washington spoke up behind me. I looked around to see that he was still sweeping his flashlight in front of us. Good. “Did anyone else see anything?”

A bunch of grumbles and grunts met his question. No one had seen a damned thing. Stubby turned to look at me and Washington imploringly. “I saw something. I swear. It was wearing white and moving. It ducked back behind the trailer when I shot at it.”

“Dammit, Stubby,” I said. “If it ducked behind the trailer then it wasn’t a zombie. You’re seeing things.”

“I am not,” he hissed, taking a step toward me. “I saw something moving. It had to be a zombie.”

The cry for help broke the night again suddenly. Whoever it was had heard the shots. “Please. If you’re out there please help me. I’m in a car. Please help me.”

I looked back at Stubby. He looked at me. “I saw something. I swear.”

“Well is it there now?” I hissed.

He turned around and shone the flashlight back behind us. The zombie attacked him without a sound. Its claws buried themselves in his face. It was wearing a white shirt and nothing else. Its long stringy hair was stuck to its head and its pale face stared blankly at us all. The eyes were red and filled with blood. It was a woman. I have no idea who she was. He screamed and fired the gun again and again into her stomach. Each shot jostled her and she shook from the blasts but she already had her claws in him.

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 when 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?”

Washington held a shaking hand over his eyes and finally found his voice. “Yeah, we killed some. About 30 or so I think. Isn’t that right, guys?”

Felix just nodded. “Yeah. Can I borrow your flask, Wilkinson?”

Wilkinson wordlessly handed it over. Felix tipped it over his mouth and we all heard him down the nearly full flask. He closed his eyes when he was down and leaned back and sighed.

Rodriguez was gripping his chest where Tamara had pushed him. He grimaced with pain every time he pressed. I’m guessing he was going to have a nasty bruise and wouldn’t have been surprised to hear he had a cracked rib or two.

“Was that all of them? Do you think you killed them all?” Wilkinson asked.

I flashed on Mason Smith and Barrett and some of the others I’d seen get taken today. I shook my head. “No. There’s definitely more out there.”

Fannie Mae looked up at me. “Did you get Barrett?”

I shook my head at her. “No, but I did put Tamara out of her misery.”

Concern crossed her face and she gripped me even more tightly. “Are you okay with that?”

“Not really. But I’ll wait til this is all over to break down.”

I struggled to my feet and Fannie Mae helped me stand there. I was very wobbly and all I wanted was rest. I towered over Washington and the others. “You need any more help right now, Wash?”

He shook his head at me wordlessly, not able to meet my gaze. His whole body was shaking along with his hand.

“Well,” I said, “I’m going to go take a little nap. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that I turned around and Fannie Mae helped me to our little spot on the wall. The crowd in the main room silently watched us. They’d all heard the shots and they all wanted details but the dark look on my face was enough for them to decide not to bother asking me. Fannie Mae helped me to a sitting position on the wall. It felt like all my muscles were tightening up and screaming at me. I really did need some rest. But before that…

“Fannie Mae,” I whispered.

“Yes, Dukey?” She put her face next to mine.

I felt my mostly empty pockets. I’d used nearly every shell I’d had on me. “Fill me back up with shells. Every pocket. As many as you can stuff in there.”

She nodded and broke them out of the bag. I fell asleep somewhere in the middle of her stuffing my pockets, something nibbling at the back of my head. It seemed like I’d seen something or knew something that was important but I was way too tired to try and remember it.

So I slept.

Noise was the first thing I remembered. It was definitely what woke me up. The huddled masses were talking real loud and making a ruckus. I sat up from where I’d been laying and as I did something fell off my throat. I picked it up and saw it was a wet rag. Fannie Mae must have put it on my throat to help with the swelling.

She was standing about five feet away and staring at the group of people making the noise. It was about 20 of them so maybe a third of the refugees were up and about. The rest were still huddling in their corners with the blankets over their heads. I could make a joke about ostriches and sticking their heads in the ground, but I won’t. Or I guess I just did. I was a little pissy for having been woken up. It felt like I’d only been asleep for ten minutes. My clothes were still wet from the rain.

Fannie Mae turned back to me. She looked worried. When she saw I was awake she smiled and came back for me. She sat down next to me and squeezed my hand.

“What’s going on?” I rasped.

“They found out about the rescue mission and the shootout. They want to know if the men who went outside know who was killed. They’re pretty upset. A lot of them don’t think we’re actually dealing with zombies.”

I sat up straighter. “So they think we were just killing people willy-nilly?”

She sighed. “I don’t really know what they think. Some are complaining that we don’t know what’s going on, that it could be some kind of disease or infection and that they can be cured. They think you just murdered all their friends and family.”

I struggled to my feet. Fannie Mae helped me but she looked concerned. “What are you doing, Dukey?”

I just shook my head at her. “Help me over there.”

As we walked over to where the crowd was gathered around Washington, pushing our way through them, I felt my strength returning to me. It was just bone-weariness more than anything else. All I wanted to do was rest. I looked at the clock. Yeah, I hadn’t been asleep more than thirty minutes. Awesome.

We finished our way to Washington and he glanced at me, a look of consternation crossing his face. He was in the middle of saying a bunch of platitudes and trying to talk the crowd down. Screw that. They should have let me sleep.

I put my hand on his arm and felt the minute shivers in his body. He shook me off and sighed, “Yeah, Duke? What is it? Kinda busy here.”

I ignored him, too. There was a chair nearby so I dragged it over and stood on it, putting me above the rest of the crowd. I tried to speak over them but my throat was still too raspy for me to really get the volume I needed.

Suddenly I heard, “Everybody! Shut the fuck up!”

I looked down at Fannie Mae and grinned. She grinned back. She did have a set of lungs on her.

The crowd quieted down almost immediately. They stared at me expectantly. There were equal measures of hostility, outrage, concern and worry on their faces. They all looked like they could have used about 12 hours of sleep. I knew I could.

I nodded at them. “How you all doing? I’m Duke Johnson in case any of you don’t know. I turned 16 yesterday. Can I hear a happy birthday?”

You could have heard a cricket chirp. Some people just can’t appreciate humor.

“All right, then. Guess not. Let me tell you what I know. Earlier today most of us saw Donny Marsters get attacked and eaten by a person holding a partially eaten foot. Donny died. I saw it from my windows not thirty feet away. Then you know what happened? He got up.”

I heard someone murmur something in the crowd. I couldn’t tell who, but I swiveled my head in that general direction. I began to feel stirrings of my own anger. “How do I know? ‘Cause I saw it. There’s no mistaking when someone’s dead from having been eaten. You can just kinda tell. This isn’t a movie where there’s gonna be a happy ending. The dead are rising, folks. If you get bitten or killed by these things then you will get back up. And when you get up you will be hungry for flesh. Those things out there are zombies and they’re eating people. If you doubt that then why are you here?”

No one would meet my gaze. I don’t know why their doubt made me so angry, but it did. I could feel my rage as an almost palpable thing. “Not an hour or so ago me, Wash, Felix, Rodriguez and Stubby all went out to save some kid that was trapped by the zombies in a car. Stubby didn’t make it back. Do you know what happened to him? Do you?” I was shouting. “He got attacked. A zombie shoved her arm down his throat and pulled all of his insides to the outside. I saw his lung in her hand. I saw her eat his tongue. And then do you know what happened after that? He got back up and came for us. Do you really think that’s something that could happen under normal conditions?”

I could feel my eyes blazing as I look down at the crowd. My throat was on fire yet somehow I’d found my voice.

“Couldn’t it be some kind of disease?” Some small voice queried from the crowd.

“Sure,” I said sarcastically. “It is a disease. It infects dead tissue and makes it living again. But don’t be mistaken. They’re not alive anymore. There’s no cure for death, people. The only cure for death is what’s outside these walls. And it wants to eat all of you.”

Washington helped me off the chair as I got down, muttering to myself. Damn fool bastards. I looked at Wash and saw the haunted look in his eyes. Saw the tremors and his clenched jaw, the sweat running down his shaved head. Then I said, “We’re all going to die.” That was when all hell broke loose, of course.

I don’t suppose you recall way earlier, less than 24 hours ago, when Barrett told me and Fannie Mae the rules of zombies movies? Well I did. That was when we’d all stripped for each other and I’d noticed Fannie Mae as a woman for the first time. A young woman, granted, but still. The whole point of our little striptease was Barrett’s assertion that in the zombie movies when you get a whole bunch of people together, survivors like us, that invariably there will be someone who’s hiding a bite from the zombies or someone with a scratch who doesn’t know it. He’d made us strip because he said that the zombie infection is insidious and it burrows down into the body and that if you’re not critically injured that it will works its way on you and then boom, you’re a zombie.

I’d forgotten to share that information with Washington. Don’t really know why. Guess it hadn’t come up and I’d forgotten been too tired from trying to survive to mention it. You’d be surprised at what slips your mind when you’re jumping from one hell to another.

Know where I’m going yet?

Rodriguez had been jumped by Tamara. Remember what I said? That she dug her hands into his shirt and just shoved him out of the way? One fingernail, one lone fingernail, had cut Rodriguez in the chest. Just the tiniest little scratch. How long does it take the infection to take hold throughout the body from a tiny scratch? Apparently about 45 minutes or so.

When we’d all gotten back from our failed rescue mission Rodriguez had snatched Wilkinson’s bottle of booze and thrown himself down into a corner to get as drunk as he possibly could in as short of a time as he possibly could. He’d been haunted by the visions of what we’d all seen and done outside. He was a sharpshooter, having taken his gun to the range every weekend to target shoot, but it was a different matter entirely to shoot people in the head. Logically he knew that those people would have happily eaten him and that he’d done the right thing, but that doesn’t change what you feel when you line up the sights on a fellow person. He saw them coming for him and saw himself shooting head after head over and over again.

Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters. Children. All coming straight for him and us and wanting to feed. He’d shot them all. With no thought and no pity in his brain, he’d shot them all.

I think that more than anything else was what he wanted to drown out: how he’d felt nothing as he pulled the trigger. It was all about survival instincts and his brain had shut down to the trauma. But it woke up when it was all over and he knew that no matter what excuse you used that all of that was on his head.

So he drowned it all out. Or tried to. The booze was like fire going down his throat but it wasn’t affecting him. He wasn’t getting a buzz and he wasn’t passing out. As he sat there in his corner all he could feel was a wind rushing through his mind and his brain and body were in a vise of pain. His chest itched and he didn’t know why and didn’t really care why.

Rodriguez was alone in the world. No family to tie him down. Very few friends. He rented his trailer month to month and at any given time he might be inclined to just move on. He didn’t believe in roots and had a past he was running away from and all he cared about was being able to move. There were demons chasing him and every time they got close he’d run as fast as he could.

He hadn’t run fast enough this time.

The scratch on his chest was the tiniest thing. The smallest little pinprick you could ever see. Imagine taking your sharp, jagged fingernail and just pressing it into your skin. That’s it. Not even a drag across the flesh to mar the skin. Just a little blip on the radar. But it was enough. The bacteria or virus or whatever the hell it was that travelled from zombie to zombie found purchase there and began to replicate through his body. It began to permeate the flesh and the organs and eventually found his brain.

His alcohol-infused brain.

He was sitting there while I was railing against the crowd and trying to convince them of the existence of zombies. Scratching at his chest absently like he was a dog infested with fleas. He finally got up and stumbled to the bathroom to see what was going on. Looked in the mirror as he felt blackness creep into his brain and saw shadows moving at the edge of his vision. Clumsy fingers that had lost all feeling slowly undid his buttons and when he couldn’t manage to do that he just ripped it off in a fury, buttons flying everywhere.

Numb horror filled his brain as he saw the black, weeping flesh above his heart. Saw the red lines of infection spread from the wound like a spider web and travel around his body. Suddenly noticed the paleness of his flesh and felt the rot creeping into his brain. Opened his mouth to cry out in rage, but before the cry could escape his lips, in the time from one blink of the eye to the next, he was suddenly not alive.

Dead but not dead. Alive but not alive.

And with a terrible hunger.

He stood there staring at himself in the mirror for a few minutes. If the eyes are the window to the soul what does a zombie see when it looks in the mirror? Does it recognize that it’s looking at itself? I have no clue. But I do know that he was just standing there gazing at his own reflection and probably would have stood there for God knows how long except that someone opened the door to the bathroom without knocking.

Brenda Barker had been listening to me yelling at the crowd but she’d been on her way to the bathroom when I started and suddenly couldn’t hold the gallon of water she’d drunk since being locked up in the House anymore. When she was nervous she was always thirsty and then always had to go pee. She’d held out for as long as she could but finally decided she didn’t need to hear what I said anymore. She believed in the zombies. She’d seen the zombie attack at the BBQ and seen how quickly the infection spread. She was terrified of them all and had given herself nightmare after nightmare when she was younger by watching the original Night of the Living Dead at the drive-in. Her mother had forbidden her to go to the movie anyway and she’d paid for it with nightmares. Her mother said that’s what she deserved.

But she didn’t deserve this.

She opened the door and saw Rodriguez standing at the mirror with his back to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

He turned slowly to her and that’s when Brenda’s bladder let go with a rush. The hot urine flowed down her legs like a river and she didn’t even notice it. She screamed and turned to run back out the door, which was what caused us all to turn and look down the hallway. I had a birds-eye view of her making it about two feet from the door before a hand reached out and grabbed her hair, which was swinging wildly behind her. Her eyes bulged and she screamed again as she skidded back across the floor, her hands grabbing at her hair.

The entire group watched as he chomped her on the neck, her blood spraying wildly through the air. Someone stepped in from behind him and he dropped her to the floor to attack them. It was Wilkinson. He fell back screaming to the floor with zombie-Rodriguez riding him all the way down. Rodriguez was moving faster than any of the zombies we’d seen so far. My only guess was that he was at least partly still alive, that the blood was still pumping warmly, but slowly, through his veins.

The crowd was now screaming behind me and bulging to get away from the slaughter. Brenda Barker rose slowly, steadily to her feet. Her face was pointed down at the floor and the mess of bloody hair covered it like some grotesque veil. Suddenly her hands shot out in front of her, fingers curling in a restless search for flesh.

I turned to Fannie Mae. “My shotgun? Where is it?”

She pointed wordlessly back to our little nest along the wall. Shit. I started hobbling back that direction, fighting the crowd and pushing people away with a snarl. They were sheep for the slaughter. Not more than 30 seconds had passed since Brenda’s first scream.

I heard Wash shouting behind me at the men with guns to gather round, to shoot, shoot, dammit. Finally gunshots began thundering through the air. I turned to look, hoping against hope that their shots were flying true. I saw Brenda Barker’s body shuddering and fluttering in the air with the shots pummeling her body. Not one hit her head. She took two shuffling steps forward against the tidal wave of shots and grabbed the nearest person, ripping their throat out with her teeth. She dropped the body and it quickly rose to its hands and knees. Someone thought they’d be smart and went forward to kick the new zombie back to the ground and found their foot being grabbed out of mid-air. I could see him wobbling for balance and that’s when Brenda reached out and touched him. He fell to the floor with a cry.

Both Brenda and the other zombie set-to with a will.

I muttered curses under my breath, feeling sweat break out on my skin and all the hairs on the back of my neck rising to attention. Between my throat and my sheer exhaustion I was hobbling like an old man for the corner and the safety of my shotgun. Fannie Mae ran ahead to grab it and turned around. I was maybe six feet away when she reached it and whirled to face me. Everything slowed down. With all the screams and the gunfire in this enclosed place my hearing was almost gone. What there was left could only hear the horror happening around me.

I saw the look of panic cross her face and the shotgun being raised to her shoulder. I couldn’t hear her, but I saw her lips move and did the only thing I could think of. I turned my pell-mell, headlong run into a headlong dive for the floor and flew the last several feet through the air. I felt a tug on my shoe but I was moving too fast for it to catch hold. I landed at Fannie Mae’s feet and I heard the familiar roar of my shotgun blasting above my head. One, two, three quick shots. Hot shells fell to the floor next to me, bouncing slowly through the air and giving off a small puff of smoke.

I rolled over to my back, out of breath and wondering what the hell good I was going to be at this angle. Rodriguez’s headless corpse was still falling through the air, dead arms splayed out in a T around it as it crashed to the floor. He’d come through the entire crowd of 60 or so people to launch himself directly at me.

Fannie Mae helped me to my feet, rubbing her shoulder where she’d braced the shotgun. She handed it to me quickly, wanting to rid herself of the infernal thing. I knew the feeling. After shooting the gun you felt like there was now a taint on your soul. Like you’d been doing something unclean. I was growing all too familiar with the feeling.

I couldn’t help myself. She looked like some kind of Amazon goddess standing there. Protecting me as best she could. I held the shotgun out to the side as I pulled her into my arms and kissed her. Her lips were the softest thing I’d ever felt, parted slightly and wet to the touch. Her tongue darted tentatively into my mouth and then more boldly. I inhaled her scent and breathed her in deeply, feeling like we were in our own little world.

We probably could have kissed until Judgment Day if it weren’t for Wash. He stormed out of nowhere and grabbed me by the shoulder. “What the hell you doing, Duke? What do we do?” His voice sounded panicky and like he was on that last precipice of sanity.

Looking at his eyes I could see that he was most definitely on the edge. They were as wide as he could possibly make them and his skin was as pale as could be. He seemed on the verge of a total meltdown.

I cleared my throat and glanced at Fannie Mae. A small smile escaped her lips as we locked eyes. Then I sighed and looked back at Wash, digging extra shells out of my pockets and reloading the shotgun. I put my hand on his arm and felt his pulse running rapidly and raggedly under my hand. “We have to kill them before they kill more people, Wash. If we don’t do it quick then they’ll outnumber us and we’ll all be dead. The only other option is to open the doors and run out of here. That’s really not an option at this point either.”

He nodded and drew his breath slowly, closing his eyes. For some reason I was the voice of calm for him. He nodded again and brandished his gun before him. “Let’s go.”

We skirted around the edge of the crowd. Most of them had gone directly for the front door, but Wash’s men were still watching it and they at least had the presence of mind not to let anyone out. Small pockets of people huddled throughout the room. Some had simply frozen where they’d been standing and were in the process of waiting to be eaten. There was at least a dozen zombies standing around the room and more being produced as we watched. You could almost feel the passing of the people into the land of the dead. Undead. Ever watch the shimmering of the sun across the desert? Seen how the heat just shines off the ground and makes the air look like water? That’s what I saw. Only it was the zombies munching on people and them turning around and doing the same.

I shook my head and blinked my eyes, clearing the vision from them. I didn’t have time for that kind of foolishness.

The zombies had spread out and there were no more than two or three in any given clump. They’d been too tantalized by the smorgasbord of food before them and spread out, running amok. It made it a little easier to try and pick them off, especially since Wash and I were the only ones who’d managed to hold on to our heads. I saw Felix in the corner holding off half a dozen zombies with his gun, but then the press of the people around us shifted him from view.

I turned to Fannie Mae to find that she was at my side. I wanted to tell her to hide, but knew there was nowhere she could go that she would be safe. The safest place for her was next to me. She had the sports bag over her shoulder and a box of open shells in her hand. We looked at each other stoically and nodded at each other.

Then Washington and I waded in.

I’d like to say that we were a well-oiled machine, watching each other’s backs and making only headshots, not wasting a single bullet, but I really can’t. We’d both been field-hardened tonight, but there’s something drastically different about fighting zombies and shooting guns in the middle of a building than there is when you’re outside and have a slight chance of escape. We both knew that this was our one chance at survival and that if we messed this up that every single person in this building would die.

And then get right back up again.

We approached the first two zombies where they were bent over a screaming, obese woman who was flailing around on the floor. She was at least 400 pounds and there was a lot for them to eat. Her stomach was wide open and the zombies were pulling flesh out by the handful, pouring it into their mouths. One of them pushed the others out of the way and buried his whole head in her stomach. She screamed and screamed, feeling every inch of being eaten alive. Her eyes locked on me and Wash and she screamed for our help over and over again.

The one zombie pulled the other’s head out of her stomach so he could have his chance and before he could bury his own head inside her I blew it away. Blood and gore sprayed over the other zombie and on the fat woman. The other zombie didn’t even notice as he prepared himself to go back inside of her. Both of his arms were buried to the elbow in her stomach and gray loops of intestine trickled out of the wound. Wash sighted his gun and shot that zombie in the eye and he fell over the woman.

I held out my hand to Fannie Mae and she slapped another shell in it as I chambered the shotgun. The woman was still screaming from the pain but she looked on Wash and me with gratitude. I paid that gratitude back by putting the shotgun an inch from her head and pulling the trigger. At the last second more panic had filled her eyes but I hadn’t given her the chance to protest. She didn’t realize that she’d been dead from the moment the zombie’s had touched her.

Several people had finally regained their equilibrium and were holding weapons as they raced toward the zombies. I wish they would have just stayed back rather than try to help. Their definition of zombie-killing weapons was definitely lacking. A chair leg here, a baseball bat there. A knife or two. If you had to get that close to a zombie to kill it then the chances were that you were already dead and just didn’t know it. Of course with this being a trailer park in the middle of down home Kentucky it didn’t take much for these people to think they had what it took to survive.

They didn’t.

Shove a knife into the chest of a zombie and what do you get? Um, a zombie with a knife in its chest that was now close enough to take a bite out of you. Aim for the head and the knife would likely bounce off of the thickness of the skull. Aim for the eye and if you were lucky enough to hit you should hope that you push it in deep enough to skewer the brain and that you did it quickly enough for it not to bite or infect you.

Dare I even tell you about the effectiveness of a chair leg or baseball bat? Break a zombie’s arm or leg and it just plain doesn’t care. I saw someone hit a zombie in the back of the head with a baseball bat hard enough to hear the crack of it over the cacophony of screams and it merely turned its head and bit the arm off at the wrist.

Zombies don’t feel pain and don’t care what happens to them. All they want to do is feed.

Wash and Fannie Mae and I made our way slowly across the room, killing zombies as we went. A path of destruction lay behind us. We left nothing moving and at first Wash wasn’t capable of shooting the ones who weren’t dead yet but when one of them was looking at him imploringly one second and the next was scrambling to bury her teeth in his throat he quickly changed his mind. I tried not to let it touch me as we killed my friends and neighbors, both the living and the dead. But the survival of the group was the most important thing. Actually, I lie, the survival of myself and Fannie Mae was all I really cared about. It was obvious that the group was doomed from the start.

The smell of gun smoke permeated the air and filled my nostrils. My shoulder was numb to the pain of the kickback of the shotgun and my fingertip was raw from the constant cocking of the gun. Fannie Mae had dropped the empty box of shells and we were halfway through the next one before we reached the final clump of zombies. It was the group that had cornered Felix and had him surrounded. I could still hear the sporadic gunshots coming from him but it was obvious he was overrun.

I looked at Wash wordlessly and he stepped forward, taking out the zombies one by one. His gun clicked on empty with two still remaining. They turned to us noiselessly, gore dripping from their mouths and hands. I stepped forward, gently pushing Wash out of the way, and blasted them into smithereens. Wash, with a blank expression on his face, kept pointlessly pulling the trigger on his empty gun.

A gasp of breath and a cry for help came from underneath the pile of zombies. A hand came out and gestured feebly. It was Felix. All the zombies had fallen on top of him. I reached out and grabbed a blanket off the floor, wrapping it around my hands and pulling the zombies away. I was afraid of what would happen if a zombie’s blood got on me. Could the blood itself transmit the infection? I looked at my blood-splattered clothes and prayed that it did not. If so I was most definitely screwed.

We cleared the zombies off of Felix. He lay there gasping and staring at us. His face was pale and chunks of skin were missing from his legs and arms where he’d tried and failed to fight the zombies off. He was still alive.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused until he caught a look at me and then intelligence crept into his gaze. He mouthed words silently but I had no idea what it was he was trying to say. I can’t read lips anyway, and he was doing it in Spanish. A whisper of breath entered his lungs and he said, “Madre de Dios. Puedo sentirlo en mi cerebro rastrero. Siento que mi vida comer.”

He shuddered and took another breath. Then he said the last words he’d ever say, “Es usted. Dios mío, es usted.” Then as we three watched him silently he pulled his gun up to his mouth, inserted the barrel, and pulled the trigger. I jumped back, feeling his words washing over me.

I had no idea what the hell he’d just said.

18.

That was pretty much the end of the zombies in there. Wash and I did our best to go around to the 40 or so survivors to see if any had been injured but most shrunk back from us in terror. They’d just seen us slaughter their family, friends, and neighbors and for some reason they didn’t want much to do with us. There were a few cradling hands to their chests and clutching towels to wounds. Pale skin marked their body and dark circles ran rings around their eyes. It was easy to pick out those who’d been marked and pull them from the herd.

They all protested that they’d been hurt some other way but no one stopped us as we did what needed to be done. One man with a tiny scratch had taken out nearly a third of our population in minutes and if this many people with wounds were allowed to live then we’d all be dead within the hour. Washington had glassy eyes and shaking hands but he didn’t protest as we did what needed doing.

After we’d culled the herd I looked around the room – the slaughterhouse – and then looked at Wash. “I can’t help anymore. I’m bone-tired and need to sit down before I pass out. Can you have your men stack these bodies somewhere out of sight?” I waved my hands at the crying, moaning people around us. “They’ll riot soon if they have to keep staring at their dead loved ones. And they’ll want payback.”

He nodded wordlessly and turned to take off.

I stopped him with a word but he didn’t turn back to face me. Just stopped in his tracks, head cocked to the side to listen to me. “Wash. Don’t let them touch the blood. I have no idea if the blood is infectious or not but there’s no reason to take any chances.”

He didn’t acknowledge me, but I heard him barking orders at what few of his men were left as I turned to Fannie Mae. I don’t know what happened but the next thing I knew I was laying on the floor with my head in her lap. The shotgun lay at my side.

“What happened?” I asked, struggling to sit up. My head was pounding and I winced, putting my hand on my forehead.

She gently forced me to lie back down. I finally accepted it and looked up at her from her lap. “You passed out,” she replied. “You looked exhausted, Dukey. I was scared. You were pale and there were circles under your eyes. I had to fight off some of the men. They wanted to drag you out and shoot you, thinking you were one of the them.” She shuddered and closed her eyes for a second. “But I wouldn’t let them. And then Washington intervened and threatened to shoot them all if they didn’t back off. He convinced them that you weren’t infected.” She laughed. “It helped that you started snoring.”

I blushed. “I don’t snore.”

“Maybe not, but you were definitely sawing logs there for a little while.”

I finally convinced her to let me sit up and then I put my arm around her. We cuddled up close as we looked at the motley group of fools huddled around the room. Paranoia had swept in and now people only sat by twos and threes, with the few people they trusted. There were blood splatters everywhere (as well as splatters of other things) but I didn’t see any bodies lying on the floor.

I stretched my muscles, wincing as my back popped. “Where’d Wash put the zombies?”

“The basement,” she said softly. “He and a few of his men stacked them up on the floor down there. They were just going to throw them down the stairs and then seal the door but the people were getting upset by that idea. So they lugged them all down there. I’m surprised none of them passed out from exhaustion, too. Washington promised them all that the people who’d been turned would get a real burial when this is all over.”

I snorted.

She looked at me. “Do you think this will ever be over, Dukey?”

I looked at her and wished I had it in me to lie, but I couldn’t lie to those eyes. “No, Fannie Mae. I don’t. I don’t see how this could ever be over. We’d have to kill every zombie without anyone else getting infected and I don’t see how that’s even possible. Even assuming we could get a group of people together and go out hunting how could we be sure that we got them all?”

Washington walked down the hallway from the kitchen into the main room. He paused and wiped a hand on his brow. I could see the hand shaking even from here. He was on the verge of breaking down. How can you lead the people when the people don’t want to be led? And when the people keep trying to get up and eat you?

He caught me looking at him and nodded, visibly straightened himself and came the rest of the way into the room. He started going round to his men at the windows.

I finished my thought to Fannie Mae. “All it would take is for one to get away for this to start all over again. For all we know they’ve already spread out through the town and the town is nothing but the zombie horde Barrett kept predicting we’d have. We may be the only people alive within a hundred miles of here.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe that, Dukey. I refuse to believe this has gone that far.” Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “I have to believe that we’ve got some chance to get out of this alive. Now that we’ve found each other I can’t stand the thought of not having you in my life.”

I drew her in tighter to my embrace. “I’m sorry, Fannie Mae. You’re right. We still have a chance.”

I eyed Washington as Fannie Mae drifted off to sleep next to me. It was 1am on Saturday night/Sunday morning. Where had the day gone? I wanted to sleep some more, too, but I didn’t trust anyone in this room enough to have both Fannie Mae and I asleep at the same time. I’d seen quite a few jealous glances at my shotgun (how many shells did I have left anyway?) and not a few looks at me that were filled with anger and shame. They were afraid of me for what I’d done and ashamed that they couldn’t do it themselves.

But I did drift. I’d like to say I was able to keep myself awake and protect Fannie Mae the way she’d done me, but I failed. Only minutes after saying I’d stay awake I was completely off in snoozeville. Confused images of zombies slaughtering people and people slaughtering zombies filled my dreams. Nothing coherent, just image after image. I probably would have slept the night away if I hadn’t felt a tugging on my hand. In my dream it felt like a zombie was pulling on me.

I jolted awake. There was a man standing in front of me, a thoughtful expression on his face. He was white, pasty, somewhat out of shape like a football player gone to seed, balding with little tufts of hair sticking out the sides of his head. And he was tugging gently on the shotgun cradled in my lap. If I hadn’t had a grip on it he would have already had it.

My hand tightened on the stock and I jerked it back. He didn’t let go of his grip on the barrel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He licked his lips and stared at me. He didn’t answer me as he kept tugging on the shotgun. I pulled my arm from around Fannie Mae and got a better grip on the gun. He wouldn’t let go of the freaking gun. The jostling woke Fannie Mae and she rubbed her eyes as she looked at the both of us.

There were several people behind the unnamed man who were watching eagerly. “That’s it, get the gun, John. He’s just a kid. Make him give it to you.”

I shoved forward with my hands, using the shotgun as a lever to push him off balance. It worked a little bit but he kept coming back like a little terrier. Fannie Mae scrambled to her feet next to me and pushed at the guy, using her fists to punch him in the chest to get him to let go. She landed a vicious punch to his gut and he grunted, making the first sound I’d heard from him. He finally let go of the gun and slapped her hard in the face.

She let out a little cry and flew back against the wall, landing on her side. Her face was bright red and I could see tears welling up in her eyes. The next thing I knew I was on my feet and seeing red.

John, whoever he was, turned back to me and put his grubby little hands on my shotgun again. I had a much better grip on it now that I was on my feet, with one hand holding the stock and the other in front of the trigger guard. “What the hell’s your problem, John-boy?” I yelled at him.

The bastard finally looked at me. I could see the insanity raging in his eyes. He’d gone off somewhere to la-la land and I didn’t think he was ever coming back. The only thing on his mind was my gun. “Give it to me, boy,” he hissed. “This is our place, now, and we’re going to protect it. Give me the gun and you can stay here.”

I laughed in his face. “The only way you’re getting this shotgun is if you pry it out of my cold, dead hands.”

“That can be arranged, Duke,” a voice spoke out from behind him.

I looked and couldn’t tell which one of them had spoken, but they all suddenly surged forward. For a moment I couldn’t tell the difference between them and the zombie horde outside. John got a better grip on the shotgun barrel and twisted, tugging it partly out of my hands.

I panicked for a second, seeing the group of them coming at me. I glanced at Fannie Mae, seeing the red handprint on her face and a trickle of blood coming from her nose. She had a look of complete shock on her face, not believing how quickly the situation in here had imploded. I should have listened to Barrett. He was right when he said that the survivors banding together was nothing but a joke.

Only the length of the shotgun barrel separated me and John. He had it gripped tightly in both hands. A pristine calmness suddenly settled over me and clarity filled my mind. It was a simple matter to shift my grip on the gun and put my finger on the trigger. Twenty pounds of pressure or so and a tight squeeze and the roar of the shotgun filled the air. I felt a wave of something pass from me to him, almost like a live wire connected us. An almost comical expression of surprise crossed John’s face and his mouth opened in an “O” of astonishment. His hands flew apart, pinwheeling in the air as he flew backwards to the ground, the group behind him spreading apart to allow him to splat to the floor.

They all looked at me with fear and surprise on their faces. I hoped I’d taken the fight out of them.

I looked down at John and the gaping hole he had in his chest. White bone peeked out through the gristle of the muscle and blood seeped out of the wound. He tried to speak, opening and closing his mouth several times, but the only thing to come out of his mouth was sprays of blood. Then he stopped moving.

I stood there, breathing hard, with the gun pointed in his general direction. I didn’t think he’d get back up since he’d been shot by me rather than having been bitten by a zombie, but you can never be sure. His buddies stood arrayed several feet back from his corpse, still eying my gun hungrily. It was like the altercation with John hadn’t even happened. Fortunately, none of them were quite prepared yet to take me on. I could see Washington across the room but he didn’t even bother coming over to check on us. Bastard figured we could take care of ourselves.

I stepped over to Fannie Mae and stood over her, both hands still on the shotgun and pointing it in the general direction of the rebels. “You okay, Fannie Mae?”

She got to her feet and stood next to me, rubbing her jaw. “Yeah, I think so. He clocked me a good one. I’m lucky it was open-handed. If he hit me that hard with a closed fist I think I’d be dead or unconscious right now.”

One of their group finally came forward and checked John’s pulse, long after I knew the shit was dead. He looked at me accusingly. “He’s dead. You killed him.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what he gets for trying to take the gun away from me. Would you like a turn next?”

He stood up and stared at me. “Yeah, I think I would, Duke. I don’t think you could kill a man in cold blood. I’m Adam, now why don’t you just give me the gun?”

I felt that grim smile cross my face and chambered another shell, the sound of the used one falling to the ground loud in the quiet. “Who said my blood was cold?”

Who knows how bad the situation would have gotten at that point if John hadn’t chosen that exact moment to sit up? Would I have shot all those living people to keep my gun and keep me and Fannie Mae safe? You bet I would have. But I’m not sure the swarm of them would have let me get them all and they probably could have gotten the gun away from me eventually. And then I’m sure they’d have turned it on me.

But none of that was meant to be.

One of the women in the group let loose a piercing shriek when John sat up. He didn’t immediately attack any of us, just sat there dumbly and swiveling at the waist to look around at us all. His eyes finally locked on me and he reached both hands in my direction. Just awesome.

John’s hand brushed against Adam’s leg. When he did that his eyes swiveled to Adam and I swear I saw some kind of feral, animal intelligence in them. It was like he was completely empty until he saw the food. His fingers tightened and he got a full grip of the jeans that Adam was wearing and pulled him backwards until John was eclipsed from view underneath him.

Adam’s shriek filled the air as John’s teeth finally found purchase in him. From the crunch I’d say it was somewhere near the spine. That and the fact that his legs and arms had been twitching madly in a desperate attempt to get away and now suddenly they were still. Zombie-John rolled them over until he was on top and I could see that Adam was still alive, but completely paralyzed. Which begged the question of what would happen if you had a paralyzed zombie? If the person couldn’t move when they were alive would they be able to move when they were a zombie?

I didn’t give us the chance to find out.

Stepping forward I put the end of the barrel square against the side of John’s head. He must have felt the iron against his flesh but he was too busy trying to eat. I pulled the trigger and his brains and blood flew all over the paralyzed man below him. Adam shook his head violently at me and mouthed the word no several times. I shrugged at him apologetically and shot him in the head.

The two dead men lay on top of each other in a weird parody of love, both their heads completely missing from the proximity of the blasts. I swept my gaze over the rest of the group. “Does anyone else want any?”

They honestly looked like they did. They were nuts. But that was when Washington and his men came forward, brandishing their guns. “Break it up,” Wash said.

They looked at each other warily. I could see them testing the idea of whether they could fight us all. One of the men stepped forward, midway between me and Washington. “We want guns, Washington. We want to get out of here.”

Wash pointed to the door. “No one’s keeping you here, Tanner. You and your people can go if you want.”

I stepped forward and opened my mouth but Washington looked at me pointedly and I stepped back. If this was how he wanted to handle this then fine.

Tanner said, “You’d send us out there without weapons? Send us out to be killed? Should have known you were a yellow-belly. Your kind always is.”

A dangerous light gleamed in Washington’s eye. “My kind?”

A woman who could only be Tanner’s wife spoke up from behind him. “Yeah, nigger.”

Rage at the word bristled in Washington’s face. I could feel the wave of hatred that word had caused ripple throughout the room. People stepped forward eagerly to see what would happen next.

Washington’s hand tightened where he held his gun and I saw him bring up a couple inches from where it pointed at the floor. It quivered there for a moment before going back down. He sighed wearily, “If you want to leave, Tanner, then leave. I don’t give a crap if you live or die, but you’re not putting the rest of us in danger.”

“And you’re not getting any weapons,” I piped in. Fannie Mae’s hand tightened on my arm. Tanner and the rest turned to me and I gave them my most winning grin, shotgun held easily in my grip.

He took a step in my direction and I grinned even wider. That seemed to stop him. He eyed me critically. He looked like your typical trailer trash: white, grimy and stupid. Not an ounce of shame in him.

Fannie Mae spoke up. “Careful, Tanner. Your white trash is showing.”

He actually snarled and took another step toward us. I raised the shotgun easily to my shoulder and pointed it directly at him. “Don’t worry, Tanner. I’ll make sure to hit your head with the first shot. Wouldn’t want you to come back.”

There’s no way the standoff would have ended well. They were too frightened and too stupid to have it go any other way. They were the kind of people who would run a lame horse into the ground and then beat it for not moving.

It started with a rattle on the front door. It was the loudest sound in the whole House. All 40 or so pairs of eyes slowly turned to face the door. The knob was rattling loosely in the frame. After several seconds several pairs of hands started beating methodically on the wood. I saw the door moving rhythmically in its frame. Sawdust fell from the boards holding it in place on the inside.

That was when I realized that Washington had brought all the guards with him to try and break up the ruckus. All the doors and windows were left completely unguarded. It was as if something was waiting for me to come to that realization cause that’s when two of the windows on the far side of the hall flew inward with a crash, glass flying everywhere and cutting some of the closer refugees. Hands flailed around outside the windows and reached in, searching for some kind of purchase.

Washington and I slowly turned to face each other across the ten feet or so separating us. I think I saw the same look of horror on his face that was in mine. Although I hope that my eyes didn’t look as crazed as his, all white and shiny.

I remember the rest only in flashes of memory.

Tanner suddenly rushing toward me, reaching for my gun, a snarl on his face. Me instinctively pulling the trigger of the shotgun where I had it already resting on my shoulder. His brains splattering on his wife behind him. Her cries of rage, or sorrow, or whatever they were, as she launched herself at me with her white trash fingernails reaching to claw my eyes out. I did not have the time to chamber another round so I held the gun by the barrel and instead swung it like a club. It connected with her jaw with a sickening crunch and her falling to the floor in a heap.

Washington yelling something to me over the sudden screams of the refugees. Me making the conscious decision to turn my back on him and try to save Fannie Mae and myself.

The lights starting to flicker off and on and someone realized he hadn’t refueled the generator in several hours.

More windows breaking on all sides as the zombies finally figured out where all the food was.

In the flashes of light I could see the zombies beginning to crawl in through the windows. The screams, if it were possible, got louder.

I reloaded the spent shells into the shotgun and stared around me wildly. My brain was shutting down. We were dead. All dead. There were more zombies in the room now than there were people and more were streaming into the window with every second. I could feel my breath coming from a million miles away and my hands were shaking so erratically that I couldn’t have hit a zombie if it were inches away from me.

Fannie Mae rested her hand on my arm calmly, assuredly. I turned my head to look at her. Her face changed from one flash of the light to the next from zombie to sweet Fannie Mae. From Fannie Mae to rotting zombie. Back and forth again and again. She moved forward into my arms and pressed her lips to mine. It was cold and sweet and warm and wet and suddenly…

Everything solidified. The world came rushing back in.

19.

We parted. She looked at me calmly, trusting in me to save us. Her trust in me gave me the confidence in myself to do something about it.

“You have the bag?”I asked.

She nodded and patted it where it lay across her shoulders in reply.

“Stay close,” I said.

I looked around the room. It was a slaughter. The zombies couldn’t have planned it better if they’d tried. (And I truly hoped they hadn’t had the ability to plan it; that would change the dynamic completely.) Most of the survivors had been in the center of the room watching the little confrontation between me and Wash and his men and Tanner and his. No one had been watching the windows or doors. When the zombies had come rushing in from all sides the people had been completely surrounded.

Some tried to fight with their bare hands and were immediately eaten and turned. Others tried to attack with the baseball bats and pieces of wood that had worked so well earlier. They at least lasted a little longer against the horde. Washington’s men with their weapons stood around in a little cluster, not shooting, hoping to come up with a plan to get out of here. There was zero chance that they had enough rounds to completely kill the horde.

There was absolutely zero chance that I had enough rounds to kill them all. That meant saving shells and making every shot count while we tried to find our way out of here.

Washington and his mean hadn’t moved from their position a dozen feet from us. Fannie Mae and I were still pressed up against the wall and there were zombies and people on all sides. I looked over to Wash and saw him eying me. He gestured me in his direction. I sighed and nodded. Getting out of here as a group was really our only option.

We started running for him. I sensed more than heard or saw the zombie coming at us from the left and pivoted to face it, shooting it in the legs. At this point killing the zombies mattered less than slowing them down. His legs were ripped from under him and he could only crawl in our direction. I looked back at Wash and saw him eyeballing something behind us and raising his gun. I tugged on Fannie Mae and skidded to my knees. She immediately sensed what I was doing and followed after me.

I felt the shot pass over my head and ruffle my hair as it whizzed past, thunking into the zombie that was behind us.

I quickly got back to my feet and pointed the gun back in the direction we’d come from. There were no more zombies heading directly for us.

Washington yelled in my ear as I helped Fannie Mae back up. “We’ve got to get out of here! There’s no way we can get out up here. We have to go for the back door. They’re coming, Duke. They’re coming!”

I nodded as the bullets started flying around us. A dozen of the zombies were plodding in our direction. It seemed like all the bullets were whizzing harmlessly at the sky. I yelled at the men, “Aim for the legs! Slow them down if you can’t do anything else!”

No one acknowledged me, but it did seem like a lot more bullets were suddenly finding their marks.

As a group we started moving en masse for the hallway leading to the backdoor. The screams and cacophony in the House were starting to wind down as the few remaining survivors began to be eaten. I don’t know the name of Washington’s man who took point as we headed down that hallway but every time I think about him I say a quick prayer to God blessing that guys’ soul.

We entered the hallway with the zombies at our backs, slowly heading in our direction. A lot of them hadn’t noticed us yet as they were too busy eating and shoving blood and guts down their throats. Somehow they knew the exact moment that their food became a zombie because they would stop in midmotion and get up looking more food as if it spoiled as they ate.

The point man reached the hallway ahead of the rest of us and took off running for the kitchen. I choose to think that he was going ahead to scout it rather than believing that he was going to run away and ditch us. It makes his death that much more noble. Cause die he did.

He reached the kitchen and suddenly his gun started firing erratically. He emptied his clip in seconds and started to run back toward us. A look of sheer desperation was on his face. “It’s full of zombies!” He screamed at us. Then a hand snaked around the corner and grabbed his ankle. He tripped and fell face-forward onto the hard floor of the hallway and the sound of his neck breaking was loud even in the midst of all the gunshots and shrieks and screaming and shuffling of the zombies as they came for us.

They pulled his truly dead body back into the kitchen slowly, other hands reaching out of the gloom to pull him in.

Washington looked at me, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His shaking hand came up and wiped at his forehead, but it didn’t seem to help with the wetness. “What do we do now, Duke? Shoot ourselves? Get it all over with?” A giggle escaped his lips.

I looked at him in disgust. “The basement, Wash. We go out through the door in the basement.”

One of his men got the door open and Wash sent several of them down to make sure the room was clear. Not that we had much choice at that point. The zombies were now at both ends of the hallway and approaching us slowly, with their bloody, dripping arms reaching for us.

The men he’d sent down yelled the all-clear and Wash signaled the rest of us to go down, closing the door behind us. Mere seconds after the door was shut the zombies began pounding on it. We tramped down the stairs and I looked around at Wash’s men. There were about six of them spread throughout the basement, all scared shitless and as liable to shoot their own feet as they were any zombies. The bodies of the men and zombies killed earlier were stacked in one corner like cordwood, but I made my eyes slip past them. I didn’t want to see that.

If I looked at them for too long or thought too hard about it I might start to lay blame. And the man responsible for that blame was standing right next to me.

Wash looked at me, “The door won’t hold long, Duke. We need to get going. Do you have a plan for how we’re going to get out of here safely?”

I went over to the bottom of the steps to the walkout and cocked my head to the side, listening intently. I didn’t hear anything, not that that meant much. The dead were silent after all. I went back to Wash, Fannie Mae trailing silently behind me. “I don’t think there are any zombies up there right now. I’m sure they’re milling about outside trying to get in upstairs. We have a few minutes before they realize there’s another way to get in and try for that door. Like I told you earlier, it won’t take much for them to burst that door in.”

I looked at Wash and his men, weighing the pros and cons of my plan. “We need to just unlock that door and burst out as fast as we can, running like bats out of hell to get as far away from here as fast as we can. That may give us some extra time.”

One of his men turned to Wash. “Are you nuts? Taking this kid’s advice? He’s going to get us all killed.”

Wash stepped forward until there were only inches separating them, trying to pull himself together. “This kid,” he pointed in my direction, “has killed more zombies tonight than anyone standing here. Myself included. If he’s got a plan I say we use it. What other choice do we have?”

His man backed down, muttering to himself. “I don’t have to like it.”

“I don’t give two shits if you like it!” Washington roared. He whirled in a circle and locked eyes on every one of his men. “We are surrounded on all sides by enemies. The dead are literally hammering at the door to get down here. That flimsy thing won’t last long and I’m guessing they’ll just fall down the steps. We’ve only got minutes, people. We don’t have time to debate this.”

He looked at me again, his left eye twitching spasmodically. I could see the sweat just running down his face. “So the plan is to unlock the door and run out there?”

I shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“What then?”

“Once we get out there we need to see which way the zombies are heaviest and go the other way. Hope they don’t see us and we can buy a little bit of time.”

The burly man who’d questioned Wash turned to me and said, “Then what? Where are we going to go that would be safer than this place?”

“I’m open to suggestions. Anyone know of a good place we can hole up?”

He waved his hands in disgust.

Wash said, “Why can’t we just hoof it into town? We’ve got enough guns here that we might be able to protect ourselves.”

I shook my head. “That might work, but there’s no guarantee how infested the woods are and if town is even a safe bet.”

Wash said, “No hope, of course. Then you’re saying we have nowhere to go?”

I shook my head again and lied, “No, I’m not saying that. We need to hole up somewhere – maybe a trailer – and hope that the cavalry comes sometime in the morning.”

Who knows how long we would have debated where to go or what to do. Probably until Hell froze over, but that was when the decision was taken from us. The door at the top of the basement stairs burst with a resounding crack. Fortunately the zombies were in such a frenzied hurry to get down to us that they clustered around the doorway and wedged themselves in. Not one of them had enough leverage to push through the throng. But that wouldn’t last long.

“We’re out of time, Wash!” I yelled. “Let’s go.”

We all ran to the bottom of the walkout. I looked at Wash, “Where’s the key?”

He looked at me and then went, “Oh, shit,” and started rifling through his pockets. He finally pulled out a huge key ring. One of those you always see janitors have in the movies and think how funny it is and wonder how they can ever find anything in that mess. I didn’t wonder. I knew there was no way he’d find it in time.

“Ah, screw it.” I finally said, and then bounded up the bottom two stairs of the walkout. I braced the gun on my shoulder and aimed it at the padlock straight on and turned my head, hoping that I wouldn’t get shrapnel or wood in my face. Saying a brief prayer to whatever god was listening, I pulled the trigger. The blast of the gun was tremendous in the enclosed space and all I could hear was a ringing in my ears as I chambered another round and ran up the rest of the stairs, putting my shoulder into it and heaving the doors with all my might.

They flew open, bouncing noisily against the ground as I ran out of the walkout. I did a quick 360. There were no zombies in sight, thankfully.

“All clear,” I hissed back down the stairs.

Fannie Mae came scrambling up behind me, followed by the other seven men. They spread out in a fan, checking every corner. When they were all out I turned around and looked back down into the basement. As I watched I saw a zombie skidding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. He looked like he’d surfed to the bottom. He had no legs, his torso ending in a bloody, white stump that twitched madly. It was his spine. I saw his head swivel around the basement and then come to rest on my face. He began to pull himself forward with his hands.

“Shit,” I muttered. I gripped one side of the double doors and swung it shut. Wash saw what I was doing and went and did the other. It wouldn’t hold the zombies off for long but it might confuse them for a couple extra minutes and that was really all we could ask for.

“What now?” The burly man said.

“How about we go that direction?” I said, pointing in the opposite direction from the house.

So we were off. I managed to keep me and Fannie Mae in the middle of the pack while we went off in a fast walk. You don’t want to run too fast when you’re in the middle of a zombie attack. I could just see us running like crazy and turning a corner and running smack dab into the middle of a horde. Although I was hoping against hope that we’d left most of the horde behind us. Fannie Mae only had the pistol she’d grabbed earlier and I don’t think either one of us really knew how to check it to see how many rounds were left in it. It was for last resort only and I didn’t want the others to know that she had it. She must have sensed the direction of my thoughts as she’d not once brought it to anyone’s attention.

For all we knew it only had one round left in it anyway.

We made quicker time than our little rescue party had earlier going to the car park. No rain and less caution help’s a ton. We got there in no more than a couple minutes. We stopped in front of the line of cars to rest and talk and I felt a wave of sorrow pass over me as I saw Tamara’s body. Fannie Mae looked to see where I was looking and she sighed, too, and squeezed my hand. Even though my heart was now full of ideas of me and Fannie Mae together there was still a place in it for Tamara and I wished yet again that none of this had happened. You could blame me or her or Mason Smith all you wanted, but the truth was that I was the only one still alive to shoulder the blame.

Mason was still out there somewhere but he was beyond blame now.

For a moment I flashed onto an image of Mason out there, marshalling his troops. Somehow commanding them to come attack the House or to sweep the trailers for survivors. I had no doubt there were still people huddled underneath beds and in closets. I didn’t think that Mason had any more intelligence or personality than any of the other zombies but a piece of me had a glimmer that maybe, just maybe, there was a little more to him than the others. He’d been the first.

That was the first time I had the idea that maybe if I could find and take out Mason that all of this would stop. It worked for vampires, in some movies, so why wouldn’t it work for zombies? It worked in Lost Boys, right?

Regardless, after a quick glance at Tamara’s body lying there in the dirt I turned to Washington. “What’s the plan, Wash?”

“I thought you had the plan, Duke?”

“We’re at the limits of my plan, Wash. There are nine of us. There’s nowhere to go that would hold the nine of us safely. The House was the only place that could do that. I think we need to split up.”

He looked at me incredulously. “Split up? That’s insanity, Duke. Our best defense is to stick together.” His lips continued moving after he was done speaking. My flesh crawled. He wasn’t going to make it too much longer.

The burly man laughed humorlessly.

I looked at him sourly. And then looked round at Wash and his men. “The only thing we can all do together is die together. This big of a group will attract the zombies.” I shook my head. “I don’t know if they’re attracted to the noise we make or if they can somehow sense our,” I waved my hands, trying to find the right word, “life force. Our essence. Whatever. But I think a huge group of us together is like giving them a big all you can eat buffet. They can’t stay away from it. I think if him,” I pointed at the burly guy, “and a couple of the others want to try for town they should. Maybe they can get there and send help. Then I think the rest of us should hunker down and wait til daylight. We’ll be better able to fight in the light of day.”

Wash looked hurt. “Duke? Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “Deadly serious.”

“Fine,” the burly man said. He turned to the others. “Clark? Walter? Remy? You guys with me?”

They nodded at him. He turned to look back at me and Wash, pity on his face. “We’ll send someone back for you, if you’re still alive.”

They took off at a slow run, checking all the corners and making sure they weren’t running directly into a pack of zombies. It didn’t take more than 10 seconds for them to pass from sight. Wash stood there with his mouth open, staring off at them and alternating between looks at them and at me. You could see the surprise and confusion on his face. Somewhere in the middle back there – maybe the moment we’d left the House – he’d lost the semblance of leadership.

He finally turned to look at me fully. “There’s five of us left now, Duke. What’s the plan? Hunker down and wait to die?”

I shook my head. “No. The first part is right. We’ll hunker down. But I have no plans to die.”

I looked at the two other unknowns. Both of their faces were etched with worry. “What are your names, guys?”

The first one, shockingly tall and built like a beanpole, mousy-brown hair and a patchy beard on his face, said, “Call me Shaggy.”

“Shaggy? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding solemnly. “It’s been my nickname since I was 14.” He grinned a mouth mostly empty of teeth at me. “It’s grown on me.”

A ghost of a grin of my own crossed my face and I looked at the other one. He was short, maybe 5’ 5”. A little thick through the middle, but his arms were as big around as car tires. He was covered in dark patches of hair and his dark eyes barely showed through his untrimmed beard. He said, “My name’s Kevin.”

“No big nickname?”

He shook his wild hair. “Nope. Nothing anyone’s ever lived to repeat.”

“All right, then.” I looked back over at Wash. “Any good ideas where the five of us can hole up?”

He shook his head disgustedly. “Any trailer’s as good as any other. Just a bunch of crappy tin cans.” He walked a few feet away from us, put his gun in the crook of his arm and the next thing I knew he unzipped his pants and started pissing. Shaking his head and muttering to himself as he whizzed on the ground.

I looked at the others, but they both shook their heads at me at shrugged. Great. I had to be the brains of the operation again. I sighed and looked at Fannie Mae. She shrugged at me, too. Still keeping my eyes locked on hers I said, “Maybe we can do my trailer then. It’s fairly secure and it’s at the edge of the Acres.”

Fannie Mae shook her head at me quickly, trying to tell me something with her eyes. Oh, yeah. Mom.

“Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” I said again, thoughtfully. “Fannie Mae only lives a couple trailers down from mine. Do you think that would work?” I asked her.

She nodded and said quietly, “Yeah, I think so. I locked it up when I came over earlier. It should be okay.”

I looked at the others: Wash, Shaggy, and Kevin. “Does that work for you guys?”

Shaggy just shrugged his shoulders and smiled toothlessly. Kevin didn’t bother to make a response. Wash zipped up and came back over and looked at me steadily. “If you think we’ll be safe there, Duke. I trust you.” I felt a niggling of doubt in the back of my head at the lies I’d said and the plan that was formulating inside of me. But I ignored it. What further choice did we have?

“I think we’ll be as safe there as anywhere, Wash.”

He nodded at me.

We finally got moving again. Staying in that one spot for so long had been giving me the willies so bad that I think my nuts had crawled back inside of my body. Seriously. It was uncomfortable to walk. Every hair on my body stood up in constant anticipation of being attacked. I had no idea how long the human body could stay at this heightened level of awareness and adrenaline but I figured I’d be crashing at some point and I’d much rather crash between four walls than out here in the middle of God and everything. Not that I thought God was present this night.

He’d left the work tonight to darker things.

There were only the five of us now and even though I trusted my life more with Fannie Mae than I did any of the others, she still didn’t have a visible weapon and of all of us she’d had the least use of it. I still wanted her to maintain it for later as a just in case kind of weapon. Honestly most of the reason I wanted her to keep it was for the time when I finally took a bite or a hit and needed to be taken out. I knew that no matter what there was between us she’d be capable of doing the job. I hoped.

We made Fannie Mae stay in the middle. I took point even though Washington wanted the job. I made him take rear, Shaggy took the left and Kevin took the right. We did our best to make sure we were protected on all sides, although we only had three flashlights between us. We made our way slowly in the direction of mine and Fannie Mae’s trailers. We had to go back in the direction of the House but we swung a very wide arc around it. There was still the occasional tinkle of broken glass and screams as someone was found by the zombies.

Wash winced at every single scream that came out of there. He took each one as a personal failure. I didn’t blame him; I felt the same amount of responsibility, too. I just tried not to show it. After one particularly loud, drawn-out scream I muttered to him, “We should have set the place on fire when we left.”

He stopped in his tracks and whirled to face me. “Really, Duke? That would have been your solution? Set the rest of the survivors on fire in hope that it would have killed the zombies? How heartless are you?”

I sighed and faced him. “Do those people sound like they’re surviving anything to you, Wash?” I swept my arm back in the direction of the House. “What few people were left alive when we took off would gratefully accept the mercy of the flames, believe me. Can you,” I looked around at them all, “can any of you imagine the pain of being eaten alive by a zombie? And to know that when it’s done for you you will die and become something less than yourself? To know that you will still be stumbling around in that empty shell that used to be you and is now crawling, walking or shuffling around killing everyone and everything else that you hold dear?”

I’d begun yelling toward the end, but I couldn’t help myself. “And to know that you would be responsible for anyone that you eat after that? Which one of those people dying right now wouldn’t have rather died by a shot in the head or the welcome embrace of the flames had they known what their options were?”

Silence greeted me when I stopped my tirade. Fannie Mae was gripping my arm tightly. “Duke,” she whispered, “maybe you can tone it down a notch, okay? We don’t want to alert the zombies to us.”

I shook my head, trying to clear the rage that had filled it. I was more angry at myself than Wash or anyone else right now. I lowered my head and put my hand up, rubbing my temples. God, I was so very, very tired. I just wanted all this to be over.

A roar of engines suddenly broke the silence. My head shot up so fast that I felt something twinge in my neck. A surge of something that could only be hope passed through me. I looked at Wash.

He shook his head at me. “I think the others just took off on their motorcycles. Both Walter and Clark have Harley’s. They must be trying to back road it or something.”

I grimaced. “Damn those guys. They’re going to pull the zombies away from the House. They’ll come back out here looking for us. We need to get going.”

That’s when Kevin screamed. He had a surprisingly girly scream for such a big guy. We all flashed our lights on him and it wasn’t immediately evident why he was screaming. He wasn’t being attacked. Hell. Oh fuck. He was pointing to the side that Shaggy was covering. The side that the House was on.

We all turned in horror movie slow motion to look and see what it was. An uncountable zombie horde was slowly making their way toward us. I say uncountable because I really have no clue how many there were in the group. They were packed in tightly together like sardines and it made totaling their numbers next to impossible. Regardless, they were all headed ever so slowly in our direction.

Oh, crap.

“Let’s go, people!” I shouted hoarsely.

I turned back the direction we’d been heading and Fannie Mae and I took several running steps forward before I looked back to see that Wash and the others hadn’t moved. I skidded to a stop. “What the hell are you guys doing? Let’s go!”

Wash looked at me, a weird look on his face. Eyes gleaming in the darkness and hands shaking, he said, “Won’t they just follow us, Duke? Shouldn’t we just make a stand now?”

I ran back to him furiously. What an idiot. I told him, “Are you an idiot?” I looked at them all. “Are you all idiots? You know they will find us eventually. We need to get to the trailer and make our stand there. Board it up as best we can so we have a little bit of something protecting us and then we can fight back. We can wait for daylight and fight them then.”

Wash shook his head at me. “If you and Fannie Mae want to try to get to safety, you can. The rest of us will stay here and protect your trailer.” He turned to look at the zombies and then looked back at me. “As long as we can, anyway.”

I looked at Shaggy. At Kevin. “You guys aren’t falling for this heroic bullshit, are you? If you decide to make a stand here you might as well just shoot yourselves in the head and give me your weapons so that I can try to keep me and Fannie Mae alive.”

They just stared at me. Shaggy looked serene. Ready to accept his fate. Kevin had that wild look in his eyes like he still couldn’t believe what was going on. I didn’t think there was any way he wanted to stay here and sacrifice himself for two snot-nosed teenagers. Wash had a resolute look on his face. His hands had finally stopped shaking and the sweat was no longer dripping down his face. He’d decided this was the place he was going down, for whatever reason.

I took another couple steps toward him and put my hand on his shoulder. I whispered to him. “Wash, you don’t need to do this. You have nothing to prove to me or anyone else here. There’s no point in committing suicide like this.”

He shrugged off my hand. “We never should have left those people to die.” His eyes looked haunted and the lid was still twitching madly. “Who knows how many we could have saved if we hadn’t run off like cowards?”

“You couldn’t have saved any of them,” I said. “There were too many zombies and the place was overrun. You would have accomplished nothing by staying. Nothing but get us all killed.”

He pushed me away and I lost my balance, landing on my ass. “You don’t know that, Duke. You act like you think you know everything, but you can’t know shit about what’s going on. How can you know anything more than any of us guys here? Just because you’ve managed to kill more zombies than us? You think that makes you some kind of hero? Huh?” He sneered at me. “All that does is make you a bigger murderer than the rest of us. More able and willing to kill your fellow man. I never should have listened to you.” He giggled silently and I think I was the only one who saw the madness in his eyes.

I drew slowly to my feet, with Fannie Mae’s help. My eyes were locked on Wash’s, “If you hadn’t listened to me than you and your people would have died hours ago. You wouldn’t have made it this long.”

He laughed long and hard, humorlessly. Then he waved his arms in the air, doing a grand sweep of the trailer park. “And what’s that gained us, Duke? An hour reprieve? Maybe two? Eww, thanks for drawing out my death even longer and making me realize that all those people in there died because of me. Thanks for all of that.”

I looked away in disgust and held my hand to Fannie Mae. “You ready, sweetie? I think it’s time for us to go. We’re not wanted here.”

She nodded at me and took my hand.

Suddenly I felt another hand on my shoulder. It was Kevin. The hand felt like a rock crashing down on my shoulder. It stopped me in my place. I turned to face him and he only released the pressure enough to let me turn around. There was no mercy in his eyes. He said over his shoulder, “Wash. Why should we let these two go? I think they should fight along with us. If Duke here is such an awesome zombie killer maybe he can help us kill all these zombies.”

Wash shook his head, eye twitching, and then a slow smile came over his face. He nodded. “You’ve got a point, Kevin.” He looked at me. “You’re going to stay here and fight with us, Duke. We need your gun.”

I shook free of Kevin’s hand. It hurt like a bitch but I finally managed. I could tell there’d be a bruise there in the morning, if we ever reached the morning. I said to Wash, “I don’t think so. There’s no way I’m sacrificing Fannie Mae and myself for your little death wish. You can forget it.”

Wash shook his head at me. “No, I think you’re going to help us.” He suddenly pointed his gun at Fannie Mae. “If you don’t I’ll kill her right now. Or shoot her in the leg and leave her here for the zombies. I’m sure they’d love the tasty little snack.”

I stepped forward, lifting my shotgun. Kevin put his hand on the barrel. I ignored it as I eyed Wash. “I don’t think so, Wash. You’d have to kill me first.”

He laughed. “And why wouldn’t I do that? This is the end of the world, Duke. Killing one more person can’t make that much of a difference. I’d just be saving us from another potential zombie.”

I looked Kevin in the eye, then Wash, and finally Shaggy. All I could see in Kevin and Wash’s face was insanity. They truly were no longer home. They’d decided for some reason that they now had to die and nothing was going to stop them from it. This was insane. Not 30 minutes ago they’d been all about survival and getting out of here and now all they wanted was to die. What the hell was wrong with people?

Shaggy was the only one who didn’t have the insane look in his eyes. He looked uncertain. He actually backed away a couple steps from the rest of us. I think I was the only one who noticed. This was going to go very, very badly.

20.

When the dust settled and the sun rose, everything was fine with the world. Help came in the form of about a million Army guys and they took out all the zombies. They figured out that it was some weird kind of virus that had mutated in the graveyard and somehow animated dead flesh. They couldn’t really explain why the reanimated people hungered for flesh but decided it was ultimately unimportant. The virus was contained so that’s all they really cared about. I had a niggling feeling in the back of my head that maybe they kept a couple of the zombies alive in a lab somewhere to “study” them and the virus, but Fannie Mae kept telling me not to worry about it, that it wasn’t our problem.

She also told me that the virus would have caught anyone in the graveyard, so ultimately none of it was my fault. I still woke with nightmares occasionally and when I did she would hold me and stroke my hair and tell me it was all right, that it wasn’t my fault. She would soothe me back to sleep and if I woke up again that night she’d still be holding me and rocking me and I could sleep well knowing that she was still there.

More people survived the zombie outbreak than we would have thought in the dead of that night. At least a hundred people were huddled in their trailers, hiding under beds and the back of closets. We had Walter and the others to thank for our survival. They’d managed to get to town on their motorcycles and somehow got the police to believe them. Don’t even ask me how they managed that. The police somehow convinced the Army to come out and take over the town. They killed a couple hundred zombies, although they didn’t classify them as that, of course. To the Army they were classified as the “infected” and they would never say anything different. The town was cordoned off and quarantined and it took them weeks to ensure that they’d completely cleared it of the “infected”. They interviewed me and Fannie Mae and the rest of the survivors relentlessly and were finally convinced of our stories, drilling into us the imperative of never letting anyone know what had happened.

Fannie Mae and I were relocated by the government to a suburb of Denver, Colorado. We were given new names and new identities but when we were alone we would talk about what happened and I would still call her by her real name. I knew how important her name was to her. We refused to be separated by the government so they put us up in the same town, in the same school district. We had different foster parents (that would have been too weird otherwise), but we still talked together and ate together and hung out together.

Our love grew exponentially as we got older. It became a deep, abiding love. I could never explain it to anyone, let alone myself. Part of it was just the many things we’d gone through with each other and part of it was just the fact that she was an amazing, awesome woman and she accepted me completely.

The two year age difference between us made it a little weird for a year or so, until she reached 16. Some of the teachers tried to keep us apart, but our foster parents never tried. They could see how we felt for each other and could tell that it wasn’t a childish love. They never knew the things we’d gone through or the horrors we’d seen, but they could tell that something drew us together. And knew even better that nothing could tear us apart.

I graduated high school with honors. The government fixed my transcripts so that my first couple years of high school didn’t matter anymore, but I managed to do the last couple all on my own. It’s amazing how much it helps to have a nice, stabilized environment at home with supporting parents. I got accepted to a bunch of really nice schools but they were all too far away and I couldn’t leave Fannie Mae. She told me not to worry about her, but I just couldn’t leave her like that. So I went to DU – University of Denver – and eventually graduated with a degree in IT.

Fannie Mae blossomed well under the attention of her foster parents. They bought her nice clothes and pampered her and treated her like the little girl they’d never had. She ate it up but never got spoiled and never took them for granted. She flourished and did even better than me in school. She went to DU, too, and graduated with a degree in social work. All she wanted to do was help people so she got a job helping developmentally disabled people. I was so proud of her.

We got married when I was 25 and she was 23. Everyone wanted us to wait until we both graduated, so we did. We got married less than a week after she got her degree. It was a huge wedding, with all of our foster families and the many friends we’d made over the years. There were over 300 people at the wedding. We burned a candle at the ceremony for all of our friends who’d gone before us. I knew that no one there knew what we were talking about, but we said our little piece and a prayer for the fallen and both had tears streaming down our cheeks when we did it.

I think our foster parents were the only ones who’d had an inkling of the truth. They knew that the government was the ones who’d dropped us on their doorsteps. They’d never asked us for details, but they’d all heard the screams and the moans of our night terrors. I think I’d had nightmares for the first year or so that I lived with them. It haunted me more than Fannie Mae. Barrett weighed heavily on my mind. He was always there for me and there were times I could swear I could see him out of the corner of my eye.

Fannie Mae’s foster mom died when I was 30 and she was 28. It was shortly after the birth of our first child, Barry. She’d held out for as long as she could. She had stomach cancer and it was particularly vicious. The doctors gave her only a few months to live right when Fannie Mae announced her pregnancy. She vowed to see her first grandchild and she did, dying the day after Barry was born. Fannie Mae took it hard. The birth had been long and painful and she was still recuperating in the hospital when her mom died. She turned to me with tears in her eyes and whispered that she wished her mom could come back. I shook my head vehemently at her and told her to never wish for something like that. We’d both seen what happened when people came back.

Barry was five when his little sister was born. She was the spitting image of her mother. In other words, she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. We named her Tammy. Our little soldiers reminded us daily of those who’d fallen but since we found we could never forget we thought it was best. They weren’t just reminders; they were tributes to our friends.

If we’d have had a third we were going to name him Duke, but Fannie Mae had complications from the birth of our Tammy and the doctor said we shouldn’t have anymore. He thought that she couldn’t survive another pregnancy. It was an easy decision for me to go get a vasectomy. A quick snip and a tug and 20 minutes later I was driven home, nursing my balls. Fannie Mae took care of me like I was a king for the next few days. It was amazing and just made me realize all over again how much I loved her.

Hell, I woke up every day and fell in love with her all over again. She was always that 14 year old girl with the braids to me. My little Fannie Mae.

Barry had his first kid when he was 25. He had fallen in love with his high school sweetheart, too, and I could see that theirs was a deep, abiding love was as well. He named his boy after me – after my new government name – but the boy quickly earned the nickname Duke from me and his grandmother. She called him Dukey. Barry had no idea where the nickname had come from and Fannie Mae and I could only give him our quick, secret smile.

We never told the kids about Litchville, Kentucky, and the horrors that had happened there.

All in all we had six grandkids. When I was old and gray it was the best thing in the world to have them all climbing all over me and screaming for grandpa to read them a story or play games with them. I was their favorite and we all knew it. Grandma didn’t mind. She knew how much the little ones meant to me. They were my whole world.

After her, of course.

I was 96 and on my deathbed. Not really dying of anything specific. Just old age. My Fannie Mae lay on the bed next to me, holding my head and stroking my hair. She whispered words in my ear that half the time I didn’t understand. I’d look up at her and smile my goofy grin at her, thinking about the 80 or so years that we’d spent together. The events of that weekend and my 16 birthday blurred together and finally some of those memories were allowed to rest.

My grandchildren and great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren stood around us, arrayed silently as I lay dying on the bed. Fannie Mae swore that she’d follow me within hours but I told her not to be silly. She still had at least 14 good years left in her. I know I murmured some of our secrets in front of the little ones but they didn’t understand, didn’t know what we were talking about. We’d kept the secret all those many, many years.

As I lay there dying I thought about Barrett and Tamara and Mason Smith. And Washington, who’d gone so wrong there at the end. He’d… he’d…

No. None of that had ever happened. We’d been saved and rescued and Fannie Mae and I had had our lives together forever and ever. Forever, dammit.

If only.

21.

Washington pointed his gun at Fannie Mae as the zombies closed in around us. His eyes were dark with his insanity. There was nothing of the man left. I glanced at Kevin where he held the barrel of my shotgun. He looked like a rabid dog: spit sliding out of his mouth and dripping on the ground. Shaggy was over there looking like he wanted to tell us all to go to hell and run off on his own. I didn’t blame him, that’s what I wanted to do, too.

I did the only thing I could think of; I pulled the trigger of the shotgun where it was pointed at the sky. The roar and flash of light it made as it fired filled the night sky. Kevin jumped back from the noise and heat and brought his hands to his ears. I swung the shotgun up and hit him on the head with the stock of the gun, breaking his fingers. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, moaning and holding his head. Everything moved in slow motion as I swung the shotgun back in Wash’s direction. I pumped the shotgun, ejecting the empty shell and following the arc of it with my eye.

Wash’s finger pulled back slowly on the trigger. His gun was still pointed at Fannie Mae. I stepped in the path of his gun and pulled my trigger. He shot in our direction at the same time. Fannie Mae cried out behind me and pushed me, but I held my ground. I felt his bullet graze my arm, furrowing a path through the meat of my bicep. I cried out and fell to my knees.

My shot had gone completely wide of Wash. He grinned at me when I looked at him, his eye twitching madly. I was holding my bleeding arm and Fannie Mae was standing over me protectively. I tried to push her out of the way but she wouldn’t budge.

Shaggy’s voice broke the moment. “What are you doing, Washington? We’re surrounded by zombies and this is what you want to do? Kill each other?”

Washington turned to him. “Cork it, Shaggy. We’ll take care of the zombies after we take care of him. We’ll leave him wounded here for the zombies so they can have their little midnight snack. That’ll keep ‘em off us.”

Shaggy shook his head. “I don’t think so, Wash. I didn’t sign up for this crap. If you want to kill a teenager then you can do it without my help.”

He turned to go and Wash swung his gun to point at his back. I cried out a warning and tried to bring my shotgun to bear, but my arm was too weak. Wash grinned humorlessly at me and pulled the trigger. Shaggy stumbled and stopped, turning back to face us. His hand was holding his chest and blood was bubbling out of his mouth. I could see the question on his face. I could have answered it for him if I had any mind to. There was no reason. Wash had just gone insane. Snapped from the strain.

He tried to bring his gun up but Wash shot him again, twice. The second shot took off the top of his head.

Wash turned back to me. “See. That’s how you do it. Take off their head so they can’t get back up.” He took a step toward me. I’m guessing it was so he could get a better shot at my head.

That’s when a zombie rushed out of the darkness and bit him in the neck. He screamed and brought his gun around, spasmodically pulling the trigger. I guess he hadn’t counted his shots. His clip was empty. The zombie came around to his front and started tearing the flesh from his face. From behind me Fannie Mae said, “Oh my God.”

I saw it the same second that she did. The zombie was Barrett. He was horribly disfigured and barely recognizable as himself. Almost every bit of flesh was missing from his body. Internal parts and pieces were oozing from what looked like several hundred bites. Most of his face was missing, the flesh ripped into pieces. He smiled a deaths-head grin in my direction as he ripped Wash to shreds. I don’t know how I recognized him, but I just did. Some tilt to the head or set of the shoulders. Something. But it was definitely him.

I didn’t even feel Fannie Mae pulling at my armpits, trying to force me to my feet. One part of me knew that she was crying above me. I could hear the sobs coming from her as she tried to get me up. I instinctively helped her, digging my heels into the dirt and pushing up. My shotgun still lay cradled in my hand as I held it uselessly. I couldn’t shoot him. Not Barrett. Not my friend. Logically I knew there was no way it was really him. There was no part of him left.

Still, emotionally I thought that he’d just saved me from Wash. Wash had been about to shoot me in the head and Barrett intervened, eating him in my defense. I couldn’t repay that by killing him. Maybe another minute, another hour, another day away, I could. But not here. Not now.

Barrett stood motionless staring at me and Fannie Mae. I could see other zombies streaming out of the darkness behind him. They were moving slowly, inexorably, toward us. It’d be mere moments before they came upon us. Barrett’s mouth opened and the skin and gristle drizzled slowly from his mouth. He locked eyes on me and tilted his head to the side. I swear I could see his eyebrow cocking on his head. He took a step toward us, arms rising slowly in our direction. That zombie need to eat and eat and eat coming over him.

The world began to rush back in at me. The pain in my arm and the moans of Kevin on the ground, trying to get to his feet himself, but failing because he kept trying to use his broken hand. Fannie Mae’s hands yanked again at my armpits, bringing cries of my pain from my lips as she pulled the hurt muscle in my arm. Sound finally came back and I could hear her screaming at me to get up. I realized she’d been screaming the whole time.

I finally gained my feet, wobbly and at risk of falling for a moment.

“Come on. Come on. Come on.” Fannie Mae screamed from behind me. Neither one of us wanted to face Barrett.

I whispered an apology to Barrett as Fannie Mae and I turned to make our escape. He’d have wanted us to shoot him and take him out of this Hell but at the moment I just didn’t have it in me. We made it maybe three steps before Mason Smith stepped out of nowhere at us. His head was still cocked at that weird angle from his broken neck. Other than that he looked in perfect condition, if you ignored his pale skin and deep, sunken eyes. His face and hands were covered in blood and gore and it looked like he was wearing a red mask on the lower half of his face.

Neither one of us had time to react before he stepped forward and grabbed Fannie Mae’s arm. I cried out in warning as he almost delicately bit into her forearm. She screamed in pain and fear as the blood started spurting down. I swear Mason grinned at us. He let go of her arm and slid back into the darkness, disappearing from sight. I swore and looked back behind us. The other zombies had swarmed out and were now chowing down on Kevin and Wash. Barrett stood there shuffling ever so slowly forward, staring at me and Fannie Mae.

A few of the zombies were inching in our direction but that was when I took charge and started pulling Fannie Mae away from the horde. She was screaming inconsolably and staring at her arm in horror. I tried not to look at or think of it as we ran away. Stumbled away might be the right phrase. My arm throbbed in pain and my brain throbbed in terror, the pain in my leg was but a distant memory. All I could see was that bite on her arm.

The zombies could have probably overtaken us at any moment but for some reason they didn’t. We could hear the screams of the others behind us as we ran away. It only took us a few minutes to reach Fannie Mae’s trailer. She dug her keys out of her pocket with a wince and opened the door, shoving me inside.

I don’t know which of us was in more pain, but we managed to barricade the doors and windows as best we could and then I finally collapsed on the couch. Fannie Mae disappeared into the bathroom and I heard her rattling around for a minute before she came back out. She had a pill bottle in one hand and a first aid kit in the other. She put those down next to me and then went into the kitchen and got us some water.

She came down and sat in front of me on the floor, running a shaky hand through her hair. Her face was waxen and pale, her eyes sunken deep into her forehead. The bite on her arm was even whiter than her face, the jagged edges bleeding slowly as we sat there. She caught me looking at it.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“What?” I said wearily. I was so, so tired.

“The bite,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s throbbing a little but there’s surprisingly little pain.”

I nodded silently at her. I could feel the horror scrabbling at the corners of my mind, trying to gain a foothold. It felt like it was going to be here very shortly.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Huh?” I said numbly. Was this what shock felt like? I could feel myself growing cold. I didn’t have her luxury; my arm was hurting like crazy. It was the worst pain I’d ever had in my life. Except for the pain in my heart I was feeling right now.

“I have to look at your gunshot,” she said, opening the first aid kit. “We have to clean the wound.”

I stared at her stupidly as she opened the top of the pill bottle and dry-swallowed a half dozen pills. “What are those?” I asked.

“They’re antibiotics. I think.” Her mouth quavered. She was trying her best to hold it back for me, but I could tell that she wouldn’t make it too much longer. “It’s all I can think of. Maybe it will stave off the infection. I hope.”

“It will,” I said, trying to put an inflection of hope in my dead voice. “It has to.”

She smiled wanly at me and said softly, “Take off your shirt.”

I gave her a confused look and she laughed at me, “I need to check your arm, silly.”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly.

I did my best to get out of the shirt but she ended up having to help me in the end. The wound on my arm was burning and every movement seemed to stretch the skin in all kinds of fun and interesting ways. I was sweating by the time we had it all the way off. She winced when she saw the open wound and I couldn’t help but look at it myself. It looked ugly. The bullet had passed right through, but on the way it had sheared off a section of skin with it. If I managed to survive I’d have a real wicked scar.

Blood seeped slowly out of the hole and I could see light passing through my arm. I tried to hold it up by my face to get a closer look but that just made me hiss in pain and drop it back down. Beads of sweat popped up on my face. Fannie Mae pulled some things out of the first aid kit and set them neatly in a row next to her. Her face scrunched in concentration and her tongue popped out between her lips. If the situation wasn’t so abysmally awful I would have kissed her. She looked so cute.

She held up a roll of gauze and unscrewed the cap on a brown bottle. It looked like peroxide. She put the gauze over the hole and upended the bottle over it, soaking it into the gauze. When she was done she held the bottle out to me. “This is peroxide. This is gonna hurt, Dukey.”

I nodded at her. “Just get it over with.”

She grabbed my hand firmly with her free one and then placed the wet gauze on my arm. My mouth opened wide and I could feel the tendons in my neck stretching taut as I tried to hold in my scream. No need to let the zombies know where we were. I could feel the skin on my body go through various degrees of hot and cold and honestly came about an inch shy of taking a crap in my pants. The pain was that intense. After some interminable time that felt like a million years but was probably no more than 30 seconds the pain finally began to ebb. I breathed in deeply, trying to will the pain away from me and telling myself that I could feel nothing.

That must have been what Fannie Mae was waiting for because she finally took the gauze away from my arm. The wetness of it had mixed with my blood and it looked pink in the dim light. I tried to smile at her. “Thanks, Fannie Mae.”

She shook her head at me. “Don’t thank me yet. I still have to do the other side.”

I felt my stomach do flip-flops and my mouth dried up. “Okay, then.”

She sighed and repeated the whole process with a new piece of gauze. If anything this time it hurt worse. It was like I could feel every drop of the peroxide interacting with my nerves and each pop and sizzle they made sent a current of pain into my brain. I might have let out a couple little drops of pee. Just a couple, mind you.

She finally peeled the gauze away, but the pain never really subsided. It felt like I was going to be sick. I could feel the bile rising in my throat but I managed to keep it down. Barely. But I could taste every scrap of food I’d had in the last couple days and when I burped the taste of it all came back. It didn’t taste very good.

Fannie Mae squeezed a tube of antiseptic all over the holes and then finally wrapped my arm in gauze and taped it over. When we were done she handed my shirt back to me silently.

“Thanks, Fannie Mae. Let’s do your bite now.”

She laughed bitterly. It hurt my heart to hear that sound come out of her mouth. “There’s no point in doing mine, Dukey. You know that.”

“Hey,” I said, grabbing her arm and making her look me in the eyes. “Don’t talk like that. There’s still a chance. We, we can, um, clean it up. You took the antibiotic and if we clean the wound we can clear the infection.”

“Dukey,” she said solemnly, “don’t be stupid. You and I both know that the only way we could have cleared me of this would have been to cut my arm off the second I got bitten. That would have maybe been enough to stop this, but it’s way too late now. I can,” she paused, “almost feel the virus coursing through my body. It’s filling up my blood and everywhere it goes my body is going numb.”

She stopped and wiggled her fingers at me. “I can’t feel my hands anymore, Dukey. It’s like they’re someone else’s hands and I’m just controlling them like a puppet master. I can already not feel my thighs and if I got up to walk right now I think I’d be stumbling around here like a zombie already.”

I could feel the tears coursing down my cheeks. I didn’t even know I was crying until they fell silently into my lap. The pain in my arm paled in comparison to the pain I was feeling in my heart right now. It was like nothing else existed but me and her. I didn’t give a crap about the zombies outside the door anymore.

“Kiss me, Duke,” she said, closing the distance between us to a few inches. “Kiss me some more before my lips go numb and I can no longer feel you. I want to feel you, Duke. I want to feel everything,” she whispered.

So that’s what we proceeded to do. I sat on the edge of the couch and she kneeled before me, our faces at the same level. I put my arms around her waist, wincing with the pain of it, and she put her arms around my neck. I drew her in and we kissed like there was no tomorrow. I guess there really wasn’t.

Her lips were soft and dry, the skin brittle to the touch. Her tongue danced in my mouth and intertwined with mine. We didn’t do anything else but that. We kissed and held each other and it wasn’t enough. Dammit, it wasn’t enough. I can still feel her lips on mine and her forehead on mine and her arms holding my neck tightly. It was never enough.

Finally she pulled back from me. I could see the fear in her eyes. “My lips are numb. I can’t feel you anymore, Dukey.”

I tried to pull her back into my embrace so that I could hold her tightly but she fought me off saying no over and over again. When she finally escaped my hands she scooted across the floor until she was against the far wall. I slid off the edge of the couch until I was sitting on the floor, too. There was maybe six feet between us.

“Dukey, you have to stay away from me. We don’t know,” she shook her head, “how long until I turn. I can’t stand the thought that I’d hurt you.”

I said nothing, just sitting there on the floor opposite her. Every fiber of my being yearned to touch her and be with her. I could feel the gulf opening in my chest and felt like my heart was being ripped in two.

She pulled her gun out of the waistband of her pants where it’d been hidden all night. She held it limply in one hand and used the other to trace circles in the iron. She tore her eyes away from mine and just stared at the gun.

I stared at her in horror, comprehension beginning to blossom in my brain.

Still not looking at me she said simply, “I love you, Dukey. You know that, right?”

I nodded, my mouth dry. She couldn’t hear a nod. I cleared my throat and whispered, “Yes, Fannie Mae, I know that. I love you, too. I’m sorry I wasted all this time with you right next to me. We could have had so much.”

She looked up at me, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you say that, Duke! Don’t you even think it! We had this weekend and even with all the pain and the horrors and everything else we’ve experienced, that can be enough. We packed years worth of love into the past 24 hours. And that has to be enough. I knew what it felt like to finally have you return my love and for us to be what we were meant to be.”

“Fannie Mae, I’m sorry -.”

She cut me off. “Never say that! Never! Never apologize or feel sorry for what happened here. We had enough love to last a lifetime. I want you to live, Duke. Survive this somehow and get away from the Acres and forget all this and just live. Can you promise me that?”

I nodded, but that wasn’t enough for her. “Promise me, Duke!”

I whispered through dry, cracked lips. “I promise, Fannie Mae.”

“Good,” she said, smiling. “I can live with that.”

Then she raised the gun to her chin, tears streaming down her face, smiling at me gently, and pulled the trigger.

22.

An empty, hollow click echoed through the small living room.

“Oh, fuck!” She cried out as she lobbed through the gun through the room. It hit the wall next to me with a thud and bounced on the floor. She burst into tears, putting her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she sobbed. I got to my knees and started to scoot in her direction.

“Stop!” She looked at me fiercely. “Do not come any closer, Dukey. I can feel the change coursing through me. I can feel myself dying, for God’s sake. Don’t come closer, please. I’m begging you. I don’t want to eat you.”

I froze, torn between her orders and my own feelings. Finally I settled back against the couch. Waves of sorrow poured through me and I wanted to scream and cry and run over to her and hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right and save her and live happily ever after with her.

But that was a pipe dream.

Her face was drawn and pale, all color gone. The bite in her arm was the only color on her body. It shone brightly in the darkness of the room and I could see that the bleeding had finally stopped. She licked her lips trying to get moisture back on them but tongue was dry. The cracks in her lips gaped wider and I knew that blood should have been seeping out, but it wasn’t.

“You need to shoot me, Dukey,” she said softly, slowly.

I shook my head. “I can’t do that, Fannie Mae. You can’t ask me that.”

She tried to smile at me, but all it did was make the split in her lip even wider. Tears of blood began seeping from the corners of her eyes. I choked back a sob. “You need to do it, Duke. And now. I can, can feel,” she stopped and rubbed her stomach, “hunger. I’ve never been this hungry before.” Her words came out in a rush, in a soft growl, “I can feel my brain dying and my thoughts are beginning to leak away. All I want to do is eat and eat and eat.” She laughed. “I can smell you, Dukey. Smell your sweat and feel your heat and I can see how alive you are.”

Her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. They would stop to rest on me and then start rolling again as she looked around. I had no words for her.

Her whole body started to shake, tremors raging wildly. “Please, Dukey. Don’t let me become this. I can’t, don’t, want to be this. Don’t let me un-die.”

I unwillingly picked up the shotgun. My hands were trembling and I couldn’t bring it to bear. The horror gnawing at my gut was almost too much. I thought I might pass out but then the butt of the shotgun rubbed against my bandage and a wave of pain passed through me. It brought everything back to stark reality and I could see her sniffing at the air as blood began soaking through the bandage. I slowly, ever so slowly, pulled in the catch and cocked the shotgun.

Fannie Mae had her feet drawn up to her chest and her hands resting palm up on her knees. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf and her breaths were coming in quick gasps of air. She shook her head up and down several times, hanging it between her legs and then staring up at me. She was breathing faster and faster. She tried to speak but all that came out was gurgles. She couldn’t find the words but I could see them on her face.

I stood up and closed the distance between us. She shook her head wildly at me, trying to tell me to get away. Then, suddenly, all sounds ceased. Her breath left her in a great whoosh of air and her arms fell to her sides, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. I leveled the shotgun at the side of her head.

Her finger twitched.

Still I waited.

It twitched again, turning over and reaching out for my foot. Waves of cold rippled over me and I shook spastically . I cried out, “God help me,” and braced the shotgun on my hip. I pulled the trigger.

I didn’t miss.

The next amount of time was a blur for me. To this day I couldn’t tell you if it was only five minutes, an hour or three hours until I came back to myself. I have a blank spot in my memory after I pulled that trigger. I thank God or whatever powers there may be out there for taking that away from me. I pulled the trigger. I didn’t miss. The roar of the shotgun filled my ears and the fire from the barrel lit the room and then everything went black.

When I came back to myself I was curled on the floor back by the couch, facing away from Fannie Mae. I shuddered at the thought, but I had to make myself turn and look. I breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently I’d covered her with a blanket when I was out. I had no desire to go over there and uncover her. Blood and other stuff was splattered all over the floor and walls. I hadn’t been too industrious I guess.

I sat there on the floor until the sun came up, shining brightly through the windows. The sky was clear of clouds and it looked like the storm had finally passed. It was Sunday, October 26, and I was alone. All my friends in the world were dead. My mom was dead. God knows where my dad was. Tamara, the girl I thought I’d been in love with, was dead. I’d realized that my love for her had been nothing but a little puppy love and found what true love was with Fannie Mae. Then I’d had to blow her brains all over her living room floor.

I gazed out the window and smiled at the rising sun. It truly was a beautiful sight. One of the first sunrises I’d ever stayed up long enough to see. The rays of light came in strong and glorious and played over my face. The heat made the blood rush to my cheeks and my eyes squint. I could feel every fiber of my being yearning to be out there and relish in the sun.

The shotgun lay on the floor next to me. I had my hand resting on the stock and the wood grew warm under my touch. Two days ago – hell, not even 48 hours ago – I’d never fired a shotgun before. Now it felt like the exact right thing to be in my hand and it was the most comfortable thing in the world to me. It was me and my shotgun against the world.

And against all my friend’s heads, let’s not forget that.

I thought I heard a rustling of a blanket behind me but when I turned my head there was nothing there. It was just my mind playing tricks on me. Fannie Mae was dead. I knew that. I was a hundred percent positive of that, actually. Her brains were splattered all over the wall, weren’t they?

I turned back to the window with that false smile on my face. Mustn’t think about that.

Still staring at the sun I managed to pull the shotgun into my lap, resting the butt against the floor. My arm throbbed as a reminder but I ignored it. The pain was shelved in a far recess of my mind. I had to change the angle of the shotgun where it rested on the floor and scoot it out another few inches to be able to rest my chin comfortably on the barrel. I thought about getting a chair out of the kitchen and sitting on it to give myself a better angle but I didn’t want to miss even one second of this fabulous sunrise.

I pumped the shotgun, my arm throbbing again from the strain of flexing it. The bullet had passed right through the fleshy part of the arm and any movement stretched it in different ways. Again, I ignored it.

It was a weird angle to try to get my finger into the trigger guard and I realized why a lot of people use their toe for the job. It takes a lot of stretching to get that angle right, but I’d have to put the gun down to go back and take my shoes and socks off and I didn’t know if I’d have the guts to pick it back up. I finally managed to get just the tip of my forefinger in there and decided that would have to be enough.

Then I waited. I wanted to watch the rest of this, my first and last sunrise.

A shadow flitted across the window and cut off my sunlight for a moment as a zombie stumbled by. It dragged its hand against the metal of the trailer and the rasp it made brought goosebumps to my flesh. It passed me on by, ignoring the trailer as it went on in search of food. I guess I wasn’t making enough of a racket or wasn’t alive enough for them to consider me food right now.

But that shadow made a thought start circulating in my head. I tried to push it away but it insisted on being heard. I sighed and let it show me what it wanted.

A vision of the zombie plague crossing the Earth. A shambling army of the dead making their way slowly and inexorably from city to city, town to town. They could be contained now, while their numbers were still relatively small, but once the food supply was gone and they went on their numbers would increase exponentially. All it would take would be the downfall of one relatively middle sized town for them to have enough numbers to be able to take over America, and then the world. And they’d break free, I knew they would. For all I knew I was the last living survivor of the outbreak and the irony of me having been the cause of it all wasn’t lost on me. Soon they would spread and eat their way to the end of the world.

The zombies felt no pain, no fear, and no shame. They didn’t need rest and would never stop. How could an army of men with puny weapons ever stop an onslaught of creatures like that?

I didn’t know if I really cared whether that happened or not. The only people I’d ever cared about were dead. One of them was beginning to rot six feet behind me and the other was out there shambling around in search of food.

But that was something I could bring myself to care about. Screw the rest of the world and their problems. Maybe it was my fault and I was the cause, but what could I do to fix all that? But my best friend Barrett? I cared about that. I cared about him. I needed to destroy him. Killing him again would take away another piece of myself that I could never get back, just like killing Fannie Mae had done, but I knew it had to be done.

I slowly removed my finger from the trigger and lowered the shotgun to the floor.

And after Barrett I needed to kill Mason. Find him, hunt him down, and make him pay for what he’d done to my Fannie Mae.

I looked over at Fannie Mae and that was the first time I noticed the tears streaming down my cheeks. I wiped them away irritably and said a silent promise to her that I’d join her soon. I knew it wasn’t what she would have wanted, but I didn’t want to survive without her.

23.

I upended the sports bag over the couch, emptying its meager contents onto the cushions. I tore open the boxes of shells and threw the cardboard absently on the floor behind me as I made a pile of the shells. I patted my pockets and found a couple more and piled them up as well.

They made a very tiny little pile.

A quick count gave me a total of little more than 20 shells. Plus whatever I had in the gun, which I didn’t think was that much. I sighed and loaded the shotgun and then put the rest of the shells in my pockets. It wasn’t near as bulky as it had been last night when I’d done this. When I was done with that I went into the kitchen looking for food. There wasn’t much in there. Fannie Mae’s mom wasn’t really one for stocking up the fridge, but I scrounged and made myself a decent final breakfast.

Every thirty seconds or so I found my eyes starting to travel in the direction of Fannie Mae and I’d have to stop myself with a jolt from looking over at her. I didn’t need or want to see that. That wasn’t how I wanted to remember my sweet Fannie Mae. She was my rock, my angel, she deserved better than to be remembered like that. I finally realized I just needed to get the hell out of there and begin my hunt for Mason and Barrett. Soonest begun, soonest done.

Then I could pull the trigger.

I picked the shotgun up and peeked out the window, making sure that there were no zombies hovering around the door. The coast was clear so I finally took a deep breath, steadied myself, and opened it. The light was like razors poking my eyeballs after being in the dark tomb of Fannie Mae’s trailer for so long. I held a hand up to shade them and said a prayer that they’d adjust quickly. Last thing I needed was to be taken out by a zombie while waiting for my eyes to adjust.

They finally did and I brought the shotgun to my shoulder, ready to blast anything that was coming for me. But there was nothing. The Acres looked like a ghost town. All was silent in the land of the dead. No dogs barking (what the hell had happened to all the dogs, anyway? I later found out they’d all gone crazy and run away early Saturday morning), no children playing, no cars screeching by, no radios blaring. I expected to see a tumbleweed come blowing by, but of course none did. I saw a couple zombies off in the distance shuffling through the dirt but none of them were close to me and they didn’t even bother to look my way.

I walked out to the middle of the street, the silence and the sun rising making me feel like I was in the middle of a Western. I felt like calling out to Mason, but I knew (hoped) that he wouldn’t answer. If he was intelligent enough to answer to his name then my limited knowledge of zombies would be completely blown out of the water. I looked around the Acres, uselessly wondering what to do next when I noticed my trailer.

It looked like a bomb had gone off near it. The front door was lying on the ground in a dented heap of metal. Ripped from the hinges like the lid of a sardine can. A couple of the windows were busted and I remember how we thought before that they were too high for zombies to climb into. I guess we were wrong. I took two steps toward my trailer and wondered what I should do. I couldn’t see any zombies waving to me from the windows but there was a good chance there was at least one in there and I didn’t relish being trapped, but on the other hand maybe this was Mason getting back at us yet again. He’d trashed Barrett’s car after all.

I finally sighed and slowly closed the distance to my trailer, keeping on the lookout for any zombies near me. It felt like I needed about 30 eyes to watch all the directions I was trying to watch but there was no help for it. I was all that was left. I finally reached my trailer and stood about four feet from the door, fully prepared for anything to come jumping out at me. Something creaked inside, but I couldn’t see anything.

I heard a noise behind me and whirled, bringing the shotgun up to my shoulder in a blazing fast burst of energy that brought a wave of pain to my arm. I almost pulled the trigger, but that was when I realized there was nothing there. Shit. My heart beat about a thousand miles per minute and I could feel the veins in my forehead pulsing in rhythm with it. I was spooking myself. This had almost been easier in the middle of the night.

I let the shotgun lead the way as I slowly eased myself inside the trailer. The living room was a shambles. There was glass all over the floor and most of the pictures had been knocked off the walls. There were smears of dried blood everywhere and I had a vision of zombies traipsing through here leaving their marks from their wounds or from the bloody meat they’d ingested. I shivered again. This place no longer felt like home to me. Now it was unrecognizable.

There were no zombies in the living room or the kitchen. It took only a quick swivel of the head to see that. There were no windows in the hallway so it was still dark as sin down there, but I could see a little from the ambient light coming from the living room and the bedrooms. Enough to see that the kitchen table had been rudely thrust aside and was now in pieces on the floor. Enough to see that the door to my parent’s bedroom stood gaping open.

I muttered a curse, wondering what the zombies had done to my mom. Had they eaten her dead flesh? Seen it as a little after-dinner snack to ease their palates? No hot, salty, rushing blood to mess up the meat?

As much as I’d hated my mom I felt that it was my duty to go down there and see. It was possible the zombie virus could infect already dead tissue as easily as it could infect living tissue and if mom was out there shambling around as a zombie I knew it was my duty to take care of her, too. All my duty hung around my shoulders like a mountain. All I wanted to do was go lie down somewhere with my trusty shotgun and fall asleep to the world.

But I set my shoulders, redistributing my burden, and set off down the hallway. I went into my room first to make sure there was nothing in there and half-expected Mason to be sitting there at my desk, smiling his dead smile at me. But he wasn’t. There were no zombies in there anywhere. I breathed a sigh of relief and went over to my desk. There was a picture of me, Fannie Mae, and Barrett smiling and having a good time at school. I don’t remember who had snapped it, but there were days when just looking at that picture had helped me survive and now when I saw it a wave of those feelings crashed over me again. God, did I miss them.

I put the shotgun down and tore the back of the frame off, pulling the picture free. I smiled at it and held it to my chest, hoping that it could fill the void I felt there. It didn’t, of course. I put the picture in my pocket, glad that I’d come in here for that if for nothing else. That picture could help me survive in the years to come, if surviving was something I wanted to do.

There was a whisper of air behind me and I cried out, grabbing the shotgun, and whirling around, diving backwards onto my bed. There was nothing there. Again. This was getting old.

I suddenly caught a whiff of myself as I lay there on the bed. God, did I stink. I’d completely pitted out my shirt at some point and between the blood and grime that was caked in it I was pretty sure that it was ruined forever. I stripped it off and wiped myself down with it as best I could, wincing when my arm flexed. The bandage was dirty and bleeding through but I didn’t really care enough to worry about changing it at this point. I grabbed another shirt off the floor and quickly put it on. I hadn’t yet checked mom’s room. I’d been drawing it out as long as I could and I knew I needed to.

To this day I’m still not sure if I actually wanted her body to be there or not.

It was. The light streamed in through her broken window and a breeze made the curtains billow inward. The blanket had been removed from her body and it lay in a pile on the floor. She was fully exposed to the world, her body still bent in the upright position she had died in. Her hand still clenched closed as if she had a bottle in it. I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that she had neither been eaten or was up and about walking around.

I went forward and stood over her. For the first time since coming home Friday night and noticing that she was dead I felt a wave of sorrow touch my heart. I had a few memories of her being good to me when I was very small, before the drink had overtaken her. They were very few and very far between, but there were a couple there. I’d hated the woman most of my life but with all the trauma and tragedy of the last two days I felt like even she deserved a little better than this. I remembered mom buying me ice cream a time or two and a small, sad smile crossed my face.

My hand went out almost of its own volition and touched her forehead. I cupped it and rested my palm there, feeling her cold body and taking a moment of silence just for her. It was the least I could do for the woman who’d brought me into this world. The sorrow poured out of me through my hand into her and I could feel my heart breaking. Not for her, you understand. I don’t expect you to think I suddenly changed my mind about how I felt for her. But for the whole situation. For the whole of Rosie Acres. For all the death and destruction that lay squarely at my feet.

I closed my eyes and whispered to my mom, “I’m sorry you’re dead, mother. You deserve to have lived a good life.”

A rush of air passed through me and my skin contracted into goose bumps and every hair on my body stood on end. My nipples became hard as rocks. I felt a tear fall from my cheeks and splash onto her.

“I’m sorry, mom,” I said again. Then I turned to go.

I quickly left the trailer and went back outside. I so wanted this whole mess to be over.

The zombies were waiting for me.

24.

Mason Smith stood out there with his zombie army. It looked like all the zombies that were left were in the road before me. Their utter silence was eerie. There were at least a hundred zombies arrayed out there. None of them were moving or shuffling or twitching or making a single sound. All eyes were on myself and Mason, who stood a few feet in front of them. Only about half of them actually had eyes but I could still feel their gazes tearing at me. None of them shuffled or shambled forward for me. None held beseeching arms in my direction, hungering for my flesh and blood. None wanted to feed on me. It was weird.

I saw many, many familiar faces. Neighbors and friends and enemies. Most were horribly disfigured and missing chunks of flesh from their faces or necks or elsewhere on their bodies. A good number were actually naked and I shudder to think of the pieces they were missing. Gaping holes stood where flopping penises should have been and empty sacks of flesh hung below where even more sensitive parts should have. My stomach gave a great lurch and if I weren’t completely terrified I might have thrown up everything within me and passed out right then and there. I could feel every hurt and bite out there before me. Ever watch a guy wince when he sees someone else get kicked in the balls? Imagine what that guy would feel seeing another guy missing his equipment entirely.

Not pretty.

I looked through the crowd for Barrett, but I didn’t see him in there. Granted, he’d been so torn up that it was difficult to recognize him, anyway, and now I was staring at a crowd – a horde – of wet, glistening madness and open wounds. It kind of distracted the eye. But Mason… yet Mason… stood there before me with almost no wounds at all.

His head still cocked at that weird angle that made you immediately realize his neck was broken. His clothes and hands were covered in dried blood and his mouth was completely disgusting. There were bits of flayed skin hanging from his teeth and black blood coated everything. His mouth was opened at me in a semblance of a grin and I wanted to go over there and floss that crap out of his mouth. What did he want with me? Was this his final bit of revenge for killing him? His final little ha-ha moment to show me what horrors my acts had wrought? Screw him. Shit all over that.

I could feel anger and rage finally begin to overcome the fear and silence that was hanging over us.

“What do you want?” I spoke the words that broke the spell the dead had cast over me.

The zombies did not answer me, of course, but at this point I wouldn’t have been surprised if Mason could speak. His head cocked even more, if that were possible, and he took a shambling step toward me. I let him come. Maybe we could talk and I could put him to rest and this would all be over. Maybe if I killed him they would all fall to the ground. I desperately hoped so. It worked in Silver Bullet and The Lost Boys. How could Corey Haim be wrong?

In case you missed it, the Haimster was in both. The first was about werewolves and the second was vampires. Zombies weren’t so different, right?

It didn’t even occur to me to raise the shotgun until it was too late. Mason was acting so normal, so human that I didn’t even think that talking was not on his mind. But when he got within a couple steps of me his arms finally rose up toward me in that normal zombie fashion and reached for me. I cried out and panicked for a second, feeling my arm throb from the motion and dropping the shotgun in my effort to keep his hands from reaching me.

It fell with a clatter and I gripped his hands in my own. We did a weird zombie dance, but he just kept closing the distance between us. He hadn’t been dead long enough for his muscles to waste and rot away. They were still there and as strong as iron. No longer caring if he hurt himself by over-exertion he just keep pushing forward more and more trying to get me.

Our eyes were inches apart and I could smell his fetid breath. The rotted flesh hanging in his mouth made what little air wheezed out rancid and the whole thing wafted into my face with every push that he made. He wasn’t breathing, but something about the motions he was making pushed air through his lungs and made me want to gag.

The only sound during our silent struggle was the breath wheezing out of my throat. My arm was burning from the gunshot and my leg was beginning to burn from the nutshot Mason had given me Friday night. I didn’t think I had that much left in me with which to fight. My will was ebbing with my strength and I was even beginning to think that maybe being a zombie wouldn’t be all that bad. I could be with my friends and we could go around chomping on people. No more school. No more parents. No more anything. Just the hunger and the inexorable need to feed.

Wait a minute. Shit all over that.

I looked around me for anything I could use before my strength gave out. We were standing a few feet in front of my trailer and there was nothing handy. There were the chairs a few feet off to the side that Fannie Mae, Barrett and I had used what seemed like 20 years ago, but they were little crappy metal chairs that wouldn’t help, not to mention they were too far away. The shotgun lay at my feet, but it might as well have been a million miles away for what good it would do me right now.

I grunted with the effort and used my hands as leverage and pushed against Mason, trying to get him off balance. He moved back an inch, but nothing else happened. He held my hands tightly in a vice grip. My hurt arm began to shake with the exertion of holding him back and I could feel sweat rolling down my face. I only had a few more seconds before all my strength would be gone and he would be on top of me.

Wait. On top of me?

I chanced taking a step back with my left foot and pulling him back in my direction. His teeth snapped at me and I barely whipped my head back in time. Still going through the motion of pulling him back toward me I quickly reversed direction and moved my left foot forward and rested it behind his, following it with my shoulder. It hit him right in the chest and the final shove I gave him pushed him back into my foot. His balance was less than a newborn puppies and he went over backwards without a sound, his hands still gripped tightly on mine.

“Oh, shit!” I cried out and followed him down to the ground, landing on top of him with a whoompf. If he’d still been breathing – or alive – that would have knocked the wind out of him. As it was it still almost took all mine away. He didn’t try to regain his footing or try to push me over to gain leverage or anything a normal person would have done. He just reached with his face to try to bite my nose off. Fortunately the hard, crooked angle of his broken neck got in the way and wouldn’t bend quite the way he needed it to. So he let my hands go and reached for my head to bring it that final inch closer.

That’s what I was waiting for.

I braced my hands on his chest and pushed off, rolling sideways. I landed on my back with a grunt, sliding a few inches on the gravel. My eyes closed instinctively to keep anything from flying in them. The gravel scratched and rubbed against the back of my neck, bringing a gasp of pain from my lips. Dammit, was every inch of my body going to be scarred from this?

Mason’s hand crawled across the gravel and the tips of his fingers grabbed at my shirt. Rest time was over. I did another quick roll onto my stomach and pushed off with my hands, pulling my foot so that I could propel myself to my feet. I’m not quite sure how I managed the acrobatic feat, but I did it and somehow I was standing. Mason was still reaching for where my shirt was moment ago. I spared a quick glance for his zombie army but they were all standing there like dumb automatons.

I said a quick prayer and closed the distance between me and Mason, reaching down to grab my shotgun. I lined it up on his head and it was like time slowed down again. He slowly turned his head to face me and his ever-reaching hands were held out toward as if in supplication. I knew that all he wanted was me. I was only food to him. I screamed at him and aimed the sights on his head, feeling a savage relief when I pulled the trigger and felt the shotgun press sharply back into my shoulder.

His head blew apart into a million chunks and his reaching hands finally fell to the ground and lay still.

I brandished the shotgun over my head and screamed a savage, warrior scream that left my throat raw and looked out at the zombie horde, expecting to see them all falling to the ground. They weren’t.

They were all shaking and vibrating, as if released from some great constraint. This lasted for several seconds before they all lifted their heads to face me and began their stumbling and dragging toward me. All I’d done was release them to come kill me. Mason had apparently been controlling them after all.

That was when I heard the step behind me. I screamed and turned around, bringing the shotgun to my shoulder.

My mother stood there, taking the steps down from the broken trailer door. I felt all the blood rush out of my face as I watched her closing the distance on me. What the hell was this? She’d been dead. Ice cold and frozen into position by rigor mortis. Dead for two days. Unequivocally, unarguably, dead. Yet here she was trying to eat my brains out. What was going on? What was the cosmic joke here? Had killing Mason opened the floodgates and all the dead were now coming to life?

But, wait. I’d touched mom. In the trailer. Touched her and let my tears fall on her and had felt something pass from me to her. Had I somehow raised her? Was that what was going on? I’d killed Mason and he’d come back. Now I’d touched my mom and wished she weren’t dead and now she was coming back.

Thoughts raced through my mind at a thousand miles a second. Everything that had happened over the last two days floated through my brain and I realized that everything that had happened – every zombie that had come back – was all linked with my killing of Mason. The floodgates opened and I reached out to my mom with my mind and felt her there. I felt the connection to her like a single strand on a spider web. I can’t explain it any better than that but once I knew it was there that connection blazed forth in me like a light out of Heaven. I could see my mom in front of me and hear her naked feet shuffling on the gravel, but some other sense inside of me – maybe a sixth one – could feel her in front of me.

I put pressure on that strand and somehow held it there in the front of my mind. A headache immediately bloomed in my head and it was like my brain was pulsating and trying to break its way out. I winced with every heartbeat and pulse of blood through me that threatened to tear me open. I put my hand up to my temple and applied pressure there, trying to stop the pain, but it did no good. While holding that thread of silk, that piece of the web, in the forefront of my psyche, I told mom to stop. The pain overwhelmed me and brought me to my knees and I could barely mutter the words and find the breath to tell her, but I did.

“Mom, stop.”

She did. Freezing to a stop immediately. I could still see the hungry look on her face. The hands still reached for my throat and my heart, wanting to snuff the life out of me.

It was the simplest thing in the world to reach out in my mind and pluck that string. The overwhelming agony it brought to my head was another thing. I felt something trickling out of my nose and brought my hand up to it. My nose was gushing blood like a geyser, flowing out with every beat of my heart.

Mom fell to the ground and in my mind the strand that held me to her darkened and disappeared into the recesses of my heart. I looked at her and could tell she was well and truly dead. Again.

In agony, holding my head with both of my hands, I turned to the waiting crowd of zombies. They’d closed most of the gap between us. The ones in front were mere feet from me. I pulled up that other sight within me and somehow saw all the strands of the web and felt every zombie that still resided in the Acres. Most were in front of me but there were others still on the prowl in the park. Though it was agony to do so I managed to pull in all the strands and hold them in my thoughts, my head feeling like it was about to burst open like an egg thrown from the window of a high-rise.

I cried out to them. “Stop! Stop!” Somehow exercised my will on the threads. They all came shakily to a stop before me. I could feel my tenuous grasp on the threads that were their un-lives begin to slip. It was too much and there were too many of them. The feet began to creep forward, millimeters at a time. They’d never stop. I felt darkness encroaching on me and black spots appeared before my eyes. I fell forward toward the gravel, barely getting my hands down in time. The threads flickered in my mind.

“Enough!” I cried out, feeling power blaze through my words. “STOP!”

The zombies stopped, some crashing to the earth because they’d stopped in mid-step and one foot had been in the air. I felt blood seeping down the corners of my eyes, covering my hands where they lay on the ground. I couldn’t see anything now, the black spots covering my vision and only hearing the roar of silence in my ears. I gathered all the threads in my mind again, pulling them all together with the last vestige of my will. Then I severed them all. All but one.

Blood spurted out of my ears and I fell forward to the ground, bashing my forehead on the gravel. A welcome darkness rushed in.

25.

Light came back to me slowly. I had no idea how long I was out, but at least the pain in my head had fallen to a manageable level. It only felt like a really bad migraine now. I rolled to my back and brought my hands to my head, feeling for the damage. I had a huge scrape on my forehead that brought a sliver of pain when I touched it. My eyes, mouth, nose and ears all had dried blood on them but they’d stopped bleeding.

I slowly brought myself to my knees and crawled along the gravel to one of mom’s lawn chairs. All the pain on my body felt very distant to me now. And every small in comparison to the pain in my head. I felt like I was covered in scrapes and cuts and bruises. I needed about a year to rest. I finally reached the chair and dragged myself into it. The effort brought gasps of pain to my lips and another burst of agony from the area of my head.

I still had a tenuous hold on that lone thread that I’d not severed. Apparently passing out hadn’t been enough for me to let go of it. Lord knows what would have happened if I’d passed out while still holding onto the threads of the whole horde. I shuddered at the thought.

I tweaked the thread, each motion bringing another stir of pain to my head. I could feel the blood begin to flow out of my nose again but I ignored it. I commanded the thread to come before me and it finally did, digging itself out from underneath the pile of dead zombies arrayed out before me. First I saw a hand come out and then another and finally the zombie rose to its feet.

It was Barrett.

I waved him forward, feeling my gut heave as I tugged harder on the thread. He stepped toward me like a marionette on strings, which I guess he kind of was. I made him sit on the chair in front of me, absentmindedly wiping the blood from my nose.

He stared at me impassively, the hunger still in his eyes. My will had imposed itself on his body 100% but I couldn’t override his basic instincts. His dead eyes still flashed on his hunger and I could feel it reverberating through the thread that I held in my mind. I knew that if I let go my control that he’d lunge forward and attack me, trying to eat my flesh, so I had to use every bit of concentration to hold him back.

“Barrett,” I said, “I’m sorry. So sorry. I don’t know what’s going on or how I can do these things.” I shook my hands in the air. “But I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you and Fannie Mae are dead. If there’s a piece of you left in there I know I can’t ask for your forgiveness but please know that I’m sorry and that I will end your suffering.”

I reached forward and grabbed his hand. I would have hugged him if I had the strength to get up, but it wasn’t in me. I held the thread for as long as I could but eventually I just let it go. His body slumped before me.

This was the end of the line.

26.

Okay, not really. Not a hundred percent at the end of the line. I guess there’s a little bit more to tell.

I could feel the call of the shotgun and wanted desperately to end my suffering and join my friends, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt too much like the easy way out and I didn’t feel like I deserved the easy way. I could see the carnage in front of me, the hundreds of people dead because of me, and know that my death wouldn’t be enough for them. It would only ease my guilt and my suffering and they deserved more than that.

I got up on wobbly legs after a time and went back into my trailer. I knew I no longer had anything to fear from the zombies. I’d destroyed them all, somehow. I left the shotgun outside and went in and took a cold shower and cleaned up as best I could. The cold water was little punishment for what I’d done. I packed a bag with a few sets of clothes and grabbed as much money as I could from the trailer. Mom and dad had some stashed away and I had a bit of my own savings, too. I knew that I could go rifle through the clothes of the bodies outside and get more money but I didn’t want to desecrate the dead any more than I already had. My mere existence was a desecration to them.

I walked cross-country and eventually found a ride with a trucker who was more than happy to take me as far as he was going. I later read the news reports and saw that the Litchville Police Department, and Mason’s dad, the Sheriff, eventually found their way into Rosie Acres and were puzzled and disgusted by what they found there. They called in the Feds and the best they could come up with was some kind of drug or disease got into people and drove them insane. How do you explain bodies walking around with the kinds of damage those people had taken? How do you explain the cannibalism and the things that had happened there?

They ultimately didn’t. There were a few survivors, but their stories weren’t believed. What person in their right mind could believe that zombies had walked the earth?

What am I? How do I have the power I do? How do I control this curse from Hell? I don’t know. I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. I know that I can feel the threads of dead people. Walking by a graveyard is torture for me now. All those threads throb and want to come to life. If I’m too close to somebody who’s dying I can hear the siren call of their thread and feel it wanting to be set free. Now that I’ve woken up the power I can feel death everywhere.

It hurts to feel these things but yet it’s almost more than I can do to stop myself from plucking those threads. A part of me wants to release the horde upon the world. Pluck a thread in California, do one in New York, then maybe go back to the south and do it again… The urge is overwhelming sometimes.

I don’t want to be the end of the world. But sometimes, in my dreams, when my friends come to me and sit before the fire, I see the world burn.

And I wake up holding all those threads in my hand.

Epilogue

In the beginning was the darkness and only the darkness. Shapes frolicked and played and fought with each other. They would fight tooth and claw and nail until they were all ripped to shreds. Then there would be peace for a time until the shadows reformed into new and exciting shapes and destroyed each other all over again. It was fun and engaging and what did it really matter anyway? They were immortal and couldn’t die. They’d existed ever since the Nothing and would always exist as there would and could never be anything but the Nothing.

How could they see each other if there was nothing in the darkness but, uh, darkness? Even darkness has shape. Even shadows can be seen from the corner of the eye. Powerful shades grew form from the Nothing until they were able to control the lesser darkness and sometimes they would eat and eat and eat until nothing was left in the Nothing but huge tidal waves of darkness.

Then they would shit out new shapes and new shades and the process would begin anew.

This went on for… well, it’s hard to say. For the Nothing held no size or form or time in the void of itself. It had always been and always would be. You couldn’t say that it would exist until the end of time because that phrase had no meaning. There was no time that could end.

Until Something came from outside the Nothing. Which is a sentence that doesn’t even make sense. How can something come from outside something that has no sides? How can there be anything but the great Nothing, the great Void? The shapes and shades in the Nothing had no idea. It was like living your whole life in a two-dimensional world where the only directions that existed were left and right, backward and forward and then someone tapping you on the head and you have a big oh shit moment and realize that you’ve been missing out on this whole up and down thing.

Something came from Outside and ripped the top off of the Nothing and Light blazed in. Light in all its glory that showed the depravity and humiliations and pure, stinking Evil that existed in the Nothing. All the opposites came to bear. Good to their Evil. Life to their Death. Genius to their Stupidity. Knowledge was gained that showed the shades what they were and how they existed and how much better everything else was that existed outside the Nothing.

So they wanted in. Or out. It’s hard to describe directions in the Nothing. It’s not hard to imagine what they wanted.

The Something had its own, big, “oh shit” moment and quickly put the top back on the Nothing, but it was too late. The shades made it their mission to get out of the Nothing and since they had all the non-time that existed in their non-world, they had all the time of existence. Eventually some of them got free. They called home to their buddies and told them what existed Outside the Nothing. The Light hurt their eyes and made what passed for brains in their heads scream in agony, but they persevered and eventually others of their kind were freed.

This was a whole new world to play in. A world where Light existed, where time existed, where non-shades existed who could live and die and bleed. Whole new realms of fun opened up and when you shat out those mewling, bloody things they didn’t come back to life: they just ended. Most of the time.

So the shades played. Some whimpered and died when they were exposed to the Light but the Nothing always had more darkness to fuel them. Others grew strong on this new world and thrived and were worshipped as gods and grew fat on their power. They discovered new forms and shapes and forgot where they’d come from.

Then one went to a garden and convinced some of the pink things to do nasty things and eat from trees and fornicate and generally be as bad as the shades in the Nothing.

And the Something that had brought the Light went, “Oh, shit,” again and threw up its hands and ran away to find somewhere else to play.

JASON H. JONES graduated from Purdue University with a degree in Computer Information Systems. His first love was writing and he’s toiled away for years at his art. During the day he’s a mild-mannered IT Manager and at night he puts on the cape and cowl and hunches over the keyboard to write.

He is the author of The Chronicles of Billy Mann (SLASH and The Hunger), an engaging series about a sociopathic serial killer. Trailer Park Zombies marks his third foray into novel writing and Jason feels that this is his best effort to date. To keep track of Jason or find out more information you can visit his website at: www.jason-jones.net

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or were used

fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or locals

or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Trailer Park Zombies

All rights reserved © 2009 by Jason H. Jones

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form, without the prior written permission of the author

For information, address:

jason@jason-jones.net

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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Jones Jason H. Trailer Park Zombies