Valley of Death & Zombies

by William Bebb

  “Hey now, Billy boy, why don't you show that dog your toys in your room?” The old man asked, gently rubbing the left side of his chest.

  Billy got up with his box of animal crackers and trotted down the hall with Boris following, sniffing the floor to see if any animal crackers had escaped the box. Josey watched as they went to his room.

  “Thanks for what you said. He's a good boy and I'd die to protect him, but when he suggested wandering out of the valley to make a phone call I felt my heart skip a few beats.” The old man said, still lightly rubbing his sunken chest. “You want another beer?”

  “No thanks, but I'm curious why your mailman didn’t notice anything when he dropped off the mail down here? I'll grant you that I've been in post offices where the workers seemed about as intelligent and moved about as fast as zombies, but I just don't get it.” Josey said, staring out the window.

  “Son, we haven't had mail delivery down here since that horny bastard Clinton was president. We have to pick up mail in town, at the post office. A buddy of mine, Craig Hotchkiss, comes down to visit maybe twice a month and we go to town and get groceries and the mail.” he looked at the young man and continued “Before you ask, he was down here just last Wednesday so I don't think he'll be coming by anytime too soon.”

  “If you just went to the grocery store why are you almost out of food?” Josey asked, looking at the few cans of food, sitting on the counter next to the stove. There were nine cans left, five Ravioli and the rest were heavily salted pork products.

  “Refrigerator was stuffed to the gills, but after four days with no electricity the food in there's all rotten. Even with the refrigerator door shut it stinks to high heaven. I ate until I thought I'd burst Friday before the food could go bad. Billy and Maria had ice cream for breakfast and lunch, but by afternoon the food started smelling funky. If we ever get out of this mess I'm going to need a new refrigerator, and that's for sure.” The old man said.

  Josey looked back at him “I'm still confused about that girl you mentioned, Maria. Where is she and her brother?”

  “Miguel left after dark Friday. He planned to sneak up and out the valley along the road. Then flag down a car and get some help out here, but-”

  Josey picked up the story “Something must have happened to him.” The old man nodded and a tear trickled down his face. “He was one the zombies I shot as you were making your way over here. At least, it sure looked like him.”

  He wiped his wrinkled face with his handkerchief and blew his nose. After he lit a cigarette he slid the pack over to Josey.

  Josey held one and was about to light it when he asked “And the girl?”

  The old man looked out the window, yawned hugely, and began to speak.

  “Maria begged Miguel not to go. He promised it would be okay and left as she sat, cried, and prayed for him. I think I heard a brief yell, about five minutes after he'd left, and I hoped it was just a coyote or something. Billy and Maria played games Saturday and most of Sunday, but gradually she became more and more quiet. She and I never talked about her brother and why no help had come.” He shook his head and looked at his cigarette for a moment before continuing.

  “She woke me up late last night while it was still dark out and said she was going to try and sneak up to Remlap’s house, on the other side of the trailer park, and get help. I argued with her for a few minutes until she finally said “Thank you and may God Bless you and Billy, but I'm going.” and left. She's a brave girl, but I think she was nuts to try it. Miguel at least had the right direction in mind, up the road out of this damned valley of death or undeath and get help. Hell, even if she made it up there I don't know what Phyliss Remlap could do to help. She's even older than me, I think.”

  He ground out the cigarette's remains in the glass ashtray that had a picture of the Frontier Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas painted on it. Leaning back in the chair, he yawned looking exhausted as his eyelids slid down.

  “So there’s you, Billy, Mrs. Remlap, Maria, and me? Everyone else down here is dead or a zombie?”

  The colonel opened his eyes and looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought about him until you just asked, but there could be one other person still alive. The only problem is he’s been crazy since he moved in sometime in the late 80's. His name is Charlie Farro, but I doubt he’d be much help. He’s sort of a cross between a hermit and a survivalist nut. I've spoken to him a few times, and I think he's fried every brain cell he ever had. He even tried to sell me marijuana a few times.” He chuckled shaking his head, “His memory must be shot to Hell. Every time I see him he always asks if I need any pot. I always say no, but he keeps asking.”

  “Where does he live?” Josey asked, leaning forward.

  “I haven’t seen him since last Christmas. He has a trailer hidden down a dirt road that runs near Remlap’s house. I've seen him riding one of those scooter things. I don't know what it is exactly, but he usually trades marijuana with the Mexicans for rides into town or favors. Of course, even if he’s not a zombie, I wouldn’t trust him or put much hope in him as a source of help. He’s been growing and smoking marijuana since he came back from the war and I think most of his brain cells are working about as well as our screamer friends outside. Plus he seems pretty paranoid, so he might be dangerous to approach anyway.” The old man said, yawning hugely and leaning his head back against the wall.

  “Go catch a nap. I'll keep an eye on Billy.” He said, staring out the window with the binoculars.

  “I might just do that, thanks Josey.” The old man said, holding the table with one hand and his cane in the other. Grunting softly, he leaned on his cane and hobbled toward the hallway.

  “No problem, sir.” Josey said, staring at his abandoned truck sitting in the distance.

  After reading the notebook of observations on the habits of the undead he had even greater respect for the old man. He sipped some water and stared at the truck for a long time, trying to think of a way out of this mess. The kitty cat clock on the wall, with the swinging pendulum tail, made a soothing ticking sound as he kept watch. Time seemed to slow down as he stared at nothing in particular, then stop altogether.

  Issac hummed the theme song to the A-Team, TV show, as they started down the road into the valley. With as growing indefinable sense of unease he was surprised to hear himself reciting the Twenty Third Psalm, as they made a turn on the curving road that led down into the trailer park. He had just finished the line, Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me, when he heard a distant scream from somewhere below, and said “Hey Jeremiah hold up.” and pulled his bike to the side of the dusty road.

  He looked down the hillside, as Jeremiah came over and asked “What's up?”

  “Did you hear something just a few seconds ago? Might have sounded like a scream?” Issac asked, looking back up the road then down at the valley, while licking his lips.

  “Nope, but it could have easily been a coyote or something right?”

  “I grew up in New Hampshire. How would I know what a coyote sounds like?” Issac asked, opening his backpack and sipping some water from a plastic bottle.

  “You never watched cowboy movies growing up? No wonder you're so freaked out. I watched the complete John Wayne collection with my dad growing up. Coyotes sound a lot like a scream sometimes and I bet this valley probably has a pack of them down there.”

  Issac looked doubtful.

  “Here watch this, I'll show you.” Jeremiah said, getting off his bike and clearing his throat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “If it's coyotes they'll howl back, guaranteed. Course, I haven't done a coyote call since I was a wilderness scout but I think it goes something like this.” Jeremiah said, tilting his head up and taking a deep breath then unleashing a long deep throaty howl that might have been a good impression of a coyote, but mostly it just sounded like a scream to Issac. Jeremiah coughed and smiled, at the end, listening to the ec
hoes from the valley below.

  Several screams echoed back across the valley in answer, and Jeremiah spread his arms.

  “See? It’s just coyotes or something like that. Have a little faith. You know who my dad named me after?”

  “I would think probably the Prophet Jeremiah from the Bible.” Issac said, putting his bottle of water in his backpack and climbing back on his bike.

  Jeremiah laughed. “Close, but no cigar. Actually I used to think that too until one day my dad told me the truth. He showed me a movie called Jeremiah Johnson, all about how a guy survives pretty much on his own in the wilderness. I remember watching it with him, before he died, and when the movie was over he asked me what I thought about it. I said it was pretty cool. Then he bent over and whispered so my mom wouldn't hear, I was thinking about this movie when I named you.”

  “Were you upset he named you after a movie?” Issac asked, as they slowly went down the road.

  “Nope. I was just glad he didn't name after something like Butch Cassidy or Rocky, another couple of movies he loved to watch with me. I always wondered what it would have been like growing up with the name Rocky. Probably would have gotten in a lot of fights.”

  They coasted to a stop, at the last turn going into the valley, and could see some cars that looked wrecked by the entrance. There didn't seem to be anyone around as they looked at the trailers.

  “Maybe they're all inside watching TV, with the air conditioner on.” Jeremiah said, looking at the birds scattered around the park. “Are those vultures?” he asked, pointing at some big birds by one of the trailers.

  “We don't have vultures in New Hampshire either. Lots of pigeons, but I'm pretty sure I never saw a vulture there.” Issac said, turning around looking at the long steep road they had just come down.

  “Still got that bad feeling, don't you? I know I sure do. This place feels wrong. Like I said earlier it feels like a ghost town or something. I know this will sound crazy, but I'm more than a little scared and I'm not ashamed to admit it.” Jeremiah said.

  “Okay, I've got a plan. You stay here and I'll ride down and see if anyone's home. If there's any trouble you can-” He broke off his sentence unable to think of what his young friend could do if there was trouble.

  “No. I'm coming too, but I'm just saying we should go slow and quiet before we announce ourselves. Not sneaking.” He quickly said, as Issac looked shocked. “Just go in and see if everything is alright before we start shouting howdy.”

  “Don't be scared Jeremiah. We are on a mission to spread the good word and I know whatever happens is God's will. We rode through the projects of Detroit last fall, and managed not to get shot or robbed. We just need to keep the faith and God will see us through anything. As to shouting howdy, or sneaking, we'll just have to play it by ear.” And with that Issac started his bike rolling down hill, looking for any people.

  Jeremiah followed, yet didn't feel very much like the brave mountain man that he was named after. He also didn't feel like a charismatic A Team member. In truth he felt exactly like what he was, a scared teenager.

  Issac rode fast between the two wrecked cars and noticed the downed utility pole as he continued toward a few trailers to his left. He braked to a stop when he saw a blood splattered white sheet on a picnic table, and turned to Jeremiah with a finger raised to his lips. They stared, wide eyed, at the debris of liquor bottles and something they couldn't identify. It vaguely looked like a lump of meat being picked at by several big birds, that they both had no doubt were indeed vultures. The stillness was shattered by the creak of one of the car doors they had just ridden past. They both turned to look at the fattest man either of them had ever seen and he was naked, except for a pair of almost neon pink underwear, but that wasn't what made them both gasp. The fat man had a big black bird on top of his bloody head yanking on his torn scalp.

  “Um, Issac what do we-” Jeremiahs question died on his lips as he heard noises coming from the trailer in front of them and saw several bloody men stumble down the stairs walking, almost trotting, toward them.

  “Follow me.” Issac said, turning his bike toward the old house at the far end of the park. “Don't look back, just ride, damn it.” He didn't turn to see if Jeremiah followed because within seconds he had passed him. They rode hard and fast as screams filled the air that neither of them any longer believed belonged to coyotes.

  The door to the trailer burst open with a tremendous crash and several zombies ran in, all snarling, bloody and screaming. Josey reached for his crowbar, but it was gone from where he had put it. They apparently didn't notice him sitting at the kitchen table and were chasing Boris, who had awoke from where he'd been sleeping fitfully by the front door. The dog yelped and ran down the narrow hallway to the back of the trailer, where the old man and boy were. He quickly looked around and picked up a mop leaning against the wall and ran after them, slamming the front door shut again as he went by.

  Billy was screaming in the first room and he ran in. They had torn one of his little arms off and were eating the boy as he screamed and cried. Josey gripped the wooden mop handle tightly and hit the nearest ghoulish man who smelled faintly of vomit. But the mop stick shattered into several small pieces on impact. He grabbed the nearest man and tried to pull him off the convulsing boy on the bed, but he was too strong to pull away and kept biting and tearing at Billy. Josey stared at Billy as the boy's eyes turned black. The boy stopped screaming as he fell to the floor and began to grunt and shake. Hearing Boris barking, further back in the trailer, he turned and ran down the hall. The hallway seemed to tilt as he ran toward the back bedroom.

  “Run Josey! Save Billy and get out!” The old man screamed, as several ghouls ripped and bit at his body. The dog’s blood covered body was held down just beyond the doorway. Boris was being eaten alive. Josey saw one of his front legs was gone as he thrashed and writhed, biting back at the man who was still chewing on his stomach. The zombies, that had been attacking the old man, turned and looked at Josey and howled.

  It's all so hopeless- Josey thought, as he turned and ran. The hallway seemed to tilt more and shake as he heard screams coming from behind him. The front room was a shamble of overturned furniture, blood was splattered everywhere making the floor sticky, and his boots were becoming harder to move as he tried to run for the door. There was no one else in the room, except Billy. The boy stood in front of the, once again, open front door.

  Billy was missing an arm, entrails hung out of his ripped open stomach, and his eyes were vacant yet staring at him. His mouth was open wide exposing tiny brilliant white teeth glistening in the shadowy room. Billy screamed and charged. The little boy’s intestines trailed along as he seemed to fly at him. Josey screamed, as he raised his hands to ward off the small ghoul, and Billy slammed him against the wall. The boy bit and clawed with his remaining hand and sharp little teeth, biting at his arm, as he screamed on the floor. “No! God no!”

  Josey yelped and his whole body shook in terror when he felt something tugging on his sleeve. He pulled his arm away with a scream and started to punch whoever it was, until he saw it was Billy looking up at him with wide shocked eyes. Josey gasped for air while his whole body shook uncontrollably. Looking past the boy, he saw the dinette chair still propped against the front door and Boris resting on the rug looked up bleary eyed from his interrupted nap. Josey felt his heart pounding in his chest, like a hummingbirds wings, as he wiped his eyes.

  “Please don't sneak up on me like that, kid.” he said, with a tremble in his voice.

  Billy smiled nervously and asked if he could open a can of ravioli and help with dinner.

  Nodding weakly, he took the can and saw that night had fallen outside the window. He didn't notice that his cell phone was no longer sitting on the table as he stood and walked unsteadily to the stove.

  “It runs on propane, so we can heat it up.” Billy explained, as Josey got the can open and dumped the contents into a small pan on the stove. He was still shaking
, as he leaned against the wall by the stove, and stared around the trailer with unbelieving but grateful eyes.

  “Did you have a bad dream?” Billy asked as he leaned over the stove, stirring the ravioli.

  “Uh yeah, you could say that.” He said, still breathing hard.

  “How long are we going to just sit here?” Jeremiah asked, looking around the abandoned trailer they were hiding in. The sun had gone down hours earlier and he was badly bored. He shined his flashlight up at the faded black velvet painting of Elvis Presley again. In the picture, the king of rock and roll had a benevolent look on his face and a halo around his head while dozens of angels flew around him holding guitars in their hands. The rest of the living room they had been staying in, was equally sophisticated. A large wooden console TV sat in the corner of the dark room, a big VCR sat on it, with mostly animated kids movies scattered on top.

  “I'm thinking and don't you dare shine that light on any windows.” Issac said, sitting in the corner on a faded blue bean bag chair.

  “Don't worry, I'm being careful. I'm just checking things out to see if they might have left anything we could use as weapons. I don't think anyone has lived here for a long time.” Jeremiah said, walking over long ago discarded fast food bags and cups into the kitchen.

  The kitchen had a refrigerator with a missing door and a horribly stained coffee maker but no pot. In the cupboards, he found some cans of New Coke and boxes of macaroni and cheese that had been pillaged by rats and roaches since they were abandoned. He picked up a can of New Coke, but the liquid must have evaporated because it felt empty. There was an oak table on it's side, near the stove. Jeremiah used a screwdriver, he kept in his backpack, to unscrew it. After a few minutes, he held the heavy piece of wood and smiled as he walked back past Issac who was still sulking in the bean bag chair.