Uncle Gary's Campfire Stories: Bayou Zombie Werewolves

by Visada, J. L. M.

  “You are not really listening to anything I am saying at all are you.” Damien questioned.

  Lula Mae came to a stop in front of Damien and asked, “Do you think that Master will walk me down the aisle? Papa was supposed to, but he’s dead now.”

  “Jailbait, do not make me taze you.” Damien said as his pronged tazer extended out in warning.

  Lula Mae started skipping around Damien again, “Damien and Lula sitting in a tree K-I-S-S”

  *ZAP*

  “Ouch! That really hurt.” Lula Mae cried as she picked herself up off the ground. There was a large hole in her leg where the tazer’s silver hit her. She hopped to the side of Damien and kissed him on the cheek, “It’s okay though. Mamma says we always hurt the ones we love.” Then she started skipping down the street singing again, “Damien and Lula sitting in a tree…”

  “Beans, pterodactyl, frankfurter, motorcycle, George Bush, underwear, monkeys.” Damien was so angry that he kept trying to drive hit the girl with his tazer again, but she was smart enough to keep dodging the silver prong. She only infuriated him even more when she kept outmaneuvering him to give the young man kisses on the cheek.

  Danior shook his head and turned back to the other handicapped teens in the room. They were all going to be useful for his cause. Tonight they’d go hunting. For Danior’s plan to work they needed many more people, and he was going to use the unseen to do it. Nobody really paid attention to the handicapped. Sure they watched them walk, or in some cases roll by. People only took a passing interest in the handicapped. They only watched closely enough to avoid any real contact, and if they did meet then most people tried to find a way to get out of the conversation as politely and quickly as possible. Most people saw braces, or a wheelchair, but they didn’t actually see the person in the braces and wheelchair. If you don’t really see them, then you don’t really see what they’re doing either. That meant he could use them to walk right up into museums and other places. Then when they started changing, hardly anyone would really notice. They might even just assume it was part of their disability.

  The children were going to be just as useful. When Lula Mae brought the kids back, then Danior could change them all. The kids could get to their parents. Parents could get their friends and family. It would spread like wildfire. That’s why he wanted the worst part of town. The chaos would be covered up by the people just assuming it was simply another day in the Central City district of New Orleans.

  Danior left them all to clean. He went back into Earvin and Cathy’s bedroom. There was a recliner in the corner that the old woman must have used to rest in while watching her husband. Danior flopped down into it and found the softness very comforting. For most of his life he’d been confined to a cell without anything but a cement floor to sleep on. So whenever he sat down in a chair he thought of it as a real treat. Danior leaned into the soft cushions, and then screamed when the chair reclined.

  Johanna ran into the room, “Master? Are you okay.”

  He hadn’t expected the chair to do that, and now that he realized nothing was wrong he felt incredibly silly. He looked at the woman and said sheepishly, “I’m still learning. Some of your things…I’m not prepared for.”

  Johanna walked closer, “Is there anything I can help with?”

  Danior thought about it and then said, “Go sit over there.” Johanna walked over and sat against the wall. She was nervous. The man across from her had a hair-trigger temper, and almost no patience whatsoever. He sat up in the chair and fixed his eyes on her. “Tell me everything you know about this world.”

  “Everything?” Johanna asked.

  Danior realized the massive task he had set before her, and then clarified, “The technology. Tell me everything you know about technology, and modern conveniences. Tell me about chairs like the one I’m sitting in, tell me about the little rectangles I keep seeing people talking to, music, politics, anything and everything that you think might be useful for me to know.”

  “I’ll explain what I can. The little rectangles? Do you mean like this?” Johanna pulled her cellphone out of her pocket. Danior took one look at it and nodded. “It’s a phone. I use it to call people like a regular phone. It also checks my e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, and…” It was clear by Danior’s expression that he didn’t understand anything about e-mails, Facebook, Twitter, or really anything. Johanna sighed and realized that she was in for a very long and tedious conversation.

  Danior listened to the woman, but as she talked he was focusing his attention on the new pack members being made at the McDonald’s. He stretched his consciousness out to find all the newly minted pack. Everyone that ordered since they left had become infected. He started calling to them. No matter where they were at that point, they dropped everything and started heading towards their master. Cars driving down the highway just slammed on their brakes and skidded into the first off ramp that let them turn back towards New Orleans. People in offices dropped their work and walked out.

  ***

  Emiline Watson was washing her baby when she felt the call. It terrified her when her body just turned away from the sink and her son Connor. Emiline tried to pick the infant up out of the water, but her body was already turning for the door. She even strained in an effort to shut off the water, but her arms refused to reach out. Instead she walked towards the front door. Her whole body a picture of calm, but inside she was screaming as she heard her baby’s cries swallowed up by the rising water.

  ***

  Paulie LeBeau was trying to load a car into his crusher at the junkyard when he got the call. He was driving the forklift with a car loaded when he just stepped off and walked away. Unfortunately for his partner Terri, the forklift kept going. Normally she helped the man line up the forklift before stepping out of the way. Paulie didn’t drive so well after his stroke, but with her help he could still do his job. It would have gone even faster if she just crushed the cars herself, but Paulie owned the junkyard, and his favorite part was crushing the cars so he wasn’t about to give it up.

  “Okay stop…stop…STOP…PAULIE STOP!” Terri screamed as the forklift kept coming. The woman’s leathery skin stretched into a mask of terror as she realized the forklift wasn’t going to stop. If she’d have had time to think about it, Terri might have just ducked under the car and ran around the forklift. What she did instead was back all the way into the crusher. The forklift kept coming. It was about to squish her against the back plate when she dropped flat to her stomach. The forklift smashed against the crusher. The car was just inches over Terri. She could see out from under the car, but she didn’t have nearly enough room to crawl out. The forklift’s wheels kept turning as it kept trying to drive through the crusher. The crusher didn’t move, but it the initial impact shook the loose wiring that controlled the hydraulics. The wires hit one another and sparked, and the hydraulic press began descending. “PAULIE! PAULIE HELP! SOMEONE! ANYONE PLEASE!” Terri screamed as the hydraulic lowered onto the car and began pressing it down. The forklift prongs were forced down as the press increased pressure. Metal squealed, and the forklift’s rear wheels lifted up under the pressure. The tip of the prongs pressed to the bottom of the crusher. The steel prongs came to a stop at a slant.

  Terri heard the metal above her screaming as it deformed under the press. She stuck her hand out through the tiny crack of space in hopes that someone might see her. “HELP ME PLEASE!” She screamed and cried as the press kept crushing the car above her. Eventually the car started to press through between the prongs. She slid herself as close to the front of the crusher as she could. She tried to press herself through the tiny crack of space.

  The hydraulic press on the crusher kept lowering. The steel prongs on the forklift began to give. Terri felt it begin to press down onto her. The steel car lowered down on her outstretched arm. She felt the pressure, and tried to pull her arm back, but it was already pinned between the steel of the car and the cement of the ground. The car kept pressing down, and Terri
screamed, “Someone…anyone…PLEASE!”

  “Hello?” A voice answered

  “Oh thank God…please turn off the machine. I’m about to be crushed alive.” Terri pleaded as the car was starting to crush down onto her body.

  “Well we wouldn’t want that.” The man’s voice was strangely chipper, and as much as the woman wanted to yell at him about it…she wanted to survive even more.

  “There’s a button on the side of the crusher that retracts the hydraulics.”

  “This red one?” The man asked.

  “YES!” Terri screamed as the oil pan started to push against her back.

  “Found it!” The man said in a sing-song type of voice. Suddenly the crusher stopped pressing down onto the car and started retracting.

  “Oh thank you! Thank you! I thought I was a goner. Now can you go to the forklift and raise the car up so I can crawl out?” Terri begged.

  “Okee Dokee! Say…what’s your name?” The man asked. Terri peered up through the crack between the car and the cement. She could see black leather dress shoes moving briskly across the ground. It looked like the man was wearing some type of robe, but she couldn’t tell.

  “Terri…Terri Hancock.”

  The man hopped into the forklift. “Nice to meet you on this fine day, my name is Lankester Merrin, but most people just call me Bubby. So have you worked here long?”

  “Listen…I don’t want to be rude, but can we get me out of here first?”

  The forklift’s prongs groaned as Bubby tried to move the forklift back. They prongs were lower than the cement and already bent a little from the crusher so they caught on the cement and kept the forklift from moving, “Well certainly. Now just give me a moment to figure out how to get the darn thing to go up. It’s been years since I drove one of these.”

  Terri sighed in relief, “Oh thank God. I was worried I’d get accidently crushed trying to explain the controls.”

  Lankester laughed as he raised the car just enough for her to start crawling out. “Oh I don’t think that you need to worry about any accidents. I mean sure it’s been awhile, but I drove one of these in a warehouse while I was paying my way through seminary. I’m pretty sure I remember how to do it.”

  “You’re a pastor? What’s a pastor doing in a junkyard?” Terri asked.

  “Believe it or not, I was hungry.” Bubby answered.

  “You’re hungry so you came to a junkyard?”

  Bubby laughed, “My car broke down on the way, but everything still worked out. I guess you could say God works in mysterious ways.”

  “Damn right…well, if you get me out of here I promise to take you out and get you the biggest steak on the menu. I still can’t believe Paulie just left like that.” Terri laughed with relief as she started crawling out from under the car.

  “Oh I don’t think I’ll need to go to any fancy steakhouse. I’m sure I can find something to eat right here.” Bubby laughed, then he seemed to take on a more pastoral tone, “I’m sure he had his reasons.” Bubby said. “We should always try to forgive our enemies, and those that do us wrong like Jesus said.”

  Terri rolled her eyes, “Yeah...I’m sure I’ll forgive him later, but at least let me be angry at him right now.” She was almost out of the crusher. Everything from the waist up was out, and she just needed to slide the rest of the way so that she’d be free. That’s when Bubby started lowering the car again. “Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Nobody appreciates potty mouth.” Bubby said sternly.

  The car came down, and crushed her hips and legs. Terri was pinned. The added pressure pushed blood up and out of her nose and mouth like she was a toothpaste tube. “Get this fucking thing off me!”

  Bubby slipped back out of the forklift, “But why would I do that now that I’ve got you right where I want you?” He walked over to the woman and stared down. She had leathery skin, hair dyed blonde to hide how gray it is. She vomited blood and moaned. Her pelvis and legs were crushed under the cars weight. The pastor knelt down. Terri grabbed weakly at his vestments. She tried to beg for her life, but blood just sputtered out. Bubby grabbed her hair and pulled it back to lift her upper half as far off the cement as possible. Then he stood up, put his shiny leather shoe on the back of her neck, and jumped into the air so that when he came down all his weight would be driven into the back of her neck. There was a heavy crunch as her front teeth, nose, and cheekbones slammed into the pavement. Blood poured out of her face and began forming a puddle as Bubby lifted her head up to do it again. Another sickening crunch echoed through the junkyard as both orbital bones of her eyes shattered. Blood splattered in all directions as her face splashed into the puddle. Her arms flailed weakly as Bubby raised her up for a third time. This time it was just a meaty thump. There weren’t any bones really left to break in her face. Bubby began stomping on the woman’s neck until the spine finally snapped. Then he reached down and tore the head off.

  Bubby walked back into the main office of the junkyard and set the head down on the table. He pulled up a chair. “Thank you Lord for this meal I’m about to receive.” He then turned the head over so that the eyes were facing up and the crown of the head faced back to the pastor. Bubby jammed his index and middle finger into Terri’s eyes. Both eyes ruptured, and a clear liquid ran out as his fingers dug deeper. The clear liquid was replaced by blood as curled his fingers back towards the inside of Terri’s skull. Then he gave one sudden yank. The bones from the shattered eye sockets and forehead tore away. He kept pulling. The flesh ripped and split as the top of the skull peeled back like a hardboiled egg.

  “Aww…that’s it? I didn’t know I was getting the cheap knockoff diet version.” Bubby grumbled as he pulled out the much smaller than expected brain. Instead of a healthy brain, Bubby was holding a sickly shriveled brain pitted and destroyed by years of drug abuse. “This thing is hardly worth eating.” Then he sighed, “Still be thankful for what the good Lord gives us…I guess.” The pastor started eating, and then looked up at the sky, “Next time…maybe someone with a nice juicy brain? This one is kind of stringy, and puny.”

  ***

  In the next few hours they all came. First Lula Mae and Damien brought the children. Danior was careful with how he infected each of them. A quick scratch with a claw was enough to spread the infection without startling the kids. Then he sent them out to find their parents. As it became evening, the infected from the McDonalds started arriving in cars. He gave them different tasks. The attractive men and women were supposed to lure people somewhere to spread their infection. The less attractive men were to find prostitutes, or go find people alone and defenseless. Anyone that had family nearby was expected to go to them first for the infection. The unattractive or otherwise undesirable zombie werewolves were to stick to the dark alleys and prey on the weak. The rule was simple. Everyone was required to infect at least two humans for every one they killed and ate. Jimbo arrived just as the sun was setting. His leg wound was finally healed.

  “What do you want me to do?” Jimbo asked.

  “Stay to the shadows. Don’t draw attention to yourself, but bring me more people.” Danior commanded.

  Jimbo nodded and wandered out the front door.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Leon stared at the front of the destroyed Livingston Parish police station. “You just know somewhere out there some news agency is gonna blame this all on us when they find out?” The pudgy, balding Secret Service agent asked in frustration as he snapped pictures with his camera phone for the main office. He was one day from retirement, and the last thing he wanted was to have twenty-five years of hard work flushed down the toilet because someone needed a scapegoat.

  “Fuck them!” Dave answered. “This isn’t on us. This is on the locals who were probably too busy kissing their sisters to stop whatever happened.”

  The two Secret Service agents just stood there staring at the burnt out skeleton of the fire engine, and then the destroyed building, and th
en the fire engine again. The two men were a study in contrasts. Leon was an older, chubbier, balding man readying for retirement. He was looking forward to spending the rest of his life growing old with his wife of seventeen years. Dave was still a new agent for the Secret Service. When asked about why he left Detroit S.W.A.T. to join the Secret Service, Dave usually said he was tired of chasing gangbangers from one crack house to another. The truth was a lot closer to the fact that his overly literal interpretation of duties, and his extremely bureaucratic approach coupled with his verbally abusive tone towards anyone who wasn’t his superior finally rubbed his peers the wrong way to the point they were starting to fantasize about “accidently” discharging their firearms into the back of Dave’s skull.

  Dave’s lieutenant had to eventually put the man on desk duty when the rest of his S.W.A.T. team started to let him go into the houses alone. Dave realized he’d never move up the command chain sitting on a desk so he worked hard to build his resume by working cold cases in his free time. He even went back to college. Unlike Leon, Dave was muscular, fit, with perfectly quaffed hair, and no gravy stains hidden by his tie. Dave was almost insanely driven. He had a five-year plan, a ten-year plan, a twenty-year plan, and if you asked him what he was going to be doing June 22nd eight years from now…he wouldn’t be joking when he said he needed to consult his calendar. His supervisors loved the always prompt, always professional Dave. His coworkers weren’t so glowing in their opinions. They nicknamed him “Weaselly Wesker”, and there were some of the people in the department that didn’t even know his real name was Dave Wesker, they just called him “The Weasel”. After two years the only man willing to work with Dave was the soon to be retiring Leon, and he was only willing to do it if Dave handled the paperwork.

  Both men walked inside. “Hello?” Leon asked nervously. “Jesus…what do you think happened here?”

  “Our report is that a Coonass Mullins made a threat against the president and then suggested he’d like the president’s wife to perform oral sex on him.” Dave answered almost mechanically.