Trailer Park Zombies

by Jason H. Jones

  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 wonde
ring 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.