Valley of Death, Zombie Trailer Park
Page 4
The feeling never changed with age. A fluttering swirly sickness filled his stomach and his throat felt like it was constricting to a point where it was nearly impossible to breathe. Josey was not the most tenderhearted man, but knew he had to go back to see that the jackrabbit was dead and not just laying in the road suffering. He reached for his crowbar and climbed out of the truck cab. The heavy four foot long rusty rod of metal was slightly moist from the condensation in the early morning air.
He walked back gripping it tightly in both hands. His throat constricted tighter with every step.
The smell of the giant septic tank attached to the back of the truck wasn't as bad as it would be in a few hours, once the New Mexico sun began cooking the contents. The truck held a large silver colored metal storage tank painted on both sides with a large cartoon skunk sniffing a bouquet of roses.
Some people back at the office referred to the giant septic tank draining trucks as 'honey wagons' but he never did. To Josey, it seemed pointlessly stupid. Draining septic tanks wasn't his first career choice but it was a job. A job he didn't really mind doing usually, and yet as he walked back to check on the jackrabbit he wondered how his life ever came to this point.
Standing in the middle of nowhere on a deserted road listening to the septic tank contents sloshing around from the sudden unexpected stop, Josey sighed. He didn't bother holding his breath as he continued back to the rear of the truck. Of course, he rarely noticed the aroma anyway. His sense of smell was so bad that he usually had to tell by other people’s expressions when he needed a shower. It was just another perk of having driven a septic tank truck for the last few years.
In the pale predawn, Josey saw the lump of fur just a few yards behind the truck. He swallowed hard and walked slowly closer. His hands shook as a part of his mind feared that the animal might leap up and bite him, giving him some nasty disease (maybe even rabies). He gripped the cold crowbar tightly but was ready to run back to the cab of his truck should it attack.
In the dim red glow of the taillights and the pale predawn it was hard for him to see the body very well.
He reached out to poke the furry lump with the crowbar before remembering the small flashlight tucked inside his coveralls pocket. Backing up a step, he pulled it out and clicked it on.
The white light shined on the cold black dusty asphalt. It illuminated a small shockingly bright red stream of blood flowing from the furry lump.
But is it still alive? He wondered, following the trail of blood with the beam of light until it showed a mass of glistening pink intestines and fur.
He felt his stomach bucking as his breakfast shot out his mouth. His whole body shuddered and shook as he vomited uncontrollably for several agonizing seconds. He turned off the flashlight while continuing to lose his breakfast. Some things, like vomiting, are best done in darkness. At least it's not as bad as throwing up drunk, he thought.