Valley of Death, Zombie Trailer Park

by William Bebb

  *****

  “How long are we going to just sit here?” Jeremiah asked as he looked around the abandoned trailer they were hiding in. The sun had gone down hours earlier and he was extremely 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'd been staying in was equally sophisticated and elegantly decorated. An ancient looking, large, dust covered, wooden console TV sat in the corner of the dark room. A big VCR sat atop it with mostly animated kids movies scattered nearby.

  “I'm thinking. And don't you dare shine that light on any windows,” Issac said, sitting in the corner on a dusty 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. He walked over several long ago discarded fast food bags and went into the kitchen.

  There was 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 long ago abandoned. He picked up a can of New Coke, but the liquid must have somehow evaporated because it felt empty even though it seemed unopened.

  There was an oak table on its side near the stove.

  Jeremiah used a screwdriver he kept in his backpack to unscrew one of the table legs. After a few minutes, he held the heavy piece of wood and smiled while walking back past Issac who was still sulking in the bean bag chair.

  “Nice club, Tarzan. Where are you going now?” Issac asked, looking up.

  “I'm not done checking. A club is a great weapon, but I'd rather find a shotgun or something,” Jeremiah said, knocking spider webs out of his way as he went slowly down the hallway toward the far end of the trailer. The floor felt mushy and unstable as he went. It made ominous creaking noises with each step.

  “Be careful,” Issac said, from the living room.

  “Yes mother,” Jeremiah answered, opening the first door on the left.

  He shined his light into the narrow bathroom and walked in. The water faucets turned when he tried them but nothing came out. There were dead roaches scattered around the floor and a skeleton of what looked like a rat near the toilet. The filthy bathtub was empty except for two plastic bottles of bubble bath and an old scrub brush.

  The next room down the hall took his breath away. It had obviously been a kid's room judging from the look of the posters hung on the walls and the race car shaped bed. But it was the type and number of dusty toys that made Jeremiah's eyes widen in disbelief.

  A three foot long plastic Millennium Falcon spaceship from Star Wars sat on a low table in the corner of the room. Unable to resist, he hurried over and stared at the dozens of plastic action figures scattered around the ship. It looked like the kid had almost a complete collection and he shook his head trying to imagine why anyone would have left it all in a rotting trailer.

  Jeremiah knew people who would pay good money for those kind of toys and reached down to pick up a Darth Vader action figure. He stared in fascination as he saw it had a telescoping light saber that retracted into his arm. Having never seen one like it before he came close to putting it in his backpack. But at the last second he shook his head and put it back where he'd found it before walking back to the door to the hall.

  He glanced back at the toys before closing the door and thought, maybe when everything is back to normal, I could come back and rescue the toys. Or would that be stealing?

  The last door in the hallway was locked.

  Opening his backpack, he searched for a screwdriver small enough to fit through the hole in the doorknob. But grunted in disgust when nothing was small enough to fit inside. The door seemed like one of those cheap hollow core types and he knew knocking it down would be easy, but his conscience was bothering him.

  As if it wasn’t bad enough we trespassed in here, now I want to smash in a door to see if there's something I can steal, he thought in disgust while returning the tools to his backpack.

  But before he could turn around and go back to the living room, several distant screams echoed outside in the dark.

  God, please forgive me, he prayed while turning and kicking open the locked door. There was a brief crack sound as the flimsy lock broke and the door slammed wide open.

  Walking inside, the first thing he noticed was the skeleton on the bed but a close second was the neon red hair on top of its head. A set of badly deteriorated curtains fluttered in the breeze coming in through the open windows, and he was careful to keep from shining the flashlight any wider than necessary.

  He went over to the bed and saw a piece of paper clutched in the skeletal fingers. Curiosity got the better of him and he carefully pulled it loose and unfolded it. The paper was brittle from years of exposure to the heat, yet at least after reading it Jeremiah understood why the kid had left all his toys. The letter was an official notification from New Mexico's Children Welfare Department, dated January 1986.

  Feeling like the worst kind of intruder, he read the letter which announced that due to a wide variety of reasons the dead woman's son would be removed from the home and placed in foster care until she could prove to the court that several problems had been remedied- Not the least of which was her addiction to the drug Heroin.

  He saw a few small glass vials on the nightstand, some needles, and the skeletal arm connected to the bony hand and fingers had been clutching the piece of paper. Around the skeletal upper arm there was a length of skinny rubber hose wrapped loosely around the bones. The red hair was just a wig and he was unable to help but feel bad for this family in general and the dead drug addicted mother in particular.

  He went to the closet, found a bed sheet that wasn't too rotten with age, and spread it over the skeleton.

  The only other thing he found in the closet was a plastic toy guitar with just one remaining string. He left it and wandered back to the living room feeling like he wanted to cry.

  Jeremiah sighed heavily and sat down on top of the big wooden console TV. He shut his eyes and tried not to think about the skeleton in the back bedroom. It seemed idiotic but he kept listening intently out of an unlikely fear it might get up and come traipsing down the hallway. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and asked, “You know what I think this is?”

  “Don't you dare say The Rapture. Please, just don't do it. I'm tired of arguing about it and what does it matter anyway? We're going to die here. And as if that weren't bad enough, I bet we won't even get to rest in peace. Jeremiah, my friend, you've had plenty of time to come to grips with this unfortunate situation. It's a zombie apocalypse.”

  “I wasn't going to say what's happening is The Rapture. You always do that, and it’s really annoying. You always try to guess what I'm thinking and it's getting gosh darned… annoying,” Jeremiah grumbled while looking outside through the trailer’s front window.

  “Well, if I'm that annoying, feel free to go trailer shopping and find your own place. Send me a postcard when you get settled in. Wish I could help with the moving only between my bad back and the chance of getting eaten by zombies I think I'll just sit here,” Issac said, reclining on the beanbag chair that had a big tear in its side. Little white pellets spilled out each time he moved.

  Jeremiah looked at his friend while slowly shaking his head. “I was going to say, I think this is a test. Maybe all of this is a kind of a test of our faith. Think about it for a second. We're both supposed to be men of God. We travel the country preaching the Good News. But outside this trailer the handiwork of the devil himself howls and walks about on shambling legs.

  We either believe in God and put our trust in him or we hide in here like cowards,” Jeremiah said angrily, while tight
ly clutching the wooden kitchen table leg he found.

  “A test of faith?” Issac asked, appearing doubtful. “So what are we supposed to do? Go outside and bash in their heads for God? Come on, Jeremiah, please be serious. If we go out there while those... monstrous things are on the prowl even you must know what will happen to us.”

  “Let me ask you this, Issac. Do you see anything Godly about those creatures out there? Do you think a zombie can be born again...? I mean yet again? Obviously, they've already been born again as nightmarish creatures. They are walking abominations. For God’s sake, they can't be saved. But there just might be people living around here in need of help- in real need of our help. Did you ever consider that?

  What if just a few trailers away there’s a group of trapped children? Terrified kids, or even just regular folk, could be out there praying that someone will come save them and yet what do we do? We just stay in here hiding. Who was it that just a few hours ago reminded me of the Good Samaritan story?! This might get me in trouble with the Lord, but I think you need to believe in what you preach or just shut up!” Jeremiah said, while his voice rose from a near whisper to a full blown angry shout at the end of his obviously heartfelt mini-sermon.

  Issac whispered worriedly, “Shush, calm down and be quiet. I agree with what you're saying. So, just calm down and be quiet. Let's think this thing through. I haven't seen any sign of other living people around here, have you? Of course not, because we're alone in this nightmare. If we just play it safe and wait for the cops to come we will both be okay.”

  “You can sit there hiding and thinking all night long if that's what you really believe God wants. Me? I'm going to be doing some serious praying. And this might shock you, Issac, but I won't be praying for the cops or someone else to come rescue us. No, I'm going to be praying for a sign. It doesn't have to be a huge flashing billboard with detailed instructions that spell out what to do. It doesn't have to be an angel carrying around a harp either. I'm going to be open to anything that could even remotely be considered a message from God. Those things prowling around outside are evil. You and I are supposed to be God's servants and willing to deal with real evil, even if they're zombies. I have faith that we can help anyone else trapped in this valley and, if need be, fight and overcome those undead terrors of the night, even if we pay the price with our lives,” Jeremiah said in a quiet but resolute tone of voice before sitting down with his back to the wall and bowed his head in prayer.

  Issac thought for a long time. He looked at his wristwatch to make certain it was still working and reluctantly had to agree with his friend. Thinking alone would not help them. He lowered his head in prayer and began by asking God to care for Daphne- the lady at the store they had both managed to anger without intending to. The men in the motor home that nearly ran them over were prayed for, as well as forgiven for almost killing them. Next, he gave thanks that his friend Jeremiah, as well as himself, were both still alive. Lastly, he prayed hard- harder than he ever before in his life. Not our will be done, Lord, but yours. Grant us a sign, oh Lord, so we may know and do your wishes.