Valley of Death, Zombie Trailer Park

by William Bebb

“Did I hear Jerry Reed singing a minute ago?” Josey asked, seeing the colonel staring out the kitchen window toward the park's entrance. Rubbing his eyes, he crossed the living room to stand next to the old man.

  “Hell yes. It's got to be Phyllis Remlap. That crazy old woman is too tough to eat and they'd probably only get indigestion if they tried,” the colonel said, holding a big black flashlight in his hands. He aimed the beam of light toward the car that they could just make out through the early morning mist with its lone flickering headlight.

  He continued flicking the flashlight off and on as Josey asked, “Want me to go wake up Billy so we can all pile in her car when she gets here?” Deciding to go get the boy without waiting for an answer, he started limping back to the bedrooms.

  “Yes! The car's turning this way. She must have seen my light. Hurry and go get- uh aw shit! Well, fuck a duck!” The colonel swore.

  Josey wondered about the origins of such an odd expression, fuck a duck, and turned and to look out the kitchen window as the car came slowly closer with steam billowing out from under the hood.

  The old Chevy was bucking and the engine screeched as if it in were in agony as it slowed even more.

  Well, at least I can let Billy sleep, Josey thought while limping to the front door carrying his crowbar.