Valley of Death, Zombie Trailer Park

by William Bebb

Sweat dripped into his eyes as Billy was stretched out on the rocky and dusty ground near the well. A sharp jagged thing was painfully poking his stomach but the boy stubbornly refused to release his grip on the leg of the terrified dog.

  Boris whimpered pitifully as its body swayed over the pit.

  He's going to fall into this dumb well. This is all my fault, Billy realized. After pulling with all his strength to lift the dog to safety, he only succeeded in straining his back and felt the dog's fur growing more slippery as he tried to hold on tighter.

  The one armed man crawled closer and seized one of Billy's boots.

  Shrieking, the boy pulled his legs up at the knee with his feet shaking in the air. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the man had somehow gotten tangled in the rusty chain that he'd fallen over.

  The zombie couldn't crawl forward any closer, but Billy would never leave Boris. He was his friend. Friends don't run away when they need help, and Boris needs me. But what can I do? I can't hang on forever and he's too heavy to pull up.

  He looked down into the gloom of the well and saw the dog's chocolate brown eyes peering back from the gloom.

  The dog clawed and scrabbled at the side of the well trying to find a way to climb out. The walls of the well offered no place for the dog to get any traction and as he struggled Billy felt his leg sliding through his hands.

  “Stop, Boris! Stop!” he shouted to the terrified dog. “You’re going to fall if you don't hold still.”

  The dog stretched his neck, licked Billy's hand, and softly howled. The echoes coming from the well made it sound like a pack of dogs were in trouble.

  Feeling helpless and unable to think of any way to pull out his four legged friend, the boy blinked back tears and stubbornly held on tighter.

  The early morning sun peeked further over the rim of the valley and as Billy looked up at it he tried something that had never worked before in his life. It hadn't worked on spelling or math tests and never seemed to help with anything else, but he was out of any better ideas. Looking at the sun slowly rising over the rim of the valley, the boy cleared his throat and softly spoke. “God? It's me, Billy. I know you're busy with a lot of stuff, but we're in a little trouble. Well, actually, we're a lot of trouble. I know I haven't prayed as much as I should have and I'm sorry about that.” Boris' leg slipped in his hands and made the last part come out more as a shout than a prayer, but Billy couldn't help yelling, “Help us! PLEASE!”

  He didn't consider the wisdom of shouting in a place crawling with apparently crazy people, plus probably just as many undead, as his shouted voice echoed back but felt better regardless. Well, most of him felt better anyway. He was stretched out on the dirt in a straight line with his arms reaching down into the well where he clung to the terrified dog’s leg. Billy's legs were aching from having them up in the air so that the one armed man couldn't grab him again.

  Sweat dripped into his eyes and he felt more tired by the second hoping for someone to rescue them. He looked up at the brightening sky for any sign of angels, but the only things he saw flying were big black carrion birds. It was the most depressing and hopeless situation Billy had ever been in. Some of his left leg muscles suffered a spasm before it fell back to the ground. Billy felt the man nearly instantaneously grab his boot tightly and pull on it.

  He yelled in terror as the man behind him yanked on his boot. Feeling himself being dragged backward he kicked without thinking, using his other boot to break the man's grip. When his feet were free again Billy was shocked to realize the man had not only pulled him a few inches, but had also pulled the dog along with him.

  An idea struck him and he didn't like it.

  Billy held his legs up at the knees as the man continued to reach for him. Looking at the sky, to offer one last chance for an angel to appear, he felt his skin grow clammy as goose bumps broke out all over. If this doesn't work, I'll be worse than dead. What's it like being a zombie? Will it hurt? I can't do it. I just can't. Oh God! Come on Billy, be a man and just do it! His mind swirled in a dizzying spiral as he wondered if his idea was going to work and if he even had the guts to try it.

  He heard the chain the zombie was tangled in clinking and whispered to Boris, “Wish me luck, buddy.” He then dropped back one of his booted feet for the man to grab again.

  The undead man instantly clutched the boy's boot tight and pulled on it.

  Billy felt his shirt slide up on the ground as rocks and dirt scratched his stomach. He felt tears leaking out of his eyes mixing with sweat but only stubbornly held on tighter to the dog. Billy wanted to kick back with his other leg more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life but somehow managed to hold the impulse off by looking down as the dog's head and leg rose slowly from the well.

  If the man had both arms he could have had him in a matter of moments. But as it was, the unusual situation was like a confusing version of tug of war between gravity, a dog, a terrified crying boy (who was being used as the rope) and a one armed horror bent of killing the crying rope.