Valley of Death & Zombies Page 24

  Billy sat cross-legged, by Boris's head, with his BB rifle across his legs. He stroked the dog and looked around, listening. The screamers all seemed far away and he felt strangely calm as he continued to pet Boris.

  “I've got to be the stupidest man alive. Going out, to find you two, without any water. And thirsty as I may be I don't think that well water would be very good to drink.” Josey grumbled, with his eyes closed as echoed snarls and growls came up from the well.

  Billy slipped off his backpack, reached in, pulled out a nearly full bottle of water and said “Catch.” tossing it to Josey.

  He caught the bottle, spun off the cap and started to drink, then paused. “Hey kid, you want some of this?”

  Billy shook his head and continued to stroke the dog's head softly. After finishing off the bottle he threw it in the well, where the splashes and snarls increased momentarily. He burped loudly and closed his eyes.

  “Just a few more minutes, then we'll get you home, okay kid?”

  Billy shrugged and said, “Whatever,” in a small quiet voice.

  Josey had never felt so tired in his life. Leaning back against the abandoned trailer, he tried to relax. He intended to rest for just a couple of minutes, when a welcome breeze came in from the west. It felt wonderful. As he felt the sweat cool and quickly evaporate from his skin, he sighed in utter contentment.

  Billy heard Josey breathing softly behind him, while he looked at Boris and again wished they'd never come out here. He laid his head on the dog’s chest and listened as the brave heart somehow miraculously continued to beat.

  A few minutes later a shadow, attached to an enormous man wearing bright neon pink underwear and nothing else, staggered it's way into the clearing. The man had been dead for over four days and could have claimed without argument the prize for fattest man, living or undead in the trailer park- Probably in all of Albuquerque New Mexico. The reason he could win such a dubious award was because before he had died, and come back from the dead, his driver’s license had a recorded weight of three hundred and fifty pounds which had only been about a hundred and thirty pounds short of the truth. In politically correct terminology: He was extremely large and rotund. But to everyone who knew him he was usually just called the fat fucker.

  His reanimated body's enzymes and various bacteria had been busy breaking down the cells, internal organs, and bodily fluids over the last several days. As a result, a growing mixture of various gases were trapped in his body making him swell up like a balloon. His head had also bloated and expanded so much that it resembled a rotten pumpkin, albeit one with long brown hair, that had been left to rot for a few weeks after Halloween.

  Wandering aimlessly, he fell over the rusty chain that surrounded the well. Had it been a week earlier he might, possibly, have had the coordination to avoid what happened next. He flipped over the chain, rolled to the lip of the well and tottered on the edge of the hole. The impact of his body hitting the ground, made a slight flatulence occur. It was a small sound, but the accompanying aroma was the worst thing Boris had ever smelled.

  The dog that seemed asleep, opened an eye and watched as the struggling undead wobbled near the well. The dead man's swollen belly was so immense he couldn't get his legs to reach the ground to stand up again. As the zombie's arms and legs moved slightly, Boris flicked his tail weakly and growled yet felt too tired to do anything more.

  Billy heard the growl and looked up at the exact moment another gust of wind, again from the west, blew the undead fat man in pink underwear onto the well. The fat zombie's body rolled around the sides of the well several times.

  The sight reminded the boy of basketball games, he'd seen, where the ball hits the rim and rolls around a few times before finally going in or out. He couldn't help laughing as the zombie eventually stopped rolling with it's body stuck like a cork stuck in a bottle, over the open well.

  Josey awoke instantly, stared at the zombie cork, and chuckled too. He slowly stood and slipped on his coat and picked up his sword.

  “Okay kid, break time's over. We better get moving.”

  Billy looked up as Josey stood and tested his bad leg carefully.

  “Aren't you going to stab him?” Billy asked, hopefully.

  “I don't think he's going anywhere. Besides he looks pretty pitiful, for a zombie, to me.” he said, and scooped up the dog again.

  Billy shook his head, pumped his BB rifle, and took aim. “Pitiful maybe, but I'm not leaving it here where it might get loose again.” he said and fired before Josey could say anything else.

  The resultant hole was tiny, where it hit him in the belly, and for a second it seemed nothing had happened. Then a sound like a giant balloon deflating filled the air. The sound made Billy want to laugh, but the hideous smell made him want to puke. He stood up coughing and chased after Josey who had already started limping away as fast as he could.

  “Couldn't leave well enough alone, could ya kid?”

  Billy only smiled, as the sound went on for a few more seconds followed by a distant splash.

  While waiting to hear back from someone on the radio, Captain Wyatt lifted a section of shingles as Thomas leaned into the hole to remove more debris. Maria coughed loudly and felt sleepy as she listened to the men digging down to her. Wyatt threw a section of shingles away from the hole, and didn't notice the bloody groping hand till it grabbed his shoe. He lost his balance and fell back onto the large plastic Santa Claus figure crushing it, but the hand held tightly onto his shoe. Thomas had kept moving boards out of the way, and didn't notice the badly mangled nearly skinless hand that Wyatt stared at.

  “Careful Wyatt, its treacherous footing. You alright?” Thomas asked, as he turned holding a jagged piece of wood. His mouth dropped open when he saw the bloody hand pulling on the captain. Wyatt sat on his butt, in the debris, stunned as he stared at the groping hand.

  “Hang on buddy,” Thomas said. He gripped the mostly fleshless hand and pulled the badly injured person out of the pile of shingles. The fingernails dug into his wrist as a small avalanche of debris fell away exposing the man's head, which was missing the majority of his skull. A bloated brain, nearly completely exposed, pulsated atop the man's head as he bit at the deputy's hand. The bloody fleshless hand had been disturbing, but the man it was attached to was a freakish nightmare. From where the eye sockets should be and up there was just a blackish gray brain and a few small fragments of skull. The man's jaw opened and closed as the teeth tried to bite.

  “Get back, Thomas.” The captain spoke in a low tone of voice, pulled his pistol, and fired one well aimed shot at the nearly skull less man. The brain deflated like a cake, when disturbed while being baked and the man stopped moving. Wyatt struggled to his feet, slid his gun back into his holster and began moving more debris.

  Thomas looked back and forth between the captain and the man he had just shot. What the Hell? He just murdered someone. Right in front of me. He killed that man. He was royally fucked up, probably wouldn't have lived much longer anyway but-. His train of thought derailed at that point. But what? Fuck if I know.

  Wyatt looked down the slightly wider hole in the debris, and asked the girl “Can you climb out?”

  “I'm pinned under a big piece of wood. My leg's stuck.” she answered, between coughs looking up through the debris. The hole was just big enough for Thomas to squeeze through, and he started working his way into the rubble.

  Wyatt keyed his shoulder microphone again “Albuquerque HQ, this is Captain Wyatt. We need emergency services out here, at Albuquerque Springs Trailer Park, and I mean now!”

  Grunting with effort Thomas used his nightstick for leverage under the beam. The piles of debris groaned and several smaller pieces of wood fell down as the beam lifted enough for her to finally pull her leg free. He wanted to say something but the increasing smoke made breathing hard and speaking impossible. Coughing and having a difficult time seeing, Maria hugged him while crying. He pointed at her then up through the hole. She nodded and
climbed up. After a few seconds of Thomas pushing from below and Wyatt pulling from above, she was free.

  Thomas held a water bottle up for her and she gulped at it, not spilling a drop, until it was completely drained. She sucked at the bottle making the plastic start to crush before she finally stopped and looked around the devastated garage. The deputy looked around too and then back at her. She had an odd expression on her face and raised her hands to cover her mouth but the enormous belch escaped before she could do so.

  “Are they all dead?” She asked, looking at the two policemen, with wide frightened eyes.

  “Are all who dead?” Thomas asked, as the Wyatt went back to try the car's radio.

  She gave him a disgusted look. “The monsters, the-” she paused and looked embarrassed and whispered “the zombies. Did you two kill them all?”

  “Are you sure you didn't hurt your head?” Thomas asked, looking seriously at her.

  “I'm not lying. People have gone crazy here. Some of them died and now they are zombies or I don't know. It sounds insane, I know, but it's all true. Can you just get me out of here, please?”

  “I think we better wait for an ambulance.” Thomas said, looking at the top of her head trying to see if she had a possible injury. Her hair was covered in soot but she didn't have any obvious wounds.

  “What about him? She asked, pointing at the dead man with the deflated brain reclining on some broken boards near the burning plastic Santa Claus decoration. If he wasn't a monster why did you shoot him?” Maria looked up at Thomas defiantly.

  “I think he was just- I think it was just to put him out of his misery. He never could have lasted much longer anyway.” Thomas said in a quiet voice, looking down at his shoes unable to look her in the eye.

  “He was already dead when you guys shot him. Dead and moving around. Don't you get it? Why are you so acting so stupid!? We have to get out of here now!” Maria's voice grew louder as she spoke and her last sentence was almost a yell. She tried to stand and staggered in the wreckage of the garage.

  “Whoa, easy now.” Thomas said, and held her arm so she wouldn't fall.

  They heard Wyatt yelling into the handset in the car, as Thomas helped lead the girl though the debris. His wrist cycled between feeling numb and itchy as he led the way. He glanced down and saw his wrist was red and bleeding lightly. Great, probably got some kind of infection. Stings like a son of a bitch too, probably Tetanus. Oh good for me, I play hero and get to have a bunch of shots at the hospital for the trouble of rescuing a crazy lady who rambles about zombies. He thought.

  When they got to the hood of the car the captain got out, pulled his gun and looked around nervously.

  “Wyatt?” Thomas asked, warily. Is he going to shoot us now? Has everyone gone crazy today? “What’s going on Brett?” He asked, and placed his hand on his own pistol, worried he might have to shoot his captain.

  “Get the girl in the back of the car. We've got to get out of here, right now.” Wyatt said quietly, staring at the far side of the park.

  “Sounded like the Immigration guys had some trouble down there. Maybe we should wait for an ambulance and some backup.” Thomas said, helping Maria into the backseat.

  “If I could get a radio signal out of this damn valley I would. According to that Shoemaker guy we need to get out now, while we can.” Wyatt said, holstering his gun and slipping behind the wheel of the car.

  Thomas looked confused, as he got in, and Wyatt backed the car down the driveway. He wiped his forehead, with some napkins, and felt a little nauseous as he looked down at his slightly bloody wrist which felt like fire ants were biting it and crawling under the skin.

  “I don't understand. It’s just a few illegals causing trouble right?” Thomas asked, looking at Maria then the captain.

  “Yes and no. It’s a pack of undead illegals, coupled with a few undead ICE agents thrown into the mix as well. According to Shoemaker, we just drove into a giant sandbox full of pissed off zombies.” He said without a smile. Putting the car in gear. he started driving for the exit.

  “I told you so.” Maria said, from the backseat.

  The gunshots first slowed then stopped altogether. Josey heard the bus's engine roaring followed by a distant crash. Boris was still breathing and Billy looked up at him as he paused to consider his options. He looked at the dog and then again at the boy. Licking his parched lips, he looked around for any possible attackers.

  “Let's just get you back to your grandpa. I know he's worried about you.” Josey said, and looked toward the trailer park's exit unable to see what was going on and not very hopeful.

  “I really thought we'd make it out of here. Dumb snake, we would've made it too if it hadn't gotten in the way.” Billy muttered, as he trudged along behind the big man.

  “For what it’s worth kid, I think what you tried to do was as brave as it was stupid. So, I guess you got a lot of guts.”

  “Are you mad at me?” Billy asked, looking up at Josey.

  Josey stopped in the shade of a tree, and looked around for any sign of trouble. Everything still seemed quiet as he set the dog down in the grass and leaned back against the tree. Reaching in his coveralls pocket he pulled out one of the colonel's borrowed cigarettes and lit it. Billy started to speak, but he held up a hand in a stop gesture and smoked in silence for nearly a minute. To Billy the minute seemed like an hour.

  Josey inhaled, stared at the blue sky through the tree branches, and looked like he was deep in thought. He exhaled some smoke and spoke quietly.

  “Listen to me Billy. This is important. I'm not mad at you for sneaking off trying to go get help. Hell kid, I'm not even as mad as I was about you shooting off part of my ear. I wasn't kidding about you having guts. Maybe it wasn't the world’s greatest plan, but you showed a lot of courage and determination and did what you thought was right.” Josey said. He looked around again, as he finished smoking his cigarette, bent over to ruffle Billy's dirty hair and picked up the dog again.

  “You did what you thought was the right thing. If you'd made it to the top of the valley and used my phone to call the police you'd probably be a hero, and just because your plan didn't work out it doesn't make you a bad kid. Hell, Billy, if I ever have a kid I'd be proud to have one with half the guts you've shown.” Josey said, as he limped toward the colonel's trailer.

  “So, even though my plan failed I won't get in trouble?” Billy asked hopefully, as he walked beside the big man.

  “Whoa kid. I said I admired you for it. What your grandpa and mom might say or do about it- well let’s just say I bet you won't be able to sit on your butt in comfort for a week when they're done with you.” Josey said, as he walked into a drainage ditch that he knew passed by the colonel's trailer. He felt they'd been too lucky, for too long, and didn't want to be spotted so close to home.

  “That's what I was afraid of.” Billy said, looking down and shaking his head.

  Shoemaker huddled in the bus's stairwell, saw the squad car approaching in the distance, and prepared to open the door when he heard the broken windshield glass cracking and breaking behind him. He turned in time to see Sazera, with long horrible lacerations all over his face, his scalp partially peeled back, pull himself out through the windshield. It almost looked like the bus were giving birth to the world's biggest, craziest, and ugliest baby. Shoemaker held his breath and pointed the shotgun at his old friend, as he struggled through the window. He was tempted to fire but glanced down the road and saw Crawford, Minarges and a good size group of others were wandering around not too far away and changed his mind. Hell, I don't even know if their condition is permanent. They could be cured or treated by a hospital if help ever arrives. He thought, and looked back at the distant police car.

  Sazera grunted loudly and finally pulled himself completely through the shattered windshield. The squad car attracted Sazera's attention. He made a low growl, screamed and sprinted toward the still distant car. Several screams erupted and Shoemaker saw it wasn't just
Sazera, but almost everyone was running toward it- Crawford and Minarges included. After a few seconds, he pulled open the door of the bus. He half jumped, half fell, to the dusty ground and moved carefully toward the wrecked van by the road.

  “This has got to be the biggest fuck-a-doodle ever.” Wyatt said, as he drove toward the exit. “We gotta stop by that bus. An agent is in there. Then we are going, as the locals say, adios.”

  “Why can't we get the colonel and his boy, Billy? It's just over there.” She asked, pointing to the trailer with the American flag flapping in the breeze out front. The squad car swerved around piles of junk and approached the utility building parking lot where Josey's truck sat.

  “First, we gotta call for help then we can get everyone out.” Wyatt replied, as he nudged his deputy who seemed dazed, slumping forward, in the passenger seat.

  “Come on, Thomas snap out of it! Get the shotgun ready and unroll your window. We gotta give Shoemaker some cover so he can get to us.” He looked out of the corner of his eye as he swerved the car around a rusty shopping cart. “Thomas? You okay?”

  Maria saw the deputy drooling as he stared out the passenger side window. “Captain I think something's-” She started to say, then shrieked as Thomas dropped the shotgun and began clawing at the metal screen that separated the front from the back of the cruiser. Unable to look away, she saw the whites of his eyes were dark red. His fingers clawed at the partition and were bleeding as the skin was shredded off by the metal screen like a cheese grater. The car was filled with screams as Thomas yelled at her and she cried out in terror.