Tim Meyer - Less Than Human

“I ain’t running from you,” Bob the Cowboy said.

“Sounds mighty fine by me,” he replied, then raised his shotgun, pressing the end of the barrel to Bob’s head. He pulled the trigger and the old cowboy’s head splintered into a million pieces. Blood and brains were sent airborne. Bob’s body crumbled to the muddy arena floor. The hunters walked over his headless corpse and continued with their adventure.

“Reckon I message Bobbi-Jo? Have her come grab da’ body?” one of them asked.

“Naw,” the leader answered, catching something move in the corner of his eye. “Let the dead claim ’em.”

Josh opened the door to the gutted Toyota. The frame of the car was mostly rust. He could barely tell that it was once painted teal. The door squeaked, bringing familiar worries. He could smell the zombies. They were close.

“Anything?” Ben asked.

“Hold on.” Josh sifted through the crap on the seat. There were porno magazines and old newspapers all over the place. He brushed them to the floor. “Shit. Nothing.”

“Let’s try the next one.”

They crept along the long row of abandoned vehicles, which seemingly belonged to previous victims. License plates and VIN numbers had been removed. Josh stuck his head in the next vehicle. He searched for something— anything —that could be used as a weapon. Food. Water. Anything.

“Shit, they’re coming,” Paul Scott yelled. Victoria and Paul had been on lookout, while Ben and Josh rummaged through the cars and trucks that littered a small section of the property.

“Walkers, runners, or Barkers?” Josh asked.

“Walkers mostly. There sure is a shitload of them.”

Josh looked to Ben. “We’re fucked here, aren’t we?”

Ben shook his head. He surveyed his surroundings. All he saw was an open field boxed by a never-ending stretch of forest. Trees, trees, and more trees. The sun finally showed itself, lighting the beautiful country atmosphere. They could faintly smell the morning dew on the grass. Ben checked the long row of cars, realizing the Barkers weren’t as dumb as they looked; they weren’t going to risk anyone surviving.

No one has ever survived.

“We need some bait,” Ben said.

“What do you mean?” Josh asked.

“I mean, the only way we’re going to get out of this alive is to fool these bastards.”

Josh shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

Paul overheard their conversation. “Yeah, I’m not too sure I understand.”

“One of us goes up into a tree and we let them surround it. Then the rest of us attack from behind. It’s our only shot without a decent weapon.”

“Without any weapon, you mean,” Josh corrected.

“Well…” Ben bent over, grabbing a stray branch. “We’ll make the best out of what we got.”

“One problem,” Victoria stated. “Who’s going to be the sucker climbing the tree.” All three of them turned to her. For a second she didn’t get it, then it suddenly hit her. She rolled her eyes as her shoulders slumped. “No…”

“If we’re going to take the three of them on in hand to hand… we’re going to need all the strength we can get,” Ben said. “No offense.”

“Oh, none taken,” she said sarcastically.

“Whoa, hold on. I’ll do it,” Josh said. “I’m not going to be much use with one arm anyway.”

Ben looked at him, realizing he may be right. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Besides. I think Victoria here is pretty motivated to get her daughters back. You’d be surprised how much strength people have when they’re backed against a wall.” Josh looked to her, winking. “Isn’t that right, Vic?”

“I’ll kill to get her back.”

Ben nodded. “Very well then.” He nodded. “I hope you can climb with one arm.”

The Three Little Pigs stopped in the middle of the field. Around them, the dead moaned. They crept out of the forest, one by one, stumbling toward them with one thing on the forefront of their dense minds. Otis laughed. He raised his shotgun and took out the nearest zombie with a loud bang.

“Sure ya want to be doing dat?” Floyd asked. “Might need the ammo. Sides. Ya’ll attract mo’ of dem.”

“Mo’ da betta,” Otis grumbled.

“Sheet, Otis,” Cooter said. “I ain’t goan get bitten by one of deez fuckers. And what bout the runners?”

“Fuck dem. We kill dem all.”

Floyd and Cooter exchanged looks.

“Maybe we should split up,” Otis suggested. “Things’ll go faster that way.”

“Oh sheet. I dunno, Otis. We usually hunt together,” Floyd told him. “Bad luck goan against tradition. Ain’t it?”

“Don’ give a sheet. I want to find these fuckers and I want them dead fast.” Beneath the handkerchief, Otis grinned. “We got some fresh pussy to get to.”

Ross reached for the barbed-wire fence. It was about ten feet tall, not impossible to climb. He was about to wrap his fingers around it when someone grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t,” a voice said. “It’s live.” Tabby let go gently.

“How can you be sure?”

“They wouldn’t risk us escaping. And remember? They have generators.”

“Don’t do it, Dad,” Landry said. “It’s not worth it.”

Ross turned, looking past them, at the leaf-covered hill in the middle of the woods. Zombies were drunkenly swaying their way up, none of them moving fast enough to be considered a threat. There weren’t many. Ross could count their numbers with his fingers. However, if enough were drawn to their location, it would cause problems. At the time, heading for the fence seemed like a good strategy, but Ross realized that Tabby was right—there was no way the rednecks would risk them surviving.

“Shit,” Ross muttered. “What the hell do we do now?”

The zombies’ utterances were growing louder. The smell accompanying their arrival intensified.

“We can run?” Tabby suggested.

“Tired of running,” Ross said. He bent down, picking up the nearest branch. It was a good size, about the length of a hockey stick and the thickness of a dough roller. One of the walkers reached the top of the hill. Ross swung at its head. He cracked the zombie across its face, causing it to lose balance. It fell on its side, tumbling down the hill. The next zombie made it to the top. Ross ended its climb similarly.

“Can’t play King of the Hill forever, Dad,” Landry said.

“Have any better ideas?” Ross said.

“Actually I—”

An arrow zipped through the air and found a home in the tree next to Landry’s head.

It hurt like hell, but he climbed the tree with one arm. Ben and Paul had given him a big boost toward the first branch. He banged his arm on a few branches, nearly screamed from the intense pain that streaked up and down his arm, but he was able to subdue his outburst. Josh got himself halfway up the tree when he couldn’t take it anymore. He had done further damage to his arm, there was no question about it. He jeopardized the healing process for sure. Josh began to worry that his arm might never heal correctly. Well, if this plan goes sour, I won’t have to worry about that, now will I? He maintained a comfortable squatting positing, waiting for the Three Little Pigs to come.

He wouldn’t have to wait long.

“Don’ think I don’ see yer ass up der,” a southern voice said.

Josh looked down and saw one of them—he couldn’t tell which, but it appeared to be the fatter one—standing on top of the Toyota he had tried to plunder. Josh looked beyond the redneck, seeing a head rising from behind the car. It was Ben. He had been hiding beneath the car the whole time Josh was ascending the tree. A few zombies plodded in their general direction. There were no signs of Victoria or Paul.