Jason Jones - Trailer Park Zombies

Worrywart.

8.

In the end we managed it – barely – before the sun rose in the sky. No hordes of zombies came crashing out of the trailers to attack us. No snoopy neighbors came out to see what was going on. No cops came by to see what us pesky kids were up to.

Not that we didn’t worry about any or all of those things.

Barrett got in the car, muttering all the while under his breath, and put it in neutral. He tried to show Fannie Mae how to steer the car but she just pushed him out of the way and called him an ass. It was a little bit of an experience pushing the car backwards while Fannie Mae tried to steer. But we managed not to hit anything.

Once we had the car pulled out enough Barrett and I got behind it and started pushing it again. We were both out of breath already and we’d barely begun. We called instructions lowly to Fannie Mae through the torn soft-top as we steered it between the trailers. That wasn’t as difficult as we thought it’d be, but getting it onto the grass and pushing it into the tree line proved as hard as Barrett had predicted.

One of us would stop every thirty seconds or so and shine the flashlight around us to ensure there was nothing sneaking up behind us. Or no thing as the case may be. That certainly didn’t help with our time.

Eventually we made it though. Covered the car and went back near the trailer to see if it could be seen. It couldn’t, but then it was still the dead of night with just a hint of sun peeking through the sky. We’d done as best we could though and decided that was just the way it was going to have to be. Hopefully it was out of the way enough that’d we be okay.

Barrett said it was all a waste of time anyway. Kept mentioning the zombie hordes.

Again with the worrywart.

Fannie Mae finally smacked him upside the head and told him to shut up about that crap. Said we had enough to worry about without borrowing trouble. She was right, of course.

We made it back into the trailer just fine and closed the door again. I scooted the couch down just a little bit so that it blocked the door, hoping that if Mason did try to come in that he’d have the decency to knock first. I shone the flashlight on mom and then realized there was enough light coming in the windows now that I could see well enough without it and shut it off.

She still looked dead.

Fannie Mae and Barrett collapsed in the kitchen. Barrett was sucking down water like crazy. He was in worse shape than I was and pushing the car almost gave him a coronary. Not to mention that he was still worrying about what his dad would say about the state of the car. And the zombie hordes.

I wanted to take a rest, too. My bones ached for it, honestly. But I wanted to check out my leg and make sure that nothing had snuck into the trailer in our absence. I resisted the impulse to tell the others, “I’ll be back” before I left the room, but it was close. Sometimes humor always finds a way.

It didn’t take long to make sure the rest of the trailer was empty. I hadn’t been too worried, but I still felt a sense of relief after searching under all the beds and in the closets. I ended up in the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. My face was caked with dirt and the startled whiteness of my eyes stood out in stark relief from the rest of my face.

I braced myself and slowly undid my pants, wincing as I pulled them down my leg. I tried not to look at my thigh as I took them off the rest of the way. Once they were off I sat down on the edge of the tub and finally looked down at it. My thigh was swollen to about twice its normal size. Amazingly colorful black and purple bruises emanated from a central goose egg that stood up about a half inch from the rest of the flesh. My guess was that all the pain I’d been feeling was emanating more from the knot than anything else. I touched it and very quickly ascertained that I was right.

Yep, that bitch hurt.

I turned the tap on the tub to see if we had any hot water, but of course we didn’t. No power equals no hot water and out here on the fringe of Litchville, in the backwoods of Kentucky, home of hillbillies and hicks, we’d likely be without power for days. We weren’t important enough to get power that fast.

A quick debate inside my head satisfied the matter of whether or not it’d be a good idea to take a cold bath. It’d definitely shake the weariness from my bones and I knew I needed the cold to try and take down the swelling in my leg. The only pants I had that would go back over that thigh the way it was were sweats and I didn’t want to wear those.

I filled the tub with cold water and when it was about halfway full I stepped in it, wincing at the bitter coldness as it hit my feet. I slowly lowered myself into it, wincing again as each new part of my body met the coldness. My thigh felt immeasurably better the second it was submerged in the water. I decided I’d sit in there for about 20 minutes and let it soak and wash the grime off and then get out.

I’m pretty sure I fell to sleep the second my head hit the back of the tub.

It was dark, everywhere. A bitter wind ravaged my face and I turned around and around, in circles, trying to find a way to shelter myself from it. But it came at me from all directions. I put my arm up to shield my face but even then it felt like it was coming through my sleeves. I was in the middle of a forest. There were trees everywhere, reaching up to the sky with their dark branches. I leaned on one to catch my breath and try to find a way out of the wind, but even that did no good.

I touched the tree but my hand came away covered in redness. The tree was bleeding. Even as I touched it I could feel the brittleness of the bark and the skin of the tree shattered in my hands, sloughing away like the boiled skin of a pig. More blood ran down from the tree and covered my hands. I pulled away from the tree in disgust, wiping my hands on my coat, trying to clean myself, but my hands were stained with it. No matter what I did it wasn’t coming off.

Both my hands were stained with the blood of the tree.

A full moon hung in the sky. It appeared to cover at least a third of the night sky and almost seemed like I could just reach up and touch it, but I didn’t want to. Something about it frightened me. It seemed to be mocking me.

Ignoring the cold and the blood on my hands I began to walk. I picked a direction at random. I had no idea where I was or where I was going but walking seemed like an excellent idea. I needed to get out of this place. I know they say that when you’re lost in the woods you should just hunker down and wait for someone to find you but in that place I was afraid of what might find me. There was something wrong about that place.

I don’t know how long it took me to notice but by the time it finally registered I realized I’d been hearing it for quite some time. There were steps in the forest matching mine. Creak for creak and stomp for stomp. I only noticed it because every so often I’d put my foot down and hear a twig break; only I hadn’t stepped on one.

I stopped, surveying the forest, but could see nothing. The moon still hung fat in the sky and its light shone everywhere but it didn’t seem to actually illuminate anything. I stayed unmoving for what seemed like forever and still there was nothing. It was only when I’d finally decided to start moving again that I heard the snarl behind me. I whirled around with a cry but there was nothing there. Thank God. Then I heard the snarl again. Behind me, of course. Rancid breath blew softly past my ear.

I whirled again and standing behind me less than a foot away was Mason Smith. He was covered in boils and sores and rotting flesh. Even as I watched a hunk of skin fell off his face onto the ground with a sickening plop. He grinned at me and the muscles in his cheeks gleamed wetly as he silently reached for me again. The skin had pulled away completely from his fingers leaving the bones exposed. The bone shone in the moonlight as the naked claws reached for me.