Jason Jones - Trailer Park Zombies

The only things we really had in the house that could be construed as weapons were the knives in the kitchen and my old aluminum baseball bat from my short days in Little League. I’d briefly thought I’d be the next Hank Aaron but those dreams were quickly dashed by my dad. Not only did he berate me at every opportunity but he actually came to a couple games. Drunk, loud, and full of piss and vinegar. It only took a few games before the coach told me I was no longer welcome on the team.

I made a conscious effort to wall the dream off in my brain and try to box it in with bricks and mortar. Not sure how successful I was but I hoped I’d at least be able to look Barrett and Fannie Mae in the face without thinking about it. I kept seeing my penis disappear down her throat and it only made me want to crawl into bed and hide, but I steeled myself for it, threw it all in the back of my head, and went out into the living room.

They were both standing in front of the window staring out at the trailer park. They had the curtains drawn a little bit and were standing far enough back that they couldn’t be seen from the outside. Hopefully, anyway. They stood about two feet apart and from their stance I could tell they’d been arguing yet again. I chose to pretend I didn’t see it and strode up to stand between them at the window.

“Anything going on?”

Barrett answered me. “Not really. Old man Simmons came out about an hour ago for his morning walk. We saw him strolling out back toward the middle of the park but he hasn’t come back yet. Fannie Mae and I were arguing whether or not he should be back by now but haven’t come to any conclusions. What do you think, cahuna?”

I shrugged. “I’m never up this early, so I have no idea. I’d think he’d be able to walk around the entire Acres in an hour, though. I guess he could be walking in the woods or something.”

He nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really,” Fannie Mae said. “A couple people took off in their cars. I’d guess to go into town and get supplies or go into work. The power’s still out. It’s still pretty quiet. It’s only 7:30, after all.”

“Any sign of,” I swallowed, barely able to get the words out, “Mason?”

They both shook their heads at me. “Nothing that we’ve noticed,” Barrett said. “No shambling zombies.”

Fannie Mae smirked, “And no zombie hordes, either.”

I sat down on the couch, as far away from mom as I could get. I’d studiously ignored her since I came into the room. “Barrett, I think it’s time you explained some things about zombies. Educate us.”

He pulled a chair from the kitchen and sat across from me, leaning on his knees so that we were eye to eye. Fannie Mae sat at the window but I could tell she was listening.

“I’m not exactly an expert on this, Duke. I’ve just watched a bunch of horror movies and scared the crap out of myself.”

“That’s better than either one of us,” I said. “Talk. Tell us what you know. Or what you think you know.”

He shrugged and stared off into the distance, eyes unfocusing as he racked his brain. “There are as many different legends or myths as there are movies. What’s common is that zombies always transmit the infection by bite. They seem to need to feed on living flesh. Once the victim is dead they stop and go on to the next person and the person they just killed gets up and starts killing, too. In some movies it affects every dead person, even the ones in the grave or who die naturally. It seems to be dependent on how the original infection starts.”

I opened my mouth to ask a question but he held his hand up to stop me.

“None of the movies ever really address how the infection starts. I’ve seen movies where it’s because of a meteorite crash landing with the virus or some kind of alien infestation or even just cause it’s the end of the world and that’s the way it is. If Mason did rise up just because you – we – killed him then the sky’s the limit on what caused it. Maybe there was something in the soil or he made a deal with the devil or some weird shit happened. Maybe there’s just no explanation.”

“Okay,” I said. “What else?”

He shrugged. “If he’s just out for revenge and he’s cognizant of what he’s doing maybe he’ll only kill those involved: you, me, Fannie Mae and Tamara. That’s a good bet. If that’s the case maybe he’s not infectious and will just rest when he’s done killing us all. Or if he’s just a brainless zombie he’ll go where the food is and wipe out everybody. Impossible to say. He may or may not have any brains left with which to make decisions or think. Most zombies are just revenants: out to kill and eat. No more mind than a mouse. In some movies they seem to remember and feel and know things. In those they’re usually more dangerous and more cunning. Out for maximum damage.”

I recalled my dream of him and Fannie Mae warming themselves by the fire and shuddered.

“What about killing them?” Fannie Mae said quietly from the window. She didn’t take her eyes off the view. She was our little watchdog.

He shrugged again. “As many different ways as there are movies. Bullet to the brain or some kind of trauma to the head seems to be pretty common. Usually. I’ve seen movies where they can’t be killed at all, but I refuse to accept that. Anything can be killed. Fire could probably do it.” He thought for a few seconds and then just raised his head. “I guess that’s it.”

“Not much to go on,” I said. “Fire or guns for the safe bet.” I pointed to the bat I’d brought into the room. “Would knocking them in the head with that do it?”

He sighed wearily. “How should I know, Duke? Maybe? If you hit them in the right spot with the right amount of force?” He gestured toward the knife that Fannie Mae had not two inches from her hand. “The knife would probably work, but only from certain angles. The skull is a big piece of bone and you have to destroy the brain. The knife would more likely get stuck and then you’re too close to them and that’s it. All she wrote.”

I laughed. “Okay, then. Either of you happen to have a gun?”

“My dad does,” Barrett said. “In town. Locked up in his gun safe. He takes that key with him, though, and honestly, if I got the hell out of the Acres I wouldn’t be coming back. Sorry, Duke, but that’s the truth.”

I waved that off. “Fannie Mae. Your mom have any guns lying around the house?”

She shook her head. “Nope. She doesn’t believe in them. Sold my dad’s guns after he died.”

Barrett looked at me. “How about you?”

“If we had any guns here mom probably would have taken it to dad a long time ago. Sounds like we’re screwed there.”

Fannie Mae sighed. “Not necessarily.”

Barrett and I both swung our heads to look at her. “How do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, for one, we’re in the middle of Kentucky. You can’t tell me half these trailers here don’t have guns up the wazoo.”

“Granted,” I said. “But we can’t just go knocking on doors asking to borrow a gun to go killing zombies.”

She nodded. “Tamara’s dad has a shotgun.”

I stood up and approached her. “You sure?”

“Yeah. When I was there last night she said that if her dad saw what Mason had done to her that he’d break out the shotgun and blow his nuts off. She seemed pretty serious about it.”

“Crap.” I sat back down.

Barrett caught my eye and we looked at each other for a minute. “If you’re going back over there I’m coming, too.”

“You don’t have to do that, Barrett. I’ll go by myself.”

“Shit on that, Duke Johnson!” Fannie Mae got up from her perch in front of the window and stuck her finger in my chest. “If you’re going, I’m going. We’re a team and no one is going out there by themselves.”