“Barrett,” I yelled. “The window! It’s broken. Get her out of here.”
He nodded and waved at me as he bodily picked Fannie Mae up and headed toward the window. I could feel a wash of heat at my back. I turned around and saw Mr. Rogers at my back not two feet behind me. His eyes and hair were on fire. The smell of charred flesh was overwhelming. He reached out to me with the hand that was holding the bat. Miraculously, it was almost untouched by the flames. I grabbed it from his hand. He released it easily.
I almost just pulled back and swung and then realized that was just as likely to cause him to fall on me as anything else. I gripped the handle with both my hands as hard as I could and straightened it out in front of me like I was holding a lance and shoved it forward with every ounce of strength I had. It wasn’t a good angle for me and I could feel my wrists protesting as the fat end of the bat made contact with his chest. I dug in with my feet and pushed even harder. He stumbled back a couple of steps but he obviously had better balance than his zombie wife had. He pushed forward against the bat, straining to reach me with his hands.
The heat was beginning to get to me. I could feel the burning in my lungs and the skin on my hands and face felt stretched taut. I didn’t think I could last too much longer. I gave one more shove with the bat and he slid back another foot. His arms pinwheeled madly through the air as he finally lost his balance. It was almost comical as he tried to find his balance and fell over backwards. I knew I didn’t have more than a few seconds so I turned to the window. I was alone in the room with the zombies. Thankfully both Barrett and Fannie Mae had gotten out.
I went for the window, remembering at the last minute to grab the shotgun from under the mattress and grabbing my Little League bag as I ran by it. The shells were in there and we’d need all of it to survive this day. I threw them both through the window as I started to climb through it. Barrett and Fannie Mae were standing about five feet away, safe and sound, thankfully. I looked back behind me and saw Tamara’s dad struggling to get to his feet.
His face was melting.
As I continued going through the window I saw his struggles finally stop and he lay still. The flames were consuming every inch of his body, and the trailer.
I jumped down onto the grass below the window, going down to my hands and knees as the cool morning air greeted my lungs. My throat felt like it was coated in smoke and filth. I so wanted to be out of here. I finally rose to my feet and grabbed the shotgun and the bag.
“We need to get out of here,” I coughed, “before people start showing up. The bodies will burn and no one will ever know.”
A new voice rose out of nowhere. “Hey, you kids. What’s going on here? What are you doing?”
We all swiveled around to face the newcomer. It was old man Simmons. I was moderately glad to see him. From the description the others had given me about this morning’s events I had half-expected that we’d either find his eaten body somewhere or that his shambling zombie body would attack us at some point. Not that seeing him at this moment was really much of a help.
None of us said anything. I was still trying to cough the smoke out of my lungs.
He stepped closer. He’d approached from the direction of the woods so it made me wonder what he might have seen out there. We really didn’t need anybody gumming up the works at this point. “I asked you some questions, kids. What’s going on here? Did you set that trailer ablaze?”
I shook my head and cleared my throat, trying to work up the spit to speak. Before I could get it out Fannie Mae spoke up. “No, we didn’t set it. Our friend Tamara lives here. We were just coming by to say hello and ….” She broke off and looked at me helplessly. Apparently Fannie Mae’s invention had reached its limits.
He looked at us with a critical eye, eying the gun in my hand. He looked ready to bolt, if you could say that a 70 year old man could do anything close to bolting. “Then why are you coming out through the window, eh? And why the gun? And where are the Rogers’?”
His gaze rested on me. I guess he figured since I had the gun I was the obvious leader of the group. “Did you hurt them, boy? I know you. You’re the Johnson boy.” He spit some chewing tobacco on the ground. I could see dribbles of it clinging to his white beard and it seeped slowly from his toothless mouth. Chewing tobacco – “baccy” – was a common substance out here. You could buy it in hard chunks in baggies and just bit a hunk off to chew. It was the most disgusting thing you’d ever want to see and you don’t even want me to tell you about what happens to a young boy who accidentally takes a swig from a spit cup. Let me just say that using an empty Coke can is not the best thing when you have little kids around.
Simmons looked at Fannie Mae. “And you’re the Jennsen girl.” He turned to Barrett. “I don’t know you, boy, but I’ve seen you around the Acres. I think you should all stay here while I go call the cops and the fire department. There’s a reckoning that needs to happen here.” He pointed at me, “Why don’t you put that shotgun on the ground, boy, and step away from it?”
I nodded and did as he said. No point in getting him worked up over that. Our story was completely unbelievable, even with the evidence of the bodies inside, so there was no point in making it worse. I almost relished the thought of going to the police station and getting out of here. The Acres had soured even more for me in the past 12 hours or so.
When I stood up from letting the shotgun go I looked back at old man Simmons and let out a yell for him to watch out, but it was already too late.
Tamara stood a few steps behind him, looking like she had the night before, what felt like eons ago. She was wearing some tiny boy shorts and a little tank top – her jammies, I guess. I hadn’t noticed what she’d been wearing in the dark when she lying dead on her bed. The gaping wounds in her leg gleamed wetly although they no longer bled. The semblance of a grin on her face was marred when you noticed that she had no lips. I could only picture Mason tearing them off of her while she lay sleeping, giving her that one last kiss. Her arms were outstretched before her, fingertips grazing old man Simmons’s shoulders.
“What the hell?” He turned and tried to scream but that was when she struck. She pulled her head back like a cobra and buried her mouth in his neck. Blood sprayed straight in the air, sparkling in the small amount of light the clouds were letting down. He struggled under her mouth but it was long past a time when that would help him. He flailed and struck her repeatedly in the head, gurgling helplessly. Finally, his struggles ceased.
Tamara continued to guzzle and chew. She didn’t stop to take a breath or pull back to get a better grip or anything like that. Just kept digging in further and further.
Barrett, Fannie Mae and I all stood there frozen; silent witnesses to the horrors before us. None of us had so much as moved. I finally bent down and picked up the shotgun, opening the breach to see if it was loaded. It wasn’t, of course. I’m not sure if my movement had finally attracted her or if she’d taken enough out of him but it was at that moment that Tamara just let Simmons body fall to the ground. He fell like a sack of potatoes and landed with a sickening thud. I’d swear on a stack of Bibles that his hands were already twitching.