No one noticed him.
Donny Marsters was the first to really see him. I felt bad about that, kinda. Though Donny was a holy terror and I’d wished he’d go away many a time he didn’t deserve this. He only noticed the zombie when the zombie bent over from the waist and took a chomp out of his neck. Great gouts of blood sprayed in the air as Donny started screaming. He struggled to get away and since the zombie’s one hand was full he had nothing to grip the boy with.
Bile rose in my throat as Donny pulled forward. The zombie hadn’t let go and wasn’t about to give up his pound of flesh. Gristles and strings of skin trailed between Donny and the zombie as Donny tried to get away. His piercing shrieks sounded like the playful screams of a nine year old girl, but there was nothing funny about it. The only thing I could liken the sight to was pulling a very cheesy slice of pizza away from the rest of the pie. Get it?
The tensile strength of the skin was finally reached and the tendrils snapped like so many pieces of cheese. Donny fell face down on the earth, still screaming and writhing madly. The zombie chewed intently as he looked down at the boy.
It was only then that I registered the screams of the rest of the people in the road. Most were frozen in shock but some parents were coming out of nowhere to scoop up their children and run away. A few of the dads were looking at each other with a what do I do now expression on their faces. Finally one of them went forward and shoved the zombie as hard as he could.
In the midst of this Donny finally stopped screaming. And moving. His bright red blood flowed heavily into the dirt.
Once the zombie was on the ground the other men came forward and they started kicking viciously at it. It kept trying to rise back to its feet but for some reason it wouldn’t let go of the foot and with that being its only good arm it couldn’t get enough leverage to get up. So it just lay there and took the beating. I don’t think it felt a thing as they beat at it. Four or five men stood in a circle around the zombie, all staring down at it as they took turns kicking it. This was Kentucky, after all, so they knew all about ganging up on and beating someone.
Suddenly one of them screamed and fell forward, landing on top of the zombie. The rest of the men pulled back, not understanding. Fannie Mae and I, from our perch at the window, understood all too well.
Donny had woken up.
He hadn’t even bothered trying to get to his feet. He’d just slithered forward on his belly like a snake in the dirt and clamped both hands on the ankle of the man who’d fallen forward. When he got enough leverage he pulled his head back and bit through the ankle, severing the Achilles tendon in one bite. His hands were gripping the foot tightly as he began to work his way up the leg. Unlike foot-zombie he wasn’t taking his time savoring the meat. He was biting and swallowing rapidly, trying to get in as much as he could. Within seconds the entire lower half of the leg was nothing but a raw mess.
The other men turned around and backed up a step. A couple screamed and took off running. This was far beyond anything they could understand. They stared dumbly at Donny as he munched on their fallen comrade. I could hear one of them calling to him.
“Donny? What are you doing, boy? Stop that now!” It was Donny’s dad. I hadn’t recognized him from the back. He bent down to grab Donny away from the leg but Donny snapped at him viciously, moving faster than I had seen any of them move so far. His dad barely managed to pull his hand back quickly enough. One of the other men looked like he’d had enough as he took two shuffling steps back and then turned around, apparently in an effort to take off running.
The foot-zombie stood behind him. While none of them had paid attention he’d just risen casually to his feet and stood there. Broken bones jutted out at odd angles from his body and he was hunched over oddly but he was still capable of standing. His open mouth gleamed wetly and broken teeth spilled out.
He lunged forward and ate the guy’s face. No lies and no exaggeration. Just ate his face. The guy fell down in a heap with the zombie riding herd on top of him.
The rest of them scattered like sheep and took off running. Foot-zombie and Donny were still chomping away. They stopped almost in unison and faced Donny’s dad where he still stood there, resolutely yelling at Donny for eating his friend. Both were silent as they stood, one in front and one behind his dad. Neither of them attacked for some reason. Maybe it took a few minutes for their “food” to digest.
The other two dead mean on the ground changed from being food to hunters in a magical instant that seemed to fill the air. I swear I felt a tingle in me when their limbs started to twitch. I’m sure it was just Fannie Mae gripping me tightly where her tears soaked through my shirt. The other two rose to their feet silently and they all stood in a ring around Mr. Marsters. He looked at them wordlessly, his face, if it were possible, losing even more color. He was as pale as a sheet of paper and getting even paler.
One word ghosted through the air:”Fuck.”
Then the zombies set to with a will and tore him limb from limb. His guts spilled out on the ground and were gobbled up like so many sausages. They tore hunks of meat from him like they were butchers and he was the side of beef. One of them – Donnie, actually – finally pulled his head loose from his neck with a twist and walked away from the rest of the group carrying it and casually eating the ears off.
I doubted that Mr. Marsters would be coming back.
He was one of the lucky ones.
12.
Right about now you may be wondering what was going on inside my trailer and asking the question – the very good question – of why the three of us didn’t do anything about it. We were standing witness to a terrible, terrible tragedy and had the firepower to do something about it. If your mind can wrap itself around the tableau in front of us and still think of other things, that is. You may be calling us all cowards and wussies and say that all those deaths lay at our feet.
And you’d be right.
Fannie Mae stopped watching at some point and cried helplessly into my shirt, gripping me in a tight bear hug. Barrett came around to see what she was screaming about and promptly threw up on my floor. The sound and the smell of his putrid bile about made me throw up but I hadn’t eaten much so I managed to keep it all down. And me?
I stood there watching it all stoically, bearing witness as my punishment for being the one who’d started all this.
I could have picked the gun up from the couch and rushed out madly, Indiana Jones-style. I could have fired on foot-zombie and maybe hit his head without taking out anyone else. Doubtful, but it was possible. Or I could have charged in and shot Donny Marsters as he scrambled forward to eat the leg of the man who’d come to his aid. And maybe me shooting a shotgun into that group of men wouldn’t have harmed any of them. Maybe I could have done it without harming anyone else.
Or maybe, since I’d never actually shot anyone before, I’d have only managed to kill one of the other men in the group and they would have promptly attacked me. Or maybe none of my shots would have gone true and I’d have faced the pack of zombies that stood out there now, eating the ruined shell that had once been Mr. Marsters.