Fun World Read online

  Two troubling images struck her retina simultaneously. First, an ominous shadow, moving as silently as a wraith, emerged from the building’s right side. Second, her father stood stock-still outside the restaurant’s back door, seemingly oblivious to the potential danger approaching from his blind side. Stifling a gasp, she resisted the urge to shout a warning to her father. She knew that to do so would be to go against what he’d told her to do—what she’d promised to do. Biting her tongue, she stared at the back of his head, hoping to see any indication that he was aware of the approaching zombies. Just when she thought she could wait no longer to call out to him, a quick flick of his head told her that he’d noticed the threat. His recognition couldn’t have come a second later.

  The first monster rounded the corner, its face a ruined mess, with one eye dangling precariously from sinewy attachments of nerve and muscle while the other peered out lifelessly. Lila felt as though its sole eye was staring directly at her, though she had no idea how well zombies could see or if the thing had even noticed her. Unwilling to take a chance, she disappeared from sight the instant it came into view. Pressed flat against the ground, she slithered backward into the frigid water. The shock of the water against her skin elicited an involuntary gasp, and she bit down on her lip to silence her breath. Moving slowly so as to avoid overly agitating the water’s still surface, she stifled the shiver she felt building throughout her entire body. Despite the bone-chilling temperature, she continued backward until only the top of her head remained above water. Nearly flush with the water’s surface and nestled amongst a stand of reeds growing along the bank, she was almost invisible.

  Holding his breath, Eric watched anxiously for what felt like an eternity. Finally, his worst fear materialized when the lead zombie took another staggering step toward the waterline. If the monsters had zeroed in on Lila’s position, then he had no choice but to take them out. Sure there were two of them, but they were facing away from him, thus giving him the element of surprise. Truthfully, it wouldn’t have mattered if there were twenty of them.

  Poised to attack, he stepped forward and reached for the doorknob. Perhaps because he’d been holding his breath, the minor exertion caused his vision to gray around the periphery as though he were entering a dark tunnel. Steadying himself, he drew a slow deep breath that he immediately regretted. Although he knew it had to be done, the rank air that filled his lungs made him seriously consider whether passing out might have been the preferable alternative. Focusing on the monsters outside, he saw the lead zombie stop and pan its head around as though trying to remember where it’d been going. Maybe it lost her trail? A spark of hope flared in his chest, as the suffocating tension waned ever so slightly.

  Like a candle in a strong breeze, Eric’s hope was snuffed out when the zombie took another lumbering step forward a second later. Eric sprang into action without another thought, moving quickly and quietly through the doorway. No sooner than he had the pair of zombies in his sights, a shrill cry pierced the air from somewhere far to his left. Although he still didn’t have a visual on Lila, the scream sounded too old and too far away to be coming from her. Regardless, he wasn’t the only one that took notice of the piercing shriek. The two monsters immediately veered toward the sound as if drawn to it like a moth to a light.

  Despite the fact that Eric had no cover, the zombies didn’t notice him standing behind them. Once again, he held his breath as he waited for the monsters to stumble out of view. The moment they were out of sight, he shifted his gaze back to the water’s edge, desperately searching for his little girl. He’d told Lila to hide there and had seen her do so, only now she was nowhere to be seen. His pulse quickened as a thousand terrible possibilities raced through his mind. When he could no longer stand it, he decided to risk calling out to her.

  “Lila!” he said in a hushed but urgent voice.

  Eric’s thoughts immediately went from bad to worse when he heard no reply. With desperation taking hold, he stepped farther out into the open, hoping the improved vantage might help him locate her—no joy. Again, he called her name, this time more loudly. While there were no zombies in sight, he wasn’t particularly concerned about whether any were in earshot. The only thing he cared about at that moment was finding Lila alive and well. His plea echoed softly across the water before vanishing into oblivion. The only reply was the rustle of a gentle breeze through the vegetation.

  Dejected, Eric stared out over the world around him, which had grown deathly still. Even the woman’s agonizing cries had gone silent. Where are you, Lila? As if in response to his internal dialogue, something agitated the water near the shore, sending a subtle ripple out over the lake’s placid surface. All of a sudden, a dark form rose up slightly and began crawling out of the water like the creature from the Black Lagoon. The sloped bank largely obscured whatever was working its way onto land.

  Eric had heard of pets and even small children being devoured by alligators hiding in the water, and the park was known to be home to hundreds of the massive reptiles. The mental image of his little girl fighting off a five-hundred-pound crocodilian made him instantly queasy, and he tried hard to push it away. I would’ve heard something like that, right? At the same time, he instinctively took a backward step, unsure of what was slowly moving in his direction.

  The meager stick in Eric’s hand felt supremely inadequate as he considered the amount of power such an enormous animal wielded. In his mind’s eye, he imagined what passed for a reptilian smile appearing on the gator’s face when it noticed how defenseless its next victim was. When the figure finally crested the top of the rise, he let out a sigh of relief. Crawling on all four like a well-trained soldier was Lila. No longer concerned with stealth or concealment, he raced forward and scooped her into his arms. “Are you okay? I was worried sick,” he said as he held her tightly.

  “I’m fine, just cold,” Lila replied evenly. Her steadfast and determined voice sounded far more mature than that of a typical eight-year-old child. He held her for a moment longer before lowering her to the ground. Undead snarls growing in the distance told him that it was time to get out of the open.

  “Come on. Let’s head inside.”

  Even as he said it, the thought of the noxious smell waiting to greet them within the gore-stained eatery made him question the wisdom of going back in. At least nothing in there is trying to kill us…I don’t think. Looking down at his daughter, Eric said, “I should warn you it’s pretty gruesome inside.” If his words had any effect on her, he couldn’t tell. Her expression remained unchanged as they hurried toward the back door.

  Just as it had initially, the rancid odor launched its relentless attack on Eric’s olfactory system, leaving him doubled over and gagging. He wasn’t a particularly squeamish person, but this was simply too much. Lila grimaced slightly but seemed otherwise unfazed by the overpowering coppery stench of death and decay. The door to The Gold Rush closed behind them, cutting off any chance of fresh air and leaving only the meager light that percolated through the grimy windows to illuminate the interior. What would’ve been loud and chaotic on any other day was now as quiet as a mausoleum.

  Standing side-by-side, father and daughter surveyed their surroundings. Dark swaths painted the floors, walls, and tables. Although it was hard to identify in the low light, Eric knew what it was, and he was fairly certain Lila did, too. The congealed blood felt sticky underfoot—a sensation that threatened to reinvigorate the nausea he was only just overcoming.

  Hoping to spend as little time as possible inside the nightmarish establishment, Eric started toward the front door. As they moved deeper into the restaurant, they passed several mounds of varying sizes scattered across the floor. Some were so poorly defined that they could’ve been almost anything. Others left no room for the imagination. A bloody shoe, several yards of intestines, and a meaty chunk of scalp attached to a knot of long, black hair all marked the path between them and the front door like breadcrumbs left by Hansel and Gretel zombies. H
e couldn’t help but wonder why some people who were attacked turned into zombies while others simply died. Perhaps it’s related to the severity of the injuries? Maybe there are parts that are essential for zombiehood and if they are damaged, the person is just dead. Instinctively, he turned to shield Lila’s eyes from these horrors, only she wasn’t where he’d expected her.

  Glancing around frantically, Eric found her crouched next to a drink cooler with a half-empty bottle of chocolate milk in her hand and a huge grin on her face. She didn’t seem to care that a former employee’s corpse was slumped on the floor less than ten feet behind her. Blood stained his prospector’s uniform, while a sizable knife protruded from his temple. The radiance of her beautiful smile was such that it eclipsed the atrocities all around them, and he soon realized that he, too, was smiling from ear to ear. Without pausing her massive gulp, she stretched out her other hand and offered her father a bottle of milk. Soon, they’d each finished two bottles and were reaching for a third.

  “We better slow down. I already feel like I’m going to slosh with every step,” Eric said.

  Lila shot him a big, chocolate milk-mustached grin that told him she was only just getting started. It was so nice to see her smile that he almost forgot where they were…and what was happening. Looking around, he saw something sitting atop a nearby counter that made him jump to his feet immediately. He ran over to the backpack covered with all manner of pins and buttons and began emptying its contents. A phone with a dead battery, keys, earbuds, a journal, a dog-eared copy of The Catcher in the Rye, and makeup—lots of makeup—all hit the countertop. He began filling the empty backpack with any nonperishable food and drink he could find. A pair of eight-inch chef knives caught his eye, and he added one to his stash before zipping up the backpack. He gripped the other tightly so as to have it at the ready. Can’t hurt to add something with a little more edge to the arsenal, right? He chuckled to himself, as it almost sounded like he was asking the stick for permission to bring the knives along.

  By the time he made it back to Lila, she had already polished off the third chocolate milk and moved on to an oversized cupcake in the shape of Larry the Lion’s face. “I got us a to-go bag,” he said, pointing to the pack with pride. “We should probably get moving.”

  “Got any room for these?” Lila asked, holding up two more of the ridiculously sized confections. Her words were garbled as she spoke through a mouth full of cake and icing. Eric shot her a look that told her he wasn’t nearly as excited about the baked goods as she was. In truth, he was wondering if she was even going to be able to walk after gorging herself. Although Lila couldn’t look any more different, he thought of his Uncle Lenny, an obese mountain of a man who would invariably loosen his belt and undo the top button of his pants before waddling over to sit on the couch after a particularly big meal. With a nod of his head, he motioned toward the front of the eatery before turning and heading in that direction. He glanced back to see Lila staggering after him, her sluggish gait telling him that she was feeling the first effects of her impending sugar coma.

  When he neared the storefront, he saw that it hadn’t escaped the previous night’s violence. The glass of one window was spiderwebbed by several punched-out bullet holes. A two-foot section of glass was completely missing from another window’s top right corner. Hundreds of sparkling glass pieces littered the floor below. Although the door’s glass panes weren’t broken, they were so smudged with blood that it was virtually impossible to see through them. Parallel ruddy crimson lines covered the length of the door, extending onto the floor before abruptly ending in a thick maroon circle surrounding an unidentifiable heap in the middle. Many sets of footprints appeared to have come and gone from the bloody circle. Eric looked around in search of those responsible for the prints but saw nothing moving.

  While Eric’s interest was in The Gold Rush’s storefront, Lila found the booths situated along the walls far more enticing. Her eyes were heavy as she made her way toward the closest bench seat. Even before she rounded the corner, she’d already begun to lower herself onto the red vinyl cushion. At the last second, she noticed the seat was already occupied, but it was too late. Between her forward momentum and substantial fatigue, she wasn’t able to keep from sitting on the well-camouflaged lump of bloody tissue. Although it wasn’t the same as sitting on a living thing, it certainly felt different than sitting on an inanimate object. The sickening feeling was compounded when a cold hand clamped down on her wrist. Unable to find her voice, Lila let out a startled gasp. She tried to pull away but it was no use; the grip was simply too strong.

  Thwack! Thwack!

  Thwack!

  Like a silver bolt of lightning, the shiny blade appeared out of nowhere and struck with a fury the likes of which Lila had never seen. The zombie’s grip went slack, and she immediately pulled away from the deplorable thing. Eyes wide with terror, she clung to her father’s leg as they both struggled to catch their breath. He wiped the blade on the cleanest part of the zombie’s clothes before guiding Lila toward the front door.

  “Are you okay? It didn’t bite you did it?” Still shell-shocked from the close encounter, Lila merely shook her head.

  As they passed a table, Eric picked up a napkin and dipped it in a half-empty glass of water. He wiped the dried blood on the window but only succeeded in smearing the glass even more. Frustrated and more than ready to be out of this hellhole, he depressed the panic bar and nudged the door. Keeping with the restaurant’s rustic prospector’s camp motif, the sound of a dinner bell ringing over a tinny, electronic banjo riff played over the speakers as soon as the door opened. The annoying chime, which had signaled employees of the arrival of so many patrons over the years, now had the undesired effect of alerting nearly a dozen zombies milling about on the thoroughfare directly in front of the establishment. In much the same way as The Gold Rush’s employees had done on countless occasions, the undead monsters turned and regarded the sound with a feral snarl.

  Despite the obvious danger, Eric found himself paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of carnage spread out before him. It was a scene that defied comprehension, and it stretched as far as he could see in every direction. Countless bodies, arms and legs akimbo, were sprawled atop one another, forming a ragged carpet of death. The way the corpses blanketed the ground reminded him of the Jonestown footage he’d once seen in a documentary, only so much worse. Virtually every shade of red was represented—the ubiquitous blood serving as the glue that held the horrific tableau together.

  Perhaps most disturbing of all was the movement; there was so much movement. And it wasn’t just the shambling corpses turning in his direction. The entire gory landscape seemed to writhe like a massive organism that had been mortally wounded. Many of the bodies, mutilated far beyond the point at which ambulation was possible, still wriggled and squirmed under the influence of some preternatural, diabolical force.

  Thick swarms of blowflies hovered above the carnage like an impenetrable death shroud. Taken together, their tiny wings buzzed loudly, seemingly fanning the coppery smell of death all around, as if to assert their dominion over the putrescence below. The overwhelming deluge of sensory information washed over Eric instantly. Warmth flooded his body despite the relatively cool ambient temperature, and he swallowed hard to keep from retching. Given the sheer number of people that had been at Fun World and the brutality of the outbreak he’d witnessed, he knew he shouldn’t have expected anything less. Even so, expecting something and actually seeing it were two completely different things. Pale faced, he turned to Lila and said the only thing he could think to do.

  “Run!”

  8

  Without another thought, the pair turned and started toward the closest opening they could see through the carnage. The opposite side of the thoroughfare was lined with several buildings that looked similar to The Gold Rush eatery. Crossing the wide walkway proved to be a challenging endeavor, their feet continually slipping on the blood-soaked pavement and stumbling ov
er unidentifiable body parts. Lila fell to the ground on more than one occasion, but Eric pulled her back to her feet without slowing. When a weak hand grabbed his ankle, he kicked free with ease, sending what was left of the man skidding several feet across the asphalt. Those zombies capable of walking were steadily converging behind them. Fortunately, they experienced the same difficulty navigating the minefield of death and gore their brethren had left behind.

  When Eric and Lila finally reached the far side of the thoroughfare, they ducked between The Ol’ Trading Post, a store specializing in peddling gaudy western-themed trinkets at inordinate prices, and The Howling Moon Jamboree. The latter was an open-front venue that featured a trio of animatronic coyotes clad in western attire and standing on their hind legs. Despite everything going on around them, the group still performed as though there were anyone left that actually gave a shit about life on the frontier. Eric couldn’t help but wonder if that meant he was wrong about the power being shut off.

  A coyote with a red bandana tied around its neck plucked a primitive banjo fashioned out of a cigar box, while the other two sang and bantered back and forth with stereotypical southern accents. Likely attracted by the sound and movement, several undead gathered around as if hoping to take a break from killing and enjoy the show. One zombie somehow managed to climb onto the stage and was being repeatedly bashed in the face by the banjo’s headstock every time the robotic coyote pivoted during the performance. Undeterred, the zombie staggered forward each time it was knocked backward, as if it hadn’t yet figured out that the Jamboree performers weren’t actually food.