Fun World Read online

  Seeing the zombies drawn to the spectacle made Eric wonder if a shred of what brought people to a park like Fun World in the first place was still kicking around inside their diseased brains. He imagined the facial expressions of the walking corpses staring mindlessly at the redneck animals probably weren’t all that different than the people who’d gathered to watch the show a few days earlier. He couldn’t help but wonder how long a show like that could continue without people working to keep it going.

  The sound of the crooning coyotes faded as Eric and Lila raced past the buildings, leaving only the feral snarls of the zombies behind them. While some of the undead pursuing them had been lured away by the Jamboree, many others kept up the chase. The grounds immediately behind the row of buildings were heavily forested in keeping with this section of the park’s jungle motif. So dense was the vegetation that it almost seemed like they were running through a green-painted tunnel. As the canopy overhead began to thin a moment later, an impressive structure nestled high in the branches of a massive saman tree came into view. The intricate treehouse, made of wood and other such natural materials, wound around the huge tree trunk like a snake as it stretched toward the top.

  Eric thought that, like the lighthouse on Adventure Island, the improved vantage offered by the elevated structure would provide superior visibility and might offer sanctuary from the zombies hot on their trail. With his legs burning as though someone had started a fire inside of them, he knew he’d needed to find somewhere safe, and soon.

  “Keep going! Just a little farther,” he said breathlessly, as much for his own encouragement as Lila’s.

  While this part of the park hadn’t completely escaped the carnage, it was far less concentrated. As such, Eric and Lila outpaced the monsters on their tail with ease. Ahead, they saw a group of zombies standing relatively still in a tight cluster as if patiently waiting for something. Even though they were less than twenty yards away, they were facing the opposite direction and thus hadn’t noticed the pair running toward them from behind.

  Perhaps sensing they were losing their quarry, the pursuing undead seemed to quicken their pace. Their already unnatural movement became even more frenetic, leading one of the monsters to plow into a trash receptacle sitting on the side of the path. All manner of garbage exploded forth from the metal bin as its lid slammed against the ground with a loud crash. Almost as one, the pack of zombies ahead of Eric and Lila turned to investigate the clamor. Eric felt a rising sense of dread wash over him as it became apparent that the small horde was on course to intercept them—likely before they could reach the treehouse entrance. With Lila in tow, he willed his legs to pump harder in spite of the fatigue working against him.

  By the time the sign denoting the Treehouse at Shipwreck Point came into view, they had no time to spare. Eric and Lila made it to the outer gate just as the first of the approaching zombies came within arm’s reach. Tucking his chin and dropping his shoulder, Eric drove his body into the mangled thing, knocking it back several feet in the process. Taking full advantage of the small window of space he created, the pair ducked inside. He slammed the wooden gate shut before sliding a sturdy wooden board through the handles to secure it. Peering through the cracks between the slats, he saw zombies from both groups closing ranks on the gate. It creaked slightly when a strong breeze blew, leaving Eric more than a little concerned as to whether the wooden door would be up to the task of keeping out the oncoming horde.

  Not wanting to wait around to find out, he and Lila hurried past a parking area containing a jumbled pile of strollers abandoned by parents that weren’t likely to need them ever again. The idea saddened Eric nearly as much as the story told by the blood and gore that decorated many of them. Pushing the grisly scene out of his mind, he pressed forward to the Treehouse’s admission turnstile, which was unmanned and painted in blood in much the same way as the stroller lot. Although there were no bodies in view, the evidence of the savagery that had occurred was on full display.

  “Come on! Let’s get inside,” he said as he pointed toward the large structure on the other side of the short suspension bridge.

  When they were midway across the bridge, Eric saw at least part of the reason they hadn’t seen any bodies at the admission gate. An enormous, zombified former employee staggered onto the bridge, blocking their path to the Treehouse. The zombie was heavily muscled with a shaved head, and its vacant eyes bore a particularly malevolent look. Part of its scalp was missing along with the majority of its lower lip, giving it a perpetually menacing snarl. Eric’s initial thought was to turn back and find another way, but the sounds of countless fists banging against the rickety wooden barricade made him quickly abandon that notion. At nearly two hundred and thirty pounds, the lone zombie slowly trudging toward them had been a massive man in life. Its tattered uniform, which consisted of little more than rags designed to look like those of a shipwrecked survivor, was perfectly befitting of its current physical condition. After considering his options, Eric decided to take his chances with the big guy in front of him. “Stay behind me,” he said, his face far more uncertain than his voice.

  Without a word of debate, he turned and ran toward the shipwrecked behemoth, which staggered forward with outstretched arms and bloodstained teeth. As though playing a game of chicken, the zombie seemed to pick up its pace in response to Eric’s increasing speed. The bouncing and swaying bridge made running challenging for Eric but it nearly brought the big zombie to its knees on more than one occasion. Not surprisingly, it lurched forward to grab Eric as soon as he was close enough. The move was so telegraphed that Eric ducked under its reaching arms with ease, and using the side of his stick like a push bar, he drove it into the zombie’s chest, further off-balancing the monster. He continued forward without slowing, lowering his center of gravity in the process, and then in a single deft move, brought the stick up between the monster’s legs and used it to hoist the thing into the air. Shifting to the side, he dumped the zombie over the railing and into the water below. It made no effort to control its fall as it landed unceremoniously on its belly with a massive splash.

  With the path ahead clear, Eric and Lila raced across the bridge hand in hand. They mounted several flights of stairs before Lila ground to a halt. Breathlessly, she said, “Can we please stop for a minute?”

  She looked utterly exhausted, which was no surprise given the lack of sleep and the sugar crash she was no doubt experiencing. Although the gate rocked to and fro under the weight of the horde, it seemed to be holding up for the time being. The fact that they were nearly three stories up meant that they were fairly well concealed from anyone or anything on the ground. Realizing that they weren’t likely to find any safer place, Eric agreed. Besides, his legs could certainly use a break, and perhaps the zombies might give up on trying to reach them if they could no longer see them. Out of sight, out of mind. I wonder if that applies to zombies, too.

  The level they were on had been set up as sleeping quarters, complete with a washstand, dresser, and several beds. Eric and Lila collapsed onto the rather uncomfortable beds made of bamboo and other ‘jungle’ materials. Rustling through the leaves, the gentle breeze felt cool against their sweating skin. It was almost peaceful, aside from the sounds of the horde at the gate and the big zombie splashing around in the water below. Will this shit ever stop? Or maybe take a time-out, at least? Eric grumbled in frustration, but Lila seemed unfazed by the noise. She merely continued staring up through the leaves at the clear blue sky.

  Eric rolled off the bed and crawled to the edge of the wooden platform. The late afternoon sun felt warm on his face. Squinting, he could just make out the silhouettes of palm trees but not much else. He closed his eyes, letting a brisk gust of wind tickle his skin for a little longer. For a moment, it blew loud enough to drown out the horrors down below. Just as he knew it would, the wind eventually died down. The zombies, however, did not. He understood that they, like the wind, had a beginning and would some day have an end. Al
though he had no idea how this shitstorm had started, there was absolutely no denying it had. How it would end, on the other hand, remained to be seen. While he hadn’t had a great deal of time to consider it, from his perspective, it seemed impossible to envision a way in which humanity could survive it.

  Tired of running and tired of fighting, Eric opened his eyes to peer out over the landscape. As expected, he saw palm trees, and of course, zombies…scores and scores of zombies. Although the Treehouse deck wasn’t quite as high as the lighthouse, the view was no less stunning or horrifying. Being right in the middle of the park, he didn’t need the binocular scope’s magnification to see the carnage that had taken over Fun World like its latest attraction. Once magical and pristine, Fun World was now merely the rotting corpse of its former self.

  When Eric compared the hordes of zealous tourists to the hordes of bloodthirsty zombies, the differences weren’t as dramatic as he’d expected. There was certainly more blood and death now, but in some ways, the park felt more tranquil. This, he imagined, was simply due to a lower number of people frantically rushing in every direction. He knew there were still likely other people in the park, but their priorities were no longer selfies, social media, and being first in line. Instead, survival was all that mattered now. Truthfully, the tourists and the zombies were both terrible in their own way, though he wouldn’t have objected to going back to a time when the most dangerous things that could happen were being run over by a rogue stroller, cut off by one of the Fun World faithful, or getting splattered with mustard and relish because some fat guy wasn’t watching where he was walking while devouring his fully loaded Larry Dog with cheese.

  Eric took a deep breath as he tried to get his bearings. When he thought he’d determined the direction of the fallen soldiers and the shotgun he’d seen from the lighthouse, he discovered that the area was obscured from view by several large trees. I need to get to that gun… Much like the rest of his trip, one thing after another seemed to get in the way of his plans. Their need for food and water had superseded his need for acquiring a better weapon, and then they’d been forced to flee in the opposite direction. If there were other weapons within the park, he hadn’t seen them, which might’ve had more to do with his constantly running for his life than an actual absence of other guns. He glanced down at the wooden gate outside the Treehouse’s entrance, expecting to see it strained to its breaking point by the weight of more than twenty zombies. That wasn’t what he saw, however. Where there had been nearly twenty undead monsters clawing at the gate, there were now less than ten. Even as he watched, several more turned and shambled away as if no longer interested in what he and Lila had to offer. Maybe they do lose interest after a while…

  Cautiously optimistic, Eric finally saw the reason they were abandoning their position. On the opposite side of the walkway near where he had seen the second, smaller horde standing idly, was the Jungle Cantina, a jungle-themed restaurant serving a mix of South American and African cuisine. As he watched, the muffled sounds of glass breaking and loud screams of anger and pain erupted from inside. Moments later, the front doors burst open and scores of people who’d been holed up inside began pouring out. I guess that explains where some of the people went. There must be pockets of people all throughout the park, hunkering down in hopes of weathering this shitstorm. Among the group were at least fifty men, women, and children…and, of course, zombies. Apparently, the group had managed to stay safe for the first day by hiding out in the restaurant. One or more of the undead had somehow found a way inside, and Eric was now witnessing the chaotic aftermath. He wondered if someone taking refuge with the group had been bitten, only to turn into the group’s downfall a short time later.

  Eric had only seen two or three zombies amongst the group stampeding out of the restaurant, but many others quickly joined in the frenzy. Horror-struck, he watched an adolescent zombie drag a heavyset woman more than twice its size to the ground. The paunchy lady flailed uselessly in a half-hearted attempt to fight him off. From his vantage, the woman almost appeared to be trying to reason with the feral creature as it went about its savage business. Her throat was torn out before she even hit the ground. Many other people were trampled underfoot as those behind them surged forward to escape the violence. Terror-filled screams filled the air, calling out to every undead monster within a mile radius. Fucking idiots! You guys would’ve been far better off standing your ground and fighting. There were only a few of them inside with you. Now things have gone from bad to so much worse...

  Eric understood that getting someone to fight, even when his or her life depended on it, was far easier said than done. In fact, it was often easier to convince a person to risk their own life by charging headlong into an even more dangerous situation if it meant not hurting or killing another person—or in this case, something that had once been a person. He’d witnessed the same phenomenon time and again during his time in the military. In the end, fear and the unyielding drive for self-preservation won out, and the Jungle Cantina occupants were paying for it with their lives. Nearly all the zombies that had been amassed at the gate were doing their best to pick off the tourists fleeing the restaurant. Everywhere he looked, another person was being dragged to the ground, until it started to seem like the uninfected were fast becoming the minority.

  Lying on his stomach to maintain a low profile, Eric watched in stunned disbelief. Lila remained on her back staring upward, seemingly oblivious to the massacre taking place right below them. Although he knew she could hear the chaos, he was glad she wasn’t watching. It was a bloodbath, yet he was powerless to peel his eyes away. When several more zombies stumbled around the corner to join in the fracas, he suddenly leapt to his feet and cried, “Oh, God! No!”

  Hearing the concern in her father’s voice, Lila rolled over and immediately saw the cause of his emotional outburst.

  Beyond the dwindling crowd, several more zombies staggered into view, eager to join in the action before no more action remained. Given that the undead emerged from virtually every nook and cranny at the sight of the veritable buffet spilling into the street, that alone wasn’t unusual. What caught Eric’s eye was the notably shorter, smaller-statured zombie—the one mangled nearly beyond recognition that somehow still sported a big pink bow affixed to the little tuft of hair still attached to her skull.

  “That’s…not possible. It can’t…” Eric said, his words bound and gagged in his throat.

  Although Lila hadn’t been privy to everything that had happened to the little girl they’d seen stranded in the midst of the fleeing crowd, she had no doubt it was the same one. Girls just didn’t wear huge bows like that anymore. Seeing the pain in her father’s eyes, she reached out to take his hand. Her touch seemed to shake him out of his stupor, and he reached for the faux-vine railing for support.

  Before Eric had even considered the consequences of standing up and moving to the railing, a middle-aged man in a chef’s uniform at the edge of the clash below pointed up at him and shouted, “Look! People! It’s safe up there! Follow me!”

  Still recovering from the shock of seeing the little girl’s zombified corpse, Eric showed little response when the man started moving toward the now vacant barricade. In fact, it wasn’t until the chef was standing outside the closed gate with nearly a dozen other tourists that he registered what was about to happen. Although he was too far away to hear what was being said, the group left no doubt as to their intentions when they began ramming into the door in an uncoordinated effort not unlike that of the zombies before them. Once again, the gate was strained nearly to its breaking point but held fast in the end. The brief glimmer of hope that flared in Eric’s mind was quickly doused by the appearance of several zombies bearing down on the group outside the gate.

  “Better check your six, you dumbshits,” Eric muttered, pointing to the zombies rapidly approaching them from behind. Situational awareness was a skill that had always been scarce amongst the general population. Now, in the cell phone
and social media era, it was virtually nonexistent. Unfortunately, the tourists didn’t have a clear view of him from their position, so they continued working to breach the gate, oblivious to the hell bearing down upon them.

  Finally, after several failed attempts using the zombie method of trying to gain access to the Treehouse by force, the chef and another man decided to take advantage of their brains, which still functioned for the time being. Working together, they pried the lower half of the gate open wide enough for a skinny teenage boy to slip through the crack. Eric watched in shock as the boy opened the proverbial floodgates by removing the wooden slat that had thus far kept everyone—and everything—from entering the attraction.

  No sooner than the gate was opened, the closest zombie clamped down on the neck of a lady who was wearing a running suit and waiting impatiently as though the park had just screwed her out of her last Early Access Pass. Her earsplitting scream was like a pistol shot at the start of a marathon, leading the entire mass—both alive and undead— to surge forward instantly. The teenage boy who’d been their key to entry was trampled underfoot for his troubles. No one seemed to notice the crushed and bloody lump they scrambled over in a desperate attempt to save their own skins. Only after the last of the group had stormed through the gates like an invading Viking army did anyone pay him any attention. By then, the running-suit lady had clamored back to her feet, though she didn’t stay upright for long. Renewed screams of agony erupted from the boy’s mouth as the newly turned tracksuit zombie dove in to finish what the others had started.