Camper Vans of the Dead

We like taking our boy to a big park down the hill from our place. It has plenty of games in it and has tons of sand, so when he launches himself off from perilous heights and plows into the surface, leaving a crater that would shame a meteor strike, he can dust himself off and giggle his way to the next part of the jungle gym and try it all over again.

It’s a bit of a hike to get there, so we don’t go every day, but we made it out yesterday. There is a large open area next to the park. It is typically empty, but is sometimes used as the community fair grounds. On this particular day, several large campers were clustered in an irregular ring in the center of the field. Although it was a little unusual, I didn’t pay it much heed.

We had the rare privilege of being back in the area this evening, so we decided to haul junior back out to the park so he could air out and vent some of the energy his Acme toddler nuclear generator builds up over the day. As he was caroming between play structures like a pinball on Speed, my wife gently clutched at my elbow.

“Do you notice something strange?” She asked.

I keenly  surveyed the surroundings, having perked up from my glassy contemplation of the envy I felt for my son’s boundless energy. Within seconds, I was invigorated, nerves on edge, alive! Were there ninjas hiding in those bushes? Nope. Perhaps angry clowns ready to dash out from around the fairground lodge? Hmmm. Neither. Maybe there was a cloaked UFO hovering above us, levitating a cow up to its hold for unspeakable experimentation. Nada. This is a little disconcerting. What had she noticed?

“Sorry, I’m not seeing anything.” I admitted, slightly downtrodden. What good are my manly defensive instincts if I can’t pick out something unusual?

“Look at the campers. There are lots of them.” She pointed in the direction of the large open area.

“Uh, yeah, they were there yesterday.” I splayed my hands out dismissively. It was time to turn my attention back to the boy. Doubtless he would have found some way to chew his way through the steel plays tructures by now. Where had he run off to?

“But there are way more than there were yesterday.” I could tell she was about to smack me behind the head, so I decided to take her implicit invitation to take a second look. She was right. It’s like if some out of control cancerous cellular division of caravans took place overnight. There were dozens of campers of all shapes and sizes densely packed into the field. A small flag was erected in the middle of the camping area. Where had all of these vehicles come from, and why were they here, in the middle of nowhere? We live in a pretty small community. It isn’t quite in the boonies, but it isn’t in the middle of prime camping territory as far as I know.  It just didn’t make any sense why these visitors would have been drawn to our little park, nestled in a quiet little nook of nowhere.

As I began to grasp the scope of the invasion, my wife pointed to crowds of people milling about, seemingly emanating from the caravan hive. They were slowly ambling about in ones and twos, almost aimless in their demeanor. Since my wife and I seem to share the same brain most of the time, the same idea popped into our heads: this must be a zombie invasion. Zombies don’t spread their disease about by slowly shambling through fields from city to city. They clearly get into campers and set up shop in a new town. Most people don’t see it coming. I mean, who would suspect a bunch of holiday travelers to be the undead?

At this point, we both started laughing at how this started sounding like the setup for a movie like Shaun of the Dead. Soon after, we were arguing vociferously over who would get to be Nick Frost or Simon Pegg in our little horror escapade. At about this point, our kid thundered into the ground at mach chicken, leaving a smoking crater. A loud wail keened over the playground. Oh no! The zombies got him!

Not really, he slowly rose, his face covered in sand, his mouth filled with grit, and dribbling sandy slobber all over his chest. He wasn’t hurt, but his pride certainly took a beating. A swig of water later, and he was away, clambering up a ladder to a higher play structure. We forgot our zombies for a while, and turned our vigilance back towards our progeny.

I’m going to have to keep the story premise we stumbled across in the back of my mind, because I think it can be turned into a rip-roaring adventure. Of course, if Mr. Pegg and Mr. Frost want to use this nugget as inspiration for their next fantabulous outing…

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