Z-Burbia Box Set | Books 4-6 [The Road Trip Trilogy]

by Bible, Jake

  “Could have done without that visual,” Charlie says.

  “No shit,” Greta responds.

  “Hush,” Stella growls.

  They hush.

  “I grew up where my own daddy whipped me harder than he whipped our mule,” Critter said. “That ain’t free. I was drafted and spent four years in a nasty jungle against my will. Four years of killin’ people I didn’t know enough to hate. That ain’t free.”

  Critter was in Vietnam? Didn’t know that.

  “I spent the rest of my life runnin’ from the law because I wanted a piece of the lie like everyone else,” Critter continued. “That ain’t free. Now I gotta live with you losers instead of being back in my holler with a jar of ‘shine and a plate of barbecue. That ain’t free.”

  He zeroes in on me and it takes all of my willpower not to look away from those intense, beady eyes.

  “You don’t know what real freedom is, Jason Stanford,” Critter says. “You never have, boy. So don’t stand there and fill these people’s heads with your arguments for this and your arguments against that. You are wastin’ their time and you are wastin’ my time. We need to be back on the road and we need to be doin’ that now. So shut that smart mouth of yours and let’s get this convoy rollin’. Understood?”

  Well, it’s not like I can say much to that. The crotchety old fart has a point. I may not agree with his points, but for the first time tonight, I see some small bits of hope on the faces before me.

  “Understood,” I say. “But I am going to propose a change in leadership.”

  “Are you now?” Lourdes sighs. “This should be good.”

  “I propose Critter is in charge,” I say. “He can defer to you how he wants, and he may want to defer everything, but I’d feel a lot better if he was the man with the final vote. He’s been fighting all his life and he knows the unwritten rules of a brutal road. He’s a criminal, a rebel, an asshole, and a leader. That’s who I want telling me what to do when I die, not a soldier.”

  “Now hold on a damn...’”Critter starts to protest.

  “I second that motion,” Buzz says.

  “And I’ll third it,” Stella says as she reaches out and takes my hand. “I think Critter would be the perfect choice.”

  “Stuart?” Lourdes asks. “What are your thoughts?”

  “Once again, Jace pulls the answer out of his ass,” Stuart smiles, winces, then smiles again. “The man is a survivor and I sure as shit know he won’t let power go to his head.”

  “Hey, now!” Critter cries. “I don’t want the damn job!”

  “Tough shit,” I say. “All in favor of Critter Fitzpatrick being the man in charge?”

  “Aye!” the crowd shouts.

  “That sounded pretty damned unanimous,” Stuart says as he claps Critter on the shoulder. “Bet you didn’t see that coming when you started your speech.”

  “I hate you, Long Pork,” Critter says as he glares at me. “You know that, right? I’ll get you for this.”

  “Hey, you’re in charge now,” I grin. “You can always order me to be dragged behind one of the RVs.”

  “I might just do that,” he says.

  “You will not,” Stella snaps. “Don’t you even try.”

  Critter keeps grumbling as folks stand and approach him. There’s a lot of hand shaking and back slapping, but I don’t pay too much attention to it as I see Elsbeth slowly make her way from the building.

  “You think she’ll be alright?” I ask Stella.

  “You’re worried about El? When I just reamed you out in front of everyone?” Stella laughs. “You are fucked up, Jason Stanford.”

  “No argument there,” Greta says.

  “It’s a documented fact,” Charlie adds.

  “Fuck you all,” I smirk. “You suck.”

  IT TAKES TWO MORE DAYS to get everything together so we can head out on the road. Fifteen RVs with miscellaneous vehicles interspersed to act as flanking guards and also to block any attacks. One of the vehicles is Critter’s Jeep, which he insisted he would drive, until he was told by everyone that as leader he had to be in one of the RVs.

  He was not happy, to say the least.

  Everything is distributed evenly amongst the RVs based on how many occupants there are. If anyone gets separated, they’ll have a fighting chance to keep going for at least a little while. However, with a total of fifteen RVs, all armored and outfitted for combat travel, it would be pretty surprising if anything can separate us.

  But, hey, surprising is the theme of the apocalypse apparently.

  At least that’s what I’m thinking as we only get a half mile down the road and the convoy has to come to a stop. It was decided that I would ride up in the second to the front RV with my family. We also have Stuart, John, Elsbeth, Reaper, and all the Fitzpatricks, including Melissa. Critter is up in the front RV with Lourdes and that’s where the order to stop comes from over the radio.

  “What you got, Uncle Critter?” Buzz asks over the radio.

  “A bit of a snag,” Critter says. “Looks like we have a bunch of cannies that want a word with us before we go.”

  “Cannies?” Buzz asks. “Just run them down.”

  “Well, that was my first thought, but they’re waving white flags and shit,” Critter replies. “I believe they’d like a parlay.”

  “What? Are we pirates?” I laugh.

  “Jace wants to know if we’re pirates,” Buzz relays.

  “That was a joke,” I say then see Buzz’s smirk.

  “Tell Long Pork to get his butt up here since they want to speak with him directly,” Critter replies and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t know what that boy did, but we ain’t goin’ nowhere until he fixes it.”

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  “Come on,” Elsbeth sighs. “I’ll go with you.”

  “We’re all going,” Stella says then looks at the kids, “except for you two. Stay put.”

  “Yeah, not a problem,” Charlie says.

  “You couldn’t make me go out there,” Greta adds.

  “I’ll stay with them,” Melissa says. “I have had my fill of cannies.”

  “And Pup will still be in the driver’s seat,” Buzz says, “in case we need to move fast.”

  “Then let the parlay begin,” I sigh. “Awesome.”

  We all leave the RV and make our way to the first one where Critter and Lourdes are waiting. I glance back and see a PC settling themselves on top of each of the RVs, their rifles and carbines at the ready.

  “What did you do?” Critter grins at me as we proceed towards the crowd of post-apocalyptic misfits that block the road.

  “Mr. Stanford! Jace!” a man says from the front of the crowd. He’s dressed in ratty cargo shorts and a torn tee shirt, but with a spotless top hat covering his head. He takes the hat off and bows. “It is nice to meet on much friendlier terms.”

  I don’t really recognize the man, but I do recognize the voice.

  “Mr. Flips?” I ask.

  “The one and only,” Mr. Flips replies as he dons his hat once more. “It was a little dark when we met first so I am not surprised you didn’t realize who I was right away.”

  “What the fuck do you want?” I snap. “You can wave those white flags all you want, but you fucking put me and my family into Cannibal Road! I should let the PCs shoot the fuck out of you!”

  The white flag waving stops and I see nothing but fear as the canny group turns its attention to Mr. Flip.

  The cannie announcer swallows hard and clears his throat. “Yes, well, you would be within your rights.”

  “Don’t get him started on rights,” Critter grins then steps forward. “Hell, don’t bother talkin’ to the fool at all. Apparently, I’m the idiot in charge around here, so say what you need to say to me.”

  “Ah, well, alright, mister...”

  “Critter. Ain’t no mister in front of it,” Critter says. “I ain’t as fancy as someone called Mr. Flips.”

  “Wha
t do you want, Flips?” I ask.

  “We’d like to come with you,” Mr. Flips replies as he gestures to the crowd of about thirty cannies behind him. “Some scouts have returned from their outings and informed us that you have quite an angry hornet’s nest looking for you. Unfortunately, they will have to come our way to get to you. While not all agree, and the majority has stayed behind, I came to the conclusion that it would be better to join you on the run than stay behind and hope we meet mercy.”

  “Ain’t no mercy for cannies,” Elsbeth says.

  “No truer words have been spoken,” Mr. Flips nods.

  “We do not have the room or resources for this many people,” Lourdes says. “Even if we agreed to have a bunch of killers join our ranks.”

  “More true words,” Mr. Flips replies. “But we wouldn’t be a burden on you at all. We have our own vehicles and supplies. We would just like to benefit from your expertise and the safety numbers provide.”

  “Fuck you,” Stella says.

  “I’m going to have to agree with my wife, Flips,” I shrug. “She does have a point there.”

  “We’ll train behind you and won’t mix with your party unless we are invited,” Mr. Flips says. “And every person here has sworn they will no longer consume human meat. No harm will come to a single hair in your convoy from us. This I can swear on my life.”

  “Give us a second, will ya?” Critter asks and motions for us to take a few steps back and huddle up. “What do y’all think?”

  All eyes fall on me.

  “Hey, I’m not in charge,” I say, but keep speaking before the insults fly my way. “Yet he makes an argument about the safety in numbers thing. We are bound to lose a percentage of the convoy at some point. Having the cannies with us may mean they are that percentage instead of us.”

  “We keep them as decoys?” Stuart asks. “Let them take the heat when we get attacked?”

  “They ride in shitty pickups and motorcycles,” I say. “If anyone will be targets it’ll be them first.”

  “How democratic of you,” Lourdes smirks.

  “When in Rome...” I reply.

  “Then they come with,” Critter says. “We don’t trust them, we don’t let them out of our sight, and we don’t ever let them catch us off guard. We do this and eyes are open from the get go.”

  “Sounds like a plan, boss,” I say.

  “Damn right,” Critter says and turns back to Mr. Flips and his canny crew. “Y’all can come with, but we will be watchin’ you. You make one wrong move and it’s all over. There will be no warnin’ and no second chances. You’re joinin’ a bunch of folk that know how to kill and puttin’ some cannies down will not make half of us blink.”

  “As it should be,” Mr. Flips says and bows again. “We thank you for your kindness.”

  “It ain’t kindness, it’s about the numbers like ya said,” Critter frowns. “Now get your people ready because we are moving out now. You get left behind and that’s your fault, not mine. Ya hear what I’m sayin’?”

  “Loud and clear, Critter,” Mr. Flips nods, and then lets out a loud whistle. The sounds of engines roaring to life make us all jump and pistols and rifles are lifted instantly. Mr. Flips holds his hands up. “My apologies! I have a flair for the dramatic! We’ll fall in line as soon as you pass!”

  Several shitty pickups and motorcycles, just as I predicted, roll out of the woods on each side of the interstate. The crowd of cannies hurries off to their respective rides, leaving us alone with Mr. Flips.

  Critter steps forward and offers his hand. “No second chances. Not a one.”

  “Deal, sir,” Mr. Flips says as he shakes Critter’s hand.

  “And one more thing,” I say as I point at the motorcycle riders. “No goggles.”

  Everyone looks at me.

  “What? I hate goggles,” I say. “They just fucking drive me crazy.”

  “They need them to keep the bugs out of their eyes,” Mr. Flips frowns. “But if it is a nonnegotiable term then I’ll...”

  “They can keep their stupid goggles,” Critter says as he shakes his head at me. “This is why you ain’t in charge, Long Pork. Sayin’ stupid shit like that.”

  “Worth a shot,” I say quietly.

  A truck pulls up and Mr. Flips nods to us, and then is helped up into the bed with quite the post-apocalyptic posse.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” Critter says.

  “My words exactly,” Mr. Flips smiles down at us.

  “Jesus. What have I done?” Critter sighs as he stalks back to his RV.

  We all return to our RV and take our seats as the convoy moves out. The kids’ eyes go wide as we drive past the cannies while they wait their turn to take up the rear.

  “Uh...,” is all Charlie can say.

  “No shit,” Greta adds. “A major fucking uh.”

  “Yeah, we have some new friends,” I say. “Always nice to make friends in the apocalypse.”

  “If you say so,” Greta replies. “Mom?”

  “They promised not to eat us,” Stella shrugs. “Stuart and Critter think they’ll make good decoys if we get attacked.”

  “Oh, well that’s cool,” Greta says and then relaxes instantly. “We don’t need friends, but decoys are always good.”

  “Totally,” Charlie agrees.

  “We’ve raised monsters,” Stella sighs.

  “At least we still have them to raise,” I say.

  That brings the mood in the RV down a notch and I instantly regret saying the words.

  But they are true.

  I have my wife and kids with me. We’ve been driven from our home, nearly eaten, and yet here we sit in a fucking armored RV, rolling down I-40 on our way to the great unknown that is the post-apocalyptic world we live in.

  “This thing have a CD player?” I ask. “Can we have some tunes while we go?”

  “Yeah, hold on,” Pup says from up front. “Here we go.”

  The surround sound speakers were pulled out because of weight, but there are still two speakers up front and I can’t help but smile as Steppenwolf’s “Born To Be Wild” starts up.

  “Nice,” I say and close my eyes.

  “Is there any Jay-Z?” Charlie asks.

  “Or Katy Perry?” Greta shouts over the sounds of the sixties anthem.

  I drift off as the kids start to bicker over what music to listen to next. For once, I can give two shits about them fighting, I’m just glad they are alive and we are putting distance between us and Cannibal Road, even if we are taking a little part of it with us.

  A hand slips into mine and I don’t have to open my eyes to know whose it is. As sleep takes me, I am perfectly happy with my last conscious thought being that if I were to die while holding my wife’s hand, that would be all the freedom I’d need.

  That’s all the freedom I’ve ever needed.

  Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland

  Jake Bible

  Copyright 2021 Jake Bible

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Meetings are fun! SO FUCKING FUN!

  Sorry. Sorry. I really shouldn’t knock meetings. I mean, meetings are what has saved us from the zombie hordes all these years during this fucking apocalypse, right?

  NO, THEY HAVE NOT!

  Fucking meetings ...

  “Jace?” Stella asks. “Did you hear me?”

  “Huh?” I reply. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Stella grumbles.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about how much I love meetings,” I smile.

  “None of us love meetings, Long Pork,” Critter snaps. “But what the hell else are we going to do when we’re camped at night? Play fucking charades? You have one hand, you moron. You can’t even tap y
our wrist to mime two syllables!”

  “Mimes, man. Mimes,” I respond.

  “Let’s call it a night and get some sleep,” Stuart sighs as he stands up and stretches. “We have a long haul tomorrow. And if it’s like the past few weeks, we have a lot of actual hauling too.”

  “Ha!” I snort. “I see what you did there! Because we have to haul all the stupid fucking trucks and cars out of the way just to get down the road!”

  “Honey?” Stella asks, looking worried. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “What? Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “Super fine. Super-duper fine. Ain’t nothing but a chicken wing here!”

  I puke. All over Stella’s lap.

  Shit. Those don’t look like chicken wings. I think that’s squirrel.

  “Goddammit, Long Pork!” Critter yells. “This is my RV! Now it’s gonna smell like Stanford puke!”

  “My bad, Critter. I’m just a little- BLERGHUCKHOOOPBLUG!”

  “Son of a bitch,” Critter mumbles as he walks away from my growing puddle of sick and into the back of the RV. “You’re cleanin’ that up.”

  “Doesn’t really matter,” Melissa says. “These RVs stink like hell already.”

  33 days. That’s how long it’s been since we left Knoxville and Cannibal Road. 33 motherfucking days.

  It wasn’t so hard to get from Knoxville to Nashville. But Nashville was a nightmare to get past. Need to stay awake for the rest of your life? Just picture a bunch of Zs dressed as rhinestone cowboys chasing your ass. Well, not so much chasing, as sort of shuffle skipping after your ass. It’s like the gayest cowboy chorus line from Hell got turned into Zs, and still remembered their choreography.

  So, Nashville sucked balls.

  Then getting out of Nashville sucked more. Instead of heading straight for St. Louis as planned, we had to go up to Louisville because of washed out roads and massive Z herds.

  “Jesus, Jace, you’re burning up,” Stella says as she puts the back of her hand to my forehead. John hands her a couple of towels. “Thank you. Maybe we should get Dr. McCormick in here and check him out.”