by Bible, Jake
Stuart might be having a stroke. Or an epileptic fit. Or an epileptic stroke. Or it’s bad gas. Or...
“I’m fucking pissed is what it is,” Stuart snarls. “Because Elsbeth has not only held back info on a bus, but also knows where the rest of the convoy is!”
“Hey, what happened to holding up a finger when I talk out loud?” I whine.
Elsbeth points a finger at Stuart. “Should have been nicer and not treated me like a crazy. That’s the lesson.”
“There is no lesson!” Stuart shouts.
“Hey, guys,” Rafe says.
“Not now!” Stuart snaps, then stalks over and gets right in Elsbeth’s face. Bold fucking move. “El, I have been accepting of you since day one. I have fought by your side since day one. We have bled together. We have also rescued Jace’s ass together more times than I can count.”
“Six, I think,” I say.
“Guys,” Rafe says.
“Shut up, kid!” Stuart yells. “El, you are acting like a toddler. I would have expected this behavior from old Elsbeth, the one that still talked about Pa, and acted like she was a lost canny girl. But we all know that’s not you. You’re Carly Thornberg, and have skills and conditioning that most soldiers dream of. I know I do. So, cut the pouty little baby act, and suck it up. You may not want to wear panties, but it’s time to put your big girl ones on, and join the team 100%! Do you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Elsbeth says. “You’re right.”
“Guys, I really think—” Rafe tries to say.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” Stuart says, blinking at Elsbeth. “Did you just say I was right?”
“Yes,” Elsbeth nods. “I’ll put big girl panties on, and be part of the team. Just so you know, it may mean everyone dies horrible deaths because that’s what’s coming. Okey doke?”
“Yeah, I’m not alright with the horrible deaths part,” I say. “Maybe we should let Elsbeth keep her panties off? If her going commando means we all live, then who are we to judge?”
“It’s a metaphor,” Elsbeth says. “Jeez, Long Pork, you can be dumb sometimes.”
“What? I know it’s a metaphor. I am well aware of when metaphors are being used. I am the metaphor master around—.”
“Guys!” Rafe yells. “We have visitors downstairs, and I don’t think they’re here to tell us the good news!”
Everyone moves to the windows. That’s a lot of movement. Even with the storm raging, we get more than a few Zs’ attention. Undead heads creak on frozen necks, and chilly chins turn up to us. Not that it matters, we all see the horde of Zs that’s broken off and is busy trying to climb the icy steps of the porch below.
“Poopy,” I say. “Looks like it’s big girl panties times all around now.”
“Blankets, coats, weapons,” Stuart orders. “Downstairs now. We go out the back, we go fast, and we don’t look back. Any objections then?”
Everyone holds up a hand; there might be a few objections.
“Tough shit,” Stuart says. “Let’s move, people!”
SO, APPARENTLY THE cannies already scrounged the house for weapons. Good on them. Of course, the elephant in the room is whether or not they were going to tell us. I mean, they weren’t thinking of keeping the weapons, waiting until Stuart, Critter, and I were asleep, and then butchering us were they? That would have really put a damper on survivor/canny relations.
I prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt, and think they were just being good, prepared canny scouts. Is that a thing? In this world? Yeah, I have a sinking feeling somewhere in the US there are canny scouts. I bet out West. What? You thought there’d be Canny Scouts in the South? Fuck you. Nope, I call the West. Probably Utah.
Since we’re talking about it, I have to wonder what merit badges Canny Scouts would get? Skinning a victim? Proper preparation of the liver (with or without fava beans)? How you use human hide to make lampshades? To make fanny packs? To make Moleskin notebook covers? There would have to be an entire separate category for use of human hides. The possibilities are endless.
Everyone around me holds up a finger.
“Out loud?” I ask as we stand by the back door of the farmhouse, all crammed into the small kitchen. With the wood stove still going, it’s downright toasty in this place. “Sorry.”
“The second we hit the yard, we don’t stop,” Stuart says.
“You’ve already told us that,” Rafe says, then shuts up fast as Stuart holds up the hatchets he has in each hand.
Weapons roll call!
Elsbeth, of course, has her blades. I think the things are like Thor’s Mjolnir, they always come back to her. I mean, I assume those are the same blades. Fuck if I know anymore.
Stuart has those hatchets, and Critter has a nice, solid looking axe handle. Rafe is holding two aluminum baseball bats, while the cannies have various gardening tools, from hoes to shovels. One has a metal rake. I don’t think that’s practical, which I voice, but the guy won’t listen to me.
Speaking of me, which is my favorite subject, I have a trusty, rusty crowbar. It’s a sweet deal. One of the round, solid ones. Full size, too! Not one of those half bars, but a big one with the curved hook part. I love it so much. I can smash Z heads, and then jimmy open a safe later. I’m the shit.
As for clothing, we have as many layers on as we could find that would fit. Some of us look like the little brother from A Christmas Story, but it’s worth it. Shit’s gonna get cold. I have two blankets wrapped around me and tied off with rope. Didn’t seem fair to waste long sleeved shirts on me when I only need one sleeve. You know what I mean?
“No stopping,” Stuart says. “Elsbeth is going to lead. Follow her. Keep up. If you get separated then head due west. That’s where the bus is.”
“Behind trees,” Elsbeth nods. “You’ll find it.”
“What kind of trees? Coniferous or deciduous?” I ask. Everyone glares. “What? It’s good to know. I don’t want to be hunting for a stand of cedars if it’s behind some oaks.”
“Trees,” Elsbeth says. “Without their leaves.”
“Deciduous,” I smile. “Confers don’t have leaves, they have needles, and you’d still see those because they don’t drop off in the winter.”
“Jace, shut the fuck up,” Stuart sighs.
“Gotcha,” I nod. “Let’s do this.”
Stuart shakes his head, tucks a hatchet under one arm, and yanks open the back door. His hatchet is instantly back in his hand as he bounds down the back steps and out into the dawning morning light. The storm is still pretty bad, so it could be ten in the morning and not actually dawn, but the clouds are so thick it doesn’t matter.
Snow and wind whip against us, becoming like a first attack well before we reach the front row of Zs. I grip my crowbar, and hope I have nice, solid hits. This thing is made of heavy metal, and is going to hurt like fuck if I ding it. I don’t think Rafe thought of that when he picked the aluminum bats. Those are the worst when it comes to arm vibrating dings.
Elsbeth and Stuart take point and rip into the herd of Zs, cutting a swath through the rotten parade. The snow darkens, and soaks up the black blood and liquids instantly. The other Zs close ranks and try to surround them, but I come at them with Critter and Rafe, and we keep Elsbeth’s and Stuart’s backs clear. I can hear the cannies behind us grunting and fighting, doing the same for us.
Which makes me wonder who is going to cover their backs? This fucking herd is thick, and we are barely twenty yards in when it looks like it will swallow us whole and never let any of us out. A scream on my right flank tells me that the cannies got the raw deal. Not that I care a ton. Allies? Yes. Cannies that were more than likely cheering at the top of their voices when my family was forced to run Cannibal Road? Very likely. I’m conflicted. Sorta. Not really.
Three Zs come at me from my right, and I take out the first one’s knees with the crowbar, whip it up, and tear open the guts the of the second, get it stuck in the second’s ribs, rip out the second’s ribs, then ba
sh in the third’s skull, spilling brains all down its front. Bam! That’s how you do that!
Oh, shit!
Two more try to take a bite out of my only arm, and I duck and throw my shoulder into them, knocking then down into the thick snow. One whack, two whacks. Their skulls crack, their bodies still.
I whirl around as I hear a snarl right behind me, and almost kill one of the cannies. Damn, that guys sounds just like a Z. I mean, he’s all snarly and foamy at the mouth, and OH, FUCK! HE IS A Z!
Fucking A, that guy turned fast! What the fuck?
I’m able to get my crowbar up and block his mouth from clamping on my face. The bastard is so fresh that his muscles haven’t been slowed by the cold. He’s all ragey and thrashy and mean. I spin him about, but can’t free the crowbar. Motherfucking fresh Z has the lockjaw goin’ on. I try to kick him off, but all I do is get my wound singing. I’d almost learned to block it out, but leave it to me to figure out some way to fuck myself.
Stumbling backwards, I yank and yank on the crowbar, but the piece of shit Z won’t let go. Dead hands grab at my blankets, and I shake them off, but there are only more to replace them. Why won’t this fucker let go?
The guy’s head explodes in a spray of bright red blood and grey brain as Critter slams his axe handle down on the fucker’s skull. The crowbar comes free so fast I go flying back and fall on my ass. I’m nipple deep in snow and just start swinging wildly, taking out Zs at the knees, cracking femurs, ripping open long dead thighs, hooking them in the hamstrings. I hobble those bitches!
“Get yer ass up, Short Pork!” Critter yells as he grabs me by the neck and lifts.
He totally hits a nerve, and I shout as I scramble to my feet. I’d scream at him, but he did just save my life. I’ll scream at him later. That fucking hurt.
I can barely see Elsbeth and Stuart ahead of us as the snow keeps coming down. I’m not from this area, and have been living in Asheville for years, so I haven’t ever witnessed a Midwest blizzard like this. This shit is insane, yo. The flakes are huge, and they punch you in the skin like icy gauntlets. Every smack is a challenge to a duel, but there’s no winning this test of honor. I just have to keep taking the smacks, and force myself to move.
More Zs, an endless sea of them.
My arm is nearly numb from swinging the crowbar and the constant, soul-crushing cold. Every time I lift the crowbar, I think it will be the last time, but then I get a little adrenaline rush from killing a Z, and I find the strength to lift again. This pattern goes on and on as we battle through the herd.
Rafe shoves me to the side and kills two Zs, then spins about, and kills two more behind us. Critter is on his side and crushes three, then lunges back to avoid a claw swipe by an uppity Z. He cracks that one’s skull, then we hear the screams of another canny behind us. I look over my shoulder after shattering a Z’s legs, and see there’s nothing to be done for the screaming canny. That guy is a goner. His throat and chest are ripped into before I can take a step in his direction, even if I wanted to.
I don’t want to. One of the many unspoken rules of the zombie apocalypse is you learn to let a lost cause die. That rule doesn’t apply to me, though. I came into this shit a lost cause, so I’m grandfathered in.
In minutes, it’s only me, Critter, and Rafe, with Elsbeth and Stuart well ahead of us. This is not good. I have a sinking feeling we three have only survived because the cannies were our death buffer. Now that they are Z chow, that leaves us as dessert. I’m suddenly claustrophobic, even though the herd hasn’t gotten any thicker. Man, I can’t breathe. I’m choking! I’m choking!
WHACK!
Hey, I can breathe again! Oh, wait, a Z had grabbed onto my blanket, and it was choking me from behind. Rafe broke his arm off, so the pressure’s gone. Damn, I thought I was having a panic attack. Can’t afford one of those while fighting for my life.
“Less talking!” Rafe yells. “More fighting!”
“The finger rule is still in effect while fighting!” I say. He flips me off. “Fair enough!”
A Z goes for Critter’s shoulder, and I crush its head before it can bite down. Of course, it being me, the crowbar slips and nails Critter in the shoulder, causing him to scream and turn on me, the axe handle raised.
“Z!” I yell, and point at the one at his feet.
“Fuck you!” he yells back and pushes forward.
Rafe and I are right behind him, turning in constant circles to keep from being taken down from behind. It’s dizzying and exhausting, but that kind of describes the whole apocalypse when you think about it. Not that I have time to think about it! More whacking! More cracking! More smacking! More falling!
No, wait, not falling! Falling bad! Shit.
I’m down, and two Zs pile on top of me. More stumble over us, and suddenly the little light there is gets blocked by the Z dog pile that has chosen me to be the bottom. For the record, I’m a top. Wait, I should probably clarify that.
No time to clarify!
I jam the pointy end of the crowbar into a Z’s eye socket, then another and another. I keep doing that, ducking my head to the side this way and that to avoid the ever-gnashing teeth. Always with the gnashing, these Zs! Oy!
I keep jamming and sticking and jabbing and gouging and screaming! There is a lot of screaming! So much with the screaming, I am!
What the hell? When did I turn into Yiddish Yoda?
More jamming and gouging, and then my shoulder can’t lift anymore. The weight of the Z pile is too much, and I collapse, unable to keep my leverage. The fight has left me, and I lie here and wait for it all to end. And wait. And wait.
Why isn’t it ending? Hello? Zs? Gimpy, one-armed dipshit here, ripe for the eating. Hello?
I count to one hundred, because that seems like a plan, and then start shoving Z corpses off me. It takes me a while, but I am finally free. And coated in Z gunk. This is not a bad thing. The herd parts around me since I now smell and pretty much look like them. I even swear some of them are giving me the stink eye, like I’m the slacker Z taking an unsanctioned break from the constant marching.
Oh, please, let me stay quiet.
I sort of work my way sideways out of the herd, stumbling a little this way, then a little that way, in a zigzag line that gets me to a field that adjoins the one we’d started in. The herd is much thinner, and I can turn on the normal human speed. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m so tired that my top speed is pretty much Z speed. Harder to attract attention, at least.
There is a long while of stumbling and limping before I come to a road. I can see the outline of the sun above me, just barely. So that would make that direction east? West? Wait? If the sun is above me then it’s probably noon. That means I have zero idea which direction is which.
Fucking awesome.
So, I close my eyes, spin in a circle, fall on my ass, pick myself up, and point.
“That way,” I mutter. “I’m going that way.”
I must have been under that Z pile for a while, because I don’t even see traces of footprints in the snow. Sure, the shit is coming down hard as ever, but there’s no way footprints can fill up that fast. Can they? Again, my ignorance of Midwest weather is a bummer.
I walk like fifty miles before I hear a sound that isn’t the howling of freezing ass cold wind. Okay, I probably walk maybe ten miles. Five. Two? One mile. I at least stumble along the road for one mile. You gotta give me one, man.
I look around, trying to figure out what the noise is, when I see two dots of light directly behind me. Headlights! Yes! Or no? Shit, I have no idea if those are good headlights or bad headlights. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I stumble to the side of the road and into snow up to my chest as I fall into the drainage ditch. I duck down and wait as the vehicle gets closer and closer.
Then it starts to go by, and I realize I have panicked for the wrong reason. It’s a bus! It’s the bus! And, irony not lost on me, it’s a short bus. Of course it is.
I wave may hand and start yelling for it to stop, bu
t it just rolls on by with Stuart at the wheel. I see Elsbeth’s face, Critter’s, Rafe’s, all pressed to the foggy glass windows, their eyes searching through the storm. But they don’t see me. Why would they? I’m buried in snow, down in a ditch, and the storm is not helping. Again with the fuck, fuck, fuck!
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!” I scream at the top of my lungs.
Brake lights come on, and the bus skids to a stop.
No way.
The side door opens and Elsbeth jumps out, her blades at the ready. She spins about, her eyes scanning the scene.
“EL!” I scream. “EL! OVER HERE!”
I wave the crowbar over my head, and that catches her attention. She sprints to me, then falls into the same ditch I’m stuck in.
“Hey, Long Pork,” she smiles. “We lost you.”
“And now you’ve found me. Thanks for that,” I say. “Any chance you can help me get out of this shit? My scrotum is frozen to the insides of my thighs. It’s not feeling so great.”
“That is too much information, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says, and uses her vastly superior physical skills to get us both out of the ditch. “I know all about too much information. Telling people about your frozen scrotum is too much information. Don’t say it again.”
“Words to live by,” I smile, then look at the bus. “Short bus, huh?”
Elsbeth shrugs. “Critter thinks it’s perfect for us.”
“So do I, El,” I smile as she helps me to the bus. “So do I.”
Chapter Ten
I don’t think Lourdes is as happy as I am with the hugging.
“You stink, Jace,” she says as she shoves me away.
“Jace!”
“Dad!”
I run from the short bus and into the arms of my wife and son. Now, they are all about the hugging!
“Where’s Greta?” Stella asks as she pushes me away and looks towards the bus. “Jace? Where is Greta?”
