by Bible, Jake
“Their guest? More like their prisoner,” Stuart says. “I’m guessing you brought us the vehicles so we could stage an assault on the Stronghold and get her back?”
“Get her back?” Antoinette frowns. “We’re going to join her.”
“Excuse me?” Stella asks. “Join her?”
“Yeah,” Antoinette says. “Join her. Up at the Stronghold. We know what the outside looks like, now we’ll know what the inside looks like. It’s pretty spread out, so hard to see everything from the perimeter. Crappy fortifications. We could have slipped in and out without a hitch, but El said to wait. She didn’t want to risk raising an alarm.”
“You’re talking like she’s in charge,” I say.
“None of us are in charge,” Antoinette says. “But some of us are better at certain things. El knows how to infiltrate and find weaknesses. You all should know that. She found you.”
“Me? How the hell am I weak?” I snap.
Antoinette laughs and holds up her hands. “Calm down, Long Pork. I said you were a weakness, not that you were weak.”
“How is he a weakness?” Stuart asks.
“Well, shit, look at you all,” she replies. “You’re all standing around him while he’s missing an arm and has his head and shoulder bandaged up. The guy is in a wheelchair, for God’s sake. Would you ditch him if you got surrounded by Zs?” No one replies. “Didn’t think so. Long Pork is this group’s weakness. Half of you would die saving his ass. Which doesn’t exactly make sense from a numbers perspective, does it?”
“I have worth,” I say. “I get shit planned.”
“I know,” Antoinette says. “That’s what we’re counting on.” She claps me on the shoulder that isn’t hurt. “Buck up, Long Pork. Being a weakness isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes it’s what keeps us human.”
OUR HANGAR TURNS FROM a refugee flop house and into a machine shop in about three seconds. We can fit a couple of RVs in there at a time and the folks that can weld get to work. Once the supports and reinforcements are added on then the RVs are replaced by the Humvees and the welders get to work on those.
You see, my idea of having the fence go with us, isn’t totally dead.
Like anything is really dead in this world anymore. Ha!
The sun is coming up in the East as Charlie rolls me outside to watch as the chain link is secured to the frames that are ready. One of the RVs is close to us and several men and women lift up the framed fencing and walk it over to the vehicle where it is bolted to the supports sticking out from the sides. It takes a good half an hour, but they finally get the whole vehicle framed in. Then the wheels are added onto the fence frames and we are set to go.
“I get to drive!” Charlie yells as he ditches me and hurries to the RV.
“Dude! You can’t just bail on me!” I shout after him as he gets to the first layer of fencing and climbs up and over.
It takes him a second to stretch and reach the second layer before he can hook a leg over and jump down inside. He runs up to the driver’s door and pounds his fist against it. Marcie is inside and she grins at him, shaking her head the whole time. The looks on both their faces tell me that there might be more than just flirting going on.
“I am going to hand Elsbeth her ass when we find her,” Stella growls as she walks up to me.
We watch as our son negotiates the driver’s door open. Marcie grabs him and yanks him up inside. Their faces get close, but they stop short of kissing as Marcie looks past him and sees us watching. Charlie turns and glances over his shoulder. His broad grin becomes a frown and he rolls his eyes before Marcie pulls him inside and slams the door closed.
“Oh, yeah, El is dead,” Stella says.
“Lighten up,” I say. “Who else do you want him with?”
“Not a trained killer that used to be brainwashed,” Stella snaps.
“Really?” I reply. “You think he’d be safer with someone else? Because, and this is just me talking, knowing our son’s new girlfriend could probably kill half of us before we could bat an eyelash is sort of comforting. At least he’ll always be safe when he’s with her.”
“Shut up,” Stella says. I open my mouth and she glares. “I said to shut up.”
“I was going to ask how you like my design,” I say. “Ignore our son’s new love life and tell me what you think about the rolling cage.”
Stella sighs and looks out at the newly outfitted RV.
My original idea, back when I didn’t think we’d have our vehicles, was to build a double-fenced cage out of chain link and use that to push our way through the Z herd. Basically, we were going to have a series of big dog pens on wheels that we could use to keep the Zs from getting to us. Eventually they would have overwhelmed us, but it gave us a better chance than being exposed and out in the open.
Now my design is being put on all the vehicles. There’re plenty of materials on this base, so we don’t have to worry about upping the size of the design. We just have to worry if the RVs can drive with supports welded to their frames and surrounded by rolling chain-link cages.
Charlie starts up the RV and yanks on the horn. Half the crowd around us jump, freaking out over his foolish use of a noise like that. Noise brings Zs.
But we all see him wince and then roll down the window.
“Sorry,” he says. “Got carried away.”
Marcie leans past him.
“I’ll punch him harder if he does it again,” she says.
He starts to roll it up, but not before we hear, “Harder? Jesus, M. You punch me harder and you’ll break my arm.”
“Pussy,” she replies.
Then the RV lurches forward.
Everyone stops what they are doing as Charlie takes the RV out onto one of the tarmacs and gets it up to a decent speed. He turns quickly to the left and the right side of the cage dips and bows, but the airplane wheels welded to the corners keep it from crumpling and scraping the ground. He does a couple of figure eights then turns it back to us. By the time he stops and hops out, everyone is cheering, congratulating him on the successful test drive.
“Now we just have to finish doing that to all the vehicles,” Stella says, looking up at the sky. “That’s going to mean another day here. We won’t be able to leave until tomorrow morning.”
“Or we leave in the middle of the night,” I say. “Use the cover of darkness so the Zs don’t see us coming.”
“Then we can’t see them coming,” Stella counters. “I’d rather see them coming.”
“Let’s ask the professionals,” I say. “Wheel me to Lourdes, woman!”
My chair doesn’t move.
“Will you please take me to Lourdes with you?” I ask.
“Wheel yourself, man,” Stella says and walks off.
“Ah, come on!” I call out. “I was just kidding!”
I get both of her middle fingers. Which is even more insulting since she knows I can’t give them back because I only have the one middle finger. Damn, that shit’s cold.
“Mom’s wound tight,” Charlie says as he comes up to me, done being the test pilot.
“She’s a little put off by your new squeeze,” I say.
“My new squeeze?” Charlie laughs.
“Yep. Chuck,” I say.
“Shut the fuck up,” he laughs as he starts wheeling me after the one in charge.
“AS MUCH AS WE LIKE the idea of using the dark as cover, we need to let people get some rest,” Lourdes says as we stand around a fire barrel set close to the front of the hangar.
Okay, I sit by the fire barrel. It’s still toasty, though, as the heat radiates out from the sides. The night is clear and I can make out a ton of stars even with the firelight close by.
You have no idea what night is until electric lights are gone and you’re a mile above sea level.
Antoinette, Audrey, and Marcie watch Lourdes closely then each nod their heads.
“Thanks for the approval,” Lourdes says. “But I wasn’t really looking for it.”
“Sometimes you find what you aren’t looking for,” Marcie says, her arm wrapped around Charlie’s as the two of them lean in towards the fire.
“Cute,” Lourdes says.
“The vehicles are ready,” I say, trying to break the tension.
What tension? The tension coming off my wife who is standing behind me and glaring daggers at Marcie. I don’t even have to be looking at Stella to know she is the glarer of daggers.
“My only worry is the tanker truck,” I continue. “It doesn’t have a cage around it.”
“It won’t need it,” Audrey replies.
“You sure?” I ask. “Because you’ll look mighty tasty inside that cab. Especially when the Zs find out the tanker isn’t full of people juice.”
“Not all of them can climb,” Audrey says. “Only some. We put a wedge on the front, which should be good enough. They can’t tip me over so I’m just not that worried.”
“Knock on wood,” Stella says.
“What?” Audrey replies.
“Knock on wood,” Stella repeats. “You’re tempting fate when you say things like that. I don’t care how badass you bitches think you are, but fate will kick the shit out of you just as much as it has kicked the shit out of us.”
“Bitches?” Antoinette frowns. “That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Stella replies. “I meant that you are badass bitches, not that you are bitches that are badass.”
“Way to clear that up, Mom,” Charlie says.
“Sorry,” Stella says. “I’m tired. Thank you for all of your help.”
“No problem,” Marcie says. “Anything for Chuck and his family.”
“On that note, how about we all turn in?” I say before Stella can make it worse.
Everyone is looking at me and smiling. Except Stella. She’s not smiling so much.
“Was the Stella making it worse part out loud?” I ask.
“Totally,” Marcie says.
“What she said,” Charlie adds. “Maybe don’t clarify with the actual insult next time, Dad. Just my advice.”
“Noted,” I respond as everyone says their goodnights and wanders back into the hangar.
Except for Stella and me.
“Sorry,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “This is all just too hard. I don’t think there is a way I can handle it and not make things worse.”
“You’re doing great,” I say. “Parenting isn’t easy in the best of times. In the zombie apocalypse? We start off epically fucked.”
“You know some folks don’t think the cages will work,” Stella says after a couple seconds of silence. “If this all falls apart, they are going to blame you. They’re going to blame us. This could be the last leg of our journey no matter how it turns out.”
“You think these people will turn on us after everything we’ve done for them?” I ask.
“I think terrified people do stupid things when they get even more terrified,” Stella replies. “We have to be careful. We have to have a plan in place if things go south.”
“I think the Zs eating us will take away any need for a things going south plan,” I say.
“I’m serious, Jace,” she snaps. “What if the cages don’t work and we get stuck in the middle of Denver? Do you have any ideas on how to get us out of that?”
“I’m working on some,” I reply. But she doesn’t believe me. I can tell.
I don’t blame her. I hardly believe myself these days.
TWO OF THE SISTERS -Lacy and Steph- open the base gates as our caged convoy begins its journey. The two women stab and bash quite a few Zs then grab onto the cage of one of the RVs as it rolls by. It sucks we have to leave the gates open, especially since there are still some salvageable supplies on the base, but we can’t risking losing two sisters just to keep the Zs from trespassing. We’ll come back later and clear them out.
If there is a later.
“There will be,” Stella says. “And try to keep the thoughts in your head.”
“My bad,” I say. “Was I loud?”
“No,” she says. “I’m the only one that heard you.”
“Except for me,” Buzz says from the driver’s seat. “But I won’t tell. I’m thinking the exact same thoughts. We probably all are.”
My wheelchair is strapped in between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat where Stella sits. I want to look behind me, but I can’t turn my head without screaming. Doesn’t matter, I know what it all looks like. Everyone has their assignments.
The plan is to take Colfax as far as we can. If we’re lucky, we’ll get all the way to Federal Boulevard and then cut up to the Denver Boulder Turnpike. The sisters say it is clear most of the way because when Z-Day happened, people were getting the hell out of Denver, not trying to get into it. Most of the streets aren’t clogged at all. Not with cars, at least. They are plenty clogged with Zs.
But that’s why God made chain-link cages.
And we quickly find that clogged roads aren’t the issue. Turns out that RVs with chain link cages around them don’t corner so well. Let me rephrase: they corner fine, but getting them around corners isn’t the easiest.
We hit a snag as soon as the first one turns onto Colfax.
Despite Amy’s warning, which we now take with a grain of salt, we are still using our radios to communicate. It’s efficient and efficiency is what’s going to keep us alive. If crazies want to listen in, or Camille and her Consortium army are monitoring all channels, then fuck ‘em. They can have fun eavesdropping on our survival banter.
“Hey, Buzz?” Pup calls from the lead RV.
“Yeah?” Buzz asks.
“I’m stuck on a street sign,” Pup responds. “Like really stuck. I’m afraid I’ll rip this RV in half if I try to gun through it.”
“The supports should tear out before that happens,” I say. “Or the chain link will rip. The RV will be fine.”
“But it’ll be exposed,” Buzz says.
“True,” I reply. “Anyone have any thoughts?”
“We get out there and get it unhooked,” Stella says.
There really isn’t any “we” in the plan. Marcie is up and out of the stuck RV in seconds. She climbs through the top hatch, hustles over to the edge, jumps down onto the chain link (which holds just fine) and rips off the street sign. Rips it right off. With her bare hands.
We all stare a bit.
She’s back up and in the RV before even half a dozen Zs take notice.
“It was barely hanging on,” Charlie says over the radio, reading everyone’s minds. “She doesn’t have super strength.”
“Or do I?” Marcie laughs as she takes over the radio.
“Hey, give it back,” Charlie says.
There is some playful banter over the tug of war and it helps relieve the tension quickly.
On we go.
We’re about a mile up Colfax when the Z herd starts to get thick. Before that, we’d dealt with stragglers and easily passed them by. Those that wanted to hang onto the cages ended up getting their rotted arms ripped right out of their rotted shoulders.
Not so much now.
“This will take days at this pace,” Buzz says, staring at the speedometer. It barely registers our speed. “We’re in a slow motion race to nowhere.”
“That’s going to be the title of my memoirs,” I say.
“You say everything is going to be the title of your memoirs,” Stella sighs. “You are not going to write any memoirs.”
“One day, maybe,” I reply. “When we’re old and the grandchildren stop coming around to play with us. Then I’ll sit down and write them.”
Stella and Buzz both glance at me and I can’t figure out the looks on their faces.
“What?” I ask.
“That was a pretty optimistic thing to say,” Stella replies. “You think we’ll have a place safe enough to have grandchildren play with us?”
“Fuck yeah,
” I respond. “Otherwise what the hell are we doing all of this for?”
“Plain survival?” Buzz says.
“Fuck plain survival,” I frown. “That’s no different than running out the clock. I want to win. I want to build somewhere safe and keep it safe. I want to have people talk about us for decades to come like we are the motherfucking Founding Fathers and shit.”
“Founding Parents,” Stella corrects. “Fuck the patriarchy.”
“Exactly,” I nod. “Fuck the patriarchy. That shit will be gone and so will racism and bigotry.”
“Really?” Buzz laughs. “You plan on populating your utopia with robots? Because that’s the only way to get rid of that stuff. Humans can be animals. Keep them together long enough and they’ll revert back to bigoted ways. It may not be the next generation or the generation after that, but eventually it will happen.”
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t crap on my dream, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” I say.
Buzz shrugs. “I’m not crapping, just talking.”
“Good talk from a farm boy,” I say. “Most folks would peg you for a dumb redneck. I know better.”
“Fitzpatricks are a lot of things, but they ain’t dumb,” Buzz laughs.
“We’re about to get into it,” Stuart calls from the lead RV. “Eyes open, people.”
The front of our caged convoy is led by one of the Humvees. We have them spaced out between the RVs, giving the convoy some flexibility if it needs it. They have better maneuverability, even with their mini-cages on.
The real herd of Zs is about as bad as I thought it would be. We hit a wall of undead flesh. They are rotted shoulder to rotted shoulder all the way across the four lanes of Colfax Avenue. As far as we can see are nothing but Zs. There has to be a full mile of them.
“One point three miles before we hit a break,” Lourdes says over the radio. “Then we’re looking at maybe four miles before we hit another wave.”
Another wave. This is what life is now, wading through an ocean of the undead. We are Z surfing in the Endless Winter. Maybe that’s what my memoirs should be called? The Endless Winter.
