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

by Bible, Jake

  “The winter will end,” Stella says. “Be quiet.”

  “It’s not like I mean to talk out loud,” I say. “Just feel lucky I’m not a drooling idiot.”

  Buzz snickers.

  “Fuck you, Fitzpatrick,” I say. “I don’t drool.” Stella reaches out and wipes the corners of my mouth with her sleeve. “Son of a bitch.”

  “I’m not laughing at you,” Buzz says. “I’m laughing at the fact that the guy who’s had brain surgery is the one that designed our cages. It’s funny that none of us thought to second guess you.”

  “Bullshit,” I say. “You guys always second guess me.”

  “Third guess then,” Buzz says. “Point is, we all went for it. Jace comes up with a design, we get to work.”

  “I’m dynamic that way,” I say and smack the arm of my wheelchair. “Not like I contribute much else anymore.”

  “No pity,” Stella says. “Pity will get you booted off this RV.”

  “No problem,” I smirk. “I’ll just grab the chain link and go along for the ride. It’s how I roll.”

  Do I need to say that Buzz and Stella groan? Loudly? Probably not.

  The Humvee hits the Zs hard and we can see the chain link bow and start to crumple. But it holds. It also slows to a crawl as the truck tries to power through the herd. It’s quickly engulfed in undead, but that doesn’t mean it’s all over for the little Humvee that maybe could.

  Marcie is up out of the RV hatch again and she’s banging pots and pans together, making as much noise as possible. This is part of the plan, just so you know.

  “They’re taking the bait,” Stella says. “Look. Half the Zs are ignoring the Humvee and heading to the RV.”

  It’s true. We watch as the Zs shamble back to the RV, drawn by the kitchenware symphony. The Humvee up front starts to get a little more traction and our convoy speeds up slightly. In seconds, the RV that Marcie is on is surrounded then the Humvee behind it. In less than a minute, we are afloat in the middle of the Z sea.

  Now, here’s the thing. At no time did I think we’d roll through the streets with our happy little chain link cages and the Zs would just hiss and gnash their teeth. I knew they’d grab onto the chain link. I knew they’d start shoving, pushing, pulling, and freaking out to try to get in at us.

  I also knew they’d climb.

  Most of the Zs we drive through are your regular shamblers; just good ol’ boys out for a stroll, hoping to catch some human snacks. The new ones, the ones that like to get all zippy and zoomy, may be in the minority, but they sure aren’t slackers. They take the initiative and grab that chain link and start to climb.

  “Up top,” I call out. “Everyone.”

  I can’t turn around, but I can glance up in the small rear view mirror set just above the windshield. It’s funny that RVs have rear view mirrors. Their only purpose is to look at the people in the vehicle, not to look out for what’s behind the vehicle. People are scrambling to climb up out of the hatch and onto the roof. I hear their heavy footsteps and start to wonder how much weight the roof is rated for.

  Probably should have thought of that before. Oh, well.

  Here’s the cool part of my plan. I knew the Zs would come at us. I knew they’d start to climb and try to get inside the cage. So I made sure we had some type of defense against them. Razor wire across the tops of the cages was one idea, but we quickly realized it would just tangle a bunch of Zs and end up weighing the cage down until it tore free. No, we needed something that would not only keep the Zs from getting in the cages, but would kill them and send them packing.

  I can’t watch what’s happening with my RV, but I can see what’s going on with the RV up ahead of us. Marcie is up there along with a dozen others. Charlie is one of them, of course, and I see Stella tense up every time that RV shudders or bounces. I know she’s saying prayers that he doesn’t take a tumble and end up run over or chum in the Z ocean.

  Everyone braces themselves using straps that we rigged to go around their waists and hook to the cargo bars on the roof. Helps the whole falling and dying thing Stella is worried about. Then they pick up sharpened poles and get to work.

  The poles are actually leftovers from the chain link frames. Some of our more handy folks sliced the ends so they are pointy and sharp as shit. We did a couple of tests on the Zs out by the base fences to make sure they work. Yeah, they fucking work.

  I watch as Marcie, Charlie, and the other folks take aim and start spearing the climby Zs’ skulls. The poles work perfectly and slice right through the Z heads, pulping them instantly. The Zs tumble over dead, falling back onto the Z ocean or falling inside the cages where most of them are just left behind or get squashed by some heavy-duty RV tires.

  Stella turns her head and tries not to gag as a few of the spears end up acting like geysers for Z blood and brains. They’re hollow tubes, so when someone puts some extra force into a spear lunge, a little bit of juice comes spurting out the other end. She’s not the only one gaging. Quite a few of the people on top of the RVs are turning and retching. I’m guessing the smell is pretty bad. Like a rancid fart in an empty-wrapping paper tube.

  “Quarter mile to go,” Lourdes calls out over the radio.

  She’s right. We’re a lot farther along than I thought we’d get. Not that I didn’t think the plan would work, I totally knew it would work. It’s just that there are always snags, always unforeseen circumstances that rear their ugly heads. So far there has been no rearing.

  The stabbing and spurting is mesmerizing and I’m completely lost on the brutal ballet of it all when I hear cheers from up on our roof.

  “What?” I ask then realize we are moving out of the Z sea and into open road. “Oh. Holy shit.”

  “It worked, man.” Buzz laughs. “You crazy, lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Don’t let your dad’s ghost hear that kind of language,” I smile.

  “I think this time he’d agree with me,” Buzz replies.

  Big Daddy Fitzpatrick was a man of God and didn’t broker no foul language. No, sir. But I’d say Buzz is right and he’d allow an exception this time.

  “Keep your eyes peeled, people,” Lourdes says. “You know how open space can be.”

  We stare out the windshield at the road ahead of us. Far off we can see the makings of another Z herd, but for now it’s only abandoned cars by the curbs and an undead straggler here and there.

  “Jace?” Stella asks. “I think we have a problem.”

  “Of course we do,” I sigh. “Can you describe the problem.”

  “Hold on,” she says and I wait patiently. If the woman you love, and has survived by your side during the zombie apocalypse says to hold on, then you hold on. “Yeah, we’re in trouble. See?”

  She points out her window and I turn my head enough to see what she means.

  The side roads are barricaded. That explains why the Zs aren’t swarming in at us. Stella picks up the radio.

  “Do you guys what I see?” she asks.

  “The barricades?” Stuart replies. “Yeah. We see it.”

  “Same here,” Lourdes says. “We’re being funneled.”

  “Antoinette?” I call. “Is she still up top?”

  “Right here, Long Pork,” she replies from right behind me. I jump a little and nearly scream. Not because I’m startled, but because the jump turns my head into an excruciating pain party of ouch. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I mutter, waiting for the nausea the pain brings on to pass. I take a couple deep breaths and things get better. “There. No puking.”

  “I know what you’re going to ask,” Stella says, her hand on my shoulder. “Rest.”

  “Yeah,” I frown. “Thanks.”

  “You and your sisters already scouted a lot of this road,” Stella says. “Didn’t you notice the barricades?”

  “Yep,” Antoinette says. “All the side roads are blocked from here all the way up through the city.”

  “All of them?” I ask.

 
“Jace, let me handle this,” Stella gently scolds. “All of them? And you didn’t think to mention it to us?”

  “Of course I did,” Antoinette replies. “But if I did you’d think this route was a trap and you’d waste time trying to figure out another route. We don’t have that kind of time.”

  “But it is a trap,” Stella says. “We drove right into a trap. We are closed in on all sides now.”

  “We weren’t going to take the side streets anyway,” Antoinette argues. “This is a good thing. It keeps danger ahead of us or behind us. We won’t get sideswiped.”

  “I don’t think you are getting what I am saying,” Stella says, her voice rising. “Someone put up those barricades. Someone wants people to only go one direction. We are being directed towards something. And we don’t know what that something is.”

  “No, you don’t understand what I’m getting at,” Antoinette counters, her voice sharp and harsh. “We know it is a trap. We know we are being directed in one direction. We know all of this and it doesn’t matter. Why should it? Uh-oh, danger is ahead! Bad people trying to kill us! So fucking what, Stella? That’s life in the apocalypse. People are always trying to kill us and they always will. At least we know where we stand and we can be ready for it. Let the motherfuckers try. They have no idea who they are fucking with.”

  Stella starts to argue some more, but I hold up my hand and stop her.

  “She’s right,” I say. “They don’t know who they are fucking with. We have trained soldiers. Special Forces motherfuckers. People who have survived years of this fucking apocalypse. Cannies that know how to kill and flay a person in seconds. Not to mention a band of badass super sisters with skills that make us all look like we’re playing paintball or having some LARP fun.”

  “LARP fun? What’s that?” Buzz asks.

  “Live action role-playing,” I say. “It’s when people dress up in costume and act out—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Buzz says. “You lost me at dress up in costume.”

  Stella is red in the face, but I can see in her eyes that she realizes Antoinette is right.

  “Next time you have important information like this, you fucking tell us,” Stella says. “You do not get to be rogues. Not anymore.”

  “You’re right. Sorry,” Antoinette says. “I apologize. We’re working together. You are Elsbeth’s family and we are her sisters. That means we’re all family now. We should respect that.”

  “Damn,” I say. “The family tree just got a lot bigger.”

  Stella clicks the radio. “So, it sounds like the sisters knew about this.”

  “Yep, we were just told that,” Stuart says.

  “Same here,” Lourdes replies. “I’m not very happy with this.”

  Antoinette reaches for the radio, but waits politely until Stella hands it to her.

  “We’re sorry about that,” she says. “Won’t happen again.”

  “Anything else we need to know about?” Lourdes asks.

  “No,” Antoinette says. “Well, there is one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Lourdes replies.

  “We counted about fifty people on the other sides of the barricades,” she says. “All up and down the street. They wait there.”

  “Then there’s at least twice as many hanging back,” I say. “What’s your guess?”

  “Probably,” Antoinette replies. “Could be more.”

  “So we should be prepped for two hundred crazies,” Buzz says. “Pass that along.”

  Stella does. There are quite a few grumbles. And by grumbles I mean shouts of, “Fuck.”

  Chapter Seven

  The second we reach the next wave of Zs, the crazies show their faces. I really wish they wouldn’t. These are not nice faces to see.

  We’re talking scars and tattoos. Tattoos that probably weren’t done in a hygienic environment with sterile needles and industry standard ink. They make prison tattoos look like high art.

  There’re a couple of screams from above and I glance up, wince, then look over at Stella. She’s looking over her shoulder then jumps up out of her seat and pushes past me as people start dropping back inside the RV, abandoning the roof.

  “Fucking slingshots!” John yells as he helps a couple of cannies down through the hatch. “The fucking kids have slingshots!”

  “Kids?” I ask. I struggle with the wheelchair, trying to turn it with my one semi-good hand. “Fuck!”

  “Calm down, Long Pork,” Buzz says. “They have things handled.”

  “I can’t talk to people with my back facing them,” I snap.

  “You could talk to people if they were behind ten feet of concrete and in another universe,” Buzz says.

  “Bite me,” I say.

  “I’ll leave that to them,” Buzz says, nodding at the scene outside the windshield. “Without our spear fighters up top, we’re gonna be overrun right quick.”

  Shit. He’s right. The convoy has slowed to a crawl and not because we’re trying to push through a few thousand Zs. It’s because the Zs are starting to get up over the chain link, the ones that know how to use their monkey brains for more than just eating flesh.

  Lourdes’s people are leaning out of their Humvees, taking pot shots at the zippy Zs, but they are limited by the fact that if they open fire, they’ll hit our own vehicles in front of them.

  This is a pretty good trap, actually.

  “Kids?” I ask again, not believing what John said. “How the hell can you tell? They’re all tatted up and scarred and shit.”

  “They’re kids,” John says. “Teenagers. If any are older than twenty, I’ll eat a pile of shit.”

  “Jesus,” I say. “You sure you want to make that promise?”

  “They’re kids,” Mr. Flips says.

  I’m kinda glad he’s part of our RV crew. I want his advice on the way crazies think. These kids, if they really are—

  “They are!” John snaps. “So shut up about it!”

  He’s pissy. Probably worried about Elsbeth.

  Anyway, I want Mr. Flips’ advice on the crazies. He probably knows how they think and operate better than any of us.

  I wait a couple seconds, but there’s no response.

  “Well?” I ask.

  “Well what?” Stella replies as she comes back and climbs into the passenger’s seat.

  “I was talking to Flips,” I say.

  “No, you weren’t,” Stella says. “Unless I didn’t hear you.”

  “He didn’t ask me anything,” Mr. Flips replies.

  “Really? Shit,” I say. “I thought that was out loud. Great. Now I’m staying quiet when I want to speak.”

  “If only that were true,” Buzz chuckles. “Son of a bitch!”

  A large crack appears in the windshield as a hunk of concrete bounces off the front of the RV.

  “Looks like they have catapults too!” he yells.

  “What do you need to know?” Mr. Flips asks from directly behind me.

  “Will someone please turn me around?” I ask. “I don’t need to see the view outside. I can guess the composition of the scene without an actual visual, thank you.”

  Flips pulls me back and spins me about. He’s slow and nice about it so I don’t get all woogity and puke. Woogity is my go-to feeling right about now. I am ten kinds of woogity.

  “I’m only counting two at each side street,” John says, his eyes studying the street. “I don’t think there are many of the little fuckers out there. They just know how to use their environment.”

  “You want to know something?” Mr. Flips asks.

  “If you were these pubescent fucknuts, what would your end goal be?” I ask.

  “Besides capturing you for food?” he grins. I do not. “Bad joke. Sorry.”

  He furrows his brow for a second as he thinks. We all jump as a hail of rocks rain down on the RV from the left side. My jump makes me whimper a little as I jostle my shoulder and my head.

  “You okay, Jace?” Stella asks.


  “I’m good,” I reply. “Just a little excruciating pain. Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “We’re already in the thick of it,” Stella says. “You should rest. Let all of us handle the fight from here on out. You can’t think our way out of this one.”

  “She’s right,” John says. “This is battle tactics and brute force time.” A rock comes crashing through the window right next to him. “Fuckers!”

  He puts his sniper rifle to his shoulder, sights through the scope, and squeezes off two shots. I can hear a far off scream even over the sudden increase in Z moan volume due to the missing window.

  I can also feel a very cold draft come whipping inside. Whose genius idea was it to try to find sanctuary in a place that is over a mile above sea level and cold as a Z’s tit?

  “Yours,” half the RV says.

  “Right,” I smile. “Sorry.”

  “You know, I don’t think brute force and battle tactics are what is needed,” Mr. Flips says. “I believe we can talk our way out of this.”

  “Really?” Stella, John, and Buzz say at the same time.

  “Really,” Mr. Flips nods. “Let me try.”

  Another rain of rocks makes us jump. A few fly in through the broken window and John picks them up and hurls them back out at the crazies. A couple of the rocks actually make it back to the barricades. Not that they do much, just bounce off the cobbled together metal and wood walls.

  “Nice arm,” I say.

  “Can someone assist me?” Mr. Flips asks, pointing at the hatch in the ceiling.

  A couple of cannies give him a boost and he’s lost from sight.

  “Shit,” John says and puts his rifle back to his shoulder. He squeezes off a few shots, taking out six Zs trying to climb up over the chain link cage on our right. “Break out the windows.”

  “What?” Stella says. “Why?”

  “We’ll have to stab the Zs from inside here,” John says. “Pass it on to the other RVs.”

  “No need,” Antoinette says as she comes hopping down from above. I hadn’t realized she was still up there. “My sisters already figured it out.”