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

by Bible, Jake

  A WEEK IS HOW LONG she lives. One last week with the woman that meant everything in the world to me.

  One fucking week.

  I never got to say goodbye because she never woke up. Her chest just didn’t rise again one morning and that was that.

  I wrote the eulogy for her funeral. I couldn’t say it, which nearly killed me, but it was probably better that Critter got to say it anyway. He cried, but he wasn’t a blubbering mess like I was. Shit, I was worse than both the kids combined. He did a great job. That old man is a cantankerous bastard, but damn if he didn’t respect my wife. That all came through as he read my words then said a few of his own.

  Everyone was there. Everyone that had survived the trek from Asheville, that we picked up along the way, and that we found here in Boulder.

  James “Don’t Call Me Jimmy” Stuart. Melissa Billings. The Fitzpatrick brothers- Buzz, Gunga, and Pup. Dr. Laura McCormick. Landon Chase, that pompous asshole. Lourdes Torres. Medical Sergeant Alex “Reaper” Stillwater. Weapons Sergeant Sammy “John” Baptiste. Mr. Flips and the cannies. Dr. James Stenkler. Amy Lowden. Nick Henshaw. The twins, Bo and Luke. That Crumb guy (never did find out whether that is a first or last name).

  And the sisters- Antoinette, Brittany, Steph, Belinda, Audrey, and Marcie.

  There are more people, but I either don’t know their names or I’ve forgotten them. That seems to be happening quickly these days.

  Someone that wasn’t there was Elsbeth. The day Stella died she took off. No one has seen her since. Not even John. He says he woke up and her stuff was gone, all her weapons and supplies.

  I have a feeling I know where she’s going.

  The days go by fast, a blur to my addled brain. People come and go, talking to me and telling me how much they miss Stella. I nod, I smile, I cry with those I feel comfortable crying with. I grieve. I don’t think that will ever stop.

  On a completely different note, and it may seem insubstantial, but it means a shit ton to me, is I finally get to see who the fuck Boyd is. All this time and the mysterious Boyd is revealed. It takes a few months, not until spring and the world begins to warm up, but I finally see him.

  Who is that with Stinkler? I write as I sit with Greta on the porch of one of the campus buildings.

  We can hear the far off sounds of hammers and equipment getting a protective wall in place. Charlie is out there overseeing that since I can’t. Not that I’d be much help. Whatever damage has been done to my brain is not healing. I’m slipping away fast. A lot faster than I will admit to anyone.

  “That’s Boyd,” Greta frowns. “And don’t call Jimmy ‘Stinkler’. It’s mean.”

  I don’t like the guy.

  “Why?”

  Because.

  “Because you think he wants to get in my pants?” Greta laughs.

  Yeah.

  She laughs harder and I start to get mad as Stinkler and Boyd walk by. My legs don’t work for shit anymore, but damned if I won’t get off this porch and go kick that guy’s ass.

  Then as they are about a block away Stinkler grabs Boyd in an embrace and they kiss.

  Greta laughs even harder at the look on my face.

  Fuck you.

  “You are so damn cute,” she says.

  Fuck you again.

  She gets up and stretches then heads for the front door. Right now we’re all in dorms. We have individual rooms since there is plenty of space, but it’s still living in dorms. Eventually we’ll have our own houses once we get the area secured. But for now we’ve learned to figure it all out.

  “I’m going to take a nap before the work crews get back. You staying out here?”

  I pat the stack of notebooks next to me.

  “Going to start on those journals?”

  I nod.

  “Okay. I guess someone has to write it all down and tell what has happened to us. Promise me you’ll make Mom the hero, okay?”

  I nod again.

  “I’m going to read those, so you better keep your promise.”

  I frown and flip her off.

  “Love you too, Daddy.”

  I TRY TO WRITE FOR hours and hours, ignoring Greta and Charlie when they come to tell me it’s time to turn in, but the words won’t come. Someone finally leaves me a light and I think there are guards posted as I stare at the blank paper. I search my mind for everything we’ve been through, but it’s just a blank.

  No, that’s not true. It’s a blur. It’s like I need to twist it into focus except I don’t know how. Frustrating as fuck, is what it is.

  “Come on,” Greta says as she finally puts a stop to my useless staring and helps me inside. We walk slowly down the hall to my room, waving and nodding at folks as they go about their night routines.

  It’s a nice room. On the first floor with my own bathroom and everything. I think it may have been the RA’s room way back when the dorm actually housed students.

  It doesn’t take long for me to drift off to sleep.

  It doesn’t take long to wake up either when I feel someone’s presence in my bedroom.

  “Hello?” I say, but know the words mean nothing.

  “Hello,” Elsbeth says.

  I switch on a light and stare at her. She looks rough. She’s coated in dirt and grime and there are wounds, fresh and old, up and down her arms. I grab my pad and start writing.

  Where the fuck have you been?

  “Hunting,” she says.

  For what?

  “Don’t you see?”

  That’s when I hear the muffled sounds of kicking and thrashing. I had thought it was the wind in the trees outside the dorm.

  Is that who I think it is?

  I look at the squirming bag by her feet. It’s a big bag. A human-sized bag.

  “Yes.”

  We stare at each other for a couple of minutes.

  Then let’s do this.

  “Good,” Elsbeth says and smiles.

  We need Greta and Charlie.

  “Yes, we do,” Elsbeth says.

  She disappears quickly and is back even quicker with both of my kids hurrying behind her. Charlie locks the door as Greta stands over the bag. No one says a word as Elsbeth drags the bag into my bathroom and throws it into the shower stall.

  To her credit, when Elsbeth pulls the bag down and we see Cassie’s face, the woman looks as defiant as ever. She glares at us and doesn’t even try to scream or curse us around the considerable gag El has jammed in her mouth.

  “Who goes first?” Elsbeth asks as she pulls one of her blades and holds it out.

  My kids look at me.

  I nod to Greta.

  She takes the blade and walks over. Without any hesitation, she stabs the woman in the gut. Cassie doubles over as Greta yanks the blade free then hands it to Charlie. He moves forward, not missing a beat, and stabs her in the gut too. Blood pours everywhere. Good thing the bitch is in the shower.

  “Jace,” Elsbeth says as Charlie hands the blade to her.

  I furrow my brow.

  “I already done and said what I need to,” Elsbeth replies to my confusion. “You finish this.”

  I nod and take the blade. I limp over to the shower and look down at the mortally wounded woman. A part of me doesn’t want to stab her. I want her to suffer. I want her to sit here for days and bleed out. But I know that can’t happen.

  Where would I shower?

  I put the tip of the blade under Cassie’s chin and lift it up. She stares at me, but I do nothing. When her defiant eyes finally turn to fear, I shove the blade through her throat and yank to the side. Blood spurts against the shower walls and I step back to avoid any spray.

  We all stand there and watch, waiting until the last spurt is done and we know the bitch is dead.

  Then we leave the bathroom and grab each other, hugging and holding on for dear life as we all cry and weep. We are like that for hours, until the sun comes up. Elsbeth tries to apologize for letting Cassie live when she could have killed her back in the Ba
rnes and Noble. We tell her to fuck off because it’s not her fault.

  Finally, the kids leave, taking whatever peace they can with them after the night’s events.

  Is it over?

  “I don’t know,” Elsbeth says. “I haven’t found Kramer.”

  You will.

  “How do you know?”

  Because you’re a Stanford and we never quit.

  She puts her head on my shoulder as we sit on my bed and watch the sun come up out my window. At some point I lie down and go to sleep. When I wake up, Elsbeth is gone. I don’t worry about where she is because I know she’ll be around.

  ELSBETH AND I SIT TOGETHER a lot when she’s home. We hang out on the porch every afternoon, the torturous stack of empty notebooks by my side. Silence is our thing. Elsbeth excels at it and I am learning. But that enigmatic silence is easy for her. For me?

  I’m about to lose what little mind I have left.

  Elsbeth finally sighs. “Here.”

  I look at her and she’s holding out a piece of paper. I frown, but she shoves it at me.

  I take it, unfold it, read it, and the world is back.

  It says: blowfish carton toes.

  My conditioning trigger words.

  The blur whips into focus almost immediately and I cry out as memories flood back. They aren’t easy memories. There is plenty of pain, but it’s pain I embrace. It’s my fucking pain.

  She smiles at me and stands up, kissing me on the forehead.

  “Do what you do best, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says. “Tell our stories.”

  She’s gone and I stare at the stack of notebooks.

  I grab one up, open it, and set my pencil on the first line. It takes me a while to figure out where to start, but after a few minutes I know exactly how it begins.

  People that move to a subdivision do so for only a couple of reasons. Ours were price and location. Great price for the size of the house and great location since it was just on the edge of Asheville, NC, down by the French Broad River. Once the dead began to walk the earth, the price didn’t matter so much anymore. It was all about location.

  Chapter Twelve

  She set the notebook aside and looked at the faces of the children seated before her.

  “That’s it?” a girl asked. “What the hell happened to Jace? Did he live a long time?”

  “He lived long enough to write these,” the old woman said as she patted the stack of carefully laminated notebooks next to her. “But it wasn’t easy for him. His mind fell apart fast. He wrote day and night for weeks to get it all down. Sometimes he wouldn’t eat, sometimes he would fall asleep in mid-sentence. It took a lot of people to keep him alive until he was done.”

  “Then what?” the girl asked. “Did he just croak?”

  The old woman laughed. “Jace Stanford just croak? Hardly. He knew when it was time and he wrote down his goodbyes. Then the son of a bitch walked out past the wall being built, sat down in the middle of a field, and started clanging pots and pans together until some Zs found him.”

  “Wow,” a few of the kids said.

  “He let them eat him?” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “What a weak way to go.”

  “No, he would never let them eat him,” the old woman said. “He waited until a bunch were close then he pulled the pins from the grenades on his chest and started laughing.”

  “How do you know?” the girl asked, not believing a word of it.

  “Because I was there,” the old woman said. “I found his goodbye note and I ran as fast as I could, hoping to catch him in time. I got there just as the grenades went off.”

  The old woman touched a scar on her cheek.

  “Got this when that damn spike of his he kept strapped to Stumpageddon went flying by,” she frowned. “Asshole.”

  “Did he ever speak again?” another girl asked.

  “He did,” the old woman smirked. “Right at the end.”

  “What did he say?”

  The old woman shook her head back and forth, a sly grin on her face.

  “He held his hand up in the air and shouted ‘STELLA!’. Smart ass son of a bitch.”

  “Granny G?” a boy asked. “Was Jace your papa?”

  “He was,” Granny G smiled. “And he was the best papa a girl could have ever asked for in the zombie apocalypse.”

  “Granny G?” the boy asked again. “What happened to Charlie Big Thinks?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, he helped build this place, you know that,” Granny G replied. “He built that wall up nice and strong and he designed the trolleys and everything.”

  “But how did he die?” the boy asked. “No one ever says how he died.”

  Granny G leaned forward and all the kids in the circle leaned in too.

  “Well, you’re just going to have to wait to find out,” Granny G laughed.

  “There’s more?” the first girl asked. “More stories?”

  “Of course, sweet thing,” Granny G smiled. “Jace Stanford wasn’t the only fool that knew how to use a pencil and paper. Next week I’ll get out the journals the sisters brought home.”

  “Even the Great El’s journals?” a different girl asked, her eyes bright and excited.

  “Oh, especially the Great El’s journals,” Granny G said then flapped her hands at the circle of children. “Now git. I’m tired and I have to pee.”

  The children laughed at that as they jumped up, their young muscles springy and full of energy. They took off running from the grassy spot under the giant fir tree. Granny G watched them go, another batch of children that knew only life after Z-Day. She sighed as she thought about what it was like way back when, back in Whispering Pines, before the undead rose and came after them all.

  She was startled awake by a gentle shake of her shoulder. The sky was purple as dusk came on and the stars started to twinkle in the Colorado sky.

  “Granny G?” a young woman asked. “Do you want some help back to your house?”

  “No, child, I got it,” Granny G said. “I can walk there myself. Got my cane and everything.”

  “You sure? It’s getting dark and I don’t want you to fall,” the young woman said.

  “That’s so sweet of you,” Granny G said. “But I’ve made it this far in life. If something as simple as a fall kills me then I’ll gladly take it. That would be a blessing considering all I’ve been through.”

  “Okay,” the young woman said and nodded in the dusk light. “But I’ll stay here and make sure you get up your steps, okay? I can see your house from here.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Granny G said as she slowly got out of the chair and reached for her cane.

  The young woman handed it to her and Granny G gave her that smile that everyone in the Stronghold knew so well. Granny G took a deep breath and started off for her house. She waved to the young woman once she reached her porch and the woman waved back, but she didn’t stop watching as Granny G climbed the three steps.

  Glad to be inside the cool house and away from the always watchful eyes of the people of the Stronghold, Granny G made her way back to her bedroom. She didn’t bother stopping off at the bathroom, she knew she’d have to wake up in the middle of the night anyway to pee. No, she walked herself right to her bed and got undressed.

  She climbed in then reached over and pulled at the head of the cane, making sure the blade would slide easily out if she needed it. She set it close at hand, for sure it was within reach if something woke her up. Something she didn’t want to wake her up. There hadn’t been a breach of the wall in decades, but that didn’t mean she was willing to get soft.

  It didn’t take her long to drift off to sleep.

  It didn’t take her long to wake up either when she felt the woman’s presence in her bedroom.

  “Come to bring me another journal?” Granny G asked. She didn’t need to light the candle by her bed. She knew who it was.

  “Yes,” the woman replied. “I set it on the kitchen table.”

  “It would
be nice if you came to see me in the daytime, you know?” Granny G said. It was the same thing she said every time. “Getting to see a familiar face would do these old bones some good.”

  “My face isn’t so familiar these days,” the woman chuckled, “I have quite a few more scars than the last time I came by.”

  “Don’t we all, sweetheart. Don’t we all,” Granny G sighed. She waited a few minutes then asked the question she hated to ask. “How many are left?”

  “Two,” the woman said. “ Just the two of us now.”

  “Who?”

  “Marcie.”

  “That’s good,” Granny G sighed. “She deserves a long life. Especially after...”

  “She thinks she deserves a short life,” the woman replied. “It’s hard for her some days.”

  “Hard for us all,” Granny G said then asked what she always asked. “You find him yet?”

  “No,” the woman replied.

  “He was old way back then,” Granny G said. “He’s dust by now.”

  “I know,” the woman replied. “But I have to know for sure.”

  “Are you and your sister going to come back to your family finally?” Granny G asked, very awake despite the late hour. Her old eyes strained to see the woman in the dark room, but age conspired against her. “Are you two finally going to end this?”

  “There is no end to this,” the woman whispered. “We can’t come back. Not now. It’s been too long and people will talk.”

  “Dammit, El!” Granny G nearly shouted, but managed to keep her voice under control. “You barely look a day older than when you left. There’s no way they’ll know who you are.”

  “That’s not true, G,” Elsbeth laughed. “I look a lot older. Just not as old as I should. And they’ll know.”

  “Stay,” Granny G said. “I need you to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my days have gotten as hard as they can,” Granny G said. “It’ll be time soon and I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You can’t ever be alone,” Elsbeth smiled in the dark. She climbed into the bed with Granny G. “You’re a Stanford and Stanfords always have family.”

  “Not like you,” Granny G said and leaned in to the woman. “Never like you, El.”