Z-Burbia (Book 2): Parkway To Hell

by Jake Bible

“You can sleep after Dr. McCormick gives the okay,” John says.

  Elsbeth places her hand on my stump and smiles. “I’ll keep you awake.”

  “No, no, I’m good, El!” I say. “Seriously. Wide fucking awake. No need to poke the stump. The stump is good too. Happy stump. Right, Stumpy? You’re good. Tell the pretty lady how good you are.”

  All heads are turned and looking at me.

  “What?” I ask. “It would be rude of me not to ask him.”

  “Are you going to call him Stumpy from now on?” Greta asks.

  “Yes, yes I am,” I say. “Or Fernando. I may call him Fernando. That way I can sing that ABBA song every time someone talks about him. ‘You come to me Fernando!’ Awesome, right?”

  “Mom, tell him he can’t name his stump,” Greta says.

  “Your father just lost most of his arm, baby,” Stella says. “We’ll wait until he’s mostly healed before we gang up on him.”

  “Until then, I dub thee Fernando!” I say to my stump.

  “You are so messed up,” Charlie says.

  “Crazy,” Elsbeth adds.

  “Crazy like a stump,” I say.

  “No, Jace,” Stella says. “Just no.”

  “Fine, fine, I’ll give it a rest,” I say. “But the bad jokes and humor are what’re keeping me awake. And keeping me from being depressed. I did just lose an arm, you know. Maybe this is my version of shock.”

  “No, it’s not,” John says. “But it is how you’re coping. Trust me. I used to know quite a few amputees.”

  We all nod at this. Yeah, I bet he did. A horrible thought fills my head and I’m glad I lost an arm and not a leg. How the fuck do you get away from Zs with one leg? Or no legs? God, what happened to those poor guys on Z-Day?

  “You okay, hon?” Stella asks, looking back at me. “You went really pale.”

  “Just bad thoughts,” I say. “See, take my jokes away and I instantly go to my dark place.”

  “You don’t have a dark place,” Charlie says. “Or if you do, it’s well hidden.”

  “Like this truck’s sense of humor!” I laugh. “Zinger!”

  “Look out the window and watch the trees go by,” Stella says, a smile on her face. “We’ll be at the Grove Park soon.”

  I do as I’m told and watch the trees, their late fall leaves pretty much gone way up here on the Parkway, and try to keep the bad thoughts at bay. It’s hard. I may be all jokes and funny stuff on the outside, but inside I don’t know. My arm is screaming at me bad. I’m struggling not to breakdown in front of the kids. It’s like I can barely breathe the pain is so bad.

  But that’s life, right? Filled with pain and discomfort.

  Or it is now, post-Z. Filled with all kinds of unpleasant shit.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two weeks. Two fucking weeks I have to stay quarantined. You’d think after the first week of not showing any signs of turning they’d be all, “Hey, Jace! Looks like you’re not a Z after all! Come on out and have some hot cocoa! There’s mini-marshmallows!”

  But they didn’t do that. And not because there aren’t really any mini-marshmallows.

  No, I had to be cooped up in the Presidential suite (oh, the irony!) for two weeks. Not that it was awful, mind you. I mean, come on, it is the Presidential suite. And Mondello had left plenty of reading material to go through.

  The man had file after file on the current government and also on the Consortium. The government? Bare bones and basically nothing. Looks like we lost most of the military, including the National Guard in each state. They were called into all of the major metropolitan areas to establish order and quarantine the cities. That didn’t work so well. Turns out a few thousand soldiers can’t stop millions of undead. Bad math.

  As for the Consortium, I now have a broad picture of what they are trying to accomplish. Atlanta isn’t gone; not even close. How they managed to do it, I’m not sure, but according to the documents, they quickly secured the center of the city. They have a wide perimeter of Zs they use as a dead flesh wall that keeps curious travelers and desperate survivors out. It also keeps other groups from making a move.

  And there are other groups.

  In Kansas City, there’s the Combine; Boulder has the Stronghold; Salt Lake City is the Temple; and Portland, OR is the Garden. All thriving and secure. Others were tried, but they couldn’t hold up to the Zs, to the weather, the landscape, or the people. The people, man. They are the fucking worst. Seriously, after the past few months, I’ll take a starving horde of Zs any day.

  It wasn’t like I sat there all alone, stuck inside the suite, left with my files. Stella and the kids came and went, but mainly stayed with me. Stuart, Critter, Platt, Big Daddy- they all stopped in. Most of the time, I was in a manic, hyper-focused state, so they’d stick around for a few minutes, laugh at me, and take off. There were never really any sit downs or pow wows.

  Most of all, there was no mention of the stump. Mr. Stumpy. Stumpy McStumperson. Lord Stumpercrumpet. Stumply of the Suite. Senor Stumpio Gonzales. And my personal favorite- Stumpageddon, Lord of All Stumps.

  Which is why I’m glad to be sitting in the Grove Park lobby now with everyone, stump plainly visible. Tables are pushed together and we sit here snacking on some late apples and cheese from the Farm. Thank you, Big Daddy! Seated are Platt, Stuart, Big Daddy, Critter, Brenda Kelly, and a couple of new faces, Lourdes Torres, the head of the PCs that stuck around, and Edgar Lassiter, the head of the laborers that didn’t bolt as soon as they could.

  Platt looks at the papers in his hands and then up at me, back to the papers, up to me. Repeat.

  “What are we supposed to do with this?” he asks, passing the papers on.

  “Not a clue,” I say. “But it is good information. Charlottesville is trying to connect these power groups and rebuild a system of government.”

  “Sounds more like Charlottesville is just trying to stay relevant in a world that don’t need them no more,” Critter says. “Looks to me like these so-called power groups are doing just fine without them.”

  “You’re probably right,” I say. “Which is why Mondello was kissing so much ass and personally overseeing the securing and repair of the Blue Ridge Parkway. I was wondering why the President, even with a background in construction, was doing it himself. Didn’t make sense until I saw these files.”

  “What does this matter?” Brenda asks, taking a handful of papers and waving them around. “This doesn’t grow food or kill Zs. These don’t rebuild our homes that Jason Stanford burned to the ground.”

  “The fire burned them down,” I say, “I just watched.”

  “Don’t be flip,” Brenda snaps.

  “I’m not,” I say, “I’m being Jace.”

  “This is intolerable,” Brenda says. “Why is he here? I represent Whispering Pines. He doesn’t. I have been duly elected by the residents and members of the HOA to be their sole representative in all matters of importance.”

  “You see, Brenda,” I smile, “that’s where you’re wrong. You were elected Board Chairperson. That’s all. There is still a HOA Board with other members on it. You aren’t the dictator of Whispering Pines, no matter how much your fat, little heart wants to be.”

  “Well! I never!”

  “You never what?” I ask. “You never had a useful thought in your life? Never considered the feelings, thoughts, needs of others? Never bathed properly, Madame Stinknuts?”

  “Jace,” Big Daddy warns, “easy now.”

  “Easy?” I laugh, waving Stumpageddon about. “Please, BD, let’s talk about easy. Easy is now my middle name. Hold a baseball bat? Easy. Shoot a pistol? Easy. Eat with chopsticks? Easy. Tie my shoes? Oh, not so easy. Button my own shirt? Nope, not so easy. Climb a rope? Not so easy. Hug my children? Partially easy.”

  The table is silent.

  “Y’all think because I laugh and joke that I’m not taking everything serious,” I continue. “Well, you’re all fucking wrong on that.” I hold up my hand, cutting of
f Big Daddy’s protest. “You’re just going to have to deal with the language, BD. This isn’t the Farm. This is real fucking life. Got me?”

  We lock eyes and he nods.

  “Good. And no disrespect meant. I just want all of you to know just how serious I am now. There are other groups out there. Big groups, groups that have taken over entire cities. It is only a matter of time before they begin chopping this country up into territories. Before they lay claim to what they think is theirs.

  “Where do you think the Consortium is going to start first? Here. Right here in Asheville. For all the reasons Mondello gave me and more. Big Daddy has been right from the start, we need to rebuild Asheville and we need to do it fast. We have maybe a year to get things up and going, or at least enough that we won’t have to start from scratch every time something goes wrong.”

  “That’s a lot to ask,” Stuart says. “Do we have enough resources to begin?”

  “We have more than enough resources,” I say. “This city is nothing but resources waiting to be collected. Empty houses and buildings, vehicles, and weapons. We’re in a temperate climate with a natural defense system of mountains surrounding us. We can grow what food we need, there’s wind, solar, hydro, and geothermal energy. Not to mention a natural gas system that seems to be doing fine, despite a set back or two.” I look at Lourdes and Edgar. “We have new faces and new numbers to add to us. And who knows what Critter has hidden in his holler.”

  “And none of y’all will ever know,” Critter smiles, “unless ya need to.”

  “See?” I grin. “Critter’s on board in his own way.”

  “I know I’m new and many of your people don’t trust me and my people,” Lourdes says, “but we can offer a lot. I have men that did tours in Iraq during the rebuild. They’ll get the water and sewer systems fully up and running. Maybe even the electrical grid.”

  “There you go,” I say. “And thank you, Lourdes. I’ll be sure that Carl comes and talks with your guys about that. He set up the grid at Whispering Pines.”

  “This will take a lot of manpower to pull off in the time frame you’re talking about,” Platt says.

  “I believe Edgar has that covered, right?” I say.

  “Yes, I think so,” Edgar says, clearing his throat. “Those that have stayed say they will do whatever they need to, to earn their keep. No one wants to be sent back out there. It’s not safe.”

  “It’s barely safe here,” Brenda says, staring right at Stumpageddon.

  “Safer than out in the open,” Edgar says. “Trust me. I spent over a year running from place to place with my family. We were hunted by Zs as well as people. I have done horrible things to keep us alive. I don’t want to do those things anymore; I don’t want to be that person. And I can confidently say I speak for everyone else on that. Asheville is way better than being on the road.”

  “Labor taken care of,” I say. “And you have defense, Platt.”

  “What about Lourdes and her crew?” Critter asks.

  “I’m security,” Lourdes says, “that’s our specialty, not defense. Just like in Iraq and Afghanistan. We make sure everyone gets to their jobs safely and stays safe doing them. I’ve already drawn up a roster of eight teams. That should be enough to cover the work crews that go out, no matter where they go.”

  “Which means Platt will lead defense,” I say, “making sure any outside element doesn’t overtake us.”

  “Which is fine in theory, Jace,” Platt says. “But now we do run into a manpower issue.”

  “Stuart?” I ask, nodding to him.

  “With Edgar covering labor, that frees up everyone that was on my Whispering Pines defense team,” Stuart says, “plus, I believe Big Daddy has some candidates.”

  “I do at that,” Big Daddy says, “more than a few. Not everyone is cut out for farming. Some are just good at fighting.”

  “I can throw in some of my boys,” Critter says, “they’ll like playing soldier.”

  “Plus you’ll have access to inside information,” I smile. “Just saying.”

  “And I ain’t disagreein’,” Critter nods.

  “This…this…this is not what was voted on,” Brenda Kelly says. “I will not have Whispering Pines be a part of this.” She stands up, her chair falling over as her ample thighs smack it. “You can say you are rebuilding Asheville all you want, but it won’t be official. Not if I have my say.”

  “Which you won’t,” I say. “Sit down, Brenda. There’s more you need to hear.”

  “I will not be ordered to do anything by you,” she snarls. “You are not-”

  “SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” I roar at her. She takes a step back, trips over her chair, and falls on her ass. “Good. That’ll work.”

  I get up and stand over her, making sure she can see Stumpageddon very clearly.

  “I have not been idle these past two weeks and neither has my wife,” I state. “While you’ve been busy playing at leadership, Stella has actually been doing the work. And tomorrow it will be made official.”

  “Wha…wha…what?” Brenda stutters.

  “Tomorrow, there will be an HOA vote,” I say, “in Whispering Pines, not out at the Farm. Big Daddy, Master Sergeant Platt, and PC Torres will oversee the caravan and make sure it is safe. We will meet in Whispering Pines and have an official vote for a new Board Chairperson. You are welcome to join, but don’t feel like you have to.” I lean in close; close enough to see the tiny beads of sweat forming in her quite visible moustache. “And no matter how much you sputter and whine, it will be official. Are we clear?”

  I hold out my hand to help her up, but she just stares at it.

  “I think we are,” I say as I turn and sit back down. I smile at everyone and then look from Platt to Lourdes. “We were going to take a tour of the key facilities your people are inspecting, right? Then unless anyone else has more to add, I’d like to get the fuck out of this place and feel some fresh air on my face.”

  “Wear a jacket,” Stuart grins, “it’s cold out there.”

  “Thanks, man,” I say. “I’ll wear a toga if it means leaving this place.”

  Everyone gets up and says their goodbyes as they go their separate ways, ready to start their various tasks and duties for the day.

  “Jason? Can I have a quick word?” Big Daddy says.

  “Sure, what’s up?” I ask.

  He laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “Quite a bit, young man. Quite a bit. That was some speech.”

  “I just said what needed to be said.”

  “No, no, I understand that,” Big Daddy says, looking off at Brenda as she hurries out the front door. “But maybe you can tone it down just a hair. That woman is insufferable, but she’s also dangerous. You aren’t giving her enough credit, Jason. Don’t underestimate her.”

  “I don’t, BD,” I say, “trust me. I’ve had to deal with that woman for years.”

  “True, true, but that was a different time,” Big Daddy says. “And even in these few years of this living nightmare, I think you’ve only scratched the surface. I’ve been watching her, studying her. Always good to know who you may be up against.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “She’s smarter than you know,” Big Daddy continues, “and she’s sneaky. Like a weasel that keeps stealing eggs from the henhouse no matter how secure you think it is. She still gets in there and ruins things.”

  “I know,” I nod, “Stella has been saying the same thing.” I sigh. “Okay, maybe I went a little too far.” I wave Stumpageddon about. “But then life has gone a little too far, know what I mean?”

  “I do at that,” Big Daddy says. “I just wanted you to know where I stand.”

  “Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand. “And please don’t hesitate to tell me again. I sometimes need reminding.”

  “I’ve noticed that too,” Big Daddy laughs.

  “Ready, Mr. Stanford?” Lourdes asks, body armor on and her rifle resting in the crook of her elbow.

  “It’
s Jace,” I say, “please.”

  She nods at me then nods towards the front door and starts walking. I follow and Platt catches up.

  “Not going for diplomacy these days, are you?” Platt states.

  “No time,” I say.

  “As a career soldier, I would agree,” Platt says. “I’ve seen useless diplomacy waste valuable time. But also as a career soldier, I have to disagree. There is a place for it, Jace. You’d be wise to study where and when that place is.”

  “You and Big Daddy rehearse this?”

  “Could be,” Platt says. “What we are about to undertake is complex in the best of times. Now? Post-Z? It’s mindboggling.”

  “We’ll tackle it one step at a time,” I say. “That’s all we can do.”

  “I agree,” Platt says as we get to the Humvee waiting for us, with Lourdes at the wheel. “Let’s just hope we don’t trip too much while taking those steps.”

  Platt takes the passenger seat and I hop in the back as we roll out. Just in two weeks, the area around the Grove Park Inn has been secured and the needed repairs have begun. We weave through a system of barricades before getting out to the road. Lourdes nods at the armed guards manning the entrance/exit.

  “Quite a system,” I say. “You’ve improved on it.”

  “We need it,” Lourdes says. “We aren’t just talking about zeds now. We have people to contend with. The barricades help slow vehicles as well as create choke points for zeds. With the amount of people living in the Grove Park, it is a ripe target for both.”

  “How many people are living there?” I ask.

  “Most of Whispering Pines,” Platt says. “That’s a few dozen. Edgar gave me a count this morning and we have 150 laborers staying on.”

  “Count my crew of fifty and that’s a lot of warm bodies,” Lourdes says. “That kind of concentration will attract zeds.”

  “And it’ll attract those survivors in Asheville that haven’t come out of the woodwork yet,” I add.

  “Precisely,” Platt says. “We almost have the Grove Park locked down tight. Then we move on to the water plant and power plant. Which is what we’re going to look at today.”