Z-Burbia (Book 2): Parkway To Hell

by Jake Bible

  “I know that!” Brenda snaps. “But votes must be recorded. So we vote.”

  We vote. Stella wins.

  Brenda doesn’t say a word, just gets up and walks outside. The room cheers.

  “I’m so proud of you,” I tell Stella. “You’re gonna rock this job.”

  “Well, Whispering Pines has needed a leader that can keep you in line,” Stella says. “Brenda sucked at that.”

  “Hey,” I smile. “I’m always in line.” I wince and my smile falters. I try to recover, but Stella just purses her lips.

  “How bad is it?” she asks.

  “Not bad,” I say.

  “That’s a lie,” Stella says. “See, I’m already better at the job. I know when Jason Stanford is lying. That skill will come in handy.”

  “I’m not sure I like where this is going,” I say.

  “Hey, Jace,” Julio says, coming up to us. “Stella, congrats.”

  “Thanks, Julio,” she smiles. “What do you need?”

  “I need your man here,” Julio says. “We have a surprise for him.”

  “Surprise?” I ask. “Dude, I don’t think I need any surprises today. Not sure I’m up to it.”

  “Oh, you’ll be up for this,” Julio smiles. “Come on.”

  We follow him out of the meeting room and down the hall to a room Stella used to use as a classroom for the kids. Waiting inside are Platt, John, Dr. McCormick, Stuart, Melissa, Reaper, and Elsbeth. They are all standing in front of something with smiles on their face.

  “What?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

  They step aside and my jaw drops.

  “What…the…fuck?” I say, stunned by the sight.

  On a long table are over a dozen prosthetic arms of various sizes, shapes, uses. Some have regular hands, some have hooks, there’s one with this crazy pick axe looking thing. Holy crap.

  “Are those for me?” I ask.

  “No, sweetie, they’re for me,” Stella says. “Go look.”

  I do. I walk right over to them and have a good look. A good, hard look. A good, hard look at the reality of who I am now. I look and look at the plastic and metal before me that is supposed to replace what I’ve lost. The tears that stream down my cheeks are hot.

  “Oh, baby,” Stella says as I break down into sobs. “Oh, shit, Jace.”

  “Dude, we thought you’d dig them,” Julio says.

  “They’ll help,” Stuart says.

  “Give him some space, people,” Dr. McCormick orders, “this is all very traumatic.”

  “Thanks,” I say, wiping at my eyes, my chest hitching. “Really. Thank you. This is great.” I take a deep breath and smile through the tears. “Just makes it more real, is all. I’m good. Seriously. This is pretty cool. Especially that one.”

  “It’s used for mountain climbing,” Reaper says. “Melissa and her scavengers decided to have a peek inside an orthopedics office. There was a whole shop set up with tons of this shit. Don’t like these? We’ll be able to build anything you need.”

  I look at Reaper and smile. “Wait? Anything?”

  “Jace, what are you thinking?” Stella asks.

  “You know what would make Stumpageddon really happy?” I ask aloud.

  “God, I hate that name,” Platt says.

  “I don’t know what it means,” Elsbeth says.

  “What, dude?” Julio asks.

  “Stumpageddon needs his own Bitch,” I say. “That’s what Stumpageddon needs.”

  “Dude,” Julio smiles. “Great idea. Holy fuck.”

  “What is he talking about?” Dr. McCormick asks.

  “That’s what he called his bat,” Stuart explains, “The Bitch.”

  “It was my bat first,” Elsbeth says, “then I gave it to him. He lost it. You lost it.”

  “I did,” I say, “but maybe we can build a better one?”

  “Wait a minute,” Dr. McCormick frowns, “your arm cannot take the stress of that, Jace. Not for a long time.”

  “Well, that’s what physical therapy is for,” I say, “we’ll start small and work up to it.” I look at Reaper and can tell he’s way into it; so is Julio. “You’ll help, right? Train with me until I am one bad ass mother fucker with Stumpageddon and The Bitch. Ha! It’s like a bad seventies porn movie. Stumpageddon and The Bitch!”

  “So cool,” Julio says, “and you could have other ones with blades and shit! Oh, and maybe we can rig a slingshot to the end!”

  “Awesome,” I grin, “thanks, guys. This is pretty fucking sweet.”

  “Good,” Stella says, kissing me on the cheek, “you talk about your toys while I go back and talk to the other residents. I know there are going to be a lot of suggestions people have kept bottled up for years because of Brenda. This isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Have fun, baby,” I say. “Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

  “We can’t stay too long,” Platt says. “I want us back at the Grove Park by sundown. Easier for security.”

  “Works for me,” I say as the excitement of it all starts to wear off. And the pain kicks back in.

  I thank everyone personally as they leave. Julio, Reaper, Stuart, and Elsbeth, stay behind as I pick up each of the prosthetics.

  “This one is sexy,” I say, holding a very realistic looking arm. “If ya know what I mean.”

  “Dude,” Julio says, shaking his head.

  “What? What is he talking about?” Elsbeth asks.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Julio says.

  “You two coming back to the Grove Park tonight?” I ask. “You’ve been staying here like the whole time.”

  “We’re all staying here,” Stuart says.

  “What?” I ask. “Winter is almost here, man. You can’t stay at Whispering Pines, there aren’t any houses yet.”

  “Preacher Carrey has graciously given his okay for a few of us to bunk here,” Stuart says. “Especially when he found out that the alternative was being left alone all winter long.”

  “We’re going to keep working on the fences,” Julio says. “It’ll be hard as the ground freezes, but that will also slow down the Zs.”

  “The goal is to have the deck and stairs built before January,” Stuart says, “and then we’ll rebuild the main gate the right way. As it is now, it can stand up to Zs, but not to people.”

  “Especially if they have heavy vehicles,” Julio says.

  “I want to get that dump truck of yours moved down here,” Stuart says, “make it part of the system. Nothing like a few tons of metal to deter attackers.”

  “My dump truck?” I say. “I have no claim to that.”

  “I know that dump truck,” Elsbeth smiles. “It’s where I found Long Pork all curled up and crying with those pink pajamas on.”

  “First, I wasn’t crying,” I say. “I wasn’t! And second, those were yoga clothes, thank you. I’m pretty sure they were Juicy Couture, so no making fun.”

  We all look at each other for a second then burst out laughing.

  “I still hate you for making me wear those,” I say to Stuart.

  “I didn’t put a gun to your head,” he says, “you could have just stayed naked.”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen,” I say.

  We BS for a few minutes more, but they can tell I’m getting tired and the pain is too much.

  “Come on,” Stuart says, “let’s find your wife. Someone needs to get you back and tuck you into bed.”

  “I’ve been in bed for two weeks,” I protest, “I don’t wanna go back. You can’t make me.”

  “You only have one arm,” Stuart smiles, “I can pretty much make you do anything I want.”

  “Oh, thanks for rubbing that in my face,” I say, fake crying. “You’re mean.”

  “That doesn’t sound real at all,” Elsbeth says, “even I know that.”

  “Come on,” Stuart says, “we’ll make sure the prosthetics get packed up and taken back to the Grove Park for you.”

  “I can play fas
hion show later for Stella,” I say.

  “I don’t want to know,” Stuart says.

  We start to leave, but I can see Elsbeth is hanging back.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Can I talk with you?” she asks. The others look from me to her then leave. Julio waits a second, but Elsbeth nods and he goes too.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “I, uh, want to make sure you aren’t angry,” Elsbeth says.

  “Angry? Why?”

  “Because I am staying here with Julio,” she says. “And not at the fancy place with you.”

  “Really? No, that’s totally cool,” I say. “You can stay where you want, El. You’re a grown woman.”

  “But you and Stella and the kids are family,” she says. “Aren’t I supposed to stay with family?”

  “Not forever,” I laugh. “And you’ll still be family. Families spread out all over the place. It’s normal.”

  “But we don’t live in normal,” she says.

  “True,” I nod, “but you’re only going to be a couple miles away. We’ll see you lots. And I’ll be coming and going from here with Stella to check on progress. It’s all good. You stay here with Julio. Live a little.”

  “Live a little,” she says quietly. “Yes. I will.”

  “Good,” I smile. “Then we’re good?”

  “We’re good,” she says. “But not done talking.”

  “Okey doke, what else is there?”

  “Me,” she says.

  “Yeah…not following you.”

  “I want to talk about me,” Elsbeth says, “about where I come from.”

  “Oh…that,” I say. I had been wondering when the subject would come up, but I didn’t want to push.

  “The president man said I am special,” Elsbeth says. “He said that I was part of something. He didn’t know it about me until the Foster lady gave away the secret.”

  “Secret? What secret?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I don’t know,” Elsbeth says. “President guy says there was a school here in Asheville. That Foster taught there. She was an instructor? Instructor, yeah.”

  “A school? What kind of school?”

  “I don’t know,” Elsbeth says. “The president guy wouldn’t say anymore. He told me he didn’t have details, but had heard rumors because he was big chief of home security.”

  “Secretary of Homeland Security,” I say, “before he was President. Although I don’t really consider him that.”

  “Right,” Elsbeth nods. “He said there was a school here and a special program for special girls like me.” She shakes her head. “He says that’s why I fight so well.”

  “He said all of that while he was driving? When he escaped with you onto the Parkway?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she nods, “and when I punched him and tied him up. He said more then. But while he was driving too.”

  “Did he say where the school was?” She shakes her head. “Did he say how many other girls there were?” Another head shake. “Shit. This is crazy. Maybe Platt knows something about it?”

  “Maybe,” she shrugs. “Will you ask him?”

  “You don’t want to?”

  “No,” she says, “he’s mad at me because I quit and didn’t want to be on his team. He just yelled too much. My pa yelled a lot too. I don’t like it.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” I say. “I’ll ask him soon.”

  I watch her closely and smile.

  “It’s going to be fine, El,” I say. “This isn’t a bad thing. It’s good. You’ll get to find out something about your past.”

  “I thought I knew my past,” Elsbeth replies. “I thought I was Pa’s daughter and I was canny and that was it.”

  “But that’s not it,” I say, “and thank goodness. You are more than all of that. I’ll help you find out what that more is, okay?”

  “Okay,” she nods. “Thank you, Jace.”

  I’m a little stunned that she didn’t call me Long Pork.

  “Uh, yeah, you bet,” I smile. “That’s what family is for.”

  “Yes it is,” Stella says from the doorway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I agree.”

  “I’ll fill you in later,” I say. “If that’s alright with you, El?”

  “Families share,” Elsbeth states.

  “Exactly,” Stella says. “Now how about we go back to the Inn and share the official news with the kids?”

  “Sounds great,” I nod.

  “You coming, Elsbeth?” Stella asks.

  “Naw, she’s staying here with Julio,” I say.

  “No, I’m coming,” Elsbeth says, “for tonight. Then I’ll come back. I want to see Greta and Charlie.”

  “And they want to see you too, I’m sure,” Stella says. “Then let’s get going. Platt is getting fidgety about the time.”

  I walk out of the Church with Stella on one side and Elsbeth on the other. Even with only one arm, I’m a pretty fucking lucky guy. I have what many in this day don’t, I have family. And a future.

  And a really cool selection of arms for Stumpageddon.

  Sweet.

  ***

  The convoy leaves the Church and splits off as they hit 251. The Grove Park half turns right, while the Farm half turns left. The Farm half travels down Hwy 251, also known as Riverside Dr, and comes to Pierson Bridge. As they slow to turn right onto the bridge, a shadow detaches from the bottom of one of the trucks and rolls to the drainage ditch, staying low and still until the convoy is over the bridge and long gone.

  The shadow, a young woman, gets up and brushes herself off, starting on her long walk home. She stays to the side of Riverside, off in the cover of the brush and trees, ever mindful of the night sounds that have descended on the area. She avoids the few Zs she comes across, staying still and silent as they shuffle past, and continues on her way.

  A couple hours, and several miles later, she comes to a curve in the road, cut into the landscape by the Swannanoa River. Making sure she is unobserved, even though no one would be out at the early morning hour, the young woman fords the river at a specific point, coming up the other side onto another, smaller road.

  This road, the smaller one, meanders through a vast estate, once the home of American royalty then later turned into a destination for tourists and history buffs. She walks for another mile or so and cuts across a wide field that would have been planted with corn, but is now planted with a different crop.

  Zs.

  The young woman weaves her way through the hundreds of Zs that fill the field. If one didn’t know the secret, they would think she is crazy, but she knows exactly where to walk and what turns to take through the mass of Zs. They reach out for her, and she ducks under rotten arms when she gets too close, but she doesn’t worry about being pursued. Why? Because this truly is a crop of Zs, planted in place by large, steel stakes. The stakes, two feet long, go through the Zs’ feet and deep into the ground, holding them where they are, giving the illusion of a horde of Zs for anyone that makes it onto the estate.

  Finally, after crossing the field and making her way through dense woods of pines and oaks, the young woman comes to a grand house, America’s largest home: the Biltmore.

  “Churned,” a woman’s voice calls out from the shadows.

  “Fresh daily,” the young woman responds.

  The shadow voice, another young woman of similar build and age, steps forward and hugs the first. “Any trouble?”

  “No,” the first says, “I saw her clearly this time.”

  “It’s her? She’s one of us?”

  “Yes, for sure,” the first says.

  “Good, I’ll go tell her.”

  “No, I want to do it,” the first says. “I found her and I found our lost sister. I’ll tell her.”

  “Okay,” the second says. “They’re in the basement showing off.”

  The young women go inside the mansion by a side door. Following a winding set of stone steps down, they come to a wide room,
made completely of stone, and decorated with old, faded wall paintings of witches on brooms and black cats; princes and princesses and old castles.

  More young women, eight of them, are sitting on the floor of the basement room, towels in front of them, blindfolds on, all hurrying to assemble the parts before them on the towels.

  “Time!” one of them yells, ripping off her blindfold and holding up the reassembled pistol.

  “Two point three,” a ninth young woman says from the wall, a stopwatch in her hand. “Not bad.” She looks up and sees the two arrivals. “There you are? So?”

  “She wants to tell her,” the second says.

  “I found her, I get to tell,” the first says.

  “Then tell her,” the wall woman smiles. “She’s over there watching the games.”

  The first young woman, the one that rolled away from the caravan and walked all the way to the estate, hurries over to a pedestal in the corner. She gets on her knees and smiles at the thing set upon it.

  “I found her,” she says, “I found our lost sister. She’s with those people from that neighborhood. And the soldiers and others. She must be so lost without us.”

  “Is she their prisoner?” one of the others asks.

  “No, I don’t think so,” the first answers, never taking her eyes from the pedestal. “Isn’t that wonderful? That I found her. We’ll be sure to bring her back here, to our new home, so you can see her. You’ll like her as much as you like us. And she’ll love it here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “For sure.”

  “I know I do!”

  The young women all hug and smile, glad for the good news. The first turns back to the pedestal and smiles at the thing.

  “Once we are all together again, then we’ll do what we’re supposed to,” she says. “Just like you taught us. We’re all so glad I found you, Ms. Foster.”

  The young woman turns back to the others, happy to be home, happy to be with ones she can trust. The thing on the pedestal just watches, unable to move, unable to do anything but want and need. There is a focus to the thing that it had even during life. And that focus waits; waits for the moment one of the delicious young women will make a mistake and get too close to it.

  For the head of Ms. Foster is hungry. So very hungry.