Rocky Mountain Die

by Jake Bible

  “We still have an RV and a Humvee, right?” Critter asks. “The damn Zs didn’t drive off with them, did they?”

  “We still have them,” Stuart says. “But they’re a block away, remember?”

  “Send a couple of my nephews to go get them,” Critter says.

  “That’s going to draw the Zs right to us,” Stuart says. “It’ll be better if we get to the vehicles and just go. Once they start up, we’ll have more Zs than you can count on our asses. We pause for even a minute to get Jace loaded up and the RV won’t be able to push through the herd.”

  “It’s that bad?” Greta asks. “Shit.”

  Stuart sighs and rubs his face, his age suddenly there for all to see. He may be a badass ex-Marine, but he’s an ex-Marine because it was time to slow down and retire. That plan didn’t exactly work out once Z-Day hit. The man probably needs a vacation more than any of us.

  “Follow me,” Stuart says. He looks over his shoulder at a man standing down on the landing. “You got this covered, Pup?”

  “I’m Porky.”

  “Bullshit,” Stuart says.

  “Stop fuckin’ around, boy,” Critter snaps at his nephew.

  “Sorry,” Pup replies. “Jace is always joking around.”

  “Jace has his noggin stapled together and glued up like a white trash swimmin’ pool,” Critter says. “That’s what bein’ funny has got him. You want to be like Long Pork here?”

  “No, sir,” Pup says. “Sorry, Uncle Critter.”

  “Damn right you are,” Critter says then nods at Stuart. “Show us what yer gonna show us so we can get goin’.”

  I always find it funny how a scrawny old man like Critter can boss around his nephews when each of them weighs as much as a fucking truck and are nearly as big.

  “If everyone will shut up and do as I say then we’ll all stop wasting time,” Stuart snaps. “Come on.”

  He leads us back down the hall to an office door. Stuart pushes open the door and the stink hits us fast.

  “Yeah, it’s not pleasant, but the view is perfect,” Stuart says.

  My head is throbbing and pulsing and doing some sort of pain tap dance as somebody pushes me through the office. I glance at a tall reception desk and see a hand draped over the side, two fingers missing. Gnawed off. I can tell. You get good at knowing the difference between cut off and gnawed off when you live in the zombie apocalypse.

  There’s a bright flash in front of us and I close my eyes. Then I’m staring out a window at the plains that border the east of Denver. Pretty nice view.

  “Jace? How are you feeling?” Stenkler asks, kneeling in front of me. When the hell did he get in front of me?

  I flip him off. You know, because my middle finger works. Seems appropriate.

  “You weren’t responding for a minute there,” Stenkler says.

  I see movement out of the corner of my eye and try to turn my head, but I can’t budge an inch. Oh, right, they put a rigged brace around my skull, down my neck, and around my shoulders so I wouldn’t tear the super-glued sutures and the staples in my skull. Good idea. I’d already forgotten someone said I wasn’t supposed to move.

  “Tell us if you start to notice anything strange, alright?” Stenkler says.

  Seriously? Did the guy just say that to me? Might want to narrow down the definition of “strange” there, doc.

  Another bright flash and I wince. I bring my hand up to shield my eyes then Stella is next to me and holding the hand.

  “Relax, baby,” she says. “Just relax. Let us worry about what’s out there.”

  Huh? Out where?

  I glance at the floor to ceiling windows that make up the outside wall of what looks like a lawyer’s office. The sun is cresting the horizon and it is gorgeous. I don’t know if I have ever seen a more beautiful sunrise in my life. Of course, the thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Zs coming towards the city kind of ruin the effect.

  “Maybe a quarter million,” Stuart is saying like he’s answering a question. Did someone ask a question? I don’t remember someone doing that. “Almost as many the other way.”

  My wheelchair is turned so I can look west and directly at the Denver skyline. The orange and pink dawn light reveals a shit ton of Zs already in the city streets. They are spread out, the herd being cut up into smaller chunks by the still-standing buildings, but spread out doesn’t make things better.

  “What’s the plan?” Critter asks. “If we’re going to Boulder then we have to get through those bastards.”

  Critter is scared. I can hear it in his voice. The thick accent is almost gone. He still sounds like a man that grew up in a North Carolina holler, but the ignorant affectation isn’t there anymore. He must be shitting bricks if he’s dropped his country bumpkin act.

  “I just spoke with Lourdes,” Stuart says. He points out the window at a wide road that heads west. “That’s Colfax Ave.”

  “That’s a lot of Zs, is what that is,” Critter says.

  “It is,” Stuart says. “Lourdes and her PCs are trying to draw them into the road. Get them bunched up so she can take out as many as possible and give us some breathing room. Follow me.”

  The room flashes again and I swear light rays actually stab me in the eyes. Like seriously. Full on stab me.

  Then we’re in another office. How the fuck?

  “I told you there would be issues,” Dr. Kramer says from behind me. “We just performed emergency brain surgery on your husband, Mrs. Stanford. He is not only lucky to even be awake at all, but he’s lucky just to be alive. Periodic blackouts are normal and expected.”

  Oh, so that’s what’s happening.

  Stuart yanks up a set of blinds and there’s more stabby stabby light in my face.

  “There,” Stuart says. “Lourdes says that we can drop south on Laredo and circle back around. There’s some jogging trail that goes by a high school we can use. Her people say it’s clear of Zs. The RV and Humvee should fit. We take that to 13th then cut back up to Colfax when we hit Fitzsimmons. If we hit a street called Ursula then we’ve gone too far.”

  “Too far for what?” Stella asks.

  “There’s a children’s hospital on Colfax,” Stuart says. He looks at me. “Lourdes is already getting it cleared. The others are heading that way now.”

  “Wait, you’re talkin’ about diggin’ in, ain’t ya?” Critter asks.

  “For now,” Stuart says. “The building is sturdy and defendable.” He looks at me again. “And it has equipment we need.”

  Why does he keep staring at me? I look around and everyone in my field of vision is staring at me. I have a feeling I’m not looking so great.

  “Aaayyy?” I ask.

  “Shhh,” Stella says. “Save your strength.”

  A radio crackles and I hear Buzz Fitzpatrick’s voice. “Stuart? We need to leave now.”

  “On the—”

  ***

  I can hear a scream and then the distinct sound of flesh being ripped out. My whole body is bouncing up and down as my wheelchair is being pushed through the broken streets of whatever Denver suburb we’re in.

  I have no fucking clue how I got here.

  “Aaayyy,” I moan.

  “Not now,” someone shouts in my ear. “Just hang on!”

  I don’t recognize the voice. Who the hell is pushing me?

  Gunshots go off to my right and I instinctively turn my head to look. Pain explodes in my skull and I cry out.

  “You have to be—”

  ***

  “Keep running!” Stuart yells, suddenly next to me. “The RV is right there!”

  What the fuck? This blackout shit is ridiculous.

  Stuart hurries ahead then turns and drops to a knee, his carbine to his shoulder. He fires over and over at what’s chasing us. My wheelchair almost over turns as the pusher picks up speed, aiming me right for the RV.

  I hear Stella yelling behind me with Greta’s voice mixed in there. Good. My family is with me. Except for Cha
rlie. Where the fuck is that boy?

  The wheelchair comes to a stop next to the RV and the pusher moves from behind me and runs to open the side door. Then all I see is a spray of blood and brains as the guy’s head explodes everywhere.

  A woman steps down out of the RV, a shotgun casually held in her hands. She smiles at me.

  I have no idea who was just killed, but I sure as hell know who did the killing.

  “Hey, Jace,” Cassie says. “Been a while. I’d say long time no see, but I’ve been watching you for some time now.”

  Cassie. Cassandra. One of Elsbeth’s “sisters.” The de facto leader of the whole gang of brainwashed, uber-trained, super warriors from Hell.

  “Aaayyy,” I say and give her a thumb-up. Hey, my thumb is working! Huzzah!

  She frowns and cocks her head. She waves the shotgun at me.

  “What’s up with all that stuff on your head?” she asks.

  A bullet hole appears right next to the RV door and her face turns to pure rage.

  “No, you don’t!” she screams. “I’ll blast your—”

  ***

  There’s smoke everywhere. I can feel the heat and start to feel the pain as soon as my eyes open and I come to again.

  Pain?

  “AAAYYY!!!!” I yell.

  Hey, I have volume back! The growls, snarls, moans and groans of Zs reply to my volume.

  Shit.

  “I know, Jace!” Stuart yells from right behind me. “Try to pat the flames out!”

  Flames? Oh, shit, the pain is because my legs are on fire! Or the blanket draped across my lap is on fire. I grab the blanket and toss it aside.

  And, apparently, I have pissed myself at some point. Either that or someone dumped a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew on my crotch. Joy.

  But, hey, the pain is gone now that the burning blanket of ow is off of me.

  “Aaayyy,” I say.

  “Knock it off with the Fonzie shit, Jace,” Stuart says as he avoids a brutal-looking pothole in the middle of the street. “Use your fucking words.”

  I would love to do that, Stuart. That would be my preferred way of communicating, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards. You see, my good chap, I have had my skull cracked open and two doctors playing Operation with my brain. That seems to wreak havoc with one’s faculties.

  “Aaayyy,” I say to get my point across.

  “Fuck you too,” Stuart says.

  My right eardrum almost bursts as pistol fire explodes around me. When that stops, the distinct sound of a trigger clicking, clicking, clicking because it’s empty makes its way through the cottony fuzz that is my hearing.

  “Shit,” Stuart says. “I’m out.”

  “Here,” Stella says. “I’ll push. You shoot.”

  Phew. My lady is with me. I feel the wheelchair jostle and then there’s a brief kiss on the back of my neck.

  “I found you,” Stella says. “Thank God.”

  “Where’s Greta?” Stuart asks.

  “With the Fitzpatricks,” Stella says. “We got separated.”

  “The doctors?” Stuart asks.

  “I think they’re with them too,” Stella replies. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Stuart says. He fires a couple times. “You see what I see?”

  “Yes, Stuart, I see it,” Stella snaps. “I am very aware of the blood pouring down my husband’s scalp.”

  “Wasn’t trying to start anything,” he responds. More firing. “It’s just that this may be out of Dr. McCormick’s and Reaper’s league.”

  “Are they at the hospital?” Stella asks.

  “Last I heard,” Stuart says. “Radios have gone silent, though.”

  “Batteries dead?” Stella asks. We get to the corner of the street and she pauses. “Which way?”

  “Right,” Stuart says. We turn right. There are a lot of Zs coming at us. “Left!”

  Stella gets me turned around and I see Stuart take a firing stance as we hurry past in the opposite direction. He starts firing as Stella wheels me down the street and soon I hear more empty clicking.

  “Magazine!” Stuart yells.

  “Back pocket!” Stella responds.

  We slow briefly as I imagine Stuart grabbing a fresh magazine out of Stella’s pocket. I want to say something like, “Keep your hand off my wife’s ass, buckaroo!” but all that comes out is “Aaayyy.”

  “Relax,” Stella says. “He didn’t cop a feel.”

  I love my wife.

  We get to the next corner and Stella turns right. I’m guessing she’s going to circle around so we are headed the way we need to be headed. No Zs on this street, which is a relief. Stuart sprints past us to the corner and looks to his right. He gives us a thumbs-up, which I return since a thumb-up is kinda my thing right now, and Stella starts pushing me faster.

  Gunshots echo to us from far off then several explosions shake the ground.

  “Something big,” Stuart said. “I’m guessing it was that propane warehouse we passed a few blacks back.”

  “Good guess,” Stella says. “I just hope it was our people blowing it up, not getting blown up by it.”

  “Sounded deliberate,” Stuart says.

  “Aaayyy,” I agree.

  Stuart glances at me and shakes his head.

  “You just can’t help yourself,” he says.

  Next street, quick scan, we go. This happens over and over until we get to a street, do a quick scan, we can’t go.

  “Both directions,” Stuart whispers.

  The Zs must be close if he’s whispering. They must not have seen us either or we’d be running and yelling. You pick this stuff up when you live in the zombie apocalypse. I should write a Dummies book one day for those that haven’t quite figured it all out yet. Of course, if they haven’t figured it out yet then they are probably dead. Not much of a market there then.

  “What now?” Stella whispers.

  “We sprint across the intersection and hope they don’t see us,” Stuart shrugs. Things are never good when he shrugs. It basically means our options are a coin toss. Awesome. “Want me to take Jace?”

  “I’ve got him,” Stella says. “You just keep that pistol up and ready.”

  More gunshots, but no explosions following.

  I watch Stuart cock his head.

  “That was a .50 caliber,” Stuart says. “Only Lourdes’s people have a .50.”

  “Are they coming to find us?” Stella asks, but I can tell she doesn’t believe her own question.

  “Let’s hope,” Stuart says. “You ready to run?”

  “Kind of always ready,” Stella says.

  “Okay. Then let’s—”

  ***

  There is nothing but pain. Pure, white hot, excruciating pain. It radiates out from my head and engulfs my body. I feel hot, I feel cold, I feel every nerve in my entire body alive and dancing on the point of a razor sharp knife.

  I also feel rough asphalt under my cheek and the distinct wetness of blood. Lots of blood. Lots and lots of blood.

  There’s some blood, in case I’m not being clear.

  Someone grabs me under my armpits and lifts me up. It’s Stella. I can tell by the grunting. I know my wife’s grunting.

  Shut up. Don’t be gross. She grunts when she works out. It’s that kind of grunting. Perverts.

  “Baby?” she asks as she drops me back into the wheelchair. “Jace?”

  “Aaayyy,” I mumble.

  “Oh, thank God,” she cries. I can hear the tears in her voice. “I thought I’d lost you. You’re bleeding a lot.”

  See? Told you there is blood.

  “This way,” Stuart mutters from my side.

  I catch a glimpse of him as he limps past us. He’s holding his left arm to his side and limping on his left leg. I don’t see a pistol or any weapon on him. And he’s missing a boot. Shit. How long was I out this time?

  “We’re going to have to spend the night here,” Stuart says as he turns towards a boarded-up
building to our right. Well, he doesn’t really turn as much as he does a slow, painful pivot.

  The white hotness of my own pain subsides slightly. Just slightly. It’s not so much white hot anymore as maybe an eggshell hot. Fresh cream hot? Yes, I have looked at a lot of paint samples in my day.

  We stop in front of the boarded-up, two-story building and Stuart tries the door. He gives the boards across it a hard yank, but with only one good arm he doesn’t make much progress.

  “Around back,” Stella says. “We have to hurry.”

  Stuart looks to our left, his gaze scanning the street.

  “Okay,” he says. “They haven’t seen us yet. This way.”

  He limps around the side of the building. That’s when I notice we aren’t on a street, but in a parking lot. The burned-out shells of cars are everywhere, but not in a haphazard way. Looks like someone created a maze at one point to slow down the Zs and/or any crazies. I’d say the crazies won since there are two scorched-looking abandoned semis that obviously plowed right through the middle of the maze.

  I don’t have a good feeling about this.

  “Here,” Stuart hisses. “This one is loose.”

  Stella wheels me up to a side door that Stuart has pried open. The smell of decay wafts out at us, but it isn’t fresh or rotten. If there are corpses inside then they are long dead. Let’s hope so.

  We make it inside and Stuart quietly closes the door behind us. Stella leaves me next to the wall and helps Stuart begin pushing anything and everything they can find up against the door.

  “We’ll have to check all the exits,” Stuart says. “Then find a secure place and dig in for the night.”

  “Fine,” Stella says.

  Greta is out there; Charlie is out there; we’re cut off from our group and all my wife has to say is “fine”? Man, that does not make me feel good about the situation we’re in.

  My eyes adjust to the darkness and I see the outlines of storage shelves and rows and rows of boxes. In piles everywhere are nothing but books.

  “Aaayyy?” I ask.