by Jake Bible
“You okay? That enough?” Stella asks. “Did you get enough water, baby?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. I cough hard, regret it instantly as my ribs catch fire and burn like a billion suns. “Ow.”
“What’s the ow for?” Marcie asks. “I’m supposed to report to Stenkler when you wake up.”
“Ribs,” I say. “Did something happen to my ribs?”
“You caught an eight inch socket wrench between your third and fourth rib,” Greta says. “Luckily it got stuck there. If it had gone in another half inch, you’d be one dead Daddy.”
“Lucky me,” I mumble. “Such a lucky guy.”
“Fuck you, Jason Stanford,” Stella cries. “You are a lucky guy. There are a lot of dead people back on that street that aren’t so lucky!”
“Right. Sorry,” I reply, licking my chapped lips. “How many did we lose?”
“Half,” Charlie says. “Most of them were Lourdes’s people as they tried to hold off the Zs. We lost Toad and Porky too.”
“What? The Fitzpatricks?” I ask. I try again to open my eyes, but that just ain’t happening. “Oh, fuck. How’s Melissa? How’re Buzz and Pup and Gunga?”
“They aren’t doing so well,” Stella says. “Critter’s holding it together, but even he’s about to lose his shit.”
“We all are,” Greta says. “This is bad, Daddy. Real bad.”
“He’s awake?” Stenkler asks as the tent unzips. “Jace? How are you doing?”
“I’m awesome,” I say. “But my eyes won’t open.”
“Give it a few minutes,” Stenkler replies. “You suffered some major trauma, so you are going to be light sensitive until you adjust. Take some deep breaths and try to open them every few minutes. They’ll obey eventually.”
“Not sure I want them to,” I say. “Sounds like I’m only going to see sad faces.”
“Well, yes, there are a few of those,” Stenkler replies and clears his throat. “Uh, Greta? Can I see you outside for a minute?”
I growl. Stella lightly smacks my shoulder as I feel Greta shift and leave. The zipper goes back up instantly, stopping the cold breeze from coming in.
“Stop,” she whispers. “Greta is top nurse now. She’s needed out there.”
“How did we get away?” I ask. “I sort of remember some things, but mostly I remember screaming.”
“That was you,” Charlie says.
“Chuck? You in there?” Antoinette asks. “We need you and Marcie now, please.”
“Gotta go, Dad,” Charlie says. His hand squeezes my arm. “Rest up. I’ll be back later.”
More zipping, more leaving.
“What is going on?” I ask. “Give me all the facts. Don’t leave anything out.”
She tells me. It’s not good. We’re down to maybe, what, forty survivors? That includes the cannies. Forty, if that. Fuck.
Stuart is still with us, so are John and Reaper. That’s good. Not that I don’t mourn the loss of folks that used to be my neighbors at one time, or any of the lives gone, but Stuart, John, and Reaper have skills that can help the rest of us survive.
We talk for a while and Stella tells me how the Zs were just too much to handle. Especially with the crazies coming at us from both sides with random, surprise attacks. Buzz lost control of our RV as a hundred Zs rushed us at once. They just slammed into the cage and it sent the RV into a spin. The chain link got caught up under the wheels and the next thing everyone knew, we were flipping over.
The other RVs and Humvees didn’t fare so well, either. Sounds like we have one RV left and two Humvees.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Stella chuckles. That’s good. I like hearing that. Good to know she still can.
“That you are going to have to see for yourself,” Stella says.
“Seriously? Come on. Give me a hint,” I say.
“No, you rest,” she says and snuggles down next to me. “We’ll both rest. When you wake up, and if you can open your eyes, then you’ll see exactly where we are.”
“Are we safe?” I ask.
She hesitates. I know my wife well enough to know it’s not out of fear, but out of caution. Safe is a very broad term.
“For now,” Stella says. “The Zs can’t get us and Mr. Flips has the crazies under control.”
“What’s the for now part?” I ask. “We aren’t at the Stronghold, are we?”
“No, not even close,” Stella says. “We’re still in Denver. Very much still in Denver.”
“No hint? Really?” I ask.
“No hint. Just rest,” she replies. Her lips kiss my cheek and I smile.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll rest.”
“Good,” she says and I can tell by her breathing that she’s already drifting off.
I join her in seconds.
***
It’s night when I wake up. This makes it much easier to open my eyes. I blink a few times and glance around the tent. There’s enough light coming from fires outside that I can see the sleeping forms of three other people besides Stella and me.
I slowly stretch my arm, which is painfully asleep and wedged next to Stella. This wakes her up instantly, which isn’t my intention, but it does allow me to ask, “Who’s that?”
Stella glances over at the three sleeping bag lumps on the other side of the tent. She smiles.
“That is our daughter, our son, and our new bodyguard,” Stella says. “She might also be a new addition to the family the way she and Charlie stay by each other’s sides.”
“Marcie,” I say.
“Marcie,” Stella acknowledges.
“What?” Marcie asks and sits up. She lets the sleeping bag fall away and I am thankful she is fully clothed. “Hey. How do you feel?”
“A fuck ton better,” I say. “Still have a crazy bad headache though.”
“Yeah, that won’t be going away anytime soon,” she says and wiggles out of her sleeping bag to stand up. She glances down at Charlie and grins. “He hasn’t slept this deep in a while.”
“Really? You’d know that because why?” I ask.
“Jace,” Stella says, shaking her head. “We are way past that point.”
“Come on,” Marcie says and reaches for me as Stella gets up as well. “Time to go have a talk with the bosses.”
“Bosses?” I ask. “Multiple?”
“We’re all in this,” Stella says. “The one person in charge thing isn’t going to work anymore. Not with what we have coming at us.”
“Goody,” I say. “Take me to the bosses.”
Getting me up and out of the tent isn’t the easiest thing in the world. My legs are shit, the wound in my side is like hot fire in my ribs, my head screams, my shoulder screams, and I nearly scream before we get to the wheelchair that sits a foot away from the tent flaps.
I look around at where we are and it takes a while for my brain to make the connections.
“Holy shit,” I say. “Is this a football stadium?” I keep looking, seeing the worn out decorations and symbols everywhere. “Is this Mile High Stadium?”
“It was,” Stella says. “It’s out temporary shelter for now.”
“Wow, we didn’t get very far, did we?” I ask. “This stadium is right in the heart of Denver.”
“No, we didn’t get very far,” Stella says. “And we aren’t sure how much farther we can go. Come on. We’ll find everyone else and get you up to speed and make sure we are all on the same page.”
Stella wheels me over to a large campfire where a couple people are sitting and talking. As we get closer, I can see the profile of Critter and Melissa. Their faces are drawn and they each look like they’ve aged a few decades just since I last saw them. I can’t blame them. Not after what they’ve been through.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m so sorry about Porky and Toad.”
“Thanks, Jace,” Melissa replies. Critter just gives me a nod. “It’s good to see you didn’t die in your sleep.”
Critter snorts. “Ha, that’s exactly
how Long Pork is going to die. We’ll all get killed in some bloody attack and he’ll survive it to live to a ripe old age and die in his sleep.”
“Hopefully, you’re wrong about that first part,” I say. “I’d like us all to die in our sleep. A long time from now.”
“We’ll see,” Critter says. “I ain’t placin’ no bets on that.”
“I’ll be back,” Marcie says. “I’ll get everyone else.”
She’s gone in the blink of an eye. The sisters move like that. There one second, gone the next.
Stella pushes me close to the fire and I revel in the heat that comes off of it. The night is scary cold. Has to be well-below zero. At least there’s no snow right now. Stella pulls up a ragged-looking folding chair, tests it, then sits down next to me. We all sit there in silence until the others start showing up.
Stuart, Lourdes, Buzz, John, Reaper, then Antoinette.
“Where’s Marcie?” I ask.
“She went back to bed,” Antoinette says. “She doesn’t stray far from Chuck. It’s cute as hell.”
I wait for Stella to stiffen at the thought that a hot young woman, that is also a trained killer, is curling up next to our teenage son. But she doesn’t stiffen at all. In fact, she seems to relax as soon as she hears that’s where Marcie is. I’m guessing the trained killer part has outweighed the new woman in Charlie’s life part. Being with Marcie is probably the safest sex Charlie could possibly have.
I panic and look around, but no one reacts as if I said that out loud. This is good.
“So?” I ask. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan is to figure out a plan,” Lourdes says. “We’ve lost half of our group, almost all of our vehicles and supplies, and still have quite a few miles through hostile territory to go before we arrive at a hostile destination.”
“Won’t be hostile for long,” Antoinette says.
“I know. You keep saying that,” Lourdes replies. “But until we know for certain, I am calling the Stronghold hostile.”
“What about the crazies?” I ask. “How did Mr. Flips get that worked out?”
“Did I hear my name?” Mr. Flips asks as he comes walking up to us. “Sorry I am late. I was dead asleep.” He nods at me and doffs his top hat. “Good to see you up, Jace.”
“Good to be up,” I say and wince. “Sort of.”
“Tell Jace what you know about our new allies,” Lourdes says.
“Well, for starters, calling them allies might be a stretch,” Mr. Flips says. “But we can be sure they aren’t our enemies. If they decide not to join us then we at least do not have to worry about them attacking us.”
“How’d you manage the truce?” I ask.
“As you know, we got more than a few refugees headed our way back at Cannibal Road,” he says. “A few had insight into the workings of Denver. I didn’t take much stock in what they said, especially since they were mostly begging for their lives.” He clears his throat, an uncomfortable, unspoken apology for his ex-cannibal ways. “But there were enough consistent reports for me to put a few things together as fact.”
“Such as?” I push.
“Let him finish, Jace,” Stella says. “This gets interesting.”
“Yes, it does,” Mr. Flips says. “It turns out that down in Colorado Springs there is a special school for special children. Or there was before the world fell apart. This school, like many places around the region, was instructed to evacuate and head to Denver where they were assured safety from the plague that was spreading. I don’t need to tell you what a foolish thing that was.”
“Maybe not so foolish, considerin’,” Critter says.
“Very true, very true,” Mr. Flips says. “This special school was the Colorado School for the Deaf and Blind. All of the children were brought up here to the refugee areas just as things turned very bad. The areas were overrun, the adults were lost to the undead, and the children were forced to fend for themselves. Apparently, they have done a very good job at that.”
“Hold on. Are you telling me that the crazies we’re dealing with are deaf and blind kids?” I ask.
“That’s exactly what I am telling you,” Mr. Flips says. “I happen to know American sign language, just one of my many talents, so that was how I communicated with the young men and women that had us boxed in. I didn’t need to shout, I didn’t need to say a word. I signaled and let my hands do the talking.”
“How in the hell can deaf and blind kids survive against Zs?” I ask. “That’s not possible.”
“One sense is lost and the others compensate,” Mr. Flips says. “The blind can hear and smell the Zs well before they get to them and the deaf can feel the vibrations of their shambling feet and see signs of their passing easily. Working together, they built themselves safe places all throughout the city.”
“Then why are the people from the Stronghold so freaked out by them?” I ask.
“These are children,” Mr. Flips says sadly. “Teenagers now, most of them. They have come across some scary adults and have reacted accordingly. I don’t think the Stronghold people know these kids are deaf and blind. I believe that has contributed to their interpretation as these children being feral gangs bent on violence and insanity.”
“They have trained themselves to strike hard, strike fast, and strike last,” Stuart says. “There hasn’t been a lot of interaction between the groups unless it involves blood.”
“Fuck me,” I say. “That’s crazy.”
“It is,” Mr. Flips says. “But not the crazy we expected.”
“And they won’t join us?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Mr. Flips says. “Perhaps once they see how it all plays out.”
“How does it play out?” I ask. I rub at my head and Stella frowns. “I’m fine. Or as fine as I can be.”
“We should get you back to the tent,” she says.
“We should probably show him what’s coming,” Stuart says. “He needs to see this. Then we’ll all get a little sleep and start planning in the morning.”
“Are you up for a ride?” Antoinette asks, grabbing the back of my wheelchair. She looks at Stella. “Do you mind?”
“No, go ahead,” Stella says. “I’ve seen it and I don’t think my legs can make the climb again. I’m going back to the tent.” She kisses me. “See you soon. I’ll be awake when you get back.”
“Don’t wait up,” I say. “Get some sleep.”
“No, you are going to want to talk when you get back,” she sighs. “Trust me.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
***
The great thing about being in this stadium is it’s handicapped accessible. Ramps all the way to the top! And that’s where Antoinette takes me. With Stuart and Lourdes right behind, she wheels me to the very top level so we have a nice view of the city of Denver.
I gulp at the sight.
“How many are there?” I ask as I look out at the hundreds of campfires just outside what I think are the city limits. No way to really know without city lights to gauge the boundaries by. “That’s more than a thousand, isn’t it?”
“It’s a lot more than a thousand,” Stuart says.
This far up, I can hear the occasional pop of gunfire. I’m guessing the Consortium army is taking out Zs that get too close to their encampment.
“Estimates?” I ask.
“Rough estimate is five thousand troops,” Lourdes says. “But the sisters think it’s closer to seven or eight.”
“They’ve picked up men and women along the way,” Antoinette says. “The Consortium has kept contact with smaller survivor pockets over the years. Promised them a place in Atlanta if they heed the call when it comes time.”
“Heed the call?” I ask. “That sounds like they have been planning to take Boulder for a while.”
“Exactly,” Lourdes says. “And she doesn’t want Boulder.”
“What does she want?” I ask.
“She wants the Stronghold,” Antoinette replies.
“Huh? Aren’t they the same thing?” I ask.
“No, they aren’t,” Antoinette says. “Not even close. But they have to get through Boulder to get to the Stronghold. That’s why Amy is freaking out.”
Then they explain it to me.
Yeah, I’ll need to talk with Stella when I get back to the tent.
Chapter Eight
I highly doubt anyone really slept through the night. I know Stella and I didn’t. And that meant that neither did Greta or Charlie since we weren’t exactly whispering as we talked. Marcie was crashed out and snoring all night long. She wasn’t too troubled by everything going on. I wish I had the kind of cool that the sisters all seem to possess. They are cucumbers in an inferno of blood and guts.
Stella and Charlie help me out of the tent and I look about the stadium. A couple dozen tents are pitched right on the field. Most are large domes like the one I was just helped from. But a few are classic pup tents, long triangles staked right into the turf. Or what used to be turf. It’s all faded crud now pocked by mud puddles and mounds of dirt.
I can see that we weren’t the first ones to seek refuge here. There are signs that the stadium was used by quite a few more people through the years. The major signs are the piles of bones stacked here and there. These aren’t small piles, like leaves in your backyard. These are mulch yard-sized piles. Massive.
“We cleaned up,” Stella says. “Most of the bones were scattered across the field. All of the entrances were barricaded. Completely locked down. We drove right through one and have the RV there blocking it now, keeping the Zs out.”
“They corralled them in here and then sealed it,” I say.
“They were living here and then got sealed in,” Greta says as she comes out of the tent and stretches. “Someone was bitten or turned and the National Guard blocked them from leaving so it wouldn’t spread. How many did we count?”
“We stopped counting at eight thousand,” Stella says. “No point really.”
“Wait,” I say. “How did you have time to clean all this up and do a count? How long was I out?”
“A full day,” Stella says. “This is day three being here.”
