by Bible, Jake
“That was nice of you,” Elsbeth says from the door to the stairs.
“A waste of ammo, if you ask me,” Critter says, right behind her.
“I didn’t ask you,” John says. “And I’d hope you waste a bullet on me one day if it comes to it.”
Critter just shrugs.
“Are we sleeping inside, or up here?” Elsbeth asks.
“Sleeping? How the fuck can you sleep with those things down there?” one of the men asks.
“I curl up and put my arms under my head,” Elsbeth responds, “then I close my eyes. How do you sleep with those things down there?”
“Fucked up, man,” the man says, turns, and walks back down the stairs.
The other man looks from Critter to John to Elsbeth and back. “So? Where are we sleeping?”
A scream below sends them rushing inside.
Elsbeth and John look over the railing and can see the first man struggling with a Z two floors below.
“I thought you cleared it?” John says.
“Me too,” Elsbeth answers.
“Guess we’re sleeping on the roof,” Critter says. “I’d love to find a blanket or two, but maybe that ain’t such a good idea.”
They all head back up, shutting the door behind them. John looks around, but there’s nothing to barricade the door with.
“We keep watch,” John says. “Two at a time so that way we don’t risk someone falling asleep. Two hour shifts. No one’s eyes stray from that door.”
“I’ll take first watch,” Critter says. “Who’s gonna join me?”
“Elsbeth?” John asks, then sees the young woman curled up all the way across in a corner of the roof, her eyes closed and arms under her head. “I’ll join you then. Let your guy here get a little sleep.”
“That means I have to stand watch with her,” the man says.
“I hire only fucking geniuses,” Critter snorts.
THE GUNSHOTS GET LOUDER and louder as Melissa and her brothers make their way through the underground cave that connects to a secret entrance inside the Farm. The entire acreage is surrounded by row after row of barbed and concertina wire, so there are only a couple ways in and out other than the main entrance used by vehicles. But that entrance is under siege as the convoy of trucks that passed them earlier in the day tries to push into the Farm.
“Sounds like Daddy is making a stand,” Pup says.
“Or trying to,” Buzz replies.
“Hush now,” Melissa scolds them, “focus.”
They get to the door that leads them into the Farm proper and Melissa instinctively finds the latch that’s hidden in the rock wall. With a sharp click, the door swings open and the Fitzpatricks hurry through, their weapons ready. After following a long, curving stone corridor, they come to a set of stairs that leads them up into a small, stone shed. They all hurry through and burst into the barnyard.
Fire is everywhere and those that aren’t fighting it with hoses and buckets, are fighting the armed men that have abandoned their trucks and are now rushing up the road towards the farmhouse. Melissa puts her rifle to her shoulder and squeezes off round after round as she runs towards the fighting, while trying to ignore the chaos about her.
Pup and Porky follow her, almost mirroring her step for step, but Buzz dashes off to the back of the farmhouse and into the huge kitchen.
“Daddy!” he shouts.
“On the porch!” Stella cries as she huddles with Greta and Charlie by the iron stove.
Buzz looks around and realizes that most of the children that live on the Farm are all inside the kitchen. Probably the safest place for them, he thinks.
“Ya’ll stay here,” he says, “don’t you dare go outside.”
“Wasn’t thinking of it,” Stella says.
“I want to fight,” Charlie shouts. “I can shoot. Give me a rifle and I’ll kill some of those mother fuckers!”
“You’re staying here with your mother, young man,” Buzz orders. “You want to shoot?” He pulls a pistol from his belt. “You shoot this. You kill anyone that comes in this kitchen that you don’t know. Got it?”
“Got it,” Charlie says as he takes the pistol in both hands.
“Safety’s on the side,” Buzz says, “but be careful, hear me? Don’t shoot yourself or any of these kids.”
Charlie nods as Buzz runs from the kitchen. He ducks down in a crouch when plaster kicks up by his head as a bullet just misses him. More bullets slam into the wall and Buzz hits the ground, crawling elbow over elbow into the front room.
“There ya are,” Big Daddy says from the front window, a rifle to his shoulder. “Your brothers and sister with ya?”
“Yes, sir,” Buzz replies. “They’re outside in the thick of it.”
“Well, I’d be there with them, but I decided to wrassle with a bullet and lost,” Big Daddy says.
Buzz can see a dark stain on his father’s thigh.
“Ain’t nothing but a muscle wound,” Big Daddy says, seeing the look on Buzz’s face. “Missed the artery. I’ll be just fine once I get stitched up.”
“Which he won’t let me do,” Dr. McCormick says from a corner of the room, her hands blood deep in a woman’s belly. There are more wounded lying about being tended to by whoever is at hand. “Stubborn old bull.”
“You got more important business, doc,” Big Daddy says, ducking as a round of slugs slam into the house just outside the window. “Keep that one alive, if you can.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Dr. McCormick snaps. “Not exactly ideal circumstances.”
“No, ‘spect it ain’t,” Big Daddy says.
“Ha, your accent gets thicker when you’re in pain,” Buzz says, crouching next to his father. “Sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, son. Don’t bother about me.”
“Fine, I’ll take your word for it. How many out there?”
“We counted at least thirty,” Big Daddy says. “I think we whittled them down to a dozen or so.”
“How many of ours have we lost?”
“More than I’d like,” Big Daddy says.
“Fifteen at last count,” Dr. McCormick says. “Three children.”
“Mother Mary,” Buzz says. “Can we hold them?”
“Well, your brothers are out there now trying to flank them,” Big Daddy says, “while we keep them distracted up here. Where do you want to be?”
“Sir?”
“You want to help with the distraction or you want in the thick of it?”
“This is the thick of it,” Dr. McCormick says as a geyser of blood spurts from the woman’s abdomen. “Mother fucking piece of shit!”
“Doctor, language,” Big Daddy says.
“Fuck your language!” Dr. McCormick says. “I lost her!”
The doctor shoves the corpse away and turns on her knee, ready for the next person. She dives right in, not bothering with new gloves. In the zombie apocalypse, blood transmitted diseases are the least of one’s worries.
“I better get out there,” Buzz says. “You’ve got enough in here.”
Buzz works his way back through the house and out the kitchen, giving a thumbs up to Charlie as he goes by. Mainly because he’s glad Charlie doesn’t accidentally shoot him.
He steps outside and finds Emmanuel Fertig waiting for him, AR-15 in hand. Manny, as he’s known, is a tall black man, in his late thirties and in good shape. He and his family have been staying on the Farm since just after Z-Day. Being good friends, it’s a nice surprise for Buzz to see him with a big smile on his face.
“Hey, Manny. Sarah and the kids safe?” Buzz asks.
“They are,” Manny replies. “Got them holed up in one of the bunkers out in field six.”
“Good. What’s with the shit eating grin?”
“Don’t let your daddy hear you cussing like that,” Manny smiles wider. “I think I found their weak spot. Care to join me?”
“Gladly,” Buzz says.
They hurry around the farmhouse a
nd back to the stone shed that leads down to the secret entrance in and out of the Farm. Two of Buzz’s brothers are waiting for them, rifles ready.
“Gunga, Toad,” Buzz nods. The two men, just as big as Buzz, nod back.
“They look like pros, but they don’t know shit about the way these hills work. They’re thinking linearly. We don’t have to,” Manny says.
“Show me the way,” Buzz says. “We don’t need more men?”
“Nah,” Manny smiles.
I KNOW SOMEONE IS THERE without opening my eyes. Living post-Z tends to heighten the senses. But I keep my eyes closed and listen, waiting to see if I can catch any info before the nightmare begins again. My thoughts drift back to Leeds and what I had to do; what Mondello made me do.
President of the United States, my dick. More like President of the Sick Fuckers Union. And that’s a pretty fucking big union these days.
“Please open your eyes, Stanford,” Foster says. “Your breathing changed exactly two minutes ago. I know you are awake.”
“Oh, hey there,” I say, opening my eyes and squinting against the harsh sunlight coming in through the windows. I’m back in the same room as before, all alone, strapped to a cot. And my head is killing me almost as much as my hand. “When’s breakfast?”
“I have to hand it to you, Stanford,” Foster says, “you are something else. Just killed your friend, got the fuck all beaten out of you, and you still find time for sarcasm. That’s quite a defense mechanism.”
“It’s my defense mecha- Oh, right, you just said that,” I say. “Way to steal my thunder, Ms. Foster.”
“I thought I’d give you a chance to make things right,” Foster says. “We are having a tiny bit of a problem with your people out at that farm.”
“The Farm,” I say.
“Yeah, I just said that.”
“No, no, it’s the Farm. Big F. Around here, there’s only one Farm now.”
Foster tilts her head and looks at me strangely. “Why does that matter?”
“Because it matters to Big Daddy,” I say, “and he’s probably the closest thing to a real President that we have. If it matters to him, then it matters to me.”
“Interesting,” Foster nods. “So how about a little help then?”
“I’m thinking...no,” I reply. “Nothing personal.”
“It’s very personal to all those poor people you know that are getting slaughtered right now,” Foster says. “You help me and I’ll make sure no one else is hurt from here on out.” She pulls a radio from her belt. “I just give the order and my men stand down, give your people some time to tend to their wounded and get their things in order before we move in.”
“Getting your ass kicked, huh?” I smile. Which hurts a lot. “Why else would you need me to help? Let me guess, you want to know another way into the Farm. You’re getting picked apart left and right and you can’t figure out how. Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure, please do,” Foster says.
“That’s how it’s supposed to work,” I say. “Big Daddy figured out the Z issue right away. You been out to the Farm?”
“I’ve done some recon.”
“Then you know that the Zs can’t get through all the fences. You also know there’s enough of them at those fences to deter people from trying to get through. You probably tried a frontal assault through the main driveway and then realized just how boxed in you were, right?”
Foster doesn’t say anything.
“Then, once my friends had cut your friends down to a manageable size, the flanking attacks began. Am I close?”
“Close,” she nods.
“And just minutes before I woke up, you received a report that all of your friends had been overrun and were just trying to get out of there with their skin intact. Now you think you can trick me into giving you information that I don’t need to give you, because you have nothing to offer.”
“Not so close anymore,” Foster smiles. “You’re thinking small, Stanford.”
“Am I?”
“You are thinking guns and bullets. Which, you are correct, didn’t work. But now I’m moving on to the next level. Rockets and fire.” She smiles big at the look on my face. “You’re smart, I’ll give you that, but you aren’t a soldier. Leave the warfare to the professionals, Stanford. We’re much better at it.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask, thinking of Stella and the kids.
“Blow the ever loving fuck out of that farm. Little F, because I don’t give a ffffffffffffuck. Whatever is left after the wave of RPGs will be scorched from this earth as we set fire to every single field on that farm. Again little fffffffffff.”
She leans forward in her chair and grabs my bandaged hand. Then squeezes. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t scream.
“All President Mondello wanted to do was secure the farm and its resources for our work crews,” Foster says. “No one had to die. No one else has to now. Just give us a way in and we’ll make sure every single person still alive, stays that way.”
“Did you think of asking?” I say. “Maybe send one guy up there to knock on the door?”
“Let’s not be naïve, Stanford. I’m sure you know what immanent domain is.”
“I’m sure you know what a crock of shit is,” I counter. “You should, because one just fell out of your mouth. Go fuck yourself, Ms. Foster. And tell Mondello he can too. Fuck himself, not fuck you. I don’t condone necrophilia.”
Foster smirks and nods. “Good one. But you can tell President Mondello yourself. I just thought I’d give you a chance.”
She gets up and goes to the door. A beefy guard opens it for her. “All yours, sir,” she says as she walks past Mondello.
The door closes behind her and the guard follows Mondello right up to my cot. Foster could easily handle herself with me, but it looks like Mondello isn’t so sure about his chances. That’s one way to boost my spirits.
“Not going to cooperate?” Mondello asks me as he pulls the chair back from the cot a couple feet. “May I ask why?”
“Do you really need to?”
“No, I suppose not,” Mondello says. “Ms. Foster told you our plans to destroy the farm?”
“She did.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Yeah, it bothers the fuck out of me. But that doesn’t matter. You’re not going to let anyone on the Farm live anyway.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says. “I will let everyone live. They are way more valuable alive than dead.”
He shifts in his chair and smiles at me.
“Would you like to know why?”
“Would you like to take a flying fucking leap out that window and kiss your ass on the way down?”
“I’ll tell you anyway,” he replies. “The world hasn’t changed as much as you think since Z-Day. It just reverted to times in human history thought to be long behind us. Do you know what the most valuable resource on this planet is right now and always has been, Mr. Stanford?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“Oh, be a sport and play along. Take a guess.”
“Fuck you.”
“Close. It has to do with the outcome of that. Still don’t want to play? Fine. It’s people. People have been this planet’s most valuable resource since the species first started walking upright. Think of it, Mr. Stanford. All of the innovations people have made.”
“I’m thinking more of the atrocities they have perpetrated.”
“Captain Leeds was a soldier. He had one duty and that was to obey orders. Sedition is a capital offense. He made his choice and it was out of my hands.”
“What about the people at the Farm? Are they being seditious too?”
“Them? No, they just have what we need.”
“Right. Food and water. Building materials. Fuel. All that good stuff that makes dictatorships run.”
“I thought you were so much smarter than that, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says, shaking
his head. “I’m basically spelling it out for you and you’re still thinking small. Yes, food, water, fuel, all of that is helpful. But you know what I really need?”
Shit. I get it. Yeah, I know what he needs.
“People,” I reply.
“People,” he nods, “exactly.”
That slave comment Foster made back in East Asheville by the Parkway entrance comes back to me. Jesus. The workers haven’t been hired to repair the Blue Ridge Parkway, they’ve been conscripted, enslaved. Foster and her people are here to keep them in line, not protect them from the Zs. What. The. Fuck.
Then I have to laugh.
“What’s so funny, Mr. Stanford? Please let me in on the joke,” Mondello says.
“It’s just that you are thinking too big,” I say. “You’re thinking about the human race over the millennia, when you should be thinking just a couple centuries; not even that. Care for a history lesson a little more recent?”
“Of course,” Mondello says, “educate me.”
“Did you know that North Carolina had the highest percentage of Union soldiers of all the Southern states during the civil war?” I ask.
“I didn’t know that, no.”
“Did you know that the majority of those soldiers came from Western North Carolina? And that those that didn’t join up hid up here in the mountains, refusing to fight for either side? How about the fact that Western North Carolina hid more escaped slaves than any other region in the South?”
“All fascinating, Mr. Stanford, but not really relevant to today.”
“I beg to differ, Tony,” I say. “You don’t mind if I call you Tony, do you?”
“I do mind,” Mondello says, his smile gone, “Mr. President is more appropriate.”
“Well, Tony, did you also know that bootlegging began in the late 1800’s up here in the mountains? Not during Prohibition, like everyone thinks, but decades before that? It started when the US government issued a tax on all liquor, including homemade stills. That’s where ‘Revenuers’ came from. Agents of the Department of Revenue came up here and tried to enforce the tax. How do you think they made out?”
