Z-Burbia Box Set | Books 1-3 [The Asheville Trilogy]

by Bible, Jake

  “Why does anyone do anything these days?” I shrug. “Because you’re bored, because you’re crazy, because you’re lonely.”

  “Do you actually believe any of the crap you’re saying?” she asks.

  “No,” I reply quickly, “I believe what you said tonight. Knowing Elsbeth and what she can do, it makes sense. I always wondered how she was all Buffy skilled and shit. Plus, it fits with what Ms. Foster told me. The little that was.”

  “And?” she asks.

  “And what?”

  “And now what? Do you let Car- Elsbeth stay?” she asks.

  “Let her...?” I laugh. “I don’t let El do anything. She does what she wants and anyone that gets in her way is an idiot.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Hmmm, what?”

  “Oh, nothing, just back to that you not being as smart as you think you are thing.”

  “Out with it,” I say. “I have to pee. I don’t have time to wait for you to finish mocking me.”

  “She loves you,” Cassie says, “any moron can see that.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, standing and holding up my hands. “I’m happily married. There’s nothing between El and me.”

  “I know that,” Cassie sighs. “I didn’t mean she wants to fuck you and have babies. I meant that she loves you. You are obviously on her list of people she’d die for.”

  “Oh, right, that,” I nod, “yeah, she’s family. I’d die for her too. So would my kids. They love her.”

  “What about your wife? Would she die for Elsbeth?”

  “If it came down to it, yes, I think she would,” I answer. “Not like she’d die for our kids, but in the end she’d die for Elsbeth.”

  “Interesting,” Cassie smiles. “I’m not so sure.”

  “I’m not either,” I agree. “But knowing my wife, I think she would.”

  Cassie just keeps smiling then nods her head towards the huge main doors. “I thought you had to pee?”

  “Right,” I say, “I do. Thanks.”

  I walk to the doors and am almost outside when she speaks up.

  “Oh, and Jace? When you come back, I’m having a look at that shoulder. That was a wounded wince, not a fatigued muscle wince. And all wounds get checked around here. Only way to be safe.”

  “Right, yeah sure,” I say, my best fake smile planted on my face. “Only way to be safe.”

  I get outside and take a deep breath of the fresh air. But, it being the apocalypse and all, it’s not as fresh as I’d like it to be. There’s a hint of smoke and chemicals wafting by. And that ever present Eau de Zombie.

  Instead of unzipping and letting it free right there, I hang a right and head towards the gardens. I have no intention of walking all the way down there, but I do want a little space between Cassie and me. The woman weirds me out. Gee, can’t think why. Not like telling me that all those young women are heirs to some of the largest fortunes on the planet, and they also happen to be highly trained badasses that were brainwashed by a mad scientist, would be strange in any way. Nah, not strange at all.

  But, like I said inside, it’s the only thing that makes sense when it comes to Elsbeth. No normal canny girl could kill like she can. And, unfortunately, I’ve run into my share of cannies to know the difference.

  I get down the stone steps and walk to the end of the vine covered trellis. I look out into the darkness at the huge field before me. Luckily, it’s not populated with Zs. Only the outer fields are jammed with the unmoving undead. The wind blows across my face and I tilt my head, thinking I hear something. I wait. Nope. Nothing.

  Pee pee time!

  The relief of a good, long piss is one of the few simple pleasures left in life. Not trying to be crude, just stating a fact. With a shake and a zip I’m done.

  Then I hear that sound again. What is that? It sounds like...footsteps! Coming fast!

  I turn and sprint back towards the front doors, but barely get a few yards before I’m knocked on my ass.

  “What the hell?” a woman’s voice hisses. A blade is at my throat before I can answer. “Who are you?”

  “Uh, it’s me, Jace,” I say. “Please don’t, with the cutting of my throat.”

  “Oh, you,” the woman says and the blade is gone. “Long Pork.”

  “My name is Jace, thank you,” I say as she helps me up. “And you’re...?”

  “Marcie,” she says. “Have you seen Cassie? Is she inside stretching?”

  “I’m guessing that woman has a very set routine?”

  “Shut up and answer the, Oh, forget it,” Marcie says as she pushes me to the side and runs towards the front doors.

  I follow after her as fast as I can, but running kills my shoulder. I need to look at the wound soon too before it gets worse. I’m praying it’s not what I think it is. It can’t be. Not now. Not after all this time.

  I’m not even at the steps before the doors fly open and Cassie, along with four other women, burst out and rush past me.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask.

  “Someone is down at the boat landing,” Cassie says. “Soldiers. Marcie spotted their lights. Stay here while we deal with this.”

  Then they are gone, lost in the darkness that surrounds the house.

  “Okay, see ya,” I wave then turn and head back inside. “You guys can deal with the...soldiers?”

  “What the hell is going on around here?” Stuart grumbles, pulling on a t-shirt over his muscled, scarred frame. “It sounded like a ninja girl stampede.”

  “Yeah, where’d they hurry off to?” Melissa asks from the stairs as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. “I finally got to sleep and then all hell breaks loose.”

  “Soldiers,” I say, “down by the river.”

  “Soldiers?” Stuart asks then his eyes go wide as he comes to the same conclusion as I did. “Shit. We better get down there.”

  “Right,” I nod, “you go after them. I’ll wake up that PC guy....uh...”

  “Jeff,” Melissa says.

  “Jeff! Yep, I’ll wake up Jeff.”

  “You feeling okay, Jace?” Stuart asks me with his Master Gunnery Sergeant eyes boring into my suburban dad slash husband eyes.

  “Fine,” I say. “Never better. Just tired, is all.”

  Stuart looks back at Melissa. She shrugs.

  “Okay, you get Jeff,” Stuart says, “and bust ass, Stanford. We’ll need your silver tongue to help smooth this out. I have a feeling the soldiers and the sisters may not get along.”

  “Come on,” Melissa says as she grabs Stuart by the elbow and they hurry from the house.

  I wait a minute before I turn and head towards one of the sitting rooms. I know there’s a mirror in there.

  It’s pure agony as I struggle to get my t-shirt off. With only one hand, and a shoulder that feels like a trillion pieces of glass that are embedded in it, taking off a t-shirt goes from an everyday, ordinary task to a FUCKING KILL ME NOW task.

  Not so fun.

  Panting, drenched in sweat, I get the shirt off and let it fall to the ground as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m really glad I already peed because my bladder spasms at the sight I see.

  My shoulder is a mess. The skin is all kinds of browns and blues and yellows and blacks. The place where the fucking Z bit me looks like a whole lot of yuck. I can see the punctures in the skin and pus is oozing out. It seriously stinks.

  I lean closer to the mirror, which isn’t exactly perfectly clear. In fact, none of the mirrors are. I’m sure there are nice, modern mirrors somewhere in the residential floors that the Vanderbilt heirs lived in, but I don’t have the time to go hunting for those rooms. Right now, I have to deal with the image in the antique glass in front of me.

  That image shows me I’m fucked. And very alone.

  I can’t breathe a word of this to anybody. Not Stuart, not Melissa, not what’s his name. And especially not Elsbeth.

  Cassie may be right, that Elsbeth loves me like family, but I have a sinking
feeling she wouldn’t hesitate to put a blade through my eye socket if she thought I was infected.

  Infected...

  Fuck.

  I can’t be infected. I can’t. Not after making it this far all these years. No, not after everything I’ve done. Being infected is not an option. There’s Stella and the kids to think about and the rest of the people that rely on my big brain and me.

  My big brain...

  Time to dig deep and use that pile of grey matter. I haven’t exactly been on my game lately. It’s been months since I’ve had any burst of inspiration. I used to be the great generalist, the problem solver and the man with a plan.

  But all I’ve really done since Stumpageddon took up permanent residence is go through the motions. Now, in my defense, learning to live with one hand does take a lot of ingenuity and brainpower. Brainpower I took for granted before.

  Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I’d lost my gift before that. The truth? After I blew up Whispering Pines and killed Vance, I sorta checked out. Not that anyone would notice. I kept up appearances by being the know it all dick I always was. It was that I just didn’t have any new insights into the world around us anymore.

  Now? I can’t afford the luxury of a mental vacation. If I’m infected then I need to use my time as efficiently as possible.

  I turn from the mirror and take a seat in one of the 19th century chairs that are set here and there. Without a shirt, the old upholstery is scratchy as fuck, but I let that go and close my eyes.

  Okay, so Asheville is being overrun by Zs. That sucks. But why? Not why does it suck, but are the herds showing up now? In all the years since Z-Day there has never been this kind of activity. We’re up in the mountains, for fuck’s sake. Zs don’t naturally like going for a hike uphill. Unless...

  Unless there is no more food where they have been so time to move along and look for the next exit with a Denny’s.

  Or...

  Or someone is sending them this way.

  Vance had thousands corralled in the drained Beaver Lake. He planned on using them as a weapon, whether for himself or for the fake POTUS Mondello, I don’t know. That shit’s still fuzzy and frankly I don’t give a fuck since it’s ancient history.

  Or is it?

  Think, Jace, fucking think!

  Herds of Zs have made it up the mountains and are hell bent on plucking the delicious flesh from our bones. If we don’t get the fuck out of here, the city will be a dead zone in days. If that long. If it is deliberate then why? Why clear out the living from Asheville? Why not send in armed assholes just to kill us?

  Because we’re armed too?

  And maybe because...

  “What’s wrong with your shoulder, Long Pork?” Elsbeth asks as my eyes shoot open.

  She’s standing right in front of me, glaring.

  “Oh, hey there, El,” I say and scramble to try to get my t-shirt on, but the fucking one arm thing slows me down.

  Elsbeth snatches the shirt from me and throws it to the floor.

  “Are you going to tell me?” she asks.

  “Tell you what?” I smile then look down at my shoulder. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, just an old football injury flaring...”

  She’s right in my face, her nose touching mine, her eyes piercing mine, her hands on the arms of the chair, boxing me in.

  “What’s. Wrong. With. Your. Shoulder,” she snarls. “It. Smells.”

  If you have paid attention to all my rambling then you know that a snarling Elsbeth is not a welcome thing in anyone’s life.

  A billion lies go through my head and I can tell Elsbeth sees every one of them behind my eyes. I say the wrong thing and she’s going to kick my ass.

  “Soldiers,” I blurt.

  This confuses her, which doesn’t necessarily make things safer, but she does ease back an inch or two.

  “What?” she asks. “What soldiers?”

  I tell her what’s going down.

  “Are they our soldiers?” Elsbeth asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I hope so.”

  She looks at my shoulder then up at the windows. I hold my breath as I wait for her decision on a course of action. Will it be what’s behind Door Number One and the kicking of Jace’s ass? Or what’s behind Door Number Two and the...

  She throws my shirt in my face.

  “Get that on,” she says. “Come on. We’re going to see if it’s our soldiers.”

  “Sounds like a plan” I say as I stand up.

  “But,” she growls, a finger poking me in the chest. I notice this time she keeps her eyes averted from my wound. “But, we talk later. And you give me the truth.”

  There’s no argument in that statement.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I nod, “of course.”

  “I SAID...TURN THAT...fucking light...off,” Platt groans. “You’re...giving away...”

  “Our position,” Reaper finishes for him. “I know, but if I don’t get this bleeding under control you won’t make it to Whispering Pines.”

  Platt grinds his teeth as Reaper digs into the wound, hoping to find the bleed. He swears and curses under his breath as the light from his headlamp shows him nothing.

  “It’s down in there,” Reaper says. “I don’t know how far, but I can’t find the bullet. Fuck!”

  “Leave...me,” Platt says.

  “Fuck you,” John replies as he crouches down by the raft as it rests on the rocky boat landing. “You keep saying that and we keep saying no. You’re wasting our time, Master Sergeant.”

  “I order...you,” Platt whispers.

  Reaper shakes his head as he repacks Platt’s wound. “You aren’t in any shape to give orders. As current medical officer, I relieve you of duty. Sorry, Platt, your orders don’t mean shit anymore.”

  “Fuck...you,” Platt sighs.

  “Shhh,” John says. “Company.”

  Reaper turns the light off instantly and grabs his rifle. He wishes he had some night vision goggles, but that luxury is long gone. He has to rely on his ears to pierce the night.

  The two men wait for several minutes, but don’t hear anything. Yet, being Special Forces, they know better than to take anything for granted. Reaper can just make out John moving in the darkness as he crouch-walks his way up the boat landing and fully onto shore. He loses sight of the sniper completely and waits.

  Platt moans in the raft and Reaper cringes at how loud the noise is. The Master Sergeant must have passed out or he wouldn’t have made a sound. Even in excruciating pain, Platt knows to stay silent. Reaper sweeps the rifle left then right, his senses straining to pick something, anything, up.

  There’s a grunt, a shout, and the sharp bark of John’s rifle. Then silence.

  Reaper’s finger that was resting along the trigger guard, now touches lightly on the trigger itself.

  “Don’t,” a voice says from his right.

  Reaper whirls about, ready to open fire, but he takes a fist to his jaw and goes sprawling. Hands grab him and he tries to fight them off, but a fist slams again and again into his face until he’s too stunned to move.

  “Fuck,” he mutters as he’s dragged up the landing and tossed next to an unconscious John.

  In the dim light, Reaper can just make out about six figures circled around him. He doesn’t see the outlines of weapons, so he thinks he may make it out alive. Although, if the blows to his head are any indication of what’s possible, it won’t take a bullet to knock his brains out, those fists will do the job easily.

  “Who are you?” he asks, tensing for a kick to shut him up. That’s usually been his experience.

  “You first,” a woman orders, “and no bullshit.”

  “No bullshit?” Reaper laughs. “You knock out my teammate and beat the fuck out of my face and call bullshit on me? Fuck you, bitch.”

  A couple of the figures giggle. Wait...giggle?

  Then the kick comes.

  “Fuck!” Reaper yells.

  “Stop!” a man’s voice calls out from the d
arkness. “Don’t hurt them!”

  Reaper knows that voice. Only one man sounds like that kind of grit.

  “Stuart?” Reaper asks. “Stuart!”

  Stuart hurries up to the group and shoves a couple of the women out of the way. He kneels by Reaper and looks him over.

  “You okay, Reaper?” Stuart asks. “How bad are you hurt?”

  “Busted lip and pretty sure I’ll have a fucker of a black eye,” Reaper says as Stuart helps him sit up. “But it’s Platt that needs help.”

  “Platt?” Stuart asks glancing at John. “That looks like John, not Platt.”

  “Platt’s in the raft,” Reaper says. “He’s been shot and bleeding out. We’re trying to get to Whispering Pines, but I knew he wouldn’t make it so we stopped here. Hey...what the hell are you doing here? This is the Biltmore, right?”

  “Long fucking story,” Stuart says. “Come on, let me help you up.”

  “You know them?” Cassie asks, getting in front of Stuart and Reaper.

  “Yeah, they’re friends,” Stuart says. “I’m sure you’ve seen them before. They’re part of the Special Ops Team that’s been helping us.”

  “We’re all that’s left of the Special Ops Team,” Reapers adds.

  “They’re the ones that went down to Atlanta,” a woman says.

  “Right,” Cassie nods. She looks at the others. “Help get the wounded man up to the house. Get him into the surgery.”

  “The what?” Reaper asks. “The surgery? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Hey,” a woman says as she slaps John’s face. “Hey, wake up. Sorry I knocked you out.”

  John stirs and then starts to strike out, but his fists are easily knocked away.

  “Hey!” the woman snaps and smacks John across the face. “I said I was sorry!”

  The women all move as John scrambles backwards. “What the fuck?”

  “Calm down,” Cassie says, “your friends are here.”

  “Hey, John,” Melissa says as she helps him to his feet.

  “Reaper?” John asks.

  “Right here, man,” Reaper responds.

  “Uh, okay,” John says, “I’m confused.”

  “It sounds like your friend is dying,” Cassie says as the women all walk down to the raft. “We’ll try not to let that happen.”