Z-Burbia 7: Sisters of the Apocalypse

by Jake Bible

The shouting doesn't get louder from the men by the trucks. That tells us all they're hunkering down and taking cover. Which is exactly what we want them to do. It's fun to use people's instincts against them.

  Audrey shows up after about five minutes and tosses a pack to Jack so he can reload the Barrett. She carries the rocket launcher on her shoulder and nods at her back to the two tubes strapped there.

  "Nice," Marcie says and smiles so wide I'm afraid she's gonna split her damn skull. I can't really tell her not to because I'm smiling just as wide.

  "Load me up," Audrey says as she walks towards the gate.

  There's more rifle fire, but it's just too far away to make a difference with what's about to happen.

  I follow Audrey and holster my .45s so I can pop one of the tubes open and load the launcher.

  "Good to go," I say and pat Audrey on the shoulder as I get the fuck out of the way.

  She barely takes the time to aim before she sends a rocket streaking at the trucks.

  "One more, just to be sure," she says as the lead truck explodes in a ball of fire.

  The Doyles that aren't burning and dying start to scatter from the trucks. But it's just too damn late. Audrey fires the second rocket and another truck goes up big time, sending fiery shrapnel flying this way and that. She sets the launcher down on the ground and takes the Barrett back from Jack.

  "How's it look?" I ask.

  She fires once, reloads, fires again, reloads, and fires a third time.

  "All done," she says. "Still a couple more alive, but they won't be for long. They must have had fuel cans in the back of one of the trucks because there's burning shit everywhere. Anybody still alive is about to be a crispy critter."

  The ladies that followed us up front all stare in wonder. They look from us to the burning trucks to the almost destroyed farm and back to us. I don't know if they are surprised it's all happening or just surprised that three women could do so much damage. Yeah, we got a Jack too, but let's face it, the sisters made it all happen.

  "There'll be two more teams like that," Kimmy says from behind us and some of the women that had been staring in wonder, look down at their feet like they were caught touching themselves or something. "Doyle always sends at least three teams. If the third team doesn't come back then he'll send everyone."

  "I thought you was still all tied up and cuffed to that tent pole," I say and look over at Jack.

  "She was," Jack says.

  "A couple of the more loyal women set me free," Kimmy says. "But don't worry about me. Everything Vivian said was true. I failed. If Doyle can't take it out on me then he'll take it out on my children."

  She looks at Jack and the defiance she had before is kind of gone. Kind of. Not totally. Just kind of.

  "We need to get the children," she says.

  "Maybe we should wait," Marcie suggests. "Dig in and take as many of the Doyles out as possible with the rocket launcher. Whoever's left we can pick off with rifles. Two more teams then a full assault. That's gonna take time to prep and that gives us time to do our own prepping."

  "Won't work," Kimmy says. "If Doyle has to send everyone this way then he's going to assume we helped you all. There were at least six men that got away when you attacked. I know because I sent them. I told him to send help and that not all the women were falling in line like they were supposed to."

  "Sounds like you signed your own death warrant," Audrey says.

  "I didn't know you'd win," Kimmy replies. "Look at you. There's only four of you. We've been attacked by hordes of Zs and by gangs of crazies and never lost a man."

  "Zs don't have RPGs," I say. "And crazies is shit shots with a Barrett."

  "How do we do this?" Jack asks. He walks right up to his daughter and is about to take her by the shoulders, but we all see the look in her eyes. He stops. "Tell us how you think we can stop Doyle and save the children."

  "I don't think we can," Kimmy says. "Not unless we move now. If Doyle feels threatened enough to send everyone here then he's going to destroy everything behind him. He'll go somewhere else and start over. That's the kind of person he is."

  "That's crazy," Audrey says. "Are you saying he'll kill all the children and torch the town? Just because he lost the farm?"

  "Yes," Kimmy says. "You had it right the first time. He's crazy. He's talked about something like this for a long while. He will burn the place to the ground without blinking."

  "All the kids?" I ask. "He'll burn all the kids?"

  "He will," Vivian says as she joins us. "I think he's been looking forward to this day from the beginning. It justifies everything he's done."

  "And he's done so much," Kimmy says. "So very fucking much."

  "Do I need to say it?" I ask Marcie and Audrey. They shake their heads. "Well, I'm gonna say it anyway. I fucking hate Doyles."

  Chapter Eighteen

  We get to moving. No time to come up with a plan right away, we'll have to do that on the fly. What we gotta do right now is get all the supplies that can be salvaged and load them up on the farm trucks. We also have to get all the ladies on those trucks and get them the fuck out of here.

  Marcie is still going with them and she and Vivian take charge of the supplies and evacuation while Jack and Audrey take charge of gathering all the weapons we can find. And ammo. Gotta have ammo. No point in having weapons without ammo. Yeah, I can kill quite a few Doyles with just my bare hands. Or a rock. Yeah, I could totally kill Doyles with a rock.

  But weapons with ammo are better.

  Someone whistles and I look up. One of the women is up in a watchtower with a pair of binoculars. She points out at the road and I squint into the bright sunlight. Dust clouds. Bigger this time. Looks like Doyle sent more idiots in the second team. Ain't no thing. I have nothing against killing more Doyles.

  I want to use the rocket launcher again, but we all agreed to save the RPGs for when we absolutely need them. I'd use the Barrett too, but we're low on ammo for it. Jack had a lot of gear, and so does the farm, but not a single .50 caliber cartridge in sight. It's all good, though. I'm totally fine with doing it the hard way and putting a couple rounds from an M-4 between their eyes.

  "How many, you think?" Marcie asks as she walks up beside me. She hands me a canteen of water and I down it fast. No time to waste. "You want me to get Audrey?"

  "Nah, we got this," I say and look at her. "Right?"

  "You know we do," Marcie says. "Vivian has the trucks about ready. She's getting the women loaded up right now. We're going to head out the back and double around to the main road after a mile or so. But we still need these assholes gone so they don't radio back to town about what we're doing."

  "Yep," I say. "So, we just gonna walk out there and ask them to stop?"

  "We could," Marcie says and racks the action on her rifle. She pats her belt to make sure her extra magazines are there then gives me a big smile. "Or we could just start firing and see what happens."

  "I like the last option," I say. "Just start firing is my favorite. Most of the time you all tell me to think first, fire second."

  "Well, now's your chance to use your method," Marcie says. She nods to the main gate. "Shall we?"

  "Oh, we shall," I say, trying to do a British accent.

  "Nope," Marcie says and laughs. "Don't ever do that again."

  "Long Pork liked to do voices," I say.

  "Long Pork was a fool and didn't take anything seriously," Marcie says. "Don't get me wrong, he was a great man, but he was fool, for sure. We're sisters, not fools."

  "If you say so," I reply and shrug. I put my M-4 to my shoulder and walk to the gate. "Time to kill some Doyles. It's like early Christmas."

  "Aren't you Jewish?" Marcie asks.

  "Carly Michelle Thornberg was," I say. "Elsbeth is whatever the fuck she feels like being. And I like Christmas stockings. I like the candles with Hanukkah, too. Oh, and I like little Buddha statues! We should look for those sometime. I want to get a collection."

  "Uh,
okay," Marcie says. "We'll do that. But right now we're going to kill Doyles."

  "Yep, going to kill Doyles," I reply.

  We walk out onto the road and just keep walking. No trying to take cover or set up some trap for the Doyles. We just walk straight down that dirt road, our M-4s up and ready.

  The dust cloud gets bigger and I can see about four pickup trucks. Two are the little ones and two are the big ones. You know the ones with four wheels in the back and sound all growly loud and shit? Yeah, two of those.

  Not that it matters how big the trucks are. Unless they got bulletproof glass then they're equally dead.

  Marcie takes a knee and I do too then wince as the stitches in my leg pull.

  "Gonna have to stand for this," I say.

  "Makes you a bigger target," Marcie replies. "You want to head back inside the farm and let me handle this?"

  "Nope," I say and put my eye to my scope. "It won't take long."

  We fire.

  My scope is centered on the driver of the truck in front. The windshield of his truck spiderwebs and shit and his head goes pop. Marcie gives a small, happy yell and I look down at her.

  "That was my kill," I say as we watch the truck lose control and swerve to the side, cutting off the path of the others.

  "What?" Marcie says. "No, that was my kill."

  The truck skids then stutters then flips onto its side, rolling about six or seven times before it comes to a stop.

  "No way, Jose," I say. "I put that bullet in the driver's head. Me."

  "I don't think so," Marcie says. "I had him lined up perfectly. Easy squeeze on the trigger and he was dead."

  One of the smaller pickups slams into the crashed one. I hear Doyles scream as they go flying from the truck bed and out into the dirt. A couple aren't that lucky and their screams stop when they hit the crashed truck with their heads. Stupid Doyles.

  The other two trucks whip around the wreckage and keep coming.

  "I take the big one, you take the small one," Marcie says.

  "Why do you get the big one?" I ask as I line my crosshairs up once again. "I rescued you, so you should let me have the big one."

  "How does you rescuing me have anything to do with which targets we take?" she asks. "That's crazy, El."

  "You calling me crazy?" I ask and fire.

  Marcie fires at the exact same time and I yank my M-4 from my face so I can glare down at her.

  "Not cool!" I shout.

  "I told you I was taking the big one!" Marcie shouts back. "Now look! The small one is still coming at us!"

  The other big truck is slowly rolling to a stop as the smaller one whips around it. The Doyles open fire, thinking they are close enough to hit us. We watch the bullets kick up dirt a good hundred yards away. Stupid fucking Doyles. Wasting ammo as usual because they're dumbshitfuckers.

  "Tires?" I ask Marcie. "How about we both shoot for the tires this time, leave the driver alone."

  "Why?" Marcie asks. "We're going to have to kill the driver anyway."

  "Look," I say and nod at the second big truck. We'd taken out the driver, but the truck is moving again. "New driver. Still have a moving truck to deal with."

  "Good point," Marcie says.

  We take aim at the little pickup coming for us and fire. The right front tire explodes.

  "You missed," we say at the same time then, "Dammit!"

  "I was going for the right tire, El," Marcie says.

  "So was I," I reply.

  The little pickup jerks to the side and skids to a stop. The Doyles in the bed jump out firing, but this time their bullets are a lot closer.

  "I take the Doyles and you take out the big truck that's coming at us again," Marcie says.

  "Why do I have to shoot a truck and you get to kill Doyles?" I ask. "That's not fair."

  "Life isn't fair, El," Marcie says.

  "Life ain't, but I heard that all's fair in love and war," I reply. "This is war, right? So all is fair."

  "That doesn't mean war is fair it means all of the actions in war are fair," Marcie says. "It's the opposite of what you're saying."

  "So, what?" I snap. "It means the sky is the limit in love and war?"

  "Yeah, that's exactly what it means," she replies.

  A bullet whizzes past us. We frown at the Doyles and open fire.

  There are eight rushing us. Then there are eight lying on their stupid Doyle faces and bleeding into the dirt.

  "I didn't know it meant that," I say. "So, all's fair in love and war actually means nothing is fair and you're fucked?"

  "Yes," Marcie says. She fires twice and puts down two Doyles that try to get back up. One of us missed their kill shots. The Doyles drop as the tops of their heads are ripped open. "It basically means that fairness applies to everything except for love and war."

  "That's just dumb," I say. I fire at the big truck that is still moving at us. "They shouldn't have even used the word fair then. Totally shitfucked. People are dumb when they make shit up."

  "I won't disagree with you there," Marcie says. She opens fire too.

  Neither of us stops firing until our magazines are empty. The truck stops. I don't think there's anyone inside alive to replace the driver that had replaced the driver. No more Doyle drivers.

  "Reloading," we call out at the same time and laugh.

  Sisters are fun.

  "Let's go clean up," Marcie says and gets to her feet. She grins at me. "You want to ride piggyback and rest that leg?"

  "You want to eat shit and die?" I reply.

  "Come on, Limpy," Marcie says and she starts walking towards the carnage.

  I do love me some carnage. Especially if it involves Doyles.

  A shot rings out and I lift my foot just before the bullet hits the ground. I return fire and a Doyle screams. Marcie fires and his scream ends. Nice.

  We get to the first couple of bodies and roll them over. Dead. Dead Doyles. Yay for dead Doyles. Marcie puts a slug into each of their heads. Nobody wants a Doyle coming back as a Z.

  Another gunshot and we both hit the dirt. There's a Doyle hiding behind the second big truck. I see him stick his head out and I squeeze the trigger, but the little fucker is too fast. He ducks back and is lost from sight.

  "He's smart," Marcie says. "He's hiding behind the tires. I can't get a bead on him."

  "You think we could blow it up?" I ask.

  "Blow it up? How?" Marcie replies. She fires off three rounds. "You know that doesn't work, right?"

  "What doesn't work?" I ask.

  "Shooting the gas tank to make a vehicle blow up," she says. She fires again as the Doyle tries to move from his spot. She misses as he ducks back behind those damn wheels. "Unless you get super lucky and create a spark with the round, you will never blow up a vehicle by shooting the gas tank."

  "Okay," I say and smile over at her. "That is good to know. Not that I'm planning on shooting the gas tank."

  "Then what are you going to do?" she asks.

  I get to my feet and take a deep breath. My leg hurts like a little bitch. I think I ripped the stitches when I dove to the ground. Don't matter, though. I'm good. I pat at my pockets until I find what I'm looking for.

  Marcie sees what I pull out and nods.

  "Well, yeah, that'll do it," she says.

  "Frag out," I say in a fake whisper.

  Then I toss that grenade and let it do its beautiful work. The grenade lands in the truck bed and I hear the Doyle give a startled yell. It's his last yell. The whole truck goes up in a fun to watch boomy explosion of metal and fire and black smoke.

  "Nice shot," Marcie says and stands up next to me. "Can't hide from that behind tires."

  "Nope," I say. "Let's clean up."

  It doesn't take us long to go through the trucks to make sure everyone is dead. And that they stay dead. Fifteen minutes and we're walking back to the farm, dead Doyles behind us and a very nice new rifle for me.

  "Why do you get to keep that?" Marcie asks as she looks at
the Steyr AUG I hold. It's pretty.

  "I found it and I get to keep it," I say. "I've always wanted to shoot one of these."

  "Where the hell did it come from?" she asks. "How would some idiot Doyle get a Swiss rifle?"

  "It's America," I say. "Or it was. Plenty of crazy guns still around. I think this one is cool looking."

  "You only have one extra magazine for it," she says.

  A truck behind us blows up and we duck our heads, but don't even bother looking back. Gas tanks may not blow up when you shoot them, but they do blow up when they are covered in flaming hot wreckage from another truck. That's just science.

  "I only need the two magazines," I say. "Takes the same NATO cartridges as the M-4. I can always reload the magazines."

  "Not if you're in the middle of a firefight," she says.

  I sigh and sling the rifle across my back so I can pat both my .45s then pat the hilts of my blades. "I got backups."

  "If you say so," she says then laughs. "That was fun."

  "Yeah, that was lots of fun," I say as we get back to the gate.

  There's a line of women waiting for us. They stare like we're circus freaks.

  "What?" I snap.

  "You just stopped four trucks and killed all those Doyles by yourselves," one woman says.

  "Yeah, so?" I ask. "Somebody had to do it." Then I think I get it. "Oh, sorry, did you want to kill them?"

  "What?" she asks.

  "Did you want to kill the Doyles?" I say. "Sorry, we didn't ask if you ladies wanted in on the Doyle killing. That was rude. You can have the next assholes that come for us."

  "Is she serious?" the woman asks Marcie.

  "She is," Marcie says and pats the woman on the shoulder as we start to walk by. "Don't worry. We'll take care of the next ones, too."

  "Maybe she wants to do it," I say.

  "No, uh, we're good," the woman replies and the others nod.

  "Okey dokey," I say and shrug. "Your loss."

  "Ready?" Vivian asks as she comes jogging up to us. "Trucks are loaded and we need to get out of here before the next team of Doyles arrives."

  The women at the gate rush past us and towards where the trucks are parked. I guess they really don't want to wait and kill the next set of Doyles.