Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell

by Bible, Jake

  “Have you asked his mother?” Big Daddy asks, concerned.

  “I can’t find Mrs. Stanford or Greta,” Jennifer says. “I’ve looked everywhere and no one has seen them since this morning.”

  Big Daddy and Reaper share a look. “Someone go get one of my boys,” Big Daddy says. “Have him get those that have the energy to scour the area.”

  “I hardly think that’s a good use of manpower at this time,” Brenda says.

  “You hardly think at all,” Dr. McCormick says.

  “Ladies,” Big Daddy says. He looks at Jennifer. “You go find Buzz or Gunga, okay? Tell them I want them to start looking for the Stanfords.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jennifer smiles and hurries away.

  “Radios still down?” Big Daddy asks Reaper.

  “They are,” he nods.

  “But we’ve got all of those men in custody, right? The ones we found with the rockets?” Big Daddy asks.

  “We do,” Reaper replies. “And Master Sergeant Platt has gone through every truck looking for a jamming device. Nothing.”

  “Can you ask your superior officer to join me here?” Big Daddy asks. “I’d go find him, but I’m incapacitated.”

  “I’m right here,” Platt says from the farmhouse doorway, a corn muffin in his hand. “Just trying to put something in my stomach.”

  “Good idea,” Big Daddy says. “Wouldn’t look right having a Special Forces soldier passing out in front of everyone.”

  “What can I do for you, sir?” Platt asks.

  “I have a sinking feeling we have been duped,” Big Daddy says. “While I am sure the objective was to take the Farm by force, I have to wonder if there wasn’t a second objective. Or perhaps taking the Farm was the second objective.”

  Platt looks at everyone, puzzled. “Care to fill me in on what I missed?”

  “The Stanfords are missing,” Reaper says.

  “They could just be hiding,” Platt says.

  “Not Stella,” Big Daddy says. “You know the woman; she’d be in the thick of all of this. That’s one A-type woman there.”

  “You aren’t joking,” Platt nods. “What are you saying? That all these people died for a snatch and grab?”

  “Like I said, I think taking the Farm was the objective,” Big Daddy says, “but it sure did provide enough chaos for us all to miss a significant presence here. None of us even noticed Stella and her children are gone.”

  “If they are at all,” Brenda says. “Could be that Patel girl is just too stupid to find them.”

  “That does it,” Dr. McCormick says and hauls off and punches Brenda in the jaw, knocking the woman to the porch. “Crap! I think I hurt my hand!”

  “Let me look at that,” Reaper says. “Sir, would you mind escorting Ms. Kelly away before she gets herself hurt further.”

  “Gladly,” Platt says, “you take care of the doctor. I’ll bring Ms. Kelly with me as I have a chat with the prisoners. I believe she has a certain skill set that could prove useful.”

  “You want me to what?” Brenda asks as she’s helped to her feet by Platt. “I’m not speaking to those men! They tried to kill us! With rockets!”

  “Yes they did,” Platt agrees, “and don’t you think they deserve a piece of your mind? They can’t just sit there and be comfortable after what they did, can they?”

  “Comfortable?” Brenda asks as she walks down the porch steps. “Why are they comfortable? I won’t stand for that! Those men should be shackled and strung up for what they did! This is unacceptable! They killed and wounded members of the Whispering Pines HOA! They will answer for that!”

  “Damn,” Reaper says, then looks at Big Daddy. “I mean darn. Glad I’m not those guys.”

  “Me as well, Sergeant Stillwater,” Big Daddy says. “But let’s hope Master Sergeant Platt is correct in using her. We could certainly do with more information about why we were really attacked.”

  ***

  Her stomach lurches as she rocks from side to side. She tries to open her eyes, but just that small effort sends waves of nausea through her. She takes a couple of deep breaths through her nose, realizing her mouth is taped shut.

  “This one is moving,” a gruff voice says, “put her out again?”

  “Nah,” another voice replies, “just keep an eye on her. What about the kids?”

  “They’re still out,” the first voice says. “Doubt they’ll wake up for a while. She should be out too, but guess she’s a tough one.”

  “Body chemistry, man,” the second voice says. “You just never fucking know. Remember that time in Bahrain when we had to remove that sheik? Gassed the whole damn palace and still one of his whores was up walking around. Half naked and jabbering about something in that high pitched Arabic voice. I passed right by her, she could have reached out and touched me, but she didn’t even know I was there. Just kept jabbering, jabbering, jabbering. You just never know, man.”

  “Foster say what she wanted us to do with them?” the first voice asks.

  “Not yet. Secure them and bring them back to Asheville.”

  “We going to put them in one of the rooms in that Grove Park place? Or are they going into the general population?”

  “Neither, man. Foster said to bring them to her. She’ll radio Horace with the location. If he hasn’t heard from her by the time we hit the city, then we’re to hold tight and wait by the river until we do.”

  “What’s she up to?”

  “Not a clue, man. But it’s Foster, so I’m sure she has a plan.”

  “She better not fuck up this contract,” the first man says. “I haven’t slept in a bed this many nights in a row in a long fucking time. I could get used to this gig.”

  “Tell me about it, man. But we do what the woman wants, am I right? She hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”

  “Tru dat, brother,” the first man laughs. There’s silence for a minute. “You think we’ll get to have some fun with the woman?”

  “Don’t be a scumbag,” the second voice snaps. “We ain’t survivor trash. Fuck one of the workers if you need to get your rocks off. Foster doesn’t want her or the kids harmed, so don’t even think about it.”

  “Jeez, I was just talking out loud.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” the second man says, “if you know what’s good for you. Those thoughts get back to Foster and she’ll publicly cut your balls off, roast them over a fucking fire, and then feed them to you. And you’ll fucking thank her for it by the time you finish eating. Don’t fuck with that woman, man.”

  “Fine, fine, I hear ya.”

  Stella just lies there, paralyzed with fear. She doesn’t know where she is or what’s happening, but she prays that her children will be safe. Despite what the one man said, she has no illusions as to her own safety. And she will do whatever it takes, no matter how horrible, to keep her children from harm. There is no doubt in her mind about that.

  ***

  We stand in the shadows of an old Victorian house on Charlotte St. It used to be gorgeous, colored in dark purples and greens, but now it just sits there, sad and decrepit. Much like the rest of Asheville.

  “Visual confirmation,” Foster’s radio crackles. “Twenty yards south, east side. They’re keeping to the houses.”

  “That’s across the street,” I say.

  “Thank you for that assist, Stanford,” Foster mocks. “I’m so new at this I never would have figured it out.”

  “Fuck you, Foster,” I say.

  “Be nice, Stanford,” she replies, “I have your family, remember.”

  “There’s three- two males and one female,” the radio voice states. “Orders?”

  “Three?” Foster asks.

  “Affirmative.”

  “There were four, where’s the third male?” Foster asks. “I want descriptions, now!”

  The man describes Elsbeth, Critter, and probably one of Critter’s guys. Who’s the other guy that is supposed to be with them?

  “Where’s the fucking s
niper?” Foster growls into the radio, her eyes darting around, scanning the area. She pushes her hand on my chest, shoving me against the house and deeper into the shadows. “I swear I’m gonna cut a bitch if I find out we lost the sniper.”

  John. Did he get hurt? Taken down by Zs? Or is he on the offensive? I’m hoping for the latter.

  “This is not good,” Foster says, looking at me. “I need you in the middle of the street now. If that sniper is out there, I want him to know there will be consequences if he starts firing.”

  “What sniper?” I ask. “I have no idea-”

  She grabs me by the front of my shirt and yanks me to her. “Stop. Right. Now. I know you know exactly who I am talking about. I know all about Leeds’s team. I have access to their dossiers. Weapons Sergeant Sammy “John” Baptiste. He’s a deadly mother fucker. I want you in that road and calling to Elsbeth in thirty seconds. At thirty-one seconds, I call my guys and your family dies. Are we clear, Stanford?”

  “Crystal,” I reply, trying to pull her hand from my shirt. Not happening. This chick has one fucking strong grip. “What about the others? Critter and his guy?”

  “What about them?”

  “I don’t want them killed either,” I say.

  “Not part of the deal,” she replies. “The deal is set. Elsbeth for your family. Critter will have to take care of himself.”

  “You’re one cold bitch,” I say.

  “You know nothing about me, Stanford,” she glares. “Now get your ass out there.”

  Finally, she lets go and shoves me towards the road. I stumble as I get up, but quickly get my balance and walk casually into the middle of the road. I shield my eyes and look towards where I think they should be.

  “Elsbeth!” I cry out. “Elsbeth, it’s me! Long Pork!” Ugh, I hate that name.

  I wait, but there’s no reply.

  “Elsbeth! It’s safe! You can come out!” Still no reply. “Please! They have Stella and the kids!”

  “What’s that?” Elsbeth calls as she steps from behind a large oak. “Who has the kids? Who has Stella?”

  “Just come down here and I can tell you,” I say, feeling like the shittiest person in the world. Seriously, I would consider Mondello a saint compared to the person I am right now. “We don’t have much time.”

  Elsbeth watches me for a minute then shakes her head. “Why, Long Pork?” she asks. “Why down there? That’s stupid. No cover. Get up here with me.”

  Hmmm, a problem…

  “Come on,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. I just need your help. Please. Come down here.”

  She watches me again.

  She knows. Even from here, I can tell she knows I have betrayed her. Come on, come on. I really don’t have time. The seconds are ticking away. She has to get down here or Foster will kill my family.

  “Please!” I beg. “Just come here.”

  Hisses get my attention and I look over my shoulder to see a group of ten or twelve Zs shambling out of an old ice cream shop. The entire front of the building is busted in, like a car rammed it. But there’s no car. Just Zs.

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  Elsbeth sees them and she pulls her blades, stepping further away from the tree and towards me.

  “Get up here, Long Pork,” she says, motioning towards me, “they’ll eat your ass.”

  Where the fuck is Critter? Why hasn’t he said anything?

  Because he knows it’s a trap. She knows it, he knows it, and that’s why John is missing. He’s probably watching this all play out from on top of one of the houses, his scope centered on my forehead. Or maybe on Foster’s forehead. I would like to think that’s how it is. Yes, on Foster’s forehead.

  I don’t really care about Critter’s guy, wherever he is. Not trying to be callous, just being honest. A man can only worry about so much in the zombie apocalypse. Gotta pick your worries carefully, if you know what I mean. Otherwise, you’re just a constant ball of nerves; twitching and flinching like a stray dog.

  “Long Pork!” Elsbeth shouts, pointing behind me.

  Oh, right, the Zs. What do I do? If I run towards her, then Foster could give the order to kill my family. But stay here and I’m Z chow. Fuck.

  I rub my face with my non-throbbing hand and look back at the Zs. Twelve. Yeah, I for certain count twelve of them. Without a weapon, I could maybe get lucky and kill two, possibly three. Possibly…

  “I’m fucked!” I shout. “This is all fucking bullshit!” I point towards Foster. “You! Get your fucking ass out here! This whole situation has gone to shit and it’s your fault. Get out here and fix this.”

  “Who are you talking to, Long Pork?” Elsbeth asks, her voice cautious and cold. “That the person you’re working for now?”

  “Working for?” I ask, “What the fuck? I don’t work for anyone, El. I’m just trying to keep my family alive! There’s a woman here that knows you and wants to meet you. I said I could help if she doesn’t kill Stella and the kids.”

  Elsbeth walks completely away from the tree and down the yard towards me. Her eyes scan the area, focusing on the shadows I pointed to.

  “A woman? What woman? I don’t know a woman,” Elsbeth says.

  As soon as she’s in the street, SUVs come barreling from all directions, surrounding us. Elsbeth freezes, her eyes locked on mine. Jesus, I suck. The pain, the betrayal I see. She’ll hate me forever.

  “Hold!” Foster shouts as she walks into the road, her hands out towards the SUVs. “Do not engage!”

  “Tough shit,” Cowboy says as he steps from one of the SUVs. “You fucked up, Foster.”

  “Jameson? What the hell are you doing?” Foster asks, marching up to him. “You’re supposed to be with the President!”

  “Oh, he is, Ms. Foster,” Mondello says from inside the SUV. He leans across the seat and waves. “Hello there, Mr. Stanford. Sorry my former employee got you mixed up in all of this. I’ll try not to let it reflect too poorly on you.”

  “Long Pork?” Elsbeth asks, her eyes taking it all in. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Honestly, El, I’m just as lost as you.”

  “I’m not lost,” Elsbeth says, looking around. “I know exactly where I am.”

  More men jump from the SUVs and surround Foster, Elsbeth, and myself.

  “What the fuck have you done, Jameson?” Foster asks her man.

  “Just what you would do in my situation,” Cowboy replies. “I took an opportunity to advance my career.”

  “It’s true, Ms. Foster,” Mondello says from inside the SUV. “Please say hello to the new head of the Secret Service. Mr. Jameson put on a great presentation on why he was the most qualified person for the job. I had considered you for the position, but as always, you are strictly in this business for yourself.”

  “Jameson,” Foster says. “You’re making a mistake. What have I always said?”

  “We work for anyone, but are owned by no one,” Cowboy snorts. “Which is pretty fucking stupid. They mean the same thing.”

  “No, they don’t, you fucking moron,” Foster says. “God, you royally fucked this up. We could’ve had it all. Now what do we have? Jack shit.”

  “No, you have jack shit,” Cowboy smiles. “I have a sweet new gig. And get to keep from being tonight’s entertainment.”

  “What?” Foster asks, looking at Mondello. “You fucking bastard. Just put a bullet in my head.”

  “And waste your talent?” Mondello laughs. “Please, Ms. Foster, be practical. At least you may have a chance to live. Until you lose, that is.”

  Groans get my attention. Oh, right, those Zs. Twelve of them.

  “My family,” I say to Foster. “What about my family?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about them,” Cowboy says. “We intercepted the van a few blocks over. They’re on their way back to the Grove Park right now.” He looks over his shoulder at Mondello. “And I believe you have them scheduled for tonight also, is that right Mr. President?”


  “You fuck!” I yell and dive at the SUV. Cowboy drops me hard.

  “No!” Elsbeth shouts and then the shit hits the fan.

  I try to push myself up, but Cowboy really walloped me upside the head. Dizzy and shaky, all I see are legs moving about me and all I hear are shouts and then gunshots. But even through the haze of my confusion, I can make out one steady sound of gunshots; systematic and perfectly timed.

  I push up again and am able to reach up and grab the side mirror of the SUV in front of me. Pulling myself to my feet, I watch as one, two, three, four men fall, blood spraying from their heads. John. Gotta love a sniper.

  Then rapid fire from across the street. Critter and his guy. Oh, snap, well there goes Critter’s guy. Half his head vaporizes as Cowboy returns fire.

  “Go! Go!” Cowboy shouts, slamming the SUV door closed and slapping the side. The vehicle with Mondello inside speeds off, mowing through the Zs, and squeals around a corner towards the Grove Park.

  Cowboy is running one way, his rifle held tight, firing round after round, while Critter runs the other way, a 9mm in each hand. I happen to be right in the fucking middle.

  I hit the ground and do what any self-respecting hero would do: I cover my head with my arms. Men are shouting, cursing, screaming, and dying. I do notice I haven’t heard a woman scream or call out, so Elsbeth, and I guess Foster, must be doing alright. Not really going to look up and find out. Just fine cowering right here for now, thank you very much.

  A man falls dead next me, most of his head gone, and I snag his rifle and roll over on my back, ready to shoot any mother fucker coming at me. Except there aren’t any. Oh, there’s plenty of men I could shoot, but they aren’t coming after me; they’re busy with Elsbeth, Foster, Critter, and John. No, what I get to deal with are the Zs that didn’t get run over.

  And, hey, look! They brought friends!

  Fifteen is my quick guesstimation. Fuck it. I start firing.

  Now, I have fired a lot of weapons since Z-Day. Sure, I’d fired a couple hand guns before that, but you don’t really get familiar with firearms until you’re thrust into the middle of the apocalypse. But, despite my experience, I am not ready for what I am holding in my hands.