Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell

by Bible, Jake

  “Damn,” I say, “nice shooting, Tex.”

  “Wasn’t me,” Stella frowns. “I think every one of my shots missed.”

  “Then who was it?”

  Stella points to the far end of the cage and I see John leaning against the chain link, the barrel of his rifle resting through one of the holes. He smiles and nods, then raises his eyebrows and looks towards the gate.

  “Right,” I say. “We better go.”

  We get to the gate and Harlan shoves us along, back around towards John.

  “Where’s Elsbeth?” I shout. “Have you seen her?”

  “The canny? No,” Harlan shouts back. “Was she here?”

  “Yeah, she was here!” I say. “We have to find her!”

  “We have to get out of here first!” Harlan yells. “We didn’t come here to look for that canny! We came to get you!”

  “Fuck you, Harlan!” Greta yells. “She’s family and we save family!”

  “She ain’t my family,” he replies.

  “She’s mine,” Greta says, smacking the rebar in her palm.

  “Hey, calm down,” Stella says. “Both of you. Harlan? Where are the vehicles?”

  “What vehicles?”

  “The vehicles you came in,” Stella says. “Don’t tell me you walked.”

  “Then I won’t tell you,” Harlan frowns. “But we did.”

  “Shit,” Stella says. “Then we need vehicles if we’re to get away from here.”

  “What about all of these people? And what about Elsbeth?” I ask.

  “I’m getting the kids in a vehicle and back to the Farm,” Stella says. “Are you coming with us?”

  “Yes, of course!” I say.

  We head around the cage towards the front entrance to the Grove Park and the parking lot. Pretty good assumption that’s where the vehicles are. We get to the walkway that leads to the front and stop.

  Cowboy.

  He lifts his hand and Stella screams, holding her hand over Greta’s eyes.

  “Stop, Mom!” Greta yells and shoves her hand away.

  In Cowboy’s hand is the severed head of Foster, dripping blood from her ragged neck.

  “Didn’t kill the brain,” Cowboy says. “She’s gonna turn soon. Want to watch? Ah, fuck it. I think I’ll just kill you.”

  In his other hand is a machine pistol and he takes aim at us. Stella and I shove the kids to the ground, with Critter following right on top of us, but Harlan doesn’t make it. His body dances and shakes as he’s torn apart by automatic fire. The machine pistol jams and Cowboy swears, tossing it aside.

  Chunks of pavement spray up between his feet and he leaps back, his eyes searching for the source before he drops Foster’s head, turns and runs. The head rolls down the slight incline and stops right by us. I kick it away and get to my feet, helping Stella up as Critter helps the kids up. The head just keeps rolling down the hill, lost in the darkness.

  “Guess she lost that workplace dispute,” Critter cackles.

  “Jesus,” I say, shaking my head. “Not now, Critter.”

  “Got to give an old man his due,” Critter says.

  “Vehicles!” Stella shouts, pointing up ahead. She takes off with the kids.

  “What about-” I start, but a hand on my back, pushing me forward answers my question.

  “Right here,” Stuart says.

  “John?” I ask.

  “Already on it,” Stuart says, nodding up ahead where John is standing, laying down covering fire while Stella and the kids, with Critter behind, sprint to an SUV.

  “Anyone else?” I ask.

  “Shep,” Stuart says, “but he didn’t make it.”

  “Neither did Harlan,” I say. “Sorry.”

  “What for?” Stuart asks. “They were good men, but they knew what they signed up for. It was just a matter of time before something happened.”

  “Yeah, but I’m still sorry,” I say. Stuart nods.

  We get into the SUV and Stuart takes the front, while John takes the passenger’s seat. Stella and the kids cram into the middle seat and Critter and I hop into the fold up backseat. Gunfire follows us and Stuart gets the SUV started, finding the keys already in it. John leans across Stuart and rests the barrel of his rifle on the open windowsill.

  “Sorry,” John says. “This will be-”

  We don’t hear the rest of what he says because we all have our hands jammed against our ears as he opens fire. A man screams and then John pulls his rifle back, turns about and points it out his window, firing again. Another man screams. Fuck, Special Forces folk don’t fuck around. And I’m very glad for that.

  Stuart slams the accelerator down and the SUV rockets forward. We dodge the laborers running here and there, but barely stop in time as another SUV cuts us off.

  “There!” I shout. “That was Elsbeth! And Mondello!”

  “Who?” Stuart asks.

  “The fucking President of the United States,” I say.

  “If that’s true,” Critter says, “you may want to be a might more respectful.”

  “Fuck him,” I snarl. “He’s a false leader set up to be the Consortium’s puppet.”

  They all look at me like I’m crazy.

  “It’s a long fucking story,” I say.

  “He’s right,” John says. “We heard chatter that the Secretary of Homeland Security was taking the office. Just never had a chance to verify.”

  “Oh, it’s fucking verified,” I say. “Follow that fuck!”

  “Jace, the kids,” Stella says. “We need to get back to the Farm.”

  “No, we need to get Elsbeth,” Greta says. “We save family, right?”

  “Sweetie,” Stella starts, but Greta holds up her hand.

  “Can it, Mom,” Greta says. “We save family.”

  “I sure as shit don’t want to be the one to tell Julio we watched his lady get taken and did nothing about it,” Stuart says, hitting the accelerator again. “Let’s get that girl.”

  “And don’t ever tell your mother to can it, you hear me?” I say.

  Greta nods.

  Mondello’s SUV is already up the drive and speeding around the corner by the time we negotiate our way through the chaos. I see taillights in the distance, then they are gone.

  “We’re gonna lose them,” Greta says.

  “No, we aren’t,” I reply. “I know exactly where he’s heading!”

  “Enlighten me, Jace,” Stuart says, taking a curve and nearly sending the SUV up onto two wheels.

  “Buckle up,” Stella tells the kids. She doesn’t get an argument over that one.

  The road may be a residential switchback, but it’s still a switchback. We all try to brace ourselves to keep from rocking into each other as Stuart cranks the wheel one way then back the other way. He follows the same route up that Foster used when bringing me to the Grove Park.

  “Just keep going as fast as you can,” I tell Stuart, “the road is clear all the way.”

  “All the way to where?” he asks.

  “The Blue Ridge Parkway,” I say. “Mondello is going to make a run for it. He’s heading back to Charlottesville.”

  “We are not following him all the way to Charlottesville,” Stella says. “No fucking way, Jace.”

  “Won’t have to, Mrs. Stanford,” John says. “If gunny here can get me in range, I can take them out.”

  “And by take them out you mean the tires, right?” I ask.

  “Exactly,” John says, “although these SUVs have run flats, so it won’t stop them completely.”

  “But it’ll make things very hard on them,” Stuart says. “Giving us time to catch up.”

  “What about gas?” Charlie asks, shoving his hand against the roof of the SUV to keep from flailing into his sister. “Do we have enough?”

  We all wait for the answer.

  “Depends on how much they have,” Stuart says. “Half a tank in here.”

  “So they better have less than that,” Charlie replies.

  �
�Good math, genius,” Greta smirks.

  “Shut it, you two,” Stella says. “Not in the mood.”

  “None of us are,” Critter says. “Ain’t nothing worse than the bickering of siblings. My mother used to smack me and Hollis upside the head every time we started in on each other.”

  “That explains a lot,” Stella says.

  Critter doesn’t respond. Damn, she really doesn’t like the guy.

  “There,” John says, pointing ahead and above us.

  We see taillights take a turn and then they are lost. But at least we know we’re on their trail.

  “Why do you think they’re heading for the Parkway?” Stuart asks. “And why Charlottesville?”

  “That’s the new capitol,” I reply. “It’s the seat of the US government, whatever that may be.”

  “Sounds like you learned a little while you were gone,” Stuart says.

  “Where’s Captain Leeds?” Charlie asks.

  “Looks like we done forgot someone,” Critter said. “We going back or is he expendable since he’s not family?”

  “Oh, just shut up, you old coot,” Stella says.

  “That’s the best ya got, missy?”

  “Not now,” Stuart says. “Jace? Where is Captain Leeds?”

  John looks back at me and can instantly tell by the look on my face what happened.

  “He didn’t make it, huh?” John asks.

  “No,” I reply, “he didn’t.”

  “Was it a good death?” Stuart asks.

  “How can any death be good?” Stella asks.

  “There are some better than others,” John says. “Trust me.”

  “It was the best death possible,” I say.

  “Care to elaborate on that?” Stuart asks.

  “No,” I state flatly, “not right now.”

  “Fair enough,” Stuart nods as he takes a seriously sharp curve.

  We all rock into each other and I feel the SUV’s tires slide some. This isn’t going to be fun when we hit the parkway and only have a guardrail between us and several hundred feet of open air. Hey, maybe the trees will catch us and we’ll only fall fifty feet. One can only hope.

  “Back, back, back!” John yells as Stuart rockets past the turn.

  “What? Where?” Stuart yells, slamming on the brakes, putting the SUV into reverse.

  “I see them!” Charlie yells, pointing towards red lights between the trees.

  Stuart speeds backwards and cranks the wheel hard as we get back to the turn.

  “A little heads up would have been nice, Jace,” Stuart says, putting it in drive and moving ass.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I was coming down last time. And it was light out. Couple big differences.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” Greta says.

  “Damn, you’re just busting balls left and right tonight,” Charlie laughs.

  “Getting drugged and kidnapped brings out the snark in me,” Greta says.

  “I thought just waking up did that?” Charlie replies.

  “Stop,” Stella says.

  The kids shut up.

  And then we are at the Blue Ridge Parkway. And one shitty decision: right or left?

  “You see them?” Stuart asks, craning his head back and forth. “I don’t.”

  “Charlottesville is north, y’all,” Critter says. “Ain’t hard to figure out.”

  “Unless he’s going to Atlanta,” I say. “Which he could be too.”

  “Atlanta?” Stuart asks.

  “Another long story,” I say.

  “Hold on,” John says and hops out of the SUV. He sweeps the area, always ready for Zs, and steps out into the middle of the Parkway. “Turn off the headlights!”

  Stuart turns the headlights off, plunging everything into pitch darkness. Pre-Z the glow of Asheville city lights would have provided some illumination, if slight. But, post-Z there’s nothing, just pure darkness. We all lean forward, trying to get our own look.

  “There!” John says. “Charlottesville!”

  He hurries back into the SUV and Stuart is turning and speeding north before he even has the door closed. Doesn’t even faze John.

  Stuart presses the accelerator pedal all the way to the floor. Or at least that’s what it feels like as we are shoved back into our seats. I’d love nothing more than to just close my eyes and wait for it all to be over as we take curve after curve at speeds I’m pretty sure are not safe on the Parkway. Or safe on any road, really.

  “How close do you need to be?” Stuart asks John. “What’s the range on that thing?”

  “The range is shit,” John replies. “But at least the stability sucks.”

  “Great,” Stuart says. “I’ll get as close as possible. I highly doubt Mr. President can outrun a marine on the open road.”

  “Even though I root Army, I won’t argue with that,” John says. “I don’t think the man did military duty in any branch. Pretty sure he was in construction.”

  “So don’t get in a game of bulldozer chicken with him,” I say. No one responds. “You know, like in Footloose.”

  “Jace,” Stella says, “not now, honey.”

  “Fine. Whatever,” I sigh. “I thought it was funny.”

  I have to say that during the day the Parkway can be intimidating, let alone at night, what with the sharp curves and constant change in elevation. Oh, and there are the tunnels. Yep. Tunnels. Like the one we’re coming up on now.

  “Hold on,” Stuart says. “John?”

  “On it,” John says, rolling down the window. He settles the M4 on the side mirror, trying to steady it as much as possible.

  “On what?” Stella asks then belches. “Sorry. I get car sick.”

  “Well ain’t that just wonderful,” Critter says. “We coulda dropped ya off, ya know? Ain’t no cowardice in sittin’ this one out.”

  “Stop being an idiot,” Stella says.

  “Lost cause, ma’am,” Critter laughs. “Been tryin’ my whole life.”

  The tunnel is freakishly dark. It’s like driving in ink made of rock. The only evidence there is a world is by catching the sheen of water on the sides of the tunnel. Otherwise, you’d just think you were driving into nothing. Good thing Stuart’s at the wheel. Bad thing is that he hasn’t slowed down. Not. At. All.

  “Ohhhhhh, shiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” Charlie and Greta say at the same time as we take one last turn in the tunnel.

  I’d laugh, but I’m too busy keeping the piss in my bladder and not all over the seat. Would suck to piss myself. Especially with Critter in the SUV. Jeez, he’d tell everyone and then I’d be called Piss Pants or Piss Seat or just Pissy. Critter’s good that way.

  Not that Long Pork is any great thing.

  “There,” Stuart says as we shoot from the tunnel.

  John leans out the window, his eye to the sight. How he can track anything at night, I have no idea. It doesn’t look like a night scope is on that rifle. Maybe he’s tracking by the tail lights? But they keep disappearing as Mondello takes the curves just as fast as we do. But then John is a trained sniper. He’s the man.

  Two shots and we all hold our breath as we come around the next curve. Nope. Mondello is still going. We see his taillights speed away.

  “Fuck,” John says. “This piece of shit isn’t worth, well, shit.”

  “Nice oxymoron,” Charlie says. “Shit not worth shit.”

  “He’s a genius like my dad,” Greta says.

  “Thanks,” Charlie and I answer at the same time.

  “Hey!”

  “Wait a minute!”

  “Dial it back, sweetie,” Stella says to Greta. “They’re sensitive.”

  “Can you catch them?” John asks Stuart.

  “I’m trying,” Stuart replies. “But looks like this asshole has some training.”

  “He probably got some from the private contractors,” John says. “They will train clients in defensive driving and weapons. Makes their jobs a little easier.”

  “It’s making my job a little har
der,” Stuart says. “And where’s the pick up on this thing? I thought they put supped up engines in these vehicles?”

  “They also armor them with some heavy duty plating,” John says. “Adds weight and reduces speed.”

  “Just give me a Humvee, any day,” Stuart says.

  “There,” John says and leans back out the window. He fires once, twice, three times. “FUCK!”

  “How do you know you missed?” Charlie asks.

  “I missed, trust me,” John says. “I need a different rifle.”

  On a whim, and since I have nothing better to do, I look in the very back cargo area. There isn’t much room since the extra seats are up (which Critter and I occupy, thank you very much), but there’s enough room for something interesting.

  “Holy shit,” I say, reaching back for what I find. Then the rear window explodes and reinforced glass shatters all over me. “HOLY SHIT!”

  “Well, ain’t that a kick in the dick?” Critter says as he holds his hand to the back of his shoulder. “Looks like I caught something.”

  “Oh, God!” Stella cries as she turns and looks.

  I glance over at Critter and see that the bullet that took out the back window also went clean through Critter’s shoulder.

  “Ah, crap,” I say, ripping his shirt in half. “Hold this on there. Tight.”

  “Headlights!” Stuart yells. “Looks like we’re the meat in a shit sandwich.”

  “Lame analogy,” Greta says.

  “Get down!” Stella shouts at Charlie and Greta. “And stop being a snarky twat!”

  I feel the heat of a second bullet and then a third whiz by my head as I try to reach what’s in the back.

  “I thought the windows were fucking bulletproof!” I shout. “How’d they shoot out the back one?”

  “Probably AP rounds,” John yells.

  “So what’s the fucking point of any of this shit?” I yell back. “Might as well not reinforce anything!”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” John says. “But does help with your average crazies.”

  “I don’t think average crazies exist anymore,” I say. “It’s all uber crazies these days.”

  The windshield cracks as another bullet enters the SUV.

  “Fuck,” Stuart says. “I caught the ricochet.”

  “You gonna make it, gunny?” John asks.

  “Just a nick,” Stuart replies. He sees the look John gives him. “Honest. I’m not gonna pass out and send us over the side.”