Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead

by Bible, Jake

  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 darkness. “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.”

  They pull the raft up further then split up and get on each side, lifting the raft like an oversized, rubber stretcher. Stuart and the rest move out of the way, as they start the long hike back to the house.

  “Brittany?” Cassie says. “Take the soldiers and hurry up to the house. Show them where the surgery is so the medic can prep. And find Antoinette. Tell her she’s going to be operating tonight.”

  “Sure,” Brittany, the one that knocked John out, says as she taps Reaper and John on the shoulders then takes off running. “Follow me.”

  The men don’t hesitate and take off, with Stuart on their heels, after the woman that is already several yards away.

  “Need my help?” Melissa asks as she watches the women carry the raft.

  “No,” Cassie says. “Go with your friends.”

  “I think I’ll stay with Platt,” Melissa says.

  “Don’t trust us?” Cassie laughs.

  “Don’t trust anyone,” Melissa says, “except my daddy and brothers.”

  ***

  “That ain’t good,” Pup whispers as they all stare at the herd of Zs that cover Merrimon Ave, blocking their way to Reynolds Mountain.

  Explosions and gunfire can be heard further south in the city, but Lourdes ignores those sounds and focuses on the task at hand: getting the residents of Whispering Pines to safety. Which is a task made harder by a pissed off Stella Stanford.

  “If it wasn’t for my children I’d say fuck it to this plan,” Stella says at Lourdes’s side. “I vowed never to take charity from that bitch.”

  “She’s not there,” Lourdes says. “She is with your husband, last I heard.”

  “What?” Stella asks.

  “She was picked up and they were heading to the Counsel meeting when everything went bad,” Lourdes says. “They were going to help at the power plant.”

  “What? Where are they now? Do you know where Jace is?” Stella snaps, her voice a barely controlled whisper. Some moans from the herd make Lourdes give her a harsh look.

  “I don’t know anything,” Lourdes whispers. “We lost track when communications went down. What I’m worried about is why my people aren’t here. I sent them to evac the GPI. Must still be up at the main community digging in.”

  A massive explosion and resulting fireball makes everyone hit the ground. Except Lourdes. She stares at the fading light of the fire and calculates the distance to the explosion. And the direction.

  “Shit,” she says. “That’s my assault Teams. Not good.”

  What is good is the sound attracts the attention of the herd and many of the Zs turn about and start shambling back south down Merrimon Ave the way they came. It isn’t long before the mass has thinned out enough that Lourdes motions for her people to get ready. She tugs on Stella’s arm and pulls her back to the Humvee, glancing at the caravan of miscellaneous vehicles that are lined up behind them along Woodfin Ave.

  She turns to Pup and leans in close, keeping her voice low. “Spread word that we are making a break for it,” she says. “No one starts their vehicle until I give the signal. Once the zeds hear our engines they’ll swarm again. We have only a small window to get across Merrimon and up the road to the Reynolds Mountain encampment before they are on us. Got it?”

  Pup nods and runs down the row of vehicles, passing on the information to each driver.

  Lourdes looks at Stella. “Get in and get ready,” she says then looks at her driver. “When I give the signal you don’t stop ‘til Brooklyn.”

  “A Beastie Boys reference?” Charlie says from the backseat. “I don’t think that really applies here.”

  “Hey kid?” Lourdes says as she looks over her shoulder. “Nobody fucking asked you.”

  “Nobody didn’t not fucking ask me,” Charlie glares.

  “I think you have that backwards,” she replies.

  “You fuck,” Charlie snaps. “How’s that for backwards?”

  “Fair enough,” Lourdes says, cutting Charlie some slack.

  They all strap in and Lourdes holds her arm out the window. She watches the Zs moving then drops her hand. Every vehicle in the convoy starts up at once.

  “Go!” Lourdes shouts.

  The driver punches it and the Humvee shoots across Merrimon, wiping out Zs that stand in its way. Guts and black blood splatter up onto the windshield, but the driver doesn’t care as the Humvee thumps and bumps over rotten corpses. He cranks the wheel and takes a hard left as they get across and race up the hill towards Reynolds Mountain Village, a group of misused buildings that were supposed to hold retail shops as well as residential condos.

  Sales kinda went to shit when the dead started walking the Earth.

  Lourdes looks back at the convoy and sees several vehicles following right behind. But she also sees that several are still on the far side of Merrimon and not moving.

  “Fuck,” she says, causing everyone else to turn and look.

  “Why are they just sitting there?” Stella asks, watching as the Zs notice the stationary vehicles. “They need to move!”

  “One of them must have broken down,” the driver says, “it’s blocking the others.”

  “Don’t stop,” Lourdes says.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” the driver frowns.

  “But what about them?” Greta asks. “We can’t leave them!”

  “We’re taking you up to the gates,” Lourdes says. “Then we’ll go back and help.”

  The driver barely uses the brakes as he rockets through the twists and turns that take them to the entrance of the Reynolds Mountain estate. When he gets there, he turns the Humvee in a wide arc so it’s facing back down the hill. Lourdes hops out and starts waving for others to do the same.

  “Everyone out except a driver and shooter!” Lourdes orders. “We’re going back down to get the rest!”

  The vehicles empty and the residents of Whispering Pines instantly rush forward towards Stella as she stands there, motioning them to her

  “Stay safe,” Lourdes says as she gets back into the Humv
ee and it speeds off.

  “Did she seriously just say that?” Charlie asks. “That lady be loco, yo.”

  Terrified eyes look expectantly at Stella and she nods to them all.

  “Stay close to each other and don’t let anyone wander off,” Stella says. “Hold tight as I get us inside.”

  “I thought Lourdes said there would be PCs here with the Grove Park people,” Greta says. “They were supposed to dig in and be ready for the Zs.” She looks around. “I don’t see anything.”

  “That’s because it’s too dark to see,” Charlie says.

  “You know what I mean,” Greta snaps.

  “Stop,” Stella orders and the kids go quiet. She walks up to the gates and bangs her palm against them. “Hello?”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” a man says from above, “but I can’t let you in.”

  “It’s me,” Stella says. “Stella Stanford. We had to evacuate Whispering Pines. There’s a huge herd of Zs taking over the city. Please let us in now.”

  “I know who you are, Ms. Stanford, but I’m under strict orders not to let anyone in,” the man replies before swallowing hard and continuing. “I’m especially not to let anyone from Whispering Pines in. Particularly anyone named Stanford.”

  “That fucking cunt,” Stella mumbles then takes a deep breath. “I’m sure Brenda gave that order, I have zero doubt about that, but things have changed. This isn’t about petty squabbles. This is about people living or dying. Please, you have to let us in.”

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but if I do that then they’ll kick me and my whole family outside the wire,” the man says. “We won’t survive out there.”

  “Let us the fuck in, asshole!” someone shouts.

  “Open the gates!” another voice rings out.

  “There are children!” a woman screams.

  “Please! My wife is hurt!”

  “Help us!”

  “Please!”

  “Please!”

  “PLEASE!”

  The group is lit up by floodlights from the top of the gates and everyone shields their eyes from the glare.