by Bible, Jake
She’s running down the middle of Weaverville Highway with the burnt out husks of mini-strip malls to her left and right. Up ahead she sees what used to be Jimmy’s Automotive and she swears she hears an engine. With the last bit of energy she can muster, she drives her legs forward towards the sound.
Stumbling over the broken pavement of the weed choked parking lot, Dr. McCormick falls to her knees. Before her is a closed garage bay door, behind her are a couple thousand Zs. She reaches out and is about to bang on the door when it lifts and starts rolling up into the ceiling. Instantly she’s blinded by lights.
“What the holy hell?” a grizzled voice shouts. “Doc? That you? How the hell did…? Ah, shit. Get in, woman! Get up off your damn knees and get the fuck inside!”
Confused by it all, Dr. McCormick turns her head as someone grabs her and yanks her to her feet. “Wha…? Who…?”
“Get your ass in,” the voice orders. “Looks like you brought company. And here I thought I had a good lead. But you shot that all to shit.”
A seatbelt is suddenly strapped across her and Dr. McCormick jumps, as a door is slammed shut. She slowly shakes her head and looks about. She’s in a car. No, no, that’s not right.
She’s in a Jeep.
And hopping into the driver’s seat is someone she knows.
“Critter?” she croaks.
“Alive and kickin’,” he grins at her as he puts the Jeep in gear and focuses on the swarm of Zs heading for the garage. “May wanna hang on tight, doc. And cover yer ears.”
“Cover my-! AAAAAAAAHHHH!”
Her screams are drowned out as the roar of large caliber gunfire fills the garage. The Zs outside the bay door jump and shudder as they are torn apart. Critter lets out a barely heard whoop as he slams the gas pedal down and the Jeep rockets from the garage, bumping over undead corpses shredded by the two .50 caliber mini-guns bolted to the front of the Jeep.
Pulling his thumb from the trigger mounted on the gearshift, Critter focuses on steering past the Zs that still stand. He turns the Jeep in wide arcs, zooming back and forth as the Zs lunge for the vehicle. Instead of being able to grab onto the sides of the Jeep, they are sliced in half by huge blades welded to the doors and fenders.
“Woohoo!” Critter cries out, obviously enjoying himself. “Come on, ya bastards! Try and get me!”
The Zs do try, but they fail. All they get for their troubles are bellies ripped apart by 1 ¼ inch steel. While being mocked by an unrepentant highwayman.
Critter can see that the herd isn’t going to thin out anytime soon, so he points the Jeep towards the highway and roars out of the parking lot, leaving the undead far behind him.
“Gonna head north for a bit, doc,” Critter says. “We’ll cut down to the river on Aiken Rd, up by Stoney Knob. Don’t want to go too much further than that. Weaverville weren’t never fully cleared out. We’ll end up the meat in a Z herd sandwich.”
“Critter?” Dr. McCormick asks. “How?”
“Now that’s a pretty generic question, doc,” Critter says. “I could answer that in a whole lotta ways. What you want answered first?”
Dr. McCormick slaps the dashboard of the Jeep.
“Oh, this thing?” he smiles. “I liberated it from the Grove Park. I believe it belonged to that Foster lady. That’s what Long Pork done said. It were just sitting there collecting dust. A little too specialized for that Torres woman’s taste, I guess. Or she just didn’t want nothin’ to do with it. Probably a little of both.”
He glances over at Dr. McCormick. “It’s a beauty, ain’t it? Already had the guns, blades, and everything. I was planning on taking it back to my holler for safe keeping, but I only got it so far before it snapped a belt. Pushed the damn thing to Jimmy’s myself a few weeks ago. Left it there, thinkin’ to fix the belt at some point.” He gives a little snort. “Turns out that point was tonight.”
“But you were with us,” Dr. McCormack rasps.
“Nah, I lit out on my own as soon as we hit Merrimon,” Critter says. “I had no intention of getting trapped up on Reynolds Mountain. I just wanted to make sure Long Pork’s family got there. I like them Stanfords. That Stella is a firecracker.”
“Then you left?”
“Obviously,” Critter snorts. “You hit your head or somethin’?”
“Yes,” Dr. McCormick says. “But that’s not why I asked. That means you didn’t see what happened.”
Critter’s shit eating grin falters as he glances sideways at the doctor.
“What you talkin’ ‘bout? What happened?”
“They killed them,” Dr. McCormick says, her voice almost lost in a sob. “The Reynolds Mountain people. They shot everyone. They’re all dead.”
Critter’s eyes narrow and he takes a deep breath.
“Well, ain’t that a shame,” he says. “I ain’t no saint, but even I have limits. That ain’t right, killing folk like that.”
He slams his hand on the dashboard making Dr. McCormick jump. By the glow of dashboard instruments, she can see the look of rage on Critter’s face.
“Gonna have to be somethin’ done,” Critter snarls. “My brother was one to turn the other cheek.” He glances over at Dr. McCormick with murder in his eyes. “But that’s not my way. No, ma’am, people gonna die for that.”
***
“You’re going to die,” Platt whispers as he listens to John and Stuart explain their plan. “You know that, right?”
“Yes, sir,” John says, “it’s certainly possible.”
“More than possible,” Platt says. “Now that we know the city has been overrun.”
“It’s the only way,” I interrupt. “Unless we can reestablish communications we won’t know where everyone is. We got stupid and spread out. There’s the Grove Park and Reynolds Mountain as well as Whispering Pines.”
“Plus the Farm,” Melissa says. “The herds could be all the way out there by now.”
“We have to be able to talk to everyone,” I insist. “Otherwise we could end up going to save people that are already dead.”
That sinks in. Hard. Already dead.
Stella, Charlie, Greta…
I shake the thought off.
Platt is watching me, knowing what is going through my head.
“Go over the plan again,” he says.
“You need to rest,” Antoinette says, glaring at us as we crowd around Platt’s bed in the infirmary.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Platt replies.
“No, you won’t,” Antoinette says, ready to kick us all out.
“Five minutes,” Cassie says, “give them five minutes then you can focus on your patient.”
“Three,” Antoinette counters.
“Five,” Elsbeth growls.
The tension in the room goes up about twelve notches and I look from one ripped badass to another. I have to wonder what damage Antoinette can do in a fight with her knowledge of anatomy.
“Five,” Antoinette says finally, “then he rests.”
“Deal,” Elsbeth says, holding out her hand. “You shake when you make a deal. Greta taught me that. So shake, dammit.”
“We’re going to have to work on your social graces,” Cassie says.
“You’re gonna have to work on your social graces,” Elsbeth replies.
“She learned that from Charlie,” I say.
“Four minutes,” Antoinette says.
“Right, the plan,” I say. “We take the rafts and head downriver until we get to the River Arts district.”
“That’s pretty close to the interstate,” Platt says. “The place will be crawling with Zs. Not to mention the wranglers.”
“We’re hoping for the Z part,” John says, “not the wranglers so much.”
“We’ll goop up with Z guts,” Reaper continues, “and work our way up Haywood Rd to downtown and the BB&T building. While the other half gets back into the rafts and floats ahead.”
“To where the Bywater used to be,” I say. “They wait fo
r us there. That way we can push forward and not have to lose time doubling back. If we re-goop then we should be able to get through the Zs just fine.”
“You’re forgetting the human element,” Platt says.
“We’re not. I don’t think the wranglers you saw are in the city,” Stuart says. “The herds we ran into were running wild. My guess then? They are south driving the Zs forward to Asheville. Keeping them on track. They probably have strategic posts they’re camped at to handle each wave being sent up from Atlanta.”
“But you don’t think they have a post downtown?” Platt asks.
“Why would they?” I say. “If the goal is to drive them into Asheville then there’s no need for more wrangling.”
“Who says their goal is just Asheville?” Cassie asks. “That’s the weak part of the plan.”
“Hardly the only one,” Melissa snorts.
“So that’s the first part,” Platt nods, “what’s the second?”
“You mean once we have communications up?” I ask then look at everyone else. “Well, we’re going to have to play that by ear.”
“At least until we know what everyone’s status is,” John says.
Platt shakes his head. “I don’t like it.”
“None of us do,” Stuart responds, “but we can’t sit here and wait to get overrun.”
“That is unlikely,” Cassie frowns.
“Listen, no offense,” I say to her, “but it’s inevitable. This estate is too big to keep locked down. Zs will find a way in. They always do. It’s virtually guaranteed with the numbers we’re dealing with.”
“Okay, something’s bothering me,” Melissa says and everyone looks at her. “Let’s say we are successful and get communications back up. Then we zip around and rescue every last person in Asheville.” She holds out her hands. “Then what? Where do we go from there?”
“The Farm,” I say. “At least, at first. It’s big enough.”
Melisa shakes her head as do John, Reaper and Platt. Stuart just looks at me.
“Okay,” I sigh. “I know. Odds are the Farm is gone. It always attracted the largest number of Zs anyway because of the livestock. I know that. But where else do we have to go?”
That question hangs in the air as Antoinette stands and says, “Time’s up. Get out.”
***
“Great,” Stella says. “We have a dump truck. Now what?”
Everyone sits close together inside what had been planned as the community clubhouse, but hadn’t been fully finished before Z-Day hit. It looks like the new residents of Reynolds Mountain tried to fix it up with some paint, but really, it is just a large room with drywall and a concrete floor. Outside, a hundred yards down the mountain, the sound of the Zs at the gates continues. A monotonous drone of hunger that fills the air as the sun begins its slow climb from out behind the mountain.
Stella is standing before everyone as they huddle on the cold concrete, each looking miserable, hungry, distrustful.
“Where do we go?” Stella asks. “Whispering Pines is overrun. The Grove Park is gone.”
“We don’t know that,” someone says.
“We don’t know that it isn’t,” Lourdes responds, “and can’t take the chance of getting stuck there if it is.”
“Which still leaves the question of where to go,” Stella repeats, “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” a woman mutters.
“What’s that?” Stella snaps. “Speak up if you have something to say.”
The woman stands and looks at Stella. “I said it doesn’t sound like you’re open to suggestions. Everything we say you shoot down. You’re no better than Brenda is. Just another bitch wishing she had a dick.”
“Hey!” Buzz shouts. “No need for that!”
The room explodes into arguments as people get to their feet, and in each other’s face, and begin shouting and yelling. It’s Whispering Pines versus Reynolds Mountain, civilian versus private military contractor.
“Stop it,” Charlie says. “Stop it. Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT! STOPITSTOPITSTOPIT!”
He flies through the throng and starts randomly slapping people across the face. He doesn’t care who he hits, so long as they shut the fuck up after he smacks them.
“I SAID STOP IT!” he screams at the top of his lungs.
The room goes quiet.
“Good,” he says, “we go north.”
They all stare at him.
He shakes his head and looks at everyone like they are idiots and his mother is not immune to the look.
“We can’t go south because that’s where the Zs are coming from,” Charlie says now that he has everyone’s attention. “We go north as far and fast as we can. Once we’re clear of the Z herd we turn and head west. My dad told me that there are other places with people. He heard about somewhere out in the Plains, maybe.”
“Kansas City,” Greta says.
“Yeah, Kansas City,” Charlie nods. “We load everyone up in that dump truck and we go north. Then west. And keep going until we are a long way from here.”
“What’ll we do for food?” someone asks.
“We’ll have that same issue here,” Charlie replies.
“What about the Farm?” another suggests.
Charlie looks over at Buzz. “No,” the big man says, shaking his head. “The Zs had already taken Pierson Bridge. They’ll be to the Farm about now. Even if it holds, we won’t get through. Not with all the Zs the cows and pigs attract.”
“North,” Charlie says.
“Sweetie,” Stella says, “it’s not that easy.”
“No shit, Mom,” Charlie snaps. “Nothing is in this fucking world. I know most of you think kids like me and Greta have been sheltered from the worst since we were able to spend a few years in Whispering Pines.” He holds up his hands and uses air quotes. “Because it was ‘safe’.” A hollow laugh bubbles up out of his throat. “But have you forgotten what we had to do before gates were built and fences put up?”
“Or after,” Greta says, “in that fight cage. Or up on the Blue Ridge Parkway?”
“I don’t sleep,” Charlie says. “I doze a little, but I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since Z-Day. That was years ago. You know why? Because I lay awake, listening. I wait for the sounds of the Zs breaking through the fences, through the gates, breaking down our doors and coming up the stairs to fucking eat my face.”
Everyone is silent, watching him closely.
“I’m sure most of you know how that feels,” he continues. “I highly doubt I’m the only one that lies there in their bed knowing that the sheet and blanket draped across them won’t do shit when the Zs break down the door.” His voice catches and he falters.
Greta grabs his hand and squeezes it tight, giving him the strength to go on.
“There is no certainty in this world,” he says. “There’s no real safety. A lot of you do that thing adults do and just put on blinders and move forward. That’s how you were raised. That’s how you got through the old world of bills and shitty jobs and stupid politics and all that crap. But that shit doesn’t fly anymore!
“You know what the best advice my dad ever gave me was? It was to keep your eyes open and look at the world because it can all be gone in a blink. Guess what, people? The world fucking blinked. It’s over. So we keep going until we can’t go any further.”
“Farther,” Greta says.
“It’s further,” Charlie counters.
“I don’t think so,” Greta frowns.
“Doesn’t matter,” Charlie smiles at her. “It sucks no matter what.”
The room is filled with wet eyes and sniffles. Stella grabs onto her children and hugs them tightly.
“When did you get so grown up?” she asks Charlie.
“When the dead started eating people, Mom,” he says.
“Duh,” Greta adds.
***
The morning light hits the French Broad just as Critter drives the Jeep across the Fletcher
Martin Rd Bridge up by Alexander. Dr. McCormick is passed out in the passenger seat, twitching and groaning as her brain tries to process the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours.
He taps the steering wheel with his fingers, drumming them in time with a wordless tune he’s busy humming. The air around him begins to warm as the sun rises so he turns down the Jeep heat that blows on his feet. He’s still humming when he comes to a four way stop. Normally he’d go straight and take Old Turkey Creek Rd up to New Leicester Highway then follow that all the way into the Pisgah National Forest. After a few turns on small roads named things like Panther Branch and Poplar Gap, he’d be just a few hidden twists from his holler.
Critter’s holler: The place to be when trying to forget the Zs.
It was a motto he came up with when he decided to add a casino to the other illegal activities he provided. Not that anything is truly illegal anymore. Hard to break laws when there aren’t any more laws to break. Or anyone to enforce them.
But Critter doesn’t go straight to Old Turkey Creek Rd. Instead, he turns left and follows the winding country highway until he sees a rusted old gate off to his right. He stops the Jeep just in front and hops out, wincing as his knees protest and crack like gunshots.
“Ain’t as spry as I used to be,” he says then smiles as Dr. McCormick mutters back at him in her sleep.
The gate takes a little coaxing, but he gets it open, hops back into the Jeep, and drives up a barely perceptible, overgrown road. It’s really more of a glorified trail, but the Jeep fits, so he thinks of it as a road. It’s a long climb uphill, and Critter gets slightly anxious about the amount of gas he’s using, but he doesn’t slow down, taking the twists and turns while barely touching the brakes.
When he gets to his destination, he shuts off the engine, grabs a pair of binoculars, and steps from the Jeep. He focuses the binoculars and smiles, even though most wouldn’t smile at the sight below. But Critter isn’t most, and his smiles aren’t really smiles, more mischievous turns of his lips.
Asheville.
The city sits there in its mountain valley, with pillars of smoke coming from several locations as buildings burn, the streets overrun with Zs. Critter does a quick estimate as he scans the city and realizes there are easily ten thousand Zs moving about. Ten thousand that he can see. He gives out a low whistle.
