by Bible, Jake
“Everyone’s dead, aren’t they?” Dr. McCormick asks sleepily from back in the Jeep.
“No way to know,” Critter says without taking the binoculars from his eyes. “But could be.”
Then something catches his eyes and his smile of mischief turns to one of delight.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit,” he says.
“What?” Dr. McCormick asks.
Critter finally takes the binoculars away from his face and glances over his shoulder. Then looks quickly away.
“Sorry,” he says.
“What?” Dr. McCormick says as she stands from peeing by the Jeep and pulls up her jeans. “Never seen a woman drop trou before?” She comes up to him and holds out her hand. “May I?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Critter says as he hands over the binoculars.
“My, God,” she says as she studies the almost endless numbers of Zs that fill the city.
“Now look down at the river,” he says, “close to your two o’clock.”
“My what?” Dr. McCormick asks. “Dammit Jim, I’m a doctor not a clock!”
“That’s a good one,” Critter chuckles. “I get that joke. Nice to have someone that knows things that happened before the internets turned it all to cats in damn shark costumes.”
“I’ll admit I liked that too,” Dr. McCormick says. “Now stop making me hunt for it. Tell me what I’m looking for?”
But Critter doesn’t need to.
“I’ll also be dipped in shit,” she laughs. “Is that who I think it is?”
“You know anyone else with a shiny spike for an arm?” Critter laughs. “Hard to miss that even from this distance.”
Dr. McCormick hands him the binoculars. “So what does this mean?”
“Means we know someone we give a shit about is alive down there,” Critter says. “And, as usual, the moron is heading into trouble, not away from it.”
“Where are they going?” Dr. McCormick asks. “Why are they in rafts?”
“Best way to travel when the road’s full of undead,” Critter says.
“Now what?”
“I think they’ll need a little help,” Critter says.
“You have something that can help them? With all of those Zs?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.” Critter gives her a puzzled look. “Hold on now. Did you think I was just runnin’ away?”
Dr. McCormick blushes.
“Well, I’ll be,” Critter says, nodding his head. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do ya?”
“It’s not that, Critter,” Dr. McCormick replies. “No one really has a very high opinion of you. Except Jace, I think.”
“Huh,” Critter says, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Well, guess I best be provin’ ya wrong then. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” she asks as they get back in the Jeep and Critter turns them around.
“Gonna swing by my place,” Critter smiles. “Round up the gang.” His smile widens. “And get my truck.”
***
“What’s wrong with you?” Elsbeth asks as we quietly paddle down the French Broad.
Or, as she quietly paddles. I forgot to bring my rafting adaptor for Stumpageddon. Right now, I’m sporting Mr. Spikey. Which everyone eyes nervously since one slip and I’ll put a hole in the raft. The raft I’m floating in has Elsbeth, Melissa, What’s-His-Name, and three sisters. That’s one more than capacity, but I don’t think it matters much. The second raft, close behind us, has Stuart, Reaper, John and three sisters. There are two kayaks leading the way, and one behind us, each with a sister. Antoinette and Stacy stayed behind with Platt.
I really wish I had a cooler of beers and some sunflower seeds to split and spit. That was kinda my floating thing pre-Z. Stella and I would take the kids down the French Broad in these tricked out tubes that could hold snacks and even had a built in cooler. That was the life.
The raft we’re in is pretty sweet, and tricked out with fun things like holders for your rifles and straps so you can handcuff prisoners to the side, but it’s just not the same as a nice blue and white tube on a Saturday afternoon. Unless today is Saturday. Is it? I can’t fucking remember anymore.
“What do you mean?” I reply finally. “Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m fine.”
“You suck at lying,” Elsbeth says. Melissa, up front, looks over her shoulder at us, but Elsbeth gives her a “fuck off” look. She shrugs and turns back around; everyone’s used to Elsbeth’s “fuck off” looks.
“I’m not lying,” I say. Which is a lie, of course. I’m not fine. My shoulder is about to send me over the edge. “I’m just tired.”
“I’m tired too,” Elsbeth says, “but I’m still me. You aren’t being you.”
Okay…I’m confused.
“Okay, I’m confused,” I say. It’s better to say the words out loud. “What are you talking about?”
“The Long Pork I rescued had funny pink pants on and a butterfly shirt,” Elsbeth says. “You were going to be eaten, but you were funny at it.”
“Thanks,” I say, “I try to keep it light in the apocalypse.”
“See,” she nods, “that’s funny. But it’s not enough.”
“El, just come out and say it,” I plead. “I’m not following you.”
“No, you ain’t,” she says. “You’re in the raft with me. How could you follow me if you are right here? Stop being stupid and answer me.”
“I can’t answer you if I don’t know what you are talking about!” I snap.
“Shhhh,” one of the sisters scolds. I think it’s a Tracy. Or a Lacy. Right, because Stacy is back at the Biltmore. I think. I don’t know. I’m too afraid to ask. They get a tad irritated when I don’t know their names.
“Just tell me what you mean,” I whisper to Elsbeth.
“You were funny,” she says. “You made me laugh. When me and Pa had you all trussed up you were making me laugh.”
“Oh, was that what I was doing?” I say. “And here I thought my comedy routine didn’t go over well because of all the pissing in my pants I did.”
“That’s funny,” one of the sisters observes.
“Thanks,” I say. “See? I’m still funny.”
“No, you aren’t,” Elsbeth says. “You’re being funny now because you don’t want to answer me. So answer me, Long Pork. What’s wrong with you?”
About fifty sarcastic comments go through my head. Things like:
“We don’t have enough time in the day to explain everything wrong with me.”
Or:
“Oh, nothing, just enjoying a float on the way to my doom.”
Or, the perennial favorite of all teenagers:
“Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”
I have a ton more, but none of them come out of my mouth. What does come out surprises even me.
“I’m scared,” I say. “With every day I get more and more scared. Petrified.”
“Once I was afraid, I was petrified,” a sister starts to hum.
“Good one,” I smile. “But I’ve tried the Gloria Gaynor therapy and I still don’t feel like I’ll survive.”
“We’re all scared,” Elsbeth says.
“Oh, I know that intellectually,” I say, tapping my head. “But that’s the problem. I’m intellectually terrified. Ever since Mondello dropped the bomb about the Consortium and there being other places like that, I haven’t slept worth a shit.”
“Then suck it up, Long Pork,” she says, “stop being scared.”
“I’ve tried,” I protest. “I’m usually really good at burying things deep down and locking them away for later. But here’s the problem, El, now is that later.”
She frowns at me.
“Do you get what I’m saying?” I ask. “The vault of Jace is all full. I gots terrors leaking out my ears.”
“No, you don’t,” she says, obviously checking out my ears.
“It’s a saying,” a sister says, “he doesn’t mean he actually…”
“I
know,” Elsbeth growls, “I’m not the stupid one. He is.”
“You wanted to know what’s wrong with me and that’s it,” I say. “My mind is working overtime on the Consortium issue. I can’t think straight half the time. I haven’t come up with a great idea or inspiration in months.”
“You’ve been doing great with the Whispering Pines rebuild,” Melissa says.
“That’s just robot work,” I say and hold up a finger to Elsbeth. “Yes, I know we don’t have robots. What I mean is I don’t have to think to use a hammer. I don’t have to think to stack boards. I don’t even have to think when we’re rebuilding a house. There are plenty of people better at that than me. I just grab some wood and nails and get to work.”
“What are you talking about?” Melissa asks. “You improved the gates.”
“No, I didn’t,” I admit, “that was Charlie and Greta. I was stuck and they started brainstorming.”
Melissa shakes her head. “You ripped off your kids’ ideas? Have you no shame?”
“Ha ha,” I smirk. “What else was I going to do? People look to me to be the Big Brain of Whispering Pines. When all I want to be is the Curled Up in a Fetal Position Brain of Whispering Pines.”
“Anxiety,” Elsbeth says. “Greta taught me that word. She says I have it and it’s why I don’t relax like normal people.”
“Just a wild guess here,” I say, “but I’m going with it’s the captured by a canny and also being a trained killer element that makes it hard to relax.”
Elsbeth glares. “Anxiety.”
“Got it. Anxiety,” I agree. “My bad.”
“That’s what you have,” Elsbeth nods. “You need to close your eyes and go to your quiet place.”
I stare at her.
“I’m sorry, but did you just tell me to go to my ‘quiet place’?”
“Yes.”
“And you have been doing this? Going to your quiet place?”
“No.”
“I’m confused,” I sigh.
“I don’t have a quiet place,” Elsbeth says. “No place to go. All noise.”
She smacks herself in the side of the head like she used to do when I first found her. Or she found me. Whatever, we’ll share the credit.
“Don’t do that,” I say quietly.
“You have a quiet place,” she says, pointing a finger at me.
“No, I don’t think so,” I say, “not anymore. It got hacked off along with my arm.”
“That’s crap,” Melissa says. “You still have Stella and the kids. Use that.”
“But they are the problem!” I snap and then quiet down as I receive several angry glares. “Sorry. Stella and the kids are the fuel to it all. Look at me. Look at my arm. I’m in no shape to keep them safe. You’ve seen me fight with this thing. I’m slow and I’m nowhere near as effective as I used to be. I’m a liability to them and to everyone.”
“Oh, boo hoo and whaa whaa,” Elsbeth says, rubbing her fingers together. “Know what this is?”
“The world’s smallest violin,” I answer. “Yeah, I know that one.”
She looks at her fingers then at me. “No, it’s me squishing your tiny dick because you are being such a pussy,” she snorts. “Why would you think it’s a violin? I don’t play violin.”
“Right, sure, my bad,” I reply. “Got it. It’s you crushing my tiny, Hey!”
“Long Pork,” Stuart hisses from the other raft. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll swim over there and shut you the fuck up.”
“She started it,” I mutter.
“Pull your balls out of your ass and be Long Pork again,” Elsbeth says. “You could die today. Don’t die being stupid. Die funny.”
She nods at me like she just gave me the sagest advice ever spoken in the history of sage advice.
And, admittedly, she’s not that far off.
“Okay,” I say, “I’ll try.”
“Do or do not,” the sisters say in unison, “there is no try.”
“I don’t get it,” Elsbeth frowns.
“It’s from a movie,” I say. “If we live I’ll show it to you.”
“Can I have popcorn?” Elsbeth asks. “I always eat popcorn when I watch movies with Greta and Charlie. Always.”
There’s a slight hint of menace in her voice. Elsbeth takes her popcorn very seriously, apparently.
“All the popcorn you can eat,” I nod.
“We’re here,” John says as the rafts start to paddle towards the shore.
We get to the riverbank and have to struggle to keep the rafts from getting away from us. The sisters in the kayaks start tying lines to the rafts and get ready to tow them down to our rendezvous point downriver where the Bywater used to be.
I miss sitting by the river there with a cold pint of porter and a summer breeze blowing across my bald scalp. At one point, someone had tried to make a go of the place, but it just wasn’t a secure enough area. Too close to I-26. The Zs would just tumble over the railing and swarm down at them. Stuart told me he found the fools massacred there with coals in the barbecues still warm and empty beer cans everywhere. At least they went out with a party.
Everyone scrambles up the riverbank, grabbing on to tree roots and rocks for leverage. I don’t really have quite the same abilities anymore, so when I grab with my good hand, it slips on some moss and I almost tumble backwards into the French Broad. Instinctively I jam Stumpageddon’s spike into the wet earth. Then I choke on a scream.
I do a pretty good job of that scream choking. Turning my head, I act like it’s a cough I’m trying to keep quiet. I get some glances and just nod and smile. Then make my way up the bank and out onto the shoulder of Riverside Dr.
For once, my major source of pain isn’t Stumpageddon. It’s my shoulder. It’s getting worse and worse. I honestly have no idea how much longer I can take it. Or fake it. This isn’t a secret that I’ll be able to keep forever. At some point, I’ll have to tell them. Every minute I keep my friends in the dark is a minute closer to me becoming….well…you know.
Jesus, is this how I go out? Fucking fuck fuck.
For now, I have to play it off and act like the pussy boy missing an arm and not the pussy boy about to get a hankering for friend flesh.
We crouch at the edge of Riverside Dr, hiding in a runoff ditch thick with vegetation. The pain goes way past eleven as Stuart comes up and slaps me on the shoulder.
“You up for this?” he asks. “Your cannibal savant hasn’t rattled your cage too much, has she?”
“I’m good, I’m good,” I whisper. “This isn’t my first apocalypse, you know.”
“You’ve survived other apocalypses then?” Stuart asks, his eyebrows raising.
“No, I mean it isn’t my first life or death situation,” I snap.
“I know what you meant,” Stuart says. “Relax. I need your head in the game for this. We’ll be relying on you to help disable the jammer.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because of the brain,” Stuart says, tapping me on the forehead.
“I’m trained in advanced electronics,” Steph says. “I can disable it. We won’t need him.”
“See?” I say. “You don’t need me.”
Don’t need me.
Not with the Uber Girls around.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s not that I’m scared, but that I feel like a redundancy.
Before Lourdes and her crew came to town, I was the top guy with the ideas. If it needed to be figured out then I found a way to figure it out. But then Joe T and Shumway were on the scene, making it very obvious I wasn’t going to be the one getting Asheville’s infrastructure up and going. They had that handled.
And security? Lourdes and her Team were way more capable. Anything I came up with they could poke holes through until I gave up.
I gave up.
Wow. Is that the kernel of truth I’ve been hiding from myself?
“Jace!” Stuart hisses, looking back at me as I see everyone scrambling out of the ditch and in
to the road. “Fucking move!”
“Sorry, sorry,” I say. “You know me and my space cadet ways.”
“I do,” Stuart says as we dash across the road to a massive pile of bricks that used to be where a new set of condos was going to be built. “Knock it the fuck off.”
I give him a thumbs up. With the only thumb I have.
God, listen to me! Could I be any more of a whiny bitch?
Ha, that makes me think of the show Friends. You know the one where they call out Chandler for the way he puts the emphasis on be every time he’d say something. Which, of course, makes me think of the couch episode.
Pivot! Pivot! Pivot!
“What the fuck?” John says.
Everyone is staring at me.
Fuck…was that out loud?
“Fuck,” I say. “Was that out loud?” I can tell by the looks on their faces it was. “Sorry.”
“Zs,” Cassie says. “I count eighty. Coming this way.”
I only count sixty, but I’m slipping so… Oh, she means those other twenty shambling out of that warehouse. Yeah, I saw those. What? I did!
“This way,” Cassie leads. “No need to engage.”
I can see the look on Stuart’s face and how he’s a little rankled that she’s all of a sudden taken over. Stuart’s the lead guy when we go out on super-deadly-holy-shit missions. That’s how things work and it’s the natural order of the apocalypse. I mean, he used to defer to Captain Leeds before Leeds was turned into a Z and put into a fight cage with me, but he doesn’t defer to Master Sergeant Platt. Maybe because Stuart was a Master Gunnery Sergeant (ret.) in the Marines pre-Z. So I can totally understand if he’s more than…
AAAAAAAHHH, fuck!
“Stop daydreaming,” Stuart says as he grabs me by my shoulder and pulls me after the group. “You’re starting to worry me, Jace.”
I manage to keep the scream inside, but the way Stuart studies me says he knows something is up.
“What?” I ask, pretending like I don’t have ten thousand daggers stabbing, stabbing, stabbing me.
“Nothing,” he frowns as he pulls me (OH, FUCK OW!) by the short arm.
