by Bible, Jake
Elsbeth is in on the action, but she’s more a blades girl. She spins and takes off the head of a Z with one blade then splits it in half with the other. Then she does it again. And again. Slice, pop, split. Slice, pop, split. Like flicking the heads off dandelions. But with more gore. A lot more gore.
Down below us is Dehlia, screaming at the top of her lungs and killing and crushing every Z in sight. She could give a shit about the Zs that get through and snatch a nibble here and there. She knows she’s done and is all about making a sacrifice count.
I need to pay attention to that.
Stuart, John and Reaper come up behind the women and act as clean up, while Melissa keeps me back, her eyes searching mine constantly, waiting for me to crack and spill the truth. That’s one thing about surviving a zombie apocalypse, you sniff out bullshit fast. It’s what keeps you alive in the first crucial months. You can’t get suckered in by lies or you end up robbed, raped, murdered, and, well, eaten. So Melissa keeps watching me, hoping the attention will make me crack.
What she doesn’t know is all I’m doing is focusing on the pain. I’m using it as fuel to drive me to my end goal of seeing my family one last time. It finally hits me that my true worth is as a sacrifice. I can’t stay with them all, not for long, it’s too dangerous and I could turn at anytime and get all snacky on my friends. Or, God forbid, my wife and kids. So all I want to do is see them and know they are going to be safe. Then I’ll use my last moments on this planet as best I can: end this nightmare right.
I don’t know how I’ll end it, but now, finally, I know I have to end it.
Knowing is half the battle, right?
Then the screams below us turn to sheer pain and I glance over the railing to see Dehlia get wedged into a corner. A Z is at her throat, and she’s able to keep it away, but it’s the one chomping at her belly that’s the problem. Her t-shirt is torn and bloody as the Z’s mouth goes to work. For a second she looks up at us, fear on her face, then it’s nothing but determination.
She shoves away from the corner, her knee ramming the Z at her belly, and she wraps her arms around one then two Zs, as she rushes towards the railing. A third and fourth Z are caught up in her embrace and then she’s gone, over the railing, falling, falling, falling, thud.
The cries from the sisters are almost ear splitting and I have to turn my head away at the anguished violence that erupts. I know the things are monsters, but I’ve never seen more anger and hatred directed at anything in my life. The stairwell is filled with rotten flesh confetti as hands tear, feet crush, blades slice, and everything that isn’t breathing is ripped apart.
It’s all the rest of us can do to keep our footing; there isn’t a single stable place to step. Everything, and I include the walls, ceiling, and railings, is coated in Z gore. It drips from light fixtures, from doorknobs, from old, useless video cameras- everything. It’s like this the rest of the way down.
Then we’re there, at the third floor landing.
The sisters are panting, close to exhaustion as the adrenaline that has been fueling them threatens to slip away. A couple of them slap each other in the face to keep fired up, to stay focused, but I can see others start to slack a little. Not Elsbeth, though. No, she takes the lead from Cassie and opens the door, her blade sliding right through the skull of a Z as if she knew it was there.
Another gets the Elsbeth treatment then another. The women crowd in close behind her then fan out as they get into the hallway beyond. Wide windows at the end of the hall illuminate them and all I can see past Stuart and the rest are silhouettes of death and the shadows of blood and gore splattering against the walls. In a different time, it would be considered grotesque, but for me, right now, it’s true beauty.
Don’t tell Stella.
“East windows!” Melissa yells. “Turn left!”
The women get to the end of the hall and turn left, having dispatched the rest of the Zs that blocked our way. But that’s the last we see of them. The entire wall of windows ahead of us explodes inward, showering us with fire and glass.
***
“Well, shit my britches and call me Mary,” Critter snarls. “Them’s sons of bitches. Move yer ass, Red, we gots some whirlybirds to take down!”
The haul truck passes Walnut St and pushes forward towards the BB&T building. But high above is a Blackhawk, hovering just where Critter needs the truck to stop. Its guns go hot and a thousand rounds a second pour into the third, fourth and fifth floors. The windows are vaporized and sparks and fire flash as the bullets hit the metal frames of the windows and the building itself.
Critter sights then fires his rifle. But misses completely. He sights again just as the Blackhawk’s guns whir to a stop. Once more, he fires, but it ricochets off one of the skids. Yet the shot wasn’t completely in vain; it did alert the helicopter to their presence.
The Blackhawk starts to turn, the guns whirling back to life.
“Well, shit,” Critter mumbles then turns to everyone. “Free rations and drink for a year to anyone that can bring that piece of crap down!”
“Fire!” Lourdes shouts.
It’s hard to tell what is louder: the helicopter or the sound of dozens of rifle bolts being pulled back. The Blackhawk’s guns start to fire, but it takes it a second to dial in on its target. That’s one second too long.
The windshield of the helicopter shatters as round after round is fired into it. The Blackhawk starts to fly back and forth and then its main rotors cut into the BB&T building, sending the helicopter spinning to the ground. It explodes on impact. As do the rockets attached to its skids.
The heat buffets the haul truck and Red shouts from the cab as the glass in front of him splinters into his face. Despite the “safety” element of the glass, it’s still deadly to exposed eyeballs.
“Fuck!” Red screams and the truck veers off to the right, slamming into what had been a vibrant café, but is now a graveyard of Zs still wearing pretentious vests and fedoras.
Red is screaming and clawing at the glass chunks embedded in his eyes, when Charlie bursts into the cab.
“I got ya, I got ya,” Charlie says and pulls Red from the seat.
“Give him to me,” Dr. McCormick says, following Charlie, and lays Red out on the platform next to the cab.
She starts to order Charlie to fetch her kit from the truck bed, but the teenager has turned back around and is jumping into the driver’s seat. He doesn’t bother to wipe away the glass, and gets some shards in his ass for his haste, but he doesn’t care as he stares at the instruments before him.
“How hard can it be?” he asks, then depresses the clutch, pushes the truck into gear, and hits the gas.
The monster vehicle lurches and stutters forward as Charlie gets the hang of the clutch to gas ratio then it starts speeding up. Charlie shifts and gives it more gas. They are only feet from the BB&T building when the second Blackhawk comes from around the other side. Charlie sees it and narrows his eyes.
“Fuck you,” he snarls.
***
My one arm covers my head as I bury my face into the nasty carpet. My ears are ringing and I can barely make out someone shouting at me. I have to say that the zombie apocalypse is hell on the hearing. If I’m lucky, I’ll die before I go deaf. Oh, wait, I forgot…
“Holy shit,” Melissa says. She’s probably shouting, but it sounds like a whisper to me.
As I get to my feet all I see is empty space. Where there once were walls there’s just shredded drywall and scorched metal studs. Everything has been obliterated by the helicopter. You see belt guns in the movies and laugh as they tear up cars and other shit, but it’s no laughing matter when you’re staring the aftermath in the face. It’s all fucking gone.
“Straight ahead,” Melissa says. “Go! The truck is outside those windows!”
We stumble-run our way through the debris, headed straight for the windows. We can see another Blackhawk, but it’s not facing us. Which means it’s facing the truck. A truck wit
h my family in it.
“No!” I shout and run forward, grabbing a pistol off Stuart’s belt. “NO!”
I start firing, but the magazine is empty, of course. So what do I do? I toss the fucking pistol at the helicopter!
It bounces right off.
So I pick up a hunk of metal.
***
Charlie sees the pistol bounce ineffectively off the side of the helicopter and he frowns.
“Are you kidding me?” he says, then sees his dad standing at the edge of the third floor as he chucks a hunk of metal right into the chopper’s windshield.
It does zero damage, but distracts the pilot enough that he begins to turn back towards the building. Charlie, without even thinking about what he’s doing, keeps driving forward while struggling to pull the Desert Eagle from his waistband. He yanks on it and yanks on it, but it’s caught on his belt.
“Ah, fuck!” he shouts as he takes his other hand off the wheel.
The truck begins to ease off course and takes out a lamppost. Then a crosswalk sign, then a streetlight pole. People in back are screaming and Charlie can hear voices shouting at him as they hurry towards the cab, but he doesn’t care because he finally gets the Desert Eagle free.
And fires. And fires. And fires.
The rotor engines begin to whine, the pitch building until Charlie has to drop the massive pistol and cover his ears. Smoke trails up from the main rotor and the Blackhawk starts to shudder. Then a loud clang fills the street and the rotors freeze up, stopping almost instantly. The rest of the helicopter begins to turn then the entire thing basically rips itself apart. The body falls towards the ground as the rotor splits and separates, spinning through the air. Right at the truck.
The pain doesn’t register at first, but quickly, as the body of the Blackhawk is engulfed in flame, Charlie notices something isn’t right.
“Charlie?” Stella asks from the door of the cab. “CHARLIE!”
“Mom?” Charlie says, looking at his chest. And the large sliver of metal that sticks out from it. “Mommy?”
***
I can’t move.
My hand grips the burning metal of the building’s window frame, but I don’t care. My focus isn’t on the flaming helicopters that litter the street, or the equally flaming Zs that are shuffling around, setting fire to everything combustible that they run into. No, all I can see is my son a story below me as the truck rolls up under us. I see him for just a few seconds before someone stops the truck and he’s lost from sight.
I saw the look in his eyes, the fear on his face, and the metal protruding from his body. A very large piece of metal; the kind you don’t just rub some dirt on and get put back into the game after.
My wife’s screams fill my ears and I let go of the window frame.
“Hold on there, Jace,” Stuart says from behind me as he pulls me back from the edge.
“Charlie,” I whisper.
“Yeah, we saw,” Melissa says. “I’m sorry.”
“Get your shit down here!” Critter yells from below. “I doubt thems the last of those fuckers!”
He’s probably right.
John secures the end of a fast rope to a strut and tosses it down to Critter. Reaper does the same and they help Melissa then Stuart get secure and drop out of the window and below. The sisters catch up to us, even more gore covered and also a little singed, and I see Elsbeth looking at me.
Then at my shoulder.
Then down at the truck.
Then back at me.
She knows.
“You’ll do what you have to, right?” I ask her before grabbing onto the rope. “When the time comes?”
“I’ll take care of you, Long Pork,” she says. “It’s what I do.”
***
“It’s for you,” Antoinette says as she hands the phone to Platt. “We have trouble.”
Platt reads the text on the screen and sighs.
“Well, so much for living through the day,” he says. “Gonna need your help to the basement.”
“The basement? Why?” Antoinette asks.
“Hey, sis?” Stacy says from the doorway of the infirmary. “Company.”
“Company? How did they get through the field?” Antoinette asks as she helps Platt slowly get up.
“They drove,” Stacy says.
All three walk to the windows, Platt helped between the two women, and see a row of bulldozers making their way through the herd of staked Zs. Behind them are dozens of men with rifles.
“The basement?” Platt asks. “Help me then you run and don’t look back.”
“You’re my patient,” Antoinette starts, but Platt cuts her off.
“And you aren’t a doctor,” Platt says, “but I am a soldier. The pack. It’s downstairs in the sitting room?”
“Yes,” Stacy nods.
“Bring it,” Platt says, wincing with each step. “You get me into the pool and then go.”
“The pool?” Antoinette asks. “I don’t understand why you need to go down there.”
“I used to come here on my days off every so often,” Platt says. “Just sit and study the house. It was an antidote to the depressing image of the row after row of pre-fab military housing on base.”
“What does that have to do with the pool?” Antoinette asks.
Platt smiles. “First, it’s built deep into the ground. And second, little known fact, is that it’s lined with lead.”
Chapter Nine
“Charlie!” Stella screams. “Charlie!”
“Hold this,” Reaper says to Dr. McCormick. “When I pull it free we’re going in.”
“Can we get to the Biltmore?” Dr. McCormick asks. “Melissa says they have a surgery there.”
“It’s under attack,” John says, holding up his phone. “Platt just let me know. I think the elder Ms. Thornberg is covering her bases in case Platt figures out how to diffuse the bomb.”
“We’re going to the Bywater,” I mutter, my eyes on the body of my unconscious, bloody son.
“Not really the time for a drink, Long Pork,” Critter yells from inside the cab, having taken over driving duties. “We’re getting the hell out of here and back to my holler.”
“What medical supplies do you have?” Reaper asks.
“All of them, of course,” Critter grins. “You think the boy’ll make it there?”
“If we don’t stop,” Reaper says, looking at me.
“But the sisters,” I say, “we’ll leave them stranded at the Bywater.”
“They’ll be fine,” Cassie says from the ladder at the edge of the platform. “They’re kayaking down river and will hike into Critter’s Holler.” She holds up her phone. “Just got done texting them.”
“Ha!” Critter laughs. “Like to see them try!”
“Already been there a few times myself,” Cassie says. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Critter takes a corner and wipes out several cars that block the road, as well as crushing more and more Zs. He glances over at Cassie for a second, looks back at the road, glances again and then chuckles.
“You’re the young lady that took that big poker game down last April,” Critter says. “I was going to have a word with you, but you tucked tail and ran before we could have a proper sit down.”
“I knew when to run,” Cassie says.
“That ya did, young lady,” Critter says.
“It’ll only be a matter of time before your holler is overrun with Zs,” Stuart says. “We can’t stay there.”
“It’s defensible,” Critter says. “Even if those Atlanta bastards bring in more whirlybirds.”
“It’ll hold for a while,” Cassie says. “But not forever.”
“Then we kill them,” Elsbeth says.
“We save Charlie first!” Stella screams at everyone. “That’s what we do!”
“That’s what we do,” I say, my mind and body nearly gone. I feel like I’m swimming in thick oil with my body buoyant, but unresponsive.
Shock.
I reach down and grab at Stella then fall to my knees. We hug each other while Reaper and Dr. McCormick struggle to keep our son’s life from slipping away.
“Shit,” Critter says.
I don’t bother looking up. Not my fight right now. Everyone else can do their part.
Then the shots ring out and, of course, it gets worse. Because, you know, kneeling in a pool of my son’s blood isn’t bad enough.
***
“Stay down!” Antoinette yells as she scoops up the pack and helps Platt towards the back corner of the sitting room.
Glass shatters everywhere as men surround the Biltmore house and just start firing.
“Where are we going?” Platt asks.
“There’s more than one secret passage,” Antoinette says as she pushes a tapestry to the side and shoves against the wall. A door creaks open and she helps Platt through.
“Come on,” Antoinette says to Stacy.
“I’ll cover the main stairs,” Stacy replies. “They’ll come straight there. I hold them off and you can get secured.”
The two women look at each other for a second and nod.
Stacy runs off towards the front of the house while Antoinette and Platt make their way through the dark corridor to a set of hidden stairs.
***
“Bulldozers?” Stuart asks, seeing a half dozen of the machines roll toward us as we head down Patton Ave towards I-240. “I’d think they would have brought tanks.”
“They need them to guard Atlanta,” John says. “There were rumors that some of the other areas, specifically the Stronghold, may make a move.”
“A move?” Melissa asks. “What does that mean?”
“Not sure,” John says, “but I’m guessing war is coming.”
“Great,” Stuart snarls, “because the fucking zombie apocalypse isn’t enough.”
“Y’all might want to get back into the bed!” Critter calls out as more shots bounce off the grill of the truck. “Hate for one of ya fine folk to take a bullet.”
