Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead

by Bible, Jake

  “You get us to your place now, Critter Fitzpatrick,” Stella says, her eyes filled with fire. “You stop for nothing, you hear me?”

  “That’s the plan, ma’am,” Critter says.

  ***

  “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Antoinette says to herself as she weaves and dodges through the sea of staked Zs.

  Black blood spurts around her as the pursuing men fire shot after shot in her direction. But she ignores it as she reaches down and grabs up spikes on the run, tossing them aside without slowing down.

  Zs that have been staked in place for years are suddenly free. And so very, very hungry.

  She sees a specific Z up ahead and aims right for it.

  “Here ya go, Cecil,” she says as she sets the zombie free, pausing just long enough to give the thing a smile. “Eat up.”

  She takes off again and in a matter of minutes, Antoinette is lost to her pursuers. Changing directions, she circles back around and down to the barn with the kayaks.

  Only a few minutes more and she hears the screams as the Zs finally get to have dinner.

  “Good for you, Cecil,” Antoinette whispers. “Good boy.”

  ***

  “I advise you stop right there, gentlemen,” Platt says from the bottom of the pool, his pistol pressed against the pack. “Just turn around and leave. I have zero intention of letting you take this.”

  Six men crowd around the doorway to the pool room, all armed to the teeth. They look ragged and malnourished except for one man. He steps forward and raises his hand as he crouches slowly and sets his rifle down.

  “Just want to talk, Master Sergeant,” the man says. “I’m Terry Logan. Can I call you Platt? Will that work?”

  “Don’t bother, buddy,” Platt smiles. “You can talk all you want, but I know what I have to do.”

  Logan pulls a phone out of his pocket and holds it up. “If you won’t listen to me, will you listen to my boss? She’s a fair lady. In fact, she’s the mother of a friend of yours. Carly Thornberg? You know her as Elsbeth.”

  This gets Platt’s attention and he eyes Logan carefully. “Don’t know who you’re talking about. So how about you turn around and leave? I’m blowing this pack no matter what, so I’ll give you five minutes.”

  “That’s all I’m asking too,” Logan says, walking down the platform to the pool ladder. “Five minutes. I’ll send my guys away and set a timer. If after five minutes you aren’t convinced then I’ll stand right here as you blow us all to Hell.”

  “Weapons down,” Platt says.

  “I’m unarmed,” Logan replies, lifting his shirt and turning about. He then lifts both legs of his jeans to show no backup pistol. “Let me bring you the phone and we go from there. That cool?”

  Platt thinks it over and then nods. Logan looks at his men and motions for them to leave; they do so in a hurry, none wanting to be radioactive dust. Logan carefully makes his way down the pool towards the deep end, but Platt turns his pistol on him.

  “That’s close enough,” Platt says. “Slide the phone to me.”

  Logan smiles and bends over, sending the phone sliding across the tile to Platt. Platt picks it up and looks at it for a second before putting it to his ear. He turns the pistol back to the pack, his eyes locked on Logan’s.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Platt, sir,” Camille’s voice coos. “It’s nice to speak with you since I’ve only seen you at a distance on security footage.”

  “It’s Master Sergeant Platt,” Platt says.

  “Right, yes, my misunderstanding,” she apologizes. “You know Mr. Logan there was in the Army. He was a captain pre-Z. I think you two would get along and find you have a lot in common.”

  “I’m not an officer, I work for a living, so I highly doubt we’d have anything in common,” Platt snaps. “Get to the fucking point, lady. I’m not up for chit chat.”

  “Fine,” Camille says, her voice ice and gravel. “I have no intention of detonating that bomb anytime soon, Sergeant. I simply need it to be in Asheville. You let Logan take it and put it where I want and you can go free.”

  “I doubt that,” Platt laughs.

  “You shouldn’t,” Camille replies. “I’ll let you go free and join your friends, wherever they may be. I lost contact with them after speaking to my daughter. And after they killed several of my people. Unfortunate, but emotions run high in the heat of battle. Being a long time soldier, I’m sure you know that. How long have you been in the Army, Sergeant?”

  “Twenty-five years,” Platt replies, “I’m retiring today.”

  “I should hope not, Sergeant,” Camille responds. “I believe you have a lot to still offer this world. Your skills will be invaluable during the coming months and years.”

  “You have two minutes, lady,” Platt says. “And so far you haven’t said anything to make me give a shit about you.”

  “That bomb is a deterrent, Platt,” Camille says, all pleasantries gone from her voice. “There is a war coming and it’s about to run right over Asheville. That bomb needs to be there as a buffer.”

  “A deterrent?” Platt laughs. “I don’t know if anyone has told you, but the apocalypse has already happened. There’s nothing to deter!”

  “You don’t know how wrong you are,” Camille says. “I plan on fighting for what is left. I plan on fighting for my daughter, whether she wants me to or not. I plan on fighting for those other young women, some of whom still have very influential families…living families… that would pay anything to know where they are. As long as there is leverage, Platt, there is still society. It isn’t over yet.”

  “One minute left,” Platt says, “and I don’t give a shit. Tell me all you want, but this bomb is going off in about fifty seconds.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Camille says. “May I speak to Logan first, please?”

  “Sure,” Platt says, “knock yourself out.”

  Platt tosses the phone towards Logan, but the man ignores it and instead drops and slides down the pool to Platt. Before the Master Sergeant knows it, he has a knife buried to the hilt in his gut.

  “You could have gotten out alive,” Logan says. “You had a choice.”

  Blood bubbles from between Platt’s lips and he grins.

  “You had a choice too,” Platt coughs and splutters. “But you chose to bring a knife to a bomb fight.”

  Platt pulls the trigger and there is nothing but light.

  ***

  The ground shakes hard and Antoinette is thrown off her feet and into the water. She coughs and chokes as she takes a mouthful of the French Broad, but she spits it out, gets her footing and wades quickly to the kayak that is slowly floating away. She climbs in and grabs up the paddle.

  Behind her, America’s largest home crumbles in on itself. Flames reach high into the air briefly before several tons of old concrete and brick collapse upon the conflagration, leaving nothing but black smoke.

  Antoinette paddles as hard and fast as she can, knowing that what is in that smoke may not kill her today, but it will kill her at some point. And that death will be slow and painful. She digs with all her strength and is soon shooting down the river, her eyes watching the riverbanks for gunmen, but all she sees are the dead.

  The thousands and thousands of dead.

  ***

  Those in the haul truck don’t even notice the tremor from the Biltmore explosion. It’s hard to notice anything when crushing cars and trucks while speeding as fast as possible down I-40.

  “He’s not going to make it,” Stella sobs. “Please, Reaper, Alex, do something. You are a medic; you’ve treated wounds like this, right? You’ve had to deal with people blown apart by IEDs, right? Right?”

  “He’ll make it, Stella,” Dr. McCormick says. “He’s a strong young man. If he wants to live then he’ll live.”

  Reaper doesn’t say anything as he studies Charlie’s wound and looks at all options.

  “You don’t know that!” Stella shouts at the doctor. “You fix
ed assholes, not bleeding chest wounds!”

  “Hey, hey,” I say as I hold her tight. “This isn’t her fault.”

  “It’s okay, Jace,” Dr. McCormick says. “I don’t take it personally. I’d do anything to be dealing with colonoscopies these days. Compared to the zombie apocalypse, assholes look pretty good right now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Stella says. “I’m sorry. It’s just that he was so brave. He was our hero. He can’t die.” She looks up at me, her pained filled eyes nearly ripping my heart out of my chest. “You would have been so proud of him, Jace. He took over when Red was hurt and just started driving the truck.”

  “Who’s Red?” I ask. Dr. McCormick gives me a look. “Right. Never mind. Wait, when did Charlie learn how to drive a stick?”

  “I don’t know,” Stella says, “but he was amazing.”

  “That Patel girl,” Critter says from the cab as the truck crushes another stray car, along with a few dozen Zs. But those numbers are dwindling and the ride gets smoother as we get further from Asheville. “They were always tooling around the Farm together in an old semi.”

  “Never knew that,” I say. “So he was the hero of the day?”

  “He was!” Stella cries, her voice wavering between a mother’s pride and a mother’s fear. “Then he did the unthinkable, Jace! He shot down one of those helicopters! Shot it right out of the sky!”

  “Damn,” I say.

  “Got a chest full of metal for his trouble,” Critter says. “Ain’t fair. Not that I believe in fair, mind ya, but that shouldn’t happen to a good kid like your boy.”

  “Critter?” Reaper says. “How much further? I need you to go as fast as possible.”

  “I’m doing that,” Critter says. “But we don’t have enough gas to get us all the way. Don’t you worry none, ‘cause I have my men coming this way. Gonna meet us at the bottom of the hill.”

  “What’s wrong, Reaper?” Stella asks. “Is it the blood loss? I’ll give him my blood.” She looks at Dr. McCormick. “You did that before with Jace and Stuart. Hook me up! He can take all of my blood!”

  “We don’t have the equipment here,” Reaper says. “We need to get him into surgery ASAP. That’s his only hope.”

  I look down at the still form of my son, covered in his own blood, his skin pale white. You live in the zombie apocalypse and you brace yourself for all kinds of things, especially the deaths of your loved ones. I’ve gone over a million scenarios in my head of how my family would die. But not one of those scenarios involved a crazy hunk of a helicopter rotor sticking straight out of Charlie’s chest.

  “Fuck,” Reaper says, “he’s not breathing.”

  Stella cries out and lunges for him, but I hold her back but it takes every last bit of strength I have, strength I thought was lost forever.

  Reaper and Dr. McCormick begin CPR and they work on Charlie furiously.

  “Hold on,” Critter says as he cranks the wheel and takes us down an off-ramp. “Just a little more to go.”

  We speed onto a rural highway and I soon lose track of the twists and turns we take. In a matter of minutes we go from the interstate, and a semblance of civilization (what’s left of it), to the middle of nowhere. Critter takes one last turn and hits the brakes, sending up a two-story cloud of dust that settles over us all.

  Before us is a row of pickups and off-road vehicles. Men run towards the haul truck and before I know it, Reaper and Dr. McCormick have Charlie down off the truck and into the bed of a pickup. Without saying a word, or waiting for us, the pickup takes off up a dirt road and is lost from sight.

  “Charlie!” Stella yells, reaching out for him. “Charlie!” She then buries her face in my chest as Critter steps from the cab.

  “Come on,” Critter says. “I’ll drive you to my holler. I know the short cuts. My guys will get the rest of the folks back there squared away.”

  “He wasn’t breathing,” Stella sobs. “Oh, God, Jace, he wasn’t breathing.”

  Chapter Ten

  Detonation Day plus ten.

  “There’s not much I can say,” Critter frowns as he addresses the group of people that sit by the newly made graveyard. “Lost some good folk, we did. I lost some men I’ve known for twenty some years. Lost some friends I just met only a couple months ago. Young, old, healthy, sick… didn’t matter, God done took them up into his arms.”

  Critter wipes at his eyes and gives the crowd a shy smile.

  “I ain’t the sentimental type, but I do know what love is,” Critter continues. “And there weren’t a person living or dead that I loved more than my brother. He was there for me my entire life, he was. Even when I was a young hellraiser, doin’ everythin’ in my power to get tossed in jail, Hollis was there. He’d bail me out and even try to talk my daddy out of beatin’ the holy tar outta me. Didn’t work none; Daddy liked beating the tar outta folk, especially his boys.

  “Hollis was not that man. He was fair and kind and filled with God’s love. And filled for a love of his family. His boys, and his baby girl, he loved more than God, I think. He’d have never admitted it, but if push came to shove, I’m pretty sure Hollis Fitzpatrick would have clocked the Almighty Himself if it meant protectin’ his kin.”

  There were many nods of agreement and several loud sniffs and sobs.

  “I’ll miss that man. And I know I ain’t the only one. Godspeed, Big Daddy. Time to run the big Farm in the sky. I’m sure they could use yer help.”

  Critter wipes his eyes again and takes his seat with the rest. Melissa reaches out and grabs his hand, putting it to her lips. He smiles at her and puts an arm around her shoulders. Behind him, his nephews lean forward and each give him a pat. Critter looks back and gives them a nod then scans the large crowd.

  “Where’s Long Pork and Missus Long Pork at?” Critter asks. “They didn’t come?”

  “Charlie,” Stuart says from the other side of Melissa.

  “Oh, right,” Critter nods.

  Stuart stands up and takes a deep breath and walks to the front of the crowd.

  “I guess, being the senior military man here, I get to say some words about Master Sergeant Platt,” Stuart begins. “I didn’t know him as well as I would have liked, but I did know what a true hero that man was. We’ve all heard the story from Antoinette about his sacrifice. I promise that sacrifice won’t go to waste. Before I go on, I want to remind you of the meeting later tonight. I hope y’all can attend. We don’t have a lot of time to work things out so every bit of input is appreciated.”

  Stuart looks out and sees several nods, but also a lot of scared and skeptical faces.

  “So, Master Sergeant Platt. Where do I start? Oh, I know. There was this time, just after Jace blew up Whispering pines…”

  ***

  I settle another blanket across his chest, making sure he stays warm as he just lies there, still as a corpse.

  Jesus, what a fucking thing to say. Where the fuck did that come from? If Stella had heard me say that she’d have cut my nuts off right then and made me take it back while knocking wood with said castrated handful.

  He’s not a corpse; my son lives. Although it has been touch and go.

  After Critter’s men got him up to the holler, Reaper was able to stabilize him. Between Reaper, Dr. McCormick, and a man that lived in the holler and used to be a veterinarian, they got the metal out of Charlie’s chest. It took fifteen hours and nearly drained the whole holler of blood. I’m pretty sure there are still people only half full walking around.

  I sit down and settle into the chair, trying to get comfortable. Which isn’t easy since Stumpageddon is still wrapped tightly to my body. I have to have the dressings changed once a day so the shoulder can be drained. Bits of fractured bone still squeeze out of the drainage holes. Yeah, it’s pretty fucking gross, but I’m alive, so I have that going for me.

  Stumpageddon? His fighting days are done. I’m going to have to put Mr. Spikey to rest. Dr. McCormick doubts I’ll regain any mobility in my shoulder. In f
act, she’d like to take the rest of the arm off. I told her I’d think on it. Why ruin such an enjoyable experience like having pieces of bones squirted from bloody holes? I need to savor those moments just a bit longer.

  “He’ll wake up,” Elsbeth says from behind me, pulling me from my stupid thoughts. She drags a chair over and turns it around, sitting down with her arms folded over the back. “He’s tough like his mama.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “No, I mean it. I’d rather he be tough like her than weak like me.”

  “You ain’t weak, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says. “Just not so bright sometimes.”

  “That’s what they tell me,” I say. “You go to the memorial?”

  “For a minute. I didn’t stay long,” Elsbeth says. “The others did. They’ll say goodbye for me.”

  “You don’t want to say a few words about your fallen sisters?”

  Elsbeth shrugs. “Don’t know what to say. I didn’t know them, the ones that died. They weren’t there then they were then they weren’t.”

  “And you didn’t want to say anything about…Julio?” I ask. “You guys were lovers.”

  “Same thing,” she says and snaps her fingers. “There and gone.”

  “That’s life,” I say, looking at my son’s peaceful face. “One day there, the next day gone.”

  “Where’s Stella? Greta?” Elsbeth asks, looking around. “They weren’t at the funeral, neither.”

  “Asleep,” I reply. “Stella was in here all night again and Greta hasn’t been sleeping so well lately.”

  “She having the scary dreams?” Elsbeth asks.

  “Yeah. She wakes up screaming and calling Charlie’s name. She says all she sees is a helicopter chasing him then, when it finally reaches him, the rotors chop him all up.”

  “That is scary,” Elsbeth nods. “I have one with a tiger and a chainsaw.”

  I look at her and raise an eyebrow and she just shrugs. We sit there for a while, watching Charlie’s chest slowly rise and fall.