Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead

by Bible, Jake

  “Listen,” I start, “we need to talk about your mother.”

  “No,” she states flatly.

  “Yes,” I insist. “The planning meeting is tonight and we’ve already lost ten days. Your mother isn’t going to let it all go. She’ll come after us.”

  “She can try,” Elsbeth says and shrugs again. “I’ll be here.”

  “She’s your mom,” I say. “Don’t you want to find out why she’s in charge of the Consortium? Don’t you want answers?”

  “I have answers,” she says, tapping her temple. “And they’re mine.”

  “No, they aren’t,” I snap. “This is bigger than you, El! We need to know what you know! I’ve talked with all of your sisters, or whatever they are, and they’ve given me as much as they know.”

  “No, they haven’t,” she says.

  “What do you mean? You think they’re holding back information?”

  “Yes,” Elsbeth says.

  “Why? Why would they do that?” I ask.

  Elsbeth stands up and starts walking away. “Why? Because that’s how we are made.”

  I grab her wrist and pull her back. “Made? What the hell are you talking about? See! This is the shit you have to spill!”

  “You don’t spill shit,” Elsbeth says, looking at my hand, which I remove from her wrist, then looking back at me. “Spilling shit would be a mess.”

  I watch her for a second then smile. She smiles too.

  “El, I love you like family…”

  “Because I am family.”

  “And in a family you have to be honest. You have to trust. If family is for nothing else, it’s at least for that.”

  Her face changes a million times, as she fights the emotions waging war inside her. She starts to speak, stops, starts again, stops, takes a deep breath and starts.

  “Dad?” a weak voice rasps. “Hey…”

  “Charlie?” I ask, turning from Elsbeth, unsure I even heard his voice. I tend to hear a lot of voices in my head these days, so I never quite know.

  “Yep,” he grins without opening his eyes. Then he frowns. “I don’t…feel…so…good.”

  “I’ll get Stella!” Elsbeth says.

  “No, get Reaper and Dr. McCormick!” I shout after her as she runs from the room. “Then get Stella!”

  “I’m…really…thirsty,” Charlie says.

  “I don’t know if I can give you water,” I say. “I’d hate for you to spring a leak, Rambo.”

  Charlie frowns and his eyes flutter open. He squints against the light and looks over at me. “Rambo? I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means,” I say as I grip his hand, “that you’re a motherfucking hero, bud. I’ve heard all about what you did. Everyone has. They were going to put up a statue to you if you croaked.”

  “They were?” he asks.

  “No, not really,” I laugh. “Who has time to make a statue?”

  He smiles weakly. “You sure I can’t have some water? My throat hurts.”

  “Then stop talking,” I say. “Save your voice for your mother.”

  On cue, Stella rushes into the room and I have to hold her back and keep her from grabbing Charlie up in her arms. She calms down and puts her hand across his forehead.

  “Oh, my sweet baby,” she says. “My sweet boy.”

  “Hey, bro,” Greta says from the doorway.

  “Where’s Reaper?” I ask. “Elsbeth was supposed to get him first.”

  “She told me you said that,” Stella says, taking time to give me a death glare. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “Can’t,” I say, “got a meeting tonight. Sorry.”

  “Asshole,” she smiles.

  “A sexy asshole,” I smile back.

  “Are you two trying to make him sicker?” Greta asks as she shoves between us and leans down and gives Charlie a kiss on the forehead. “Welcome back.”

  “How long was I asleep?” Charlie asks.

  “Ten days,” I say. “Scariest ten days of our lives.”

  “Scarier than after Z-Day?” he asks.

  “Way scarier,” Stella says. “So don’t ever fight helicopters again, you hear me? Leave that to the professionals.”

  “There are professional helicopter fighters?” I ask. “How do I get in on the gig?”

  “You’d never get hired,” Greta says. “You’d be more like a helicopter clown, get it? Like in the rodeo?”

  “Yeah, I get it,” I frown, “thanks.”

  “Excuse me,” Reaper says, “can I sneak in here?”

  We move quickly and let Reaper do an examination of Charlie and his wound. It takes about a billion minutes past forever, but he finally turns to us and gives a smile.

  “I was able to inflate his lung, and it sounds like it’s holding strong, but he’s not out of the woods yet,” he says. “We’ll see how he does when he’s up and about.”

  “How long will that be?” Stella asks.

  “Not sure,” Reaper shrugs. “I don’t have enough experience to know. Maybe a week or two?”

  “We don’t have that kind of time,” I say quietly.

  “Why?” Charlie asks.

  “Never you mind,” Stella says, “you worry about getting better.”

  She looks at me and is about to speak when Gunga comes running in.

  “Uh, Mr. Stanford?” he says.

  “Gunga, call me Jace, please,” I reply.

  “Sure, fine,” he nods. “I think we need you outside. A couple people want to say some words about Brenda Kelly and well, it’s getting kinda ugly.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter and follow Gunga outside.

  We make our way through trailers and walkways, down stairs and ramps, until we are walking into the open valley below all the dwellings secured to the cliffs. I have to catch my breath and steady myself before marching up to the crowd that is busy yelling and shouting. I see Stuart trying to break it up, but he’s overmatched by the majority that are spitting curses back and forth with an almost equally vocal minority. Critter is just standing aside smiling, of course.

  “Hey!” I shout. “HEY!”

  Heads turn and they see me coming. Everyone slowly stops yelling, but they are far from calmed down. I walk to the makeshift podium and look each of them in the eye. Which takes fucking forever.

  “Someone wants to say some words for Brenda Kelly?” I ask.

  There are nods and grunts and a few shouts (for and against) and I have to hold my hand up to get it chilled again.

  “Fine,” I say, “I think all the dead deserve some last words.”

  Everyone, to the last man and woman, is stunned. Guess they didn’t see that coming.

  “Brenda Kelly was an intolerable bitch,” I start, “but she was also one hell of an administrator. Despite being evil to the bone, she did get us through those first few months back at Whispering Pines. I know many of you only met her after coming here to Asheville with Mondello, but let me tell you she wasn’t always a disagreeable troll.” I laugh. “Well, yeah, she was. But that’s beside the point. What really matters is that, in her own warped way, she cared about Whispering Pines and its residents. She honestly did. She worried about them and she fretted about them and she did everything in her power to make the place as secure as possible. Sure, that power warped her walnut brain, but that’s what power does.”

  There are a few grumbles, but they let me continue.

  “Deep down I don’t think Brenda liked who she had become, even before Z-Day, and she overcompensated for that. I’m just pop psychologizing here, but I think that’s the root of it. She backed herself into a corner, which only got worse post-Z, and she didn’t know how to get out. She had a lot of hate and anger and that was her go to when pushed to the limit.

  “But in the end she did work her ass off for the people she represented. She gave a crap about her responsibilities and duties. As crazytown as that woman was, you couldn’t call her a slacker. She was devoted to making sure some semblance of society s
urvived.”

  The crowd is silent except for a few coughs and sniffs.

  “And that’s what it’s all about, right?” I ask them. “Making sure some semblance of society survives? It won’t ever be the same as pre-Z. That’s not possible. But it can be good. Well, as good as we can make it. That’s why I need every single one of you to be at the meeting tonight.”

  There are some groans.

  “No, no, I’m serious. Brenda would be at that meeting, you know that. Big Daddy would be at that meeting, you know that too. But this isn’t about leaders, this is about lives. Your lives. We need your input, we need your thoughts, we need you.”

  I nod and walk away from the podium.

  “Be there, please. We don’t have much time. We never have.”

  ***

  Detonation Day plus eighteen.

  “I don’t like it,” I say, “it leaves us defenseless.”

  “Thanks,” Stuart says as we sit around the tables that have been pushed together for our last meeting before evacuation. “Way to make an old man feel special.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it,” I reply, leaning back in my chair and looking at the other faces that have joined us in Critter’s “saloon” to go over the final plans before we leave in two days. “I just meant that with Cassie and the sisters off on their mission, we’ll only have Critter’s men, John, Reaper, and Elsbeth to help protect us between here and Kansas City.”

  “Lourdes and her PCs will meet us along the way,” Buzz says. “Soon as they scout ahead. Supposed to wait for us just past Knoxville.”

  “My guys are ready,” Critter adds. “Plus you have my other nephews, not to mention my niece.”

  “And it’s not like everyone else hasn’t seen some type of combat,” John adds. “Hell, your kids can fight like the best of them.”

  “Charlie isn’t fighting shit,” Stella says from my side. “He’ll be sitting in a backseat with a book.”

  “With a rifle across his lap,” John says. “The kid can shoot. You don’t take down a chopper like he did without natural ability.”

  “He got lucky,” Stella says.

  “Then he has that on his side,” John says. “Just proves my point.”

  “I don’t think it does,” Stella frowns.

  “Okay, okay, we’re getting off point,” I say. “What I’m trying to get across is most everyone is shell shocked. I don’t know how much fight they have left and we have hundreds of miles to cover through a fucking zombie wasteland. I’d prefer if the sisters stayed with us.”

  “We need the intel,” Stuart says, “and they are the only ones that can get it and survive to get back to us. Plus, we told them that if they don’t have any new information in two weeks they’re to abandon Atlanta and catch up to us.”

  “El?” I ask, looking across the table at the silent ex-canny girl. “Thoughts?”

  “People will fight,” she shrugs, “or they die. Anyone that doesn’t fight is stupid and stupid should die.”

  “Great, thanks,” I smile, “that helped a lot.”

  “Listen, Long Pork,” Critter says, “you’re spooked because Asheville failed. You’re taking it personally and talking out your ego. You gotta let that go.”

  “That was even less helpful than what Elsbeth said,” I snap.

  “He’s kinda right, Jace,” Melissa says. “You can’t expect to fix everything. It doesn’t matter how many people we have with us. Because once we get out on that road, you won’t be able to think our way out of danger. And that scares the shit out of you.”

  “Stella?” I ask. “A little backup?”

  “The radiation levels have risen in the French Broad,” Stella says. “It hasn’t drifted here yet, but it will. We can’t stay, Jace, and getting pissy won’t stop that.”

  “Getting pissy?” I growl. “What the fuck is this? An intervention?”

  “Maybe,” Stuart shrugs. “How about you give that brain a rest and stop looking at all the angles?”

  “You have got to be…”

  “Shut up, Jason,” Stuart says quietly.

  “What?”

  “Just shut up,” Stuart says.

  He sighs and rubs his face. I can see the strain everything has taken on him; the man looks a thousand years older than he did just last year when we were sitting in Whispering Pines more worried about bums trying to get in than Consortiums or trying to move everyone across country.

  “You’ve been a huge part of this group, Jace,” Stuart says. “You came up with ideas that no one else could. You’d have made a great city planner somewhere, but this is a military operation. This is convoy tactics. You need to take a step back and listen to those with the experience. If we try to plan for every single contingency, we’ll never leave.” He leans forward on the table and makes sure he has my attention, which he does. Fully. “And there will be casualties. It’ll be impossible to take a group this size nearly a thousand miles and expect everyone to live. That’s just not possible.”

  Stuart leans back and lets that settle in for a minute. It’s more unsettling, actually, but I get what he’s saying.

  “So damned if we do and damned if we don’t, eh?” I say.

  “Damned if we don’t, for sure,” Stuart says. “Damned if we do then? No way to know.”

  “Fine, fine,” I say, “I’ll let y’all work out the rest. I’ve planned as much as I can. The convoy will at least be as efficient as it can be. I have that fucking shit organized.”

  “Long Pork is good at organizing fucking shit,” Elsbeth says.

  Everyone tries to hold it in, but they burst out laughing. Elsbeth looks around like she doesn’t know what’s going on, but I see a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I think she likes her role in this group.

  “Uh, Uncle Critter?” Gunga says from the doorway.

  “Saloon is still closed, Gunga,” Critter says. “Give us a few more minutes, will ya?”

  “Sure, right, but…” He trails off and looks back over his shoulder.

  “What’s up?” Buzz asks, getting to his feet. “You got me worried, little brother?”

  Little brother. Always makes me laugh since Gunga is the size of a tractor trailer.

  “There’s a man here,” Gunga says. “A stranger. Just walked into the holler.”

  “Walked in?” Critter asks, his face clouding with anger. “Nobody just walks into my holler.”

  “Well, uh, he did,” Gunga says. “Ain’t no one seen him ‘til he was walking up the middle of the field.”

  “Someone’s getting their ass handed to them,” Critter snarls. “Fallin’ asleep on the job is what gets ya kicked out of the convoy.”

  “No need for discipline of that sort,” a man says as he looks around Gunga’s bulk. “I’m naturally stealthy. Been practicing it since before the dead rose.”

  The man is in his mid-sixties, short, skinny and has only a few wisps of white hair floating about his bald skull. His skin is weathered, like he’s spent the past few years outside, which is very possible. His clothes are patched and worn, but surprisingly clean.

  “May I come in, gentlemen and ladies?” he asks, his tone that of a kindly professor. Which immediately puts me on edge. “I believe I can help with your situation.”

  “Sir, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you…” Critter starts.

  “Mr. Fitzpatrick, I can assure you I am an ally here,” the man says. “One that will prove quite valuable. You are all leaving for Kansas City in two days, yes?” He waits for a response, but gets none. “Yes, well, no need to confirm. I know I’m correct.”

  There’s a strange growling, low and menacing, from the table and I glance around.

  Elsbeth.

  “You will be crossing several hundred miles, which will be dangerous in of itself, all without knowing what awaits you,” he continues. “You are going to a settlement that you think will take you in. Let me be very frank, my friends, they will not.”

  “Who
the fuck are you?” Stuart asks. “And how the hell do you know what Kansas City will do or not do?”

  “First, let me address the latter,” the man says. “Kansas City, or the Combine, as it was known, does not exist any longer. It has been wiped out, to use a phrase. All that is left is charred earth and the ghosts of thousands. You’ll want to adjust your plans and head for Boulder, Colorado, and the Stronghold.”

  “How do you know this?” I ask.

  “That’s of no consequence,” the man says, waving me off. “What is of consequence is no matter where you want to go, whether it’s the Stronghold, the Temple, the Garden, Circuit City, or anywhere else, you will not be allowed in without an invitation.” His smile turns and chills run up and down my spine. “Or without an introduction.”

  “Let me guess,” Critter says, “you can get us an invitation to the Stronghold?”

  Elsbeth stands up and before we know it, she has her blades out. I didn’t even notice she brought them with her.

  “Not him,” she snarls.

  “Oh, my, Ms. Thornberg, I didn’t see you there,” the man says, obviously full of shit. “How delightful to be in your presence again. Are your sisters here?”

  “El,” I say, standing up and putting my hand carefully –very carefully- on her shoulder. “What’s up? You know this guy?”

  “I know him,” she says, her eyes turning to mine. “He’s the Devil.”

  “Well, that’s a bit of hyperbole, I believe,” the man chuckles. “I’m just as human as any of you fine folks, let me assure you of that.”

  Everyone else gets to their feet, their eyes going from Elsbeth to the short, old man.

  “I think you should cut the crap, mister,” Stuart says, “and tell us who you are before we let our friend do to you what her body language is telling me is going to be something very nasty and very violent.”

  “Of course, of course,” the man says, taking a small bow. “My name is Kramer.” He stands straight and locks eyes with Elsbeth. “Doctor Stanley Martin Kramer. At your service.”

  Elsbeth leaps at the man and it takes every able-bodied person in the saloon to take her down and keep her from chopping the guy up. It also takes all of them to keep from getting chopped themselves.