Z-Burbia 4: Cannibal Road

by Jake Bible

  We all turned and that’s when the headlights turned on and we found ourselves staring at no less than ten motorcycles.

  “Fuck,” I muttered. “Crazies with fucking motorcycles. Great. Who wants to bet they are wearing goggles too? Mother fucking crazies with motorcycles and goggles!”

  I stepped forward and shielded my eyes against the glare.

  “Hey, assholes! You know that the post-apocalypse didn’t actually come with a dress code, right? You mother fucking Road Warrior wannabes!”

  “Good one, Dad,” Charlie said. “You told them. They’ll let us go now, for sure.”

  “Time to run the road!” one of the riders shouted, but I couldn’t tell which because of the headlights. “It’s a night run for you, Cleaver beavers!”

  “Cleaver beavers?” Greta asked. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s a reference to Leave It To Beaver,” Stella said.

  “Leave it to what? That didn’t explain shit,” Greta snapped.

  “It was a sitcom, but we don’t have time to go into television history, okay?” I growled. I cleared my throat and held up my hands. “Sorry about the fashion remark. I’m a little stressed. Listen, we’re kinda tired and not really up for running any road. Is there a detour we could take, possibly? We’ll let the next set of Cleaver beavers run the road.”

  “Cleaver beavers be talkin’ back?” another voice asked. “Cleaver beavers need a lesson in manners.”

  The riders revved their engines then shot towards us. Great.

  “Go!” I shouted as I pushed at Stella. “Climb!”

  Charlie and Greta hit the chain link first and scrambled to get across the Z pits. They went hand over hand, foot to foot, by gripping and jamming their toes between the links. Stella followed after them and I was right behind, but my disability slowed me down considerably. Back in the Explorer were all of my attachments for Stumpageddon. They were boxed up in the back since my shoulder couldn’t take the weight of them.

  Kinda wished I had one of the hook attachments right about then.

  Painful was an understatement. I jammed my feet into the links then leaned as far into the fence as it would give. This kept me from falling backwards as I inched my way across, my only hand having to jump form one position to another lightning fast or I would go tumbling down into the Z mosh pit below.

  “Cleaver beavers be zoom zoom zipping!”

  “Go, go, Cleaver beavers!”

  “Now you get to run the road! Now you get to run the road!”

  “I farted. Excuse me.”

  “This is ten kinds of some fucked up fucking shit,” Greta said as we finally all stood on the other side of the pits and watched as spotlights, strings of Christmas lights, neon signs, and whatever could go blinky blinky, started to illuminate all the way down the road. “We are so fucking dead!”

  A huge neon sign came to life and the words “Cannibal Road” loomed over us. Holy shit...Kramer didn’t mean the name as a metaphor, the place was actually called Cannibal Road.

  Shit.

  “Hello, contestants!” a voice boomed from speakers just above us. From the slight echo, I guessed there were speakers all along the walls too. “Welcome to Cannibal Road! We aren’t a proud bunch, but just some plain spoken folk that tell it like it is! We eat people and you are people!”

  A massive cheer went up all down the walls on both sides. I could see shapes and shadows of spectators start to show up as people crawled on top of the wall and sat there with their legs hanging down.

  “At least they aren’t being coy,” I said and got a death glare from Stella. “What? It’s kinda refreshing.”

  “Now, if you wouldn’t mind introducing yourselves, we can get this party started,” the announcer said. A microphone was lowered by its wire down to us from the top of the right side wall. “We like to get to know our contestants before we send them a’runnin’!”

  I looked at my family then shrugged. I took a deep breath and walked to the mic, grabbing it with my one hand and waving my stump at the spectators.

  “Hi, I’m Jace Stanford,” I said. “My family and I are from Asheville, but decided that we’d try and vacation in Knoxville. Things didn’t turn out like we wanted when our car broke down and the hotel lost our reservation. The bastards even tried to hold onto our deposit. Can you believe that? So, as much as we’d love to play your people-eating game, I think we’re kind of all done with the vacation fun and we’ll just be on our way. Thank you for your time and God bless.”

  There was nothing but silence for a few seconds then the walls erupted with laughter.

  “Jace Stanford!” the announcer chuckled. “You amazing breath of fresh air! Way better than the screamers and the pleaders, right folks?”

  A huge cheer went up and down the walls.

  “Now, Jace Stanford, would you be so kind as to introduce your fine looking family?” the announcer asked. “We’d certainly appreciate it.”

  “Well, thank you for asking,” I said, playing along while I hoped my family would come up with some sort of plan. “The tall young man there is my son Charlie. By his side is his sister, my lovely daughter, Greta. Charlie is into video games and quiet reading under oak trees while Greta is more of an artist and also a mean hatchet and cauterize girl if you happen to lose a limb.” I waved Stumpageddon. “Not that she did this handy work. Just want that to be clear.” I waved to Stella and she looked at me as if I was one of the cheering crazies.

  “Come now, Mrs. Stanford,” the announcer said. “Don’t be shy.”

  Stella put on a weak smile and shuffled over to me.

  “Jace,” she mumbled out of the side of her mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Keeping them talking,” I replied. “Hopefully you guys can figure a way out of this mess.”

  “Yep, we’re fucked,” Greta said.

  “The mouth on that one!” the announcer laughed. “I like it!”

  “This is my wife Stella,” I said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  The spectators whooped and hollered.

  “Ahhh, you’re making her blush,” I said. “Stella doesn’t like speaking in front of large crowds, and you guys are a large crowd. How many of you are there anyway? I can’t tell because of all the lights.”

  “Well, thank you for asking as well, Jace Stanford,” the announcer said. “We are a community of about two hundred, split into different groupings based on personality preferences and specific proclivities.”

  “Two hundred? Wow, that’s a lot,” I replied. “You can’t expect a pitiful family of four like us to feed two hundred, can you? Look at us! We’re just skin and bones!”

  “Oh, we have others,” the announcer said. “And you wouldn’t be feeding all two hundred of us. Like I said, we are split into different groups.” The announcer cleared his throat. “This would be a perfect time to explain the rules of Cannibal Road!”

  “Rules! Rules! Rules! Rules!”

  “Four Stanfords enter, none of us leave,” Charlie said.

  “You got that right, bro,” Greta replied.

  “Rules! Rules! Rules! Rules!”

  “I think they want to hear the rules,” I said to Stella.

  “How can you be joking at a time like this?” she snapped.

  “I joke because I want to shit my pants and run screaming while waving my arms over my head,” I replied then looked at Stumpageddon. “Or while waving myarm.”

  “THE RULES!” the announcer shouted and the spectators quieted down. “Here’s how it works, Stanfords: You get as long as you need to go from where you stand to the very end of Cannibal Road.”

  “How long is this fine avenue of yours?” I asked.

  “Patience now, Jace Stanford,” the announcer chuckled. “All answers will be revealed.”

  “My bad.”

  “No worries,” the announcer continued. “Cannibal Road is exactly one mile long. Trust me, we’ve measured it.”

  “Measured it!�
� the spectators shouted.

  “Everything marked, everything ‘membered,” Charlie laughed. Greta snorted snot out of her nose.

  “Jesus!” Stella snapped. “Not you two also!”

  “Now, listen closely, Stanfords, because this is important,” the announcer said. The spectators quieted down. Somewhat. “The first half of the road is a free for all. Well, free for us, but not so much for you fine folks.” Laughter. “When I say go, you’ll start running. Along the way there will be obstacles thrown into your path. Get by the obstacles, stay alive, and you will reach the second part of the road.”

  “PART TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

  “I fucking hate the apocalypse,” Stella said.

  “Part two is where things get interesting, you see,” the announcer said. “From that point on, the road is broken up into sections. Each section will correspond to one of our illustrious groups. If you are caught within one of those sections then you’ll become the property of that group, dead or alive.”

  “So we aren’t going to be killed outright?” I asked. “We have a chance to live?”

  “There’s always a chance, Jace Stanford,” the announcer answered. “But do not mistake a chance at living for a chance at freedom. You’re in the Cannibal Road now which means you have just become the property of the Seven Gangs.”

  Yeah, I could hear the capitol letters too.

  “Let’s introduce our Seven Gangs!” the announcer yelled. “Starting with our very first: the Crossville Cookers and their leader, Barfly!”

  “Hey there, Jace Stanford bro!” a man’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Good to meet ya, bro! Taste ya later!”

  “Could be, could be,” the announcer laughed. “Now for the Tennessee Hunger Brigade and their leader, Bubbles!”

  “Jace is such a cute name,” a woman’s voice giggled. “Too bad you’re already married. I’d do ya in a second with a cute little name like that. Maybe let ya live long enough to enjoy the diddle too.”

  “Fuck off, you cunt!” Stella shouted.

  “Ooooooooooooooooh,” the spectators mocked.

  “And on that note, let’s introduce the Kingston Queens and their ever fashionable leader, Bobo!”

  I started sensing a “B” theme with the names.

  “Hello, sugar,” a man said, his voice thick with southern homosexuality.

  That’s not a bigoted observation. If you have ever lived in the South then you know the exact accent I’m talking about. It made me miss some of my friends from pre-Z. Asheville had been such a fun, vibrant, inclusive city. Sigh.

  “If Bubbles dear doesn’t get you then maybe I’ll make you mine,” Bobo continued. “After a quick nibble, of course.”

  “That Bobo likes to nibble!” the announcer laughed.

  “Nibble, nibble, nibble!” the spectators chanted.

  “Who’s next?” I asked. “And does everyone have to speak?”

  “We all have a voice around here,” the announcer said. “And the next one is Brudda Boing Boing and The Droolers!”

  “Hey dare Jace,” a tiny voice said with an obvious speech impediment. “You weady to wun? We wuv it when dey wun!”

  “WE WUV IT!”

  “Here’s Bungee Betty and her Jackals!”

  “Jace, Jace, Jace,” a gravelly voiced woman called. “You try to run from Bungee Betty and you’ll just end up snappin’ right back to me! No one gets away from the Jackals!”

  “ROOOOOOWWWWRRRR!!!”

  “Last. But never least, we have The Thigh Boners with their always original leader, Boner!”

  “Hey,” was all the guy said.

  What the fuck? At least put a little effort into it. Fucking A.

  “You think you are ready to run the road, Stanfords?” the announcer asked, his voice having turned serious and contemplative. “Most survies that come along are so out of their minds with fear that they just fall down in puddles of their own piss. But you folks? You have grit. I can see that.”

  “What happens if we get all the way to the end without getting caught?” I asked.

  “No one has done that,” the announcer replied.

  “NO ONE HAS DONE THAT!”

  “Fuck off!” Greta shouted.

  “YOU FUCK OFF!”

  “Oh, God,” Stella muttered. “We’re doomed.”

  “No, we aren’t,” I said. “Answer the question, Announcer Guy. What happens if we reach the end without getting caught?”

  “No one has done that.”

  “Right. Caught that the first time. But let’s say we Stanfords do make it, what happens?”

  “I don’t know,” the announcer answered and I believed him. “I guess we’d have to let you go.”

  There was an audible grumble of disappointment along the walls.

  “Hold on, hold on!” the announcer said as he sensed he was losing his audience. “No one has done it! No one! But if they do, won’t that be cool?”

  No one answered.

  “Oh, well, Stanfords, I tried,” the announcer sighed. “Never say Mr. Flips didn’t at least try.”

  “Mr. Flips?” I asked.

  I saw a shadow above me lean down. He covered his microphone and waved me closer.

  “It’s my real name,” the guy said. “Don’t tell anyone. They all like their cool post-apocalyptic nicknames. I never had the heart to tell them mine was real. It would have ruined the effect.”

  “No prob,” I replied. “Your secret is safe with me, Flips. Show business, am I right?”

  “That you are, Jace Stanford. That you are.” Mr. Flips stood back up and cleared his throat again. “Let’s get to the running, shall we?”

  I looked over at my wife and children. They each had a baton in one hand and their 9mms in the other. Having just the one hand, I had to make a decision. I chose my baton since it didn’t run out of ammunition and I had no idea if I’d have time to switch out once the nightmare began.

  “Love you guys,” I said to my badass family. “We’ll get through this.”

  “You always say that,” Stella said, her eyes on the walled road ahead. “And we always do, so I’m trusting that you aren’t wrong this time.”

  “Well, if I am then we’ll be dead and not have to worry about it,” I replied.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Jason Stanford?” Stella growled.

  “Will you two shut the fuck up,” Greta said. “I’m trying to psych myself up over here.”

  “Charlie?” I asked. “Any last words of wisdom before we fight for our lives?”

  “Glad I got to take a piss a couple miles back,” he replied. “I don’t want to die with piss pants.”

  “Asshole!” Greta shouted. “Why’d you say that? Now I have to fucking go pee!”

  “THREETWOONEGO!” Mr. Flips yelled.

  We went.

  Chapter Seven

  The music.

  That’s what I’ll remember the most from my time fighting for my life on Cannibal Road. The mother fucking music.

  It was...awesome!

  No fucking shit, people. It was one killer soundtrack for, well...killers.

  They started the party with The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues.”

  “Now we’re talking,” I said as I sprinted alongside my family. “If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die to some good tunes.”

  “No, Jace!” Stella shouted. “Just no!”

  “Don’t worry, baby,” I grinned. “I have a good feeling about this.”

  And I did. I have no idea why I had a good feeling as I ran my ass off between two massive walls made of everything from crushed automobiles to train cars, from old dumpsters to old dump trucks.

  About twenty feet ahead, the wall slid away and out came the bikers.

  Now, as I have expressed before, I fucking detest apocalypse bikers. It’s the goggles. Why not just wear helmets? I’m sure there are more motorcycle helmets hanging around than those stupid bubble goggles the dumbshits wear. But, no, they have to look all crazy cool. Emphasis
on the crazy part.

  Fuckers. I bet half of them have never even seen Mad Max. Fuckers.

  Charlie lifted his 9mm and fired three shots, nailing two bikers square in the chest and sending them flying off their motorcycles. The third shot missed as the intended target ducked and swerved. Charlie didn’t have time to adjust his aim since the bikers were on us by then. He dove and rolled to the side, just avoiding the swipe of a machete. Good thing the bikers didn’t have guns.

  I was willing to bet there were plenty pointed down at us from the folks on the walls, though. Except, as I ran and thought about it, I never saw any and didn’t hear the signature sounds of slides being racked.Hmmm, I said to myself.Hmmm...

  “Greta! Down!” Stella yelled as a biker swung a chain at our daughter’s head.

  For the record, I fucking hate chains too. Just saying.

  Greta dove and rolled then jammed her baton in the rear wheel of the motorcycle as the chain rider zipped by. The bike skidded, the rear wheel shot out sideways and the whole thing took quite the side tumble. Chain rider did not get up from that tumble since his head was twisted around in a direction God did not intend.

  That left six more bikers to deal with. Six! Not good numbers for the Stanfords, but doable.

  The six swept past us then whipped their bikes around and gunned it for our backs.

  “Keep running!” I yelled, noticing that the music had switched to the Eagles’ “Takin’ It Easy”. “Turn and fire when I say!”

  I slid to a stop and spun about, my baton held back, ready to crack a skull or two. I could see a couple of the bikers start laughing and I wondered just how pitiful I looked. It’d been a while since I’d had a shower or gotten a chance to change clothes. Wouldn’t have been a bad bet that I looked almost as crazy as those fuckers did.

  The bikers were ten feet, five feet, and I dove. Right at them!

  “Fire!” I yelled.

  The bikers, confused that I didn’t dive out of the way and instead came right at them, all swerved and three actually hit their brakes and turned sideways, which made them perfect targets. Their bodies shuddered then crumpled across their bikes as the motorcycles fell to the ground.