Rocky Mountain Die (17 page)

On we go.

We’re about a mile up Colfax when the Z herd starts to get thick. Before that, we’d dealt with stragglers and easily passed them by. Those that wanted to hang onto the cages ended up getting their rotted arms ripped right out of their rotted shoulders.

Not so much now.

“This will take days at this pace,” Buzz says, staring at the speedometer. It barely registers our speed. “We’re in a slow motion race to nowhere.”

“That’s going to be the title of my memoirs,” I say.

“You say everything is going to be the title of your memoirs,” Stella sighs. “You are not going to write any memoirs.”

“One day, maybe,” I reply. “When we’re old and the grandchildren stop coming around to play with us. Then I’ll sit down and write them.”

Stella and Buzz both glance at me and I can’t figure out the looks on their faces.

“What?” I ask.

“That was a pretty optimistic thing to say,” Stella replies. “You think we’ll have a place safe enough to have grandchildren play with us?”

“Fuck yeah,” I respond. “Otherwise what the hell are we doing all of this for?”

“Plain survival?” Buzz says.

“Fuck plain survival,” I say, frowning. “That’s no different than running out the clock. I want to win. I want to build somewhere safe and keep it safe. I want to have people talk about us for decades to come like we are the motherfucking Founding Fathers and shit.”

“Founding Parents,” Stella corrects. “Fuck the patriarchy.”

“Exactly,” I nod. “Fuck the patriarchy. That shit will be gone and so will racism and bigotry.”

“Really?” Buzz laughs. “You plan on populating your utopia with robots? Because that’s the only way to get rid of that stuff. Humans can be animals. Keep them together long enough and they’ll revert back to bigoted ways. It may not be the next generation or the generation after that, but eventually it will happen.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t crap on my dream, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” I say.

Buzz shrugs. “I’m not crapping, just talking.”

“Good talk from a farm boy,” I say. “Most folks would peg you for a dumb redneck. I know better.”

“Fitzpatricks are a lot of things, but they ain’t dumb,” Buzz laughs.

“We’re about to get into it,” Stuart calls from the lead RV. “Eyes open, people.”

The front of our caged convoy is led by one of the Humvees. We have them spaced out between the RVs, giving the convoy some flexibility if it needs it. They have better maneuverability, even with their mini-cages on.

The real herd of Zs is about as bad as I thought it would be. We hit a wall of undead flesh. They are rotted shoulder to rotted shoulder all the way across the four lanes of Colfax Avenue. As far as we can see are nothing but Zs. There has to be a full mile of them.

“One point three miles before we hit a break,” Lourdes says over the radio. “Then we’re looking at maybe four miles before we hit another wave.”

Another wave. This is what life is now, wading through an ocean of the undead. We are Z surfing in the Endless Winter. Maybe that’s what my memoirs should be called? The Endless Winter.

“The winter will end,” Stella says. “Be quiet.”

“It’s not like I mean to talk out loud,” I say. “Just feel lucky I’m not a drooling idiot.”

Buzz snickers.

“Fuck you, Fitzpatrick,” I say. “I don’t drool.” Stella reaches out and wipes the corners of my mouth with her sleeve. “Son of a bitch.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Buzz says. “I’m laughing at the fact that the guy who’s had brain surgery is the one that designed our cages. It’s funny that none of us thought to second guess you.”

“Bullshit,” I say. “You guys always second guess me.”

“Third guess then,” Buzz says. “Point is, we all went for it. Jace comes up with a design, we get to work.”

“I’m dynamic that way,” I say and smack the arm of my wheelchair. “Not like I contribute much else anymore.”

“No pity,” Stella says. “Pity will get you booted off this RV.”

“No problem,” I smirk. “I’ll just grab the chain link and go along for the ride. It’s how I roll.”

Do I need to say that Buzz and Stella groan? Loudly? Probably not.

The Humvee hits the Zs hard and we can see the chain link bow and start to crumple. But it holds. It also slows to a crawl as the truck tries to power through the herd. It’s quickly engulfed in undead, but that doesn’t mean it’s all over for the little Humvee that maybe could.

Marcie is up out of the RV hatch again and she’s banging pots and pans together, making as much noise as possible. This is part of the plan, just so you know.

“They’re taking the bait,” Stella says. “Look. Half the Zs are ignoring the Humvee and heading to the RV.”

It’s true. We watch as the Zs shamble back to the RV, drawn by the kitchenware symphony. The Humvee up front starts to get a little more traction and our convoy speeds up slightly. In seconds, the RV that Marcie is on is surrounded then the Humvee behind it. In less than a minute, we are afloat in the middle of the Z sea.

Now, here’s the thing. At no time did I think we’d roll through the streets with our happy little chain-link cages and the Zs would just hiss and gnash their teeth. I knew they’d grab onto the chain link. I knew they’d start shoving, pushing, pulling, and freaking out to try to get in at us.

I also knew they’d climb.

Most of the Zs we drive through are your regular shamblers; just good ol’ boys out for a stroll, hoping to catch some human snacks. The new ones, the ones that like to get all zippy and zoomy, may be in the minority, but they sure aren’t slackers. They take the initiative and grab that chain link and start to climb.

“Up top,” I call out. “Everyone.”

I can’t turn around, but I can glance up in the small rear-view mirror set just above the windshield. It’s funny that RVs have rear-view mirrors. Their only purpose is to look at the people in the vehicle, not to look out for what’s behind the vehicle. People are scrambling to climb up out of the hatch and onto the roof. I hear their heavy footsteps and start to wonder how much weight the roof is rated for.

Probably should have thought of that before. Oh, well.

Here’s the cool part of my plan. I knew the Zs would come at us. I knew they’d start to climb and try to get inside the cage. So I made sure we had some type of defense against them. Razor wire across the tops of the cages was one idea, but we quickly realized it would just tangle a bunch of Zs and end up weighing the cage down until it tore free. No, we needed something that would not only keep the Zs from getting in the cages, but would kill them and send them packing.

I can’t watch what’s happening with my RV, but I can see what’s going on with the RV up ahead of us. Marcie is up there along with a dozen others. Charlie is one of them, of course, and I see Stella tense up every time that RV shudders or bounces. I know she’s saying prayers that he doesn’t take a tumble and end up run over or chum in the Z ocean.

Everyone braces themselves using straps that we rigged to go around their waists and hook to the cargo bars on the roof. Helps the whole falling and dying thing Stella is worried about. Then they pick up sharpened poles and get to work.

The poles are actually leftovers from the chain link frames. Some of our more handy folks sliced the ends so they are pointy and sharp as shit. We did a couple of tests on the Zs out by the base fences to make sure they work. Yeah, they fucking work.

I watch as Marcie, Charlie, and the other folks take aim and start spearing the climby Zs’ skulls. The poles work perfectly and slice right through the Z heads, pulping them instantly. The Zs tumble over dead, falling back onto the Z ocean or falling inside the cages where most of them are just left behind or get squashed by some heavy-duty RV tires.

Stella turns her head and tries not to gag as a few of the spears end up acting like geysers for Z blood and brains. They’re hollow tubes, so when someone puts some extra force into a spear lunge, a little bit of juice comes spurting out the other end. She’s not the only one gagging. Quite a few of the people on top of the RVs are turning and retching. I’m guessing the smell is pretty bad. Like a rancid fart in an empty-wrapping paper tube.

“Quarter mile to go,” Lourdes calls out over the radio.

She’s right. We’re a lot farther along than I thought we’d get. Not that I didn’t think the plan would work, I totally knew it would work. It’s just that there are always snags, always unforeseen circumstances that rear their ugly heads. So far there has been no rearing.

The stabbing and spurting is mesmerizing and I’m completely lost on the brutal ballet of it all when I hear cheers from up on our roof.

“What?” I ask then realize we are moving out of the Z sea and into open road. “Oh. Holy shit.”

“It worked, man.” Buzz laughs. “You crazy, lucky son of a bitch.”

“Don’t let your dad’s ghost hear that kind of language,” I smile.

“I think this time he’d agree with me,” Buzz replies.

Big Daddy Fitzpatrick was a man of God and didn’t broker no foul language. No, sir. But I’d say Buzz is right and he’d allow an exception this time.

“Keep your eyes peeled, people,” Lourdes says. “You know how open space can be.”

We stare out the windshield at the road ahead of us. Far off we can see the makings of another Z herd, but for now it’s only abandoned cars by the curbs and an undead straggler here and there.

“Jace?” Stella asks. “I think we have a problem.”

“Of course we do,” I sigh. “Can you describe the problem.”

“Hold on,” she says and I wait patiently. If the woman you love, and has survived by your side during the zombie apocalypse says to hold on, then you hold on. “Yeah, we’re in trouble. See?”

She points out her window and I turn my head enough to see what she means.

The side roads are barricaded. That explains why the Zs aren’t swarming in at us. Stella picks up the radio.

“Do you guys what I see?” she asks.

“The barricades?” Stuart replies. “Yeah. We see it.”

“Same here,” Lourdes says. “We’re being funneled.”

“Antoinette?” I call. “Is she still up top?”

“Right here, Long Pork,” she replies from right behind me. I jump a little and nearly scream. Not because I’m startled, but because the jump turns my head into an excruciating pain party of ouch. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I mutter, waiting for the nausea the pain brings on to pass. I take a couple deep breaths and things get better. “There. No puking.”

“I know what you’re going to ask,” Stella says, her hand on my shoulder. “Rest.”

“Yeah,” I frown. “Thanks.”

“You and your sisters already scouted a lot of this road,” Stella says. “Didn’t you notice the barricades?”

“Yep,” Antoinette says. “All the side roads are blocked from here all the way up through the city.”

“All of them?” I ask.

“Jace, let me handle this,” Stella gently scolds. “All of them? And you didn’t think to mention it to us?”

“Of course I did,” Antoinette replies. “But if I did, you’d think this route was a trap and you’d waste time trying to figure out another route. We don’t have that kind of time.”

“But it is a trap,” Stella says. “We drove right into a trap. We are closed in on all sides now.”

“We weren’t going to take the side streets anyway,” Antoinette argues. “This is a good thing. It keeps danger ahead of us or behind us. We won’t get sideswiped.”

“I don’t think you are getting what I am saying,” Stella says, her voice rising. “Someone put up those barricades. Someone wants people to only go one direction. We are being directed towards something. And we don’t know what that something is.”

“No, you don’t understand wha
t
I’
m
getting at,” Antoinette counters, her voice sharp and harsh. “We know it is a trap. We know we are being directed in one direction. We know all of this and it doesn’t matter. Why should it? Uh-oh, danger is ahead! Bad people trying to kill us! So fucking what, Stella? That’s life in the apocalypse. People are always trying to kill us and they always will. At least we know where we stand and we can be ready for it. Let the motherfuckers try. They have no idea who they are fucking with.”

Stella starts to argue some more, but I hold up my hand and stop her.

“She’s right,” I say. “They don’t know who they are fucking with. We have trained soldiers. Special Forces motherfuckers. People who have survived years of this fucking apocalypse. Cannies that know how to kill and flay a person in seconds. Not to mention a band of badass super sisters with skills that make us all look like we’re playing paintball or having some LARP fun.”

“LARP fun? What’s that?” Buzz asks.

“Live action role-playing,” I say. “It’s when people dress-up in costume and act out—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Buzz says. “You lost me at dress-up in costume.”

Stella is red in the face, but I can see in her eyes that she realizes Antoinette is right.

“Next time you have important information like this, you fucking tell us,” Stella says. “You do not get to be rogues. Not anymore.”