Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell (22 page)

Here is one bummer of the zombie apocalypse after almost an entire generation has been at war
halfway across the planet against enemies that use improvised explosive devices: reconstructed skulls. You come across it every once in a while out in the field. Go to crush a Z’s skull and your weapon just bounces off. Sometimes the metal is easier to get through than the plastic; that shit is seriously high impact resistant. And a crow bar counts as high impact.

So here I am, slamming a tire iron against a Z that doesn’t give a fuck. I reach down with my bandaged hand and shove the Z’s head away, stabbing it though the eye with the tire iron. The fucking thing finally dies, but the iron slips from my grasp and goes out the
door with the Z.

“Fuck!” I scream as more Zs start to wedge inside.

Only one thing to do…

I smash my bandaged hand against the sensor over and over and over until I hear loud cracks from both
hand and plastic. My hand is fuckered as I see bone shards sticking out from the gauze. At least the sensor is busted and the doors start to close finally.

But not before a Z grabs my fuckered hand and takes a hard chomp. I scream as the bones grind against each other and against the teeth of the Z. It may be wrapped in gauze, but I did so much damage to it that the Z’s teeth get through, piercing my flesh, tearing into my hand.

“No!” I yell, as I yank my hand back. The tearing sound of my flesh almost makes me vomit. With every ounce of my strength, I kick and kick and kick at the Zs, sending them tumbling from the back of the SUV. The doors are almost closed, but jam as a Z gets its head stuck. I rip the fucker from its neck and the doors close. The Z looks at me, jaw snapping my face. I grip it by the back of the head and smash it into the floor over and over until its brains explode everywhere.

Then I look at my hand. And over my shoulder at everyone in the car.

Their face tells me all I need to know. I’m fucked.

Maybe…

“Where’s that knife?” I say, looking around the cargo area for the blade I used to sever Mondello’s wrist. “Where the fuck is it?”

There. In the corner
, in a pool of blood and ick. I pick it up, take a last look at everyone else, then cut.

“JACE!”
Stella screams as they watch me slide the blade into the soft flesh of the inside of my elbow.

The pain. Holy fuck. Holy, holy fuck. My mind detaches from my body and it’s like I’m watching a TV show. I know I’m cutting through my own flesh and muscle and tendons and shit, and
God does it hurt like nothing else I have ever felt before, but at the same time, I’m able to think through every single turn of the blade. I have a pretty decent knowledge of anatomy and I know just where to slice, cutting up then down and around until my forearm is hanging by threads of sinew. A quick flick and it falls to the floor of the SUV.

Then everyone in the SUV springs into action.

Charlie is pulled up front with Stella and Greta, as John, Stuart, and Elsbeth crawl back to me. Elsbeth hands Stuart a belt and he tightens it around my upper arm while John is busy jamming his torn shirt against the stump that is spurting blood. Fuck if I know where Critter is.

“Greta!” John shouts. “
Look under your seat! There should be a breakdown kit!”

“This?” Greta ask
s as she holds up a large metal box.

“That!” John nods.

Woo, is the SUV spinning or is it just me?

“Pull out the flares that are inside and toss them to me!” John says, looking directly into my eyes. “Jace? Buddy? You hear me?”

“Yep,” I nod. “I hear you loud and clear. Clear as a bell. Loud as a whistle.”

Stuart slaps me.

“No going into shock!” he shouts in my face. “You fucking hold on!”

“Shock bad,” I say. “Fucking holding on good.”

I look hard at John and he is very serious.

“Why so serious?” I laugh. That’s funny shit right there. Comedy gold, bitches!

“This is not going to be fun for either of us,” John says as he holds up one flare so I can see it. “Do you know what I’m about to do?”

“Cook some Jace meat?” I say, reality taking hold a little. Ah, shit…

“Yep,” he nods as he pulls the cap and strikes it against the end of the flare. The whole SUV is bathed in a red glow. Like blood. Glowing blood.

In all honesty, I don’t think there is a way to describe what I feel. Cutting off my own arm was excruciating. Having a flare jammed into the open wound? Excruciating times eleven. Off the mother fucking scale!

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

The smell of my flesh burning makes me gag and I turn my head and puke while Stuart and Elsbeth hold my arm still. I kick out against the sides of the cargo hold, my throat raw from screaming. But I can’t stop. I have to keep screaming. If I
stop, I know I’ll die.

The flare fades and John doesn’t hesitate as he strikes the next flare and goes back at it.

“THROW ANOTHER SHRIMP ON THE BARBY!” I scream. I don’t know why. It seems appropriate. Shut up.

The pain builds, which I didn’t think was possible. It builds and builds and builds and then is gone. Well, that’s the mother fucking whopper of all lies, it isn’t just gone. But the searing pain that was stabbing through my brain, spine, ass, dick, stops. Now I’m left with a sharp, throbbing pain. And the smell of my own
burning flesh stuck in my nose.

“Charlie?” I gasp. “Is he ok?”

“He is,” John says, wrapping my stump with bandages from the emergency kit Greta found. Gotta remember to thank her for finding that. Saved my shit.

Maybe…

“Will it work?” Stella asks quietly from the front, her eyes finding mine. “Will it keep him from turning?”

“Jace?” Stuart asks. “How do you feel?”

“Really, dude?” I ask. “That’s your fucking question?”

“You know what h
e means, Jace!” Stella shouts. “Tell him how you feel!”

“Right,” I say. “
Sorry.”

We’ve all watched friends and family turn. Sometimes it’s fast, sometimes it’s slow. When they
die, they come back in just minutes. Bam, they’re a Z! But when bitten? It’s variable. Some take days, coming down with what seems like just the flu or a bad cold. Then they die and get all bitey. Others have turned in minutes, whatever it is rushing through their systems, killing them and turning them faster than anyone can track.

Regardless of how they turn, every single person has said they feel like their head is swimming, like their mind is being squeezed and then covered in gauze. They say they can’t think straight; they can’t reason. And all they start to feel is a gnawing hunger
in their belly.

I do feel a bit pe
ckish, but that’s probably because I haven’t eaten in who knows how fucking long. And I need to pee. Like really bad. I look down. Oh, wait, I think I just took care of that.

“I feel shitty,” I say honestly. “But I feel like me.”

They all watch me as John finishes dressing my stump. Looks like I’m gonna need to swing by Wal-Mart and check out their selection of hooks and prosthetic arms. They do carry prosthetic arms, right? Sure, they’ll be cheap, and made by the hands of Vietnamese five year olds, but I don’t want to start expensive and find out I’m more of a just let it hang free guy. Try one on, and then invest wisely in an upgrade later.

“Jace!” Slap. “Jace!”

“Don’t hit me,” I say, swatting at Stuart as he gets ready to smack me again. “I’m sensitive right now.” I yawn and lean back, out of his reach. “Just going to take a nap. Wake me when we get to Wal-Mart.”

“What the fuck?” Greta
says.

“
He’s going into shock,” John says. “We have to keep him awake.”

He starts to climb over the seat, but Elsbeth grabs him and pushes him down.

“I’ll do it,” Elsbeth says. Or I think she does. Is this a dream? What the fuck is that smell?

“Just keep him conscious,” John says.
“Whatever you have to do, make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.”

“But Jacey is tired,” I moan. “Jacey needs sleepy sleep.”

“Jacey is not getting sleepy sleep,” Stuart says then sighs. “God, he’s got me talking like him.”

“Da
d, you can’t fall asleep,” Greta says from the front.

“Hey,
sweetie!” I say, waving to her. “You got the front of the rollercoaster. Cool. Be sure to hold your hands up on the first drop. That’s the best.”

“Is he going to live?” Greta asks, turning to her mother. “Even if he doesn’t, you know, turn?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Stella says. “Maybe.”

“He sure knows how to make a fucking mess of himself,” Stuart says. “But he also knows how to survive. Don’t worry about your dad, he’ll make it.”

“Yep,” I smile. “Right after I take a nap.”

My eyes close then shoot right back fucking open
, OH MY GOD!

Elsbeth’s face is right in mine and she’s smiling. Her hand is on my stump and her thumb is right on the end, pressing.

“Long Pork doesn’t nap,” she says. “Right?”

“Yeah…right…no nap,” I pant. She smiles wider. “Fuck, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“After this we will be even,” she states. No need to comment on that. I’ll just let it stand as it is.

She settles in next to me, our backs against the gore
/puke/piss covered rear doors of the SUV, and looks at everyone else. “How are we getting out?”

Each person looks from one to the other.

“That’s a good question,” Stuart says. “Thoughts?”

“What the…fuck…am I doing…down here?” Critter moans from the middle row of seats

“Shit,” John says. “I totally forgot about him when it all went crazy.”

“Yes, because it’s nothing but sanity and order now,” I say, pointing at the Zs still trying to get in at us. “Hey, Critter, how’s it going?”

Critter peaks his head over the seat, his skin white and clammy looking. “I ain’t feelin’ too good,” he says. He looks down at himself. “Bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

John and Stuart look at each other, look at me,
and then up at Greta.

“Hey, Greta…?” John asks.  “Any more flares in there?”

“No, but there’s another small medical kit with some needle and thread,” she replies. “Maybe we can sew him closed instead of stinking up the car again?”

“Flares?” Critter asks. “What the fuck y’all talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Hey there,” I say, waving my stump at him. His eyes go wide as I gasp at the pain I cause myself. “Ow. Gotta remember there’s no waving until at least twenty minutes after severing one’s arm from one’s body.”

“You still have part of your arm,” Els
beth says, patting my shoulder.

“Thanks, El,” I nod. “That’s the bright side I was looking for.”

“Speaking of bright sides,” Stella says, pointing up at the dome light that is starting to dim. “I think we’re about to run the battery down.”

“Darkness it is then,” Stuart says. “Let’s try to get some sleep, except for Jace, and we’ll figure out a plan when it’s daytime.
The tunnel will still be dark, but not like now. Light will reflect in here and we’ll be able to see what we’re up against.”

“We stay quiet and maybe a few Zs will wander off,” John says.

None of us really believes that.

“Sounds good,” I say. Well, moan really. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“And I’ll watch you,” Elsbeth says. “Make sure Jace doesn’t sleepy sleep.”

“Yes, looking forward to that,” I say, turning myself so my stump is further away from her. She just smiles at me. Yikes.

“Okay, so lights out,” Stella says. “Rest then plan.”

“Rest then plan,” Stuart agrees.

“Uh, you guys want to hold on?” John says as he climbs into the seat with Critter. “I’m gonna need that light.”

He tears off Critter’s shirt and presses it to his wound then takes the kit Greta hands him. I’ll give Critter credit, he doesn’t make a fucking sound as John stitches him up. And just in time since the dome light is going, going, gone.

“That’ll do for now,” John says. “But we need to get him back so Dr. McCormick or Reaper can do a real job.”

“Damn hack,” I snort. “You and your life saving field surgery. Fucking whatever.”

“Jace, baby?” Stella says.

“Yes, light of my life?”

“Hush.”

“Right.”

We all go quiet as we let the darkness wash around us. The sound of the Zs, while always disturbing, is oddly hypnotic and I find myself fighting with all my strength not to fall asleep. Not to worry, though, Elsbeth is there for the assist. Each time I feel her reach over to poke my stump, I slap her hand away. It’s like a game! An excruciatingly painful game. That never fucking ends.

I can tell from all the sounds of shifting and shuffling that no one is asleep, except maybe Charlie. That lack of oxygen to the brain thing really wears a person out. Fingers crossed he doesn’t have brain damage. And we all know what hand I’m using to cross those fingers.