Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (16 page)

(Spoiler alert: my situation is Grade A fuck-a-rooni.)

Hey, what’s that?

I stop for a second and hold my torch out ahead of me. Hmmm, could that be more Zs? Why, yes, it is more Zs! Lucky fucking me!

Zs in front of me, Zs behind of me, and I’m stuck in the middle with no idea where I should go. I turn and face the ebony expanse of unknown that is the great vastness of the pit. I can’t go back, I can’t go forward, so I guess I’ll just have to go deep (that’s what she said).

One step. Two steps. Three, four, five, and I’m off, heading straight into the middle of the pit. No clue how far across it is, or if there will be anything except for Zs, and possibly old bones. I’m sure there have got to be old bones everywhere. I doubt they send a janitor down to clean up after the less fortunate folks that don’t make it out. Or maybe they do. I wouldn’t put anything past Reptile Jesus and his culty goodness. That guy will surprise ya.

Even at my limping speed, I get ahead of the Zs hankering for my tasty yum yums. After a few near falls, I figure out a weird balance between looking where I’m walking, and staring straight ahead into the nothing. I have to watch out for the stray rocks, chunks of coal, and random holes in the ground, but I also can’t just look at my feet because every once in a while I come across the stray Z. Not sure why, but the farther I go into the center of the pit (I assume I’m going towards the center) the fewer Zs I find.

Maybe the Zs have learned to stay close to the stairs because that’s where the food is. Or maybe most of them do that wandering herd thing that Zs like to do, and end up bunching up by the wall because they can’t go any farther. That would explain why some were so close, and I ran into others while moving parallel with the wall.

None of it explains why they are moving so slowly. Sure, up on the surface they are getting faster, but down here in the dark they are slowing down. I mean, it’s not like light is the factor, right? That would be like the Zs have started to gain energy from the sun or something. Wouldn’t that be the shit? Kryptonian zombies, strengthened by our yellow sun! Oh, joy!

Nah, couldn’t be.

Kramer hinted that maybe the Consortium had been fucking with whatever the cause was that started all this. That’s probably why the Zs up top are getting faster. Better living through chemicals!

I stop as my words echo through the pit. Fuck, I have got to be more quiet.

A couple Zs shamble towards me, and I move to the side while trying to watch my footing and look out for more Zs. I don’t quite juggle the task correctly, and my foot hits a small hole, sending me slamming into the ground. My trusty forehead hits the dirt, because that’s what my forehead likes to do, and the cut that had finally stopped bleeding starts up again.

Of course, the Zs smell the blood, and they groan and hiss, their rotten mouths opening wide, ready to get their snack on. The torch is still lit, since I saved that instead of saving my forehead, and I swing it at them as I try to scramble back to my feet. They both lunge at me, and I swing again, catching one of them across the legs where an old, ancient skirt still clings to the thing’s desiccated skin. That skirt lights up like an ad
-
man after a six-martini lunch, and in a flash (literally) there’s a lot more light as the Jack O’ Z starts stumbling about this way and that. It bumps into the other Z, and the threadbare shirt that one still wears goes up as well.

This does not mean that I am out of the woods. Far from it. The flaming Zs get used to their new heated existence, and remember that lunch is right ahead. They each turn, their skin melting and dripping, and open their mouths wide for one hell of a hissing duet. I’m still not on my feet since the one arm thing really can be a handicap, no matter what the after school specials tell you.

I’m doing this scramble/butt scoot away from the flaming Zs (dibs on
that
band name!) when my back hits something a lot more solid than putrid flesh. I turn and look behind me, and am close to crying when I see the nice sized boulder.

“Yes!” I shout, and do a fist pump. Well, a torch pump since I sure as shit am not letting go of Mr. Torchy. The Zs moan loudly in return. “Fuck you guys!”

Now, here’s the tricky part: how does one climb a boulder with one hand while holding a torch? And here I thought life in the pit was going to be easy.

I do have one option, and it is not an appetizing one, but one option is better than no options.

Taking a deep breath, and saying a silent prayer (I think), I open my jaw wide and grip the torch in my mouth. This wouldn’t be so bad if the torch was made of wood or metal. But I have fashioned this particular beauty from a femur. An honest to goodness femur. Hurray.

It tastes about what you would expect a scorched Z’s femur to taste like. Yes, it tastes just like an Arby’s roast beef sandwich. It could use some of that Horsey sauce.

Femur torch in hand, gorge building at the back of my throat, I reach up and get a good hand hold, set my foot in an easy nook, and then heft myself up onto the boulder. Well, it takes a couple of hefts to get up top, but I make it just as the flaming Zs reach where I had been standing. Their hot and gooey hands claw at the rock, their mouths snapping and spitting.

“Kiss my non-flaming ass,” I yell down at them. “I’m on a boulder and you’re not! Neener neener!”

That’s when I hear the hiss behind me.

The Z tumbles on top of me just as I spin about. I get the torch between us, jamming it up under the thing’s chin to keep its very nasty looking teeth from trimming my eyebrows. The blood that still leaks from my forehead sends the monster into a frenzy, and I have to use every ounce of my strength to keep it from taking me out. Carefully, I scoot myself to the side, then shove up and to the right as hard as I can. It doesn’t take too much strength since the Z is pretty emaciated.

The Z goes falling off the boulder, taking my torch with it as the thing’s mouth makes one more play for my face. I stare in horror as my only light source falls about seven feet to the pit floor, then goes out as the Z rolls over on it and snuffs out its precious, precious flames. Sure, the two flaming Zs are still trying to get at me, but they aren’t up on the boulder with me. If I move just a few feet away from the edge then I’m plunged back into semi-darkness.

After the surprise Z attack, semi-darkness is not very comforting. But, I guess it’s better than total darkness. I should feel blessed. I do not.

Carefully, I feel my way across the boulder. I’m really hoping there aren’t any more Zs up here. I doubt there are. I have a feeling that last one was someone that started off living, escaped onto the boulder, then got stuck up here and pretty much starved to death. That would explain why it was so easy for me to lift and toss. Too bad more Zs aren’t as Karen Carpenter.

Okay, that was awful, even for me. I take that joke back. No need to rack up bad karma while fumbling about on a boulder in the middle of an ancient pit deep inside an old coal mine. I need positive universe points, not negative ones.

I reach the other side of the boulder and try to see what’s down below me, but the illumination from the flaming Zs doesn’t reach, and all I see is a whole lotta nada. I work my way back to the middle of the boulder and rest for a minute. It feels good to just lie here and look up into the emptiness above. I assume it’s empty. Shit, there could be a whole nest of vampires hanging upside down watching me, for all I know. Not that vampires exist. That would be crazy talk. Zombies, sure, but vampires? Puh-lease.

Note to self: do not think of mythical monsters while trapped in the dark. That’s just dumb. Stop being dumb.

I wriggle about on the boulder which, by the way, is not some smooth boulder you find at the top of a peaceful mountain. This is a coal miner’s boulder, motherfuckers! It has ridges and grooves and really, really uncomfortable pieces that feel the need to jam themselves up my ass. So the wriggling takes a while before I can get even close to a semblance of comfort.

I lie there, listening to the moans and scraping from the flaming Zs, whose flames are slowly, slowly, slowly dying. And then gone.

I now understand what complete darkness is.

I didn’t get it even when Oscar was first leading me down here, because there was always the hint of some type of light. Now? No hint. There is a distinct lack of hinting.

My eyes are wide open, yet I can’t see anything. I place my hand right up to my nose, and it’s as if it isn’t even there. I wave it around, but all that does is shift my body so I have to spend the next few minutes chasing down a comfortable position again. I do, and it probably isn’t long after that I fall asleep, even with the formerly flaming Zs’ (such a great band name) moans echoing up to me.

***

There are no dreams, no nightmares, no thoughts whatsoever while I sleep. The only way I actually know that I sleep is that something wakes me up. I feel a light touch which, in the zombie apocalypse, is plenty of touch to bring me out of a sleep. I have the presence of mind not to panic and try to scramble away, since I know I’m up on a boulder in the pitch blackness, and any move could send me tumbling down to the Zs.

The Zs? Did they make it up to the top?

I listen, but don’t hear the telltale hissing, or moaning, or shuffling.

What I do hear is a soft snuffling sound. Like a dog sniffing its food dish. There is no doubt that whatever touched me is also sniffing me. Jesus, are there animals down here in this mine? Did some possum work its way into the pit and is living off the scraps of those that don’t make it? Great.

The snuffling gets louder until it is right next to my ear. I can feel something next to me, but the feeling I’m getting is that it’s much larger than a possum. I can also feel warmth coming off it from its breath and body heat. And the distinct smell of ... BO?

So, it’s a large possum with warm breath and body odor. That totally makes sense.

Then it licks me.

“Motherfucker!” I scream, and start swatting blindly in the dark.

“Ow! Hey! Stop!” a voice shouts.

A voice I recognize.

“Rafe?” I ask. “Is that you?”

“Short Pork? Holy shit, man! How’d you get down here?” Rafe replies, only inches from me.

“Fuck how I got down here. Did you sniff and then lick me?” I ask.

Rafe doesn’t answer for a while then quietly says, “Maybe.”

“You fucking asshole! You were totally going to try to eat me! You can take the canny out of Cannibal Road, but you can’t take Cannibal Road out of the canny! You fucking piece of shit!”

“I wasn’t going to eat you, honest,” Rafe pleads. “I was just checking to make sure you were living. You know, like as in not a Z. I can’t see shit, so I sniffed you. You smell like Z, by the way. Then I licked you, just to see if you tasted like a Z. Also, to see if you were warm.”

“You could have just patted me down,” I reply. “That’s how you find out if a person is warm or not.”

“Yeah, but I can’t see you, and I was afraid I’d get my fingers bitten if I stuck out my hands,” Rafe says.

“So you stick your tongue out instead? Because Zs don’t eat tongue? There is a serious flaw in your logic, fucker.”

“I don’t have to explain myself,” Rafe huffs. “You should just be glad I found you.”

“Really? Why’s that?” I ask. “You have some magic plan to get us out of here?”

“Well ... no,” he admits. “But there’s safety in numbers.”

“Not if one of those numbers tries to eat the other one!” I yell. There is a distinct possibility all my yelling is bringing more Zs, but fuck if I care. The dude licked my fucking face!

“I wasn’t going to eat you!” Rafe yells back. “It was a joke! God, you are such an asshole!”

“Better to be an asshole than a canny, any day,” I say. “Fucking cannies. Why I agreed to let you people come with us on this convoy, I don’t know.”

“What the fuck do you mean
‘
you peopl
e
’?” Rafe snaps. “You know, not everyone got to live in their fancy little subdivision after Z-Day. Some of us had to fight for every second of every day until we found someplace that was just a little bit safer than being out on the open road!”

“Whatever, dude,” I snap. “You have no idea what life was like for me and my family after Z-Day. Life was not all block parties and barbecues. We lost a lot of people trying to defend our neighborhood from the Zs. Not to mention the bums that would come by and try to take what we’d built.”

“Bums? What the hell are you talking about?” Rafe asks.

“Never mind,” I say, realizing that I’d rather not think of the bums. Brenda Kelly went a little overboard when it came to keeping people out. There were more than a few needless deaths at her orders.

“What are bums?” Rafe pushes. “Homeless? People that didn’t have any place else to go, so they looked to you for sanctuary? I’ve heard a few stories from some of the others. I know that Stuart used to be the triggerman and kill anyone that didn’t just walk away from your precious subdivision. Fuck you, Short Pork. Say what you want about cannies, but at least we killed to survive. You just killed to hang on to your lawns and shit.”

“Dude, there are no lawns in the apocalypse,” I say, but without any real conviction.