Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (21 page)

“They’ll know,” Elsbeth says. “It may be a while, but eventually they’ll know. It just takes one.”

“She’s right,” Stuart says. “Once one gets curious enough to try to make it up the porch steps, then plenty more will follow.”

“Plenty more,” Elsbeth nods. “It’s what they do.”

“Yep, it’s what they do,” I say. “Thanks for the cheery reminder, El.”

“No problem,” she smiles. “I like to help.”

Critter cackles at that, and half the cannies hiss at him to shut up. He doesn’t take kindly to their hissing suggestions, so he starts bitching at them. In seconds the room erupts into a bicker fest. Awesome.

“Shut the fuck up now,” Stuart growls. “Or I toss all of you out into the Million Z March!”

“That’s a good one, Stuart,” I smile. “That’s a Jace worthy joke.”

“Jace? You shut the fuck up too,” Stuart snaps. “This is fucking serious. Not only do we have to deal with the Zs out there, but we have to figure out where we’re going to go when we do see a break in the herd. We can’t just run and wander. We need a direction, a goal. I’ll be willing to bet there’s another farmhouse somewhere, but where? These pieces of land can be hundreds of acres. We may have to hike for miles before we find another place to hunker down.”

“We’ll go to the bus,” Elsbeth says. “I left it about three miles up the road behind a stand of trees. I covered it with brush so no one would see it. I bet it’s just a pile of snow now. I can find it, though.”

Raise your hand if you think all eyes turn to Elsbeth and stare at her with a healthy dose of “What the fuck?”

I hope all hands are raised.

“I got this,” I say before Stuart explodes. “Uh, El? Are you telling us you’ve known about this bus the whole time, and are now just telling us because ... why?”

“I was going to tell you in the morning,” Elsbeth says.

“Yes, that may be true,” I say. “And I’m sure in Elsbeth logic that makes some kind of sense, but can you say specifically why you didn’t just tell us right away?”

“Because you were all mad at me over the bodies,” Elsbeth says. “The cannies don’t trust me, Little Canny thinks I’m crazy, Stuart is always mad, and Critter is an old dick. Then you started in on me.”

“Me? What did I do?” I ask.

“You doubted me,” she says.

Ouch. That stings.

“You shouldn’t doubt me, Long Pork,” Elsbeth continues. “Family doesn’t doubt.”

“Well, that ain’t true,” Critter says. “My whole family doubted me my whole life. But I think you are confusing trust and doubt, little lady. My brother trusted me with his entire soul, but he still doubted every decision I made. You gotta learn to lighten up, and just take the lumps. That’s what real family is about.”

“I don’t like lumps,” Elsbeth says.

“Tough shit,” Critter snaps. “Lumps is life, life is lumps. Get over it, and grow up.”

“Can we get back to the bus?” Stuart says. “We don’t need to do this family therapy session every time Elsbeth gets her panties in a wad.”

“I ain’t wearing panties,” Elsbeth says.

There is a collective groan.

“What? They ride up my craw craw,” Elsbeth says. “Hard to kill Zs and save Long Pork with panties in your craw craw.”

“Okay, enough about your craw craw,” I say. “I’m going to brain bleach that image right outta my noggin. El? The bus?”

“It’s three miles away, due west,” Elsbeth says.

“West?” I say. “That means you backtracked at some point.”

“Backtracked? I been circling everyone the whole time,” Elsbeth says. “Easy to do since that compound don’t move none. I had plenty of time to map this whole place. I bet I could walk these farms blindfolded.”

Considering that she got us through the pit in the pure darkness, I do not doubt her.

Watching Stuart’s expressions as he tries to find words that aren’t all shouty and pissed is pretty fun. I know he knows that getting angry at Elsbeth is like getting angry at a grizzly bear; it’ll hurt you more than it’ll hurt the bear. After a few seconds of some serious facial calisthenics, Stuart lets out a long, slow breath.

“Elsbeth?” he asks.

“Yes, Stuart?” she replies.

“Would you care to tell me what your whole plan was?” he says through gritted teeth. “Since it sounds like you had a plan, and just neglected to tell us.”

“You didn’t ask until now,” Elsbeth states.

“Were you waiting for us to ask?” Stuart grumbles.

“No,” Elsbeth says. “I was waiting for you to be nice. None of you have been nice. Except Long Pork. He’s been nice. He was bugging me, but he was nice about it. Sorta.”

“Panties in a wad,” Critter mutters.

“I ain’t got panties on,” Elsbeth huffs. “I said that.”

“Stop,” I say, and hold up my hand. “Everyone just chill their bones a bit. We are all exhausted, and probably a bit traumatized. Emotions are high, nerves are frayed, bodies are run down. No one is thinking straight, and we’re just going around in circles.”

I look from person to person, but see only blank stares.

“Was that out loud?” I ask. “It was supposed to be.”

“Yeah,” Critter says. “We’s just waitin’ for you to continue. Everybody knows you gots more to say than just that.”

“True, Crit,” I nod. “I do. The gist of it is, we are all pretty freaked out by the bloody words and the skinned corpses. El has told me it’s a message to her, but she won’t say from whom and why. Right now, that doesn’t matter. We drop it and focus on getting the fuck out of here without getting eaten or freezing in the storm. After that, we can deal with the other stuff. Everyone agreed?”

“Nope,” Elsbeth says. “We don’t deal with the other stuffs
.I
deal with the other stuffs. It’s my stuffs
.
Min
e
. After we get to the bus, what we’re gonna do is drive to the RVs and get Lourdes. She has the guns. Then we go to the compound, and save Greta. Maybe save some others if they haven’t had their brains washed too long. Then keep going on down the road. That’s my plan. It’s a good plan. None of you have a better plan. I know that.”

Stuart might be having a stroke. Or an epileptic fit. Or an epileptic stroke. Or it’s bad gas. Or…

“I’m fucking pissed is what it is,” Stuart snarls. “Because Elsbeth has not only held back info on a bus, but also knows where the rest of the convoy is!”

“Hey, what happened to holding up a finger when I talk out loud?” I whine.

Elsbeth points a finger at Stuart. “Should have been nicer and not treated me like a crazy. That’s the lesson.”

“There is no lesson!” Stuart shouts.

“Hey, guys,” Rafe says.

“Not now!” Stuart snaps, then stalks over and gets right in Elsbeth’s face. Bold fucking move. “El, I have been accepting of you since day one. I have fought by your side since day one. We have bled together. We have also rescued Jace’s ass together more times than I can count.”

“Six, I think,” I say.

“Guys,” Rafe says.

“Shut up, kid!” Stuart yells. “El, you are acting like a toddler. I would have expected this behavior from old Elsbeth, the one that still talked about Pa, and acted like she was a lost canny girl. But we all know that’s not you. You’re Carly Thornberg, and have skills and conditioning that most soldiers dream of. I know I do. So, cut the pouty little baby act, and suck it up. You may not want to wear panties, but it’s time to put your big girl ones on, and join the team 100%! Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” Elsbeth says. “You’re right.”

“Guys, I really think—” Rafe tries to say.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” Stuart says, blinking at Elsbeth. “Did you just say I was right?”

“Yes,” Elsbeth nods. “I’ll put big girl panties on, and be part of the team. Just so you know, it may mean everyone dies horrible deaths because that’s what’s coming. Okey doke?”

“Yeah, I’m not alright with the horrible deaths part,” I say. “Maybe we should let Elsbeth keep her panties off? If her going commando means we all live, then who are we to judge?”

“It’s a metaphor,” Elsbeth says. “Jeez, Long Pork, you can be dumb sometimes.”

“What? I know it’s a metaphor. I am well aware of when metaphors are being used. I am the metaphor master around—.”

“Guys!” Rafe yells. “We have visitors downstairs, and I don’t think they’re here to tell us the good news!”

Everyone moves to the windows. That’s a lot of movement. Even with the storm raging, we get more than a few Zs’ attention. Undead heads creak on frozen necks, and chilly chins turn up to us. Not that it matters, we all see the horde of Zs that’s broken off and is busy trying to climb the icy steps of the porch below.

“Poopy,” I say. “Looks like it’s big girl panties times all around now.”

“Blankets, coats, weapons,” Stuart orders. “Downstairs now. We go out the back, we go fast, and we don’t look back. Any objections then?”

Everyone holds up a hand; there might be a few objections.

“Tough shit,” Stuart says. “Let’s move, people!”

***

So, apparently the cannies already scrounged the house for weapons. Good on them. Of course, the elephant in the room is whether or not they were going to tell us. I mean, they weren’t thinking of keeping the weapons, waiting until Stuart, Critter, and I were asleep, and then butchering us were they? That would have really put a damper on survivor/canny relations.

I prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt, and think they were just being good, prepared canny scouts. Is that a thing? In this world? Yeah, I have a sinking feeling somewhere in the US there are canny scouts. I bet out West. What? You thought there’d be Canny Scouts in the South? Fuck you. Nope, I call the West. Probably Utah.

Since we’re talking about it, I have to wonder what merit badges Canny Scouts would get? Skinning a victim? Proper preparation of the liver (with or without fava beans)? How you use human hide to make lampshades? To make fanny packs? To make Moleskin notebook covers? There would have to be an entire separate category for use of human hides. The possibilities are endless.

Everyone around me holds up a finger.

“Out loud?” I ask as we stand by the back door of the farmhouse, all crammed into the small kitchen. With the wood stove still going, it’s downright toasty in this place. “Sorry.”

“The second we hit the yard, we don’t stop,” Stuart says.

“You’ve already told us that,” Rafe says, then shuts up fast as Stuart holds up the hatchets he has in each hand.

Weapons roll call!

Elsbeth, of course, has her blades. I think the things are like Thor’s Mjolnir, they always come back to her. I mean, I assume those are the same blades. Fuck if I know anymore.

Stuart has those hatchets, and Critter has a nice, solid looking axe handle. Rafe is holding two aluminum baseball bats, while the cannies have various gardening tools, from hoes to shovels. One has a metal rake. I don’t think that’s practical, which I voice, but the guy won’t listen to me.

Speaking of me, which is my favorite subject, I have a trusty, rusty crowbar. It’s a sweet deal. One of the round, solid ones. Full size, too! Not one of those half bars, but a big one with the curved hook part. I love it so much. I can smash Z heads, and then jimmy open a safe later. I’m the shit.

As for clothing, we have as many layers on as we could find that would fit. Some of us look like the little brother from A Christmas Story, but it’s worth it. Shit’s gonna get cold. I have two blankets wrapped around me and tied off with rope. Didn’t seem fair to waste long sleeved shirts on me when I only need one sleeve. You know what I mean?

“No stopping,” Stuart says. “Elsbeth is going to lead. Follow her. Keep up. If you get separated then head due west. That’s where the bus is.”

“Behind trees,” Elsbeth nods. “You’ll find it.”

“What kind of trees? Coniferous or deciduous?” I ask. Everyone glares. “What? It’s good to know. I don’t want to be hunting for a stand of cedars if it’s behind some oaks.”

“Trees,” Elsbeth says. “Without their leaves.”

“Deciduous,” I smile. “Confers don’t have leaves, they have needles, and you’d still see those because they don’t drop off in the winter.”

“Jace, shut the fuck up,” Stuart sighs.

“Gotcha,” I nod. “Let’s do this.”

Stuart shakes his head, tucks a hatchet under one arm, and yanks open the back door. His hatchet is instantly back in his hand as he bounds down the back steps and out into the dawning morning light. The storm is still pretty bad, so it could be ten in the morning and not actually dawn, but the clouds are so thick it doesn’t matter.

Snow and wind whip against us, becoming like a first attack well before we reach the front row of Zs. I grip my crowbar, and hope I have nice, solid hits. This thing is made of heavy metal, and is going to hurt like fuck if I ding it. I don’t think Rafe thought of that when he picked the aluminum bats. Those are the worst when it comes to arm vibrating dings.

Elsbeth and Stuart take point and rip into the herd of Zs, cutting a swath through the rotten parade. The snow darkens, and soaks up the black blood and liquids instantly. The other Zs close ranks and try to surround them, but I come at them with Critter and Rafe, and we keep Elsbeth’s and Stuart’s backs clear. I can hear the cannies behind us grunting and fighting, doing the same for us.