Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (22 page)

Which makes me wonder who is going to cover their backs? This fucking herd is thick, and we are barely twenty yards in when it looks like it will swallow us whole and never let any of us out. A scream on my right flank tells me that the cannies got the raw deal. Not that I care a ton. Allies? Yes. Cannies that were more than likely cheering at the top of their voices when my family was forced to run Cannibal Road? Very likely. I’m conflicted. Sorta. Not really.

Three Zs come at me from my right, and I take out the first one’s knees with the crowbar, whip it up, and tear open the guts the of the second, get it stuck in the second’s ribs, rip out the second’s ribs, then bash in the third’s skull, spilling brains all down its front. Bam! That’s how you do that!

Oh, shit!

Two more try to take a bite out of my only arm, and I duck and throw my shoulder into them, knocking then down into the thick snow. One whack, two whacks. Their skulls crack, their bodies still.

I whirl around as I hear a snarl right behind me, and almost kill one of the cannies. Damn, that guys sounds just like a Z. I mean, he’s all snarly and foamy at the mouth, and OH, FUCK! HE IS A Z!

Fucking A, that guy turned fast! What the fuck?

I’m able to get my crowbar up and block his mouth from clamping on my face. The bastard is so fresh that his muscles haven’t been slowed by the cold. He’s all ragey and thrashy and mean. I spin him about, but can’t free the crowbar. Motherfucking fresh Z has the lockjaw goin’ on. I try to kick him off, but all I do is get my wound singing. I’d almost learned to block it out, but leave it to me to figure out some way to fuck myself.

Stumbling backwards, I yank and yank on the crowbar, but the piece of shit Z won’t let go. Dead hands grab at my blankets, and I shake them off, but there are only more to replace them. Why won’t this fucker let go?

The guy’s head explodes in a spray of bright red blood and grey brain as Critter slams his axe handle down on the fucker’s skull. The crowbar comes free so fast I go flying back and fall on my ass. I’m nipple deep in snow and just start swinging wildly, taking out Zs at the knees, cracking femurs, ripping open long dead thighs, hooking them in the hamstrings. I hobble those bitches!

“Get yer ass up, Short Pork!” Critter yells as he grabs me by the neck and lifts.

He totally hits a nerve, and I shout as I scramble to my feet. I’d scream at him, but he did just save my life. I’ll scream at him later. That fucking hurt.

I can barely see Elsbeth and Stuart ahead of us as the snow keeps coming down. I’m not from this area, and have been living in Asheville for years, so I haven’t ever witnessed a Midwest blizzard like this. This shit is insane, yo. The flakes are huge, and they punch you in the skin like icy gauntlets. Every smack is a challenge to a duel, but there’s no winning this test of honor. I just have to keep taking the smacks, and force myself to move.

More Zs, an endless sea of them.

My arm is nearly numb from swinging the crowbar and the constant, soul-crushing cold. Every time I lift the crowbar, I think it will be the last time, but then I get a little adrenaline rush from killing a Z, and I find the strength to lift again. This pattern goes on and on as we battle through the herd.

Rafe shoves me to the side and kills two Zs, then spins about, and kills two more behind us. Critter is on his side and crushes three, then lunges back to avoid a claw swipe by an uppity Z. He cracks that one’s skull, then we hear the screams of another canny behind us. I look over my shoulder after shattering a Z’s legs, and see there’s nothing to be done for the screaming canny. That guy is a goner. His throat and chest are ripped into before I can take a step in his direction, even if I wanted to.

I don’t want to. One of the many unspoken rules of the zombie apocalypse is you learn to let a lost cause die. That rule doesn’t apply to me, though. I came into this shit a lost cause, so I’m grandfathered in.

In minutes, it’s only me, Critter, and Rafe, with Elsbeth and Stuart well ahead of us. This is not good. I have a sinking feeling we three have only survived because the cannies were our death buffer. Now that they are Z chow, that leaves us as dessert. I’m suddenly claustrophobic, even though the herd hasn’t gotten any thicker. Man, I can’t breathe. I’m choking! I’m choking!

WHACK!

Hey, I can breathe again! Oh, wait, a Z had grabbed onto my blanket, and it was choking me from behind. Rafe broke his arm off, so the pressure’s gone. Damn, I thought I was having a panic attack. Can’t afford one of those while fighting for my life.

“Less talking!” Rafe yells. “More fighting!”

“The finger rule is still in effect while fighting!” I say. He flips me off. “Fair enough!”

A Z goes for Critter’s shoulder, and I crush its head before it can bite down. Of course, it being me, the crowbar slips and nails Critter in the shoulder, causing him to scream and turn on me, the axe handle raised.

“Z!” I yell, and point at the one at his feet.

“Fuck you!” he yells back and pushes forward.

Rafe and I are right behind him, turning in constant circles to keep from being taken down from behind. It’s dizzying and exhausting, but that kind of describes the whole apocalypse when you think about it. Not that I have time to think about it! More whacking! More cracking! More smacking! More falling!

No, wait, not falling! Falling bad! Shit.

I’m down, and two Zs pile on top of me. More stumble over us, and suddenly the little light there is gets blocked by the Z dog pile that has chosen me to be the bottom. For the record, I’m a top. Wait, I should probably clarify that.

No time to clarify!

I jam the pointy end of the crowbar into a Z’s eye socket, then another and another. I keep doing that, ducking my head to the side this way and that to avoid the ever-gnashing teeth. Always with the gnashing, these Zs! Oy!

I keep jamming and sticking and jabbing and gouging and screaming! There is a lot of screaming! So much with the screaming, I am!

What the hell? When did I turn into Yiddish Yoda?

More jamming and gouging, and then my shoulder can’t lift anymore. The weight of the Z pile is too much, and I collapse, unable to keep my leverage. The fight has left me, and I lie here and wait for it all to end. And wait. And wait.

Why isn’t it ending? Hello? Zs? Gimpy, one-armed dipshit here, ripe for the eating. Hello?

I count to one hundred, because that seems like a plan, and then start shoving Z corpses off me. It takes me a while, but I am finally free. And coated in Z gunk. This is not a bad thing. The herd parts around me since I now smell and pretty much look like them. I even swear some of them are giving me the stink eye, like I’m the slacker Z taking an unsanctioned break from the constant marching.

Oh, please, let me stay quiet.

I sort of work my way sideways out of the herd, stumbling a little this way, then a little that way, in a zigzag line that gets me to a field that adjoins the one we’d started in. The herd is much thinner, and I can turn on the normal human speed. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m so tired that my top speed is pretty much Z speed. Harder to attract attention, at least.

There is a long while of stumbling and limping before I come to a road. I can see the outline of the sun above me, just barely. So that would make that direction east? West? Wait? If the sun is above me then it’s probably noon. That means I have zero idea which direction is which.

Fucking awesome.

So, I close my eyes, spin in a circle, fall on my ass, pick myself up, and point.

“That way,” I mutter. “I’m going that way.”

I must have been under that Z pile for a while, because I don’t even see traces of footprints in the snow. Sure, the shit is coming down hard as ever, but there’s no way footprints can fill up that fast. Can they? Again, my ignorance of Midwest weather is a bummer.

I walk like fifty miles before I hear a sound that isn’t the howling of freezing ass cold wind. Okay, I probably walk maybe ten miles. Five. Two? One mile. I at least stumble along the road for one mile. You gotta give me one, man.

I look around, trying to figure out what the noise is, when I see two dots of light directly behind me. Headlights! Yes! Or no? Shit, I have no idea if those are good headlights or bad headlights. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I stumble to the side of the road and into snow up to my chest as I fall into the drainage ditch. I duck down and wait as the vehicle gets closer and closer.

Then it starts to go by, and I realize I have panicked for the wrong reason. It’s a bus! It’s the bus! And, irony not lost on me, it’s a short bus. Of course it is.

I wave my hand and start yelling for it to stop, but it just rolls on by with Stuart at the wheel. I see Elsbeth’s face, Critter’s, Rafe’s, all pressed to the foggy glass windows, their eyes searching through the storm. But they don’t see me. Why would they? I’m buried in snow, down in a ditch, and the storm is not helping. Again with the fuck, fuck, fuck!

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

Brake lights come on, and the bus skids to a stop.

No way.

The side door opens and Elsbeth jumps out, her blades at the ready. She spins about, her eyes scanning the scene.

“EL!” I scream. “EL! OVER HERE!”

I wave the crowbar over my head, and that catches her attention. She sprints to me, then falls into the same ditch I’m stuck in.

“Hey, Long Pork,” she smiles. “We lost you.”

“And now you’ve found me. Thanks for that,” I say. “Any chance you can help me get out of this shit? My scrotum is frozen to the insides of my thighs. It’s not feeling so great.”

“That is too much information, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says, and uses her vastly superior physical skills to get us both out of the ditch. “I know all about too much information. Telling people about your frozen scrotum is too much information. Don’t say it again.”

“Words to live by,” I smile, then look at the bus. “Short bus, huh?”

Elsbeth shrugs. “Critter thinks it’s perfect for us.”

“So do I, El,” I smile as she helps me to the bus. “So do I.”

Chapter Ten

I don’t think Lourdes is as happy as I am with the hugging.

“You stink, Jace,” she says as she shoves me away.

“Jace!”

“Dad!”

I run from the short bus and into the arms of my wife and son. Now
,
the
y
are all about the hugging!

“Where’s Greta?” Stella asks as she pushes me away and looks towards the bus. “Jace? Where is Greta?”

“We’re going to go back for her,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” she snaps. “Are you fucking joking? I’m fucking terrified! Why isn’t she with you?”

“Too many shotguns,” Elsbeth says as she comes up behind us. “Those guys like shotguns. Lots of shotguns.”

“She ain’t kiddin’ there,” Critter agrees. “Them’s boys do like their shotguns.”

“And their antiquated ideas of gender roles,” I say. “Men get shotguns, women get chores. And total subjugation, apparently.” I see the horror on my wife’s face and wince. “Shit. That probably wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“Jace, you have to go get our daughter!” Stella yells.

“We’re already on it,” Lourdes says as she cinches a pack on her back and slings her M4 over her shoulder. “I have six men ready. If anyone wants to join, I won’t argue.”

“Six? Just six?” Stella barks. “That’s not enough!”

“With my men, that’s plenty,” Lourdes says, and looks at the RVs that are circled together in a rest area parking lot. The snow is still coming down hard, but it looks like she’s made sure the asphalt is cleared and there’s sand and salt spread everywhere. “I can’t risk taking more. Not if we have to deal with another herd.”

“They aren’t stopping,” Stuart says to Stella. “I don’t know why, but the Zs just keep coming. We’ll go get Greta, but the rest of you have to be ready to move.” He nods at the RVs. “Even with the vehicles, you can still get overwhelmed.”

“We won’t be long,” I say. “We put a plan together on the way here. We’ll get in and out before they even know what’s hit them.”

“Well, that ain’t true,” Critter grins. “They’re gonna know exactly what hit them. They just won’t know we’re the reason. I love this plan.”

“Jace? What do you mean we? You’re going too?” Stella asks.

“Yeah, I need to,” I say. “I think I know where Greta is being held, if she isn’t in the Tomb.”

“The Tomb?” Stella cries.

“It’s just a mine,” I say. “But I have to go so we can get to her right away. There isn’t much margin for mistakes with this plan.”

“Yet you always find those mistakes, Dad,” Charlie says. “I better come with.”

“You aren’t going anywhere!” Stella snaps, and jams a finger into Charlie’s chest. He winces and backs away quickly.

“Ow, Mom, knock it off,” he complains.

“He re-injured his chest wound when we crashed,” Stella says. She looks me up and down. “What about you?”

“Oh, you know me,” I grin. “Not a scratch.”

“His leg is fucked, and he can’t keep his thoughts in his head,” Rafe says.

“My leg is not fucked,” I argue. “But the second part is true. The filter is pretty much gone. Adios. Kaput. Sayonara. Ta ta. See ya later, alligator. Hasta la vista—.”

“We get the idea,” Stella says. She looks me in the eye, and then nods. “Fine, but I’m coming with.”

“No, you are not,” Lourdes says. “I need you here in charge. You’re the best for the job. Coordinate with the Fitzpatricks, John, and Reaper. Have everyone prepped and ready to run as soon as we get back or if a Z herd comes. I’m counting on you, Stella.”

Stella opens her mouth to protest, then there’s noise from over by the RVs. It looks like one of the cannies is in a shouting match with one of the Fitzpatrick brothers. Stella sighs, and shakes her head.

“Okay, I’ll stay,” she says. “But you keep my husband safe, Lourdes. I’m counting on you for that.”

“I think you have the easier job,” Lourdes says despite the shouting match escalating so that now Melissa and Mr. Flips are involved. I’m not sure if they are trying to break it up, or if they’re taking sides. “See?”

“Go,” Stella says to me. “Bring my baby girl back.”

“Will do, love of my life,” I smile. “That’s a promise.”

“Hey, Stella?” Elsbeth says as we all turn and head for the short bus.

“Yeah, El?” Stella replies.

“Keep everyone close,” Elsbeth says. “Don’t let them wander around. They need to stay close. Wanderers may go missing. Just sayin’.”

Stella looks at me, and I shrug.

“Not a fucking clue,” I say.

“Something we should know?” Lourdes asks Elsbeth.

“I just said what you need to know,” Elsbeth sighs. “Weren’t you listening? Why don’t people listen to me?” She turns and steps onto the bus, still talking. “I have things to say, and no one listens. Then they get mad when I don’t have things to say. They should listen when I do, not ask when I don’t. Stupid people. Dumb, stupid people. Cannies listen better.”

“So, El’s all fired up,” I say. I grab my wife and son one more time for a quick hug, then turn and follow Elsbeth onto the bus. “Fare thee well, family! I shall return triumphant and with our lost daughter! Count on me!”

Stella shakes her head and points a finger at Lourdes. “Not a scratch.”

“How about I agree to bring him back with all limbs?” Lourdes asks.

“That’ll do,” Stella says.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Charlie says, following Lourdes onto the bus.

“Hey, get the fuck off,” I snap. “You’re staying here and helping your mother.”

“Oh, come on,” Charlie whines.

I tap him on the chest just like Stella did. He winces, and folds his arms across his chest.

“Charlie!” Stella yells. “Stop fucking around, and get over here!”

The shouts from the Fitzpatricks and the cannies get worse, and Stella turns on her heels, all her anger and frustration aimed at them.

“HEY!” she yells. “KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF NOW, ALL OF YOU!”

“Don’t let her kill anyone,” I say to Charlie as Stuart starts up the bus. “She’s in that kind of mood.”

“Will do,” Charlie says as the bus door closes.

I give a quick wave, then grab a seat. Right next to Critter.

“Wait, why aren’t you staying?” I ask. “You’re the official leader here.”

“And miss this fight?” Critter laughs. “I can’t wait to see what happens to that Kelvin asshole. Runnin’ a God con on everyone. I ain’t exactly religious, but that just pisses me off.”

“It’s not fake,” I say. “The guy actually believes he’s chosen by God. I’m not saying he isn’t crooked and corrupt and playing everyone, but he does believe what he says.”

“Then kill him if you get a chance,” Lourdes says. “I know the type. He’ll sacrifice everyone around him and then himself just to win. If he truly believes, he’ll think his glory is in death, not life.”

“Maybe,” I say. “I’m pretty sure he likes life.” I glance at Elsbeth who is sitting at the back of the bus, pissed and muttering to herself. “Plus, the guy seems to know a lot about the Consortium and Elsbeth’s ninja sisters. There’s more going on than just his cultish ways.”

“What?” Lourdes asks. “How would some guy out in the middle of nowhere know about all of that?”

“He’s ex-CIA,” I say. “Or something like that.”

“That makes no sense,” Lourdes says. “What are the odds of us running into a company man?”

“What are the odds of any of this shit?” Critter laughs. “Lady, if you haven’t noticed already, odds went out the window when the dead started standin’ up and chowin’ down. If you think there’s such a thing as coincidence in this world anymore, then you ain’t payin’ attention.”

“As much as I want to wrap a logic blanket around this,” I say, “Critter’s got a point. Half the time I think it’s all out of our hands.” I look down at Stumpageddon. “Or hand, in my case.”

“You sure this is how you want to do this?” Stuart asks, looking at us in the rearview mirror.

“Only way in to that compound where they won’t notice us,” I say. “It sucks balls, but it’s a sound plan.”

“And we have flashlights now.” Rafe grins, then looks at Lourdes. “Right? We have flashlights?”

“Plenty,” Lourdes says. “And better.”

“Then this’ll be a breeze,” Rafe smiles.

“Who is this kid again?” Lourdes asks me.

“A giant pain in my ass,” I say. “But he knows how to fight. And I think he’s as eager to get Greta back as I am.” I shudder. “Not that I’m thrilled about that, but I’ll deal with it when this shit is all over.”

“It ain’t ever gonna be over,” Critter chuckles. “Ain’t no one listenin’?”

“They never listen!” Elsbeth shouts from the back. “Assholes.”

***

So, guess where we are? Come on, guess. GUESS!

“Dude, who are you yelling at?” Rafe cries, his hands covering his ears as we step off the short bus.

“Sorry. That was supposed to be my inside voice,” I apologize.

“You failed on that one,” Rafe says.

“Has he been this bad the whole time?” Lourdes asks.

“Yes,” everyone answers. Well, everyone that’s been with me the past couple of days.

“Should we gag him?” Lourdes asks. “We can’t have him alerting the enemy to our presence.”

“I don’t need a gag,” I say before Critter can answer. He’d love for me to be gagged. “I can stay quiet. I promise.”

“But can you keep up?” Stuart asks as he racks the slide on his M4, slings it, then racks the slide on his 9mm, and holsters that on his hip. “You’re favoring that leg a lot.”

“That’s because it hurts like a mother fuck,” I say. “But it won’t slow me down. Or slow any of you down. My daughter is in there. I plan on being the first friendly face she sees.”

“Second,” Elsbeth says. “My fault she got taken.”

“How do you figure that?” I ask. “I’m her father.”

“And I left the group because of…” She trails off, then kicks the snow with her left foot. “I shouldn’t have left. The shotgun guys wouldn’t have lived to take you. Any of you.”

“Well, time to make up for that,” Critter says as he pumps a round into his own shotgun. “Let’s show these God fearin’ idiots who they need to really fear.”

“That’s a good one, Crit,” I say. “Wish I’d thought of that.”

“Well, ya didn’t, so shut up,” Critter says as we trudge through the knee deep snow to the mouth of the pit’s back entrance.

Dammit! I wanted you all to guess where we are, and there I go spoiling it.

Yeah, we’re back at the pit. It’s the only way in that isn’t guarded. Well, not guarded the same way the compound is at the front of the mine. The pit’s guarded, but only to prevent an escape, not to prevent an assault. And we be bringin’ the assault, motherfuckers!

I can tell by the glares that that last part was out loud.

“I don’t need a gag,” I mutter as we switch on headlamps and flashlights and walk into the darkness of the pit’s back tunnel.

He he, back tunnel. We are totally going into the pit’s asshole.

Wait ... that’s not funny. That means I’m going in an asshole. Dammit! That metaphor totally backfired. Sigh.

***

Once we are in the pit proper, Lourdes’s men fan out, the flashlights on the barrels of their carbines and rifles going dark. Why do they go dark? Because Lourdes had a nice surprise for all of us when we told her what we are up against.

I feel a hand fumble at the side of my face, and suddenly the pit is illuminated by a greenish glow. Yay for night vision goggles! I knew that woman had some toys tucked away somewhere, I’m glad she trusts us enough to bring them out so we can all play.

The pit is completely different when you aren’t fumbling about blind. I can see the various rock formations and boulders that dot the area. Rocks of various sizes are everywhere, and I quickly see just how lucky we were to even get out without tripping and breaking our necks. Gotta thank Elsbeth for that one.

Slowly, making sure we don’t make too much noise, we work our way across the pit. Zs come at us, their hands outstretched like bad Frankenstein’s Monster imitators, but we take them down with ease. Some rifle butts to the temples, axes through skulls, and my trusty crowbar caving in more than a couple of heads.

Why do I have a crowbar and not a gun? That’s a fine question. For some reason, no one wanted me to have a gun. No pistol, no rifle, not even a sawed off shotgun. Something about my unstable mental state. Now, I am all about caution, but I don’t see a connection with my verbal foibles and an inability to handle a firearm. I am a firearm handling motherfucker. I have to be one of the better shots in the convoy. And that’s with my left hand!

Fuckers.

But, hey, I have a crowbar and it rocks, so I’m not complaining.

“Yes, you are,” Rafe whispers next to me.

“Am I being too loud?” I ask.