Z-Burbia Box Set | Books 4-6 [The Road Trip Trilogy]

by Bible, Jake

  Maury looks towards the other two guards, and points his shotgun at the door. “Out.”

  He waits until they are gone. The mood in the trailer turns instantly and I see a change come over Reptile Jesus. He drops the “Jesus” act all the way, but holds onto the reptile portion of his personality with relish.

  Mmmm, relish. I could totally go for a hot dog right now. Man, I miss hot dogs.

  “Shut up,” Maury says, and thumps me on the back of the head with a finger. I roll my head on my neck and look up at him as he turns his attention to Greta. “If Stenkler gives her a clean bill, then what?”

  I may be whacked out on goofballs, but I can hear the implication in his voice.

  “I think that depends on our new friend here,” Kelvin says, reptile eyes back on me. “His behavior will determine the exact fate of his daughter. If he gives me the information I want, then she will be allowed to work in the Tomb along with the others. If he resists me, then I’ll send word to ready her for marriage. I can see quite a few of our more than able bodied followers lining up to get a chance to woo this one.”

  “Don’t you fucking touch her!” I shout, and jump to my feet. My leg cries out in pain, but the goofballs are having a nice numbing effect, so I ignore the agony and reach for Maury.

  He probably gets in at least three, maybe four, punches before I even realize I’m getting the shit kicked out of me. But to my credit, I stay standing.

  No, wait, that’s not true. If I was standing then my face wouldn’t be buried in this cheap Berber carpet that feels like sandpaper. What the fuck is up with that? Berber? Everyone knows that if you decorate with velour you have shag carpeting. That’s just basic interior design, people.

  “Damn, he never shuts up,” Maury says as he stands over me. I know he’s standing over me because I can see his boots about two inches from my face.

  “I am hoping that is true,” Kelvin says. “Take the girl, and clear out my trailers. I’ll be in the center. Let everyone know I am in deep prayer with our new guest and could be absent all night long. I am not to be disturbed, Maury. We can’t afford another Deirdre issue. It took me two weeks to smooth that out with the followers.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you have all the time you need,” Maury says. “Come on.”

  “No! You fucking let go of me!” Greta screams. “Daddy!”

  “Daddy’s coming, sweetheart!” I shout into the carpet, unable to even pick my cheek up from the scratchy floor covering. “I’m so gonna fuck these bitches up! You hear that, bitches? Gonna fuck you up! Get ready for the fucking up of your lives!”

  “Better you than me, Kelvin,” Maury says as he taps me in the temple with the toe of his boot. “I don’t think I could listen to this idiot all night.”

  “We all have our roles, Maury,” Kelvin says. “Yours is the dutiful soldier while mine is the savior of the new world.”

  “Yeah, we need to really talk about that dynamic at some point,” Maury laughs. “I think you’re getting the better deal.”

  “Except for the celibacy thing,” Kelvin sighs. “How’d I rope myself into that one?”

  “The messiah never took a wife, Kelvin,” Maury laughs again. “You chose the role, not me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Kelvin replies. “Get the girl out of here and over to Stenkler. No hurry to get me the health report until the morning. I’ll be busy, and I’m sure she could use a good night’s rest. Just make sure Jobeth keeps her from wandering.”

  “The holy restraints?” Maury asks.

  “That should do it,” Kelvin replies.

  “DADDY!” Greta screams, then her voice is muffled as either Maury stuffs a rag in her mouth, or covers it with his hand. I have no idea since I really can’t move. Seriously, I’m totally paralyzed.

  I hear the trailer door open, and the cold wind smacks me in the face, then it’s gone. And so is my daughter.

  “I am so going to fucking kill you,” I say.

  Kelvin kneels down so I can see his face. The messiah act is completely gone now. All I see is the look of a determined man. And trained professional. I’ve been around enough sketchy military types to know that look. I am beginning to think he isn’t some actor from the local community college drama program. Oh, he’s an actor alright, but not the spotlight type.

  I am so fucked.

  “Not if you are cooperative. Which, considering your inability to filter your thoughts, is a very likely possibility,” Kelvin laughs as he reaches out and touches my nose. “Can you feel that?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  He taps my shoulder, or I think he does. I can’t feel that.

  “Good,” Kelvin says. “Miracle stuff, I have to say. I developed the formula during my time at a rendition facility in Germany. They have some amazing chemists in Germany, Jace. The government was more than willing to loan a couple to our country’s cause. It took about a year to get the paralytic to anesthetic ratio right so subjects could still speak, but not be able to struggle. If you really concentrate you can wiggle your fingers and toes, but I would advise against it.”

  I ignore him and try to wiggle my fingers and toes. Pretty sure I bust a lung screaming.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Kelvin says as he stands up. “This stuff just lights the nerves on fire if you try to fight against it. My advice is you don’t fight, Jace. Stay calm, stay relaxed, and answer my questions when asked. This scenario could end up working out in your favor.”

  “Suck a donkey dick, Reptile Jesus,” I snap.

  Barely, like a far off thought, I feel my feet being lifted. Then the rough Berber carpet is scraping against my cheek, and I realize that Reptile Jesus is dragging me somewhere. I watch as velour covered piece of furniture after velour covered piece of furniture slides by. There’s a pause as a door opens then I’m being dragged again.

  My face is the last part of me through the door, so it’s not until then that I realize that my velour and Berber carpet days are over. My cheek hits cold vinyl, and sort of sticks and stutters as I’m pulled into the center of a new room. The dragging stops and I watch, helpless, while Kelvin closes the door and locks it. From the amount of clicking and clacking I’d say there’s more than one deadbolt on that door.

  “You aren’t going to touch me in my swimsuit area, are you?” I ask.

  “No point,” Kelvin says as he hooks his arms around my chest and under my armpits.

  With one heave he has me up and falling into a chair. It’s a dentist’s chair. Or maybe an orthodontist’s chair? How does one tell the difference?

  “One doesn’t,” Kelvin replies. “And you’re wrong about both. It’s a barber’s chair. Maury found it for me in a beauty school he scavenged from back in our early days.”

  “Was this before or after the Reptile Jesus gig?” I ask.

  Kelvin straps my hand to one arm of the chair, then straps my legs down to the foot rest.

  “It was after,” Kelvin says. “And what is all this Reptile Jesus stuff, Jace? You have to let me in on how your bruised brain came up with that.”

  “You look like Jesus, and you act like a fucking snake,” I reply. “Just without the warmth and cuddliness.”

  “Well, I’ve never been known for either of those,” Kelvin laughs. “But I do work at it. The followers wouldn’t stick around if they thought I was the cold-blooded mercenary that I am. They like to think I’m an actor from Chicago that found the Lord, left my wicked ways behind, and am now here to do His bidding. People are suckers for the Arts.”

  “So, this whole messiah act really is just some con?” I ask. “You don’t actually believe God is working directly through you, right?”

  “Oh, no, Jace,” Kelvin says as he pats me on the cheek, then is lost from my sight. “My background story is the con, my belief is not.”

  I can hear the sound of metal on metal, and what little feeling I do have is focused in my balls wanting to scrunch up and hide near my spleen. Kelvin returns to my view, whe
eling the proverbial tool laden torture cart (that’s a proverb, right?). There’s a single, bare lightbulb above me, and the light glints off a plethora of things, most of them dental in nature, but a few just good old hardware from Home Depot.

  “I am the instrument of God,” Kelvin continues as he picks up each tool and shows them to me, one by one. “I have always been a true believer, ever since I was a small boy and my mother took me to church every Wednesday and Sunday. I became who I am to fight the Muslim heathens, and wipe them from the Earth. My superiors never knew my true intent, which is good or they would have removed me from my duties and put me on a desk job. But God has always known. And he has guided me on my righteous path.”

  Kelvin’s hand hesitates over a good, ol’ X-ACTO knife. Looks like we’re starting with a classic.

  “Is it safe?” Kelvin chuckles.

  I laugh. Dammit! I’m a sucker for Marathon Man humor.

  “It is not safe!” I reply. “It is not safe!”

  “You aren’t going to pee yourself, are you Jace?” Kelvin asks as he sets the blade back on the cart, pushes the cart aside, and pulls up a stool right next to my head. “If you need to pee, please tell me. I can insert a catheter.” He looks down at my crotch. “In fact, I may just go ahead and do that. You think you might defecate? I have adult diapers ready.”

  “You have got to be shitting me,” I say. “Are you serious?”

  “Serious as Job,” Kelvin says.

  “Is that even a thing?” I ask. “Being serious like Job?”

  “If you’re Job,” Kelvin replies, and gets up from his stool. “Now, where is the catheter? Oh, here it is. Time to get to work.” Oh, fuck me. Fuck me!

  Chapter Six

  “You know, as torture sessions go, this really isn’t so bad,” I say to Kelvin after he sets the cup of water aside he’s just given me. There’s been a lot of talking, so my throat is a hair parched. “It’s more like a really shitty and uncomfortable conversation.”

  “That’s because you are a talker, Jace,” Kelvin says. “If you weren’t, I’d have removed several of your toes by now and shown them to you.”

  “Why show them to me?” I ask. “I think just the removing them would be motivation enough.”

  “Because of the paralytic and pain killers in my cocktail,” Kelvin says. “You wouldn’t feel the removal, so showing them to you would be the motivation.”

  “You know, you could totally show someone somebody else’s toes if you wanted to,” I suggest. “Never actually cut off your subject’s toes, then later show him his intact feet. That’s when you start cutting. Really bring the fucked up mind fuckery. Talk about motivation.”

  “I think you missed your calling, Jace,” Kelvin chuckles. “You would be an excellent interrogation specialist.”

  “Nah, I’m more a generalist,” I reply. “I hate specializing in anything. I get bored too easily.”

  “Well, I have to say our conversation so far has been anything but boring,” Kelvin says, and picks up a pad of paper. He flips through a couple of pages, then looks me in the eye, all snakey snake and shit. “Okay, so you killed Mondello, and then tried to rebuild Asheville, correct? That’s when your troubles with Camille Thornberg and the Consortium really began, is that it?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I say. “But I think those troubles were always there. I mean Vance was sort of in her employ. Or some business partner. I’m not quite sure what was going on with their business relationship, but I know he was connected.”

  “True enough,” Kelvin says.

  I catch the confidence in his voice.

  “Uh, did you know Vance?” I ask.

  Kelvin composes himself nicely, but I can tell my question has rattled him. I think he let his guard down for a second, and I caught him in it.

  “I haven’t ever heard of the man until you told me about him,” Kelvin replies. “He sounds like he was a small player. I didn’t mix in circles with small players.”

  “You don’t now, either,” I say. “You got the direct hook up to God, yo. Ain’t nothin’ small in that, am I right? High five!”

  “You can’t lift your hand to high five,” Kelvin says.

  “Do it for me, will ya?” I ask. “Humor a torture subject, man.”

  Kelvin stares at me for a second, then unstraps my hand and gives me a high five. He lets my arm flop back on the armrest, and straps me down again.

  “You are such an interesting person, Jace,” Kelvin says. “I may keep you in here forever just to study that brain of yours. I have seen people deflect before, but you are extraordinary. It’s not just your brain damage that causes you to make light of everything traumatic, I honestly think you are wired this way.”

  “Copper and gold, baby,” I smile.

  “What?” Kelvin asks, honestly puzzled.

  “My wiring,” I say. “It’s copper and gold. I’m filled with precious metals, that’s why everyone keeps me around. I got the pimped out brain.”

  “Incredible,” Kelvin says, and flips a couple more pages on his pad. “But I think we need to get back to business. Tell me what you know about Camille Thornberg.”

  “Not a lot really,” I say. “She was some rich bitch pre-Z, and is now some rich bitch post-Z.”

  “Z,” Kelvin says. “Just Z. Post-Z would mean after the undead have gone away. I don’t think that’s likely to happen anytime soon.”

  “I mean, like post-Z-Day,” I respond. “But it’s faster to say post-Z than post-Z-Day. That’s just awkward. And life is too short to worry about awkward phrasing. We are only given so many days on Earth, Reptile Jesus. Or didn’t your big Daddy in the Sky tell you that? Come on, man, if you’re gonna have the Batphone to God then you should use it more often and get the details. Awkward phrasing is out, just like grammar Nazis. The world has no need, man. No need.”

  “Yes, well, we’ll agree to disagree,” Kelvin says.

  “See! That phrase right there,” I state. “There is no need to say we are agreeing to disagree. There is no need to agree to that. We can just disagree, and leave it as it is. When people disagree about disagreeing, then that’s called a fight, and by that time things are way too far to fix. So, one should always assume that agreement is implied with a disagreement unless it devolves into an honest to goodness throw down. It’s that simple.”

  “I don’t believe there is anything simple when it comes to your way of thinking, Jace,” Kelvin says. “So let us get back to the subject of Camille Thornberg. Tell me what you know of her post-Z.”

  “Everything I know of her is post-Z, and thank you for using my term, because I had never heard of her pre-Z,” I say.

  “You had never heard of Camille Thornberg?” Kelvin asks.

  “You sound suspicious,” I say. “Why are you suspicious? Why the fuck would I have heard of Camille Thornberg?”

  “The Thornbergs were once one of the richest families in this country,” Kelvin answers. “They had power and influence like you couldn’t believe.”

  “The Thornbergs,” I laugh. “Wasn’t that a miniseries in the eighties?”

  “That was the Thornbirds,” Kelvin says. “And stay on topic, please.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time someone told me to stay on topic,” I sigh, “I’d have a fuckton of useless nickels. Who needs nickels in the apocalypse? That shit just weighs you down.”

  “Like this conversation,” Kelvin mutters. He stands up and starts to pace back and forth. “I won’t bore you with the details of Camille’s influence. I will say that I am not surprised she is the head of the Consortium and already making a push to take over more than just the eastern region. She’s probably gotten her grip on the South and is about to come after the Midwest. That is going to put a damper on my mission.”

  “By mission, you mean like the Blues Brothers, right?” I ask. “Your mission from God? Not some secret CIA mission?”

  “Who said I worked for the CIA?” Kelvin asks.

  “You did,”
I reply. “Or I think you did. Didn’t you?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Huh. Then I must have guessed it,” I say. “Probably all that talk about rendition stations and advanced interrogation techniques. That’s spook talk.”

  “Spook talk?” Kelvin laughs. “You are a colorful character, Jace. Let’s move on from Camille. I am getting the feeling you know less than I do about her and her organization.”

  “Really? What do you know?” I ask, honestly interested. “Come on. Sharesies!”

  “No,” Kelvin states. “This is not a two-way conversation.”

  “Is it a three-way?” I ask. “Because I’ve never had one of those. They seem awkward. And a lot of work. Who wants to work like that?”

  “Are you talking about conversation or sex?” Kelvin asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “My head hurts.”

  “Does it?” Kelvin asks, then looks at his watch. “That’s good to know. I meant to ask you to instruct me as to when you started to feel any discomfort, especially in the form of headaches, but you are such a distracting person that I honestly forgot.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time someone said-.”

  “Please stop,” Kelvin sighs. He picks up the X-ACTO blade and sticks the tip into my arm.

  “Ow! Hey, motherfucker! That hurt!” I shout. Then I realize a lot of me hurts, not just my head, or where he poked me. “Looks like it’s time for my medicine.”

  “No, Jace, it is not,” Kelvin says. There’s a sadness on his face like I’ve thoroughly disappointed him. “The formula works differently on every subject. Your system has burned through it faster than most. Unfortunately, I can’t give you more without risking serious damage to your nervous system. You could fall into a coma, and end up a vegetable. Or you could have a major seizure and die. Neither of those scenarios helps me.”

  “So, it’s just regular torture, then?” I ask. Using then at the end of my question makes me think of Stuart. I really hope he’s okay. And Critter. I hope Critter is okay too.

  “They are both fine, I am sure,” Kelvin says. “I have instructed my men to let me know if they are overwhelmed in the pit. I doubt they will be if they have both survived in this world this long. The pit will be uncomfortable, but not insurmountable.”