by Bible, Jake
See, having your brain banged around inside your skull is bad. Apparently, brains bleed. Mine sure decided to. It was like a nonstop period in my head. Okay, that was uncalled for. Menstruation is no joke, people! Especially if your brain is menstruating.
I’ll stop.
What alerted everyone to my bruised orange of a brain was that my natural chattiness turned into a constant chattiness. The filter was off and what should have been internal dialogue just became dialogue. Everything I thought came out my mouth in a never-ending commentary on life in the zombie apocalypse.
I did not make new friends and nearly influenced people to kill me and leave me on the side of the road.
But, hey, shit happens when the world is ending, so some folks cut me some slack. The apocalypse cannot be considered “some folks.” The apocalypse decided that not only would slack not be cut, but, hey, how about if we switch things up and make it so I can’t speak at all? Fun!
Long story longer, I lost my ability to speak and then the seizures began. Poopy times, y’all. Poopy times.
“Jace? I need you to pay attention,” Stenkler says. “Stella?”
Hey, Stella is right in front of me! When did that happen? Damn, she’s pretty.
“Jace? Honey? Can you hear me?” Stella asks. Her hand strokes my cheek. “Jace?”
Yes, love of my life, I can hear you. See? Giving you a thumbs-up right now. Or a thumb-up. Can’t really give “thumbs” when I only have one arm.
Huh... Thumb is not going up. I think I have thumbile dysfunction. Wonder if they have a pill for that? If your thumb is all Fonzie for more than four hours, please consult your physician. Or hit a jukebox. Aaayyy!
“He’s smirking,” Stella says, a relieved smile on her face. “So he’s probably being a smart ass and making some stupid joke in his head. Is it funny, Jace?”
It’s fucking hilarious. Aaayyy!
“He’s smiling wider,” Stella says.
“I need him to talk or make a sound,” Stenkler says. “I’ve fixed the lesion on the speech center of his brain. We’ve stopped the excess bleeding and cauterized any vessel that could be a problem down the line. But in order for me to be confident that what we’ve done has worked, I need him to make a sound.”
“Jace? Baby, you have to make a sound, okay?” Stella says.
She’s right in my face and smells like sweat and peppermint. Where’d she get a mint? Nice of her to pop one in her mouth before getting all up close and personal. I’ll have to remember to thank her for that.
“Stop making a kissy face,” Stella smirks. “Now is not the time. The time is for you to make a sound. A grunt or moan. Anything that tells James that the surgery worked.”
James, is it? We’re calling him James? I prefer Stinkler. Has a ring to it.
“The odds are significantly against him showing any improvement right away,” Dr. Kramer says. “It could be hours, or even days, before he—”
“Aaayyy,” I mumble.
“Jace? What did you say?” Stella asks.
“Aaayyy,” I say a little louder.
“Aaayyy?” Stella asks. “What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Stenkler laughs. “He’s vocalizing again, so we know something went right.”
“You people about done in here?” a gruff voice asks from the doorway. “Because we need to move and move fast. Some of the Zs have started getting curious about this building. Lourdes and her people are a mile ahead of us and say the Zs haven’t gotten that far yet. We have a small window of time and need to use it.”
It’s Stuart! Yay for James “Don’t Call Me Jimmy” Stuart! He’s like my best friend. Although I think I annoy him more than a best friend should. I’ll have to work on that.
“Jesus, is Jace’s skull still open? Close that shit up, people!” Stuart barks.
“This will take some time and care,” Stenkler says.
“How much time?” Stuart asks.
“An hour, at least,” Stenkler says.
“We have to staple the skull and then suture his scalp back together,” Dr. Kramer adds. “This is not like putting the lid back on a jar, Mr. Stuart.”
“You have fifteen minutes,” Stuart says. “I’m not kidding.”
“The suturing alone will take thirty!” Stenkler exclaims.
“That’s what super glue is for,” Stuart snaps. “Find some and use it!”
“Stella, please talk some reason into Mr. Stuart,” Stenkler says. “There is no way we can move your husband in fifteen minutes.”
I watch as Stella looks over her shoulder at the doorway. I can’t see Stuart, but I know the guy well enough to imagine what he looks like. I’m guessing there’s a serious frown happening on that mug of his.
“Fifteen minutes,” Stella says. “Move ass.”
Oh, fuck. Stuart must have had his extra serious frown going on. That means we have real trouble coming our way. Not that there isn’t always real trouble. It is the zombie apocalypse. It just means he isn’t dicking around when he says fifteen minutes is our timeframe. Shit.
“Aaayyy,” I say.
“What was that?” Stuart asks and he walks into my line of sight. “He can talk again?”
“He can only make that sound right now,” Stenkler says.
“What did you say, Jace?” Stuart asks, leaning in close.
“Aaayyy,” I repeat.
Stuart leans back and shakes his head.
“You aren’t the Fonz, Jace,” Stuart says. “Knock it off and use your words.”
See? Stuart gets me. I may annoy the holy fuck out of the guy half the time, but he gets me.
“Thirteen minutes,” Stuart barks. “You need me to find the super glue for you, doctors?”
“That is not necessary,” Dr. Kramer says. “I have some right here.”
“You do?” Critter asks. “That’s handy.”
“Well, Mr. Fitzpatrick, as you well know, when you get to be our age, it is better to be prepared,” Dr. Kramer says. “You have no idea how many scalps I’ve put back together with super glue. After all, those girls had to learn how to fight before they became experts. Machetes do so much damage in the hands of novices.”
“You sure know how to bring the creepy into a room,” Critter replies. “Damn.”
“Shut up and work,” Stuart growls. “I’ll be right back. Stella? Keep them on task.”
“Not a problem,” Stella says.
Stuart stomps off and I can hear him barking orders to people out in the hallway. He’s quietly barking, of course, since too much noise will alert the Zs. Stuart is an expert at the quiet bark. All those years as a Marine. Not that Marines quietly bark. I actually have no idea what Marines do quietly. Why’d I even say that?
“Jace? You hanging in there?” Stella asks, back in my face.
“Aaayyy,” I reply.
Dammit, I really wish my thumb would work again. The sound just doesn’t have the same effect without the thumb. But, hey, at least my middle finger works. Not that the Fonz would flip people off. Totally not a Fonzie thing to do. WWFD, am I right?
I GET TO RIDE IN A wheelchair!
Man, this day just keeps getting better. People pushing me in a wheelchair, my scalp super glued, I can speak only in Fonzese. The one thing that wasn’t so great was when Stenkler stapled my skull back together.
Yep, the guy used staples. Fucking hurt. Stapling bones together hurts.
I really hope they were surgical staples. But where the hell did he get surgical staples in a dental surgery office? Do dentists use staples for shit other than keeping x-rays from falling out of those billions of file folders they have shelved everywhere? And what’s with all those files, anyway? It’s like they line every wall with them. Digitize, people!
Not that there are any dentists left, really. I guess dealing with paperwork is not a priority at the moment.
Stella’s grip on my shoulder brings me out of my paperwork thought loop as we get to the door to the stai
rs. Hmmmm, stairs. The wheelchair isn’t as fun anymore.
The stairs door opens and Stuart looks at me, his face set in that “Stuart is taking care of business” look he gets when he’s, well, taking care of business.
“You’re going to be a problem,” he says to me. “We can carry you down the stairs, but once we get outside you’ll slow us all down.”
“We aren’t leaving him,” Stella growls.
“I know we aren’t leaving him,” Stuart growls back.
I distinctly feel everyone take an involuntary step back. Shit could get real, yo.
“I’m just saying that he is going to be a problem when we get outside,” Stuart continues. “The streets aren’t in the greatest condition. There are Z corpses everywhere and more potholes than I can count. We aren’t even fully in Denver yet. I don’t even want to know what the city looks like. My guess is there was quite a fight here at some point.”
“We still have an RV and a Humvee, right?” Critter asks. “The damn Zs didn’t drive off with them, did they?”
“We still have them,” Stuart says. “But they’re a block away, remember?”
“Send a couple of my nephews to go get them,” Critter says.
“That’s going to draw the Zs right to us,” Stuart says. “It’ll be better if we get to the vehicles and just go. Once they start up, we’ll have more Zs than you can count on our asses. We pause for even a minute to get Jace loaded up and the RV won’t be able to push through the herd.”
“It’s that bad?” Greta asks. “Shit.”
Stuart sighs and rubs his face, his age suddenly there for all to see. He may be a badass ex-Marine, but he’s an ex-Marine because it was time to slow down and retire. That plan didn’t exactly work out once Z-Day hit. The man probably needs a vacation more than any of us.
“Follow me,” Stuart says. He looks over his shoulder at a man standing down on the landing. “You got this covered, Pup?”
“I’m Porky.”
“Bullshit,” Stuart says.
“Stop fuckin’ around, boy,” Critter snaps at his nephew.
“Sorry,” Pup replies. “Jace is always joking around.”
“Jace has his noggin stapled together and glued up like a white trash swimmin’ pool,” Critter says. “That’s what bein’ funny has got him. You want to be like Long Pork here?”
“No, sir,” Pup says. “Sorry, Uncle Critter.”
“Damn right you are,” Critter says then nods at Stuart. “Show us what yer gonna show us so we can get goin’.”
I always find it funny how a scrawny old man like Critter can boss around his nephews when each of them weighs as much as a fucking truck and are nearly as big.
“If everyone will shut up and do as I say then we’ll all stop wasting time,” Stuart snaps. “Come on.”
He leads us back down the hall to an office door. Stuart pushes open the door and the stink hits us fast.
“Yeah, it’s not pleasant, but the view is perfect,” Stuart says.
My head is throbbing and pulsing and doing some sort of pain tap dance as somebody pushes me through the office. I glance at a tall reception desk and see a hand draped over the side, two fingers missing. Gnawed off. I can tell. You get good at knowing the difference between cut off and gnawed off when you live in the zombie apocalypse.
There’s a bright flash in front of us and I close my eyes. Then I’m staring out a window at the plains that border the east of Denver. Pretty nice view.
“Jace? How are you feeling?” Stenkler asks, kneeling in front of me. When the hell did he get in front of me?
I flip him off. You know, because my middle finger works. Seems appropriate.
“You weren’t responding for a minute there,” Stenkler says.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye and try to turn my head, but I can’t budge an inch. Oh, right, they put a rigged brace around my skull, down my neck, and around my shoulders so I wouldn’t tear the super glued sutures and the staples in my skull. Good idea. I’d already forgotten someone said I wasn’t supposed to move.
“Tell us if you start to notice anything strange, alright?” Stenkler says.
Seriously? Did the guy just say that to me? Might want to narrow down the definition of “strange” there, doc.
Another bright flash and I wince. I bring my hand up to shield my eyes then Stella is next to me and holding the hand.
“Relax, baby,” she says. “Just relax. Let us worry about what’s out there.”
Huh? Out where?
I glance at the floor to ceiling windows that make up the outside wall of what looks like a lawyer’s office. The sun is cresting the horizon and it is gorgeous. I don’t know if I have ever seen a more beautiful sunrise in my life. Of course, the thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Zs coming towards the city kind of ruin the effect.
“Maybe a quarter million,” Stuart is saying like he’s answering a question. Did someone ask a question? I don’t remember someone doing that. “Almost as many the other way.”
My wheelchair is turned so I can look west and directly at the Denver skyline. The orange and pink dawn light reveals a shit ton of Zs already in the city streets. They are spread out, the herd being cut up into smaller chunks by the still-standing buildings, but spread out doesn’t make things better.
“What’s the plan?” Critter asks. “If we’re going to Boulder then we have to get through those bastards.”
Critter is scared. I can hear it in his voice. The thick accent is almost gone. He still sounds like a man that grew up in a North Carolina holler, but the ignorant affectation isn’t there anymore. He must be shitting bricks if he’s dropped his country bumpkin act.
“I just spoke with Lourdes,” Stuart says. He points out the window at a wide road that heads west. “That’s Colfax Ave.”
“That’s a lot of Zs, is what that is,” Critter says.
“It is,” Stuart says. “Lourdes and her PCs are trying to draw them into the road. Get them bunched up so she can take out as many as possible and give us some breathing room. Follow me.”
The room flashes again and I swear light rays actually stab me in the eyes. Like seriously. Full on stab me.
Then we’re in another office. How the fuck?
“I told you there would be issues,” Dr. Kramer says from behind me. “We just performed emergency brain surgery on your husband, Mrs. Stanford. He is not only lucky to even be awake at all, but he’s lucky just to be alive. Periodic blackouts are normal and expected.”
Oh, so that’s what’s happening.
Stuart yanks up a set of blinds and there’s more stabby stabby light in my face.
“There,” Stuart says. “Lourdes says that we can drop south on Loredo and circle back around. There’s some jogging trail that goes by a high school we can use. Her people say it’s clear of Zs. The RV and Humvee should fit. We take that to 13th then cut back up to Colfax when we hit Fitzsimmons. If we hit a street called Ursula then we’ve gone too far.”
“Too far for what?” Stella asks.
“There’s a children’s hospital on Colfax,” Stuart says. He looks at me. “Lourdes is already getting it cleared. The others are heading that way now.”
“Wait, you’re talkin’ about diggin’ in, ain’t ya?” Critter asks.
“For now,” Stuart says. “The building is sturdy and defendable.” He looks at me again. “And it has equipment we need.”
Why does he keep staring at me? I look around and everyone in my field of vision is staring at me. I have a feeling I’m not looking so great.
“Aaayyy?” I ask.
“Shhh,” Stella says. “Save your strength.”
A radio crackles and I hear Buzz Fitzpatrick’s voice. “Stuart? We need to leave now.”
“On the—”
I CAN HEAR A SCREAM and then the distinct sound of flesh being ripped out. My whole body is bouncing up and down as my wheelchair is being pushed through the broken streets of whatever Denver sub
urb we’re in.
I have no fucking clue how I got here.
“Aaayyy,” I moan.
“Not now,” someone shouts in my ear. “Just hang on!”
I don’t recognize the voice. Who the hell is pushing me?
Gunshots go off to my right and I instinctively turn my head to look. Pain explodes in my skull and I cry out.
“You have to be—”
“KEEP RUNNING!” STUART yells, suddenly next to me. “The RV is right there!”
What the fuck? This blackout shit is ridiculous.
Stuart hurries ahead then turns and drops to a knee, his carbine to his shoulder. He fires over and over at what’s chasing us. My wheelchair almost over turns as the pusher picks up speed, aiming me right for the RV.
I hear Stella yelling behind me with Greta’s voice mixed in there. Good. My family is with me. Except for Charlie. Where the fuck is that boy?
The wheelchair comes to a stop next to the RV and the pusher moves from behind me and runs to open the side door. Then all I see is a spray of blood and brains as the guy’s head explodes everywhere.
A woman steps down out of the RV, a shotgun casually held in her hands. She smiles at me.
I have no idea who was just killed, but I sure as hell know who did the killing.
“Hey, Jace,” Cassie says. “Been a while. I’d say long time no see, but I’ve been watching you for some time now.”
Cassie. Cassandra. One of Elsbeth’s “sisters.” The defacto leader of the whole gang of brainwashed, uber-trained, super warriors from Hell.
“Aaayyy,” I say and give her a thumb-up. Hey, my thumb is working! Huzzah!
She frowns and cocks her head. She waves the shotgun at me.
“What’s up with all that stuff on your head?” she asks.
A bullet hole appears right next to the RV door and her face turns to pure rage.
“No, you don’t!” she screams. “I’ll blast your—”
THERE’S SMOKE EVERYWHERE. I can feel the heat and start to feel the pain as soon as my eyes open and I come to again.
Pain?
“AAAYYY!!!!” I yell.