by Bible, Jake
Then, as the tank gets closer, I realize what’s so familiar about it all. First, it’s the music. Classic rock cranked up to eleven. Second, it’s the top hat.
Last, it’s all the fucking goggles the damned crazy sons of bitches are wearing! Motherfucking apocalypse goggles! God, I hate goggles.
“Son of a bitch,” Stuart says as things click for him about the same time they do for me. “Mr. Flips brought the cannibal cavalry.”
Everyone stands there and stares, except for Elsbeth and the sisters. They just smile those killer smiles and watch as the cannibal army keeps pushing through the herd. The vast majority of the vehicles are open-bed trucks with shirtless crazies standing in the back, flame throwers scorching the living fuck out of the Zs. They slash and burn, cutting the numbers of the undead down exponentially with every block they drive.
A radio crackles and all eyes turn from the impossible scene to Elsbeth. She casually pulls out a radio from her pocket and puts it to her mouth.
“Hello, Mr. Flips,” she says. “You’re late.”
“We got here as fast as we could,” he replies over the radio. “Had a little trouble taking the tank off the soldiers below. It looked like they wanted it for themselves so they could turn tale and run. I guess loyalty to your mother wasn’t their biggest priority.”
“Camille is dead,” Elsbeth says. “And she wasn’t my mother.”
“She wasn’t?” Mr. Flips asks. “Okay. Whatever you say. Doesn’t matter to me. Where are you right now?”
“We are on campus in the security office building,” Elsbeth says.
Even over the violence happening out in the city, I hear another crash from below. I grab Stella’s arm and point back at the stairs. She cocks her head and I mime being a Z. She sighs and looks at Stuart.
“Sounds like they’ve gotten inside,” Stella says.
“Let them,” Stuart says. “Once Flips and the cannies have the streets cleared then we’ll have them make as much noise as possible and draw out the ones that have gotten in. I doubt they’ll be able to get up the stairs at us.”
“The fast ones will,” Charlie says.
“Then we block the doors,” Stuart says. “We can wait them out. Better safe than reckless. We’ve made it this far. No need to risk our asses to kill some stray Zs downstairs.”
Everyone nods their heads. Then one by one we go back to looking at the cannies do an amazing job at destroying the herd.
Also, one by one we get tired of watching the carnage and sit down on the roof to wait until it’s all over.
THE AIR GETS COLDER as the day wears on and night comes. We huddle together for warmth and there are more than a few grumbles about how if the Zs don’t kill us then exposure sure will. But no one decides being warm is worth opening the doors to the stairs and seeing just how many Zs got inside. The fight has left us and we’re all shell-shocked. I doubt we could kill a rabid squirrel, much less a horde of Zs.
The night is pitch black up here in the mountains. Except for the occasional burst of light from the streets below as the cannies set off their flamethrowers. I’d say it’s a waste of fuel, but what the fuck are we saving fuel for anymore? We’ve made it to Boulder and the Stronghold. Once we get settled in, the only fuel we’ll need is firewood and solar panels.
Not that solar panels are actually fuel. They’re energy. Okay, the sun is the energy and the solar panels help trap that energy and harness it for electricity.
“Jace, quiet,” Stella says. “You’re mumbling.”
“Mumbling words you can understand?” I ask.
The look I get from her tells me no. Fuck. I wonder how long this will go on?
I lean against my wife and close my eyes. Might as well get some sleep if we’re going to be up here for a while.
SLEEP IS HARD TO COME by when you are freezing your dick off. Or tits. It’s just as hard to come by if you are freezing your tits off. I should have said tits to begin with since both men and women have tits. Do men have tits? Or do we just have nipples? I guess we have pecs, but those are the muscles under the tits. If you have tits. I don’t know if I do.
“Shut up,” Stuart growls. “I never thought his talking out loud could get worse, but now that it is all nonsense, it is a hundred times worse.”
“We can go down,” Elsbeth says, standing by the edge of the roof.
Our freezing, stiff group stands up and you can actually hear the frozen joints cracking in everyone’s knees. The sun is starting to crest the horizon and I guess that’s a good thing. We’ve made it to one more sunrise in the zombie apocalypse.
Stella shuffles over to the stairs door, looking more like a Z than a person, and puts her ear to the metal. She instantly regrets it and Charlie has to hurry over and yank on her head to get the skin free.
“Motherfucker,” she snarls as she holds a rag to her bleeding ear.
“You two have matching bleeding ears,” I say. But they have no idea what I’m talking about so I give them a thumb-up.
The thumb-up is not returned.
“Is it clear?” Stuart asks, trying not to smirk as he looks at Stella’s ear.
“Shut the fuck up,” Stella says. “And yes, it sounds like it is clear.”
“We’ll go first and make sure,” Antoinette says. “Elsbeth?”
“Go ahead,” Elsbeth replies. “I’ll bring up the rear with everyone else.”
Antoinette nods then yanks open the door. A single Z comes out. Just one. It lurches for Antoinette and the woman looks at it with pity. She starts to reach for her blade, but stops and just walks slowly backwards until she is right at the edge of the roof. The Z lurches for her again and Antoinette sidesteps then gives it a little push. It goes tumbling off the roof and we all listen for the splat. When it comes, we smile and then make our way downstairs.
There are a few Zs inside the building, but just as Stuart said would happen, it looks like the majority made their way back out to the streets when the canny army rolled by. The sisters quickly kill the few stragglers then do a sweep of the building to make sure everything is clear.
“Hello?” a voice calls out. “Is anyone out there?”
My eyes narrow. Stella’s eyes narrow. We both follow the voice back to the holding cells.
Kramer.
“Oh, hello, Stanfords,” Dr. Kramer says, his hands pressed up against the bars of his cell. “I had thought you civilized folks had forgotten all about me.”
“I wish,” Stella says.
We look at the floor in front of his cell and see two dead Zs. Kramer follows our gaze.
“Yes, it seems as if some of the undead made it inside last night,” Dr. Kramer says. He holds up a fork and butter knife, both coated with Z blood. “I lured them closer, which wasn’t hard to do, and put them out of their undead misery. I was afraid that more would come and burst into my cell, you just don’t know how strong these bars are since they were built with government money by the lowest bidder.”
We glare at him.
“Hmmm, I am sensing some tension,” he says. “Is there some specific cause?”
“What did you do to my husband?” Stella snaps.
“Why? What is wrong with him?” Dr. Kramer asks, all psychotic innocence and shit. “He looks perfectly healthy. And my, he has a weapon on his stump. How very post-apocalyptic of him.”
“I’ll go get a gun and come back here and put a bullet in your head if you don’t tell us what you did,” Stella says. “I am at the very end of my rope, asshole. You have three seconds to start talking or no amount of begging will save you.”
“I did nothing to Jace,” Dr. Kramer says. “But you must remember that the man had brain surgery and has suffered all kinds of trauma to his head over the years. His reaction to the conditioning can be wildly unpredictable. I explained that before doing what you told me to do.”
“Bullshit,” Stella says.
Kramer leans against the bars and glares at her. “Not bullshit. Not bullshit at all,�
� he replies. “I have no idea what is wrong with your husband.” He focuses on me. “I have no idea what has happened to you, Jace. If you would care to help me understand by explaining the symptoms then I can begin to diagnose the issue and perhaps we can work together to find a solution.”
“I can’t fucking talk, you fucking piece of shit,” I say.
“Oh my,” Dr. Kramer reacts. “That isn’t good. I am trying to parse the language, but it isn’t one I am familiar with.”
“It’s nonsense,” Stella says.
“I doubt that,” Dr. Kramer replies. “The human mind may at times seem chaotic, but it craves order. I am sure there is a pattern to his speech we can decipher given time.”
“No,” Elsbeth says from behind us. “No deciphering. No time. Fix Long Pork or you die, old man. We have won. The Consortium is dead. We control the Stronghold.”
“Do you now?” Dr. Kramer says, licking his lips. “I will make you a deal then.”
“No deals!” Elsbeth shouts and Stella and I jump. It’s a loud shout. “You have one week to fix him or I start slicing off hunks of your flesh and feeding them to you!”
“Everything alright in here?” Stuart asks as he comes hurry limping into the holding cell area. He looks at Elsbeth. “I thought I just heard you say you’re going to feed someone flesh.”
“I’m going to feed him his flesh,” Elsbeth says. “If he doesn’t fix Long Pork.”
“Oh,” Stuart nods. “Carry on then.”
He leaves and we all turn and look at Kramer.
“Well, I guess that explains my position here better than anything,” he says and sighs. “It seems I have no choice in the matter.”
“You never did,” Elsbeth says. She looks at us. “Leave him. Come get food. Get some sleep. We’ll come back tomorrow and he’ll start the fixing.”
“He starts now,” Stella says.
I grab her arm and pull. She tries to resist but gives in after I turn around completely and put my weight into it.
“Tomorrow,” Stella says, pointing at Kramer. “You fix him or you die.”
“Yes, yes, I understand the terms of the threat,” Dr. Kramer says as he sits back down on his cot. “Would it be too much trouble to have someone bring me some food as well? Perhaps a bottle of water?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Stella snarls.
“Yes,” Elsbeth says. “Someone will bring food and water.”
We get outside the holding cell area and Stella turns on Elsbeth.
“He doesn’t deserve food or water,” she says.
“He will die if he doesn’t get those things,” Elsbeth says. “He can’t help Long Pork if he’s dead.”
I nod in agreement.
“Fine,” Stella says shaking her head. “But no salt. I want it to taste like shit.”
“I can mix shit in it and not tell him,” Elsbeth smiles. “That he deserves.”
“Yeah, he does,” Stella says.
Damn. I have some seriously cold bitches looking out for my ass.
I am very glad that even if that was out loud they can’t understand me. I probably shouldn’t refer to my wife or Elsbeth as bitches. I mean it in a respectful and endearing way, of course. But still, not the brightest choice of words to-
“Jace!”
Shutting up.
WE COME BACK THE NEXT day and it all goes to fucking hell from there.
The front doors are repaired with heavy-duty plywood to keep out any stray Zs. The cannies have done a great job rounding up the stragglers, but this is the zombie apocalypse so there’re always one or two or three lurking in the shadows ready to jump out at you.
There is nothing wrong with the doors when we get to the security office. It’s what we find inside that’s the problem.
Blood. All pooled under the two chairs where the sentries that were assigned to the building should be sitting and waiting to be relieved.
No sentries. Lots of blood.
Stella pulls her pistol. I don’t have one, just the spike on Stumpageddon.
After some quick sleep, we made sure a full inventory of all supplies was done. We don’t have much ammunition left which is why I don’t get a pistol. That and no one trusts my brain with a firearm. Probably a good call.
The weird thing about there being lots of blood under the sentries’ chairs is that there’s no blood trail leading away from the chairs. Large pools of blood themselves are not exactly a strange occurrence these days. No sign that the owners of the blood moved? That’s freaky as shit.
Stella looks back at the doors and I know what she’s thinking. She’s debating whether or not to go get help. Turn and bail and go back to Kittredge Hall to find Stuart or one of the sisters. I want to tell her that we should do just that and forget about Kramer.
But that’s not how it goes.
We keep moving, our eyes and ears peeled. Can ears be peeled? I don’t know. We’re alert. We’re all the way to the door to the holding cells when Stella stops. She is about to open the door, but turns and shoves me out of the way instead. I fall right on my ass and smack my head on the floor. Having only one hand to brace yourself makes falling a little more treacherous.
I shake off the pain and look up. Stella grunts and stands there for a second, looking down at her belly. I don’t see what’s wrong at first then I realize that her hands are wrapped around something.
“Stella?” I mutter.
She looks at me, but I have no idea if I’ve said her name or if I’ve made a farting noise. I’m too shocked by the blood that starts pouring from between her fingers to know the difference.
“Hey there, Long Pork,” a familiar voice says.
Cassie walks up to Stella, her eyes locked onto mine, and yanks out the knife that she threw into Stella’s gut. My wife cries out and falls to her knees. Cassie gives her a little push then shoves her out of the way with her feet in order to get the door open.
Before she walks back to the holding cells, she wags a finger at me.
“Don’t start screaming for help now,” she says. “I hear one peep from you and I’ll kill you both when I get back. Right now, I think I like you alive. It makes the world more interesting. I realized that after thinking about our last talk.”
“You crazy fucking cunt ass bitch whore piece of shit,” I snarl.
“No,” she says. “None of those sounds were words. I’m guessing your brain has finally gone bye bye. Which is exactly what I plan to do in just a few minutes. Need to grab something first.”
She walks back to the holding cells and I concentrate on keeping pressure on Stella’s bleeding belly. She looks up at me, pain and fear in her eyes, and all I can do is look back. Anything I say, no matter how soothing I intend it to be, will be idiotic gibberish and only make things worse.
It’s a couple minutes before Cassie is back. She has an unconscious Kramer over her shoulder.
“Good for you,” she says. “You were quiet as a moron could be. Now, I’d appreciate it if you stayed quiet for a while longer so I can get away.”
She starts to walk off then stops and frowns.
“Hmmm,” she says as she comes back to me. “You really have no motivation to stay quiet, do you? Oh, well.”
Her boot meets my face.
“Loyalty above all else,” she says just before it all goes dark.
Chapter Eleven
They say we were gone for three hours before someone came to find us. I was collapsed over Stella, my weight keeping pressure on her wound the whole time. It’s the only reason she didn’t bleed out right there and then.
Not that it makes much difference.
Stella won’t wake up and her condition keeps getting worse.
I’m sitting next to her side in the hospital, her hand gripped in mine, as she slowly slips away from us.
I say us because not an hour has gone by where the hallway outside her room hasn’t been packed with people. Dr. Stenkler and Dr. McCormick tried to fight it at first, but it becam
e evident that no one was going to listen, so they made a rule that only immediate family was allowed inside.
That is me by the bed, Greta asleep in a chair, Charlie pacing back and forth incessantly at the foot of the bed, and Elsbeth standing by the window, her eyes looking out as jumbo snowflakes start to fall.
“I could track her,” Elsbeth says. “I could track her in this snow and find her and kill her.”
“No,” Charlie snaps. “You don’t get to kill her. I do. We do. You bring her back and we all get to cut a part off.”
I grunt and let go of Stella’s hand long enough to grab a pad and pencil from the bedside table.
No, I write. Everyone stays here. Cassie is long gone. She had hours to get away. They still haven’t found the sentries’ bodies. You think you can find her and Kramer if she doesn’t want to be found?
“I can find her,” Elsbeth snarls.
No. We need you here. Stella needs her family here. You don’t want to be gone if she
I stop writing. I don’t have to say it.
The lights flicker and we all look up. There’s an old generator hooked to the hospital’s power system, but it hasn’t been maintained well. I’d blame Amy and her crew, but I am so sick of blaming people. Just fucking sick of it.
We don’t know how this nightmare started, and we probably never will, but it doesn’t matter. We can figure it out and then what? Blame them? Why? It solves nothing.
And we sure as fuck can’t blame the Zs. They don’t know what they are doing, even the newer ones. All they want to do is eat. Eat human flesh. I fucking hate them for that, but that’s like hating a great white shark for munching on surfers. Pointless.
The lights steady and I sigh with relief as the machines keeping Stella alive continue to whir. As long as her chest rises and falls, I am okay. So I stare at her chest, I watch the slow rise, the stop, then the slow fall, and I pray to whoever is listening for my wife to come back to me. I pray with all of my might.