Rocky Mountain Die

by Jake Bible

  The Scar Boys and Ms. Glare keep their eyes on the roof below as the winch gets back to work. Stella is up next and she scrambles over to me, her hands feeling all over my body for wounds and/or bites. Which I guess are wounds, too.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Right as acid rain,” I smile then nod (ow) at the gentlemen watching us. “Have you met our hosts? They say there will be hors d’oeuvres and cocktails later.”

  The men with rifles trained on us frown and look at each other.

  “What did he say?” one of the men asks.

  “Something about cocktails!” the other replies.

  “You got booze, man?” the first yells at me.

  “No, I don’t have booze!” I yell back. “Do I look like I fucking have booze? Where the fuck would I have booze? I don’t even have a fucking pack on, dipshit!”

  “Jace,” Stella hisses in my ear. “Don’t piss off the people with rifles that are saving us.”

  “Whatever,” I grumble. “Booze. Fucking idiot.”

  The third person to climb into the chopper is Stuart.

  “Where is Charlie?” Stella yells. “You left him down there?”

  “He’s coming,” Stuart says. “He’s trying to get Elsbeth to stop fighting. She’s in one of her moods.”

  “You call that a mood, dude?” dreadlocked Scar Boy asks. “Shit, man, we could use a few more like her if they all are in that kind of mood.”

  I can’t see what she’s doing, but I have a pretty good idea.

  Finally, the winch gets working again and Charlie climbs up next to us. He glances at the guys with rifles, but dismisses them instantly. He and Stuart share a look and I raise an eyebrow. They both shake their heads.

  There’s a loud whirring noise then a crunch and the hold fills with smoke.

  “Winch is shot!” Ms. Glare yells. “Your friend will have to climb up!”

  Stuart scrambles to the edge of the chopper and cups his hands. “El! Elsbeth! The winch is broken! You have to climb!”

  He watches for a few seconds then looks at Ms. Glare.

  “Drop down and circle close to the north side of the building. Get the skids level with the roof,” he insists.

  “You want us to do what?” Ms. Glare shouts. “Are you nuts?”

  “I’m not,” Stuart smiles and points down to the roof. “But she is.”

  Ms. Glare hesitates, confused by Stuart’s order.

  “Do it!” Stella yells.

  Ms. Glare snaps her head around and does my nickname for her proud by giving my wife a look of death that would drop a horde of Zs instantly.

  “You do not give orders around here, lady!” Ms. Glare shouts. “Not unless you want to learn how to fly!”

  “Please, ma’am,” Charlie says in such an innocent voice that I have to wonder if maybe demon possession is now a thing in the apocalypse. “That’s my cousin and she means everything to me. Please help her. Please.”

  “Nice try, kid,” Ms. Glare says. “But sweet talk ended the day the dead started walking.”

  “Fine. Fuck it,” Charlie says and moves so fast I again have to wonder about the possession thing.

  He slams a fist into one of the rifle boys, snags the weapon and hands it back to Stuart. He grabs the rifle from the other guy and points it at third rifle man, the one that strapped me in. Stuart has his rifle aimed at the spot between Ms. Glare’s eyes. The Scar Boys just stare with their mouths open.

  Ms. Glare thinks for a second then sets her rifle down slowly and crawls towards the pilot. She barks some orders, barks them again when she’s questioned, then crawls back to us. She casually picks her rifle back up, but leaves it resting across her legs.

  “Wouldn’t want it to slide out,” she says. “Waste of a good gun.”

  “Understood,” Stuart says.

  The chopper banks and heads out away from the building then banks again and lowers closer to the roof, but just off to the side. Now I have a great view of what Elsbeth is busy doing. She’s kicking Z ass. You know, doing her thang.

  We wait for a couple of minutes as Elsbeth continues to do her thang and chop and hack Zs into tiny pieces. Not having to worry about my life (I think) means I get to watch the show. And holy shit, what a show.

  She spins and slashes, taking as many Zs out at the legs as possible, using the Z piles as cover as she dodges the fast little fuckers. I have no idea how the Zs got so fast, but it really puts a damper on my entire outlook on this fucking apocalypse. One thing we always had going for us was the fact we could outrun the undead bastards if we had to. Now? Not so much.

  “EL!” Stuart yells. “Time to go!”

  She glances over her shoulder at us and I can see her eyes assessing the situation. A smirk plays at her lips, but she turns back and keeps fighting the Zs. Stuart looks over at Stella and my wife sighs.

  “Elsbeth Carly Michelle Thornberg!” Stella shouts. “Get your ass in this helicopter right the fuck now!”

  Elsbeth stiffens at the use of her full name. She grabs a Z and snaps it in half with her bare hands then tosses it into a group lunging for her. She turns quickly and sprints across the roof right at us.

  “You’ll want to move!” Stuart yells, warning the Scar Boys and Ms. Glare.

  They scoot out of the way as Elsbeth reaches the edge of the roof and jumps, diving right into the hold. Charlie and Stella grab her to keep her from sliding out the other side.

  That’s when chaos erupts. You know, because it was so calm and orderly before.

  The rifle men jump at Charlie and the Scar Boys try to bring up their rifles at Stuart. A shot goes off then everything is a blur as fists and feet start flying this way and that. I have a hard time keeping track of it all.

  Why? Oh, no real reason. Except I caught a fucking bullet in my shoulder! It’s my right shoulder; Stumpageddon’s shoulder. Man, that arm just can’t catch a fucking break.

  Elsbeth has two men in head locks and one of the Scar Boys in a leg lock. By leg lock, I don’t mean she has the boy’s leg locked; I mean her legs are locked around his neck, his face darkening as all the blood is squeezed up into his skull. I sure know how that feels.

  “Knock it off!” Ms. Glare yells. “We saved you! We don’t want to fight!”

  “Tell it to dipshit and fucknut over there!” Stuart yells, pointing at the men head locked by Elsbeth. “They came at us.”

  “After you took their rifles and pointed them at us,” Ms. Glare says.

  “You wouldn’t save our friend,” Stuart says.

  “Hey, guys,” I try to interrupt. They ignore me. I just met half these people and already I’m getting ignored. You’d think they’d get to know me before they start ignoring me. “Guys?”

  “Count of three?” Ms. Glare asks.

  “Count of three,” Stuart says. He looks at Elsbeth. “Got it?”

  “I can count,” she snaps. “I ain’t stupid.”

  Stuart just sighs and shakes his head.

  “One,” Ms. Glare says.

  “Two,” Stuart says.

  “Three,” they say together.

  All rifles are lowered and Elsbeth lets the rifle guys go.

  Nobody tries anything and everybody stays cool. I wait a couple minutes and let the mood in the chopper stabilize before I speak up again.

  “Um, not to be a whiner, but I could use some help,” I say. “I got shot.”

  Everyone looks at me and the bleeding wound in my shoulder. In seconds, hands are flying over my body and I have faces close to me, bandages being whipped about, people talking to me and asking me all sorts of questions.

  I reply, “It hurts.”

  “Through and through,” one of the rifle guys says as he gently pulls me forward so he can look at my back. He shines a penlight into the wound and smiles. “I don’t see any bone. Looks like it’s a flesh wound. Nothing major nicked. We’ll get him stitched up when we get back to—”

  “We aren’t going back there,” Ms. Glare
says. “We land at the UC Hospital. Get this guy cleaned up and have a long talk with our new friends.”

  “UC Hospital?” Stella asks. “Is that close to a children’s hospital?”

  “About a block away,” Ms. Glare says. “Why?”

  “That’s where the rest of our convoy is at,” Stella says. “We need to find them and talk to them.”

  “Your convoy?” short-haired Scar Boy asks. “How many you got with you?”

  “Enough,” Stuart says.

  “Never enough,” Ms. Glare says. “And if they’re at the Anschutz then you don’t have a convoy anymore. That place is locked tight for a reason.” She glances out the chopper’s doors at the Denver streets below and the thousands upon thousands of Zs that fill almost every inch. “Not that it matters considering the shit storm you all brought with you.”

  “Not our shit storm,” Stuart says. “We’re just being blown along with it.”

  “And our friends will have that place cleared,” Stella insists.

  “They should have just gone to the UC Hospital,” Ms. Glare shrugs. “We cleared that months ago. First three floors are gutted with no access to any of the upper floors.”

  “Then how do you get in there?” Charlie asks. Everyone looks at him as he realizes we are riding in it. “Oh. Right.”

  “We’ll set down and get peg arm fixed up then we’ll see about your friends,” Ms. Glare says. She hesitates then holds out her hand to Stuart. “Amy. Amy Lowden.”

  “James,” Stuart says. “James Stuart.”

  One of the Scar Boys starts to open his mouth, but Amy holds up a hand. “I don’t think he’s a Jimmy, so don’t say it.”

  Stuart smiles at her and she slowly smiles back.

  “Goddamn, you two are cute!” I yell.

  The smiles go away.

  ***

  Three things we notice as the chopper comes in for a landing on the helipad on top of the UC Hospital.

  One: there are thousands of Zs milling about the facility grounds. Two: there are even more Zs over at another building a couple blocks away. The building that has a bunch of RVs, Humvees, and various canny vehicles parked in front of it. Three: some of those vehicles are on fire. So is the building they are parked in front of.

  Was that only three things? Felt more like five things.

  “Dad, be quiet,” Charlie says as the chopper rotors whir down and we can finally all hear each other without shouting at the top of our lungs.

  “Greta,” Stella says as she jumps down out of the chopper and hurries over to the railing at the edge of the helipad. I can hear her knuckles crack as she grabs the railing and grips it with all her worried Mom strength. She looks back at me as the rifle guys carefully help me out of the chopper. “Jace? Greta is in there!”

  The sound of gunshots reaches out ears and I wince.

  “We’ll get her,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

  She doesn’t bother yelling at me for saying something so stupid as don’t worry. She must really be freaked out. I’d be freaked out, but the bleeding shoulder wound, my bleeding skull, and all my other issues kind of shove the worry right from my mind. Or maybe the rushed brain surgery has shoved the worry away. Not sure.

  “I’ll go find her,” Elsbeth says.

  “You stay here,” Amy says. “We all stay here. We get your friend fixed up and then we talk about who goes where and does what.”

  “You don’t give me orders,” Elsbeth says. “No one gives me orders.”

  “We think it through,” Stuart says. “There are too many Zs for you to go down there.”

  “Wasn’t going down,” Elsbeth says and nods at the chopper. “I was going over. There’s a helipad on that roof too. We fly over and pick our people up then bring them back here.”

  “Not enough fuel,” the chopper pilot says as he hops out of the cockpit. “We have enough to get where we need to and that’s it.”

  “Where’s that?” Stuart asks.

  “Buckley,” the pilot says. “The Air Force base is the last place for fuel. We were going to pick up—”

  “That’s enough, Nick,” Amy says. She looks around at all of us and frowns. “Listen, I’m sorry for what’s happening to your friends, but we have a mission. This chopper is our lifeline. We have to complete our mission before we even think about saving your people.”

  More gunshots and a couple of far-off screams.

  “Jesus, Amy,” Nick says. “I guess I could pick up some people, go to Buckley and get those drums, then come right back.”

  “I have a better idea,” Stuart says. “You drop us off so we can help our friends, go get your fuel like planned, unload it here then pick our asses up.”

  “You want to get dropped off into that?” Amy asks, pointing out at the children’s hospital. Several more gunshots accent her point. “Really? Your people are going to be gone by then.”

  “You don’t know our people,” Stuart says.

  “Yeah,” Elsbeth says and sticks out her tongue.

  “Good one, El,” I say.

  Amy shakes her head over and over then the shaking slowly turns into a nod. “Fine. Nick’ll drop you crazy bastards off. If any of you are still alive when he gets back with fuel then we’ll bring you here. After that, I make no promises.”

  “Deal,” Stuart says.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll hang here,” I say.

  “Shut up, Long Pork,” Stuart says.

  Our new friends all freeze and stare at me.

  “What did you call him?” Amy asks.

  “Long Pork,” Stuart says. “It’s a nickname.”

  “I gave it to him because I almost ate him up once,” Elsbeth says. “I saved him instead. After he killed Pa.”

  “I killed Pa,” Stuart says.

  “Oh, right,” Elsbeth nods. “Long Pork just made bad jokes.”

  “That’s his secret weapon,” Charlie says.

  “You people are seriously fucked,” Amy says.

  “Wait until you get to know us,” I say. “Then you’ll see we aren’t seriously fucked, we’re hilariously fucked.”

  No one laughs. Tough crowd.

  ***

  A new wheelchair!

  One of the rifle guys brings it back when they go below and get some medical supplies to clean up and stitch up my shoulder.

  “Any reason we’re not going inside?” I ask. “It’s a little fucking cold up here.”

  “Never get boxed in,” Amy says.

  “I thought the hospital was clear?” Stella asks, the only one staying back with me as Stuart, Charlie, and Elsbeth go on their rescue mission.

  “Nothing is clear in this world,” Amy says. “Never get boxed in.”

  “Man, you and Stuart are totally going have to have coffee together,” I smile. “Or hit the shooting range. Whatever first dates are these days.”

  “Jace,” Stella warns. “Stop.”

  I shrug and regret it instantly. One of the rifle guys shakes his head as he crouches down and cuts open my coat and shirt, pulling the material away from the gunshot wound.

  “You guys seem to know more about first aid than weapons,” I say.

  “Why do you say that?” the guy working on my shoulder asks as the others stand around and watch.

  “We took you fast and you all looked like deer in the headlights, but as soon as I said I got shot you sprang into action without worrying who had the guns,” I reply. “Bit of a giveaway.”

  “We were EMTs,” one of the other rifle guys says. “We rode together before the dead showed up.”

  “The dead were always here,” I say. “We just weren’t listening.”

  Blank stares.

  “Ignore him,” Stella says. “He likes to hear himself talk.”

  “Aaayyy,” I say and give a thumb-up.

  “Don’t move, please,” the rifle guy stitching me up says.

  “I’m Jace,” I say to him. “Jace Stanford. That’s my wife Stella. My son Charlie was the teenage
r that got dropped off on the other hospital.”

  “Still a dumb move, if you ask me,” Amy says.

  “Our daughter is over there,” Stella says. “One of us has to go find her.”

  There are more than a few gunshots and we all look towards the children’s hospital.

  “Stop moving,” Stitcher guy says. “I’m Joe. The guy behind me is Trent. The other one is Mickey.”

  “Hey,” Mickey and Trent say.

  “Luke,” the short-haired Scar Boy says.

  “Bo,” the dreadlocked Scar Boy says.

  “Seriously?” I laugh.

  “Leave it,” Bo says.

  “Leave it, Jace,” Stella says. “Can’t really talk, can you, Long Pork?”

  “That brings up something I have to ask,” Amy says. “Who is the woman? The fighter?”

  “Elsbeth,” Stella says. “We adopted her.”

  “Adopted her? I thought she said she was going to eat your husband?” Amy says.

  “Yeah, we adopted her after that,” I say. “Seemed like the sensible thing. We specialize in reforming cannibals. It’s our thing.”

  “We don’t,” Amy says. “We put them down fast and leave their bodies for the dead to eat.”

  “Head shots, I hope,” I say.

  “Why? You think they deserve mercy like that?” Amy sneers. “Because they don’t.”

  “I’m sensing a sore spot has been uncovered,” I say. “Ow!”

  “You move when you talk,” Joe says. “And when you move, I slip. Stop talking, stop moving, be still and be quiet.”

  “Good luck with that,” Stella says.

  “What is Elsbeth’s story?” Amy asks. “What agency was she with? NSA? Homeland? CIA?”

  “CIA?” I laugh. “Ow!”

  “Shut. Up,” Joe says as he pulls a suture tight.

  “No, she wasn’t CIA,” Stella says, grinning. “She was, well,is, something else. She and her sisters.”

  “Whoa! Sisters?” Luke asks. “There’s more of her?”

  “Where?” Bo asks, looking around like they are going to jump out at him at any second. “Are they in Denver?”

  “We don’t know exactly where they are,” Stella says. “But my guess is they are close.”

  “This day is just getting weirder and weirder,” Luke says.