by Bible, Jake
So, as we walk into the lobby, I can’t help but think of those times. A wave of pre-Z nostalgia washes over me as I realize we’re only a month or so away from Christmas. Not that we really celebrate it. Kinda loses its charm when you see an undead Santa Claus eating his elves. Yeah. I saw that.
But I can almost smell the pine and the spiced cider, as we are led towards a long table set up by the rows of back windows that look out on the Grove Park’s former golf course and the mountains beyond. It is a gorgeous view, even now post-Z. The undead can’t take the views from us, dammit!
“Thirsty?” Mondello asks. “Hungry?”
“I could go for a latte,” I say. “Maybe some biscotti? The biscotti here is to die for.”
“Is it?” Mondello says. “I don’t believe there’s any left, but I can have someone look.”
“He’s joking, Mr. President,” Leeds says. “He does that a lot. A lot.”
“Actually I wasn’t joking,” I say. “I do like those biscotti. And the lattes here weren’t half bad if you got the right person to make them.”
“Take a seat, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says, gesturing to a chair at the long table. I glance at the table and the piles of paperwork and maps strewn across it haphazardly. “I’m a tad unorganized at the moment. Your little accident threw me off and I have had to come up with a new plan while we regroup.”
“Bummer,” I say, taking a seat. Leeds sits next to me, but Foster remains standing just behind Mondello. “You know, I have a reputation for problem solving. Maybe I can take a look at your plans? Give you some pointers?”
“Some pointers?” Mondello asks, looking back at Foster. “Is he for real?”
“Painfully so, sir,” Foster says.
“Listen, Mr. Stanford,” he says, taking a seat. “Do you know who I am?”
“Apparently you are the President of the United States,” I say. “But I don’t remember the inauguration parade. Personally I don’t think it counts unless you have a parade.”
“Oh, it counts,” Mondello says. “It’s just hard to spread the word nowadays.”
“Tell me about it,” I say.
“Before becoming Secretary of Homeland Security, I was the CEO of one of the largest construction businesses in the world,” Mondello says, “which means, I don’t need you to give me any pointers. I have come across situations you can’t even think of. The problems you have caused are inconveniences, not roadblocks. I’ll work them out, get the new plans to my crews, and we’ll be back in business in the next three days.”
“What business is that, Mr. President?” Leeds asks.
“Don’t call him that,” I say. I don’t know why, but it really pisses me off that this guy thinks he’s president of a government that doesn’t exist. “That’s all pre-Z. Different world now, different rules.”
“Different world for you, maybe, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello smiles as he leans back in his chair. “But for those of us that have been part of the larger world picture, this is just another chapter in this country’s storied history.”
“So when are elections?” I ask. “I didn’t get the flyer in the mail. And I’m pretty sure my voter registration card was lost. You’re not one of those voter ID nuts, are you? I don’t even think I have a driver’s license to show.”
“Jace...,” Leeds warns.
“No, Captain, don’t ‘Jace’ me,” I say. I can feel my blood getting hot and I have a choice to make, back off or keep going. My mouth makes the decision for me. “Listen, I’m sorry I fucked your plans up, Mr. Mondello, but I’m not buying this POTUS bullshit. I’ve been fighting for my family’s lives and mine for years now, without help from the US government. I’ve done things that no self-respecting human being should ever have to do. I’ve seen things, memories of which I keep locked up in my brain so I don’t curl up into a fetal position all day. And during all of this, there hasn’t been one single hint that a government existed. Not. One. Hint.”
I stand up and look at Leeds.
“Let’s go. I’m done with this shit. I have a family to get home to.”
“Sit down, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says quietly.
“No, I don’t think so,” I say. “If you are the President, as you say, then you believe in the rule of law. Are you going to shoot me if I don’t sit down? Are you going to try me for sedition and hang me from the balcony out there? I don’t think so.”
“Jace, sit down,” Leeds says, his hand clamping onto my arm.
I shake him off and start to walk away. “Fuck this,” I shout. “I’m tired and hungry and worried about my family and friends. I want to get home and make sure they’re okay. I want them to know I’m okay. That’s my fucking worldview, Mr. Mondello. And that’s all I want it to be. So go fuck yourself and your play government. I don’t know what you are doing and I don’t care as long as you leave me out of it.”
“You’d like to see your family again, Mr. Stanford?” Mondello asks, a sly grin on his face. “That will be arranged.”
“Fuck, Jace,” Leeds says, getting to his feet. “You wouldn’t listen.”
Foster moves quickly, so do her guys, and Leeds and I are surrounded.
“Captain, last time I checked, you were still a member of the US Armed Forces, am I correct?” Mondello asks.
“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Leeds says.
“Then you have a choice to make, don’t you?” Mondello says, pointing at me. “Do your job or join your friend.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask. “Do his job? What the fuck job is that?”
“Whatever the fuck I say,” Mondello replies. “As Commander-in-Chief, it is his sworn duty to obey my orders. And my orders right now are to shut you the fuck up. With extreme prejudice.”
“Extreme prejudice? Wasn’t that a movie back in the ‘80’s? Pretty sure it had Nick Nolte and Rip Torn in it,” I reply. “I think it sucked.”
“I have no idea what you are babbling about,” Mondello says, turning away. “Foster, make sure Mr. Stanford is comfortable until end of shift. He’ll be tonight’s entertainment. I’m sure the crews and your people will enjoy the distraction.”
“Mr. Stanford, if you will follow me,” Foster says, her eyes on Leeds and not me. “Will this be a problem, Captain?”
Leeds takes a breath and looks over at me, shaking his head. “No, it won’t be a problem.”
“Good,” Foster smiles. “Because you may or may not be surprised to know I have heard of your team. If half the stories are true, then I’d rather not have to deal with any shit from you.”
“The stories are true,” Leeds nods, “but you misunderstand.”
“Excuse me?” Foster asks, stopping. Her eyes dart to her people. “Misunderstand what?”
“By what I mean when I say there won’t be a problem,” Leeds replies, and then smiles. And his smile is the creepiest of the day. And it has been a day of creepy smiles, believe me.
Mondello turns back to us just as Leeds makes his move. Oh, I get it! There’s no problem because Leeds has decided to help me! Good for him! You know, I’ve always liked-
The next thought is knocked from my head by a very big fist to the back of my skull, as I watch Leeds duck under a swing from one of the muscle guys and come up with a jab to the throat. I fall to the floor hard, my head bouncing off the wood. And it’s nice wood. Gorgeous floor. Maybe Stella and I should put hardwood floors in our house when we rebuild Whispering Pines. We always wanted hardwood floors, but just never got around to replacing the carp-
OW! FUCK!
Being kicked in the ribs sucks. OW! “Fucking stop!” I shout. Or think I do. The kicks take my breath away. So I probably just say, “Oooofy oof.”
I try to curl up into a fetal position, but someone has my legs and they’re dragging me across the gorgeous wood floor, while someone else keeps kicking me in the ribs and gut. Mother fuckers. Nice technique, though. I’ll give them that.
And I puke.
It was expec
ted, what with all the kicking.
“Jesus,” the kicker says, “this is tonight’s entertainment? Gonna be a short show.”
I can hear men grunt in pain and I know Leeds is doing better than I am. I hear a man’s cry cut short then a gunshot. Two more.
“Get up,” Leeds says, suddenly standing over me. I look up and he has a pistol in each hand, covering the room. He taps me with his toe. “Get up, Jace. Now.”
Painfully, I get to my feet, clutching my ribs and gut. My side, where I was shot by Vance’s Desert Eagle a couple months ago, is on fire and I know Dr. McCormick is gonna be pissed if I reinjured myself. Not that I expect to live long enough for her to find out. The bajillion guns pointed at us will take care of that.
“Captain, put the weapons down,” Mondello orders, “you can still salvage this.”
“I don’t think I can, sir,” Leeds says, “because I have to agree with Stanford here. I don’t think it counts if there isn’t a parade.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. It’s kinda cool when a Special Forces captain is standing there, a pistol in each hand, and uses your joke to make a point.
“Leeds,” Foster warns, “I can take you out right now. I don’t want to, though. ODA Cobra has quite a reputation. You and your men can do some good. We have room for you here. Put down the guns and we’ll talk. No tricks, just soldier to soldier.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Ms. Foster,” Leeds says. “I’m the only soldier in this room. You’re just a bunch of mercenaries hired by a puppet.”
“Oooh, wrong thing to say,” Foster replies. “We don’t like being called mercenaries. That’s a four letter word in our business.”
“It’s an eleven letter word, to be exact,” I state. “I wonder if it can be played in Scrabble? You’d have to connect it to another word, but I’m not sure what word that would-”
“Dear God, Jace,” Leeds says.
“Sorry.”
“What’s the call, sir?” Foster asks.
“I’d rather they didn’t die,” Mondello says. “Can you take them down without killing them?”
“Consider it done,” Foster says.
“Not without losing a few of your own,” Leeds says. “Jace, slowly back to the door.”
I do, but my progress is stopped quickly. I turn around and come face to chest with possibly the largest man I’ve ever seen. The fucker must be seven feet tall and almost as wide across.
“Oh, hey there,” I say.
“Jace?” Leeds asks.
“I hit a mountain, Captain,” I reply. “I have a feeling it may hit back.”
Leeds risks a look over his shoulder. That’s all that Foster needs. I hear a snap and then a crackling as Leeds falls to the ground, his body shaking uncontrollably, the pistols sliding across the floor. Two wires protrude from his chest and the smell of burning hair fills the lobby.
“Pick his ass up,” Foster orders.
I think she’s talking about Leeds, but turns out it’s me as the mountain wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me up like I used to do to the kids when they were little. I’d fight, but have you ever tried to fight a mountain? Doesn’t work.
“And drag that treasonous fucker with us. That’s the second time today he’s gotten a bead on me,” Foster says. She gets right up in my face. “You’re going to take a nap and when you wake up, you’ll put on a show. Time to see what life amongst the zeds has taught you.”
“It has taught me that dental hygiene is still appropriate,” I reply. “Did you brush your teeth today? Because that’s quite the stink mouth you’ve got going-”
The pistol butt to my head ends that conversation as I plummet into unconsciousness.
What brings me out is the soul piercing agony in my right hand.
“MOTHER FUCK!” I scream as I open my eyes. “HOLY FUCKER DICK SUCKING CUNT LICKER!”
“Damn,” Foster says from a few feet away, “that’s quite a mouth and I’ve been around the military my whole life.”
A man is wrapping my right hand with a thick bandage. It hurts like hell, but in seconds, it’s secured and basically immobile. The pain subsides a little and I raise the wrapped hand to my eyes, and then look at Foster
“Uh, thanks?” I say.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Foster smiles, “eat your dinner first.”
A tray of food is on a side table next to the cot I’m lying on. We are in a small room, one of the guest rooms in the Grove Park Inn, but all the furniture has been cleared out to make room for cots. There are eight cots in total, but only two are occupied: one by me, and one by a still unconscious Leeds.
“He gonna get dinner too?” I ask.
“Later,” Foster smiles. “Maybe. Depends.”
“Depends on what?” I ask. The smell of the food, whatever it is, makes my stomach growl.
“Depends on how you perform tonight,” Foster says. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” She walks to the door, but stops and nods at Leeds. “Watch him. It’ll be time soon.”
The four PCs in the room all nod. The man that wrapped my hand packs up supplies into a small pack and follows Foster out the door, leaving Leeds and me alone with the heavily armed guards.
I lean over, grab the plate of food, and sniff it. Chicken. With some bean mush and maybe what used to be greens. Maybe. Could be moldy bread.
“This isn’t poisoned or drugged, is it?” I ask. The PCs don’t answer, they just stare at Leeds. “Um, I’m awake and talking. Pretty sure I’m way more interesting than him.”
Nothing.
“Fine, whatever,” I say, pulling up my legs and steadying the plate against my knees with my wrapped hand. I pick up the plastic fork in my left and start to eat. “Hey...not...bad.”
It is pretty bad. I lied. The shit tastes like, well, shit. God, are they feeding me shit? Is this some kind of private contractor joke? Feed the prisoner shit. I look around for video cameras to see if maybe they are watching me. Ha, ha, the fool ate shit, ha, ha.
However, there aren’t any cameras, not that I can see, just four PCs watching the captain closely. I finish the food, despite my urge to vomit, since I need the nourishment. Something you learn during the apocalypse, is not to be too picky about what you eat and when. Sure, suburban living in Whispering Pines made things a little better, but you still didn’t waste food there. Brown spots on the produce? You eat it. Chicken is stringy and flavorless? Eat. It.
As soon as I set the plate down, two of the men converge on me.
“Get up,” one says, “time to go.”
“Can I use the potty first?” I ask. “I’m pretty regular. Food goes in and shit comes out. That’s just the way my bowels work. Although, considering what I just ate, I’d change that to shit goes in and shittier shit goes out.”
The man points to the bathroom door. “Fast.” I nod and walk into the bathroom. I try to shut the door, but a large hand stops it. “Door stays open.”
“Right,” I say. “That way I can’t crawl down the drain or anything.” I tap my temple. “Good thinking.”
I do my business, which isn’t easy with only one hand, and walk back into the room.
“Time to go,” the man says again.
“Yep, got that,” I say, looking at Leeds. “What about the captain?”
“Not time yet,” the man says, “he’ll be down soon.”
We leave the room and skip the elevator, going straight for the service stairs. There are armed men at each floor and I smile at them as we pass. They don’t smile back. Would it kill them if they did? I mean, really, come on, I’m smiling and I’m pretty sure I’m being taken to my death. They’ve got the guns! Be happy about it, for suck’s sake!
“Stop daydreaming and move,” the man says as he shoves me through a door and out into a service corridor. I can hear a low sound, like a beat, steady, and pounding.
“What is that?” I ask. No one answers. “Is that music?”
The sound gets louder and I can feel a vibration i
n my feet. What the fuck?
The mystery is revealed as I’m led outside and am instantly blinded by several sets of unbelievably bright work lights. You know the kind that light up constructions sites? Yeah, a bunch of those fuckers. Shielding my eyes with my bandaged hand, I’m shoved forward. The door behind me slams closed and I can hear the lock click.
It takes my eyes a minute to adjust and when I do, I realize I am in deep shit.
“Mr. Stanford, how are you tonight?” Mondello’s voice calls from above me, barely heard above the noise. I try to find him, but can’t see past the lights.
What I can see, is that I’m in a cleared out section of the grounds behind the Grove Park. A large circle of gravel has been set down and ringing that is a six-foot tall chain link fence. Steel supports brace the fence all around and I can sort of make out what look like bleachers beyond that. Which is where the sound is coming from.
Hundreds of people are seated and all clapping and stamping their feet.
I’m in a mother fucking fight cage. Or arena. Or whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m the gladiator and the plebs want a show. I wonder what Caesar wants?
“I’ve had better nights, I can tell you that,” I say to Mondello. “You really need to speak to your cook. That meal did a number on my guts. I’m ten seconds from a serious shart mishap.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Mondello laughs. “You live and I’ll make sure you get something better to eat.”
“If I live?” I shout. “Jesus fuck, people! Will you knock it off with the We Are The Champions bit! I get it; you’re excited to see a fight! Good for you!”
The clapping and stomping lessens considerably.
“You can really bring down a mood, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says.
“Oh, just call me Long Pork,” I reply. “All my friends do, so my enemies might as well also.”
“I’m not your enemy, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello replies, “I’m your President.”
A cheer goes up amongst the crowd.
“Do we really have to go through all that again?” I ask. “I have a feeling my time is short and I’d rather not waste it on politics.”