Z-Burbia Box Set | Books 1-3 [The Asheville Trilogy]

by Bible, Jake

  He doesn’t answer.

  “They tried hard, but in the end, it proved too costly to fight all the moonshiners. The people up here are resourceful and they don’t take kindly to anyone, especially the government, telling them what to do. When Prohibition finally came about, the hollers here were ready for it; there were more stills in these mountains producing liquor than anywhere else in the country. The Department of Revenue thought they could outgun the moonshiners. Not so much. Then they thought they’d chase them down on their delivery routes and confiscate their vehicles and cargo. Know where I’m going with this?”

  “I have a feeling.”

  “Good. Is it a sinking feeling? A feeling of dread? Because it should be. Remember that NASCAR thing pre-Z? Yeah, came out of the bootleggers and moonshiners modifying their cars so they could outrun the Revenuers. Started a multibillion dollar racing industry. Changed the world.”

  “I’m familiar with the history of NASCAR, Mr. Stanford.”

  “All of that, from bootlegging in the 1800s, to running moonshine in the 1920s, was done by simple folks, most of whom didn’t have a day of formal education. But they had guts, and drive, and a burning need to be free and independent. Just like today. And guess what?”

  “What, Mr. Stanford?”

  “The people left today do have education. They grew up knowing about the world, technology, and concepts their ancestors couldn’t dream of. And they have been fighting to stay alive for years against a menace that doesn’t give two shits about what’s in their head or hearts except for the tasty meat and blood that make them up. Do you, and tell me honestly, do you really believe you will convince any of them to be your slave willingly? For what? What can you possibly offer them?”

  Mondello is quiet for a long time. Long enough for me to get slightly nervous. Shit, did I over play my hand? Did I go too far and embarrass him enough that he’ll have the hulk behind him put a bullet in my brain?

  “What can I possibly offer? Is that the question?” Mondello finally asks.

  “It was kinda rhetorical,” I say.

  “Well, it shouldn’t be,” Mondello says. “Are you comfortable, Mr. Stanford? I hope so. You should settle in because now I’m going to tell you my story.”

  He takes a deep breath and begins.

  “Do you know how far down the totem pole I am in the line of succession? The bottom, pretty much. That means everyone above me had to die for me to become President. Not how I wanted it. Actually, I never wanted it. I was happy serving my time as Secretary of Homeland Security. A couple more years and I would semi-retire and rake in the cash on speaking tours, commencement speeches, and possibly a book or two. I’d worked my way up from laying concrete to CEO of one of the largest construction companies in the world. I was ready to relax.

  “But, as you know, that wasn’t to be. I watched friends, family, and colleagues die horrible deaths. I watched this nation, and the world, crumble. And I had a front row seat. I wasn’t some junior senator or congressman, I was Secretary of Homeland Security. That meant I was right there, every step of the way, as the zeds slowly began to win. We threw everything we had at them. By the time we realized numbers were against us, and it was too late to think of the nuclear option, the President was dead and so was her entire cabinet. Congress was massacred on Bloody Wednesday. You know how? Three fat fucks had heart attacks on the same day. They couldn’t take the stress. They turned and then turned everyone around them.”

  Mondello shakes his head.

  “We had DC locked down. We had the Capitol building locked down. The zeds may have been winning in the suburbs, but on Capitol Hill, we had them beaten. But that’s not how this all works. It isn’t us versus them, Mr. Stanford. Know why? Because we ARE them! I kill you now and leave your brain intact and you come back as a zed. You, me, every human being on this planet! We. Are. Them.”

  “Yeah, I know, trust me,” I reply. The look of pure rage on his face tells me he was expecting a different answer.

  Mondello gets himself under control and continues, “Of course you do, Mr. Stanford. You’re one of the few that has survived and adapted. We’ve been watching what you were trying to accomplish in your little Whispering Pines. It was impressive. Until that buffoon Vance fucked it all up.”

  “Wait...you know Vance?” I ask.

  “In a way,” Mondello says. “There is a business group, a Consortium, if you will, that came together soon after Z-Day. While the US government was busy either tucking its tail between its legs or bickering about who was in charge, they were busy securing resources and the means to survive, and then rebuild once the ashes had settled.”

  “A Consortium?” I ask. Critter and Big Daddy had mentioned there might be others working with Vance, but I thought more along the lines of criminals, mob bosses, that kind of shit.

  “These men and women have been behind most of the big moves this country has made the past few decades,” Mondello says. “Oh, I don’t have to tell you that this is strictly between us, right? Not to leave this room?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever,” I say. He’s going to kill me so saying that was just BS to try to get me to relax. How this guy was in charge of anything, I don’t know.

  “Good...good,” Mondello says. He rubs his brow and I can watch the emotions play across his face. “Where was I?”

  “Consortium,” I prompt.

  “Exactly,” Mondello says. “The US has always been about business. Even your example of the history around here proves that. The US government wanted in on the moonshine business and the moonshiners didn’t want that. Well, the Consortium didn’t spend their entire lives building their empires of business to have it all come crumbling down because of some walking corpses. Not these folks, Mr. Stanford.”

  “So, what, are you their puppet?”

  “Puppet? Hardly! I’m the President of the United States. And just like every President before me, I’m a facilitator. Do you think roads were built so everyday people could drive around where and when they wanted? Do you think the interstate highway system; Hoover damn, the Keystone pipeline, any of that happened for the common man and woman? I certainly hope not. All of that happened because business wanted it to happen. Do you remember the dismantling of the educational system that was happening just before Z-Day?”

  “Sure, my wife is a teacher,” I reply, “it was bullshit.”

  “Not if you wanted an ignorant, pliable work force that didn’t have the education or context to understand just how doomed they were,” Mondello smiles. “Keep them dumb and broke and you have democratic, capitalistic slavery at its finest. The wheels were already turning, Mr. Stanford. Z-Day just got rid of the pretext and brought the agenda out in the open.”

  “I still don’t see what that has to do with you,” I say. “Or with the Blue Ridge Parkway.”

  “Oh, that’s simple,” Mondello laughs. “The Parkway is an almost direct route from Charlottesville, which is where the new capital of the United States is, down to Atlanta, which is where the new center of business is.”

  “Wait...what?” I ask. “Atlanta is a wasteland. The place is nothing but Zs.”

  “Really? Have you been there since Z-Day?” Mondello asks, a sly smile on his face. “You’ve seen it yourself?”

  “Well...no.”

  “Then you are only repeating to me what the Consortium wants repeated. Quote un quote ‘survivors’ were sent out as far as they could get to tell people to stay away from Atlanta. Woe unto those that venture into the Hell of that city! Nothing but the undead everywhere!” Mondello starts laughing. “It was just too easy.”

  “Jesus...”

  “Yep,” Mondello says, wiping tears from his eyes. “Atlanta never fell. It came close, but it survived. The Consortium is based there and they need a working supply line between Atlanta and Charlottesville. They also need a safe travel route. The Blue Ridge Parkway is perfect. Sure, there’s some space between it and Atlanta that still has to be dealt with, but that
will happen. For now, we are clearing and repairing the Parkway. Pretty easy since it is so remote. Not many Zeds except for tourists trapped in their RVs and the stray hiker or camper. Almost impossible for herds to get to because of the mountains. The perfect trade route.”

  “And Asheville is the perfect base to set up operations and repair and maintain the Parkway,” I say.

  “Yes, it is. Which is why we went into business with Vance. He was going to secure Asheville for us.”

  “But you didn’t count on the crazy,” I smile.

  “Oh, on the contrary, we factored that in,” he answers. “Trust me, you don’t make plans post-Z and forget about the crazy. We just didn’t know the crazy would get him killed so quickly. And unite all of you fine folks. That’s the real issue.”

  “Because you wanted us beaten and broken so you could swoop in and show us a ‘better’ way,” I say.

  “Now you’re getting it,” Mondello says, touching his finger to his nose.

  “Slave labor to rebuild the country in the image the Consortium had been planning on in the first place,” I say. “I do get it. And the US government-” I use air quotes on that one. “-makes sure the infrastructure is in place to make it all happen.”

  “You are smart, Mr. Stanford.”

  “So now what? You kill me?”

  “Kill you?” Mondello asks, truly puzzled. “Why would I do that?”

  “Isn’t that how it goes? The bad guy fills the good guy in on his plans since he’s going to kill him anyway?”

  “Well, the first flaw in that assumption is that I’m the bad guy,” Mondello laughs. “The second flaw is that you are trying to apply what happens in the movies to what happens in real life. Killing you, after I have spent all this time and energy educating you, would be a massive waste. I have zero intention of killing you, Mr. Stanford. I’m going to keep you alive as long as I can.”

  “Then I guess I’m not as smart as you think, because I’m lost here.”

  “Oh, I’m going to kill your family. One at a time. Unless you agree to help me take that farm and secure those resources we need to finish our job with the Parkway. That is why I told you everything. I wanted you to have that big picture in your head so you know that even if you kill me, which is possible, and somehow manage to stop Foster and her people, which is the real hard part, you’re only chopping off heads of the hydra. And there are so many more heads to replace us.”

  At this point, I am glad I haven’t had breakfast. I can feel the bile build up in my stomach and I want nothing more than to turn my head and puke. Mondello sees this and that smile takes over his face. He pats me on the leg and stands up.

  “I’ll let you think it over,” he says as he walks to the door. “Someone will bring you food soon and you’re welcome to take a shower. I’ll have Foster’s people find you some fresh clothes. You have today to run it over in your head. I expect an answer by this evening.”

  “You have my family?” I ask.

  “No, not yet,” he says, “but it won’t be hard to get to them. Your people on that farm are probably pretty proud of themselves. Maybe too proud. They’ll be exhausted, scared, confused, and many will be over confident.” He stops, his hand on the door handle. “The perfect recipe for extraction. Don’t forget, Mr. Stanford, while Foster is the expert, I was Secretary of Homeland Security. I know how to acquire assets and how to use them. It was my job after all.”

  Then he’s gone, leaving me to my physical pain and my emotional turmoil.

  I get up, slowly, since I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, and go to the window. It’s locked and secured and three stories up. I’m not getting out that way. I have some skills, but scaling the rock and brick face of a hotel is not one of those skills.

  I look out at the Grove Park grounds and watch as dozens of people hustle about. Foster’s private contractors, construction crews gearing up, obvious administrative types working for Mondello, all the cogs in the machine.

  And fuck, it sounds like quite the machine.

  A knock at the door makes me turn, which I regret as I twist something in my side. I’m a fucking mess, as usual.

  “Food and clothing,” Foster says.

  “Didn’t expect you to deliver it personally,” I reply.

  “Go take a shower and then let’s talk,” Foster says.

  “About?”

  She shrugs and motions towards the bathroom.

  I’m not one to argue against a free shower. So I take the clothes and step in. I try to close the door, but she blocks it with her foot.

  “I’d feel better with this open,” she says. “I won’t look, I promise. Just don’t want you using that brain of yours without supervision.”

  “Well that brain of mine, as you all keep calling it, isn’t running at full steam right now,” I reply. “I think you’re safe.”

  “I’m never safe,” she says, then walks away, out of sight.

  I turn the water on and wait for it to get hot. And wait. And wait. Fuck.

  “No hot water?” I call out.

  “You have to be up earlier than this,” she says from the room. “Only two boilers working at a time. It helps motivate the crews in the morning. First ones up get hot water and bigger portions. You should see the lines.”

  “Great,” I mutter.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I reply.

  Cold shower it is. I suffer through, still glad to get the dirt and blood washed off me. There was a lot of blood. I get dressed in the black cargo pants and black t-shirt Foster gave me and walk back into the room. She hands me a small bottle and I sniff it.

  “Mouthwash?” I ask.

  “All out of toothpaste. Thought you’d like this,” she replies. “Socks and boots are over there. Get them on. Eat fast. We’re going for a walk.”

  I comply. What the fuck else am I going to do?

  Boots on, food in my belly, and we are walking. We get downstairs and outside and I can’t help but take a deep breath of the late fall air. Sure, it’s tinged with the smell of death and ash, but still it’s nice.

  “The President told you that we’re going to use your family as leverage, right?” she asks finally as we make our way down to the golf course.

  “He did,” I reply, “do you have them?”

  “Maybe,” she shrugs.

  “Then I don’t know what we have to talk about,” I say.

  “There’s a girl, a young woman, that you’ve taken in,” Foster says. “Do you know who she is?”

  “Nope, don’t know who you are talking about,” I say.

  “Cut the crap, Stanford,” Foster laughs. “I know who she is. I know she means something to you. Maybe not as much as your family does, but she’s part of your life now. So answer my question: do you know who she is?”

  “She was a canny, a cannibal,” I say. “She saved my ass. Despite the fact that my good friend killed her father.”

  Foster stops and I stop with her. She turns and looks at me and I’m pretty fucking confused by the look on her face.

  “That wasn’t her father,” Foster says. “Just a man that took her when Z-Day hit.”

  “Hold on...what?” I ask. “What are you telling me? Why? What the fuck is going on?”

  “I want that girl,” Foster states flatly.

  “I’d hardly call Elsbeth a girl,” I say.

  “Elsbeth...,” she says, “that’s what she calls herself?”

  “That’s the name her father said when they had me tied up in a basement and were ready to carve me up for dinner,” I say.

  “He wasn’t her father,” Foster growls, “got that?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” I say. “So I’m guessing you know her real name and where she’s from and who her real father is and all that crap?”

  “I know everything about her,” Foster says. “I just need to get her.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” I ask. “Go get her. I dare you.”

  This m
akes Foster smile. “She trusts you. You can get her to me without anyone dying, especially her. I send in my people and there will be blood.”

  “You aren’t wrong there,” I say, “and if I get her to go with you, then are you going to harm her?”

  “Not a single hair on her head.”

  “And you’ll make sure my family isn’t harmed?”

  “That’s the deal.”

  “Say it,” I insist.

  “Stanford, I promise your family won’t be harmed and none of you will end up on Mondello’s slave crews. I can’t say the same for the rest of your Whispering Pines neighbors or for those on that farm. But the Stanfords will be free to go.”

  “Go where?”

  She shrugs. “That’s not my concern. You figure that part out. Uncertain freedom is better than certain slavery.”

  “Ha, not always,” I laugh. “Have you seen the world lately?”

  “More than I care to. So do we have a deal?”

  I look over at the four guards that have accompanied us. “You aren’t afraid they’ll talk?”

  “Not in the least,” she replies. “Governments come and go, as do clients, but I’m a constant. My people know that if they stick with me, they’ll have the best shot at a life in this world. Mondello is a bureaucrat; the Consortium is just a bunch of greedy fucks. They don’t understand what life is like on the ground. Maybe at one time, some of them did, but not any longer. Plus, we’re all that stands between the zeds and Mondello’s ass. The Secret Service was never reinstated. Easier just to hire us.”

  “Why do you want Elsbeth?” I ask. “Tell me that, at least.”

  “No,” she states flatly, “do we have a deal?”

  “No,” I state flatly in the exact same way. “I’m not selling that young woman out. Not unless you give me something. Some reason I should do that.”

  “You mean besides the fact that I can save your family?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Fine. Why do you think I’m in Asheville?”

  “To do your job helping Mondello run his slave labor and secure the Parkway.”

  “Good. That’s what he thinks too,” Foster says. “I’m actually here for a different reason. I took this contract because I knew it would be based in Asheville and not one of the other sites. I’m actually very familiar with this area.”