by Bible, Jake
“There’s three- two males and one female,” the radio voice states. “Orders?”
“Three?” Foster asks.
“Affirmative.”
“There were four, where’s the third male?” Foster asks. “I want descriptions, now!”
The man describes Elsbeth, Critter, and probably one of Critter’s guys. Who’s the other guy that is supposed to be with them?
“Where’s the fucking sniper?” Foster growls into the radio, her eyes darting around, scanning the area. She pushes her hand on my chest, shoving me against the house and deeper into the shadows. “I swear I’m gonna cut a bitch if I find out we lost the sniper.”
John. Did he get hurt? Taken down by Zs? Or is he on the offensive? I’m hoping for the latter.
“This is not good,” Foster says, looking at me. “I need you in the middle of the street now. If that sniper is out there, I want him to know there will be consequences if he starts firing.”
“What sniper?” I ask. “I have no idea-”
She grabs me by the front of my shirt and yanks me to her. “Stop. Right. Now. I know you know exactly who I am talking about. I know all about Leeds’s team. I have access to their dossiers. Weapons Sergeant Sammy “John” Baptiste. He’s a deadly mother fucker. I want you in that road and calling to Elsbeth in thirty seconds. At thirty-one seconds, I call my guys and your family dies. Are we clear, Stanford?”
“Crystal,” I reply, trying to pull her hand from my shirt. Not happening. This chick has one fucking strong grip. “What about the others? Critter and his guy?”
“What about them?”
“I don’t want them killed either,” I say.
“Not part of the deal,” she replies. “The deal is set. Elsbeth for your family. Critter will have to take care of himself.”
“You’re one cold bitch,” I say.
“You know nothing about me, Stanford,” she glares. “Now get your ass out there.”
Finally, she lets go and shoves me towards the road. I stumble as I get up, but quickly get my balance and walk casually into the middle of the road. I shield my eyes and look towards where I think they should be.
“Elsbeth!” I cry out. “Elsbeth, it’s me! Long Pork!” Ugh, I hate that name.
I wait, but there’s no reply.
“Elsbeth! It’s safe! You can come out!” Still no reply. “Please! They have Stella and the kids!”
“What’s that?” Elsbeth calls as she steps from behind a large oak. “Who has the kids? Who has Stella?”
“Just come down here and I can tell you,” I say, feeling like the shittiest person in the world. Seriously, I would consider Mondello a saint compared to the person I am right now. “We don’t have much time.”
Elsbeth watches me for a minute then shakes her head. “Why, Long Pork?” she asks. “Why down there? That’s stupid. No cover. Get up here with me.”
Hmmm, a problem...
“Come on,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. I just need your help. Please. Come down here.”
She watches me again.
She knows. Even from here, I can tell she knows I have betrayed her. Come on, come on. I really don’t have time. The seconds are ticking away. She has to get down here or Foster will kill my family.
“Please!” I beg. “Just come here.”
Hisses get my attention and I look over my shoulder to see a group of ten or twelve Zs shambling out of an old ice cream shop. The entire front of the building is busted in, like a car rammed it. But there’s no car. Just Zs.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Elsbeth sees them and she pulls her blades, stepping further away from the tree and towards me.
“Get up here, Long Pork,” she says, motioning towards me, “they’ll eat your ass.”
Where the fuck is Critter? Why hasn’t he said anything?
Because he knows it’s a trap. She knows it, he knows it, and that’s why John is missing. He’s probably watching this all play out from on top of one of the houses, his scope centered on my forehead. Or maybe on Foster’s forehead. I would like to think that’s how it is. Yes, on Foster’s forehead.
I don’t really care about Critter’s guy, wherever he is. Not trying to be callous, just being honest. A man can only worry about so much in the zombie apocalypse. Gotta pick your worries carefully, if you know what I mean. Otherwise, you’re just a constant ball of nerves; twitching and flinching like a stray dog.
“Long Pork!” Elsbeth shouts, pointing behind me.
Oh, right, the Zs. What do I do? If I run towards her, then Foster could give the order to kill my family. But stay here and I’m Z chow. Fuck.
I rub my face with my non-throbbing hand and look back at the Zs. Twelve. Yeah, I for certain count twelve of them. Without a weapon, I could maybe get lucky and kill two, possibly three. Possibly...
“I’m fucked!” I shout. “This is all fucking bullshit!” I point towards Foster. “You! Get your fucking ass out here! This whole situation has gone to shit and it’s your fault. Get out here and fix this.”
“Who are you talking to, Long Pork?” Elsbeth asks, her voice cautious and cold. “That the person you’re working for now?”
“Working for?” I ask, “What the fuck? I don’t work for anyone, El. I’m just trying to keep my family alive! There’s a woman here that knows you and wants to meet you. I said I could help if she doesn’t kill Stella and the kids.”
Elsbeth walks completely away from the tree and down the yard towards me. Her eyes scan the area, focusing on the shadows I pointed to.
“A woman? What woman? I don’t know a woman,” Elsbeth says.
As soon as she’s in the street, SUVs come barreling from all directions, surrounding us. Elsbeth freezes, her eyes locked on mine. Jesus, I suck. The pain, the betrayal I see. She’ll hate me forever.
“Hold!” Foster shouts as she walks into the road, her hands out towards the SUVs. “Do not engage!”
“Tough shit,” Cowboy says as he steps from one of the SUVs. “You fucked up, Foster.”
“Jameson? What the hell are you doing?” Foster asks, marching up to him. “You’re supposed to be with the President!”
“Oh, he is, Ms. Foster,” Mondello says from inside the SUV. He leans across the seat and waves. “Hello there, Mr. Stanford. Sorry my former employee got you mixed up in all of this. I’ll try not to let it reflect too poorly on you.”
“Long Pork?” Elsbeth asks, her eyes taking it all in. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Honestly, El, I’m just as lost as you.”
“I’m not lost,” Elsbeth says, looking around. “I know exactly where I am.”
More men jump from the SUVs and surround Foster, Elsbeth, and myself.
“What the fuck have you done, Jameson?” Foster asks her man.
“Just what you would do in my situation,” Cowboy replies. “I took an opportunity to advance my career.”
“It’s true, Ms. Foster,” Mondello says from inside the SUV. “Please say hello to the new head of the Secret Service. Mr. Jameson put on a great presentation on why he was the most qualified person for the job. I had considered you for the position, but as always, you are strictly in this business for yourself.”
“Jameson,” Foster says. “You’re making a mistake. What have I always said?”
“We work for anyone, but are owned by no one,” Cowboy snorts. “Which is pretty fucking stupid. They mean the same thing.”
“No, they don’t, you fucking moron,” Foster says. “God, you royally fucked this up. We could’ve had it all. Now what do we have? Jack shit.”
“No, you have jack shit,” Cowboy smiles. “I have a sweet new gig. And get to keep from being tonight’s entertainment.”
“What?” Foster asks, looking at Mondello. “You fucking bastard. Just put a bullet in my head.”
“And waste your talent?” Mondello laughs. “Please, Ms. Foster, be practical. At least you may have a chance to live. Until yo
u lose, that is.”
Groans get my attention. Oh, right, those Zs. Twelve of them.
“My family,” I say to Foster. “What about my family?”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Cowboy says. “We intercepted the van a few blocks over. They’re on their way back to the Grove Park right now.” He looks over his shoulder at Mondello. “And I believe you have them scheduled for tonight also, is that right Mr. President?”
“You fuck!” I yell and dive at the SUV. Cowboy drops me hard.
“No!” Elsbeth shouts and then the shit hits the fan.
I try to push myself up, but Cowboy really walloped me upside the head. Dizzy and shaky, all I see are legs moving about me and all I hear are shouts and then gunshots. But even through the haze of my confusion, I can make out one steady sound of gunshots; systematic and perfectly timed.
I push up again and am able to reach up and grab the side mirror of the SUV in front of me. Pulling myself to my feet, I watch as one, two, three, four men fall, blood spraying from their heads. John. Gotta love a sniper.
Then rapid fire from across the street. Critter and his guy. Oh, snap, well there goes Critter’s guy. Half his head vaporizes as Cowboy returns fire.
“Go! Go!” Cowboy shouts, slamming the SUV door closed and slapping the side. The vehicle with Mondello inside speeds off, mowing through the Zs, and squeals around a corner towards the Grove Park.
Cowboy is running one way, his rifle held tight, firing round after round, while Critter runs the other way, a 9mm in each hand. I happen to be right in the fucking middle.
I hit the ground and do what any self-respecting hero would do: I cover my head with my arms. Men are shouting, cursing, screaming, and dying. I do notice I haven’t heard a woman scream or call out, so Elsbeth, and I guess Foster, must be doing alright. Not really going to look up and find out. Just fine cowering right here for now, thank you very much.
A man falls dead next me, most of his head gone, and I snag his rifle and roll over on my back, ready to shoot any mother fucker coming at me. Except there aren’t any. Oh, there’s plenty of men I could shoot, but they aren’t coming after me; they’re busy with Elsbeth, Foster, Critter, and John. No, what I get to deal with are the Zs that didn’t get run over.
And, hey, look! They brought friends!
Fifteen is my quick guesstimation. Fuck it. I start firing.
Now, I have fired a lot of weapons since Z-Day. Sure, I’d fired a couple hand guns before that, but you don’t really get familiar with firearms until you’re thrust into the middle of the apocalypse. But, despite my experience, I am not ready for what I am holding in my hands.
Especially since the thing is set to full auto. I have no idea what kind of rifle it is, some special boom boom stick that contractors use, I guess. But with just the press of my finger it unloads everything on the Zs. And whatever is behind them. Because, honestly, I miss completely.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, I hit the fuckers, for sure. Hard not to with all those bullets. But, I don’t get a single headshot. Not one. I just shred some already shredded looking rib cages and kill empty air. Good one, Jace. Way to be a hero.
The rifle clicks empty, but I don’t waste time. If everyone is too busy shooting at each other to take care of the undead fucks, then I guess I’ll have to do it. I get up, turn the rifle around, burn the fuck out of my hand on the smoking barrel, scream, and cover my burnt hand with my sleeve, take hold of the barrel (Ow! Still hot!) and start swinging.
Really, I’m better with melee weapons. I can crush a Z’s head like a mother fucker.
I take two down before I have to retreat backwards to avoid getting caught and surrounded. I feel the hot sting of a bullet graze my cheek and cry out. Okay, I scream. Fucking hurts!
“Just get down, Long Pork!” Elsbeth yells, shoving me to the pavement. She leapfrogs over me and takes off six Z heads before she has both feet back on the ground. It still leaves plenty of Zs, though.
I look about for another weapon, but there’s nothing within reach. A hand grabs me and I almost start to pound the face that goes with it, but stop as Critter yanks me to my feet.
“Good to see ya, Long Pork,” Critter grins. “I’ll add this ass saving to the list.”
“List? What list?” I ask. “There’s a list?”
“There is now,” Critter says.
“Look out!” I shout, but it’s too late. Critter takes the butt of Cowboy’s rifle to the back of his head and crumples.
He swipes at me, but I stumble back and trip over my own feet, landing right back on the pavement. Cowboy just smiles and takes aim, but the smile falls away quickly as he ducks under a blade that just misses his head. I look up and see Elsbeth standing over me, plenty of Z goo dripping off of her. Which drips right onto me. Dammit.
“You get to running, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says. “I got this. Toy soldiers don’t scare me.”
“Toy soldiers?” Cowboy laughs. “Girl, I’m about to teach you how scary toys can be.”
“I know how scary they can be,” Elsbeth replies, her lips pulled back into a snarl. “I had a clown once.”
“That’s scary,” I say. “Can’t deny that, Cowboy.”
“The name is Jameson, you little annoying bitch,” he snaps.
“Don’t call her a bitch!” I shout. He just shakes his head. “Oh, you were calling me a bitch. Right. Elsbeth kill him.”
She steps past me, but stops as Cowboy presses the barrel of his rifle to Critter’s unconscious temple.
“You sure you want to do that, girl?” Cowboy says. “I mean, go right ahead. I don’t really care. Of course, if you take one more step, I blow his fucking head off.”
Elsbeth stops.
“He isn’t a very nice man,” Elsbeth says.
Cowboy looks at me. “Who’s she talking about? Me or the hillbilly here?”
“Both,” Elsbeth says, “but he’s helped me. What do I do, Long Pork?”
I glance around and see that the fighting has stopped. There are bodies everywhere; blood coats the asphalt. On her knees, with one eye already swollen shut and blood pouring from a gash on her scalp, is Foster. The one eye she has open is burning a hole in the back of Cowboy’s head.
“I’ll count to three, girl,” Cowboy says. “At three, this scrawny fuck dies. Then you and your buddy on the ground die. You may be able to get to me, but you won’t get to everyone behind me. You don’t stand a chance.”
I make a quick count and realize he’s right; even with Elsbeth’s speed and skills she can’t take them all. We’re dead.
“Put them down, El,” I say.
“But, Long Pork,” she protests, “I can do this.”
“No, you can’t,” I say.
She glances down at me and I see the wounded hurt in her eyes. Fuck, I’m just crushing her soul today.
“Why?” she asks.
There’s so much in that one word that I don’t know how to answer. So I shrug. It’s the go to gesture when you’ve betrayed one of your closest friends.
The blades clatter against the pavement and Cowboy smiles.
“Good,” he says, “the President will be pleased. Foster and now this chick in the arena? Talk about entertainment.”
“Fuck you, Jameson,” Foster spits behind him.
“Shut her the fuck up,” he orders, his eyes still watching Elsbeth.
A pistol slams into the back of Foster’s head and she collapses. Cowboy steps away from Critter, his rifle to his shoulder.
“On your knees, bitch,” he says to Elsbeth. A low growl comes from her throat. “Do it or you and your Long Pork die!”
“Please, El,” I say. “They have Stella. They have Charlie and Greta.”
“I know,” Elsbeth says as she gets on her knees.
Cowboy rushes forward and nails Elsbeth in the face with the butt of his rifle. She goes down, but she’s not out. For a split second, I think she’s going to fight back, but she just looks at me as the second blow co
mes. Then her eyes close and I look up at Cowboy.
“You gonna smack me too?” I ask.
“You gonna be trouble?” he replies.
“I always am,” I say. “Don’t try to be, but fuck if I don’t just breed trouble.”
Cowboy watches me a second then smiles. “Nah, I’ll let you get into the vehicle on your own steam,” Cowboy says. “Easier that way. Plus, I want you to be thinking about what a fucking cowardly little pussy you are while we drive back to the Grove Park. And also think about what it’s going to be like to watch your family get eaten by zeds tonight. That’s gonna be a show and a half.”
“What?” I shout, getting to my feet in an instant. Where the fuck is John? Why hasn’t he put a bullet in this fucking asshole’s head?
“You didn’t think you were getting out of this unscathed, did you?” Cowboy asks as he shoves me towards an SUV that isn’t shot to shit. “Everyone pays the piper, pussy. And you are going to be paying for a long time.”
I want to fight; I want to kill the fuck. But all my strength just leaves me as Cowboy pushes me into the SUV. What can I do? I’m good at killing Zs and I know how to fight cannies and even crazies like Vance and his goons. But professional soldiers? People, man. People.
They suck.
THE WORKING SUVS SPEED off down Charlotte St and around the corner, heading up to the Grove Park Inn. John counts out the seconds, double checks the area, and then cautiously makes his way down to the street. One hand is holding his empty sniper rifle, while the other is clamped to his wounded left shoulder. He kneels next to one of the dead PCs and rifles through the man’s vest.
He finds extra magazines and checks the cartridges inside.
“Fuck,” he mutters. Not compatible with his M110. He looks at his weapon and shakes his head. “Sorry, girl.”
He picks up the rifle lying next to the PC. He grunts in disgust at the imperfect weapon, knowing he can still be lethal with it, but won’t have anywhere near the range and accuracy that he needs. He slings the rifle over his shoulder, gets up, and gathers as many magazines as he can. Once he has them jammed into his pockets, he starts to go through the dead men’s gear until he finds what he’s looking for.