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

by Bible, Jake

  John and Stuart rush the Zs, with me right behind. I glance back for a brief second and see Stella and the kids jumping into the SUV. The door closes. And the dome light goes out.

  Ah, fuck me...

  “Open the door!” I yell. “Stella! Open the door!”

  She does and the light comes back on. Just in time for me to see three Zs coming at me. They don’t seem to have a problem seeing in the dark. It’s part of the whole Z thing. Dead grey eyes, but with night vision! It’s an undead trade-off. I look back at Stella and give her the thumbs up as she turns the dome light on manually and closes the SUV’s door.

  I take the tire iron and jam the pointy end through a Z’s eye socket. I yank back and the thing drops, black blood oozing from its skull. The other two Zs are too fast and I can’t get the tire iron back up before they are on me. One grabs me and I spin about, letting it stumble against the tunnel wall. The other grabs my shoulders and comes in for the neck bite, but this time I am able to get the tire iron up. Over my shoulder, I shove it into the thing’s mouth and out the back of its head.

  It stumbles back, its hands swatting at the iron as the metal bounces up and down in its mouth. I guess I didn’t hit brain or sever the spinal column because the fucker is still up and moving.

  “Gimme that,” I say and pull the tire iron free.

  It brings the Z with it, though, and I lower my shoulder and ram the thing, knocking it away. I go in for the kill, but hands snatch my shirt and I stumble, nearly falling right into the Z’s mouth. I slip to the side and come down hard on my hip, letting out a little cry. The Zs rush me, seeing easy prey on the ground, and I kick out, sweeping their legs.

  This is good because of the knocking them down part. But bad because now I’m under a pile of Zs. You take the good, you take the bad...

  My arms and the tire iron are free so I get to the stabbing. I plunge the iron into a Z’s skull, pull it out, plunge, and repeat. Over and over I do this until the pile on me stops moving. Maybe I can play dead and just wait this fight out? No? Fuck. Okay, I’m up!

  Elsbeth is doing her berserker fast kill thing, while John and Stuart do their military kill thing. Many Zs are crushed and killed. I jump into the fray, ready to add my boring, normal suburban kill thing to the fight. And, of course, I slip on some stray intestines and fall hard on my ass. The smell of shit is overwhelming and for a split second, I think I crap my pants. Then I realize it’s the shit from the intestines I slipped on. Phew. Don’t want to die with crap in my pants. Or live and have the kids know I crapped my pants.

  Stuart reaches down and pulls me to my feet while smacking a Z in the head and knocking it aside. I nod my thanks and swipe at a Z coming at us. Its skull caves in and a new smell is added to the shit and blood smell that is filling the tunnel. That’s the problem with being in a tunnel, or any enclosed space, when fighting Zs: the smell. You think you get used to it, but you don’t. There’s some primal response to the stink of death and decay. It makes your gut clench and your balls shrink. Or other parts shrink if you do not have the testicles.

  Ignoring the stankety stank, I bring the tire iron down again and again, smashing skull after skull. John is rocking it, taking Zs down left and right. Stuart is kicking ass too, sending the undead to the Big Sleep in Hell. And Elsbeth is Elsbeth, so her body count eclipses ours.

  Yet -and that gut clench gets worse as I realize it- we aren’t making a dent in the numbers. Z bodies are piling up around us, hindering our ability to move around, but more and more keep coming. I don’t know how many there are since the lighting is less than adequate to say the least. But I keep fighting; I keep swinging; I don’t stop.

  At least until Stuart calls out, “Get back to the SUV! There’s too many!”

  “We can do this,” John protests, but his attacks are obviously getting weaker and weaker as he favors his wounded shoulder, his left arm almost useless at his side.

  “No, we can’t!” Stuart yells. “Move! Get in there!”

  John starts to protest again, but I grab him, pulling him back to the SUV. “Don’t waste time arguing! Come on!”

  Charlie opens the door and we scramble inside. Charlie jumps into the far back seat, and I join him, as John pushes Critter’s legs aside and gets in to the mid-back seat. So many fucking seats in these things. Stuart opens the other back door and hops in, shoving Critter in between him and John.

  “He say anything yet?” Stuart asks Stella, who is sitting in the driver’s seat with Greta in the passenger seat.

  “No, he’s been out the whole time,” Stella replies.

  We watch as Elsbeth continues to fight the Zs, somehow managing to keep from getting surrounded. She spins and kicks, punches, grabs, twists, cracks, breaks, snaps, kills. She’s a dervish of violence, whirling in every direction at once. But even she is human and the Zs are just too much.

  The horn blares and we all jump.

  “Greta!” Stella shouts, shoving our daughter’s hand away from the wheel. “Jesus! You nearly made me piss myself!”

  Elsbeth turns to us, her eyes wild and filled with menace.

  “Come on!” Greta shouts through the windshield. “El! Get in here!”

  We all watch the conflicted thoughts fly across Elsbeth’s face. She jams an elbow into a Z’s cheek, crushing the rotted flesh and bone. She throws another over her back, snapping it in two as it hits the pavement. Yet another goes down as she slams her fist into its skull over and over. And her eyes are watching us the whole time.

  “Elsbeth!” Stella yells. “Stop it! Get in the car!”

  She keeps watching us.

  “Tell her she’s family,” I say.

  “What?” Stella asks.

  “Tell her she’s family,” I say. “That’s the only way she’ll get in.”

  “Elsbeth! You get your butt in here right now, young lady!” Stella shouts, her hands cupped to her mouth. We all cover our ears. “You get in this SUV with your family this instant! Don’t make me come out there and get you!”

  Stella actually grabs the door handle and starts to open the door, but Elsbeth is at the side of the SUV in a flash, a wide smile beaming at my wife.

  “I’m family?” she asks.

  “Damn right,” Stella says, shoving over to let the young woman in. “And you better start acting like it and listen to me when I tell you to stop killing zombies and get your ass in the car.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Elsbeth nods and smiles.

  “Haven’t we been through this before?” Charlie whispers. But his version of a whisper is like a quiet yell.

  “Hush,” I say, “she has trust issues.”

  “Shhhh,” everyone says.

  “What?” Elsbeth asks. “The Zs know we’re here.”

  “Yeah, they do,” I say as we watch the things begin to surround the SUV. They swarm us and soon we see nothing but open, rotted mouths and decayed flesh. “It’s like that time we went to the wildlife park and the llamas surrounded the car wanting alfalfa pellets.”

  “No, Dad, it’s not like that at all,” Greta says.

  “Should I turn out the light?” Stella asks.

  “No, leave it on so you can see this,” Mondello says as he hooks his arms over Charlie’s head and pulls back, the wire tying his wrists together digging into my son’s throat. “Now, let’s talk about getting me out of here.”

  Mother fucker!

  Chapter Ten

  “I count two pistols aimed at your noggin,” I say, so close to reaching out and grabbing Mondello by the throat. But if I do he could pull back and snap Charlie’s neck. “Said pistols are in the hands of men who know how to use them.”

  “Your point is made, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says. “But no matter how good they are, the way my weight is balanced even if they miss your son and only hit me, well, young Charlie will die. I’ll fall back and it will be all over.”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” I say. “I’m thinking maybe not.”

  “Don’t kill him,” El
sbeth says. “He knows more about me.”

  I look at Mondello and he has a cat that ate the shitty canary grin on his face.

  “What do you know?” I ask. “Tell us.”

  “And lose leverage point number two? I don’t think so, Mr. Stanford.”

  The Zs get more aggressive, their hands –and heads- slamming harder and harder against the SUV. The vehicle starts to shudder under their mass. We don’t have forever to negotiate with Mondello. Soon we’ll be trapped forever in this fucking polyester upholstered piece of crap. Not that it’s actually upholstered in polyester; fuck if I know what it’s upholstered in. Probably some super secret military fiber that lets you get blood stains out while keeping that new car smell.

  “So what do we do?” I ask. “Where do we go from here?”

  “That’s for you to figure out,” Mondello says, taking a quick glance out the window. “Someone will need to clear a path for us.”

  “For us?” Stella asks. “No. No, you will not take my son with you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Stanford, but that is the only way this works,” Mondello says. “I have to take your son or you will kill me the second I’m outside the SUV.”

  “Are you paying attention?” John asks. “There’s like a hundred Zs out there.”

  “Where’d they all come from?” Greta asks quietly then looks at us. “Sorry. I was talking to myself.”

  “They probably came from the pens,” Mondello says. “We had holding pens stationed along the Parkway. Easier just to contain the zeds than slaughter and dispose of them. Throw some meat inside a fence and they walk right in.”

  “But then you have pens filled with Zs,” I say. “What then?”

  “Security,” Mondello says. “They can be released strategically if a convoy is being chased or under attack. We use them against highwaymen.”

  “Did you just say highwaymen?” Stuart asks. “I just want to be clear that I heard that part.”

  “Of course I said highwaymen,” Mondello says. “Your friend Critter Fitzpatrick here has one of the most notorious crews in the area.”

  “One of?” John asks. “Who are the others?”

  Mondello shrugs. “Hard to say. They come and go quickly due to the nature of the job. Most don’t last long. They are eaten by zeds or killed by other crews. Some even have tried to venture into territory they shouldn’t. If anyone is caught stealing or robbing in Charlottesville they are hanged on the spot, quartered, and their body parts are put on public display.”

  “Uh-oh,” I say. “The Dark Ages is calling and wants its judicial system back.”

  “Laugh all you want, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says. “But it is effective. Chaos became order within the week after the first few executions.”

  “Is that your re-election slogan?” I ask. “Teaching voters a lesson, one hanging at a time?”

  “You have had it easy, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says, looking around the SUV. “None of you have a clue what it has been like out there. You’ve had glimpses, but you can’t even fathom the hell I’ve seen. Not unless you’ve watched a city of millions turn on itself; watched governmental organizations go rogue; watched as other countries resorted to the nuclear option on their own people. I envy your mountain life.”

  “Is that really why you set up shop here?” I ask. “Not just to oversee the repair and securing of the Parkway, but to have yourself a long term presidential vacation?”

  “Asheville has been a favorite vacation spot for many presidents,” Mondello says. “But I don’t think the word vacation applies to anything these days.”

  Charlie gasps and I look him in the eyes. Fear and anxiety look back at me, but something else...resolve? No, what is it? His eyes dart from mine to the front. I rub my forehead and turn, making it less obvious I’m looking at what he’s looking at. I see Greta staring at me then her eyes dart to the back of the SUV and then up front and down.

  What the fuck are my kids trying to tell me?

  They obviously have some plan worked out between them, but fuck if I know what it is. And I’m not even sure I approve of them coming up with plans. I have two highly trained military men in the SUV with us, and I’m no slouch at the thinking gig, so what could two teenagers figure out that we can’t?

  “He’s turning purple,” I say to Mondello, “ease up.”

  “Get me out of here,” Mondello replies.

  “We can’t,” Stuart states. “We’re all stuck in here until the Zs go away.”

  “Which won’t happen until we can turn out the light and stay very quiet and still,” John adds.

  “And you won’t let us turn out the light,” I say. “So I guess we’re fucked.”

  “Let me tell you how I interpret all of that information,” Mondello says. “Basically, I let you turn out the light, we are plunged into complete darkness, and you come after me, hoping you can overpower me before I kill Charlie. Or we stay like we are until we die of thirst and starvation. Either way, I die.”

  “Please, President Mond-,” Stella starts.

  “Don’t,” Mondello says. “Just don’t. I die in all of your scenarios. I die in pretty much every single scenario except for mine. The one where you clear me a path, create some type of diversion, and I escape out of this SUV and out of this tunnel. I take Charlie for as far as I need to, and then let him go. I live, Charlie lives, a couple of you may die clearing the way, but the important part is that I live.”

  “You’re really a for the people kind of guy, huh?” I say. “I have another slogan for you-”

  “Shut the fuck up, Stanford,” Mondello snarls. “Your mouth has stopped being cute.”

  “Dude, I’m like forty, my mouth stopped being cute in my early thirties.”

  Mondello pulls back on the wire and Charlie begins to choke, his eyes bugging out, spittle foaming at his lips.

  “Jace! Shut up!” Stella screams. “Charlie!”

  Mondello eases up slightly, but only slightly, so Charlie can take in short, raspy breaths.

  “I’m not going to wait anymore,” Mondello says. “Get me out of here or Charlie dies.”

  “How?” Stuart asks. “They way you present it sounds so simple, but it’s far from that. How do we even open these doors?”

  “Like this!” Greta shouts and slams her hand against the dashboard at the same time Charlie throws his head back into Mondello’s face.

  The man cries out as blood squirts from his nose, his eyes glassy and confused from the impact. Charlie throws his head back again and again until Mondello is reeling, his body swaying back and forth, close to unconsciousness.

  Great plan except now Mondello is sliding down into the back, and pulling Charlie with him.

  “Jace! Get him!” Stella shouts as I reach for Charlie.

  I hook him under the arm pits and pull forward, but my leverage is shit. I don’t know if I’m doing any good or making things worse. Charlie is gasping and spitting, the life being choked out of him right before my eyes. I’m frantic and I tug at him, trying to pull him up, but he’s just getting pulled farther and farther into the back.

  I let go of Charlie for a second, just long enough to slap Mondello across the cheek a couple of times. It rouses him enough that he steadies himself, taking the weight off Charlie’s throat.

  “Good,” I say. “Now listen you stupid fuck. I’m going- Fuck!”

  Greta had hit the automatic tailgate release. In my desperation to save Charlie, I didn’t notice, or hear, the back doors opening wide. None of us did. But we fucking do now as Zs start to reach inside, their hands snagging Mondello’s pants, pulling him towards their hungry mouths.

  More and more of them wedge themselves inside, all trying to get at Mondello, and then us. Charlie starts to choke again, even more now, as Mondello is pulled from the SUV.

  “No!” he screams. “NONONONONONONO!”

  But there’s nothing any of us can do even if we want to. He is taken quickly; his screaming body pulled into the mass of
undead that is fighting over each other to get the first bite. I think it’s the lady in the old jogging suit that wins that honor as she tears a hunk from his ass cheek and begins to chomp away. Mondello’s screams are piercing until they are cut short, his throat shredded by several mouths.

  There’s just one problem: Charlie.

  My son is dragged up and over the back seat and into the cargo area as he pushes himself along, trying to keep from getting his head ripped off. I jump back there with him, alternating between kicking Zs in the face and trying to free his neck from the wire and Mondello’s wrists. The Zs aren’t pulling at Mondello anymore, they’ve got his body right where they want it. Which is draped across the back bumper, innards exposed and being strewn about.

  “Give me something to hack with!” I yell as Charlie stops choking. That’s not a good thing. He’s stopped because the wire can’t go any further and because he has run out of air. I have seconds to free him or he’s dead.

  “Here!” John says, slapping the handle of a very large knife against my shoulder.

  I take it and plunge the blade into Mondello’s wrist then turn and twist, slicing through tendon and muscle. It takes me less than two seconds to severe the wrist, but it feels like an eternity as I watch Charlie’s eyes bug from his skull and turn glassy. The hand comes free from the arm and I get the wire away from Charlie’s bruised and bleeding throat.

  As I shove Charlie over into the back seat, and Johns starts CPR, I feel the grip of fingers around my ankle.

  Ah, fuck me.

  Instinctively, I kick out, landing a hard blow to some fucking Z that can’t take my yelp of surprise as the no it was intended to be. Kicking again and again, I try to scramble up over the seat, but I’m caught as dozens of hands pull me in the opposite direction.

  “A little fucking help!” I scream.

  “Daddy!”

  “Jace!”

  “Long Pork!”

  “Hold on!” Stuart shouts, reaching for me over John and Charlie. “Just take my hand!”