by Bible, Jake
“I’ll handle the situation report,” Stuart says. “But on the drive back.” He climbs out of the SUV and looks down the tunnel. “Please tell me you drove. I don’t think any of us will be walking back to the Farm.”
“We drove,” Melissa says as she comes up to us. “Here, let me help.” She takes Greta’s hand, but my girl dashes off into the tunnel.
“We have to pee,” Stella laughs. “Care to bring that rifle and watch over us?”
“You bet,” Melissa says. “Anyone else need a potty break?”
Elsbeth already has her belt undone and is unzipping her pants when she looks at us. “What?”
“Maybe not right here, dear,” Melissa says. “Come on, I’ll take you to the girl’s room.”
“There’s no rooms in a tunnel,” Elsbeth says. “That’s stupid.”
“Right,” Melissa says. “Okay.”
“Y’all got some water for a dying old man?” Critter asks. “Or some hooch? I could go for a slug of shine right about now.”
“Not while you’re still bleeding,” John says.
“Bleeding?” Big Daddy asks, looking at his brother. “How bad is it?”
“Ain’t nothing but a scratch,” Critter says.
“Little more than that,” John says.
“Hey...,” Charlie says from the SUV, “what’s going on? Where’s President Asshole?”
“He had a meeting with his constituents,” I say. “They ate him up.”
“God, Dad, that was horrible,” Charlie laughs. “You really need...to...”
His eyes find the stump.
“Yeah, you missed a couple things,” I say, smiling at him weakly. “It was worth it.” I think I smile at him. Not sure. I know I do something weakly. Well, pretty much everything weakly. I’m a weakly son of a bitch right now.
“Where’s Mom?” he asks, tears welling in his eyes.
“She’s using the facilities,” I answer, going to him. “Don’t worry, bud. It’s all cool. Just a little Z bite, but all taken care of.”
The sound of various weapons being raised, locked, loaded, fills the tunnel.
Uh-oh...
“I haven’t turned,” I say, “you can put the guns down.”
“Yet,” Buzz says.
“I’m afraid my son is right, Jace,” Big Daddy says. “You haven’t turned yet. I think everyone here knows that it could be days before you get sick and die.”
“I fucking sliced my arm off, BD,” I say. “I got to it in time.”
“You don’t know that,” he says. “Nobody knows that.”
“As much as I hate to do it, I’ll have to be agreeing with my brother,” Critter says, eyeing me. “You ain’t safe, Long Pork.”
“Who isn’t safe?” Stella asks as she and Greta walk up to us. I catch Elsbeth’s eye and nod, hoping she knows to stay cool. “Jace? What’s going on?”
“Your man was bit,” Big Daddy says, “and despite the loss of his arm, we can’t take any risks.”
“Despite the loss of his arm?” Stella snaps, stomping up to Big Daddy. “Despite it? Oh, right, just a little thing, cutting off an arm. But, despite that extreme measure, you can’t take any risks?”
She turns about, looking at everyone. And there’s a lot of people here. I finally notice that Big Daddy really brought it. He doesn’t fuck around when he comes to the rescue. There has to be thirty people here amidst the various vehicles. Some of the people are dressed like PCs and I have to wonder what deal Big Daddy struck with them. Many of the people I don’t recognize. Some of Mondello’s laborers?
“Does everyone feel this way?” Stella asks. “That despite the fact my husband chopped his own fucking arm off to stop the infection, he’s still a risk?”
“We just don’t know, Stella,” Andy Crespo asks, one of Stuart’s defense crew. “No one knows. It may be as simple as an infection or not. All we know is that if you’re bitten, you turn.”
“He’s right,” Melissa says, “you gotta listen to reason, girl.”
“Fuck reason!” Stella shouts as she grabs me and kisses me hard. “How’s that for reason?”
“I liked it,” I say, “but they’re right.”
She looks at me, stunned, like I have slapped her or something.
“Jace...”
“No, listen, please,” I say. I’m a little unsteady and I lean on her for support. This small action makes everyone grip their weapons tighter. I look around and see the fear and stress. “See? I scare everyone, Stella. I don’t take it personally. I’d be scared too if it was someone else.”
“So what then?” Stella asks, looking at me then at everyone else. “What now? You abandon us?”
“No, no,” Big Daddy says, “never anything like that. Jason will have to be quarantined. He’ll need to be watched until we know for sure he’s not going to turn.”
“That’s fair,” I say, “and smart. Which is my expertise, the smart stuff. If I say it’s smart then it must be smart.”
“God, I think I’m going to puke,” Critter says.
“Jeez, I was just kidding,” I say.
“No, I’m gonna-” He pukes.
“We need to get the wounded down the mountain,” John says, “and I include myself in that.”
Big Daddy raises a radio to his mouth. “Gunga? You read me?”
“Read ya, Daddy,” Gunga replies. “Everything alright up there?”
“All fine,” Big Daddy says, “but we got some folk that are hurt. Has Dr. McCormick arrived?”
“She’s here and helping all these people,” Gunga says, laughing.
“What’s so funny, son?”
“She’s ordering Pup and Porky around like they’re nurses,” Gunga says, “it’s pretty funny.”
“And the prisoners?” Big Daddy asks. “The ones that decided they didn’t want to play ball?”
“Toad and Scoot have them covered,” Gunga says. “We got them locked in one of the dining rooms. Ya’ll coming back soon?”
“We are, son,” Big Daddy says. “Will you let Dr. McCormick know we’ll need a quarantine room ready?”
“Quarantine?” Gunga asks. “Do I want to know?”
“You’ll get filled in when we get there,” Big Daddy says. “See ya soon, son. Out.” Big Daddy looks at the radio and nods back at some of the PCs. “Some of the private contractors, as I have learned they like to be called, were not so keen on their previous job. Apparently forcing folks into slave labor wasn’t what they signed up for. And they didn’t particularly like working for President Mondello.”
“Speaking of?” Melissa asks. “Where is the man? He get away?”
“No, he did not,” Stuart says. “Jace handled that.”
They all look to me, waiting for an answer.
“He was forced out of office,” I say. Nailed it!
“Oh, Dad,” Greta says. “My dad killed him by shoving him out the back of the SUV. He was ripped apart and eaten. End of story.”
Everyone turns their attention to the dead Zs on the pavement.
“Wow, Jace,” Buzz says, “you assassinated the President of the United States.”
“Well it’s not like I voted for him,” I shrug, then nearly pass out from the pain. “Ow.”
“You can say that again,” Stuart says. “Let’s get this party moving, okay? I’ll ride with Big Daddy and fill him in. Who’s got balls enough to drive the Stanfords?”
“I’ll do it,” Buzz says.
“I’ll ride with them,” John adds. “I’m honestly not worried about him turning. He took that arm off like a pro.”
“There’re professional amputaters ?” I ask.
“Yeah,” John says, “they’re called surgeons.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” I nod. “I knew that.”
“Okay, folks!” Big Daddy shouts. “Let’s turn it around! We need to get back to the Grove Park and regroup. There’s a lot of work to be done before the day is over!” He turns back to me. “I am glad you’re alive, Jaso
n. We’ll get you all taken care of at the Grove Park. You can rest up there until we know you’re safe.”
“I’m staying with him,” Stella says.
“Me too,” Greta adds.
“And me,” Charlie says.
“I’m staying,” Elsbeth says. “I’m family.”
“Damn skippy,” I say. “Thanks, guys.”
“We’ll find you one of them fancy suites, how’s that?” Big Daddy asks, smiling at us all. “Not the same as freedom, but you’ll be comfortable.”
“Is the water running?” Stella asks. “I could so use a bath in one of those bug tubs.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Melissa says, “there’s big bathtubs? Damn, I may go with them too.”
“Just load up, ya’ll,” Big Daddy says. “We’ll talk about baths later.”
The group quickly gets back in their vehicles and I follow Buzz over to his big truck. It’s a four door diesel, so it fits us all easily. Surprisingly some of the PCs jump into the bed, their rifles to their shoulders, as we leave the tunnel.
“How do you feel about those guys?” I ask Buzz from the backseat. Stella and Greta are up front, with Elsbeth in the back next to me, John next to her, and Charlie on the far side. “You think your father’s making a mistake trusting them?”
“Nah,” Buzz says. “We had some of them captive at the Farm. Learned a lot about their operation. Once we got to the Grove Park, and they found out what happened to their boss, they signed up with us in a flash.”
Foster. The image of her severed head comes into my mind. Wonder where that rolled off to?
“Boss?” Elsbeth asks quietly. “The soldier lady?”
“Yeah, her,” Buzz says. “Found her body, and only her body. Looks like she took on the wrong person.”
“So did he,” Elsbeth says.
“What’s that?” Buzz asks, looking in the rearview mirror.
“Nothing,” Elsbeth says, hanging her head.
“Do you know who she was, El?” I ask. “Why she was in your dreams?”
She shakes her head and I don’t push anymore. She’ll tell us in her own time. Maybe.
Ugh, it all makes my head hurt. Which means every part of my body is now officially in agony. Awesome.
“So, if I wanted to take just a little nap, would anybody object?” I ask.
“Yes!” they all say.
“Just a little wee nap?” I beg. “So tired. So very tired.”
“You can sleep after Dr. McCormick gives the okay,” John says.
Elsbeth places her hand on my stump and smiles. “I’ll keep you awake.”
“No, no, I’m good, El!” I say. “Seriously. Wide fucking awake. No need to poke the stump. The stump is good too. Happy stump. Right, Stumpy? You’re good. Tell the pretty lady how good you are.”
All heads are turned and looking at me.
“What?” I ask. “It would be rude of me not to ask him.”
“Are you going to call him Stumpy from now on?” Greta asks.
“Yes, yes I am,” I say. “Or Fernando. I may call him Fernando. That way I can sing that ABBA song every time someone talks about him. ‘You come to me Fernando!’ Awesome, right?”
“Mom, tell him he can’t name his stump,” Greta says.
“Your father just lost most of his arm, baby,” Stella says. “We’ll wait until he’s mostly healed before we gang up on him.”
“Until then, I dub thee Fernando!” I say to my stump.
“You are so messed up,” Charlie says.
“Crazy,” Elsbeth adds.
“Crazy like a stump,” I say.
“No, Jace,” Stella says. “Just no.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll give it a rest,” I say. “But the bad jokes and humor are what’re keeping me awake. And keeping me from being depressed. I did just lose an arm, you know. Maybe this is my version of shock.”
“No, it’s not,” John says. “But it is how you’re coping. Trust me. I used to know quite a few amputees.”
We all nod at this. Yeah, I bet he did. A horrible thought fills my head and I’m glad I lost an arm and not a leg. How the fuck do you get away from Zs with one leg? Or no legs? God, what happened to those poor guys on Z-Day?
“You okay, hon?” Stella asks, looking back at me. “You went really pale.”
“Just bad thoughts,” I say. “See, take my jokes away and I instantly go to my dark place.”
“You don’t have a dark place,” Charlie says. “Or if you do, it’s well hidden.”
“Like this truck’s sense of humor!” I laugh. “Zinger!”
“Look out the window and watch the trees go by,” Stella says, a smile on her face. “We’ll be at the Grove Park soon.”
I do as I’m told and watch the trees, their late fall leaves pretty much gone way up here on the Parkway, and try to keep the bad thoughts at bay. It’s hard. I may be all jokes and funny stuff on the outside, but inside I don’t know. My arm is screaming at me bad. I’m struggling not to breakdown in front of the kids. It’s like I can barely breathe the pain is so bad.
But that’s life, right? Filled with pain and discomfort.
Or it is now, post-Z. Filled with all kinds of unpleasant shit.
Chapter Eleven
Two weeks. Two fucking weeks I have to stay quarantined. You’d think after the first week of not showing any signs of turning they’d be all, “Hey, Jace! Looks like you’re not a Z after all! Come on out and have some hot cocoa! There’s mini-marshmallows!”
But they didn’t do that. And not because there aren’t really any mini-marshmallows.
No, I had to be cooped up in the Presidential suite (oh, the irony!) for two weeks. Not that it was awful, mind you. I mean, come on, it is the Presidential suite. And Mondello had left plenty of reading material to go through.
The man had file after file on the current government and also on the Consortium. The government? Bare bones and basically nothing. Looks like we lost most of the military, including the National Guard in each state. They were called into all of the major metropolitan areas to establish order and quarantine the cities. That didn’t work so well. Turns out a few thousand soldiers can’t stop millions of undead. Bad math.
As for the Consortium, I now have a broad picture of what they are trying to accomplish. Atlanta isn’t gone; not even close. How they managed to do it, I’m not sure, but according to the documents, they quickly secured the center of the city. They have a wide perimeter of Zs they use as a dead flesh wall that keeps curious travelers and desperate survivors out. It also keeps other groups from making a move.
And there are other groups.
In Kansas City, there’s the Combine; Boulder has the Stronghold; Salt Lake City is the Temple; and Portland, OR is the Garden. All thriving and secure. Others were tried, but they couldn’t hold up to the Zs, to the weather, the landscape, or the people. The people, man. They are the fucking worst. Seriously, after the past few months, I’ll take a starving horde of Zs any day.
It wasn’t like I sat there all alone, stuck inside the suite, left with my files. Stella and the kids came and went, but mainly stayed with me. Stuart, Critter, Platt, Big Daddy- they all stopped in. Most of the time, I was in a manic, hyper-focused state, so they’d stick around for a few minutes, laugh at me, and take off. There were never really any sit downs or pow wows.
Most of all, there was no mention of the stump. Mr. Stumpy. Stumpy McStumperson. Lord Stumpercrumpet. Stumply of the Suite. Senor Stumpio Gonzales. And my personal favorite- Stumpageddon, Lord of All Stumps.
Which is why I’m glad to be sitting in the Grove Park lobby now with everyone, stump plainly visible. Tables are pushed together and we sit here snacking on some late apples and cheese from the Farm. Thank you, Big Daddy! Seated are Platt, Stuart, Big Daddy, Critter, Brenda Kelly, and a couple of new faces, Lourdes Torres, the head of the PCs that stuck around, and Edgar Lassiter, the head of the laborers that didn’t bolt as soon as they could.
Platt looks
at the papers in his hands and then up at me, back to the papers, up to me. Repeat.
“What are we supposed to do with this?” he asks, passing the papers on.
“Not a clue,” I say. “But it is good information. Charlottesville is trying to connect these power groups and rebuild a system of government.”
“Sounds more like Charlottesville is just trying to stay relevant in a world that don’t need them no more,” Critter says. “Looks to me like these so-called power groups are doing just fine without them.”
“You’re probably right,” I say. “Which is why Mondello was kissing so much ass and personally overseeing the securing and repair of the Blue Ridge Parkway. I was wondering why the President, even with a background in construction, was doing it himself. Didn’t make sense until I saw these files.”
“What does this matter?” Brenda asks, taking a handful of papers and waving them around. “This doesn’t grow food or kill Zs. These don’t rebuild our homes that Jason Stanford burned to the ground.”
“The fire burned them down,” I say, “I just watched.”
“Don’t be flip,” Brenda snaps.
“I’m not,” I say, “I’m being Jace.”
“This is intolerable,” Brenda says. “Why is he here? I represent Whispering Pines. He doesn’t. I have been duly elected by the residents and members of the HOA to be their sole representative in all matters of importance.”
“You see, Brenda,” I smile, “that’s where you’re wrong. You were elected Board Chairperson. That’s all. There is still a HOA Board with other members on it. You aren’t the dictator of Whispering Pines, no matter how much your fat, little heart wants to be.”
“Well! I never!”
“You never what?” I ask. “You never had a useful thought in your life? Never considered the feelings, thoughts, needs of others? Never bathed properly, Madame Stinknuts?”
“Jace,” Big Daddy warns, “easy now.”
“Easy?” I laugh, waving Stumpageddon about. “Please, BD, let’s talk about easy. Easy is now my middle name. Hold a baseball bat? Easy. Shoot a pistol? Easy. Eat with chopsticks? Easy. Tie my shoes? Oh, not so easy. Button my own shirt? Nope, not so easy. Climb a rope? Not so easy. Hug my children? Partially easy.”