by Bible, Jake
“I. Will. Stab. Her,” I say.
Elsbeth snickers from the back seat. I turn on her, pissed. She glares. I turn back, not quite as pissed.
“They are putting the last touches on their fortifications,” Melissa says, ignoring my hissy fit. “She can get away for the meeting, but can’t spare any of her people.”
“Her people?” I snort. “Fucking dipshits.”
Brenda Kelly, the former Chairperson of the Whispering Pines HOA. Stella took her job. It was a bloodless coup, done all democratic like and all.
But that woman...
She’s a squat, ugly, goblin-beast of a bitch. The woman is pure evil, in my honest opinion. She colluded with Vance, but still got reelected because of fear and stupidity. It wasn’t until Stella stepped up and took over that she lost her power base. But, being an evil twat, she quickly found a new power base.
The laborers. The slaves that were brought to Asheville by Anthony Mondello (I refuse to call him the POTUS) and Ms. Foster (Lourdes’s former boss) to rebuild and secure the Blue Ridge Parkway.
Most of the laborers decided to stick around and stay at the Grove Park Inn. The problem is that so did the private military contractors, or PCs that had been their guards and captors. Tension is an understatement. And Brenda Kelly (did I mention the evil twat part?) grabbed onto that tension and pulled hard.
She quickly got a faction of laborers to back her and make a move to take over Reynolds Mountain. Years before Z-day, Reynolds Mountain was a planned development in Woodfin/North Asheville. A mix of “upscale” shops and cafes at the base with a luxury, private neighborhood overlooking it from the mountain above. They have spent the past few months fortifying the development, keeping the Zs at bay. It’s like a version of Whispering Pines, but with marble countertops and bidets.
“You’re just pissed because you didn’t think of it,” Melissa says, echoing my thoughts perfectly.
She’s right. I am pissed. I want marble countertops. I could do without the bidets. Never could figure that shit out. I mean, what do you do afterwards? Drip dry? It’s all so confusing!
“Am not,” I lie.
“Get over it, Jace,” Melissa says. “Is she an evil twat? Yes.” Ha! Told ya! “But she has a right to be a part of Asheville, just like all of us. As long as she doesn’t try anything.”
“And that’s the real problem,” I snap. “Eventually she will try something. That’s what evil twats do!”
“They also stink,” Elsbeth says.
“What?” I ask.
She waves her hand in front of her nose. “Evil twats stink. Smelly pussy.”
Melissa tries to keep it under control, but she bursts out laughing. I shake my head and smile then start laughing too.
“What?” Elsbeth frowns. “Don’t laugh at me? You laugh at me too much.”
“No, no, darling,” Melissa says, “I’m not laughing at you. You just crack me up sometimes, okay? That’s a good thing.”
Elsbeth smiles. “Okay. Good.”
Mood swings don’t even begin to describe the woman sitting behind me...
We cross over I-26 and I look down at the interstate below. The Zs are back. For a while, they had been cleared out by Vance, corralled into a massive pen he made out of draining Beaver Lake. We killed those after I took Vance down. But, Zs have some semblance of the habits of their old lives and always congregate in places they may have frequented when alive. It didn’t take long before other Zs made their way to their asphalt altar. Says a lot about our former commuter society, doesn’t it?
Instead of going straight onto Lakeshore Drive, Melissa turns left onto Woodfin Ave, heading to Reynolds Mountain. My gut clenches, as do my fists, but I keep it under control. Kinda have to with the gut clench or I’ll shit myself. That’s never fun. Trust me.
We have to cross Merrimon Ave and then drive through the old Reynolds Village. I used to go to the YMCA there. What? I went there. Twice. Shut up.
The road twists through a thick woods of pine before we come to a massive set of wooden gates. Huh, wonder where she got that design from? Gate design stealing twat.
Up, up, up we go. Some residents wave at us, recognizing Melissa’s truck. Some just stare, not trusting anyone that isn’t a direct neighbor. More than a few flip us off. Okay, they flip me off. I’m not exactly a favorite in these here parts.
I don’t even acknowledge the woman when we pull up to the fucking mansion she’s taken as her home. I guess she does share it with her right hand, Mindy Sterling, who used to be the Head of Security for Whispering Pines. Elsbeth’s manfriend, Julio, has taken that duty since Mindy decided to keep her nose wedged up her boss’s ass.
“Hey, Jace,” Mindy says to me then shuts up as she gets a death glare from Brenda.
The two women pull their collective bulks into the back with Elsbeth. Melissa just nods at them then pulls away.
“What do you think of our fortifications, Mr. Stanford?” Brenda asks as the massive gate closes behind us, shutting the development off from the rest of the Z infested world. “I’m sure it’s not up to your brilliant standards, but we haven’t had a breach yet.”
I grunt.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Brenda sneers. Not that I see the sneer since I’m focusing on the road in front of us and refuse to turn and look at her. But I hear that sneer. That snippy, smarmy sneer...
We pull out onto Merrimon Ave and drive south towards the Grove Park. Everyone sits in silence. Mindy tries to make conversation, but every time she opens her mouth, Elsbeth turns to her and frowns. She shuts up.
Our phones chime. All of our phones. Landon has been busy making sure the Wi-Fi is city wide. Solar batteries and routers everywhere.
“LAKE JULIAN UNDER SIEGE! ALL HANDS NOW!”
“Fuck,” I say. The power plant.
Albert Shumway, a muscled fireplug that works under Lourdes’s supervision has spent months retrofitting the Lake Julian power plant from coal into natural gas, which luckily we are flush with in Asheville. He’s an ornery asshole and we haven’t gotten along well, but he does know his power plants. He’s made a lot of progress with getting us closer to city wide power.
If the Zs would leave the plant the fuck alone.
For some reason, and none of us can figure out what it is, the Zs like the power plant. They migrate there in hordes. Thirty, forty, fifty at a time they show up. Half the week is spent killing Zs and not working on the plant.
It sounds like there’s more of a herd this time than a horde.
“Status?” I text back.
“FUCK YOUR STATUS, STANFORD! I NEED EVERYONE HERE NOW! FUCKING HERD!”
I was right. Not that I want to be right about this. I like being right in Trivial Pursuit, not about civilization-crushing Z herds.
“Looks like the meeting is postponed,” Melissa says as she floors it.
“What?” Brenda screeches (it’s her default tone). “You aren’t dropping us at the Grove Park?”
Melissa hooks a thumb at the men and women in the bed of the truck. “Everyone means everyone, Brenda. It doesn’t mean make a pit stop to let you out so you can lounge by the pool.”
“Oh,” Mindy says. I guess she had planned on lounging by the pool.
“Well, don’t expect me to fight,” Brenda says. “I’m a leader, not a fighter.”
“You’re a slug,” Elsbeth says.
Brenda starts to reply then realizes who she is replying to and shuts the fuck up right quick.
“You know where Stuart is?” Melissa asks.
“Nope,” I say. “I’ll try to find out. We’ll need him.”
“He’s with Julio,” Elsbeth says.
“He is?” I ask. “How do you know?”
I look over my shoulder and she just stares at me.
WHEN Z-DAY HIT IT WAS a Sunday.
The day is only significant because on the Biltmore Estate, that’s a busy day. Thousands of tourists crowded the sprawling house, and surrounding grou
nds of one of America’s former families of robber baron royalty. The Vanderbilts.
For some inexplicable reason, the management of the estate decided to lock down everything when the dead began to rise. They closed and barred the gates, barricaded access roads, fenced off bridges. There was no way in or out.
Did they get a heads up? Did someone say, “Hey, zombie apocalypse! Everyone’s sleeping here tonight!”
No one knows because within days the place was nothing but a nest of Zs.
Odds are someone had a heart attack and it all went downhill from there. One guy gets up a little peckish for human flesh and pretty soon it’s the meme of the day to eat your friends, family, fellow flabby tourists.
Whatever the circumstances, the Biltmore Estate pretty much stayed off limits to the survivors of Asheville. Why would anyone even bother when faced with a sea of undead shambling around the grounds? And there is a sea of them. Thousands standing in the fields, their moans and groans, hisses and snarls echoing about the landscape. They just stand there. Waiting...
“What are they waiting for?” Julio asks as he lowers his binoculars. “They don’t leave the estate. Just hang out in the fields.”
His companion grunts, but doesn’t lower his binoculars.
“I don’t think they can move,” Stuart says.
“Come again?” Julio asks.
The two men are perched on a hill that overlooks the estate. They have a good view of the many fields and gardens that once grew corn and wheat, pastured beef and dairy cows, and each season flourished with a multitude of wildflowers.
“They move,” Julio says.
“No, they don’t,” Stuart says. “They move their arms, and some move a leg back and forth, but none of them actually leave where they are standing.” He lowers his binoculars and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “It’s like they are glued into place.”
Julio has another look and frowns. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I never noticed that. I assumed they were just doing that Z thing where they stare at shit until some asshole comes along and gets them worked up.”
“That’s not an accident,” Stuart says, “someone put them there.”
“Nah, man, they were already there,” Julio says, studying the tattered and shredded clothing that still dangles from many of the Zs.
Wearing remnants of their former lives, they are covered in t-shirts with logos from their favorite bands, sports teams, universities, bulky sweatshirts with majestic eagles, grizzly bears, monster trucks, couture and faux couture blouses and jeans.
A slice of 21st century fashion pre-Z.
“I mean that someone placed them where they stand,” Stuart says. “Moved them from where they were wandering about the estate and into their current positions.”
“And why the fuck would someone do that?” Julio asks.
“Keeps us from going in there,” Stuart says. “Even keeps Critter and his crew from scavenging the place. If Critter won’t touch it then no one will.”
“True dat,” Julio says. “So now what?”
“I don’t know,” Stuart says. “Why does Elsbeth keep coming here then? Has she gone inside yet and we don’t know? What is drawing her to an estate with a staged herd of Zs?”
“All good questions, man,” Julio replies. “Let me know when you have answers.”
He watches for a second then pulls the binoculars away. Then puts them back. Then away.
“There’s someone down in that shit,” Julio says. “Take a look, man. Someone is moving through those fuckers.”
“Probably just a Z that got loose,” Stuart says as he starts scanning the field. “Where am I looking then?”
“About thirty yards in from the left,” Julio says, “second field back.”
“I got it,” Stuart says, “is that a girl? A woman? Can’t tell. Fucker is hiding behind a Z.”
“Ballsy,” Julio says. “Lucky she doesn’t get her tits bitten off.”
“Nice,” Stuart frowns. “Maybe a survivor that wandered onto the grounds. Now trying to get out.”
“You believe that?” Julio asks.
“No,” Stuart replies. Their phones vibrate. “Check that.”
“Why don’t you check yours?” Julio asks.
“Seriously?” Stuart replies. One word, one question, no room for argument.
“Fine,” Julio says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Surprised Landon got Wi-Fi to reach this far.”
“The guy may be an asshole, but he does stay focused when given a task,” Stuart says.
“Still a total asshole though,” Julio replies as he reads the message. “Ah, shit, man, we gotta go.”
“What is it then?” Stuart asks, looking at Julio.
“Power plant is under attack,” Julio replies. “We picked the wrong day to go for a hike. Maybe we can find a car that still runs and hotwire the bitch. Drive it down to help out?”
Their phones buzz again.
“Never mind,” Julio smiles. “It’s Jace wondering where we are. He’s with Mel and they are on their way.”
He taps at the virtual keyboard and sends his response.
“What’s the plan?” Stuart asks.
“We’ll meet them on Hendersonville Rd,” Julio says. “They’ll give us a ride down to Lake Julian.”
“Huh,” Stuart says and looks at Julio dressed in only jeans and a black tank top. “Not really outfitted for combat.”
“Neither are you,” Julio says, nodding at Stuart’s almost identical outfit except he’s wearing a black t-shirt instead of a tank. “But Shumway’ll have supplies.”
“He does,” Stuart nods as he crawls backwards from their vantage point, not wanting to be seen standing up by whomever is in the field. Or whomever else could be in the area, watching.
THE FLASHES OF LIGHT, obvious reflections from binoculars, stop and a young woman waits, her eyes watching the hilltop closely. She doesn’t see any other signs of movement and figures the spies have gone away. But she doesn’t move for another thirty minutes just to be sure. The Z she crouches behind groans and reaches for her face, as it has done for the past hour.
“Stop,” she whispers, swatting the rotten hand away. “No more, Cecil.”
The Z doesn’t understand the words, just the hunger that torments it day and night. Having food, sweet, living flesh so close would have sent any other Z into a frenzy, but this Z, Cecil apparently, hasn’t eaten in years. It’s emaciated and weak and barely has the strength to curl its fingers into a fist. With grey, starving eyes it watches the young woman scramble away, lost in the herd of its undead brethren.
“See ya later, Cecil,” the young woman whispers. “Stay cool.”
MELISSA BARELY SLOWS the truck for Stuart and Julio.
“Hop in back,” I say as we roll up to the two men. “Crowded in here.”
“Special guests?” Stuart asks as he grabs the side of the truck and vaults into the bed as the PCs make room.
Elsbeth slides the back window open and smiles as Julio joins everyone else.
“Hey there,” she says. “Can we do it tonight?”
“Jesus,” Julio says and shakes his head as the PCs chuckle around him.
“That is highly inappropriate,” Brenda snips.
“Oh, you’re here,” Stuart says, looking into the cab and seeing the former head of Whispering Pines. “Plan to get your hands dirty this time?”
“I will do no such thing,” Brenda snaps. “You can do the fighting. That’s what you know. I know how to lead, despite some other people’s opinions.”
“By ‘other people’ she means anyone with some semblance of sanity left in their heads,” I say.
“Yeah, I get that one,” Stuart replies. “Thanks for clearing that up, Jace.”
“It is unbelievably rude to criticize a head of state like that,” Brenda says. “Your diplomacy skills are sorely lacking.”
“Head of state?” I snort. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
I turn ar
ound and finally look at the woman.
“You are the head of nothing, bitch,” I snarl. “What you are is a backstabbing, self-serving, scum-sucking, blob of useless fat that needs to be wiped off this planet before there is any chance of your kind multiplying by asexual fragmentation!” I take a deep breath. “Bitch.”
“Asexual fragmentation?” Stuart asks. “Wow. You’re really riled up today.”
“I will report this behavior to the Counsel, you know,” Brenda says. “Whether you like me or not you do have to respect my position amongst the survivors, Mr. Stanford!”
“I don’t have to respect shit, you fucking whore-ass cunt!” I shout.
Then I lunge over the back of the seat at her. I just can’t take the woman anymore. All I want to do is grab her and shove her out the fucking door. Let her roll down the road and hope a horde comes by and eats her fat ass.
“Jace!”
“Long Pork!”
“Damn, dude!”
“God dammit, Stanford,” Stuart yells as he reaches in and slaps me before I can throttle the evil twat. “Get a hold of yourself! We’d all like to see the woman dead, but we are rebuilding a society, not destroying one. Calm the fuck down!”
I do calm down and Melissa grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and yanks me all the way into my seat. Which causes her to swerve to the side and slam into a Z that’s just decided to step out into the road. It reaches for us and then it’s gone, lost under the truck.
The vehicle gives a shudder and bounce and some blood and gunk spray out from underneath. We get about fifteen yards before we feel the trouble.
“That’s a flat,” Melissa growls, looking over at me, her eyes all accusatory and shit. “Because we hit a Z.”
“Should have watched the road,” I say, knowing it’s not fair or even nice. But I’m pissed.
She pulls the truck over and the PCs jump out to create a perimeter, their rifles to their shoulders. Melissa leans over me and opens my door.
“This is your job, Jason,” she says. “Better hurry. Anyone dies because we got held up and it’s on your head.”