by Bible, Jake
Yep. Dumbass.
“I’m sorry,” I say, raising my hands up in a placating gesture. My shoulder stings and I wince. “I made an assumption and was wrong. Won’t happen again.”
“Yeah, right,” Melissa scoffs.
I have absolutely zero allies right now. It’s lonely being Mr. Long Pork.
“Apology accepted,” Cassie nods. And then she’s off again.
Elsbeth watches me for second before turning around. I’m pretty sure she glanced at my shoulder when I winced. Not like there’s a problem. I’m sure it’s just bruised when that Z bit me. As long as there aren’t any holes in my shirt I’m all good, right?
Right?
We keep moving and the sun beats down on us. It’s late afternoon (I’m still hanging onto my concept of time) and the sun is right in my face. I shield my eyes, making sure to keep my elbow tucked in and away from any hungry mouths, and stumble along.
Then it’s there, up on the horizon overlooking us all.
The Biltmore House.
“Home sweet home,” one of the women says. “I’ll let them know we have friendlies. The others will be happy to have guests.”
She takes off up the slight incline, sprinting towards the side of what had been called America’s Largest Home. The rest of us take it slow and hike our way around overgrown statutes and long dead topiaries.
“When we get inside you’ll wait by the atrium,” Cassie says. “Don’t wander. Don’t go exploring. Stay put. Understood?”
We all agree, even Stuart. He saw what they can do and I doubt he wants to go from being one of the friendlies to one of the foes.
Neither do I.
THE BILTMORE WAS STARTED in 1889 and finished in 1895. It’s over 178,000 square feet and until Z-Day was the largest privately owned residence in America. Like the Grove Park Inn, it was a favorite place for Stella and me to bring the kids. We’d come every year to see the Christmas trees and throughout the year just to hang out in the gardens and the grounds. We had passes. It was cool.
So I’m quite familiar with the atrium that is off to the right as you first come in. But not in its present state. It explains why they don’t need to be cannies. The place is chock full of fruit vines and rows of vegetables. Certainly doesn’t hurt that the atrium in the Biltmore House is almost as big as my entire house back at Whispering Pines. Man, if they have this here I wonder what they have growing down in the massive greenhouses by the gardens.
“You know, I haven’t ever been in here,” Stuart says.
“What? Not even pre-Z?” Melissa asks. “Shoot, Stuart, I’ve been to this house a hundred times. Jon and I used to come here. He loved the architecture.”
“Yeah, he did,” I say. It’s hard hearing about Jon. The man was my best friend in Whispering Pines. Being killed by Vance was not the way to go. I miss that bastard. Jon, not Vance. I don’t miss Vance. I could totally do without Vance.
“Where’s Elsbeth?” Stuart asks. “She was right here.”
“I have a feeling she has some business with our hosts,” I say. “I have zero clue what exactly that business is, but she’s connected to them somehow. Just like she was connected to Ms. Foster.”
“You know Ms. Foster?” a voice asks behind us. We all jump. Damn, these women are quiet.
“Uh, well, I didn’t like know her know her,” I say as I turn around, “but we met and hung out for a bit.”
This young woman is a skinny redhead with freckles covering almost every inch of her that isn’t covered by her tank top and jean shorts. She smiles at us then steps forward and offers her hand.
“I’m Brittany,” she says as she shakes each of our hands.
“Brittany?” Melissa laughs. “Stacy, Tracy, Lacy, Antoinette, Cassie. It’s like we stepped into a post-apocalyptic sorority.”
“We’re sisters, if that’s what you mean,” Brittany says. “Not blood sisters. Stronger than that. Ms. Foster brought us together and-.”
“That’s enough, Brit,” Cassie says as she comes walking down the grand staircase with Elsbeth at her side and nine other young women behind her.
I recognize Antoinette and the Lacy/Stacy/Tracy trio, but some of the others are new. All are dressed in summer casual- shorts, t-shirts, tank tops, sandals, hiking shoes. But every one of them look like they can crush me if I step out of line.
“Let’s get our guests settled and fed before we go into details,” Cassie says. “There’s food this way.”
She walks past the atrium to two wide doors that lead into what I think is a long sitting room. There are a few tables set up with fruits and veggies and even bread and what looks like jam. Fresh jam! Plus jugs of water. Everyone quickly moves towards the refreshments, but my attention is on the large wood doors closed at the very end of the room. I know that’s the library.
“Are there still books in there?” I ask, nodding towards the library. “I’ve always wanted to be able to go through them.”
“Why wouldn’t there be books?” Cassie asks. “No reason to get rid of them.”
“I just didn’t know if you’d used them as firewood or something,” I say.
“Or something?” Cassie smiles. “Like what? Building forts? Propping up wobbly tables?”
“No need to bust his balls,” Stuart says, “the guy likes books. That’s all.”
Cassie smiles at Stuart, but there’s no warmth behind it. Stuart returns the smile in kind.
“Go ahead,” Cassie says, nodding towards the door. “Knock yourself out, genius.”
“Um, okay,” I say as I scoop up a handful of grapes and some apple slices and walk towards the big doors. I look over my shoulder, but no one is coming with; they’re all just watching me. “Gonna just pop in and check out the library now. Let me know when it’s time for tea.”
“We’re having tea,” Brittany says. “Doesn’t he know that?”
I’m very confused by everything.
The doors open easily and then I’m standing in the Biltmore library. No ropes, no attendants, no video cameras to keep me back. Just the books and me.
I cram the grapes in my mouth and wipe my hand on my pants. Then I realize just how dirty my hand is. God, I can’t touch these books. Not with a hand like this. I mean one shelf must be worth a million dollars alone.
Which makes me laugh because nothing is worth a million dollars anymore. Not post-Z. I can touch whatever I want without having to worry about the consequences. Uh, that doesn’t sound right. You know what I mean. Shut up.
Volumes of Chaucer and Shakespeare. Histories of ancient Greece, Europe, America. Tomes containing outdated science and philosophy. Over 10,000 books all at my grubby fingertips.
I’m in heaven. I could spend the rest of my life sitting in this one room. Just get me a chamber pot and bring me my meals and I’ll never leave. Oh, and open some windows; it’s a tad musty.
Then it hits me: the secret door!
There’s a secret door on the second floor that leads directly to George Vanderbilt’s room. I am so gonna find that sucker and do some snooping. Glancing about, I hurry over to the spiral staircase across the room. Up I go and begin my search.
“Oh, secret door. Where are you?” I whisper. “Wait, I know.” I walk to the side of the grand fireplace and tap at the wall. It takes me a minute, but I find a small indentation and I press. There’s a click and a skinny panel cracks open slightly. I give it a push and peek inside.
Stairs. Excellent.
“Eh hem,” a voice behind me says, “I said the library, not the rest of the house.”
Cassie is directly behind me, looking bored.
“Yeah, I, uh, well,” I say. Oh, screw it. “I just wanted to go through the secret door. That’s all. I’ve been on this tour a billion times and this is like Disneyland to me. Can I just check it out?”
Cassie watches me for a second then smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile.
“The secret doors are my favorite,” Cassie says as she pushes past me. “Co
me on. I’ll show you.”
She takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. It’s dark and dusty, but it isn’t long before she opens another door and leads us right into a passageway that opens into George Vanderbilt’s bedroom. The place is a mess, covered in clothes and boots and various piles of gear.
“Sorry,” she says. “I keep meaning to pick up, but never do. Kinda wish this place still had servants. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
“Let me move in and I’ll give you my kids,” I say.
“You have kids?” she asks. “How many?”
“Boy and a girl. Both teenagers,” I say.
“Oh, that’s right,” she nods. “Charlie and Greta. They’re back at Whispering Pines with your wife Stella?”
Do I need to say my jaw drops and I stand there staring like a boob?
Cassie laughs and slaps me on my shoulder. I wince. She frowns.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Just surprised you know who my family is,” I say.
“We know all about you,” she replies. “You’ve been taking care of our sister for us, so it’s just right to know everything there is to know about the Stanfords.”
“Yeah, sure, of course,” I nod. “Silly me.”
Not creepy. Nope. Not creepy at all.
“I’ve freaked you out, huh?” she says. “Sorry. It’s just that we don’t have much to do other than explore Asheville and keep tabs on everyone.” She leans in. “You ever run into Knockers downtown?”
“Knockers? Uh, no, can’t say that I have.”
“Oh, she’s great,” Cassie says. “Lives in the basement of City Hall. Beds down between some old filing cabinets. Talks to herself non-stop. We still can’t figure out how she hasn’t been eaten. She never shuts up. But when the Zs come she disappears.”
“Why do you call her Knockers?” I ask.
“Oh, because she has these huge, saggy tits that drop down to her waist,” Cassie laughs. “She must be seventy years old. Took her bra off when Z-Day hit and hasn’t put it back on since. We drop food off to her so she stops trying to eat other survies.”
“Survies?” I ask.
“Survivors.”
“Oh, I get it. Any other nicknames for the Ashevillians out there?”
“Idiots we call meat. Not because we want to eat them, but because that’s all they’re good for. Whether for the Zs or cannies.”
That makes me shiver. She sees it and smiles.
“Don’t let it get to you,” she says. “But, really, if you get a chance be sure and look for Knockers. She’s hilarious.”
“Great. Can’t wait to meet her,” I say. “So...this is your room?”
“Yep.”
“Are you like the leader or something?”
“Not really,” she shrugs, “we don’t have a leader. I’m just kind of in charge because I’m good at it.”
“Like my wife,” I say. “We’re partners in every sense of the word, but when the shit really hits the fan, she’s got the last say. Works for me.”
“Works for my sisters, too,” Cassie responds.
“Yeah, about the sister thing. Uh. What’s up with that? You guys aren’t really sisters, right?”
“No, not really,” Cassie says. “Maybe we should go downstairs so all your friends hear it together.”
“Cool.”
We go back down the secret passageway (I insist since it’s a freakin’ secret passageway!) and make our way into the sitting room. Everyone is sitting around, eating fruit and bread and chatting. The women are all seated on the floor, legs crossed, looking back and forth from Stuart to Melissa to the PC (no clue what the guy’s name is) and back. They seem to be truly in awe that they have guests.
But most of them keep looking at Elsbeth, who is busy trying to pretend she isn’t the object of their attention. Which is weird for Elsbeth. Normally, she’d be all up in someone’s face if they kept staring at her. But here? Not so much.
I’m guessing because she lacks the intimidation factor that she has with everyone back at Whispering Pines or the Grove Park. Or she’s just freaked out. I know, despite my fun detour to the library, I’m shitting bricks.
“I should introduce us, shouldn’t I?” Cassie says. “First, I’m Cassandra, but go by Cassie.”
“Hey, Cassie!” the women say and then laugh.
Uh...okay.
She then introduces each of them. Lacy, Tracy, Stacy, Brittany, and Antoinette. Also Dehlia, Marcie, Steph, Belinda, and Audrey. I think Melissa nailed it with the whole sorority names thing.
“And you know Carly here,” Cassie smiles, pointing at Elsbeth. “It’s great to have her back with the sisters.”
“Carly?” I ask. “You mean Elsbeth?”
“That’s what she calls herself now,” Cassie says.
“What Pa called me,” Elsbeth says quietly. It’s the first she’s mentioned Pa in a long time.
The girls all grow tense and quiet. Then they seem to snap out of it and start talking and laughing. I guess introductions are out of the way.
“Okay, now that we’re all on a first name basis, how about letting us in on whom you actually are and how you ended up here?” I say.
“Fair enough,” Cassie says and starts in on her story. Their story.
She talks about being held in a cave or prison or something. About a crazy madman that tortured them, warped them, made them do things, learn things, and...kill things. I can see by the looks on my peeps’ faces that I’m not the only one thinking we’ve walked into some crazy Twilight Zone spy novel thingy.
Then Z-Day. And Ms. Foster.
It all clicks.
What Ms. Foster told me about Elsbeth and why she wanted me to help find her. If Foster’d been straight with me, and told me the real story, things might have gone better. For her and for everyone else. Instead, it led to Ms. Foster losing her head.
Literally.
“We fought our asses off,” Cassie says. “Moved from house to house, building to building, always staying barely one step ahead of the Zs. It was months before we made it here.” She holds her hands out wide. “They’d already sealed off the grounds, so that was in our favor. But there were all the Zs wandering about.”
“It was a long time before we had all of them organized and in place,” Brittany laughs. The others laugh with her.
“Pretty good camouflage,” Stuart says. “I’ve been down here dozens of times and never thought it was worth checking out.”
“And good job staying off the radar,” Melissa ads. “Didn’t have a clue someone was living here. Even my uncle, Critter, didn’t know.”
The women all stop and look at Melissa.
“Critter,” Antoinette says. “Wow.”
“Wow? I don’t think mentioning him has ever gotten that reaction,” Melissa laughs.
“What she means is Critter is a legend with us,” Cassie says. “He’s the only person alive that we can’t track. At least not for long. He may not see us, but eventually he gets spooked and ditches us. He’s good.”
“Really good,” Brittany adds.
“I spent a whole day trying to find him once,” Lacy agrees, “lost him after fifteen minutes and never found him again.”
“Yeah, that’s my Uncle Critter,” Melissa says. “Slipperier than squirrel shit.”
This sends the women into a laughing fit and it’s a few minutes before the giggles finally die down.
“Squirrel shit,” Brittany snickers.
The light starts to dwindle through the massive windows behind us and I realize it must be close to eight at night. Jesus, Stella must be freaking out! I pull out my phone and try to text her, but it doesn’t go through.
“Your phone work?” I ask Stuart.
He tries his again and again then shakes his head. Melissa’s is out too. So is the PC’s (Jeff. Apparently, the guy’s name is Jeff. Need to remember that).
“Wi-Fi is out,” Cassie says. “Started going down as soon as the mega-herd moved past th
e power plant and up I-26. By the time the Zs hit I-40 it was out city wide.”
“How do you know that?” Stuart asks.
Cassie pulls out her own phone. “We’ve been monitoring all communications for months.” She shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea.”
“That’s how you know so much about my family,” I say. Cassie smiles and nods.
“I have to pee,” Elsbeth says. Or Carly. No, no, she’s Elsbeth.
“Pee outside,” Stacy says. “The toilets are tricky in this house. We only use them during winter when we have to. Keeps the plumbing issues down.”
“So you have running water?” I ask as Elsbeth gets up and walks quickly from the room.
“Yep,” Brittany says. “There’s a huge cistern on the grounds. And we have rain barrels. The water is gravity fed from tanks up top. It was the easiest way to hook it all up. Not all sinks work, of course. That would be too much.”
“But the ones we need to work do,” Cassie says.
“Cool,” I say. Elsbeth still isn’t back. “Um, I need to pee too.”
Everyone smiles at me, but I can feel Cassie’s eyes watching as I leave the room. I hurry outside in the direction I think Elsbeth has gone and find her sitting on the massive steps that lead up into the front of the house.
“You okay?” I ask.
She wipes at her eyes and looks up at me. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” I say, sitting down. “I’m sorry about Julio.”
“It’s not that,” Elsbeth says, “I’ll miss him, but I’m over it. I know he died because this world kills everyone.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say. She turns and gives me an Elsbeth look. “Okay, yeah, it does kill everyone eventually.”
“It does,” she nods.
“If it’s not Julio then what’s up?” I ask. “All of this? It’s pretty crazy.”
“I’m Elsbeth,” she states, “not Carly.”
“Yeah, I know,” I nod. “You’re Elsbeth. I won’t argue that and don’t plan on calling you anything else.”
This gets a little smile from her. “I knew Pa wasn’t my real Pa. I just knew it. He kept saying he was, but the things he did... Real pa’s don’t do that. You would never hurt Greta or Charlie.”
“Never,” I say, “and I’d never hurt you. That’s not what family is for.”