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

by Bible, Jake

  “We?”

  “Yeah, we,” Lourdes says as she comes around and hops back into the Humvee. She reaches out the window and gives a thumbs up to the convoy of six Humvees behind her. “Get us there fast.”

  The driver nods and punches the accelerator. They twist and turn their way down Elk Mountain Rd until they hit Hwy 251. He turns the Humvee left, but slows the vehicle after going only a hundred yards or so. They crest a small hill and see the nightmare before them.

  “Back,” Lourdes says.

  “But we can cut up 6th Ave and sneak in the back way,” the driver says. “I can take this left here.”

  “Too late,” Lourdes says. “Back. We’ll double around to the cliff. Go in that way.”

  “But...”

  “Do it!” Lourdes yells, pointing out the windshield. “We’ll have high ground. We go up 6th and we’ll be trapped there in minutes! Look at them all!”

  The mass of Zs before them groan and hiss. Many of them scrape at the hillside, knowing there is food in Whispering Pines if they can just get to it. A few turn and spot the Humvee convoy. They bare their teeth and start forward.

  “See,” Lourdes says, suddenly very, very tired. “Go.”

  The driver reaches out the window and twirls his arm about. The Humvees all start to turn around then pull to the side to let Lourdes’s vehicle take the lead once more. Back up Elk Mountain Rd they go. They turn onto Jonestown Rd and speed through the twists of the small, residential street.

  “There,” Lourdes says as they come to an unassuming ranch house.

  The convoy stops and PCs instantly hop out, rifles ready, eyes on their surroundings. Lourdes does a head count.

  “Vehicles one through three stay,” she says, “the rest head back to the Grove Park. Evacuate the place. Anyone that doesn’t want to go can rot.”

  “Where to?” a PC asks.

  “Take them to Reynolds Mountain,” Lourdes says, “it’ll give you the higher ground. Dig in. I want gun nests every twenty yards. If we can’t hold Whispering Pines then we’ll be coming your way. Be ready.”

  The PCs nod and hop back into Humvees four through six. Lourdes watches them speed off then turns and starts hiking towards the field that connects with the back cliff that Phase One of Whispering Pines butts up against. She plans on finding out their status and then making the call from there.

  “I’m going in,” Lourdes says to her people. “I want you all to scour the area for vehicles that will run. The bigger the better. Bring them back here and secure the area. If we need to evacuate Whispering Pines then we’ll be coming fast. Jonestown Rd connects to Riverside down below, which connects to I-26 back near Broadway. We may not have much time before the Zs figure that out.”

  “TO THE CLIFF!” STELLA shouts.

  “Mom!” Greta screams as she sprints towards the watchtower. “Dr. McCormick won’t come with! She says she’s staying with the wounded!”

  “Like hell she is!” Stella growls. She climbs down from the watchtower, the ever present roar of the Zs at the gate grating on her last, frayed nerve.

  Stella sprints up and down the hills of Whispering Pines until she gets to the infirmary. Out of breath, adrenaline pumping through her, she bursts in, spots Dr. McCormick and grabs the woman by the arm.

  “Hey!” Dr. McCormick yells. “OW! Stella, stop!”

  “We get everyone out that we can,” Stella says, “and that includes you.”

  “I have thirty people dying here,” Dr. McCormick says, “I’m not leaving them alone. I’m not.”

  “Reaper is off with Platt and John,” Stella says, “that means you are our only trained medical professional. We have fifty plus men, women, and children that will need your help if shit goes wrong. Which it will. I can guarantee that.”

  “Stella, listen...”

  “You are coming!” Stella roars. “Do what you can for whomever you can. Get those that can move ready. We are evacuating to the cliff.”

  “The cliff?” Dr. McCormick laughs. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind. We’ll never get half these people up those stairs, let alone maneuver them through the razor wire, fencing, and ditches.”

  “Then half stay,” Stella states as she turns and hurries from the room.

  Greta stands there, her mouth wide open.

  “Is it that bad?” Dr. McCormick asks. “Are the gates coming down?”

  Greta can’t speak so she just nods.

  “Fine,” Dr. McCormick says. “Grab me a marker. I’ll tag those I think can move on their own. Everyone else will need help. We leave no one if we don’t have to.”

  WHEN LOURDES GETS TO the bottom of the cliff stairs and sees the groups of Whispering Pines residents hurrying towards her, she knows the shit has hit it and it’s all a fucking mess.

  “Where’s Stella Stanford?” Lourdes asks a resident.

  “She was down by the gates,” the woman says, holding a toddler to her chest. “But someone said she may be at the infirmary.”

  “What happened here?” Lourdes asks.

  “The Zs,” the woman says as she pushes past and hurries away.

  “Nuff said,” Lourdes mumbles. She readies her rifle as she hikes against the throng rushing to the cliff.

  She gets to the bottom of the hill, where Phase One stops and the entrance to the subdivision begins. People are running everywhere and it’s complete chaos. She can hear the moans of the Zs and the sounds of their putrid hands smacking against the thick wood of the front gates.

  “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away,” a raspy voice says off to her side. “Revelation 21:4.”

  Lourdes turns to see Preacher Carrey standing there, his white hair a wild tangle about his head, his eyes rolling, rolling, rolling madly in his skull.

  “Whatever,” Lourdes says as she sees Stella running back towards the gates.

  She hurries down and intercepts the woman.

  “How long will the gates hold?” she asks Stella.

  “What? Lourdes? When did you get here?” Stella asks, her arms waving madly, directing people from Phase Two and up into Phase One. “How many are with you?”

  “I have fifteen up on Jonestown Rd looking for vehicles,” Lourdes replies, “looks like we’ll need them.”

  “Good, good,” Stella says. “I kept meaning to have some up there ready, but we’ve just been so busy rebuilding.” Stella stops and looks around. Her chest hitches and she starts to breathe quickly.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lourdes says, “sit down.”

  “Can’t...breathe,” Stella says.

  “You’re hyperventilating,” Lourdes replies as she helps Stella to the curb. “Put your head between your legs and take some deep breaths.”

  “It’s just...so...sudden,” Stella says.

  “Hush. Calm, even breaths.”

  It takes Stella a second, but she gets it under control.

  “I don’t know where Jace is,” Stella says, looking Lourdes in the eye. “I don’t even know where my kids are. I’ve told them to help with so many things I can’t remember what I said last.”

  “First, I’m sure Jace is fine,” Lourdes says, “he’s a wily bastard.” This gets a small smile from Stella. “Second, I’ll handle things down here. You go find your kids.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” Stella says.

  “My nephews’ll help,” Critter says as he comes up and crouches down next to Stella. “They’ll go with ya. I’ll help the lady soldier get your folk up and out.”

  Stella looks up and sees Pup and Porky standing there.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” she says.

  “About what?” Critter asks. “What happened?”

  “Oh,” Stella replies, “Hollis died. I thought Buzz would have told you.”

  Critter sighs. “Haven’t seen him for a while,” he says, “but I’m not surprised. Shit’s crazy wild ‘round he
re. Ain’t surprised ‘bout Hollis, neither. He was hurt bad.”

  “Mom!” Charlie yells. “Mom!”

  “See, boss lady, I found one of them for ya already,” Critter smiles. It’s a smile that doesn’t reach his sad eyes. “Now we just have to find one more.”

  “Greta’s still with Dr. McCormick,” Charlie says.

  “Right, of course,” Stella nods.

  “Hey,” Buzz says as he comes up behind Charlie.

  “It true, bro?” Pup asks.

  “Daddy dead?” Porky follows.

  “Yep,” Buzz nods. “Nothing the doctor could do.” He looks around. “Where you want me? At the gate?”

  “No point,” Stella says as a loud crack echoes through the air, “it won’t hold. We’re getting out by the cliff. Can you and your brothers go get the vans up at the Church? They’ll need them back at the infirmary. And tell Dr. McCormick I’m sorry for being such a bitch. No, never mind. I’ll tell her myself. I have to go back and get Greta. You just get the vans. God, I’m tired.”

  Buzz nods at Stella then nods to his brothers. The men quickly walk up the hill towards the Church of Jesus of the Light. Critter stands and watches his nephews go.

  “They’re good boys,” Critter says. “But nothing will replace their daddy. Don’t know how the Farm will keep going.”

  “We need to worry about other things now,” Lourdes says. “Critter, can you walk Stella to the infirmary? I’m going to check on the gates and see how much time we have then keep the evacuation going.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Critter says as he helps Stella stand.

  “What about me?” Charlie asks. “What do I do?”

  “You stay by my side,” Stella says, “and don’t leave my sight.” She looks around the subdivision. “We could sure use Sergeant Platt right now. He’d be barking orders left and right, keeping things in line.”

  “I don’t bark,” Lourdes says, “but I do bite. Maybe that’ll move some of the stragglers along.”

  THE BATON SPEARS THE Z’s head and after a couple of stuttered hisses the monster stills.

  “They’re getting thick again,” Weapons Sergeant Sammy “John” Baptiste says as he pulls the baton out and flicks the red-black goop from it. “I thought we’d gotten through the worst.”

  “It’s like a storm,” Medical Sergeant Alex “Reaper” Stillwater says, coming up next to John, wiping his own baton. “We’re hitting waves of the things.”

  “That means what’s behind us isn’t the first wave,” Master Sergeant Joshua Platt adds as he shoves two Zs off of himself and gets to his feet, a gore covered knife in his hand. “They’re attacking now. Dammit.”

  “Radio is dead,” John says. “Can’t even pick up short wave.”

  “They have jammers already in place,” Platt says. “We’re too late. They’ve been planning this for a long time. I think we just upped their time table.” He pats the heavy pack on his back. “Hopefully this is all they had.”

  “You think so?” John asks, not buying it.

  “I don’t,” Platt says, “or it wouldn’t have been so easy to get.”

  “Easy?” Reaper laughs, pointing to his bruised and cut face.

  “We’re still alive, correct?” Platt asks. “Pull your panties out of your ass.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reaper sneers.

  “There should be one of Critter’s caches up ahead,” John says as he checks his compass. “Just over that ridge.”

  The three Special Forces soldiers, what’s left of the elite ODA Team Cobra out of Fort Bragg, NC, begin yet another leg of their journey from Atlanta, GA. They’d left Asheville weeks ago, determined to get intel on what the group known as the Consortium was up to in good ol’ Hotlanta.

  They found the intel they needed, which did not bode well for the residents of Asheville trying to put the pieces back together. And they found something else. Something they carry with them as they hurry to get back to the people they have sworn to protect.

  If they can get past the thousands of Zs that choke I-26, spilling off into the side highways and environment beyond, that is.

  They dodge a few rogue groups of Zs, choosing to evade instead of engage and possibly draw attention, and crest the ridge. They instantly hit the dirt, flattening themselves against the ridge line, hoping they haven’t already been spotted.

  “Those aren’t Zs,” John says. He unslings his sniper rifle and puts it to his shoulder, his eye looking through the scope. One hundred mile per hour tape covers part of the front lens, keeping any sun flare on the scope from giving away their position. “I count, four, five, six men. Well armed, all watching the Zs carefully.”

  “What the hell?” Reaper says. “Since when did Zs need chaperones?”

  “Since they need to be herded in a specific direction,” Platt replies.

  “So, what, they’re shepherds? Wranglers? Ranchers?” Reaper asks. “Jesus.”

  “I can see black gunk smeared all over their clothes,” John says. “They’re using Z guts as sensory camouflage. Same as the security patrols in Atlanta.”

  “Can we get down the ridge without them seeing?” Platt asks.

  The Atlanta men are all standing on a high bridge spanning the French Broad River. The river flows down below the Z covered bridge as well as the ridge Platt and his men are perched on. John watches the men closely, gauging their attention to their surroundings coupled with the distance from the bridge to the ridge.

  “Yeah,” John says, “they’re occupied with the Zs. With the gear they have, and the numbers of Zs they have, I doubt they’re worried about much other than staying stinky and keeping themselves from being eaten.”

  “Good,” Platt nods, “we’re about to lose the sun. We need to get to the cache and down to the river as soon as the light is gone. We don’t have time to wait.”

  John slings his rifle and slides after Platt and Reaper as they carefully navigate the hillside on the other side of the ridge. They get to a barely visible deer trail and silently make their way to a small outcropping of granite. John crawls underneath and then gives a short whistle as he shoves a good amount of deadfall towards Reaper and Platt.

  The two men get down and crawl in behind John. Both are pleasantly surprised that they can stand up fully after only crawling a couple feet.

  “Nice,” Reaper says. “Are those cots? Man, I could sleep for a year.”

  “We all could,” Platt says, “But...”

  “It’s not going to happen,” Reaper nods, “I know. Just dreaming.”

  “Rafts,” Platt says. “Find those first. Then ammo, food, and water.”

  “Water’s right here,” John says, tossing a bottle to Platt. “Looks like only a few MREs for food.”

  “What flavors?” Reaper asks.

  “Chicken lasagna,” John says.

  “Pass,” Platt and Reaper say at the same time.

  “Is it chicken lasagna that makes you crap so bad it comes out your pores?” John asks. Reaper nods. “Right. I’ll pass also.”

  They stack three large, rubber cubes by the cache entrance then go back to add to their dwindling ammo.

  “No magazines for my rifle,” John sighs. “I was worried about that.”

  “How many rounds do you have?”Platt asks.

  “Four full magazines,” John replies. “But I get twitchy when I have less than eight.”

  “Understood,” Platt nods. “If you men are set then let’s move out.”

  They gear up and exit the cache one at a time. John covers the entrance and let’s Reaper then Platt slide past him as he watches the men on the bridge with his scope. He waits as Platt and Reaper get all the way down to the riverbank before he slings his rifle and slides down after them.

  A small copse of oaks give them enough cover to pull the tab and let one of the cubes auto-inflate into a six person raft. The hissing sound of air being sucked into the raft makes them all nervous, but John keeps his eye on the men up above. None seem to notice. It w
ould take a lot to divert one’s attention from a massive herd of Zs.

  They toss in the other two cubes and their packs, along with the heavy pack Platt has kept with him since Atlanta. Reaper starts to shove the raft off as Platt gets in then follows. John waits until the last possible second and tumbles into the raft, coming up on his belly with his rifle resting on the side of the raft, aimed at the men on the bridge.

  The raft drifts along the shallows for several yards before coming to a bend in the French Broad. Once the bridge is out of sight, John takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back.

  “It’s 1930 right now,” Platt says, looking at his watch. “It’ll be close to 0400 before we get to the landing by Whispering Pines. You two grab some shuteye. I’ll keep an eye on the banks and wake John at 2130. Reaper, you have watch at 0100. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Reaper says as he settles into the bottom of the raft.

  “Got it,” John replies as he does the same.

  It takes them both less than a minute to be sound asleep. As a Special Forces soldier you learn to sleep when you can, wherever you can.

  Platt watches the ripples in the dark green water as his thoughts drift to the past few weeks of action.

  The three of them set out to get some intel on the Consortium’s operations in Atlanta. Knowing what they were up against was the only way to know if they stood a chance. Sadly, what they found confirmed what he’d feared: they do not stand a chance.

  Atlanta is surrounded by herd after herd after herd of Zs and all carefully contained and managed by several dozen armed keepers. Platt could easily tell the men and women weren’t military professionals, but they were tough and looked like they knew how to handle themselves in a fight. His guess? They cut their teeth in Atlanta’s deadly crime underground before Z-Day hit. After Z-Day, the weak were thinned out, just like everywhere else, leaving only those that would do anything they could to survive. And joining up with the Consortium was a good way to survive.

  It took them a week of scouting just to find a weak point so they could get into Atlanta proper. What they found was not what Platt expected. He figured things would be organized, but would also look like a scene from the Road Warrior: desperate groups all co-mingling in order to stay alive just a few more days. That wasn’t the case.