by Bible, Jake
And for every ten she takes down she cries out as she cuts herself.
Cuts. Herself.
It’s the same tactic as what I have been doing, and it draws the Zs towards her like a sanguine pied piper. Instead of moving up the last block towards Patton Ave and the BB& T building, she gives us all a sad look and takes the Zs up Aston St past the First Presbyterian Church.
Now, as much as I’d like to say that her sacrifice eases our struggle, I can’t. The sheer volume of Zs is such that all she has done is keep us from getting overwhelmed. We still have to fight for every single foot of progress. And I don’t know how much fight I have left in me. Endorphins flood my bloodstream, but then my bloodstream is getting a little thin from the wound on my head. I’m not dizzy, but I know I will be soon if the gash doesn’t stop bleeding. I really fucking whacked myself.
My legs go out from under me as a fallen Z rolls into my shins. Mr. Spikey meets the asphalt and a searing jolt of pain roars through Stumpageddon and into my shoulder. For like a split second I am nothing. I believe I have finally hit that true Zen state. It’s as if I don’t exist. And there is nothing but white light. Sensory input is a thing of the past. I am one with the cosmos.
But the cosmos finds me lacking and it’s all over before it began.
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” I scream as I roll onto my side, my hand clutching at my shoulder. “FUUUUUUUCK!”
Elsbeth and John pull me to my feet and keep me going. We are so close, but I’m already done. There’s no way I’m raising Stumpageddon again. I can barely think let alone attack or defend. Every footstep is one of will power and concentration.
“Leave me!” I cry, knowing I’m slowing them down. “I’m already dead! Go!”
“Fuck you!” Elsbeth snarls as she severs a Z head. “Keep walking!”
“John! You have to go on without me!” I shout.
“Not happening, LP!” he yells back. “We don’t leave men behind!”
“Frag!” Stuart yells and I don’t even have time to react before an explosion sends Z parts raining down on us.
He yells it again and again and we follow the path of destruction. Behind us, just down the block is a blood curdling scream that is cut short. We all know what that means.
I’m sure silent prayers are said, but we don’t have the luxury of bowing our heads in respect. That’ll come later, if there is a later.
“There!” Cassie yells and points with one of her blades as it drips black goo. “That door!”
We are at the intersection of Patton and Lexington and just across from us is the back entrance to the BB&T building, the tallest building in Asheville. I hope that the jammer is up there and all of this hasn’t been a massive waste of time. And waste of life.
With a final push, our group cuts and shoots its way through the Zs to a glass door that has been smashed in.
“Behind us!” Cassie yells as the women create a protective half-circle between the Zs and us.
There are no rookies in the apocalypse. You become seasoned pros at knowing when to move forward and when to fall back. You also become good at knowing when either of those options aren’t going to work. It’s the art of the sidestep. Which we employ on three, two, one.
“Zs!” John yells as he opens fire on the horde that is crammed inside the lobby of the BB&T building.
Smears of blood and chunks of flesh cover the beige tile. The Zs were obviously baited into filling the large space, a deliberate attempt to use the undead as a barrier.
“Up here!” Stuart yells as he yanks open the door to the stairs. Zs spill out, but he’s ready for them, letting them fall past as he opens fire.
The stairway is dark, but I can see heads explode as each muzzle flash illuminates the space for a split second. Stuart dodges to the side as the Zs lunge at him. We swoop in behind to take care of them. Heads are split or severed, decayed faces kicked in, reaching hands lopped off. We kick and shove past the gnashing teeth and follow Stuart as he takes point. I’m suddenly in the center behind that one guy with Reaper, Melissa and John behind me.
But I’m quickly shoved out of the way as Melissa moves past, handing Stuart a newly loaded pistol whenever he reaches back, switching it out for his empty one. Then I’m at the back with John as Reaper moves in and provides backup with Melissa. I’m John’s eyes, making sure he doesn’t trip over the fallen bodies of the Zs that litter the stairs. He steps agilely over the corpses even though he’s walking backwards up the stairs, keeping the few Zs that get past Elsbeth and the sisters from bum rushing us.
Then “I’m out!” Stuart shouts.
There’s some more last gunfire and soon all I hear is thunk and thud, whack and smack. I say hear because without the muzzle flashes, the stairway becomes a pitch black hell of Z snarls and human grunts. It’s all I can do to keep from falling flat on my face, let alone help John up the steps. But luckily, there are enough corpses strewn across the stairs to slow down any undead pursuers. John slings his rifle and he is quickly leading me up the stairs.
The Zs thin out as we get higher and higher, which is good because we slow down considerably with every floor we gain. No one says it, but this is our last push. Once we get to the roof, we had better find the jammer because we aren’t up for a new scavenger hunt. It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other and scrape my boots along the edges of each step. I’m climbing with my hand on the railing as much as with my legs.
“Door,” Stuart gasps. I hear him rattle the knob. “Locked.
“Got it,” the guy says. There’s some movement as Stuart and what’s his name switch places. Then I hear scraping of metal on metal, a loud whack, and the clang of the door handle hitting the floor. “There.”
Daylight streams in from where the handle was and in that light I can see the PC guy crouched by the door, a cutting tool and hammer in his hands. Good thing he had that in his pack. It looks like a handy rig and I make a mental note to ask him about it later. More of those would be good for the scavengers to have on hand.
But I don’t get a chance to ask him.
A muzzle pushes through the other side of the door and fires. The guy’s face rips right off as more than a few bullets tear into his head. Stuart reacts immediately, drawing his machete and bringing it down onto the muzzle. There’s a cry of pain from the other side of the door and the muzzle slips from view. Stuart must have hit the gun hard enough to send a shock wave up the fucker’s arm, like when you ding a baseball wrong with an aluminum bat. That shit fucking hurts.
Then shit gets even more strange. I have no idea why I do it, but something comes over me. Maybe it’s the sight of a man’s eyeballs disintegrating or watching bits of his teeth explode from his mouth. Maybe it’s because we have been fighting Zs for so long that human on human violence shocks me. Maybe it’s just my time to lose my shit completely.
“JEFF!” I scream, finally remembering the guy’s name, and reach for the door. I yank it open and burst out onto the roof. “YOU FUCK!”
A man is crouched right there, shaking one hand as he reaches for a rifle at his feet with his other hand. I jam Mr. Spikey into his head, but miss his eye and instead rip his cheek to shreds. It may have been a mis-stab, but it does the trick. The man screams and his free hand goes to his face, giving me time to get in closer. My fist meets his temple and he crumples. Then I have the rifle up one handed and I just start firing, screams of rage exploding from my throat.
I empty the magazine, but keep screaming until I feel hands on my shoulders, shaking me, yelling at me to shut he fuck up because it’s all over.
“It is?” I ask, looking into Stuart’s face.
“You killed them,” he nods and takes the rifle from me. “The roof is clear.”
“Them?” I look about and see three more bodies on the roof, all lying in quickly spreading pools of blood. They are human corpses, not Zs. I just blew away three living men.
The first man at my feet starts to groan and John grabs him by the
collar and drags him over to his buddies.
“See that?” he says. “You want to be next?”
“Fuck...you,” the man grunts.
John drags him over to the short wall at the edge of the building and then pushes. The man’s top half starts to go over, but John grips the guy’s belt, holding him securely enough so he waivers at the precipice.
“See all that down there?” John says. “You go over and odds are the fall will kill you. But then again maybe it won’t. Maybe that herd of Zs will cushion your fall just enough to keep you alive, in excruciating pain, while they rip you apart and eat you alive.”
“I lay ten on he dies in the fall,” Melissa says.
“Ten says he doesn’t,” Stuart says. “Those Zs are squishy.”
“Where’s the jammer?” John asks.
“Fuck you,” the man says. “You won’t keep me alive even if I tell you.”
“Hey, John?” I say, smiling. “Would that be it?”
Next to a row of old satellite TV dishes is a large black case. Miscellaneous wires stream out from the case and plug directly into the dozens of dishes. Next to the case is another one with a bank of solar panels on top of it.
“That’s it,” John says and let’s go. The man’s screams get quieter and quieter until we hear a thud way down below.
“Well then?” Stuart asks.
John looks casually over the edge and nods. “Squishy enough.”
A cry of pain echoes up to us then stops.
I hurry (I use that word lightly) over to the jammer and take a look at all the wires coming from the first case. Then I look at the second case.
“Nice battery pack,” I say and disconnect the cord going from it to the black case. I look up at Stuart. “You think that Steph chick is gonna be pissed I took the glory?”
“I think she’ll be pissed if you call her a chick,” Stuart warns.
We don’t have to wait for long before chimes, rings, and buzzes emit from our pockets. We have Wi-Fi!
Then my phone rings. It doesn’t buzz like I have a text, but actually rings. Well, it not so much rings as starts playing Sweet Caroline. Not the Neil Diamond version, but the live Elvis Presley version. Because it’s The King singing Neil. That was my pre-Z bliss.
“You going to answer that then?” Stuart asks as I stare at my phone.
My screen says “UNKOWN” across it, which pre-Z I would have let go to voicemail. But I’m pretty sure voicemail doesn’t exist anymore. In fact, I have no idea how a call is even happening.
“Yello?” I say as I answer the call. “This is Jason Stanford.”
“Please hold, Mr. Stanford,” a voice says.
“Uh...okay,” I reply then pull the mic away from my face a little and smile at the others. “I’m on hold.”
“You’re what?” Stuart asks, his face a mix of shock and rage. “Who the fuck would...”
But I don’t hear the rest of what he asks.
“Hello, Mr. Stanford,” a woman greets me. “It’s a pleasure finally to speak with you. You are a busy, busy man up there in Asheville.”
“Yeah, I’m rarely bored,” I say. “Uh, who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
“With whom,” the woman corrects me. “Not who.”
“Fuck you,” I respond. “Whomever you are.”
“You are as sarcastic as the reports say,” the woman continues. “Let’s hope you are just as intelligent.”
“Lady, I really don’t have time for banter with a mysterious bad guy right now, okay? Get to the fucking point and tell me who you are and how the fuck we are talking on a cell phone!”
“The technology doesn’t matter,” she says. “It’s not as hard as you think. As for who I am, well, that’s easy. My name is Camille Thornberg. I believe you know my daughter Carly. Or, as you refer to her, Elsbeth.”
“Oh...fuck,” I say.
“Oh fuck indeed, Mr. Stanford,” Camille laughs. “Do I have your undivided attention now?”
“Undividedly,” I say.
Chapter Eight
Several men shove the gates wide then sprint back to the dump truck that is already rolling past them. They grab on to anything they can and climb up into the bed with the rest of the Whispering Pines refugees and Reynolds Mountain residents. Tension and rivalry is still there as the two factions subconsciously keep space between them, but that rivalry is quickly forgotten as the dump truck speeds past the gates and into the waiting throng of Zs.
The truck slams into the Zs and black blood and gore spray up from the tires, splashing across everyone in the bed. There are cries of disgust at first, but they dwindle as the dump truck keeps moving, and the gore keeps splashing. Gunfire is heard from the Humvees riding behind the dump truck as Lourdes and her PCs take out the Zs coming out of the woods at the truck as it winds its way down to Merrimon Ave.
Stella, riding in front with Buzz driving, points at the street below. Charlie and Greta are seated between the two, their mouth hanging open at the sight.
“We can’t stop,” she says. “If we do we’ll get swarmed.”
“I know,” Buzz says.
“And that’s a sharp turn,” Stella says.
“I know,” Buzz replies.
“You take it too fast and we’ll roll!” Stella shouts as they get to the turn.
“I know, Stella!” Buzz yells. “Back off!”
He cranks the wheel at the last possible second and the dump truck barrels into the herd of Zs that fill the street. The shocks and suspension groan with the momentum and for a split second, it feels as if the right side wheels will actually lift off the ground, but Buzz slams the accelerator home and the force of motion corrects the vehicle and all wheels stay grounded.
“Phew,” Stella says, “good driving.”
“Thanks,” Buzz nods, “but this is far from over.”
Stella gasps as she looks at the Zs in front of them. Heading north was a great idea, and she loves Charlie for coming up with it, but the reality is slightly different. She knows that if they can get ahead of the Zs they’ll be in the clear, but with hundreds and hundreds of them covering every inch of pavement for as far as she can see, Stella doesn’t know how it will be possible. The dump truck isn’t designed for the impacts it’s taking.
Explosions erupt ahead as the Humvees push through and each take a side next to the dump truck, PCs on top firing off grenades from their launchers. It thins the herd some, but not enough and within a mile, the dump truck is smoking from under the hood.
“Buzz,” Stella whispers.
“I see it,” Buzz says, “but ain’t a thing we can do ‘cept keep going.”
“What if it breaks down?” she asks.
“Then we fight our way to safety somehow,” Buzz says.
They both know the likelihood of that working with the numbers they still see before them. All the way to the next rise is nothing but wall to wall Zs. Stella does some quick math and realizes that they won’t make it another mile before the truck gives out. Apparently, Brenda stole the truck, but never took the time really to get it into shape. Once again, the bitch’s short sightedness means the possible deaths of innocents.
“Fucking twat,” Stella mutters.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Buzz smiles. It’s a weak smile and a pained smile.
There’s a crunch of metal and Stella looks into the side mirror and sees one of the Humvees veering off the road and into a ditch. Men scramble from the vehicle, their rifles firing, firing, firing, until they are overrun by Zs. Stella is about to look away when the Humvee explodes in a massive fireball, obliterating dozens and dozens of Zs around it.
Which clears some from behind the dump truck, but does nothing for the ones in front. The truck starts to chug along, lurching more than driving, until a massive black cloud of smoke billows out from under the hood.
“Sorry,” Charlie says, “I killed us all.”
“No, you didn’t,” Stella snaps, “you gave us a chan
ce.”
“I wasn’t going to just die in that Reynolds shithole,” Greta says, taking Charlie’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Blaze of glory, right? Just like Dad always said.”
“Blaze of glory,” Charlie smiles at her.
“Wait...what blaze of glory?” Stella asks, shocked. “When the hell did your father say that?”
“He always says that,” Charlie smirks, “it’s our little joke. Easier to know you’re going to die when it’s in a blaze of glory.”
“I am so going to kick his ass when I see him next,” Stella says.
No one corrects her “when” with an “if.”
The dump truck slugs along for a few more yards, but then quits and dies. A hunk of dead metal amidst a herd of dead flesh.
Buzz pulls his rifle from the floor of the truck and looks over at Stella. “Ready?”
Gunfire has already erupted from the truck bed and Stella nods, picking up her own rifle. Greta pulls back the slide on a .45 while Charlie smiles as he does the same to his Desert Eagle.
“Where’d you get that?” Stella asks.
Charlie shrugs. “It was in the glove box. Your fault for not looking.” A huge grin spreads across his face. “This is going to be awesome. Call of Duty fuck the what.”
Stella and Buzz are about to open the doors and jump from the truck when a chime fills the cab.
“Uh...what’s that?” Buzz asks.
They all look at each other as another chime sounds then a buzzing and a trilling.
“That’s our phones,” Charlie says and digs into his pocket.
“Where y’all at?” the text reads on all of their phones.
“Holy shit,” Charlie smiles. “It’s Critter.”
“The Wi-Fi is back up,” Greta says then looks at her mother, a wide grin on her face. “Dad.”
“That man,” Buzz says, shaking his head.
“I love my dad and all,” Charlie says. “But is someone going to answer Critter?”
“Almost two miles north of Reynolds Mountain on Merrimon,” Stella texts back. “We tried to use the dump truck to get away, but it broke down.”