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

by Bible, Jake

  “Don’t worry,” Critter texts back, “we’re on our way in my truck.”

  “Too thick,” Stella responds, “you won’t get through.”

  There’s no answer.

  The Zs push in at the dump truck, shaking it from side to side. Slowly the gunfire from the bed stops as everyone runs out of ammunition.

  “Critter?” Stella texts. “Where are you?”

  “Do you feel that?” Charlie asks.

  “It’s the Zs,” Buzz says sadly, as some start to climb up over the smoking hood.

  “This is what dad felt like,” Greta frowns as she looks into the grey eyes of a Z. “When Elsbeth found him. But we don’t have an Elsbeth today.”

  “No, shhhh!” Charlie snaps. “I hear it now too.”

  “Sweetie, it’s the Zs,” Stella says, putting her hand on his shoulder.

  He shakes it off and glares at her. “No, it’s not! Fucking listen!”

  Before Stella can reply, a rumbling sound fills the air. They all know it’s not a figment of their desperate imaginations because the Zs begin to react and start to turn north towards the sound.

  “What the hell...?” Buzz mutters.

  The view in front of them is suddenly filled with the sight of a two story, yellow machine. The Zs stumble at it, but the huge wedge welded onto the front just shoves them aside like they are made of snow.

  “Dad wondered where that thing went,” Charlie says. “He told me about it one night when we were hanging out with some of the laborers.”

  “That thing is huge,” Greta says. “What is it?”

  “Haul truck,” Buzz says. “It’s used for earth moving and hauling coal. Mondello’s crew was using it on the parkway.”

  The giant dump truck rolls forward and they soon see a grinning Critter standing on a platform next to the cab in front. As it gets closer and closer, they realize that the tires alone are as tall as the dump truck they are in. It comes to a rolling halt, almost nose to nose, and Critter starts yelling over the cab.

  The sound of cheers and then feet slamming against the roof of the cab make Stella and Buzz smile. People scramble from the smaller truck and over to the platforms and ladders that crisscross the front of the haul truck. Critter directs them up and into the huge bed and soon all that’s left is Buzz, Stella, Charlie and Greta.

  “Watch your eyes,” Buzz says as he maneuvers his legs out from under the dash and pushes his feet against the windshield. “Can’t really get out through the doors.”

  His huge, farm legs slam into the windshield over and over until it crumples and then breaks free of the seal, tumbling out onto the hood.

  “Go, go!” Buzz yells.

  He lifts Greta and shoves her towards the opening. Charlie is right behind her and then Stella. Buzz follows, glancing down at the road and the Zs that start to climb up after him. Gunshots ring out and a couple fall away.

  “I got your back!” Lourdes yells as the last Humvee screeches to a halt next to the truck. “Get up there!”

  Everyone is out of the dump truck and onto the haul truck when Buzz steps onto the platform and lifts his uncle up in a bone crushing bear hug.

  “Easy now, boy,” Critter gasps. “Don’t break me.”

  Buzz lets his uncle go as more gunfire rips through the air. He looks over and sees the Humvee now by the haul truck. He reaches out and helps the PCs up out of the top hatch as the vehicle is swarmed by Zs. Lourdes gives him a nod then looks over at Critter.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Lourdes smiles. “How do we get this thing turned around?”

  “Turned around?” Critter grins. “Oh, we ain’t turnin’ around.”

  “But that’s into the herd, not away!” Stella cries.

  “And with good reason,” Critter says. “Gotta pick some folks up. Seems like my niece and a few others have gotten themselves stranded downtown.”

  “Dad,” Charlie nods.

  “Dad,” Greta says.

  “Jace,” Stella frowns.

  “THERE IS A HELICOPTER on the way, Mr. Stanford,” Camille says. “It will land on that roof you are standing on and I expect my daughter to get on board.”

  “Uh,” is all I can say.

  “Mr. Stanford? I know your vocabulary is larger than that,” Camille says. “You do have my daughter with you, yes?”

  “Uh, sorta,” I croak. “She’s kinda busy right now.”

  I can hear the sound of fighting coming from the stairwell just a few feet away. The others notice it, but their attention is on me, as I do what hasn’t been done in years: speak into a phone. To a live person. I need to clear that up since on more than one occasion some of the less than stable survivors have been found talking into their phones to “people” on the other end. You do what you need to do to keep from completely cracking up.

  “Oh, I am sure she is,” Camille laughs. “If the intel is correct, my shy little girl has become quite the killer. As have her friends. Which brings me to the next part.”

  “There’s more?” I ask, finding my full voice.

  “What the fuck is going on, Jace?” Stuart growls.

  The glare I give him actually shuts the man up. I doubt I’ll ever be able to do that again.

  “There is plenty more,” Camille says. “The other girls, are they with you?”

  “Uh, some,” I say.

  “Good. I’ll take some over none,” Camille says. “Some will still have value. But I’ll sort that out when they are safely back here in Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta?” I say, not missing the look shared between John and Reaper.

  “Yes, Mr. Stanford, where else did you think I was calling from?” she laughs. “I am glad to talk voice to voice. It’s something that I have meant to do since you killed our associate, Mr. Vance.”

  “Oh, right,” I say. “Yeah, he kinda brought it on himself.”

  “That he did, that he did,” Camille agrees. “But it still put a wrench in our plans. So did the assassination of President Mondello, although that turned out to be a blessing in a way that I can’t quite get into at this very moment.”

  Elsbeth, Cassie, and the rest of the sisters hurry from the stairwell and shove the door closed. The sounds of wet, undead hands slapping against the door echo across the roof.

  “We don’t have much time,” Cassie says. “Find something to brace this!” No one moves. “What is going on? Did you find the jammer? Why are you all just standing there staring at Long Pork?”

  “He’s on the phone,” John says.

  “Talking to Elsbeth’s mama,” Melissa adds.

  The shock of that statement lasts for exactly two seconds then Cassie frowns. “We still need to bar the door!”

  “Right,” Stuart says, launching into action as he starts kicking free the poles the satellite dishes are on.

  Everyone not holding the door closed begins to help, while I keep talking to Elsbeth’s mother.

  Elsbeth. A very angry woman that is stalking right up to me.

  “Give me that,” she snarls, her hand out.

  “Uh, just a sec,” I say, holding up a finger.

  “Is she there now?” Camille asks.

  “Yep,” I reply, “want to talk to her?”

  “In a moment,” she says. “First I need to tell you why you will convince my daughter and the other girls to get onto the helicopter.”

  As she speaks, I can hear the sound of rotor blades in the distance. Elsbeth frowns and begins searching the sky.

  “Master Sergeant Platt and his Team took something from us,” Camille states, “which is unfortunate for you and them.”

  “Who is us?” I ask.

  “You know who we are, Mr. Stanford,” she sighs, “The Consortium. Stop wasting time with stupid questions.”

  When she says the word “stupid”, I know for a fact that I’m talking to Elsbeth’s mom. The similarity is uncanny.

  “What is that, Long Pork?” Elsbeth asks, pointing at the incoming helicopter.

  “T
hat’s your ride,” I say. Her eyes go huge and she shakes her head. “Uh, I’m not sure how keen El is to take a helicopter ride.”

  “Which is why I need you to convince her, too,” Camille says, “or the package Platt took will detonate. Is he there, perhaps?”

  “Nope,” I say, “he has a booboo and had to stay home from school.”

  “Ah, the legendary sarcasm,” Camille sighs. “It must be exhausting being around you all day.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “Is anyone from Platt’s Team there?” she asks.

  “Yep,” I say.

  “Then ask them what package I mean,” she says, “I’ll wait.”

  “I don’t need to ask what’s in the package,” I say, “they already told me. It’s a dirty bomb.”

  All eyes turn to me.

  “Exactly,” Camille says. I can hear the smile in her voice. “And when it goes off it’ll render Asheville uninhabitable.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I hear,” I say. “But you don’t have it, Platt does. So I’m not getting what you’re selling.”

  “Did you think we’d ever let something that powerful out of our hands, Mr. Stanford? We didn’t secure Atlanta by being stupid and careless.”

  “No, I guess you didn’t,” I say. “So you’re saying you let them steal it?”

  “Ah, fuck,” John says, “Platt was so right.”

  “I am saying that, Mr. Stanford,” she replies. “And I have the detonator right here in my hand. Since you took down the jamming array, I now have a clear signal to the package. I press this button and Asheville will be a radioactive wasteland. It’ll take a couple weeks, depending on weather, but soon your entire area of the Blue Ridge Mountains will be completely unlivable. Unless you like vomiting blood and dying of quick spreading cancers that haven’t even been discovered yet.”

  “I don’t like that at all,” I say.

  “Then tell my daughter and the others to get on the helicopter,” Camille says. “You have about five minutes.”

  Stuart and the sisters finish bracing the door with the poles. He looks at me and shakes his head.

  “Whatever she’s asking you to do, don’t, Jace,” he says. “It’s all lies and bullshit.”

  “I’m texting Platt,” John says, “he’ll defuse the bomb.”

  “I can hear your friends trying to sway you,” Camille says. “They can’t. They will quickly learn that the bomb has a hardwired failsafe. If the remote detonator is disconnected then it automatically explodes. There is no way to stop it, Mr. Stanford.”

  Elsbeth is talking with John and Melissa then looks at me. “Give me the phone,” Elsbeth says.

  “Uh, El would like to speak with you,” I say.

  “That would be lovely,” Camille says. “While I speak to her you can convince the others to get on the helicopter.”

  I hand the phone to Elsbeth and wait. The helicopter is close, only a couple blocks away. Elsbeth’s face goes white then turns bright red as she listens to her mother. She looks at me and smiles.

  “Fuck you, Mom,” she says then drops the phone and slams her heel down on it.

  “Hey!” I yell. “That was my phone, El!”

  “You’ll get another one,” she snaps and walks over to John. Without saying a word, she takes his sniper rifle, checks the chamber, puts it to her shoulder, and aims at the motherfucking helicopter and HOLY FUCK SHE SHOOTS IT!

  Cracks from a hole in the windshield splinter across the glass and the helicopter starts to spin out of control. It tilts to the side and then drops quickly. We feel the heat of the explosion all the way from where it crashes down in the Z herd. A black cloud of smoke rises up over the edge of the roof, filling our nostrils with the stench of fuel and burning corpses.

  “What about the bomb?” I ask.

  “Platt has that under control,” John says. “Kind of.”

  Stuart frowns and shields his eyes from the sun. “Incoming.”

  We all look in that direction and can see shapes on the horizon.

  “Looks like two more helos coming our way,” John says, taking his rifle back from Elsbeth and looking through the scope. “Blackhawks. Fully loaded.”

  “We need to get off this roof,” Stuart says.

  “And go where?” I ask. “Have you forgotten about the undead street party below? Or the zombie rave going on in the stairwell?”

  “We can take back the stairwell,” Cassie says, “that’s easy.”

  “But where are we going?” I ask.

  “Third floor,” Melissa says, looking up from her phone. “Critter’s on the way.”

  “On the way?” I say. “On the way how? There’s nothing that can get through the Zs down there! You’d need a snow plow that’s like...two stories...tall... Oh. That sneaky bastard.”

  “That’s my uncle,” Melissa smiles.

  “ON THE ROAD AGAIN,” Critter sings, his voice a raspy falsetto. “Just can’t wait to get on the road again.”

  The flames are intense, even with the steel of the truck protecting them from the majority of the heat. All around them buildings on Merrimon Ave burn, burn, burn.

  “Why aren’t we going faster?” Greta asks.

  “Doing the soldier lady a favor,” Critter says. “She has folks around here that need saving. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Stella asks. “There are folks up ahead that definitely need saving!”

  “I get that, boss lady,” Critter says. “One of them folks is my niece, but I ain’t about to give up on...”

  “There!” Lourdes shouts from the edge of the haul truck bed above them. “Slow down!”

  “No slowing!” Red shouts back from the cab. “This is as slow as it gets or we’ll have Zs crawlin’ all over us!”

  From the left gunfire erupts as five PCs run full out through the herd of Zs towards the haul truck. Babs is in the lead, a Mossberg 590A1 tactical shotgun blasting away, clearing space for the others. She empties her nine rounds, pumps the four extras in, and keeps going. Behind her, firing a .45 in each hand, Shots is screaming at the top of his lungs. The three PCs in back are swinging and stabbing with batons and machetes.

  The furthest back PC cries out as he’s grabbed and chomped on by two Zs at once, each taking an opposite side of his neck. Blood sprays everywhere and the herd goes mad. He goes down screaming for help before his throat is completely apart. None of the PCs even glance his way, they just keep fighting.

  Babs gets to the haul truck first and tosses her shotgun aside as an M-4 is dropped down to her. She spins, side-running, and lets loose, the rifle on full auto, as Shots and the other two PCs hurry past her and begin to climb up the ladders onto the platform.

  “Come on!” Shots screams.

  Babs slams the butt of the rifle into one, two, three Zs, drops it and runs all out, elbowing her way through the sea of undead. She lunges for the ladder, which is just out of reach as the haul truck continues down the street, and she comes up short.

  There are gasps and cries from those watching as she is lost under the massive front tire. Many cover their ears, blocking out the sound of her body bursting and bones crunching under hard, vulcanized rubber.

  “Jesus,” Lourdes says as she looks down on the red smear that is quickly covered in Zs, all fighting for a taste.

  “Tough break,” Critter says. Lourdes whirls on him, but he holds his hands up. “I say that with all due respect, ma’am.”

  “Uh, Critter?” Red calls. “Any thoughts on which way to go?”

  “Well, Mr. PhD, how about straight?” Critter replies.

  “That’s going to be a problem,” Red says while he drives the haul truck through the herd of Zs, and abandoned cars, shoving, crushing, pulverizing them as he steers the truck down Merrimon Ave to where it becomes Broadway. The distinction line being the overpass of I-240, which still has hundreds of Zs tumbling off the side and down to Merrimon below. “We aren’t going to clear that overpass. The truck’s too tall.”

/>   “Guess we’ll need to go around,” Critter says.

  “Which way?” Red asks.

  “Turn at the old Staples,” Critter says.

  “Nope,” Red says, “there’s still an overpass that way.”

  Critter scratches his chin. “Then get up on the highway.”

  “Come again?” Red asks, looking over at Critter. “You want me to drive into the thick of them?”

  “That off ramp is wide enough,” Critter says as he points. “Use that, then off road it across. We’ll turn on Woodfin and get back to Merrimon that way. BB&T’s only two blocks up from there.”

  “Jesus, Critter,” Red says, “this isn’t the best idea.”

  “Didn’t say it was,” Critter smiles, slapping the man on the back. “But it’s an idea.”

  Red makes the hard left turn, crunching up over an abandoned Prius, and pushes the haul truck right into the heart of the Z herd. Critter nods then leaves the cab, walking over to a ladder that takes him up to the top of the truck so he can look down into the bed.

  “Hang on, folks!” he shouts down at everyone. “This could get a might tricky!”

  He has to grab onto a rail as the truck bumps and lurches its way through the Zs, then slams into the concrete divider that separates the eastbound and westbound lanes. People in the truck bed cry out in fear, but Critter just smiles, his eyes turned towards downtown. That smile leaves his face in a hurry.

  “Well, that ain’t good,” he mutters as he sees the Blackhawk helicopters heading straight for the BB&T. “Guess we’s got ourselves a wrinkle.”

  “Shit,” Lourdes says at his side, “we’re close to being out of ammo.”

  “Get everyone up here that can shoot,” Critter says. “Time to lock, load, and pray.”

  “SO THIRD FLOOR, EAST side towards Pack Square,” Melissa says. “That’s where they’ll be.” Her phone chimes. “And we best hurry before those helicopters get to us. We’ll be sitting ducks in that open bed.”

  “I took out one,” Elsbeth says. “I can take out two more.”

  “But not before they launch rockets,” John says. “One of those and it’s all over.”

  “First we have to get to the third floor,” Stuart says as he and the sisters stand by the door to the stairs, ready to kick loose the poles keeping the Zs in. “One step at a time, people.”