Battlefield Z (Book 6): Bluegrass Zombie

by Chris Lowry

  I could hear her voice just on the other side. It sounded like she was leaning too, just a couple of people passing time.

  "When they didn't come back, I sent trackers after."

  "They found my handiwork?"

  "Is that what you call it? No. They found your trail and followed you back here."

  I nodded.

  "Any of them going to come home?" she asked.

  "Nope."

  She sighed. It carried through the wall, a heavy sounding thing full of angst and a hint of frustration.

  "It can be expected," she said after a moment. “You think you’ll find your kids in here? That is what you’re looking for, right?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I didn’t have to. She knew who I was searching for and the reason I came back.

  Then I realized she was the distraction.

  Mags pulled my own trick on me. Two of the Colonels stepped around the corner and into the hallway aiming their rifles at me.

  I thought about fighting back for just a moment, taking one with me, maybe using the element of surprise to scare the other, make him jump and misfire.

  But another stepped around from where Mags was talking and hiding, black barrel almost pressed into my face.

  It was a classic move.

  And when no one pulled the trigger, I figured they had something worse in mind.

  Worse than taking me out to the woods and shooting me, which didn’t work out so well for them the first time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Things break down faster in the South, I think. The heat and humidity, the relentless crawl of foliage, the frequent storms and perhaps there is something more.

  An Irish disposition to half assed construction. A ride the clock and get it done frame of mind when it came to building things.

  Those things didn't last long.

  Maybe it was a modern take on construction, since some houses built in the Victorian age still stood.

  Certainly not a Roman approach, since those bastards built viaducts and Parthenon's that stand still to this day.

  I was looking at a building and wondering if it would still be here in a thousand years. I was leaning my bet on the southside of twenty, if that.

  The windows were still intact, except for the top left corner on the front side.

  That was the side that faced the wind, the brick structure a brunt offense to the fast flowing breeze that angled off the River.

  That wind would drive in rain from the next storm, until a small puddle formed just on the edge of the building where the joints met at the floor.

  That water would seep in, and through the floor, flowing across the wood that held the joint together and rotting it with the heat.

  It would spread like a cancer across the interior of the building, made worse by snow, worse by freezing and thawing and more rain that followed, until a year from now, two years from now, part of the floor would collapse.

  The first sign of decay would signal the rapid decline of the rest.

  Twenty years from now, it might be a shell of a building. Maybe with a tree and wildflowers growing through the roof if they make it in through the first window, or the second when it breaks as it must.

  No, things do not last for long in the South.

  Except for hatred.

  And anger.

  As if the Irish and Indians and Africans there populated the area created sinkholes of despair and rage, pockets of bad energy that floated around like a fog among the trees.

  I was staring into the face of that rage right now.

  A red headed woman who towered over me by a foot glared down from a pedestal.

  No, literally it was a pedestal. She had coerced or forced minions to place a giant chair up on a dais so that she towered over the rest of us from the lofty position.

  Right now she was trying to decide if she should kill me.

  I could tell by the look in her eyes.

  I'd seen that look before, often after the Z plague hit, but a couple of times before from women who also wanted me dead.

  It was an itchy skin kind of feeling, but like a good meek prey under the watchful gaze of a predator, I just sat there and didn't scratch the itch.

  Trust me, scratching the itch would have made things worse.

  I almost told her to kill me.

  I almost wondered why she didn't just do it.

  It would be the smart thing to do. How many men had I cost her? She had to know I was going to keep coming, keep trying to free the kids.

  There were two moves here, kill me to eliminate the threat, or turn us loose and watch as we made tracks to points East.

  So why didn't she?

  I try to remind myself that people do not act according to logic most of the time. They act according to the logic they believe, which can make them an enigma to everyone else.

  I tried to be clear with everyone.

  I'm going to Arkansas to find my children.

  I did.

  I'm going to Georgia to find my youngest.

  I was.

  I needed information. I asked for it.

  If you got in my way, I killed you.

  Pretty cut and dried.

  I think if everyone lived their life like an open book, there would be far fewer problems in the world.

  Unless you counted the zombie plague as one huge problem, and the power grabs after as just another day at a new type of office.

  But one of her men was pointing his gun at the back of the Boy's head.

  Another held a pistol by his thigh, ready to point it at Bem.

  Berta smiled.

  "Tell me what you want," I called out to her.

  "I want you to leave."

  "Lady," I shook my head. "What the hell do you think I've been trying to do."

  "Just you," she purred.

  I clenched my fist so hard it almost cramped.

  "Not without them."

  She made a small finger movement and the guy behind the Boy shoved him forward.

  "We want you to leave too Dad."

  My stomach dropped and I studied his face.

  He had a good poker face, but the skin around his eyes was tight, smooth. He was holding onto a frozen mask, trying hard not to betray any emotion. I wasn't close enough to see his pupils, but it looked like fear.

  Bem stepped up beside him.

  "Please Dad, just go. We want to stay here with them."

  I watched them for a moment, and glanced at Tyler.

  "You too?"

  He nodded tightly.

  "You see," said Mags as she gestured with your hand. "No one wants you here. You're a danger to us. To them. To yourself."

  My mind was racing as I tried to find the angle.

  Were the kid's brainwashed? Threatened?

  My eyes landed on Tyler’s.

  He winked.

  One eye, slow.

  Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was the wind.

  But I felt a surge of hope.

  And hoped it didn't show on my face.

  The thing about signals though is knowing what they meant.

  "Are they safe? Really safe?"

  I squared off on Mags and kept my face as still as I could.

  "They are."

  She stepped down from the stage, and I could feel the men around me shift.

  This was it, I thought.

  This was where I get shot, or worse. With my kid's watching.

  She stalked toward me like a giant cat, long legs swishing her camouflage pants until she was close enough that only I could hear her.

  "You're thinking about a rescue again," she purred. "And you're wondering why I don't kill you now."

  I didn't nod.

  "You're going to do me a favor," she told me. "Do all of us a favor."

  "Don't come back?" I guessed.

  She snorted through her aquiline nose.

  "As if I could stop that," she said. "We’ve seen what you are capable of. My men have se
en the results of what you have done. The fact that you are standing here in front of me is proof enough of your ability."

  She leaned slightly forward.

  I could see a man over her shoulder lift his rifle up and aim.

  "We're having trouble with some of our citizens," Mags whispered. "You're going to use your skillset to retrieve them for me. And in exchange, I won't blow your children's brains out on your face and lock you up to live with it for a very long time."

  Voice steady. Calm.

  A terrible promise that I knew she would make good on.

  Her eyes locked on mine and then she stepped back.

  "You've heard your children,” she said so they could hear her. “They want you safe beyond our walls. I've decreed it," she turned to the men. "Escort him out."

  The guns stepped forward, blocking me from the stage, a wall of rifle barrels that pushed me back toward the doorway.

  "I am going to give you a day's supplies," Berta said as she smiled at the kids. "It's a kindness."

  Bem nodded, her lips a tight white line.

  I watched her hand snake out and grasp the Boy's, holding it tight as the guns pushed me further away.

  They thought they were saving me.

  They thought they were keeping me safe.

  Stupid noble kids. Where the hell did they get their ideas from?

  I bumped up against the edge of the door and stepped through backwards. My last glimpse of the kids, they were standing on the raised stage with Tyler behind them.

  Maybe he winked again, but I couldn't be sure at this distance.

  Then the door rumbled closed and I was staring at blank metal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  I didn’t recognize the two men that brought the backpack.

  I suspected she had sent them partially as cannon fodder, two bodies she wasn’t afraid to lose and if I wasn’t holding my wraith in a tight rein, she would have been smart to think it could happen.

  “Mags said there’s a letter inside for you.”

  “Great. A pen pal.”

  I opened the pack and inspected the contents. One can of SPAM. No can opener. A six inch folding knife. And a letter.

  Enough food for one day.

  No weapons.

  I palmed the knife and eyed the two men.

  They had guns, two rifles and a pistol.

  Did she expect me to take their weapons?

  Would she retaliate against the kids if I killed a couple more of her citizens?

  My poker face slipped and both stepped back, the taller one putting distance between us.

  I grabbed the folded paper instead.

  It was instructions.

  That started with don’t kill the men.

  And an address.

  Like I had GPS and could just look it up.

  “Go,” I told the men and almost laughed out loud as they sprinted away.

  I reread the instructions.

  They were simple.

  An address and just a few words.

  Come back with them all, or your kids die.

  I shouldered the pack, and started hoofing it.

  I had to find the railroad or a road and get to a town.

  The needs were always the same.

  Weapons. Shelter. Food.

  And now a map.

  A map and a mission.

  My kids were still in danger and I was cast out.

  I let the rage simmer and broke out into a jog.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading Battlefield Z Bluegrass Zombie. If you liked it leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Authors love word of mouth. I appreciate you having some fun with me on this cross country romp.

  Ready for More?

  BATTLEFIELD Z OUTCAST

  Revenge. Rage. They kidnapped his children and sent him on a mission. Rescue their people and stop a madman, or his kids will pay the ultimate price. They turned him loose with nothing except his anger.

  But it’s been enough fuel to drag him across a zombie wasteland before and nothing is going to stop him from saving Bem, the Boy and Bo Bistan. Not a million Z. Not a cult. Nothing.

  Abandoned.

  Alone.

  And ready to hunt, Dad must save another group so he can protect his own before Mags makes good on her promise to turn his kids Z and make him kill them.

  PRE-ORDER BATTLEFIELD Z OUTCAST now for a June 16 release

  Have you joined the adventure?

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  Now the survivors form a ragtag fleet to fight their way across a vast wasteland where zombies aren’t the worst thing to survive.

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