by Bible, Jake
“Jace?” Mindy says behind us. “Melissa?”
We both turn and our eyes go as wide as Brenda’s.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper as Melissa quickly covers the ground between Mindy and us. “Oh, shit.”
Mindy is on her knees, her hands clutching her belly, dark red blood spilling over her knuckles.
“It hurts,” Mindy says, “a lot.”
“Just hold on,” Melissa says as she kneels in front of Mindy, her eyes studying the wound. “Keep your hands pressed against your belly.”
“I can’t,” Mindy says, wincing. “It really hurts. And this happens.” She bravely presses down and blood gushes out from between her hands like a river breaking through a kid’s mud damn. She looks at Melissa then her eyes find mine. “Am I going to die?”
“No, no, we’ll help you,” I reply. “We’ll stop the bleeding and get you all patched up. I was shot in the gut remember, and I’m all good.”
“Jace,” Melissa whispers.
“No, no, don’t worry,” I continue. “We can get you to Whispering Pines. Dr. McCormick will stitch up that little ol’ flesh wound. No problem.”
“Jace, stop,” Melissa says, sighing as she gets to her feet.
“What? Why?” I ask. Then I see.
When your friends or family can come back from the dead to eat your ass, you learn the signs of a person passing. Mindy has passed. Her butt rests back on her calves, and because of her bulk, she stays in that position even though the life has left her. Her eyes are glazed and her chest isn’t moving. Then, like watching an avalanche in slow motion, she slumps to the side and hits the ground with a sad, quiet thunk.
“You fucking bitch!” I yell as I spin about and lock eyes with Brenda. “She didn’t deserve that! See what happens! SEE!” I stomp towards the woman and she gives a frightened squeak as she tries to scurry away on her hands and ass, but only gets so far as she comes up against the wounded PC’s body. “That should be you there! YOU!”
“I didn’t…I…it was your fault!” she cries out.
This stops me in my tracks. What the what?
“My fault?” I say. “Are you fucking serious?”
She keeps scuttling back and her face scrunches up in that self-righteous way it does when she’s ready to spit and fight even though she knows (does she?) that she’s wrong.
“You started all of this! You and Stuart and that cannibal cunt! None of this would have happened if you’d just listened to me back when… AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
I jump back when she screams, but Melissa hurries forward, grabs the pistol from my waistband, and puts a bullet in the brain of the PC that has its jaws clamped around Brenda’s neck. The new Z/former ally falls backwards and Brenda slaps her hand against the wound. Only a little blood trickles from between her fingers, so the thing didn’t get an artery, but it still gave her a nice death hickey.
“Oh, no,” Brenda whispers. “No, no, no, no, no...”
“Shut up!” Melissa shouts as she slaps Brenda across the face. “You reap what you sow, bitch!”
“What the fuck is going on?” Stuart yells as he bursts from the pines with the young women and only one PC. “Stop bickering and get your asses over that fence!”
The women, Elsbeth with them, hurry to the fence and half squat down, their hands interlaced. The rest place boots in the hands and are helped up over the fence.
“Come on!” the one I think is called Lacy shouts.
One by one, they hop over until all that’s left is the brunette and Elsbeth.
“Your turn, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says, squatting down.
I don’t argue and take the help and clamber up over the iron fence. I don’t look anywhere as cool as the women did. But I get over. Elsbeth helps Melissa and then the brunette.
“Let’s go, Ms. Kelly,” Stuart says. “Get off your ass.”
“Leave her,” Melissa says, “she’s been bitten.”
Stuart takes a step back, but Elsbeth steps forward. The smile on Elsbeth’s face would make the Joker shiver.
“You’re dead,” Elsbeth says, leaning in close so that her forehead is touching Brenda’s. “Bye bye.”
“Move,” Stuart says, pulling his Beretta, “I’ll make it quick.”
“No,” Elsbeth says, grabbing the gun from Stuart’s grip and tossing it over the fence. One of the girls (Stacy?) catches it easily.
“What the hell, Elsbeth?” Stuart snaps.
Snarls and groans come from the pines and the first wave of Zs stumble from the grove. They’re moving quickly from their momentum downhill and Stuart and Elsbeth only have seconds.
“Let’s go!” I shout. “Stuart! El! Come on!”
Stuart makes a move towards Brenda, but Elsbeth blocks his way. She points at the fence. They face off for an eternity, but Stuart finally relents and grabs onto the fence. He’s able to get himself over and lands close to me.
“Wait,” Brenda pleads, her eyes going from us, to Elsbeth, to the Zs, and back to us. “You…you can’t leave me!”
“We can,” Elsbeth says as she climbs up and over. “We did.”
“No! No, you can’t!” Brenda screams, getting to her feet. Her hand falls away from her neck and blood spurts out in short, quick bursts. I guess the PC did hit an artery after all. She doesn’t even notice the heartbeat driven spurts as she grabs the thick, iron bars of the fence. “Please! Don’t leave me to those things! PLEASE!”
We all watch; what else can we do? The Zs close on her in seconds and she wails with terror and pain. Hands grab her as jaws go to rip her apart.
The gunshot makes all of us jump.
“She learned fear,” Elsbeth says as she hands me the smoking pistol. “Here.”
Brenda’s body falls dead under the wave of Zs that slam into the fence. Most swarm over her corpse, hungry for a taste, but some of the greedier ones try to reach through the fence at us. They want the fresh stuff. Looks like even the undead have food snobs. Eat fresh, eat local, eat the living and all that.
“Anyone else bitten?” the brunette asks.
Everyone shakes their head. I do too, but maybe a split second too late. Elsbeth narrows her eyes at me. I smile and give her my best “What?” look.
“Fine,” the brunette nods, “come with us. You’re safe.”
I’ve been living in the zombie apocalypse for years and never have those words been true. I doubt they are now. Especially as we start to walk towards the field of Zs in front of us.
“Uh, I don’t think your definition of safe is the same as mine,” I say.
“Just stay close,” the woman says, “step where we step. Keep your arms in tight. Be alert. You’ll be fine.”
At first, it’s like an undead, claustrophobic nightmare. We’re shoulder to shoulder at times with Zs, but it only takes a couple twists and turns before I see the genius behind the design. The placement of the Zs is brilliantly random yet perfectly organized. There is a path if you know what you are looking for. Kind of like hiking on an old, overgrown mountain trail, except the trail would really like to eat you, please.
The arms of the Zs that line the “trail” are stitched to their sides. Even if they wanted to, and they sooooo want to, they can’t grab you. Their mouths aren’t stitched though, so I have to stop gawking and duck more than once.
“How long did it take you to do this?” I ask.
“As long as it needed to take,” a woman in front of me says. She’s blonde, blue eyed, and tone like I’ve never seen. She has muscles that make Elsbeth look like a soccer mom gone to seed. “We didn’t count.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I say.
She glances over her shoulder and gives me a quick smile. “Don’t be,” she says. “It’s just that time is an irrelevant concept these days. Why bother with how long a task takes when all that matters is you get it done? Who are we competing against?” She nods at the Zs that hiss and moan around us. “Them? They don’t know what time even is so why should we? It’s an outdated co
ncept.”
“Uh…yeah. Cool,” I nod, “you’ve thought about this a lot.”
“What’s a lot?” the woman asks. “Why give in to a need to quantify quantity when...”
“Antoinette?” the brunette asks.
“Yes, Cassie?” the young woman, Antoinette, replies.
“Stop fucking with the survy,” she says, “you’ll break his brain. Then we’ll have to deal with a jelly head.”
“My bady bad,” Antoinette shrugs. “Hope I didn’t break your brain.”
“Not likely,” I say. “I have a reputation as being kind of a genius.” Stuart snorts. “What?”
“You have a reputation for being a dumbass,” he says. “You’re great at solving problems, but so are mice in a maze looking for cheese.”
Ouch.
“Well, I don’t think a canny girl is going to break my brain, at least,” I say.
The whole group stops and I walk right into the back of Antoinette. It’s like walking into a brick wall with a layer of cotton over it.
“Shit,” I say. “I put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I?”
“We aren’t cannies,” the brunette, Cassie, says, “never have been, never will be.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I just assumed since…well… you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Cassie says, her hands on her hips. A Z leans over for a taste of her shoulder and she swats him away like he’s nothing to be bothered by. “Please explain, Mr. Long Pork.”
I look at Stuart for help but he just shakes his head. “Dumbass.”
“I mean, uh, well you’re out here alone and I’m sure you’ve run through your supplies,” I start. “And you’re all pretty badass, kinda like…well…uh…”
“Like me?” Elsbeth asks. “Is that what you mean,Mr. Long Pork?”
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 likeknow 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. “Come 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?”