by Bible, Jake
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 chance.”
“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.”
“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.