Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell (8 page)

And I puke.

It was expected, what with all the kicking.

“Jesus,” the kicker says
, “this is tonight’s entertainment? Gonna be a short show.”

I can hear men grunt in pain and I know Leeds is doing better than I am. I hear a man’s cry cut short then a gunshot. Two more.

“Get up,” Leeds says, suddenly standing over me. I look up and he has a pistol in each hand, covering the room. He taps me with his toe. “Get up, Jace. Now.”

Painfully, I get to my feet, clutching my ribs and gut. My side, where I was shot by Vance’s Desert Eagle a couple months ago, is on fire and I know Dr. McCormick is gonna be pissed if I reinjured myself. Not that I expect to live long enough for her to find out. The bajillion guns pointed at us will take care of that.

“Captain, put the weapons down,” Mondello orders, “you can still salvage this.”

“I don’t think I can, sir,” Leeds says
, “because I have to agree with Stanford here. I don’t think it counts if there isn’t a parade.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. It’s kinda cool when a Special Forces captain is standing there, a pistol in each hand, and uses your joke to make a point.

“Leeds,” Foster warns, “I can take you out right now. I don’t want to, though. ODA Cobra has quite a reputation. You and your men can do some good. We have room for you here. Put down the guns and we’ll talk. No tricks, just soldier to soldier.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Ms. Foster,” Leeds says. “I’m the only soldier in this room. You’re just a bunch of mercenaries hired by a puppet.”

“Oooh, wrong thing to say,” Foster replies. “We don’t like being called mercenaries. That’s a four letter word in our business.”

“It’s an eleven letter word, to be exact,” I state. “I wonder if it can be played in Scrabble? You’d have to connect it to another word, but I’m not sure what
word that would-”

“Dear God, Jace,” Leeds says.

“Sorry.”

“What’s the call, s
ir?” Foster asks.

“I’d rather they didn’t die,” Mondello says. “Can you take them down without killing them?”

“Consider it done,” Foster says.

“Not without losing a few of your own,” Leeds says. “Jace, slowly back to the door.”

I do, but my progress is stopped quickly. I turn around and come face to chest with possibly the largest man I’ve ever seen. The fucker must be seven feet tall and almost as wide across.

“Oh, hey there,” I say.

“Jace?” Leeds asks.

“I hit a mountain, Captain,” I reply. “I have a feeling it may hit back.”

Leeds risks a look over his shoulder. That’s all that Foster needs. I hear a snap and then a crackling as Leeds falls to the ground, his body shaking uncontrollably, the pistols sliding across the floor. Two wires protrude from his chest and the smell of burning hair fills the lobby.

“Pick his ass up,” Foster orders.

I think she’s talking about Leeds, but turns out it’s me as the mountain wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me up like I used to do to the kids when they were little. I’d fight, but have you ever tried to fight a mountain? Doesn’t work.

“And drag that treasonous fucker with us. That’s the second time today he’s gotten a bead on me,” Foster says. She gets right up in my face. “You’re going to take a nap and when you wake up
, you’ll put on a show. Time to see what life amongst the zeds has taught you.”

“It has taught me that dental hygiene is still appropriate,” I reply. “Did you brush your teeth today? Because that’s quite the stink mouth you’ve got going-”

The pistol butt to my head ends that conversation as I plummet into unconsciousness.

What brings me out is the soul piercing agony in my right hand.

“MOTHER FUCK!” I scream as I open my eyes. “HOLY FUCKER DICK SUCKING CUNT LICKER!”

“Damn,” Foster says from a few feet away
, “that’s quite a mouth and I’ve been around the military my whole life.”

A man is wrapping my right hand with a thick bandage. It hurts like hell, but in
seconds, it’s secured and basically immobile. The pain subsides a little and I raise the wrapped hand to my eyes, and then look at Foster

“Uh, thanks?” I say.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Foster smiles, “eat your dinner first.”

A
tray of food is on a side table next to the cot I’m lying on. We are in a small room, one of the guest rooms in the Grove Park Inn, but all the furniture has been cleared out to make room for cots. There are eight cots in total, but only two are occupied: one by me, and one by a still unconscious Leeds.

“He gonna get dinner too?” I ask.

“Later,” Foster smiles. “Maybe. Depends.”

“Depends on what?” I ask. The smell of the food, whatever it is, makes my stomach growl.

“Depends on how you perform tonight,” Foster says. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” She walks to the door, but stops and nods at Leeds. “Watch him. It’ll be time soon.”

The four PCs in the room all nod. The man that wrapped my hand packs up supplies into a small pack and follows Foster out the door, leaving
Leeds and me alone with the heavily armed guards.

I lean
over, grab the plate of food, and sniff it. Chicken. With some bean mush and maybe what used to be greens. Maybe. Could be moldy bread.

“This isn’t poisoned or drugged, is it?” I ask. The PCs don’t answer
, they just stare at Leeds. “Um, I’m awake and talking. Pretty sure I’m way more interesting than him.”

Nothing.

“Fine, whatever,” I say, pulling up my legs and steadying the plate against my knees with my wrapped hand. I pick up the plastic fork in my left and start to eat. “Hey…not…bad.”

It is pretty bad. I lied. The shit tastes like, well, shit. God, are they feeding me shit? Is this some kind of private contractor joke? Feed the prisoner shit. I look around for video cameras to see if maybe they are watching me. Ha, ha, the fool ate shit, ha, ha.

However, there aren’t any cameras, not that I can see, just four PCs watching the captain closely. I finish the food, despite my urge to vomit, since I need the nourishment. Something you learn during the apocalypse, is not to be too picky about what you eat and when. Sure, suburban living in Whispering Pines made things a little better, but you still didn’t waste food there. Brown spots on the produce? You eat it. Chicken is stringy and flavorless? Eat. It.

As soon as I set the plate down
, two of the men converge on me.

“Get up,” one says
, “time to go.”

“Can I use the potty first?” I ask. “I’m pretty regular. Food goes in and shit comes out. That’s just the way my bowels work. Although, considering what I just ate, I’d change that to shit goes in and shittier shit goes out.”

The man points to the bathroom door. “Fast.” I nod and walk into the bathroom. I try to shut the door, but a large hand stops it. “Door stays open.”

“Right,” I say. “That way I can’t crawl down the drain or anything.” I tap my temple. “Good thinking.”

I do my business, which isn’t easy with only one hand, and walk back into the room.

“Time to go,” the man says again.

“Yep, got that,” I say, looking at Leeds. “What about the captain?”

“Not time yet,” the man says
, “he’ll be down soon.”

We leave the room and skip the elevator, going straight for the service stairs. There are armed men at each floor and I smile at them as we pass. They don’t smile back. Would it kill them if they did? I mean, really, come on, I’m smiling and I’m pretty sure I’m being taken to my death. They’ve got the guns! Be happy about it, for suck’s sake!

“Stop daydreaming and move,” the man says as he shoves me through a door and out into a service corridor. I can hear a low sound, like a beat, steady, and pounding.

“What is that?” I ask. No one answers. “Is that music?”

The sound gets louder and I can feel a vibration in my feet. What the fuck?

The mystery is revealed as I’m led outside and am instantly blinded by several sets of unbelievably bright work lights. You
know the kind that light up constructions sites? Yeah, a bunch of those fuckers. Shielding my eyes with my bandaged hand, I’m shoved forward. The door behind me slams closed and I can hear the lock click.

It takes my eyes a minute to adjust and when I
do, I realize I am in deep shit.

“Mr. Stanford, how are you tonight?” Mondello’s voice calls from above me, barely heard above the noise. I try to find him, but can’t see past the lights.

What I can see, is that I’m in a cleared out section of the grounds behind the Grove Park. A large circle of gravel has been set down and ringing that is a six-foot tall chain link fence. Steel supports brace the fence all around and I can sort of make out what look like bleachers beyond that. Which is where the sound is coming from.

Hundreds of people are seated and all clapping and stamping their feet.

I’m in a mother fucking fight cage. Or arena. Or whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m the gladiator and the plebs want a show. I wonder what Caesar wants?

“I’ve had better nights, I can tell you that,” I say to Mondello. “You really need to speak to your cook. That meal did a number on my guts. I’m ten seconds from a serious shart mishap.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Mondello laughs. “You live and I’ll make sure you get something better to eat.”

“If I live?” I shout. “Jesus
fuck, people! Will you knock it off with the We Are The Champions bit! I get it; you’re excited to see a fight! Good for you!”

The clapping and stomping lessens considerably.

“You can really bring down a mood, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says.

“Oh, just call me Long Pork,” I reply. “All my friends do
, so my enemies might as well also.”

“I’m not your enemy, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello replies
, “I’m your President.”

A cheer goes up amongst the crowd.

“Do we really have to go through all that again?” I ask. “I have a feeling my time is short and I’d rather not waste it on politics.”

“Well said,” Mondello agrees
, “then let’s get this started.”

“Get what started?” I ask. Then I see. “Oh…”

Part of the chain link parts and three Zs are shoved inside with me. The men that do the shoving hurry to close the chain link, jumping back when the Zs lunge towards them. The men start smiling and laughing, pointing at me. Great.

I quickly take in my surroundings. The earlier cursory observation turns into serious study. I have the fol
lowing resources at my disposal: gravel, a chain link fence, a bladder that is now full of piss, even though I just went to the bathroom, and a healthy dose of pure terror. Only a couple of those things can help.

I pick up a handful of gravel, really wishing I had two hands to use. The Zs come right for me, no hesitation, and very little slow shambling. I can see they are pretty fresh; must have just turned today. Again, great.

I scramble to my right, tossing the gravel at the Zs, which does exactly zip to slow them down, but it makes me feel like I’m at least participating in my own death. Do your part before you die a horrible, screaming death, should be the official slogan of the apocalypse. There could be t-shirts and shit.

One of the Zs is faster than the
others are and gets to me before I can dodge out of the way. Its hands grasp for me, but I knock them away, spinning around the thing and elbowing it in the back, sending it into the fence. Now, here’s the problem with chain link fencing: it’s got bounce.

So I send the Z into the fence and it just ricochets right off and back at me. We collide and fall to the ground in a pile of living and undead limbs. The monster’s jaws snap at my face, but I shove it away, my fingers digging into its cheeks for purchase. It snarls at me as I roll over, pinning it down. I’m about to rip the fucking thing’s face right off when Z fingers grab me from behind.

Oh, right, there’re two more of the mother fuckers.

I jump back, using my momentum to send the Zs tumbling. I’m lucky and keep my balance, but not for long as a Z hand grips my ankle and pulls. I’m down on my face, gravel digging into my forehead, when I hear a thump. There, just a few feet away, is The Bitch.

“Thought you might like that,” Mondello calls out. “Ms. Foster says her man, Jameson, took it off you.”

Jameson? Does he mean Cowboy? Who cares, I have The Bitch back!

Now I just have to get to it before I die.

I
flail, thrash, and manage to get the Z off me. Rolling over and over, I get close to The Bitch, but not close enough. My hand is inches from it when two Zs are on me. I just start punching and kicking. I connect with a Z and its head rocks back as I get my knees up under it and shove as hard as possible with my legs. The thing flies off me and I slam my elbow into the temple of the second Z. I hear a snap and the Z’s head twists to the side, its neck broken. It falls on me and I’m pinned under undead weight. Of course, since I haven’t destroyed the brain, the thing’s jaws are still working, but at least the body isn’t responding.