Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (26 page)

The guy stares at me, then looks around like he’s waiting to be attacked.

“Uh ... okay,” Dr. Stenkler says. “Sorry. I know you don’t trust me, but there’s no reason to get personal about it.”

“Fuck,” I sigh. “That was out loud, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” Greta says. “Good one, Dad. Can you be more embarrassing?”

“Do you really want to ask that question right now?” I reply. “There is a dildo in this RV somewhere.”

“You didn’t mean to say all that?” Dr. Stenkler asks, wisely ignoring my dildo comment. “Have you had many of these involuntary outbursts?”

“Yes,” the whole RV replies.

“Fuck all y’all,” I say. Then, “Yes.”

“It’s getting worse,” Stuart says. “He pretty much thinks it and says it now. It was funny at first, but by now it’s just annoying.”

“And a little scary,” Critter says. “I seen a lot of crazy people in my time, and he’s starting to top the list. He may get on our nerves, yet he’s handy to have around sometimes. But he’ll stop bein’ handy if he can’t shut up!”

“Gee, thanks, folks,” I frown. “The warm and fuzzies are just overwhelming.”

The guy starts patting himself down, and Lourdes has a pistol in his face before he can get halfway down his chest.

“Just looking for my pen light,” he says. “Sorry.”

Lourdes reaches into his coat and pulls out a white pen light.

“What do you need it for?” she asks.

“I was going to do a couple of quick tests,” Dr. Stenkler says. “Just check some simple neurological responses. It’ll help me diagnose what’s wrong with him.”

“Um, I don’t have a boo boo, Doogie,” I say. “If there is something wrong with me, then it’s beyond your pediatrics degree.”

“I’m not a pediatrician,” he frowns.

“Then why’d you say you were?” I smirk.

“I didn’t. You did,” he replies.

“He’s right, Dad,” Greta says, sounding a lot more worried than I’d like. “You called him the pediatrician. It wasn’t funny.”

Dr. Stenkler reaches for the pen light. “May I?”

Lourdes looks at me, and I nod. “Why not?” I say. “But shoot him if he tries to do a rectal exam.”

“Deal,” Lourdes says.

“Thanks,” Dr. Stenkler says. “Now hold still, and do exactly as I say. If my requests are confusing, or you can’t do them, then let me know right away.”

“So, what kind of doctor are you?” I ask as he scoots forward and takes me gently by the chin, shining the light back and forth from one eye to the next.

“Neurosurgeon,” he says. “Third youngest in the country before the plague.”

“Third youngest?” Critter laughs. “The others must have still been suckin’ their mommies’ tits when they graduated.”

“Exactly,” I laugh. “Good one, Crit.”

I sit there and let the guy do his thing while everyone watches. So glad I can be the in-flight entertainment.

***

Stella grips my hand as we sit together with Dr. Stenkler and Dr. McCormick in front of us, while Stuart and Elsbeth hang back, keeping an eye on our new addition while he explains what’s up with my brainpan. We’re all in the very back room of one of the RVs while the convoy moves on. Elsbeth insisted we break camp and hit the road, even with the weather still pretty bad. Mt. Vernon was mentioned, as was hunkering down for the winter, but she left zero room for argument. So we hit the road.

The RV is stiflingly warm, but I can’t help shivering as Dr. Stenkler lays it all out.

“There is no way I can know for sure without some major tests,” Dr. Stenkler says. “But my guess is he has some severe lesions on the brain from all the concussions he’s suffered over the years. The bleeding could be bad, or could just be localized enough to affect his verbal control.”

“Will he die?” Stella asks, straight to the point.

“Stella,” Dr. McCormick soothes. “He’s not going to die.”

“But lesions mean he’s bleeding from the brain,” Stella says. “That’s not good.”

“He’s not hallucinating, not having issues with phantom smells or sounds, so I rule out a tumor,” Dr. Stenkler says. “That would be way worse than lesions. We’ll keep an eye on him, and start logging the time and frequency of his outbursts. If they stay consistent, then I think he’s in the clear. The lesions shouldn’t get worse.”

“But if they aren’t consistent?” Stuart asks. “Sorry. I shouldn’t interrupt.”

“Answer the question,” Elsbeth says to Dr. Stenkler.

“I don’t know,” the man replies. “Like I said, I need to run way more detailed tests, and I can’t do that in an RV. I need a fully equipped neurology department.”

“We’ll find one,” Stella says, looking up at Stuart. “You will help us convince Lourdes and Critter to find one. The next big city, we find a hospital, hook up a generator, and run some fucking tests.”

“If we can,” Stuart says. “It depends on the situation.”

“Depends on the situation?” Stella roars.

Everyone, even Elsbeth, flinches.

“Hey,” I say quietly, and grip her hand hard enough that I know it hurts. She doesn’t let on at all. “Chill, baby. We can’t jeopardize everyone’s lives so I can get some polaroids taken of the inside of my skull. Stuart is right, we stop when and if we can. It does depend on the situation.”

Stella wants to reply, but the tears start, and she can’t. I take her in my arm and glance at everyone else. They get the idea and start to filter out. Except Elsbeth, who just stands there until Stuart grabs her by the shoulder and yanks her with him.

“He could be lying,” Stella sobs. “We don’t know this guy! He’s a liar!”

“Dr. McCormick quizzed him,” I say softly. “So did Kramer, not that I trust that assfuck. They both say he’s legit and knows what he’s talking about.”

“But he could be wrong,” she counters, her words pretty much lost in hiccups.

“Yeah, he could be,” I say, and then just press her to me.

I don’t know how long I hold my crying wife, but I can say it isn’t long enough. It can never be long enough.

Chapter Twelve

St. Louis is a ghost town. There aren’t even any Zs around, just burnt down buildings and streets that look like someone took a giant chainsaw to the asphalt and went all Leatherface. It’s not a good scene. The giant arch is even gone. We see some of it sticking up as we drive past, but the thing is demolished.

Landon Chase, our resident tech asshole, tweaked the radios so we have some private, scrambled channels. This means Lourdes can bark orders at everyone over the radio to keep eyes open and be ready for an ambush.

In addition to barking, she also complains about how we have to keep detouring to get around the cracked roads. She’s all ambush this and ambush that. But it never comes, and we get past St. Louis and suddenly we are in the West, even if we couldn’t see the great arch that is supposed to represent the Gateway to the West. Arches telling you where you are is so old world, man.

The weather doesn’t exactly play nice as we travel. More snowstorms, more brutal cold. How the fuck did the settlers survive on the plains before space heaters?

A particularly nasty storm comes down on us about fifty miles outside of St. Louis. Lourdes and Critter want to have us stop and circle up, but Elsbeth refuses and throws such a fit that I am actually worried she’s the one with brain lesions. Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, Lourdes and Critter reluctantly give in, and we keep going, pushing through the storm.

It’s harrowing, but the clouds do break eventually, and the sky is insanely clear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a vast sky before. It just keeps going in all directions.

So does the herd of Zs we run into.

“We can’t drive through that,” Lourdes snaps over the radio. “Can someone explain that to Elsbeth? We need to stop and figure out a different route.”

“She’s right, El,” Stella says. “We can’t force our way through. And we need fuel. We’re going to stop for a couple of days and hope the herd clears out. We resupply, and then get back on the road.”

Elsbeth doesn’t argue with Stella, but she sure makes it known she is extremely put out by it, thank you very much.

We find a small town about twenty miles off the interstate, and huddle up the RVs next to a library. The walls are solid concrete block and brick, and there’re only a few entrances. Plus, the books burn easy and keep us warm. I hate burning the books since they are now an endangered species, but warm is warm, people.

I find a rhyming dictionary, and am very pleased with myself, until there’s a vote that it should be taken away from me. The vote is unanimous. Fuckers.

Melissa and her brothers take a team out to scavenge the town for food, water, and fuel, while Lourdes, Stuart, and Critter spread out maps of the region and see if they can find a way around the giant herd of Zs, and still keep us on course.

“Our options are limited,” Lourdes says. “We’re in flyover territory now. There just aren’t the arteries that we’re used to in the East.” She plops her finger in the middle of the map. “We go up or we go down here. But there’s no guarantee that there aren’t more herds either of those ways.”

“Why are they so thick here?” Charlie asks as he leans back in a chair and kicks his feet up on a table. He’s salvaged a bunch of books, and he taps his toe against the stacks as he watches the navigational brain trust decide our best course. “We never saw herds like this in Asheville.”

“Not until the Consortium herded them up to us from Atlanta,” I say, holding Stella close to me in a blanket to keep warm. “Maybe others had the same warfare idea, and things got out of hand?”

Elsbeth snorts from a few tables away.

“Yes, El?” I sigh. “Would you like to contribute to the conversation?”

“Others,” Elsbeth says. “Yeah, there are others.”

“Come on, El,” I say. “Will you please tell us what’s going on? You know something, and you are risking all of our lives by keeping us in the dark.”

“Don’t matter,” she shrugs. “In the dark, in the light, not a damn thing you can do. If they strike, then they strike, and you all probably die.”

“We all die?” I ask. Everyone is listening, but they know me and Elsbeth well enough to stay quiet, and let me take lead. “You aren’t counting yourself in that? Can you tell me why?”

“They won’t kill me,” she says. “They want me. I won’t let them take me, so I’ll probably die fighting, but you all will be dead way before that.”

“See? Now we are getting somewhere,” I say. “They strike, we die, you live. Now, how about we fill in the details a little? Maybe get more specific on the nouns? When you say ‘they will strike’, what ‘they’ are you talking about?”

“You know,” she says.

“Really, El? If I knew, then why would I ask?”

“Because you’re afraid of the answer,” Elsbeth says. “You’ll be pissing in your panties.”

I slam my hand down on the table, making everyone jump.

“Dammit, El! Stop fucking around!” I shout. “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

“My sisters,” she says, a smug look on her face. “How’re your panties?”

I will admit there might be a little leaking in my panties. Fuck. Hearing Kramer mention it before was one thing. But hearing Elsbeth finally confirm it?

It means we’re fucking dead.

I look around the library, and my feelings towards the temporary sanctuary turn on a dime. This isn’t a sanctuary, this is a crypt. We’re just corpses that haven’t died yet. Fuckerty fuck.

The looks on everyone’s faces tells me they are having the same thoughts. Unless…

“Was I talking out loud?” I ask. There are some nods. “Sorry.”

“You ain’t wrong, Long Pork,” Critter says. He doesn’t call me Jace as Elsbeth had ordered, but she doesn’t seem to care anymore. Well, it was nice while it lasted. “Those psycho ladies catch up, and they’ll cut us down befor
e
an
y
of us get a chance to piss in our panties.”

Stuart looks at the maps, looks at Elsbeth, looks back at the maps, and then looks at me.

“Jace,” he says. “What’re your brain’s guts saying to do?”

“My brain’s guts can’t exactly be trusted,” I say, and tap my temple. “They’re on their period, remember?”

“Dad, that’s just gross,” Charlie complains.

“Life is gross, son. Life is gross,” I reply, then sit there for a minute and think.

Everyone knows my headspace is fragile right now, so they actually wait and let me think.

“We do nothing,” I say. “We keep going like we have been, and do nothing.”

“That doesn’t help,” Stuart sighs.

“I honestly don’t know what else to do,” I say. “Seriously, how do we stop a team of killer ninja chicks? If El wanted to, she could wipe us all out right now by herself. Just imagine half a dozen Els. We’re fucked, y’all.”

“There’re seven,” Elsbeth says. “That’s more than half a dozen. Half a dozen is six.”

“Yes, thanks for the math lesson, El,” I say. “But that’s not the point.”

“No, but it’s true,” Elsbeth says. She stands up and claps her hands, then laughs. “You people are stupid. You have the answer, but none of you want to see it. Turtles. You are all turtles. Hiding your heads in your shells.”

“I’ve been called worse,” I say. “Still not the point. Wait, what do you mean we already have the answer?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out,” she says. “But you don’t. Too busy getting captured. Too busy waiting for me to save you. No time to think and see what’s right in front of you.”

She turns and looks over at Dr. Kramer, who sits all by himself in a corner of the library, his eyes locked onto the exchange.

“Hello,” he says, and waves.

“Motherfucker,” I sigh.

Stuart starts to speak, then stops and shakes his head.

“Dammit, she’s right,” Critter says, catching on too.

I get up and walk over to Dr. Kramer, with Stuart, Critter, Stella, and Lourdes right behind me. Elsbeth hangs back, and pretends to check out Charlie’s stacks of books. Smart ass.

“Hello, Doctor,” I say as we stand in front of him. “You said that Camille knows all about your conditioning of these girls, right? And is probably using them to track us?”

“Did I?” Dr. Kramer frowns.

“Yes, asshole!” Stell yells. “You did!”

“Hmmm, that was a long time ago,” Dr. Kramer says. “I say many things just to appease your aggression.” His eyes fall on Stella. “Especially hers.”

“Suck my dick, fuckface,” Stella says.

“Yes, thank you, baby,” I say, and pat her shoulder. “That helps.”

I sit down next to Dr. Kramer, and lean in close. I know I stink, he knows I stink, hell we all stink, but that doesn’t stop him from wrinkling his nose.

“You could use a bath, Mr. Stanford,” Dr. Kramer says.

I ignore him. “Can you fix them? Undo the conditioning that is forcing them to follow Camille’s orders?”

“Forcing? Oh, no, Mr. Stanford, you misunderstand my entire life’s work,” Dr. Kramer smiles. “The beauty of what I have done, is it forces them to do nothing they don’t want to do. If they want to come kill you all, then that’s unfortunate, but out of my control to stop.”

“Bullshit,” Elsbeth coughs.

We all turn, and she’s pointing to herself.

Of course, it is bullshit. El broke the conditioning. But how did she do it?

“You said you bumped your head,” I say to Elsbeth. “You bumped your head, and then Pa found you, and he changed you.”

“Bingo was his name-o,” Elsbeth says.

“Wrong rhyme,” Charlie says. Elsbeth glares. “Your version is cool too.”

“There is a way to fix them,” I say. “But we have to capture them, and do a little bumping on their noggins.”

“Oh, I would advise against that,” Dr. Kramer says. “What happened to Ms. Thornberg was a complete accident. Even if you manage to capture the girls, being able to reverse the conditioning physically would take the knowledge of a skilled neurosurgeon. Where are you going to…?”

“Yeah,” I smile, and glance over where Dr. Stenkler is sitting and chatting with Greta.

Chatting with Greta. Sitting and chatting with Greta. Sitting really close to her and chatting. A twenty-nine year old man and my teenage daughter are sitting close and chatting.

“Jace? Chill,” Stuart says, and grips my shoulder.

“That was all out loud, huh?” I ask.

“No, but the look on your face says it all,” he replies.

“I’ll go get him,” Stella says, and marches over to break up whatever is happening between my teenage daughter and the twenty-nine year old man. Teenage daughter and twenty-nine year old man. Sitting and chatting.

“Okay, that’s out loud,” Stuart says. “Maybe go hang back and rest some? We’re all pretty sure we know where you’re going with this.”

“I’m good,” I say. “I’m totally good.”

“You sure?” Stuart asks.

“I’m sure,” I say as I watch Dr. Stenkler come towards us while Stella stays with Greta and has a nice little talk, mom to daughter.

“What do you need?” Dr. Stenkler asks.

I look at Dr. Kramer and smile. “I believe you were about to say we will need a skilled neurosurgeon, but where will we find one? Guess what, Doc? We have one of those. Now, how about you spill the beans, and tell this guy everything you know on how to reverse the conditioning.”

“You can’t reverse the conditioning,” Dr. Kramer says.

The blur that rushes past me is Elsbeth shaped, and the next thing we know Dr. Kramer is dangling with his feet several inches off the floor. Elsbeth has her hand around his throat and holds him up. Then she lowers him slowly, and pulls him in close.

“You will be honest,” she says. “You will be helpful. You will do what they want and stop confusing them.”

“You can’t reverse the conditioning,” he gasps. “But you can cut off the influence. If they decide not to kill you, then it’ll be of their own free will.”

“But they could still decide to kill us, right?” I ask.

“That’s up to them,” Dr. Kramer says. “I can’t help with that.”

That’s believable. We all know Elsbeth. We live because she lets us live. No doubt there.

“Fine,” I say. “El? Drop him.” She does. “Dr. Stinkler?”

“It’s Stenkler,” Dr. Stenkler frowns.

“Not anymore,” I grin. “Didn’t you hear? We all get shitty nicknames in the apocalypse?”

***

We stay in that library for a day as Dr. Stenkler grills Dr. Kramer on everything. I understand about ten percent of what they talk about. The rest makes my head hurt.

Which seems to be the new thing. The talking out loud thing lessens, but debilitating headaches increase. I hardly notice when we get back on the road and finally reach Kansas City after a few days of skirting the mass Z migration.

“Well, the asshole wasn’t lying about this,” Stuart grumbles as we stand and stare at the hole that had once been Kansas City. “If anything, the guy downplayed the destruction.”

“Nuke?” I ask Lourdes. “Is that what did this? I mean, look at it, it’s just a crater.”