Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (4 page)

“She was going to rat me out to Stella,” I say. “I had no choice.” I try to look past him and into the farmhouse. “What’s up?”

“Come see,” Stuart says to me, then blocks Greta’s way. “Not you. You don’t need to see this.”

“I don’t need to be in the middle of the zombie apocalypse either,” Greta says. “But, hey, guess what? Too fucking late. I think I can handle whatever is in there.”

He looks at me. “She doesn’t need to see this.”

“I probably don’t either,” I say. “But what ya gonna do?”

“Ugh,” Stuart moans. “You two are obviously related. Come on.”

We follow him into the house, and instantly get hit with the smell of flesh and blood; that sharp, iron tang is impossible to mistake.

“Back here,” Stuart says as he leads us through a small living room and down a narrow hall.

We pass a couple of bedrooms and I see some of Lourdes’s PCs clearing the rooms, their carbines up as they yank open closet doors and flip over beds. Stuart steps into a wide kitchen and moves to the side so we can get a good look. I wish I had listened to him. Greta doesn’t need to see this.

“Not cannies,” Melissa says as she leans back from the corpses that are nailed to the kitchen table. “The skin is all that’s gone, none of the meat.”

“Jesus Christ,” I say as I try to push Greta out of the kitchen.

“Stop it,” Greta resists and moves around me. “It doesn’t freak me out.”

“Freaks me out,” Melissa says, and more than a few heads nod in agreement.

“What was the gunshot?” I ask. “And all the shouting?”

“Gunshot came from there,” Stuart says as he points to a hole in a side door. “We came in fast, saw shapes on the table, yelled at them to stay still, then one of the cannies opened the basement door and triggered a booby trap.”

“He get blown away?” Greta asks.

“Nah, I’m good,” a young man says from the corner as he holds a dish towel to a wound in his shoulder. “I’m fast.”

“And you slipped in the blood, and fell on your ass,” Stuart smirks.

“That too,” the young man shrugs, then winces. “Ouch.”

“It was a shitty booby trap, also,” Stuart says. “Line too short and angle all wrong. It was either made by someone that didn’t know what they were doing, or it wasn’t meant to kill.”

“What was it guarding?” I ask.

“Good question,” Lourdes says. “That’s what we’re about to find out.”

“If you slipped, then that means these corpses are pretty fresh,” Greta says to Stuart.

“That’s exactly what it means,” Stuart says.

“Stay here,” Lourdes says to me and Greta. “I fucking mean it, Short Pork.”

“Ah, come on!” I snap. “You too?”

“You’re lucky it’s only name calling,” Lourdes says. “I should beat your ass for insubordination.”

“Not a dictatorship, tough girl,” I reply, wagging a finger at her.

“Did you just call me-?”

“Knock it off,” Stuart says.

“Yeah, knock it off,” I echo.

“I was talking to you, Jace,” Stuart says. “Stop being a dick, and listen to the professionals. Stay here. We’ll sweep the basement, and then you can come down once we know you won’t get killed or get one of us killed.”

I start to reply, but Greta punches me in the arm.

“Just shut up, Dad,” she says.

“Listen to your girl,” Melissa says. “And get over here. I want that big brain of yours to tell us what the fuck we’re looking at.”

“Well, since she asked so nicely, I’ll stay,” I say.

Stuart, Lourdes, and a couple of her PCs don’t even bother responding to me, just open the basement door, and slowly make their way down into the dark.

“Phew, I thought they’d never leave,” I say. “What you got, Mel?”

“I know a thing or two about skinning kills,” Melissa says. “These are clean.” She angles her flashlight towards the neck of one of the bodies. “See? Still some skin there, and there. Also, here, and right there. But it’s like a pattern, not a mistake. This was no hack job.”

“They look pretty hacked to me,” Greta says.

“It’s a message,” the young canny says. “They were left there as a sign to others.”

“Others? What others?” I ask. “And how the hell do you know it’s a message? What kind of message is this?”

“It wasn’t a fucking invitation to tea,” Greta says. The canny laughs, and she glares at him. “Something funny?”

“Yeah,” the canny nods. “What you said. That was funny.” He steps forward and holds out his hand. “I’m Rafe.”

Greta looks at the hand like it’s on fire. “Good for you. Or not. What kind of name is Rafe?”

“The one my parents gave me,” Rafe shrugs, then winces again. “Ow.”

“Your parents were idiots,” Greta says.

“That’s why I ate them,” Rafe replies.

Needless to say, that changes the mood quickly. Not that the mood was all happy-go-lucky in the first place, but it does bring it down a couple more notches on the fun scale.

“Kidding,” Rafe says. “I ate them because they sacrificed themselves so me and my little sister could live.”

“Okay, well, this has been awesome,” I say. “But I’m gonna have to put my foot down on the cannibal family tales segment of the evening.”

There’s a loud whistle from below, then Stuart shouts, “Jace! Melissa! Come check this out!”

“Perfect timing,” I say.

I grab Greta and pull her with me as we make our way down the basement steps, and then stand there, gawking at what we see.

Written in blood on the basement walls are the words,
“
Loyalty above all els
e
.”

“Traitors,” Rafe says from behind us, making me and Greta jump. “Sorry. But that’s what happened to those folks upstairs. It’s a message to traitors.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“He’s right,” Stuart says. “It makes sense now. The Viet Cong used to do this to US collaborators. They’d skin them with machetes, then write messages on the huts with blood to warn others.”

“I thought they burned down the villages,” Greta says.

“Nah, that was us,” I say. “Yay for war!”

“They burned down villages too,” Stuart sighs, his Marine hackles up from my comment.

“This doesn’t really answer anything,” Melissa says. “We may know why those people are missing their skin, but we don’t know who did it or how they were traitors.”

“Actually, we don’t know anything,” I say. “We’re just guessing. That message may not be in their blood. It could be from the blood of someone else.”

“Could be,” Lourdes says, and wipes her fingers across the lettering. “But this is as fresh as the blood in the kitchen.” She turns and points her flashlight to pile of towels in the corner. “Then there’s that, too.”

The towels are sitting in a pool of blood. In fact, there is blood everywhere, splattered all across the basement floor. But most of the blood is on or under the towels.

Yeah, and those aren’t towels.

“Total waste of good skin,” Rafe says.

“You need to shut up and leave,” I say, and point at the stairs. “Go away, little canny.”

“Dude,” Rafe frowns. “You’re an asshole.”

“You’re the asshole,” I call after him as he stomps back upstairs. I turn and see everyone staring at me. “What?”

“You are a piece of work,” Stuart says.

“He started it,” I snap.

“Dad, just don’t,” Greta sighs. “You aren’t winning this one.”

“Okay, you know what? Y’all need to lay off the Jace punching bag, and focus on what the fuck we are looking at,” I say. “Me being a dick is not as important as who the fuck did this to these people. Right?”

“He’s right,” Lourdes says.

“Thank you,” I nod.

“You are a dick,” she smiles.

“Fuck all y’all,” I mutter.

“As much as I hate to say it, we don’t have time to rag on Jace right now,” Stuart says. “We need to figure out whether this new development means we have to leave or not.”

“Then how about everyone shuts up and lets me think?” I snap. “That is the reason you keep me around, right?”

“You want to think? Then think,” Lourdes says.

So I do. And it doesn’t take long.

“The blood is still fairly fresh,” I say. “It’s tacky, but not dried out. How long does it take for blood to dry out?”

“That amount?” Lourdes replies. “A couple days.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say. “That means this shit went down while we were here.”

“It may have happened just before we found the barn,” Stuart says. “We pull up, and whoever did this took off. It’s cold, so the blood isn’t going to dry quite as fast.”

“True,” I say. “But either way, I think people know we are here.”

“Great,” Lourdes says, then grabs a radio from her belt. “Shots?”

“Yeah?” a man replies over the radio.

“Looks like we have more than just Zs in the area,” Lourdes says. “Double the patrols, and tell everyone to keep sharp. They could be watching us right now. Be aware of cover, and stay out of the open.”

“Will do,” Shots replies.

“If they wanted to hit us, then they probably would have by now,” I say. “It would have been easier when most of us were still sick.”

“Or they didn’t want to catch what we had, and are keeping their distance until they know we don’t have the plague or something,” Greta says. “That would be the smart thing to do.”

“Yeah, I was gonna say that next,” I say. “You just beat me to it.”

“Right,” Greta says, then turns to the stairs. “I’m going back to the barn.”

“Not alone,” Lourdes says. “You wait here until we all go back.”

“Then let’s all go back,” Greta smirks.

“We’re still scavenging,” Lourdes says. “We aren’t going to waste this opportunity because of a couple of corpses. Let’s keep searching the house, then we’ll head back to the barn and lock it down for the night.”

“I was gonna suggest that too,” I say.

“Jesus, Dad,” Greta says. “Pitiful much?”

***

“The skin was gone?” Charlie asks. “Like all gone?”

“Exactly like all gone,” Greta says as we sit, huddled close in one of the corners of the barn.

I’d love to be sitting in an RV, but they are all lined up outside against the barn doors for security. Lourdes’s people are in each one to make sure our mystery friends don’t try to snag any in the night. Almost makes me wish I was a PC so I could be sitting in a comfy chair instead of on a shitty pile of hay.

And I’m not kidding, the hay smells shitty. Like old manure. As if I haven’t had to smell enough shit lately. Joy.

“You think they’re still around?” Stella asks me.

“Probably,” I say. “I’d stick around if I saw a convoy of RVs come rolling in. Even if I wasn’t a people skinner, I’d still want to know what’s up.”

“But they are people skinners,” Stella says. “Which means we are being watched by people that skin other people, but don’t take the meat as food. I don’t like how that sounds.”

“No one like’s how that sounds,” Greta says.

“How long do we stay?” Charlie asks. “Here in the barn. Are we on lockdown for a while?”

“No, honey, just for tonight,” Stella replies. “We’ll want to get going in the morning.”

“Well, that ain’t exactly gonna be easy,” Critter says as he crashes our little family pow-wow. He grabs an old bucket, flips it over, and takes a seat. “Looks like we have a bit of a fuel issue.”

“How much of an issue?” Stella asks.

“Enough that we would need to leave half the RVs behind,” Critter says. “Or we could take them all, and only get a few miles down the road.”

“What happened to all the fuel?” I ask. “I thought we had plenty for a while?”

“We lost some of the cargo trucks back at camp,” Critter says. “And as far as we can tell, ain’t no diesel on this farm. We’ll need to do some scouting around the other farms close by tomorrow, and see what we can find.”

“The RVs are multi-fuel, right?” I ask. “Maybe there’s some kerosene or something else here.”

“Oh, gee, Short Pork, I didn’t think of that,” Critter says as he smacks his head. “Neither did Lourdes, Stuart, John, or any of the other people that have brains bigger than a fuckin’ walnut.”

“So no other fuel then?” I glare.

“No other fuel,” Critter says. “But that ain’t why I come over here, as fun as this little talk of ours has been.”

“Then why did you come over?” I grumble.

“Kramer,” Critter says. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Good for him,” I say. “Then have him come over here and talk with me.”

“He says it has to be private with just you, me, and Lourdes,” Critter snarls. “Burns my balls to even say that. Like I’m his damned errand boy. The son of a bitch is lucky I didn’t end him right then.”