Z-Burbia: A Zombie Novel (17 page)

He walks away and we watch him go, his shoulders slumped, his body looking to weigh a million tons, being crushed under the weight of his grief.

“We suck,” Charlie says.

“You got that right,” I reply. “We do.”

There are only a few Zs to take care of the rest of the way. Just stragglers, no hordes or herds coming at us. Not that Andrew was wrong. We crested a hill at one point and looked off to the south, seeing a herd of a couple hundred way off in the distance. They were choking I-26, just south of I-240, a mass of putrid limbs swarmed about the abandoned cars and trucks. It was hard to tell from that distance which way they were going; we just knew they were moving. And then we descended the hill and they were gone, out of sight, out of mind.

Those were the last Zs we saw for a few hours. But
not to worry, the next Zs we come upon make up for it. And explain why we hadn’t seen even one for a long time.

They
are all at the Farm. Waiting for us. Well, maybe not exactly waiting for us, but waiting. Just standing there, their grey eyes focused intently on what is beyond the several layers of fencing and booby traps that surround the acreage that is the Farm. I don’t know what stuns me more, the amount of Zs between us and the Farm or the size of the Farm itself. Both are considerable.

“Okay, people,” Melissa whispers, motioning for us to hunker down. “This is the hard part.”

“Because the rest was so easy,” Landon says through his split lips and bruised, puffy cheeks.

“You want to stay here?” Melissa asks and Landon looks down at his hands. “Didn’t think so.” She takes a deep breath and starts to draw a crude map in a patch of dirt. “We are here. The Farm is here. The Zs are between us and the Farm.”

“I think we can see that,” Stubben says.

“Can you?” Melissa asks. “Can you also see the way into the Farm?”

“Uh, well…no,” Stubben says.

“Then care to shut the fuck up and let me show you?” Melissa snarls, her patience finally gone. I keep forgetting she just lost her husband. I want to keep forgetting that, but it slams into my brain like a wall of shit.

Melissa points to a spot off to the side of where we are and quite a ways away from the Farm. “We are going here. We have to do it quickly and quietly. Both of those are non-negotiable.” She looks at me. “Can you move quickly?”

“If that’s what I have to do,” I say.

“It is.”

“Then, yeah, I can.”

She gives Landon a harsh look. “Can you move quietly?”

“Why are you asking me?” She just keeps looking at him. “Yes. Yes, I can move quietly. I don’t want to die either. That’s why I came with you guys. Whispering Pines is gonna be overrun pretty quick. I’ll hold my own here, okay? Stop looking at me like that!”

“Way to be quiet,” Charlie says.

“Hush, everyone,” Melissa says. “When we get to where we are going
, there’s no turning back. Once inside, we are inside. You stay close, you keep your mouths shut, and you’ll live. Break one of those steps and you’ll die. And probably get the rest of us killed.” She looks at each of us in turn. “Ready?”

We all nod, even Landon.

I have no idea how long it takes or how far we go before we get to our destination. It seems like all we did was double back on ourselves while walking in circles. But finally, we reach an overgrown rocky outcropping. There it is, just sticking out of the hill. Rocks.

“Uh…what now?” Carl asks.

“Now we knock,” Melissa says. She walks up to the rocks and then she’s gone.

“Nice trick,” Brian says.

“Coming?” she asks as she peeks back out.

We all follow, except for half the scavengers, who are behind us, watching our backs. Between two large rocks is a narrow passageway. We all have to take our packs off and hold them against us as we scoot sideways forever. The light fades, fades, fades, and is gone. There are some murmurs and shushes as people bump into each other, but no one stops or complains.

And then we are in a wide open space. It’s pitch black and I only know it’s wide open from the echoes of water drops from above us. The drip, drip, drip, bounces around what must be quite a cavern.

“Can we get a light?” someone whispers.

“No,” Melissa says. “Not until we are all the way inside.

“This isn’t inside?” Landon asks. “Ow.”

Someone close to him must have punched him. Good for them.

“Take hands,” Melissa says.

We do and then we each feel a tug as we are pulled forward by the person in front of us. We leave the cavern and are in a tunnel for a long while. My leg is killing me and not being able to see the floor doesn’t help. I stumble and just manage to stay upright several times. On and on we go until Melissa whispers for us to stop.

Then there’s a quiet knock. Whatever she’s knocking on is metal, that’s easy to tell. From way
ahead, I see a small slit of light.

“Hey,” a man’s voice says
, “we saw you outside the fence. How many?”

“
About eighteen,” Melissa says. “Daddy gonna be okay with this?”

“Of course,” the voice says. “As long as they can
abide by the rules.”

“They can and they will,” Melissa says. “Or I’ll walk them outside the fence myself.”

“Good enough,” the man laughs. “Then get your butt in here, big sis.”

There’s a clang of metal and the tunnel is illuminated in torch light as a huge door opens before us. Several men and women are standing there with rifles across their chests, watching us with indifference. We filter pas
t and say a few hellos, but we’re mainly ignored.

“Don’t bother,” Melissa says. “You’re no better than livestock until Daddy says otherwise.”

“So true,” Elsbeth says. I try not to think what she means.

We follow a long, carved tunnel before we get to a wide set of stone steps. I make it up the steps although my leg is nearly ready to fall off, and we all step out of a small stone shed at the top of the stairs. Before us is the Farm and I want to cry. It is beautiful. I look at Stella and see the tears in her eyes. She hugs the kids to her and we just smile.

“Where’s Tran?” Stubben asks.

I look about and don’t see him. Melissa waits until we are all up the stairs and out of the shed before she calls down. “Tran? You down there?”

“Who you looking for?” a very large man, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties, with tree trunks for legs and arms bigger than my daughter. “That Asian guy?”

“Yeah, Pup, that Asian guy,” Melissa says, frowning
at the man. He ducks his head and looks away.

“
I wasn’t bein’ racist or nothin’, Mel, sheesh,” the man says. “I just was wondering if that was who you was lookin’ for. Cause he’s outside the fence. We been watchin’ him.”

“What?” Melissa ask
s, more than alarmed.

She hurries past the man, past a row of sheds and a large red barn. We follow quickly until we are standing before a huge farmhouse and looking out across the fences at the swarm of Zs. Behind them all, up on the hill where we started before finding the rocks and the tunnel, stands Tran. It is really too far to see for sure if it’s him, but we all know it is.

“Ah, fuck,” Melissa says as Tran starts to walk right towards the Zs. “Dumb bastard.”

“Melissa Helen Fitzpatrick Billings,” a stern voice says from behind us. “You are mucking out the pig pens tomorrow for that. You watch your mouth, young lady.”

Chapter Six

“TRAN!” I scream.

“Quiet,” Stella says.

“He can scream all he wants, ma’am,” the stern voiced man says as he comes around in front of us. “Don’t make no difference. This is a working farm. We’re nothing but zombie bait. They keep coming and coming because our slice of Paradise just smells too good.”

“TRAN! STOP!” I yell, cupping my hands to my mouth.

Tran doesn’t stop. In
fact, he starts to wave his arms and shout at the Zs. Despite my screaming attempt to divert their attention, the Zs lurch about, slowly realizing there is food right behind. Once they see him, they move as one, a swarm of undead, shuffle stepping to supper.

I keep screaming at him. For some reason I feel responsible. I don’t know why. It makes no sense at all, but I just feel like my years as a shit neighbor have finally led to this point. If I’d invited him over for a beer or to watch a game. Or just to hang and play some pool. Maybe to one of my poker nights. Anything. But I did none of this and now, well…

“Don’t look, kids,” Stella says, steering the children away. “This is not to be seen.”

“Good for the young ones to understand the way of life these days,” stern voice
d man says. “Hardens them to the daily truth our Lord has seen fit to bestow upon us. This is no accident, ma’am. This is God’s will.”

“Jesus, he sounds like Carrey,” Landon says.

“You blaspheme again, young man,” stern voice growls, “and I put you outside the fence.”

“Daddy, calm down,” Melissa says, turning to her father and placing a hand on his chest. “The past few days have not been easy.” Melissa looks at us and tries to smile. “This is my daddy. You can call him Big Daddy Fitz. That’s what he likes and what he goes by.”

None of us introduce ourselves because the screaming has started. Tran’s voice is high-pitched, a child’s voice almost. Then it isn’t. We can see the Zs swarming on him. A red mist fills the air as they tear at his body. One of them must have gotten his throat. Not another sound filters to us.

“How about we all go inside,” Big Daddy suggests. “We’ll let nature take its course then come back out later for refreshments.”

“Refreshments?” I ask. “Refreshments! Are you fucking kidding me? A man just died!”

“There is no cursing here, sir,” Big Daddy says. “And while yes, he did just die, he made that choice. That was an obvious suicide and that is an affront to God. That, sir, is a mortal sin. His soul is lost and cannot be redeemed.”

“Daddy?” another horse-sized man says from the porch. “How many sweet teas do I need to pour?”

Big Daddy looks about and starts to count
, then stops. He looks at Melissa and counts again, then stops. “Sweetie, Mel, where’s your man?” Mel just shakes her head. “Oh, my poor girl, come here.”

Melissa is enveloped in her father’s ar
ms. She instantly transforms from the tough woman in her late forties to a little girl sobbing against her father’s chest. We all look away then up at the man on the porch.

“
Hey, y’all,” the man says, “I’m Gunga.”

We stare.

“What?” he asks, looking startled. He wipes at his nose. “Do I got a booger or something?”

“Gunga,” Carl says. “That’s an interesting name.”

“Oh, that?” Gunga laughs. “It is ain’t it? Nah, it’s because Toad couldn’t say Howard when he was a baby so he kept calling me Gunga. Don’t know why. My English teacher in high school made me memorize that poem by the Jungle Book guy. Not sure why. His name was Mathews and it’s not like he ever had to memorize the Book of Matthew.”

“Woulda been a good thing to do, though,” Big Daddy says. “Gunga, don’t worry none about the sweet tea. Go find your brothers. We need to have a family meeting and get this all sorted out.”
He looks down at Melissa and pushes her face from his chest, his thumb and forefinger wiggling her chin. “No need to go into it now, Sweetie Mel. We have plenty of time for that.” He looks around at us. “But I think introductions are in order.”

“Yes, sir,” Melissa says, wiping her eyes. She t
urns and sweeps a hand at us. “These are my neighbors. We’re having a bit of a problem back home.”

“I can imagine,” Big Daddy says. “How do you do, folks?”

Melissa makes the introductions, saving me for last. Not sure how I feel about that.

“So you’re Mr. Smart
y Pants, eh?” Big Daddy asks, smiling. I’m very glad he’s smiling.

“I’m Jace, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” I say. “Don’t know about the smarty part, but I am wearing pants.”

“Yep, that’s him,” Big Daddy grins. “You and I will be speaking further. Gotta run some ideas past you.”

“I’m not really qualified to talk about farming,” I say. “I could barely keep the kids’ gerbils alive.”

The wind shifts and the sounds beyond the fences drift to our ears. Smacking lips, slurping, crunching bones, bickering hisses and groans.

“How about we move this conversation
like I said?” Big Daddy says, looking at Charlie and Greta. “Folks, you can all go around to the back of the house. We have a fine pavilion back there with picnic tables and such. Have a seat, take a load off. Rest those weary legs of yours and we’ll have a right proper chat about what brings you to the Farm.”

Melissa nods to the scavengers and they usher everyone towards the back of the grand farmhouse. I start to go with Stella and the kids, but a beefy hand stops me.

“How about you wait here?” Big Daddy looks at the others leaving. “I’d appreciate an unbiased account of what’s been happening to y’all.”

“Go ahead,” Stella says
, “I’ve got the kids.”

“I’ll be right there,” I say as she walks off with the others.

In seconds, it’s just Melissa and her father with me. I look about the Farm and nod.

“This is quite a place,” I say. “
Can’t imagine the work it takes.”

“We have plenty of help,” Big Daddy says. “And we help plenty. Been waiting for this day. I’ve been telling Sweetie Mel here for a long time that that Whispering Pines place was bound for trouble. I do hate to be right on that.”

“You love to be right,” Melissa says. “I think it’s the only thing you love more than biscuits and gravy.”

“Now, don’t blaspheme,” Big Daddy laughs. “I’d rather be wrong with a plateful of biscuits and your country gravy in hand any day.”

The sounds hit us again. Big Daddy’s grin slides from his face.

“Fill me in,” he says.

I do with help from Melissa when she can keep it together. I have to remember that she just lost her husband only a couple days ago. I’ve tried to push it from my mind, but maybe that’s been the wrong way to handle it. With Bullhorn/Wall Street out there and Brenda going all dictator, I should probably be sharpening my senses, not dulling them with denial.

“You okay there, Hoss?” Big Daddy asks. “Looks like you tucked inside yourself for a spell.”

Hoss… So that’s where Jon got it from.

“I’m fine.”

“How long you need to stay?” Bid Daddy asks.

“We don’t know,” I say. “This isn’t permanent. We want to go home. We’ll just need some help. We have two factions to deal with.”

“One, the way I see it,” Big Daddy says, “but let’s get to the particulars later. And you and yours are welcome to stay as long as you need. We have the room and the food. Julio is coming back soon. You’ll like him. He’s a smarty pants like you, but with a Mexican accent.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s from Columbia, Daddy,” Melissa says.

“Don’t mean no offense,” Big Daddy says to me. “I’m just a country boy that’s been adjusting to the changing world well before this all happened.”

Big Daddy looks out at the row upon row of fencing and the Zs beyond that. He sighs and leads us around the house.

Our group is seated and smiling –well, mostly smiling- as Gunga passes out glasses and pitchers of sweet tea.

“Sorry there ain’t no lemons,” Gunga says. “We just can’
t get them to grow right. Turn all nasty and shriveled.”

“This will
be fine, Gunga,” Stella says, “thank you.”

As I take a seat and plant a kiss on Stella’s forehead
, a group of men come around the other side of the house. They are dust covered and sweaty, with shotguns and rifles resting on their shoulders.

“There they are,” Melissa says, getting up and going to them. She is swallowed in a group hug of muscles and perspiration.
Finally, she gets free and looks at us. “These are the rest of my brothers.” She points and they all line up. Tall, broad, built out of bricks, they look alike except for the first one that’s bald as a cue ball. “This is Buzz, you know Gunga over there, and met Pup, this is Toad, Porky, and Scoot.”

They all nod and say their hellos and howdys.

Buzz, the bald one, puts his fingers to his mouth and lets loose with an eardrum shattering whistle. We all look around, waiting for the other boot to drop, but instead, it’s a stampede of boots and shoes that comes around behind the men. Children of all ages and sizes sprint to their fathers. Then come the adults. Men and women as diverse as I’ve ever seen a group. I always forget how homogenous suburban life can be.

A black couple and their three kids come over and introduce themselves as the Furtigs. Then several Hispanic couples come over with their kids- the Hernandezes, the Santiagos,
the Rioses, and the Ortegas. They are followed by an Indian man named Patel that is surrounded by six daughters ranging in age from maybe six to sixteen. Behind him are three women of obvious Cherokee descent with their children.

Behind that are about ten single men of all races and colors. In front is a short Hispanic man, his torso bare, but covered in dark black and blue tattoos. They run all the way up his arms and up his neck. His head is shaved except for a thin, short Mohawk. On his belt, strapped to his right leg, is a nasty looking short sword. The sheath is only a few straps of leather, so I can see the various etchings on the blade. I can also see the deadly sharp looking edge it has.

“Smarty Pants, this is Julio,” Big Daddy says. “Melissa says you’re Columbian, but I say Mexican. Which is it now?”

I’m expecting a frown from the man over the ignorance of his home country, but instead he grins and gives a laugh almost as big as Big Daddy. “El Salvador,” he says. “The Santiagos are Columbian.” He looks me up and down and holds out his hand. “What’s up
, Smarty Pants?”

“It’s Jace,” I say, taking the strong grip. “Please don’t call me Smarty Pants.”

“You got it, Jace,” Julio says. “And actually, I’m from Hendersonville, not El Salvador. That’s where my parents came from. I was born in Park Ridge hospital.”

“Then you have me beat,” I say. “I was born in Oregon. Only been here in Asheville for about ten years before it all went to hell.”

“This isn’t Hell, Hoss,” Big Daddy says. “This is where we are tested before the Lord decides where we go. Hell won’t be so easy.”

“Easy?” I laugh. “That’s one way to say it.”

A scream gets my attention and I reach for my belt, but stop my hand when I see that it’s just all the kids, mine included, running around playing tag off away from the pavilion. Elsbeth is on the sidelines sitting cross-legged, watching them intently, her eyes darting from runner to runner.

“BD, we have a problem,” Julio says, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I know that girl.”

“Elsbeth,” I say. “She saved my life. Well, after having kidnapped me to cook for dinner. But I’m going with the saving of the life part as the character judgment.”

“She’s a cannibal,” Julio says to Big Daddy. “I’ve had run-ins with her padre.”

“She going to be a problem?” Big Daddy asks me.

“No, sir,” I say. “I’ll vouch for her.”

“She looks at me like I’m a chicken leg and I slit her throat,” Julio says. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with there.”

I think back to the sight of dozens of undead lying still around the dump truck and smile.

“I have a pretty good idea,” I say, “but you have my word she’ll be cool.”

Of course, no sooner have I said that than here she comes, The Bitch in hand, her eyes locked on Julio.

“You ain’t a nice man,” Elsbeth says. “You broke Pa’s hand one time. I remember. Oh, I remember that.”

Everyone goes quiet, even the children, as Elsbeth closes on Julio. She eyes his sword and frowns.

“You should have pulled that already,” she says. “You don’t have time no more.”

“Chill, Elsbeth,” I say, stepping in front of her. “These are friends now. Just like us. Whatever happened before is done. You have to let it go.”

“I should break his hand,” Elsbeth says. “Only fair.”

“If you want to talk fair
, then I should toss you outside the fences,” I say. “You know, for kidnapping me and prepping me for dinner.”

“Your friends killed Pa,” she says to me. “Maybe we should remember that.”

“This is what you call cool?” Julio laughs and looks at Big Daddy. “This is the smart guy you’ve been talking about?” He pulls his sword and Elsbeth lunges.