Z-Burbia: A Zombie Novel (26 page)

All the while Vance is screaming at everyone, shouting for his people to, “FIGHT HER
! YOU COWARDS! KILL THE CUNT!”

Then he sees me, still hunched over in the middle of the street and he stalks forward, his eyes filled with rage and madness. I assume it’s madness; it could be something he ate earlier. No, no, it’s madness.

I get to my feet, my body protesting every movement. I still have the pickaxe in my hand, but it is so heavy, like an anchor connected to my arm. I’d just drop it if I could, but I don’t think my hand will comply.

“Jason,” Vance hisses
, “we could have done great things. Your abilities to work through problems married to my vision of the future? Great things, Jason. Great things.”

I can
see what’s in his hand, but my mind just isn’t tracking.

“Why’d you have to spoil it? Everyone has spoken so highly of you. Brenda especially. I will say, in her defense, that she warned me you could be headstrong and a bit difficult at times. But I’m used to personalities like that.”

He’s closer now, his hand rising, the gleam of metal rising with it.

“You get used to stubborn people when you work in finance. No one wants to be wrong, everyone wants the credit. But you work through that. Don’t get me start
ed on the criminal element! Hoo boy! They can be like little children.”

It’s in my face now, the hole so black, so dark, right at eye level. It’s like looking into a bottomless pit, but sideways. And a little smaller than a pit. A bottomless hole? Fissure? Puncture?

“Hello! Jason! I’m talking to you!” Vance shouts. “Jesus, man, I’m holding a fucking Desert Eagle to your eyeball and you space out? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Chicken shit,” I say. Not sure why. Didn’t mean to. Oh, wait, yeah, I know why. “You think you have what it takes to rule in this world? You think your years as a big banker and then crime boss make you destined to lord over us all? You’re nothing but a chicken shit.”

His face loses some of the confidence; the bottomless hole/fissure/puncture dips a fraction of an inch.

“
You think because you were a rich fucking bully you can just take over?” I lean in, pressing my eye right against the barrel of the gun. “Bullshit. Pig shit. Chicken shit. You. Are. Chicken. Shit. Want to know why?” He doesn’t answer, but then he doesn’t shoot either, so I keep talking. “Because a real man would have put his family down, not keep them locked in a basement like animals. A real man would have done the right thing, the hard thing, the only thing. But not you. You’re nothing but a chicken shit.”

He takes a step back, his hand now shaking worse than mine. He lowers the giant pistol then raises it again. Lowers then raises. Over and over.

“Oh, fuck you,” I say as I bring the end of the pickaxe up into the soft flesh under his chin. “Chicken shit.”

His eyes glaze over and he drops to his knees. The Desert Eagle falls from his grasp and the inexplicable happens: it goes off. He slumps to his side, his body still and I look down as a searing pain explodes in my left side. Bright red blood spreads across my shirt just under my ribs. I wonder what organs are right there. Probably ones I need.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I say as I fall to my knees, my palms pressed to the wound. “A fucking misfire? The bastard drops the fucking gun and THEN it goes off? Fuck me.”

I slump to my side, my
soon to be dead eyes staring right into Vance’s already dead eyes. This is not the last image I want in my head.

“Long Pork? Long Pork! Jace! JASON!” Elsbeth screams as she slides to me. Her hands pat my body and I scream.

“Stop that,” I say. “Jesus…”

“We have
to get you up,” Elsbeth says. “It’s not safe. Can you walk?”

“Can I live, is the question,” I say, feeling the warmth leaking from my side.

Elsbeth rips my shirt away and looks at the wound. She nods. “I’ll be right back.”

“What? Don’t leave me, god dammit! Elsbeth!”

What the fuck? She’ll be right back? Where the fuck did she need to go? I’m fucking dying here!

“Hold still,” she says, suddenly right at my side again. Did I pass out a little? Probably.

“Hold still?” I ask. “What the fuck f- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”

I had a vasectomy a few years after Greta was born. Stella and I had decided that we were good with only two kids; a replacement for each of us, is how we
saw it. Why am I saying this? Because when the doctor tried to inject the anesthetic, he slipped and ended up piercing the other side of my scrotum. That was the worst pain I had ever felt. Ever.

Until Elsbeth shoves
two hunks of red hot metal against the front and back of my side, cauterizing the gunshot wound. That one wins. Not even a contest there. I’ll take a hundred more needles to the scrote before I’ll go through the old cauterize the wound trick. I mean, she doesn’t even offer me anything to fucking bite down on. What the fuck? In all the westerns I’ve watched, you always offer the wounded guy something to bite down on. A piece of wood, a leather belt, a bullet. Does she? Noooooooo, she does not.

“That’ll stop the bleeding,” she says. “I’ll help you up.”

“Up? Why?” I ask even as she’s yanking me to my feet. Scrote pain is now third on the list. Standing up after having your side cauterized is second on the list. Not liking this list. Not at all. “Why can’t I just rest and we wait for Big Daddy to swoop down and save us? It’s a little smoky, sure, but you get used to it.”

“Zs,” she says, pointing down the hill at the herd coming at us.

“Oh, right, we’re still in that world,” I say. “Fuck.”

“Can he move
then?” Stuart asks, his face covered in soot and blood. “Can you move? We have to move.”

“I’m seeing that,” I say. “But where? I don’t think I can get down and back up the ravine.”

“You’ll have to try,” Stuart says. “Come on. Somebody help here.”

Stuart’s untied our neighbors and several hurry forward to help me through my house and out the back. Good thing we didn’t blow it up, eh? That’s why they pay me the big bucks.

Stuart doesn’t bother swiveling the fence boards and just kicks right through. I can see the stain has pretty much taken over the bandages, yet the guy is still going. Remind me to thank the Marines.

“Hey, Stuart, you’re hurt,” I say as I’m helped/carried through the fence. “Elsbeth has this really great treatment she knows. We should take a break and let her fix you up.”

“Nice try,” Stuart says. “Ah, shit.”

We all stand at the top of the ravine and you can just feel the despair wash over the group.

“That’s a lot of Zs,” someone says then I realize it’s me as everyone glares. “What? It is.”

The ravine is filled with Zs and more are tumbling down to the bottom from the other side. All the noise must have drawn them to us. I’ll bet every Z just hanging out down by the river is now trying to clamber up the rocks and boulders to get at us.

Even if we fight our hearts out we can’t take them all. Not even with Elsbeth’s help.

“Other way?” I say. “Cross the street and go down that ravine?”

“No way through the wire,” Stuart says. “This is your path. Only way out.”

The groans and moans of the Z herd echo back to us from the street. Doesn’t look like we can go the other way even if we try.

“I’ll go out fighting,” Elsbeth says. “Pa always said never give up. Fight until you can’t fight.”

“Sorry,” S
tuart says, looking at Elsbeth. “For killing your pa. Don’t get me wrong, I’d do it again to save my friends, but I am sorry he had to die.”

Elsbeth watches him; we all watch Elsbeth. She is still holding one of her blades, after all. Then she lets that go and hugs Stuart, her face buried in his shoulder. That’s a stunner.

The groans are louder and I look over my shoulder and see a couple dozen Zs shuffling towards us. A few of them catch fire as they get too close to Tran’s burning house. Everyone else turns and watches them come. Elsbeth lets go of Stuart and picks up her blade.

“I don’t know where my other one is,” she says, wiping her eyes. “Poop.”

“You can say that again,” I say.

“Poop.”

“So, down there and fight, or make this a backyard brawl?” Stuart asks.

“Backyard brawl,” I say
, “I’m too tired to climb down.”

He nods. “Backyard brawl it is. Everyone grab something to fight with. A board, a rock, a small stick you can jab in an eye, whatever. Just grab it and keep fighting until you can’t.”

“Keep fighting until you can’t,” Elsbeth repeats.

So we grab up what we can and walk through the fence, ready for our last stand in
Whispering Pines.

There’s no signal given, no war cry, no drums beating as we march to our death
s. It’s really more like a bunch of people on Black Friday running to whatever sale merchandise they can get. Kinda makes me nostalgic for the past.

I come at the first Z, one hand clutching a knife Stuart
tosses me, while the other hand is pressed up against my side. I’m probably hurting myself more by pressing so hard, but the pain gives me drive, it gives me focus. I jam the blade of the knife right into the eye of the Z and it falls. Taking the knife with it, of course.

“Shit,” I say.

I stumble around, looking for another weapon, but I don’t have time as a Z reaches for me. Its hands are nothing but bone and sinew and I grab them, snapping its fingers right off. The thing pauses for a brief second and I do have to wonder what’s going through its rotten mind. But I don’t wonder long as I sweep its legs out from under it and go all romper stomper on it, smashing its head into pulp.

Hands grab me from behind and I jam my elbow up and back, smashing it into a Zs chin, snapping its jaw right off. Did you know the elbow is the hardest part of the human body? It’s a good thing to know.

I turn and kick out, sending the jawless Z falling into a group of six more that are hungering for my tasty (yet terrified) flesh. All around me there are screams of rage and pain; screams of violence and despair. Weaponless, I lower my shoulder and charge, plowing right into the Zs. Bet they didn’t see that coming!

Of course, being Zs, they are less than stable and we all go down in a pile of flailing limbs. I push up, my hands going through the Z’s chest I’m on like fucking cream cheese. Shaking the goo from my hands, I make two fists and start going to town. I rain down some serious beatings on these mother fuckers!

Every wound that’s been inflicted on me, every single death I’ve witnessed, all the bullshit of this fucking world, not to mention the fucking bullshit of the GOD DAMN Whispering Pines HOA, all of that fuels my wrath. I land blow after blow, my knuckles cracking open, my living, red blood mixing with the undead, black blood of the Zs. I don’t stop until I’m straddling nothing but pulp then I get to my feet, raise my hands, and scream into the night!

“I FUCKING WIN!”

Then I’m tackled around the waist by two Zs and I go down hard.

Fuck.

They claw at me, fighting each other for first taste. Oh, but they won’t be getting it, not this night, no fucking way. I reach up and grab one of the Zs by its head and twist until its head cracks right off its spine. I slam the Z head into the face of the other Z, over and over, again and again, until all I see is a pulpy crater of putrid flesh. I bring my knee up and flip the thing over my head, rolling to my side and shoving up off the ground.

Faceless, but not dead, the Z staggers to its feet, its arms reaching for me. It can’t see since its eyeballs are just jelly, but damn if it doesn’t hone right in. Fuck it, let it come. As it gets closer I grab its forearms and yank down, ripping its arms right off. Back and forth I slam the thing’s own arms against its skull until it cracks open like a rancid melon.

Pop!

Z arms in hand, I close on the next ones. I use them like clubs, bludgeoning the Zs to their final deaths until the arms are shattered and useless. Tossing the shards of bone and flesh away, I try to find new weapons. There are plenty, but they are clutched in the lifeless hands of my fallen neighbors. I finally see what is going on: we are losing.

  “Fuck,” I say. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

Several Zs, and by several I mean like ten or so, turn about and look at me. I shake my head, ready for them, ready to take my turn at the Z buffet. What was I thinking? That we’d really survive the night? Dealing with Vance and his band of shitheads was hard enough. Pile on one serious herd of Zs? Yeah, good luck with that.

Have I said fuck lately? Yes? Well, let me say it again.

Fuck!

They come at me and I look around, but there is nowhere to go. I have the ravine at my back (Z filled, thank you), houses on fire to my right and left, choking any escape route with flames and smoke, and a fuck ton of Zs just finishing up the appetizer course and ready for the main dish. Which is me.

I can see Elsbeth hacking and slashing, holding her own, but she’s surrounded, no way she’ll make it to me to save my butt this time. Stuart is bellowing like a Viking berserker, his hands chest deep in a Z as he rips the thing apart bit by bit. So he’s occupied. My neighbors are succeeding and failing at varying degrees ranging from “DIE, MOTHER FUCKERS, DIE!” to “OH, GOD! WHY IS IT EATING MY ASS FIRST?
” Overall, not a favorable outlook.