Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead Page 5

  No one knows because within days the place was nothing but a nest of Zs.

  Odds are someone had a heart attack and it all went downhill from there. One guy gets up a little peckish for human flesh and pretty soon it’s the meme of the day to eat your friends, family, fellow flabby tourists.

  Whatever the circumstances, the Biltmore Estate pretty much stayed off limits to the survivors of Asheville. Why would anyone even bother when faced with a sea of undead shambling around the grounds? And there is a sea of them. Thousands standing in the fields, their moans and groans, hisses and snarls echoing about the landscape. They just stand there. Waiting…

  “What are they waiting for?” Julio asks as he lowers his binoculars. “They don’t leave the estate. Just hang out in the fields.”

  His companion grunts, but doesn’t lower his binoculars.

  “I don’t think they can move,” Stuart says.

  “Come again?” Julio asks.

  The two men are perched on a hill that overlooks the estate. They have a good view of the many fields and gardens that once grew corn and wheat, pastured beef and dairy cows, and each season flourished with a multitude of wildflowers.

  “They move,” Julio says.

  “No, they don’t,” Stuart says. “They move their arms, and some move a leg back and forth, but none of them actually leave where they are standing.” He lowers his binoculars and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “It’s like they are glued into place.”

  Julio has another look and frowns. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I never noticed that. I assumed they were just doing that Z thing where they stare at shit until some asshole comes along and gets them worked up.”

  “That’s not an accident,” Stuart says, “someone put them there.”

  “Nah, man, they were already there,” Julio says, studying the tattered and shredded clothing that still dangles from many of the Zs.

  Wearing remnants of their former lives, they are covered in t-shirts with logos from their favorite bands, sports teams, universities, bulky sweatshirts with majestic eagles, grizzly bears, monster trucks, couture and faux couture blouses and jeans.

  A slice of 21st century fashion pre-Z.

  “I mean that someone placed them where they stand,” Stuart says. “Moved them from where they were wandering about the estate and into their current positions.”

  “And why the fuck would someone do that?” Julio asks.

  “Keeps us from going in there,” Stuart says. “Even keeps Critter and his crew from scavenging the place. If Critter won’t touch it then no one will.”

  “True dat,” Julio says. “So now what?”

  “I don’t know,” Stuart says. “Why does Elsbeth keep coming here then? Has she gone inside yet and we don’t know? What is drawing her to an estate with a staged herd of Zs?”

  “All good questions, man,” Julio replies. “Let me know when you have answers.”

  He watches for a second then pulls the binoculars away. Then puts them back. Then away.

  “There’s someone down in that shit,” Julio says. “Take a look, man. Someone is moving through those fuckers.”

  “Probably just a Z that got loose,” Stuart says as he starts scanning the field. “Where am I looking then?”

  “About thirty yards in from the left,” Julio says, “second field back.”

  “I got it,” Stuart says, “is that a girl? A woman? Can’t tell. Fucker is hiding behind a Z.”

  “Ballsy,” Julio says. “Lucky she doesn’t get her tits bitten off.”

  “Nice,” Stuart frowns. “Maybe a survivor that wandered onto the grounds. Now trying to get out.”

  “You believe that?” Julio asks.

  “No,” Stuart replies. Their phones vibrate. “Check that.”

  “Why don’t you check yours?” Julio asks.

  “Seriously?” Stuart replies. One word, one question, no room for argument.

  “Fine,” Julio says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Surprised Landon got Wi-Fi to reach this far.”

  “The guy may be an asshole, but he does stay focused when given a task,” Stuart says.

  “Still a total asshole though,” Julio replies as he reads the message. “Ah, shit, man, we gotta go.”

  “What is it then?” Stuart asks, looking at Julio.

  “Power plant is under attack,” Julio replies. “We picked the wrong day to go for a hike. Maybe we can find a car that still runs and hotwire the bitch. Drive it down to help out?”

  Their phones buzz again.

  “Never mind,” Julio smiles. “It’s Jace wondering where we are. He’s with Mel and they are on their way.”

  He taps at the virtual keyboard and sends his response.

  “What’s the plan?” Stuart asks.

  “We’ll meet them on Hendersonville Rd,” Julio says. “They’ll give us a ride down to Lake Julian.”

  “Huh,” Stuart says and looks at Julio dressed in only jeans and a black tank top. “Not really outfitted for combat.”

  “Neither are you,” Julio says, nodding at Stuart’s almost identical outfit except he’s wearing a black t-shirt instead of a tank. “But Shumway’ll have supplies.”

  “He does,” Stuart nods as he crawls backwards from their vantage point, not wanting to be seen standing up by whomever is in the field. Or whomever else could be in the area, watching.

  ***

  The flashes of light, obvious reflections from binoculars, stop and a young woman waits, her eyes watching the hilltop closely. She doesn’t see any other signs of movement and figures the spies have gone away. But she doesn’t move for another thirty minutes just to be sure. The Z she crouches behind groans and reaches for her face, as it has done for the past hour.

  “Stop,” she whispers, swatting the rotten hand away. “No more, Cecil.”

  The Z doesn’t understand the words, just the hunger that torments it day and night. Having food, sweet, living flesh so close would have sent any other Z into a frenzy, but this Z, Cecil apparently, hasn’t eaten in years. It’s emaciated and weak and barely has the strength to curl its fingers into a fist. With grey, starving eyes it watches the young woman scramble away, lost in the herd of its undead brethren.

  “See ya later, Cecil,” the young woman whispers. “Stay cool.”

  ***

  Melissa barely slows the truck for Stuart and Julio.

  “Hop in back,” I say as we roll up to the two men. “Crowded in here.”

  “Special guests?” Stuart asks as he grabs the side of the truck and vaults into the bed as the PCs make room.

  Elsbeth slides the back window open and smiles as Julio joins everyone else.

  “Hey there,” she says. “Can we do it tonight?”

  “Jesus,” Julio says and shakes his head as the PCs chuckle around him.

  “That is highly inappropriate,” Brenda snips.

  “Oh, you’re here,” Stuart says, looking into the cab and seeing the former head of Whispering Pines. “Plan to get your hands dirty this time?”

  “I will do no such thing,” Brenda snaps. “You can do the fighting. That’s what you know. I know how to lead, despite some other people’s opinions.”

  “By ‘other people’ she means anyone with some semblance of sanity left in their heads,” I say.

  “Yeah, I get that one,” Stuart replies. “Thanks for clearing that up, Jace.”

  “It is unbelievably rude to criticize a head of state like that,” Brenda says. “Your diplomacy skills are sorely lacking.”

  “Head of state?” I snort. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  I turn around and finally look at the woman.

  “You are the head of nothing, bitch,” I snarl. “What you are is a backstabbing, self-serving, scum-sucking, blob of useless fat that needs to be wiped off this planet before there is any chance of your kind multiplying by asexual fragmentation!” I take a deep breath. “Bitch.”

  “Asexual fragmentation?” Stuart asks. “Wo
w. You’re really riled up today.”

  “I will report this behavior to the Counsel, you know,” Brenda says. “Whether you like me or not you do have to respect my position amongst the survivors, Mr. Stanford!”

  “I don’t have to respect shit, you fucking whore-ass cunt!” I shout.

  Then I lunge over the back of the seat at her. I just can’t take the woman anymore. All I want to do is grab her and shove her out the fucking door. Let her roll down the road and hope a horde comes by and eats her fat ass.

  “Jace!”

  “Long Pork!”

  “Damn, dude!”

  “God dammit, Stanford,” Stuart yells as he reaches in and slaps me before I can throttle the evil twat. “Get a hold of yourself! We’d all like to see the woman dead, but we are rebuilding a society, not destroying one. Calm the fuck down!”

  I do calm down and Melissa grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and yanks me all the way into my seat. Which causes her to swerve to the side and slam into a Z that’s just decided to step out into the road. It reaches for us and then it’s gone, lost under the truck.

  The vehicle gives a shudder and bounce and some blood and gunk spray out from underneath. We get about fifteen yards before we feel the trouble.

  “That’s a flat,” Melissa growls, looking over at me, her eyes all accusatory and shit. “Because we hit a Z.”

  “Should have watched the road,” I say, knowing it’s not fair or even nice. But I’m pissed.

  She pulls the truck over and the PCs jump out to create a perimeter, their rifles to their shoulders. Melissa leans over me and opens my door.

  “This is your job, Jason,” she says. “Better hurry. Anyone dies because we got held up and it’s on your head.”

  “Sure, make the one armed man do it,” I mutter as I get out.

  The back right tire is dead flat. The Z must have had a blade or something seriously sharp on it to cause this damage. I hear a wet thunk and look down the road. A PC has ended the Z, stomping its head to mush.

  “Guess I can’t ask it why it wanted to play in traffic,” I say.

  “Yes, because that’s a good use of our time,” Stuart says as he comes up to me bouncing the spare. “So is changing a tire in an unsecured area.”

  No sooner does he say that than a small horde of Zs come lurching down from a parking lot of what used to be a Texas Roadhouse restaurant. There’s close to twenty of them and the PCs get ready. Some sling their rifles and snap out their sharpened, collapsible batons.

  Ah, the collapsible baton. It’s the go to weapon of choice nowadays. We’ve pretty much given up on the boards with nails and sharpened rebar. The PCs have brought a sense of professionalism to the zombie apocalypse. Which is nice.

  Quickly and fairly quietly, the PCs close on the horde. They have a system that’s pretty ingenious. The first PC cracks his or her baton against the knees of the first Z, crippling it and sending it tumbling to the pavement. The second PC comes along and stabs the Z in the head, killing it instantly. Or killing it again, I guess. They do this in waves: first PC hits knees, second kills Z, third hits knees, fourth kills Z, and so on.

  It’s an assembly line of Z death. Pretty simple, really.

  Unless you add the chaos of reality to things.

  Which, of course, happens.

  The first PC cripples a Z and the second PC kills it. First PC cripples a Z, but it won’t go down. WTF? He whacks it again and the thing still won’t go down. It runs into the PC, rotten hands clawing at the man’s body armor. So the PC flips the thing over and slams it to the ground. That’s when the Z’s prosthetic leg snaps off at the thigh and rolls down the hill towards the truck.

  This seemingly innocuous change in routine turns into a nightmare. The first PC has his back turned to the horde, which is a no-no, because he had to change tactics and flip the peg-legged Z. He doesn’t see how close the others are. Sure, the guy knows they’re coming, but because they are on a downhill slope, he misjudges the speed at which they are coming. He’s tackled about the waist and goes down hard.

  The second PC starts in with the skull crushing as the first PC starts in with the screaming. Batons go away fast and back come the rifles. The gunfire makes me jump as I get the truck jacked up and start in on the lug nuts. Stuart just stands close to me, his 9mm Beretta raised and ready.

  “Anytime now, Jace,” he says. I hear the judgmental coolness in his tone.

  “You ever try taking off lug nuts with one fucking hand?” I snap. “No. No, you haven’t. You know that horse you rode in on? You’re welcome to saddle back up and fuck it.”

  He just glares.

  “Great, I’m on your shit list now?” I ask as I crank the lug wrench. “All I did was lose control for three seconds and give that bitch a piece of my mind.”

  “Which is why Stella is in charge and you’re not,” he replies.

  The lug nuts drop to the ground and start rolling away, but Stuart corrals them with his feet, making sure I see the look of disdain on his face. Why do haters gotta hate? Don’t answer that.

  I yank the flat off the rim and toss it up into the truck bed. I get the spare on, with a little help, tighten the lug nuts and then let the jack down. All in all it took me eight minutes. And in those eight minutes one man was killed and the rest are busy fighting off an ever growing horde of Zs.

  “Holy shit,” Julio says as he jumps down from the truck bed. “Where the hell did they all come from?”

  The truck cab opens and Elsbeth steps out, her blades in hand. The woman loves her some blades.

  “I have the engine going,” Melissa says. “Get clear and get back in here. We don’t have time for this fight.”

  “Won’t take long,” Elsbeth says as she jogs then sprints towards the fray.

  The PCs are spinning about, back to back, shoulder to shoulder, their rifles obliterating Z heads. But there are so many. Elsbeth slides into the horde and begins to sever heads from necks. I watch, fascinated, as Z heads, their teeth still gnashing, come rolling down the hill like giant, bloody acorns dropped from a devil oak.

  “Hurry up, buttercup,” Stuart says as he starts shooting the heads. “Gotta do your part.”

  There are Z heads all around me. I step over one then kind of bend and lean down, piercing its brain with Stumpageddon’s Mr. Spikey. I do this over and over and over until my side is about to cramp up and my shoulder feels like molten lead. The pain in my stump is excruciating and it gets harder and harder to finish off a new head.

  Then it all stops and I’m left ankle deep in rotten, bloated, severed Z heads. Stuart pats me on the back and walks back to the truck. He jumps into the bed, gives Julio a hand up, and then slumps down. The PCs follow, with their fallen comrade in their arms. Everyone is secured and I realize they’re all staring at me.

  “Right,” I whisper, “sorry.”

  Elsbeth gives me a weak smile as she gets into the backseat of the cab and I hop back in front.

  “Where’d they all come from?” Mindy asks as Melissa gets us moving again.

  “The hotel back behind the steakhouse,” Melissa says. “Hard to see with the trees all grown up around it. They must have been trapped inside and finally broke free. We just happened to be here when they did.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “Well, you should be,” Brenda snaps. “If you had more self-control you’d know that insulting and attacking me was...”

  The sentence ends abruptly with a cry of pain as Elsbeth punches her across the face. She grabs Brenda’s shirt and yanks her close, their noses almost touching.

  “Shut. Up,” Elsbeth snarls, “or you walk.”

  Brenda almost can’t help herself and I can see her mouth start to open in response, but the look in Elsbeth’s eyes is not a look you argue with. Brenda’s mouth closes quickly and she swats at Elsbeth’s iron grip.

  “Let her go, El,” I say. “It’s over.”

  Elsbeth lets the evil bitch go and leans back into the seat
. I just turn and look out the windshield.

  We head down Hendersonville Rd at a steady pace, all eyes on the sides looking for more stragglers that could impede our progress. While we were busy fighting the horde, Shumway was busy texting his intense displeasure at us not being there yet. It sounds like the situation has deteriorated quickly.

  I’m sure each of us has some image of how bad the situation is at the power plant, since we’ve all been living this nightmare for years and we aren’t new to the horrors of the zombie apocalypse. But as we turn onto Long Shoals Rd and get about a quarter mile along we see just how wrong all of our expectations are.

  “Oh, my God,” Brenda says, her voice small and childlike, not like her usual bitch bluster.

  “I’ll second that,” I say. It’s probably the first (and last) time I’ll ever agree with Brenda Kelly again.

  The road is swarmed. It’s shoulder to shoulder covered with Zs. They are packed so tight I don’t know where one ends and another begins.

  Melissa slams on the brakes, which normally would have elicited protests from anyone riding in the truck bed. This time there’s only stunned silence as we all look at the wall of undead before us.

  Then it turns, that wall of undead, almost as one. And looks right at us.

  “Move,” I whisper.

  Melissa keeps staring ahead, her hands gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles pop.

  “Mel,” I say, my voice a little stronger, “get us out of here.”

  “What about the plant?” she asks as she’s already shifting into reverse.

  “The plant’s lost,” I say, “just go.”

  “We’re going to leave them?” Mindy asks.

  My guess is she’s thinking out loud. There’s no way, not with the number of Zs we are staring at, that anyone can possibly think we have a chance of getting through to the power plant. And even if we did, then what? We get trapped along with Shumway and his crew?

  It’s over.

  “It’s over,” I say. “Back to Whispering Pines. Back home. Now.”

  I look behind us and see Stuart, Julio, and the PCs all crouched down in the truck bed, ready for what comes next. Which is Melissa speeding backwards and then hitting the brakes and cranking on the wheel. The truck spins about and we are pointing towards Hendersonville Rd once more.