Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead (25 page)

“How hard can it be?” he asks, then depresses the clutch, pushes the truck into gear, and hits the gas.

The monster vehicle lurches and stutters forward as Charlie gets the hang of the clutch to gas ratio then it starts speeding up. Charlie shifts and gives it more gas. They are only feet from the BB&T building when the second Blackhawk comes from around the other side. Charlie sees it and narrows his eyes.

“Fuck you,” he snarls.

***

My one arm covers my head as I bury my face into the nasty carpet. My ears are ringing and I can barely make out someone shouting at me. I have to say that the zombie apocalypse is hell on the hearing. If I’m
lucky, I’ll die before I go deaf. Oh, wait, I forgot…

“Holy shit,” Melissa says. She’s probably shouting, but it sounds like a whisper to me.

As I get to my feet all I see is empty space. Where there once were walls there’s just shredded drywall and scorched metal studs. Everything has been obliterated by the helicopter. You see belt guns in the movies and laugh as they tear up cars and other shit, but it’s no laughing matter when you’re staring the aftermath in the face. It’s all fucking gone.

“
Straight ahead,” Melissa says. “Go! The truck is outside those windows!”

We stumble-run our way through the debris, headed straight for the windows. We can see another Blackhawk, but it’s not facing us. Which means it’s facing the truck. A truck with my family in it.

“No!” I shout and run forward, grabbing a pistol off Stuart’s belt. “NO!”

I start firing,
but the magazine is empty, of course. So what do I do? I toss the fucking pistol at the helicopter!

It bounces right off.

So I pick up a hunk of metal.

***

Charlie sees the pistol bounce ineffectively off the side of the helicopter and he frowns.

“Are you kidding me?” he says, then
sees his dad standing at the edge of the third floor as he chucks a hunk of metal right into the chopper’s windshield.

It
does zero damage, but distracts the pilot enough that he begins to turn back towards the building. Charlie, without even thinking about what he’s doing, keeps driving forward while struggling to pull the Desert Eagle from his waistband. He yanks on it and yanks on it, but it’s caught on his belt.

“Ah, fuck!” he shouts as he takes his other hand off the wheel.

The truck begins to ease off course and takes out a lamppost. Then a crosswalk sign, then a streetlight pole. People in back are screaming and Charlie can hear voices shouting at him as they hurry towards the cab, but he doesn’t care because he finally gets the Desert Eagle free.

And fires.
And fires. And fires.

The rotor engines begin to whine, the pitch building until Charlie has to drop the massive pistol and cover his ears. Smoke trails up from the main rotor and the Blackhawk
starts to shudder. Then a loud clang fills the street and the rotors freeze up, stopping almost instantly. The rest of the helicopter begins to turn then the entire thing basically rips itself apart. The body falls towards the ground as the rotor splits and separates, spinning through the air. Right at the truck.

The pain doesn’
t register at first, but quickly, as the body of the Blackhawk is engulfed in flame, Charlie notices something isn’t right.

“Charlie?” Stella asks from the door of the cab. “CHARLIE!”

“Mom?” Charlie says, looking at his chest. And the large sliver of metal that sticks out from it. “Mommy?”

***

I can’t move.

My hand grips the burning metal of the building’s window frame, but I don’t care. My focus isn’t on the
flaming helicopters that litter the street, or the equally flaming Zs that are shuffling around, setting fire to everything combustible that they run into. No, all I can see is my son a story below me as the truck rolls up under us. I see him for just a few seconds before someone stops the truck and he’s lost from sight.

I saw the look in his eyes, the fear on his face, and the metal protruding from his body. A very large piece of metal; the kind you don’t just rub some dirt on and get put back into the game after.

My wife’s screams fill my ears and I let go of the window frame.

“Hold on there, Jace,” Stuart says from behind me as he pulls me back from the edge.

“
Charlie
,” I whisper.

“Yeah, we saw,” Melissa says. “I’m sorry.”

“Get your shit down here!” Critter yells from below. “I doubt thems the last of those fuckers!”

He’s probably right.

John secures the end of a fast rope to a strut and tosses it down to Critter. Reaper does the same and they help Melissa then Stuart get secure and drop out of the window and below. The sisters catch up to us, even more gore covered and also a little singed, and I see Elsbeth looking at me.

Then at my shoulder.

Then down at the truck.

Then back at me.

She knows.

“You’ll do what you have to, right?” I ask her before grabbing onto the rope. “When the time comes?”

“I’ll take care of you, Long Pork,” she says. “It’s what I do.”

***

“It’s for you,” Antoinette says as she hands the phone to Platt. “We have trouble.”

Platt reads the text on the screen and sighs.

“Well, so much for living through the day,” he says. “Gonna need your help to the basement.”

“
The basement? Why?” Antoinette asks.

“Hey, sis?” Stacy says from the doorway of the infirmary. “Company.”

“Company? How did they get through the field?” Antoinette asks as she helps Platt slowly get up.

“They drove,” Stacy says.

All three walk to the windows, Platt helped between the two women, and see a row of bulldozers making their way through the herd of staked Zs. Behind them are dozens of men with rifles.

“The basement?” Platt
asks. “Help me then you run and don’t look back.”

“You’re my patient,” Antoinette starts, but Platt cuts her off.

“And you aren’t a doctor,” Platt says, “but I am a soldier. The pack. It’s downstairs in the sitting room?”

“Yes,” Stacy nods.

“Bring it,” Platt says, wincing with each step. “You get me into the pool and then go.”

“The pool?” Antoinette asks.
“I don’t understand why you need to go down there.”

“I used to come here on my days off
every so often,” Platt says. “Just sit and study the house. It was an antidote to the depressing image of the row after row of pre-fab military housing on base.”

“What does that have to do with the pool?” Antoinette asks.

Platt smiles. “First, it’s built deep into the ground. And second, little known fact, is that it’s lined with lead.”

Chapter Nine

“Charlie!” Stella screams. “Charlie!”

“Hold this,” Reaper says to Dr. McCormick. “When I pull it free we’re going in.”

“Can we get to the Biltmore?” Dr. McCormick asks. “Melissa says they have a surgery there.”

“It’s under attack,” John says, holding up his phone. “Platt just let me know. I think the elder Ms. Thornberg is covering her bases in case Platt figures out how to diffuse the bomb.”

“We’re going to the Bywater,” I mutter, my eyes on the body of my unconscious, bloody son.

“Not really the time for a drink, Long Pork,” Critter yells from inside the cab, having taken over driving duties. “We’re getting the hell out of here and back to my holler.”

“What medical supplies do you have?” Reaper asks.

“All of them, of course,” Critter grins. “You think the boy’ll make it there?”

“If we don’t stop,” Reaper says, looking at me.

“But the sisters,” I say, “we’ll leave them stranded at the Bywater.”

“They’ll be fine,” Cassie says from the ladder at the edge of the platform. “They’re kayaking down river and will hike into Critter’s Ho
ller.” She holds up her phone. “Just got done texting them.”

“Ha!” Critter laughs. “Like to see them try!”

“Already been there a few times myself,” Cassie says. “Don’t you recognize me?”

Critter takes a corner and wipes out several cars that block the road, as well as crushing more and more Zs. He glances over at Cassie for a second, looks back at the road, glances again and then chuckles.

“You’re the young lady that took that big poker game down last April,” Critter says. “I was going to have a word with you, but you tucked tail and ran before we could have a proper sit down.”

“I knew when to run,” Cassie says.

“That ya did, young lady,” Critter says.

“It’ll only be a matter of time before your holler is overrun
with Zs,” Stuart says. “We can’t stay there.”

“It’s defensible,” Critter says. “Even if those Atlanta bastards bring in more whirlybirds.”

“It’ll hold for a while,” Cassie says. “But not forever.”

“Then we kill them,” Elsbeth says.

“We save Charlie first!” Stella screams at everyone. “That’s what we do!”

“That’s what we do,” I say, my mind and body nearly gone. I feel like I’m swimming in thick oil
with my body buoyant, but unresponsive.

Shock.

I reach down and grab at Stella then fall to my knees. We hug each other while Reaper and Dr. McCormick struggle to keep our son’s life from slipping away.

“Shit,” Critter says.

I don’t bother looking up. Not my fight right now. Everyone else can do their part.

Then the shots ring out and, of course, it gets worse. Because, you know, kneeling in a pool of my son’s blood isn’t bad enough.

***

“Stay down!” Antoinette yells as she scoops up the pack and helps Platt
towards the back corner of the sitting room.

Glass shatters everywhere as men surround the Biltmore house and just start firing.

“Where are we going?” Platt asks.

“There’s more than one secret passage,” Antoinette says as she pushes a tapestry to the side and shoves against the wall. A door creaks open and she helps Platt through.

“Come on,” Antoinette says to Stacy.

“I’ll cover the main stairs,” Stacy replies. “They’ll come straight there. I hold them off and you can get secured.”

The two women look at each other for a second and nod.

Stacy runs off towards the front of the house while Antoinette and Platt make their way through the dark corridor to a set of hidden stairs.

***

“Bulldozers?” Stuart asks, seeing
a half dozen of the machines roll toward us as we head down Patton Ave towards I-240. “I’d think they would have brought tanks.”

“They need them to guard Atlanta,” John says. “There were rumors that some of
the other areas, specifically the Stronghold, may make a move.”

“A move?” Melissa asks. “What does that mean?”

“Not sure,” John says, “but I’m guessing war is coming.”

“Great,” Stuart snarls
, “because the fucking zombie apocalypse isn’t enough.”

“Y’all might want to get back into the bed!” Critter calls out as more shots bounce off the grill of the truck. “Hate for one of ya fine folk to take a bullet.”

“We can’t move Charlie,” Reaper says.

“And I’m not leaving my son,” Stella growls.

“You know my vote,” I say.

“I stay with them,” Elsbeth says.

“Greta,” Stella replies, “she’s back there.”

“No, I’m not,” Greta says as she climbs down the ladder. “What the hell is going on? No one will tell me jack sh
…” She sees Charlie. “Oh…no…”

“Elsbeth,” Stella says
, “please take her back to the bed.”

“I’m going to fight,” Elsbeth says.

“I need you to take Greta back to the bed,” Stella says. There’s a tone in her voice I know well.

“Mom, I’m n
ot leaving…” Greta starts.

“YOU WILL DO AS YOU’RE TOLD!” Stella roars. “ELSBETH GET HER BACK THERE!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Elsbeth says. Without another word, she grabs up Greta and leads her to the ladder. The two climb up quickly.

More shots and I see a spark a foot above my head.

“Thoughts on those things?” I ask.

“I’d try to outrun them,” Critter says, looking at the dashboard. “Which I could do. This thing is faster than a bulldozer any day.”

“Then what’s the problem?” I ask.

“Fuel,” John replies.

Critter nods. “We have enough to get us to where I park this baby and not a drop more. I take a detour and we’ll run out well before then.”

I can see the bulldozers getting closer, and the armed men riding on top, as they shove Zs by the dozens out of the way. It was the plan all along- flood the area with Zs, overrun the survivors, then bring in the slow rolling cavalry.

So why bother with the dirty bomb?

“We’ll take out the drivers,” John says as he grabs the ladder and climbs up. “I’ll bet there’s more than one good shot back there.”

“There’s plenty,” Melissa says and follows.

“Get up there, Stuart,” Stella says. “Get safe.”

“No way,” Stuart says and takes a knee next to us, his rifle at his shoulder. “My place is right here.”

He looks over at me and I nod. He nods back. Nuff said.

***

Men
poor into the front door of the Biltmore House, their rifles out and ready. But the first few don’t get a chance to use them. Stacy squeezes the trigger of her AR-15 again and again. Her breath is relaxed and controlled as she sights down the barrel, putting a bullet into the forehead of every man that is foolish enough to come at her.

The rifle clicks empty and she has the magazine ejected and a new one in without skipping a beat.
More men get cut down quickly. One of the men hits the ground and his hand opens up. A small pear shape falls from between his fingers and Stacy rolls backwards, ducking into the stairwell to the basement.

The world erupts around her and she slams her hands over her ears, losing her grip on her rifle. Helpless she watches it clatter down the steps and bounce around the landing, lost from sight. Her options are to go after it, and lead the men into the basement towards Platt and Antoinette, or get her ass up and fight them off.

Stacy steps from the stairwell, a pistol in one hand and a collapsible baton in the other. She flicks open the baton and starts to run towards the front door. The first few men see this battle crazed woman covered in dust and soot and hesitate.

Not the best reaction i
f one wants to stay alive.

***

Above me, I hear gunfire ring out, matching what is coming from below. Blood poofs out of the chests and heads of the bulldozer drivers, but their bodies are just shoved out into the throngs of Zs and someone else takes their place, keeping the machines rolling towards us.

Critter grunts and I look over at him.

“Just a nick,” he says. I narrow my eyes and he tilts his head to show me the scratch on his neck. “Got lucky.”

Bullets bounce around us and I realize the men on the bulldozers aren’t trying to shoot us, but are trying to shoot out the engine of the truck: their fire is concentrated on the front grill.

“How much can this thing take?” I ask.

“A lot,” Critter says. “The engine is reinforced. So don’t worry. This thing is built to take a beating and not stop. Otherwise it’d be useless down in them quarries and shit.”

“True,” I smile then duck as a bullet flies past my head. “Fuck.”

I look down at the road and realize we’re going full on Footloose with the bulldozers.

“I’m holding out for a hero,” I sing. “I’m holding out for a…”

“Jace, no,” Stella says. “Just no.”

“I’ve stopped the major bleeding,” Reaper says. “But his left lung is a fucking mess. He has maybe a couple hours before he drowns in his own blood.”

“Critter,” Stella says, “you get my boy to your place, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Critter says.

The engine revs and Critter actually speeds up.

“Uh, Crit?” I ask. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Makin’ some time, Long Pork,” Critter grins. “Just like the lady wants.”

We’re twenty yards from the first bulldozer then ten then five then
… CRUNCH!

The whole truck shudders as Critter swerves and drives the truck up and over the first dozer, crushing the cage around the driver, and smashing the men riding on top. He yanks the wheel and aims for the other bulldozer, but that driver sees him coming and turns to avoid the massive haul truck. Unfortunately, in his panic, he doesn’t realize he’s turning his dozer right at the guardrail and over the edge of the on ramp.

The bulldozer is lost from sight over the edge, but we hear it hit the interstate below.

“Two done for,” Critter says as he swerves again and aims for dozer number three.

The gunfire has pretty much stopped as our people hang on for their lives, and the attackers below jump from their vehicles, frantic to get away from the madman driving towards them. Some of the men make it through the Zs and scramble up the embankment and onto the roads of Asheville. But most of the panicked men are taken down quickly, their guts ripped from them, their throats torn open, their lives lost in an orgy of undead hunger.

The third dozer is demolished and then the fourth. Critter gets to the fifth, which has just been abandoned by its driver, and then we run into a problem. Literally run into it.

“Shit,” Critter shouts as he works the steering wheel back and forth while gunning the engine. “The damn thing is wedged!”

I get up and look over the edge of the platform and can see the bulldozer below, jammed up under the front of the truck. It’s so tight in there that every time Critter hits the gas to move us forward it just digs the bulldozer down into the pavement, making it worse.

“Stop!” I yell. “We have to get it out of there!”

I look down at the road, and the last bulldozer, and point.

“Stuart,” I say.

He lifts his gun and fires, taking the head off the driver.

“Thanks,” I say. I look around on the platform and see what I need.

“No problem,” Stuart says as he nods at me. “But I don’t know what good. HEY! Get back here!”

I’m already at the ladder, with a length of heavy duty chain wrapped around my bad shoulder, and heading down to the road.

“I’m going to tow it out from under!” I shout up. “Get ready to hit reverse, Critter!”

“You crazy son of a bitch!” Critter yells at me, but gives me a thumbs up.

It’s a great plan in theory, I realize as my feet hit pavement, but the execution wasn’t exactly thought through.

There’s still a lot of Zs around.

“Shit,” I say as I shift the chain
over to my good arm and raise Stumpageddon.

Ground glass, man. Ground glass. That’s all I feel.

But it doesn’t slow me down. You know how they say there’s nothing more dangerous than a mama Grizzly bear? Yeah, they’d say that about a papa Grizzly too if the deadbeats didn’t take off after getting their rocks off. But, I’m not a Grizzly, I’m a man. A papa man. And we can get really, really motherfucking pissed off too.

I stab and kick and swing and smash my way into the herd. I can see the bulldozer just in front of me
and only maybe a dozen yards away, but that might as well be the Pacific Ocean between us. There’s just too many Zs. My idea to attach the chain and then tow the bulldozer out from underneath was noble, but pointless. No matter how pissed off a papa bear I am, I’m no match for a fucking herd of Zs!