Z-Burbia 7: Sisters of the Apocalypse (11 page)

No one answers. No one moves.

Marjorie is still breathing, but not for long. Her eyes find mine and I shake my head as I crouch and fetch my duffel bag back. She's lying on one of the M-4s, so I leave it. I think it's Audrey's, but not sure. She'll be pissed, but I don't feel like rolling a dying Marjorie off it. It'll just get blood on the other guns when I toss it in the duffel bag.

"Fuck you," I say and put her out of her misery with a hard stomp to her skull. Her neck snaps and her eyes go empty. I hear a gasp from the shadows, but that's it. No one comes for me.

I heft the duffel and run to the trike. Might as well get something out of this bullshit. The trike has a rusty wire basket on the back. I think it's rust. Maybe blood. Can't tell. Don't care. I throw the duffel, Barrett, and gear pack into the basket then roll the trike to the garage door.

Shit ton of Zs outside munching on the corpses of David and his idiot friends. They don't even notice me as I wheel the trike by them. The Zs, that is. They don't notice me. I guess David and his idiot friends don't either because they're dead, but I was talking about the Zs.

A lot more out in the street and they see me as I hook my leg over the trike and hop on. I haven't ridden a bike in a long time, but it's like they say and it all comes back to me. It ain't easy with all the weight in the basket, but it ain't as hard as it would be with two wheels. I like this trike.

My .45s are in their holsters, but I have my blades out, gripped tight against the handlebars of the trike as I pedal towards a horde of Zs. Nothing else I can do. They're between me and the direction I need to go to get to the breeding farm. I think. The Doyle trucks and our Humvees are long gone. Ain't no thing, they'll be easy to track. But I got to get past these Zs first.

The trike is moving pretty fast when I hit the horde. I expect the Zs to try to knock me off, but they just reach out with stiff arms. I chop those off. Hey, if Zs are gonna reach out like that then they deserve to get their arms chopped off. Stupid Zs.

I keep pedaling, pushing the trike through the horde as I slash and chop, slash and chop. A Z falls in front of me and I push hard with me feet, sending the trike up over its body. That's fun. I almost lose my balance and get toppled over when the rear wheels come down, but I keep it all together.

The Z-horde is thick and I know I can't keep pushing the trike through. So I do what I should have done at first, but didn't think about it because I was too busy remembering how to ride a bike. I pull two grenades from my belt, pull the pins with my teeth, and lob them into the horde. That shit is loud. Real fucking loud. My ears are ringing by the time the Z parts stop raining down.

What's left of the horde just starts wandering off as I get back to pedaling. I'm coated in Z guts and gunk, so they don't give a shit about me no more. To them, I'm just some stinky trike rollin' on down the street. Fresh meat don't smell like I smell.

I'm way off the Doyles' trail. Way off. It takes me most of the night to find any hint of where they might have gone. I don't know if they thought they were being followed or not, but they did a good job of hiding their route out of town. I pedal into at least three more heavy hordes before I'm able to get on the right road.

The sun starts coming up in the east by the time I think I have them. The sky is a bright pink and purple, but early morning purple, not evening purple. There's a difference. With those colors at my back, I turn off a broken road and onto what's just barely more than a dirt trail. Fresh tire tracks in the dirt. Easy to spot now that I have some light and I'm not trying to dodge Z-hordes.

I pull the trike over to the side of the dirt road. Wide open ahead of me. If they have spotters then I'm already spotted. No sign of any breeding farm, but there is a rise in the road about a half mile away that blocks my view. I bet they have that farm tucked between a couple of hills, all nice and snug and safe and easy to protect.

Not sure if they stand a chance protecting it from me, but then I guess they didn't expect me or my sisters to show up. Who did they expect? The Heavies? Those guys don't sound good. They never do.

The place is wide open. Ain't nowhere to hide the trike or the duffel and gear pack. But I can't rightly roll on up to their front gate and wave. They see me coming, they're gonna put a bullet between my eyes. I look about and see a ditch a few yards off. It ain't a big ditch, but it's big enough.

I hate what I have to do, but circumstances ain't ideal. And I'm tired as hell.

The trike won't fit in the ditch, but I will. I roll the trike halfway down the dirt trail and leave it lying on its side. If some Doyles come by, they'll be looking at the trike in the road, not at the ditch they pass with me in it.

I jog back to the ditch, hope no one has been watching me, and jump down in. I wrap myself around the duffel and gear pack then pull some dead scrub brush over me and close my eyes.

I need some sleep so I have energy to do what needs doing.

Chapter Eleven

It's hot as fuck in the ditch. I don't so much sleep as lie there and sweat. Still, not running and fighting lets my muscles recover a little while my brain goes over every scenario it can think up. It can think up a lot and I grumble at my brain. Stupid brain.

Doesn't matter what it thinks up, there are only two options when I get to the breeding farm. Either there's a way to sneak in or there isn't. If there is then I go all stealth and kill as many Doyles as possible then find my sisters. Once they are armed then we kill a whole bunch more Doyles and free the ladies held prisoner. That's one option.

The other option is there is no way to sneak in. The farm could be heavily guarded or there's just no cover for me to sneak up on it. That's very possible. Especially if the Doyles have some enemies out here. They'd want all approachable angles to be clean lines of sight. If they aren't total morons. I'm hoping they are, but odds says there are a couple smart ones in the bunch.

So what the fuck do I do if I can't sneak up on them? That's the problem my brain locks onto while I lie in the ditch with sweat pooling between my ass cheeks. What do I do? I have a few ideas, most of them include blowing shit up and causing a distraction while I pick Doyles off with the Barrett. But that don't free the sisters. They could be chained up by now or stuck in cages or whatever happens to women on a breeding farm.

I ain't heard no explosions or men screaming their lungs out, so I know the Doyles haven't tried to force themselves on the sisters yet. Yet. But they are bound to.

My throat is dry as fuck, but I save my water for later. I just lie there and let my clothes get damper and damper with my sweat as I try to figure out stuff that I have no way of figuring out without more intel. The more I think about it, the more I realize we may have fucked up. We didn't plan anything out, just went for it. Gave ourselves up thinking we could beat the Doyles whenever we want.

But what if the reason I ain't hearing screaming Doyles or an exploding farm is because they killed my sisters right off? Great, now I have that idea rolling around my brain. Too many shitfucking unknowns.

The sun is high in the sky when I say fuck it and grab the gear. Sleep isn't coming and waiting for night may not make a damn bit of difference. I need information. I need to do some recon on the Doyles' breeding farm. I need to find out what is happening to my sisters.

I got sand in my craw, but I ignore it as I gear up and start the long, slow crawl to the farm. On my belly, I go hand over hand, my ass barely sticking up enough to keep me moving. I shove the duffel in front of me and grunt under the weight of the gear pack and the Barrett. It takes me thirty minutes to go maybe a quarter mile. Maybe.

Four stretches like that and I'm over the slight rise and crawling across more empty desert before I catch sight of the farm. It's not tucked between any hills, just out in the open for everyone to see. I ease out a pair of binoculars and take a gander.

Shit.

Big fence. Double fence. Chain link with razor wire angled outward and inward. The Doyles don't want folks escaping or trying to get in. They also don't want people sneaking up on them because they have guards patrolling the fence line every twenty yards. And the guards don't look sleepy or bored. They're on alert. No idea if they're on alert because they think someone is coming for my sisters or if they're always like that. The way the guards are doing their jobs, I say they are always like that. Definitely got some military folks in their ranks. It all looks too orderly to be just crazies running the show.

But the guards and the fence ain't the big problems. It's the gun nests and watchtowers. Eight watchtowers. One at each corner of the farm and one in the middle of each fence. Plus a guard station at their big rolling gate. Two riflemen up in each watchtower with heavy-duty scopes. Six guards on the gate. Then you have the gun nests. They're dug into the earth with only a slit of black shadow showing above a bunch of sand bags. And the barrel of a big machine gun. That's showing too.

My guess is they have a gun nest on each side of the farm. At least two Doyles in each nest, one to fire and one to feed the belt ammo into the machine gun. That's bad news.

We did not think this through very well.

So what's my play? I'm lying in the dirt with a bunch of dead scrub brush and twigs woven into my back so no one can see my pack or the Barrett. I have a duffel bag full of weapons in front of me, coated in dirt and dust so it's hard for anyone to see me or it for anything other than a big lump of dirt. I've been watching the Doyles for twenty minutes and no alarms have gone up.

That is the good news. The only good news.

It takes me another thirty minutes to study what's inside the fence. Eight rows of eight tents. Big tents, like for weddings and shit. Not that I've been to a wedding. Maybe I have. I don't know. But the tents look like the ones used at outdoor weddings I've seen in magazines. What? I look at old magazines. I like the pictures of the world pre-Z.

Sixty-four tents. No other buildings. Some of those tents have to be where they keep the ladies. Some have to be where the Doyles sleep. Some have to be for supplies and for medical reasons when the ladies give birth. One of those tents has to be where the commander is.

Oh, yeah, they have a commander. I don't care if they're all called Doyle, you don't have a set up like this breeding farm and decide shit by everyone raising their hands. Someone is in charge, and by the looks of things, that person is a hard ass. I need to find that hard ass. Cut off the head of the snake and the body starts to flail about.

Speaking of snakes, I hear a rustle next to me and a big, fat rattler slithers by. He don't pay no mind to me. I'm just a big heat signature in a desert filled with more heat. Not that he gets too close. He's within striking distance, but far enough away that he can escape if I make a move for him. Snakes is more afraid of us than we are of them. That's the simple, natural truth.

More afraid of us than we are of them…

What are the Doyles afraid of? What gets them scared and feeling all weak in the knees? That's what I need to figure out if I'm going to beat them. Because a straight-ahead assault ain't going to do it. And considering how tightly locked down they got their farm, a sneak attack won't even work. They're waiting for that.

What do they fear?

Wait… Wrong question. The real question is why the fuck do they have so much security around this farm? The Inezes weren't strong enough to take them on. Those crazies I killed in the garage were just a rag tag group of idiots surviving on scraps. No threat there. So what is the threat they are worried about?

The Heavies? The group that stupid (and dead) Marjorie mentioned? Is that the other force in the area? Maybe. Maybe not. Even if they are, so what? How do I use that to help get my sisters out of the farm? Oh, and get the preggers ladies out too. That's why we're in this mess. The preggers ladies be needing some saving.

Well, fuck a duck in the butt. I ain't got a clue of what to do next.

Good thing life is funny and decides to hand me an answer. Maybe not a full answer, but enough of one for me to pay attention.

One of the tents opens and about six guards come out with their rifles pointed at Audrey. She's pretty bloody, her face all swollen and shit, but she's walking just fine, even with heavy manacles on her ankles and wrists. I have a feeling one of the Doyles got a little fresh and found out the hard way what happens when you try to stick your hand in a sister's pants when she doesn't want you to. I wonder if she killed the shitfucker or just made him rethink his life choices. Probably the last part or she'd be dead.

Audrey keeps her head down, but I can tell she's scanning the area. Her eyes are darting left and right. She stumbles and half the Doyle guards look like they're going to shoot her. Maybe she hurt more than just one of them. They're scared shitless enough.

None of them touch her. They wait until she gets to her feet. Then she does something that surprises even me. She looks right at me. No way she can see me, but it sure as fuck looks like she can. Then she turns her head and stares off to my right before one of the Doyles gets the balls to give her a shove with the barrel of his rifle.

Audrey stumbles a bit then shuffles along towards the middle row of tents. I bet that's where the commander is. They've tagged her as the leader of my sisters and now she's being taken to chat with their leader. I don't know if that buys me more time or if her time is about up. You never know with crazies. I sure as shit hope it buys me more time.

The image of her staring at me makes me shiver. Why the hell did she do that? Did she somehow catch a reflection off my binoculars? No way. Not these things. Anti-reflective surface. All of our binoculars and scopes have it. What the fuck? And what was she staring at after she locked onto me?

I slowly shift my body and turn my binoculars on the landscape around me. I instantly see movement about fifty yards away to my right. Not much movement and I probably wouldn't have even noticed if I wasn't so hyped up and super aware of every damn thing going on around me. Not a snake and not a critter. I see a person doing exactly what I'm doing, aiming a pair of binoculars on me. We're staring right at each other. Uh-oh.

Right now, in this moment, I wish Long Pork was telling the story. He'd have something funny to say about what goes down. That guy had a way with words. Me? I ain't got fucking time.

Fucking time or not, I can't exactly hurry away from where I am without the farm's guards seeing me. So I slowly tuck my binoculars away and start scooting backwards across the dirt. I have to go slow so I don't poof up any dirt clouds. It is about to drive me crazy how slow I have to go.

I glance over at the other person and see they're doing the exact same thing. We're in a slow-motion, backwards race to get away from the farm. If I wanted the person dead, I could totally take them out from here, but that'd make noise and noise would bring guards and then shit gets fucked and blah blah blah.

Slow-motion race. Yay.

My heels dig into the slight rise in the dirt and I crawl up over it, my eyes locked onto the farm. Spy guy to my right is a worry, but not as much as the heavily armed Doyles. I spook him and maybe Audrey doesn't come out of the commander's tent.

Once I'm over the rise and have some cover, I roll onto my side and pull a .45. I take aim at Mr. Mystery, but he's gone. I don't see the dickhead anywhere. I am assuming it's a guy. Not quite sure. I couldn't tell from the angle and distance between us.

A cloud of dirt poofs up by my left foot and I jerk it back. No crack of a gunshot, so the guy must be using a suppressor. Pussy. My eyes scan the area, and at first I don't see him, then I see a tiny flash before another poof of dirt kicks up by my belly. Half an inch higher and he would have gutted me.

Fuck this shit.

I roll and roll and roll until I am sure he can't get a bead on me. Too much scrub brush and crap in the way. I yank the Barrett from my back which isn't easy when you can't fucking stand up.

Man, I got so much sand in my holes, it ain't funny.

With a .50 caliber rifle in my hands, I feel a fuck-ton safer. I open the scope and start hunting. Yes, yes, I know if I fire the Barrett then everyone from here to Mexico will hear me, but fuck it. Mystery Dickhead took some shots at me. If I play this right, I'll take him out and then be able to scramble back down the dirt trail and away from the farm before the Doyles can get their trucks started.

They'll find his body first and maybe get confused enough to not come searching for me. What? It could happen.

Finally, I get his position and I place my finger on the trigger. Slow breaths. Don't pull, just squeeze the trigger at the moment between breaths. Let the gun do the work. I start to feel the action on the trigger then stop. I see him, but something's wrong. He's moving too much. Shaking around.

Then a big gust of wind hits and he splits in half. His top half stays put, but his bottom half starts tumbling like one of them desert weeds. Those legs are gone on a little trip. I track them with my scope and see they ain't legs. They're just pants. Empty pants.

Shitfuck.

"Slow," a man whispers from my side. "Very slow."

I turn my head and slowly take my hand off the Barrett. There's a man in his boxers and a tank only a couple feet away. He's covered in dirt and has a .45 of his own aimed at me.

"You're quiet," I say. "Really quiet."

"I am," he says. "Now, how about you take those .45s off your belt and toss them to me. Then those blades. You can leave the Barrett right where it is. I doubt you could swing that around and get a bead on my before I put a bullet through your eye."

"You sure?" I ask as I take the .45s and toss them to him. "Want to bet?"

He eyes me and I eye him.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks. "You with those other women the Doyles brought in?"

"I'm just a scared wanderer person that got lost," I say. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Jack," he says. "Jack Heavy."

"Heavy?" I ask. "Like the Heavies? They your people? You got a group of crazies around here fighting with the Doyles?"

"How have you heard of the Heavies?" he asks. "Who told you that name?"