Z-Burbia: A Zombie Novel (20 page)

But there’s a lot to worry about. Too much, in fact. The variables. The millions of variables. The systems that would need to be brought back on line? Who knows how to do that? The miles of line to be checked. Miles of it! I just want to get
home, sleep in my own bed, and worry about Zs at the fence and gate. I just want the simple life again, no matter how deadly or dangerous. I didn’t come to the Farm to talk about city building and turning the infrastructure back on. I thought we’d get some help, maybe go back, kill some people, take back our suburban homes, and then deal with the usual shit that we deal with in the zombie apocalypse.

I barely get the outhouse door open before I spew my wonderful breakfast everywhere. I do mean everywhere. I completely miss the se
at over the hole. There’s puke on the seat, though, so I’m close at least. But there’s also puke on the floor and the walls and pretty much all over me.

“Jace?” Stella asks quietly from behind me. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Her hand touches my shoulder as I brace myself against the doorframe to stay upright.

“Oh,
baby, you are sick,” she says. “Let’s get you cleaned up and inside. You need to rest.”

“
I’m not sick,” I say just as a loud gurgle from my guts tells her otherwise. “Well, not
sick
sick, just upset.”

“Upset? Why? This is what we’ve talked about late at night when the kids are asleep,” Stella says. “Building something.”

“I meant Whispering Pines,” I say. “Not Asheville as a whole. It’s just too much. Who will be in charge? Who does what job? We’ll need a ton more people just to make a dent in the damage and get things cleaned up. With more people comes more trouble. This isn’t good, Stella. There’s too much to deal with. Too much.”

I’m close to hyperventilating and she can see this. She grabs me and pulls me away from the outhouse, doing a great job not to gag as she sees the puke on my shirt and jeans. She sits me down in the still moist grass and pushes me back so I’m laying out, my eyes looking up at the blue sky.

“Relax,” she says softly. “You don’t have to figure it all out. You’ll be part of it, we all will, but it won’t fall on your shoulders. There are other people in the world that are capable of making smart decisions, not just you.”

“And we have the numbers,” Big Daddy says from the back porch. “Sorry to eavesdrop. Just a little worried that our brain is cracking up.”

“I’m not the brain,” I say. “Carl is smarter than me. And as much as I hate to admit it, so is Landon.”

“It’s not about smarts,” Big Daddy says as he comes into the yard. “It’s about brains. You don’t just think
, you work out if that thinking is worth anything. You use common sense and life experience, Hoss. That’s brains. I’ve met a ton of smart guys in my life. They could rattle off facts and figures until they were blue in the face. But they were dumb as paint. You get what I’m saying?”

“Yeah,” I say. “But it doesn’t make a difference.” I push myself up onto my elbows. “I always thought the Farm was this vast place with people
everywhere. When Melissa said we were coming here, I pictured dozens and dozens of workers hurrying about.” I sigh. I can’t help it. “But it’s only a few families. A lot of kids. Wall Street will laugh his ass off when we show up.”

“I’m about to laugh mine off, Hoss,” Big Daddy says. “How about you clean the sick off yourself and come out front. I’d like you to meet some folks
that have arrived while you’ve been sinning against the cooking.”

I look at Stella. “What’s he talking about?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “I followed you out here.”

I get up and see the puke. I go to a pump close to the house and
wash myself as best I can, even drinking straight from the spigot and giving my mouth a good rinse. I run some water over my head and shake, feeling a little better.

“Presentable?” I ask Big Daddy.

He’s smiling and nods. “That’ll do, Hoss. Follow me.”

I do. We walk through the kitchen, the dining room, and by the time we’re in the living room
, I can hear it: the buzz of people. A lot of them. How’d I not notice the noise before? Oh, right, the puking.

“What the…?” I ask as we step onto the front porch. “Where’d they all come from?”

“You know what the problem with Whispering Pines is?” Big Daddy asks as I scan the huge crowd. There must be at least fifty people, maybe even more. Men, women, teenagers. The only young kids I see, are the ones I’ve already met.

“I bet you’re about to tell me,” I say.

“I am at that,” Big Daddy laughs. “Whispering Pines is exclusive. Even before Z-Day, it was exclusive. But not like now. You still shooting refugees that come knocking on your gate?”

“I don’t,” I say. “But, yeah, Brenda is big about that. They show any aggression and they get one between the eyes.”

“You see, Hoss, a farm can’t ever be exclusive,” Big Daddy says. “It has to be inviting. Inviting to the sun, the rain, the wind, the day, the night. It has to be inviting to the right kind of insects. It has to be inviting to the people that work it. Otherwise, it shrivels up and dies. A farm is a living breathing creature. It may not always be perfect; it can have its predators, its blight, its disease. But there’s always a solution to that. An inviting one.”

I stare at everyone and they stare back.

“I think I get it,” I say, “I really do.”

“I hope so, Hoss,” Big Daddy says. “Because I’m inviting you to be a part of the Farm. Whether you live here or not, you’re a part of it. Can I count on you
not to be a blight?”

“Yeah,” I smile
, “you can.”

“Good.” Big Daddy nods, clapping me on the shoulder. “Because your first job on the Farm is to be a friend and
speak some words at my son-in-law’s memorial. You have about fifteen minutes. Try to think of something nice, something that does Jon proud. And, Hoss? Now is the time you sell it. Now is when you invite them in. You have one shot. Don’t waste it.”

My smile fades. I think I’m gonna be sick again.

Chapter Seven

I look out at the crowd of unfamiliar faces, and the few familiar ones, and take a deep breath.

“I guess I was Jon’s best friend,” I say. “I know he was mine.
He was a smart ass, which is one reason we got along; he was a fighter, another reason we got along; and he gave a shit.”

There are some titters among the crowd, but I press on, Big Daddy standing in front watching me closely.

“Jon was there when I needed him,” I say, trying not to choke up. “Even at the very end, he saved my butt. He played decoy and led the Zs away from that dump truck. He took off like a screaming mad man.” I fail at the not choking up part. “Which he was. You’d have to be mad to want to save me.”

I take another deep breath and look out at all the people I don’t know. Now is my time to get to know them and for them to get to know me. Now is the time I invite them in.

“But at the very end, it wasn’t the Zs that got him. They never could catch that ornery bastard. It was people,” I say and watch for the reactions. There are the wide eyes of shock, the shaking of the heads in disbelief. But what I’m looking for are the nods of understanding. There are more of those. “People, man. People. Even in this time, where we have to come together as one in order to survive, there are still people out there that want to destroy. That want to tear down; that want to kill.”

I’m so close. I have them. Not that this is a game. It’s way more important than that.

“Jon hated those people. He didn’t understand them. How could he? How can any of us? So, I ask you, in Jon’s memory, what will you do?”

Silence. Which is good. They are on the hook.

“If you knew Jon at all, what do you think he’d do? Just wait here and see what happens? Or run like a mad man into the thick of danger to help whoever was in need?”

Nods. Many more nods. A whole group of nods.

“Jon taught me what to do and I will be forever grateful. If his death means anything to me, it’s that while life may be important, saving life –that act of heroism- is even more important. That is what sets us above the Zs. That is what sets us above the people, those damn people, that don’t understand, and probably never did, that without the sacrifice, without the willingness to say fuck it all and go screaming like a mad man, you can’t really live at all. You’re just waiting to die.” I laugh a little and wipe my eyes. “Which is another reason Jon and I got along so well- neither of us have the patience just to wait around, especially not for something as boring as death.”

I give the crowd a big smile, a smile filled with sorrow and hope, laughter and knowing.

“Thank you. Thank you, everyone.”

“Well, can’t say I approve of some of your language choices,” Big Daddy says
, coming up to me after I’m done. “But there were some fine words in there. Well done, Hoss.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Have a seat and I’ll wrap this up,” Big Daddy says. “And stick close. I have some fine folks you’re gonna want to meet.”

Big Daddy
does wrap it up, saying his piece and making sure everyone knows how much he did love his late son-in-law. By the time he’s finished, the entire crowd is blubbering and sniffing. Melissa is a mess, but that is to be expected.

“That was nice,” Stella says, taking my hand as we introduce ourselves to the many new faces. “Jon would have liked that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Big Daddy says, “I believe he would have.” He looks past us and waves someone over. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Stella. She handles the education around these parts.” He looks my wife square in the eye. “No point in saving the human race if the future generations are ignoramuses. Ah, here she is. Stella, meet-”

“Debbie? Debbie!” Stella nearly screams.

“Oh my Lord! Stella? I thought that was Jace up there speaking, but you know, I just couldn’t believe it!”

The woman reaches out and embraces Stella in a huge bear hug. Huge because the woman is huge, not fat, but big. Six two, at least. Short black hair, long legs, long arms. I know quite a bit about Debbie Page, enough to know that she played basketball in college, which is pretty obvious. Stella holds onto her like she’ll float away otherwise.

“Hey, Debbie,” I smile from behind my wife.

“Hey there, Jace,” Debbie grins
, “it’s good to see you.”

Stella pushes away from her and looks her up and down. “I never thought…never thought…” She looks around and frowns. “Lisa?”

Debbie shakes her head. “She and the boys didn’t make it out of Asheville. I was at WCU for a conference on Z-Day. I tried to get back, but never made it. I found a nice old couple hiding in their farmhouse and stayed with them for a long while before they died. I have their place now, about four hollers from here.”

“What happened?” I ask. “
To the couple?”

“Jace,” Stella admonishes me
, “you don’t need to know that.”

“Wandering Z got Mrs. Cleary. Pneumonia took Mr. Cleary a few months after,” Debbie says. “It was rough.” Her face stretches into a big smile. “But here we are! Oh, it’s so good to see you!” Then it’s her turn to frown. “Charlie? Greta?”

“Safe,” Stella says, “they’re around here somewhere.”

“I thought you and Debbie could talk about the education initiative she’s trying to get started,” Big Daddy says. “But I have a feeling you have a lot more than that to chat about. I’m gonna steal your man away, if you don’t mind?”

“Steal away,” Stella says. “I’ll find you in a bit. And try to check on the kids when you can.”

“Will do,” I say, kissing her. I give Debbie a big hug. “It’s great to see you.”

The two of them walk off and Big Daddy pulls me towards a group of men and women standing by the side of the house. Someone announces that food is ready and half the crowd hurries around the other side towards the pavilion, leaving the front yard almost empty.

“Where do you want to do this?” a short, squat man with a round, tan face asks. “Ain’t no place to sit out back now.”

“How about the barn,” Big Daddy says. “We got some stools and plenty of bales of hay in there to sit on.”

We follow him to the barn and all get situated in a large circle.

“Folks, this is Jace Stanford,” Big Daddy says. “A well spoken, if not a tad crude, gentleman that is going to help us get started what we all have been talking about for the past year.”

“Emphasis on help,” I say
, “I’m not an expert in anything.”

“Except for thinking things through,” Big Daddy says, tapping his forehead. “Which is a pretty good skill to have these days.”

I shrug.

They all introduce themselves
and what they do. There’s Stone Walton- apple and fruit farmer; Lydia DuPree- goats; Jessica Pickering- sheep and grass; Milton Scarborough- corn, squash, beans, tobacco, etc; Ed Chenewick- dairy cows; Ryan Craven and Alberta Jones- The Commune.

Each has their foremen/forewomen with them, but they stay back, letting their bosses do the talking. Everyone smiles and is
pleasant, but there’s a wariness in the air that tells me that Big Daddy has been the one really pushing things along. The rest of them are here to see what turns out.

Except for one man, sitting in the circle, but turned sideways, making sure he can get up and be gone in a hurry if he needs to.

“What, Critter? Don’t want to introduce yourself?” Big Daddy asks the man.

He’s long and wiry, his legs almost folded six ways underneath him so he can sit comfortably, and even still
, he doesn’t look comfortable. He has the look of a man that’s never comfortable. His skin is deeply tanned and his face is sunken in and lined, leathery and weathered. His silver hair is shorn close to his scalp, which is just as tanned as the rest of him. Younger than Big Daddy is my guess, but hard to tell.

“I’m here out of respect,” Critter says. “Not because I agree with what ya’ll are talkin’ ‘bout.”

“I know what everyone else does, Mr. Critter,” I say. “But what is it you bring to the table?”

Critter looks about. “Don’t see no table here, son. I think you be needin’ your eyes checked.”

“It’s an expression,” I say.

“I know that.”

“Oh…”

“Critter here has a way of finding things,” Big Daddy says. “Always has. When we were younger men
, he sometimes found things right where they belonged, but decided they needed to be moved.”

“I hijacked trucks, is what my brother is tryin’ to say,” Critter says. “Amongst other ways of procuring goods that may have had value.” He shrug
s, his bony shoulders going all the way up to his ears. “It was a livin’.”

“Not exactly an honest living,” Big Daddy says. “But we did what we could when our daddy died. I worked the land and Critter worked the highways.”

“Brothers?” I ask.

“He’s perceptive,” Critter says. “You find him in a smart guy catalog,
Hollis?”

“My Melissa vouches for him,” Big Daddy says
, “that’s enough for me.”

This seem
s to change Critter’s attitude. He finally looks me in the eye then sizes me up completely. It’s a few long, silent minutes before he nods.

“I’ll trust Mel,” Critter says. “But the second y’all start talkin’ stupid
, I’m gone, hear?”

“I hear,” Big Daddy says.
He looks about at the others. “Shall we then, folks?”

I listen as everyone describes their farms and land and what they can offer to the group. I’m amazed at the ingenuity I’m hearing. Ways of farming that go back hundreds of years that have been resurrected (no pun intended) for the zombie apocalypse. New innovations that take the tried and true
, and add a level of automation and efficiency. These people don’t need my help, they already know what they’re doing.

“I still am not clear, BD,” Alberta Jones says. “On why we should bother with some subdivision in Asheville? Why bring that kind of attention down on us?”

“You think there isn’t any attention on us now?” Big Daddy asks. “I’m serious. That’s no rhetorical question. I want to know what you all think.”

Everyone agrees that with the few exceptions when it comes to wanderers, they’ve stayed pretty much hidden and unknown. No one has even heard or seen any evidence of Wall Street and his people.

“Suckers,” Critter snorts. “This guy didn’t get what he’s got by strolling up driveways and knocking on doors.” He points at me. “He was right under your nose and you didn’t know about him, did ya?”

“It was a total surprise,” I say.

“But he sure knew about you,” Critter grins, his teeth crooked and tobacco stained. “He knew a lot about you, didn’t he?”

“Seemed like it.”

Critter spread his hands like the argument was made, but I could see no one was taking him seriously.

“What do you know?” I ask Critter. Big Daddy grins at this question. “You know exactly who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“Sure I do,” Critter says. “I’ve come across him more than a few times, whether by myself or with a crew. My men know to steer clear of his like. Nothing but trouble there.”

“Go ahead and tell them,” I say to Critter.
“You’re just waiting to rub it in their faces.”

Critter narrows his eyes at me. I can see the range of decisions that are going through his mind. I’m not expecting the smile.

He looks at Big Daddy and grins, “Okay, Hollis, you’ve got a smart one here.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I’m assuming that means I’m right. Tell them. Go on, Critter, tell them what you know.”

“Edward Vance is the guy’s name,” Critter says. “He’s a banker. Or was. Owned HomeSafe Banks. Biggest crook in Western North Carolina. The man did more money laundering than the Chinese mafia. Never afraid to get his hands dirty. Saw him put two bullets in the head of a fourteen-year-old boy once. Why? Because the kid had laughed at his daughter’s braces.”

He waits
to let it all sink in.

“He was bad news before Z-Day. He’s worse news now. Vance was worth millions. And I mean high millions. He didn’t do things small.
He wasn’t a street corner gangster, he was big stuff; probably one of the biggest on the east coast. When Z-Day came, he lost his whole family. Watched them get attacked right before his eyes. He still has them locked up in his mansion down in Biltmore Forest. Feeds them himself with the bodies of his enemies. You think men like him go crazy in small ways? They don’t. They take that crazy, and just like any type of capital; they invest it and make it grow. ”

“Scary story,” Stone says. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

“You think Vance leaves things to chance?” Critter snaps. “You think he doesn’t know every little detail about y’all? You’re a right bunch of idiots if that’s what you think! He’s had people watching all y’all for months now. Probably years. He knows your trade routes, he knows your routines. I bet he knows when it’s time to harvest better than you do. This man is built like a Swiss watch. He’s never wrong and he doesn’t stop.”

This hits home and everyo
ne starts to talk at once. Big Daddy lets them get it all out before he puts up his hands to get order.