Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell (7 page)

“The crew
was busy retrofitting some generators for natural gas when you flipped the switch,” Foster says. “A few minutes before or a few minutes after, and it would have all been good. But your timing was perfect. The guys working on the retrofit were vaporized. Those zeds you put down were standing fifty feet away.”

She looks over at me,
and I give her a weak smile.

“You like blowing shit up, don’t you Mr. Stanford?”

“I don’t set out to do it,” I say. “Just seems to happen around me.”

“Just seems to happen,” she says as she barrels towards a swarm of Zs. “Interesting way to put it.”

We get closer and closer to the Zs, but she takes a right just before we hit the swarm. We speed down a hill, take a hard curve, and then speed back up another hill, zigzagging our way through the Haw Creek area of Asheville. I haven’t been in this area since before Z-Day. Dozens and dozens of Zs are wandering about in front yards and fields as we zip along the winding road.

“Where are we headed?” I shout over the wind that is whipping past us.

“FOB,” she says.

“Oh,” I nod
, “what does that mean?”

“Forward operating base,” Leeds says from behind me. “I have a feeling where that is.”

“Do you?” Foster asks as she looks at him in the rear view mirror. My stomach clenches as she keeps looking at him while taking a hairpin turn. “Enlighten me, Captain?”

“You’re the folks at the Grove Park Inn,” Leeds says.

“That’s you guys?” I say. “I really thought that was Vance’s people.”

“That slimy fuck?” Foster laughs, looking back at the road. “My employer wouldn’t let him anywhere near the place. That guy was batshit fucking nuts.” She shrugs. “But he had his uses. Guy knew how to round up zeds, that’s for sure. My job has gotten a lot harder since you killed him.”

“He kinda forced me to,” I say.

“Oh, I’m sure he did,” Foster says. “I don’t doubt that one bit. Still, makes my job harder.”

“And what is your job?” Leeds asks.

“Keep the party rolling,” Foster says. “Whatever it takes.”

Leeds nods, obviously understanding what that means. I, on the other hand, am in the dark as usual.

We pull off the road and head up a steep, switchback of a gravel road.

“Wait,” I say. “How are we getting to the Grove Park from here? Haw Creek doesn’t connect. There’s a mountain in the way.”

“You call these mountains?” Foster laughs. “Please. Try spending a winter in the Wakhan Corridor. Then you’ll understand what mountains are.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Leeds stiffen. It’s subtle, and most wouldn’t notice, but I do. So does Foster. How? I have no idea.

“You putting the pieces together, Captain?” Foster asks.

“That was quite a mess,” Leeds says, “took some serious clean up. The Chinese weren’t happy.”

“Shit gets messy in the field,” Foster says. “You of all people should know that.”

We keep climbing and climbing as the gravel road turns to dirt then becomes more of an idea of a road than an actual road. Like a wide trail. Then that is gone. I do see tire tracks in the mud and grass that we bump over, so I know this isn’t the first time Foster has gone this way.

Then we hit a crest and look out over all of North Asheville. The view is incredible
, and sad. There is so much destruction evident from up here. I’m blown away at how much of the city is just gone; rubble on the ground. Sure, I’ve scouted a lot of it, but seeing it from up here is another thing. The scope of it is breathtaking.

“Asheville hasn’t fared so well,” Foster says
, “but better than a lot of places. It was called the Paris of the South, right?”

“Yeah, it was,” I reply.

“It should just be called the Paris of the World, now,” she says, “considering what Paris looks like.”

“You’ve seen Paris?” I ask, turning to her. “Post-Z Paris?”

“Yes, Mr. Stanford,” she says as she cranks the wheel and follows a ridgeline that is barely as wide as the Jeep. “I’ve also seen Berlin, New York, Los Angles, Toronto, Sao Paulo, Cape Town, Beijing, and quite a few other places.”

“How?” I ask. “By ship?”

Foster furrows her brow. “You do realize zeds can’t fly, right, Mr. Stanford? And just because the dead walk the earth, doesn’t mean airplanes stopped working?”

“Right. Yeah.”

Yes, I feel stupid.

Down the other side of the mountain we go. Foster turns off the trail and I swear we are going to plunge to our deaths, but the Jeep stays upright as we merge onto a lower trail. Winding, winding, winding down we go. Good thing I don’t get motion sick. Then we come out into a backyard behind some mansion and I know where we are.

“Town Mountain Road,” I say. “I guess you found a short cut.”

“Yep,” she says, “lot less zeds up here.”

We get out onto the road and weave past massive houses that would have gone for millions pre-Z. Now they stand empty. Well, except for that one with the Zs banging on the huge picture window that looks out over Asheville.
Guess that dinner party didn’t go as planned.

Instead of going down Town Mountain, and into Asheville, Foster goes higher up. I’ve taken this route before, back when half of Merrimon Ave, the main artery into North Asheville, was under construction and I wanted to avoid the traffic pile up. Soon we are at Webb Cove Road with the Blue Ridge Parkway off to our right.

And there are people working on the parkway. What the fuck?

“I would have just taken the parkway to here, but you kinda blew up the on ramp,” Foster says. “Or enough of it that we will be a good two weeks behind.”

I hear Leeds snort behind me and look over my shoulder. He just shakes his head.

“Something on your mind, Captain? If so, please share,” Foster says
, “I’d love to hear it.”

“Where’d you start?” Leeds asks.

“Right here,” Foster says. “Asheville is blessed with more access points to the Blue Ridge Parkway than any other city. Seemed like the natural place to begin.”

“So BOP is in Charlottesville then?”

“There abouts,” Foster says, “but I’ll leave that for my employer to explain.”

“BOP? Charlottesville?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll leave that for her employer to explain,” Leeds says.

We weave down Webb Cove Road and then connect to the smaller roads that eventual
ly guide us right into the Grove Park Inn. We have to work through more than a few checkpoints, but no one even glances at Foster. They just raise the gates and let us through. When we pull up to the front entrance, there is a man dressed in jeans and a plaid work shirt standing there, waiting for us.

We hop out of the Jeep, flanked by the muscle men, and he walks up to us.

“Foster,” the man says, “are these the people giving us the troubles?”

Foster looks at me. “This one was the issue,” she says. “Mr. Stanford was playing with toys he shouldn’t have been.”

“Mr. Stanford, you have cost me a good amount of resources and labor,” the man says. “Maybe we’ll figure out a way you can pay that back.”

“
And why would I do that?” I ask.

“Jace,” Leeds warns. I look at him and he shakes his head. “Not the time. Just listen.”

“And you are…?” the man asks Leeds.

“Captain Walt Leeds, US Army Special Forces Team Cobra, sir,” Leeds says, giving the man a salute. “At your service, Mr. President.”

“Mr. President?” I ask, my jaw dropping. “What the fuck are you talking about? This isn’t the President of the United States.”

“I am now,” the man says. He holds out his hand. “Anthony Mondello, former Secretary of Homeland Security.”

I look at Leeds, then at Foster. They just stare back at me.

“You people have got to be shitting me,” I say.

Chapter Four

The Fitzpatrick siblings crouch low, letting the convoy of trucks and
Humvees pass on the road. They wait until the sound of the engines is a distant rumble, and then come out from their cover, the large, farm-bred men looking to their smaller sister for guidance.

“They’re going to the Farm,” Blanchard “Buzz” Fitzpatrick says, his eyes narrowed and huge muscled arms quivering with adrenaline. The twins, Jonah “Pup” Fitzpatrick and Jeremiah “Porky” Fitzpatrick, nod in agreement.

“I know,” Melissa Fitzpatrick replies, her eyes cast towards the Farm and the vehicles. “Go back?”

“Daddy and everyone else will be there,” Pup says. “They can handle them.”

“Did you get a good look?” Buzz asks Melissa.

“Not really,” Melissa says. “But they looked military. Pretty sure I saw some rifles and maybe Kevlar vests.”

“So back, or on to Asheville?” Buzz asks. “We need to decide now.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Melissa whispers. “I don’t know. We’ll be way behind them. They take the Farm and we’ll be walking into a shit storm.”

“We could be the deciding factor,” Porky says. “We may be the numbers Daddy needs to beat these people.”

“Assuming they’re going to fight,” Melissa says. “Maybe they ain’t.”

“You believe that?” Buzz asks. “With them guns they had?”

“No,” Melissa answers
, “just a thought, though.”

“I say we go back and help,” Pup says. “That’s what Daddy would want.”

“Yeah,” Melissa frowns. “True.”

“So back then?” Buzz asks.

“Against my better judgment,” Melissa says. “Back.”

***

“Right there,” John says, pointing ahead to a thick covering of pine trees, “they need to work on their hiding skills.”

“Yes they do,” Elsbeth agrees as she points above them
, “and work on their not getting found skills. That’s Critter and they don’t even know it.”

By the time the men have their guns up and pointed at John and Elsbeth
, it is already too late. John just shakes his head and laughs as he walks up to the men.

“Boys, you may be good out in your holler, but your city stealth leads something to be desired,” he says. “We could smell your cigarettes a couple blocks back.”

“And I told you not to smoke while I was gone,” Critter says from behind them. “Fucking morons. Half pay and rations for all y’all.”

“Aw, come on, Critter!” one of the men complains. “You said to wait here and that’s what we done. We waited. Can’t blame us for smoking.”

“I can and I do, dipshit,” Critter says, smacking the man upside the head. “Because it was the smoke that got ya caught.”

“Good to see you, Critter,” John says, holding out his hand.

“You too, sniper boy,” Critter says, shaking John’s hand. “And you as well, miss.”

“Miss what?” Elsbeth asks. “I didn’t miss anything.”

Critter just laughs. “No, cain’t say you miss much at all.” He hooks a thumb back over his shoulder. “If you’re looking for the captain and Long Pork, then you missed them, though. Looks like some private soldiers have them all trussed up. I followed as far as I could, but the Zs are thick over east. I did see a Jeep head up Haw Creek road. Not sure where it was going.”

“Private soldiers?
You mean PCs?” John asks. “Black body armor?”

“Yep,” Critter nods. “
And all kinds of gear. They’s got guns I only seen in magazines.”

“What’re PCs?” Elsbeth asks.

“Private contractors,” John says. “I think I know where they’re going. But it’ll be a hike.”

“You seen ‘em before?”
Critter asks.

“I have,” John says. “Stuart and I did some recon yesterday. They’re part of the group holed up in the Grove Park.”

“Grove Park?” one of Critter’s men asks. “That means we have to get through downtown. It’s gonna be dark soon. No way, man. No fucking way.”

“Scared little boy,” Elsbeth says
, then turns and walks off towards downtown Asheville.

“She said it,” John smiles and follows.

“Grow a pair, will ya?” Critter snarls at the man. “The rest of ya better too. Long Pork and Captain Leeds need our help.”

“What’s in it for us?” one of the other men asks.

“You get to keep your tiny nuts,” Critter says. “You lookin’ for more, are ya?”

“No, sir,” the man replies quietly.

“Didn’t think so,” Critter glares. “Now get to steppin’, boys. That girl is gonna out hike y’all.”

***

Stella and I would bring the kids to the Grove Park Inn every Christmas to see the gingerbread house competition winners. It was a big thing pre-Z; Food Network did a special each year and the winners would be on Good Morning America. There were some seriously cool gingerbread houses. And some seriously bad ones.

The best thing was the people watching. We’d take a walk around, see the houses, then grab refreshments and park it in the lobby to watch all the families that only venture out of their hollers once a year. It was quite the eye opening anthropological study.
More than a few of those family trees didn’t have many branches, if any at all. It was snobby of us, but damn it was entertaining.

So, as we walk into the lobby, I can’t help but think of those times. A wave of pre-Z nostalgia washes over me as I realize we’re only a month or so away from Christmas. Not that we
really celebrate it. Kinda loses its charm when you see an undead Santa Claus eating his elves. Yeah. I saw that.

But I can almost smell the pine and the spiced cider
, as we are led towards a long table set up by the rows of back windows that look out on the Grove Park’s former golf course and the mountains beyond. It is a gorgeous view, even now post-Z. The undead can’t take the views from us, dammit!

“Thirsty?” Mondello asks. “Hungry?”

“I could go for a latte,” I say. “Maybe some biscotti? The biscotti here is to die for.”

“Is it?” Mondello says. “I don’t believe there’s any left, but I can have someone look.”

“He’s joking, Mr. President,” Leeds says. “He does that a lot. A lot.”

“Actually I wasn’t joking,” I say. “I do like those biscotti. And the lattes here weren’t half bad if you got the right person to make them.”

“Take a seat, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says, gesturing to a chair at the long table. I glance at the table and the piles of paperwork and maps strewn across it haphazardly. “I’m a tad unorganized at the moment. Your little accident threw me off and I have had to come up with a new plan while we regroup.”

“Bummer,” I say, taking a seat. Leeds sits next to me, but Foster remains standing just behind Mondello. “You know, I have a reputation for problem solving. Maybe I can take a look at your plans? Give you some pointers?”

“Some pointers?” Mondello asks, looking back at Foster. “Is he for real?”

“Painfully so, sir,” Foster says.

“Listen, Mr. Stanford,” he says, taking a seat. “Do you know who I am?”

“Apparently you are the President of the United States,” I say. “But I don’t remember the inauguration parade. Personally I don’t think it counts unless you have a parade.”

“Oh, it counts,” Mondello says. “It’s just hard to spread the word nowadays.”

“Tell me about it,” I say.

“Before becoming Secretary of Homeland Security, I was the CEO of one of the largest construction businesses in the world,” Mondello says, “which means, I don’t need you to give me any pointers. I have come across situations you can’t even think of. The problems you have caused are inconveniences, not roadblocks. I’ll work them out, get the new plans to my crews, and we’ll be back in business in the next three days.”

“What business is that, Mr. President?” Leeds asks.

“Don’t call him that,” I say. I don’t know why, but it really pisses me off that this guy thinks he’s president of a government that doesn’t exist. “That’s all pre-Z. Different world now, different rules.”

“Different world for you, maybe, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello smiles as he leans back in his chair. “But for those of us that have been part of the larger world picture, this is just another chapter in this country’s storied history.”

“So when are elections?” I ask. “I didn’t get the flyer in the mail. And I’m pretty sure my voter registration card was lost. You’re not one of those voter ID nuts, are you? I don’t even think I have a driver’s license to show.”

“Jace…,” Leeds warns.

“No, Captain, don’t ‘Jace’ me,” I say. I can feel my blood getting hot and I have a choice to make, back off or keep going. My mouth makes the decision for me. “Listen, I’m sorry I fucked your plans up, Mr. Mondello, but I’m not buying this POTUS bullshit. I’ve been fighting for my family’s lives and mine for years now, without help from the US government. I’ve done things that no self-respecting human being should ever have to do. I’ve seen things, memories of which I keep locked up in my brain so I don’t curl up into a fetal position all day. And during all of this, there hasn’t been one single hint that a government existed. Not. One. Hint.”

I stand up and look at Leeds.

“Let’s go. I’m done with this shit. I have a family to get home to.”

“Sit down, Mr. Stanford,” Mondello says quietly.

“No, I don’t think so,” I say. “If you are the President, as you say, then you believe in the rule of law. Are you going to shoot me if I don’t sit down? Are you going to try me for sedition and hang me from the balcony out there? I don’t think so.”

“Jace, sit down,” Leeds says, his hand clamping onto my arm.

I shake him off and start to walk away. “Fuck this,” I shout. “I’m tired and hungry and worried about my family and friends. I want to get home and make sure they’re okay. I want them to know I’m okay. That’s my fucking worldview, Mr. Mondello. And that’s all I want it to be. So go fuck yourself and your play government. I don’t know what you are doing and I don’t care as long as you leave me out of it.”

“You’d like to see your family again, Mr. Stanford?” Mondello asks, a sly grin on his face. “That will be arranged.”

“Fuck, Jace,” Leeds says, getting to his feet. “You wouldn’t listen.”

Foster moves quickly, so do her guys, and Leeds and I are surrounded.

“Captain, last time I checked, you were still a member of the US Armed Forces, am I correct?” Mondello asks.

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Leeds says.

“Then you have a choice to make, don’t you?” Mondello says, pointing at me. “Do your job or join your friend.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask. “Do his job? What the fuck job is that?”

“Whatever the fuck I say,” Mondello replies. “As Commander-in-Chief, it is his sworn duty to obey my orders. And my orders right now are to shut you the fuck up. With extreme prejudice.”

“Extreme prejudice? Wasn’t that a movie back in the ‘80’s? Pretty sure it had Nick Nolte and Rip Torn in it,” I reply. “I think it sucked.”

“I have no idea what you are babbling about,” Mondello says, turning away. “Foster, make sure Mr. Stanford is comfortable until end of shift. He’ll be tonight’s entertainment. I’m sure the crews and your people will enjoy the distraction.”

“Mr. Stanford, if you will follow me,” Foster says, her eyes on Leeds and not me. “Will this be a problem, Captain?”

Leeds takes a breath and looks over at me, shaking his head. “No, it won’t be a problem.”

“Good,” Foster smiles. “Because you may or may not be surprised to know I have heard of your team. If half the stories are true
, then I’d rather not have to deal with any shit from you.”

“The stories are true,” Leeds nods
, “but you misunderstand.”

“Excuse me?” Foster asks, stopping. Her eyes dart to her people. “Misunderstand what?”

“By what I mean when I say there won’t be a problem,” Leeds replies, and then smiles. And his smile is the creepiest of the day. And it has been a day of creepy smiles, believe me.

Mondello turns back to us just as Leeds makes his move. Oh, I get it! There’s no problem because Leeds has decided to help me! Good for him! You know, I’ve always liked-

The next thought is knocked from my head by a very big fist to the back of my skull, as I watch Leeds duck under a swing from one of the muscle guys and come up with a jab to the throat. I fall to the floor hard, my head bouncing off the wood. And it’s nice wood. Gorgeous floor. Maybe Stella and I should put hardwood floors in our house when we rebuild Whispering Pines. We always wanted hardwood floors, but just never got around to replacing the carp-

OW! FUCK!

Being kicked in the ribs sucks. OW! “Fucking stop!” I shout. Or think I do. The kicks take my breath away. So I probably just say, “Oooofy oof.”

I try to curl up into a fetal position, but someone has my legs and
they’re dragging me across the gorgeous wood floor, while someone else keeps kicking me in the ribs and gut. Mother fuckers. Nice technique, though. I’ll give them that.