Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead (13 page)

“John, Reaper,” Platt whisper
s as he taps them with his boots, “Company.”

The men
are trained professionals and they only open their eyes and neither moving a muscle to give away that they are awake and alert.

“Numbers?” John ask
s.

“At least two,” Platt sa
ys as he eases the barrel of his rifle up onto the side of the raft. “But let’s assume there’s more.”

Platt let
s out a quiet laugh as he glances down at John. The hope is that it makes him look like he is casually joking around and not scanning the surroundings out of the corner of his eye. It is obvious the rouse doesn’t work when a loud cough is accompanied by the sound of a bullet whizzing past Platt’s ear.

“Fuck,” Platt snap
s, “suppressors. We’re in the shit, boys!”

Both Reaper and John roll up to the side of the raft, their rifles ready, but they h
old their fire.

“Where am I looking?” John ask
s.

“Two o’clock and about ten yards down from that,” Platt sa
ys, his finger on the trigger, ready to return fire. He has no plans just to start shooting, not until he knows for certain where the targets are.

John dial
s in his scope and watches the tree line by the riverbank. “Got one,” he says.

“Take him,” Platt order
s.

John squeeze
s the trigger and his rifle barks. A man cries out and then all the shit hits all the fans at once.

Bullets from at least six automatic rifles t
ear up low hanging branches and vines along the riverside. The water is puckered by slugs as the shooters begin gauging the distance from shore to raft. John answers the gunfire, taking careful aim as he sights on the various muzzle flashes that come from the shadows of the riverbank.

Platt and Reaper d
on’t bother with John’s finesse and let loose with their M-4s. More men cry out, but the gunfire doesn’t slacken, telling the men that there are more than just six shooters.

The raft hisse
s once then twice as it is punctured by gunfire. Platt calculates that they have about ten minutes before they take on water and have to swim for it. When a third hiss starts, he tosses all calculations out the window and concentrates on his return fire. Which lasts all of eight seconds before two slugs rip into him.

“Fuck!” he shout
s as pain explodes in his left shoulder and then deep into his chest. He keeps firing for as long as he can before the wounds force him to let go of his rifle and slide down to the bottom of the raft.

“Sergeant?” Reaper shout
s. “What’s your status?”

“Left shoulder…is ground meat,” Platt sa
ys as he struggles for breath. “Also pretty sure…a…slug entered through my…shoulder and hit…my left…lung.”

“Fucking fuck shit,” John says. “They’re moving back into the shadows too far. I’m losing them.”

He nails three more men before he rolls and ducks down into the raft with Platt. Reaper joins them and they cover their heads as bullets continue to puncture the raft again and again.

“Sergeant?” Reaper asks. “Talk to me.”

“No,” Platt gasps. “Hurts…too…much.”

“Good,” Reaper says
, “that means you’re still alive. Focus on that pain. FUCK!”

He clamps a hand to his ear then pulls it back to see the palm covered in blood.

“Fucker took off the top of your ear!” John shouts. He grabs Reaper’s M-4 and pops up, emptying the magazine at the riverbank. “FUCK OFF!”

He can hear the bullets, and feel their heat, but none of the
enemy slugs hit home. By the time he’s emptied a second magazine the gunfire from the tree line stops. The damaged raft floats around a wide curve and the landscape changes as the river cuts through a large ravine. John listens closely, but can’t hear the sound of Zs anymore.

“We’ve pulled away from the interstate,” he says. “I don’t think they can follow us for now. The sides are too steep.”

“Get us to shore,” Reaper says, his hands pressing a pack of gauze against Platt’s shoulder. “I need space to work and we need a new raft.”

John grabs the small paddle and steers them to the side of the ravine. As soon as the riverbank turns back to mud and sand instead of sheer rock, he paddles them over and hops out, pulling the
m up onto shore.

Reaper slices Platt’s shirt off and studies the wounds. Platt’s clavicle is shattered, that’s easy to see, but the other wound, the deeper one that’s in his chest, is near impossible for Reaper to work on.

“I’m going to have to open him up,” Reaper says. “Hold pressure here.”

John switches places with Reaper as the medic digs through his pack for his med kit. He pulls out s stethoscope and places it to Platt’s chest. It takes him a few seconds of searching before he hears the gurgling deep in Platt’s left lung.

“Jesus,” Reaper says. “I don’t know if I can get to it. The entry wound is from above, not through the front. I’d have to open his chest and crack his ribs to extract the bullet.”

“And that’s not happening from the side of the French Broad,” John says. “What now?”

Reaper pulls out a scalpel, some iodine, and a short, plastic tube.

“
I insert this and keep his lung from filling up with blood,” Reaper says. “While you get another raft ready. His only chance is to get him back to Whispering Pines and Dr. McCormick. She has what we need in her infirmary.”

“You think he’ll live that long?” John asks.

“I can…hear you,” Platt says, his eyes looking at Reaper. “But answer…the question.”

“If I can drain your lung and you don
’t bleed out?” Reaper replies. “Yes, sir, I think you’ll make it.”

“Good,” Platt nods. “Then start cutting. We wait until
full dark before getting back on the river. We’ll be lucky if they aren’t searching for us.”

***

“They’ve breached the hill in Phase Two!” someone screams. “Run! RUN!”

“Jesus,” Dr. McCormick says
, “we still have a dozen wounded in the infirmary.”

“They’re lost,” Lourdes replies, pushing Dr. McCormick up the
cliff stairs. “I need you to focus on the living.”

“I can’t just leave them!” Dr. McCormick shouts. “They’ll die!”

“How many do you think will die without you around, Doc?” Lourdes shouts back. “All these people that rely on you every day? How many will make it a week, a month, a year without your expertise? You aren’t going back! No one is!”

“You cold hearted bitch,” Dr. McCormick snarls.

“Call me what you want, lady,” Lourdes replies, “but you’re a doctor, you should know better. Sometimes you have to make the tough calls even if they suck. That’s why they’re tough.”

“I was a proctologist,” Dr. McCormick mutters.

“What’s that?”

“I fixed assholes!” Dr. McCormick yells. “I wasn’t an ER doctor or heart surgeon! The toughest call I had to make was what steroidal hemorrhoid cream to prescribe!”

Lourdes shakes her head, but can’t help smiling. Even with all the destruction and death around her. You take it where you can.

“Get going,
Doc,” Lourdes says, “I’m not telling you again.”

Screams from down the hill make everyone stop for a second prompting Lourdes to start yelling and screaming at them to move. Most do, but some at the top are frozen in place, the view allowing them to see what’s coming for everyone.

Zs. Hundreds of Zs.

Lourdes gets to the top and turns as she shoves people up into the field. Her jaw doesn’t drop, she’s too much of a pro for that, but her heart gives a little skip and she can feel her adrenaline kick up a notch.

“They must have piled up on the fencing and razor wire,” one of her PCs says. “They just overwhelmed everything.”

“How many are still in the subdivision?” Lourdes asks. “How many residents?”

“Hard to say,” the man replies. “Never had an accurate count to begin with.”

“There have to be a couple dozen,” Stella says as she comes up to Lourdes
, “maybe more.”

“Shit,” Lourdes says, glancing at Stella
, “they’ll never make it.”

“Make it?” Stella says. “They have time. They can get up here.”

Lourdes pulls two grenades from her vest; the PC does the same. Stella stares.

“No,” she says. “Lourdes? What are you doing?”

“We have to blow the stairs or the zeds will follow us,” Lourdes replies. “We don’t have enough vehicles as it is, Stella. Some of us will have to wait for more to pick us up or start hiking it out. We need time to do that.”

“Oh, God…,” Stella whispers
, “you’ll trap them in there.”

The herd of Zs can be seen coming from Phase Two and into Phase One. What they thought were a few hundred quickly turns into a thousand as the monsters crest the far off hill with no end in sight to their numbers.

“I don’t want to do this,” Lourdes says, “Jesus; I don’t want to do any of this.”

Stella nods, knowing that there are no easy answers in the zombie apocalypse. She leans across the railing and looks down at the residents still climbing the stairs.

“Hurry! All of you hurry!” she cries. “We’re going to blow the stairs! Move, people! MOVE!”

Lourdes takes her gently by the arm. “Get to your kids. You don’t need to see this. Get them in a
Humvee.”

“Where are we going?” Stella asks. “I heard that the route to the Grove Park Inn is cut off.”

Lourdes looks at the PC and frowns. “I find out who’s doing that chatting and their ass is mine.” She looks at Stella. “I think we have only one option. And I doubt you’ll like it.”

“Why?” Stella asks then narrows her eyes. “No, I don’t like it.”

“No choice,” Lourdes says. “They have the best defenses around. Now get. Go be with your kids. I’ll join you in a minute.”

“God,” Stella says as she turns and runs through the field, making her way around the barricades and ditches as the sun sets over the hills. “Jace, where are you, baby? Where the fuck are you?”

Chapter Five

Pain to the left of me,
agony to the right, stuck in the middle with FUCK!

I can’t sleep. Stumpageddon is
raising hell from all the fighting earlier and my shoulder is ten kinds of fucked. I need to get up and look at it, but I’m afraid to turn on a light and wake Stuart.

The sisters put us in one of the guest rooms on the second floor, one with a working toilet, albeit an ancient looking
one, so I get up and tiptoe to the commode. I need to piss. But I look at the thing and think that with my luck I’ll pull on the chain that hangs from the tank above and bring the whole thing crashing down. I tend to have shit luck with plumbing sometimes.

Ha, shit luck
with plumbing. Funny.

So, downstairs I go. The Call of Nature will be answered outside as it was intended.

“Oh, hey,” I say as I stop at the bottom of the stairs. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

Cassie is standing there, stretching and rolling her head on her neck. She glances over and gives me an amused smile. “No, Long Pork, you didn’t wake me. My shift is next so I’m limbering up first. Can’t have cold, slow muscles when on the estate.”

“Shift? What shift?” I ask.

“You aren’t as smart as you think, are you?” she says.

“Just answer the question,” I scowl, “and don’t call me Long Pork. I hate that name.”

“Do you? You don’t seem to mind when Carly calls you that.”

“Elsbeth,” I correct, “she goes by Elsbeth.”

“Her real name is Carly Michelle Thornberg,” Cassie says.

“And my real name is Jason Stanford,” I reply.

Cassie nods. “Fair enough. Jace, is it? That’s the nickname you like?”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” I say. “So what’s this shift? Security? I thought you ladies had the estate locked down pretty tight. Even if you don’t, there’s a lot of land to cover out there. Plus all the Zs staked in place. How can you even know if someone gets in?”

“The situation isn’t perfect or foolproof,” Cassie admits. “But you’d be surprised what you notice at night when you have to rely on other senses than your eyes. You’d also be surprised how many survivors think night is the time to go sightseeing. We detect more breaches between two and three in the morning than any other time.”

“Survivors? Breaches?” I say. “What do you do with the survivors when you find them?”

Cassie gives me a cold look. “What we have to.”

“Jesus…”

Cassie lets out a short laugh. “We don’t kill them. Not right away, at least. Most we scare off by letting some of the Zs loose. The rest we take down and dump them outside the estate while they are unconscious.”

“Why don’t I think that’s all you do?” I ask.

I cross my arm across my chest
, but it doesn’t have the same effect when half an arm is missing. Looks more like I’m comforting myself than trying to act tough and stern. Plus, my shoulder protests and I wince, which ruins everything quickly.

“You alright?” Cassie asks. “Were you wounded?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I say, “just sore from the day.”

“You should stretch more,” Cassie smiles.

“Thanks, Richard Simmons.”

“Who?”

“Right,” I smile, “I forget you’re almost twenty years younger than me. Doesn’t matter.” I take a seat on the stairs as Cassie continues her stretches. “What does matter is the shit you told us earlier tonight. That’s a pretty wild story. Kinda falls into the ‘fantasy’ realm of stories.”

“If it was just me, I’d agree,” Cassie says
, “but you met the others, you spoke to them too. They confirmed it.”

“Not the first time I’
ve come across a brainwashed cult,” I say. “You seem pretty persuasive. I wouldn’t put it past you to be able to wrangle some other girls that are desperate for security and fill their heads with BS. Make them think they’re special in some James Bond evil master plan way.”

“Why
would I do that?” Cassie asks. “Why go to all that trouble?”

“Why does anyone do anything these days?” I shrug. “Because you’re bored, because you’re crazy, because you’re lonely.”

“Do you actually believe any of the crap you’re saying?” she asks.

“No,” I reply quickly
, “I believe what you said tonight. Knowing Elsbeth and what she can do, it makes sense. I always wondered how she was all Buffy skilled and shit. Plus, it fits with what Ms. Foster told me. The little that was.”

“And?” she asks.

“And what?”

“And now what? Do you let Car- Elsbeth stay?” she asks.

“Let her…?” I laugh. “I don’t
let
El do anything. She does what she wants and anyone that gets in her way is an idiot.”

“
Hmmm.”

“Hmmm, what?”

“Oh, nothing, just back to that you not being as smart as you think you are thing.”

“Out with it,” I say. “I have to pee. I don’t have time to wait for you to finish mocking me.”

“She loves you,” Cassie says, “any moron can see that.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, standing and holding up my hands. “I’m happily married. There’s nothing between El and me.”

“I know that,” Cassie sighs. “I didn’t mean she wants to fuck you and have babies. I meant that she loves you. You are obviously on her list of people she’d die for.”

“Oh, right, that,” I nod
, “yeah, she’s family. I’d die for her too. So would my kids. They love her.”

“What about your wife? Would she die for Elsbeth?”

“If it came down to it, yes, I think she would,” I answer. “Not like she’d die for our kids, but in the end she’d die for Elsbeth.”

“Interesting,” Cassie smiles. “I’m not so sure.”

“I’m not either,” I agree. “But knowing my wife, I think she would.”

Cassie just keeps smiling then nods her head towards the huge main doors. “I thought you had to pee?”

“Right,” I say, “I do. Thanks.”

I walk to the doors and am almost outside when she speaks up.

“Oh, and Jace? When you come back, I’m having a look at that shoulder. That was a wounded wince, not a fatigued muscle wince. And all wounds get checked around here. Only way to be safe.”

“Right, yeah sure,” I say, my best fake smile planted on my face. “Only way to be safe.”

I get outside and take a deep breath of the fresh air. But, it being the apocalypse and all, it’s not as fresh as I’d like it to be. There’s a hint of smoke and chemicals wafting by. And that ever present Eau de Zombie.

Instead of unzipping and letting it free right there, I hang a right and head towards the gardens. I have no intention of walking all the way down there, but I do want a little space between
Cassie and me. The woman weirds me out. Gee, can’t think why. Not like telling me that all those young women are heirs to some of the largest fortunes on the planet, and they also happen to be highly trained badasses that were brainwashed by a mad scientist, would be strange in any way. Nah, not strange at all.

But, like I said inside, it’s the only thing that makes sense when it comes to Elsbeth. No normal canny girl could kill like she can. And, unfortunately, I’ve run into my share of cannies to know the difference.

I get down the stone steps and walk to the end of the vine covered trellis. I look out into the darkness at the huge field before me. Luckily, it’s not populated with Zs. Only the outer fields are jammed with the unmoving undead. The wind blows across my face and I tilt my head, thinking I hear something. I wait. Nope. Nothing.

Pee pee time!

The relief of a good, long piss is one of the few simple pleasures left in life. Not trying to be crude, just stating a fact. With a shake and a zip I’m done.

Then I hear that sound again. What is that? It sounds like…footsteps! Coming fast!

I turn and sprint back towards the front doors, but barely get a few yards before I’m knocked on my ass.

“What the hell?” a woman’s voice hisses. A blade is at my throat before I can answer. “Who are you?”

“Uh, it’s me, Jace,” I say. “Please don’t, with the cutting of my throat.”

“Oh, you,” the woman says and the blade is gone. “Long Pork.”

“My name is Jace, thank you,” I say as she helps me up. “And you’re…?”

“Marcie,” she says. “Have you seen Cassie? I
s she inside stretching?”

“I’m guessing that woman has a very set routine?”

“Shut up and answer the, Oh, forget it,” Marcie says as she pushes me to the side and runs towards the front doors.

I follow after her as fast as I can, but running kills my shoulder. I need to look at the wound soon
too before it gets worse. I’m praying it’s not what I think it is. It can’t be. Not now. Not after all this time.

I’m not even at the steps before the doors fly open and Cassie, along with four other women, burst out and rush past me.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask.

“Someone is down at the boat landing,” Cassie says. “Soldiers. Marcie spotted their lights. Stay here while we deal with this.”

Then they are gone, lost in the darkness that surrounds the house.

“Okay, see ya,” I wave then turn and head back inside. “You guys can deal with the…soldiers?”

“What the hell is going on around here?” Stuart grumbles, pulling on a t-shirt over his muscled, scarred frame. “It sounded like a ninja girl stampede.”

“Yeah, where’d they hurry off to?” Melissa asks from the stairs as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. “I finally got to sleep and then all hell breaks loose.”

“Soldiers,” I say, “down by the river.”

“Soldiers?” Stuart asks then his eyes go wide as he comes to the same conclusion as I did. “Shit. We better get down there.”

“Right,” I nod, “you go after them. I’ll wake up that PC guy….uh…”

“Jeff,” Melissa says.

“Jeff! Yep, I’ll wake up Jeff.”

“You feeling okay, Jace?” Stuart asks me
with his Master Gunnery Sergeant eyes boring into my suburban dad slash husband eyes.

“Fine,” I say. “Never better. Just tired, is all.”

Stuart looks back at Melissa. She shrugs.

“Okay, you get Jeff,” Stuart says
, “and bust ass, Stanford. We’ll need your silver tongue to help smooth this out. I have a feeling the soldiers and the sisters may not get along.”

“Come on,” Melissa says as she grabs Stuart by the elbow and they hurry from the house.

I wait a minute before I turn and head towards one of the sitting rooms. I know there’s a mirror in there.

It’s pure agony as I struggle to get my t-shirt off. With only one hand, and a shoulder that feels like a trillion pieces of glass
that are embedded in it, taking off a t-shirt goes from an everyday, ordinary task to a FUCKING KILL ME NOW task.

Not so fun.

Panting, drenched in sweat, I get the shirt off and let it fall to the ground as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m really glad I already peed because my bladder spasms at the sight I see.

My shoulder is a mess. The skin is all kinds of browns and blues and yellows and blacks. The place where the fucking Z bit me looks like a whole lot of yuck.
I can see the punctures in the skin and pus is oozing out. It seriously stinks.

I
lean closer to the mirror, which isn’t exactly perfectly clear. In fact, none of the mirrors are. I’m sure there are nice, modern mirrors somewhere in the residential floors that the Vanderbilt heirs lived in, but I don’t have the time to go hunting for those rooms. Right now, I have to deal with the image in the antique glass in front of me.

That image
shows me I’m fucked. And very alone.

I can’t breathe a word of this to anybody. Not Stuart, not Melissa, not what’s his name. And especially not Elsbeth.

Cassie may be right, that Elsbeth loves me like family, but I have a sinking feeling she wouldn’t hesitate to put a blade through my eye socket if she thought I was infected.

Infected…

Fuck.

I can’t be infected. I can’t. Not after making it this far all these years. No, not after everything I’ve done. Being infected is not an option. There’s Stella and the kids to think about
and the rest of the people that rely on my big brain and me.

My big brain…

Time to dig deep and use that pile of grey matter. I haven’t exactly been on my game lately. It’s been months since I’ve had any burst of inspiration. I used to be the great generalist, the problem solver and the man with a plan.

But all I’ve really done since Stumpageddon took up permanent residence is go through the motions. Now
, in my defense, learning to live with one hand does take a lot of ingenuity and brainpower. Brainpower I took for granted before.

Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I’d lost my gift before that. The truth? After I blew up Whispering Pines and killed Vance, I sorta checked out.
Not that anyone would notice. I kept up appearances by being the know it all dick I always was. It was that I just didn’t have any new insights into the world around us anymore.