Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead (6 page)

“And why the fuck would someone do that?” Julio asks.

“Keeps us from going in there,” Stuart says. “Even keeps Critter and his crew from scavenging the place. If Critter won’t touch it then no one will.”

“True dat,” Julio says. “So now what?”

“I don’t know,” Stuart says. “Why does Elsbeth keep coming here
then? Has she gone inside yet and we don’t know? What is drawing her to an estate with a staged herd of Zs?”

“All good questions, man,” Julio replies. “Let me know when you have answers.”

He watches for a second then pulls the binoculars away. Then puts them back. Then away.

“There’s someone down in that shit,” Julio says. “Take a look, man. Someone is moving through those fuckers.”

“Probably just a Z that got loose,” Stuart says as he starts scanning the field. “Where am I looking then?”

“About thirty yards in from the left,” Julio says
, “second field back.”

“I got it,” Stuart says
, “is that a girl? A woman? Can’t tell. Fucker is hiding behind a Z.”

“Ballsy,” Julio says. “Lucky she doesn’t get her tits bitten off.”

“Nice,” Stuart frowns. “Maybe a survivor that wandered onto the grounds. Now trying to get out.”

“You believe that?” Julio asks.

“No,” Stuart replies. Their phones vibrate. “Check that.”

“Why don’t you check yours?” Julio asks.

“Seriously?” Stuart replies. One word, one question, no room for argument.

“Fine,” Julio says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Surprised Landon got
Wi-Fi to reach this far.”

“The guy may be an asshole, but he does stay focused when given a task,” Stuart says.

“Still a total asshole though,” Julio replies as he reads the message. “Ah, shit, man, we gotta go.”

“What is it
then?” Stuart asks, looking at Julio.

“Power plant is under attack,” Julio replies. “We picked the wrong day to go for a hike. Maybe we can find a car that still runs and hotwire the
bitch. Drive it down to help out?”

Their phones buzz again.

“Never mind,” Julio smiles. “It’s Jace wondering where we are. He’s with Mel and they are on their way.”

He taps at the virtual keyboard and sends his response.

“What’s the plan?” Stuart asks.

“We’ll meet them on Hendersonville Rd,” Julio says. “They
’ll give us a ride down to Lake Julian.”

“Huh,” Stuart says and looks at Julio dressed in only jeans and a black tank top. “Not really outfitted for combat.”

“Neither are you,” Julio says, nodding at Stuart’s almost identical outfit except he’s wearing a black t-shirt instead of a tank. “But Shumway’ll have supplies.”

“He does,” Stuart nods as he crawls backwards from their vantage point, not wanting to be seen standing up by whomever is in the field. Or whomever else could be in the area, watching.

***

The flashes of light
, obvious reflections from binoculars, stop and a young woman waits, her eyes watching the hilltop closely. She doesn’t see any other signs of movement and figures the spies have gone away. But she doesn’t move for another thirty minutes just to be sure. The Z she crouches behind groans and reaches for her face, as it has done for the past hour.

“Stop,” she whispers, swatting the rotten hand away. “No more, Cecil.”

The Z doesn’t understand the words, just the hunger that torments it day and night. Having food, sweet, living flesh so close would have sent any other Z into a frenzy, but this Z, Cecil apparently, hasn’t eaten in years. It’s emaciated and weak and barely has the strength to curl its fingers into a fist. With grey, starving eyes it watches the young woman scramble away, lost in the herd of its undead brethren.

“See ya later, Cecil,” the young woman whispers. “Stay cool.”

***

Melissa barely slows the truck for Stuart and Julio.

“Hop in back,” I say as we roll up to the two men. “Crowded in here.”

“Special guests?” Stuart asks as he grabs the side of the truck and vaults into the bed as the PCs make room.

Elsbeth slides the back window open and smiles as Julio joins everyone else.

“Hey there,” she says. “Can we do it tonight?”

“Jesus,” Julio says and shakes his head as the PCs chuckle around him.

“That is highly inappropriate,” Brenda snips.

“Oh, you’re here,” Stuart says, looking into the cab and seeing the former head of Whispering Pines. “Plan to get your hands dirty this time?”

“I will do no such thing,” Brenda snaps. “You can do the fighting. That’s what you know. I know how to lead, despite some other people’s opinions.”

“By ‘other people’ she means anyone with some semblance of sanity left in their heads,” I say.

“Yeah, I get that one,” Stuart replies. “Thanks for clearing that up, Jace.”

“It is unbelievably rude to criticize a head of state like that,” Brenda says. “Your diplomacy skills are sorely lacking.”

“Head of state?” I snort. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I turn around and finally look at the woman.

“You are the head of nothing, bitch,” I snarl. “What you are is a backstabbing, self-serving, scum-sucking, blob of us
eless fat that needs to be wiped off this planet before there is any chance of your kind multiplying by asexual fragmentation!” I take a deep breath. “Bitch.”

“Asexual fragmentation?” Stuart asks. “Wow. You’re really riled up today.”

“I will report this behavior to the Counsel, you know,” Brenda says. “Whether you like me or not you do have to respect my position amongst the survivors, Mr. Stanford!”

“I don’t have to respect shit, you fucking whore-ass cunt!” I shout.

Then I lunge over the back of the seat at her. I just can’t take the woman anymore. All I want to do is grab her and shove her out the fucking door. Let her roll down the road and hope a horde comes by and eats her fat ass.

“Jace!”

“Long Pork!”

“Damn, dude!”

“God dammit, Stanford,” Stuart yells as he reaches in and slaps me before I can throttle the evil twat. “Get a hold of yourself! We’d all like to see the woman dead, but we are rebuilding a society, not destroying one. Calm the fuck down!”

I do calm down and Melissa grabs me by the scruff of my shirt and yanks me all the way into my seat. Which causes her to swerve to the side and slam into a Z that’s just decided to step out into the road. It reaches for us and then it’s gone, lost under the truck.

The vehicle gives a shudder and bounce and some blood and gunk spray out from underneath. We get about fifteen yards before we feel the trouble.

“That’s a flat,” Melissa growls, looking over at me, her eyes all accusatory and shit. “Because we hit a Z.”

“Should have watched the road,” I say, knowing it’s not fair or even nice. But I’m pissed.

She pulls the truck over and the PCs jump out to create a perimeter, their rifles to their shoulders. Melissa leans over me and opens my door.

“This is your job, Jason,” she says. “Better hurry. Anyone dies because we got held up and it’s on your head.”

“
Sure, make the one armed man do it,” I mutter as I get out.

The back right tire is dead flat. The Z must have had a blade or something seriously sharp on it to cause this damage. I hear a wet thunk and look down the road. A PC has ended the Z, stomping its head to mush.

“Guess I can’t ask it why it wanted to play in traffic,” I say.

“Yes, because that’s a good use of our time,” Stuart says as he comes up to me bouncing the spare. “So is changing a tire in an unsecured area.”

No sooner does he say that than a small horde of Zs come lurching down from a parking lot of what used to be a Texas Roadhouse restaurant. There’s close to twenty of them and the PCs get ready. Some sling their rifles and snap out their sharpened, collapsible batons.

Ah, the collapsible baton. It’s the go to weapon of choice nowadays. We’ve pretty much given up on the boards with nails and sharpened rebar. The PCs have brought a sense of professionalism to the zombie apocalypse. Which is nice.

Quickly and fairly quietly, the PCs close on the horde. They have a system that’s pretty ingenious. The first PC cracks his or her baton against the knees of the first Z, crippling it and sending it tumbling to the pavement. The second PC comes along and stabs the Z in the head, killing it instantly. Or killing it again, I guess. They do this in waves: first PC hits knees, second kills Z, third hits knees, fourth kills Z, and so on.

It’s an assembly line of Z death. Pretty simple
, really.

Unless you add the chaos of reality to things.

Which, of course, happens.

The first PC cripples a Z
and the second PC kills it. First PC cripples a Z, but it won’t go down. WTF? He whacks it again and the thing still won’t go down. It runs into the PC, rotten hands clawing at the man’s body armor. So the PC flips the thing over and slams it to the ground. That’s when the Z’s prosthetic leg snaps off at the thigh and rolls down the hill towards the truck.

This seemingly innocuous change in routine turns into a nightmare. The first PC has his back turned to the horde, which is a no-no, because he had to change tactics and flip the peg-legged Z. He doesn’t see how close the others are. Sure, the guy knows they’re coming, but because they are on a downhill
slope, he misjudges the speed at which they are coming. He’s tackled about the waist and goes down hard.

The second PC starts in with the skull crushing as the first PC starts in with the screaming. Batons go away fast and back come the rifles. The gunfire makes me jump as I get the truck jacked up and start in on the lug nuts. Stuart just stands close to me, his 9mm Beretta raised and ready.

“Anytime now, Jace,” he says. I hear the judgmental coolness in his tone.

“You ever try taking of
f lug nuts with one fucking hand?” I snap. “No. No, you haven’t. You know that horse you rode in on? You’re welcome to saddle back up and fuck it.”

He just glares.

“Great, I’m on your shit list now?” I ask as I crank the lug wrench. “All I did was lose control for three seconds and give that bitch a piece of my mind.”

“Which is why Stella is in charge and you’re not,” he replies.

The lug nuts drop to the ground and start rolling away, but Stuart corrals them with his feet, making sure I see the look of disdain on his face. Why do haters gotta hate? Don’t answer that.

I yank the flat off the rim and toss it up into the truck bed. I get the spare on,
with a little help, tighten the lug nuts and then let the jack down. All in all it took me eight minutes. And in those eight minutes one man was killed and the rest are busy fighting off an ever growing horde of Zs.

“Holy shit,” Julio says as he jumps down from the truck bed. “Where the hell did they all come from?”

The truck cab opens and Elsbeth steps out, her blades in hand. The woman loves her some blades.

“I have the engine going,” Melissa says. “Get clear and get back in here. We don’t have time for this fight.”

“Won’t take long,” Elsbeth says as she jogs then sprints towards the fray.

The PCs are spinning about, back to back, shoulder to shoulder, their rifles obliterating Z heads. But there are so many. Elsbeth slides into the horde and begins to sever heads from necks. I watch, fascinated, as Z heads, their teeth still gnashing, come rolling down the hill like giant, bloody acorns dropped from a devil oak.

“Hurry up, buttercup,” Stuart says as he starts shooting the heads. “Gotta do your part.”

There are Z heads all around me. I step over one then kind of bend and lean down, piercing its brain with Stumpageddon’s
Mr. Spikey. I do this over and over and over until my side is about to cramp up and my shoulder feels like molten lead. The pain in my stump is excruciating and it gets harder and harder to finish off a new head.

Then it all stops and I’m left ankle deep in rotten, bloated, severed Z heads. Stuart pats me on
the back and walks back to the truck. He jumps into the bed, gives Julio a hand up, and then slumps down. The PCs follow, with their fallen comrade in their arms. Everyone is secured and I realize they’re all staring at me.

“Right,” I whisper
, “sorry.”

Elsbeth gives me a weak smile as she gets into the backseat of the cab and I hop back in front.

“Where’d they all come from?” Mindy asks as Melissa gets us moving again.

“The hotel back behind the steakhouse,” Melissa says. “Hard to see with the trees all grown up around it. They must have been t
rapped inside and finally broke free. We just happened to be here when they did.”

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“Well, you should be,” Brenda snaps. “If you had more self-control you’d know that insulting and attacking me was...”