Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead (8 page)

There’s even more. More Zs. More death. More blood. More everything. More rage? Yeah, more of that
, too.

The women work as a unit, even Elsbeth. They cut and stab and crack and snap and break and kill and kill and kill; swirling about each other in a complex ballet of flashing metal and raging war cries. Without having to
think or coordinate, each woman knows when to duck, when to kick, when to pull back. They are a synchronized killing machine.

“Get down, dipshit,” Stuart hisses from behind me.

I’ve been around the man long enough not to argue. My body flattens against the pavement as he and the PCs open fire, taking out the periphery of the herd as it starts to close around the women. They don’t even look our way, just keep killing. Boots pass by my head and I glance up to see the rest of the women hurrying into the battle. Stuart and the PCs make sure their fire is aimed only to the sides, and the occasional stupid Z that wants to come right at us.

In
seconds, there’s a nice ring of Z bodies piled up on the pavement, slowing down the rest of the herd and keeping it from over taking us all.

“Get your ass back here,” Stuart
snaps as he grabs my ankle. I scoot back over the curb and smile. He doesn’t smile back. “You are such a pain in my ass, Stanford.”

Oh, the last name treatment. He’s mad.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“Get down there and make sure Brenda doesn’t do anything stupid. It’s only her, Mindy, and Melissa with
Lenny.”

“Who?”

“The wounded PC!” Stuart snarls.

“Oh
.”

I can never remember their names.

“Get going!” Stuart orders. “Who knows what idiocy is going through that woman’s brain.”

“What could she do?” I ask.

“Do you really want to find out?” Stuart says as he resumes firing. “Go!”

Once last glance at Elsbeth and the Super Chick Fighting Force, and I’m sliding (again!) down the hill, past the truck, and into the pines. Thorns, thorns, thorns, and free.

Dammit, I hate it when Stuart is right about bad things.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell at Brenda as I watch her holding a pistol on Melissa. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Look in there!” Brenda screeches, pointing at the fields beyond the iron fence. “She wants us to go in there! Look at the Zs! They’re everywhere!”

“You stupid cow,” Melissa snarls, her eyes locked onto the pistol. “You heard what Stuart said. The Zs don’t move! Look at them! They’re staked or something to the ground!”

I look past Brenda’s bulk and see the hundreds of Zs spread out across the overgrown field. Melissa’s right, they are swaying and reaching and moaning, but aren’t moving from their spots. It is like they’re glued in place.

“I think we should listen,” Mindy says quietly. “Stuart is a smart man, Brenda. He knows Zs.”

“And I don’t?” she yells. “I’ve been in this apocalypse just as long as he has! I’ve fought Zs! I know how to survive! And you don’t survive by going into a field that’s filled with Zs! That’s suicide!”

The gunfire behind us stops and I start to look back that way. So does Brenda. That gives Melissa her chance and she takes it. Lunging forward, Melissa smacks Brenda’s hand, pushing the pistol down.

Bang!

“Oh!” Brenda yells as the gun barks in her hand.

Melissa grabs her wrist and tries to take the pistol, but Brenda actually has some fight in her. I never knew. Not that I’m impressed. I’m not. The woman could fart the Star Spangled Banner out her tight ass and I’d still think she was a worthless blob of shit. But I didn’t know she could fight.

Brenda’s heel slams down on Melissa’s foot, then her elbow slams back into Mel’s gut. It gives her the space she needs as Melissa stumbles back just a fraction of an inch. Brenda raise
s the gun and fires. But Mel is faster. Years of being in charge of the scavengers and having to go outside Whispering Pines on life and death runs has made the woman’s reflexes top notch. The bullet whizzes past Melissa’s shoulder as she dodges to the side. Without wasting a millisecond, she lets loose with a haymaker that makes my teeth rattle just from watching it connect with Brenda’s jaw.

The fat cow spins about, staggers a foot or two,
and then goes down on her hands and knees. Melissa kicks her in the ass, sending her forward onto her face. I rush forward and snag the pistol, tucking it into my waistband as I step away from the beached whale.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not making fun of her because of her
weight; I’m just trying to make it known how little humanity the wildebeest has in her.

Which is insulting to wildebeests and whales I guess. My apologies to all wildebeests and whales. If they still exist.

“I should kill her right now,” Melissa says as Brenda rolls onto her back, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and absolute hatred.

“Jace?” Mindy says behind us. “Melissa?”

We both turn and our eyes go as wide as Brenda’s.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper as Melissa quickly covers the ground between
Mindy and us. “Oh, shit.”

Mindy is on her knees, her hands
clutching her belly, dark red blood spilling over her knuckles.

“It hurts,” Mindy says
, “a lot.”

“Just hold on,” Melissa says as she kneels in front of Mindy, her eyes studying the wound. “Keep your hands pressed against your belly.”

“I can’t,” Mindy says, wincing. “It really hurts. And this happens.” She bravely presses down and blood gushes out from between her hands like a river breaking through a kid’s mud damn. She looks at Melissa then her eyes find mine. “Am I going to die?”

“No, no, we’ll help you,” I reply. “We’ll stop the bleeding and get you all patched up. I was shot in the gut remember
, and I’m all good.”

“Jace,” Melissa whispers.

“No, no, don’t worry,” I continue. “We can get you to Whispering Pines. Dr. McCormick will stitch up that little ol’ flesh wound. No problem.”

“Jace, stop,” Melissa says, sighing as she gets to her feet.

“What? Why?” I ask. Then I see.

When your friends or family can come back from the dead to eat your ass, you learn the signs of a
person passing. Mindy has passed. Her butt rests back on her calves, and because of her bulk, she stays in that position even though the life has left her. Her eyes are glazed and her chest isn’t moving. Then, like watching an avalanche in slow motion, she slumps to the side and hits the ground with a sad, quiet thunk.

“You fucking bitch!” I yell as I spin about and lock eyes with Brenda. “She didn’t deserve that! See what happens! SEE!” I stomp towards the woman and she gives a frightened squeak as she tries to scurry away on her hands and ass
, but only gets so far as she comes up against the wounded PC’s body. “That should be you there! YOU!”

“I didn’t…I…it was your fault!” she cries out.

This stops me in my tracks. What the what?

“My fault?” I say. “Are you fucking serious?”

She keeps scuttling back and her face scrunches up in that self-righteous way it does when she’s ready to spit and fight even though she knows (does she?) that she’s wrong.

“You started all of this! You and Stuart and that cannibal cunt! None of this would have happened if you’d just listened to me back when
… AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”

I jump back when she screams, but Melissa hurries forward, grabs the pistol from my waistband, and puts a bullet in the bra
in of the PC that has its jaws clamped around Brenda’s neck. The new Z/former ally falls backwards and Brenda slaps her hand against the wound. Only a little blood trickles from between her fingers, so the thing didn’t get an artery, but it still gave her a nice death hickey.

“Oh, no,” Brenda whispers. “No, no, no, no, no
...”

“Shut up!” Melissa shouts as she slaps Brenda across the face. “You reap what you sow, bitch!”

“What the fuck is going on?” Stuart yells as he bursts from the pines with the young women and only one PC. “Stop bickering and get your asses over that fence!”

The women, Elsbeth with them, hurry to the fence and half squat down, their hands interlaced. The rest place boots in the hands and are helped up over the fence.

“Come on!” the one I think is called Lacy shouts.

One by
one, they hop over until all that’s left is the brunette and Elsbeth.

“Your turn, Long Pork,”
Elsbeth says, squatting down.

I don’t argue and take the help and clamber up over the iron fence. I don’t look anywhere as cool as the women did. But I get over. Elsbeth helps Melissa and then the brunette.

“Let’s go, Ms. Kelly,” Stuart says. “Get off your ass.”

“Leave her,” Melissa says
, “she’s been bitten.”

Stuart takes a step back, but Elsbeth steps forward. The smile on Elsbeth’s face would make the Joker shiver.

“You’re dead,” Elsbeth says, leaning in close so that her forehead is touching Brenda’s. “Bye bye.”

“Move,” Stuart says, pulling his Beretta
, “I’ll make it quick.”

“No,” Elsbeth says, grabbing the gun from Stuart’s grip and tossing it over the fence. One of the girls (Stacy?) catches it easily.

“What the hell, Elsbeth?” Stuart snaps.

Snarls and groans come from the pines and the first
wave of Zs stumble from the grove. They’re moving quickly from their momentum downhill and Stuart and Elsbeth only have seconds.

“Let’s go!” I shout. “Stuart! El! Come on!”

Stuart makes a move towards Brenda, but Elsbeth blocks his way. She points at the fence. They face off for an eternity, but Stuart finally relents and grabs onto the fence. He’s able to get himself over and lands close to me.

“Wait,”
Brenda pleads, her eyes going from us, to Elsbeth, to the Zs, and back to us. “You…you can’t leave me!”

“We can,” Elsbeth says as she climbs up and over. “We did.”

“No! No, you can’t!” Brenda screams, getting to her feet. Her hand falls away from her neck and blood spurts out in short, quick bursts. I guess the PC did hit an artery after all. She doesn’t even notice the heartbeat driven spurts as she grabs the thick, iron bars of the fence. “Please! Don’t leave me to those things! PLEASE!”

We all watch; what else can we do? The Zs close on her in seconds and she wails with terror and pain. Hands grab her as jaws go to rip her apart.

The gunshot makes all of us jump.

“She learned fear,” Elsbeth says as she hands me the smoking pistol. “Here.”

Brenda’s body falls dead under the wave of Zs that slam into the fence. Most swarm over her corpse, hungry for a taste, but some of the greedier ones try to reach through the fence at us. They want the fresh stuff. Looks like even the undead have food snobs. Eat fresh, eat local, eat the living and all that.

“Anyone else bitten?” the brunette asks.

Everyone shakes their head. I do too, but maybe a split second too late. Elsbeth narrows her eyes at me. I smile and give her my best “What?” look.

“Fine,”
the brunette nods, “come with us. You’re safe.”

I’ve been living in the zombie apocalypse for years and never have those words been true. I doubt they are now. Especially as we start to walk towards the field of Zs in front of us.

“Uh, I don’t think your definition of safe is the same as mine,” I say.

“Just stay close,” the woman says
, “step where we step. Keep your arms in tight. Be alert. You’ll be fine.”

At
first, it’s like an undead, claustrophobic nightmare. We’re shoulder to shoulder at times with Zs, but it only takes a couple twists and turns before I see the genius behind the design. The placement of the Zs is brilliantly random yet perfectly organized. There is a path if you know what you are looking for. Kind of like hiking on an old, overgrown mountain trail, except the trail would really like to eat you, please.

The arms of the Zs that line the “trail” are stitched to their sides. Even if they wanted to, and they sooooo want to, they can’t grab you. Their mouths aren’t stitched though, so I
have to stop gawking and duck more than once.

“How long did it take you to do this?” I ask.

“As long as it needed to take,” a woman in front of me says. She’s blonde, blue eyed, and tone like I’ve never seen. She has muscles that make Elsbeth look like a soccer mom gone to seed. “We didn’t count.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I say.

She glances over her shoulder and gives me a quick smile. “Don’t be,” she says. “It’s just that time is an irrelevant concept these days. Why bother with how long a task takes when all that matters is you get it done? Who are we competing against?” She nods at the Zs that hiss and moan around us. “Them? They don’t know what time even is so why should we? It’s an outdated concept.”

“Uh…yeah. Cool,” I nod
, “you’ve thought about this a lot.”

“What’s a lot?” the woman asks. “Why give in to a need to quantify quantity when
...”