Z-Burbia 5: The Bleeding Heartland (27 page)

“No nuke,” Lourdes says. “We’d be sick from radiation poisoning by now. And there’d be singes of the blast where we’re standing. No, I think when we get closer we’ll see it was a lot of smaller explosions that cleared out the city.”

She’s right. We get the convoy rolling again, and the closer we get the more the ex-city looks like a teenager’s pizza face, all pocked with craters and shit.

There really aren’t words for what we witness. And that’s saying a lot, coming from me.

Nothing but total destruction. It makes St. Louis look like a simple remodel. KC? It’s just plain gone.

“I guess the Combine didn’t know how to play nice,” Critter says. “They either pissed off the wrong people, or they got in the worst bicker fight ever. Don’t matter none which way now. They’s just plain gone.”

See? Even Critter agrees with me. Just. Plain. Gone.

“So we head on to Boulder?” I ask, looking over at Critter and Lourdes as the scorched Kansas landscape rolls by outside the RV. “Go to the Stronghold?”

“For now,” Lourdes says. “But we have to also consider what’s behind us. At some point, we may need to dig in and get ready to defend ourselves. That point could come before we reach Colorado and the Rockies.”

We all know what she means by what’s behind us. No matter how fast we move, which isn’t all that fast considering how blocked the interstate and other roads are, the Z herd is going to catch up. That’s just reality. They don’t have to stop and hunt for fuel or food, they don’t have to sleep or deal with crazies. Hell, they eat crazies!

And there’re also the sisters coming. Elsbeth can’t say where they are, but I’m almost certain she feels them somehow when they are close. I let everyone else worry about moving forward and about the Z herd, while I keep my attention on Elsbeth and that sisterhood sixth sense.

***

The days roll by, the plains keep going, and it’s almost like we don’t make any progress at all. Then after eight hundred years of being stuck in this stinky RV, as we lead a bunch of other stinky RVs, we see a sign that gives us just a little hope.

“Welcome To Colorado,” the sign says. Well, kind of. It’s sort of ripped in half and semi-melted, but we figure out the full message without a problem.

“Aren’t there supposed to be mountains?” Charlie asks.

“You can’t see them from here,” Lourdes replies. “We have a couple hundred more miles to go before we can start catching a glimpse.”

“A couple hundred? Fuck me,” Charlie sighs.

“You all see that?” Critter asks as he points out the windshield. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

We drive past the welcome sign, and Lourdes moves up front with a pair of binoculars. She studies the horizon for a minute, then hands the binoculars to Stuart.

“Shit,” he says. “Another herd. Looks bigger than the one we passed. Where are they all coming from?”

“Two thirds of the population of the US is behind us,” Charlie says. “I bet they’re migrating to find food. The East Coast has been picked clean.”

“Maybe,” Lourdes says. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with them when we get there.” She grabs a radio and calls one of the other RVs. “John? You seeing this?”

“Roger,” John replies. “I’m estimating five or six thousand.”

There are a few gasps in the RV.

“That’s what I see too,” Lourdes says. “Pass the word that we stay the course and move forward. We have at least a few hours before we catch up to them. Keep your eyes peeled for a spot to hunker down and strategize.”

“Will do,” John replies. “Out.”

I can see Elsbeth is not happy with the hunker down part, but we have no choice. We are the meat in a Z herd sandwich. No going back without dealing with a shit ton of Zs, and no going forward without dealing with a shit ton of Zs. Limited supplies, getting low on ammunition, and about to jump out of our own skins from being trapped in these RVs for so long, options aren’t exactly a luxury we have.

So, I’ll take the luxuries I do have: friends, family, a badass killer always having my back. I push away the thoughts of my brain lesions, of crazy ninja chicks, of Z herd sandwiches. I let go of the constant feeling of anxiety in my gut as we continue our flight away from the Consortium and towards something we don’t even know still exists. I lean back against the wall of the RV and decide that at the next stop, I’m going to grab my wife, find someplace private, and show her just how much I love her while I have the chance. That’s a luxury I do have, and I plan on taking advantage of.

“Gross,” Greta says, and I blink and look around. Oops, out loud again.

“Shut the fuck up, Greta,” Stella says, and squeezes my hand. “I’ll take that luxury if my man is wanting to give it.”

“Damn skippy,” I grin, and kiss her.

Hey, you know what? Maybe talking out loud isn’t so bad after all.

“Yes, it is,” everyone says.

Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.

Man, people in the zombie apocalypse can be so mean sometimes.

Read on for a free sample of Hamsikker: A Zombie Novel

Jake Bible
lives in Asheville, NC with his wife and two kids.

Jake has a record of innovation, invention, and creativity. Novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, Jake is able to switch between or mash-up genres with ease to create new and exciting storyscapes that have captivated and built an audience of thousands.

He is the author of over a dozen novels, including the bestselling Z-Burbia and Mega series for Severed Press.

Find him at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter and Facebook.

PROLOGUE

“Thanks for coming, thanks a lot. Please, go on in.” The words came out of his mouth, but he’d said them so many times over the last thirty minutes they had lost all meaning. It was like he was regurgitating a prayer, over and over, like some deranged priest.

“Mrs Danick, thank you for the flowers. Please, head on in. Thanks a lot for coming.” She had aged a lot since he’d last seen her, but she still had a wicked glint in her eye, and he remembered all the trouble he’d caused his neighbour over the years when he was growing up with Janey. He watched Mrs Danick accompany a frail, elderly woman into the church, their arms linked and their feet shuffling slowly.

As he shook another hand, kissed another cheek, and handed out another tissue to wipe the tears away, he wondered if he had slipped into a parallel universe. Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to be in mourning? How come everywhere he looked people were crying, holding each other, supporting each other with words of kindness and recalling memories of happier times? Why was he the one standing by the church gate, handing out condolences and hymn sheets like some kind of admin assistant?

There was a brief respite at the entrance as Mrs Danick entered the church, and he realised he was probably getting sunburnt. The back of his neck was hot and itchy, the thinning hair on top providing no cover for his head. Using a wad of hymn sheets, he fanned himself, knowing only his father would’ve died in the middle of a heatwave. It was as if the old bastard was having one last laugh at his son’s expense. Jonas reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled navy blue kerchief. He dabbed his moist forehead before shoving it away, as a family approached the church gates. Putting on his best smile, he prepared himself for another clammy handshake from yet another distant relation he hadn’t seen in twenty years, and prepared to repeat the speech he had given everyone else.

“Thanks for coming. Please…”

“Jonas Hamsikker, how’re you doing?”

Jonas looked at the large man facing him, and was momentarily thrown. This was not a friend of his father’s, just another acquaintance, or an old uncle; this was a face he knew well. It had been a long time since he had looked into those piercing blue eyes, and the red hair was unmistakeable. Thick sideburns grew down the man’s cheeks like a lava flow, filling in the burly man’s creased skin and crow’s feet. Jonas gripped the firm hand he was offered, and shook it enthusiastically.

“Erik? Jesus, man, how long’s it been?”

The two men embraced quickly and then Erik introduced his family.

“Hamsikker, this is my wife, Pippa. These two role-model citizens are Peter, my son, and my daughter, Freya.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Jonas as he shook their hands in turn. Freya giggled as she shook Jonas’s hand and then slid shyly behind her brother.

“I heard you were back in town, and of course I heard about your father. Sorry, man. I hope it’s okay we came. I wanted to pay my respects. Seemed only right, given how your old man looked after me back then.”

“Of course, of course,” said Jonas, pleased he was finally able to talk to someone he knew. He still couldn’t believe Erik Lansky was standing in front of him. He might have aged twenty something years, and added twenty pounds, but otherwise, he still looked like the same Erik he used to goof around with at school.

As more people filed into the church, Jonas shoved hymn sheets at them as they passed. It was almost time for the service to begin, but he didn’t want to miss out on catching up with Erik.

“Pippa, go on in with Peter and Freya, I want a quick word with Hamsikker,” said Erik standing to the side so the others could take the path into the church.

“Sure is a hot one,” said Jonas.

“And it’s only spring. You forgotten that glorious Kentucky sun already?” asked Erik. “I hope going out west didn’t turn you into a pussy.”

Despite his awkwardness, Jonas sniggered. It felt good to see his old friend again. Erik looked tough and given his larger-than-life stature, he could scare off people before they’d even spoken to him. But he was a kind man, always ready with a joke or a line. That was what made him such a good cop.

“Say, I wanted to ask how long you’re back for. This a permanent move, or what?” Erik dabbed at his sweating forehead with a hand and then wiped it on the back of his suit jacket.

Jonas frowned. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I’ve a lot to sort out now. There’s a whole heap of things I need to do, and Dad’s place is a mess. He was a hoarder. You want a stack of newspapers from the nineties?”

Erik slapped a hand on Jonas’s back. “No thanks. Look, old collections of newspapers aside, I’m here for you, man. Where are you staying? At your father’s? You’d better not tell me you’ve shacked up in some downtown motel. You know we can find a room for you, no problem. Pippa would be glad to have you over. I’m serious.”

An ambulance suddenly sped past, and it turned its sirens on just as it rushed by the church. It was swiftly followed by another, and Jonas wondered where they were off to in such a hurry. Jeffersontown was a quiet place, and without the sounds of the speeding ambulances, the only audible sounds had been the faint tweeting of a cardinal, and his own thoughts. The ambulances disappeared taking their warped sirens with them. Jonas looked up into the blue sky. There was not a cloud anywhere. He saw the trace wisp of a plane’s vapour trail, a fleeting line of white arching across the sky.

“Thanks, Erik, but I’m staying at Dad’s place. I really need to get on top of things there, so it’s handy for me to stay in the house. I’ll be around for a while, so we can catch up. You coming to the crematorium after?”

“No can do. Sorry, but Freya’s got netball, and Peter’s in the middle of exams. Why don’t I swing by tomorrow? You free for lunch?”

“Sure. If we don’t catch up later, you can meet Dakota then. You’ll love her.” Jonas heard the priest calling to him, and waved a hand to let the priest know he was on his way. The service was about to start, and it would not be cool to be late for your own father’s funeral.

“Dakota? You finally get a woman? How long did that take you?” Erik removed his hand as the two men began walking up to the church together.

“Been married almost eight years now. Met her in Phoenix. Couldn’t imagine life without her, you know?” Jonas wanted to get inside now. He wanted it over with. He wanted to fast forward time, and skip the next three hours at least. He wanted to go straight to drinking, to remember his father, and then to forget him. Dakota was waiting for him, probably sobbing her heart out even though she had never met his old man. That was just the way she was. She cried at the news, she cried at movies, and she cried at the funerals of people she didn’t even know.

“Say, is Janey inside already?” asked Erik. “It’d be good to say hi after all these years.”

Jonas knew Erik had always had a thing for his sister, going way back to when all three of them hung out as teenagers, but there would be no reconciliation today. He shook his head. “She couldn’t make it.”

Erik looked surprised. “For her own father’s funeral?”

“She’s busy, truly.” Jonas didn’t know why he felt guilty explaining Janey’s absence. His father had never made excuses for her, and he shouldn’t have to justify why she wasn’t here. Then again, Erik believed the Hamsikkers were a happy family. He didn’t know what happened when the doors were closed, and the lights went out.

“Janey’s a dancer now. She moved up to Canada years ago. Married, three kids, the whole works.”

Erik’s bushy red eyebrows turned down as he processed the information. “A dancer? Janey?”

Jonas could see the surprise on Erik’s face. “Not that kind of dancer, Erik. She’s with a theatre company up there. Does all sorts of musical theatre, shows, film adaptations, everything. Keeps her busy, and I know she loves it. She’s got an important production on at the moment, so she couldn’t get the time off. Honestly, she’s a workaholic. I talk to her on the phone a lot, but don’t get the chance to get up there much.” Jonas felt bad lying about why Janey wasn’t at the funeral, but the truth would’ve been much worse. He changed the subject, eager to steer the conversation away from his sister. “So how about you? You’re quite the hot shit cop around here. Lovely wife, a house in the ‘burbs, and to top it off, a boy and a girl. How’s that working out for you?”

“Living the dream, brother, living the dream. My kids are smart, cute, and costing me a fortune. How about you? Any kids?” asked Erik.

Jonas shook his head again, and they reached the priest who was impatiently waiting at the church doors. “Happy as we are, thanks. Look, I have to…”

“Absolutely. Sorry, man. I’ll see you later.” Erik disappeared through the massive oak doors of the church, and Jonas turned to the priest.

“Ready when you are,” Jonas said feeling a bead of sweat roll down his back.

There was a fluttering of nervousness as Jonas entered the church, and he felt like he was ten years old again, walking up to the stage at school to take assembly. He had always hated being the centre of attention, and didn’t doubt that he always would. As he walked, he made a point of not looking at anyone in the pews. The mumbling and sobbing told him enough. He didn’t need to see their eyes, their grief, their accusations and shame, because he felt enough of that himself without anyone else’s help.

He sank down into the pew at the front next to Dakota and she slipped her hand into his. It was reassuring, yet cool, and he became aware again of how hot he was. He loosened his tie, pulling it down just a fraction so he could breathe. The sweltering heat from outside had been replaced by cool air and icy stares. His suit could protect him from only so much, and the moment he was dreading was upon him. The priest had taken up residence by the lectern, and motioned for Jonas to step up as he said a few words.

Dakota leaned over to her husband. “I’m here, honey. I’ll go up with you if you want?”

Jonas looked at her. They could have been climbing the Rockies, flying over a volcano, or crawling through mud; it didn’t matter. He knew she would be there for him, just as he would be there for her. It had been a conscious decision not to have children, much to the chagrin of Dakota’s parents. They loved each other so much that they just didn’t want anything to come between them. Neither had any urges to raise children, and so they decided not to. Of course, now and again, doubts crept into their minds, and it wasn’t an easy decision. Right now though, he knew it was the correct decision.

Dakota looked beautiful. Normally, she wore bright colours, but today was a black day. Her shoulder length hair was tied in a bun, and a few grey hairs were exposed. They normally hid behind her ears, showing themselves only when she was nervous, or when she tied her hair up. Jonas knew she could go bald, or dye her hair purple, and he would still love her.

“No, it’s all right. I’ll go.”

He gripped her hand and then let it go. Walking slowly, he approached the open casket. It was nothing fancy, just what they could afford, but without children, they had managed to save well. He didn’t really care if his father was buried in a cheap suit and a garbage bag, but then Dakota would’ve started asking questions: questions he didn’t want to answer. He and his father had grown apart over the years. He knew he should’ve come back sooner, when he’d found out about the illness, but there was always something stopping him. Well, he was back now. He had seen his father just once in the last ten years, and that had been last week. He had left Dakota behind, not knowing it was as urgent as it had turned out to be. His father had barely known him. He was so frail that he couldn’t even get out of bed, and Jonas was shocked at his appearance. Why hadn’t the old man told him sooner? Why had he not asked him to come home? Jonas preferred to remember his father as a young man, when he could still play ball and get around on his own, instead of lying in a hospital bed with a bag to piss into.

And there he was. His father, or at least his father’s body, laid out for all to see like a prize at a local show. Religion had not played much of a part in Jonas’s upbringing. His mother had died when he was ten, and with it, so had his father’s faith. As Jonas looked down into the casket, he decided he should’ve paid extra for the velvet lining. The varnished wood looked fine, but now he felt cheap. All those watching eyes, all those people at his back who were undoubtedly thinking the same thing, were pressing down on his head. Poor old Mr Hamsikker, let down by his failure of a son again, stuffed into a cheap wooden box, ready to be sent to the bonfire-house just so his son wouldn’t have to visit the grave.