Z-Burbia: A Zombie Novel (23 page)

“So we go back?” I ask, already turning in my crouch.

“No,” Leeds says. “We push through. Goop up, people.”

“Goop up?” I ask. “What does that mean?”

All I get for answers are quiet chuckles.

“Here,” Elsbeth says, smearing something on my face.

“Oh,
God, what is that?” I say, choking and gagging from the smell.

“Z,” she says
, “Z guts.”

Chapter Eight

The mistake most people make when it comes to Zs, is that they think they are mindless. Not so true. Sure, they are stupid. Not going to ace any SATs even if SATs existed. But they aren’t completely mindless. Just…singularly focused?

I only mention this because while Elsbeth and the Special Forces team whisper to me that smearing the insides of a Z all over my body will mask our scent and allow us to slip through the horde that is meandering around the field, I’m just not buying it.

“Fuck you,” I whisper back. “There are too many. We may make it past three or four, but hundreds? Are you guys fucking insane?”

“Nut up, Long Pork,” Stick says. The rest just stare at me.

“Critter?” I ask.

“
Screw you, Long Pork,” Critter says. “I have to wade in there, wait for y’all to get down, drop the ropes, then double back to meet up with my brother and the rest. Don’t be whining to me like a little bitch. You only have to wade through these undead fucks once.”

“
Once too many,” I say.

“Pussy,” Critter replies.

“It works,” Elsbeth says. “It stinks, but it works.” She nods over and over until I nod with her.

“Fine,” I say, taking a deep breath and doubling over from the stench. I get myself under control and look at Leeds, his gore smeared face only a shadow in the night. “How do we do this?”

“Just keep moving,” Leeds says. “Meander. Don’t go in a straight line or look like you have a direction in mind. It attracts attention, plus it could start a stampede. The others will think you’ve spotted food and then we’ll be overrun.”

“Act like a Z, dude,” John says
, “you can do it.”

I can. I’ve done nothing but study the undead for a long while now. I know their patterns of movement, of attack. I know where the weak points are in the wires and ditches. I also know where the strong points are. If I work my way through the lines, following the hidden path, and time it right, I can tangle up most of them without anyone realizing.

“Okay,” I say, “follow me.”

Stick and Cob both laugh
, and then stop.

“He’s serious?” Cob asks.
“You were just pissing yourself.”

“And my bladder’s empty,” I say. “You want me to get you through here or not?”

“We can get through just fine,” Leeds says. “We told you that-”

“
You’ve been in Whispering Pines before, yeah, yeah, I know. But not with this many Zs in the field. Follow me.”

I start to shuffle and stagger. I come up on the first few Zs and some of them turn to me, their blank eyes falling across my body, their noses lifted to the air. Then they turn away. I push and stumble deeper, moving to the left for a while then to the right. I hope that I know what I’m doing as I come up on a long line of razor wire.

I follow the wire for a few feet then push through, letting the unconnected metal part around my legs. A blade catches on my jeans, but slices through without snagging. I freeze for a second, waiting for the pain. There is none, which means there’s no blood. Dear God, if any of us get nicked we are screwed.

Through wire, over ditches, around barricades of metal spikes, we all move haphazardly, looking like drunken frat boys after a party brawl. It takes forever to reach the edge of the field and the cliff, but we get there. There are two guards on duty, neither of which I recognize. They are staring right at us.

“Uh…hey…are those…?” one mutters as Stick and Cob jump at them.

They don’t
make another sound except for the snapping of their necks. The team secure their lines to the deck and toss them over. Critter stands behind us, his eyes scanning the ground and houses below.

“Why not just take the stairs?” I whisper.

Stick only smiles at me as he hooks in, throws his legs over and jumps. The sound of the rope whizzing through the carabineers on his belt echoes through the still night, but we don’t see anyone stir below. Cob follows quickly.

“Everyone, now,” Leeds says, strapping a belt around my waist and getting me hooked up to Stick’s line. John does the same for Elsbeth and Cob’s line. “Feet down and all eyes, got it?”

They nod and are gone from sight, leaving Elsbeth and me with Critter.

“It ain’t hard,” Critter says
, “just hold on here and then push off with your legs. You control the speed by gripping the rope here and-”

Elsbeth jumps and is down in seconds.

“Not her first time, I reckon,” Critter smiles as he undoes the other lines and lets them fall. “Damn confusing thing, that canny girl.”

“My turn, I guess,” I say. I get up on the rail and start to lean back, ready to jump. “One, two, three.” I don’t go anywhere. “Okay, I got this, I got this.” I look up to say a quick prayer and see something troubling.

Zs. A lot of them. Just above the deck.

“Critter,” I say.

“Stop pussing out, Long Pork,” Critter says, “get your ass down there.”

I can hear a hiss from below as the team grow
s impatient with me.

“No, look,” I say, nodding my head. “Did anyone cut themselves on the wire?”

Critter freezes and glances over his shoulder. “Ah, fuck,” he says. “I don’t think so.” He pats himself down then stops just at his calf. His hand comes away black, the color of blood in the night. “Fuck me.”

The Zs are watching us, their senses confused by the smell of fresh blood and the smell of their own. Then one moans and they all start moaning.

“How’d they get through the wire and ditches?” Critter asks.

“Numbers,” I say. “They must have clogged a point and just started climbing over their own. It’s a weakness in the system
, which is why we always have guards present to keep the numbers down.”

“Could have mentioned that before,” Critter says and looks at
the rope and me. “Only one line. I’ll take the stairs.”

He shoves me just as the first few Zs fall onto the deck. The last thing I see before I’m flailing down to the ground
, is Critter bolting for the stairs and a whole shit ton of Zs pouring over the cliff edge and onto the deck.

That’s a lot of weight. Too much weight.

I can hear the groaning of the wooden structure as I try to slow myself down. Part of me doesn’t want to put the brakes on my descent since most of me wants to get away from the swarm of undead hell that’s about to rain down on us all.

Then the ground is there and I try not to scream
as I slam against it. I try. I fail.

“Shut him up,” Leeds hisses as Reaper clamps his hands over my mouth. “What the fuck, Long Pork?”

“Captain,” John says, “the situation has changed.”

The team all follow his gaze and
look up. Zs are falling from the sky. I guess they think the stairs are too slow too. Great, kamikaze Zs, just what the world needs next.

Reaper pulls me to my feet and we scramble out of the way
, as the first bodies explode on the ground in front of us. Zs that haven’t had their brains splattered everywhere look at us, their broken jaws trying to chomp with hunger.

“Go, go, go!” Critter calls as he takes the steps three, four at a time. “Go!”

“Shit,” Leeds says as he looks to his team. “Assume all are hostiles. We head for the gate.”

“What?” I say. “My neighbors could still be here!”

“The operative word is ‘could’,” he replies and points at the Zs that are still plummeting down at us, and the ones that are falling down the stairs after Critter. “There’s no ‘could’ about them! We shoot to kill and we head to the gate. Take that out and Big Daddy and the rest can come streaming in when they get here.”

“That won’t be until tomorrow,” I say.

“Or never,” a loud voice says from the dark. “I have to say I am unbelievably disappointed with your performance, Captain Leeds. I have been dreaming of the day you and your team finally showed yourselves to me. I was thinking of an epic firefight, all Black Hawk Down, but what do you give me? A whimpering bicker fight like a couple of ten year olds. So sad.”

The area is bathed in bright light as twenty spots shine on us.

“Did you really think I hadn’t thought of which way you’d come in?” Vance says (yes, I’m calling him that now). “That’s why I put my most useless men up there to guard. Expendable.”

I have to shield my eyes against the glare of the lights and can only see an outline of a man.
He stands there, surrounded by other outlines, many of which have matching outlines of rifles. How nice. Shadow puppets of the damned.

The groaning gets louder and I get close to Elsbeth. She looks at me and I nod back at the platform that is so very close to collapsing. She wraps my a
rm around her shoulders, and then takes me by the waist. I look around and see the team with their weapons to their shoulders. Leeds is standing there, his pistol up, pointing at the outline.

“Sir?” John asks.

“Equalize the environment,” Leeds says.

“And what does that mean?” Vance asks. “Is that one of the many useful military euphemisms? Are you going to neutralize me?”

“No,” Leeds says, “men?”

Gunfire erupts and the lights start to go out. Elsbeth grabs me and pulls me to the side as Vance’s men return fire. I can hear screams of pain and the sound of bullets whizzing by my ears. Men and women are shouting, Vance is bellowing (does
he have his bullhorn with him?); gunfire and the smell of cordite fill the air.

But all of that is drowned out by the
explosive snaps and cracks of the support struts on the platform. The weight of the Z swarm has finally outdone the engineering that took us so long to complete. Eight by eight beams of hardwood splinter, metal braces buckle, boards crumple. The whole thing comes down like an unwanted Las Vegas casino. I risk a look and see it collapse on itself, folding and falling.

“Come on!” Stick yells. “This way!”

I’m pretty used to these guys just appearing and I’m pretty thankful to see Stick on one side and Cob on the other.

“Where’s the rest?” I shout over the chaos.

“Not with us,” Cob says. “So fucking move your gimp ass, Long Pork!”

I do. I dig deep and push the pain from my mind. I give Elsbeth a small shove, telling her I got it, but she doesn’t let go. She moves us, steers us, like we are one being. I have to wonder how many wounded she’s saved from hordes of Zs
, just to surprise them with dinner later. They being the dinner, of course.

Stick and Cob
spin about, changing directions like they are on poles, moving from side to side with fluid ease, shooting and reloading, each in perfect sync with the other. We pass house after house and I have to wonder why we aren’t stopping to seek shelter. We can’t stay exposed forever.

But the sounds behind me tell me why. I risk a glance and see so many Zs on our asses that I wonder if they’ve been doing pilates all this time to get in shape for the great Whispering Pines mad-dash marathon. These are not slow Zs. Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t exactly sprinting hurdles here, but they aren’t just stumbling along. They have a goal and they are going for it, pushing their putrid, undead legs to the max. I can sort of sympathize.

“Fuck! Fence!” Stick says as we follow the curving landscape and run right into six feet of pine boards. “This way!”

He directs us down the fence to the front of the house. We hurry out into the front yard and are instantly exposed. Lights are coming on everywhere- searchlights, house lights,
vehicle lights, flashlights. From every direction, the street is being illuminated. Which doesn’t make things easier. The chaos of illumination blinds everyone equally and random gunfire quickly follows in the confusion.

“Side,” Cob says and directs us between two houses. “In here.”

He kicks in a side door and we stumble into a garage. Cob slams the door closed and looks about for anything to block it with. He grabs a large trashcan while Stick wheels over a lawnmower. Elsbeth flips over a folding table in the corner and Stick takes it from her, adding to the barricade.

“Inside or make a stand here?” Stick asks Cob.

The man is about to answer when the large garage door is punctured by gunfire. One of Vance’s men must have seen us. Stick cries out and clutches his leg, then crumples to the ground. We all hit the concrete and flatten ourselves out.

“How bad?” Cob asks.

“Kneecapped,” Stick says, “I’m done.”

“Fuck,” Cob shouts and returns fire at the garage door, making his own holes in the aluminum. “FUCK!”

“Get inside,” Stick says through gritted teeth. “I got this.”

“We
can get you in too,” Cob says. “You aren’t done-”

“Get. Inside,” Stick says. “I. Got. This.”

Cob doesn’t argue and crawls on his belly to the door that leads into the kitchen. Elsbeth and I follow, looking back only as we get to the threshold and Cob gets the door open. Stick is pulling grenades from his vest. He catches my eye and smiles, and then waves.