Z-Burbia 6: Rocky Mountain Die
Date: 2021-07-17 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: General; Horror; Zombies; Science Fiction; Fiction; Satire; Black Humor; Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic; Humorous
Description: With the plains to their backs, Jace Stanford and crew are just steps from their destination: the Stronghold of Boulder, CO. All they have to do is battle the mega-powerful, corporate/political/military entity that is the Consortium, survive the brainwashed killing machines that call themselves the Sisters, and deal with a mad scientist hell bent on making life really, really hard for everyone because he’s just a f*ing jerk. Not a problem! If anyone can get his friends and family through a nightmare like this, it’s Jace Stanford!What’s that? There’s a horde of zombies that’s close to half a mi
Publisher: Jake Bible Fiction

Z-Burbia 6

Rocky Mountain Die

Jake Bible

Copyright 2015 by Jake Bible

Chapter One

You know that thing you see on TV shows and movies where someone has their skull cracked open by a neurosurgeon and there’s like this draped sheet that halos their head while nurses and other doctors stand around and point and make serious-sounding comments about the patient’s exposed brain?

And you know how they all ask the patient questions because the patient has to be awake so they can make sure they don’t short circuit his brain? Also, since the brain doesn’t feel pain, the doctors and nurses can poke around all they want and said patient won’t piss himself while screaming?

You know what I’m talking about?

Yeah, I really wish that scenario was real. I sure as fuck do.

Because the scenario I’m in now is nowhere near as fun. Not even close, folks. Nope. Not at all.

You see, while there are certain similarities to the movie/TV version, there are a lot more differences.

Such as?

Okay, well, first, there are no nurses standing behind me. There are two doctors, but one of them is kind of a mad scientist dickhole and the other is a guy I just met that is crushing on my teenage (underage, motherfucker!) daughter. The other people standing there are all holding lanterns and flashlights so the two doctors don’t slice my brainpan in bad ways. None of the light holders have any medical experience.

But they are making plenty of comments.

“I think your brain is your best looking part, Short Pork,” Critter Fitzpatrick snorts. “They should cut off a slice and glue it to your face.”

“Quiet, please,” Dr. Kramer says. He’s the mad scientist dickhole. I don’t like him.

“Don’t call him Short Pork,” Stella snaps. That’s my wife. I love that she has my back. “Just because Elsbeth isn’t in the room doesn’t mean you can call him that. His nickname is Long Pork. Call him that.”

Thanks, babe. Way to protect my good name.

“Should that thing be that color?” someone asks.

“Shit, we have another bleeder,” Dr. James Stenkler growls. “Cauterize that, Dr. Kramer. Hurry!”

“I know what to do, Dr. Stenkler,” Dr. Kramer replies. “I am your senior by several decades. I’ve had my hands in brains a lot longer than you have.”

Stenkler is the guy crushing on my daughter. A daughter that isn’t even sixteen yet. Or is she? Fuck if I know anymore. I lost my calendar a few life-threatening escapes ago. What I do know is I do not like the crushing. Have I mentioned I do not like that? Let me say it again. I. Do. Not. Fucking. Like. That.

“There. Got it,” Stenkler says. “Bleeder is cauterized. Jace? Can you hear me? Give me a sign you can hear me?”

I flip him off.

“Daddy,” Greta, my maybe sixteen-year-old daughter, snaps. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Greta, leave your father alone,” Stella responds. “He’s sitting there with half his skull on a table. Cut him some slack.”

“Oh, there’s another one,” that same person says. Who is this guy?

“Good catch, Boyd,” Stenkler says. “You should think of going into medicine. I’d be happy to train you when we get through this and finally up into Boulder.”

“That’d be cool,” Boyd replies.

Boyd? Holy shit! I’m in the same room with Boyd and I can’t turn around and see what he looks like? All this time I’ve been thinking people are fucking with me. I’ve been thinking that Boyd is just some joke to play on Jace. At no point did I think Boyd was a real person.

Now here he is? Talking and helping the doctors keep my brain from bleeding out everywhere? Fuck this shit!

Second, and yes, I am still counting, not only are we not in a proper medical environment, we have a lot of Zs hanging out downstairs. I mean a lot. Close to, um, let’s see, add the four, carry the one and add the two, subtract sixty and multiply by four and that brings us to a FUCK TON! And by FUCK TON, I mean close to a hundred thousand, easy.

They’re milling around the doors downstairs. The glass doors. The glass doors to a boring old office building that happens to have a dental surgery office in it. That’s where I’m at. Sitting in a motherfucking dentist’s chair with my brain all naked and shit.

Third (still counting!), this situation isn’t like on TV because we don’t have a cavalry coming to get us. On TV, or in the movies, there would be some heroic force that the audience has forgotten about that will show up at the last second and save the day. That’s not happening.

All we have behind us are around a thousand military types hired by the Consortium to hunt us down and kill us. They have rifles and pistols and flame throwers and Humvees and maybe a tank or two. Oh, and rocket launchers and grenades and really, really sharp knives. Not to mention they have a power mad, crazy bitch leader named Camille Thornberg who has said she will stop at nothing to stop us.

That’s a lot of stopping and not stopping. Wouldn’t the not stopping cancel out the stopping? If you think about it, maybe she means nothing will happen. I’m trying not to think about it since thinking lately really hurts. Hence the two doctors with their fingers in my grey matter.

Am I done with the list? No fucking way. We haven’t gotten to the really fucking awesome part. So, I have my brain open like a tin can while people mock me and Boyd saves the day. Thousands of zombies knocking at the doors that aren’t there to make a FedEx drop-off. A megalomaniacal twat with her own army.

But, wait! There’s more!

All of that shit pales in comparison to the fact that we have a group of mentally-conditioned young women who are trained in the art of killing anything that moves and are following us while picking off our people one by one just for le shits and le giggles. They have made it very clear that we won’t need to worry about the Consortium’s folks because we’ll be dead a long time before they show up. At least all the people they’ve snagged have only been cannies. Okay, okay, that was mean. People are people, even if some of those people used to eat other people.

Sigh.

Good times in the apocalypse, yo. Good times.

Oh, oh, oh! The best part is that one of the sisters, our very own Elsbeth, has pulled another motherfucking disappearing act! The woman has mad skills and can kill people with a look, which would be handy right now, except no one knows where she is.

She left several hours ago as soon as we got to the outskirts of Denver. Elsbeth’s job was to scout for a med center or hospital that we could use for my brain issues. She didn’t come back before I started to do a little body samba. I had a seizure. That’s why we’re in a dental surgery office. No time to find a better facility.

Ready for more? Because there’s more!

My son Charlie is missing. Stella is doing a great job of not totally freaking out, but I can hear the stress in her voice. No idea why she’s stressed. Missing son, husband with a naked brain for all to see, zombie herd rocking an undead street party, psycho Hitler bitch chasing us, even more psycho brainwashed assassin chicks hunting us.

Lists suck.

“Jace?” Stenkler asks. “Jace, can you hear me?”

I flip him off again.

“Dad!” Greta snaps.

“Jace, I need you to try to speak, if you can,” Stenkler continues. “I know you’ve had some difficulty with that lately, but it’s important that I hear your voice.”

“Why ruin a good thing, doc?” Critter asks. “For once in his damn life, Jace Stanford is quiet. You ain’t seein’ the bright side to this?”

I flip Critter off.

“See? The man communicates just fine without that damned voice of his,” Critter says. “Let’s not get hasty and flip his Jabberjaws switch back on, okay?”

“Critter,” Stella growls. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Now, Stella, I ain’t sayin’—”

“Shut the fuck up!” she roars.

“Yes, ma’am,” Critter replies. “I was just playin’. Tryin’ to lighten the mood.”

“Will everyone please stop talking?” Dr. Kramer sighs. “This is not like baking a cake. This is actual brain surgery. The only person that should be talking is Mr. Stanford.”

“Jace? Just try to say a couple of words, if you can,” Stenkler says. “Sounds are good too, but words are better.”

Ah, words. They used to be my best friend. I miss words. Why? Well, you see, I’ve been having a bit of a speech problem.

I’ve always been a chatty fella. Prone to running my mouth off and inserting my foot at all possible times. I have a pathological inability to shut the fuck up, as many folks have pointed out to me through the years. This wouldn’t have been so bad except then Z-Day happened and, well, Zs kinda like sounds. My talky talkiness became a liability.

I learned to control it somewhat, but fate is a cruel bitch and one hell of a practical joker. Turns out that over the years I may have bumped my head one too many times. Or two too many times. More like five too many times. My brain was more concussed than an NC State linebacker. Go Wolfpack!

See, having your brain banged around inside your skull is bad. Apparently, brains bleed. Mine sure decided to. It was like a nonstop period in my head. Okay, that was uncalled for. Menstruation is no joke, people! Especially if your brain is menstruating.

I’ll stop.

What alerted everyone to my bruised orange of a brain was that my natural chattiness turned into a constant chattiness. The filter was off and what should have been internal dialogue just became dialogue. Everything I thought came out my mouth in a never-ending commentary on life in the zombie apocalypse.

I did not make new friends and nearly influenced people to kill me and leave me on the side of the road.

But, hey, shit happens when the world is ending, so some folks cut me some slack. The apocalypse cannot be considered “some folks.” The apocalypse decided that not only would slack not be cut, but, hey, how about if we switch things up and make it so I can’t speak at all? Fun!

Long story longer, I lost my ability to speak and then the seizures began. Poopy times, y’all. Poopy times.

“Jace? I need you to pay attention,” Stenkler says. “Stella?”

Hey, Stella is right in front of me! When did that happen? Damn, she’s pretty.

“Jace? Honey? Can you hear me?” Stella asks. Her hand strokes my cheek. “Jace?”

Yes, love of my life, I can hear you. See? Giving you a thumbs-up right now. Or a thumb-up. Can’t really give “thumbs” when I only have one arm.

Huh… Thumb is not going up. I think I have thumbile dysfunction. Wonder if they have a pill for that? If your thumb is all Fonzie for more than four hours, please consult your physician. Or hit a jukebox. Aaayyy!

“He’s smirking,” Stella says, a relieved smile on her face. “So he’s probably being a smart ass and making some stupid joke in his head. Is it funny, Jace?”

It’s fucking hilarious. Aaayyy!

“He’s smiling wider,” Stella says.

“I need him to talk or make a sound,” Stenkler says. “I’ve fixed the lesion on the speech center of his brain. We’ve stopped the excess bleeding and cauterized any vessel that could be a problem down the line. But in order for me to be confident that what we’ve done has worked, I need him to make a sound.”

“Jace? Baby, you have to make a sound, okay?” Stella says.

She’s right in my face and smells like sweat and peppermint. Where’d she get a mint? Nice of her to pop one in her mouth before getting all up close and personal. I’ll have to remember to thank her for that.

“Stop making a kissy face,” Stella smirks. “Now is not the time. The time is for you to make a sound. A grunt or moan. Anything that tells James that the surgery worked.”

James, is it? We’re calling him James? I prefer Stinkler. Has a ring to it.

“The odds are significantly against him showing any improvement right away,” Dr. Kramer says. “It could be hours, or even days, before he—”

“Aaayyy,” I mumble.

“Jace? What did you say?” Stella asks.

“Aaayyy,” I say a little louder.

“Aaayyy?” Stella asks. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Stenkler laughs. “He’s vocalizing again, so we know something went right.”

“You people about done in here?” a gruff voice asks from the doorway. “Because we need to move and move fast. Some of the Zs have started getting curious about this building. Lourdes and her people are a mile ahead of us and say the Zs haven’t gotten that far yet. We have a small window of time and need to use it.”

It’s Stuart! Yay for James “Don’t Call Me Jimmy” Stuart! He’s like my best friend. Although I think I annoy him more than a best friend should. I’ll have to work on that.

“Jesus, is Jace’s skull still open? Close that shit up, people!” Stuart barks.

“This will take some time and care,” Stenkler says.

“How much time?” Stuart asks.

“An hour, at least,” Stenkler says.

“We have to staple the skull and then suture his scalp back together,” Dr. Kramer adds. “This is not like putting the lid back on a jar, Mr. Stuart.”

“You have fifteen minutes,” Stuart says. “I’m not kidding.”

“The suturing alone will take thirty!” Stenkler exclaims.

“That’s what super glue is for,” Stuart snaps. “Find some and use it!”

“Stella, please talk some reason into Mr. Stuart,” Stenkler says. “There is no way we can move your husband in fifteen minutes.”

I watch as Stella looks over her shoulder at the doorway. I can’t see Stuart, but I know the guy well enough to imagine what he looks like. I’m guessing there’s a serious frown happening on that mug of his.

“Fifteen minutes,” Stella says. “Move ass.”

Oh, fuck. Stuart must have had his extra serious frown going on. That means we have real trouble coming our way. Not that there isn’t always real trouble. It is the zombie apocalypse. It just means he isn’t dicking around when he says fifteen minutes is our timeframe. Shit.

“Aaayyy,” I say.

“What was that?” Stuart asks and he walks into my line of sight. “He can talk again?”

“He can only make that sound right now,” Stenkler says.

“What did you say, Jace?” Stuart asks, leaning in close.

“Aaayyy,” I repeat.

Stuart leans back and shakes his head.

“You aren’t the Fonz, Jace,” Stuart says. “Knock it off and use your words.”

See? Stuart gets me. I may annoy the holy fuck out of the guy half the time, but he gets me.

“Thirteen minutes,” Stuart barks. “You need me to find the super glue for you, doctors?”

“That is not necessary,” Dr. Kramer says. “I have some right here.”

“You do?” Critter asks. “That’s handy.”

“Well, Mr. Fitzpatrick, as you well know, when you get to be our age, it is better to be prepared,” Dr. Kramer says. “You have no idea how many scalps I’ve put back together with super glue. After all, those girls had to learn how to fight before they became experts. Machetes do so much damage in the hands of novices.”

“You sure know how to bring the creepy into a room,” Critter replies. “Damn.”

“Shut up and work,” Stuart growls. “I’ll be right back. Stella? Keep them on task.”

“Not a problem,” Stella says.

Stuart stomps off and I can hear him barking orders to people out in the hallway. He’s quietly barking, of course, since too much noise will alert the Zs. Stuart is an expert at the quiet bark. All those years as a Marine. Not that Marines quietly bark. I actually have no idea what Marines do quietly. Why’d I even say that?

“Jace? You hanging in there?” Stella asks, back in my face.

“Aaayyy,” I reply.

Dammit, I really wish my thumb would work again. The sound just doesn’t have the same effect without the thumb. But, hey, at least my middle finger works. Not that the Fonz would flip people off. Totally not a Fonzie thing to do. WWFD, am I right?

***

I get to ride in a wheelchair!

Man, this day just keeps getting better. People pushing me in a wheelchair, my scalp super glued, I can speak only in Fonzese. The one thing that wasn’t so great was when Stenkler stapled my skull back together.

Yep, the guy used staples. Fucking hurt. Stapling bones together hurts.

I really hope they were surgical staples. But where the hell did he get surgical staples in a dental surgery office? Do dentists use staples for shit other than keeping x-rays from falling out of those billions of file folders they have shelved everywhere? And what’s with all those files, anyway? It’s like they line every wall with them. Digitize, people!

Not that there are any dentists left, really. I guess dealing with paperwork is not a priority at the moment.

Stella’s grip on my shoulder brings me out of my paperwork thought loop as we get to the door to the stairs. Hmmmm, stairs. The wheelchair isn’t as fun anymore.

The stairs door opens and Stuart looks at me, his face set in that “Stuart is taking care of business” look he gets when he’s, well, taking care of business.

“You’re going to be a problem,” he says to me. “We can carry you down the stairs, but once we get outside you’ll slow us all down.”

“We aren’t leaving him,” Stella growls.

“I know we aren’t leaving him,” Stuart growls back.

I distinctly feel everyone take an involuntary step back. Shit could get real, yo.

“I’m just saying that he is going to be a problem when we get outside,” Stuart continues. “The streets aren’t in the greatest condition. There are Z corpses everywhere and more potholes than I can count. We aren’t even fully in Denver yet. I don’t even want to know what the city looks like. My guess is there was quite a fight here at some point.”

“We still have an RV and a Humvee, right?” Critter asks. “The damn Zs didn’t drive off with them, did they?”

“We still have them,” Stuart says. “But they’re a block away, remember?”

“Send a couple of my nephews to go get them,” Critter says.

“That’s going to draw the Zs right to us,” Stuart says. “It’ll be better if we get to the vehicles and just go. Once they start up, we’ll have more Zs than you can count on our asses. We pause for even a minute to get Jace loaded up and the RV won’t be able to push through the herd.”

“It’s that bad?” Greta asks. “Shit.”

Stuart sighs and rubs his face, his age suddenly there for all to see. He may be a badass ex-Marine, but he’s an ex-Marine because it was time to slow down and retire. That plan didn’t exactly work out once Z-Day hit. The man probably needs a vacation more than any of us.

“Follow me,” Stuart says. He looks over his shoulder at a man standing down on the landing. “You got this covered, Pup?”

“I’m Porky.”

“Bullshit,” Stuart says.

“Stop fuckin’ around, boy,” Critter snaps at his nephew.

“Sorry,” Pup replies. “Jace is always joking around.”

“Jace has his noggin stapled together and glued up like a white trash swimmin’ pool,” Critter says. “That’s what bein’ funny has got him. You want to be like Long Pork here?”

“No, sir,” Pup says. “Sorry, Uncle Critter.”

“Damn right you are,” Critter says then nods at Stuart. “Show us what yer gonna show us so we can get goin’.”

I always find it funny how a scrawny old man like Critter can boss around his nephews when each of them weighs as much as a fucking truck and are nearly as big.

“If everyone will shut up and do as I say then we’ll all stop wasting time,” Stuart snaps. “Come on.”

He leads us back down the hall to an office door. Stuart pushes open the door and the stink hits us fast.

“Yeah, it’s not pleasant, but the view is perfect,” Stuart says.

My head is throbbing and pulsing and doing some sort of pain tap dance as somebody pushes me through the office. I glance at a tall reception desk and see a hand draped over the side, two fingers missing. Gnawed off. I can tell. You get good at knowing the difference between cut off and gnawed off when you live in the zombie apocalypse.

There’s a bright flash in front of us and I close my eyes. Then I’m staring out a window at the plains that border the east of Denver. Pretty nice view.

“Jace? How are you feeling?” Stenkler asks, kneeling in front of me. When the hell did he get in front of me?

I flip him off. You know, because my middle finger works. Seems appropriate.

“You weren’t responding for a minute there,” Stenkler says.

I see movement out of the corner of my eye and try to turn my head, but I can’t budge an inch. Oh, right, they put a rigged brace around my skull, down my neck, and around my shoulders so I wouldn’t tear the super-glued sutures and the staples in my skull. Good idea. I’d already forgotten someone said I wasn’t supposed to move.

“Tell us if you start to notice anything strange, alright?” Stenkler says.

Seriously? Did the guy just say that to me? Might want to narrow down the definition of “strange” there, doc.

Another bright flash and I wince. I bring my hand up to shield my eyes then Stella is next to me and holding the hand.

“Relax, baby,” she says. “Just relax. Let us worry about what’s out there.”

Huh? Out where?

I glance at the floor to ceiling windows that make up the outside wall of what looks like a lawyer’s office. The sun is cresting the horizon and it is gorgeous. I don’t know if I have ever seen a more beautiful sunrise in my life. Of course, the thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Zs coming towards the city kind of ruin the effect.

“Maybe a quarter million,” Stuart is saying like he’s answering a question. Did someone ask a question? I don’t remember someone doing that. “Almost as many the other way.”

My wheelchair is turned so I can look west and directly at the Denver skyline. The orange and pink dawn light reveals a shit ton of Zs already in the city streets. They are spread out, the herd being cut up into smaller chunks by the still-standing buildings, but spread out doesn’t make things better.

“What’s the plan?” Critter asks. “If we’re going to Boulder then we have to get through those bastards.”

Critter is scared. I can hear it in his voice. The thick accent is almost gone. He still sounds like a man that grew up in a North Carolina holler, but the ignorant affectation isn’t there anymore. He must be shitting bricks if he’s dropped his country bumpkin act.

“I just spoke with Lourdes,” Stuart says. He points out the window at a wide road that heads west. “That’s Colfax Ave.”

“That’s a lot of Zs, is what that is,” Critter says.

“It is,” Stuart says. “Lourdes and her PCs are trying to draw them into the road. Get them bunched up so she can take out as many as possible and give us some breathing room. Follow me.”

The room flashes again and I swear light rays actually stab me in the eyes. Like seriously. Full on stab me.

Then we’re in another office. How the fuck?

“I told you there would be issues,” Dr. Kramer says from behind me. “We just performed emergency brain surgery on your husband, Mrs. Stanford. He is not only lucky to even be awake at all, but he’s lucky just to be alive. Periodic blackouts are normal and expected.”

Oh, so that’s what’s happening.

Stuart yanks up a set of blinds and there’s more stabby stabby light in my face.

“There,” Stuart says. “Lourdes says that we can drop south on Laredo and circle back around. There’s some jogging trail that goes by a high school we can use. Her people say it’s clear of Zs. The RV and Humvee should fit. We take that to 13th then cut back up to Colfax when we hit Fitzsimmons. If we hit a street called Ursula then we’ve gone too far.”

“Too far for what?” Stella asks.

“There’s a children’s hospital on Colfax,” Stuart says. He looks at me. “Lourdes is already getting it cleared. The others are heading that way now.”

“Wait, you’re talkin’ about diggin’ in, ain’t ya?” Critter asks.

“For now,” Stuart says. “The building is sturdy and defendable.” He looks at me again. “And it has equipment we need.”

Why does he keep staring at me? I look around and everyone in my field of vision is staring at me. I have a feeling I’m not looking so great.

“Aaayyy?” I ask.

“Shhh,” Stella says. “Save your strength.”

A radio crackles and I hear Buzz Fitzpatrick’s voice. “Stuart? We need to leave now.”

“On the—”

***

I can hear a scream and then the distinct sound of flesh being ripped out. My whole body is bouncing up and down as my wheelchair is being pushed through the broken streets of whatever Denver suburb we’re in.

I have no fucking clue how I got here.

“Aaayyy,” I moan.

“Not now,” someone shouts in my ear. “Just hang on!”

I don’t recognize the voice. Who the hell is pushing me?

Gunshots go off to my right and I instinctively turn my head to look. Pain explodes in my skull and I cry out.

“You have to be—”

***

“Keep running!” Stuart yells, suddenly next to me. “The RV is right there!”

What the fuck? This blackout shit is ridiculous.

Stuart hurries ahead then turns and drops to a knee, his carbine to his shoulder. He fires over and over at what’s chasing us. My wheelchair almost over turns as the pusher picks up speed, aiming me right for the RV.

I hear Stella yelling behind me with Greta’s voice mixed in there. Good. My family is with me. Except for Charlie. Where the fuck is that boy?

The wheelchair comes to a stop next to the RV and the pusher moves from behind me and runs to open the side door. Then all I see is a spray of blood and brains as the guy’s head explodes everywhere.

A woman steps down out of the RV, a shotgun casually held in her hands. She smiles at me.

I have no idea who was just killed, but I sure as hell know who did the killing.

“Hey, Jace,” Cassie says. “Been a while. I’d say long time no see, but I’ve been watching you for some time now.”

Cassie. Cassandra. One of Elsbeth’s “sisters.” The de facto leader of the whole gang of brainwashed, uber-trained, super warriors from Hell.

“Aaayyy,” I say and give her a thumb-up. Hey, my thumb is working! Huzzah!

She frowns and cocks her head. She waves the shotgun at me.

“What’s up with all that stuff on your head?” she asks.

A bullet hole appears right next to the RV door and her face turns to pure rage.

“No, you don’t!” she screams. “I’ll blast your—”

***

There’s smoke everywhere. I can feel the heat and start to feel the pain as soon as my eyes open and I come to again.

Pain?

“AAAYYY!!!!” I yell.

Hey, I have volume back! The growls, snarls, moans and groans of Zs reply to my volume.

Shit.

“I know, Jace!” Stuart yells from right behind me. “Try to pat the flames out!”

Flames? Oh, shit, the pain is because my legs are on fire! Or the blanket draped across my lap is on fire. I grab the blanket and toss it aside.

And, apparently, I have pissed myself at some point. Either that or someone dumped a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew on my crotch. Joy.

But, hey, the pain is gone now that the burning blanket of ow is off of me.

“Aaayyy,” I say.

“Knock it off with the Fonzie shit, Jace,” Stuart says as he avoids a brutal-looking pothole in the middle of the street. “Use your fucking words.”

I would love to do that, Stuart. That would be my preferred way of communicating, but it doesn’t seem to be in the cards. You see, my good chap, I have had my skull cracked open and two doctors playing Operation with my brain. That seems to wreak havoc with one’s faculties.

“Aaayyy,” I say to get my point across.

“Fuck you too,” Stuart says.

My right eardrum almost bursts as pistol fire explodes around me. When that stops, the distinct sound of a trigger clicking, clicking, clicking because it’s empty makes its way through the cottony fuzz that is my hearing.

“Shit,” Stuart says. “I’m out.”

“Here,” Stella says. “I’ll push. You shoot.”

Phew. My lady is with me. I feel the wheelchair jostle and then there’s a brief kiss on the back of my neck.

“I found you,” Stella says. “Thank God.”

“Where’s Greta?” Stuart asks.

“With the Fitzpatricks,” Stella says. “We got separated.”

“The doctors?” Stuart asks.

“I think they’re with them too,” Stella replies. “I don’t know.”

“That’s going to be a problem,” Stuart says. He fires a couple times. “You see what I see?”

“Yes, Stuart, I see it,” Stella snaps. “I am very aware of the blood pouring down my husband’s scalp.”

“Wasn’t trying to start anything,” he responds. More firing. “It’s just that this may be out of Dr. McCormick’s and Reaper’s league.”

“Are they at the hospital?” Stella asks.

“Last I heard,” Stuart says. “Radios have gone silent, though.”

“Batteries dead?” Stella asks. We get to the corner of the street and she pauses. “Which way?”

“Right,” Stuart says. We turn right. There are a lot of Zs coming at us. “Left!”

Stella gets me turned around and I see Stuart take a firing stance as we hurry past in the opposite direction. He starts firing as Stella wheels me down the street and soon I hear more empty clicking.

“Magazine!” Stuart yells.

“Back pocket!” Stella responds.

We slow briefly as I imagine Stuart grabbing a fresh magazine out of Stella’s pocket. I want to say something like, “Keep your hand off my wife’s ass, buckaroo!” but all that comes out is “Aaayyy.”

“Relax,” Stella says. “He didn’t cop a feel.”

I love my wife.

We get to the next corner and Stella turns right. I’m guessing she’s going to circle around so we are headed the way we need to be headed. No Zs on this street, which is a relief. Stuart sprints past us to the corner and looks to his right. He gives us a thumbs-up, which I return since a thumb-up is kinda my thing right now, and Stella starts pushing me faster.

Gunshots echo to us from far off then several explosions shake the ground.

“Something big,” Stuart said. “I’m guessing it was that propane warehouse we passed a few blacks back.”

“Good guess,” Stella says. “I just hope it was our people blowing it up, not getting blown up by it.”

“Sounded deliberate,” Stuart says.

“Aaayyy,” I agree.

Stuart glances at me and shakes his head.

“You just can’t help yourself,” he says.

Next street, quick scan, we go. This happens over and over until we get to a street, do a quick scan, we can’t go.

“Both directions,” Stuart whispers.

The Zs must be close if he’s whispering. They must not have seen us either or we’d be running and yelling. You pick this stuff up when you live in the zombie apocalypse. I should write a Dummies book one day for those that haven’t quite figured it all out yet. Of course, if they haven’t figured it out yet then they are probably dead. Not much of a market there then.

“What now?” Stella whispers.

“We sprint across the intersection and hope they don’t see us,” Stuart shrugs. Things are never good when he shrugs. It basically means our options are a coin toss. Awesome. “Want me to take Jace?”

“I’ve got him,” Stella says. “You just keep that pistol up and ready.”

More gunshots, but no explosions following.

I watch Stuart cock his head.

“That was a .50 caliber,” Stuart says. “Only Lourdes’s people have a .50.”

“Are they coming to find us?” Stella asks, but I can tell she doesn’t believe her own question.

“Let’s hope,” Stuart says. “You ready to run?”

“Kind of always ready,” Stella says.

“Okay. Then let’s—”

***

There is nothing but pain. Pure, white hot, excruciating pain. It radiates out from my head and engulfs my body. I feel hot, I feel cold, I feel every nerve in my entire body alive and dancing on the point of a razor sharp knife.

I also feel rough asphalt under my cheek and the distinct wetness of blood. Lots of blood. Lots and lots of blood.

There’s some blood, in case I’m not being clear.

Someone grabs me under my armpits and lifts me up. It’s Stella. I can tell by the grunting. I know my wife’s grunting.

Shut up. Don’t be gross. She grunts when she works out. It’s that kind of grunting. Perverts.

“Baby?” she asks as she drops me back into the wheelchair. “Jace?”

“Aaayyy,” I mumble.

“Oh, thank God,” she cries. I can hear the tears in her voice. “I thought I’d lost you. You’re bleeding a lot.”

See? Told you there is blood.

“This way,” Stuart mutters from my side.

I catch a glimpse of him as he limps past us. He’s holding his left arm to his side and limping on his left leg. I don’t see a pistol or any weapon on him. And he’s missing a boot. Shit. How long was I out this time?

“We’re going to have to spend the night here,” Stuart says as he turns towards a boarded-up building to our right. Well, he doesn’t really turn as much as he does a slow, painful pivot.

The white hotness of my own pain subsides slightly. Just slightly. It’s not so much white hot anymore as maybe an eggshell hot. Fresh cream hot? Yes, I have looked at a lot of paint samples in my day.

We stop in front of the boarded-up, two-story building and Stuart tries the door. He gives the boards across it a hard yank, but with only one good arm he doesn’t make much progress.

“Around back,” Stella says. “We have to hurry.”

Stuart looks to our left, his gaze scanning the street.

“Okay,” he says. “They haven’t seen us yet. This way.”

He limps around the side of the building. That’s when I notice we aren’t on a street, but in a parking lot. The burned-out shells of cars are everywhere, but not in a haphazard way. Looks like someone created a maze at one point to slow down the Zs and/or any crazies. I’d say the crazies won since there are two scorched-looking abandoned semis that obviously plowed right through the middle of the maze.

I don’t have a good feeling about this.

“Here,” Stuart hisses. “This one is loose.”

Stella wheels me up to a side door that Stuart has pried open. The smell of decay wafts out at us, but it isn’t fresh or rotten. If there are corpses inside then they are long dead. Let’s hope so.

We make it inside and Stuart quietly closes the door behind us. Stella leaves me next to the wall and helps Stuart begin pushing anything and everything they can find up against the door.

“We’ll have to check all the exits,” Stuart says. “Then find a secure place and dig in for the night.”

“Fine,” Stella says.

Greta is out there; Charlie is out there; we’re cut off from our group and all my wife has to say is “fine”? Man, that does not make me feel good about the situation we’re in.

My eyes adjust to the darkness and I see the outlines of storage shelves and rows and rows of boxes. In piles everywhere are nothing but books.

“Aaayyy?” I ask.

“It’s an old Barnes and Noble,” Stella says. “Closest building that isn’t burned to the ground.”

“Except for the Payless Shoe Source next door,” Stuart says. “But that place was full of Zs. Someone lured them inside then locked them up. You can see them pressed up against the glass windows.”

Stuart looks about and picks up a broom from the floor. He unscrews the head and tosses it then grips the handle tight as he looks back at us.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes,” Stella says.

“Aaayyy,” I say and nod.

White hot pain!

Nodding is bad. No more nodding.

“Don’t nod,” Stella says quietly in my ear. “You’re bleeding bad and you’re going to make it worse.”

“Aaayyy,” I reply.

“I know head wounds bleed a lot,” Stella says. “But you don’t have a head wound. You just had brain surgery.”

“Aaayyy,” I say.

“Don’t argue with me,” she snaps.

I speak only in Fonzese and still lose the argument. That’s life, folks.

Stella weaves us through the piles of books and broken shelves until we get to the swinging double doors that will take us out into the store. One of the doors is broken off its hinges and leans against the wall while the other just hangs there, looking sad and alone.

Stuart walks out into the store and stops. We wait a minute then he waves us forward. When we get next to him, Stella and I both gasp.

Every inch of the bookstore floor is covered in desiccated corpses; dried out husks of people long-since dead.

Stuart pushes bodies out of the way so Stella can wheel me down the aisle. I don’t dare move my head to get a good look at the bodies, but there are so many that I don’t really have to strain to see what happened.

Suicide. We’ve seen it before, but not on this scale. You come across people in their beds or in their cars, their heads blown open from self-inflicted gunshots. But this looks like poisoning. Sort of.

“Families,” Stella says, her voice choked up. “Look at them holding each other. Holding hands.”

“They probably drank something,” Stuart says. “See the small cups?”

I’d make a Jonestown joke, but that would be cruel. This wasn’t a cult. This was the last days of desperate, scared people.

Stuart crouches by a family of four. The bodies are so decayed that I have no idea what the genders of these people were, but they obviously cared for each other. Their last embrace is proof of that.

“Someone went around and pierced their skulls once they were gone,” Stuart says. “You can see the entry wounds by their temples.”

“Then someone didn’t take the poison,” Stella says. “And could still be walking around.”

“True,” Stuart says. “If they stuck around.”

We get to the center of the store, right where the old escalators are and then stop. We quickly have our answer.

Swaying slightly, its neck held tightly by a noose made from an orange extension cord, is a Z. Its eyes roll in its head, cloudy, grey orbs that no longer see anything. The tips of the thing’s fingers twitch as we move closer, its animal brain alerted by the soft noise of our feet and wheels.

“Get it down and put it out of its misery,” Stella says quietly. “Why didn’t it stab itself also? Would have been easy.”

“Would it?” Stuart asks as he climbs cautiously up the escalator to the second floor.

He works at the extension cord knot that holds it to the second floor railing until it comes free and the Z comes crashing down. Its limbs snap off instantly, the tendons and ligaments so dry. But the head is still intact and the cloudy eyes search for us, knowing prey is close, knowing food is only a step away.

Stuart tosses the broom handle down to Stella and my wife doesn’t even hesitate. She catches the handle, walks up to the Z, and stabs it through the skull. The eyes stop rolling, stop searching, go still. Normally, after stabbing a Z, you’d flick off the gunk, but this thing is so dried out there’s barely anything on the end of the handle. Stella wipes off what little mess there is on the old carpet and steps back from the silenced Z.

“I hate to say it,” Stuart sighs from above us, “but it looks like upstairs is the best place to hole up. There’s old bedding and mattresses up here already. Only way up is the escalators, so it’s easy to defend.”

“Okay,” Stella sighs as well.

Yeah, they’re sighing because of me. I get that.

It takes them a while to carry me and my wheelchair up the escalator. It takes them almost as long to get me out of the wheelchair and onto a pallet of thin, twin mattresses and moth-eaten blankets. I don’t get to lie down since that would probably kill me, so Stella props me up with old pillows and paperback books.

“You okay?” she asks me.

“Aaayyy,” I reply and give her a thumb-up. “Aaayyy.”

“One time is fine, Jace,” she smirks then kisses my cheek. “Stuart and I are going to find some water. Don’t go anywhere.”

Ha, ha, fucking ha.

***

I drift off and find myself coming to now and again. Sometimes Stella is next to me, sometimes Stuart is. At one point I smell food and I think I taste it too, but I can’t be sure. I don’t feel quite as hungry as I did. I know they found water because my throat isn’t all sandpaper land anymore. That’s nice. Now my aaayyys will have more punch.

The pain never goes away, though. Whether I’m awake or out, it’s a constant. The blood doesn’t feel like it’s still flowing, but that could just be because I’ve lost so much that there isn’t enough to flow. For once, I actually wish one of the doctors was with me. Yeah, I’m that desperate to stay alive.

There’s no light coming from outside, so I know the sun has set, but I have no idea what time it is. It could be early night or early morning. I move my eyes to the side, and catch a glimpse of Stella and Stuart sleeping on the floor by me. No one is standing watch. Fuck. Another sign that we are totally screwed. If Stuart thinks he needs rest more than we need someone to stand watch then our chances are no longer a coin flip, but a fucking lottery ticket.

Hold on… Uh… If Stella and Stuart are asleep on the floor, and no one is standing watch, then who the hell is that right by the stand of Goosebumps books?

“Aaayyy,” I say. “Aaayyy.”

“Hello, Jace,” a woman whispers. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Aaayyy!” I try to yell, but the exertion sends waves of mind searing pain through my head.

Everything starts to swim and go wonky as the woman takes a step towards us, something sharp and metal glinting in her hand. She raises the glinty, sharp metal and that’s when my brain has finally had it.

Night night, Jacey. Time for Long Pork to take a nap.

Wonder if I’ll wake up from this one?

Chapter Two

Once we crossed into Colorado, we knew shit was fucked up.

Snowy plains and nothing but Zs as far as the eye could see.

Okay, that’s a little hyperbolic. There were Zs for a couple miles, not as far as our eyes could see. Not that my eyes were seeing a whole lot, what with the freakin’ migraines that kept slamming into my noggin.

“Take these,” Stella said, her hand out and a pile of ibuprofen stacked in her palm. “They’re only 100mg each. Dr. McCormick is keeping the stronger stuff for when we really need it.”

“I’m good,” I said, gently pushing her hand away. “That shit’s starting to make my stomach burn.”

Stella hesitates and I can see the argument in her eyes, but she sighs and pockets the pills. “Later then.”

I squint against the morning light that filters into the truck depot we’d stopped at the night before. Looked like some agriculture shipping hub. A hard snow squall came ripping through and we needed to get the RVs and other vehicles we’d picked up along the way under cover ASAP. We’d already lost one RV to bad weather and we couldn’t afford to lose any more.

“Six more gone,” Stuart said as he stepped into our RV, cold mother-fucking air following him like a deathly spectre.

Deathly spectre. Good one. I like that. Man, I sure can tell a story.

Yes, you can, Jace. Keep telling it. Come on. Don’t be shy.

Uh...what?

“All cannies?” Stella asked.

“Yeah,” Stuart replied. “No bodies anywhere. John’s been out with some of Lourdes’s people since dawn. No tracks. Nothing.”

“Where’s Elsbeth?” I asked. “She have anything to say about this? It’s her sisters doing this shit. Picking us off one by one.”

Good. Ask about Elsbeth. Where is she? Keep going, Jace.

“Six went missing, Jace,” Stuart said. “That’s hardly one by one. That’s an assault.”

“So? Where’s El?” I asked again.

“She’s working with Charlie,” Stella responded.

She looked a bit nervous, so I raised my eyebrows in that “what’s up?” look. Raising one’s eyebrows can hurt like a mother fuck when you have a migraine. Ow.

“What are they working on?” I asked.

“Killing,” Stuart said, ignoring the sharp look Stella shot at him. “Killing anything that gets too close. Your boy is a good shot, she’s making him a great shot. Not to mention the knife work.”

“And she didn’t ask us? We’re the parents,” I snapped.

“That’s what I said,” Stella replied. “But she just shrugged and turned away.”

“And Charlie?” I asked.

“His argument is that he needs to know how to fight people,” Stella said. “He can fight Zs, but people are a whole other thing.”

“He has a point,” Stuart said. “People are a whole other thing. Doesn’t matter how many Zs are out there, all it takes is one asshole with a pistol to end it all.”

“All it takes is one Z chomping through his skin to end it all,” I said.

Stuart nodded towards Stumpageddon, my missing arm, and smiled. “That so?”

“Fuck off. You know what I mean,” I snapped.

There was a knock behind him and the door opened. Stuart moved out of the way as Lourdes, Melissa, Critter, John, and Buzz came inside. I thought the door was going to close, but Mr. Flips, the unofficial canny leader, followed behind, hurrying inside and closing the door right away.

“Traveling in the winter across Colorado is fun,” Mr. Flips said. “Anybody else having as much fun as I am?”

“Can’t feel my balls or my toes,” Critter said. “Damn barrel of fun.”

“Search parties are back,” Lourdes said, getting right to business like always. “We have some fuel, a little bit of food, and more ammunition. There’s a small town a couple miles away. It’s been picked over, but not by a big group otherwise it’d have been stripped clean.”

“Found two skinned bodies too,” John said. “Same bloody writing as the others. El’s sisters sure don’t like disloyalty.”

“Loyalty above all else again?” Stella asked.

Loyalty above all else.

I don’t...what is that?

“Yep,” John nodded. “Loyalty above all else.”

“Were they two of yours?” I asked Mr. Flips.

“I don’t think so,” Mr. Flips said. “I didn’t recognize the faces.”

“How the hell could ya?” Critter cackled. “Their goddamn faces were gone.”

“I put the skin back on the heads,” Mr. Flips said. “Only way to know for sure.”

“Well, bein’ a canny and all, I guess you’d have that skill set,” Critter nodded, his body language saying he was ready to bust some balls. “Was it weird puttin’ the skin on instead of takin’ off?”

“Former canny,” Mr. Flips replied. He was obviously pissed at Critter’s comments. I could see him wanting to respond, but he kept himself in check. “Same with the rest of my people.”

“Our people,” Stuart said. “We’re one group now. We’ve lost too many to stay divided.”

“I agree one hundred percent,” Lourdes said, looking at Mr. Flips. “You have to tell your people that. Maybe it’ll keep them from deserting.”

“Hold on?” I asked. “I thought we were in agreement that it’s Elsbeth’s sisters that are snagging folks?”

“Not anymore,” John said. “The skinned bodies are the work of the sisters. Elsbeth has pretty much acknowledged that. But the cannies going missing I think is attrition. They don’t have confidence in our goal of getting to the Stronghold and are making out on their own whenever they can.”

“Do ya blame ‘em?” Critter asked. “Shit, I don’t have much confidence in our goal. We should have hunkered down a while ago and sat it all out until winter was over. Only reason we’re pushing on is because that damn girl won’t let us stop. I’m thinkin’ we need to reconsider that strategy, that’s what I’m thinkin’.”

“You ain’t thinking at all, Critter,” Elsbeth said from behind us, walking out of the back bedroom.

“What the fuck, El?” I said. “Have you been back there the whole time?”

“Most of the time,” Elsbeth said. “I was taking a nap.”

I looked at Stella and she just shrugged.

“Where’s Charlie?” I asked.

“He’s playing with the soldier boys,” Elsbeth said. “Learning how to get his ass beat without dying. Good thing to learn.”

“You have him training with my PCs?” Lourdes snapped. “I did not authorize that.”

Elsbeth shrugged. “I did.”

“Listen here, girl,” Lourdes said, moving at Elsbeth a lot faster than usually prudent. Surprisingly, Elsbeth let her. “There is a chain of command around here. When it comes to all military and defense issues, that chain begins and ends with me. Do you understand? You don’t tell my people to do anything.”

“I thought we was all one people?” Elsbeth asked, that dangerous smirk on her face. “Ain’t that what Stuart said? We is all one people? No cannies, no PCs, just people. The Whispering Pines Express. Heading one way to Hell.”

“You’ve been talking with Charlie way too much,” Stella sighed. “Don’t listen to him.”

“Boy has a lot of good things to say,” Elsbeth replied. “More than you two know.” She pointed at everyone. “More than most of you know. But, I guess he’s just a kid and not really part of you people.”

She flipped us off with both fingers then slowly backed into the bedroom. We all just stared, stunned as fuck. After a few seconds she came sauntering out, a huge grin on her face.

“How was that? Charlie said that flipping people off and backing out of a room looked cool. Did it look cool?” Elsbeth asked, genuinely interested in our opinions.

“It looked cool,” I admitted.

“Do not encourage this,” Stella said, standing up. “I’m going to find our son and slap some sense into him.”

“Ain’t no need,” Elsbeth said, exasperated. “Ain’t you all listening? He has plenty of sense.”

“Regardless of your son’s sense,” Lourdes said, looking at us, “we have business to discuss.” Then she pointed at Elsbeth. “We still aren’t done talking about you ordering my people around.”

“I think we are,” Elsbeth said. Then flipped us off and backed into the bedroom again.

“Too much, El!” I called after her. “You lose the effect if you do it repeatedly.” No response. “El?”

We all waited then Stella sighed and walked back into the RV’s bedroom.

“She’s gone,” Stella said as she came back out.

“Okay, then that works,” I said. “I’ll tell her later.”

Everyone glared at me.

“What?” I asked. “It’s both ironic and effective to actually do it again and then sneak out the back window.”

“You’re like a five year old sometimes,” Stuart sighed.

“Sometimes?” Critter laughed.

“Can we please discuss our next move?” Lourdes growled, done with the pleasantries. Not that pleasantries are her thing.

Where are my sisters?

What? Okay, I am more than certain I wasn’t hearing voices in my head back then. What the fuck is this?

“Denver is only a little over one hundred miles away,” Lourdes says. “One hundred. We can do that in a couple of days, even with the weather.”

“Doesn’t look so great out there,” I said.

Everyone turned and looked out from the truck bay the RV was huddled up in. A lot of shitty snow was blowing this way and that. A lot.

“No choice,” Lourdes said. “We have enough food and fuel to get us to Denver now. If we wait much longer then we run low on both and risk getting snowed in.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do we have to have this conversation every damn time? If the goal is to get to the Stronghold in Boulder then we need to get there now. The longer we wait, the worse the weather is going to be. Winter doesn’t end by the calendar in Colorado. March and even April can have some nasty storms come through.”

“Well fuck March and April, then,” I said. “They can kiss my ass.”

Everyone turned and looked at me. I could see the worry on their faces which usually meant that I’d said something wrong in a weird way.

“What?” I asked.

“Why did you mention your dad?” Stella asked.

“Huh? I didn’t,” I replied. “I said fuck March and April. I was making a joke.”

“No, you said your dad wasn’t going to be at the game,” Stuart said. “Then you whistled.”

“Ha ha ha, guys,” I responded, lifting my one middle finger. “Is this funny to you? Mess with brain-addled Jace? Good one.”

Then shit went really weird.

Skip that, please. Get to the road.

What? No, I can’t just skip the fact I had my first seizure. Wait…

Then tell the story. But hurry, Jace. Time is ticking.

I’m really confused.

***

“Jace? Baby?” Stella asked. “Wake up, Jace. Can you hear me? Wake up.”

“I can hear you,” I said and tried to sit up, but Stenkler was there and he pushed me back down.

“Rest,” he said. “You blacked out. I’d say you had a small seizure, but I can’t be for certain since I wasn’t here.” He looked about at everyone in the RV. “I have said I’d prefer to be with him for most of the journey. Only way I can monitor his digression.”

“My digression? Way to go negative, man,” I said, trying to sit up again.

“Stay,” Stella says.

“But the floor of this RV smells like feet and rotten oranges,” I replied. “I’m gonna puke if I have to stay down here. At least get me up on a couch.”

Stella looked to Stenkler and he nodded. Stuart, John, and Buzz lifted me up and set me on the couch.

“Rotten oranges?” Stenkler asked. “Have you been smelling that a lot lately?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“We’ll need to find a medical facility as soon as we reach Denver,” Stenkler said. “And I must insist I remain with him until then.”

“We’ll see,” Stuart replied. “You’re still not quite one of us, doc. I think we all feel more comfortable with you under watch along with Kramer.”

“You realize that Dr. Kramer is kind of nuts, right?” Stenkler asked.

Stenkler? Talk about him.

Stop that.

“Yeah, we know,” Stuart said.

“He’s also a true medical genius,” Stenkler said. “And I’m not exactly a mental slouch. Keeping us together, where we can discuss our options and possibly collude, isn’t the best idea. As far as you know, we are planning to escape together.”

“Is that so?” Lourdes asked, looking menacing.

“Nah, he’s full of shit,” Critter laughed. “The man is soft. He wouldn’t last more than a day out there. And Kramer is a coward. He likes havin’ his meals brought to him and havin’ people die fightin’ for his safety. He’ll stick around as long as we let him.”

“Regardless,” Stenkler said. “Jace’s neurological deterioration is alarming.”

“Your neurological deterioration is alarming,” I replied. “Ha!”

“That there,” Stenkler said, pointing at me. “Why else would he mention a toaster at a time like this?”

“Toaster?” I asked. I looked at Stella. She nodded. “Shit.”

“This decision isn’t based on anything Dr. Stenkler has said or on Jace’s condition,” Lourdes announced. “But we are leaving in an hour. Spread the word.”

And then she was gone and the cold air was whipping into the RV again.

“I’m going to find the kids,” Stella said. “Will you be alright?”

“I’ll stay with him,” John said. “You guys go administer.”

“I’ll stay too,” Critter added. “Nice and toasty in here.”

“You are coming with me, Uncle Crit,” Buzz said. “We have work to do making sure all the vehicles are ready. I’ll need your help.”

“You don’t need my help on nothin’,” Critter said. “You just want to see an old man freeze his shriveled ass off.”

“Trust me, I really do not want to see that,” Buzz laughed. “But you’re one of the leaders of this gang, so you need to get out there and show your face.”

“Then why ain’t he comin’?” Critter whined, pointing at me. “People look up to the moron. He should be out there too.”

“Thanks for the compassion, Crit,” I said, smiling.

“That’s why,” Stuart said.

“What’s why?” I asked.

“You just made farting noises and called me Luela,” Stuart said. He looked very serious.

“Oh,” I winced. “Poop.”

“John? You sure you got this?” Stuart asked.

“Not a problem,” John said. “I’ve been out in the field all morning. My legs could use the rest. I’ll make sure the doctor doesn’t mess with Jace.”

Stella leaned down and kissed my brow then stared at me for a couple of seconds. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Take your time,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, you’re not going bowling,” Stella replied, her worried look getting even more worried.

“Did I say bowling?” I asked.

Stella nodded then left quickly. Pretty sure she was about to cry. Fuck.

“Can I keep examining him?” Stenkler asked John as soon as it was just us in the RV. “At least until everyone starts loading back on?”

“You cool with that, Jace?” John asked me.

“Cool as a cucumber,” I said.

“Then go ahead,” John said to Stenkler.

“Can you talk for me, Jace?” Stenkler asked.

John laughed at that.

“Talk about what?” I replied.

“Anything,” Stenkler said. “I just want to hear your speech pattern and make some notes when you go off topic or your nouns get mixed up.”

“He always goes off topic,” John said. “It’s his specialty.”

“Oh, I know what I could talk about,” I sneered at John. “Elsbeth. How are things between the two of you?”

John cleared his throat and the smart ass look he’d just had went away fast.

“Fine,” he said.

“You two still a thing?” I pressed. “Still getting it on? Bumping uglies? Doing the nasty?”

“Did you mean to say all those euphemisms?” Stenkler interrupted.

“Yep,” I grinned.

“We’re still intimate,” John said. “Not much choice. When Elsbeth wants to, uh, bump uglies, then we bump uglies.”

“Is it against your will?” Stenkler asked, looking alarmed.

“What? No,” John said quickly. “I care for her. I do. Probably more than I should. It’s just that…”

“Elsbeth is Elsbeth,” I answered for him.

“Exactly,” John said. “That woman is simple on so many levels, but that makes her only more complicated on so many more.”

“True dat, bro,” I said and held out my hand for a fist bump.

John just stared at me.

“No fist bump?” I said.

“What? Uh, Jace, you’re lifting your stump and waving it at me,” John said.

“Am I?” I looked down and saw Stumpageddon doing a little dance. “Huh. Didn’t know that.”

“Involuntary motor control,” Stenkler said. “Your list is getting longer.”

“You know me,” I grinned. “I like a long list.”

“That makes no sense,” John said.

“Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?” I asked. “No, I guess it doesn’t. Story of my life.”

The door to the RV whipped open and Stella stuck her head inside.

“You need to come see this,” she said to John.

“See what?” he asked.

“Just come on,” Stella said then looked at me. “Stay here.”

“What? I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, but now that you tell me I can’t then maybe I should,” I smirked.

“Stay here,” she growled.

Uh-oh.

John frowned then got up and followed her out. I looked at Stenkler and he just looked back at me. Then he must have seen a look in my eyes.

“No. You need to stay put,” he said.

“Just a peek,” I grinned.

“No,” he insisted.

“You ever killed a man, doc?” I asked.

“No. Well, yes, but I didn’t want to,” Stenkler replied.

“So you’ve never shot a man, stabbed a man, jammed a hunk of metal through a man’s skull?” I said. “Because I have. Want me to show you?”

Stenkler took a few steps away from me.

“Just a quick peek,” I said, smiling at him. “You can even stand right by my side and make sure I don’t fall over and die.”

“I won’t have much control over that,” he said. “If you fall over and die, all I can do is catch your corpse.”

“That’s helpful. I just washed these jeans, so it would suck if they get truck depot grease on them,” I said then stood and made my way to the front of the RV.

It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I intended on being all strutting and cool. Pretty sure I only managed wobbling and weak. I was sweating like a cannibal’s dinner on a spit by the time I got to the door.

“I’m officially objecting one more time,” Stenkler said. “Then I’m shutting up.”

“You should get to that shutting up part,” I laughed. Nice to say that to someone else instead of it just being said to me. Then I saw the look on his face. “What did you hear?”

“Something about strawberry shortcake,” he sighed.

“Ooooh, that sounds good,” I replied. “Man, I’d love to have some strawberry shortcake. How well do strawberries grow in Colorado?”

“I don’t know,” he said as he helped me down the short stairs and out of the RV. “I hope we find out.”

“Me too,” I said as we got outside. Damn, it was cold.

People were hurrying out of the truck depot and into the falling snow. Most of them were survivors from Asheville, but a few were cannies mingled in here and there. Sure seemed like there were a lot fewer cannies than before. Elsbeth’s psycho sisters must have really been picking them off. Or not. Whatever was happening.

“What’s up?” I asked as Melissa hurried by.

The wife of my late best friend from Whispering Pines, and sister to the Fitzpatrick boys, Melissa Billings is not someone you mess with. She’s tough as nuclear nails and packs as much of a punch.

“Did you just tell me to shove a gerbil in my butt?” Melissa asked, looking from me to Stenkler then back to me. “Jace, you had better be messing around.”

“He’s having new speech issues,” Stenkler said.

“I asked what’s up,” I said.

“Oh,” Melissa frowned. “Some of Lourdes’s people just got back from patrol. They say we’ve got military hostiles coming at us fast.”

“Military?” Stenkler asked. “Government?”

“No such thing,” I said. “Not the way you want. If it is government then it might as well be Consortium. How many?”

“I don’t know,” Melissa said, exasperated. “That’s what I was going to find out. How about you come with instead of asking a bunch of questions I can’t answer?”

“Good idea,” I said then took a couple of unsteady steps. I pointed at Stenkler. “Wanna give me a piggy back ride?”

“No,” Stenkler said. “But I’ll help you get to everyone else. Take my arm.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” I quipped.

It is.

Huh? What the hell is going on?

***

The truck depot wasn’t exactly a tightly closed fortress, mostly just a bunch of overhangs with some slightly walled-in bays so long haul truckers could work on their semis out of the weather, or get some needed sleep, before loading up the next batch of corn or potatoes or asparagus. But, once I stepped away from the overhangs and walls, I realized just how much protection they gave us.

The wind whipped at my coat and I struggled to pull it tight. You know, because of only one hand. Stenkler grabbed my stump to keep me from falling over in the wind while I managed to get my coat zipped up to my throat.

I don’t care about your coat. Get on with it.

Uhhh…

“Are you alright?” Stenkler asked.

“Yeah...fine,” I said.

No, wait, that’s not what I said. I’m getting confused. Hold on, hold on.

“Dammit, Jace,” Stella snapped as soon as she saw me.

“I’m incorrigible,” I said, giving her my best cute husband smile.

“You’re an idiot,” Critter said as he walked up to us. “But since you’re here, have a look.”

He pretty much dragged my ass about fifty yards away from the depot and handed me a pair of binoculars.

“Uh, Crit, it’s kind of snowing,” I said. “Gonna be hard to see anything.”

“Oh, you’ll see this,” he said.

I lifted the binoculars and he grabbed me by the shoulders and pointed me in the right direction.

Oh, shit.

Yes. Tell me about the oh shit.

“Who keeps saying that?” I asked as I lowered the binoculars.

“See ‘em?” Critter asked as if I hadn’t said anything.

Which I didn’t, because that isn’t what happened. This is getting all messed up.

Just tell me what you saw.

“Are those Zs?” I asked Critter. “How many? A couple thousand?”

“Closer to a hundred thousand,” Lourdes said as she came up to us with Stuart, Reaper, John, and Stella.

Stella was still giving me the stink eye.

“I’m sorry, did you say a hundred thousand?” I asked Lourdes.

“Close to it, maybe more,” Lourdes nodded. “But that’s not the worst part.”

“Oh, it’s not?” I laughed. No one else laughed with me. “Oh, come on. What’s worse than a hundred thousand Zs?”

“An army of the living,” Lourdes said. “Shots came back from recon and said we’re looking at about a thousand strong, fully armed and equipped for war.”

How are they equipped? That would be helpful to know. Not that they can take me. They’ll never take me.

“Anyone else hearing that?” I asked. No one responded. “Okay, so how are they equipped? Rifles? RPGs? Blowdart guns?”

“Tanks,” Lourdes said. “Four of them.”

Tanks? Hmmm, tell me about the tanks.

Man, my head is killing me. Like really killing me. This migraine sucks balls. And who knew that phantom voices came with migraines? No one ever mentioned that to me.

“Four tanks?” I asked. “They brought tanks to fight the Zs?”

“They are pushing the Zs,” Stuart said. “They’re driving them towards us. Which means we have big herds ahead of us and an even bigger one behind us. Behind that is an army.”

“With tanks,” I said.

“With tanks,” Stuart nodded.

“Tanks not for the killing of Zs,” I said.

“Not for the killing of Zs,” Stuart agreed.

“For the killing of us?” I asked.

The looks on everyone’s faces told me I had hit that nail on the head.

“A thousand armed soldiers could do that,” I said. “We’re good, but not fight an army good.”

“The tanks aren’t moving fast enough to catch up to us,” Lourdes said. “We move now and we’ll have at least a day, or maybe even two days, head start. Depends on how well maintained the tanks are.”

“They break down a lot?” I asked.

“In this weather, yes,” Lourdes said. “And it’s been a few years since the Army was up and going. They probably sat for at least a year before the Consortium got a hold of them and put them to use.”

“That’s what you’re hoping,” I said, smirking.

No, that’s right. They just got them working. Helicopters were easy. Lots of helicopter pilots and mechanics. Not so many tank mechanics.

The world swam about me a bit and Stenkler grabbed onto me. Stella dropped her pissed off face and hurried to my side.

“Jace?” she asked.

“All good,” I said. “Seriously, am I the only one hearing voices?”

“He needs to get inside,” Stenkler said as if I hadn’t spoken. Maybe I didn’t. I don’t even fucking know anymore.

Not yet.

“Not yet,” I said. “Where’s Elsbeth? Has anyone asked her about this army? Maybe she knows something?”

Call her by her name!

“She’s over there with Charlie,” Critter said, pointing to a burned-out building a hundred yards off. “Been huddled up and talking with that boy a lot lately. Y’all don’t think she’s sweet on him, do ya?” He glanced at John and feigned surprise. “Oh, sorry, sniper boy. Didn’t see ya standin’ there.”

“Ha ha,” John replied. “And she’s not sweet on Charlie. She’s been training him. I’ve even given her some pointers.”

“They sure is trainin’ a lot lately,” Critter chuckled. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Knock it off, Critter,” Melissa scolded. “Don’t stir shit up. We don’t need that right now.”

“I’m bored,” Critter said. “All this runnin’ from Zs and runnin’ from the Consortium and runnin’ from crazies is borin’ the livin’ shit outta me. I’d give half my right arm to get back to my holler and just be runnin’ things the way I used ta.”

He gave me a huge grin.

“No offense, Long Pork,” Critter said. “I’m sure you’d give your left nut to have half your right arm back.”

“How about we stop giving body parts and start getting loaded up?” Lourdes growled. “Stuart?”

“Folks are already getting the gear stowed back in the RVs and the rest of the convoy,” Mr. Flips said as he came up to us. “Sorry to interrupt, but thought you should know that we can be gone in fifteen minutes, if that’s fast enough.”

“I’d like it to be faster, but that will work,” Lourdes said. “Thank you.”

Mr. Flips doffed his top hat and gave her a short bow. Always the showman, that guy.

“Let’s do a head count,” Stuart said then looked at Stella. “You find Greta?”

“She’s with Dr. McCormick,” Stella said. “But I need to go get Charlie.”

“I’ll go,” I said. “If Stenkler doesn’t mind helping me.”

“You really should get back in the RV and rest,” Stenkler protested.

“Yeah, but I know El better than everyone here,” I replied. “Might be time to find out what the hell she and Charlie have been up to.”

“You don’t think it’s training?” Stella asked.

“Do you?” I replied.

Talk more about the tanks. When will they get here?

Okay, the voice has got to stop. It’s starting to make me a little sick to my stomach. Seriously. I think I’m going to barf.

Everything waivers and wiggles and for a brief second I’m not standing out in a snowstorm. I’m in some dark building with the stink of mold and mildew all around me. And something else. I smell something else.

“No, I don’t,” Stella said.

“What?” I asked.

No one responds. I mean, no one responded. I...I don’t know what I mean. Or meant. Or whatever.

“Let’s both go,” Stella said.

“I’ll go check on Dr. McCormick and Greta,” Stenkler said, letting go of my stump. “See if they need help with moving anyone or the medical supplies.”

“Nope. Don’t think so,” I said, clamping my hand on his arm. “You can stay with us.”

“Jace, let the man go do his job,” Stella said.

“Greta is fine, I’m sure,” I said, not wanting the man anywhere near my underage daughter.

“How about you come with me and check on Dr. Kramer?” Stuart said to Stenkler. “The guy’s been asking to see you all day. He thinks he can help with Jace’s head.”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Stenkler said. “I’d also like to ask him a couple questions about these sisters of Elsbeth’s. I have a theory on their conditioning and how to reverse it. I mentioned it to Elsbeth a while back, but she, well…”

“Stared at you until you wanted to pee yourself?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Stenkler frowned.

“She’s good that way,” I said. I looked at the burned-out building and smiled at my wife. “Shall we, my dear?”

“We are moving out in fifteen, Stanfords,” Lourdes said. “Be in a vehicle before then.”

“You wouldn’t dare leave us, would you?” I asked.

“Yes,” everyone said.

“Except Stella,” Critter said. “We’d find her, but leave your ass.”

“The love,” I sighed. “It overwhelms.”

You talk too much and say basically nothing of value. How is this possible?

Tell me about it, strange voice in my head. Fucking tell me about it.

***

Elsbeth obviously heard us coming because she’s was just standing there with a rifle in her hands, pretending to show Charlie how to load it. It was possibly the most pitiful rouse I had ever seen.

“Oh, hey, uh, Mom, and, uh, Dad,” Charlie stammered. “What’s up?”

I take it back. That was the most pitiful rouse I had ever heard.

“You tell us,” Stella said. “What is going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” Elsbeth said. “Training. And nothing. Only training.”

“Training and nothing,” Charlie added.

“Really?” Stella asked, her hands on her hips. “Is that the story you want to stick with?”

“It is,” Elsbeth said. “Training and nothing. Showing Charlie how to fuck shit up with rifles and shit. Bang bang, shit gets fucked. Fucking shit. All the shit. Totally fucked.”

“Bang bang,” Charlie said, patting the rifle.

They were lying to you! Tell me what they really said!

That is what they said! I swear to shit!

Hold on. Why am I afraid of the voice in my head? It’s just me.

No, it’s not. Pay attention! Why won’t he pay attention?

“Brain surgery,” Stella says.

“What?” I asked, looking at Stella. But she’s talking to Charlie.

Was talking to Charlie. This all happened before. This happened a few days ago.

Tell me what Elsbeth said!

“I am not pleased with either of you right now,” Stella scolded, her finger out and jabbing back and forth between Elsbeth and Charlie. “You are plotting something and it is dangerous and probably going to get you killed.” She said that last part with her finger aimed at Charlie. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be lying to me.” Finger was back at Elsbeth for that. “You get my son killed, El, and there is nothing in this world that will stop me from kicking your ass.”

“I know,” Elsbeth said, her face very serious. “I won’t get Charlie killed, Stella. I promise.  He’s family. I don’t get family killed. I help family.”

Elsbeth stepped up to Stella and wrapped her in a big hug. To say my wife was surprised would be a massive understatement.

“I want you to trust me, please, please,” Elsbeth said. “Trust me that I won’t get Charlie killed and have you kick my ass. Trust me that family means more than anything to me.”

“Then tell me what is going on,” Stella said as she pushed back and took Elsbeth by the upper arms. “I need to know.”

“That wouldn’t be good,” Elsbeth said. “You have a duty. I tell you and you have to tell the others. If you don’t and they find out then they’ll be mad. I can’t have the others mad at the Stanfords.”

“They’re going to get mad at Charlie,” Stella argued.

“No, they won’t,” Elsbeth laughed. “Nobody gets mad at Charlie. He’s golden.”

“Stay golden, Ponyboy,” Charlie laughed.

Stella did not laugh. “No Outsiders references, boy,” Stella snapped. “You are way past Outsiders references now.”

“Sorry,” Charlie said. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“You are riding with us,” Stella said. “Elsbeth can ride in a different RV.”

“He rides with me,” Elsbeth said.

Yeah, Charlie and I each took a couple of steps back. If shit was about to go down, neither of us wanted to catch collateral damage.

“El, I love you, and you are family, but Charlie is my son and I am saying he rides with us,” Stella said. “You two can talk about whatever you are talking about when we stop next. Until then,it’smy turn to talk with him. Understood?”

“I understand,” Elsbeth said.

“Good. Because—”

“But he rides with me,” Elsbeth said. “Sorry. You can’t win this one. Nope. Too close. Almost done. I need him with me.”

You know how there are like a billion shades of red in one of those giant crayon boxes you used to get as a kid? Yeah, well, Stella’s face turned all of those shades at once. People may have been worried about my head calling it quits, but at that moment I was worried more for my wife’s.

“Just tell us what is going on, El,” I said.

Yes, back to that. Good. Very good.

“I can’t,” Elsbeth said.

“She can’t,” Charlie echoed.

“Then you will!” Stella shouted. She stomped over to our son and grabbed him by the arm then started pulling him out into the snow. “This ends now!”

Then something did end. And it broke my heart and my wife’s heart.

“Yeah, Mom, it does,” Charlie said. He yanked himself free and walked back to Elsbeth. “My childhood. It’s over and gone, Mom. You need to understand that. I’m part of this group and this convoy not as Charlie Stanford, the son of Stella and Jace Stanford, but as my own self. I pull my own weight now.”

“Why does she get top billing?” I joked, hoping to defuse what my wife was about to say. Didn’t work.

“Fine. Be your own damn self!” Stella shouted. “Go ahead and see how long you last without me to pull you out of messes! You think you’re too old for your mother? Guess what? I’m too old to be taking care of an ungrateful little snot-ass shit like you! Go ahead,Charles, grow the fuck up! Have fun being an adult in the motherfucking zombie apocalypse! It’s a goddamn blast!”

The sounds of RV horns reached us then. Stella pointed at Elsbeth and there was nothing but rage on her face.

“Fuck you,Carly Michelle Thornberg! FUCK YOU!” she roared then turned and was gone.

I don’t think I have ever seen Elsbeth look so hurt before that moment when my wife yelled her real name at her. I grew a second heart and that one broke too.

I do not care about your hearts! What was Carly up to?

I don’t know! I do not know! Stop it! Just stop yelling in my head! Get out of my head! My head hurts! IT HURTS! STOP! STOP STOP STOP STOP—!

***

The water is bitingly cold. It comes crashing down over my head and the pain is beyond anything I have ever felt as all of my sutures turn into lines of freezing agony.

“STOP! STOP! STOP!” I’m still yelling. “STOP! STOP! STOP!”

Stella is also yelling. And so is Stuart, but he’s yelling for all of us to stop yelling. They are both bloodied and tied up, their hands bound together as they sit back to back.

And standing in front of me, holding an empty bucket, is Cassie. That de facto leader of Elsbeth’s super soldier sister girl group.

“Where is Carly?” Cassie growls as she throws the bucket aside and reaches for me, her hand lost from my sight as it goes over my head.

Then the freezing agony turns to burning agony. Why? Because Cassie is jamming her thumb into one of my sutures.

I scream.

“Stop! You’ll kill him!” Stella cries.

“You’re going to kill us all!” Stuart yells. “The Zs will zero in on us!”

“Let them,” Cassie says as she smiles, her nose almost touching mine. “I’m not worried. I can get through the Zs without any trouble.”

I’m still screaming, if anyone is keeping score.

“Tell me about Carly,” Cassie snarls.

Her breath smells like rancid apples. You know, like when you walk through an orchard at the end of the apple-picking season and the ground is littered with brown piles of squishy yuck? Like that.

“I’ll tell you!” I cry. “I’ll tell you everything!”

Cassie glares at me for a second then removes her thumb from my wounded cranium and steps back.

“Talk,” she orders. “I want to know everything now. What is Carly’s plan and where are my sisters?”

“Okay, well, you see, it’s like this,” I start then pause. “What do you mean where are your sisters?”

“I’m done,” Cassie says and pulls a very long knife from her belt. “You are useless.”

“Hello?” someone calls from down below. “Uh, anyone up there?”

Cassie stops and looks puzzled. Then she smiles and turns towards the escalators.

“I know that voice,” she says, pointing the knife at me. “I’ll be back for you.”

I recognize the voice also. So do Stella and Stuart.

“Charlie! Run! Get away from here!” Stella screams. “GO!”

“Mom? Is that you?” Charlie yells.

“CHARLIE! GET OUT OF HERE!” I scream.

Then things get a little uncertain. The scream produces enough pain in my head to power a small municipality. Lights flash before my eyes and this crazy sound fills my ears.

No, wait… There are actually lights and sounds. I can tell because Stella and Stuart both stop yelling and slam their eyes shut. Interesting.

I should probably slam my eyes shut, that might help with the pain, but damn if I don’t keep them open for a split second longer.

Just long enough to see Cassie’s whole body stiffen and a figure come up behind her with something in its hand. Looks like a long something. A long, heavy something.

Is that a baseball bat?

Cram!

The bat slams into the back of Cassie’s head and that crazy woman goes down!

“Turn them off!” the figure with the bat yells.

The lights and sounds stop.

Then Elsbeth turns and looks at me with a seriously big shit-eating grin.

“Hey, Long Pork,” she laughs. “You found Cassie. Thanks. She was the last one.”

Of course, the only sensible thing to do in response to that is pass the fuck out. Which I do.

Chapter Three

“We need to kill her,” Stella says.

“No killing,” Elsbeth replies.

“And why the hell not?” Stella snaps. “She attacked us, tied us up, and tortured Jace!”

“Got me talking, though,” I say.

“Which doesn’t help her case,” Stuart says. “Stella is right, Elsbeth. She is a liability we cannot afford right now.”

“No killing,” Elsbeth says as she stands at the top of the escalators, her eyes watching the shadows of the Zs that are piling up against the front doors. “Charlie?”

“No killing,” Charlie says, unloading a backpack and setting out some bottles of water and a few cans of food.

Could be pet food. I couldn’t give a fuck as long as he has a fork on him. Or a spork. Shit, I’ll eat dog food with a spork right now. You lose that kind of pride in the zombie apocalypse real fast.

“Ignoring the issue of to kill Cassie or not to kill Cassie for the moment, can anyone tell me why I was in flashback hell?” I ask. “That was some seriously fucked up shit. I honestly felt like I was back at that truck depot.”

“Hypnotic suggestion,” Charlie says. “Elsbeth figured it out.”

“Hypnotic suggestion?” I say. “Uh, that would mean I’m conditioned to accept hypnosis. I’m not. Trust me. It doesn’t work on me. You’ll have to find your man-barking-like-chicken act somewhere else.”

“Man barking like chicken. That’s funny,” Elsbeth laughs while she grabs a can of food and pulls the pop top. Yep, totally dog food. “It don’t make you bark like a chicken, but it works on you. Oh, it totally works, Long Pork. All y’all are conditioned.”

“She’s right, Dad,” Charlie says as he pops open a can of food as well and sticks a fork in it. “We all have been conditioned. Kramer’s a sneaky asshole.”

He offers the can to Stella and she waves him off, her Mom face in full force.

“Charles Stanford, you will explain yourself right now,” she snaps.

“It’s easier to show you,” Elsbeth says.

“Not talking to you, El,” Stella growls. “I will deal with you later. Right now I am talking to my son.”

Elsbeth smiles at Stella and holds up her hands. “Gonna be easier to show you.”

“Talk,” Stella says, jamming a finger into our son’s chest.

“El’s right,” Charlie sighs. “Tortuga canteen dollars.”

Stella’s eyes roll up into her head and Charlie has to reach out and steady her by her shoulder to keep her from collapsing.

“Charlie,” I sigh. “What did you do to your mother? Putting your mother under hypnosis is not okay, son.”

He holds up a finger. “Mom? Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Stella replies, still limp. “And you are so grounded.”

“Yeah, I know,” Charlie says. “Tell me about your first dog. Tell me about the day you got him.”

“He is so cute,” she starts. “He is red and white. So small he fits right in my hand. Daddy says he’s a spaniel mix and will make a good hunting dog, but I don’t like it when Daddy goes hunting and kills animals. I’m gonna name him Skipper. Daddy says that’s a good name, but Lorna says it’s stupid and she should pick the name. I start yelling at her and she is yelling at me and Daddy has to take Skipper out of my hands before he gets hurt. Then Mama comes outside, her hands dusty with flour and her forehead all sweaty from being in the kitchen because the AC is still broken. She is pissed. Really pissed.”

“That’s all, Mom,” Charlie says. “Wake up now. One, two, three.”

Stella’s eyes come back into focus and she jolts upright. Then her eyes narrow and she glares at Charlie.

“I already gave him the talk about how it’s not okay to put his mother under hypnosis,” I say. “But feel free to kick his ass.”

“Kramer did it to all of you,” Elsbeth says, jamming her mouth full of dog food. She stabs the fork into the can and reaches into her back pocket. “He has a book. Every trigger word he’s used on all y’all.”

Charlie reaches out and takes the small, black notebook from Elsbeth and flips it open then holds it out so we can see the list of names.

“Whose are those?” I ask.

“My sisters,” Elsbeth says. “Kramer lied when he said the conditioning couldn’t be reversed. He’s been lying since he showed up. Told you we should have killed him back at Critter’s holler.”

“Some of the names are crossed off,” Stuart says as he looks at the list. “May I?”

Charlie hands it to him and starts eating again.

“How long have you known about this?” Stuart asks as he looks through the notebook until he reaches a specific page. “My trigger words are grumpy tent tits?”

“Ha!” I laugh. “Oh, I am so calling you that from now on. What’s mine?”

“Blowfish carton toes,” Stella says. “That’s what I thought I heard Cassie say when she was done tying us up. I thought I was hearing things, but now it makes sense.”

Stella is standing there, framed by the bathroom door, wearing nothing but a rose in her hair. Damn she’s hot. I’m so—

“No!” Charlie shouts.

I blink a couple times and look around at everyone. Charlie has a disgusted look on his face and Stella is just shaking her head. Elsbeth is grinning from ear to ear.

“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

“You were about to describe our wedding night,” Stella says.

“I was? Huh,” I say. “That was a good night.”

“Nope. Just nope,” Charlie says.

“How do you break the conditioning?” Stuart asks. “I am not cool with that man, or anyone, having control over me.”

“Yeah, that’s easy,” Charlie responds. “You have to get the person that is conditioned to say their own trigger words.”

“They have to self-hypnotize?” I ask. “So, what? You write it down on a piece of paper and have them read it out loud?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Charlie says. “But you can’t tell them to read it out loud. As soon as you make them self-aware of it, the conditioning locks down and digs in. You just have to hand it to them.”

Stuart looks up from the list. “So I’m still conditioned even though I said my trigger words?”

“Maybe,” Charlie says. “Grumpy tent tits.”

Stuart blinks a couple of times. “Did I go under?”

“Nope,” Charlie says. “You said your words before you knew what was going to happen. You are officially no longer conditioned.”

“But now I know my words and I know what they do,” I say. “How do I reverse the conditioning? I don’t want to be conditioned. That is the total opposite of Fonzie cool. No aaayyy. No aaayyy at all.”

Charlie and Elsbeth both give me a look I am fairly used to.

“You had to be there,” I say.

“Not really,” Stella says. “Your dad thought he was the Fonz for a bit after his brain surgery.”

“They went through with it? The surgery? No wonder you look like hammered shit,” Charlie asked. “How’d they do it?”

“Dentist’s office,” I say. “I pretty much feel like I want to puke all the time and my head really, really hurts. But the Fonzie thing was cool.” I go to give a thumb-up. Thumb does not respond. “Ah, shit.”

“He’s lucky to be alive, let alone awake and not a drooling idiot,” Stella says.

Elsbeth starts to speak and I try to point at her, but my finger won’t respond either. My left hand sort of flops about. “Don’t say a word, El. Not one word about me always being an idiot.”

“You kill the fun, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says.

“I am not here for your amusement,” I say.

“How do we get the conditioning off?” Stella asks. “Jace and I know our trigger words. It’s not like we can just say them now.”

“Yeah, that’s the shitty part,” Charlie says. “It’ll be easier for you, Mom. I’ll surprise you with it somehow. But I have no idea how we’ll do it for Dad. If it goes wrong, he’ll end up catatonic.”

“Or dead,” Elsbeth shrugs. “Kramer has that built in. Might be why your brain has gone all circuit short.”

“Short circuit,” Charlie says. “But, yeah, dead is possible.”

“Aaayyy? The Fonz doesn’t want to die or be a hypnotized robot,” I say. “The Fonz thinks this is all way uncool.”

“Dear God,” Stuart sighs.

“I know a fix,” Elsbeth says and picks up the bat by her feet. “Someone says the words to you while I hit you in the back of the head with my bat. Only hurts for a second.”

“What?” Stella exclaims.

“It’s why El needed my help,” Charlie says. “She knew I could say the words right.”

“He’s smart,” Elsbeth smiles. “Like his mama.”

“Fuck you too, El,” I smirk. “And pretty sure that’ll kill me. So, not really an option.”

“Why is my son involved in this, really?” Stella asks. “There are lots of capable, smart, trained people in our group.”

“Kramer hadn’t gotten to me yet,” Charlie said. “So there’s that.”

“And I trust Charlie,” Elsbeth says. “Don’t trust the others.”

“How’d Kramer get to all of us?” I ask.

“He’s a sneaky fuck,” Elsbeth says. “Already told ya that, Long Pork. Pay attention. Stop being brain-surgeried dumb. Ain’t no time for Long Pork to be brain-surgeried dumb.”

“He does it in stages and layers,” Charlie says. “A conversation here, a conversation there. He only needs a few seconds alone with you at a time.”

“Jesus,” Stuart says. “How’d you even find this out?”

“I found it out,” Elsbeth says. “Went to kill him one night because I was done with him being alive and found the notebook. Decided to read it before killing him. Saw my name and something flashed in my head. Like a small movie. I figured it out.”

“The words didn’t affect El anymore because she hurt herself before that Pa guy found her,” Charlie says.

“Stop,” Stella says. “Just stop. Why?”

“What?” Charlie asks.

“Why did you really need Charlie?” Stella asks Elsbeth. “You could have come to one of us, had us read the words, and then we wouldn’t have been conditioned. We could have formulated a plan and helped everyone else in the convoy out.”

“Didn’t want to help the convoy,” Elsbeth said. “Too many people. Too hard. Most of them are weak anyway. Useless. Needed to fix the ones that aren’t weak. They’re worth more than all the convoy put together.”

“Thanks, El,” Stuart says.

“Elsbeth? What do you mean?” Stella asks. “Who did you help?”

Elsbeth looks at the tied-up and unconscious form of Cassie a few feet away. “Who do you think? My sisters. Took Charlie with me and we found them then we fixed them. One by one. The last one is Cassie.”

“We’ve tried to fix her twice, but she keeps getting away,” Charlie says. “She’s the one skinning people. There’s something wrong with her.”

“Ya think?” I say.

“Her crosses are wired,” Elsbeth says.

“Wires are crossed,” Charlie corrects.

“Don’t do that,” Elsbeth glares. “I know what it is.”

“My bad,” Charlie smiles.

“Your bad,” Elsbeth smiles back.

“You little shit,” I say to my son. “You’ve been off having fun little adventures while we worry about how to get from point A to point B? No fair.”

“Where are the sisters?” Stuart asks.

“Close,” Elsbeth says. “Waiting.”

“For what?” Stella asks.

“For the signal,” Elsbeth says.

“Hold on, hold on,” I say. “Why the hell did Kramer condition all of us and keep us alive? What’s his angle?”

“Not sure,” Charlie says.

“He needs an army,” Cassie says.

We look over and her eyes are wide open and bright. She’s staring at us and shaking her head.

“Hi,” Elsbeth says. “You still crazy?”

“Yeah,” Cassie says. “Still crazy.”

“At least she’s self-aware,” I say.

“What army?” Stuart asks.

“Kramer needs an army of his own to do two things,” Cassie says. “One is to take the Stronghold. Two is to fight off the Consortium.”

“Take the Stronghold? Why?” I ask. “We’re already heading there. We know it may not be easy, but we’ll talk our way in. You guys have me around. If I’m good for one thing, other than my brilliant tactical skills and engineering expertise, it’s talking my way into things.”

“You usually talk your way into trouble, Jace,” Stuart says. “That’s not the same as talking your way into a community of survivors.”

“Something’s hidden at the Stronghold,” Cassie says. “Something Kramer wants. Camille wants it too. That’s why she sent us after all of you. That’s why she’s coming to kill every last person she finds. Loyalty above all else. Loyalty above all else. Loyalty above all else.”

She starts banging her head on the floor, over and over, while saying the same phrase again and again.

Elsbeth stands up, baseball bat in hand, and walks over to her.

“You are annoying,” she says and raises the bat over her head.

She looks around at us.

“If you’re expecting someone to stop you, I think you misjudged your crowd,” I say and look at the others. “Am I wrong?”

“Nope,” Stella says. “Go for it.”

“Batter up,” Stuart says.

Elsbeth grins and is about to swing away when a loud crash from below echoes through the bookstore. Then the moans begin and all of a sudden we’re forced to remember that Consortiums and Camilles and Kramers aren’t why we’re in the Hell we’re in.

It always comes back to the motherfucking Zs.

***

There is a simple truth in the zombie apocalypse: the disabled will die first.

It’s a shitty truth and not very PC, but let’s face it folks, if you can’t get up and run from the Zs that are ready to pick your skull clean of your tasty, tasty brains then you are fucked.

I am currently fucked. Thank God and the Giant Spaghetti Monster in the sky that I have friends and family willing to save my ass.

“They’re already everywhere,” Charlie whispers as we crouch by the railing and watch the Zs swarm inside the store. The front doors have completely collapsed and the undead bastards just keep on coming. “How do we get Dad downstairs? We step foot on the escalators and they’ll hear us and see us.”

A couple of Zs stop and look around, hunting for prey they know is inside.

“Shhh,” Stella says and pulls us all back from the railing.

I’m easy to pull. I’m in a wheelchair.

We move ass to the far corner of the Children’s Books section, well out of undead earshot, and huddle up again. Elsbeth is getting a lot of happiness from dragging Cassie by the feet to each spot we go. My son isn’t getting too much happiness with pushing my wheelchair. I am getting a distinct “leave the cripple’s ass behind” vibe.

“You’re talking out loud again, Dad,” Charlie says.

“Dammit!” I snap.

“Shhhh,” Stella warns. “We are trying to avoid bringing the Zs up to us.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did my having my skull cracked open and Dr. Jailbait and Dr. Fucknuts McGee slicing and dicing on my brain for no fucking reason inconvenience you?” I growl. “Is it too much to ask for random brain surgery in a dentist’s office to actually work?”

“Yeah,” Stuart says. “It is.”

“You’re lucky to be breathing, Dad,” Charlie says. “You really should have died from that.”

I wave Stumpageddon about. “I should have died from a lot of things in this apocalypse, but I haven’t.” I wave Stumpageddon some more. “Hey, look. I can control Stumpy. Cool.”

“Talking, talking, talking,” Cassie says. “That’s all this guy ever does.”

“Talk, talk, talk is what you meant to say,” I respond. “Either that or you should have ended with ‘that’s all this guy is ever doing’.”

“Jace? Shut up, please,” Stella says. She looks to Elsbeth. “Any thoughts on how to get us out of here?”

“Us? Nope,” Elsbeth says. “Long Pork’s wheels are a problem.”

“But I make up for them with charm,” I say.

“I can help,” Cassie says. “I promise not to kill any of you.”

“Nice try,” Stuart says. “No way we’re untying you.”

“There’s an elevator by the restrooms,” Charlie says. “Maybe we can load up in there and manually lower it. Might be able to sneak out through the back once we get to the first floor.”

“You know how to manually lower an elevator?” I ask. “If you do then I’ll be very, very impressed.”

Seriously. I will. That would be a cool trick.

“Out loud?” I ask.

“What? No,” Stella says.

“Cool. Some thoughts are staying inside. Progress,” I say.

“Carly and I can clear a path,” Cassie says. “Set me free and I’ll get you outside.”

“Then where?” Stella says. “There’re more of them out there. We’re better off fixing the front doors and cleaning up in here.”

“The roof,” Stuart says. “We get up there and we’ll be safe.”

“We’ll be popsicles,” Charlie says.

“We take some books with us and build a fire,” Stuart says then realizes what he’s saying. “And signal to everyone where we are. Including the Consortium if they’ve gotten here already.”

“What about your sisters?” Stella asks. “Not Cassie, but the others? You said they were close?”

“Not the plan,” Elsbeth replies.

“Plans change, El,” Stella snaps. “Can you call them here to help?”

“Do you have like a special killer chick yodel or something?” I ask. “That would be so cool if you did.”

“No yodel,” Elsbeth says. “And no sisters. Not now. Not the plan.”

Several loud crashes echo down below followed by the distinct sounds of feet clomping on metal.

“They figured out that escalators are just stairs,” I say. “Stupid fucking Zs and their need to problem solve. Can’t they just shamble and bump into each other? Why do they have to always take the escalator less traveled by?”

“That makes no sense, Dad,” Charlie says.

“You make no sense,” I respond. “Zinger.”

“Oh, hell, just kill him or leave him!” Cassie says. “He’s the weak link! You’ll all survive if you ditch his ass!”

“We don’t leave Long Pork,” Elsbeth growls, getting right in her face. “Long Pork is family and we don’t leave family.”

“The sisters were your family once and you left us,” Cassie says.

“That was different,” Elsbeth replies. “And I found you now.”

“But you’ll leave me again, won’t you? Leave me to get eaten?” Cassie says.

Then she opens her mouth and lets out the loudest bloodcurdling scream I have ever heard in my life. I really wish my left arm, you know, the intact one, was working so I could clap my hand over my ear. Not that it would do any good since I have two ears.

Man, that was a waste of good thought power.

“Out loud again, Dad,” Charlie says. “And itwas a waste of good thought power.”

Elsbeth slams her fist into Cassie’s face and the woman shuts up. She lies there smiling, blood trickling from her split lips that form a shit-eating grin. Cat and the canary grin. Cheshire cat grin. Too many cat grins. Do cats grin? I bet there’s a book around here that will tell me.

The Z moans get considerably louder and are joined by the groaning of metal.

Stuart crawls off then comes scurrying back.

“They’re all trying to climb the escalators at once,” Stuart says. “Too much weight. They’ll bring them down.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” I say. “If they bring them down then we’re safe up here until they go away.”

Stuart starts to speak then shakes his head.

“There’s always something that reminds me why we keep you around,” Stuart says. “Stay here and watch her. The rest of you come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Stella asks.

“Gonna call the Zs up to us,” Stuart says. “Some will make it, but most will get jammed on the escalators. With any luck, they’ll collapse and we’ll have time to figure out our next moves.”

“Works for me,” Elsbeth says as she stands and sets the baseball bat in my lap. “Smack her if she tries anything.”

“Uh, I can’t raise my thumb, let alone a baseball bat, El,” I say.

“Don’t be a pussy, Long Pork,” Elsbeth sighs as she pulls her two blades from her pack and gives them a quick whirl. “Too many pussies in the world still. Don’t be one of them.”

Charlie pulls two pistols from his pack and hands one to Stuart and the other to Stella.

“Thanks,” Stuart says. “Any magazines?”

Charlie tosses him two.

“Mom?” Charlie asks.

“Um, yes, please,” Stella says, her eyes watching Charlie closely. “What will you use?”

Elsbeth hands Charlie one of her blades. “He’s been practicing,” she says.

“I thought you were showing him how to shoot?” I say.

“You run out of bullets,” Elsbeth says. “You never run out of blades.”

“And she has been showing me how to shoot,” Charlie says. “I’ll show you later when we —”

“Hush,” Elsbeth says. “You talk too much like your daddy.” She nods at Cassie. “Don’t know what will happen to her. Stay quiet.”

“Right,” Charlie frowns. “My bad.”

“Your bad,” Elsbeth says and starts to walk towards the escalators.

“I guess it’s time to go,” Stuart says and joins her.

Stella gives me a quick kiss and is gone with Charlie right behind.

“Watch her,” Charlie says before they are lost from my sight.

I turn and look down at Cassie. I’m suddenly not so sure about the plan. Yes, she is tied up tight, knots made by Elsbeth and Stuart, both people that know how to make knots, but damn if she isn’t scary as hell.

“I heard all of that,” she smiles.

Fuck.

We just hang, staring at each other as we wait for the start of the shit that is about to go down.

“So...where are you from originally?” I ask. “I know Elsbeth was from Connecticut or something. Are you a Yankee too?”

“Yankee?” Cassie laughs. “Really?”

“I’ve lived in the South a long time,” I say. “North of the Mason-Dixon line and you’re a Yankee.”

“I believe that technically New Englanders are Yankees,” Cassie says.

“Then why are the New York Yankees called the Yankees?” I respond. “Got ya there.”

“True enough,” Cassie nods. She watches me for a second. “Didn’t I tell you where I was from when we first met?”

“What? Back at the Biltmore in Asheville? No, you didn’t really tell me much of anything,” I say. “But, you know, Asheville was under siege and blowing up and shit. We were busy.”

I wait.

And wait.

“Gonna tell me? Or do I have to guess?” I ask.

Then the shit we’ve been waiting for starts. Or the sounds of the shit start. I can’t actually confirm any real shit happens because I can’t see it. It’s all second hand. Or second ear? Is that a thing?

“Watch your left!” Stuart shouts.

There’s a gunshot and the snarls of Zs get louder. Another gunshot followed by a few grunts and curses. I’m guessing it’s not the Zs doing the cursing. Unless they’ve evolved. Although would cursing constitute evolved?

I hear Elsbeth yell and then a loud crash followed by several more.

“Good one!” Charlie shouts.

“Nice team,” Cassie says.

“Quiet, you,” I reply. “Trying to listen to my stories.”

“How long do you think you can last, Jace?” Cassie asks.

“Duck!” Stella yells and then there are three consecutive gunshots. “Back! Back!”

“Jace?” Cassie asks, so casual. “How long do you think you will last? Really?”

“Are you hearing what I’m hearing?” I respond. “We are a good team. We’ll last.”

“But you aren’t part of the team, Jace,” Cassie says. “You’re stuck in a wheelchair. Your scalp is bleeding and you’ve lost motor control in your one intact arm.”

“I’ll get better,” I snap.

“Will you?” Cassie laughs. “How very optimistic of you, Jace Stanford. You know they can’t carry you everywhere. Eventually you’ll have to pull your own weight. When that time comes, do you think you’ll be ready?”

“I was born ready,” I say. It’s cheesy, but what else do you say when someone asks if you’re ready?

“But will you die ready?” she asks. “Or will you die because you weren’t ready? If you ask me—”

“Which I didn’t,” I growl.

“If you ask me,” Cassie continues, “there will come a time in the next couple of days where your team, your family, will have to decide whether you live and they die or they live and you die. Do you really want to force that decision on them?”

“I’d like to force a gag in your mouth,” I say.

“Hold the top!” Stuart yells. “Hold it!”

More gunshots, more yelling, more Z moans and snarls and grunts. Something snaps and gives way, but I don’t hear the big crash.

“Hey! You fucking dead pieces of shit!” Charlie yells. “This way! Flesh buffet on the second floor! All you can motherfucking eat!”

Ah, that’s my boy. Barker to the undead.

“Let me go and I’ll make sure you live, Jace,” Cassie says.

I laugh. I laugh hard. Then I hurt. I hurt hard.

“No, I swear,” Cassie responds to my many guffaws. “I’ll make sure you have a sister protecting you at all times.”

“I already have one of those,” I smile. “El’s got my back.”

“Does she?” Cassie chuckles. “Where is she now? She left you with a killer and is off protecting your son, not you. I think she’s already eyeing the next generation of Stanfords because she knows you’re dead weight.”

“She’s saved my ass plenty of times,” I say. “She’s not going to just give up on me now.”

“That’s right, she’s saved your life,” Cassie says. “Your life. Have you saved her life?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Probably. Maybe.” Have I?

My head hurts.

“I bet it does,” Cassie says, all smirks and shit. “That was out loud, by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I say.

“Okay, you aren’t one to be swayed easily, Jace. I get that,” Cassie says. “I respect that. But can I ask you a question?”

“Can I stop you?”

“In your current condition? No,” Cassie says. “If it came down to saving you or saving one of your kids, maybe both of your kids, what choice would Elsbeth make?”

“Your right! Your right! YOUR RIGHT!” Elsbeth screams.

“Shut up! I got it!” Charlie yells back.

There’s a distinct grinding of metal. This is good. Very good.

“Answer the question, Jace,” Cassie says.

“I can’t stop you from asking the question, but you also can’t force me to answer it,” I say.

“I don’t really need you to answer it,” Cassie says. “I know the answer. She’d save your kids. Not even a question, really.”

“I’d want her to,” I say. “Stella would want her to. That’s basic parenting.”

“But Elsbeth isn’t a parent,” Cassie says.

There’s a rapid succession of gunshots then silence except for a few whacks and the never-ending Z groans.

“You are sitting on borrowed time, Jace,” Cassie says. “Elsbeth knows it and she is already moving on.”

“You keep saying the same thing, but with different words,” I reply. “Still not convinced.”

Stella and Stuart are yelling at the top of their lungs just as the floor starts to shake. My wheelchair stutters across the dusty wood laminate flooring. I move probably two feet, almost falling over, before my ears are filled with the massive shrieking of metal tearing loose from anchors in concrete, steel and wood.

“See! They did it!” I yell, but Cassie can’t hear me. God can’t hear me over the noise. “Fuck you, bitch!”

The entire building shakes as the escalators collapse under dead weight. See what I did there? Dead weight? Gold, baby, gold.

Then the second floor turns into nothing but a dust cloud. A rather nasty-tasting dust cloud. I try to clamp my mouth shut, but the dust gets up my nose and down my throat. A distinct flavor of concrete, some definite mold and mildew, followed by a hint of Z dandruff and decay. Yum.

I can hear people coughing and coming my way, which is good because being blind in a dust cloud with a stone cold killer by you isn’t the best feeling. Sure, she’s tied up, but still.

“Jace? You alright?” Stella calls out. I can just make out her form as she staggers through the dust. “Ow! Fucking shelf.”

“Watch out for those, baby,” I say. “They’ll get ya.”

“We did it,” Charlie grins as soon as he is close enough for me to see him.

His eyes are watering from the dust and his nose is running. Most of him is covered in Z gore, but he has a huge smile on his face so I know he didn’t get bitten or anything.

Stella is right behind him, followed by Stuart and Elsbeth. They all wave their arms to try to clear some of the dust cloud out of the way.

“Jace?” Stella says as they get a couple feet from me. “Where’s Cassie?”

Two words I don’t want to hear. I try to turn my head and look for her, but pain rockets down my spine like a hammer hitting a carny game at the fair.

“Shit,” Stuart snaps. “One job, Long Pork. One fucking job.”

I also notice something else missing.

“Where’s the bat?” I ask.

Elsbeth starts to whirl around, but it’s too late. The missing bat smacks her square in the face and she goes down hard.

Cassie steps between Stuart and Stella and whirls the bat in her hand.

“Now,” she grins. “Who’s up first?”

Stuart ducks quickly and throws a punch at Cassie’s midsection, but she blocks it by bringing a leg up then smacks his forearm with the bat. There’s a distinctive ring of aluminum on bone and Stuart cries out, cradling his arm as he falls backwards onto his ass.

Stella comes at Cassie, her empty pistol whipping through the air. But that’s all it does. It whips through empty air and Stella almost loses her balance as she whiffs over a ducking Cassie. Cassie pulls a Stuart and punches my wife in the belly. Stella doubles over and catches a second punch to the jaw which sends her down onto Elsbeth.

“This didn’t have to happen,” Cassie says as she grabs Stella by the hair and yanks her head up. “I gave you a chance, Jace. If you’d let me go I would have protected you.”

“You obviously didn’t need my help,” I say. “So how about you let my wife go and we call it even?”

“What, and give you something for free? I don’t think so,” Cassie laughs. She chokes a little on the dust. “Damn. That is gross.”

A shadow moves in the dust cloud and I realize Charlie is no longer by me. Cassie lets go of Stella just before the blade whips by. She rolls backwards, slamming an elbow into Stuart’s spine as she moves by, you know, just for shits and giggles, then comes up on her feet, bat in hand, and murder in her eyes. Or that could be Z dust in her eyes. Probably both.

“You really think you can take me, kid?” Cassie asks. “Do you?”

Charlie doesn’t take the bait. He drifts back into the safety of the dust cloud and is lost from sight.

“I know where you are, boy,” Cassie says. “My senses are stronger than yours ever will be. I’m not like normal people.”

“Me neither,” Charlie says as he comes in fast behind her. His blade catches her shirt and she cries out as she jumps out of the way of his backswing.

“Ha! Good one!” Cassie says. “That was impressive!”

I look for my son, but he’s gone again. Stella starts to crawl towards me, but she catches a boot to her chin and is down for the count. I’m pretty sure I heard a crunch. God, I hope her jaw isn’t broken. How will she tell me to shut up when I need to be told to shut up? Also, the eating thing. Broken jaws make the eating thing hard.

“Out loud, Jace,” Cassie says. “Charlie! Just come out!” She waits then looks over at me. “He’s not coming out.”

“Nope. Don’t think he is,” I say. “Maybe call it a night and move on? Pretty sure I saw a Target nearby that you can haunt. Bail now and you might be able to beat the morning rush hour traffic.”

“Shut up, Jace,” Cassie says.

“Not cool,” I reply. “Only my wife gets to tell me to shut up. I made that clear in my involuntary external dialogue that was meant to be internal. Keep up, crazy lady. Life with the Stanfords isn’t that hard to figure out.”

Cassie stalks over to me, her baseball bat looking particularly mean. She lifts it up and starts to swing it, but doesn’t quite make it as her legs go out from under her. Stuart was able to shift his position and trip her up. Which was awfully nice of him. I should get him a gift card. Maybe to Barnes & Noble? You know, since we’re right here. One should always be practical in the apocalypse. And frugal. I bet they’re on sale.

Charlie comes out of nowhere and his blade plunges down at Cassie, but she swipes it aside with her bat then swings back and nails him in the ribs. Ow, that hurts.

Stumbling back, Charlie loses his grip on his blade as he staggers against a set of shelves. Cassie sees her opportunity and scrambles for the blade, but she’s stopped short as Charlie begins flinging copies of Anne of Green Gables at her. There are a lot of copies of Anne of Green Gables on the shelf. Maybe it was a kiddie book club selection right before the dead rose up and started eating mommy and daddy? Who fucking knows?

Who fucking cares?

Cassie catches a book and flings it back at Charlie which in turn clips Charlie in the temple. He sways a bit then goes down on one knee.

“Fight it, Charlie!” I yell. “Don’t pass out! You can keep fighting!” Says the guy that passes out like every ten seconds and shit.

Cassie is up on her feet and going after Charlie. She grabs him by his coat and lifts him into the air. Now, Cassie is a long-legged woman, but she’s not as tall as my son. The boy has hit his final growth spurt and is taller than me now. Cassie doesn’t seem to give twelve shits about the height difference.

“I asked your dad if there was a choice of saving you or him, which choice would Carly make,” Cassie says. “Too bad she’s not awake to make that choice.”

With one hand she holds my son up, which is pretty freaking crazy, and with the other hand she reaches down her pants and pulls out a snub-nosed pistol. I do not want to know where she was keeping that. Okay, maybe I want to know a little. I mean, come on. If you look at the pistol, think of the size of that and the size of her—

“Shut up!” Cassie roars. “I am going to kill you or your son, Jace! Stop talking and tell me which one it’s going to be!”

“Oh, I get to choose? That’s easy,” I say. “Kill me. Bullet right between my eyes. Or in my heart. Or in my heart and between my eyes. Can you bend your shot like in that movie? What was it called? It was a graphic novel too.”

“Wanted,” Elsbeth says as she stands up and stabs her blade through Cassie’s shoulder. “No, you can’t bend shots, Long Pork. Don’t be stupid.”

Cassie screams and drops Charlie. She whirls around and fires twice, sending Elsbeth diving towards me.

Then she’s gone. Cassie, not Elsbeth. El is leaning up against my legs looking really pissed.

“She took my blade,” Elsbeth says as she gets to her feet. “That sucks ball shit.”

“Ball shit? That’s a new one,” I say. “And I don’t think she meant to take your blade on purpose. It was kind of stuck in her shoulder and shit.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Elsbeth says. “I’ll get a new one.”

She picks Charlie up and dusts him off.

“You alive?” she asks him.

“Yeah,” Charlie mutters. “Wish I didn’t hurt all over.”

“Welcome to my world, son,” I say. “It’s ten times worse when you get older. Enjoy your youthly ability to recover now.”

“Still fucking hurts,” he frowns. “Mom?”

“Mmmmm,” Stella moans.

“She took a hard hit to the jaw,” I say. “May not be able to speak.”

“I can speak,” Stella mutters. “Just doesn’t feel good to do so.”

“Stuart? You good?” I ask.

“No,” Stuart says. “But I’ll get there. Where’d the bitch go?”

“She’s gone,” Elsbeth says.

“How do you know?” Stuart asks.

“I know,” Elsbeth says. “She’s gone. Gotta go lick her wounds. We’ll see her again.”

I almost think I hear anticipation in Elsbeth’s voice. Oh, who am I kidding, I totally hear anticipation in Elsbeth’s voice. She’s liking this. It’s a game to her, catching her sisters.

“What?” Elsbeth asks. “What did you say, Long Pork?”

Shit. Talking out loud again.

“Dad?” Charlie asks, suddenly in my face. He looks scared. Why? The crazy lady is gone. “Dad!”

Huh. Feels like the floor is shaking again. Maybe more of the escalator is coming apart.

Double huh. Why is my lap wet? What’s that smell? Is that piss? Is that my piss?

Oh, fucking A. The floor isn’t shaking. I am. Motherfucker…

Chapter Four

No clue if it’s day or night when I come to, but I can tell we’re still in the Barnes & Noble.

“How did Cassie get me to talk?” I ask.

“Those are your first words?” Stella sighs, her hand stroking my forehead. “You have a seizure and pass out for an hour and the first words you say to me are about some crazy woman?”

“Sorry,” I smile. “Thought loop. My unconscious brain was trying to work it out.”

“I was wondering the same thing,” Stuart says, coming into view. “How did she know your trigger words?”

“Don’t matter now,” Elsbeth says. “We need to get out of here.”

“Charlie? Help me get your father back into the wheelchair,” Stella says. “We need to get him to the stairs.”

“Oh, hey, I fell out of my chair,” I say as they get me up on shaky legs. I also peed myself, but none of us talk about that. “Wait. Stairs? Is it clear below?”

“No,” Stuart says. “It’s getting worse. But that isn’t the problem.”

“It’s not?” I say. “What problem is bigger than that?”

“Zs are climbing,” Elsbeth says as she comes up to us, bloody baseball bat in hand. “They ain’t so good at it, but don’t have to be good, just have to climb.”

“I’m sorry, did you say the Zs are climbing?” I laugh. “Climbing how?”

“Hand over hand, foot over foot,” Stuart says. “They’re grabbing onto the support pillars and going for it. Not good.”

“Okay, stop fucking with me,” I say. “Zs can’t climb. They can barely walk. Up is safe. That’s one of the zombie apocalypse rules. Up is safe. I spent a long time in a pitch dark cave on a rock proving that concept. We’ve all spent time in trees, on roofs, on top of trucks proving that concept. The concept has been proven.”

“Up ain’t safe no more,” Elsbeth says.

I look around and realize they are not shitting me.

“Fuck,” I say.

“Yep,” Stuart nods. “We’re a few steps ahead of you on the realization front. Fuck is 100% right.”

“Climbing?” I mutter. “No fucking way.”

“Accept it,” Charlie says, patting me on the cheek, “and move on.”

They help me into my wheelchair and Charlie pushes me through the debris as we head towards the restrooms and the back stairs. We have to steer past a pile of bookshelves and get a little closer to the second floor railing than I’d like. Being a sitting Jace is no fun when you find out that Zs can climb.

I glance to my side and see daylight filtering in through the collapsed front doors. Along with hundreds of Zs. Hundreds. They are packed shoulder to shoulder as they try to wedge through the store entrance. The whole first floor is nothing but undead. A thousand zombies strong, all wandering about and bumping into the last vestiges of bookseller commerce.

It’s a scene I’ve witnessed before. What I haven’t witnessed is how some of the Zs start climbing up over each other, their rotted faces looking right at me, their mouths open and hissing as they try to get just a couple feet closer to my delicious Jaceness.

There is one other aspect I notice. Some of them are moving a lot faster than the others. Pushing through like tweens trying to get the latest Twilight book at a midnight sale. We being the Twilight books in the metaphor.

“Stuart?” I ask.

“I know,” he replies before I even finish. “There are fast ones.”

“Not supposed to be fast ones,” Elsbeth says. “Zombies are slow. They walk slow, they hunt slow, they are slow.”

“Well, some of these Zs are doing their own thing,” I reply. “Some of these Zs are not quite the same.”

A memory pushes through my sliced and diced brain matter.

“I’ve seen them move like that before,” I say. “That night we all had the shits and pukes.”

“Not all of us had the shits and pukes,” Stuart says.

“Yes, some of us had to clean up the shits and pukes,” Stella frowns.

“Regardless of our status, whether we were shitters and pukers or the cleaners of, we lost two RVs that night because Zs were acting like they were on crank,” I continue. “They moved fast and took out those vehicles before anyone knew what was happening.”

“I remember,” Stuart says. “I didn’t quite believe it then.” He looks down at the swarm of Zs and the ones shoving and pushing, hurrying from one vantage point to another. “I do now.”

“Nope,” Elsbeth says and takes the head off a Z that has just climbed up to the railing. The headless corpse tumbles away. “No, you don’t.”

“Here are the stairs,” Stella says as we get past the bathrooms to the stairwell door. She begins to push the door open then stops, her hand going to her nose. “We have bodies.”

Charlie stops pushing me. He and Stuart move to the door with Elsbeth right behind them. They do a silent three count then shove the door open. The stench is ripe and strong. I gag a little and try not to puke. Stella has to turn away and throw up the little food she’s eaten. I’ll need to remind her to eat something later. You can’t go far on an empty stomach in the apocalypse.

“These are fresh,” Stuart says. “Only a week or so old. Help me get them clear of the door.”

Charlie starts dragging the bodies out. The gasses that have built up in the corpses begin to let loose and so does my stomach. Bye bye, dog food.

“Jesus,” Charlie coughs. “These are people, not Zs.”

“Head wounds,” Stuart says as he covers his mouth and examines the bodies. “Bite marks on the arms and legs. They took themselves out before they could turn. Ballsy.”

He rifles through the corpses’ clothes and packs, handing Charlie a couple of hunting knives and three pistols, all revolvers.

“Two cartridges,” Charlie says as he starts breaking open the revolvers’ cylinders. “Three in this one and five in this one.”

“Poor bastards didn’t even get all their shots off,” Stuart says.

“As much as I want to mourn the dead, we need to get upstairs,” Stella says.

“Hold on,” Elsbeth says and rushes past us up the stairs to the door to the roof. “Jammed.”

“Can you get it open?” Stuart asks.

Elsbeth tosses the bat down the stairs and Charlie catches it. Nice. She pulls her remaining blade and kicks the roof door open. It swings out fast and several Zs try to scramble in at her. Too bad for them that is exactly what Elsbeth wanted them to do.

Eight Z heads come tumbling down the stairs to us.

“Clear,” Elsbeth says and keeps going.

She’s lost from sight, leaving us to stare at the Z heads and the people corpses. Then all eyes turn to me.

“Wheelchair,” I say.

“Come on,” Stuart sighs. “You can get on my back. I’ll carry you up there.”

“It’ll be easier to carry the wheelchair like you did up the escalator,” I reply. “I’ll break your back.”

There’s a crunching sound and Charlie turns quickly, bat raised.

“Zs coming,” he says and steps away from us.

I twist around and watch him crack open three Z heads then kick the bodies back over the railing. He sprints back to us.

“A couple dozen are climbing up,” he says. “We need to go now.”

“Cover our backs,” Stuart says then crouches in front of me.

I sigh and lean forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and neck. He stands slowly, grunting from my weight, but I don’t snap his spine, so that’s a plus. Slowly, he takes each step at a time. I hear Charlie grunt also as he and Stella get the stairwell door closed. There are some loud slams against the door as Zs ram it from the other side.

“Won’t hold long,” Charlie says.

“Neither will my back,” Stuart grumbles as he makes it the last few steps then lowers me to the landing next to the roof door. “How much do you fucking weigh, Long Pork?”

“Fuck you,” I snap.

“Roof is clear,” Elsbeth says as she peeks in at us. “What are you doing on the ground? Dumb place to be.”

Then she’s gone in her enigmatic Elsbeth way.

“Here,” Stella says as she sets the wheelchair next to me. “Your chariot.”

“Oooh, can we have races later?” I ask. “Go all Ben-Hur on the Zs and shit?”

“Yes, Jace, that sounds like a very practical thing to do,” Stella sighs and walks past me.

I think she’s being sarcastic.

“I am,” she says.

Dammit. Out loud.

“Uh, I’ll get him up in the chair,” Charlie says. “I got it. All by myself.”

“Thanks, son,” I grin as he helps me to my feet and into the wheelchair. He wheels me out onto the roof and I instantly have to clamp my jaws shut to keep from chattering.

“Fuck me,” Charlie says. “We aren’t going to last long up here.”

“Probably why those bodies were down there,” Stuart says. “Staying warm before they figured out what they had to do.”

Elsbeth is standing on the ledge of the roof, looking down, framed by the rising sun and a clear blue sky. At least the snow has stopped. Of course, a clear, Colorado winter day is not really much better. Clouds hold the heat in. With them gone, the air is probably ten degrees colder than when it was snowing. My temp guess? Zero. A big, whopping zero degrees Fahrenheit.

And windy as all fuck.

“Where’d the bodies come from?” Charlie asks. “I mean the people before they were bodies. They’re recent.”

“If we’d had more time we could have looked for clues,” Stuart says as he holds his hand out. “Bat me.”

“That’s my bat,” Elsbeth says, turning away from the ledge and stepping back down onto the roof proper. “I like that bat.”

“We need to brace the door handle,” Stuart says as Charlie hands him the bat. “This fits perfectly.”

I can see the conflict on Elsbeth’s face before she shrugs and turns away.

“I’ll find another,” she says. “And more blades. Need more blades. Wonder where I can get more blades?”

“At the blade store?” I suggest.

“No blade stores, Long Pork,” she replies. “Gun store. They have blades. Hunting store, they have blades.”

“Pawn shops,” Charlie suggests. “They have guns and blades. You always see katanas and shit in pawn shops.”

“You used to,” I say. “Before the zombies showed up. Then every samurai wannabe grabbed a fucking ninja sword and got themselves killed.”

“Martial arts studios,” Stuart says. “Or military supply shops. But those will be well-past looted by now. We find a kung fu studio and there will be swords and other weapons there.”

“Jesus, why didn’t I ever think of that?” I ask. “Melissa didn’t think of it either back when she was in charge of the Whispering Pines scavengers. There were like six studios on Merrimon Avenue alone, plus another three over on Charlotte Street.”

“Always good to have weapons out in the field if you need them,” Stuart says. “That’s why I didn’t mention it to her.”

The stairwell door shudders and Stuart jumps back, holding up one of the revolvers scavenged off the corpses.

“Not going to hold long,” he says. “Look for more materials to brace it with.”

Charlie and Stella hurry around the roof, hunting for anything they can pry loose to use to brace the door. It takes them less than five minutes to realize there is nothing.

I notice Elsbeth staring off to the East, watching the horizon. The sun is bright as shit, which is sending daggers of pain into my head. Nope, sorry, more like motherfucking broadswords of pain into my head. I’m getting a little nauseous from the bright light and the pain.

“Dot,” Elsbeth says.

“Excuse me?” I ask, closing my eyes.

“Dot coming this way,” Elsbeth says.

“A dot is coming this way?” I ask.

“That’s what I said, Long Pork,” Elsbeth replies, obviously frustrated with me.

“Sorry,” I say. “I really just can’t open my eyes right now.”

I hear the roof door shudder again and the unmistakable sounds of Z hands smacking against the other side.

“There is a dot coming at us in the sky,” Elsbeth says. “It’s getting bigger.” She says all that like I’m a four year old.

“Big dot? Little dot?” I ask.

“Red dot, blue dot,” Charlie says from my side, making me jump a little. “Sorry.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Shit. I see it too.”

“What is it?” Stella asks. Sounds like the whole gang is by me.

“Chopper,” Stuart says from across the roof. Okay, the whole gang minus Stuart is by me. “That can’t be good. Only one group would have a chopper.”

“My mother,” Elsbeth says. “Shit farts.”

“True dat, homegirl,” I say. “Shit farts indeed.”

“Do we hide?” Charlie asks. “Not that there is any place to hide.”

“They’re coming right for us,” Stuart says. “My guess is they have spotters in the city already and we’ve been spotted.”

“Whatcha doing over there, Stuart?” I ask.

“Looking for a way down,” he replies.

“Find one?”

“Do I look like I found one?”

“I have my eyes closed because of the sun and the brain surgery and shit,” I reply.

“Do I sound like I found a way down?” he asks.

“You do not,” I respond. “Question answered.”

“Spot getting bigger,” Elsbeth says.

“Thank you for the play by play, El,” I say.

“I can shoot it down,” Elsbeth says. “Give me a pistol.”

“You’re going to shoot a chopper down with a revolver?” I laugh. “We have two .38s and a .45. No way you can shoot a chopper down with any of those.”

“Don’t need to shoot the chopper,” Elsbeth says and I hear her breaking the cylinder then slapping it back in place. “I just need to shoot the pilot.”

“Gonna be a tough shot,” Stuart says, suddenly right behind me. I do not jump or pee myself a little. Shut up.

“We need to put a bell on you,” I say.

“Not everyone has their eyes closed, Jace,” Stuart replies.

The roof door groans and I hear several loud pops.

“Shit,” Stuart says. “The hinges are giving way.”

“How close does the chopper need to be?” Charlie asks. “Because they probably have snipers in there watching us right now. You lift that pistol too soon and they’ll take us out.”

“He’s right,” Stuart says.

“I’ll wait to the last minute,” Elsbeth says.

The door groans again and metal begins to tear. I wrench my eyes open and glance at the door. There is a distinct gap between the door and the jamb.

“I think we may need those bullets for something else, y’all,” I say.

“Not enough bullets,” Elsbeth says. “I can take the Zs with my blade.”

“Sure, you can,” I say. “But the rest of us can’t. This roof is wide open, giving the Zs lots of space to surround us. No bottleneck up here.”

“What if they aren’t coming to kill us?” Stella asks. “Camille has said the one thing she wants is her daughter back.”

“She also wants world domination,” I say.

“She never said that,” Stella replies.

“Every bigger than life bad guy wants world domination,” I say. “That’s how it works.”

“They are in range to kill us if they want,” Stuart says.

I shield my eyes and look at the incoming helicopter. It’s a big one. A Huey? Is that what they’re called? No, those were in Vietnam. This thing is a…

“Blackhawk,” Stuart says. “No rockets, which is good. Looks pretty stripped down.” He pauses. “El, don’t shoot.”

“Not going to,” Elsbeth responds. “That’s not my mother.”

“No, it’s not,” Stuart says.

Then the roof door gives way. Oh, fuckety fuck.

The Zs come at us fast. Really fast. Fast, fast, fast.

These are the new ones, the strange ones, the ones that don’t act like they are supposed to. They hit the roof and it is on like Donkey Kong.

Man, I miss Donkey Kong. Fuck PlayStation. I want to play some old school ColecoVision and shit.

“Dad! No one cares about your video game nostalgia!” Charlie yells as he braces for the attack.

Elsbeth, not one for bracing, dives right into the swarm that comes at us. She stabs and slices, moving from foot to foot, spinning and pivoting back and forth, cutting off arms and taking Zs out at the legs. The undead fall around her, but there are so many I know she won’t be able to keep up.

Stuart jumps in. He drops three Zs with the rounds left in one of the revolvers then clubs two more in the skulls, sending putrid brains spilling everywhere. Four try to jump him at once, but Charlie shows up with the bat that had been holding the door closed. I am going to say the bat failed. I know, I’m going out on a limb with this statement.

Charlie takes a couple heads off with the bat then impales two together through their rotted bellies with it. They twist and yank the bat from his hands. My son is now weaponless which is not what a father wants to see when a crazed horde of Zs is running at him.

“Down!” Stella yells.

She fires one of the revolvers and two Zs crumple. Charlie quickly retreats next to her as she fires until the revolver is empty and clicking. She missed twice, but took out two more Zs. That only leaves an ass load to kill.

Never slowing, still spinning like a whirling Dervish, Elsbeth hacks her way through the swarm of Zs until she reaches the two impaled Zs. She takes the Zs’ heads off with her blade in one swipe, sending them to the ground. She kneels, grabs up the fallen baseball bat, and comes up so fast it’s a good thing I didn’t blink or I would have missed everything.

Armed with two weapons, Elsbeth works her way back through the swarm, shouting and yelling the whole time so the Zs focus on her. She’s crushing skulls and lopping off heads, never slowing, never resting, barely looking like she’s even breaking a sweat. Not that a person could sweat out in this cold.

Everyone is fighting their asses off except me. I’m just sitting here in my wheelchair, useless, pointless, a pitiful— Oh, fuck here comes a Z! What do I do? What do I do?

I grab one wheel and start pushing as hard as I can. Hey...my arm works again! Awesome! Except a one-armed man pushing a wheelchair is not exactly an efficient way to move. It is, however, a very efficient way to turn in a circle.

I’ve spun myself halfway around before I get my panic under control. Unfortunately, that means my back is to the Z coming at me. Fuck.

I do see the chopper getting closer, though. Like really close.

I barely register the gunshot before I feel something splatter against my neck and scalp. The Z collapses at my side, half of its head missing.

While I’m grateful the Z is dead, I also have to wonder if maybe the shot was intended for me and not the zombie. Maybe the guy in the chopper is a shitty shot?

I spin my chair back again so I’m facing my peeps. Dammit! I hate saying peeps! I blame fucking Barfly, that asshole canny gang leader back in Knoxville, for getting that stuck in my head. Next time Stenkler is rummaging around in my brainpan, I’ll ask if he can remove that word from my vocabulary permanently. That’s how brain surgery works, right?

Elsbeth is fucking crushing it and Charlie isn’t doing so bad himself. Stuart has a hunting knife in his hand and is stabbing the Zs through their skulls at close range. Not the safest of strategies, but highly effective if you don’t get a nasty little love bite from one of the zombies. Those Zs do like their love bites.

The wind picks up and I’m having a hard time staying in my wheelchair. Before I can call out for help, I’ve collapsed on to the roof, dirt and grit flying all about me.

It’s a twister! It’s a twister!

Oh, shit, and a couple more Zs!

***

Rotor wash. That’s what it’s called. I don’t think I’ve ever felt rotor wash before. Have I? Fuck if I know anymore.

It’s rotor wash, not wind that is whipping about me. I realize this as I lie here on the roof and look up to see the chopper hovering over us. Two men are leaning out, rifles in hands, firing down at the Zs, dropping them quickly. The ones coming for me become headless in seconds and black blood starts to whirl around everywhere as the rotor wash turns the air into a Z fluid rinse cycle.

“Grab the rope!” someone yells down at us through a bullhorn.

How do I know it’s a bullhorn? Puh-lease, this is the apocalypse. Half the assholes that have tried to kill me have used a bullhorn. It must be in the apocalyptic asshole manual or something.

Which means I need to figure out if these assholes are going to try to kill me. Are they even assholes? They have a bullhorn, so that goes in the Yes column, but they also blew the heads off the Zs coming to get me Barbara.

“Come on,” Charlie says as he hooks an arm under me and gets me to my feet.

The roof swims and swirls, not because of the rotor wash, but because of the dental surgery to my brain. I wonder if Stenkler and Dr. FuckerDeShitfarts gave my cerebellum a nice fluoride rinse? I probably should have waited forty-five minutes before thinking. Dammit! Now I’ll have brain plaque!

Wait, that’s not funny. You can actually get plaque on your brain. Or in your brain. Close to the general vicinity of your brain. Brain plaque is bad.

“Dad!” Charles shouts. “Pay attention! Fucking shut up about the brain plaque!”

“I miss it when all I could say was aaayyy!”

“That was out loud!” Charlie replies.

“I know!” I yell back. “I wanted it to be!”

Several lines of black rope drop next to us and Charlie wraps one around my waist then up under my shoulders. I only have the one hand, which isn’t even close to being at full strength, but I think it’s enough to hang on with.

We both look up at the men with the rifles. One looks close to Charlie’s age, more a teenager than a man, with dark, curly hair and black skin crisscrossed with lots of white scars. A second teenager is right by his side, just as scarred, but he has thick dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail. The two boys look exactly alike except for their hairstyle choices.

And speaking of look alikes, the third man could be Stuart’s twin, except he’s not a man, but a woman and she is glaring at us like we totally fucked up her apocalypse. So, by looking like Stuart’s twin, I mean she could be ex-military and I have zero plans on calling her Jimmy unless I want to eat smoothies the rest of my life.

Man, I miss smoothies.

The rope goes taught and I’m pulled off my feet. I squint into the bright sunlight and see a heavy-duty winch struggling to pull my ass up into the chopper. Don’t know why it’s struggling, I’m not that heavy.

Then I get parallel with the Scar Boys and Ms. Glare and see why the winch is struggling. It’s old and rusty. So is the rest of the helicopter. This does not bode well.

“Sit your ass down and do not move!” Ms. Glare shouts over the deafening sound of the rotors. “You move, you get tossed out the doors!”

“Not moving!” I yell back as I’m shoved into the center of the chopper’s hold.

Is it called a hold? I don’t know. There are three more people with rifles inside the chopper and one of them shoves me into a seat and straps me in while the other two cover me with their rifles. You know, just in case the one-armed man who is obviously bleeding a lot from his scalp tries to hijack this here fine specimen of aerial machinery.

The Scar Boys and Ms. Glare keep their eyes on the roof below as the winch gets back to work. Stella is up next and she scrambles over to me, her hands feeling all over my body for wounds and/or bites. Which I guess are wounds, too.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Right as acid rain,” I smile then nod (ow) at the gentlemen watching us. “Have you met our hosts? They say there will be hors d’oeuvres and cocktails later.”

The men with rifles trained on us frown and look at each other.

“What did he say?” one of the men asks.

“Something about cocktails!” the other replies.

“You got booze, man?” the first yells at me.

“No, I don’t have booze!” I yell back. “Do I look like I fucking have booze? Where the fuck would I have booze? I don’t even have a fucking pack on, dipshit!”

“Jace,” Stella hisses in my ear. “Don’t piss off the people with rifles that are saving us.”

“Whatever,” I grumble. “Booze. Fucking idiot.”

The third person to climb into the chopper is Stuart.

“Where is Charlie?” Stella yells. “You left him down there?”

“He’s coming,” Stuart says. “He’s trying to get Elsbeth to stop fighting. She’s in one of her moods.”

“You call that a mood, dude?” dreadlocked Scar Boy asks. “Shit, man, we could use a few more like her if they all are in that kind of mood.”

I can’t see what she’s doing, but I have a pretty good idea.

Finally, the winch gets working again and Charlie climbs up next to us. He glances at the guys with rifles, but dismisses them instantly. He and Stuart share a look and I raise an eyebrow. They both shake their heads.

There’s a loud whirring noise then a crunch and the hold fills with smoke.

“Winch is shot!” Ms. Glare yells. “Your friend will have to climb up!”

Stuart scrambles to the edge of the chopper and cups his hands. “El! Elsbeth! The winch is broken! You have to climb!”

He watches for a few seconds then looks at Ms. Glare.

“Drop down and circle close to the north side of the building. Get the skids level with the roof,” he insists.

“You want us to do what?” Ms. Glare shouts. “Are you nuts?”

“I’m not,” Stuart smiles and points down to the roof. “But she is.”

Ms. Glare hesitates, confused by Stuart’s order.

“Do it!” Stella yells.

Ms. Glare snaps her head around and does my nickname for her proud by giving my wife a look of death that would drop a horde of Zs instantly.

“You do not give orders around here, lady!” Ms. Glare shouts. “Not unless you want to learn how to fly!”

“Please, ma’am,” Charlie says in such an innocent voice that I have to wonder if maybe demon possession is now a thing in the apocalypse. “That’s my cousin and she means everything to me. Please help her. Please.”

“Nice try, kid,” Ms. Glare says. “But sweet talk ended the day the dead started walking.”

“Fine. Fuck it,” Charlie says and moves so fast I again have to wonder about the possession thing.

He slams a fist into one of the rifle boys, snags the weapon and hands it back to Stuart. He grabs the rifle from the other guy and points it at third rifle man, the one that strapped me in. Stuart has his rifle aimed at the spot between Ms. Glare’s eyes. The Scar Boys just stare with their mouths open.

Ms. Glare thinks for a second then sets her rifle down slowly and crawls towards the pilot. She barks some orders, barks them again when she’s questioned, then crawls back to us. She casually picks her rifle back up, but leaves it resting across her legs.

“Wouldn’t want it to slide out,” she says. “Waste of a good gun.”

“Understood,” Stuart says.

The chopper banks and heads out away from the building then banks again and lowers closer to the roof, but just off to the side. Now I have a great view of what Elsbeth is busy doing. She’s kicking Z ass. You know, doing her thang.

We wait for a couple of minutes as Elsbeth continues to do her thang and chop and hack Zs into tiny pieces. Not having to worry about my life (I think) means I get to watch the show. And holy shit, what a show.

She spins and slashes, taking as many Zs out at the legs as possible, using the Z piles as cover as she dodges the fast little fuckers. I have no idea how the Zs got so fast, but it really puts a damper on my entire outlook on this fucking apocalypse. One thing we always had going for us was the fact we could outrun the undead bastards if we had to. Now? Not so much.

“EL!” Stuart yells. “Time to go!”

She glances over her shoulder at us and I can see her eyes assessing the situation. A smirk plays at her lips, but she turns back and keeps fighting the Zs. Stuart looks over at Stella and my wife sighs.

“Elsbeth Carly Michelle Thornberg!” Stella shouts. “Get your ass in this helicopter right the fuck now!”

Elsbeth stiffens at the use of her full name. She grabs a Z and snaps it in half with her bare hands then tosses it into a group lunging for her. She turns quickly and sprints across the roof right at us.

“You’ll want to move!” Stuart yells, warning the Scar Boys and Ms. Glare.

They scoot out of the way as Elsbeth reaches the edge of the roof and jumps, diving right into the hold. Charlie and Stella grab her to keep her from sliding out the other side.

That’s when chaos erupts. You know, because it was so calm and orderly before.

The rifle men jump at Charlie and the Scar Boys try to bring up their rifles at Stuart. A shot goes off then everything is a blur as fists and feet start flying this way and that. I have a hard time keeping track of it all.

Why? Oh, no real reason. Except I caught a fucking bullet in my shoulder! It’s my right shoulder; Stumpageddon’s shoulder. Man, that arm just can’t catch a fucking break.

Elsbeth has two men in head locks and one of the Scar Boys in a leg lock. By leg lock, I don’t mean she has the boy’s leg locked; I mean her legs are locked around his neck, his face darkening as all the blood is squeezed up into his skull. I sure know how that feels.

“Knock it off!” Ms. Glare yells. “We saved you! We don’t want to fight!”

“Tell it to dipshit and fucknut over there!” Stuart yells, pointing at the men head locked by Elsbeth. “They came at us.”

“After you took their rifles and pointed them at us,” Ms. Glare says.

“You wouldn’t save our friend,” Stuart says.

“Hey, guys,” I try to interrupt. They ignore me. I just met half these people and already I’m getting ignored. You’d think they’d get to know me before they start ignoring me. “Guys?”

“Count of three?” Ms. Glare asks.

“Count of three,” Stuart says. He looks at Elsbeth. “Got it?”

“I can count,” she snaps. “I ain’t stupid.”

Stuart just sighs and shakes his head.

“One,” Ms. Glare says.

“Two,” Stuart says.

“Three,” they say together.

All rifles are lowered and Elsbeth lets the rifle guys go.

Nobody tries anything and everybody stays cool. I wait a couple minutes and let the mood in the chopper stabilize before I speak up again.

“Um, not to be a whiner, but I could use some help,” I say. “I got shot.”

Everyone looks at me and the bleeding wound in my shoulder. In seconds, hands are flying over my body and I have faces close to me, bandages being whipped about, people talking to me and asking me all sorts of questions.

I reply, “It hurts.”

“Through and through,” one of the rifle guys says as he gently pulls me forward so he can look at my back. He shines a penlight into the wound and smiles. “I don’t see any bone. Looks like it’s a flesh wound. Nothing major nicked. We’ll get him stitched up when we get back to—”

“We aren’t going back there,” Ms. Glare says. “We land at the UC Hospital. Get this guy cleaned up and have a long talk with our new friends.”

“UC Hospital?” Stella asks. “Is that close to a children’s hospital?”

“About a block away,” Ms. Glare says. “Why?”

“That’s where the rest of our convoy is at,” Stella says. “We need to find them and talk to them.”

“Your convoy?” short-haired Scar Boy asks. “How many you got with you?”

“Enough,” Stuart says.

“Never enough,” Ms. Glare says. “And if they’re at the Anschutz then you don’t have a convoy anymore. That place is locked tight for a reason.” She glances out the chopper’s doors at the Denver streets below and the thousands upon thousands of Zs that fill almost every inch. “Not that it matters considering the shit storm you all brought with you.”

“Not our shit storm,” Stuart says. “We’re just being blown along with it.”

“And our friends will have that place cleared,” Stella insists.

“They should have just gone to the UC Hospital,” Ms. Glare shrugs. “We cleared that months ago. First three floors are gutted with no access to any of the upper floors.”

“Then how do you get in there?” Charlie asks. Everyone looks at him as he realizes we are riding in it. “Oh. Right.”

“We’ll set down and get peg arm fixed up then we’ll see about your friends,” Ms. Glare says. She hesitates then holds out her hand to Stuart. “Amy. Amy Lowden.”

“James,” Stuart says. “James Stuart.”

One of the Scar Boys starts to open his mouth, but Amy holds up a hand. “I don’t think he’s a Jimmy, so don’t say it.”

Stuart smiles at her and she slowly smiles back.

“Goddamn, you two are cute!” I yell.

The smiles go away.

***

Three things we notice as the chopper comes in for a landing on the helipad on top of the UC Hospital.

One: there are thousands of Zs milling about the facility grounds. Two: there are even more Zs over at another building a couple blocks away. The building that has a bunch of RVs, Humvees, and various canny vehicles parked in front of it. Three: some of those vehicles are on fire. So is the building they are parked in front of.

Was that only three things? Felt more like five things.

“Dad, be quiet,” Charlie says as the chopper rotors whir down and we can finally all hear each other without shouting at the top of our lungs.

“Greta,” Stella says as she jumps down out of the chopper and hurries over to the railing at the edge of the helipad. I can hear her knuckles crack as she grabs the railing and grips it with all her worried Mom strength. She looks back at me as the rifle guys carefully help me out of the chopper. “Jace? Greta is in there!”

The sound of gunshots reaches out ears and I wince.

“We’ll get her,” I say. “Don’t worry.”

She doesn’t bother yelling at me for saying something so stupid as don’t worry. She must really be freaked out. I’d be freaked out, but the bleeding shoulder wound, my bleeding skull, and all my other issues kind of shove the worry right from my mind. Or maybe the rushed brain surgery has shoved the worry away. Not sure.

“I’ll go find her,” Elsbeth says.

“You stay here,” Amy says. “We all stay here. We get your friend fixed up and then we talk about who goes where and does what.”

“You don’t give me orders,” Elsbeth says. “No one gives me orders.”

“We think it through,” Stuart says. “There are too many Zs for you to go down there.”

“Wasn’t going down,” Elsbeth says and nods at the chopper. “I was going over. There’s a helipad on that roof too. We fly over and pick our people up then bring them back here.”

“Not enough fuel,” the chopper pilot says as he hops out of the cockpit. “We have enough to get where we need to and that’s it.”

“Where’s that?” Stuart asks.

“Buckley,” the pilot says. “The Air Force base is the last place for fuel. We were going to pick up—”

“That’s enough, Nick,” Amy says. She looks around at all of us and frowns. “Listen, I’m sorry for what’s happening to your friends, but we have a mission. This chopper is our lifeline. We have to complete our mission before we even think about saving your people.”

More gunshots and a couple of far-off screams.

“Jesus, Amy,” Nick says. “I guess I could pick up some people, go to Buckley and get those drums, then come right back.”

“I have a better idea,” Stuart says. “You drop us off so we can help our friends, go get your fuel like planned, unload it here then pick our asses up.”

“You want to get dropped off into that?” Amy asks, pointing out at the children’s hospital. Several more gunshots accent her point. “Really? Your people are going to be gone by then.”

“You don’t know our people,” Stuart says.

“Yeah,” Elsbeth says and sticks out her tongue.

“Good one, El,” I say.

Amy shakes her head over and over then the shaking slowly turns into a nod. “Fine. Nick’ll drop you crazy bastards off. If any of you are still alive when he gets back with fuel then we’ll bring you here. After that, I make no promises.”

“Deal,” Stuart says.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll hang here,” I say.

“Shut up, Long Pork,” Stuart says.

Our new friends all freeze and stare at me.

“What did you call him?” Amy asks.

“Long Pork,” Stuart says. “It’s a nickname.”

“I gave it to him because I almost ate him up once,” Elsbeth says. “I saved him instead. After he killed Pa.”

“I killed Pa,” Stuart says.

“Oh, right,” Elsbeth nods. “Long Pork just made bad jokes.”

“That’s his secret weapon,” Charlie says.

“You people are seriously fucked,” Amy says.

“Wait until you get to know us,” I say. “Then you’ll see we aren’t seriously fucked, we’re hilariously fucked.”

No one laughs. Tough crowd.

***

A new wheelchair!

One of the rifle guys brings it back when they go below and get some medical supplies to clean up and stitch up my shoulder.

“Any reason we’re not going inside?” I ask. “It’s a little fucking cold up here.”

“Never get boxed in,” Amy says.

“I thought the hospital was clear?” Stella asks, the only one staying back with me as Stuart, Charlie, and Elsbeth go on their rescue mission.

“Nothing is clear in this world,” Amy says. “Never get boxed in.”

“Man, you and Stuart are totally going have to have coffee together,” I smile. “Or hit the shooting range. Whatever first dates are these days.”

“Jace,” Stella warns. “Stop.”

I shrug and regret it instantly. One of the rifle guys shakes his head as he crouches down and cuts open my coat and shirt, pulling the material away from the gunshot wound.

“You guys seem to know more about first aid than weapons,” I say.

“Why do you say that?” the guy working on my shoulder asks as the others stand around and watch.

“We took you fast and you all looked like deer in the headlights, but as soon as I said I got shot you sprang into action without worrying who had the guns,” I reply. “Bit of a giveaway.”

“We were EMTs,” one of the other rifle guys says. “We rode together before the dead showed up.”

“The dead were always here,” I say. “We just weren’t listening.”

Blank stares.

“Ignore him,” Stella says. “He likes to hear himself talk.”

“Aaayyy,” I say and give a thumb-up.

“Don’t move, please,” the rifle guy stitching me up says.

“I’m Jace,” I say to him. “Jace Stanford. That’s my wife Stella. My son Charlie was the teenager that got dropped off on the other hospital.”

“Still a dumb move, if you ask me,” Amy says.

“Our daughter is over there,” Stella says. “One of us has to go find her.”

There are more than a few gunshots and we all look towards the children’s hospital.

“Stop moving,” Stitcher guy says. “I’m Joe. The guy behind me is Trent. The other one is Mickey.”

“Hey,” Mickey and Trent say.

“Luke,” the short-haired Scar Boy says.

“Bo,” the dreadlocked Scar Boy says.

“Seriously?” I laugh.

“Leave it,” Bo says.

“Leave it, Jace,” Stella says. “Can’t really talk, can you, Long Pork?”

“That brings up something I have to ask,” Amy says. “Who is the woman? The fighter?”

“Elsbeth,” Stella says. “We adopted her.”

“Adopted her? I thought she said she was going to eat your husband?” Amy says.

“Yeah, we adopted her after that,” I say. “Seemed like the sensible thing. We specialize in reforming cannibals. It’s our thing.”

“We don’t,” Amy says. “We put them down fast and leave their bodies for the dead to eat.”

“Head shots, I hope,” I say.

“Why? You think they deserve mercy like that?” Amy sneers. “Because they don’t.”

“I’m sensing a sore spot has been uncovered,” I say. “Ow!”

“You move when you talk,” Joe says. “And when you move, I slip. Stop talking, stop moving, be still and be quiet.”

“Good luck with that,” Stella says.

“What is Elsbeth’s story?” Amy asks. “What agency was she with? NSA? Homeland? CIA?”

“CIA?” I laugh. “Ow!”

“Shut. Up,” Joe says as he pulls a suture tight.

“No, she wasn’t CIA,” Stella says, grinning. “She was, well,is, something else. She and her sisters.”

“Whoa! Sisters?” Luke asks. “There’s more of her?”

“Where?” Bo asks, looking around like they are going to jump out at him at any second. “Are they in Denver?”

“We don’t know exactly where they are,” Stella says. “But my guess is they are close.”

“This day is just getting weirder and weirder,” Luke says.

“Done,” Joe says and steps back from me.

Amy is about to ask me something, but a succession of loud gunshots fills the air and we all look at the children’s hospital. Stella wheels me over to the railing so I have a better view. Not that what I see is all that great.

People are streaming up onto the roof. They are a few blocks away, so I can’t tell who is who, but I know body language. Most of the survivors, the ones that have been along for the ride, not actively fighting the good fight against the Zs, cram themselves up against the edge of the roof, putting as much distance between themselves and the roof access as possible.

“Not looking good,” Amy says.

“Lourdes’s people can hold off the Zs,” Stella says. I can tell she is scanning the roof, hoping to catch sight of our daughter. “They’ll be fine.”

I do a quick head count and I’m not as convinced as she sounds. There are a lot less people than there should be. The gunfire gets louder and I see some of the private contractors backing out of the roof access doors, firing fast and continuously at a stream of Zs that comes at them. People are screaming and I get a sinking feeling in my gut.

A couple of the survivors turn and look over the edge of the roof. They start shouting and pointing. Most of the others turn and look also then begin to back away from the edge of the roof.

“Oh, shit,” Stella says as she looks at me.

“No way,” I say. “A building? Book shelves and broken escalators are one thing, but a fucking building?”

“What the holy hell?” Bo asks as he jumps over the railing and off the helipad. He lands easily on the level below. Kid has some moves. Good to know. He gets to the edge of our roof and gasps. “Holy shit! You got to see this?”

“Roll me down there,” I say and Stella doesn’t even hesitate.

We all make our way off the helipad and down to the main roof. As we get closer to the edge, I can see what everyone is freaking out about.

Shit. Zs. Trying to climb the side of the children’s hospital. They aren’t doing so well, but damn if they aren’t giving it their all. The sides of the building have a lot of glass and not many hand holds, so the Zs keep falling off, sliding down the side into heaps at the bottom.

Heaps at the bottom.

Heaps that are growing as more and more Zs climb up over each other.

“How long have they been acting this way?” I ask Amy.

She shakes her head and answers, “I haven’t seen them climb before.”

“But you’ve noticed them getting faster, right?” I ask. “Like the ones on the roof that were after us when you picked us up.”

“Yeah, they’ve been getting faster,” Luke says.

“A lot faster,” Bo adds. “Especially when it’s clear out.”

Everyone turns and looks at him.

“What?” he asks. “You all haven’t seen that? Sun comes out and some of the dead just start boogying.”

“He’s not lying,” Luke says, backing up his twin. “Clouds move in and they slow down. Slow down at night, too.”

“Unless they’re hunting when they move,” Bo says. “We watched a pack rip through a herd of deer about a quarter mile outside the fence.”

“Fence?” I ask. “What fence?”

Amy glares at them. Which isn’t hard for her to do since she has resting glare face.

“Hey, I’m sort of an expert on fences,” I say. “Just curious what kind you have. Up at the Stronghold. Because that’s where you’re from, right? The Stronghold?”

Amy doesn’t say a thing.

“Listen, Amy, right?” I say.

She nods.

“Listen, we’re heading to the Stronghold. We came all the way from Asheville, North Carolina because we were told that the Stronghold was one of the last safe places. You can be straight with us or be secretive. Doesn’t matter. Eventually, we’ll end up at the same place.”

“How do you know about the Stronghold?” Amy asks.

“Word travels fast in the apocalypse,” I say. “And a little psycho birdy told us. It’s been confirmed by a few sources.” I swallow hard. “One of those sources is heading this way too. Which means it’s kind of confession time.”

“Confession time?” Amy asks, looking me square in the face. “What confession?”

“You ever heard of the Consortium?” I say. The look on her face tells me she has. “Yeah. They may be on our tails. They may also be bringing about a thousand armed men and women.”

“Shit,” Joe says. “A thousand? Armed?”

“There might be a couple tanks too,” I say. “That’s possible.”

Everyone looks to Amy. Her jaw is set so tight I swear I can hear her teeth being crushed together, like a time lapse of a mountain range eroding.

“You brought that to us?” she asks finally.

“We didn’t want to,” Stella says, “but they set off a dirty bomb in Asheville and we had nowhere to go. Knoxville wasn’t an option. St. Louis is gone. Kansas City is worse.”

“Smith was right,” Joe says. “He said it was obliterated.”

“Looks like an empty mud puddle,” I say. “But with more scorch marks.”

“Mud puddles have scorch marks?” Mickey asks. He speaks!

“I say things to say things,” I reply. “Get used to it.”

“Jesus,” Amy sighs. “You brought the Consortium to us.”

“They were coming eventually,” Joe says. “We knew that. They sent those men last year to warn us.”

“Hey, don’t despair,” I smile. “We have an ace in the hole.”

“Really? What could you possibly have that is going to defend us against tanks and a thousand armed men and women?” Amy snaps.

There’s a loud shriek. A war cry, if you will. Damn, that woman has timing.

I point over at the children’s hospital. “We have her. Elsbeth. You wanted to know who she is, well get ready to shit yourself.” I give her my best smirk. “Elsbeth is Camille Thornberg’s daughter.”

Amy nearly jumps out of her skin. Then she lunges at me and grabs me by the neck. Stella is on her in a second, but Amy elbows her back. Mickey and Trent hold my wife back as Amy leans in close to my face.

“You brought one of those things here? You brought goddamn tanks and one of those things to us?” Amy shouts. “You fucking people! You stupid fucking people! You’ve killed us all!”

Joe gets between us and manages to pry Amy’s hands away from my throat before she can choke me out.

“Chill,” he says. “That crazy woman is fond of this guy. You kill him and she’ll come after us. Do we want that?”

“The sisters,” Amy says. “Where are they? How many of them are there? Is Kramer with them?”

“What?” I gasp. I am more than surprised by that last question. “How the hell do you know about Kramer?”

“Do you think the places that have survived have done so by accident?” Amy laughs. “Do you think this is all random luck? God, how the fuck did you live this long?”

“Amy,” Luke says. “Come here.”

“Not now, Luke,” Amy snaps.

“No, really,” Bo says. “Really.”

Amy backs away from me then steps next to the twins and looks down over the railing.

“Son of a bitch,” she sighs.

A few things click into place and I don’t have to even look to know what’s happening.

“How smooth are the columns on the first three floors?” I ask.

Amy looks back at me. “Not smooth enough.”

There’s a loud banging noise coming from the roof access doors. Our roof access doors.

Son of a bitch is fucking right.

Chapter Five

Paying attention to what’s happening on the children’s hospital roof is no longer a priority because the party has moved to our roof.

Yay…

I look around at our new friends and decide now is a good time to take stock in the firepower we have available.

Bo and Luke each hold an AR-15, flashlights attached under the barrel, with some nice scopes on top. Really nice scopes. I’ve learned a little about firearms and their accessories over the years, especially after hanging with Special Forces operators and Lourdes’s private military contractors.

I glance around and see that Joe, Mickey, and Trent are similarly outfitted. I also notice that I’m not looking at AR-15s, but M-16s. The difference? The former is for civilian use, the latter is military. These guys hit a military supply depot or something. Makes sense if they are refueling their chopper at Buckley Air Force Base. Does the Air Force keep M-16s around? I don’t know.

Amy’s rifle is an M4 carbine. Collapsible stock. Under the barrel grenade launcher. Another really nice scope. She has the grip wrapped in sticky tape and I can tell she uses a suppressor on the barrel when she needs. The tell-tale scuff marks of screwing it on and off are pretty obvious.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Amy says, catching me studying her weapon.

The banging against the roof access doors gets louder and louder as more Zs start cramming against it. I assume they are Zs. I mean, I can’t see them, but who else would be fighting to get at us up here? Jehovah’s Witnesses? Probably not.

Bo and Luke glance at Amy and she gives them a slight nod. They both frown and then sling their rifles. Moving to the edge of the roof, they start hurrying along the perimeter, scanning the scene below.

“West side,” Bo says.

“Why?” Luke asks.

“Break in the dead right there,” Bo says. “We draw them right then sprint left, cut through that hole then book ass.”

“Booking ass is always part of the plan, bro,” Luke replies.

“Don’t push it,” Amy says. “You get to the first pyre and light it up.”

“Bright day,” Joe says, glancing up at the sky. “If Crumb ain’t looking this way then he could totally miss it. But others may see it and realize things are bad. They’ll take advantage.”

“They always do,” Amy says. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take. With how thick the dead are getting, the others will have to make a decision soon. Join up or die down here.”

“Others?” Stella asks. “Are there people still living down here in Denver?”

“Quite a few,” Amy says. “We tried getting everyone together at one point, but some personalities don’t take to being behind fences.”

“You should get an HOA,” I smirk. “They take care of the riff raff right quick.”

“Not helping,” Stella says.

The metal doors begin to warp and groan.

“We should get back up on the helipad,” Joe says. “Bottleneck them on the ramp.”

Stella turns my wheelchair around and we move as fast as possible to get up the ramp and centered on the helipad. I glance around and notice all the support struts holding the helipad together. Support struts that will make great handholds. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.

“Hey, guys,” I start to say, but I’m quickly interrupted by the roof access doors being ripped off their hinges and dozens of Zs streaming out onto the roof.

They whip about, looking like a bunch of rabid terriers hunting for their missing squeaker toys. Then they spot the toys. We are the toys.

A quick undead head count tells me we are up against at least forty of the bastards. It doesn’t take them long to hit the ramp and get wedged between the railings. It also doesn’t take long for the ones jammed at the back to get bored and start looking for new ways to get up at us.

“Go!” Amy yells back at Bo and Luke.

The twins nod and are lost from sight as they climb over the edge of the roof. I get a little queasy just thinking of them climbing down the side of the hospital. Fuck that.

Joe, Mickey, and Trent fall to a knee and aim at the Zs. They each take slow, deliberate shots, not wasting ammunition or time. Each squeeze of the trigger is a headshot, but each squeeze of the trigger happens a lot slower than I’d like. These guys know how to shoot, but they aren’t like Lourdes’s people or like John, Reaper, or Stuart. They are civilians that have gotten good with guns, that’s all.

Not that I can talk much shit. I’m as civilian as they get. Hell, I was better with a spiked baseball bat than I was with a pistol or rifle. At least I was before I lost my arm. Man, I could totally go for some new prosthetic attachments for Stumpageddon. Sucks they got lost along our travels.

The ramp is quickly clogged with dead Zs. But that just gives the ones behind something to crawl over. It almost becomes easier for them. A couple get to the top of the Z pile and actually leap at us, but Amy takes them down fast. She doesn’t have anywhere near the pauses the others have between shots. I’m guessing she has training that the others don’t. Makes sense the way she was talking earlier.

She knows something. She probably knows more than something.

“On our right!” Amy shouts and pivots to blast the heads off three Zs climbing up the helipad’s support struts. She ends them before they can get up over the railing, but they are quickly being replaced by new ones. “Joe!”

“I see them!” Joe shouts.

He gives up on the careful head shots and flicks his M-16 to full auto, spraying the Zs as they scramble up onto the helipad, cutting them off at the legs, turning them into the not so walking dead.

But there are still too many.

Mickey and Trent start scooting back as the Zs coming up the ramp make some serious progress. They’re dropping them, but the Z horde is just too big and they can’t drop them fast enough. I look past the up close and personal danger and see more Zs coming out of the roof access doors.

“We’re going to be trapped in a couple minutes!” Joe yells.

“We were already trapped!” Amy yells back. “So shut up and fire!”

Joe shakes his head, but doesn’t stop pulling the trigger except to eject a spent magazine and slap in a fresh one. He pulls back the slide and puts his rifle back to his shoulder. Then hesitates as two Z heads evaporate in front of him. He jerks back and looks over his shoulder.

“We have a shooter!” Joe yells. “Someone get eyes on him!”

Another three Z heads turn to mist and I realize that Stella and I are the eyes that Joe needs since everyone else is busy shooting Zs and keeping us from getting eaten.

“It had to come from that way!” I shout at Stella, pointing at a far off construction crane that sits idle amongst a never-completed building about four blocks away. “Only place that has the height!”

“Hold on!” Stella says and leaves me to stare at the far-off crane. She comes back with one of the guys’ packs and rummages through it. “Got it!”

She pulls out a pair of binoculars and puts them to her eyes. I’d ask for a look too, but considering my less than stellar mental capacity, I’d probably just see flying unicorns and space pandas.

Space pandas are a thing, so fuck off.

“I see someone up there,” Stella says. “Big rifle.”

“From that distance? It’d have to be,” I reply.

There are shouts behind us and I try to look back, but my head and shoulder protests instantly and I have to close my eyes tight to keep from screaming and passing out. It feels like my world is made of Jell-O. I take a few deep breaths and things begin to stabilize, but I have a serious feeling that they will never get back to normal.

“Another shooter!” Joe shouts as Stella wheels me around. “Back that way!”

Z heads are popping like balloons at a rigged carnie game. Joe, Amy, and the others slow their firing down, conserving ammo as our mystery helpers drop Z after Z. Half the horde is headless in a matter of seconds. Then the shooting stops and the Zs surge.

“Must be reloading,” I say then we hear shouts from the children’s hospital.

Stella looks through the binoculars again and smiles.

“The shooters are helping everyone else,” she says. “Clearing out the thick groups so Elsbeth can do her thing.”

“Ooh, let me see,” I say, reaching for the binoculars. Stella bats my hand away even though the binoculars are well out of my reach. “No fair.”

“Tough shit,” Stella says.

“Mickey! Trent! Go right!” Amy orders as she and Joe move left.

Leaving us alone as bait.

“Hey!” I shout. “What the hell?”

“Keep your heads down!” Amy yells at us. “Don’t move and you’ll be fine!”

Just a heads up, if you hear someone say “don’t move and you’ll be fine” in the apocalypse that usually means you are fucked. I’d totally tuck my head between my knees and kiss my ass goodbye, but that would hurt too much and I’d probably pass out anyway.

The Zs come right for Stella and me then get cut in half in the crossfire from Mickey and Trent on one side and Joe and Amy on the other. It’s obvious they’ve used this tactic before because they angle their shots so that stray bullets don’t become not so friendly fire. In a couple of minutes, we’re looking at piles of dead Zs and only a few stragglers trying to get around the mess and at our delicious live flesh.

“Clean up the leftovers while I go see if I can secure the door,” Joe says to Mickey.

“I’ll help,” Amy says then glances at us. “You two alright?”

“Just fine,” I say and give a thumb-up. “Nice teamwork there.”

“Teamwork is the only way we’ve survived.”

“Good to hear,” I say. “It’s reassuring.”

Amy is about to continue following Joe, but turns and walks up to us instead.

“We’ve saved your asses, but that doesn’t mean you are home free,” she says. “If you’re bringing the Consortium down on our heads, and you have that asshole Kramer with you, then you and your group are way more trouble than we can handle. We’re surviving, not thriving. One hard push and it will tip us into the not-surviving category.”

“One good push in the other direction will put you in the thriving category,” Stella replies. “We’re good at the thriving part.”

Amy grins and shakes her head. “Right. Which is why you’re on the run and had to leave your nuked home behind. That’s some good thriving there.”

“You don’t know us,” Stella snaps. “Don’t judge until you do.”

“And you don’t know us,” Amy says, hooking a thumb over her shoulder towards the others. Joe is quickly getting the warped roof access doors put back up. He pulls out a handheld welder from his pack and gets to work while Mickey and Trent put down the last of the Zs one by one with pistols. “See them? We used to never go out without teams of at least a dozen. Don’t have that luxury anymore because we don’t have those numbers anymore.”

“Yeah, survival is a bitch,” I say. “But we just crossed over half the country to get here. We’ve lost a lot of people too, but we’ve also gotten half our people here while dealing with psycho Lizard Jesuses and zombie herds the size of a Bonnaroo crowd.”

“Lizard Jesus?” Amy asks. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Some cult leader guy named Kelvin and his shotgun acolytes,” I say. “We ran into them back in Illinois. No bueno.”

“You ran into Kelvin? Kelvin Holston? And you got away?” Amy asks, looking impressed. “How? No one gets away from the Tomb.”

“Am I the only one that isn’t part of this apocalyptic conspiracy club?” I ask. “How the hell do you know Lizard Jesus?”

Amy frowns and Stella says, “That’s what he’s named Kelvin. My husband is big on the nicknames.”

“Joe? You okay?” Amy calls out.

“Yeah, I got this,” he replies as he continues working on the doors.

Amy crouches next to me.

“Do you think these survivor pockets are random?” Amy asks. “Do you think the cities that have been destroyed just fell on bad luck?”

“No?” I respond. “Yes? You tell me.”

“Nothing is random,” she says. “The reason certain areas have survived is because they have had folks like me, like Kelvin Holston, like Camille Thornberg, keeping things together.”

“And Asheville?” I ask. “We did a good job keeping it together there in Whispering Pines.”

“Bang-up job,” Amy says.

“Vance,” Stella says. “Edward Vance.”

Amy laughs then holds out a hand to apologize. “Sorry. Vance was a placeholder. He was prepping the area for Anthony Mondello.”

“That didn’t work out so well,” I say. “I killed them both.”

“Right,” Amy smirks then sees the look on Stella’s face. “You killed Vance and Mondello? You’re that guy?”

“I’m that guy,” I smile then pause. “Wait, what guy? The hero guy? Because if you mean the hero guy then that’s me.”

“Technically, the Zs got Mondello,” Stella says. “But that happened because of Jace.”

“I kill by proxy too,” I say.

“Shit,” Amy says, her entire demeanor changing. “You’re that guy. You’re those people. Hmmm.” She’s lost in thought for a few seconds then clears her throat. “What about Kelvin? What happened to him? How’d you get away?”

“Teamwork,” I say. “Kelvin sacrificed himself with some big speech and then let the Zs eat him.”

“Did he quote the Bible?” Amy asks.

“Yep,” I reply.

“Figures,” Amy says. “How many of his people did you get to come with you?”

“None,” I say. “He’d already killed all his followers and turned them into Zs. They were waiting for us in the pit when we came in through the backdoor.”

“All of them? He killed everyone?” Amy gasps.

“Except for some of his shotgun acolytes, but we won the showdown and then it was all over,” I say.

“It was hardly all over,” Stella says. “It was a lot more complicated than that and we lost a lot of our allies, especially the cannies.”

“Cannies,” Amy sighs. “Not too keen on them.”

“No one is,” I say. “But numbers are numbers and they haven’t taken a bite out of anyone yet.”

“Give them time,” Amy says.

Several bursts of gunfire come from the children’s hospital then it goes quiet. Stella wheels me around so I can see and it looks like they have the Zs under control.

“Shooters?” I ask.

Amy holds her hand out and Stella reluctantly gives her the binoculars. She scans the area then shakes her head. “No sign of the shooters.” She pulls the binoculars away and shouts over her shoulder, “Our helpful guests are MIA. Eyes sharp in case they turn their sights on us.”

“Not much we can do up here,” I say. “We’re kind of sitting ducks. If they wanted to kill us, they would have already.”

“Doesn’t mean we don’t stay cautious,” Amy replies. She sighs and gives the binoculars back to Stella.

“Is that the pyre you were talking about?” Stella asks, pointing northwest.

“That is,” Amy says, shielding her eyes from the bright daylight. “Good for those boys. Now we just have to hope Crumb is paying attention. That old bastard spends half his time sleeping on the job instead of watching for the pyres. But he’s the only one that will volunteer to stay down here in the city and keep the pyres maintained and ready.”

“Why pyres?” I ask.

“Easy way to communicate without making a lot of noise,” Amy says. “Noise brings the dead.”

“No shit,” I say. “But why not use radios?”

“They can be overheard,” Amy says. “We’ve made that mistake before.”

“We’ve got a guy that can program them to private channels,” I say. “Maybe he could—”

“Tried that,” Amy says. “There’s no such thing as private anymore.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call a pyre private either,” I say.

“Is he always like this?” Amy snaps, exasperated.

“He’s always like this,” Stella says. “Jace likes poking holes in plans and theories.”

“But I’m guessing he hates it when people poke holes in his plans and theories,” Amy says, smirking.

“Detests it,” Stella agrees.

“I’m sitting right here, people,” I say. “No need to be jerks.”

***

It’s another hour before the chopper returns. Amy and Nick have a quiet heart to heart away from us, both continually looking from us to over at the children’s hospital and back to us. Joe, Mickey, and Trent stay off to the side, their rifles slung casually against their sides. A little too casually. Like that’s how they want it to look. Don’t blame them. They should stay cautious. I would.

“You think they’re going to leave us?” Stella asks. “I’m getting a ‘ditch the new people’ vibe.”

“I don’t think they’ll ditch us,” I say. “Not all of us, at least. They’re trying to figure out what to do with us, though. We may not like their decision.”

There’s the distinct sound of helicopter rotors and I painfully look northwest and see a second chopper heading our way. It’s obviously the backup chopper since the thing looks like it’s being held together with spit and chewing gum as it gets close.

“That looks promising,” Stella says. Then it passes by us and is lost from sight. “Or not.”

Amy walks over and her face is not a happy face.

“We’ve talked it over and right now we aren’t comfortable taking you up to Boulder,” Amy says. “Not until we know more about you and about the numbers coming after you. Once we have more information, we’ll make our decision then.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Stella snaps. “You’re not going to leave us up here, are you?”

“What? No,” Amy says. “You have children over there and these buildings are no longer secure. No, we are going to ferry your people back and forth to Buckley until we have you all dropped off. We’ll be able to refuel our helicopters and return to Boulder. Once everyone has had a vote then we’ll come back and let you know what has been decided.”

“Damn, so I guess you do have an HOA,” I say.

“No, we just have a democratic process that helps keep people pacified by thinking that their voices are being heard,” Amy says.

“And how’s that working for you?” I ask.

“As well as anything else these days,” she replies then focuses on Stella. “We are not leaving you and your people to die, alright? If the vote comes out against bringing you in then we will make sure you get safely over the Rockies and on your way to one of the other large enclaves. The Temple or Circuit City.”

“Are they still there?” Stella asks. “Kramer isn’t so sure they are still there.”

“Kramer isn’t as smart as he thinks he is,” Amy says. “And he won’t be a concern anymore. No matter what is decided, Kramer stays with us. We’ll need him.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because Camille Thornberg needs him,” Amy says. “And that is good enough.”

“Who are you?” I ask. “What the hell did you do before Z-day?”

“I’m Amy Lowden,” Amy replies. “And I worked in a deep hole. I still do.”

“Oh, well, now that that’s cleared up,” I growl. “Please, exile us to an old army base.”

“Air Force,” Amy corrects.

“Fuck you,” I reply.

“Jace,” Stella warns. “Let’s be nice to the woman that has our lives in her hands.”

“At least she has two hands,” I say and try to wiggle Stumpageddon, but am quickly reminded about the gunshot wound in my shoulder. There might be some tears. Might be. “Ow.”

“He lost his arm when he fought off Mondello and kept the man from killing our son,” Stella says. “The Zs didn’t just take that piece of shit, they took my husband’s arm, as well.”

“I am sorry,” Amy says. “I truly am. Everything you’ve said about yourselves is exactly what we need up in Boulder, but we have to assess the entire situation. This is beyond helping some traveling survivors.”

Then I get it and, oh, the motherfucking irony!

“Bums,” I sigh. “We’re the bums.”

“What’s that?” Amy asks. “What’s he talking about?”

“Back where we lived in Asheville, our subdivision was walled and gated,” Stella explains. “Anytime survivors would come by, we would turn them back. We called them bums.”

“Now we’re the bums,” I repeat.

“What happened if they didn’t want to leave?” Amy asks.

“What happens if we don’t want to leave?” I respond.

“Point taken,” she nods.

She looks up at the sun and shakes her head.

“We better hurry if we’re going to get you all moved in and secured before night,” she says. “You don’t want to be exposed at night.”

“Is night worse than day?” I ask.

“That’s when the crazies come out,” Amy replies.

“The gangs?” Stella asks.

“The crazies,” Amy says, shaking her head.

“Oh,” Stella and I say at the same time.

Crazies suck.

***

It takes a while to shuttle us all to Buckley Air Force base, but Nick and the other chopper finally get us moved from the hospitals and into a huge aircraft hangar close to the center of the base.

We got a good look and the fence system seemed to be in place when we flew over. That’ll slow down any Zs that decide to come hunting for a midnight snack. Of course, being an experienced survivor of the zombie apocalypse, I don’t trust any fence system. Not even one I design. Not 100%. Fences are always breached. Always.

The second chopper lifts off and is gone, heading into the setting sun with Amy, leaving Nick behind to tuck us in and sing night night songs.

“We’ve used this hangar a lot,” Nick says. “It’s a good place to get to before we make a push through Denver if we’re on foot. I’ve done more than a few repairs on my bird inside here.”

He points to the open hangar doors.

“Pull those shut and you’ll see the system of levers and bars,” Nick says. “It’s self-explanatory and designed so that even if it was only kids stuck in here, they’d figure it out and stay safe.”

“Of course kids would figure it out,” I snap. “That’s what kids do. Figure shit out.”

“Cut the crap, Long Pork,” Critter says. “Let the man explain how we’re going to stay alive.”

I roll my eyes, but shut up. Lourdes, Stuart, Melissa, Critter, Stella, and John stand in front of Nick as he uncomfortably starts pointing out the features of the hangar.

“Bathrooms are over there,” he says. “We keep rain barrels on the roof, so the toilets should flush. If not then grab a bucket from those shelves and do it manually. Water barrels are in that corner. Blue are potable, grey are, well, grey. Runoff and the like. Use that. Try not to waste too much, if you can. We’re in Colorado and things can get dry here. If it’s yellow, keep it mellow and all that.”

“Yeah, we’ve been living in the apocalypse too,” I say. “We get the conservation thing.”

“Long Pork, hush,” Critter snaps. “Damn, boy, let the man speak.”

I hurt like a motherfucker and I’m just not in the mood for the camp counselor speech. I’m also really pissed they didn’t even ask one of us to go up into the Stronghold and represent our group. Fuckers. They’re gonna have their little vote and ninety-nine percent of them won’t even have a clue that we are real people. Just anonymous bums put in an old hangar.

Nick keeps talking and I zone out. No point in listening. He’s doing his best to show everyone what the hangar has to offer, but really he looks like a guy that’s been playing with a stray dog in the park all day and now wants to get home to his real pets back at his nice, plush condo.

“Condo?” Nick asks. “I live in an airstream trailer with no A/C.”

Everyone is looking at me. Shit.

“How much of that was out loud?” I ask.

“Was there much before the stray dog in the park bit?” Stuart asks.

“Nope, not really,” I reply.

“Then we heard it all,” Stuart says.

“Sorry,” I say to my people. Not so sorry to Nick. Fuck this guy.

“Still out loud,” Stuart says.

“Dammit!” I yell then wince as daggers made of glass rip through my head.

Nick looks at me like I’m the wild homeless guy outside McDonald’s. I don’t blame him.

“If you have radios, stay off them,” Nick says. “Seriously, folks, stay off them. The last thing you want is for any of the crazies, or others, to zero in on your location. And they will. The dead aren’t the only ones that like to hunt.”

“We can help clear them out for you,” Lourdes says. “Clear out the crazies and the others.  We have worth beyond just adding to your numbers. I doubt you have folks trained like us.”

“Ain’t nobody trained like us,” Elsbeth says, as she saunters up to us. She smacks John on the ass and gives him a huge smile. “You. Me. Later. Yum.”

Then she turns around and walks away.

“Hey! El!” I call out. “Wait up!” I glance at Nick. “We done here?”

“Yeah,” Nick says. “I know Amy told you we’d have the vote first thing in the morning. So expect a chopper to arrive sometime in the afternoon. We’ll bring some food along, no matter what the outcome of the vote. We aren’t cruel people, just cautious.”

“Understood,” Lourdes says. “And thank you for letting us keep our weapons. Not all groups would have done that.”

“What would have happened if we’d tried to take them away?” Nick asks.

“Nothing good,” Lourdes admits.

“Then letting you keep them is better for everyone,” Nick says. He starts to say more then nods, turns, and walks out of the hangar.

“Bye now!” I call out.

“What you want, Long Pork?” Elsbeth asks, grabbing my wheelchair and rolling me towards the back of the hangar.

“I want to talk about the help we got today,” I say. “Those shooters that thinned the Zs out for us.”

We get to the bathroom door and Elsbeth turns us around and pushes the door open with her back as she wheels me in backwards.

“Uh, El? You need to use the bathroom?” I ask.

“Yep,” Elsbeth says and parks me in front of a stall. “We can talk while I go.”

I don’t care. I’m used to it. Jesus, El’s dropped trou and pissed in front of me a hundred times. At least now I’ll have the stall door between us.

“Were those your sisters helping us?” I ask. “They sure did know how to shoot.”

“Lots of people know how to shoot, Long Pork,” Elsbeth replies as her pants hit the ground and I hear her settle in on the commode. “This is America. Ain’t no shortage of shooters. Nope.”

“This is the apocalypse, El,” I reply. “Plenty of shortage of— Jesus! Are you taking a shit?”

“Yep,” she replies. “Feels good to use a toilet. I’m tired of digging holes.”

“Damn, El,” I say as I cover my nose. “Warn a guy next time, will ya?”

The bathroom door opens and Dr. McCormick walks in. She sees me outside the stall, hears Elsbeth doing her business, then turns around and walks back out. I’d go with her, but a one-armed man is useless with a wheelchair as we have established. I ain’t going nowhere.

“Be straight and tell me if those were your sisters, please,” I say. “Stop being all secretive and shit. I need an actual answer.”

She flushes and opens the stall, her pants still around her ankles. At least she pulled up her underpants. She smiles at me, moves past, and tries one of the sinks, but it doesn’t turn on. She sighs heavily as if this is the biggest disappointment in her life.

“You can wash up outside,” I say. “But first, answer my question.”

Elsbeth looks at me for a while then nods.

“Sure,” she says. “They were probably my sisters. I can’t say for sure, though, Long Pork. I was busy killing Zs. All I saw was heads going pop, pop, pop.”

“You said back at the bookstore that your sisters were waiting for the signal,” I say. “What signal? Why wait? Why not join us now?”

“Long Pork, you sure are dumb,” Elsbeth says. “What happens if they join us?”

“Uh, we add some bad asses to our numbers?” I reply.

“Nope,” she says and shakes her head. “They get stuck. You and Stella. Critter and Lourdes. Stuart. Even John. Everyone will want them to do as they’re told. Everyone will want them to fall in line like nice little soldiers. We ain’t soldiers, Long Pork. We is people.”

“Stop with the we is and we ain’ts,” I say. “I know you only do that for effect.”

“Maybe,” Elsbeth shrugs. “Maybe nots.”

“Funny,” I sigh. “So your sisters are just going to stay out there on their own? For how long? Do they ever plan on joining us?”

“I don’t think so,” Elsbeth says. “We’ve decided that outside is better for everyone. Too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous? For us or for them?” I ask. “Never mind, you’ve pretty much answered that already. But, apparently, not too dangerous for you to use my boy as bait.”

Elsbeth waves me off and walks by. “Let that go, Long Pork,” she says as she gets to the door. “Charlie did good. Be proud.”

She opens the door and walks out.

“Hey!” I yell. “Where are you going?”

She ducks back in and grins at me then waves her hands about.

“Poopy hands,” she says. “Gonna go wash then come get you. Unless you want me to grab your wheelchair with poopy hands?”

“Nope, I’m good,” I say. “Go get clean, but don’t forget about me.”

She smirks and is gone. After a minute, Dr. McCormick comes back in.

“Why are you still here?” she asks.

“Elsbeth had poopy hands,” I say. “She’s going to wash up.”

She grabs my wheelchair and rolls me outside the bathroom.

“Thanks,” I say as the door shuts.

I look around and everyone is getting out sleeping bags and other gear they find stacked against the walls. Elsbeth is nowhere to be seen.

Dammit, she totally forgot about me.

***

“Daddy? You awake?” Greta whispers.

“Yep,” I reply. “Can’t really sleep this way.”

I’m propped up with a sleeping bag over me with my back against a stack of crates. Stenkler still insists I have to sleep sitting up. I’m sure Kramer would have agreed, but he never made it to the hangar. Amy made sure he stayed in the chopper and went back to the Stronghold with her.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” I ask.

I glance around and it doesn’t look like our talking is disturbing anyone. We are hardly the only ones still awake. Candles burn here and there, along with some hand crank flashlights that are getting dimmer as the night goes on and people get tired of cranking. There are small pockets of our people having hushed conversations while others are bundled up to their ears in sleeping bags, trying to get some sleep and stay warm at the same time.

The hangar isn’t heated, which makes sense since it would take a shit ton of energy, or firewood, to heat such a huge space.

“What happens if they don’t let us stay?” Greta asks. “Do we take the convoy and keep going?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I honestly don’t. There are a lot of factors to think about. Number one being getting up over the Rockies in winter time. I have a feeling the passes haven’t exactly been kept clear by the DOT.”

“We could go south,” Charlie suggests, joining the conversation. He’s in a mummy bag and all I can see are his mouth and nose. “Go down through New Mexico into Texas then across to the West Coast.”

“Then what?” Greta asks.

“Kids, don’t worry about it,” Stella says, her voice sleepy. “Just close your eyes and get some rest. We’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“I can’t rest,” Greta says. “I have to know what’s going to happen.”

“Me too,” Charlie says. “At least we have the sisters watching our backs.”

“Hey, about the sisters,” I start.

“Nope,” Charlie says. “El said she’d cut my nuts off if I talk to you about them. She looked really serious when she said it and I really like my nuts where they are.”

“She’d never cut your nuts off,” I reply. “And I’m not sure I like her threatening to cut someone’s nuts off.”

“She threatens to cut yours off all the time,” Greta says.

“But that’s me,” I say. “I’m not cool with her saying it to your brother.”

“I know she won’t cut my nuts off,” Charlie says. “But I’m not going to break my word and tell you what I know. You’ll just fuck it all up anyway.”

“Excuse me?” I ask. Stella chuckles. “What’s so funny?”

“He’s right,” Stella says. “If El has a reason for you not to know about something then you should respect that. Odds are you will fuck it all up.”

“I am highly offended by the lack of support from my family right now,” I say. “Highly offended. So offended that I might just move someplace else and sleep all alone.”

There are a couple of hushes from those close by that are trying to sleep.

“I don’t think there’s anywhere to go, Dad,” Charlie whispers. “And good luck getting there if you do go.”

“Fuckers,” I mumble.

I wait, but my family doesn’t say anything else and soon all of them are asleep, their breathing nice and even. It says a lot that we are all at a place in our lives during this zombie apocalypse that my family can drift off and sleep while we are basically captives in a strange place.

Sure, we could open the hangar and all leave, so we aren’t really captives. But our vehicles are back in Denver, along with most of our gear. We wouldn’t last very long out there without some serious supplies. Not in this environment and not during the winter. Nope, we’re rats in a cage with the door open and a bunch of cats sitting outside waiting for us to make our move.

Rats in a cage… Hmmm… There’s something there. It stirs an idea—

“Shut up,” someone moans and a few voices echo the sentiment.

“Sorry,” I whisper loudly. “My bad.”

***

There are only the core handful standing outside the hangar when the chopper lands. Mainly because we know the chopper will draw attention to us and even though the hangar is well away from the fence line, we don’t want to risk a bunch of Zs catching site of a crowd of people and suddenly thinking it’s buffet time.

Also, it’s chilly as fuck out and the wind is cutting hard. Our people ain’t dumb. They know when to stay out of the cold.

We can all tell how the vote went as soon as Amy hops down out of the chopper. Her face is set and her mouth is a hard line. She’s wearing aviator glasses, so it’s impossible to see her eyes, but I’m sure I can guess what look she’s giving us.

Pity.

“Let’s get inside out of this shit,” Amy says as she reaches us. “We need to talk.”

“Just lay it on us straight, lady,” Critter says. “We in or we out?”

“Inside,” Amy says as the chopper powers down behind her.

It’s not Nick flying today. They sent the B team pilot.

Yeah, I am pretty sure we’re out.

Critter grumbles some more, but Stella nods to the hangar and starts walking. Amy is right on her heels. Stuart pushes me, with Melissa, Lourdes, John, and Buzz close behind. We get inside and the hushed conversations going on end instantly. All eyes are on us and I can see Amy squirm. I have a feeling she wishes she’d brought some backup in case things get nasty.

Stella is obviously thinking the exact same thing as she says, “Just be honest and I’ll make sure no one blames you and gets out of hand.”

“I appreciate that,” Amy says. “I took a huge risk even coming back here to talk to you in person. But my vote was for you to stay, so I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the mirror if I chickened out and dropped a note as we did a fly by.”

“What kind of note?” I ask. “Because if it was written on a bowling ball then that would have been cool.”

“It would shatter on impact, Dad,” Charlie says. “Bowling balls aren’t indestructible.”

“Leave it,” Stella says as I get geared up for a pointless debate. “Amy? Tell us what you need to so we can get on with things and start planning.”

“First, let me say that it was close,” Amy begins, all attention locked onto her. “It was almost an even split down the middle. But, there were enough nays that we didn’t bother with holding a second discussion like we sometimes do on close calls.”

She takes off her sunglasses and I can see she is genuinely upset that the vote didn’t go in our favor.

“I’m going to lay out the reasons why so you know what happened then I’m going to list your options as we see them,” she says. “I’m hoping you listen to my advice since I know this area and I know what you can and can’t do.”

“Sounds fair,” Stella says. There are some grumbles, but as soon as she holds up a hand the grumbles quiet down. “Why were we rejected?”

Amy’s eyes go to Mr. Flips immediately and he nods. We all nod.

“You just can’t fight prejudice,” Mr. Flips says, doffing his hat towards Amy. He dons it quickly and doesn’t say anything after that, respectfully taking a few steps back and waiting for her to finish.

“It’s not just the cannibals,” she says. “There are several other reasons. I don’t have time to go into things, but you have to know how sorry I am we can’t accommodate your people.”

“We’ll need Kramer back,” Lourdes says.

There are a couple groans. Okay, there is one loud, long groan. It comes from me.

“He’s an asset we cannot give up,” Lourdes responds to my epic groan. “He has medical and scientific skills that are essential to our survival.”

“Yes, exactly,” Amy frowns. “Which is why we can’t return him.”

We hear it before we see it. Everyone but me turns around as their second chopper comes flying over in front of the hangar, doors open, men inside with rifles trained on us. Ah, so that’s why Nick isn’t flying Amy’s chopper. He’s flying the assault one that has us in its sights. Fish in a barrel.

“What the fuck?” I yell, since I can’t really turn myself around. “You’re going to kill us?”

“No,” Amy shouts over the sound of the second chopper. “Not if you give us Carly Thornberg. Kramer was a bargaining chip we thought we could use with the Consortium. After speaking with him, we believe Ms. Thornberg is a better bargaining chip. You brought Camille and her forces down on us, you need to make this right!”

I start laughing. Amy’s frown deepens.

“Really?” I chuckle, holding my hand across my chest and against my shoulder. My laughing hurts, but fuck if it isn’t worth it. “Do you honestly think Elsbeth is going to go with you?”

“I think she cares for you all and will do what she needs to do to keep you alive,” Amy replies. “If she doesn’t come with us willingly then we shoot all of you and blow up the hangar with your people inside.”

“You have it rigged to blow?” I ask.

“No, we have an RPG aimed at it,” Amy says and nods at the hovering chopper.

“You realize you’re leaving us here with all of your whirlybird fuel, right?” I grin. “You won’t be able to fly those choppers anymore if we stay here.”

“You’ll need to move on to find food,” Amy says. “And you can’t touch our fuel.”

“Oh, really?” I smirk. “Why can’t we?”

“It’s rigged to blow,” John says, kneeling down close to me so I can hear him. “At least two redundancies that I don’t know how to bypass. It was the first thing I checked when they set us down here. Best to know what you have as leverage.”

“Fuck,” I grumble.

“What will it be?” Amy shouts, her eyes moving to Stuart then Lourdes, Critter, finally settling on Stella. “We can keep this civil or we can fight it out. You won’t survive the fight.”

“Fuck you!” I shout. “Elsbeth stays here!”

“It’s okay, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says as she pats my shoulder. My wounded shoulder. Ow. “I’ll go with them.”

“El? They’ll just trade you to your mother!” I argue.

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “Maybe not. Lot of time and space between then and now. We’ll see what happens. Maybe there’ll be a signal or something that points in the right direction?”

“A signal? What the hell are you talking about?” I reply. “Have you lost your mind? Are you going all superstitious now?”

She just shrugs again and disarms, laying all of her weapons, which there are a lot of, on my lap. Then she walks over to Amy, gives her one of those huge Elsbeth smiles, walks out of the hangar, and climbs up into Amy’s chopper. The B team pilot looks a little freaked out by how easily she gave up, but he starts the chopper up immediately and yells at Amy to hurry.

Amy gives us a weak smile. “I am sorry for this,” she says. “It wasn’t my original plan, but it’s the only way to keep the Consortium from ripping through here and tearing apart what we’ve tried to build.”

She walks backwards out of the hangar to the chopper, her eyes scanning our group, waiting for retaliation. When it doesn’t happen, she climbs into the chopper and it lifts off almost before her feet are off the ground. We all watch it bank and fly away, the second one right behind it. The helicopters are two imperceptible dots in the sky before any of us speak.

“We’re gettin’ her back, right?” Critter asks. “Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ that girl get taken hostage by some snooty Colorado assholes.”

Stella wheels me around so I can see everyone and they all look down at me.

“Looks like we need a plan,” I say. “Any suggestions?”

“No vehicles, barely any weapons, almost no food,” Lourdes says. “We have shelter and water here. There might be supplies on the base we can use. I say we take a day or two to search this entire facility from top to bottom before we formulate a plan.”

“We may not have a day or two,” Stuart says. “The Consortium is on its way and we are right in its path. They’ll stop here and set up a command base. Best place to use before pushing through Denver. We can’t stay.”

“Then how do we get out of here?” Mr. Flips asks. “No offense, but you people don’t exactly know how to blend in and be stealth. If it was just me and mine, we could slip through Denver and get up to Boulder without a problem.”

“Then do that,” I say. “You and yours slip through and wait for us. Do some recon so we know what we are up against when we get there.”

“But how are we getting there?” Lourdes asks. “There are a hundred thousand Zs between us and Boulder. We can’t walk through them and we don’t have the ammo, or the numbers, to fight through them.”

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I’m stalling, really. I have no idea what we’re going to do, but I want to look like I’m thinking hard and trying to work it out.

“That was all out loud, Jace,” Stella sighs.

“Son of a bitch,” I mutter as I open my eyes. I remember something from last night. Rat cages. “Take me outside.”

“What?” Stella asks.

“Roll me outside,” I say. “I thought I saw something yesterday.”

Stella doesn’t argue. She rolls me out of the hangar and I glance around the base while everyone joins us.

Then I see a stack of rolled up chain-link fencing.

“We’re safe on this base right now because there are a couple layers of chain link between us and whatever Zs have decided to come sniffing around, right?” I ask.

“Pretty much,” Stuart replies. “There are bound to be weak spots and if enough hit the fence, they’ll get through.”

“What are you thinking?” Stella asks.

“I’m thinking of instead of hiding behind this fence and getting stuck here, we build our own fence and take it with us,” I smile.

No one else smiles. I am the only one smiling. Jace, the solo smiler.

“Sometimes your capacity for stupid is too much to take, Long Pork,” Critter says as he walks off cackling. “Man, they done broke the mold with you!”

“Anyone actually want to hear my plan?” I ask.

There are a few sighs, but eventually everyone nods.

“Critter’s gonna regret missing out on this,” I say.

“I doubt that,” Stuart responds. “Go ahead and lay it on us, Jace.”

Chapter Six

My brain is a little fuzzy, if you hadn’t guessed yet, so it takes me a few starts and stops to get everything out and into words that can be understood. By the time I’m done talking, it looks like we have a plan. It also feels like ground glass is thrashing around in my skull.

“You need to rest,” Stella says. “We’ll find Dr. Stenkler and have him check you out then you get to lie down and sleep. Lourdes and Stuart can handle getting the supplies together and the building started.”

“I’ll find Buzz and my brothers,” Melissa says. “Those boys know how to handle fencing and they can rig most anything with wheels. If you can’t fence it or put wheels on it then it’s useless on a farm.”

“Cool. Thanks,” I say. I’d give her a friendly nod, but that is almost more than I can handle.

Fuck guerilla brain surgery in the apocalypse, yo. Fuck that shit.

They get me back to my sitting bed and I’m out in seconds. It’s fucking funny I couldn’t really sleep through the night, but during the day? Nappy nap time for Jacey.

When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I can tell because the hangar doors are wide open. With people running through them. Lots of people. All running out into the cold, winter night.

“What’s going on?” I ask. There’s no one around to hear me. They’re all running away from me. Well, not away from me specifically, but in the opposite direction from me. “Hey!”

“Daddy?” Greta asks as she comes out of the bathroom and sees me shaking my fist at the dipshits that are busy ignoring me. “You alright?”

“Where the fuck is everyone going?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says, looking around. “I was in the bathroom.”

“Maybe we should find out?” I suggest.

“Ya think?” she replies. “HEY!”

Three cannies skid to a halt as they hurry by.

“What the hell is up?” Greta asks.

“Lights at the base gates,” one of the cannies says. “Looks like a few vehicles just pulled up. Your guy Stuart is calling everyone to get armed and ready. Could be those Atlanta fuckers.”

“Thanks,” Greta says and nods at the guy.

He’s relieved to get running again. Most of the cannies don’t like being around us Stanfords. They’re afraid they’ll do or say the wrong thing and Elsbeth will gut them. Not a bad fear for them to have, really.

“Get me up into my chair,” I say.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Greta responds. “Jimmy says you have to stay put and rest.”

“Jimmy?” I glare. “He’s Jimmy now?”

“That is his name,” Greta says.

“I have a couple other names he could use,” I say and point to my wheelchair. “Up. In. Chair. Now.”

Greta folds her arms across her chest, cocks out her hip, and smirks down at me.

“Please?” I say. “Pretty please?”

“No,” Greta replies. “If you keep moving around, you will die. Jimmy can’t believe you haven’t died already.”

“No one can believe I haven’t died already,” I reply. “Statistically speaking, I should never have made it out of Whispering Pines. Vance should have wiped my ass out. But he didn’t. Neither did Mondello or Foster or any of those sorority psychos or cannies or Barfly or Lizard Jesus or—”

“I get it, Daddy,” Greta says. “You are hard to kill.”

“No, sweetie, I’m God,” I say. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.”

“You are so fucking weird,” she sighs.

“Weird on wheels?” I ask.

“No,” she says.

“Long Pork!” Critter calls from the hangar doors. “Get your lazy ass up and get the hell out here! You think we’re gonna do all the talkin’? No way! This is your mess, you clean it up!”

“My mess?” I ask and look at Greta. “My mess? What mess?”

“Don’t ask me,” Greta shrugs. “It’s your mess.”

“Get Daddy into his chair of wheels,” I say. “I have been summoned.”

Greta sighs again. Oh, the teenage girl sighs. A language all their own.

She helps me struggle into my wheelchair. I’m pretty much a weak little baby. The sleep was good, but it left my muscles useless. I’m all flippy floppy, noodle limp.

I get settled in the wheelchair and Greta hustles me out into the night air. Cold as fuck, but kind of refreshing. The hangar wasn’t exactly a cozy bundle of blankets, but it felt stuffy. I know, that doesn’t make sense, but when do half the things I say?

“Good, you’re here,” Stella says as she hurries up to me and Greta. “Apparently, our son had a mission given to him by Elsbeth. Of course, the little shit didn’t tell us anything about it.”

“Little shit?” I ask. “Uh-oh. This is bad.”

“It’s not bad now,” Melissa says, joining us. She looks at Stella. “Stop being mad at him for stepping up and doing his part. He’s not that little boy shooting hoops in front of your house anymore.”

“He needs to stop hiding things from us,” Stella says. “It’s going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“I’d say there are a million other things you’ll die from first,” I respond. Yeah, that gets a nice glare.

Greta keeps wheeling me along. I ask a few more questions, but Stella and Melissa just keep telling me, “You’ll see.”

It’s a few minutes before we’re close enough for me to see the vehicles that have shown up. I know those vehicles. They aren’t from the Consortium. No, sir, not at all.

They’re ours.

“What the fuck?” I ask. “Did Charlie go get the RVs? And the Humvees? I know he’s a good driver, but he’s not a transdimensional driver, able to split himself into a dozen different Charlies. No way he could have gotten all of those here on his own.”

“I didn’t,” Charlie says as he comes jogging up to us. “I didn’t even get to drive one of them.”

“Then who did?” I ask.

The lights from the vehicles are pointed right at us and I quickly see six silhouettes walking my way. Six female silhouettes. Very confident silhouettes.

“Oh,” I say. “That’s some good help.”

Elsbeth’s sisters walk up and give me wide smiles.

“Hey there, Long Pork,” Antoinette says, her long blond curls wrapped up and tucked inside a hat. “Heard you folks could use a hand or two.”

“Hey!” I yell. “That’s my fucking hat!”

It is. It’s my Stetson I lost when we crashed back in Illinois.

“Where’d you get my hat?” I ask.

“Found it,” Antoinette smirks. “I guess you dropped it. You don’t mind if I keep it, do you? Looks better on me.”

It does. She’s totally right there. I mumble something about how she can keep it. She smiles at me and gives the brim a flick.

I do a quick headcount. Antoinette plus Brittany and Lacy. Marcie, Steph and Belinda.

“Where’s Audrey?” I ask. “She okay?”

“She’s coming,” Lacy says. “She’s bringing the last vehicle.”

“Last vehicle?” I ask. “I see all the RVs and Humvees. The canny trucks are great, but we don’t really need one of those. Everyone will fit in the RVs.”

“Oh, she’s getting a truck,” Antoinette says. “Should be here any second.”

“Oh...okay,” I say. “So, uh, how’s it going?”

“Been going great,” Antoinette replies. She taps her head and gives me a wink. “Especially since El helped us get things clear up top.”

“El? Don’t you mean Carly?” I ask.

“Not her name anymore,” Belinda says. “Her name is Elsbeth. Carly is long gone. No need to bring up the dead.”

“Huh. Cool,” I say. “Glad to know y’all are embracing the El we know.”

There’s a loud honking, the sound of a semi horn, out past the vehicles, and people start rushing forward.

“We should go help,” Antoinette says, her happy-go-lucky face replaced by one serious, down to business look. “The truck will have brought the Zs to the gates.”

“Always Zs at the gates,” Marcie sighs. Then she looks right at Charlie. “Hey, Chuck. Good to see ya.”

“Uh, hey. Yeah, you too,” Charlie replies.

Marcie gives him a wink and hurries off with her sisters.

“Chuck?” Stella and I ask at the same time.

“It’s what they call me,” Charlie says.

“They? All of them call you Chuck?” I ask.

“Well, mostly Marcie does,” Charlie grins.

“We’ll talk later,” Stella says as she pushes me up closer to the vehicles and the front of the base.

We hear the front gates being opened then people start shouting and yelling. The distinct sounds of whacks and thwacks of blunt objects hitting Z skulls reaches us before we’re even a few feet along. No gunshots. That’s good. That sound will bring more Zs. The dark lets us fight semi-hidden, but gunshots are a direct call for the undead to come party.

A semi-truck comes rolling into the base and parks right next to the RVs. There’s a huge tanker attached to the rear of the truck and I can see the logo of a long-gone gasoline company on the side. The driver’s side door opens and Audrey comes jumping out.

“Hey, Long Pork,” she calls out as she waves to me. “What do you think? Took me a while to find one that held diesel. Didn’t want to mix the fuel.”

“Diesel? For what?” I ask.

She’s about to run off and join her sisters, but she stops and cocks her head.

“What do you mean for what?” she asks. “For the war. We’re gonna need fuel for the fight. The RVs and Humvees will be empty by the time we get them up the mountain to the Stronghold. Then what? We just ditch them? That’d be stupid.”

“Right, yeah, of course, it would,” I say, not following at all. “Wouldn’t want to be stupid.”

Audrey smirks and shakes her head. “Netty will explain once we clear the gates. See ya in a sec!”

She trots off and is lost in the throng of shadows and silhouettes that are rushing around kicking some Z ass.

“Netty?” I ask Charlie.

“Antoinette,” Charlie says.

“Right,” I say.

The thwacks and whacks get fewer and farther between. Soon the sounds die out completely and all we hear are the pants of exhausted people. Stuart comes walking up to us, a collapsible baton in his hand and Z blood and brains splattered all over his clothes.

“We may not need your plan after all, Jace,” he says.

“Looks like it,” I say.

“What plan?” Antoinette asks as she comes jogging up. I look past her and around for her sisters. “They’re helping clean up the corpses. Gotta do our part if we’re going to join up officially.”

Stuart gives me a look and I give it right back.

“What?” Antoinette asks. “You guys didn’t know we were joining? Has El said anything to you?”

“Oh, you know El,” I say. “She keeps things close to her vest.”

“Oh, well,” Antoinette replies. “You know now. We’re here to stay. No more watching you from the shadows.”

“Or shooting Zs from cranes?” I respond.

“That too,” Antoinette says. “That was Steph and Marcie. They are the best shots. Been working with Charlie.”

“You mean Chuck?” Stella asks.

“What? Oh, that’s what Marcie calls him. We do too, but mostly Marcie,” Antoinette says. Then she sees the look on Stella’s face. “Yeah. I’ll let you guys work that one out. Not my place. No way I’m getting in the middle of that.” She claps her hands together. “So? El got off safe? Flew to the Stronghold as their guest?”

“Their guest? More like their prisoner,” Stuart says. “I’m guessing you brought us the vehicles so we could stage an assault on the Stronghold and get her back?”

“Get her back?” Antoinette frowns. “We’re going to join her.”

“Excuse me?” Stella asks. “Join her?”

“Yeah,” Antoinette says. “Join her. Up at the Stronghold. We know what the outside looks like, now we’ll know what the inside looks like. It’s pretty spread out, so hard to see everything from the perimeter. Crappy fortifications. We could have slipped in and out without a hitch, but El said to wait. She didn’t want to risk raising an alarm.”

“You’re talking like she’s in charge,” I say.

“None of us are in charge,” Antoinette says. “But some of us are better at certain things. El knows how to infiltrate and find weaknesses. You all should know that. She found you.”

“Me? How the hell am I weak?” I snap.

Antoinette laughs and holds up her hands. “Calm down, Long Pork. I said you were a weakness, not that you were weak.”

“How is he a weakness?” Stuart asks.

“Well, shit, look at you all,” she replies. “You’re all standing around him while he’s missing an arm and has his head and shoulder bandaged up. The guy is in a wheelchair, for God’s sake. Would you ditch him if you got surrounded by Zs?” No one replies. “Didn’t think so. Long Pork is this group’s weakness. Half of you would die saving his ass. Which doesn’t exactly make sense from a numbers perspective, does it?”

“I have worth,” I say. “I get shit planned.”

“I know,” Antoinette says. “That’s what we’re counting on.” She claps me on the shoulder that isn’t hurt. “Buck up, Long Pork. Being a weakness isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes it’s what keeps us human.”

***

Our hangar turns from a refugee flop house and into a machine shop in about three seconds. We can fit a couple of RVs in there at a time and the folks that can weld get to work. Once the supports and reinforcements are added on then the RVs are replaced by the Humvees and the welders get to work on those.

You see, my idea of having the fence go with us, isn’t totally dead.

Like anything is really dead in this world anymore. Ha!

The sun is coming up in the East as Charlie rolls me outside to watch as the chain link is secured to the frames that are ready. One of the RVs is close to us and several men and women lift up the framed fencing and walk it over to the vehicle where it is bolted to the supports sticking out from the sides. It takes a good half an hour, but they finally get the whole vehicle framed in. Then the wheels are added onto the fence frames and we are set to go.

“I get to drive!” Charlie yells as he ditches me and hurries to the RV.

“Dude! You can’t just bail on me!” I shout after him as he gets to the first layer of fencing and climbs up and over.

It takes him a second to stretch and reach the second layer before he can hook a leg over and jump down inside. He runs up to the driver’s door and pounds his fist against it. Marcie is inside and she grins at him, shaking her head the whole time. The looks on both their faces tell me that there might be more than just flirting going on.

“I am going to hand Elsbeth her ass when we find her,” Stella growls as she walks up to me.

We watch as our son negotiates the driver’s door open. Marcie grabs him and yanks him up inside. Their faces get close, but they stop short of kissing as Marcie looks past him and sees us watching. Charlie turns and glances over his shoulder. His broad grin becomes a frown and he rolls his eyes before Marcie pulls him inside and slams the door closed.

“Oh, yeah, El is dead,” Stella says.

“Lighten up,” I say. “Who else do you want him with?”

“Not a trained killer that used to be brainwashed,” Stella snaps.

“Really?” I reply. “You think he’d be safer with someone else? Because, and this is just me talking, knowing our son’s new girlfriend could probably kill half of us before we could bat an eyelash is sort of comforting. At least he’ll always be safe when he’s with her.”

“Shut up,” Stella says. I open my mouth and she glares. “I said to shut up.”

“I was going to ask how you like my design,” I say. “Ignore our son’s new love life and tell me what you think about the rolling cage.”

Stella sighs and looks out at the newly outfitted RV.

My original idea, back when I didn’t think we’d have our vehicles, was to build a double-fenced cage out of chain link and use that to push our way through the Z herd. Basically, we were going to have a series of big dog pens on wheels that we could use to keep the Zs from getting to us. Eventually they would have overwhelmed us, but it gave us a better chance than being exposed and out in the open.

Now my design is being put on all the vehicles. There’re plenty of materials on this base, so we don’t have to worry about upping the size of the design. We just have to worry if the RVs can drive with supports welded to their frames and surrounded by rolling chain-link cages.

Charlie starts up the RV and yanks on the horn. Half the crowd around us jump, freaking out over his foolish use of a noise like that. Noise brings Zs.

But we all see him wince and then roll down the window.

“Sorry,” he says. “Got carried away.”

Marcie leans past him.

“I’ll punch him harder if he does it again,” she says.

He starts to roll it up, but not before we hear, “Harder? Jesus, M. You punch me harder and you’ll break my arm.”

“Pussy,” she replies.

Then the RV lurches forward.

Everyone stops what they are doing as Charlie takes the RV out onto one of the tarmacs and gets it up to a decent speed. He turns quickly to the left and the right side of the cage dips and bows, but the airplane wheels welded to the corners keep it from crumpling and scraping the ground. He does a couple of figure eights then turns it back to us. By the time he stops and hops out, everyone is cheering, congratulating him on the successful test drive.

“Now we just have to finish doing that to all the vehicles,” Stella says, looking up at the sky. “That’s going to mean another day here. We won’t be able to leave until tomorrow morning.”

“Or we leave in the middle of the night,” I say. “Use the cover of darkness so the Zs don’t see us coming.”

“Then we can’t see them coming,” Stella counters. “I’d rather see them coming.”

“Let’s ask the professionals,” I say. “Wheel me to Lourdes, woman!”

My chair doesn’t move.

“Will you please take me to Lourdes with you?” I ask.

“Wheel yourself,man,” Stella says and walks off.

“Ah, come on!” I call out. “I was just kidding!”

I get both of her middle fingers. Which is even more insulting since she knows I can’t give them back because I only have the one middle finger. Damn, that shit’s cold.

“Mom’s wound tight,” Charlie says as he comes up to me, done being the test pilot.

“She’s a little put off by your new squeeze,” I say.

“My new squeeze?” Charlie laughs.

“Yep.Chuck,” I say.

“Shut the fuck up,” he laughs as he starts wheeling me after the one in charge.

***

“As much as we like the idea of using the dark as cover, we need to let people get some rest,” Lourdes says as we stand around a fire barrel set close to the front of the hangar.

Okay, I sit by the fire barrel. It’s still toasty, though, as the heat radiates out from the sides. The night is clear and I can make out a ton of stars even with the firelight close by.

You have no idea what night is until electric lights are gone and you’re a mile above sea level.

Antoinette, Audrey, and Marcie watch Lourdes closely then each nod their heads.

“Thanks for the approval,” Lourdes says. “But I wasn’t really looking for it.”

“Sometimes you find what you aren’t looking for,” Marcie says, her arm wrapped around Charlie’s as the two of them lean in towards the fire.

“Cute,” Lourdes says.

“The vehicles are ready,” I say, trying to break the tension.

What tension? The tension coming off my wife who is standing behind me and glaring daggers at Marcie. I don’t even have to be looking at Stella to know she is the glarer of daggers.

“My only worry is the tanker truck,” I continue. “It doesn’t have a cage around it.”

“It won’t need it,” Audrey replies.

“You sure?” I ask. “Because you’ll look mighty tasty inside that cab. Especially when the Zs find out the tanker isn’t full of people juice.”

“Not all of them can climb,” Audrey says. “Only some. We put a wedge on the front, which should be good enough. They can’t tip me over so I’m just not that worried.”

“Knock on wood,” Stella says.

“What?” Audrey replies.

“Knock on wood,” Stella repeats. “You’re tempting fate when you say things like that. I don’t care how badass you bitches think you are, but fate will kick the shit out of you just as much as it has kicked the shit out of us.”

“Bitches?” Antoinette frowns. “That’s kind of harsh, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Stella replies. “I meant that you are badass bitches, not that you are bitches that are badass.”

“Way to clear that up, Mom,” Charlie says.

“Sorry,” Stella says. “I’m tired. Thank you for all of your help.”

“No problem,” Marcie says. “Anything for Chuck and his family.”

“On that note, how about we all turn in?” I say before Stella can make it worse.

Everyone is looking at me and smiling. Except Stella. She’s not smiling so much.

“Was the Stella making it worse part out loud?” I ask.

“Totally,” Marcie says.

“What she said,” Charlie adds. “Maybe don’t clarify with the actual insult next time, Dad. Just my advice.”

“Noted,” I respond as everyone says their goodnights and wanders back into the hangar.

Except for Stella and me.

“Sorry,” I say.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “This is all just too hard. I don’t think there is a way I can handle it and not make things worse.”

“You’re doing great,” I say. “Parenting isn’t easy in the best of times. In the zombie apocalypse? We start off epically fucked.”

“You know some folks don’t think the cages will work,” Stella says after a couple seconds of silence. “If this all falls apart, they are going to blame you. They’re going to blame us. This could be the last leg of our journey no matter how it turns out.”

“You think these people will turn on us after everything we’ve done for them?” I ask.

“I think terrified people do stupid things when they get even more terrified,” Stella replies. “We have to be careful. We have to have a plan in place if things go south.”

“I think the Zs eating us will take away any need for a things going south plan,” I say.

“I’m serious, Jace,” she snaps. “What if the cages don’t work and we get stuck in the middle of Denver? Do you have any ideas on how to get us out of that?”

“I’m working on some,” I reply. But she doesn’t believe me. I can tell.

I don’t blame her. I hardly believe myself these days.

***

Two of the sisters -Lacy and Steph- open the base gates as our caged convoy begins its journey. The two women stab and bash quite a few Zs then grab onto the cage of one of the RVs as it rolls by. It sucks we have to leave the gates open, especially since there are still some salvageable supplies on the base, but we can’t risking losing two sisters just to keep the Zs from trespassing. We’ll come back later and clear them out.

If there is a later.

“There will be,” Stella says. “And try to keep the thoughts in your head.”

“My bad,” I say. “Was I loud?”

“No,” she says. “I’m the only one that heard you.”

“Except for me,” Buzz says from the driver’s seat. “But I won’t tell. I’m thinking the exact same thoughts. We probably all are.”

My wheelchair is strapped in between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat where Stella sits. I want to look behind me, but I can’t turn my head without screaming. Doesn’t matter, I know what it all looks like. Everyone has their assignments.

The plan is to take Colfax as far as we can. If we’re lucky, we’ll get all the way to Federal Boulevard and then cut up to the Denver Boulder Turnpike. The sisters say it is clear most of the way because when Z-Day happened, people were getting the hell out of Denver, not trying to get into it. Most of the streets aren’t clogged at all. Not with cars, at least. They are plenty clogged with Zs.

But that’s why God made chain-link cages.

And we quickly find that clogged roads aren’t the issue. Turns out that RVs with chain link cages around them don’t corner so well. Let me rephrase: they corner fine, but getting them around corners isn’t the easiest.

We hit a snag as soon as the first one turns onto Colfax.

Despite Amy’s warning, which we now take with a grain of salt, we are still using our radios to communicate. It’s efficient and efficiency is what’s going to keep us alive. If crazies want to listen in, or Camille and her Consortium army are monitoring all channels, then fuck ‘em. They can have fun eavesdropping on our survival banter.

“Hey, Buzz?” Pup calls from the lead RV.

“Yeah?” Buzz asks.

“I’m stuck on a street sign,” Pup responds. “Like really stuck. I’m afraid I’ll rip this RV in half if I try to gun through it.”

“The supports should tear out before that happens,” I say. “Or the chain link will rip. The RV will be fine.”

“But it’ll be exposed,” Buzz says.

“True,” I reply. “Anyone have any thoughts?”

“We get out there and get it unhooked,” Stella says.

There really isn’t any “we” in the plan. Marcie is up and out of the stuck RV in seconds. She climbs through the top hatch, hustles over to the edge, jumps down onto the chain link (which holds just fine) and rips off the street sign. Rips it right off. With her bare hands.

We all stare a bit.

She’s back up and in the RV before even half a dozen Zs take notice.

“It was barely hanging on,” Charlie says over the radio, reading everyone’s minds. “She doesn’t have super strength.”

“Or do I?” Marcie laughs as she takes over the radio.

“Hey, give it back,” Charlie says.

There is some playful banter over the tug of war and it helps relieve the tension quickly.

On we go.

We’re about a mile up Colfax when the Z herd starts to get thick. Before that, we’d dealt with stragglers and easily passed them by. Those that wanted to hang onto the cages ended up getting their rotted arms ripped right out of their rotted shoulders.

Not so much now.

“This will take days at this pace,” Buzz says, staring at the speedometer. It barely registers our speed. “We’re in a slow motion race to nowhere.”

“That’s going to be the title of my memoirs,” I say.

“You say everything is going to be the title of your memoirs,” Stella sighs. “You are not going to write any memoirs.”

“One day, maybe,” I reply. “When we’re old and the grandchildren stop coming around to play with us. Then I’ll sit down and write them.”

Stella and Buzz both glance at me and I can’t figure out the looks on their faces.

“What?” I ask.

“That was a pretty optimistic thing to say,” Stella replies. “You think we’ll have a place safe enough to have grandchildren play with us?”

“Fuck yeah,” I respond. “Otherwise what the hell are we doing all of this for?”

“Plain survival?” Buzz says.

“Fuck plain survival,” I say, frowning. “That’s no different than running out the clock. I want to win. I want to build somewhere safe and keep it safe. I want to have people talk about us for decades to come like we are the motherfucking Founding Fathers and shit.”

“Founding Parents,” Stella corrects. “Fuck the patriarchy.”

“Exactly,” I nod. “Fuck the patriarchy. That shit will be gone and so will racism and bigotry.”

“Really?” Buzz laughs. “You plan on populating your utopia with robots? Because that’s the only way to get rid of that stuff. Humans can be animals. Keep them together long enough and they’ll revert back to bigoted ways. It may not be the next generation or the generation after that, but eventually it will happen.”

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t crap on my dream, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” I say.

Buzz shrugs. “I’m not crapping, just talking.”

“Good talk from a farm boy,” I say. “Most folks would peg you for a dumb redneck. I know better.”

“Fitzpatricks are a lot of things, but they ain’t dumb,” Buzz laughs.

“We’re about to get into it,” Stuart calls from the lead RV. “Eyes open, people.”

The front of our caged convoy is led by one of the Humvees. We have them spaced out between the RVs, giving the convoy some flexibility if it needs it. They have better maneuverability, even with their mini-cages on.

The real herd of Zs is about as bad as I thought it would be. We hit a wall of undead flesh. They are rotted shoulder to rotted shoulder all the way across the four lanes of Colfax Avenue. As far as we can see are nothing but Zs. There has to be a full mile of them.

“One point three miles before we hit a break,” Lourdes says over the radio. “Then we’re looking at maybe four miles before we hit another wave.”

Another wave. This is what life is now, wading through an ocean of the undead. We are Z surfing in the Endless Winter. Maybe that’s what my memoirs should be called? The Endless Winter.

“The winter will end,” Stella says. “Be quiet.”

“It’s not like I mean to talk out loud,” I say. “Just feel lucky I’m not a drooling idiot.”

Buzz snickers.

“Fuck you, Fitzpatrick,” I say. “I don’t drool.” Stella reaches out and wipes the corners of my mouth with her sleeve. “Son of a bitch.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Buzz says. “I’m laughing at the fact that the guy who’s had brain surgery is the one that designed our cages. It’s funny that none of us thought to second guess you.”

“Bullshit,” I say. “You guys always second guess me.”

“Third guess then,” Buzz says. “Point is, we all went for it. Jace comes up with a design, we get to work.”

“I’m dynamic that way,” I say and smack the arm of my wheelchair. “Not like I contribute much else anymore.”

“No pity,” Stella says. “Pity will get you booted off this RV.”

“No problem,” I smirk. “I’ll just grab the chain link and go along for the ride. It’s how I roll.”

Do I need to say that Buzz and Stella groan? Loudly? Probably not.

The Humvee hits the Zs hard and we can see the chain link bow and start to crumple. But it holds. It also slows to a crawl as the truck tries to power through the herd. It’s quickly engulfed in undead, but that doesn’t mean it’s all over for the little Humvee that maybe could.

Marcie is up out of the RV hatch again and she’s banging pots and pans together, making as much noise as possible. This is part of the plan, just so you know.

“They’re taking the bait,” Stella says. “Look. Half the Zs are ignoring the Humvee and heading to the RV.”

It’s true. We watch as the Zs shamble back to the RV, drawn by the kitchenware symphony. The Humvee up front starts to get a little more traction and our convoy speeds up slightly. In seconds, the RV that Marcie is on is surrounded then the Humvee behind it. In less than a minute, we are afloat in the middle of the Z sea.

Now, here’s the thing. At no time did I think we’d roll through the streets with our happy little chain-link cages and the Zs would just hiss and gnash their teeth. I knew they’d grab onto the chain link. I knew they’d start shoving, pushing, pulling, and freaking out to try to get in at us.

I also knew they’d climb.

Most of the Zs we drive through are your regular shamblers; just good ol’ boys out for a stroll, hoping to catch some human snacks. The new ones, the ones that like to get all zippy and zoomy, may be in the minority, but they sure aren’t slackers. They take the initiative and grab that chain link and start to climb.

“Up top,” I call out. “Everyone.”

I can’t turn around, but I can glance up in the small rear-view mirror set just above the windshield. It’s funny that RVs have rear-view mirrors. Their only purpose is to look at the people in the vehicle, not to look out for what’s behind the vehicle. People are scrambling to climb up out of the hatch and onto the roof. I hear their heavy footsteps and start to wonder how much weight the roof is rated for.

Probably should have thought of that before. Oh, well.

Here’s the cool part of my plan. I knew the Zs would come at us. I knew they’d start to climb and try to get inside the cage. So I made sure we had some type of defense against them. Razor wire across the tops of the cages was one idea, but we quickly realized it would just tangle a bunch of Zs and end up weighing the cage down until it tore free. No, we needed something that would not only keep the Zs from getting in the cages, but would kill them and send them packing.

I can’t watch what’s happening with my RV, but I can see what’s going on with the RV up ahead of us. Marcie is up there along with a dozen others. Charlie is one of them, of course, and I see Stella tense up every time that RV shudders or bounces. I know she’s saying prayers that he doesn’t take a tumble and end up run over or chum in the Z ocean.

Everyone braces themselves using straps that we rigged to go around their waists and hook to the cargo bars on the roof. Helps the whole falling and dying thing Stella is worried about. Then they pick up sharpened poles and get to work.

The poles are actually leftovers from the chain link frames. Some of our more handy folks sliced the ends so they are pointy and sharp as shit. We did a couple of tests on the Zs out by the base fences to make sure they work. Yeah, they fucking work.

I watch as Marcie, Charlie, and the other folks take aim and start spearing the climby Zs’ skulls. The poles work perfectly and slice right through the Z heads, pulping them instantly. The Zs tumble over dead, falling back onto the Z ocean or falling inside the cages where most of them are just left behind or get squashed by some heavy-duty RV tires.

Stella turns her head and tries not to gag as a few of the spears end up acting like geysers for Z blood and brains. They’re hollow tubes, so when someone puts some extra force into a spear lunge, a little bit of juice comes spurting out the other end. She’s not the only one gagging. Quite a few of the people on top of the RVs are turning and retching. I’m guessing the smell is pretty bad. Like a rancid fart in an empty-wrapping paper tube.

“Quarter mile to go,” Lourdes calls out over the radio.

She’s right. We’re a lot farther along than I thought we’d get. Not that I didn’t think the plan would work, I totally knew it would work. It’s just that there are always snags, always unforeseen circumstances that rear their ugly heads. So far there has been no rearing.

The stabbing and spurting is mesmerizing and I’m completely lost on the brutal ballet of it all when I hear cheers from up on our roof.

“What?” I ask then realize we are moving out of the Z sea and into open road. “Oh. Holy shit.”

“It worked, man.” Buzz laughs. “You crazy, lucky son of a bitch.”

“Don’t let your dad’s ghost hear that kind of language,” I smile.

“I think this time he’d agree with me,” Buzz replies.

Big Daddy Fitzpatrick was a man of God and didn’t broker no foul language. No, sir. But I’d say Buzz is right and he’d allow an exception this time.

“Keep your eyes peeled, people,” Lourdes says. “You know how open space can be.”

We stare out the windshield at the road ahead of us. Far off we can see the makings of another Z herd, but for now it’s only abandoned cars by the curbs and an undead straggler here and there.

“Jace?” Stella asks. “I think we have a problem.”

“Of course we do,” I sigh. “Can you describe the problem.”

“Hold on,” she says and I wait patiently. If the woman you love, and has survived by your side during the zombie apocalypse says to hold on, then you hold on. “Yeah, we’re in trouble. See?”

She points out her window and I turn my head enough to see what she means.

The side roads are barricaded. That explains why the Zs aren’t swarming in at us. Stella picks up the radio.

“Do you guys what I see?” she asks.

“The barricades?” Stuart replies. “Yeah. We see it.”

“Same here,” Lourdes says. “We’re being funneled.”

“Antoinette?” I call. “Is she still up top?”

“Right here, Long Pork,” she replies from right behind me. I jump a little and nearly scream. Not because I’m startled, but because the jump turns my head into an excruciating pain party of ouch. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I mutter, waiting for the nausea the pain brings on to pass. I take a couple deep breaths and things get better. “There. No puking.”

“I know what you’re going to ask,” Stella says, her hand on my shoulder. “Rest.”

“Yeah,” I frown. “Thanks.”

“You and your sisters already scouted a lot of this road,” Stella says. “Didn’t you notice the barricades?”

“Yep,” Antoinette says. “All the side roads are blocked from here all the way up through the city.”

“All of them?” I ask.

“Jace, let me handle this,” Stella gently scolds. “All of them? And you didn’t think to mention it to us?”

“Of course I did,” Antoinette replies. “But if I did, you’d think this route was a trap and you’d waste time trying to figure out another route. We don’t have that kind of time.”

“But it is a trap,” Stella says. “We drove right into a trap. We are closed in on all sides now.”

“We weren’t going to take the side streets anyway,” Antoinette argues. “This is a good thing. It keeps danger ahead of us or behind us. We won’t get sideswiped.”

“I don’t think you are getting what I am saying,” Stella says, her voice rising. “Someone put up those barricades. Someone wants people to only go one direction. We are being directed towards something. And we don’t know what that something is.”

“No, you don’t understand whatI’m getting at,” Antoinette counters, her voice sharp and harsh. “We know it is a trap. We know we are being directed in one direction. We know all of this and it doesn’t matter. Why should it? Uh-oh, danger is ahead! Bad people trying to kill us! So fucking what, Stella? That’s life in the apocalypse. People are always trying to kill us and they always will. At least we know where we stand and we can be ready for it. Let the motherfuckers try. They have no idea who they are fucking with.”

Stella starts to argue some more, but I hold up my hand and stop her.

“She’s right,” I say. “They don’t know who they are fucking with. We have trained soldiers. Special Forces motherfuckers. People who have survived years of this fucking apocalypse. Cannies that know how to kill and flay a person in seconds. Not to mention a band of badass super sisters with skills that make us all look like we’re playing paintball or having some LARP fun.”

“LARP fun? What’s that?” Buzz asks.

“Live action role-playing,” I say. “It’s when people dress-up in costume and act out—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Buzz says. “You lost me at dress-up in costume.”

Stella is red in the face, but I can see in her eyes that she realizes Antoinette is right.

“Next time you have important information like this, you fucking tell us,” Stella says. “You do not get to be rogues. Not anymore.”

“You’re right. Sorry,” Antoinette says. “I apologize. We’re working together. You are Elsbeth’s family and we are her sisters. That means we’re all family now. We should respect that.”

“Damn,” I say. “The family tree just got a lot bigger.”

Stella clicks the radio. “So, it sounds like the sisters knew about this.”

“Yep, we were just told that,” Stuart says.

“Same here,” Lourdes replies. “I’m not very happy with this.”

Antoinette reaches for the radio, but waits politely until Stella hands it to her.

“We’re sorry about that,” she says. “Won’t happen again.”

“Anything else we need to know about?” Lourdes asks.

“No,” Antoinette says. “Well, there is one thing.”

“What’s that?” Lourdes replies.

“We counted about fifty people on the other sides of the barricades,” she says. “All up and down the street. They wait there.”

“Then there’s at least twice as many hanging back,” I say. “What’s your guess?”

“Probably,” Antoinette replies. “Could be more.”

“So we should be prepped for two hundred crazies,” Buzz says. “Pass that along.”

Stella does. There are quite a few grumbles. And by grumbles I mean shouts of, “Fuck.”

Chapter Seven

The second we reach the next wave of Zs, the crazies show their faces. I really wish they wouldn’t. These are not nice faces to see.

We’re talking scars and tattoos. Tattoos that probably weren’t done in a hygienic environment with sterile needles and industry-standard ink. They make prison tattoos look like high art.

There’re a couple of screams from above and I glance up, wince, then look over at Stella. She’s looking over her shoulder then jumps up out of her seat and pushes past me as people start dropping back inside the RV, abandoning the roof.

“Fucking slingshots!” John yells as he helps a couple of cannies down through the hatch. “The fucking kids have slingshots!”

“Kids?” I ask. I struggle with the wheelchair, trying to turn it with my one semi-good hand. “Fuck!”

“Calm down, Long Pork,” Buzz says. “They have things handled.”

“I can’t talk to people with my back facing them,” I snap.

“You could talk to people if they were behind ten feet of concrete and in another universe,” Buzz says.

“Bite me,” I say.

“I’ll leave that to them,” Buzz says, nodding at the scene outside the windshield. “Without our spear fighters up top, we’re gonna be overrun right quick.”

Shit. He’s right. The convoy has slowed to a crawl and not because we’re trying to push through a few thousand Zs. It’s because the Zs are starting to get up over the chain link, the ones that know how to use their monkey brains for more than just eating flesh.

Lourdes’s people are leaning out of their Humvees, taking pot shots at the zippy Zs, but they are limited by the fact that if they open fire, they’ll hit our own vehicles in front of them.

This is a pretty good trap, actually.

“Kids?” I ask again, not believing what John said. “How the hell can you tell? They’re all tatted up and scarred and shit.”

“They’re kids,” John says. “Teenagers. If any are older than twenty, I’ll eat a pile of shit.”

“Jesus,” I say. “You sure you want to make that promise?”

“They’re kids,” Mr. Flips says.

I’m kinda glad he’s part of our RV crew. I want his advice on the way crazies think. These kids, if they really are—

“They are!” John snaps. “So shut up about it!”

He’s pissy. Probably worried about Elsbeth.

Anyway, I want Mr. Flips’ advice on the crazies. He probably knows how they think and operate better than any of us.

I wait a couple seconds, but there’s no response.

“Well?” I ask.

“Well what?” Stella replies as she comes back and climbs into the passenger’s seat.

“I was talking to Flips,” I say.

“No, you weren’t,” Stella says. “Unless I didn’t hear you.”

“He didn’t ask me anything,” Mr. Flips replies.

“Really? Shit,” I say. “I thought that was out loud. Great. Now I’m staying quiet when I want to speak.”

“If only that were true,” Buzz chuckles. “Son of a bitch!”

A large crack appears in the windshield as a hunk of concrete bounces off the front of the RV.

“Looks like they have catapults too!” he yells.

“What do you need to know?” Mr. Flips asks from directly behind me.

“Will someone please turn me around?” I ask. “I don’t need to see the view outside. I can guess the composition of the scene without an actual visual, thank you.”

Flips pulls me back and spins me about. He’s slow and nice about it so I don’t get all woogity and puke. Woogity is my go-to feeling right about now. I am ten kinds of woogity.

“I’m only counting two at each side street,” John says, his eyes studying the street. “I don’t think there are many of the little fuckers out there. They just know how to use their environment.”

“You want to know something?” Mr. Flips asks.

“If you were these pubescent fucknuts, what would your end goal be?” I ask.

“Besides capturing you for food?” he grins. I do not. “Bad joke. Sorry.”

He furrows his brow for a second as he thinks. We all jump as a hail of rocks rain down on the RV from the left side. My jump makes me whimper a little as I jostle my shoulder and my head.

“You okay, Jace?” Stella asks.

“I’m good,” I reply. “Just a little excruciating pain. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“We’re already in the thick of it,” Stella says. “You should rest. Let all of us handle the fight from here on out. You can’t think our way out of this one.”

“She’s right,” John says. “This is battle tactics and brute force time.” A rock comes crashing through the window right next to him. “Fuckers!”

He puts his sniper rifle to his shoulder, sights through the scope, and squeezes off two shots. I can hear a far off scream even over the sudden increase in Z moan volume due to the missing window.

I can also feel a very cold draft come whipping inside. Whose genius idea was it to try to find sanctuary in a place that is over a mile above sea level and cold as a Z’s tit?

“Yours,” half the RV says.

“Right,” I smile. “Sorry.”

“You know, I don’t think brute force and battle tactics are what is needed,” Mr. Flips says. “I believe we can talk our way out of this.”

“Really?” Stella, John, and Buzz say at the same time.

“Really,” Mr. Flips nods. “Let me try.”

Another rain of rocks makes us jump. A few fly in through the broken window and John picks them up and hurls them back out at the crazies. A couple of the rocks actually make it back to the barricades. Not that they do much, just bounce off the cobbled together metal and wood walls.

“Nice arm,” I say.

“Can someone assist me?” Mr. Flips asks, pointing at the hatch in the ceiling.

A couple of cannies give him a boost and he’s lost from sight.

“Shit,” John says and puts his rifle back to his shoulder. He squeezes off a few shots, taking out six Zs trying to climb up over the chain link cage on our right. “Break out the windows.”

“What?” Stella says. “Why?”

“We’ll have to stab the Zs from inside here,” John says. “Pass it on to the other RVs.”

“No need,” Antoinette says as she comes hopping down from above. I hadn’t realized she was still up there. “My sisters already figured it out.”

She’s nice enough to swivel my wheelchair so I can look out the windshield and see that the windows in the RV in front of us are gone and the sharpened poles are stabbing in and out over and over, clearing as many climby Zs as possible.

“Toss them down!” Antoinette says and sharpened poles start coming through the hatch.

Jesus, how many people are still up there? I totally should have done a head count.

As the metal starts swinging around, I realize I am completely in the way. Stella realizes that too as Antoinette breaks out the windshield and displaces her from her spot in the passenger’s seat.

“Come on,” she says and wheels me through the chaos of the RV and into the back bedroom.

Not that there is a bed back here. The RV has been stripped of all furnishings to make room for as much supplies as we could fit. The walls are lined with boxes and crates and Stella has to wedge me in between a dozen steel drums.

“Will you be fine back here?” she asks.

“Whoa! You’re gonna leave me alone?” I exclaim.

“I’m more use up there,” she says. “Unless you think you need me to stay? How are you feeling? Are you going to pass out?”

“I’m not going to pass out,” I say and flinch as rocks slam into the RV. “But it’s spooky as shit back here by myself. There’s like no light because of all of these boxes.”

“Jace Stanford, are you afraid of the dark?” she smirks.

“No,” I reply. “I just get lonely.”

“Deal,” she smiles and kisses me hard. It hurts my head, but it’s worth it. “You’ll be fine. Scream if you need me.”

Then she’s gone and I’m alone with what look like boxes of machine parts. They smell like it. The scent of grease and that ting of metal are almost too much for my fucked-up senses.

I can hear everyone shouting orders at each other, calling out the weak spots they see in the cage and where the most climby Zs are coming from. The two strongest voices are my wife’s and Antoinette’s. John is in there as well, but he’s mostly yelling out at the crazies.

All of the shouting is punctuated by the impacts of rocks, small and large, and the never-ending moans and groans from the Z herd.

It’s downright, fucking deafening.

And strangely a little soothing.

With the boxes and crates around me, and not being exposed to the wind like the main part of the RV, I actually get a little sleepy as I warm up somewhat. I have to struggle to keep myself from nodding off. No time to take a nap now, even if Stella wants me to rest.

***

I obviously fail at staying awake, because the next thing I know my eyes snap open. I heard something. I know it.

The battle is still going on up front, but that isn’t what I heard. Or is it? Maybe my sleepy subconscious confused the sounds of people yelling and stabbing Zs with something else. Something closer.

I wait and listen, sitting in the stuffy gloom of the RV’s back bedroom. Store room. Whatever. I try to tune out the noise of the chaos from up front and from above. Looks like folks have gone back up top. That’s good. Makes killing the climby Zs easier.

I remember that Mr. Flips was going to try to communicate with the crazies. Maybe he got through to them.

The sound of rocks slamming into the RV makes me think otherwise.

There! I hear something again. Not rocks, not Zs on the cage. Something else. A scraping? Yeah. I totally hear a scraping. I listen for a couple more seconds, but it goes away quickly. I’m left with uncertainty in my gut and a slight flutter of panic in my chest.

Do I yell for Stella? Get her to come back here and check it out? It would be the smart thing to do, just in case. But what if it is nothing? Just the shifting of these crates as we trundle along on what is a less-than-maintained street?

I should call Stella, and I convince myself to, even open my mouth to yell for her, but I hesitate and close my trap. She’s needed up there, not back here holding her infirm husband’s hand. I call her back and maybe someone up there dies because she wasn’t available to help. Maybe a Z gets through where she was supposed to be watching and then we have a bloodbath on our hands.

Sure, there’s Antoinette and John, plus some of the cannies, all people that can handle themselves when it comes to Zs. But these new ones? The fast, weird ones? I bet one of those fuckers can kill a couple of our people before it gets taken down, especially in close quarters like this where John can’t just start shooting.

There’s that shifting sound again and the flutter of panic turns into a full born flapping. I need to call for Stella. I’m an idiot if I don’t. I’m that teenage girl in every horror movie that runs down the middle of the street instead of going up to any one of the houses with their porch lights on.

My head hurts. All this thinking is killing me. And I don’t think I’m being hyperbolic. I honestly think the strain on my brain is shortening my life.

The scraping gets loud and there’s a thunk behind me. A heavy thunk. I feel my wheelchair shift, but the RV lurches at the same time, so maybe the thunk isn’t related.

Then I hear it. Not scraping. Hissing.

“Oh, fuck,” I say then scream, “Stella!”

No Brando joke, here, folks. My screaming of my wife’s name has zero humor or irony to it. I am not wishing I could tear my stained wife beater. Not that I have ever worn a wife beater. Not my style.

“Stella!” I shout again, but at the exact same time as when a burst of gunfire erupts from up front.

Things must be getting heavy for that to be happening. Our ammo isn’t exactly endless.

“Stella!”

I’m drowned out by the squeal of brakes and tires then the sudden acceleration of the RV. I have no fucking clue what is going on right now.

The acceleration makes my wheelchair roll back and bump into the stacks of crates. Stella didn’t put the brake on. Or I didn’t put the brake on. Whose responsibility is that? Is it the person that pushes the wheelchair or the person that is in the wheelchair?

Doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that I’m closer to the stack of crates behind me. Close enough that my back is touching them. Close enough that I can smell the thing that is hissing.

A Z. A nasty rotter of a fucker too. Smells like it’s been baking in the sun while jammed up the ass of a dead cow. Either that or the thing needs to learn how to wipe better. I bet its boxers are all kinds of skid-mark stained. Sucks to do his laundry.

My hand instinctively goes to the tire of my wheelchair and I push as hard as I can. Which is about as hard as a marshmallow fart in a pillow of cotton candy. That’s not very hard.

The wheelchair moves maybe half an inch. Maybe. I’m being generous. Very generous. I actually think I somehow manage to go backwards. That would be classic. I’m the one guy that would fuck up and move my wheelchair backwards when I’m already wedged up against a stack of crates.

No, actually, I am going backwards. How?

I risk the agony and turn my head to the right and see the crates moving, being pushed out of the way. This creates enough space for my wheelchair to creep backwards as the crates shift out of the way.

Out of the way for quite the Z.

Man, I really wish I had a camera. Know when Amy said to take a picture it lasts longer? Yeah, I so want to take a picture right now.

Because, and I shit you not, folks, I am looking at a full-on, no way I am making this up, clown zombie. Yeah. A motherfucking clown zombie has crawled in through the shattered back window, shoving past the crates, and staring at me like I’m the bucket of human popcorn he has been waiting for his entire undead life.

The thing hisses at me again and opens its mouth, showing me two rows of cracked and shattered teeth. This guy has been eating way too many marshmallow farts in cotton candy pillows. What? I liked that metaphor. I’m gonna keep using it. He he he, marshmallow farts.

It’s nice my brain can go to a jokey place right now. Otherwise I’d be screaming my head off, and considering the state my head is in, I could literally scream hard enough for it to fucking fall off.

Speaking of falling, the Z clown loses its footing as the RV lurches and it crashes to the floor, its undead body knocking over a stack of crates. Right onto me. The weight of the crates push me sideways and I teeter precariously. How the fuck do I still have room enough back here to teeter?

Once again, I always find a way to fuck things up.

“Hey there, Giggles,” I say. “Uh, the kids’ birthday party has been cancelled, so we won’t be needing your services today. You can keep the deposit. No worries on that. So, how’s about you just crawl your funny-bone way back outside? Cool?”

Not cool. The thing pushes up onto its feet and stares at me, bloody drool dripping down its cracked chin. No, really, its chin is cracked. Almost in half. Makes it look like it’s a Predator or something. You know how those things could split their mouths open and get all fangy and shit? Yeah, like that. Although I don’t think it can split its mouth open.

“Okay, Chuckles,” I say, holding up my hand. “Not only can you keep the deposit, but we’ll pay you half your going rate. No? Fine. You drive a hard bargain, Bubbles. We’ll pay you in full. Hey, it’s not your fault you terrify children and make old ladies cry, right? You’re just a victim of circumstance like everyone else in this damn apocalypse.”

Doesn’t look like Snuggles is in a negotiating mood. Nope. He’s in an ‘eat Jace and then pick his teeth with the staples in my skull’ kind of mood. That’s a mood, trust me. I’m seeing it on Tumbles’ face right now.

“Fuck,” I sigh, looking around for some kind of weapon. Which I do not see.

This is Apocalypse 101 shit. Always have a weapon close by. Even if you are stuck in a wheelchair and barely have the strength of a chronic masturbator after a ten hour wank marathon.

I don’t know if a ten hour wank marathon is a thing. No, I don’t. Fuck you and shut up.

Snickers is on me in a flash and I barely have time to get my forearm up and jammed under his chin to keep him from lunching on my face. He struggles against me, his broken teeth chattering as he snaps his split jaw at me over and over.

I scream as loud as I can, ignoring the broadswords of excruciation that pierce my head. The screams do two things: they just encourage Flipsy here and they give me a surge of adrenaline that I was pretty sure I didn’t have anymore.

I shove Cackles back and yank on the wheel of my chair, trying to get me just a little bit closer to the bedroom door. I scream again and again, but the pain is almost too much and my voice starts getting ragged. You’d think someone would hear me back here, but apparently the grand battle of the Winnebago is just too noisy for anyone to notice.

Tickles grabs my shoulder, my good shoulder, and his fingers dig in. They don’t pierce my coat, but they are strong enough to give me a Vulcan nerve pinch from Hell. I jerk away from him, which is a normal reaction to an undead clown going all Spock on one’s ass. Unfortunately, the jerking causes me to lose my balance and the entire wheelchair weebles, wobbles, then falls down.

Now I’m on the floor of the RV, wedged inside a collapsed wheelchair, with Gobbles the Z Clown climbing on top of me, my good arm pinned, and my tasty Jace flesh exposed for the snacking.

I really, really fucking hate the apocalypse. This shit sucks balls.

Mumbles is almost on me, his freakazoid mouth wide open and ready, but damn if that Jace luck doesn’t kick in.

And by Jace luck, I mean I feel the RV swerve to one side then swerve to the other side, sending both of us slamming back and forth into the crates and boxes. Crates and boxes that are now tumbling on top of us. One of them smacks Wiggles across the back of his undead head.

He falls off of me, howling as the RV lurches sideways, like we’re up on only two wheels. The screech of metal on concrete is so loud that I can’t even hear myself think. Which is something since I am one loud thinker. Right? I don’t have to tell you.

The RV seems to right itself, but the screech of metal doesn’t stop. Whatever happened it sounds like part of our cage has come loose and is dragging along Colfax. The way the RV is shuddering and bumping along tells me that the part that came off is probably stuck under one of the wheels.

Nibbles isn’t done with me.

The howling hunk of undead fun stuffs claws his way over to me. I swear the thing is smiling when it gets to me and opens that God-awful mouth again. Fucking Zs smiling and shit. Fuck them. Smiling is for people and happy dogs, not for undead flesh eaters.

He lunges at me and I know my nose is going to be his appetizer, but the RV foils his plans once again. This time it’s not lurching to the side, but spinning out of control. We slam into something heavy, bounce back the other way, slam into another thing and then start to roll.

Oh, yeah, we roll.

Not my first RV roll. It seems I have the Fast Pass for this particular ride.

It’s just me and Dimples and a few dozen crates and boxes pretending like we’re in the fast cycle of a clothes dryer. I’m on top, he’s on top, crates are on top, we’re all on top. Then the bottom. Then the top. Then the bottom. Then on top.

I’m on top. And alive. And awake.

This is good.

Except for the part that I’m right on Tipples. Like pressed against him, my chest to his chest. My forearm back under his chin, pressed square in his throat. He snaps at me, but my position keeps the thing from getting all chunky with my cheeks.

“I have the higher ground!” I yell at him and shove with all of my strength.

You know, the strength of a marshmallow fart in a cotton candy pillow? That much strength. The funny thing is, that’s all the strength I need because while I landed on him, he landed on an open crate. The back of his neck is right on the edge of the crate and inside are all kinds of machiney-looking things.Sharp machiney-looking things.

I summon up every ounce of marshmallow strength and I push. I shove. I lean into it.

Huggles starts moaning and hissing and groaning and just making a general ruckus under me. He tries to buck me off, but the majority of both of us is covered in more crates and boxes. The great thing is, the more he protests, the better leverage I get. I do my thing, he does his thing, and it is a race to see whose thing finishes first.

“I win,” I grunt as my thing finishes first.

Gruntles is Gruntles no more. He’s not Giggles or Mumbles or Skippy or Jumpy or Blip Blip. Blip Blip is a clown name, right? Sure it is. A French clown. One of those stuck up Cirque de Sole clowns.

Anyhoo, the fucker is dead. His spine snaps across the edge of the crate, which allows enough give for the back of his head to get pierced by all kinds of pointy widgets and wangdangles.

As soon as I know the undead life has left him, I slump forward. I don’t give two fucks how bad he smells or the fact that he’s leaking all types of funky fluids. I’m exhausted. I’m so exhausted I may just put my head on my arm (ow) and rest for a second.

I should give another shout for Stella, but I figure if she survived the crash she’ll think to come find me. If she’s dead then there’s nothing I can do and passing out right now is probably for the best. Just shut it all out, Jace. Shut it all out.

***

“He’s back here!”

“Is he breathing? Oh, God, please let him be breathing!”

“Holy fuck, what the hell is that?”

“It’s a clown. It’s a motherfucking clown.”

“Dad totally killed a clown Z. He’s my hero for sure.”

“What’s with you and clowns?”

“We do not have time for this! Shut up, both of you!”

“Stella! Hurry! They are almost on us!”

“Jace? Jace? Can you hear me, baby?”

“Jacey need sleepy time. People need shutting-up time.”

“Yeah, he’s alive.”

“STELLA!”

“I know! He’s wedged under all of these crates!”

“We need to go! NOW!”

“Here, let me help. Stand back.”

“I’ve got these. Toss them out the side.”

“Jesus, how did he survive? The back end is almost ripped right off!”

“He’s a lucky fucker.”

“Jacey be lucky fucker.”

“Quiet, baby, don’t speak. Oh, shit. Look at the blood. That’s a lot of blood, isn’t it?”

“Head wounds bleed, Mom. Especially when the head is only held together by staples.”

“Staples the Undead Clown.”

“Jace, be quiet!”

“Mom, come on.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

“We got him, Stella. Belinda? Grab him under the shoulders while I lift. Lacy? Steph? Get his legs. Ready? On three. One, two, three.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

“Shit, shit, shit! He’s got a hunk of metal sticking out of his ribs.”

“Jacey hurts! Jacey hurts!”

“Fucking A, does he always talk about himself in the third person?”

“I don’t think he knows what he’s saying.”

“Antoinette!”

“Will someone tell Stuart to cram it up his ass? We’re not leaving Long Pork!”

“Hey, Stuart? Cram it up your ass! We’re not leaving Long Pork!”

“Thanks, Bel.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll get Dr. Stenkler or Dr. McCormick.”

“Thanks, Marcie. Take your boy with. He can look for one while you look for the other. Hurry!”

“God dammit! Just pick him the fuck up and— Oh, shit. What is that?”

“Looks like a socket wrench.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“What looks like a socket wrench? Oh, shit! Jace!”

“Stella, get back. Just stay back. There’s nothing you can do. Go help Lourdes and Critter get everyone into the Humvees and the last RV.”

“Jacey will drive.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. The guy has a fucking wrench sticking out of his ribs and he’s still jabbering?”

“Jacey killed Jabbers the Undead Clown.”

“Jesus. I’m going to help John and the rest of your sisters secure the perimeter. We do not have much time. We’re between Z waves for now, but they are coming. John can only pick off the sprinters so fast. They’re going to be on us in minutes.”

“What about the crazies?”

“Flips is on that.”

“At least they aren’t throwing rocks at us anymore.”

“No shit. Oh, fuck. Hear that? We are out of time!”

“Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.”

“Wrong time.”

“Story of Jacey’s life.”

“I swear to Dod. The man’s capacity to mouth off is infinite.”

“Dod?”

“What?”

“You said Dod.”

“No, I said God.”

“Pretty sure you said Dod.”

“Jacey heard Dod too.”

“Oh, fuck you people.”

“He said Dod.”

“Let’s get him out of here. Watch the wrench. Try not to wiggle it too much. Right now he’s not bleeding bad.”

“On three again?”

“Yeah.”

“One, two, three.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

“Shut up, Long Pork! It’s just fucking pain! Get over it, you little pussy!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”

“Can I whack him?”

“No. You try to knock him out with the way his head is and you could kill him. You want to tell Elsbeth you killed Long Pork?”

“No fucking way.”

“Me neither.”

“Jacey neither. Ow. No more lifty lifty Jacey.”

“Sure I can’t whack him?”

“Pretty sure. Like seventy-five percent sure.”

“Jacey one-hundred percent sure.”

“Now I’m getting closer to sixty-five percent sure. Damn. He is annoying.”

“No more time to hesitate. One, two, three.”

“AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

“Keep lifting! Turn him carefully! Hold on, hold on! Let me get down there! Okay, hand him over!”

“You got him?”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

“What the fuck? Shut him up or he’ll bring every Z down on us in this whole state! Jesus H. Christ!”

“Move, Critter!”

“Shut him the hell up!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

“We’d love to, but he’s completely out of it and won’t shut up!”

“I’ll knock him out! I swear I’ll do it!”

“Do not hit that man!”

“Oh, to hell with you, doc! You’re the new guy ‘round here, remember? You ain’t in no position to give orders!”

“I’m his doctor and he is my patient! Do not try to knock him out! If he’s screaming then that is a good thing. It means he’s alive and his mind is functioning enough to react to pain.”

“JACEY IS REACTING! AAAAAHHH!!!”

“Not even a little smack?”

“Critter! Don’t you dare!”

“Ah, come on, Laura. We can’t be expected to listen to this the whole damn way!”

“Don’t you Laura me, Critter. Call me Dr. McCormick if you intend on doing anyone in this group harm.”

“I wasn’t gonna harm him. Shit. You people need to lighten up.”

“WE ARE LEAVING NOW! EVERYONE CLIMB ONTO A VEHICLE! WE WILL LEAVE STRAGGLERS BEHIND! MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASSES, PEOPLE!”

“Damn, that woman has a voice on her.”

“She’s used to giving orders. Now get out of the way, Critter, so I can do my job.”

“Fine, fine, whatever, doc. But I’m watching you, new guy. No more lip from your ass or you’ll get a fist to your jaw.”

“NO MORE JAW ASS FACE FISTS! AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Go! Go! Keep moving!”

“Hold that wrench! Do NOT let it come loose!”

“We’re holding it, Stenkler! We’re the ones that got Long Pork out of the RV!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“They’re here! COME ON!”

“Oh, my God… Look at them all…”

“We are ten kinds of fucked.”

“This way!”

“Who is that?”

“Shit, it’s Flips!”

“Lourdes! This way! Follow this road! We’ll close it off behind you!”

“YOU HEARD THE MAN! MOVE!”

“Jacey no feel so good. Jacey sleepy sleep again.”

“No, Jace. Stay awake. Stay with us. Do you hear me? Jace?”

“Really tired. Jacey so, so tired. So— AAAAHHHH!!!”

“Don’t do that!”

“Woke his ass back up, didn’t it?”

“You could be doing more damage!”

“Really? Look at the guy. Do you think anything can do more damage than has already been done?”

“Lacy? Back off. Listen to the doctor.”

“I was just trying to help.”

“I know. But you can help by getting up in that Humvee and grabbing him as we lift him up.”

“Wait, where are you putting him?”

“On the roof. Safest place.”

“We’ll hold him steady, Stella. Don’t worry. You get your daughter. Watch her. Marcie has your son well protected and we’ve got Jace. The sisters have the Stanfords’ back, okay?”

“Okay…”

“WE ARE MOVING OUT!”

“Shit! Help me lift! Come on!”

“Got him! Get up here!”

“Jacey don’t like the Ferris wheel. Makes Jacey pukey.”

“Fuck! It splashed all over my boots!”

“Hang them over the side. Don’t get any on us.”

“Screw you.”

“Later, baby.”

“Uh...aren’t you all sisters?”

“Not real sisters, Stenkler. So knock it off with the pinched face.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Jacey hears lesbos.”

“Oh, I get to whack him now, right? He just called us lesbos!”

“NO! NO WHACKING!”

***

You ever eat sandpaper? I did when I was like three. I have no idea why I did it. It wasn’t like it was fresh. It was a scraggly old used hunk of sandpaper lying on the garage floor, all worn and torn and stinking of pine.

Maybe that was why, because it was pine-scented fresh? Who the fuck knows?

Anyway, I was three, I picked up this chunk of nasty and popped it in my mouth. Well, I stuffed it in my mouth. I was three, so the sandpaper was bigger than my mouth. I remember chewing and chewing and chewing, waiting for it to taste good. It never tasted good.

I was going to spit it out, this is why the memory has lasted all these years, but my dad came into the garage, saw me chewing, and instantly yelled, “What the fuck is in your mouth?”

So, being three, and scared shitless my dad was going to miss his ratty piece of sandpaper, I swallowed. I swallowed hard and that shit went right down my throat.

So, I guess, the real question is: have you ever swallowed sandpaper?

It fucking sucks.

Why do I ask? Because that is exactly how my throat feels right now. Like I swallowed a hunk of sandpaper and no one will give me a sip of Kool-Aid to wash it down with.

“Mom? He’s moving,” I hear Charlie say, his voice exhausted and weak.

“What? Huh? Go get your sister,” Stella replies.

“I’ll do it,” I hear a woman say. Marcie? Probably. “You stay here with your dad.”

Footsteps and then silence.

Well, not really silence. I can hear a ton of people talking. Hard to make out what they are saying. Their voices are all muffled, but I know it’s a lot.

“Stella?” I croak as I try to open my eyes. They do not want to open. Cool with me.

“Shhhh, quiet,” Stella replies.

“Water,” I struggle to say.

“I have some here,” Greta says as she gets close.

I hear a zipping sound. I know that zipping sound. Then a rustle of nylon.

I’m in a tent. It’s a cozy, warm tent, but that’s probably because I’m wrapped in a million sleeping bags. I can smell them and feel their weight on me. I used to camp a lot in the cold weather growing up, I know what a sleeping bag bundle feels like.

A bottle is put to my lips and I sip slowly at the sweet, sweet water. It’s a little hard not to choke since I’m lying down and no one will help me lift my head.

Hey! I’m lying down! I get to lie down to sleep! Nice. And they are probably not lifting my head because Stenkler told them not to.

“You okay? That enough?” Stella asks. “Did you get enough water, baby?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. I cough hard, regret it instantly as my ribs catch fire and burn like a billion suns. “Ow.”

“What’s the ow for?” Marcie asks. “I’m supposed to report to Stenkler when you wake up.”

“Ribs,” I say. “Did something happen to my ribs?”

“You caught an eight inch socket wrench between your third and fourth rib,” Greta says. “Luckily it got stuck there. If it had gone in another half inch, you’d be one dead Daddy.”

“Lucky me,” I mumble. “Such a lucky guy.”

“Fuck you, Jason Stanford,” Stella cries. “You are a lucky guy. There are a lot of dead people back on that street that aren’t so lucky!”

“Right. Sorry,” I reply, licking my chapped lips. “How many did we lose?”

“Half,” Charlie says. “Most of them were Lourdes’s people as they tried to hold off the Zs. We lost Toad and Porky too.”

“What? The Fitzpatricks?” I ask. I try again to open my eyes, but that just ain’t happening. “Oh, fuck. How’s Melissa? How’re Buzz and Pup and Gunga?”

“They aren’t doing so well,” Stella says. “Critter’s holding it together, but even he’s about to lose his shit.”

“We all are,” Greta says. “This is bad, Daddy. Real bad.”

“He’s awake?” Stenkler asks as the tent unzips. “Jace? How are you doing?”

“I’m awesome,” I say. “But my eyes won’t open.”

“Give it a few minutes,” Stenkler replies. “You suffered some major trauma, so you are going to be light sensitive until you adjust. Take some deep breaths and try to open them every few minutes. They’ll obey eventually.”

“Not sure I want them to,” I say. “Sounds like I’m only going to see sad faces.”

“Well, yes, there are a few of those,” Stenkler replies and clears his throat. “Uh, Greta? Can I see you outside for a minute?”

I growl. Stella lightly smacks my shoulder as I feel Greta shift and leave. The zipper goes back up instantly, stopping the cold breeze from coming in.

“Stop,” she whispers. “Greta is top nurse now. She’s needed out there.”

“How did we get away?” I ask. “I sort of remember some things, but mostly I remember screaming.”

“That was you,” Charlie says.

“Chuck? You in there?” Antoinette asks. “We need you and Marcie now, please.”

“Gotta go, Dad,” Charlie says. His hand squeezes my arm. “Rest up. I’ll be back later.”

More zipping, more leaving.

“What is going on?” I ask. “Give me all the facts. Don’t leave anything out.”

She tells me. It’s not good. We’re down to maybe, what, forty survivors? That includes the cannies. Forty, if that. Fuck.

Stuart is still with us, so are John and Reaper. That’s good. Not that I don’t mourn the loss of folks that used to be my neighbors at one time, or any of the lives gone, but Stuart, John, and Reaper have skills that can help the rest of us survive.

We talk for a while and Stella tells me how the Zs were just too much to handle. Especially with the crazies coming at us from both sides with random, surprise attacks. Buzz lost control of our RV as a hundred Zs rushed us at once. They just slammed into the cage and it sent the RV into a spin. The chain link got caught up under the wheels and the next thing everyone knew, we were flipping over.

The other RVs and Humvees didn’t fare so well, either. Sounds like we have one RV left and two Humvees.

“Where are we?” I ask.

Stella chuckles. That’s good. I like hearing that. Good to know she still can.

“That you are going to have to see for yourself,” Stella says.

“Seriously? Come on. Give me a hint,” I say.

“No, you rest,” she says and snuggles down next to me. “We’ll both rest. When you wake up, and if you can open your eyes, then you’ll see exactly where we are.”

“Are we safe?” I ask.

She hesitates. I know my wife well enough to know it’s not out of fear, but out of caution. Safe is a very broad term.

“For now,” Stella says. “The Zs can’t get us and Mr. Flips has the crazies under control.”

“What’s the for now part?” I ask. “We aren’t at the Stronghold, are we?”

“No, not even close,” Stella says. “We’re still in Denver. Very much still in Denver.”

“No hint? Really?” I ask.

“No hint. Just rest,” she replies. Her lips kiss my cheek and I smile.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll rest.”

“Good,” she says and I can tell by her breathing that she’s already drifting off.

I join her in seconds.

***

It’s night when I wake up. This makes it much easier to open my eyes. I blink a few times and glance around the tent. There’s enough light coming from fires outside that I can see the sleeping forms of three other people besides Stella and me.

I slowly stretch my arm, which is painfully asleep and wedged next to Stella. This wakes her up instantly, which isn’t my intention, but it does allow me to ask, “Who’s that?”

Stella glances over at the three sleeping bag lumps on the other side of the tent. She smiles.

“That is our daughter, our son, and our new bodyguard,” Stella says. “She might also be a new addition to the family the way she and Charlie stay by each other’s sides.”

“Marcie,” I say.

“Marcie,” Stella acknowledges.

“What?” Marcie asks and sits up. She lets the sleeping bag fall away and I am thankful she is fully clothed. “Hey. How do you feel?”

“A fuck ton better,” I say. “Still have a crazy bad headache though.”

“Yeah, that won’t be going away anytime soon,” she says and wiggles out of her sleeping bag to stand up. She glances down at Charlie and grins. “He hasn’t slept this deep in a while.”

“Really? You’d know that because why?” I ask.

“Jace,” Stella says, shaking her head. “We are way past that point.”

“Come on,” Marcie says and reaches for me as Stella gets up as well. “Time to go have a talk with the bosses.”

“Bosses?” I ask. “Multiple?”

“We’re all in this,” Stella says. “The one person in charge thing isn’t going to work anymore. Not with what we have coming at us.”

“Goody,” I say. “Take me to the bosses.”

Getting me up and out of the tent isn’t the easiest thing in the world. My legs are shit, the wound in my side is like hot fire in my ribs, my head screams, my shoulder screams, and I nearly scream before we get to the wheelchair that sits a foot away from the tent flaps.

I look around at where we are and it takes a while for my brain to make the connections.

“Holy shit,” I say. “Is this a football stadium?” I keep looking, seeing the worn out decorations and symbols everywhere. “Is this Mile High Stadium?”

“It was,” Stella says. “It’s out temporary shelter for now.”

“Wow, we didn’t get very far, did we?” I ask. “This stadium is right in the heart of Denver.”

“No, we didn’t get very far,” Stella says. “And we aren’t sure how much farther we can go. Come on. We’ll find everyone else and get you up to speed and make sure we are all on the same page.”

Stella wheels me over to a large campfire where a couple people are sitting and talking. As we get closer, I can see the profile of Critter and Melissa. Their faces are drawn and they each look like they’ve aged a few decades just since I last saw them. I can’t blame them. Not after what they’ve been through.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m so sorry about Porky and Toad.”

“Thanks, Jace,” Melissa replies. Critter just gives me a nod. “It’s good to see you didn’t die in your sleep.”

Critter snorts. “Ha, that’s exactly how Long Pork is going to die. We’ll all get killed in some bloody attack and he’ll survive it to live to a ripe old age and die in his sleep.”

“Hopefully, you’re wrong about that first part,” I say. “I’d like us all to die in our sleep. A long time from now.”

“We’ll see,” Critter says. “I ain’t placin’ no bets on that.”

“I’ll be back,” Marcie says. “I’ll get everyone else.”

She’s gone in the blink of an eye. The sisters move like that. There one second, gone the next.

Stella pushes me close to the fire and I revel in the heat that comes off of it. The night is scary cold. Has to be well-below zero. At least there’s no snow right now. Stella pulls up a ragged-looking folding chair, tests it, then sits down next to me. We all sit there in silence until the others start showing up.

Stuart, Lourdes, Buzz, John, Reaper, then Antoinette.

“Where’s Marcie?” I ask.

“She went back to bed,” Antoinette says. “She doesn’t stray far from Chuck. It’s cute as hell.”

I wait for Stella to stiffen at the thought that a hot young woman, that is also a trained killer, is curling up next to our teenage son. But she doesn’t stiffen at all. In fact, she seems to relax as soon as she hears that’s where Marcie is. I’m guessing the trained killer part has outweighed the new woman in Charlie’s life part. Being with Marcie is probably the safest sex Charlie could possibly have.

I panic and look around, but no one reacts as if I said that out loud. This is good.

“So?” I ask. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to figure out a plan,” Lourdes says. “We’ve lost half of our group, almost all of our vehicles and supplies, and still have quite a few miles through hostile territory to go before we arrive at a hostile destination.”

“Won’t be hostile for long,” Antoinette says.

“I know. You keep saying that,” Lourdes replies. “But until we know for certain, I am calling the Stronghold hostile.”

“What about the crazies?” I ask. “How did Mr. Flips get that worked out?”

“Did I hear my name?” Mr. Flips asks as he comes walking up to us. “Sorry I am late. I was dead asleep.” He nods at me and doffs his top hat. “Good to see you up, Jace.”

“Good to be up,” I say and wince. “Sort of.”

“Tell Jace what you know about our new allies,” Lourdes says.

“Well, for starters, calling them allies might be a stretch,” Mr. Flips says. “But we can be sure they aren’t our enemies. If they decide not to join us then we at least do not have to worry about them attacking us.”

“How’d you manage the truce?” I ask.

“As you know, we got more than a few refugees headed our way back at Cannibal Road,” he says. “A few had insight into the workings of Denver. I didn’t take much stock in what they said, especially since they were mostly begging for their lives.” He clears his throat, an uncomfortable, unspoken apology for his ex-cannibal ways. “But there were enough consistent reports for me to put a few things together as fact.”

“Such as?” I push.

“Let him finish, Jace,” Stella says. “This gets interesting.”

“Yes, it does,” Mr. Flips says. “It turns out that down in Colorado Springs there is a special school for special children. Or there was before the world fell apart. This school, like many places around the region, was instructed to evacuate and head to Denver where they were assured safety from the plague that was spreading. I don’t need to tell you what a foolish thing that was.”

“Maybe not so foolish, considerin’,” Critter says.

“Very true, very true,” Mr. Flips says. “This special school was the Colorado School for the Deaf and Blind. All of the children were brought up here to the refugee areas just as things turned very bad. The areas were overrun, the adults were lost to the undead, and the children were forced to fend for themselves. Apparently, they have done a very good job at that.”

“Hold on. Are you telling me that the crazies we’re dealing with are deaf and blind kids?” I ask.

“That’s exactly what I am telling you,” Mr. Flips says. “I happen to know American sign language, just one of my many talents, so that was how I communicated with the young men and women that had us boxed in. I didn’t need to shout, I didn’t need to say a word. I signaled and let my hands do the talking.”

“How in the hell can deaf and blind kids survive against Zs?” I ask. “That’s not possible.”

“One sense is lost and the others compensate,” Mr. Flips says. “The blind can hear and smell the Zs well before they get to them and the deaf can feel the vibrations of their shambling feet and see signs of their passing easily. Working together, they built themselves safe places all throughout the city.”

“Then why are the people from the Stronghold so freaked out by them?” I ask.

“These are children,” Mr. Flips says sadly. “Teenagers now, most of them. They have come across some scary adults and have reacted accordingly. I don’t think the Stronghold people know these kids are deaf and blind. I believe that has contributed to their interpretation as these children being feral gangs bent on violence and insanity.”

“They have trained themselves to strike hard, strike fast, and strike last,” Stuart says. “There hasn’t been a lot of interaction between the groups unless it involves blood.”

“Fuck me,” I say. “That’s crazy.”

“It is,” Mr. Flips says. “But not the crazy we expected.”

“And they won’t join us?” I ask.

“Not yet,” Mr. Flips says. “Perhaps once they see how it all plays out.”

“How does it play out?” I ask. I rub at my head and Stella frowns. “I’m fine. Or as fine as I can be.”

“We should get you back to the tent,” she says.

“We should probably show him what’s coming,” Stuart says. “He needs to see this. Then we’ll all get a little sleep and start planning in the morning.”

“Are you up for a ride?” Antoinette asks, grabbing the back of my wheelchair. She looks at Stella. “Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead,” Stella says. “I’ve seen it and I don’t think my legs can make the climb again. I’m going back to the tent.” She kisses me. “See you soon. I’ll be awake when you get back.”

“Don’t wait up,” I say. “Get some sleep.”

“No, you are going to want to talk when you get back,” she sighs. “Trust me.”

I don’t like the sound of that.

***

The great thing about being in this stadium is it’s handicapped accessible. Ramps all the way to the top! And that’s where Antoinette takes me. With Stuart and Lourdes right behind, she wheels me to the very top level so we have a nice view of the city of Denver.

I gulp at the sight.

“How many are there?” I ask as I look out at the hundreds of campfires just outside what I think are the city limits. No way to really know without city lights to gauge the boundaries by. “That’s more than a thousand, isn’t it?”

“It’s a lot more than a thousand,” Stuart says.

This far up, I can hear the occasional pop of gunfire. I’m guessing the Consortium army is taking out Zs that get too close to their encampment.

“Estimates?” I ask.

“Rough estimate is five thousand troops,” Lourdes says. “But the sisters think it’s closer to seven or eight.”

“They’ve picked up men and women along the way,” Antoinette says. “The Consortium has kept contact with smaller survivor pockets over the years. Promised them a place in Atlanta if they heed the call when it comes time.”

“Heed the call?” I ask. “That sounds like they have been planning to take Boulder for a while.”

“Exactly,” Lourdes says. “And she doesn’t want Boulder.”

“What does she want?” I ask.

“She wants the Stronghold,” Antoinette replies.

“Huh? Aren’t they the same thing?” I ask.

“No, they aren’t,” Antoinette says. “Not even close. But they have to get through Boulder to get to the Stronghold. That’s why Amy is freaking out.”

Then they explain it to me.

Yeah, I’ll need to talk with Stella when I get back to the tent.

Chapter Eight

I highly doubt anyone really slept through the night. I know Stella and I didn’t. And that meant that neither did Greta or Charlie since we weren’t exactly whispering as we talked. Marcie was crashed out and snoring all night long. She wasn’t too troubled by everything going on. I wish I had the kind of cool that the sisters all seem to possess. They are cucumbers in an inferno of blood and guts.

Stella and Charlie help me out of the tent and I look about the stadium. A couple dozen tents are pitched right on the field. Most are large domes like the one I was just helped from. But a few are classic pup tents, long triangles staked right into the turf. Or what used to be turf. It’s all faded crud now pocked by mud puddles and mounds of dirt.

I can see that we weren’t the first ones to seek refuge here. There are signs that the stadium was used by quite a few more people through the years. The major signs are the piles of bones stacked here and there. These aren’t small piles, like leaves in your backyard. These are mulch yard-sized piles. Massive.

“We cleaned up,” Stella says. “Most of the bones were scattered across the field. All of the entrances were barricaded. Completely locked down. We drove right through one and have the RV there blocking it now, keeping the Zs out.”

“They corralled them in here and then sealed it,” I say.

“They were living here and then got sealed in,” Greta says as she comes out of the tent and stretches. “Someone was bitten or turned and the National Guard blocked them from leaving so it wouldn’t spread. How many did we count?”

“We stopped counting at eight thousand,” Stella says. “No point really.”

“Wait,” I say. “How did you have time to clean all this up and do a count? How long was I out?”

“A full day,” Stella says. “This is day three being here.”

“Day three?” I panic. “No wonder the Consortium is so close.”

“Getting closer,” Stuart says as he jogs up to us. “Come see.”

“Too loud,” Marcie calls from inside the tent. “Trying to sleep.”

Stuart rolls his eyes and gestures for us to follow. We get up to the top of the stadium again and stare at the sight before us.

“Well, at least they can’t move fast,” I say as we watch the Consortium’s army roll into Denver. “Not that we’re exactly mobile and zippy.”

“We’re working on that,” Stuart says. “Brittany returned an hour ago and we’re all set for the next phase.”

“Next phase?” I ask. “What next phase? No one said anything about a next phase last night.”

“That’s because we were too busy telling you about the Stronghold,” Antoinette says as she comes up next to us, two of her sisters by her side.

Lacy and Steph. I think. Hard to keep track sometimes.

“So? What is the next phase?” I ask.

“We take Boulder,” Antoinette says. “We secure that city and in turn secure the Stronghold. Then we prepare for the Consortium. Camille believes she has the numbers to win, which she technically does, but she forgets that numbers aren’t everything.”

“They’re quite a lot,” I counter.

“But not everything,” Antoinette says. “We’ll have position. There is really only one way up to Boulder and we’ll make sure that route is a nightmare for them every step of the way.”

“How many people do we have left?” I ask. “Thirty? Forty?”

“Fifty,” Stuart frowns. “About. But that doesn’t matter.”

“I am obviously missing something,” I say.

“You are, but that’s okay,” Stuart says. He’s enjoying this.

“Just spell it out, please,” I sigh. “The Jace brain is at about ten-percent capacity these days. I spent all my thinking cash on the chain-link cage idea.”

“Good theory,” Antoinette says. “Bad execution.”

“We’ll use the environment against them,” Stuart says. “The one resource we have an almost endless supply of. One that never gets tired and never gives up.”

“The Zs?” I ask. “You want to use the Zs against them? How?”

The enthusiasm for the plan seems to just fizzle away at my question.

“It won’t be pretty,” Antoinette says.

***

I know more than a few of the faces that are revealed as the tarp is pulled back. I don’t know how they got the corpses back here, but they did. Close to twenty of them.

“We chum the water,” Stuart frowns. “It’s downright sacrilegious, but we don’t have the luxury of those kinds of morals at the moment.”

“Chum the water?” I ask.

“Spray the army,” Lourdes says, having joined us. “Mr. Flips will be assisting us. Apparently the Cannibal Road cannies have experience with this sort of thing. They have done it before with some of their...games.”

“We pretty much liquefy the corpses, add to water tanks and dilute the chum so that we have more volume, then drop it on them as they come up the mountain,” Stuart says. “The Zs will go insane.”

“Why don’t we just stay here?” I ask. “These walls are massive. Nothing is getting inside. We quiet the fuck down and let them roll past.”

“Then they get the Stronghold,” Lourdes says. “We explained why that can’t happen.”

“So fucking what?” I say. “They get the keys to the kingdom and all the fun toys. Good for them. What does it matter? We move on. We find somewhere else.”

“There is nowhere else,” Lourdes snaps. “Once Camille is inside the Stronghold then she can press a button and we are gone.” She snaps her fingers. “Vaporized in an instant.”

“So you say,” I reply. “We assume things are still working.”

“They are still working,” Antoinette says. “Brittany got confirmation of that.”

“Fine,” I concede. “Camille gets the Stronghold and basically she becomes the one and only big, swinging dick in all the land. She can piss on whoever she wants and doesn’t have to worry about splash back.”

“Really, Jace? That’s the analogy you come up with?” Stella asks. “Jesus.”

I shrug. Then I wince.

“Wait a minute,” I say, finally catching up to what Stuart said. “How are we dropping the chum on the Consortium’s army?”

“Chopper,” Stuart says then smiles.

“One problem,” I reply. “We don’t have choppers.”

“We will shortly,” Stuart says. “You’ll see.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” I yell and receive a wallop of a headache for it. But, fuck it. I’m done with all the word games. “Will someone please just be straight with me? You all are having way too much fun keeping me in the dark!”

“We are taking the choppers from Boulder,” Stuart says. “They’ll be here any minute.”

We are sheltered in one of the ramps that lead out onto the field. It’s as good a place to keep dead bodies as any, I guess. Stuart turns from the corpses and looks out at the field, studying our small group of survivors.

Stella wheels me around so I can see what’s going on. Everyone is breaking camp fast, getting the gear stacked into neat, manageable piles. Others are rushing around with tarps and bungee cords, wrapping a pile up tight then moving on to the next one.

“We hook the gear to the choppers,” Stuart says. “Leaving as much room inside to transport our people. It’ll take a few trips, but we should have enough fuel.”

“So we made peace with Amy and her people?” I ask.

“What? No,” Lourdes responds. “Amy was not interested in peace. She was interested in saving her own skin. That’s all.”

“I’m sure she was interested in saving the skin of her people as well,” I say. “That can motivate someone to do things they aren’t proud of.”

“Bullshit,” Stuart says. “You know why she changed her tune as soon as she realized how many of us there were?”

“Because we would be a drain on their resources,” I say. “We used to do the same thing back at Whispering Pines, Stuart. We’d rarely take in any bums. Just send them on their way or shoot them if they refused to keep moving.”

“Yes, resources played into her motivations, but not in the way you think,” Stuart says. “She ditched us because we would have outnumbered them almost ten to one. Easy.”

“Ten to one? What?” I exclaim. “No way. We met, like, eight of them. And there’s some guy named Crumb too. That’s nine.”

“That’s two thirds of their group,” Stuart says. “Brittany confirmed it. There are fifteen of them altogether. Fifteen. That’s it.”

“Fifteen?” I say, my mouth just hanging open. “No way. That can’t be. How the hell do they only have fifteen?”

“We don’t know the story,” Lourdes says. “Not yet. But we will soon. Audrey is up there right now. She’ll be back with the choppers any time now.”

“But there are two choppers,” I say. “Who’s flying the second one?”

I don’t have to wait too long to find out. The distinct sound of rotors fills the air and soon the two Boulder choppers are cresting the side of the stadium. They hover for a second or two as everyone clears space then they land easily. Well, one lands easily. The other does a little hop before it settles.

And out of the hopping chopper comes Elsbeth. All smiles and big teeth.

“Hey, Long Pork!” she yells as she hurries over to me. “I can fly a helicopter! Did you know I can fly a helicopter?”

“I don’t know what you can and can’t do anymore, El,” I say. “But I am not surprised.”

“I got in and I knew what everything did,” Elsbeth says, like a kid that’s just gone from learning to ride a bike to being able to ride with no hands in a day. “I knew all the buttons and switches. All the levers and sticks. I knew what the pedals do. I could read the instruments. It was great!”

“You nearly crashed it into the ground right after take-off,” Audrey says as she comes up to us. “But you got it together after that.”

“Nerves,” Elsbeth says. “I had the nerves.”

“A little moonshine takes care of the nerves,” Critter says as he comes up to us. “Too damn bad I don’t have none of that. I think we could all use a snort or two.”

“Did you kill them?” I ask. “Amy and her people?”

“What? No, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says, offended. “We ain’t the bad guys. My mother is the bad guy and all her little asshole soldiers are the bad guys. We’re the good guys. Good guys don’t kill dumbasses that have no spines and just want to cry and cry and cry.”

“El broke them,” Audrey grins. “She broke them like the first night.”

“I told them what a bad person my mother is and that she’ll never trade for me,” Elsbeth says. “She’d take me and then kill them all then do whatever she wants to do with the stupid Stronghold place. I said to stick with me and Long Pork and everything would turn out just fine.”

“You told them that?” I ask. “Thanks, El. I’m flattered.”

“Yeah, I told them that because you are always doing stupid things and as long as we do the opposite of whatever you say then we’ll be fine,” she smiles. “It’s called reverse strategy.”

“Oh. Uh. Good,” I reply. “I do tend to—”

“Oh, shut up, Long Pork!” Elsbeth guffaws. “I’m only shit fucking with you! I said that you could help rebuild Boulder and make it strong again. She liked the idea. She was very receptive.”

“You also had just kicked the shit out of her and half her people,” Audrey grins. “That helped with the reception.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Elsbeth nods. “They thought handcuffs would hold me. They were wrong.”

“So now we have their choppers and what?” I ask. “You left them all up there? What’s to say they don’t shoot us out of the sky when we return?”

Elsbeth cocks her head, looks at me like I’ve just grown eye stalks, looks at Stella like why would she let me grow eye stalks, then looks back at me like she’s going to rip off my new eye stalks. For the record, I do not have eye stalks. This isn’t that kind of story.

“Have you ever heard of a place called a jail, Long Pork?” Elsbeth says, talking really slow like I’m addled in the brain. Which, technically, isn’t far from the truth.

“Yes, El, I have heard of jails,” I say. “So you locked them up in one? All of them?”

“Not all of them,” she nods. “Just a few. Enough so she knows that if she messes with us again, her people die. Oh, and I locked up Kramer.”

“She was really happy about that,” Audrey says.

“I was really happy about that,” Elsbeth echoes. “He yelled at me almost the whole way I carried him into the cell.”

“Why’d he stop yelling?” I ask.

“He bumped his head,” Elsbeth says and shrugs. “Six times on the corner of a wall. He’s clumsy. He stopped yelling after that. Probably because he was asleep. He’s old, he needed the nap.”

“I love you,” Stella says and gives Elsbeth a huge hug. “Only way I could love you more is if you’d made a video of it all.”

“Sorry. No video,” Elsbeth replies as she steps away from Stella. She actually looks bummed she didn’t video the whole thing. “I can do it again for you when we get back. You can video it then. Might kill him though. But at least we’d have video.”

“No killing Kramer,” Lourdes says. “He’s still useful.” She glances at me.

“Don’t look at me,” I say. “I don’t want that asshole’s hands in my head ever again. I’d rather have Stinkler in there, even though I hate the man.”

“Why you hate Stenkler so much?” Elsbeth asks.

“It’s obvious,” I say.

“Not really,” Stella says. “I’ve always thought it was because something went down back at the Tomb with that Lizard Jesus guy you are always talking about. Now, I’m not so sure. Why do you hate him?”

“Never mind,” I say. “This isn’t the time. We live through this and I’ll tell you.”

“We all set?” Audrey asks. “We have fuel in the choppers for four trips up and back. There’s enough fuel in Boulder for a few more trips, but not much. We’ll need to be fast and efficient.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Lourdes says and puts her hands to her mouth. “OKAY, PEOPLE! YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO! LOAD UP ACCORDING TO YOUR LOT NUMBERS AND LET’S DO THIS!”

“Lot numbers?” I ask.

“We drew lots to group folks together,” Stella says. “Wrote it down so we know who we lose if something goes wrong.”

“Something goes wrong? What will go wrong?” I ask.

My answer is a loud explosion outside the stadium.

“They have tanks and RPGs, Jace,” Stuart says. “We’ll be flying targets.”

“God dammit,” I swear. “I was just getting comfortable with this whole plan. Fucking RPGs ruin everything.”

***

I’m in the first group of passengers. I guess they want to move my crippled ass as fast as possible so if things go south they won’t have to deal with me later. Stella says it was so I could help coordinate at the other end and start looking at Boulder and the fortifications already up, but I know when people want to get rid of me. I’ve had a lot of experience with it.

The landscape is breathtaking as we fly over the Denver Boulder Turnpike on our way up the mountain to Boulder. It’s arid yet green due to the pines and firs and cedars that are everywhere. There’s the occasional clump of aspens and birches, which I thought I’d see more of, but I guess those are higher up in the mountains. Our route takes us over a couple of lakes, one of which is pretty good size.

“What’s that called?” I ask as I point down at the lake. I get to be in the front with Audrey.

“What’s what called?” she replies over the headset. “Be specific, Long Pork.”

“That lake,” I reply. “Do you know its name?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I saw it on a map. It’s Standley Lake.”

“Stanley Lake? Like Stanley Hotel up in Estes Park?” I ask.

“Standley! With a D!” she shouts over the sound of the chopper’s rotors. Despite our headsets, it’s still really fucking loud. “What’s the Stanley Hotel?”

“It’s where they shot The Shining!” I reply. “Or the interiors, at least!”

“What’s The Shining?” she asks.

I weep for the apocalyptic youth of today. But I don’t say that out loud.

“Yes, you did!” Audrey laughs. “I forgot how fun you are, Long Pork! Good to be back with you!”

“Oh, well, thanks,” I reply.

I try to settle in for the rest of the ride, but the jostling of the chopper makes it hard. My shoulder hurts, my head hurts, my side and ribs hurt, my whole body hurts. And Audrey isn’t exactly the most graceful pilot.

“But I’m a hell of a dancer!” she shouts and gives me a wide grin.

“Sorry about the out loud stuff!” I yell.

“Don’t worry about it!” she responds. “We all know you aren’t mean or cruel! We’ve got your back, Long Pork! Especially with Marcie digging on Chuck! He’s a cutie! A little young for me, but cute!”

“Yeah, about that!” I yell. “How old is Marcie?”

“She’s twenty-three!” Audrey says. “How old is Chuck?”

How old is Chuck? I mean Charlie. How old is my son now? Eighteen? Is he eighteen? No, he’s not that old yet. Is he? Fuck. I don’t even know how old either of my kids are anymore. Hell, I don’t even know what year it is anymore. Time gets fucked in the zombie apocalypse and birthdays go out the window when you are running across the country for your life.

We really need an official time keeper and historian for this place when we get setup. Keeping track of what has happened and what will happen is important if we plan on making a new life here. Once we survive. Yeah, survival comes first before we start making new desk calendars.

We’re directly over the Denver Boulder Turnpike and there’s not much down there. Not much that hasn’t been burned down or looted. I see some buildings that used to be intact, but they’ve been stripped of their siding and look like husks of civilization. I’m so busy staring at the remains that I miss our approach to Boulder.

“Long Pork! Pay attention!” Audrey yells. “You won’t get this view again for a while!”

I snap my head forward and instantly regret it. The world turns sideways and I feel a hand grab my shoulder. My non-destroyed shoulder.

“Long Pork?” Audrey yells, but not just to be heard. The concern in her voice is pretty obvious.

“I’m good. I’m good,” I say.

I straighten up and focus out the windshield. Boulder. We made it. Or I made it. Everyone else is still on their way.

I first see the sprawl of ubiquitous suburban neighborhoods. It’s the West, after all. Yes, the East has suburbs, but the West perfected the concept. Spread out them citizens. Let them drive, drive, drive their way into the American Dream.

“Okay, you can stop talking now,” Audrey says. “It’s getting old.”

“Try living inside my head for five minutes,” I reply.

We pass over the neighborhoods and I can see some barricades set up here and there at the ends of specific roads, but other than that, the place is not fortified. We get up over the University of Colorado and the place looks fairly intact. This is good. There are signs of heavy fortifications around some of the buildings, but nothing central. Nothing unifying this place as any type of sustainable sanctuary.

Where the fuck did I bring my family? Where the fuck did I bring my friends and those that were looking to me to keep them safe? Whispering Pines was a million times more locked down than this. This is one of the big settlements left in the country?

At least there aren’t that many Zs. I can see some small groupings, but they can easily be handled. The big herds haven’t gotten up this way yet. I’m guessing the mountain road isn’t so easy for Zs to hike up. Not in the middle of winter when their limbs are stiff from the cold. At least the slow ones are stiff. The fast fuckers don’t have too much of a mobility problem.

We keep flying and I look over at Audrey, confused.

“Where are we going?” I ask. “That looks like the main area!”

“Helipad at the hospital,” Audrey says. “It’s secured there.” She glances over her shoulder at the others in the chopper. Most of them are sick and wounded. “We need to drop you all off then start getting the rest up here ASAP. No time to sight see, Long Pork.”

“I don’t want to sight see!” I exclaim. “I want to know what resources and facilities we have! I want to know if we can survive here!”

“We can’t. Not how it is now,” Audrey replies. “But that’s why we have you! Gonna have to get that big brain back to work, Long Pork!”

Awesome.

***

The hospital is secured tight. And I do mean tight. So there’s that.

The first person I see coming towards us as we land the chopper on the helipad is Amy. What the hell?

“What the hell?” I shout.

“She’s harmless,” Audrey says as the chopper powers down. She immediately jumps out and starts helping those that can walk on their own out of the chopper. “What are you waiting for, Long Pork? Get out!”

“I need my wheelchair,” I say. “My strength is shit.”

Audrey nods and reaches past a woman that is half awake. Or maybe she’s half dead. Almost the same thing. Audrey snaps open the wheelchair and comes around to my side, plopping it down in front of me.

“Hurry,” she says and bails.

“I’ll help,” Amy says, walking up to me, her eyes darting to Audrey. “Glad to.”

“You aren’t just saying that so she thinks you’re not going to kill me, are you?” I ask as Amy reaches up and helps me into the wheelchair.

“I kill you and I’ll be dead before the sun sets,” Amy sighs. “That’s been made very clear by your protector.”

“My protector? Oh, Elsbeth. Yeah, she doesn’t mince words,” I say.

The twins come hurrying out to help get everyone off the chopper and into the hospital. The cargo area is barely cleared before Audrey has the chopper powered up and lifting off. I glance at the sky, but don’t see a second one coming. It should have been right behind us.

“Elsbeth locked up some of your people,” I say as Amy wheels me inside the hospital.

“Yes,” Amy says, sounding less than pleased, but resigned to the fact.

“And you don’t have an extra set of keys?” I ask.

“I do,” Amy says. “But I’m sure she knows it.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that too,” I say. The hospital is surprisingly toasty inside. “Nice place.”

“Listen,” Amy says as she rolls me over to a set of couches and end tables that make up what used to be a waiting area. It now looks more like a crash pad, with blankets and pillows on the couches and boxes of supplies stacked here and there.

“I’m listening,” I say.

“Things started off wrong,” she continues. “I couldn’t trust any of you so I did what I had to.”

“How many did you start off with?” I ask, ignoring her lame attempt at an explanation. Or apology. Whatever it is. “How many of you have died over the years since you have been holed up in Boulder?”

“Close to three hundred,” Amy says. “We started with close to three hundred. We’re at eighteen now.”

“Eighteen? Damn,” I say. “Starvation? Sickness? The Zs?”

“All of the above,” Amy sighs and plops down on a couch.

The pretense of being a leader is gone. She’s just a broken woman that has failed at keeping a broken situation from crumbling completely to dust. I get that. Not the woman part, but the broken situation part.

“They’d still be alive if I hadn’t convinced them to leave,” she says quietly.

“To leave? To leave here?” I ask. “You kicked some out?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Amy says and looks over at the wall, but I can tell she’s not looking at the wall itself. She’s looking back in time to that fateful decision that— “Who are you talking to? Are you talking to me?”

“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I do that sometimes.” I point at my Frankenstein head. “I’m a little off my game these days. Internal becomes external and all that jazz.”

“Okay,” Amy says. She sighs. “We were safe, but isolated. I decided we should leave. See what it is like out here. So we did. All of us. When we realized I’d made a huge mistake, it was too late. We couldn’t get back in. The system locked down and the protocols changed. It’s all gone downhill from there.”

“The Stronghold,” I say.

Her eyes widen then soften and she nods.

“It’s all gone downhill for everyone,” I say. “You aren’t the only survivor pocket to get its ass kicked.”

“But we’re the most important,” Amy says. “I had one job and I failed at it. I could have stayed. I could have kept everyone where we were and we’d know what’s going on with the rest of the world. We’d know what’s going on almost everywhere.”

I lean forward. Things are getting interesting.

“What does that mean? The rest of the world?” I ask. “What the hell are you talk—”

I stop in mid-sentence as a far off boom reaches us. Amy looks towards the doors.

“It’s started,” she says. “Already.”

“What was that?” I ask.

She gives me a funny look. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know much these days,” I reply. I shrug and wince. Ow.

The sound of the second chopper landing gets our attention and we wait, two strangers, two failures, two people with a lot of blood and other peoples’ lives on our hands.

The doors open quickly and Stella comes hurrying in with Greta and Melissa followed by a few of our people including Dr. Stenkler.

“Jace,” Stella smiles then she sees Amy and the smile is gone. “Bitch.”

Amy only shrugs.

“What was that boom?” I ask.

“That was Denver,” Greta responds.

“It wasn’t Denver,” Melissa says. “It was our tanker truck and a few extras we left waiting for the Consortium. It worked a little better than we hoped.”

“So...you blew up Denver?” I ask.

Melissa looks at Stella. They both nod at me.

“See?” Greta smirks. “I told you it was Denver.”

“We blew up a good chunk,” Stella says. “Unfortunately, I think we blew up some of those kids too. They were the ones to set it off, so the Consortium couldn’t detect a trip wire or detonator.”

“Kids?” Amy frowns. “You’re working with the crazies? You’re insane. They’ll turn on you as soon as they can.”

“Don’t think there’s much left of them to turn,” Greta says. She looks around. “Nice hospital. Shitty location. Too far from the central area.”

“Yes, we know,” Amy says. “We used to have more secured, but…”

“She let everyone die,” I say. “It’s sad. It’s tragic. Boo hoo. But now we’re here to save her and her people. Yay! Go us!”

“That was out loud, Daddy,” Greta says.

“I know,” I smile.

“You’re an ass,” Amy says and looks at everyone else. “He’s an ass.”

“He’s also my husband,” Stella snaps. “Which means I’m the only one that can call him an ass.”

“Thanks, babe,” I say.

“Shut up,” Stella says. “Pay attention. The choppers are heading back to drop the chum on the army. Whatever is left of it. Once they are done with that then they are bringing everyone else back up here. We need to have a plan in place. We need to have an idea of how we’ll hold off the Consortium.”

She’s looking at me.

“Why are you looking at me?” I ask. “My brain is pudding.”

“Yeah, we’ve been talking about that,” Melissa says. “Elsbeth has an idea on how to unpudding your brain.”

“Unpudding my brain? Is that a thing?” I ask.

“It involves Kramer,” Stella growls. “I said no at first, but El is right. It could work.”

“Huh?” I frown. “Not following. Pudding brain is pudding.”

“They want Kramer to use his hypnosis shit to focus your mind on how to beat the Consortium,” Greta says. “They want to get inside your pudding and fish out the tasty parts.”

Amy shakes her head. “I’ve always hated pudding. I hate it more now.”

“You want me to allow Kramer to willingly mess with what’s left of my mind? Are you fucking crazy?” I snap.

“No choice,” Stella frowns. “We’ve done the math. They will get enough fighters up here to do some major damage. Especially since this place isn’t even close to locked down like how we thought it would be.”

Fuck this shit.

They all stare at me, waiting.

“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I thought that was going to be out loud.” I clear my throat. “Fuck. This. Shit. Not happening.”

***

“Ah, Mr. Stanford,” Dr. Kramer says, grinning as I’m wheeled up to his cell. “How are you, Jace? It is good to still see you alive.”

“Is it?” I ask.

“And speaking!” Dr. Kramer laughs and claps his hands together. “I was wondering if your speech centers would return to normal.”

“I still talk out loud, so not so much,” I respond. “You’re a shitty brain surgeon.”

“I’m an excellent brain surgeon,” Dr. Kramer says. “Amongst many other medical specialties. Unfortunately, the facilities I was forced to use with Dr. Stenkler, who is also quite accomplished, were, well, less than adequate. But, I believe you already know that.”

“I don’t know shit anymore,” I say. “Which is why I’m here. I need you to dig out what shit I do still know.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t quite follow,” Dr. Kramer replies.

“I need you to use that conditioning crap and force me to be at my best again,” I say. “Or better. Yeah, we actually need you to make me better than I was. Get all the synapses firing at once, so to speak.”

“I’m at a loss for what you mean,” Dr. Kramer says.

“Knock it off,” Stella snarls. “You know what he means and you’ll do what we need.”

“You trust me fiddling abut in your husband’s mind?” Dr. Kramer asks. “Without your protector here? Where is Ms. Thornberg? Or any of the others, for that matter?”

“We can handle you,” Melissa says. “You screw this up and you’ll never leave that cell alive.”

“Hey!” someone shouts from another cell. “Hello?”

We look at Amy and she gives us a questioning glance.

“That’s Nick,” she says. “Can I go speak with him?”

“Sure,” Stella says. “Greta? Go with.”

“Do I have to?” she whines.

“Yes,” Stella snaps.

Greta stomps off behind Amy. Stenkler takes her place by us and Kramer’s face lights up.

“Oh, hello, James! Nice to see a colleague’s face,” Dr. Kramer says. “Please explain to Mr. Stanford that what he is asking will put him at great risk.”

“I have,” Stenkler replies. “I have explained it to all of them. Unfortunately, we do not have much of a choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Dr. Kramer says.

“Not for you, asshole,” Stella nearly roars. “Do what we ask! Do it without harming my husband! And do it now!”

“Well, since you are being so polite about it,” Dr. Kramer says and smiles at me. “Jace? I’ll need you to relax.”

“No problem,” I say. “Nothing more relaxing than hanging out in an old jail during the zombie apocalypse while an army comes stomping towards us.”

“Can you try?” Dr. Kramer says.

“Jace, please,” Stella says quietly as she bends close to me. “We don’t have much time.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “Gonna relax. I’m all about the relaxing. Relaxation is my game. I am the captain of the good ship Relaxarooni.”

“He will need a chair… Oh, I see he has one,” Dr. Kramer grins.

“Fuck and you, sir,” I glare. “Fuck and you.”

“Close your eyes, please,” Dr. Kramer says. I do. “Now, think back on that day when we were on our way to Knoxville. The second day, not the first. You were angry at me—”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I say.

“You were angry at me and wanted Elsbeth to take me out into the woods and gut me like a stuck pig,” Dr. Kramer continues. “Which is a bit of a mixed metaphor since the actual term is bleeding like a stuck pig.”

“Yeah, I remember that day,” I reply. “You made a point of telling me how wrong my metaphor was. Good thing Elsbeth didn’t listen.”

“When I count to three, you’ll be back to that day,” Dr. Kramer says. “You’ll remember the conditioning I implanted in you. That will allow you to access all parts of your mind. Are you ready?”

“Ready? I thought we’d already started,” I say.

“Oh, Mr. Stanford, we haven’t even begun to get started,” Dr. Kramer chuckles. “Now. One. Two. Three. Blowfish carton toes.”

***

I’m sitting up in the weird trailer we set in the huge haul truck. That giant earth mover thing that Critter stole from Foster’s crew after we killed Mondello. I’m sitting in the trailer and there’s Stuart and Elsbeth and someone else. The Tin Man? Scarecrow? Oh, I missed the Scarecrow the most.

“Hey, Jace,” Jon Billings says, smiling that cocky, smart-ass smile of his. “Did you miss me?”

Jon was my closest friend back in Whispering Pines. I know I call Stuart my best friend, but that is after the fact. After Jon was shot in the head by that crazy fucker Vance. Jon was Head of Construction in our little apocalyptic oasis. I designed shit and he made sure it got built and wouldn’t fall over and kill people that were trying not to get killed by shit I designed falling over. Or something like that. We enjoyed witty banter, so I’d say confusing shit like that all the time.

“Jon?” I ask. “What the hell, man? You’re dead.”

“That I am, buddy,” he smiles. “I am very dead. But not undead. Isn’t that a nice treat? Being an ex-minister, I have a deep belief in God. But if I’d come back as one of the Zs, I don’t know. It would have been hard to believe in God when I wanted to snack on Melissa’s flesh.”

“Keep your sex life out of this, perv,” I laugh. “I do not need to hear your undead fantasies.”

“How is she?” Jon asks. “How’s my wife? Is she still alive?”

“You know she is,” I say and tap my head. “You’re in here.”

“Am I?” Jon asks. “I hope not. That is one messed up place to be right now.”

“Yeah, I know,” I nod. “That’s why doctor…uh…that’s why Dr. What’s His Name is fiddling about in my noggin. Shit! What is his name?”

“I have no idea who you are talking about,” Jon says as she stands up and walks to a table. “But we have work to do, pal o’ mine. Get your ass over here.”

I glance at Stuart and Elsbeth, but they are mute, just sitting on a bench watching me.

“Nothing to add?” I ask.

Stuart turns to Elsbeth and puts a finger to his lips. She parrots the motion and they both shhhhhh.

“Whatever,” I shrug. Then realize that I have both arms. “Holy shit! Where is Stumpageddon?”

“Who?” Jon asks as he keeps waving me to the table. “Stumpawhaton?”

“Stumpageddon,” I say, feeling my right arm. “I lost this arm, dude. Hacked it off myself with a fucking knife in an SUV up on the Parkway.”

Jon stares at me for a second then shakes his head. “Man, you are one messed-up puppy. But it doesn’t matter. Take a look at this.”

I get to him and lean over the table. He’s studying a map of Boulder. It’s a freaky map. Like out of a Harry Potter movie. The buildings seem to jut up from the paper, but are flat at the same time. Makes me a bit dizzy. I grab the edge of the table and Jon grabs me.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Are those people and Zs?” I ask as I watch shit move on the map. “Jesus.”

“Hallelujah,” Jon smirks. “Amen and pass the ammunition.”

“Okay, okay, what am I looking at?” I ask.

Jon points at the map, his finger tracing a road just southish of the University of Colorado campus.

“This is Baseline Road,” he says. “Fitting, in a way. This road will be very important. You can’t let Camille get past this road.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because the entrance to the Stronghold is past this road. It’s hidden, but if she has the right intel then she can find it,” he replies. “Hold this road.”

I point at the hospital. “We have a lot of people up here. That’s a ton of open space between there and here.”

“There’s a ton of open space everywhere,” Jon says. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll be able to move old vehicles all along these routes and block off the arteries in and out of the gauntlet.”

“Gauntlet? Fuck. Are you kidding me? Like Cannibal Road?” I complain. “Fuck Cannibal Road.”

“Exactly like Cannibal Road,” Jon says. “And you can’t fuck a road, dude. Don’t even try. You’ll get asphalt all up in your peehole.”

“Peehole,” Elsbeth snickers.

“Oh, now you talk?” I say as I look over at her. But she’s gone. “Whoa.”

“Yeah, your head is ten kinds of shitfucked, sir,” Jon says. “Now pay attention.”

“Attention is being paid,” I say.

“You create this gauntlet up through the suburbs of Boulder,” Jon says. “Shouldn’t be hard. You know how to work the suburbs into being your bitch.”

“I’m all about working the suburbs in the zombie apocalypse,” I grin. “I’m the Z-Burbia king!”

He shakes his head. “Don’t get cocky. When you wake up from this, things will not be how you expect. You are going to freak out.”

“What do you mean I’m going to freak out?” I ask. I look over my shoulder and Stuart’s gone too. “Where the fuck is everyone going?”

“Pay attention, Long Pork!” Jon yells.

I turn and stare at him. “You were gone and then dead when Elsbeth joined us. How do you know she called me Long Pork?”

“You have always been Long Pork, Mr. Torrance,” Jon giggles. “You have always been the King of Z-Burbia.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I say and look at the map. Every detail of the area rushes at me, slamming into my eyes, making me cry out. “Holy fuck!”

“It’s already begun, brother,” Jon says. “You’re doing it. You’re making it happen.”

“Huh?” I respond. “Making what happen?”

He stands straight and grabs me by the shoulders. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin is turning pale then grey. “Stay strong. Do not let all of this be a waste, okay? I didn’t die so you could bring my wife to some strange city and let her get butchered by the Consortium or get eaten by Zs, you got it? I am fucking counting on you!”

“I always thought it was hilarious that you cursed,” I say. “An ex-minister with a potty mouth.”

“They’re just words, Jace,” Jon says as strips of his face start to peel and fall off. “Just words. They don’t have power over you anymore. Do you hear me? Time to wake up and finish this. The words no longer have power.”

He taps me right in the middle of my chest.

“Follow your heart,” he growls. “Follow it wherever it leads you.”

“My heart is actually a little to the side,” I say. “It’s not right in the center.”

“Fuck you,” he smiles and half his teeth tumble out.

“Gross,” I say and then grab him in a big bear hug. His body squishes against me and some foul-smelling gasses escape his rotting corpse. “Dude, you farted.”

“Goodbye, Jace,” he whispers in my ear. “It was a pleasure knowing you. Take care of my Melissa.”

“I will,” I say and he’s gone.

Not gone as in he blinks out of existence. Nope, that wouldn’t quite fit the narrative, would it? He’s gone in like he melts away, his body liquefying into a puddle of Jon juice and pulp. Yuck would be a good word to describe it.

But I’m supposed to forget about the words. That’s what he said. He said the words no longer have power over me.

I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I grab my throat and realize that Stumpageddon is back. My right arm is gone and my head hurts like fucking hell. Screams come from outside the trailer and I turn and walk towards the doorway.

As I get closer, I can see outside onto a landscape of brutality. Everything is on fire and there is blood everywhere. I watch as Stuart and Elsbeth tear into a group of who I can only guess are Consortium soldiers. A few yards from them are the sisters. They move like the whirling dervishes of death that they are. I don’t see Stella or the kids anywhere.

I’m about to turn around so I can climb down and out of the haul truck trailer, but I don’t need to. I’m already on the ground.

“Jace!”

I look about. I don’t see anyone. The scene of blood and fire is gone.

“JACE!”

All I see are the empty streets of the Boulder suburbs. And a fuck ton of Zs coming for me. The fast ones. They are sprinting right at me.

“JACE!”

As the wall of undead flesh gets to me, I bring up Stumpageddon and see that I have some sort of spike strapped to the end by a harness with a bunch of leather straps and buckles. I look like Ash from Evil Dead II, but with a long hunk of sharpened rebar instead of a chainsaw.

The undead slam into me and my spike goes right through one of the Z heads. I pull back and keep stabbing as the Zs try to take me down. But they can’t. I refuse to go down.

“That’s right, motherfuckers!” I scream. “You can’t take Jace down, bitches!”

I stab and stab and stab until there are nothing but brained corpses at my feet.

I look down at them and laugh.

“Groovy.”

Chapter Nine

“JACE!”

I shake my head, really wish I hadn’t, and then look back over my shoulder.

“JACE! Look out!” Stuart yells.

To say I’m a little confused would be a serious motherfucking understatement.

The scene of hell is back and there are people fighting all over the place. Guns are going off, but not as many as I thought there would be. Mostly I see soldiers dressed in black fighting with my people. There aren’t anywhere near as many soldiers as there should be. Which is strange.

“JACE LOOK OUT!” Stuart yells again and this time I pay attention.

Just before the machete reaches my neck, I duck down and stab the guy coming at me right in the balls with Stumpageddon’s spike.

Holy shit! The spike strapped to Stumpageddon is real! It’s totally real!

The man screams and screams then falls to his knees as I yank Stumpageddon free. Then I plant that spike right in his throat. He gurgles and blood pours out around the steel then his eyes roll up and he’s gone. I yank the spike out and he tumbles over.

“Get up!” Stuart shouts and pulls me back up to my feet.

Which seem to be working fine. In fact, other than the fact I am missing my right arm, everything seems to be working fine. My gunshot shoulder is easy like Sunday morning. My side and ribs hurt, but they aren’t on fire like they were before. No, what’s on fire are a lot of the suburban houses that surround us.

Okay, okay, mental time out. Freeze frame, bitches.

“What the fuck is going on?” I yell at Stuart. He doesn’t react. “Stuart! Answer me! What the fuck is going on? How did I get here?”

He still doesn’t answer me, just keeps pulling at my left arm, trying to get me to retreat with him. I yank it free and grab his shirt.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”

He doesn’t reply, just slaps my hand from his shirt and starts running with me in tow.

“Whatever,” I mutter.

We sprint, which is so refreshing a thing to do when you’ve been in a wheelchair for days. We sprint towards a barricade that’s set up across the street a quarter mile away. The screams of people follow us. I don’t know if they are our people or the soldiers. Probably the soldiers because there are more of those. No, wait, that doesn’t make mathematical sense. If there are more soldiers then logic would dictate it’s our people screaming because they are outnumbered.

Fuck if I know.

We skid around the barricade and Stella grabs me in a bear hug.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” she yells. She glares at Stumpageddon’s spike. “We gave that to you because you swore you wanted it for self-defense, not so you could go running out there and nearly get yourself killed!”

She hugs me again then slaps me across the face.

“Asshole!”

“Can we hold this?” Stuart yells, looking over at John who has his sniper rifle up and is picking off soldiers one by one through a gap in the barricade.

“Yes,” is all John says.

John. Jon… I saw Jon. The other Jon. My Jon. My closest friend Jon. And he said something.

“What the hell is happening?” I ask. “Last thing I remember was Kramer putting me under.”

Stella frowns at me and shakes her head.

“I can’t understand you,” she says. “What are you saying?” She looks over at Stuart. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Stuart says. “He’s been spouting gibberish since I grabbed him. Look at his eyes. They aren’t all wild like they have been since he started planning.”

“Oh my God! What are you people talking about?” I yell. “I’m not spouting gibberish!”

“That fucking asshole did something to your brain,” Stella snarls. “I’ll fucking kill Kramer when this is over.” She puts a hand over my mouth. “Just stop talking, Jace. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

I pull her hand away. “What the hell do you mean you can’t understand me?” I ask. “I’m fucking speaking English!”

Then what Jon said to me in my mind dream thing comes back.

“The words no longer have power.”

Oh, that fucking asshole. Stella was right. That fucking asshole!

Kramer done took my words!

“Just be quiet. Please,” Stella says, a tear rolling down her cheek. “We need to get you back past Baseline.”

Baseline.

I look around and realize we are on the Denver Boulder Turnpike. The neighborhoods around us are scorched as fuck. I glance behind us and see an off ramp junction. That must be Baseline.

We have to hold Baseline. They can’t get past that.

Stella starts pulling at me and I yank free. I stomp my feet and glare. If my words aren’t going to work then I need to go all Harpo on her ass. You know Harpo, right? The Marx brother that didn’t talk? The one with the horn and big eyes that always pulled pranks but looked so innocent doing it?

Fuck you if you don’t know Harpo.

I do a quick assessment of our resources at the barricade.

I see John and Reaper, both putting their Special Forces skills to use and taking perfectly aimed shot after perfectly aimed shot. Stuart is with us and he’s shooting, but not as well. The guy looks like he’s had the shit kicked out of him. I’m a little worried.

Who else?

The Fitzpatrick brothers are with us. They have hunting rifles and are knocking down Consortium soldiers like they’re bucks in deer season. A few of Lourdes’s PCs are with us, but I don’t see Lourdes. I hope she’s okay.

Then I hear the shouts and hurry to a small opening in the barricade.

There she is!

Lourdes and the rest of her people rush the Consortium soldiers. Barely a dozen against hundreds. They are going to die so fucking fast I almost want to run away. But I don’t.

They cut into the side of the soldiers and start firing and hacking away. Pistols blasting and machetes whacking. Some of the PCs have only their combat knives.

Jesus, how much ammo do we have left?

The Consortium soldiers are surprised by the attack. Probably more surprised by the small numbers coming at them more than the actual attack itself. Who in their right mind would send barely a dozen men and women up against an army of hundreds?

Then it hits me. Hundreds. There are a lot of soldiers, but not the thousands that were coming at us. How the hell did we cut them down so fast?

I look at Stella and point at the army. I hold up my hand and tick off my fingers then point again. I slowly lower my fingers and hope she gets what I’m saying.

“I have no idea what you are saying,” she says.

Doesn’t matter. All academic anyway. Their numbers are in the hundreds, not the thousands. I’ll take the miracle and shut the fuck up.

I see a man aim his rifle at Lourdes then watch his head vaporize. The heads of the soldiers directly around him vaporize as well, about fifteen in all. The soldiers that still have their heads stop fighting and whirl about, looking for where the attack is coming from. They last all of point one second before they go all headless chic. Bodies are dropping so fast I can’t keep up. Lourdes and her people aren’t even fazed by it.

“Good idea putting some of the sisters up high,” John shouts at me. “They may be good hand to hand, but damn if they aren’t almost better with rifles.”

I give him a thumb-up. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’ll take the credit if it’s being offered.

He doesn’t see my thumb-up since his eye is to his scope and he’s too busy getting all sniper with it. See what I did there? I switched out jiggy with sniper. I’m hip. Shut up. If I say I’m hip then I’m hip! Fuck all y’all!

I am about to really agree with John, seeing more and more heads go kasplooshy, but then it’s like a juggernaut is moving up through the soldiers. Like some invisible force is just shoving them aside, rolling them like waves, ripping through the army as if it’s not a force made of highly armed men and women.

Then I see a flash of blonde hair amongst the helmeted black of the Consortium. A flash of red hair. A flash of a brunette bob. More blonde, but curly.

The sisters are in it now. Not just shooting from up high (wherever up high is), but now in the thick, in the middle, ripping, shredding, kicking, and killing.

That’s when I realize a very significant fact. It’s probably something the others have already realized. Shit, I probably already realized but don’t remember.

The Consortium may have the numbers, but we have the training. Or at least the sisters and some of us have the training. I wouldn’t exactly say I’m trained in the deadly art of combat. More importantly, I wouldn’t say that about the Consortium soldiers, either.

I look about and see a pair of binoculars on Stella’s belt. I point at them and she frowns. I roll my eyes and give her a pitiful look. She acquiesces and hands them over to me. I take a quick look and smile then hand the binoculars back to her.

“They’re just regular people,” I say. “Survivors like us. Not a fucking army of soldiers.”

Stella sighs. Right. She has no idea what I’m saying.

But even so, I’m right.

The soldiers... No, wait. The “soldiers” are emaciated. I needed the quotes there. If I had two hands, I could do air quotes. I should get some sort of prosthetic for that. Everyone would love it if I could do air quotes all the time.

Anyhoo, they look sickly, like they’ll drop dead at any second. Some of the men and women are barely standing up. They sway on their feet until they get hacked to death by the sisters or get their brains blown out by the sisters or get hacked or shot by Lourdes’s folks.

Long story short: we are kicking their ass with our smaller numbers.

Of course, there is always a grey cloud inside the fucking silver lining. Stupid clouds.

“Oh, fuck me,” I mutter. Pretty sure it sounds like “gubble flup flup.” My ears are starting to get used to how I actually sound. With some luck maybe there’s a pattern and I can create my own language. I’m sure that’s just what everyone wants to learn, some Jacese.

The fuck me was because through the smoke and blood of the battle I can see something coming. It cares about as much for the pitiful soldiers as the sisters do, crushing them with abandon as it rolls forward.

Guess what it is? No, come on, you have to guess. Fucking guess!

Fine, fine, I’ll tell you.

A tank. A big beige tank. The Consortium must have picked it up at an Iraqi War yard sale. Unlike the soldiers, though, it looks legit and ready to fuck us all up.

The first shot goes wide and long, blasting apart what looks like a set of campus condos. Cracked, red tile flies up into the air and a geyser of flames shoots out towards the road behind us. None of us are hurt, but it sure as fuck makes us realize that probably won’t be the case the next time it fires.

Which it does in about three seconds.

The shell screams towards us and I’m ready to kiss my ass goodbye, but it misses again. Once the dust and smoke clears, there’s a fifteen-foot-wide hole in the Turnpike. I look about and we are still unharmed, but the barricade has started to shift and crumble from the impacts. You can only rock and roll so long before things fall apart.

“Fall back!” Stuart yells and everyone at the barricade gets up without hesitation.

We’re turning and running as the third shell hits. Bulls-fucking-eye!

The barricade is gone in a flash. Hunks of concrete and furniture and whatever else it was made of fly past us. I catch something across my spine and scream as pain radiates up and down my legs. I tumble to the ground and lie still for a minute, my ears ringing and my back telling me I’m not a young man anymore, so why the fuck did I decide to get in the middle of an apocalyptic war? Stupid, old man.

I still can’t hear worth a shit when Stella helps me to my feet. I can stand and I can move, but doing both hurts like a motherfucker. We keep running, or really stumbling, along the Turnpike, headed towards Baseline Road.

Without the barricade as a target, the tank is just firing at random, hoping shells blast us into smithereens. Great word that. Smithereens.

A shell lands about ten yards to our right and suddenly I’m flying through the air, Stella by my side, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling, smash!

I’m choking on dust and Stella is on top of me. No, wait, I’m not choking on dust, I’m choking because Stella’s arm is across my throat.

“Sorry,” she says and rolls off me.

The ground is shaking underneath us and I know exactly why. Here comes the tank.

It rolls up towards us and we are fucked because the barrel starts to zero in our exact position. A tank seems a little like overkill, but fuck it, what a badass way to die, am I right?

Then the sound of the tank’s treads is joined by something else. A different sound. A whumpa-whumpa-whumpa sound.

“There!” Stella yells and points up into the sky.

I look up and see one of our choppers fly by. Okay, fly may not be the best word. How about fall by?

The chopper dives straight for the tank and if I thought tank shells were loud, the impact from some chopper-on-tank action puts that right out of my head. It also nearly puts my head right out of my head. It makes sense. Shut up.

Stella and I roll and roll until we are in a ditch next to the Turnpike. Burning hunks of metal rain down around us, but luckily we avoid getting hit by the fiery shrapnel. We stay there, our arms over our heads, for quite a while until we think the coast is clear.

It’s a painful struggle to get up on our feet, but we make it. Holding on to each other, we stumble back towards the barricade, our mouths hanging open at the sight of the burning wreckage of chopper and tank.

“You okay?” Reaper yells as he comes up to us. He pats us down, which is a little invasive, then nods as he realizes we aren’t wounded. Well, not anymore wounded than usual. He sprints off to find those that are.

We make it around the wreckage and through the remains of the barricade. It’s probably not the best idea, heading back to the fighting, but neither of us hesitate in the slightest. We have to see what’s happening.

There are moments in your life that will always be etched in your mind. Like a photograph has been permanently exposed against the grey matter of your brain.

The dead lie everywhere, ours and theirs. There are a few people standing and I am more than glad to see that they are our people. Some of the Consortium soldiers are still living, but they are sitting on the ground in groups with Lourdes’s people covering them with whatever firearms are handy.

None of the soldiers look like they have the strength or will to put up a fight anymore. I have a feeling they have figured that the glory that Camille promised them isn’t going to happen. They just marched halfway across the continent to get their asses handed to them by a rag tag group of survivors. Yes, we are badass, but we’re still rag tag.

I want to cheer and whoop and holler at what I’m seeing, but the tone of it all stops me. The mood isn’t celebratory. The mood is tense and frightened. Our feet scrape along the cracked asphalt, making enough noise that some people turn and see us coming. The looks on their faces tell me more than I want to know.

Ahead, as the smoke clears, stands our son. Charlie. But he’s not alone. He’s standing there next to a woman that I haven’t ever seen in person, only spoken to on the phone, which was surreal enough. What else is surreal is that I know her face even though I’ve never seen it.

It’s Elsbeth’s face.

Or close to it. It’s much older and there are specific differences like a sharper nose and different eyes, but damn if I’m not looking at Elsbeth thirty years from now.

“Hello, Jace and Stella Stanford,” Camille says, one arm wrapped across Charlie’s chest, the other holding a pistol which is pressed against my son’s temple. “It is good to meet you finally. I am sorry it couldn’t be in a more hospitable environment. And warmer. Why would people want to live up in these mountains? The wind is like a weapon itself.”

“Charlie? Are you alright?” Stella asks.

“Seriously?” he replies.

“He’s fine,” Stuart says, limping up behind us. “Still a smart-ass Stanford.”

“Yes, he is,” Camille says. “I thought you would have raised a more polite southern gentleman, but his mouth and the things he has said to me. Tsk-tsk-tsk. Not gentlemanly at all.”

“How’s this for gentlemanly, you fucking cunt ass bit—”

“Charlie,” Stella snaps. “Be. Quiet. Now.”

He shuts up.

A woman with a 9mm pressed to his head doesn’t scare him, but his mother does. Now that’s a good southern boy.

“What do you want, Camille?” Stella asks.

“Two things,” Camille says.

“You only have one thing to trade,” Stella says. “So choose.”

“I don’t think so,” Camille replies. “I am fairly certain that you’ll give me both in exchange for your son staying alive.”

“Talk,” Stella says.

“First, I want safe passage to the Stronghold,” Camille says. “I get there and inside and I’ll let Charlie go.”

“Why wouldn’t we just kill you once you let him go?” Stella asks. I hiss. She glares at me to shut the fuck up. I do.

“Once I’m inside the Stronghold, I’ll be safe,” Camille says. “I’ll lock it down tight and you will never be able to get to me.”

“Assuming we say yes to that, what is the second thing?” Stella asks.

“I want my daughter with me,” Camille says. “You know how hard it is for a mother to be separated from her child, don’t you, Stella? While I am a goal-oriented woman, I am also a person with a heart. My heart would be broken if I had to spend the rest of my days alone.”

“Will someone just shoot the cunt?” Charlie asks. “Seriously. We have like a dozen perfectly trained snipers. Blow her fucking head off.”

“Charlie,” Stella growls. “Let me handle this.”

“A sniper may be able to get a shot off and end my life, but not before I pull this trigger,” Camille says. “That’s why they haven’t taken the shot. They can see through their scopes that I have the hammer cocked back and even the slightest movement on my part will result in young Mr. Stanford’s death.”

“I know,” Stella says. “That’s why I haven’t told them to blow your head off. And Charlie? Shut up. No more talking. Not a goddamn word out of your mouth until after I kill this bitch.”

“That there is why I admire you, Stella,” Camille says. “You have a strength and confidence that few women have these days. The apocalypse comes along and suddenly it’s a crazy man’s world all over again.”

“Excuse me?” Stella asks, looking around. She catches the eye of each of the sisters as well as Melissa who is standing off to the side, a shotgun in the crook of her arm. “A man’s world? Could you have more of a chip on your shoulder? Do not project your feminine insecurities onto my world, Camille. At no point has this apocalypse turned into a man’s world. You are insane to think so.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Camille says and shrugs. I gasp at the shrug since it jostles the gun in her hand. A wicked grin grows on her face as she catches my fear. “But, I guess having to take care of a man like Jason Stanford may be why you think it’s not a man’s world. He’s hardly a picture of strength and virility.”

“Go fuck yourself, you slimy, privileged psychopathic cunt nugget,” I say. I know it sounds nothing like that.

“Oh, dear, and his wit is gone now too,” Camille mocks. “Just another burned-out moron waiting out his days. How sad for you.”

“I can let you get to the Stronghold,” Stella says.

“Stella,” Stuart warns.

“Be quiet, James,” Stella says. Ouch. First name slap down. “I can let you get to the Stronghold, but there is nothing I can do about Elsbeth. She has to choose if she wants to go with you or not.”

“I know she will,” Camille says. “My sources have said she is quite fond of this boy. He is family, as she has put it.”

“Sources?” Stella asks.

“Did you think I just left you all alone in your mountain town?” Camille laughs. “Did you think there weren’t people following you and reporting back to me? You’ve seen the resources at my disposal. Simple surveillance equipment was hardly an issue.”

“Then you know she won’t let you live the second that door to the Stronghold closes,” Stella says. “She’ll slice you open and then join us.”

“No, she won’t,” Camille says. “She’ll come with me and she’ll stay with me. Once that door closes, it will not open again for a very long time. I doubt she’ll want to spend the rest of her days with my rotting corpse.”

Stella doesn’t respond. Camille doesn’t add anything. Arguments have been made on both sides, so now we just stand here in the middle of a scorched street-slash-battlefield. There are two powerful women holding the fate of my son’s life in their hands.

Actually, make that three powerful women.

“Camille,” Elsbeth says as she walks across the road.

Where the hell she’s been, I have no idea, but she sure has taken her sweet-ass time getting here.

“Carly,” Camille beams. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you.”

“Elsbeth,” Elsbeth says. “That’s my name, Camille.”

“That is not your name,” Camille says. She’s not exactly angry about it, but there is a tone in her voice that says she is not to be argued with on the point. “Your name is Carly Michelle Thornberg.”

Elsbeth sighs. It’s a true, full body sigh. Her shoulders lift and fall, her body goes slack and I can see the exhaustion coming off her in waves. Yet, as there always is, I can also see that spark that makes Elsbeth Elsbeth.

“My name is Elsbeth,” Elsbeth says. “Call me that or do not call me anything, Camille.”

“I refuse to address you by a name that some perverted, backwoods redneck gave you,” Camille snaps. “You are from a family that has deep history in this country. You will not belittle that by accepting a false name.”

“Not a false name,” Elsbeth says. “It’s my name, Camille.”

“No, it is not,” Camille says and that calm is long gone. Nothing but venom in her voice now. “And stop calling me Camille! I am your mother! You will call me Mother!”

“No,” Elsbeth says. “I won’t, Camille.”

“Stop that!” Camille shouts.

“El…” Stella cautions.

Elsbeth’s hand twitches slightly and Stella backs off.

“I will not call you by a name you do not deserve,” Elsbeth says. “You gave me away, Camille. Just like all the parents of my sisters gave them away. You sold us to a program that would make you greater, not us. Our greatness wasn’t your concern, was it?”

Camille’s face is red. She’s itching to respond, but she holds her tongue.

“You used us,” Elsbeth says. The sisters move in closer to her. “You used us all and left us to die when the world fell apart.”

The twang in Elsbeth’s voice is slowly going away. I can start to hear the person she used to be before Pa found her. There is a distinct Yankee accent coming forward.

“You let us be warped by that man,” Elsbeth continues. The sisters are all now shoulder to shoulder with her. “You let us be cut into and brainwashed us. He drugged us, tortured us, made it so we wanted the pain, so we wanted the agony of his voice around us at all times. He did the dirty work, but it was all you in the end, Camille. Do not think for one second I don’t know that.”

“Stop calling me Camille,” Camille whispers, almost too quiet for us to hear. “Say it again and I kill the boy.”

“Fine,” Elsbeth says and I tense. “I won’t say it again.” I relax. “But I will not call you Mother either. I have a mother. I have someone that has been true and kind and has risked her life for me this past year more times than you did my entire life.”

Elsbeth looks at Stella. My wife has tears in her eyes that spill down her dirty, soot coated cheeks.

“Family isn’t blood. Family is love,” Elsbeth continues, this time with that Elsbeth accent we all know. “And I do not love you. Goodbye, whatever your name is.”

There’s a single gunshot and Stella screams, her hands going to her mouth as Charlie tumbles forward onto the pavement. Camille staggers backwards and I can see that half her face is missing and her hand is clutched to her chest. The one eye she has left focuses on Elsbeth then slowly closes as she falls to her knees then collapses face first (half-face first?) onto the ground.

“Fuck!” Charlie yells, his hand to his ear. He pulls it away and it’s covered in blood. “My fucking eardrum burst! Jesus Christ!”

“Oh, my baby!” Stella yells as she sprints over to him and takes him in her arms. “Oh, my God! Oh, Charlie! Oh, my baby!”

No one moves except for me and Elsbeth. We both walk up to her mother’s body. El looks at me and I look at her then we look down at Camille. I hook my foot up under her, but she’s dead weight and I don’t have the strength to flip her over. Elsbeth does, though. She gets a foot under and kicks.

Most of Camille’s face is gone. There’s only bone and blood and a gaping hole. If I was expecting some last second villain come to life startle, it sure as hell isn’t coming from this stiff. He he, I sound like I’m in a noir novel. Cool.

Finally, the others move. Stuart limps around us and picks up Camille’s pistol, holding it up so I can see how the muzzle is shredded and looks like one of those cartoon guns when someone puts a cork in it. It’s torn apart and most of it is ripped back. I’m guessing the rest of it is what ripped into Camille’s face. Stuart points at where a bullet hit the pistol, knocking it away from Charlie’s head.

Elsbeth stares at it and nods then turns around and nods again. I look over my shoulder and see Marcie walking up, a very large sniper rifle over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Stella says as she finally lets Charlie go. She smiles at Marcie. “Thank you so much.”

“No way that bitch was taking out Chuck,” Marcie replies. “Not a chance in frozen hell.”

“Frozen hell?” I ask.

Everyone looks at me and frowns. I shake my head.

Stella hurries up to Elsbeth and takes the woman by the face, she leans in close and kisses her forehead.

“I love you,” Stella says. “Do not ever think I don’t. I love you like a daughter, I love you like a friend, and I love you like an equal. You complete this family.” Stella pulls back and looks around. “All of you do. I don’t care if your name isn’t Stanford. Fitzpatrick, Stuart, Torres, Baptiste, Billings, Stillwater…” She looks at Marcie then the other sisters and laughs. “Whatever your last names are. I don’t even know. And I don’t even care. You are all my family.”

She moves away from Elsbeth, who has tears running down her face, and looks at the Consortium’s scraggly soldiers.

“And you can join us too, if you want,” she says, pointing east. “There’s nothing back there for you. You can try to go back to Atlanta, or wherever you originally came from, but I doubt you will. You joined with Camille to be part of something. That was a mistake. A big one. But mistakes fucking happen. Promise to do your part, promise to never harm anyone in this big, crazy family, and we will welcome you in.”

The soldiers stare at her like they’ve never heard words before. They just watch her, their eyes red and swollen, filled with fear and despair. Then one by one they slowly stand up, their eyes darting from Stella to the guns trained on them.

“Good,” Stella says and nods. “Let’s get back to the campus and see where we’re at. We need to know what supplies we have left, how many are wounded, how many died, who is missing.”

But before we can even take a step, we’re quickly reminded of the world we live in. This isn’t a world of survivors trying to start over. This isn’t a world of megalomaniacs with their own personal armies. This isn’t a world of cannibals or crazies. This isn’t a world of humans.

It’s a world of the undead.

“Motherfucker,” I shout as the front of the herd comes into sight.

They may not understand the word I said, but I’m pretty sure they got the gist from the inflection.

Everyone turns and looks at the thousands of Zs heading our way. Mountain road or no mountain road, we made enough noise to wake the dead. Literally.

Every weapon left on the ground is snatched up instantly. Consortium or Whispering Pines, Lourdes’s PCs or the sisters, we all brace ourselves for the herd coming straight at us.

“Any ideas?” Stuart asks me then shakes his head. “Nevermind. Not like I can understand you.”

Good. Because I’m all the fuck out of ideas.

Chapter Ten

The Zs surge up to us. They come up the Turnpike, they come out of the neighborhoods on either side, and they come from behind. While we were busy fighting each other, human on human stupidity at its finest, the Zs made it up the mountain and managed to surround us.

We are boxed in by the undead and there is nowhere to go.

I look at the spike on the end of Stumpageddon and shake my head. “It was nice while it lasted.”

“I don’t know what you said, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says next to me. “But I bet it was some pussy bullshit. This ain’t over. No way it’s over. Not gonna let it.”

“There’re too many,” Stella says.

“No, there ain’t,” Elsbeth snaps. “You know family. You know how to keep a family together. Well, me and my sisters know how to keep a family alive. We can do this. Just get behind us and watch your backs.”

Elsbeth whistles and a sniper starts up. Marcie is by Charlie, so there’s only one sniper, but damn if she isn’t efficient. I do a head count and see Lacy, Antoinette, Audrey, and Belinda are with us. With Elsbeth by my side and Marcie hovering close to Charlie, that leaves Steph.

Hot damn, the woman can shoot.

Z heads turn to mist. Z legs turn to broken sticks. The Zs coming up from Denver begin to topple and die, giving us enough cushion to focus on the ones coming at us from the sides and those that got behind us.

We turn and get to work.

A group of six Zs lunge at us and a couple of the Consortium’s soldiers go down as they are torn apart. I have a distinct feeling Lourdes didn’t really put much effort into trying to save them, despite Stella’s grand speech. Their screams for help and mercy are cut short as their throats are feasted on by the undead.

I don’t bother with the dying and focus on the living. And the living dead.

Three Zs come at me and I stab one through the skull, snap another’s leg with a quick kick, and duck to the side, letting the third one slip past. I yank out my spike, spin around, kick the broken leg Z’s other leg, turning it all gimpy, and then stab the Z that lunged past me in the head.

Man, I feel good! Sure, I’m exhausted and I hurt like a mother, but it’s nice to be back in the fight, not some whiny bitch in a wheelchair. Not that I’m saying people in wheelchairs are whiny bitches. The complete opposite. I have mad respect for the disabled. I’m just saying that I was a whiny bitch in a wheelchair.

What’s that? Yeah, I’ll shut the fuck up. Good call.

My spike stabs, stabs, stabs some more and I kill another three Zs. Elsbeth has killed a lot more than that. There are bodies everywhere. Some of the bodies are Consortium soldiers that died in our fight, but most are Zs that El has taken out.

She is whipping about, swirling in and out of a wild formation that her and her sisters use to push the Zs back from us mere mortals. Yes, Elsbeth is mortal too, but not as mortal as us normals. No, I will not argue that Elsbeth is normal. We all know that ain’t true.

A Z comes at El and she drops her shoulder, sending it flying up into the air as she stands up. Antoinette slashes out with a long blade, the ubiquitous weapon of choice for the sisters, and two halves of a corpse land on the ground. One half is still wiggling and Antoinette puts a blade through its skull before it can bite her ankle.

Two of the other sisters step out of formation and punch a hole in the wall of Zs, ripping through the walking corpses like they are made of paper. Limbs go flying this way and that, guts fall into piles everywhere, black blood sprays up into the air like grotesque geysers.

The rest of the sisters flank us, herding us through the hole after the first two. I’m pretty sure it’s Lacy and Belinda up ahead. Zs that try to get in at us are cut down fast. There is no time for the undead fuckers to even give us the evil eye. They barely get a hand outstretched and a moan out of their throats before the hand is severed and the throat is sliced open.

Shots are being fired, but I have no idea if they are doing any good or not. All I see are the sisters and their handy work.

Not to say there aren’t plenty of Zs that get through the sister’s defenses. Stella hacks a few to death, a machete in her hand as she fights by my side. I do more spikey spikey stabbing. Stuart is close by and he empties a pistol into the heads of a surging group of Zs. Most of them drop. Some of them don’t.

He goes down in a pile of undead. I yell, choosing not to use words and just use my very loud voice, and a couple of the Zs glance up at me. I jam the spike through one then the other’s head, kicking the corpses off as soon as they are still. But that leaves three more on top of Stuart. He struggles to keep them from biting him, but he’s losing strength as their weight bears down on him.

I go to stab one of the Zs, but there’s no head left. Then the other two end up headless and the echoes of the far off shots reach my ears. Man, you can never say enough good things about snipers.

The ratatatatata of automatic fire erupts behind us and I look back as I help Stuart to his feet. Ha. That’s funny. I help him up. It’s always the other way around.

We look back and see some of the PCs emptying their carbines into the herd of Zs chasing us down. There is no way they can take them all. As soon as their magazines are empty, they are swarmed and end up being shredded right there, so close to sanctuary, so close to a life off the road.

That really pisses me off.

We made it all this way and people are still fucking dying. Fuck that!

I dive in with a renewed energy. Any exhaustion I was feeling, any lethargy from the years in this fucking Hell followed by months and months on the road, is gone. Bitches, Jace has got his second wind!

Which is immediately knocked out of me as a fast fucker tackles me about the waist. My back slams into the asphalt and all the air is sent flying out of my lungs. I gasp and struggle to breathe, but the Z is right on my chest, keeping my lungs from filling up. The thing snaps its jaws at my face and I turn one way then turn the other to keep from being a cheek sandwich.

I can see spots and my lungs burn without fresh air. My arm weakens and I can’t get an angle with the spike. I just keep stabbing the thing in the ribs over and over again even though I know it is doing nothing.

Then it’s yanked up off me by Stella and Charlie takes its head off with a swipe of a machete. I know I’ve expressed my love of snipers, now let me express my love of machetes.

God bless you, machetes! May your blades stay forever sharp and your handles always slip free!

My family helps me to my feet and we start to run. That seems like the smart thing to do.

“Where are we headed?” I yell.

They have no idea what I’m saying.

“We need to get to Baseline!” Stella yells. “Then work our way back to Kittredge Hall!”

I’m guessing Kittredge Hall is our base of operations. I’m hoping we have more guns there. And machetes. And chainsaws. And bazookas and some grenades on nuclear warheads and—

“Jace!” Stella yells, getting me focused again.

We keep running as the sisters widen our avenue of escape. I glance back and see most of the Consortium soldiers falling under the never-ending attack from the Z herd. But we still have some of Lourdes’s people as well as all of our survivors.

I don’t see all of the sisters, though. That’s not good. If any of us should fall, it sure as shit shouldn’t be one or any of them. The human race can do without a Jace, but it fucking needs the killing machines that are Elsbeth’s sisters if it’s going to live through the next decade.

We run until our lungs burn and our legs are noodles. We finally reach Baseline Road and then skid to a stop.

The herd behind us is only half of what we are up against. The real threat is the herd in front of us. Thousands more Zs shamble along Baseline. They see us instantly and we freeze, the living meat in an undead sandwich.

“What are you doing?” Elsbeth yells. “Move!”

“Where?” Stella shouts as Elsbeth starts running parallel to the herd. “We can’t get back to the Hall!”

“Don’t need to!” Elsbeth replies. “They’ll be here before that!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Charlie shouts. “Who will be?”

Elsbeth grins. It’s that knowing grin of hers when she has a secret she doesn’t want to share, but is also dying to share at the same time. That woman does love her suspense and dramatic reveal, I tell you what.

No one argues. If Elsbeth has a plan, which she seems to have, and she knows where she is going, which she seems to do, then we’d be idiots not to go along for the ride.

Yes, yes, I know I am an idiot, but I’m not that much of an idiot.

We’re heading northeast along Baseline, keeping the Zs to our left. There are a couple of screams, but we are moving too fast now for me to look back and see who we might have lost. Right now all I can think about is myself and the two Stanfords with me.

God, where is Greta? Is she safe? Is she locked down somewhere? Maybe at this Kittredge Hall place? I fucking hope so. Man, I really, really fucking hope so.

“There!” Elsbeth yells and turns us towards the herd.

Okay, she’s lost her fucking mind.

The sisters sprint ahead of us all and begin clearing a way through. They say fuck it to trying to kill the Zs and only aim for the legs. Rotted jeans, pants, capris, and long skirts get hacked to bits as the sisters’ blades cut through the material and lop off thighs and calves. Those Zs wearing miniskirts don’t have to worry about their clothes getting ruined, they just get the metal to skin treatment.

And why the hell would anyone wear a miniskirt in this weather? Jesus. Stupid fucking Zs.

We push through and Elsbeth leads us across a frozen, overgrown lawn to a long, brick building. Hold on. I know this building,

“The jail?” I ask, but no one listens because I’m marble-mouth Jace.

I see the sign and realize it’s not the jail, but campus security. Huh. How did I miss that before?

Elsbeth shoves open the doors and locks them in place as we run inside. John, Reaper, the Fitzpatricks, including Melissa even though she’s technically a Billings, Lourdes, Stuart, some of the Consortium soldiers, followed by the last of the PCs and then the sisters.

We get the doors shut and bolted just as the herd hits us.

“Furniture!” Stuart yells and everyone scrambles to grab what they can and brace the doors.

Chairs, desks, couches, more desks, more chairs, a refrigerator. Hold on. A refrigerator? I see gouge marks on the tile floor coming from what I guess is a break room. Shit just keeps piling up until the doors are covered and the only evidence of the Z herd outside is the constant banging and clawing on the glass. Plus the never-fucking-ending moans and groans and hisses.

I swear, if we live through this and rebuild here in Boulder, I am passing a no-moaning ordinance.

“We need to find the back way,” Stella says. “Maybe we can slip out and get around the herd. Double back to Kittredge Hall.”

I tap her on the shoulder and shrug.

“That’s where we are based,” she says. “You know that.”

I shake my head.

“Yes, you do,” Stella insists. “It’s where you had us set up. Don’t you remember?”

I shake my head.

“Do you remember any of the planning and getting ready for the Consortium?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“Fucking Kramer,” she snarls.

I nod.

“We don’t need to go to Kittredge Hall,” Elsbeth says. “We’re fine here.”

“No, we’re not,” Stuart says. “Do you hear that out there, El? That will eventually get inside and kill us.”

“We should get on the roof,” she says. “Better view.”

“Better view?” Stuart frowns. “What the hell are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” she says. “They are late, but they’ll be here.”

Elsbeth hunts around for the door that will lead us to the roof and we follow like lost children. It’s a bit of a role reversal. Up the stairs we go and we come out onto the roof where we have a perfect view of the massive herd that has us surrounded. Everyone looks from the herd to Elsbeth, from Elsbeth to the herd. No one is happy about our situation.

Elsbeth isn’t happy either, especially since we are missing Lacy. She fell back in the herd, keeping Belinda from getting eaten by a couple of the fast ones. All of the sisters look like shit. They also look like they could jump down off the roof and rip the herd apart with their bare hands. But even that would be a stretch for their abilities.

We wait. And we wait. I hear a crash below and start to say something, but before I can I hear something else. A familiar sound. A deadly sound.

Several of us point at the same time as we see the tank come into view. The main gun is aimed right at us and I think it’s game over, but instead of firing its shells, it opens fire with the fifty calibers it has mounted. I can see someone standing up from the turret, spraying heavy caliber slugs this way and that, shredding the Zs where they stand.

“What the fuck?” I ask as I notice what’s behind the tank.

For miles I see vehicles. And standing in those vehicles are heavily armed people. They rip into the herd, unloading their weapons with abandon. There is a glee about how they cut through the herd that looks familiar. It’s almost a party atmosphere, a celebration of violence that makes me squirm a little.

Then, as the tank gets closer, I realize what’s so familiar about it all. First, it’s the music. Classic rock cranked up to eleven. Second, it’s the top hat.

Last, it’s all the fucking goggles the damned crazy sons of bitches are wearing! Motherfucking apocalypse goggles! God, I hate goggles.

“Son of a bitch,” Stuart says as things click for him about the same time they do for me. “Mr. Flips brought the cannibal cavalry.”

Everyone stands there and stares, except for Elsbeth and the sisters. They just smile those killer smiles and watch as the cannibal army keeps pushing through the herd. The vast majority of the vehicles are open-bed trucks with shirtless crazies standing in the back, flame throwers scorching the living fuck out of the Zs. They slash and burn, cutting the numbers of the undead down exponentially with every block they drive.

A radio crackles and all eyes turn from the impossible scene to Elsbeth. She casually pulls out a radio from her pocket and puts it to her mouth.

“Hello, Mr. Flips,” she says. “You’re late.”

“We got here as fast as we could,” he replies over the radio. “Had a little trouble taking the tank off the soldiers below. It looked like they wanted it for themselves so they could turn tale and run. I guess loyalty to your mother wasn’t their biggest priority.”

“Camille is dead,” Elsbeth says. “And she wasn’t my mother.”

“She wasn’t?” Mr. Flips asks. “Okay. Whatever you say. Doesn’t matter to me. Where are you right now?”

“We are on campus in the security office building,” Elsbeth says.

Even over the violence happening out in the city, I hear another crash from below. I grab Stella’s arm and point back at the stairs. She cocks her head and I mime being a Z. She sighs and looks at Stuart.

“Sounds like they’ve gotten inside,” Stella says.

“Let them,” Stuart says. “Once Flips and the cannies have the streets cleared then we’ll have them make as much noise as possible and draw out the ones that have gotten in. I doubt they’ll be able to get up the stairs at us.”

“The fast ones will,” Charlie says.

“Then we block the doors,” Stuart says. “We can wait them out. Better safe than reckless. We’ve made it this far. No need to risk our asses to kill some stray Zs downstairs.”

Everyone nods their heads. Then one by one we go back to looking at the cannies do an amazing job at destroying the herd.

Also, one by one we get tired of watching the carnage and sit down on the roof to wait until it’s all over.

***

The air gets colder as the day wears on and night comes. We huddle together for warmth and there are more than a few grumbles about how if the Zs don’t kill us then exposure sure will. But no one decides being warm is worth opening the doors to the stairs and seeing just how many Zs got inside. The fight has left us and we’re all shell-shocked. I doubt we could kill a rabid squirrel, much less a horde of Zs.

The night is pitch black up here in the mountains. Except for the occasional burst of light from the streets below as the cannies set off their flamethrowers. I’d say it’s a waste of fuel, but what the fuck are we saving fuel for anymore? We’ve made it to Boulder and the Stronghold. Once we get settled in, the only fuel we’ll need is firewood and solar panels.

Not that solar panels are actually fuel. They’re energy. Okay, the sun is the energy and the solar panels help trap that energy and harness it for electricity.

“Jace, quiet,” Stella says. “You’re mumbling.”

“Mumbling words you can understand?” I ask.

The look I get from her tells me no. Fuck. I wonder how long this will go on?

I lean against my wife and close my eyes. Might as well get some sleep if we’re going to be up here for a while.

***

Sleep is hard to come by when you are freezing your dick off. Or tits. It’s just as hard to come by if you are freezing your tits off. I should have said tits to begin with since both men and women have tits. Do men have tits? Or do we just have nipples? I guess we have pecs, but those are the muscles under the tits. If you have tits. I don’t know if I do.

“Shut up,” Stuart growls. “I never thought his talking out loud could get worse, but now that it is all nonsense, it is a hundred times worse.”

“We can go down,” Elsbeth says, standing by the edge of the roof.

Our freezing, stiff group stands up and you can actually hear the frozen joints cracking in everyone’s knees. The sun is starting to crest the horizon and I guess that’s a good thing. We’ve made it to one more sunrise in the zombie apocalypse.

Stella shuffles over to the stairs door, looking more like a Z than a person, and puts her ear to the metal. She instantly regrets it and Charlie has to hurry over and yank on her head to get the skin free.

“Motherfucker,” she snarls as she holds a rag to her bleeding ear.

“You two have matching bleeding ears,” I say. But they have no idea what I’m talking about so I give them a thumb-up.

The thumb-up is not returned.

“Is it clear?” Stuart asks, trying not to smirk as he looks at Stella’s ear.

“Shut the fuck up,” Stella says. “And yes, it sounds like it is clear.”

“We’ll go first and make sure,” Antoinette says. “Elsbeth?”

“Go ahead,” Elsbeth replies. “I’ll bring up the rear with everyone else.”

Antoinette nods then yanks open the door. A single Z comes out. Just one. It lurches for Antoinette and the woman looks at it with pity. She starts to reach for her blade, but stops and just walks slowly backwards until she is right at the edge of the roof. The Z lurches for her again and Antoinette sidesteps then gives it a little push. It goes tumbling off the roof and we all listen for the splat. When it comes, we smile and then make our way downstairs.

There are a few Zs inside the building, but just as Stuart said would happen, it looks like the majority made their way back out to the streets when the canny army rolled by. The sisters quickly kill the few stragglers then do a sweep of the building to make sure everything is clear.

“Hello?” a voice calls out. “Is anyone out there?”

My eyes narrow. Stella’s eyes narrow. We both follow the voice back to the holding cells.

Kramer.

“Oh, hello, Stanfords,” Dr. Kramer says, his hands pressed up against the bars of his cell. “I had thought you civilized folks had forgotten all about me.”

“I wish,” Stella says.

We look at the floor in front of his cell and see two dead Zs. Kramer follows our gaze.

“Yes, it seems as if some of the undead made it inside last night,” Dr. Kramer says. He holds up a fork and butter knife, both coated with Z blood. “I lured them closer, which wasn’t hard to do, and put them out of their undead misery. I was afraid that more would come and burst into my cell, you just don’t know how strong these bars are since they were built with government money by the lowest bidder.”

We glare at him.

“Hmmm, I am sensing some tension,” he says. “Is there some specific cause?”

“What did you do to my husband?” Stella snaps.

“Why? What is wrong with him?” Dr. Kramer asks, all psychotic innocence and shit. “He looks perfectly healthy. And my, he has a weapon on his stump. How very post-apocalyptic of him.”

“I’ll go get a gun and come back here and put a bullet in your head if you don’t tell us what you did,” Stella says. “I am at the very end of my rope, asshole. You have three seconds to start talking or no amount of begging will save you.”

“I did nothing to Jace,” Dr. Kramer says. “But you must remember that the man had brain surgery and has suffered all kinds of trauma to his head over the years. His reaction to the conditioning can be wildly unpredictable. I explained that before doing what you told me to do.”

“Bullshit,” Stella says.

Kramer leans against the bars and glares at her. “Not bullshit. Not bullshit at all,” he replies. “I have no idea what is wrong with your husband.” He focuses on me. “I have no idea what has happened to you, Jace. If you would care to help me understand by explaining the symptoms then I can begin to diagnose the issue and perhaps we can work together to find a solution.”

“I can’t fucking talk, you fucking piece of shit,” I say.

“Oh my,” Dr. Kramer reacts. “That isn’t good. I am trying to parse the language, but it isn’t one I am familiar with.”

“It’s nonsense,” Stella says.

“I doubt that,” Dr. Kramer replies. “The human mind may at times seem chaotic, but it craves order. I am sure there is a pattern to his speech we can decipher given time.”

“No,” Elsbeth says from behind us. “No deciphering. No time. Fix Long Pork or you die, old man. We have won. The Consortium is dead. We control the Stronghold.”

“Do you now?” Dr. Kramer says, licking his lips. “I will make you a deal then.”

“No deals!” Elsbeth shouts and Stella and I jump. It’s a loud shout. “You have one week to fix him or I start slicing off hunks of your flesh and feeding them to you!”

“Everything alright in here?” Stuart asks as he comes hurry-limping into the holding cell area. He looks at Elsbeth. “I thought I just heard you say you’re going to feed someone flesh.”

“I’m going to feed him his flesh,” Elsbeth says. “If he doesn’t fix Long Pork.”

“Oh,” Stuart nods. “Carry on then.”

He leaves and we all turn and look at Kramer.

“Well, I guess that explains my position here better than anything,” he says and sighs. “It seems I have no choice in the matter.”

“You never did,” Elsbeth says. She looks at us. “Leave him. Come get food. Get some sleep. We’ll come back tomorrow and he’ll start the fixing.”

“He starts now,” Stella says.

I grab her arm and pull. She tries to resist but gives in after I turn around completely and put my weight into it.

“Tomorrow,” Stella says, pointing at Kramer. “You fix him or you die.”

“Yes, yes, I understand the terms of the threat,” Dr. Kramer says as he sits back down on his cot. “Would it be too much trouble to have someone bring me some food as well? Perhaps a bottle of water?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Stella snarls.

“Yes,” Elsbeth says. “Someone will bring food and water.”

We get outside the holding cell area and Stella turns on Elsbeth.

“He doesn’t deserve food or water,” she says.

“He will die if he doesn’t get those things,” Elsbeth says. “He can’t help Long Pork if he’s dead.”

I nod in agreement.

“Fine,” Stella says shaking her head. “But no salt. I want it to taste like shit.”

“I can mix shit in it and not tell him,” Elsbeth smiles. “That he deserves.”

“Yeah, he does,” Stella says.

Damn. I have some seriously cold bitches looking out for my ass.

I am very glad that even if that was out loud they can’t understand me. I probably shouldn’t refer to my wife or Elsbeth as bitches. I mean it in a respectful and endearing way, of course. But still, not the brightest choice of words to—

“Jace!”

Shutting up.

***

We come back the next day and it all goes to fucking hell from there.

The front doors are repaired with heavy-duty plywood to keep out any stray Zs. The cannies have done a great job rounding up the stragglers, but this is the zombie apocalypse so there’re always one or two or three lurking in the shadows ready to jump out at you.

There is nothing wrong with the doors when we get to the security office. It’s what we find inside that’s the problem.

Blood. All pooled under the two chairs where the sentries that were assigned to the building should be sitting and waiting to be relieved.

No sentries. Lots of blood.

Stella pulls her pistol. I don’t have one, just the spike on Stumpageddon.

After some quick sleep, we made sure a full inventory of all supplies was done. We don’t have much ammunition left which is why I don’t get a pistol. That and no one trusts my brain with a firearm. Probably a good call.

The weird thing about there being lots of blood under the sentries’ chairs is that there’s no blood trail leading away from the chairs. Large pools of blood themselves are not exactly a strange occurrence these days. No sign that the owners of the blood moved? That’s freaky as shit.

Stella looks back at the doors and I know what she’s thinking. She’s debating whether or not to go get help. Turn and bail and go back to Kittredge Hall to find Stuart or one of the sisters. I want to tell her that we should do just that and forget about Kramer.

But that’s not how it goes.

We keep moving, our eyes and ears peeled. Can ears be peeled? I don’t know. We’re alert. We’re all the way to the door to the holding cells when Stella stops. She is about to open the door, but turns and shoves me out of the way instead. I fall right on my ass and smack my head on the floor. Having only one hand to brace yourself makes falling a little more treacherous.

I shake off the pain and look up. Stella grunts and stands there for a second, looking down at her belly. I don’t see what’s wrong at first then I realize that her hands are wrapped around something.

“Stella?” I mutter.

She looks at me, but I have no idea if I’ve said her name or if I’ve made a farting noise. I’m too shocked by the blood that starts pouring from between her fingers to know the difference.

“Hey there, Long Pork,” a familiar voice says.

Cassie walks up to Stella, her eyes locked onto mine, and yanks out the knife that she threw into Stella’s gut. My wife cries out and falls to her knees. Cassie gives her a little push then shoves her out of the way with her feet in order to get the door open.

Before she walks back to the holding cells, she wags a finger at me.

“Don’t start screaming for help now,” she says. “I hear one peep from you and I’ll kill you both when I get back. Right now, I think I like you alive. It makes the world more interesting. I realized that after thinking about our last talk.”

“You crazy fucking cunt ass bitch whore piece of shit,” I snarl.

“No,” she says. “None of those sounds were words. I’m guessing your brain has finally gone bye bye. Which is exactly what I plan to do in just a few minutes. Need to grab something first.”

She walks back to the holding cells and I concentrate on keeping pressure on Stella’s bleeding belly. She looks up at me, pain and fear in her eyes, and all I can do is look back. Anything I say, no matter how soothing I intend it to be, will be idiotic gibberish and only make things worse.

It’s a couple minutes before Cassie is back. She has an unconscious Kramer over her shoulder.

“Good for you,” she says. “You were quiet as a moron could be. Now, I’d appreciate it if you stayed quiet for a while longer so I can get away.”

She starts to walk off then stops and frowns.

“Hmmm,” she says as she comes back to me. “You really have no motivation to stay quiet, do you? Oh, well.”

Her boot meets my face.

“Loyalty above all else,” she says just before it all goes dark.

Chapter Eleven

They say we were gone for three hours before someone came to find us. I was collapsed over Stella, my weight keeping pressure on her wound the whole time. It’s the only reason she didn’t bleed out right there and then.

Not that it makes much difference.

Stella won’t wake up and her condition keeps getting worse.

I’m sitting next to her side in the hospital, her hand gripped in mine, as she slowly slips away from us.

I say us because not an hour has gone by where the hallway outside her room hasn’t been packed with people. Dr. Stenkler and Dr. McCormick tried to fight it at first, but it became evident that no one was going to listen, so they made a rule that only immediate family was allowed inside.

That is me by the bed, Greta asleep in a chair, Charlie pacing back and forth incessantly at the foot of the bed, and Elsbeth standing by the window, her eyes looking out as jumbo snowflakes start to fall.

“I could track her,” Elsbeth says. “I could track her in this snow and find her and kill her.”

“No,” Charlie snaps. “You don’t get to kill her. I do. We do. You bring her back and we all get to cut a part off.”

I grunt and let go of Stella’s hand long enough to grab a pad and pencil from the bedside table.

No, I write.Everyone stays here. Cassie is long gone. She had hours to get away. They still haven’t found the sentries’ bodies. You think you can find her and Kramer if she doesn’t want to be found?

“I can find her,” Elsbeth snarls.

No. We need you here. Stella needs her family here. You don’t want to be gone if she

I stop writing. I don’t have to say it.

The lights flicker and we all look up. There’s an old generator hooked to the hospital’s power system, but it hasn’t been maintained well. I’d blame Amy and her crew, but I am so sick of blaming people. Just fucking sick of it.

We don’t know how this nightmare started, and we probably never will, but it doesn’t matter. We can figure it out and then what? Blame them? Why? It solves nothing.

And we sure as fuck can’t blame the Zs. They don’t know what they are doing, even the newer ones. All they want to do is eat. Eat human flesh. I fucking hate them for that, but that’s like hating a great white shark for munching on surfers. Pointless.

The lights steady and I sigh with relief as the machines keeping Stella alive continue to whir. As long as her chest rises and falls, I am okay. So I stare at her chest, I watch the slow rise, the stop, then the slow fall, and I pray to whoever is listening for my wife to come back to me. I pray with all of my might.

***

A week is how long she lives. One last week with the woman that meant everything in the world to me.

One fucking week.

I never got to say goodbye because she never woke up. Her chest just didn’t rise again one morning and that was that.

I wrote the eulogy for her funeral. I couldn’t say it, which nearly killed me, but it was probably better that Critter got to say it anyway. He cried, but he wasn’t a blubbering mess like I was. Shit, I was worse than both the kids combined. He did a great job. That old man is a cantankerous bastard, but damn if he didn’t respect my wife. That all came through as he read my words then said a few of his own.

Everyone was there. Everyone that had survived the trek from Asheville, that we picked up along the way, and that we found here in Boulder.

James “Don’t Call Me Jimmy” Stuart. Melissa Billings. The Fitzpatrick brothers- Buzz, Gunga, and Pup. Dr. Laura McCormick. Landon Chase, that pompous asshole. Lourdes Torres. Medical Sergeant Alex “Reaper” Stillwater. Weapons Sergeant Sammy “John” Baptiste. Mr. Flips and the cannies. Dr. James Stenkler. Amy Lowden. Nick Henshaw. The twins, Bo and Luke. That Crumb guy (never did find out whether that is a first or last name).

And the sisters- Antoinette, Brittany, Steph, Belinda, Audrey, and Marcie.

There are more people, but I either don’t know their names or I’ve forgotten them. That seems to be happening quickly these days.

Someone that wasn’t there was Elsbeth. The day Stella died, she took off. No one has seen her since. Not even John. He says he woke up and her stuff was gone, all her weapons and supplies.

I have a feeling I know where she’s going.

The days go by fast, a blur to my addled brain. People come and go, talking to me and telling me how much they miss Stella. I nod, I smile, I cry with those I feel comfortable crying with. I grieve. I don’t think that will ever stop.

On a completely different note, and it may seem insubstantial, but it means a shit ton to me, is I finally get to see who the fuck Boyd is. All this time and the mysterious Boyd is revealed. It takes a few months, not until spring and the world begins to warm up, but I finally see him.

Who is that with Stinkler? I write as I sit with Greta on the porch of one of the campus buildings.

We can hear the far off sounds of hammers and equipment getting a protective wall in place. Charlie is out there overseeing that since I can’t. Not that I’d be much help. Whatever damage has been done to my brain is not healing. I’m slipping away fast. A lot faster than I will admit to anyone.

“That’s Boyd,” Greta frowns. “And don’t call Jimmy ‘Stinkler’. It’s mean.”

I don’t like the guy.

“Why?”

Because.

“Because you think he wants to get in my pants?” Greta laughs.

Yeah.

She laughs harder and I start to get mad as Stinkler and Boyd walk by. My legs don’t work for shit anymore, but damned if I won’t get off this porch and go kick that guy’s ass.

Then as they are about a block away Stinkler grabs Boyd in an embrace and they kiss.

Greta laughs even harder at the look on my face.

Fuck you.

“You are so damn cute,” she says.

Fuck you again.

She gets up and stretches then heads for the front door. Right now we’re all in dorms. We have individual rooms since there is plenty of space, but it’s still living in dorms. Eventually we’ll have our own houses once we get the area secured. But for now we’ve learned to figure it all out.

“I’m going to take a nap before the work crews get back. You staying out here?”

I pat the stack of notebooks next to me.

“Going to start on those journals?”

I nod.

“Okay. I guess someone has to write it all down and tell what has happened to us. Promise me you’ll make Mom the hero, okay?”

I nod again.

“I’m going to read those, so you better keep your promise.”

I frown and flip her off.

“Love you too, Daddy.”

***

I try to write for hours and hours, ignoring Greta and Charlie when they come to tell me it’s time to turn in, but the words won’t come. Someone finally leaves me a light and I think there are guards posted as I stare at the blank paper. I search my mind for everything we’ve been through, but it’s just a blank.

No, that’s not true. It’s a blur. It’s like I need to twist it into focus except I don’t know how. Frustrating as fuck, is what it is.

“Come on,” Greta says as she finally puts a stop to my useless staring and helps me inside. We walk slowly down the hall to my room, waving and nodding at folks as they go about their night routines.

It’s a nice room. On the first floor with my own bathroom and everything. I think it may have been the RA’s room way back when the dorm actually housed students.

It doesn’t take long for me to drift off to sleep.

It doesn’t take long to wake up either when I feel someone’s presence in my bedroom.

“Hello?” I say, but know the words mean nothing.

“Hello,” Elsbeth says.

I switch on a light and stare at her. She looks rough. She’s coated in dirt and grime and there are wounds, fresh and old, up and down her arms. I grab my pad and start writing.

Where the fuck have you been?

“Hunting,” she says.

For what?

“Don’t you see?”

That’s when I hear the muffled sounds of kicking and thrashing. I had thought it was the wind in the trees outside the dorm.

Is that who I think it is?

I look at the squirming bag by her feet. It’s a big bag. A human-sized bag.

“Yes.”

We stare at each other for a couple of minutes.

Then let’s do this.

“Good,” Elsbeth says and smiles.

We need Greta and Charlie.

“Yes, we do,” Elsbeth says.

She disappears quickly and is back even quicker with both of my kids hurrying behind her. Charlie locks the door as Greta stands over the bag. No one says a word as Elsbeth drags the bag into my bathroom and throws it into the shower stall.

To her credit, when Elsbeth pulls the bag down and we see Cassie’s face, the woman looks as defiant as ever. She glares at us and doesn’t even try to scream or curse us around the considerable gag El has jammed in her mouth.

“Who goes first?” Elsbeth asks as she pulls one of her blades and holds it out.

My kids look at me.

I nod to Greta.

She takes the blade and walks over. Without any hesitation, she stabs the woman in the gut. Cassie doubles over as Greta yanks the blade free then hands it to Charlie. He moves forward, not missing a beat, and stabs her in the gut too. Blood pours everywhere. Good thing the bitch is in the shower.

“Jace,” Elsbeth says as Charlie hands the blade to her.

I furrow my brow.

“I already done and said what I need to,” Elsbeth replies to my confusion. “You finish this.”

I nod and take the blade. I limp over to the shower and look down at the mortally wounded woman. A part of me doesn’t want to stab her. I want her to suffer. I want her to sit here for days and bleed out. But I know that can’t happen.

Where would I shower?

I put the tip of the blade under Cassie’s chin and lift it up. She stares at me, but I do nothing. When her defiant eyes finally turn to fear, I shove the blade through her throat and yank to the side. Blood spurts against the shower walls and I step back to avoid any spray.

We all stand there and watch, waiting until the last spurt is done and we know the bitch is dead.

Then we leave the bathroom and grab each other, hugging and holding on for dear life as we all cry and weep. We are like that for hours, until the sun comes up. Elsbeth tries to apologize for letting Cassie live when she could have killed her back in the Barnes and Noble. We tell her to fuck off because it’s not her fault.

Finally, the kids leave, taking whatever peace they can with them after the night’s events.

Is it over?

“I don’t know,” Elsbeth says. “I haven’t found Kramer.”

You will.

“How do you know?”

Because you’re a Stanford and we never quit.

She puts her head on my shoulder as we sit on my bed and watch the sun come up out my window. At some point I lie down and go to sleep. When I wake up, Elsbeth is gone. I don’t worry about where she is because I know she’ll be around.

***

Elsbeth and I sit together a lot when she’s home. We hang out on the porch every afternoon, the torturous stack of empty notebooks by my side. Silence is our thing. Elsbeth excels at it and I am learning. But that enigmatic silence is easy for her. For me?

I’m about to lose what little mind I have left.

Elsbeth finally sighs. “Here.”

I look at her and she’s holding out a piece of paper. I frown, but she shoves it at me.

I take it, unfold it, read it, and the world is back.

It says:blowfish carton toes.

My conditioning trigger words.

The blur whips into focus almost immediately and I cry out as memories flood back. They aren’t easy memories. There is plenty of pain, but it’s pain I embrace. It’s my fucking pain.

She smiles at me and stands up, kissing me on the forehead.

“Do what you do best, Long Pork,” Elsbeth says. “Tell our stories.”

She’s gone and I stare at the stack of notebooks.

I grab one up, open it, and set my pencil on the first line. It takes me a while to figure out where to start, but after a few minutes I know exactly how it begins.

People that move to a subdivision do so for only a couple of reasons. Ours were price and location. Great price for the size of the house and great location since it was just on the edge of Asheville, NC, down by the French Broad River. Once the dead began to walk the earth, the price didn’t matter so much anymore. It was all about location.

Chapter Twelve

She set the notebook aside and looked at the faces of the children seated before her.

“That’s it?” a girl asked. “What the hell happened to Jace? Did he live a long time?”

“He lived long enough to write these,” the old woman said as she patted the stack of carefully laminated notebooks next to her. “But it wasn’t easy for him. His mind fell apart fast. He wrote day and night for weeks to get it all down. Sometimes he wouldn’t eat, sometimes he would fall asleep in mid-sentence. It took a lot of people to keep him alive until he was done.”

“Then what?” the girl asked. “Did he just croak?”

The old woman laughed. “Jace Stanford just croak? Hardly. He knew when it was time and he wrote down his goodbyes. Then the son of a bitch walked out past the wall being built, sat down in the middle of a field, and started clanging pots and pans together until some Zs found him.”

“Wow,” a few of the kids said.

“He let them eat him?” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “What a weak way to go.”

“No, he would never let them eat him,” the old woman said. “He waited until a bunch were close then he pulled the pins from the grenades on his chest and started laughing.”

“How do you know?” the girl asked, not believing a word of it.

“Because I was there,” the old woman said. “I found his goodbye note and I ran as fast as I could, hoping to catch him in time. I got there just as the grenades went off.”

The old woman touched a scar on her cheek.

“Got this when that damn spike of his he kept strapped to Stumpageddon went flying by,” she frowned. “Asshole.”

“Did he ever speak again?” another girl asked.

“He did,” the old woman smirked. “Right at the end.”

“What did he say?”

The old woman shook her head back and forth, a sly grin on her face.

“He held his hand up in the air and shouted ‘STELLA!’. Smart ass son of a bitch.”

“Granny G?” a boy asked. “Was Jace your papa?”

“He was,” Granny G smiled. “And he was the best Papa a girl could have ever asked for in the zombie apocalypse.”

“Granny G?” the boy asked again. “What happened to Charlie Big Thinks?”

“Oh, sweetheart, he helped build this place, you know that,” Granny G replied. “He built that wall up nice and strong and he designed the trolleys and everything.”

“But how did he die?” the boy asked. “No one ever says how he died.”

Granny G leaned forward and all the kids in the circle leaned in too.

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait to find out,” Granny G laughed.

“There’s more?” the first girl asked. “More stories?”

“Of course, sweet thing,” Granny G smiled. “Jace Stanford wasn’t the only fool that knew how to use a pencil and paper. Next week I’ll get out the journals the sisters brought home.”

“Even the Great El’s journals?” a different girl asked, her eyes bright and excited.

“Oh, especially the Great El’s journals,” Granny G said then flapped her hands at the circle of children. “Now git. I’m tired and I have to pee.”

The children laughed at that as they jumped up, their young muscles springy and full of energy. They took off running from the grassy spot under the giant fir tree. Granny G watched them go, another batch of children that knew only life after Z-Day. She sighed as she thought about what it was like way back when, back in Whispering Pines, before the undead rose and came after them all.

She was startled awake by a gentle shake of her shoulder. The sky was purple as dusk came on and the stars started to twinkle in the Colorado sky.

“Granny G?” a young woman asked. “Do you want some help back to your house?”

“No, child, I got it,” Granny G said. “I can walk there myself. Got my cane and everything.”

“You sure? It’s getting dark and I don’t want you to fall,” the young woman said.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Granny G said. “But I’ve made it this far in life. If something as simple as a fall kills me then I’ll gladly take it. That would be a blessing considering all I’ve been through.”

“Okay,” the young woman said and nodded in the dusk light. “But I’ll stay here and make sure you get up your steps, okay? I can see your house from here.”

“That’s kind of you,” Granny G said as she slowly got out of the chair and reached for her cane.

The young woman handed it to her and Granny G gave her that smile that everyone in the Stronghold knew so well. Granny G took a deep breath and started off for her house. She waved to the young woman once she reached her porch and the woman waved back, but she didn’t stop watching as Granny G climbed the three steps.

Glad to be inside the cool house and away from the always watchful eyes of the people of the Stronghold, Granny G made her way back to her bedroom. She didn’t bother stopping off at the bathroom, she knew she’d have to wake up in the middle of the night anyway to pee. No, she walked herself right to her bed and got undressed.

She climbed in then reached over and pulled at the head of the cane, making sure the blade would slide easily out if she needed it. She set it close at hand, for sure it was within reach if something woke her up. Something she didn’t want to wake her up. There hadn’t been a breach of the wall in decades, but that didn’t mean she was willing to get soft.

It didn’t take her long to drift off to sleep.

It didn’t take her long to wake up either when she felt the woman’s presence in her bedroom.

“Come to bring me another journal?” Granny G asked. She didn’t need to light the candle by her bed. She knew who it was.

“Yes,” the woman replied. “I set it on the kitchen table.”

“It would be nice if you came to see me in the daytime, you know?” Granny G said. It was the same thing she said every time. “Getting to see a familiar face would do these old bones some good.”

“My face isn’t so familiar these days,” the woman chuckled, “I have quite a few more scars than the last time I came by.”

“Don’t we all, sweetheart. Don’t we all,” Granny G sighed. She waited a few minutes then asked the question she hated to ask. “How many are left?”

“Two,” the woman said. “ Just the two of us now.”

“Who?”

“Marcie.”

“That’s good,” Granny G sighed. “She deserves a long life. Especially after…”

“She thinks she deserves a short life,” the woman replied. “It’s hard for her some days.”

“Hard for us all,” Granny G said then asked what she always asked. “You find him yet?”

“No,” the woman replied.

“He was old way back then,” Granny G said. “He’s dust by now.”

“I know,” the woman replied. “But I have to know for sure.”

“Are you and your sister going to come back to your family finally?” Granny G asked, very awake despite the late hour. Her old eyes strained to see the woman in the dark room, but age conspired against her. “Are you two finally going to end this?”

“There is no end to this,” the woman whispered. “We can’t come back. Not now. It’s been too long and people will talk.”

“Dammit, El!” Granny G nearly shouted, but managed to keep her voice under control. “You barely look a day older than when you left. There’s no way they’ll know who you are.”

“That’s not true, G,” Elsbeth laughed. “I look a lot older. Just not as old as I should. And they’ll know.”

“Stay,” Granny G said. “I need you to.”

“Why?”

“Because my days have gotten as hard as they can,” Granny G said. “It’ll be time soon and I don’t want to be alone.”

“You can’t ever be alone,” Elsbeth smiled in the dark. She climbed into the bed with Granny G. “You’re a Stanford and Stanfords always have family.”

“Not like you,” Granny G said and leaned in to the woman. “Never like you, El.”

Elsbeth nodded and waited until Granny G fell back asleep.

Elsbeth didn’t exactly stay and she didn’t exactly leave. She waited until the night came and then she slipped inside Granny G’s house, crawled into bed, and held the old woman in her arms.

It wasn’t that night, it wasn’t that week, but eventually Granny G just didn’t wake up. Elsbeth was there. She gripped the hand, feeling the life leave it. There were tears, many tears.

When the dawn light broke through the window, lighting on Granny G’s still serene face, Elsbeth kissed her brow and slipped silently out of the house, out of the Stronghold, out of a life she had been blessed to ever have.

She got to be a Stanford and there could have been no greater wish, no greater life.

No greater family.

The End

Read on for a free sample of Euphoria Z

Author’s Note

Don’t cry! This isn’t the end!

Well, yeah, it is, but only of this part of the story. You can find out more of what happens to the folks in the Stronghold (and what the Stronghold actually is) in myDead Team Alphaseries. And you can find out how the world survives all this in my Apex Trilogy which begins withDead Mech.

You can probably guess I have left some room for more stories, more novels, more blood and guts and gore and snark. Don’t forget, like Granny G said, “Next week I’ll get out the journals the sisters brought home.”

Oh, yeah, there will be more to come!

Now, before I go, I want to say thank you to all of my readers and the fans of Z-Burbia. This series has been a blast to write and I couldn’t have done it without the support of all of you. Rock on!

Cheers,

Jake

6/26/2015

Author Bio:

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror and sci/fi tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Mega series for Severed Press, as well as the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

One year ago…

“We are coming for you, you bastard!” The shout echoed through the forest. They’d been stalking him and now they were very close, but only because he’d allowed it.

Cooper had decided when and where to make his stand. He remained calm, waiting patiently for them to come to him. He slowed his breathing and remained perfectly still.

They were hunting him in one big group, all eight of them, trying to scare him and flush him out. But he knew they were scared of him. He could hear it in their voices—the tense whispers, the angry orders.

Do they really think I’m dumb enough to face all of them at once? He was going to do this Rambo-style and pick them off one by one.

“We know where you are, man!” A different voice, closer to him.

Know where I am? So ridiculous, he thought. One of his hunters fired a few shots.

“Save your fucking ammo!” the leader screamed.

Cooper hugged his gun close to his chest, vertically so his body hid it from view, and pressed his back against the giant tree. He was deep in a primordial forest. The waterfalls, colossal fir trees, large ferns, and moss-covered rocks were beautiful but also made for excellent concealment.

Sweat trickled down his back and legs. Something tickled his neck, but he ignored it, hoping it wasn’t a biting insect. The coarse bark clung to his gear. A movement to his right caught his eye, but he remained as still as death hidden between two large ferns.

His heart raced. Eight to one odds were insane, but he was determined to walk away from this alive. He let one enemy pass him by, then another, and then two more.

The attack stunned them. He dropped three of them before they could even figure out where he was. The fourth made an attempt to return fire but took one square to the chest for his valor.

Cooper halved their group in seconds and was sheltered from the other half by the giant tree. He smiled as the remaining four panicked.

“Get back here, damn it! He’s right there!”

Cooper heard at least two of them running away and chuckled. If he’s yelling at them, he’s not looking for me, he thought. He leaned out and took a quick shot. He hit the faceplate of the leader’s helmet. He was actually aiming for the center of mass, but a headshot made him look way cooler.

“Fuck!” The teenager pulled his helmet off so he could watch the rest of the battle. He was amazed and a little frustrated. Cooper always won at paintball, but this was ridiculous. Eight to one. Unbelievable. He would have accused him of cheating if there had been even a remote possibility that Cooper could’ve cheated.

“Come on, he’s right behind that tree.”

“You are dead, Harlan,” Cooper said calmly.

“I’m a zombie.”

“Zombies can’t talk.” Cooper smiled. He could hear the other two trying to circle around and flank him. There was one more behind him and to his right, unless Norman had learned to fly. Norman was incapable of walking silently.

“Rush him, Fatty!” Harlan yelled.

“He’s going to shoot me,” Norman whined.

“Not if you shoot him first.”

Cooper hated that everyone called Norman Fatty. It was just mean. Everyone got along, but kids could still be immature and cruel.

“Norman, is your gun pointed at me?” Cooper spoke to the trees, making his voice sound as if it came from everywhere.

“Um, no.”

“It should be. Aim it right at the tree. If I come out from either side, you can easily shoot me.”

“You won’t be mad?”

Jeez, Norman, he thought. “I’ll be dead! You’re a great shot. Just because you can’t walk ten feet without resting doesn’t mean you can’t win this.” Cooper smiled. He liked to dig at Norman sometimes, but both of them knew it wasn’t ever to be cruel.

“Ha, ha.” Norman raised his gun and zeroed in on the tree. He knew Cooper would help him, but he wouldn’t hand him the victory. Cooper would do his best to win, and he probably would. Norman actually felt scared.

“Don’t forget…wait.” Cooper fired and hit one of the stalkers that had gotten too close. The other stalker hung back, far back, and took a few blind shots at him.

A paintball zoomed over Norman’s head. “Hey, friendly fire! Watch it!”

A faint “sorry” came from the distant undergrowth.

“Norman, don’t forget to take cover,” Cooper coached him.

Norman stepped a few feet over and behind a thin young pine.

The dead leader guffawed, “You need a tree a shitload bigger than that, Norm.”

“Shut up,” Norman said, but even he saw the humor in it—he was easily four times wider than the tree.

“You look like an elephant hiding behind a stop sign.” Harlan was his own biggest fan and laughed the hardest at his own jokes.

“At least my nose doesn’t look like a penis,” Norman chuckled. He’d been waiting days to use that one. He knew Harlan was sensitive about his nose. That shut him up.

Cooper was smiling too. Harlan could be such an idiot.

The second stalker suddenly charged, firing blindly. Cooper watched calmly as paintballs hit everywhere but near him. The stalker ran out of ammo about thirty feet from Cooper.

“Oh shit.” He threw himself to the ground dramatically. Then, “Ow.”

Everyone chuckled at that.

Cooper walked quietly toward the stalker, keeping the tree between him and Norman. The stalker was frantically trying to pour more paintballs into the hopper of his gun when Cooper appeared before him. The failed reloader slumped in resignation.

Cooper squatted, placed the barrel of his gun a foot from the stalker’s chest, and whispered, “I will make this quick and painless.”

“OK.”

“Any last words?” he asked.

“Come on, just do it.”

“Would you like to leave a message for your loved ones?”

“C’mon, dick, shoot me.”

Cooper fired and skulked back to the tree.

“It’s just you and me now, Norman. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, bring it on.” He tried to sound confident, but his voice cracked.

“Are you sure? What side of the tree will I come from? Am I still behind the tree? Maybe I’m behind you.”

Norman wanted to turn his head to look, but he knew Cooper was just trying to mess with his mind. He kept his eyes locked on the tree about three feet above the ground. He saw movement to one side and ducked as a paintball whizzed past him.

“Good eye, Norm!” Harlan yelled.

Norman looked back where he’d just seen Cooper. He scanned the area, no sign of him. He was startled as a loud thwack made his chest plate jump. A green splat appeared right over his heart. He was amazed to see that Cooper had managed to move several yards away from where he had been, completely undetected.

“Aw, man.” Norman acted disappointed, but he was actually elated. He’d never come this close to winning at paintball, which was a huge deal when Cooper was stalking you.

“Well, well, well.” Cooper strutted up to Harlan as the rest of the group joined them. “I think someone owes me a pizza.”

They pulled off their helmets and removed various pieces of plastic armor as they headed toward the long road that took them deep into the national forest. They laughed and joked, having a typical carefree day, as they tossed their gear in the vehicles. Later that evening they would meet at the beach and build a fire.

In a few weeks, Cooper would start his senior year, but he was already looking forward to college. He would miss these times, but he also couldn’t wait to get away from the small town and out into the world.

But he would never make it to college. Almost one year from the day he would face real killers using real guns, and he would again be alone.

Nine months ago…

“All I’m saying is I don’t want to walk in there with my dick in my hand,” General Mason Schaumberg growled. He towered over a small brown woman in a lab coat by at least a foot. He stood well within her personal space.

“At least you wouldn’t have much to carry.” Dr. Sarin smiled and held her ground. Dr. Aimee Sarin was of Indian descent but was a third-generation American. She held a PhD in astrophysics and wasn’t fazed by the macho asshole act—it was actually cute when he tried it.

The general smiled. “So that’s a yes? You are sure these calculations are correct?”

The doctor just rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”

The general and the doctor, that’s what they called each other, even outside of work. They’d worked together for the last two years and had started dating just over a year ago. Dr. Sarin was in charge of Seeker, a telescope on the dark side of the moon that fewer than fifty people knew existed. General Schaumberg was in charge of Dr. Sarin—at least on the job, and even that was iffy.

Seeker was far more powerful than any telescope ever built, and she was in charge of it, which put her in the position of being the first person in the world to know a potentially devastating asteroid was heading toward Earth—even before the US Congress knew who funded the project.

“And you’re not coming in with me?” the general asked, knowing the answer.

She hated these briefings and today had a legitimate reason not to attend. “I am sure you can handle speaking to a room full of men that could destroy your career with a phone call.” She smiled at her dig.

“You always have a way of making me feel better, thanks.” He saluted her with a smirk as he walked toward the briefing room.

Normally, she would be at a briefing of this importance, but she had more work to do on the calculations. It was too early to be 100 percent certain the asteroid would hit, but there was a strong chance it was going to. She hoped she was wrong.

She had been excited when she was selected to lead the team that operated the secret telescope. She was blown away by how powerful it was. But once she saw the actual number of objects in space that posed a significant threat to the earth, she started drinking after work so she could sleep. Within months she was very close to destroying her career. The general had helped her get back on track, and a relationship developed.

It still bothered her that the public was told they were safe from asteroid impacts, but it would be too upsetting for most people to deal with the truth. In this case, ignorance was bliss. But worst of all was that even she with the powerful telescope didn’t know of every object hurdling through space with Earth’s name on it.

She watched the general enter the briefing chamber, confident as always, and felt a twinge of guilt that she was so happy it was him and not her. I’ll make it up to him with dinner. I might even watch that moronic show about the motorcycle gang and pretend to like it, she thought.

Three months ago…

The general and the doctor were in the back of the pressroom doing something they never did at work: they held hands. When he squeezed, her fingers mashed against the engagement ring, and she shook her hand so he would ease up.

A hush fell over the room as the president of the United States stepped up to the podium, holding a single sheet of paper.

“Hello. I am here tonight because I want to deliver this news to you personally. As I speak, this information is being released to governments and the media worldwide for the purpose of preventing needless panic. Everything will be OK. I must reiterate that everything is, and will be, fine.

“There is an asteroid headed for us, ‘us’ meaning the Earth. It will hit the city of Ufa in Russia. This city will be obliterated. But…”

“Wait a minute!” A reporter jumped to his feet shouting, “You lied about Ufa? How long have you known about this asteroid?” There was an angry murmur swelling among the other reporters.

An older woman stood. “So it wasn’t a stockpile of bio weapons too large and dangerous to move. You lied to our faces. How dare you?”

The president motioned, and two Secret Service agents moved quickly to remove the reporter. She resisted them as others began to stand and shout questions.

The president shouted, “Sit down! Sit down now or I will empty this room!” No one responded. Things were chaotic enough that the Secret Service took the president away.

The general scowled. These idiots are more upset at being kept out of the loop than to hear what message the president of the United States has to deliver.

One reporter stood on a chair and started shouting. A Secret Service agent tased him. He hit the ground, and two agents flipped him and cuffed him. This sent a clear message that they meant business. The other reporters quieted down and began filing out of the room.

Once the room was calm, a handful of reporters were brought back in. The president addressed them, but the damage had been done. The press had already decided to make things as chaotic and hard to manage as possible. They were going to teach the government a lesson for cutting them out of the loop. They didn’t care that the worldwide panic they whipped up led to great losses, damages, and even suicides and murders.

§

“Those assholes.” The general was tired of watching the press act like children. They were reporting that the asteroid would cause global devastation and the extinction of mankind. He leaned against the kitchen counter, too pissed off to eat the sandwich he had just made.

The doctor had to agree. “They’re even playing footage from disaster movies, can you believe that? Honestly, I always thought we should tell the world as soon as we knew, but this reaction is criminal.”

“I know.” The general was looking at the sandwich. He and the doctor had had a few heated discussions about the situation. He was torn; she was steadfast that they should have told the world sooner than later.

She had just finished a jog and was sipping on a bottle of water. “It does seem that most people are getting the facts and behaving normally. I think in the long run things are going to be OK.”

“Yeah, sure, but the damage that’s being done… You’ve heard the stories—people are destroying their lives and careers, even killing people based on what the press is doing.”

She hated to see the general this angry and leaned against him. “In a few weeks everything will be back to normal.”

“For most people.” He bit into the sandwich, tasting nothing, as he was too annoyed and distracted.

“Well, for us anyway.” She tried to soothe him with reassurances.

He hugged her back, smelled her hair, and forgot all the bullshit that had just been filling his mind.

“Definitely for us.” He kissed her head. “We are going to be better than ever.”

But he was wrong. They would both be dead in a matter of weeks.

§

The day came, and the world held its breath. The asteroid entered the atmosphere and headed toward Eastern Europe—and that was it. There was a worldwide air of disappointment. The impact wasn’t evident to most people on Earth.

But, as people around the world settled down and began to put their lives back together, a group of nine men set a plan in motion. Their plan would cause an actual devastating global catastrophe.

Euphoria Z is available from Amazon here