Z-Burbia 4: Cannibal Road
Date: 2021-07-07 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: General; Horror; Zombies; Science Fiction; Fiction; Satire; Black Humor; Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic; Humorous
Description: Forced out of Asheville, Jace Stanford’s family, along with a convoy of suburbanites, misfits, criminals, and soldiers, must battle their way through the I-40 corridor of Eastern Tennessee. When they are separated from their friends and allies in Knoxville, the Stanfords have to rely on their skills as post-apocalyptic survivors to fight off the Zs, insane Vols fans, homicidal sorority girls, and the most deadly of the post-apocalyptic threats- cannibal gangs!No longer are the Stanfords trying to survive day by day, but hour by hour and minute by minute, as they flee Z-Burbia and race through
Publisher: Jake Bible Fiction

Z-Burbia 4

Cannibal Road

Jake Bible

Copyright 2014 by Jake Bible

Chapter One

They call me Long Pork.

I wish they wouldn’t since my name is Jason Stanford and I really prefer to be called Jace. But, hey, you can’t pick your shitty nicknames, can ya?

Do you know why my nickname is shitty? To answer that, let me ask another question.

Do you know what long pork is? Human meat, man. Yep. My nickname is a cannibal entree.

Awesome.

You know what else is awesome? The fact that a few dozen fucking cannies are chasing my family and me right now as they scream, “LOOOOOOOOONNNNGGGGGG POOOOORRRRRRRRRK!”

Uber awesome.

Now, let me expand on that uber awesome uber more and explain the whole uber situation:

We are escaping the hellish nightmare of a cannibal compound in an old, open top, Ford Bronco. Like one of the big ones. All roll cage and loud muffler and shit.

In the back of the Bronco are my wife, Stella, and fourteen year old daughter, Greta. Notice I said “back” and not “backseat”? Yeah, there’s no backseat. The cannies ripped it out so they can stand in the back of the Bronco and whoop and holler as they chase down their prey. How very post-apocalyptically clichéd. They also need the room for the bodies once they catch their prey. Gross, but efficient.

We are lucky even to be in this Bronco. It’s not like we had a complicated plan to get away.  All I can say is there were pink bracelets involved. It all sort of happened at once and then there we were on the fucking road again, running for our lives. Again.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I’m very happy to have this Bronco, because now we can get the holy fuck away from the crazy cannies and keep our skin intact. Seriously. We want our skin to stay on our bodies. Unfortunately, as I was told only moments before escaping, that wasn’t part of the canny master plan. Their boss was going to have his crew full on exfoliate me down to the bone. I’m sure they were going to do the same to my family. Why wouldn’t they? Pretty sure cannies are equal opportunity skinners.

Okay, so you know who is in the back (recap: Stella and Greta). Up front is where I’m sitting with my seventeen year old son, Charlie. I’m driving and he’s shifting. Why? Because Charlie’s still pretty messed up from getting a hunk of helicopter to the chest and doesn’t have the strength to drive the way we need to. Plus, he took a hard knock to the head only a day before by a canny with a steel rod. Oh, and I have no right arm and can’t shift. So there’s that.

I’m driving, as in steering and controlling the gas pedal, brake, and clutch. Charlie moves the stick when I tell him to. It is far from an ideal situation, but you make do when you have two pickup trucks filled with cannies on your ass.

“Jace!” Stella screams. “We can’t outrun them! Look at the gas gauge!”

I glance down, just after swerving around the burnt out husk of an old VW beetle, and see the gas tank needle aiming towards empty. Not that it’s actually “gasoline” in the Bronco. Probably diesel since that’s easier to make and it keeps longer. We’ve found out the hard way what old, bad gasoline does to an engine. Biodiesel is the fuel of the future, folks! Buy stock!

“Then I’ll have to outdrive them!” I yell back at Stella as she and Greta hang on for their lives. “Downshift to second!”

I hit the clutch and let off the gas as Charlie shifts the stick into second. It gives me the control and grab I need to take a hard left and get us off the main road from Canny Town. Not that it’s actually called Canny Town, I just came up with the name. Making up stupid names is a good way to pass the time and keep from pissing myself.

So, hard left turn and we are off the main road and zipping through a side street that used to be some residential neighborhood. I actually have no idea where we are, other than between Knoxville and Nashville, Tennessee, so I can’t say much about the residential neighborhood other than if they have an HOA then somebody needs to hand out citations for the lack of lawn maintenance. Nothing but weeds, man! That wouldn’t fly in Whispering Pines, I can tell you that.

Ah, yes, good ol’ Whispering Pines.

That was the subdivision we lived in when the zombie apocalypse hit. Turned out not to be such a bad place to hole up in when a few thousand zombies come looking for a snack.

With the other residents of Whispering Pines (by other residents, I mean those that lived past the first couple weeks of zombie hell), we fortified the whole subdivision with razor wire and trenches. We even built a huge gate across the front to keep the Zs out...as well as other less than savory elements that wanted to take our shit and kill our families during the apocalypse.

The Homeowners’ Association (HOA) was run by Brenda Kelly before it all went to ten kinds of hell. Long story short: bad guys kept showing up and our little slice of Americana turned into a scorched nightmare and then a radioactive wasteland. And Brenda Kelly died...but she was an evil bitch and kinda deserved it. Okay, that’s not 100% accurate- shetotally deserved to die, no kinda about it.

That little slice of Americana I mentioned was called Asheville, North Carolina. Tucked away in the Blue Ridge Mountains, Asheville was known for being a vacation destination pre-Z. Post-Z? Not so much. Unless you were an egomaniacal madman or zombie herd. They were totally about hitting Asheville for the weekend to kill all the living folk. Fucking tourists.

We tried to rebuild, but outside elements weren’t too keen on that idea and kept getting all, “We have big guns and helicopters! Bang bang! Pew pew! KABOOM!” and shit. The last straw was when a dirty bomb went off -that means a shit ton of explosives wrapped around spent uranium- and tainted the entire area.

We had to hightail it out of there right quick.

Who is we?

Well, after Knoxville, I’m not so sure anymore.

I’ve mentioned Stella and the kids, but there were also a bunch of other survivors.

James “Don’t Call me Jimmy” Stuart was with us. Retired Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines, Stuart is (was?) my best friend and has saved my ass more times than I’d like to say. He’ll be happy to say them, if you ask. He likes talking about my fuck ups. Stuart was head of our defenses at Whispering Pines, but now (maybe?) he’s just head of ass kicking.

Melissa Billings was in charge of our supply scavengers. Her crew would venture outside the safety of Whispering Pines (ha!) and get us what we needed. Or at least try to.

Her brothers -Buzz, Gunga, Toad, Pup, Porky and Scoot- were with us as well when we left Asheville. They made it through Knoxville, but then I lost track of them after the canny ambush. Except for Scoot. I know what happened to Scoot...

There was also Medical Sergeant Alex “Reaper” Stillwater and Weapons Sergeant Sammy “John” Baptiste from the Special Forces Team ODA Cobra. At one point, there were more of them, but like with most folks that end up hanging around me for any period of time, they bit it. At least we have Reaper and John with us. Or did. No clue where those two went. I lost track when we hit the first wave of ambushy fun.

Lourdes Torres. She is in charge of the PCs (private military contractors) that came down to take over our fair city of Asheville with the impostor POTUS Mondello. Mondello didn’t turn out to be the sanest of leaders and ended up kinda dead, which is how I lost my right arm. Long, painful story. Anyhoo, Lourdes signed on to help us out, and lost a shit ton of her people doing it, but none of that matters since I don’t know where she is or where her people are.

Kinda wish I did since they have all the guns. More awesome.

Who am I leaving out?

Dr. Laura McCormick. Used to be a proctologist pre-Z, but (see what I did there?) specialties are irrelevant in the zombie apocalypse.

Critter. Good, old Critter. He’s Melissa’s and the Fitzpatrick boys’ uncle. Brother to their late father, Hollis “Big Daddy” Fitzpatrick. While he’s a good guy, let’s just say that Critter’s moral and ethical lines are blurred a little more than most of ours. But the guy has had my back a few times, so I’ll always count him in the ally column.

There is a ton more people that I have no clue as to their whereabouts, but the one I’m thinking of the most is Elsbeth.

Carly Michelle Thornberg in a previous life -one that ended up fucked all to hell even pre-Z- Elsbeth became Elsbeth when she was taken captive by Pa. Not sure what that sick, perverted cannibal’s real name was, but Elsbeth called him Pa. Those two took me hostage, and were going to eat me, when Stuart saved my ass. Elsbeth bailed and I didn’t see her again until I got separated from Stuart and she saved my ass as well.

Notice a theme? Yeah, my ass needs saving. A lot.

Elsbeth sorta got adopted by us Stanfords, and we took her in and have spent a long time curbing her more wild ways. Not that we work too hard at that since Elsbeth has a certain skill set with the killing that keeps us all alive.

Which brings up Dr. Kramer. But I really don’t want to talk about that crazy fucking asshole. I could go the rest of my life without even hearing that cocksucker’s name again.

With that said, I think that brings us up to speed on the cast of characters in my life. Unfortunately, the only ones with me are my immediate family. The rest are offstage dealing with whatever they-.

“JACE!” Stella yells. “Watch it!”

I swerve around a pile of furniture that has been set in the middle of the road. Why is it in the road? No clue. A couch, two chairs, a coffee table- all just stacked up for no reason. Weird.

“Sorry!” I shout back at Stella.

“Now is not the time to space off!” she shouts back. “Pay attention!”

She’s right, now is not the time to space off. Thoughts come and go and most of the time I can ignore them. The problem is that sometimes I just can’t control it. There was this one time where…

“DAD!” Greta and Charlie yell at me.

“Sorry!” I yell back. “Downshift!”

I whip the wheel to the left again and try to coordinate the clutch with Charlie’s shifting, but we grind the fuck out of the gears before we get it figured out and lose some precious distance between us and the cannies. Their shouts and calls are even louder now and I risk a glance in the rearview mirror.

They’re laughing at us.

The pickup trucks are a hodgepodge of parts and colors. They’ve scavenged bits and pieces from all kinds of makes and models and just slapped them all together to make some ugly ass vehicles. I have to give the cannies credit- they sure know how to keep up with the whole post-apocalyptic aesthetic.

I mean, look at how they are dressed. It’s early fall and the air has started to turn, yet the fuckers are going around in ripped jeans, cargo pants, overalls without any shirts on. All the scars and tattoos must be what keep them all warm as we race through the night air. Of course, it could be the cozy embrace of their insanity that’s keeping them all toasty. I’m not up on my cannibal thermodynamics and shit.

The one good thing I can say about these particular cannibals is they don’t have firearms. Apparently they done runned out of bullets, y’all. Which is strange since this is rural Tennessee. You’d think they would have found several dozen stockpiles in these tract houses we are zooming past. Either they didn’t look or they went through their bullets fast. Doesn’t matter to me, really. I prefer them to be waving spiked baseball bats and axes rather than shooting AR-15s and shit.

“Open stretch!” I call out as we come around a corner and I see a straightaway that lasts a few blocks. No cars, no weird piles of furniture, nothing to get in our way. All I see is open road and I floor it. “Gimme third, Charlie!”

We shift into third gear, then into fourth as I press the accelerator down as far as it will go. The engine coughs a little, probably due to whatever fuel they have in this thing, but we quickly increase our speed until the speedometer says we are going sixty.

I can feel Stella’s eyes on the gas gauge. I try not to look down at it, but I am painfully aware of how little time we have until the chase is done. Some opportunity better present itself soon or we’ll just end up coasting to a stop on this road, which has suddenly stopped being residential and is now an open rural highway, and I don’t think any of us have the energy to try to outrun our pursuers.

“Quarry!” Greta yells as she points towards a sign on our right. “Maybe we can lose them there!”

“Worth a shot!” I yell. “Downshift!”

More grinding of gears, and I almost lose control with my one arm, but we take the turn and find ourselves on an old gravel road that splits through a small pine forest. I don’t think anyone had maintained the road even before Z-Day. There are more ruts and potholes than actual road and I seriously have to wonder if even the Bronco can make it. We are jarred and jostled to the point that I’m staying in my seat only because I’m gripping the steering wheel.

Did I mention that the cannies yanked the seat belts out of all their vehicles? I’m guessing they live by a libertarian ethos more than a safety first lifestyle. Ain’t nobody gonna tell them to wear their seat belts in the apocalypse! No, sir!

Bump, bam, whack and many other none too pleasing sounds come from under the Bronco. Some of those sounds are very similar to metal grinding on metal. And I’m not talking about the grinding from the transmission as Charlie and I tag team the fuck out of the gearshift. The Bronco is not sounding good as we continue the pattern of slamming into the road and then catching air as we bounce our way down the gravel road more than actually drive down it.

At this rate, I distinctly believe that I’m going to snap an axle before we run out of fuel.

“Oh, shit!” Stella yells as the Bronco sputters and dies. “We’re empty!”

So much for my prediction.

I yank the wheel to the side so that the Bronco blocks the “road.” We all scramble out and start running as fast as our weakened bodies can. The cannies haven’t exactly kept us in an environment conducive to our health and well being. And before that, we were fighting for our lives so much that rest and proper nourishment weren’t exactly falling from the sky. No timeouts in the apocalypse!

“This way,” I huff and puff as I see a trail off to our left. “We can try to lose them in the woods.”

It isn’t so much a trail as it is a wider space between the pines than the other spaces around us. We have to zig and zag a lot, but eventually, we get deep enough into the woods that the canny shouts become more echoes than threatening calls immediately behind us. I almost wonder if they missed seeing which way we went and are hopefully heading in the other direction. But I know exactly how hopes turn out post-Z.

“I think I see a clearing,” Greta whispers as we slow to a pitiful pace of stumbling and tripping. “Over there.”

We all see the break in the trees and head for it in the hopes (there’s that word again) it will lead us to the quarry. Not sure why I think a quarry is a good place to go, but it at least gives us a destination. Maybe we can find someplace in it to hide. Or maybe there’s machinery or supplies around it that we can use as weapons. I don’t fucking know. My mind is a hazy mess of pain and hunger.

But I can’t let on to my family that I’m not thinking straight. I’m supposed to be the big brain that is always figuring ways out of shitty situations. That’s what I’ve been known for since Z-Day hit. I was the guy in Whispering Pines that could strategize and engineer the solutions we needed to stay alive. I was the generalist that may not have had all the answers, but I at least had some of the answers.

The only generalist I am now is generally fucked, which doesn’t make a lick of sense. See?

We break from the trees into an open meadow. The meadow is ringed by pine trees except for the far side which just disappears. I’m guessing that’s the edge of the quarry.

I glance over my shoulder, but it’s too dark to really see anything in the woods. The fucking cannies don’t even use torches or anything so we can see them coming after us. They’re all night stealth and shit. Fuck, as far as I know, they’re standing at the edge of the trees flipping me off.

Oh, wait, never mind, here they come!

“Go! Go!” I shout at my family as we all stumble towards the edge of the meadow. “Just run!”

“Where, Jace?” Stella shouts. “What are we going to do? Jump in?”

“If we have to!” I reply, my one arm at the small of her back, urging her to go faster.

“Wait...what?” Charlie yells. “We’re jumping? Fuck that shit, Dad!”

“It’ll be like Butch and Sundance!” I yell at him. “Bad guys on our asses and we have to jump into the raging waters!”

“I hated that movie!” Greta shouts. “It was boring!”

I don’t respond because no self-respecting person would give a statement like that the time of day. Butch and Sundance a boring movie? That’s crazy talk! It has all the elements of great cinema! Charisma, humor, adventure, drama, romance…

“Jace! Keep up!” Stella shouts.

Dammit, I was spacing again. Can’t blame me, though. I love Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. Just a fucking great movie. I am totally psyched to jump off the edge of a quarry cliff into the water below. That will be some seriously cool, post-apocalyptic hero shit!

“Well...that solves that,” Charlie says as we skid to a halt at the edge of the meadow, which is at the top of the quarry, and look down into an empty pit of dirt and rock.

No water. Nothing.

“I thought quarries had standing water in them,” I say to no one in particular. “Holes in the ground fill up with water. Rain comes from sky, water fills quarry. It’s an unspoken law of the industrialized world we live in. I mean what is the fucking point of digging a fucking hole if it isn’t going to fill up with water and become an unsanitary and unsafe place for local rednecks to hang out in? What has this world come to?”

“Yeah, we’ve lost Dad,” Greta says. “Anyone else have any ideas?”

“Can we climb down?” Charlie asks.

“I can’t see three feet in front of me, Charlie,” Stella replies. “There’s no way we can see to climb down into there.”

“And it’s like two hundred feet down, dumbass,” Greta adds.

“Be nice,” Stella snaps.

“Well, he’s the one with the stupid idea, not me,” Greta snaps back.

“You asked for other ideas!” Charlie shouts. “I gave one! What’s your bright idea then, genius?”

“We run that way until we find a trail down or someplace to hide,” Greta snarls.

“Oh, wow!” Charlie laughs. “That’s the best idea anyone has ever had! Find someplace to hide! No one in the history of ever has anyone thought about finding someplace to hide when being chased by fucking cannibals!”

“Better than climbing down a fucking cliff in the dark!”

“Kids! STOP!” Stella roars. “Jace? What do we do? How do we get out of this?”

“We go that way,” I say and point to where the woods meet the edge of the meadow and the edge of the quarry. “We dive back into the woods and hope we can get back out.”

“That doesn’t reassure me,” Stella says.

“That makes two of us,” I reply as I grab her arm and start pulling her to our left. Or right. It depends on where you are standing. “Come on, kids! Move ass!”

They both groan and I wonder at the capacity teenagers have to complain about anything in any situation. It’s like they are hard-wired to just be pains in the asses.

“Is running from the cannies too much work?” I snap.

“Jace, not now,” Stella hisses.

“Sorry,” I reply as we skirt the edge of the quarry, which isn’t exactly a straight line. We are only one wrong step from plummeting to our deaths.

Which is probably where we are headed anyway since several shapes come out of the woods in front of us and step into the meadow. Looks like the cannies know how to flank their prey.

What am I saying? Of course they do. They are pack hunters that chase down humans so they can slaughter them and eat them in a fucking stew. They know how to flank, press, surround, and trap and all the good huntery stuffs that huntery types do.

Fucking huntery types…

“Now what?” Stella asks.

I would like to stop right now and declare that the words “now what” make up my least favorite sentence ever. I have come to detest those words.

But I would never say that to Stella.

“Back the other way,” I say and spin about to see that the kids have already had that idea and are sprinting in the opposite direction, leaving us behind. Fucking kids…

But they only get back to where we first stopped at the edge of the quarry before another set of shapes step from the woods on the other side of the meadow.

See? Cannies know their business. Unfortunately, business seems to be good.

“Where ya goin’, Long Pork bro?” a voice cries out from the main group that slows to a casual walk as they come at us through the meadow. “Why ya runnin’? Ya could have had it good, bro! Ya could have fixed the power and the plumbin’ and been able to live your life with us! But you had to go and fuck it up, bro! Not cool, bro!”

Ugh. I know that voice.

Barfly.

Leader of the Crossville Cookers.

Yeah, I said “Crossville Cookers.” Mother fucking cannies have gang names and shit.

Been like that since we got past Knoxville. Only a few miles after the connection to what was once I-75, we started seeing cannibal gang names spray-painted on billboards. Names like Tennessee Hunger Brigade, Kingston Queens, The Droolers , and my favorite, The Thigh Boners.

I laughed for a good while after seeing that, until we started coming to the human hides with the name branded into them.  The crazy fucks skinned people, tanned their skins, and stretched the hides out along the road with their gang name and other messages for those unlucky enough to happen by.

What messages?

“Dark meat is the best!”, “Eat more Pete!”, “Ain’t no thing but a human wing!”, and last but not least, “We make our own sauce!”

All of those messages led up to such a fun time in such a fun place- Cannibal Road.

“Hey, Barfly,” I sigh as he pushes through the cannies and walks up to me. Oh, and look, they’ve lit some torches. I guess it’s a real party now. “What’s up?”

“Long Pork! Bro!” Barfly smiles as he shakes his head. “What were ya thinkin’, bro?”

“I was thinking that I’d get my family out of here so you wouldn’t kill them and skin me like you said you would,” I reply honestly as I step forward, putting myself between the cannies and my family.

You don’t lie or bullshit Barfly. The guy is creepy perceptive when it comes to deception. I have no idea who or what he was pre-Z, but I’m guessing his talents were wasted. It’s why I hate the guy so much. I’m all about bullshit and sarcasm, it’s how I roll. Took me a few smacks to the head with a steel rod before I figured out that my brand of humor was not Barfly’s brand of humor.

It’s that steel rod in Barfly’s right hand that I focus on as I shrug.

“You said you were done with me and were going to skin me alive, Barfly,” I say. “Sorry, man, no disrespect meant. I just had to look out for me and my own, ya know?”

“I dig that, I dig that, bro,” Barfly nods. “I see yer point, but it ain’t my point, so I don’t care, bro.”

Like all cannies, Barfly is scrawny, but scrappy. He’s lean and mean with wiry muscles and a gaunt look that sharpens his features while sending his eyes back into his skull in two pools of shadow. Almost six feet, but not quite, he stands before me wearing only a pair of cutoffs (front pockets hanging out, I shit you not) and wearing Hello Kitty flip-flops on his feet. Where he found Hello Kitty flip-flops that fit his size eleven feet, I have no idea.

The steel rod hits my left thigh before I even know it and I cry out in pain. Stella moves towards me, but I wave her off. The hit wasn’t hard enough to take me down, but I know the next one will be. I have the bruises all over my thighs to prove it.

“Bro, stop,” I hiss as I rub my leg. “Just protecting what’s mine, you know? You respect that, right? Always worth a try.”

“I get ya, I get ya,” Barfly nods. His head is shaved (of course) and he has various tattoos of badly drawn cartoon characters all across his scalp. It’s too dark to really see, but I think Tweety Bird winks at me each time Barfly bobs his head.

“Sooo...we good?” I ask, thinking the direct question might take him off guard. I’m an optimist that way.

“No, bro, we ain’t good!” Barfly says. “You tried to play me, Long Pork bro! Then you killed six of my peeps before you stole my Bronco, bro. Why you have to go and do that?”

I watch him for a second, thinking maybe my exceptional skills as a sarcastic bastard have rubbed off on him, but he’s dead serious.

“Six? What the hell are you talking about, bro?” I ask. “We didn’t kill anyone. You got to believe me, Barfly. We jacked the Bronco without seeing a single soul until we crashed the gate, man. Last we saw of your peeps was them running around to put out all those fires.”

“You fucking, bro?” he asks as he cocks his head like a beagle. “Six bros dead.”

“Two girls!” someone shouts from the cannie crowd.

“Yeah, yeah, Spitty is right,” Barfly nods. “Two them bodies was lady bro bodies. You killed two lady bros, bro.”

“I’m telling you I didn’t kill a single bro, lady bro or man bro, Barfly,” I insist.

The hit to my right thigh makes me totter, but I hold myself up and stay on my feet.

“Dead bodies don’t lie, bro,” Barfly says. “Unless you be tellin’ me that crazy chick bro did them in. One crazy chick bro killin’ six of my bros? My bros got skills, Long Pork bro. Don’t think crazy chick bro got that good of skills.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “She is a crazy chick, you know.”

Barfly grins and wags his steel rod in front of my face.

“Oh, Long Pork,” he replies. “Bro, bro, bro.”

The rod nails me a little higher and I clutch my right hipbone as excruciating pain radiates through my skeleton, but I don’t fall down. I do that and it’s all over. I’ve been falling down too much lately; time to stay standing like a man.

“I’m gettin’ tired of your shit, Long Pork,” Barfly says. “You keep layin’ on the bullshit and I’ll have to do somethin’ about it.”

He looks past me and zeroes in on Stella and the kids.

“Maybe have us an impromptu cookout, bro,” he laughs. “Dig us a pit, get us a fire goin’, and then dump your pretty pretties in there so they roast up all nice. I’ll make you and your boy do the diggin’,”

“Take too long! They weak!” someone yells and the gang breaks out laughing.

“Yeah! What am I thinkin’, bro?” Barfly cackles. “Long Pork only got one arm.”

He tucks one arm behind his back and mimes trying to dig with the other. The whole gang copies him and in seconds, we are standing there, close to pissing ourselves  with fear, as a couple dozen cannibals hop about a meadow at night pretending to only have one arm and dig imaginary holes while close to pissing themselves with laughter.

It takes them a long time to get it out of their systems. Like a really long time.

“Maybe I make the lady bros dig and we cook you bros up,” Barfly says as he suddenly stops with the digging act and stabs me in the chest with the rod. “Maybe we let those lady bros of yours show you what a little piece of shit bro you are. Would you like that, little piece of shit bro? Would you?”

“No need for name calling, bro,” I say as the rod keeps on stabbing, stabbing, stabbing right into my sternum. “I haven’t done a thing to warrant that.”

“You did so,” Barfly states.

“How can I get you to believe me, Barfly?” I ask. “What evidence do you need to see that we didn’t kill anyone? We got away fair and square.”

“Fair and square,” a few of the cannies say and Barfly whirls on them, his steel rod snapping through the open space between him and the front of the gang.

“Ain’t no fair and square!” Barfly shouts. “They stole my ride, peeps! Took it without permission! No fair and square for stealers!”

“No fair and square for stealers!” the gang yells in unison.

“And I applaud your sense of right and wrong as well as your established code of conduct,” I say. “It’s not easy keeping order post-Z. You have to have rules. I get that. And I’m sorry for breaking them when we stole your ride, Barfly. I’ll make that up to you, if you let me.”

“Make it up?” Barfly asks. “How you gonna do that, Long Pork bro? You’ll be too busy diggin’!”

The gang starts back up with the pantomimes and I just sigh. It’s like dealing with fucked up, full grown toddlers. How these people lost their minds so fast after Z-Day, I don’t know. Sure, we had our share of cannies in Asheville, but not whacked out gangs like this. It’s like they have created their own society and language in just a few years.

I weep for the youth of today.

Oh, and speaking of, I’m pretty sure the Crossville Cookers are all under thirty years old, easy. I haven’t seen a single one that I would say is even close to thirty. Some may look like they are fifty because of their lack of proper nutrition and all, not to mention some of their less than healthy extracurricular habits, but I would swear on the lives of my family that the gang before me is made up of late teens and early twenties psychos.

Except for maybe Barfly. I can’t get a read on that guy’s age. He could be twenties, he could be thirties, or he could be in his forties like me. He has this ageless quality that adds to the creep factor by a billion. Kinda like he gets strength from eating his foes’ hearts or something. Shit, maybe he does; weirder shit has happened over the years.

“We didn’t hurt your ride,” I say to Barfly, trying to get the discussion back on track. “Can’t be mad about that.”

The hopping and faux digging is making me nervous. Well, more nervous than I already am. Okay, maybe nervous isn’t the right word. How about they are annoying the living shit out of me? Yeah, that’s way more accurate.

“No, no, you didn’t hurt my ride,” Barfly agrees. “I checked. Just no go juice in it no more.”

Greta snorts behind me and I wince.

“You think of a funny, little girl bro?” Barfly asks as he looks past me to my daughter. “What your funny, little girl bro?”

“Don’t answer,” Stella whispers.

“Go juice,” Greta says. “That cracks me up.”

My daughter has unfortunately inherited my inability to shut the fuck up. It was endearing pre-Z, but has lost some of its appeal since the dead started to walk the Earth and try to eat us all.

And, as if on cue…

Several long moans get everyone’s attention and the gang turns around to see quite a few shadows come shambling out of the woods and into the meadow.

“Dammit, Long Pork bro!” Barfly snaps, forgetting that Greta said anything. “You brought the fatties after us.”

“That is the stupidest name ever,” Greta says.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Greta!” Stella snaps. “Shut the hell up!”

“You don’t like the name fatties?” Barfly asks as he focuses his attention back on us. “Why not? We call ‘em fatties because they never stop eatin’!”

A few members of the gang laugh, but most just watch the Zs come towards us. Hands grip weapons tighter and I can smell the adrenaline start to pump.

“But Zs don’t get fat,” Greta says. “Just because they don’t ever stop eating doesn’t mean they are fat. It’s a dumb name.”

“Like Zs is better, little girl bro?” Barfly asks. “That’s one letter! Z!”

“It’s short for zombie,” Greta snaps.

“If you do not stop talking now then I will shut you up myself,” Stella says as she grabs Greta’s arm.

“No, no, lady bro, it’s all good,” Barfly says. “Little girl bro is just havin’ a debate. Better than some of these poop stains. They just want to hunt and fight and sniff fumes.”

“And fuck!” someone yells.

“And fuck,” Barfly nods. “Lots of fuckin’ ‘round here, but no babies. I know what makes babies and all the fuckin’ don’t make none. Ain’t that weird?”

That line of thought shuts Greta up. Apparently, one way to make a teenage girl be quiet is to talk about cannies having sex. It’s like talking about parents having sex. Ewwwww!

“Maybe there’s some pollutant in the water,” I suggest. “I bet a factory or some waste treatment dump broke down and all the industrial waste got into the ground water. Could have made all of you sterile.”

“Which ones?” Barfly asks. “The guy bros or the lady bros?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” I shrug. “I was just making a suggestion, bro.”

“Does that mean I’m sterile now?” Charlie asks. “That would suck.”

“Yeah, bro! It sucks! I want to see some little Barflies runnin’ about, but none of the lady bros be poppin’ ‘em out! What the fuck, bro?”

The Zs get closer and the gang starts to move forward. I don’t have to say a word to my family to tell them what I’m thinking. I also don’t have to say a word to Barfly, either.

“Don’t be thinkin’ of runnin’, bro,” Barfly says as his rod catches me in the ribs. I still don’t go down. “My peeps can kill some fatties right fast, no problemo. Right, bros? You peeps be killin’ some fatties right fast?”

“Fuckin’ A yeah!”

“I kill all the fatties!”

“Fatties fall down and they don’t get up!”

“We kill the shit out of those fuckin’ fatties!”

“Shit killin’ fatties! Yo we do, yo bros! Shit the kill fuck outta them! Bros kill shit fuck fatties, bros!”

Barfly turns to the gang and starts laughing. “That bro been sniffin’ too many fumes! Shit the kill fuck outta them? That’s messed up, bro.”

Shit the kill fuck outta them? Huh… I’m pretty sure I know that syntax, as well as that voice.

“Jace…,” Stella whispers barely loud enough for me to hear.

I don’t look back at her, but just nod my head.

“Shit the kill fuck,” Barfly snickers. “Who said that? Which one of you peeps is heeelarious? Shit the kill fuck is heeelarious!”

I can see a few heads turn in the gang as they look for the source of Barfly’s amusement, but no one speaks up. What happens next is pretty predictable.

“I asked a question, bros!” Barfly snaps. “Who said that? I like it and want to know who said it! Some heeelarious mother fucker better step out and show their mother fuckin’ self right fast!”

Still no one admits to the words.

I can see Barfly’s body start to shake with rage. The man likes to be answered when he asks a question.

He turns on me and starts with the steel rod stabbing into my chest again.

“Did you see, Long Pork bro? You see who said those words?”

“I didn’t, Barfly,” I reply quickly. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, you sorry, bro,” Barfly sneers. “A sorry piece of shit.”

He lifts the rod above my head and starts to bring it down fast. I duck my head, and close my eyes, ready for the killing blow he’s been promising since we were first captured, but it doesn’t come.

I open my eyes to see a hand gripping Barfly’s arm, keeping the rod from cracking my skull open.

“What the fuck, bro?” Barfly shouts as he jerks his arm free and whirls on the offender. “You tryin’ to save these peeps or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,” the voice I know replies. “Hey, bro.”

“Oh...it’s you,” Barfly snorts, his body tense and ready for the fight. He looks at the young woman that stands in front of him. Even though I’m at his back, I know he’s studying her like the predator he is.

What the stupid fuck doesn’t know is that he’s already been studied thoroughly or the young woman wouldn’t be standing there.

“Ready to die, crazy chick bro?” Barfly laughs.

“I ain’t crazy.”

“If you ain’t crazy then what are you?” Barfly snarls.

“I’m family,” Elsbeth grins.

True dat, bros.

Chapter Two

I think I’ll take this opportunity to fill in some details on how we found ourselves the unwilling guests of Barfly and his peeps.

Yes, I know leaving the story on a cliffhanger is not exactly polite, but fuck all y’all. This is my story.

How about we go back to that night that Dr. Stanley Martin Kramer walked into Critter’s Holler and proceeded to stir up so much shit that I never thought we’d wade out of it?

Good a place as any for the beginning of a story.

Kramer is a weird freak of a man, but when I first met the guy, he reminded me of an old chemistry teacher I had back in high school. If it wasn’t for the fact that Elsbeth really wanted to rip his throat out with her teeth, I probably would have believed all the bullshit that came dripping out of his mouth like shit-flavored honey.

To recap: We were having a meeting in Critter’s saloon to discuss our evacuation of the Asheville area when Gunga brought Kramer in. The guy immediately derailed our plans of heading to Kansas City, which was called The Combine after Z-Day, and told us it had been wiped off the map. Scorched and burned. Nothing but a smoking crater.

That was upsetting enough, but then he started to hum that old nursery song, Wheels On The Bus, and Elsbeth lost her shit. She told us he was the Devil, but as soon as he started to hum, she turned into a fucking she-devil herself, pulled her blades, and went for the guy. It took every single able-bodied man in that saloon to keep her pinned to the ground so she didn’t eviscerate the kindly looking geezer.

“What is your problem, man?” I said as I got up in his face.

Having only one arm and still recovering from a broken and infected collarbone incident, I wasn’t any help with the Elsbeth subduing, so I took it upon myself to find out what this dude wanted and why the hell he snuck into Critter’s Holler to find us.

Kramer smiled up at me and brushed at the wisps of grey hair that covered his almost bald scalp. He stopped humming and just smiled. That was creepy enough, but what really got my hackles up was that, when he stopped humming, Elsbeth calmed down a lot. She was still bucking mad and no one was ready to let her go, but she lost a lot of the fight she’d had just a second before.

“I actually have no problems, Mr. Stanford,” Kramer replied. “I’m as free as the wind and just as ephemeral. It is your band of merry survivors that have the problem. And it is a rather big one, I must say.”

“Then say it, asshole,” I snapped as I pointed back at the Elsbeth dog pile. “Because you seem to have upset someone I care deeply for and that doesn’t exactly put you in a good position around here.”

“Why is that, Mr. Stanford?” Kramer grinned. “Because you are in charge?”

“Well, no,” I replied. “I’m not in charge. People just listen to me, is all.”

“Oh, that’s all?” Kramer said, his grin widening. “They listen to you? And what do you have to say that is so important, Mr. Stanford? Or is it Jace? Would you prefer I call you Jace? Perhaps Long Pork?”

“You don’t call him that!” Elsbeth shouted. “I call him that! You don’t call him nothing!”

“She’s very protective of you, isn’t she?” Kramer asked. “I believe that young woman would die for you, if she had to. At one time in her life, she would have died for me. She would have also killed for me, but that Foster woman went and messed that all up. Such a pity that I never was able to complete the program I was hired to do. The girls weren’t ready when I was forced to escape Foster’s attack. That woman was lucky she gained some control over those girls or they would have ripped her and her men apart.”

That was a lot of information that I didn’t know about. Not that I trusted what he said, but there was a ring of truth to it. Especially the “hired to do” part.

“Who hired you? And for what?” I asked.

“Oh, that is such a long story,” Kramer responded as he looked about Critter’s saloon.

It was a fairly large room and could hold fifty or more people if needed, but at that moment, it was only myself, Stella, Elsbeth, Critter, Melissa, Buzz and Gunga Fitzpatrick, Stuart, John, and Reaper. I think Reaper was there. Was he? Shit, I can’t remember.

“May I have a drink?” Kramer asked as his eyes turned towards the bar. “Water is fine, but if you have something more...substantial then that would be delightful.”

Critter pulled himself away from the Elsbeth containment corps and rushed up to Kramer. I don’t think the doctor was expecting the treatment he received from the old highwayman that grabbed him by his shirt and tossed him halfway across the room. Well, maybe not halfway, since Critter is getting on in years and doesn’t have the strength his mountain sized nephews do, but he did throw the guy pretty far.

“You ain’t drinkin’ a goddamned drop of nothin’ until you tell us everythin’ you know!” Critter shouted as he grabbed a collapsible baton from one of the tables and snapped it open. It was sharpened at the end in order to pierce Z skulls, but Kramer instantly realized it would pierce his skull just as easily.

“Now, hold on Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Kramer said as he held up his hands. “There is no need for your more violent side to show itself.”

“My name is Critter,” Critter snapped. “Mr. Fitzpatrick was my father and that man had a violent side that would make you shit your pants. You keep callin’ me Mr. Fitzpatrick and I’ll show you what a violent side really is. Now get your ass up and sit in that chair there! You spill what you know or I feed ya to the Zs!”

Kramer nodded and made a show of struggling to get up and into the chair, Critter pointed to with the baton. He sat down and looked about the saloon once more as he swallowed hard.

“At the risk of being impaled upon your weapon,” Kramer said, “I could use a glass of water if I am to dive into what will be a long and complicated tale.”

“Suck on your spit, asshole,” Critter said as he started to pace in front of the man. “You tell me somethin’ worth a shit and then you can have some water. Until then I ain’t wastin’ none of our resources on a man like you.”

“A man like me?” Kramer asked, his face aghast with shock. “Are you an anti-Semite, Critter?”

That stopped Critter’s pacing and he looked about at us.

“What the hell is he jabberin’ about?” Critter asked.

“Anti-Semite means-” I started to reply.

“I know what it means, Long Pork!” Critter shouted. “I want to know why the hell the man said it!”

He whirled on Kramer and jammed the end of the baton against the old man’s chest. Kramer cried out as his shirt bloomed with blood.

“Oh, quit yer whinin’,” Critter snapped. “I barely broke the skin. Now tell me why you said I was an anti-Semite.”

“Well, being a person of Jewish heritage,” Kramer began, “I am quite familiar with the signs of bigotry. It is not as if you come from a region known for its wealth of liberal understanding.” He nodded towards all of us in the room. “And this is a fairly homogenous representation of humanity. It is not outside the realm of possibility that the reason there are no people of color or other ethnicities is because you do not want them here.”

“That’s because they all died!” Elsbeth shouted. “My Julio died! Joe T died! The Fertigs died! Patels! Santiagos! All of them died, you ass fucker cocksucking lick dicker!”

Lick dicker. That was a good one.

“And I’m Jewish, dildo butt!” Elsbeth continued. “They don’t hate me! They love me because I’m family!”

“You’re Jewish?” I asked. “Oh, right,Thornberg. Never made the connection.” I had to chuckle at that. “How did you stay Kosher as a canny? Did you only eat other Jews or were you flexible like Jews I knew that would chow down on some bacon any chance they got?”

The whole saloon stared at me, even Kramer, like I had lost my mind. Considering the mind losing in that room, that was saying something.

“Right,” I nodded. “Sorry.”

“Apologize,” Critter snapped at Kramer.

“My sincerest apologies,” Kramer said. “It was a stupid assumption on my art.”

“All your parts are stupid,” Elsbeth said then gave one last struggle and sighed. “You can let me up now. I ain’t gonna kill the devil.”

“I would appreciate it if you stopped referring to me as a devil, Ms. Thornberg,” Kramer said. “Being a man of science, I prefer not to be lumped in with religious dogma.”

“But you said you were a Jew,” Critter responded. “Which is it? You a man of science or a Jew?”

“I think we’ve gotten way off track here,” Stella said as she helped Elsbeth to her feet. The two women shared a look and a nod then Stella walked right up to Kramer, grabbed a chair, spun it around, and sat down in front of the old man. “Why are you here?”

“To help,” Kramer said.

“Why are you here to help?” Stella asked.

“Well, you seem like decent people that could use my help,” Kramer smiled. “I know what lies on the other side of these mountains and I believe you may be making a mistake in planning to head to Kansas City.”

“Because it is a scorched crater, right?” Stella asked.

“That and there are many other dangers that await you along the way,” Kramer said. “I have seen them all. And beyond.”

“Beyond? How far beyond?” Stella pressed.

“I’ve been to Circuit City,” Kramer said. “All the way to the West Coast.”

“Circuit City? Where is that?” Stella asked.

“Seattle,” Kramer said. “Below that is The Garden which used to be Portland. Lovely place, but they aren’t taking in new survivors. Neither is The Temple in Salt Lake. The only place that will take your group in is The Stronghold. They need all the help you can give. The military expertise your group has could be put to great use in the Rocky Mountains.” He looked about and frowned. “Speaking of which, where are your sisters, Ms. Thornberg?”

“They aren’t here,” Stuart said as he grabbed a chair and joined Stella in front of Kramer. “And from the way Elsbeth reacted, you should be glad for that.”

“I can’t argue with you there,” Kramer said. “It took all of you to hold Ms. Thornberg back. I can only imagine what would have happened if I’d met the entire group of them.”

He started to whistle Wheels On The Bus again, but was stopped abruptly by Stella’s fist to his mouth.

“Damn!” Critter grinned. “That was a a nice shot!”

“Thanks,” Stella winced as she gripped her hand. “Didn’t feel so nice, though.”

“Let me look at that,” Melissa sighed as Stella got up and they walked over to the bar.

I could see cuts from Kramer’s teeth on my wife’s knuckles and hoped the man had had his shots. I looked back at Kramer and John had taken Stella’s seat so that Kramer was looking into the eyes of two highly trained military men.

“Now,” Stuart frowned. “I am going to be asking the questions. You will answer honestly and without hesitation. Every time you deviate from those instructions, my friend John here will give you a smack. Those smacks will get increasingly more and more unpleasant. You’ll probably last through the first three, but after that I wager you’ll cave.”

“No need for threats, Gunnery Sergeant,” Kramer said. “I know how this all plays out. It is not my first interrogation by scared survivors and probably won’t be my last. My only request is that you consider a little quid pro quo. You ask me something and I ask you something.”

“I don’t see how we benefit from that,” Stuart replied.

“You benefit because then I know what you may not know that you will certainly need to know,” Kramer responded. “As I keep saying, I’m here to help. I can’t help if I don’t know what important information you lack.”

Stuart watched the man for a long while. As he was busy studying Kramer, I took the time to study Elsbeth. She stood behind us all; her blades sheathed once again, her arms across her chest, and glared at Kramer. I tried to get her to look at me, but she refused. Her entire being radiated hate for the man and I had to wonder at how much self-control she had to use to keep from killing him.

“Okay,” Stuart said finally. “I ask two questions and you can ask one. Don’t forget John here. Answer honestly and quickly and you’ll be just fine.”

“Your confidence in your lie detection abilities worries me,” Kramer said. “I could tell the truth and get a smack anyway.”

“I’ll know,” Elsbeth said. “Don’t you worry none about that.”

“Yes,” Kramer sighed. “I suspect you will know if I’m lying. Very well, let us get started. Ask your questions, Gunnery Sergeant.”

“What do you get out of helping us?” Stuart asked.

“I stay alive,” Kramer answered. “Like I said, I have been all the way across the country. Except for the large settlements, you are the only group of survivors that has even come close to making it in this post-apocalyptic world. You’ve struggled a lot, and lost many, but you keep going. I would like to keep going with you.”

“Why the Stronghold?” Stuart asked.

“I believe I have already answered that,” Kramer said.

“Then answer it again and elaborate.”

Kramer’s smug smile faltered, but he recovered quickly.

“The Stronghold is the only settlement that hasn’t asked me to leave,” Kramer said. “The others preferred that I take my company elsewhere. In this day and age, you do not argue with those that insist on your leaving.”

“Remember that,” Critter said as he pointed the baton at Kramer, “when it comes time for me to ask you to leave.”

Kramer nodded. “May I ask my question now?”

“Why have you been asked to leave the other settlements?” Stuart asked, ignoring Kramer’s request.

The man wisely let the slight go and replied, “I have a certain way about me that others find off putting. I also have a need to continue my research and scientific work. That work was not welcome.”

“What work?” Stuart asked. Kramer didn’t reply. “Fine. Ask your question?”

“How did you plan on getting all of your people from here to Kansas City alive?” Kramer asked.

All heads looked in my direction.

“What?” I asked. “You want me to tell him everything?”

“The highlights,” Stuart said.

“Okay,” I said. “We are using all of the diesel or multi-fuel vehicles, including the haul truck, to make a convoy. We have the supplies and weapons needed to get us where we need to go.”

“The haul truck!” Kramer smiled. “That is an impressive piece of equipment. Stronger than a tank and two stories high, but doesn’t it take an excessive amount of fuel?”

“We’ll be bringing extra fuel,” I replied. “We have stockpiled biodiesel and calculated the trip, including detours and other contingencies. We’ll slowly start to lose vehicles along the way as the fuel dwindles, but we’ll just add those passengers to the haul truck when needed. They can ride with the sick and injured in the bunk houses.”

“Bunk houses?” Kramer asked.

“Last question before I ask mine,” Stuart warned. “Jace?”

“The bed of the haul truck is gigantic. We’ve converted several mobile homes and placed them in the bed as shelter for when we have to stop and sleep. It took some doing, but we managed and there is room for all of us. It’ll be cramped, but we can sleep soundly without worrying about Zs getting us.”

“Yes, wouldn’t want the Zs to get you,” Kramer grinned.

“What happened to Kansas City?” Stuart asked.

“Oh, they played with matches and got burned,” Kramer said. “There was a group in their midst that was not satisfied with staying a defensive community and insisted on developing better offensive capabilities. Unfortunately, they refused to listen to my counsel and the results were fatal.”

“They were building a bomb and it detonated on them?” John asked.

“They were trying to adapt several missiles and it was a little more complicated than they first thought,” Kramer said. “Luckily, I was asked to leave the Combine before the incident occurred. I had gotten several miles away when I saw the explosion.”

“Bullshit,” Elsbeth said. “Smack him.”

“I don’t think he’s lying, El,” John said. “He’s holding back information, but he isn’t lying.”

“He is lying and you need to smack him,” Elsbeth insisted. “Smack him hard.”

“How about I let you rethink your answer before you get a smack then?” Stuart asked Kramer.

“Yes, that would be rather polite of you,” Kramer said. “Perhaps I misspoke when describing the incident. It may not have been an accident and could have been related to why I left.”

“Did you set those missiles to blow?” John asked. “Are you the reason Kansas City doesn’t exist anymore?”

“Possibly,” Kramer said. “I did warn them about the dangers of working with such materials. And maybe I wasn’t asked to leave so much as I escaped. There may also be a chance I did not give them one crucial piece of information regarding the correct way to arm the missiles.”

“You let them blow themselves up,” Stuart stated. “How many people were in the Combine?”

“Hard to say,” Kramer shrugged. “But not a one was a friend to me.”

“Sounds like you ain’t never had no friends,” Critter said. “And sounds like any folk that are stupid enough to get involved with you ends up dead.”

“I have had a long spell of unfortunate occurrences,” Kramer said. “But I swear on my soul that I’m here to help you folks and will do everything in my power to keep you from coming to harm.”

“I don’t think any of us believe that,” Stuart said. “Now, how about you tell us your connection to Elsbeth? She’s said a little of what she remembers, but I’d like to hear it from your end. Why did you have those girls?”

“I was hired to,” Kramer said. “There are people in this world that play at games with stakes so high that your little Holler here doesn’t even register to them. At least not until you made it register.”

“What people? Governments?” Stuart asked. “Were you hired by the US government to experiment on those girls?”

“The US government?” Kramer laughed. “That puppet organization is completely useless when it comes to actually getting things done that need to get done. I was hired by a select few that wanted to make sure the government,any government, could not interfere in their plans.”

“Some type of cabal?” Stuart asked. “Just spill it, Kramer. Stop making me drag it out of you. Who were these people that had you kidnap those girls?”

Kramer sighed and his eyes found Elsbeth’s. The two locked glares for a long while before Kramer finally turned his attention back to Stuart.

“Not one of those girls was kidnapped,” Kramer said. “They were given to me by their families. But one of the families decided they didn’t want to be a part of my program anymore and hired Ms. Foster’s company to extract their daughter. I was alerted to this by the others and had everything ready for the attack. It was to be the first true test of the girls’ conditioning. It would have worked too, but Foster was a very resourceful woman. Then there was the issue of the Zs. That certainly didn’t help. I’m surprised that my facility was affected at all, but that is just a testament to the strength of the compound.”

“The compound?” Stuart asked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s not exactly my area of expertise, but I have zero doubts that the zombie apocalypse was a manmade occurrence and not just a bit of bad luck,” Kramer replied, but held up his hands. “I don’t know more than that. Programs on the level as mine are always insulated from each other. I couldn’t tell you what caused the zombie outbreak anymore than anyone could talk about my program. Distinctly separate entities all with strings attached to one organization.”

“The Consortium,” I said before I knew I was going to. Everyone looked at me. I gulped and looked at Kramer. “That’s who hired you, right? The Consortium?”

“That’s what they call themselves now,” Kramer said. “And the makeup of the organization has changed considerably since Z-Day, I am sure. But, yes, that would be the group.”

“Are you telling us that the Consortium is responsible for Z-Day?” Stuart asked. The guy was getting pissed and I had to wonder how long he could keep it under control before he lunged from that chair and strangled Kramer. “The crazy fucks that destroyed Asheville and are probably coming for us now? They made Z-Day happen?”

“Like I said, I don’t know the details of Z-Day, but they are the ones that hired me to condition their daughters so they could be placed in areas of power and influence and do the dirty work that needed to be done,” Kramer answered. “Think of it! Beautiful, privileged young women, all expected to do their familial duty and marry wealthy and influential men. Then when the time came, they would take care of certain tasks and no one would be the wiser. Who would possibly suspect them? The world sees them as shallow, spoiled, and out of touch. Not as assassins or spies.”

“Sleepers,” I said. “Manchurian Candidates.”

“In a way,” Kramer nodded. “But so much more than just that Hollywood simplicity. My program would have allowed the young women to lead double lives simultaneously. No separation from one side of themselves or the other. They wouldn’t be sleepers as much as dreamers, always actively working, but within the lives they were going to be put into.”

“Undercover?” I asked.

“No, no, no,” Kramer said, instantly frustrated. “No one has ever understood it.”

“No undercover, no sleeping,” Elsbeth said as she tapped her head. “All right here, all the time. We would be who they wanted as well as who they needed. Lie detectors, torture, and drugs- nothing could break us. We were not asleep; we were awake. We were not undercover because we were not liars.”

Her voice had taken on a strange clinical quality and I could see that more than a few shivers ran up and down some spines in that room.

“Yes, very good, Ms. Thornberg.” Kramer smiled. “Integrated conditioning that resulted in fully aware and undetectable agents.”

“Fuck you,” Elsbeth said. “Detect that.”

I couldn’t help but smile.

“May I ask a question now?” Kramer inquired. “Where are the other girls?”

“Not here,” Stuart said. “They have work to do. Work that isn’t about you.”

“Oh,” Kramer nodded. “Are they helping scout the way with Ms. Torres and her private military contractors?”

“No,” Stuart said.

“Gunnery Sergeant,” Kramer sighed. “I can’t help you if you do not help me. Those girls are highly valuable assets.” He stopped and held up his hands as Elsbeth took a step forward. “As well as being valuable human beings. It would be wise to keep them close to you at all times. You have a much better chance of survival if they stay close.”

“Yes, well, they were needed elsewhere,” Stuart said. “Now, let’s get back to…”

“Hold on, if I may,” Kramer interrupted. “I am getting the impression they are not scouting ahead and are handling something else entirely.”

“Yeah, well, after what you have told me, I won’t be letting you in on what that is,” Stuart said. “Now, as for…”

“You couldn’t possibly be so stupid as to send them where I think you sent them, could you?” Kramer snapped. “Please tell me they are not on their way to Atlanta.”

“I won’t tell you that,” Stuart smiled, “because they aren’t on their way.”

“Oh, good,” Kramer replied.

“They should already be there,” Stuart continued. “And if what you say is true, then they are the perfect people to get the information we need on the Consortium.”

“You idiots!” Kramer shouted as he got to his feet. “You morons! Do you know what you have done? You have handed those girls to the woman that started it all! Camille Thornberg will find them and she will use them however she wants!”

“They won’t let her,” Elsbeth smiled. “My sisters know that my mama is not a good person. They’ll fight.”

“No, they will not!” Kramer yelled. “Camille was involved with my work at every step! She has all of my research and notes! The system I worked with was copied instantly to her system! That woman knows not only what those girls are capable of, but also she knows how to control them! You just gave her what she wants! You just gave her the way to kill not only us, but every settlement left! You fucking idiots have killed yourselves!”

That brought the room down. No one said a thing as we all stared at the raving old man. Elsbeth was even quiet.

Which left it up to me, as usual.

“So we gave the Consortium seven killing machines which can now be put under Camille’s control and turned against us? Is that what you are saying?” I asked. “But surely that will take time. It’s not like she can press a button and the girls are hers to control, right?”

“It’s exactly like that!” Kramer said as he pulled what looked like a car remote from his pocket. “Just like this!”

He pressed the button on the remote and pointed it at Elsbeth.

“Show them, Carly!” he shouted. “Kill them all!”

Elsbeth frowned. She looked about at us, and then at the thing Kramer held in his hand.

“I ain’t gonna kill them,” she said. “They’re my family.” She pulled a blade and smiled at Kramer. “But I am gonna kill you. Goodbye.”

Oh, shit…

“No,” Stella said calmly, but firmly. “You’re not killing anyone tonight, El.”

“Creepy old man needs to die,” Elsbeth replied, her eyes locked onto Kramer. “I call dibs on the killing.”

“No dibs!” Stella snapped. “Put your blade away now, El! I’m not going to tell you again!”

We all looked around at each other with the same thought going through our heads:

What the fuck is Stella gonna do to stop Elsbeth?

“You want to be a part of this family? Then you listen to me when I tell you to put away your blade,” Stella said.

“I’m not a child,” Elsbeth growled, here eyes never wavering from her death glare towards Kramer. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

“Then put away the blade,” Stella said. “You aren’t killing this man, no matter how much you want to.”

“Thank you,” Kramer said.

“Or how much he deserves it,” Stella continued. “He is the only person that may know what is going on and how we survive it. We need all the information from him we can get.” Stella moved between Elsbeth and Kramer and leaned down right in the man’s face. “You cooperate and show that you are useful, you live. The second you stop being useful, or show me a hint of betrayal, and I let her do whatever she wants to you. Got it?”

“Whatever I want?” Elsbeth asked as she looked around Stella and grinned at Kramer. “Likeanything anything?”

“Anything,” Stella replied. She looked at the remote in Kramer’s hand. “Give me that.”

He handed it over.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It triggers the conditioning and lets me control the girls with basic verbal commands,” Kramer said. “Each of the girls has a small electrode implanted at the base of their brain. It’s a simple switch, that is all. It should have allowed me to order Elsbeth to kill you, but she apparently has figured out a way to override it.”

“I bumped my head,” Elsbeth said. “Bumped it hard. Made me forget who I was. Then Pa found me.”

“Yes, that could have done it,” Kramer nodded.

“Okay. That’s sorted out,” Stella said as she dropped the remote and ground it under her boot heel. “Now you are going to sit there, Mr. Kramer, and answer my questions until I am done asking. No quid pro quo, no tit for tat. I ask, you answer. Deviate from that, and Elsbeth gets you. Piss me off and Elsbeth gets you. Make me think you are lying and Elsbeth gets you. Are we understood, Mr. Kramer?”

“Doctor,” Kramer replied. “It’s Dr. Kramer.”

“She’ll call you Lucy if she wants to,” Elsbeth spat.

“I don’t think a little courtesy is too much to…” Kramer started but stopped as Stella slapped him across the face. “Ow! There was no need…”

She slapped him again. He opened his mouth to protest a second time and got a third slap for it.

“Done?” Stella asked.

Kramer nodded, his hand rubbing his red cheek.

“Good,” Stella smiled. “Tell us how we stop the Consortium.”

“You don’t,” Kramer answered immediately. “They have too many resources. What you have seen is nothing compared to what they will send after you. The only way to survive is to run. Now.”

“How much time do you suppose we have?”

“When did you send the girls to Atlanta?” Kramer asked.

Stella looked back at Stuart and he cleared his throat. “It’s only been a few days,” he replied. “They probably just got there.”

“Then you have only a few days,” Kramer said. “As soon as Camille realizes she has the girls, she will send them here and wipe all of you out.” He glanced quickly at Elsbeth, but didn’t let his eyes linger too long. “Even with her on your side, they will still win. Camille Thornberg does not negotiate and does not give second chances. You will all be dead before the week is out, in my estimation.”

“Then we need to move up the timetable,” Stuart said. “We leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Will we be ready?” Stella asked and looked at me.

“We’ll have to be,” I replied. “No other choice. We work through the nights until every vehicle is in shape and ready to go. Anything that isn’t ready, we leave. We can’t risk being on the run and having equipment break down. Better to be limited with reliable vehicles and weapons than find out the hard way on the road.”

“We’ll spread the word now,” Buzz said as he pushed Gunga towards the door. “I’ll have my brothers make sure everyone coming with us knows the plan.”

“Are folks not coming?” I asked. “That’s the first I’ve heard of that.”

“Some just don’t want to leave,” Buzz shrugged. “They are tired of fighting and tired of living. They’d rather risk it here.”

“Fools,” Kramer said, and then flinched as Stella moved her hand.

Stella grinned, but there was no happiness in it.

“Thanks, Buzz,” Stella said. “When you are done spreading the word, please come find me. We have a lot of work to do before we hit the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Buzz said as he hurried out of the saloon.

“And what of me?” Kramer asked. “I can be of help, you know.”

“You stay put,” Stella said as she stretched and rolled her neck. “I don’t want to worry about you. Elsbeth will sit here and keep you company while we get the evacuation in order. Right, El?”

“I’ll sit right here,” Elsbeth said as she shoved John out of his chair and took the seat for herself. “He ain’t going nowheres.”

“No, I suspect he isn’t,” Stella grinned.

***

It was not easy getting everyone moving in order to be ready to leave in a day and a half. I was pretty surprised by the amount of resistance we met. You’d think people would be willing to put a little hustle into their survival, but as I grew more and more frustrated with the inefficiency and laziness, Stella pulled me aside to remind me of something very important.

“They are terrified, Jace,” Stella said as I watched people stand about, their eyes glazed over, their shoulders slumped. “Being able to have a home like Whispering Pines or The Farm has kept folks going. They had something to work and live for. Now we are about to head out into unknown territory. It all scares the shit out of me and I know what’s going on. Imagine what they feel like when all they know is what we have told them.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I replied. “It’s just killing me how many people are digging their heels in. And I’m not even talking about the ones staying. Half the folks joining the convoy are acting like toddlers.”

“Take a deep breath and let it go,” Stella responded. “You are not these people’s parent anymore than I am. In the end, they are ready and come with or they aren’t ready and get left behind. Once we are on that road there is no looking back.”

“Damn,” I grinned. “Look at you all ruthless and shit.”

“I am not,” Stella frowned and smacked my arm. The fully intact arm, not Stumpageddon. That puppy is almost always strapped tight to my body so I don’t move my collarbone. It hurts, it sucks, and it is what it is. But it gets better each day, so I got that going for me.

“Can I at least bark at people to move ass?” I asked. “In a nice way that takes their terror into account?”

“If you need barking done, get Critter to do it,” Stella said. “Everyone’s used to getting barked at by him and it won’t undermine their confidence in you.”

“Who’s barkin’ at what?” Critter asked, walking up to us as we stood in the middle of the field that split the valley cliffs that made up his holler. “I’ll do some barkin’. Who ya need me to bark at?”

He looked about and saw a couple of his men standing by a water barrel.

“You two!” Critter barked. “I ain’t payin’ you to stand there! Water break is done! Go help secure supplies in the haul truck! Then double check the mobile homes is tied down right! Go on! Git!”

“Uh, you don’t pay us,” one of the men said.

“You still alive?” Critter countered.

“Well...yeah,” the man replied.

“Consider that payment,” Critter sneered. “Want to know what happens when I dock your pay?”

The two men shook their heads and hurried off. Critter nodded then looked at Stella.

“Who else? I’m in a barkin’ mood, that’s for sure,” Critter said.

“Something up we need to know about?” I asked.

“Nah, just feelin’ pissy,” Critter replied. “Ain’t easy leavin’ this place behind after all the work I done put into it.”

“Can’t be easy leaving your home either,” Stella said. “You grew up in these mountains and you may never see them again.”

“Damn, woman,” Critter snapped. “Why you have to go and say that? I was just thinkin’ about my holler, not these mountains. Gonna make me all depressed, sayin’ shit like that.”

Critter stomped off as he found a couple of new targets to bark at. I looked over at Stella and she held up a finger.

“Don’t say it,” she warned.

“What?” I smiled.

“You were going to explain the irony of me giving you a speech about handling everyone carefully when I went ahead and ignored my own advice and pissed off Critter,” she said.

“I wasn’t going to say that at all,” I replied.

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t,” I said. “Not in those exact words.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” she sighed.

I took her in my arms and kissed her. Okay, I took her in myarm. Singular. “You love me being an asshole,” I said between kisses. “Makes you look better.”

“Well, tell that to Critter,” Stella said as she gently pushed me away. Which was pretty easy since a one armed man can’t exactly hold on tight. “I’ll find him and apologize.”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “He’s probably already over it. Just go get done what you need to. I’m going to make sure the kids are all packed and ready. We’ll have plenty of loose ends to deal with before leaving. I don’t want any of those ends to be our kids.”

“Good idea,” Stella said.

***

I was pleasantly surprised to find my kids’ stuff fully packed and ready to go. I was not so pleasantly surprised not to be able to find my kids.

“Have you seen Charlie and Greta?” I asked Melissa as she carried a crate of medical supplies from the infirmary and out to the haul truck. “I can’t find them anywhere.”

“Check at the far end of the holler,” Melissa replied. “They were heading up one of the dead end walkways with a group of kids the last time I saw them.”

“A group of kids? What for?” I asked.

“Not a clue. I’ve been a little busy,” Melissa replied as she kept walking.

“Thanks,” I said as I turned and hurried towards the end of the holler.

Critter’s Holler was actually a valley about the size of three football fields laid end to end, and about as wide as a single football field, with sheer cliffs on both sides. A bubbling creek ran straight down the middle, coming from a trickle of a waterfall at the far end of the valley. Along the cliffs on either side, and almost halfway up, were platforms with buildings made from various materials, mostly retrofitted trailers and modular houses. Walkways of wood and steel connected the buildings, but there were quite a few unconnected walkways due to the fact we took down some buildings and put them in the haul truck’s bed.

I looked up at one of the unconnected walkways and saw my two kids with about ten others. The kids were busy sparring with various melee weapons while Greta and Charlie looked on. I was quite a ways away, but I could hear the distinct voice of my daughter shouting at the kids that weren’t doing so well. Charlie just stood there and shook his head.

“Hey!” I yelled up at them as I took a set of stairs that led to a walkway just across a gap from theirs. “What are you guys doing? There is shit that needs to be done! Now is not playtime!”

“We’re not playing, Dad!” Greta snapped. “We’re training! Half these kids coming with us don’t even know how to fight! They’ll be dead before we even get to Knoxville if shit gets rough!”

“Greta, knock it off!” I shout. “Not everyone has had to go through the shit you two have! Be nice and leave them alone!”

“It’s okay, Mr. Stanford,” a boy about Greta’s age said. “We need to know how to hold our own and how to help if the convoy gets overrun by Zs.”

“Overrun by Zs?” I asked. “Who said the convoy will be overrun by Zs?”

Everyone looked over at Charlie and he raised his hand. It stretched his chest wound and he winced, but he recovered quickly and just smiled.

“Charlie Stanford, get your ass over here,” I ordered.

It took him a while to get from his walkway to my walkway and I could see by the look on his face that he had his argument ready to go.

“Dad! They have to learn how to…” he began.

“I didn’t call you over here to talk about you and Greta training the kids how to fight,” I interrupted. “My issue is that you are telling these kids they are going to die when the convoy is overrun by Zs.”

“First, I never said the convoywouldbe overrun, justif it was overrun,” Charlie countered. “And Greta is the one saying they’ll die, not me.”

“Greta tells everyone they are going to die,” I replied. “People have learned to stop listening. But they do listen to you when you say alarming things. You have a different place in this group now. You saved a lot of people and kids look up to you. If you hint at shit going wrong, they will think it is going to go wrong. I need you to be the optimist here, please.”

“But I know it will go wrong,” Charlie stated.

That caught me off guard and I had to shake my head a little to get over the shock.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “You do not know that.”

Charlie frowned and rolled his eyes. “Name one time since Z-Day that everything hasn’t gone wrong. Just one time. Whispering Pines? Blown up. Reynolds Mountain? Swarmed with Zs. Grove Park Inn? Same thing. Asheville? Radioactive mess. Nothing has gone right, Dad. Take the blinders off and look at reality.”

I had to let that all sink in for a second before I could reply.

“Yeah, things have sucked. That’s true,” I replied. “But we are still alive which is more than a lot of people can say.”

Charlie frowned and shook his head. “That’s my point. Those people can’t say it because they are dead. And not just because Zs got them. We’ve been attacked by the living more than the undead these past few months. The kids over there at least have to know how to swing a baseball bat so it cracks a skull. That’ll save them from the Zs and the people.”

“Yes, well, the people are behind us and we are going to be long gone before they get here,” I said.

“Dad, there are always people,” Charlie replied. “And there will be plenty ahead of us as well. The highwaymen alone could stop us from even getting over the pass.”

“Wait...the what? Who told you about the highwaymen?”

“Critter,” Charlie responded. “He says he needs us to keep our eyes open when we hit the road because the highwaymen will be watching us every step of the way. If they smell weakness, they’ll swarm down on us like locusts.”

Yeah, that’s sounds like Critter.

“Great. Just great,” I replied. “Looks like I need to go have a chat with Critter about not spooking kids.”

“So the highwaymen are real?” Charlie asked.

“If I answer that will you promise to keep it to yourself?” I responded. “Don’t tell the other kids and get them all freaked out, okay?”

“Okay,” Charlie nodded.

“Yes, the highwaymen are real,” I answered. “Critter and his men have always kept them in check and away from our area, mainly because Critter is the scariest of all the highwaymen, but once we get out on that road, we’ll be fair game. All of the adults know about them, but we left it up to the parents to tell their kids. I guess Critter just couldn’t help being a creepy dick.”

“He gets a kick out of shaking shit up,” Charlie said.

“Tell me about it.”

“How many are there?” Charlie asked.

“We don’t know,” I said. “Could be a dozen or two, or it could be a hundred. Critter hasn’t dealt with them in a while because he’s been busy with all the Asheville bullshit. Trust me, I’ve gotten an earful about how the city drama has gotten in the way of real country work. Guess we finally get to see what that real work is.”

“Wee. Fun,” Charlie sighed.

“Hey!” Greta shouted over at us. “So are we grounded or can we keep practicing?”

“You can keep practicing!” I shouted back. “But be ready to stop and come help the second you’re called for, got it?”

“Got it!” Greta said.

“Thanks, Mr. Stanford!” the boy yelled.

“Who is that?” I asked. “I don’t recognize him.”

“That’s Jordan Jensen,” Charlie replied. “His parents were laborers for Mondello.”

“Were?”

Charlie shrugged. “They didn’t make it to Asheville. They died during a Z attack on the parkway up by Blowing Rock.”

“That sucks,” I said. “He a good kid?”

“He’s nice, but weird,” Charlie said. “Probably why Greta likes him.”

“Probably why what?” I snapped. “Greta likes him?”

“Uh, yeah, haven’t you noticed?” Charlie grinned. “Those two have been hanging out non-stop since we all got to the holler.”

A billion thoughts ran through my head, and most included shotguns, but I took a deep breath and just nodded to Charlie. “Keep an eye on him.”

“Already am,” Charlie said. “He gets out of line and I’ll toss him to the Zs.”

“Don’t do that,” I said. “At least not unless you ask me first.”

“Will do.”

“Good,” I said as I looked out over the hustle and bustle on the valley floor. “Now I have to find Critter and give him a piece of my mind.”

“Better be a small piece,” Charlie laughed. “You don’t have much left.”

“Ha ha, funny guy,” I smirked. “Now feel free to go fuck off.”

I left him there and took off down the stairs to find Critter. The last thing we needed was that old coot stirring up fear and anxiety.

Chapter Three

The makeup and exact order of vehicles in the convoy was a huge bone of contention for a while, until I finally had to put a stop to the debate and set the order.

“Haul truck goes first,” I stated. “Yes, it carries the shelters, most of the supplies, and our weaker friends and family, but it’s also the biggest hunk of metal on the road. The thing was designed to take point and clear away any blockages we may come across.”

There were some grumbles, but in the end, everyone came around to my way of thinking. After the haul truck, was Critter and his tricked out Jeep Wrangler. The thing had two mini-guns mounted to the front and huge saw blades welded to the sides as well as spikes on the bumpers. It was designed to tear through Zs. After that, was the Ford Explorer that I would be riding in with Stella, Elsbeth and the kids. Then the Fitzpatricks in various pickup trucks with the remainder of the convoy behind them.

John and Stuart were up on top of the haul truck, along with some others, their rifles ready to pick off trouble. Dr. McCormick and Reaper were inside the shelters watching over the sick and wounded. Reaper had double duty and had to watch Kramer as well.

None of us trusted the man and had zero intention of forcing anyone to be cramped in a smaller vehicle with him. It was probably for his own good since he seemed to have an innate ability to piss everyone off. It would have only been a matter of time before somebody tossed him out a door and onto the road. As much as I would have enjoyed seeing that, I still thought we needed him at the very least for the knowledge he had of the road from Critter’s Holler to Kansas City.

Yes, we were still going to KC. Kramer may have been right that it was a scorched crater, but we needed to see it for ourselves. Plus, it was on the way to Colorado anyway. If it was a complete loss, we would just keep on going to Boulder and the supposed Stronghold.

“That thing don’t move very fast,” Elsbeth said from the passenger seat.

Stella was driving and I was in the way back backseat behind the kids, who were in the middle backseat (there’s a lot of fucking seats in SUVs), so that I could keep an eye on the line of vehicles behind us and Elsbeth could keep an eye on the road ahead. The kids were supposed to be watching the sides, but Charlie kept spacing off and Greta was busy making pink bracelets from some twine she found (Elsbeth had like six on her wrists already since she liked them so much) so I had to do triple duty most of the time.

“It’ll move faster once we hit the open stretch of the interstate in Tennessee,” Stella said as she watched the haul truck ahead of Critter’s Jeep move at a crawl.

Red Lapsing was driving the haul truck, despite having lost an eye the last time he drove it. He insisted the injury didn’t hurt his ability to drive, so we put him through a few tests, but in the end, it was his phobias and anxieties about being around wide open spaces and too many people that settled it. The cab of the giant truck was the only place he said he wouldn’t totally freak out.

I couldn’t drive the thing since I only had one arm and a stump, so he had my vote.

“Long Pork? You read me?” Critter called over the walkie talkie. “You back there?”

“We’re back here,” I replied into my walkie. Critter had a ton of walkies and radios stockpiled and luckily, Landon Chase, our resident tech pain in the ass, was able to get enough working and hold a charge for one to be in each vehicle. “What’s up, Crit?”

“Just makin’ sure I can squawk at ya when I need to,” Critter laughed. “You keep that radio handy, you hear? We have a tricky detour to take just up ahead. If the assholes are gonna hit us, it’ll be right along there.”

The one major flaw in our convoy plan was the fact that the haul truck was two stories high and as big as a house. We knew the interstate was the fastest, easiest way to travel, especially since a lot of it had been cleared of cars and trucks over the years by Critter’s men (at least on the North Carolina side of the mountains), but we also knew there would be issues such as tunnels and overpasses that the haul truck wouldn’t fit in or under.

Overpasses were easy to drive around, but a tunnel wasn’t.

We were at our first detour.

Not that the detour was all that great. Instead of the interstate, we had to take rural highway 288. That meant the haul truck took up both lanes and had to crawl along even slower as the small road twisted and turned its way through the mountains. Many a tree would lose the majority of its limbs as that massive thing on wheels shoved by.

Taking that route also presented a slight problem when it came to communication, as we found out in just a couple of miles.

“Hey, all,” Red said over the radio as we lost sight of the haul truck as it went around a sharp curve. “Looks like we have -hiss- up ahead.”

“What was that?” I replied. “What’s up ahead?”

“I think he said a tree was down,” Critter replied. “Hard to hear though. These hills are getting in the way of the radio signal. I thought that Landon boy had it all worked out.”

“I did,” Landon interrupted. “The walkies weren’t in the greatest of shape. I salvaged the best and put in the strongest batteries I could find, but none of them could be considered top of the line.”

“I don’t need a damn CB Cadillac!” Critter snapped. “Top of the line don’t meant shit to me, boy. I just need to talk -hiss- in the -hiss- got that?”

“The mountains are getting in the way,” I said to everyone in the Explorer with me. “We’ll be fine when we get back on the interstate and hit that straight stretch in Tennessee.”

“Doesn’t help us now when we need it the most,” Stella said as she took the sharp curve and brought us around to see what Red was talking about.

There were a couple more twists, but not sharp enough that we couldn’t see the haul truck. It was up the road from us, stopped dead, and several folks were climbing down from it. We pulled up behind Critter’s Jeep, where he stood shouting orders here and there, and came to our own stop.

“What is it?” I asked as I got out of the Explorer with Elsbeth, leaving Stella and the kids inside.

The first rule of the convoy was that someone was behind the wheel of a vehicle at all times. Critter was bending that rule by standing in the driver’s seat instead of seated and ready to get moving, but I wasn’t going to be the one to quibble with the old coot.

“Trees down,” Critter said. “Looks like they were uprooted by a storm.”

“So it’s not a trap?” I asked.

“Oh, it probably is,” Critter grinned as he eyed the mountainside to our left. “But they ain’t gonna attack until they know our weak point. We gots enough guns to keep them back for now.”

One thing we were counting on was that Critter was positive the highwaymen were out of ammunition. He couldn’t say for certain, but he hadn’t had a shoot out with any of the small gangs in a long while. Last time he got into a tussle with some of the highwaymen, he said they’d been using bows and arrows.

But no bullets. We all hoped he was right.

“Can’t the haul truck just mow down the trees?” I asked. “Run them over and keep going?”

“Sure,” Critter said as we watched men scramble ahead of the haul truck to start clearing the road. “But that truck would make such a god-awful mess of those trees that none of the other vehicles could get through.” He let out a low whistle. “And you ever see what those giant tires can do to a hunk of wood? It catches it right and we’d have a million splinters shootin’ back at us. Don’t know if you noticed or not, Long Pork, but my Jeep ain’t got no top on it. That wouldn’t be too much fun for me, now would it?”

“Are you afraid of a little toothpick rain?” I smiled.

“You afraid of my boot up your ass?” Critter replied.

“Point taken,” I nodded. “So we just wait? You think I should send runners down the convoy to give everyone a heads up? Good chance for people to stretch their legs and have a piss break before we get going again.”

“Sounds like a good way to go since the radios ain’t workin’ too well,” Critter nodded. He let out a whistle and pointed at two men with rifles that were busy watching the mountainside. “You boys! Head down the line and let folks in on what’s happenin’, will ya? Move your asses and get back up here!”

The men nodded and hurried past us and down the convoy, stopping at each vehicle to give a quick update. Or I assume that was what they did since I lost sight of them in seconds once they went around the curve.

Moving the trees wasn’t as easy as it should have been. They were huge, old oaks and that wood is dense and heavy. It took a dozen men with ropes to maneuver the first tree far enough so that it could be shoved off the road and go tumbling and crashing through the smaller trees below. The second tree was a lot bigger than the first.

I leaned against Critter’s Jeep and watched everyone else work, since Stumpageddon wasn’t exactly up for lumberjack duty. Even if I wanted to put a cool axe or hook attachment onto my stump, I still had the healing collarbone to deal with. No leverage because of the minor issue of the pain. Not to mention the fact that Reaper would kick my ass if I ruined all the work he’d done to keep me from losing the last half of my right arm. He and Dr. McCormick had wanted to amputate all the way up to the shoulder so there was less stress on my fracture, but I vetoed that.

I’d grown fond of Stumpageddon and didn’t want to lose the whole arm. Having half an arm was shitty enough, but taking it all was unthinkable.

“Long Pork!” Critter snapped. “What you think’ about?”

“Life with one arm,” I said as I patted Stumpageddon.

“Well, good for you,” Critter snorted. “Now get your head out of the clouds and pay attention.”

“What for?” I asked.

“The attack that’s comin’,” Critter said.

That’s when I noticed he had picked up his rifle and was studying not the mountainside to our left, but the drop off to our right.

“You see something?” I asked. Then I looked around and realized I was standing by Critter’s Jeep alone. “Hey, where’s El?”

“Down in there,” Critter nodded towards the drop off. “Girl heard somethin’ and just took off. You were too busy gettin’ lost in that head of yours to notice.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. I truly was sorry since the spacing off thing really was a pain in my ass as well as everyone else’s.

“Well, as long as your little trips to outer space don’t get me killed, then I could give a crap about your sorry,” Critter said. “But hows about you pay the fuck attention right now?”

“Will do,” I said and walked back to the Explorer as Stella rolled down the window. “Critter says Elsbeth heard…”

“I know,” Stella said. “I saw her take off down the mountain. Here.”

She handed me a 9mm Beretta and smiled. “You going to be able to shoot that left handed?”

“He can shoot it, but can he hit anything?” Greta asked.

“The love and support is overwhelming,” I said as I took the pistol then stared at it. “Uh, could you rack the slide for me?”

“I already did,” Stella said. “There’s a round in the chamber, but the safety is on. Be sure to flick that off before you start shooting.”

“I know about the safety,” I mumbled as I walked away. “Don’t need to tell me how a gun works.”

I got back to Critter’s Jeep and saw he was smiling at me. I hate it when Critter smiles at me.

“What?” I snap.

“You’re like a little kid that needs his meat cut up,” Critter chuckled. “Man can’t handle a pistol on his own, what kind of man is he?”

“The kind that’ll put a cap in your ass if you don’t shut the fuck up,” I growled.

That made Critter chuckle even harder. He didn’t stop until we heard the first scream. Then a second one.

“I think our girl found company,” Critter said, his rifle to his shoulder. “Let’s hope she can handle things on her own.”

“Up top!” John shouted from the haul truck as I heard his suppressed rifle cough out a couple of shots. “Zs!”

And he wasn’t shitting us sideways. There were a fuck ton of Zs about to come tumbling down on our heads.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I turned to the small part of the convoy I could see behind us. “Get ready!” I tried my walkie, but only static came out of it. “Fuck!”

The mountainside to our left was not quite a sheer cliff, but it was close enough so that the undead that came at us barely set a foot on the ground. They fell from above, their mouths open and rotted hands reaching for some tasty, tasty people meats.

The first few splatted just short of the convoy, but the rest started smacking the tops and sides of the vehicles, causing all kinds of havoc.

“Mother fuckers!” Critter shouted as he ducked and dodged the falling corpses. It took him all of two seconds to realize that it was a waste of bullets to shoot the fuckers, so he dropped the rifle and picked up a baseball bat that had spikes driven through the end.

“Hey!” I shouted at him as I jumped out of the way of a Z that exploded all over the road. “That’s the Bitch!”

“Long Pork, I ain’t never gonna call nothin’ a stupid name like that,” Critter grinned as he steadied the bat by his shoulder and then took a swing, ripping the head off a Z that came falling right at him. “But I ain’t gonna let a sweet design like this go to waste neither.”

Fair enough.

The Zs kept coming, but luckily, gravity did most of the work for us. Now, I know Zs aren’t too bright, what with the lack of a living brain and all, but rarely do you see them get all lemming and shit and go for a suicidal leap. So I wasn’t too surprised to see some living faces peering down at us when I looked up at the top of the mountainside.

I gave them a quick wave. Okay, not so much a wave as a couple shots with my 9mm. They ducked back from the pistol fire and I was feeling pretty good about myself until the rocks started raining down.

Yep. Rocks.

My first thought was that they must have run out of arrows at some point. Second thought? Fuck! Falling rocks!

“Sons of bitches,” Critter snarled as he slammed the Bitch into the skull of a Z that was crawling at him over the windshield of the Jeep. A rock smacked his shoulder and he snarled, giving me a look of pure hurt rage before he dropped the Bitch and picked his rifle back up. “You gonna throw rocks in a gun fight, ya fuckers? Fine!”

He unloaded his rifle at the men above that were busy tossing rocks down on us, but it made no difference since those fuckers had gravity ontheir side. They could stand way back from the edge and just let the rocks fly. Fuckers.

Fuckity fucker fuck fucks.

I attribute all the cursing to the fact a rock nailed me in the forehead. Fucking hurt, man. Otherwise, I’m such a mild mouthed fella.

“We’re clear!” Stuart yelled from the haul truck as the beast of a machine roared back to life and started to lurch its way up the road as the last tree was shoved from the road. “Get moving!”

Those with rifles on top of the haul truck kept firing at the mountainside, trying to take out some of the still falling Zs as well as keep the rock-throwing fuckers back. I dodged it all as I raced back to the Explorer while Stella yelled at me to move ass. I jumped into the empty passenger seat and just had the door closed when she floored it and sent us chasing after Critter and his Jeep.

“What about Elsbeth?” Greta asked.

There was a loud thump from the top of the Explorer and suddenly Elsbeth’s face was looking in at us upside down from my window.

“I’ll move,” I said as I rolled the window down and scrambled into the back seat with Greta and Charlie.

Elsbeth did this flip spin thingy and was comfortably in the passenger seat before I even got my seatbelt on. She smacked her hands on the dashboard and gave us all a wide grin. She was pretty much covered in blood from head to toe.

“Haven’t had a good killin’ time in a long while,” she said as she clapped her hands together. “Fun, fun, fun!”

“Were there a lot of Zs down there?” Charlie asked.

“Zs? Nope. No Zs,” Eslbeth replied. “Just lots of stupid, stupid men. Came at me with sticks and rocks. Kinda felt bad for them and I said so. They didn’t listen. Should have listened.”

“Uh...if you were down there, then how did you get on top of the Explorer?” Greta asked, looking from the drop off to our right and then up at the roof of the car. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Trees go up,” Elsbeth said. “Elsbeth comes down.”

Greta just shook her head.

“How much farther is it?” Stella asked. “We need to get off this road and back onto the interstate.” Rocks continued to rain down on us and one smacked into the windshield, sending cracks spider webbing this way and that. “Because I am done with this shit!”

Stella rolled her window down, grabbed a pistol stashed next to her and started firing up at the mountainside.

“FUCKERS!” Stella screamed.

“MOM!” Greta yelled. “STOP!”

We all yelled at her to stop, but she couldn’t hear us over the gunfire. When the pistol clicked empty, she casually handed it to Elsbeth, who was sitting there giggling like it was the best thing she’d ever seen, and then let out a long sigh.

“I feel better,” Stella said.

“You just wasted a whole magazine,” Charlie snapped. “That’s ammo we can’t get back!”

“But damn if it didn’t feel good,” Stella replied.

“See? Everyone needs killin’ time,” Elsbeth said.

“I don’t think I actually hit anyone,” Stella said, “but who fucking cares, right?”

“Fucking right,” Elsbeth nodded. She pointed at the stereo. “We need tunes. Tunes are good.”

“Yes, we need tunes,” Stella said and hit the power button. A Johnny Cash CD started playing and soon Elsbeth and Stella were singing along to the Man in Black, drowning out the sounds of rocks and falling Zs.

The kids both looked back at me as if their mom had completely lost her mind. Which she may have. In the apocalypse, you gotta find your bliss where you can, so I just shrugged and started singing along.

“This family is so fucked,” Greta said.

“No shit,” Charlie agreed.

***

It took us an hour to get back onto I-40, and we had highwaymen on our ass the whole way, so we didn’t risk stopping the caravan until we were down out of the pass and onto the straighter stretch on the Tennessee side.

“Hold up!” Critter barked over the radio. The interference was gone since we had no mountains and ridges between us anymore, but the signal sounded weak and I had to wonder how long we could rely on the walkies for communication.

The convoy came to a slow stop and Critter began barking orders for his men to go up and down the line and take inventory of the damage. We may have made it out of the mountains alive, but it didn’t mean we hadn’t taken some bad hits.

“Come on,” I said to Elsbeth. “I want to see what the problems are.”

“You need me to come with?” Elsbeth asked, her feet propped up on the dashboard as she relaxed back into her seat. “Why you need me, Long Pork? You’re missing an arm, not a leg.”

“I’ll go with you,” Stella said.

“Cool,” I grinned. “Charlie can get in the driver’s seat in case we have to take off fast.”

“Charlie drives just fine,” Elsbeth agreed. “Get your butt up here and take the chair.”

Stella and I got out of the Explorer and smiled at each other.

“She’s in a funny mood,” I said.

“I think she’s glad to be back in the action,” Stella said. “It keeps her mind off Julio.”

“True,” I agreed. Losing Julio had been hard for her no matter if she wanted to admit it or not. “Nothing like killing some crazies and Zs to keep one’s mind off tragedy.”

We walked along in silence the rest of the way as I studied the damage to the trucks and SUVs from the Zs and the rocks. People were out of their vehicles and doing the same while also taking the time for bathroom breaks along the side of the interstate. Supervised bathroom breaks, of course, since the grass was pretty high and no one wanted to accidentally squat on a Z and have their ass bitten off.

Critter’s people had things pretty much under control until we reached the last two vehicles. Eight men and women had their rifles up and pointed at a double cab pickup and Volvo station wagon.

“What’s up?” I asked, wishing I had brought a pistol with me. I looked over and saw Stella held hers down to the side of her leg and could see she was ready to bring it up and start firing if anything fucked up happened.

“Folks won’t roll down the windows or step out so we can make sure they’re okay,” a man named Gary Wilkes said. “We been knocking and they just say they’re fine.”

“Hello in there!” I shouted. “Could you roll the windows down please?”

The driver’s window on the double cab truck rolled down a fraction of an inch.

“All good here!” a man said. “Just ready to keep rollin’.”

“Who’s supposed to be in these?” I asked Stella. “Do you have the driver list?”

“Didn’t bring it with me,” Stella said.

I looked at Critter’s folks and they all shrugged.

“Great,” I sighed as I looked at the truck. “What’s your name?”

“Uh...Bob,” the guy said.

“Okay, Bob. Can you hop on out so we can just do a quick health check?” I asked nicely. “We need to make sure no one in the truck was bitten by a Z. You understand, right?”

“We’re good,” Bob said as he rolled the window back up.

Fucker.

“Bob!” I yelled. “Open the fucking truck, please!”

“Nice use of please,” Stella smirked.

“Thanks,” I said as I started to step towards the truck.

I made it all of a foot before the door swung open and the road erupted into gunfire.

Three of Critter’s people went down hard, their bodies riddled with bullets. I instinctively dove at Stella and covered her with my body as I shoved her towards the side of the road and into the high grass. We rolled and rolled down an embankment and came to a painful stop against a group of pines.

“You okay?” I grunted.

“Yeah. You?”

“As good as can be,” I replied.

The sound of the truck engine roaring back to life reached us as we scrambled back up to the road. The driver’s window was shattered and blood dripped down the side of the door as the truck roared past us. Two wheels were on the road and two were on the overgrown shoulder as it dodged past the convoy. People still taking care of their business had to dive this way and that, pants down around their ankles, to keep from being run down.

“That’s not one of ours!” I shouted, but I think people figured that out.

“JACE!” Stella yelled as she shoved me back into the grass.

The Volvo zipped past only inches from us as we fell back on our asses. All of the windows had been shot out and I could see only two people inside, one of which I’m pretty sure was no longer living.

“What the fuck?” Stella shouted as she got to her feet, lifted her pistol, then lowered it again as she realized she was just as likely to hit one of our people as she was to hit the Volvo.

“They must have hijacked the cars when we were stopped back on the detour,” I said.

“Ya think?” Stella snapped. “We should have been prepared for that.”

“Well, doesn’t look like they’re getting far,” I said as the truck reached the haul truck, swerved one way, then the other before slamming into the giant rear tire of the huge machine. I could see John standing on top of the haul truck, his sniper rifle to his shoulder. He gave a quick wave and I waved back. “Yay for snipers.”

The Volvo only went a little farther before taking a sudden lurch towards the left and drove off into the grass. We lost sight of it, but then the sound of crunching metal and glass filled us in on the car’s fate.

A bunch of us raced up to it and found the car smashed into a large oak tree, its front crumpled. Steam and smoke hissed from under the mangled hood, but that wasn’t what got our attention.

“Damn,” Greta said from my side. “I guess that one turned fast.”

“Hey, why are you out of the Explorer?” I snapped. “It’s not safe out here!”

“Not safe in there,” Greta said as she pointed at the Z that was busy munching on the driver of the Volvo. “Sucks to be that guy.”

“The one being eaten or the one doing the eating?” Buzz asked as he came up to us, his pistol out. “Wouldn’t want to be either of them.”

He moved past and put a bullet in the head of the Z, then in the head of the dead driver, who would have come back in just a few minutes anyway.

“The passenger turned fast,” I said. “That’s not good.”

“Turning times have gotten weird lately,” Buzz said as he holstered his pistol and walked back to us. “Whatever makes us turn is accelerating the process.”

“How very unfortunate,” Kramer said. “That does not bode well for the survival of the human species.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be up in the haul truck?”

“Oh, am I?” Kramer said. “I figured since my guards left that I was free to come out and see what all the commotion was.”

We could hear Critter cursing and shouting. Then he joined our large group of looky-loos. His arms gesticulated this way and that as he frothed at the mouth.

“YOU POSSUM ASS SUCKING MORONS!” Critter yelled at a pair of men that tried to duck away, but just weren’t fast enough. “YOU HAD ONE FUCKIN’ JOB! ONE JOB!”

“Someone’s getting fired,” Greta smirked as she turned and walked away. “I’ll be waiting in the Explorer. Let me know when it’s time to get moving again.”

“Come on,” Buzz said as he grabbed Kramer’s arm. “Back to your cage.”

“You realize you are talking to a man with seven PhDs and over two thousand patents?” Kramer snapped. “I do not need to be manhandled like a child!”

“Do you realize you are talking to a man that doesn’t care whether you live or die?” Buzz replied. “Personally,y your science crap doesn’t impress me. These days, all I need is God and I’m good.”

“You’re one of those religious nuts, are you?” Kramer sneered.

“Nope,” Buzz said. “Just a man of faith that has been tested again and again since the dead started to walk the Earth. And that faith has gotten me a lot further over the years than science has.”

“You think science hasn’t helped…” Kramer started, but stopped when Buzz smacked him in the back of the head. Hard.

“Save your breath,” Buzz said. “I’m not stupid. I just have room in me to believe in both faith and science. Try it sometime. You’d be surprised what worlds open up to you.”

“Damn,” I said to Melissa. “Your brother has gone all guru and shit.”

“Cram it up your poopchute, Long Pork,” Buzz called back to me.

“Hey! I was giving you a compliment!’ I snapped.

“Hard to tell with you sometimes,” Buzz replied as he basically dragged Kramer back to the haul truck.

“It is hard to tell sometimes,” Melissa said from my side.

We got up to the haul truck and Buzz forced Kramer to climb into one of the shelters while the rest of us walked to the side of the road where Stuart stood over a bleeding man that didn’t look like he had much longer to live.

“Not highwaymen,” Stuart said as he nudged the guy with his boot. “At least not the ones Critter was used to. From what I got out of this guy, it sounds like new gangs were starting to move across the mountains.”

“Gangs? What gangs?” I asked.

Critter knelt down next to the dying man and ripped open is bloody shirt. The man’s chest was scarred by all kinds of crappy tattoos and burn marks.

“Son of a bitch,” he sighed. “I didn’t think the idiots had the balls to come this far. Thought they’d always stay on the other side of Knoxville.”

“Care to tell the rest of us what that means?” I asked.

Critter stood up and shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked down I-40.

“Cannies,” he said.

We all waited for more, but Critter just kept staring at the road ahead of us.

“I’m going to speak for everyone and say that we’re gonna need a little more info than that,” I said.

“Well,” Critter replied as he turned his attention on to me. “It used to be that from Knoxville to Nashville it was nothin’ but cannibal gangs. They never came this close to the mountains because I kinda made it worth their while to stay away and they didn’t know the coves and hollers like us mountain folk do.”

“Hold on,” Stuart said. “You knew there would be cannibal gangs and didn’t bother to tell us?”

Critter shrugged. “I’d figured they’d wiped themselves out. Can’t be no survivors left for them to eat, so they had to have turned on each other by now. I guess some got bold and moved into the mountains looking for new food sources. Gotta give them credit for makin’ it this far.”

We all just stood there, stunned by the revelation.

“Okay, let’s put aside the fact you are an idiot, Critter,” Stella said. “How many gangs are we talking?”

“Don’t rightly know,” Critter said. “There were about half a dozen last time I checked, but that was a couple years back.” He held up his hands before anyone else could speak. “Now, in my defense, I did tell Lourdes and her soldier folk about them. I figured if they were still a threat that Lourdes would have sent someone to tell us. When we didn’t hear nothin’ I assumed it was all good.”

“Or maybe Lourdes and her people ran into some trouble and couldn’t get someone back to warn us,” I said. “That’s a possibility.”

“Nah,” Critter said. “The canny gangs ain’t smart enough to take on Lourdes. They’d be a pain in the ass, that’s for sure, but ain’t a one of them got the skills that those PCs have in their pinky fingers.”

I looked up at the haul truck.

“There may be someone that can shed a little more light on this situation,” I said. “Can someone help me up into the haul truck?” I waved Stumpageddon and winced at the pain in my collarbone. “Can’t quite do it myself.”

***

I was sweating pretty hard, and had swallowed a ton of pride, by the time I sat down across from Kramer in one of the shelters bolted into the haul truck’s bed.

“You have the look of a man in need of information, Mr. Stanford,” Kramer grinned. “I’m glad to see one of you came to your senses and realized that I am here to help, not hurt.”

“I’m not going to kid myself that that is true,” I said. “But maybe something you know can help, even if I suspect your intentions overall are far from charitable.”

“Well, I admit they certainly are not entirely charitable,” Kramer. “That would be saying that I lack the motivation of self-preservation. I’d be a liar if I said I came to you fine people forother reasons than to just prolong my life.”

“What’s on the other side of Knoxville?” I asked, done with the banter. “Critter says it used to be controlled by canny gangs. Is it still?”

Kramer smiled and eased back into the plastic chair he sat in. “Control is such a subjective word. There are many degrees of control. Control of movement, control of one’s environment, control of those around you, self-control- all very subjective, indeed. One could argue that I control this conversation by having information you need, yet I am sure you would say you control the entire situation by keeping me captive. Which version of control dominates? Which one is supreme over the other? I am your prisoner, but you are at my mercy.”

“You want to talk mercy?” Stuart growled as he stood by the door.

“Ah, then the physical threats begin,” Kramer said, “which I cannot match. The tables turn and the position of strength is revealed.”

“Is it possible for you to just answer my question?” I asked. “All your jabber, jabber, jabber is giving me a headache.”

Stuart snorted.

“Shut up,” I smirked. “I see the irony.”

“Your question was what? If there are cannibal gangs to the west of Knoxville?” Kramer smiled. “That is easy to answer: yes.”

“Okay, now we are getting somewhere,” I said. “Critter also believes they have probably eaten themselves down to nothing. Is that true?”

“Down to nothing? Oh, heavens no, son!” Kramer laughed. “Those gangs are thriving! From a strictly anthropological view, I would say they are quite possibly the strongest culture I have seen sprout up from this nightmarish landscape. They have adapted as needed and taken that adaptation to new heights. No, no, no, Mr. Critter is quite mistaken. The cannibal gangs are far from down to nothing.”

“Great,” I responded as I looked over at Stuart. “Not exactly what we were prepared for.”

“We can get through,” Stuart said. “We may not have known we’d be dealing with thriving canny gangs, but we knew we’d be dealing with plenty of crazies. These’ll just be the first.”

“Don’t underestimate them, Gunnery Sergeant,” Kramer said. “They are crazy, yes, but they are also not stupid. The ones that have made it this far in life are wily like any true predatory scavenger. They are like packs of hyenas. Get enough of them together and even a lion cannot scare them off.”

“Fine,” Stuart said. “Then give us details. We need to know how many of them there are and where they camp out. Do they hunt at night? Do they hunt during the day? Are they armed or use vehicles? Or have they run out of ammo and fuel? Spill everything you know and you get to live another day.”

“Gunnery Sergeant Stuart,” Kramer sighed. “You do not need to keep threatening me. How many times must I state that fact?”

“I could give a fuck,” Stuart said. “Keep stating it all you want. I’m going to keep threatening you because I want you to know that you only have a future with us because I allow it to happen.”

“How very democratic of you,” Kramer smirked. “I’m sure your fellow survivors would love to know that’s your attitude. Do they have a future as well because you allow them to?”

“Blah blah blah,” Stuart said. “Just tell us what you know.”

“Fine,” Kramer said as he coughed and tapped at his chest. “May I have a glass of water first, please?”

“No,” Stuart stated.

“My throat is parched and I could use something to…” Kramer started, but didn’t get to finish as Stuart moved forward and punched him in the nose.

“Feel that blood trickling down the back of your throat?” Stuart grinned. “That should wet your whistle.”

Kramer grabbed at his face as blood poured from around his fingers.

“Dude,” I said to Stuart before I found a rag and handed it to Kramer, “now his voice is going to be all nasal and annoying.”

“Your concern for my wellbeing is admirable,” Kramer said as held the rag to his bleeding nose.

“How about this?” I asked. “You tell us what we need to know and we leave you alone for a while? I’d say after that sock to the face that’s a fair deal.”

“There are a minimum of half a dozen cannibal gangs stationed outside Knoxville,” Kramer said.

“But not all the way to Nashville?” I asked.

“Not that I am aware of,” Kramer answered. “But I could be mistaken. The main corridor of death is the stretch of I-40 just past the I-75 junction.”

“But not in Knoxville?” Stuart asked. “Why not stay in the city itself?”

“They like the openness the road provides,” Kramer said. “Cities are too constrictive for them. Day in and day out their individual gang territories grow and shrink depending on their successes or failures in Cannibal Road.”

“They have a name for it?” I laughed. “Seriously?”

Kramer just grinned.

“How have they grown?” Stuart asked. “You said they have grown and flourished? Considering they eat their recruitment base, how can that be possible?”

“They prey on and eat the weak first, of course,” Kramer said. “Those they do not deem worthy to become a part of their twisted clubs. After that, it is a matter of staying in line. If a member does not follow the rules or decides they are more important than the good of the overall group, then they become the next item on the menu.”

“So they fight and kill amongst themselves,” Stuart said. “I assume they also eat their enemies from other gangs.”

“Oh, they certainly do,” Kramer said. “It’s a long tradition from the dawn of man. Eat your enemies and you gain their strengths.”

“You also gain their maladies,” I responded. “It’s not exactly healthy to be a cannibal. Prions and all that.”

“Yes, so very true,” Kramer said. “Those that subsist on human meat will eventually start to have serious cerebral and psychological stability issues. But not nearly as bad as say bovine spongiform encephalopathy. With cows, it spreads quickly, but with humans, it is more a case by case basis. Some go mad after only a few months of constantly consuming human meat while others last years without a single symptom.”

“That means we could be dealing with people that are not only semi-sane,” I said. “But people that have years of experience hunting and catching humans.” I looked at Stuart and frowned.

“Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing,” Stuart said. “I hope Lourdes and her crew stopped on the far side of Knoxville and didn’t try to scout ahead. They’re good, but it isn’t their home turf.”

“They could already be canny chow,” I said.

“Oooh, how unappetizing,” Kramer said. “I was going to ask for a bite to eat, but I think I’ve lost the stomach for it.”

“Yeah, me too,” I replied.

***

Stuart and I relayed all the information to the others, but it wasn’t like it made much of a difference. We didn’t have the fuel and resources to go around that stretch of I-40. Even if we did, who was to say that there wasn’t some other fucking hell waiting for us in a different direction?

Nope, we were pretty much stuck on the path we had already set foot on.

While Stuart and I had been getting info from Kramer, Melissa and her brothers had been going from vehicle to vehicle to make sure we didn’t have any other hijackings or stowaways. They actually found a guy hanging underneath a Chevy Blazer, but he was way too whacked out of his head to tell us anything useful.

Pup and Porky Fitzpatrick found three vehicles that had sustained enough damage from the attack in the mountains that it was decided to move the supplies and occupants from those into other vehicles. We just couldn’t risk a truck breaking down when we needed to make up the time we’d already lost.

It was a couple hours before we decided we were ready to push on and hopefully reach Knoxville before nightfall. We wanted to get as close as possible, but also have time to get everyone secure and our position fortified for the night. We could fit most people in the structures in the haul truck bed, but it was a squeeze and a lot of us would need to be out guarding the convoy anyway.

Especially since we knew, we weren’t just dealing with Zs, but gangs of people that eat people. That’s never a fun surprise in the middle of the night.

By the time we reached the outskirts of Knoxville, the sun had started to set and we knew it was time to call it a night. Stuart began barking orders, as did Critter. Between them and the Fitzpatricks, we had things pretty much squared away within an hour. A sentry schedule was put in place and we made sure there was a driver in every vehicle in case we needed to move fast in the night. They didn’t have to stay awake, but they did have to be ready to wake the fuck up and put the pedal to the metal if/when needed.

I insisted that Stella and the kids get up in the haul truck, and I would stay with the Explorer. I may not have been in the best shape to drive long distances, but I could start the SUV and make some tracks if I needed to. Stella only agreed when Elsbeth said she’d hang with me through the night. I know my wife was not happy about it, but I could also see she was dead tired and the rest would be good for her. It was probably her need to sleep that really won out.

The night was cool and clear as Elsbeth and I sat in the Explorer with the windows down and listened to the crickets and late peepers make their night noises.

“Did you ever hear about canny gangs?” I asked her. “Did any members come into Asheville to check out the scene?”

It was pretty dark, but I could still easily see the indignant look Elsbeth gave me.

“What?” I asked. “It’s a fair question.”

“You think because I was a canny that I knew all the cannies?” Elsbeth grumbled. “Is that what you think, Long Pork? That we all know each other?”

“Well, no, but I thought I’d ask,” I said. “No need to get all defensive. It was worth a shot.”

She was quiet for a while then sighed. “Yeah. We’d heard of there being gangs of cannies.”

“What?” I nearly shouted. “You did? You made me feel like an asshole when the answer was yes? Not cool, El. Not cool at all.”

“I can’t make you feel nothing,” she countered. “If you felt like an asshole then that’s your problem.”

“Okay, I don’t want to fight about the emotional and psychological dynamics of assholery,” I said. “Just tell me what you know about the canny gangs.”

“Not much,” she replied. “Pa came across a couple people here and there that would talk about the gangs. Sometimes, they were just folks that had come from far away and made it through without getting caught. Some were folks that escaped and some were actually from the gangs. Didn’t really matter what they said since it all turned out the same in the end.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “How’d it all turn out the same?”

Elsbeth patted her stomach. “We ate ‘em.”

“Oh...right,” I responded. “Stupid me.”

“Yep. Stupid you.”

We stayed quiet for a bit, but I just couldn’t let it go.

“So you didn’t learn anything from any of them?” I asked. “Like how many gangs there were or how many people were in the gangs? They didn’t say where they came from? Like where they camped out or anything?”

“Nope,” Elsbeth said. “They all just said the same thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Please don’t eat me,” Elsbeth replied. “It’s what everyone would say in the end.”

“Yeah, I can relate to that,” I sighed as I thought back on my brief time as a captive of Elsbeth and Pa. “It’s really all you can think to say in that moment.”

Apparently, Elsbeth found that funny. She started to giggle and laugh, and had to cover her mouth with both hands to keep from being too loud. Having known Elsbeth for a while, I just waited out the giggle fit.

“You done?” I asked as she got herself under control.

“I am,” she said. “That felt good.”

“Great,” I said and rolled my eyes even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Want to let me in on what you found so funny?”

“Oh, just you when you were all trussed up in that basement,” Elsbeth said. “You had a lot more words than just please don’t eat me. You couldn’t shut up. It was the funniest thing.”

“I seem to remember you smacking me about a little,” I said. “That wasn’t so funny.”

“Hmmm,” Elsbeth said. “I probably did smack you. Bet I scared ya too.”

“Scared the piss right outta me,” I admitted.

“Oh, right,” Elsbeth said. “Yeah, I remember that. But I liked ya. That was for sure. I knew I liked ya when I first heard ya talk. You have a funny way of talkin’, Long Pork. It got me tickled.”

“That why you ended up saving me?” I asked.

She didn’t reply.

“Did you just shrug in the dark?” I asked.

“Yep,” she replied.

“Fair enough,” I said then yawned. “Care if I settle in and get some sleep? You can wake me up in an hour or so and I’ll let you sleep.”

“No need,” Elsbeth replied. “You sleep all you want. I ain’t tired.”

“You sure?” I asked. “You have to be tired after all that fighting today.”

“Nope,” she said. “Too many thoughts all swirly in my head. Can’t sleep until they calm down, which I don’t think is gonna be for a long time.”

“Well, you have to sleep sometime,” I said. “Maybe Knoxville won’t be too hard to get through and you can rest on the drive before we have to deal with Cannibal Road.”

“Cannibal Road?” Elsbeth asked. “Is that what the Devil called it?”

“You mean Kramer?” She didn’t answer and I didn’t really need her to. “Yeah, he called it Cannibal Road.”

“Hmmm,” she said again. “Not a very good name.”

“But it fits, I guess,” I replied.

“I guess,” she said then patted me on the shoulder. “You go to sleep now, Long Pork. Guys like you need more rest than girls like me.”

I didn’t bother to ask her to explain since it probably wouldn’t have gotten anywhere anyway. I adjusted myself in the driver’s seat and closed my eyes; pretty sure it would be a while before I fell asleep. However, it only took a minute or two and I had drifted off into a world of stress dreams and nightmares.

Chapter Four

So...Knoxville.

That should have been our first clue to get the fuck out of Tennessee and go north. We could have skirted Knoxville, taken highway 71 up to I-75, and then into Lexington, Kentucky. All we would have had to do then was zip across I-64 and we would have gotten to Kansas City to see if Kramer was full of shit or not.

However, Lourdes and her people were supposed to meet us on the far side of Knoxville. They also had orders to meet us on the eastern side of Knoxville and stop us if things were bad, but when we got there, we didn’t see any of the PCs or any messages from them or Lourdes.

So we kept going along I-40, right into the heart of what was a bustling, vibrant university town pre-Z. Go Vols, am I right?

Now, I think it would be a good idea to tick off all the flaws in our plan. That way, you aren’t wasting time doing the same thing instead of paying attention to the shit storm that comes down on our asses. Oh, and that isn’t a spoiler, trust me. There’s enough mystery to the shit storm that you won’t be disappointed when I get to it.

Which is right about now.

Knoxville has a funky layout. It’s this cool, hilly city that has a long, slowly winding stretch of interstate that brings you in from the east and right smack through downtown. Then things get all twisted, literally and figuratively.

You see, when you come into downtown Knoxville, you end up dealing with a trillion exits, overpasses, underpasses, highways merging into one another, and all that goodness. It isn’t all that hard to navigate if you are focused on where you are going and stay in the correct lanes. Pay attention to signs and all that jazz, which is what we had started to do when we got to the heart of the city.

However, just like with the rest of the highway, the haul truck was too damn big to get under the overpasses. We couldn’t stay on the interstate through Knoxville. We had to get off and use the downtown streets as a detour until we were past the clover-leafs and twisting onramps that crisscrossed the highways.

We probably would have been more prepared for what was going to happen if we’d stayed on I-40. At least we would have seen the bodies strung up and dangling from the overpasses as a warning.

Instead, we drove smack into the crazy with only our general unease and survivor caution to prepare us.

Fun times.

The order of the vehicles in the convoy had stayed the same the whole trip, and it wasn’t any different when the haul truck came to a stop on West Summit Hill Drive, just a couple blocks from the University of Tennessee. Stella was driving the Explorer and Elsbeth was sitting shotgun -literally with a shotgun in her lap- while the kids were in the middle seat and I was in the far back, a pistol in my hand and my back against the middle seat so I could watch our ass.

I waved at the Fitzpatricks as we stopped, and gave them a shrug that I had no idea what was going on. I could see Buzz speaking into his radio and then watched his eyes go wide. He pointed at me and twirled his finger for me to turn around. I looked over my shoulder, but all I saw was Critter’s Jeep and the hulking haul truck up ahead. I looked back and shrugged again and Buzz rolled his eyes. He smacked Porky on the shoulder and that brother got out of the truck and hustled up to me.

“Ain’t ya got a radio?” Porky asked, all farm muscle and freckles. “Buzz says there’s something weird up front and Critter wants your eyes on it.”

“Oh, okay,” I said and crawled my way out of the back. “Can’t wait to see what Critter defines as weird.”

Buzz had gotten out of his truck, and had sent Porky back to man the driver’s seat, so he accompanied me. Stella stayed in our Explorer and just gave me the “Be Careful” speech as I walked by. Buzz and I got up past the Jeep, which was empty, and then past the haul truck to the promised weirdness.

And, as it has always been in the post-apocalyptic world since Z-Day, the weirdness delivered on its promise.

“That ain’t somethin’ ya see every day,” Critter said as he stood next to Stuart in front of a massive set of billboards that had been set in the middle of the street to block anyone and everyone’s way. “Maybe you should get Stella up here, Long Pork.”

“What for?” I asked as I struggled to keep the bile in my belly from visiting my throat. “Why the fuck would I want to show her that?”

“She could check it for grammar and spellin’,” Critter chuckled. “I think they get an A for originality, though. Ain’t gonna debate that.”

There were four full sized billboards that blocked the street- two across by two high. Scrawled across the billboards was the message: “Fall kegger! Follow the signs to the party of the year! Don’t miss out on the biggest bash of the whole apocalypse, people!”

Yep, it said that.

Now, a message like that one on billboards that block our way and force us to go one direction only would be troubling enough. Except it was the medium in which the message was written that was the worst part.

All the words were spelled out using bodies as the letters.

And all the bodies were men’s. Not a single woman was nailed, glued, duct taped, stapled, roped, or bungeed up on those billboards. It was all men and they were naked. Disturbing in of itself, for sure, but the fact that each man was missing his junk really drove the “crazy” message home.

“Never been to a kegger before,” Buzz said. “Think they’ll have chips and dips there?”

That was about as serious and coherent a statement as any of us could make at that moment.

“Dad?” Charlie called as he ran up to us. “Mom wants to know what’s taking...so...long…”

Charlie didn’t win in his battle of the bile. He turned and puked right there, and then flipped off the billboards without looking at them again.

“I’ll tell her we’ve hit a snag,” he said, his face green and sweaty. He jogged back towards the Explorer with his middle finger still extended and pointing at the grotesque invitation.

“We could drive through it,” Red called from up in the haul truck’s cab. “Just flatten the whole fucking thing and keep going.”

“John! Reaper!” Stuart yelled. “Get down here so we can give this shit a once over.”

“A once over?” I asked.

“Check for booby traps,” Stuart said.

“There ain’t no booby traps up there ‘cause they’s all men,” Critter snickered.

“You’re a dick, Critter,” I said.

“They ain’t,” he laughed as he pointed at the billboards. “Not no more.”

I sighed and let Critter be Critter.

I walked forward carefully with Stuart as we waited for John and Reaper to get down from the haul truck. Their SpecOps training was what was needed to make sure the haul truck didn’t trigger any explosives or traps if we drove right through the billboards.

I studied how the bodies were arranged on the billboards, letting my intellectual curiosity take over and suppress my baser instinct of getting the fuck out of there right that second. It was easy to tell that the bodies weren’t that old. They had maybe been there for four or five days at the most. You live in a post-Z world and you get to know corpses intimately.

“They been replacin’ ‘em,” Critter said, suddenly serious. He didn’t even smile when I jumped with surprise as he came up behind me. “Look at the stains on the boards.”

He was right; there were deeper, darker stains on the billboards where other bodies had been before. And below those stains, barely visible, were thick, black lines.

“They made an outline with paint before they put them up there,” I said. “Jesus, they actually sketched out the message, then added the corpses.”

“Needed to make a statement, that’s for sure,” Stuart said as he joined us, with John and Reaper jogging up behind. “They could have painted in the stenciled letters, but they wanted everyone that came by to know what they were capable of.”

“The lack of cocks and balls was statement enough,” I said. “They could have just hung the bodies on lampposts and shit like all the other crazies do in this world. Isn’t that what you do when you want to warn folks off?”

“They don’t want to warn folks off,” John said. “They want people to be afraid of them and also to know where they are. That last part is what’s bugging me.Follow the signs. Great.”

“I like how they use the heads to dot the I’s,” Elsbeth said, making us all start and spin around. She just grinned and pointed at the billboards. “See? They use heads to dot the I’s and as periods. Then they use feet as commas and apostrophes. The spacing is well thought out and the composition of the bodies, making sure the skin colors are grouped together, shows they cared about what they were doing.” Elsbeth clapped lightly then gave a thumbs up. “These folk ain’t just crazy, they’re careful.”

We just stared at her, which it being Elsbeth, made her uncomfortable then mad.

“What?” she snapped. “I used to scrapbook when I was a girl.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head. “Or I think I did. Can’t remember that far back. Doesn’t matter anyway. It took them a lot of hard work to get that message right.”

“So A for effort as well as originality,” I said. “Good for them, but what are we going to do?”

Stuart, John, and Reaper, having gotten over Elsbeth’s always confusing behavior, walked cautiously up to the billboards. They studied the road for tripwires, and then when they got to the billboards themselves, they studied the edges of the large wood and metal frames for booby traps and explosives.

“I’m not seeing anything,” John said. “We could probably drive right over these and not have to worry about damage to the haul truck at all.”

“We haven’t checked the bodies though,” Reaper sighed. “So we don’t know for sure it’s safe.”

We all stood there and looked up at the rotted corpses above us.

“Red!” Critter yelled back at the haul truck. “Move it in closer, will ya? Gotta get a better look at these cockless gentlemen!”

“No way, Critter,” Red said. “Too many bodies. I can drive through them, but getting up close is not in the cards.”

Critter sighed and rubbed his face. “Don’t know why I put up with that nutjob.”

“Because he’s smart and he’s loyal and he has a lot of good ideas that help us when we need him,” I said. “Same reasons you keep me around.”

“They keep you around because I’d kill them if they didn’t,” Elsbeth grinned. “Everyone knows that, stupid.”

“Thanks, El,” I smiled. “You know exactly what to say to make me feel like a winner.”

“Chicken dinner,” she replied.

There was a lot of looking down at feet and up at the buildings around us, pretty much everywhere but at Elsbeth.

Critter was cursing a blue streak as he climbed up into the haul truck. He proceeded to rip Red a new one as he shoved the one-eyed driver out of the way. I felt sorry for the guy (Red, not Critter) since he had severe agoraphobia and it wasn’t his fault for freaking out now and again. On the other hand, you have to pull your own weight in the zombie apocalypse.

Says the guy with one arm…

Critter got the haul truck up close to the billboards so Stuart, John and Reaper could climb up and get a better look at the bodies. They clung to the grill and the railing around the platform that was just to the side of the truck’s cab. Those of us not looking for booby traps stayed below and watched the surroundings, always ready for the next attack.

I say “next” because, let’s face it, life is just one attack after the other. Even pre-Z it was all about going from crisis to crisis, fire to fire. Or it was for us.

Maybe there is peace and quiet in other parts of the world. Maybe life just kept going with the undead rising being nothing but a hiccup in the day to day routine. Think about it, there were Third World countries that didn’t have running water, electricity, sewers, hospitals, or any modern conveniences. I’ll bet Z-Day was a trip, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Kill Uncle Sansu as he tried to eat Aunt Bolina then send the kids out to catch a chicken for dinner. Same old, same old.

“Long Pork,” Elsbeth hissed. “You out of your head enough to see what I see?”

I had to puzzle at that, since the term “out of your head enough” was more than just a little confusing. Did she mean was I out of my head crazy? Or out of my head, as in I was paying attention to the world around me instead of lost in my thoughts?

I said, “Yeah, what’s up?” Just seemed easier.

“We have watchers,” Elsbeth said. “Up in the windows. They been eyeing us since we got here. Haven’t stopped to take a break once.”

“How many?” I asked.

“Four,” Elsbeth said. “Man, woman, two kids, just staring at us.”

Elsbeth rolled her head on her neck, but I could tell she was trying to be casual as she nodded towards the windows in the building to our left. I stretched and turned that way, making sure I studied the whole building, not just the windows on the second floor. It was a nice building, I’ll give it that. Probably from the mid-Fifties, built of brick and stone. Part of it had some serious damage, so I couldn’t say what the building had been used for pre-Z, but what still stood looked solid.

The building wasn’t all that looked solid. I caught a glance at the four faces that peered down at us from the shadows of the second floor and I would have been more than surprised if they weren’t stiff as boards. Stiff being the operative word.

“More corpses,” I said.

“Really?” Elsbeth asked then turned and looked directly at them. “Huh. I didn’t catch that. It’s probably because you got to sleep all night and I didn’t.”

“Hey!” I snapped. “I said I’d take turns!”

Elsbeth just grinned.

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?” I asked.

“Yep,” she said.

“You knew they were dead the whole time, right?”

“Right,” Elsbeth nodded. “So fucking with your shit.” She clapped me on the shoulder and drew one of her blades. She pointed it at the building. “Let’s go see what’s going on up there.”

I stared at her for a second, but she only stared back.

“Fine,” I shrugged. “What else have I got to do?”

“Where the fuck are you two goin’?” Critter asked as he looked down at us from the haul truck’s cab.

I pointed up at the dead faces in the windows.

“Oh,” he replied. “Have fun with that.”

“Watch your step!” Stuart yelled at me. “The building could be rigged as well!”

“Got something!” John announced as he pulled his hands back from a corpse just as Elsbeth and I stepped into the shadows of the building’s broken entrance.

I could hear them all talking hurriedly, but their voices were too muffled to make out as Elsbeth led us down a hallway and over to a set of less than safe looking stairs. She tried the first step then the second.

“The wood is feelin’ good,” she said, giving me a thumbs up. “One at a time and all will be fine.”

“Are you talking in rhyme now?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she replied. “Baby.”

“Yeah, don’t do that anymore,” I said, “and especially don’t call me baby.”

“You’re no fun when you’re scared, Long Pork,” Elsbeth said.

“I’m not scared,” I replied as I started up the stairs after her. “I just don’t need to hear you talk in rhyme while we go and look at the corpse family.”

“You don’t know they are family,” Elsbeth said. “Maybe they hate each other.”

“They don’t do anything, El,” I replied once we were on the second floor landing. “They are dead. I was just making a joke.”

“Dumb joke,” she said as she walked down the hall towards the door we assumed led into the room with the dead peepers.

Elsbeth pushed the door open with her blade and we waited for an undead rush. We doubted there were any Zs in there, since we didn’t hear anything or see any movement when we were down on the street, but it is the zombie apocalypse, so better safe than sorry and all that happy stay alive shit.

No Zs were in the room, which was large and open and had a set of stairs leading up to a loft where I assumed the bedroom was. The place looked like it had been renovated into a swank condo. And from the massive amount of University of Tennessee orange that adorned the walls, tables, couches, and chairs, my guess was that out of towners rented it to go to Vols football games on the weekend since we were so close to campus. Sucked to be the away team and get stuck in the eye-searing orange of that condo, let me tell ya.

“Don’t stink,” Elsbeth said. “I bet they was put here after they died.”

She walked quickly over to the family of four that were set close to the windows so they could watch the gawkers stare at the invitation to what I could only guess was the kegger from hell.

“No wet stuffs,” she said as she felt around the hardwood flooring under their chairs. “No yucky stains. They’d been dead a long time before they got put here.”

“The windows are open,” I said. “Maybe all the gunk dried up.”

“But no stains,” Elsbeth said.

“Could be someone cleaned those up,” I replied as I looked about the condo. “This place looks spotless.” I walked to a bookshelf and ran my finger across a shelf. “It was just dusted.”

Elsbeth stood up and frowned. For being quite the weird bird herself, Elsbeth wasn’t too keen on things being weird and unexplained. She liked for there to be simple answers to all problems. Usually for Elsbeth, all problems were easily broken down to their barest simplicity.

“Why clean a house for the dead?” she asked out loud. “Why put that poor family there to watch the street? Why?”

I didn’t have any answers, so I stayed quiet as I checked out the rest of the condo. No personal photos, so my guess that it was a rental was probably right. No clothes anywhere, no food, no water. No sign that anyone had tried to survive in the condo post-Z. It reminded me more of a storefront display window than an actual living space.

“Let’s go,” I said. “The place gives me the creeps.”

“Long Pork!” John shouted from outside.

I went to one of the windows not blocked by a corpse, but it wouldn’t open, so I was forced to shoulder between the two corpse kids in order to see John.

“What?” I called.

“Every corpse is loaded with explosives,” John said. “Some impressive chemical shit. If we’d even nudged these billboards with the haul truck this whole thing would have gone up.”

“Great,” I said. “Glad you could share that with me.”

“That means we have to turn here and follow the detour,” Stuart said. “We need your help to spread the word. The walkies aren’t working right.”

“You need me as a messenger boy, is that it?” I asked. “The privilege is overwhelming.”

“We’re all helping too,” Stuart said as the haul truck slowly backed up then stopped so he could climb down to the street. “So stop whining.”

“I wasn’t whining-.”

“You were whining,” Elsbeth said behind me.

“Shut up,” I snapped as I looked over my shoulder at her. “You are not helping.”

Elsbeth shrugged. I turned back to the street and nodded at Stuart then eased out from between the dead kids.

“See anything we could use?” I asked as I took one last look about the condo.

“Too much orange,” Elsbeth said.

“Then we’re outta here,” I replied.

We got back out on the street and I could see several people standing about their trucks and SUVs as they chatted with Stuart, John, and Reaper. Critter was still up in the haul truck’s driver’s seat and he gave me a dismissive wave as I looked up at him.

“Tell McCormick she’s drivin’ my baby!” he yelled down at me.

“Will do!” I said.

I walked past the haul truck to Critter’s Jeep and found Dr. McCormick already in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, I heard him,” McCormick said. “Hard not to.”

“Not arguing with ya there,” I said as I moved on to the Explorer.

“Find anything in that building?” Stella asked.

“Nah,” I said. “Other than the freaky corpse diorama. Some people get into their crafts way too much.”

She laughed and started to reply, but a shout from Buzz got my attention.

“Go see what’s up,” Stella said. “We’ll be here.”

I kissed her quickly, and then jogged down to where Buzz, Melissa, and Reaper all stood around an old Toyota 4Runner. There should have been a family known as the Wilfreds in there, but the vehicle was empty and coated in blood.

“Arterial spray,” Reaper said. “Whoever did this got inside and slit all their throats before taking them with.”

“Awesome,” I said. “Just fucking awesome.”

“We have another!” Stuart yelled from five more vehicles down.

Everyone busted ass to him and all we could do was stare when we got to the four door pickup.

“How many people were in here?” Melissa asked. “That is an insane amount of blood.”

“El,” Stuart said. “Go check the rest of the vehicles. Give a shout if you find any that are empty.”

The woman took off running, her head barely glancing into windows as she sprinted down the convoy.

“Here!” she shouted and kept going. “And here!”

“Son of a bitch,” Stuart snarled. “How the fuck can four vehicles worth of people disappear?”

Folks had started getting out of their cars and decided that shouting at us was a good idea. Soon the street was filled with pissed off survivors and we were no closer to getting any answers.

“We do not follow that sign,” Stuart said. “We go forward as fast as possible and get the fuck out of here.”

“I thought we needed to be careful?” I asked.

“That was before we lost a bunch of people in broad daylight and not a single person saw a thing!” Stuart snapped. He gave a loud whistle, but the convoy didn’t quiet down. “Hey!” Voices seemed to rise and get angrier. “HEY!”

Nothing.

“Ah, fuck it,” Stuart said as he pulled his pistol and fired into the air. “Not like the crazy fucks don’t know we’re already here.”

The gunshot did the trick and everyone shut up fast.

“Listen!” Stuart called. “We need to move the convoy back! I want at least two blocks worth of distance between us and that nightmare up there!”

“Two blocks?” I asked, and then realized what Stuart was going to do. “Oh, you’re not going to dismantle the explosives are you? You’re just going to blow the whole thing up.”

“Seems like the easiest thing to do,” Stuart said. “We blow the billboards then keep rolling through.”

“I like that plan,” John said. “Way better than me trying to disarm each body.”

The members of the convoy took a little more convincing, but we finally got everyone back into their cars, trucks, and SUVs and backed up, after we moved the empty vehicles, which was a pretty gross job since the cars were coated in blood. Joy.

Elsbeth and I stood on the sidewalk as the convoy readjusted its position, giving the haul truck enough room to backup from the billboards. Once there was about two blocks worth of clearance, Stuart and John started working on one of the recently abandoned cars so it could race towards the billboards on its own.

“You sure about this?” I asked Stuart as he walked over to Elsbeth and me. “We have no idea what is going to happen.”

“Shit’s going to blow up,” Stuart said. “We know that much.”

“Yeah, but, what I meant was…”

“Long Pork,” Elsbeth said, her voice cold and deadly. “What’s that?”

When Elsbeth used that voice, you don’t ignore it. Stuart and I turned to look at where Elsbeth was pointing. It was a small side street, way too small for the haul truck to go down since it was choked with old, abandoned cars. The big machine may have had more luck crawling over the useless vehicles than shoving them out of the way like it did on the interstate.

“I’m not seeing anything,” Stuart said.

“Me neither- Oh, wait...what is that?” I asked.

Elsbeth began to walk forward, her eyes focused on a flash of orange in one of the cars. I followed close behind, but Stuart stayed where he was. I glanced at him and he nodded for me to continue while he took his rifle from his shoulder and sighted it down the side street.

“Got ya covered,” he said.

Elsbeth reached the car with the orange and turned to look back at me, her eyes wide and angry.

“Found them,” she said.

I hurried to her and wanted to puke when I saw what was in the car.

It was one of the missing families from the convoy. Someone had dressed them in orange University of Tennessee sweatshirts and hoodies while also jamming Vols flags through their palms so it looked like they were holding them. All of that was the good part. The bad part was that their faces were carved up so they looked like they were smiling and laughing.

I can go on record and say they were not smiling and laughing when that was done to them.

“Scary,” Elsbeth said.

I can also go on record that hearing Elsbeth call something scary made my nuts want to crawl up under my lungs and hide for eternity.

She gave the mutilated bodies one last look before moving on to the next car. It held the same scene, but slightly modified. We went from car to car and the only difference was the make up of the occupants -some were families, some were “college” aged kids, some were couples- and the age of the corpses. I don’t mean how old they were when they died, but how long they had been dead. Just like in the condo, a lot of the people in the cars had been dead for a long time. Yet there wasn’t a single mess left over from decomposition.

The whole thing gave me a headache and I took a step back, took a deep breath, and looked up at the sky. It was a great day for a football game, if these people were actually alive and going to a football game instead of having been posed to look like they were.

“Oh, shit,” I said as I caught sight of several eyes looking down at us. Dead eyes. Lots of dead eyes. “El?”

She knew me well enough that she didn’t even ask, just looked where I was looking.

“That’s scary too,” she said.

Above us, positioned in all of the second and third story windows, were corpses. Every single one was dressed in orange and they all were forced into positions of cheering on the team. Most of the heads were turned to look down the street towards the campus. I just couldn’t help myself, so I followed their gaze.

“What is that?” I asked. “Do you see banners and shit?”

“I see banners,” Elsbeth said, “but no shit.”

“Funny,” I smirked.

“There is nothing funny about any of this,” Elsbeth said as she drew both of her blades and walked towards the banners that fluttered in the wind.

We had to go a couple of blocks, which meant passing more and more cars filled with rah-rah corpses, so I thought I was ready for anything when we reached the intersection and saw what was on the banners. And what was in the intersection.

Two streets came together, Clinch and 12th, I think, and at the center of the intersection was quite possibly the most messed up thing I had ever seen in my life.

A “mob” of Vols fans was busy executing and dismembering a few unlucky Florida Gators fans. Now, by executing and dismembering, I mean they were positioned to look that way. Not a single person was still actually alive. All of them were like the corpses in the buildings and the cars, preserved and set in poses as if they were sculptures or mannequins.

Again, let me go on record and say they were not sculptures or mannequins. Well, maybe you could call them sculptures if you take a very broad artistic definition and ignore the fact that the medium used was human flesh.

“This took a lot of work,” Elsbeth said as she started to weave in and out of the scene. She covered the whole intersection while I just stood there and gaped. “Someone cared very much about this.”

She reached out and touched one of the corpses, then pulled her hand back fast.

“Sticky,” she said. “They are coated in something.”

I was going to offer a theory on what when the world about us changed in an instant.

The explosion was so huge, and so continuous, that even when I was able to get my shit together and realize I wasn’t dead, despite having been thrown at least ten yards down the street, I couldn’t get to my feet because of the constant concussions.

I curled into a ball and pressed my bruised and battered body against a brick building, hoping and praying that the building didn’t come down on me. I wanted to know where Elsbeth was, but self-preservation was the priority at that moment. It was all I could do not to just scream and scream as explosion after explosion shook me down to my bones.

Then it all ended.

I tried to uncurl, but I was beaten to the punch as several hands grabbed me and yanked me to my feet.

All I saw was orange.

Orange faces, orange hair, orange bodies.

The orange people were yelling and screaming at me as they pulled me out into the street, but I could barely hear them as my ears rang from the explosions. The careful display of Vol pride was a shambles, with corpses strewn here and there. I barely had time to register that one of the corpses was moving and fighting when I felt something go around my neck and tighten. I clawed at my throat and my fingers found a thick rope.

Oh, fuckerty fuck.

One very insistent orange face kept dominating my attention. It was a young woman that probably had been the height of co-ed pretty at one point in her life. Unfortunately, half of her face was a mess of scars that looked like burns, but it was hard to tell with all the orange face paint. She was yelling at me that I was a “fucking Gator and needed to die!” over and over as her hands tightened the noose.

Yep. It was a noose. I knew the deep shit I was in.

But, hey, lucky for me, that fighting corpse wasn’t actually a corpse, but Elsbeth taking on the rest of the psycho Vol boosters from Hell!

“Long Pork!” Elsbeth shouted as she snapped a man’s neck, tossed him aside, elbowed a woman in the throat, kicked her to the ground, then grabbed another woman by her orange painted tits and proceeded to give her a discount mastectomy.

For the record, I would prefer never to see that again.

The woman in my face turned her attention towards Elsbeth’s one person party of violence and blood, leaving the stringing up of me to whomever was standing behind me. And boy, did that person take that job seriously.

My breath was cut off as my body was lifted off the ground. I grabbed at the noose, but it was too tight and I couldn’t get my fingers between the rope and my skin. My legs involuntarily kicked beneath me as I saw black and blue spots fill my vision. I would have preferred not to be kicking, since it hurt like a mother fuck every time I moved, but apparently, a person’s legs have a mind of their own when said person is being lynched. The things you learn in life.

“Long Pork!” Elsbeth yelled.

I could hear her, but I couldn’t see her. The black and blue spots were part of the problem, but the main impediment was that my field of vision drastically changed as the space between my feet and the bloody asphalt grew wider.

Voices were cheering and singing behind me. Was I hearing Rocky Top?

Oh, right, that’s the Vols’ fight song. Or one of them. I think they have like twelve or something.

My windpipe was being crushed, Rocky Top was being sung, and Elsbeth was kicking the shit out of a mob of body painted Vols fans.

Just another afternoon in the zombie apocalypse.

Right...the zombie apocalypse.

The one thing I didn’t pick up on while we were busy checking out cars filled with posed bodies, or studying the corpse calligraphy back on those billboards, was that there were no Zs about.

Yeah, that changed quickly. Them Zs sure do dig some loud noises, and all those explosions fit that bill perfectly. Not to mention the ever sexy lure of Rocky Top being shouted at the top of a mob’s lungs.

Good times.

“Long Pork!” Elsbeth yelled. “Hold on!”

That was a good one.

“JACE!” I heard Stella scream. “JACE!”

Stella? Why did I hear her?

Then the gunfire kicked in and I realized my wife was the cavalry. Yay for spouses to the rescue!

The Rocky Top voices behind and below me quickly turned into screams of pain and anger as shot after shot was fired. I could hear them cursing my wife, and whoever else was shooting, which was great and all, but the cursing and the shooting started to sound a little long distance. It wasn’t because my ears were still totally fuckered by the explosions, but because my pulse had turned into the number one song on the Jace-head radio.

Shut up, you know what I mean.

“JACE!” Stella screamed and I could have sworn she was just below me.

Then the bellow became the right there and my legs slammed into the pavement. Hands grabbed at me and I tried to fight them off, but they wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t until I felt lips against my ear and heard Stella’s voice that I realized I was fighting the wrong hands. I would have looked her in the eyes to thank her, but my vision was still messed up from lack of oxygen and I couldn’t hold my head still long enough to focus since I was busy hacking and coughing as I struggled to get air past my crushed windpipe.

“El, let’s go!” Charlie yelled. “Kill that one and move!”

“Killing!” Elsbeth replied.

“Greta!” Stella shouted. “On the left!”

“Fuck the left!” Greta shouted back. “Look at the right!”

“Shit!”

“I’m guessing we’re boxed in?” I rasped.

“Hush,” Stella said into my ear. “Don’t try to talk and don’t try to help. Just keep your feet moving.”

“I can do that,” I replied, although I doubt she heard me since the world was nothing but screams, moans, and more explosions.

“Up there!” Charlie yelled just before gunfire erupted right by me. If I wasn’t deaf before, I sure as fuck was after that.

My family was shouting and Elsbeth was war crying, but for some reason, through it all, I could hear the Zs. Their constant moans and hisses, as they got closer and closer to us. From the sound of it, that I could hear, there was a whole fuck ton of them. It had the feel of a herd more than a horde. Fine line once you get into those numbers, I know, but I’d prefer a hundred Zs over a thousand Zs any day.

Although, when I think of it, I’m not sure we’ve ever defined the exact numbers it takes to go from horde to herd. Maybe a horde should be anything in double digits and a herd should be anything above that. Except I wouldn’t call twenty Zs a horde. That’s more like a large group.

Shit like that really should be quantified at some point.

“Drop!” Greta yelled and I felt myself being yanked to the ground. Gunfire exploded over us and I cried out as a hot cartridge singed my neck.

My eyesight had started to clear as Stella got me to my feet and for the first time I could really see the shit creek we’d fallen into.

Zs. So many Zs in front of us.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw the orange crazies fighting off a horde that had fallen on them in the intersection. I think someone was sleeping on the job instead of keeping an eye out for the Away team. Although, more than likely, those Zs were locals, so they probably got to sit in the home section.

“In here,” Elsbeth said as she kicked in a door on our right and pulled Greta and Charlie inside what looked like used to be an old diner.

The kids booked it inside and immediately started scouting the place for Zs and/or orange crazies.

“Clear!” Greta yelled as she came out of a back hallway.

“Clear here too!” Charlie said too as he came through the double doors that led to the kitchen, “and there’s food and water.”

“Good,” Stella said as she helped me take a seat in a booth that was more rips and shredded leather than an actual seat. But fuck if I cared. “Charlie, come sit your ass down by your father.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Charlie whined, but I could see on his face he wasn’t. I knew the look of pain.

“Sit,” Stella and Elsbeth said at the same time.

“Whatever,” Charlie complained as he plopped into the booth with me. He had a backpack on and he tried to take it off without wincing, but he totally failed.

“Here,” Greta said and handed him her backpack as well as Stella’s.

Greta, Stella and Elsbeth shoved furniture up against the front door, and then slowly, carefully backed towards us as the Zs started lumbering past. Everyone held their breath, which wasn’t hard for me since I could barely catch it, and waited for the last Z to shamble its undead ass out of sight.

“We aren’t very far from that mob,” Greta whispered. “Is it safe to stay here?”

“We’ll keep an eye out all night,” Stella whispered back. “You, me and El can take shifts.”

“I can watch too,” Charlie said.

“You need your rest,” Stella insisted. “If we have to make a run for it, I want you to have the energy to do just that, run. Jace, back me up here.”

“Your mom is right, bud,” I croaked. “You are still recovering. You may think you are at full strength, but you aren’t. We need to be able to move fast if we have to.”

“Don’t want to leave you behind,” Elsbeth said. “That would be sad.”

“Not too sad,” Greta shrugged.

“Fuck off,” Charlie replied.

“Stop,” Stella ordered.

“We’re just kidding,” Greta said.

“Yet it’s funny how fast kidding turns into bickering,” Stella responded, giving our daughter the “don’t fuck with me, little girl” look.

“Fine. Whatever,” Greta said.

Elsbeth moved closer to the front of the diner and peered through the dirty windows. I was surprised the place hadn’t been looted yet, but then again, in a university town, I bet the shit got bad fast on Z-Day. It also apparently got a whole lot worse after that.

“We can move more furniture,” Elsbeth said quietly, “and block the windows and the door better.”

“Good idea,” Stella said.

I eased back into the booth more as the ladies fortified our overnight sanctuary. Charlie got up and went into the kitchen, but Stella didn’t bark at him to sit back down. It was a good thing because he came out with a case of ramen and some gallon jugs of water on a dish cart.

“We don’t have any way to cook the noodles,” Charlie said. “So we’ll just have to eat them raw.”

“Ugh,” Greta said. “They are going to be stale as shit.”

“I guess the gas isn’t working in Knoxville the way it worked in Asheville, huh?” I said.

My family stared at me then shook their heads.

“What?” I asked. “What did I say?”

“The gas was working just fine,” Stella said. “That’s what half those explosions were. When John blew the billboards, it triggered explosions up and down the street. Storefront after storefront exploded out at us.”

“GI Joe missed the fact that the billboard explosives were just the beginning,” Greta said. “Whoever set that shit up had it rigged to take out the entire street, up and down, for a few blocks.”

“Oh,” I said. Then reality smacked me upside the head. “Oh, what happened to the convoy?”

“We don’t know,” Stella said. “Everything was on fire and I grabbed the kids and ran towards where I saw you go. We were able to bring our day packs, but all the rest of the supplies are gone.”

I looked at the backpacks on the booth seat by Charlie and frowned.

“Doesn’t look like much is in there,” I said. “Better take inventory.”

We all went through the packs and found there were extra clothes for Greta, Stella, and Charlie, but since they didn’t grab my pack, I was left with the gunk covered shirt and jeans I had on. As for other supplies, we had several lighters, two rolls of duct tape, three med kits, a flashlight, some rope, a few clean rags, six collapsible batons, and about ten full magazines for the 9mm pistols we all had. Except me.

“I lost my pistol and knife to the booster club,” I said. “El? Did they take your stuff too?”

“Nope,” Elsbeth replied as she sat down at a center table and plopped her two blades in front of her. “Can’t take these from me. They tried.”

“And died?” Greta smiled.

“And died,” Elsbeth smiled back then looked at me. “Here, take my pistol.”

“Thanks, I smiled as I also snagged one of the extra batons. “We should raid this place for whatever we’ll need. I have a feeling someone was using this as a cache. I doubt a diner like this had ramen on the menu.”

That’s when we heard the creak of floorboards from above.

“Or someone’s living here,” I whispered.

“More Vols fans?” Charlie whispered.

“I think they would have come down and greeted us with a beer bong and Jell-O shots by now,” I replied. “It’s got to be another survivor.”

The floorboards creaked louder and from a couple spots.

“Maybe two survivors,” I added.

“Greta?” Stella asked as she stood up and aimed her pistol towards the back hallway. “How many doors did you see back there?”

“Four,” Greta said and I could tell she knew she was in deep shit. “The guys’ bathroom, girls’ bathroom, the emergency exit, and...the door to the stairs.”

“You knew there were stairs?” Charlie asked.

“I didn’t hear anything up there so I assumed it was clear,” Greta snapped, then pointed up at the ceiling. “Not like anyone can move around without us hearing anyway.”

“Both of you shut up,” Stella hissed. “El?”

“On it,” Elsbeth said as she picked up her blades and started walking to the back hallway. “I’ll clear it.”

But she didn’t need to. We all heard door hinges squeak and the sound of boots on old tile.

“Hello?” a man’s voice called. “Who’s there?”

“Just some folks looking for a place to hide for the night,” Stella replied.

“Oh,” he replied, still lost in the shadows of the back hallway. “You armed?”

“Yes, sir,” Stella answered as Elsbeth moved closer and closer, her feet not making a sound. “But only for protection, not because we want to hurt anyone.”

“Heard that a few times,” the man said. “You gonna steal all my stuff?”

“No, we don’t intend to,” Stella said. “We were going to look for supplies, but since this is your place, we’ll leave everything as we found it.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “If you promise not to steal or try to come upstairs, you can stay here for the night. One night only. I want you gone when the sun comes up.”

Elsbeth stood with her back against the wall just to the side of the hallway. She looked at Stella, but my wife shook her head.

“That’s very kind of you,” Stella said. “We’ll be gone when the sun comes up. Sorry about the front door.”

“No matter,” the man said. “I’ve fixed it plenty of times.” We could hear him walking away and then the door hinges squeaked once more. “Get some rest, and then be out at dawn, got it?”

“Got it,” Stella said. “Thank you, sir.”

There was only a grunt and then the shutting and locking of a door.

We looked at each other and grimaced. Above us, the ceiling creaked again and we could hear the sound of hushed voices.

“I don’t plan on sleeping a wink,” I said. “Not with the possible cannies up above.”

“They ain’t cannies,” Elsbeth said.

“How can you be sure?” Greta asked.

Elsbeth sniffed loudly. “Because the place don’t stink like people meat. This place smells clean. Cannies don’t bother with clean.”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” I said.

“What does that mean?” Elsbeth asked.

“What? I was agreeing with you,” I said then saw the smirk on her face. “Ha ha.”

“We will all be sleeping tonight,” Stella said, “in shifts like we planned. If the people above wanted us harmed or dead, they could have stayed quiet and snuck up on us or attacked already.”

“Maybe they are luring us into a false sense of security,” Charlie said.

“Did it work?” Greta laughed. “Do you feel secure?”

“Not even falsely,” Charlie shrugged.

“Then it’s probably not that,” Stella said. “I want you and Dad to sleep all night. Let us ladies handle the watch.”

“I can watch too,” I said.

“You can watch the insides of your eyelids is what you can do, Long pork,” Elsbeth said, getting a snort and chuckle from Greta.

“Fine, fine, but don’t say I didn’t offer,” I replied as I stretched out in the booth and tried to get comfortable.

“We eat, we rest, we get ready for tomorrow,” Stella said. “I have no idea where anyone else is, but we can’t worry about them. From here on out, it’s the Stanfords versus the world.”

“I’m a Thornberg,” Elsbeth said.

“You’re a fucking Stanford,” Stella replied, “and don’t you fucking forget it.”

“No, ma’am,” Elsbeth grinned from ear to ear then snapped her fingers. “Gimme some ramen.” Greta tossed her a pack and she frowned at the packaging. “Shrimp flavor. They should just call it old pussy flavor.”

This got everyone laughing and we had to cover our mouths to keep from bringing the Zs back to us. Or the orange crazies. Or possibly the people upstairs. Or whoever made those billboards, because I don’t think it was the orange mob.

Fuck. You know, for it being the apocalypse and all, it sure got fucking crowded fast.

Chapter Five

“Jace, sweetie? Wake up, babe. We need to get going.”

I struggled to pull myself from sleep, but my eyes refused to open.

“Jace? Baby? Come on.”

“Do I have to get up?” I whined as I forced my eyelids to part. “Just five more min- HOLY FUCK!”

I shoved the thing away from me and scrambled up over the side of the booth and onto the floor. Chairs flew everywhere as I tried to get my feet to work, but just ended up slip sliding this way and that.

Coming at me was what had once been my wife, but had obviously changed in the night into a grotesque mockery of the woman I loved.

“Jace? What’s wrong?” The thing said as worms dropped from its empty eye sockets. Pus and blood oozed from what had once been its nose and I had to fight back my gorge as a black and swollen tongue licked across cracked teeth.

“Stay away from me!” I shouted. “Greta! Charlie! Help!”

“What you crying about, Long Pork?” Elsbeth asked from behind me.

I grabbed onto the edge of a table and pulled myself up, my hands coming away greasy and caked with filth. Elsbeth was right there in my face, and the stench of her was more than I could handle. It took all of my strength to shove her away so I could get some space to turn and puke up the meager contents of my stomach.

“That’s a waste of good ramen,” Elsbeth said. “Better lick that up now before I make you, Long Pork.”

“What the fuck is going on?” I yelled.

I kept backing up until I was against the front windows. As soon as my back touched glass, the whole world shattered and undead hands grabbed me. I was pulled out into the street and set upon by hundreds of hungry, orange painted Zs.

“FUCK!” I yelled as I tumbled from the booth.

“Mom? Dad’s awake,” Greta said as she walked by me, a snotty teen girl smirk on her face. “How’s the view down there?”

I froze in place as I watched my normal looking daughter walk by and pick up her backpack from a table.

“Jace? Baby? You okay?” Stella asked as she knelt down and put her hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling sick? You don’t have a fever.”

“Why’s Dad on the floor?” Charlie asked.

“He had a bad dream,” Stella said. “Right, Jace? You had a bad dream?”

“It was pretty shitty, yeah,” I said as my wife helped me to my feet. My shoulder was on fire and I couldn’t hide the wince. I copped to the pain before Stella could even ask. “I must have slept in one position all night. Should stop hurting once we get moving.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to be so easy,” Greta said as she stood close to one of the front windows. “The street is full of Zs.”

“How many?” I asked as I slowly and carefully rotated my right shoulder.

“Fifty, at least,” Great said.

“Looks like more than that,” Charlie said as he stepped up next to her.

“I said at least fifty which implies there could be more,” Greta said.

“Stop,” Stella warned.

The kids shut up.

“We go out the back,” Elsbeth said. She was holding a bucket and looking about the diner. “What should I do with this? Don’t seem nice to leave a bucket of piss for those people upstairs since they were kind enough not to kill us or eat us last night.”

“Right neighborly of them,” I said with a thick southern accent.

Elsbeth stared at me, holding out the bucket. “You deal with it, Long Pork. I need to scout the alley out back.”

“There’s an alley out back?” I asked as I took the piss bucket from Elsbeth and set it on the floor. Might as well take care of my needs. “Alleys are always good.”

I relieved myself and then wondered what to do with the piss. While everyone was busy doing other things, I casually scooted the bucket under one of the tables and slowly inched a couple of chairs in front of it.

“I saw that,” Stella said. “Just go dump it down one of the drains.”

“It’ll stink up the plumbing,” I said.

“Then use your big brain and figure something out,” Stella snapped, “but leaving a full piss bucket under that table is not a solution.”

“Okay, okay, jeez,” I said. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Bring it with,” Charlie said, “as decoy scent.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I replied. “Maybe we could fill up some water balloons with piss and lob them in different directions if we get cornered.”

The three women in the room stared at me as if I had gone insane while my son started looking through drawers and behind the diner’s front counter for balloons.

“What?” I asked.

“We are not bringing piss balloons with us,” Stella said. “Even if they might come in handy, we can’t risk them breaking and one of us stinking of piss.”

“Plus, how are you going to fill them?” Greta asked. “Did you think of that?”

I looked at Charlie and he looked at me then we both looked at Elsbeth as she stood there laughing instead of scouting the alley as she said she would.

“Piss balloons,” she snorted, shaking her head back and forth. “Long Pork and Long Pork junior. You two are funny.”

“So no piss balloons?” Charlie asked.

“No piss balloons,” I said.

Which meant I had a bucket of piss to deal with still.

“Just leave it,” the man’s voice said from the shadows. “I’ll clean it up.”

I set the bucket down and peered into the shadows of the back hallway.

“I’m Jace Stanford,” I said as I held out my hand and started to walk towards him. The distinct sound of a pump being racked on a shotgun stopped me. “And you get to stay a mystery.”

“Manchester,” the man said as he slowly walked forward. His dark skinned face was crisscrossed with white scars and there were obvious rope marks across his throat. “My name is Manchester. This was my diner and I have been here since the first day.”

“Damn,” I said. “That’s a long time to hold out against the Zs.”

“The Zs? That what you call them?” he asked then nodded. “Makes sense. But the zombies haven’t been the problem. The people have.”

“Those orange crazies?” Charlie asked.

“Them? Nah,” Manchester laughed. “They’re easy. I toss them some ramen now and then and they leave me alone.” He pointed at all the Vols memorabilia and sighed. “This used to be a popular place for the college kids. Those Orangies aren’t all college kids, since they do like to recruit, but a lot of them were. They leave me alone out of Tennessee pride and respect, I guess.”

“Lucky you,” Stella said. “Thank you again for letting us stay here last night. We will be gone in just a few minutes.”

“Not out front,” Manchester said. “You have to go through the alleyway. Once you get out there, you run like hell. Keep going until you hit 18th. Then you turn left, and keep running until you get up to the railroad tracks. Follow the tracks. That’s your best way out of Knoxville.”

“We have some friends we need to find,” I said.

“Don’t bother with them,” Manchester replied. “Take care of yourselves. You want out of Knoxville as soon as possible. Not safe for outsiders here.”

“Doesn’t seem safe for anyone,” Charlie said.

“We’ll be fine,” Manchester said as he glanced quickly up at the ceiling. “There’s a lot of insanity, but in that, is order. I know how it works, but you don’t. Get to the tracks and get out of town. Do not stop for anyone. Do not stop for anything. Even if you hear your friends calling your names, you keep going. Some groups keep ‘em alive to lure ya in.”

“Groups?” Stella asked.

“Groups,” Manchester nodded. “The Orangies, the Professors, the Sisters. And don’t get me started on the Orderlies.”

“Yikes,” I said. “Which ones made the billboards?”

“The Sisters,” Manchester said. “Sorority Village. Stay away from there. They don’t like men folk and they’ll take the women to recruit or eat.”

“Eat?” I asked. “So they are one of the canny gangs?”

“Canny gangs? Oh, you mean Cannibal Road,” Manchester replied. “The Sisters may eat folks now and again, but they aren’t one of the Cannibal Road gangs. That’s a whole other mess of trouble. Do what I told you and get to the tracks, and get out of town. Stay to the tracks.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” I replied. “We’ll get out of town.”

Manchester shook his head. “Y’all think I’m crazy. I’m not. You want to see crazy? Stay on 18th and go check out the medical center. The Orderlies will show you crazy.”

“I think we’ve had our fill of the local color,” I said. “We’ll turn at 18th and get to the tracks.”

“Good deal,” Manchester smiled. “Now, I hate to ask it, but y’all have got to leave. I need to do some repairs and clean up so if the Orangies come by they’ll see things just how they like them.”

“Sure thing,” I responded as I looked towards Stella and gave her the “time to get the fuck out of here” look. She gave me the “no fucking shit” look. “Thank you for your kindness. Good luck, Mr. Manchester.”

“Good luck to you as well,” Manchester said as he stepped out of the way so we could file past and into the back hallway.

We got to the emergency exit and Elsbeth took point. She opened it slowly, peered outside then smiled back at us.

“Clear,” she whispered and we followed her outside into the morning light.

I wouldn’t exactly call where we were an “alley.” It was more like a dirt trail behind a bunch of buildings. Which meant the space was narrow and we had to walk single file to keep from banging into old trashcans and piles of trash.

One of those piles of trash had a hand sticking out from it. We didn’t stop to see if the hand was attached to anything, living or undead.

Elsbeth kept us going at her steady pace, which for the rest of us was like a forced march/sprint. We Stanfords were a sweaty mess by the time we reached 18th and found ourselves facing a good sized group of Zs to the right. In the exact direction, we needed to go.

“Go left and circle around?” I whispered to Elsbeth.

“We can make it,” she whispered back.

We both looked at Stella and she nodded.

“Get us through,” I said to Elsbeth.

It was a bit of an undead picnic we stumbled upon, so luckily, the Zs were occupied eating some unlucky bastard and didn’t take notice as we crossed the street and put as much distance between us and them as we could. Step by careful step, we inched our way down the sidewalk.

It would have all been good, except Greta took a look over at the munching Zs just as we passed them and gasped.

“No!” she shouted and started to run across the street. Right at the Zs. “NO!”

“Greta!” I yelled as I chased after her.

That got the Zs’ attention and all of them stopped in mid-bite, turned their heads slowly towards us, and hissed. Flesh hung from jagged teeth, bits of bloody clothes and skin stuck to the putrid cheeks of the monsters. It was a scene we’d all been witness to a hundred times, so I was confused as to why my daughter was screaming her head off and going after a group of Zs we had been only seconds from skirting around.

Greta started screaming as she lifted her 9mm and fired.

One after the other, Z heads exploded and undead bodies dropped. Greta emptied her pistol, ejected the magazine, slapped in a new one, and was already firing again before I could catch up to her.

“Greta!” I yelled. “Stop!”

But she didn’t stop until she’d emptied the second magazine and stood in front of a pile of unmoving Zs. She tucked the pistol into her waistband and started to claw at the corpses to get at what they had been eating. I tried to pull her away, but my one arm was not match enough for her teenage fury.

“Stop!” Elsbeth snapped as she pushed past me and grabbed Greta by the arm, yanking her back three feet in one move. “Stop it!”

“Greta? What is wrong with you?” Stella spat. “You could have been killed! Or gotten us killed!”

Greta’s eyes were wide and filled with madness. She barely registered that any of us were there as she struggled against Elsbeth’s grip. All she wanted to do was get back to that pile and free whatever victim was underneath.

“Ah, shit,” Charlie said as he looked at the pile. “I know those cowboy boots.”

We all looked at the blood-caked cowboy boot that stuck out from under a Z. It didn’t mean a thing to me, but it meant something to Charlie. And obviously meant something to Greta as Charlie pushed between her and Elsbeth and took his sister in his arms.

“So sorry, Sis,” he said. “I am so, so sorry. I know how this feels, trust me.”

“What is going on?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” Stella said. “I think that’s Jordan Jensen. He was kinda her boyfriend.”

“Oh...crap,” I said.

“Nobody’s boyfriend now,” Elsbeth said. “Just meat.”

She knelt down and pulled the Zs off of the body. I was glad Greta had her face buried in her brother’s chest, because no one should have had to see what Elsbeth uncovered.

The boy was mangled almost beyond recognition, but I could see a resemblance to the kid Charlie had pointed out to me back in Critter’s Holler. His throat was ripped out and he was missing his entire abdomen, plus a few ribs. His body cavity looked like it had been scooped out with a shovel and what should have been inside was outside and spread all about. The Zs had really gone to town on the poor boy.

Elsbeth took a blade and shoved it through the boy’s temple so he wouldn’t come back. She wiped the blade as she stood and looked down the street.

“Can’t use this way no more,” she said as she pulled out her other blade. “We keep going across until we can cut up to the tracks like the Mr. Manchester man said.”

“Manchester said not to keep going,” I replied. “Or we run into the medical center. Apparently, that is a bad thing.”

Elsbeth pointed up the street at the large quantity of Zs that had started to fill the road.

“That is a bad thing too, Long Pork,” she responded. “I can see that bad thing; I can’t see the medical center bad thing. We keep going until we can cut up. If we get to the medical center, we deal with that bad thing when we see it.”

“Jace, we can’t stay here,” Stella said. “We have to go.”

“I know,” I said. “I just hate to be walking right into a nightmare.”

“Already there, Long Pork,” Elsbeth said. “The nightmare doesn’t stop. Ever.”

She certainly wasn’t wrong there.

“Fine. Go,” I said.

Elsbeth took off between the buildings as Stella pushed Charlie and Greta after her. I brought up the rear and risked one last look at the dead boy, then up the street at the very large gathering of Zs.

“Fucking assholes,” I muttered as I ducked between the buildings and stayed close to my family.

The buildings started to get further apart and we suddenly found ourselves looking out at a wide parking lot and a couple of tall, white buildings. My guess was that we found the medical center just like we weren’t supposed to.

“Those are some clean buildings,” Charlie whispered as we looked at the stark white walls across the parking lot. “You ever see buildings that clean since Z-Day?”

“Nope,” I replied. Stella shook her head, but didn’t say anything as she was busy holding Greta to her as my daughter struggled not to sob. “Somebody must really like power washing in the apocalypse.”

A large sign said “Fort Sanders Regional Medical Center” in big capital letters, but it was the ten bodies hanging from the sign that really got our attention.

“Are those…?” Stella asked as she gently pushed Greta from her and peered across the parking lot.

“Critter’s men,” I said. “I think that one in the middle is Gary Wilkes. Shit.”

“They turned,” Elsbeth said. “They’re Zs now.”

That was obvious by the way that the bodies twisted and thrashed as they hung from thick chains threaded through their chests and thighs to keep them in place. The less than tactful part of me wanted to go up to the one on the end, pull it back and then let it fall against the next one like those desktop clackers. That would have been cool.

But not cool. Totally not cool. No one in their right mind would do that.

Still…

“Jace,” Stella hissed. “Get out of your head.”

“Right. Sorry,” I replied. “Can we go around?”

Elsbeth was busy studying the surroundings and plotting our route, which was obvious by the way she held her mouth and had her eyes narrowed. We’d been around the woman enough to know the way her mind worked.

“We go there,” Elsbeth said and pointed to the northeast corner of the first big building. “We run fast to the corner and then wait. If no one sees us, we run across that road and keep going to the railroad tracks. Everyone ready?”

She took off right away without waiting for an answer. We struggled to keep up with her, as she was still faster than fuck even in a weird crouch run. I’m not sure why we were crouch running, since anyone could see us whether we were running upright or with our bodies bent over. But Elsbeth was crouch running so we crouch ran too until we got to the corner of the building and stopped.

The Zs dangling from the sign saw us though, and their hisses and moans filled the air. Being veterans of the zombie apocalypse, we knew it was only a matter of time before their noises drew more Zs to us. We had a very small window of time to get from the medical center to the railroad tracks or we’d end up cut off like before.

Unfortunately, that window of time went out the window as soon as a side door opened up and five people dressed in surgical scrubs stepped out.

“Patients shouldn’t be roaming around,” a man said. His face was obscured by a surgical mask and his head was shaved except for random spots where hair was left in the shape of crosses and dyed red. All the others had the same stylish hairdos going on as well.

Red crosses. Are you fucking kidding me? The crazy fucks (I don’t think I was assuming much by calling them that) had left spots of hair on their heads in the shape of red crosses? Sure. Why the fuck not?

“Time for your medicine,” a woman said, as she pulled a large bone saw from behind her back and shook it menacingly at us.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Stella said as she pulled her pistol and shot all five between the eyes. Their bodies dropped to the ground and their perfectly clean scrubs soon did what they did best, soaking up the blood that poured from the corpses’ heads.

“Well, that handles that,” I said. “Now we run!”

We didn’t hang around for the next rotation of nutjobs to show up and proceeded to throw all caution to the wind. In other words, we ran our asses off. We booked it away from the medical center and out onto Laurel Ave. Elsbeth took the lead again and steered us towards 20th Street. She turned up that street and we passed Highland Ave then Forest Ave and were about to hit Grand Ave, which was the last street before the railroad tracks, when suddenly, we were cut off by several cars coming to a screeching halt in front of us.

Now, let me make this clear, because it is important to understanding the whole Knoxville experience. The streets were not clogged with cars like in Asheville. Someone had taken the time to make sure vehicles were pulled to the side or had been removed completely. Even back in Asheville we didn’t bother moving all the abandoned vehicles until Lourdes and her PCs arrived. Even then, we only moved them from the main arteries.

However, Knoxville’s abandoned cars were arranged in an orderly fashion. All parked in spaces along the streets or in parking lots and driveways. Not a single Prius sat sideways with its doors open and a desiccated corpse hanging out like half the cars in Asheville.

That was why the bright pink, bright green, bright red, bright yellow and bright blue compact cars that stopped in front of us had no trouble zooming down the street to head us off.

“Hey!” a woman yelled from her bright pink Volkswagen Jetta. “Those ladies are now pledges! Back away, guys, or we’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you!”

The woman stepped from her car and my mouth dropped. She had to be at least in her mid to late fifties, but she was dressed like a sorority girl on meth: mismatched knee high leather boots with thigh high multi-colored striped socks. Short shorts that didn’t exactly leave anything to the imagination, and a tight blouse tied up around her boobs so her less than flat belly could pooch out.

Oh, and did I forget the AK-47 she held and pointed right at us? Sorry. Yeah, she had one of those and it was painted pink to match her car

The drivers of the other cars all got out and weren’t dressed nearly so out of place slutty, but they still were a shock. None of them was under fifty. No way, no how. Miniskirts, pleated khaki capris, half-tees, hair done up in ponytails, pigtails, tucked under a Hello Kitty trucker cap. They were women trying to wear girl’s clothing as their post-apocalyptic uniform.

Oh, and another for the record: pretty sick of the post-apocalyptic uniform thing going on in Knoxville. That shit was annoying as hell pre-Z. It was a million times more annoying as I stood with my hands up and jaw hanging open.

“I like your hat,” Elsbeth said as she pointed to the woman wearing the Hello Kitty trucker cap. “I had one of those once. I lost it somewhere. Can I have yours?”

“Shut the fuck up, pledge!” the woman yelled then looked to their leade r.I assumed she was their leader since her car was in front and she started talking first. “Should I mow them down, Bitsy?”

“Only if the men don’t step away nice and slow,” Bitsy replied. She reached back and unceremoniously pulled a wedgie from her ass. “Hear that, males? Back away from our new pledges or we kill you all.”

“I heard,” I said, “but I’m not sure my ladies want to be pledges. Can they think about it for a day or two and get back to you?”

Bitsy cocked her hip and waved her rifle around as if it wasn’t a deadly weapon that could go off at any second. Firearms safety was not her number one priority. That was obvious.

“You the funny man who thinks he’s in charge?” she asked as she stepped towards me. “You the frat president? That you, douchebag?”

“Frat president?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure those guys hated it when people called their houses ‘frats’. Would you call your country a cunt?”

The other women lifted their rifles and the sound of slides being pulled back echoed through the street and against the railcars that were only a football field’s length away across the road.

“Chill, ladies, chill,” Bitsy said, her voice a whiskey gravel mixed with insulin sweetness. “Mr. President is just being funny. Is that your thing?”

“That’s my thing,” I said and glanced at my wife, daughter, and Elsbeth. Not saying Elsbeth is mine That was just the order in which I glanced at them. “Know what else is my thing? Keeping my family together. So, if you don’t mind, we’re going to follow those train tracks out of town. You can hijack the next group of survivors for your pledge week, okay?”

“Not okay,” Bitsy said. “Duffy?” The one in the capris stiffened. “Poof-Poof?” The miniskirt smiled. “Sleenie?” Cut-off jean shorts with most of her ass hanging out. “Take them.”

“Boys over there!” Duffy yelled, her rifle jabbing forward as if she was trying to fend off a wild tiger or something.

“Yeah! Over there!” Poof-Poof echoed.

“I could just gut shoot ‘em,” Sleenie said as she twisted her hips, obviously working on her own wedgie problem. “Let ‘em die in the street or get ate by the zombies”

“No gut shooting,” Bitsy said. “Just load the ladies up.”

Elsbeth started to move, but Stella held out her arm.

“No killing, Elsbeth,” Stella said. “Wait.”

“Uh-oh,” Bitsy said as she sneered at Stella. “I think there’s another hen that thinks she’s top of the roost. That’s my job, sweetheart. I rule Sorority Village, so don’t get no ideas in your head.”

“No ideas!” Poof-Poof yelled.

Bitsy, Poof-Poof, and Duffy pulled key remotes from their pockets. At least, I assume they were in their pockets, although, considering how tight some the clothes they wore were, I had to wonder if they didn’t pull them from someplace more intimate. They each pressed a button and the trunks on the first three cars popped open.

“Get in,” Bitsy said. “We don’t have all day. Got a herd coming through in about fifteen minutes.”

“No way,” Elsbeth said. “Not getting in there. No, no, no.”

“You climb in, pretty thing, or I shoot your people,” Bitsy warned. “Starting with the young bippy twat here.”

“Me?” Greta asked. “Did you call me a bippy twat?”

“If the insult fits,” Bisty said. “One day, you’ll grow up to be a real woman like me, but you may not make it to that day if your friend with the crazy eyes doesn’t chill, chill, chill.”

“Crazy eyes?” Elsbeth frowned. “Now you’re just being mean.”

“You aren’t all there in the head, are you?” Bitsy asked Elsbeth.

“Says the circus stripper,” I respond. “Listen, Bitsy, you don’t need to do this. Just let us go. We’ll be out of the city and out of your hair by sunset. We never wanted to stop in Knoxville, but things got in the way.”

“Hey, Mr. President,” Bitsy said. “You think I care? Not my fault you took a wrong turn. Not my fault your friends got all blown to shit. Not my fault the Orangies didn’t want y’all to come to our kegger. Not. My. Fault.”

“Not her fault!” Poof-Poof yelled then spat a huge, yellow loogie on the ground. “Not! Her! Fault!”

“So, ladies? Get in the fucking trunks, will ya? I don’t have all day,” Bitsy ordered. “And you have until the count of five or I slice the nuts off your boys.”

“Fine,” Stella growled.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It took all of my willpower to keep from freaking out and going after the twisted Sisters. When I opened my eyes again, Stella was being shoved into the trunk of Bitsy’s car, Greta was shoved into Poof-Poof’s and Elsbeth was just standing by Duffy’s while their packs and weapons were tossed into the backseats of their respective vehicles.

“El,” I said. “Get in. We’ll be okay. We’ll figure out how to get out of this.”

“No, you won’t,” Bitsy said, “but that’s sweet of you to say.”

“Don’t want to get in the trunk,” Elsbeth stated.

“Tough titty said the kitty when the milk ran dry,” Bitsy cackled. “Get in the fucking trunk!”

“You die first,” Elsbeth said as we watched the trunk lids get shut on Stella and then Greta. “Do you hear me, ugly boots? You die first.”

“Probably,” Bitsy said. “I have heart problems.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Elsbeth snapped.

“I know,” Bitsy said, “but I don’t care. I’ve had more crazy bitches than you can count try to step to me and take the Village over. Not one could do it. You look like you can handle yourself, but so can I. No fear.”

“No brains,” Elsbeth said as she got into the trunk. She looked over at me and I nodded. “See you soon, Long Pork?”

“See you soon, El,” I nodded back.

“Long Pork?” Bitsy laughed. “I knew you were in a frat. Only a frat would give someone a shitty nickname like that.” She got into her car and looked over her shoulder at the one woman that hadn’t said anything yet. “Marge? Stay here with Long Pork and the boy. Once the herd shows, move your fine ass back to the Village.”

“You’re gonna let us die?” Charlie snapped.

“I’m going to let you live,” Bitsy said as she revved her engine. “Whether you get away from the zombies and stay alive is your problem, not mine. Toodles!”

She sped off down the street, followed by Poof-Poof, Duffy, and Sleenie. Marge just stood there, her AK-47 pointed right at my crotch. She was the tallest of the five women, with long black hair that was obviously a wig, dark skin, and eyes that were blacker than her faux hair. Dressed in a miniskirt that was one twitch from showing Charlie and me everything, Marge had legs that probably would pop my head off with just a squeeze. Her belly wasn’t soft at all and her arms were tight.

The woman may have been in her late fifties, but she worked out, that was for sure.

“So...lived in Knoxville long?” I asked.

“All my life,” Marge replied, her voice surprisingly high for a woman her size. I was also surprised by the fact she spoke, having not said a single syllable the whole time Bitsy and the others were there. “Where you from?”

“Asheville,” I said. Her eyes went wide. “Something wrong?”

“We heard Asheville was gone,” Marge said. “Nuked.”

“Well, yes and no,” I replied. “It sorta burned to the ground at the same time a dirty bomb went off. So, no nuke, but yes gone and filled with radiation.”

“Bummer,” she said. “I liked Asheville when we went there as kids.”

“Why are you with those crazy women?” Charlie asked. “You don’t seem half as crazy as they do?”

“Jesus, dude,” I sighed.

Marge clammed up and glared at my son.

“He’s young,” I said. “He forgets to check his mouth sometimes.”

“Like most men,” Marge said.

“But he has a point,” I continued. “You were all quiet before, but we started having a nice conversation as soon as Bitsy and the gang took off. It may have been small talk, but post-Z, even small talk can be a relief. You know what I mean?”

“They aren’t crazy,” Marge said. “We all have our ways of coping and dealing with traumatic events. The Sisters at Sorority Village have saved a lot of lives over the years, and Bitsy is why.”

“Cool, cool, I get that,” I said. “No offense meant. I was just wondering why you didn’t say anything until they left.”

Marge glared at me then her eyes softened slightly.

“It’s my voice,” she replied. “Poof-Poof makes fun of my voice because it’s so high and I’m so tall. I hate that.”

“Then tell her to stop,” I said. “Be upfront and direct with her. I’m sure if you explained it in the right way, she’d understand.”

“Are you two fucking kidding me?” Charlie asked as he looked from Marge to me, and back. “Is this fucking conversation even happening? Dad! We have to go get Mom and Greta and Elsbeth!”

Marge sighed. “The young are hotheaded. Probably best if I just shoot you two so I can get back in time for cocktail hour.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” I shouted. “No shooting! You can totally bail for cocktail hour without the shooting!”

“No, I don’t think so,” Marge responded. “I’m gonna shoot you two. I don’t want to wait around for the herd to show up. That could take forever. I shoot you and the smell of blood will bring them around in just a few minutes. Besides, it’s margarita night tonight. I love margaritas. We found some limes…”

The sound of rapid gunfire a few blocks away distracted us and Marge turned her head towards the sound. Charlie used the distraction and rushed Marge before I could stop him. He tackled the tall woman and I quickly got a glimpse of something I didn’t need to see as Marge’s legs went out from under her and she slammed down onto the pavement.

For the record, I’m not a fan of going commando in the apocalypse. Wear underwear, people. The world is scary enough.

“Charlie! No!” I yelled as I leapt forward.

A single gunshot turned my blood cold and it was my turn to fall to the pavement as my feet went out from under me. I was frozen in place, terrified, as I stared at the still forms of Marge and my son.

“Charlie…?” I whispered.

“I’m good,” he grunted as he shoved off Marge’s body, “but she’s not.”

He stood up and offered me a hand. I grabbed it and he hauled me to my feet. We both turned and looked down at the dying woman. Blood was trickling from her mouth and nostrils and she tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Her chest was a mess from where her own rifle shot her. We could hear the sucking of air as her lungs filled with blood.

We could also hear the groans and moans of approaching Zs.

“Who do you think was shooting?” Charlie asked as he peered off into the distance. “You think that’s our people?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “and right now, I don’t care. We need to go get our family back.” I glanced at Marge’s bright blue Toyota Celica. “I’ll drive.”

Except that was a bit of a problem, as I quickly learned when I sat down in the driver’s seat.

“Fuck,” I snapped. “It’s a stick.”

“Sucks to have one arm,” Charlie smiled. “Get out and I’ll drive.”

“Your mom would kill me if I let you drive with your chest wound,” I said.

“I’m fine, Dad,” he said. “And I don’t think she’ll care too much since I’m doing it so we can go rescue her.”

“Maybe,” I said, “but if she does get mad you can say I was knocked out or something and had no idea it was happening.”

“You are so pussy whipped,” Charlie laughed.

“Yeah, well, one day you’ll find out that’s not such a bad thing, trust me,” I replied as I got out and switched seats with him. “Now...which way is Sorority Village, do you think?”

“Not a clue,” Charlie said as he revved the engine and let the clutch out. The car’s tires squealed and we shot forward down the street. “But it’s gonna be fun getting there!”

At least I had one arm to brace myself with.

“Slow down!” I yelled before we got to the corner.

“I can totally drive this, Dad!” Charlie yelled back. “Look at these roads! When else will I get a chance to drive on a normal road?”

“No!” I shouted. “I don’t care how you drive! Wait! Not true! I do care! I just want you to slow down!”

Charlie let off the gas and looked over at me.

“What’s up?” he asked.

I hooked my thumb over my shoulder.

“I think we should bring some friends to this sorority party, don’t you?”

Charlie glanced in the rearview mirror then looked over his shoulder at the herd of Zs that had just started to show itself.

“Brilliant,” he smiled.

“Thank you,” I said. “Now rev that engine real loud. Get them all riled up so they get a move on.”

***

Surrounded by freeways on three sides with a main road and river in the front, Sorority Village was actually a very defensible setup. Especially since they had built a huge wall and gate made of every sturdy material, you could think of.

“Nice,” Charlie said as we stopped a block or so back from the gate. “That looks like something you would design.”

“My designing days are over,” I replied. “Everything I create just gets torn down, blown up, or set on fire anyway.”

“Whiner,” Charlie said then he nodded towards the gate. “Looks like we have company.”

Two women, both with AK-47s pointed down at the ground, started walking our way and waving.

“They see Marge’s car and think we’re her,” I smiled. “They aren’t gonna be happy when they find out the truth.”

“They are going to be less happy when they see what we brought with us,” Charlie said as he looked in the rearview mirror. “The party has arrived.”

The two women got almost to the car when they saw the Z herd coming from behind us. They both were yelling at the car and trying to get us to move forward, but Charlie just let the engine idle.

“They haven’t noticed we’re not women,” Charlie said. “Sucks when they find out.”

“Yep,” I said. “Sucks even more when you run them down.”

Charlie looked over at me, his eyes wide.

“What?” he asked as the women got closer and closer. “You want me to run them over?”

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I said, “but wait until they are a little closer. I don’t want them to have a chance to jump out of the way or cry out. Hopefully they are the only two guards on the gate. We squash them and then ram the gate, leaving it wide open for the Z block party to begin.”

Charlie turned back to look out the windshield. His hands gripped the steering wheel and I could see the debate rage in his head.

“They have Mom and Greta,” I said, “and Elsbeth.”

That settled it. Charlie slammed his foot down on the gas as he let the clutch out. I could see the pain the movement caused and knew his wound was getting the best of him. Nevertheless, all I needed him to do was last just a few minutes more so we could get into Sorority Village and get the rest of our family back.

The women in front of us frowned as the car came at them. Neither even tried to jump, they were so stunned at what was happening to them. Just before impact, I locked eyes with one of them and saw the rage that sat there in her baby blues.

Tough shit, lady. I’ve got some rage of my own.

The women’s bodies rolled up over the car and the windshield cracked, but didn’t break. I spun in my seat and saw them tumble down the back, hitting  the pavement hard. One of them hit at a bad angle and her neck snapped like that. The other, the one with the rage eyes, knew how to roll and actually was able to get to her feet and raise her rifle.

Unfortunately, she should have been aiming at the Zs and not at us. They swarmed her and she was lost from my sight in a pile of hungry mouths and deadly claws.

Charlie took a hard right and gunned it. The car slammed into the gate and all I saw next was a big white pillow hitting my face.

Airbag.

“Dad?” Charlie mumbled from behind his own airbag. “Dad, you okay?”

“All good, Son,” I said.

“Marge! MARGE!”

“Uh-oh,” Charlie said. “Company.”

“We’ll give them a surprise when they open the doors,” I said as I aimed my 9mm at the door. I saw Charlie aim the AK-47 he took from Marge at his door while we both waited to be “rescued.”

“Marge, thank God you…” the poor woman said just before I put a bullet in her chest. She coughed and sputtered, then fell to the pavement as I pushed out of the car and started shooting at anyone I saw.

Charlie was out of the car also and spraying the road with bullets as we ran towards the gate that had just opened. His rifle clicked empty, but he ejected the magazine and put in a new one before the echoes of his gunfire had even died down. I made sure to scoop up as many extra magazines as I could find along the way, taking them right off the fresh corpses we left in our wake.

The one flaw in our brave assault was that I only had two magazines for my 9mm and it didn’t look like any of the women were using pistols, just AK-47s, which was weird since 9mms were pretty ubiquitous, especially in the gun loving south. Where the fuck did they get all the AK-47s?

“Dad! Down!” Charlie shouted as my pistol clicked empty.

I didn’t argue and hit the ground as he turned and fired at the front door of one of the sorority houses. He didn’t spray the door, but took careful shots, killing the four women that raced out at us. Even if my magazine hadn’t been empty, I doubt I could have made those shots, not with my left hand, at least. Back in my right handed days, I would have been close, but nowhere near as good as my boy.

The kid had a natural eye and in those brief moments in Sorority Village, he just let instinct take over.

“Mother fucker!” Bitsy screamed as she ran down the center of the street at us.

Which, as I tried to focus, were actually two streets that spilt off at a Y with some nice looking landscaping in between. I’d have loved to check the place out if I wasn’t busy scrambling to my feet and running from the crazy women that descended on us like gun-toting locusts.

Blood bloomed on Charlie’s cheek and I knew he’d been grazed, but it didn’t faze him one bit as he settled the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed off one, two, three shots. Bitsy’s eyes went wide as she was knocked backwards by the first two shots. Then those eyes were lost from sight as the third bullet slammed right between them. The whole scene slowed down and it looked like the back of her head had just opened up and barfed out her brains as he body tumbled to the ground.

“You okay?” I yelled at Charlie as he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “You hit anywhere else?”

“I’m good!” he shouted, half-deaf from all the gunfire.

I have to say that if survivors actually live into old age during this apocalypse, they are all going to be stone fucking deaf because of the lack of ear protection while firing semi-automatic weapons. You never think of that shit when you’re busy blasting away at a dozen middle-aged, psycho sorority Sisters.

Or when you’re firing into a herd of Zs.

“Dad! Behind you!” Greta yelled as she ran towards us out of one of the houses. Kappa Kappa Gamma, I think. I don’t fucking know. It’s all Greek to…nah...too easy.

I spun about to see the herd had moved a little faster than expected. It was blocking the whole entrance to Sorority Village and suddenly I had a sinking feeling that the Village might have had only one way in and one way out.

Oops.

“Jace!” Stella yelled, right on Greta’s heels. “Jace!”

There were certainly some hugs when they reached us, but they didn’t last long as more women decided we needed their bullets more than the herd of Zs did. The Stanfords were a’scramblin’!

Stella and Greta led us back into the house they came out of and we slammed the door behind us.

“Where to now?” I asked.

“Down,” Stella said. “We think there’s a way to get to the river from the basement.”

“That would be handy since I fucked up as usual and brought a fuck ton of Zs down on us,” I smiled. “My bad.”

“Hey there, Long Pork,” Elsbeth said from a doorway at the top of a set of stairs that led down to the basement. She had their packs at her feet and kicked them towards Greta and Stella “I knew you’d find us. You always have to be the hero. Then I always have to save you from being the hero.” She gestured to the stairs. “See?”

“Yes, El, you always save my ass,” I said. “Thanks...as always.”

“You’re welcome,” she grinned. “As always.”

“Down we go,” Stella insisted, picking up Greta’s pack and handing it to her before picking up her own.

None of us argued with her and we raced down the stairs and into the house’s basement. But to call it a basement would be like calling an IMAX theater a media room. The place was huge and it had furniture in it that probably cost more than those cars up on the street. There was a full bar and a dance floor, a small stage and a sound board, plus what I could only guess was a drop down screen with several rows of actual theater chairs.

Fuck. I wish I’d joined a sorority. They had the setup, yo!

“Back here,” Elsbeth said. “I found the way.”

She led us to a door behind the bar. With flashlight in one hand, and a blade in the other, which apparently were just hanging out with the packs, Elsbeth stepped into a brick-lined tunnel that slowly started to wind downward, then leveled out. The noise from above grew quieter and quieter until we had no idea that a herd of Zs was creating some serious havoc above us.

After quite a few yards, the tunnel began to climb again, then wind and wind until we came to another door.

“Let’s hope this didn’t just lead us into a different house,” Stella said.

She nodded to Elsbeth and the woman tried the handle and smiled.

“Open sesame,” she said and yanked on the door, her blade ready.

It opened into a small boathouse that sat right on the Tennessee River. Kayaks and canoes lined the walls and we just stood there, so happy not to be trapped or caught by crazies.

Until we heard the slapping of undead hands against the windows and realized that maybe, we hadn’t gotten as far away as we would have liked.

“The herd,” Charlie said. “It must have been bigger than we thought.”

We looked towards the windows and could see a long, overgrown lawn and a street a ways off. Past that was the wall that surrounded Sorority Village. Smoke and flame was licking the top of the wall which meant things had gone from really bad to seriously fucking worse for those ladies.

Not that it was a whole lot better for us since between the boathouse and the wall was nothing but a sea of Zs.

“Poop,” I said.

“We take the canoes across the river,” Stella said. “Get to the other side and figure things out from there. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like the best plan,” I said, and then looked at my one arm. “But I may have to sit out the heavy moving portion of the plan.”

“You can grab a fucking handle and carry,” Stella said as she hurried over to a canoe and helped Elsbeth get it down on the ground.

“Uh, we do have one problem,” Greta said as she looked through a window that faced the river.

We joined her and saw a few dozen Zs stumble about the riverbank, with even more wading in the shallows because their feet kept slipping in the river mud and they couldn’t get enough purchase to get away from the water.

“Huh,” I said. “That is a problem.”

“I’ll distract them,” Elsbeth said. “You get the canoes down and get ready to run to the water. I’ll get them away from here, and then swim out to you.”

The day had gotten away from us fast and the sun had started to set. The light came in through the dirty windows and lit up the boathouse, reflecting off the natural wood of the walls. It kinda gave everything a surreal, almost spiritual look. It was at that moment that I had a sinking feeling I wouldn’t see that woman again.

“We can’t leave you,” I said.

“You won’t be, Long Pork,” Elsbeth smiled. “You’ll just be out on the river until I can swim out to you.”

I looked to Stella for help, but her face was set in agreement with Elsbeth.

“She’s the only one that has a chance of distracting the Zs and living,” Stella said. “You know that.”

Stella hurried forward and hugged Elsbeth fiercely. Greta followed, leaving me and Charlie to stand there.

“Group hug?” Charlie smirked as he looked at me.

“Group hug,” I said and we all went in for a squeeze.

“That’s enough,” Elsbeth said, suddenly embarrassed. “Get off me, Stanfords.” She nodded to the canoes. “Get those ready.”

We threw all of our gear into the canoes as Stella and Greta handled one while Charlie and I handled another. Charlie did most of the work by maneuvering the canoe to the door. I pretty much grabbed the handle on the rear end and waited.

“Ready?” Elsbeth asked as she reached in and grabbed Charlie’s AK-47.

“Ready,” we answered.

She didn’t count off, just tore open the door and fired until the rifle clicked empty. Then she started doing what she did best: hacking and slashing at the Zs with those fine blades of hers. We let her get a good distance away, her violence leading the Zs like a bloody Pied Piper, before Stella shoved the double loading doors open and we made our break for it.

It all would have been easy to deal with if it wasn’t for the wading Zs. The ones that were mobile went for Elsbeth immediately, but the ones stuck in the mud didn’t have that options, so they turned their attention on us.

“Jace? What do we do?” Stella yelled.

“We ram them!” I shouted. “Lower your shoulders and shove them aside! It’s the only way we’ll get past!”

Stella hesitated for just a second, then her face scrunched up and that determined look she gets that I have always loved took over. She and Greta lowered their shoulders as I said and smashed into every Z that was in their way, which made things a lot easier for Charlie and me.

Greta screamed as a Z got its fingers tangled in her hair, but she elbowed it in the nose so hard that the thing’s rotted neck snapped right there. If it wasn’t for the fear and terror of the moment, I think we would have all laughed as the Z’s head wobbled on its broken neck while it stayed upright because of the mud. It was obviously truly dead, but there it stood.

We were able to get the canoes past the waiting Zs and out into the river, but we hadn’t prepared for the current that was rushing along. The Tennessee River is not a small river. It has a good pull to it when it’s high and there has been some rain. Which it looked like there had been before we hit Knoxville.

Stella and Greta barely got up into their canoe while Charlie hopped in ours and turned and held out his hand to me.

There was the problem. I only have one hand.

I tried to pull myself into the canoe, but I didn’t have the leverage. If I let go of the side even for a second to take Charlie’s hand, I would have been separated from the canoe by the current.

So I just stayed in the water and started kicking my legs.

“I’ll help get us across!” I yelled up at Charlie. “Just steer us to the shore!”

The canoe blocked my view of Stella and Greta, but I could hear my wife shouting for our daughter, “Paddle your fucking ass off,” which made me feel confident things were being handled over there.

I risked a look over my shoulder at the riverbank and almost wished I hadn’t. The current was so strong that we were already a good hundred yards downstream before we’d even reached the middle of the river. That meant Elsbeth would have to swim quite a ways to get to us when we finally made it to the other shore.

By the looks of the huge horde of Zs that had her surrounded, she wasn’t going to attempt a swim any time soon.

“She’s outnumbered,” Charlie said.

“I know, but she’ll make it,” I replied, spitting out river water after each word. “You just focus on getting us over to the other bank.”

Charlie gave me that look he gives when he wants to argue and say something, but has decided not to. He turned back to paddling and put his all into digging deep and moving us closer and closer to the other shore.

There were many problems with our plan that night, but the biggest was that the river took a dramatic curve just past the boathouse. Not only had we gone a hundred yards away from where Elsbeth fought, but also were only a few yards from completely losing sight of her. I kept looking and looking, desperate to keep track of what was happening, but I couldn’t do that and keep my head above water while trying to hang on and kick at the same time.

Ugh.

“El!” I shouted, nearly swallowing half the Tennessee.

The last few feet of visibility were lost to me and all I had to keep track of her were the constant moans and groans of the horde coupled with her throaty war cries.

It took us nearly twenty minutes to get from point A to point B and by the time we’d gotten ashore, the sun had nearly set. We found ourselves on a small peninsula and our first instinct was to hurry across to find out what was happening to Elsbeth.

However, by the time we got there, it was almost completely dark. The horde was obvious, but we couldn’t see or hear Elsbeth at all. There were no sounds of her chopping off heads or hacking away at limbs, and no sounds of her crushing skulls or snapping necks. As far as we could see, she wasn’t there.

“Elsbeth!” Charlie shouted.

“Stop,” Stella hissed as she looked about the peninsula. “We don’t know if there are any Zs around.”

“We can’t leave her over there,” Greta said.

“She’s probably already gotten into the river,” I said. “I’ll bet she’s swimming to find us now.”

We all scrambled down close to the riverbank and then followed it around to our canoes.

Nothing.

No Elsbeth anywhere.

And no more light, either.

“Jace, we can’t stay,” Stella said. “We have to find shelter and get safe for the night.”

“I know,” I said. Both of the kids started to protest, but I held up my hand. “We won’t abandon her, okay? We just can’t do any good by stumbling around in the dark. We get safe and we get some rest. We’ll find her in the morning.”

Except, once again, there was a flaw in that plan. We found out what it was within just a couple of minutes.

“You hear that?” Stella whispered as we grabbed our stuff from the canoes. “Zs?”

“Yeah,” I said and fished out the one flashlight. “Should I?”

“Make it fast,” Stella said. “Don’t let them zero in on the light.”

I flicked on the flashlight and was beyond grateful that there were no Zs caught in the beam.

“Phew,” Stella said, echoing my thoughts. “I think I saw buildings up over that little hill.”

She took off and I motioned for the kids to go so I could bring up the rear. We made it about twenty yards and crested the hill when all “phews” flew out the window.

“Oh...fuck,” Charlie said as we looked down at the herd of Zs below us. “Where’d they come from? How’d they get across?”

“They didn’t get across,” Greta said as she pointed towards a large building and the faded words on the sign above the front entrance. “They’ve always been here.”

University of Tennessee Medical Center. Another hospital, but this one wasn’t manned by crazies, just overrun by walking corpses.

“Back to the canoes,” Stella whispered. “Go go.”

We hightailed it to the canoes and shoved them off into the water. I actually got to ride inside mine with Charlie that time, but I almost wished I was in the river as the night breeze started to blow across my wet clothing.

We let the river take us a ways until I spotted a pull out tucked into the dense trees on the far side of the river. It took all of our strength to fight the current and get us over there, but we made it after some seriously hardcore paddling.

I just used my hand since I couldn’t really grip a paddle. I made a note to myself that night to figure out a paddle attachment for Stumpageddon, if my shoulder ever healed up enough to handle the strain. And if we didn’t die in the night.

We got the canoes up onto the shore and then sat there for a while and listened. Far off, we could hear the herd of Zs as the wind shifted and blew their moans our way, but that was all. No sound of a woman trying to swim to us and no sound of gunfire or human activity coming from the city.

That night, we slept in the canoes, with Stella and me taking turns as sentries so the kids could get as much rest as possible. If Zs came at us, we could just shove back into the water. Luckily, we didn’t have to.

By the time dawn hit and the morning light crested the far off mountains, I felt so spent that I thought every bush and small tree was a Z coming to eat my face.

“We get someplace safe while we have light,” Stella said to me, looking exactly how I felt. “The kids can stand watch while you and I sleep. If it’s safe enough, we’ll stay another night.”

“Then what?” I asked. “We don’t know where anyone else is.”

“But we do know where Kansas City is and where Boulder is,” Stella said. “So does everyone else. We keep going and hope we catch up to the others or they catch up to us.”

“We’re going to walk to KC?” Charlie asked.

“Until we find a better way to get there,” Stella replied.

The kids looked at me, which I could see irritated the shit out of Stella.

“Your mother is right,” I said. “We rest and then we travel. That’s our new pattern so get used to it.”

Both of them had the smarts not to argue with two exhausted and scared parents. At least they were learning.

Chapter Six

We had pulled out of the river in Sequoyah Park and were lucky enough to find that the park was bordered by some seriously swank houses with excellent views of the river. How nice for them.

We picked one at random, a modern looking, four-story semi-mansion, and didn’t have too hard a time breaking in. The doors were locked solid, but not solid enough against a rock through a window. Without any alarm systems to worry about, we broke and entered old school. Like, Neanderthal old school. Rock go smash!

The smell inside told us that somebody had been home at one time and maybe hadn’t quite left yet. We were cautious as we went room to room, making sure to stay together, and scouted for Zs. We’d covered all of the floors from the ground up, which left only the basement.

“The smell is stronger down there,” Greta said. “But it’s old.”

She was right. The smell was old. It was the faint stink of rotted meat and the putrid stench of a trapped Z. Not fresh at all, more like a memory than a current thought.

Step by step, we slowly descended into the basement. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened to the family that had lived there once we got down to the bottom.

“Jesus,” Charlie said, as we all stood around the ancient Z that could barely clack its jaws at us. “It ate them all.”

The scene was of a family trying to escape from a loved one. It was a scene we had witnessed a hundred times since Z-day. They thought they were safe down in the basement from the Zs above, but something went wrong and one of their own turned. The mother. I could see that the family members, a dad and three kids, fought back, since the Z’s legs had been hacked off at the knees, yet that hadn’t been enough to keep its hunger at bay.

However it managed it, it caught a couple of the other members and gave them some good, hard chomps. The kids’ heads had been split open by the dad and he had tried to kill Z-Mom with the hatchet he held, but he’d missed and only managed to bury it in her shoulder. He was probably too weak to get the hatchet out for a second whack and finish the job, so he finished himself instead.

A screwdriver stuck out from his temple.

“I think they were going for there,” Greta said as she looked at the far wall.

I turned the flashlight in that direction and saw a bookshelf that had been partly pushed away from the wall. We walked over and couldn’t believe what we saw.

“A safe room,” Charlie said. “Cool.”

“Yeah, until you run out of air,” Greta said.

Then it made sense. The family hadn’t been trying to get to the safe room, but had escaped it. When the power gave out, even whatever backup power they had, the safe room lost its ability to circulate the air. They had to get out or suffocate.

I walked into the safe room and found another piece of the puzzle: the bottom halves of the mom’s legs. She’d died in there and then came back. They tried to hobble her, but not being familiar with the tenacity of Zs, they had no clue what kind of monster they were trapped with. Old stains on the floor leading out into the basement told me that the horror had started to go down inside the safe room.

Dad had gotten his whole family out of there so they wouldn’t die trapped in a steel box and could feel like they were home one last time.

The man had had the chance to just fall asleep from lack of oxygen, but he fought on to honor his wife and kids. It was a fucked up thing to do, but everything has been fucked up since Z-Day. I had to applaud the noble thought behind the action.

“Dad?” Greta asked, as she walked back to the Z that was mostly bone and tendon. It shifted, knowing meat was near, but it didn’t have any muscle to grab at Greta. “Can I?”

“Please,” I said as I turned away just as Greta’s heel crushed the Z’s skull.

“It’s a backup if we need it,” Stella said as she eyed the safe room. “But we aren’t sleeping in there.”

“No shit,” Charlie said.

“Let’s clean these people up,” Stella said to the kids. “Haul the bodies upstairs while your dad and I make some space to sleep comfortably. You two will stand watch by the stairs and wake us up if you hear anything at all. If we aren’t disturbed, we’ll go upstairs and hunt for some food after we get enough sleep to think straight. Got it?”

The kids frowned and didn’t say a word as they got to work lifting the bodies and carrying them back upstairs. I will give them points for not complaining out loud. The looks on their faces, and the pissed off body language, did all the talking needed, though.

Stella and I moved a couple of couches around so we could face the stairs, then each plopped down on one and sighed heavily.

“Should we take shifts sleeping?” Stella asked.

“Nah,” I said. “The kids aren’t rookies. They can handle a little sentry duty. I doubt I’ll sleep that much anyway.”

I was out before the kids even made it back down the stairs.

***

“Dad?” Charlie whispered. “Dad? Wake up.”

I sat up with a start and had to shake my head a couple times to focus on Charlie’s shadowed face.

“Chill, it’s all good,” Charlie said. “It’s just that Greta is asleep and I have to pee bad.”

“Okay, then go pee,” I said. “Is there a bucket or something down here?”

“No, Greta and I have been going upstairs so we don’t stink things up down here,” Charlie said. “We’ve been using the kitchen sink since it’s close to the basement door.”

“Good idea,” I said as I stretched. I looked over at Stella and smiled. “It has to be afternoon by now, right?”

“It’s almost morning,” Charlie said, making me blink in disbelief.

“What? Morning?”

“You and Mom were out,” Charlie said. “Greta and I took turns sleeping through the afternoon and night. I wouldn’t have woken you up if I didn’t think I was going to piss myself.”

“No, no you did the right thing,” I said as I got up and tried to get the circulation going in my legs. “I’ll follow you upstairs and keep an eye out while you piss. Is there any food up there?”

“Plenty,” Charlie said. “It’s stale and expired by a few years, but the stuff that’s sealed, like crackers and shit, hasn’t gone moldy or anything. Greta gorged herself on crappy cookies and cupcakes that were hard as rocks.”

My stomach rumbled as I followed him up the stairs. I didn’t care how hard the cookies or cupcakes were, I would eat them all.

There was a pile of supplies by the basement door and I frowned at them.

“What’s that?” I asked as Charlie hurried over to the sink and sighed with relief as he let his bladder empty. “Where’d all that come from?”

“We took turns hunting for stuff we could use,” Charlie said. “We kept it there in case we had to escape quickly. I was going to look for new backpacks or duffel bags next. I think there’s a closet in the basement we hadn’t checked. I’ll bet they have the luggage in there.”

“Could be,” I said as I found the pantry. I searched the food for what I thought wouldn’t poison me and came away with a killer find. “Dude! Peanut butter!”

“Really?” Charlie asked as he finished and zipped up. There was a large bottle of hand sanitizer on the counter and he used it before coming over to me. “Where the hell was that?”

“Behind the cans of tuna and smoked sausages,” I said. “Which still have two months on their dates too.”

“Shit,” Charlie said. “I ate all those crappy crackers when there was peanut butter and tuna?”

“Do not mix those together, please,” Stella said as she sleepily stepped from the stairs. “You’ll puke.”

She shuffled over to the sink, looked at it for a second, then turned, dropped her pants, and hoisted herself up so her ass end could hang over.

“Mom! A little warning!” Charlie said.

“Had to pee,” Stella said. “Get over it.”

“There’s food in here and water we can boil down at the river,” I said to Stella as she finished up. “We could hang for a while.”

“Well, not really,” Charlie said. “I’ll show you why.”

I frowned at Stella as she buttoned her jeans, then we both followed Charlie up the stairs to the top floor. He led us into the master bedroom where we had a great view of the river from one set of windows, but it was the side set of windows that Charlie wanted us to look out of.

“They aren’t moving fast, but they are moving this way,” Charlie said. “We should probably pack up and leave today.”

The herd of Zs. It had grown a lot and from our view, we could see it filling several square blocks of residential neighborhoods as the dawn light illuminated the hungry masses.

“Shit,” I said. “Good thing we got some sleep. We have some hiking to do today.”

“You assholes left me down there all alone,” Greta said from the doorway as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She saw the looks on our faces. “Let me guess. Bad news?”

***

We knew we needed to get away from the house before it was overrun by Zs, but the problem was we weren’t sure which way to go. The whole river trip in the night thing kinda got us turned around. Not to mention that we’d been basically running for our lives for three (?) days through the sketchstrocity of Knoxville. We hunted through the house and finally found an old, old, phonebook forgotten at the bottom of a junk drawer in the laundry room. Luckily, it still had its map of Knoxville in the center.

“We are down here and we need to get up there,” I said as I pointed at the street we were on (Cherokee Blvd) and up to I-40. “The problem is we have a fuckload of Zs coming at us and a lot of ground to cover.”

“We should take a diagonal route,” Stella said. “Just cut through yards and forget the streets. We’ll have more places to hide that way.”

“True,” I said, “but do you see what’s between us and I-40 if we go that way?”

“A big fucking cemetery,” Charlie said, tapping at the map. “We do not like cemeteries.”

“The odds of Zs still being in there are slim,” Stella said. We all stared at her. “Well, they are.”

“It depends on if it’s a closed cemetery or open,” I said. “Remember that one down in Hendersonville that Melissa and her crew found when they scavenged south? Completely gated off and filled with the undead. They had no clue until they hiked past it and the Zs saw them. They barely got away before that gate went crashing down.”

“So, what do you propose?” Stella asked, her arms across her chest.

“I’m thinking we follow the river until it curves again then head straight for 322.” I pointed at the route on the map. “From there, we go up to I-40 and get on the interstate. Maybe we’ll see signs of the others when we get back on track.”

“That route will take longer than Mom’s,” Charlie said. “It’ll probably be almost dark when we get to 40. Where are we going to stay tonight?”

“We aren’t,” I said. “We get on the interstate and we start walking. We keep to the side and try to stay out of sight, but we don’t stop walking. Once our legs give out we can hunt for shelter, but we have way too much distance to cover and time to make up.”

Stella and Greta looked at the two of us and shook their heads.

“Neither of you are strong enough to do that,” Stella said. “You think you are, but you aren’t.”

“I just slept for almost 24 hours straight,” I said. “I’ve got plenty of energy to make it.”

“You slept, sure,” Stella said, “but Charlie didn’t.”

“I caught a nap here and there,” Charlie countered.

“Don’t defend him,” Stella said. “It’s not a good plan.”

“And you’re hurt worse than Dad,” Greta said.

“I’m not that hurt!” Charlie snapped. “I’ve had a long time to heal up!”

“And it takes even longer for you to actuallybe healed up!” Stella snapped back. “Dr. McCormick and Reaper both said it would take months for you to be back to full strength. You had a hunk of helicopter go through your chest, Charlie!”

“As you keep reminding me over and over and over- Ow!”

“Don’t be a dick to your mom,” I said after smacking him upside the back of the head.

“Thank you,” Stella said.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “But I still think my plan is best. We bust ass to the interstate and then keep going. We don’t have much of a choice. Staying in Knoxville has proven to be bad for our health. It may not be any better out on the open road, but considering we’ve dealt with orange crazies, psycho hospital workers, and a sorority from Hell, I can’t think the interstate would be worse.”

Yeah, I had forgotten Manchester’s warning to stick to the railroad tracks. I’m an idiot.

***

Things held up pretty well on our way out of Knoxville. We walked along the river for a while, which was good since we at least had one side of us we didn’t have to defend. It was going nicely until we got back on the streets.

For the record, I liked Knoxville pre-Z. I had visited a few times and it was always fun, but post-Z? Knoxville could suck my ass. Not so fun. Not so fun at all.

We came to 322, also called Northshore Drive, and followed that up to 70. We had managed to stay in the shadows of the buildings most of the way and only encountered a few Zs here and there. None of them noticed us and we were able to slip by without incident. There was always the far off scraping and groaning of the herd that was headed west, but we moved faster than it did, so we kept a nice buffer between it and us.

The problem was when we hit 70 and had to pass an old Food City on our right. There was no need to stop and see if there was food left in the supermarket (not that we expected there to be) since we’d brought as much as we could carry from the house we’d crashed in. We waited at the edge of 70, ready to sprint across as soon as a couple of Zs shambled out of sight.

However, the second we set foot out in the open, the pavement at our feet began to pop and crack from a barrage of bullets.

“Mother fuck!” I shouted as we scrambled back to cover.

“This is our store!” a voice yelled. “OURS!”

“Fucking A,” I sighed. “What the fuck is wrong with people in this town?”

“Can we get around?” Charlie asked.

“We’re going to have to,” I said. “Getting shot wasn’t part of today’s plan.”

Greta took the phonebook map from her pocket and set it out on the concrete at our feet as we huddled in the entranceway of some old nail salon in a burnt out strip mall.

“We could go this way and cut up at Old Weisgarber Road,” she said. “It curves around a bit, but it’ll take us to 40.”

“Can we get across the road?” Stella asked. “Whoever that asshole is shooting at us, he obviously has a high-powered rifle.”

“And no aim,” Charlie said. “The fucker killed a lot of asphalt, but missed us.”

“He probably missed on purpose,” Stella said. “Did you think of that?”

“Total waste of ammo,” Charlie said. “I think the guy is just a bad shot.”

“And I think we can’t take that chance,” Stella said.

“Well…” Charlie started.

“Shut up, both of you,” I interrupted. “We move down 70 a couple blocks and then cross the street.” I tapped the map. “Hold on. 70 and 40 almost meet not even a mile from here. Let’s say fuck it to crossing the street at all. We keep going up 70 until we can see 40. Then we make a break for it. We’ll be way out of range of Shooty McShooterson by then.”

“Then why are we making a break for it?” Greta asked.

“Because we are pretty much always making a fucking break for it,” I replied. “You want to stand in the middle of the street and just wave your arms about?”

They all stared at me.

“What?” I snapped. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Jace,” Stella warned. “You’re being an asshole.”

“Asshat,” Greta said.

“Assmuncher,” Charlie added.

“Thanks, guys, point taken,” I frowned. “Still doesn’t mean we don’t have to make a break for it when we cross the street.”

“We’ll make a break,” Stella nodded, “but we have to get down there first. Will we have enough cover from that guy if we just move down the sidewalk here?”

“We should,” I said, not sure at all.

“Then let’s get a move on,” Stella said.

We did a pitiful hunker down and crouch walk for a block before we felt comfortable enough to stand up and give our backs a break. It did take us a while to get down 70 and to a place clear enough where we could see I-40 looming above Knoxville. Well, maybe not looming so much as perched. Yeah, more like perched.

“This our make a break moment?” Greta smirked.

“Fuck you,” I said with a smile. “And yes, this should do.”

We double-checked that the area was clear then sprinted our asses off across 70 and into the cover of an old mattress store. The windows were shattered and I couldn’t help but notice how the part of the store with the sign “Futons” was completely empty while the rest of the regular mattresses sat in piles, rotting and falling apart.

Who knew futons would be a survivor favorite? But I guess futons have always been a broke college kid’s go to bedding so it stood to reason that apocalypse survivors, which are only a step or two below a broke college kid anyway, would want the ease and comfort of something that could be rolled up and stashed away when needed.

“Jace?” Stella asked. “Where are you?”

“Thinking about futons,” I said as I glanced at the broken store.

“Well, as long as you’re doing something constructive with that brain,” she sighed. “On a practical note, should we cut through this lot or go to that street over there and up to 40?”

“I say we cut through the lot,” I replied. “No need to expose ourselves any more than we have to and we can climb right up that embankment to the interstate.”

Through the lot and up the embankment we went. The ground was loose, but not too bad and it only took a couple minutes to get up onto the asphalt of I-40. We stood at the edge of the eastbound lanes, not that it really mattered, but the OCD part of me wanted to cross and get into the westbound lanes since we were going west.

“This is fine,” Stella said, reading my mind as she shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun and looked west. “We can’t waste time getting over there when we have so much road to walk.”

She was right. There was a lot of road ahead of us. I’d driven through Knoxville tons of times pre-Z and it always seemed to take forever. And that was in a car. Seeing nothing but interstate stretching out before us was almost too much for my already stressed brain.

“We going or what?” Greta asked, as we stood there and just stared. “Because standing still is never a good survival strategy.”

No, it isn’t,” I agreed as I tightened the straps on my backpack and made sure it was settled right for the long journey. “Let’s do this.”

“Don’t say that,” Charlie said.

“Whatevs,” I replied.

“Ugh,” Greta groaned.

“I love my family,” Stella smiled as she started walking. “You’re all batshit crazy, but I love you.”

***

We lost the light way faster than I expected, but it wasn’t a totally unwelcome thing since we had been forced to stare into the setting sun for several hours before it finally gave up the ghost. Somehow, not one of us had a pair of sunglasses in our packs.

It was also nice to lose the light so we didn’t have to see the signs that things to come may not have been exactly rosy fun.

Tacked to cars, trees, useless lampposts, were dried skins. Human skins. And on those skins, besides faded tattoos and old scars, were sayings like “Dark meat is the best!”, “Eat more Pete!”, “Ain’t no thing but a human wing!”, “We make our own sauce!”, “For a good time, eat Jane!”, “Tastes like chicken, my ass!” and “If might is right then eat the left one, it’s more tender!”.

Fucking awesome.

We also no longer saw what was spray painted on the billboards, which was nice since those words had started before the skins showed up and I was really sick of them. “Tennessee Hunger Brigade”, “The Thigh Boners”, “Crossville Cookers”, and other names that had sinister connotations. Couple the gang names, which is what I figured they were, with the human-hide slogans, and I had a distinct feeling we had officially stepped into canny country.

Again with the fucking awesome.

With our pistols on our hips, and collapsible batons in our hands at all times, we walked the middle of the interstate, which is key to surviving a road trip that suddenly turns from wheels to feet. Always walk in the middle of the road. Shit be hanging out at the side of the road. Zs have a funny way of popping out at you from ditches and ruining your whole day.

Not that the middle of I-40 was a picnic.

The whole trip was supposed to be taken while driving behind a two-story haul truck with a massive cow catcher/snow plow/wedge thingy on the front. It could just shove the abandoned cars to the side and let the convoy pass.

When cars are shoved to the side, the occupants of those cars are shoved to the side as well. But we were without the haul truck, so for as far as we could see there were nothing but abandoned cars. Many of which held some grumpy drivers still strapped to their seats.

Zs are dumb. There’s no debating that. They can’t work seat belts. So if they died in their seat while belted in then they had to stay in their seat since that dying day, gnashing and thrashing until they ran out of energy and were left there to moan and groan.

We walked past a lot of moaners and groaners.

Decayed hands slapped at the glass, or reached out of broken or open windows, their owners so hungry and desperate to get to our tasty, tasty flesh. We were a total tease, an unobtainable goal that snaked its way through the old wrecks. Teeth so brittle from lack of nourishment snapped off in rotted jaws; fingers broke from hands as dried tendons finally let go.

It was kinda sad.

Kinda.

Ok, not really. Fuck the Zs. Sure, they used to be people, and I feel bad for those that died, but the Zs they turned into can kiss my living ass. Just kiss it. They can pucker up and have a smoochy smooch. They can take those shriveled lips and plant them right where my-.

“Jace,” Stella gasped. “Look.”

My mind had been so busy on the Zs in cars tangent that I hadn’t noticed that the tangle of cars stopped only a few yards away from us.

“What the fuck is that?” Charlie asked, his hand going to his 9mm. “Dad?”

“Not a fucking clue,” I said.

For as far as we could see, the eastbound lanes of I-40 were walled in. The westbound lanes were blocked from us by stacks and stacks of broken and abandoned cars. We couldn’t switch to the westbound route even if we wanted to.

“Is there something written on the walls?” Greta asked. “It’s hard to see. Where’s the flashlight?”

We cautiously moved forward and saw that our end of what I could only call a gauntlet was blocked by a maze of chain link fencing. As we got up to the fencing we could see that the road underneath had been dug out and the fences were only supported by narrow beams. And under those beams, in the space where road and dirt should have been, were dozens and dozens of Zs.

“They can’t climb so they just fall in,” Charlie said.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Greta said.

“Fuck off.”

“You fuck off.”

“You both fuck off,” I snapped. “This isn’t good.”

“We aren’t Zs,” Greta said. “We can just hang onto the chain link and climb across.”

“Says the teenager with two hands,” I replied. “Good for you.”

“Oh...right,” Greta frowned. “Sorry.”

“Shit,” Stella said. “Maybe we should go back and try to go around.”

“Not going back,” I said. “We know what kind of crazy is in Knoxville. And I don’t see how we can go around unless we want to head across open land, which is not a good idea in the middle of the night.”

“We could find an empty car and crash out, and then tackle it in the morning,” Charlie suggested. “That way we have some light.”

Greta, with flashlight in hand, studied the walls just past the Z pit. They were made of all kinds of material, but looked pretty solid from what I could see. There was enough of a breeze to make the trees at the sides of the interstate sway, but the walls didn’t budge.

“I think we need to get out of here,” Greta said as she backed up. “Going in there is not a good idea.”

“Why? What do you see?” Stella asked. “What’s written on the walls?”

“Gibberish,” Greta said. “But it’s not the writing that we need to worry about. Look!”

She shined the flashlight right onto a row of dark smudges, which turned out not to be smudges at all, but bloody handprints.

Above the handprints, and many other dark stains and crusted looking globs of God knows what, were words such as: “Better beat it or you get beat!”, “Don’t worry, we’ll wait twenty minutes before eating you!”, and my personal favorite, “Fear is nature’s tenderizer!”.

I don’t know why I liked that one. Maybe it was the former cook in me that got what that one was going for.

“So no go on the forward progress,” I announced. “Back to the crazy we know then?”

“Yep,” Stella said. “Back to Knoxville until we come up with a better plan.”

We all turned and that’s when the headlights turned on and we found ourselves staring at no less than ten motorcycles.

“Fuck,” I muttered. “Crazies with fucking motorcycles. Great. Who wants to bet they are wearing goggles too? Mother fucking crazies with motorcycles and goggles!”

I stepped forward and shielded my eyes against the glare.

“Hey, assholes! You know that the post-apocalypse didn’t actually come with a dress code, right? You mother fucking Road Warrior wannabes!”

“Good one, Dad,” Charlie said. “You told them. They’ll let us go now, for sure.”

“Time to run the road!” one of the riders shouted, but I couldn’t tell which because of the headlights. “It’s a night run for you, Cleaver beavers!”

“Cleaver beavers?” Greta asked. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It’s a reference to Leave It To Beaver,” Stella said.

“Leave it to what? That didn’t explain shit,” Greta snapped.

“It was a sitcom, but we don’t have time to go into television history, okay?” I growled. I cleared my throat and held up my hands. “Sorry about the fashion remark. I’m a little stressed. Listen, we’re kinda tired and not really up for running any road. Is there a detour we could take, possibly? We’ll let the next set of Cleaver beavers run the road.”

“Cleaver beavers be talkin’ back?” another voice asked. “Cleaver beavers need a lesson in manners.”

The riders revved their engines then shot towards us. Great.

“Go!” I shouted as I pushed at Stella. “Climb!”

Charlie and Greta hit the chain link first and scrambled to get across the Z pits. They went hand over hand, foot to foot, by gripping and jamming their toes between the links. Stella followed after them and I was right behind, but my disability slowed me down considerably. Back in the Explorer were all of my attachments for Stumpageddon. They were boxed up in the back since my shoulder couldn’t take the weight of them.

Kinda wished I had one of the hook attachments right about then.

Painful was an understatement. I jammed my feet into the links then leaned as far into the fence as it would give. This kept me from falling backwards as I inched my way across, my only hand having to jump form one position to another lightning fast or I would go tumbling down into the Z mosh pit below.

“Cleaver beavers be zoom zoom zipping!”

“Go, go, Cleaver beavers!”

“Now you get to run the road! Now you get to run the road!”

“I farted. Excuse me.”

“This is ten kinds of some fucked up fucking shit,” Greta said as we finally all stood on the other side of the pits and watched as spotlights, strings of Christmas lights, neon signs, and whatever could go blinky blinky, started to illuminate all the way down the road. “We are so fucking dead!”

A huge neon sign came to life and the words “Cannibal Road” loomed over us. Holy shit...Kramer didn’t mean the name as a metaphor, the place was actually called Cannibal Road.

Shit.

“Hello, contestants!” a voice boomed from speakers just above us. From the slight echo, I guessed there were speakers all along the walls too. “Welcome to Cannibal Road! We aren’t a proud bunch, but just some plain spoken folk that tell it like it is! We eat people and you are people!”

A massive cheer went up all down the walls on both sides. I could see shapes and shadows of spectators start to show up as people crawled on top of the wall and sat there with their legs hanging down.

“At least they aren’t being coy,” I said and got a death glare from Stella. “What? It’s kinda refreshing.”

“Now, if you wouldn’t mind introducing yourselves, we can get this party started,” the announcer said. A microphone was lowered by its wire down to us from the top of the right side wall. “We like to get to know our contestants before we send them a’runnin’!”

I looked at my family then shrugged. I took a deep breath and walked to the mic, grabbing it with my one hand and waving my stump at the spectators.

“Hi, I’m Jace Stanford,” I said. “My family and I are from Asheville, but decided that we’d try and vacation in Knoxville. Things didn’t turn out like we wanted when our car broke down and the hotel lost our reservation. The bastards even tried to hold onto our deposit. Can you believe that? So, as much as we’d love to play your people-eating game, I think we’re kind of all done with the vacation fun and we’ll just be on our way. Thank you for your time and God bless.”

There was nothing but silence for a few seconds then the walls erupted with laughter.

“Jace Stanford!” the announcer chuckled. “You amazing breath of fresh air! Way better than the screamers and the pleaders, right folks?”

A huge cheer went up and down the walls.

“Now, Jace Stanford, would you be so kind as to introduce your fine looking family?” the announcer asked. “We’d certainly appreciate it.”

“Well, thank you for asking,” I said, playing along while I hoped my family would come up with some sort of plan. “The tall young man there is my son Charlie. By his side is his sister, my lovely daughter, Greta. Charlie is into video games and quiet reading under oak trees while Greta is more of an artist and also a mean hatchet and cauterize girl if you happen to lose a limb.” I waved Stumpageddon. “Not that she did this handy work. Just want that to be clear.” I waved to Stella and she looked at me as if I was one of the cheering crazies.

“Come now, Mrs. Stanford,” the announcer said. “Don’t be shy.”

Stella put on a weak smile and shuffled over to me.

“Jace,” she mumbled out of the side of her mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Keeping them talking,” I replied. “Hopefully you guys can figure a way out of this mess.”

“Yep, we’re fucked,” Greta said.

“The mouth on that one!” the announcer laughed. “I like it!”

“This is my wife Stella,” I said. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

The spectators whooped and hollered.

“Ahhh, you’re making her blush,” I said. “Stella doesn’t like speaking in front of large crowds, and you guys are a large crowd. How many of you are there anyway? I can’t tell because of all the lights.”

“Well, thank you for asking as well, Jace Stanford,” the announcer said. “We are a community of about two hundred, split into different groupings based on personality preferences and specific proclivities.”

“Two hundred? Wow, that’s a lot,” I replied. “You can’t expect a pitiful family of four like us to feed two hundred, can you? Look at us! We’re just skin and bones!”

“Oh, we have others,” the announcer said. “And you wouldn’t be feeding all two hundred of us. Like I said, we are split into different groups.” The announcer cleared his throat. “This would be a perfect time to explain the rules of Cannibal Road!”

“Rules! Rules! Rules! Rules!”

“Four Stanfords enter, none of us leave,” Charlie said.

“You got that right, bro,” Greta replied.

“Rules! Rules! Rules! Rules!”

“I think they want to hear the rules,” I said to Stella.

“How can you be joking at a time like this?” she snapped.

“I joke because I want to shit my pants and run screaming while waving my arms over my head,” I replied then looked at Stumpageddon. “Or while waving myarm.”

“THE RULES!” the announcer shouted and the spectators quieted down. “Here’s how it works, Stanfords: You get as long as you need to go from where you stand to the very end of Cannibal Road.”

“How long is this fine avenue of yours?” I asked.

“Patience now, Jace Stanford,” the announcer chuckled. “All answers will be revealed.”

“My bad.”

“No worries,” the announcer continued. “Cannibal Road is exactly one mile long. Trust me, we’ve measured it.”

“Measured it!” the spectators shouted.

“Everything marked, everything ‘membered,” Charlie laughed. Greta snorted snot out of her nose.

“Jesus!” Stella snapped. “Not you two also!”

“Now, listen closely, Stanfords, because this is important,” the announcer said. The spectators quieted down. Somewhat. “The first half of the road is a free for all. Well, free for us, but not so much for you fine folks.” Laughter. “When I say go, you’ll start running. Along the way there will be obstacles thrown into your path. Get by the obstacles, stay alive, and you will reach the second part of the road.”

“PART TWOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

“I fucking hate the apocalypse,” Stella said.

“Part two is where things get interesting, you see,” the announcer said. “From that point on, the road is broken up into sections. Each section will correspond to one of our illustrious groups. If you are caught within one of those sections then you’ll become the property of that group, dead or alive.”

“So we aren’t going to be killed outright?” I asked. “We have a chance to live?”

“There’s always a chance, Jace Stanford,” the announcer answered. “But do not mistake a chance at living for a chance at freedom. You’re in the Cannibal Road now which means you have just become the property of the Seven Gangs.”

Yeah, I could hear the capitol letters too.

“Let’s introduce our Seven Gangs!” the announcer yelled. “Starting with our very first: the Crossville Cookers and their leader, Barfly!”

“Hey there, Jace Stanford bro!” a man’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Good to meet ya, bro! Taste ya later!”

“Could be, could be,” the announcer laughed. “Now for the Tennessee Hunger Brigade and their leader, Bubbles!”

“Jace is such a cute name,” a woman’s voice giggled. “Too bad you’re already married. I’d do ya in a second with a cute little name like that. Maybe let ya live long enough to enjoy the diddle too.”

“Fuck off, you cunt!” Stella shouted.

“Ooooooooooooooooh,” the spectators mocked.

“And on that note, let’s introduce the Kingston Queens and their ever fashionable leader, Bobo!”

I started sensing a “B” theme with the names.

“Hello, sugar,” a man said, his voice thick with southern homosexuality.

That’s not a bigoted observation. If you have ever lived in the South then you know the exact accent I’m talking about. It made me miss some of my friends from pre-Z. Asheville had been such a fun, vibrant, inclusive city. Sigh.

“If Bubbles dear doesn’t get you then maybe I’ll make you mine,” Bobo continued. “After a quick nibble, of course.”

“That Bobo likes to nibble!” the announcer laughed.

“Nibble, nibble, nibble!” the spectators chanted.

“Who’s next?” I asked. “And does everyone have to speak?”

“We all have a voice around here,” the announcer said. “And the next one is Brudda Boing Boing and The Droolers!”

“Hey dare Jace,” a tiny voice said with an obvious speech impediment. “You weady to wun? We wuv it when dey wun!”

“WE WUV IT!”

“Here’s Bungee Betty and her Jackals!”

“Jace, Jace, Jace,” a gravelly voiced woman called. “You try to run from Bungee Betty and you’ll just end up snappin’ right back to me! No one gets away from the Jackals!”

“ROOOOOOWWWWRRRR!!!”

“Last. But never least, we have The Thigh Boners with their always original leader, Boner!”

“Hey,” was all the guy said.

What the fuck? At least put a little effort into it. Fucking A.

“You think you are ready to run the road, Stanfords?” the announcer asked, his voice having turned serious and contemplative. “Most survies that come along are so out of their minds with fear that they just fall down in puddles of their own piss. But you folks? You have grit. I can see that.”

“What happens if we get all the way to the end without getting caught?” I asked.

“No one has done that,” the announcer replied.

“NO ONE HAS DONE THAT!”

“Fuck off!” Greta shouted.

“YOU FUCK OFF!”

“Oh, God,” Stella muttered. “We’re doomed.”

“No, we aren’t,” I said. “Answer the question, Announcer Guy. What happens if we reach the end without getting caught?”

“No one has done that.”

“Right. Caught that the first time. But let’s say we Stanfords do make it, what happens?”

“I don’t know,” the announcer answered and I believed him. “I guess we’d have to let you go.”

There was an audible grumble of disappointment along the walls.

“Hold on, hold on!” the announcer said as he sensed he was losing his audience. “No one has done it! No one! But if they do, won’t that be cool?”

No one answered.

“Oh, well, Stanfords, I tried,” the announcer sighed. “Never say Mr. Flips didn’t at least try.”

“Mr. Flips?” I asked.

I saw a shadow above me lean down. He covered his microphone and waved me closer.

“It’s my real name,” the guy said. “Don’t tell anyone. They all like their cool post-apocalyptic nicknames. I never had the heart to tell them mine was real. It would have ruined the effect.”

“No prob,” I replied. “Your secret is safe with me, Flips. Show business, am I right?”

“That you are, Jace Stanford. That you are.” Mr. Flips stood back up and cleared his throat again. “Let’s get to the running, shall we?”

I looked over at my wife and children. They each had a baton in one hand and their 9mms in the other. Having just the one hand, I had to make a decision. I chose my baton since it didn’t run out of ammunition and I had no idea if I’d have time to switch out once the nightmare began.

“Love you guys,” I said to my badass family. “We’ll get through this.”

“You always say that,” Stella said, her eyes on the walled road ahead. “And we always do, so I’m trusting that you aren’t wrong this time.”

“Well, if I am then we’ll be dead and not have to worry about it,” I replied.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Jason Stanford?” Stella growled.

“Will you two shut the fuck up,” Greta said. “I’m trying to psych myself up over here.”

“Charlie?” I asked. “Any last words of wisdom before we fight for our lives?”

“Glad I got to take a piss a couple miles back,” he replied. “I don’t want to die with piss pants.”

“Asshole!” Greta shouted. “Why’d you say that? Now I have to fucking go pee!”

“THREETWOONEGO!” Mr. Flips yelled.

We went.

Chapter Seven

The music.

That’s what I’ll remember the most from my time fighting for my life on Cannibal Road. The mother fucking music.

It was...awesome!

No fucking shit, people. It was one killer soundtrack for, well...killers.

They started the party with The Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues.”

“Now we’re talking,” I said as I sprinted alongside my family. “If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die to some good tunes.”

“No, Jace!” Stella shouted. “Just no!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” I grinned. “I have a good feeling about this.”

And I did. I have no idea why I had a good feeling as I ran my ass off between two massive walls made of everything from crushed automobiles to train cars, from old dumpsters to old dump trucks.

About twenty feet ahead, the wall slid away and out came the bikers.

Now, as I have expressed before, I fucking detest apocalypse bikers. It’s the goggles. Why not just wear helmets? I’m sure there are more motorcycle helmets hanging around than those stupid bubble goggles the dumbshits wear. But, no, they have to look all crazy cool. Emphasis on the crazy part.

Fuckers. I bet half of them have never even seen Mad Max. Fuckers.

Charlie lifted his 9mm and fired three shots, nailing two bikers square in the chest and sending them flying off their motorcycles. The third shot missed as the intended target ducked and swerved. Charlie didn’t have time to adjust his aim since the bikers were on us by then. He dove and rolled to the side, just avoiding the swipe of a machete. Good thing the bikers didn’t have guns.

I was willing to bet there were plenty pointed down at us from the folks on the walls, though. Except, as I ran and thought about it, I never saw any and didn’t hear the signature sounds of slides being racked.Hmmm, I said to myself.Hmmm...

“Greta! Down!” Stella yelled as a biker swung a chain at our daughter’s head.

For the record, I fucking hate chains too. Just saying.

Greta dove and rolled then jammed her baton in the rear wheel of the motorcycle as the chain rider zipped by. The bike skidded, the rear wheel shot out sideways and the whole thing took quite the side tumble. Chain rider did not get up from that tumble since his head was twisted around in a direction God did not intend.

That left six more bikers to deal with. Six! Not good numbers for the Stanfords, but doable.

The six swept past us then whipped their bikes around and gunned it for our backs.

“Keep running!” I yelled, noticing that the music had switched to the Eagles’ “Takin’ It Easy”. “Turn and fire when I say!”

I slid to a stop and spun about, my baton held back, ready to crack a skull or two. I could see a couple of the bikers start laughing and I wondered just how pitiful I looked. It’d been a while since I’d had a shower or gotten a chance to change clothes. Wouldn’t have been a bad bet that I looked almost as crazy as those fuckers did.

The bikers were ten feet, five feet, and I dove. Right at them!

“Fire!” I yelled.

The bikers, confused that I didn’t dive out of the way and instead came right at them, all swerved and three actually hit their brakes and turned sideways, which made them perfect targets. Their bodies shuddered then crumpled across their bikes as the motorcycles fell to the ground.

The other three bikers didn’t know quite what to do. They split and went wide around Stella and the kids. One of them actually clipped a wall, but didn’t go down. All three gunned it and got ahead of us then spun about and let their motors idle.

I got up and joined my family. The four of us stood there in the road and faced the three bikers, ready with our batons and 9mms. Well, okay, not me. I raised Stumpageddon and pointed it at them.

“Jace, baby, what are you doing?” Stella asked.

“Pretending I have a pistol,” I said.

She glanced at me and frowned.

“Just let him, Mom,” Greta sighed. “It makes him feel better.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” I smiled.

“But you know you don’t actually have a pistol, right Daddy?” she asked.

“Yes, I know that.”

“Good.”

We stared at the bikers. They stared at us.

Showdown, bitches!

“We don’t have all night, fuckheads,” Charlie called. “Let’s do this!”

“Gah! I really wish people would stop saying that!” Greta snapped. “So over used!”

“You have something better?” Charlie asked.

“How about nothing? Maybe we could just stand here in silence and look all scary and shit,” Greta replied.

“Too late for that,” Stella growled. “So both of you shut up.”

“Well, folks, it looks like we have a showdown!” Mr. Flips announced.

See? Told ya.

“Who will survive?” Mr. Flips continued. “The Stanfords, who have fought very well for a family of scraggly survies?”

“Hey!” Charlie yelled. “I do not look scraggly! I just have fine facial hair and it looks thinner than it is!”

“He wasn’t talking about that, sweetie,” Stella said.

“Oh,” Charlie frowned.

“Or will it be our three heroes on bikes?” Mr. Flips asked the spectators. “I know who I’m betting on!”

“I’d like to know who he’s betting on,” I said.

The bikers revved, revved, released!

They came at us, hunched over their handlebars, one with a chain, one with a baseball bat, and one with a pointy stick of some sort. I don’t know, he was too far away to see exactly what he held and the lights from the wall were a little glaring.

I sorta knew what would happen without having to confirm it with Mr. Flips and I felt sorry for the bikers. Did they not see the pistols?

Stella, Greta, and Charlie lifted their 9mms and each fired two shots.

Stella took out baseball bat guy, Greta hit the chain guy, and Charlie put two right in the goggles of pointy stick. I made pew pew noises with Stumpageddon.

“Yes!” I yelled as the bikes, and bikers, went down hard. “I got the one on the left!”

My family just sighed.

We jumped out of the way, as pointy stick’s bike nearly slammed into us, flipping end over end a few times before coming to a smoking halt.

The spectators lost their shit. Like totally lost it. They were cheering and screaming so loud I couldn’t hear Stella as she tried to tell me something.

“We’re a quarter of the way!” Stella yelled as she pulled my head to her mouth. “We will live!”

“I know,” I said, but she only shook her head since I didn’t yell it.

“What about the bikes?” Charlie yelled. “Should we take them?”

The thought had crossed my mind, but I had a good feeling it had crossed our tormentors’ minds as well.

“Leave them!” I shouted. “I don’t trust them!”

“Fuck these people!” Stella yelled as she turned and flipped one wall off then the other. “FUCK YOU!”

That sent the spectators into an even bigger frenzy and the walls reverberated with their voices cheering us on. Not that they wanted us to win, mind you, but they certainly enjoyed the show.

“Move ass!” Stella shouted and started to sprint again, her face a grimace of rage and determination. “Come on!”

The three of us followed right behind her. I did a mental check and realized that there were precious few bullets left between us. I really should have given one of them my pistol so they could utilize the extra ammo and firepower. Nothing like a little double gun show of force!

A section of the right wall slid away and out stepped a dozen very large, very ugly Zs. These fuckers were not only built with muscle, but they had all kinds of enhancements. You know, the usual, like saw blades sticking out from their forearms, spikes coming out of their thighs from all sides, broken glass and shards of metal sticking from their chests.

Oh, and the kicker? They had iron pipe couplings around their necks.

I guessed beheadings weren’t in the cards.

The crowd quieted down and Mr. Flips began his spiel.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Our guests now have the honor of being presented with the Deadly Dozen!” he called out. “Twelve of the most dangerous fatties we have ever trapped and trained here in Cannibal Road!”

“Deadly Dozen?” Greta smirked as she rolled her eyes. “These fuckheads need better copy.”

“Fatties?” I asked. “What the fuck are fatties? Are they calling Zs fatties? That makes no sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense is why they’d send Zs in to kill us,” Charlie said. “Don’t these fucks want our meat? If Zs bite us or kill us then the meat is tainted.”

We turned and looked at him.

“What?” he asked. “It’s a valid point.”

“You going canny now?” Greta smirked.

“Shut up,” Charlie frowned.

“Can we focus on the Zs, please,” Stella said.

“These fatties are the biggest, the baddest, and the most brutal killers to come out of the apocalypse!” Mr. Flips continued. “They have eaten hundreds, killed hundreds more, and are unstoppable! Can the Stanfords make it past twelve of the scariest creatures on Earth? We shall see!”

The spectators were cheering, jeering, booing, hollering, and some were singing. Singing.

“We are the cannibals, my friends! And we’ll keep on eating until the end!’

Jesus…

“Four of us, twelve of them,” Stella said as the Zs started to walk towards us.

None of them was in a hurry, which was surprising, but then they weren’t used to their prey getting away, so why hurry?

“What’s the plan?” Stella asked.

“Take out the legs,” I said. “They are too big and strong for us to kill outright. And we want to avoid those spikes and blades and shit. Hit them below the knees and their size will take them down.”

“The bigger they are, the deader they fall,” Charlie said.

“Ready?” Stella asked, tucking her pistol away and grabbing her baton with both hands. “Spread out.”

We spread ourselves across the road and eyed the Zs. All we had to do was each take down three and we could just keep going. If they were crippled, they couldn’t pursue and that’s all that mattered.

“Come on, Dozen!” Mr. Flips yelled. “IT’S FEEDING TIME!”

Apparently, that was their cue because the twelve massive Zs came at us hard as Mr. Flips’ words echoed between the walls. My intellectual curiosity wondered how they had trained and conditioned the Zs. It seemed counter to everything we’d known about the Zs. If they could be trained, what was really going on up in those rotting brains of theirs?

“Get out of your head, baby,” Stella said. “Kill time.”

“Right,” I nodded as I held my baton tight enough to make my knuckles pop.

Next tune was Iron Butterfly and that always kick ass song of theirs, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.” I totally love “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida”. The long, seventeen minute version, not the radio edit. The radio edit is just annoying because it doesn’t really capture the spirit of the…

“Jace!” Stella snapped.

“Sorry.”

The Zs didn’t divide themselves into four groups to take us each on, but instead ran straight for Greta. Whether it was conditioning or instinct, they saw her as the weakest one for some reason. Yeah, bad move.

Greta was on the far right side and ran towards us; drawing the Zs our way then she juked and ran back towards the wall, forcing the Zs to turn quickly in an awkward arc. I wanted to scream at her that she’d get herself trapped by the wall, but in seconds, she was running past and ahead of the Zs. The fucking stupid undead morons all turned their backs on the rest of us in order to chase after Greta.

My girl was brilliant.

“Now!” I shouted and ran towards the closest Zs.

Stella and Charlie were right there with me and we didn’t hesitate for a single second as we began to smash the backs of the Zs’ calves, ripping rotten flesh and cracking long dead bones.

I took out the left knee of my first Z and it toppled over right there on the spot. I sidestepped it and whacked another Z, shattering its lower leg in a mess of black blood and grey flesh. Yellow bone poked out of the calf and the entire bottom leg came right off when the surprised Z tried to turn around and get me. Fucking dipshit pivoted on its broken leg. It collapsed next to the first Z I’d crippled.

An undead hand reached out and grabbed me by the ankle and I nearly fell on my face. My instinctive reaction was to reach out to stop my fall, but I had my baton in my hand, so instead, I jammed the point into the skull of the second crippled Z, killing it instantly, and stopped myself from taking a face plant.

That brief hiccup gave one of the other Zs still standing time to close the distance between us and it was its putrid hands that I felt on my shoulders as I tried to get my balance and right myself. Did I scream when I felt those hands? You bet your fucking ass I did!

“Stella!” I shouted as I tried to twist and get free. “Stella!”

With only one hand, I was basically helpless because if I took my weight off the baton, I’d just collapse onto the two Zs at my feet, one of which was still undead and kicking. I tried to kick loose of the hand that gripped my ankle, but I could tell it was not going to give anytime soon.

“Stella!”

“Hold on!” she yelled.

The Z that had my shoulders was trying to get in at my neck and I basically shook and shuddered as if I was having a seizure to keep its jagged teeth from ripping into my jugular. I could hear the crowd cheering and cheering, their voices rising in anticipation of something.

Whack!

I began to tumble backwards as the weight of the Z that had me started to fall. I pushed hard with my legs so I wouldn’t just crumple underneath. The added force of my body, with the top heavy musculature of the Z, sent its torso bending back so fast that I could hear and feel its spine snap right above its pelvis. It bent in half and I landed on it hard.

This meant that those glass shards and hunks of metal in its chest went right into my back.

“Mother fucker!” I yelled as Stella pulled me free almost instantly. “Fuck!”

She spun about and smacked a Z across its iron jaw. No, seriously, the fucking thing had iron bolted to its jaw. The monster’s head whipped about, but because of the iron coupling around its neck, the blow didn’t snap anything, except Stella’s baton.

“Fucking asshole!” she yelled then shoved me out of the way as she planted a foot on the shoulder of the Z I had just been almost impaled on, grabbed its still moving hand and pulled with all her might. The arm yanked free and she turned to the iron jawed Z and went to town.

All I could do was stand there and stare as she beat the ever loving undead shit out of that thing. With the saw blade arm gripped by the bicep, Stella shredded the leg tendons of the iron jawed Z, sending it to the road.

“Jace! Behind you!”

I turned and ducked as two arms swiped over my head. The saw blades on the fucking thing’s arms took off the last few hairs I had left on my head (I hadn’t had a chance to shave my scalp in a while because of all the busy staying alive and shit). I could feel blood trickling down my scalp as I rolled and tumbled across the road and out of the thing’s reach. The wounds on my back screamed in protest and I felt what had been small slits tear and rip into larger gashes.

Fun.

“Go right!”

“I am!”

“Your other right!”

“Thisis my other right, asshole!”

“Oh, sorry! Go left!”

“Just shut the fuck up and let me kill these fuckers!”

“I’m ahead! I’ve killed three!”

“I just killed four!”

“So much for taking out their legs!”

“Fuck their legs! These fucking pieces of shit done messed with kids from Whispering Pines!”

“Whispering Pines, fuck the what!”

So...sounded like the kids were doing just fine.

I got to my feet, as Stella was about to be tackled by a Z behind her, her attention so focused on slashing and slicing the Z before her with her new weapon.

“Look out!” I screamed as I ran and tackled the Z about the waist, taking a couple spikes to my chest.

Luckily, the angle didn’t let the spikes go deep, they mainly scratched across my pecs adding to the assortment of minor wounds that I was covered in.

With the Z on the ground, I avoided the sharp crap on its back and planted my knee right on its spine, grabbed the iron coupling about its neck and used that as a handle to lift and smash, lift and smash, crushing the fucking Z’s head into the dirt covered pavement of Cannibal Road.

I’m sure there’s a country song in there somewhere.

The crowd went silent.

Slowly, painfully, I got to my feet and looked about in a panic to see what had happened. There was Stella, her saw blade arm gripped in both hands, chest heaving. Charlie and Greta were up against the wall and I thought two Zs had gotten them, but they shoved the undead beasts away and the corpses fell to the ground.

We acknowledged we were all still okay with a couple nods, and then glanced up at the walls.

“Well...that was surprising,” Mr. Flips said. “And slightly disappointing.”

The crowd was still deathly quiet and I did my best to ignore the ominous silence that enveloped everything as the last notes of Iron Butterfly echoed through the road.

“Come on,” I said. “We keep going.”

“Folks, we have just witnessed something never done in the history of Cannibal Road,” Mr. Flips announced. “We’ve had contestants evade the Deadly Dozen and just keep going, we’ve had contestants turn around and run their asses off until they were caught and killed, we’ve even had contestants off themselves out of pure cowardice and terror.” He paused and took a deep breath. “But we have never had one of the Dozen killed, let alone all of them taken down by a family of survies. It’s a sad, sad night here on the road.”

The silence started to turn and soon the spectators were booing and hissing at us. Then the rain of stuff came down. Pretty sure, there was human waste in the rain of stuff. As well as rotten this and rotten that.

As disgusting as it was, I had to wonder whom these people were that they brought rotten stuff and shit with them. How does that even work? “Hey, Bob, you got your bag of shit for tonight?” “You know it, Steve! Hit the Fergusons’ outhouse this morning. And, guess what? Found a dead skunk by the side of the road!” “Dude! Gimme some of that skunk!” “Get your own fucking dead skunk, Bob! You’re always trying to take my rotten stuff! FUCK YOU, BOB!”

Or something like that.

So...plenty of gross crap came falling on our heads.

“Keep going,” I said. “We keep going.”

There we were, four Stanfords, three with batons and one with a severed Z arm covered in saw blades, pistols tucked away in waistbands. We were filthy, coated with Z blood and the shit that was being thrown at us, but we didn’t stop. We kept going.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Flips announced. “I have just been handed a note that says we are deviating from out normal routine and getting right to the individual gang portion of the show! This is highly irregular, but here on Cannibal Road, we like to think we are flexible and open-minded. Change is not something to fear, but to embrace. Am I right?”

The spectators changed their tune from booing us to cheering for whatever change was about to happen. The rain of shit didn’t stop, though.

“I have here a top hat filled with the names of our illustrious gangs!” Mr. Flips continued. “I will draw one of those names out of this fine piece of millinery, which came from my own collection, I might add. I hope you lovely folks are ready to get down there and get dirty with the survies! And, speaking of getting dirty, if we could stop throwing poop, that would be great. It’ll just make it worse for our own people. Alright?”

The rain of shit slackened, but did not stop completely. It became more of a drizzle of shit; a slight mist of feces; a soft poop shower.

“Thank you, one and all!” Mr. Flips called out. “And now, the moment you have all been waiting for the past minute!” The man stopped talking for a moment, but we kept running, hoping that there was an end to the gauntlet of insanity. “The Jackals! It’s the Jackals, folks! Bungee Betty and her crew will be the first to try to capture, alive hopefully, the four survies making a break for it right this second! Let’s wish Bungee Betty luck as she tries to secure her gang’s meals for the next week!”

The next week? Jesus, how many people do they eat in a month? How many people have they eaten in a year? If a family of four will only feed one gang for one week, that’s some serious cannibal menu planning math there. Fucking A.

“I Love Rock And Roll” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts started to play. Which I thought was kind of cheating since no one can hear that song and not want to sing along. Total psychological warfare.

“Jace!” that gravelly voiced Bungee Betty yelled. “Jace! Come back, Jace!”

I risked a glance over my shoulder and nearly crapped my pants. Behind us were about ten people, all stripped to the waist with brown body paint covering their torsos. From their necks to the tips of their fingers, they were painted to look like they were covered in fur.

However, that was the easy part to deal with. The really, truly, seriously fucked up part was that they wore real dog heads as masks. Some of them had just the snouts strapped around their mouths, with more brown paint covering the rest of their faces, while others had actual dog heads split open and yanked down over their own heads.

Who fucking does that?

In the lead was a woman dressed in a brown rubber suit. A fucking rubber suit. Like a latex gimp suit, but no gimp mask, just more fucking brown paint. She held a long bungee cord in each hand, but instead of the classic black hooks, it looked like she had added razor sharp barbs.

Awesome. Just. Fucking. Awesome.

Charlie glanced back as well and frowned.

“Why the fuck is she dressed that way?” he asked. “That makes no sense.”

“Because the rest of this fucking nightmare makes soooooo much more sense,” Greta snapped.

“Just run!” Stella growled.

We ran.

But we were exhausted from the past few days, from the long walk out of Knoxville, from the fighting already tonight. We were at the ends of our ropes. My legs burned from the exertion of just keeping up a slow, steady jog. I tried to push harder, run faster, but I just didn’t have it in me. From the way my family kept at the same pace, I knew they didn’t have it in them either.

“Jace! Just stop, Jace!” Bungee Betty shouted. “It’ll all be over…”

I didn’t stop, but Charlie did. He pulled his 9mm and fired, putting a bullet right between Bungee Betty’s latex covered breasts. The pistol clicked empty and Charlie shook his head as he hurled the empty weapon at the rest of the Jackals. I slid to a stop and grabbed at Charlie’s arm, but he refused to move.

“Fuck them,” he said. “I don’t want to run anymore.”

The gang came to a screeching halt as their leader stood there in the middle of the road, her hands coated in blood. She looked down from the gaping wound, then to Charlie, to the wound, then Charlie, over and over until she fell to her knees and crumpled to her side, dead.

The sound of a needle scratching across vinyl was nearly ear splitting as the music was brought to a screeching halt. Or scratching halt, as it were.

All of the Jackals’ eyes turned to us. I could feel the hatred from where they stood, but not one made a move to attack. Instead, they knelt and lifted their leader up into the air. With the body secured on their shoulders, the Jackals slowly walked towards us.

Stella and Greta had stopped as well and we all flattened ourselves against the wall as the fucked up canny funeral procession walked by.

“You guys are dicks,” a man said. The Jackals stuck to the middle of the road and didn’t even bother to come at us. “Like total dicks.”

“Yeah,” a woman said. “She only had bungee cords. What fucked up asshole shoots a woman when all she has is bungee cords?”

“Shame,” another woman said then spat on Charlie. “You disgust me.”

“Sorry?” Charlie replied. “I think?”

A part of the wall slid open and the Jackals exited stoically. I am sure they would shed their canine tears later.

“I don’t...I just…” was all Stella could say.

“Yeah, no shit,” Greta responded.

“Who’s next?” I yelled up at the wall. “Which one of your fucked up canny gangs wants a piece of the Stanfords? Huh? We got plenty more death and violence to dish out! Bring it, fuckheads!”

There was an audible murmur of discontent that started making its way through the spectators up on the walls.

“Mr. Stanford, there is no need to be rude and cruel,” Mr. Flips said. “These are hard working folks here just looking for a spot of entertainment. Yes, we eat other people. And yes, we force people to fight for their lives before we catch them, kill them, and eat them, but we haven’t been rude at all.”

“What about the rain of shit?” I shouted.

“That? That’s a time honored tradition in show business, sir!” Mr. Flips snapped. “Manure and refuse being tossed at performers is as old as time! I am sorry we do not have the proper manure to meet your elitist standards, Mr. Stanford! Not all of us have time to look for cows and pigs and other animals that do not exist anymore! We have to improvise and make do with what we have! And what we have is our own excrement! You, sir, are a snob and we do not like snobs!”

“Jace...what’s happening?” Stella asked. “Are we being chastised?”

“I think so,” I replied. “Yeah...it looks we have broken some rule of theater etiquette.”

“I am making an executive decision to skip the drawing from the hat procedure and go straight to our number one gang leader, our most brilliant fighter, and the man that has never lost a chase- BARFLY!”

“Barfly? Oh, right, the leader of the Crossville Cookers. Great. Bring it!” I shouted.

“Oh, it’s been brought, bro,” Barfly said as he stepped from the shadows of one of the walls. “I been here the whole time, watchin’ you survies think you had a chance. But deep down in those guts of yours, you know you don’t. You ain’t strong enough, bro. Not to take on Barfly, bro.”

I looked about and realized he was on his own. No backup, no gang.

“Just you?” I snorted. “Did you see what we did to everyone else?”

“I saw,” Barfly nodded as he walked closer to us.

The man had that emaciated, but strong, canny look to him. Lean and mean with wiry muscles, his eyes were almost hard to see as they sat back in his head while his sharp, gaunt looking cheekbones dominated his face. He was almost six feet tall and didn’t see the need to wear a shirt apparently. Yet he did have cutoff jeans with the pockets hanging out, so maybe the lack of shirt was to accentuate the fashion statement of trashy cutoff jeans.

Then, as he got closer and I could see him more clearly, I realized the true fashion statement were the Hello Kitty flip-flops on his feet. Hello Kitty. Flip flops. Yep.

He held a steel rod about four feet long. Almost an inch thick and coated with rust, the rod hung casually in Barfly’s grip. The way he held it told me that the rod was probably about as close to an extension of his body as any of his extremities. And, if I am going to be honest, I really didn’t think that was rust. I just wanted it to be.

“I still have this,” Greta said as she held up her 9mm. “Did you see this?”

“I did, little girl bro,” Barfly nodded. He just kept walking towards us, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“So you know I can put a couple in your chest right now, right?” Greta said, but I could see her hand shaking. “Back off and let us go and I won’t kill you.”

“Little girl bro is brave,” Barfly chuckled. “She all ready to shoot the shit outta me, ain’t she?”

We never saw it happen. Later, when I had a second to think back on it, I could swear I never saw the man move.

“OW!” Greta shouted as she gripped her hand to her chest.

The pistol fell to the ground and discharged. Someone above us cried out and then a woman’s body fell off the wall at our feet.

“Damn,” Barfly said, suddenly right in my daughter’s face. “You a stone cold killer, little girl bro.”

Greta was obviously terrified. She didn’t move a muscle as Barfly gripped his steel rod. He gave her a quick smile, and then she was down on the ground, her legs swept out from under her.

“Dad!” she screamed and I rushed forward.

Then there was dirt and pavement. One second, I’m raising my baton and headed right at the crazy fucker wearing Hello Kitty flip flops. The next second, I’m face down on the road with a ringing in my ears so loud I thought it was screaming.

Which, as it turned out, it was.

“Mom! Dad!” Greta screamed.

There was a scuffle and Charlie’s unconscious face was right next to mine. I pushed up with my hand and tried to turn towards Barfly, but all I saw was a rod coming at me.

Bam. Back on the pavement.

Blood started to pour from my scalp and I was quickly blinded by red as I struggled to get back up.

Bam.

Bam, bam, bam.

I thought I could hear more screaming, but I wasn’t sure. Fuck, I wasn’t sure if I could hear at all. It took me a minute to gather my thoughts and make a conscious effort to roll over and make sure I wasn’t dead. I also needed to make sure my wife and daughter weren’t dead.

“Hey, there,” Barfly said as he stood over me. “You ain’t lookin’ so good, bro. How ya feelin’?”

“Bad?”

“Bad? What, you ain’t sure?” Barfly laughed. He looked up at the spectators on the walls. “He ain’t sure if he feels bad!”

There was far off laughter that seemed to come in and out in waves. I got my one arm under me and tried to stand, but my legs didn’t feel like cooperating.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, bro!” Barfly said as he crouched down and hooked an arm under mine. He lifted me to my feet, keeping one arm around my waist while he swung the steel rod back and forth with the other. “Bro, you probably have one of those concussion things, bro. You gotta be careful movin’ around or you’ll mess your brain all up, bro.”

“You say bro a lot,” I slurred, my eyes barely able to focus.

“I do, bro, I do,” he grinned. “Now, before I let you go, I need you to look on up at my friends and say how sorry you are for being a dick, bro.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you are talking about,” I said. “I’m not being a dick. I’m just trying to survive.”

“Well, yeah, bro! You and your bro family are survies! Tryin’ to survive is what ya do!” Barfly laughed.

The spectators laughed with him then started to chant, “Apology! Apology! Apology!”

“The crowd wants ya to be apologizin’, bro,” Barfly said. “So get to the apologizin’.”

“Where’s my wife?” I mumbled as I started to drift. A hard slap to my cheek brought me about quick. “Fuck you!”

“Not nice, bro,” Barfly frowned, his rancid breath right in my ear. “You want to know where your wife is? She’s right there, bro.”

He turned my head, which normally would have pissed me off, but in that instance was actually helpful. Stella stood with her back to the wall and her hands about her throat. I had to struggle to focus on what was happening to her, and when I did, the only thing that kept me from losing my shit was the fact that I could barely stand.

“She look good to you, bro?” Barfly asked as we watched my wife stand on her tip toes while her body was lifted off the ground by a noose around her neck.

I couldn’t see who was on the other end of the rope up on the wall, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that with one hard yank, either my wife would have her neck snapped or she’d have her windpipe crushed. Neither of those scenarios filled me with joy.

“I think the wifey bro is havin’ a hard time breathin’, Jace Stanford bro,” Barfly said. His breath was back against my ear so he could whisper words that only I could hear. “Or do I call you Long Pork bro?”

That sent a surge of adrenaline flowing through me. How’d he know that was my nick name?

“Oh, bro, you be shakin’ and shit,” Barfly chuckled. “I think it’s because you know I know who you are. Met some friends of yours, I did. They didn’t run the road because I caught them by my camp, bro. Stumbled right into my lap, bro. Lots of bros and girl bros, all hurt and scared. I said I’d help them if they helped me.”

“Who?” I asked. “Who’d you find?”

“You ain’t listenin’, bro,” Barfly snapped. “I didn’t find them, they found me, bro! That’s why they be fair game and I didn’t have to share with the other gangs. Kept them for my peeps and myself. I gots responsibilities, bro. Gotta look out for my peeps’ needs first, bro.”

“Let my wife go,” I snarled.

“No, don’t think so, bro,” Barfly said. “Not gonna let her go. Not gonna let little girl bro go neither.”

“Dad!” Greta yelled.

I turned to see her being held by two very large women. They waggled their tongues by my daughter’s face, then laughed as if it was the most hilarious and original thing to ever be done.

Which brings up something I’ve never understood about the world post-Z. Okay, the zombie apocalypse has wiped out civilization as we knew it, but it’s not like it wiped out everyone’s memories. Why do the crazies always act as if they never lived in the world pre-Z? Why do they act as if they’ve always been post-apocalyptic nutjobs? It’s fucked up.

“You got somethin’ on yer mind, bro?” Barfly asked then addressed the spectators. “I think this bro got somethin’ on his mind!”

“Spill it! Spill it! Spill it!”

“Can I put in a musical request?” I shouted. Or I think I did.

The spectators stopped chanting and Barfly stepped right in front of me. He held up a finger and moved it back and forth by my eyes.

“You seein’ that, bro?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied. “It’s a finger.”

“So you wantin’ a musical request is for realsies?” Barfly asked. “Like realsy realsies? Because that sounds kinda crazy, bro. I thought maybe you was bleedin’ in your brain, that’s why I fingered your eyes.”

“Never had my eyes fingered before,” I said. “But yeah, I want a musical request. If you are going to kill me here then I want to go out with the song of my choice.”

“Bro? Like really, bro?” Barfly asked.

“Really real, bro,” I replied. “Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond, please.”

“Sweet Caroline?” Barfly asked. “By the America song bro, bro?”

“That’s the one,” I said. “Unless you have Crunchy Granola Suite. I actually prefer that one because the lyrics crack me up, but usually all anyone has is Sweet Caroline.”

“Bro, they warned me about you,” Barfly said. “They said you be loopy as all shit, but I didn’t think so. Not with the way the crazy chick bro talked you up and your brain in there.” He tapped my forehead. “You got the thinks goin’ on, she said. But you wantin’ the America song bro makes me wonder about those thinks.”

“So that’s a no?” I asked, hoping my stalling was giving Stella or Greta time to figure something out. Charlie was still in sleepy time land, so he wasn’t figuring anything out except for  the proper amount of snore to drool ratio.

“I ain’t sayin’ no, bro,” Barfly replied then looked down the road at the entrance. “Yo, Flips!”

“Yes, Barfly?” Mr. Flips responded over the sound system.

“We got Sweet Caroline?”

“By Neil Diamond?” Mr. Flips asked. “Let me check.”

We stood there, me and Barfly, as my wife dangled from a noose and my daughter was held by the Weird Sisters. And, yes, I know there are three Weird Sisters. Not exactly the time to get all technical and shit, but that’s all I could think of calling them.

“You’re from Asheville, right bro?” Barfly asked as we waited. “You like it there, bro?”

“Uh...I did,” I said. “Before it became all radioactive and shit.”

“Oh, right,” Barfly said and smacked himself in the forehead. “I forgot about that, bro. Maybe there’ll end up being some three-legged fatties wandering around, bro. That’d be cool.”

“Fatties?” I asked.

“The undead, bro,” Barfly replied, giving me a look like I was an idiot. “Duh.”

“Why the hell would you call them fatties?”

“Because they never stops eatin’!” Barfly laughed. “Just like real fatties. ‘Cept there ain’t no fatties left in the world, is there bro? All gone, bro. All gone.”

“I’ve known a few hefty folks post-Z, but they died. So, yeah, I guess you’re right. All the fatties be gone,” I nodded, which made the world swim and waver. “Whoa. Can I sit?”

“Bro, you be messed up in your coconut,” Barfly laughed. “No, you can’t sit. You’re on Cannibal Road, bro! Peeps don’t be sittin’ on the road!”

“Sorry, Barfly,” Mr. Flips announced. “No Neil Diamond in the record collection. We might have it on CD, but you know how the CD player has been lately.”

“Damn thing skips,” Barfly informed me. “Never mind, Flips! We don’t need it, bro!”

“Care if I hum Sweet Caroline while you kill me?” I asked.

“Man, bro, you are not all there,” Barfly said. “I ain’t gonna kill ya. I’m claimin’ ya as mine, bro. And it only took a couple of whacks.” He leaned in close. “You come along all nicey nice and I let your lady bro and your children bros live. You give me what I want and I let you bros all live a long time. Ya dig me, bro? Ya got the feel for what I be sayin’, bro?”

“Not a clue,” I admitted. “But I think you’re saying that if I play along, you will let us live, is that it?”

“That’s like totally what I just said to ya, bro. You’re one fuckin’ funny bro, bro,” Barfly smiled then stepped away and turned in a circle. “Jace Stanford be givin’ up! We’s had a good talk and he decided he wants to be part of the Crossville Cookers! I’m in the road so I get claim! Fair and square!”

There were some cheers, some boos, and a lot of just general shouting, but no one challenges him.

“Flips? We good?” Barfly asked. “Fair and square?”

“All good, Barfly,” Mr. Flips said. “You’re in the road so you get claim. Fair and square. Are you going willingly, Mr. Stanford?”

“Yes?” I replied.

“Good enough,” Mr. Flips laughed. “Then that concludes the festivities for tonight, folks! Thanks for coming out and be safe getting back to your camps. And always remember- if you see some survies, send them this way! Good night! Flips out!”

It was as if I was back at a concert or something. All the major spotlights went out, leaving only the Christmas lights and neon signs to light up the night. With the spots gone, I could see people on top of the walls chatting and laughing as they left, as if they were leaving after the Dave Mathews encore had just ended.

I really couldn’t even grasp what the fuck we had stepped into.

Barfly gave a whistle and the rope that held Stella was let go and fell to the ground. She collapsed to her knees and started coughing as I rushed to her, falling to my own knees.

“Charlie,” she gasped. “Check on Charlie.”

“The boy bro is all good,” Barfly said as he came over and stood over us. “He’s breathin’.”

“Mom! Dad!” Greta shouted as she was let go and ran to us.

Barfly crouched down next to me and grinned. It was not a good grin.

“Now, Long Pork bro,” he said. “You and your family bros are going to come back to camp with me and my peeps. Then we’ll have a little sit down and pow-wow about how you can get us the power and the plumbin’.”

“The what?” I asked. “Power and plumbing?”

“Yep, yep, yep,” Barfly nodded. “The crazy chick bro told me all about that brain and how it can get the power back on and make the plumbin’ work so we ain’t walkin’ in shit up to our ankles, bro. No one likes walkin’ in shit up to their ankles. Right, bro?”

I didn’t know if he was asking “right” about the shit and ankles or “right” about me getting the power and plumbing working, so I just said, “Yeah. Right, bro.”

“Good,” Barfly said and slapped me on the shoulder. “Now get your ass up, Long Pork bro. We got a hike ahead of us, bro.”

“What about Charlie?” I asked, pointing at my still unconscious son.

“We got him, bro,” Barfly said as he snapped his fingers and the Weird Sisters that had held Greta went over and picked up Charlie like he was made of nothing. “All good, bro?”

“Far from it,” I said. “But you’re in charge, so it will do.”

“That’s right, bro,” Barfly nodded, his grin turning into something way worse. “I’m in charge. Never forget that, bro, unless you want your girl bros to be the next lunch. Cool, bro?”

“Cool,” I said. “Lead the way.”

“Hey! I found it!” Mr. Flips suddenly announced as the first bars of Sweet Caroline started to play. “A little walking music for you folks! Good luck, Stanfords!”

Yeah...good luck.

Chapter Eight

The trek to the Crossville Cookers’ camp was a bit of a blur, not just because I was exhausted and terrified, as were Stella and Greta, or because Charlie had still not regained consciousness. No, it was a blur because my scalp just would not stop bleeding and blood was constantly streaming into my eyes.

So, literally a blur.

“Can I have a towel or something?” I asked. “I really need to stop the bleeding.”

“A towel?” Barfly laughed. “We don’t waste towels on blood, bro. Rub some dirt on it.”

“Ha, ha,” I replied. “Good one.”

“What, bro?” Barfly asked. He stopped and the whole party stopped. “What’s a good one?”

“To rub some dirt on it,” I said. “Uh...I thought you were making a joke.”

“No joke, bro,” Barfly responded as he reached down, grabbed a handful of dirt, and rubbed it all over my head. “See? Dirt, bro. Won’t bleed no more.”

I wanted to wipe the dirt from my scalp, but I could see that Barfly was pretty damned proud of himself for that move, so I left it alone, which drove me nearly insane. I had freakin’ bloody mud on my head!

But I decided to choose a different battle.

“Any reason we have to walk? Don’t you have vehicles?” I asked.

“We got ‘em, bro,” Barfly replied, “but ain’t no need to waste the fuel, bro.”

“Seems like we’ve been hiking a while, though, and what with…”

“We keep hikin’, bro,” Barfly snapped. “We keep hikin’ and hikin’ until we get home. That’s how it works, bros. That’s how it works.”

Barfly yawned then gave me a quick smile.

“We’ll get you and your family bros all set up in camp,” he said. “You sleep, and then tomorrow you start work.”

“Yeah, I’m still not sure what I’m working on,” I said.

“Bringin’ the civilized world back to us Cookers, bro,” Barfly said. “Duh, bro. Duh.”

“Right. Duh. My bad, bro,” I replied.

“There ya go, bro,” Barfly nodded.

There I went...

It was about thirty minutes of steady hiking through tall pines and cedars before we got to the Cookers’ camp. The place was an old farm with two large barns in fairly good shape, surrounded by a shitload of mobile homes and RVs. The group we hiked there with split up and instantly went to their respective domiciles while Barfly led us over to one of the barns.

“You’ll sleep in here,” Barfly said as he opened one of the double doors. “I’ll take you to yer stall, bros.”

He stopped just inside the barn and lit a match before putting it to a lantern. The light was warm and soothing, but the scene we stepped into was far from that. Animal pens lined the barn on both sides and instead of pigs, cows, and horses there were people.

Lots of people.

Their eyes followed Barfly, or more precisely, they followed the steel rod he kept gripped in his hand. No one said a word; no one begged to be let go or cried out for mercy. They simply watched us walk past until we were at the very back of the barn and looking into a corner stall filled with hay and rough looking horse blankets.

The two Weird Sisters (still calling them that) set Charlie down on some of the hay, nodded to Barfly and hurried from the barn. For one brief second, I thought I could jump Barfly and take him out. He must have had the same thought, because in the next second, I found myself down on the ground, clutching my left thigh.

“What the fuck, dude?” I shouted.

“You were thinkin’ of takin’ me on, bro,” Barfly said. “Don’t lie about it. I know when a bro is coming for me, bro. I killed a lot of peeps in my time as Barfly. I seen the look a hundred times, bro. Peeps be makin’ moves on Barfly all the time, bro.”

“But I didn’t make a single move!” I yelled as the pain built in my leg. Fuck, steel rods hurt like a bitch! “You can’t smack a guy for thinking!”

Smack.

“FUCK!” I yelled as my left shoulder went numb from another shot.

“Stop it!” Stella cried.

“No, lady bro,” Barfly said. “You stop it.”

“Stop what?” Stella asked, her nerves frayed beyond breaking. “I haven’t done anything!”

“You bros are funny,” Barfly said. Then he smacked me again in the shoulder. “Get some sleep now, Long Pork bro.  Tomorrow is a big day for that big brain.”

“Yeah...big day,” I gasped through the pain.

“And don’t be talkin’ to the meats, bro,” Barfly said. “Ain’t none of yer friends in here. That’s why I put ya in this stall. Can’t have ya plottin’ against me and my peeps.”

He turned and looked at the rows of pens.

“And they ain’t gonna talk to ya no how anyways,” he said. “Bros know that if they talk, they gets hurt bad, bro.Bad.”

There were a couple of whimpers and Barfly frowned. He moved forward as if he was going to hunt out the noisy culprits, but he stopped himself and focused back on us.

“Good night, bros,” he smiled. “Sleep tight.”

We stared at him and he stared back. There was quite a bit of staring until I realized what he was waiting for.

“Oh, right,” I smiled or tried to. “Good night, Barfly.”

“There ya go, bro,” Barfly said as he walked away, the steel rod swinging in one hand and the lantern in the other. “See ya in the mornin’, bros!”

“Good night, Barfly,” everyone in the pens said.

“Oh, Jesus…” Stella shivered as she huddled close to me.

Greta got in on the huddle and we all scooted close to Charlie. I hurt like a motherfuck, and Stella and Greta gripping me tight didn’t help, but I was glad my family was still alive and together, so I counted our ordeal in Cannibal Road as a win.

And there was Neil at the end, so that helped. If I see Flips again, I’ll thank him for that. Can’t let the gift of Neil go unnoticed.

***

“Time to get up, Long Pork bro,” Barfly said as he jabbed me in the temple with his rod. His steel rod. I want that to be clear. He jabbed me with his steel rod.

“We gonna have a chat while we go look for some poachers,” Barfly said. “Come on, bro. Time be wastin’.”

“Gah,” was how I replied as I struggled to open my eyes. My head hurt so bad that even the sliver of lantern light that got between my lids was like a knife to the brain. “We what? Poachers?”

“Poachers, bro,” Barfly said then spit by his feet. “Fuckin’ poachers, bro.”

“Yes, I heard the word poachers,” I said as I rolled away from Stella and Greta who had both woken up and were staring at Barfly with a mix of horror and caution, two good things to mix in the apocalypse. “But why do you need me to go after poachers?”

“I don’t need you, bro,” he replied, stabbing me again with the rod. “I want to talk with you while we go find the poachers. Maximize my time, bro. I can’t be gang leader if I don’t maximize my time. Gotta have a schedule, bro. That’s just good business.”

“Yeah, of course it is,” I said as I struggled to stand. Several pairs of hands grabbed me and hauled me to my feet. That’s when I noticed we had company. I had been so focused on Barfly, and his steel rod, that I hadn’t noticed the cannies standing by us. “Thanks.”

“Aint’ no thing but a human wing,” a man said. Half his face was melted, as if someone had shoved him against a griddle or something.

“What happened?” I asked. I immediately regretted the question. Normally, I would never have asked that, but it was early and my brain was foggy as shit.

“Someone pushed my face against a hot griddle,” the man replied. “It hurt.”

Nailed it!

“I bet,” was how I replied. “Sorry.”

The man shrugged.

“You two bros done?” Barfly asked.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, Barfly,” the man responded.

“You better be, Griddles,” Barfly said.

“Griddles?” Again with the mouth opening unintentionally.

“That’s his name, bro,” Barfly said as he pointed towards the barn doors. “Duh, bro.”

“Duh, bro,” Griddles said as he shoved past me.

“My bad,” I said as hands pushed me forward. “Bros.”

I tried to glance back at Stella and Greta, but I got a smack upside the head for my troubles, so I just looked forward and went with the canny flow.

***

We were about forty minutes into our poacher catching expedition when Barfly finally spoke.

“We’re circling them, bro,” he said. “That’s why it’s takin’ so long.”

It was at that point, especially since my brain had had forty minutes to get clear, that I realized Barfly was a very perceptive man. He may have been crazy as shit, but he wasn’t stupid crazy. Every time I caught the man looking at me, I could have sworn he was reading my mind.

“Tell me about what you can do to get the power back on, Long Pork bro,” Barfly said.

“How do you know that’s my nickname?” I asked. “Tell me that first.”

“You don’t tell Barfly what to do!” a big guy named Falsey said. “Barfly tells you to tell him what to do!”

“I think you have that wrong,” I said.

My left arm went numb from a whack by Barfly’s steel rod.

“Leave Falsey alone, bro,” Barfly said. “His Mama rolled over on him when he was little and nappin’ in bed. Mucked up his brain. We don’t make fun of Falsey, got it bro?”

“Yeah, totally got it,” I said. “Wait...then you knew him before Z-Day.”

“Bad logic, bro,” Barfly said. “Someone told me that story.”

“Oh,” I nodded, not wanting to know more because-.

“His mama told me just before I gutted her and chopped her up,” Barfly said. “Falsey was one of my first peeps. He helped me butcher her up right.”

“The trick is to make an X,” Falsey said as he stopped and spread his legs and arms. “It stretches the meat and lets the blood drain faster and better.”

“You butchered your own mom?” I asked, almost stumbling over a tree root. “Seriously?”

“We was hungry,” Falsey said as he pointed at Barfly and smiled.

“We was hungry, bro,” Barfly agreed. “And she was fat.”

“Really fat,” Falsey said.

“She ate all the food and was gonna let us starve,” Barfly sighed. “Had to be done, bro. Had to be done.”

“Had to be done, bro,” everyone said. “Had to be done.”

“Right,” I said. “Shit has to be done sometimes.”

“Tell me about the power, bro,” Barfly ordered.

“Would you mind telling me who told you to call me Long Pork?” I asked, holding up my arm between Falsey and me. “And don’t hit me again! I’m just curious!”

“Crazy chick bro said so,” Barfly said. “Crazy chick bro also says you know all kinds of stuff and you built a whole neighborhood in Asheville. I wished I could see that. Lights and stereo and stuff.”

“You guys have lights and stereo and stuff on Cannibal Road,” I said. “How do you make that work?”

“That’s Mr. Flips,” Barfly replied. “He got it all worked out with lots of batteries from all the cars and these solar thingies. It works for the road, but that won’t work for the Cookers’ camp, bro. We need real power to draw on. Mr. Flips can turn on the lights and play some tunes, but it ain’t real power. I want you to get us real power, bro.”

“As opposed to imaginary power?” I said. Whack. “Ow!”

“You’re a right stupid smart ass, Long Pork bro,” Barfly said, the affability gone from his face. “Stop it, bro, or I stop caring about power and crack yer skull open so I can eat out yer brains.”

“With honey,” Griddles said.

“Yeah, with honey,” Barfly nodded. “The best way to eat raw brains. We gots some seriously good honey around here, bro.”

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t an electrical engineer. Whoever this “crazy chick bro” was, she was talking about me, was making shit up. And that made up shit was going to get me killed.

So it was time for the Jace Stanford brand of uber bullshit.

“What infrastructure do you already have in place?” I asked.

“Infrastructure?” Barfly asked. “What do you mean, bro?”

“I mean, how are things set up in your camp? It looks like an old farm, so there must be electrical wiring already in place. I’m sure there was power on that farm before Z-Day. Is there a backup generator somewhere, maybe? Or a windmill? Have you checked any of the wiring to make sure nothing is loose? What’s the status?”

Barfly laughed and the rest of the cannies joined in.

“What?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”

“I thought she was jokin’ about you, bro,” Barfly said as he got his chuckles under control. “All the things she said, I figured she was just sayin’ those things so she could get ya here and all. But, with the way ya talk, bro, I think she was on to somethin’.”

“Down,” Falsey whispered and everyone hit the ground.

I was a little slow and got yanked down to the ground hard for my tardiness. Since the person doing the yanking had hold of my one arm, I didn’t have anything to put out to stop my fall. My face hit dirt and I cried out then nearly suffocated when a hand was jammed around my mouth and nose. I had to pray that the hand’s owner would realize I would run out of air in a few seconds.

“There,” Falsey whispered as he pointed through the bushes. To my surprise, we were close to a rural highway and I could see the backs of six or seven people as they crouched in a ditch by the road. “Poachers.”

“Good job, bro,” Barfly said.

The hand let go of my mouth and I tried to ignore the level of dirt encrusted on it as it was removed from my view. I turned my attention to the road and tried to remember how far we had walked and in what direction. If I could get my bearing, maybe I could figure out exactly where we were. Figuring that out would put us, as in the Stanfords, one step closer to a plan to get free.

Because that was all I could think about.

Fuck getting power or plumbin’ up and going for Barfly. Fuck dealing with poachers. Fuck not making fun of Falsey. All I gave a shit about was getting my family the hell away from Cannibal Road.

“Here they come,” Griddles whispered and pointed at the road.

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about at first, but then I heard the hushed voices as a small group of four people came into view. They were bloody, burned, and looked like they had maybe a mile left in them before they all fell over dead. The poachers in front of us tensed visibly and I could see they were about to go on the attack.

“Teach ‘em, Fasley,” Barfly grinned.

Falsey, who as I said earlier, was a big guy, stood up and it was then I realized just how big. He was easily six and a half feet tall, with wide shoulders and thick, thick arms. He was so top heavy that I thought he’d fall over at any second, but instead, he moved with a quickness and grace that you rarely saw with men that big.

While he had a certain sure footedness, he didn’t exactly have subtlety. He crashed through the bushes and descended on the poachers just as they stood up to attack the travelers on the road.

“Come on, Long Pork,” Barfly said. “Falsey has the poachers under control. We get to take down the prey.”

“We what?” I squawked. “I don’t want to take down anyone!”

“Tough shit, bro,” Barfly said. “You’re with us now, so you’re gonna take some survies down. Put yer all into it, Long Pork bro, or I chop off one of your little girl bro’s hands when we get back. Ya understand where I’m comin’ from, bro?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

Fuck.

I barely had time to glance at the poachers as Falsey tore them apart, limb from limb. Their screams were like ground glass in my ears, but it was the shocked and terrified faces on the survivors that really got to me.

Especially since, I knew them.

“Jace?” Scoot Fitzpatrick asked. Yeah, I knew him pretty fucking well. “Jace, what are…”

He never got a chance to finish his sentence as Barfly crushed his jaw with his steel rod. The three others, people I knew from the group of laborers that came down with the fake POTUS Mondello,  all screamed as Scott’s jaw hung from his face by only a couple of tendons. They never got the chance to scream again.

“Oh, fuck!” I yelled as I jumped back from several geysers of arterial spray. “Oh, shit! Oh, fuck!”

The cannies went to fucking town on them. They didn’t let up until the last body had stopped twitching.

“Why’d you kill them?” I shouted at Barfly. “I thought you kept them alive in those pens!”

“Pens is all full, bro,” Barfly said as he wiped the blood from his rod. “Didn’t you notice that?”

“Well, yeah, I noticed!” I yelled. “But you have two barns! Isn’t there room in the other barn?”

“Nope,” Barfly replied. “All full up, bro.”

“Fuck…”

“Chop ‘em and pack ‘em,” Barfly said. “I’m gonna have a sit down with Long Pork and gets a few things straight.”

He pulled me by my arm over to the far side of the road and pointed for me to sit on the twisted and rusted guardrail. I didn’t argue, but I didn’t exactly do it with a smile on my face.

“They knew you,” Barfly stated. “How many more out there know you?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “There could be a few or there could be none. We got separated from our group a few days ago. I don’t know who lived and who died after we split up.”

“Maybe a dozen more?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Two dozen?”

“I don’t know! You won’t tell me how many you already have in pens! How the fuck am I supposed to know how many are left wandering around?”

“Keep yer voice down, Long Pork bro,” Barfly said. “May be more poachers out there. I don’t want them comin’ this way.”

“You’re worried about my voice?” I laughed. “After my friends screamed and pleaded for their lives? If there are poachers around, I am sure they ran their asses off to get away from you crazy fucks!”

Steel rod to head and down I went.

“Fucking asshole!”

Steel rod to leg and screamed I did.

“Stop that!”

“Shut up, bro,” Barfly warned. “Stop yellin’ and I stop hittin’.”

“Stop hitting and I’ll stop yelling!”

Smack.

“Fucker!”

Smack.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll shut up! Fucking A, dude.”

“Bro, bro, bro,” Barfly said as he shook his head, honestly looking like he’d been pained more than me. “I’m givin’ ya a gift. I’m givin’ ya a choice. That’s more than I give other survies. Why ya gotta fight me, bro? Why ya gotta be so thick headed?”

He gave me a slight whack to my head when he said, “Thick headed.” You know, for emphasis. Ah, the simple poetry of the apocalypse.

“Let me tell you what I need from ya, bro,” barfly continued. “I need ya to help get the power on so I can listen to some sweet tunes while I fuck my lady bros. I need to be able to have cameras and video monitors and Wi-Fi so I can keep track of the other bros in camp, bro. I need to be sure no one is comin’ for me, bro. Hard to sleep when you think every bro and lady bro is comin’ for ya, am I right?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “That would be hard.”

“Damn right it’s hard,” Barfly nodded. “Damn right. Hard as shit, bro. Makes me jumpy and edgy. I don’t like bein’ jumpy and edgy. I like to hang loose and let life be, bro. I like to chill and eat me some tasty people meat. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a bro like me needin’ to relax, is there bro?”

He sighed and rubbed at his face with the hand not holding that mother fucking steel rod.

“Peeps be forgettin’ that I’m a bro too. Peeps be forgettin’ that leadin’ the Crossville Cookers ain’t a vacation, bro. I gots to be thinkin’, thinkin’, thinkin’ all the damn time, bro.”

The steel rod barely tapped me on the temple. Yes, I did flinch, but Barfly ignored it.

“I need you to do some of the thinkin’ for me, bro. If that brain in there is what I been told, you can do all the thinkin’ for me so all I have to do is pick a thought choice and then chill with my lady bros.”

“So, I’d be your consigliore?” I asked. “Your advisor? I thought you wanted power and plumbing.”

“That’ll be the start,” Barfly said. “A good start, bro, but I have to think beyond that. I have to think like a leader and using you for just the power and the plumbin’ would be a waste, bro. You got plenty of thinks up in that noggin for other stuffs. As long as you can help me with the other stuffs then you and your family bros will live. Stop helpin’ and I make you into a meal.”

He held out his hand and I stared at it.

“What?” I asked.

“We shake, bro,” he replied. “Simple deal: you help, you live. You stop helpin’, you get ate. Shake.”

“Not much of a choice there,” I said as I shook his hand. “So where do we start?”

“We go back to camp and you turn on the lights,” Barfly stated.

“You know I’m not an electrical engineer, right?”

“Not my problem,” Barfly shrugged and the rod poked me in the chest. “That’s your problem, bro. Figure it out.”

I gave him a thumbs up and then looked at the cannies as they hacked up people I had considered friends, neighbors, and fellow survivors. The body parts were quickly packed into bags and strapped to backs. Blood dripped from the corners of the bags and I watched it with stunned numbness as we began the long hike back to camp.

***

“Oh, thank God,” Stella said as she ran to me across the camp and nearly bowled me over with a fierce hug. “I honestly didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Where are the kids?” I asked.

“Digging,” she replied. “Some asshole came and dragged them off for work detail.”

“What about Charlie? How’s his head? He took a hard whack.”

“He was woozy when he left, but he knew what was going on and what his name is, so hopefully the concussion isn’t too bad.”

“One can only hope,” I said then looked about the camp.

People hurried this way and that. They carried this, carried that, and generally all tried to look busy. I noted the various vehicles around the camp and made sure to memorize their position in case I saw a chance to get the fuck out.

The camp was an old farm and I could see power lines strung up here and there, so I knew there had to be some type of electrical infrastructure still in play. There was a cluster of lines on a tall pole by a small shack off to the side. They wound down the pole and then disappeared into a plastic conduit bolted to the shack.

“I think I can get us out of here,” I said. “But it isn’t going to be easy.”

“You can? How?” Stella asked.

“I think there’s a generator in that shack. If I can get it to…”

“Bro!” Barfly said as he slapped me on the shoulder. “I see ya eyein’ the power shed! Good, bro, good. You get your ass over there and make things happen while I walk your lady bro around. Gonna show her the camp so she feels at home. If you Stanfords are gonna live here, Mrs. Stanford bro needs to know where she fits in, right? Everybody gotta fit in, bro. Everybody.”

Stella’s eyes went wide, but she sucked it up and forced a smile on her face.

“What’s in there?” Stella asked as she pointed at the second barn.

“More pens, but they’re off limits,” Barfly said. “We are flush with livestock. You wanna see how we feed ‘em?  I can show ya in your barn. Gotta be feedin’ time by now, Mrs. Stanford bro.”

“Sure,” Stella nodded. “Knowing how to take care of the livestock would be good. I helped out a lot on the Fitzpatrick farm.”

“You’re a farmin’ girl?” Barfly asked. “Good to know, lady bro! Good to know!”

“Well, no, I wouldn’t exactly say that…”

“Yep, she’s a farmin’ girl,” I interrupted. “But she doesn’t know much about the canny life, so maybe you can fill her in while I go check out the, uh, power shed.”

“Bro, that’s what I was about to do,” Barfly frowned. “Listen tight, bro. Listen tight or I give ya a whack to make ya listen.”

“Gotcha,” I said. “Listen or get a whack. I’m all done with the whacks, so be assured you’ll get plenty of listening from me.”

“Good, bro,” Barfly said then whistled. A stump of a guy ran up to us, his face beet red and sweating. “Bish Bash, this is Long Pork.”

“It’s Jace, actually,” I said then saw the look in Barfly’s eyes and knew I was about to get a whack. “But I totally dig being called Long Pork.”

“Bish Bash is gonna watch ya while ya work, bro,” Barfly stated. “If ya need somethin’ then ya tell Bish Bash. He’ll get it for ya.”

“What if we don’t have it?” Bish Bash asked, his voice a thin, reedy squeak.

“We gots it all,” Barfly snarled.

Bish Bash nodded then looked at me.

“What?” I asked.

“Go,” he said. “Get.”

“Right,” I smiled as I turned and walked towards the power shed.

I went a few yards and glanced over my shoulder, but Barfly was already leading Stella to the second barn. She didn’t look back at me and I could see she was busy asking Barfly questions. I hoped her years as a teacher pre-Z would give her the patience to deal with Barfly appropriately. I could take a shit ton of whacks from that rod, but if he touched Stella with it, I would lose my shit and probably get us all killed.

“Watch where yer going,” Bish Bash said as he shoved me in the small of the back and caused me to ram my hip into the bumper of an old, open top Ford Bronco. There was no backseat in the Bronco, as it had been ripped out to transport cargo. How did I know it was to transport cargo? The stains in the back kinda made it obvious. Pretty sure, that wasn’t red paint.

“Nice Bronco,” I sad as I rubbed my hip. “Don’t see the old ones around much anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah, Barfly loves this ride,” Bish Bash said. “He made the engine all vroom-vroom and the muffler goes ROAR. Pretty cool.”

I was about to turn away from the Bronco, since I had much more important things to think about, but something caught my eye. Hanging on the ignition was a bright pink bracelet. I knew that bracelet.

“Get to moving, Long Pork,” Bish Bash said. “You cain’t have the Bronco, so no need staring at it.”

“Bummer, I said. “Such a sweet ride.”

“Keep dreaming, Long Pork,” Bish Bash laughed. “You ain’t never getting in that ride. What you’ll be getting in is this shed.”

He pushed me into the door of the power shed and I had to bite my tongue to keep from mouthing off. Okay, I’ll admit the real reason I bit my tongue was because my jaw slammed into the closed shed door.

I stepped back and pulled the door open, then tried to not weep right there in front of Bish Bash.

“What the fuck happened?” I asked as I looked in at the mess that covered the shed floor. A mess that should have been a generator, but was instead just a pile of parts and a metal shell. “Who did this?”

“Tweaks,” Bish Bash said. “Last year. Got us bunch of tweaks that come through and said they could fix stuff if we let them live. All they did was tear things apart, and then take off in the middle of the night. Don’t know how they got out of the barns, but they did. Barfly was pissed.”

“Yeah, I bet he was,” I said. “Did you ever catch them?”

“Sure thing,” Bish Bash smiled. He lifted the right leg of his dirty jeans and pointed at the boot he revealed. “Got part of one of them right here.”

To say I was proud of myself for not puking on that human skin boot would be an understatement.

“Nice stitching,” I replied and turned back to the mechanical chaos that was the power shed. “I may be here a while.”

“Take your time,” Bish Bash said as he sat down against the wall and closed his eyes. “This is a way better gig than mucking out the pens, so take your time.”

“I don’t think Barfly is giving me much time,” I said.

“That’s your problem,” Bish Bash shrugged.

Yeah. That’s what everyone kept telling me.

***

Coated in grease and frustrated beyond words, I stepped from the power shed into the evening light and took a deep breath.

“All done?” Bish Bash asked as he yawned and stretched.

“Not quite,” I replied. “Have a nice nap?”

“Kinda,” Bish Bash said as he stood up and cracked his back. “I was having the crazy dreams. There was this woman and she had these…”

“RUNNER!”

“Oh, shit,” Bish Bash said. “That ain’t good.”

“What’s a runner?” I asked.

“Someone escaped,” Bish Bash said as he pulled a long knife from a sheath strapped to his belt. “You stay here.”

“Not a problem,” I said as I looked over my shoulder and back into the shit storm of parts I couldn’t make heads or tails of. “I have plenty to keep me occupied.”

Bish Bash took off running as cannies started shouting contradictory orders at each other. Weapons were grabbed and there was a considerable amount of shouting, which increased in volume and idiocy as soon as Barfly showed up.

“What the shit, peeps?” Barfly yelled. “Can’t a bro get a little nap without you peeps goin’ all crazy?”

He spied me standing there alone, and then saw Bish Bash. Out came the steel rod as he stomped over to the short man. Then out came Bish Bash’s brains as Barfly went to town on the guy’s skull with that wonderful hunk of steel.

Most of the cannies stopped in their tracks as they watched Barfly turn Bish Bash’s head into a dirty puddle of blood and brains.

“Now,” Barfly said as soon as he was done with Bish Bash. “One of you peeps needs to tell me what’s happenin’.”

“That crazy chick is gone,” a man said then took a couple steps back, obviously afraid he’d get brained next for bearing the bad news.

“Gone?” Barfly asked. “How? She was shackled like Frankenstein.”

I so wanted to tell him that Frankenstein’s monster was the one that had been shackled, not Frankenstein. People always mix that up and it’s sort of a pet peeve of mine that no matter where you go someone will always-.

“Dad!” Charlie called as he and Greta ran up to me. “There you are!”

“Where’s your mother?” I asked as I hugged my kids. “And what are you doing here?”

“Everyone took off when the yelling started,” Greta said. “The guards watching us just ran away. Fucking weird.”

“Apparently a runner is a bad thing,” I said. “Bad enough that everyone panics.”

We watched the chaos build as Barfly began to storm through the cannies, his steel rod taking down people indiscriminately.

“But where is your mother?” I asked again.

“Shit,” Charlie said. “There.”

A man and woman had Stella by the arms and dragged her from around a building. She was screaming at them to let her go, but they ignored her every word even as she tried to kick and bite them.

“Where’s Long Pork?” Barfly yelled then grinned when he saw me. “Get your ass over here, bro! Your lady bro got some splainin’ to do!”

Oh, fuck.

“Charlie, I need your help,” I said. “There is a small can of diesel in the shed. I want you to dump it out all over the generator.”

“Seriously?” he asked, a small gleam of mischief in his eye.

“Seriously,” I said.

“And do what?” Charlie asked.

I looked at the mess of generator parts that were scattered in front of the power shed. I had spent an hour tossing them out there just so I could make room to work inside. I spied what I needed and looked at my daughter.

“Greta, I need you to grab that cable there and that crank box,” I said. “I haven’t had a chance to wire them together. That’s your job. Do it fast. As soon as Charlie is done dumping the fuel, you two pull the cable out of the shed as far as it will go. Get behind something if you can.”

“Behind something?” Greta asked. “Why?”

“Because when I give you the signal, you’ll turn that crank and it’ll send a spark through the cable,” I said. “Then shit goes boom.”

“What’s the signal?” Charlie asked.

“LONG PORK!” Barfly shouted. “Get. Ass. Here. Now.”

“You’ll know the signal, trust me,” I said as I jogged away. “Just be ready.”

I didn’t look back at my kids, afraid the looks on their faces would break my heart. They had to be scared shitless.

“Hold on!” I shouted at Barfly as he raised the steel rod above my wife’s head. “FUCKING HOLD ON!”

“You don’t tell me to hold on, bro,” Barfly said as I stopped a couple feet from where he loomed over Stella. “You don’t tell me nothin’ except why your lady bro here helped the crazy chick bro escape. I knows you are friends, so don’t deny it. Just tell me why and where the crazy chick bro has gone.”

“I didn’t do shit, Jace,” Stella pleaded. “I was helping over by the latrines. I turned to gag because of the smell and then someone knocked me down. The next thing I know, people are screaming and these two assholes are pulling me to my feet.”

“Hey,” the woman on Stella’s side said in a cultured British accent. “There is no need to be rude.”

Stella and I stared at the woman for a brief second, but let it go. We had much bigger things to deal with than figuring out why some British woman was with a bunch of backwoods cannies.

“She was holding this,” the man by Stella said. He held out a pink bracelet. “Where’d she get it if she didn’t help the crazy chick escape?”

“It was on the ground next to me!” Stella yelled. “Wouldn’t you pick it up too if you saw it there?”

Stella glanced at the bracelet then at me. She was quick about it, but that Barfly was quicker. The rod came down hard on Stella’s shoulder. Luckily, I didn’t hear a crack of bone, but I did hear Stella scream which was almost as bad.

“Your lady bro is lyin’,” Barfly said to me. “She’s hidin’ somethin’ from me, I can tell.” He leaned in and placed the tip of the steel rod under Stella’s chin. He wasn’t exactly soft and subtle when he pushed her head up to face him. “What are you hidin’, Mrs. Long Pork bro? Fill me in on the secret and I won’t crush you like I crushed Bish Bash.”

He pointed at the corpse with the pulped head.

“That how you want to be, lady bro? You want to be all Bish Bashed? I can Bish Bash ya all day long if ya want. That what ya want?”

“She doesn’t want to be Bish Bashed,” I said.

“Not talkin’ to you, Long Pork,” Barfly snapped. “Stay out of this, bro.”

“I don’t want to be Bish Bashed,” Stella said through clenched teeth. “I just want to get the fuck out of this crazy place!”

Then she spit in Barfly’s face.

Now, I totally understand why she did what she did, because I was close to that point also, but it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

“WAIT!” I yelled as Barfly brought the steel rod back. I grabbed his arm and yanked him away. “STOP!”

“Bro,” Barfly said as he looked at my hand gripping his arm. “Rude much, bro?”

“Don’t hurt her,” I pleaded. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, okay?”

“You will, bro?” Barfly asked, puzzled.

“Jace?” Stella asked, confused.

“Yep,” I replied, full of shit and desperate. “I know exactly what is going on, but you have to let my wife go, okay? Just let her walk down there to my kids. I’ll stay here and tell you everything.”

Since I would tell Barfly everything if I actually knew anything, I guess I seemed sincere and my ruse worked because he didn’t crack my skull open and he didn’t crack Stella’s skull open either. There was a pleasant lack of skull cracking.

The gang leader stared at me for approximately forever, and then pointed his steel rod right at a spot between my eyes.

“She’s not tellin’ me everythin’,” he said. “So you better get to the tellin’ or all the Stanfords ends up Bish Bashed.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” the man by Stella asked. “Bish Bashed?”

“I been sayin’ it, haven’t I bro?” Barfly scoffed. “So that’s what it’s called now.”

He let out a long, loud whistle and the crazy chaos of the camp came to a screeching halt. The more I think about it, the more I realize all of that chaos was just cannies running from one spot to another so they looked busy as usual. I don’t think any of them were trying to find the escapee. They just didn’t want to be caught standing around and suffer the business end of Barfly’s steel rod.

“Peeps!” Barfly yelled. “From now on when I crush skulls it’s called Bish Bashing! Y’all good with that?”

There was unanimous agreement. What a surprise.

“Get down to your kids, lady bro,” Barfly said to Stella. “But stay right where I can see ya, okay? Don’t go sneakin’ off?”

“You want us to stick with her?” the man asked.

“Did I say I wanted you to stick with her?” Barfly snapped. “No, bro, you stay here. May need ya to hold Long Pork while I Bish Bash him if he doesn’t tell me the truth.”

“Jace?” Stella cried as she was shoved away from us.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “Just do me a favor and hug the kids. Oh, and be careful with Greta. She has explosive diarrhea. Tell her that if she needs to go, she can just go ahead and go.”

“What…?” Stella asked.

I looked at Barfly and the two cannies. “I’m trying not to embarrass her too much, sweetie. Just tell her she can go when she needs to.”

“Man, I hate diarrhea,” the man said. “Remember that time we ate that Korean family? They were sick or something because like half the camp ended up with the shits.”

“That was something awful,” the British woman said. “Truly horrible.”

“Go,” Barfly said to Stella. “Get to yer kids, lady bro.”

Stella rushed off to the kids. They saw her coming, cried out, then ran to her. I watched as Stella kissed and hugged them then started to talk.

“What?” Greta shouted. “He said what?”

“Teen girls,” I grinned. “So touchy when it comes to bodily functions.”

Greta glanced my way and I smiled and waved at her. She just shook her head, and then led Stella away from the power shed.

“So...where were we?” I asked Barfly. “Oh, right, you were going to tell me all about this crazy chick that has you all worked up.”

“Nice try, bro,” Barfly laughed just as the rod hit me in the side.

I fell to a knee and winced, but didn’t cry out. Points to me for that bit of stoicism.

“Tell me what you know,” Barfly said.

I wanted to stall and wait for the explosion that was about to happen, but I knew I didn’t have time for that. I needed to make up something plausible, so I went to the only story I could think of that involved a crazy chick.

“So, I know this woman named Elsbeth,” I said. “She used to be a canny like you guys, but she redeemed herself after a couple bumps and hiccups.”

Barfly only stared.

“Well, she’s really good with blades and can fight like an animal when she needs to,” I continued. “In fact, there was this one time when I had gotten trapped…”

Smack.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

“We know all about you gettin’ trapped, Long Pork,” Barfly said. “She told us all about it. She likes to talk about you a lot. That’s why you’re here. That’s why I ain’t Bish Bashed ya yet. I know all this stuff. What I don’t know is where she went when you set her free?”

“Oh…” Fuck.

My brain about fried itself as it kicked into hyperdrive. Barfly had just confirmed that the crazy chick bro was Elsbeth. Okay. Good to know. He also said she talked a lot about me. What else did she talk about?

Smack.

“Fuck! Stop it!” I shouted.

Smack.

“DUDE!”

“Bro!” Barfly yelled. “Tell me where she is!”

“Fire!” someone shouted and we all turned to see where he was pointing.

The power shed.

Flames licked at the edges of the doorway and I frowned. It was supposed to explode, not just slow burn.

Oh, wait…

The fuel was an accelerant, but not an explosive. I wanted the power shed to go boom, but I forgot that I needed a boom part. Shit fuck.

My distraction/middle finger to the cannies was a bust without an actual explosive. Poop.

“What happened, bro?” Barfly snarled in my ear. “Why is my power shed on fire?”

“It was Bish Bash’s fault,” I said quickly. “He must have spilled some gas. That Bish Bash. Sheesh. Good thing you Bish Bashed Bish Bash, right? Look what he did.”

“I think I’ll kill you right now,” Barfly said very matter of fact. “No Bish Bashng. No, bro, I’m going to skin ya. Just cut the skin right off ya, bro. Ya know why? Because I’m so done with you, bro.”

KABOOM CRACK!

Ha! I did have an explosive in there!

CRACK KATHOOOOM!

Oh, shit...that wasn’t coming from the power shed.

“The trucks!” Barfly yelled as he turned and faced the opposite direction. “Some peep is blowin’ up the trucks!”

More and more explosions went off and the air was filled with nothing but black smoke and heat. Yeah, I took that opportunity to book ass.

“Stella!” I shouted as I ran towards my family. “We gotta get the fuck outta here!”

“Ya think?” Stella shouted back as I skidded to a halt next to them. “But how? Where?”

“Where’d you get those?” I asked as I studied the key ring she held in her hand. There was a pink bracelet tied to one of the keys.

“They were in my pocket,” Stella said. “I have no idea how they got there.”

“I do,” I grinned as I looked over my shoulder at the Bronco. “I even know what that key goes to.”

Chapter Nine

“Oh...it’s you,” Barfly snorts, his body tense and ready for the fight. He looks at the young woman that stands in front of him. Even though I’m at his back, I know he’s studying her like the predator he is.

What the stupid fuck doesn’t know is that he’s already been studied thoroughly or the young woman wouldn’t be standing there.

“Ready to die, crazy chick bro?” Barfly laughs.

“I ain’t crazy.”

“If you ain’t crazy, what are you?” Barfly snarls.

“I’m family,” Elsbeth grins.

And we are back! All caught up? Good because shit is about to get fucking insane at the edge of this quarry.

There’s a gang of cannies ready to take on a shit load of Zs while their crazy leader is about to go head to head with Elsbeth.

“Jace,” Stella whispers. “We should go.”

“Don’t ya be movin’, lady bro,” Barfly says over his shoulder. “I’m gonna kill this crazy chick bro and then it’ll be your turn. I don’t wanna have to play hide and seek, so just stay right there.”

“Well, since you asked so nice,” I reply, then turn and grab Stella’s arm. “Run! Come on, kids!”

Ah, yes, the Stanfords are running again!

Damn if we don’t do a lot of running. Run from this bunch of nutjobs, run from that bunch of nutjobs, and the always running from Zs part of our lives. I was never a jogger pre-Z, not that I’m a jogger now, but it sure would have been a good skill to learn before it was forced on me. I’ll be willing to bet my form could be improved. I tend to run flat footed, as far as I can tell. That can’t be good for your arches, can it?

“Shit fuck!” Greta yelled as a group of Zs stumbles from the trees. “Where’d they all come from? I didn’t see a single Z when we were in the canny camp!”

“They probably came from that neighborhood we passed back there,” Charlie said. “Shit!”

Charlie slips and nearly topples over the side of the cliff and into the empty quarry. Well, empty of water; it has plenty of rocks to go smashy-splat on.

An ear piercing scream splits the night and we whirl about to see Elsbeth down on the ground with Barfly straddling her.

“No he doesn’t!” Stella shouts. She’s off running back to Elsbeth before we can stop her.

Shit.

Now for the slow-mo portion of our story!

The kids and I run after Stella, screaming at her to stop, but she just keeps going, heading right at Barfly. The man’s face is a wicked grin and looks ten times scarier than usual because of the flickering torch light. Then his features change from wicked to confused and finally to surprised. I don’t think he figured Stella would come at him.

“Whoa, lady bro!” he yells just as she leaps at him and the world speeds up again.

Stella catches him about the neck, taking him right off Elsbeth. The two of them roll for a few feet, with Stella ending up on top when they finally stop. Her fists come down hard and fast and Barfly’s head snaps to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left. Back and forth until he lands a solid punch to Stella’s throat.

He arches his back and brings his knees up, nailing Stella in the spine. She tries to scream, but the shot to her throat has taken her voice and only a pained croak comes out.

“Damn, lady bro!” Barfly says as he shoves her away and gets up. “That shit hurt!”

His face is a bloody mess and I can’t help but smile despite the fact my wife is on the ground at the psycho’s feet.

“This’ll hurt more,” Elsbeth says as she slams Barfly’s own steel rod against the backs of his thighs. He screams and falls to his knees. “This too.”

She spins and smashes the rod right against Barfly’s chest. The sound of ribs cracking can be heard across the meadow, even with the noise from the fighting Zs and cannies.

Right, the Zs and cannies. Can’t forget about that shit.

“Dad!” Charlie yells. “We’ve got company!”

The Zs from the side of the meadow have caught up to us.

“Weapon up, kids!” I yell. “Time to go to work!”

“Fuck,” Greta sighs. “I hate going to work.”

Weapons are no longer an issue. You see, cannies may be good at catching and killing humans for dinner, but apparently, they are not bulletproof. Or Z proof, as it may be. Several canny corpses litter the meadow now as the Zs overwhelm them and get in close for a nighttime snack which means plenty of stray weapons.

I kick a Z off the British canny that had Stella earlier, which still boggles my mind, and pick up the lead pipe wrapped in duct tape her corpse is holding. A lot of good that lead pipe did for her, but maybe it’ll do more for me as I turn and walk towards the Zs.

Greta is at my side, as is Charlie, and both of them are holding baseball bats. No spikes in the baseball bats like the Bitch, but better than a bag of marshmallows. I have no idea what that means, so don’t ask. It’s late and I’m tired.

“I’ve got the three on the right,” Greta says.

“I’ll take the three on the left,” Charlie replies.

“Great,” I smirk. “Leave the five in the middle for me.”

“You’re bigger and stronger,” Greta says.

“Hey! I’m strong!” Charlie says.

“And I only have one arm,” I say. “Maybe Charlie should take the five in the middle?”

“No, no, I’m good,” Charlie says. “You can have them.”

“Thanks,” I say as I close on the Zs.

Unfortunately, I do one very stupid thing just before I get to the Zs: I look over my shoulder to see if Stella is okay. While not exactly fine, she isn’t being attacked, so that’s good.

However, that lapse in attention, while sweet and thoughtful, means I misjudge the distance between the Zs and myself. So when I turn my attention back to them, I’m staring at five open mouths and nine reaching arms.

I say nine because one of the Zs is missing an arm. I wonder if that’s what I’d look like of I was turned into a Z? Probably not since the Z is a woman. My pecs aren’t in the greatest shape, but they certainly don’t look like the putrid, saggy Z tits that poke out from the dead woman’s blouse. Yuck does not express it enough.

A few stumbling steps backwards, and a couple lucky swings of the pipe, gets me enough space between the Zs to dodge to the side and not go down in a happy little Z pile. I elbow one Z out of the way and use that momentum to crack the skull of another. Stinking brains slosh out of its skull and all over my hand, making me gag a little since you just never get used to that shitty smell.

I shoulder the stinky, debrained Z to the side then go back for the first one I elbowed. I miss its head and totally crush its shoulder, basically causing half its rotted body to fall away. This turns out to be a good thing since its fallen half tangles up two more of the Zs, sending them to the ground.

That leaves one Z and it knows an opportunity when it sees one. With all of its Z bros down on the ground, it knows it can have me all to itself.

Did I just say “Z bros”? Fuck, I’ve been hanging around Barfly way too much. That fucker gets in your head.

“Dad!” Greta screams.

She sure does scream at me a lot.

I shove the last Z away and hurry to where my kids are stranded, their backs to the edge of the quarry with three Zs coming right for them.

“Move!” I yell.

The kids each dive out of the way, as I rush the Zs and give them a hard shove. The first two go flying out over the edge and down into the dark pit below, but the third twists and grabs onto my ankle before falling. My legs go out from under me and I find myself being pulled by the weight of the Z right off the edge of the quarry.

“No!” Stella rasps as she wraps her hands under my armpits and pulls. “You’re staying here!”

The Z still has a hold of my ankle, but a couple whacks with the lead pipe shatters its wrist and it goes falling down to join its friends. Except for its hand that is still gripping my ankle. Stella keeps pulling me until we are well away from the edge. She frowns at the Z hand, tears it from my leg, and then throws it off into the quarry.

“Thanks, baby,” I smile at her.

“Any time,” she says, her voice a throaty croak. It’s kinda sexy, really.

“I am so gonna make you talk dirty to me once we get away from this shit,” I say.

“Fuck you,” she smiles.

I get to my feet and scan the area. No Zs are coming at us, but there are plenty in the meadow doing a pretty damn fine job at thinning the canny population of Tennessee. Not that the cannies are losing, mind you. There are a good number that have the skills needed to take on more than their share of Zs. You could say that Z bodies are going down two to every one canny.

This means, now that I think of it, that the cannies are winning. That’s bad. I hate rooting for the Zs, but if given the choice between mindless killing and eating machines and killing and eating machines with minds, I’ll go mindless anytime.

You know what I mean. Shut up.

“Eat the shit and die, fucker killer fucker shit for fuck!” Elsbeth screams, bringing our attention back to our adopted member of the Stanford family unit.

No blades and no steel rods, Elsbeth and Barfly face each other, fists up, as they circle and look for their opponent’s weakness.

This is something I don’t see everyday. I don’t mean the senseless violence because I do tend to see that everyday. No, I mean that Elsbeth isn’t flat out winning. This is a woman that was not only brainwashed and trained to be an assassin, but she spent quite a few years as a canny herself. She knows how to fight and kill better than most elite soldiers do.

Or did. Not that there are a whole lot of elite soldiers left in the world. I think. I could be totally wrong since this is the first road trip I’ve taken in a long time.

Barfly comes in with a feint to Elsbeth’s right, but she refuses to fall for it and brings up her left arm as his real hook comes flying at her. That leaves her open for the headbutt. Bam! Elsbeth takes a shot to her nose from Barfly’s forehead. She stumbles back a couple of feet, but shakes it off.

“You suck, fucking asshole fucker fuck shit fuck shitter!” Elsbeth snarls.

Yeah, she learned all that from my kids. I’m so proud.

“Potty mouth, crazy chick bro,” Barfly laughs. “I like that. Why you gotta fight me, crazy chick bro? We’ve had some good times these past couple days, right? I treated you right. You even told me all about Long Pork. Why we fightin’ now, crazy chick bro?”

“Because I was playing you, stupid fucker shit fuck canny asshole fucker,” Elsbeth replies. “I told you all that stuff about Long Pork so if you found him you wouldn’t eat him. I figured you’d have a better chance tracking him down than me.”

She comes in fast with two jabs from her left then a killer uppercut with her right. Barfly’s head snaps back and we watch blood and teeth go flying into the air. He almost goes down on his ass, but he keeps his footing and just retreats back a couple steps to regroup.

“You fight sexy,” Barfly says through broken teeth and bloody snot. “I like sexy fightin’ crazy chick bros.”

“You like this?” Elsbeth asks as she sends a roundhouse kick right into his stomach. He doubles over and she leaps into the air, coming down with her elbow on the back of his neck. “Is that sexy?”

“She is totally flirting with him,” Greta says.

“Totally,” Stella agrees.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Charlie snaps. “How is that flirting?”

“You just don’t understand girls,” Greta says.

My son looks at me and I shrug. “Don’t look at me, dude. All bets are off in the apocalypse.”

Barfly grabs Elsbeth around the ankles and pulls, sending her slamming down hard on her back. We can see the wind is knocked out of her and we start to move forward to help as Barfly climbs on top of her again. However, we are blocked by a pair of cannies with chains.

Fucking cannies with chains! I hate chains!

“Move,” Greta snarls. “Now.”

“Better listen, fuckers,” Charlie says. “The bitch be loco, bros.”

The two cannies are both dressed in cutoffs like Barfly, but so short, I think I can see a package peeking out even in the gloom of night. They hesitate as Greta and Charlie start walking at them.

“Kids,” Stella croaks then reaches out, but her fingers find open air as our kids sprint right at the cannies. “KIDS!”

They both drop as the chains swing out where their heads should have been. They slide across the slick grass of the meadow and right into the cannies’ legs. Greta takes that opportunity to slam both fists into one of the cannies’ balls, making the man squeak like a mouse that’s been stepped on. Charlie doesn’t use the nutshot gambit and instead kicks out with both feet, shattering his canny’s kneecaps. The man screams and almost falls right on Charlie, but my son is able to roll out of the way.

Our kids get to their feet, pick up the chains, and then bring them down onto the skulls of the fallen cannies.

“I don’t think I’m okay with that,” Stella says, her hand finding my arm and giving it a painful squeeze. “Those are people, not Zs.”

Charlie and Greta keep up with the chain beating until all that’s left are two puddles of mush.

“I don’t think those guys are anything anymore,” I say. “They just got Bish Bashed by two teenagers.” I see her start to respond, but cut her off. “I know it troubles the fuck out of me too. We’ll be sure to sit them down and have a homicide talk if we live through this.”

“Thanks,” Stella says. “It’s important to keep up good parenting techniques even in the apocalypse.”

“You should totally turn that into a blog,” I say. “You can write different posts on old billboards as we flee this fucking hell and get our asses to Kansas City.”

“Incoming!” Charlie yells. “Behind you!”

Stella and I spin and see several shapes come from the woods at the side of the meadow.

“Shit,” I say. “They look big.”

That’s because they are.

All Fitzpatricks are big.

“Jace?” Buzz shouts as he and his brothers run up to us. “You’re alive!”

“So far,” I say as I tuck my pipe into my waistband and grasp his meaty hand. “And it’s good to see you guys!”

Stella goes in for the hugs and then we are left to stand there and stare at each other as the violence continues about us.

“So...what you guys up to?” I ask.

“Hey!” Charlie yells. “What the fuck, people?”

“Oh, right,” I say and then give my lead pipe a good swing. “We should save story time for later and get in this shit.”

Buzz and his giant brothers look out at the bloody chaos.

“Who are we fighting?” Buzz asks.

“Everyone,” Stella says. Buzz gives her a look at the sound of her voice. “Allergies.”

“You Stanfords and your smart mouths,” Buzz grins then surveys the meadow again. “Some of those are people out there. We’re supposed to kill them too?”

“We don’t have to,” I shrug and point at Barfly that is busy trying to choke Elsbeth. “We really just have to kill that asshole.”

“Shit,” Stella says, then starts to run towards Elsbeth.

But Buzz grabs her arm and pulls her back. He takes a radio out of his back pocket.

“You got me, John?” he asks into the radio.

“Crystal clear, brother,” John replies over the radio.

“See the Stanfords?”

“Yep. Hey, Stanfords!”

“Hey, John,” I say as I lean towards the radio. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad now,” John replies. “Been looking for you guys.”

“See that asshole choking the woman on the ground?” Buzz asks.

“I see him,” John says.

“He’s choking Elsbeth,” Buzz says.

I don’t even hear the gunshot, just see Barfly lurch to the side, half of his head gone.

“That’ll do it,” Buzz smiles. “Let’s go help our favorite killer.”

We all run over to Elsbeth and shove Barfly’s corpse off of her.

“El? Honey? Are you okay?” Stella asks.

“You ate a frog,” Elsbeth says as she rubs her purple throat. “I ate one two.”

“We can be frog sisters,” Stella laughs.

“No, we can’t,” Elsbeth says as Pup and Porky help her to her feet. “People can’t be frogs.”

“We can pretend,” Stella replies as she gives Elsbeth a huge hug. “It’s okay to pretend sometimes.”

“Can we pretend our way out of here?” Greta asks. “I think the cannies are winning.”

She’s right, the cannies are winning for sure. More and more of them are ignoring the few Zs left and focusing their murderous attention on us. It could be because we are the only ones not fighting. Or it could be because we have their leader’s nearly headless corpse at our feet.

“Bros! They killed Barfly, bros!” someone shouts. “Fucking get them, bros!”

Yeah, I think my latter guess is right.

The cannies not fighting Zs come right for us.

Stella picks up Barfly’s steel rod, which she finds at her feet, and gives me a smile.

“Trade you?” she asks.

I look at my lead pipe, then at the steel rod and smiles back.

“Fuck yeah,” I say. “Time to do some whacking with that thing instead of getting whacked by it.”

We switch weapons just as the cannies get to us. Stella jumps back as a canny tries to gut her with quite the impressive knife. He loses the knife pretty fast as the lead pipe destroys his hand.

Confident my wife can handle her ass, I focus on the canny in front of me. He’s a funny looking guy (not that there are any non-funny looking cannies in this fucked up world) with a long Mohawk pulled back into a pony tail. I don’t know what it is, but that fucked up hairdo really pisses me off.

This guy has a baseball bat with nails and glass jammed into the end. He takes a couple swings, but I easily dodge them. Then he jams the bat right at my belly and instead of jumping back, my feet get tangled and I fall right on my ass. He brings the bat down fast and I barely get the rod up in time to keep my face from being rearranged by nails and glass.

Now, not having two hands to grip the rod means that one end is totally not supported by jack shit. That end collapses under the attack and the bat slides down until it clears the end of the rod and smacks into the grass right between my legs. An inch closer and it would have shredded the fuck out of my cock and balls.

“Dude,” I snarl as I whip the rod around and smash it into the man’s right knee.

He screams and drops the bat as he grabs at his knee. The bottom half of his right leg is no longer lining up with the top half the way it should. Fucker shouldn’t have run into a steel rod with his knee. Stupid canny.

Another whack from me, and his screaming stops forever. I so Bish Bashed him.

I look about me,  watching as the Fitzpatricks break more than a couple of cannies with nothing but their bare hands, which is surprising since I can see pistols strapped to their hips. But, hey, why waste bullets on unarmed foes when you can tear their fucking arms right out of their sockets?

Stella, covered in blood and holding a dripping lead pipe, rushes to me.

“Jace! Are you hurt?” she asks as she falls on her knees next to me, the lead pipe forgotten and her hands patting me here and there to check for wounds.

“Nope. All good,” I smile and grab her and give her a big kiss. “Ain’t nobody taking down Long Pork tonight, bro!”

“Don’t say that again.”

“Sorry.”

The sounds of men and women dying, and Zs moaning and groaning, come to an end and Stella and I are stunned to see that the fight is over as we get to our feet.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Buzz says.

“Hey, guys,” John calls out as he steps from the woods and hurries over to us.

“Hey, man,” I say as I shake his hand. “Thanks for the assist.”

“Anytime,” John smiles. “Just glad you all are…”

His words are stopped by Elsbeth’s mouth. She has him by the shirt with both hands and is going to town. I’d try to save you the graphic image and say that there isn’t any tongue, but that is obviously not the case.

“Wow,” Stella says.

“Get a room,” Greta adds.

“I gotta save your ass more often,” John gasps when Elsbeth finally lets him go. “Is there a frequent save program?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Elsbeth says, “but you and I can do it when we get someplace safe. Is that like a save program?”

“It certainly is,” John smiles then looks around at us. “I’m as stunned as you are.”

“I highly doubt that,” I say then sigh. “Damn, it’s good to be back with friends. Our new acquaintances weren’t exactly the warm and fuzzy types.”

“Hey, bros, don’t be mockin’ the Barfly, bros. Not cool, bros. Bros, bros, bros,” Charlie says as he crouches by Barfly’s corpse and makes the dead man’s arms wave about. “Not cool shootin’ me, bro.”

“Charlie, leave the cannibal corpse alone,” Stella says, then gives everyone a troubled smile. “I think he needs a hobby.”

“Are you guys it?” I ask. “Have you found anyone else?”

“We have almost everyone,” Buzz says. “Lourdes and her folks came and saved our asses outside Knoxville. We’ve been looking for you guys since. Still missing a few folks though.”

“Scoot’s gone,” I blurt. Good one, Jace.

The Fitzpatrick brothers all stare at me.

“Scoot? Really?” Gunga asks. “Are you sure, Jace?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I reply. “I watched it happen and there was nothing I could do.”

“Okay,” Buzz sighs. “You know where his body is? We’ll want to give him a proper burial.”

I swallow hard before answering, which basically has the same effect as me making a farting noise.

“What, Jace?” Buzz growls. “Where’s his body?”

“Back at the Cookers’ camp,” I say. “Probably packed in salt in the kitchen, if they have a kitchen. I never actually saw one.”

“They have a kitchen,” Stella says. “And I know where the bodies are.”

“Then show us the way,” Buzz says. He pulls out his radio again. “Lourdes? You there?”

“Right here, Buzz,” Lourdes replies. “What’s the situation? I heard you found the Stanfords.”

“We did and they are going to take us back to the canny camp so we can get Scoot’s body and any others they killed,” Buzz says. “We could use a lift.”

“Meet us at the rendezvous point,” Lourdes replies. “Sorry about Scoot.”

“Me too,” Buzz says. He tucks the radio away and takes a deep breath. “Come on, we’ve got a ways to walk to get to the Humvees.”

“Yay, more walking,” Greta says.

***

As much as I hate how Humvees ride, considering they have all the comfort of a tin can on wheels, it sure is nice to know that I’m behind half inch armor plating with heavily armed men and women surrounding me.

Well, not really surrounding me since I’m thankfully crammed in the back of Lourdes’s Humvee with my family. Elsbeth is up front, riding shotgun as Lourdes drives and shoots questions at us a mile a minute.

“Middle aged sorority girls? Really?” Lourdes laughs. “That must have been something to see.”

“I could have done without it,” Charlie replies. “No need for my teenage brain to see shit like that. Miniskirts and half-tees are not meant for anyone over thirty.”

“Fuck you, kid,” I grin. “Your mom can wear all the miniskirts and half-tees she wants. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Gross,” Greta says. “Gross, gross, gross.”

“Grow up,” Stella smiles as she reaches for my hand. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? Peachy keen, baby,” I reply. “Nothing some serious sleep and a couple good meals won’t fix.” I lean up towards the front seat. “There is food, right? Please tell me you have a camp somewhere with food.”

“We have food,” Lourdes says. “Quite a lot, actually. And we have a secure camp about twenty miles west of here. We couldn’t…”

“Turn here,” I say. “Sorry to interrupt, but the Cookers’ camp is down this road a ways.”

“How far?” Lourdes asks.

“Maybe a mile?” I say. “Could be less. I wasn’t paying attention to that part as we fled.”

“It’s a mile,” Greta says.

“You sure?” Lourdes asks. “The more accurate the information, the better it is for my people.”

“What do you mean?” Stella asks.

“You are staying here,” Lourdes replies as she turns off the engine and steps from the Humvee. She ducks back in and points at Elsbeth. “El will watch you if she’s up for it.”

“Up for it,” Elsbeth replies as she stretches out and puts her hands behind her head. “Totally.”

“There will be a driver per vehicle,” Lourdes says, looking back at the line of four Humvees. “But everyone else is coming with me. We need to sneak into the camp, so we can’t just drive down the road. John is already heading that direction to give us a little recon, but considering all the dead bodies in that meadow, my guess is most of the camp came after you. Hopefully we won’t run into any trouble too hard to handle.”

“Nah,” Elsbeth says. “They can’t fight for shit.”

“Barfly was doing pretty well against you,” Charlie says. Elsbeth slowly turns her head and gives him a look I’m glad she’s not giving me. “Uh, but you would have, well, taken him down, I’m sure.”

“The radio is right there,” Lourdes says as she points to the CB on the dash. “You get on that and holler if there’s any trouble.”

“Do we get guns?” Greta asks.

“Do you want guns?” Lourdes counters.

“No,” Stella says. “Not right now. We’re all a little jumpy and I don’t want one accidentally going off.”

“I’m not jumpy,” Greta says.

“Yeah, right,” Charlie laughs.

“Shut up!” Greta snaps.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I snarl. “Not now!”

“Kids, bro,” Elsbeth smirks.

“Ugh, please don’t say bro,” I say. “I never want to hear that word again.”

“You guys keep tight and stay here,” Lourdes says. “Don’t kill each other.”

“No promises,” I smile.

“No promises,” Elsbeth echoes. I drop my smile. “Kidding, Long Pork. Chill, bro.”

“El, come on,” I plead.

“Bro, bro, bro, bro, bro,” Elsbeth laughs.

“Right. Good luck,” Lourdes laughs then takes off.

We watch as she and her people, as well as Buzz and the others jog down the road, disappearing into the woods on either side, after Lourdes gives several hand signals and calls out the plan.

“What happened to you?” Greta asks Elsbeth after a few minutes.

“Got caught,” Elsbeth shrugs. “It happens.”

“The last we saw you, you had run into the horde of Zs to distract them for us,” Stella says. “How’d you get from there to being Barfly’s captive?”

“I wasn’t his captive,” Elsbeth says. “It took me a while to fight off the Zs and get away. I went looking for you Stanfords, but you were gone. I looked and looked and then I wasn’t in the city anymore.”

We wait for a minute, but she doesn’t continue.

“Is that when he captured you?” Greta asks.

“He didn’t capture me,” Elsbeth responds. “I said that. You aren’t listening to me.”

“Then why’d you…” Greta pushes.

“I need to pee,” Elsbeth says suddenly and opens the door. She hops out of the Humvee, but doesn’t look back at us. “Stay here. Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.”

She hurries into the woods and we all stare after her.

“Well…?” Stella asks and I turn to see my family staring at me and not the woods.

“Well, what?” I reply.

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” Stella asks.

“She’s going to pee,” I exclaim. “I think she can handle it on her own.”

“Dad, she’s not going pee,” Greta says. “She’s evading us.”

“Well, we are giving her the third degree,” I say.

“Jace…” Stella says. And that’s all she has to say.

“Fine, I’ll go see what’s up,” I sigh. “If I’m not back in fifteen minutes that means she killed me. Run for your lives.”

“Ha ha,” Stella frowns. “Now go.”

I open the door and climb out of the Humvee. I look behind us and see one of the drivers watching me. I give him a thumbs up and he returns it as I duck into the woods.

“El?” I call out. “El? You there?”

There isn’t much of a moon because of cloud cover and I quickly realize that a flashlight would have been a good idea. She can’t have gone too far, right?

“El?” No response.

I stumble my way through the dark woods, getting plenty of thorn scratches for my trouble because apparently Tennessee has thorny bushes too. Mother fucking thorny bushes.

“El?” Still no response.

That’s not good.

I think I hear a twig snap and spin about, but there’s no one there. Great, I’m stumbling about in creepy woods. Awesome.

One step at a time is how I go through the dark woods until I realize I’m probably going to get my ass lost more than I’m going to find Elsbeth, so I turn around to head back.

That’s when I see them, standing right there in front of me with their dog heads and freaky brown painted bodies. It may be dark, but I can see well enough to know I have a bit of a Jackal problem.

“Long pork,” one of them says.

“That’s my name,” I reply.

“What?”

“My name.”

“Your name is what?”

“Long Pork,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s what you are,” the voice replies.

“I know, I just said that,” I say. “So did you. That’s why I said that’s my name. They call me Long Pork.”

“Who calls you that?”

“Well, almost everybody,” I sigh. “It really does suck. Barfly even called me that, which I was not fond of. I’d actually appreciate it if you call me something else.”

“I didn’t call you that because it’s your name,” the voice says. “I called you that because that’s what you are: long pork. Meat.”

“Oh, I see,” I laugh. “You actually meant the literal definition of long pork. You weren’t calling me by my nickname at all. My bad, guys. Sorry about that.” I chuckle hard. “Glad we cleared that up. I’ve got to go tell my wife. She’ll think this was funny.”

My way is blocked instantly as they surround me. Brown bodies and dead dog heads. Not going to have nightmares of this fucking image. Nah.

“So...you guys on your way to see Barfly?” I ask. “The camp is back that way, in case you need directions. I’d show you, but I’m supposed to stay close to the Humvees.”

“Humvees? What Humvees?” the voice asks.

“The ones back on the road,” I say. “You guys must have seen them when you walked this way.”

“We don’t use the road,” the voice replies. “We’re Jackals, we stay to the trees; we hunt with nature.”

“Oh, sure, of course,” I say. “But aren’t jackals more scavengers than hunters? I’d think you guys are more about the leftovers than the fresh kill. Is that why you’re going to see Barfly?”

“Barfly is dead,” the voice says. “We watched it happen. Now we go and take what was his and make it ours.”

“So you are scavengers,” I reply. “Way to embrace the ethos.”

“Tells us about these Humvees,” the voice orders. “Why are there Humvees?”

“Because soldiers, or I guess, private military contractors, like to travel in Humvees,” I answer. “It’s how they roll. Literally. Speaking of, I really need to get back.”

“Mickey? Carlito? Go check the Humvees,” the voice commands. “If they are takable, then take them. Kill anyone you find. We need the meat.”

“Hold on now!” I exclaim. “My family is back there and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t kill them, thank you!”

“You killed my mother,” the voice snarls. “Only fair to kill your family.”

“You are Bungee Betty’s son?” I ask.

“Daughter!” the voice growls.

“Sorry, sorry,” I apologize quickly. “It’s hard to tell since you’re talking through a fucking German Shepherd’s severed head!”

“It’s a Husky, not a German Shepherd,” someone else says.

“Whatever the fuck it is, don’t go kill my family!” I shout. “STELLA! KIDS! RUN!”

Something clubs me in the back of my head and I fall to my knees.

“Ah, fuck,” I whisper as I reach back and feel the thick blood start to flow down my neck. “I’m so sick of this shit.”

“Pick him up,” Husky Woman says. “Bring him with. He can watch as we carve up his people. You have a son, right? Yeah, you have a son. He pulled the trigger.”

I can kinda make out a nasty looking dog head shoved into my face, but my head is swimming from the blow and I’m not sure. Who fucking knows anymore?

“You awake, Long Pork?” Husky Woman asks. “I want to make sure you are awake as I slice off your son’s balls. I really want you to be awake when I feed those balls to you.”

“Gonna pass,” I grunt.

“Get him up.”

I’m yanked to my feet and dragged through the woods. Yet, surprisingly I don’t get nailed by the thorny bushes. What the fuck? Anytime I walk by myself, it’s like the fuckers jump out and grab me, but when I’m being held up by two people, they part like the fucking Red Sea. Fucking thorny bushes.

A hard slap brings me out of my thoughts and I’m thrown to the ground by the side of the road right next to the Humvees.

“I see trucks, but I don’t see people,” Husky Woman snaps. “Where are your people?”

“How the fuck should I know?” I shout. “I’ve been in the woods with you cannibal fucks! Maybe everyone needed to take a piss.”

“I’m the only one that needed to piss,” Elsbeth says as she stands on top of Lourdes’s Humvee. “Everyone else ran.”

“Where’d they run to?” Husky Woman asks as she jumps back and looks up.

My head is screaming and my vision is blurry, but I can see that Elsbeth is holding something. Two somethings, actually.

“They ran down the road,” Elsbeth says. “I told the soldiers to get my family to a safe place. That’s where they’re running to.”

“There’s no safe place here for you mother fuckers!” Husky Woman shouts. “You can run and run and run and we will catch you! We will track you forever! You don’t come to Cannibal Road, kill one of our gangs, and expect to just walk away!”

“No one is walking,” Elsbeth laughs. “They’re running. We’ve already talked about the running. Long Pork? Is this woman stupid?”

“Yes. Yes, she is,” I answer. I wait for the blow, but no one hits me for the remark. Small miracles and all that shit.

“If she can’t understand me, she must have gone cuckoo crazy when you were talking to her,” Elsbeth says, still laughing. “Doesn’t he drive you nuts when he talks?”

“Are you talking to me or the Husky?” I ask.

“I’m talking to the Husky.”

“Right, of course.”

“Get down from there and we may let you live,” Husky Woman says. “You weren’t there when they killed my mother. Sparing you will be my good deed.”

“Oh, that’s a problem,” Elsbeth says, “because, as they say, no good deed goes unpunished.”

“You totally nailed that one, El,” I snort. “Brilliant come back.”

“Thanks, Long Pork,” Elsbeth replies. “I’m learning from you.”

“And you are doing a fine job at-.”

“SHUT UP!” Husky Woman roars. “No more talking! Come down off that Humvee or I send my people up to get you!”

“Like you sent these people?” Elsbeth asks. She tosses what she has in her hands and the Jackals jump back.

Hey, look! El found Mickey and Carlito!

The two severed heads roll to a stop right by me and I nudge one of them away with my knee.

“You fucking cunt,” Husky Woman snarls. “No good deeds for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Elsbeth says as she jumps down from the Humvee.

She may not have her blades in hand, but she found some seriously wicked looking combat knives. All eyes go to the knives and the blood dripping off them.

“Kill her,” Husky Woman says.

At my count, there are about ten Jackals standing on the side of the road. That number drops by two, then by four then by six as the morons go after a woman that obviously just cut off their friends’ heads with the same knives she’s using to kill the fuck out of them. Fucking morons.

You’d think being cautious would be part of the plan when coming across a woman like Elsbeth. I mean, it’s not like they didn’t have warning. They saw what she could do back at that meadow.

Oh, wait...no they didn’t. For once, Elsbeth was getting her ass handed to her. They didn’t see her beat Barfly. They saw his head get blown open by John’s bullet.

Well, no wonder they’re dying like morons. My bad.

Elsbeth dodges a baseball bat then jumps, planting a foot on the back tire of the Humvee. She pushes off and soars into the air, her hands slashing this way and that. It’s like watching a big cat in full kill mode. Every single molecule of her is focused on her prey and not one ounce of energy is wasted.

A man screams, a woman gurgles and two more are gone, falling into pools of their own blood. That leaves two Jackals and Husky Woman to take on Elsbeth. Yeah, good luck with that.

The two Jackals look to Husky Woman and even with dog heads on, I can see the fear in their eyes.

“Fuck this shit,” one of them says. He turns and runs, but only makes it a couple of steps before one of Elsbeth’s knives lands between his shoulder blades.

“He was trying to get away!” the last man shouts. “You can’t kill a person that is trying to-.”

His throat is slashed completely open just above his collarbones. His hands go to the river of blood that is pouring out of him as he falls to his knees. There are some choking sounds, but it’s all over so fast that the guy doesn’t really have time to make a strong statement about his death.

I hope I get the last word when I die.

Which could be right now as a blade is pressed to my own throat.

“You move and he dies!” Husky Woman yells.

“Then kill him,” Elsbeth says. “Then I kill you.”

I’m pulled to my feet and all the blood races to my head and I cry out. Head rush! My vision is nothing but black spots and motes of light. My hearing is a deafening thrum. The world is lost to me.

I’m jostled this way and that. The blade is to my throat, then gone, and then back then gone. Through the pounding of blood in my head and ears, I hear some shouts, a few grunts, and a final, last pained scream.

My legs hold and I know I’m not dead because I can feel a slight breeze drying the blood on the back of my head. I try to focus my eyes, but I am totally blind and see nothing but red.

Until Elsbeth wipes the blood from my eyes.

“Oh, hey, there you are,” I smile. “You kill her?”

“All over you,” she replies. “Sorry.”

“So, not my blood in my eyes?” I ask.

“Not your blood in your eyes,” Elsbeth replies as she continues to clean my face.

“I’m going to ignore the ick factor and just say thanks,” I say.

“You’re welcome, Long Pork,” Elsbeth grins. “It’s what I do.”

“And you do it so well,” I sigh. She finishes cleaning me and I look around. “Where did everyone go, anyway? Did you really tell them to run?”

“Yep. I sent them towards the camp when I saw the cannies go after you,” Elsbeth says. “The soldiers wanted to argue, but Stella changed their minds.”

“Yeah, I bet she did. I can only- Hey! What do you mean when you saw the cannies going after me? You let them get me?”

“I had to save Stella and the kids,” Elsbeth replies. “Priorities.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “And thank you for that, but they could have killed me.”

“Nah. I knew I had time,” she shrugs. “You talk so fucking much.”

“They whacked the fuck out of my head, though,” I say as I feel the huge lump forming on the back of my skull. “That could have killed me right there.”

She just shrugs again.

“Right, but I didn’t die so it’s all good.” I stumble a little and she helps me over to the Humvee. “Ooh, sitting is good.”

“Jace!” Stella yells as she comes running up the road followed by several PCs. “You’re alive!”

“Yippee,” I say and twirl my fingers. “Jace Stanford dodges another bullet.”

“They didn’t have bullets, stupid,” Elsbeth says.

“Yes, I know they didn’t literally have… Oh, you’re fucking with me.”

“Totally fucking with your shit,” Elsbeth smiles as she slaps me on the shoulder. “You just got shit fucked, Long Pork.”

“Yeah, I think we need to talk about the proper use of that phrase,” I say just before Stella wraps herself about me. “But that’ll have to be later.”

My wife pretty much loses her shit and I hold her as she sobs and sobs. If my head didn’t hurt so much I’d probably sob with her, but instead I just keep my arms about her as tight as I can and let her work it out.

“Better?” I ask when she finally quiets.

“Better,” she sniffs.

“Where are the kids?”

“Back at the camp helping with the other prisoners,” Stella replies. “A lot of our people were in the other barn. They found Stuart, Dr. McCormick, Melissa, even Boyd.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Boyd,” Stella says. “You know Boyd.”

“Yeah,” Elsbeth says. “Everyone knows Boyd.”

“I don’t know Boyd,” I say. “Who the fuck is Boyd?”

“They must have really hit you,” Stella says. “Let’s get you to the camp. We’re staying there tonight while we inventory their supplies. We’ll rendezvous with the rest at the factory tomorrow.”

“The factory? Boyd? I’m so confused,” I whine.

“Just sit tight and you can rest after Dr. McCormick checks you out,” Stella says as she climbs into the Humvee with me.

Elsbeth rides shotgun again while a PC hops into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

I think I stay awake for exactly point one seconds.

Chapter Ten

The Cookers really didn’t have much in the way of supplies. Lots of handmade melee weapons and a good amount of rainwater stored in barrels, but other than the few bodies packed in salt (they had plenty of salt, which was good), there really wasn’t much. Not even clothes, coats, or anything to keep them warm during the winter. They were truly living a bare bones existence.

No pun intended. You know, because of ‘bare bones’ and I’m talking about cannibals? Right?

Okay, I’ll shut up.

The morning light was like a billion daggers in my eyes as we drove west towards the factory. I guess Lourdes and her people barely got out of Knoxville and fled until they found an old RV manufacturing plant. That’s where we pull into as the caravan of Humvees, and the few vehicles from the Cookers’ camp that Elsbeth didn’t blow up, come to a dusty halt.

Yeah, Elsbeth set the vehicles to blow so we could get away. That was nice of her.

I still haven’t gotten the full story from Elsbeth about how she got captured, or didn’t get captured, but there’s time for that. I do not have the energy to push and tangle with that woman right now. The circular logic alone could cause an aneurysm.

Even though it is just barely past dawn, there is a shit ton of activity around the two huge metal buildings that make up the factory. People are welding, drilling, sawing, and whatever the fuck else you do when you make big shit for even bigger shit.

“All of them have multi-fuel engines,” Lourdes explains as we get out of the Humvees and stare at the hustle and bustle. “We’re stripping out everything that is not essential for surviving on the road. Every ounce counts from now on. We have no idea what fuel will be available and how many detours we’ll need to take to get to Boulder.”

“So we are for sure going to Boulder?” I ask.

“Yes,” Stuart says as he limps up to me. Half his face is covered in bandages and the part that isn’t covered is crisscrossed with a million cuts. He ignores my stare and keeps talking. “Some of the folks in the other pens told us about how Kansas City is a wasteland and to avoid it at all costs. I don’t know if we can completely, but we certainly aren’t going to waste time checking the place out.”

“So some of the captives were coming from the West?” I ask. “That doesn’t bode well.”

“Nothing bodes well,” Lourdes says.

“Jace? I’m going to take the kids to find some food,” Stella says, a worried look on her face. “I’ll let you guys talk this out. We’ll have a meeting later tonight to decide everything, okay?”

“Okay,” I say as I kiss her quickly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

“Listen Jace,” Lourdes says and I know what she’s about to say is not going to make me happy. “About that meeting. I don’t think this convoy should be a civilian operation any longer.”

“There are no civilians in the apocalypse,” I reply, intentionally ignoring her meaning. “We’re all soldiers in the war on the undead.”

“You know what I mean,” she says. “I think, and so do most of the others, that Stella should step down as being in charge and let those of us that know how to keep everyone alive do their jobs.”

“That what you think, Stuart?” I ask as I lean against the Humvee. “That we need military rule?”

“No, I agree with you, Jace,” Stuart says and I can see even the simple act of answering my question hurts him. I can’t wait to get his side of what went down that day in Knoxville. “But I agree with Lourdes, as well. While we are on the road, we need to have a clear chain of command. No more committee meetings, no more getting people’s opinions before we act. If we are going to survive until Boulder, we have to have someone in charge that can make the hard choices and get as many of us there alive as possible.”

“As many of us…” I echo and let the words fall away. “You don’t think we are all going to survive, do you?”

“We haven’t so far,” Stuart says. “We lost a lot of people in Knoxville and a lot at the Cookers’ camp. We did pick up a few of the cannies that surrendered instantly. Not everyone there was there because they wanted to be.”

“Whoa, wait, we’re saving cannies now?” I ask. “I guess I missed that this morning when we were loading up.”

“Something wrong with saving cannies?” Elsbeth asks.

“You know what I mean,” I snap.

“We need numbers if we are going to survive the next 1300 miles,” Stuart says. “And who are we to judge who lives and who dies? We’ve all done horrible things to stay alive in this world since Z-Day. There isn’t a fucking saint in this ragtag bunch.”

“Amen to that,” Buzz says.

I look around and see Buzz, Porky, Pup, John, Lourdes, Stuart, and Elsbeth staring at me. Everyone else has gone into the largest of the factory buildings to get washed up, have some food, and to get some rest.

“When did you have time to talk about this?” I ask. “While I was passed out last night?”

“It’s amazing how much we can get done without your mouth around,” Stuart smirks, then grunts with pain. “But, seriously, Jace. We are deep in the shit and Lourdes knows how to get us out of it better than anyone here.”

“Almost better than anyone,” John says, “but her peeps won’t listen to me, so she gets to call the shots.”

“Please don’t say peeps,” I cringe. “Or bro. Those two words are off limits from here on out.”

“Amen to that,” Stuart nods.

“This isn’t going to be a take over,” Lourdes says. “We’ll gather everyone tonight and have a vote, but those that vote against will need to find their own rides. I can’t have dissent while we are on the road. All it takes is a single moment’s hesitation and everything goes to shit.”

“Wow,” is all I can say to that. “Join us or be exiled. Lovely.”

“It’s not like that,” Buzz says. “Not at all. We’ve just got to get our crap together, Jace. We’ve been so focused on running from what’s chasing us that we’ve forgotten about what’s in front.”

“And that’s a whole lotta Hell,” John says. “Nothing is going to get better, just worse. We have to have our shit stored and locked down tight.”

“You don’t store shit,” Elsbeth says, then holds up a hand and hooks a thumb towards me. “Sorry. I know what you mean. I hang out with him too much.”

“Nice,” I frown. “Have you told anyone else yet?” I point at the PCs and survivors busily working on retrofitting the RVs that fill the huge parking lot in front of the factory buildings. “Are these people working their asses off thinking they still have a vote?”

“They do still have a vote,” Lourdes says. “They just may not have rides, that’s all. This is a ‘what’s best for all’ scenario. Sometimes everyone’s safety comes first before everyone’s rights.”

“Spare me the post 911 rationale,” I snap. “I lived through the war on terror, thank you. No one was safer and everyone was a lot less free.”

“Not really a sound analogy,” Stuart says. “This isn’t some perceived threat that may or may not happen, Jace. It’s happening now and we are already deep in it. We dove headfirst and slammed into the bottom. Now we have to deal with the aftermath.”

I close my eyes and start to shake my head, but the pain nearly makes my knees give out and I grab onto the Humvee to stay standing.

“Let’s get you inside so you can rest more,” John says. “I also want Reaper to check you out. Dr. McCormick is good, but she’s also traumatized from the cannibal camp. A fresh pair of eyes could keep you from dying in your sleep.”

He gets a thumbs up to that.

Porky and Pup each take an arm and help me towards the buildings. They are so fucking big that I pretty much just drag my toes and don’t have to walk at all.

Just before we get to the big building, I realize something.

“Hey, Pup?” I ask. “Where’s your uncle? Where’s Critter?”

“We don’t know,” Pup says. “He’s one of the ones still missing.”

“Is anyone looking for him?”

“No,” Porky answers. “Not enough people and not enough time. If he ain’t dead, he’ll find us.”

“What if we leave before he does?” I ask.

“He’ll find us,” Buzz says from directly behind me. “Don’t you worry none about that.”

***

I’m more than groggy as I sit on the hard concrete floor of the big factory building. Stella has just woken me up from a less than restful nap. It was one of those naps where you don’t know if you are asleep or awake and your dreams mix with the sounds of reality.

All that kept running through my head while I tried to sleep was how people would react once they knew that a military coup was happening.

Okay, okay, maybe not a “coup,” but it sure as shit isn’t democracy in action.

I’ve got Greta on one side and Charlie on the other. They are pretty much propping me up and keeping me from toppling over.

Stella is standing up front with Lourdes, Buzz, and Stuart. My wife does not look like a happy camper. Hell, she doesn’t look like a happy cannibal camper and they are a lot less cheerful than regular campers, believe me.

Lourdes has just let everyone know what her plan is and the building is silent. It’s not the reaction I was expecting. I was thinking more vocal outrage and maybe some fist shaking. But everyone sits there before the four of them and listens; no shouting, no voices raised in anger and outrage.

Everyone is so exhausted, so scared, so ready to get someplace safe that they are willing to overlook everything Lourdes is saying.

“This isn’t permanent,” Lourdes says. “This is only while the convoy is in place. Once we reach our destination, Stella will take control again and we can work on getting civilization up and running once more.”

Still, no one speaks out. They sit there, some looking from Lourdes to Stella and back, some looking at their neighbors, some looking down at their hands as they hang their heads. But no one argues at all.

Which means it’s up to me.

“I’m sorry, but this is bullshit,” I say as I slowly get to my feet. The room swims, but I keep my feet and take a deep breath. “If we give up the basic right of freedom of choice, we are no different than the Zs. We’re just a bunch of shambling morons getting from Point A to Point B. Why even bother with the convoy?” I spread my arms, then wish I hadn’t as I struggle to keep my balance. “Why not just stay here? These buildings can house a lot of people and we obviously have tools and supplies.”

“We have tools, yes,” Lourdes says, “but supplies are short. We’ll be out of food and water by the end of next week.”

“Then how will we survive on the road?” I ask. “It’ll take longer than that to get to Boulder, especially with the haul truck blown to shit. We have nothing to clear the road.”

“We’re outfitting a couple of RVs with plows,” Lourdes says. “They’ll shove cars out of the way as we go. And, some of the folks we saved last night have told us that there are quite a few clear stretches along the interstates. People have tried to get things back to a semblance of civilization.”

“And where are those people?” I ask. “Are they here now? If so, what went wrong? Why leave?”

I look around the huge space and find quite a few new folks that refuse to look at me.

“Let me guess,” I laugh. “You had a good thing going, and then times got hard. A well meaning person decided that maybe some rules needed to be in place and the next thing you know you’re all running for your lives because the shit hit the dictatorial fan. That about sum it up?”

No answers from anyone, but I don’t expect any.

“Stella supports this,” Stuart says, “and so do I.”

“Stuart, man, I love you like a brother, but I also remember when you were Brenda’s trigger finger. As much as I want to believe you, I just can’t. I’ve seen the people you’ve killed since Z-Day.”

“We’ve all killed people,” Stuart replies, not taking my bait. “And we all have to live with those memories. But the only way we can live with those memories is to stay alive, Jace.”

Scared faces, confused faces, that’s what I see as I look for sympathy amongst the crowd. Not a single person is in solidarity with me here. They want to live and survive so bad that they will do so at any cost.

“Fine,” I nod. Ow. “Lourdes is in charge while we are a convoy, no problem. But to abandon anyone that disagrees? That’s pretty fucking barbaric.”

“Order will be…” Lourdes starts.

“Fuck your order!” I yell. “This is the mother fucking apocalypse! Every time someone tries to maintain order, innocent people die! We maintained order in Whispering Pines and any unlucky bum that came by the gate got shot! Vance wanted to establish order and we had to blow up the whole fucking subdivision to fight him off! Mondello wanted order and brought an army to take us out! The Consortium wants order and they fucking dirty bombed Asheville to get it! Order will be the mother fucking death of us! FUCK YOUR ORDER!”

“Dad,” Greta says softly, suddenly at my side. “Sit down.”

“I’m not going to fucking sit down!” I shout. “I’m not! I didn’t live this long in this mother fucking hell to be told what to do! No one fucking tells me what to do! I’m a fucking human being and I have fucking inalienable rights!”

“Dad,” Charlie says from my other side. “It’s cool. We know what you mean.”

“I don’t think you do,” I snap. “You’re a kid, Charlie. You both are. You’ve never lived free. You’ve always had parents that can override your decisions and tell you what to do. To live free, then to have that freedom taken away is one of the worst feelings in the world. Worse than death…”

I realize the stupidity of those last words and sigh.

“I just don’t want to die without my freedom,” I sigh. “I can’t die without my freedom. Then it will have all been for nothing and I should have just offed my family on Z-Day.”

“Jason Stanford, you will take those words back this second!” Stella snaps. She stomps over to me and gets right in my face. “You selfish, sorry prick! How dare you say something like that as if it was your choice to make! I am not your property and your kids are not your property! At no point during all of this waking nightmare have you ever had the authority to decide whether I live or die! You talk about freedom and then spout that bullshit? Fuck you, Jason Stanford! FUCK YOU!”

“Uh-oh, sounds like mommy and daddy are fightin’,” a voice calls out from behind us. “That can’t be good. I’d back down, Long Pork. Ain’t nobody gonna win, not even you, when Stella gets all riled up like that.”

We all turn to see a somewhat welcome sight.

Critter.

He’s standing with a couple of the PCs. They aren’t there because of him, but because of who is with him.

Kramer.

“Hello, everyone,” Dr. Kramer says. “I see we are having a discussion. Sorry to be late. I hope I haven’t missed the good parts.”

“Shut yer hole, Kramer,” Critter snaps and the man quiets down immediately.

I don’t know what happened between them out there, but Critter obviously has put the mad doctor in his place.

“I caught the gist of what is happenin’ when I pulled up,” Critter says. “These gentlemen were kind enough to let me know that martial law has been established. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“It’s not martial law,” Lourdes says.

“Don’t get your lady boxers in a bunch, sweet guns,” Critter says as he walks through the seated crowd and up to the woman. “You haven’t heard my take on all this. And I can see from a few faces out there that there might be some interest in what an older, more experienced person such as me might think.”

“Please,” Lourdes says. “The floor is yours.”

“Thank you,” Critter replies after a quick bow. “Hey, folks. Miss me?”

Finally, a few smiles start to show up on the faces of the crowd.

“I figured as much,” he chuckles. “Now, if I have this right, Ms. Lourdes here will be in charge as long as the convoy is on the road, then she gives up control to Stella once we get to our destination. And I am in total agreement.”

There are some surprised gasps.

“That’s right, I think it’s a fine idea to let the person that knows the most about gettin’ a convoy safely to its destination be in charge,” Critter says. “And you all know how much respect I have for Stella Stanford, so her takin’ control again has my vote as well.”

“But…,” I prod.

“Thank you, Jace,” Critter smiles. “I knew I could count on you to spot the but.”

A little laughter, but mainly expectation.

“The but is what happens if our destination doesn’t want Stella to have any control?” Critter asks. “What if we get there and we are either not welcomed, or we are not allowed to have a say in what happens to us?”

He lets that sink in.

“I wouldn’t mind if we figure that out before I fully give up my right to die a free man,” Critter says. “Because, unfortunate as it was, I have spent the past couple of days alone with Kramer. Now, I don’t believe everythin’ he told me, but there are some nuggets of truth that are botherin’ me somethin’ wicked like.”

“Like what?” Stuart asks, looking from Critter to Kramer. “What information haven’t you told us?”

“Quite a lot, Gunnery Sergeant,” Dr. Kramer grins. “You didn’t think I’d spill it all and lose my only insurance policy, did you? I’ve given you what you need to know to stay alive on the road, but when you get to Boulder, you’ll still need me to get you inside.”

“Well, of course he hasn’t told us everythin’,” Critter laughs. “Wouldn’t expect a weasel like him to be forthcomin’, now would we?”

“I can get him to talk,” Buzz says.

“Oh, Mr. Fitzpatrick, I am sure you could,” Kramer grins. “But would what I say be of any value? That is the question one must ask themselves when they propose torture as a means to gather information.”

“See?” Critter frowned. “I have been dealin’ with that shit for hours and hours and hours. Nearly killed him myself.”

“Can we get back to the root of all of this?” I ask. “The fact that we still need freedom to…”

“Oh, cram your freedom fantasy up your asshole, Long Pork,” Critter snapped. “What the hell do you know about freedom? What do any of us know? Not a goddamn bit, that’s what. You think we were free before Z-Day? We ain’t never been free! This country was a lie from the start and those of you that lived in your little subdivision ate that lie up like a dog eatin’ it’s own puke!”

“Could have done without that visual,” Charlie says.

“No shit,” Greta responds.

“Hush,” Stella growls.

They hush.

“I grew up where my own daddy whipped me harder than he whipped our mule,” Critter said. “That ain’t free. I was drafted and spent four years in a nasty jungle against my will. Four years of killin’ people I didn’t know enough to hate. That ain’t free.”

Critter was in Vietnam? Didn’t know that.

“I spent the rest of my life runnin’ from the law because I wanted a piece of the lie like everyone else,” Critter continued. “That ain’t free. Now I gotta live with you losers instead of being back in my holler with a jar of ‘shine and a plate of barbecue. That ain’t free.”

He zeroes in on me and it takes all of my willpower not to look away from those intense, beady eyes.

“You don’t know what real freedom is, Jason Stanford,” Critter says. “You never have, boy. So don’t stand there and fill these people’s heads with your arguments for this and your arguments against that. You are wastin’ their time and you are wastin’ my time. We need to be back on the road and we need to be doin’ that now. So shut that smart mouth of yours and let’s get this convoy rollin’. Understood?”

Well, it’s not like I can say much to that. The crotchety old fart has a point. I may not agree with his points, but for the first time tonight, I see some small bits of hope on the faces before me.

“Understood,” I say. “But I am going to propose a change in leadership.”

“Are you now?” Lourdes sighs. “This should be good.”

“I propose Critter is in charge,” I say. “He can defer to you how he wants, and he may want to defer everything, but I’d feel a lot better if he was the man with the final vote. He’s been fighting all his life and he knows the unwritten rules of a brutal road. He’s a criminal, a rebel, an asshole, and a leader. That’s who I want telling me what to do when I die, not a soldier.”

“Now hold on a damn…’”Critter starts to protest.

“I second that motion,” Buzz says.

“And I’ll third it,” Stella says as she reaches out and takes my hand. “I think Critter would be the perfect choice.”

“Stuart?” Lourdes asks. “What are your thoughts?”

“Once again, Jace pulls the answer out of his ass,” Stuart smiles, winces, then smiles again. “The man is a survivor and I sure as shit know he won’t let power go to his head.”

“Hey, now!” Critter cries. “I don’t want the damn job!”

“Tough shit,” I say. “All in favor of Critter Fitzpatrick being the man in charge?”

“Aye!” the crowd shouts.

“That sounded pretty damned unanimous,” Stuart says as he claps Critter on the shoulder.  “Bet you didn’t see that coming when you started your speech.”

“I hate you, Long Pork,” Critter says as he glares at me. “You know that, right? I’ll get you for this.”

“Hey, you’re in charge now,” I grin. “You can always order me to be dragged behind one of the RVs.”

“I might just do that,” he says.

“You will not,” Stella snaps. “Don’t you even try.”

Critter keeps grumbling as folks stand and approach him. There’s a lot of hand shaking and back slapping, but I don’t pay too much attention to it as I see Elsbeth slowly make her way from the building.

“You think she’ll be alright?” I ask Stella.

“You’re worried about El? When I just reamed you out in front of everyone?” Stella laughs. “You are fucked up, Jason Stanford.”

“No argument there,” Greta says.

“It’s a documented fact,” Charlie adds.

“Fuck you all,” I smirk. “You suck.”

***

It takes two more days to get everything together so we can head out on the road. Fifteen RVs with miscellaneous vehicles interspersed to act as flanking guards and also to block any attacks. One of the vehicles is Critter’s Jeep, which he insisted he would drive, until he was told by everyone that as leader he had to be in one of the RVs.

He was not happy, to say the least.

Everything is distributed evenly amongst the RVs based on how many occupants there are. If anyone gets separated, they’ll have a fighting chance to keep going for at least a little while. However, with a total of fifteen RVs, all armored and outfitted for combat travel, it would be pretty surprising if anything can separate us.

But, hey, surprising is the theme of the apocalypse apparently.

At least that’s what I’m thinking as we only get a half mile down the road and the convoy has to come to a stop. It was decided that I would ride up in the second to the front RV with my family. We also have Stuart, John, Elsbeth, Reaper, and all the Fitzpatricks, including Melissa. Critter is up in the front RV with Lourdes and that’s where the order to stop comes from over the radio.

“What you got, Uncle Critter?” Buzz asks over the radio.

“A bit of a snag,” Critter says. “Looks like we have a bunch of cannies that want a word with us before we go.”

“Cannies?” Buzz asks. “Just run them down.”

“Well, that was my first thought, but they’re waving white flags and shit,” Critter replies. “I believe they’d like a parlay.”

“What? Are we pirates?” I laugh.

“Jace wants to know if we’re pirates,” Buzz relays.

“That was a joke,” I say then see Buzz’s smirk.

“Tell Long Pork to get his butt up here since they want to speak with him directly,” Critter replies and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t know what that boy did, but we ain’t goin’ nowhere until he fixes it.”

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Come on,” Elsbeth sighs. “I’ll go with you.”

“We’re all going,” Stella says then looks at the kids, “except for you two. Stay put.”

“Yeah, not a problem,” Charlie says.

“You couldn’t make me go out there,” Greta adds.

“I’ll stay with them,” Melissa says. “I have had my fill of cannies.”

“And Pup will still be in the driver’s seat,” Buzz says, “in case we need to move fast.”

“Then let the parlay begin,” I sigh. “Awesome.”

We all leave the RV and make our way to the first one where Critter and Lourdes are waiting. I glance back and see a PC settling themselves on top of each of the RVs, their rifles and carbines at the ready.

“What did you do?” Critter grins at me as we proceed towards the crowd of post-apocalyptic misfits that block the road.

“Mr. Stanford! Jace!” a man says from the front of the crowd. He’s dressed in ratty cargo shorts and a torn tee shirt, but with a spotless top hat covering his head. He takes the hat off and bows. “It is nice to meet on much friendlier terms.”

I don’t really recognize the man, but I do recognize the voice.

“Mr. Flips?” I ask.

“The one and only,” Mr. Flips replies as he dons his hat once more. “It was a little dark when we met first so I am not surprised you didn’t realize who I was right away.”

“What the fuck do you want?” I snap. “You can wave those white flags all you want, but you fucking put me and my family into Cannibal Road! I should let the PCs shoot the fuck out of you!”

The white flag waving stops and I see nothing but fear as the canny group turns its attention to Mr. Flip.

The cannie announcer swallows hard and clears his throat. “Yes, well, you would be within your rights.”

“Don’t get him started on rights,” Critter grins then steps forward. “Hell, don’t bother talkin’ to the fool at all. Apparently, I’m the idiot in charge around here, so say what you need to say to me.”

“Ah, well, alright, mister…”

“Critter. Ain’t no mister in front of it,” Critter says. “I ain’t as fancy as someone called Mr. Flips.”

“What do you want, Flips?” I ask.

“We’d like to come with you,” Mr. Flips replies as he gestures to the crowd of about thirty cannies behind him. “Some scouts have returned from their outings and informed us that you have quite an angry hornet’s nest looking for you. Unfortunately, they will have to come our way to get to you. While not all agree, and the majority has stayed behind, I came to the conclusion that it would be better to join you on the run than stay behind and hope we meet mercy.”

“Ain’t no mercy for cannies,” Elsbeth says.

“No truer words have been spoken,” Mr. Flips nods.

“We do not have the room or resources for this many people,” Lourdes says. “Even if we agreed to have a bunch of killers join our ranks.”

“More true words,” Mr. Flips replies. “But we wouldn’t be a burden on you at all. We have our own vehicles and supplies. We would just like to benefit from your expertise and the safety numbers provide.”

“Fuck you,” Stella says.

“I’m going to have to agree with my wife, Flips,” I shrug. “She does have a point there.”

“We’ll train behind you and won’t mix with your party unless we are invited,” Mr. Flips says. “And every person here has sworn they will no longer consume human meat. No harm will come to a single hair in your convoy from us. This I can swear on my life.”

“Give us a second, will ya?” Critter asks and motions for us to take a few steps back and huddle up. “What do y’all think?”

All eyes fall on me.

“Hey, I’m not in charge,” I say, but keep speaking before the insults fly my way. “Yet he makes an argument about the safety in numbers thing. We are bound to lose a percentage of the convoy at some point. Having the cannies with us may mean they are that percentage instead of us.”

“We keep them as decoys?” Stuart asks. “Let them take the heat when we get attacked?”

“They ride in shitty pickups and motorcycles,” I say. “If anyone will be targets it’ll be them first.”

“How democratic of you,” Lourdes smirks.

“When in Rome…” I reply.

“Then they come with,” Critter says. “We don’t trust them, we don’t let them out of our sight, and we don’t ever let them catch us off guard. We do this and eyes are open from the get go.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss,” I say.

“Damn right,” Critter says and turns back to Mr. Flips and his canny crew. “Y’all can come with, but we will be watchin’ you. You make one wrong move and it’s all over. There will be no warnin’ and no second chances. You’re joinin’ a bunch of folk that know how to kill and puttin’ some cannies down will not make half of us blink.”

“As it should be,” Mr. Flips says and bows again. “We thank you for your kindness.”

“It ain’t kindness, it’s about the numbers like ya said,” Critter frowns. “Now get your people ready because we are moving out now. You get left behind and that’s your fault, not mine. Ya hear what I’m sayin’?”

“Loud and clear, Critter,” Mr. Flips nods, and then lets out a loud whistle. The sounds of engines roaring to life make us all jump and pistols and rifles are lifted instantly. Mr. Flips holds his hands up. “My apologies! I have a flair for the dramatic! We’ll fall in line as soon as you pass!”

Several shitty pickups and motorcycles, just as I predicted, roll out of the woods on each side of the interstate. The crowd of cannies hurries off to their respective rides, leaving us alone with Mr. Flips.

Critter steps forward and offers his hand. “No second chances. Not a one.”

“Deal, sir,” Mr. Flips says as he shakes Critter’s hand.

“And one more thing,” I say as I point at the motorcycle riders. “No goggles.”

Everyone looks at me.

“What? I hate goggles,” I say. “They just fucking drive me crazy.”

“They need them to keep the bugs out of their eyes,” Mr. Flips frowns. “But if it is a nonnegotiable term then I’ll…”

“They can keep their stupid goggles,” Critter says as he shakes his head at me. “This is why you ain’t in charge, Long Pork. Sayin’ stupid shit like that.”

“Worth a shot,” I say quietly.

A truck pulls up and Mr. Flips nods to us, and then is helped up into the bed with quite the post-apocalyptic posse.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Critter says.

“My words exactly,” Mr. Flips smiles down at us.

“Jesus. What have I done?” Critter sighs as he stalks back to his RV.

We all return to our RV and take our seats as the convoy moves out. The kids’ eyes go wide as we drive past the cannies while they wait their turn to take up the rear.

“Uh…,” is all Charlie can say.

“No shit,” Greta adds. “A major fucking uh.”

“Yeah, we have some new friends,” I say. “Always nice to make friends in the apocalypse.”

“If you say so,” Greta replies. “Mom?”

“They promised not to eat us,” Stella shrugs. “Stuart and Critter think they’ll make good decoys if we get attacked.”

“Oh, well that’s cool,” Greta says and then relaxes instantly. “We don’t need friends, but decoys are always good.”

“Totally,” Charlie agrees.

“We’ve raised monsters,” Stella sighs.

“At least we still have them to raise,” I say.

That brings the mood in the RV down a notch and I instantly regret saying the words.

But they are true.

I have my wife and kids with me. We’ve been driven from our home, nearly eaten, and yet here we sit in a fucking armored RV, rolling down I-40 on our way to the great unknown that is the post-apocalyptic world we live in.

“This thing have a CD player?” I ask. “Can we have some tunes while we go?”

“Yeah, hold on,” Pup says from up front. “Here we go.”

The surround sound speakers were pulled out because of weight, but there are still two speakers up front and I can’t help but smile as Steppenwolf’s “Born To Be Wild” starts up.

“Nice,” I say and close my eyes.

“Is there any Jay-Z?” Charlie asks.

“Or Katy Perry?” Greta shouts over the sounds of the sixties anthem.

I drift off as the kids start to bicker over what music to listen to next. For once, I can give two shits about them fighting, I’m just glad they are alive and we are putting distance between us and Cannibal Road, even if we are taking a little part of it with us.

A hand slips into mine and I don’t have to open my eyes to know whose it is. As sleep takes me, I am perfectly happy with my last conscious thought being that if I were to die while holding my wife’s hand, that would be all the freedom I’d need.

That’s all the freedom I’ve ever needed.

The End

Read on for a free sample of Jake’s Law: A Zombie Novel

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

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

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

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

1

April, 15, 2015   Florence State Prison, Florence, AZ –

The cloying stench of death and the reek of the unwashed dying permeated the air. It clung to his clothing and seeped through the bandana covering his mouth and nose in a failed attempt to stifle the foul odor. A century of death and decay wept from the limestone walls like a miasma, joining this new source of foulness. Levi Coombs fought down the nausea gripping his stomach and grabbed the legs of the body, while Howard ‘Ax’ Axleman wrestled with the corpse’s arms. Together, they flung the corpse onto the cart as they would a bag of manure. The body meant little to either of them. He was a convict like them, and cons meant nothing to anybody, people who society had disaffiliated, dismissed, and discarded. After three years behind bars, Levi had lost all respect for his fellow man and his fellow inmates. He had seen the worst society had to offer, all crammed onto a few acres tucked away out of sight behind high walls and razor wire, guarded by men with guns.

“Whew! He’s ripe,” Ax commented, wiping his hands on his pants and wrinkling his nose beneath his handkerchief mask.

“He didn’t smell much better alive,” Levi said. “Bastard’s farts stank up the entire cell block.”

Ax chuckled. “Yeah, Andrews was a piece of shit, all right. Still, it’s a nasty way to go.” He paused before glancing up at Levi. His brown eyes peering over his handkerchief looked troubled. “He might be the lucky one.”

Levi glanced down at the corpse. The raw, ragged wound in Andrews’ neck where a Staggerer had ripped out a fist-sized chunk of flesh might have killed him, but he was a dead man anyway. Like most of the population, Andrews had the Staggers, coughing up his lungs and crying like a child for his dead momma. The neat round bullet hole in his head had been added shortly after death by one of the few remaining guards to prevent Andrews from turning zombie like the others.

“None of us are getting out of here alive,” Levi said. “The guards had rather see us dead than outside roaming free.”

As they rolled the cart down the corridor, the squeaky wheels created ghostly echoes reflecting from the walls in the nearly deserted cell block, sounding like the moans of the dead. A few residents peered warily through their unlocked cell doors but elected to remain inside, choosing the relative safety of their cells over the freedom of movement. Just outside the cell block door, they dumped Andrews’ body unceremoniously onto the growing pile of corpses ripening in the sun, disturbing the flies crawling over the bloated flesh. The flies rose from the corpses in a dark cloud, buzzing obscenely.

Andrews was the last body in Unit 8, at least so far. Death had become so prevalent, so expected, that no one in the unit held out much hope for their chances of survival. Most of them simply waited for their inevitable death. Levi wasn’t that complacent. He wasn’t going to join the pile of cremated corpses.

A guard stood outside holding a red plastic can of gasoline in one hand and a 9 mm Colt Carbine in the other. He eyed the corpses and the two men with equal disdain.

“Stand back,” he yelled, waving the barrel of the Carbine at the two men.

Levi raised his hands as a gesture of submission and stepped back. Ax did the same. Both knew better than to argue with the guards. No one questioned whether a corpse was a Staggerer or a con who had failed to obey a guard’s orders quickly enough. The guard emptied the two-gallon container over the pile of corpses, backed away several yards, and pulled a road flare from his back pocket. From past experience, Levi knew what was coming and retreated to the open door of the Unit 8 cell block. He glanced at the death house next door where legal executions had once taken place. Now, anywhere would suffice. Any execution carried out by a guard was legal. No one questioned their reasoning. No one cared.

The guard struck the flare on the concrete sidewalk and tossed it onto the stack of corpses. With a sudden whoosh, the bodies became a blazing funeral pyre, to be cremated without fanfare or ceremony, simply trash to be disposed of on the rubbish heap. The guard, his duty done, turned and left, walking past several blackened stains on the concrete from previous pyres. He paid no more attention to Levi or to Ax. His fellow guard in the tower at the corner of the wall had them in his sights. To the guards, the two cons were just pieces of meat awaiting disposal.

Levi was used to such callous treatment. When he had arrived at the Florence State Prison in 2012 as a three-time loser, he had been shoved into a cage and quickly forgotten. Living among thieves, murderers, rapists, gang bangers, and drug dealers, he had become as hard and as unyielding as the concrete surrounding him and as sharp as the razor wire running atop the walls. He had fought with guards and with fellow inmates, but mostly he had fought with himself. One thing only had saved him from descending into the dark pit of oblivion – the wild mustangs.

Training and caring for the wild mustangs the Bureau of Land Management brought to the prison had kept him sane. Breaking and riding the feral horses, even in the small dirt enclosure allotted to them, had given him his only taste of freedom, his only contact with a living creature pure and unsullied by man’s dark desires or his need to screw over one another. Now, the mustangs were gone, released when the Staggers hit the state. The authorities had seen to the freedom of the animals but kept the cons inside to die.

Levi didn’t know what the Staggers were, nor did he care. Rumors flew in a prison like toilet paper in a riot. Everyone had his tale to tell. All he knew was that people became sick, died, and came back to life. At first, they stumbled around like drunks, thus the name Staggers, but as time passed, they became fast, deadly killers consuming human flesh. The infirmary was full of the dead and the dying and only one overworked doctor remained on duty. Sick cons remained where they were, and the harried doctor came cell-to-cell checking on them when he could.

The first casualty Levi had witnessed in Unit 8 was Big Moose Callahan in for rape and murder. He fell ill and died within six days, hacking up his lungs like a TB patient. Before they could remove the body, Moose came back to life, attacked a guard, and ate his face. After that, all hell broke loose. The sick were separated from the healthy. Every cough sent men scurrying in the other direction.

Of the almost 4,000 convicts in the Florence State Prison, fewer than three hundred remained. The cons near the end of their sentences, or those deemed safe for early release, had been freed a few months earlier, leaving only the hardcore criminals. Since then, Levi had been attacked twice. He bore a livid scar on this right side where a shiv made from a toothbrush had almost punctured a kidney. The doctor had stopped the bleeding, stitched the wound, and returned him to lockup. Now, he carried a weapon of his own, a sharpened piece of copper tubing ripped from one of the bathroom sinks. Only one person had threatened him since, and his body had been burned with the Stagger victims.

A pall of black smoke, reeking of scorched flesh and gasoline, billowed around his face. He brushed back his long red hair and coughed. “We’ve got to get out of here,” he told Ax.

Ax rolled his eyes. “Sure. Why don’t you just ask a bull for the key?” he said, hitching his thumb at the retreating guard.

Ax’s sarcasm annoyed Levi, but he let it slide. “I have a better idea,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

Ax stared at him. “What?”

Levi shook his head. The best secret was the one only one person knew. “I’ll show you tonight in the cafeteria.”

He paced his small cell the remainder of the afternoon. The door wasn’t locked. He could have walked the length of the entire cell block if he wished, or wandered onto the yard. The remaining cons could now come and go as they pleased within the confines of the prison, but few chose that option. The guards were trigger happy, and one stumble could turn a fall into death sentence. One cough could invite a bullet to the head. Having a barred metal door to shut if someone turned zombie was another reason most remained indoors.

That evening, in the much shorter than usual chow line, Levi took his place behind a con named McHugh, a great hulk of a man with a nasty disposition and a reputation for hurting people for pleasure. He didn’t like McHugh, and McHugh didn’t like anyone. He was taking a chance getting so near the quick-tempered con, but tonight the risk was worth it. As they shuffled down the food line, McHugh loaded his tray with double helpings of everything, growling his displeasure at the hapless servers who cowered from him. Levi placed nothing on his tray. His stomach still reeled from the stench of the dead. He remained close behind McHugh, following him down the serving line. As they neared a table, Levi raised his empty tray, slammed the corner of it into the back of McHugh’s head with all his might, and then shoved the stunned man forward into the space between tables. McHugh, dazed by the unexpected blow, dropped his heaping tray of food and stumbled around groaning, banging into tables and reaching out blindly to maintain his balance.

“Staggerer!” Levi shouted at the top of his lungs and pointed at McHugh.

Other frightened voices immediately took up the yell. Cons scattered like frightened children as the guards closed in, shoving their way through the throng like bulldozers, swinging wooden truncheons at random heads too slow to move out of their way. Levi grabbed a confused Ax by the arm and yanked him along; joining one group huddled near the kitchen door. McHugh recovered enough sense to realize what had happened. He searched the room for his attacker. As his gaze fell on Levi, he raised his hand, pointed, and growled in rage. As he did, his head exploded, disintegrating from a flurry of bullets from frightened guards standing on walkways above the mess hall floor. Brains and blood sprayed the floor, the tables, plates of abandoned food, and the nearby cons. Men panicked. A melee ensued, as men scurried away from the gore, afraid the disease was spread by blood.

Mouthing a silent thanks to McHugh for his unintended aid, Levi and Ax eased through the kitchen door unnoticed. The cooks and cook’s helpers were staring at the turmoil on the floor and paid little attention to them, as they slipped into one of the trash bins.

They waited for hours in the filthy bin, buried beneath scraps of food, potato peelings, and empty cans. The smell was nauseating, but not as bad as the burning bodies. Eventually, as Levi knew they would, the workers rolled the full trash bins to the incinerator room where trash was ground into small bits before being burned. As he hoped, with the shortage of guards, they were allowing the trash to build up before separating the recyclables from the burnable trash, if they still bothered with such petty details in a world no longer concerned with environmental issues. After the workers hauling the trash and the single guard accompanying them left, he and Ax slipped out of the bins.

Covered in food scraps, Ax looked around the room, his hands on his hips. “What now?” he asked.

Levi brushed a dried crust of mashed potatoes from his shirt and pointed up at the smokestack rising from the incinerator dominating the center of the room. A conveyor belt ran across the room, ending in the massive jaws of the grinder, last step before the incinerator. When active, the incinerator burned trash at temperatures of over 1000 degrees Fahrenheit. A series of recovery systems trapped and scrubbed harmful flue gases of their toxic chemicals. The system rarely worked as efficiently as the EPA required, but it was easier to pay the fines than to repair the unit. One benefit of the system was that the waste heat provided hot water for the showers. Now, it was silent.

“We climb out there,” he said.

“Are you crazy?” Ax replied. “We’ll fry.”

Levi smiled. “Relax. The incinerator is off. We can stand a little heat. There’s a maintenance ladder inside. Once we’re outside, another ladder will take us back down to the roof. From there, it’s a hop, skip, and a jump over the wall.”

Ax eyed the incinerator with trepidation. “What if they decide to start it up?”

He chuckled. “Then, my friend, we die a horrible death.”

After using a metal rod to pry open the small maintenance door used to remove ash from the incinerator, and wriggling his way through the tiny opening, Levi stood inside the narrow chimney and stared at the small circle of moonlight above him. It represented freedom. Ax, groaning and bitching, forced his bulk through the small opening and stood inside the smokestack.

“Christ Almighty, it’s hot in here,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow with his hand.

“And you say you’re from Arizona,” Levi chided.

The heat from the idle burners was stifling, not hot enough to kill, but enough to discourage them from spending any more time inside than necessary. He didn’t see the need to inform Ax that he had tripped a sensor when he had opened the incinerator door. It was unlikely any guards were monitoring the trash room, but if so, they would likely be shot dead before they made it to the wall. Once outside the walls and a decent distance away, they would be safe. Too many cons had died during the plague for the guards to expend time and energy chasing down and re-capturing escapees.

He climbed up the narrow ladder first with Ax following closely behind him. The rungs were hot, but his hands had become tough from roping and breaking wild mustangs. The heat didn’t bother him. It was barely as hot as Yuma on a midsummer’s day. He closed his eyes as he climbed and imagined the feel of cool free air on his face. However, Ax had been an accountant before accidently killing his client during an argument over dubious money movements. His hands were soft as a baby’s ass.

Ax seemed a strange companion for a prison break. He had no skills. He was lousy in a fight. Levi had taken pity on him one day when two cons started shoving him around. He had given Howard the nickname ‘Ax’ to make him at least sound tougher than he was. He wasn’t a friend. Levi had no friends. The only thing Ax could offer Levi was the ability to watch his back after they escaped. He couldn’t stay awake twenty-four hours a day and he didn’t want to wake up with a Staggerer munching on his leg. There was no one else in the prison he could trust not to slit his throat in his sleep.

Ax’s constant stream of complaints as they climbed grated on Levi’s nerves. “Shut the hell up,” he finally shouted down to his reluctant companion, “and climb.”

At the top of the smokestack, he peered over the edge. Only two of the guard towers were manned full time, both at opposite ends of the yard, the reason he had chosen this particular spot to make his escape. The tower nearest them was manned only occasionally. He couldn’t see anyone in it, but no lights didn’t mean no guard. The searchlights from the other two towers swept the walls at roughly five minute intervals, just long enough to climb the wall and get over the top. If the dark tower was manned, or if they took too long to scale the wall, they would be shot. It was a risk he was willing to take. Remaining inside was quickly becoming a death sentence.

They descended the smokestack to the roof, lay flat while the searchlights passed over them, and then shimmied down a drainpipe to the ground. Moving in the shadows as much as possible, they made their way to a small metal tool shed near the east wall. The shed was locked, but that didn’t matter to Levi. He had made other arrangements.

“How are we going to get over the wall?” Ax asked. His gaze followed the twin searchlight beams as they swept along the walls and the courtyard.

Levi had meticulously planned his escape. To answer his companion’s question, he produced a length of old fire hose from beneath a pile of depleted fire extinguishers awaiting refills. A two-barb hook he had fashioned from copper pipe had been shoved down the mouth of the nozzle to make a crude grappling hook.

“With this. I made sure I was on the fire extinguisher detail. We hook the wire on the wall and climb up.”

“We’ll be cut to shreds,” Ax moaned. “Besides, the wire’s electrified.”

Levi grinned and pulled a roll of copper wire from his pants pocket. Tied in a loop at one end serving as weight were several half-inch steel nuts he had been surreptitiously removing from the garage for weeks. He threw back a dusty tarp to reveal a rolled up and discarded bunk mattress. He had spent three weeks stealing small snips of copper wire and secreting the other items near the shed. All he had needed to set his plan in motion was help from the hapless McHugh.

“We short out the fence and lay the mattress over the wire.”

Ax frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this?”

“Because you’ve got a big mouth. Now, come on.”

When the searchlights had reached the far end of the yard, the two rushed across the open space and hugged the shadow of the wall. Levi attached one end of the copper wire to a metal drainpipe and flung the heavy, weighted end over the razor wire, releasing his grip before it touched the wire. Sparks flew as the wire shorted. The searchlights went dark as the fuses blew. Quickly, he stepped away from the wall and twirled the fire hose to gain momentum. Then he tossed it up and over the coiled razor wire. On his first attempt, it fell short. The barb caught on the lip of the wall. It took him several heart-stopping moments to free the hose and try again. He sighed with relief as it snagged the wire on his second toss. He handed one end of the hose to Ax.

“Now, pull.”

The wire stretched taut but remained in place, secured by the steel posts embedded in the concrete. Hoisting the mattress over his shoulder, secured by a piece of twine, Levi began climbing the hose hand over hand, feet braced against the wall. He reached the top, slung the mattress over the wire, and signaled for Ax to follow him. The out-of-shape accountant struggled up the hose, eating away at their precious time. The searchlights flared as an emergency auxiliary circuit was thrown. They had very little time remaining. Levi considered leaving his companion behind, but the frightened Ax redoubled his efforts. With both of them on the top of the wall, protected from the sharp wire by the mattress, Levi pulled up the hose, dropped it over the outside wall, and slid down the other side.

The hard earth beneath his shoes renewed his strength. Years in the prison had dulled his senses. Now they were fully awake, revitalized. He took a deep breath. The air, free of the stench of other prisoners and death, filled his lungs with joy. He would not go back to prison.

Ax’s descent was ungainly, but he managed to reach the ground without falling to his death. Heading southeast, they passed the water tower he had gazed upon so many times. It had stood like a giant taunting his confinement. They soon reached the Florence Canal, the first of three they would have to ford to reach safety. The water was cold but only reached to his knees. As they waded across it, the first sirens began wailing behind them signaling their escape. They had no time to stop and rest.

They encountered the first zombies stumbling along the railroad tracks. The creatures were gaunt and slow moving. Until he saw them, Levi had no true idea of how bad the situation outside the prison walls was. The creatures were starving because human prey had become scarce. That meant either few living people remained in the area, or they were remaining indoors. That was bad for the survivors, but good for them. With few people watching, they could make good their escape. The zombies spotted the two humans and gave half-hearted chase, but their emaciated condition slowed them down. Levi easily outran them, but Ax struggled to keep up. Levi didn’t bother looking back. Ax either kept up or he died.

At the Central Arizona Project, the last and the largest of the three canals they would have to cross, Ax knelt on the ground catching his breath while Levi studied the current. The CAP was deeper than the other canals, and the water, fed by pumps, ran swiftly. The ribbon of concrete meandered from the Colorado River to points throughout the state, delivering water to farms, cities, and reservoirs. There was no way across except for the bridges at the roads, and they would be watched. They would have to swim. He took a deep breath and dove into the frigid water without hesitation. He didn’t know if his companion could swim, but such thoughts didn’t enter his mind. He was free, and he intended to remain so at any cost.

An hour later, wet, cold, and exhausted, they reached a mobile home on the outskirts of Florence. It appeared abandoned, but the pair approached carefully. Now was not the time to receive a load of buckshot in the face from an overly cautious homeowner. The door wasn’t locked. Inside, the trailer was empty of people with signs of being hastily abandoned. Stale, rotting food remained on the table. Drawers had been pulled out of counters and their contents dumped on the floor. Levi stripped off his wet prison uniform, toweled dry, and in the pile of discarded clothing on the bedroom floor found a pair of pants and a shirt that fit. There was no food in the cabinets, but he discovered a six-pack of hot beer beneath the sink. He popped a top and guzzled it down, his first taste of beer in three long years. It tasted like manna from heaven.

Ax walked into the small kitchen from the bedroom looking ridiculous in a too small ASU jersey and a pair of bright red exercise shorts. His pale legs almost glowed in the darkness of the trailer. “What’s next?” he asked.

Levi collapsed into a chair and finished his beer. “We wait until things die down, and then make our way to Tucson.”

“Why Tucson? I’m from Phoenix.”

Levi shook his head. For an accountant, Ax could be incredibly stupid. “And I’m from Yuma, and those will be the first places they look for us.” He picked up a straw Stetson sitting on the coffee table and tried it on. It fit. Soon, they would need food and transportation, but he knew the police would give up the chase quickly. They had bigger problems to deal with than a pair of escaped convicts. Once the commotion died down, they would find refuge in Tucson. A breakdown in society was an opportunity for men like him. With a few like-minded individuals, they could survive the apocalypse nicely, taking what they wanted, living like kings. He lay back in his chair, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and dreamt of his future in the new world.

Jake’s Law is available from Amazon here

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter FourSo...Knoxville.

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Jake Bible

1April, 15, 2015 Florence State Prison, Florence, AZ –