Z-Burbia 3: Estate Of The Dead (10 page)

But most of them keep looking at Elsbeth
, who is busy trying to pretend she isn’t the object of their attention. Which is weird for Elsbeth. Normally, she’d be all up in someone’s face if they kept staring at her. But here? Not so much.

I’m guessing because she lacks the intimidation factor
that she has with everyone back at Whispering Pines or the Grove Park. Or she’s just freaked out. I know, despite my fun detour to the library, I’m shitting bricks.

“I should introduce us, shouldn’t I?” Cassie says. “First, I’m Cassandra, but go by Cassie.”

“Hey, Cassie!” the women say and then laugh.

Uh…okay.

She then introduces each of them. Lacy, Tracy, Stacy, Brittany, and Antoinette. Also Dehlia, Marcie, Steph, Belinda, and Audrey. I think Melissa nailed it with the whole sorority names thing.

“And you know Carly here,” Cassie smiles, pointing at Elsbeth. “It’s great to have her back with the sisters.”

“Carly?” I ask. “You mean Elsbeth?”

“That’s what she calls herself
now
,” Cassie says.

“What Pa called me,” Elsbeth says quietly. It’s the first she’s mentioned Pa in a long time.

The girls all grow tense and quiet. Then they seem to snap out of it and start talking and laughing. I guess introductions are out of the way.

“Okay, now that we’re all on a first name basis, how about letting us in on whom you actually are and how you ended up here?” I say.

“Fair enough,” Cassie says and starts in on her story
.
Thei
r
story.

She talks about being held in a cave or prison or something. About a crazy madman that tortured them, warped them, made them do
things, learn things, and…kill things. I can see by the looks on my peeps’ faces that I’m not the only one thinking we’ve walked into some crazy Twilight Zone spy novel thingy.

Then Z-Day. And Ms. Foster.

It all clicks.

What Ms. Foster told me about Elsbeth and why she wanted me to help find her. If
Foster’d been straight with me, and told me the real story, things might have gone better. For her and for everyone else. Instead, it led to Ms. Foster losing her head.

Literally.

“We fought our asses off,” Cassie says. “Moved from house to house, building to building, always staying barely one step ahead of the Zs. It was months before we made it here.” She holds her hands out wide. “They’d already sealed off the grounds, so that was in our favor. But there were all the Zs wandering about.”

“It was a long time before we had all of them organized and in place,” Brittany laughs. The others laugh with her.

“Pretty good camouflage,” Stuart says. “I’ve been down here dozens of times and never thought it was worth checking out.”

“And good job staying off the radar,” Melissa ads. “Didn’t have a clue someone was living here. Even my uncle, Critter, didn’t know.”

The women all stop and look at Melissa.

“Critter,
” Antoinette says. “Wow.”

“Wow? I don’t think
mentioning him has ever gotten that reaction,” Melissa laughs.

“What she means is Critter is a legend with us,” Cassie says. “He’s the only person alive that we can’t track. At least not for long. He may not see us, but eventually he gets spooked and ditches us. He’s good.”

“Really good,” Brittany adds.

“I spent a whole day trying to find him once,” Lacy agrees
, “lost him after fifteen minutes and never found him again.”

“Yeah, that’s my Uncle Critter,” Melissa says. “Slipperier than squirrel shit.”

This sends the women into a laughing fit and it’s a few minutes before the giggles finally die down.

“Squirrel shit,” Brittany snickers.

The light starts to dwindle through the massive windows behind us and I realize it must be close to eight at night. Jesus, Stella must be freaking out! I pull out my phone and try to text her, but it doesn’t go through.

“Your phone work?” I ask Stuart.

He tries his again and again then shakes his head. Melissa’s is out too. So is the PC’s (Jeff. Apparently, the guy’s name is Jeff. Need to remember that).

“
Wi-Fi is out,” Cassie says. “Started going down as soon as the mega-herd moved past the power plant and up I-26. By the time the Zs hit I-40 it was out city wide.”

“How do you know that?” Stuart asks.

Cassie pulls out her own phone. “We’ve been monitoring all communications for months.” She shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea.”

“That’s how you know so much about my family,” I say. Cassie smiles and nods.

“I have to pee,” Elsbeth says. Or Carly. No, no, she’s Elsbeth.

“Pee outside,” Stacy says. “The toilets are tricky in this house. We only use them during winter when we have to. Keeps the plumbing issues down.”

“So you have running water?” I ask as Elsbeth gets up and walks quickly from the room.

“Yep,” Brittany says. “There’s
a huge cistern on the grounds. And we have rain barrels. The water is gravity fed from tanks up top. It was the easiest way to hook it all up. Not all sinks work, of course. That would be too much.”

“But the ones we need to work
do,” Cassie says.

“Cool,” I say. Elsbeth still isn’t back. “Um, I need to pee too.”

Everyone smiles at me, but I can feel Cassie’s eyes watching as I leave the room. I hurry outside in the direction I think Elsbeth has gone and find her sitting on the massive steps that lead up into the front of the house.

“You okay?” I ask.

She wipes at her eyes and looks up at me. “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” I say, sitting down. “I’m sorry about Julio.”

“It’s not that,” Elsbeth says, “I’ll miss him, but I’m over it. I know he died because this world kills everyone.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say. She turns and gives me an Elsbeth look. “Okay, yeah, it does kill everyone eventually.”

“It does,” she nods.

“If it’s not Julio then what’s up?” I ask. “All of this? It’s pretty crazy.”

“I’m Elsbeth,” she states, “not Carly.”

“Yeah, I know,” I nod. “You’re Elsbeth. I won’t argue that and don’t plan on calling you anything else.”

This gets a little smile from her. “I knew Pa wasn’t my real Pa. I just knew it. He kept saying he was, but the things he did… Real pa’s don’t do that. You would never hurt Greta or Charlie.”

“Never,” I say
, “and I’d never hurt you. That’s not what family is for.”

“Not what family is for,” Elsbeth whispers. “They aren’t my real sisters, but they are my sisters. I don’t remember them, not really. Just bits and pieces. But I feel it.” She thumps her chest. “They are my sisters.”

“Good,” I say, “we could use more family.”

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “No, not for you. Not sisters for the Stanfords.” She looks over her shoulder and glances around. “They aren’t safe for the Stanfords.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Are we in danger?”

“No…I don’t think so,” she says then stands up abruptly. “I’ll show you.”

“Okay,” I say.

We go back inside, but instead of joining the others, Elsbeth takes my hand and leads me to the back of the grand staircase and the door to the basement. We go down through the rock passageways until we are in what’s called the Halloween Room (told you I used to come to the Biltmore a lot). The room is massive, with faded paintings of cats and bats, witches and princesses, castles and flocks of geese, covering the walls. There’s nothing in here, not even the displays that used to tell tourists all about the grand parties that were thrown down here during the Biltmore’s heyday.

But there is something in the corner. On a pedestal.

We walk closer and it doesn’t take me long to figure out what I’m looking at.

“Holy fuck,” I say, “is that…”

“Yeah,” Elsbeth nods
, “that’s Ms. Foster.”

“Well, just her head,” Cassie says from behind us.

I spin quickly and see all of the women there. Even Stuart, Melissa and…, shit, what’s his name, uh, Jeff! Yes, Jeff is there too.

“I bet you’d like me to explain,” Cassie says.

Chapter Four

“Get them in the gate!” Stella screams as she hurries past the lines of wounded. “Move it! We have to get this closed
, NOW!”

Her eyes go wide as she see’s Big Daddy F
itzpatrick being carried into Whispering Pines, half his face a torn mess and his clothes scorched and smoking. Her hand goes to her mouth, but she fights the gorge that wants to rise.

Shit needs to get done and Stella gets shit done.

“Buzz!” she yells as she sees one of Big Daddy’s sons help push people from Highway 251 and into Whispering Pines. “BUZZ!”

“Holy shit, Stella,” he says as he runs up to her
, “they’re everywhere!”

“What is going on?”

“Zs,” he says, “herds of them.”

“Herds…?” She lets the plural sink in. “But…how?”

“We don’t know the how, ma’am,” Critter says as he joins them after shouting orders to his crew. “But we know the numbers.” He glances at Buzz. “You want to tell her?”

“Thousands,” he says
, “maybe tens of thousands.”

“Mom? Mom!” Charlie yells from behind. “The
Wi-Fi is down! We can’t communicate with the Grove Park!”

“Shit,” Stella says, wiping a bl
ood-coated hand across her brow. “What the fuck is happening?”

“We’re under attack,” Critter says. “My guess? The powers that be are sick of our little rebuild effort. They are clearing the area of the living.”

“Powers that be?” Stella asks. “You mean the Consortium?”

Critter shrugs, his bony shoulders nearly touching his ears. “Just a guess from my gut.”

“I trust your gut,” Buzz says.

“Me too,” Stella says. She can see the way Buzz keeps looking around. “Your father? He’s being hurried up to the infirmary. How’d he get burned?”

“Truck flipped,” Buzz says, tears welling in his eyes. “My fault. We came around a bend and they were just there. A wall of Zs. I tried to keep control, but we went into a ditch and then it was all downhill from there.”

“Literally,” Critter adds. “I watched them roll a hundred feet.”

“We lost the Fertigs, the Santiagos,” Buzz says, “the Patels, and they were going to move into the Grove Park so the girls could take advantage of the school being set up there.”

“
The Patels?” Stella gasps. “Jennifer too?” Buzz nods. “Oh, God…Charlie…”

She spins and sees her son standing there. His face is ashen and his jaw hangs open as he slowly shakes his head. Jennifer Patel. His girlfriend.

“You’re wrong,” he growls, his eyes on Buzz, “they weren’t moving until tomorrow. She said so last night.”

“Sorry, bud,” Buzz says
, “they decided to train over with everyone going to the Counsel meeting. More room to haul their stuff that way.”

“No. No!” Charlie snaps. “NO! FUCK YOU, BUZZ!”

He leaps at the man, his seventeen year old teenage body slamming into the farm bred brick house that is Buzz Fitzpatrick. Buzz takes it in stride, let’s Charlie slam his fists against him over and over until the boy is exhausted and ready to collapse. Buzz takes him in his arms and holds him tight, his eyes filled with tears for the pain he feels. For the pain they all feel.

“I know, I know,” Buzz says
, “I’m sorry.”

St
ella has her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.

“Where’s your
man?” Critter asks then stops. “Wait…what’re
you
doin’ here, boss lady? Why ain’t you at the Grove Park for the meeting?”

“My stomach wasn’t feeling well,” she answers
, “Jace went for me.”

“Shit,” Critter says
, “then he’s out there and not here.”

“He’s out there,” Stella says, stunned with the reality of that statement
, “with the Zs.”

Pup and Porky, the Fitzpatrick twins that are easily as big as their older
brother is, come running up to them.

“We can’t get the Farm,” Pup says.

“Wi-Fi won’t work,” Porky adds.

“How the hell is it out everywhere?” Critter asks, rubbing the grizzled stubble on his head. “It was working this morning.”

“We didn’t have herds of Zs this morning,” Buzz says.

Charlie pushes away and wipes his eyes. “Cutting off enemy communications is step one in a major attack. Then cut off supplies and if possible, overwhelm with numbers.”

“I’d say it’s more than possible,” Critter says. “Sheee-it. This is fucking war.”

“And the soldiers are at the Grove Park,” Buzz says
, “right?”

Stella nods. “There’s some PCs here, but Lourdes is at the GPI. And we can’t call her.”

***

“I want a status report!” Lourdes Torres shouts as she slams her hand down on the table. “Somebody tell me something!”

“We can’t,” one of the PCs, Hermes “Shots” Leonides says, “com is down. Radio is static. Wi-Fi is nothing. We are dead in the water.”

Lourdes rubs her face and looks at her command team. “As of right now we will consider this an all out attack. Asheville is under siege. I want all assault
Teams geared up and ready in ten minutes. Pack for the field because once we leave here we may not be back for a while.”

“Jesus,” Barbara “Babs” Carlyle says
, “this is fucking Cleveland all over again.”

“Hardly,” Sean “Poker Face” Booker replies. “Don’t smell half as bad as Cleveland.”

“Ten minutes,” Lourdes says. “Go!”

***

The body armor protects his forearm as the Z chomps down, but Joe T still cries out, more from rage than pain. He swings his arm, lifting the Z like a terrier hanging onto a chew toy, and flings the thing halfway across the water transfer station.

Men and women scream about him, whether because they are fighting for their lives or losing their lives, Joe T can’t tell. All he knows is everything
has gone to shit in a fucking hand basket in seconds. His instincts tell him to abandon the station and get his ass back to base, back to the Grove Park, but his duty tells him he has to fight and fight and fight until he kills every last Z or is killed by them.

“Joe!” a man yells close by. “I’m out! I need ammo!”

Joe T has one magazine left for his M-4 and tosses it to the man, letting his rifle drop as he pulls his Desert Eagle from his hip. He fires once and vaporizes a Z’s skull as it lurches towards him. He fires again, ripping the top half of a Z’s head off. He fires a third time, but only nails a Z’s chest as the things get too close to get a good shot off. Joe T is about to go down under a pile of the undead.

“Fall back!” Joe T yells. “Get the fuck out of here!”

He runs backward, firing until his pistol clicks empty. A quick glance over his shoulder tells him he’s close to where he wants to be and that’s by the main valve system.

“Let’s purge,” he scowls.

He bashes a Z over the head with his empty pistol, crushing the thing’s skull. Kicking out, he knocks another Z against the ever encroaching herd. It gives him enough time to hop up onto a metal platform and turn his attention to a large valve prominently painted red. The warning sign by the valve reads, “Danger. Do not open fully. High pressure. Do not open fully. Danger.”

“Let’s schedule some maintenance,” Joe T says. “HEADS UP!”

Those men and women still alive glance his way, see what he’s about to do, and book it to higher ground. They jump up on vehicles, climb utility poles, scramble on top of the trailer used as an office. They all get anywhere that isn’t the ground.

Joe T twists the valve with all his might. It doesn’t move. He braces his legs and readjusts his grip. His muscles strain, tendons in his neck close to snapping, as he cranks, and cranks, and cranks.
Finally, the valve starts to ease. He turns as fast as he can and a loud warning claxon rings out across the station.

Joe T steps back, grabs a fresh magazine, ejects the spent one from his Desert Eagle, and slams the fresh one home. The Zs surround his little platform, their hungry faces looking up at him, their arms outstretched, needing, wanting, yearning.

“Hungry, fuckers?” Joe T asks. “Too bad because all we got is drinks tonight.”

There’s a groaning within the complex of pipes and Joe T smiles down at the undead herd.

Then everything bursts around him, enveloping his body in an explosion of water and iron.

***

“I want all bitten in the house next door!” Dr. McCormick shouts. “I don’t care what their other wounds are! The infirmary is for people I can fucking save, not for the already dead!”

“We can’t just leave them to die,” Greta
Stanford snaps. Fourteen years old, she is a tall, long legged mix of her mother and father. “They need help!”

“
There’s nothing I can help them with!” Dr. McCormick snaps. “A bite is death!”

“My dad was bitten and he cut off his own arm! We can help them!” Greta says.

A woman screams as she is dragged into the infirmary, clutching at her stomach as her intestines spill from between her fingers. A man wails as he stares at what used to be his hands, but are now mangled twists of bone and flesh.

Dr. McCormick looks around and realizes what she’s seeing
and it’s like a veil has been lifted.

They’ve all been bitten.

She turns to Greta. “I need every saw we have. I want blowtorches, propane stoves, anything that can cauterize a wound. Get me axes, machetes, whatever I can start hacking with. And I need more people! We’ll start at this end and work down. Someone hacks and someone burns. Got it?”

“Got it,” Greta nods as she runs from the infirmary.

“Sweet, God, help me,” Dr. McCormick whispers, “God help us all.”

***

“Close it up!” Stella yells. “Close the gates!”

She stands at the top of the watchtower next to the massive gate that
marks the entrance to Whispering Pines. The wounded keep coming, most of them clutching others that are in even worse shape than they are. She knows that if she closes the gates she’ll strand dozens outside. But she has no choice.

The Zs are right behind them. She can see hundreds coming, shuffling and moaning their way to the buffet on legs.

She has no choice
.

***

“AAAAAAAAAHHHH!” a man screams as Greta hacks off his leg at the knee.

“Burn that!” she yells to the woman standing next to her with a hand held butane torch. “Don’t fucking stand there! Close that wound!”

“But I…I can’t,” the woman says.

Greta grabs the torch from the woman and presses the blue flame against the man’s leg. He screams again then passes out.

“Fuck you,” Greta says to the woman, “get your useless fucking ass away from me.”

Hatchet in one hand, torch in the other, Greta moves to the next man. He looks from the hatchet to the torch as he clutches his wrist.

“Take the whole arm,” he grunts, “only way to be sure.”

“Fucking A right
it is,” Great says as she raises the hatchet.

***

The Humvee hops the curb and races up the front lawn of a large Victorian house on Charlotte Street, followed closely by a second Humvee.

“No com, nothing,” the driver says as men and women jump out of the
Humvees and take up positions along the house’s front porch. “Radios won’t work.”

“Full jamming,” Shots says. “Fuck it. I don’t need a radio to kill some zeds! Take ‘em!”

The ten PCs open fire on the front wave of the herd that fills the street. Undead bodies shudder and dance as they are ripped apart by .223 caliber rounds. Someone tosses a grenade and yells, “Frag!” just before the thing goes off. Putrid limbs and offal fly everywhere. One of the PCs steps forward and unleashes a geyser of flame from his thrower. The herd turns into a burning wall of flesh.

“Keep it going!” Shots yells. “Do not stop until you go Winchester! Then get in the
Humvees!”

Huey
Team keeps firing, emptying every magazine they have on them. When every last cartridge is spent, the Team jumps back in the Humvees and speeds off, turning up a side road, ready to flank the endless column of Zs that marches towards the Grove Park Inn.

***

Duey Team stand on top of the old Claxton Elementary school building, rifles to their shoulders. Two of them hold RPG launchers at the ready.

“Just give us the go ahead, chief,” a man says as he glances over at Babs.

“Don’t worry, Connor,” she says, “I will.”

The herd of Zs fills every square inch of available space on Merrim
on Ave as it stretches as far back as downtown where she can see them pouring over the sides of the I-240 overpass, falling to the road and joining their undead comrades.