Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (25 page)

"Need some help?"

"Nah, I gotta earn my keep. I'm glad you're
back. I missed you." Jasper took an awkward step forward and
dwarfed the gruff man in a full-on hug. I'm not talking one of
those I'm a man hugs that's more a shoulder bump. This was an H-U-G
hug. Striker let loose an uncomfortable chortle and dislodged
himself from the portly man's grip, ending the strange exchange
with a pat on the shoulder.

"I'm just making sure these folks arrived
safely, bud. I'm not staying."

Jasper's expression turned glum upon hearing
the news and he looked hurt. "But how can we be best friends if you
aren't here? Did I do something bad?"

Now it was Striker's turn to look pained. "Of
course not. We're still friends. I just need to be somewhere else
for right now."

His response satisfied the man, and the sad
expression was quickly replaced with the goofy grin again. "Best
friends, you silly goose," Jasper said with zeal. "We're best
friends, Striker!" He shoved Striker playfully, unable to gauge his
own strength, and Striker stumbled back a few steps before
regaining his balance.

"Whoa, easy there, big guy," Striker
joked.

Vance stepped from behind the pillar beside
the gate. He was African American and had a strikingly dark
complexion. He was a freak of a man, not anything to do with his
skin color, which was actually quite lovely. Vance was tall, easily
over seven-feet, maybe even close to eight. Seriously, he was the
tallest man I had ever seen outside the NBA. His height was
intimidating, and I shrunk in his presence, managing to bite back a
cry of surprise.

"Holy crap!" Meg blurted. She, apparently,
had lost that battle. I can't tell a lie even to myself. I felt a
bit vindicated at her outburst, since until now, I'd been the only
person to say stupid crap at inappropriate moments, and I coughed
to cover the sound of laughter that escaped me.

As physically imposing as Vance was, when my
gaze travelled the miles up to his face, I was surprised to see a
warm smile. He looked like a kind man, disarming almost. Though,
smile or not, I wouldn't want to come across a man as huge as Vance
in dark alley.

"Let's get these things cleared away so these
fine people can pass, Jasper." He spoke with a velvety tenor,
almost like Barry White, that I suspect would make women everywhere
go squishy in their nether regions.

"Ooh, sorry, guys," replied Jasper, jumping
into motion. One by one, he removed the corpses. First he'd poke at
the dead zombie with a long stick, making sure it was dead, he told
us. Then he disarmed the bear trap and loaded the body onto a small
trailer attached to the tail end of the golf cart. I was relieved
to see he wore long rubber gloves for the activity. After the last
of the traps had been emptied, he dragged the two corpses from the
gate and added them to the pile. His final duty, before carting
them away, was to hose the path and eliminate the mess of blood and
bits of something that I refused to look too closely at.

"Jasper," called Striker as the man squeezed
himself back into the golf cart, "it was good to see you, buddy.
Keep up the good work."

Jasper looked up at him, that puppy dog
expression returning, and said, "You, too. Come home soon, Striker,
and it can be like the old days again!" With one last goofy smile
of adoration, he put the pedal down and chugged away with a shout.
"Hi-ho Silver. Away!"

"Oh, he is so precious," I said, meaning
every word. I loved his personality and positive attitude, and I
would be doing a little recon about 'the old days' as soon as
possible.

"Heh," Vance chuckled, removing the chains
from around the gate. "He's a good boy, not a mean bone in his
body. Some don't have the patience to deal with him, but me,
personally, he keeps a smile on my face, and I keep him safe."

The gate opened and the tall man stepped out
to greet us. This time, though, he and Striker did do the shoulder
bump hug. Ah, men, so predictable.

"It's good to see you, man," said
Striker.

'It's good to see you still playing the
hero," Vance responded. "Any chance I could convince you to come in
and stay a bit?"

Striker eyed the gate contemptuously. "Not a
chance."

"Well, you can't blame a guy for trying. So,
introduce me to your friends, you rude bastard," he joked.

"Meet the Rossi's. Emma, Jake, and Meg."

Vance stuck out his giant hand to Jake, who
returned the gesture. "Nice to meet you, Jake. I'm Tracey
Vance."

I bit my bottom lip to keep from opening it
and letting something completely rude and, once again,
inappropriate slip out. Don't do it. Do not say a word. Look away!
For Christ's sake, compose yourself, you immature child! I fought
the urge with every fiber of my being and was proud to keep myself
in check. Of course, I was wrong, and whatever war was scrabbling
around in my brain must have been painted all over my face.

He peered down at me and cracked a smile. "I
bet you can guess why I go by Vance, can't you, little lady?"

The dam burst and a string of hysterics
spewed out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea. "Oh, my God. It is so
bad. I fully accept the fact that I'm an asshole, but," I had
expelled all the air from my lungs and sucked in a big breath
before continuing, "it is just...so bad. I can't believe your
parents would do that to you."

He just looked down at me, dragging out the
moment in awkward silence. My eyes darted to where Jake and Meg
stood beside Striker, and I could tell by the looks on their faces
that they were completely mortified by my lack of self-control.

"I am so sorry," I admitted. "I have a filter
problem. And by that I mean I have no filter."

He laughed a hearty full laugh from the
depths of his belly. "Trust me. I know it's bad. But it's
refreshing to find someone ballsy enough to take a jab at me."

The other's joined in laughing, nervously at
first in fear of the big man going Hulk on us without warning. The
humor petered out, and we were all business again.

"Where did Jasper take those things?" asked
Meg. I'm glad she asked, because I was wondering that myself.

"There's a private beach at the end of the
estates. We pile them there and burn them once the pile starts to
get too big. Usually, once a week; sometimes less, sometimes
more."

I glanced in the direction of the beach.
"Will he be alright on his own?" I asked.

"Yeah, Jasper may be light in mental
faculties, but he more than makes up for it with his survival
skills. He'll surprise you, that one. I'd trust him to watch my
back any day."

Vance stepped closer, sending Daphne into a
fit of barks and growls from the carrier bag. "What the hell is
that? A rat?" he quipped, bending down to look into the
carrier.

One very disturbing fact about the little
terrier was that she appeared to be a racist. I have no clue where
she got the idea that black people were the enemy, but she always
worked herself into a frenzy around them. It was so embarrassing,
and I always lied, coming up with another explanation. I'd tell
people she didn't like hats, she had a problem with colors, and
now, "She's scared of tall people."

I heard Jake snicker, knowing full well that
he knew I was lying out of my ass. My eyes narrowed, darting in his
direction and daring him to call me out. He gestured to his mouth
like he was turning the lock and chucking the key and looked away
before he said something we'd both have to backpedal from.

"Aw, it's okay, little fella. I'm not so
scary," he addressed her in a baby-talk voice and stretched his
hand, palm up toward the bag. "Whoa," he yelped, jumping back from
the dog's vicious attempts to reach him through the mesh.

"Stop that!" I scolded, and she settled down,
still letting out low growls with each exhale. "Sorry," I said to
Vance. "Small-dog syndrome."

Jake slapped his palm to his forehead and
held it there, hanging his head and shaking it. Yup, I was just
digging myself a deeper hole.

* * *

"This is the end of the road for me," Striker
told us as Vance ushered us through the open gate. A knowing glance
passed between the two men, and Striker addressed the lanky guard
directly. "Keep these folks safe; from them," he added. I assumed
by them he meant zombies, but I had a feeling it was something
else.

"You really won't stay?" asked Meg in
disbelief. "Not even for a little while?"

"Not even for a minute," he replied
cryptically.

She ran to him and flung her arms around his
neck, embracing him and thanking him for all he'd done for us. I
watched with emotional detachment as she turned her back on him,
wiped the tears from her eyes, and disappeared through the
opening.

Jake approached, gripping Striker's hand in a
strong shake. "Thank you for everything. You did right by us, man,
and we won't soon forget it."

I was next in line and took my time stepping
up to the stone-faced man. My resolve broke, and I looked away in
an attempt to staunch the flow of tears threatening to spill over.
I chewed on my lip while I tried to put into words what I felt, and
then I turned, stared up at him, and was still unable to speak.

"Stay frosty in there," he said, pointing to
the mansion with his chin. "Just because there's a wall doesn't
mean you can let your guard down."

"What does that even mean? Stop being so
cryptic." I was frustrated with him. Not only because he wouldn't
give it to me straight, but because I thought he was an idiot for
choosing to strike out on his own. The truth was that the mean
bastard had kind of grown on me, and I felt safer with him around.
His instincts had saved us more than once. With this new change in
Jake since Vinny died, I was more scared now than ever.

He refused to look at me again and inspected
his shoes with intensity. "You need to go so Vance can close the
gate," he told me.

"That's it?" I replied, exasperated with his
pigheaded stubbornness.

"What do you want from me?"

"How about some answers? Why won't you stay
here? Why are you content to live alone in a steel box? You know
what?" I asked, feeling my face redden from anger. "Forget it,
Striker. Just go, crawl back to your dark cave and don't worry
about us. We'll be just fine."

I spun on my heels to storm away when I felt
his hand rest on my arm, but I didn't turn to face him. Instead I
stood there, chest heaving in angry breaths, and waited for
whatever he was about to say.

"Emma, wait. I can't talk about it. I wish I
could, but I just can't." The emotion behind his words was
suffocating, but in that moment I couldn't get past the simple fact
that he was leaving our small group. He left me with a single
sentence before slinking back the way we came. "Don't trust Mack,
or the council."

I yanked my arm free and stalked through the
gate, hearing the chains clang against the iron as Vance wrapped
them back into place.

Chapter 16: Welcome to
Asylum

With the bodies removed, the air had returned to
breathable quality. Jake, Meg, and I loitered just inside the gate
while residents of Asylum gawked at us, making me feel out of
place. I shifted my weight nervously on the balls of my feet and
stepped closer to Jake.

When Vance had closed and locked the gate, he
stood in front of us with his disarming smile again. I made the
conscious effort to put Striker out of my mind, for now at least.
There was a lot more to that man's story, and I knew just the
person to ask. Jasper and I would be talking soon.

"Welcome to Asylum," he said, sweeping his
hand around the well-kept grounds.

"This place is enormous," marveled a
wide-eyed Meg.

"Thirty-six thousand square feet of
opulence."

"That's eighteen of our house packed into
one," deduced Jake. Our home had been 2,000 square feet under
air.

"What's going on up there?" I squinted up to
the highest point in the building. A round tower with a domed
ceiling was situated in the center of the mansion, and three men
armed with, what looked like, scoped rifles stood under the open
area.

"Ah," Vance said, "that's the tower.
Eighty-two feet high with panoramic views as far as the eye can
see. At least three snipers are stationed in the tower at all times
to keep an eye out for large groups of the undead. The gate is
effective in keeping out a handful, but it's not strong enough to
withstand any significant efforts." He noticed me eyeing the gate
with concern and attempted to quell my fears. "Don't worry though.
We haven't had any groups larger than twenty over this way, and the
shooters culled most of the herd before they got anywhere near the
gate. The traps pick up the stragglers."

"Sign me up for the grand tour," said Meg,
still taking in the view.

"All in good time, little one. The good news
is that there's room at the inn. The not-so-good news is that
before you can enter, we've got to follow new arrival
protocol."

I groaned, knowing all too well the
humiliation we were about to face. "Well, I hope you have some
females on hand and someplace less public, because I don't care how
charming you are, you're still not getting me naked."

"Have no fear, Miss Emma. I'm just the
doorman. This body," he jabbed a finger at his chest, "doesn't
leave the gate."

A smiling couple walked in our direction,
hand-in-hand, waving at us. The welcome-wagon had arrived. I
plastered on my best fake smile and waved back.

"Well, hi there!" the bubbly woman chirped at
me. "I'm Michele, and this is my hubby Mark. We've been tour guides
here at the Ringling estate for the last decade."

"Nice to meet both of you. I'm Emma, and this
is my husband, Jake, and his sister, Meg." Meg flashed her pearly
whites and wiggled her fingers in greeting. Jake, however, just
nodded at them.