Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell (4 page)

“You know what I mean.”

Elsbeth stares at him for a moment then nods. “Dawn.”

“Dawn,” Stuart agrees.

“Let’s get you guys some food,” Julio says
, “and some rest. We’ll be up early it looks like.”

The camp buzzes with the news, despite the threat of danger to their friends. More than enough volunteer to go
, and Stuart actually has to refuse some so there are still folks working on Whispering Pines. There’s some grumbling, but everyone has learned not to argue much with Stuart.

It’s
fully dark by the time Elsbeth and Julio crawl into their tent for some much needed sleep. Although, as Elsbeth strips down and crawls on top of Julio, sleep is the furthest thing from her mind. They are going at it hot and heavy when the explosions start.

They scramble from their tent, Julio s
truggling to pull on a pair of jeans, while Elsbeth just stands there naked. The light from the campfire plays across her skin, casting shadows against the multitude of burns and scars that cover almost every inch of her; gifts from her dead father.

“Jesus,” Stuart says as he sees Elsbeth
, “put some underwear on at least.”

She ignores him as they all stare towards the east and the glowing light of fire.

“What the hell do you think that is?” John asks appearing from the shadows like the sniper he is.

“Fuck if I know,” Julio says.

“Long Pork,” Elsbeth nods as if that decides it.

They all look at her and then at each other. Stuart rubs his face.

“She’s probably right,” he says. “What the fuck do you think he did now?”

“Looks like he got the gas on,” Julio says
, “and found out maybe why it was off in the first place.”

“Great,” Stuart says.

“We gonna go now?” Elsbeth asks. “Go check on that and Long Pork?”

“Jace is the opposite direction
from those explosions,” Stuart says. “And right now, every Z in Asheville is shambling towards those sounds. That’ll make things clearer tomorrow when we go to the transfer station, at least.”

“If the transfer station is still there,” Julio says. “He could have blown that up too.” Elsbeth gives him a look of death. “What? I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

“Tomorrow,” Stuart states. “Everyone get some sleep. Double watch tonight. Those explosions are gonna stir up the Zs. We could see more activity around the perimeters.”

There’s a general grumble at the news of the extra watch, but everyone heads off to their tents or duties, leaving Stuart by himself.

“Dammit, Jace,” he whispers, “what did you do now?”

***

I just sit here, exhausted, as I watch the dawn start to light up the windows. The explosions kept going for most of the night. Whatever I did, I fucked shit up big time.

“You get any sleep?” Leeds asks me.

“Nope. You?” I ask, standing up from the chair and stretching.

“Not a bit,” Leeds replies.

“Sorry,” I say. “I thought I had it figured out.”

“Oh, you had it figured out,” Leeds says. “You just hadn’t thought it through.”

“You could have stopped me,” I counter.

“Let’s not get into it again,” Leeds says. “The explosions drew away the Zs. I don’t hear any out there. We should be clear.”

“After you,” I say, motioning to the door.

“Gee, thanks,” Leeds says
, “Long Pork.”

“Are you really gonna start calling me that?” I ask as he slowly opens the door. A quick peek and he nods at me, stepping outside into the crisp, morning air.

“You redeem yourself and I’ll go back to calling you Stanford,” Leeds says, taking deep breaths of the fresh air. It’ll take us both a while to get the smell of the Z yuck out of our nose.

“No Jace?”

“You’re gonna have to really redeem yourself to get to that name,” Leeds says. “Until then, it’s Long Pork.”

“Great,” I say
, “thanks.”

We both stare at the pillars of smoke off in the east.

“Not good,” Leeds says. “Ready for a trip?”

“A trip? What?” I ask. “Shouldn’t we get back to Whispering Pines and meet up with the others?”

“That’ll take time we may not have,” Leeds says. “We need to reconnoiter the explosions and gather intel on the situation. We have to know what was damaged and how bad it is. If there’s a blaze out of control, then we’ll hustle back to Whispering Pines and warn the others.”

“Just the two of us? Not liking the sound of that.”

“I know you can handle yourself,” Leeds says, “and I’m no slouch in the field. We’ll move fast and stay quiet. We should get there by this afternoon at the latest.”

“What about the others? They’ll be looking for us?”

Leeds pulls his knife and kneels down, making what look like random marks on the concrete. “John’ll know what to do when he sees this. To anyone else, it’ll just be more marks in the ground.”

“We’ll be out of food and water by the time we get there,” I say, trying to find any excuse not to go. I really hate field trips into the Z infested unknown.

“Listen, if you want to stay here or go back to Whispering Pines, then do it,” Leeds says as he starts walking. “But I’m going that way. Do your thing or join me, Long Pork. Your decision. You’re not one of my men, so I can’t force you, or order you to come.”

I hurry to catch up. “No, of course not. You’ll just shame me into it.”

“Your shame is your problem, not mine,” Leeds smiles. “But glad you’re coming. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”

“We had all night to talk,” I say.

“Yes, but I wanted to pound your face in last night,” Leeds says. “The fresh air has cleared my head. Now we can talk.”

“It’s a wonder what getting away from the stench of rot will do for one’s disposition.”

We walk for a while without talking, though. Our eyes and ears are busy searching for approaching Zs, as we wind our way along Riverside Dr and the French Broad River, heading towards what was called the River Arts District pre-Z. Old industrial buildings that had been refurbished and turned into art studios, cafes, and lofts. We could cut up through Asheville and probably get to the smoke faster, but that would mean cutting through downtown. Between the Zs and the cannies, not the best idea. So we stick to Riverside.

We’re just past an old BBQ restaurant called 12 Bones when we see our first group of Zs. I’m actually surprised we didn’t come across more sooner. Maybe Leeds was right and the explosions drew them towards the east
, which is the direction we are headed, so we’ll catch up eventually. Joy.

The Zs are hunkered down, feeding, and don’t even notice us come up on them. By the time they do
, they only get a few hisses out before Leeds and I take them down. Only four, so not too hard.

We look at the remains of the unlucky victim they were snacking on.

“Canny?” Leeds asks.

“Not sure,” I say, nudging the corpses with the toe of my boot.

It’s a woman, we can see that, and she’s dressed in nasty looking rags, but something sticks out that troubles me. Her boots. Not nasty like her clothes, but almost new, steel-toed work boots.

Leeds notices them too and crouches down, getting a closer look. He lifts up her foot and checks the sole
, then lets it fall back to the ground.

“Not a canny,” I say.

“No,” Leeds says.

Her torso is pretty much ripped apart and her head is attached by a tendon or two and nothing more. Leeds doesn’t let this stop him as he pushes up her sleeves to examine her arms. He sighs and gets to his feet.

“TF,” he says. “She has the bar code tattooed on the inside of her arm.”

“TF? What the fuck is TF?”

“Tersch-Foster,” he answers, “Private military contractors.”

“Mercenaries?” I ask.

“No, no, they are legit,” Leeds says. “Well, that’s debatable in some circles. They tackled the civilian jobs we couldn’t tackle.”

“So black ops for hire?”

“Close enough,” Leeds says, looking around.

“You think she’s on her own?” I ask, having my own look. Every rustle of a bush, every creak of a tree branch has me twitching. I thought looking out for Zs was stressful, not even close to looking out for highly trained, very deadly people. People are the worst, man.

“She’s on a mission, that’s for sure,” Leeds says. “Her boots are off market Danners. You have to have a behind the scenes contract to get those. And they are pretty new.”

“Are you saying a company is still making military boots?” I laugh.

“No, don’t be dense,” Leeds says. “I’m saying she had access to a fresh supply. I doubt she’s just carrying them around with her.”

“So ratty clothes to blend in, look like a survivor, but new boots to keep her alive? And somewhere is a supply of boots? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a supply of more than just boots,” Leeds says. He walks a few feet away and kneels down, coming up with a small, black piece of plastic. He sighs deeply as he puts it in his ear. The normal frown on his face turns to a seriously troubled frown. He pulls out the plastic and tosses it towards the river. “Time to jog.”

“What? Why?”

“That com earpiece was active,” he replies as he starts jogging down the road. I catch up to him quickly, but don’t know exactly how long I’ll be able to keep the pace.

“Active? Earpiece? What the fuck, Captain?”

“Whoever was on the other end was trying to get her to answer,” Leeds says. “That was state of the art. They’ll track it to her location, which means they’ll track it to us if we don’t put some pavement between her body and our bodies.”

“Fucking great,” I say. “Just what we need: tourists.”

“Maybe these are the people Stuart and John were going to look in on,” Leeds says. “The ones at the Grove Park?”

“Could be,” I say. “I never saw their boots as we were fleeing Vance that day. Too busy shouting and pissing my pants.”

“At least you can admit it,” Leeds smiles. He hasn’t even broken a sweat yet. While I’m starting to cramp up in my side. “You gonna make it, Long Pork?”

“Probably not,” I huff
, “but at least I’ll die miserable.”

“Good man.”

I think I make it a mile before I want to collapse. I’d toss my pack, since the weight of it is not helping, but it holds the last of my water and the little food I have. Plus some needed med supplies. Not that I expect to live much longer if we keep up this pace. I really should be in better shape, and I was at one point, but I took quite a beating when I fought Vance a couple months ago. I’m still not 100%. But I don’t say a word, I just keep pushing, trying to keep pace with Leeds. Never let ‘em see ya sweat, right? Isn’t that how the old commercial went? Or was it never let them see you cry like a baby because your guts are on fire and you’re going to puke any second? Tomayto, tomahto.

“Here,” Leeds says
, and turns to a stand of trees off to our left. I follow and barely manage to keep my feet under me. While he looks like he could do this all day. Fucker.

We get through the trees and head to one of the dozens of concrete buildings covering the area. Old railroad buildings. Leeds stops and holds up his hand. I stop and gulp air. He looks way more professional than I do, but I haven’t puked yet, so points for me.

“In there,” he says, pointing to one of the buildings.

He jogs (more jogging!) over to the building and forces the door open, waving me inside. We are in quickly and he has the door closed when I hear it: a vehicle.

“You hear that?” I ask.

“Shhhh,” he warns.

It sounds like a truck and I hear the crunch of gravel as it drives past. It’s not out on the road, but driving next to the buildings. Did it see us? Does it know where we’re hiding? Fuck. Now instead of feeling like I’m gonna puke, I feel like I’m gonna shit my pants. My guts are messed up.

We wait until the sound of the truck is long gone. It’s probably twenty minutes before Leeds opens the door and peers outside.

“Clear,” he says. I follow him outside and we stick close to the buildings as we continue our course.

“Can we just walk?” I ask. He gives me a look. “What? I’m fucking dying, man.”

“We just took a break we couldn’t afford to,” Leeds says. “We need to make up that time.”

“How much time will we lose if you have to fucking carry me?” I ask. I’m serious.

He shakes his head. “Fast walk,” he says, “like really fast. Can you handle that?”

“I’m all for a brisk hike,” I reply. “Just no more jogging. I beg of you, Captain. Please, sir, no more.”

“Stop being a melodramatic pussy,” he says, but smiles in spite of himself.

Brisk hike, my ass. He pretty much pushes us back to a slow jog. If my arms have to bend and pump to keep going
, then we are neither walking nor hiking, we’re fucking jogging. Fucker.