Z-Burbia 4: Cannibal Road (19 page)

“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.”