Z-Burbia 7: Sisters of the Apocalypse Read online

  "Fair," he says. "I wouldn't either."

  We're quiet for a while. I think I see a road a ways up, but Jack doesn't head for it. He turns the Jeep parallel and stays cross country for a good fifteen minutes before he aims for a dark stain on the horizon. I squint into the sun until I realize we're heading for trees.

  "Lunch time," he says as we get closer to the trees. It's a small forest of pines all bunched together. Must be some creek close by. "I like to stop here and wait. That way I can be sure the Doyles haven't followed me."

  "I could eat," I say.

  "I bet you could." He laughs and looks back at Muffin. "You hungry, pal?"

  Muffin gives a short bark and starts smiling again, his tongue hanging out.

  We get to the trees and Jack weaves through them until he sets us next to a nice mound of rocks. With rocks to our backs, he turns the Jeep around so we can face the way we came. The trees aren't super tall, but they give us some shade and some shadows to stay hidden in while we eat and wait.

  "This is egg salad," I say as I shove half the sandwich in my mouth. So good. Soooo good.

  "Yeah," he says and gives me a strange look.

  I chew for a while then think about what I'm eating. I swallow and think about the flavor.

  "Not chicken eggs," I state. "What kind of bird are they?"

  "Nope," he says. "Not bird. Tortoise eggs. You have to find them right away before the embryos develop. Not so easy, but I got lucky this time."

  "Yummy," I say. I've eaten way worse things than turtle eggs, so I ain't gonna complain. And it's soooo good.

  "Tastes like farts," he says.

  "What?" I ask and nearly choke. Those words bring back memories. Memories of my first days with the Stanfords…

  "My youngest daughter used to say egg salad tastes like farts," Jack says. "She'd still eat it, but she always made a point of telling us that."

  "Kids are silly," I say.

  "You have any?" he asks. "Or did?"

  "No," I say. "Can't have babies. Sisters can't have babies."

  "What does that mean?" he asks.

  "My sisters and me," I reply. "Our insides got messed up with gene therapy and drugs and conditioning and shit. Can't have babies ourselves. Bummer. Marcie would be a good mom. Antoinette would be a good mom."

  "Not you?" he asks. I shrug. "What do you mean by gene therapy and conditioning? What's that about?"

  "Doesn't matter," I say. "Long story. Old news. Blah blah blah."

  "You're a weird one," he says and chuckles.

  I don't like being called weird, but that chuckle makes it better.

  "No offense," he says. "You just aren't like anyone else I've met. You seem crazy, but I know you aren't. You're not like any of the women in the Navy or like my wife, either."

  "I'm Elsbeth," I say. "Only one of me."

  "I hear that," Jack says.

  He opens a thermos and takes a swig then hands it to me. I sniff and smile.

  "Bourbon?" I ask.

  "The good stuff," Jack says. "That shit was two hundred dollars a bottle back in the day. I like a little shot after lunch. Calms me down and helps me focus."

  I take a sip and let it slide down my throat. It don't burn at all. Smooth.

  "Time to go," Jack says. "No one is following us. It'll be about an hour before we get to my place."

  "An hour? We're going a long ways away," I say. "I ain't comfortable with going that far."

  "It's not far," Jack says. "I just don't take the same route each time. We'll be zigzagging and doing some double backs. Just to make sure."

  "Just to make sure," I say and nod.

  He starts up the Jeep and we're off. Once we're out of the pines, I kick my feet up on the dash and relax a little. A little. Not too much. Just enough to let my shoulders go slack so I don't get a headache.

  The sun is hot, but the air whips around me and I almost fall asleep from the soooooo good sandwich and the bourbon. I don't fall asleep because that would be stupid, but I let my eyes droop some.

  We turn this way and that way and it's kinda fun. I like the Jeep better than riding in one of the Humvees. Humvees is for war, Jeeps is for fun.

  "Why are you here?" I ask. "You said you were from San Diego. That's California, not New Mexico. Why are you here?"

  "You only need to ask the question once," Jack says.

  He twitches a little, but not enough that makes me worry. I can tell he wants to lie or let the subject drop. But he also wants to talk. I don't think Jack has many friends.

  "My ex-wife lived down in Albuquerque," Jack says after a couple minutes. "She had custody of my girls. They all lived together with her new husband when everything went to shit."

  "New husband," I say. "He a good man?"

  "He wasn't me," Jack says. "So, yeah, he was a good man."

  "You seem like a good man to me," I say. "You could have tried to kill me, but you missed on purpose. I call that good."

  "Who says I missed on purpose?" he asks.

  "Please," I say and laugh. "I know a missed shot."

  He eyes me quickly then turns back to the road.

  "Who the fuck are you?" he asks then shakes his head and keeps talking. "When the Zs started going after folks, I knew I had to get to New Mexico. Luckily, I was home when it all fell apart. They tried to call us up, but SoCal went down hard and fast and even if I had tried to get to the base, I wouldn't have made it. I grabbed my kit and bug-out bag and hopped in my Jeep." He nods his head backwards. "Found Muffin along the way and knew the girls would love him. He was a tiny little thing that someone had ditched on the side of the road."

  "They ditched him? A puppy?" I ask. "Shitfuckers."

  "Shitfuckers for sure," he says.

  "You make it in time?" I ask.

  He winces. And shakes his head.

  "No," he says. "My ex-wife and two of my girls were already gone. The new husband."

  "Not such a good guy," I say.

  "He was when he was alive," Jack says. "When he died, he killed them and ate them while my oldest daughter hid up in the attic crawlspace." He swallows hard and wipes a tear from his eye. "Goddammit. I should be used to this."

  "You don't have to say no more if you don't want to," I say.

  "No, it's good," he replies. "I haven't told this story in a long, long time." He takes a deep breath. "When I got to Albuquerque, I had to fight my way to their house. I killed a lot of Zs. A lot. Had a huge horde on my ass when I burst through that door. It looked like they'd held out for a couple of weeks before he turned and killed them. I cracked his skull open without hesitating then started to search the house."

  He turns the Jeep onto a rocky trail and we start heading for a small ridge.

  "I almost left. Almost," he says. "Then I heard her. I heard my Kimmy crying for me. I tore that house apart before I realized her voice was coming from above me. She was almost dead, had heat stroke bad, and was so dehydrated that she barely weighed more than a pillow. Teenage girl, but light as a toddler."

  "You got out," I say.

  "I got out," Jack echoes. "I tucked Muffin in her arms, strapped her tight into the backseat, and I drove as far as I could."

  We drive up over the ridge and stop right next to a couple of huge boulders. The Jeep fits between them perfectly.

  "We were on the road for weeks and weeks until I found this place," he says as he hops out of the Jeep. He moves quickly to a pile of rocks between the boulders and shoves a few out of the way. He comes back with a gas can and fills the Jeep's tank, gives me a smile, and returns the can to its hiding spot. "I like to be prepped and ready."

  "Me too," I say.

  "Come on," Jack says and waves to me. "I'll show you the place. It ain't much, but it's safe and secure."

  I get out and Muffin hops down. The dog stays right behind me. Good dog.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It's a big cave. A cavern? I don't know, but it's big.

  The entrance isn't. It's just a
slit in the ridge and you have to walk on a trail barely wider than Muffin to get to it.

  We get through the slit and the whole place opens up inside. Enough room for all the sisters and more. Boxes are stacked all over and there're two beds pushed up against one side of the cave. Two beds.

  "Where's your daughter now?" I ask. "She out?"

  "The Doyles have her," Jack says as he tosses his gear on a plastic folding table. He sits down and starts pulling out the weapons then reaches under the table and grabs a cleaning kit. "They've had her for a few years. Fucking years. That's why I was at the farm."

  "You haven't been able to get to her in years?" I ask. He looks mad so I hold up my hands. "Not judging. That just says a lot about the Doyles."

  "Yeah, it does," Jack replies. "It took me a while to track her down. I didn't know what happened to her for most of the first year. I refused to believe she became one of the Zs or that she was dead. My father's intuition said she was alive and someone had her."

  "I get that," I say and pat my belly. "Good to trust your gut."

  "I was scavenging in North Valley when I saw some Doyles heading out of town with women trussed up in one of their trucks," he says as he strips his .45 and begins to clean it.

  The smell of gun oil is strong in the cave. Smells good.

  "I hung back and went in at night," Jack says. "Like I said before, they didn't quite have as much security then as they do now. I was able to slip past some guards and get a good look around. One thing I saw was my daughter. She was in a bed and she was already pregnant."

  He keeps cleaning, but stops talking. Muffin gives a whine and lies down at Jack's feet.

  "Fucking Doyles," I mutter.

  "Fucking Doyles," he says and sighs. "I saw her. She was maybe ten meters away from me. Know why I couldn't get her out? Because one of the other pregnant girls started screaming for help. She woke up and saw me then just started screaming her head off. I tried. I tried to get to Kimmy, but there were too many Doyles. I knew if I didn't get out then I wouldn't get out at all. So I left her and ran like a coward."

  "Can’t save no one if you're dead," I say. "Simple math."

  "Right," he says. His chuckle is sad. "Simple math."

  "You take some Doyles down?" I ask. "Kill a few on your way out?"

  "I killed a lot," he says. "Fifteen, at least. They were sleepy and didn't expect someone like me coming at them. If I'd had my team with me, we would have cleared that place and saved every last one of those girls, including my Kimmy. But my guys were off trying to survive with their own families. Or dead because they followed orders and left on suicide missions."

  "Who gave you orders?" I asked. "What team did you have?"

  "At that time?" he says. "The President of the United States was giving the orders. But even the POTUS couldn't come between me and my daughters. Not once I saw what was happening. I made the right call!" He smacks himself on the chest. Hard. "I made the right fucking call! Kimmy would have been dead if I'd gone off with my team."

  I cock my head and frown. "You said the Navy. You're saying team. You a SEAL or something?"

  "I was," he says. "Not Team Six, but close. We were the alternative if Six was busy. At the end there, they were very busy. No idea what happened to them. No idea what happened to any of my teammates. It kills me not to know."

  "Sorry," I say. "Brothers. Just like sisters."

  He sets the .45 aside and stares right through me.

  "Tell me who you are," he says. "What's this sisters shit? You've had training, obviously. Were you in the Army? Marines? Where'd you train?"

  "North Carolina," I say.

  "Ah, Fort Bragg," he says and nods. "Army then."

  "Nope," I say. "Asheville. Not Army. But I know some of the guys from Bragg. I screw a sniper back home."

  He doesn't know what to say to that. Most people wouldn't.

  "Uh, my sisters, we're special," I say. "Off the books. Covert shit that wasn't exactly legal or patriotic. Messed-up spy stuff. We got rescued and then Z-Day hit. Got trained by a woman named Foster and—"

  "Hold the fuck on," Jack snaps. First time he's gotten angry with me. "Foster? As in Tersch-Foster security?"

  "Yep," I say. "That's her. You ever meet her?"

  "Met her father once," Jack says. "Creepy fucking guy, but he knew his stuff."

  "Yeah, they're good folks," I say.

  "They are? Is Foster still alive?" Jack asks.

  "No, she got her head cut off," I say. "But some of her folks live back at the… Live back where I'm from. They helped keep good people alive. They're good people."

  "Okay," Jack says. "If you say so."

  He picks the .45 back up and continues cleaning it. He has that done in seconds and puts it all back together, checks the action, and sets it aside so he can work on his rifle.

  "Kimmy is on the farm," I say. "My sisters are on the farm. We'll get her out."

  "Not that easy," he says. "Most of the Doyles are dumb as paint, but some are former National Guard with even a couple of ex-Marines and ex-Army regulars. I'm better than all those assholes, but they have the numbers."

  "And the fences and gun nests," I say.

  "Those too," Jack says and nods.

  "Good thing my sisters are inside," I say. "They can do what they do while we do what we do. In the end, we'll kill all the Doyles and save all the preggers ladies."

  Jack shakes his head. "If your sisters are so good then why are they inside and not outside?"

  "Strategy," I say. "They'll rip the Doyles apart, inside out."

  "I doubt that," Jack says. "That one woman I saw looked pretty bad. They beat her hard."

  "And she still made you out from half a mile away," I say. "We sisters can take a beating and keep on killing. We heal fast. It's part of our conditioning."

  "You keep saying conditioning," he says. "That's starting to freak me out a bit."

  "Sorry," I say and shrug. "It freaks everyone out."

  He finishes cleaning the rifle while I walk around. Lots of cans of food, bags of dried food, containers of water and other liquids, probably oils and vinegars. Couple crates of different alcohols. Some cases of canned beers.

  Plenty of ammunition and weapons.

  "Where'd you get all this?" I ask, pointing at the ammo. "Inezes said that the Doyles had it all."

  "Inezes," he snorts. "What the fuck? I almost think those crazy bitches turned my Kimmy in to the Doyles."

  "Maybe," I say. "Don't have to worry about that no more. The Inezes are all dead. Except Froggy Girl. But she could be dead. She's stuck in the farm with my sisters."

  "The Inezes are dead? All of them?" he asks.

  "All of them," I say.

  "Huh. Never thought the Doyles would finally kill them," he says and starts putting the rifle back together. It's a nice piece.

  "MK 12?" I ask.

  "Close," he says. "SEAL Recon rifle. This baby has been by my side for years. It's based on the MK 12, but custom built. We all had them custom built after more than a couple in-op jams with the MK 12s. That shit don't fly with frogmen."

  "Frogmen," I laugh. "Funny."

  "That's what we're called," Jack says. "Hooyah."

  "Hooyah," I say and smile. "I always like how that sounds. Sisters don't say it, though. No hooyah or hooah or hoo-anything. We just say whatever."

  "I guess if you aren't military then no reason to say any of it," Jack says.

  "Oh, and Doyles didn't kill the Inezes," I say. "We did. Or my sisters did. They were pointing guns at me. That's not something anyone should do to a sister. Even though the guns weren't loaded. No way for my sisters to know that. So they shot all the Inezes and that was that."

  "Obviously that wasn't that because now you're here and your sisters are on the farm," Jack says. He holds out his hand. "Want me to clean your .45s?" He nods at the duffel bag on the ground. "I can clean whatever's in there too. New Mexico is dry and dusty. That shit gets in the guns fast."

&
nbsp; "I'll clean them," I say.

  "I don't mind," he replies. "Really. I like cleaning guns. Gives me something to do. Helps me think."

  "No more thinking," I say, but pull my .45s from my hips and set them on the table. I nudge the duffel with my foot. "I saw the farm. We just need to hit it hard and try to get this bag to my sisters. We do that and we'll have enough people to take out the Doyles."

  "I keep trying to tell you that they're stronger than you think," he says, taking one of my .45s apart.

  "So are my sisters," I say. "They are a lot stronger than you even know. Way stronger than the Doyles know. Audrey was beat up because Audrey let them beat her up. She's playing like a possum. They all are. We strike and they won't be possums no more. They'll be wolverines and shit. Tear those Doyles apart."

  "And maybe get some of the girls in there killed," Jack says. "Including my Kimmy. You think I haven't thought of the head-on, brute-force approach?" He points at the stack of crates by the wall. "I have enough explosives to blow the Doyles sky high a hundred times over, even have an RPG launcher in that stack, but they're animals. They'll kill every last woman and girl in those tents before they let them get taken."

  "Then how do we get in?" I ask.

  "I don't know," he snaps. "That's what I've been trying to figure out every single day since I got away that first time. I haven't figured it out yet. Not when the farm's security was weaker and certainly not now."

  "Maybe you shouldn't have let them build all those fences and gun nests," I say.

  "You know what? Fuck you," he says and pushes my .45 away. "Clean your own fucking gun."

  "Sorry," I say and hold up my hands. "That was rude. I was rude. I can be rude sometimes. My bad. I'll watch the rude. No more rude."

  "Okay, okay, shut up," he says. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph you are weird."

  I shrug. He's right. Nothing I can say to that.

  I look at one of the beds. "Can I take a nap? I want to get some rest before we go back."

  "Go back?" he asks. "Lady, we aren't going back today. They spotted us. They'll have tripled the men on hand by now."

  "Tripled the men?" I ask. "How? From where? The sports complex where they live?"

  "Exactly," Jack says. "Anyone even tries to mess with the farm and they bring the heat."