Z-Burbia 4: Cannibal Road Read online

  “Do not mix those together, please,” Stella said as she sleepily stepped from the stairs. “You’ll puke.”

  She shuffled over to the sink, looked at it for a second, then turned, dropped her pants, and hoisted herself up so her ass end could hang over.

  “Mom! A little warning!” Charlie said.

  “Had to pee,” Stella said. “Get over it.”

  “There’s food in here and water we can boil down at the river,” I said to Stella as she finished up. “We could hang for a while.”

  “Well, not really,” Charlie said. “I’ll show you why.”

  I frowned at Stella as she buttoned her jeans, then we both followed Charlie up the stairs to the top floor. He led us into the master bedroom where we had a great view of the river from one set of windows, but it was the side set of windows that Charlie wanted us to look out of.

  “They aren’t moving fast, but they are moving this way,” Charlie said. “We should probably pack up and leave today.”

  The herd of Zs. It had grown a lot and from our view, we could see it filling several square blocks of residential neighborhoods as the dawn light illuminated the hungry masses.

  “Shit,” I said. “Good thing we got some sleep. We have some hiking to do today.”

  “You assholes left me down there all alone,” Greta said from the doorway as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She saw the looks on our faces. “Let me guess. Bad news?”

  ***

  We knew we needed to get away from the house before it was overrun by Zs, but the problem was we weren’t sure which way to go. The whole river trip in the night thing kinda got us turned around. Not to mention that we’d been basically running for our lives for three (?) days through the sketchstrocity of Knoxville. We hunted through the house and finally found an old, old, phonebook forgotten at the bottom of a junk drawer in the laundry room. Luckily, it still had its map of Knoxville in the center.

  “We are down here and we need to get up there,” I said as I pointed at the street we were on (Cherokee Blvd) and up to I-40. “The problem is we have a fuckload of Zs coming at us and a lot of ground to cover.”

  “We should take a diagonal route,” Stella said. “Just cut through yards and forget the streets. We’ll have more places to hide that way.”

  “True,” I said, “but do you see what’s between us and I-40 if we go that way?”

  “A big fucking cemetery,” Charlie said, tapping at the map. “We do not like cemeteries.”

  “The odds of Zs still being in there are slim,” Stella said. We all stared at her. “Well, they are.”

  “It depends on if it’s a closed cemetery or open,” I said. “Remember that one down in Hendersonville that Melissa and her crew found when they scavenged south? Completely gated off and filled with the undead. They had no clue until they hiked past it and the Zs saw them. They barely got away before that gate went crashing down.”

  “So, what do you propose?” Stella asked, her arms across her chest.

  “I’m thinking we follow the river until it curves again then head straight for 322.” I pointed at the route on the map. “From there, we go up to I-40 and get on the interstate. Maybe we’ll see signs of the others when we get back on track.”

  “That route will take longer than Mom’s,” Charlie said. “It’ll probably be almost dark when we get to 40. Where are we going to stay tonight?”

  “We aren’t,” I said. “We get on the interstate and we start walking. We keep to the side and try to stay out of sight, but we don’t stop walking. Once our legs give out we can hunt for shelter, but we have way too much distance to cover and time to make up.”

  Stella and Greta looked at the two of us and shook their heads.

  “Neither of you are strong enough to do that,” Stella said. “You think you are, but you aren’t.”

  “I just slept for almost 24 hours straight,” I said. “I’ve got plenty of energy to make it.”

  “You slept, sure,” Stella said, “but Charlie didn’t.”

  “I caught a nap here and there,” Charlie countered.

  “Don’t defend him,” Stella said. “It’s not a good plan.”

  “And you’re hurt worse than Dad,” Greta said.

  “I’m not that hurt!” Charlie snapped. “I’ve had a long time to heal up!”

  “And it takes even longer for you to actuallybe healed up!” Stella snapped back. “Dr. McCormick and Reaper both said it would take months for you to be back to full strength. You had a hunk of helicopter go through your chest, Charlie!”

  “As you keep reminding me over and over and over- Ow!”

  “Don’t be a dick to your mom,” I said after smacking him upside the back of the head.

  “Thank you,” Stella said.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. “But I still think my plan is best. We bust ass to the interstate and then keep going. We don’t have much of a choice. Staying in Knoxville has proven to be bad for our health. It may not be any better out on the open road, but considering we’ve dealt with orange crazies, psycho hospital workers, and a sorority from Hell, I can’t think the interstate would be worse.”

  Yeah, I had forgotten Manchester’s warning to stick to the railroad tracks. I’m an idiot.

  ***

  Things held up pretty well on our way out of Knoxville. We walked along the river for a while, which was good since we at least had one side of us we didn’t have to defend. It was going nicely until we got back on the streets.

  For the record, I liked Knoxville pre-Z. I had visited a few times and it was always fun, but post-Z? Knoxville could suck my ass. Not so fun. Not so fun at all.

  We came to 322, also called Northshore Drive, and followed that up to 70. We had managed to stay in the shadows of the buildings most of the way and only encountered a few Zs here and there. None of them noticed us and we were able to slip by without incident. There was always the far off scraping and groaning of the herd that was headed west, but we moved faster than it did, so we kept a nice buffer between it and us.

  The problem was when we hit 70 and had to pass an old Food City on our right. There was no need to stop and see if there was food left in the supermarket (not that we expected there to be) since we’d brought as much as we could carry from the house we’d crashed in. We waited at the edge of 70, ready to sprint across as soon as a couple of Zs shambled out of sight.

  However, the second we set foot out in the open, the pavement at our feet began to pop and crack from a barrage of bullets.

  “Mother fuck!” I shouted as we scrambled back to cover.

  “This is our store!” a voice yelled. “OURS!”

  “Fucking A,” I sighed. “What the fuck is wrong with people in this town?”

  “Can we get around?” Charlie asked.

  “We’re going to have to,” I said. “Getting shot wasn’t part of today’s plan.”

  Greta took the phonebook map from her pocket and set it out on the concrete at our feet as we huddled in the entranceway of some old nail salon in a burnt out strip mall.

  “We could go this way and cut up at Old Weisgarber Road,” she said. “It curves around a bit, but it’ll take us to 40.”

  “Can we get across the road?” Stella asked. “Whoever that asshole is shooting at us, he obviously has a high-powered rifle.”

  “And no aim,” Charlie said. “The fucker killed a lot of asphalt, but missed us.”

  “He probably missed on purpose,” Stella said. “Did you think of that?”

  “Total waste of ammo,” Charlie said. “I think the guy is just a bad shot.”

  “And I think we can’t take that chance,” Stella said.

  “Well…” Charlie started.

  “Shut up, both of you,” I interrupted. “We move down 70 a couple blocks and then cross the street.” I tapped the map. “Hold on. 70 and 40 almost meet not even a mile from here. Let’s say fuck it to crossing the street at all. We keep going up 70 until we can see 40. Then we make
a break for it. We’ll be way out of range of Shooty McShooterson by then.”

  “Then why are we making a break for it?” Greta asked.

  “Because we are pretty much always making a fucking break for it,” I replied. “You want to stand in the middle of the street and just wave your arms about?”

  They all stared at me.

  “What?” I snapped. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

  “Jace,” Stella warned. “You’re being an asshole.”

  “Asshat,” Greta said.

  “Assmuncher,” Charlie added.

  “Thanks, guys, point taken,” I frowned. “Still doesn’t mean we don’t have to make a break for it when we cross the street.”

  “We’ll make a break,” Stella nodded, “but we have to get down there first. Will we have enough cover from that guy if we just move down the sidewalk here?”

  “We should,” I said, not sure at all.

  “Then let’s get a move on,” Stella said.

  We did a pitiful hunker down and crouch walk for a block before we felt comfortable enough to stand up and give our backs a break. It did take us a while to get down 70 and to a place clear enough where we could see I-40 looming above Knoxville. Well, maybe not looming so much as perched. Yeah, more like perched.

  “This our make a break moment?” Greta smirked.

  “Fuck you,” I said with a smile. “And yes, this should do.”

  We double-checked that the area was clear then sprinted our asses off across 70 and into the cover of an old mattress store. The windows were shattered and I couldn’t help but notice how the part of the store with the sign “Futons” was completely empty while the rest of the regular mattresses sat in piles, rotting and falling apart.

  Who knew futons would be a survivor favorite? But I guess futons have always been a broke college kid’s go to bedding so it stood to reason that apocalypse survivors, which are only a step or two below a broke college kid anyway, would want the ease and comfort of something that could be rolled up and stashed away when needed.

  “Jace?” Stella asked. “Where are you?”

  “Thinking about futons,” I said as I glanced at the broken store.

  “Well, as long as you’re doing something constructive with that brain,” she sighed. “On a practical note, should we cut through this lot or go to that street over there and up to 40?”

  “I say we cut through the lot,” I replied. “No need to expose ourselves any more than we have to and we can climb right up that embankment to the interstate.”

  Through the lot and up the embankment we went. The ground was loose, but not too bad and it only took a couple minutes to get up onto the asphalt of I-40. We stood at the edge of the eastbound lanes, not that it really mattered, but the OCD part of me wanted to cross and get into the westbound lanes since we were going west.

  “This is fine,” Stella said, reading my mind as she shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun and looked west. “We can’t waste time getting over there when we have so much road to walk.”

  She was right. There was a lot of road ahead of us. I’d driven through Knoxville tons of times pre-Z and it always seemed to take forever. And that was in a car. Seeing nothing but interstate stretching out before us was almost too much for my already stressed brain.

  “We going or what?” Greta asked, as we stood there and just stared. “Because standing still is never a good survival strategy.”

  No, it isn’t,” I agreed as I tightened the straps on my backpack and made sure it was settled right for the long journey. “Let’s do this.”

  “Don’t say that,” Charlie said.

  “Whatevs,” I replied.

  “Ugh,” Greta groaned.

  “I love my family,” Stella smiled as she started walking. “You’re all batshit crazy, but I love you.”

  ***

  We lost the light way faster than I expected, but it wasn’t a totally unwelcome thing since we had been forced to stare into the setting sun for several hours before it finally gave up the ghost. Somehow, not one of us had a pair of sunglasses in our packs.

  It was also nice to lose the light so we didn’t have to see the signs that things to come may not have been exactly rosy fun.

  Tacked to cars, trees, useless lampposts, were dried skins. Human skins. And on those skins, besides faded tattoos and old scars, were sayings like “Dark meat is the best!”, “Eat more Pete!”, “Ain’t no thing but a human wing!”, “We make our own sauce!”, “For a good time, eat Jane!”, “Tastes like chicken, my ass!” and “If might is right then eat the left one, it’s more tender!”.

  Fucking awesome.

  We also no longer saw what was spray painted on the billboards, which was nice since those words had started before the skins showed up and I was really sick of them. “Tennessee Hunger Brigade”, “The Thigh Boners”, “Crossville Cookers”, and other names that had sinister connotations. Couple the gang names, which is what I figured they were, with the human-hide slogans, and I had a distinct feeling we had officially stepped into canny country.

  Again with the fucking awesome.

  With our pistols on our hips, and collapsible batons in our hands at all times, we walked the middle of the interstate, which is key to surviving a road trip that suddenly turns from wheels to feet. Always walk in the middle of the road. Shit be hanging out at the side of the road. Zs have a funny way of popping out at you from ditches and ruining your whole day.

  Not that the middle of I-40 was a picnic.

  The whole trip was supposed to be taken while driving behind a two-story haul truck with a massive cow catcher/snow plow/wedge thingy on the front. It could just shove the abandoned cars to the side and let the convoy pass.

  When cars are shoved to the side, the occupants of those cars are shoved to the side as well. But we were without the haul truck, so for as far as we could see there were nothing but abandoned cars. Many of which held some grumpy drivers still strapped to their seats.

  Zs are dumb. There’s no debating that. They can’t work seat belts. So if they died in their seat while belted in then they had to stay in their seat since that dying day, gnashing and thrashing until they ran out of energy and were left there to moan and groan.

  We walked past a lot of moaners and groaners.

  Decayed hands slapped at the glass, or reached out of broken or open windows, their owners so hungry and desperate to get to our tasty, tasty flesh. We were a total tease, an unobtainable goal that snaked its way through the old wrecks. Teeth so brittle from lack of nourishment snapped off in rotted jaws; fingers broke from hands as dried tendons finally let go.

  It was kinda sad.

  Kinda.

  Ok, not really. Fuck the Zs. Sure, they used to be people, and I feel bad for those that died, but the Zs they turned into can kiss my living ass. Just kiss it. They can pucker up and have a smoochy smooch. They can take those shriveled lips and plant them right where my-.

  “Jace,” Stella gasped. “Look.”

  My mind had been so busy on the Zs in cars tangent that I hadn’t noticed that the tangle of cars stopped only a few yards away from us.

  “What the fuck is that?” Charlie asked, his hand going to his 9mm. “Dad?”

  “Not a fucking clue,” I said.

  For as far as we could see, the eastbound lanes of I-40 were walled in. The westbound lanes were blocked from us by stacks and stacks of broken and abandoned cars. We couldn’t switch to the westbound route even if we wanted to.

  “Is there something written on the walls?” Greta asked. “It’s hard to see. Where’s the flashlight?”

  We cautiously moved forward and saw that our end of what I could only call a gauntlet was blocked by a maze of chain link fencing. As we got up to the fencing we could see that the road underneath had been dug out and the fences were only supported by narrow beams. And under those beams, in the space where road and dirt should have been, were dozens and dozens of Zs.

  “They can’t c
limb so they just fall in,” Charlie said.

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Greta said.

  “Fuck off.”

  “You fuck off.”

  “You both fuck off,” I snapped. “This isn’t good.”

  “We aren’t Zs,” Greta said. “We can just hang onto the chain link and climb across.”

  “Says the teenager with two hands,” I replied. “Good for you.”

  “Oh...right,” Greta frowned. “Sorry.”

  “Shit,” Stella said. “Maybe we should go back and try to go around.”

  “Not going back,” I said. “We know what kind of crazy is in Knoxville. And I don’t see how we can go around unless we want to head across open land, which is not a good idea in the middle of the night.”

  “We could find an empty car and crash out, and then tackle it in the morning,” Charlie suggested. “That way we have some light.”

  Greta, with flashlight in hand, studied the walls just past the Z pit. They were made of all kinds of material, but looked pretty solid from what I could see. There was enough of a breeze to make the trees at the sides of the interstate sway, but the walls didn’t budge.

  “I think we need to get out of here,” Greta said as she backed up. “Going in there is not a good idea.”

  “Why? What do you see?” Stella asked. “What’s written on the walls?”

  “Gibberish,” Greta said. “But it’s not the writing that we need to worry about. Look!”

  She shined the flashlight right onto a row of dark smudges, which turned out not to be smudges at all, but bloody handprints.

  Above the handprints, and many other dark stains and crusted looking globs of God knows what, were words such as: “Better beat it or you get beat!”, “Don’t worry, we’ll wait twenty minutes before eating you!”, and my personal favorite, “Fear is nature’s tenderizer!”.

  I don’t know why I liked that one. Maybe it was the former cook in me that got what that one was going for.

  “So no go on the forward progress,” I announced. “Back to the crazy we know then?”

  “Yep,” Stella said. “Back to Knoxville until we come up with a better plan.”