“Dad, that’s just gross,” Charlie complains.

  “Life is gross, son. Life is gross,” I reply, then sit there for a minute and think.

  Everyone knows my headspace is fragile right now, so they actually wait and let me think.

  “We do nothing,” I say. “We keep going like we have been, and do nothing.”

  “That doesn’t help,” Stuart sighs.

  “I honestly don’t know what else to do,” I say. “Seriously, how do we stop a team of killer ninja chicks? If El wanted to, she could wipe us all out right now by herself. Just imagine half a dozen Els. We’re fucked, y’all.”

  “There’re seven,” Elsbeth says. “That’s more than half a dozen. Half a dozen is six.”

  “Yes, thanks for the math lesson, El,” I say. “But that’s not the point.”

  “No, but it’s true,” Elsbeth says. She stands up and claps her hands, then laughs. “You people are stupid. You have the answer, but none of you want to see it. Turtles. You are all turtles. Hiding your heads in your shells.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” I say. “Still not the point. Wait, what do you mean we already have the answer?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out,” she says. “But you don’t. Too busy getting captured. Too busy waiting for me to save you. No time to think and see what’s right in front of you.”

  She turns and looks over at Dr. Kramer, who sits all by himself in a corner of the library, his eyes locked onto the exchange.

  “Hello,” he says, and waves.

  “Motherfucker,” I sigh.

  Stuart starts to speak, then stops and shakes his head.

  “Dammit, she’s right,” Critter says, catching on too.

  I get up and walk over to Dr. Kramer, with Stuart, Critter, Stella, and Lourdes right behind me. Elsbeth hangs back, and pretends to check out Charlie’s stacks of books. Smart ass.

  “Hello, Doctor,” I say as we stand in front of him. “You said that Camille knows all about your conditioning of these girls, right? And is probably using them to track us?”

  “Did I?” Dr. Kramer frowns.

  “Yes, asshole!” Stell yells. “You did!”

  “Hmmm, that was a long time ago,” Dr. Kramer says. “I say many things just to appease your aggression.” His eyes fall on Stella. “Especially hers.”

  “Suck my dick, fuckface,” Stella says.

  “Yes, thank you, baby,” I say, and pat her shoulder. “That helps.”

  I sit down next to Dr. Kramer, and lean in close. I know I stink, he knows I stink, hell we all stink, but that doesn’t stop him from wrinkling his nose.

  “You could use a bath, Mr. Stanford,” Dr. Kramer says.

  I ignore him. “Can you fix them? Undo the conditioning that is forcing them to follow Camille’s orders?”

  “Forcing? Oh, no, Mr. Stanford, you misunderstand my entire life’s work,” Dr. Kramer smiles. “The beauty of what I have done, is it forces them to do nothing they don’t want to do. If they want to come kill you all, then that’s unfortunate, but out of my control to stop.”

  “Bullshit,” Elsbeth coughs.

  We all turn, and she’s pointing to herself.

  Of course, it is bullshit. El broke the conditioning. But how did she do it?

  “You said you bumped your head,” I say to Elsbeth. “You bumped your head, and then Pa found you, and he changed you.”

  “Bingo was his name-o,” Elsbeth says.

  “Wrong rhyme,” Charlie says. Elsbeth glares. “Your version is cool too.”

  “There is a way to fix them,” I say. “But we have to capture them, and do a little bumping on their noggins.”

  “Oh, I would advise against that,” Dr. Kramer says. “What happened to Ms. Thornberg was a complete accident. Even if you manage to capture the girls, being able to reverse the conditioning physically would take the knowledge of a skilled neurosurgeon. Where are you going to…?”

  “Yeah,” I smile, and glance over where Dr. Stenkler is sitting and chatting with Greta.

  Chatting with Greta. Sitting and chatting with Greta. Sitting really close to her and chatting. A twenty-nine year old man and my teenage daughter are sitting close and chatting.

  “Jace? Chill,” Stuart says, and grips my shoulder.

  “That was all out loud, huh?” I ask.

  “No, but the look on your face says it all,” he replies.

  “I’ll go get him,” Stella says, and marches over to break up whatever is happening between my teenage daughter and the twenty-nine year old man. Teenage daughter and twenty-nine year old man. Sitting and chatting.

  “Okay, that’s out loud,” Stuart says. “Maybe go hang back and rest some? We’re all pretty sure we know where you’re going with this.”

  “I’m good,” I say. “I’m totally good.”

  “You sure?” Stuart asks.

  “I’m sure,” I say as I watch Dr. Stenkler come towards us while Stella stays with Greta and has a nice little talk, mom to daughter.

  “What do you need?” Dr. Stenkler asks.

  I look at Dr. Kramer and smile. “I believe you were about to say we will need a skilled neurosurgeon, but where will we find one? Guess what, Doc? We have one of those. Now, how about you spill the beans, and tell this guy everything you know on how to reverse the conditioning.”

  “You can’t reverse the conditioning,” Dr. Kramer says.

  The blur that rushes past me is Elsbeth shaped, and the next thing we know Dr. Kramer is dangling with his feet several inches off the floor. Elsbeth has her hand around his throat and holds him up. Then she lowers him slowly, and pulls him in close.

  “You will be honest,” she says. “You will be helpful. You will do what they want and stop confusing them.”

  “You can’t reverse the conditioning,” he gasps. “But you can cut off the influence. If they decide not to kill you, then it’ll be of their own free will.”

  “But they could still decide to kill us, right?” I ask.

  “That’s up to them,” Dr. Kramer says. “I can’t help with that.”

  That’s believable. We all know Elsbeth. We live because she lets us live. No doubt there.

  “Fine,” I say. “El? Drop him.” She does. “Dr. Stinkler?”

  “It’s Stenkler,” Dr. Stenkler frowns.

  “Not anymore,” I grin. “Didn’t you hear? We all get shitty nicknames in the apocalypse?”

  ***

  We stay in that library for a day as Dr. Stenkler grills Dr. Kramer on everything. I understand about ten percent of what they talk about. The rest makes my head hurt.

  Which seems to be the new thing. The talking out loud thing lessens, but debilitating headaches increase. I hardly notice when we get back on the road and finally reach Kansas City after a few days of skirting the mass Z migration.

  “Well, the asshole wasn’t lying about this,” Stuart grumbles as we stand and stare at the hole that had once been Kansas City. “If anything, the guy downplayed the destruction.”

  “Nuke?” I ask Lourdes. “Is that what did this? I mean, look at it, it’s just a crater.”

  “No nuke,” Lourdes says. “We’d be sick from radiation poisoning by now. And there’d be singes of the blast where we’re standing. No, I think when we get closer we’ll see it was a lot of smaller explosions that cleared out the city.”

  She’s right. We get the convoy rolling again, and the closer we get the more the ex-city looks like a teenager’s pizza face, all pocked with craters and shit.

  There really aren’t words for what we witness. And that’s saying a lot, coming from me.

  Nothing but total destruction. It makes St. Louis look like a simple remodel. KC? It’s just plain gone.

  “I guess the Combine didn’t know how to play nice,” Critter says. “They either pissed off the wrong people, or they got in the worst bicker fight ever. Don’t matter none which way now. They’s just plain gone.”

  See? Even Critter agrees with me. Just. Plain. Gone.

  “So we head on to Boulder?” I ask, looking over at Critter and Lourdes as the scorched Kansas landscape rolls by outside the RV. “Go to the Stronghold?”

  “For now,” Lourdes says. “But we have to also consider what’s behind us. At some point, we may need to dig in and get ready to defend ourselves. That point could come before we reach Colorado and the Rockies.”

  We all know what she means by what’s behind us. No matter how fast we move, which isn’t all that fast considering how blocked the interstate and other roads are, the Z herd is going to catch up. That’s just reality. They don’t have to stop and hunt for fuel or food, they don’t have to sleep or deal with crazies. Hell, they eat crazies!

  And there’re also the sisters coming. Elsbeth can’t say where they are, but I’m almost certain she feels them somehow when they are close. I let everyone else worry about moving forward and about the Z herd, while I keep my attention on Elsbeth and that sisterhood sixth sense.

  ***

  The days roll by, the plains keep going, and it’s almost like we don’t make any progress at all. Then after eight hundred years of being stuck in this stinky RV, as we lead a bunch of other stinky RVs, we see a sign that gives us just a little hope.

  “Welcome To Colorado,” the sign says. Well, kind of. It’s sort of ripped in half and semi-melted, but we figure out the full message without a problem.

  “Aren’t there supposed to be mountains?” Charlie asks.

  “You can’t see them from here,” Lourdes replies. “We have a couple hundred more miles to go before we can start catching a glimpse.”

  “A couple hundred? Fuck me,” Charlie sighs.

  “You all see that?” Critter asks as he points out the windshield. “Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

  We drive past the welcome sign, and Lourdes moves up front with a pair of binoculars. She studies the horizon for a minute, then hands the binoculars to Stuart.

  “Shit,” he says. “Another herd. Looks bigger than the one we passed. Where are they all coming from?”

  “Two thirds of the population of the US is behind us,” Charlie says. “I bet they’re migrating to find food. The East Coast has been picked clean.”

  “Maybe,” Lourdes says. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll deal with them when we get there.” She grabs a radio and calls one of the other RVs. “John? You seeing this?”

  “Roger,” John replies. “I’m estimating five or six thousand.”

  There are a few gasps in the RV.

  “That’s what I see too,” Lourdes says. “Pass the word that we stay the course and move forward. We have at least a few hours before we catch up to them. Keep your eyes peeled for a spot to hunker down and strategize.”

  “Will do,” John replies. “Out.”

  I can see Elsbeth is not happy with the hunker down part, but we have no choice. We are the meat in a Z herd sandwich. No going back without dealing with a shit ton of Zs, and no going forward without dealing with a shit ton of Zs. Limited supplies, getting low on ammunition, and about to jump out of our own skins from being trapped in these RVs for so long, options aren’t exactly a luxury we have.

  So, I’ll take the luxuries I do have: friends, family, a badass killer always having my back. I push away the thoughts of my brain lesions, of crazy ninja chicks, of Z herd sandwiches. I let go of the constant feeling of anxiety in my gut as we continue our flight away from the Consortium and towards something we don’t even know still exists. I lean back against the wall of the RV and decide that at the next stop, I’m going to grab my wife, find someplace private, and show her just how much I love her while I have the chance. That’s a luxury I do have, and I plan on taking advantage of.

  “Gross,” Greta says, and I blink and look around. Oops, out loud again.

  “Shut the fuck up, Greta,” Stella says, and squeezes my hand. “I’ll take that luxury if my man is wanting to give it.”

  “Damn skippy,” I grin, and kiss her.

  Hey, you know what? Maybe talking out loud isn’t so bad after all.

  “Yes, it is,” everyone says.

  Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.

  Man, people in the zombie apocalypse can be so mean sometimes.

  Read on for a free sample of Hamsikker: A Zombie Novel

  Jake Bible lives in Asheville, NC with his wife and two kids.

  Jake has a record of innovation, invention, and creativity. Novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, Jake is able to switch between or mash-up genres with ease to create new and exciting storyscapes that have captivated and built an audience of thousands.

  He is the author of over a dozen novels, including the bestselling Z-Burbia and Mega series for Severed Press.

  Find him at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter and Facebook.

  PROLOGUE

  “Thanks for coming, thanks a lot. Please, go on in.” The words came out of his mouth, but he’d said them so many times over the last thirty minutes they had lost all meaning. It was like he was regurgitating a prayer, over and over, like some deranged priest.

  “Mrs Danick, thank you for the flowers. Please, head on in. Thanks a lot for coming.” She had aged a lot since he’d last seen her, but she still had a wicked glint in her eye, and he remembered all the trouble he’d caused his neighbour over the years when he was growing up with Janey. He watched Mrs Danick accompany a frail, elderly woman into the church, their arms linked and their feet shuffling slowly.

  As he shook another hand, kissed another cheek, and handed out another tissue to wipe the tears away, he wondered if he had slipped into a parallel universe. Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to be in mourning? How come everywhere he looked people were crying, holding each other, supporting each other with words of kindness and recalling memories of happier times? Why was he the one standing by the church gate, handing out condolences and hymn sheets like some kind of admin assistant?

  There was a brief respite at the entrance as Mrs Danick entered the church, and he realised he was probably getting sunburnt. The back of his neck was hot and itchy, the thinning hair on top providing no cover for his head. Using a wad of hymn sheets, he fanned himself, knowing only his father would’ve died in the middle of a heatwave. It was as if the old bastard was having one last laugh at his son’s expense. Jonas reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled navy blue kerchief. He dabbed his moist forehead before shoving it away, as a family approached the church gates. Putting on his best smile, he prepared himself for another clammy handshake from yet another distant relation he hadn’t seen in twenty years, and prepared to repeat the speech he had given everyone else.

  “Thanks for coming. Please…”

  “Jonas Hamsikker, how’re you doing?”

  Jonas looked at the large man facing him, and was momentarily thrown. This was not a friend of his father’s, just another acquaintance, or an old uncle; this was a face he knew well. It had been a long time since he had looked into those piercing blue eyes, and the red hair was unmistakeable. Thick sideburns grew down the man’s cheeks like a lava flow, filling in the burly man’s creased skin and crow’s feet. Jonas gripped the firm hand he was offered, and shook it enthusiastically.

  “Erik? Jesus, man, how long’s it been?”

  The two men embraced quickly and then Erik introduced his family.

  “Hamsikker, this is my wife, Pippa. These two role-model citizens are Peter, my son, and my daughter, Freya.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Jonas as he shook their hands in turn. Freya giggled as she shook Jonas’s hand and then slid shyly behind her brother.

  “I heard you were back in town, and of course I heard about your father. Sorry, man. I hope it’s okay we came. I wanted to pay my respects. Seemed only right, given how your old man looked after me back then.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Jonas, pleased he was finally able to talk to someone he knew. He still couldn’t believe Erik Lansky was standing in front of him. He might have aged twenty something years, and added twenty pounds, but otherwise, he still looked like the same Erik he used to goof around with at school.

  As more people filed into the church, Jonas shoved hymn sheets at them as they passed. It was almost time for the service to begin, but he didn’t want to miss out on catching up with Erik.

  “Pippa, go on in with Peter and Freya, I want a quick word with Hamsikker,” said Erik standing to the side so the others could take the path into the church.

  “Sure is a hot one,” said Jonas.

  “And it’s only spring. You forgotten that glorious Kentucky sun already?” asked Erik. “I hope going out west didn’t turn you into a pussy.”

  Despite his awkwardness, Jonas sniggered. It felt good to see his old friend again. Erik looked tough and given his larger-than-life stature, he could scare off people before they’d even spoken to him. But he was a kind man, always ready with a joke or a line. That was what made him such a good cop.

  “Say, I wanted to ask how long you’re back for. This a permanent move, or what?” Erik dabbed at his sweating forehead with a hand and then wiped it on the back of his suit jacket.

  Jonas frowned. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I’ve a lot to sort out now. There’s a whole heap of things I need to do, and Dad’s place is a mess. He was a hoarder. You want a stack of newspapers from the nineties?”

  Erik slapped a hand on Jonas’s back. “No thanks. Look, old collections of newspapers aside, I’m here for you, man. Where are you staying? At your father’s? You’d better not tell me you’ve shacked up in some downtown motel. You know we can find a room for you, no problem. Pippa would be glad to have you over. I’m serious.”

  An ambulance suddenly sped past, and it turned its sirens on just as it rushed by the church. It was swiftly followed by another, and Jonas wondered where they were off to in such a hurry. Jeffersontown was a quiet place, and without the sounds of the speeding ambulances, the only audible sounds had been the faint tweeting of a cardinal, and his own thoughts. The ambulances disappeared taking their warped sirens with them. Jonas looked up into the blue sky. There was not a cloud anywhere. He saw the trace wisp of a plane’s vapour trail, a fleeting line of white arching across the sky.