Dead America The Second Week (Book 8): Dead America: El Paso Part 3

by Slaton, Derek

  He pulled out a flashlight and clipped it to the top of his assault rifle, and then carefully opened the front door into the lobby, closing it as quietly behind him as he could. He scanned the dim room quickly, bile rising in his throat at the scent of rotted flesh.

  It appeared that someone had put up a fight in there, riddling everything with bullet holes, probably on day zero if the decomposition was anything to go by. He breathed through his mouth and immediately regretted it, the sweet taste of copper thick in the air.

  Rogers headed up to the hospital doors at the back of the lobby, peering through the small windows embedded there. The hallway was blood-spattered, overturned gurneys and medical carts sporadically strewn around. By the nurse’s station there was a bit of movement, so he squeezed through the door as low to the ground as he could, ever-so-gently closing it behind him.

  The hallway was mostly dark save for the flickering emergency lights, sucking out the last bit of juice from their batteries. He turned his flashlight off to avoid drawing attention to himself, and moved at a deliberate pace down the hallway. He paused at each doorway, checking inside for any surprises waiting to jump out at him.

  The third door revealed a one-legged nurse missing several large chunks of flesh from her body, sitting up and gurgling, coagulated blood shifting around a massive wound in her throat. It struggled to turn towards him, and failed, so Rogers gently shut the door, entombing the creature.

  He continued towards the nurse’s station, where the emergency lights were less reliable. He readied his flashlight, with no other choice, and drew his knife with his free hand. He raised the rifle and clicked the button on the flashlight, illuminating the area. A bloodied zombie in tattered green scrubs immediately whipped around to face the bright light.

  Rogers rushed forward and hopped the desk, whipping around just in time to slam the blade into her eye as she lunged for his face. He immediately pulled the blade back and holstered the knife, aiming his assault rifle around the room.

  Everywhere he pointed it, he lit up a zombie. At least a dozen creates in various states of decay shambled from the shadows, no more than fifteen feet from his little barrier.

  “Fucking hell,” he breathed, and wildly swung the flashlight around, looking for any escape. He looked down and spotted a little map taped to the desk, and snatched it up before darting to the open hallway to the left.

  Two zombies stumbled into his path, and he lowered his shoulder, barreling into it like a linebacker. The impact sent the ghoul smacking back into his buddy, the two of them ending up on the ground. Rogers didn’t bother sticking around to deal with them, the groans from his pursuers growing ever closer.

  He raised his weapon to shine ahead, noting a few dozen more zombies working their way towards him from the opposite end. Over halfway to them, he noted the elevators and stairs signs, and picked up into a full sprint. But as he gained on the stairwell, he knew with a sinking stomach that he wasn’t going to make it before they did.

  Fuck it, they know I’m here anyway, he thought, and raised his rifle. He concentrated his fire on the zombies closest to the stairs, tearing into their torsos as he continued to run and squint in the low light. The force of the bullets drove them back just enough for him to throw the stairwell door open and fling himself inside.

  As bodies smacked into the door, something grabbed a hold of his assault rifle strap, spinning him around. Rogers put a foot against the doorframe, jerking back on the horizontal release bar to try to crush the arm wriggling in from the hallway.

  “Fuck fuck fuck!” he grunted at the sound of moans from above him, echoing shuffling feet down the stairs. He jerked hard on the rifle, but he couldn’t shake the creature’s grip, the group of them managing to get it wide enough for a head to poke through.

  He managed to twist the gun just enough to spray a hail of bullets through the zombie’s skull. He kept firing in hopes that he’d hit whatever creature had a death grip on his strap, but it didn’t work. His arm caught in the strap tightly, and he jerked on it, struggling to get it free.

  The gun clicked empty as a zombie tumbled down the flight of stairs, smacking its face hard on the concrete landing a few feet away. It was stunned for a moment, but not dead, and began to slither towards him.

  “This just ain’t my day,” Rogers groaned, and reached down with his tangled hand to get a good grip on the release bar, and drew his knife with his free hand. He started hacking away at the strap, desperation making the movements erratic. He cried out with the force of it as he rubbed the blade against the fabric, and the zombie from the landing staggered to its feet, reaching for him.

  The strap finally gave way, and he let go of the rifle, shoving hard against the door to surprise the creatures into falling backwards. He drew his handgun as the rifle disappeared into the mass of rotting flesh, and shot the stairwell zombie in the forehead at point blank, splattering rotted brains all over the wall.

  Rogers immediately ran halfway up the flight, dropping a trio of ghouls coming down to greet him with three precise shots to the head. He ducked around the falling bodies, expertly dodging them to get up to the next landing.

  As zombies poured into the stairwell from the first floor, he tore up the flight to the second and burst into the second floor hallway, gun aimed high. He slammed back against the door with his back but it didn’t latch, apparently broken.

  “Figures,” Rogers muttered, and swept the hallway quickly, seeing no immediate threat. Of course, he couldn’t see very well, given the flickering emergency lights and the little bit of sunlight filtering in through some of the rooms.

  He pulled out the paper map, quickly turning it around to the proper orientation. He clenched his jaw at the sound of zombies staggering up the stairs, and pushed against the metal fire door as he studied the map.

  He finally located the pharmacy, at the end of the hallway on the second floor. He threw himself off of the door immediately, sprinting towards his goal, ignoring the zombies staggering out from the rooms towards the noise. One got too close for comfort and he smashed it in the face with the butt of his gun on the way by.

  Upon reaching the door, he threw it open into the waiting area. There was a zombie slouched in a corner chair, and he fired into its forehead before slamming the door and locking it. The zombies pressed themselves up against it, banging and gnawing at the plexiglas, but it held.

  Rogers let out a deep breath, not realizing he’d been holding in for a while. He approached the plexiglas wall divider, releasing the door and doing a sweep of the pharmacist’s area. Thankfully, there was nothing.

  He glanced back at the main door to make sure that it was secure, and then checked his magazine. He sighed at the sight of far fewer shots that he’d like, reaching to check his belt and finding only a single mag left. He pulled out his walkie talkie.

  “Hey Leon, you on com?” he asked.

  After a few moments of just the banging on the door to keep him company, Leon came back, “Yeah, buddy, I got you loud and clear. You find what we need?”

  “Yep, sure did,” Rogers replied. “Unfortunately I wasn’t the only one.”

  Leon’s voice was laced with concern. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

  “Well, nothing bit me, so it could be worse,” the Detective assured him.

  “Am I gonna need to send a rescue party your way?” his friend asked immediately.

  Rogers shook his head. “Unless you want to lead the camp, that’s gonna be an affirmative.”

  “Shit man, I’d lead the party myself before I agree to that,” came the reply, and they shared a laugh. “Well, you just sit tight bud, I’ll send the boys your way right after they get the barbecue set up.”

  “Appreciate it,” the Detective replied. “Tell them I’m on the mic so I can talk ‘em in.”

  “Ten-four,” Leon promised.

  Rogers set the radio down on the counter, leaving the volume turned up. He felt around beneath the desk for some bags, and
discovered a duffel bag full of clothes. He dumped the garments on the floor and then turned towards the shelves of hospital-grade drugs.

  “In the meantime, I’m gonna do a little shopping.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Trenton strolled down the middle of the road at a brisk pace, moving with a swagger to mask his nerves. He glanced over his shoulder often, trying to keep a good fifteen to twenty yards between himself and the horde.

  “Reed, you’d better have found a good hiding spot,” he muttered to himself as the warehouse came into view.

  At about a half a block away, he sped up to a run and approached the large sliding door that stood open for him. He turned around and took a deep breath.

  “Right this way, you zombie-ass motherfuckers!” he whooped, waving his arms wildly. “We have a little treat set up for you, just follow me and you’ll get what you deserve!”

  He waited as long as he dared, staring into the void dead eyes of his pursuers, their mouths open and full of crimson goo. Once they were within a few feet, he whipped around and walked into the building, slow but purposeful as he continued to yell.

  “Come on now, everybody get inside!” he called, curling his hands around his mouth. “No stragglers!” He moonwalked backwards through the building, and about two-thirds of the way across, made a beeline for the back door. “Don’t mind me y’all, just gonna step out for a bit of fresh air!” he cried, and threw open the door to freedom.

  Trenton secured it from the outside, and then stood at one of the windows, knocking and banging on the panes to continue to draw the ghouls towards him.

  “Welcome to the company barbecue, motherfuckers!”

  Reed hissed as another branch cut into his neck, but didn’t dare make a noise. Getting poked by a few branches was a small price to pay for having a good hiding spot from the gigantic horde of flesh-eating monsters. It was difficult to stay patient as he watched the zombies meander their way into the warehouse, but he definitely felt more relaxed when Trenton made it out the other side.

  Come on, almost there, he thought as the ghouls piled in, you can do it. A few minutes later, the last group pushed through the sliding door and he surveyed the area. There were a few zombies caught on the busted fencing, but not so many that he couldn’t deal with them alone.

  Reed jumped out of the brush, hissing again as a particularly sharp branch sliced open his forearm. He shook his head and jogged towards the warehouse, vaulting over a dip in the fence and ignoring the grunting ghouls in favor of the sliding door.

  As he took hold of it, a few creatures turned at the squeaking sound, opening their mouths with excitement.

  “Not today bub, not today,” Reed said, and slammed it shut, sealing the horde inside. He took a step back and then nearly leapt out of his skin when he realized Trenton was standing right behind him. “Jesus fuck dude, watch it with that shit.”

  “A little jumpy there?” His friend grinned.

  Reed wrinkled his nose. “After the week we’ve had, the question is, why aren’t you jumpy?”

  “Eh, too busy,” Trenton replied, and headed over to the fence to dispatch the tangled zombies there. As he stabbed the last one in the head with his machete, he turned around and surveyed the area. “Holy shit, I think this actually worked.”

  Reed nodded, double checking that the door was secure. “Should I get the fire going?”

  Two shots cracked in the distance before Trenton could answer.

  “Maybe we should check in with Leon, first,” he said, and pulled out his walkie talkie. As soon as he turned it on, a voice came bellowing out of the speaker.

  “-in the hell are you boys? I swear if y’all are dead I’m gonna kick your ass!”

  Trenton grinned and hit the button. “Easy there big fella, we’re here.”

  “Thank the good sweet lord,” Leon came back. “Guess my shots got your attention.”

  Trenton’s brow furrowed. “That was a little risky, don’t you think?”

  “Not nearly as risky as what’s headed your way,” came the reply, and both boys looked at each other, wide-eyed.

  Trenton swallowed hard, and then clicked the button again. “What’s coming out way?”

  “Looks like a group of three, maybe four hundred of those fuckers. Something got their attention and they broke away from the school group,” Leon explained.

  The younger man nodded. “Okay, well as soon as Rogers gets here we’ll get the barbecue going and be back on the right side of the fence.”

  “Yeah, about that,” Leon replied, dragging his words a little. “He’s gonna need your help.”

  Reed swore under his breath as his partner asked, “Where is he?”

  “Second floor of the hospital in the pharmacy,” came the reply. “He’s on com so he’ll be able to talk you in.”

  “How much time we got?” Trenton asked.

  “Thirty, maybe forty minutes, max,” Leon said. “They’re a ways away from you, but they looked like they were going at a pretty good clip.”

  The younger man took a deep breath. “Looks like we’re going free fire, then.”

  “Shit, I would.” Leon chuckled.

  “Check those doors to see how sturdy they are,” Trenton instructed his partner.

  Reed’s brow furrowed. “What for?”

  “Cause we’re gonna burn this bitch on the way out,” his friend replied. “Might be a good way to cover our tracks.” He raised his radio again as Reed shook his head and headed to the doors. “All right Leon, here’s what we’re doing. We’re gonna go get Rogers and then set the warehouse ablaze on our way out. My thinking is that the fire will cover our retreat.”

  “As good an idea as any,” Leon came back. “Just to be safe though, I’ll send some more men to that barricade in case you have company tailing you.”

  Trenton nodded. “Good call. We’ll be in touch.”

  “It’s solid enough,” Reed said as he headed back over. “It should hold for a while.”

  His partner clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, let’s get the gas cans ready because we may not have much time when we get back. Then we’re going on a rescue mission.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Clara pulled off of the interstate, stopping at the top of the exit to get her bearings. She planted her feet on the ground and pulled out Leon’s map, making sure that she was in the right place.

  This has got to be it, she thought. Doesn’t look like there’s much of anything past this for quite a while. She eased on the accelerator, rolling over the bridge and towards the buildings in the distance. She took it slow and steady, making sure that nothing was going to jump out at her.

  As she got closer, there was no doubt she was in the right place. Out of the four small buildings, one was a two-story structure with beautiful curtains in the upstairs windows. It looked homey, like somebody had decorated with care. The other three looked like storage buildings.

  Clara parked the bike and hopped off, drawing her handgun just in case. She headed through the center of the buildings, to the far side of the two-story. Around the corner, there was a large truck sitting there. It looked uninhabited, and she quickly checked it to be sure.

  With no signs of life or unlife, she rounded the back of the truck and reached up to unlatch the back. At the telltale click of a cocking gun, she froze.

  “I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d stop right there,” a man said.

  Clara turned slowly to see an older redneck aiming a rifle at her from a second floor window. “I’m not here to do anybody any harm,” she said, holding her hands high.

  “That is good to know,” he said, “but if it’s all the same to you, we’d rather not take any chances.”

  The door beside her opened, and a large skinhead emerged, followed by a fit-looking red headed woman, both with guns trained on her.

  “My friend Jeff here is going to come relieve you of your weapon,” the woman declared. “You so much as flinch and it’ll be the last thi
ng you ever do.”

  Clara nodded in agreement, taking a deep breath. The skinhead, apparently Jeff, moved cautiously towards her, taking the handgun quickly before gently lifting the AK-47 from her back.

  He shot her an apologetic look. “Don’t take this personally, but I need to pat you down for other weapons.”

  She raised an eyebrow, surprised at his politeness. “Do what you gotta do, big fella,” she replied, a little at ease with his care in regards to touching her.

  “She’s clean,” he said as he grabbed her blades, and the redhead nodded at him before holstering her own weapon.

  The woman motioned to the redneck in the window. “You can put your hands down, but try anything and Rufus up there will end you quick. We clear?”

  “Clear,” Clara promised, and lowered her arms.

  “Now, I thought we were crystal fucking clear with you Sonora assholes that if anybody followed us, we’d wipe out the entire town,” the redhead snapped.

  Clara’s brow furrowed and she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Sonora? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You didn’t follow us from Sonora?” The other woman crossed her arms.

  Clara shrugged, shaking her head. “I’d be willing to bet I couldn’t find that town on a map, assuming it’s even big enough to be on a map. I’m from El Paso… well, at least I was before the Cartel came.”

  The duo shared a glance, full of concern and confusion.

  “What the hell are you talking about with the Cartel?” Jeff asked.

  Clara swallowed hard. “The Rivas Cartel poured over the border when this thing was just getting started. They have complete control of the city now.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jeff breathed.

  The redhead took a deep breath. “So how did you get out?”

  “I was lucky, and got smuggled out by some Cartel members who aren’t a fan of what they’re doing to civilians,” Clara explained. “There’s a group of about a hundred of us that are in a town called Fabens that’s just outside the city.”