DEAD AMERICA: THE SECOND WEEK
BOOK THREE
EL PASO PART TWO
BY: DEREK SLATON
© 2019
CHAPTER ONE
Day Zero +10
Ten miles east of El Paso laid the sleepy town of Butterfield, Texas. Once upon a time, Leon Jones would have been one of almost a hundred people living on one of the sparse and spread out plots of land. Many joked that Butterfield had been a ghost town before the apocalypse. Who knew they’d be right one day?
Leon knelt down beside his camping stove, his tall fit frame casting a shadow over it. Though in his fifties with greying hair, he was still fit, and with the bloody military fatigues he wore, he didn’t look at all helpless.
On this morning, however, just after dawn, he wasn’t worried about looking helpless or not. All he cared about was the precious commodity in his frying pan—a lone egg. He was determined to fry it perfectly—not too little, not too much—because he didn’t know when he’d be able to have another. If he’d ever be able to have another.
Food grew scarcer and scarcer these days. The Rivas Cartel had spent the better part of the week raiding every home and business close to El Paso, taking anything of value. And the most valuable thing in the apocalypse was food.
Leon inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the fresh egg he’d been lucky enough to find nestled in the old busted henhouse. “It’s a shame I couldn’t find any coffee to go along with this,” he said under his breath.
He poked the egg gently to make sure it was as firm as he liked it, and nodded to himself in satisfaction. He turned the heat off and tipped the frying pan over a paper plate he’d liberated from the trailer behind him. As he stepped back up into the double-wide, he took one last sniff of the fresh morsel before settling on the grimy couch in the living room.
The place was musty as all hell, the kind of smell that made Leon think of an old folks’ home. There was a thin layer of dust over everything, and he was willing to bet it was there from before the zombies considering the dry field in the surrounding area. He shoved a putrid-smelling beer can away from him, and sighed to himself.
“I feel you, brother,” he muttered to the ether, half to himself and half to the ghost of the previous owner. “If I were livin’ here in triple digit temps half the year, I would have given up on life too.” He leaned forward and bit into the egg, gobbling half of it and chewing slowly, savoring the creamy yolk on his tongue.
The pleasure was short-lived, however, at the sound of a rumbling engine.
Leon immediately sank to his knees, crawling over to the kitchenette window. He gently pulled back the sheet that was a makeshift curtain and peered out at a white truck skidding to a stop at the small shack-like house across the field.
A trio of men jumped out of the vehicle, all carrying AK-47s with a swagger that was unmistakable.
“Motherfucking cartel,” Leon muttered. He popped the other half of the egg in his mouth, and crawled back over to the couch to grab his scoped bolt-action sniper rifle. He double-checked the fresh clip was primed and ready to go, and gave the gun a loving pet. “Well girl, looks like we have another day of action on our hands. Starting early, too.”
He headed back to the window, peeking out just as the cartel members kicked the door in to the tiny dilapidated house. A zombie staggered out, short compared to the cartel members, and they hooted at it, forming a loose triangle. They teased it, enraging it from behind every time it got too close to somebody. The confused corpse wandered back and forth, screaming and moaning in frustration.
Leon tore a bit of the sheet clear from the window, so he could aim his rifle through it but stay mostly hidden. He peered through the scope just in time for one of the men to get bored of the game and shoot the zombie in the back of the head, splattering rotted brain matter over one of his companions.
“We used to joke about how interrupting breakfast should be punishable by death.” Leon chuckled to himself, low in his throat. “Took a while, but finally get to make it real.”
The cartel member covered in zombie goo stepped up to the shooter, shoving him in anger at being splattered with guts for no reason. The third man simply laughed and watched as his friends argued, bumping chests in a classic display of testosterone.
Leon aimed carefully, and took a deep breath, his nerves relaxing and hand steady. As the grappling duo moved so that one’s back was to him, he pulled the trigger. The bullet went through both of them, dropping both bodies to the ground, as the third man quickly fumbled with his radio, screaming frantically into it.
Once upon a time, Leon had been the fastest shot in his battalion, but years behind a desk after his years of service had slowed him a little bit. He put a bullet in the third man’s forehead, but not before it seemed he’d been able to get a partial message to whomever was on the other side of that radio.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered to himself, and sat back on his heels. He took a beat to begrudge his waning skills and the fact he was about to lose his hideout, and then snapped to action.
Leon leapt to his feet and ran to the bedroom to grab his two duffel bags. He threw them over his shoulder and peered out the window once again. He didn’t hear any more vehicles approaching. He looked out the window on the other side of the trailer, noting a row of three houses closer to together about forty yards across the dusty field.
He burst out the front door, tearing around the back of the trailer just as the roar of approaching engines grew in a crescendo. He peeked back around the corner to see three vehicles cresting the horizon, and shook his head, taking off at a sprint for the houses.
He made a snap decision upon reaching them to head into the center house, figuring they’d start their search on either the left or the right side. The knob turned easily, miraculously unlocked, and he dove in, slamming it behind him. There was a moan and a shuffle as a zombie staggered in from the living room.
Leon jumped past it, giving it a shove in the back and heading down the hallway into the next room, closing the door behind him. Hopefully they’ll see that thing and call this place clear, he thought as he took in the bedroom. Hopefully.
He dropped his duffel bags in the closet and knelt down in the corner, gripping his rifle tightly. He strained his ears to hear, and luckily with the thin walls he was able to hear some voices outside. They spoke in rapid Spanish, and though he was a bit rusty he could pick up most of what they were saying to each other.
“Go check that house out,” one demanded.
A scoff. “Why should I do it? I went first on the last one?”
“Yeah, well, I’m driving,” the first guy snapped. “So unless you want to walk back…”
The response was mumbled so low that Leon couldn’t make it out, but he assumed it was likely something derogatory. There was a loud crack as somebody kicked the door in, and then a thud and a laugh.
“Hey, I found you a friend, man!” somebody said, and then there was a gunshot. Leon assumed they’d found his dead companion.
“Quit fucking around and search the place,” the bossy one snapped.
“Nobody’s in here,” the other guy whined. “Or, what, you think the zombie had a roommate?”
The sound of the footsteps retreating made the hiding man let out a soft sigh of relief, though he knew better than to count his chickens before they hatched.
“Hey, that was awfully quick,” another voice said from outside, sounding skeptical.
“Fucking zombie in the living room, man,” someone protested.
“That wasn’t my question,
” the other voice grew in volume and sternness.
“Hey, if you think someone was shacking up with a ghoul, then by all means, have a look,” the other guy replied. “We’re moving on to the next house.”
“Fucking slack asses!” the stern one barked. “I guess I have to do your job for you!”
“Fuck,” Leon muttered, swallowing hard. The one time these guys are thorough.
His muscles tensed up again at the sound of footsteps inside the house. There was a bit more chatter but it seemed more slang than anything, he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. The last word, however, was bedroom, and he crept behind the door, drawing his knife.
The door knob turned and he raised his weapon, waiting as the barrel of an AK-47 nosed its way through the crack in the door. It creaked as it opened, and a man entered slowly. Just as he was about to turn his head, Leon dove for him, batting his gun down and pressing the knife to his throat.
They grappled a little, and he noted the fear in the guy’s eyes as he slammed him back against the dresser, knick-knacks clattering to the floor. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and Leon fought the churning in his guts at the thought of harming a kid less than half his age.
As another cartel member approached from the hallway, the older man spun his prisoner around and curled his knife arm around his throat, using him as a human shield.
“Put it down or I will gut him like a fucking fish,” Leon warned.
The approaching cartel member lowered his weapon immediately, putting up a tentative hand to try to defuse the situation. “Calm down, friend,” he said in heavily accented english.
“I’m not your fucking friend,” Leon growled, “and if you take one more step then I start slicing.” He dug the blade in a little harder, a bead of blood forming on the top.
“Hey, you guys okay in there?” somebody yelled from outside.
“Yeah, dumbass here slipped and fell when he saw a dead body,” the kid called back, voice surprisingly steady. “Guess I should be thankful he didn’t shit himself again!”
The guy outside laughed. “Okay, well this house was clear so we’re going to move on up the road.”
“Sounds good!” the prisoner replied. “I’m going to piss and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Take your time,” his comrade yelled back, “whoever shot our boys is probably long gone by now.”
After a few tense moments, when they were sure the other men were out of earshot, Leon pursed his lips at the cartel member in the hallway. He slung his rifle over his back, putting both of his hands up.
The older man lowered the knife and shoved his prisoner away from him. “Go on, kid,” he said.
“It’s not too bad,” the guy murmured in Spanish as he looked at the scratch on the younger man’s neck. “Go get cleaned up in the kitchen, we’re going to have to go soon.”
As he headed off, Leon leaned against the dresser, crossing his arms as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Okay, you’ve piqued my interest,” he said. “Why didn’t you rat me out to your boys?”
“Because it takes skill, not to mention cantaloupe sized cojones, to take down three of our men,” the cartel member replied with a shrug.
Leon furrowed his brow. “Yeah, well, they interrupted my breakfast.”
“Understandable.”
“Still doesn’t explain why you didn’t rat me out,” the older man prompted.
His opponent shifted his weight. “Because I have a use for you.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t do work for the cartel,” Leon spat, wrinkling his nose.
“There are some of us who don’t like what’s being done to civilians in El Paso,” the man insisted. “We’ve set up a safe haven for them. A man of your particular skills could be very useful to them.”
Leon cocked his head, studying him for a moment. “I’m really thankful you never sat across from me at a poker table,” he finally said, “because I can’t get a read on you.”
“I just lied to protect you,” the man replied easily. “If I had gotten caught, they would have made an example out of me. That alone should be enough to convince you.”
Leon pursed his lips. “Perhaps.”
“Well, consider the alternative,” the man said. “Where else are you going to go? The closer you get to town, the more of us that are roaming around, so you can’t risk heading back in that direction. You have one road to the east, but the next bit of civilization is about seventy miles away. If the elements don’t get you, then the wildlife will.”
Leon sighed. “So, what do you propose?”
“You do not leave this room and you don’t make a sound until we are gone,” the man instructed. “In a couple of hours, my man Francisco will be by to pick you up. Just be ready to move when he gets here.” There was a moment of silence, and then recognition, and the man turned to leave.
“Hey,” Leon said quietly, “you never told me your name.”
“No, I didn’t,” the cartel member replied. “The fewer people who know who we are, the safer we stay. Good luck, friend.” With that, he headed to the front door to meet up with the younger man, wiping the last of the blood from his neck. He and Leon nodded to each other, before the older man closed the bedroom door once again.
He sat down on the floor, out of sight of the windows, and sighed heavily. He looked at his scuffed watch and couldn’t help but smile.
“Man, not even eight in the morning, and already a shit-filled day.”
CHAPTER TWO
Leon rolled a pen across his fingers and back, checking his watch again. It had been about two hours, and he’d been able to fall into a zen-like trance while spinning the pen around his fingers a multitude of ways. He hadn’t wanted to move from beneath the window in case of potential bad company, but it had remained quiet.
At the rumble of a single engine, he got up onto his knees and peeked through the blinds as an SUV approached the house. Leon grabbed his duffel bags and stashed them next to the front door, rifle at the ready as the vehicle came to a stop out front. He cracked the door, and watched carefully as the driver’s side window rolled down.
The man behind the wheel looked to be in his mid-thirties, with chocolate hair and aviator sunglasses.
“Well, you coming or what?” he asked.
Leon opened the door a little wider. “You Francisco?”
“Who the fuck else would I be?” the man shot back.
Leon rolled his eyes. “Well, the first three who showed up today sure as hell weren’t Francisco.”
“And that’s why I’m here.” Francisco put a hand to his chest. “Now, do you want a ride to safety, or are you gonna start huffing it up the road?”
The older man shrugged, picked up his bags, and flung open the door, jogging down the front steps to the vehicle. He opened the hatchback and tossed his bags in before skirting the SUV to get into the passenger’s seat.
He raised an eyebrow as he turned sideways, surveying the three people sitting in the backseat. There was a middle-aged couple clutching each other on one side, eyes wide with terror, and next to them a twenty-something petite but athletic woman with jet black hair.
“Folks,” Leon greeted them with a tip of his hat, “how we doing?”
Francisco rolled his eyes and punched the gas, starting the next leg of their journey.
“Oh, we’re doing just peachy,” the young woman piped up, sarcasm dripping from her tongue. “Let’s see, my best friend was shot in the street two days ago because he accidentally bumped into some cartel thug. My roommate vanished yesterday and I can only imagine what horrors she’s dealing with. And now I’m fleeing the city with two people so fucked up they can’t even speak and some over the hill dude in bloody army fatigues. Of course none of that even includes the whole dead rising to feast on the living bullshit.”
Leon blinked at her and then nodded casually. “Well, you gotta look on the bright side of things. At least it ain’t rainin’.
”
“Yes, mister military man, we are truly a blessed group of people.” She rolled her eyes.
He shrugged. “We are more blessed than you know, assuming you believe in that stuff.”
“Oh yeah?” She crossed her arms. “How so?”
He cocked his head. “Well for starters, we’ve outlived at least ninety percent of our fellow countrymen.”
“Ninety percent?” Her jaw dropped, and there was a moment where it seemed nobody in the car could even breathe. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Leon pinched the fabric of his shirt and tugged it a few times. “The military garb isn’t just for attracting the ladies,” he said. “I’m military intelligence. At least, I was before this shitshow hit.”
“So…” She cleared her throat, voice thick. “It’s like this everywhere?”
“Worse in a lot of places,” he replied. “Some of the major cities are on the verge of being completely wiped out. Even with our southern neighbors paying us an unwelcome visit, we’re still ahead of the game.”
“I thought you military intelligence guys were a bunch of geeks behind computer screens,” Francisco cut in as he turned a corner. “How the hell did you take out three of my guys?”
“I wasn’t always in intelligence,” Leon explained, shaking his head. “Started my career as a sniper. Ran several dozen missions in various theaters over the years. Decided to make the career change after some dumbass nearly got me killed because they sucked at their job. I wanted to do my part to make sure the next kid who filled my boots didn’t have to die due to negligence.”
The young woman in the back leaned forward. “That was noble of you.” She seemed sincere, her sarcasm gone.
“Eh, don’t chalk it up to nobility. My black ass loves me some air conditioning, which was in very short supply out in the field.” Leon chuckled and turned to the driver. “So, you gonna tell us where we headed?”
Francisco nodded. “It’s a little town called Fabens, about thirty miles southeast from town.”
“What is this place, anyway?” the young woman asked, leaning forward.
Dead America The Second Week (Book 3): Dead America: El Paso, Part 2 Page 1
