Hector pressed the barrel of his rifle against the back of Rodriguez’ neck until he reached up and rapped on Tiago’s office door. A bodyguard cracked the door, peering down his nose at the group.
“Who is it?” The cartel leader’s voice carried from inside.
The bodyguard surveyed the motley crew in front of him. “Rodriguez, your son, and a few others,” he replied, sounding almost bored.
“Oh, I didn’t realize the party was starting in my office today,” Tiago replied and clucked his tongue. “Very well, send them in.”
The bodyguard opened the door wide, stepping aside. Angel swept past Hector, who held Rodriguez at arm’s length by the collar. Juan Pablo dumped Francisco onto the floor, leaning against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankle.
Tiago looked up from cutting his steak and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He shoved his chair back and glared at his son.
“Angel, have you lost your mind?” he demanded. “What are you doing, leading my second-in-command around like a dog?”
His son raised his chin. “Juan Pablo and I caught Rodriguez and this piece of shit organizing a resistance movement against you.”
Rodriguez scoffed and rolled his eyes.
Tiago pursed his lips, reaching down for his silk napkin. He dabbed daintily at his mouth and then skirted his desk, stalking over to his second-in-command. He raised an eyebrow.
“A resistance movement?” he asked, voice level.
Rodriguez shrugged, trying to seem casual though his heart throttled his chest. “Hardly.”
“Then explain yourself,” Tiago said with a wave of his hand, “against these serious accusations.”
His second took a deep breath. “In the town of Fabens, I set up a safe haven for the undesirables who are expelled from the city. They are of no threat to you or any of us.”
Tiago clucked his tongue and turned to his desk, lifting his glass of fine tequila and swirling it. “So, who am I to believe? My son, or my second-in-command?” He downed the glass and then pulled out his gold-plated handgun, whipping around, wide-eyed. “You two have always butted heads, but I thought you could work through it like mature fucking adults. Apparently, I was wrong.” He raised the gun to his second’s forehead.
“Wait!” Francisco cried, scrambling to his knees as best he could.
Tiago laughed at the state of the man, and leaned over to accentuate how much lower his beaten subordinate was. “Oh? You wish you say something?”
“Fabens was… my doing,” Francisco said, voice hoarse with pain.
“Your doing?” Tiago threw his hands up with mock exasperation. “And why would you think that was a good idea?”
“I…” Francisco gasped and then cleared his throat, catching his breath, “I thought that putting the undesirables to work venturing out into the infected areas to retrieve supplies was worthwhile. They risk their lives and we reap the benefits, costing us nothing.”
Juan Pablo snorted, raising his hand. “Then what about the weapons you were stealing?”
“You were stealing weapons?” Tiago snarled. “To give to those people?”
“A few rifles and handguns, nothing that would pose a threat to us,” the beaten man insisted. “Just something to help them get what we need.”
“Enough,” Rodriguez cut in, glaring down at his friend. “Francisco is attempting to cover for me. Fabens was my idea, and he was just following orders.”
Tiago barked a few choice Spanish words, and then turned back to his second, tapping the barrel of his gun against his temple. “Why would you betray me like this?” he asked, voice rising in pitch and volume. “After everything I’ve done for you? Everything I’ve done for your family?”
“We have a lot of territory to hold, and our manpower isn’t going to be increasing,” Rodriguez replied, battling to keep his voice steady. “And as your second-in-command, it’s my duty to make sure we have the things we need to withstand any threat.”
Tiago narrowed his eyes. “And you thought that sneaking people out of the city was the way to do that?”
“These people were discarded,” Rodriguez insisted. “I found a use for them. Think of it like a human recycling program.”
The cartel boss laughed, lowering his gun hand and resting a hand on his stomach. “That’s a good one. Human recycling.” He paced slowly to Francisco, like a lion stalking its prey. “So. You were just following orders, huh?”
“Yes…” the beaten man stammered. “Yes sir.”
“And why did you follow his orders?” Tiago asked.
Francisco swayed back and forth on his knees. “Because I’m loyal, sir.”
“Oh, you’re loyal?” The cartel leader sneered, and Rodriguez’ heart skipped a beat at how similar his son resembled him in that moment. “Loyal.” Tiago stepped back, tapping his handgun on his thigh. “So you’re loyal to Rodriguez, then?”
“Yes, sir…” Francisco gasped. “I’m… I’m loyal.”
Tiago’s eyes hardened. “You’re supposed to be loyal to ME!” he roared, and fired his gun, putting a bullet in the broken man’s gut. “You’re not supposed to be loyal to anyone else! Only me!” He fired three more times into the moaning man, and then took a deep breath, running a hand over his hair before turning to his second. “We’re going to take a field trip down to your little pet project,” he said, voice smooth as silk once again. “If it has borne fruit, you may yet live to see another sunrise. If it has not… then you will wish you met his fate.” He motioned to Francisco, who bled out on the floor, twitching.
Rodriguez blinked down at his friend, trying not to show his emotions, but inside he screamed and thrashed with each ounce of the life draining from Francisco’s body.
“Juan Pablo, get the car,” Tiago barked. “And get someone in here to deal with this mess! I want this cleaned up, and this piece of shit traitor hanging from a lamp post by the time I get back.”
Juan Pablo nodded and headed for the door. “Yes, sir.”
Tiago holstered his golden gun and skirted his desk, sitting down to resume eating his steak as if he hadn’t been interrupted in the first place.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Clara rose up onto her knees and peeked out the window, surprised that the horde hadn’t come knocking for her yet. There were a smattering of zombies roaming about, but nothing even close to the crowd that had swarmed around the truck stop.
She let out a deep sigh of relief and then glanced at the kitchen. “Well, if I’m here, I might as well see if I can find what we need,” she muttered, and got to her feet. She bounced on her toes for a moment to loosen up her joints and then headed for the cupboards, opening and closing every one.
She found a handful of canned goods, and an open bag of chips that was more ants than chips. The pantry and the fridge also stood empty, and even the freezer had been picked clean. She slammed the door shut in frustration, and then paused at the sight of a flyer stuck to it with a University of Texas magnet.
20% OFF LIQUOR SALE, the flyer boasted, and Clara ripped the paper free. She stared at the picture of an unmarked building, no big advertising, just a small hand-written sign in the window. She closed her eyes.
“Son of a bitch,” she breathed. They’d passed that building on their way into town. It was one of the first ones they’d come across on the outskirts.
She reached for her walkie talkie, and hit the button to speak. There was no sound, not even static, and she examined the device. It was powered off.
“Good job there, Malcolm,” she muttered. “Dumbass.” She paused and shook her head, berating herself for making fun of a dead man. She hadn’t known him well, and he hadn’t been the brightest bulb in the box, but he deserved her respect.
She took a deep breath and powered the radio on, turning it to channel thirteen and whispering a quiet prayer to whatever deity would listen before pressing the talk button.
“Trenton,” she said firmly and clearly. “Trenton, are you there? It’s
Clara.”
She held her breath as she waited for a few tense moments.
“Clara!” Trenton came back, voice bursting with excitement. “You’re alive! Is Malcolm with you? We saw smoke coming from the truck stop.”
“He’s… he’s gone,” she replied. “So is the dune buggy.”
“Ah,” came the somber reply. “Are you okay?”
“I’m a little scared, but I’ll live,” Clara assured him.
There was a moment of quiet and then another click. “Where are you?”
“I’m in some small house just north of the interstate,” she said.
“Are you able to get out?”
“It looks like it,” she said, heading back to the window to double-check. “There’s only a handful of those things around.”
“Okay,” Trenton said quickly, voice like stone, “I want you to get back to the interstate and head back towards Fabens. About ten miles up the road is a town called Allamore. Go north and you’ll find a safe house we set up. Food, water, everything you’ll need to be comfortable for a while. Reed and I will meet you there when we can.”
“I have a better idea,” Clara cut in. “I figured out where the liquor store is.”
“You did? How?” Trenton blurted. “Wait, forget that, I don’t care. Where is it?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but it’s one of the first buildings we passed when we came into town,” she replied, scrubbing a hand down her face in frustration. “It’s a small concrete building with a handwritten sign in the window. That’s why we missed it.”
“Fuck, fuck!” Trenton barked. “Fuck!”
“Are you okay?” Clara asked immediately. “What happened?” She imagined the guys being gored by zombies. “Trenton, what’s going on?”
“I fucked up, that’s what’s going on,” he moaned. “I fucked up and two people died.”
She calmed down, realizing he was beating himself up, and shook her head. “Hey. It’s not your fault. We all missed it.” She decided not to ask about Jay, whom she assumed had fallen given the fact that he said two people died, and mentioned he and Reed would meet up with her.
“Yeah, well, you all weren’t in charge,” Trenton said quietly.
“Well, don’t make their deaths be in vain,” Clara insisted. “We have a chance to protect Fabens, so let’s figure out how to do it.”
There was a quiet moment, and she hoped that Reed was comforting him proper on the other end.
“You’re right,” Trenton finally said. “Okay. How do we do this… how… I got it, I think. Can you get to the liquor store?”
Clara peered out the window again. “I think so. I can see the main road, and it’s just like a mile or so run to get to the store.”
“Okay, get there as quickly as you can,” he instructed. “Get in, find what we need, and sit tight. Reed and I will take care of finding transportation. We will come get you.”
Her heart leapt for the first time since she’d left El Paso. Is this what hope feels like? “Okay. I’ll radio you when I’m in.”
“Be safe,” Trenton said firmly. “Over and out.”
Clara pocketed the walkie talkie and checked her weapons, making sure her gun was loaded and accessible. She gripped her tire iron, knowing it would be her best bet to stay as quiet as possible.
She watched the zombies from the door’s window, taking a deep breath. “Don’t think, just go,” she muttered to herself, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Go now. This is just like any other run. Go as fast as you can and don’t look back.”
She took a deep, steadying breath, and then threw open the door, darting outside. She flew past two zombies before they could even register her presence, and ducked under the clawing arms of a third. The last one in the yard managed to catch her shirt on the way by, and she stifled a scream as she spun around.
She smashed the tire iron down on the ghoul’s wrist, shattering it into pieces and sending the frustrated zombie staggering back. She tore free and took off running to the road, too afraid to look over her shoulder to see how far away the quartet of corpses were.
“Don’t look, just run,” she huffed as her legs pumped against the ground. “You’re faster than they are. They can’t catch you.” She focused on her path along the road, even as moans grew louder behind her. They straggled up onto the pavement from the shoulders, and she zig-zagged as fast as she could across the lanes to avoid them. Stopping to fight would be death—she needed to keep moving.
Clara reached the parking lot of the liquor store as her calves began to scream in agony, and jerked hard on the front door.
It was locked.
“Shit,” she muttered. At this point, she finally turned around, eyes widening at the sight of the horde that had gathered to stagger up the road. Even at a hundred yards away, it was an intimidating sight, and she fought the panic rising up in her throat. “Shit!” She turned and yanked on the door again, though her rational brain knew it was futile. “Fuck it,” she grunted and took a step back from the door, drawing her revolver.
This definitely counted as an emergency, and since she already had the attention of almost a hundred zombies, it didn’t really matter how much noise she made. She aimed at the latch, turned her head away, and fired.
The door fell open, the wood falling away, and she tore inside, pulling it shut behind her. Having completely destroyed the latch, Clara looked around wildly for something to hold the door closed. She spotted a string of Christmas lights in the window and ripped them down, wrapping the cord around the door knob several times. She pulled it taut, testing the strength, and then stretched it out and tied it around the leg of a heavy metal shelf nearby.
She plucked the cord to make sure it was secure. If somebody were pull hard on that door, it was likely that the whole thing would come free, but she had no other options, and hoped that the zombies wouldn’t be that smart. They tended to just bang on stuff, not pull open doors.
Clara ran behind the front counter, scanning the back wall for anything worthy of the cartel boss. She clambered up onto the counter to reach the top shelf, finding a mini-case of tequila priced at $250.00 per bottle.
She raised an eyebrow as she pulled it down. “Hopefully that’s retail and not an insane markup,” she said, shaking her head. The bottles were dusty, but intact.
As her feet hit the floor, the thunder of zombie hands smacking the front of the building made her heart leap into her throat. The moaning permeated the walls, and she froze stock still, waiting to see if the Christmas lights would hold.
When the door stayed put, Clara lifted her walkie talkie to her lips. “Trenton, I found it.”
“That’s great!” he replied immediately, the sound of an engine in the background. “Sit tight, we’re headed your way!”
She took a deep breath and pocketed the radio, wincing as the windows rattled in their frames under the violent hunger of the creatures outside. “Not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“You got anything?” Trenton called across the classroom as he peered out one of the windows.
Reed made a noise of dissatisfaction. “Not seeing shit, man.”
“All right,” Trenton replied with a sigh, heading for the door. “Let’s try across the hall.” They crept across to the closest door across the way, pausing with their weapons at the read.
Reed gripped the knob and then threw the door open, allowing his companion to rush in, machete raised.
“It’s clear,” Trenton declared, and headed for the window as the door gave a soft click behind him.
They scanned the zombie-filled landscape, dozens of corpses staggering around the main parking lot.
“Holy shit,” Reed said, pointing. “I think I got something, look at the far end there.”
Trenton shifted his focus to the side his friend surveyed, and honed in on a bright cherry red extended cab pickup truck. “You have any idea how to hot-wire a truck?”
“Afraid pickin
g locks was as far as I got in my criminal career,” Reed admitted.
His companion rubbed his chin. “What are the odds the keys are in the building?”
“Let me see those binoculars,” Reed said, holding out his hand. He raised them to his face and scrutinized the truck, seeing a few plastic barrels in the back full of basketballs and soccer balls. There was a pile of baseball bats and some other sports equipment. “Check it out,” he said, handing the binoculars back over. “Either that’s the P.E. teacher’s truck, or somebody was stealing equipment.”
Trenton nodded as he lowered the device, shoving them back into his belt. “To the gym,” he declared, and they headed out of the classroom.
They were cautious but brisk as they headed down the hallway, easily finding the double doors of the gymnasium. A thick metal chain held them shut with a lock. Reed grunted as he inspected the lock, realizing it was a combination instead of a key.
“Fuck,” he dropped it and shook his head.
Trenton motioned to the sign for the locker room. “Hey, Reed, let’s hit the showers,” he said, and headed around the corner.
The duo quickly ducked back around at the sight of two zombies banging on the door to the locker room. Trenton did a silent countdown and they crept up behind the corpses until they were within arm’s reach, and struck in unison. The zombies crumpled to the floor without so much as an extra groan to alert anyone of their presence.
“Looks like they were after somebody,” Trenton said as he wiped his blade clean on one of the fallen creature’s shirts.
Reed pushed against the door, and met resistance. He pushed a little harder, whatever was bracing it from the other side giving a squeaking noise as he managed to shove it across the tiles.
“Definitely after somebody,” he grunted, pushing harder. Trenton helped him and they managed to get it open wide enough for Reed to slip through.
The offending item blocking the door was a metal desk, and Reed wrapped his hands around it to move it out of the way enough so that Trenton could follow him in. He turned at the sound of shuffling feet and his eyes widened at the sight of a large zombie staggering out of the locker area.
Dead America The Second Week (Book 3): Dead America: El Paso, Part 2 Page 6
