It looked like at one time he may have been a bodybuilder, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. Now he just looked like swiss cheese, missing large chunks out of his enormous biceps. Before Reed could react, the gigantic zombie crashed into him, slamming them both back against the concrete wall.
“Fuckfuckfuck!” Reed screamed, pushing up against the corpse’s chest to try to keep its snapping jaws away from his tender flesh.
Trenton managed to wriggle just far enough through the door, and brought the machete down into the thing’s head. It stuck halfway, but far enough to sever the brain, causing the zombie to slump forward.
“You okay?” Trenton asked.
Reed grunted and heaved the heavy body off of him, throwing his arm over his eyes to catch his breath. “Y-yeah.”
“Holy fuck, that was close, man,” Trenton let out a relieved laugh, scratching the back of his head.
His companion shook his head and couldn’t help but huff his own laugh. “Next door we come across, you’re going in first.”
“That’s a deal,” Trenton replied, reaching down to help his friend to a standing.
Reed finally got up, liberating the machete from the corpse and handing it back through the door before finally shoving the metal desk clear. He slowly made his way through the locker room as Trenton patted down the attacking corpse.
“We’re clear,” Reed called.
Trenton shook his head and walked into the main locker area. “No keys,” he reported, and then they both fixated on an open door in the corner. “Maybe the office?” he suggested, and they wandered in.
Trenton rummaged through the desk drawers while Reed checked the filing cabinet, chuckling at the sight of a hidden bottle of scotch in there.
“Eighteen-year-old scotch,” he said, pulling it out and giving it a wiggle.
Trenton shook his head. “Here’s a man who took his alcoholism seriously.”
“Yeah, I can respect that,” Reed said.
His companion opened the last drawer, and the jangling of metal made both of them hold their breath. Trenton grinned, reaching in for a keyring. The black car key matched the brand of the truck.
“Looks like we’re in business,” he said, and shoved them deep into his pocket.
They headed out of the locker room, re-inspecting the hallway before heading quickly to the back exit of the building.
“Is this the right door?” Reed asked.
Trenton scratched the back of his head. “I think it’s the closest one to the truck, but let’s see how bad it looks.” He gently pushed on the metal release bar, ever-so-slowly opening the door a hair’s breadth so he could get a good view of the parking lot.
Zombies staggered about, but the first ten feet or so out the door is pretty clear, and most of them were spread out instead of in groups. He carefully and silently closed the door again.
“So… you want the good news, or the bad news first?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.
Reed rolled his eyes. “When the fuck did we start getting good news today?”
“Fair enough,” Trenton chuckled. “Okay, there’s enough room to get the doors open and for us to get up a head of steam.”
Reed raised an eyebrow. “But?”
“But, there’s like a hundred zombies between us and the truck,” Trenton finished.
His companion let out a deep whoosh of breath. “Fantastic.”
“Just channel your football days, put your head down, and run like a motherfucker,” Trenton instructed.
Reed couldn’t help but laugh, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Not loving this plan.”
“Yeah, me either, but it’s the best we’ve got,” his friend replied with a helpless shrug. He put his hand on the release bar. “Ready? On three. One. Two. Three!”
He flung the door open and they burst into the parking lot. The sound of the metal door coupled with the quick movement drew the attention of every zombie within earshot, and they all turned towards the source.
Trenton led the charge, crashing apart two zombies that were close together, sending them stumbling back into a domino effect against other corpses. He continued like a lead blocker clearing the path for his running back, Reed hot on his heels.
The surrounding zombies began to swarm around the disturbance, and the two men ducked, bobbed, and wove through a sea of rotting flesh and grasping hands. Trenton kept his eyes on the truck, that cherry red beacon of hope, trying to ignore the cold dead fingers brushing every inch of his flesh as he flew past them.
As they managed to break free of the thick of the horde, the truck was about twenty yards away, and Trenton mashed the unlock button on the key fob. Nothing happened.
“Fuck, it’s not unlocking!” he screamed.
“Keep trying!” Reed huffed from behind him.
Trenton hit it over and over, but still the truck stayed silent. As they reached the doors, they jerked on each handle, but everything remained shut tight.
“Christ, do we even have the right keys?!” Reed cried, voice carrying a panicked edge.
“I fucking hope so!” Trenton fumbled to switch to the actual key, but when he tried to shove it into the lock, he found a wad of dried bubblegum had been shoved into it. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he cursed, and looked over his shoulder at the horde that was only ten yards away. “Into the truck bed!” he yelled.
The duo jumped up into the back, using the tires for leverage, and flung themselves to relative safety just as the wave of zombies reached them.
“The key didn’t work?” Reed asked as they backed up into the center of the truck bed, back to back to avoid the reaching hands.
Trenton shook his head. “Fucking pranksters shoved gum in the lock. God only knows how long it’s been like that.”
“No wonder the coach drank,” Reed quipped as he smacked the arm of an overzealous zombie with his bat.
Trenton reached down and grabbed one of the baseball bats from the equipment cages and smashed it a few times against the back window of the cab, finally shattering it all over the backseats. He ducked inside, careful not to catch on any of the jagged glass, and slid into the driver’s seat.
“Oh, you’d better fucking work,” he muttered, and slid the key into the ignition. He turned it, and the engine sparked to life, the satisfying rumble of a working vehicle like music to his ears. “We have life! Get in!” he called back.
Reed dove inside, taking up a defensive position in the back window. “Don’t gotta ask me twice,” he declared.
Trenton popped the truck into gear and punched the accelerator, flattening several zombies as he peeled out of the parking lot.
His walkie talkie crackled and then Clara’s voice came through, “Trenton, I found it.”
Relief washed over him. “That’s great! Sit tight, we’re headed your way.”
Hope burned in his chest. They might just have a chance.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clara leaned up against the front counter, staring at her makeshift door lock. She couldn’t help but imagine it breaking, a hundred zombies flooding in to tear her flesh from her bones with their teeth. She shuddered, fingering the stock of the revolver secured to her side.
“Clara, you still with us?” Trenton’s voice through the walkie talkie broke her morbid thoughts, and she immediately raised it to her lips.
“Yep, just me and a hundred of my closest friends,” Clara replied dryly.
“Yeah, we can see that,” Trenton replied. “We’re about a hundred yards away on the frontage road. You certainly know how to draw a crowd.”
She sighed. “Any idea on how to get me out of here?”
“There are too many for us to drive through, so we’re gonna have to lure them away,” he explained.
She took a deep breath, picking at the hem of her tank top. “You’re gonna have to take them in the direction of Fabens, because there’s another horde down by the truck stop. Wouldn’t be good if you ran into them.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah, no kidding,” Trenton came back. “Okay. We’re gonna do a drive by and see if we can’t get them onto the frontage road. Sit tight, and just be ready to move, because we may not have much of a window.”
She jumped down from the counter and gripped the six-pack of tequila tightly. “I’ll be ready,” she promised, and shoved the radio back into her pocket.
Trenton popped the truck into gear and drove slowly up the road towards the liquor store. The tiny building was buried in a plethora of zombies at least twenty deep. He turned and backed up so that the bed faced the horde, and then laid hard on the horn.
The loud bleat got every creature’s attention easily, and the mass of rotted heads turned, mouths open in excited moans as they ambled towards the truck.
“Well, that worked pretty well,” Reed said.
Trenton moved the truck forward at a snail’s pace, so that he wouldn’t outrun the staggering zombies. “Let’s hope so,” he said.
Reed peered overtop of the heads, scoping out the store. “Shit,” he muttered. “There’s still about twenty of them around the store.”
“We can deal with that,” Trenton declared. “Are the rest still following us?”
His passenger nodded. “Yep, you’re still the zombie pied piper.”
“Let’s get ‘em down the road a little bit,” Trenton said, and led the throng about a half a mile before punching the gas. He sped towards the next interstate ramp, and then did a quick one-eighty, screaming back down the freeway towards the liquor store.
He got off just before, stopping in the middle of the road about fifty yards away.
“What are you thinking?” Reed raised an eyebrow.
“I’m thinking curbside pickup,” Trenton replied, inclining his head to the passenger door. “What kind of wingspan does that door have?”
His companion opened the door wide and then slammed it shut with a shrug. “Five feet, maybe?” he said.
“I can work with that,” Trenton declared, and put the radio to his mouth. “Clara, do you copy?”
Clara tightened her grip on the tequila, and lifted the radio to her mouth. “I’m here.”
“Which way does the front door open?” Trenton asked.
“Um,” she replied, brow furrowing. “It opens outwards. Why?”
There was a pause. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but when I tell you to, I need you to open the door for me.”
She almost dropped the alcohol in her shock, and stared at the walkie talkie as if it had offended her. “Uh, yeah, that does sound crazy,” she said. “You got any particular reason, or do you just like to challenge me?”
“We’ve gotta get as close as we can to the building to shield you from the zombies still outside,” Trenton explained. “We have to be five feet away from the building in order to get our door open.”
Clara nodded, finally grasping the idea. “Yeah, yeah, I’m tracking.”
“You have bullets left?” he asked.
“Five shots,” she replied.
“Okay, you get that door open and shoot whatever you need to shoot,” he instructed.
She barked a laugh. “Thanks for the permission, but that wasn’t going to be an issue.”
“Fair enough,” he replied with a chuckle. “You let me know when you’re ready.”
Clara walked over to the door and unwrapped her Christmas light lock, holding the knob tightly to keep the door shut. “I’m ready,” she said into the radio. “You just tell me when.” She shoved the walkie talkie back into her pocket, and tightened her hand around her gun.
She heard squealing tires outside, and the road of an engine growing closer.
“NOW!” Trenton’s voice echoed in her pocket.
Clara threw the door open, and then took a step back, firing carefully into the closest zombie’s face. Its forehead exploded onto its brethren, a trio of creatures that rushed forward to take its place, ambling through the door.
The truck smashed over the rest of the group, taking the front door right off of its hinges.
Clara dove behind the counter, putting a hard surface between her and her pursuers. She took her time aiming her weapon, acutely aware of how little shots she really had to get this right. She dropped first one, then two zombies, and as the third hit the counter and opened its mouth to scream, she put a bullet point-blank into its eye socket.
She didn’t waste any time darting around to the door, rushing towards the truck with the alcohol in hand. Reed stood against the passenger door, firing at the zombies wedged against the other side.
Clara lunged forward, shoving the case of tequila across to the middle seat before clambering up herself. Reed immediately slid down into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door.
“Go go go!” he cried, and Trenton hit the gas for all he was worth.
Once they were back on the frontage road heading towards the entrance ramp, the three shell shocked civilians stayed silent. It was Reed that broke the quiet, spotting the horde they’d led away, still ambling after a long escaped target.
“Christ, they’re still walking,” he breathed.
Clara swallowed hard. “We’re going to have to keep an eye on that.” She crossed her arms, happy to be in the presence of live human beings.
“First things first,” Trenton said hoarsely, nodding to the box of liquid gold at Reed’s feet. “We have to get that tequila back to town. Not going to have anything to protect unless the cartel is happy with us.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Man… that’s one hell of a haul to get to,” Leon said, and let out a low whistle.
Rogers shrugged as he circled a few more places on the large map on the table. “Pretty much everywhere is going to be a hell of a haul from where we are.”
“This is true,” Leon replied.
The Detective inclined his head towards the duffel bags. “How detailed can that satellite get?” he asked.
“If I push it?” Leon pursed his lips, and shrugged. “I can get down to twenty feet above ground level. I mean, we ain’t gonna be able to look in stores or nothing, but we can at least scout out hordes.”
The loud bleat of an air horn sliced through the air, and the two men straightened up.
Rogers turned to his new companion. “If we survive the day, that’ll be useful,” he said, and then patted him on the back. “Are you up for this?”
“Don’t worry man, I got you,” Leon replied, offering him a reassuring smile. “I spent half my career learning how to please the higher ups who viewed me as disposable.”
The Detective chuckled humorlessly. “Given that we are very disposable in their eyes, that experience is going to come in handy.”
“Any last bit of advice?” Leon asked.
Rogers grinned. “Cover your ears.” He motioned to the bandage on the side of his head, and then turned on his heel to head to one of the back offices to hide.
Leon chuckled and shook his head, heading outside. The air horns stopped their incessant noise, and he watched a half-dozen heavily armed men creating a perimeter on the main drag around three black SUVs.
He took a deep breath and headed towards the cluster as a group of well-dressed men stepped out of the middle vehicle.
“You!” A tall man pointed at Leon as he approached. “Are you the man in charge of this… whatever the hell it is?” He waved his hand around above his head.
“Yup,” Leon replied, crossing his arms. “And who might you be?”
“I am Tiago Rivas, head of the Rivas Cartel and the current ruler of El Paso,” the man declared, his back ramrod straight.
Leon raised an eyebrow. “Ruler of El Paso?” he asked. “I wasn’t aware we had elected a king.”
“Kings are not elected, my friend,” Tiago said, wagging a gold-adorned finger, “they seize power when the opportunity presents itself. I saw my opportunity, and I took it.”
Leon gently clapped his hands together, as if applauding a good putt. “Well congratu-fucking-lations.�
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Tiago’s eyes darkened. “You would be wise to show me respect.”
“Respect is earned,” the self-proclaimed leader of Fabens shot back. “So far you haven’t earned a goddamned thing.”
The cartel leader laughed. “Fine, if this is the way you want to go about things, I will happily oblige.” He drew his shiny handgun and aimed it at Leon’s forehead, his opponent not even flinching with the movement. “You have ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you and everyone in this town.”
Leon shrugged casually. “Because we can do things your people can’t do.”
“Like what?” Tiago sneered. “Go out into the wasteland and get supplies? I have an army of people who do my bidding at my command.”
Leon nodded. “That may be true, but I can guaran-damn-tee they don’t have satellite surveillance.”
Tiago pursed his lips and lowered his gun, contemplating.
Angel growled, stepping up beside his father. “Just shoot him and take his shit,” he demanded. “We got people who can run it.”
“Not without the codes that are in here,” Leon singsonged, tapping his temple. “You touch me, or anybody in this town, and I’ll punch my own ticket, and you boys get nothing. Now, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but you need to sit your happy ass down and let the grownups continue talking.”
Angel snarled. “How dare you speak to the son of-”
“Oh, he’s your father?” Leon cut in, eyebrows rising to his hairline. “Well, if you take another step closer to me, I’m gonna make you call me daddy. Now sit your punk ass down before I embarrass you in front of your friends and family.”
Angel reached for his knife, but his father smacked him in the arm.
“Enough,” he snapped. “Back to the truck.”
His son scowled, glaring daggers at Leon, who simply winked and blew him a kiss. Angel stormed back to the truck, slamming the door extra hard behind him.
In the distance, headlights appeared over the horizon, and Tiago raised an eyebrow as his guards turned, on high alert.
“Friends of yours?” he asked.
Dead America The Second Week (Book 3): Dead America: El Paso, Part 2 Page 7
