She sighed. “Tell me about it,” she agreed. “As much as I love lounging around, there’s not quite enough leg room back here for me. Starting to get a leg cramp.”
Trenton approached the turnoff in Van Horn, and focused on the road instead of their tail. It was unlikely zombies would be on the interstate or the highway, but he didn’t want to make a mistake and cause them to get in a wreck. As he turned off and saw the clear road ahead, he returned to checking his mirror.
Their tail turned off and followed them.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Clara’s brow furrowed. “Still with us?”
“Yep,” he replied with a sigh.
“Well, no sense in worrying about it,” she suggested. “Just keep going.” They rode in silence for a few minutes, and then she picked at the blanket before asking, “How are you doing?”
Trenton shook his head. “Um, fine I guess?” he replied, confused. “Could use a stretch, but it can wait until we get to the others.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said slowly. “I mean, how are you doing with Reed? You haven’t spoken about it since it happened.”
He tensed up immediately, shoulders rising an inch. “I’m fine.”
“If that’s your response, you’re obviously not,” she said gently.
Trenton grunted in frustration. “What do you want me to say, Clara?” he snapped. “My friend died horribly, and worse, he died for nothing. Just like my other friends who have gone out here into a zombie fucking wasteland looking for trivial shit to appease a fucking madman.”
“I…” she stammered, clutching the blanket. “I just want to know you’re doing okay… that’s all.”
“Well I’m not okay,” he snapped. “I’m pissed off, and worse, I’m terrified that by the end of the day I’m going to have to watch you or Hammond or even people I haven’t even met yet die horribly. And for what? So a power hungry madman can get drunk.”
There was a tense moment, and then Clara pried her fists open, releasing the blanket. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I blew up at you. I just… I don’t want to think about any of this until our town is safe. Because if I think of it, it takes my mind away from where it needs to be, which is focused on our job. If I’m not focused, it can easily result in someone’s death.”
She nodded. “I get it, it’s okay,” she assured him. “Just… just know that you can talk to me if you ever need to.” She reached through the seats and grabbed his arm.
He laid his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze before she settled back. “Appreciate that,” he said thickly.
“And I do have something that will help you get those horrible thoughts out of your head,” Clara piped up.
Trenton raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “What’s that?”
“Just picture Tiago Rivas crying like a little bitch whenever he looks in the mirror and sees his mangled face,” she suggested.
He cracked a smile, not really because he found it humorous, but to ease her tension. “I can work with that,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” she replied.
Trenton checked his mirrors and couldn’t find the tailing car. “Looks like they got bored and went home.”
“You sure?” Clara asked.
He scrutinized the landscape, and then nodded. “Yep, we’re good.”
She sat up and stretched, joints cracking and muscles pulling as she worked the kinks out. “Oh yeah, that’s a thousand percent better.” She reached into the cooler in the passenger seat and grabbed a bottle of water, cracking it open and chugging about half of it.
“Go easy on that,” Trenton said. “Unless you want to stop off in Marfa for a bathroom break.”
She stopped drinking and shook her head, putting the cap back on. “No thanks,” she said with a dark chuckle. “I’d like to have one of these trips where I don’t end up having guns pointed at me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Leon and Rogers approached the first house on the list Ethel had given them. They walked up to the front window and peered in, struggling to see past the sheer curtain liner.
“You see anything?” Leon asked.
Rogers shook his head. “Whole lot of nothing.”
“Well, let’s see if anybody’s home,” his friend suggested, and knocked on the window loudly. They waited, and after several moments there was still nothing, no movement or noise from inside.
“Looks like we’re all alone,” Rogers declared.
Leon pursed his lips. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said, straightening his shoulders, “let’s assume that we’re not.”
The Detective nodded and followed him to the front door. Leon tried the knob, and to their surprise, it turned easily and the door opened. They stepped into the house cautiously, Leon sweeping the front area as Rogers headed over and threw the curtains open. Sunlight bathed the living room, revealing a quaint lower-middle class setup, with a recliner, couch, and modestly sized plasma TV.
As the dank air swirled around them from the opening of the door, both men gagged.
“Christ,” Rogers huffed, “haven’t smelled anything that bad since my college days.”
They walked slowly through the house, a tiny two bedroom structure, working their way to the hallway. As they went, the smell grew stronger, and both assumed there was a zombie behind the only closed door, a back bedroom.
Leon knocked on it, and they waited. There was no sound at all, so after a quiet countdown, he threw open the door.
Both men recoiled at the sight.
“Yeah, that’s something I could have lived without seeing,” Leon admitted.
Rogers nodded jerkily. “Same here.”
A body in a floral dress sprawled across the bed, face blown off and blood and brain matter splattered all over the sheets and wall behind her. On the floor was a portly man in a plaid shirt and jeans, wrists cut and sitting in a pool of his own blood. Both looked to have been dead for quite some time, if the rotted smell was any indication.
Rogers stepped to the side of the room and opened the windows. “Probably isn’t going to help too much,” he said, still fighting the urge to gag.
“We’ll take what we can get today,” Leon replied, shaking his head. He stepped into the bathroom across the hall and grabbed a towel, and after Rogers sealed the door he shoved it underneath to try to contain the smell.
They walked back towards the entrance, branching off at the kitchen. Leon rifled through the cabinets above the counter, while Rogers headed for the pantry.
“Man, can I ask you a question?” the Detective asked as he opened the doors.
“Go for it,” Leon replied.
Rogers paused, pulling out an empty box of cereal. “When this whole thing goes south, you got a plan in mind?”
“Ever the optimist, huh?” Leon rolled his eyes.
“Just like to plan ahead for when something looks inevitable,” the Detective replied.
“Fair enough,” his friend replied with a sigh as he slammed a drawer shut. “In this scenario, I only have one thing on my list.”
Rogers cocked his head. “What’s that?”
“Strangle Angel Rivas with my bare hands until his beady little eyeballs pop out of their sockets,” Leon declared.
The Detective laughed as he dug around in the pantry, shaking his head.
“What’s so funny?” Leon asked.
“Sorry, I’m just cracking up because that’s the only thing I have on my list as well,” Rogers admitted.
Leon shared his mirth, and closed the last cupboard in the kitchen proper. “I got jack shit over here,” he reported. “You got anything?”
“Some mac and cheese and a couple cans of soup,” Rogers said.
Leon shrugged. “Well, we got dinner tonight, so that’s something.” He pulled out his notepad and jotted down what they’d found. “On to the next on
e?”
Rogers nodded, and motioned for his friend to lead the way back out, waving his hand in front of his nose. “On to the next one.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Trenton pulled up to the little collection of structures east of town. A door on the right opened up immediately, the barrel of a rifle poking out in his direction. He quickly raised his hands, and gave a wave.
Landry emerged into the daylight, lowering his weapon and giving a wave. “Hey, looks like we got some company,” he called over his shoulder.
Hammond and Whitaker stepped out from the garage, smiling at the familiar faces. Trenton and Clara hopped out of the SUV, and began stretching and shaking out their stiff joints as their friends approached.
“Any news about Mathis?” Hammond asked immediately.
Clara shook her head with a sigh. “Sorry, nothing yet,” she said. “Rodriguez has been on lockdown since the incident. We haven’t seen him at all.”
The soldiers shared discouraged glances, and then Landry scratched the back of his head.
“Well, not that we aren’t glad to see you,” he said slowly, “but what in the hell are you doing here if you don’t have info on Mathis?”
She opened her mouth to answer, but the door to the main building opened up, and Sparks and Rufus emerged, heading over.
“Good to see you again,” Sparks said, her red hair almost glowing in the sunlight. “And looks like you brought another friend.”
Trenton held out his hand. “I’m Trenton,” he said, and she shook it.
“Good to meet you,” she said. “I’m Sparks, and this is my good friend Rufus.”
The scruffy older man didn’t crack his deadpan expression. “Charmed.”
“Why don’t you come inside?” Sparks said, stifling a smile at his demeanor. “We just got a bit of a late breakfast going.”
Rufus wrinkled his nose. “Might be a little skimpy though, since we’ve been hittin the food supply a little hard of late.” He eyed Clara, and she lowered her gaze, knowing that she had been the one to drop off three more mouths to feed just a few days prior.
“We really do appreciate it,” she said quietly. “And to show our gratitude we brought along a little care package.” She motioned to the back of the SUV, and the duo headed over, eyes widening at the stash.
“Looks like some good stuff in there,” Rufus mused, rubbing his chin. “Even some books.”
Sparks smirked at him. “Don’t worry, if you can’t read ‘em, we can always use them as kindling.”
He chuckled and shook his head, the snippy tone gone from his voice as he waved to the group. “Come on,” he said, much more jovial. “Let’s get y’all fed.”
They started to head in, and then Whitaker turned. “You coming, Landry?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’ll keep watch.”
“For what?” she asked.
“Trouble,” he replied with a shrug. “No matter what we do, it always seems to be right behind us.”
She took a deep breath, and then nodded. “I’ll save you a plate.” She headed inside as he started down the road towards the interstate, and got situated in the living room with the others.
“How’s Ricky doing?” Clara asked as Jeff slaved away at the camping grill in the corner.
“I think he’s doing better, thanks to you,” Rufus replied. “Mary’s in there tending to him now.”
Clara leaned back on the couch. “We brought up another bottle of those meds, so hopefully it’ll get him back to where he needs to be,” she said.
Hammond put up a hand. “So, Clara, what sort of shenanigans are we getting into today?” he asked.
She sighed. “The Cartel is pushing us hard, and Angel Rivas is ready to burn us all to the ground,” she admitted. “So… we have to go into Fort Stockton to find what we need.”
The entire room fell silent, the only sound coming from the sizzling meat on the stove.
Rufus was the one to break it, running his hands over the back of his neck. “No, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all,” he said, sarcasm evident in his tone.
“Look, we know how it sounds,” Trenton began.
“Do you?” Rufus shot back. “Have you been to Fort Stockton? Because we have, at least to the city limits. Got close enough to look through binoculars and see that it would be safer to run through a German police dog convention while wearing ribeye underpants.”
Clara linked her fingers together. “We saw the satellite imagery, and it does look daunting.”
“That’s a fucking understatement,” Rufus snapped.
Sparks reached over and patted his knee, giving it a little squeeze.
He sighed, resting his hand over hers. “Sorry,” he said to Clara. “You were saying.”
She nodded in thanks. “Most of the zombies are in the center of the city along the main road,” she explained. “The outskirts on this side of things is a little sparse.”
“How sparse?” Sparks asked.
Clara shrugged. “Several groups of fifty or so,” she replied. “Maybe up to a hundred.”
“Could be doable if we’re careful,” Whitaker cut in. “And prioritize diversion rather than direct confrontation.”
Hammond crossed his arms thoughtfully. “The problem is, there’s no way of knowing where we’re going,” he countered. “Unless Leon was able to pinpoint a liquor store from the sky.”
Jeff entered the room with a large wooden tray stacked with food, setting it down on the coffee table. “I might have a solution for that,” he declared.
“Since when did you become the idea man of this operation?” Rufus asked playfully.
Jeff winked at him. “Well, somebody has to pick up your slack, old man.”
“Okay boy,” Rufus said with a chuckle. “Let’s hear your grand idea.”
The skinhead straightened up. “We can go to the wrecker yard.”
“Goddammit,” Rufus muttered.
Clara’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” the older man replied, “just pissed off he came up with a great idea.”
The young woman leaned forward, shaking her head. “I’m confused,” she said. “What good is a wrecker yard gonna do us?”
Hammond nodded, pointing at Jeff. “Because they’re going to have a good detailed map of the area.”
“And most likely a phone book,” the skinhead added.
Clara finally smiled, snapping her fingers. “So we can find a liquor store, find out where it is, and get it to go.”
“Bingo,” Jeff said, pointing at her with a smile.
Hammond slapped his thigh. “Well, you can count me in,” he said. “Whitaker?”
“Damn straight,” she replied immediately. “Gonna be real difficult to rescue Mathis if we don’t have a launching pad.”
The youngsters blinked at her, and she scratched the back of her head, grimacing.
“And, you know…” she held up a hand. “Protecting innocent lives and stuff.”
They smiled at their success in giving her a hard time.
“Landry’s just itching to blow something up, so he’s in,” Hammond continued, and turned to Sparks. “Can we pick you up anything while we’re out?”
She cocked her head. “Well, if there’s something we want, we’ll just pick it up ourselves.”
“We will?” Rufus asked through a mouthful of fried meat.
Jeff raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m with him,” he said, pointing to his older friend. “We will?”
“I don’t know about you boys,” Sparks declared, “but I’m tired of sitting on the sidelines. You do what you want, but I’m helping these people.” She stood up, crossing her arms.
Her friends shared a helpless glance.
“Well, you know me girl,” Rufus said with a sigh. “Where you go, I go.”
Jeff flopped down in his chair. “Can we at least eat first?” he asked. “I worked hard on this.”
Sparks grinned and nodded, ta
king her seat again. “Well, let’s dig in, because we have a busy day ahead of us.”
CHAPTER SIX
The group of eight took a knee by the edge of the road, just outside of the wrecker yard that was a mile and a half to the southwest of town. Hammond and Rufus both pulled out their own sets of binoculars, scanning the area.
There were dozens of broken down cars scattered about the field, with a small vacant parking lot leading up to the main building. A fenced-in area with barbed wire on top extended out from the far side, with heavy duty wreckers inside.
“I got a few live ones by the cars, left of the building,” Hammond reported.
“Got one to the right,” Rufus added.
Hammond nodded, lowering his binoculars. “Move quick, strike silently,” he said. “The longer we can go without giving ourselves away, the better.”
“And watch the undercarriage,” Rufus added. “Those things like to get under there for some reason.”
The group headed out, four in the front and four a few steps behind them, running in a two-by-two formation. They wove between the cars, leaders readying their knives to strike, the rest keeping an eye out for any surprise trouble.
The four creatures dropped in near synchronized attacks, and then Hammond and Whitaker broke away to head for the building. The Private went up the few steps first, stopping at the door with her Sergeant right behind her. She turned the knob, finding it unlocked, and then nodded to him to let him know they were good to go.
The other six stood back, giving the duo room to flee if they needed to.
Whitaker threw the door open and rushed in, knife at the ready, but nothing jumped out at her. Hammond followed close behind, and they moved about the space carefully. It was a tiny waiting room with a few dinky plastic chairs. A large plexiglas window allowed them a view of the work area.
Whitaker approached and peered through, the sun piercing through the gaps in the blinds to show the messy work room, but it was no worse than it would be on a normal work day. Certainly not an apocalypse work day.
“I think we’re good,” she announced. “No blood or signs of struggle.”
Dead America The Third Week (Book 7): Dead America, El Paso Pt. 7 Page 2
