Dead America The Third Week Box Set, Vol. 1 [Books 1-6 ]

by Slaton, Derek

  Once the outer door slammed shut, Mathis waited a moment to make sure nobody had come back in, and got up from his spot. He peeked around the door frame up the hall, straining his eyes and ears but noting nothing but a darkened corridor lit by a few cheap battery powered lights.

  He moved as silently as he could up to the main lobby area, a giant marble monstrosity that would have been more at home in a garish New York City building than one in West Texas. He surveyed the room, noting a few guards at the front door, and another one with his feet propped up on the reception desk.

  The power was still out, so the elevators were a no go. With the guards at the door facing outside and the reception desk guy enthralled with what seemed to be a nudie magazine, Mathis knew it was his chance. He silently moved along the edge of the wall to the hallway beside the elevators. As he ducked around the corner, he picked up the pace at the sight of a sign reading Stairs.

  As he moved, there was a flurry of movement from the lobby, and he booked it to the door. He threw it open and bustled inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He grimaced at the sound of the latch clicking, hoping desperately that the noise had been buried under the footsteps and talking in the hall.

  Mathis stood guard at the door for a tense few moments, holding his knife at the ready just in case. The footsteps grew louder. The chatter continued, fast Spanish that he couldn’t understand but the tone sounded agitated. The men paused outside of the stairwell door.

  Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Taking two men on with a knife and keeping it quiet would be a chore, let alone stashing the bodies. He didn’t want to have to deal with this—he was on a schedule.

  Finally, the guards turned and headed back for the lobby, their chatter growing faint in the distance, and Mathis let out a deep sigh of relief. He turned his attention to the stairs.

  Third floor should do it, he thought, and then moved quickly but silently up the flights. He paused on the third floor landing, readying his blade and taking a deep breath. He opened the door and crept onto the office floor. It was full of cubicles, with a line of full offices along either side. He looked around and got his bearings, and then headed for the corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked directly down at City Hall.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the glass wall giving a clear view to the cubicles, and pursed his lips. Well, that’s not going to work, he thought. If guards come to make rounds, I need cover.

  He looked around, and honed in on some large whiteboards on rollers in a conference room next door. He quickly rolled them in and put them against the glass wall, lining the office with enough of an obstruction that he hoped somebody glancing around wouldn’t notice.

  With cover secured, he cleared off the large wooden desk and shoved it into position, several feet away from the window. He sat for a moment, staring down at City Hall, finding the room that Rodriguez had explained to him. He took a deep breath, psyching himself up.

  “Getting here was the easy part,” he said to himself. “Now the fun begins.”

  Mathis set his duffel bag on the desk and unzipped it, pulling out the pieces of the giant sniper rifle that would end Tiago Rivas’ life.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Whitaker and Landry stood by the back windows that flanked the door. They aimed their weapons to the east towards the two gunmen in the neighboring yard.

  “Just so we’re clear, I’m taking the one on the left,” Whitaker said quietly.

  Landry nodded, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

  “Which one is on your left?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

  He rolled his eyes and raised his left hand.

  She smiled and nodded. “Very good,” she said, in a gentle voice reserved for small children.

  “One time,” he muttered. “One time I fuck that up, and you’re never gonna let me live it down.”

  Her grin widened. “Nope.”

  Hammond checked his watch in the living room, noting that their ten minutes was almost at an end. “It’s almost go time in here,” he hissed. “Y’all ready for phase one?”

  “Light ‘em up, Sarge,” Whitaker replied.

  The Sergeant turned to the window. “Hey!” he called. “What do you say we chat about this for a minute or so?”

  “You have exactly one minute left before I blow that house up,” Rodriguez yelled back, looking at his watch. “So chat away.”

  Hammond made sure his belongings were securely attached to him, and held the detonator tightly in his hand. “Never got your name there, bud.”

  “Because I never gave it,” Rodriguez bellowed back, amusement in his tone. “But you can call me Rodriguez.”

  “Rodriguez, huh?” the Sergeant called. “Pretty generic name there. What happened? Your parents not have any creativity or something?”

  His opponent barked a laugh. “Coming from a country with names like John and Mike, I wouldn’t be so quick to criticize others.”

  “Fair enough,” Hammond replied, chuckling to himself. “Say, I got a question for you!”

  Rodriguez sighed into the megaphone. “Go ahead.”

  “Where in the world did you guys get that riot gear from?” the Sergeant asked. “That looks like some heavy duty stuff.” He readied his rifle, taking a deep breath.

  Rodriguez motioned for one of the guards to step up beside him, and chattered away in Spanish for a moment. He straightened and raised the device to his lips again. “He says it’s none of your goddamn business where he got it from,” he said brightly.

  Hammond clucked his tongue to alert the others, and then ducked into the window, firing a quick single round into the man’s protective gear, knocking him back onto his ass. At the same exact moment, Whitaker and Landry squeezed their triggers and took out the two men hiding on the east side of the house.

  Rodriguez raised his hands and stepped forward to prevent his men from shooting. He barked out some commands in Spanish, holding up the rocket launcher as if to remind them that he was in charge. Once everyone relaxed, he raised the megaphone again, the fallen guard getting to his feet next to him with a grunt.

  “That was not very smart,” Rodriguez said.

  “My bad there, bud,” Hammond replied with a jovial tone. “Just not a fan of rudeness when there’s no need for it.”

  Rodriguez checked his watch. “While understandable, I’m afraid your time is up,” he replied. “Are you going to come out like a civilized adult, or do I get to have a little fun?”

  “I’ve been accused of being a lot of things, Rodriguez,” Hammond replied, and readied the detonator, “but being civilized ain’t one of them.” He hit the button, and in the distance, the getaway vehicle exploded.

  The Cartel gunmen surrounding Rodriguez startled and then raised their weapons, opening fire on the house. As soon as the noise began, Landry and Whitaker burst out the back door and fired at the four gunmen to the west, striking two with their first bursts. They sprinted for the east as the guards returned fire, their sights set on the fleeing soldiers.

  Hammond took a knee by the back door and took them out with two rapid well-placed shots, and then bellowed, “Grenades!”

  The three soldiers pulled out grenades and tossed them towards the corpses before running through the yard to the next street. As the explosives hit the ground, Rodriguez fired the rocket launcher.

  The house went up in a blaze of glory, the force of the blast knocking the trio staggering. Landry got a face full of grass, and Hammond grabbed his arm to help him quickly back to his feet. Their grenades detonated to the west.

  “Come on, we gotta move,” Hammond urged, and they tore after Whitaker, who was doing a quick sweep of the street.

  She waved at them. “We’re clear, move up!” she called.

  The trio tore across the street, ducking behind houses and sweeping the following roads up several blocks to get away from the Cartel confrontation. Whitaker covered the boys as they opened the back door of a vacant house, and
kept watch to make sure they weren’t followed as her companions swept the inside.

  “Clear on my side,” Landry reported as he came back to the door.

  Hammond joined him shortly after. “Same here,” he said. “Whitaker, how are we looking?”

  “Haven’t seen anything for several blocks,” she said, shaking her head. “And still nothing. If they’re searching for us, they’re taking their sweet time with it.”

  The Sergeant took a deep breath. “If Rodriguez is true to his word, there won’t be patrols for us.”

  “Think we gave him enough cover that his men will buy it?” Whitaker asked.

  Landry scratched the back of his head. “Our grenades went off a little late on those corpses.”

  “Hopefully he can pass it off as a neighbor’s grill tank exploding,” Hammond suggested. “Or something like that.”

  Landry shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “All we can do at this point is sit back and hope,” Whitaker cut in, still staring intently out at the street. “Unless you want to run back and ask him.”

  “Nah, hope is good,” Landry replied, waving his arms in front of his face. “Plus, I’m done running for awhile.”

  Hammond rolled his eyes and clapped his Private on the shoulder. “I’m gonna have to put you in boot camp along with Rogers when we get back.”

  “Well, you can try,” Landry quipped.

  The Sergeant raised his eyebrows playfully. “Disobeying an order there, Private?”

  “Yep, that’s a court martial,” Whitaker added.

  Landry cracked his knuckles. “Bring it on,” he declared. “I’d kill for some civilian life right about now.”

  “Whitaker, you got things?” Hammond asked.

  She nodded firmly. “If anybody comes a looking, I’ll let you know.”

  “Come on,” the Sergeant said, waving for Landry to follow. “Let’s try and figure out where the hell we are.”

  Whitaker ducked inside and set up position at the back window, keeping her gun aimed and her senses alert.

  The boys went into the living room, drawing the curtains shut and peeking out the corners.

  “See anything of value?” Hammond asked.

  Landry shook his head. “Couple of corpses on the road, but that’s about it.”

  “Well, good to know we can do some target practice later if we get bored,” the Sergeant replied dryly.

  “Any clue where we are?” Landry asked.

  Hammond shrugged. “Best guess if our, five blocks north of where we needed to be.”

  “Could be worse,” the Private replied.

  “Yeah,” Hammond agreed, “we could have been in that house when Rodriguez blew it up.”

  Landry chuckled, wiggling a finger against his ear. “Pretty sure I left some of my hearing back there.”

  “Consider yourself lucky,” Hammond replied playfully, “you don’t have to listen to you talk.”

  The Private rolled his eyes, and shook his head, sitting back from the window. “So, what’s the plan, Sarge?”

  “I think we need to catch five here, then start working our way north,” Hammond said, and then pursed his lips for a moment. “It’s too risky to start driving on these streets, so we need to get clear of the residential area before we can even think about that.”

  Landry paused, and then cocked his head in thought. “If I remember that satellite image Leon had, we’re probably looking at another twenty blocks or so.”

  “Going to be slow going, too,” Hammond mused. “Cutting through yards and-”

  “Contact!” Whitaker barked, and the two men hit the deck.

  They grabbed their weapons, Landry positioning himself at the front window, and Hammond crouching down to rush to the back. He peered through the other side of the window she’d been stationed at.

  “I don’t see it,” he murmured.

  Whitaker inclined her head. “Look through the gap of the houses, three o’clock.”

  He squinted and then noticed a truck moving very slowly, passing by the gap for a brief moment. “Shit,” he spat. “They’re coming to the front.”

  He raced back to the front of the house, pressing his back up against the wall on the opposite side of Landry’s window. They sat, muscles tense, as the truck slowly rolled by the house. The passenger studied each building, scrutinizing anything that had been disturbed.

  The two soldiers barely even breathed as the vehicle passed, and after a moment it moved up to the next street.

  The duo let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

  “That was fortunate,” Landry said.

  Hammond nodded. “Especially because that didn’t look like Rodriguez driving,” he added. “Guess he’s really trying to cover his ass.”

  “Can’t blame him,” the Private agreed. “But damn man, can we get a break today?”

  The Sergeant shook his head. “Looks like we should get comfortable,” he suggested. “Why don’t you see what kind of provisions they have in the kitchen?”

  “On it, Sarge,” Landry replied, and headed for the kitchen.

  Once alone, Hammond continued staring out the window. He took a long, slow breath, and let it out through his teeth. He swallowed hard, knowing they came far too close to not making it out of this one alive.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Reed lay on the infirmary bed, knife still in his gut. He stared around the room, for lack of anything better to do. The two VIPs across the room were in their own little worlds, one with headphones and the other reading a book. He almost wanted to laugh at such normalcy in such a fucked-up situation.

  At the entrance to the room were two guards, neither of which had their weapons drawn. They stared at him with smug expressions, and he fought the urge to flip them off.

  The doctor popped in from a small side room with two nurses in tow. They carried trays of surgical equipment, most of which looked totally inappropriate for removing a simple knife from his stomach.

  He clenched his jaw. If they’re bringing this in, it must mean Tiago is on the way, he thought bitterly, and closed his eyes for a moment. Fuck, I can’t believe I’m going out like this.

  The nurses set the trays down, lips pressed into thin lines. They avoided his gaze, and then stepped back towards the door as the doctor moved over to another station to prepare some gauze.

  Reed flicked his tongue inside his mouth, freeing the plastic concoction tucked away in the corner behind his teeth. He hesitated, his heart pounding in his ears, playing with the pill for a moment as he psyched himself up.

  It was inevitable, he knew. Either way he was going to die. At least this way, his death would mean something. He took a deep breath. It was time.

  Here we go. He bit into the plastic, and bitterness filled his mouth as the powder inside began to dissolve in what little saliva he’d managed to bring onto his tongue.

  He unintentionally smacked his lips a little, a reflex to the chalkiness of the powder. One of the nurses noticed, furrowing her brow at him.

  Fuck. He stared at her, eyes wide, trying to convey him pleading with her not to say anything.

  She either didn’t catch on, or didn’t care, because she said, “Doctor.”

  “In a minute,” he murmured, still focused on his task.

  “Doctor, I think something is wrong,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her.

  He stopped with a sigh, and turned to his patient. “What’s the problem?”

  The drugs were already taking effect, making Reed’s head light and his vision swim. “Hey doc, answer something for me,” he said through gritted teeth as the first wave of nerve pain coursed through his body. “Why are you working for these assholes?”

  “Because they give me everything I want,” the doctor replied with a shrug. “Condo, women, whatever I want. All I have to do is treat a few VIPs.”

  Reed grimaced, hoping that it looked like a reaction to the words instead of his skin prickling. “And help them murder innocent people lik
e me?”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow, suddenly looking smug, showing his true colors. “Your death is a price I’m willing to pay for my lifestyle.”

  Reed smiled then, as the first of the tremors began in his calves. “Thanks Doc, I feel a lot better now.” He closed his eyes, content with the knowledge that his actions weren’t going to hurt anyone innocent in the room. There were no innocents in the Cartel.

  His body went into convulsions, and his vision exploded into fireworks behind his eyelids.

  “Guard!” the nurse shrieked, and one of the men from the door rushed over.

  “What’s happening?” he demanded.

  The doctor stepped back, eyes wide. “I don’t know, he’s started seizing.”

  “Well do something!” the guard snapped. “If he dies before the boss gets here, it’s not going to be good for you!”

  The doctor clenched and unclenched his jaw, and then motioned for the nurses. “Okay, grab his arms and hold him down,” he instructed. “I have to get his airway open.”

  They moved forward, struggling to keep him down, his legs and arms flailing as the drugs destroyed him from the inside. As the doctor prepared himself, the flailing quieted down to little twitches.

  The guard clucked his tongue, giving the doctor a murderous glare, and he shrank away from it.

  “Okay, okay,” he babbled, “nurse, get me the breathing tube for the ventilator,” he instructed. The closest nurse ran to the next station and grabbed a long plastic tube, bringing it over to him.

  He pried Reed’s mouth open, and held his bottom jaw as he reached for the tube. “Okay, I need you to-” His sentence ended in a howl of pain as a zombified Reed snarled and chomped down on his fingers.

  The doctor jerked on his hand, but the grip was tight and most of his digits came off in the fresh corpse’s mouth. He staggered backwards, staring in shock at his mangled hand, eyes wide as saucers as he backed into the wall, sliding down to the floor.