The nurses screamed and ran for the door, and the guard lunged for the bed to try to subdue Reed. The zombie immediately turned and grabbed for him, dead fingers scrabbling for a meal, and pulled him in close, sinking its teeth into the soft flesh of the guard’s throat. As the jugular came free, arterial blood sprayed across the wall, the nurses barreled into the remaining guard, whose shot went wild with the commotion.
This gave zombie Reed the space to leap for the VIPs, coming down on the unsuspecting man with the headphones, teeth gnashing against his face. The man with the broken leg shrieked in Spanish, struggling to get out of his bed with his cast weighing him down. He struggled with the harness suspending his leg, trying to lean over to reach for the handgun on the table next to him, fingertips just brushing the barrel as Reed made quick work of his face.
Meanwhile, down the hall, Angel and Tiago exited the stairwell onto the second floor.
“You’re going to love it,” the younger man babbled, “I’ve had the nurses prepare something special for you.”
His father simply grunted, unhappy about being pulled away from his usual day of drinking. He muttered to himself as they headed down the hallway, and then rapid footsteps approached.
Two nurses rushed by them, barreling past Tiago with zero recognition that they’d just bumped into the Cartel boss.
Tiago raised an eyebrow. “Those nurses?”
Angel narrowed his eyes and barked a stream of Spanish obscenities as the women disappeared down the stairs, not even pausing long enough to be chastised. Tiago sighed heavily, weighing his options of just turning around to go back upstairs and pull out a bottle.
However, when a guard at the end of the hallway backed up and began firing into the infirmary, both Rivas’ snapped to attention. The guard turned and ran towards them, but Tiago lashed out and pushed back on his chest to halt him before he could get by.
“Why are you abandoning your post?” the Cartel boss demanded, chin high.
The guard’s mouth opened and closed, his face pale. “There’s… there’s…”
Tiago smacked him across the face hard to snap him back into coherency. “What is it, man?”
The guard didn’t have a chance to answer, as the zombified Reed tore out of the infirmary. It skidded to a stop, lifting its head as if to sniff the air for fresh meat. It turned its blood-covered face towards the Rivas’ and its rheumy eyes locked onto father and son. It let out a mighty shriek before sprinting towards them.
The guard froze in fear, and Tiago grabbed his gun, shoved him aside, and took aim. He stared down the zombie, running towards him with its mouth open, and fired. The bullet caught the fresh corpse in the face, and the momentum from its running caused it to pitch onto the floor and slide across the tiles. The unmoving body came to a stop just a few feet short of them, face down.
Tiago shoved the gun back into the guard’s hand, and gave his shoulder a push towards the dead zombie. “Go do your job or you’ll wish this was your fate.”
The terrified guard took a deep breath and walked back to the infirmary, pressing his back against the wall next to the door. He jumped into the doorway and paused, assessing the room before opening fire, a scream tearing its way out of his mouth.
The panicked fire did no good, as two zombies lunged for him. One wore a white lab coat, quickly becoming red, and the other had an IV pole clattering behind it. They easily tackled him to the ground, feasting on his shrieking flesh, as a third zombie crawled out to join them, dragging its leg behind it in a plaster cast.
Tiago reached for Angel’s holster, but his son shook his head and took his arm.
“We have to get you to the safe room!” he cried.
His father shook him off. “I can handle this!”
As they struggled, the zombie with the cast managed to get up on its good foot and stagger towards them, dragging the busted leg behind it.
“Let the men handle it,” Angel argued, “they’re expendable!”
Tiago growled but relented, following his son into the stairwell and back up to the third floor. As they moved, Angel pulled out a radio and yelled into it.
“Runners at the infirmary!” he barked. “Runners at the infirmary! Guards to the safe room now!”
At the third floor landing, three armed guards burst into the stairwell, and Angel grabbed the closest one by the collar.
“You hold this door no matter what,” he snarled. “If one of those things gets up here, you’re going to have to deal with me.”
The guard nodded furiously before taking up position on the landing, gun aimed down the stairs for any potential threat. The other two flanked Tiago as they headed onto the third floor towards the safe room. The quartet entered the room, a large corner office with massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tiago immediately went for the gun on his desk, picking it up. “This is nonsense, Angel!” he said, and in the bright light of the sun, it was clear his eyes were red from inebriation. “I could handle a hundred of those things all on my own!” He waved the gun around like a flag.
“Father, we have people-” Angel began.
“I don’t care about those people,” Tiago snapped. “I was a warrior when I was your age. Never ran away from a fight, which is why I’m the man I am today.” He sneered, gaze darkening as he looked at his son with disdain. “But you… you’d rather have someone else do the dirty work for you.”
His son squared his shoulders. “Lies!” he spat. “I’ve carved up more men than even you.”
Tiago backhanded the younger Rivas, and then bared his teeth. “Carving up overweight Federales is not what a warrior does,” he snarled. “A warrior fights against real enemies, like the ones downstairs.”
Angel avoided his father’s gaze and stormed away from him, standing over by the window. He stared down at the street below, several Cartel members rushing around towards City Hall, weapons in hand.
Warriors fighting against real enemies.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mathis lay across the large wooden desk, his fifty-cal sniper rifle pointed through a perfectly cut hole in the glass. He was far enough back from the window so that nobody from the street would be able to see him, even if they were looking.
Gunfire suddenly erupted across the street, and he peeked up to see a crowd running towards the building. He peered through his scope, and honed in on the window that Rodriguez had instructed him to use.
Angel Rivas stood there, staring down at his lemmings with a stern expression.
“You’re lucky I only have one shot, asshole,” Mathis muttered to himself. “I’m sure Leon would be quite happy if I vaporized your head. But bigger fish to fry.”
He held firm, aiming through the window to try to look past Angel. There was movement behind him, but he couldn’t make certain that it was Tiago.
“Come on, move, motherfucker,” he hissed.
Angel looked to be arguing with someone behind him, and then turned and stepped away from the window. Mathis readjusted his sights, finally glimpsing Tiago further back in the room. As he sized up his target, the gunfire began to die down from the other building.
This may be the best shot I’m going to get, he thought. Fuck it.
He took a deep breath and held it in to steady himself, aiming for Tiago’s head. He counted down silently and then gently squeezed the trigger.
The thunderous boom of the rifle shattered the window of the office, momentarily obscuring his view. He frantically tried to get his bearings, and then found he’d punched a hole through the room’s safety glass. He stared for a moment, and then spotted a body on the ground.
“Shit, did I get him?” he murmured to himself. “Fucking cheap-ass glass shattering.” He continued to look, and then saw movement rushing in front of the window to close the curtains inside. Instinctively, he fired, hoping that it was Angel, but he didn’t get a good look.
A splatter of blood smacked into the glass, and then a moment later the curtains closed.
> Mathis laid there for a moment, stunned and wondering if he’d actually completed the mission or not. Before he could waffle too much, however, the stairwell doors behind him opened.
Fuck, gotta move. He jumped down from the desk, leaving the weapon behind. He reached the door of the office he was in, peeking around one of the whiteboards to see four armed guards spreading out from the door all across the cubicle farm.
He pulled his knife, and slipped out of the office while crouching down below the cubicle walls. He darted across the aisle to a desk just across from him, taking cover in the corner, hiding in the shadows.
Flashlight beams illuminated the area above him, coming from all directions. The men didn’t speak, simply moved in unison as they converged on the office. As they grew closer, they whispered in Spanish, likely co-ordinating their movement.
Mathis readied himself at the edge of the cubicle, carefully peeking around the corner to see them ready to move. Their leader nodded as he kicked open the office door, and the other three quickly moved in to surprise what they thought was the sniper.
With this brief window of opportunity, Mathis broke cover and moved quickly and quietly down the row of cubicles, turning down the first empty aisle he found. He took a knee as the stairwell door opened again, and several sets of footsteps came onto the office floor. Somebody barked in Spanish, and the sniper assumed it was a higher-up asking for an update.
The men in the office yelled back, and there was a bunch more barking of orders as Mathis turned to move quickly down the aisle, as far away from the stairwell as possible. He made it to the far end, hiding in the last cubicle in the corner. He scanned for another potential exit, but the only one he could see was the way he came in, which was currently surrounded.
He ducked back under the desk as footsteps and flashlights grew closer to him. From the trajectory of the lights, it seemed as though they were checking every single cubicle. He watched as the lights on the ceiling danced, getting closer and closer to him.
He readied his blade as the gunman neared his hiding spot. As soon as his opponent made the turn to inspect it, Mathis launched up from his position, and jammed his blade up into the gunman’s chin, hilt deep. He quickly pulled the limp body down into the cubicle, and then his heart leapt into his throat as somebody nearby called out in Spanish, in a worried tone.
He cursed under his breath and then grabbed the gun and flashlight, standing up and waving the light on the ceiling. He hoped that in the dim light the silhouette would do the trick, and then somebody by the stairwell said something, and men around him laughed. Mathis let out a loud chuckle, hoping that they’d buy it, and it seemed they did.
He continued to make rounds like his predecessor would, making his way towards the stairwell. As he got closer, checking each cubicle, he noticed that several guards had gone back towards the main group.
Fuck, that’s not good, he thought. He slowed down, hoping that they’d just head into the stairwell without him, but all that did was give them more time for the other gunmen to rejoin the main group. He continued to move like a snail, but eventually the leader of the group began barking at him, likely to hurry up.
Mathis didn’t understand, but kept his head down, pretending to do his job. The man grew more heated, and then his voice turned suspicious.
The sniper glanced out of the corner of his eye, and gunmen turned to point their flashlights at him. As soon as the light hit his face, he opened fire.
Bullets ripped through the group, sending gunmen diving for cover in all directions. Mathis dove to the floor as they returned fire, cubicles tearing to shreds all around him. Computers and paperwork flew, shards of plastic and glass raining around him as he combat crawled along the floor to try to put some distance between him and them.
Boots thumped on the floor, and Mathis’s heart rate tripled. He was about to be surrounded. He popped up and opened fire again, sending bullets towards the stairwell in a last ditch effort to clear the way. All he managed to hit was air and drywall, and then the gun clicked empty.
He tossed it aside and pulled his handgun, returning fire from someone at his six who’d popped up. He ducked back down behind a cubicle as he reached another aisle.
The leader began prattling off orders in Spanish again, and the gunfire stopped.
The lack of an attack concerned the sniper. Shit, he thought, they’re going to try to take me alive. He swallowed hard and checked his ammo, noting he had only half a mag. He slapped it back into the gun and cocked it just as one of the guards came around the corner.
He raised his arm to fire, but the guard smacked his arm away, and he lost control of the weapon, the gun clattering to the ground.
Mathis went into overdrive, punching at him, hitting him in the face a few times. The man returned blows, but the sniper was able to grab his wrist and pull him off-balance, giving him a hard knee strike to the midsection.
As his opponent groaned and fell to the floor, two others rushed up the aisle towards him. Mathis lunged for his gun, but one of the men intercepted him, delivering a shoulder strike like a cornerback delivering a hit on a receiver.
The sniper tumbled to the ground and struggled to get back up, but both attackers jumped on him. They kicked at him, keeping him on his back. He attempted to defend himself, but was wholly unsuccessful, especially once others came to join in the assault.
He finally resigned himself to covering his face as they viciously beat him, and then finally the leader let out a sharp whistle. The men stopped, backing up, and the leader stepped forward, snapping his fingers.
Two of the guards picked up a limp and bleeding Mathis, and the leader grabbed him by the chin, holding up his lolling head to smirk directly in his face.
He prattled off something in Spanish and then dropped his head.
The sniper couldn’t even keep his gaze up as the men dragged him out of the room and towards an uncertain fate.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Whitaker kept watch at the back door, and Landry stayed at the front. Hammond emerged from one of the bedrooms and approached the former.
“Anything?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Haven’t seen anything in over an hour,” she replied.
“Me either, Sarge,” Landry called back. “Maybe they gave up?”
The Sergeant sighed. “We can only hope.”
“So what do you want to do?” Landry asked.
“Let’s pack it up and start heading north,” Hammond suggested. “We’ll get to the edge of the residential area, and see what kind of ride we can grab.”
The two soldiers nodded in approval before peeling themselves up off of the floor. They both stretched, warming up their stiff joints from having been on the floor for so long. Finally the duo joined Hammond at the door as they checked their weapons.
“Okay,” the Sergeant said, “we may think they’re gone, but we still gotta move quick across the streets. As much as I love looking like a badass movie hero and walking away as a building explodes, I’m pretty sure I’ve had my fill of that today.”
“This week,” Landry added.
Whitaker raised a hand. “Fuck it, I’m good for the year.”
“Then haul ass,” Hammond replied. “Let’s go.” He threw open the door and the trio rushed across the street, barely taking glances down either side of the road as it would cost precious seconds. They took shelter in a yard between two homes, and then glanced back towards the road.
“Clear,” Whitaker said quietly.
Landry nodded. “Same.”
“Get to the next street,” Hammond instructed.
They broke formation and ran through the backyard and up to a fence separating the next row of houses. They hopped over with ease, and got to the edge of the next house. They stopped and took cover, looking out over the road with the Privates each covering a direction, Hammond covering the rear.
“Clear,” Landry whispered. Whitaker didn’t answer, and he turned towards her, brow fu
rrowed. “Hey, are you cl-”
She immediately put her hand over his mouth, and then Landry’s eyes widened. He reached back to tap Hammond on the shoulder.
The Sergeant turned and kept his mouth shut when he saw Whitaker holding Landry’s mouth, and then leaned out into the road.
There were a hundred zombies scattered about, roaming in yards and on the street. Hammond motioned for them to backtrack immediately, and they hopped back over the fence to the previous yard.
“Well, it’s pretty obvious they didn’t check up here,” he said quietly.
Whitaker shrugged. “Or if they did, they said fuck it and high-tailed it out of there.”
“So what do you think, Sarge?” Landry asked. “You want to keep pushing to the north or get a vehicle?”
Whitaker shook her head. “I don’t know about the Sarge, but I left my baseball bat back in down,” she said. “And I’m damn sure we don’t want to be firing off shots since those fuckers might still be after us.”
“Well, that’s one vote for a car,” Landry replied, pointing at her, and then pointed at himself. “Two, if my vote counts for anything.”
Hammond cocked his head. “It doesn’t, but I’m in agreement. We need to get out of here, now.”
“Pretty sure I saw a truck a few houses up behind us,” Whitaker motioned over her shoulder. “Old workhouse of a thing, so unlikely to have an alarm system.”
The Sergeant nodded. “And a hell of a lot easier to hot-wire,” he said. “Let’s get it.”
The trio retreated a block, running between houses diligently and pausing at each edge. Whitaker finally pointed out the truck, a powder blue beast missing the front bumper that looked like it should have been put out the pasture a decade ago.
Hammond nodded and the trio ran down the street towards it. As they moved, several dozen zombies emerged from around the corner, and they picked up the pace.
The Sergeant reached the door first, and it was miraculously unlocked. He hopped beneath the dash immediately, and ripped the wires out beneath, getting to work. Whitaker looked in the bed and picked up a lone crowbar from the bottom. She turned her back to the vehicle and stood guard on the other side as the zombies approached, only ten yards away.
Dead America The Third Week Box Set, Vol. 1 [Books 1-6 ] Page 19
