Arturo now ambled around Juan so the man could see him. An icicle instantly formed in the seated man’s gut as he saw that the second-in-command was holding a baseball bat.
Arturo looked at Juan and then to his boss. “Our people aren’t soldiers, Boss. Juan didn’t have no reason to expect these guys to show up. The streets have been almost empty for the last few weeks.”
Lobo never took his eyes from Juan. “True enough. But this was too simple. I’m bettin’ he was assing around, playin’ cards and stuff. Six men they had. How hard was it to put three in the front and three in the back?”
Sweat beads were popping out on Juan’s brow now. He was still ready to fight if it came to that, but the eventual outcome was obvious.
Lobo finally raised himself to a standing position. He held out his hand to Arturo. Juan tensed, ready to spring.
Instead of passing Lobo the bat, Arturo gestured with his head to an area over by the broken and empty vending machines. Lobo wavered a moment then seemed to agree and followed the big man into the alcove. Arturo checked to make sure Juan couldn’t hear them then leaned against a table previously used for lunch breaks by the Guardsmen.
“He blew it, boss, no doubt about it. He deserves punishment. No question.” Arturo rubbed the stubble on his cheeks. “But…we’re low on people, Lobo. Not counting the girls, we have forty-seven men, you and me included.” He shook his big head. “I don’t think we can afford to lose any more.”
Lobo’s expression never changed. He was stone-faced as he considered his friend’s words. “Break his arms? Send a message to the others?”
Arturo chose his words carefully. Lobo was capable of switching from reasonable to bat crap crazy in a flash. When he was in the grips of uncontrolled fury, he was known to direct his rage at anyone within reach. Arturo didn’t want to kill Lobo. As dangerous and unpredictable as he was, the man was undeniably brilliant. The Mojados would need that brilliance in the months and years to come. So, to avoid having to smash his boss with the bat, he chose his words carefully.
“I know what you’re thinking, Jefe. Breaking his arms would let everyone see what happens when they mess up but, again, we don’t have the people. And now we have this group running around out there with military weapons. Who knows how many of them there are? The guns that Juan and the others were describing sound like big machine guns.” He shook his head again. “Those things fire a majorly powerful cartridge, boss. Those bullets would have cut through Juan’s trucks like toilet paper.”
“Still, he failed me, man. He messed up.”
Arturo shrugged. “I’m not so sure. Even if Juan had people at the back of the store what could they have done? Their M4s wouldn’t have been a match for that kind of firepower. Most of our people haven’t even fired those weapons since they got ‘em.” He leaned in close. “Boss, it’s better that it worked out this way. Those guys were going to get into that store. Our guys would not have been able to stop them. The way it turned out, we may have lost a small amount of food and stuff, but we still have six soldiers who would probably be dead right now.”
Lobo held Arturo’s gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time. The bigger man unconsciously gripped the bat tighter as he watched Lobo’s face for clues as to his intentions. Lobo looked back to where Juan still sat, too afraid to even look in their direction.
“And what do we tell the others? What kind of message does that send to the troops? Mess up and get away with it?”
Not at all, boss.” He shook his head. “We tell them he was smart and did the right thing. He assessed the situation and realized the small amount of loss we suffered was not worth the lives of six soldiers. We have that entire warehouse now with everything we could ever need.” He put a big paw on Lobo’s shoulder. “Think about it. The troops will see it as you being protective of them. Juan will be even more loyal to you than he ever was before. Most important, we still have all our people. Everyone wins.”
Lobo looked over his shoulder again at the trembling man on the chair. “Fine. But you tell him. I can’t stand to look at him.”
With that, Lobo turned away and stormed from the hangar. Arturo went back over to Juan. He noticed the man’s pants were wet in the crotch area but acted as if he hadn’t seen it.
“You’re good to go, man.”
Juan’s face reflected a combination of astonishment, relief and a bit of disbelief. “Really, Bro? That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He fixed the smaller man with an icy stare. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you screw up again. When you have a job to do, you do it, and you do it right. I don’t care if you’re bored or hot or cold or whatever. You do whatever it takes to carry out your instructions. You get what I’m sayin’?”
Juan nodded. His eyes were still on the bat.
“I ain’t standing up for you no more, Juan. Now get out of here. Go change those pants.”
✽✽✽
The day after the Costco incident, Pepper and I finished breakfast, and I helped her wash dishes. We packed a few snacks then told Pops we were going to take a walk around the property. He nodded but told me to take my handgun, so I strapped it on, grabbed a radio and we came out of the western door into a bright and cloudless day. It was only about seventy degrees, and the usually-present and famous Fresno smog was disappearing along with most of the uninfected human race.
We left the walled compound and headed east. There was a hill back there that rose higher than the one upon which we built Dragon’s Lair. We started climbing it and reached a point from which we could see most of the San Joaquin Valley. We spread out a blanket that Pepper had brought and sat down to rest and enjoy the beautiful vista that was laid out before us.
Down below we could see Buck, the Major, Emma, Jimmy, Marie and Gayle jogging around the compound on a track that they had been steadily wearing into the surrounding terrain. It reminded me that I needed to re-start my endurance and weight training program. Things had gotten so crazy lately that I hadn’t visited the workout room on sub-level one for over a month. I laid back and let the sun bathe me with its warmth. It was a peaceful and relaxing feeling, one that could make a person forget that most of the world had slipped into madness.
Pepper was still sitting up and holding my hand as I reclined and a slight breeze washed over us. Yep, life was good…until I felt her hand clutch mine.
“Virgil, there’s something out there,” she whispered.
I shot up to my feet, casting around wildly until I saw her pointing to a patch of high grass about three hundred yards to the north of us. At first, I couldn’t see anything and was about to turn and ask Pepper for more information when I saw it. The grass was swaying in the soft wind, but there was a part of it that was moving against the breeze. I couldn’t make out what was doing it because the grass was so high, but it looked to be large…large enough to be a person crawling towards us on hands and knees.
“Virgil, let’s go back.”
I gauged the distance back to the compound and compared it to the proximity and approaching speed of the possible threat.
“Nope, we’d never make it before that thing reached us.” I unholstered my Glock and executed a quick press check to ensure it was chambered. “Get on the radio and tell our people we have a possible threat.” I didn’t tell Pepper why I wanted her to inform the others because I didn’t want her to be more frightened than she already was. Pops and the Major had already set forth security protocols for us. One of the most basic of them was the need to report anything that might be a threat. They didn’t want someone assuming they could handle a situation alone and leaving the rest of us uninformed and vulnerable.
I heard Pepper talking on the radio to Myrna Corazon. It must have been her turn to monitor the big radio station in the bunker. I now had my weapon up and was tracking the thing- whatever it was- as it continued on its path toward us through the high grass. It was taking pains to stay hidden and gave every appearance of stalking Pepper and me. S
uch an action would have been curious behavior for an infected person because they had so far displayed no ability to do anything but scream and charge straight at the objects of their fury.
The thing reached the edge of the high grass and stopped. I could hear shouts below as the word of a possible threat was passed around. Pops and a few others would soon be charging up the hill towards us as others took up defensive positions around the compound.
There was more movement as the stalker inched closer to the edges of his concealing fauna.
Pepper gasped behind me. “It’s a bear!”
My finger was laying along the side of the Glock just like Buck taught me. If it had been on the trigger, I probably would have pulled it in reaction to her outburst. Instead, I lowered the gun and smiled.
“No, it isn’t.” I turned back to her and smiled. “It’s a dog.”
“Are you sure, Virgil? It looks too big to be a dog.”
I turned back again. Yep. There was no mistaking the markings and the shape of the animal, but I could see why Pepper thought it was a bear. The Rottweiler was big, really big, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds big. He or she was standing there now, panting as it watched us like it was deciding whether to trust us.
I holstered my weapon and grabbed at the bag of snacks. “Tell them it’s just a dog,” I shouted to Pepper. I withdrew a sandwich from the sack and tore it in half. I held a piece out toward the animal and tried to get it to come closer. It refused so I threw the one half of the sandwich at it. The food landed a few feet in front of the dog, and the aroma overcame its trepidation. He (it was now abundantly clear that it was a ‘he’) left the concealing grass and gobbled the sandwich half like it was a crumb. He looked up at me and waited, obviously wanting more. I took a few slow steps toward him.
“Virgil, he could be dangerous. There’s no telling how long he’s been out here with no food. He’s big enough to make a meal of you.”
I made my way cautiously in the animal’s direction. He didn’t run away, and he didn’t growl or show any indications of being vicious. That encouraged me to continue until I was half the distance between from where I had been sitting with Pepper and the patch of high grass. I squatted down and called him. “Here, boy!” He ignored me, but I could tell by his actions that he wanted to come closer but was too afraid. I could only guess at the things he had been subjected to after all the craziness in the world now.
I held out the other half of the sandwich to him. “Come on, boy. Nice ham sandwich. You know you like ham.”
The dog cocked his head to the side, and I could swear he was trying to figure out what I said. I continued to hold the sandwich out and making soothing, encouraging sounds to him.
“It’s okay, boy,” I heard Pepper saying behind me.
Finally, the dog’s hunger won out over his caution. He stood fully up and trotted over to me like we were old friends.
I fed him the sandwich which made a single mouthful for the massive pooch. When it was gone, he looked at me as if saying “What’s the next course?” I took a moment to reach out and pat his considerably large head. He closed his eyes as I did it, obviously enjoying the attention. I stood and patted my leg, indicating he should follow me. I walked back in Pepper’s direction, and the dog watched for a second as if he was wondering if there was more food over there, then he followed.
“Are you sure he’s not gonna bite us, Virgil?” Pepper backed up a step when we got back to the blanket.
“Nah, he’s a good boy, aren’t you, fella?” I patted his head again and scratched him around both ears. I turned my head around to look at Pepper. “Give him some food.”
Pepper was cautious, but I couldn’t fault her for being careful. This canine was big and capable of harming us if he wanted to do so. But his demeanor indicated to me that what he was wanting was human contact.
Pepper withdrew the other sandwich from the bag and pinched it off in quarters which she fed to the dog. When it was gone, she fed him the cookies and all of the corn chips. We laughed at the crunching sounds he made as he chewed the chips. After he devoured all of our food, he sat there licking his lips and studying us with big brown eyes. Pepper was petting him now, and he leaned his head into her as she scratched and stroked him. The big boy had a brown leather collar around his neck, and I caught a flash from something silver on it. I reached out and pulled back a portion of his short black fur to see a small metal shield on the leather. It had a name etched into it.
“Lex.” I smiled. Is that your name, boy?” I raised my voice an octave or two. “Lex.”
The big dog gave us an ear-splitting bark and turned around in circles three or four times, putting his pleasure at hearing his name on full display. Pepper laughed and grabbed him around the neck in a hug to which he reciprocated by giving her a big, wet lick on her cheek.
Lex’s head suddenly snapped around toward the compound, and the fur on his shoulders spiked up. A low growl emanated from his mouth, and his lips parted to show a formidable row of fangs.
I looked down the hill and noticed Jimmy and Marie running towards us. Both were carrying their M4s and wearing their vests. I stroked Lex along his flank. “It’s okay, boy, they’re friends.”
It was almost like he could understand my words even though I knew he was just reading my tone of voice, but Lex relaxed and sat back on his haunches until the pair reached us.
“Well,” Marie said. “I think we can safely say we’re not under attack. Hey there, big fella,” Marie was fearless as she leaned forward to ruffle the short hair on Lex’s head.
Jimmy lowered his rifle and scanned the area around us. “Dan sent us up to make sure there was no problem. Where’d you find this big guy?” He also found it impossible to resist giving the big canine a scratch.
Pepper answered. “He found us. I think he was hungry.”
“Yeah, and he was probably wanting to be around people.” Jimmy squatted so he could pet Lex more comfortably. “Uninfected people. There’s no telling what happened to his owners, but the odds are that they went infected and he was left to fend for himself.”
I nodded. “There aren’t any other houses around here for several miles. He must have been wandering since the disease hit, but it looks like he’s been successful enough at feeding himself. I’m thinking we need a watchdog at Dragon’s Lair.”
The girls both agreed. We all started down the hill and called to Lex by name. There was no hesitation on his part; he eagerly jumped to his feet and trotted along behind us like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I gave Jimmy a quick inspection as we walked. “You look just fine after being made into a Happy Meal by that Rager.”
“Yep. The Doc said the disease is probably no longer as transmittable as it was when it first appeared.” He shrugged. “Either that or the fabric of my jeans kept the saliva from reaching the open wound. Bottom line; we still don’t know if it can be transferred by a bite, so we need to take precautions.”
We reached the bottom of the rise and saw Pops attaching something to the gate. He looked up as we approached and his eyes shifted to the Rottweiler keeping pace with us, his tongue hanging out.
“Where’d you find the horse?”
Chapter 8
Doctor Sharon Beeker lifted the corner of her window shade and peeked outside. It was still daytime, though the light was beginning to fail. She had heard the truck passing by on the street outside of her cul-de-sac and was praying that whoever was driving would not be stopping to search the homes there. She also prayed that they would go away quickly and stop making noise. Noise attracted the infected.
The blue SUV slowed down, and she could see the occupants, four scroungy-looking men with shaved heads, examining the houses. They appeared to be looking for survivors, but she didn’t think their intentions were altruistic. Two days ago, Sharon had heard the sounds of car engines on the street behind hers. Those sounds had been followed by the screams of a terrified woman. Sharon could guess wh
at all the noises were about. There were no police around now to protect women from men with evil intentions.
She carefully slid the shade back into place and breathed a sigh of relief as the sounds of the SUV faded. She was wearing shorts and a tank top, but sweat still coated the woman’s arms and chest. The electricity, which had been working fine throughout most of the chaos had finally shut down. She had been expecting it. The heat in the little cottage that Sharon had inherited from her mother was not yet stifling, but it was still early in the morning. The late afternoon would again bring punishing heat.
Sharon went back to the couch and dipped her hands in the big plastic bucket with the DIY store logo on it. She grabbed a washcloth and wrung it out, then wiped the sweat from her arms and neck then folded it over the back of her neck. She looked over the small living room, seeing the decades-old furniture and outdated shag rugs which covered most of the wood floors. Lacy shades sat atop the two lamps, and a round table with four chairs sat in the minuscule dining area. The cottage had three bedrooms, but Sharon was storing her mother’s things in one of them. She had been meaning to go through them and discard what she could but had not been able to manage it, emotionally, even though her mother had passed over six months prior. The two had been very close, and the experience of watching the energetic and perpetually happy woman fade away, her body inevitably surrendering to the ravages of cancer had been terrible for Sharon.
Sharon was thirty-four years old and a licensed emergency room physician with a local HMO. When her mother’s struggles grew critical, she had taken a leave of absence from her job so she could ensure her mother received the best of care. Months had turned to years. Two years and two months after her initial diagnosis, Sharon’s mom had quietly slipped away while holding her daughter’s hand. The activity of planning and executing her funeral had sapped what little emotional strength Sharon had left in her after the exhausting struggles to keep her alive for so long. She knew she should have returned to work months ago, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to do so. Being a doctor, she recognized the symptoms of low-grade depression in herself but had decided to treat herself by just having some time alone without the soul-sapping demands of watching a loved one wither away in front of her eyes.
Virgil's War- The Diseased World Page 10
