DEAD AMERICA: THE FIRST WEEK
BOOK 5: THE EL PASO INVASION
BY DEREK SLATON
© 2019
CHAPTER ONE
Day Zero +3
9:13 AM
Homicide Detective Rogers leaned his head back against the headrest of his 1970 Boss 302 Mustang, running a hand over the steering wheel lovingly. He’d taken pride in his efforts to rebuild his first vehicle, spending years tracking down original parts and wanting it to be as authentic as possible.
His eyes fluttered closed with images of the jet black car rolling through his head, but perked up immediately at the sound of a sharp whistle.
“Now I know you’re not trying to take a nap, are you?” Detective Brad Stevenson bellowed as he approached the car. He held up a tray of coffee and breakfast tacos, looking almost ridiculous standing next to the car with his five-foot-two powder keg frame.
“Just trying to squeeze in what I can, when I can,” Rogers replied. “The last twenty-four hours have been nuts.”
Stevenson nodded. “That’s an understatement,” he agreed, and then skirted the car. He plonked himself into the passenger seat and passed over the large paper cup, and tilted the tray to display the two tacos. “Sausage or bacon?”
“Bacon’s good for the heart, right?” Rogers asked, patting his chest through the plain polo shirt he donned.
His partner cocked his head. “You’re a southern boy, aren’t you?”
“Born and bred.”
“Then, yeah, it is,” Stevenson replied with a chuckle. “Sorry I couldn’t find any gravy for you.”
Rogers plucked the bacon taco with a grin. “Gonna have to write you up, then.” They bit into their breakfast and surveyed the parking lot.
The entire area had been cordoned off to be used as a staging area for the police. Several dozen police officers were moving about, collecting food and ammo, some of them getting emergency medical treatment. Some took power naps on makeshift cots in an erected tent. There were shotgun-wielding guards every twenty feet, keeping an eye on the city that devolved into chaos around them.
The dose of reality sobered the two detectives in a quick nosedive.
“Still can’t believe this shit is real,” Stevenson said quietly.
Rogers took a sip of his brew. “You mean the zombies, or the cartel finally invading us?”
“I may be young, but I’ve been working homicide with you long enough to know we were invaded a long time ago,” his partner replied with a roll of his eyes.
Rogers barked a laugh. “That’s true. Still amazed at how brazen they’ve become though. Makes you wonder just how fucked we are.”
“Well, the military is doing bombing runs in Austin and San Antonio, so I’d wager we are somewhere between super-duper and mega fucked,” Stevenson mused.
His partner swallowed a particularly large mouthful of taco and cleared his throat, scratching the thinning black hair on the back of his head. “You heard any estimates on how many of them flooded over the border yesterday?”
“Too fucking many man,” Stevenson shook his head. “I haven’t heard from anybody I trust, but a couple of guys in the breakfast line were talking about it. They were swearing up and down that fifteen thousand armed cartel members came in.”
Rogers let out an exasperated guffaw. “Oh, is that all? We’re only outnumbered fifteen to one.”
“Look at the bright side,” his partner pointed out. “Fifteen to one is a better ratio than the five hundred to one we’re getting with the zombies.”
“I knew I liked you for a reason.” Rogers wagged a greasy finger at his passenger. “Always looking on the bright side of life.”
The police radio on the dash let out a squeal.
“Emergency SWAT backup is being requested at the east side Mercy Hospital,” a female dispatch operator demanded. “Heavily armed assailants have taken control of the building and are holding an unknown number of hostages. SWAT, please respond with ETA.”
The two officers continued their breakfast, chewing the last bites of their tacos.
“SWAT, emergency assistance needed at the east side Mercy Hospital,” the dispatch tried again. “Please respond with ETA.”
Another twenty seconds passed, and there was radio silence. Rogers looked over to his partner and shrugged his muscular shoulders.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Stevenson licked his fingers clean and wiped them on his jeans. “I’m all for going to save some beautiful nurses.”
“I sincerely hope that’s because you like a woman in uniform and now because of some debaucherous fetish you discovered on the dark side of the internet.” Rogers turned the key in the ignition, and the Mustang roared to life.
Stevenson put up a hand. “Hey now, don’t kink shame. Some of us are just more enlightened about the finer things in life.”
His partner shook his head, cracking a half smile as he picked up the receiver to respond.
“SWAT, do you copy?” the dispatch asked once more.
Rogers clicked the button. “Dispatch, this is Detectives Rogers and Stevenson. I don’t believe SWAT is taking your call at the moment. We’re in the neighborhood and will provide backup.”
“Detective Rogers, that is a negative,” the woman replied immediately. “They are requesting SWAT, not Homicide.”
“Very well, dispatch,” he replied with a shrug. “Question though. Have the assailants killed anyone on site?”
There was a pause, and then a click. “Yes. Numerous fatalities have been reported.”
“Okay then,” Rogers said to her with a large smile on his face. “Dispatch, this is Detectives Rogers and Stevenson of Homicide. We are moving out to the east side Mercy Hospital to investigate a mass murder event. If you need us, that’s where we’ll be.”
The woman sighed heavily through the speaker and Stevenson snorted a laugh.
“Very well, Detective,” she said begrudgingly. “Just make sure you bring some big guns with you.”
Rogers snickered before pushing the button again. “Dispatch, I am deeply hurt and offended at your implication that I am not heavily armed. May I remind you that I am, in fact, a native born Texan?”
“Just be safe, Detective,” she snapped.
He saluted the radio. “Ten-four, dispatch.” He devoured the last bite of his taco and tossed the wrapper out the open window. He revved the engine and Stevenson immediately chugged his hot coffee in its entirety, squeaking and waving air into his open mouth in an attempt to cool it off.
Rogers raised a confused eyebrow. “You know it’s a ten minute drive, right?”
“I’ve seen you drive,” his partner retorted. “It’s not exactly conducive to beverage drinking. Caffeine is more important at the moment than preventing mouth burns.”
Rogers chuckled. “Point taken.” He popped the car into gear and hit the gas, burning out the tires and sending white smoke into the air. He peeled out of the driveway and down the nearly vacant street towards the hospital.
CHAPTER TWO
Rogers pulled around the last corner before the hospital, and slowly rumbled behind a row of trees about fifty yards from the action. There were four police cars parked in front of the four-story hospital building, facing the large glass entranceway. Six officers ducked behind their cars, occasionally popping up to fire a few shots, but retreating as soon as automatic gunfire ripped into their cars in reply.
Rogers shook his head as one of the foolishly brave officers began to creep around the car and took a few rounds to the chest. His vest saved his life but he groaned on the gro
und, likely wishing for death from the hard impact.
“We should probably get loaded up here,” Rogers suggested. His partner nodded and they exited the car in unison, heading around to the trunk. Rogers popped it open, revealing a small arsenal of weaponry. Stevenson eagerly dove in, picking up an AK-47 and a handful of extra mags. His partner opted for a scoped AR-15.
Stevenson raised an eyebrow. “What, no grenades?”
“Eh, they were on backorder,” Rogers replied.
The duo chuckled as he closed the trunk and they moved up to the trees to survey the situation. The battle was a rhythmic back-and-forth, each side firing for a good ten seconds before switching it up.
“All right, next time our boys pop up, we run for it,” Rogers said.
Stevenson wrinkled his nose. “Can’t believe I’m going to get shot because you didn’t want to risk your car.”
“You’ll heal,” his partner shot back. “It won’t.”
Stevenson rolled his eyes, sarcasm evident in his voice as he said, “Can’t debate sound logic like that.”
They kept a close eye on the battlefield, and as soon as an officer popped up to fire, they took off running full tilt. They rushed across the open space as their comrades unknowingly laid down cover fire.
Unfortunately, a few of the cartel on the second floor noticed reinforcements coming in, and opened fire on the two detectives. Stevenson shot back, hitting nothing but bricks, but forcing their assailants to take cover and stop attacking. The short burst gave them just enough time to slide into safety behind one of the cars.
They ducked behind an overweight uniformed officer hiding behind his back bumper. He fiddled with his shotgun, attempting to reload it.
“Who the hell are you guys?” he rasped, hands trembling as he struggled to put another shell in his weapon.
“Detectives Rogers and Stevenson, homicide,” Rogers replied. “We’re your backup.”
“Homicide?” the officer cried, eyes widening. “We called for SWAT!”
“Well, you got the next best thing,” Rogers snapped. “So you want to give us the lowdown on the situation? Or do you want us to take off, since you so clearly have things well in hand?”
The frightened officer pursed his lips, and then ducked down even further as a bullet ricocheted off the roof of his car. “All right, all right,” he gasped. “About thirty minutes ago we had a report of shots fired in the hospital. My partner and I responded and immediately took fire. We’ve been in a standoff ever since.”
“And idea how many are in there?” Stevenson asked.
He shook his head. “We’ve been able to confirm ten shooters on the first and second floor, with most of them being on the first. But…”
“But, what, man?” Rogers raised his eyebrows in anticipation. “Spit it out.”
“But-” the officer stammered, and scrubbed a hand down his red face. “We’ve heard lots of other gunfire coming from inside the building. And it’s slowly been moving up.”
“You have officers around any other part of the building?” Rogers asked.
“No, sir.” He shook his head violently from side to side. “We checked the other entrances but they’re locked down tighter than the front. After that sweep we pulled back to here.”
Rogers turned to his partner, lips pressed into a thin line. “We need to get in there, now.”
“What you got in mind?” Stevenson asked.
Rogers peeked around the edge of the patrol car, ducking back when the asphalt exploded in a spray of bullets in front of him. “Officer, where are the shooters located?”
“Best I’ve been able to tell, there’s four on the right side, three on the left, and three on the second floor,” the uniformed man replied.
Rogers cocked his head at his partner. “You wanna go for a ride?”
Stevenson’s eyes widened. “No. I really don’t.”
“That’s the spirit!” his partner exclaimed. “Officer, we’re going to need to borrow your car.”
“Wait, what?” The fat officer’s chin jiggled as he gaped. “What about your car?”
Stevenson patted him on the shoulder. “Trust me, man, that’s a battle you aren’t going to win.”
The two detectives got into position and awaited the next volley of fire from the uniformed officers. As soon as the first one popped up, they quickly hopped into the patrol car. Rogers fired up the engine while Stevenson took up the backseat, laying as low as he could. As Rogers dropped the car into drive and hit the accelerator, bullets pierced the front windshield, narrowly missing his face.
The vehicle sped forward, on a direct collision course with the glass front of the building, and Rogers ducked down, keeping his foot pinned to the accelerator. The car slammed into a gunman that attempted to thwart them by shooting the invisible driver, crushing him into the reception desk as glass flew everywhere.
The detective duo quickly bolted from the car, taking cover behind the wheel wells as a few gunmen went on the offensive after avoiding the shattered glass explosion. The moment the enemies paused to reload, Rogers and Stevenson leapt forward, barreling through the door into the ambulatory care waiting room.
They surprised a trio of killers firing out the windows, and the detectives immediately opened fire, striking one of them in the chest. The other two dove behind cover as the detectives skidded behind the reception counter. Paper and computer fragments smashed against the wall above them as the cartel members fired.
“Cover me,” Rogers hissed, inclining his head to the reception door. Stevenson nodded, and during a lull in the action popped up to send a volley of bullets, allowing his partner an opening to sprint hard left and using the reception area to rush to the far end of the building under cover.
He took a knee by the final reception window and peered out, seeing the two cartel members firing on Stevenson from behind cover of a row of seats. As soon as they ducked, he hopped over the counter and ran along the wall, sliding into a kneeling position and firing on the two unsuspecting triggermen.
As their bodies hit the cream tile, blood pooling beneath them, two more gunmen entered the room from the front entrance. They opened fire immediately, forcing him to flatten himself behind the row of chairs.
“Missed me motherfuckers!” he screamed as they paused to reload, barking at each other in Spanish. They split up and moved through the room. Once they got past the counter Stevenson ducked behind, he popped up and dispatched both of the enemies with four quick trigger pulls.
“Rogers, clear!” he called, and his partner hopped up, making his way across the waiting room, gun aimed at the door the whole way. “Is that everybody on the first floor?” he asked.
Rogers shrugged. “One can only hope.”
They both startled as the front door flung open, nearly opening fire until they realized it was the overweight traffic cop from outside. He staggered back into the wall at the sight of the two weapons aimed at his face.
“Holy hell, boys, don’t scare me like that!” he cried, tripping right back onto his ass.
The detectives headed over and each took a hand, helping the rotund officer up from the ground.
“Sorry about that, Officer,” Rogers said. “But as you can tell, we weren’t too fond of the last people to come through that door.” He motioned to the bodies behind them and all of the blood left the officer’s face. He dry heaved before turning away and leaning on the wall, breathing hard.
“You all right there, man?” Stevenson asked, patting him on the back.
He held up his hand and nodded, wandering back to the main entrance. The rest of his crew bustled in with a few injured cartel members in handcuffs.
“How we looking, gents?” Rogers asked.
The arresting officer squared his shoulders. “We have the first floor secure, sir, and best we can tell, the shooters on the second floor have fled out the back.”
A few gunshots echoed faintly in the distance, coming from well above where they were. The dete
ctives looked at each other and nodded.
“Elevators?” Rogers asked.
The round officer took a deep breath and pointed to the hallway towards the back. “Down that hall.”
The duo jogged down the hallway hitting the elevators and punching the up button.
“Top floor and work our way down?” Rogers asked.
Stevenson nodded as they got into the small space. “Works for me.” He punched the fourth floor button, and they both reloaded on the way up, checking their weapons. They stood at the ready, and aimed as the elevator gave its ding and the doors slid open.
A surprised cartel gunman stood in the hallway, fumbling his weapon at the sight of the two armed men. It was enough of an opening for the detectives to fire, sending his body flying against the wall behind him.
Rogers stepped out of the elevator first, and then hastily retreated as automatic gunfire narrowly missed his nose. “That was closer than I would like to admit.”
Stevenson slowly peeked around the corner, spotting a lone gunman at the end of the hallway, about fifteen yards away. He stood in the middle of it, taking no cover, but he had a keen eye, spotting Stevenson and opening fire, forcing him back inside as well.
“One asshole, end of the hallway,” he said.
Rogers nodded. “All right, I got him.” He laid down on the floor, and then readied his weapon before kicking off the back wall to slide into the hallway. The cartel gunman fired wildly at head height as soon as he saw movement, but a single squeeze of Rogers’ gun landed a shot in the middle of the man’s chest, dropping him to the floor. “Clear.”
Stevenson bolted out of the elevator, gun raised to provide cover as his partner pulled himself up. There was another gunshot from the room at the end of the hall, and they each hugged one side of the corridor as they skulked towards it.
As they approached the final door, a cartel member emerged, assault rifle in hand.
“Drop the gun!” Rogers yelled. “Drop it now or we drop you!”
The bald gunman turned his head towards them, then the rest of his body. His clothes were completely crimson, his face a mural of blood and wild eyes. “Go ahead gringo, arrest me,” he drawled, and dropped his gun. He held his wrists out to them. “You can’t stop our work.”
Dead America The First Week (Book 5): The El Paso Invasion Page 1
