The driver was a young well-dressed man, somewhere in his thirties, of average height and build. Rogers wrinkled his nose at the fact that he wore sunglasses even though it was nighttime.
“I assume that you are detective Rogers?” the man called.
The detective squared his shoulders. “I could be. Who wants to know?”
“My name is Francisco,” he replied, spreading his hands. “I’m a close associate of Rodriguez.”
Rogers’s shoulders relaxed a bit, and walked around to the front of the car, still holding his handgun.
“Is that really necessary, detective?” Francisco pointed at the weapon.
Rogers motioned to the rifleman. “Is that really necessary, Francisco?”
The man smiled and waved for the man to put the weapon back in the car. He complied immediately, and Rogers holstered his own. Francisco approached and extended his hand, and the detective hesitated for a moment before firmly shaking his hand.
The cartel member’s face erupted in a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, detective.”
“You wanna tell me what you’re doing here?” Rogers asked. “Hell, you wanna tell me what I’m doing here?”
“It’s quite simple, detective,” Francisco replied. “Some of us in the Rivas cartel disagree with the current course of action. Rodriguez, myself, and others have taken it upon ourselves to right some of the wrongs that are taking place.”
Rogers crossed his arms. “So y’all are the good guys now?”
Francisco let out a deep belly laugh. “Thank you, detective, I needed that,” he gasped, wiping faux tears from his eyes. “No, I assure you, we are very much still the bad guys. However, we are bad guys with rules that we dare not break. And one of those rules is being against the senseless murder of civilians. We understood that drastic measures needed to be taken to combat the plague that was rampaging through our cities, but we believed that shouldn’t include murdering people like the ones in your caravan.”
Rogers clenched his fists. “Then why didn’t you do something to stop it?”
“Because we are in the extreme minority, detective,” Francisco replied, a hint of regret in his voice. “Speaking up would have done nothing but sign our own death warrants. Our only chance is to operate in the shadows.”
“Understandable,” Rogers replied with a nod. “So what am I supposed to do? What is Rodriguez’ grand plan for me?”
“There is no grand plan, detective, only an opportunity,” Francisco replied gently. “He saw potential in you today, which is why he risked his own life to spare yours. He sent you to Fabens because he knows the cartel isn’t interested in coming this far outside of El Paso.”
Rogers furrowed his brow. “So what am I supposed to do, run a refugee camp out here?”
“I wish it were that easy, detective.” The cartel leader shook his head. “If you want to survive, you will need to find a way to be useful to the cartel. Sooner or later, word will get back to those in charge of your existence. When that day comes, it’s all of our hope that you will have something of value to offer them.”
Rogers growled. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
“It means, the head of the Rivas Cartel likes expensive booze and freshly grilled wild game,” Francisco replied with a grin. “So you and your band of survivors might want to get really good at hunting and scavenging. As long as you are proving yourself useful, there’s a good chance he won’t order your destruction.”
Rogers rolled his eyes. “Great, I’ll get my seventy-year-old friend and his eight-year-old grandson acquainted with desert game hunting.”
Francisco smiled and motioned towards the back SUV. “Please, detective, come with me,” he said, and led him over to the hood.
He waved to the window, and the doors reluctantly opened. Seven twenty-somethings piled out, eyes wide with fear and nervousness.
“Rodriguez and I anticipated your predicament, so he had me recruit you some help,” Francisco explained. “They were hiding out in one of the college dorms, so I snuck them out. If they were left in the city they would be put to work as slaves, or worse for the women.”
Rogers’ eyes softened. “It’s gonna be okay, y’all,” he assured the scared youngsters. “I’m a police detective and y’all are safe. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll explain everything.”
“We loaded up what we could and threw it in the trailer,” Francisco continued. “There’s some food, water and weapons in there that should help you on your way. When we can, we will send you more people and supplies, but you shouldn’t expect them. At least not until we know who we can trust.”
Rogers nodded. “Thank you, Francisco,” he said sincerely. “And if you would, please take a message back to Rodriguez.”
“Certainly.”
“Tell him…” The detective grinned. “No hard feelings on the ear.”
Francisco chuckled and patted his new acquaintance on the shoulder. “I’m sure he will be happy to hear that, detective.” He went back to his vehicle and opened the door, standing up on the step so he towered over them. “Dark days are ahead, detective. I hope that whatever Rodriguez saw in you is the truth. Good luck.” He ducked into the vehicle, and drove off into the night.
Rogers looked around with a touch of bewilderment. To one side he had a group of elderly and children, and to the other a terrified group of college students. Before he could open his mouth to try to verbally figure out the situation, one of the storefront door opened, startling him.
He drew his gun immediately, swiveling to aim at a scared young man standing in the doorway with his hands high above his head.
“It’s okay,” Rogers said, holstering his gun and putting out a hand. “You can come out and join us. We’re here to help.”
The young man nodded jerkily, and waved over his shoulder. He emerged with a dozen or so people of varying age, slowly moving over to the group. Rogers scrubbed his hands down his face and looked around at the expectant and scared faces watching him.
He took a deep breath, fighting off the feeling of being overwhelmed with the responsibility that has been placed at his feet. A chuckle bubbled up from his throat and he shook his head. His presumably deceased Captain was likely somewhere in the afterlife, laughing his ass of at Rogers being thrust into the decision-making role despite decades of avoiding it.
“All right, everyone,” he said, composing himself. “My name is detective Rogers of the El Paso PD. As of this moment, this is our new home. I know you have all been through the ringer over the past few days, but it’s not going to get any easier from here on out.
“Tonight… tonight we eat and we rest. We rejoice in each other’s company and be thankful that we are still here. When the sun comes up tomorrow…” He squared his shoulders. “We begin the fight for our survival.”
END
Dead America The First Week (Book 5): The El Paso Invasion Page 7
