by Bowie Ibarra
He then raced to a final cell but did not fire.
“Tiny!” he yelled. “Tell our homies we’re rumbling outside!”
“What?!” Tiny asked.
“They’re letting ya’ll out in about two minutes,” Nick said. “Meet us at the armory. Be ready.”
“Oh, shit. Okay.”
Sleepy turned to face the entirety of the cell block and made a declaration of war against the few power brokers who had aligned themselves against him in his brief time in the pen. “All you pinche scabs and slobs! Especially you, Bingo! You fuckin’ come get me outside if you think you can!”
As Nick and Sleepy exited the cell block, Sleepy’s dead cell mate started moving again. Slowly and with much effort it rose to its feet, then shambled out the open cell door.
The other men that had been helplessly blasted in their cells, (with the exception of one who was still clinging to life,) slowly began to twitch and move. The man fighting to survive had no idea his cellmate was about to strip his final moments away by biting into his jugular.
The cell block was now infested with the mysterious plague of the dead.
Nick and Sleepy dashed back to the armory. Deputy Officer Jeanette Coleman and two other guards were fumbling with the keyboard, trying to open the weapons room when Nick and Sleepy arrived.
“Lopez, what the fuck are you doing?!”
“It’s time for you to shut the fuck up, bitch,” Nick said.
He and Sleepy blasted the three Travis County employees.
Nick stepped over their corpses to the keypad. He tapped in the numbers.
Red lights flashed and a horn howled. The iron clink of hundreds of cell doors unlocking and rattling open resonated around the building.
The proverbial hounds were now unleashed on Austin, Texas.
With every prisoner armed to some degree, even if only with crude shivs, fistfights and stabbings were occurring in massive numbers.
Two inmates smashed another’s face into prison bars until it was soggy mush. Three others pushed a man into a cell and proceeded to stab and cut him to ribbons. Another group cuffed a man to prison bars after severely beating him, then doused him with hairspray and set him on fire.
Sleepy’s victims had been standing and ready outside the cells, waiting for food to come to them. Though the initial bum rush of liberated prisoners knocked a couple of the reanimated corpses to the ground, they quickly found their feet and went on the offensive. One inmate punched Sleepy’s risen cellmate in the face, oblivious to the gaping hole in his chest—oblivious that he was already dead. The dead man simply grabbed the man’s hand and chomped down on his arm. Blood spurted out onto the zombie’s face like beer from a bottle that had its top popped, dripping red down its eyes, cheeks, and lips. The man screamed.
The other men Sleepy had shot had risen and joined the fray, each attacking a liberated prisoner and biting them.
Any prisoner who could not pull free was feasted on.
* * *
Nick and Sleepy were elated to see Tiny arrive safely with their homies. They handed weapons to them—shotguns and rifles. The entire armory was liquidated and the well-armed thug force numbering nearly a hundred strong cut a path of gunfire and death on their way to the face-off with their rivals outside the Travis County Jail.
When the heavily armed group arrived outside, Bingo and his gang was already there, waiting for them. But the chaos in the streets diverted their attention. People were running, screaming, dying. Buildings were on fire and cars were whizzing by. One of Bingo’s thugs was grabbed by a woman passing by and she bit him in the arm. Then another thug was bitten. Then another. In the chaos of the people swarming the streets, it was sometimes impossible to tell which were running and which were pursuing. Despite the fact that the inmates had already been exposed to the threat via television news within the confines of their correctional institution, none believed it was actually happening. But as a fourth man was bitten, it was clear the dead tide was real and was slowly overtaking Austin.
In anger, Bingo and his gang started attacking everyone they saw, alive or dead, stabbing them repeatedly with their knives. Some of the victims dropped dead from a stab through their throat. Others, though knocked off balance or even bleeding profusely from gaping neck wounds, did not stop their own attack. And those that had fallen—had been murdered—got up again.
But once they were bludgeoned in the head, they stopped and dropped and were thereafter motionless. Nick and Sleepy made a mental note of it.
“Fire!” Sleepy shouted, and his homies opened fire on everyone at the mouth of the Travis County Jail. The hellish and wholesale slaughter of every person in the vicinity took only about a minute. Several of Bingo’s men contested the army of thugs. But their crude shanks were no match for the cruelty of the metal slugs spitting with authority from the firearms of Sleepy’s men. The men who did not scatter to the four winds had all been leveled by the gunfire and were piled up unevenly like ancient Aztec sacrifices to appease the gods.
With the sense of urgency intensified at the sights before them, Sleepy turned to Nick. “So where is this... place... you spoke of?”
“It’s on the other side of 35. About four miles from here.”
“Well, let’s move, vato,” Sleepy said, calling to his new minions to follow.
The mob advanced down the street in a fearsome phalanx, an orange spearhead of thugs united in power, preparing to face the new world.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
1:30 PM
Texas State Capitol
The morning had been eventful for the fireteams. When the National Guard arrived, the congressmen were airlifted to a base in San Antonio, the focal point of an attempt by joint U.S. and U.N. forces to retake southern Texas. The idea was to create a secure route from San Antonio to the coast and secure several seaports along the Texas coastline. Operations were also underway in New York, California, Florida, and West Virginia.
The forces that had arrived initiated an operation to secure two city blocks around the capitol and set up a massive military base in and around the building. It was to be the headquarters of the Texas Reclamation Plan, or TxRP.
The plan was to launch massive expeditions from Austin to the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex, one to Houston, one to El Paso, and San Antonio to Corpus Christi. The purpose was to resecure the massive transportation corridor up and down IH-35 and IH-10. The initial plan was to test the tactic on the first expedition to Corpus. U.N. Captain Phillip Carson was appointed as the leader of that first peacekeeping mission, and his results would be measured, evaluated, and adjusted for the subsequent expeditions.
After the arrival of the National Guard and the departure of the congressmen, the two fireteams were given tents and cots and allowed to catch some shuteye.
They had all been sleeping like rocks since 0700 hours, after debriefing about their experience to TxRP Command. The only exception was Sgt. Arnold, who spent some time trying to convince Cpt. Barrigan to conduct an investigation into the death of Specialist Goodson. Arnold ended up crashing out at 0800 hours. Like the parents of a newborn child, sleep was cherished by the fireteams. And Sgt. Arnold certainly didn’t have a bullheaded philosophy like I’ll sleep when I’m dead. He was wise enough to never turn down sleep when offered.
At this rate, though, it looked like the offer had stipulations. Cpt. Barrigan had a special message for the two fireteams. He entered the tent where Fireteam Arnold was sleeping. The old boot camp side of him wanted to wake them all up with a, “Drop your cocks and grab your socks!” But after discovering that not enough cots had been provided and seeing Sgt. Arnold sleeping on the ground, nobly allowing his men to have the cots, Cpt. Barrigan decided to wake him gently.
He leaned down to nudge Sgt. Arnold awake. Startled, Sgt. Arnold awoke, immediately pulling a knife and nearly cutting the throat of his commanding officer.
“Hey, take it easy there, tiger,” Cpt. Barrigan said, parrying the aborted attack, po
stponing the counterattack. “You wouldn’t want to kill the man with good news for you and your men.”
Arnold rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, sir,” he muttered. He rose to attention.
“At ease, Sergeant,” Barrigan said.
Taking a moment for himself, Sgt. Arnold covered his bare torso with a shirt. He then followed the Captain outside the tent.
“Sergeant, your men did an outstanding job this morning. You and your men are heroes and will be commended when this is all over.”
“Thank you, sir,” Arnold said.
“As you know, we will be completing our operation here to secure the capitol and a base of operations for the TxRP. Sergeant, I’d like you to be the leader of our expedition to Dallas.”
Sgt. Arnold swelled with pride. “Sir, it would be an honor.”
“I’m happy to hear that. We’re on a good course to combating this viral menace. Homeland Security is working with the Austin Police Department, securing several apartment complexes, hospitals, stadiums, and other facilities for FEMA to protect and serve the citizens of Austin. We are currently coordinating with the United Nations on our work in Dallas. You will be leading a joint effort with the United Nations on this peacekeeping mission to Dallas and—”
Arnold’s smile faded into a look of suspicion.
“—to secure every city and township from here, up IH-35 into Dallas. Resistance will be strong, and we predict massive amounts of Virals in the big cities by that time. Once you secure designated Sections of the city, we will give you further orders. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Sgt. Arnold, I have something for you and your men.” Cpt. Barrigan reached into his pocket. He pulled out three patches with the United Nations symbol stitched onto them. “I need your men to put this patch on under your chevrons.”
Sgt. Arnold had a concern. “Cpt. Barrigan, sir. With all due respect, are we ceding control to the United Nations?”
“Not yet.”
Not yet?
Rule change.
“Sir, with respect, I think this expedition would benefit from being a totally U.S.-controlled operation. It would—”
“Sgt. Arnold, you need to take a minute to consider something. We don’t have the manpower for a total U.S. centered force to perform our operations. Our forces are too spread out across Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan chasing after those goddamn camel-fuckers who fucked us over on 9/11. If we hadn’t sent men over to the Balkans before this shit hit, we might have been able to do it alone. But we can’t now. Do you love America, Arnold?”
“Yes, sir.” He most certainly did.
“Then you must come to grips with this fact: To help America right now we have to—”
“Give up our national sovereignty?” Then after a second he added, “Sir.”
Cpt. Barrigan’s face became red. Sgt. Arnold thought he looked a lot like J. Jonah Jameson from the Spider-Man comics.
“Captain, I don’t like the idea of foreign influence over U.S. forces. Sir.”
“Sergeant, we’re not paying you for what ideas you like and what ideas you don’t like. We’re paying you to take orders. Now give your men these patches when they wake. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.” The sergeant laced the syllables with contempt. His frustration was obvious, but so was the Captain’s.
“Dismissed.”
Arnold walked back into the tent. His charges after Goodson’s death, Knight and Noble, were still sleeping like babies. He put the patches in his shirt pocket and tucked himself back into his sleeping bag and thought about the decision.
* * *
Cpt. Barrigan then entered the tent of Fireteam Nickson, on the other end of the capital grounds. Their team was sleeping as well. Barrigan found Sgt. Nickson, woke him up, and gave him the news.
“Thank you, sir,” Sgt. Nickson said. “The commendation will be greatly appreciated by my men and me.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“And I’m sorry about the loss of Goodson. I trust he will also be commended posthumously?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fantastic, sir.”
Cpt. Barrigan explained the involvement of the U.N., and extended an invitation to him.
“Nickson, I want you to lead the expedition to Houston. The military hopes to secure the city not only for its ports, but for the space center there. They think this viral epidemic can be contained with information and resources from the now-abandoned space center.”
“Space center? Anything more specific?”
“I can’t disclose that as of now. However, you will learn more if the expedition is a success.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will need your men to wear these as well.” He pulled out the U.N. patches. “Don’t be a hard ass about it like Arnold, you hear me?”
Nickson could not care either way about U.N. involvement, but saw his chance to one-up Arnold. “Yes, sir. I’d be proud to, sir.”
“I like you, Nickson. You’re a good soldier that does what you’re told. I like that.”
“I’m here to serve my country, sir, and follow all orders given me.”
Sgt. Nickson fed Barrigan’s pride like a child molester gives candy to a kid before shoving them in the back of a grimy van.
“That’s what I like to hear, Sergeant.”
Nickson already knew that.
“Dismissed.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
1:42 PM
East 10th and Trinity
Like a column of ancient barbarian marauders, Sleepy and his army of former Travis County Jail inmates marched through the streets of downtown Austin. Hacking, slashing, bashing, and shooting anyone that stood in their way, the men were making progress.
Several men secured vehicles within the first block. And with the assistance of professional car thieves (which, naturally, most of them were,) Sleepy, Nick, and others secured vehicles as well. With a spontaneous kind of organization, the same men were empowered to get wheels for the rest of the gang. Three more cars were secured and then packed in with five to six people. The mob became a living organism—a flock—flowing through the veins of downtown Austin, securing vehicles and thereby providing the aberrant army additional protection from danger. A truck packed three in the cab and six in the bed. A stylish hummer was secured and packed. An Escalade was discovered and requisitioned. They all probably belonged to a lawyer that had put them behind bars.
Before long, the entire gang was secured in vehicles. From Hondas to Cadillacs, the men rode in style. And contrary to the past state of affairs, no one cared what they were riding dirty in. They were all thankful to be protected in metal and space-age plastic.
Like a machine, people had picked their responsibility and executed what they somehow knew they needed to do. There were men with weapons that stood around the convoy and killed anything that moved, oftentimes with glee, protecting their cohorts and their stashes of food and supplies.
Females were the exception. In a move of suspicious chivalry, the men rescued select women who were holed up or in danger on the streets or in stores they liberated of their merchandise.
Every so often, Sleepy would stop his lead vehicle (an ’82 LeSabre,) step out, and point to a store. While the armed men defended the convoy, the looters moved into the appointed store and seized its contents. Drug stores, fast food joints, convenience stores. The looters had a good knack for timing, and tended to grab just a handful of goods before returning to the cars. The number of zombies in the streets had greatly increased, but not yet to such proportions that would overwhelm the men as long as they didn’t linger in one place for too long. And no man was ever left behind, and no man was lost in the journey to their refuge: Lopez Auto Repair and Custom Cars. Nick’s brother, Jesus, owned the large shop.
They pulled up to the front gate, honking and hollering and bashing zombies. Nick’s brother Jesus was ready to open the gates of the facility. It took up an e
ntire city block and sported two entrances. A tall wall of cinderblocks surrounded the entire block. Stark red letters near both gates spelled out the name of the business in a very urban font against a white background. Barbed wire topped the walls and gates and a large garage stood in the center of the compound. It was spacious enough to have every car pull in and still leave room for more.
Though the facility housed a legitimate business, it did some chopping after hours.
Nick gave Jesus a big hug consisting of a strong handshake, a hard shoulder block, and several solid slaps to the back.
“Que paso, Nico?” Jesus asked.
“’Pues, nuevo amigos, buey,” Nick replied, referring to his new friends, flaunting the sheer number of men that had joined him and battled their way to the garage. “Hay poder en numeros.”
Sleepy joined the brothers while the others made themselves at home.
“Este es Sleepy. He had my back en la jaula.”
“Mucho gusto, joven,” Sleepy said courteously, thanking his host. “You will be rewarded for taking us in.” Then he made a proclamation, setting it up with a very loud whistle, followed by an order to bring everyone to attention. “Ey, cayensen los sicos, bueys.”
The sea of orange-clad ex-cons immediately shut their mouths and stood attentive to the man that led them to this place of protection. “Escushen. Este es el negocio de Jesus Lopez. Darlo mucho respeto a Jesus y su familia, y tambien por el negocio. Si no pones el proprio respeto, yo voy a matar.
Comprendes?”
A chorus of “si” resounded around the lot, promising respect to Jesus, his family, and their business.
Sleepy eyeballed the crowd like a third-world dictator, then turned to Jesus. “Gracias, amigo.”
“Seguro.”
“A donde esta los banos?”
Jesus pointed the way to the restrooms. Sleepy nodded gratefully and made his way to them. The crowd went about their business.
