“This here is a portable, flexible, solar panel,” Leon explained. “It’s capable of powering this laptop and pretty much everything else in this room. Although it’s gonna take a little while for this baby to get up to speed.”
The Detective let out a long whistle. “And how exactly did you acquire this stuff, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I was visiting for a training exercise at Fort Bliss, on the northeast side of the city,” Leon replied as he opened up the computer. “When this shit went down, it didn’t take long for the base commander to get the order to pull back to Kansas”.
“Now, one of the perks of being military intelligence is that very few people have the clearance to know what my orders are, and the base commander was not on that list. I simply told him my orders were to take what I needed from the base and move to an undisclosed location. I don’t think he really gave a shit if I was telling the truth or not, so he shrugged, threw me a set of keys and told me to go wild. Forty-five minutes later I had a jeep loaded down with gear.”
Rogers rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “In the early days of this thing, there were some rumors going around about Fort Bliss. Is it really as bad as what people say?”
“I’ll admit, I don’t have firsthand knowledge,” Leon said with a sigh. “Once I got out, I had no intention of going back. But a few days ago, I got in touch with a few boys from the base who decided that the military life no longer appealed to them. Based on what they told me, it’s a complete and total shitshow there.”
The Detective winced. “That bad?”
“According to them, the base commander didn’t have the stones to do what was needed, which was to put down the infected men,” Leon explained, voice hard. “Instead, he sealed the camp up tight and left them in there to turn.”
Rogers’ jaw dropped. “Christ.” He shook his head in disbelief. “So there’s a zombie army inside the base?”
“Unless the cartel has gone in and cleaned it out,” Leon said bitterly.
The Detective let out a deep whoosh of breath. “That hasn’t happened,” he replied, thankful for small miracles. “Francisco said they sent a small squad to scope the place out, hoping there was some military grade gear in there. He said one guy was able to get to the fence, but had a dozen bites on him. After that, they doubled the locks and put some guards on it to make sure nothing got out.”
“Well, that’s a good piece of news, at least,” Leon said. “Don’t want the cartel to be running around with military shit.”
Rogers peered down his nose at the flickering computer screen. “So your buddies… any chance they can come help us?”
“Not anytime soon,” Leon replied with a sigh. “We’re not supposed to chat for three more days, and besides, last I heard they were roaming around New Mexico. It’s doubtful they could get here in a timely manner.”
The Detective wrinkled his nose. “That’s a shame.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “At least it’s comforting to know that there are some people out there on our side.”
Leon nodded, and raised his mug in a salute to the sentiment.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Francisco sped up the I-10, headed to the cartel checkpoint just southeast of El Paso. He passed heaps of corpses that had been chewed up by the mounted machine guns on the guard trucks defending the checkpoint.
He slowed to a stop at the gate, leaning out the window to the armed guard standing there.
“Hey, can you let me through?” he asked. “I’m on my way to report in to Rodriguez.”
“It’s going to be a moment, sir,” the guard replied, putting up a hand. “We were told this is a closed checkpoint, so we have to get your clearance.”
Francisco growled. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir, mister Francisco, I do.” The guard swallowed nervously. “But I also know who told me to close this checkpoint, and I don’t want to anger them either.”
The driver sighed, leaning his head back against his seat. “You’re right,” he said, waving a hand. “Do what you need to do.”
The guard nodded in appreciation and stepped away from the vehicle as he pressed on the little communicator in his ear. He turned around and spoke in quiet tones.
Francisco began to tap on the steering wheel a bit, but forced himself to stop. He needed to keep his cool. Cool as a cucumber.
The guard turned back to him. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing southeast of the city?”
“I do mind, actually,” the driver snapped. He knew he had to be firm and unrelenting, even as his heart pounded in his chest. “I don’t report to you. If you or whoever is on the other side of that little radio wants to know what the fuck I was doing, then they can go ask Rodriguez. That’s who I report to. Now, if there’s nothing else, can you kindly move the fuck out of my way before I run your ass down?”
The guard touched his earpiece, and then nodded, waving at one of the guard trucks to move out of the way. “Have a good day, mister Francisco,” he said.
The driver huffed and rolled up his window, kicking up dust as he sped through the checkpoint.
As Francisco peeled out towards El Paso, two men stepped out of one of the guard trucks. Juan Pablo straightened his tie and suit jacket and strolled over to watch the truck disappearing into the distance.
“Hector, did you find any of that at all suspicious?” he asked, inclining his head to his tall partner.
Hector nodded his bald head. “Every single word of it, sir.”
“I’m wondering if you’ll run a quick errand for me,” Juan Pablo said, crossing his arms.
His partner straightened. “Anywhere you wish, sir.”
“Grab a truck and take a drive down the interstate here,” his superior instructed. “Spend half an hour or so, and see if you find anything that might be of note.”
Hector nodded. “I’ll return soon, sir.”
“Thank you,” Juan Pablo replied, clapping him on the shoulder before sending him off. He stared at the cloud of dust still hovering where Francisco had driven off. “What are you up to?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Francisco drove slowly through the streets of El Paso, surveying the ever-depressing scene. Cartel members walked the streets, chests puffed out and heads held high, guns always at the ready with their swagger turned up to a thousand. Terrified civilians peeked out through broken windows, meekly staying inside to avoid drawing attention to themselves and risk getting killed.
The zombies weren’t the biggest threat here.
He turned down the main strip towards city hall, and slowed to a stop outside. He jumped down and furrowed his brow.
“Hey, you can’t park here,” a cartel member with a cigar hanging out of his mouth barked. “Can’t you see we’re setting up a celebration?”
Francisco shrugged as he sauntered over. He could see. There were at least a dozen civilians, climbing up ladders at gunpoint to hang decorations all over the street.
“Relax, I’m only going to be here for a few minutes,” Francisco said.
“I don’t care if you’re just here to take a piss,” the cigar man snapped. “You need to move that car, now.”
Francisco steeled his gaze. “I’m here to meet with Rodriguez.” The tone of finality and the name-drop seemed to tame the man, and he pulled the cigar from his mouth to hock a thick glob of spit onto the ground.
“Fine,” he growled. “Just be back quickly. We have a lot of work to do.”
Francisco waved his hand around his head. “What is all this, anyway?” he asked.
“It’s a celebration of Tiago Rivas, the man who led us to the taking of El Paso!” the cigar man bellowed, spreading his arms, and several cartel members dotting the street raised their fists and hooted cheers in response.
Francisco shook his head. “Another celebration. What a waste.”
“It’s never a waste to celebrate our glorious boss!” the cigar man balked.
The shorter ma
n turned towards city hall, or at least what used to be city hall. “Yeah, let’s see if you’re saying that when we’re out of food.” He strode into the building taking in the flurry of cartel members running back and forth like chickens with their heads cut off. He managed to snatch someone by the arm on the way by. “Have you seen Rodriguez?” he asked.
The young cartel member pointed down the hall to the right, where the door to a large office stood open. Francisco nodded in thanks and headed in.
Rodriguez stood over a large table, a map of the city spread out beneath him. He slammed his hand down hard, startling the four men standing at the other end of the table.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Rodriguez said, voice low and menacing. “I want the asshole who gunned down three of our brothers found and brought to justice.”
“Sir, we’ve checked the area twice,” one of the men stammered meekly, wincing as his superior slammed his hand down on the table again.
“Well check it again!” Rodriguez boomed. “Burn the place to the fucking ground if you must, but this person needs to be found. Do not come back without them.”
The four cartel members nodded before rushing out the door, eager to get out of the fire. Francisco shut the door behind them and chuckled.
“You know they’re never going to find him,” he said.
Rodriguez grinned, taking a sip of his coffee. “Of course, but it will keep them busy for another few hours.” He sat down in his office chair, motioning for his friend to sit opposite him. “So, you were able to safely extract him?”
“Yes, he’s with the detective in Fabens,” Francisco replied.
“Good,” his superior replied with a nod. “Have they made any progress?”
Francisco sighed as he took a seat. “No. They haven’t.”
Rodriguez pursed his lips. “Did you explain the situation-”
The door suddenly burst open, interrupting them proper, as a fuming young man in an Armani suit stormed into the office.
“Why are you sending my men back out to that abandoned town?” he demanded.
Rodriguez sighed, as if dealing with an insolent child. “Because, Angel, I want the man who killed our people found and dealt with.”
“Fuck him,” Angel spat the words. “He’s probably in the middle of the desert dying of thirst right now. We need to be expanding our empire.”
“In due time,” Rodriguez replied, voice still calm and level.
The younger man snarled, resting his fists on the table and leaning forward. “The time is now. You have dragged your feet and held us back long enough. It’s time for us to move down the I-10 and claim it for ourselves.”
“We will head that way when I say we’re ready to,” the older man explained, as he had what felt like a hundred times before.
Angel sneered. “My father-”
“Your father put me in charge for a reason,” Rodriguez cut in, setting down his cup. “I don’t care if you’re the boss’ son, if he wanted you to have a decision-making position he would have given it to you. But he gave it to me.
“So go and do as your told, and take your men back to the Butterfield to find the person who murdered three of our brothers in cold blood. If there is resistance in the area, we need to quash it.”
Angel grunted and turned on his shiny leather heel, stalking to the door. He paused in the frame as he wrapped his hand around the knob.
“I know you’re stalling for a reason,” he warned, a mischievous sparkle in his defiant eyes. “There’s something down the interstate that you want to keep to yourself. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I will find out. You can guarantee that.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.
“I can’t keep them at bay much longer,” Rodriguez admitted quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If the Detective doesn’t find something, and find it soon, it’s not going to be good.”
Francisco shook his head. “Angel might not be our most pressing issue.”
“Christ, what now?” his friend demanded.
He took a deep breath. “I got stopped at the checkpoint on the southeast side of town. Someone was in one of the trucks, relaying questions to the guard. If it was someone loyal to Angel, they might put two and two together.”
Rodriguez sighed, shaking his head. He picked up his mug again, swirling the brown liquid around instead of taking a sip. “Did the Detective ask for anything that could be helpful to them?”
“He said they’re short on guns and ammo, but it’s too risky to get into the armory,” Francisco said with a shrug.
His friend pursed his lips, seeming lost in thought for a time. “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice,” he said finally. “We’re out of time. See what you can get to him, just make sure you take the long way around to avoid that checkpoint.”
Francisco got to his feet and nodded. “I won’t let you down.” He headed for the door, taking one last glance back at his superior’s contemplative face before he exited the office.
CHAPTER NINE
Trenton skidded to a stop a half-mile away from Van Horn, leaning on one leg as he pulled a set of binoculars from one of his saddlebags. He surveyed the area as the others pulled up behind him. One by one, everyone turned off their engines, and he lowered the binoculars.
“Okay, looks like there’s a string of buildings on the north side of the interstate that leads into the main part of town,” Trenton said. “I’m only seeing a handful of shops, none of which look like a liquor store.”
“Well hell, there has to be one.” Reed threw his hands up. “How the hell can anybody live out here and not drink?”
Trenton shook his head. “If there is one, I’m not seeing it.”
“You know,” Jay piped up, “I went out on a couple of dates with a girl from Van Horn. She lived in a pretty nice house.”
Reed snorted. “Bitch, nobody that lives in a nice house would ever go out with you.”
“Okay, a nice house for the area.” Jay rolled his eyes. “Nicer than anything else I saw driving through the town. I figure if we can’t find a liquor store, that might be our best bet.”
“It’s thin,” Trenton mused, “but I’ve heard thinner.” He rubbed his chin.
“Goddammit,” Malcolm muttered, furiously tapping one of the gauges on the dune buggy.
Trenton raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“I’m almost out of gas,” the younger man replied sheepishly.
“Jesus Christ man, can you not keep up with this shit?” Reed snapped.
Malcolm scowled. “I filled up with you guys! I should still have half a tank.” He shook his head. “Must have sprung a leak again.”
Trenton sighed and put the binoculars to his eyes again, trying to find a gas station. “Looks like there’s a truck stop on the south side of the interstate,” he said. “You two get filled up, then circle around the east side of the city and see if you can find a liquor store.”
Clara raised her hand. “How are we going to fill up if there’s no power?”
“It’s a truck stop in a small town in the middle of the desert,” Malcolm replied. “More than likely, they have a generator. If a storm rolls through and knocks the power out, they’re not exactly at the top of the list to get it fixed, so they have to be prepared.”
Trenton got off of his bike and walked over to them, putting a firm hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Do not go through the center of town, do you understand?” he asked. “God only knows what’s in there.”
“Yeah, of course,” Malcolm replied, blinking rapidly. “I’m not stupid.”
Reed snorted. “Says the man who’s out of gas.”
“Fuck you!” Malcolm snapped, narrowing his eyes.
Trenton clapped his hands together sharply. “Drop it, both of you,” he warned. “Malcolm, Clara, the three of us are going to go around the west side of town and check out the houses on the north side. We’re going to be on frequency thirteen. Call only
if there is an emergency or if you locate our target.” He held up his walkie talkie and gave it a little shake.
Malcolm pulled out his own and handed it over to Clara. “Here, you’d better hang on to this,” he said. “I have a tendency to misplace them.”
“If something goes wrong and we lose contact, meet back at this spot in two hours,” Trenton instructed. “Any questions?” He waited a beat, but nobody said anything. “Okay, let’s do this.” He strode over and got back on his bike, kicking it back to life.
He watched the dune buggy trundle off towards the truck stop, and he turned to lead the others along the west edge of town. They found a dirt trail, likely a walking trail for the locals, and though it was a bumpy ride, it was a lot safer than going through town.
Trenton slowed to a stop when he spotted a row of relatively expensive-looking houses through the trees. “Is that them?” he asked.
“Yep,” Jay replied with a nod. “That’s them.”
“What’s that building over there?” Reed asked, pointing to a fairly large structure on the far side.
Trenton pulled out his binoculars, surveying a football field with bleachers next to it. “Looks like a school,” he said.
“If there’s nothing in the houses, we could give that a shot,” Reed suggested.
Jay’s brow furrowed. “You think we’re going to find the booze we’re looking for inside a school?”
“Shit man, every teacher I know is a borderline alcoholic,” Reed replied, rolling his eyes. “I mean, wouldn’t you be if you had to deal with dozens of assholes like us every day?”
Trenton shook his head. “Have you ever seen a teacher’s pay stub?”
Reed shrugged. “Nope.”
“Let’s just say they aren’t going to be buying top shelf stuff,” the older man replied, and turned the binoculars back to the houses.
They were out in the open, no fences lining any of the yards. A few zombies roamed about behind the eastern-most house, but that seemed to be the only activity.
Dead America: The Second Week Box Set [Books 1-6] Page 17
