Dead America: The Second Week Box Set [Books 1-6]

by Slaton, Derek

  He backed up next to Reed, drawing his gun. He had no desire to know what it felt like to be eaten alive—and he sure as hell was going to make sure that neither of them would ever know.

  The metallic click of the lock was music to his ears.

  “Got it!” Reed cried as he yanked open the door, and they pulled it closed behind them in the nick of time. They pulled it shut as the horde descended on them, banging on the double doors in frustration.

  Trenton locked the doors for good measure and tossed the bat back to Reed, raising his gun.

  “Do you hear something?” Reed asked, eyes wide.

  His companion shook his head. “No, but if I do, we need to be ready,” he said, moving slowly and purposefully down the hallway. All of the classroom doors were closed, and neither of them felt the need to open them. Upon finding one that was half-open, Trenton covered it while motioning for Reed to open it all the way.

  The room was empty, several desks overturned and pools of blood on the floor. Reed quietly shut the door behind them and Trenton headed for the windows, opening up the metal shutters a sliver to see outside.

  “How’s it look?” Reed asked, keeping his voice low.

  Trenton shrugged as he surveyed the grassy area. “Well, it looks better than what was chasing us, that’s for damn sure,” he murmured. His eyes widened at the sight of a large smoke plume in the distance towards the interstate. “Oh, fuck me.”

  “What is it?” Reed asked, swallowing hard.

  Trenton opened the shutter a little wider and pointed. “Come take a look.”

  Reed peered out and paled. “Fucking Malcolm, man, what did he do?”

  “Let’s see if we can find out,” Trenton replied, and closed the shutter up tightly before pulling out his walkie talkie. He held it up to his lips. “Malcolm, Clara, either of you copy?” he asked, and let go of the button. There was nothing but static. “Malcolm, Clara, can you hear me?” He paused, pressing the radio against his forehead.

  He sighed and headed for the nearest desk, setting the walkie talkie down and flopping back into the chair.

  Reed pulled up a chair next to him. “Keep the faith man, they could just be avoiding zombies like we were,” he said, though his voice sounded desperate in his own ears.

  “Here’s hoping,” Trenton replied, scratching the back of his head.

  There was a moment of silence, and Reed leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you think the cartel will really wipe out the town if we don’t get back with something?”

  Trenton took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But at the moment, my only concern is finding a way out of this shit.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rogers thrummed his fingers on the table, staring at the military laptop. The screen simply read Connecting… in green letters on a black screen.

  “Does it usually take this long to connect?” he asked.

  Leon nodded. “Unfortunately, yeah. I’ve only been able to tap into one satellite and it has a ninety minute clock to circle the globe,” he explained. “When I do get it, we’ll only have in-range imagery for about five minutes. I mean I could tap into another one, but I really don’t want to draw attention to myself. I’m assuming there’s a functional government working somewhere, and would rather them not getting upset with me.”

  “I can understand that,” Rogers agreed, and then perked up as a loading bar appeared on the screen and began to rapidly fill.

  “About damn time,” Leon muttered. “Let’s see what we can see.”

  The screen flickered and then went live, showing a top-down view of south Texas. Leon began typing to zoom in, centering on El Paso.

  “Look at city hall,” Rogers said, leaning over his shoulder. “That’s where they said they were setting up.”

  Leon tapped a few more keys. “One trip to city hall, coming right up.”

  The screen focused in on city hall, showing dozens of people moving around on the street.

  “What the fuck are they doing?” He furrowed his brow. “Looks like they’re playing tag.”

  Rogers squinted and pointed to a few figures carrying something big and white across the street to a telephone pole. “Looks like they’re setting up for a party.”

  “Shit.” Leon shook his head in disbelief. “No wonder they have us out here risking our lives for booze.”

  The Detective nodded. “It’s really a shame this thing doesn’t have drone strike capability.”

  “Well, if we can ever get into Fort Bliss I might be able to make that a reality.” Leon chuckled.

  Rogers blinked at him. “Good to know,” he replied, impressed.

  “Okay, well, this ain’t doing us a whole hell of a lot of good,” Leon said with a sigh. “Where are your boys at?”

  “A town called Van Horn,” the Detective replied. “It’s about ninety miles east on the I-10. Can’t miss it, as it’s the biggest piece of civilization on that route.”

  Leon clicked away at the keyboard again. “All right, let’s take a trip.” As he zoomed in on the town in question, they noticed a large smoke plume rising from the south of the city. “That can’t be good.”

  “No, no it can’t,” Rogers agreed, blinking rapidly. “I mean, maybe they did that as a diversion?” He put a hand to his jaw as he took in the zombie horde on the north side of the city.

  The two men stared at the screen in mild shock for a few moments, barely blinking when the screen went black.

  Satellite out of range scrawled across the black monitor.

  Rogers took a deep breath and straightened up. “Leon, I know we just met,” he said firmly, “but I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

  “The tone of your voice makes it sound like you about to ask something that’s gonna make my black ass hitchhike outta here,” Leon said as he leaned back in his chair.

  The Detective took a deep breath. “It doesn’t look like our scouts are gonna make it back.” He licked his lips and crossed his arms. “So when the cartel comes, I’m going to need you to pose as the town’s leader.”

  Leon closed the laptop and stood up, shoving cables back into his duffel bag. “Man, it’s been a boatload of fun, but I’m gonna get on up outta here.”

  “I’m serious,” Rogers insisted.

  “And I’m serious too, motherfucker!” Leon snapped. “Why in the hell would I wanna act like this town’s leader? You want me to get shot in the fucking face? Why don’t you man the fuck up and do it your damn self?”

  “Because I’m supposed to be dead,” the Detective replied, pointing to the bandage on the side of his head. “Rodriguez, the second in command of the Rivas Cartel, did this to me in order to save my life. There are others in the cartel who think I’m dead. If they see me alive, they’ll butcher this town on principle.”

  Leon stalked to the window and all but ripped it open, pulling his solar panel back inside. “So why the fuck should I stay, then?”

  Rogers shrugged and let out a bitter laugh. “Because dying in a group is better than dying alone?”

  The taller man took a deep breath as he stuffed the equipment back into his bag, zipping it up with an air of finality. He scrubbed his hands down his face and turned on the Detective.

  “Why me?” he demanded. “Surely there’s somebody else who can do it.”

  “Most of the people in this town were exiled out of El Paso,” Rogers explained, “deemed useless and a waste of resources by the cartel. If one of them steps up to speak for us, they’re not going to be taken seriously. You, on the other hand, being military intelligence, would make it seem like there is competent leadership here.”

  Leon sighed. “Well, based on our current conversation, it would be nice to have the appearance of competency in this town.”

  They shared a chuckle, diffusing the moment a bit, and Rogers stared up at him, hope in his eyes.

  Leon scoffed and shook his head. “Okay.” He held up a hand. “I’ll do it, on one condition.” />
  “Anything,” Rogers replied quickly.

  Leon puffed his chest out. “From here on out, you call me Mayor Leon.”

  The Detective burst into laughter, the stress of the day suddenly bubbling over into the only thing he could do. He held his gut as Leon clapped him on the back to make sure he was all right, and finally straightened up, gasping for breath.

  Rogers shook his head and wiped a tear from his eye. “You got it, Mayor.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Rodriguez pointed to an area due east of the city, but before he could open his mouth to explain, one of the cartel members stepped forward.

  “Sir, if I may,” he began, “I spent a lot of time on this side of the border before this, and that area you want us to explore is vacant.”

  Rodriguez internally rolled his eyes, but schooled his expression into a glare and turned to the younger man. “Are you questioning my judgement?”

  The cartel member gulped. “No-no sir,” he stammered. “It’s just… my cousins and I used to go dirt biking out there. So I speak from experience. I know you have a difficult job to do and I just want to help in any way I can.”

  Well, fuck, Rodriguez thought, realizing that he had no way out of this without raising suspicion. He sighed and turned to the group fully.

  “Thank you for your input,” he said, crossing his arms. “I tell you what, you and your men have been working hard for me. Go get some food, put your feet up, and come back to me in an hour and I’ll have a new destination for you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the cartel member replied, grinning in relief. The group hurried to leave, and Rodriguez assumed they were eager to use every second of their restful hour.

  Angel Rivas strolled in past the bustling group, and sneered at the older man. “Rodriguez.” He drew out the name as if he were testing it in his mouth. “Still sending our men out on wild chases, I see.”

  “Just being thorough,” Rodriguez replied with a flippant sigh, “something you were never good at. Which explains why I’m in charge and you’re not.”

  Angel smirked. “Well, we’ll see about that,” he said, and snapped his fingers.

  His superior lost all color in his face, not liking the smug look. His stomach dropped like a stone as Hector shoved Francisco into the room and onto the floor, bound and bloodied.

  “What the fuck?” Rodriguez roared. “How dare you do this to one of my men!”

  “Your men?” Angel sneered. “Oh, so they’re your men now? I’m guessing that’s going to be news to my father.”

  The older man stalked forward, inches from the cartel leader’s son’s nose. “You speak to me like that again, and the next words out of your mouth will be coated in your blood.”

  Angel’s smug expression didn’t falter, and he simply stepped away from his fuming opponent and kicked Francisco in the stomach. The bound man let out a hoof and a groan of pain, unable to even rise to his knees from the beating it looked like he’d endured.

  Rodriguez stepped forward, shoulders squaring, but Angel drew a massive handgun. He cocked his head as well as the gun.

  “You need to sit down,” he demanded, and watched with glee in his eyes as the man that had been his superior sank slowly into a chair. “That’s it, sit like a good little puppy.”

  Rodriguez clenched his fists. “I demand to know the meaning of this.”

  “I caught him stealing weapons from the armory,” Juan Pablo announced from the front door.

  “You dense motherfucker, he has armory clearance,” Rodriguez snapped. “He has the right to get whatever he wants.”

  Juan Pablo pushed off of the doorframe, strolling forward with his hands clasped behind his back. “But not for whomever he wants,” he drawled.

  Rodriguez schooled his expression but beneath his heart pounded and there was a massive knot in his throat. He didn’t like this situation at all. They could be well and properly fucked.

  “You see, I was at the southeast checkpoint when he came back this morning,” Juan Pablo explained as he paced back and forth. “He was acting, shall we say, suspicious. So I had my friend Hector here take a joy ride down the I-10.” He motioned to the man standing proudly behind the hissing Francisco. “Hector, would you like to tell our friend here what you found?”

  Rodriguez closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. They were well and properly fucked.

  Hector grinned. “Fabens.”

  “And they brought this information to me!” Angel cut in, sounding positively chipper. “Which cleared up why you kept sending our men to areas we know contained nothing of value.”

  Rodriguez opened his eyes, and shrugged as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “So. What are you going to do? Shoot me?”

  Angel shook his head, the curl of his lips animalistic. “Not unless I have to,” he cooed. “I wouldn’t want to rob my father of one of his favorite pastimes.”

  Juan Pablo spread his arms dramatically. “Hector, if you’d be so kind as to assist Mister Rodriguez to his feet.” He grinned. “We’re going to pay Tiago Rivas a visit.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hector pressed the barrel of his rifle against the back of Rodriguez’ neck until he reached up and rapped on Tiago’s office door. A bodyguard cracked the door, peering down his nose at the group.

  “Who is it?” The cartel leader’s voice carried from inside.

  The bodyguard surveyed the motley crew in front of him. “Rodriguez, your son, and a few others,” he replied, sounding almost bored.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize the party was starting in my office today,” Tiago replied and clucked his tongue. “Very well, send them in.”

  The bodyguard opened the door wide, stepping aside. Angel swept past Hector, who held Rodriguez at arm’s length by the collar. Juan Pablo dumped Francisco onto the floor, leaning against the wall and crossing his legs at the ankle.

  Tiago looked up from cutting his steak and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He shoved his chair back and glared at his son.

  “Angel, have you lost your mind?” he demanded. “What are you doing, leading my second-in-command around like a dog?”

  His son raised his chin. “Juan Pablo and I caught Rodriguez and this piece of shit organizing a resistance movement against you.”

  Rodriguez scoffed and rolled his eyes.

  Tiago pursed his lips, reaching down for his silk napkin. He dabbed daintily at his mouth and then skirted his desk, stalking over to his second-in-command. He raised an eyebrow.

  “A resistance movement?” he asked, voice level.

  Rodriguez shrugged, trying to seem casual though his heart throttled his chest. “Hardly.”

  “Then explain yourself,” Tiago said with a wave of his hand, “against these serious accusations.”

  His second took a deep breath. “In the town of Fabens, I set up a safe haven for the undesirables who are expelled from the city. They are of no threat to you or any of us.”

  Tiago clucked his tongue and turned to his desk, lifting his glass of fine tequila and swirling it. “So, who am I to believe? My son, or my second-in-command?” He downed the glass and then pulled out his gold-plated handgun, whipping around, wide-eyed. “You two have always butted heads, but I thought you could work through it like mature fucking adults. Apparently, I was wrong.” He raised the gun to his second’s forehead.

  “Wait!” Francisco cried, scrambling to his knees as best he could.

  Tiago laughed at the state of the man, and leaned over to accentuate how much lower his beaten subordinate was. “Oh? You wish you say something?”

  “Fabens was… my doing,” Francisco said, voice hoarse with pain.

  “Your doing?” Tiago threw his hands up with mock exasperation. “And why would you think that was a good idea?”

  “I…” Francisco gasped and then cleared his throat, catching his breath, “I thought that putting the undesirables to work venturing out into the infected areas to retrieve supplies was worthwhile. T
hey risk their lives and we reap the benefits, costing us nothing.”

  Juan Pablo snorted, raising his hand. “Then what about the weapons you were stealing?”

  “You were stealing weapons?” Tiago snarled. “To give to those people?”

  “A few rifles and handguns, nothing that would pose a threat to us,” the beaten man insisted. “Just something to help them get what we need.”

  “Enough,” Rodriguez cut in, glaring down at his friend. “Francisco is attempting to cover for me. Fabens was my idea, and he was just following orders.”

  Tiago barked a few choice Spanish words, and then turned back to his second, tapping the barrel of his gun against his temple. “Why would you betray me like this?” he asked, voice rising in pitch and volume. “After everything I’ve done for you? Everything I’ve done for your family?”

  “We have a lot of territory to hold, and our manpower isn’t going to be increasing,” Rodriguez replied, battling to keep his voice steady. “And as your second-in-command, it’s my duty to make sure we have the things we need to withstand any threat.”

  Tiago narrowed his eyes. “And you thought that sneaking people out of the city was the way to do that?”

  “These people were discarded,” Rodriguez insisted. “I found a use for them. Think of it like a human recycling program.”

  The cartel boss laughed, lowering his gun hand and resting a hand on his stomach. “That’s a good one. Human recycling.” He paced slowly to Francisco, like a lion stalking its prey. “So. You were just following orders, huh?”

  “Yes…” the beaten man stammered. “Yes sir.”

  “And why did you follow his orders?” Tiago asked.

  Francisco swayed back and forth on his knees. “Because I’m loyal, sir.”