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

by Slaton, Derek

  “Oh, you’re loyal?” The cartel leader sneered, and Rodriguez’ heart skipped a beat at how similar his son resembled him in that moment. “Loyal.” Tiago stepped back, tapping his handgun on his thigh. “So you’re loyal to Rodriguez, then?”

  “Yes, sir…” Francisco gasped. “I’m… I’m loyal.”

  Tiago’s eyes hardened. “You’re supposed to be loyal to ME!” he roared, and fired his gun, putting a bullet in the broken man’s gut. “You’re not supposed to be loyal to anyone else! Only me!” He fired three more times into the moaning man, and then took a deep breath, running a hand over his hair before turning to his second. “We’re going to take a field trip down to your little pet project,” he said, voice smooth as silk once again. “If it has borne fruit, you may yet live to see another sunrise. If it has not… then you will wish you met his fate.” He motioned to Francisco, who bled out on the floor, twitching.

  Rodriguez blinked down at his friend, trying not to show his emotions, but inside he screamed and thrashed with each ounce of the life draining from Francisco’s body.

  “Juan Pablo, get the car,” Tiago barked. “And get someone in here to deal with this mess! I want this cleaned up, and this piece of shit traitor hanging from a lamp post by the time I get back.”

  Juan Pablo nodded and headed for the door. “Yes, sir.”

  Tiago holstered his golden gun and skirted his desk, sitting down to resume eating his steak as if he hadn’t been interrupted in the first place.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Clara rose up onto her knees and peeked out the window, surprised that the horde hadn’t come knocking for her yet. There were a smattering of zombies roaming about, but nothing even close to the crowd that had swarmed around the truck stop.

  She let out a deep sigh of relief and then glanced at the kitchen. “Well, if I’m here, I might as well see if I can find what we need,” she muttered, and got to her feet. She bounced on her toes for a moment to loosen up her joints and then headed for the cupboards, opening and closing every one.

  She found a handful of canned goods, and an open bag of chips that was more ants than chips. The pantry and the fridge also stood empty, and even the freezer had been picked clean. She slammed the door shut in frustration, and then paused at the sight of a flyer stuck to it with a University of Texas magnet.

  20% OFF LIQUOR SALE, the flyer boasted, and Clara ripped the paper free. She stared at the picture of an unmarked building, no big advertising, just a small hand-written sign in the window. She closed her eyes.

  “Son of a bitch,” she breathed. They’d passed that building on their way into town. It was one of the first ones they’d come across on the outskirts.

  She reached for her walkie talkie, and hit the button to speak. There was no sound, not even static, and she examined the device. It was powered off.

  “Good job there, Malcolm,” she muttered. “Dumbass.” She paused and shook her head, berating herself for making fun of a dead man. She hadn’t known him well, and he hadn’t been the brightest bulb in the box, but he deserved her respect.

  She took a deep breath and powered the radio on, turning it to channel thirteen and whispering a quiet prayer to whatever deity would listen before pressing the talk button.

  “Trenton,” she said firmly and clearly. “Trenton, are you there? It’s Clara.”

  She held her breath as she waited for a few tense moments.

  “Clara!” Trenton came back, voice bursting with excitement. “You’re alive! Is Malcolm with you? We saw smoke coming from the truck stop.”

  “He’s… he’s gone,” she replied. “So is the dune buggy.”

  “Ah,” came the somber reply. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m a little scared, but I’ll live,” Clara assured him.

  There was a moment of quiet and then another click. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in some small house just north of the interstate,” she said.

  “Are you able to get out?”

  “It looks like it,” she said, heading back to the window to double-check. “There’s only a handful of those things around.”

  “Okay,” Trenton said quickly, voice like stone, “I want you to get back to the interstate and head back towards Fabens. About ten miles up the road is a town called Allamore. Go north and you’ll find a safe house we set up. Food, water, everything you’ll need to be comfortable for a while. Reed and I will meet you there when we can.”

  “I have a better idea,” Clara cut in. “I figured out where the liquor store is.”

  “You did? How?” Trenton blurted. “Wait, forget that, I don’t care. Where is it?”

  “You’re not going to believe this, but it’s one of the first buildings we passed when we came into town,” she replied, scrubbing a hand down her face in frustration. “It’s a small concrete building with a handwritten sign in the window. That’s why we missed it.”

  “Fuck, fuck!” Trenton barked. “Fuck!”

  “Are you okay?” Clara asked immediately. “What happened?” She imagined the guys being gored by zombies. “Trenton, what’s going on?”

  “I fucked up, that’s what’s going on,” he moaned. “I fucked up and two people died.”

  She calmed down, realizing he was beating himself up, and shook her head. “Hey. It’s not your fault. We all missed it.” She decided not to ask about Jay, whom she assumed had fallen given the fact that he said two people died, and mentioned he and Reed would meet up with her.

  “Yeah, well, you all weren’t in charge,” Trenton said quietly.

  “Well, don’t make their deaths be in vain,” Clara insisted. “We have a chance to protect Fabens, so let’s figure out how to do it.”

  There was a quiet moment, and she hoped that Reed was comforting him proper on the other end.

  “You’re right,” Trenton finally said. “Okay. How do we do this… how… I got it, I think. Can you get to the liquor store?”

  Clara peered out the window again. “I think so. I can see the main road, and it’s just like a mile or so run to get to the store.”

  “Okay, get there as quickly as you can,” he instructed. “Get in, find what we need, and sit tight. Reed and I will take care of finding transportation. We will come get you.”

  Her heart leapt for the first time since she’d left El Paso. Is this what hope feels like? “Okay. I’ll radio you when I’m in.”

  “Be safe,” Trenton said firmly. “Over and out.”

  Clara pocketed the walkie talkie and checked her weapons, making sure her gun was loaded and accessible. She gripped her tire iron, knowing it would be her best bet to stay as quiet as possible.

  She watched the zombies from the door’s window, taking a deep breath. “Don’t think, just go,” she muttered to herself, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Go now. This is just like any other run. Go as fast as you can and don’t look back.”

  She took a deep, steadying breath, and then threw open the door, darting outside. She flew past two zombies before they could even register her presence, and ducked under the clawing arms of a third. The last one in the yard managed to catch her shirt on the way by, and she stifled a scream as she spun around.

  She smashed the tire iron down on the ghoul’s wrist, shattering it into pieces and sending the frustrated zombie staggering back. She tore free and took off running to the road, too afraid to look over her shoulder to see how far away the quartet of corpses were.

  “Don’t look, just run,” she huffed as her legs pumped against the ground. “You’re faster than they are. They can’t catch you.” She focused on her path along the road, even as moans grew louder behind her. They straggled up onto the pavement from the shoulders, and she zig-zagged as fast as she could across the lanes to avoid them. Stopping to fight would be death—she needed to keep moving.

  Clara reached the parking lot of the liquor store as her calves began to scream in agony, and jerked hard on the front door.

  It was locked.
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br />   “Shit,” she muttered. At this point, she finally turned around, eyes widening at the sight of the horde that had gathered to stagger up the road. Even at a hundred yards away, it was an intimidating sight, and she fought the panic rising up in her throat. “Shit!” She turned and yanked on the door again, though her rational brain knew it was futile. “Fuck it,” she grunted and took a step back from the door, drawing her revolver.

  This definitely counted as an emergency, and since she already had the attention of almost a hundred zombies, it didn’t really matter how much noise she made. She aimed at the latch, turned her head away, and fired.

  The door fell open, the wood falling away, and she tore inside, pulling it shut behind her. Having completely destroyed the latch, Clara looked around wildly for something to hold the door closed. She spotted a string of Christmas lights in the window and ripped them down, wrapping the cord around the door knob several times. She pulled it taut, testing the strength, and then stretched it out and tied it around the leg of a heavy metal shelf nearby.

  She plucked the cord to make sure it was secure. If somebody were pull hard on that door, it was likely that the whole thing would come free, but she had no other options, and hoped that the zombies wouldn’t be that smart. They tended to just bang on stuff, not pull open doors.

  Clara ran behind the front counter, scanning the back wall for anything worthy of the cartel boss. She clambered up onto the counter to reach the top shelf, finding a mini-case of tequila priced at $250.00 per bottle.

  She raised an eyebrow as she pulled it down. “Hopefully that’s retail and not an insane markup,” she said, shaking her head. The bottles were dusty, but intact.

  As her feet hit the floor, the thunder of zombie hands smacking the front of the building made her heart leap into her throat. The moaning permeated the walls, and she froze stock still, waiting to see if the Christmas lights would hold.

  When the door stayed put, Clara lifted her walkie talkie to her lips. “Trenton, I found it.”

  “That’s great!” he replied immediately, the sound of an engine in the background. “Sit tight, we’re headed your way!”

  She took a deep breath and pocketed the radio, wincing as the windows rattled in their frames under the violent hunger of the creatures outside. “Not going anywhere.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “You got anything?” Trenton called across the classroom as he peered out one of the windows.

  Reed made a noise of dissatisfaction. “Not seeing shit, man.”

  “All right,” Trenton replied with a sigh, heading for the door. “Let’s try across the hall.” They crept across to the closest door across the way, pausing with their weapons at the read.

  Reed gripped the knob and then threw the door open, allowing his companion to rush in, machete raised.

  “It’s clear,” Trenton declared, and headed for the window as the door gave a soft click behind him.

  They scanned the zombie-filled landscape, dozens of corpses staggering around the main parking lot.

  “Holy shit,” Reed said, pointing. “I think I got something, look at the far end there.”

  Trenton shifted his focus to the side his friend surveyed, and honed in on a bright cherry red extended cab pickup truck. “You have any idea how to hot-wire a truck?”

  “Afraid picking locks was as far as I got in my criminal career,” Reed admitted.

  His companion rubbed his chin. “What are the odds the keys are in the building?”

  “Let me see those binoculars,” Reed said, holding out his hand. He raised them to his face and scrutinized the truck, seeing a few plastic barrels in the back full of basketballs and soccer balls. There was a pile of baseball bats and some other sports equipment. “Check it out,” he said, handing the binoculars back over. “Either that’s the P.E. teacher’s truck, or somebody was stealing equipment.”

  Trenton nodded as he lowered the device, shoving them back into his belt. “To the gym,” he declared, and they headed out of the classroom.

  They were cautious but brisk as they headed down the hallway, easily finding the double doors of the gymnasium. A thick metal chain held them shut with a lock. Reed grunted as he inspected the lock, realizing it was a combination instead of a key.

  “Fuck,” he dropped it and shook his head.

  Trenton motioned to the sign for the locker room. “Hey, Reed, let’s hit the showers,” he said, and headed around the corner.

  The duo quickly ducked back around at the sight of two zombies banging on the door to the locker room. Trenton did a silent countdown and they crept up behind the corpses until they were within arm’s reach, and struck in unison. The zombies crumpled to the floor without so much as an extra groan to alert anyone of their presence.

  “Looks like they were after somebody,” Trenton said as he wiped his blade clean on one of the fallen creature’s shirts.

  Reed pushed against the door, and met resistance. He pushed a little harder, whatever was bracing it from the other side giving a squeaking noise as he managed to shove it across the tiles.

  “Definitely after somebody,” he grunted, pushing harder. Trenton helped him and they managed to get it open wide enough for Reed to slip through.

  The offending item blocking the door was a metal desk, and Reed wrapped his hands around it to move it out of the way enough so that Trenton could follow him in. He turned at the sound of shuffling feet and his eyes widened at the sight of a large zombie staggering out of the locker area.

  It looked like at one time he may have been a bodybuilder, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. Now he just looked like swiss cheese, missing large chunks out of his enormous biceps. Before Reed could react, the gigantic zombie crashed into him, slamming them both back against the concrete wall.

  “Fuckfuckfuck!” Reed screamed, pushing up against the corpse’s chest to try to keep its snapping jaws away from his tender flesh.

  Trenton managed to wriggle just far enough through the door, and brought the machete down into the thing’s head. It stuck halfway, but far enough to sever the brain, causing the zombie to slump forward.

  “You okay?” Trenton asked.

  Reed grunted and heaved the heavy body off of him, throwing his arm over his eyes to catch his breath. “Y-yeah.”

  “Holy fuck, that was close, man,” Trenton let out a relieved laugh, scratching the back of his head.

  His companion shook his head and couldn’t help but huff his own laugh. “Next door we come across, you’re going in first.”

  “That’s a deal,” Trenton replied, reaching down to help his friend to a standing.

  Reed finally got up, liberating the machete from the corpse and handing it back through the door before finally shoving the metal desk clear. He slowly made his way through the locker room as Trenton patted down the attacking corpse.

  “We’re clear,” Reed called.

  Trenton shook his head and walked into the main locker area. “No keys,” he reported, and then they both fixated on an open door in the corner. “Maybe the office?” he suggested, and they wandered in.

  Trenton rummaged through the desk drawers while Reed checked the filing cabinet, chuckling at the sight of a hidden bottle of scotch in there.

  “Eighteen-year-old scotch,” he said, pulling it out and giving it a wiggle.

  Trenton shook his head. “Here’s a man who took his alcoholism seriously.”

  “Yeah, I can respect that,” Reed said.

  His companion opened the last drawer, and the jangling of metal made both of them hold their breath. Trenton grinned, reaching in for a keyring. The black car key matched the brand of the truck.

  “Looks like we’re in business,” he said, and shoved them deep into his pocket.

  They headed out of the locker room, re-inspecting the hallway before heading quickly to the back exit of the building.

  “Is this the right door?” Reed asked.

  Trenton scratched the back of his head. “I thin
k it’s the closest one to the truck, but let’s see how bad it looks.” He gently pushed on the metal release bar, ever-so-slowly opening the door a hair’s breadth so he could get a good view of the parking lot.

  Zombies staggered about, but the first ten feet or so out the door is pretty clear, and most of them were spread out instead of in groups. He carefully and silently closed the door again.

  “So… you want the good news, or the bad news first?” he asked, trying to sound cheerful.

  Reed rolled his eyes. “When the fuck did we start getting good news today?”

  “Fair enough,” Trenton chuckled. “Okay, there’s enough room to get the doors open and for us to get up a head of steam.”

  Reed raised an eyebrow. “But?”

  “But, there’s like a hundred zombies between us and the truck,” Trenton finished.

  His companion let out a deep whoosh of breath. “Fantastic.”

  “Just channel your football days, put your head down, and run like a motherfucker,” Trenton instructed.

  Reed couldn’t help but laugh, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Not loving this plan.”

  “Yeah, me either, but it’s the best we’ve got,” his friend replied with a helpless shrug. He put his hand on the release bar. “Ready? On three. One. Two. Three!”

  He flung the door open and they burst into the parking lot. The sound of the metal door coupled with the quick movement drew the attention of every zombie within earshot, and they all turned towards the source.

  Trenton led the charge, crashing apart two zombies that were close together, sending them stumbling back into a domino effect against other corpses. He continued like a lead blocker clearing the path for his running back, Reed hot on his heels.

  The surrounding zombies began to swarm around the disturbance, and the two men ducked, bobbed, and wove through a sea of rotting flesh and grasping hands. Trenton kept his eyes on the truck, that cherry red beacon of hope, trying to ignore the cold dead fingers brushing every inch of his flesh as he flew past them.

  As they managed to break free of the thick of the horde, the truck was about twenty yards away, and Trenton mashed the unlock button on the key fob. Nothing happened.