Torn Apart (Book 1): Terror In Texas

by Hoaks, C. A.

  The Bitch was surrounded by monsters. The ones in the front of the rig fell under the press of the brush guard and knocked down some of their brethren in the process. Dozens of infected were falling under the massive tires. As she accelerated, more monsters turned and followed. She watched as at least a hundred monsters stumbled after her. She grinned as she realized it was working. With a little luck, she would give Phil plenty of time to gather his family.

  It was a painfully slow trek to the far side of town and the baseball field. She drew more and more of the monsters to her. Finally, she saw the big lights sticking up over the buildings in the distance. She looked at the digital clock on the dash. It had taken half an hour to get to the park. She gunned the engine and raced down the block.

  Tate accelerated away from her followers and rolled over the fencing at the side of the ballpark. She stopped on second base, grabbed the music player with the mini-speakers and she jumped from the cab. She ran to the trailer, set the player under the metal tripod then dragged a cinder block from the trailer. She positioned the stone under the trailer tongue and pulled the pin on the hitch. She ran back to the cab and climbed back inside just as hundreds of monsters spilled into the ball field. She cranked the Bitch and began rolling forward.

  Tate flicked a grill lighter and used a piece of duct tape to keep the flame fueled. She dropped the end into the cup holder then passed over the flame the end of a gas soaked rag hanging from one of the bottles. When the rag caught, she eased it out the window and tossed the jar about five feet from the trailer. The flames exploded with a whoosh. She repeated the process three more times, eased off the clutch and accelerated toward the back fence.

  She hit the hurricane fence then jerked the wheel to the left and tossed two more lit bottles of gasoline at the break in the fencing. She accelerated for half a block then turned down an alley and slammed on the brakes. She killed the engine.

  The Bitch sat still and silent while Tate grabbed her rifle before climbing from the cab. She hurried to the corner of the building and peeked around the brick. The scene on the ball field was horrendous. Hundreds of infected had followed her through the opening then stumbled toward the trailer and the blaring rock music. They shuffled into the flames around the trailer. They had hoped the flames would draw in the infected but protect the anchored tripod with the butane cylinder mounted on the top. The first part worked. Not so much the second. Flames didn’t discourage the infected from bunching up and jostling the trailer.

  Phil had mounted the tank then used a roll of plastic wrap to surround the tank with nails and ball bearings. Now, all she had to do was hit the valve and blow the tank. She hoped she hadn’t over stated her skill.

  Tate pulled the rifle to her shoulder and sighted the valve of the cylinder. She took a deep breath then released. Her heart raced when she saw half a dozen infected stumble through the flames and stagger across the road toward a nearby wood structure.

  There were hundreds of monsters milling around the blaring music with at least a quarter of them near enough to the flames to catch fire. She took a breath, released it and squeezed the trigger. The shot took out a bald man with flames climbing up his leg. He fell into the firestorm.

  “Shit!”

  Tate took a deep breath and blew it out in frustration. She pulled the rifle back to her shoulder. Without hesitating she drew in another breath, released it, and fired again. This time the projectile sheared the valve at the top of the tank.

  The detonation was deafening. Tate fell back from the corner to the ground. Windows overhead shattered and glass rained down on her. She dropped the gun and fell to her knees with her arms covering her head. Scorching air burst out from the ball field along with chunks of projectiles hitting the brick of the building. Tate huddled against the wall of the brick.

  When the only sound was the roar of the flames, Tate stuck her head around the building. The ball field was pure carnage. Hundreds of the infected were scattered around the grounds in pieces and lay unmoving while even more were on fire and stumbling over the shattered bodies.

  Tate imagined she had attracted at least half of the town. She picked up the rifle and got to her feet and turned back to the truck. Her breath caught when she faced an infected man. He looked like a reject from a horror movie with half of his face gone and gray hair covered in carnage. He raised his arms, his hands reached out to her as if to draw her into an embrace.

  She swung the butt of the rifle up and connected with the side of his head. He staggered back a step but the impact failed to take him down. She followed with a swift kick out with her foot and caved in his knee. His leg buckled and he fell to the ground. Tate raised the rifle and fired. The man collapsed in a heap.

  Tate turned away from the body in time to see half a dozen more infected heading her way. She ran to the cab and climbed inside. She cranked the engine and jammed the Bitch into gear. She shifted through the gears as it picked up speed and she made her way around the side streets back to the highway as fire found more and more structures behind her.

  The radio crackled to life. “Tate? You got your ears on?” Doyle’s voice asked.

  “I’m here,” Tate answered. “I’m headed back your way. Got the family?”

  Doyle sounded dejected. “Long story. Let’s head home.”

  “What?” Tate asked.

  “Family is gone. The house is destroyed. The occupants held off a horde before the place was overrun.” Doyle added.

  Tate sighed. “I am so sorry, Phil.”

  She turned left a final time and went to the end of the side street. She slowed and looked to the left and then to the right. She was on highway sixteen. She turned right and headed back to Old Hondo Highway.

  When she got to the intersection she saw Doyle’s rig sitting at the turn-off waiting. He saw her and pulled out ahead of her. She followed.

  Forty minutes later, they pulled up to the gate and waited for Ben to appear. Instead, a bear of man strolled out of the house with a big grin on his face. He gave Doyle and Phil a careless wave and opened the gate. Doyle and Tate pulled the rigs through the gate. When the man had closed the gate he jogged to the passenger side of Doyle’s truck and jerked open the door.

  Phil reached out to be caught in the arms of the big man.

  “You son of a bitch!” Phil pounded on his companion’s chest. “Beth? The girls?” Tears were streaming down his face.

  “All fine.” The man picked up Phil and headed across the yard as if his weight was nothing. “They’re a little tired, but fine now that they’re home.”

  Tate and Doyle followed the pair as the big man carried Phil to the house. Doyle leaned over and whispered. “I’ll be damned. If you had seen what we did, you’d be amazed any of Phil’s family is here.”

  Tate asked. “What do you mean?”

  “There was blood and bodies parts everywhere. Shell casings, and at some point there had been an explosion. We figured everyone was dead. I thought the man was going to climb out of the cab when he saw the house. I convinced him to let me look around. I told him it looked like people got out, but honestly it didn’t.”

  Tate slapped his arm. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

  Doyle laughed. “So am I, believe me.”

  By the time Tate and Doyle got to the house, Phil had been deposited into his wheelchair and was surrounded by a bevy of people; two men and the bearish man from the gate, four women, and half a dozen kids from toddler to teens.

  When Doyle and Tate got to the porch, Phil introduced his wife, Beth and two daughters. Then he introduced John and his wife’s sister, Mary, then Martha and her husband, Bill, Ben’s folks in addition to the handful of children. A woman with a small child in her arms stood off to the side of the group.

  “Gina, come here, honey,” Phil called the woman closer.

  The woman stood, unmoving. Beth stepped to her side. “I told you it would be alright, honey. Phil is glad you’re here.”

  Tears welled up in Gin
a’s eyes. She clutched the child so tightly the baby began to whine and fuss.

  Phil reached out with a calloused hand. “Gina, you’re safe here. You belong to our family, now. You and the child have a home with us. You don’t have to be afraid of anyone hurting you again.”

  The young woman began to weep and Phil opened his arms. She fell to her knees in front of Phil and leaned into his chest. Together, the man, the child, and young woman clung to each other for several minutes. Finally, Gina sat back and smiled.

  “Thank you,” Gina whispered. “He’s dead.”

  Beth stepped up and wrapped an arm around Gina. “Let’s get you and the baby cleaned up. The last three days of walking and hiding wasn’t easy on any of us. We’ll get you settled in a room. The girls won’t mind using the sleeping porch. It’s time we all get something to eat and rest.” She led the woman away.

  The rest of the family disappeared into the house leaving Doyle and Tate to sit with Phil.

  “I led you on a wild goose chase.”

  Doyle shrugged. “Hey, we got rid of a lot of infected. Maybe it’ll be easier to scavenge supplies from Bandera now.”

  “You’re a good man, Doyle. As for you, Tate, you’re an even better man.” He said with a chuckle. “That was pretty ballsy doing what you did. You made a hell of a boom. Sure was a lot of black smoke when we left town. I hope the whole town didn’t burn” Doyle laughed and Phil continued. “Both of you know how to take care of yourselves. I can use good people around here. I would like you to stay.”

  Chapter 29

  Act of Kindness

  Harry eased his bike around another traffic pile up using the torn and trampled medium between strips of asphalt.

  The sound of the bikes brought more and more of the infected out of the shadows. By the time the monsters reached the street they rode on leaving them behind. Harry and John moved far enough away for any new arriving infected to join the herd following the rumbling of the motorcycles.

  Harry raised his hand to point toward a side street at the next intersection. They eased down an incline and across a paved parking lot. He pulled ahead and guided his bike down the street to another intersection. They turned at the back of a big brick building and suddenly they were leaving the small town and its cluttered streets behind.

  Liz looked ahead at the endless line of vehicles stopped on the highway. She could imagine the terrified people trying to escape the infected when they ended up in a traffic jam that went on for miles and miles. She could see a distant rise void of vehicles on the roadway. A disabled vehicle or an accident had caused the massive backup. Everyone behind the blockage had been trapped.

  She imagined after hours of sitting waiting for someone to clear the accident they began running out of gas, the infected arrived and people left their vehicles in a headlong rush to escape. They would take what they could carry and it wouldn’t take long for the infected to catch up. Those attacked soon became part of the wave of monsters on the roadways that followed them.

  Evidence showed those too terrified to leave their vehicles fared no better. They ended up trapped. The infected swarmed around vehicles and shattered glass and attacked those hiding inside. In the end, they were devoured or turned. It was an ugly death. A death she was terrified her children could suffer.

  Liz turned away from the long line of cars with a troubled sigh. The blacktop heading away from the interstate was rough and in poor condition. Both men had to go slow enough to avoid rough careless patches on the asphalt.

  “We’re getting nowhere fast and it’s almost dark,” John commented through the helmet mic. “Besides, that herd of fuck-heads following us is just getting bigger.”

  “We need a distraction,” Harry added. “Something for them to focus on that’s not us.”

  When the pavement evened out they stopped at a two-car accident. The front fenders were locked together in a twisted joining of metal. The road ahead looked clear for several miles.

  “I got an idea,” John announced. “Harry, can you get a radio or horn going.”

  John took a t-shirt from his pack and dipped the end in his gas tank. Harry watched as John stuffed the rag in a gas tank, when he gave a nod, Harry turned the key in the ignition of one of the cars and pushed a couple buttons and a heavy metal band blasted from the custom speakers. He stepped back on the bike and kicked the machine into gear. He raced ahead while John held a lighter to the rag. A heartbeat later, John caught up with Harry and they gunned the engines laughing like a pair of bad kids.

  Liz clung to Harry waiting for the explosion. After a full minute, it came. She looked over her shoulder and saw a mushroom of crimson blossom up from the vehicles. Dozens of infected came investigate the noise were hurled into the air from the explosion.

  After the first mile, Liz could no longer hear the roar of the fire but she could still see the billowing black smoke. She had no illusions the infected were no longer out there, but there was a morsel of peace in not being able to see them following. The countryside opened up and knee-high cornfields on either side of the road waved in the breeze.

  As dusk settled, a gray behemoth of a farmhouse came into view. It was set back from the road on a slight hill. The fenced property was a graveyard of abandoned farm equipment. Outbuildings included a metal shed and tumbled down barn. Harry guided his bike toward the narrow lane.

  “Do you think there’s anyone here?” John asked.

  “No lights through the windows,” Harry answered. “But the gate is closed.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Harry opened the gate and rode through with John following. He refastened the chains used to secure the gate and headed toward the house.

  As they got closer, Liz leaned forward. “Windows are boarded up. Are you sure we want to do this?”

  They stopped in front of the porch and turned off the bikes. Harry called out. “Hello, inside the house.”

  A gravelly voice answered. “What do you want?”

  “Sorry to trouble you folks but we need a safe place to stop for the night,” Harry answered. “We mean you no harm. If we can just pull into the barn and close the door, that’s all we need. Just a place to be safe for a few hours so we can sleep.”

  Liz called out. “I promise we’re not here to hurt anyone or steal anything.”

  A flashlight beam appeared and pointed at each of them in turn.

  Finally, a female voice nearly as raspy as the man’s responded. “You don’t need to stay in the barn. Park those motorbikes at the side of the house under the shed. Then you come in and have a cup of coffee.”

  “Hazel, you don’t know, they might be infected.” The old man protested.

  “Oh, poop.” A frail hand brushed at the old man then turned to the three and asked. “You folks ain’t sick, are you?”

  “No mam.” Harry answered.

  John turned to Harry and pulled off his helmet. “You think it’s safe?”

  Harry shrugged. “From the sounds of them, they can’t be much of a threat. But keep your gun close.”

  They did as told then made their way back to the front porch just as the front door creaked opened. The trio stood in the afternoon gloom and waited to see who would come out.

  A diminutive woman well in her eighties with a pleasant face pushed the stooped grandfatherly man aside opening the door out and grabbed at Liz’s hand.

  Ignoring Liz’s startled gasp, she announced. “You folks come on in.” She eased the old man aside. “It’s the Christian thing to do to give you a safe place to lay your head for the night.”

  John stepped through the door grinning. “It sure is nice to see a friendly face. Last encounter we had nearly got us killed.”

  “Both you boys come on in, too. You’re safe here.” She pulled Harry and John into the front room. “Benny, be a dear and lock up the house while I make a fresh pot of coffee.”

  She led the trio into a dimly lit kitchen. A single kerosene lamp rested on the table at the back of the hous
e. She turned up the wick and the room brightened. “Did you folks close the gate? It keeps most of those sick people out of here.” She moved her face from left to right. “Poor folks. Don’t know they’re walking around without a soul.”

  Liz looked around and realized no one would be jumping out from the shadows. She took a deep breath asked. “It’s just you two?”

  “Yes dear.” Hazel busied herself making coffee in an old fashion percolator. She turned on the gas stove and the flame danced under the metal coffee pot.

  “Thank you for taking us in,” Liz said. “It’s a scary world out there.”

  “I’ll bet it is, dear. My name is Hazel and that is my husband, Benny Hilton. We’ve lived here for near sixty five years.” Hazel explained as she readied four cups for coffee.

  Benny nodded then left the kitchen to settle in a rocking chair in the next room. He picked up a Bible from the nearby table. He turned up a small lamp and opened to a marked page.

  Hazel set cups on the table and settled on a chair to wait for the coffee. “Just ignore Benny. He decided when this happened he needed to get right with God. Not that he’s ever been on the wrong side of God. We’re just both closer to meeting our maker than we were a few weeks ago.” She shrugged then smiled at Harry. “Now what about you folks? Where have you come from?”

  “San Antonio. Close to the military base.” Harry answered. “We met Lizzy when it first happened and have been trying to find her two girls ever since. We’ve been following three soldiers who found her kids and rescued them.”

  Liz asked. “You haven’t seen three soldiers with a ten-year-old and a baby, have you?”

  Hazel shook her head and answered. “No, dear, I’m sorry. But I’m sure those children are in the safest of hands they can be in with those soldiers.”