Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet

by Simpson, David A.

  The big man who had started it all had managed to pull himself up into a sitting position. He was leaning against the bar, pouring his life out into the sawdust. Two long cuts ran clean and deep across his face, his nose sliced in half, one cheek dangled showing his teeth. He was trying to stem the pumping blood pouring from the arteries in his arm but it wasn’t doing much good. The cut was too long, too deep. Maybe with a tourniquet, and eventual amputation, he would live but no one was offering to help. He didn’t deserve help or mercy or sympathy. He was one of Casey’s men.

  Jessie knelt down in front of him and looked into the fading eyes.

  “Guess I’m as ugly as you now,” the man said, admitting defeat. He knew no one would try to save him.

  “Reckon so,” Jessie said.

  The big, bearded man grinned and closed his eyes. Killed by the Road Angel. He guessed all the stories must be true. His chest raised and lowered a few more times, and stilled. Bob had already lost interest and wandered back to the table to flop down and lick at the caked blood on his paws. People were starting to set their chairs back up and head back in, now that the killing was over. Jessie watched the man take his last breath and wondered again why some people did what they did. What wires were crossed in their brains that allowed them to kill or rape or even steal, without compassion for the ones they hurt? Were there that many sociopaths in the world before the fall? Was it because no one was taking their medication anymore? He could see the light go out of their eyes when they passed from this plane of existence to the next. He tried to see their soul leave, to catch a shimmer of air or maybe a fleeting light depart the body, but he never did. They just stopped breathing and their eyes went dull.

  He groaned as he stood, unable to ignore his back pain now that risk of imminent death was over. The Kevlar did the job, but he was thinking he really needed to get a plate carrier. Getting shot hurt. He slipped the knuckles from his hands and reattached them to his leathers. They blended in with the other armor and at a casual glance, looked like the rest of the plastic and metal pieces attached to it. He headed to the bathroom to wash up, his hands were covered in blood and brains all the way up to his wrists.

  34

  Gunny

  The sun was barely peeking up on the eastern horizon, starting to paint the ocean in brilliant oranges. They were in the mountains just north of San Felipe overlooking the town, scrutinizing it with scopes and binoculars. It was small, dry and dusty, parts of it were dirt poor: block buildings without plumbing on unpaved roads. It had been sustained by tourism although it wasn’t usually a vacation destination, just a stop between here and there. The oceanfront held a few opulent mansions, plenty of timeshares, and condos. They were hoping Griz could take a shot from here, zero in with his sniper rifle and blow Casey away without having to drop down into town. One shot, one kill, then haul ass.

  No such luck. The fancy houses were all at the other end of town and that’s where all the lights were coming from. It was at least a mile away. Griz was good, he could hit a target from that range, but it wasn’t a sure thing. There were a lot of variables that could go wrong. If he missed, they wouldn’t get another chance. There wasn’t a lot of security that they could see, the miles of baking desert surrounding the town is what protected it. They didn’t need walls or guards stationed every hundred yards. Any undead that stumbled in would be shambling husks, easily dispatched after being baked in the Mexican sun for the past six months.

  It was pretty much how General Carson had described it. He’d been watching with the satellites for months as Casey cleaned out the undead, saving many that were barricaded inside their homes. He’d learned from what they did in Lakota, using cars and trucks to get the zeds to chase them out in the desert then shoot them. There were a lot of innocent people in the town, some original survivors, some captured by the Raiders and allowed to roam free because there was no escape. Casey controlled the gas stations and all the decent vehicles were in a fenced parking lot, nothing but old junkers in the poor neighborhood. With only one road in or out, access was easy to control. A giant, open air, fence-free prison.

  They moved around to the back side of the mountain and discussed plans and ideas. Everything from Bridget going in alone and trying to get close, to a full-frontal assault with rocket launchers, grenades, and automatic weapons. Casey had a good setup here, it would be a hard nut to crack. At least a few hundred of raiders, the ones who had helped with the battle of Lakota, knew Gunny and Griz’s faces. They couldn’t sneak down and blend in so that left Scratch, Hollywood, Bridget, and Stabby.

  “They’ve gotten too big, too organized,” Gunny said as he rolled up a smoke. “They have some kind of chain of command, a sort of government. Even if we retire Casey, the gang has become too organized to just disband and disappear. We’re going to have to eliminate his top brass before most of them turn tail and run.”

  The others nodded as they sat around and ate their breakfast MREs. This was going to be harder than they thought.

  “We can’t do that on this trip,” Griz said, “but we came to take him out. We’ve got to do that much. Maybe the rest will take the hint and settle down if they know we can terminate them any time we want.”

  “If they don’t, we can always plan a full frontal, come in with APC’s and tanks.” Scratch said. “Total annihilation with everyone we have.”

  There were murmurs of agreement but no one wanted to do that, it would leave Lakota mostly unguarded and a lot of innocent people would get caught up in the crossfire.

  “I can slip into town,” Hollywood said. “wander around, get a feel for things. I’m fluent in Spanish and with the right clothes, I’ll blend right in. I’ll see which house Casey stays in and find a good sniper nest. We’ve come this far, we can’t leave without at least getting rid of him.”

  After a little more discussion, they decided to go with his plan. If he could determine their numbers and what kind of weapons they had, they’d have a better idea how to proceed. Lars stripped off his guns and holsters, only keeping one tucked in his waistband, Mexican carry style. He took the flannel shirt Griz offered him, ground it in the dirt a little, then put it on. It was oversized and baggy, giving him an underfed look and covered the gun up nicely.

  “Take care of Angeline for me,” he winked at Bridget and tossed her the keys to his Cadillac. “In case I decide to stay and enjoy the beach life. Margaritas and señoritas.”

  They watched as he made his way down the mountain and lost view of him once he disappeared into the shadows. All they could do now was wait.

  They did it like all soldiers do, sleeping when they could, eating whatever concoctions they could come up with, and taking turns on watch.

  It was early afternoon, Scratch came down from the lookout point as Stabby went up to relieve him and joined the rest of them gathered in a circle, warming up lunch with the heat tabs from MRE’s.

  “Hey Griz,” he said, picking out a pepper jack beef patty from the half full case. “You got any naked pictures of Sheriff Collins?”

  “No.” Griz growled at him. “She ain’t like that.”

  “Wanna see some?” Scratch asked, all smiles and innocence.

  He managed to dodge the spoonful of hot spaghetti flung at him and giggled at the furious look on the big man’s face.

  “One of these days.” was all he said and made a neck wringing motion with his fists.

  They slept wrapped in blankets that night and stayed out of the sun the following day. They kept the noise to a minimum and passed the time. Small talk and card games. Plans for the future and stories from the past. Griz and Gunny stripped and cleaned all the weapons, Bridget practiced her gun katas and they all watched while pretending like they weren’t. Even with the thin white scar intersecting her cheek and a missing ear from a passing bullet, she was still something to behold.

  Former starlet.

  Former frightened beauty queen.

  Former helpless female.

  Eigh
t months ago, she had screamed in terror at the sight of the undead, paralyzed with fear. Today she was faster than most with her guns and deadlier than most with her knives. She trained harder, worked longer, and pushed herself more than most. She swore to herself she’d never have that feeling of helplessness again and had proven herself time after time. She had earned the right to be part of the crew, it wasn’t given to her because she was a pretty face.

  The sun had long set behind the mountains in the west when Scratch whistled softly. The others stopped what they were doing, whether dozing or talking softly, and slipped up to his guard position overlooking the town. A shadow was flitting from boulder to boulder, stealthily making its way up the mountain.

  Lars was back and he had somewhat fresh burritos for everyone.

  “Heavy guard around El Hefe’s house,” he told them while sketching out a map by the light of a glowstick. “Most of them look like scumbags, typical trash that would join up, but they’re toting MP-5s and gold-plated AKs. Must have found a cartel boss’s stash of guns and coke. Most of them are stoned or drunk, but the guards aren’t. They look like serious customers, no messing around.”

  “How close could you get?” Griz asked. “Could you tell if Casey is there?”

  “Walked right by their headquarters. It’s gated, some swanky, rich man’s house overlooking the ocean,” he said. “As long as you stay off the grounds, they don’t bother you. He’s there, the mansion has a pool and a tennis court, big windows everywhere. I saw him twice, he ain’t hiding. There are a lot of townspeople down there that don’t appear to be a part of the gang, but I’d lay good money they’d all fight on his side. Casey saved them and keeps them safe from Los Muertos. This is his home base, so he treats them pretty good. There’s plenty of food and the markets were open. There’s lots of booze and drugs. Everyone is free to do whatever they want, except leave. He has roving patrols but they don’t bother anyone, not even the women. It’s almost like he’s trying to be a benevolent ruler, not some kill crazy warlord.”

  “He dies,” Gunny said.

  “Oh, I agree,” Hollywood said. “He treats these people decent because he isn’t dumb. The ones that are brought in from the States, now that’s a different story. I hung around in the market most of the day, acting like I was half drunk. I didn’t say anything in Spanish, so they didn’t think I understood. The outsiders, as they call them, are turned into servants and the pretty ones into sex slaves. Anyone that works directly for Casey has a chance to have his own harem. That’s got them lined up to sign up. Man, it’s messed up how fast people revert back to being so cruel.”

  “Any place I can get a clear shot?” Griz asked. “With the manpower he has, it’d be best to do a hit and run.”

  “Yeah,” Lars said and circled the Guadalupe Shrine that sat on a hilltop. “I was up here when I spotted him. It’s high enough to see over the wall, and he’s hard to miss, that big bald head of his. This church juts out into the bay a lot farther than the house and has a good view of it. You can see the front and side yard, where the pool is. You can’t see the back or the other side, but there are only garages and the tennis court there, and I doubt he’s a tennis kind of guy.”

  “What’s the distance?” Griz asked “From Shrine to his yard?”

  “I’d say four or five hundred yards,” Lars replied. “The properties adjoin, the only thing separating them is the fence.”

  “Won’t need the Barrett then,” Griz said. “I’ll take the Weatherby. Easier to carry.”

  “Escape route?” Gunny asked.

  “By land or by sea,” Hollywood replied. “There are cars everywhere, anything in town is pretty old, though. They have a lot of new ones armored up near his compound. A lot of activity going on, they were packing up the trucks. Looks like they’re prepping for a big raid somewhere. It’ll be easy to hot-wire one of the old clunkers, they aren’t messing with those, or you could take a boat and head up the coast.”

  “Car,” Griz said. “I don’t want to be stuck out on the water with nowhere to hide.”

  “Agreed,” Gunny said. “Get our cars up to here.” He indicated a spot on the map a few miles north of town. “Griz and I will take care of business, grab one of those heaps and meet you. We’ll set off some claymores, maybe blow their gas station, to create a panic. They’ll think it’s an all-out attack at first, and we’ll be able to sneak out in the confusion.”

  They hastily broke camp and headed off in different directions. Gunny wanted to make it into town before first light to place the explosives Griz and Wire Bender had rigged. They weren’t very powerful but could be detonated remotely. If they put them at a gas station or under a car, they would make a nice, big boom.

  35

  Gunny

  The faintest hints of the sun were trying to peek over the horizon when the two men slipped into the courtyard of the Guadalupe Shrine. They had easily dodged the one roving patrol they saw, found an old pickup truck and pushed it for a few blocks before trying to fire it up. Gunny made quick work of the wires he jerked from the back of the ignition switch and they drove it to the base of the hill where the little church stood. Another trip back out to place the IEDs and arm them and they were set. All they had to do was stay out of sight until Casey showed himself, put a bullet in his head, trigger the explosives then get out of Dodge while avoiding a few hundred Raiders looking for them. With a little luck, they’d be done before breakfast.

  The shrine was a ruin, someone had defaced it and there were empty beer cans and broken bottles strewn everywhere. Someone had scrawled “Casey the Cannibal: God Emperor of All” in black spray paint over the picture of the Virgin Mary. A pile of human skulls, with bits of hair and flesh still clinging to them, were stacked on a table in front of the mural. The two men looked at each other and shook their heads. This two-bit loser had gathered quite a cult following. Whoever had used the church as their party place, had also used it as a bathroom and it stank of old urine and feces.

  Griz found a position next to a wall that gave him a view overlooking the compound where Casey was holed up. It was an imposing mansion that used to have verdant lawns and gardens, now all withered away and brown. They didn’t see anyone walking the perimeter, only a guard shack at the gated driveway with someone inside tilted back in a chair, hat pulled down over his eyes. Good, Gunny thought. They aren’t expecting any kind of trouble. They’re complacent. He pulled out his spotting scope and together they sketched out a range card, marking the distances to each window, balcony, and the pool area. A truck pulled out of the garage as the gray light of dawn let them see what was happening. Griz watched through the sights and Gunny through the scope, hoping to end it all right now. The truck stopped near one of the side entrances and Lucinda led two men out. They were carrying a bundle between them and tossed it unceremoniously in the bed of the truck. The blanket slid aside and a small, broken brown form lay still, eyes open and staring at nothing. Gunny zoomed in with the scope and brought the scene into focus. A young Hispanic girl, her breasts barely starting to bud, was splayed out in the bed of the truck. Blood stained the blanket and she was covered in bruises, dark ones on her neck. Lucinda spoke with the men for a few moments, then turned to go back inside as they drove off.

  Gunny’s knuckles were white in clenched rage.

  “That sumbitch dies today,” Griz said, and went back to scoping the windows, looking for any sign of Casey.

  The sun came up, a fiery red ball turning the black ocean blue, and the time dragged by. Hours passed before there was any more noticeable activity. Someone refueled the generators, a man came through the gate with a stringer of fresh fish, and a few older women bustled through the walkway in the wall and went directly to the kitchen.

  “Top floor, second window,” Gunny said a half hour later.

  One of the servants or slaves had come in the room and was setting out dishes on a table covered with fine white linen. She was young, brown and in a French Maid’s outfit, comp
lete with little white apron and fishnet stockings.

  “Looks like it’s breakfast time for Mr. Baby Killer,” Griz breathed as he dialed in the range on his scope. “Too bad he doesn’t take his meals on the balcony.”

  Gunny watched everywhere else, let Griz concentrate on the window. The guards had changed, but all was quiet. A man was cleaning the pool, a few early rising thugs were sitting in the shade drinking coffee, machine pistols on the table.

  “Might be the wrong room,” Griz said after a few minutes. “The black girl that brought the body out just came in. She looks like the same one we met out in the woods, she was the one that convinced Casey to help us with the Muslims.”

  Gunny brought the scope back to the room. The table was set for three, Lucinda was buttering a roll, the maid waited discretely in the background.

  “Yeah, that’s her,” he said. “Guess she hitched her wagon to him. He might still show, there’s three place settings and I’m pretty sure it’s not for the maid.”

  Griz kept watching the rooms on the top floor while Gunny scanned everything else, occasionally checking their rear.

  “Another woman just came in,” Griz said. “She’s sitting down, No Casey yet.”

  “Another one of his sex toys?” Gunny asked, zooming in on a new guard going to the gate, checking his weapon, looking for how much extra ammo he carried.