Torn Apart (Book 3): Survive Texas Dead

by Hoaks, C. A.

  “The boats?” Billy asked.

  Brian shrugged. “Until I look around, I hate to commit to the boats. The flooding is pretty bad. Chances are, there’ll be a lot of debris piled up downstream, and we’d have no way to know until we ended up on top of it surrounded by infected.”

  “Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.” Billy answered.

  “I hope we’re far enough south to be able to drive out of the city,” Brian added. “Give them a few more minutes then get everyone up and moving to get all the supplies packed up. I’m hoping there will be vehicles still around the monastery, maybe a big maintenance truck or something. It’s getting light but keep everyone inside until I come back.”

  “Got it.” Billy gave him a quick nod. “We’ll be ready.”

  Brian stepped through the door and into the morning gloom. A hint of light could be seen on eastern horizon amid the trees and distant pinnacles of office buildings. The grounds were damp and glistening from the cleansing rain. All was quiet. The property was surrounded by a ten-foot high concrete wall on three sides. From the chapel steps, Brian could see several gravel paths leading through the tranquil garden. To the east was a gazebo. To the west were several buildings, one appeared to be an office and another a two-story residence hall. In front of the compound was a fountain encircled by a drive that passed in front of the residence and ended at a maintenance building at the corner of the complex. The building was a large affair with a garage door and an office at the front of the structure.

  Brian jogged around broken branches and storm debris making his way to the front gate. Once he was sure the gate was secured, he hurried past the ten-year-old Ford Ranger parked near the front entrance. With a quick look, he could see smears of blood on the steering wheel and inside the cab. The Ranger was useless, too many people and too little protection. He hurried around a stand of oleander shrubs separating the maintenance shed from the rest of the compound and saw a white transport van. “Great. A short bus.” Brian whispered under his breath. “Figures.”

  Brian made his way to the garage office. He squinted through the window and took a deep breath. Brian saw the inside of the glass was smeared with blood and a dead Hispanic man stood slamming his hands against a back door. His khaki shirt and pants were soaked in blood from gaping wounds on his thin arms. Seeing the man explained the truck being left on the drive with the door open. Brian glanced toward the gate and saw a solar panel above the gate motor. He made his way to the front of the bus and peeked through the driver’s side window. He could see a remote on the sun visor but no keys in the ignition. The keys were probably in the office or maintenance garage.

  He swung the rifle around to his back then pulled the machete from his belt. He and reached out for the doorknob with his left hand. Brian turned his hand, but the knob moved only a fraction of an inch then froze. Locked. “Smart. Wish you had made it old timer.” Brian whispered. He returned his machete to the scabbard, pulled his rifle free then raised the butt of the gun and slammed it down on the doorknob. He made a quick second blow, and the knob fell to the three concrete steps. Brian grabbed the machete.

  At the sound of the first blow to the door, the infected man inside turned and stumbled toward the sound. By the second strike, he was pressing his gnashing teeth against the glass.

  Brian stepped back and slammed his shoulder into the door. The infected man fell back, and Brian stepped inside the building. He righted himself and smashed the machete into the old man’s head. The monster fell to the floor in a puddle of black sludge. “Sorry, old guy,” Brian whispered.

  He glanced around the office quickly to ensure he was alone then promptly searched the room for keys. He checked desk drawers, cabinets, even the old man’s pockets but found nothing. Brian glanced around one last time and focused on two doors on the side wall. He crossed the room, knocked on one door then pressed his ear to the wood. When he heard nothing, he slowly turned the knob. The room was a bathroom. He stepped inside, opened a cabinet over the sink and grinned. He found boxes of individual packets of aspirin, eye drops, Tylenol, and Ibuprofen. He stuffed the small packs in a side pocket of his cargo pants before he pulled the door closed and stepped up to the second. Brian looked through the glass and saw a row of nails on the wall with keys hanging from each. “Bingo.”

  He studied the dark recesses of a maintenance shed. From the light from windows across the back of the room he could see lawn equipment, and a variety of yard tools hung on the back wall. He thought about tapping on the glass but decided a quick grab was better than taking a chance attracting the attention of another infected.

  He studied the three small keys with tags, mowers probably. The furthest two were vehicle keys. He decided to take them both. One could be a spare for the truck, the second set should be the short bus. At least, he hoped.

  With the machete in hand, he toed open the door and grabbed for the key. He placed his finger on the ring then reached out for the last two keys. Before his fingers found the keyrings a crash at the back of the shed shattered the silence. Brian froze for a fraction of a second, zeroing in on the source of the sound. Suddenly there was a brush against his leg. He jumped, dropping the keys and knocking the last two key rings from the nail to skitter across the concrete floor.

  He looked down to see a black and white cat turn around and walk back to slide against his leg purring. At the sound of kittens mewing, the cat turned and sauntered back into the shed. The mother cat disappeared into the gloom. “Well, mama, I wish you luck, but I got shit to do.”

  Brian squatted and scanned the dark shadows of the garage as he swept his hands from left to right on the cold concrete. After a quick search, he found both sets of keys under a metal desk. He walked to the office entrance and pressed the lock button on one of the key rings. The parking lights blinked on the van. Brian ran to the side of the white truck. After a quick look inside to ensure it was empty, he pointed his LED light at the chapel entrance and flashed the beam twice. The door opened, and Billy rushed the two men and two women across the garden path to the van. Each of the survivors carried a case of water or plastic container of food in addition to their packs.

  With the side door open, Brian stepped to the rear and opened the back of the van, ready to accept supplies. When Paula tried to hand him her pack, he shoved it back in her hands. “Keep it with you, always.”

  Billy and Leon handed him cases of water and buckets of food. “Leon and I are gonna go back for the last two cases of water.”

  “Be quick,” Brian answered as he stacked the second flat of water in the van.

  Chapter 3

  Respite

  Tate led the small convoy of rescued women and children to an abandoned country store they had passed on the way to Hondo. Matt had the drivers park all the vehicles facing away from the store in case of a hasty retreat. The door was locked but took little more than a twist of the knob and a kick to open it. Once the building was secured, Tate and Matt ushered everyone inside and closed up the building for the night.

  With flashlights in hand, the women combed through the goods for clothes, shoes, blankets, and food. They found several large bottles of water in a break room near a coffee pot.

  One of the kids came out of the bathroom giggling. “It flushed!”

  “There’s running water in the sink, too.” Theresa, the short dark-haired woman that killed the leader of the survivalists announced with a grin.

  “Don’t waste it.” Red stepped up and added. “We don’t know how much water we have to work with.”

  “Yeah. Find clothes and food for now. Let me look around outside.” Matt answered.

  After a little investigating, Matt realized the bathroom was hooked to a cistern that collected water from the metal roof overhead. He saw a filtration system between the tank and the toilet. He climbed a ladder and looked inside the metal tank then stepped back inside and announced. “You can wash using the tap water but only drink bottled water, ladies. I don’t want anyone ge
tting the shits.”

  He walked toward the back door, but Tate grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

  “I saw a house up on the hill,” Matt answered. “Maybe the people that own this place lives up there.”

  “You don’t need to go up there,” Tate argued.

  “Yes, I do. We’re taking and using whatever we find. Who knows, maybe the people up there need our help.” Matt countered. “Get everyone cleaned up and fed. They need rest. Cover up the windows but leave an opening for a lookout to see out the side.”

  “Fine. Go drag a couple more helpless people down here to take care of. I’ll never get my truck, and you won’t get your new Hummer.”

  “So fucking be it, then.” he sniped back as he slipped out the door.

  Matt stepped out into the dark and took a deep breath. The silence was so heavy it seemed to insulate him from the world. A house was silhouetted against the night sky as if a dark phantom. No hint of light could be seen through the windows. Matt walked up the narrow drive, glancing from side to side. The pasture on one side of the lane showed no signs of livestock while the woods on the other seemed especially dark and foreboding. Suddenly he heard footsteps. Matt drew his handgun and fell to a knee to face the intruder.

  “Woo. Easy soldier.” A deep, gravelly voice called out. “Just me. Bruce.”

  Matt rose and stood to wait for the fiftyish man to approach. “Doc I could have shot you.”

  “I don’t think so. If you were going to shoot, I would be laying in the dirt right now.” Doc laughed as if a real joke.

  “What’re you doing out here, doc?

  “I needed to get outta there. Sonja and your friend, Tate, make a fascinating pair together. I’m not sure any man is safe around them together.”

  Matt laughed. “Yeah, Tate’s a strong personality, for sure, but you need to go back inside. I’m going to up to the house and check on the folks.”

  I should go with you.” Doc answered. “Someone may need medical help.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid of those two.” Matt laughed.

  Doc sighed. “Those women have been through a lot, and I think having a man around right now is the last thing they want. Even if it’s me. Helen seems to think when they’re cleaned up and get some rest, they’ll be a little more tolerant.”

  “Alright. Stay behind me and do as I say.” Matt walked up the edge of the path all the while watching the shadows for movement.

  After a few minutes, Doc whispered, “You know there are more women in Grant’s camp.”

  “Yeah. It was one of the reason’s I wanted to take at least one of those assholes alive. Now we have no idea where the camp is,” Matt answered.

  Doc fell silent. As they got closer to the house, they realized the place looked deserted. No vehicles could be seen in the drive or around the house. The single-story structure with a porch stretching across the front was dark. Wind chimes hanging on the front porch jingled on the light breeze. Somewhere behind the house, a loose shutter hinge squeaked from time to time. A window at the side of the front door was left open a couple inches, and a lace curtain had been pulled through the opening to dance on the breeze.

  “No one’s alive here,” Doc announced.

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Maybe family came and picked them up.”

  Matt stopped at the edge of the porch and sniffed. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “You might be right,” Doc answered. “No point in going inside.”

  Matt passed his machete to Doc and pulled his military knife from the scabbard. “We can’t leave infected to attack someone else. Besides, we can use the sheets and blankets. Stay here and if anything gets past me, cut its head off.”

  “Got it,” Doc answered as he passed the blade from one hand to the other.

  Matt walked to the door and tapped on the glass, then waited and listened. When there was only silence in answer, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his LED light. Matt flicked it on and passed the beam around the aged living room. The back wall was covered in a faded rose print wallpaper. A worn brown recliner sat against the wall near a floor lamp with a table. On the table were a burned down candle and a five by seven photo of a young family with two children. Matt picked up the picture and studied the two small children and smiling couple holding them.

  A doorway to the left led into the kitchen since Matt could see the corner of a chrome table leg with a red Formica-top. Fanning the beam back to the right he saw a darkened hallway. Matt tapped on the glass again. They listened.

  “Did you hear something?” Doc asked.

  “No. Nothing,” Matt answered as he cocked his head. “Just a shutter in the back.”

  “I think I heard something,” Doc whispered. “We don’t have to do this.”

  “We’ve had this discussion.” Matt reached out, covered the doorknob and turned his wrist. The knob rotated, and the door swung open a few inches. The stench of death wafted from the opening forcing both men to step back.

  “There’s at least one dead body in there, and it’s been here a while,” Doc announced.

  Matt pulled his t-shirt up over his nose and mouth. “Hear that? Flies.”

  “They’re dead. Let’s leave.” Doc answered.

  “I have to make sure they aren’t walking around. Stay here. No need for you to see this,” Matt answered as he stepped into the dark.

  The house reeked of death and decay. Amid the shadows, Matt could see the remnants of lives spent there. The furnishings resonated with the simplicity of those individuals; simple, comfortable, not much for frills. Above a stone fireplace was a fading picture of a young Marine in uniform with a military medal hanging from the edge of the frame. A triangle of wood with white stars on a field of blue rested next to it. More pictures of Viet Nam era soldiers were displayed above the stone fireplace. Both men were marines. The name on the tags was the same last names. Brothers. Both were marines. Matt sighed. One brother didn’t come home. Matt heard footsteps and turned to see Doc following him.

  “Told you, you didn’t need to come in here.”

  “Not the first time I smelled death. Let’s get this over with.” Doc answered.

  Matt moved from the living room to the kitchen. The room was as neat and tidy as the previous room had been. The only thing that seemed out of place was a yellow tablet and pen on the table. Matt fanned the beam from side to side and back to the hall.

  “Nothing here. Let’s move on.”

  He led Doc deeper into the dark recesses of the house. He glanced through a door to see a claw foot tub, toilet, and old-time pedestal sink. A hand towel with matching washcloth was folded carefully over the towel rack. A second doorway exposed a sparsely furnished bedroom with a double bed, a dresser and large wardrobe. The last door at the end of the hall was closed, and as they drew closer, the stench of death grew even stronger.

  Matt stepped to the door and paper crinkled under his foot. He shined the light on the handwritten note lying on the carpet. Matt leaned over and picked it up. There was a small piece of tape stuck up from the top, once used by the author to tape it to the door. At some point, the humidity had loosened the glue, and it had fallen to the floor. Matt looked closer. The note was dated five days after the attack.

  Son, Your mother, passed peacefully this morning. Did what had to be done to give her peace but I got bit in the doing. My time is short, and I know what will happen. I still have the .45, so I’m choosing when and how I go rather than waiting for this infection to take me. I won’t cause more pain and suffering. I pray you, Jenny and the kids are safe and spared this plague. Your mother and I are at peace. Be brave and secure in our love, your father.

  Matt turned to Doc. “Okay, we can go.”

  “You’re not going to look? Make sure.” Doc asked.

  “Don’t need to. He knew what was coming.” Matt returned the paper to the door with a trembling hand and replaced the strip of cellophane
tape with a piece of duct tape.

  “You think the family will come?” Doc asked.

  “No. I think if the family survived, they would be here by now. Let’s look around and see if we can find bedding and some real food. I'm tired of gas-station snacks.”

  After gathering all the linens in a hall closet into a sheet, Matt led Doc back to the kitchen where both men spent a few minutes opening cabinets.

  “What about this door?” Doc placed his hand on a pantry door knob. Matt retrieved another flashlight from his pocket and tossed the LED light to him.

  Doc opened the door and gasped. “Good eats tonight!”

  Chapter 4

  Free to Follow

  Della stepped out of the farm manager’s office and glanced at her watch. She had been gone nearly three hours and needed to get back to the cabin. Steve was in bad shape, and she had to get the antibiotics back to him as soon as possible. If not, well, she knew his chances of surviving the infection raging through his body diminished with each hour he was without antibiotics. She only hoped what she found would be the right antibiotic to fight the disease. Maybe the pharmaceutical reference would help her decide.

  Since Della had been inside the building, the infected herd had lost interest in the carcasses of the horses in the paddock. Now they pressed against the wooden fence between the paddock and the outbuildings of the horse ranch, anxious to get the remaining animals.

  Della looked toward the back of the yard and realized releasing the horses from the paddock only provided temporary respite. When she climbed over the fencing at the side of the yard, the horses would still be trapped inside the enclosure with the dead. Della studied the white fencing protecting the horses and realized the concentration of infected against the boards would pull the nails loose or even break the boards. The pregnant, black mare and the other horses were doomed.

  Della pulled the shoulder bag close, turned, and ran toward the barn and the side fence. She heard galloping hooves and turned to see the black mare racing after her. Della stopped, and the mare slowed to meet her and nuzzled against her arm. “Shit!” Della looked toward the barn then the mare. “What am I supposed to do?” She asked as she continued toward the fence until the black whinnied. Della took a deep breath and detoured into the stable.