DEAD AMERICA: THE SECOND WEEK
BOOK 9
NEW MEXICO
BY DEREK SLATON
© 2020
CHAPTER ONE
Day Zero +12
Sergeant Danny Hammond slapped the satellite communication device on his vest as it chirped loudly. “This is Hammond, who is this and what can I do for you?” he asked gruffly.
“Sergeant Hammond, it’s Leon, how are you, sir?” a voice came through.
The bald and stocky Sergeant smiled. “Hey Leon, good to hear your voice, brother. What’s going on?”
“Oh, you know, man, just another morning preparing for the inevitable shit parade that’s coming my way,” Leon replied.
Hammond barked a laugh. “Wouldn’t have it any-” He was abruptly cut off from a hail of gunfire, and popped up over the trunk of the car to squeeze off a few rounds before ducking back down. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?” he finally said.
“Was that… was that gunfire?” Leon asked.
The Sergeant wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, it was.”
“Is everything okay?” his friend asked.
Hammond rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, everything’s peachy,” he replied as more gunfire echoed around him, plinking off the cars nearby. “Jesus Christ Landry, can you shoot that motherfucker already?!” he screamed, and there was a few cracks of automatic gunfire in response. “Man, I’m sorry Leon, but we might have to cut this convo short. Is there anything specific you need?”
“Yeah, I could really use your help if you plan on coming back towards El Paso in the near future,” Leon replied immediately.
More gunshots, and somebody cried out for help, seemingly struck.
“Well, as you can tell, we’re having some fun out here,” Hammond said dryly, “but if you got something that can top this, I’m listening.”
“We’re planning to assassinate the head of the Rivas Cartel and install one of our allies as the leader,” Leon explained.
A massive smile broke out on the Sergeant’s face, and he chuckled.
Private Emma Whitaker furrowed her brow from beside him, adjusting the assault rifle slung over her muscular shoulder. “What’s so funny, Sarge?”
“Our friend Leon wants our help assassinating the leader of the Rivas Cartel,” Hammond explained.
Whitaker grinned and clenched a fist in solidarity. “Tell him fuck yeah, I’m in.” She popped up over the hood of the car and popped off a few rounds.
“I think you got yourself a crew,” the Sergeant said into his communicator.
“Good to hear,” Leon replied.
“In the meantime though,” Hammond said quickly, “I’m gonna have to jump off of here. I’ll give you a buzz when we’re on our way.”
“Be safe and have fun,” Leon said.
Hammond grinned at the vicious look on Emma’s face as her black ponytail whipped back and forth. “Always, brother!” he said, and then slapped the communicator to shut it off. He peeked up over the car, checking out the city street they’d been firing down.
Private Burt Landry poked his head out from behind a pillar across the street, giving the Sergeant a thumbs-up as he readied his assault rifle.
Hammond surveyed the half-dozen armed men peeking at them from their own vantage points down the street, a few unlucky bullet-riddled bodies slumped between them. More bullets peppered the car he and Whitaker hid behind.
“Landry, cover us!” the Sergeant cried, and the blonde muscular Private leapt out from his hiding spot, firing wildly at their attackers. The suppressing fire gave Hammond and Whitaker a chance to retreat a bit, and they waited for the Private to follow.
Hammond laid down some cover fire, but his subordinate didn’t move.
“What the fuck, Landry?” he cried. “We gotta move back!”
The Private shook his head. “Hang on, Sarge, I got an idea.”
“Shit,” Hammond growled. “Last time you said that, we ended up in a goddamn firefight!”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t this one!” Landry shot back.
Whitaker smacked her fist against the pillar she crouched behind. “Fuck you, I said I was sorry!”
Landry and Hammond shared a laugh at her plight, and then the bulky Private turned back to the battle. He took aim at the glass front of a department store, housing several zombies pressed up against the windows, clawing and gnawing trying to get out.
Landry fired into the glass, shattering it and freeing the hungry ghouls from their prison. One of the still-alive attackers cried out as a shard of glass embedded itself into his calf, and he dropped his gun as he fell to the ground, screaming and clutching at his spewing wound.
A trio of zombies fell on top of him, hungry teeth gnashing as his cries of pain turned to shrieks of fear, and then more pain as he was eaten alive. Two of the man’s comrades valiantly attempted to free him, but a zombie managed to snatch one of their wrists, sending him into a panic as he vanished under a mass of rotting flesh. His friend fled immediately.
Landry rested his assault rifle on his shoulder and whistled as he strolled across the street towards his companions. “See, Sarge, I know what I’m doing.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, a few bullets hit the ground in front of him, and he dove behind the Swiss cheese car that the other two had been ducked behind earlier.
Hammond peeked out to see at least another dozen men coming at them from the opposite side of the street. Whitaker slunk up the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding another bullet that ricocheted off of a metal trash can next to her.
The Sergeant opened fire, not hitting anyone but at least forcing them to duck behind cover. Bullets tore through the wood post he hid behind, and he covered his head as splinters flew everywhere. He took off for the car Landry ducked behind, firing wildly in an attempt to cover himself, and dove headfirst to the ground at the Private’s feet.
Landry pulled him flush against the vehicle. “Graceful, Sarge.”
Hammond popped the mag out of his assault rifle and pursed his lips at its emptiness. He glanced at the several moaning zombies slowly making their way towards them.
“Hey, Landry,” the Sergeant motioned to the closest one, a middle-aged looking man missing most of his cheek, “would you mind? It’s your fault they’re here.”
The Private turned and shot the creature in the head, taking down the two flanking it. “We can’t stay here too much longer, or else we’re gonna have to deal with some runners,” he said as he motioned towards the bulk of the zombies still feasting on their enemies.
“Never a dull moment,” Hammond muttered, and squeezed a small walkie talkie on his vest. “Whitaker, we gotta get the fuck outta here. You got eyes on transport?”
“Negative, Sarge,” she replied, emerging from her hiding spot to pop off several rounds towards the new group, managing to plug one in the chest. “I got nothing, unless you want to fight through this group. I can see something on the-” Screeching tires cut her off, sounding like they were about two blocks away. “Incoming SUV at three o’clock! Could use some help with this!” she demanded as a new vehicle peeled around the corner and screamed towards her.
Hammond and Landry readied their guns, and another voice came through the radio.
“Got it in my sights,” Private Alfonso Mathis came through with his deep baritone. “Be ready to move on my mark.”
“About damn time you joined the fight, Mathis!” Hammond barked, staring up at the sniper barrel poking out of the window on the second floor above Whitaker’s hiding spot.
“My apologies, Sergeant,” M
athis replied coolly. “I was hit in the head when this shindig got started, so had to play catch up.”
The SUV screeched to a stop, not thirty yards from Whitaker’s trash can, and the driver’s side door swung open. As soon as the driver stepped out, a single shot ripped through his forehead. Men half-out of the other doors panicked, one of them firing wildly, not seeming to know where the original shot came from.
Mathis quickly put one in that guy’s chest, and the other two ducked, finally figuring out where he was. They forced him behind cover, and he ran through the empty building to get closer to the vehicle, all while wood and glass splintered and shattered around him.
In the next room, he slid to a stop against the far wall, and inched up to peek through the window, noting that the men were still firing at the area he’d been at before.
“Two shooters behind the SUV,” he said quietly into the walkie talkie. “I got a shot on one, but they’re on to me.”
Whitaker returned fire from behind her trash can. “I’ll take care of the other one, move on my mark.”
“Landry and I will provide cover fire, but you’re gonna have to come pick us up,” Hammond added.
Whitaker nodded. “Ten-four. Mathis, you ready?”
The sniper got down on one knee, and took aim at the man hiding behind the back of the SUV. “Say when.”
“Now!” Whitaker cried, and sprinted out from cover as Mathis fired a high-powered round into the armed man, liquefying his face. Whitaker rushed the second one, distracted by his friend, and she hit him in the throat easily. She skidded next to the SUV as a few of the others took notice of her and began to fire, but Landry and Hammond gave her a clear path with their suppressing fire.
Mathis hopped through the window he perched at, flipping around and hanging off of the ledge, dropping to the ground. He stumbled a little but regained his footing and ran to the SUV, making sure his gun was still securely on his back.
Whitaker hopped into the driver’s side, the keys thankfully still in the ignition.
“I’m in, go!” Mathis cried as he threw himself into the backseat.
She threw the car into gear and sped off towards the other two as her passenger began firing out the back window with his handgun. She slammed on the brakes next to the cover car.
“Someone call a taxi?” she asked with a grin.
CHAPTER TWO
Landry opened the back door and shoved the Sergeant inside before leaping in himself. “Go, go, go!” he screamed.
Whitaker punched the gas and sped off.
“Where are we going?” Hammond asked as he sat up straight, Mathis’ elbow bonking his shoulder as he continued to fire behind them.
Whitaker shrugged. “I don’t know, north?”
“Very insightful, Private,” the Sergeant said wryly.
“Well fuck if I know, Sarge,” she said. “I just saw a road out of town so I took it.”
Mathis, satisfied they weren’t being followed, faced front and leaned forward. “Can someone tell me what in the holy hell happened back there? One minute we’re having a few drinks, I go to the head, and then when I’m midstream fucking World War Three breaks out.”
“Goddammit I said I was sorry!” Whitaker snapped.
Mathis shook his head. “Well, I ain’t accepting your apology until you tell me wh-”
Gunfire peppered the back of the SUV, and the trio of passengers glared back at two approaching vehicles skidding onto the road behind them.
“Persistent motherfuckers, ain’t they?” Landry drawled as he rolled down his window.
Hammond rolled down the other side, climbing over Mathis who was squeezing off rounds through the back.
“Get in the center of the road!” the Sergeant yelled, and Whitaker complied, driving over the yellow line so they could get better aim as they hung out with their assault rifles.
A bullet whizzed through and shattered the front windshield, and she glanced at where the side mirror had been just a moment ago. “Y’all gonna handle this, or do I need to get my fucking gun too?” she demanded.
One of Hammond’s bullets landed on the left front tire of one of the pursuers, and they tried to regain control but the vehicle went sideways, violently rolling over at the speed they’d been going. The gunner from the passenger window was squashed underneath the roof and then flung out into the ditch like a rag doll.
“Fly, bitch, fly!” Hammond screamed, smacking the side of the door with glee.
The SUV lurched to the left as one of the back tires exploded, and the Sergeant was thrown into the vehicle. He grabbed Landry’s belt and jerked him inside too as Whitaker, thankfully a much better driver than their pursuers, managed to stabilize them fairly quickly.
“Hang tight,” she called, “sharp turn up ahead!”
Hammond braced himself. “Whitaker, speed up!”
“Are you fucking crazy?” she snapped.
“Just get some distance between us,” the Sergeant urged, “we’re gonna light this motherfucker up when he comes around.”
She shook her head and hit the gas. Rubber flung off of the back tire and sparks kicked up behind them. Hammond and Landry reloaded and readied themselves.
“They’re slowing down!” Mathis warned.
“Whitaker, slow up and take the turn gently,” Hammond said. “They’re backing off for a reason. Landry, get in the front.”
The Private clambered into the front passenger seat and rolled down the window, keeping his assault rifle at the ready for whatever they were about to come upon.
As Whitaker turned, her eyes widened at the sight of a makeshift barricade in the middle of the road, a small town beyond. “Sarge!”
Hammond turned to face front. “Let’s hope they’re friendlier than the last town.”
She slammed on the brakes as a bullet hit the front of the vehicle, lurching them all forward with the momentum. As their pursuing vehicle came around the corner, Hammond dove out and opened fire on them, and they quickly swerved and took off, speeding away.
He rested the rifle on his shoulder and turned towards the barricade, cupping a hand around his mouth. “We are not going to hurt you! Provided nobody takes another shot at us. Any objections to that?”
There was no movement whatsoever.
“I’ll take the lack of a firefight to mean you accept my terms,” he bellowed, and then slapped the hood of the SUV. “Pull it forward, Whitaker.” He strolled beside the vehicle as it scraped alongside him, the bare rim grinding against the asphalt.
Two young men emerged from behind the barricade, looking barely old enough to drink, if at all. The shorter of the two, pale with fear in his eyes, held his hands up high over his head.
“We’re sorry sir, we thought you were with them,” he said.
The taller one nodded his agreement, swallowing hard. “We just saw the SUV, and this town has had enough.”
“Settle down boys, it’s all good,” Hammond replied, putting his hand up to show them it was okay. “You didn’t shoot any of us, and this big bitch was trashed before your bullet hit.”
“Thank you, sir,” the short one stammered. “I’m Andy, and this here is my friend Marshall.”
The Sergeant smiled warmly. “Well, it’s nice to meet you boys. I don’t suppose there are any grown ups we could talk to, are there?”
Before either of them could answer, a shrill voice cried, “Why is there gunfire?!” It belonged to a middle aged balding mixed race man that sauntered towards them on a thin frame. “Oh my god, what have you boys done now? Dutch is gonna send Diego up here for sure!”
A pretty Latino woman joined him, lean but fitter looking than the man. As they approached, the Privates got out of the vehicle.
“Calm down there, kemosabe, there’s no harm done,” Hammond said gently.
“No harm?!” The man threw his hands up. “You don’t have any idea what you’ve done! You’ve killed this community, bringing violence to our doorstep!”
The Serg
eant shifted his weight to one hip. “In our defense, we didn’t exactly set out to get into a gunfight today.”
“Oh yeah? Then why are you carrying so much firepower?” The man sneered.
Hammond shrugged. “I dunno, cause it’s the apocalypse and this is ‘Murica? Do we need another reason?”
The woman put a hand on the wiry man’s shoulder before he could open his mouth again. “Simon, it’s okay. These people obviously aren’t from around here, so they don’t know about Dutch and the Silver City Gang.”
“Silver City Gang?” Landry asked. “What the fuck is this, the eighteen nineties?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Dutch sure thinks it is.”
“Who the hell is Dutch?” Mathis asked.
“I’ll tell you all about him and the gang, but why don’t you come inside our defensive line?” she invited. “It’s not much, but we’ve had several attacks the last couple of days and it’s kept us safe.”
Hammond nodded. “Thank you ma’am, we appreciate it.”
“You can drop the ma’am stuff.” She pointed a finger at him. “We’re very informal around here. You can call me Sofia.”
“All right, Sofia,” the Sergeant replied. “I’m Sergeant Danny Hammond, this lanky fellow here is Private Alfonso Mathis. The human wrecking ball is Private Burt Landry, and our demolition derby driver here is Private Emma Whitaker.”
She nodded and smiled at each of them in turn. “Welcome to the town of Pinos Altos. There wasn’t much here when the world was working, and there’s even less now.”
“Going to be nothing once Dutch is done with us,” Simon muttered, and Sofia glared at him.
Whitaker hopped the barricade and landed gracefully next to the woman. “So who is this Dutch fella? I mean, besides a raging douchebag who thinks something like the Silver City Gang is something this world needs?”
“He was the mayor of Silver City,” Sofia explained as she began to lead them into town. “Always used to walk around in boots and a cowboy hat like he owned the place.”
“Let me guess, ten gallon hat but a thimble full of brains?” Landry joked.
Sofia wrinkled her nose. “Thimble might be generous. Only reason he got the job in the first place was because his dad had it before him. Family money bought off his opponent in the first race, and nobody ever challenged him after that.”
Dead America The Second Week (Book 9): Dead America: New Mexico Page 1
