Torn Apart (Book 2): Dead Texas Roads

by Hoaks, C. A.

  He could still hear sporadic gunfire in the distance as he walked around to open the hood. As Matt looked at the damaged radiator, he pondered the fate of the guards at the roadblock.

  He decided with the barricade and fencing on either side of the road, the men facing the horde could hardly be missing their targets. As long as the ammo lasted, the guards should be able to handle the crisis. Matt shrugged. Nothing he could do about it.

  After a few minutes of looking around, he saw two bullets embedded in the radiator. Steam hissed around the metal projectiles. Matt dropped the hood. The best he could do was limp along hoping he could make it back to the blacktop and find a working vehicle before the Humvee died. He walked back to the door and listened for a minute. The sporadic gunfire was now deliberate and spaced several minutes apart.

  “Great. If the defenders at the barricade have enough ammo left, they’ll be coming after me,” he grumped.

  He looked up at the afternoon skies as he cranked the engine. He eased the Humvee into gear, pointing the arrow on the GPS toward the highway.

  With a sigh, Matt picked up the bottle and took a drink of the amber liquid and mumbled, “This day is just getting better and better.”

  Six minutes later the Humvee died with a clattering of overheated moving parts. The engine locked up with the smell of burning oil and scorching metal wafting up from the front of the vehicle. Matt opened the door and reached into the back seat to grab a go-bag. He was glad they had removed Claire’s car seat from the Humvee before he had left camp.

  Matt picked up the mic and spoke into the device, “Camp Verde, Monroe here. Larry, I’m on foot. Headed to the orange truck. Over.” At the crackle of static, he repeated the message. “Larry? Jake? I’m heading cross country to the orange truck. Over and Out. Pick me up there.” He drove his foot into the dash, then reached under the dash to pull wires from the electronics to ensure his sins didn’t follow him home.

  He stepped out of the vehicle and settled a pair of sunglasses on his face and a boonie hat on his head. A stiff breeze pelted grains of sand across his bare skin. It was going to be a miserable walk.

  He looked into the vehicle and pulled a wool blanket from the back of the Humvee. He picked up a six pack of plastic bottles of water from behind the seat and dropped them into his pack along with half a dozen energy bars and the bottle of Jack Daniel. He slid the bag over his shoulders and grabbed two corners of the blanket. He had been driving east, so he headed off into the brush and scrub grass toward the north.

  Thirty minutes later, Matt glanced over his shoulder at the growl of engines in the distance. He figured he was at least two miles from the Humvee and the booze was oozing from his pores. He had guzzled three bottles of water and was fighting nausea that had crept up with a belly full of water.

  With his hands on his knees and his head hanging, water and booze exploded from mouth and nose. He gasped to catch his breath, then his stomach clenched and hurled another stream of the fowl mixture across the sand. When his stomach had nothing left to spew across the landscape, dry heaves set in and he fell to his knees. Still gasping for breath, Matt could hear the sound of the engines grow steadily louder. He recognized the sound of the two ATVs. The guards were coming after him. Matt looked up and saw a small rise with a rock formation in the distance. He climbed to his feet and kicked sand over the evidence of his sickness, then stumbled toward the outcropping. He brushed the blanket in the sand as he walked, obscuring his trail. When he got up the hill, he climbed over rocks on the outskirts and worked his way up the sun-bleached stone formation. He climbed for several minutes and found a turret of limestone to hunker down behind. He dropped his pack and pulled out another bottle of water from inside his pack. He threw two white pills back and took a sip of the water to get them down.

  The sound of the engines grew louder. Matt stretched out across a massive flat rock and crawled to a raised ridge. He eased up on his hands and peeked over the edge and saw two dust trails billowing up in the distance. He was right. The defenders were coming after him and were less than a quarter mile away.

  He slid down the back face of the rocks, slipped his arms into his pack and jogged over the rough ground. He felt like shit but still lasted nearly ten minutes before he was forced to stop. The sound of the engines began to fade. He hoped it meant they had lost the trail or were giving up.

  He took a long drink of water, opened an energy bar, and bit off a third. It tasted like sawdust with chunks of dried crap, but he finished it off as quickly as he could chew and washed it down. He needed the protein and fluids after being sick. He stuffed the wrapper in his pocket and headed north at a brisk walk while sipping at the rest of the water.

  As the light faded, Matt thought he heard the engines in the distance but then they disappeared, while the world faded into only night sounds. Matt watched where he placed his feet while pausing from time to time to listen for the ATVs. He glanced at the setting sun and turned away to walk with it at his back.

  Dark settled in just as the sound of the engines could be heard on the wind. It sounded as if the riders had made it as far as the stone outcropping. When the engines fell silent, Matt worried they might pick up his trail. Suddenly he heard two shots. After a minute, three more weapon discharges. The engines roared to life then quickly grew more and more distant. After a five minutes, the sound disappeared entirely.

  Matt walked through the pain and sickness for another hour before he decided he would need to stop for the night. He imagined the map on the GPS and felt sure he had been about fifteen miles south of the railroad track and blacktop where they had picked up the shipping crates, but at least four miles west of the site. He mentally calculated the distance he should be from Tate’s truck. All he could do was hope Larry and Jake had gotten his message.

  The night grew cooler as evening settled in the Texas Hill Country. The cooling temperature was a relief, but the dark left Matt feeling exposed and jumping at every snap of a dry twig. The night could hide all forms a danger: a hole or gully to fall into where he could break a leg, stumble into a nest of infected or the men from the roadblock. He saw a cluster of shadows in the distance.

  As he drew closer, he realized it was the remnants of a stone house. One corner of the structure betrayed the original form. There was a pile of trash at the side of the wall that included cans, a child’s tricycle, a few boards and a piece of plywood. After a couple minutes of considering his options, Matt decided to make a shelter for the night.

  He dropped his pack and walked to a nearby mesquite where he broke off a branch. He used the end to brush into the apex of stone to clear scorpions and critters that might be lurking then picked up the plywood from the trash and dropped it into the corner. While he was digging in the garbage, he pulled a dozen cans with half-open lids from the pile and set them aside.

  He turned back to his pack and pulled out a ball of string from one of the pockets. He walked out into the dark about thirty feet and tied the end of the line to a mesquite at waist high. He walked about twenty feet to another mesquite, made a loop over a branch, walked to another stand of brush, tied it off, and did the same again and again until he got back to the original mesquite.

  He squatted at the trash pile and picked through the leftovers until he found a dozen cans with open lids. Walking back out to the cord, he folded the can lid over the twine, then picked up three pebbles. He slid the stones down inside the can, then repeated the process until he’d hung cans over each span of string.

  With the can alarms complete, he used the remaining light to gathered the remaining cans and the trike and dstributed them around the clearing in front of his small corner of the house. He figured any infected approaching might stumble over a few. When he was finished, Matt settled on the scrap of plywood and pulled his pack onto his crossed legs. He retrieved another energy bar from the bag and his last bottle of water. He stared into the dark as night sounds surrounded him. Chewing the granola bar hid the night sounds onl
y as long as it took to swallow each mouthful. He made the protein bar last as long as he could. But eventually, he finished it and washed it down with a swallow of water. He stuffed the trash back in his pack, and his hand brushed against the glass bottle. He pulled it from his bag and twisted off the cap. He took a pull at the drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat. After another swallow, Matt tucked the bottle back into the bag.

  Despite being determined not to fall asleep, Matt jerked awake with a start at the sound of a slight rattle of a tin can. He sat perfectly still and waited. A snort and snuffle followed by a squeal made Matt reach for a length of two by four he had found in the trash pile and laid next to where he settled. Matt decided it was a good thing he had made the line waist high.

  The sound of the feral hogs behind the wall at his back grew louder. The pigs made their way under the string snorting and sniffing. The first of the young pigs walked around the corner of the structure. The piglets scrambled under the cord to root around the trash pile behind the wall. Suddenly, a terrified squeal shattered the morning quiet. Before the sound faded, a pained screech echoed.

  In the dawning light, Matt watched the piglets bolt and run away from the sounds in the behind the wall. All hell broke loose, and suddenly the string alarm rattled in multiple directions. Matt shot to his feet and peaked over the top of the wall. Three infected stumbled after the escaping piglets. Just as he thought he could wait for them to pass, a can in front of him rattled.

  “This just gets better and better,” Matt mumbled under his breath.

  He grabbed the strap of his backpack with one hand and rifle with the other. He ducked down and hustled past the low end of the brick wall and into a stand of mesquite. He winced at a jab from a thorn and pushed deeper into mesquite. He watched as the number of infected grew.

  When day broke, Matt knew he would be visible to the herd now feasting on the piglets. He turned from the dozens of infected and studied the tangle of branches. Matt saw a semblance of a trail through the brush on the ground. He knew it would be painful, but he had no choice. He dropped to his knees and entered the warren of mesquite.

  Matt crawled under a thick branch only to find he had a choice of going left or right. He studied each pathway in the dim light and ended up heading to the left since it seemed to lead deeper into the warren. As more light filtered through the leaves and branches overhead, he noticed clumps of hair clinging to branches. He was following a wildlife trail, probably coyote or badger. Matt figured if he met either it would be bad news.

  He flattened himself on the bare dirt and used his elbows and toes to crawl forward. Deeper and deeper he made his way into the maze of the tangle of branches and jabbing thorns hoping to crawl out of the maze. The infected surrounded the grove of mesquite chasing the hogs. He lay in the dirt smelling of animals, listening to the screams. Another piglet had run into the arms of an infected.

  Matt sighed miserably. He was out of food and water, trapped in a mesquite snare, and surrounded by infected. He would probably die where he lay. He spun the cap off the Jack Daniel and proceeded to finish the bottle.

  Chapter 16

  Returning Favor

  Jake, Jenkins, and Dreschel arrived at the camp with Tate following close behind. It had only taken an hour after leaving Matt at the intersection. The camp residents had all turned out to watch as the vehicles rolled through the gate. Two uniformed soldiers hurried to the gathering of children and hustled them to the playground and out of the way of all the activity. The civilians grinned and waved at the drivers of the caravan of vehicles.

  Once all the vehicles were inside the gate, and the barrier secured again, two soldiers waved Tate to follow, then resumed guard duty. Tate was guided to a place away from the playground near some campers then put the white rig into park and waited while Jake, Dreschel, and Jenkins jumped from the cabs and conferenced with a small, bookish-looking man with thick glasses. Tate pulled a cigarette from her pocket, lit up, and watched as heated conversations ensued.

  Finally, Jenkin threw up both arms in apparent frustration. “Alright, Novack. Figure it out. We’re tired, and we need to get these trailers offloaded.”

  Novack pushed the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well, Mr. Monroe didn’t tell me where to place the containers.”

  “We’re placing the two containers on the east side of the gate. We’ll be putting them end to end for now. We’ll leave the trailer where she’s parked for now,” Jenkins advised.

  A woman with gray hair and glasses approached the men. “Canned goods need to be closer to the food truck.” She brushed her hands across the front of a white butcher’s apron. “I can’t be carrying cases of canned goods across the campground.”

  Novack moved his head from left to right. “Now Joan, we’ll park the trailer as close as we can. If you need supplies, one of us will help you.”

  The woman turned to the military dressed man. “I won’t have time to chase someone down in the middle of cooking, Mr. Larry,” Joan argued.

  The man she called Larry stepped up and placed an arm around the woman’s shoulder. “Now, Joan, I promise one of my guys will carry cases anytime you need them. All you have to do is ask.”

  “Well, if you promise,” Joan answered.

  “You got my word.” Larry winked.

  Tate chuckled when she saw the woman’s face redden. “Well, that’s a smooth talker. I’ll have to remember that,” she mumbled to herself.

  Larry turned to the Jake. “Where’s Matt?”

  “Turned off to give a bunch of infected another direction to head besides back here. He shouldn’t be more than an hour or so behind us,” Jake answered.

  Larry shrugged. “Okay, I’m heading back to the barn. I got a couple of the boys mucking out the stalls and promised a couple riding lessons if they did a good enough job.” Larry walked off with a wave. “You got this covered?”

  “Sure. We’ll get the shipping containers up front by the gate, and our new friend’s trailer cut loose along the back fence,” Jake answered. “We’ll introduce you later.”

  “Look forward to it.” Larry glanced over his shoulder at Tate and winked.

  The scavenging crew had been back at the camp nearly three hours, and in that length of time, they had dropped the shipping containers at the edge of the fence while the cabs and trailers were parked on cement pads away from the recreation center and food truck.

  Tate was instructed to back the trailer not far from the food truck. She disconnected the trailer, and the doors were thrown open to expose a collection of goods for all to see.

  Meanwhile, Tate drove the white tractor to the side of a small maintenance shed not far from the main building at the center of the camp. She wandered into the shed and found a plethora of tools. She looked around for a camp member for permission to use a few tools but realized the only person nearby was a trailer being utilized by the soldiers to monitor radio traffic. Tate glanced inside.

  “New arrival?” The soldier called out from inside a small camper when she saw Tate. “My name’s Briana Lawson. Just call me, Lawson. If you call me Briana, no one will know who you’re talking about.” She stepped out into the afternoon sun.

  Tate nodded. “Yep. My name’s Tate Hamilton.”

  “You came in with Jenkins and the scavenging crew?” Lawson asked as she wiped at the moisture on her face. “How did that happen?”

  “They pulled me out of my wrecked rig,” Tate answered. “Assholes shot up my truck, and killed it.”

  “You should go to the manager’s office and let Amanda take care of your head,” Lawson commented.

  “Is she a doctor?” Tate asked.

  “No. Amanda is a surgical nurse, though. She’s the closest thing we have to a doctor. She’s our resident preggo, too. The baby is due in a couple weeks. Don’t know who’s gonna deliver her baby, though. That’s a whole ‘nother complication. Anyway, the manager’s office has living quarters. Monroe and his men sleep up there.” Ta
te raised a brow, and Lawson shook her head as she continued, “Not like that. Amanda takes care of the two kids with him, Jake or Larry aren’t around.”

  “He has kids?”

  “No. Not really. The story I got, they found the two little girls, when this shit storm hit.”

  “Oh. Speaking of kids, you seem to have a lot more kids here than I would expect. How did that happen?” Tate asked.

  Lawson laughed. “Long story, but let’s just say, Matt, picks up people wherever he goes. Remind me later, and I'll tell you all about it since it’s an entertaining tale since it saved my ass.”

  Tate shrugged. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Communications, I guess,” Lawson answered. “Mostly, I just listen. They think we should stay off the air, for now. We monitor a designated channel when we have people outside the fence. We have a few radios and the CB. It’s a decent unit, but we don’t get much reception. We need a taller antenna.” Lawson reached inside the camper and handed Tate a bottle of water.

  “Thanks,” Tate answered. “Sounds boring.”

  Lawson laughed. “Better than out there.”

  “Yeah. Do you think I can use a few tools from the shed? This is a new rig to me, and I’d like to look it over and clean it up before I need to go out again.”

  “No problem. Head over to the Manager’s office and let Amanda check your head. Stop later, and I’ll point you at cleaning supplies, then set you up with shower supplies and fresh clothes.”

  A few minutes later Tate headed off to meet Amanda. After a brief examination and fresh bandage, she was told she would probably have a scar. Tate returned to clean the truck inside the cab and under the hood. She found a case of oil under the sleeper along with a variety of odds and ends for truck maintenance. When she finished, she returned to ask Lawson about the shower and a change of clothes.