Torn Apart (Book 2): Dead Texas Roads

by Hoaks, C. A.

  Randy had arrived like a storm at midnight. He told Wilma and Cassie they had twenty minutes to get together whatever they wanted to take. They wouldn’t be coming back. He had backed his big pickup to the door and lowered the tailgate. He loaded what Wilma and Cassie could carry out of the house.

  Wilma insisted on her portable sewing machine, trunks of fabric and sewing supplies. When Randy announced enough, she packed two bags of clothes and threw them toward the door. With the time left, Wilma emptied canned goods from the kitchen into two laundry basket and grabbed a large blue enamel pot with all her canning supplies inside. She hurried to the garage and retrieved six boxes of assorted sizes of canning jars.

  Cassie spent her time packing up her laptop, printer and paper supplies. She pulled quilts from the beds and linens from the hall closet. It took a bit of convincing to get Randy to load the massive cedar chest from her room, but with it headed for the truck she packed her own clothes then cleared the bathrooms and cabinets of shampoos and OTC medications.

  When Randy ushered Wilma and Cassie out the door of the small house in West Houston, it looked like a storm had hit the inside. Wilma closed the door with a final look knowing she would never see it again. The two women got into the truck, and Randy cranked the diesel engine. He headed west on the back streets and connected to a narrow two-lane blacktop road. He raced down farm-to-market and country roads of southwest Texas. Any pleas for stopping or a break fell on deaf ears.

  Randy kept up the grueling pace until he finally stopped in Dryden at a fast food restaurant that still had Internet access. Cassie sent an email to her sister, then used the computer to pull up news programs and social media to see accounts of attacks that began on the southeast side of Houston and rolled over the city like a wave. She tried calling Tate, but cell service was sketchy at best this far from the big city. Randy filled both truck fuel tanks while Cassie and Wilma order food. The three ate a quick meal of greasy hamburgers and stale fries. After refilling soda, Randy shuffled everyone back into the truck, and they headed northwest again.

  They got to the lodge late that next afternoon. All three were exhausted. After a brief introduction to Will Edmond, they drove to Randy’s cabin, and all three fell into bed.

  The two women woke the next morning to see their boxes and bags sitting outside the front door and Randy nowhere to be found. There was enough supplies in the kitchen to make a quick breakfast then both women got busy bringing in what they had carried from Houston.

  The two women sorted through a few items and stored the rest in a spare bedroom, they settled o the leather couch to watch the news channels as they reported while city after city fell apart. After four hours, Wilma was too worried to just sit amid the squalor of Randy’s cabin, so she got and started cleaning.

  It took Wilma and Cassie two days just to get the cabin up to Wilma’s standards. Each evening Randy came in well after dark, cleaned up and fell into bed without discussion or explanation.

  The morning of the third day, Randy came back to the cabin and announced. “We’re moving to the lodge.”

  Wilma hadn’t really gotten a chance to get acquainted with General William Edmonds. Both men spent each day, all day working and the three times she had been in the man’s presence, he’d been gruff and foul-tempered. She wasn’t looking forward to living with a man with such a sour disposition.

  An hour later, Wilma stood admiring the main hall. A stone fireplace divided the public room into two areas. One side included seating areas with multiple clusters of comfortable couches and chairs and the other, three large rustic tables with benches on both sides. At the back wall of the dining room were two doors she imagined led to the kitchen. She could see where the massive log building was the inspiration for the rental cabins.

  At the middle of the room above the check-in desk was a wooden staircase leading up to a second level, open balcony with several doors. Wilma decided the lodge could only be described as a cross between Bonanza and Big Valley with all the hand-hewn wood steps of half-log and gnarled wood railings and banisters.

  “Home sweet home, I guess,” Wilma whispered.

  She picked up her and Cassie’s bags and climbed the stairs to the second floor. She glanced from left to right and decided if the general used the bedroom on the right, she was going left. She walked to the end of the hallway. On the outside of the door was a wood placard on a string with “vacant” painted on the front. Curious, she turned it over to see the label “occupied” on the back. She removed it from the hook to show the room “Occupied.” She opened the door.

  Inside were two double beds with stripped-wood headboards, a couple easy chairs, a desk with office chair, and a six drawer dresser with television and DVR player. Wilma set a bag on the foot of each bed and turned to leave when she noticed the iron stove in the corner. The resort would have been hugely popular with the hunters and outdoorsmen it was intended to accommodate. Wilma shrugged. Those days were over.

  Wilma wasn’t naïve. Her beloved Texas, along with California, Georgia, and Maryland were lost, and soon the rest of the country would follow. There was no chance of the state and national borders being sealed tight enough to limit the spread of the infections. The country would fall, and with the first reports of the disease appearing in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East, the world would follow. The terrorist had sent the world into chaos, and there would be no winners.

  Wilma squared her shoulders and walked across the room to the kitchen and pushed the door open. She was horrified and disgusted at wat she saw. Apparently, the general had been cooking and NOT cleaning for the past week. She walked to the row of refrigerators and freezers. All three coolers were brand new and only one was running. The third was filled with a variety of food stuff and not with any great amount of care. She closed the door and turned to face the sink. It was filled with pots and pans, dirty dishes and a multitude of food-encrusted utensils. The stench of blood and the spoiled food wafted up from the heap.

  After a quick perusal of cleaning supplies, Wilma began the daunting task of scrubbing the room that had been used to process the deer she was supposed to cook. Wilma started with dishes. After soaking the crusted food, she slid glasses into the fresh soapy water and washed dozens of glasses, plates, pots, pans and stacks of cutlery. When the water grew disgusting, she drained ad refilled the sink with clean soapy water to continue the job. Once the sink was empty, she cleaned the counters, the stove, and refrigerator, then found a bucket and a mop to scrub the floors.

  Pausing from cleaning the floor, Wilma glanced at the large clock above the industrial sink. She walked to one of the commercial freezers and retrieved a pre-made lasagna and garlic bread for lunch. Hard work required calories, but she had too much cleaning to do to cook the deer meat for the general. If he had a problem with it, he could cook his own meals.

  At twelve-thirty, Will, Cassie, and Randy arrived for the midday meal. Cassie was first to walk into the spotless kitchen. “Something smells good,”

  When the foursome sat down at a kitchen table to eat, Will scowled at the pan of lasagna. “Thought we still had deer meat left.”

  Wilma glared at him. “You wanted me to cook in a kitchen that hasn’t been cleaned in God knows how long? There wasn’t a pan or pot without food burnt on the bottom. If you want me to prepare meals for you, fine. But I’ll be doing it my way. And that means no more using the kitchen for a slaughter house. You left this kitchen smelling of blood and rot. You left blood, and scraps of meat splattered all over. You both have been living like pigs.”

  “Ain’t my fault. Elaina and her husband, Juan, left to visit family in Mexico the week before all this shit happened. Until you and Cassie got here, it was just Randy and me.” Will protested. “We had more important things to worry about than dirty dishes.”

  “I appreciate your thinking about family in Houston, but you can’t treat us people like this. I’ll contribute, but you will not be shooting out orders when it comes to meals as long
as I’m responsible for cooking.”

  “Okay, already. You made your point,” Will admitted, sounding a little more contrite than he really wanted. He reached for a piece of bread to go with his serving of pasta. “I like Italian, alright.”

  Wilma added, “I need Cassie to help me inventory the food stock this afternoon. We need to start rationing fuel if we have to continue running the generator to maintain the freezers.”

  “We won’t be needing it much longer. I’m going to finish hooking up the solar panels tomorrow.”

  “Fine, then I won’t worry about the fuel issue, but there’s more. Frozen food will run out, eventually. We need to think about sustainability. Is there a garden?”

  Will answered, “There’s a chef’s garden out back.”

  Wilma threw up her hands. “We need to plant as much garden as we have useable space for. You keep telling me there are going to be a lot more people coming. If that’s the case, we have to create a self-sustaining environment.”

  Will scowled, “We don’t have the manpower.”

  Chapter 22

  Leaving It All Behind

  Brian and Billy found a military truck in the motor pool. The garage door was still open, and a front tire lay next to the truck. It explained why the vehicle was still there. With Brian standing guard, Billy checked the tire’s pressure, then bolted the tire on the front of the truck as fast and quietly as he could. Billy threw two extra tires into the back. Once they climbed into the big truck, they felt semi-safe for the first time since the attack.

  They pointed the light truck away from the army base and headed out of town, only to be T-boned by an out of control panel truck. The panel truck sheared the front wheel and pinned the army vehicle against a barricade. A horde of infected noticed the commotion and turned toward the sound of the accident. One and all started stumbling toward the trucks. Billy grabbed his rifle and ran around the front of the vehicle. Brian retrieved his own weapons and collected the duffle with extra ammo and a pack filled with water and food.

  Brian led Billy past to the van where a quick glance verified the driver was beyond help. They escaped the slow moving horde only to be driven into hiding by another mob of infected. They hid long enough to catch their breath, then ran again. They spent that first afternoon making their way west. Near dusk, they broke into a small office building where they found the first three survivors.

  Brian glanced over his shoulder at the trio gathered together watching him expectantly. The two women, Paula Mendoza and Margo Dixon, were both exhausted but were in pretty good shape after having been locked in the building for days with only bottled water, soda, and snack machine fare to survive on. The fifty-plus-year-old insurance salesman, Dale Witman, was overweight and had the wheeze of a long-time smoker. Dale patted at his pockets every few minutes looking for that elusive pack of cigarettes he had long since smoked.

  Brian was waiting for the return of the latest addition to his group of survivors. The two surviving members of a construction crew were doing a little recon mission. The two men, Leon Jones, a short black guy who had mad skills with a hammer and Juan Campo, who claimed to be one hundred percent American to anyone who dared to call him Mexican, were tough men that Brian was glad to have around.

  Billy sat on an office chair, a handgun lying on the desk in front of him, his eyes constantly drifting toward the door of the room as if expecting a monster to stumble in at any moment. He was a good kid, but a little overwhelmed at the moment.

  When Brian wasn’t running, scavenging, or planning their next move, he worried about his family. He prayed when he got to his father-in-law’s place, he would see Liz and the girls standing on the wooden porch of the lodge. He had to believe they were there waiting for him so he could keep going.

  “Please, God, protect them,” Brian whispered as he turned to face the sound of Leon and Juan opening the office door.

  Leon stuck his head into the room. “We’re good, bro.”

  Juan nodded. “Sure thing, man. We took out a window on the second floor. We could click the locks on both vehicles. We saw the lights blink, so I’m pretty sure the batteries are good.”

  Brian crossed the room and followed the two men across the hall. “Is either one close?”

  Juan announced, “One is at the back of the lot and looks like it’s a ten-year-old piece of shit. The other is a big GMC all decked out with roll bar and big tires. It’s parked three rows back and just left of the main drive, maybe ten yards from the door. Most of the people must have left early, so they're less than half a dozen vehicles scattered around the lot.

  Leon nodded. “We can get to it, easy enough. The ladies should be alright, but good old Dale is gimpy since he stumbled coming up the stairs yesterday. Add that smoker’s wheeze, well, who knows?”

  “Does the big truck have an extended cab?” Brian asked.

  “Not so lucky. But it’s a big fuckin’ ride,” Leon answered. “Three people in the cab, rest of us can ride in the bed. It has huge tires and a lift kit. Once we're in the truck bed, nothing will be able to reach us as long as we stay away from the sides.”

  Juan looked excited. “When I was looking for the keys on the big security guard, I found a gas receipt. It looks like he filled up the gas tank that morning, both the main and reserve tanks.”

  “Show me the truck.” Brian grinned with real optimism for the first time in days.

  They walked across the hall to a window in another office, and the two men pointed out the big blue truck with a confederate flag stencil on the back window.

  Leon chuckled. “I always wanted to ride in a big-ass redneck truck like that.”

  “Well, you get your wish, Leon. Let’s get our people and get the hell outta town.”

  He led the two men back into the office. “Okay, folks.” He looked at the anxious faces of the two women and Dale looking at him. “We’re ready to move.”

  Billy jumped to his feet. “Yes, sir. I have all the rations stored in the four backpacks we found. The extra magazines are good-to-go. Additional firearms loaded and ammo stored in the duffle. I pulled off the metal legs from a couple tables for weapons.”

  Brian looked at the handguns on the table and nodded toward Juan and Leon. “Pick up your weapons and extra magazines, gentlemen. Billy’s got everything ready to go.” He turned back to Dale and the women. “Pick up the table legs, folks. We do this nice and quiet.”

  “Where are we going?” Dale asked as he rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

  “We’re not taking a chance on the car lot. Juan and Leon located a truck that belonged to one of the guards. The only problem is the truck is going to be tough to get into and will slow us down, and there are a few infected people still wandering around back there.”

  Paula took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and picked up a table leg. “I’m good. We’ve changed into the running shoes you found.”

  Billy glanced at Dale as he got to his feet and laughed. “Yeah, the pink looks good on you, man.”

  “Fuck you, kid,” Dale groused.

  “You can’t expect me to hit someone on the head with a table leg.” Margo glared at the others.

  Brian took three steps toward Margo. “Look, lady. I’m trying to keep us all alive. That means we all work together.”

  “They’re people,” Margot argued.

  Billy stepped up and handed the woman the metal cylinder. “They’re dead. They will tear you apart if you don’t bash ‘em in the head. The LT has done everything he can to keep us all alive and being quiet is part of the deal. You can’t do it, fine. Stay here. We’re leaving.”

  “Fine,” Margo mumbled as she accepted the weapon.

  Brian nodded at Dale, and he picked up a metal table leg with a scowl. “I’ll drive.” Juan tossed him the keys ring. “We’re taking one vehicle, and it’s the big blue truck in the parking lot. We found receipts, and we're kind of sure it has a full tank of diesel. It will be a bitch getting everyone into it, but with
the big tires and lift kit, everyone will be safer in the long run. All we have to do is keep moving. Billy and Paula will ride in the cab with me. I want the rest of you to get in the back as quickly as you can. Any infected get close, swing at the head as hard as you can and put ‘em down.”

  Billy nodded at Paula. “You’d better be quick crawling in the cab.”

  Paula whispered, “Agujero del culo.”

  “I think she likes you.” Juan winked at Billy.

  “I can tell. She called me an asshole.” He grinned.

  Brian led the group down the stairs to the exit and stopped at the door. “Billy and Paula go around to the passenger side. I’ll keep an eye on the driver’s side while Leon and Juan make sure Margo and Dale get in the back. Once you’re in the truck, get to the roll bar and hang on. The minute I crank that engine every dead fuck within a three blocks radius will be heading our way. We’ll just keep attracting attention, so don’t lose that duffle bag. We’ll need that ammo.”

  Brian passed the bag to Leon, and the black man hiked it up on his well-muscled shoulder. “Got it covered, boss.”

  Brian looked at each person in the party. “We’re crossing open ground, so keep your eyes open. Move quickly and stay together.”

  Billy, Juan, and Brian each hiked backpacks over their shoulders. Leon adjusted the gun bag and reached out to Margo. She reluctantly placed her hand in his. He gave a quick nod. “We got this, right.”

  Margo tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

  Juan leaned toward Dale with a wide grin. “Keep up, hombre. I ain’t letting no dead fuck bite me in the ass because you can’t keep up.”

  Dale hiked up his drooping pants and tightened his grip on the table leg. “Fuck you.”

  The group made their way down the dark stairway to the bottom floor of the building. Brian peeked through the small glass window at the top of the door and saw a nearly empty parking lot. He pushed on the door and eased it open slowly. Looking around one last time, he stepped out into the sunlight, squinting at the glare. Once everyone was out of the building, he moved from the sidewalk to the asphalt of the parking lot one step at a time. The others followed close behind.