Torn Apart (Book 2): Dead Texas Roads

by Hoaks, C. A.

  “Get out of the truck, all of you!” Red ordered. “Free the Doc and his wife. Stay together and hide until this is over.”

  Matt heard the shot at the same time as Grant grabbed a camp chair and swung it a Matt. Without hesitating, Matt adjusted his aim and fired. Grant went down. Meanwhile, Stubby tackled Matt, and the pair went down in a crash of swinging fist and grunts of pain. Stubby was every bit as large a man as Matt but probably outweighed him by thirty pounds.

  Stubby rolled and slammed his fist into the side of Matt’s head. Matt blocked a second blow and swung out with the butt of his handgun. The hard plastic of the grip connected with Stubby’s face. Blood spilled from the wound on his forehead. Matt slammed the barrel at the side of Stubby’s head again, but Stubby rolled away just in time to avoid the blow. He swung out his leg and connected with Matt’s knee. Matt went down, turned, and kicked out. His boot heel connected with Stubby’s face. Stubby fell back dazed. Matt picked up all the weapons including his own and pointed one of the men’s rifle at Stubby. Finally, Stubby sat up staring at Matt. He shook his head, trying to focus.

  “Move again, I’ll shoot you,” Matt ordered.

  When he was sure Stubby wouldn’t move, Matt picked up the cord and quickly tied Stubby’s hands behind his back. When he was secure, Matt stepped over the man and squatted at Grant’s side. Gran was barely breathing. He had a bullet hole in his chest where bubbles of blood hissed with air.

  Matt rose just as the tent flap flew open and Tate rushed in with a gun in hand. The two women from the truck followed her, ready to rumble from the look on their faces.

  “Well, I guess we got this done,” Tate announced.

  The dark-haired woman stomped over to Stubby and kicked him in the balls. He howled in pain, rolled over, curling his knees against his chest trying to protect his crotch against another assault.

  “Pig!” She pulled her leg back to kick again, but Red stopped her.

  “That’s enough.” She grabbed the gun from the dark-haired woman. She pointed it at Stubby’s temple and fired before anyone could stop her.

  “What the fuck!” Matt grabbed the handgun from Red.

  “He killed my husband. He raped me, Theresa and two of the other women,” she answered.

  Tate stepped up to Matt and placed her hand on his chest and pushed him back from the body. “I would have done the same. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed Red’s arm and led the two women out of the tent. Matt looked down at Grant and slid his knife into the side of the man’s head before he led the women out of the tent.

  Matt had retrieved the guns as they walked out of the tent. Outside, the Doc and his wife and three children huddled together still looking a bit like deer in headlights. Besides, Red and Theresa, seven women and two more children stood waiting for someone to speak.

  Tate looked at Matt. “We have sixteen people here. What are we going to do with ‘em?”

  Matt nodded toward the vehicles. “We take ‘em back to the camp, if they’ll go.”

  Tate laughed. “You just the fucking Pied Piper, Monroe.”

  Red and Tate went back for the white rig and the guns stowed inside. By the time they returned, Matt had drivers and guards assigned to trucks. None of the women had other ideas or options, so they agreed with Matt’s plan. They sorted through the boxes of supplies and distributed clean clothes to those in need. Everyone was fed, then they gathered the remaining supplies leaving the tent and bodies where they were. Tate led the caravan away from the site of the carnage and toward freedom.

  Chapter 39

  Searchers

  Randy and Miguel dropped two men at the cattle guard to build a decking to allow the livestock to cross the arroyo. The trucks rolled over the cattle guard and out across the meadow.

  “We’re going to have to clear more of the brush from this side of the arroyo. Attackers could use it to hide. We won’t know it before they’re at our doorstep,” Randy commented as they drove away.

  “Sí.” Miguel tipped his straw hat back from his forehead. “Not many know of this place, but we must be sure, Señor Randy?”

  “The world has taken a dump. It’s not bad enough with the infected. When resources get scarce, we’ll be sitting ducks for any asshole deciding to take what we have, if we’re not ready for it.” He steered the pickup across a dry low water crossing then continued, “At some point, we’ll have to start trading with other groups. No matter how careful we are, people will figure out where we are, and some of them will be willing to kill to get what we have.”

  “If the drug cartels survive and hear of a safe place to the north, there will be mucho trouble. We don’t have enough hombre to hold off attacks like that.”

  “I know, believe me, I know,” Randy whispered. “We need time to find good people to be ready.”

  Trees quickly closed in as they left the canyon behind. The road was little more than a dirt trail wandering through the forest. They crossed McKittrick Creek twice, the only significant surface water in the area. After a twenty miles trek through the high country on winding trails, the woods and rolling hills gave way to the rock strewn flat ground, arid grassland of pinyon pines and junipers.

  The lodge would only have to worry about a frontal attack from the east or southeast. Will and Randy had held extended discussions on the matter. Logic was that few people knew about Pine Springs Canyon. It wasn’t nearly as big as McKittrick Canyon and had not been considered a camping attraction since the early 1900s because of its proximity to the highest and driest peaks. Guadalupe Mountains National Park was located on the Texas side of the mountains, and Pine Springs Canyon was protected by the high peaks on three sides.

  Pine Springs Canyon had some of Texas’s most varied weather, hot in the summer, calm and mild in autumn, and cool to cold in the winter and early spring. Higher up in the mountains there would be snow storms, freezing rain, or fog in the winter and sometimes it could find its way to the canyons. Early spring included high winds while late summer produced thunderstorms with cold nights.

  “We’re going south. How far?” Miguel asked after nearly an hour of driving.

  “Not as far as Juarez, at least not this time. There are a couple dozen ranches out this way and some small towns. We’ll check ‘em out. If they’re deserted, we take what we can use.”

  “If people are still there?”

  “Try to get a feel for the kind of people they are. Maybe even establish some way of contacting them. We’ve got the short wave radio.”

  “Señorita Cassie wants the medicaments.”

  “I know. She was adamant about getting meds. We can go into Dell City. They have a pharmacy and a few small stores. The town is small, but maybe we can find some of the things we need. There’s a veterinary office that might have what she wants. Until we know a little more about what’s going on, I don’t want to go into anything larger. Right now I think it would be too dangerous.”

  The road widened, and the first ranch came into view. Randy slowed the pickup, and the truck behind him did the same but soon enough to drop back at least fifty yards. “What do you think?” Randy asked as he studied the buildings in the distance.

  “The gate is closed. I think the people are still there. Look at the windmill in the back.”

  “I think you’re right,” Randy answered. “We’ll move on and check on the way back.”

  They had driven for another two hours before they approached a fenced pasture with a herd of goats wandering amid the knee-high grass. A cattle guard kept the animals from the roadway. An old man gave a loose wave from the corner of the fence. A rifle rested in the crook of his arm. Miguel pointed out two more people hidden a couple dozen feet away. Randy stopped the truck. He opened the door and stepped out on the running board. He leaned over the cab of the truck and called out. “Hi there. Mr. Goodman. Do you remember me? Randy Matherson.”

  “I ‘member you,” the old man called out.

  “How’re you doing, sir?”

>   “Good enough,” the man answered. “You folks going far?”

  Randy shrugged. “Maybe as far as Juarez. I don’t know. We’re just scouting around to see how folks are faring. Maybe pick up supplies if we can.”

  “Best stay close to home, young fella.” The old man stepped a booted foot to the bottom rail of the fencing. His companions approached from their hiding places.

  “Did the infection spread to the smaller towns out this far?” Randy’s asked.

  “Is that what you’re calling it?” one of the younger men asked. “An infection? That shit’s no infection. Made people bat-shit crazy. Fuckers from the city are eating people.”

  “Ain’t like no infection I ever seen before,” the second man added.

  “My boys barely made it out Juarez with their families,” Mr. Goodman added. “We’re building a gate for the cattle guard, here. From what I hear, those fucks attacked a ranch on the other side of Dell. Folks killed ‘em, but it was ugly. They had to take down men, women, children, young and old alike.”

  “We ain’t got much here, but we plan on protecting all sixteen acres of it,” the older of the two boys announced. “Got no choice. This is all we got.”

  “It’s going to be hard to protect your livestock when the infected come down this road.” Randy paused for a moment, then continued, “Mr. Goodman, if I offered an alternative, would you consider leaving the ranch?”

  “Don’t know why you’d do that,” Mr. Goodman responded and spit a glob of tobacco to the ground.

  Randy grinned. “For one thing, we’re looking for livestock. You’ve got livestock. We need good people. I know you’re a good man, figure you’re sons learned to be the same.”

  Mr. Goodman laughed. “Well, can’t fault your logic. I know you and that Army General been fixin’ up that big place in Pine Springs Canyon. I hear you got a few cabins for people?”

  Randy laughed. “We got plenty of room for you folks and your livestock. There’s lots of work, and we have kids, so we’re planning on having a school.”

  Mr. Goodman looked at each of the young men standing at his sides. Finally, he turned back to Randy. “You boys do your lookin’ around, then head back this way, and we’ll have an answer for you. We gotta talk about it with the family. If we take you up on this offer, we got trucks and a trailer for the livestock.”

  “Well, I hope you decide to join us,” Randy answered. “It might be a day or two.”

  “No problem,” one of the young men answered. “We’ll pen the livestock, day after tomorrow.”

  “If you decide to go and we don’t make it back in two days, take off and head up there without us. Stop at the cattle guard and blow your horn. Two longs and a short.”

  The old man waved as Randy settled back on the driver’s seat of the truck and cranked the engine. He slipped the truck into gear and steered the truck back onto the blacktop.

  “You think they’ll come, Señor Randy?” Miguel asked.

  Randy shrugged. “Who knows? The place is almost sitting on the road. No cover, no natural protection. They’re an easy target for the infected and criminals alike. Not good, the way I see it.”

  “Sí,” Miguel answered, then relaxed against the seat with his rifle resting on the window.

  Tired of trying to talk over the wind whipping through the open windows Randy and Miguel rode in silence. After half an hour, Miguel’s head nodded then settled on his chest. Randy let him sleep until he saw a small cluster of vehicles in the distance. He raised his foot from the accelerator and elbowed Miguel.

  Miguel cleared his throat then answered. “Sí. What is it, Señor Randy?”

  “Ahead,” he answered.

  They both looked toward half a dozen cars scattered across the road. On a couple of the abandoned vehicles, the doors were left open. As the truck rolled closer, Randy pulled his handgun from the holster at his waist and slid it under the side of his right leg, next to the center console.

  Miguel adjusted his rifle on the window ledge. Randy glanced in his side mirror and noticed another gun extended out the window of Pablo and Hugo’s truck. Randy drew closer to the vehicles and got slower and slower.

  “See anything?” Randy asked.

  “No, Señor Randy,” Miguel answered.

  Randy slowed the truck as it rolled past the first vehicle. The white SUV showed signs of abuse. They saw splotches of dark brown on the shattered head lights and along the front side panels and hood. The doors were thrown open. Inside, bags were torn open and the contents scattered. Piles of clothes were dumped on the ground.

  Randy whispered, “I see keys in the ignition of a couple.”

  “Out of gas?” Miguel answered.

  Randy shrugged as he eased the truck past the SUV, and they drew near the next stalled car. It was an older sedan with a shattered grill and front end damage. The doors were closed and again, no sign of the driver or occupants.

  “What do you think?” Miguel asked.

  Randy made a quick shrug. “No idea.”

  He eased the truck around three more vehicles then a massive pileup came into view. At least a dozen vehicles blocked the road. The two cars at the front had crashed head on with several other vehicles, slamming into the first car. The crashes were so violent all were reduced to massive piles of twisted and destroyed metal. Debris stretched from fence row to fence row. The road was completely blocked. And there was fire. A fire had consumed the lucky but not all. Among the crumpled metal were moving and thrashing bodies.

  “What we do now?” Miguel asked.

  “Get wire cutters out of the toolbox behind the seat,” Randy answered. “Let’s get Pablo to come up and drive this truck. We’ll open the fence over there.” He pointed to an expanse between two fence posts with a shallowing of the ditch. One side of the road was a wooden briar tangled wall. The opposite side had once been a pasture but now was tangled with large stands of mesquite and clusters of cactus.

  Miguel leaned out the window and waved at Pablo. “Vienen aquí Pablo!”

  Pablo jumped from the truck and jogged toward the pickup.

  Randy stepped out of the truck. “Tu disco.”

  “Sí, I drive,” Pablo answered as he slid behind the wheel.

  After putting on a pair of leather gloves, Randy pulled two machetes from behind the seat. He passed one to Miguel, then turned to Pablo.

  “Follow, but not too close. Let us pick a way through the mesquite. Don’t run over any of that shit. I don’t want to be changing a tire out there. We don’t have a clue where all those dead bastards went.”

  “Sí, Señor Randy.”

  Randy pulled on thick leather gloves then walked to the moving charred corpses and drove a knife into their heads. Afterwards, he and Miguel walked to the barbed-wire fence where Miguel cut the top strand next to a cedar post. Randy grabbed the end and pulled it back to the nearest post and tied it off. They repeated the procedure two more times, then Randy waved for the truck to follow.

  Randy and Miguel walked to the south and led the vehicles around a large stand of mesquite. The trucks rumbled after the men, barely out of idle. Past the mesquite stand was open grass for nearly a quarter mile, then they were faced with a massive rock formation.

  Randy called out to Miguel, “Check to the north. I’ll go south.” He held up his hand to stop the truck. “Wait.”

  The truck stopped, and Pablo threw a wave from the window and called out, “Be careful amigo.”

  Randy called out, “Miguel, don’t take any chances. We don’t know where the dead went. They could be out here.”

  “Sí,” Miguel answered as he disappeared around the outcropping.

  Randy had walked a hundred feet before he noticed the first few drops of dark brown in the sand. When he saw a puddle, he squatted and picked up a pencil sized branch of mesquite and poked at a congealed liquid. The pool broke into pieces leaving bone chunks of white chips and a few unidentifiable lumps.

  He stood and began following the
trail of brown droplets. A stand of mesquite had long ago sprouted at the base of the rocks. Randy walked toward the edge of the thorny brush. He walked to the edge and headed around and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

  Ahead, Randy saw the remains of several bodies lying on the sand. It was evident they had been trapped by the infected against a twenty-foot granite. The flesh was torn from the bodies, limbs separated from torsos, leaving the remains barely identifiable as human. The stench rolled over him in a blanketing cloud of disgusting smells. Despite all the damage, the eyes looked toward Randy, teeth gnashed, and the remnants of muscle and sinew twitched.

  Randy gulped, and his breakfast spewed from his lips. He leaned over, propping himself up with hands on his knees. He stood for several minutes, struggling to control the dry heaves tearing at his stomach. Finally, he got himself under control and pulled his elbow over his lower face to study the remains. The survivors of the car crash had escaped through the fence and out into the brush and mesquite. They had been chased by infected until they were trapped and slaughtered.

  Randy looked around, suddenly frightened. Sand, desert, the infected. Where were they? He turned and began retracing his path. He could feel eyes bearing down on him and quickened his steps. A few minutes later, he was jogging, then running. He felt as if he could feel hot breath on his neck. He met the trucks and jumped into the passenger seat of his vehicle.

  “Drive….” he called out, as the first of the infected appeared in the distance. “Follow Miguel.”

  The truck tires spun into action at Randy’s harried command. “Go!” he ordered. “They’re coming!”

  Both trucks roared past the rock formation. They accelerated until they saw a man jogging toward them in the distance. The familiar shape of Miguel walking toward them made Pablo slow the truck.

  Randy opened the door, and Miguel slid in next to Pablo.