Dead America - El Paso Pt. 5 (Dead America - The Third Week Book 2)

by Derek Slaton

  He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you need something from us.” He sneered. “Food, medicine, I really don’t care what it is, because we aren’t giving anything up.”

  “You’re half right,” she shot back. “I do need something from you, but it’s none of what you mentioned.”

  He sighed and waved his hand at her. “Go ahead, tell me what you want then, so I can get back to doing what I was doing.”

  “We need one of the Cartel corpses,” Clara said, pointing to the grisly scene.

  There was a moment of silence as all of the gunmen, cowboy included, stared at her with blank faces.

  Andrew shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, I must have had a stroke just now, because it sounded like you said you wanted a corpse?”

  “Yep,” she replied with a firm nod. “I need one of those Cartel corpses.”

  “What in the world for?” one of the gunmen blurted.

  Andrew held up a hand. “Let me guess, you cut a deal with the Cartel, huh?” he demanded. “You bring back a corpse as proof we killed their men, and you get a reprieve from whatever they’re doing to you. Meanwhile, me and mine get attacked.” He pulled his gun and aimed it at her face.

  Clara immediately put out a hand to make sure that Trenton stayed down, and then slowly got to her feet.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t put you down right here and now,” Andrew snarled.

  She grabbed the center of her shirt and began to pull it up out of the waistband of her pants. After shimmying the hem out, she grasped it and began to pull it up over her head.

  “Sex isn’t going to save you,” Andrew snapped.

  She scowled as she pointed to her left breast, pulling the cup of her bra down just enough to show the large A carved into her flesh.

  “The day after the Cartel arrived in El Paso, some men cornered my friend and I in an alley,” she began. “They picked her up and started to carry her away, and when I fought back, they pinned me down and held me there as Angel Rivas, the boss’s son, came over to me. He pulled out his knife and held it to my throat, threatening to give me a Colombian Necktie if I didn’t calm down. He told me that I was a pretty little thing, but his dance card for the day was full. So he carved his initial into my chest to make sure nobody else spoiled me for him. He and his men walked off with my friend, who I never saw again, leaving me to bleed in an alley.” She jutted out her chin and narrowed her eyes. “So no, I’m not cutting a deal with the Cartel. The only thing that will ever get cut is that motherfucker’s throat.” She pointed to the corpses. “Now, we need that body so we can take out Tiago Rivas and put in someone who is sympathetic to us. Which will benefit you, too, by the way.” She put her shirt back on and put her hands on her hips. “Now are you going to help us, or not?”

  Andrew took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Which bike do you want the body on?”

  “Boss?” one of the gunmen balked.

  “Just do what I say,” Andrew snapped. “I believe her. And frankly if she made that story up and carved that into herself, I don’t think you wanna be messin’ with her anyway.”

  The gunman lowered his gaze. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Ma’am, which bike do you wanna use?”

  “The one next to you will be just fine,” Clara replied. “If you can get him strapped up on the back, we’ll take it from there.”

  Trenton slowly came out of hiding as the men got to work, his gun holstered. He stepped up beside his friend, who looked like she was biting back tears.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, blinking rapidly. “I’m fine.” She fixed him with a steel gaze. “But you don’t tell anybody else about this. You understand?”

  “Oh yeah,” he replied quickly. “This is between us.”

  She inclined her head to the bike. “Go on and help them, I’ll be fine.”

  As he ran off, Andrew stepped closer to her. “Just so our understanding is crystal fucking clear this time,” he said firmly. “Nobody from your town is to come back here. We want to be left alone.”

  “I’ve been here twice and both times I’ve had guns aimed at me,” Clara replied with a sigh. “Vacationing here isn’t exactly high on my list. Only reason you’ll see me again is if there’s an emergency you need to be aware of.”

  He pursed his lips, regarding her for a moment. “You know, it’s been my experience that when someone points a gun in your direction, you typically don’t go out of your way to help them.”

  “These are not normal times,” she said. “If I have information that may help you and yours survive another day, I’m going to deliver it. Now you can make my life a whole lot easier by telling your boys to calm down whenever they see me.”

  He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “As you can tell, we’re not very trusting of outsiders.”

  “That’s an understatement,” she replied, wincing as one of the crucified Cartel members hit the ground.

  “Fair enough,” Andrew replied, and then took a deep breath. “So, here’s the deal. You, and only you, have permission to come here. And that’s only if there’s something vital.”

  She cocked her head. “Counteroffer. I’m going to come here once a week and check in.” She held up a finger before he could object. “Once a week, just to check in. We just cleared our town of those things, so we are going to have an abundance of supplies. Medicine, cleaning supplies, and god only knows what else. You never know when you may need something.”

  He stared down at her, with something akin to awe. He finally extended his hand to her. “You have a deal,” he said. “Check in once a week.”

  She offered a small smile as they shook on their newfound, yet fragile alliance.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Did you ever think life would get like this?” Whitaker asked as they continued their break in the hallway.

  Rogers shook his head. “No, I can safely say I never envisioned beating zombies to death with baseball bats.” He chuckled, glancing at Hammond who was still pacing in the distance.

  “Well obviously.” Whitaker rolled her eyes. “What I mean is, did you ever think that life would change this much, this quickly? One day we’re out here living our lives, and then in an instant it’s all gone and we can only rely on ourselves.”

  The Detective chewed over this for a moment, and then shrugged. “We’ve both been on the front lines of the shit, to one degree or another. I don’t know about you, but I never really had any faith in this world and knew it could very easily go south. What caught me by surprise was just how quickly it happened.”

  “When I was over in the sandbox, I saw some horrible things,” she replied quietly, staring down at her hands. “Entire towns ravaged by airstrikes, bombings, shootings, you name it. But even those people kept pushing through and society was still somewhat functioning. A couple zombies get loose in this country, and seventy-two hours later, there isn’t anything standing.”

  Rogers raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve been shopping on Black Friday, so if anything I’m surprised it took seventy-two hours for everything to fall apart.”

  “Touché Detective,” she replied with a grin. “Touché.” She chuckled and playfully bopped her forehead down onto his shoulder.

  He kissed the top of her head, his chest tightening as he did so.

  Hammond strolled back over, hands clasped behind his back.

  “You okay there, Sarge?” Whitaker asked as the duo got to their feet.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replied. “Sorry about that.”

  “Nothing to apologize for, Hammond,” Rogers said.

  The Sergeant inclined his head to the door. “How we looking out there?”

  “Let’s find out,” the Detective replied.

  They headed for the door, all three of them peering out the small window to the field and road that separated them from their destination. There were a few dozen zombies, but they were fairly spread out.

  “Yeah, that
doesn’t look too bad at all,” Hammond mused. “Should be able to run right through that.”

  Rogers nodded. “So, which building we going to?” he asked.

  “The middle two-story one,” Whitaker replied.

  As the Detective fixed on the nondescript building in question, he furrowed his brow. “That’s the armory?”

  “Were you expecting a big neon sign or something?” she teased.

  “Yeah… well…” He blushed. “Just be thankful I’m cute.”

  Hammond rolled his eyes. “I thank my lucky stars for that,” he retorted.

  Rogers blushed harder, and took a deep breath, getting back to business. “How long do you need with the keycard?”

  “It’s a simple swipe and four digit code, forty-two eighteen,” Hammond replied. “The door automatically locks behind us, so just make sure it shuts and we’ll be good.”

  Rogers nodded. “Is there another exit to the building?” he asked. “If those things draw a crowd, it would be better if we didn’t have to fight our way out.”

  “One exit on the north side,” Whitaker replied.

  The Sergeant looked back and forth between the two. “We ready to do this?”

  Rogers nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Hammond counted down, and then pushed the door open. They rushed out, sprinting as fast as they could across the open space. The echo of their footsteps on the pavement caused the zombies to turn towards them, but they weren’t close enough to pose a threat.

  As they got close to the building, there was a lone zombie relatively close to the door, so Whitaker leapt and swung hard, breaking its neck and dropping it to the ground. Hammond flew past her, swiped the keycard and punched in the code. It took a millisecond for the light to turn green and the latch to click open.

  “We’re in,” he said, and threw open the door. As the trio bustled inside, Rogers closed the door behind them, double checking to make sure it was secure.

  “Good here, too,” he declared.

  It was dark inside, but as they stepped forward, the automatic lights came on, illuminating several rows of metal shelves. They were mostly empty, with only a handful of assault rifles and bullets left.

  “Thought you guys said there was heavy duty stuff in here,” Rogers said, picking up a handgun and then tossing it back on the shelf.

  Whitaker winked at him. “Don’t go doubting me now, Detective.”

  “My apologies,” he replied, motioning her forward with a flourish. “Do prove me wrong.”

  The two soldiers led the way to the back wall, with another heavy metal door and keypad. Hammond swiped the card and punched in a different code, and the door clicked open. He swung it wide, and Rogers’ eyes widened at the sight of the high-end weaponry.

  “Welcome to the gun-nut Christmas, Detective,” Hammond said.

  Rogers grinned and walked into the room as if on a cloud, examining all of the gear. There were 50-cal sniper rifles, C4, hand grenades, and armor piercing rounds. He grabbed a canvas duffel bag from one of the shelves and giddily began stuffing it full of explosives.

  “I’ll get these if you guys want to get guns and ammo,” he declared.

  The Sergeant clapped Whitaker on the back. “You heard the man, let’s go shopping.”

  The trio spent some time loading up on gear, throwing canvas bags over their shoulders and slinging rifles over their backs.

  Whitaker chuckled as Rogers struggled with his last duffel bag. “You gonna make it there, cowboy?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make it back okay,” he assured her. “Just don’t ask me to carry anything for awhile.”

  She laughed, smacked him on the shoulder, and then grabbed her last bag.

  “I think that’s going to do it,” Hammond said as he adjusted his haul. “If we need more than this, then we’re in trouble.”

  As soon as he said the word trouble, they heard several loud gunshots from outside.

  “What the fuck is that?” Rogers asked.

  Whitaker clenched her jaw. “Landry?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Hammond replied, and led them to the north side door.

  The gunfire continued, and they cracked the door open to look out, noting that the zombies in their path earlier were moving north towards where Landry drew the earlier horde to.

  “Everybody’s heading north,” Hammond reported quietly. “Which will hopefully mean we’re in for an easier trip back across the base.”

  “Question is, should we go hot?” Whitaker asked.

  Rogers shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not,” he said. “We get detected now, and this mission goes bust.”

  “Might already be fucked if they’re shooting at Landry,” Whitaker replied.

  “You know Landry,” Hammond cut in. “If anybody in our group is gonna worm his way out of that, it’s going to be him.”

  She cocked her head. “This is true.”

  “So what’s the play?” Rogers asked.

  Hammond held up a hand. “Give it five minutes, then we run like hell.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The trio waited for the zombies to move north, as a steady stream of gunshots kept up. Hammond cracked open the door to the east, and nodded.

  “Okay, back to the college, let’s go,” he said, and moved outside.

  They moved at a decent clip, however a little bogged down by their heavy loads. Gunfire continued to echo all the while.

  As they rushed into the school, they caught their breaths in the safety of the building.

  “Fucking hell, I need to start working out again,” Rogers huffed, leaning his hands on his knees.

  Hammond grunted. “I’m sure Whitaker can put you through the paces once we survive this.” He paused when he realized he’d just made a double entendre, and the other two stifled laughter. “Oh goddammit,” he groaned. “Just for that, I’m running boot camp for everybody when this is over.”

  “First things first, we gotta get out of this mess,” Rogers prompted.

  Whitaker nodded. “We really should keep moving.”

  “Agreed,” the Sergeant said, and motioned for them to follow. They lugged their gear to the other side of the building, and wrapped his hand around the knob. As soon as he turned it, there was significant pressure, and he slammed his boot against it to hold it steady.

  A few zombies had apparently stuck around from their first time through, not interested in the gunfire. Their arms flailed through the gap, moans breaking the threshold. Rogers and Whitaker quickly shed their gear, and attempted to smack at them with his bat, but the heads were too far back.

  “We gotta pull them in!” Whitaker cried.

  The Detective turned and gaped at her. “What? Why?!”

  “Because if the Cartel comes onto the base and sees a pile of corpses by the door, they might get suspicious,” she replied.

  Hammond struggled with the door. “Fuck it, good enough for me.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Rogers asked helplessly.

  Whitaker motioned for the door. “You pull, I’ll hit.”

  “On it,” he said, and grabbed hold of one of the flailing arms. “On three,” he said. “One, two… three!” He jerked the arm as hard as he could, wrenching it inside. He stumbled backwards, tumbling hard to the ground, throwing his hands over his face to protect himself from the corpse.

  There were no gnashing teeth, however, and he lowered his hands, staring up at Whitaker and Hammond, who were laughing at him. He stared at the severed arm next to him, and shook his head, wiping at his forehead.

  “Guess I don’t know my own strength,” he said with a sigh.

  Hammond inclined his head to the gap as he braced the door with his shoulder. “How many are there?” he asked.

  Whitaker stood on her tiptoes, looking out at the zombie heads. “Can’t be more than five or six.”

  “Anything behind them?” he asked.

  Rogers headed over to a nearby window and looked out. “Not
hing within thirty yards, and even then, it’s sparse.”

  “Fuck it, I’m letting them in,” the Sergeant declared.

  The duo readied their bats and nodded at him.

  “Here we go!” Hammond cried, and leapt back from the door.

  It immediately flipped open due to the pressure, the zombies bonking off of each other to get through the door. The first creature that staggered through was missing an arm, and Rogers stepped up to crack his bat down vertically, crumpling it. He immediately dodged so that Whitaker could take the next swing, her blow catching a young soldier in the side of the head, careening the zombie back into its brethren.

  She moved to strike another as Rogers took the one next to it, and with two rapid vertical strikes, the last two standing fell into a heap.

  Hammond stepped up and they stared down, making sure there was no more movement. “Admire your handiwork later, we’re gonna have company soon.”

  The duo grabbed their gear, and Rogers let out an audible groan as he loaded himself back up.

  “Don’t go getting all old on me, Detective,” Whitaker teased.

  He forced his grimace into a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  They rushed out the door, following Hammond towards the apartments. As they ran, they glanced at the mass of zombies to the north, upwards of a thousand moving towards the far end of the base as the gunshots continued. As they reached the apartments, there was an explosion, prompting them to look over again. A plume of smoke and dirt flew into the air.

  “Fucking hell, they’re using explosives,” Whitaker breathed.

  Hammond waved to her. “Keep moving!”

  As they reached the apartments, there were several dozen zombies running up from the south, blocking their ability to run around the outside of the building. The Sergeant adjusted his route and led them towards the breezeway into the courtyard.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Rogers huffed.

  Hammond grunted. “Hoping the courtyard is clear.”

  The Detective took a deep ragged breath, and followed, knowing there wasn’t a better option. They entered the breezeway and stopped just short of the threshold, taking up position against the wall to minimize their exposure. They looked out to see a hundred or so zombies still in there, blocking the eastern exit.