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

by Derek Slaton

  “What’s the play, Sarge?” Whitaker asked quietly.

  He surveyed the area and then pointed. “Let’s go out the south breezeway and hope those making their way north aren’t there.”

  “Good a plan as any,” Rogers murmured.

  Hammond nodded. “Let’s go.” He led them into the courtyard, the trio doing their best to hug the edge of the building so they wouldn’t attract the attention of the horde opposite them. As they reached the southern breezeway, zombies began to emerge from it.

  “Fuck,” Whitaker hissed, “now what?”

  Hammond raised his bat. “Fight through them!” He raised his bat and swung, connecting with a young female zombie. The force ripped her head clean off, sending it flying through the air and hitting the front door of an apartment with a wet thud. The sound of the impact drew the attention of several monsters near them.

  Rogers and Whitaker delivered a few blows, but more zombies piled into the courtyard. As they swung, Hammond went barreling through, lowering his shoulder and knocking several to the ground to clear a path to the other side past the breezeway. As if in slow motion, he stumbled, falling face first into the ground.

  As he struggled to get back up beneath the weight of his gear, a few zombies descended on him.

  Rogers flew into action, catching one across the face and then jabbing it in the ribs, shoving it back into another one. The three dropped to the ground, and he dove over and delivered a killing blow as Whitaker grabbed Hammond’s arm.

  “Come on, Sarge!” she urged as she helped him to his feet.

  They looked back and saw numerous zombies headed their way, even more pouring in from the breezeway. Rogers rushed to the first door he saw, but it was locked. He snatched the rifle off of his back and smashed the window, hopping the sill to get inside. He quickly unlocked the door and opened it so that the other two could fly in before he slammed and locked it.

  “Get the couch!” the Detective screamed, and they dropped their gear, grabbing the couch and slamming it into the window frame. It didn’t fit through it, but it was big enough to cover the hole as long as someone was pressed against it.

  “You did me a solid out there, Detective,” Hammond huffed as he held the couch.

  Rogers chuckled and shook his head. “Just remember that when you’re making me do push ups in boot camp.”

  “Consider it done.” The Sergeant smiled.

  There was a significant pounding on the patio door at the back, and Rogers and Whitaker went to investigate as Hammond held the zombies at bay.

  “That’s gonna be a bitch to get through,” Rogers breathed at the sight of shoulder-to-shoulder corpses through the glass.

  Whitaker looked out the side window, shaking her head. “Even if we got through the initial batch, we’d still be fucked.”

  Rogers peered out the side of the door, past a few zombie heads, and pointed towards the field that led to the office building. “Check this out.”

  She joined him and sighed at the sight of barely a handful of zombies in that direction. “That would be great if we could get past the door.”

  “What if we could get into the neighboring apartment?” he asked. “There doesn’t appear to be any on that patio.”

  She shrugged. “That’s great, but how are we going to pull that off?”

  “Thought you grabbed some C4 at the armory?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “That would give away our position.”

  He held up his finger, prompting her to wait.

  After several seconds, Whitaker raised her hands in confusion. “What am I-”

  Rogers held his finger up higher to stop her from talking, and then there was an explosion in the distance.

  “We use theirs to cover ours,” she said with a smile, and walked back to the living room. “Sarge, we got a plan.”

  Hammond was stretched out on the couch, keeping his weight distributed on it so it wouldn’t move. “Just when I get comfortable. What you got, Whitaker?”

  “We’re gonna blow a hole into the next apartment and get out through the patio,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Fuck it, let’s do it.”

  Whitaker dug through her bag and found some C4, breaking off a small portion and grabbing a detonator. Her and Rogers reached the far end of the apartment, down a hallway to the wall. She immediately began applying the C4 to the wall.

  “You sure you have enough?” Rogers asked.

  She cocked her head. “To punch through this? Absolutely,” she said as she worked. “If anything, I’m worried I grabbed too much and I’ll end up bringing down the entire complex on top of us.”

  “Not concerning at all,” the Detective replied dryly.

  “Don’t worry,” she said with a grin, “you’re in good hands.” She winked at him and then attached the detonator, retreating to the living room. “Stand by,” she said, and they hunkered down on either side of the hallway wall.

  Hammond was braced against the couch, however he was standing and geared up. The room was silent, with the exception of the zombies banging on the patio door. Faint gunshots still echoed in the distance, but they waited patiently for another explosion.

  After what felt like an eternity, they finally heard a loud boom and Whitaker hit the detonator without warning.

  The blast blew out a significant portion of the wall, sending debris flying down the hallway and into the dining room. The shockwave also shattered all of the glass in the apartment, collapsing the patio door.

  “Fuck, let’s move!” Rogers yelled, and Whitaker sprinted down the hallway towards the four foot hole in the wall. The Detective grabbed the dining room table and whipped it in the direction of the patio door, knocking some of the ghouls back so that Hammond could make it to the hallway.

  They leapt through the hole into the other apartment, tearing towards Whitaker who stood at the shattered patio door.

  “We got an opening, let’s move!” she cried, and they jumped through the door frame, hitting the field. As they ran, they glanced back to see that a crowd was following them. At least ahead of them, the office building didn’t have much in the way of zombies around it.

  Hammond stopped them in the middle between the apartments and the office, gasping for air. “Doesn’t look too crowded on the south side there,” he panted.

  “You thinking of running around it?” Whitaker huffed.

  “Thought crossed my mind,” the Sergeant replied, still gasping. “After what happened back there, I’m not exactly looking forward to going back inside.”

  Rogers glanced back towards the apartments, noting that some of the zombies had broken off to head towards the gunshots and explosions.

  “Fuck it, let’s do it,” he agreed. “We got enough of a lead on these guys, if anything does block our way, we’ll have time to backtrack to the door.”

  “You heard the man, let’s do it,” Hammond agreed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The trio tore towards the office building, and then veered to the south side. They pressed up against the wall and Hammond peered around the corner, seeing a sparsely populated area. There were maybe only ten zombies spread out over the course of the entire space.

  He came back. “Take out the ones you have to, and get to the warehouse,” he whispered.

  “We bypassing this one, too?” Whitaker asked.

  He shook his head. “No, we need to regroup before hitting the fence.”

  “Not to mention make sure the coast is clear,” Rogers added.

  Hammond nodded. “That too. Come on.” He led the group around, their legs growing heavy beneath the overload of equipment. The first zombie they encountered didn’t hear them coming, so it was easy for the Sergeant to crack its head open from behind.

  Rogers stepped up to take the lead, moving up another fifteen yards before beating down another corpse in military fatigues. Whitaker passed him and reached the edge of the building, smacking one last zombie in civilian
denim that was in her way.

  They moved as quickly as they could with their heavy gear to the warehouse, following a clear path. They remained vigilant, however, and Hammond threw open the door for the other two to dash in with their bats raised. It was thankfully empty, and they all dumped their stuff on the floor and collapsed, huffing and puffing.

  “Holy fuck,” Rogers gasped, “you’d figure with as large as the military budget is, they’d spend some of it on researching lighter gear.”

  Hammond shook his head. “Yeah, but the problem is if you did that then the average soldier’s quality of life would improve, and pretty sure congress passed a law banning that.”

  “Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Whitaker replied.

  They sat for another moment, collecting their heads and their breath before Hammond dragged himself to his feet.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s get this shit done.”

  Whitaker and Rogers stalled for a beat before hauling their tired bodies to a standing. They hauled their bags to the eastern wall, clustering around the door.

  Hammond cracked it open and peeked out towards the fence where they came in. There wasn’t a single zombie in sight, and it appeared that the airport hangars on the other side were also quiet. The gunfire from the north still echoed, although it had slowed down a bit.

  “How we looking out there, Sarge?” Whitaker asked.

  “Looks clear to the hangars,” he replied, “but I want to check something.” He set his bag down and pulled the sniper rifle from his shoulder. He opened the door and stuck it out, pointing to the north. He honed in on the horde that Landry had attracted up there, mostly decimated by a small army of Cartel members.

  There were still about a hundred or so zombies around, spread out amongst the bodies of the dead. A handle of Cartel walked around, shooting them at point blank range. Hammond quickly ducked back inside.

  “We’re going to have to move now,” he said as he slung the gun back over his shoulder, loading up his duffel bags. “Looks like they’re almost done up there. Move quick, stay low, and head for the truck fast.”

  Whitaker furrowed her brow. “What about Landry?”

  “If he’s alive, he knows where we’re parked,” Hammond replied.

  She pursed her lips, but nodded her agreement.

  “Let’s go,” the Sergeant said, and led the group outside, hunched over and moving quickly towards the fence. When they reached it, he pulled back on the cut so that the other two could duck through, and then Rogers took over to hold it open for him.

  They ran towards the hangars, lungs burning, and up the way towards the truck. As they reached the first building, they saw someone waving maniacally from an open door in the second. As they grew closer, they caught sight of Landry, trying to keep low as he furiously waved them over.

  They flew inside, and he slammed the door behind them.

  “Holy shit,” Hammond huffed, “you’re still alive.”

  Whitaker rolled her eyes as she panted, “Don’t listen to him Landry, I always had faith in you.”

  Hammond barked a laugh. “Bullshit, Whitaker.”

  “You calling me a liar, Sarge?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He shrugged. “Maybe, but we can debate that once we get back to town.”

  “Gonna be a hot minute on that one, Sarge,” Landry cut in. “Those Cartel boys are all over the place. Tried to make it back to the truck, but a couple of them found it before wandering off. I sat on it for a while, and another group passed by about twenty minutes later.”

  Whitaker cocked her head. “What in the hell did you do that got them riled up so much?”

  “Why do you assume it was me?” Landry put a hand to his chest, feigning offense.

  She smirked. “Because I’ve known you for longer than two minutes.”

  “Fair enough,” he replied, and began to walk. “Come on, I’ll tell you the whole story once we get to the retreat.” He led the confused trio to a small kitchen break room. He grabbed an LED camping lantern on the table and flipped it on, illuminating the dark room.

  There were decorations everywhere, a mish-mash of dollar store streamers and balloons, with a banner that said Happy Retirement! Below it was a table with some rotten food, and the smell made the newcomers wince.

  “Yeah, I know that doesn’t smell great, but you get used to it quick,” Landry said with a wave of his hand. “Plus, it’s a small price to pay. Y’all have a seat.” He pointed to a big round table in the corner, and they dropped their gear, flopping down into the empty seats.

  Landry strolled over from one of the cupboards, tossing a few still-sealed bags of chips onto the table with a giant smile.

  “Oh hell yeah,” Whitaker blurted and snatched up a bag of nacho cheese flavor, ripping it open with glee.

  Hammond chose barbecue, and took a deep smell of the spicy bag. “Not a bad find Landry, not a bad find.”

  The Private found a seat before reaching under the table and pulling out a half bottle of whiskey.

  “If we were still officially in the military, I’d be putting you in for a promotion,” Hammond declared as the other two applauded their friend.

  Landry grinned. “You know me Sarge, always going above and beyond.”

  Rogers didn’t wait for an invitation, reaching out to grab the bottle. He twisted the cap, eyes full of happy excitement.

  “Go easy on that now, Detective,” Whitaker teased. “That’s some strong stuff.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m a homicide detective,” he replied. “That ranks up there with professional writers when it comes to alcohol consumption.”

  The group burst into laughter as he took a swig and passed it on.

  “Savor it, because we’re on a two drink max until we’re back to town,” Hammond warned.

  Landry sighed. “With the way the Cartel is going, we’ll be here a few hours.”

  “Should we keep guard at the door in case they come in?” Whitaker asked.

  He shook his head. “They peeked in shortly after I got here,” he said. “They got about two steps inside the door, looked around, then left. I don’t foresee them making a return trip.”

  “So,” Rogers cut in, “how did you get them riled up?”

  “A couple of them rolled up on me when I got to the northern fence, so I had to take them out,” Landry explained. “Figured it was a good idea to cover my tracks, so I strapped them into their truck and crashed it into the fence. Figured the zombies would cover the knife wounds and the Cartel would just write it off as careless driving.”

  Whitaker chuckled. “I gotta say, I’m quite happy that I got to benefit from the smartest thing you’ll ever do.”

  “Hey now,” Landry shot back, blinking at her. “I mean, you’re right… but still, hey.”

  There was another round of laughter, followed by another round of whiskey as the group munched on their finds.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As the sun dipped low on the horizon, Leon sat by the window of the command center, staring out and waiting for Rogers’ team to get back. He turned as Trenton and Clara entered, freshened up after their intense outing, Reed following behind them.

  “How are you doing after that trip?” Leon asked.

  Trenton put his hands up. “Four solid hours of desert dust blasting against my skin,” he said with a shiver. “I’m okay with not going on another ride for a while.”

  “Eh, I enjoyed it,” Clara said with a shrug. “Always nice to get out of town for a while. I find those rides to be soothing.”

  Trenton shook his head. “Well, to be fair, you didn’t have a rotten corpse tied up to the back of your bike.”

  “This is true,” she agreed.

  “You guys get Mathis set up with a room?” Leon asked.

  Clara nodded. “Oh yeah, he found a bed and hasn’t left there,” she replied. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume he’s missed that level of comfort.”

  “Ask anybody who
has been deployed before and they’ll agree with that,” Leon replied with a smile. He watched Reed slump in a chair off to the side. “Hey, how you doing, bud?”

  The younger man’s eyes darkened. “Oh, you know, just hanging out and biding my time until I find out how I get to die.” He pursed his lips as an awkward silence fell over the room, and then sighed. “But you know, it could be worse. I could have spent a couple of hours on a bike with a cartel corpse riding bitch.”

  The others laughed, breaking the tension, and he offered a smile.

  “Have you heard from the others yet?” Clara asked, turning to Leon.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “How long until we start getting worried?” Trenton crossed his arms.

  Leon rolled over to his keyboard, pulling up a map of the base. He highlighted the northern part with a mass of dead zombies.

  “What the hell happened?” Clara gasped.

  He shrugged. “Best I can tell is that they started something, and the Cartel came in to finish it.”

  Trenton chewed his lip. “Were they-”

  “I don’t know,” Leon cut in. “I didn’t have any live footage until the Cartel showed up. Given where it is on the base, I’m hopeful that they weren’t anywhere near it, but I just don’t know.”

  The room fell silent, and then there was a knock on the door, making them all jump.

  “Come in,” Leon said.

  The nurse opened the door and entered, carrying a small plastic container. “Is this a bad time?” she asked, looking around at the pale-faced group.

  “Not at all,” Leon assured her. “What can we do for you?”

  She hesitated, and then held out the container. “I uh, I have what you requested for Reed.”

  The young man let out a deep breath and held out his hand. “Well, bring it on over then,” he said.

  She clenched her jaw, shooting him an uncomfortable look, like a deer in the headlights.

  He waved her forward. “It’s all right, I’m not gonna bite you,” he said with a wink. “At least not yet.