Dead America The Second Week (Book 3): Dead America: El Paso, Part 2

by Slaton, Derek

  “It’s a refugee camp of sorts that was hastily set up by Rodriguez, the second in command of the Rivas Cartel,” Francisco explained. “Some of us, like myself, have been rescuing people who would be eliminated or worse, and getting them to a place where they have a chance at survival.”

  “How many have you gotten out?” she pressed.

  He shook his head. “Not nearly as many as I would like.”

  “And the cartel just lets ‘em be?” Leon raised an eyebrow.

  Francisco barked a bitter laugh. “The cartel doesn’t know about them yet. Rodriguez is the one in charge of exploring the region, so he’s been steering everyone to the north and east. But it’s only a matter of time before he has no choice but to send people south.”

  “Well, nothing like a little impending doom to get the morning rolling,” Leon said with a sigh. “I’m Leon, by the way,” he said, turning again to the passengers in the back.

  “Clara,” the young woman replied, and shook his hand. She motioned to her companions. “No idea what their names are, they don’t say anything.”

  Francisco made a hard left turn off of the main road, bumbling down a dirt path leading to the east. “Hang on tight, we’re taking the long way around.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Detective Rogers walked down the main road leading into Fabens, enjoying the morning sun bathing everything in a warm glow. It made even the dusty ground look ethereal, beautiful, pre-apocalypse.

  He reached up and made sure all of the edges of the bandage on the side of his head were secure. The wound where his ear had been was taking its sweet time to heal, and getting dust all up in there wouldn’t help anything along. He sighed and smoothed back his thinning black hair. For a man in his early forties, sometimes he felt like he was twice that.

  He approached the bridge over the large drainage ditch. “Harry, Charlie, what do you say boys?” he asked of the two older men standing guard.

  “Detective Rogers,” Harry greeted, lowering his makeshift spear that somebody had fashioned out of a broomstick. “Good to see you on this fine morning.”

  Rogers inclined his head, leaning on the railing over the ten-foot-wide ditch. “Any activity overnight?”

  “Nothing too bad,” Charlie replied, shaking his head. “A dozen or so making their way up to the cars.” He motioned to the vehicles lined up bumper-to-bumper across the bridge as the barrier.

  “About twice that much wandering up the ditch,” Harry added, motioning over his shoulder.

  Rogers stepped over to peek down on that side, noting about twenty or so zombies in the deep gully, reaching up in vain at the fresh meat.

  “I figured after lunch we can take care of them,” Charlie suggested. “The boys on the west side bridge have the extender to take them out from above.:

  Rogers nodded, pulling back from the railing. “There been any other survivors coming up from the south side of town?”

  “Not for two days now,” Harry replied. “I’m pretty sure everybody who’s going to make it out as done so.”

  Charlie straightened. “Although, you just give us the order and we’ll get a team together and go door-to-door.”

  “This was a town of eight thousand people,” Rogers explained, shaking his head. “Seventy-eight hundred of which lived south of this drainage ditch. We haven’t seen anywhere near that many zombies wander our way, so god only knows how many are on the other side. I don’t like the thought of leaving survivors over there, but for the moment it’s going to have to stay that way.”

  Charlie nodded, shoulders slumping a bit. “I understand, Detective.”

  An airhorn cut harshly through the calm morning air, from the direction of the interstate.

  Rogers sighed. “Besides, we have other issues to deal with at the moment.” He put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “I tell you what. Let me see what sort of chaos is at our doorstep, and if it’s not too bad I’ll see if I can’t find a runner to get a message to any potential survivors over there. We got a deal?”

  The older man nodded, eyes brightening. “Okay. Thank you.”

  Rogers smiled and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before giving both men a wave and heading back off towards town. His smile fell from his face as he put distance between him and the men, guilt gnawing at his stomach from the lie he’d just told. There was no way in hell he’d be sending anyone across that bridge. It was far too risky.

  The main part of the community consisted of a small line of building next to a strip mall. Rogers approached as an SUV pulled up, skidding to a stop in the dirt. As the dust settled, Francisco jumped out and approached him.

  “Detective,” he greeted as the passenger door opened, revealing a tall black man in military fatigues.

  Rogers nodded. “Morning. What have you got for me today?”

  “A shell shocked couple, a nice young lady, and a badass motherfucker,” the military man declared as he skirted the hood of the vehicle.

  “Humble,” the Detective commented, raising an eyebrow. “I like him.”

  “Leon,” the military man said with a grin, extending his hand.

  Rogers returned it and shook heartily. “I’m Detective Rogers, welcome to Fabens.”

  A few locals opened the back doors of the vehicle, helping the frightened couple out and beginning to unload the bags. Clara thanked a man that helped her jump down from the SUV and then strolled over to the trio of men like she owned the place.

  “And who might you be?” Rogers asked politely.

  She planted a thumb on her chest. “I’m Clara.”

  “Welcome,” the Detective said.

  “So, how is the scouting going?” Francisco piped up as he stretched his legs.

  “I don’t know if you ever visited this area before the world came crashing down, but it’s slim pickings out here,” Rogers admitted. “We’ve gotten as far east as Allamore, but the communities are so small that most of them don’t even have a gas station, let alone grocery stores.”

  “Well, what about this place?” Francisco shrugged, motioning in the general direction of the city. “There are hundreds of buildings on the other side of the bridge.”

  Rogers shook his head immediately. “And also potentially thousands of those creatures. We have maybe a hundred bullets in this town, so if somebody goes over there and attracts a horde, we could very easily get overrun. You get me some better weaponry and I’ll risk it, but until then we’re not going over there.” His tone was sharp and final.

  Francisco threw up his hands, undeterred by the stern Detective. “Do you not understand what’s at stake here?” he snapped. “If the cartel discovers this place and you don’t have anything to show your value to them, they will wipe you off the map. Not only that, but they will make examples of those of us who helped you. Rodriguez is doing everything he can to divert search parties away from this area, but it’s not going to be long before he has no choice but to send people this way. A day, maybe two at the most.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, then it sounds like you need to get on with supplying us with weapons,” Rogers replied, crossing his arms.

  Francisco narrowed his eyes. “Send people to the other side of that bridge,” he growled.

  “No.” The Detective jutted out his chin. “It doesn’t do us a damn bit of good to find something useful over there if we end up being overrun.” He took a deep breath to try to defuse the harsh energy in the air. “My scouts are hitting Van Horn today. It’s a sizable town with a grocery store, and with any luck, a liquor store.”

  “You’d better make sure you find something that will make the boss happy,” Francisco warned. “Because if you don’t, it’s all our asses.”

  Rogers let out a deep whoosh of breath. “Trust me, nobody is more aware of that than I am.”

  “Good luck,” Francisco said, voice softer, and offered his hand. They shook firmly, a silent apology passing between them as their gazes connected. He turned and got back into the now-empty
SUV, making sure there were no locals behind him as he backed up and peeled off back the way he’d come.

  “Well,” Leon said as he stretched his arms high above his head, “in the span of an hour, I went from potentially dying alone, to potentially dying in a group. I guess that’s progress.”

  Rogers couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “Sounds like you’ve had a fun day.”

  “Sniped three assholes, got into a Mexican standoff, and had a freshly cooked breakfast,” Leon explained with a toothy grin.

  The Detective raised an eyebrow. “Was there coffee with that breakfast?”

  “Shit man, I wish,” Leon replied with a snap of his fingers. “I haven’t seen any of that in about a week.”

  Rogers clapped him on the back. “Why don’t you come inside and I’ll see if I can rectify that travesty,” he said. “And we can talk about what you can help us out with.”

  Leon nodded and leaned over to grab his gear.

  Clara cleared her throat in an overly dramatic manner. “And what about me?” she asked, arms crossed and foot tapping in the dirt.

  Rogers motioned to an older woman at a nearby picnic table, speaking in low tones to the shell-shocked couple. “If you want to go talk to Helena over there, I’m sure she has something you can help her with.”

  The young woman glanced at the group and then back to the Detective, rolling her eyes. “So, you have an overabundance of able-bodied people who can venture out and find supplies, then?”

  “No,” Rogers replied slowly, rubbing his chin. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of the petite woman as of yet. “We’re quite short handed, actually. But do you really want to go out into zombie infested areas?”

  “Fuck no I don’t,” Clara snapped, planting her hands firmly on her hips. “But you know what? I also don’t want to become a prisoner of the cartel. You’d be lucky, they’d just put a bullet in your brain. You know what they’d do to me?”

  He winced. He knew what she was insinuating, and she was absolutely right. He pursed his lips and looked her dead in the eye. “Are you capable of handling yourself out there?” he asked.

  “I run marathons for fun,” she replied, “so if I get into a situation where fighting isn’t an option, I can certainly outpace them. I’m guessing that’s more than you can say about the bulk of the residents here.” She waved her hand in the general direction of a cluster of elderly people folding sheets on a porch across the street.

  “Okay,” Rogers said in defeat. “I’ll introduce you to Trenton. He’s my head scout. If he thinks you can be of use out there, you’re in. If not, then you’re staying here. It’s his ass on the line, so it’s his decision on who he brings. Fair?”

  She nodded. “Fair.”

  “Well, come on then,” he said as he turned back to Leon. “Let me show y’all the command center.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “No offense Rogers,” Leon said as he entered the old reception hall, “but I’m not sure this room lives up to the name command center.” He didn’t look terribly impressed as he took in the cheap folding tables around the perimeter of the mid-sized room. There were various maps and white boards along the walls, with a smattering of people around studying documents and making lists.

  “There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the corner,” the Detective said with a grin, motioning to the little camping stove in the corner.

  Leon laid eyes on the happily bubbling percolator atop it, and snapped his fingers. “This is the best goddamn command center I’ve ever set foot in.”

  “Mister Rogers, would you and your friends like some coffee?” A woman with short bone-white hair walked up to them. She looked to be in her seventies, paper-thin skin crinkling as she smiled. “I just brewed it up.”

  “Thank you, Ethel,” the Detective said warmly, taking her hand in his. “I think we’d all like one.”

  She turned her bright friendly eyes on Leon and Clara, who couldn’t help but smile back at her. She shuffled off to check the brew as Rogers waved them over to a map of El Paso and surrounding areas on the wall. There were several red X marks over some of the smaller towns leading east on the I-10, a few with a circle around them.

  “This is what we’re working with,” Rogers explained. “Antiquated, I know, but we’re lucky we have a map that even goes out this far.”

  Clara leaned forward to study it. “What are the marks?”

  “The X’s are for places we’ve scouted, and the ones with circles around them are places we’ve cleaned out,” the Detective explained. “I know you overheard me talking to Francisco, but we haven’t found hardly anything that would be of value to the cartel boss.”

  “What has he deemed valuable?” Leon asked, scratching the back of his head. “Food? Medicine?”

  Rogers shook his head. “Alcohol.”

  Leon’s eyebrows shot to his forehead. “Let me see if I got this right. He’s making you risk people’s lives to go out on a beer run?”

  “Tequila actually, but yeah, that’s a pretty accurate description of the situation.” The Detective sighed.

  Clara’s brow furrowed. “Why would he put that above everything else?”

  “The cartel controls everything across the border,” Rogers explained. “Rumor has it that they have a pretty sophisticated farming operation underway. And I would assume he doesn’t give a shit if people get sick and die.”

  Leon scoffed. “Given the current state of the world, I’m guessing high quality tequila will soon be in extremely short supply.”

  “Bingo,” Rogers replied, making his hand into a finger-gun and popping it off at his new companion. “Regardless of the absurdity of it, we need to locate some if we want to get on his good side.”

  Leon pursed his lips. “Or at least stay off his bad side.”

  “At least,” the Detective agreed, and then turned his attention to an approaching man. “Trenton, good timing,” he greeted the tall and muscular twenty-something. “I’d like you to meet Leon, and your new recruit, Clara.”

  The sandy-haired man cocked his head. “New recruit, huh?” He raised an eyebrow at the young woman. “You think you can hack it out there?”

  “I survived a week living under the cartel,” Clara replied, bristling a little.

  Trenton shrugged. “Good enough for me. We’re short-handed, anyway.”

  “We lose somebody else?” Rogers furrowed his brow.

  “Carver wiped out on his bike,” the younger man replied, rolling his eyes. “Pretty sure it’s a broken arm, but Helena is tending to him now.”

  The detective rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Damn. Okay. Looks like he’ll be on bridge duty for a while.”

  Ethel approached with a tray of steaming mugs of coffee and her warm smile.

  “Ah, thank you, milady,” Leon moaned with happiness, savoring the scent of the fresh brew. She chuckled as she set the mugs down on the table and retreated with the tray to a chorus of thanks from the others.

  “So, you find anything of value in that last run?” Rogers asked as he sipped his steaming mug.

  Trenton shook his head. “Nothing that’s gonna help. Only found one bottle of tequila, but it’s so cheap I think it would be better used to degrease my engine.”

  “Well then.” The Detective shrugged. “You boys ready to hit Van Horn?”

  “About as ready as we’re ever going to be,” Trenton replied. “The size of that place scares me.”

  Leon raised an eyebrow. “Scares you more than the cartel?”

  “Bullet to the head is better than a bite to the neck,” the younger man explained.

  Leon nodded, and took a long sip of his brew. “Can’t argue with that,” he admitted.

  “Well, it’s an hour down the road, so y’all better get on trucking,” Rogers cut in. “Francisco came by earlier and told us we’re on a timetable.”

  Trenton paled. “How long?”

  “A day, maybe two at most,” the Detective replied.

  “F
antastic,” the younger man declared, sarcasm evident in his tone. He turned to Clara. “Okay, grab your weapon and let’s head out.”

  Her cheeks pinked. “Um.” She blinked a few times. “The cartel kind of frowned on civilians having weapons, so I don’t really have one.”

  Leon unsnapped the knife holster from his belt, and held it out to her. “Here you go,” he offered. “This baby served me well for years, hopefully it will do the same for you.”

  She took it gingerly, giving him a thin smile. “Thank you.”

  Rogers sighed and reached down to his ankle, lifting the leg of his jeans to reveal a snub-nose 38. “Ammo is really tight around here, so you’ll only have the six shots that are chambered. Should be good in a pinch, though,” he said as he held out the weapon.

  Clara took it and stuffed it into her pocket with a somber nod.

  “With where we’re going, the last thing you want to do is make a lot of noise, anyway,” Trenton piped up. “Being the center of attention is definitely something you don’t want to be.”

  “Pre-apocalypse, I would have argued with you,” Clara replied with a chuckle, and motioned for him to lead the way outside.

  Leon watched them go, almost zoning out as he sipped his coffee. The dark liquid was more comforting than he’d ever known it to be.

  “So,” Rogers said, leaning against the table and drawing his new charge out of his reverie, “what do you bring to the table?”

  Leon took a deep breath. “Well, for starters, I can shoot a motherfucker dead at two hundred yards. More importantly, however, I think I can help you out with your less than stellar mapping.”

  “Oh really?” the Detective asked, raising an eyebrow. “And how are you going to pull that one off?”

  Leon drained his mug with a satisfying smack of his lips. “I tell you what, you grab me another cup of coffee, and I’ll show you.”

  Rogers grinned. “Deal.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Trenton led Clara through the parking lot towards two men on dirt bikes. They looked to be in the early twenties, fit and bronze in the sunlight. Clara raised an eyebrow. When he’d said that their buddy had fallen off of his bike, she hadn’t assumed a motorized vehicle. He was lucky to have gotten away with just a broken arm.