There was a dune buggy too, housing another twenty something man, though he looked out of place of the handsome frat boys with his freckled skin and rounder belly.
“Hey, Trenton, you find yourself a girlfriend?” one of the dirt bike guys said.
The other one hooted and gave him a high five. “Yeah man, she’s all kinds of hot.”
Clara didn’t even break stride, stalking up to the two of them with her chin high. She put a hand on her hip, staring them down as she tapped the hilt of her knife with a sharp fingernail.
“I…” the first guy stammered, “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here.”
She cocked her head. “You think?”
“Clara, I’d like you to meet Reed and Jay,” Trenton said, obviously amused with the exchange. “From this point on they will be fine upstanding citizens. Gentlemen, this is Clara.”
Jay gulped and smiled nervously, nodding at her. Reed gave her a little salute.
“And over here is Malcolm.” Trenton inclined his head to the driver in the dune buggy. “He’s going to be your ride to Van Horn.”
Clara gave the duo a thousand-watt smile and then turned on her heel, heading over to the vehicle. She raised her eyebrow at the amount of duct tape holding the thing together. Every metal surface seemed to be buried in rust and there were even exposed wires sticking out from the engine.
“Hi.” She gave the driver a wave and motioned to the hole where the windshield should have been. “Is this thing actually going to make it to Van Horn? It’s looking a little worse for wear.”
Malcolm smiled and patted the steering wheel. “This is a tough old girl,” he said. “I’ve had her for years and she hasn’t let me down yet.” He reached into a compartment and pulled out a pair of goggles, holding them out to her. “You’re going to need these. The windshield is… kinda missing.”
Clara laughed and put them on, shaking her head as she slid into the passenger’s seat. “All right,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
He turned the key and the engine chugged a little before quieting down again. The dirt bikes started up no problem, rumbling to life, and Reed and Jay peeled out of the parking lot. Trenton wandered over.
“Starter trouble again?” he asked.
Malcolm nodded. “Yeah, she’ll get going here in a minute,” he replied. “Y’all go ahead, we’ll catch up.”
Trenton gave him a little salute and hopped on his own dirt bike, kicking it on and then speeding off after the others.
Malcolm tried again, but the motor just wouldn’t turn over.
Clara raised an eyebrow. “Usually have this kind of performance issue?” she asked.
He blushed. “Only around pretty girls,” he said, and then wrinkled his nose, as if he immediately regretted saying it.
Clara laughed it off, hoping to put him at ease, and this time the engine started up into a low rumble.
Malcolm sighed in relief and popped the dune buggy into gear. “All right, hang on.”
CHAPTER SIX
Rogers headed back over to Leon, a fresh steaming mug in hand. The older man was setting up a heavy-duty looking laptop hooked up to a power bar.
“What…” the Detective trailed off, mouth opening and closing in shock. “Whatcha got there?”
“This, sir, is a state of the art communications laptop,” Leon replied as he rummaged around in one of his duffel bags. “This allows me to the ability to tap into satellites currently circling the globe.”
“Um.” Rogers scratched the back of his head. “Does it require power?”
Leon nodded. “A shitload.”
“Sorry to say that we haven’t had power in this town since we got here,” the Detective admitted.
“Not an issue, my friend,” Leon replied with a toothy grin. “Be a pal and point me to a window that faces south.”
Rogers furrowed his brow and motioned to one of the large windows on the south end of the building, watching with fascination as Leon pulled out a rolled up piece of black material. There was a cable attached to one end, and it flopped down as the tall man flung open the roll like a beach towel. He headed over and opened the window, hanging the material out the side of the building and then closing it to hold it in place.
“Perfect,” Leon murmured as he ran the cable back to his power bar.
“Well,” Rogers said, impressed as he shook his head. “What do we have here?”
“This here is a portable, flexible, solar panel,” Leon explained. “It’s capable of powering this laptop and pretty much everything else in this room. Although it’s gonna take a little while for this baby to get up to speed.”
The Detective let out a long whistle. “And how exactly did you acquire this stuff, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I was visiting for a training exercise at Fort Bliss, on the northeast side of the city,” Leon replied as he opened up the computer. “When this shit went down, it didn’t take long for the base commander to get the order to pull back to Kansas”.
“Now, one of the perks of being military intelligence is that very few people have the clearance to know what my orders are, and the base commander was not on that list. I simply told him my orders were to take what I needed from the base and move to an undisclosed location. I don’t think he really gave a shit if I was telling the truth or not, so he shrugged, threw me a set of keys and told me to go wild. Forty-five minutes later I had a jeep loaded down with gear.”
Rogers rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “In the early days of this thing, there were some rumors going around about Fort Bliss. Is it really as bad as what people say?”
“I’ll admit, I don’t have firsthand knowledge,” Leon said with a sigh. “Once I got out, I had no intention of going back. But a few days ago, I got in touch with a few boys from the base who decided that the military life no longer appealed to them. Based on what they told me, it’s a complete and total shitshow there.”
The Detective winced. “That bad?”
“According to them, the base commander didn’t have the stones to do what was needed, which was to put down the infected men,” Leon explained, voice hard. “Instead, he sealed the camp up tight and left them in there to turn.”
Rogers’ jaw dropped. “Christ.” He shook his head in disbelief. “So there’s a zombie army inside the base?”
“Unless the cartel has gone in and cleaned it out,” Leon said bitterly.
The Detective let out a deep whoosh of breath. “That hasn’t happened,” he replied, thankful for small miracles. “Francisco said they sent a small squad to scope the place out, hoping there was some military grade gear in there. He said one guy was able to get to the fence, but had a dozen bites on him. After that, they doubled the locks and put some guards on it to make sure nothing got out.”
“Well, that’s a good piece of news, at least,” Leon said. “Don’t want the cartel to be running around with military shit.”
Rogers peered down his nose at the flickering computer screen. “So your buddies… any chance they can come help us?”
“Not anytime soon,” Leon replied with a sigh. “We’re not supposed to chat for three more days, and besides, last I heard they were roaming around New Mexico. It’s doubtful they could get here in a timely manner.”
The Detective wrinkled his nose. “That’s a shame.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “At least it’s comforting to know that there are some people out there on our side.”
Leon nodded, and raised his mug in a salute to the sentiment.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Francisco sped up the I-10, headed to the cartel checkpoint just southeast of El Paso. He passed heaps of corpses that had been chewed up by the mounted machine guns on the guard trucks defending the checkpoint.
He slowed to a stop at the gate, leaning out the window to the armed guard standing there.
“Hey, can you let me through?” he asked. “I’m on my way to report in to Rodriguez.”
“It’s go
ing to be a moment, sir,” the guard replied, putting up a hand. “We were told this is a closed checkpoint, so we have to get your clearance.”
Francisco growled. “Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, sir, mister Francisco, I do.” The guard swallowed nervously. “But I also know who told me to close this checkpoint, and I don’t want to anger them either.”
The driver sighed, leaning his head back against his seat. “You’re right,” he said, waving a hand. “Do what you need to do.”
The guard nodded in appreciation and stepped away from the vehicle as he pressed on the little communicator in his ear. He turned around and spoke in quiet tones.
Francisco began to tap on the steering wheel a bit, but forced himself to stop. He needed to keep his cool. Cool as a cucumber.
The guard turned back to him. “Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing southeast of the city?”
“I do mind, actually,” the driver snapped. He knew he had to be firm and unrelenting, even as his heart pounded in his chest. “I don’t report to you. If you or whoever is on the other side of that little radio wants to know what the fuck I was doing, then they can go ask Rodriguez. That’s who I report to. Now, if there’s nothing else, can you kindly move the fuck out of my way before I run your ass down?”
The guard touched his earpiece, and then nodded, waving at one of the guard trucks to move out of the way. “Have a good day, mister Francisco,” he said.
The driver huffed and rolled up his window, kicking up dust as he sped through the checkpoint.
As Francisco peeled out towards El Paso, two men stepped out of one of the guard trucks. Juan Pablo straightened his tie and suit jacket and strolled over to watch the truck disappearing into the distance.
“Hector, did you find any of that at all suspicious?” he asked, inclining his head to his tall partner.
Hector nodded his bald head. “Every single word of it, sir.”
“I’m wondering if you’ll run a quick errand for me,” Juan Pablo said, crossing his arms.
His partner straightened. “Anywhere you wish, sir.”
“Grab a truck and take a drive down the interstate here,” his superior instructed. “Spend half an hour or so, and see if you find anything that might be of note.”
Hector nodded. “I’ll return soon, sir.”
“Thank you,” Juan Pablo replied, clapping him on the shoulder before sending him off. He stared at the cloud of dust still hovering where Francisco had driven off. “What are you up to?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Francisco drove slowly through the streets of El Paso, surveying the ever-depressing scene. Cartel members walked the streets, chests puffed out and heads held high, guns always at the ready with their swagger turned up to a thousand. Terrified civilians peeked out through broken windows, meekly staying inside to avoid drawing attention to themselves and risk getting killed.
The zombies weren’t the biggest threat here.
He turned down the main strip towards city hall, and slowed to a stop outside. He jumped down and furrowed his brow.
“Hey, you can’t park here,” a cartel member with a cigar hanging out of his mouth barked. “Can’t you see we’re setting up a celebration?”
Francisco shrugged as he sauntered over. He could see. There were at least a dozen civilians, climbing up ladders at gunpoint to hang decorations all over the street.
“Relax, I’m only going to be here for a few minutes,” Francisco said.
“I don’t care if you’re just here to take a piss,” the cigar man snapped. “You need to move that car, now.”
Francisco steeled his gaze. “I’m here to meet with Rodriguez.” The tone of finality and the name-drop seemed to tame the man, and he pulled the cigar from his mouth to hock a thick glob of spit onto the ground.
“Fine,” he growled. “Just be back quickly. We have a lot of work to do.”
Francisco waved his hand around his head. “What is all this, anyway?” he asked.
“It’s a celebration of Tiago Rivas, the man who led us to the taking of El Paso!” the cigar man bellowed, spreading his arms, and several cartel members dotting the street raised their fists and hooted cheers in response.
Francisco shook his head. “Another celebration. What a waste.”
“It’s never a waste to celebrate our glorious boss!” the cigar man balked.
The shorter man turned towards city hall, or at least what used to be city hall. “Yeah, let’s see if you’re saying that when we’re out of food.” He strode into the building taking in the flurry of cartel members running back and forth like chickens with their heads cut off. He managed to snatch someone by the arm on the way by. “Have you seen Rodriguez?” he asked.
The young cartel member pointed down the hall to the right, where the door to a large office stood open. Francisco nodded in thanks and headed in.
Rodriguez stood over a large table, a map of the city spread out beneath him. He slammed his hand down hard, startling the four men standing at the other end of the table.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Rodriguez said, voice low and menacing. “I want the asshole who gunned down three of our brothers found and brought to justice.”
“Sir, we’ve checked the area twice,” one of the men stammered meekly, wincing as his superior slammed his hand down on the table again.
“Well check it again!” Rodriguez boomed. “Burn the place to the fucking ground if you must, but this person needs to be found. Do not come back without them.”
The four cartel members nodded before rushing out the door, eager to get out of the fire. Francisco shut the door behind them and chuckled.
“You know they’re never going to find him,” he said.
Rodriguez grinned, taking a sip of his coffee. “Of course, but it will keep them busy for another few hours.” He sat down in his office chair, motioning for his friend to sit opposite him. “So, you were able to safely extract him?”
“Yes, he’s with the detective in Fabens,” Francisco replied.
“Good,” his superior replied with a nod. “Have they made any progress?”
Francisco sighed as he took a seat. “No. They haven’t.”
Rodriguez pursed his lips. “Did you explain the situation-”
The door suddenly burst open, interrupting them proper, as a fuming young man in an Armani suit stormed into the office.
“Why are you sending my men back out to that abandoned town?” he demanded.
Rodriguez sighed, as if dealing with an insolent child. “Because, Angel, I want the man who killed our people found and dealt with.”
“Fuck him,” Angel spat the words. “He’s probably in the middle of the desert dying of thirst right now. We need to be expanding our empire.”
“In due time,” Rodriguez replied, voice still calm and level.
The younger man snarled, resting his fists on the table and leaning forward. “The time is now. You have dragged your feet and held us back long enough. It’s time for us to move down the I-10 and claim it for ourselves.”
“We will head that way when I say we’re ready to,” the older man explained, as he had what felt like a hundred times before.
Angel sneered. “My father-”
“Your father put me in charge for a reason,” Rodriguez cut in, setting down his cup. “I don’t care if you’re the boss’ son, if he wanted you to have a decision-making position he would have given it to you. But he gave it to me.
“So go and do as your told, and take your men back to the Butterfield to find the person who murdered three of our brothers in cold blood. If there is resistance in the area, we need to quash it.”
Angel grunted and turned on his shiny leather heel, stalking to the door. He paused in the frame as he wrapped his hand around the knob.
“I know you’re stalling for a reason,” he warned, a mischievous sparkle in his defiant eyes. “There’s something down the interstate that you want to kee
p to yourself. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I will find out. You can guarantee that.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.
“I can’t keep them at bay much longer,” Rodriguez admitted quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If the Detective doesn’t find something, and find it soon, it’s not going to be good.”
Francisco shook his head. “Angel might not be our most pressing issue.”
“Christ, what now?” his friend demanded.
He took a deep breath. “I got stopped at the checkpoint on the southeast side of town. Someone was in one of the trucks, relaying questions to the guard. If it was someone loyal to Angel, they might put two and two together.”
Rodriguez sighed, shaking his head. He picked up his mug again, swirling the brown liquid around instead of taking a sip. “Did the Detective ask for anything that could be helpful to them?”
“He said they’re short on guns and ammo, but it’s too risky to get into the armory,” Francisco said with a shrug.
His friend pursed his lips, seeming lost in thought for a time. “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice,” he said finally. “We’re out of time. See what you can get to him, just make sure you take the long way around to avoid that checkpoint.”
Francisco got to his feet and nodded. “I won’t let you down.” He headed for the door, taking one last glance back at his superior’s contemplative face before he exited the office.
CHAPTER NINE
Trenton skidded to a stop a half-mile away from Van Horn, leaning on one leg as he pulled a set of binoculars from one of his saddlebags. He surveyed the area as the others pulled up behind him. One by one, everyone turned off their engines, and he lowered the binoculars.
“Okay, looks like there’s a string of buildings on the north side of the interstate that leads into the main part of town,” Trenton said. “I’m only seeing a handful of shops, none of which look like a liquor store.”
Dead America The Second Week (Book 3): Dead America: El Paso, Part 2 Page 3