The Zombie Terror War Series (Vol. 6): Where The Vultures Gather

by Spell, David

  Pepe had sent a letter to his sister by one of his trusted messengers letting her know that their brother would eventually be avenged. The cartel leader believed that the American Drug Enforcement Agency had set Juan up, providing crucial intel to the Mexican authorities. Jose Corona wanted to strike a vicious blow against the United States.

  When Pepe’s niece, Maria, graduated from Texas State University with a degree in political science, the cartel leader decided to implement part of his plan. Maria’s mother, Rosalita, had been prepping her since she was a child that one day she would have a special mission. When Tio Jose sent a message that his niece should attempt to secure a job with the DEA or the FBI, the two women knew that the day of her destiny was at hand.

  The young woman had been shocked to find that she had made it through the hiring process and offered a job with the FBI, their background investigation not finding any ties to the famous criminal uncle whom she had never met. As the weeks went by, Sanchez found that she enjoyed the rigorous training and was a model recruit. After graduating from the FBI training academy, Maria had been immediately assigned to the Organized Crime Division because of her fluent Spanish. For two months, the new agent had transcribed and translated transcripts from wiretaps on various Latino cartels and gangs, both in the US and abroad.

  Her first act of service to the Tijuana Cartel came after she transcribed a conversation between her uncle and one of his lieutenants discussing the details of a large meth shipment to the United States. Maria had called her mother later that night from a payphone, asking her to find a way to notify Pepe that he was being monitored. Within twenty-four hours, all cellphone conversations ceased among the Tijuana Cartel and the drug delivery did not happen where the Americans were expecting it.

  When the simultaneous car bombs and suicide bombers detonated in DC, however, everything changed. Maria had been working in the Organized Crime Division for six months but was immediately transferred to the Counter-Terrorism Division. All available agents were being assigned to CT in an effort to prevent any more terror attacks. Unfortunately, the damage was already done.

  The FBI had to abandon their headquarters in downtown DC before it was overrun by zombies. Not long afterwards, the Bureau was stunned to find out that one of their deputy directors had been blackmailed by an Iranian intelligence agent who had also managed to get through the hiring process and become a special agent. Deputy Director Trimble had committed suicide in their temporary headquarters at Andrew AFB. The Iranian, Special Agent Mir Turani, had disappeared at the same time. Turani was currently listed as number five on the FBI’s infamous Most Wanted list.

  Special Agent Sanchez had kept her head down, working quietly, learning everything she could about the present crisis. She felt safe working on the heavily armed air force base and had chosen not to flee as so many of her FBI comrades had. When the power and communication grids had gone down, Maria spent most of her time just trying to look busy.

  She occasionally had seen information indicating that the Tijuana Cartel had moved a large number of soldiers into the Atlanta area. With the internet and phone lines down, all the reports were unverified but there were enough of them to let her know that her cousin Tony the Tiger had been consolidating just north of downtown. One source managed to let the FBI know that the cartel was holding a large group of women as prisoners whom the cartel soldiers were using as sex slaves.

  Maria tried not to think too much about the women who were being used, abused, and exploited by her cousin and his men. Sanchez knew that sex trafficking was one of the primary businesses of the Tijuana Cartel. Yes, it was unfortunate for those women, but they should have fled the city instead of sticking around to get captured.

  After the coordinated bio-terror attacks, other Islamic moles were uncovered inside the Federal Bureau of Investigation, along with several agents who were just plain corrupt. The President of the United States had fired the entire command staff, including the FBI Director and all the deputy directors. The Attorney General was also terminated and the Justice Department was still trying to find its footing.

  Sanchez had been as stunned as anyone when the memo had been emailed to the entire bureau, notifying them that until further notice, the Central Intelligence Agency would be leading the fight against terrorists and zombies, both in America and abroad. Each member of the FBI was ordered to cooperate with the CIA in every way possible. Maria had no idea what that cooperation might look like until the day her boss ordered her to gear up and be prepared to be on a plane in one hour.

  Supervisory Special Agent Rafferty would only tell her that a team of agents and a squad of Army Rangers were going to be supporting a CIA operation in Georgia. She had been told to pack for a trip of three days. Rafferty designated Maria and two other agents as crime scene photographers. They were not taking any CSI or forensic experts with them because the scene was located in a very dangerous area. Instead, the FBI would photograph each of the bodies and the crime scene as best they could.

  When they got to the location, Sanchez had been shocked by the number of dead cartel members. Over a hundred and thirty gangsters had been killed in a shootout with the American authorities. She attempted to find out how many had been arrested but was unable to get a definitive number. One source told her later that close to forty cartel soldiers were detained, but instead of being arrested, they were transported to Guantanamo Bay as enemy combatants.

  Special Agent Sanchez knew that she could not draw attention to herself, but she did manage to snap several photos of three of the CDC agents in front of the cartel’s former HQ. One of them was tall, muscular, and acted like he was in charge. A second was an even bigger hombre with a bushy beard. The last one was of average height with close-cropped hair, clearly some kind of soldier. She wished she could have gotten more photos but, hopefully, the Tijuana cartel could avenge the deaths of their soldiers beginning with these three gringo federales.

  Maria was glad that she had not found her cousin Antonio’s body. At the same time, there had been no communication from him to Pepe, so the cartel leader had sent her a message to quietly try to learn anything she could about what might have happened to him. Up to this point, however, Tony the Tiger had simply vanished.

  Hospital, Fort Belvoir, Virginia, Friday, 1635 hours

  Andy sat hunched over in his seat, holding his head, agony etched on his face, guilt wracking his soul for not being there to protect his family. Eric was pacing back and forth in the small confines of the waiting room, clearly wishing he had a place to direct the anger that he felt towards those responsible for the attack on his friend’s family. Tu Trang, a powerfully built Asian man, stood against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes closed.

  Scotty and an attractive, short-haired young woman in blue scrubs sat on either side of the grieving man. The girl had her arm around Andy and was telling him everything that she knew about the home invasion at his residence. Emily was Scotty’s fiancée and worked in the base hospital at Fort Belvoir, helping out wherever they needed her. As a paramedic, her training and skills were being put to good use in the understaffed medical center.

  It was in her professional capacity that she had first met her fiancé along with his partner and close friend, Andy Fleming. The two CDC agents had taken out a vanload of Islamic terrorists on the interstate west of Atlanta the previous year. The gunmen were one of four separate teams attacking key targets around the city. Fleming and Smith had disabled their vehicle and eliminated the terrorists. Both of the federal police officers sustained minor gunshot wounds during the shootout, however, and Emily was on the ambulance that had responded to the scene.

  Scotty had managed to talk the pretty paramedic into giving him her phone number on the way to the hospital. At first, she was reluctant to go out with the large, loud, bearded man. Smith had refused to give up, though, and the two had eventually started dating. It wasn’t long before the couple realized that they really cared about each other.

 
When Chuck McCain had offered Scotty the new job in Washington, the former Army Ranger could not bear the thought of leaving Emily behind and had asked her to marry him. Now that the effects of the bio-terror infection seemed to be coming to an end, they hoped that they could finally start planning their wedding. At the moment, however, Em wasn’t thinking about that. Her heart was heavy for Andy. Emily and Amy had become friends, and she looked on Tyler as her little brother.

  Em had been at the hospital pulling a shift in the emergency room when the phone call had come in from the military police requesting medics at the Fleming’s home. Emily and one of the ER nurses had jumped into the ambulance and rushed to the scene. While they were enroute, the young women saw smoke rising from a few blocks away. It wasn’t until later that Emily learned that it was coming from her and Scotty’s townhome.

  When they had pulled up to Andy’s residence, the MPs frantically waved them inside. The paramedic slung her bag over her shoulder, running through the front door, fearing what she was about to see. Emily almost tripped over a Hispanic male lying facedown just inside the home. A second was sprawled further across the room on the living room floor. They both appeared to be dead, blood pooling around their bodies from multiple gunshot wounds. The military police had secured the suspects’ hands behind their backs with handcuffs just to be safe.

  A sergeant pointed to Tyler, lying behind a couch on the far side of the open living area. A young MP corporal was applying a trauma bandage to his abdomen, the wounded teen-ager moaning in pain and drifting in and out of consciousness. Amy Fleming was lying in the doorway leading into the kitchen, a revolver next to her on the floor. Another MP was pressing a thick bandage to her upper chest, blood seeping through gauze. The paramedic went to Tyler as the nurse knelt beside Amy, both women quickly assessing their patient’s injuries.

  Emily automatically went into her zone, shutting off the emotions of seeing people she loved seriously hurt. In the hospital, the nurse would have been the one to take command. In a chaotic scene like this, however, the paramedic quickly took charge, ordering the military police officers to bring in both the stretcher and the backboard from the ambulance. She and the nurse did not even try to start treating the victims, choosing instead to get them loaded as the soldiers kept pressure on their gunshot wounds.

  Tyler was placed on the backboard, his mother on the gurney and they were at the hospital within minutes. Emily had alerted the medical staff and the two patients were wheeled into surgery as soon as they pulled up to the ER entrance. After her friends were in the hands of the army trauma surgeons, she allowed herself to break down and cry. When she got her emotions under control, Em tried to call Scotty but his phone had gone straight to voicemail.

  One of the MPs who had ridden in the back of the ambulance gave her some of the details of what they knew. A witness who lived across the street had told them that three attackers had approached the Fleming home, two kicking in the front door, while the third had gone to the rear. An empty Springfield Model 1911 .45 ACP pistol lay next to Tyler, the young man having emptied it into the home invaders as they burst through the front door. One of the intruder’s shots had struck the sixteen-year old, but the teenager’s return fire had killed both attackers, the big .45 caliber hollow point bullets devastating the Mexican hit team.

  The third assailant smashed in the back door, firing his .40 caliber Sig Sauer pistol as he forced his way into the kitchen. A round caught Amy Fleming below her left collarbone and another bullet struck her left leg, but at least one of the .38 Special hollow points from her Ruger SP-101 had hit her attacker and he fled, leaving a blood trail that the base security forces were currently tracking. Another military police officer had come to the hospital later and given Emily the bad news that their townhome had been torched and their neighbor, Mrs. Davenport, had been killed in the blaze.

  Wanting to give Andy something else to think about as they waited for the surgeons’ report, Scotty asked him, “So, what did Chuck say again? Does he really think that the cartel is behind this?”

  Fleming gave no indication that he had even heard the question. After a couple of minutes, though, he raised his head and looked at his friend.

  “They sent five guys to his house. They kicked in the front door but he saw them coming and managed to kill three of them in the living room and is pretty sure he wounded the other two as they ran to their van. He thinks he might’ve hit the driver, as well.”

  Smith chuckled. “They only sent five guys to take out Chuck? That was a tactical error. Was he hurt?”

  Andy shrugged. “He said he was fine, just pissed off.”

  “What about Elizabeth?” asked Emily. “Was she there?”

  “No, she was at work. Chuck called Eddie and he and Grace brought her home.”

  “Why’s he so sure that this was the Tijuana Cartel?” Scotty questioned.

  “The tattoos. McCain said that the three he killed all had ‘Tijuana’ tattooed on the inside of their right arms.” Fleming looked up at Gray. “Eric, could you have the MPs check the bodies that Tyler capped and see if they have that tattoo?”

  “Sure, buddy. I’ll go do that right now,” the former gunnery sergeant said, grateful to have something do besides pacing.

  Tu spoke up. “I’ll go with you.”

  After Gray and Trang left the waiting room, one of the surgeons walked in, pulling his surgical mask down to speak with Andy.

  “Mr. Fleming? I’m Dr. Collins. I just finished operating on your son. He’s in recovery now and you can go see him when the anesthesia wears off.”

  “What’s the prognosis, Doc?” Andy asked, climbing to his feet.

  “I predict a full recovery.” Collins handed Fleming a small plastic bag containing a slightly deformed, copper-colored object. “I’ll need to give this to the MPs as evidence but here’s the bullet. Fortunately, Tyler was hit with a full-metal jacket round. It did quite a bit of damage inside of him, but, thankfully, missed the artery. He still lost a lot of blood but the result would have been so much worse if the attackers were shooting hollow points. As it was, I had to remove almost a foot of his small intestine.

  “We’re pumping him full of antibiotics to prevent infection and he’ll be peeing in a bag for a couple of months. We’ll keep him for at least a week to monitor him.”

  “What about my wife?”

  Dr. Collins shook his head. “I’ve been in there with Tyler for the last four and a half hours. Dr. Francis is still operating on her and I haven’t heard anything. If you want, I can take you to Tyler’s room and you can be there when he wakes up.”

  “Thanks, Doc. That would be great.”

  The surgeon glanced over at the heavily armed, bearded man hovering nearby and looked back to Andy. “Only one person is allowed in the recovery room.”

  Fleming nodded. “I understand. Hey, Scotty, would you mind going to my house? Eric and Tu should still be there. See if the MPs will let you take a look at the crime scene. Maybe the three of you can get a better idea of what happened?”

  “Sure, buddy. Gotcha covered. I’ll check back on you in a bit.”

  Thirty minutes later, Andy was sitting by his son’s bedside when there was a soft knock on the door. Another scrub-clad surgeon entered Tyler’s recovery room. The young man was just starting to stir as the anesthesia wore off. Fleming stood, staring at the doctor, unsure what news he was going to bring.

  A exhausted, bespectacled African-American with a shaved head glanced over at Tyler and then looked into Andy’s eyes. “I’m Doctor Francis. Your wife just got wheeled into a recovery room. She’s two doors down.”

  Fleming exhaled audibly. “How is she?”

  The surgeon paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’m optimistic. That was a potentially fatal wound. It shattered a rib going in, collapsed a lung, and exited through her scapula. We still have a tube in her chest to get that lung re-inflated.

  “The shattered rib made a mess inside her chest cavity but
I think we got all the bone fragments. It’s going to take a few months, but Mrs. Fleming is a strong woman and should recover completely. We’ll need to leave that tube in her for a few days and keep her sedated so her body can start healing itself.

  “I haven’t addressed the wound to her leg yet, other than giving it a very thorough cleaning. The bullet struck the outside of her left thigh. There is a substantial amount of tissue and muscle damage, but it didn’t strike any bone. My plan is to let her rest now and in the morning, Dr. Collins or I will take her back into surgery and decide the best course of treatment for her leg.

  “You can go see her, but she’s very weak and it would be best if you keep your visit short to let her rest and regain her strength.”

  Andy stuck out his hand. “Thank you doesn’t seem enough for all you and Dr. Collins have done. You guys have saved my wife and son’s lives and I’m very grateful.”

  The doctor smiled wearily and took his hand. “Thank you for that, Mr. Fleming. Come on, I’ll take you to see Mrs. Fleming.”

  Dacula, Georgia, Friday, 1715 hours

  Josh decided to drive to police headquarter as well, telling Chuck he didn’t want to miss the show. He took Grace so the big man could have a few minutes alone with his wife. As they pulled out of the neighborhood on the twenty-minute ride to HQ, Elizabeth reach over and held her husband’s hand.

  Beth had stood by listening as Chuck give the first responding officer his account of what had happened for the police report. McCain didn’t go into great detail, knowing that this document would be made public within twenty-four hours. It would be several weeks, however, before the investigator’s report was available to the news outlets. As they drove, Chuck filled in the gaps for Elizabeth, giving her a complete picture of what had transpired at their home.