Dead America The Third Week (Book 7): Dead America, El Paso Pt. 7

by Slaton, Derek

  Hammond nodded and headed over to the work room door, gripping the handle. It was locked, so he took a step back and gave it a swift kick, freeing it from its hinges. They burst inside, doing a quick sweep.

  “We’re clear,” the Sergeant said.

  Whitaker headed to the front and waved everyone in. They milled about, Landry opening the blinds to flood the room with light.

  “Start checking desks for phone books,” Hammond said. “I got us a map on the wall.” He studied it as everyone began poring through the desks, opening and closing drawers and rummaging around on shelves.

  “Got one!” Landry declared, popping up from behind a steel desk.

  Sparks pulled a book down from a plastic shelf in the corner. “Me too.”

  Hammond pulled the tacks out of the map and brought it over to a work table in the center of the room. He shoved over some of the tools and spread it out so everyone could see. He snatched a marker from a nearby desk and held it out to Rufus.

  “You want to do the honors?” he asked.

  The older man nodded with a smile. “With pleasure.”

  Rufus looked on the map, finding roughly where they were on the southeast of town and circling it. Sparks and Landry opened their books on the other side of the table, flipping through them.

  “God a liquor store!” Landry exclaimed, pointing at a page.

  Rufus looked at him, marker poised. “Where’s it at?” he asked.

  “1438 Maple Lane,” the Private replied.

  Rufus looked over the map for a moment, finding Maple Lane and tracing his finger along it to the fourteen-hundred block. “That’s a no go,” he said, shaking his head. “Unless you got air support and can do a bombing run.”

  “Shit,” Landry muttered. “I’ll keep looking.”

  “Got another,” Sparks piped up. “6250 Elm.”

  Rufus furrowed his brow at the map key. “Street or Parkway?” he asked.

  “Um,” she paused, “street.”

  He traced the road again, honing in on the building. “We’re in business,” he declared with a grin. He circled the block on the far south side of town. “About fifteen blocks due west from here.”

  “What do you think?” Whitaker asked, turning to Clara and Trenton. “You saw the satellite imagery. Is this doable?”

  Trenton reached out to Rufus, motioning for the marker, and the older man handed it over. Trenton leaned in and drew a large circle around the center of town along the main road.

  “Best I can remember,” he said as he drew, “this is roughly the area where the horde is.”

  Hammond let out a low whistle at the size. He studied the southern portion of it, noting that it was only about six or seven blocks from the edge of the mass to the liquor store.

  “That’s not a lot of room to work with,” he mused.

  Whitaker sighed and nodded. “Especially if his guesstimation is off by a block or two.”

  “I’ve run missions with worse looking info,” Rufus piped up.

  She cocked her head and shrugged. “Shit, you ain’t kidding.”

  “I think we should go for it,” Hammond declared, leaning his palms on the table.

  Sparks leaned over to compare locations. “Doesn’t look that bad,” she said, and turned. “Jeff?”

  The skinhead sat on a desk, looking out the back window towards the wrecker lot. “Huh?” he asked, shaking out of his reverie. “Yeah, whatever. Y’all don’t pay me to think, just to crack skulls.”

  “Hey now, you’re a lot more valuable to us than that,” Rufus replied, holding up a hand. “I mean, you cook, too.”

  Jeff smirked and then turned back to his window view.

  “All right, let’s do this,” Hammond said.

  Landry held up a finger. “Got another road,” he said.

  “We’ve got our target already,” Whitaker said.

  He motioned to the map. “Just humor me.”

  “All right, what you got?” Rufus asked, leaning back over the map.

  “947 Oak Drive,” Landry replied.

  The older man traced along, finding the address to the far north west of the center city. It was a good ten blocks from the far edge of the horde.

  “That’s way the hell out there,” Rufus said.

  Hammond nodded. “Yeah, I’m liking that one a whole lot better,” he added.

  “Good find.” Whitaker clapped Landry on the shoulder.

  “Don’t get too excited,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re still going to have to hit the first one. The one I just gave you is Bert’s Guns and Ammo.” At the blinking stares from his companions, he spread his arms. “What? We’re here, might as well make the most of this trip.” He looked to the Sergeant. “If we’re gonna get Mathis, I’d rather have a lot more ammo than what we currently have. Unless you want to run through Camp Bliss again.”

  Whitaker and Hammond shared a look, and the Sergeant shook his head.

  “Okay, two teams,” he declared. “We get what we need and rendezvous back here. Trenton, Clara, you two come with me since you’re going to know better than anyone what we’re looking for at the liquor store.”

  Jeff slid from his seat, rejoining the group. “I’ll join up with that, too,” he offered. “Need to do a little shopping for the house anyway.”

  “Whitaker, Landry, you take Sparks and Rufus and get whatever weapons you can,” Hammond continued.

  She raised a fist. “Not a problem.”

  “Gonna be on channel six,” the Sergeant said. “But no communication unless there’s trouble. Last thing we need is someone listening in on us.”

  Whitaker nodded firmly. “On it, Sarge.”

  “All right, let’s move like we have a purpose,” Hammond declared. “Got a long day ahead of us.”

  “What vehicle we taking?” Jeff asked.

  The Sergeant shook his head. “None.”

  Jeff gaped at him. “You want to do this on foot?” he asked. “Even when we have those big-ass wreckers in the back?”

  “Yep,” Hammond replied with an air of finality.

  Jeff waited for more, but when he realized none was coming, he threw up his hands. “What in the hell for?” he demanded. “We can just plow through whatever gets in our way and we’re out in minutes.”

  “Because it’s too risky,” Trenton cut in. “Yeah, the wreckers can plow over a lot of them, but all it takes is one getting caught up in the engine and it’s game over.”

  Jeff crossed his considerable arms. “How the hell would you know that?”

  “Had it happen last week,” Trenton replied coolly. “We got lucky that there weren’t too many of them around, but with this size of a horde, it would be death.”

  The skinhead pursed his lips. “And being on foot is better?”

  “Believe it or not, it is,” Whitaker replied. “Even with sporadic gunfire, it’s going to be hard for them to nail down our position. Having a constant engine rumble would be trouble.”

  Trenton nodded. “Not to mention that we’re going to have to get away silently, so they don’t follow us out of town.”

  Jeff shook his head, rubbing a hand over the smooth skin. “You people are nuts,” he declared. “But what do I know?”

  “That’s the spirit,” Rufus quipped, slapping his friend on the back. “Plus, this way you’ll get to crack more heads than if you were riding in air conditioned comfort.”

  Jeff barked a laugh, and then sighed. “Goddammit old man, I hate it when you have a point.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hammond led the group through a mixed-use neighborhood on the south part of town. They’d moved an extra four blocks to the south of where the liquor store was, trying their best to limit their exposure to the zombie horde.

  As they walked down the street to the west, there were a handful of zombies scattered about, none closer than ten yards from one another. The group took turns stepping up and smacking them down with the butt of their rifles or stabbing them in the hea
d. It was casual, as if the ghouls were more like a nuisance than a real threat.

  As they moved through an intersection, Hammond looked up the road in the direction of the store, a clear path straight up as far as he could see.

  “So, Jeff,” Clara asked as they walked, “what’s your story?”

  The skinhead shrugged, swinging his free hand. “Not much to tell, really.”

  “Oh come on, don’t be coy,” she teased. “Gotta be something to you.”

  He smirked. “If you insist.”

  “I do insist,” she replied, returning a sly smile of her own.

  “Okay, you asked for it,” he replied with a dramatic sigh. “But there’s not much to tell, really. Made some bad choices growing up, and paid dearly for them. Made a few more bad choices while paying for the original ones.” He rolled up his sleeve, revealing his German war tattoos, shaking his head as she recoiled from the sight. “Don’t worry,” he assured her, “I know they’re bullshit, but it was either that or spend my entire time on the inside getting my ass kicked. Or worse.”

  Clara’s gaze softened and she scratched absently at her chest. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We aren’t our past, or the markings on our bodies.”

  He nodded at that, and then stepped up to a dark-haired zombie in blood-soaked clothes. It lunged at him, snarling, and he grabbed it by the shirt and leg, flipping it over and pile-driving it straight into the pavement with a sickening crunch. Everyone flinched at the noise except for Jeff, who continued talking as if he hadn’t stopped.

  “Anyway, after getting out I started to turn my life around when I met my motley crew at a diner outside of Austin on the first day of the apocalypse,” he said, waving his hand around his head as if to motion to the world. “Ever since then, we’ve been busting heads and just trying to live one day at a time.”

  Clara cocked her head. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asked sweetly.

  He chuckled. “No, I guess not.”

  Hammond pulled out his hand-drawn map, noting their turnoff road up ahead. He held up a hand to signal them to stop just before the intersection. “Let me just check things out before we make the turn,” he suggested, heading up to the corner alone.

  He peered around the brick building, and frowned at the sight of a few dozen zombies two blocks up. He pulled out his binoculars, and attempted to see past them, but it was hard to tell what was on the other side.

  He pulled back and lowered the binoculars. “Okay, we’ve got some trouble,” he said.

  “How bad?” Jeff asked.

  The Sergeant checked his weapons. “Few dozen, maybe fifty of them.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to take them out,” the skinhead replied with a shrug.

  Clara shook her head. “Why should we?” she asked. “Let’s just go around them. Wasn’t the last block clear?”

  “Yeah, but if we do that, we run the risk of them hearing us when we get into the liquor store,” Hammond replied. “Or worse, we have trouble getting in and they get on us.”

  She held out her hands. “So we lure them away.”

  The group all looked around at each other, contemplating that.

  “That could work,” Trenton murmured.

  Jeff nodded. “I’ve sure as shit heard worse ideas.”

  “Great, I’ll get on it, then,” Clara declared.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Hammond said, holding up a hand. “Calm down there.”

  “What?” She crossed her arms. “You know I’m capable. I’ll get them around the corner, take them down a couple of blocks, then circle back around here and start running to leave them in the dust. Meanwhile, you three can get up to the liquor store and get inside. Easy peasy.”

  The others glanced at each other until Jeff laughed, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know about you two,” he said, “but I’ve spent the last three weeks with Sparks laying more smackdown than any other person I’ve ever seen, male or female. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume this girl here can handle herself as well.”

  Clara pointed at the skinhead. “Yeah, what he said.”

  “Okay,” Hammond conceded, and shot her a firm look. “You be safe, and remember the most important thing I’ve taught you.”

  She grinned. “Knocking them down is more important than delivering a kill shot.”

  “That’s my girl,” the Sergeant replied, clapping her on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Clara casually walked around the corner, leaving her three partners behind. She strolled up the center of the street, pausing briefly at the next intersection, checking both ways to make sure it was clear. She stood in the middle of the road, staring at the mob of creatures thirty yards ahead that had their attention focused on a small storefront.

  She put two fingers into the sides of her mouth, and let out a deafening whistle that echoed through the empty streets. “All right, come and get me!” she yelled.

  The bulk of the zombies immediately turned towards her, reaching and shrieking and shambling towards her, arms outstretched in excitement. Some staggered so quickly they tripped over each other, sending several to the ground like an old slapstick film.

  “That’s right, walk this way,” she urged, and started moving backwards. As the mob reached within ten yards, she turned and headed east down the side street at a deliberate pace. She continually swept her gaze around ahead to make sure nothing popped out in front of her, every so often glancing over her shoulder to make certain the pursuing zombies weren’t catching up but still following.

  The next intersection was clear, and she took a deep breath. “Okay, friends, one more block and we’re good.”

  Meanwhile, the boys slipped around the corner and moved quietly towards the liquor store. When they got to the intersection, they peeked east, watching the tail end of the mob heading after Clara like the pied piper of the undead.

  “Be safe, girl,” Hammond murmured under his breath, and then focused on their goal.

  Jeff rushed a trio of zombies that had gotten so tangled in their excitement they’d stayed flopping on the ground, and kicked through them as they tried to get to their feet. He kept going, and Hammond and Trenton knifed their skulls on their way by to make sure the way was clear for Clara’s return.

  “Come on, two more blocks up,” the Sergeant said, and the trio jogged up the road, doing a quick sweep of the next intersection before reaching their target.

  The liquor store was on the corner, an older single story building with a wooden exterior and bars on the windows.

  Hammond rushed up to the front. “Cover me,” he said.

  The other two kept watch, eyeing two zombies a few doors down, but nothing an immediate threat.

  “I got ‘em,” Jeff said, and strode over to the middle-aged couple with various bite marks all over their exposed rotted skin. He kicked the first one in the chest, sending it tumbling back as he grabbed the second one by the throat and jabbed his knife in its eye. He tossed the limp corpse back onto the other one that was struggling to get back up. It smacked back into the asphalt, pinned by its friend, and Jeff casually knelt and delivered a kill shot to the forehead before strolling back over to the door.

  “Not bad,” Trenton said.

  Jeff grinned. “You should see me when I’m pissed off.”

  Hammond finished picking the lock and it clicked open. “We’re in,” he said, and then did a quick countdown before opening it. The trio invaded the space, sweeping the immediate area after closing the door tight behind them.

  It was dimly lit inside, with only a few strands of daylight streaming through the skylights.

  “I got the main aisle,” Hammond said quietly, “you take the sides.”

  They split up, moving briskly across to the back of the store, where they met up again.

  “Find what you need,” the Sergeant said, turning to Trenton. Then he addressed Jeff, “We need to work on a door prize in case Clara brings back
some unwelcome guests.”

  Meanwhile, Clara made the turn around the same corner she’d started at, looking over her shoulder at the zombies that were still a block behind her. They were moving a little quicker than she’d anticipated, and her legs were a lot more tired than she wanted to admit to herself.

  Once she made the turn, she slowed a little as her thigh cramped up. She rubbed it as she walked, and crossed the first intersection just as the creatures followed her around the bend.

  “Shit,” she muttered, and picked up the pace as her cramp began to dissipate. The zombies continued to pursue her, and she sped up to a light jog within two blocks of the liquor store. In the distance, she saw two figures moving towards her, and she drew her knife, shoulders tensing.

  When she noticed they were carrying bottles, she slowed a bit and sheathed her knife, waving at Hammond and Jeff. They met in the intersection, and she leaned down to rub her thigh again.

  “You all right?” the Sergeant asked, brow furrowed.

  She nodded, waving him off. “Yeah, just a little cramping.”

  “Well, head on back to the store, we got it from here,” Hammond said, holding up one of the molotov cocktails in his hand.

  Clara nodded and hobbled past them.

  Jeff turned to the Sergeant, smiling. “Ready to light ‘em up?” he asked.

  “Have at it, sir,” Hammond replied.

  The skinhead set a bottle on the ground, and pulled out a lighter from his pocket. He set the rag ablaze, and then hefted it into his hand, taking a leap forward and following through by chucking it as hard as he could.

  The molotov flew through the air, landing with a smash in the center of the pack. Flames whooshed up, engulfing several corpses, but doing nothing to slow them down.

  Hammond held his out for Jeff to light it, and then threw it short, the bottle hitting the road just in front of the pack. The fire caught several of them, and created a blazing barrier that several more staggered through.

  “Come on, let’s fall back a bit and let it work its magic,” the Sergeant said, waving for Jeff to follow him. They moved back to the next intersection, just outside the store. Most of the charred creatures had fallen down on the street, a few of them still staggering stubbornly despite their predicament. More shuffled towards them, having avoided the flames altogether.