“What can I expect?” Reed asked, trying to control the quiver in his voice.
She shook her head. “It’s going to feel like you’re having a seizure, because you probably will be.” She avoided his gaze. “Might last thirty seconds, might last three minutes, but I honestly just don’t know.”
“Hopefully it’s on the lower side,” he said. “Don’t want them to have a chance to take me out.”
She finally met his eyes. “I think it will be,” she said. “But I just wanted you to be prepared, in case it lasts longer.”
“Well, given that I’m going to get stabbed in the gut just to get to this point,” Reed replied, injecting as much brightness into his voice as he could, “I don’t think an extra couple of minutes of pain is going to matter much.”
She didn’t have a response, just sucked her lower lip between her teeth.
He reached out and touched her arm as her eyes went glassy. “Hey, hey, come on now,” he said gently. “It’s okay, really.”
“Sorry,” she blurted with a heavy sigh, looking at the floor. “I’m just not used to doing stuff that causes harm, let alone death.”
Reed took her hand. “Look at me.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “No matter what you do, I’m going to die tomorrow. What you’ve done is give me a way to make my death mean something, which is all I want. And it’s the most important thing you could have done for me.”
She forced a smile and nodded jerkily. “Thank you.” She got up and swept out of the room, wiping at her eyes as we went.
As the door shut, the airhorn bleated, and Leon got to his feet. “That better be Hammond, or we’re in a heap of trouble.”
They clustered around the window as the truck pulled up, and the quartet emerged from the doors, laughing about something as Landry carried on.
Leon led Trenton and Clara outside, as Reed sat in his seat, staring at his death pill.
“About damn time you got back,” Leon barked as they approached their friends.
Landry pressed his palms together. “Sorry there dad, wasn’t aware we had a curfew.”
“Aw, were you worried about us?” Whitaker teased.
“Worried about you?” Leon rolled his eyes. “Nah. Worried I was going to have to avenge most of your deaths? Yeah.”
Landry cocked his head. “Most of our deaths?”
“Man, I’m getting up there in age, do you have any idea how exhausting it would be to have to avenge four people?” Leon joked. “Two, maybe, maybe three of you would get avenged.”
Landry wrinkled his nose. “Well, which one of us would be left out?”
“I mean, if you have to ask,” Whitaker teased, and the group shared a laugh.
Trenton stepped up as Leon greeted the group with handshakes and bro hugs. “Did you find what we need?”
“And a whole lot more,” Rogers replied with a grin. “C-4, grenades, armor piercing rounds. We’re some bad motherfuckers now.”
Leon’s eyes lit up. “And the fifty-cal?”
Hammond reached into the backseat and pulled out one of the sniper rifles. “Locked and loaded to take Tiago’s head clean off.”
“Hell yeah, that’s what I like to see,” Leon replied, running a hand over the barrel. “Can… can I hold it?”
Hammond looked over at Rogers, who discreetly shook his head.
“Sorry Leon, but Mathis is very superstitious when it comes to his rifles,” the Sergeant replied. “He just doesn’t feel right letting another sniper hold his weapon, especially just before going into battle.”
Leon pouted, but nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I get it. I have my own superstitions as well.”
“Speaking of Mathis,” Hammond continued, “has anyone seen him?”
Clara nodded. “Yeah, we got him set up inside our house.”
“Come on, we’ll show you,” Trenton invited, and he and Clara led the three soldiers to their place.
“Detective?” Whitaker called over her shoulder.
He looked over at her, eyebrow raised.
“Once I freshen up,” she said, “I think you may owe me a drink.”
He playfully put a finger to his chin in thought. “I think you might be right.”
Clara leaned over to the female soldier. “I’ve taken a look in the closet of our house, and I think you might find something in there you like.”
“As long as it comes close to fitting and isn’t coated in zombie guts, count me in,” Whitaker replied, and the girls headed off.
Leon’s eyebrows rose as he turned to his friend. “Looks like you have a fan there, bud.”
“She’s got one too,” the Detective replied, staring after the woman in question.
Leon chuckled. “You old fox, you don’t wait long to pounce, do you?” He shook his head.
“Eh, you know,” Rogers replied with a little shrug, “instant attraction plus the end of the world, no sense in playing it slow.”
Leon smacked him on the back. “My man,” he said. “So. How did it go out there?”
“If I don’t swing a bat for a hundred years, it’ll be a fucking day too soon,” the Detective admitted.
His friend winced. “That good, huh?”
“Zombies fucking everywhere,” Rogers replied. “Details are pretty run of the mill, except for when I ripped an arm right off.”
Leon laughed. “The hell you did!”
“No joke,” the Detective replied, putting a hand over his heart. “Whitaker will back me up, too.”
His friend smirked. “Seeing how she’s sweet on you, I’d suspect she’d back you up if you claimed you walked on water.”
“No, she’ll back me up because she’s going to laugh her ass off when she tells you my reaction.” Rogers wrinkled his nose.
Leon laughed. “You being graceful as always?”
“You know it.” The Detective clenched a victorious fist.
His friend smiled. “Looking forward to it, man,” he said. “We could use some uplifting news around here.”
“How are the others doing?” Rogers asked.
Leon shrugged. “They’re fine,” he said. “Clara and Trenton made it back with the corpse for tomorrow.”
“And Reed?” The Detective raised an eyebrow.
His friend took a deep breath. “Handling it a lot better than I would be, I can tell you that.”
Rogers nodded thoughtfully. “You think he’ll do okay?”
“The man’s committed,” Leon replied, shaking his head in bewilderment. “He’s determined to make his life count for something.”
His friend paused, and then cracked his knuckles. “Well, we’d better not fuck it up, then.”
“Definitely,” Leon agreed, and motioned to the command center. “Well, you want to get on inside, then? Go over the plan again?”
Rogers nodded. “Yeah, just let me grab something out of the truck.” He headed back over and opened the back door. “Leon, I can’t express my gratitude for everything you’ve done for this community, as well as your friendship during all of this.”
His friend blinked at him, momentarily shell shocked. “You okay, man?” he asked carefully. “Not like you to get all sentimental and shit.”
“Well,” Rogers said, cocking his head. “I’m not getting sentimental as much as I wanted to tell you I picked you up a little something while we were out.” He reached in and pulled out the other fifty-cal rifle, walking back over and holding it up like a talisman.
Leon’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Get the fuck outta here. For real?”
“Just so you know, that bitch is heavy as fuck, and I lugged it all the way back here for you,” Rogers declared.
His friend took it with the hugest grin on his face, suddenly looking years younger. “I will treasure this until my dying day,” he promised, eyes gliding over his new toy.
“Which better be until well after the apocalypse has ended,” Rogers said firmly, holding up a finger. “Because if you want the ammo, you’re still gonn
a have to keep being the face of this town.”
Leon stroked the barrel. “Not a problem, bud,” he said distantly.
Rogers clapped him on the shoulder and they headed towards the command center. “Any idea where you’re gonna put it?”
“Right over my desk,” his friend said with a grin.
The Detective raised an eyebrow. “How do you think Ethel will like it?”
“I’m gonna ask Ethel if I can put it over my desk,” Leon amended immediately.
Rogers barked a laugh. “Good to know we both realize who really runs this town.”
END
BOOK THREE: EL PASO - PT. 6
BY DEREK SLATON
© 2020
CHAPTER ONE
Day Zero +17
“What do you think, Rogers?” Leon asked as the sun rose over the town of Fabens. “Is this the biggest day this town has ever seen?”
Detective Rogers leaned back in his chair beside the satellite computer, and linked his fingers together in front of him. “Arguably.”
“Arguably?” Leon gaped at him, swiveling his own chair to face his friend. “If this goes south, the entire town could be wiped from existence. What could possibly be big enough to overshadow that?” He shook his head.
The coffee maker in the corner hissed and bubbled happily, and Ethel pulled out fresh mugs.
“Well, back in nineteen seventy-two, Sam Peckinpah filmed a few scenes of The Getaway here in town,” Rogers replied. “Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw showing up was a pretty big deal.” He grinned.
Leon put a hand to his forehead. “How in the hell do you know that?”
“I was a Detective who drove a vintage Mustang,” his friend replied, feigning snootiness as he looked down his nose. “You honestly don’t think I watched Bullitt every weekend?”
Leon barked a laugh. “Man, it’s a shame I didn’t know you before all this shit went down,” he said, pretending to wipe away a tear. “We could have had a hell of a lot of fun together.”
“Well, we’re here now, so let’s make the most of it,” Rogers replied, and reached out to clap his friend on the shoulder.
Leon nodded, sobering up a little. “Especially since shit’s about to go down.”
“You a gambling man?” the Detective asked as Ethel brought over two empty mugs and set them on the desk.
Leon raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been known to partake in some poker nights now and then.”
“Well, if we survive this, I’ll get one started up,” Rogers promised.
His friend rubbed his chin. “Who else do you think we can get?”
Ethel came back with the full pot and poured two steaming mugs for the boys.
“Maybe Ethel here,” Rogers said, smiling at her in thanks as she handed him his hot brew.
Leon chuckled as he accepted his own mug. “I’d be willing to bet she’d take us for all we’re worth.”
“Listen to your friend there, Detective,” the old woman warned with a wink. “Unless you want to lose your shirt.”
Rogers grinned up at her. “Taken a lot of shirts, have you?”
“You should have seen my husband’s closet,” she replied, staring up at the ceiling in fond memory. “When he passed, it took two truckloads just to get his wardrobe over to the thrift shop.”
Leon shook his head, chuckling. “If there was anybody left alive to read it, I’d suggest writing your autobiography.”
“Nah, I’m not the type to purposely make people jealous,” Ethel said with another conspiratorial wink, and headed back to her desk.
The boys shared another laugh, and sipped their morning beverages.
“She’s definitely one of a kind,” Leon said. “Glad you found her, man.”
The Detective nodded. “Yeah, me too.” He took another long sip, and then sighed. “So, since you’re a gambling man, what kind of odds are you putting on us pulling this off?”
“You want numbers or other things that would be just as likely to happen?” Leon asked.
Rogers wrinkled his nose. “Oh, other things should be fun. We could use a bit of that.”
“Mind you, these are pre-apocalypse things, but should give you an idea,” Leon warned.
The Detective nodded. “Noted.”
“Us pulling this off would fall somewhere between the New York Knicks having a three-peat, and half a dozen porn stars knocking on my door holding booze and winning lottery tickets and wanting to party for a month,” Leon declared.
Rogers’ eyebrows hit his hairline. “Just a little on the pessimistic side there, don’t you think?”
His friend shook his head. “Man, I’ve been on too many missions that have had far fewer variables required for success, and most of them went sideways in a hurry. So while I have no doubt we have the best, most capable people for this, one thing out of a thousand goes wrong and it’s all over.”
The Detective took a moment to mull that over, and then set down his mug, clasping his hands again. “So. What do we do if this goes bad?”
“I hear Fort Stockton is nice this time of year,” Leon replied with a dark chuckle.
Rogers ran his hands through his hair, blinking at him. “Yeah. Except for the zombie army that’s there.”
“Hell of a lot better than the Cartel army we’d be facing here. At least the zombies aren’t shooting at us” Leon said with a shrug.
Rogers cocked his head. “Point taken.”
They both shuddered, and then the airhorn cut through the tense air, alerting them that a car was on approach. They both stood up abruptly.
“Showtime,” Leon said.
Rogers nodded. “Hammond and his group in position?”
“Yep,” his friend replied as they headed for the door. “If Angel gets frisky he’ll be put down quick.”
The Detective took a deep breath. “Let’s hope Rodriguez can keep him in check.”
Leon bent down to retrieve a bottle of liquor from a box beside the door. “No shit, especially since I’ll be the first one he takes out.”
“Good luck, man,” Rogers said.
His friend gave him a little salute before ducking out the door. He walked away from the building and into the parking lot as two SUVs pulled up. When they stopped, Angel Rivas hopped down from the back driver’s side door, Rodriguez emerging from the passenger’s side and walking briskly to stand next to him.
“So here we are again, and still only with one paltry bottle for my father.” Angel sneered, and spread his arms. “I’m beginning to think you are holding out on me.”
Leon shook his head. “You can think whatever the fuck you want, but we’re delivering on your demands.”
Angel raised his chin smugly, and took a step closer, his chest puffing up. “And what if we increase our demands?”
“What if I put my boot up your-” Leon began, and the son of the Cartel leader got his hackles up immediately, but before things could get sour, somebody cut into the conversation.
“Hey!” Reed barked from the alleyway beside the command center, tossing a mostly empty bottle of whiskey aside with a dull clang. He swaggered closer to the meeting.
“Mind your own business,” Angel snarled. “The adults are talking.”
Reed pointed a finger at him, swaying on his feet. “Go fuck yourself, you pansy ass motherfucking daddy’s boy!”
Angel reached for his gun, turning full-face to the kid.
“You are drunk, young man,” Rodriguez said quickly. “Go home and sleep it off.”
“Fuck you too, man!” Reed drawled, giving him the finger. He extended his hand and motioned to the whole group. “Fuck all of y’all! You motherfuckers and your demands. My friends are dead, and for what?! So you can get drunk, fuck you!”
Leon snapped his fingers to gather the attention of the bristling Cartel members. “Ignore him, he’s drunk,” he said.
“You’d better hope it’s not off my father’s stash,” Angel growled, turning back to him.
“Hey,” R
eed slurred, but nobody responded. “Hey! You assholes wanna see something fun? I… I bet you doooo…”
Rodriguez turned to the young man, eyes firm. “Go home now, or else there is going to be trouble.”
“Well, old fuck.” Reed held up a finger. “Let me just show you this one thing and I’ll leave.” He stepped back into the alley, and struggled to drag something heavy around.
It took a moment for the Cartel members to realize that it was a body.
“Ta-da!” Reed exclaimed, and jogged around behind it to grab the mop of hair atop the heavily tattooed body. “Sorry, I don’t know his name or else I’d give a proper introduction, but I’ll just call him fuck-boi.”
Angel roared and drew his knife, recognizing one of his own, but Leon grabbed his arm.
“I may not be able to cut you,” the younger Rivas snarled, “but you bet I can cut him.”
As he spoke, Rodriguez passed him to approach Reed himself.
“Oh, you want a closer look, huh?” the younger man slurred, grinning with all of his teeth. “Well go ahead and-” He grunted as Rodriguez grabbed him by the throat, shoving him up against the wall.
“Where did this man come from?” the older man demanded loudly.
Reed didn’t even fight back, not grabbing at his arm, nothing. “Oh, him?” he asked casually, motioning to the dead body. “He came strolling through from the east the other day. I found him down the interstate a bit when I was doing my rounds. Decided to teach him a lesson or two.”
“You have made a very foolish error,” Rodriguez said.
Reed hocked up a big loogie and spat it directly into the older man’s face. It dripped down Rodriguez’ nose for a moment, and he stared into the defiant eyes of one of the bravest kids he’d ever met.
Then, he drew his knife and plunged it into the kid’s gut, driving it straight into the bite wound.
“Gut him, Rodriguez!” Angel cried with glee, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
The older man leaned in as if to be whispering threats, instead saying lowly, “Deep, slow breaths young man, the pain will subside.” He gives the kid a moment to collect himself, and then grabs him by the shirt collar. “Here we go.”
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