“Depends,” the Marine responded. “We don’t know how motivated they are. If they have already taken over another grocery store, then chances are they’re not starving which works in our favor. A starving person is a desperate person.” Buck looked back at our trucks then over to the rear of the store, and I saw a slight smile bloom on his face. “I might have an idea.”
✽✽✽
Juan Cerna was bored. He had been sent by Lobo to secure the Costco and make sure no one stole ‘his’ food. They had gotten here in the early hours before daybreak and were still waiting for Lobo to arrive. As a low level ‘Jefe’ or chief, Juan was in charge of the other five gang members. He had been a member of the gang for seven years, ever since Lobo had first started gathering up some of the neighborhood youths to stage robberies in the neighborhood. Juan was skinny, but his slenderness betrayed his abilities in a fight. He was fast, really fast. The man could drop most other people with a punch before they would even see him move. Juan had long harbored a wish that his speed would earn him a nickname like ‘The Cobra’ or ‘Lightning.’ He had even gone so far as to suggest it to some of his buddies, but his proffered suggestions never seemed to stick.
Juan checked his watch and sighed when he realized his team had been on station for five hours. He wished for the ability to call someone and see how much longer it was going to take Lobo to arrive but, unlike the electricity, cellphone service had died that morning. Juan rechecked his screen for the fiftieth time before giving another sigh and putting it back in his pocket. That was one thing Juan liked about the army uniforms; lots of pockets.
The low-level Jefe pushed off of the tailgate of the Dodge truck and stretched his back. He walked over to the massive steel roll-up doors covering the main entrance to the store. The padlock securing the door was not a typical lock one would purchase in a hardware store. This one was the size of a coffee cup and had a shank that was an inch in circumference. It was all battered and scarred now after Juan, and his boys had spent the better part of an hour trying unsuccessfully to beat, pry and smash it open. Now they were waiting for Lobo to arrive. Juan hoped he would send Arturo instead since no one could ever actually predict how Lobo would react to their failure to get the doors open.
There was a burst of laughter as something happened in the card game taking place between the other members of his crew on the tailgate of the other truck. Someone had just scored a victory against the other participants. Juan started to go over and see what happened when his eyes caught movement to the north.
✽✽✽
Pops made sure I was ready and knew what to do. I tried to act calm, but I don’t think I fooled him.
“You’ll be fine, son. Just stick with the plan.”
I started to remind him that he, himself had once told me that no plan survives the first ten seconds of contact with the enemy, but I caught myself and said nothing. Instead, I checked my gun for the hundredth time and made sure the ammo belt was free of kinks.
When I signaled my readiness, Pops backed the Bronco across the small street and into the north side driveway leading to the big box store. We bounced over a speed bump, and I held on tight to my weapon to keep it from falling. Pops expertly cut the wheel, and we wound up with me and the M-240 peeking out from behind the corner of the store, the big barrel of the machine gun pointing directly at two pickup trucks around which stood five men in military uniforms. There was a sixth man halfway across the parking lot to the vehicles, and this man froze as we exploded onto the scene. The lone man had an older M16 slung over his back, and I could see in his eyes that he was contemplating reaching for it.
“I wouldn’t!” Pops had already exited the truck and was walking toward the group. He had his M4 to his shoulder and pointed at the single gang member. The sight of the M-240 barrel aimed directly at the rest of his party kept them from getting brave.
Pops walked several feet away to where the lone man stood. “Lose the rifle.” He ordered.
The man’s eyes showed he was thinking about the situation and considering a desperate move. Pops slowly moved his head from side to side. “Don’t be stupid. Whatever happens, you’ll still be dead.”
The resolve in the man’s eyes broke, and he slowly slid the sling from his shoulder, allowing the rifle to fall to the asphalt. Pops pointed with the bore of his M4. “Now the handgun.”
The man sighed loudly and started to reach for the holstered Berretta. “Slow!” Pops warned. The gang banger gingerly unsnapped his holster and lifted the weapon between his thumb and forefinger before placing it on the surface of the parking lot.
“Now back up to your buddies.”
He complied until all six were standing in front of the older Ford pickup. The other five were still armed although none had been able to get to their weapons without being seen.
The first man was checking us out and evaluating the situation. I could tell he was trying to convince himself that he was not as helpless as it appeared. I saw a crooked smile spread across his face as he dangled his arms and attempted to look formidable. “You know what, friend? You may have got the drop on me…but my boys here all still got their guns, man. All I got to do is say the word, and you and the kid in the truck are history. You don’t know who you messin’ with, man. We’re the Mojados.”
Pops nodded. “What’s your name, tough guy?”
“Juan. What’s yours?”
Pops ignored the question. “Well Juan, I know who you are, and I know what you’re doing. It’s not happening. Any food out here belongs to the people who’ve survived this mess, not you and your pitiful little gang. This store is under our protection now. Go on back and tell that to your friends.”
Juan grinned. “It ain’t that easy, bitch. When we tag something, it becomes ours. We don’t give it up.” He gave a look that he hoped would look threatening. “Ever.”
“You’re giving this up, boy. Either that or you’re dying right here in this parking lot.” I heard a hardness in Pops’ voice that I’d never heard before. “Now if you’re in charge, you tell these other clowns to step forward one at a time and drop their weapons at the foot of your truck.”
Juan cocked his head and shook it. “Nah. Nah, I don’t think so. See, you got the drop on us, but you can’t get us all, even with that big gun in your truck. Enough of us will still be able to kill you and the kid there with you. And see, everybody got a boss, even now. My boss won’t like me coming to him and sayin’ I gave up our property. He’s real mean. He’s liable to take it out on me.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the rest of his crew. “On us!” He made a show of examining Pops and me and shook his head again. “I gotta be honest, old man, I like our chances.”
There was a noticeable ripple of tension passing through the five members of Juan’s team. I could read it on their faces that they were waiting for the word from their boss so they could grab for their weapons.
A whistle sounded. It was loud, and it grabbed the attention of all of the Mojados. They looked over at the big store then their eyes climbed upward. Buck stood on the roof with a big smile. As the gang bangers watched, he gave them an exaggerated wave.
The retired Marine put his M4 to his shoulder and pointed it at Juan and his friends. To his left, George stood holding an identical weapon. In between the pair, Marcus was squatting and aiming our second machine gun at the parking lot.
Buck never took his eyes off of his sights as he spoke. “How do you feel about your chances now, Buttercup?”
I could see the starch leaving the gang bangers as they realized the futility of their situation. Pops snapped his fingers to get Juan’s attention away from the roof. “We’re done talking here, boys. Step forward one at a time and drop your weapons. Do it now!”
Juan deflated. His shoulders drooped, and his wise guy demeanor drained away. He pointed to the man closest to him and nodded. One by one, they all stepped forward and surrendered their rifles and handguns.
“Mags also,” Pops orde
red. They complied. Pops had them line up and frisked each one individually while I covered him with the M-240, He found two hidden handguns which he tossed on the pile.
“Watch them,” he said to me before opening the door to the old Ford and searching the interior. He pulled out a shotgun first, then went back for two crates of ammunition and three cases of water. He piled the goods on the asphalt and came back over to stand by the Bronco again.
Now thoroughly disarmed, Juan and his team were ordered by Pops to sit on the parking lot surface. He retrieved a handful of thick zip ties from our truck and secured their hands behind their backs and their feet to each other. The only way they would be able to stand now would be to do so in unison. It was only after we had safely hobbled them that I began to feel the tension ebbing away. With the threat from the gang bangers handled, Pops told me to watch them as Buck, and the brothers climbed down. Buck backed up the Suburban to the front door and pulled out a long chain which he hooked onto the lock, then looped the other end around the Chevy’s trailer hitch. The former Marine edged the vehicle forward, and the big padlock popped right off. I heard Juan cussing and couldn’t suppress a smile. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t thought of doing that with their trucks.
I took my weapon off of its pedestal and swapped the ammo belt for a hundred-round magazine. I needed to get out of the truck and give my legs a chance to unfold and get the blood running through them again. I made sure to stay far enough away from our captors to be safe yet still able to dispatch them all quickly if I had to.
As I stood watch, Pops and the others backed up the Bronco, The Suburban, the big Dodge diesel that the brothers had been driving and the new Dodge that the Mojados had brought. They all went inside, and I heard the whining electric motor of a forklift making its way through the store. Soon, pallets of canned food were being deposited into the truck beds by the machine. Marcus was driving the forklift, and I could see that he was smiling even under the rag he had wrapped around the lower half of his face. Neither he nor George wanted to risk being recognized by the gang members.
Fifteen minutes after Pops and the others began loading the trucks I heard what sounded like a pack of wolves coming at me from the north side of Ashlan Avenue. I looked across the street and saw a group of infected. There were about thirty of them in the horde, and they had caught sight of my prisoners and me. As I watched, they all started sprinting across the road and into the big parking lot in which we were standing.
My eyes went to the main door of the Costco, and I shouted for help, but Pops and the others were somewhere deeper inside the store where they couldn’t hear me. Juan’s crew started yelling and screaming, demanding that I cut them loose so they could flee. I wouldn’t do that anyway, but I could tell there wasn’t any time for such an action. Instead, I leaned the big gun across the top of a large metal trash can and lined up my sights.
The first burst was about ten rounds. The powerful .308 bullets tore through the leading line of infected and impacted many of those behind them. Once again I saw the macabre dance that human bodies do when they are struck and torn apart by high powered ammunition from a fully automatic weapon.
That initial burst dropped half of the pack but the others never even faltered. A few tripped over their fallen and bleeding friends, but they quickly popped back up and continued the charge. I snapped off several shorter bursts now that the group was not as densely packed. I had to aim more precisely, but the M-240 was made for situations such as this. The last pair of Ragers still charging at us were a male and female, both around forty years of age. The female had been hit once in the abdomen but, even though the wound was so horrible it was difficult for me to look at, she paid it no apparent attention. I shifted my aim from waist level to head height. I had no desire to let them get any closer. The lethally potent rounds shattered their skulls and ended the attack.
Pops and Marcus came running outside as I was replacing my partial magazine with a fresh one. Juan was still demanding to be set free, but he shut up when Pops aimed his rifle at him.
Seeing that I had the situation in hand, Pops and the others went back to work. After we loaded all four of our vehicles to overflowing, my father went over and snipped the zip ties from the gang banger’s legs with a pair of wire snips. They all stood, and Pops selected one and cut his hands free. He gave the man the keys to the old Ford then stepped in front of Juan.
“Listen to me and listen good. This world has changed. Under the new rules of survival, I could kill you and your friends and suffer no consequences.” Pops gestured with a thumb over his shoulder at the store. “That store belongs to the people of this neighborhood. If you or your pitiful little gang ever show up here again, we will end you. The only evidence that you ever lived will be a stain on the asphalt. Am I making myself clear?”
Juan tried his best to avoid looking afraid in front of his people, but he didn’t quite pull it off. He must not have trusted his voice not to break because he just nodded in response.
Pops stared into his eyes until the gang banger looked away. He pointed at the man whose hands he had freed. “Get out of here. Head straight down Ashlan and don’t stop until you’ve passed the freeway. I’ll be watching, and you don’t want me to see you stopping before then.”
The freed gang member helped his friends into the back of the Ford then slid behind the wheel and drove off. We watched them heading west until they were out of sight.
Pops made a circling motion over his head with one hand. “Okay, let’s get out of here fast. They’ll be looking for payback, and we don’t want them seeing where we’re heading.”
I jumped back in the Bronco, and we all followed Marcus and George back to their house. It was almost funny seeing the heaped food, batteries, camping gear and other useful goods bouncing around in the backs of the four trucks.
I shouted over the noise of the Bronco. “So Pops, you don’t think those guys will heed your warning about going back to the Costco?”
He shook his head. “No, son. That was just a little bit of theater to get them focused on going back there instead of searching the streets for us. I hope to get all of this stuff back to our friends’ house and unloaded then us up the hill before we can be spotted.”
And that is precisely what we did. The cluster of survivors greatly appreciated the windfall of food and other gear. People came out of six houses and helped us unload. What they couldn’t fit inside their homes they stored in old detached garages around the block. It was almost like a block party for a bit, then Marcus warned everyone to go back inside so they wouldn’t draw attention from any of the Mojados who happened to be driving by.
Marcus came up to us when everything was unloaded and handed Pops the keys to the new Dodge pickup that we had ‘liberated’ from the gang. Pops tried to get him to keep it, but he shook his head.
“We’ve got no place to keep it. All of our garages are full, and it would be a neon sign to the Mojados if we left it on the street. It’s better for us if it just disappeared.”
Pops told him we could make use of it and asked Jaime to drive it back home. We all got ready to depart, and there was much shaking of hands and expressions of gratitude. I received fist bumps from Marcus and George instead of rib-crushing hugs this time. I climbed back into the Bronco with the M-240 and watched as the little knot of survivors disappeared behind us and a question formed in my mind.
“Hey, Pops?”
Over my shoulder, I could see him looking at me in the rearview mirror.
“Is there a reason why we don’t just take all of these folks back to our place? It would be safer for them, and we could make room. It might be a little cramped, but we have the extra bedrooms in the underground bunkers. They’re not even being used.”
He was silent for a bit as he formulated his answer. He finally shouted his response over the noise of the rushing wind from my open tailgate window.
“We need people out here in the cities, son. We can’t surrender them to t
he gangs and other lowlifes. And where would we stop? I’m sure there are hundreds if not thousands of people still hunkered down out there, and we can’t take them all.”
“Yeah but…if we follow that logic then you and I should never have taken in Buck, the Major and the others.”
Pops shook his head while watching the road. “Not so, Son. Every person we invited into our stronghold is there because they can help us survive. Most have military experience, and that will be invaluable if things continue to deteriorate. Even some of the women have military training. We have an electronics engineer to keep our crucial systems running, medical personnel to treat us should we get sick and a mechanic to keep our vehicles going. All of those areas are vital to our survival.
“If this sickness had not spread so quickly I would like to have added a few more experts like medical researchers to help us deal with the Rage and maybe find ways to overcome it. It would have been a long shot but at least worth the effort.” He shook his head again. “We just didn’t have the time.”
He made sense. The importance of having retired and ex-military with us had already proven useful. Buck had spent several weeks teaching me to handle the M-240 and other weapons as well as showing me how to establish and maintain a security perimeter. But another thought occurred to me.
“Yeah but…those two brothers…Marcus and George? Marcus had combat experience in Iraq, and he and his brother looked pretty capable. Why not recruit them?”
He glanced at me in the mirror again. “Son, for one, I don’t think they would go. They were the only ones on that block who looked to be capable of defending it. For another, we shouldn’t be pulling people like that away from others who depend upon them. Yeah, it would serve to make us stronger, but it would mean abandoning the less capable to people like that gang we just saw.”
Chapter 7
I was quiet on the rest of the trip home. We took the same route back up the hill as we did going down. I kept a close watch around us, looking for anyone who might see us but it seemed like we were in the clear. The sight of the dead Ragers along the route filled me with hope once again. Pops kept our little caravan moving slowly so as not to raise a big dust cloud. The last thing we needed was to let others know where we lived. Such information might invite an attempt to take what we have.
Virgil's War- The Diseased World Page 8