Dead Texas (Book 3): Lonesome Road

by Slaton, Derek

  “All yours, Hale,” she said as she slung the backpack over her shoulders. He slid over to the driver’s seat and leaned on the window as their passengers hopped down and manned the other two trucks.

  “You sure I can’t give you a lift into town?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Safer if I go on foot. If the militia are there, I don’t want them to know I’m coming at all.”

  “Alrighty.” He nodded. “Well, you be safe, ma’am.”

  Sparks gave him a little salute and stepped back to allow them room to peel out of the parking lot, and took a deep breath. As the truck engines faded from earshot, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the light breeze kiss her skin and ruffle her hair.

  She savored the brief moment of peace—before what was sure to be a non-peaceful day.

  Sparks crept towards the gas station parking lot, taking cover behind a dumpster. The place was mostly quiet, except for a few figures moving on the other side of the building. The windows on both sides allowed for her to watch their shadows.

  “Well, either you’re zombies and I’ll have to kill you,” she muttered to herself, “militia and I’ll have to kill you, or civilians in which case I just might have to kill you.” She checked her assault rifle and slung it back over her shoulder. It was a last resort weapon, not just for the noise attracting unwanted attention, but because of her dismal ammo situation.

  She took a deep breath and broke into a combat run across the parking lot, crouching at the brick pillared corner of the store. She peered around the corner, and finding it clear, she darted to the glass doors. Staying low to the ground, she kept her eyes on the figures outside, and pushed open the door as quietly as she could.

  Dingdingddddingdingdi-ding. The bell attached to the top of the door cheerfully announced her presence.

  “Fuck.” Sparks dove behind the nearest shelf as three men hurried around the building and through the tinkling door.

  “Spread out, see what that was,” a voice barked, and the redhead’s blood ran cold at the authoritarian voice.

  “Yes, sir,” two voices responded in unison, and her stomach sank. Militia.

  She couldn’t see the front of the store well enough to make a move on the enemy there, and glanced to the back. The steps were closer now, and she weighed whether or not she’d be able to make it to the back bathrooms and bottleneck the militia members in the hallway.

  She popped into a squat, preparing to make a run for it, when a zombie ran headfirst into the front door. It smacked so hard against the glass that the doorbell trilled, and the guy at the front door snorted.

  “Just a zombie,” he said. “Peg that motherfucker.”

  The member closest to Sparks turned and fired, shattering the front door and the zombie’s head, leaving a mess of broken glass and guts on the concrete.

  “Man, what the hell time is it anyway?” the third guy asked, wandering towards the front of the store.

  “Damn near noon,” the guy at the front replied.

  “Why in the hell haven’t we been relieved yet?” the shooter asked.

  “Good question, they’re nearly an hour overdue,” front door agreed. “I’ll give them a call.” There was a crackle as the static of his walkie talkie filled the dank air. “Camp freedom, camp freedom, unit two checking in. Request status update on relief squad.” Static. “Camp freedom, do you copy?” Static.

  “Could the coms just be down?” the shooter asked.

  “Unlikely,” the third guy made it to the front and sounded worried. “Maybe them high school folks hit back.”

  “You wanna talk about unlikely.” The shooter laughed.

  “Whatever it is, we gotta go check it out,” the first guy pocketed his walkie talkie.

  “Okay, you two go, I’ll stay here and hold down the fort,” the worried guy offered, and Sparks rolled her eyes.

  “You stay frosty,” the front door guy said, “we’ll be back soon.”

  The bell dinged twice, and then a truck started up and peeled out.

  Sparks peeked around the corner of her hideout, watching the remaining militia member stroll over to the drink cooler. He opened the door, letting the cool air waft over him as he popped open a soft drink. As the glass fogged up from being open in the heat, she used that as cover to move up the aisle with her weapon raised.

  When he closed the door, he stared down the barrel of her AR-15.

  “Tasty beverage?” she asked, and he threw the drink at her before tearing away from her. She dodged and stuck her foot out, tripping him up so that he hit the tiles face first. She kicked him in the nuts, and as he recoiled into the fetal position she toed him onto his back, resting her foot on his chest.

  He groaned in pain, holding his sack and sputtering through the blood running from his busted nose. She pointed the rifle down at his wide-eyed face.

  “You may be a young one, but don’t pretend for a second that your youth is going to cut you any slack with me,” she warned. “You and your buddies there did a number on me and my friends yesterday, so as far as I’m concerned, every single one of you is marked for death.”

  “Oh please, nonono,” he moaned, “it wasn’t me, I swear!”

  She cocked the gun. “Save it,” she demanded. “All I see when I look at you is that uniform. Now, how do you feel about answering some questions for me?”

  He nodded furiously, eager to comply.

  “Good,” she said, “first question. How many men you have in town?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m it right now.”

  “I don’t belieeeeeve you,” Sparks singsonged.

  “It’s true!” he protested.

  “So you don’t have anybody over at, say, the grocery store?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “No, we cleaned that out yesterday and took everything to the farm,” he explained hurriedly.

  “The farm?” she asked. “Don’t you mean the compound that’s out in the woods?”

  “No, it’s some sort of safe house for the senior members,” he replied, spitting some blood from his mouth. “When people are running missions they can’t always make it back to the compound.”

  She leaned forward. “So where is this farm?”

  “I don’t know.” He visibly trembled.

  She pressed the barrel against his forehead. “You literally just said that you cleaned the grocery store out and took it to the farm.”

  “I just helped load it up in the truck!” he cried. “They don’t trust me enough to share the location!”

  She lowered the rifle and cocked her head at him. “Alright militia-boy, I just have one more question for you,” she purred. “What’s your blood type?”

  “Uh, it’s b-positive,” he stammered. “But why do you need to know that?”

  “Just checking to see if I needed to waste a bullet or not,” she said, and in one fluid motion, drew her knife and slashed his throat. He reached for the wound, gurgling, but she kicked his hands away from trying to staunch the bleeding.

  She watched the panic in his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. A week ago, this was just a kid. Granted, a racist kid with some bad friends, but still just a kid. She knew she had made the right choice in ending his life, because if the other members came back he could warn them about her. But she still didn’t feel great about what she had to do.

  This was war. But it wasn’t a war she had started.

  When the last of his life left his eyes, Sparks knelt down, wiping the blood on her hands on his pants. She reached to take his ammo, but then realized that if the others found him like this it would give her away.

  “Fuck, now what?” she muttered to herself.

  She took a deep breath and then used the serrated edge of her knife to hacksaw his neck wound raw. It didn’t look exactly like a bite, but it could pass for one at quick glance. She took his handgun and put it in his hand, put it to his head and pulled the trigger. Brains splashed against the drink cooler, and she let him slump, hand fallin
g to his lap.

  She eyed the gun, but the need to stay undetected at this juncture was greater than the need for ammo.

  She drew her weapon and moved to the front of the store, checking both directions to make sure the gunshot hadn’t attracted more zombies. Upon deciding the coast was clear, she hopped over the counter and checked the back wall of electronics for sale. She scooped a pair of cheap binoculars, and four disposable cell phones.

  Sparks approached the supermarket, taking a position about a hundred yards away to break out her new toy. She gazed through them, adjusting the focus. There were a few dozen figures roaming the entrance, all zombies. A few of them were in militia fatigues, showing her that their conquest of the store wasn’t without its costs.

  She zoomed in as far as she could, tutting quietly at the sight of empty shelves through the front door. She tapped her earpiece.

  “Good to hear from you, Sparks,” Dan’s voice came through into her ear. “What’s the situation?”

  “Comfort is a bust,” she said quietly. “ There were a trio of militia men at the gas station, but from the sounds of it they had no idea we took out their compound.”

  “What about the supermarket?” he asked.

  “Picked clean and overrun with zombies,” she replied. “But according to the militia douchebag I interrogated, he said they moved it to their safe house. Some farm, but he didn’t know where it was.”

  “Well, I’ll send Hale and the boys down to pick him up,” Dan offered. “Maybe we can get it out of him.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I had to eliminate him, couldn’t risk him signaling the others.

  “Understood,” Dan paused, “you okay?”

  “About as okay as I’m gonna be,” she replied thickly.

  “You don’t have to push on if you don’t want to, Sparks,” he reassured her.

  “Yeah I do.” She cleared her throat, firming up her voice. “We need that food and medication, especially if the other target is empty or has a horde occupying it.”

  “In that case, as soon as I get confirmation they got it secure, then you can come back,” he declared.

  Sparks lowered her binoculars. “How are the others doing?”

  “Just got off the horn with them a minute ago,” he told her. “They were about a mile from Fredericksburg.”

  “Keep me posted,” she instructed. “I’m headed to the compound.”

  He took a deep breath. “Be safe.”

  “Yep.” She clicked off the earpiece, gave herself a little shake, and began the long hike to the compound.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ricky rounded the bend a mile outside of Fredericksburg and Mary gasped at the giant plumes of thick black smoke rising out of the city.

  “What in the fuck is that?” her husband blurted, and Rufus leaned in the back window from his perch in the bed of the truck next to Jeff.

  “Looks like some shit went down in Fredericksburg,” he drawled.

  Mary shook her head. “It looks like the whole city is on fire.”

  “Well, hopefully it looks worse than it is,” Jeff put in. “And really hope that the fires haven’t reached the grocery store.”

  “Well, we’re about a mile from the store, so we’ll find out soon enough,” Ricky replied solemnly.

  “Slow down to about twenty miles an hour there, Ricky,” the skinhead instructed. “Rufus and I can stand up then, we really need to be on guard from here on in.”

  “Will do,” the driver nodded.

  The comrades in arms stood up once the truck was slowed right down, leaning over the roof with their assault rifles. Mary rolled down her window, but her husband grabbed her hand as she reached for her shotgun.

  “That shotgun’s gonna be too much to handle from the window,” he protested. “Don’t worry though, them boys in the back got you covered.”

  She pulled her handgun from its holster on her thigh. “Just in case.”

  He smiled at her, admiring the schoolteacher’s toughness.

  As they entered the residential streets, the homes sat quiet. It looked like a massive battle had gone down in the suburbia cul du sac, zombie corpses littering the road next to a row of cars that looked like they’d been used for cover. There were no civilians to be seen, however.

  “Hanging a right in two blocks and we’ll be there!” Ricky called back through the rear window.

  “Ten four,” Jeff called back.

  However, when Ricky made the turn, he slammed on the brakes. “Motherfucking fuck.”

  “Well, that’s not good,” Jeff muttered.

  The massive grocery store stood a hundred yards ahead, with reams of thick smoke pouring out of it.

  Jeff smacked the roof. “Get a little closer?”

  “Why?!” Ricky cried back. “The fucker’s on fire!”

  “We need to see how bad it is,” Jeff protested. “We might be able to sneak in a salvage something before the flames overtake it.”

  Ricky shook his head but crept forward, pulling into the parking lot. The fire seemed to be contained in the back half of the store, where the majority of the smoke plumed out of. The front part looked moderately clear.

  “See?” Jeff hopped down from the truck bed. “We can get in there and get some stuff if we hurry.”

  “Fire ain’t the only thing we gotta worry about,” Rufus reminded him. “Ricky, give the horn a good long honk.”

  The mechanic complied, the horn echoing throughout the parking lot. Within a few seconds, half a dozen flaming zombies emerged from the shattered door at the front of the store. They shambled slower than normal, but still faster than anyone would have assumed a body on fire could move.

  Before they were halfway across the parking lot, another ten emerged from the smoke.

  “Man, that’s a whole lotta nope right there,” Rufus declared.

  “Goddammit,” Jeff conceded. “Okay Ricky, get us back to the edge of town and pull in behind that cul de sac fortress we passed.”

  “Will do, bubba,” Ricky agreed, happy to get away from this scene, and peeled back through town. He parked behind the cars, and Jeff hunkered down, touching his earpiece.

  “You guys keep watch, I’ll call in to Principal Dan,” he said. Ricky and Mary jumped out of the truck to take defensive positions behind the cars, while Rufus watched the houses from atop the vehicle.

  “Hey baby, watch where you step,” Mary said. “It doesn’t look like it ended up too well for these people.”

  Ricky shook his head. “Judging by how crappy these houses are, they didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to lose, but what they did have, they lost in a big way.”

  “Hey Principal Dan, you there?” Jeff asked.

  “Man, you guys are quick,” Dan replied. “You have the grocery store secured already?”

  “It’s a no go on that,” the skinhead admitted. “It’s currently burning to the ground and is infested with flaming zombies. So we got nothing.”

  “Sparks struck out in Comfort, too,” the Principal replied with a sigh.

  “Well, have you got any bright ideas?” Jeff asked. “Because starving to death isn’t exactly high on my list of things to do.”

  Dan took a deep breath. “Where are you guys now?”

  “We retreated to city limits on the route we came in on,” the skinhead replied.

  “Perfect, I need you to get to the GPS and look for a place called Colonial Court,” Dan instructed.

  Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Alright, hang on.” He reached through the window and grabbed the GPS, fiddling with the touch screen. “Okay, I got it, looks like it’s a couple miles east of us. So what the hell is it?”

  “High end gated community,” the Principal replied.

  “In Fredericksburg?” Jeff scoffed. “Are you shitting me?”

  “Little known fact,” Dan said, “but Fredericksburg has a large number of wineries. Turns out a lot of the winery owners want to live in nice houses, so they bought up some land in
the middle of a working class neighborhood and put in Colonial Court. Complete with an eight foot high brick wall that surrounds the entire thing.”

  “Even in the apocalypse you learn something new every day,” the skinhead replied in wonder.

  Dan chuckled. “Happy I could educate you.”

  “So what’s the play?” Jeff asked.

  “You guys get in, go from house to house, and raid the hopefully well stocked pantries,” came the reply. “Stage it and I’ll send the boys to pick everything up you can find.”

  “Sounds like a better prospect than flaming zombie land,” the skinhead admitted. “Alright, we’re on it, I’ll touch base when we have it secure.”

  “Be safe,” Dan instructed.

  “Yep.” Jeff switched off the earpiece. “Alright y’all, we have a new target.”

  Ricky and Mary made their way back towards the truck.

  “Where we goin’ now?” Rufus asked.

  “Someplace I don’t think any of us have ever been to before.” Jeff grinned. “A rich ass gated community.”

  “Oh, I like it.” Rufus mirrored his expression. “Hopefully these Richie Rich types will have some high end alcohol.”

  Jeff barked a laugh. “Good to know you have a one track mind there, Rufus.”

  “Hey now, I think of boobs too,” he defended.

  “Whoa there,” Mary piped up.

  “Well, not yours, Mary,” Rufus said quickly, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I mean, not that they aren’t nice, but I mean… ah, fuck it, let’s just go shoot some rich zombies in the face.” He cocked his gun and she playfully smacked his shoulder through the window, cracking a smile.

  Colonial Court was hidden from view by a red brick wall tied together with an ornamental wrought iron gate. A brick guard booth sat in the middle of the driveway, and Ricky and Jeff skirted it to take the gate in their hands.

  After giving it a good shake, it rattled and moved about six inches in each direction.

  “Well hell, they spent all this money on the wall, but skimped on the gate,” Ricky said with an amused grin. “Sure it looks pretty and all, but man I’ve seen some beaver dams that were sturdier than this piece of shit.”