Dos

by Allen Gamboa

  “Baylie Poller. I’m a friend of Leeland's too.”

  “Well, any friend of Leeland is—”

  “We need guns!” Leeland interrupted. “Monsters in the town! We need guns!” He grabbed Salazar by the jacket lapels and pulled him forward.

  Salazar swept his arm down the front of him and knocked Leeland’s hands away. Domingo and another of the cartel men quickly wrestled the American to the ground, planting his face into the red brick tile. Tanya and Baylie moved to help Leeland, but Salazar waved them back.

  “What the hell is going on?” Salazar asked, alternately looking between the women and Leeland.

  “We were attacked in Passado,” Tanya said, trying to keep her voice steady. “The people were acting crazy. A mob of them killed our friend Ricky.”

  “Nonsense.” Salazar frowned as he watched his men holding his old friend down.

  “It’s true,” Baylie said. “They were hopped up on drugs or something.”

  “Leeland.” Salazar leaned down to get a good look at the gringo that had saved his life many years ago. “Is this true?” Leeland turned his head to the side and nodded. His face was beet red and covered in tears. The big man pulled an arm away from Juarez and buried his face in it. “Dio mios! Let him up. Leeland, no more craziness, si?”

  “Yes… yes,” Leeland sobbed as Juarez helped him to his feet.

  “Now, calmly, Leeland… What the fuck is going on?” Leeland just shook his head and started sobbing again.

  “It’s bad in that town,” Tanya said, trying not to look at Leeland. “I really don’t know what’s going on, but they killed Ricky and… look at Leeland…”

  “Well, something is happened in Passado,” Salazar said as he watched one of the toughest men he knew reduced to tears. “Juarez, send a couple of men into town. See if there is a problem we need to take care of. We don’t need any problems today.”

  “Si.” Juarez nodded.

  “And escort Leeland to Doctor Volkov, maybe he can give him a sedative or something.” He looked over at the two women. “I am truly sorry for whatever has happened to you. Feel free to stay here as long as need be. You must pardon our mess; there is a birthday celebration for El Jefe’s mother tonight. Of course, you are all welcome to attend.” He rubbed his hands together. “We will put you up in the guest rooms.” He noticed the newest member of their cartel heading their way. “Nero, will you show these two señoritas to the guest cottages?”

  “Yes, Salazar.”

  “Nero here is one of my best men. He will be your escort.” Salazar gave the women a big smile. “Remember, if there is anything you need, tell Señor Nero.” He winked at Tanya. “I hope to see you both tonight. Nero.” He patted the other man on the shoulder and walked off toward the main building.

  “He’s like a tall Antonio Banderas,” Baylie whispered with a sly smile.

  “Guy’s a shark, Baylie,” Tanya said, looking around at their surroundings. “I feel like we’re a couple of goldfish that just dropped into a shark tank. Leeland's not going to be any help to us in his condition.” Her curious gaze stopped on Nero. “You our guide?”

  “Si, shall this shark show you to your room?” Nero grinned.

  “Sorry,” Tanya said, her eyes studying the big man before her. “I’ve been around enough to be a good judge of men. Most are sharks. Better to assume then get bitten, si?”

  “Si.” Nero waved for them to follow him. “You have any luggage?”

  “In the car,” Baylie said as they crossed the courtyard toward the guest rooms. “In the trunk.”

  “I’ll bring them up once you señoritas get settled in.” A small Mariachi band started to play in a corner of the courtyard. “You like music?" Nero stopped and pointed at an empty bandstand. “We have the famous Bando de Gigantico playing later tonight.”

  “Never heard of them.” Baylie pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “They any good?”

  “I like them.” Nero shrugged. “They are no Night Ranger but who is?”

  “Night Ranger?” Tanya frowned.

  “Yeah,” Nero stopped. “Sister Christian?”

  “I know who they are, Nero. I’m surprised you do.” She chuckled. “I guess shitty music knows no borders.”

  “I was training at Fort Hood with your Army when Night Ranger played for the soldiers there…” He stopped himself from saying any more and started walking again. “Anyway, lots of music and dancing tonight. Follow me, please.”

  “You were a soldier?” Tanya asked.

  “We all were something else once. Please follow me.”

  ASS PROBLEMS

  USS BOXER LHD-4

  SOMEWHERE ON THE PACIFIC OCEAN

  “Damn, Duley!” Doc Kegy fanned his hand in front of his face. “Why the hell don’t you give someone a warning before you crap yourself?”

  “Wasn’t me, Doc,” Duley said, idly leafing through a comic book as he lay propped up against his pack on the deck of the helicopter carrier. “It was Vanelli.”

  “Sorry. That chow mein those jar heads fed us is tearing up my stomach.” Vanelli lay on his side holding his stomach. Most of Alpha and Bravo squads were camped out around the parked Sea Stallion helicopter they would soon be boarding for their assault on Camacho’s compound.

  “I got something for that Vanelli.” Kegy reached into one of his bags and retrieved a small white bottle which he then tossed to the other soldier.

  “What’s this, Doc?”

  “Imodium. Take two; they’ll stop you up real good.” Kegy leaned back against his pack. “Keep the bottle.”

  “Please take them,” Cross said as she tried to get comfortable on the ground. “We don’t need you accidentally getting us killed with your ass problems.”

  “Thanks,” Vanelli said, swallowing two of the white tablets before tucking the bottle into his med kit.

  “Never eat mess hall chow mein.” Cross straightened out a headphone wire and placed one in her ear. “Thought we raised you better than that, Vanelli.”

  “Looked good.”

  “So does a hooker's coochie; doesn’t mean you have to eat it,” Kegy said, pulling his boonie hat down over his face.

  “Doc’s not wrong.” Cross pressed play on her iPod. “Watch what you put in your mouth, Vanelli. Might save your ass one day… literally.”

  “What are you listening to, Sarge?” Duley asked as he flipped through the pages of his comic.

  “AC/DC,” Cross said, trying to adjust her gear for comfort. “Gets me in the mood for work, you know what I mean?”

  “I thought you’d be all Celine Dion and shit.” Duley chuckled as Cross just shook her head and flipped him off.

  “Feel the ship roll?” Redwood said as he lay flat on his back on the deck. His massive frame was sprawled out between Cross and Sergeant Ivan ‘Snake' Pushkin.

  “A little,” Snake said, not once tearing his eyes away from the game of Tetris he was playing on his smartphone.

  “Relaxing. Feels like I’m on a hammock, just rocking me to sleep.” He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the sparsely clouded sky.

  “Redwood, I remember you fell asleep before we captured those Nigerian warlords.” Duley set the comic book down in his lap. “You didn’t wake up until we was almost on top of them. I never sleep good before a mission. What the hell is your secret, brother?”

  “A clear conscience, Duley.” He smiled and closed his eyes.

  “Clear conscience, my ass.” He scooped the comic book off his lap and waved it in front of him. “Snake, you know what that motherfucker did to me in Mali?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Snake said, still wrapped up in his phone game.

  “I’m-a tell you. Redwood had me believing I had the clap!”

  “That was some funny shit” Vanelli groaned as he still lay on his side.

  “No, it weren’t.” Duley threw him a dirty look. “You still lissenin’, Snake?” Snake just bobbed his head up and do
wn as he watched the tiny video screen in his hands. “Redwood even got the Doc in on it too. Had me scared shitless my dick was gonna fall off.”

  “Gotta watch where you put your dick, Duley,” Kegy said as he started working on a crossword puzzle.

  “So what happened?” Sergeant Jerry ‘Tuz’ Amatuzo asked as he rolled over on to his side to hear the other sergeant’s story. A couple of helicopters added to the commotion on the carrier as they roared off from the aft section of the deck into the afternoon sky.

  “For a month the doc was shooting my ass up with anti-clap meds and telling me I can’t do nothin’ but piss with my pecker.” Duley sat up straight against his pack and crossed his arms like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

  “What else you gonna do with your pecker?” Tuz asked.

  “You know,”—Duley looked down at his crotch—stuff.”

  “Oh yeah.” The other sergeant chuckled. “Must have been hell.”

  “It was!” Duley eagerly nodded. “It was no joke!”

  “You have to admit it was funny, Duley.” Redwood opened his eyes and watched as a white cloud slowly danced across the blue sky.

  “I don’t have to admit shit, Sarge. I was afraid to even write Shontay, that girl can smell cheating from a mile away.”

  “Hell. The worst part was when I gave Duley antibiotic cream that he had to apply daily,” Kegy added.

  “Doc? You and Redwood are assholes.”

  “What did you shoot him up with?” Tuz asked the medic.

  “Vitamin shots. Just good ole B-12 and some other healthy shit. The cream was just lotion.” The medic smiled. “Bet you never felt better.”

  “Couldn’t tell, Doc. I was worried my pecker was gonna fall off.”

  “Why the hell did you do that, Redwood?” Snake asked, finally looking up from his phone.

  “Duley here was getting into my stash of Snickers bars and not replacing them.” He pulled one out of his shirt pocket. “I always eat one before a mission. It’s good luck for me. Back in Africa, Duley ate my last one. We went on a snatch and grab, and I got a through and through shot to my side. Bad juju eating my Snickers. Man had to pay the price.” Redwood dropped the candy bar on his chest and closed his eyes. “Don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we, Duley?”

  “No,”—Duley buried his face in the comic book—“we don’t.”

  KINDA CREEPY, HERMANO

  PASSADO, MEXICO

  The old, full-sized, Chevy Blazer rumbled to a stop at the outskirts of Passado. Santiago shut off the big V-8 engine and leaned forward on the well-worn steering wheel. The very low-level cartel thug rubbed his right eye behind his sunglasses and squinted to get a good look at the area before him. Barron, Santiago’s partner in crime, stood up in the topless vehicle and leaned back against the roll-bar using the flat of his hand as a visor.

  “Looks dead, Santiago,” Barron said, trying to get a good view in the afternoon sunlight. “Place looks empty.”

  “That is very strange.” Santiago nodded as he took a drag from a cigarette then motioned to the glove box. “Hand me the binoculars, amigo.” His partner sat back down on the leather seats, popped open the glove compartment, and handed the driver the field glasses that were inside.

  “Why don’t we just go have a look?”

  “Just wait, puta.” Santiago scanned the town with his binoculars. He could see an excessive amount of garbage littering the streets and a few more junkies than usual lying about. Other than the total lack of movement, there really wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary. It was late in the afternoon so he guessed most folks were indoors eating.

  “Just some junkies hanging out.” Santiago handed him the binoculars.

  “I don’t know…” Barron studied the town through the glasses. “Kinda creepy, hermano.”

  “Nah.” He started up the Blazer. “Let’s go down there and grab a few cervezas. I think the Americans were fucking with us.”

  “Fucking with us?” Barron glanced around nervously as they headed into town. “You see the big American? He was crying like a baby.”

  “All Americans cry like babies. You see the women?” He smiled lewdly at his partner. “Let’s wrap this up so we can go grab us some clean American pinoche.”

  “I do like clean pinoche.” Barron grinned, exposing yellowed teeth. “Why don’t we just tell Salazar we saw it was all clear?”

  “Bob the Butcher would have us fed to his tigers if we are wrong. It’ll just take a minute, besides we’re here now anyway. What are you afraid of esé?” Santiago brought the old vehicle to a halt at the end of the block, close to the Passado cantina. The cartel thug clicked off the engine and turned to Barron. “Let's go have a drink then we’ll head back.”

  “Si.” Barron grabbed the Benelli shotgun out from between the front seats. “I hope you are right.”

  “What do you think? El diablo is waiting for us?” Santiago hefted an Uzi out of the center storage console and slung it over his shoulder. “I have two hundred rounds for Señor Diablo.” He pushed open the driver's door with a loud metallic creak. “Come on, Barron.”

  “Smells horrible, Santiago,” Barron said as he accidentally slammed his door shut. The sound reverberated loudly throughout the vacant streets causing Barron to jump a little. About a hundred feet away, a junkie stirred slowly on the dirty sidewalk.

  “Don’t get up on our account,” Santiago said as the druggie struggled to get to his feet. “You are right about the smell. Dirty Sanchez must be nearby.”

  “Let’s get this done,” Barron said quietly, the nervous thug noticed a few more junkies were stumbling down the road in their direction. “Santiago.” He pointed the barrel of his weapon at the approaching drug addled men and women.

  “Hey!” Santiago shouted defiantly at the three junkies that were stumbling toward their Blazer. “Fifty pesos if you watch our truck. Make sure none of your drug buddies steal anything!”

  He slapped his reluctant partner by the shoulder. “Come on, the truck's in good hands. Let's have those cerveza then some pinoche, eh?”

  “Si.” Barron shrugged and followed Santiago down the street to the bar.

  “This is a dirty nasty town.” Santiago kicked at some garbage with his snake skin boots. “I never noticed how dirty these people were.”

  “It’s not so bad.” A strange moan came from behind; Barron quickly turned in the direction of the noise. “Hear that?”

  “Relax.” Santiago stopped in front of the swinging doors of the cantina. “We’re here.”

  He pushed the doors open and suddenly stopped, causing Barron to crash into him.

  “What?” The other cartel man moved from behind the other. He froze as he took in what had caused his partner to immediately stop in his tracks. The interior of the cantina was broken and smashed with splatters and pools of dried blood all over. A lump of half-eaten flesh that had once been a man pulled itself along the floor in the men’s direction. Barron stepped back, covering his nose with his hand at the horrible smell. “Santiago, what the fuck is that?!”

  “I… I…” The lead thug bent over and promptly threw up all over the tile floor.

  “Santiago!” Barron grabbed his bent over partner and forcefully stood him up. “What the fuck is that?”

  “El diablo!” Santiago screamed hysterically as tears and slobber ran down his face. The cartel thug shakily raised the Uzi and let off a stream of bullets into the thing that slid across the floor. A hail of bullets smacked into what was left of the man’s head, completely obliterating it. The suit clad body groaned then stopped moving.

  “El diablo!” he screamed again as he turned to face his partner; his eyes filled with tears.

  “We have to get out of here!” Barron grabbed the other man by his shirt and roughly pulled him out of the cantina. The two men tripped over each other as they pushed their way back out through the swinging doors.

  “B…Barron, what was that?” Santiago wiped his mouth with a quiv
ering hand. The other cartel man noticed his partner was almost completely drained of color.

  “I don’t know but we have to get back to the truck! We need to let the boss know what is happening.”

  “What the fuck is happening Barron?” Santiago asked, wide-eyed.

  “Evil,” Barron said quietly. Both men noticed they were now cut off from their truck and surrounded by the apparently drug-crazed townspeople. The vacant but hungry look in their eyes sent a cold shiver down Barron’s spine. It was then that he became aware of the horrible wounds that covered the bodies of the advancing crowd. Barron made the sign of the cross with his free hand and started praying.

  “Back up!” Santiago shouted as he waved the Uzi in his hand at the slow moving group. He had momentarily found his balls again when he realized he still held the small machine gun and the power that came along with it. “Back up, you fools, or I will shoot!”

  “They are not stopping!” Barron said, raising the shotgun up to chest level.

  “Fuck this!” Santiago fired wildly into the crowd. The magazine quickly ran dry as he emptied rounds into the ever growing mass of bodies. “It’s not stopping them!”

  “Demons!” Barron shouted as he racked a round in his weapon and fired. The blast from the shotgun knocked two of the advancing crowd back, but only stopping them momentarily from moving forwards again. Barron fired again, hitting another in the legs and blocking it to the ground where it continued to crawl toward him. “They won’t die!”

  “Fuck!” Santiago started to change out magazines when several of the crowd broke through the others and charged at him. Frightened beyond all reason, he fumbled with the magazine as he tried to jam it into the Uzi. Just as Santiago finally got the magazine set, he was tackled and smashed to the ground by a wave of rotting human flesh. Still trying to cycle the weapon, he screamed in horror as broken teeth and clawing hands tore him apart.

  “Santiago!” Barron backed away from the wall of deranged townspeople. He fired again and again. Each time the blast would send the crowd backwards, but it wouldn’t stop them. Barron came to the realization too late that he was surrounded by the undead. Demons had come to punish him for the bad deeds he had done in his short life.