by Allen Gamboa
“I am the boss!” he gurgled as two sets of undead hands ripped his throat into pieces. The muzak version of Sinatra’s My Way drowned out the tearing and chewing noises the crowd of ravenous dead made as they feasted on the remains of the cartel boss.
ANDREW DICE CLAY BITES
CAMACHO’S HACIENDA
Gloria Camacho wrestled with the remains of her outlandish party dress as she stumbled into the empty living room of Camacho’s hacienda. The spacious and over-furnished room made the cartel woman seem rather small as she stood in the middle of the ego-filled area. The portraits of her son seemed to stare down at her in judgment.
“You were always weak, Robert!” she said, not meeting the eyes of the paintings. “Weak.”
She could hear the sounds of gunfire and screaming coming from outside. The gun noise was starting to quickly fade along with the screams as the weird moaning seemed to overpower everything but the damned muzak. Gloria smiled to herself because she recognized the tune was My Way—one of her favorites. The cartel mother noticed Robert’s cell phone was lying discarded on one of the big couches. She scooped it up and sat down heavily in his favorite recliner. What was left of her heavy and big, poufy dress wedged her tightly into the overpriced leather chair, trapping her tightly in the arms of the recliner.
Groaning from her broken ribs, she flipped through Camacho’s phone contacts until she found Salazar’s number. With a shaky hand, she pressed the number and put it to her ear. The phone rang and rang then went to voicemail.
“Salazar! This is Gloria. Call me back now!” She hung up then dropped the phone into the folds of the lavish dress.
I will kill that son of a bitch! Gloria thought to herself. I do not need a partner!
There was a loud noise from one of the other rooms that caused her to sit straight up in the chair.
“Salazar?”
No answer but the sound of something sliding across the floor. The cloying smell of death seemed to seep into the living room. Cold sweat slowly dripped down her back as Gloria tried to pull herself free from the recliner. The damned custom dress had her pinned inside the chair.
"Hello?” she shouted as she tried to wriggle out of the confining space. As the nasty odor grew closer, so did the thumping and shuffling sound. The big, flowery shoulders of the dress had popped up and made it impossible for her to see anything on her left or right side. More shuffling followed by moaning. Gloria could barely make out the shadow in her peripherals. The gnashing of broken teeth and hungry wail of the undead along with the foul smell of death came from the right of her. Whatever was making those noises were still out of her range of vision.
“Listen, whoever you are, help me up and I’ll make you rich!” she shouted, trying to get a look at whoever was out in the living room. The only response was a moaning in her ear that caused her to almost soil her dress. A gray, dead hand quickly grabbed her by the right shoulder and ripped some of the flowery decoration off it. Another pair of dead hands clawed at her hair, ripping her wig from her head.
“Bastards!” Gloria shouted as she unsuccessfully tried to grab at her missing hair piece. The cartel mother found she really couldn’t move her arms that well in the heavy dress. Before she could try another futile attempt to pull herself free, two dead faces abruptly appeared in front of her.
“Demons!” Gloria screamed as she recognized the eyeless and cheekless face that had belonged to the stupid leader of the mariachi band. The other nightmarish face belonged to Camacho’s shitty Andrew Dice Clay impersonator.
Gloria screamed loudly as she frantically tried to escape the confines of the recliner. The hungry dead men clawed and tore at her dress as she helplessly struggled to get loose. Both of the dead sunk their broken teeth deep into Gloria, who screamed and screamed until there was only the sound of tearing and chewing.
TACTICAL RELOCATION
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
Hale carefully rounded the corner of the building, secure in the knowledge that he had wounded the grenade guy in the leg. The man had disappeared out of view when he’d hit him in the thigh. Hale figured the cartel thug had tumbled out of his view because of his shot up leg. Watching his nines and still holding his rifle at his shoulder, he eased around the building and stopped cold. He threw a gloved hand up to signal a halt to Redwood and Snake following closely behind him. The two soldiers came to a halt.
“Fuck me,” Hale said lowly.
“Sarge?” Redwood was watching the area around them. “Sarge?”
“We gotta get back to the others,” he said as he tapped on his headset. “Bravo One. Target is down; we’re headed back to you.”
“We’ll come to you, Bravo Two.” Morgan said over his headset.
“No,” Hale said quietly. “Stay put. I’ll explain when we get there.”
“Roger, Bravo Two.”
“Tactical relocation, Redwood. Now,” Hale said as he walked backwards a few feet, not taking his eyes off of what was ahead of them. The three men backed up a few more feet then Hale signaled for them to halt. “All right,” he said tensely. “Run!”
The two soldiers didn’t question nor hesitate. They had both worked for the sergeant for a while now and had never seen his demeanor this way. Snake and Redwood sprinted back to the position behind the fountain. Hale took another look to make sure they were not going to be followed and bolted after the others.
The bombed out remains of the fountain/ statue of Bob wrangling a giant bull had now become the team’s temporary base camp. Doc Kegy and Duley had been able to carry Amatuzo’s unconscious form to cover behind the marble monstrosity.
Vanelli, with the wounded ass, had been able to make it over on his own. Cross still held her rifle on the drug lord, who quietly sobbed next to a fallen piece of one of his sculptured thighs. Morgan covered the three men as they sprinted back.
“Doc, how is Amatuzo?” Morgan asked.
“Resting.” Kegy was busy grabbing out a bandage for Vanelli’s ass wound. "He lost a lot of blood. Duley and I can carry him out of here.”
“Damn. What the fuck happened?”
“Bunch ‘o crazy cartel folks tried to eat us.” Duley looked over at Kegy. “Doc says they was drugged up but I’ve seen dudes on angel dust. This was scary shit.”
“Duley,” Kegy said, cleaning Vanelli's wound. “Don’t be spreading any bullshit. You wanna see scary shit, come over here and check out Vanelli’s ass.”
“Hey!” Vanelli said as he lay on his stomach, pants down around his thighs.
“Sarge, that was some fucked up shit,” Duley said to Morgan. “It was a fucking code brown.”
“This whole mission has a weird vibe.” Cross looked down at Camacho. “You guys practice devil worship here, Bob?”
“No,” the cartel boss said, offended. “I am a Catholic. I pray to Saint Malverde, the patron saint of men like me.”
“Assholes?”
“P—” Camacho started to insult the red-headed soldier when he remembered her threat. “Cartel men. He watches over us.”
“Not very good,” Morgan added.
“Y’all have a saint for everything, don’t you?"
"Yes.” He nodded up at Cross. “We even have a saint for soldado’s like you. Even gringos like you.”
“Good to know.” Cross gave him a wink.
"We’ll be out of here soon enough. The Doc is right. Drugs or some other unhealthy shit,” Morgan said trying to reassure the others. The sergeant nudged Bob with his hand. “Can’t you shut this muzak off? What the hell is this?”
“It is that bastard Black’s fault.” Bob spat as he sat up. “This is his doing.”
“Black?” Morgan frowned.
“He’s one of my men,” Camacho said, correcting himself. He wanted to save that tidbit about the industrialist involvement. Maybe he could curry some favor with that information.
“Can you shut that shit off? Sounds worse than a carload of cats fucking,” Morgan said as he resumed watching Sn
ake and Redwood return.
“No, it is in the other direction.”
“Swell, Bob, just swell.” Camacho bristled at the soldier calling him that. Redwood and Snake crouched down next to Cross and Morgan. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Redwood shrugged. "Hale says run, you run.”
“Yep.” Snake nodded in agreement.
“Can’t argue with that.” Morgan looked over at Kegy, who was slapping a bandage on Vanelli’s ass. “Speed it up, Doc, we’ll be moving here shortly.”
“There’s a lotta nasty ass here,” Kegy said, popping open another bandage. “Only got two hands.”
“You know I’m right here Doc?” Vanelli grumbled.
“No shit.”
Hale made it to the cover of the obscene fountain and slid in next to Morgan. The Air Force sergeant rested his back against the fountain and dropped his rifle into his lap. A cold sweat ran down his cheeks.
He wiped them with a gloved hand then glanced over at the senior sergeant. Morgan could tell Hale had just witnessed something very bad.
“What happened?”
“I shot that fucker in the leg, he got away from me,” he said quietly. The rest of the team was listening intently to find out what had spooked him. “It was that snitch we left behind that was shooting rounds at us. Anyway, he’s ahead of me and falls down.” Hale wiped some more sweat away. “This crowd of creepy looking people see him then they all…” The sergeant looked directly at Morgan. “They tore him apart and ate him alive. They fucking ate him alive.”
“See,” Duley shook his head like it was on a swivel. “See. I ain’t crazy!”
“I was going to try and shoot them but there was probably fifty or more. They didn’t notice me—at least I don’t think they did; they were too busy making a happy meal out of that guy.”
“I’m glad I didn’t see that.” Redwood looked pointedly over at Duley.
“Dude, one more time. I didn’t eat any of your candy bars.”
“Is demons,” Bob said as he performed a quick sign of the cross.
“Demons, my ass.” Morgan knew what his Hale had witnessed was absolutely true. He just could not fathom what the hell was really going on. “We need to stay clear of that area. Let’s get a move on.” He tapped Hale on the shoulder. “You good?”
“I’m good.” He nodded. Although Hale had once decapitated a man and been able to live with that, what he saw tonight had definitely unnerved him a little.
“Well, I’m spooked,” Snake said.
“What’s the word for beyond spooked?” Duley asked as he glanced around anxiously. “‘Cause that’s what I am.”
“You have a big ass gun, Duley.” Cross smiled reassuringly at the younger soldier. “Anything out there should be afraid of you.”
He looked down at his weapon. “Sergeant Cross, there’s some things you can’t just shoot.”
“You ready, Doc?” Morgan asked, checking his weapon.
“We’re good,” Kegy said as he finished unfolding the combat stretcher. The Doc waved to Duley and both men lifted the unconscious Amatuzo onto it.
“Okay, back the way we came in,” Morgan told the team. “Snake, you’re on point. Vanelli, you cover the rear… no pun intended.”
“Too late, Sarge,” Vanelli said, getting to his feet.
“Listen,” Camacho said to Morgan. “I do not know what evil has possessed my people.”
“Being in a drug cartel, I’m sure that’s pretty much is what has possessed them,” Morgan said, quickly getting to his feet. “Evil people do evil shit.”
“It is evil, Sergeant. I have never heard of such things,” he said with fear thick in his voice. “I do not know how far we have to go, but I have a vehicle close by.”
“Will it carry all of us?” Morgan asked as he watched Kegy and Duley lift up the Amatuzo filled stretcher. It would a long hike to the LZ with them humping the wounded soldier and watching out for all the cannibals running about. A vehicle would make it so much easier.
“Yes, there is plenty of room.” Camacho nervously smiled. Now it was all about saving his ass. He didn’t mind being in the custody of the Americans now that there were flesh eating demons loose in the compound. “I assure you, it will hold everyone.”
“Swell, Bob. Do I need to tell the sergeant on point where to go?”
“No,” Camacho said. “If you are going out along the back wall, it's there. We will run right into it.”
“Swell, Bob.”
“Can you untie me now?” Camacho asked, hoping that by providing a means to escape it would buy him some goodwill with the Americans.
“Bob.” Morgan patted him hard on the cheek. “How many people have you sliced, diced, and shot with those hands? Can’t trust ya, Bob. So the answer is a big fuck no. Clear?”
“Sergeant,”—the ex-cartel boss stopped—“if you do not unite me now, I will scream and let them know exactly where we are.”
“Listen, you piece of shit.” Morgan grabbed him by the collar. “You are not in charge of anything anymore, you murdering fuck. I could shoot you right here and not lose a wink of sleep over it.”
“Listen, gringo,” Camacho looked the sergeant straight in the eyes. “This is my compound. You think you are just going to walk out of here?”
“Found your balls, Bob? Over your mommy issues now?” Cross shook her head.
“I have ten million dollars for each of you if you release me now!” Camacho glanced around at the team.
“Blood money.” Morgan let go of the cartel man. “If you want to live , keep your trap shut.” Camacho glared at him angrily but said nothing. “Cross, if Bob has another outburst, gag him.”
The redheaded sergeant reached into her tac vest and pulled out a small roll of speed tape. She ripped a fresh piece off the roll and slapped it on Bob’s shoulder.
“You know you want to say something, Bob. You just can’t help yourself.”
Camacho ground his teeth together and held in a snarl. First chance he got, he would kill this bitch then escape.
“Let’s move people,” Morgan said to his team. Snake quickly scanned the area in front of him then carefully proceeded ahead of the others. A few seconds later, Redwood trailed the point man out. Hale, Cross, and Bob followed along with the Doc and Duley carrying the stretcher with Amatuzo on it. Morgan waited several seconds until they were all gone then he headed out behind them. Vanelli was the last; he did a fast count to thirty then hurried after the group.
AMATUZO’S BAD TRIP
LEAVING CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
Several fires were starting to break out among dozens of the more than one hundred buildings that were inside the walled compound. Thick black smoke was starting to fill the warm late night air masking some of the horrific dead smell.
As the team swiftly moved along the white adobe wall, Vanelli could see fires leaping from one building to another. Small and large groups of the cartel cannibals were starting to take notice of the soldiers that were sneaking around the compound. As the team tried to find their way back to the rear gate, more and more of the flesh eaters were gathering in big mobs looking for someone to make their next meal.
Amatuzo suddenly began rocking back and forth violently on the stretcher. The wounded man abruptly rolled off the side and slammed face first onto the hard cobblestone ground. Duley, who was carrying the front end of the stretcher, dropped his part of the frame to the ground and turned to see what had just happened.
Doc Kegy let go off his end and stepped over to where the soldier was sprawled on the ground groaning. The medic knelt down next to Amatuzo and rolled him onto his back. The younger team member seemed to be in the middle of some kind of seizure.
“Tuz is down!” Duley said into his headset.
“Hold position!” Morgan ordered as he hurried over to where Amatuzo lay on the ground flanked by Kegy and Duley. The other soldiers immediately crouched down, weapons up and watching their areas for any approaching target
s.
“Easy, Amatuzo,” Doc Kegy said as he tried to clear the soldiers airway. Black foamy slobber filled his mouth.
“Jeez, Doc!” Duley crouched down and grabbed his shaking teammate's arms. Amatuzo spat up some of the black goo then went limp as the two soldiers tried to help him.
“Come on, Amatuzo! Come on, man!” Kegy said as he watched the young man’s eyes roll up into the back of his head while he let out one final exhale.
“Doc?” Morgan knelt down next to him.
“Help me get his gear off. I gotta do CPR on him!” Kegy dropped his pack and dug out his mini defibrillator and ambu bag. Morgan and Duley were busy pulling off Amatuzo’s tac vest and shirt. “Duley, start chest compressions!” The medic ordered as he quickly unwrapped the ambu bag and tossed it to the other sergeant. “Sarge, put that over his mouth!"
“I got it, Doc.” Morgan nodded as he slid over next to the soldier's face and placed the ambu over his mouth. “I don’t know if I can get a good enough seal with that bandage."
“Try, Sarge!” Kegy said, charging the defibrillator as Duley pumped on the dead soldier's chest. “I’m almost ready!”
“Hey guys, we have company,” Vanelli said in their headsets. “I have about twenty of them fucked up freaks headed this way.”
"Just swell. Light ‘em up, Vanelli!” Morgan looked down at the dead face of the young soldier. “Hale, get over to Vanelli’s position and back him up. Everyone else stand fast!”
“Roger!” Hale replied.
“You guys stink!” Vanelli leveled his sites at the rapidly approaching mob of flesh eaters. “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!”
“Quit gabbin’ and shoot!” Hale said as he squatted down next to the other soldier and raised his rifle at the crowd. He squeezed the trigger and fired directly at the mob; he had a gut feeling that shooting over the top of the group wouldn’t disperse them. With that being the only prompting needed, Vanelli began unloading his rifle on the crowd. The two soldiers rounds struck several of the cannibals knocking them back but not off their feet.