When Barron ran out of shotgun shells, he used the weapon as a club. With nowhere else to go, he ran back into the cantina still clutching the empty shotgun in his quaking hands.
As they hungry dead started to pour in through the cantina’s swinging doors, Barron made a sprint for the men’s room. As he approached the open bathroom door, he slipped on a sticky patch of dried blood and went down on one knee. He quickly scooted across the dirty floor on his knees and pulled the door shut behind him.
Groping around, he found the door lock and flicked it on just in time to hear a loud thump on the other side. Barron could hear the clawing and pounding of dead hands on the thick wooden door, causing it to vibrate a little. The cartel man prayed that it would hold until he could climb out the restroom window.
Slowly getting to his feet, he limped over to the toilet. The lid and bowl were covered in age old nastiness; normally, Barron would be repulsed but after what he just witnessed…
Bam! More pounding on the door. Above the toilet bowl was a window that was just big enough for him to climb out of.
Bam!
The door shook more violently than before; at any moment it would collapse and the demons would flood inside. Barron climbed on top of the toilet and tried to push the window open. The window wouldn’t budge; it was nailed shut. Using the barrel of his shotgun, Barron smashed out the glass.
There was another loud bang from behind as the door caved in and the hungry dead poured into the bathroom. Screaming, Barron tossed the shotgun outside and pulled himself through the jagged, broken glass ringed opening. He swung down the side of the building and hit the ground hard. Knees burning, he was just happy to be alive. Laughing joyously, he grabbed up the shotgun and started to run across the street. Barron never heard the frantic honk of the horn or the roar of the bus that hit him.
BANDO DE GIGANTICO CANCELS
PASSADO, MEXICO
“Watch out!!” Javier shouted as the big bus crushed the man beneath its tires. Esteban, who’d been driving the bus, jammed his foot hard on the brake pedal, trying to get the old coach to stop. The bus slid on the body for several feet, leaving a nasty blood trail behind it.
Finally coming to a stop, Esteban jumped out from behind the driver's seat and pulled the doors open. Javier quickly followed the driver out of the bus, almost catching his fancy Mariachi costume on the doors. Both men stared blankly at the horribly mutilated body still wedged under the tires.
“Javier, I did not see him.” Sobbing, Esteban dropped to his knees.
“Loco. The man must have been loco.” Javier walked around the bus and bent down next to the body. The band leader could tell the man was long past helping.
“What happened?” Carlos asked as he and the rest of Bando de Gigantico piled out of the tour bus.
“He just ran out in front of us.” The bus driver looked up at his band mates, tears in his eyes. “He just ran out. I didn’t have enough time to stop.”
“Oh, Esteban.” Carlos rested a hand on the shoulder pad of his friend’s fancy band jacket. “We must call the police.”
“Esteban, look, maybe you ran over a robber,” Javier said as he returned to the others carrying Barron’s bloody shotgun. “This was still in his hand and there’s a broken window back there. Maybe he was robbing the place. You might be a hero, my friend.”
“We still need to call the police,” Carlos said as he helped the driver—who also doubled as the band's’ drummer—to his feet.
“Look.” The band’s bass player, Rudy, pointed to a crowd of townspeople that were running in their direction.
“Hey! We need help!” Esteban shouted.
Javier and Carlos noticed the strange look and gait of the quickly approaching mob. They appeared to be very angry and intent on harming the music group. The bandleader had a deep gut feeling that being a member of the famous Bando de Gigantico wouldn’t be in their favor right now. The terrifying moans and the bloody condition of the townspeople didn’t help the men in wanting to stay and explain what had just happened. Hastily shoving the rest of the band members back into the bus, Javier pushed Esteban to the side and jumped behind the wheel.
“Javier!” Carlos shouted. “Get us out of here!”
“What do you think I’m doing idiot!” Javier shouted as he threw the old bus in reverse. As they started to roll backwards, several of the ravenous crowd had reached the front of the vehicle and were trying frantically to rip the doors open. Javier could feel the bus shudder as the body was crushed once more beneath the big tires as the vehicle started to gain speed.
“Faster, Javier!” Esteban shouted as he crouched beneath one of the seats. The bus groaned and made a serpentine path backwards down the narrow street. The hungry group soon faded in the distance as Javier maneuvered the vehicle out of Passado in reverse. Once they were a few miles out of town, the band leader stopped the bus and made a quick U turn.
“Saints save us! What happened back there?” Carlos made the sign of the cross as he watched out the back window of the bus.
“Demons,” Javier said quietly, staring ahead. “It was like we took a shortcut into hell.”
“What about our gig at Camacho’s?” Rudy sheepishly asked from the rear of the bus.
“Screw Bob the Butcher!” Javier said, shifting the bus into gear. “We need to find a church!”
The other men eagerly agreed as the bandleader steered the bus away from the evil that lurked in Passado.
BITCH WORK
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
“Nero.” Domingo swaggered over to where the ex-soldier stood wiping down the wooden picnic tables that had been placed in the courtyard for the party. Nero ran the wet cloth across the rough table top, not bothering to look up at the cartel lieutenant. “Nero, I’m talking to you, esé.”
“Domingo.” He dropped the rag on the table and turned to face his boss.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Nacho asked me to clean the party tables.”
“That’s bitch work, esé. What the fuck?” He put his hands on his gun belt. “I thought you were going to be doing man's work.” Domingo slapped him on the shoulders and felt Nero’s back muscles tense. “Just kidding. You finish up with this; I need you on perimeter patrol with Hector.”
“I’m just doing what I’m told, Domingo.”
“That is a good boy.” The cartel man drew a cigarette out of his shirt pocket. “Just grab a jeep and find Hector when you're done with this. El Jefe’s mama should be here any time.”
“All right.” Nero grabbed up the cloth. “I’m almost done.”
“Good.” Cigarette dangling from his lips, he slapped him on the back again; this time he was a little gentler. “Those American chica’s say anything to you esé?”
“I think they were just happy to have a place to rest, Domingo. They seemed pretty shook up about whatever happened in Passado.”
“Aren’t you from there, Nero?” He placed a booted foot on the picnic bench seat.
“Yes.” Nero pictured himself grabbing the cartel lieutenant’s foot and snapping his ankle; instead, he just smiled and nodded. “Nothing but a bunch of drunks and junkies. Bad place to be nowadays. Who really knows what happened to the Americans?”
“I sent Barron and Santiago to have a look.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be back soon or at least call in.”
“You worried, Domingo?” Nero turned his back to the man and continued cleaning the table top.
“No, I’m not worried at all!” he protested, a little too loudly. “Just finish up and get on the perimeter.”
“Yes.”
“What cottage are the Americans in?” Domingo asked lewdly.
“I think he’s in the clinic.” Nero said, not glancing back.
“No, idiot,” Domingo sighed, frustration heavy in his voice. “The women.”
“I do not recall,” Nero lied as he grabbed up the cloth and shoved it into his back pocket. “Perimeter with Hector?
”
“Yeah.” Domingo nodded, flicking cigarette ashes onto the table top. The cartel lieutenant spat on the cobblestone ground as Nero walked away. “Stay on it all night, solido.”
“Domingo?” Nero stopped and slowly turned to face the underboss. The ex-soldier felt the weight of the pistol in his own gun belt as he tried to find a reason not to draw it and put a bullet through the other man’s eye. The smiling images of both his daughters kept him from acting on impulse. “Anything else?”
“No.” Domingo relaxed a little and moved his hand away from the butt of his Desert Eagle. He thought for sure that Nero had been ready to draw on him. The drug lieutenant took a shaky drag off his cigarette and waved the other man off. “Just get out on the perimeter!”
“Si.” Nero smiled, satisfied in the fact that Domingo knew he had just been moments away from his own death.
SCUMBAGGERY
USS BOXER
OFFICER’S MESS HALL
“Hale, you’re going to miss all this,” Morgan said as he dropped his graphite vest onto the top of one of the stainless steel tables then started to adjust the shoulder straps on his bulletproof vest.
“I won’t miss sleeping on the ground, and I definitely won't miss the lack of female companionship.” Hale grabbed his pack off the floor and set it next to the other sergeant’s tactical vest. “Not shaving everyday though?” He rubbed his bearded chin. “I could get used to that.”
“What about the camaraderie? The sense of purpose? I know, Hale; I left for a year and every single day I missed the hell out of it. Got a job at a Home Depot and I dreaded every day. I went from doing something worth a shit to being just another working class drone.”
“Working class drone sounds real good right now.” Hale shoved his med kit into a pocket of his pack. “Besides, I have a plan.”
“Teaching?” Morgan grabbed up his vest and pulled it over his head.
“Teaching, watching my kid grow up, sharing a nice, warm bed with my wife. All the things I’ve missed these past ten years. I did my time; I feel I’m owed a little peace and happiness.”
“This is my happiness.” Morgan pulled the sides of his vest closed. “Chasing bad guys; there's no better job.”
“True, Morgan, but I need something else.”
“You know my ex-wife always wanted me to quit and do something else, that’s why I did that Home Depot gig. I tried but just never felt right. Hell, I think I made her life miserable for nine months. One day she served me with divorce papers and bam, here I am, happier than cocksucker in a dick tree.”
“That sounds pretty happy to me.” Hale chuckled. “I certainly will miss these conversations.”
“See? We found something you’ll miss.” Morgan grinned as he pulled a camouflage baseball cap out of his leg pocket. Hale noticed it was a Dallas Cowboys hat.
“You get that on sale?”
“It’s from your daddy’s private collection.” Morgan adjusted the bill with his hand and smirked. “What? He didn’t tell you?”
“No. He only liked men’s football teams.” The Air Force sergeant lifted his pack and set it down at his feet. “You think this snitch has good intel?”
“I hope to hell he does. These cartel fuckers are backstabbing bitches. I don’t want to be walking into an ambush because of some fuck's double dealing.”
“There’s a definite scumbaggery factor here.” Hale crossed his arms, his big chest stretching his black, Under Armour t-shirt. “This is one of those ‘red flag’ missions.”
“I agree. I’m glad I have this team going in behind me on this. I trust them all with my life. The captain restricting Kubicek to the chopper makes me feel a little better. There’s not a whole lot he can fuck up there.”
“Guys like him seem to move up fast in the chain of command.”
“Unless they fall out of the chopper,” Morgan mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Morgan lifted his pack over his shoulder. “Is your wife gonna be okay with you being around so much?”
“Yeah.” Hale frowned. “Why?”
“I was thinking she's gonna get pissed at you borrowing her t-shirts all the time.” He laughed as he thumped Hale in the middle of his too-tight Under Armour shirt.
EASIER THAN A HOBOKEN HOOKER
USS BOXER
“You doing okay, Lieutenant?” Captain Galvan asked the junior officer as he leaned slightly over a railing on the aft deck of the Boxer. The lieutenant turned and faced the captain as he wiped his mouth.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded. “Just feeling a little queasy. Nerves, I think.”
“Pull yourself together, Lieutenant, you don’t want the teams to see you like this.”
“Yes, sir.” Kubicek adjusted his BDU jacket. The teams were outfitted in a plethora of different camo gear with the intention of making them appear to be a mercenary force rather than an American military unit.
“Good.” Captain Galvan smiled. He trusted the junior officer about as far as he could throw him. He had to be ordered to include the lieutenant on the mission; if it was up to Galvan, Kubicek would be back at the base making coffee. The only workable solution was to have Kubicek come along and stay on-board the helicopter until the mission was finished. Galvan thought the lieutenant would have fought him on the decision and was surprised when Kubicek agreed without arguing. To the commander, it was both a relief and a bit disturbing. When Galvan was a younger officer, he would be chomping at the bit to go on a mission. The captain nodded to himself as he scrutinized his subordinate. Kubicek was just one of many officers that were all about career advancement and nothing else. Empty suits that could get men killed—Galvan’s men in this case.
At least Kubicek wouldn’t be doing any damage on this mission. “You have your shit together, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir, it’s already to go.”
“Excellent. Just sit tight. The QRF should be here soon then we can load up and get on with it.” He met the wiry officer’s nervous gaze. “It’ll be over before you know it. Just remember to sit tight and make sure no one steals our way home. Easier than a Hoboken Hooker.” Galvan smiled. “You get this under your belt and you’ll be ready for your next posting.” The captain smirked as he walked off in the direction of the team’s Sea Stallion helicopter. “I’ll be at the chopper, Lieutenant.”
“Sir.” Kubicek watched as the captain crossed the busy deck toward the helicopter and the team that lay sprawled out around it. The lieutenant turned with his back against the railing and ocean and scanned the full length of the helicopter carrier. Marine helicopters were taking off and landing, Air crews moved about the deck with a purpose. All of which mattered little to Lieutenant John Kubicek; his eyes were on a seat in the Senate and then, ultimately, the White House. This military song and dance was just that—a song and dance. With the help of his high-powered uncle and his cronies, Kubicek had secured a pass to West Point. The influence he had pushing him along made sure there were no missteps in his career march. Even if Kubicek had wounded—or even killed—Morgan in that training ‘accident’, it would have been covered up and the lieutenant would have continued his checkered path into politics. He was being groomed by some very powerful shadow men to join their dark ranks. This mission would cement Kubicek’s status as a bona fide combat veteran.
I THINK I GOT SOMETHING BAD
CAMACHO’S COMPOUND
Nero sat restlessly drumming his fingers across the steering wheel of the topless Jeep CJ7. He impatiently waited for Hector to finish taking a leak behind one of the huge Mexican Fan Palm trees that ringed the white, adobe walls of the compound. The ex-soldier understood that Domingo had just sent him out on perimeter detail to keep him out of the way of his lewd designs for the American women. Nero knew he’d eventually have to find a reason to go back inside and make sure the idiot that was his immediate boss was behaving himself. Hector's heavy boots crunching on the gravel perimeter road brought his attention back to the job at hand.<
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“Nothing better than a good piss, hermano,” the bearded cartel man said as he wiped his hands on his dirty jeans and climbed up into the jeep’s passenger seat. “I miss anything?”
“You were only gone a minute, Hector.”
“Felt longer than that, Nero. I think I got something bad.” He scratched his crotch. “Burns when I piss. Think that girl Eliza has the clap.” He pulled out a cigarette and jabbed it in his mouth. “I should have strangled the bitch last time. Now, hermano, my dick is sick.”
“You have daughters, Hector?” Nero asked as he shoved the jeep in gear and pulled the vehicle back onto the perimeter road.
“Si,” The older man nodded as he proceeded to light the cigarette with a match. “Four wonderful girls.” He tossed the matchstick away. “Why?”
“You just seem to have a way with women,” Nero said, sarcasm thick in his voice.
“Why, yes I do.” Hector said, scratching the front of his jeans again. ”You have any kids?”
“No,” Nero lied as he adjusted his sunglasses and steered the jeep with one hand. “Never could find the right women, I guess.”
“Right woman, wrong woman… Doesn’t matter, Nero, you just need a woman. Willing or not.” He smiled widely, exposing dirty yellow teeth. “Out here you take what you can get.”
As the jeep rolled along the narrow perimeter road, Nero saw a cloud of dust approaching in the distance. He pulled the jeep over to the side of the gravel path and jabbed Hector in the shoulder. The passenger took a drag from his cigarette then looked over at the driver, mildly annoyed.
Operation Zulu: Dos Page 17