Operation Zulu: Dos

by Gamboa, Allen

  “Son of a bitch!” Kubicek cried as he rocked back and forth trying to stop the bleeding. “You fucking shot me. I’m going to die!”

  “Just a flesh wound,” Baasch said disgusted. “I’ve killed little girls that made less noise.”

  “John.” Black leaned over the blubbering lieutenant. “After my men and I leave, wait five minutes then call in your own helicopter. I can’t stay around and make sure you don’t bleed out. Unfortunately, there is a lot more going now than just our little scheme.” He patted Kubicek on his heaving shoulder. “Stop crying, it looks… well, it just looks bad.” He stood back up as his private helicopter appeared above them.

  "Gentlemen,” he said to the mercenaries, “drinks are on me.”

  PENDEJO’S

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  Nacho stood on the empty bandstand shaking his head in frustration. Rocio hadn't shut off the P.A. system yet and the annoying muzak was still blaring throughout the whole compound. Nacho was very surprised that neither Salazar nor Camacho himself had made an appearance and chewed him out. The crowd was now restless and rapidly becoming irritated at having their party abruptly interrupted.

  Nacho sighed heavily and scratched his head at the sudden absence of the band. He looked behind the curtain that separated the bandstand from the alleyway and saw the area was empty of band members, but one of the kitchen doors was ajar. Nacho knew that only authorized staff were supposed to be inside the hacienda. Salazar would have his ass if that stupid band of putos were caught in the kitchen raiding the boss’s refrigerator.

  Cursing to himself, he stepped down into the alleyway and went inside the open kitchen door. The room was almost totally dark except for a small stream of light from one of the appliances; no sign of the band.

  “Dick heads,” Nacho said under his breath. The ungrateful bastards were probably wandering about El Jefe’s house doing who knows what. Before he could proceed forward, he heard a muffled noise at his feet. Glancing down, he saw the band members were all laying on the floor, zip-tied and gagged. Nacho quickly drew out his hunting knife and knelt down besides Vincente. He swiftly cut his bonds then yanked the speed tape off his mouth.

  “Ayy!” The band leader screamed as most of his Freddie Mercury mustache was torn from his face.

  “What is this?” Nacho asked urgently.

  “My fucking face!” Vincente whined as he rocked back and forth on the floor and stared sadly at the remains of his mustache that was stuck to the back of the speed tape.

  “No, idiot!” Nacho grabbed him by the shoulder. “Who did this?”

  “I don’t k-know,” the musician stammered. “Bunch of fuckers with big guns. I didn’t ask them who they were. Maybe Americans? I don’t know.”

  “Ah.” Nacho, out of patience, shoved the bandleader backwards. “Where did they go?”

  “I didn’t see. Inside, I assume,” Vicente said sarcastically.

  “Useless puta.” Nacho quickly stood up and dropped his knife less than a half inch away from Vincente’s custom boot heel. “Cut the other pendejos free.” He grabbed his radio and quickly spoke into it. “Salazar! This is Nacho. We have intruders. Heavily armed intruders in the hacienda. Probably American!” He drew his pistol and started for the living room when a blood curdling scream came from the courtyard. “Salazar?” Silence. Another terrifying scream filled the air.

  “What was that?” Vincente asked, his voice wavering.

  “Why don’t you come with me and find out?” Nacho gave the band leader a disgusted look and headed back out through the kitchen doors. Nacho was now becoming more and more irritated. Was he the only one with a radio tonight or in charge of anything?

  As the cartel man reentered the alleyway, he could hear screams and shouts coming from inside the courtyard. Nacho ran up the steps and pulled back the stage curtains so he could get a glimpse of what new fire he would have to put out.

  “What the fuck?” Nacho just stared open-mouthed at the chaos that had erupted in the brightly lit courtyard. At first, it appeared a fist fight had broken out among the partygoers. Nacho fumbled for his radio, needing to call Domingo or Salazar or anyone he could about the armed men in the hacienda.

  The screams grew louder as the cartel man noticed some of the people below were tearing and biting at the others. Blood was starting to spray across the expensive decorations as guests were tackled to the floor and ripped apart.

  “Oh, shit…” Nacho momentarily forgot he had his pistol in his hand as he watched the horrifying violence unfold in front of him. To the cartel man, it looked like they were eating one another. Demons, Nacho took a few shaky steps backwards, demons!

  Some of the men down in the courtyard drew their weapons and began firing wildly at their attackers. Nacho, remembering the weapon in his hand, raised the big Desert Eagle with both hands and fired. The gun jumped as a round intended for one of the crazies smashed into the back of Diego Dundas, another cartel man, killing him instantly. Several of the hungry crowd eagerly fell upon the still warm corpse.

  “Shit!” Nacho fired again, hitting one of the pool girls in the head. The cartel go-fer had never got much time in at the range or even really handled weapons, but he kind of found this exhilarating. He stuck the big gun out again and fired. This time the round hit one of the crazies in the gut but didn’t keep it from attacking Gordo Garcia. Nacho fired again, blowing out one of the hacienda’s windows. He looked down at the big handgun in his hands and felt all the power it contained. He liked it. He fired again, not really caring who he hit. One of the crazies' head exploded in a flurry of black blood and bones.

  Neat, he chuckled, just like a video game.

  Nacho fired again. This time the round barely missed one of Salazar's hit-men, a real bad guy named Nasty Rafi.

  Nasty Rafi angrily turned to see Nacho standing on the stage with the big gun in his hands. Without a thought, the hit man fired a round from his own handgun at the cartel go-fer. The round hit Nacho square in the stomach and threw him back into the curtains. As he fell through the thin material, he grabbed hold of them for balance but only succeeded in ripping them free and exposing the alleyway to the violence in the courtyard.

  Vicente and his fellow band members froze in their tracks as they watched the cartel man tumble backwards into the alley. The bandleader noticed Nacho’s torso was covered in blood as he struggled to get to his feet but only managed to tangle himself up in the curtains.

  “Help me!” Nacho reached a trembling hand out to the frightened band members. All his feelings of power had instantly vanished.

  Vicente hesitated for a moment, torn between helping the cartel man or running. His mind was quickly made up when several of the crazies from the courtyard stumbled through the opening on the stage and plunged down into the alley. The band just stood paralyzed in fear as the four undead men staggered to their feet and lumbered hungrily in their direction.

  “Stay back!” Vincente croaked and raised a shaking hand with the knife Nacho had given him to cut the others free. “Back or I will stab you!”

  “Run!” One of his men said from behind. It was a little too late as the ravenous dead fell upon the band, ripping and tearing at them. Vincente turned to run but only succeeded in knocking two of his band mates down to the ground.

  “Help!” Nacho screamed as he tried to wriggle himself out of the tangle of curtains. He could feel himself getting weaker and weaker as he continued to lose more blood from the stupid gunshot wound. There was a sharp pain in his back and he realized he’d landed on his own handgun. He threw off some of the curtain material in an attempt to roll off the Desert Eagle when he suddenly felt a heavy weight on his legs. A foul odor assaulted his senses as he looked over his rapidly heaving chest. A nightmarish creature scrambled over his lower body and toward his face. Letting go of his bowels, he screamed as the thing that had once been one of the pool girls opened her jaws wide and brought her broken teeth down on his neck. Overhead, a weird muzak version of
M.C. Hammer’s Can’t Touch This crackled through the tinny P.A. system.

  MAZATLAN

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND PARKING LOT

  “Mazatlan?” Bailey opened the driver side door of the Impala and climbed inside. “Sounds nice.”

  “So does the Ivory Coast but I don’t want to live there." Tanya leaned in the open driver side window. “Too much civil unrest and industrial pollution.” She shrugged. “Reminds me of the City of Industry.”

  “Who are you?” the younger woman asked.

  “I like to read.” She looked at her watch. “I wish Nero would hurry his ass up.”

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  “They all do at first, Bailey.” She noticed a small group of people heading into the parking lot from the courtyard area. Three tuxedo clad men were escorting an older woman in a big, flowing dress. Two of the men carried several pieces of luggage while the third man led the way. “Nero, there’s something different about him. He seems pretty solid. Nothing like Leeland.”

  “Poor Leeland,” Bailey said, wiping a tear from her eye. She’d been friends with the guy for too long to just shrug off his death. “What happened in there?”

  “I don’t know. He could be a real asshole sometimes but he sure didn’t deserve that.” She frowned and glanced back down at Bailey. “No one does.”

  “I know he was a jerk, but he took me in when my dad died. He didn’t try anything weird either.”

  “Yeah, foster homes can be the worst.” Tanya shivered remembering the past.

  Suddenly, the warm night air was filled with a foul smell that reminded Tanya of road-kill. A low haunted moaning followed the odor as it wafted through the parking lot. Tanya stood up and looked over the roof of the old Chevy just in time to see a mob of people pushing their way into the parking lot entrance/exit gate. Tanya looked back down at Bailey and quietly told her to start the car.

  Without question, Bailey cranked over the car’s big engine as Tanya ran over to the passenger's side and jumped in.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Just keep the car running. I think the townspeople just showed up.” Tanya drew the .38 out of her waistband and dropped it in her lap.

  “No way.” Baylie trembled. “Are you serious?” Tanya just fixed her with a dead stare. “Okay, what do we do?”

  “Give Nero a few more minutes. Roll up your window and lock your door.”

  “Right. Right.”

  Gloria Camacho impatiently stood outside the black Tahoe SUV as her new driver, Bruno, started up the engine. Epi, one of her bodyguards, helped Blanca into the vehicle while the other bodyguard handled the luggage. As Blanca slid onto the leather seat, she heard a loud scream.

  Epi glanced over at Gloria who was staring over at the parking lot entrance. Without a second thought, the bodyguard reached for his handgun that was snug in his shoulder holster. A wave of nightmarish looking undead were crashing through the entrance and spilling into the automobile filled parking lot. A horrible stench and eerie moaning followed the hungry mass of grabby flesh-eaters.

  “Get in the car!” Epi shouted at Gloria and shoved her toward the open car door. Gloria quickly leapt up into the big SUV but before she could climb inside, Bruno panicked. He saw the army of dead heading their way and shifted the Tahoe into drive and pounded on the gas pedal. The SUV jerked forward causing Gloria to tumble out and the door to slam shut, catching the hem of her big dress inside. The bodyguard in the rear was knocked out cold when the tailgate smashed him in the head as Tahoe lurched forward.

  Epi jumped out of the way as the black vehicle tore out across the parking lot dragging Gloria Camacho along with it. The seasoned bodyguard shook his head knowing that if they got through this there would be hell to pay. Holding his .45 at the ready, he sped after the out of control Tahoe. Gloria screamed and cursed as the vehicle spun out of control and crashed into a parked Jeep. The force of the collision flung her past the Tahoe and into a wall with a loud thwack!

  “Ah shit!” The bodyguard, Epi, almost tripped as he watched his boss slam into the parking lot wall. If she wasn’t dead by now, he was going to be in one big fucking mess. Before he could reach Gloria’s motionless body he was cut off by a mob of the ravenous townspeople. As he scanned the mass he realized there was something really wrong with the group. Epi pointed the .45 at them.

  “Back!” He waved the gun around the strange mob; that was when he noticed some of the others had gathered around his unconscious partner’s body. The group suddenly and savagely fell upon his body and tore him to bloody shreds.

  “Fuck this!” Epi said, squeezing the trigger on his .45. A few rounds impacted harmlessly in the chest of the undead, causing them to stumble backwards. Epi continued to fire on them until the slide locked back on his empty gun. He started to reach for another magazine but the crowd was quickly closing in on him. Epi turned to run but found himself face to face with a woman that smelled like shit and looked even worse. Epi screamed as the woman roughly shoved her hand down his throat and ripped out his tongue.

  EVIL IS IN THE AIR

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  “What the hell was that?” Duley had heard the screams and the gunshots coming from the courtyard.

  The two teams and Camacho were about to exit the hacienda when a commotion arose from outside. One of the windows shattered as a wild round smashed through it. The ten soldiers instantly dropped to a knee and assumed combat positions. Cross pulled Camacho down onto his back out of the line of fire. Morgan signaled to Hale to have a look through one of the drape covered windows. The other sergeant quickly moved over to one of the windows and carefully moved the drape back just enough to peek through it into the courtyard. While Hale was busy checking out the disturbance, Morgan reached over a shoved the barrel of his pistol into Salazar’s chest.

  “What kind of game are you playing?”

  “It’s not me,” Salazar said, annoyed at the gun in his chest. “You’d be dead by now if it was.”

  “Looks like some kind of riot out there. Pretty fucking crazy.” Hale let the drape go and moved over to where Morgan was positioned. “Doesn’t look like they even know we are here.”

  “Salazar, what have you done?” Camacho asked trying to roll onto his side.

  Cross pushed Robert flat onto his back and waved a gloved finger at him. “Quiet, esé,” she told him. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

  “Sounds like they can’t handle their liquor out there.” Redwood ran a gloved hand over the barrel of his rifle.

  “It’s more than that; pretty damn violent out there.” Hale hit the other sergeant on the shoulder. “Morgan, I say we split while we have a distraction.”

  “Okay.” Morgan nodded. “Redwood, you lead. Same same.”

  “Roger that,” Redwood said as he easily lifted Camacho to his feet and pushed him toward Cross. “He’s all yours, Red.”

  “Just what every girl wants, her own miniature drug boss. Thanks, Redwood,” Cross said, grabbing the cartel boss under his right arm.

  Despite the ruckus in the courtyard, the team moved stealthily out the back door of the hacienda and into the shadows of the compound. Gunfire could be heard in the distance along with screams and cries for help. The sounds put the team on edge, causing Redwood to signal them to halt.

  “Something feels wrong here,” he said into his headset mic. “Evil is in the air, and its thick.” The big Native American’s voice was quiet and even. His gut was churning. Redwood hadn’t had a feeling like this since a convoy he was riding in was almost completely destroyed by an IED. His best friend, Kidd, was killed in that attack and all that happened to Redwood was a bad case of tinnitus. “Not good,” he whispered.

  “Shit ” Vanelli cursed.

  “Keep moving,” Morgan said, fully aware of the big soldier's gut feelings. “Sooner we're out of here, the better.”

  “I didn’t eat his Snicker's bar. Did somebody eat his damn candy bar?” Duley whisp
ered to Vanelli, his voice cracking a little. Suddenly a loud shriek came from behind in the courtyard, causing Duley to tighten his grip on his rifle. “What was that?”

  “I don’t want to know,” Vanelli said, moving forward. “Doesn’t sound like something we need to check out.”

  “Cakewalk people,” Hale said, trying to smooth things over. “We just have to sneak on out the back door and we are home free.”

  As Redwood rounded the corner of one of the buildings, he could see another of the structures fully ablaze. Fire engulfed most of the building illuminating areas of the compound that had been covered in darkness. The point man signaled for them to halt and spoke into his headset mic.

  “We have a building fire ahead. No sign of bad guys but it’s pretty well lit up.”

  “Roger. Proceed,” Morgan said into his mic. “Keep moving.”

  CANNED MEAT

  CAMACHO’S COMPOUND

  Gloria Camacho awoke to the horrible sounds of chewing and tearing. Lying flat on her back, Gloria slowly turned her head to the left. Her whole body ached and burned from being dragged and smashed against the parking lot wall. The new cartel boss remembered her whole ordeal before she was knocked unconscious. She turned her aching neck and saw a group of people huddled over a body. Blinking her watery eyes, she could see them eating the remains of her bodyguard Epi.

  She carefully looked past the group and saw a similar scene where her other bodyguard lay. She really thought she’d bought the best security, but now looking at the rapidly vanishing lumps of flesh realized she’d have to spend more money. Epi and the other guy, whatever his name was, came advertised as the best. Well, if they couldn’t handle a gang of druggies what good were they? Disgusted but not really horrified, Gloria was pissed off at the disruption of her transfer of power. The deal with the American government and Salazar had all worked out well. But this… these peons from the town coming in and fucking things up.