Dead Texas (Book 2): No Comfort

by Slaton, Derek

  Her brows knit in confusion. “Um, yeah?”

  “Good, good,” he said. “If you can go down there and bring me back some red, white and blue paint and a big ole brush, that’d be great.”

  She couldn’t help but ask. “Why do you need the paint?”

  “Why?” Rufus straightened. “Cause this is America, goddammit! And if there’s one thing we do, it’s blow shit up real nice. So whenever I make hillbilly dynamite, I feel it’s my patriotic duty to pay tribute to the red, white and blue by painting it on the bomb.”

  She shook her head. “I… yeah, I’ll be right back.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mary pointed from the backseat. “Gonna be about a half a mile up on the left,” she instructed, leaning beside Sparks’ shoulder in the passenger seat.

  Ricky nodded. “Got it,” he said.

  “Stop the car!” Sparks cried, and he slammed on the brakes.

  “What the hell?!” Rufus cursed as he and Jeff smacked into the rear window from the bed of the truck. He glared inside at her, and she held a finger to her lips, pointing past Ricky. On the side of the road was a cattle pen, full of a few dozen zombies. His jaw dropped.

  “What the fuck is that?” Jeff breathed.

  “Looks like their secret stash of zombies,” she replied. “Given the fatigues, I think it’s some of their own men.”

  “Well, why in the everloving fuck would they keep them?” Rufus asked.

  “Who knows?” Sparks shook her head. “Maybe they want to set up traps around their compound, you know, chain them up and stuff like a guard dog.”

  Jeff shrugged. “Or use them as cannon fodder.”

  “What do you mean?” Sparks raised an eyebrow.

  “They could set them loose on their enemies,” the skinhead replied. “Why fight against gun toting people when you can send a wave of zombies at them? I mean hell, I’d rather face off against ten zombies than one guy with a gun.”

  “Hey, Rufus,” Sparks asked, suddenly getting an idea. “How much of that hillbilly dynamite you got?”

  “Had enough material to make two bombs,” he replied.

  She smiled. “Remote detonation?”

  “Timed, and it’s not very accurate,” he admitted. “Pretty much once I dump the mixture into the fertilizer you got about twenty minutes before it goes boom. And there’s a two to three minute margin of error in there too.”

  “I can work with that,” Sparks decided. “How long you think you’re gonna need to get into the camp?”

  Rufus shrugged. “Assuming their compound is in that tree line there, I could be on site in five minutes if there’s a chain link fence.”

  “What if they have something sturdier?” Jeff asked.

  Rufus held up his hillbilly dynamite canister, painted red white and blue. “Twenty.”

  “Alright Rufus, this is what I’m thinking,” Sparks said. “Put one of those bombs at the zombie pen gate. Three minutes later, I want you to mix the second bomb.”

  Jeff gaped. “Are you crazy?”

  “Hey now, this is your plan,” she retorted.

  He blinked at her. “Mine?”

  “Yeah, you’re the one who suggested zombies could be used as a weapon,” she said, shooting him a sweet smile. “We’re gonna open that gate then signal them.”

  Jeff shook his head. “My brilliance is a curse…” he moaned.

  “Rufus, you on board?” Sparks asked.

  Rufus grinned. “Eh, what the hell, sounds like a party.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jeff strolled up to the front gate of the compound, hands in the air, completely unarmed. He took in the simple chain link fence that was about eight feet high topped with barbed wire.

  Two spotlights flicked on, and a trio of armed men aimed their weapons.

  “Don’t take another fucking step,” one barked.

  “Whoa whoa whoa,” Jeff countered, spreading his fingers to accentuate his palms. “Easy there, cowboy.”

  The guard shook his head. “You need to find someplace else.”

  “I heard this was the place for me,” Jeff replied, grasping the hem of his shirt.

  The guard cocked his gun. “You don’t wanna do that!”

  “Easy,” the skinhead cooed. “I’m just taking my shirt off to show you what I mean.”

  “Do it slow,” the guard sounded confused but intrigued. When Jeff revealed the German military tattoos riddling his chest, the guard grasped his radio. “Tower one to Elijah, Tower one to Elijah, over.”

  “What is it?” the militia leader replied through the mouthpiece.

  “Some trouble at the front gate,” the guard replied. “Gonna need you to come up here.”

  “On my way.”

  “Just wait there,” the guard instructed Jeff, “and no sudden movements.”

  The skinhead nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, and then tilted his head side to side, to signal Sparks that the distraction was on.

  Rufus slipped into the river, snipping the chain link fence that bridged the gap between two metal siding walls. He stayed low in the water until he was inside the compound, behind an out building. He silently moved to the corner to peer out, slipping back into the darkness as a guard approached.

  The guard turned the corner and Rufus bum rushed him, slamming him against the wall with a hand to his mouth and a knife to his throat.

  “You in a whole mess a trouble, boy,” the older man whispered, planting his knee on the assault rifle to prevent it being raised against him. “Now, you’re gonna answer a question for me, or else you’re gonna choke on your own blood. You understand?”

  The guard nodded, eyes nearly popping out of his head at the feel of the knife against his jugular.

  “Good,” Rufus hissed. “Now, you assholes took some of my friends from the high school. I wanna know where they are. Do you know?” The guard nodded. “You’re doing good. Now where are they?”

  The guard tried to speak, mouth muffled by the older man’s hand.

  “Hold on there,” Rufus cooed. “Now listen very carefully. I’m gonna remove my hand from your mouth. If you so much as think about speaking above a whisper, I’m gonna slit your throat, then I’m gonna cut your dick off and throat fuck you with it. We clear?”

  The guard had lost four shades of color in his face, and nodded ever so slightly to agree to the terms. Rufus moved his hand very slowly away from his mouth.

  “They’re close,” the guard whispered, so quiet it was almost inaudible. “Two buildings away. Not the one directly behind you, but the next one.”

  “Guards on the door?” Rufus asked.

  His prisoner nodded. “Should be two, but there’s a back way in, I can show you.” He gasped as the blade pressed harder against his throat. “Or I can just tell you.”

  The older man grinned. “That’s the right answer.”

  “There’s an access panel on the back of the building where you can put in fire wood for the stove,” the guard explained.

  “Really?” Rufus raised an eyebrow. “A wood burning stove?”

  The guard nodded. “Elijah wanted to be prepared for everything, including running out of fuel.”

  “Speaking of that, where did all that gas go to from this morning?” his captor asked.

  “It’s at the end of this row,” came the shaky reply. “No more than thirty yards.”

  Rufus smiled. “Boy, I want you to know you’ve done well.”

  “So are you gonna release me?” the guard asked shakily.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Rufus replied, and covered his prisoner’s mouth again, quickly slitting his throat. The guard struggled for a moment, before losing too much blood and going limp.

  The older man set him down in the shadows and wiped off his knife, checking his watch. “Shit, eight minutes, gotta move,” he hissed to himself.

  He moved through the shadows, checking each corner for more guards before clearing the space between the buildings. At the end of the row,
he spotted the fuel truck. There was one guard at the tailgate, watching the rest of the compound.

  The door of the building behind him opened, and half a dozen armed men wandered towards the front gate.

  Well, looks like whatever Jeff is doing is working, Rufus thought to himself. As the guard by the fuel turned to watch the group approach the gate, Rufus lunged out of the shadows, planting his knife into a fresh throat.

  They fell to the ground, and the only thing the guard could think of to do was reach up to his neck. It was an effort in futility, and he bled out before Rufus managed to spring up and drag the body behind the truck. He peeked back out to make sure nobody had noticed him.

  “Half a century later and still got it,” he murmured, and stabbed the militia guard in the head for good measure.

  Rufus took out a small container from his pack and set it next to the gas cans, darting back into the shadows to get to the hostage building. He skirted the outside, and was amazed to find that the access panel actually existed.

  Wow, guess that kid actually thought I was gonna let him go, he thought, and slipped into the storage room. He peeked through a door frame and surveyed the space, one guard sitting at a table reading a magazine with five hostages bound and sitting against the wall.

  Rufus knew he wouldn’t be able to make it undetected, so he broke off a small chunk of wood from a nearby box and tossed it at Ben. The kid didn’t notice, so he did it again, until he finally glanced at the door.

  When it dawned on him who it was, he cocked his head as Rufus put his finger to his lips, followed by pointing to the guard.

  “Yo guard,” Ben piped up.

  Their captor grunted. “Keep your mouth shut.”

  “That’s fine and all, but do you really want it to smell like piss in here?” the kid asked. The guard threw his magazine onto the table with a huff and got up, stomping over to grab Ben by the collar.

  He growled as he shoved the kid against the wall. “You piece of fucking shit-”

  Ben head butted him directly in the nose, and the guard staggered back. Rufus leapt out and grabbed his face, stabbing his opponent in the gut. The guard went limp as he attempted to stare down his attacker, but soon the life was gone and Rufus stabbed him in the skull.

  “Rufus!” Ben blurted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “We ain’t leaving anybody behind,” the old man replied gruffly.

  “How are we getting out of here?” the kid asked, turning around so that his rescuer could cut his bonds.

  “Transport is gonna be here any minute now, so we need to get y’all ready to move,” Rufus replied, and when Ben was free he handed the kid a second knife. “We gotta hurry.”

  “Why?” Ben asked.

  “Because any minute now, we’re going to be sending a huge signal that we’re here,” the older man replied with a grin. The kid’s eyes widened at the thought of the potential mayhem his ex-soldier companion could have planned.

  “So, what do we have here?” Elijah asked, approaching the fence. Jeff stood on the other side, hands still raised.

  The guard stiffened. “He says he wants shelter.”

  “And you decided the best course of action was to disturb me rather than shoot him in the head?” Elijah snapped, narrowing his eyes.

  “He’s got some relevant ink,” the guard explained quickly. “I didn’t want to assume anything, sir.”

  “Really?” The militia leader raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that buys you… let’s say thirty seconds to explain how you came to be on our front doorstep.”

  “Look, I did a stint in Bexar country lockup a while back, and some of the boys in there told me about y’all,” Jeff replied. “When shit hit the fan I figured the best place to be was among brothers. That’s why I’m here.”

  Elijah crossed his arms. “And who were these boys exactly?”

  “I’ll be honest with you, it was so long ago that I’ve forgotten their names,” Jeff admitted with a well placed wince. “Really tried to block out that part of my life, if you know what I mean.”

  “And exactly how long ago was that?”

  “Five, maybe six years ago,” Jeff replied.

  “Is that a fact?” Elijah raised his chin. “That’s funny, seeing as how we didn’t start this compound until three years ago.”

  “Shit,” Jeff muttered. “Hey, look man, I don’t know what to tell you,” he said louder.

  “Can somebody please shoot this asshole so I can go back to bed?” Elijah asked, almost sounding bored, but there was an explosion in the distance.

  Jeff put his hands out in front of him. “Whoa now, if you shoot, you all die!”

  “Explain.” The militia leader held up a finger to signal his guards to hold their fire.

  “That sound to heard was a homemade explosive that opened the gate at your zombie pen just on the other side of those trees,” the skinhead explained with a wry smile. “So right now, there are a few dozen zombies milling about just looking for a place to run to. They hear the sound of your guns, they’re gonna pay you a visit.”

  Elijah sighed. “I don’t know what your game is, but one shot echoing through the air isn’t going to attract much of anything.”

  With perfect timing, the second batch of dynamite exploded, taking the gas canisters along with it. A fireball shot forty feet into the air, taking the two buildings on either side with it.

  “How about that, asshole!” Jeff cried as Sparks opened fire on the distracted guards. The skinhead turned and barreled back to the tree line as the guards dropped like flies.

  He reached her tree and started to climb beneath her as the camp descended into chaos. Ricky’s truck plowed through the front gate, forcing Elijah and his remaining stunned guards to dive out of the way. One militia member wasn’t quick enough and caught the front grill with his face, ending his apocalypse adventure in a brutal fashion.

  Elijah pulled out his handgun and aimed at the truck with wild eyes as men staggered out of the barracks in panic and confusion.

  The thunder of zombie feet caught everyone’s attention, however, and Elijah whipped around to face the front gate.

  “Open fire!” he screamed.

  A few guards tried to climb the tower by the front gate, but Sparks took their heads off as they tried. Their bodies fell down into the zombie mosh pit happening below, caught up in a river of rotting flesh.

  She aimed back down at the leader, but he and a few of his men disappeared into a storage building. They slammed the door on one comrade left outside, and he pounded on the glass as the zombies descended onto him. They tore him apart, covering the window in fresh crimson.

  Ricky sped around the compound, looking for some kind of signal. “Where in the hell is Rufus?!”

  “There!” Mary cried, and pointed at a white haired man hanging out of a window with a high powered flashlight. The guards giving chase to Ricky turned to concentrate on the horde instead, giving him time to skid to the opening door.

  “Everybody in, quick!” Rufus shouted, brandishing an assault rifle as he waved the hostages forward. Ben led everyone into the bed of the truck and the older man covered them, firing at the remaining militia men so they would be easier zombie food.

  “Rufus, let’s go!” Ben screamed, and he leapt up into the bed, pulling the tailgate up behind him. The kid smacked the roof hard, and Ricky punched the accelerator.

  Bullets flew everywhere, zombies feasting on fallen militia, those not wounded attempting to retreat to the buildings that weren’t on fire. Rufus looked down at one man that reached up to him as they drove by, eyes beginning for a bullet as three zombies gnawed at his lower half. The older man simply smiled as a fourth zombie bit into the man’s cheekbone.

  Just as they were clearing the gate, Rufus caught sight of Elijah peering out through the glass door of the storage building.

  “Ben, smack the roof,” he instructed.

  The kid did a double take. “Why?”

  “Just d
o it,” Rufus demanded. He did, and Ricky slammed on the brakes as Mary slid open the back window.

  “Did we lose somebody?” Ricky asked.

  Rufus shook his head. “Back up ten feet,” he said.

  “Are you crazy?” the driver snapped.

  “Just fucking do it!” Rufus cried, and Ricky sighed, backing up.

  Elijah narrowed his eyes, wondering what the hell these terrorists were doing, but then he realized what was going on as the old fuck in the back raised his assault rifle.

  “Eat it, motherfucker,” Rufus declared as he let the bullets rip into the building. The glass shattered and Elijah’s head disappeared.

  Ricky looked in his rearview mirror and saw the zombies change course at the sound of the rifle. “Hang on, we’re outta here!” he cried, and sped off, pausing at the tree line so that Sparks and Jeff could hop into the bed.

  “Holy shit.” Sparks let out a relieved laugh. “Did we pull that off?”

  “Oh yeah, missy,” Rufus replied with a grin. “We hit em so hard their grandkids’ll feel it.”

  “What about Elijah?” she asked. “I had a shot on him but had to take out the guards first so they wouldn’t get Jeff.”

  The skinhead saluted her. “A move I approve of.”

  “He was in some storage building near the entrance,” Rufus explained. “I shot it up pretty good and took out the glass on the door. I don’t know if I got him or not though.”

  “Well, if he does survive, he’s going to have a hard time making much trouble now.” Sparks shrugged.

  “That’s for damn sure,” Rufus agreed. “Ain’t gonna be a whole lot of them boys left.”

  Ben nodded. “Ain’t that the truth. Ole Rufus here is a cold blooded motherfucker.”

  “Slittin’ throats and blowin’ shit up,” the older man said wistfully. “It’s like I’m back in ‘Nam.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The sun was just peeking of the horizon as Ricky pulled into the driveway of Principal Dan’s new farm. There were a few school buses parked to the side of the massive farm house. The leader himself came out, arm in a sling with his shoulder bandaged, followed by a few other townsfolk.