The Longest Road (Book 2): The Change

by Thompson, A. S.

  “Don't make me come in there and beat the shit out of you putas!”

  “Are you sure you can do all that work?”

  “Ya. You sure you won't have a heart attack just opening up the gate?”

  “I'm warning you!” Carlos said, setting down the bowl. “Jimmy just told me not to kill you, he didn't say nothin’ about no broken bones...”

  Carlos pulled out his baton and beat it against his hand.

  It was supposed to be intimidating.

  It wasn't.

  “Ohhhh, scary,” Steve joked, shaking his body. “I'm trembling with fear.”

  Both Steve and Travis thought Carlos was alone. They assumed he was a bigger idiot than he appeared for wanting to take on two fit men by himself- Larry cowering like a baby didn't count. So, they continued to taunt and entice Carlos inside the cell. They figured he might get one, maybe two swings, before they could overpower him. That was their escape plan, textbook prisoner intimidation. But when Carlos signaled for his friend to join the fight, both immediately regretted their decision.

  “Yo, Hektor,” Carlos called into the other room. “Mind giving me a hand?”

  As the thug named Hektor entered, Travis and Steve realized why Carlos was so confident. Hektor was covered head to toe with body art. Most of the designs appeared to be prison tattoos. The numerous sections of disfigured skin were scars created by prison shanks. The man’s unibrow no longer seemed humorous.

  “Meet Hektor. He’s un-killable. How many people have you killed, Hektor?”

  The tough Mexican didn't speak. Instead, he lifted up his shirt and exposed a tattoo on his left pectoral muscle featuring a picture of a scroll. To Travis and Steve the scrolls’ contents looked like chicken scratch, but as Hektor stepped closer, they realized the lines were tally marks. If the numbers were accurate, Hektor had taken the lives of more than fifty people.

  “Bit off a little more than we can chew, eh?” Steve said, shuffling back.

  Travis swallowed and nodded.

  Larry knew he would be guilty by association, so he scurried to the farthest corner of the cell and began to suck his thumb.

  As he inserted the cell key, Carlos asked, “Which one do you want, Hektor?”

  He pointed at Travis.

  “Muy bien. Cause I wanted the other pendejo. Do what you want, just make sure they can still fight in the pit.”

  Hektor sneered, exposing a vacant section of front teeth.

  Steve and Travis hoped the empty dental cavities were due to poor oral hygiene. But they knew it wasn't. This guy was a fighter.

  As the key turned, retracting the bolt, the unthinkable happened.

  Out of nowhere, someone rushed into the room and snapped Hektor's neck, instantly killing the un-killable man.

  The act was too quick to see, but Carlos heard a popping sound. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Carlos saw Hektor's body drop to the ground. When he turned to see the source, his eyes fell on the last thing he would ever see. Craig West.

  Before Carlos could plead for his life, West jabbed a knife under the Mexican’s jaw, lifting with force until it reached his brain.

  The fat Mexican collapsed to the ground when West retracted the blade. He wiped the bloody knife on Carlos’ forearm, and then pulled open the gate.

  At first Steve and Travis thought they were dreaming.

  “Elias?”

  “Is that really you, Eli?”

  The Sergeant Major was all business. “It's me, but my name isn't Elias. It's West. Craig West.”

  Travis and Steve wanted to ask the obvious, but West cut them off.

  “I'll explain everything later. We need to move, now!”

  Travis looked to Steve, who seemed equally as unsure of what to do.

  “Okay, obvious questions aside,” Steve started to say, “But where are we going? We aren't leaving without the others.”

  “I know,” West declared, impatiently. “We are going to rescue them. I have a plan…”

  “Plan?” Travis questioned, cutting him off. “No offense, but you're just a poly-sci teacher. I know you just iced two guys, but I think you should leave the strategy to me. I was in the military…”

  “So was I. I know second lieutenant trumps a Sergeant Major, but I think Delta Force, beats them all.”

  Steve and Travis looked at each other with expressions that said it all...”Delta Force? What the hell is going on?”

  “Follow me, now. I'll explain what I can. I'd say leave that piece of shit, but we need him,” West said, pointing to the quivering CFO.

  The men stepped over the bodies and followed West as he led them to Ranger Nick's office. Once there, West opened his large bag revealing two shotguns, a hunting rifle, a mixture of loose ammunition and a small assortment of knives and grenades.

  “Take these,” West said, dispensing the rifle and shotguns to Larry, Steve and Travis. Next, he dumped the bag on the desk, scattering the remaining contents across the wooden surface. “Load them, fast.”

  “Where’s your gun?” Steve asked, noticing a lack of firearms.

  “That’s all I have,” West answered bluntly. “Besides, I’m better with a blade.”

  Unfortunately, the glass gun case in Ranger Nick’s office had been smashed, and the weapons looted by the bikers. All other firearms and ammunition in Camp had been confiscated after the siege. Fortunately, the bikers were unaware of the few, but helpful weapons stored in the RV.

  Larry MacArthur didn’t like that news one bit.

  “Wait!” he began protesting with his arms raised in the air. “I’m not good with a rifle.”

  “I know. I’ve seen you shoot,” West replied. The short explanation summed it up.

  “I want another weapon! Give me something else.”

  “Here,” West said, tossing Larry an eight-inch machete.

  Larry looked at it with a combination of fear and confusion. He was pretty sure West was suggesting that he bring a knife to a gun fight. He regretted not specifying “something else.”

  “I know I wasn't in the military, and maybe I'm thinking too far ahead, but how are the three of us supposed to take on thirty men? With two shotguns and twenty shells I might add,” Steve asked. “No offense, Larry, but I’m not including you because you’re kind of a bitch.”

  Larry pretended as though he didn’t hear the insult.

  “Plans are already in motion,” West said, setting up an electronic detonator. “Since you are going to ask, those men out there think they are eating seafood soup. From the catch Jigger brought in from the red tide. What they don't know is they are actually ingesting a chemical compound called Saxitoxin. It's a naturally occurring marine toxin derived from shellfish found in red tides. After consumption, the toxin begins to take effect, and in thirty minutes, symptoms arise. It starts out as numbness, then progresses and attacks the respiratory system, causing breathing problems, swelling and in severe cases, paralysis and death.”

  Steve finished loading, racked the first round in the chamber, and then topped off the magazine tube with one more shell.

  “Elias,” Steve began, but quickly corrected himself. “Sorry. West. Do I even want to ask how you know that?”

  West flashed alook.

  “Delta Force,” Steve said, answering his own question. “Got it.”

  “I have been scouting the bikers and they are already symptomatic. The first ones ate the soup close to two hours ago. I doubt any of them will die by now, but by the time we attack, many should be too sick to stand, let alone shoot back.”

  Larry was the slowest loading his rifle and Steve noticed.

  “Here, take mine,” he said, smashing the loaded shotgun into Larry's chest. He then emptied his pockets, giving Larry the extra shells. “Spray and pray. Don’t mess it up.”

  “Thanks?” Larry replied, unenthusiastically accepting the weapon.

  Steve grabbed Larry's .30-06 rifle off the table and finished loading it. Then, he stared down the metal sightin
g, re-familiarizing himself with the long gun.

  “So what's the plan?”Travis asked.

  “Larry and I are going down to the beach. You and Steve are going to go position yourselves around the backside of the station where the building meets the sand. When you get my signal, unload on them and don’t stop shooting. Our goal will be to push forward to retrieve Nick, Collin and Sarah, while providing a steady wall to protect the retreating girls. They should be initiating their escape in minutes.”

  Travis visualized the plan in action.

  “Steve and I keep them from running further into Camp, and you and little bitch Larry here, flank them from the beach. When possible, we move forward and deliver suppressive fire in order to acquire Nick, Collin and Sarah. The bikers will be forced to retreat to the front gates,” Travis said, bobbing his head. “I like it.”

  “What's the signal?” Steve asked.

  “You'll see,” West answered cryptically. “We have to go. Now. We are already behind schedule.”

  “Just make sure no one kills Jimmy but me,” Travis said, racking a shell into the chamber.

  As West moved to lead them away, Steve grabbed the sergeant major by the arm.

  “Whoa. Hold up. It’s gonna be a firefight out there. What about Collin and Nick. What about the girls? What are they supposed to do?”

  “I told you, the girls are going to be fine,” West growled. He didn’t like people interrupting his time table, and he certainly didn't hide his annoyance. “I already told Lisa what to do. And she will relay that to the others. They won't be anywhere near the fighting once the shooting starts. As for Sarah, Collin and Nick, let's just hope they can get out of the cage or at least hit the deck.”

  “But Sarah,” Steve pressed, “Jimmy is keeping her next to him.”

  “Look, Steve, I can't control everything. So, I strongly suggest you take out each and every one of those bastards, before they have a chance to hurt her.”

  Steve released his grip. His mind reverted to the advanced arms training that he received at the behest of his father, Tom. The thousands of hours he spent sending practice rounds downrange with precise lethality now had a purpose. Sure, he had been in his share of sticky situations, especially post outbreak, and more recently during the escape from The Eye, but those were completely different.

  The men and women he killed back then were infected. The only weapon they possessed was sharp teeth and an insatiable hunger for human flesh. Now, he was facing off against career criminals and ruthless thugs with guns. This was the warfare Tom tried to prepare him for- an actual enemy who could shoot back. This was the life Tom, himself, lived and hoped his son would embrace in the Marine Corps but never did. But life comes full circle as it always does. This was a test of courage that he would once again face. The price could potentially be the lives of his family and friends.

  At the very top was the woman he loved more than life itself.

  The woman who was to be his future wife.

  The woman who was his everything.

  “I never miss.”

  Chapter 10

  Providence State Beach

  November 28, 2009

  1947 hours

  Clouds began to fill the skyline, covering up the last of the waning gibbous moon. The torches surrounding the makeshift arena flickered as a steady wind picked up. In the not-too-distant ocean, surges of lightning passed through the clouds, illuminating the dark gray with an eerie display of bright flashes of light. Thunder followed shortly after, signaling the approaching winter storm. Rain had yet to fall, but all indications pointed to a heavy downpour.

  “This is what I am talking about!” Jimmy Sanchez yelled, a wide smile accentuating his scarred features. “What do you think, hermanos? Who do you have your money on?”

  When no one answered, Jimmy looked around the arena. The appearance of his men was that of complete disarray.

  Some were hugging their midsections, rolling on the ground, writhing in pain. Others bypassed the agony and attempted to purge their stomachs. A few were too far inebriated from excessive drug use to notice anything outside of their blissful comfort. Only two people seemed unaffected: Estrella, and one of Jimmy’s faithful sergeants, Ruben Torres.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jimmy demanded to know.

  Still upset for Jimmy kicking her out of the jail cell, Estrella opted not to answer. Instead, she continued playing with Sarah's hair, twisting it and forming inconsistent knots.

  “I'm not sure, jefe,” Ruben answered. He pat his twin brother on the back, as bile dripped slowly from Dizzy's lips. “Everyone’s fucked up. Not sure what's going on. Maybe they just hit the booze and dope too hard?”

  Jimmy released a low guttural sound of disappointment.

  “Fuck em all,” he cursed. “If they can't hold their shit, they deserve it. Not my fault they are missing the fight of the night. More drinks for us! Where are our girls at? I want a refill.”

  Ruben cast a quick look around the site and replied. “No sé, jefe. They are probably getting refills for the others. I'll check it out in a sec.”

  Jimmy’s patience was being tested. He didn't like waiting- for anything. But short of getting up and missing the fight to fetch a drink himself, he stayed put.

  “Good. Bring out a couple of bottles.”

  “You guys are fucking sick,” Sarah spat, no longer able to hold back her. “How can you force people to fight like this? Hasn't there been enough death? Why don't you just take what you want and leave us alone?”

  Oddly, she received no discipline for her insubordination. Instead, all three laughed at her, disregarding her questions and comments altogether.

  “Fuck ya, boss! I'll get right on it,” Ruben answered, trying to pull up his brother so he, too, could watch the fight. “Stop being a pussy, bro. This fight is gonna be damn good!”

  Then a sadistic thought hit Jimmy.

  “You're right. It is gonna be good. But you know what's gonna make it great?”

  Ruben looked up at Jimmy, unsure.

  The Grim Reaper leaned away so Sarah couldn't hear. He didn't want her to warn Collin or Nick. After whispering the order, Ruben nodded his head, smiled, and then took off toward the holding cell for the infected.

  “What's going on? Where's he going?” Sarah demanded to know.

  The full extent of her frustration, pain, anger, and hurt, were now passing the boiling point. When all she got was a laugh for an answer, her anger peaked. She turned around, and in a surprise attack, punched Estrella with a hard, right hook, dropping the Latina to the ground. Sarah didn't stop there. She jumped on top of Estrella and continued swinging, clawing, and kicking.

  “Damn mija!” Jimmy exclaimed, turning to watch the cat fight. “I'm not sure which fight is better!”

  He kept his head on a swivel, watching both fights, but eventually the action in the cage won his interest; especially with the surprise twist he was about to incorporate via Ruben.

  The first rain droplets plopped onto Jimmy's head, signaling the arrival of a brutal storm.

  “Chaos,” Jimmy whispered pleasantly, “I love you.”

  ***

  “Here, you’ll need this,” Nick Stronghead said, removing his blue and black flannel shirt. “Yours is too thin, it won’t hold. Take it quickly.”

  Collin wasn’t sure what he was more surprised of; the fact that his friend was removing his shirt before the fight, or that Nick’s body was full of Native American tattoos; most prominently a large wolf sketched across his entire back.

  “Uh, okay. Mind telling me why?”

  “It’s a technique that I learned from my father, and his father’s father. It saved my life once. I trust it will again,” Nick answered, removing yet another article of clothing: his thick, leather belt. “Wrap your hands around the sleeves and create a line with the clothing. It should be slack like this, so it can be pulled tight like this,” Nick said, following his own instructions.

  “Okay,”
Collin replied, sounding unconvinced.

  Collin watched as their undead opponents were being cabled and corralled. Fortunately, the bikers were having a difficult time catching the infected.

  “Looks like the zombs are buying us some extra time. So how exactly does a line of clothing save your life?”

  Nick stared blankly into space. In fact, his mind had reverted to a distinct memory.

  “My Hembleciya lasted four days,” he said, dropping to one knee. He cupped the sand, brought it to his lips and whispered a prayer in his first language.

  “Your what?” Collin asked, listening intently as he finished wrapping the fabric around his hands.

  “Sorry, it’s a Sioux word for our Vision Quest...the day of my fourteenth birthday, I was sent out into the wild. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing- I never really believed in all that spiritual stuff. So, I just waited. Then, the third night it came to me-”

  “What came to you?” Collin asked nervously. He noticed that one of their opponents had been hooked.

  “The wolf. My wolf. Our Holy Man told me that I would receive a vision and that the animal would guide me; show me the path. But that night, the animal that stood there salivating and growling in front of me was no vision, that wolf was very, very real. I had fashioned a spear days before, but it was next to the fire pit, out of reach. I had no weapons, nothing to defend myself with. Then, the beast took one soft step after another; he was preparing to attack. There was nowhere to go, nothing I could do-”

  “Hate to interrupt, Nick, but I need you to fast-forward and explain why I’m standing here with your shirt tied around my hands.”

  Nick blinked. The unconscious action momentarily brought him back to the present, but the powerful memory sucked him right back in to the past.

  “Without even meaning to, I started to remove my leather belt and wrap it around my hands like this,” Nick said, lifting his own. Then, he crouched low as though the same wolf was in front of him. “I stared into its black eyes. He was an Alpha, a two hundred pound natural born killer. Next thing I know, he leapt at me, mouth open. I shouldn’t have survived. As I fell to the ground, I managed to drive the line into the back of its mouth, obstructing his bite. We rolled over one another again and again. Just him and me, both fighting for our life. Somehow, I came up on top of him as we rolled up next to the fire. To this day I still have no recollection of doing so, but I grabbed the spear and drove it through its heart...”