Dead America: The First Week Box Set Books 1-7 (Dead America Box Sets Book 2)

by Derek Slaton

  The one to his left slowly turned and looked down at the diminutive detective. “Crossfit,” he replied, and then turned his attention back to the front, where Rodriguez turned the key in the ignition and Rogers settled into the passenger’s seat.

  Rodriguez pulled out behind the other black SUV in their small convoy, which Angel was driving, and headed towards the apartment building. The drive was brisk and devoid of resistance, every corner guarded by a mix of armed cartel members and officers alike.

  They pulled up to the building, which was a five-story modern mid-rise complex, with a handful of storefronts on one side and a large gated pool area adjacent to the all-glass front office. A small horde of about thirty zombies rushed towards the building, cut down by automatic fire coming from one of the apartments on the ground floor.

  “What do you think?” Rogers asked as they slowed to a stop. “Go in through the office?”

  Rodriguez nodded. “Good a plan as any.”

  The convoy started moving again, heading into the parking lot. As soon as they crossed the property line, bullets peppered the vehicles.

  “Everybody out!” Rogers cried as Rodriguez sharply turned to the right, but a spray of bullets caused the engine to sputter to a halt. Everyone poured out of the passenger side doors to take shelter behind the wheel wells. One of the big guards from the backseat flattened himself against the door.

  “Yo need to get behind a wheel!” Rogers cried. “That door isn’t going to give you any cover.”

  The thick cartel member rolled his eyes. “I’m good. What the fuck do you know, gringo?” A trio of bullets tore through the flimsy metal right next to him, and he dove to the ground behind the rear wheel, eyes wide in shock.

  Rogers shrugged as he looked up at him, and the frazzled man gave him a slight nod to acknowledge that he was in the wrong.

  Angel pulled up behind them, creating a long SUV barricade. Their crew jumped out, standing at the wheels and popping off a few shots while their leader crawled towards Rodriguez.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  Rodriguez inclined his head. “We’ll distract them, while you ram your SUV into the front office. After that we’ll-” The sound of tires exploding cut him off, and Angel’s vehicle leaned to one side. “Scratch that. Detective?”

  Rogers peeked over the hood of the car to survey the battlefield. There were about two dozen zombies between them and the building. The cartel members inside struggled to land headshots, bullets ripping through torsos.

  “They’re behind us!” Stevenson screamed, he and his two new companions opening fire.

  A dozen or so zombies from the area ran towards them, attracted to the noise. Everyone behind Rodriguez’ vehicle whipped around, firing into the new horde. They caught at least half of them, but a few reached the group, one managing to latch onto one of the cartel members firing at the building.

  Two zombies dragged him to the asphalt, gurgling screams as they tore into his flesh. His partner attempted to fire on the assailants but three more zombies slammed into him. He reached up to grab one by the throat, but misjudged and put his hand right into the ghoul’s mouth, losing three fingers.

  He shot the zombie point blank in the forehead, using its body to knock the other two to the ground. Enraged, he unloaded an entire magazine into the two corpses before reloading and pumping round after round into the feasting zombies, as well as his now-deceased comrade. As the gun clicked empty, he turned to the remaining huddled members of the convoy only to receive a bullet to the forehead.

  Rogers turned to Angel, who lowered his still-smoking weapon. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “He was bitten!” Angel snapped, shrugging his shoulders with a scowl. “People who get bit turn into those things.”

  “No fucking shit, dumbass,” Rogers spat. “He wasn’t going to turn in the next five minutes, though, and in case you missed it, we’re in the middle of a goddamned firefight!”

  Angel snarled and lunged for the detective, but Rodriguez shoved him back before turning to Rogers.

  “Detective,” he said calmly. “Focus.”

  Rogers took a deep breath and looked back over the SUVs. The guys inside the apartment building continued to fire, but continued to miss their targets pretty badly, oftentimes drawing nothing but air. Several more zombies rushed to join the dozen or so still by the window.

  “We can use them as shields,” Rogers declared, motioning to the unmoving corpses on the ground.

  Angel scoffed. “Are you loco? Their guns will tear right through them.”

  “That’s why we’re gonna hold ‘em high,” the detective replied, and shook his head at the quizzical expressions on the others. “I don’t know why Miguel hired the guys over there, but I can guaran-damn-tee you it wasn’t because they were great marksmen. They are having a lot of problems hitting the head, and last time I looked, they are aiming high. We turn these corpses into seven footers, then that’s what they’re gonna aim for. That’ll give us a chance to get up there.”

  Angel crossed his arms. “As soon as they see us carrying those things we’re done. They don’t need to hit us in the head, you know.”

  “It’s about a forty yard run from here to the wall,” Rogers insisted. “Pro athletes run that in four seconds. We’re not in the best shape, but I’m betting we can do it in under eight. Your two behemoths over there lead the way, the rest of us flank them and take out the zombies in our path. We get close enough and we throw everything we have at the windows. With any luck we’ll take them out, or at least scare them off.”

  Rodriguez pursed his lips for a moment, and then nodded. “All right, let’s do it.”

  “Rodriguez!” Angel gaped. “You’re listening to this gringo?”

  “We have to get in there,” his companion hissed. “So tell me, do you have a better plan?”

  Angel scrunched up his face as he muttered a string of curse words in Spanish under his breath, but then ultimately shook his head no.

  “All right then,” Rodriguez replied, and whistled to his other two cartel members. He called out something in Spanish and they leapt up to grab suitable corpses. “If you and your detective will take the left, Angel and I will take the right.”

  Rogers nodded. “It’s going to be dangerous as hell, but we need to hold off as long as we can on the firing and get as close as possible. We start shooting and we’re gonna be the target of them and the zombies.”

  “The zombies are starting to thin out,” Rodriguez said as he peeked over the top of the car. “We need to move.” He whistled one more time, and the two hulking guards hefted the bodies on their shoulders. The cartel duo and the detective duo got ready to move on Rodriguez’ mark, and when he whistled, the guards led the way.

  As they ran, bullets hit the tall decoy zombies in the chest. As they got closer to the building, the gunfire intensified, and one bullet actually managed to find its mark, taking the corpse’s head clean off. The gunfire paused as the creature kept coming, likely the shooters were in shock at a headshot not keeping the creature down.

  When they reached ten feet from the horde, the group opened fire. As the battlefield cleared, one of the gunmen made eye contact with Rogers through the window. He quickly aimed, but the detective shot faster, causing the young man to duck.

  The guard with the headless corpse dropped it, bull rushing the last few ghouls, and grasping one snapping creature by the belt and collar from behind. He stood up and heaved it through the window, sending the gunmen inside into a frenzy to try to kill the zombie now in their midst.

  Rogers and Rodriguez stood on either side of the window, and at the same time popped up and fired on the gunmen, ducking back down to wait for retaliatory shots.

  They didn’t come.

  The duo turned back to the battlefield where Stevenson and the guards were making sure that everything was dead amongst the piles of corpses.

  “We gotta get inside!” Angel screamed, firing on the next wave of t
hirty or so zombies that had been attracted to the firefight.

  “Guess we’re going in this way,” Rogers said, and Rodriguez nodded, giving him a boost over the windowsill.

  The detective swept the room, making sure the gunmen bleeding out on top of a red mush zombie corpse were the only ones.

  “Cover the door, I’ll find something for the window,” Rodriguez said as he heaved himself through the window.

  Rogers nodded and moved across the apartment. As he approached the door, the handle moved, and he quickly ducked behind it, out of sight as a single cartel member entered. He rattled off something in Spanish before noticing bodies coming in through the living room window, and Rogers tackled him from behind.

  The two of them crashed to the floor, and Rogers smashed his fist into his opponent’s face a few times, stunning him.

  “You got him?” Stevenson called.

  Rogers nodded. “Yeah. Lock the door. We need to have a chat with this one.”

  Stevenson secured the door, and they dragged the semi-conscious man into the living room, shoving him down beside his two dead friends. The two guards secured the window with furniture, freeing up Angel and Rodriguez to interrogate their fresh prisoner.

  Angel began rattling off rapid Spanish, but Rogers put up a hand.

  “No, no, no,” he said. “English.”

  “Fuck you,” the cartel heir snarled.

  “Detective,” Rodriguez cut in, “time is of the essence, and I’d be surprised if this man spoke even halfway passable english. I fully realize you don’t trust us-”

  “No, Rodriguez, I don’t,” Rogers said. “Given that a week ago, any one of you would have put a bullet in my face and not lost a moment’s sleep over it, we still have a ways to go before we reach the trust stage. Now I want to know what he has to say. From his own mouth.”

  Rodriguez nodded at Angel, who rolled his eyes but sighed with compliance.

  “English?” he asked.

  The prisoner’s voice was hoarse. “Yes.”

  “Where is your boss?” Angel asked.

  The prisoner’s head lolled with grogginess. “Not telling you a damn thing.”

  Angel stared at him for a moment, and then leapt down and grabbed the guy in a headlock, jerking him off of the floor and dragging him over to the window. One of the guards moved a shelf out of the way, just enough so a zombie could squeeze its snapping maw through. Angel shoved the prisoner’s face within six inches of the creature, its teeth clicking excitedly in anticipation of a meal.

  “You want to rethink that?” Angel purred.

  “Okay, okay!” the prisoner cried as the zombie’s putrid breath grazed his face.

  “Talk,” the cartel heir demanded.

  The prisoner reached into his pocket as he hit the floor again, holding out a set of keys. “He’s… he’s in the penthouse on the fifth floor. The elevator requires a key to access. It’s the small silver one.”

  Angel examined the keys and then tossed them to Rodriguez. “How many men are up there?”

  “Miguel and two others,” the prisoner wheezed.

  Angel faked a punch, causing the man on the floor to flinch. He laughed. “Are you lying to me? I think Miguel would have more men than that.”

  “They’re all out clearing the city,” the prisoner pleaded. “I swear, it’s only Miguel and two others up there.”

  Angel stood up. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked, and smiled. The prisoner eyed him warily, and then offered a small smile. His eyes widened in horror a split second before Angel shot him between the eyes.

  “What the fuck man?!” Stevenson yelled.

  Angel shrugged. “I did him a favor.”

  “Remind me never to ask you for anything,” the detective muttered.

  Rodriguez raised a hand. “We don’t have time for this. We need to get to the penthouse.”

  Rogers clenched his jaw and patted Stevenson on the shoulder.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The elevator doors closed behind the group.

  “Angel, I need you to holster your weapon and get to the rear,” Rogers instructed.

  The cartel heir scowled. “Bullshit, gringo, I ain’t doing that.”

  Rogers whirled and got right in his face, nose to nose. “Listen to me, you hot headed know-nothing,” he hissed. “We need to bring this guy to our side. He knows where the big boss is, and you guys said that he was…” he inclined his head to Rodriguez. “How did you put it?”

  “Ambitious,” Rodriguez said.

  “Right, ambitious,” Rogers repeated, turning back to Angel. “You go in there half-cocked, blowing people’s heads off, there’s a good chance he’s gonna go down swinging instead of talking to us. Now, holster your weapon and get in the back.”

  Angel stared him down, unmoving. “That’s a nice speech, but I’m gonna stay right here,” he said firmly. “But I’ll give you my word that I won’t shoot anybody in the head.”

  Rogers nodded, and casually reached over to hit the button to open the doors. As they slid open, he shoved Angel back into the main floor hallway. The cartel heir growled and drew his handgun as he found his footing.

  The detective aimed his own first. “Put it down,” he demanded, and Angel reluctantly lowered his arm. “Good boy. Now, I want you to sit there and think about what you did.”

  The doors closed, leaving the cartel heir in the lobby. Rogers hit the button for the penthouse, and the elevator began its ascent. He sighed as he noticed Rodriguez staring at him in his periphery.

  “What?” he asked. “You think I was wrong?”

  Rodriguez shook his head. “On the contrary, you were a hundred percent right. He’s young and hasn’t learned self-control yet.”

  “Based on some of the things we’ve investigated him for,” Rogers mused, “that’s an understatement.”

  Rodriguez just nodded, eyes thoughtful.

  The group readied their weapons as the elevator gave its ding at the top floor, and as soon as the doors slid open, they fanned out in the narrow space, weapons drawn. Two shocked guards whipped around, but didn’t have time to raise their weapons in the face of their attackers.

  “Not a good idea, boys,” Rogers warned. As he, Rodriguez and Stevenson kept them under aim, the two guards stalked over and collected the men’s weapons. They shoved them towards a supply closet in the hallway, and Rodriguez stepped up as they bustled into the small space.

  “I’m leaving one of my men here,” he said coldly. “If you open this door, he will turn this closet into your coffin. Understood?”

  The men muttered a sheepish si in unison before a guard slammed the door and barred it with a nearby bench. The rest of the group moved towards the end of the hallway and slowly opened the door to the main residence.

  Stevenson gawked at the outlandish decor, a large chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceiling and a wall of windows giving a panoramic view of the city. “Man, can you imagine the amount of tail this guy must have been pulling?”

  “Settle down there, Hef,” Rogers replied.

  There was a roaring fire in the massive fireplace off to the side, a closed door on either side.

  “So, where you want to look first?” Rogers asked.

  Rodriguez motioned to the single door across from the fireplace. “If I know Miguel, he’s probably sprawled out in the master bedroom.”

  “Thought you said he was ambitious?” Rogers cocked his head.

  His companion barked a laugh. “Ambitious in the sense that he wants to be the kingpin, not in the sense where he actually has to do anything other than issue orders.”

  “Amazing he’s made it this far up the ladder.” The detective let out a puff of air.

  Rodriguez nodded. “That sentiment is more common than you think, detective.”

  Rogers gave a nod, and the quartet moved towards the master bedroom door. They paused outside, and he gave a silent countdown with his fingers before flinging the door open. They leapt inside, a
nd then recoiled at the sight of a short and hairy overweight man lounging on the bed in red bikini briefs and a matching silk bathrobe.

  “Mother of god, man,” Stevenson blurted. “Who in their right mind thinks that’s a good look?”

  Rogers wrinkled his nose. “Someone who grew up in a house without mirrors?”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Miguel grunted, sitting up to let his gargantuan belly hang over his junk. “Who are you?”

  Rodriguez stepped forward. “You know who I am, Miguel.”

  “Oh, please, Mister Rodriguez, I am so sorry for my appearance,” the older man whined, slipping off of the bed hastily. “Please, give me just a moment to collect myself.”

  He scurried over to the nightstand and slid into a pair of fuzzy slippers before securing his robe around himself. He cleared his throat and turned, approaching the group with a large fake smile pasted across his plump red face.

  “Please, come into the main room,” he said. “I will get you some drinks and we can discuss business.” He paused. “We… we are going to discuss business, are we not?”

  Rodriguez raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you wish to do?”

  Miguel reached out and slowly pushed down on Rogers’ gun, and licked his lips nervously. “Anything I can do to avoid the alternative, sir.”

  Rogers grinned and holstered his weapon. “Miguel, I’ll take a scotch on the rocks.”

  “Coming right up, sir,” the portly cartel wannabe slid past them and into the main room.

  Rodriguez nodded. “Detective, I believe this might actually work.”

  As if on cue, Miguel shrieked from the living room, and the group rushed back out to see him cowering behind the couch. Angel stood there, gun drawn, and let out a string of Spanish before making a beeline for Rogers.

  Rodriguez stepped into his path, straightening his shoulders up to full height.

  “Move!” Angel snapped. “I have to teach this asshole a lesson!”

  “The only thing you have to do is calm down,” Rodriguez insisted firmly.

  Angel took a step back, a blood vessel pulsating in his neck. “Are you taking the American’s side?”