Eaters: Resurrection

by Michelle DePaepe

  Hector went back to his truck and pulled out a long, crusty blade from underneath the driver’s seat. “Mi machete. It has saved my life many times.”

  Keeping their hands poised on the hilt of their guns, they followed him towards the moaning captive.

  On the way, Cheryl noticed a couple of wooden crosses near the side of the house. One had a red silk carnation tied around it, and the other had a pale blue ribbon. Wife and son? There was no doubt that like the rest of them this man had come through some hard times since the beginning of the infection.

  The moaning captive with his foot caught in the jaws of a bear trap was a long dead man who looked to have been in his early thirties when he was infected. He wore the tattered remains of a t-shirt that had once been white, cutoff jean shorts, and one athletic sandal with a bloodstained Nike logo. He leered at them, baring yellowed teeth and black gums, and moaned again as if complaining about this plight and wondering why they were standing there and doing nothing to help him.

  “I’ll do it,” Zach said, raising his gun.

  “Nah. Nah. Nah,” Hector said. “No problema.”

  With one swift motion, he planted the machete in the forehead of the zombie, cutting so deep, he nearly split all the way through the bridge of the decayed tissue that had once been a nose. The creature fell to the ground, and after a couple of tugs, Hector retrieved his weapon. Then, he used it again to severe the Eater’s foot from his leg, so it would come free from the trap and wiped the blackish blood and muck off in a clump of yucca.

  “What do you do with them?” Aidan asked.

  “Que?”

  “The bodies. What do you do with them?”

  “Oh…I take them down by the creek and let the coyotes and vultures have them.”

  That’s another way it spreads, Cheryl thought to herself. He probably doesn’t even know to stay away from the wild animal scat and not to plant crops in infected soil. Then, she remembering seeing his weed-infested garden and realized that Hector hadn’t been at risk from growing infected crops because the garden was unused. She wondered what he’d been eating to stay alive all these months.

  After saying he’d take care of the body later, Hector led them inside the house. Furnishings were sparse, and after seeing couch cushions and broken chair legs next to the fireplace in the living room, it was apparent that he’d sacrificed some of his furniture for warmth during the cool nights of winter and early spring.

  Hector took them to the kitchen where there was a small wooden table with only one chair and cabinets with missing doors.

  “You have any food?” Diego asked, punctuating his question with a wave of his gun.

  With obvious reluctance, Hector went to the kitchen counter and picked up a coffee can. “Not much. Right now…just this.”

  He held the can out to Diego, and he took it and pulled out a strip of jerky.

  “It’s deer. Sometimes they wander onto my property and get caught in a trap.”

  Diego took a bite and passed the can around as Hector watched with a pained look on his face.

  Cheryl took the smallest piece in the can, because hunger won out over her conscience even though she didn’t like stealing whatever meager rations this man had.

  “I like this place,” Aidan whispered to her. “Maybe we don’t have to build a cabin. This place is quiet and fortified enough that we could move right in.”

  Vinnie overheard him. “Out here? So remote?” Vinnie said. “I’ve always been a city boy. I think I’d go stir crazy.”

  “There’s no city that’s safe to live in anymore,” Cheryl reminded him. “Unless you want to become a O.N.E. puppet.”

  “If there’s deer around…” Diego said as he swallowed his last bit of jerky and smacked his lips.

  Hector cleared his throat, interrupting. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I need? Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

  They stopped talking and looked at him.

  “Oh…oh yeah…of course,” Vinnie said. “Let me get my pad and pencil.” He felt around the pockets of his black O.N.E. shirt and came up empty.

  “I’ll find something for you to write with,” Hector said with a smile. “Gonna make a trip to el baño first.” Still wearing his machete tucked into a leather loop that hung from his belt, he began to hum a tune and trotted down the hallway.

  After they heard the sound of a door closing, Cheryl said, “He seems to be warming up to us a little. Maybe he’s glad to have some company.”

  “I’m not so sure of that,” Aidan said. “Somebody should keep an eye on him. Vinnie…”

  “I’m not gonna watch!”

  “I don’t mean open the door and watch him take a piss. Just listen to what he’s doing in there. If it sounds like he’s loading bullets into a gun chamber, you might want to let us know.”

  “Fine,” Vinnie said. “I’ll keep playing cop for a while, but if we end up staying here for a while, I think we should come clean with him.”

  Zach nodded towards the hallway.

  Vinnie walked that way without further protest.

  After he left, it became apparent that it was unnecessary to send him down the hall to eavesdrop. Hector was singing louder now, and they could all here him from the kitchen.

  “What’s he singing?” Cheryl asked, looking at both Zach and Diego who were leaning against the counter.

  “Los Pollitos,” Diego said. “It’s a lullaby.”

  As he sang another round of the chorus, the wind picked up outside, howling at first then blowing in gusts that caused the branches of a mesquite tree to slam against the window in a rhythmic pattern that almost seemed to go along with Hector’s song. Cheryl glanced out the window and saw a dust devil swirling around the parked van. She was thinking that she was glad they hadn’t decided to ditch it and go on foot when a loud thump outside made her and the others jump.

  “What was that?” Zach asked.

  “Probably the wind knocking something over,” Diego told him. “It’s really kicking up out—”

  A side door next to the refrigerator kicked open, and six men stood there with automatic rifles.

  Chapter 9

  “Drop your guns!” one of the men yelled above the sound of the whistling wind behind them.

  In shock, Cheryl and the others laid their weapons on the floor near their feet.

  One of the intruders scooped them up then rejoined his group as another one of them fought to close the door against the wind. All of the men had their lower faces covered with bandanas except the one in the rear. At slightly over six feet, he was the tallest of them. He stepped forward and Cheryl saw a black and gray tattoo of a skull and some cursive writing on his neck that she couldn’t make out. When he looked directly at her and smiled, revealing a shiny gold tooth, a chill ran through her.

  Vinnie appeared in the doorway. There was a grimace on his face, and a second later, it was apparent that it wasn’t just because he was startled by seeing the armed men in the room. Hector was behind him, and he was carrying his machete in one hand and Vinnie’s gun in the other.

  “Jefe,” Hector said to the tall, gold-toothed man. “Nice for you to drop by, Camacho.”

  “You were singing my song.”

  Hector poked the gun into Vinnie’s ribs and motioned for him to move towards Cheryl and the others. When Vinnie reached the counter next to Zach, he turned around. “You thought I was stupid, didn’t you?”

  Vinnie’s face went white. “What? I…”

  Hector sheathed his machete and grinned like a madman. He pulled a two-way radio out of his pocket and waved it in the air.

  Lovely, Cheryl thought. That wasn’t just a song he was singing in the bathroom—he was singing an S.O.S. message to his buddies.

  “Going to pretend you’re from O.N.E.?” Hector began to rant as he addressed all of them. “You gonna come here and rob me? Take over my house? Well…you lied to me. I lied to you.” He gave an upper nod to Camacho. “Muchas gracias, amigo!”
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  “De nada,” he replied. Then, he said something back to Hector in Spanish, and the two of them left the kitchen together, leaving the armed men to guard them.

  “What did he say?” Cheryl whispered to Diego.

  “Let’s talk.”

  “What are they going to do with us?” She asked in a voice low enough, she hoped the gunmen couldn’t hear.

  “I don’t know, but things aren’t looking good.”

  “No shit,” Zach said.

  “Maybe we can work out a deal.”

  “Deal?” Aidan asked. “We’ve got nothing but a van that’s almost out of gas, and a handful of guns that are almost out of ammunition.”

  Cheryl knew her friends would give their lives to protect her. Still…she worried that this was a terrible situation for her in particular to be in. It was sickening to feel so helpless.

  They heard raised voices down the hall. The heated discussion lasted for a few more minutes then both men returned. Camacho went over to one of his men and said something to him in a hushed voice. That man and one of the others went out the door. Camacho spoke to the other three after he left.

  Hector grabbed the lone chair next to the table, turned it around and straddled it as he addressed them. He waved Vinnie’s gun in the air, punctuating every few words. “Well, amigos, Camacho and I have discussed a few ideas. I told him he could take you away from here and drop you off somewhere in the canyon where you’d surely die a slow death unless you were eaten by the monsters first. Then, I thought…what if you are like stray dogs that might find their way back here? I don’t want to worry about that. I have a mostly peaceful life. I want to keep it that way and not have to worry about you bothering me again. It would be easy to take you down to the creek and put bullets in your heads. But then, Camacho made me a better offer…”

  All of them, and especially Cheryl, held their breath as they waited for him to continue.

  “He said he’d take you off my hands and make sure you never come back. Then, he sweetened the deal…and…well…in the end I just couldn’t refuse.”

  “What’s he want with us?” Aidan asked. “We promise you…we’ll leave on our own and never come back.”

  “He he he,” Hector laughed, the same laugh he made when he found he’d caught a ghoul in one of his traps. “Too late for that now. Maybe you should have been more careful. Didn’t your mama ever warn you about picking up strangers and forcing them to take you home?”

  Smug sonofabitch. At the moment, Cheryl found herself seething instead of afraid.

  Hector and Camacho stepped to the far side of the kitchen and had another discussion. When they were finished, Camacho told them, “Come on, my friends. We’re going to go for a ride.”

  Cheryl looked at the others, and they all exchanged glances like nervous sheep about to be led to the slaughter.

  With guns pointed at them, they were forced out the door into the brutal force of the gale winds that were showing no sign of abating. The sun edged toward the west now, a high pale disc, nearly blotted out by the dust kicked up by the ferocious wind. Through the haze, Cheryl saw a cattle truck parked in the driveway behind Hector’s pickup. She realized now that the loud thump they’d heard just before the gunmen burst in might have been the sound of one of its doors slamming shut after they got out…but hindsight wasn’t worth a damn now.

  As they were marched towards the long truck, the two men that had gone out earlier headed back to the house, carrying large cardboard boxes. A strong gust caused one of them to lose his balance and stumble. As he did, his box dipped on one side. Several cans fell to the ground and rolled past Cheryl’s feet.

  Creamed corn? Kidney Beans? She almost screamed the words on the labels out loud. Food. Hector is trading us for food!

  Aidan glanced back and looked at her, squinting against the wind. She knew he was thinking the same thing that she was, because of the look of disgust on his face. There was another meaning in his glance too. How can we get out of this?

  There were six armed men, plus Hector. Their van was blocked in by the cattle truck; running would just bring a shower of bullets into their backs, and it seemed unlikely that they could overpower this group of banditos.

  Slowing his pace by taking smaller steps, Aidan hung back until he was close enough to say something in her ear over the howl of the wind. “We get in that cattle truck, and we’re dead.”

  “We’re dead if we don’t.”

  The bandana-covered men behind them shoved gun barrels in their backs, pressing them forward.

  Wait for it, she thought. There had to be one small, golden opportunity to catch their captors off guard and turn the tables before they were forced into the truck. Determined to maintain hope as long as she could, she sized up the gunmen.

  The tallest of the three seemed the most sure of himself. He was graying at the temples and had biceps that looked like he dispensed with the gym and went to junkyard to lift crushed cars instead of barbells. The next one had a stockier, softer build, but he had a cruel, scarred face like someone who had come through hell and survived. Only one of them looked vulnerable. The youngest looked like a rookie, someone who was still learning the ropes and was a little uncomfortable with the weight of his clunky, old rifle, probably a hand-me-down from the others until he proved himself. As she weighed the option of tackling him and using him as a shield, Camacho took a pistol out of the holster at his side, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and put the gun to her temple.

  “Everybody gets in nice now, okay?”

  The foulest of curse words popped into her brain—words she didn’t even know she knew. They bubbled up like black, oily orbs of hatred. THIS WAS NOT HOW THINGS WERE SUPPOSED TO GO DOWN. The fear and other emotions she’d felt when Erik had pointed a gun in her back in the dark bedroom at Divine Sundaes couldn’t compare to the sense of helplessness she had at this moment.

  As she watched with disbelief, Zach and Diego obediently hopped into the cattle truck.

  The next slap in the face came when Aidan did the same. He didn’t turn around and look at her with the worried look she expected when it looked like she might not be going with them. Could he still be cooking up something? At any second, she expected him to throw a curveball to their captors. Was it going to be a kick to the groin, a quick lunge for a gun?

  There was no defensive move. Aidan moved back into the truck with the others. Now, she desperately wanted to get in too. Whatever was in store for them, she wanted to suffer it with them instead of being left behind to some worse fate alone.

  Camacho signaled for his men to hop in the back with them, but he held her back, tightening his hold on her hair. She could feel the moist heat of his breath. It was foul and reeked of beer, and would have made her gag if the wind wasn’t blowing most of it away.

  Hector came out of the house with Camacho’s two other men behind him.

  “He he he he,” he laughed as he shook his finger in Cheryl’s face. “You’re not part of One New Earth. You came here to steal from me.” The wind knocked his straw hat off as jumped up and down. “You’re bad people. So now, I’m sending you to hell!”

  Should have let that fish get away. Just a little bit crazy. Who wouldn’t be after losing their wife and kid…

  The pain from Camacho’s hold on her hair made her yelp. “Let go. You’re hurting me!” She yelled in his ear.

  To her surprise, he did let go. She was glad, because she would have elbowed him in the ribs or stomped on his foot if he hadn’t, and that wouldn’t have ended well. Before, she could compose some coherent and convincing plea in her mind; a sadistic, toothy sneer appeared on his face.

  “Get in, bitch.” He shoved her forward and kicked her in the back with the sole of his boot.

  She stumbled, almost falling to her knees before she recovered. Instinct made her want to turn around and fight, but she knew if she did, she or some of her friends would be shot.

  Gritting her teeth, she hopped into the truck. Aidan,
Zach, Diego, and Vinnie huddled against one side as if they were trying meld into the steel walls and disappear. None of them looked at her.

  An involuntary retch made her stomach convulse. The trailer reeked of death. Painted with dried feces, blood, and bits of offal, the floor was slippery and looked like the truck had carried both cattle and Eaters. She covered her mouth and nose with one arm, fighting off the urge to vomit. A lie formed in her mind, one she hoped was a seductive tale about a place in Sabre where they’d hidden a stash of guns and a cash of food. Before she got the first word out of her mouth, the door to the cattle truck slammed shut.

  Through the slats, she saw Camacho and the other two men walk towards the cab of the truck and get in. She gave a sideways glance to the three guards in the truck with them. They were near the door of the truck, hanging onto air holes in the wall. They were laughing, and she could tell by their gestures that they were making light of the fact that they had bandanas to cover their noses unlike their poor captives.

  The truck engine rumbled to life. She quickly made her way to Aidan’s side and found a good grip on the wall. Standing there with her nose pressed through an air hole, the wind helped to carry off the stench—the sole relief in this turn of events.

  The truck backed down the driveway. Hector waved to them with an oversized smile like he was bidding loved ones a bon voyage.

  After glancing at Camacho’s men to see if they were paying any attention, Diego motioned for all of them to huddle closer. He talked loud enough so they could hear him over the wind whistling through the Swiss cheese walls like a harmonica, but softly enough that he couldn’t be understood from where the men stood.

  “I thought I recognized him,” Diego said. “Camacho Riverez. El jefe. I never actually met him, but I saw him once at a party in Bisbee, and one of my buddies told me about him. Before the infection, he was a coyote.”

  “What’s that mean?” Cheryl asked.

  “A smuggler. Human trafficker. He helped people cross over the border from Mexico. He was one of the best.”