100 A.Z. (Book 2): Tenochtitlan

by Nelson, Patrick T.

  Despite her many oddities, Sal admired Dav’s ability to instill fierce devotion among her people. Well, at least she told him that they were fiercely devoted. There was much he didn’t know about his “friends” to the north. He relied solely on her explanations and descriptions for his understanding of their world. His impression was that it was a very strict society with unbreakable rules, particularly when it came to having children. Breeding was controlled by rules Dav wouldn’t elaborate on. She said they were “private rules, and not for sharing until we understand your social system.”

  At first, Sal had thought this final solution involved the end of the human species through the end of procreation. That was somewhat true, but it had more to do with building what she called “immunity.” She assured him that once her immunity theories were proven she would relay the facts, and they could replicate the process amongst his people. Of course, Sal agreed. He was always willing to take free information.

  Part of her plan, with Sal’s help, had included shooting “cruise missiles” at the Panama Canal work area to cause a stampede across the canal. This served Dav’s goals by punishing the breeders. It served, or would serve, Sal’s goals by causing a crisis that rallied others to his camp so he could grow a central government. Dav was limited by her lack of satellite imagery, which the cruise missiles required for targeting. Sal provided the targeting imagery and she launched the missile. It was a match made in heaven.

  “I hate waiting,” Sal bellyached. Sal’s men wouldn’t return for a few weeks. If all went well they would have a list of human settlements in California that Dav had contacted or learned about. All were breeders. She would give the list to Sal so he could acquire imagery and then renew the targeting cycle on these westerners. It would drive them to Sal, who in turn would use their help to rebuild a new, stronger government. With Sal in charge.

  That was where he needed to be.

  When Sal had first detected the impending collapse of the Rocky Mountain Government, it had grieved him. Not out of allegiance, or concern for the effects to thousands of lives, but because he’d thrown his lot in with the wrong team. He still heard his dead father’s voice in his head, mocking him for joining the government. “You want to go be a government turd? Then go be a turd.” Then Sal learned the only difference between the government factions and the cartels was a sense of entitlement. The name “government” attached self-righteousness, paternalism and elitism to the organization. To have the Rocky Mountain Government wiped off the face of the planet meant the whole thing had been a joke. Sal was a joke. He had to rebuild.

  Dav was his only ally in this. She was crazy, though.

  “She wants to stop zombies, so she doesn’t let people breed. But she unleashed zombies on people who breed, thus creating more zombies. I don’t get it,” Sal mused. He shook his head as he downed the last of the brandy in his glass.

  Back to the issue at hand.

  Dav would provide the names of settlements and then he would provide imagery so she could attack them.

  “Punish the breeders! Ha!” he blurted out in his empty office. If only Dav knew Sal was a prolific breeder. He wasn’t a good father, though. He pushed down the thought.

  He had to show these westerners that a Canadian menace existed to the north that could destroy them all with the push of a button. He would show them the Hoover Dam, the Panama Canal…Never mind. He couldn’t show them anything. One capability he’d always lacked was the ability to print out imagery. What he’d give for a printer.

  “In all the depots, suburban dumping grounds, and office buildings, not a single functioning printer.” He’d brought back many, but whether it was an ink issue, or damaged heads, or something else, none of them worked. A printer could be a game changer.

  “Huge difference. A printer would make a huge difference,” he mumbled as he poured himself more brandy.

  Paco, the man they’d brought along from the Tower Tribe, stuck his head through the doorway and whispered, “Ain’t nothing going to make a difference for you.”

  “Hey, why aren’t you being escorted?! You aren’t allowed around here!” Sal stood and knocked over his glass. The brandy spilled onto the table, and he cursed. Paco put his finger in it and tasted it.

  “Brandy. Cheap brandy.” Paco said.

  “Like you’ve had better!” Sal shot back.

  “I’ve had Extra Old,” Paco corrected.

  “You mean XO?” Sal replied bitingly.

  “I didn’t know if you knew what XO was, so I spelled it out for you.”

  “I know what XO is,” Sal snapped. “ But I’ve never had it,” he muttered bitterly under his breath.

  “I’ve had the best.”

  “Well then, I won’t insult you with my swill,” Sal said truculently.

  “Oh no, please insult me.” Paco ginned as he grabbed a glass from Sal’s office shelf and helped himself to a large pour. Sal winced at the amount. He’d lost two men getting the case of brandy this bottle came from.

  “In exchange, I will tell you the future,” Paco offered.

  “No thanks.”

  “I saw your imagery from the sky. It is a neat trick. That isn’t the future, though, that’s the past. It’s just a picture of what happened, not what’s going to happen. You need to see el futuro.”

  “Dude, I’m sorry, but you can’t tell the future,” Sal muttered. He was slouched in his chair with his paunch hanging out. He secretly wondered if Dav was truly interested in his fat.

  “Are you afraid? Most people are afraid. One time I told a guy the exact day he was gonna die. Nearly drove him crazy. He died on the day I said, though. Shot himself in the head. That’s how scared people get about hearing the future.” Paco took a gulp of the brandy.

  Sal blinked.

  “Just listen. It won’t hurt,” Paco requested.

  “It hurt that one guy,” Sal noted.

  “No, he felt no pain.”

  Sal cocked an eyebrow.

  “Listen. I know you want to be the important man. You will be the important man. But you are blind in one respect,” Paco began.

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?” Sal slurred slightly.

  “You don’t see the bigger picture. The bigger picture will destroy you if you don’t,” Paco said.

  “And what is the bigger picture?”

  “I can’t tell you, that would interfere with the future. Weren’t you listening? I said you won’t see the bigger picture. If I tell you that changes the future,” Paco said.

  Sal groaned. “Nice trick. Just like getting a guy to blow his brains out.”

  “No trick. The future.”

  Sal shook his head and took a swig before asking, “So will Vaca join me?”

  “No, because you don’t see the bigger picture,” Paco said.

  “How does he know I don’t see the bigger picture?” Sal asked.

  “I told him.”

  “So wait, he isn’t joining me because of what you told him about my future?” Sal asked in disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  “So then what are you doing here? If he’s already made his mind why come at all?” Spittle flew from Sal’s mouth as he shouted.

  “Because you might be able to change my mind, which will change Vaca’s mind.”

  Sal scrunched up his face in loathing at Paco. What was the meaning of all this?!

  “So how do I change your mind?”

  “You bribe me.”

  “What?”

  “Bribery,” Paco repeated slowly. “You bribe me to change your future. Then I get Vaca to join you.”

  Sal stared at Paco. “What do you want?” Sal asked plainly.

  “Guns.”

  “Guns?”

  “Yes, guns,” Paco reiterated.

  “Okay.” Sal lifted his glass and cracked a wry smile. “I’ll get you guns.”

  Many weeks later, Sal’s team returned with the list from Dav. Sal grabbed it with all the excitement of a kid getting a new toy.r />
  “Good, good! Auburn, Calistoga, Clovis, Eureka…the list goes on. Alphabetical, too!” He was almost giddy. “Get these to Ellie. I need a map.”

  The list went to Ellie, and she studied it.

  “Sal was excited it was alphabetical. That should help you find them,” the soldier who delivered her the list said.

  “H-h-how?”

  “I dunno. That’s your job!” He shrugged and grinned. She copied the list of eleven cities and gave the original back to him. She considered shoving the original into her mouth and swallowing it. Anything to stop Sal. It would be fruitless, though. Sal was going to do what Sal was going to do. The soldier left, whistling cheerfully.

  Ellie sighed. She opened her map drawer to hunt for California. She’d perused California maps before, for fun. Some of these towns didn’t sound familiar, though.

  Sal would probably want to go to these places. “Ugghhh…”

  Whenever there was mention of some place besides Los Alamos, Sal would say “Let’s go!” It didn’t matter if there was a legitimate justification for the trip. This would also mean she’d have to go with. They’d already spent far too much time in the field together.

  Oh, how she hoped she didn’t have to go this time. She was tired of walking. Sure, they always started with horses, but they never seemed to last the whole journey. She longed for a walker cart where she could simply recline on some pillows the entire trip. Yeah, they bounced around a lot and were terrible where there weren’t roads. But her feet would be in much better condition in the end. Oh, how she hoped she didn’t have to go.

  Her hopes were misplaced. As soon as she prepared him the maps he ceremoniously invite/ordered her to come along.

  “B-b-but you don’t need me,” she protested.

  “I need you to explain what you saw on imagery. We don’t have a printer. Your mouth will sort of be like a printer. Wow, that would be a terrible printer. A stutter printer!” Sal guffawed and slapped her on the back. He’d been drinking already. It was ten in the morning.

  “You could explain it,” she challenged.

  “I couldn’t, not like you. People can see it in your eyes, Ellie! They reflect those grainy images you look at all day long. No one would doubt that you sit at a desk all day, with your poor posture!” Sal said.

  He was being particularly insulting this morning, Ellie thought.

  Paco walked by and slapped Sal on the back. There was a lot of that lately. The two bellowed in some asinine joke still going from the previous night’s revelry.

  “Can’t you tell this girl looks at imagery?” Sal asked Paco.

  “Ohhh, yeah. She looks like indignity!” he said, misunderstanding the original word.

  Chapter 34

  The Martyrs spent two days hiding in the forested hills above the valley. The long vale stretched miles into the distance until it began to rise into another set of forested hills. This valley was the only way reach Tenochtitlan in time. To get there they would have to leave the protective cover and elevation of the hills and cross this expanse. That expanse teemed with thousands and thousands of undead chomping their rancid teeth. They blocked all hope of getting through. Even Tock realized the impossibility of trying to fight through it.

  They had considered trying to go around the herd. With no idea the size or shape of it, though, they could be talking weeks before they reached the capitol. They all eventually agreed that waiting it out was the best option—despite the anxiety and frustration.

  The third day passed. Then night fell. They ate some jerky and found a protected depression to make camp. They tried to get some needed sleep despite their impatience.

  The following morning Jamed woke with a start. “Look!” he exclaimed.

  They peered down the mountain through the trees at the valley floor . A sizeable gap in the herd had presented itself. There were numerous stragglers, but in numbers they could deal with. If they moved now, it looked like they would be able to cross the open area before the rest of the herd closed in. Then another few miles and they would be safe in the treed hills on the opposite side of the valley. It would be a hard, fast run, probably six miles. Before the team could discuss, Tock and Lee sped off down the mountain. That gap wouldn’t be there forever.

  “Hey!” Carla yelled, surprised. There was no time for debate. Everyone raced after the two. Their guide stayed rooted on the hill, his mouth wide open in shock.

  They tore down the mountainside, fighting to maintain their footing. Cecil lost his footing and tumbled into a roll as gear flung from his pack. He amazingly rolled right back onto his feet and resumed a run.

  They had all slept with their gear on them, for safety, but quickly realized the only way they’d make it across was by discarding it. Water bladders, packs, and heavy weapons dropped to the ground, as they struggled to keep a good pace. They had only covered a half a mile across the valley but were going at a good clip. Passage was easier than they expected, because the ground had been trampled flat by thousands of shuffling feet.

  Walkers at the fringes of the gap began to notice them and zeroed in on their position. They had to run faster. Like they’d been taught in the mountains, they tried to control their breathing and conserve energy. Tock was still in the lead. A walker got close to him and he crushed its head with the hammer he refused to drop. The gap in the herd was shrinking.

  “Only another couple miles!” Tock yelled back, lying. Lee, the shortest in the group, had already fallen back some. Carla had grabbed her hand to help her keep up. Cecil and Jamed’s faces were red from exertion, and they were both thinking regretfully about their water bladders somewhere on the ground behind them. Cecil hated to do it, but he dropped his shotgun after blasting two zombies in the face. It was simply too heavy.

  The herd undulated north, and the gap gave some leeway to their left. Those walkers had their backs to the running Martyrs, whereas those on their right were closing. The advantage of a large herd was they made so much noise they didn’t hear the humans. The Martyrs changed their heading to position themselves in the safety of this new pocket. Some stray walkers were in front of them, and Tock body checked a few of them to the ground. One’s torso popped right out of its hips from his blow. Lee stumbled a moment and dropped Carla’s hand but Cecil and Jamed quickly scooped her up.

  Heaving, hurting and fighting off the grabbing hands, they covered the last hundred yards and shot out from the congested part of the herd. It was like the herd just ended. Now they were in the open area of the valley—but with thousands of zombies now chasing them. They slowed their pace to a light jog, but the sprint had taken its toll. Out of breath, they slogged at a speed barely faster than the zombies behind them.

  Finally, nearly an hour after starting their run, Tock and the others stumbled into the uphill, wooded area across the valley with biters right on their heels. Hundreds of walkers frantically tried to get at them from behind. The trees provided some protection, but still the Martyrs crawled over rocks, roots and uneven terrain, as fast as their exhausted bodies could, pushing deep into the forest. At first, they could hear zombies crashing through the vegetation behind but they pressed on until there was no sound of their pursuers.

  Once they’d gained the top of the hill they collapsed to the ground.

  “We made it,” Lee said, gasping and slightly hysterical.

  “Good running, girl!” Carla blurted out. She was still standing, hunched over with her hands on her knees. She promptly threw up.

  Cecil spoke between heaves. “Well…now we have a new challenge…we’ve left the road…”

  “Where’s our guide?” Jamed asked hoarsely. Tock was on his back with his arm over his face, but sputtered out a laugh because Jamed just realized the guide wasn’t with them.

  They all went silent while they recovered. Carla stood upright, dizzied, and then sat down hard on the ground. “I’m all right,” she forced out.

  “We’ll make it,” Tock said. “Beard needs us to.”


  Trudging through unknown mountains was harder than they imagined. There were some trails, but the winding paths followed illogical routes and never a strictly easterly direction. Another few days of this left them exhausted from their minimal provisions. Water was easy to come by and they drank heartily as often as they could, but with only one bladder they couldn’t carry much with them. Cecil, always mindful of his next meal, had kept all his food supplies, and they parsed those out judiciously. None of them bothered accounting for the journey back. There might not be a journey back. Perhaps they would truly earn the title “Martyrs.”

  Even better, maybe they could rescue John and get out of the city.

  Another two days of travel and they reached an empty valley below. There were some scattered groups of walkers. In their depleted state, though, even a few walkers seemed exhausting.

  They descended from the hills and joined up with the road. The even surface would allow them to make better time as they staggered forth with one goal. Tenochtitlan.

  They encountered another group of travelers resting on the side of the road. As the weary Martyrs overtook them, Lee asked where they were headed. The travelers stared quizzically at the odd group and replied they were going to Tenochtitlan to see the Martyr executed. It was scheduled for the next day and were concerned they wouldn’t make it in time.

  The Martyrs looked at one another. They thanked them and pressed on.

  They struggled to keep moving, their bodies throbbing with every pounding step. Each desperately wanted to stop but more desperately needed to continue.

  At nightfall, they rested for an hour and then took to the road again. They kept moving through the darkness.

  At first light, they were completely spent. Their pain turned to laugher, though, as the growing daylight revealed the faint outline of Tenochtitlan’s skyscrapers. They’d made it.