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Texas Zombie Reporter: Tales of the Rio Grande	By : TheByronicMan Category: M through R > Newsflesh (trilogy) > Newsflesh (trilogy) Views: 1097 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Newsflesh Trilogy or any of the related published works. I do not make any money from this story. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, or living dead is coincidental.

Chapter List
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At least this morning I wasn't surprised to wake up and find someone sharing my bed. Anna was still asleep, and a glance at the clock showed that we had another couple of hours before dawn. With a sly grin I eased my way down to the foot of the cot, slowly nudged her knees apart and proceeded to gently wake her in the nicest way I could think of. I pressed my face between her thighs, the neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair tickling my nose as my tongue sought out her clit. She stirred when I first made contact with it, but didn't waken. I gently teased the little bundle of nerve endings, trying to arouse her as much as possible while she still slept. After a few minutes I heard her moan, then she draped her legs over my shoulders and dug her heels into my back. I licked faster and slid a couple of fingers inside her. She grabbed me by the hair and pulled my face tight against her mound. I sucked her clit into my mouth and lightly scraped my teeth across it. Soon she let out a gasp and her thighs clamped down on my head while her pussy squeezed my fingers so hard it hurt. Then her orgasm was finished and she was frantically pushing me away.
“Stop. Stop! That feels great but if I don't go to the bathroom right now things are going to get messy.”
I sat up and politely looked the other way as she scurried to the toilet. From the amount of time it took, she clearly had not been exaggerating how close to the edge of disaster she had been. A few moments later she stood in front of me. She had obviously figured out my biggest weakness (or rather, weaknesses) and had deliberately remained standing while I sat on the cot in order to place her breasts at my eye level. I could not resist burying my face in her cleavage, luxuriating in the feel of her soft, warm flesh. She chuckled, holding my head for a few moments before bending down and kissing me. She growled low in her throat as she licked her juices from my chin. Her hand found my cock, stroking it as she knelt on the floor.
This time she devoted the attention of her lips and tongue to the head, pumping the shaft with her hand. I could feel her drooling heavily, her hand sliding faster as her saliva covered my flesh. She raised her head, mashing her breasts tightly around my cock. Lubricated with her spit, I slid easily through her cleavage as she lifted and lowered her breasts. As I leaned back to get a better view, I noticed the red light on one of the internal cameras was on. Knowing Bobbie was watching turned me on even more. I sincerely hoped she was starting to like Anna, because I suspected this could turn out to be more than just a fling. The woman before me was making a place for herself in my heart with her personality, brains, and sensuality. I needed to find out if she felt the same way about me, and if she was open to a poly relationship. The thought of the three of us in bed together was the last straw, and I exploded. She fastened her lips around the head of my cock just in time. When I was done she leaned back and licked her lips, smiling up at me.
I helped her up to sit beside me and we collapsed back onto the cot for a while before I got up to make breakfast. I decided to go ahead and use up what was left of the fresh food, and was reminded why 'hot oil' and 'naked' do not go well together. Fortunately it was just a small burn and wasn't in too sensitive a spot. Even after eating at leisurely pace, we were cleaned up, dressed, and ready to go by the first hint of dawn. Anna returned to her truck and we set out. She wanted to take the lead, but I pointed out that she'd be better able to watch for signs of traffic if she wasn't busy trying to follow what was left of the road and breaking trail.
Once we were moving, I put in a call to Bobbie. “What's the good news?”
“The good news is that our site traffic is still running higher than average, we're having to do less troll-stomping in the forums, and BCI is pleased with the camera set up. The bad news is that Anna and her knife have become a meme.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. We posted some really good video of her pithing that last zombie the other day, and animated gifs are popping up everywhere. They've got her carving a Thanksgiving turkey, cutting a cake, assassinating Adolf Hitler, performing an impromptu 'sex change' operation on Governor Tate, and um, deflating Congresswoman Wagman's most prominent assets. My favorite is the one where she takes out Godzilla.”
“Oh my. I'll have to think of the most opportune moment to share this with her.”
Bobbie laughed, “Make sure you get it on camera.”
“I'll try. So, which of those did you post?”
“Please, those are way too amateur to be my work. I have something extra special in the works.”
“Then I'll let you get back to it. Miss you.”
“Miss you too.”
The road was a good eight miles from the river at this point, with the bulk of Mariscal Mountain in between. The road wound more or less southwest while the river curved gradually north, so we'd hit the riverbank after about twelve miles or so. While I was talking to Bobbie we had passed the Black Gap road, and came to the next major fork on our route.
I stopped and opened an encrypted channel to Anna. “The road to the left goes about six miles and dead ends at a campsite on the river. I forgot to ask if you wanted to check the side roads or just watch to see if there were tracks onto or crossing River Road.”
“I'd say stick to River Road. If any of the side roads look passable, I'll run down them a short ways and then catch up with you. This one looks pretty bad, though.”
“Gotcha,” I said, and started moving again.
Anna skipped the next two turnoffs as well, but decided to check out the road to Loop Camp. A few minutes after she left, I finally caught sight of the river again. At this point the Rio Grande makes a loop northward of over a mile before returning to its more regular course. Hence, the reason the nearest campground was called Loop Camp. I stopped and popped my head out of the driver's hatch to take...Holy Shit!
There was a longhorn bull about fifty yards off the side of the road. I stood up on my seat to get a better look. It would have been a prizewinner if it was alive and healthy, but it was pathetically trying to use its blunt herbivore teeth to strip the meat from a baby deer. That argued conclusively that it was dead. Too bad, if that spread of horns wasn't a record, it was pretty close. On the other hand, being a zombie meant it was fair game. I ducked into the back and opened the gun locker.
“Rob, you are NOT going out there to tangle with that thing!” Bobbie's voice came from the speakers.
“Do I look that crazy?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I'm not,” I said, grabbing my Marlin 1895 and opening the top hatch. I stepped up onto my cot, which put me at the right height outside the hatch to rest my elbows on the roof for a stable shooting platform. I looked over at the bull and realized he had spotted me and was shambling my way. I worked the lever to load a round of .45-70 into the chamber. I sighted through the scope, laid the cross-hairs on the center of the bull's forehead, and gently squeezed the trigger. The recoil was a surprise, just as it always is when the shot is just right. The back of the bull's skull blew out in a mist of blood and gray matter and he dropped to the ground. In the silence following the shot, I heard a high-pitched engine sound to the south. Scanning the sky in that direction, I saw it.
“Bobbie! Aircraft, about 60 degrees left, 10 degrees up. See if you can get a clear view and identify it.” I heard the tracking camera swivel above my head.
“Searching, searching, got it. Locked on and recording. I'll let you know when I have something.”
I put the rifle away, strapped on my gun belt, then grabbed another disposable rain suit, gloves, and a hacksaw. Stepping outside, I cautiously approached the massive carcass. It remained still, and a look around the area showed nothing else around that might be coming in to feed. I dressed in the water- and gore-proof outerwear, then grabbed one of the horns and started cutting where it met the skull. The hacksaw cut through quickly, but the horns were so thick at the base that I had to make a second cut up from the bottom to get all the way through. Anna drove up as I was trying to figure out how to safely stow the horns. I wasn't set up to completely sterilize them in the field, and I didn't have any biohazard bags big enough to hold them. I had settled on stuffing them into a body bag that had been part of the LAV's original equipment and strapping them to the roof when Anna walked up to me.
“And just what are you planning to do with those?”
“I figured I'd get them thoroughly decontaminated, mount them on the LAV, and name it The Dilemma.”
“What?” She thought for a moment. “Oh my God, 'the horns of a dilemma.' That's awful!” With that, she punched me in the shoulder.
“Ow. So, did you find anything?”
“Yeah, I found some old tire tracks. They'd have to be from around the time smugglers started using this route, but nothing more recent.”
“Could they be using planes?”
“Radar would spot them flying into the US, and coverage extends into northern Mexico across most of the border. Hm, let me check something....”
With that, Anna headed back to her truck, with me following just far enough back to enjoy the view. She opened the Ford's passenger side door, swiveled around the laptop on its built-in support, and called up a satellite map of the area. She traced some lines on the map with the her fingers.
“Okay, the Chisos Mountains and Mariscal Mountain would screen them from the main radar installations. But if they went too far north or west from here the aerostat station in Presidio would pick them up. Even just flying this far would make the trip a lot safer for them, the adjacent portion of Mexico has been completely abandoned to the dead, almost as bad as Alaska. But I don't see how they could have cleared even a rough landing strip without being picked up by satellite surveillance. I take it you have a reason for asking about planes?”
“Yep. I spotted a light plane just before you got here. Bobbie's working on ID'ing it.”
“And I have succeeded,” came Bobbie's voice over the speakers. “It's a Cessna 208J Convoy, updated version of the Super Cargomaster. Capacity is sixteen passengers or two and half tons of cargo, or some combination thereof.”
“I still don't see where they could possibly land around here.”
“I have an idea about that. But first, there is some other important information you need to check out.” I reached over to type a web address into her computer, then stepped back to watch the reaction. As the various animated .gifs of Anna loaded, she was by turns curious, amused, shocked, and appalled. It was everything I could have asked for, and the live feed from my helmet camera was going to Bobbie. I heard her break down in giggles and fall out of her chair, and it was all I could do to keep my own laughter enough under control to keep a steady picture.
Bobbie finally recovered her composure. “Okay you guys, time to get back with the program. The premium members have figured out I've got the feed on a delay and am editing something out, but they haven't guessed what yet. The sooner I can start broadcasting again, the better.”
“Yes Ma'am!” Anna and I chorused before returning to our rides and getting back on the road.
Another couple of miles down River Road West, we arrived at the Johnson's Ranch junction. I parked, got out, and motioned for Anna to follow me as I walked north from the road. Barely a hundred feet from the road there was a long, straight strip of level ground mostly clear of brush. And, sure enough, very fresh tracks.
Anna caught up to me. “How did they create this without being noticed?”
“Simple. They didn't create it, it's been here since the late 1920s.”
“What?”
“This is the Johnson's Ranch airfield, established in order to have a place to fly in troops to deal with incursions by bandits. In addition to ranching, the Johnsons ran a trading post and a school, and had already been hit once. Mostly, Army Air Corp pilots from San Antonio used it as a destination when practicing cross-country navigation, particularly around deer season.”
“How is it still in such good shape after all this time?”
“Don't know for sure, but if you know where to look you can still make out the two airstrips on satellite images. They probably had to fill in some erosion and clear some brush, but that would be less obvious than building from scratch.”
I walked down the strip a short way. “Ha! See this? They cut the brush but left the leafy twigs behind so it would still look the same from overhead.”
“Any surviving buildings around here?” Anna asked.
“Not so far as I know.”
“I don't see any likely place they could be using for storage. If the plane you saw brought in a load of contraband, then they must be moving it overland right now.”
She reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a detailed topographical map. She unfolded it and traced a route with her finger. “They'll probably pass to the west of Mule Ear Peaks and head north past Burro Mesa. I need to call this in, we've got a real chance to catch this bunch now that we've narrowed down where to look.” She hurried back to her truck.
I walked back to the intersection. The side road leading down to the river showed recent, frequent traffic. It figured, there had been a trading post here over a century ago that did a lot of cross-border business, so it wasn't surprising that somewhere around here the river was easy to ford. I looked around until I spotted the old cemetery and cued Bobbie to start up the feed again. I reached the ten or so grave sites, the sole remaining marker being a concrete cross that was somehow still standing. I started a commentary on the history of Johnson's Ranch as I filmed the single cross and the mounds of rock marking the bones of the dead.
I felt of twinge of conscience for not mentioning the airfield yet, but we can never be entirely sure who might have paid for a premium membership, and it would be just my luck for one of the smugglers to turn out to be a fan. As I left the cemetery and walked cross-country to the ruins of the old ranch house, Bobbie flashed a time code to the HUD on my face shield. It read 20:35, which meant that Bobbie had used up about two thirds of my standard broadcast delay to cover up gaps relating to Anna's little secret mission. A short stroll around the remains of the Johnson home, a quick hike back to the trucks, and Anna was patiently waiting to get back on the road.
Well, 'road' was perhaps an overly generous term. It was still mostly discernible without referring to the GPS. There were no impossible obstacles but between the difficult going and stops to film the scenery, it took a couple of hours to cover the remaining twelve miles or so to the crumbling remains of the paved road that served the western section of Big Bend. It was just a few minutes later that we pulled into the parking lot in front of the burned out pile of debris that had been the Castolon store.
The building had been intended to be the Army barracks for Camp Santa Helena around 1920, but it didn't serve that purpose for almost a century. Before the troops could move in, border tensions had eased and the camp was abandoned. A local store owner got permission to move into it from his old adobe structure, and the building operated as a trading post and post office until the Park Service took over. It continued as an NPS concession until the Rising. When the Army tried to clean out the park, they sent a squad down here. They used the store as a base of operations while they hunted zombies and destroyed any standing structures that could provide shelter. They finally torched the store when they pulled out.
The buildings were gone, but the old picnic tables were still there. Anna and I picked the sturdiest one for lunch. After eating, we strolled around the area. Not much to film here, all the structures had been burned if they were flammable or blown to rubble if they were primarily stone or adobe. The largest man-made object that remained intact was an old steam-powered water pump used to irrigate the crops back when this was farmland. I tried to find a nearby graveyard, but either the directions I had weren't good enough or it was too far gone to be noticeable.
After that we packed up and made the 20 minute drive to Santa Elena Canyon. Formerly known as “the Grand Canyon of the Rio Grande,” Santa Elena Canyon is far more visually striking than Boquillas Canyon. The canyon begins (or rather, ends, as this is the downstream end) at a sheer cliff face, giving a perfect cross section of the gorge. It's shaped like a short, squat wineglass, with the sides rising straight up from the river bank, moving back at a 45 degree angle, then rising straight up again to the top. I got some footage from the overlook, then drove down to the trail head. Looking down the trail as Anna joined me, I could see that Terlingua Creek was up. It flows into the Rio Grande just outside the mouth of the canyon, and we would get soaked to the knees walking across it. Fortunately, I had another plan in mind.
Turning to Anna I said, “If you'd care to join me in the LAV, I'm going to head up the river a ways into the canyon.”
She raised an eyebrow at me, but said nothing.
“I've got written permission from the Park Service to travel the river, honest. I can show you if you'd like.”
“I didn't get briefed on that, but I believe you.”
I grinned. “You can stick your head out the top hatch in back and get a pretty good view. Just watch out for beavers.”
“Beavers?”
“Yep. They're known to live in the canyon, some get large enough to amplify, and if they're fresh they might still be able to swim.”
“Okay, I'll keep an eye out.”
Once we were on board, I stuck my head up through the driver's hatch and picked the clearest route down to the creek. Not because the LAV would have any trouble plowing through the brush, but instead because I wanted to do as little damage to the landscape as possible. Terlingua Creek wasn't deep enough for it to float, so we quickly covered the short distance to the Rio Grande. Once out in the river travel was a lot slower. The current isn't very fast, but neither is the LAV once it's floating, so it took us over two hours to cover the two miles up to Fern Canyon. We actually did see a few beavers on the way, but they fled from the engine noise so I figured they must still be alive. I beached us at the entrance to the narrow side canyon and briefly thought about hiking up it to get some footage of the famous ferns. But according to accounts I've read, the hike requires scrambling up some rocks. In that narrow space I couldn't afford to divert my attention from the surroundings or take my hands off of my weapons. After a longing look, I turned the LAV around to get her nose pointed back towards the water, then climbed up onto the roof.
“Could you pass me up the yellow duffel under the cot?”
Anna ducked down and handed it up to me a few moments later. “Here you go. What is it?”
“An inflatable raft. I'll mount a camera on it and let it float ahead of us downstream. That way all the homebodies can experience a genuine Big Bend rafting adventure.”
With that, I unpacked the raft and pulled the cord to inflate it. After attaching a line from the tail of the raft to the nose of the LAV, I secured one of my field cameras to the raft's floor.
I was just about to launch it when Bobbie whispered in my ear. “See if you can get Anna to ride in it. Having a ranger on the raft, or at least someone in a ranger uniform, would add to the experience. I can make a second copy with her edited out and sell it to the Park Service both ways.”
“Will do,” I replied. “Hey, Anna, would you like to ride the raft? It would help to have someone on board to steer it.”
“Sure!” she said, climbing up out of the LAV and making her way to the front.
I set the raft in the water, then helped Anna get into it, copping a discreet feel and getting elbowed in the process. Once onboard, she paddled out into the river. I got back into the driver's seat and eased the LAV down into the water to follow her. By the time I reached the center of the river, the current had carried the raft out to the end of the line. It had little impact on the bulk of the LAV so I had to accelerate a bit to match the river's slow pace. I soon discovered that traveling at the same rate as the current I couldn't steer, so I shifted into a slow reverse to give me a little water flow to allow maneuvering. Still, downstream was faster than up, and it was about an hour and a half back to Terlingua Creek. I told Anna to stay out in the river as I carefully drove up into the creek and then turned around to back up and tow Anna into the creek with me. I pulled up onto the bank, then got out to haul the raft ashore.
While Anna deflated the raft I took the opportunity to top off my main water tank, Terlingua Creek being notably cleaner than the river my dad always called “the Rio Grungy.” As Anna was struggling to stuff the raft back into its original bag, I grabbed a larger duffel out of the LAV.
“Those things never collapse as neatly as they came from the factory,” I said as I handed her the bag.
She looked into it and saw the panic beacon, field test kit, packages of MREs, and water filter I'd stashed in the bottom. “What's all this for?”
“I don't want to waste the space to haul it back with me, but if I dump it here that's littering. If I leave it packaged with emergency supplies, it's a survival cache. We'll drop it off at Castolon on our way back.
She smirked. “Brilliant.”
As soon as that was done we headed back to Castolon to make the drop off, then found our way to the Cottonwood Campground where I planned to stay the night. But when we arrived, I saw some human shapes among the trees that gave the campground its name. Damn. Kids. Teenagers mainly, seven of them, wearing the tattered remains of Boy Scout uniforms and looking ragged enough to date from the Rising. Don't know how the army missed them, unless they were at a back country site and only wandered down here after the troops left. With them scattered among the trees instead of concentrated in a building, there were likely to be more out there I couldn't see. We were short on daylight and needed to look for somewhere well away to camp, so I didn't waste any time. My Marlin was still handy from earlier, so I stood up out of the driver's seat and picked all of them off before they got within fifty feet.
We turned around and drove back nearly all the way to Santa Elena Canyon, and took the turnoff for Old Maverick Road. The road was in decent shape, it probably got the most traffic of any of the dirt roads in the park, and all those cars left a lasting impression on the landscape. After a few minutes, we took the short side road to a back country camp at the old village of Terlingua Abajo. Not feeling up to facing a keyboard this evening, I dictated a blog entry as I drove and sent it off to Bobbie. We parked in the middle of an open space, and I set up a couple of folding chairs so we could relax and enjoy the remaining daylight. Settling down with a drink, I pulled out my pocket computer and called up an e-book.
Anna asked, “Got anything on there I might like?”
“Well, since you've rafted through Santa Elena Canyon, you might enjoy this one,” I said, sending it over to her e-reader. “Oddly enough, the main character is a Park Ranger named Anna.”
We read in companionable silence for a while. As the sun neared the horizon, I was about to suggest moving the party inside when Anna nudged my arm. She directed my attention to a small herd of mule deer passing by our camp site. They were moving slowly, but with the sure-footed agility that strongly suggested that they weren't infected. They also looked to be well-fed and hydrated, and weren't showing any signs of injury. We watched until they disappeared into the brush.
"You know," Anna said, "That's a pretty good sign that there aren't any infected animals in the area."
Our eyes met, and it was obvious we were thinking the same thing. "Wait here," Anna said, and got up to go to her truck.
I watched her walk away, and made a subtle hand signal to tell Bobbie to shut off the subscriber feed. Anna returned carrying a sleeping bag and spread it out on a smooth patch of ground. I got up to join Anna as she took off her gun belt and set it where it would be close at hand, then took off her boots. I followed her example, and we lay down together and our lips met. With much fumbling and some help from each other, we managed to get undressed while kissing continuously. Almost as though they had minds of their own, my hands found her breasts and began caressing and massaging them. She moaned into my mouth as her hand made its way down my body, the moans turning to giggles when she discovered that I was already hard. She cupped my balls, and I shivered as she gently squeezed them.
After what seemed like an endless interval of dueling tongues and roving hands, she pushed me over onto my back and rolled on top of me. Her nipples were almost poking holes in my chest as she slowly stroked her clit up and down my shaft. Finally she sat up, taking hold my cock and guiding it into her cunt. She fucked me slowly, gradually leaning back a little farther with each motion, until she was bending my cock at an uncomfortable angle. But all discomfort was forgotten when she threw her head back, her breasts thrust upward, silhouetted against the blazing sunset. After a minute or so of her tits bobbing against the red-orange sky, she heaved herself upright again. She braced her hands on my chest and rode my cock faster.
I was biting my lip to keep from coming too soon. Having sex outdoors was major turn-on for me, one I hadn't experienced for years. Bobbie was perfectly happy to get naked when we went to Hippie Hollow, but that was a family-friendly nudist park so sex wasn't an option. Any place more private also tended to be too dangerous for her tastes. I had the opposite problem. Having sex where there might be zombies lurking about made it that much more exciting. All too soon, I stiffened and thrust up into Anna's cunt. She clenched her muscles around my cock as I came, as though trying to milk me dry. As soon as I was done, she was in motion again, riding me in a frenzy. My hands found her breasts, pinching and rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. I felt her pussy clamp down on me again as she came.
She collapsed on top of me and rested there until my cock softened and slipped out of her. Then she slipped to the side and laid her head on my chest. The sun was fully down by the time we gathered up our clothes and headed for the LAV.

Good Lord! Now Rob has received a 'strongly worded letter' about his little trip through the tunnel from the Humane Society. Apparently ramming zombified critters with an APC is somehow less humane than shooting them in the head. Get over it! They don't care. They're dead. The world (including all the living animals in the area) is a safer place without them.
- From Yes Sir! F*** You Sir!,
  
  the blog of Bobbie Cardille, April 7, 2040
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Texas Zombie Reporter: Tales of the Rio Grande