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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
- 7
- 8
It was my tenth birthday. Mom and Dad said they hadda get on the list two years ago to have my birthday party in Comanche Lookout Park. They said it was important to let kids play outside sometimes. The park had lotsa fences and guards to keep out the zombies and animals that might turn into them. My friends Jimmy and Ronnie and Chris and George and Tommy and Tyler were there. My little sister Jenny too, but she's okay for a girl. We were playing Zombie Pack. All the kids but one are Zombies, the last one is the Survivor. The Survivor has to get to Home Base without being touched by a Zombie or he's dead. I was the Survivor and I hadda get to the tower to be safe. I was running to the tower when Tommy ran at me from behind a tree. I was trying to run around him when suddenly there was an X on his face. Not really an X 'cause it wasn't slanted it was straight up and down and side to side. Then his head 'sploded.
The stunted, hardy cedars of Comanche Lookout Park melted away, replaced by the tall cottonwood trees that give Cottonwood Campground its name. The ragged, boyish zombie wearing Tommy's face fell to the ground with a bloody third eye above the original two and the back of his skull blown out. I twitched the Marlin to the left as I worked the lever to chamber the next round and a horribly scarred chest filled the scope. I angled the rifle up until the crosshairs settled on Ronnie's forehead and pulled the trigger. As Ronnie dropped out of sight I saw Tyler just behind him. He too collapsed to the dirt with a twitch of my index finger. A moment later Jimmy's head was in my sights. An instant after that his brains were painting the tree behind him. I swiveled farther to the left to find George. He straightened up just before I fired and the bullet took him in the throat and severed his spine. I quickly reloaded from the cartridge carrier attached to the stock and chambered a round as I turned the rifle towards Chris. The scope made him seem close enough to touch. The crosshairs centered on a face almost too pretty to belong to a boy. That face was ruined when the heavy 500 grain slug punched through the bridge of his nose. I swung the Marlin to cover the last zombie and found Jenny staring back at me.
I awoke violently, almost knocking Anna out of the cot we shared. Damn it. Every time I have to shoot kids I end up having nightmares for weeks afterward. My subconscious makes me relive the experience over and over, with the faces of my childhood friends replacing those of the infected. Doesn't matter that they're already dead, doesn't matter that they'd probably thank me if they could. The worst part is that the fucking dreams have ruined one of the happiest memories of my childhood. My tenth birthday was everything a boy could hope for, absolutely perfect.
I take that back, the worst part is Chris. My best friend all the way through high school, my lover after we left for college, and my partner when we were starting out as Irwins. And finally, the first time I had to put down a zombie that used to be someone I knew, it was Chris. There's a reason I prefer to work alone these days. There's also a reason why I am now engaged to a woman who mostly stays at home with her computers.
I gradually became aware that Anna had been talking to me for a while, but I had to give myself a mental shake before the words began to register.
“...dammit would you please say something!”
“Sorry, nightmare. Bad one. I'll be having them for a while yet, so it might be best to sleep separately from now on.”
“What kind of nightmare?”
“I'd really rather not talk about it.”
“Well, you know, it's getting close to dawn anyway, and if you think it would help, well, we could find something to do other than sleep.”
I hugged her tightly, grateful for the touch of someone warm and living. Her mouth found mine and I kissed her ravenously. My erection rose to nudge her thigh and I released her. She pulled away and got on her hands and knees facing away from me. I was entranced by the sight, but it wasn't what I needed right now.
“Please, I want to see your face.”
She immediately flipped over onto her back, spreading her legs. I knelt between her thighs and slammed my cock inside her. She groaned and raised her legs, resting her ankles on my shoulders. I fucked her hard and fast, no finesse, no technique, looking into her eyes the whole time. She winced in pain at the end of every thrust, but her smile got bigger and her hands on my hips kept trying to pull me in deeper. Damn, was she a masochist on top of everything else? With her legs supporting my body, my hands were free to brutally pinch and twist her nipples. She screamed and I felt her orgasm, forcing my cock past her constricting muscles. She had four or five more before I came hard. I collapsed beside her on the cot and we held each other. She was practically purring, and I think that was the moment I fell hopelessly in love with her.
An hour later the sun was up and I was far more cheerful and clear-headed. I was dreading nightfall, but was at least ready to face the day. Anna and I cautiously peered outside, making sure there were no opportunistic zombies laying in wait for the soft gooey center to venture out of the hard shell of the LAV. Once assured that the coast was clear we went outside and settled into our chairs to consume some vaguely recognizable but reasonably tasty foodstuffs from a couple of pouches labeled 'Breakfast.' Once that necessary refueling was done I took a moment to check in with Bobbie.
“What's the word, Bobbie?”
“After the events of last night, there's a whole lot of words you don't want to hear. I've cleared them out of your inbox and adjusted the filters to forward any future such emails to me.”
I grimaced. She must be getting emails from the families of some of those Boy Scouts, or from their lawyers. “How bad is it?”
“So far, all good news. The feedback has been uniformly positive, and it looks like you won't have to go to court. I've also turned down more money than I want to think about for you to bring the bodies back and go looking for the rest of the troop. I referred those to Jenny.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Many people are grateful to no longer have their loved ones shambling around dead, and would love to be able to give their ashes a proper burial. But as much as it bugs me to find out or even speculate about the life stories of any zombies I put down after the fact, having that knowledge ahead of time is even worse, and actually delivering the bodies is a non-starter. My sister Jenny has no such personality quirks. When Texas legalized zombie tracing and recovery as a profession, she was one of the first to apply, and her license number is in the single digits. For a suitable fee, she and her crew will track down a particular zombie, kill it, and bring the body back for identity verification, cremation, and interment.
“Good, she can always use more business, and she's been jealous that I got to come to Big Bend and she didn't. Hopefully we've built up enough goodwill with the Park Service to help her get access. Anything else?”
“Site traffic is still running high. I added a couple of T-shirts to the store, one using a still from you at the visitor center, one from Hot Springs. The first production runs of both have already sold out, though there is some bitching and moaning in the forums that the second shirt doesn't have Anna in the pic.”
I laughed. “Have to see if I can get her to sign a model release.”
“That's all the news from here. Oh, I should add that Dr. Middleton is available from 2-3pm if you need to call him.”
I thought about it for a moment. “Nah, I've got an alternative therapy that should hold me over until I can get home.”
“Yeah, I saw that. Lucky girl. You're always so, primal, after one of your nightmares.”
“You'll get your turn soon. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
If Bobbie seems a little cavalier about my distress, it's because she's learned that's what works for me. I feel even worse when it seems like I'm dragging other people down with me. If they can joke about it, in the right way, it helps me immensely.
Reinvigorated after talking with my bride to be, I policed up the campsite and put everything away. That done, I invited Anna to join me on a stroll over to the nearby ruins. We hiked down to Terlingua Creek, which was much shallower and narrower here than it was down near the Rio Grande. As we were picking the best spot to cross, a flash of movement to the left caused me to draw and aim my handgun. Downstream there was a deeper pool of water, and apparently we had startled a Great Blue Heron that had been wading there. Not the sort of bird you'd expect to find in the desert, but here was a reliable source of water. Before the Rising, Big Bend was famed for the amazing variety of birds that live or at least pass through here, and drew bird watchers from all over.
Once across the creek, we made our way uphill and found the piles of rock marking the locations where homes once stood. This had been the original village of Terlingua, until the mining camp and later chili cook-off mecca farther upstream appropriated the name. Afterward, it was known as Terlingua Abajo, 'Lower Terlingua.' After filming the forlorn remains of the village and also the spectacular view of the mouth of Santa Elena Canyon, I started hunting for the cemetery. I was pretty sure I could find this one. My grandfather had been here and had pictures. He even had some footage, on something called 'VHS tape.' Bobbie had a hell of time finding a machine that could convert it. Grandad had come up here a different way, following the creek up from the river. Come to think of it, he'd mentioned seeing a heron, possibly in that same pool.
I scanned the nearby hills, comparing them to my mental picture, and saw one that looked likely. Looking closer, I thought I could make out a cross leaning drunkenly against the skyline. We climbed to the top and discovered that I had indeed picked the right hill. The mounds of rock covering the graves were plainly visible, and a few of the crosses still stood. I filmed the area while looking closely at the crosses, but was unable to find any legible names. After resting for a few minutes, we headed back to the trucks.
We drove back to Old Maverick Road, then followed it a few miles to the next place I wanted to stop. We pulled off the road in front of a low building. So low, in fact, that when I got out of the LAV and stood in front of it, the peak was lower than my eye level. As I cautiously peered through the chicken wire gate closing the entry, I could see that the floor was dug out several feet below ground level, a feature that would help moderate temperatures in this harsh climate. It was in surprisingly good shape. The Park Service had taken some criticism after they had restored it, for using less than authentic materials for the roof. They clearly hadn't gotten around to correcting that mistake, because there's no way mud and ocotillo branches would have lasted this long. The short rock walls were two to three feet thick, except for the rear wall which was the flat face of an enormous boulder.
Anna spoke up after a minute. “Wow. Someone actually lived in that?”
“Yep. This is Luna's Jacal, built by Gilberto Luna in the late 1800s. He lived here for about fifty years, surviving eleven wives and raising more than fifty children before dying at the age of 109.”
“Wow,” she repeated. “Sounds like one hell of a man.”
I chuckled. We started back towards the vehicles when Bobbie's voice came in my ear. “I'm picking up gunshots in the audio.”
“Hold on.” I took off my helmet and listened. I heard faint reports that could very well be gunshots. Putting my helmet back on, I said, “Okay, put a hold on outgoing video. This just might be some of Anna's business. I'm going to try to find a vantage point to get some footage.”
“Got it.”
None of the cameras I had on me would get good video at more than a few hundred feet, so I ducked into the LAV to get one of my larger handhelds. Turning back to Anna, I said, “If I got you right yesterday, your smugglers probably travel through this area on the other side of the ridge.” She nodded. With that, I turned and started climbing the slope behind Luna's Jacal. It rose a few hundred feet above the road. As I neared the top I could hear the gunshots more clearly, a sure sign that I was headed in the right direction.
When I reached the crest of the ridge, I could see where the action was. A couple of miles away, there was a cluster of vehicles on top of a small rise, with people using them for cover. I couldn't see who they were shooting at. About a quarter mile to the north, a helicopter was grounded at the bottom of a broad ravine, and I wondered why it wasn't up providing air support. I wouldn't be able to hold the camera steady enough at this distance, so I set up a tripod and quickly attached the camera. Zooming in, I could see that one of the vehicles was a truck with a heavy machine gun mounted in the bed. The gun looked a Russian DSHK, which would be sufficient to knock down any pesky aircraft within range. That explained why they weren't risking the helicopter.
There were seven smugglers crouched behind the vehicles, and about that many bodies on the ground. As I watched, one of them took a bullet in the chest, and the man nearest him immediately shot him in the head. Allegedly, in the late 20^th century standard military doctrine was that a wounded enemy was better than a dead one. The theory was that a wounded man took at least two more men out of the fight, to render aid and carry him away from the lines for medical attention. These days, it's considered better to kill an enemy with a center of mass shot, in the hopes that he'll get up and bite a few of his fellows. Because of that, seriously wounded soldiers tended to end up permanently dead at the hands of those same fellows.
Panning around, I managed to locate the tactical squad. They were wearing pretty good desert camo other than the letters 'DEA' plainly visible on the backs of their jackets. Since DEA agents don't generally run away from the bad guys, I guessed it didn't matter how visible their backs were. Still, I wasn't very impressed with their tactics, advancing on a fortified position from just one direction. Figuring they were smarter than that, I carefully scanned the area. Aha, three agents had made their way around the smugglers, and were creeping up on them from the rear. At that point, I noticed Anna had caught up with me as was watching the scene through binoculars.
“You're certain this isn't going to anyone other than Bobbie?”
“Absolutely. For all I know, one of those people down there is a fan, and I'd hate for them to be able to see things from this perspective, even with the delay. I know a thing or two about operational security, I've had more than one competitor try to scoop me by joining my site and tracking me through my video feed.”
We stood there for nearly half an hour watching the conflict. Firing was sparse, both sides apparently conserving their ammo for the endgame. Finally, the three agents coming up from behind reached point-blank range, and the one in the lead put a shot into an SUV next to one smuggler's ear and shouted something I couldn't make out, presumably a call to surrender. It worked, and the survivors quickly dropped their weapons and stood up with their hands raised. The rest of the agents came up, and the smugglers were quickly frisked and handcuffed. One agent cut the lock off the door of a panel truck and coaxed about a dozen barely pubescent boys and girls out of it. Shortly afterward, two more helicopters landed and carried both the newly captive and newly liberated away. For another two hours, the agents documented the scene, took samples of the drugs, and finally piled both drugs and bodies into the vehicles before setting the whole mess ablaze. As soon as they returned to their helicopter and flew off to the northwest, Anna and I trudged back down the ridge.
We had just reached the bottom when I heard the distinctive sound of a safety clicking off behind me. I whirled around and found myself staring down the enormous bore of a large-caliber handgun with my own sidearm only halfway out of its holster. Behind that gaping maw stood the second most beautiful woman within a seventy mile radius. Of course, so far as I knew there were only two women inside that distance, but she was still stunningly attractive. Long dark hair, high cheekbones, and a bust that was more modest than Anna's but well-formed. She was flanked by two large and brutish henchmen carrying SMGs, and behind her stood a boy of about 13. Apparently they had hidden behind the boulder that Mr. Luna had used for a rear wall. She didn't have to say anything, the point was obvious. I slid my .45 back into the holster and raised my hands. Anna let her SMG hang from its sling and did likewise. The lady's two side-boys moved in and relieved us of our weapons. They took Anna's handcuffs and locked my wrists behind my back.
The woman spoke for the first time, with a cultured upper class Mexican accent. “Well, Rob Phillips, it is so good to meet you.”
“It's always nice to meet a fan. I'd offer you an autograph, but...” I said, shrugging with my cuffed arms.
“Oh, Jorge here is the fan,” she said, nodding to the grunt on her left. “He has been following your little adventure and knew you were in the area. If he had not known you were coming, you would have stumbled across us yesterday. The reason I am happy to see you is that I hate walking. I am afraid we are going to have to borrow your car to get back home.”
She turned to Anna and indicated the handcuffs that Jorge had confiscated from her, now imprisoning my wrists. “You are a police officer?”
“Good lord no! I've got a master's in geography, and I study the effects of terrain on movement patterns of the infected. I'm not some stupid cop. But the Park Service insists that anyone who works out in the field get law enforcement certification and carry the gear. With the budget cuts the last twenty years they make us all do double duty.”
She looked Anna up and down, taking the in the Park Service patch on her jacket. “Very well.”
With that, she led the way back to the road, with Anna and I being dragged along behind. I contrived to bump into Anna and 'accidentally' trip her to the ground. While the goons were distracted, I slipped a hand into my back pocket and pulled out the key fob for the LAV. I hit the lock button, dropped it to the toe of my boot, and snap-kicked it far out into the brush. Yeah, I used to play hacky sack in college, and Hapkido does wonders for your leg muscles.
“Oops, I seem to have lost the key.”
“I am sure your girlfriend back home can unlock it for us, if I threaten to do you grievous bodily harm.”
“Actually, no, I can't,” came Bobbie's voice over the LAV's loudspeaker. “The locks are separate from the rest of the systems, otherwise they'd be too easy for someone to hack.”
“Then I guess I do not need him,” the woman replied, raising her gun to point at my head.
“On the other hand,” Bobbie said, “I do have remote access to the comm equipment, so I'll make you a deal. Leave them alive and uninjured and I'll let you leave in the Ranger's truck. Harm a hair on either of their heads, and I'll use the microwave transmitter to fry its electronics.”
The woman stood silent for a minute. “Very well, I accept your offer.”
She instructed one of her bodyguards to use the sling from Anna's gun to tie her hands, then led us towards the jacal.
“What are you doing!” Bobbie's voice thundered across the desert.
The woman turned around. “I am putting them in a shelter. You would not want them to get bitten by an infected javelina while they are tied up.”
We were taken inside, and one of my wrists was released long enough to cuff my arms around one of the thick wooden posts supporting the roof. The not-Jorge minion pushed Anna to the floor and used her boot laces to tie her ankles together, then rummaged in her pockets for her car keys. His boss smacked him on the back of the head when rummaging turned into groping.
“There is no time for that!” She led the young boy to the entrance and placed the handcuff key in his shirt pocket, telling him in Spanish, “My pet, it seems I have to leave you here. You are to stand at the door and watch me drive away. You may release them once I am out of sight, but no sooner.” She kissed him and then walked out into the sunlight.
Her stooges followed her out. Shortly thereafter, I heard the doors on Anna's Ford close, the engine start, and the truck drive away. But barely ten seconds later it stopped again. I heard a gunshot and the boy's back erupted in a spray of blood. The bullet struck the wall behind me, thankfully too spent to ricochet. The boy fell to his hands and knees, coughing up blood, then collapsed to the floor.
“Damn! As skinny as he is, he'll amplify fast!”
“I know!” Anna said, scooting behind me, somehow managing to get up on her knees and press her belly against my hands. “You've got to get my knife out and cut me loose.”
I fumbled with her belt, trying to draw the dagger that served it as a buckle. “In a different setting, this would be a fun game.”
“How can you joke at a time like this?”
“It's how I keep my sanity.”
I got the knife loose, and Anna turned around so I could cut the strap binding her wrists. It was difficult working behind my back, especially with the thick post hampering my movements, and I heard her hiss in pain as I nicked her wrist. After what seemed like an hour but couldn't have been more than a few minutes, I managed to free her hands. She took the blade from me and began working to release her ankles. As she struggled, I saw the semblance of life return to the boy. With a cry of triumph, Anna stood up. At the same time, the boy began to draw his hands underneath his body. Anna dropped her knife and picked up a large rock that had fallen from the wall. She raised it over her head and flung it down at the boy's head. The back of his skull visibly caved in, and the body twitched once before falling still. Anna stood white-faced and gulping air.
I spoke into the silence, trying to distract her from thinking about what she'd just done. “Do you think maybe you could let me loose soon?”
She started, and then turned to me, getting herself back under control. “I dunno, might be fun to keep you chained up for a while.”
I gave a sharp laugh, if she could joke about it, she'd be okay. “Could be lots of fun but, as the lady said, we don't have time for that right now.”
Anna looked back at the body and the spreading pool of blood. “The keys are covered in infected blood, and I have a cut on my wrist.”
“Aren't you law enforcement types trained to carry a spare key tucked away somewhere?”
“Yeah. It's on the ring with the keys to the Ford. I need to rethink that in the future.” She paused. “Wait a minute, I was watching and they didn't double-lock the cuffs. I can pick them.”
She stepped carefully around the blood pool, finding a protruding bit of chicken wire on the entrance and bending it back and forth until it broke loose. She walked back and knelt behind me, taking hold of my wrist and doing something that I couldn't see.
“This may not be stiff enough. Too bad I don't wear bobby pins.”
“It better work, because I really want this fucking bitch.”
“Hey, I'm the dumb cop here, it's my job to get her.”
“Unless my weapons are piled up outside then she has stolen my property. Under Texas law I have justification to pursue her and use any means necessary up to and including deadly force to recover it.”
“She's been indicted for federal crimes. That gives me the authority to commandeer a vehicle to chase her. If you beg nicely, I might requisition your services as driver.”
“Indicted? You recognized her?”
“That's right. Lizbeth Moreno-Pena, number four on the DEA most-wanted list. She'll probably get bumped up after this.”
“She won't live long enough to get to number one.”
I felt the cuff on my left wrist release. “Got it,” Anna said. “Now that I've had a refresher it should be quicker with the other one.”
“Don't bother, I've got a key in the LAV.”
I got up and ran outside. It had been years since I'd been outdoors without a gun. Anna hurried after me. “How long do you think it will take to find the keys? You sent them pretty far.”
“No need. I lied.”
I went to the rear door of the LAV, pressed my palm to the blood test unit, and recited, “When the dead walk, senores, you must stop the killing or you'll lose the war.”
After receiving the pass phrase and getting a clean blood test, the locks clicked open. Bobbie's voice came over the speakers. “Rob! Thank God!”
“Bobbie, I think they took my helmet. Can you track it?”
“Already on it, sending their position to your GPS, constant update.”
As we were talking, I went inside and opened the gun locker, offering Anna the first pick. She squealed with glee and grabbed my M14. I pulled out a handcuff key and unlocked my other wrist, then took my Marlin lever action and my Colt Government Model and headed for the driver's seat.
Anna asked, “Bobbie, can you connect me to the DEA in El Paso?”
“Working on it. Use the headset on Rob's desktop. Maybe they'll listen to you better than they did to me.”
I turned on the engine, shouted “Hold on!” and gunned it, fishtailing in the dirt and gravel as I turned around. I followed the GPS track to the point where she had left the road. That made it easier for me. The trail of fresh ruts and broken brush was easy to follow. Even better, while Anna's Ford had the advantage in road speed, the LAV was much better for off-road driving.
“Hey, Bobbie, is Ice with you?”
George 'Iceman' Garwynn is the other reason Bobbie doesn't get much sleep while I'm in the field. He's about my age, too old to be named for George Romero, and claims his parents were fans of a 20^th century basketball player. He gets his nickname from being at the top of his field in cybersecurity, what is sometimes known as Intrusion Countermeasure Electronics. He is also possibly the best hacker in the world who has never done anything illegal, though that is a rather small pond. He has worked on mastering the techniques he defends against.
“Yep, he's here.”
“Great. Ask him to cut any feed from our site going to receivers within 50 miles. I'm sure Agent Guillen can authorize that for him. Once that's done go live, real time. Split screen it with the video starting with the gunfight between the smugglers and the DEA. Get one my betas to do background and running commentary.”
“On it.”
Anna's voice came from the back. “We're on our own. The tactical team doesn't have enough fuel to get back here, and the sheriff's department and state police are busy with a major accident near Marathon. The Border Patrol is responding, but they have no air assets available and their nearest unit is in Presidio. They'll never catch up to us. I had to hang up before my boss ordered me to break off pursuit.”
Bobbie chimed in. “And I've got any further calls from them forwarding to a phone sex line in Monterrey.”
“Just as well, I'd rather settle this personally.”
We bounced cross-country in silence for a while. Miss Moreno had followed the dry bed of Alamo Creek for a couple of miles, then turned southeast. Looks like she was headed directly for River Road. Good compromise on her part, she'd be easier to find but could make better speed. Still, the road was only marginally better than the unspoiled desert, and if she was confident that she was free of pursuit, she'd keep her speed down enough to avoid the risk of wiping out. I should still be able to catch her.
Anna asked from the back. “Uh, Rob, exactly why do you have leg shackles and handcuffs in your gun safe?”
“If you hook a couple of zombies together, they can't coordinate their movements enough to catch you. It's funny as hell, kinda like undead Keystone Cops. Three is even better. Bobbie and I also have a set at home for, um, personal use.”
“Kinky! So you weren't kidding earlier?”
“Nope.”
Bobbie broke in, “Much as I hate to interrupt your planning session for tonight's sex and bondage romp, the DEA finally wised up and called me directly. They're ordering you to stop.”
“Sorry, I don't work for the DEA. My actions are justified under state law, and they aren't state law enforcement officers. They have no authority to stop me.”
“They also insist I pass the message on to Anna.”
“You aren't Agent Guillen's secretary, and neither am I. They can go whistle for it.”
“Got it. They're also pissed about the video feed, but I read them the riot act on that and referred them to our lawyer.”
“Good girl,” I said. Bobbie giggled at that.
I checked the GPS. We were gaining even faster than I expected.
“Bobbie, what's the terrain like ahead?”
“Just a sec.”
“What, something about Big Bend that you don't know?” Anna added.
“Hey, the Park Service didn't want me going off road more than absolutely necessary.”
“Okay Rob, it looks like a wide alluvial fan cut by ravines.”
“Thanks Bobbie.” That explained it. Our quarry was crossing rocky terrain and having to pick her way through or around gullies. If I was willing to take some chances, I might be able to catch her short of Castolon. I raised the camera mast ten feet and echoed the forward view to my screen. I risked damaging the mount, but I needed to be able to see farther ahead. The idea proved its worth almost immediately as I saw marks on the ground where Anna's truck had stopped abruptly at the edge of a steep drop, backed up, and then gone around. I had enough advance warning to change direction without slowing down. The pursuit was nerve-wracking. The terrain was rough and tended to abruptly rise and fall with little warning. On the rare patches of smooth ground, I could tell where Miss Moreno was heading. She aiming just to the left of Castellan Peak, which would put her on the main road a short distance from the River Road turnoff. She must be headed back to her usual crossing point, if all she wanted was to just get across the border she could have gone due south and been there by now.
“Stupid Fucking Moron! Damn it Bobbie, I'm an idiot! If they have my helmet you should be able to listen in on them.”
“Shit, should have thought of that myself. Hold on. No good, I don't speak Spanish. I'll patch it through to you.”
I listened, but I didn't have much more luck than Bobbie did. The lady wasn't talking and her two flunkies spoke a rapid-fire dialect that was significantly different from either the formal Spanish I learned in school or the Tex-Mex I had picked up in San Antonio.
“As best as I can make out, they're headed back to Johnson Ranch and have some compadres meeting them at the river.”
“How many?” Anna asked.
“They haven't said. Does the DEA have any evidence to show that they run more than one smuggling caravan at a time?”
“Not that I've seen.”
“Then probably just a few. It'd be tough to support a large group out in the middle of nowhere, and I expect the isolation would mean they don't have to worry about rivals.”
“Makes sense.”
I checked the GPS again. Damn, she was opening her lead. She must have gotten clear of the worst of it.
But ten minutes later, so had I. I picked up speed, barreling down a dry creek bed and then climbing up to the road before taking a sharp left to head north along it. Back on familiar ground, I retracted the camera mast. I winced at the metal scraping sound coming from the mechanism, I had sure enough bent something. Shortly thereafter, I turned right on River Road. As the minutes went by, I started gaining again, slowly but steadily. I have a knack. No matter how wild the country I venture into, I can always find my way back and remember any obstacles on the way. It's a handy skill for someone who regularly travels into terra incognita. And it worked to my advantage now, I knew this road and she didn't. Mile after mile, I closed the gap, if not as quickly as I would have liked. And where the road straightened out about a mile short of Johnson Ranch, she came into view.
“Anna, you're up.”
“Hell yeah!”
I heard Anna open up the top hatch in the rear compartment. Soon after I could see bullets impacting the back of the Ford. The DEA vehicle was armored enough to deal with typical gangbangers, who generally carried 9mm guns or the occasional AK-47. The more powerful rounds from the M14 might be able to punch through it. She walked a burst across the rear window, causing a spiderweb of cracks but no holes. While Anna was reloading, not-Jorge leaned out the passenger side window and let off a wild burst from his submachinegun. Most of the rounds missed, a few ricocheted off of the front armor. Anna returned fire while he reloaded, to no effect. His next burst was a bit more on-target.
“OUCH! Dammit!”
“You okay back there?”
“Took a couple of rounds to the chest but the Kevlar stopped them. Might have a cracked rib, and one of them tagged me right on the nipple.”
“Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
“Sure! But no teeth this time!”
I chuckled. That ought to get the forums hopping. At that point Anna must have popped up and opened fire again. I saw not-Jorge take rounds in the upper chest and shoulder. Moments later, the door opened and he was unceremoniously shoved out to tumble bonelessly down the road. Until a glancing blow from the front end of the LAV sent him flying towards the river, that is. Anna returned her attention to the rear window, sending several rounds through the damaged glass. The Ford started to slow. I pulled up until I was even with the left rear tire and then swerved hard to the right, knocking it into a skid that quickly turned into a roll. The Ford rolled over three times before coming to rest on its left side. I came to a stop about a hundred feet away.
I was unbuckling my restraints when Anna shouted, “Rob! We've got company!”
It seemed I was wrong in estimating their likely numbers. Eight vehicles were driving up from the river bank. Three dunebuggies, looked like they were built on 1960s VW Beetle frames, two Ford Courier IVs, a pair of Land Rover Defender 200s, and an ancient Humvee. Hopefully they didn't have anything that could penetrate.... Nope, scratch that. I rammed my foot down on the accelerator, wheels throwing up a rooster tail of dirt and rock as the engine strained to put this mass of metal into motion. A fusillade of bullets bounced off of the LAV's armor. Another fountain of soil appeared to my left as the RPG I had seen a moment earlier just barely missed.
“Bobbie, I need.... Bobbie? Bobbie!” Only static answered me. A glance at the GPS showed that even it was fuzzy. “Damn, they've got a Bollix.”
“A what?”
“Broad-spectrum jammer. We're cut off.”
“Didn't Bobbie say that you have a microwave transmitter on this thing?”
“Yep,” I said, turning off the road and cutting across the old air field. “Also a laser link. Neither one can hit a receiver while I'm moving, and if we stop we're sitting ducks for more RPGs.”
“So what's the plan?”
“We head north towards Panther Junction. I'll set up a short message and put it on a continuous loop when we get near Mariscal Mine. With enough repeats the monitoring station we set up there for BCI might be able to get the whole thing and then send it on once we've drawn the jammer out of range.”
“Sounds like a.... Dammit, what does it take to kill that bitch?”
“Our lady friend is still alive?”
“Yeah, she just got picked up by that Hummer. So, think we can make it to Marathon?”
“No way. Once we hit the main road those dunebuggies will run circles around us. The Land Rovers will be almost as bad.” I glanced at the red lights on my instrument panel. “Besides, they've shot out all three tires on the right side. They're run-flats, but they won't hold up for that far.”
“So what can we do?”
“To quote the great Herbert West, 'I have a plan'.”
Having gained a small lead by taking a shortcut cross country, I got back on the road. According to Anna, they'd made at least some use of the Loop Camp road, but I'd be past that shortly and would once again have home-field advantage. That might not be worth much, but I'd take anything I could get. Anna was firing three-round bursts through the rear gunport, trying to encourage them to hang back or at least keep them dodging. I dictated a short message to my system.
Pursued by eight vehicles, heavily armed. Proceeding P. Junction via Glenn Spring.
We were going much faster than we had been coming the other way, and it was barely ten minutes before we neared Mariscal Mine. I set the message looping, hoping it would get through. I didn't dare slow down. Bullets continued to pepper the rear of the LAV as we thundered up Black Gap Road. Then I saw bullets striking the road surface just ahead of us. I flipped through camera views on my screen until I saw it. They'd called in air support, that cargo plane from yesterday was circling low and slow above us with a gunman firing from the side door. Much lower than I would have expected, in fact. They must have been trying to stay below the radar. Still, not much chance Anna would be able to hit them while we were bouncing down this poor excuse for a road at high speed.
A few minutes later we were approaching the Black Gap itself. I shouted back to Anna, “Hold on, it's about to get rough!”
“Whaddaya mean 'about to'?”
In addition to being a very uneven and narrow passage between solid rock walls, the gap also curves sharply. The LAV went briefly airborne and scraped basalt with the right front corner before slamming back down on its wheels. I wrenched the front tires to the left, trying to make the curve, but still shattered a couple of rocky projections before regaining control. We lost contact with the ground again before emerging back into open terrain. I flipped the screen to rear view, paying it what little attention I could spare. The first dunebuggy made it through, but the second one bounced off a wall and rolled over. That slowed it down enough that one of the Land Rovers hit it, ran over it, slammed into the rock, and flipped onto its roof. As we sped away, only the one dunebuggy followed. The rest of the gang must be bottled up behind the wreck. That gave us an opportunity.
“Load a full mag. When I stop, hit the top hatch, send a few rounds at the dunebuggy, then empty the rest at the plane.”
“Will do.”
I gave her ten seconds to reload, then threw the LAV into a t-stop. As it slid to a halt, I shouldered the driver's hatch aside while I grabbed my Marlin lever action. I stood up, took aim at the plane and did my best Chuck Connors impression. I wasn't as fast as 'The Rifleman' but still managed a credible rate of fire. I heard Anna fire a couple of shots, then she switched to full-auto and let off a burst. I think I got a couple of hits, and Anna certainly did. Not sure which of us hit the cockpit window, but it didn't look like we hit anyone. Still, the plane veered off and started flying due south. I dropped back into the driver's seat, hit the accelerator, and turned back down the road. I checked the screen again. Anna might have hit something on the dunebuggy. Both the occupants looked intact, but it wasn't moving. Maybe they were just cautious.
We came to the junction with Glenn Spring Road and turned to the left. I hadn't taken this route on my last trip through, (had it really only been a few days ago?) so I was forced to slow down. I gotten so used to the static coming from my comm system that I was surprised when I started hearing words.
Mess## ##ceived. State ##ice responding. ## copy Pan## ##tion.
The message repeated. I tried responding, but there was no indication I was heard. After a minute or so, the words faded back into complete static. Damn, they must be catching up again. The Humvee probably had enough heft to ram the Land Rover out of the way. I listened in vain until we came to the end of Glenn Spring road and turned right. It was almost time to put the next stage of my half-assed plan into action.
“Pass the grenade launcher and the bandolier of gold-tipped rounds.”
I waited until she had done so, and then said, “It's about time for us to split up. I need you to get up on the roof and jump off when I slow down. Run to the right exactly perpendicular to the road. That'll put you headed straight towards Dugout Wells. I have an air horn back there that I use to call zombies. You can use that to signal the gate to let you pass. Once inside there's a lock-down button that will seal the place up and give you control of the guns. You should be able to call out once I lead them farther away.”
Surprisingly, she waited until I was finished. “What are you going to do?”
“Lead them behind Panther Junction and play cat and mouse among the houses. The former park employees will give them something to worry about besides me.”
“You are certifiably insane. Reserve me the padded cell next to you.”
I heard her climb up on top and slam the hatch behind her. When I judged I was at the right spot, I started to slow down. Sooner than I expected, she leapt off and hit the ground rolling. She was quickly up and sprinting towards the right. A minute later I was fishtailing through a right turn onto the paved road. For the first few hundred feet I drove with my left tires off the shoulder, making sure I'd leave plenty of flying dust for them to follow. I was just about to my next turn when the surviving dunebuggy pulled into view behind me. Good, I wanted them to know where I was going. I turned left just before the Visitor Center, heading up the road toward the Park Service housing. I made a hard right at the first residential loop, then continued curving to the right, going off road and around the first house. I charged back towards the entrance road just in time to meet the guys in the dunebuggy. They had no time to dodge, and the slanted prow of the LAV went up over their vehicle. The roll cage proved no match for the massive weight of steel, and it was flattened by my passage. I turned back around and headed deeper into the cluster of homes. The local zombies, already stirred by my arrival, soon descended on the fresh road pizza.
A few side streets later, I spotted a house with broken out windows facing back the way I had come. I drove around to the side, then plowed in through the wall to park in the living room. Thus concealed, I waited for my pursuers with the muzzle of the grenade launcher protruding from my firing port. The sound of gunshots in the near distance heralded their arrival at the pizza party. My hidey-hole was occupied, I had half a dozen infected pawing futilely at the LAV's armor. Damn, I was going to have decontaminate it again. One of the Ford trucks drove into view and I fired. I didn't get a direct hit, but shrapnel from the blast ripped through the tires, engine, and passenger compartment. Another cluster of zombies swarmed it, dragging out the wounded men. I drove out through the back of the house just in time, getting no more than thirty feet away before one of the smugglers hit it with a rocket-propelled grenade.
I played hide and seek with the survivors for another twenty minutes. I'd made them cautious, and their lighter vehicles were hindered by crowds of infected that the LAV could plow through without slowing. I had managed to work my around them when I spotted something through a gap in the hills. There was a helicopter landing somewhere near the Visitor Center. If the smugglers were that well equipped I was toast, so I had hopes it was the cavalry. I abandoned my plan to ambush the remaining smugglers from the rear, and instead headed towards (hopefully) my rescuers. I crested the last hill, and saw a bunch of helicopters bearing the famous gold and black insignia of the 1^st Cavalry Division. I'll be damned, it really was the cavalry. I opened the driver's hatch and waved at them. They had already fallen into a line and an officer waved me through a gap. I had just passed behind them when my recent playmates drove into view and were met by a wall of flying lead. I slowed to a stop, but the same officer waved for me to keep going and pointed down the road towards Dugout Wells.
About that time, one of the soldiers must have put a round through the Bollix, because I suddenly got communications back. Bobbie was on the line instantly, and we had a very sappy and extremely personal long-distance reunion. Turns out she was the one that got the Army involved, she'd been burning up the phone lines while I was out of contact. I noticed she managed to find the time to start downloading the recorded video from the last few hours. Bobbie finished with “Don't you ever do that to me again!” as I reached Dugout Wells. I called Anna to let me in, and she met me at the door.
We shed clothing as we ran towards the showers. Once the bleach portion was replaced by pure, luxurious hot water, Anna braced her hands against the wall and thrust her ass out at me.
“Please, Rob, hurry!”
She looked so sexy positioned like that, with the water cascading down her back, that I quickly got hard. I moved behind Anna and slowly entered her. There was a lot of friction at first, until her juices were flowing faster than the shower could wash them away.
“Pull my hair.”
She knew how to push all my buttons. I wrapped my left hand in her hair, using the added leverage to thrust harder. Once I had a good grip, I used my right hand to punctuate each stroke with a solid, stinging smack on her ass.
Anna screamed out, “Yesss!”
With all the stress and the emotional ups and downs of the day, neither of us lasted long. I collapsed back against the opposite wall and slid down to the shower floor, pulling Anna into my lap. She put her arms around my neck and looked into my eyes.
“Rob, I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“I just need to know one thing. Is Bobbie bi?”
“Yes.”
“Good, because so am I.”
We retired to one of the bunks for round two. Luckily, when the gate opens an alarm sounds inside, so we were up and dressed just in time for company.
The same officer from earlier walked up to me and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Philips. Major Sanders, commanding Bravo Company, 1^st Battalion, 8^th Regiment.”
As I returned the handshake, I couldn't resist, I had to say it. “Part of you must be dreading your next promotion.”
He laughed at that. “That's the most tactful way I've heard that put. But I'm used to it, everyone's been calling me 'Colonel' since I was at West Point.”
“What brings you this far from Ft. Hood, Major?”
“Our battalion was doing desert training up at Ft. Bliss. You're a lucky man, your girl back in San Antonio got through to the post commander and did some fast talking. She made a good case for your 'friends' being an invasion force and had the pictures to back it up. Since my company was already in the air at the time, we got diverted down here. And now I am going to have to hand you off to the battalion S2, uh, intelligence officer, for debriefing.”
I spent the next couple of hours being gently interrogated. Being a trained journalist and having more experience giving interviews than your typical Irwin, I managed to get some information in the process. One of the juicier tidbits was that either Anna or I had hit one of the men in the plane. When he got up and started munching on his buddies, the pilot ditched in the desert and gratefully surrendered when the Army happened across him. He and the smugglers the DEA had arrested that morning were the only survivors of the entire operation. I also learned that the Army was clearing out the rest of the zombies at Panther Junction to secure the area for the investigators yet to come. Damn, I'd had plans for that pack.
While I was busy with my military debriefing, a DEA supervisor arrived and put Anna through the same wringer. Once we were done, she and I switched places and went through the whole process all over again. The Army guy was more thorough, so I had time to record commentary and post updates until Anna was done with him. Once she was free, I took her aside.
“So, what's the damage?”
“They're going to let me resign without putting a reprimand in my file. I'll find something else, I'm sure.”
We raided the safe house supplies for dinner and talked until well after dark. Inhibited by all the strangers about, we had to settle for a discreet good night kiss before she took a bunk and I went out to sleep in the LAV. Morning came a bit too early, and I got up to hose down my vehicle. I carried two spares, so I replaced the front and rear tires on the right side. If I drove carefully I could manage without the middle one. Anna and I had one last breakfast together before we made our goodbyes and I drove off to the west.
I had landed an endorsement deal and I needed a decent-sized pack of zombies to fulfill the contract. With the known groups in the park pretty well wiped out, I headed west out of Big Bend past Terlingua to Lajitas. It was home to about 120 before the Rising, and because of the isolation only a few made it out alive. By last report, more than half of them were still shambling around the town. Like Big Bend, the heat of the summer had kept the tourist population down. I parked in the street at the front of the small hotel, and pulled a large box out of the back of the gun locker. Inside was a brand new pre-production sample Auto-Ordnance Model 2041 Thompson Submachinegun. Making extensive use of lightweight polymers to make it easier to carry, it was painstakingly finished to look identical to the classic gangster 'tommy gun.' Modern .45 caseless rounds made it lighter still, so the capacity of the drum magazines was increased to 140 rounds. Three loaded magazines were packed with it. An upgraded recoil compensator made it easily controllable even at full-auto. I slid a magazine into place, racked a round in the chamber, and hung the other two from my tactical vest. By the time I stepped outside, over three dozen zombies were in view, and I could hear the moans of more coming from behind the buildings. This should make great advertising copy for the new gun. I activated a couple of field cameras and smiled at the oncoming horde.
“Let's dance.”
With much hemming and hawing, the DEA finally agreed to pay Rob the reward for the final disposition of one Lizbeth Moreno-Pena. They expressed dismay at his 'interference' in their oh-so-carefully planned operation. Agent Guillen showed undeserved restraint by refusing to disagree with her former employers, but we had audio and video proving that his involvement had been all but coerced. Between that and the rising tide of public opinion, they had to pay out the money to the only person even vaguely qualified to collect. Once the reward is in the bank, Rob plans to head up to Ft. Hood and use some of it to treat Bravo Company to a beer bash.
- From Yes Sir! F*** You Sir!,
  the blog of Bobbie Cardille, April 17, 2040
The National Park Service is pleased to announce the hiring of Antonia Guillen, lately retired from the Drug Enforcement Agency. Ranger Guillen has a Master's degree in Geography from New Mexico State University, and will put her education to use studying the effects of terrain on infected movement patterns. Her law enforcement training and experience will be a significant asset in the field. Her first posting will be to Yellowstone National Park. Please welcome Ranger Guillen to the Service.
From The National Park News, April 23, 2040
I think I have a new favorite gun. Check it out.
- From Anthropological Curiosity,
  the blog of Rob Phillips, April 8, 2040
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Texas Zombie Reporter: Tales of the Rio Grande