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One NIght in Paris, Texas	By : TheByronicMan Category: M through R > Newsflesh (trilogy) > Newsflesh (trilogy) Views: 1163 -:- 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
There was a dry gully just ahead of us, shallow but it would provide cover. Gil drove down into it and we dove to the ground. More shots were fired as Dan and Lance untangled themselves from the other ATV and scrambled down to join us.
“Are you two okay?”
Lance nodded, but Dan said, “Left hand got caught between the handlebar and the ground when we rolled. Think I broke some fingers.” He cradled his hand against his chest.
“Why the hell are they shooting at us?” I asked.
“Maybe they think we're claim jumpers,” Gil suggested.
“Good point,” I said. I pitched my voice to carry and shouted, “Mr. Castillo! Your daughter hired us to locate you!”
Another barrage of gunfire answered me. I could hear rounds striking the tumbled quad, and both of the headlights were shot out. “Well, that didn't work. Maybe these guys are the claim jumpers.”
Lance said, “We need a closer look.” He took off his pack and pulled out a field camera, same type my brother uses. He manually extended one of the legs, and used that as leverage to fling the camera as far towards our unfriendly neighbors as he could. As it flew through the air, the other legs unfolded and extended, three of them acting as a tripod when it landed. The fourth, sticking straight up, functioned as a wireless antenna.
Lance pulled out his phone and accessed the camera app. “I think you're right. Castillo doesn't have any Anglos on his crew, but none of these guys are Hispanic. And there's too many of them.” He showed me the video feed.
I took a look. “Yep. Crap, they're headed our way. Need to do something about that.”
Lance pulled my M14 from the rack on the ATV and clicked off the safety. “On three. One, two, three!”
The three of us who still had the use of both hands stood up just enough to see our targets and opened fire. The loud cracks from the rifle were deafening compared to the nearly silent 'phuts' from the two carbines. One of the men went down, while the other six ran back and jumped into the trench. My phone started vibrating in my pocket, so I pulled it out and blindly tossed it backwards towards Dan.
“I could swear we got more hits than that,” I said.
Lance grunted. “They must be wearing body armor, and you two are still loaded with Glasers.”
Damn. Prefragmented rounds are unreliable against heavy clothing, much less Kevlar. Gil and I hurriedly changed magazines, not that hollowpoints would be much better against armor at this range. “Think we should try to get the other rifle?”
“We'd have to roll the ATV over to get at it,” Lance said. “That would give them way too much time to shoot at us.”
Dan said, “That was Ash. She called the police, chopper should be here in fifteen minutes, with a couple of patrol cars half an hour after that.”
We settled into wait, occasionally firing off some shots to keep the other guys' heads down, while they responded in kind. Gil helped Dan splint his broken fingers. Before long, the sun was completely down but the moonlight provided enough visibility for us to see what we were doing. The lights around the trench helped us even more at first, but our opponents realized that and shot them all out. Then they had to turn their guns on their former comrade when he lurched to his feet and staggered towards them. He went down again, permanently this time.
We ceased fire at the sound of a helicopter approaching. Ash could still get our video feeds and surely gave them a detailed description of our positions, but the police don't take kindly to anyone else shooting in their vicinity. We ducked down out of sight, no point getting shot just when help arrived. The copter came into view, spotlight searching for the trench. The bad guys opened fire at it, and it circled off to get to a safer distance. As soon as it turned away, a streak of fire rose from the ground and struck the helicopter's engine. There was an explosion, and the chopper crashed into the trees bordering the former lake shore. We popped up and started shooting again, just in time to spot one man drop a tube launcher and dive back into the hole.
Gil said, “That does it. No way they'll send a couple of patrolmen up against that kind of firepower.”
I nodded. “And it will take a couple of hours to get a SWAT team here from Dallas.”
Lance jerked his thumb in the general direction of our adversaries. “And they'll realize that and be desperate to escape and eliminate any witnesses.”
I looked up at the former lake shore. “Think we can get out?”
Lance followed my gaze. “We'll be exposed halfway up. But it looks like there's cover all the way down to the stream.”
“I don't see how that helps.”
“Their little hidey-hole is just a stone's throw from the water,” Lance said. He offered me the rifle. “I'll trade you this for your grenade. You keep their heads down while Gil and I sneak over and deliver a couple of surprises.”
I wanted to argue the division of labor but he had a point, even if he didn't say it outright. They both had better throwing arms than I did. I had just passed him my grenade and accepted the M14 in trade when I heard a faint, familiar “Bloop!” sound coming from the direction of the bad guys.
Lance heard it too, and we both shouted “Down!” in unison. A few seconds later there was an explosion somewhere back behind us.
Immediately, Lance and I scurried up the slope and started shooting, with Gil a few seconds behind. I gritted my teeth. “Dan, get up here!”
“But...”
“I don't expect you to hit anything, just scare them. They've got a grenade launcher, and you don't want them sticking their heads up to aim.”
A moment later Dan was up between me and Lance, resting the barrel of his carbine on a clump of grass and awkwardly firing one-handed. As soon as he started shooting, Lance stopped and crawled over next to Gil.
“Gil, let me get to your grenade. You'll have to stay here while I go it alone.”
I thought that was a lousy idea, but I didn't have a better one. “Leave your mags of Glasers here, we could use the extra ammo.”
“Good thinking,” he said, and did as I asked.
Another grenade went off well behind us as Lance made his way down the creek bed. Having to fire upwards from down in that hole meant the rounds were going long. Firing just shy of straight up would let them hit closer to us, but also made it possible that a stiff breeze would carry the grenade right back to them. I hoped that last part occurred to them.
“Dan, hold your fire. Take over when Gil has to reload and then you two alternate. I'll watch for a chance to get a hit.”
I fired my last few rounds and loaded one of the two remaining mags for the rifle. With only Gil shooting, the intrepid grenadier stuck his head up to take aim. My shot kicked up dirt just to the left of his face and he ducked down again. He decided to try the shot anyway, and the grenade exploded up the slope to our right. After that, the enemy took the next obvious step, standing up and blazing away at us with automatic rifles.
One burst went over our heads. The second kicked up rock splinters between me and Gil that rattled off of my face shield. The third guy made the unfortunate mistake of sticking his head up right in the center my scope, and I had the satisfaction of seeing a spray of brain matter burst from the back of his head as he went down before he could fire. The other two ducked down quickly after that.
Gil and Dan kept up the suppressive fire, and the bad guys refrained from showing themselves. The guy with the grenade launcher tried again, and this time it was about five seconds between the shot and the grenade exploding about a hundred feet to our left. That meant he was risking high angle shots. He must have seen enough dust kicked up to adjust his aim, because the next grenade was only about a third as far from us. Luckily, he was using impact-fused rounds, an airburst grenade would have gotten us.
Shortly after that, there was another burst of automatic fire but, although I could see the flashes from the gunfire, no one was visible over the rim of the trench. A few seconds later there was an explosion in the hole, and soon a second one. We stopped firing and kept watch, but no one showed themselves.
I keyed my radio. “Lance? Lance, come in.” No answer. “You two go check on him, I'll deal with the bad guys.”
They heard the tone of my voice and didn't argue. Gil hurried off, while Dan awkwardly slung his carbine so that he could grab his medical pack and follow. I stalked over towards the truck, rifle at the ready. As I got closer, my heart sank. Because of the slope of the ground the trench was dug into, they'd had a clear view down to the stream bank without exposing themselves to my fire. I reached the edge of the hole and looked down inside. The moon wasn't high enough, so I had to use a flashlight. The sight wasn't pretty, two grenades going off in such a small space make a hell of a mess. Body parts were strewn everywhere, and the sides and bottom of the hole were almost a solid red from all the blood. It was even worse than I expected. One of the men, maybe shielded by the bodies of his friends, was thrashing weakly. He might have been just wounded, or he might have already amplified. I didn't care. I put a bullet through his brain anyway. There wasn't enough left of the rest of them for Kellis-Amberlee to revive.
At the sound of the shot, a voice to my left yelled out, “Don't shoot! Don't shoot!” A handgun sailed from the back of the truck and dropped to the ground, and two empty hands came into view.
“Keep 'em in plain sight, and get out of there.”
He climbed out of the truck, moving slowly and carefully, not giving me an excuse to shoot him. He must have been operating the backhoe, and chose the thin steel of the truck to hide behind instead of the thick dirt. Too bad. If he'd been stupid enough to attract my attention by shooting at us, I'd have loved teaching him how easily a 7.62 NATO round punches through sheet metal.
I pointed to a spot on the ground, just below the backhoe bucket. “Face down, cross your wrists behind your back.”
He seemed absurdly happy at this evidence that I wasn't going to just shoot him as he complied. I slung the rifle and drew my Colt. I had one of the leftover pieces of rope in my pack, but before I could start digging for it I spotted something better. There was a buckle-type tie-down strap on the ground. I picked it up and fashioned a loop on the end. I set a boot in the middle of my prisoner's back, slipped the loop around his wrists, and pulled it tight. The friction buckle held it as I wrapped the strap several times around his crossed wrists, then slipped the free end under his belt. I took up the slack, pulling his arms close against his back, then tied the end securely to the backhoe.
I moved over to the truck and looked over the controls. “Which lever raises this thing?”
“The left one.”
I tried the indicated lever and the bucket dropped. I stopped before it crushed his skull and moved it the other way. The backhoe lifted him from the ground, and I left him dangling in the air just over head height. “Don't struggle, or your belt might give way. Probably rip your arms off.”
I reached for my cell phone and realized either Dan still had it or it was back in the creek. Our helmet radios didn't have enough range, so I hoped the sound pickup on my camera was still working. “Ash, let the cops know that everything is under control here, and it's safe for them to come down. Also, make four copies of all the video and hide them.”
I took a walk around the area, keeping an eye on the hanging man. On the other side of the truck, I found a surprise. There was a 55 gallon drum on its side, with the top off and the contents spilled out. Hard to tell through all the cosmoline, but it looked like Thompson submachine guns.
I had just completed my stroll when I saw Dan approaching. I couldn't see his face clearly enough, but the fact that Lance wasn't with him and that he hadn't stayed with Lance told me it was bad news.
“Jenny, I'm sorry. Even with both hands, I couldn't have helped him. He was gone by the time I got there.”
“Do I need to...?”
“No. One round got him in the neck, severing the spinal cord. I, uh, I made sure it was completely severed.”
I went to him and hugged with one arm, carefully holding my handgun off to the side. “Where's Gil?”
Dan broke the hug and stepped back. “He went to get the ATV and retrieve Lance.”
We went and sat on the bumper of the truck. I felt secure enough to holster my gun. Dan slumped down. “Damn, I need a drink.”
“If there was any alcohol around, I'd pour it for you.”
Our prisoner, wisely, remained silent. If he'd drawn my notice, I might have killed him. A few minutes later, Gil drove up with a body bag tied across the rear seat. “The other quad is all shot up, not even worth dragging home for repairs.”
I unzipped the bag part way, looking down at Lance's face for a minute before turning away. Gil wrapped his arms around me, and his solid bulk was so comforting that I was finally able to cry. “Take him back to the RV and put him in the cooler. We're taking Lance home, no matter what the police say.”
Eventually, I pulled back from the hug, saying “Wait just a minute.” I pulled on my gloves as I walked back to the barrel. I dug through the contents and, sure enough, they were Thompsons. I pulled one loose, wiped it down as best as I could, and carried it back to the ATV. I slipped it into the body bag with Lance and zipped him back up.
“A belated wedding present for my brother. Lance would appreciate being the one to deliver it.”
I watched Gil drive off until I could no longer see his lights, then went back to sit next to Dan. We sat in silence for a while, then we heard a couple of car doors slam somewhere up the hill. We looked in that direction, and soon spotted a pair of flashlights bobbing down the slope towards us. Dan and I went to go meet them, and found they were being carried by state troopers.
Predictably, they drew on us and demanded we drop our weapons.
“No,” I said.
“Do it now!”
“Look, buddy, we put down a pack not two miles from here. All the gunfire going on while you two were up there twiddling your thumbs probably attracted more.”
One of them shined his light across our faces. “Okay, you match the descriptions. Just keep your hands in plain sight.”
“No problem.”
One of the officers stuck by us while the other took a look around. After peering down into the charnel pit he asked, “You folks want a job?”
“Already got one, thanks.”
He went to look over our prisoner, then turned back to ask his partner, “Should we let this guy down?”
“Nah, leave him there until we get more people on-scene. If any zombies show up, we can always raise him up out of reach.”
After we spent about half an hour of making small talk with the cops, the SWAT team rolled up, having thought to bring off-road vehicles. They made a great show of securing the scene, and the detectives came along not much later. Dan and I were split up for questioning, which took a couple of hours. In the midst of that, a large pack of zombies turned up. We were content to let the SWAT team handle them, figuring they needed something to make themselves feel useful.
Finally, we were free to go, and one of the first pair of state troopers gave us a ride back to our base camp. There we found Gil arguing with a detective about the custody of Lance's remains. I got my cell phone back from Dan and woke up our lawyer. He spouted a torrent of legalese at the cop until he passed the decision up his chain of command. We got to keep Lance, but it took until nearly dawn to get that settled. Once the police left, I got Ashley's side of the story.
“You called it, they wiped the video from our system. I deliberately did a half-assed job of hiding one of the backups, and they found it. After half an hour of them threatening me with arrest, I gave up the location of a second one. They seemed satisfied with that.”
That left us with two copies, and we made a few more just in case. We decided to nap until noon and then head home. I snuggled up with Gil on the big bed for some mutual comfort, while Dan and Ash squeezed onto one of the couches.

Epilogue
The cops interrogated the survivor, and he led them to another pit where the bodies of Castillo and his crew were buried. The Attorney General's office decided to leave them where they lay, as the only person left alive to prosecute had given a full confession.
Eliot Richards refused to pay the rest of our fee on the grounds that we didn't finish the job, and Carmilla didn't have the personal funds to cover it. That lasted until her father's estate was out of probate and she took ownership of the company. She paid us in full, and added a substantial bonus on top of it. Then she hired us to escort her, a priest, and a group of mourners back to the site for a graveside service.
We arrived to find the Corps of Engineers carefully digging up the site, and they tried to deny us access. Luckily Riki came along. She speaks fluent Army and was able to talk us in, and even convinced them to set up the headstones once Carmilla had them delivered. Richards was there as well, and he was graceful in defeat. We learned from the Engineers that the rumor about live ordnance being buried with the guns was true. It seems Lance's grenades touched off something buried in the pit, which accounted for the human confetti that I had found.
I posted segments of the video to Rob's site, and it went viral. We made a nice chunk of change shopping the complete video of the firefight to various networks. CNN later identified one of the gunmen as being a known subordinate of a gun-runner named Alec Forester. It turned out that this Forester not only supplied rebels and terrorists, he also had a lucrative trade in high-end collectible guns.
We got word that the guns would be recovered and offered for sale to collectors. Dewey got together with Carmilla's lawyer to file a joint claim for a finder's fee. I wondered how many of those same collectors would have bought the guns from Forester if we hadn't stumbled across the operation. I may have just made an even more dangerous enemy than Rob's drug cartel. I win again.
Once he got back from his honeymoon, Rob reverently accepted his wedding present. We had held off holding a wake until Rob got home, and he showed up at our office with the Thompson cleaned and ready to fire. We all went out to our range, where my brother fired a full magazine through it in tribute to Lance. Then we went back to the office for the serious drinking.
Dan attended, but did not partake. I poured him the drink I had promised. He held it up to his nose and inhaled deeply, then handed it back to me untasted. I drank it for him.
Riki volunteered to join us in the field until I can hire a replacement. Even part-time, auto mechanics isn't exactly a sedentary occupation, especially working on behemoths like Rob's LAV. She still pulls Army Reserve duty every year, so her skills aren't too rusty. Hell, she taught us small unit tactics, something Rob couldn't teach. Dan, Gil, and I only survived that night because of her instruction.
Lance's great-grandfather had been a Freemason, and his family had a block of burial plots in the Masonic section of the cemetery across the street. With binoculars, I can see his grave from the window in my office.
- 7
- 8
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One NIght in Paris, Texas