Torn Apart (Book 1): Terror In Texas (27 page)

After a quick discussion on guard locations, Matt rose and headed toward the manager’s office. He walked into the living room to see Amy sitting on the floor with Claire.

“Mr. Matt, you look tired,” Amy commented as she looked up from changing Claire’s diaper.

Matt shrugged. “Long day. You got everything you need?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Novak brought formula and diapers this afternoon. He even brought baby food. Claire Bear is all ready for bed.” Amy set Claire down on the floor and she crawled toward Matt. “I told Ms. Amanda, she could have the bed. Mr. Jake brought a bed for Claire. It’s pretty cool. It folds right up. I guess we’ll have to have another one when Ms. Amanda has her baby.”

Claire pulled at Matt’s boot laces. Matt leaned down and pulled her into his lap. “Well, baby girl, you all ready for bed, sweetie?” She reached out and giggled. Matt gave her a peck on the cheek then handed her back to Amy.

“Good night, Mr. Matt.” Amy disappeared up the stairs.

Matt picked up a plastic bag of shaving supplies and headed for the shower at the rec center. He grabbed a brand new pair of underwear, sweats, and t-shirt from a second bag. The new underclothes and socks were his allotment according to Novak.

Once showered and shaved, Matt held up the cargo pants in the shower to wash away the blood and gore from his day.  He finished his shower, then rolled up his clothes in a bundle and stepped back in his combat boots to walk back to the manager’s office. He passed through the rec center where accordion dividers had separated the massive room into three sections.

The boys were bedded down outside the men’s restroom while the girls on the opposite side near the girls’ restroom. The middle section provided plenty of room for adults. Matt shrugged. It wasn’t ideal, but at least they weren’t spending another night on the bus.

Matt walked outside and across the grounds to the manager’s office. He draped his wet clothes over a rope tied between two trees at the back of the house along with others recently washed pants and t-shirts. He walked into the kitchen and began opening cabinets. He turned at the sound of footsteps approaching. Amanda, wearing an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts was brushing damp hair. “Oh, sorry.” She whispered as she turned to go back to the bedroom.

“No, it’s alright.” Jake and Larry had already turned in and now lay out on the carpet. He stepped out of his boots and sat them under the chair. “I was looking for a drink.” He felt the color warm his face.

“I was going to fix some tea.” She walked to the stove where a kettle sat over a flame. “Sweet Dreams tea, do you want some?”

Matt shrugged. “Why not? Sure.”

Once they were settled at the small kitchenette table, Matt asked. “When’s the baby due?”

Amanda placed her hand on her belly. “Six weeks.” She caressed the swell lovingly.

Matt shifted in his seat and wrapped his hands around the warm cup and looked at the swirl of amber liquid.

Amanda continued speaking without looking away. “It’s a boy. His father was one of those the soldiers killed to get in the bus.” She sighed. “He would be glad. He would never have wanted to hurt anyone like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt whispered.

“How did you make it off the base? I heard it was overrun within eight hours of the attack.”

“I wasn’t on base. In fact, I was drunk on my ass. If it wasn’t for Larry and Jake, I wouldn’t have made it.” Matt nodded toward them and chuckled. “They threw me in a dumpster. That’s where we came across Amy and Claire. Their mother led a bunch of infected away while they hid.”

“Oh God. Where is she now?” Amanda asked.

Matt shrugged. “Don’t know. The girls have family near Guadalupe State Park at a place called Pine Canyon. We were headed that way.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know,” Matt answered as he rinsed the cup and turned it upside down in the drain rack. “Good night. Thanks for the tea.”

Tate woke to the sound of voices. She glanced around with a deep sigh. Spending the night at Phil’s place was the first time she had slept in a real bed in more than a month. She had forgotten how good it could feel. She stretched out on the clean sheets and decided it was heaven, even without air conditioning. She slipped from the double bed and into fresh clothes she’d brought in from the rig. After using the bathroom, she padded down the stairs to the huge open room on the first floor.

Phil, Doyle and Ben sat at a massive farm table eating biscuits, ham, and eggs. The two men had mugs of coffee while Ben a can of soda.

Phil glanced up and nodded a greeting. “Get yourself some breakfast.” He pointed at the kitchen then continued his conversation with Doyle. “The family went into Bandera the day it happened. I haven’t heard anything since a phone call from my wife saying they were in trouble and headed to my sister-in-law’s house. If they made it there, my family could be alive.

Tate poured herself a cup of coffee. “Is that why you were here alone?”

Phil nodded, but he forced a smile. “Ben’s folks were on the way to Beth’s house too and they were supposed to pack up and head this way as soon as they got there. Something had to have happened and there hasn’t been a thing I could do about it.”

Tate looked at Doyle. He nodded slightly then picked up the coffee cup and brought it to his lips.

Tate asked. “Bandera Falls? Right up the road from where Doyle’s truck ran out of gas?”

Phil nodded. “No. Bandera. It’s the difference of a dozen miles and ninety and nine hundred people living there.”

“We have two rigs. Maybe we could head up there and pick them up in the trucks?” Doyle asked.

“We could take Ben if he knows the address.” Take continued.

“No. I’m going,” Phil stated. “I’ve got weapons and I know how to use them. Ben needs to stay and take care of the livestock.”

Ben jerked his head up from his third biscuit. “I can shoot.” H protested around a full mouth. “They’re my family, too.”

“I know kid. And when we come back with them if the place is overrun, they have nowhere to go. Someone has to protect the compound.”

Ben beamed. “Since you put it like that, I guess, I’m your man.”

Two hours later Doyle and Phil rolled out of the compound in Doyle’s rig with Tate following behind in the Orange Bitch with a trailer attached to a makeshift trailer hitch. Once outside, she picked up the CB mic and turned the radio to a channel they had agreed on using for the operation.

“Ok, Phil. What’s the deal with Ben? You didn’t want him to come with us, why?”

Phil answered. “Last I heard from his folks, they were headed to Bandera. My brother-in-law was going to pick up my wife and the family at Beth’s house. If it’s bad, I don’t want Ben seeing it.”

Tate sighed then answered. “Got it.”

“The sister lives on Old Hondo Hwy. The problem is the only way to get there is to go into town. If its overrun, your little diversion should give us time to get to them.”

“I’m locked and loaded,” Tate answered with a grim smile. “You boys just take care of your end and get the family.”

She laid the rifle on the seat next to her and patted the pockets on her vest. She had three extra magazines and a box of ammunition, courtesy of Phil. There was also a box with six glass bottles half filled with gasoline with rags hanging out of the top. The smell of gasoline was so intense she lowered windows hoping the slight breeze would pull the fumes from the cab.

As she drove, Tate imagined nine hundred monsters lined up waiting for them. She knew it was ridiculous, but couldn’t help it. Now that she had convinced the men she was the best one to create the diversion, she was getting nervous. Talking about her mouth overloading her ass...she’d done it this time.

The world was screwed and she wondered if anyone would survive. People were becoming monsters then attacking anyone left standing. She hoped the government nuked the people responsible for this mess.

The drive to Bandera was way too short. She followed Doyle as he passed the green sign advertising the city with a population of nine-hundred and thirty-seven people. The radio crackled and Doyle’s voice announced. “Not good, Tate. Looks overrun.”

Tate pulled to the left to get a better view of the road ahead. It was disheartening. The highway ahead was littered with dozens of vehicles. Some stopped in the middle of the road while others were pulled to the side and abandoned with doors left open. Dozens of infected milled around the front of a store front. At the sound of the trucks approaching, the monsters raised their heads and begun stumbling toward the rumbling engines.

“Shit!” Tate picked up the mic and said. “Ok, I’m working the plan.”

Phil answered immediately. “Drop back and follow us. Don’t shoot unless you have to.”

“Got it.” She answered.

Tate stepped on the clutch and down-shifted the
Bitch
. Doyle pulled away with a rumble of the powerful engine. The horde of infected stumbled toward them with dogged determination. Doyle steered his rig between two vehicles and crushed four infected: two were gray-skinned men wearing dark blue uniforms, another was a child still wearing a big yellow bow in her hair while the last was a teenager in a t-shirt and leggings.

More and more of the infected stumbled toward them. Those monsters that didn’t make it quick enough to approach Doyle’s truck before it passed stumbled after the rig down the middle of the road. Tate rolled over them.

The stench rose up in a nasty cloud of putrefaction. The fumes from the jars of gasoline made it impossible to close the windows. Besides, she needed to be able to use her firearms if Doyle got into trouble. She swallowed the bile rising to the back of her throat and picked up the mic.

“How much farther?”

“Two more blocks. Then we take a left. Try to block access and entertain the masses while we get around the curve in the road right after the turnoff. Out of site, should be out of mind, hopefully.”

“Got it. When you get out of sight, I’ll turn on the music and pied-piper my way to the ball field. After I set off the diversion, I’ll haul ass back to the intersection. Just get the family.”

Tate accelerated and closed the gap between the trucks. She slowed when Doyle’s brake lights flashed and the truck downshifted. She could see the sign for Old Hondo Highway ahead and gave Doyle room to turn off. She downshifted again and stopped in front of the highway.

She revved the engine and turned on the iPod. Speakers on the dash blared music by the Cranberries. The sound drew more and more of the infected to her. When Doyle’s rig disappeared around the curve she stepped on the clutch and shifted the
Bitch
into gear. She wanted to make sure she continued to keep the interest of the walking dead. Painstakingly slow, she began to move forward. She blew the horn, revved the engine and shifted to second as the music blared.

The
Bitch
was surrounded by monsters. The ones in the front of the rig fell under the press of the brush guard and knocked down some of their brethren in the process. Dozens of infected were falling under the massive tires. As she accelerated, more monsters turned and followed. She watched as at least a hundred monsters stumbled after her. She grinned as she realized it was working. With a little luck, she would give Phil plenty of time to gather his family.

It was a painfully slow trek to the far side of town and the baseball field. She drew more and more of the monsters to her. Finally, she saw the big lights sticking up over the buildings in the distance. She looked at the digital clock on the dash. It had taken half an hour to get to the park. She gunned the engine and raced down the block.

Tate accelerated away from her followers and rolled over the fencing at the side of the ballpark. She stopped on second base, grabbed the music player with the mini-speakers and she jumped from the cab. She ran to the trailer, set the player under the metal tripod then dragged a cinder block from the trailer. She positioned the stone under the trailer tongue and pulled the pin on the hitch. She ran back to the cab and climbed back inside just as hundreds of monsters spilled into the ball field. She cranked the
Bitch
and began rolling forward.

Tate flicked a grill lighter and used a piece of duct tape to keep the flame fueled. She dropped the end into the cup holder then passed over the flame the end of a gas soaked rag hanging from one of the bottles. When the rag caught, she eased it out the window and tossed the jar about five feet from the trailer. The flames exploded with a whoosh. She repeated the process three more times, eased off the clutch and accelerated toward the back fence.

She hit the hurricane fence then jerked the wheel to the left and tossed two more lit bottles of gasoline at the break in the fencing. She accelerated for half a block then turned down an alley and slammed on the brakes. She killed the engine.

The
Bitch
sat still and silent while Tate grabbed her rifle before climbing from the cab. She hurried to the corner of the building and peeked around the brick. The scene on the ball field was horrendous. Hundreds of infected had followed her through the opening then stumbled toward the trailer and the blaring rock music. They shuffled into the flames around the trailer. They had hoped the flames would draw in the infected but protect the anchored tripod with the butane cylinder mounted on the top. The first part worked. Not so much the second. Flames didn’t discourage the infected from bunching up and jostling the trailer.

Phil had mounted the tank then used a roll of plastic wrap to surround the tank with nails and ball bearings. Now, all she had to do was hit the valve and blow the tank.
She hoped she hadn’t over stated her skill.

Tate pulled the rifle to her shoulder and sighted the valve of the cylinder. She took a deep breath then released. Her heart raced when she saw half a dozen infected stumble through the flames and stagger across the road toward a nearby wood structure.

There were hundreds of monsters milling around the blaring music with at least a quarter of them near enough to the flames to catch fire. She took a breath, released it and squeezed the trigger. The shot took out a bald man with flames climbing up his leg. He fell into the firestorm.

“Shit!”

Tate took a deep breath and blew it out in frustration. She pulled the rifle back to her shoulder. Without hesitating she drew in another breath, released it, and fired again. This time the projectile sheared the valve at the top of the tank.

The detonation was deafening. Tate fell back from the corner to the ground. Windows overhead shattered and glass rained down on her. She dropped the gun and fell to her knees with her arms covering her head. Scorching air burst out from the ball field along with chunks of projectiles hitting the brick of the building. Tate huddled against the wall of the brick.

When the only sound was the roar of the flames, Tate stuck her head around the building. The ball field was pure carnage. Hundreds of the infected were scattered around the grounds in pieces and lay unmoving while even more were on fire and stumbling over the shattered bodies.

Tate imagined she had attracted at least half of the town. She picked up the rifle and got to her feet and turned back to the truck. Her breath caught when she faced an infected man. He looked like a reject from a horror movie with half of his face gone and gray hair covered in carnage. He raised his arms, his hands reached out to her as if to draw her into an embrace.

She swung the butt of the rifle up and connected with the side of his head. He staggered back a step but the impact failed to take him down. She followed with a swift kick out with her foot and caved in his knee. His leg buckled and he fell to the ground. Tate raised the rifle and fired. The man collapsed in a heap.

Tate turned away from the body in time to see half a dozen more infected heading her way. She ran to the cab and climbed inside. She cranked the engine and jammed the
Bitch
into gear. She shifted through the gears as it picked up speed and she made her way around the side streets back to the highway as fire found more and more structures behind her.

The radio crackled to life. “Tate? You got your ears on?” Doyle’s voice asked.

“I’m here,” Tate answered. “I’m headed back your way. Got the family?”

Doyle sounded dejected. “Long story. Let’s head home.”

“What?” Tate asked.

“Family is gone. The house is destroyed. The occupants held off a horde before the place was overrun.” Doyle added.

Tate sighed. “I am so sorry, Phil.”

She turned left a final time and went to the end of the side street. She slowed and looked to the left and then to the right. She was on highway sixteen. She turned right and headed back to Old Hondo Highway.

When she got to the intersection she saw Doyle’s rig sitting at the turn-off waiting. He saw her and pulled out ahead of her. She followed.

Forty minutes later, they pulled up to the gate and waited for Ben to appear. Instead, a bear of man strolled out of the house with a big grin on his face. He gave Doyle and Phil a careless wave and opened the gate. Doyle and Tate pulled the rigs through the gate. When the man had closed the gate he jogged to the passenger side of Doyle’s truck and jerked open the door.