front for the cartel and to house the tunnel that crossed under the Rio Grande and into El Paso and the United States. The cartel was worse than the terrorists in the sandbox that Chivo fought before, more ruthless and driven only by money and power, not by any sort of moral code.
Zennie gave a thumbs-up with his left hand. The other three were in place with their M4 rifles held ready to immediately engage any threats, dead or living, once the door started to creep up.
BOOM!
Ears ringing and dizzy, Chivo was the first of his teammates on his feet, most of the force of the blast deflected by the large forklift he had been using for cover. A gaping hole remained where the northwest corner of the building once stood, moonlight flooding into the warehouse.
Stealth lost, the teammates checked in with each other, yelling across the ruined warehouse.
“Apollo, clear.”
“Odin, clear.”
“Chivo, clear.”
Zennie didn’t check in. Chivo, in a tactical crouch with his M4 rifle up, moved rapidly towards where the roll-up door once stood. Loud moans of the undead echoed in the large building and radiated through the bones of each of the team members. Chivo found Zennie’s body, both of his legs missing below the knee, his left arm gone, and his neck bent at an impossible angle. “Dammit brother, now what the fuck are we going to do?”
Chivo grabbed his dead teammate and hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry just as Apollo and Odin made it to the blast site. The mass of undead was already stumbling over the brick and debris through the hole that opened the building to the street.
“Contact left!”
“Contact right!”
Odin and Apollo called out at nearly the same time as they began engaging the approaching dead. The staccato sound of the team’s rifles was drowned out by the sheer number of the dead shambling down the street and into the destroyed building, all of them attracted by the loud explosion. Only a quarter mile stood between the team and the relative safety found on the United States’ side of the heavy border fence, but even then they would only be away from this group of zombies and would be on the edge of El Paso. Large cities spelled trouble.
The Special Forces community never left a teammate behind if at all possible, so, trusting his teammates, Chivo let his M4 hang on the sling and carried Zennie’s body on his shoulders. Chivo’s shirt, his plate carrier, and the rest of his gear became drenched in blood. After the previous forty-nine days, the three men were exhausted and could only keep a pace just faster than the dead shambling after them. The team made it away from the destroyed warehouse and to the four-lane blacktop of Bulevar Juan Pablo. Abandoned on the road were a handful of cars and trucks left to rot on the desert highway after the EMP attack disabled them. Rounding the corner of a large box truck, Chivo ran chest first into a walking, rotting corpse. Already off balance carrying Zennie’s body, Chivo fell forward with a loud grunt, knocking the walking corpse to the ground beneath him. Zennie’s body fell over Chivo’s head with a wet thud onto the pavement. Instinctively, Chivo pushed himself up on the undead’s stomach with his left hand, but his hand sank into the rotting flesh while his right hand drew the Glock pistol carried on his right thigh. With a single shot, the undead’s skull exploded into a slimy black mass on the roadway.
Chivo quickly reholstered his pistol and retrieved his dead teammate’s body. “Sorry brother, but we’re at least going to get you back home to American soil.”
The steady rhythm of Apollo and Odin firing their rifles was interrupted only by calls of “Loading!” and “Covering!” whenever either would have to rapidly change magazines. The undead horde behind them was staggering in number and the smell was nearly overwhelming. Flies buzzed like a thick black cloud over the walking undead.
The team trudged over the
Zennie gave a thumbs-up with his left hand. The other three were in place with their M4 rifles held ready to immediately engage any threats, dead or living, once the door started to creep up.
BOOM!
Ears ringing and dizzy, Chivo was the first of his teammates on his feet, most of the force of the blast deflected by the large forklift he had been using for cover. A gaping hole remained where the northwest corner of the building once stood, moonlight flooding into the warehouse.
Stealth lost, the teammates checked in with each other, yelling across the ruined warehouse.
“Apollo, clear.”
“Odin, clear.”
“Chivo, clear.”
Zennie didn’t check in. Chivo, in a tactical crouch with his M4 rifle up, moved rapidly towards where the roll-up door once stood. Loud moans of the undead echoed in the large building and radiated through the bones of each of the team members. Chivo found Zennie’s body, both of his legs missing below the knee, his left arm gone, and his neck bent at an impossible angle. “Dammit brother, now what the fuck are we going to do?”
Chivo grabbed his dead teammate and hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry just as Apollo and Odin made it to the blast site. The mass of undead was already stumbling over the brick and debris through the hole that opened the building to the street.
“Contact left!”
“Contact right!”
Odin and Apollo called out at nearly the same time as they began engaging the approaching dead. The staccato sound of the team’s rifles was drowned out by the sheer number of the dead shambling down the street and into the destroyed building, all of them attracted by the loud explosion. Only a quarter mile stood between the team and the relative safety found on the United States’ side of the heavy border fence, but even then they would only be away from this group of zombies and would be on the edge of El Paso. Large cities spelled trouble.
The Special Forces community never left a teammate behind if at all possible, so, trusting his teammates, Chivo let his M4 hang on the sling and carried Zennie’s body on his shoulders. Chivo’s shirt, his plate carrier, and the rest of his gear became drenched in blood. After the previous forty-nine days, the three men were exhausted and could only keep a pace just faster than the dead shambling after them. The team made it away from the destroyed warehouse and to the four-lane blacktop of Bulevar Juan Pablo. Abandoned on the road were a handful of cars and trucks left to rot on the desert highway after the EMP attack disabled them. Rounding the corner of a large box truck, Chivo ran chest first into a walking, rotting corpse. Already off balance carrying Zennie’s body, Chivo fell forward with a loud grunt, knocking the walking corpse to the ground beneath him. Zennie’s body fell over Chivo’s head with a wet thud onto the pavement. Instinctively, Chivo pushed himself up on the undead’s stomach with his left hand, but his hand sank into the rotting flesh while his right hand drew the Glock pistol carried on his right thigh. With a single shot, the undead’s skull exploded into a slimy black mass on the roadway.
Chivo quickly reholstered his pistol and retrieved his dead teammate’s body. “Sorry brother, but we’re at least going to get you back home to American soil.”
The steady rhythm of Apollo and Odin firing their rifles was interrupted only by calls of “Loading!” and “Covering!” whenever either would have to rapidly change magazines. The undead horde behind them was staggering in number and the smell was nearly overwhelming. Flies buzzed like a thick black cloud over the walking undead.
The team trudged over the
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