desert berm and down into the dry river bed of the Rio Grande. Feeling closer to their goal, they jogged up the other side of the riverbank and onto American soil. If they were going to die at least they would die together and on home soil. The three men moved quickly to a large gate used by the border agents for their patrols. Chivo leaned Zennie’s body against the fence and pulled a pair of bolt cutters out of the pack on his back. He cut the links of the fence as fast as he could. There would be no way for them to open the heavy gate, so they were reduced to cutting a hole in the fence and securing it the best they could once they passed through.
Apollo called out “Loading!” and dropped another empty M4 magazine into his dump pouch before reaching to the front of his armor carrier to retrieve another fresh magazine to reload his rifle. His hand swept across the front of his carrier and found no magazines. He was out of ammo. Apollo turned and ripped a fresh magazine off his dead teammate’s gear and quickly brought his rifle back into the fight—none too soon, as one of the walking corpses was only ten feet from Chivo’s back.
“Chivo, you might want to hurry the fuck up. Things are starting to get a little sporty out here.”
“Easy mano, I’m almost done.”
Chivo pushed a three-foot-tall hole in the bottom of the fence open and crawled through before grabbing Zennie’s body and dragging him through with him. Apollo and Oden climbed through the fence with only seconds to spare, the first of the horde of walking corpses only yards behind them. Oden stuck the barrel of his rifle through a link in the fence and continued to drop the undead at the leading element of the horde, while Apollo took four pairs of plastic quick cuffs and secured the hole in the fence as best he could using the plastic handcuffs like zip ties.
Chivo pulled the remaining fully-loaded M4 magazines off Zennie’s gear and passed them out to Apollo and Odin. In a loose defensive circle around their dead teammate’s body, facing outward and watching for new threats, the team took a moment to discuss their next move.
Odin spoke first. “OK guys. SITREP, whatcha got?”
“We need ammo,” Apollo responded.
“We need wheels in a bad way,” Chivo chimed in.
“First I think we need to find a spot to hunker down to see if that horde passes. I’m afraid that even with the fence, more undead from this side will be attracted to the commotion. Besides, we need to take care of Zennie’s body,” Odin replied.
Something clamped onto the back of Chivo’s pants, causing him to jump forward and away from his teammates. Zennie was back and moving but he was not with the living. “Shit!” Chivo drew his pistol and fired a single shot, striking Zennie in the skull.
“Fuck dude, a man can’t even find peace in death anymore.”
Chivo pulled Zennie’s body back onto his shoulders, now that he was dead for good, and pointed to the neighborhood to his right. “Let’s grab one of those houses, lay up for a bit and see if we can figure out what our next move is. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some food too.”
The other two nodded and took off in a slow jog, spread out in a defensive line, towards the homes across the highway, hoping they would find a safe place to regroup.
CHAPTER 6
Near Corsicana, Texas
February 13, Year 1
The situation continued to deteriorate. Low gray clouds blocked the early morning sun, the start to another flat day of barely surviving. Clint Smith stood on the roof of the 1972 GMC van and surveyed the road ahead of them through his binoculars. Amanda stood at the rear of the van, Johnson’s former M4 rifle in her hands, watching for any undead to catch up that were following the van as it passed. Clint climbed down from the roof and thumbed through a much-worn DeLorme Texas atlas. The atlas was an absolute godsend; they’d found it after the first large folding atlas was destroyed.
Only the day
Apollo called out “Loading!” and dropped another empty M4 magazine into his dump pouch before reaching to the front of his armor carrier to retrieve another fresh magazine to reload his rifle. His hand swept across the front of his carrier and found no magazines. He was out of ammo. Apollo turned and ripped a fresh magazine off his dead teammate’s gear and quickly brought his rifle back into the fight—none too soon, as one of the walking corpses was only ten feet from Chivo’s back.
“Chivo, you might want to hurry the fuck up. Things are starting to get a little sporty out here.”
“Easy mano, I’m almost done.”
Chivo pushed a three-foot-tall hole in the bottom of the fence open and crawled through before grabbing Zennie’s body and dragging him through with him. Apollo and Oden climbed through the fence with only seconds to spare, the first of the horde of walking corpses only yards behind them. Oden stuck the barrel of his rifle through a link in the fence and continued to drop the undead at the leading element of the horde, while Apollo took four pairs of plastic quick cuffs and secured the hole in the fence as best he could using the plastic handcuffs like zip ties.
Chivo pulled the remaining fully-loaded M4 magazines off Zennie’s gear and passed them out to Apollo and Odin. In a loose defensive circle around their dead teammate’s body, facing outward and watching for new threats, the team took a moment to discuss their next move.
Odin spoke first. “OK guys. SITREP, whatcha got?”
“We need ammo,” Apollo responded.
“We need wheels in a bad way,” Chivo chimed in.
“First I think we need to find a spot to hunker down to see if that horde passes. I’m afraid that even with the fence, more undead from this side will be attracted to the commotion. Besides, we need to take care of Zennie’s body,” Odin replied.
Something clamped onto the back of Chivo’s pants, causing him to jump forward and away from his teammates. Zennie was back and moving but he was not with the living. “Shit!” Chivo drew his pistol and fired a single shot, striking Zennie in the skull.
“Fuck dude, a man can’t even find peace in death anymore.”
Chivo pulled Zennie’s body back onto his shoulders, now that he was dead for good, and pointed to the neighborhood to his right. “Let’s grab one of those houses, lay up for a bit and see if we can figure out what our next move is. If we’re lucky, we’ll find some food too.”
The other two nodded and took off in a slow jog, spread out in a defensive line, towards the homes across the highway, hoping they would find a safe place to regroup.
CHAPTER 6
Near Corsicana, Texas
February 13, Year 1
The situation continued to deteriorate. Low gray clouds blocked the early morning sun, the start to another flat day of barely surviving. Clint Smith stood on the roof of the 1972 GMC van and surveyed the road ahead of them through his binoculars. Amanda stood at the rear of the van, Johnson’s former M4 rifle in her hands, watching for any undead to catch up that were following the van as it passed. Clint climbed down from the roof and thumbed through a much-worn DeLorme Texas atlas. The atlas was an absolute godsend; they’d found it after the first large folding atlas was destroyed.
Only the day
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