Five Roads To Texas (Book 10): Salvation Page 5

  He tiredly ran a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to stay still when I know my family is somewhere out there in all this mess. Yeah, I've pondered the thought they could be dead and this is nothing but a fool's errand. You know, Back at that fucked up clinic, that asshole Sergeant Duckett, he gave me a little hope about their safety, not much but enough. I have to try Jesse, I mean, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t ? If you really want to stay here, I can take the Seca, you keep the Durango and the other bike. The weather should be pretty good. I’m telling you Jesse, I have a bad feeling about this place.”

  “I get that Ram, I really do.” Jesse took a breath as she subconsciously turned the Rosary with her left hand. “I told you I would go with you to find your family and I meant it. You know I don’t have a family, but if I did, well, I’d probably be like you, frantic to find them. I know you Ram, you can be a bit of a dick at times, but deep down you’re really a good guy. I just need some time to rest and refuel. This place-”

  “Yeah. It is nice to have some solid walls around us.” Ram felt immense guilt taking a break while Louise was, who knows where dealing with the shitty end of the world, but he also owed Jesse his life. “How about we stay the night, load up the SUV with what we need tomorrow then head out. Would that work?”

  “Yeah,” Jesse nodded as she picked up the knife and crackers. “That would be great, I might just spend all night in the shower.” She laughed. “Thanks Ram.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.” He retrieved the pouch of Chili mac. “I still owe you.” “Yes you do.”

  “So I’m a bit of a dick? Really?”

  “Really.” Jesse nodded as she used the Kershaw to spread the hot cheese on her cracker. She took a bite and grinned. “Don’t worry Ram, all men are.”

  “Ha,” Ram dug the spoon back into the MRE pouch. “Reminds me of this time in the chow hall over in B-3. During breakfast we had this big black inmate that wouldn’t straddle his seat in the chow hall. He kept them both legs to one side. You know it’s a rule they straddle the seat.”

  “So they can’t jump up and rush staff or each other.” Jesse nodded as she took a bite out of one of the crackers.

  “Right. This guy continues to refuse to comply with our orders to straddle his seat, doesn’t even give us a reason. It’s starting to cause a disturbance with the other inmates, so John and I pull this guy outta the chow hall and lock him up in the rotunda holding cell until the rest of the unit is done eating. We go back to talk to him, chew his ass a little. Clay asks him why he’s not straddling the seat. Straight face this guy tells us why. Now this inmate, he’s huge, about six three and wide as a door frame of the holding cell. John, Clay, and I can’t stop laughing at his explanation. I get this bright idea and yell up at the control cop, Ray Adams, to get the sergeant down here, we have a problem with an inmate.” Ram stirred the spoon along the inside of the pouch. “A few minutes later the sergeant shows up.”

  “Who was it?” “Randy Taylor.”

  “Randy?” Jesse chuckled.

  “Yep, big old corn-fed Randy who doesn’t suffer fools easily.” “And?”

  “Well, Randy’s all red faced and out of breath from having to walk across the yard to our unit. The three of us are trying not to laugh as he’s asking us what’s going. Clay tells him ‘The inmate refuses to sit properly in the dining hall despite several orders to do so.’ Randy just shakes his head knowing there’s more to this than we’re letting on and steps over to the front of the holding cell. He hitches up his duty belt and says ‘I’m Sergeant Taylor, Inmate, why are you refusing my officers direct orders to straddle your seat?’ The inmate says ‘I have a medical condition.’ ‘Oh yeah,’ Randy frowns. ‘What is it?’ The inmate lowers his voice and straight faced says. ‘My uterus hurts.’ Randy turns even redder than he already was and says ‘What?’

  ‘My uterus hurts.’ The inmate replies without skipping a beat. That was when Clay, John, and I lost it. Randy explodes telling the inmate that he doesn’t have a fucking uterus and to get back up to his fucking cell and next time straddle the fucking seat in the chow hall.”

  “Did you ever have a problem with that inmate again?”

  “No.” Ram chuckled. “ We had the unit RN come to his cell and explain to the inmate what a uterus was. But I thought Randy was gonna stroke out or kill the three of us right there in the rotunda. So, yeah, I guess I can be a dick.” Ram pointed over to the toilet paper cases. “We need to break down a few rolls and shove them in our packs.”

  “Hadn't thought of that.” She said chewing on another cracker. “You dick, that’s the only thing that’s been on my mind since we found them. Try being a women without tp. It’s bad enough having to go outdoors. Leaves suck.”

  Ram just chuckled and took a bite from his MRE. “You sound like my wife, when we’d go hunting over in Happy Camp. She made sure I always brought a roll of TP and wipes in my pack. Fuck.” He tossed the pouch to the floor and quietly said to Jessie. “I need to get home.”

  “We will Ram, I promise you we will.” She said again, absently turning the Rosary. “It’s good to see you’re back into your faith.” Ram said looking down at her wrist.

  “I don’t know if I am.” Jesse gave him a sad smile. “But, I figure a little prayer couldn’t hurt.” “No, not all.” He patted her on the shoulder. “We can use all the help we can get.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  NOTHING PERSONAL

  Outside the Nugget Casino, Sparks NV

  “Fuck, Baz!” Roman stood close to the Russians remains, careful not to step in any of the blood that had gathered in a big puddle beneath him. Upon landing, the mercenary had quickly released his chute, unfastened his harness, and hurried over to where Baz lay in a pool of his own gore. Racing against the clock, Roman surveyed the area around him for any nearby infected. Seeing none, he knelt down next to his friend's corpse and rested a hand on his back. Besides the obvious, Baz was definitely dead.

  “I told you to pull the fucking ripcord.” Roman said with a tinge of guilt in his voice. “I should have brought Zap instead, it’s just you were always a better shot than that dick.” The mercenary shook his head. “Nothing personal buddy.” He reached over and pulled the Rolex from the Russian’s limp wrist. Roman checked the expensive timepiece for damage and to his surprise, he found none. Slipping it on he remembered when they had raided that jewelry store and Baz chuckling as he held it up for Roman to see before putting it on. Well, who's laughing now Baz?

  The mercenary smirked as he pulled off the dead man's pack and then rifled through his pockets looking for anything of value. Once he’d picked his partner clean of anything of worth, he carefully rolled Baz onto his side. The frozen look on what was left of Baz’s face was one of horror and great surprise. Trying not to gag, Roman started to reach for the Mosin Nagant rifle that lay underneath the dead man but saw the long gun had broken in half on impact.

  Disappointed the weapon wasn’t worth trying to salvage, the mercenary released the Russian’s bloody corpse, causing it to make a loud, wet thump on the grisly asphalt beneath it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  RIDING DIRTY

  Outside the Nugget Casino Sparks, NV

  “Damn, I really liked that rifle, Baz.” Roman wiped his blood smeared hands on the Russians back and stood up. The mercenary once again scanned the region around him, saw no infected then slung his ex-partners pack over his shoulder. Off in the distance, Roman could still hear the echoing whine of the airhorn. Satisfied the sound would keep the infected fucks occupied, he jogged over to where two Cannondale mountain bikes leaned against the casino wall.

  “Well, shit Baz. Guess I’m riding solo.” Roman grabbed the smaller of the bikes and placed the Russians pack in a rear carrier, using a bungee cord to strap it down he climbed on, peddling out into the street. Baz’s extra gear would slow him down a little, but Roman, having once been a tri-athlete, was pretty confident he could peddle faster than any of those in
fected assholes that were roaming around outside. The thought of being ambushed by infected was less scary than Roman having to face Baz’s older brother, Foz, and explain to him how the younger Russian had died. The mercenary suddenly stopped his bike in the middle of the street. Again looking around to make sure he was clear, Roman removed the Rolex watch from his wrist and shoved it in a cargo pocket. Foz would kill him without hesitation if he saw Roman was wearing it.

  “Dip shit.” Roman mumbled to himself as he began peddling. “I told you Baz, pull the fucking ripcord.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  I BET THAT WASN'T A COMPLIMENT

  North Korean Outpost, Sparks, NV

  “So,” Reese towered over the two North Korean officers that sat on the floor in front of him. “You want to tell me what is going on here.” KI-Moon and Sang remained quiet as the big man squatted down next to them. “What is your mission here?” The two North Koreans just stared angrily at the man in the black Eat A Dick t-shirt. Sang, in pain from the gunshot, squirmed a little and cursed Reese in Korean.

  “I bet that wasn’t a compliment, was it.” Reese pulled the small SOG knife from his pants pocket and clicked it open. Without a word, he stabbed Sang deep in the other shoulder then pulled the blade down and across. The Captain shrieked as Reese pulled the blade out of his upper chest, quickly wiping the bloody blade off on the Koreans uniform shirt. “Now,” he replaced the knife in his pocket. “I’m betting you boys know engrish. One or both of you need to start talking.” As Sang started to sink into shock, the Major just fixed Reese with his best ‘fuck you’ glare.

  “I see. Hey Foz, come here.”

  “Reese.” The Russian ambled over to where Reese stood, KI-Moon noticed the man was eating one of the deceased Lieutenant Pak’s Snickers bars. “Da?”

  “This one here,” He shoved Captain Sang over with a booted foot. “Skin him alive for me. Make it slow.”

  “Sounds good.” Foz shoved the rest of the Snickers bar into his mouth then enthusiastically pulled an 18-inch Bowie knife from its sheath on his belt. Even though he was weak and badly wounded, Sang’s eyes grew wide with fear. The big Russian easily jerked the injured officer to his feet, running the sharp blade slowly across his torso.

  “I’ll talk!” Sang screamed, wriggling like a fish on a hook. “I’ll talk! I speak English! Please!” “Sang!” KI-Moon tried to jump to his feet but was instantly kicked backwards by Reese. “Sang! Don’t tell these dogs anything! You coward!”

  “Stay down!” Reese grabbed the Major by his collar and shoved him hard against the building’s interior wall. KI-Moon tried to catch his breath as the bigger man held him by the throat. “I will crush your windpipe with my bare hands if you make another sound. Understand? Just nod!” The North Korean Major, not wanting to die at the hands of these animals, quickly nodded that he understood what he was saying.

  “Good.” Reese let go of the officer and dropped him roughly on his butt. KI-Moon dropped his head against the cinderblock wall, just happy the big man hadn't followed through on his threat to strangle him to death. “Foz, take him into the other room. Get him some water .”

  “Da.” The Russian, bits of the Snickers bar still stuck in his teeth, set the Captain back down on his feet and shoved him forward toward the smaller storage room.

  “Dutch, go patch up our new friends wounds, would ya?”

  “Copy that.” The bearded, former army medic, said as he grabbed up his first aid kit and followed Foz into the storage room.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Hobbs, one of the men dressed in black swat gear, asked. “Keep him right here. We may need him, but if he gives you too much trouble, just kill him.”

  KI-Moon stared ahead trying not to give the American any satisfaction. “Kill him slowly.”

  KI-Moon blinked at that, Reese saw the minute movement and grinned. “Gotcha! Just sit tight friend. We’ll get our chance to rap. Hobbs,” Reese glanced over at the other man. “if he’s a good boy, you can give him some water.”

  “Copy That.”

  “But,” Reese stared directly into the officers hate filled eyes. “Only if he’s good.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “13”

  Nugget Boulevard, Sparks NV

  Roman peddled the mountain bike like the Devil himself was after him. Despite using the air horn as a diversion, not all of the infected had charged off after the annoying source of sound. At least eight of the hungry pus sacks had been lingering about in the above ground parking lot when they saw the mercenary speed passed on a bicycle. Growling and making that weird howling noise the infected used to call to each other, the foul group charged out of the concrete structure and right out into the street behind the fleeing Roman.

  “No fucking way!” He grumbled as he pumped harder trying to put some distance between the fast-moving runners and himself. A few cars were parked in the two-lane roadway and Roman had to quickly swerve so he wouldn’t crash into any of them. Breathing hard, adrenaline flowing, the mercenary serpentined his way through the mini traffic jam. As he navigated his way around the deserted vehicles, he could hear the thuds and groans of the relentless infected as they carelessly smashed into them. Roman only had a few more blocks to go before he made it to the rail yard, Reese would skin him alive if he brought this crowd of shit bags along with him.

  Roman knew he had to shake the crazed throng before he got any nearer to the fence line. “Shit heads!” Roman looked back over his shoulder to see three or four of the infected scrabbling over the hoods and the roofs of the abandoned cars to continue their mad pursuit of him. Even with broken bones and extreme wounds, the rage filled diseased would keep coming and coming. The mercenary had even seen legless infected crawl through fire to get at disease free survivors. Roman had to find a point where he could make some kind of stand and rid himself of the pursuing infected. Up ahead was a jackknifed tractor trailer, that would work perfect as cover.

  Suddenly, Roman was blindsided by one of the hungry meat sacks. From behind a concrete planter near the parking garage, an infected had sprinted out and savagely tackled the bike riding mercenary to the ground.

  “Fuck!”

  The diseased man had hit Roman so hard that when he crashed into the asphalt roadway, knocked the wind out of him. The infected growled and madly grabbed at the mans exposed flesh. Roman, out of breath, trapped under his gear, the bike and his ravenous attacker, tried his best to keep from being bitten or scratched. Really not wanting to become this assholes next meal, Roman summoned his remaining energy and shoved the diseased man off of him. The crazy whined as it caught it’s foot in the mountain bikes pedal and awkwardly tripped backward to the asphalt. Roman groaned as he threw the bicycle off of him and onto the infected man as it struggled to get to its feet. The mountain bike knocked the infected back down on his ass. The mercenary, dripping sweat and trying to catch his breath, shoved his rifle bag to the side and shakily drew the Sig Sauer M17 from his shoulder holster.

  “Stinky fuck!”

  Round already chambered, he put a shot directly in the relentless infected man’s head. The thing had almost succeeded in getting to its feet, one hand still holding onto the mountain bike, when it fell backwards, dead. The sound of the diseased grew closer as his adrenaline started to wane. Turning back, Roman could see a group of five or six of the pus bags gaining on his position.

  “Wish you were here Baz.”

  Roman carefully aimed at the lead infected and fired. The round struck the woman in the nose sending her flying backward. The mercenary aimed at another and struck the man in the neck dropping him to the roadway. Roman fired again striking a third woman in the chest, it pushed her back a few feet, but she continued running toward him. This time he hit her in the forehead sending her tumbling to the ground. Three more remained, Roman aimed at a teenage infected wearing a dirty Che Guevara -shirt and hit him in the mouth. Two more of the charging diseased were left, which Roman quickly dispatched with three
more rounds, having struck one of them in the shoulder.

  Roman took a breath as he wearily dropped the Sig to his side, he knew the rounds he’d expended had most definitely drawn the attention of any nearby infected but there just wasn’t time to pull the suppressed rifle from its bag. Reese would not be forgiving, the whole point of the two men’s little escapade was to draw all the infected out of the area. Now that had all gone to shit. There was no way he would make it to the rail yard without dragging a mob of hungry diseased meat sacks along with him. The punishment from Reese would probably be shots to the knee caps and left for the infected to feast on, that or Foz skinning him alive for letting his brother die. Neither choices were very desirable. In the distance, Roman could hear the screams and growls of the infected. The gun fire had definitely caught their attention. The least he could do was hold them off while the rest of his crew completed their mission, he really hadn’t cared for any of them except Baz, but they had helped keep him alive during the outbreak. Well, fuck, there wasn’t a whole lot to live for anymore, anyways. Two tours in Iraq , another in Afghanistan and a fucked up covert mission in Africa really had changed his outlook on life.

  “13.” Roman chuckled. That’s how many rounds he had left in the Sig’s magazine. He had four more mags in his tac vest, so that would take a few of the pus buckets out. Shoving the hand gun back into his shoulder holster, he unslung the rifle bag and set it down on the road. The mercenary bent down, quickly unzipping it. Roman carefully removed the suppressed sniper rifle from the bag and pulled it into his shoulder. He had 18 rounds left in the magazine and three more mags in the rifle bag. As the mobs of infected started to pour out in his direction he figured he just might have himself one helluva excellent last stand.