Down the Road: The Fall of Austin (16 page)

When the heavily armed group arrived outside,
Bingo and his gang was already there, waiting for them. But the
chaos in the streets diverted their attention. People were running,
screaming, dying. Buildings were on fire and cars were whizzing by.
One of Bingo’s thugs was grabbed by a woman passing by and she bit
him in the arm. Then another thug was bitten. Then another. In the
chaos of the people swarming the streets, it was sometimes
impossible to tell which were running and which were pursuing.
Despite the fact that the inmates had already been exposed to the
threat via television news within the confines of their
correctional institution, none believed it was actually happening.
But as a fourth man was bitten, it was clear the dead tide was real
and was slowly overtaking Austin.

In anger, Bingo and his gang started
attacking everyone they saw, alive or dead, stabbing them
repeatedly with their knives. Some of the victims dropped dead from
a stab through their throat. Others, though knocked off balance or
even bleeding profusely from gaping neck wounds, did not stop their
own attack. And those that
had
fallen—had been murdered—got
up again.

But once they were bludgeoned in the head,
they stopped and dropped and were thereafter motionless. Nick and
Sleepy made a mental note of it.

“Fire!” Sleepy shouted, and his homies opened
fire on everyone at the mouth of the Travis County Jail. The
hellish and wholesale slaughter of every person in the vicinity
took only about a minute. Several of Bingo’s men contested the army
of thugs. But their crude shanks were no match for the cruelty of
the metal slugs spitting with authority from the firearms of
Sleepy’s men. The men who did not scatter to the four winds had all
been leveled by the gunfire and were piled up unevenly like ancient
Aztec sacrifices to appease the gods.

With the sense of urgency intensified at the
sights before them, Sleepy turned to Nick. “So where is this...
place
... you spoke of?”

“It’s on the other side of 35. About four
miles from here.”

“Well, let’s move,
vato
,” Sleepy said,
calling to his new minions to follow.

The mob advanced down the street in a
fearsome phalanx, an orange spearhead of thugs united in power,
preparing to face the new world.

1:30 PM

Texas State Capitol

The morning had been eventful for the
fireteams. When the National Guard arrived, the congressmen were
airlifted to a base in San Antonio, the focal point of an attempt
by joint U.S. and U.N. forces to retake southern Texas. The idea
was to create a secure route from San Antonio to the coast and
secure several seaports along the Texas coastline. Operations were
also underway in New York, California, Florida, and West
Virginia.

The forces that had arrived initiated an
operation to secure two city blocks around the capitol and set up a
massive military base in and around the building. It was to be the
headquarters of the Texas Reclamation Plan, or TxRP.

The plan was to launch massive expeditions
from Austin to the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex, one to Houston, one
to El Paso, and San Antonio to Corpus Christi. The purpose was to
resecure the massive transportation corridor up and down IH-35 and
IH-10. The initial plan was to test the tactic on the first
expedition to Corpus. U.N. Captain Phillip Carson was appointed as
the leader of that first peacekeeping mission, and his results
would be measured, evaluated, and adjusted for the subsequent
expeditions.

After the arrival of the National Guard and
the departure of the congressmen, the two fireteams were given
tents and cots and allowed to catch some shuteye.

They had all been sleeping like rocks since
0700 hours, after debriefing about their experience to TxRP
Command. The only exception was Sgt. Arnold, who spent some time
trying to convince Cpt. Barrigan to conduct an investigation into
the death of Specialist Goodson. Arnold ended up crashing out at
0800 hours. Like the parents of a newborn child, sleep was
cherished by the fireteams. And Sgt. Arnold certainly didn’t have a
bullheaded philosophy like
I’ll sleep when I’m dead
. He was
wise enough to never turn down sleep when offered.

At this rate, though, it looked like the
offer had stipulations. Cpt. Barrigan had a special message for the
two fireteams. He entered the tent where Fireteam Arnold was
sleeping. The old boot camp side of him wanted to wake them all up
with a, “Drop your cocks and grab your socks!” But after
discovering that not enough cots had been provided and seeing Sgt.
Arnold sleeping on the ground, nobly allowing his men to have the
cots, Cpt. Barrigan decided to wake him gently.

He leaned down to nudge Sgt. Arnold awake.
Startled, Sgt. Arnold awoke, immediately pulling a knife and nearly
cutting the throat of his commanding officer.

“Hey, take it easy there, tiger,” Cpt.
Barrigan said, parrying the aborted attack, postponing the
counterattack. “You wouldn’t want to kill the man with good news
for you and your men.”

Arnold rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, sir,” he
muttered. He rose to attention.

“At ease, Sergeant,” Barrigan said.

Taking a moment for himself, Sgt. Arnold
covered his bare torso with a shirt. He then followed the Captain
outside the tent.

“Sergeant, your men did an outstanding job
this morning. You and your men are heroes and will be commended
when this is all over.”

“Thank you, sir,” Arnold said.

“As you know, we will be completing our
operation here to secure the capitol and a base of operations for
the TxRP. Sergeant, I’d like you to be the leader of our expedition
to Dallas.”

Sgt. Arnold swelled with pride. “Sir, it
would be an honor.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’re on a good
course to combating this viral menace. Homeland Security is working
with the Austin Police Department, securing several apartment
complexes, hospitals, stadiums, and other facilities for FEMA to
protect and serve the citizens of Austin. We are currently
coordinating with the United Nations on our work in Dallas. You
will be leading a joint effort with the United Nations on this
peacekeeping mission to Dallas and—”

Arnold’s smile faded into a look of
suspicion.

“—to secure every city and township from
here, up IH-35 into Dallas. Resistance will be strong, and we
predict massive amounts of Virals in the big cities by that time.
Once you secure designated Sections of the city, we will give you
further orders. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Sgt. Arnold, I have something for you
and your men.” Cpt. Barrigan reached into his pocket. He pulled out
three patches with the United Nations symbol stitched onto them. “I
need your men to put this patch on under your chevrons.”

Sgt. Arnold had a concern. “Cpt. Barrigan,
sir. With all due respect, are we ceding control to the United
Nations?”

“Not yet.”

Not yet?

Rule change.

“Sir, with respect, I think this expedition
would benefit from being a totally U.S.-controlled operation. It
would—”

“Sgt. Arnold, you need to take a minute to
consider something. We don’t have the manpower for a total U.S.
centered force to perform our operations. Our forces are too spread
out across Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan chasing after those
goddamn camel-fuckers who fucked us over on 9/11. If we hadn’t sent
men over to the Balkans before this shit hit, we might have been
able to do it alone. But we can’t now. Do you love America,
Arnold?”

“Yes, sir.” He most certainly did.

“Then you must come to grips with this fact:
To help America right now we have to—”

“Give up our national sovereignty?” Then
after a second he added, “Sir.”

Cpt. Barrigan’s face became red. Sgt. Arnold
thought he looked a lot like J. Jonah Jameson from the Spider-Man
comics.

“Captain, I don’t like the idea of foreign
influence over U.S. forces. Sir.”

“Sergeant, we’re not paying you for what
ideas you like and what ideas you don’t like. We’re paying you to
take orders. Now give your men these patches when they wake. Is
that understood?”

“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.” The sergeant
laced the syllables with contempt. His frustration was obvious, but
so was the Captain’s.

“Dismissed.”

Arnold walked back into the tent. His charges
after Goodson’s death, Knight and Noble, were still sleeping like
babies. He put the patches in his shirt pocket and tucked himself
back into his sleeping bag and thought about the decision.

* * *

Cpt. Barrigan then entered the tent of
Fireteam Nickson, on the other end of the capital grounds. Their
team was sleeping as well. Barrigan found Sgt. Nickson, woke him
up, and gave him the news.

“Thank you, sir,” Sgt. Nickson said. “The
commendation will be greatly appreciated by my men and me.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“And I’m sorry about the loss of Goodson. I
trust he will also be commended posthumously?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fantastic, sir.”

Cpt. Barrigan explained the involvement of
the U.N., and extended an invitation to him.

“Nickson, I want you to lead the expedition
to Houston. The military hopes to secure the city not only for its
ports, but for the space center there. They think this viral
epidemic can be contained with information and resources from the
now-abandoned space center.”

“Space center? Anything more specific?”

“I can’t disclose that as of now. However,
you will learn more if the expedition is a success.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will need your men to wear these as well.”
He pulled out the U.N. patches. “Don’t be a hard ass about it like
Arnold, you hear me?”

Nickson could not care either way about U.N.
involvement, but saw his chance to one-up Arnold. “Yes, sir. I’d be
proud to, sir.”

“I like you, Nickson. You’re a good soldier
that does what you’re told. I like that.”

“I’m here to serve my country, sir, and
follow all orders given me.”

Sgt. Nickson fed Barrigan’s pride like a
child molester gives candy to a kid before shoving them in the back
of a grimy van.

“That’s what I like to hear, Sergeant.”

Nickson already knew that.

“Dismissed.”

1:42 PM

East 10th and Trinity

Like a column of ancient barbarian marauders,
Sleepy and his army of former Travis County Jail inmates marched
through the streets of downtown Austin. Hacking, slashing, bashing,
and shooting anyone that stood in their way, the men were making
progress.

Several men secured vehicles within the first
block. And with the assistance of professional car thieves (which,
naturally, most of them were,) Sleepy, Nick, and others secured
vehicles as well. With a spontaneous kind of organization, the same
men were empowered to get wheels for the rest of the gang. Three
more cars were secured and then packed in with five to six people.
The mob became a living organism—a flock—flowing through the veins
of downtown Austin, securing vehicles and thereby providing the
aberrant army additional protection from danger. A truck packed
three in the cab and six in the bed. A stylish hummer was secured
and packed. An Escalade was discovered and requisitioned. They all
probably belonged to a lawyer that had put them behind bars.

Before long, the entire gang was secured in
vehicles. From Hondas to Cadillacs, the men rode in style. And
contrary to the past state of affairs, no one cared what they were
riding dirty in. They were all thankful to be protected in metal
and space-age plastic.

Like a machine, people had picked their
responsibility and executed what they somehow knew they needed to
do. There were men with weapons that stood around the convoy and
killed anything that moved, oftentimes with glee, protecting their
cohorts and their stashes of food and supplies.

Females were the exception. In a move of
suspicious chivalry, the men rescued select women who were holed up
or in danger on the streets or in stores they liberated of their
merchandise.

Every so often, Sleepy would stop his lead
vehicle (an ’82 LeSabre,) step out, and point to a store. While the
armed men defended the convoy, the looters moved into the appointed
store and seized its contents. Drug stores, fast food joints,
convenience stores. The looters had a good knack for timing, and
tended to grab just a handful of goods before returning to the
cars. The number of zombies in the streets had greatly increased,
but not yet to such proportions that would overwhelm the men as
long as they didn’t linger in one place for too long. And no man
was ever left behind, and no man was lost in the journey to their
refuge: Lopez Auto Repair and Custom Cars. Nick’s brother, Jesus,
owned the large shop.

They pulled up to the front gate, honking and
hollering and bashing zombies. Nick’s brother Jesus was ready to
open the gates of the facility. It took up an entire city block and
sported two entrances. A tall wall of cinderblocks surrounded the
entire block. Stark red letters near both gates spelled out the
name of the business in a very urban font against a white
background. Barbed wire topped the walls and gates and a large
garage stood in the center of the compound. It was spacious enough
to have every car pull in and still leave room for more.

Though the facility housed a legitimate
business, it did some chopping after hours.

Nick gave Jesus a big hug consisting of a
strong handshake, a hard shoulder block, and several solid slaps to
the back.

“
Que paso
, Nico?” Jesus asked.

“’
Pues, nuevo amigos, buey
,” Nick
replied, referring to his new friends, flaunting the sheer number
of men that had joined him and battled their way to the garage.
“
Hay poder en numeros
.”