Torn Apart (Book 2): Dead Texas Roads by Hoaks C.A

Author:Hoaks, C.A. [Hoaks, C.A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Zombie Apocalypse
Publisher: Loessin Communications
Published: 2017-04-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Sound of Salvation

Tate gave Matt thirty minutes from dawn’s first light just in case he found a refuge or stayed in his ride for the night. When he didn’t show up, she cranked the engine of the white rig and headed across the highway to the weed-engorged cattle guard and the long-abandoned road. Once across the metal guard, the road quickly disappeared into the scrub grass and bare sand. She drove for ten minutes around large stands of mesquite, rocks, and dry gulley. Amid the weeds and scrub grass, she saw the first signs of blood and gore. The scattering of blood and remains made her breath catch in her throat. She downshifted and stopped then grabbed a small pair of binoculars from her bag and studied the scattering of blood and bones.

She scanned the area, she saw several infected surrounding a cluster of mesquite. At the edge of the thorn covered plants, she studied a mound of bloodied flesh and length of the bone. She looked closer and saw a split hoof at the end of the leg bone being devoured by an infected. She saw more and more remains of a massive feral hog. Several more of the infected followed a couple running piglets.

As Tate examined the area, she noticed movement amid the cluster of mesquite where the infected continued to press closer despite the thorns on the maze of bushes. She studied the movement and thought she saw an arm. She looked again and saw a hand, then a finger twitched, and a ray of sunlight flickered off of beveled glass. It was a bottle, a liquor bottle. With a grunt of disgust, she snarled. “Ought to leave his drunk-ass to be eaten.”

Matt must have crawled under the mesquite when the dead were distracted by the feral hog and piglets. Now with a dozen infected pressing closer to the brush pile, he was trapped by a pack of infected gathered at one side of the mesquite. She slid to the ground and quietly closed the truck door. She pulled her machete from the scabbard, brushed her hand across her handgun in the holster, then stuffed an extra magazine in her hip pocket. “Tell me I’m not doing this,” she mumbled before she opened the door to the cab. “Fuck!”

Tate studied the maze of mesquite brush and verified a trail through the brush leading out. She squatted low and made her way around a clump of brush and pile of rocks. She moved slowly between the rocks and thorned brush across the rough terrain.

Tate rounded a clump of mesquite and stood face to face with an infected man in a plaid shirt and jeans. He reached out and opened his mouth. Tate slammed the machete into the top of his skull. He fell like a sack of potatoes and remained still. Tate stepped on the side of his face and jerked the blade free. She stepped over the body and hurried around the next stand of brush.

With the death of the last piglet, the infected were losing interest in the scattered remains.

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