A Long Road to Fortune/Issue 21

This is the third issue in Volume 4 of A Long Road to Fortune.

Issue 21
Grimmly enough, the blue skies faded themselves to gray as the day took it's toll. Many lives changed in just one day, many of them ending themselves abruptly, some fighting to live, and others breaking out of their cocoon. Ultimately, it all lead to one thing, getting ready to live life once again be it devoid of fortune. Just surviving each day, avoiding the dead, the climate, and some old foes from before the world's cracking. From that crack emerged a new threat, taking no time to sweep the former human world to just it's finest. Many good, even amazing things perished forever with no way to be retrieved again, eternally inhabiting memory. The bad things though, those seemed to stay. Their order however, now controllable and daresay, even manageable. Perhaps there was a reason to keep living after all...

The 6 men stood tall and mighty, far from holding each other at gunpoint. Saul held his grenade launcher with a firm grasp, waiting for any of the marketplace heroes to do something about it. Saul's lackeys were calm and ready to light things up with powerful bullets from their colossal artillery. Mr. Chet stood in front of Saul, his gun tucked away. By his side, Mendoza and Gustavo had their weapons drawn, their fingers waiting to rest back on their respective triggers. The gunmen were focused, waiting for the right time to pull. Saul and Mr. Chet stood static though, calm throughout the entire ordeal.

“Do any of you plan on shooting soon? I mean, it's freaking retarded to just stand here. I have things to do, people to kill, and women to satisfy myself with. You have a small selection of women but they're far from plain. I'm very soft on the light brunette with the injured shoulder. What's her name? She's got the best ass I've ever seen.”

“That's none of your business maldito. She's far beyond your reach anyhow.” Gustavo responded, nearly snarling at the man. “Take your sick fucking talk back to the whorehouses!”

“Mr. Texta, you speak as if you don't enjoy lusting women yourself.”

“I've never laid a hand on a woman that didn't want me to. I don't care what you fucking do, I will blow your brains out if you keep running your mouth at me.”

“Whatever, she's going to be mine soon. The rest of my men are infiltrating your sorry base as we speak.”

“We're prepared for that.” Mr. Chet spoke. “Whatever you want to let out of your mouth is fine with me. In the end, there is no impulse to your talk...it just lingers in the air without a purpose.”

“Tch. You have a way with words. I will give you that. But I'm getting tired of this. Men...”

As Saul gave the order to start the fire exchange, he noticed a herd had sealed them in. Mendoza and Gustavo aimed their guns away from Saul's men and began to shoot at the undead maniacs that hoped to chomp their skin off. Saul's men noticed this and decided to take action. As they pulled the trigger, a grosero snuck up behind one of them and removed a sizable chunk of flesh from the back of his neck. This caused the M60 bullets to fly off of the floor and one managed to pelt Mendoza in the right side of his head. Mendoza fell to the ground, clutching his right eye. Gustavo was too busy dealing with the groseros to help. Saul's other lackey joined in the killing of groseros, to avoid becoming a meal like his comrade.

Mr. Chet retrieved his hidden ice pick and jumped at Saul, who at the same time aimed his grenade launcher towards the marketplace trio.

Adrenaline filled Mr. Chet from within. Staring at the face of a grenade launcher. Luckily, he managed to get on top of Saul before the grenade could find its way to his allies, instead destroying some nearby groseros trapped near 2 trucks. The sheer power of the explosion caused the trucks to explode and spread flames throughout the zocalo. The force of the explosion sent a nearby Gustavo flying back a few feet, his back landing in the hard concrete below. His vision blurred and a stream of blood could be felt running down his nose, starting from the forehead.

Mr. Chet kicked the grenade launcher off of Saul's grasp, then proceeding to give him a knee to the face followed by three consecutive punches to the gut. Saul could not help but spit blood from his mouth in return. After snappig both of Saul's shoulders, Mr. Chet planted his elbow on Saul's neck, ready to make Saul pay. Saul could only watch through his shades as Mr. Chet raised his icepick.

“You have no idea of what you just did.” Mr. Chet said.

“D-d-do you feel powerful right now?” Saul asked. Mr. Chet ignored the question and remained focused.

But before he could plunge the icepick into Saul, a swift kick was delivered to the side of his face by Saul's croney. Mr. Chet was now off of Saul and the hit man once again could breathe. Saul's lackey had his gun firmly aimed at Mr. Chet, his finger ready to push on the trigger.

“See you in he-” his sentiments were interrupted by a bullet to the neck from Mendoza, who was on the ground a few feet away, still clutching his right eye. The eye had been completely destroyed and blood did not stop running his face. The man dropped his gun so that he my utilize both hands to clutch his neck. He stumbled back a few feet and fell to the ground, groseros ready to feast on him. With the last of his breath, Mendoza gave Mr. Chet a bit of pep talk.

“Finish him Joaquin, for your friends.” Mendoza yelled.

Mr. Chet got up to his feet and picked Saul up with one hand. In his other hand, the bloody icepick was held, ready to take it's first human life.

Saul could only watch helplessly as Mr. Chet's glare completely penetrated his shades and paralyzed his entire body.

Mr. Chet once again raised his icepick and acted.

“No no no no! We can work something out! Please don't, n-n-no!” Saul could only plead at this point.

Schwigch.

The slimy noise of the icepick penetrating Saul's shades and right eye, as well as being retrieved back filled the air. Mr. Chet moved over to Mendoza, tossing Saul's corpse to a few approaching groseros, buying them some time. The first of the groseros managed to bite off Saul's throat in one brisk bite. Mr. Chet removed his trench coat and ripped one of his plaid shirt's sleeves off to use as a rag for Mendoza's eye. He applied pressure on it in an effort to control the bleeding. To his relief, it seemed to be working, even though Mendoza had already lost a lot of blood.

More groseros began to surround them, and it looked like Mr. Chet had to protect his fallen friend at the same time. No other choice so Mr. Chet knew what had to be done. He began to single-handedly slaughter in-coming undead with a combination of close combat, shooting, and his icepick. In just a minute, a dozen of them had already perished. More kept finding their way to him and Mendoza though. Mr. Chet was ready to admit that he may not make it out of this alive, but like hell would he quit and let himself be killed by rotten corpses. Some distant grunting reassured him that not all was lost.

Amidst the flames brought on by the grenade explosion, Gustavo Texta was still standing strong, slaughtering the ongoing groseros with his combat knife.

“You think you fucking pussies can take me down? THINK A-FUCKING-GEN!” his maniacal screams buried the sounds of the crushed skulls.

Mr. Chet disposed of a nearby grosero and returned to Mendoza.

“Gustavo! I need you to take Jorge back to the marketplace now!” Mr. Chet said, one eye planted on the M60.

“I have a plan!” he added.

Gustavo, drenched in a combination of sweat, grosero blood, and his own blood, made his way to Joaquin.

“I'll get him to the medics” Gustavo said. “Just clear the way!”

Mr. Chet nodded and began to fire away at any groseros in Gustavo's path.

Eventually Gustavo got far close enough to the battered gate, where he could spot Jaime, Aguila, Pepe, and his few remaining men trying to keep the groseros from pouring into the marketplace amidst the flames

“Mendoza's down. I'm coming in!” Gustavo yelled!

“On it!” Jaime screamed, as he tapped on the wall, where a man had opened the gate. Gustavo ran inside, leaving the soldiers behind to contain the groseros. His mission now: get Mendoza the required medical attention..

Pepe peeked in the distance, amazed at Mr. Chet's sheer power. He showed no signs of a fatigue despite being old and the way he disposed of the groseros truly inspired him. It was a majestic sight fit for a man's final stand, as more and more groseros surrounded Mr. Chet. Mr. Chet attempted to make his way back to the M60 but a grosero grabbed his shoulder. Just a brisk motion from Mr. Chet's elbow broke the grosero's jaw. The M60 was so close yet so far. Pepe could no longer stand and watch.

“Jaime! Aguila! I'm going to go give Murrieta a hand! You have everything under control?” Pepe yelled.

His comrades and Gustavo's remaining forces had their hands full. Jaime in particular looked to be showing fatigue but the look on his face would tell you otherwise.

“We're good here Pepe!Go!” Aguila replied.

Pepe could only nod in return. He marked Mr. Chet's location with his eyes and rushed to him. Mr. Chet fought not for himself, but for the marketplace, his family. The odds were ridiculously stacked against his favor. As long he could keep fighting, it would all continue to stay well. Why even think about dieing at this moment? Mr. Chet had no time for that.

Pepe began to slash and brawl his way to gold ol' Joaquin. Stopping now was not a option.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Ashton had to get the man off of his trail. But he looked too well-equipped. A large bullet proof vest covered his abdomen very well, he'd holstered his gun and now carried around a shotgun. He had a shot ready.

Maybe sneaking up behind with that rusty pipe wasn't the best idea. Ashton needed a little bit of luck, just a little to get past this situation. Everyone else was busy defending the rest of the marketplace, leaving him with his own overwhelming problem. It seemed like just a week ago he'd been doing the same thing with Bristol. This time however, it was cramped and there was obviously less room to work with. The hiding spots weren't particularly exciting either, as one shot from that dangerous weapon would tear them apart with him included.

Luck wasn't on Ashton's side however. A rat winced past his feet, it's noise attracting the hit man. Turns out, he wasn't too far from Ashton. Ashton realized this too as soon as his silhouette became visible.

“There you are.” The hitman said with a grin.

Ashton could only try to hop out of the way as the shot was fired at his direction. Ashton had managed to dodge the shotgun, or so he though. One of the pellets had managed to hit his thigh. He winced in pain, although he could still move. As the man got ready to fire another shot, Ashton dragged himself away as fast as he could, managing to get across the row of stands.

“Crap.” he muttered

The hitman saw Ashton's metal pipe on the ground next to him.

“Heheheh. He thought he could take ME out with this? Funny.” The hit man said.

“How about you just show yourself and let me kill you with a little dignity? Instead of bleeding out like a bitch.” the man yelled with glee.

Ashton ignored the man's question, applying pressure to his wound, which was sure to give him away.

The hit man was right.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Francisco was ready to shoot. He stood outside the tent with his gun itching to get some action. The number of injured men had now steadily increased from just Valdez,Jose and Yuri, to Mendoza and Mario. Daniel was helping Gustavo's nurses with Mendoza's critically dangerous condition. He had lost too much blood and his eye had been pretty much destroyed.

Yuri stood up and observed the situation. It was too much to just watch. Valdez was still out cold, comfortably placed on the bed next to hers. From within the tent she could make out Francisco's silhouette. His words had rung out to her. She always thought of Francisco as a true friend, her best in the apocalypse. She felt guilty for not giving him a proper response. The situation they were was grim enough though, as they were being attacked from all sides, they'd lost people, and now the marketplace leader was staring death in the face.

What made matters worse for her was the fact that Gustavo had decided to got back out there, into that flaming battlefield. Her leader was is no good shape, but she had faith in his strength. From what she could tell, the grenade from earlier had created a fire just outside the marketplace that he swore to put out. Without water though, it was too hard. Then Mr. Chet, the man who almost killed her, was out there fighting the groseros. For all she knew, he could be dead.

Yuri debated on picking up a firearm and joining Francisco outside, as awkward as it would be. She was an attractive young woman though, she'd rejected all kinds of offers from men, some more attractive than Francisco. But she felt relatively bad for not saying anything to him. Francisco wasn't at all like the boys she'd meet at bars or discos. He was different. Maybe a little dry and cold in comparison, but better in that regard. Maybe Francisco wanted more than to just to get into her pants.

She didn't give it a second thought. She grabbed the only gun available, a revolver and walked outside.

Francisco turned to see Yuri emerge from the tent. Francisco gave her a discomforted look at turned away from her. His attention still peeled out to look for anymore cartel bastards. “Frank, talk to me, please!” Yuri pleaded.

Francisco was less than eager to speak to her but he didn't want to give her the same treatment she had given him several minutes ago.

“You know maybe we should keep our distance until you've had enough time to think about it”. Francisco said, still looking away from Yuri.

“Come on Frank, don't be like that. You know you're still my friend and I love you”

“But nothing more right? I mean, I knew you before Yuri. Always that pretty girl getting talked to at parties and bars, and yeah maybe you even found some of them charming. Back then I could care less about you because I thought, hey just another promiscuous pretty girl using her looks to her advantage. Nothing special about her.”

“Promiscuous? I haven't slept with as many people as you think.”

“It's not about that. Yuri, I was wrong about that girl. The girl I know now, the one I got to meet after the big blow to the planet, IS special. And that's why I fell in love with you. Not because you're good looking or hot. That stops mattering as much at a certain age. I was tired of those slutty party girls, nothing serious with them. What's even more amazing is that I found an amazing woman, deeper than I could have ever hoped to meet, right in the damn apocalypse. I was fool for judging a book by its cover. I picked yours up and fell in love with it. But I guess that doesn't matter now.”

Yuri could feel her eyes starting to tear up. Francisco had not only struck a nerve that had accompanied her for all of life, but she felt guilt. Deep, disgusting guilt for treating Fracisco the way she did just now.

“I'm sorry. I'm not that special. I guess you know that now.”

Yuri let back a tear.

“I guess I'll go back inside now...be careful.”

Yuri returned to the tent and laid herself back atop her bed, looking at the metal canopy that held the tent together. Her eyes filled with tears.

Francisco turned somber, his focus not on the task at hand anymore, as it had drowed away in an ocean of emotions.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Ashton relinquished himself from sight as the tenacity of his foe continued to rise. He'd already been tagged in the right thigh and the small trail of blood produced by his wound only hindered his chances of hiding from the dangerous hit man. The hit man nonchalantly walked the marketplace lunch stands just looking for Ashton's mistake. The hot trail of blood led the hit man straight to a halt.

“What the?” the hit man said. Ashton's trail of blood ended in a blink of an eye.

He suddenly found himself on the ground, the butt of a shotgun previously colliding with his face. He looked over to see who had struck him and found himself at the other end of a shotgun held by Sandra Gomes.

“I'm too close, I can't miss.” She warned the man.

“Hey, you're pretty good looking. Maybe we could forget about this and fuck for a bit? What do you say?

Sandra was beyond disgusted.

“I think I'm good. You're too far down the road to hell, so make sure you have your greetings for the devil ready.”

Sandra then let her finger rest on the trigger. Blood and little chunks of brain and skull colliding with her face as the recoil of the shotgun pushed her back a bit.

She closely observed the sight in front of her. A headless corpse, belonging to a cartel pig. She was pretty proud of herself. She'd actually killed a member of the cartel, that's not something a lot of women get to do in a lifetime. She didn't feel sick to her stomach or even the least bit traumatized by the fact that she had just murdered somebody. Her humanity was still intact as far she was concerned. For what the cartel had done to people of mexico was several years, killing them hardly felt sick. This was more than justified in her eyes.

What made this better for her was the fact that she had finally re-payed her son's savior. Saving his life for another day, just as he saved Max's. She took a deep breath, feeling relieved and victorious. Now she had to find Ashton, and help him to the tent.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Max anxiously looked around the marketplace. Following the trail of blood to one location, and then to another. It seemed to end and begin randomly though. Max realized what this was for and he had fallen for it. If the blood was meant to confuse and irritate the hit man into thinking the trail would lead it him straight to Ashton, it looked like it worked. Judging from the shot he heard earlier, he guessed his mother had taken care of the hit man.

Max didn't have a high opinion of killing and only really enjoyed seeing it in violent shows and movies. The pep talk from his mother changed his mind about this particular situation. People killed people now, same as ever. The only difference was that there were people he cared about now and if meant that they'd have to kill to survive, he was fine with it. A lot for a 12 year-old to take in but Max had always been very mature for his age.

“Ashton! Ashton! It's me, Max!” the boy called out.

No response.

Ashton could hear Max's voice, but his injury was distracting him too much. He wanted to call out to the boy, but multi-tasking by applying pressure to his wound and speaking seemed like a chore at the moment.

Max continued calling out Ashton until Ashton felt his voice getting louder and louder. Max was close, unaware of Ashton. Ashton tried to stand up until he noticed Max had walked past his walker trap and some loud stomping began to tune itself into the hall. They belonged to a straggler for the cartel.

“Hey kid, you'll get all the toys you want in heaven.” A hit man said. Max stumbled back in sheer fear and fell down as the man slowly approached him, hunting rifle drawn. This was just too much for Ashton. With all of his leftover energy, he left his hiding spot and sprinted straight to the man. Max turned back and watched amazed as the speeding Ashton rushed to his rescue. Max wondered what exactly Ashton would do to save them both.

Ashton just had one thing in mind, to take the bullet for Max, so that he may get away and have a chance to keep living. To continue walking down the road. In that faithful moment, Ashton could give less of a damn about himself, as long as Max survived he would be happy.

“What the?” the man said. Ashton had caught him off guard and naturally he raised his gun at the young man. But before he could shoot Ashton dead, he felt something snare his right foot.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Mr. Chet was covered in blood and guts. His slaughter succeeded in thinning out the numbers of all groseros in the zocalo. The extreme heat caused by the surrounding fires coupled with him pushing his body to his near limit, made him feel exhausted.

His grosero kills become increasingly sluggish and one groserio nearly found her way to his neck, but a headbutt took care of that. Mr. Chet's vision became a little blurry and the extreme fatigue caused him to drop to his knees. He couldn't help but breath deeply. Death not even entering his thoughts.

“Murrieta! Murrieta! Catch!” Pepe screamed as he tossed one of the 2 M60s over to Mr. Chet.

Pepe's voice snapped Mr. Chet out his daze. A nearby grosero had managed to bite his boot, but not his skin. With a swing of his foot, the grosero's head was flying off. The adrenaline within him finally began to pump itself. As a grosero was about reach our beloved, its head was ripped off and tossed in a brisk motion. Mr. Chet was ready for round two.

Pepe had slaughtered his way to Mr. Chet, holding an M60 in one hand. The silver color of his knife no longer visible, as a grim shade of crimson had drenched it.

“I knew you'd still be in one piece. Good ol' Mr. Chet!” Pepe said, catching his breath.

He gave Mr. Chet a hand, to getting back up to his feet. Then both men shook hands.

“Let's say you and I finish this.” Pepe said.

“I hope you didn't mind me starting without you”

“Not at all.” Pepe jokingly scoffed.

Both men went on to stand back to back, M60s on hand.

“You give me the command, I start shooting.” Pepe said.

“Fair enough.” Mr. Chet replied.

There were at least 2 dozen groseros left standing over the corpses of more than 30 others. Pepe was beyond impressed by Mr. Chet's kill count.

“You did all of that by yourself?” Pepe asked.

“I had a bit of help from Texta.”

“How? Without breaking a sweat?”

“Just never took my focus off of them.”

“Wow. You really are something.”

“Yeah, well, these are tougher times.” Mr. Chet replied.

The groseros were beginning to form a wall around both men, ready to eat.

“I think now's a good a time as any” Mr. Chet said.

“Very well.” Pepe complied.

Both men began to unload the fury of their weapons. The harsh recoil was resisted as much a possible, not affecting aim much. Grosero heads completely ripped apart by them as both men circulated back to wall within the center of the horde.

Eventually, the bullets ceased. The groseros, finally annihilated. Both men tossed the M60s aside. Mr. Chet once again dropped to his knees, they days work finally taking his toll on him. Pepe acted as his cane on what felt like a long walk back to the marketplace.

The fire never ceased. It stayed and grew larger and larger. It was a grim reflecting on the new world. The panoramic view of the zocalo and the marketplace reflected a harsher reality, one that showed no signs of improving. El infierno en la tierra. The people living in it, lost in it.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Max stood over the dead cartel hitman. Ashton's trail of dropplets of blood leading up him.

The foolish man had triggered the grosero trap.

Ashton saw this as some twisted turn of faith and luck. He'd just directly killed a man with his trap, but what made things all the more amazing was the hit man even triggering in.

Sandra came rushing to the scene. Her eyes widened in shock as they caught the sight of Ashton and Max, sitting and standing respectively, next to the cartel hit man's corpse.

“Oh my god...Max are you okay? Ashton?” Sandra asked, visibly distraught.

“We're...we're fine thank you.” Maybe luck was on his side after all.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The rest of the house burned down to ashes as Liza watched intently. The area now clear of groseros after killing the ones that devoured Leonardo's corpse.

It was a strange feeling for Liza. She was no longer depressed, but now happy. She could finally stop worrying about her former life haunting her as a new era only dawned over her.

A new era meant a new Liza.

Her former self had been literally burned down right in front of her eyes. She could be at peace now. Finally could she take in the world's new customs and live with them.

She had grown up faster than anyone ever should've.

As Liza got up, the sound of thunder echoed in her ears. Soon enough, rain came with the solemn night of summer. It was late June or early July at this point.

The rain put out the fire to the ruins of her former household and soon enough, it made the fire around the zocalo and the marketplace perish.

Liza had always been somewhat religious but stripped herself of such morals when the world fell apart.

This was god's farewell to her, setting her straight in the path.

On the path to on the long road to fortune.

What her fortune could be would remain mysterious. Liza was in no rush however, time could take all of which it needed to unfold it for her.

All she thought about now were the things that made her happy. One thing in particular quickly came to her mind.

Ashton.

Trivia

 * This issue was inspired by and dedicated to Walkerbait22, Dead Frontier, TheFlyingDutchman, and Lost in Hell.