SHTF (NOLA Zombie Book 0) (2 page)

A
FTER we dropped
off the car at the office, we humped the couple of blocks to the bar without any issues, chatting amicably the entire way. Martinez and Lena joked easily with each other and I was content to hang back and just listen. It was now full dark so the temperature had dropped a few degrees, not much, but it was better than earlier.

The Shack was your typical NOLA dive and embraced the connotation with a passion. The Shack was situated on the outskirts of the Lower Garden District, right next to the I-10, slammed up between two crumbling buildings and a gentrified condominium complex. It was the perfect location for locals to meet up after work, listen to good music and their beer selection was top-notch. They also had a large courtyard for outdoor drinking and the smokers had a bit of a refuge with the newly instituted non-smoking policy in full effect in the city. Bars with nice courtyards were now very popular in New Orleans, even with the summer heat beating down on us. The Shack's courtyard was even more of a draw because it came equipped with lots of shade from a large oak tree, and plenty of fans with misters attached to keep things cool.

When we entered the bar I noticed that the crowd was muted tonight. The usual high hum from the noise of socializing revelers was low as groups huddled together and looked back and forth from the television screens to each other. Instead of the usual sports channels, the televisions were all tuned to national and local news channels, which were all talking about one thing–the infection. The bar was also oddly empty for nine o'clock on a Friday night. It was usually jam-packed, bar stools at a premium, but not tonight.

We had changed into street clothes at the office, exchanging suits for jeans and tees, and I was now feeling a little more comfortable. We were forced to wear a monkey suit for VIP jobs, but I was most comfortable in a pair of well-worn jeans. Wasting no time, we walked up to the bar and I ordered a round for the three of us. When the bartender set the drinks in front of us I noticed he did a double take as he recognized Lena, but being a typical New Orleanian nodded a quick jerky hello in her direction, acknowledging her as a famous celebrity and then moved on. We liked our celebs in this town, but we didn't make a big deal about them. You were just another face in the crowd.

"So, princess," I drawled in my most charming voice, doing my nickname proud, I had to step-up the game with a movie star. "This whole charade of sneaking out of the hotel...is it to meet a guy?" I didn't have a lot of interest in Lena Devay, besides the usual curiosity of what it would be like to hook-up with a celebrity A-lister, but I couldn't help myself. Lena was damn sexy and currently seemed a little vulnerable, a perfect mix in my book.

Even though she was my type of girl, I needed to keep myself in check. I wasn’t ever one to mix business with pleasure. When you did that, things tended to get complicated. Being on this kind of job, heads needed to stay straight to stay safe and thoughts of sex never kept things straight.

Unfortunately, I wasn't wired to ignore a beautiful woman. I couldn't resist the game, it was almost hard-wired into me. I was a flirt, I knew it, everyone knew it, it's how I earned my nickname, Romeo. I had made the mistake once, falling in with a female Marine and we had both almost gotten killed for it. I never made that mistake again.

"Yeah, but, it's not what you think." She turned toward me to answer my question. She slid her leg over a barstool and pushed her body back. For the first time, I think she really looked at me because her attitude changed ever so slightly. Before, I was just in the background. More "help" buzzing around her to make her life go smoothly. Now we weren't being paid to follow her around or kiss her ass, not that we did before, but as part of her entourage we kissed her ass just by being there. I wasn’t background anymore.

Her eyes trailed up and down my body and widened a bit. Just a tiny bit. That hurt my ego, I was expecting more. I was a reasonably attractive guy. I knew it, I wasn’t afraid to admit it. Call it ego, I just call it being self-aware. I worked hard on my body, it was how I stayed gainfully employed. A good soldier was a strong solider. If strength led to a six pack that helped land the chicks, so be it. And my parents had blessed me with good genetics, dark, thick hair that wasn’t even hinting at a receding hairline and strong features which my ex had called, vintage sexy–well, that just added to the charm. They didn't call me Romeo just because of my sparkling personality.

"That took longer than usual," Martinez said into his beer and rolled his eyes when Lena's posture changed. It was subtle, but when you made your living with a gun in your hand you had to be able to read body language and posture. Noticing the way someone clenched their fist, or how they held themselves, was a lifesaver in our business. It could give you a few more seconds to react and those seconds could save the life you guarded and the men around you.

I particularly noticed how she arched her back slightly. How she pressed her breasts out more and cocked her hips to the side. She was accentuating her assets for me. It was probably all done without conscious thought, but it was obvious to me and Martinez what she was doing–showing me that she had noticed me and had judged me worthy. Lena Devay, was flirting back...subtly, but still flirting. Notch. Belt.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She frowned at Martinez's comment.

"Well, usually it doesn't take long for the girls to notice Romeo, here," Martinez laughed and patted me on the shoulder.

"Romeo, is that a nickname?" she asked. “It kind of suits you better than Tim.”

"Yup, he earned it our first leave, right out of MARSOC, the bastard had them flocking to him like termites to a street light."

"MARSOC?" she asked.

"Marine's Spec Op Training, it's like training for badasses," Martinez grinned.

"Sure," she laughed. "You guys are total badasses."

"No really, you should have seen that shit. Romeo smiled and panties dropped," Martinez joked and I just glared at him. Talk like this was supposed to bring me down a few notches, but usually it just added to the appeal. Girls like bad boys.

"It's hard being this pretty," I smirked. "Martinez, I know you can't even imagine." Martinez wasn’t that bad looking either, even though I gave him a lot of shit. He was a bit shorter than me, barely cresting the six foot mark, but he had me on the width department. The guy was like a tank, all shoulders and guns. He kept his dark hair cropped short to the head, but grew a goatee so he wouldn't look like a baby. That bronze Latin skin kept him looking perpetually eighteen. I thought it was hilarious how he constantly got carded, even though it aggravated him to no end.

"Fuck you,
cabrón
," Martinez laughed and signaled to the bartender for another round. Both of our glasses were already drained, Lena was still working on hers, taking dainty little sips.

"So, you two were in the Marines together and now you’re bodyguards? That has to be boring, compared to before?”

"Yeah," I said lightly.

"No," Martinez said at the same time.

Lena smiled at the two of us and shook her head.

“Romeo is bored unless he has a gun in his hand, is neck deep in the shit and taking fire, or in some hot chick’s bed.” Martinez slapped me on the back again.

"Sounds dangerous." Lena didn't look impressed, though.

"Stupid," Martinez chuckled.

"That ain't true," I defended myself. I wasn't that much of an adrenaline junkie. "I like tactical details more than guard duty because I like keeping busy. Guarding people, I feel like I'm just standing around, waiting for something to happen. Boring."

"You just can't be content," Martinez said with a little more bite than I expected. Martinez was one of my closest friends, we weren’t as close as we had been when we were in the Marines and deployed together, but we always fell back in step whenever we got together. He had a wicked sense of humor and was good for a laugh. He also always had my back. Now, he just seemed like he was fucking with me.

The door of the bar opened and a gust of wet, hot wind rushed through the bar. We all turned to take in the new patron, gawking at them for something to do instead of staring at the television screens. It was a young guy, he looked barely old enough to gain entrance, but he showed his ID to the bouncer at the door and the man waved him through.

"That's my friend, Charles," Lena said, sliding off the stool she had been sitting on and touching us both lightly on the back as if in thanks. "Thanks for the company, gentleman." She walked over to the boy and pulled him into a hug that was a little too long for a casual greeting. They walked over to a set of tables in the corner and sat down and immediately began to talk animatedly.

"Lost to a kid, tough break." Martinez shook his head and smiled as the bartender lined up four shots of tequila in front of us.

"She'll be back," I said, even though I knew I wouldn't give her any reason. I drew the line at clients, no matter how much their smile dazzled and how nice their tits looked through the thin material of their tee. "And what the fuck is your issue with me? Making me out to be some dick with my head on backward, looking for a fight or a fuck?”

I grabbed a shot off of the bar and threw it back. It was the good shit, Martinez didn't play.

"You don't need to have her mooning all over you, she's a client," he said after he took his own shot.

"I know that shit, I wasn't trying to hit that." I grabbed the next one.

"Yeah, that's the point, you wind 'em up and then walk away, doesn't go over well with Miller, you know that shit. After Tanya Killian you gotta watch that shit." He was referring to a client Miller and James had up at the compound, our training area that doubled as a client retreat. Miller had asked me to show her around, run her through some drills because she wanted to include them in her workout routine. She had ended up inviting me in for the night and then getting all pissed when I refused. She had even tried to get me fired. I had only flirted a little, it was second-nature.

"I couldn't help that shit," I set the shot glass down.

"Yeah, you could, tone the flirt down." He signaled for another round. We were going through the drinks a little too fast. I would have to slow it down. I liked to drink, but I didn't like to get drunk. I didn't like to be impaired, in any way.

"I could say the same for you." I shook my head and pulled out my phone when a text came through, the phone vibrating in my pocket.

When I checked the screen it wasn't a text, but a news alert. A message was broadcasting on the television also. The whole bar went quiet when the jarring sound of an emergency broadcast sounded over all of the screens.

"This is not a test, this is an emergency alert. The federal government has issued the following warning- all airplane travel has been suspended to the following cities due to the iKPV virus, New York, Miami, and Atlanta. All travel in and out of those cities has been suspended until further notice. The federal government has restricted airplane travel to the following cities..."

"Holy fuck," Martinez mumbled into his beer.

"It's worse than they’re making it out to be." I couldn't imagine how bad the infection rate must be if they suspended travel. Not to mention, why would they suspend airfare, but have the cities still open? If it was really that bad they would probably have to close down the entire city, nothing in or out, driving, flying, train, you name it. Full quarantine. But that would have the whole country in a panic and the government didn't like panic. Panic led to looting, lawlessness, and general chaos. General chaos never did well for the politicians.

"It has to be, if they had it contained they wouldn't lock the cities down." He pulled out his phone and began to search the web. "There isn't much on any of the blogs, though, just saying airlines are better incubators for the virus so as a precaution they are restricting travel."

"That doesn't ring true." I shook my head. They wouldn't suspend air travel just as a precaution. That would cost the airlines millions of dollars. You don’t take a loss like that as a precaution, you do it as a last resort.

"No, it doesn't, but no one is screaming foul, not even the conservative blogs," he said as he typed something in. "I'm getting 503 errors for a few of them, that's strange." He kept searching on his phone, shaking his head as his searches didn’t return anything substantial.

"Since we're off tomorrow, we should probably do a bit of research. If this infection comes to New Orleans, we need to be prepared. If they're feeding misinformation to keep everyone calm, we'll have to dig deeper. I don’t want to get caught with my pants down.”

"Yeah, you're right, we'll need Flip and his skills." He sent off a quick text to Flip. Jerome Flip was our tech expert, he could work magic with anything that plugged in or charged up. He could also hack the NSA if he had the inclination...considering they were the ones that recruited him when he was fourteen. He had always wanted to run around with a weapon, so when Blake Miller recruited him, he promised he would train him. From what I had heard he was driving Miller crazy with his dreams of becoming a hard ass.

James and Miller had put together a really good team with MJ Security. The company was only a few years old, but it was bringing in business left and right. I had been in it since the beginning, both Martinez and I. I know I bitched about Martinez a lot, but he and I had always gotten along. He was my brother in every sense of the word. We had met in MARSOC and had been deployed under Blake Miller's command right after training, sent straight to the shit. We were wet-behind-the-ears and dying for some action. Young, dumb and with a shit-ton of bullets, as they say. It's where we met Zach James, Miller's partner in the firm and a man I would follow into Hell itself if he asked me.

When James had contacted me, pitching me his idea about the firm, I didn't bat an eye. It also helped that we were both from New Orleans and he was dead set on putting the home-base in the area. I would be able to move home, connect with my family and make a living at what I knew best. I wasn't surprised when Martinez followed, even though he was from Texas. It wasn't hard for him to get home, especially during the holidays. I had even made a few trips with him to Austin to visit his family, he had a few really hot cousins.