The sun glared down on the rocky stretch of desert that had once been called New Mexico. The heat was oppressive, causing all but the heartiest of creatures to seek shelter.

Crouching low, Lieutenant Alan Johnston and his two scouts climbed the rocky hillside. Near the ridge’s crest Alan turned to Private Nick Taylor. "Stay here and keep an eye open."

"Yes, sir," Nick wiped the sweat from his brow, and unslung the submachinegun from his back.

Since the opening shots of the war some four years ago, the Borderlands had become a sprawling war zone between two rival nations. Eight months ago the Second Republic of Texas and the Western Confederation had locked horns in what became known as the Battle of Albuquerque. The five week long pitched battle had mauled the two armies to the point that both sides retreated home to lick their wounds, leaving the war torn Borderlands unoccupied for the first time since the outbreak of the war. However, the uneasy peace was about to be broken. Boosting their numbers with Mexican mercenaries and a volunteer contingent from the free city of New Orleans, Texas was currently forming a new army in El Paso. The second phase of the Borderlands War was about to begin.

However, barely a month before the new army was scheduled to march, Texan spies in the Western Confederation began to report that a detachment from Phoenix was moving into the Borderlands. The purpose of this detachment was unknown, but Texas began to fear that if they didn’t locate these soldiers and discover their intentions, the initiative might pass back to the Western Confederation. They dispatched Lieutenant Alan Johnston of the Texas Rangers with two handpicked scouts to the Borderlands to locate this force and report back to Austin with as much information as possible on their makeup and their mission in the Borderlands.

Alan and Corporal Jose Rios continued up the hill.

As the passed over the crest, a small but widely dispersed camp came into view on the valley floor. Jose, who had scouted the area during the night, motioned Alan to follow him on down the slope. Moving silently, the two men moved to a position about a quarter of the way down. Concealed by a jagged outcrop of rocks, they peered down into the valley below.

Alan removed his pack and began searching for the binoculars.

Jose was already peering over the rocks, using his hand to shield the sun from his eyes.

"See anything?" Alan asked.

"A lot of activity for this far in the middle of nowhere. Eight, no, nine horses and four vehicles - one jeep and three heavy trucks. Aside from the fifty-caliber mounted on the jeep I don’t see any heavy weapons."

Finding the binoculars, Alan took a peek for himself. "Yeah . . . too many to be a recon or a raid, but not enough to be anything serious."

"What then?"

"I don’t know."

The vehicles were parked on one side of the camp alongside a neat row of six small tents. The trucks were more than likely being used as a headquarters and as food and ammunition storage while the camp’s inhabitants slept in the tents. This was what triggered the first alarm bell in Alan’s mind - there wasn’t enough sleeping quarters for the amount of activity he was seeing.

The rest of the area seemed to be set up like a military training center. A dozen men in fatigues, armed with M-16s were lined up facing a row of dummies. At the end of the row an instructor was shouting orders and the troops were clumsily going through the motions of firing, but no noise or smoke was issuing forth - they were drilling with empty clips. On the far side of the camp, another group was running through an obstacle course. Alan noticed that in stark contrast to the lackluster performance on the firing line, these recruits were quite adept at the obstacle course. Closer to the vehicles, another instructor was teaching a smaller group to mount horses. Alan noticed the horses seemed skittish. It seemed the Instructor was having more trouble with the horse than he was with the recruit. Alan zoomed in to see why.

"What the hell? . . . Sweet mother of God"

"What?" Jose said, squinting his eyes against the sun as he tried to make out what had startled the lieutenant.

Alan didn’t reply. His mouth agape, his eyes continued seeing what his mind simply didn’t want to believe was possible.

A burst of automatic gunfire erupted from the other side of the ridge. This burst was answered by several others. Judging by the amount of gunfire, Nick was heavily outnumbered.

Jose unslung his submachinegun and Alan drew his pistol. They started back up the slope, but before they made the crest the firing stopped and it became obvious Nick had lost the brief firefight.

Alan and Jose took cover in a shallow ravine and scanned the ridge above them.

Two silhouettes darted for cover to the right. Jose fired a quick burst but missed.

Alan saw another pair crest the ridge and run for cover. He didn’t both firing - it was too far off for them to hope to hit with either the pistol or the submachinegun. His decision to leave his rifle on his horse in order to travel light was coming back to haunt him.

Concentrated rifle fire opened up from these the two advanced positions – cover fire, no doubt. Jose chanced a glance over the rock and caught a glimpse of four men crouching low as they advanced; he fired a burst and one of the men went down. Surprisingly the man bounced back up and darted after his comrades.

"Damn!" Jose swore. "They’re wearing vests!"

Alan solemnly shook his head, "No, they’re not."

Suddenly the cover fire ceased. The silence was every bit as abrupt and startling as the gunfire had been. Alan and Jose nervously exchanged glances.

"Soldiers of Texas, we have you surrounded!" A voice called out. "Give yourselves up and you will not be harmed!"

"Go to hell!" Alan shouted.

The gunfire immediately resumed. Now with the additional fire of the closer positions, the two men were caught in virtual maelstrom of lead. Unable to raise their heads from behind the rocks, they awaited their fate. Soon Alan saw troops taking up positions behind them; either they had been flanked or the recruits from below had climbed up the slope to join the fray. Despite the range, Alan opened fire and Jose joined in. Two of their attackers went down, but one got right back up – the second must have suffered a head wound.

"What do we do?" Jose asked.

Before Alan could answer, a grenade was lobed over the rocks and right at Alan’s feet. He managed to kick it away, but not far enough.

The blast was tremendous. Alan was luckier than Jose - he wasn’t hit by any of the flying shrapnel. However, the shock of the explosion propelled him backwards, slamming his head into the rocks. The sky seemed to rock and toss like an ocean while the world spun about in his head. Teetering on the border of consciousness, Alan wasn’t aware when the gunfire stopped, and he was only vaguely aware when his pistol was pried from his hand.

His mind was still swimming when a shadow loomed over him. He sleepily looked up and saw the figure standing over him with an M-16 to its shoulder. Rotting blackish-blue skin clung precariously to the creature’s exposed jawbone. One eye was missing and the other was milky and deflated in its socket. Over the walking corpse’s shoulder someone said, "End of the line, Ranger."

Alan slipped unconscious.

* * *

The door to the dark back of the truck was only opened long enough for the men to roughly toss Alan inside, but the momentary light from the outside gave Alan a brief glimpse of Jose lying in the far corner. The boy looked rough. His face was battered and both eyes were swollen shut. So much blood had soaked Jose’s his tattered fatigue that if it wasn’t for the rising and falling of his chest Alan would have thought he was dead.

There was enough professional respect between the Rangers and their Western Confederation counterparts, the Riders, to keep Alan’s interrogation to nothing more than a simple roughing up – at least for the time being. Jose, on the other hand, was nothing more than enlisted man in the Texas Border Guard. Jose was the best scout Alan had ever worked with, but he was nothing but a grunt in the eyes of their captors. And to top it all off, Jose’s lower left leg and foot had been ripped to shreds by shrapnel.

Jose’s labored breathing echoed through the darkness.

Alan rolled over and propped himself against the wall. He ran his hand through his hair and found dried blood where he’d hit his head.

"I didn’t tell’em nothing, sir," Jose rasped. He coughed once, then repeated himself. "I didn’t tell’em a damn thing."

"I know," Alan said. "I knew you wouldn’t. You’re a good soldier, Jose."

There was a long pause then Jose began to speak. His voice was as strained as his breathing. "I wanted to be a Ranger. Have ever since I was a boy. Applied as soon as I was old enough, but they didn’t want me. Wasn’t white enough, not after they got scared over the trouble in Laredo."

"That’s Austin’s loss. You’d’ve made one hell of a Ranger."

"Thank you, sir."

Alan was about to say more, but he was interrupted when the truck’s back door was suddenly rolled up. The sudden light blinded Alan. All he could see was a pair of featureless silhouettes in the doorway. He wondered if they were dead or alive.

"Lieutenant Johnston and Corporal Rios," one of the silhouettes said. Alan recognized the voice from his interrogation – it was Captain Tyson Mather, the Rider in charge of this operation.

"Mather," Alan replied with a nonchalant nod. Despite his recent beating, Alan refused to show he was the least bit intimidated.

"You’ll have to excuse the rude introduction to our camp."

"Camp? Is that what you call this place? I believe I could have come up with some better names."

"Oh, please," Mather said. "You’re just upset because we thought about it before you did."

"No, Texas would never stoop to arming Walkers. They’re dangerous enough without weapons."

"Dangerous, yes. Dangerous, fearless, ruthless and cunning. They know no pain and certainly have no qualms about killing. Now they’re armed and they answer to us. We’re not just teaching them to pick up guns, we’re teaching them to follow orders."

"They answer to no one. You teach them to pick up guns and before you know it they’ll turn on you."

Mather laughed and Alan instantly didn’t like the sound of it. "You Texans are so damn hardheaded. I knew that was what you were going to say, so I prepared a little demonstration." Mather motioned to Jose and said, "Bring him."

Four silhouettes entered the back of the truck. Two pinned Alan to the wall while the other two grabbed Jose and roughly hauled him to his feet. After Jose was taken outside, the two walkers dragged Alan over to the door so he could see.

They were carrying Jose to the shooting range where an undead firing squad was waiting.

"You left Texas from El Paso," Mather said. "I already know your government is gathering a force there for an offensive into the Borderlands. I want to know the details."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Alan said. "You know we were just as battered as y’all were after the Battle of Albuquerque. It will be a year at least before we can get another army together."

"You’re lying," Mather said.

Alan didn’t reply.

"All this for a worthless piece of rock and sand," Mather said with a sigh.

Jose was tied to a post before the firing squad and left there. His mouth moved as he slumped against his restraints. Alan couldn’t make out what he was say, but imagined he was either praying or attempting give words to a defiance of his heart that had not faltered despite his broken body.

Alan recognized the firing squad’s commander as Lieutenant Mark Nelson, the other Rider at the camp. Nelson had taken great pleasure in Alan’s interrogation and had to be reined in by Mather several times. Alan imagined this sick individual had enthusiastically volunteered for this terrible assignment.

"Ready!" Nelson called out.

Alan turned to Mather. "This is an affront to God."

"God?" Mather said with a laugh.

"Aim!"

"If there is a God" Mather said "you can rest assured he forgot all about us when he sent the plague then decided to let the dead get up and take to killing us."

"Fire!"

The Walkers obviously weren’t the best of shots, but enough found their mark to do the trick. One shot hit Jose in the head; at least he wouldn’t be getting back up.

Mather turned to Alan. "Unless you’ve had a change of heart and decided to become a little more cooperative, you’ll be on that post first thing in the morning."

* * *

Alan spent the entire night planning; he desperately wanted to get back to Austin to report what was going on out here in the desert. However, the escape plans changed to plans to go down fighting when he realized the odds he was up against. Aside from the dead soldiers, there was a sizeable detachment of living troops present - Confederation regulations prescribed each Rider a tent but regulars slept three to a tent, so six tents meant the two Riders were backed by twelve regulars. As for the walkers, Mather had referred to them as a company and from what Alan had seen this seemed to be an accurate description of their strength – a Confederation Company ranged from thirty-four to forty-two soldiers. It was a common saying back in the Republic that one Ranger was worth a dozen, but he didn’t think one Ranger could handle sixty. The best he could hope for would be to snatch a rifle from the walkers escorting him to the stake and take out a few before they cut him down.

When the door finally clanged open the next morning, even this vague hope diminished when five, not two, dark silhouettes stepped into the truck to escort him to his doom.

When Alan’s eyes finally grew accustomed to the light he realized that four these were Walkers and the fifth was Nelson. The Walkers hoisted Alan to his feet.

Nelson leaned in close to Alan’s face and said. "I’ve moved the line closer to the post today, Ranger. I even narrowed my squad down to four men. I didn’t want them to get a headshot or do so much damage that you wouldn’t get back up. I think it would be nice to have a Texas Ranger in the Confederation’s first Walker Battalion"

Alan noticed his own familiar pistol tucked into Nelson’s pants.

Nelson caught the glance, but misunderstood the meaning. "Don’t like the idea of a Rider having your gun, do you? Well, maybe I’ll give it back once you’re dead."

The four walkers shoved Alan out the door and positioned themselves one on either side and two in front while Nelson stood behind him.

As they started across the yard, Alan took a quick glance around. Four Walkers were positioned near the stake – obviously the firing squad. One group and an instructor were working the obstacle course, and another group was near the horses – it was with much pleasure that Alan noticed his own horse wasn’t cooperating in the least. Since much of the training grounds were being used for his impromptu execution, many of the dead warriors were idly standing around. Near the truck that was being used as the headquarters, Mather and three of the regulars were preparing to watch the execution. They were sitting in lawn chairs drinking tall glasses of water.

Mather saw Alan looking his way and raised his glass in a silent toast.

Alan’s hat had been missing ever since the firefight on the ridge; nevertheless, he reached up and touched an imaginary brim.

Then all hell broke loose.

Alan whirled around, grabbed his pistol, and attempted to free it from Nelson’s belt. Nelson was able to grab the Alan’s hand just as the pistol was being drawn – he was fast, just not fast enough. Alan pulled the trigger, firing pointblank into Nelson’s lower abdomen.

Alan whirled around but not before a rough blow landed on his shoulder followed by another on his back as the dead troopers used the butts of their rifles to subdue their prisoner. The pistol fell to the ground.

"What the hell is going on!?" Mather shouted as he strode across the grounds with the three regulars right behind him.

Alan looked up and saw that one of the four walkers had become excited at the sight of blood and was using his claws to rip into Nelson.

The other three walkers were as expressionless as always, but the way they were cutting their eyes back and forth from Nelson, to each other, and to Mather spoke volumes – they were confused.

Alan pointed toward Mather and the regulars and shouted, "Fire!"

Only one of the Walkers complied, but that was enough. With an inhuman shriek, he raised his M-16 and opened fire on full automatic, cutting down one of his Walker comrades who happened to be in the way. Mather and the three regulars dove for cover. The Walker’s aim was too high, but the distraction was all Alan needed.

Alan grabbed his gun from the ground, killed the walker who was attacking Nelson, then drew Nelson’s pistol with his left hand and put a bullet into the Rider’s head.

Firing as he ran, Alan started back to the truck that had been his cell overnight.

Alan heard the fifty caliber open up as he dove into the back of the truck. A series of holes etched across both sides of the truck as the heavy bullets passed through the truck just over Alan’s head. Alan stayed on his belly, facing the entrance to his cell. Twice a Walker poked its head around the corner and peered into the truck – twice Alan sent a Walker down with a bullet to the head.

Several minutes passed without the gunfire letting up. Alan wasn’t sure who was winning, but he didn’t want to stick around and find out. Staying low, he crawled toward the door, and then put his fingers to his lips and whistled. In seconds his horse appeared and Alan leaped into the saddle.

Alan kicked the horse’s flanks and they headed toward the ridge with bullets flying all about them. He took the reins in his teeth and returned fire with both pistols.

Halfway across the grounds, Alan hazarded a look back and saw Mather trying to fight off the host of undead. Judging by the amount of blood, the Rider had been hit several times, but his gun was still blazing away. Alan hoped he took a head wound before it was over.

Alan was at the top of the ridge before he took another glance back down at the camp. Now only a few scattered shots could be heard below. There was no more life in the camp, only the walking dead and the dead who had yet to get up.

Alan reined his horse around and started back down the other side of the ridge.

End.

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