As it broke away, Terrell threw another rock, striking another ghoul in the back, and it turned as well, joining in the pursuit. By the time four staggered throws had sent a handful of creatures coming his way, they were fairly spread out. With their collective moans he didn’t have to launch any more projectiles, as they pulled their brethren away all by themselves.
He stepped up to the first one, using his cleaver to crack down on the zombie’s head, splitting the skull like a coconut and dropping it. He yanked out the blade and awaited the next one, dispatching it with a quick swipe, sending a good portion of the top of its head flying through the air.
We are definitely adding kitchen grade cutlery to the shopping list, he thought as he struck the third one down with ease. After the fourth, the remaining eight came at him more bunched together. He didn’t want to risk being overwhelmed, so he began a strike and retreat tactic.
Terrell darted forward, kicking one creature down and striking the one beside it across the face before leaping several feet back to reset. It took him a few minutes, as he was being overcautious, but he needed to take the turtle way, slow and steady wins the race. Or, slow and steady survived the zombies.
After he had cleared the congregation, he stood over his pile of bodies, admiring the cleaver, covered in blood but still shiny and silver. He wiped it on a ghoul to clean it off and then moved to the house.
He gently turned the knob of the back door, sneaking in quietly. As he headed up the hallway, he froze at the sight of the front door wide open, a few dead zombies laying on the floor. His heart raced as he ran to the back bedroom.
“Walter!” he yelled, all cautiousness gone from his brain. He froze in the hallway, seeing the door cracked open, splinters of wood on the floor and the dresser overturned in the bedroom. He rushed inside, looking around frantically. “Walter!?”
No reply.
He checked the closet and then screwed his fists into his eyes, letting out a deep breath before turning back towards the door. Next to the frame was a piece of paper skewered to the wall with a knife. In big letters scrawled across, it read, Still need a tire?
Terrell roared, tearing the note down and crumpling it in his fists, tearing it apart and throwing the pieces to the floor. He grabbed the knife from the wall, and swallowed hard when he realized it was Walter’s.
He clenched his jaw as he sheathed the knife. “By the time I’m done with him, this motherfucker’s gonna wish his momma was never born.”
CHAPTER TEN
Coleman and Miles watched from their windows as the five men in pursuit of them took up positions outside of the school.
“Think we should take a few potshots at them?” Miles asked.
Coleman shrugged. “Honestly, I’d save them for the window once they’re inside,” he replied.
They continued watching as the gunmen outside motioned for each other to move up, but none of them did so yet.
“So, any regrets?” Coleman asked, as conversational as if he were discussing the weather that day.
Miles barked a soft laugh. “You mean in general, or just today?” he asked. “Because I really regret not going back for seconds with that meal Ruth and June cooked up.”
His friend chuckled and shook his head. “Nah man, I mean any regrets joining up with us?” he asked, voice sincere. “If you hadn’t done that, you could be out there with them, fighting over who gets to be the first suicide runner up here.”
Miles smirked. “Well, if I was out there with them,” he teased, “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have made it this far.”
“Bold to think you could catch me,” Coleman quipped with a wink.
His friend cocked a brow. “Even bolder to think I’m that bad of a shot.”
“If you were that good of a shot,” Coleman shot back, “we wouldn’t be relying on zombies to bail us out.”
Miles laughed, nodding. “That’s a fair point.”
“So seriously though, man,” Coleman said, sobering a little. “Any regrets?”
His friend shook his head. “None whatsoever,” he said immediately. “I was never a fan of being the aggressor in a fight. Feels a whole lot better to help defend it from invaders than to be one of the invaders, you know?”
“With you a hundred precent of the way there, man,” Coleman agreed. “Just sad that we’ve had way too many opportunities of late to be defenders.”
Miles nodded, frowning. “Ain’t that the fucking truth.”
Outside, it seemed that their invader’s negotiations were at an end as one of them got up from their position to rush forward.
“Looks like one of them finally drew the short straw,” Coleman said.
Miles took aim, squeezing off a single shot that caught the running man in the arm, sending him spinning t o the ground. The other four men in hiding immediately opened fire, causing the two soldiers to drop to the ground.
“Yeah, zero chance you would have been able to shoot me,” Coleman grunted.
Miles smirked. “In my defense, that guy is a lot skinnier than you,” he quipped.
His friend rolled his eyes. “Excuses, excuses,” he retorted.
The two men crawled on the ground of the classroom as bullets tore through the glass. As they got to the door, they slid into the hallway, springing to their feet as the concrete wall gave them some cover. They rushed down the hall to the other classrooms, about ten yards away from where they’d been pressed against the floor. They each took up position on either side of the hall, getting to the ground and aiming up the hallway.
“How long you think it’s going to take for them to realize we’re not in the windows?” Miles asked.
The gunfire continued outside.
“Apparently a little longer,” Coleman replied.
They stayed out of sight, looking up the hallway. The noise had attracted several zombies to the front wall glass, with half a dozen of them now pressed up against it.
“Well, at least we’ve drawn out some more reinforcements,” Miles said brightly.
His friend wrinkled his nose. “Let’s just hope we don’t get too many more of them,” he said. “I would rather not get overwhelmed today if I can help it.”
Miles nodded as the gunfire outside finally stopped. The soldiers remained silent, listening as the intruders entered the building. Their feet stomped on broken glass in the classroom.
“You hold them in,” Miles whispered, “I’ll take care of the glass.”
Coleman nodded, waiting for their enemies to emerge from the classroom. As soon as the first barrel emerged, he squeezed off a shot that missed the target and smacked into the doorframe.
“Dammit,” he muttered, regretting making fun of Miles’ aim. Karma was a bitch.
The gunmen began shooting frantically from around the corner, not even aiming at all. Miles, on the other hand, aimed deliberately to the front window. He fired once, creating a crack in the glass.
“Shit, it’s reinforced,” he muttered.
One of the gunmen came into the hallway, firing several times towards Coleman as he tried to get to the room across the hall. Miles diverted his aim, shooting the man in the gut and dropping him to the ground. The man screamed in pain, writhing on the linoleum.
“Hit the glass!” Coleman yelled.
Miles aimed at the window again. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and unloaded the rest of the rounds in his assault rifle. They tore through the glass, sending spiderwebs of cracks all the way through it. The noise from inside enraged the creatures on the outside, and they started to push against it with all the hunger burning inside their rotted guts.
The combined force of the zombies against the weakened window caused it to crumble inwards. There was a loud clattering of glass shards on the tiles as they broke in. A large piece hung above them as they started to walk in, which gave way after a moment.
It fell straight down, scraping against the back of one of the zombies coming in, shaving off the back of it and leaving it behind outside
.
The wounded man on the ground looked back to see that several creatures were headed his way, and he panicked. “Get me out of here!” he screamed at his friends. “I don’t want to die!”
One of his friends darted out of the classroom in an attempt to rescue his wounded comrade. As soon as he cleared the doorway, Coleman unloaded a three-shot burst, catching the man in the torso and head with two bullets. His blood splattered across the fallen man, and as the body crumpled next to him he began to shriek incoherently.
Miles tossed his rifle aside, hopping up off of the ground and running up to the doorway, knife at the ready.
The wounded man looked in at his friends. “STOP!” he screamed, but they must have assumed he was yelling at the zombies, because one of them entered the hallway anyway.
Miles grabbed the new enemy by the arm, yanking him out of the classroom and slamming him against the wall. The impact caused him to lose control of his gun, which hit the floor. The two of them scuffled, exchanging a few punches that didn’t have much impact in the tight space.
As they fought, one of the man’s friends took aim at Miles, but ducked back behind cover as Coleman unloaded another few rounds, narrowly missing his opponent’s face. The soldier pulled the trigger again, but there was just a dull click.
“Dammit,” Coleman muttered, and rushed forward as the two remaining men entered the hallway.
One turned towards Miles, and the other aimed at the oncoming zombies that inched ever closer to their human buffet. Coleman whipped his empty rifle at Miles’ attacker, and the man instinctively flinched, allowing the soldier to reach him.
Coleman attempted a headbutt, but the man ducked to the side just in time and the hit glanced off of his cheek. Both men were about the same size, so neither could get the advantage to throw the other. They wrapped their hands around each other’s collars, struggling to gain the upper hand.
The man focused on the zombies aimed and fired, striking the lead creature in the head. He quickly reloaded and fired at the skinned zombie, taking it out. As he reloaded to take out the other four, he froze, eyes fixed on the shattered window. A mass of creatures swarmed the opening, at least forty of them, drawn by the gunfire.
“Guys!” the man screamed. “GUYS!”
The four men engaged in fisticuffs paused, looking over at the oncoming horde.
Coleman turned back to his opponent. “Truce?” he asked breathlessly.
The man nodded furiously, and they let go of each other. Miles leapt off of his opponent from the floor, and he and his tentative comrade grabbed the arms of the wounded man on the floor, dragging him along the linoleum.
They stopped at the first classroom across the hall from their entry point, looking through to see zombies pressed up against the windows they’d entered in. Coleman grunted and looked around, and then pointed to the end of the hall at the sign for the Library.
“Library, let’s move!” he cried, and he and his ex-attacker sprinted down the hallway as the other two continued to drag the wounded man.
They burst in through the heavy wooden doors of the library, giving the room a quick sweep and finding no resistance. As soon as Miles and his gaggle were through, Coleman clammed the door shut as they set the groaning man on the ground.
“Bookcase, let’s go!” Miles barked, wrapping his arm around one of the heavy shelves. The four of them dragged it together, leaning it up against the door. “Okay Bubba,” he continued, pointing to the shorter heavyset of their new companions, “you lean up against this and make sure nothing gets in.”
The man simply nodded and complied, seemingly too panicked to offer any resistance.
Coleman ran over to the windows, attempting to open them but stopping when he realized that they were not only locked, but there were bars on the outside. The man he’d been fighting with headed over, letting out a sigh of frustration at the situation.
“Why in the holy hell would they have bars on the windows?” he demanded, throwing up his arms. “Who would be riskin jail for some books?”
Coleman glanced over to the computer lab in the corner of the room. “Probably to protect those,” he suggested, motioning to the machines.
“Damn computers are gonna be the death of us all,” the guy muttered, shaking his head.
Miles approached them, and ran his hands through his short hair. “So now what?” he asked, and then they all turned towards the door as zombies began to bang on the hard wood. The portly guy against the bookcase moaned in fear, pressing himself back against it with all he had.
Coleman pursed his lips as he surveyed the room, only concrete walls and bookcases, with barred windows. “Don’t know yet.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Terrell approached the edge of the junkyard. It was a small lot near the edge of town, with cheap metal fencing blocking out the entirety of the lot. The building was decently sized, with an office and sales area and a garage attached to the side of it with the rolling metal door closed.
He surveyed the area, seeing a few dead zombies in the road leading up to it, no doubt the handiwork of Mario and his friends. The gate to the junkyard was closed off as well, with nothing moving inside of it.
Okay, so you know this is a trap, he thought bitterly. They know you know this is a trap. So how to play this? He stared up at the building, hoping to see any sort of clue to tip him off about what they had planned, but there were no hints. If they wanted me dead they would have just killed Walter and told me where they were. Since they took him hostage, they’re probably going to let me inside and not shoot me as I walk across the street.
He rolled his eyes at his flimsy logic, but he didn’t really have any other option. He had to do everything he could to save the kid.
Terrell stood up and secured the cleaver on his back belt, with the handle hanging up and the blade tucked into it. Not the most comfortable of hiding spots, but it was the best he could do at the moment.
As he approached the front door, it opened slowly, and a guy with a rifle stood there, aiming dead at Terrell.
“You the welcoming committee?” the Captain asked dryly.
The gunman stared at him. “Something like that.”
“Guess you want me to put my gun down,” Terrell said.
The man cocked his head. “I would appreciate it if you would.”
“Can I at least hand it over to you?” the Captain asked, matching his polite tone. “Would rather not have it scuffed up from being on the blacktop.”
“If I were you,” the gunman drawled with a smirk, “I’d be worried about what Mario is gonna do to you. Your gun’s paint job isn’t going to matter much to you in a minute.”
Terrell reached the door, getting a little closer. “This gun saw me through thick and thin overseas,” he explained. “Fighting for your right to be a murderous prick, just so you know.”
“Well thank you for your service,” the gunman mocked, rolling his eyes. “Not that it’s doing a whole lotta good now.”
Terrell came within a few feet of the man, holding out his rifle. “Doing more than you think,” he said, and then tossed the gun. As soon as the man broke eye contact with him, he drew his cleaver and darted to the side, out of the way of the gun barrel.
The gunman panicked, firing a shot and missing badly. Terrell jumped forward, bringing the blade down on the man’s forearm, slicing right through it and into the wooden handle of the rifle.
The gun, with the hand connected to it, dropped to the ground, and a spray of blood coated the asphalt as the man fell to his knees in shock. Terrell bent over to pick up his own gun, dusting it off as his opponent tried in vain to stop the bleeding out of his missing limb.
“This is what you get for not treating my weapon with respect,” Terrell said coldly, and then slammed the butt of the rifle into the man’s pallid face. He slumped to the ground, unconscious, crimson pooling underneath him.
The Captain sheathed his cleaver and raised his gun before heading through th
e door. The showroom was surprisingly nice, with checkerboard marble flooring and several shiny new car parts in a display in the center. Along the walls were more car parts and tires, as well as a giant board advertising the Pick and Pull pricing on junkyard parts.
He scanned the room, not seeing any signs of Walter or Mario. The sound of a wrench clattering on the ground in the garage put him on edge.
No way that was an accident, he thought, and moved slowly and quietly towards the garage, gun at the ready. He entered the open door, the scent of grease and oil filling his nostrils as he skirted a beat up car on a hydraulic lift.
Behind the other empty bay stood Mario. His arm curled around Walter’s neck, his other hand pressing the barrel of a handgun into the kid’s temple.
“I’d put that down if I were you,” Mario said with a sneer.
Terrell kept his gun aimed straight at his face. “And I’d think long and hard about doing anything to that boy.”
“Oh, this boy?” Mario asked innocently, grabbing the kid’s cheeks and squeezing them together.
Walter shook his head away, and his captor pressed the gun harder into his flesh, making him wince with pain.
“Settle down there,” Mario warned.
The kid tried to squirm away. “Let me go!” he demanded.
“Stay calm, buddy,” Terrell said gently. “I’ll get you out of this.”
Mario laughed. “I wouldn’t believe him if I were you,” he said into Walter’s ear.
“What do you want?” Terrell asked, narrowing his eyes.
Mario glared at him. “What do I want?” he asked, and then let out a humorless laugh. “I want you to suffer for what you did to me.”
“You saw that big book of torture,” the Captain replied easily. “I could have done a whole lot worse than just letting you go.”
His opponent shook his head. “I doubt it,” he replied. “The Boss wasn’t too pleased with me that I cut and ran.”
“Not my fault you’re a pussy,” Terrell quipped.
Mario snarled, pressing harder on the gun. “Let’s keep it polite, shall we?” he asked. “I’d hate to have you watch me blow his brains out.”
Dead America The Third Week Box Set | Books 7-12 Page 19