Dead America The Third Week Box Set, Vol. 1 [Books 1-6 ]

by Slaton, Derek

  “Watkins, fuck!” he gasped, trying to hold his wound shut as his friend’s body hit the ground with a blood-soaked wet smack. “Come on, man, come on, you’re gonna be okay…” His voice was weak at the unmoving body of his fallen friend, and tears stung the corners of his eyes. The pool of blood beneath him grew and grew, and the strength left his body with each waterfall over his fingers.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Buddy watched helplessly from behind the transport, gut tightening at the cold realization that he couldn’t do anything to help the two soldiers. He waited, watching four men come out of hiding from a nearby store, all holding hunting rifles. They were dressed in jeans and t-shirts, ranging in age from what looked like early twenties up to to late fifties.

  From his vantage point, he watched as they approached the fallen soldiers, laughing and hooting and exchanging high fives. Jones’ hand reached up weakly, and one of the younger of the group kicked him swiftly. The hand dropped, and more excitement rose in the men.

  Rage built within the hiding man, and he gripped his tire iron with white knuckles. Calm down, Buddy, he thought to himself. You can’t do shit if they shoot you before you get close to them.

  He looked around frantically, glancing over a nearby row of shops and then looking back the way they’d come. Several zombies staggered from that direction, the next side street quite a ways away.

  If I run down the street and they see me, they’ll pop me in the back of the head before I can get to cover, he thought bitterly, and turned back to the store nearest him. Looks like I’m going shopping.

  He glanced back around the truck to the group congregating over the dead soldiers, and made doubly sure they weren’t paying attention to him. Without overthinking his plan, he darted across to the store, grabbing the knob and turning it.

  His heart sank as it caught. Locked.

  “We got a live one!” somebody yelled, and a bullet whizzed by his head, punching the door frame in front of him.

  “Fuck this,” Buddy snarled, and smashed the glass door with his tire iron. He dove inside as several more shots littered the store front, barely missing him.

  He stayed low as he rushed through the racks of cheap clothing and knick knacks, the gunshots fading outside and quickly replaced by pounding feet. He reached the back of the store, next to the fire exit, kneeling down beside it. He looked through a crack in the counter to watch the front door, concealing himself in the darkness.

  “You two, go hunt him down,” one of the men bellowed. “We’re gonna get this truck secure.”

  Another man whined, “Why do we have to do it?”

  “Because I fucking said so,” the first one snapped. “Now get going, before I beat your ass.”

  Before they could set foot inside, Buddy popped out the fire exit, light flooding the back of the store.

  “He’s going out the back!” somebody cried as he burst into the alley.

  The door slammed behind him and he took off like a shot, or at least as quick of a shot as his large frame allowed. He reached the end of the block and skidded around the corner as the fire door slammed open behind him, a shot narrowly missing his ass as he ran.

  He pumped his legs as fast as he could towards a residential neighborhood ahead. Gotta get to cover, he thought frantically as he tore towards the first set of houses that weren’t on the main stretch of road. He needed to stay out of sight of the truck, and the assholes stealing it.

  A zombie stumbled out from between two houses and he whacked it immediately with the tire iron, sending it crumpling to the ground as he sprinted for the back of the house. He ducked at the back corner, checking to make sure the coast was clear before continuing. Across the street, one of the houses’ front door was wide open.

  There’s probably a whole heap of trouble inside there, he thought bitterly, though it would be a sure thing that he could get inside without meeting a locked door and a bullet to the back of the head.

  Yelling erupted behind him, and he took off again, making it up the front steps of the house before shots rung out again. He dove through the door, nearly pitching over onto his face as he leapt into the living room for cover.

  A zombie moaned from the kitchen door frame, and Buddy raised his tire iron, but then lowered it again. He lashed out and grabbed its arm, spinning it around. He took a fistful of its shirt right in the middle of its back, and hooked his other hand into the back of its jeans, holding it at arm's length.

  The creature flailed about, attempting to reach around to grab at the fresh meat, but unable to do so. Buddy backed into the kitchen, away from the front door while holding his undead shield in front of him. He took a knee behind it, laying in wait.

  The men reached the house, and split as soon as they came through the door. One entered the living room and Buddy thrust forward with all of his strength, pressing the zombie into his attacker.

  His opponent fired, the bullet tearing through the ghoul’s torso and narrowly missing Buddy’s arm. He pressed harder, and the man’s arms gave out, the zombie’s mouth latching onto his shoulder. He screamed and blood splattered across the wallpaper as Buddy shoved them both to the living room floor.

  The man in the hallway struggled with the bolt on his hunting rifle, managing to finally load a round and firing. The zombie’s head exploded, and he ran forward to help his fallen friend. Buddy leapt in behind him and brought the tire iron down on his skull, the limp body falling over his wounded comrade.

  Chest heaving, Buddy kicked the guy’s leg to make sure he was fully out. “Yeah, you’re taking a nap for a bit,” he said.

  The bitten man whined and moaned, struggling beneath the combined weight of the zombie and his unconscious friend. He scrabbled with one hand for his rifle, but Buddy stepped over and pressed his boot down on the guy’s flexing digits.

  “Looks like we’re gonna have a nice chat here,” he said, kneeling down and putting his full weight on his prisoner’s hand. “How long of one is completely up to you. If you don’t want to bleed out, I’d suggest you be forthcoming.”

  The man hissed with pain. “Fuck… you…”

  “Not off to a great start there,” Buddy said, clucking his tongue. “I’ll make you a deal though. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll end you quick. Don’t talk… and well, you’re gonna sit and bleed for a while while I go looking in the kitchen for some salt or lemon juice.”

  The man spat a stream of blood, but it didn’t go far enough to hit his captor. “I’m not telling you shit,” he rasped. “Fuck you and your friends.”

  Buddy patted the man on the chest a few times, and then stood up, kicking the rifle away from him. He grabbed his ankle and dragged him into the kitchen, his lolling head bonking around as they went.

  He dropped the leg with a thud on the linoleum and began rifling through the cabinets in search of something painful to help the man speak.

  “Do whatever you want…” the guy groaned. “I’m not saying shit.”

  Buddy grunted as he found the cabinets bare. He looked around the room for any ideas, and then focused on a hook by the back door. He headed over and grabbed a chain leash connected to a large dog collar.

  “That’s fine,” he drawled as he turned around. “You don’t have to talk. But you’re gonna help me get your friend to talk.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The concussed man slowly regained consciousness from the vicious tire iron blow to the face. His eyes fluttered open, full of grogginess and pain, confusion as he tried to get a sense of his surroundings.

  “Hey man, did you get him?” he slurred. “Hey… I said did-” He stopped talking when he realized he couldn’t move. His hands were secured behind his back, his legs together and stretched out in front of him. “What the fuck is this?” He struggled some more, adrenaline bringing him more alertness, and then looked up in fear at his buddy laying facedown in a pool of blood.

  There was a collar around the corpse’s neck, attached to a chain which ran through a ho
le in the closed door behind him.

  “What the… what is this…” The restrained man lapsed into panicked gibberish, his mouth open and closing, words garbled.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “You’re gonna need to calm down if you want to survive the next five minutes,” Buddy said calmly from the other side.

  “What?” the restrained man demanded, finding his words. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Buddy rattled the chain a little. “Well, I’m the man whose friends you killed. I’m the man who you thought it was a good idea to shoot at. That wasn’t a good idea. And what I want, is information.”

  “I don’t know anything!” the man cried, face pale with panic.

  Buddy rattled the chain again. “Oh, I bet you know a whole lot more than you think you do.”

  “But I… I swear…” the man stammered between gasps. “I swear I don’t know anything.”

  Buddy clucked his tongue. “Let’s find out,” he said. “First off, how many of you are there.”

  “I’ll tell you…” the man said hoarsely, focusing on the corpse. “But you have to help my friend first!”

  Buddy swung the chain so that it moved in a loop like a skipping rope. “Your friend is beyond helping,” he drawled. “I’d start focusing on my own survival if I were you. He’s been out of it a while. Not going to be long before he wants to pay you a visit. Tell me the truth, and I’ll keep a good tight hold on his leash. Lie to me… and, well…” He let go of the chain, letting it go limp.

  The man took in a series of panicked, sharp gasps. “Okay, okay,” he stuttered, “there’s twelve of us!”

  “Including you and your friend?” Buddy asked.

  His prisoner nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, only twelve, including us.”

  “What are you doing in this town?” Buddy demanded.

  “We came here for supplies, man!” His forehead shone with sweat. “We bit off more than we could chew though… started with thirty, but ended with a dozen. We’ve been scavenging for weeks but hit the motherload here. Stocked stores, no survivors, and most of those things south of downtown.”

  Buddy furrowed his brow. “So you just blocked them off and called it a day?”

  “Pretty much, man,” the guy replied immediately, and then his eyes widened as the corpse began to stir. “Oh god, oh god!” He thrashed against his restraints.

  Buddy pulled the chain tight, keeping a good hold on the zombie as it moaned back to life. “Relax, I got him.”

  The creature looked around, and then its rheumy eyes fixed on the restrained man, and it rushed him. The guy screamed as the ghoul stopped two feet away from his legs, pulled back by his captor.

  “You’re all right,” Buddy drawled, “stop your crying.” He waited for his prisoner to simmer to a whimper. “We’re almost done now,” he continued. “You’re doing good. Just have a few more questions for you.”

  The man finally regained his composure, struggling to steady his breathing. “What else do you want to know?”

  “Where are you friends at now?” Buddy asked.

  His prisoner licked his lips. “If…” he stammered, “if you let me go, I’ll gladly take you right to them.”

  Buddy tsked his displeasure, letting go of the chain a bit, letting the snarling zombie get a foot closer to the man who was now screeching.

  “You were doing so well, there,” the truck driver cooed.

  “Okay, okay!” the guy cried. “They’re at the hospital at the north end of town! It’s straight up the highway, about six blocks up on the left! Pull him back, man!”

  Buddy kept a tight hold, but didn’t pull back. “How many zombies up there?”

  “Should be next to nothing!” the guy yelled. “We cleared ‘em out and put barricades up! Come on, man!”

  Buddy drummed his fingers on the door. “Any guard posts?”

  “Not until you get to the hospital!” his prisoner said, unable to tear his eyes away from the hungry creature. “Usually someone on watch inside!”

  He paused a minute, and then licked his lips. “You’ve done real good, pal,” he said finally. “But I have one final question. Answer it right, and you live to see another day.”

  The zombie thrashed and moaned and clawed, bloody spittle flying everywhere.

  “Okay,” the prisoner urged, squirming.

  Buddy glared through the hole in the door. “Why did you kill my two friends?”

  The restrained man went pale as a sheet. “I… uh… I mean…” he stammered. “It wasn’t me! It was Johnny Ray! He’s the one that fired and made the rest of us do it too!”

  “Johnny Ray, huh?” Buddy mused. “Is he the ringleader?”

  “Yeah, yeah, he’s in charge!” the guy screamed. “He killed your friends! He’s the one you want!”

  Buddy pursed his lips for a moment. “I’ll be sure to send your regards, then,” he said, and let go of the chain.

  The ghoul lunged forward, stumbling and falling onto the prisoner’s legs, taking a huge bite out of his calf. The man screamed as the zombie gnawed at him, moving up to the exposed skin of his neck. Buddy watched as the last bit of life drained from his prisoner’s eyes, and then took a deep breath.

  He sat in the hallway for a moment, and then pulled himself up to a standing. He checked the makeshift lock he’d made by tying a bed sheet to the knob and securing it to a bed across the hall. He’d thought it was unlikely that the zombie would be able to open the door towards itself, but with a runner he didn’t want to risk it.

  Buddy walked into the living room, the door now shut and secured. He glanced outside, making sure there weren’t any reinforcements on the way, and after a few moments of silence, he flopped down on the couch.

  “What the fuck are you gonna do now, Buddy?” he asked himself, rubbing his forehead. “It’s ten against one. They have the firepower, the manpower, and the terrain advantage. What have you got?” He contemplated for a moment, and then smiled, shaking his head. “You have the entire force of the U.S. Military at your back. You can get back to them, secure a strike force, and come render some red, white, and blue foot up your ass justice!”

  He rode that pride for a moment before swallowing hard, his smile fading. “Of course, you’re a hundred miles from the base, on foot, and as soon as they realize their friends are dead, they’ll just pack up the trailer and head out to the next town.” He scrubbed his hands down his face. “And those goods are all kinds of scarce. Whole point of this operation was to help out innocent survivors and not these murderous greedy assholes.”

  He looked over at the corner, seeing the fallen hunting rifle and handgun. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he got to his feet.

  “Goddammit,” he groaned. “Okay. Looks like I’m going to have to save the day… by murdering a bunch of pricks.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Buddy exited the house, and cautiously moved through the yard towards the cross street. He looked behind a bush to make sure it was vacant before nestling himself between it and the brick wall for cover. He peered up and down the street, making sure nobody was out looking for him.

  He knew it was only a matter of time before they went looking for their missing friends, but hoped that it wasn’t this soon.

  With the road clear, he contemplated his next move. He didn’t have a map, as it had gone down with poor Jones—all he had was a general direction he needed to travel in.

  Might not be a bad idea to get a few blocks away from the main highway, he thought. If somebody comes looking, they’ll probably be heading that way.

  He dove out from cover and darted across the street, running through the yards rather than the road, hoping that if somebody did turn his way that he’d be obstructed by the lush trees. He ran for several blocks, with only the occasional zombie popping up, but easy to avoid.

  At the next intersection, he paused behind a tree to look up the street. It was fairly empty, with only a handful of zombies spre
ad out across it.

  Looks like a straight shot up to the center of town, he thought. No roadblocks, so it doesn’t look like they’re worried about this area.

  He broke cover and started heading north, figuring it’s only a few blocks to reach the main street through town. As he cleared the first block, the handful of zombies up ahead had grown, moving from an easily manageable cluster to a group of potential hazard.

  Well, Buddy, you can backtrack and hope another road is easier… he thought. Or, you can just man up and deal with them.

  He shoved the handgun into the back waistband of his pants and pulled the tire iron from his belt loop. He tapped it against his palm a few times, psyching himself up for battle. He took a deep breath, and then casually walked up to the zombies.

  There were seven of them, spaced apart by several feet, except for the back trio that moved nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. He stepped up to the first one, a tall lanky ghoul in a bloody work jumpsuit, and swung hard, cracking it in the side of the head.

  Before the corpse hit the asphalt, he dove forward, smacking down two young women, dropping them just as easily. This might not be so bad after all, he thought, and whirled on the final solo zombie, a teenage boy in a torn rock t-shirt. He hesitated a moment, a flash of sadness at the ripe young age of this kid before he met his fate.

  Then he slammed his weapon down on the zombie’s head, turning to the lumbering trio ahead. As he prepared to take them on, there was a rustling from a nearby house. He glanced to the right and saw several more creatures emerging from the backyard.

  Fuck, it’s not your job to clean up this town! he thought frantically. More important things to do, so get to it!

  Buddy reached down and picked up the lifeless teenage corpse, gripping it by the belt and collar, and then rushed the trio of zombies. He threw the small body, knocking his opponents over like rag dolls, and then skirted them, taking off towards the next street.