DEAD AMERICA: THE SECOND WEEK
BOOK 11
HEARTLAND PART 4
BY DEREK SLATON
© 2020
CHAPTER ONE
Day Zero +13
Private Kowalski held on to the handle above his passenger window, but it did little to keep him from bouncing around the sedan as they bumped along the dirt path in the woods.
“Great choice of vehicle, Corporal,” he said dryly. “This is one of the smoothest rides I’ve ever encountered.”
Corporal Bretz let out a little grunt of disapproval, just as the car hit a particularly deep divot, the shocks struggling not to disintegrate. Private Mason went flying out of his seat in the back, throwing his hands up against the roof to avoid getting a concussion.
Kowalski glanced over his shoulder, an amused grin on his face. “Great family car, too. Keeps the kids entertained. Like a roller coaster without any of the safety features.”
Bretz simply shook his head, and focused on the drive. They’d commandeered the sedan a half hour ago, taking the long way around the town so they wouldn’t be detected. Though the ride was uncomfortable, it was less uncomfortable than being eaten or shot at, so it was working. Soon enough, the trees began to thin and the path opened up, revealing a large lake.
Lake Coeur d’Alene was a popular tourist destination once upon a time, but more importantly it was a feeder to the Spokane River, which not only ran directly through the heart of the city, but alongside the interstate leading up to it.
“Thank fuck,” Kowalski breathed as the car came to a stop a few hundred yards away from the waterfront. “Remind me never to let you pick a car out for me.” He dove out of the car and stretched his arms and legs.
“Hey, it was either this or the Smart Car,” Bretz replied as he shut the driver’s side door.
The Private shook his head. “I don’t know, I’ve heard those things are built pretty well.”
“Yeah, but we would have had to strap Mason to the roof,” the Corporal said, motioning to their third companion as he got out of the backseat.
Kowalski grinned. “Eh, fresh air does the body good.”
Mason raised his hand, grimacing as he stretched his back. “I’ll take a rolled down window, thanks.”
After getting the bumpy discomfort from their bodies, the three men walked along the tree line a bit, looking down at the docks. Kowalski pulled his sniper rifle from his back and peered through the scope to sweep the area. The first few docks appeared to be empty, but the third one had a padlocked door on the front of an enclosed shed.
“Looks like we got a potential here,” he said.
Bretz leaned forward. “What do you see?”
“Enclosed private dock with a door padlocked from the outside,” he replied. “If there was ever a boat in there, I’d say it’s probably still in there.”
The Corporal nodded. “Any movement?”
“Half a dozen locals, about twenty or thirty yards from the dock,” Kowalski said as he swept the area. He waited for instructions, pausing, and then lowered his rifle and turned to his superior. “You want me to take them out, or what?”
Bretz shook his head. “No. We can handle half a dozen without guns.”
“I thought we were far enough away from Hayden that we didn’t have to worry about noise?” Mason asked.
The Corporal motioned to the trees behind them. “There are thirty to forty thousand zombies within a couple miles of us. Do you really want to risk it to avoid a little hard work?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I want to win back my daily kill record from Bill,” Kowalski added, “but I don’t think I’m carrying near enough ammo to do that at the moment.”
Mason nodded, putting his hands up in surrender.
“All right boys, let’s go find us a boat,” Bretz said, and led the way towards the water.
“What do you think, Corporal?” Kowalski asked as he slung his gun back over his shoulder. “How big of a shitshow is this going to be?”
“Thirty to forty thousand zombies with whatever scraps they send us?” Bretz shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too bad in comparison.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “In comparison to what?”
“The two hundred thousand zombies in Spokane,” Kowalski said.
Mason’s shoulders sagged. “How the hell are we supposed to take on two hundred thousand zombies?” he moaned.
“Well, if I know the Captain, he’s got something up his sleeve,” Bretz replied firmly.
As they came down the path, they kept a close eye on their surroundings so that they wouldn’t be surprised by any extra hiding zombies. The tall grass by the waterfront was thick, easy enough to hide in, and they were careful to assess it as they moved.
As they reached the padlocked shed, the zombies up the way finally took notice of them. The closest one looked like he used to be a middle-aged man, looking like he walked out of a post-apocalyptic fishing magazine. He moaned loudly and staggered towards them, the myriad of lures hanging from his tattered vest clinking together as he moved.
His noises were like a dinner bell to his five buddies, and they joined him towards the feast.
“Mason, how’s your lock picking?” Bretz asked, as casual as if they were discussing the weather.
The Private wrinkled his nose. “Still pretty weak, if I’m being honest.”
“Well, why don’t you get some practice in while Kowalski and I handle this?” Bretz asked.
Mason smiled and saluted him. “Yes, sir!” He took a knee by the door, and pulled out a few pins from his pocket. It wasn’t a normal standard item for an American soldier to carry, but in recent days Captain Kersey made sure that every one of his guys had them. Lock picking had become an invaluable skill to have, especially if they were going to be clearing major towns and cities. Getting into places silently and efficiently was key.
“This is because I critiqued your car selection, isn’t it?” Kowalski sighed as he drew a blade.
Bretz simply smiled and winked at him as he pulled his machete from its sheath on his leg. They walked towards the zombie brigade, loose and chill as if they were more of a nuisance than an actual threat. The Corporal reached the fisherman first, and lopped off the top portion of his head with a single horizontal swipe.
“Goddamn, Corporal, you got that thing sharp enough?!” Kowalski’s eyes widened as he slashed down at a teenage zombie, cracking its skull open like a coconut.
“Yeah, I found one of those As Seen On TV knife sharpeners hidden in the back of the kitchen. Looks like it works,” Bretz replied.
“Understatement,” Kowalski said, and yanked his blade from the dead head, lunging to the side to knock over two more zombies that were getting too close for comfort. “You’re gonna need to share when we get back.”
Bretz joined him and they dispatched the two fallen zombies in sync. “It’s a lot easier to do this when there’s only a couple of them,” he noted.
“Yeah, we’re gonna need a wrecking ball for some of the hordes that are waiting for us,” the Private agreed, and spun around to stab another corpse through the chin.
Bretz dropped the last one with his insanely sharp blade, and waited for a moment, straining his ears to see if there were any more coming. “I think we’re good,” he said. “Let’s go see how Mason is doing.”
They strolled back over to their companion, who seemed to still be struggling with the lock.
“Of all the people I know, I really thought you’d be good at this,” Kowalski said.
“Why?” Mason shot him a playfu
l glare. “Cause I’m black?”
“Well, yeah,” his friend replied with an equally playful grin.
They shared a chuckle as he finally popped the lock.
“Nicely done,” Bretz replied.
Mason pulled the chain out and held on to the handle, making sure everyone was ready before counting down and flinging the door open. They stood back for a moment to make sure that nothing was about to jump out at them.
Nothing happened.
“Kowalski, move up,” Bretz said quietly.
The Private stepped forward, blade at the ready, doing a quick sweep of the building. It was about the size of a two car garage.
“I think we’re in business, Corporal,” he said, and as the others walked in, he headed over to the metal gate and lifted it.
As light poured inside, it reflected off of two shiny party boats. They were flat all the way across, with little roofs across the center consoles. Kowalski hopped aboard one and clambered up onto the roof, hopping up and down a few times to make sure that it was structurally sound.
“How we looking?” Bretz asked.
The Private grinned, showing all of his teeth. “This is gonna do just fine.”
Mason hopped onto the other one and checked the gauges. “Fuel is good on this one,” he said.
“Check the other one,” the Corporal instructed. “If we’re good there too, I’ll ask Cap to send us a few more men.” He pulled out his communicator and held it to his lips. “Hey Cap, you read me?”
There was a moment of static before Captain Kersey replied, “Got you, Corporal. How are things looking down there?”
“Bit of a bumpy ride to get here,” Bretz replied, “but little resistance.”
“Find you a ride?” Kersey asked.
At Mason’s thumbs up from the second boat, the Corporal smiled. “Two, actually. You think you can spare a few other guys once the train gets here?”
“Yeah, the train should be pulling in anytime now,” the Captain said. “I’ll get a fire team sent your way once they get here.”
“Tell ‘em snipers,” Kowalski called. “We’ll just pick ‘em off from the roof here.”
“Our resident gun nut is requesting you send us snipers,” Bretz said. “He seems to think we can just pick them off from the top of the party barges.”
Kersey chuckled. “Question is Corporal, what do you think?”
“I think I don’t want to listen to him whine all the way to Spokane,” the Corporal said dryly.
The Captain barked a laugh. “Snipers it is, then.”
“Much appreciated,” Bretz replied.
“When they get there, I want you boys to hit the water immediately and start getting some sound out,” Kersey instructed. “I’ll let you know when it’s time to head upriver to the next objective.”
“Yes, sir,” the Corporal said. “We’ll be ready to go when they get there.”
“Gonna be a hell of a day,” the Captain said. “Good luck.”
Bretz nodded. “Same to you, Cap.” He put the radio away and turned to his boat-happy team. “All right, we got a little time before we cast off. Let’s see if we can find anything useful in any of these other docks.”
CHAPTER TWO
“Here you go Captain, fresh and hot,” Bill said, crossing the main lobby area of the lodge to the coffee table. He handed Kersey a steaming mug and took a seat next to Private Johnson and Private Baker.
“Appreciate it,” Kersey said, and took a long sip, savoring the dark brew. “Any word on the train?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Just talked to the engineer a few minutes ago,” Bill replied. “They’re slowing up, so should be here by the time we get outside.”
Johnson took a gulp of coffee, smacking his lips afterward. “Any idea what the General is sending us?”
“Whatever he sent, I’m positive it’s not going to be enough to do this job easily,” Kersey admitted.
Baker sighed dramatically. “So, basically just another day in the military.”
“Pretty much, Private.” The Captain nodded. “Pretty much.” He stood up, and the quartet headed outside onto the balcony.
Brakes squealed as the train rumbled in, slowing right down to a crawl. The engineer was precise, stopping it right at the front door to the lodge, ten box cars trailing behind it.
The soldiers headed down the stairs and approached the train, Kersey taking a thoughtful sip of his brew as a few people jumped down from the engine car to unlatch doors and let the men out.
“We’re going to have another train rolling in tonight,” he said, addressing Bill. “Once we get unloaded here, would you kindly relieve the engineer? We’re gonna need to hitch a ride to the incursion point, and I prefer you leading the way.”
The engineer nodded. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, and wandered off towards the engine car.
A middle-aged and slightly pudgy man scrambled down from the train and headed towards the lodge soldiers, chest puffed like a peacock.
“Which one of you is Kersey?” he asked, displeasure evident in his curt tone.
Kersey lifted his chin. “I’m Captain Kersey. And you are?”
“Sergeant Stanley Gilbert,” he replied, smug as a man four points higher on the hotness scale. “Currently in charge of this here group of men.”
Kersey crossed his arms. “Well, break it down for me, Sergeant. What did you bring me?”
“Well. Captain.” Gilbert said, the word looking sour on his tongue. “I have seven hundred and fifty men to go along with enough ammo to take out half of Washington state.”
“No armor?” Kersey asked. “Air support?”
Gilbert shook his head. “No, sir. From what I’ve been told, there is supposed to be some APCs on the next train, as well as an Apache Guardian gunship. And a thousand men, too.”
The Captain sighed in disbelief. “Okay. I need you to assemble your team leaders and get them to the lodge over there for a briefing in ten. Before that, though, I’m going to need your four best sharpshooters.”
“Why?” Gilbert demanded.
“You have your orders,” Kersey said, narrowing his eyes, “carry them out now, or I’ll find someone who will.”
The Sergeant muttered, “Yes sir.” He turned away from them and cupped his hand around his mouth. “Hanson! Flemming! Byrd! Wade! Up front, now!”
“I might be wrong here Cap, but I don’t think he’s too pleased to be takin’ orders from you,” Johnson said quietly, leaning over.
Baker raised an eyebrow. “Did you do something to piss him off?”
“It would appear so,” Kersey replied, but didn’t seem too perturbed by it.
As they waited, the soldiers jumping down from the trains passed the names that Gilbert had bellowed, until four men finally emerged from the pack and approached their Sergeant.
“Yes, sir?” a Corporal asked, saluting at the line of his salt-and-pepper hair.
“You four report to the Captain over there,” Gilbert said gruffly, and fell in behind the quartet as they approached the soldiers.
“You boys are shooters?” Kersey asked.
The youngest looking one grinned, holding up a fist decorated with heavy metal tattoos. “Best you’re going to find in these parts.”
The Captain chuckled. “I have a shooter who might disagree with you, there.”
“Well, just tell him top five ain’t that bad,” came the reply.
“Good luck with that, Private,” Kersey replied with a tilt of his head. “I want you to follow Johnson here. He’s going to set you up with a transport and directions. You’ll be meeting up with my men down by the river. They’ll fill you in from there.”
There was a chorus of yes, sir, and the Captain motioned to Johnson.
“Now get a move on. This attack is going to be starting right after the briefing,” he said.
“Come on, boys,” Johnson declared. “Hope y’all don’t mind a bumpy ride.”
The short an
d stocky shooter held up his hand. “As long as I’m not on that godforsaken train, you can shake me like a fucking paint mixer for all I care.”
“Definitely not letting you drive, then,” the fourth shooter, a tall young-looking country boy said, and they headed off towards the parking lot.
“Captain, my boys have been on that train all night long,” Gilbert said, turning to Kersey. “They need rest before going into battle.”
“Then they should have slept on the train,” the Captain replied, voice level. “General Stephens ordered me to get this assault going ASAP, and that’s what I intend to do.”
“Shouldn’t we wait on the reinforcements before taking on Spokane?” the Sergeant asked, eyes wide.
“We are, but we have some shit to do, first,” Kersey replied, impatience rising in him. “Now you have your orders, Sergeant. Assemble your team leaders at the lodge in five.” He didn’t wait for a response, simply turning his back and heading off with Baker.
Gilbert glared at his retreating back, and then stomped off, barking orders and names to assemble his team.
CHAPTER THREE
There were around forty men crammed into the lobby, soldiers moving around and bumping into each other, trying to find places to sit other than on the floor. As they managed to settle, Kersey headed around the large desk at the one end, Johnson and Baker following with a large piece of poster board.
“All right everybody, let’s get settled in here,” the Captain called, holding out his hands. “I’ll start by saying that I know everyone here is tired. Being on a train is no fun and far from relaxing, but that’s the glamorous lifestyle we all signed up for, right?”
A chorus of self-deprecating laughs echoed throughout the room, and Kersey gave them a smile as he turned to the poster board. There was a crudely drawn map on it, big enough for even those in the back to be able to see what he was talking about.
“Our main target is Spokane,” he said, pointing to the far left of the map. “Home to roughly a quarter million people before the war, and we can only assume roughly that many zombies, currently. Before we can launch that assault, we have to take care of Hayden.” He pointed to a long horizontal box on the right side of the map. “And Post Falls.” His finger moved down to a square box in the center, near a long vertical line cutting the map in two. “Johnson and Baker are handing out smaller maps so you can follow along. We have multiple objectives to achieve. The first of which is already underway, south of Hayden on the lake.
Dead America The Second Week (Book 11): Dead America: Heartland Pt. 4 Page 1