Dead America The Second Week (Book 11): Dead America: Heartland Pt. 4

by Slaton, Derek

  “All right, shut it down, boys!” he bellowed.

  “I think he means the music, too,” Kowalski hissed.

  Wade swung down from the roof with easy grace, and flicked the music off on the console.

  Bretz pulled out a walkie talkie and lifted it to his mouth. “Captain, you copy?”

  “Kersey here,” came the reply. “How is the waterfront distraction going?”

  “I think we got all we’re going to get,” Bretz replied. “There are several hundred on the shorelines, but I’d rather not push it any further than that. Some of them are starting to get in the water, which could cause some trouble later.”

  “Understood,” Kersey said. “I want you to go ahead and start moving up river. Fire off when you can to pull as many as you can to vacant shoreline. When you start getting near Post Falls, really let it rip.”

  “Ten-four,” Bretz replied. “I’ll give you an update once we get a sense of what Post Falls has for us.”

  “Sounds good,” the Captain agreed. “The truck team just arrived at the vehicles, so they should be on schedule and beat you to the state line. Any others you can send their way would be helpful.”

  Bretz nodded. “We’ll take care of it, Captain, and be in touch.” He clipped the radio back to his belt and raised his hand again. “Mason, Wade, let’s get those engines going. Time to take a little boat cruise.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Johnson and Baker led a team of fifteen to the edge of a grassy knoll that overlooked the truck stop on the northwest side of town.

  “Hey Cap, you read me?” Johnson asked as he hefted the huge ammo bag on his back. The truck stop was huge, with at least forty pumps and a dozen or so tractor trailers sitting in the overnight lot.

  Kersey came back, “Go ahead, Johnson.”

  Gilbert’s team of ten were on the other side of the highway, waiting on Johnson, the rest of the troops a block behind them, also waiting for the go ahead.

  “We’re in position,” Johnson replied, scanning the area with his binoculars. “But we have a fair amount of resistance.”

  “How bad?” the Captain asked.

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” Johnson admitted, taking in the twenty or thirty zombies in the parking lot, not to mention the few dozen more milling about nearby. “But if you want to give the east side boys the thumbs up to start shooting, it might go a long way towards distracting any of those things so they don’t come our way.”

  “Hang tight,” Kersey replied.

  “Okay, where are my hot wire guys at?” Johnson turned to his team as Baker stood guard, keeping an eye on the zombies. Three men raised their hands, and Johnson grinned. “Good. When we move, we’re going to go right down the line, startin’ ‘em up and moving ‘em out. The first two out the gate leads the way for Gilbert’s team. The rest waits to move as a single unit. Questions?”

  The entire group shook their heads in the negative, just as gunfire echoed in the east.

  “They have the green light, Johnson,” Kersey came through the radio.

  Johnson nodded and lifted the device again. “Thanks, Cap. We can hear ‘em.”

  Baker tapped him on the shoulder, pointing at the truck stop. A few of the creatures seemed to be paying attention, a few of them turning to wander towards the noise, but most seemed oblivious, still hanging around.

  “It’s not drawing many,” Johnson reported, “but hopefully it’ll do the trick for those a couple blocks away.”

  “Let me know when the first two are ready to go, and I’ll coordinate with Sergeant Gilbert,” Kersey said.

  Johnson nodded. “Ten-four,” he said, and put the radio away before letting out a whistle. He put up five fingers and did an exaggerated countdown to three before lowering his hand, so that Gilbert and his team could see. When he silently hit zero, he led his team out from behind cover, and noted that the Sergeant’s team followed suit, heading towards their target.

  As soon as Johnson’s boots hit the pavement, a few ghouls turned to him, mouths opening. He fired two quick, precise shots, dropping them both, and waved for the hot wire team to come around him as he held the line.

  Baker and three other soldiers swept the front of the truck, giving it a wide berth so they wouldn’t be surprised. As they broke out into the open area of the parking lot, they noted eight zombies scattered about. They fanned out, carefully taking aim and firing, clearing a path to the first few trucks in a matter of seconds.

  Johnson appeared out from behind the truck.

  “Baker, your team move up and clear the rest of the trucks,” he said. “We’ll set up a perimeter here so we can get them going.”

  Baker nodded, waving at his guys. “You heard the man, let’s get moving.”

  Gilbert led his squad of five next to his second in command, Corporal Herrera with his own squad of five. They quickly moved across the street to the used car dealership. There were about forty cars in the lot, the old building clearly a renovated gas station. Late model sedans boasted bright neon discount tags on their windshields, and there was also a lineup of jumbo SUVs parked along the far line.

  Herrera reached the lot first, and ducked around a four-door sedan, firing a few quick shots at a cluster of zombies on the other side. They dropped quickly.

  “Clear to the building,” he barked. “Let’s move up.” He raised a hand and waved it next to his head, turning in a slow arc to sweep the area as they moved.

  They reached the building and hit formation at the door as Gilbert’s team set up a perimeter around them, occasionally needing to pop off a shot or two to take down an approaching corpse.

  “On three,” Herrera said, holding up his hand. “One, two, three!” He kicked the door open and stormed into the dimly lit area.

  There was a cluster of cubicles to the left and he rushed it immediately, leaving the show floor in favor of nooks and crannies that zombies could be hiding. Light poured in as one of the men tore down some of the blinds on the big windows, and the Corporal returned to the front, having found nothing in the cubicles.

  “We’re clear up front,” he said, and pointed to two of his men. “Check the back room and the restrooms. Rest of you look for the key box. We need sedan keys. Let’s move.”

  Gilbert strolled in and held up a palm. “Change of plans. Get the keys to the SUVs up front.”

  Herrera’s brow furrowed as he turned to his superior. “We have orders to get sedans, Sergeant.”

  “And I’m making a battlefield decision,” Gilbert snarled, leaning in, voice low. “You have your orders, carry them out.”

  The Corporal clenched his jaw for a moment. “Sir, those SUVs aren’t going to fit underneath the trucks.”

  “We don’t need the trucks, those SUVs will do just fine,” Gilbert snapped. “And we’ll achieve our mission much quicker. Now do as you’re told or I’ll find someone who will!”

  Herrera swallowed hard, at war with himself. He opened his mouth to argue some more, but then shook his head and waved his hand in the air.

  “You heard the Sergeant,” he barked, “SUV keys, let’s move it.”

  Across the street, Baker approached Johnson, his men setting up a perimeter at the back of the lot. “Trucks are cleared, and perimeter is set,” he reported. “So far it doesn’t look like we attracted too many of them.”

  “That’s a relief,” Johnson agreed.

  Baker motioned to the vehicles. “How are these coming?”

  “With any luck, they should be up and running in a minute or two,” Johnson replied.

  Just as the words finished coming out of his mouth, engines roared to life across the street, and they looked up to see half a dozen SUVs take off from the used car dealership and head down the highway.

  “What the hell?” Johnson gaped, and then pulled out his walkie talkie, changing the frequency over to the Sergeant’s. “Gilbert, what the fuck are you doing?” he demanded.

  There was no answer.

  “Sergeant Gilbert!
” Johnson yelled into the radio. “Get your fucking ass back here, now!”

  “I’m a Sergeant,” the silky voice came back. “I don’t answer to you, Corporal.”

  “Follow the mission!” Johnson yelled. “Gilbert? Sergeant?!” He slammed his fist down on his thigh, sharing a furious look with Baker. “Goddammit.” He changed the frequency on his radio. “Captain, come in. We have a big fucking problem.”

  “What’s happened?” Kersey asked immediately.

  “That happy-go-dumbass Sergeant just booked it down the highway without us in SUVs,” Johnson replied.

  “Motherfucker,” the Captain snapped. “How soon are you able to move?”

  “Should have the first two trucks up in minutes,” the Corporal said.

  “As soon as they’re up, haul ass,” Kersey instructed.

  Johnson nodded. “Ten four.”

  Gilbert cruised down the highway, arm casually flopped over the steering wheel of the lead SUV.

  “Sergeant Gilbert,” Kersey came through on his radio, sounding livid. “Just what in the holy hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The Sergeant pushed the accelerator harder, picking up speed to sixty. Zombies staggered around on the side of the road, attracted to the noise of the six-vehicle convoy.

  “Completing the mission, Captain.”

  “You are to turn around right now and procure the sedans you were ordered to get,” Kersey said firmly.

  Gilbert sneered, and then swerved violently to avoid a few zombies on the road. “Sorry Captain, but you’re going to have to hang on, we’re hitting some traffic.” He clicked off the radio and tossed it onto the passenger seat.

  The roadway headed into an area with small shops on either side, and a cluster of zombies appeared in the distance in the middle of the road. He wavered, unsure of whether he could get around the pack or not.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered, “let’s see what this baby can do.” He slammed down the gas pedal, screaming away from the rest of the convoy. His front bumper slammed into the front edge of the zombie mass, sending bodies flinging in every direction. He let out a primal yell, smacking his hand down on the steering wheel with glee.

  One of the zombies flipped over his vehicle and flew into the windshield of the SUV behind. The glass shattered, and the corpse crumpled into the cab like a rag doll. It immediately smelled fresh meat, however, and clawed at the now-shrieking driver. His partner in the passenger seat screamed and tried to draw his gun, but the flailing limbs in his lap made it next to impossible.

  The creature bit down on the driver’s hand, and the rest of the convoy watched helplessly as the SUV careened off of the road and smashed into the front of a clothing store. Mannequins and glass fell all over the place, and zombies immediately descended on the wreckage, preventing any escape.

  Herrera gritted his teeth as he drove by, knowing that to stop would be to put the entire mission at risk.

  “Jesus christ man, we gotta go help ‘em,” the soldier in the passenger seat turned right around to look out the back window at the horde.

  “The mission comes first,” the Corporal reminded him. “We’ll radio command when we secure the bridge, and they can send rescue.” He punched the gas to catch up to his wayward Sergeant, who was a full block ahead of them.

  Gilbert reached the bridge and veered sharply to the right, smacking a trio of zombies near the edge. They flew off of the edge of the bridge down onto the pavement below, and a maniacal cackle rose up in his throat.

  It was short-lived, however when the far end of the bridge caught his eye, and he slowly turned towards the few hundred zombies headed towards him.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he changed, and threw the SUV into gear, speeding it the edge of the bridge to park in the right lane. He hopped out and slammed the door, looking behind him for the rest of the convoy as he hopped from foot to foot.

  He inspected the bridge, and the length of the SUV, and grim realization fell over him like a prickly blanket that they would be unable to close the bridge with the six vehicles they’d taken. His search for a promotion had gone very, very wrong.

  Herrera arrived first, and he quickly got out of the way so the others could get by. He hopped out and waved them in, getting the vehicles bumper to bumper.

  “Hurry up, they’re almost here!” Gilbert frantically waved them into position, trying to ignore the panic at the four foot gap on the left side of their mostly-useless barricade.

  The soldiers poured out of the vehicles and braced themselves behind the vehicles. Hundreds upon hundreds of corpses staggered towards them, moaning and snarling and snapping, the stench wafting towards them like a tidal save of rotted death.

  “Start shooting!” Gilbert screamed.

  The soldiers began firing erratically, fueled by panic and not knowing exactly where to aim with so many targets. Several zombies fell, but the majority of the bullets vanished into the horde, hitting torsos or limbs uselessly.

  Before the troops had even gotten through a single magazine, the zombies were pressed up against the SUVs. With the force of the pushing horde, the tires began to screech as the vehicles moved along the asphalt.

  Gilbert’s eyes widened as zombies filled up the gap on the left side. “Contact, nine o’ clock!” he screamed, and two of the soldiers broke formation to try to suppress the situation. They moved as they fired, clipping a few of the approaching corpses.

  A hand reached out from beneath one of the vehicles and wrapped around one soldier's foot, tripping him as he went, his face smacking into the pavement with a wet snapping sound. His partner turned to grab his arm and pull him back up, but the zombies filling the gap descended upon them quickly, screaming their excitement for living meat.

  The soldiers fired, but at the angle beneath the approaching corpses they could only hit them in the torso, not able to hit high enough for proper headshots. More zombies slithered underneath the SUVs, and the first crawling one managed to take a chunk out of its victim’s calf.

  He screamed in agony, falling back, and his partner froze in panic, unsure of what to do. It was all the moment that the ghouls needed to lunge and latch onto his arm and shoulder, and more bloodied teeth sank into flesh.

  Herrera watched in horror as the two men were swallowed by rotted bodies, and then turned back to his team, helping them pick off the thankfully few zombies on his side of the bridge.

  “Corporal, the trucks are coming!” one of the soldiers yelled.

  Herrera turned and spotted two semis barreling down the street towards them, zombies flying left and right like bugs on a windshield. “Clear the road for ‘em!” he barked, and clambered back into his SUV. He backed it up and slammed the bumper into the guardrail.

  The lead truck screamed through the center of the road and moved into the far right lane. He laid on the horn hard, prompting Gilbert and his two surviving men to jump out of the way. The truck gained speed and then cut sharply to the left, hitting the brakes and jackknifing. Tires squealed, and the top of the truck tipped with a groan. The front wheels caught the curb, and that gave it just enough momentum to topple. Sparks flew as the metal scraped pavement, skidding across the road into the line of SUVs, crushing a few dozen zombies against them.

  Despite the driver’s best efforts, there was still a six foot gap on the right side of the bridge. Herrera hit the gas, screaming down the bridge towards it. He slammed the hood into the gap, wedging his vehicle into the hole with a violent stop. He sat for a moment in shock, whiplashed and tired, and then snapped back into full color at the sound of hands smacking the hood. He clambered over the back seat, the doors wedged shut from being stuck between the cars and the bridge.

  Another soldier popped the back hatch so he could climb out. “Are you okay, Corporal?”

  He didn’t answer, simply stalking back to the center of the bridge, rage in his eyes. Gilbert stood there, hands on his hips, chest puffed out as he surveyed the other truck securing its position on the other side
of the bridge.

  The Sergeant turned. “It was close, but we got it-”

  Smack! Herrera’s fist connected with Gilbert’s jaw, interrupting his victory speech before it could even begin. The Sergeant fell back on his ass, staring up in shock at his subordinate, who was now pointing a handgun in his face.

  He blinked rapidly. “I’m going to have you court martialed-”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Herrera screamed. “Four men are dead because you couldn’t follow simple fucking orders!”

  “We completed the mission, that’s all that matters,” Gilbert replied, and braced his hand to get up.

  The Corporal fired a shot just to the side of him, quickly wiping the smug smile from the Sergeant’s face.

  “Give me your radio,” he demanded.

  Gilbert shakily handed over his radio, and Herrera turned it on.

  “-have eyes on Sergeant Gilbert?” Kersey’s voice came through firmly. “Repeat, does anybody have eyes on Sergeant Gilbert?”

  “Yes sir,” Herrera replied, keeping his gun trained on the man on the ground. “I’ve got him right here.”

  Kersey paused. “Who is this?”

  “Corporal Herrera, sir,” he replied. “We’ve secured the bridge, albeit at a high cost.”

  “Casualties?” the Captain asked.

  “Two confirmed dead,” Herrera replied. “Two more potentials. They crashed into a store a few blocks back and got surrounded. I don’t know if they’re alive or dead.”

  “I’ll get a team up there as quickly as I can, Corporal,” Kersey promised.

  The Corporal nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Where is Sergeant Gilbert?” the Captain asked.

  “Laying on the ground with the barrel of my rifle pointed at his head,” Herrera replied easily.

  There was a brief pause, and then Kersey came back, “Make sure he can hear what I’m about to say.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Corporal replied, and then held out the walkie talkie so that it was nearly smacking his captive in the nose.

  “Sergeant Gilbert, I’m stripping you of your rank effective immediately,” Kersey said firmly. “Corporal Herrera is in charge, now. Corporal, if Private Gilbert disobeys your orders, you are under direct orders to shoot him in the face and toss him over the side of the bridge. Is that understood?”