Bretz walked to the passenger side with Baker and helped him up into the seat. “We’ve been living off scraps for a month,” he grunted playfully, “how in the hell are you still this heavy?”
“Just lucky I guess,” Baker replied with a lopsided grin.
Bretz secured him and then slammed the door, running around to the driver’s side. He popped the truck into gear and headed off towards the bridge. As he grew closer, there were still several standing zombies, which he bonked as he went by, unavoidable given how they were staggered across the road.
The bridge itself was mostly clear, with only the occasional straggler on it. As he grew closer to the blockade, Hess and Short stood standing outside, picking off zombies within thirty yards of them. There was a truck-sized hole between them, and he easily pulled through. As soon as he was clear, Kent moved his big rig so that the two big vehicles blocked off the entire highway bridge.
Bretz braked to a stop on the other side and hopped down as the other soldiers clustered around him.
“How’s Baker?” Hess asked immediately.
The Corporal nodded. “He’s fine, just got his bell rung when that car detonated,” he explained.
“I gotta admit,” Kent drawled, “up until that point those chopper boys put on a hell of a show. Always wondered what a mini-gun would do to a human body.”
Hess motioned to the tires of the parked trucks, which were coated in a dark crimson goo. “Well, we’re going to be reminded of it until we get rescued, because that stuff isn’t coming off anytime soon,” he said.
“So who is staying behind?” Bretz asked.
Hess and Kent both raised their hands.
The Corporal took a deep breath. “Okay, do me a favor though,” he said. “Take Baker. He’s going to be okay, but with the way the day is going, I need whoever is going to be with me to the main target to be functioning.”
Hess nodded. “Of course, Corporal.”
“Wait,” Kent cut in, raising his palms, “you’re not still moving ahead, are you? There’s only two trucks left! You can only get half the bridge with that!”
“Don’t have a choice,” Bretz replied firmly.
Kent’s eyes widened. “Hell yeah, you got a choice,” he declared. “Stay here and solidify this position. Make damn sure our boys to the east are good. And once they get here, we can move to the north.”
“Wish I could, believe me,” Bretz replied, shaking his head. “But even if it’s only a partial blockade, it’s going to be better than nothing. A significant portion of our troops are coming in from the north, and we need to secure as much of that bridge as possible.” He turned to Short, raising an eyebrow. “Question is, are you game for it?”
“Yes sir,” the Private replied immediately. “We’ll get it done.”
“Good, I like that attitude,” Bretz commended, clapping him on the shoulder. “Hess, Kent, let’s get Baker transferred over.”
The trio moved to the passenger’s side, and Bretz opened the door. Baker stared down at them, looking bewildered.
“Um…” he drawled, “is there something I should know?”
Kent smiled. “Yeah, you’re bunking with us for a few days,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “So toss down your shit so the Corporal here can get a move on.”
“Wait, no no no,” Baker said, waving his hands in front of his face. “Bretz, you aren’t going anywhere without me.” He put his foot on the step, and slipped, grabbing the doorframe to steady himself. “I… I just need a few minutes.”
“That’s time we don’t have,” Bretz said gently. “I need you to get out of this truck.”
Baker stared at him, shaking his head, pain in his eyes. “What in the hell are you going to do with only two trucks?”
“Yeah, we already tried that angle with him,” Kent quipped, “didn’t work. So come on, now.”
Baker reluctantly climbed down from the truck, dragging his bag behind him. He turned and glanced at Short, who had been getting his stuff ready to get back to his own truck.
“You watch after him, you hear?” Baker said, as firmly as he could despite his shaky movements.
Short nodded. “I’ll keep him safe,” he said. “Now you go get some rest.”
Baker patted him on the shoulder and then stumbled off towards the blockade.
“You ready to head out?” Bretz asked.
Short nodded and exchanged a fist bump with Hess and Kent.
“We’ll see you boys on the other side,” Kent said, clapping him on the back.
Bretz offered him a thin smile and then headed for the driver’s seat, ready to face the horrors that lay ahead.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bretz and Short drove down the highway one behind the other, driving slowly to avoid any more wrecks. The closer they got to their destination, the more seemed to be littering the road. Abandoned cars were scattered about, and countless zombies roamed the streets.
The creatures were too dense to avoid, but in small enough groups that the trucks were able to just plow through them.
Bretz raised the CB radio to his mouth. “We have about a mile to go until we reach the interstate interchange,” he said. “Once we hit that, we’ll be less than a mile from the bridge.”
“How far up do you want to get?” Short asked.
“With the way today is going, I’ll settle for just making it to the bridge,” the Corporal admitted. “Anything past that is a bonus.”
“Hear that,” Short replied.
They drove a little further before Bretz slowed to a crawl, and then squealed to a stop.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered to himself.
“Everything okay, Corporal?” Short asked through the radio.
Bretz lifted the receiver to his mouth, shaking his head. “Why don’t you pull up beside me and take a look for yourself?”
The second truck pulled up next to him, and then Short came through, “Some days it just ain’t your day.”
The interchange was a colossal clusterfuck. There was a major pileup, with overturned cars and transport trucks. To add to the mess, there were a few thousand zombies roaming about. They sat there, dumbfounded, before getting back to it.
“You got a map over there?” Bretz asked.
“Yes sir,” Short replied.
The Corporal nodded to him through the window as he spread his own map over his lap. “Good,” he said into the radio, “let’s start figuring out how we’re going to pull this off.”
They studied the satellite imagery, tracing fingers over the numerous potential routes. After a few minutes, Bretz finally took a deep breath.
“I got one potential, and I’m not a huge fan,” he admitted.
“Pretty sure we’re on the same page, Corporal,” Short replied dryly.
Bretz sighed. “Okay, that’s the plan, then,” he replied. “We’ll backtrack half a mile to the previous exit, then hope to christ that surface street bridge is clear. We’ll have to fight our way through some residential areas and get to the bridge on the north side. Or do you see something different?”
“Nope,” Short replied with his own exhale. “That’s what I had too.”
The Corporal shook his head. “Looks like there’s a break in the median a few hundred yards up,” he said. “Let’s get turned around.”
“I’m on your six,” Short replied.
Bretz accelerated slowly, carefully making the turn through the emergency crossover in the median. As he came about, there were several zombies in the way which Bretz just rolled over. He cut it a little tight, scraping the back portion of the trailer.
“Guess we need to add some pain to the shopping list,” Short quipped.
Bretz found himself chuckling, glad for the levity. “Nah, scrapes build character,” he replied.
He moved up the interstate a bit as he waited for his companion to take the turn as well. He looked to the side, watching the zombie infested neighborhood, the roads packe
d thick with them.
Every nook and cranny of this town is jam packed with these things, he thought bitterly. Starting to wonder if we even have enough resources to pull this off.
He continued to stare, just shaking his head in disbelief at the sheer number of them. He snapped out of his reverie as Short blared his horn behind him.
“Okay, follow close,” Bretz said into the radio, “those surface streets look like they’re going to be a nightmare.”
“Lead on,” Short said.
The Corporal hit the gas and they convoyed back towards the previous exit. As they descended the ramp, Bretz saw two cars at the bottom that appeared to have been involved in a crash at some point. It blocked most of the road.
He raised the radio to his mouth. “Lay off a bit, I’m going to have to clear this out,” he said, and then hung up the receiver. He sped up, angling the big rig so that it would hit the back bumper of one of the cars. He smacked into it hard, sending broken glass and metal flying through the air. The jolt threw him around in the cab a bit, shaking him up.
The noise of course attracted some unwanted attention, and zombies began pouring out of the side streets, slowly filling the road ahead of them.
“Shit, that woke them up,” he said into the radio. “We’re going to have to haul ass or we’re going to get trapped.” He hit the gas, truck picking up steam as the road to the bridge filled with more and more ghouls. There was a narrow path in the center of the road, and he aimed for it, silently praying.
As he pushed forward, hands smacked against the front grill as the undead reached for it. Soon the light smacks turned into thuds as bodies shambled out in front, and he punched the accelerator even more.
He glanced into his side mirror, watching as more zombies filled in behind him, getting into the way of Short’s truck.
“You gotta keep your foot on the gas,” Bretz said firmly into the radio.
“Trying to Corporal,” Short replied, “engine isn’t too happy about it, though.”
Bretz shook his head, his stomach sinking at their situation. He perked up a bit at the sight of the front edge of the bridge a few blocks ahead. There were zombies there, but it was mostly clear, nothing like the streets they were currently on.
“Just keep pushing,” he urged, “the bridge is just ahead.”
Bretz floored it, giving the truck everything it had. He made it to the bridge, obliterating a group of zombies at the front of it, shaking the truck violently. The impact caused him to briefly lose control, smacking into the concrete barrier on the two-lane bridge.
He struggled with the wheel but regained control, breathing a sigh of relief at the close call. He slowed down a bit, as the bridge wasn’t as packed as the street, Short doing the same thing once he was up.
Bretz checked the side mirror, seeing the front of the big rig covered in blood, several rotted limbs sticking out of the grill, and a few creatures jammed up into the wheel wells.
“How’s your truck doing?” he asked.
“Not too good,” Short admitted. “I don’t know if she’s going to make the bridge or not.”
Bretz muttered obscenities under his breath and then looked in the mirror again, seeing smoke furling out from beneath the hood. “Dammit, no way that’s making it to the bridge,” he said to himself.
He made a westward turn towards the target, reaching a street along the waterfront. When he turned, he glanced to the right, seeing a college campus jam packed with zombies.
“How you doing back there?” he asked into the radio.
“With the way this thing is chugging, I’m going to be dead in the water in under a minute,” Short replied, voice rising.
Bretz frantically looked around for some sort of solution. Finally he spotted a grocery store on the edge of campus.
“Get to that grocery store on the right,” he barked into the radio. “Get as close to the building as you can.”
“See you there,” Short replied.
The two trucks veered off of the road and into the lot, with easily a hundred zombies strewn about. They turned, moaning, arms reaching for the trucks. Bretz drove down the outer aisle, smacking into the occasional ghoul before making the turn to the front of the store.
He bumped it up onto the sidewalk, scraping up against the wall and crushing some zombies as he went. He looked in the side mirror to see Short follow suit, parking just behind him.
Bretz rolled down the window, looking out to see outstretched arms less than a foot below him. There were a dozen creatures right there, with more headed his way. He carefully climbed out the window, pulling himself up onto the hood and climbing on top of the trailer. He strolled to the back, and watched Short kick out the front windshield to get out.
The Private stood on the front of the truck, a few feet away from Bretz’s, and tossed over his bag and a container of water. The Corporal held out his hand to help him climb over the rotted chorus below.
“One last check for a truck, I take it?” Short asked.
Bretz nodded. “Figured we’re here, might as well, right?” He spread his arm like a game show host, presenting the roof of the grocery store to his companion.
Short took a run at it, leaping the several foot height and pulling himself up. He turned around and reached down to help Bretz climb after him.
They walked towards the back of the store, the sun warming their skin as they strolled.
“I know we’re almost in November…” Short began, and then paused. “Or heck, we might already be. Kind of lost track of days lately.”
Bretz snorted. “No kidding.”
“But this weather reminds me of being back on the farm,” Short continued. “Bright sun, blue skies, and a nice breeze to keep it from getting too hot.”
The Corporal cocked his head. “Spend a lot of time on the farm, did you?”
“Oh, yes sir,” the Private replied. “Started helping my dad pick eggs up from the chickens when I was four years old. Every summer, every vacation and weekend, I was out there bright and early with him.”
“Well, I hope you took good notes, because when all this is over, we’re going to have a lot of mouths to feed,” Bretz replied.
“Dang, I hadn’t even thought about that,” Short mused. “Gonna be a long winter.”
Bretz shook his head. “Can’t have a long winter unless we get to it, first.”
They approached the back of the store, looking down on the loading docks and seeing nothing but empty pavement.
“Well, that’s a bit of a letdown,” Short said with a sigh. “Not sure how much we’re going to be able to block off with only one truck.”
Bretz shrugged. “Looks like we’re going to find out,” he said. “Come on, let’s get back to the truck and head out.”
As they walked, they passed by some skylights that looked down into the store. Curiosity got the better of Short, and he paused to look down inside. There were dozens of zombies roaming about, walking up and down the aisles like undead shoppers.
He let out a low whistle. “Man, it looks like a bunch of folks took refuge in the store,” he said. “And it didn’t turn out too good for them.”
Bretz turned and joined him at the skylight, staring down. “I feel bad for the clear teams,” he admitted. “Can you imagine how many buildings are going to look just like this after we clear the streets?”
“Thousands easily,” Short agreed. “Probably in the tens of thousands. Those boys are going to be busy for months.” He broke away from the window, but Bretz stayed put.
“Hang on a minute,” the Corporal said, raising a hand.
“What do you see?” Short asked, rejoining him at the skylight.
Bretz pointed to a big display of vodka bottles.
Short raised an eyebrow. “I’m more of a bourbon man myself,” he said.
“On that point, we’re going to get along just fine,” the Corporal said, pointing a finger at him. “But I do have an idea with the vodka. We may not be able to blo
ck off the other side of the interstate with a truck… but we can certainly take out a fair number of them as they try to cross.”
The Private perked up. “Molotovs?”
Bretz nodded. “Molotovs.”
Short grinned and then shook his head. “Wait, how we getting in, though?”
Bretz looked around and spotted a nearby hatch. He opened it up, finding a ladder into the top portion of the store. They quickly climbed down onto the catwalk, forcing their way to the end of it where there was an upstairs office overlooking the store.
Bretz climbed down the ladder, ducking his head into the office and shining a light, illuminating the small area and finding it empty with the door shut. He waved for Short to follow him down, and they descended into the office.
They stood at the small window overlooking the store, peering out. The skylights did a good job of lighting up the building, and the soldiers studied the two dozen aisles in the gigantic store.
“Okay, looks like the liquor section is directly below us, about two aisle over,” Bretz said. “From this vantage point, it doesn’t seem like there are too many of those things around.”
“How do you want to go about it?” Short asked.
Bretz cocked his head. “The display looked like it had full cases of booze,” he began, “so I say we get down there, each of us grab a case and haul ass back up here. If it works without drawing too much attention, we do it again. If we get too much heat on us, at least we can cause some trouble.”
“I’m game, Short replied. “Unless you’re feeling frisky though, I’d say we go silent.” He pulled out his knife, and the Corporal nodded, revealing his own.
They quietly crept through the door, slipping out onto the enclosed stairwell that led down into the main portion of the store. When they got to the bottom, Bretz peeked around the corner, seeing that there weren’t any zombies nearby.
He motioned for Short to follow him, and they darted out to head towards the alcohol. They stopped at the first aisle and he looked down it, seeing only a few ghouls. He motioned again, and they silently moved up, dispatching the two corpses and gently laying them on the ground.
When they reached the alcohol aisle and worked their way up, Bretz took a knee when they reached the end cap he’d seen from the roof. He flattened himself against the shelf, and Short followed suit.
Dead America-The Northwest Invasion Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 33