Dead America The Second Week (Book 2): Dead America: Heartland Part 2

by Slaton, Derek

  “What do you say, bud, you hungry?” Bretz asked, motioning to the diner.

  As if on cue, Mason’s stomach growled, and he chuckled. “Fuck yeah I am,” he said. “If I have to eat one more MRE, I’m gonna puke.”

  They raised their guns and slowly moved across the street, senses on high alert for any movement. The quiet was almost foreboding, leaving a heaviness in the Corporal’s stomach that he was having a hard time shaking. He ducked through the open door of the diner, leading a quick sweep of the old-timey space.

  “Clear,” he said as he inspected behind the counter.

  Mason took in the black and white checkered floor and fifties-style decor. “Clear,” he agreed, and followed his companion through the floppy doors into the kitchen.

  It was a small space, but the whole back wall was all shelving. They were both disappointed to find that the shelves were completely bare, picked clean. There was not a single thing left, not even the refills for the soda machine.

  “Motherfucker,” Mason muttered. “Not a single thing left.” He kicked at an empty bucket in frustration.

  Bretz furrowed his brow in concern. “Yeah it sucks,” he agreed, “but we have bigger issues.”

  “What’s that?” the Private asked sullenly, the visions of fresh burgers that had been dancing in his head evaporating into thin air.

  The Corporal ran a hand along one of the stainless steel shelves. “Someone cleaned his place out, which means more than likely there are people here,” he explained. “An if they’re this methodical, they might not like the fact that we’re poking around.”

  Mason took pause, eyes widening with the revelation. “You want me to let Sarge know?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Bretz replied, waving for him to go ahead and then heading over to the back office. He half-listened to his companion filling in the Sergeant as he inspected the cramped space, which had curiously also been completely cleared out. Even the desk drawers were wholly empty.

  He emerged back into the kitchen and something caught his eye out the window. “Mason, I need to talk to the Sarge,” he declared, and the Private blinked at him.

  “Hey, hold up a sec,” he said into the radio. “Bretz needs to speak to you.” He furrowed his brow as he handed over the device, and then followed the Corporal’s gaze out the window. “What the fuck…” he breathed, and his jaw dropped.

  Across the parking lot, there were eight zombies chained up in front of the main entrance to the hotel. Their makeshift leashes were secured to the metal handicap parking poles, with a few feet of give, giving them enough reach to cover a good semicircle guarding the door.

  “We may have an issue,” Bretz said into the radio.

  There was a crackle and Kersey came back, “What you got, Corporal?”

  “Everything seems to have been completely cleaned out,” he explained. “Except for the hotel.”

  “What’s in the hotel?” the Sergeant asked.

  Bretz shook his head. “Not a fucking clue,” he admitted. “Mainly because someone saw fit to have half a dozen zombie guard dogs chained outside the front door.”

  “Shit,” Kersey replied, “somebody caged up a whole mess of them by the school, too.”

  “Have you seen anybody?” Bretz asked, running a hand through his hair. “Living, that is?”

  Another crackle. “Negative,” the Sergeant reported, “you?”

  “Not a soul,” the Corporal said. “So either they’ve abandoned the town, they’re hiding from us… or…”

  “They’re just waiting to strike,” Kersey finished.

  Bretz pursed his lips. “How do you want to play it, Sarge?”

  There was a moment of silence. “How much more of the city you have to look over?”

  “Three, maybe four blocks until we hit the edge,” the Corporal replied.

  “Do a quick sweep and head for the house,” Kersey instructed. “I’ll tell Johnson and Baker to do the same. Make sure you enter through the back, and say out of sight of the school. If there is somebody out there waiting to strike us, we’re gonna make sure they pay a high price for it.”

  “On it, Sarge,” Bretz replied with a firm nod. “We’ll be there soon. Over and out.” He tossed the radio back to Mason, who barely caught it in his shock at the weird scene in front of the hotel.

  “So fucked up,” the Private muttered as he secured the walkie-talkie and raised his weapon once again.

  Bretz nodded. “It’ll be so nice if one of these days we can just have a leisurely stroll through town without someone or something wanting to kill us,” he said wistfully.

  Mason couldn’t help but laugh. “One day Bretz, one day.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  On the north side of town, Johnson and Baker worked their way through the kitchen of a middle-class quality house.

  “Ugh,” Johnson scoffed as he slammed the last cupboard closed. “Fifth straight house without a goddamn thing in it.”

  Baker scrubbed his hands down the sides of his face. “I’m starting to think we should just call it and head back to meet up with Sarge.”

  “Yeah, I’m with ya, bubba,” his companion agreed. “Let’s go hit that church at the top of the street, and then we’ll head back.”

  Baker raised an eyebrow. “If all the houses are empty, why would you think the church wouldn’t be?”

  “I dunno,” Johnson admitted as he checked his gun, “just kinda hoping that they didn’t think to raid the communion wine.”

  His partner barked a laugh. “You know bud, you might have a bit of an alcohol problem.”

  “Well I’m trying to!” Johnson rolled his eyes. “This apocalypse is making it pretty damn difficult, though!”

  They shared a chuckle and headed outside. As they turned up the road, Johnson caught sight of a figure dashing into the backyard of a neighboring house. He raised his weapon and froze, waiting for any more movement.

  “What are we trying to kill, Johnson?” Baker asked, having followed suit with his gun at the ready.

  His partner clenched his jaw. “I saw something run down the side of the house.”

  “Okay,” Baker replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go get it, then.”

  Johnson nodded. “Follow me up, then flank me when we get to the driveway,” he instructed, and they moved in cautious unison towards the driveway. As they hit the asphalt, Baker darted over to the other side, and they headed towards the garage door, which was slightly open. With the large wooden privacy fence enclosing any areas between houses, it was clear where their culprit had gone.

  The Privates each took a side of the garage, and Johnson raised his hand, silently counting down from five. As he got to one, Baker curled his hand under the bottom of the door and hauled it up, his partner ducking underneath.

  Johnson swept the room quickly, on high alert as his companion covered his back, and then honed in on a figure in the back. They were frantically attempting to open the back door, but it seemed it was locked from the outside.

  “Hands up!” Johnson demanded, and the figure grunted in frustration, stepping away from the door. “Hands up!” he repeated, and took another step forward.

  The figure whirled around, and pressed her back against the wall. She looked to be in her early twenties, her shoulder-length black hair tousled and eyes as wide as saucers. What used to be a simple t-shirt and jeans was in tatters, revealing cuts and bruises all caked with different shades of dried blood.

  She raised her hands, the left firmly gripping a small paring knife.

  Baker gently put his hand on his partner’s rifle, pushing the barrel down.

  “What are you doing?” Johnson hissed.

  Baker pursed his lips. “Following orders.”

  It dawned on the spooked Private what his partner was talking about, and he slung his gun over his back. It was their job to de-escalate. That was their mission with the locals.

  “It’s okay,” Baker held his hands out to show that he
wasn’t a threat. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  She shook her head, lowering her knife hand to point at them. “You try to take me back there and I swear to Christ I’ll leave you with something to remember me by,” she warned, voice hoarse and fearful.

  “We’re not going to take you anywhere,” Baker replied gently. “You have my word.”

  She took a deep, ragged breath, but didn’t adjust her stance. “How do I know you’re not with Shawn?”

  “Girl, we don’t know who the fuck Shawn is,” Johnson cut in.

  Baker nodded. “And there’s no way in hell we’d ever hurt someone like you’ve been hurt.” He inclined his head towards her, and she absently reached up to touch her cheek.

  The cut there looked fresh, and deep. Her eyes brimmed with tears, glazing over as if she were reliving something horrific. Then the moment was over, and she blinked rapidly, swallowing hard.

  “Bullshit,” she rasped. “We’re in the middle of nowhere fucking Wyoming. You expect me to believe you guys just dropped in from the air?”

  Baker shrugged. “We came in from the railroad, actually,” he explained, lowering his hands. “We’re on a mission to clear a path from Kansas to the Northwest so we can move our troops there.”

  She sucked in a breath, and seemed to contemplate their story. After what felt like forever, she finally lowered her weapon, shoulders relaxing a little.

  “My name’s Linda,” she said, still eyeing them warily.

  “Okay, Linda.” Baker offered a smile. “I’m Private Baker, this is Private Johnson.”

  His companion offered a little salute, and she inclined her head in his direction.

  “Well, now that we got the pleasantries out of the way, can you tell us what in the holy hell is going on around here?” Johnson asked, waving a hand around his head and then drawing his finger down his cheek. “Who did that to you?”

  She took another deep breath, and let it out shakily before she leaned against the wall, avoiding their gazes. “The zombie outbreak didn’t hit us too hard,” she began. “We’re pretty detached from civilization out here, so by the time people started getting sick, we were getting word of what was happening to them. Families that were healthy packed up and headed to Pine Haven at the reservoir up north, thinking they’d have a better chance at surviving with easy access to water.

  “A small group of us decided to stay and defend the town. We went door to door during those first couple of days and secured all the sick people, old and young alike. Made sure they were locked away and couldn’t do any harm when they turned. Our hope was that we could secure the town and ride it out until help came.

  “But it never did. After the television and the radio went dark, some people started to panic. That’s when Shawn happened.” She stopped, pursing her lips and blinking rapidly.

  Johnson clenched a fist. “Who the fuck is this asshole?”

  “He’s the town’s golden boy,” Linda spat the words. “Star football player that got recruited to play for the state university. He did okay for them, but wasn’t spectacular, so after college he came back to town where he could be a big fish in a small pond. He holds a lot of sway around here, even ten years after his playing heyday. He was able to get a number of survivors to follow him, promising to lead this town into a new era, but it would only work if they listened to him.”

  Baker wrinkled his nose. “And people bought that line of bullshit?”

  “It’s a bunch of small town guys who had their pinnacle moment in life playing high school football,” she explained. “It didn’t take long for them to do his bidding. And it got dark pretty fucking quickly.”

  Johnson drew his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is that how you got that?” he asked, jutting out his chin towards her face.

  Linda swallowed hard, nodding jerkily. “Shawn realized pretty quickly that a lot of his followers had, um… needs.” She looked at the ceiling, blinking a few times and clenching a fist. “Thanks to the way the virus spread, the town’s demographics were a bit skewed. Not in their favor. There were five of us who were attacked and locked up in the school.

  “They treated us like their own personal harem, having their way with us whenever they wanted. I didn’t take too kindly to it, and fought back.” She pointed to her face. “I ended up a little worse for wear… but you should see the other guy.” A bewildered laugh tore its way out of her throat, and she put a hand to her forehead.

  Johnson shook his head, face pale. “How long have you been out here?” he asked.

  “Two nights now,” she replied.

  “This is such a small town,” Baker pointed out, “how have you stayed hidden? Have they not been looking for you?”

  “Oh, they send out patrols every now and then, especially at night,” Linda explained. “But I found the only safe space in town.” She raised her chin at their blank expressions. “You want me to show you?”

  They both nodded, stepping out of the way. She slipped past them, and they noticed that she was careful not to brush either of them on her way by. They kept a respectful distance from her, not wanting to cramp her personal space, especially given everything she’d been through.

  Linda led them straight to the church, where they’d originally been headed, and stopped at the front door. “You may want to cover your noses,” she warned, and then turned the knob.

  The Privates each raised their arms, hiding in the crooks of their elbows, but as soon as she opened the door they both gagged at the putrid smell that hit them. Baker leaned over the stone siding to dry heave, and Johnson frantically pulled a bandana from his pocket and tied it tightly around his face.

  The entire main floor of the church was stacked at least six dead bodies high, all genders and shapes and sizes, some rotting worse than others.

  “What in the holy goddamn fucking shit is that?!” Johnson gasped, motioning for her to close the door.

  Linda pulled it shut, cutting off the smell, but the soldiers couldn’t seem to shake it from their nostrils. “That’s Shawn’s idea of preserving the town,” she said bitterly. “A lot of the people in there were sick, but an awful lot of them weren’t. When he realized that no help was coming and we had limited supplies, he decided that if you couldn’t be useful, you didn’t need to be living.”

  Baker shook his head slowly, face still green. “And you’ve been sleeping in there?”

  “Yep,” she replied. “I figured it was the one place his boys wouldn’t think to look for me.”

  “Get on the line with Sarge,” Johnson instructed, pulling off his bandana and fanning the air in front of his face. “Tell him we’ve got trouble.”

  Baker nodded and pulled out his radio. “On it.”

  “You have more people with you?” Linda furrowed her brow.

  “Yeah, a couple exploring the west side of town, and we got a couple of people at a house across from the high school,” Johnson explained.

  Her eyes went wide and she lashed out to grab his arm. “The High School?” she demanded. “You gotta get them out, now! That’s where Shawn is.”

  “Baker!” Johnson barked, and his companion nodded firmly.

  “Sarge! Sarge! Do you read?” he yelled into the radio.

  There was a tense moment of silence before a crackle responded from the other end. “Yeah, I’m here, what is it?”

  “Hostiles in the school!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kersey darted through the house, pulling all the curtains and securing every window. Kowalski ducked down below the front bay window, keeping his scope on the school. He cursed under his breath, and the Sergeant skidded up next to him.

  “How are we looking?” he asked.

  The Private shook his head. “Got two on the roof that look trigger happy.”

  “Can you hit ‘em?” Kersey raised an eyebrow.

  Kowalski shrugged. “Let me see.” He pulled the little string on the blinds to raise them a few inches, and there was the instant crackle of gu
nfire. The window exploded, and the two soldiers ducked, covering their heads as glass rained down on them and the blinds blew clear off of the wall.

  The silence afterwards was deafening, and Kersey lowered his arms slowly. “Kowalski?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” the Private grunted, “but to answer your earlier question… no, I can’t hit ‘em at the moment.”

  “Fuck.” Kersey let out a deep whoosh of breath. “Keep an eye on ‘em.” He crawled away from the window and then jumped to his feet in the hallway, heading into the master bedroom. He grabbed Bill’s arm and jerked him from the bed onto the floor, startling the poor engineer into sudden wakefulness.

  “Wha…?” Bill moaned as his ass hit the hardwood. “You know, you could just wake me up with a light tap. Or breakfast.” He yanked his arm out of the Sergeant’s grasp.

  “We’re in trouble,” Kersey snapped.

  Bill blinked away the sleep, suddenly wide awake as adrenaline began to pump. “What’s happening?”

  “Pretty sure the school is filled with people who want to murder us,” the Sergeant explained.

  Bill’s eyes flicked to the ceiling for a beat and then back again. “Oh, so just your average Tuesday. Fantastic.”

  Kersey stayed low as he moved under the window, and then threw open the closet. Other than a few old flowered dresses in the corner and a few old musty filing boxes, there wasn’t anything else to be found. He knocked on the interior wood paneling, moving across until there was a hollow echo.

  “Over here,” he demanded, and then used the butt of his rifle to smash in the paneling. There was a crack and he dug his hand in, prying apart a few chunks of wood to create a space wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

  Bill blinked at the dark crawlspace. “You want me in there?”

  “Yep,” Kersey replied with a firm nod. “I need you to stay in there until one of the others comes and gets you out. You don’t make a sound. We don’t know what these guys are capable of, but based on the panic in Baker’s voice, I’m thinking it’s bad.”