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

by Slaton, Derek

  The engineer nodded, and shimmied his way in. “Stay safe, Sarge,” he said somberly, and Kersey nodded his thanks before shoving the panels back into place. He pulled the hanging dresses over to cover the worst of the damage, and then closed the closet door.

  He hit the deck back in the hallway and crawled up beside Kowalski again. “How we looking?”

  “Tried to keep an eye on them, but I don’t have much of a view,” the Private admitted. “Pretty sure I caught a glimpse of some of them moving around to the back.”

  The Sergeant nodded and crawled back down the hallway to the kitchen. He peeked up over the sink, and sighed at the sight of six armed men darting across the backyard, taking cover behind the shed and an old car.

  “Got company out back,” Kersey called quietly.

  Kowalski leaned into the hallway. “How bad?”

  “Pretty fuckin’ bad,” the Sergeant replied, noting the assault rifles. “Is going out the front door an option?”

  The Private pursed his lips, and then noticed a bike helmet hanging next to the front door. He grabbed it and balanced it on the barrel of his rifle, slowly moving it up into the broken window. As soon as it crossed the threshold, a single shot rang out and the helmet exploded into tiny bits of sparkly plastic and styrofoam.

  “Not unless we want to get shot in the face,” Kowalski confirmed. “Looks like these boys on the roof can shoot.”

  Kersey shook his head. “Options?”

  “Call in an airstrike?” the Private asked.

  The Sergeant couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t think General Stephens will approve that.”

  “Well, we have reinforcements in town,” Kowalski pointed out. “Let’s just start shooting and get ‘em up here.”

  “Negative.” Kersey shook his head. “We do that and we run the risk of Bill getting shot. Keeping him safe is the most important thing.”

  “Glad you’re so concerned about us getting shot,” Kowalski retorted.

  “Whoever you are!” A loud bellow sounded from the backyard, and the Sergeant peeked to see an athletic-looking blonde man in his early thirties step out from behind the shed. “You are NOT welcome here.”

  Kersey ducked behind the counter, his back against the cupboards, and shimmied over to the screen door. “Don’t mind us,” he hollered back, “we’re just passing through.”

  “Passing through?” the man asked. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Sergeant John Kersey, and my friend up front is Private Kowalski,” Kersey called out. “We’re on a field trip to the Northwest, and stopped in your fine town for a bit of R and R.”

  “Military boys, huh?” the guy asked, sounding thoughtful. “Well, looks like I might have a use for you other than stringing you up and feeding you to my pets.”

  “While we certainly appreciate not being zombie chow,” the Sergeant replied, “we really do need to be on our way.”

  “Nonsense, there’s no rush,” the man replied, and the firm tone of his voice left no room for argument. “You boys are going to be my guests for a few days.”

  Kersey took a deep breath. “That’s very generous of you, and we are very appreciative of the offer, but we really do need to get back on the road.”

  “This is not a request, Sergeant,” the man declared. “You boys are the meal ticket we’ve been waiting on. If y’all are way up in these parts, coming in via a locomotive, that tells me the military values your service. As a result, I have a feeling they’re going to be more than happy to guarantee your safety by providing us with some supplies.”

  The Sergeant couldn’t help but laugh. “Your plan is to demand a ransom from the U.S. Military, in a time of war? You haven’t really thought that plan through very well, have you?”

  “Thanks to their negligence,” the man growled, “we’ve been backed into a bit of a corner here. See, we don’t have the resources to grow our own food. Our supplier up the road in Gillette has been knocked out, so all we have is what we had left when this shitstorm began, which isn’t a whole lot. And despite paying my taxes six out of the last ten years, I’m not seeing any return of that from the government. But with you boys here, I figure that’s about to change.”

  Kersey rolled his eyes. “So, what, you want to give us a nice comfy room, we’ll call it in, and then wait for some food to get delivered? That sound about right?”

  “It does indeed,” the man replied, sounding rather pleased with himself. “So why don’t y’all just come on outta there? Just leave your guns in the kitchen, and some of my boys will take real good care of ‘em.”

  Kowalski crawled into the kitchen, shaking his head vehemently. The Sergeant nodded slowly at him, and the Private scowled his defeat. He shoved his rifle across the tile floor and slowly got to his feet.

  “All right, we’re coming out,” Kersey called, and put down his own gun. He clapped his companion on the back and they both raised their hands, moving slowly out the screen door.

  Several men descended on them quickly, patting them down to secure the prisoners.

  “Which one of you is the Sergeant I was speaking with?” the blonde man asked, and Kersey inclined his head. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sergeant. My name is Shawn. Welcome to my humble little town.” He spread his arms and grinned, pausing for dramatic effect. Then he raised a finger and waved to his men. “Take them to detention.”

  “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that, I could have retired instead of joining the military,” Kowalski muttered.

  Shawn chuckled. “You and me both, friend. You and me both.” He inspected the soldiers’ bound hands, making sure they were secure behind their backs. “Once you have them locked down, send out a patrol for their friends who are wandering around town. Tell the patrol that if they find resistance, they have permission to shoot on sight.” He stared down his nose at the soldiers, whose faces had drained of all color. “We have what we need to make a deal.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Mason growled under his breath as he watched a group of armed men lead their bound Sergeant and Kowalski across the street towards the school.

  “Settle down,” Bretz said quietly, putting a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

  “We’ve gotta go get them,” Mason protested, whirling on the Corporal. They’d found an empty house adjacent to the school, having managed to take refuge before the shooters from the roof started scoping out the area. “God only knows what they’re gonna do to them.”

  “They can handle themselves for the time being,” Bretz said calmly. “We’ve gotta figure out a way to get into that house undetected.”

  The Private threw up his hands. “Why?”

  “Because Bill isn’t being frog marched to the school,” the Corporal explained. “Which means he’s either dead and we’re truly fucked, or he’s still hiding in there. He’s the priority, unless you’ve magically learned how trains operate.”

  Mason sighed his defeat, shoulders slumping. “What’s the play?”

  “First things first, we need to make sure that Johnson and Baker are still rolling,” Bretz said, and unclipped his walkie-talkie from his belt. He changed the frequency and hit the button. “Johnson, Baker, you boys there?”

  “Bretz, we got hostiles in town,” Baker came back immediately.

  “Yeah, thanks for the warning on that one,” the Corporal replied, voice thick with sarcasm.

  “Sorry, Sarge was priority since he was with Bill,” the Private gushed.

  “Kidding, man, you did the right thing,” Bretz assured him.

  “Where you boys at?” Baker asked.

  Bretz took a deep breath. “We’re a block away from the school. Just saw Sarge and Kowalski being marched over from the house by some armed douchebags.”

  “Fuck,” the Private replied hoarsely. “And Bill?”

  “No sight of him,” Bretz said. “We’re hoping he’s still in the house.”

  “When you get him, y’all make your way north,” Baker instructed.
“There’s a church that’s up… hang on, Linda, what road is that?” There was a pause and the Corporal furrowed his brow at the radio, wondering who the hell Linda was. “It’s straight up Carver Avenue. Just for the love of god don’t go inside. We’ll be in the last house on the left.”

  “Understood,” Bretz replied, “we’ll see you soon. Over and out.” He clipped the walkie talkie back to his belt and then turned to peer out the window again. The guards had retreated into the building, but there were still two snipers hanging out on the roof. Bretz sighed. “Looks like we’re going to have to take the long way around to the house.”

  After ducking in and out of houses throughout the suburb, the two soldiers brought up the rear of the house. They knelt behind an old muscle car, clearly someone’s restoration project considering it was up on blocks with the engine half-built.

  Bretz peeked up over the trunk, narrowing his eyes to look for movement inside. He saw a few silhouettes moving around past windows, and ducked back down quickly. He drew his knife and turned to Mason, putting a finger to his lips and then drawing it across his throat.

  His companion nodded in understanding, drawing his own blade. Bretz peered around the back of the car, watching the windows for an opportunity to move. When he dashed forward, Mason followed close behind, and they silently pressed themselves against either side of the back screen door.

  Bretz quietly pulled it open, waving the Private in and gently closing it behind them to keep quiet.

  “Man, can you believe the nerve of these soldier boys?” a guy was saying, his voice echoing from the living room. “Coming into our town thinking they hot shit?”

  “Shawn’s gonna learn ‘em some manners, I can tell you that,” another guy replied, sounding closer to the master bedroom.

  Bretz motioned for Mason to head towards the living room, and then moved down the hallway towards the other.

  The Private moved deliberately and slowly towards the sound of rummaging, and saw the back of a guy as he dug around in the closet on the far end. Mason crept forward, and as soon as his opponent backed out of the closet, he lashed forward and planted the knife directly into his jugular. The Private clapped a hand over his victim’s mouth, silencing him as the life drained from his eyes, body falling limp back into the closet.

  Mason clenched his jaw, hating that the apocalypse had brought out the worst in humans. He hadn’t wanted to stab a man to death today. But he had a mission.

  “Man, I can’t find shit back here, if they had somebody else they gone now,” the other guy called. “Yo, did you hear me?”

  Bretz pressed himself against the wall around the corner from the end of the hallway as the footsteps got closer.

  “Goddammit stop slacking off!” The guy stomped into the living room, and froze at the sight of his dead friend. The Corporal took the opportunity to curl his arm around and stab him in the eye, burying the blade deep into his brain. The guard didn’t even make a noise as his body slid to the floor.

  Mason knelt and stabbed his own corpse in the head to prevent reanimation, shaking his head once again and what he’d had to do.

  “Bill?” Bretz called. “Bill, you here, buddy?” He waited a moment and there was no response. “Check everywhere,” the Corporal instructed, and they split up, searching every room. Bretz entered the master bedroom, noting the rumpled covers. “Bill?”

  Knock, knock.

  The Corporal furrowed his brow at the noise, and opened the closet door. “Bill?”

  “I’m in the wall.” The engineer’s voice was muffled.

  Bretz moved the set of floral dresses out of the way, noting the damaged wall panel. He dug his fingers into the top corner and tore it down, raising an eyebrow at the sight of his haggard and dusty companion.

  “That’s one hell of a hiding spot,” he said.

  Bill coughed. “You’re telling me.”

  “Come on, we’ve gotta get the hell outta here,” Bretz instructed, holding the wood out of the way. “It’s not safe.”

  Bill rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no shit.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Shawn led the way down a long series of hallways, the two soldiers keeping pace with armed men at their backs. The school was an absolute mess. There was trash everywhere, doors hanging off their hinges, and spray paint covering almost every surface they passed. Lockers, tiled floor, ceiling, a plethora of colors depicting a logo that neither of the prisoners could quite make out.

  “Man, nice place y’all got here,” Kowalski drawled as he trampled a crumpled-up chip bag. “Do you start the tour off with the best, or do we still have something to look forward to?”

  Shawn glanced over his shoulder as he walked. “You have quite the mouth on you.”

  “Bet you hear that a lot from your buddies in the locker room,” the Private shot back with a wolfish grin.

  The blonde leader narrowed his eyes and spun around. He inclined his head away from the stairwell and motioned to the hallway to the left. “You know, I think you boys would benefit from having the full tour. Let’s go to the gym.”

  Kersey shook his head as his companion as they followed Shawn to a set of double doors. The muffled sound of heavy bass intensified as he threw them open, shredding metal music blaring and echoing. The graffiti was a lot more concentrated in there, with makeshift barricades and social areas built around out of broken desks and overturned lockers. In the far corner there was a crude cage put together out of chunks of the bleachers, a group of terrified looking people inside.

  In the center circle was a thick knotted rope dangling all the way to the floor, surrounded by an eight-foot-tall fence. Out the side was a long narrow fence hallway that led all the way to another set of double doors.

  “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t show you our main entertainment attraction?” Shawn sneered, and whistled loudly as they reached the center pen. A few guards standing by the prisoners looked at him, and he raised a finger, prompting them to open the pen, aiming their guns at the terrified residents. None of them looked to be in particularly good shape.

  “Get your ass out of there.” One of the guards reached in to grab a balding middle-aged man that looked about forty pounds overweight.

  “No, please!” he begged as he stumbled out of the pen. “Don’t make me climb!”

  One of the guards kicked him in the ass, sending him sprawling to the floor. “Oh, yeah, there is no way in hell this guy is gonna last long.”

  “If he makes it to the third knot, I’ll be surprised,” the first guard replied, grabbing the man’s collar and jerking him up to his feet.

  The second guard shook his head as he grabbed one of the prisoner’s arms and they began to drag him along. “Nah, man, look at the fear in his eyes.” He laughed cruelly. “That alone will get him at least to the fourth one.”

  “Wanna bet?” The first guard grinned.

  “Please…” the prisoner moaned.

  The second guard shoved him against the fence hallway. “Pack of smokes?” he asked, ignoring the pleas of their victim.

  “You’re on,” the first guard replied, and opened a door into the fence hallway.

  “Oh my god, please,” the man blubbered, gripping his new prison with panicked eyes. “Please, Shawn, no, don’t do this.”

  The blonde cocked his head, feigning sympathy. “Shh, it’s going to be okay,” he cooed. “You know the rules. You have the same chance as everybody else.”

  The man broke down into full on sobs, sagging against the fence. “Please… no…”

  “Three minutes,” Shawn declared. “That’s all you have to do is last three minutes.”

  “What the fuck, this is sick,” Kowalski muttered, and Kersey shook his head, prompting him to stay quiet. The Sergeant knew there was no stopping this at this point.

  He raised his hand to a guard at the far end of the fence hallway, and his lackey pulled on a chain, opening the side doors. Moans immediately joined the guitar solo, and the man backed u
p against the closed gate to the rope pen.

  “Oh god, open it, let me in!” he begged. “Open the gate!”

  “Now now,” Shawn purred as half a dozen zombies ambled into the gym, stumbling down the fence hallway. “Ask nicely.”

  “Please, please open it!” the man screamed.

  The blonde maniac cocked his head, putting a finger to his chin as if in thought. “Well, okay, since you asked nicely,” he motioned to another guard. “Open it.”

  One of the guards who’d made the bet pulled on a chain next to the rope pen, allowing the prisoner access. The rotund man rushed for the rope, and quickly wiped his sweaty hands on his tattered pants. He gripped it tightly, struggling to pull himself up, sweat already beading on his red face as he looked over his shoulder at the corpses a mere ten yards away.

  “Come on man!” Kowalski cried, stepping towards the rope pen. “Just take deep breaths and concentrate, you can do it!”

  The man turned his panicked eyes on the bound soldier, and then followed his instructions, taking a deep breath and securing his feet on the first knot.

  “Fall, you fat sack of shit!” one of the betting guards yelled. “I got smokes riding on this!”

  The prisoner grunted and gripped the third knot, pressing his feet together on the second, and managed to reach up to grip the forth in a desperate fist.

  “Goddammit!” the guard snapped, and pulled out a pack of smokes from his pocket before tossing it over to his buddy.

  “Nice doing business with you,” his companion replied with a wink.

  The other guard scowled. “Fuck you,” he snapped.

  “Two minutes,” Shawn declared as the zombies reached up to brush the bottoms of the prisoner’s shoes.

  He shrieked and managed to get up another rung, safely out of reach, but his breathing was heavy and he looked like he was struggling to stay up there.

  “Come on buddy, you’ve got this!” Kowalski urged, desperation in his voice. Kersey remained silent, using the distraction to survey the room. There had to be something they could use to their advantage.