Dead America The Third Week | Book 11 | Dead America, Carolina Front, Part 7

by Slaton, Derek

  As he approached the kitchen, a gun began to poke around the corner. Coleman immediately fired, hitting the wall. The structure was old, so the bullets pierced right through it, striking the gunman, causing his weapon to clatter to the floor.

  Coleman rushed forward, ready for the killing blow, but the man was ready for him, slamming the soldier into the wall. He tried to aim his rifle, but the quarters were too close.

  “I’m gonna fuck you up for what you did to my friend,” the gunman snarled, despite the blood pouring from his shoulder.

  Coleman head butted him, landing a direct shot on the bridge of his nose. His opponent staggered back just enough for the soldier to be able to deliver a vicious throat punch, causing him to fully let go.

  He aimed his gun, but the gunman deflected it with a well-placed jab, sending the bullet into the fridge. The man reached for him, but Coleman smacked his hand away, glancing at the kitchen island.

  He lunged forward, sending both of them across the kitchen, and slammed the man into the island. Coleman reached down and grabbed a heavy cast-iron pan, swinging it up into his opponent’s face.

  It caught the gunman flush on the cheek, the bones in his jaw snapping like twigs. He staggered, and Coleman stepped back, immediately swinging an uppercut with the cooking utensil. His attacker slumped to the ground in a heap, barely conscious on the linoleum. Rather than waste a bullet, Coleman brought the pan down hard on the man’s head, splattering blood and skull all over the place.

  The soldier breathed a heavy sigh of relief before another torrent of gunfire from outside snapped him back into the moment. He quickly rushed over to the back door, slamming it shut and locking it just as bullets ripped through the windows. He hit the ground hard, barely avoiding damage as glass rained down over him.

  Coleman kicked against the cupboards, slithering back into the hallway for cover.

  Meanwhile, Miles reached the landing upstairs and sprinted down the hallway to the room at the front of the house. He burst inside and took up a firing position at the window, lined up almost perfectly with the SUV.

  He saw Terrell crouched down behind the wheel well as bullets peppered the vehicle. He took a moment to survey the battlefield, seeing several muzzle flashes coming from the tree line to his left, and three men moving in formation coming from the right, headed for the Captain.

  Miles smashed a pane of glass with the butt of his rifle before aiming at the trio and opening fire in three-round bursts. The first batch landed short of them, causing them to flinch. He took better aim and fired, hitting the leader in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

  The man writhed in pain on the ground, and his two friends aimed up and fired back, forcing Miles to take cover.

  “Shit, he has a vest,” he muttered to himself.

  As soon as the gunfire stopped, he popped back up just in time to see Terrell leap up and open fire. The man on the ground was in the process of getting back up, and one of the bullets hit him in the neck. He panicked and grabbed at the wound, blood pouring through his fingers like a waterfall.

  His two friends turned their aim to the SUV, forcing him back behind cover. Miles popped out of the window and squeezed off several rounds, narrowly missing the attackers. The shots forced them to retreat to the tree line on the right.

  Terrell looked up and saw Miles in the window, proceeding to give him a thumbs up. The latter gave back a playful salute, and then motioned for the Captain to make a run for the house, but he shook his head.

  Instead, Terrell motioned to Miles that he was going to take the SUV and lead them away, but the soldier firmly shook his head at that. The captain nodded furiously, implying that it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. Finally Miles gave in, nodding in agreement.

  The two of them took a breather, both surveying the area to make sure no more attackers were going to come at them. As Miles scanned the tree line, Coleman appeared in the doorway behind him.

  “Is Cap ok?” he asked.

  His companion nodded. “Yeah, he’s pinned down, but he’s alive,” he said.

  “How the fuck did they find us?” Coleman asked, rubbing his forehead.

  Miles shrugged. “Tracker in the SUV? ESP?” He shook his head. “Does it really fucking matter?”

  “Well it does if we don’t want them to keep finding us,” Coleman replied.

  “Guess we’ll just have to kill ‘em all then,” Miles declared.

  The sniper cracked a smile, approving of the new strategy. “Where do you need me to get Cap back inside?” he asked.

  “He’s gonna lure some of them off with the SUV,” Miles replied.

  “What?!” Coleman barked.

  His companion put up a hand in surrender. “Got me man,” he said, “but that’s his plan.”

  “If anybody follows him, you light ‘em up!” Coleman instructed.

  Miles nodded. “Will do.”

  “I’m gonna get back downstairs to cover the back,” the sniper said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “If they try to get in the front, you let me know.”

  Miles checked his mag, pursing his lips at the fact it was mostly empty. “I only got five or six shots left with this thing, but I’ll make them count.”

  “You got your sidearm, right?” Coleman asked.

  Miles nodded. “Ready to go.”

  The sniper waved and then hustled back down the stairs, gun at the ready. Miles turned back to the window, seeing Terrell waving at him to get his attention. As soon as their eyes met, the Captain made his move.

  He cautiously moved over to the driver’s seat, opening the door and sliding in, staying low and quiet. As soon as he started the engine, a few shots rang out from both sides, peppering the vehicle.

  Miles picked his shots, lining them up with the muzzle flashes from the tree line and firing. He couldn’t tell if he’d scored any hits, but the shots on the left side stopped.

  Terrell hit the gas, speeding in reverse down the driveway, somehow managing to keep the vehicle somewhat straight. When he got to the road, he cut the wheel sharply, sending the SUV onto the highway and speeding off out of sight. A few seconds later, two SUVs tore out from behind the tree line on the right, racing after him.

  “Go get ‘em, Cap,” Miles murmured, and then scanned the left tree line, wondering how many were waiting in there for them. “Hope there’s only a couple of you,” he muttered, “because that’s about all the ammo I got.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Terrell sped down the highway, looking in his rearview mirror. “Come on, follow me,” he urged under his breath. “Follow me.”

  His request was swiftly answered as two SUV’s pulled out from the driveway to give chase.

  “There we go!” he cried, and floored it. The engine whined in response as it strained to increase speed. “Shit, engine must have taken a bullet.” As he hit sixty, the engine began to rattle, shaking the entire vehicle. “Hold on baby, hold on,” he whispered.

  Terrell glanced in the rearview and saw they were gaining on him, but there was still about a hundred yards between them. He passed a sign that read Whiteville - 2 Miles.

  “Guess that’s where I’m making my stand,” he declared, and punched the gas again, trying to build as much distance from his pursuers as he could.

  When he hit eighty, however, there was a loud POP in the engine and smoke began to billow out from beneath the hood.

  “Dammit!” he cried as the speed started to go down. He could see the front edge of the town in the distance, and squinted when he focused in on a carnival setup. “Gonna have to do,” he said, shaking his head at the unexpected sight.

  He gave the gas one more hit, revving the engine and setting it aflame. As soon as fire began to lick out from under the hood, he pulled into the parking lot of the carnival.

  It was decently sized, with a dozen or so large rides, like a ferris wheel, small roller coaster, and of course, lots of carnival games. Terrell darted out of the SUV and it poofed into
flames. He quickly reached into the backseat, grabbing an extra mag for his assault rifle, and then rushed off into the heart of the carnival as the SUV became completely engulfed.

  Terrell dove behind a funnel cake stand, quickly checking to make sure that the area was clear of zombies, which it seemed to be. There was a hatch in the back of the stand leading further into the carnival, and he made sure it was unlatched.

  The Captain ducked down behind the counter, watching his SUV burn to a crisp. Smoke billowed out, the occasional pop of a round of ammo firing from the heat. It sank his stomach to have had to leave supplies in there, but there’d been no time.

  Before long, the two pursuing SUVs pulled up. Seven men stepped out, all donned in combat fatigues, bulletproof vests, and holding assault rifles. They walked up to the driver of the lead vehicle, a large muscular Latino man with a sharply-edged face.

  So you’re the ringleader, huh? Terrell thought, and contemplated just taking him out right there. He held off, figuring that if he did that he’d easily be torn apart by his men. So he watched, instead, as the man barked out orders and then his crew broke off into groups of two.

  “Game on, motherfuckers,” the Captain muttered to himself, and then snuck out the back hatch of the funnel cake stand into a long alley of carnival games. As he ran up the makeshift corridor, he noticed a dozen or so zombies scattered about on the entire couple hundred yard stretch.

  As he moved up the row, there was a carnival game ahead where the goal was to throw a softball into a wicker basket. He reached over and grabbed one of the balls, before ducking around the corner of a building.

  As Terrell rounded the corner, he was greeted immediately by a carnie zombie. The scraggly thing wore overalls, the bottom of its lip missing where it had been kissed by a ghoul. It hissed with excitement as it shambled forward.

  The Captain didn’t bother drawing his knife, simply smashed the thing’s face in with the softball. The first strike shattered the six remaining teeth in its head, the second putting a sizable dent in its forehead. Terrell leg-swept the creature, sending it to the grass where he finished it off.

  He noticed that the side door to the carnival game was open, so he quietly ducked inside, saying out of sight. He dragged the corpse in with him to avoid detection. It wasn’t long before he could hear two of his attackers making their way up the alley towards him.

  As he sat in the dim plywood building, he saw another softball on the floor, laying behind the clown targets. He cracked a quick smile, thinking of the poor unathletic sap who’d thrown this trying to win a girl a cheap stuffed animal.

  The two gunmen walked in front of the booth, arms locked, aiming their assault rifles with murderous intent, ready to unload at the first sign of trouble. The moved at a slow but deliberate pace, sweeping each booth from the center of the row.

  Terrell frowned as he formulated a plan. This is a shit idea, bro, he thought to himself. If you survive this, it’ll definitely be in the top five worst ideas ever.

  He watched out the side door for the duo to pass by the alley between the two buildings. As they moved just out of sight, he came out from behind cover. He paused for a second before launching a softball high in the air, flinging it back over the aisle. It crashed onto the roof of the building across and up from him.

  The noise startled the two fighters, both of whom turned their attention towards the dart throwing game, balloons on the wall still half full of air to taunt any potential dart-throwers. Terrell moved up to the end of the building, watching as they cautiously approached the booth that the noise had come from.

  Moans echoed in the distance, excited for the sound of the softball possibly signifying a fresh meal.

  Terrell took out his knife and readied the remaining softball in his dominant hand. As soon as both of their backs were to him, he jumped out from behind the building and rushed towards them.

  After about six steps, closing a significant portion of the gap, they realized he was behind them. They turned slowly, unsure of the noise that was starting to be drowned out by zombie moans. As the Captain sprinted forward, he threw the softball hard, catching the man on the right in the ear, stunning him long enough for Terrell to reach his friend.

  He managed to catch the man by most of a surprise, jamming the knife into the side of his head. Unluckily, the man turned so the blade went into his cheek, piercing through his bottom jaw instead. He dropped his gun, gurgling and groaning.

  His partner recovered from the softball blow and raised his assault rifle, aiming it at Terrell, who grabbed the bleeding man and used him as a shield. The gunner fired a three-round burst, all hitting the bulletproof vest. The high caliber rounds pierced it, however, lodging inside of the man who gurgled even more blood.

  Terrell shoved the human shield forward, and his dead weight pinned his opponent to the platform. As he struggled to free himself, the Captain leapt on top, standing on the corpse’s back, holding him down. The gunman fired a few shots, but his flailing panic sent the bullets wild.

  Terrell tried to draw his handgun, but was having a hard time due to the thrashing beneath his feet. He reached down and grabbed a handful of darts from the counter and slammed them into his opponent’s face.

  The man screeched as the tips pierced his forehead and eye. Terrell honed in on the one in his eyeball, and slammed his palm down into it, sending it directly into his brain. The man convulsed himself to death, and Terrell hopped off of them, waiting for the movement to stop before grabbing his knife from the top corpse.

  His breather didn’t last long as the five remaining gunmen headed his way. He could hear gunshots coming from the next aisle, and the zombie moans ceased, which meant they’d taken out his reinforcements.

  Terrell took off running deeper into the carnival as two gunmen came around the bend behind him. They squeezed off a few shots in his direction, forcing him to dive through the opening of a concession stand. He landed hard on the ground as bullets ripped through the cheap plywood and hot dog condiments above him.

  He scampered to the back door, remaining low as ketchup and mustard glopped everywhere. He burst out the back door into an alley between two rows of buildings, and darted out into the next aisle. He turned to run in the opposite direction of his attackers, and then skidded to a stop at the sight of a mini-horde of zombies.

  There were forty or so walking corpses packed in fairly tight, with only a foot or two separating them.

  “Fucking hell,” Terrell muttered under his breath, and thought frantically as he heard the footsteps of the gunmen approaching fast. He drew his handgun and turned towards them, the zombies about fifteen yards from his back.

  As the first attacker came around the corner, Terrell opened fire, hitting the corner of the building and forcing them back around cover.

  The Captain immediately turned and rushed towards the zombie horde, pumping his legs as hard as he possibly could. He found the biggest gap he could, about two feet wide, and rammed his way straight through.

  Behind him, the gunmen came around the corner, firing wildly, but hitting only rotting flesh. Terrell stayed as low as he could, the moans intensifying at the moving meal, putrid arms reaching out to grab for him. He dodged their gaping maws, his momentum carrying him through most of the throng, knocking down as many as he could to keep his speed going.

  He finally saw light at the end of the horde, with only a few more rows to get through, but a dead hand caught his right sleeve. He instinctively flew into a spin, sending the handsy creature tumbling to the ground and allowing him to leap over it. He stumbled a bit as he completed the 360, pushing his hand off of the grass for stability.

  As he approached the last couple of creatures, he dove forward to avoid falling on his face, using his hand to spring himself forward. He landed on the ground in a heap, and then rolled as hard as he could away from the hungry zombies. After a few rotations, he was clear, and quickly got to his feet and sprinted away, the sounds of gunfire still popping off be
hind him.

  The Captain ran about ten yards before he reached the entrance to a large haunted house structure. He ducked inside, shutting the door behind him. There was a row of flashlights on the table, and he grabbed one, flicking it on. The black light bulb illuminated the area just enough to make sure there were no zombies waiting to jump out at him.

  Terrell took a knee, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. “Two down… five to go…”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Miles kept a trained eye on the tree line, still seeing some of the branches move due to the men shuffling around behind it. He stayed back away from the window so they couldn’t get an angle on him, hiding in the shadows.

  With his rifle down to a handful of rounds, he waited for the impending assault that he may or may not have enough bullets to survive. Footsteps rose on the stairs, slow and deliberate, and he stiffened. Had they gotten past Coleman? Was Coleman…

  He aimed his gun at the door, unsure of who was about to come through it. A moment later, Chucky’s head appeared right on the floor as he crawled into the doorway.

  “Holy fuck man,” Miles said, letting out a deep whoosh of breath. “You about gave me a heart attack.”

  Chucky swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbled.

  “What are you doing?” Miles asked, turning back to the window.

  The portly man took a deep breath. “Coleman told me to come upstairs and hide in case things get bad down there,” he explained.

  Miles nodded, and pursed his lips, wishing this overgrown man child would find his backbone and help them in this fight. But a part of him knew that not everybody was cut out for combat.

  He inclined his head to the closet in the corner of the room. “Get in and keep your head down,” he instructed. “You’re probably going to hear-”

  The window lit up with gunfire, and he hit the deck. Chucky stared wide-eyed at the display, face white as a sheet.

  “Get in the closet, now!” Miles bellowed, and his terrified charge scurried across the ground to the closet and closed the door behind him.