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

by Slaton, Derek

  “So you were just following orders?” Coleman asked with a sneer. “Novel defense.”

  “I wasn’t exactly in a position to question orders,” the prisoner insisted. “And I’m guessing with the skill you boys have, you’ve been in that same position a time or two.” He looked between them with pleading eyes. “Or am I missing my mark there?”

  Coleman and Miles shared a pointed glance before the sniper turned back to him. “So who is your leader?” he asked.

  “Badass guy named Marco,” the prisoner replied. “Don’t know too much about him other than he’s an absolute unit of a human being. Big, fast, strong and ruthless. Not the type of guy you want on your ass.”

  The sniper pursed his lips. “So I’m guessing he’s not among the dead, here?”

  “No,” his captive replied, shaking his head, “he was in the group that went after your friend.”

  Miles clenched his jaw.

  “Don’t worry,” Coleman assured him, “Cap can handle his own.”

  His companion sighed. “Still, we should probably go lend a hand.”

  Coleman nodded and pulled out his handgun, holding it at his side. “So, what do you think we should do with him?” he asked.

  “I threatened to shoot his dick off and feed it to him,” Miles pointed out. “So pretty sure my position is clear. But it’s your call.”

  The sniper stared the man in the eye. “I understand you were in a difficult position,” he said. “I’ve been there myself, and it’s not fun. But you have an opportunity right now to free yourself from ever being put in that position again.” He pointed a finger in his face. “Now, I’m going to loosen these chains so you can get out of them. Gonna take you a little while, but you can do it if you try. You’re free to go your own way, but know this. If you join back up with the Boss and his men, my friend here is going to make good on his threat to feed you your manhood.” He raised his chin. “Is that clear?”

  The prisoner nodded furiously. “Yes, thank you,” he gushed. “You’ll never see me again!”

  “Ah, but we might,” Coleman replied, wagging his finger. “Which is why you’re going to find your own path, right?”

  “I’m done with them,” the man insisted.

  Coleman studied him for a moment, unsure of whether to believe him or not. “Okay,” he finally said, and then loosened the chains a bit, giving him some wiggle room. “You good with that?”

  “Yeah, I can manage,” the prisoner replied.

  The sniper nodded. “Good.” He turned to Miles and they started to walk away, but he paused and turned back. “Your gun is over there by the side of the house. There’s some food and water in the kitchen. I would recommend heading inland, maybe down towards rural Georgia. We’ve heard some horror stories about the coast.”

  “Appreciate it,” the prisoner replied, eyes sincere. “Good luck, you two. You’ll need it against Marco.”

  As the soldiers headed for the SUV, Miles raised an eyebrow. “Kind of surprised you let him live,” he admitted.

  Coleman shook his head. “Been far too much killing the last few days,” he replied. “Just wanted to remind myself of what it was like to not put a man down.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Terrell took cover behind the wall of the bumper cars, catching his breath from the cat and mouse games. Avoiding zombies and trained killers was exhausting. He looked out over the center of the carnival, noting a large, disturbing clown statue in the center, with several dozen zombies milling about.

  Sounds of gunfire echoed in the distance.

  Guess they’re running into some of your friends, he thought, as if speaking to the zombies. Would probably be too much to ask for your buddies to take them out for me, huh?

  The gunshots grew closer, sounding like they were coming from the aisle next to where Terrell was hiding. He ducked down and crept forward, peeking up over the top. A few zombies from the clown cluster wandered off towards the noise.

  A few seconds later, they dropped, the gunfire closer. This enraged the dozens still in the center, and they moved after their fallen brethren. As they did, three men appeared, including the beastly latino guy from earlier.

  To shoot or not to shoot, Terrell thought, that is the question. He readied his assault rifle, but stayed low, waiting to see what his pursuers were going to do.

  The leader barked out some orders, pointing in two different directions. A moment later, they broke off, with him and one man running to one side of the horde, and a lone man heading Terrell’s way. He was tall and muscular, looking almost like a white version of the Captain in terms of build.

  It’s like they want to make this easy on me, he thought gleefully. He smirked and threw his assault rifle back over his shoulder, ducking out of sight. He listened as the gunman walked closer to the bumper cars, straining to focus on the steps over the moans of the hungry undead.

  The wall Terrell hid behind was about waist high, which wasn’t a lot of cover if the person was right up on them. He kept his hand on his sidearm, just in case the enemy didn’t approach him straight on. Shooting would be bad, because it would potentially alert the others, not to mention the dozens of creatures nearby.

  Terrell readied himself as the footsteps sounded nearly a few feet away, and took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, he thought, and popped up from behind the wall.

  The man was surprised, and tried to raise his gun in a panic, but Terrell smacked it out of his hands. His opponent grabbed him by the top of his shirt, but the Captain reversed the move by thrusting his arm underneath him and flipping him over the wall.

  The man landed hard on the wood paneled floor of the bumper car arena, sliding a few feet along the ground on his back. He leapt to his feet, brandishing a long knife.

  “I’m gonna cut you up good, boy,” he snarled with a sneer.

  Terrell drew his own knife, grinning back at him. “You’re more than welcome to try,” he quipped.

  The man rushed Terrell, swinging his knife at torso height, and the Captain leapt back to dodge it. He countered with a slash of his own, catching his opponent in the arm. The man looked at the blood running down his tricep, and lifted it, licking the crimson liquid from his skin with a wild expression in his eyes.

  He lunged forward, and stabbed straight out, and Terrell smacked his weapon hand away, lunging himself, but received the same treatment in return. They exchanged slashes and stabs in an almost mirror-image dance, but neither could land a hit on the other.

  Finally the man raised the knife above his head and brought it down hard, and Terrell saw his opening, ducking to the side and lunging in to stab at his opponent’s kidney. In his momentum, he lost grip of his knife, leaving it in the man’s gut.

  His opponent turned around, pulled the knife from his body, and tossed it over the wall into the sea of zombies drawn by the noise. A few of the corpses managed to tumble over the waist-high barrier, smacking down hard on the wood.

  “This just got interesting,” the man declared.

  Terrell shook his head. “You and I have very different definitions of that word,” he said.

  His attacker simply grunted in response and rushed forward to attack his now-unarmed opponent, despite the blood gushing down his body.

  Terrell ducked underneath the first horizontal strike, and then leaned back to avoid the return slash. The man stabbed at him, but he smacked his knife hand to the side and delivered an open-palm strike to the man’s chest, staggering him backwards.

  As his opponent readied his next attack, one of the zombies approached Terrell. The Captain grabbed it by the shirt and flung it around, using it as a shield to block the knife strike coming for him. The blade embedded into the corpse’s skull, and Terrell shoved the creature forward, forcing his opponent to shove it away.

  The Captain took the opportunity to punch him in the jaw, and the man staggered back, his knife still in the fallen ghoul. He frantically swung, missing Terrell but hitting another zombie in the jaw. The C
aptain lunged forward, putting his shoulder into the man’s wounded gut, sending him flying back over one of the dead bumper cars.

  His opponent hit the ground hard, the air whooshing out of his lungs. Terrell kicked out at the zombie nearest to him, sending it down as well, and then stomped on its head, crushing its skull and ending it for good.

  His living opponent wheezed as he peeled himself from the floor, blood pouring out of his mouth. He tried to let out an aggressive grunt, but it was weak due to his fall. Terrell looked past him at the zombies on the other side of the wall, reaching out, only a few yards away from a fresh fleshy meal.

  He broke out into a spring, rushing straight for his opponent. This caught him off guard, and he threw himself forward in an attempt to meet with equal force, but failed. The Captain hit him like a linebacker, but then lifted him up off of the ground. The man’s heels dragged along the wood as Terrell drove him back.

  The man brought his elbow down onto Terrell’s head, but he didn’t let up, giving one final heave and sending the beast of a man into the outstretched rotting arms. It didn’t take long for the feast to begin, the man screaming in agony as several ghouls ripped at his flesh.

  Terrell watched as blood spurted everywhere, coating the faces of zombies gnawing hungrily at him. The man’s screams were quickly silenced as a creature latched on to his voice box, and they dragged him over the wall and overwhelmed him, fighting for the warm meat.

  The Captain walked over and grabbed the knife from the fallen zombie’s skull, standing and watching the feast as he contemplated his next move.

  Two more on the other side of the lot, he thought. What to do, what to do? Straight assault, catch them by surprise, and gun them down? He cocked his head as he cleaned the knife and sheathed it. Possible, but where’s the fun in that? Then again… a little gunplay might bring in some reinforcements. He glanced at the zombies, some of whom had full limbs in their mouths as they ate.

  He smiled at them. “What do you say, y’all still hungry?” he asked, and received loud moans in return. “All right, buddies, let’s get you some food.”

  He took off his assault rifle before running to the side of the rink and hopping over the wall. He immediately ran towards the center of the lot, past the mini-horde that began to follow him, and past the terrifying clown statue. On his left were carnival games, in the middle were concession stands, and on the right were two large buildings, a mirror maze and a fun house.

  Terrell looked out, scanning the area to try to get a read on the final two men. He glanced over his shoulder to note that the zombies were a good thirty yards away, so he had some time to figure out his next move. After a few moments, he spotted one of them walking out from behind a carnival game, headed towards the concession.

  Got you, he thought, and broke from the statue, running straight down the concession stand row, using it as cover. When he got in he moved slowly to the left, attempting to come up from behind the enemy duo.

  When he came around the corner, he inched his way up to the first gap between the buildings where he’d seen his target walking. He peeked around, only seeing one man about fifteen yards up. He waited until he was crossing the next aisle, in full view of the zombies.

  Terrell came around the corner, gun raised and target in sight, but before he could pull the trigger, another gunshot rang out. The bullet hit just behind his head, starling him and forcing him to drop to one knee.

  Terrell immediately turned to his left, looking up the aisle, seeing a man trying to get his sights dialed in. The Captain fired a couple of times, missing but forcing the man to dive for cover behind a sno cone stand.

  He got up and ran as his target fired several times. Terrell was able to dive over the front of a basketball shooting game, landing hard on the ground as bullets shredded the booth. He waited for the shooting to die down before popping up and squeezing off several rounds.

  His opponent ducked for cover at a funnel cake booth, his friend joining him. The three exchanged sporadic gunfire for a few moments, neither hitting anything of substance.

  Terrell ducked down and looked out at the square, seeing the horde of zombies closing in, about thirty yards away from where he was. He looked to the back, seeing only a tall chain link fence and no door.

  “No door, really?” he groaned under his breath, and then waited for the other two to pause their firing before popping up. He shot several times as he leapt over the front of the game, hitting the ground and running up the aisle.

  His opponents braved the fire and squeezed off a few shots of their own ,forcing Terrell to dart down the next aisle. As he came around the corner, he met a zombie directly in front of him. He jammed the barrel of the gun into the bottom of its jaw and fired, sending brains splattering upwards like a fireworks display. He quickly turned and regained his targets, but saw only one.

  Bitch is trying to flank me, he thought, and then quickly backed up to the rear of the game, taking a knee in the corner and aiming his gun down the aisle towards the clown square. He waited, patiently, for the man to come around the corner.

  Within moments the gunman appeared, noticing Terrell with just enough time to realize he was fucked. The Captain fired a three-round burst, the bullets ripping through the man’s knees. He fell to the ground, screaming in pain, trying in vain to lift his gun up to fire.

  Before Terrell could deliver the killing bullet, a few zombies emerged from the square behind him, about fifteen yards away. Deciding to save his ammo, he trusted his reinforcements and ducked back around the corner to face off with the leader.

  As he walked up the next aisle, he heard screams and a single shot from the man with the busted knees. Everybody down, one to go, he thought gleefully, and then leapt out into the aisle facing the concession stands.

  His target had moved, so he did a quick sweep, not seeing anything other than the zombies coming up the way. He opted to run across the aisle, relieved when nobody fired at him. As he took cover, he saw the door to the funhouse was swinging open, something it hadn’t been doing a minute ago.

  “Taking a page out of my book,” he muttered. “I can respect that.”

  Terrell ran across the next aisle, gun trained on the entrance. As he got close, he popped off several rounds into the door. This was partially to guarantee his cover, and partially to alert the zombies that this was the direction they needed to come.

  When he reached the door, he slung the rifle over his shoulder and drew his handgun. He quickly ran inside in a crouched position, gunfire erupting as soon as he crossed the threshold. His speed and tightness of his body kept him from getting hit.

  Terrell returned fire to the side, towards the cash register, while diving behind a display. The room was small, about ten feet wide, dimly lit with the exception of the light coming in from the door.

  “You brought all these men, and now it’s just the two of us,” the Captain taunted.

  The man barked a bitter laugh. “It would appear as though I underestimated you, Terrell,” he called back.

  “So you know my name, huh?” the Captain asked. “Guess that makes you one of the Boss’ bitches. For the record, I would have personalized that insult if I knew who the fuck you were.”

  Another laugh. “You can call me Marco.”

  Terrell rolled his eyes. “Oh, with a name like that, you’re definitely a bitch.”

  “I’m no one’s bitch, as you put it,” Marco snapped. “I’m an independent contractor, paid very well for what I do.”

  It was the Captain’s turn to laugh. “Here’s hoping the Boss didn’t pay up front, because I just saved him a ton of money.”

  “I’ve found it best to provide a flat rate to my customers,” Marco replied, “so all you've done is increase my share.”

  Terrell clucked his tongue. “Bold to assume you’re getting out of this,” he said, and then quickly popped around the corner to fire a few times, missing and ducking back to avoid return fire.

  “If that’s the w
ay you shoot, then I feel quite safe,” Marco taunted.

  As they jabbered back and forth, a zombie reached the door. Marco immediately shot it in the head, dropping it to the floor.

  Terrell snickered. “Hope you got more ammo,” he said, “because he ain’t alone.” He moved around the display, finding the sweet spot so that he was out of sight of both Marco and the zombies coming in the door. His opponent fired again, hitting another ghoul that entered, but stopped when several more came inside.

  The creatures were drawn towards Marco due to the gunfire, leaving Terrell unnoticed. He peeked out from cover, seeing his enemy dart over to the door beside the register, leading to the funhouse.

  Terrell got up, ran to the wall by the door, and waited for a zombie to get close. When it did, he grabbed it and threw it inside, ducking down and following it in. The next room had a frosted skylight, illuminating it a little. There were several wooden clowns and characters around the room.

  Marco opened fire, hitting the zombie several times in the chest. Terrell shoved it forward as he leapt to the side, and his opponent was forced to use a shot to take out the ghoul as the Captain came around the corner.

  Terrell slammed his shoulder into Marco’s gut, driving him to the ground. His gun clattered to the floor and he delivered two quick elbow strikes to the top of the Captain’s head, forcing him off. They got to their feet, huffing, readying for hand to hand combat.

  “Not going to draw your gun?” Marco asked with a sneer.

  Terrell shrugged. “Only if I need to,” he replied airily. “But I doubt I will.”

  They stepped forward at the same time, exchanging punches and blocks quickly. Marco tried an uppercut, but Terrell deftly backed away from it. He countered with a straight punch to the head, but his opponent knocked it upwards before connecting with his gut.

  The wind went right out of Terrell, and Marco managed to hit him in the face, blooding him with the opening. He punched again, and the force of the blow and his body weight sent them both tumbling to the ground, Marco on top.