Bretz shook his head and wiped his face, simply putting a finger to his lips to shush the boisterous Private.
“You ready to hear the plan, Seth?” Kersey piped up, setting down his cutlery and leaning back with his mug of coffee.
Seth nodded and took a seat. “Whenever you are, Sergeant.”
Kersey produced his map, spreading it out over the open part of the table nearest their guide. “Okay, I’ve been studying this map for the last couple of hours and this is the best plan I’ve come up with. If anybody has questions, concerns, or a brighter idea, I’m all ears.” He glanced around the table, eyes sincere, and his team nodded. “Bill, you’re going to give us a ride past this neighborhood on the north side of town, and drop us off. There’s nothing but empty fields between there and the landfill, so it should be an easy hike to get there. Mason, you are on Bill guard duty.”
Johnson swallowed his mouthful and raised his hand. “Why not just have Bill drop us off there?”
“Because that train is going to make a hell of a lot of noise, and the last thing we want is to draw attention to the fact that we’re at the landfill,” Kersey explained.
Baker furrowed his brow. “Won’t we just lead the neighborhood zombies there, though?”
“Nope,” the Sergeant replied, tapping the map, “because as Bill backs his way out of town, he’s going to lay on the horn to make sure they follow.”
Seth’s eyes grew wide. “Whoa, wait a minute. The last thing we want to be doin’ is to draw those things in our direction.”
Kersey raised a hand. “He’s going to be stopping on the bridge over the river, so none of them will get through. And I promise that once I lay out the rest of the plan, you’ll understand and be good with it.” He turned to Mason and cocked his head. “One more thing. You boys are going to be our communication hub. We’re not going to have any direct contact between the teams because the last thing we want to do is inadvertently alert nearby zombies that lunch is here.”
Seth’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled as the old lady returned and set a cup of coffee in front of him, and a fresh stack of pancakes in front of Johnson. He gave Bill the side-eye on her way out of the room, and he chuckled, sitting back from his plate as a sign of good faith.
“Okay,” Kersey commanded the room once again, “once we get to the landfill, we’re going to break into two teams. Bretz and Johnson, you’ll be heading south into town to rescue the people trapped in the church. Once secure, you’ll get up to the train and hand off the truck to the civilians. Again, Bill, will lay on the horn to keep the zombies occupied. A few stragglers may continue their pursuit, but it won’t be anything to take care of them with your barricades.” He moved his finger across the map. “Kowalski, Baker and I are going to head to the airport to figure out a way to get the fire truck off the trails. With any luck it’ll be a simple push.”
Kowalski took a deep breath. “And if it’s not?”
“Then you’d better have an itchy trigger finger,” Kersey replied, “because there’s gonna be a lot of zombies to kill while we figure out how to move it.”
Seth raised a hand. “I can actually help on that one,” he put in. “Ammo for yer assault rifles were a bit lacking, but I was able to dig up a couple hundred rounds for each of you. For my sniper friend, however, plenty of hunters in the area were more than happy to be donatin’ some rounds. So I got you set up with about a thousand more shots.”
“Holy fuck,” Kowalski breathed.
“Language!” the old lady snapped as she returned with a pot of coffee to refresh everyone’s mugs.
Kowalski blushed again, lowering his chin. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “Holy fudgesicles.”
She nodded as she refilled his cup. “That’s better.”
“You think you can do some damage with that?” Seth asked.
The Private grinned. “Without a doubt.”
“Once we have the route clear, Bill, you’re going to come pick us up, and Baker is going to set up some C4 to attract every zombie we can,” Kersey continued. “Then we’re off towards the forest and Spokane. Anybody got any other questions?”
There was a collective shaking of heads, and the Sergeant nodded, draining the last of his cup. “All right, well hurry up and finish your breakfast. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bill brought the train to a stop on the outskirts of east Missoula, about a half mile away from a large neighborhood that stretched to the north. Kersey peered through his binoculars, and took a deep breath at the sight of dozens of shambling figures on yards and streets.
“Bretz, get the team ready to go in the box car,” he instructed. “From the looks of things, we’re going to have to burst out and hit the ground running. I’ll stay up here and pick our stopping point.”
“Yes, sir,” the Corporal replied, and jumped down from the cab, heading to the back.
“Mason, once we’re clear of the train, I want you to shoot at anything on our side of the tracks that is even thinking of looking in our direction,” Kersey continued. “And Bill, as soon as we’re clear, I want you heading back.”
The engineer nodded. “Not a problem, Sergeant.”
“Okay, take us to the landing spot,” Kersey said.
Bill inched the train forward, picking up a little bit of speed. The noise of the wheels on track drew out zombies from what seemed like every possible nook and cranny. They emerged from alleyways, bushes, behind houses. Of course they weren’t smart enough to stay away from the train, and bounced off of the moving vehicle like a rubber ball off of asphalt.
Kersey stepped out onto the outer railing so he could keep an eye on the terrain behind them. Hundreds of zombies flooded the tracks, and easily thrice that congregated in the neighborhood, heading their way.
“How much time do you need to stop this thing?” the Sergeant called inside the door.
“Speed I’m going?” Bill replied. “Maybe forty-five seconds?”
“Start slowing down, then,” Kersey instructed. “We wait any longer and we might get overrun.”
Bill hit the brakes, the train screeching its deceleration.
The Sergeant lifted his radio to his lips. “Forty seconds, Bretz,” he declared. “And you boys get ready to hustle, because goddamn if we don’t have a horde on our asses.”
“Copy that,” Bretz came back.
Kersey bit his lip as he stared at the horde behind them. There was about a hundred yards between the train and its pursuers, but it shortened as the vehicle slowed. He shook his head and raised the radio again.
“Fuck it, we gotta go now,” he demanded. “Get out and start running. Mason, you start popping them, and Bill, lay on that horn as soon as we’re clear.” He slid down the ladder, and dropped onto the ground, stumbling from the moving vehicle.
“Gotcha, Sarge,” Johnson grunted, grabbing his bicep and hauling him back to his feet.
Kersey’s eyes widened at the sight of the veritable sea of zombies pursuing them from the horizon, and quickly folded into the soldiers’ formation as they fled across the dusty terrain.
Bretz led the group, moving quicker than the slowing train. Mason hung out the door of the engine cab, the constant pop pop pop of his gun echoing before Bill set off the whistle. The wail was near deafening as he began to move it in reverse, drawing the attention of the horde.
The soldiers ran as hard as they could for a few hundred yards before finally slowing, gasping for breath and leaning on their knees.
“Way too early in the morning for that much cardio,” Kowalski huffed. “Holy hell.”
Bretz laughed, taking in their empty surroundings. “Not getting soft on me, are you?”
The Private rolled his eyes. “Well I do have five times the ammo y’all do,” he said. “That shit adds up.”
“Suck it up,” the Corporal replied, clapping him on the back. “We still have a couple miles to the landfill.”
Kowalski grunted and stretc
hed his arms above his head. “A hike and a mound of garbage,” he declared brightly. “Life is indeed good.”
The soldiers headed at a significantly slower pace across the field, not a single building in sight from the neighborhood. The air was eerily silent, after the deafening moans of the horde, but the train had been a sufficient distraction for the group.
As they approached the landfill, Kersey motioned for everyone to take a knee beside the lone building at the entrance. There was a single metal bar, not even automated, but one that would have been lifted by whoever was manning it.
“Baker, Johnson, check out the inside,” the Sergeant instructed. “See if there are any keys.”
They rushed the door, quickly slipping in to sweep the small front room. There were a few chairs and a messy desk with papers everywhere. Johnson kicked the only other door open, finding an empty back office.
“You check the desk, I’ll check in here,” he said, and the sound of drawers opening and closing echoed as he swept the small area. On the wall there was a metal box, and he twisted the handle, finding several sets of keys hanging inside. “Hey, I got ‘em,” he called, and when his companion sidled up next to him, he shrugged. “Which ones we taking?”
Baker shrugged back, and grabbed all of them. “Looks like we each get our own truck,” he replied with a grin.
“Any luck?” Bretz asked as they emerged from the building.
Johnson held up three sets and jingled them. “Got six sets o’ keys. Now we just need some trucks.”
“I think I got some,” Kowalski said from the roof, peering through his scope.
“What about resistance?” Kersey asked.
“Couple of shamblers, but nothing we can’t handle,” the sniper replied. “Apparently, this wasn’t a popular destination to ride out the apocalypse.”
Johnson snorted. “Hard to imagine why.” He waved his hand back and forth in front of his nose. “With that stench? Yum.”
“All right, let’s move,” Kersey said, and Kowalski jumped back down to the ground.
The group moved out at a deliberate pace, guns at the ready regardless of the quiet.
“Any idea how to tell what keys go to what truck?” Baker asked as he patted his pocket to make sure his three were secure.
Johnson shrugged. “Well, they got numbers on the keychains, so one can only hope.”
They rounded a corner of garbage to find six old style dump trucks, each with an open top and an empty sticky back bucket. Each one had a bright yellow number on the side, and Johnson grinned, motioning to the closest one with a flourish.
“Johnson, Baker, find us two trucks and make sure they have plenty of fuel,” Kersey said. “Bretz, you and Kowalski take care of our friends over there.”
The sniper and his companion headed over to the duo of zombies staggering around the farthest truck. Though blood-soaked, they wore matching coveralls, with the city crest on the shoulder.
The soldiers pulled their knives to silently dispatch the creatures, and then turned as two of the trucks roared to life.
“Oh yeah, got a full tank of gas right here!” Johnson bellowed.
Baker gave a thumbs up from the driver’s seat of his. “We’re looking pretty good here too, Sarge!”
“Okay, we know the mission, so let’s get it done,” Kersey raised his hand to round up his men, and the four left split between the two trucks into teams of three.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bill kept a slow pace, enough so that the zombies could keep up, and pulled the whistle again. “Hey, Mason,” he called, “I think you can stop shooting. Our boys should be far enough away now that nobody else is going to break away.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” the soldier replied and ducked back inside the cab, sliding the door shut. “So, how much further do we have until we get to the bridge?” he asked as he took a seat beside the engineer.
“Should only be about five minutes or so,” Bill replied, and offered his companion a smirk. “Not too long. You in a hurry?”
Mason chuckled. “Nah, just thought we might be able to get a nice breeze going off the river.”
“Might help with the smell, that’s for sure,” Bill agreed.
The Private sighed as he watched the thousand or so zombies ambling after them, arms outstretched and bloody mouths open. “So much wasted life out there,” he mused. “Don’t know whether to cry or be pissed.”
“I say neither.” The engineer shrugged. “Dwelling on it won’t change it, and whoever is responsible for this is probably long dead.”
Mason’s eyes darkened. “At least they damn well better be.”
“All you can do is keep moving forward, which is ironic given our current direction,” Bill replied brightly.
The Private barked a laugh, and shook his head. “You’re all right, Bill,” he said, clapping his companion on the shoulder.
“Hey, you’ve only known me for a week,” the engineer replied. “Might want to reserve judgement on that one.” He winked.
The train rattled a little bit, signifying that they’d reached the bridge. As the cab backed into the bottleneck, and zombies jostled and fought for position to follow. Several of them toppled over the edge or were trampled, flailing bodies everywhere.
“Man, they really want us, don’t they?” Mason asked.
Bill nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry though, there’s no way they’re getting up here,” he said. “Even if they could climb, it’s a hard time squeezing in between the train and the bridge railing.”
The vehicle screeched to a stop.
“So, what now?” Mason wondered.
Bill grinned and reached up, pulling the whistle again, another wail echoing through the area. “We keep drawing them in, and hope our boys can get the job done.”
The soldier nodded and leaned back in his seat, putting his feet up. The duo relaxed and watched even more corpses stagger over the horizon, dumbly excited to try to eat a locomotive.
CHAPTER NINE
“That… does not look good,” Baker said as they headed down the last stretch of road towards the airport.
Zombies staggered out from the side streets, ambling up onto the road towards the noise.
“No, it does not,” Kowalski agreed, leaning forward to peer out the windshield of the large truck. “Hopefully the airport isn’t anywhere near as crowded.”
“Even if it isn’t,” Baker replied, “how much time are we going to have to get this thing moved?”
Kersey raised his binoculars. “Drive to the end of the next street and stop,” he instructed.
“What?” Baker blurted. “Those things are going to be on us in a matter of minutes if we do that.”
The Sergeant motioned ahead. “There’s a dozen of them around the fire truck.”
“Shit,” the Private muttered.
“Exactly,” Kersey replied. “Kowalski, I need you to pick some off from here so we can silently kill them when we move up. We start shooting at the fire truck we’re going to attract anything that might be at the airport. At least here, it might be out of earshot.”
Kowalski nodded. “Let me slide by you, Sarge,” he said, and ducked under his companion to switch seats. Just after Baker slammed on the brakes, he threw open the door and clambered up on top of the cab.
He lowered himself to one knee, and raised his rifle, steadying his breath to line up his first shot. The bullet ripped through his target’s soft head, dropping the rest of the corpse to the ground.
The crack of the gun echoed loudly, and the rest of the zombies hanging out around the fire truck turned and headed slowly towards the dump. Kowalski kept himself steady and fired again and again, taking out each creature one by one.
As he paused to reload, Baker unrolled the driver’s side window. “Kowalski, we gotta get rolling, man,” he urged, motioning behind them.
Kowalski glanced quickly, noting the large horde heading up behind them, looking to be in the hundred strong.
“Good job,” Kersey replied, “let’s go!”
Baker hit the gas, screaming towards the fire truck and putting at least fifty yards between them and the approaching horde.
“Stop here,” the Sergeant instructed as they approached the trio of zombies still staggering up the tracks. “When we’re out, start getting into position to move that fire truck.”
“I’m on it,” Baker confirmed, and slammed on the brakes. The passengers leapt out and drew their machetes, jogging out of the way so the dump could scream by them.
“Go left, I got the right,” Kersey said, and Kowalski nodded as the two branched out. The Private slashed and took the first zombie’s head off with a clean swing, whereas the Sergeant stabbed directly into the forehead of his corpse.
As both fell, Kersey motioned to the remaining zombie. “Would you like the honors?”
“Oh please, Sarge, be my guest,” Kowalski replied with a flourish.
The Sergeant jogged up and swung hard, catching the creature in the temple. It gave an almost surprised-sounding gurgle before it slumped to the ground.
“Do a sweep around the fire truck and make sure we don’t have any surprises,” Kersey instructed. “Then I want you keeping an eye on that horde.”
Kowalski nodded. “Yes, sir,” he replied, and rushed around the overturned truck. He was thankful that there were no more zombies hanging around, and unslung his rifle again to take stock of the airport.
The wreckage from the plane was a couple hundred yards away, charred debris dotting the landscape. Black corpse-shaped blobs were strewn everywhere, but none were moving. The hangars looked zombie-free, as well.
“Hey, Sarge, we’re good,” he called over his shoulder. “Doesn’t look like anything is going on at the airport, either.”
Kersey nodded. “Good, keep an eye on the horde. If they get within a hundred yards, you shout.”
Dead America The Second Week (Book 5): Dead America: Heartland Part 3 Page 3