Dead America The Third Week (Book 9): Dead America, Carolina Front, Part 5

by Slaton, Derek

  They sped up the road, making the turnoff to the farm. It was a long dirt driveway, leading up to a modestly sized single story house. Two large barns overlooked the left side of the bumpy road.

  Coleman pulled up between the barns and the house, turning off the engine. As soon as it was off, Walter opened his door.

  “Shut that door!” Terrell snapped.

  The kid shut it quickly, putting his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he cried.

  “It’s okay,” the Captain replied, much gentler this time, “but remember to look before you come out of anywhere. If you want to be a successful warrior, you gotta know what you’re up against.” He pointed outside. “Now, what do you see?”

  Walter looked towards the house, seeing half a dozen zombies stagger around from the side of it, attracted by the noise. “I… I see…” he stammered. “Five… no, six… zombies, about forty yards away by the house.”

  “Good,” Terrell replied. “Now what else?”

  The kid scanned the area closely, seeing only one more lone zombie about twenty-five yards from where they were, well clear of the house. “There’s one straggler away from everybody else.”

  “Good,” the Captain said. “Let’s go take care of that one first.”

  Walter nodded firmly, eyes determined. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “You two check the barns for what we came here for,” Terrell said to the others. “Walter and I will check out the house.”

  There were nods all around, and then everybody jumped out of the truck together. Walter jogged to catch up with Terrell, and they headed for the straggler zombie, a disheveled creature that looked like it had been easily in its seventies before it died.

  It turned towards them and staggered forward in blood-covered overalls.

  “Well, go on,” Terrell said, “show me what you’ve learned.”

  Walter drew his knife, readying to strike, focusing on everything he’d been trained to do. As the clumsy creature reached for him, he stepped to the side, tripping it, sending it tumbling onto its face. He hopped quickly onto its back and stabbed into its skull.

  The blade only penetrated a quarter of an inch into the bone, nowhere close enough to kill it. The creature continued to squirm, and Walter froze, eyes wide with fear.

  Terrell stepped forward and stomped down on the handle of the blade, sending it into the brain and making the zombie go limp. He held out a hand to the frightened teenager.

  “Remember, kid,” he said gently. “You aren’t stabbing hay out here. You gotta put some oomph behind it.”

  Walter took a deep breath and grabbed his blade. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, when we get back to town, I’m putting you on a weight training regimen,” Terrell declared. “We gonna buff you up!”

  The kid grinned at that, and then they turned towards the moaning coming from the house. Six zombies staggered towards them, about thirty yards away, spread out fairly far from one another.

  “Now, you ready to put your weight behind your attack?” he asked, and when Walter nodded, he continued, “Okay, we’re gonna do some teamwork here. I’m gonna knock ‘em down, and you’re gonna put ‘em down. Can you handle that?”

  The kid held up his knife triumphantly. “Let’s do it!”

  “All right then,” Terrell said. “You keep up now.” He ran towards the first ghoul, a small farmhand who’d met the business end of a neck bite. He grabbed it by the arm and jerked it towards him, tripping it up.

  He spun around, putting a boot on the zombie’s back so that Walter could thrust his knife all the way down to the hilt.

  “Got him!” the kid exclaimed.

  “Great job!” the Captain said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But don’t get too excited, we got five more.” He hopped over towards the next one, and did a spinning roundhouse kick, catching the ghoul in the side of the head and knocking it over.

  He glanced back to see Walter leap on the creature and stab it, so he moved on to the next zombie. This kid’s gonna be alright, he thought, and then grabbed the monster by the throat and choke-slammed it to the ground. He flipped it over onto its stomach to make for an easier kill, and then moved on.

  The next three zombies fell quickly to the Captain’s martial arts moves, becoming a writhing pile of tattered bloody work clothes. As Walter stabbed the final ghoul in the back of the head, Terrell helped him up.

  “That’s some fine work there, kid,” he said, clapping him on the back. “Fine work.”

  Chest heaving, Walter grinned. “I’m getting the hang of it.”

  “Come on, let’s go check out the house.” He waved for the kid to follow him, and then headed for the front door, which was slightly ajar. He gently pushed it open, and Walter tried to lead the way, but Terrell pushed him back gently, shaking his head in the process.

  He reached out and knocked loudly on the doorframe, which drew out a creature from a side room halfway down the hall. The ghoul staggered towards them in a bloody floral dress, arms outstretched.

  “Time for your next lesson,” Terrell said, drawing his knife. “How to deal with a zombie in confined quarters.” He walked into the hallway, and narrated his movements. “First, you grab it by the shirt, and lock your arm, keeping it at bay. Second, you take your knife and aim it for the eye socket. Third, stab it until it stops moving.”

  He delivered a perfect knife strike to the eye, sending the zombie to the ground in a heap. He stayed still for a moment, straining his ears to make sure there was nothing else moving about, but he didn’t hear anything.

  “Come on,” he said, “let’s see if we can find us something nice.”

  Meanwhile, Coleman and Miles approached the barn cautiously, senses on high alert, assault rifles at the ready despite limited ammo.

  “Do you want to do the honors?” Coleman asked. “Or should I?”

  Miles raised an eyebrow. “I did it last time.”

  “And there wasn’t anything inside,” his companion shot back. “Not sure that should count.”

  Miles grinned. “Luck of the draw, baby,” he said playfully, “luck of the draw.”

  Coleman rolled his eyes and reached for the latch on the barn door. He carefully lifted it up, pulling it out towards them. Bodies immediately slammed into it, and he threw himself back against it, struggling to get it closed again.

  Miles immediately dove against the door, but his feet slid in the dirt under the force of the zombies trying to break free. “You wanna start shooting or something?!” he cried.

  Coleman backed up, took aim, and carefully popped off a few shots at the ones flailing in the opening, dropping them. As they fell, he spotted two pallets of shrink-wrapped bags behind them.

  “Fuck,” he breathed.

  Miles grunted as he continued to hold the door. “What?” he demanded.

  “We’re gonna have to go in there, I think I see the stuff,” Coleman replied.

  “Fuck,” Miles agreed, finally managing to lock his legs against the door. “How many of those things are in there?”

  His companion tried to peek inside, over the rotted oozing heads. “Twenty? Twenty-five?”

  “This is what you want to burn all your ammo on?” Miles demanded.

  Coleman shook his head. “I’m open to suggestions!”

  Miles frantically looked around, and then motioned to a glint on the side of the barn. “Get me that chain!” he cried.

  Coleman shot one more creature in the head as it tried to push its way out the door, and then rushed over to tear the chain from the wall. “Now what?” he asked when he returned.

  “Step back there and stretch it out, then stand clear,” Miles instructed.

  His comrade laid it out on the ground, quickly backing up, until there was six feet of chain along the dirt. “It’s ready!”

  Miles steadied himself and then dove away from the barn door, running to the chain as the weight of the zombies flung the door open. Coleman’s count was fairl
y accurate, easily two dozen undead farm hands that looked like they’d been locked inside since the apocalypse began.

  Miles grabbed the heavy chain and began swinging the end around his head like a lasso. After several rotations, the speed was fairly significant, no slack in the links at all.

  He timed his next spin, and caught the first ghoul in the side of the head, ripping right through its skull. He continued to whip it around, catching zombie after zombie in the head, sending bodies to the ground. After half a dozen or so, he misjudged an attack, the chain looping around a ghoul’s neck and sticking fast.

  Miles pulled on it, but the creature staggered towards him instead of getting free. He darted out of the way to avoid being tackled by the hungry corpse, and drew his handgun, shooting it in the back of the head as it went by.

  Coleman jumped forward, firing rapidly and deliberately, thinning out the horde until it was down to just a handful of creatures that were spread out pretty thin. With the bulk of the threat down, the soldiers drew their knives, employing the shirt grab and eye socket stabbing technique that Terrell had showed off to Walter just moments earlier.

  A few quick jabs later, and the front of the barn was littered with rotted unmoving corpses.

  Coleman let out a deep breath, chest heaving as he huffed, “You good?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Miles replied, his own breathing heavy.

  “Guessing we can mark off chain wielding as a solid zombie fighting technique?” Coleman asked.

  Miles chuckled. “Hey now, I got a few of them with it.”

  They shared a laugh, more in relief than anything else, and recovered from their battle.

  “What’s with all that gunfire?” Terrell asked as he and Walter came running up from the house. “We’re not exactly flush with ammo here.”

  Coleman shook his head. “Sorry Cap, it was either that or get eaten,” he explained, motioning to the sea of dead flesh.

  Terrell surveyed the scene, and then nodded, understanding. “All right, as long as you boys are okay,” he said finally. “We can always get more ammo. People aren’t replaceable.” He clapped Coleman on the shoulder and motioned to the bodies. “But why didn’t you just keep these things locked up?”

  “Because I may have found what we’re looking for,” his second replied with a smile, and waved for him to follow into the barn.

  It was a bloodbath inside, the dirt floor mucky with coagulated crimson goo, body parts strewn about that looked like they’d been there for a while. They skirted the gore and headed for the pallets on the far side, each stacked high with large white bags.

  Coleman reached it first, and slapped his hand on top of the stack. “This is what I saw.”

  Terrell ran a hand across the label on the front boasting Ammonium Nitrate, and a grin broke out on his face. “About damn time we tracked this stuff down!”

  “Now we just gotta figure out how much we can get back,” Coleman replied. “All of this isn’t going to fit in one truck.”

  Terrell reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, jingling them. “Good thing I found the owner’s truck keys, then.”

  “Hell yeah!” Coleman said. “Let’s get loaded up so we can get back. I bet June and Ruth are whipping up something good for lunch!”

  The Captain rolled his eyes. “Good to know if I ever need to get you motivated, I just gotta promise you some fried chicken.”

  “If you really want to motivate me, then you should promise me some fixins too,” Coleman informed him with a wink.

  Terrell shook his head and chuckled as he headed off to get the other truck while his companions tore off the shrink wrap to load up their spoils.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Terrell drove the lead truck with Walter in the passenger’s seat, the bed loaded down with explosive materials.

  “You did good out there, kid,” he said.

  Walter sat up straighter in his seat, grinning. “Thank you,” he replied. “I’m so glad I didn’t let you down.”

  “It’s not about letting me down,” Terrell replied, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure you stay safe.”

  The kid beamed. “Well, I’ll do you proud by staying alive, how’s that?”

  “That works for me,” Terrell replied, chuckling.

  As they reached the town limit, just about at the spot where they cut across the field, the front tire exploded. He fishtailed, struggling to keep control of the vehicle. Coleman slammed on the brakes behind him, swerving to avoid hitting them. He skidded off the road, trapped in a deep ditch.

  “Get behind the wheel well!” Terrell cried.

  Walter tore out of the vehicle, ducking behind the wheel as per the Captain’s instructions. Terrell clambered out of the passenger door after him, handgun at the ready. Coleman and Miles dove out of their truck, ducking for cover.

  “What the hell happened?” Coleman yelled.

  Terrell raised his chin. “Tire exploded!” he called back.

  “Then why are we hiding?” Coleman asked, raising an eyebrow.

  The Captain shook his head. “Because assholes have been trying to kill us for weeks.”

  “So either they’re out there…” Coleman trailed off.

  Terrell scanned the trees. “Or this is one hell of a coincidence,” he finished. He took his rifle and readied it before popping up over the hood of the truck. He looked around the neighborhood that was just across from them, not seeing anything except for a few zombies in the yards that weren’t paying them any attention. He ducked back down.

  “See anything?” Coleman asked from behind him.

  Terrell shook his head. “Some rows of shitty houses, but not much else,” he replied, clenching his jaw.

  “Well, what do you want to do, Cap?” Coleman pressed.

  “Don’t know,” Terrell replied firmly, “I’m thinking.” He popped up once again, scanning the neighborhood, but still didn’t see anything. He wasn’t sure if he was being cautious or paranoid. He didn’t like it, but in the apocalypse nobody could be too careful. He finally slung his rifle over his shoulder.

  “We good?” Coleman asked.

  The Captain sighed. “If somebody’s out there, they would have taken a shot at me by now,” he said, hoping.

  They stood up and moved back to their vehicles to inspect the damage. Terrell knelt down at the busted tire. It was completely gone, as if it had exploded.

  “That don’t look like no flat,” Walter said.

  He pursed his lips. “No, buddy, it does not.”

  Coleman floored the gas, but the tires just spun in the muck from the recent days of pelting rain. It was at too steep of an angle in the deep ditch. He turned off the vehicle and pocketed the keys, shaking his head.

  “Well, that’s a no go,” he declared. “What about you, Cap?”

  Terrell shook his head. “Either I hit something, or something hit me, because I’ve never seen a tire explode like that.”

  “Is there a spare?” Miles asked.

  Terrell shook his head, running a hand across his forehead.

  “Great, so one truck with no tire,” Miles retorted, “and one truck stuck in a ditch. Ideas?”

  Coleman took a deep breath. “Don’t suppose there’s a mechanic shop in Mount Olive?”

  “It’s certainly big enough,” Terrell replied, “but we’re gonna have to find it.”

  “It sure looked like this road led to downtown, if you can call it that,” Coleman said.

  Miles clucked his tongue. “Yeah, and a few hundred zombies.”

  “They were up towards the neighborhood a bit,” Coleman reminded him. “We should be all right if we’re careful.”

  Walter raised a hand. “We could find the Chamber of Commerce,” he suggested. At the sight of three surprised looks in his directions, he wilted. “Or… not.”

  “No, I think that’s a great idea,” Terrell said quickly. “It’s just…”

  Coleman let out an apologetic laugh. “Didn’t rea
lly see that suggestion coming from you, that’s all.”

  “My Uncle would supply a lot of businesses with fresh vegetables, so he would take me with him when he’d go to new towns,” Walter explained quickly. “We’d always stop by the Chamber to find out everywhere he needed to go.”

  Terrell grinned. “Really glad we brought you, bud,” he declared, and clapped the proud kid on the back. “Come on, let’s start hiking.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The four men ducked down behind a dilapidated wooden structure a couple of blocks from downtown. Terrell peeked out to see a few dozen zombies in the road leading up a few more blocks.

  “Walter, any idea where this place is?” Terrell whispered.

  The kid shook his head. “Sorry, my Uncle never came here to sell,” he admitted.

  The Captain stared out, noting a path to the back of the main street buildings on their side of the street was clear. “I want y’all to wait here,” he said quietly.

  “Where are you going?” Coleman asked.

  “Gonna pay that business up there a little visit,” Terrell explained. “If things go south, get back to the truck, steal a tire off the other one if you have to, and get back.”

  His second shook his head, brow furrowed. “What about you?”

  “Well, if you see a brother hitchhiking, feel free to pick him up,” he said, and gave Coleman a fist bump before breaking cover. He stayed in the gross, running through a little field before hopping a fence a block up from the back of the building. There was a short side street and another field, with only one lone zombie in it.

  Terrell darted across, straight for the zombie who turned excitedly just to receive a knife strike to the eyeball. The Captain barely broke stride, rushing up to the building. There were several doors that led into the various businesses. He tried a few, finding them locked. After the third one, the center-most door, he whipped out his knife and jammed it in the doorframe.

  It took him a few moments of wiggling, but he finally managed to get the blade between the latch. He popped the door open, relief washing over him when no alarm bleated, and slipped inside.

  The building was home to a country kitchen buffet restaurant with several tables, serving dishes, and an assortment of tacky wall decor. He wrinkled his nose at how anybody had thought it was a good idea to decorate with this look.