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

by Slaton, Derek

  Office, office, he thought, looking around. He finally found a door labeled Manager, and threw it open, pulling out his flashlight to illuminate the dark. The office resembled a windowless storage closet more than an actual office, causing Terrell to feel sorry for the former occupant.

  Damn, dude must have welcomed the end of it all, he thought as he scanned the tiny desk with barely any walking around room. He painted the wall with his flashlight, and finally found a phone with several business cards stapled to the faux wood paneling.

  Jackpot, he thought as he skimmed down the cards, various suppliers, repairmen and whatnot, before finding one for a Jenny Smith, the local Chamber of Commerce Representative. There we go.

  He pulled it down, and looked at the address, 1176 Main Street. He breathed a sigh of relief that the Chamber was on the main drag. He headed back out into the main area of the restaurant, moving all the way back to the front. It was dim in there, as the front windows were blotted out by curtains, but still bright enough for him to navigate without smacking his shins on the tables.

  He made it to the front, and peered out the small window above the door with the numbers 1045 at the top. One block off, he thought, and carefully pulled back the curtain to look out into the street. There were about a hundred zombies out there, heading in both directions. He strained to read the numbers on the businesses across the street. He pulled out his rifle and used the scope to try to see them. The one across the street to the left was 1022.

  Okay, it’s somewhere to the right on the next block, he thought, and looked up that way, but it was impossible to see the numbers with all of the zombies in the street. No way in hell we’re going to be able to sneak past that and stay out of sight. He shook his head bitterly.

  After a moment of contemplation, a lightbulb went off in his head and he chuckled under his breath. “You’re one crazy son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head at his thought, and then took a deep breath, pressing his head against the wall so he could see right down the line of the building.

  There were several zombies near the door, but none within a few feet of it. He continued to shake his head as he walked over to the door, gently flipping the deadbolt. He paused for a moment, collecting himself before the stupidity he was about to commit.

  Then he opened the door, and then opened his mouth, screaming at the top of his lungs, “Come and get me, motherfuckers!”

  A zombie a few feet away turned, looking momentarily stunned, and then realized a fresh meal stood in front of it. It shrieked and moaned and reached for him, alerting the rest of the horde that it was a real screaming treat.

  As soon as it moved towards him, Terrell backed inside and took off for the back of the restaurant. Zombies poured in, filling the space quickly, and he stood at the back doorway to watch them trip over chairs and tables.

  “Yeah, I’m back here, assholes!” he bellowed. “You can’t get me!” He peeked out the back door to make sure it was clear, and then waited for the restaurant zombies to fill up at least half of the area. He slammed the door and made sure it was tight before he raced back to rejoin his crew.

  “Were you yelling?” Coleman asked as he returned.

  The Captain nodded. “Yep,” he confirmed. “Had to draw them off of the street so we could get across.”

  “So you found the Chamber?” Walter asked hopefully.

  “Yep,” Terrell replied, motioning to the road. “Other side of the road on the next block.”

  They looked out towards the intersection, still seeing zombies milling about the direction they needed to go.

  “Might be a good idea to go up a block and come back down,” Miles suggested. “Buy us a little more space.”

  Terrell nodded and extended his arm. “Lead on, then.”

  Miles headed forward, leading the group from their hiding spot. They crossed the side street before moving up to the back of the Main Street buildings. They moved quickly, but didn’t speed up to a run so they could keep their footsteps quiet. They reached the other side, and crept up to the curb, ducking behind a dented sedan and looking around at the numbers of the building.

  Miles pointed to a sign boasting Chamber of Commerce, and turned to Terrell. “It’s still two doors down,” he said quietly. “But there’s still a lot of zombies in the road.”

  “Any in front?” Terrell asked.

  He shook his head. “No, but still too close for comfort,” he admitted.

  Coleman pointed across the street. “Let’s get in through the back, then.”

  Miles nodded and glanced back down the street, watching the zombies shambling away towards Terrell’s restaurant distraction. With their backs turned, he chanced creeping across the street. He waved for the others to follow, putting a finger to his lips.

  When they got into an alleyway on the other side, Miles peeked back out to make sure that they hadn’t been discovered. None of the zombies had noticed them, thankfully, and he ducked back into the alley, giving Terrell a thumbs up.

  He took the lead, heading to the back of the building and peering around the corner. A few zombies hung around near a dumpster, and he motioned to his soldiers to take them out. Miles and Coleman rushed forward silently, stabbing the zombies and catching the bodies as they fell to avoid making any noise.

  Terrell approached the door, and when he found it locked, he wedged his knife into the doorframe and wiggled it, just like he’d had on the restaurant. He nodded towards the door, counting down quietly before pulling it open for Coleman to lead the way inside.

  The Chamber was a small building with two smaller offices near the back, and a large front area with a meeting table and a front sitting area. The blinds were closed, cheap plastic with nicotine stains collected since the nineties.

  Coleman quickly swept the area, finding nothing. He got up to the front, peeking out to make sure no zombies had turned towards the building, and they hadn’t, still shambling off for the restaurant they thought still held a snack. He double-checked the door was secure before joining the rest.

  “We’re good,” he said.

  Miles secured the back door, making sure it was latched snugly.

  “All right,” Terrell said, rolling his hand in the air above his head. “Everybody start digging through desks and cabinets,” he instructed. “We gotta find us a mechanic.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The group pored over papers scattered all over the desks and tables in the conference room. In the center was a map of the town, spread out in all its detail, and Terrell stood over it, staring down at it with a determined expression.

  “I got it!” Walter said, emerging from one of the back offices with a rolodex in one hand, the other clutching a cream-colored card.

  “You got us a mechanic?” Terrell asked, turning to him.

  The kid nodded. “Mechanic and junkyard,” he replied with a proud grin. “They’re gonna have it all.” He approached the large table, dropping the rolodex with a thunk, and then held out the card to the Captain.

  Terrell took it and read it over, Smitty’s Junker Service, 968 Maple. He leaned over the map and scanned the little side streets, running his finger along the lines.

  “Ten blocks to the north,” he finally said, tapping on the spot on the map. “That’ll work.” Coleman and Walter leaned over the map as well, tracing the route, while Miles stayed at the front window, keeping watch on the zombies.

  They continued to congregate around the restaurant, shoving in through the front door like lemmings. All of a sudden, there was a glint out of the corner of his eye, and he shifted his focus to the building across the street.

  Several people moved about inside the building, taking up firing positions at the windows. Miles froze for a moment at the sight, but then fell into a fight mode and raised his gun. He opened fire, his first shot shattering the glass, and catching a man across the street in the chest.

  The sudden jarring sound of bullets flying sent Terrell and Coleman to the floor.<
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  “What the fuck is going-” Terrell began, and then gunfire shredded the front of the building. He grabbed Walter’s arm and pulled him down next to him, the kid’s eyes wide as saucers.

  Bullets flew, glass exploded, papers flapped around everywhere. Miles fired a few blind shots and then hit the deck, crawling frantically back to his crew.

  “Get to the back, go!” Terrell bellowed.

  Coleman was the closest to the back hallway, and he crawled towards it with his handgun at the ready just in case somebody was trying to flank them. As he reached the door, gunfire continuing to tear through the Chamber of Commerce, he slid out along the pavement, aiming in both directions to check.

  “Clear!” he called, and then leapt up to a crouch, getting out of the way so the others could join him.

  Coleman and Miles took up a flanking position, aiming in both directions behind the back of the building. Walter pressed his back up against the wall, next to Terrell who peered back into the building as the firing stopped.

  “These assholes just don’t quit,” he muttered.

  Coleman threw a glance over his shoulder. “Eh, look at the bright side, Cap,” he drawled. “At least you weren’t paranoid about the tire exploding.”

  “What are we going to do?” Walter demanded, wringing his hands in panic.

  Miles cocked his head. “Not a bad question, Cap.”

  “We need to get to that mechanic shop,” Terrell declared.

  Coleman and Miles shared a pointed look, and then nodded at each other.

  “You and Walter take care of that,” Coleman said.

  Terrell furrowed his brow. “What the fuck y’all gonna do?” he demanded.

  “Draw them to the south,” his second replied. He approached the door and held out his fist, and his Captain bumped it with a firm nod.

  “Rally back here once you’re clear if you can,” Terrell said. “If not, head to the trucks.”

  Coleman nodded. “See you on the other side, Cap,” he said, and then peeked in the door. Several of their attackers had approached the building, and were stepping through the busted windows to get inside, guns sweeping the area.

  Coleman dipped inside and fired a few shots, playing possum at the door until one of the men noticed him. As soon as they made eye contact, he took off running towards the south.

  Terrell grabbed Walter’s arm and dragged him along, tearing north and across the street away from the building. He dove behind a van in the lot, and shoved the kid down behind a wheel well, before taking up position just above him.

  Walter didn’t move, simply sitting silently, breath quick as he thought about how much trouble they were in. Terrell kept his head down just enough so that he couldn’t be seen through the van window, but could peer across the inside of the vehicle. He counted eleven men pouring out of the back of the building to chase after Coleman and Miles.

  The last one was a familiar face, and Terrell’s gaze darkened at the sight of Mario, the guy he’d let go when he tried to sneak into their community with Miles.

  This motherfucker ain’t getting away this time, he thought bitterly.

  Mario pointed to the south and sent seven of his men that way to chase after the soldiers. The other three clustered around him and they ran northward.

  Terrell took a knee next to Walter, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I need you to listen closely,” he whispered into the kid’s ear. “We’re in trouble, but we’re gonna get out of it. We’re going to have to fight our way through them to get what we need. Do you think you can handle it?”

  Walter nodded jerkily.

  Terrell stared him down, making sure he understood the severity of the situation, and judging his resolve. “Okay,” he whispered. “You do what I say when I say it, and we’ll be fine, okay?” he asked, and the kid nodded again, more vigorously this time. “Okay, first off,” Terrell continued, “we’re gonna sit here for a few minutes, and let them get nice and far away from here. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to sneak right past them.”

  He kept his gun at the ready, watching both north and south in case somebody decided to double back. His heart pounding and his soul ready for battle, Terrell knelt next to the teenager he’d sworn to protect, and waited.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Coleman and Miles ran down the next block of buildings, ducking behind cover at the next street. As soon as they turned the corner, there were three zombies there.

  Rather than fire, Miles didn’t break momentum, crashing into them with his shoulder and sending them tumbling back onto the ground.

  Coleman skidded to a stop and peeked back around the corner, watching several men pour out of the back of the Chamber building.

  “How bad is it?” Miles asked, checking his mag.

  Coleman shook his head. “Dozen or so, can’t tell,” he replied.

  There were only two bullets left in Miles’ mag, so he swapped it out for his full one. “Well, at least I have more bullets than bad guys.”

  He readied his weapon before turning back to the zombies flailing on the ground. They were managing to find their footing, so he walked back over and kicked the closest one firmly in the chest, sending it tumbling back into the others and knocking them back again.

  “So, what’s the play?” he asked.

  Coleman shrugged. “Get them as far south of the Captain as possible,” he replied.

  “I dig it,” Miles agreed, “but not sure simply running forever is that great of a plan,” he added.

  His partner turned to him. “If you have an idea, I’m game,” he said.

  “That school we passed when we first came into town isn’t too far away,” Miles suggested.

  Coleman raised an eyebrow. “You mean the one that had all the zombies around it?” he asked.

  “Yeah, that’s the one!” Miles replied, nodding excitedly.

  His partner stared at him for a moment, and then noticed the zombies getting back up again. “You uh,” he said, motioning to the trio of undead, “you wanna take care of that?”

  Miles turned and gave the lead one another swift kick, sending them back to the ground in another rotted pile. When he turned back to his friend’s questioning gaze, he shrugged. “What?” he asked. “Let those assholes worry about them. If it’s a straight up fight against them, we’re in trouble,” he said. “If they’re fighting against us and zombies, we got a chance.”

  “Good enough for me,” Coleman agreed. “Let’s give them a reason to keep following us.”

  Miles nodded and they took off down to Main street, taking up positions beside one of the buildings. The bulk of the zombies on the street had flooded into the restaurant across the way, although some of them turned at the sound of footsteps.

  The ghouls began moaning and shambling towards the two men who lay in wait for their pursuers. Miles kept his weapon trained on them, while Coleman aimed at the corner they’d just come around. He kept a countdown of how long they had before they should run.

  “Thirty yards,” he finally said.

  Coleman nodded. “We’re good,” he reported.

  The zombies continued to shamble towards them, their moans and snarls grabbing the attention of the others that had been still trying to get into the restaurant.

  “Twenty-five yards,” Miles said. He gripped his weapon, hoping he wouldn’t have to waste precious ammo on the creatures.

  Coleman remained steadfast, keeping his eyes peeled for their pursuers, waiting on just the first one to come around the corner.

  “Twenty,” Miles urged.

  His partner listened intently, trying to blot out the sounds of the moaning and hear approaching living footsteps. He finally heard what he thought could be running footsteps getting closer from across the way.

  “Fifteen,” Miles said, his voice beginning to strain.

  “They’re almost here,” Coleman hissed.

  His partner took a deep breath. “Hope so…” After a few more tense moments, he turned to glare at hi
s friend. “Ten!” he called.

  Coleman didn’t answer, and kept his concentration as the first man came around the corner. Him and a buddy, two middle-aged men with hunting rifles and pistols, noticed the trio of zombies that Miles had knocked down, and pulled their handguns as the ghouls approached them.

  “FIVE,” Miles urged.

  Coleman aimed and pulled the trigger. One of the men’s knees exploded, and he screamed in agony, dropping to the ground. The other one panic-fired towards Coleman, who was already aiming to fire again.

  His bullet went wild as Miles grabbed his arm and dragged him down the sidewalk.

  “What the f-” Coleman barked, but the words died on his lips at the sight of ten zombies five yards away.

  They darted into the road as gunfire rang out, and then the telltale screams of someone getting eaten alive by zombies.

  “One down,” Coleman muttered, glad that at least his kneecap shot had had the desired effect.

  They ran up a few blocks, taking up position at the end of the row of businesses. Miles watched the Main street side, and Coleman ran to the back of the building, setting up shop there. The former fired a few shots at the zombies closest to him, buying himself a little more time.

  “How far’s the school?” Coleman asked.

  Miles glanced down the road, noting a few houses in the distance and a huge driveway just past them. “Looks like maybe a quarter mile?” he replied.

  “Cover?” his partner asked.

  “Few houses,” Miles reported, “but god knows what’s inside.”

  “Then let’s stay outside then, huh?” Coleman quipped, and then peeked out around the back of the buildings, seeing half a dozen men heading his way. They ran up, taking cover, a few breaking and moving up, then the back ones breaking and moving up, and so on.

  When they reached a few storefronts away, Coleman fired, narrowly missing a ducking head. “Got six my way,” he said as he flattened himself against the brick wall. “You got anything.”