Dead America The Third Week (Book 6): Dead America, Mississippi Caravan

by Slaton, Derek

  “Do it, do it!” the redneck cried, and his gunmen laid down their weapons, following him inside. As soon as the door locked, he began dragging his hostage to the cab.

  “That was one hell of a bluff there,” Jody commented.

  Buddy narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I’m bluffing?”

  “Just a hunch,” his prisoner replied, hissing as he tried to shrug.

  “So why didn’t you call me out?” Buddy asked as he opened the driver’s side door.

  Jody pursed his lips. “Self preservation,” he replied easily. “You heard my asshole brother, he was willing to sacrifice me for a bigger share of the drugs.”

  “Good to know I’m not the only one with family issues,” Buddy replied, and shoved him up into the cab. He got behind the wheel, continuing to aim at the man in the passenger seat.

  “Is that necessary?” Jody asked, keeping his good arm up as he got comfortable leaning against the passenger door.

  Buddy nodded as he popped the truck into gear with his left hand. “Yep,” he replied, and pulled out of the hospital parking lot, heading for the highway to go north.

  “City limits should be just up ahead,” Jody said as they rumbled up the road.

  “Yep,” Buddy replied, and hit the gas a little harder, speeding up to thirty miles per hour. He blew right past the sign announcing the edge of the city, and his passenger swallowed hard.

  “Um,” he said, “that was the city limits.”

  The driver grinned. “Then you’re free to get out.”

  Jody looked down as the ground began whipping my faster and faster. “Stop the truck and I will,” he demanded.

  Buddy cocked the hammer on his gun. “Get out, or I’m going to repaint the interior with your fucking blood,” he snarled. “You killed my friends, so don’t pretend for a fucking second that our chummy conversation is going to spare you my wrath.”

  Jody paled, eyes wide at the steely resolve in his captor’s face. He put his hand on the door handle, and hesitated.

  “Road gets to four lanes in half a mile,” Buddy said. “Might be in your best interests to get out while you can.” He revved the engine, and his passenger finally lifted the handle.

  Jody pushed the door open and carefully stepped down onto the step before crouching and then taking a leap. Buddy let up on the gas and looked into the side mirror, watching as the guy’s feet hit the ground, sending him toppling over himself. He smacked the pavement hard, barely moving in the road.

  “You know you should have killed him, right?” Buddy said to himself, glancing at his face in the rearview mirror. “Those boys deserved justice. Although we’re several miles outside of town and assuming he did survive that, he’s gonna be fucked up for quite some time. So yeah, you delivered justice.”

  He took a deep breath, focusing on the road and hitting the gas, smiling grimly. He wasn’t sure if his pep talk would make him feel better in the long run, but he had a job to complete now.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Buddy drove along the lonely highway, finally sitting in complete silence as he moved through the rural area. His heart was heavy from the loss of the boys. Even though he’d barely known them, they had been out here risking their lives to help innocent people. And they’d been so goddamn young.

  He slowed the truck down as he approached a major intersection at Highway 49. He stopped at the crossroads and pulled out a map, tracing his finger along his route towards the circled waterfront casino.

  Another couple miles and we’re there, he thought. Hopefully the sky view was a bit off on how many of those things are hanging out.

  He made the turn and drove towards his destination, gently allowing the truck to drive just enough to smack the few zombies milling about with the front grill. Each fragile rotted corpse was obliterated on impact, causing him to crack a smile.

  “It’s the little things in life,” he murmured.

  He came around a bend and slammed on the brakes, still a few hundred yards from the casino. His eyes widened as he stared at the three to four hundred strong horde of creatures packed into the parking lot, congregating at the front doors.

  “Fuck me sideways,” he breathed. “If anything the estimate was off.”

  He sat stock still for a moment, his shell shocked brain trying to contemplate what to do next. After a moment, he checked his side mirrors to make sure nothing was around him before getting out and heading to the back of the truck. He threw open the large sliding door and clambered up inside. There was just enough room for him to stand on the edge before the boxes and boxes of goods were piled high in front of him.

  “Well, they said there were bullets and guns in here,” he muttered. “Now just gotta hope that those jackwagons didn’t help themselves to them.”

  He began opening up boxes, finding canned goods, seeds, and some building supplies. The next one was full of hundreds of granola bars. He hesitated and then grabbed one, tearing it open.

  Figure I’ve earned one of these today, he thought as he bit into the chocolate-covered treat. He opened up a few more boxes while snacking on the delicious bar before hitting the jackpot. He stared and smiled at a crate of military issue sniper rifles, and a few thousand rounds of ammo to go along with it.

  “Now we’re cooking,” he said. He stuffed the rest of the granola bar into his mouth and grabbed a few rifles, and as much ammo as he could carry.

  As he approached the back of the truck, there were a few zombies that had found their way over. They came chest high to the back, reaching and moaning in vain as they were too dead to climb up.

  “Well, you boys just couldn’t wait for the party to begin, huh?” Buddy asked with a maniacal grin. “Try this on.”

  He stood over them and smashed down with the butt of one of the rifles, cracking their skulls one by one and dropping them. Once there was a neat little pile of unmoving corpses, he hopped down from the truck, wiped the base of the weapon clean on their clothes, and then peeked around both sides of the vehicle.

  The passenger side was clear, however when he came around to the driver’s side, there were three more staggering zombies. “These fuckers really are everywhere,” he muttered, and set down his spoils, grabbing his tire iron from his belt.

  He swung away like he was playing backyard baseball with the neighborhood kids, one crack, two cracks, three cracks and they were all out. He gathered his weapons and came around to the front of the truck, making sure nothing else was close to him. Luckily these had been stragglers and not the front end of a horde. He breathed a sigh of relief at the main event still at the casino.

  He clambered back up into the cab, pausing at the top step to toss the guns and ammo onto the roof. Then he settled into the driver’s seat, and picked up his radio.

  “Can anybody in the riverfront casino read me? Over,” he said into the first local frequency. When there was no answer, he switched to the next channel. “Can anybody in the riverfront casino read me? Over,” he repeated. Again he paused, and again there was nothing. Next channel. “Can anybody in the riverfront casino read me? Over.”

  “Yeah, you got me,” somebody replied, sounding no older than a teenager. “Still there?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m still here,” Buddy replied. “Who am I talking to?”

  There was a brief pause and then the voice came back, excited. “My name’s Chance, sir.”

  “Buddy will be fine,” he said into the radio with a chuckle. “No need for that sir stuff.”

  “Sorry Buddy,” Chance replied. “Give me just a minute, I uh, I gotta go get somebody to talk to you.”

  The driver nodded, understanding that the kid was probably not at all near a position of power in the group within. “Take your time,” he replied gently. “I’m not going anywhere.” As he waited, he looked out at the sea of zombies a few hundred yards away. His mind raced, thinking about how in the hell he was going to take all of them out by himself. This would have been a job for a few military boys, but that was a
ll moot now.

  “Hello Buddy,” a more mature-sounding voice came through the speaker. “My name is Mister Kenneth. I’m in charge of the riverfront casino. Are you in need of assistance?”

  The driver smiled. “Not so much there, Kenneth, I was actually sent here to help you.”

  “Sent to help us?” the man replied, suspicion in his tone. “By whom?”

  Buddy took a deep breath. “The U.S. Military,” he replied. “They have these caravans being sent out all over the country to help survivors like yourself out. So I have a transfer truck filled to the ceiling with all sorts of goodies.”

  “May I ask where you are?” Kenneth asked.

  Buddy nodded. “Sure thing, I’m just around the bend on the highway, sittin in the middle of the road.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind humoring me,” the older man replied carefully, “I’m going to send someone up a few floors to check. There are some bad actors out there, and we're not exactly keen on letting them take advantage of us.”

  Buddy smiled. “Do what you gotta do,” he replied. “I totally get it. Ran into a few of those bad actors myself running this rig up here.”

  “I hope that you were not harmed coming to our aid,” Kenneth said.

  The driver’s face fell. “Me, I’m good,” he said, voice somber. “Just some bumps and bruises. My two military friends, however…” He trailed off, unable to tell the tale.

  “You have my condolences, Buddy,” the older man said sincerely. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

  Buddy took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Not your fault,” he said. “There’s assholes all over the place. Just some bad luck that we happened to run into them.”

  “Still,” Kenneth insisted, “I shall keep your friends in my thoughts and prayers.”

  Buddy scratched the back of his head. “Appreciate that.” There was a secondary voice in the background through the speaker, though he couldn’t make it what they were saying.

  “Well,” Kenneth came back, “it would appear as though your story checks out. I apologize for doubting you.”

  Buddy shook his head. “No apology necessary,” he said.

  “So,” the older man prompted, “do you have a plan on how to get to us?”

  The driver clucked his tongue. “Kinda hoping you have a loading dock or something.”

  “We do,” Kenneth dragged out the word. “Unfortunately it requires moving through the mass of creatures at our front door.”

  Buddy sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Do you think your truck is strong enough to push through them?” the older man asked.

  The driver cocked his head back and forth. “Fifty-fifty on that,” he admitted, “as all it would take is one zombie getting caught up in the wheel well and I would be trapped.”

  “Is there maybe a way you can pull them away from the door?” Kenneth suggested.

  Buddy nodded. “Oh, without a doubt,” he replied. “I got a couple of rifles and enough ammo to take half the state out. Only downside is that I’m only a halfway decent shot, so once I get going I’m going to be lucky to take half of them out before they get to the truck.”

  “If you can get them that far, I believe we can help you,” Kenneth replied firmly. “Only thing that I ask is that once you see my people that you relegate your fire away from them.”

  Buddy nodded again. “No problem there,” he agreed. “You just let me know when your people are ready and I’ll get to firing.”

  “They’ll be ready on your call,” the older man countered. “Fire at well, and we will see you soon.”

  The driver took a deep breath. “Ten-four,” he replied. “Out.” He tossed the radio down and shook out his hands, psyching himself out for this new battle. “It’s gonna be okay, Buddy,” he said to himself. “Hardest part is gonna be climbing up on top of this big bitch.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Buddy knelt down on top of the transport, the metal a bit hot to the touch after baking in the sun all day. He took off his button-down over shirt and laid it down to give him a little bit of a barrier from the hot roof.

  “Eh, I’ll dry-clean it later,” he joked to himself as he organized his supplies. He set the boxes of bullets beside him, as well as the backup rifle. They were bolt-action rifles with a five bullet capacity, so reloading would be slow and tedious.

  He took a deep breath as he raised up his active weapon and looked through the scope, making a few adjustments to dial them in properly.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered, and aimed towards the horde. He struggled to find a clear head through the mass of creatures. At this range, it was difficult to single out one that was in the back row. Finally he gave up, knowing that in the grand scheme of things it didn’t much matter, and squeezed the trigger.

  He hadn’t been expecting kickback from a military grade rifle, and fumbled a little from the force of it. This rattled the scope and he couldn’t see where the bullet had impacted. He gathered himself and looked downrange through the scope, noting that several zombies had turned and begun moving in his direction.

  “Having some faces to aim at will certainly help,” he murmured, and swung his aim across the turning heads.

  With the horde breaking up a little, at least towards the back, he was able to find a target’s head and fire, ripping a hole straight through it.

  “Yeah!” he cheered for himself, and bolted a new round to search for a new target. One after another, three more creatures dropped before he had to pause and reload.

  He quickly slapped the rounds into the rifle, and then looked through the scope again to scan the area.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed at the sight of nearly half of the horde moving towards him. He knew that he was safe, that it would be okay that he was on top of the truck, but the sheer number of flesh-eating monsters lumbering towards him was terrifying nonetheless.

  He snapped out of his shock and went into overdrive, quickly aiming and firing, not bothering to wait to see if the rounds struck their targets before moving onto the next and firing. If this had been sniper training, his instructor would have certainly pulled him off of the line for excessive firing.

  After four sets of rounds, he took a quick breathe as he reloaded. The horde had moved a hundred yards closer to him at least, closing half of the gab between them in a matter of minutes.

  “Hope they’ve got some badasses in that casino, because I’m gonna need them,” he said, and took a deep breath, lining up his next shot. He fired into the closest zombies to him, hoping to slow them down.

  After ten more shots, he checked the front doors of the casino, noting that just about every single zombie had lost interest in the building and was heading his way.

  “All right, Kenneth,” he muttered, “time for you to work your magic.” He slapped five more rounds into the rifle and aimed, able to take out four more with his next burst of fire.

  As he reloaded, the telltale sound of hands smacking against metal reverberated up to him.

  “Hey, watch the paint job, asshole!” he bellowed, and started cracking off shots at the zombies smacking against the front of the truck. The front edge of the horde began to surround the vehicle, a moaning rank-smelling mass of writhing limbs all reaching for him.

  Buddy loaded in another set of rounds and looked back to the casino just in time to see the doors open up. It was hard to make out with the naked eye what was happening, so he raised the scope again.

  Several people rushed out carrying what appeared to be hotel doors, setting up a defensive perimeter just outside the door. Behind them were several people armed with makeshift spears. Even as the zombies surrounded him, Buddy watched with amazement as the casino-dwellers systematically took out the ghouls with their spears from behind. One by one they dropped them with precise jabs to the head, moving forward as a unit.

  “They’re like some discount Spartans,” Buddy muttered to himself. “Fucking genius right
there.” He snapped back into realization when he realized the back end of the horde was turning around, drawn by the noise of their footsteps. “Shit, back on the clock,” he said.

  He aimed at some zombies about halfway between the two groups and fired, hoping that the combination of the gunfire and the creature dropping would keep the attention on him. As he fired a few quick shots, he looked up to see his plan was working.

  “That’s right motherfuckers!” he bellowed. “Come and get me!” He squeezed off three more rounds before reloading. He walked over to the side of his truck and looked straight down. The zombies were stacked ten deep on that side, reaching up in a futile attempt to get at him. “Gonna need longer arms than that, fuckers!” he called down brightly.

  He aimed almost straight down, taking careful aim and firing one by one, clearing out an entire line of creatures in a matter of seconds. He reloaded a few more times and repeated the process, clearing out a sizable portion of the corpses on that side.

  He turned his attention back towards the discount Spartans, watching the dozen or so people working as a single unit, moving forward with gusto and quickly dispatching every ghoul that dared step near them. They’d already cleared half the distance between the casino and the truck, leaving a pile of bodies in their wake.

  Buddy cracked off another batch of five rounds, aiming straight down again on the side of the truck, leaving only a smattering of creatures on that side. He checked the other side, estimating about fifty ghouls still standing, not including the few dozen drawn to the front grill.

  As he reloaded, he watched the casino group set up in the middle of the road, spreading out to cover two entire lanes. They were about thirty yards away from the truck zombies, and one of them gave him a wave. Buddy returned the gesture, raising his gun in the air to let them know he was good to go for the final assault.

  Soon, everybody in the Spartan line let out a collective yell, emulating the ancient warriors they seemed to be paying homage to. The bulk of the zombies lost interest in the truck and broke away, shambling back towards the screaming spear-holders.