Dead America: The First Week Box Set Books 1-7 (Dead America Box Sets Book 2)

by Derek Slaton

  “Because we are in the extreme minority, detective,” Francisco replied, a hint of regret in his voice. “Speaking up would have done nothing but sign our own death warrants. Our only chance is to operate in the shadows.”

  “Understandable,” Rogers replied with a nod. “So what am I supposed to do? What is Rodriguez’ grand plan for me?”

  “There is no grand plan, detective, only an opportunity,” Francisco replied gently. “He saw potential in you today, which is why he risked his own life to spare yours. He sent you to Fabens because he knows the cartel isn’t interested in coming this far outside of El Paso.”

  Rogers furrowed his brow. “So what am I supposed to do, run a refugee camp out here?”

  “I wish it were that easy, detective.” The cartel leader shook his head. “If you want to survive, you will need to find a way to be useful to the cartel. Sooner or later, word will get back to those in charge of your existence. When that day comes, it’s all of our hope that you will have something of value to offer them.”

  Rogers growled. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “It means, the head of the Rivas Cartel likes expensive booze and freshly grilled wild game,” Francisco replied with a grin. “So you and your band of survivors might want to get really good at hunting and scavenging. As long as you are proving yourself useful, there’s a good chance he won’t order your destruction.”

  Rogers rolled his eyes. “Great, I’ll get my seventy-year-old friend and his eight-year-old grandson acquainted with desert game hunting.”

  Francisco smiled and motioned towards the back SUV. “Please, detective, come with me,” he said, and led him over to the hood.

  He waved to the window, and the doors reluctantly opened. Seven twenty-somethings piled out, eyes wide with fear and nervousness.

  “Rodriguez and I anticipated your predicament, so he had me recruit you some help,” Francisco explained. “They were hiding out in one of the college dorms, so I snuck them out. If they were left in the city they would be put to work as slaves, or worse for the women.”

  Rogers’ eyes softened. “It’s gonna be okay, y’all,” he assured the scared youngsters. “I’m a police detective and y’all are safe. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll explain everything.”

  “We loaded up what we could and threw it in the trailer,” Francisco continued. “There’s some food, water and weapons in there that should help you on your way. When we can, we will send you more people and supplies, but you shouldn’t expect them. At least not until we know who we can trust.”

  Rogers nodded. “Thank you, Francisco,” he said sincerely. “And if you would, please take a message back to Rodriguez.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Tell him…” The detective grinned. “No hard feelings on the ear.”

  Francisco chuckled and patted his new acquaintance on the shoulder. “I’m sure he will be happy to hear that, detective.” He went back to his vehicle and opened the door, standing up on the step so he towered over them. “Dark days are ahead, detective. I hope that whatever Rodriguez saw in you is the truth. Good luck.” He ducked into the vehicle, and drove off into the night.

  Rogers looked around with a touch of bewilderment. To one side he had a group of elderly and children, and to the other a terrified group of college students. Before he could open his mouth to try to verbally figure out the situation, one of the storefront door opened, startling him.

  He drew his gun immediately, swiveling to aim at a scared young man standing in the doorway with his hands high above his head.

  “It’s okay,” Rogers said, holstering his gun and putting out a hand. “You can come out and join us. We’re here to help.”

  The young man nodded jerkily, and waved over his shoulder. He emerged with a dozen or so people of varying age, slowly moving over to the group. Rogers scrubbed his hands down his face and looked around at the expectant and scared faces watching him.

  He took a deep breath, fighting off the feeling of being overwhelmed with the responsibility that has been placed at his feet. A chuckle bubbled up from his throat and he shook his head. His presumably deceased Captain was likely somewhere in the afterlife, laughing his ass of at Rogers being thrust into the decision-making role despite decades of avoiding it.

  “All right, everyone,” he said, composing himself. “My name is detective Rogers of the El Paso PD. As of this moment, this is our new home. I know you have all been through the ringer over the past few days, but it’s not going to get any easier from here on out.

  “Tonight… tonight we eat and we rest. We rejoice in each other’s company and be thankful that we are still here. When the sun comes up tomorrow…” He squared his shoulders. “We begin the fight for our survival.”

  END

  HEARTLAND

  DEAD AMERICA: THE FIRST WEEK BOOK SIX

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +6

  Sergeant John Kersey wandered through Grand Bend, jaw clenched as he scanned the organized chaos around him. There were troops everywhere. The town was a hotbed of activity, supplies being loaded up in trucks, food being transferred to barracks and transports alike. Men loading up to ship out to the front lines.

  It seemed to John that the military had things as under control as they possibly could—but with more and more zombies seeming to crop up every day, he didn’t know how long it was going to take to contain this plague. So many places had fallen back, pulled out.

  But not Kansas. The military had over two hundred thousand troops inhabiting the rural areas, cleaning out north of Wichita and taking control of most of the small towns in the area. Most of the locals seemed disgruntled about staunch military presence in their normally quiet lives, but didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter but to let the soldiers have their run of the towns.

  John entered the small town hall, that had been cleared out of its mayor to be the base of operations in Grand Bend. He lightly knocked on the doorframe of the back office, surveying the form of his superior and long time friend, General Stephens.

  “Sergeant!” Stephens said with a smile, and stood up from his chair.

  John returned his smile and stepped inside, leaning over the desk to shake the General’s hand. “Back in one piece, General,” he replied.

  “Good, good,” Stephens said, and motioned to the chairs in front of his desk.

  John took a seat and leaned back, thankful for the cushy chair cradling his exhausted body. It had been one hell of a week. And he was sure it wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.

  “So,” the General said, folding his arms in front of him over the notebook on his desk, “how is it out there?”

  The Sergeant shrugged. “Same as it’s been for the last six days, General,” he replied. “What have you got for me?”

  Stephens put up a hand and pushed a button on his phone, leaning over.

  “Yes, sir?” a bright young voice asked through the speaker.

  “Can you send someone with some coffee for Sergeant Kersey, please?” he asked.

  “Right away, sir,” the voice replied.

  John was about to protest, but he knew it had already been done, and damn if he wasn’t looking forward to some fresh coffee.

  Stephens leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and stretching them above his head. “Sergeant, do you remember back in Debecka, when your team had to covertly move a prisoner?”

  John scratched the back of his head, fighting a smile. Iraq had been rough. But he was proud of some of the things he’d accomplished back then. “Yeah,” he replied. “You had the troops light a bunch of shit on fire as a distraction.”

  A young woman set a mug of coffee on the desk in front of him, her eyebrow raised at his colorful language.

  “Thank you,” John said, offering her a smile as he lifted his mug. He took a sip and realized she was still looking at him quizzically. “I said shit because I meant literal shit. The troops used an outhouse as kindling, tha
t town stank something awful for days after.”

  “Likely weeks,” Stephens agreed, and the woman wrinkled her nose.

  “Sorry I was curious,” she muttered to herself, and shook her head. She saluted the General, and then left the office, closing the door on the two chuckling comrades.

  “You did one hell of a job getting that prisoner out,” Stephens nodded, his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair not moving an inch with the motion. “I still don’t know how you did it by yourself.”

  “Honestly…” John shook his head. “I strapped him on like a backpack.”

  The General blinked at his subordinate.

  “He was in a pretty bad way, barely conscious,” the Sergeant explained. “I knew with the crawling I’d have to do that slinging him over a shoulder wouldn’t work long term. There were a few short lengths of rope in the barn, so I put him on my back and tied his wrists to his knees and took off.”

  There was a moment of silence, and John took a long loud slurp of his hot, satisfying brew.

  “And that is why I asked you here, John,” Stephens said, shaking his head and flattening his palms on his desk. “Because you think outside the box.”

  Kersey leaned forward, setting his mug on the table, ready to get down to business. “What’s the mission, General?”

  “Tens of thousands of zombies are fleeing the cities,” Stephens explained, taking a deep breath. He pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and continued, “Both Kansas City and Wichita are hemorrhaging walking corpses. All of my troops are along major roads and interstates to try to prevent a breach.

  “Unfortunately, it’s been reported by one of my scouts that two to three hundred zombies from the Wichita flood have broken free of the main group and are heading up Highway 96 towards Hutchinson. The troops in the area are already overwhelmed with the tens of thousands coming from the front line, so I need you and your team to go and take care of the stragglers before they become a real threat.”

  “What about the civilians in Hutchinson?” John asked.

  “Evacuated to the north of the city, and the bridges across the Arkansas River have been fortified,” Stephens replied. “The plan is to barricade the four-lane highway at the Highway 50 bridge, blocking off the exit ramps to funnel the zombies to the barricade.”

  “I’m going to need ammo,” the Sergeant said, taking one last gulp of his coffee.

  Stephens nodded. “There’s five hundred extra rounds with your name on it, and that should be more than enough to cover it,” he said. “The horde is about three or four hours out, so with a forty-five minute travel time, you should be able to get there early enough to get set up.”

  “Aye-aye, General,” John said, setting his mug on the desk and standing up.

  “Be careful, John,” Stephens said firmly. “And as soon as you get back, come and see me again. I’m working on something else that will need your talents.”

  The Sergeant saluted his General, and headed out of the office to gather his team.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kersey approached a set of Humvees where his team had set up a bit of a rest area in the grocery store parking lot. They sat in a semicircle on folding chairs, tearing into thick sandwiches that a few local young women were passing out to the troops.

  “Well, thank you, little lady,” Private Buck Johnson drawled with a grin.

  The blonde in the daisy dukes blushed and giggled as she handed over a ham and cheese sub. “Y’all are very welcome, sir,” she said, and linked arms with her friend as they trotted off across the parking lot.

  “Those girls don’t even look legal,” Private Adam Baker scoffed as he tore the plastic wrap from his own sandwich.

  Johnson shrugged, a lopsided grin on his leathery-skinned face. “They was legal enough to flirt with me, which means I can look all I want.”

  “I don’t think it works that way.” Baker shook his head and took a bite of his food. “They make good grub, though,” he attested after swallowing his mouthful. “Dijon and everything.”

  “Mine doesn’t have dijon!” Private Stuart Kowalski pouted, peeling back the layers of bread to find just mayonnaise with his turkey, lettuce, and tomato.

  Baker shrugged. “I guess I’m the favorite. I think this is gouda cheese, too.”

  “I don’t need no fancy cheese,” Johnson replied, munching away.

  “Where’s my sandwich?” Kersey asked good-naturedly as he assessed the group.

  Private Ben Mason held out half of his sub, but the Sergeant shook his head, patting the man on the shoulder.

  “No wonder the locals hate us,” Kersey said. “What with their teenaged daughters making us sandwiches in booty shorts.”

  “They weren’t teenagers,” Johnson muttered.

  “General didn’t feed you?” Corporal Brandon Bretz asked from his perch on the hood of one of the Humvees. “I thought he’d have a personal chef in there.”

  “No, though I did have somebody bring me a nice hot coffee,” Kersey replied, grinning at the envious looks on the men’s faces. He approached the Corporal, his second in command, and leaned against the side of the Humvee. “We’ve got a new mission.”

  Private Jack Edwards scoffed. “Where are they sending us this time? Some other little crap-ass two-toothed town?”

  “Just another standard meet-and-greet with the enemy, nothing too strenuous,” Kersey replied, ignoring his most ornery teammate. Beggars couldn’t be choosers in times like this, but he was often annoyed with Edwards’ attitude.

  “What kind of meet-and-greet?” Baker asked thoughtfully.

  “There’s a horde of a few hundred heading up the Highway 96 towards Hutchinson,” the Sergeant explained. “We’re going to head them off, barricade the town, and take them all out.”

  There were shrugs and nods of acceptance all around, though Edwards wrinkled his nose.

  “I keep waiting for the day that we’ll be making a real push against these fuckers,” Private Marvin Berry piped up as he finished off his sandwich. “Feels like we’re just sitting here, waiting.”

  “A real push isn’t really an option at this point,” Kersey replied. “We’re too outnumbered. Each community needs to do their part, and eventually the higher-ups will figure out what the hell to do. In the meantime, we go where we’re needed.”

  “And kill what’s needed.” Johnson cracked his knuckles. “We’re gonna need extra ammo.”

  Kersey nodded. “General approved five hundred extra rounds,” he said, nodding towards the armory. “Johnson, Baker, you go load up a bin and we’ll split everything between two Humvees. It’s forty-five to Hutchinson and I want to leave us a good window of time to set up those barricades.”

  The two privates headed off to the armory, Johnson with a spring in his step. “Wanna make bets now on whether or not I can dust more of them zombies than you?” he asked, and Baker shook his head.

  “Civilians?” Bretz asked as he slid from the hood of the vehicle.

  “Evacuated,” Kersey replied. “It’ll just be us.”

  “No problem, then.” The Corporal swiped his large hands together as if dusting them off. “Piece of cake.” He paused. “I could go for some cake. And a beer.”

  Kersey laughed. “Maybe we’ll find an intact bar in Hutchinson.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Baker waved Mason forward until the sedan crunched up against the bumper of the hatchback in front of it. Kersey checked their handiwork, the barrier across the highway complete. The cars were nestled tightly together to stop the zombies but allow the soldiers to fire over them easily.

  “Looks good,” the Sergeant said, clapping both men on the back as he headed over to the Humvees behind him. “You go on and take your station with Kowalski on the overpass,” he instructed Bretz, who finished gathering all of his ammunition. “Take one of the vehicles.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge,” the Corporal replied, giving a quick salute before jogging around the Humvee to get inside.

  Kersey
checked his own guns and headed back to the lineup, where his men were spaced out across the line of cars. He pulled the receiver to his mouth. “Sending up Bretz, see anything yet, Kowalski?”

  “Nothing yet, Sarge,” came the prompt reply. “We made good time.”

  “Damn right we did!” Johnson bellowed, prompting a few chuckles from the lineup.

  Baker leaned on the hood of the sedan that was to be his firing range, crossing his arms. “So the redneck here thinks he can outshoot all of us,” he teased, inclining his head to Johnson.

  “Bullshit.” Edwards rolled his eyes. “Just because you’re trigger happy doesn’t mean you’ll hit anything.”

  Johnson clapped a hand over his heart as if he were offended. “Oh, well that’s a mighty bold claim, buddy. Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

  “Money’s not worth anything anymore,” Edwards muttered.

  Baker raised an eyebrow. “My flask says I get the most.”

  “How about your flask and the pack of cigarettes you’ve got in your boot that you don’t want anyone to know about?” Johnson replied with a lopsided grin.

  Baker blinked at him in shock.

  “It’s the apocalypse, kid.” Johnson shook his head. “You don’t gotta be ashamed to smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. I know I won’t be once they’re mine, since I’m gonna be the one shootin’ the most zombies today.”

  Edwards rolled his eyes. “You two grunts are on,” he said.

  Kersey shook his head in amusement and turned to Mason. “You’re not joining on this?”

  The dark-skinned private shook his head. “Got no flask,” he said simply.

  “Then you just gotta win,” the Sergeant replied.

  Mason smiled, and lifted his radio to his mouth. “I’m betting on Kowalski, then.”

  The three initiators groaned in unison as the sniper from the bridge above came back through the speaker, “What are we betting on?”

  “That you take down the most zombies,” Kersey replied into his own receiver. “Mason’s betting with nothing, too, so you’d better do him proud.”