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

by Derek Slaton

  This time, as he exited the gas station, he flicked his eyes everywhere, scrambling into the driver’s seat. He started up the truck, and it roared to life, with almost a full tank of gas.

  “At least something is going right today,” he muttered, and tore open one of the pepperettes. It tasted like ash in his mouth, and he wiped at the sweat on his brow. It wouldn’t be long before the fever took hold.

  Edwards lifted his radio to his mouth. “Sarge, come in,” he said.

  “Edwards, what have you got?” Kersey replied, with a fair bit of noise in the background. It was almost like a dull roar, not zombies but an engine, maybe.

  “I found a heating oil truck,” he replied as he put the truck into gear and eased out of the parking lot. “There’s a shallow lake to the northeast of the suburb, I’m gonna go spray it down with the hose. If you can lure the zombies into the lake, we can burn ‘em all up in one fell swoop.”

  “Ten-four,” Kersey replied. “You get started, we’ll meet you there.”

  Edwards nodded and increased his acceleration. “Ten-four.” He swallowed hard and bit down defiantly on another piece of pepperette. He was determined to enjoy it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Johnson, come back,” Kersey said into his radio, and the big truck paused in its zombie-slaying, a few rotted heads affixed to the spikes as it idled.

  “Yessir,” Johnson replied, voice full of glee.

  Kersey couldn’t help but smile a little. “Edwards is filling the lake with heating oil, we’re going to lure the zombies over there. You pick off any stragglers left behind.”

  “Ten-four!” Johnson replied, and drove back to the street, heading back towards the bridge to give them room to make noise to lure the horde.

  Baker and Mason emerged from one of the houses, each armed with pots and pans. They had their spears tied to their backs in their rifle slings. Bretz, Kowalski, and Kersey had a bit of ammo left, and they fired into the horde to grab their attention. The Privates smashed their kitchen utensils together, causing loud clangs to echo through the air, and the zombies began to pour onto the street.

  Once again the pied pipers, the quartet led the horde to the lake. Edwards sat atop the truck on the far side, giving them a thumbs-up to signify that he was finished filling the lake. The whole area stank of flammable fluid.

  “Circle the lake,” Kersey instructed the others as he leapt into a rowboat at the dock. He rowed out a few feet and then fired into the horde, drawing them towards his position. The zombies began to wade into the stagnant water, groaning and snapping as he rowed out of reach once again.

  The Sergeant alternated rowing backwards and firing, to keep the zombies attention on him, keep the horde pushing into the deadly water. When he was about two-thirds across, he finally saw the back of the horde stagger into the water, and hope leapt in his chest.

  But two zombies managed to snag one side of the rowboat. He fired and hit one in the head, and the other resulted in a dull click.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, and began smashing skulls with the butt of the rifle. There were too many of them. They were overtaking the boat, and he knew if he didn’t bail now, they’d surround it and he’d have no chance.

  Kersey slung the rifle over his back and dove off of the back of the boat, narrowly missing grasping hands as he kicked as hard as he could. Swimming in combat boots and fatigues wasn’t ideal, but he managed to evade snapping jaws and gripping claws, making it to the far side of the lake.

  As soon as Mason and Kowalski pulled Kersey from the water, Bretz fired a flare into the lake, and it went up in a whoosh of flames. The Sergeant scrambled back as far as he could, considering he was covered in oil, and they watched the blaze, the screams of the zombies like music to their ears.

  “That was one hell of a plan, Sarge,” Kowalski said as he helped his superior to his feet.

  Kersey shook his head. “This was all Edwards,” he huffed, motioning up to the soldier on top of the oil truck.

  “What happened to your shirt, man?” Mason raised an eyebrow.

  Edwards scoffed at the attention that was suddenly on him. “I got oil on mine, and found this one in the truck. This isn’t a fashion show, it’s the apocalypse,” he snapped, and turned to slide down the far side of the vehicle.

  “Okay, then,” Mason put his hands up, palms out, in surrender.

  “Alright,” Kersey cut in. “We need to regroup, head back into the neighborhood and take out any stragglers that didn’t make it into the lake.”

  Edwards hopped back into the driver’s seat of the heating truck, and started it up.

  “Get on in, Sarge,” Bretz opened the passenger door.

  Kersey shook his head. “No, I don’t want to choke anyone out,” he replied, wringing some fragrant water from his shirt for effect. “We’ll take the top.”

  He and the others climbed up onto the tank, straddling it as Edwards eased the truck forward. It didn’t take long for them to reach one of the cul du sacs, where Johnson waited, stabbing the skulls of the zombies he’d gored on the front of the truck but not killed.

  “Go for a dip, Sarge?” he asked with a grin as Kersey climbed down the ladder on the back of the truck.

  “Yep, and I need a fuckin’ shower,” the Sergeant replied. “I want y’all to do a sweep of the area, make sure every last zombie is gone. Whoever runs back by that pool, get the barbecue fire pit going. I’m going to grab a shower.” He didn’t wait for a reply before heading into the nearest house to utilize their facilities.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kersey headed into the town hall, clad in beige slacks and a polo shirt. The secretary raised an eyebrow at him and he shot her a thousand-watt smile.

  “I could use a fresh set of fatigues,” he said.

  She smirked. “I hope your old ones didn’t get covered in burning shit?” she asked.

  He laughed. “No, heating oil,” he replied casually. “We burned a lake this time.”

  “Slightly less disgusting,” she declared, and nodded. “I’ll have some brought in for you.”

  “Thanks,” Kersey replied and headed into the General’s office. A middle-aged local stood inside, looking as if he’d just risen from the seat at the desk.

  “Sergeant,” the General greeted, “welcome back. This is Dale, the scout that gave us our intel for your mission.”

  Kersey snarled, and reeled back, smashing his fist into the man’s face. The General gaped at him as he twisted the man’s shirt in his hand.

  “One of my men is dead because of your incompetence,” he growled. “If I see you again, I’m going to drag you to the front lines and feed you to the horde. Understand?”

  His eyes flashed with menace and Dale nodded jerkily, moaning low in his throat. Kersey released him and he staggered away, scurrying out the door with his tail between his legs.

  “What the fuck happened, John?” Stephens asked, and Kersey fell into a chair with an exhausted grunt.

  “It wasn’t a few hundred,” he said, and took a deep breath. “It was a few thousand.”

  The General pursed his lips, and folded his arms in front of him on his desk. “So five hundred rounds…”

  “Were not near enough,” Kersey finished for him. “But we managed. We got ‘em all, but it took a lot. And we lost Berry.”

  Stephens sighed. “I’m sorry, John.”

  “I’m sorry that fucker couldn’t count,” Kersey muttered.

  “I don’t want to assume he had malicious intent,” the General said carefully, “but we seem to have worn out our welcome here. I continue to hear reports from our men and the locals alike about clashing between them. It’s worrisome.”

  “You’re fucking right it’s worrisome,” Kersey snapped. “If they’re disgruntled enough that they’re sending us to our deaths then we have a problem.”

  “It’s not our biggest problem, however,” Stephens replied with a sigh. “The front line battles are going well and we’re slowly stemming the ti
de, but ammunition is running dangerously low. We won’t be able to hold if one of the big cities completely empties out and heads our way.

  “I haven’t heard anything official… but logic would dictate that a full-scale offensive is going to happen soon. Especially with the situation on the front lines. My best guess would be northwest of here. Texas is ground zero, so it’s out of the question.”

  “The east coast is way too populated,” Kersey mused. “And the southwest… unlikely with the extreme temperatures.”

  The General nodded. “Exactly. So, we need to figure out a way to move two hundred and fifty-thousand troops northwest, so we’re ready when the order comes down. Also that will solve the problem of the locals being irritated with our presence.”

  “Yeah, let’s see how happy they are when we aren’t here to protect them,” Kersey muttered, and scrubbed his hands down his face.

  “So, with the railroad tracks running through town, I’m thinking trains might be the best way to go,” Stephens said, raising an eyebrow.

  Kersey nodded. “That’s a good idea,” he agreed. “But nobody knows the first thing about trains, on my team, at least.”

  The General produced a manila folder and slid it across the desk. Scrawled across the top was the name William Collins.

  “Train employment records,” Stephens explained as Kersey opened the folder. “He was suspended from his rail yard job in Kansas City last week. Best we can tell, he went home to La Crosse right before the outbreak.”

  “Meaning he has the knowledge, and there’s a better chance that he’s alive if he got out of Kansas City,” Kersey mused. “Once we extract him, where are we going to get a train? It would be suicide to go into Kansas City.”

  “Topeka,” the General replied, and swiveled in his chair to motion to the map on the wall behind him. “You recruit him, get back to me, and we’ll mobilize and get ready.”

  The Sergeant nodded. “I’ll see what we can find, sir.”

  “Pick up some satellite communication on your way out,” Stephens instructed. “That way we can keep in contact.”

  Kersey stood up and saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You’re saying that out of the entire camp, nobody knows how to drive a fuckin’ train?” Johnson asked from the backseat. “Nobody?”

  “Nobody experienced enough to do it well in a pinch,” Kersey replied. “I’m sure we could figure it out if we tried, but without YouTube, it would take too long. And we’ll likely be facing a lot of opposition in Topeka. So we need somebody that we can just get in there, make sure the train is in working order, and quickly get us out again.”

  “Makes sense,” Edwards agreed. “It’s not like trains are a military vehicle.”

  “Maybe they should have been, just for times like this,” Johnson countered.

  Kersey shook his head. “I don’t think anyone really saw the zombie apocalypse coming.”

  “Oh come on, man.” Johnson rolled his eyes. “Look at all the movies, books, shows. The government had to have been prepared for at least one of those scenarios, you don’t think?”

  Edwards shrugged. “With the way all of this unfolded, I don’t think they really were. Or at least it didn’t go according to plan.”

  “I think we’re doing the best we can in a shit situation,” Bretz put in from the passenger’s seat. “Even if the government did have a plan beforehand, it’s not like they would know where such a thing would crop up, or how fast it would spread, or why. Especially since this appeared to be a bio-terrorism attack as opposed to just a random experiment or outbreak gone wrong.”

  Kersey nodded. “Agreed. The government’s plan for any apocalypse is for us, the military, to contain it, really. And that’s what we’re trying to do.”

  “Wonder what the President is up to right now,” Johnson mused.

  “Probably sipping champagne and eating expensive cheese in a bunker somewhere,” Edwards scoffed. They all shared a chuckle.

  “La Crosse, Kansas,” Bretz read the sign as they rolled into the small town. “Population thirteen hundred, home to the world famous barbed wire museum.”

  Edwards barked a laugh. “Enough barbed wire to fill a whole museum?”

  “Damn straight,” Johnson piped up beside him. “Over two thousand kinds ‘o wire in that museum. Shit’s a big part of our history.”

  Edwards scoffed and brushed a hand across his forehead.

  “You’re lookin’ a little sweaty there, bud,” Johnson said, raising an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  “Meat sweats,” his companion muttered, and threw an empty pepperette wrapper at the redneck.

  Johnson flicked it back at him. “Well stop it, you’re gonna start stinkin’ us up back here.”

  “We can’t all smell like lavender and vanilla, huh Sarge?” Edwards changed the subject.

  Kersey shook his head with a laugh as he pulled the SUV to a stop on the side of the main street. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied with a shrug. “I was happy to smell like girly shampoo as opposed to rotten flesh and heating oil.”

  The soldiers shared a chuckle as they exited the vehicle, Kowalski pulling in behind them. He, Mason and Baker exited the rear SUV, and the soldiers grouped together on the sidewalk.

  “Okay, we split up and comb the town for Collins,” Kersey instructed. “Pair up. Edwards, you’re with me.” He waved the Private forward and they wandered up the sidewalk. “Hook me up with one of them pepperettes,” he prompted, and Edwards snorted, pulling out his second last one for the Sergeant.

  “You only want me for my meat,” he said under his breath, feigning offense.

  An older woman bustled out of one of the doors, a red-faced man rushing after her as if trying to stop her.

  “Get out of here! You’re not welcome here!” she shrieked, and spit, the glob landing on Kersey’s surprised cheek.

  “Ma’am, I assure you-”

  “We don’t need no assurances!” she screamed, and the man behind her grabbed her arm, trying to pull her back inside. “Y’all killed my baby boy! We don’t want you here!”

  Kersey put his hands up, palms out. “Ma’am-”

  “Murderers!” she squealed, and the man finally succeeded in dragging her back to the house. “Murderers! He would have gotten better, but you didn’t listen! He wasn’t gonna turn into one of those things! I knew he’d get better!”

  “Listen, sir,” Kersey began, but the man disappeared into the house behind the crying woman, slamming and locking the door behind him.

  Edwards let out a low whistle. “Jesus.”

  “I suppose that sets the tone for our welcome party,” Kersey said. They continued to walk, and found a few men loitering on a front porch. “Excuse me, sirs, would you happen to know a man named William Collins?”

  “Who’s askin’?” one of the men drawled, and took a deep drag from his pipe.

  Edwards squared his shoulders. “Who do you think?”

  “It’s a matter of national security,” Kersey replied gently. “It’s imperative that we find him, for the future of the war.”

  The man barked a laugh, and horked a yellow glob of snot onto the sidewalk. “Collins is where he always is. At the bar.” He inclined his head across the street. “If he’s gonna be helpin’ the future of the war, though… I think we’re all fucked.”

  The men shared a sharp cackle, and Kersey nodded his thanks, though his brow furrowed in worry. He and Edwards wandered across the street, and pushed open the door to the dingy bar.

  There were a three men sitting at the bar, a middle-aged woman wiping glasses behind it and eyeing them warily.

  “We’re looking for William Collins,” Kersey declared.

  The men snickered, and the middle one glanced over his shoulder. “You here to kill more of the townsfolk?” he drawled, and then turned back to his beer.

  “At least they’re usin’ yer full name, William,” the one to the left cackled and bumped th
e first man with his elbow.

  Edwards pushed past Kersey and stalked right up to the middle-seated man. “Look asshole, we were told you know how to run trains.” He cracked his knuckles. “So can you, or not?”

  “Hah.” The man didn’t even look at him. “Why don’t you ask your sister, since I ran a good train on her last night?”

  “You motherfucker,” Edwards snarled.

  The man threw a hand up. “Mother fucker, sister fucker, to you I guess that’s the same person,” he said, and his two friends continued to laugh at the red-faced Private.

  Edwards took a swing but the man dodged, returning a punch to the Private’s gut. Kersey grabbed his comrade by the arm and shoved him towards the door.

  “Wait outside,” he instructed, and the Private hissed in pain, staggering out onto the sidewalk to catch his breath. “Are you William Collins?”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Name’s Bill, Princess.”

  “Listen Bill, we need your help,” Kersey said firmly, keeping his hands at his sides so as to be non-threatening. “The military is trying to get out of here, so that we can get out of your hair and stop drawing zombies out of the major cities. We have too many troops, so we’re thinking a train from Topeka is the way to go. But we need you to take us.”

  Bill shook his head and sneered. “That’s stupid. North Platte has the largest rail yard in the country and it’s less populated than Topeka. Are all you army meatheads so dumb?” There was less venom in his voice this time, however.

  “Look, this whole apocalypse thing is taking everyone for a ride. It’s tough on everyone,” Kersey said. “We’re all just trying to do our best to save humanity. It’s unfortunate that some of the townsfolk had to die, but our job is to protect people. And if there are infected, then we have to take them down to save the people that are still healthy and alive.”

  Bill nodded, and took a deep gulp from his beer. “I know,” he admitted. “It’s just hard watchin’ our loved ones go down, y’know?”