Dead America The Northwest Invasion | Book 3 | Dead America-Seattle [Part 1]

by Slaton, Derek

  “Good work, Moss,” the Corporal said, and pulled out his walkie talkie. “Sarge, you copy?” he asked.

  After a short pause, Copeland came back, “Beginning to think you were going AWOL there, Corporal.”

  Dawson barked a laugh. “And leave all the glory of completing this suicide mission to you, Sarge? Never.”

  “What’s your status?” the Sergeant asked, chuckling.

  Dawson watched his soldiers work. “Dealership secured, keys located.”

  “How long until you can get me some distractions?” Copeland asked.

  The Corporal approached one of the mechanics. “Once we pop the hoods, how long to get those sensors fixed?” he asked.

  “Two minutes, tops,” the mechanic replied.

  Dawson lifted the radio to his lips. “We can have a party favor making noise in ten,” he said. “Where do you want us to start?”

  “Get me a pair five blocks south of each bridge,” Copeland replied. “Those snipers are pulling their weight, so I want to pull the ones directly south of us away.”

  The Corporal nodded. “Understood,” he replied. “From there, we’ll spread ‘em out.”

  “I’ll let you know if we need to adjust the plan,” the Sergeant assured him. “Copeland out.”

  Dawson clipped his radio back to his belt and whirled a hand above his head. “All right boys,” he said, “get you a vehicle and let’s roll.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Mack and Moss hopped into a bright yellow sedan, rolling down the windows as the car started up. The mechanic slammed the hood down and came around to Mack on the driver’s side.

  “Okay Mack, you’re good to go,” he said, leaning on the window. “When you get to your destination, take the keys with you, lock the door, arm the alarm, and give the car a good shove. That should pop it off for sixty seconds.”

  The Private nodded. “Is that going to give the zombies enough time to get to it?” he asked.

  “No, probably not,” the mechanic admitted, shaking his head. “Which is why you’re going to have to find some shelter and keep hitting the alarm until some show up.”

  Moss rolled his eyes from the passenger seat. “You got some flares, too?” he drawled. “Might help them really notice where we are.”

  Dawson approached the window, crossing his arms. “No, but if you don’t quit your bitching, I’m gonna have the mechanic here hook an alarm up to your ass and send you on a ten-mile run,” he snapped.

  Moss’ sarcasm dropped quickly as the Corporal got his point across.

  “And to confirm,” Mack cut in, putting up a hand, “we’re five blocks south of the surface street bridge.”

  Dawson nodded. “Correct,” he confirmed. “Put it in an intersection a block off of the interstate, so that you capture the neighborhood crowd. Follow the mechanic’s instructions, then haul ass back here, because we got a lot more cars to spread out.”

  Both privates replied with a firm, “Yes, sir,” and Mack put the car into gear, punching the gas. They turned onto the frontage road before crossing underneath the interstate and heading up the opposite side.

  “Why not take the interstate?” Moss asked, brow furrowing.

  Mack shook his head. “Because if we run into trouble, we won’t be able to hit a side road,” he explained.

  “Makes sense,” his companion agreed.

  They drove up a few more blocks before stopping. A horde of creatures milled about on the frontage road and on the interstate just above it, slowly making their way towards the bridge. The Privates listened closely and they could hear the faint sounds of gunfire in the distance. It wasn’t rapid, just steady with a shot popping off every couple of seconds.

  “Those sniper boys are lighting them up,” Moss said.

  Mack shook his head. “Problem is, they’re drawing quite the crowd,” he replied dryly. “We’re still a mile from the bridge.”

  Moss shrugged as his partner turned down a side road, driving a couple blocks before turning north. They drove relatively slowly through the neighborhood, seeing the grass beginning to get tall. There were a few paths tracking through the yards where the foliage was stamped down.

  Moss wrinkled his nose as he appraised the middle-class brick houses, decaying after a month of neglect. “If it wasn’t for the zombies, this would make for a nice town,” he said.

  “Kinda sad to think that this scene is playing out in just about every single town in the country,” Mack agreed.

  Moss swallowed hard. “Hell, the world,” he said.

  They shook their heads simultaneously at the thought.

  “I can’t imagine what those other countries are doing to handle this,” Mack said. “We have more guns than people in this country, and we still got our asses kicked. Not sure a bunch of civilians armed with knives and cricket bats are faring much better.”

  Moss sighed. “So much for my European vacation.”

  They headed up the side street, stopping in the middle of an intersection.

  “Is this five blocks?” Moss asked.

  Mack shrugged. “Hell if I know,” he replied, “but I can see the dead end up ahead.”

  Moss struggled to count the number of cross streets between them and the end of the road, but the darkness made it difficult. “Well, it’s either four, five, or six,” he said.

  “Or in my line of thinking,” Mack replied, “close enough.”

  He made the turn back towards the interstate, stopping the car in the middle of the intersection. The two of them checked their surroundings and got out of the vehicle, doing an additional sweep of the area.

  “Clear,” Moss said.

  Mack nodded. “Same.”

  His partner cocked his head. “You got the keys?”

  Mack dangled them before pocketing them. “So where do you want to hide out?” he asked.

  “Further away from the interstate, the better,” Moss replied.

  The duo looked around and spotted a two-story house one down from a place on the corner. The front door was ajar, and Mack nodded towards it.

  “They left the door open for us,” he said.

  His friend scratched the back of his head. “Hope that’s all they left,” he quipped.

  Mack shut the car door before fiddling around with the keys. He finally got the car locked and then paused. “You ready?” he asked.

  “As much as I’m gonna be,” Moss admitted.

  Mack took a deep breath and looked around one more time before giving the car a good shove. It didn’t take much, just his light touch, to set off the alarm. A loud horn bleated, echoing through the neighborhood, causing both soldiers to wince.

  “Goddamn that’s loud,” Moss declared.

  Mack waved at him. “Let’s get to the house!”

  They rushed to the two-story building, seeing some of the bushes across the street start to jiggle. They raised their assault rifles as they approached the house, and Moss took point, heading for the front door as Mack covered his rear.

  He pulled a flashlight, holding it above the barrel of his gun before stepping inside. As he cleared the threshold, he spotted movement coming from the back of the room at the mouth of the hallway. He immediately fired, clipping a zombie in the face.

  “Keep your fire down!” Mack hissed. “We want the car to attract them, not us!”

  Moss shook his head. “Relax, as long as we got the alarm, we’re-” Before he could finish his sentence, the alarm kicked off. “... Good. Shit.” He kept his flashlight up and quickly drew his knife, waiting in the living room.

  With the silence, he could finally hear footsteps on the second floor of the house. Meanwhile, Mack pulled out the keys and pressed the alarm button.

  “Anytime now, bud,” Moss urged.

  His friend shook his head frantically. “I’m hitting it and nothing’s happening,” he replied.

  “Might be too far away,” Moss said, swallowing hard.

  “Shit,” Mack muttered. “Hang tight.” He steppe
d off of the front porch and started walking towards the car, hitting the alarm button the entire way. When he got to the edge of the yard, it finally went off. As it blared, he turned to retreat into the house, but there were a dozen zombies coming around the side towards him. “Moss!” he cried.

  He took off towards the house, pulling out his assault rifle. It was dark, and he was twenty yards away, but he opened fire anyway. His three-round bursts tore through the zombies, hitting mostly torsos but hitting one zombie in the head.

  The gunfire alerted Moss, who quickly dashed out and opened fire himself, ripping the zombies to shreds at close range. Mack tore for the door, and his partner nearly fired at him, at the last second realizing who it was and stopping just in time.

  “Christ dude, you all right?” Mack cried.

  His friend nodded shakily. “Come on, let's clear this place out before the alarm stops,” he said, and rushed back inside.

  The duo pulled their flashlights and moved through the house quickly. Moss headed up the stairs, and as he approached the top, he spotted two zombies in the hallway, caught in a baby gate that had been wedged across it. They moaned and reached for him, and he quickly put them down with two precise shots to the head.

  As they slumped over the gate, the alarm outside stopped. He listened closely for noise, but heard none. He tapped on the hardwood floor to draw any others out, but nothing came. As he descended the staircase again, Mack was just heading out the door.

  “Clear upstairs,” Moss reported.

  His friend nodded. “Good deal,” he replied. “I’m gonna get another blast going.”

  “We may need to hit the house next door,” Moss suggested. “Not that safe for you to keep going outside.”

  Mack rolled his eyes. “What’s this me stuff?” he drawled. “You’re up next.”

  Before his partner could answer, the alarm began to blare on its own, and they shared an excited look. Mack shut the front door, and they hurried over to the living room window to look outside.

  A few zombies hung out around the vehicle, banging on the doors and windows in reaction to the noise. Eventually the alarm stopped, and the duo waited with bated breath for a ghoul to hit it again.

  “Come on, come on,” Moss murmured, “you know you want what’s in there.”

  A few seconds later, one of the zombies bonked into the driver’s side, setting off the alarm again. This enraged its brethren, and they all began to smack the car with vigor. More zombies emerged from the side streets, a ton of them coming from the north.

  “What do you think, give it fifteen minutes to make sure it’s still working?” Mack asked.

  Moss shook his head. “Hell no,” he replied, checking his weapons. “We need to get out of here before it really draws a crowd. Then we find a house close to the dealership and hold up for fifteen minutes.”

  The two men shared a fist bump before heading towards the back door. They peered out at the smattering of zombies marching through the backyard. As they shambled past, Mack unlocked the sliding door and gently opened it. They silently crept across the back deck and hopped over the side, landing on the soft grass.

  Keeping to the darkness, the duo pressed up against the house as more zombies came out of the neighboring yards. They froze when the alarm went silent, knowing that a single noise could doom them with this kind of gathering. A few seconds later, it began blaring again, keeping the attention of the nearby creatures.

  They took the opportunity to bolt, running through a backyard and off into the darkness towards the dealership.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Copeland and the rest of his crew waited at the entrance of the Super Center, keeping an eye on the zombies on the bridge and interstate. Johnson stood beside him with the night vision scope, surveying the landscape.

  The bridge began to clear out with the zombies moving to the north, attracted by the sniper fire. The ones on the interstate had either joined the bridge group, or had started being drawn south by the sound of car alarms, creating a mostly zombie-free pocket.

  “Johnson, how we looking?” Copeland asked.

  The Private continued to scan as he spoke. “The bulk is moving away from us,” he replied. “Still gonna have a fight on our hands on the bridge, but I don’t think it’s worth waiting over.”

  The Sergeant motioned for Johnson to hand over the weapon, and he did. Copeland did a quick sweep with the night vision scope, and then nodded, handing the gun back.

  “Okay boys,” he said, turning to his team, “we’re gonna move and move quick. Got four on the shopping carts, rest of us are on zombie duty. Drop ‘em quick, drop ‘em quiet, and get ready for some heavy lifting on the bridge. We get halfway down and I want everybody focused on that front line. We’re gonna have to reinforce the rear eventually, but those things are way too close for comfort. Questions?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “Didn’t think so. Now let’s move.”

  He led the group out, the eight on zombie duty carrying knives and baseball bats. Behind them were four soldiers pushing shopping carts full of supplies, like rebar, basketball goal posts, gloves, and such.

  The run through the parking lot was smooth, with no resistance. A couple zombies on the interstate directly ahead had their attention drawn as the footsteps and shopping carts rattled on the pavement. There was nothing but a grass path keeping them apart.

  Copeland led the charge towards the small pack of zombies, swinging hard with a baseball bat and cratering in a skull. Several other soldiers stepped up and did the same, while a couple stayed back to help the cart pushers traverse the grass, wheels wiggling.

  The Sergeant stood on the interstate, patting one of the concrete barriers in the center. It was about eight feet long, solid concrete with the exception of two holes running through the top, about a foot away from each corner. He scanned ahead, watching twenty zombies between them and the center of the bridge.

  These won’t be a problem, he said. What concerned him was the thousands of zombies another hundred yards up that were congregating between the stores. He looked over to the rest of the men, who were standing and waiting for his move.

  Copeland started walking up the interstate at a deliberate pace, not wanting to draw attention to them. The zombies were all focused on the gunfire in the distance, so one by one, he and the rest of his men stepped up to dispatch their enemies.

  The group didn’t take long to work their way up to the center of the bridge, moving quickly in tandem. The closest zombie on the bridge was fifteen yards up and walking away from them.

  “Johnson, take two men,” Copeland said quietly, “set up shop twenty yards up. Any trouble, you tamp it down.”

  The Private nodded. “On it,” he replied, and pointed to Raymond and Schmitt. “You two, on me.”

  Copeland watched the trio head up to the zombies and take out the last few stragglers with ease, standing guard. He turned to watch the others come up with the shopping carts and stopped in front of him.

  The Sergeant kept his voice low. “These bitches are heavy, so we’re gonna be working in teams,” he said. “Four men to a barrier. Get up to where Johnson is and start moving them back this way. One row, all the way across. We’ll worry about reinforcing it later, but right now we just need something in case they lose interest in the snipers.”

  They got to work, throwing on work gloves, and grabbing up metal posts and heavy duty floor dollies, rushing their targets. Posts went through the two slots at the top of the barriers, and then there was a quiet countdown before lifting up. As the barrier reached a foot off of the ground, another soldier rolled the metal dollie underneath. Once on wheels, the two lifters could push it along the road, straining to roll the several thousand pound barriers.

  The nose they made both straining and moving attracted a few zombies near the back of the pack, forcing Johnson and Raymond to step up and smack them down as quietly as they could.

  “Keep watch,” Johnson whispered to Raymond, who nod
ded.

  Johnson jogged back to Copeland, who was helping to unload a barrier on the side of the road. He strained, but they finally got it into place with the two men rushing back to help with the next one.

  “What is it?” the Sergeant asked.

  “Moving that first barrier drew some of them back to us,” Johnson explained. “It’s loud. The gunfire is drowning it out a bit, but as soon as that goes away, we’re in trouble. And at the rate they’re going, it’s gonna be awhile.”

  Copeland nodded. “Understood.” He pulled out his walkie-talkie and dialed in before lifting it to his lips. “Kowalski, update,” he said.

  Several moments passed before the sniper came back, “We’re holding our own, Sarge. Pulling a decent sized crowd from the city, but a little too far away from the interstate to do much. Satellite didn’t show that many trees blocking the view.”

  “What’s your ammo situation?” Copeland asked.

  Another moment of pause. “The four of us at the target are down to about a thousand,” Kowalski replied. “Can’t speak for the others, as they don’t have comms.”

  “Well, if you got three men just across the bridge, it’s safe to assume they’ll be at six or seven hundred based on the fire patterns?” Copeland asked, and there was a long silence before he growled, “Kowalski, I know you aren’t smart enough to be doing math in your head, so talk to me, soldier.”

  “Wade is alone on the store just up from the bridge,” the Private replied. “The other two, well, I assume two, at least one, are several blocks up.”

  The Sergeant grimaced, knowing that once they ran out of ammo, this bridge would become very active. “Well, here’s hoping Wade sticks to a steady rhythm,” he said, “because as soon as he’s out, we’re gonna have a fight on our hands.” He looked up the bridge, seeing the men struggling with the next barricade before finally getting it onto the dolly.

  “What do you want me to do, Sarge?” Kowalski asked.

  Copeland paused for a moment, contemplating hard before answering, “If you feel like luck is on our side, then just keep doing what you’re doing.” He took a deep breath. “If you’ve been paying attention with how things have been going for the past month, I’d suggest coming up with more ways to stir up some noise.” He stiffened as the men continued to strain, pushing the concrete barrier with everything they had. “Because, unless I’m mistaken, we’re gonna need it.”