Dead America: Lowcountry | Book 6 | Lowcountry [Part 6]

by Slaton, Derek

  Thankfully it was, and he opened it towards the mercenaries, using it as a shield as Brandt ran towards him. They slipped inside just as the zombies reached them, managing to pull it shut just in time.

  Moans echoed from behind them in the storeroom they’d entered, and both men whipped around.

  “Lock the door!” Ace cried, before blowing a zombie’s head off.

  Brandt scrambled to lock the door and then grunted as a ghoul lunged for him. They tussled for a moment before he finally kicked the corpse away, raising his shotgun fast enough to blast it in the head, splattering brains everywhere.

  Ace, needing to reload but without time, used the butt of his gun to smash a zombie in the face, and then clambered on top of a large wooden crate as the ghoul struggled to get to its feet again.

  He pulled out his knife and began to stab down like whack-a-mole, dropping zombies left and right. Soon there was a pile of corpses around the crate, and the Sheriff stood, chest heaving, across the room.

  Both men stood there, waiting, listening hard, which was difficult with the banging on the door.

  “Front or back?” Brandt asked hoarsely, and Ace jumped down from the crate.

  “If they’re heading towards the back, I say we go out the front and try to get ‘em from behind,” the redneck said, and headed for the store. They came out from the back room into a gift shop, wall to wall with kitschy overpriced items. When they reached the front, they peered out of the large glass window, and it immediately shattered with gunfire.

  Ace hit the floor, and Brandt rolled around, pressing his back into the wall next to the window frame.

  “HEY!” the Sheriff screamed. “I’ll come out! Don’t shoot me!”

  One of the mercenaries laughed. “Yeah, come on out, piggy,” he called in a singsong voice, followed by a chorus of snorting.

  “I’m not with these assholes,” Brandt cried, and Ace’s gaze darkened. “I’ll even help you take ‘em out!”

  “Idiot,” the redneck muttered under his breath, staying on the floor as Brandt stepped into the window.

  The mercenaries immediately opened fire again, and a bullet caught the Sheriff in the arm. He grunted and dove back behind cover.

  “Goddammit!” he cried, incredulity in his voice.

  Ace was torn between being angry at him and amused that his selfishness had gotten him shot. “How many times do we have to tell you these guys ain’t fucking around before you believe us?” he asked, shaking his head.

  He peeked up a little, seeing all four mercenaries out front, walking slowly with their guns aimed towards the store. He began to crawl along the floor back towards the storeroom, and Brandt hissed, but followed him.

  “We gotta beat ‘em to the back door,” Ace grunted as he got to his feet. “That is if you still want to get out of this alive.”

  The Sheriff simply huffed in response and followed him through the back storeroom. They ran past the side door that still had thumping on it and inched open the back door. The alley was clear, with a pack of thirty or so ghouls headed their way from the far end.

  “They’re going out the back!” one of the mercenaries cried from inside the store, and Ace leapt into the alley.

  Brandt fired towards the inside, backing out next to Ace. “Let’s go!” he cried, but the redneck shook his head.

  “Let’s keep ‘em pinned down until those zombies get here,” he said, inclining his head towards the oncoming horde. “Find something to jam in the door so they can get in.”

  “Are you crazy?!” the Sheriff demanded.

  Ace simply grinned. “Don’t you know that by now?” he asked and motioned to a pile of chunks of wood next to a trash can. He fired his shotgun into the warehouse again and then ducked behind the door to avoid an onslaught of bullets.

  “They’re outside!” somebody yelled from inside.

  “We can’t get around back!” somebody else called back.

  “That’s it,” Ace cooed quietly as he reloaded the shotgun. “There’s only one way out, and it’s through here, boys.”

  Brandt rushed over, groaning at the pain in his wounded arm as he knelt down to shove a chunk of wood into the seam of the door. Ace let it go, and it closed a bit, staying about a foot open.

  “Let’s go!” the Sheriff said, hopping from foot to foot as the zombies grew closer.

  Ace shook his head. “One more,” he said, and fired into the warehouse again to keep the mercenaries pinned and interested.

  When the ghouls were about ten yards away, he poked his head into the doorway, and the mercenaries fired, three-round bursts peppering the door. Ace jerked away and tore off with Brandt, leaving the ghouls to pour into the warehouse, drawn by the sound of the gunfire.

  Screams erupted from inside, but they didn’t look back, running away from the carnage to what they hoped was safety.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dante peeked around a corner, spotting a lone SUV in the middle of the road. Two mercenaries backed up against it, aiming at a storefront with shattered windows. By the look of the limp corpses hanging over the sills, it looked like they’d just fought their way out of a massacre.

  He hoped to hell that Ace wasn’t a body in that massacre, but by the way the mercenaries seemed to be on guard, he hoped it was because they were still expecting resistance.

  “We should go,” one of them said shakily.

  The other shook his head. “Bob’s got the keys, man,” he replied, receiving a grunt of frustration in return. “We just gotta guard the car till he gets back.”

  “What if he’s already dead?” the first one asked.

  “I dunno, man,” the second one admitted.

  Dante quietly checked his mag, sighing when he found only one bullet left. With his knife in his left hand, he used his wrist to steady the gun with his right, taking careful aim at the closest one’s head.

  After a silent countdown from three, he fired, his bullet finding its mark into the back of the mercenary’s head. The other one reacted with shock, but didn’t raise his gun fast enough before Dante was on him.

  He used his assault rifle to block the knife strike, and they wrestled for a moment before their tussle resulted in both weapons flying to the side and clattering against the ground. Rather than dive for them, Dante launched himself on top of the man, shoving him back into the hood of the SUV.

  The soldier managed to get a good hit to his face, but he’d had enough of those that day, and grabbed a fistful of the mercenary’s hair, slamming his head down into the hood of the vehicle.

  As his skull pinged off of the fiberglass, Dante kneed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

  Before he could lunge down with an elbow strike, the mercenary slammed into him, knocking them both back to the ground. Blows rained down on Dante, and he finally managed to shove him over, rolling them and ending up on top.

  He wedged his forearm into the soldier’s throat, holding him down and pinning his body. The mercenary gasped for air as Dante crushed his trachea, his arms flailing, but Dante didn’t let up, taking every hit as they grew weaker and weaker.

  After the soldier fell limp, he got off of him and retrieved the assault rifle and the knife. He switched the gun to single-burst mode and put a bullet in the soldier’s head.

  Dante wheezed as he looked around, making sure no zombies had come running towards the noise. As he caught his breath, he stabbed each tire of the SUV for good measure, just in case ‘Bob’ was still alive and coming back with the keys.

  Wiping a touch of blood from his face, he took off at a slow jog towards the area where they’d left the bike, hoping that Ace would be there.

  When he rounded the corner, the redneck was there, with Brandt, who had a strip of fabric crudely tied around his arm, soaked with blood.

  “Dante!” Ace exclaimed, letting out a whoosh of breath. “Thank fuck! I was really not looking forward to my sister beating the shit out of me for letting you die.”

  Dante rolle
d his eyes. “My life is not in your hands, man,” he said, and clapped Ace on the shoulder. “Glad you made it. Any more mercs lurking about, do you think?”

  The redneck shrugged. “We trapped four of ‘em in a store with a bunch of zombies, so I don’t think they’ll be making it out.”

  “Even if they do, I slashed the tires on their last SUV,” Dante replied.

  Ace nodded. “Good call, good call,” he said. “I think we’re good. I haven’t heard any gunshots in a while. If any of them are still around, I don’t think they’ll get very far. You look a little worse for wear, man, you okay?”

  “I’ve had worse,” Dante said with a half smile. “Not a scratch on you, though.”

  “Thanks for caring that I’ve been shot,” Brandt piped up.

  Dante raised his eyebrow. “What happened?” he asked. “Finally piss off Ace enough?”

  “He tried to sell me out to QXR,” the redneck announced, stifling an amused smile, “but they shot him instead.”

  Dante shook his head. “Guess that’s the price you pay for not listening to us,” he said with a shrug. “And after we offered you a safe place, too.”

  “There’s no way you were actually going to bring me to a safe place,” the Sheriff snapped, clenching his jaw.

  Moans rose in the distance, and Dante looked past him, spotting ghouls down the street, pouring out of an alleyway and heading towards them. Ace lifted the bike, securing his weapons to him and kick starting it.

  “We were,” Dante said, refocusing on the red-faced Sheriff, “but now you’ll never know.” He hopped on the back of the bike.

  “Wait!” Brandt cried, staggering towards them. “You can’t leave me here! Please!”

  “Shouldn’t have tried to sell me out,” Ace snapped, and then hit the throttle, leaving him in a cloud of smoke, unable to aim his shotgun at them.

  They sped to the main road, and then the redneck skidded to a stop around the corner. The route they wanted was crawling with zombies, and they all turned at the same time, mouths opening in excitement.

  “Fuck,” the redneck declared. “Ideas?”

  “How much gas we got?” Dante asked.

  “Not enough to get to the next station,” Ace replied. “I need the one on the other side of that pack.”

  “Well, let’s lead ‘em away, then,” Dante suggested. “Head the other way.”

  Ace pulled a u-turn, and as they passed back through the intersection, they spotted Brandt firing into the horde, to no avail as it overwhelmed him.

  “Good fucking riddance,” Ace muttered, and they sped down the street.

  The side streets had packs of zombies down them, clustered enough that they wouldn’t be easy to navigate around. He kept going straight, but they were both worried about the gas running out before they could loop back around.

  They stopped at another intersection with lights, and the left side was fairly clear. There were two ghouls aimlessly wandering in the distance, easily avoided when the time came. Ace idled for a moment, letting the pursuing zombies catch up a bit so they didn’t lose them. They’d need enough time to outrun them and then also fill the gas tank before tearing out of town.

  When the front of the horde was about ten yards away, Ace hit the throttle and zoomed for about a quarter mile before the engine sputtered.

  “Fuck!” he barked, and they began to slow down.

  “Get off and push!” Dante cried, and hopped off of the vehicle. “We’re fucked if we leave it behind!”

  “No shit!” Ace quipped, and they ran, both hands on the bike as they rolled it along with them.

  “Take the next street, not the alley,” Dante suggested. “We don’t want to get caught in a bottleneck.”

  The redneck nodded, and they ran at a good clip towards the next road. The zombies kept pace with them, thankfully not as fast as their early days sprinting. However, as they made the turn, the sound of rapid boot falls grew closer.

  The duo looked over their shoulders, and Ace rolled his eyes.

  “This fucker just won’t quit,” he muttered.

  A zombified Sheriff Brandt, fresh off the zombie press, sprinted towards them, milky eyes and huge chunks of his flesh hanging from his body.

  Dante raised the assault rifle as they ran, and when the zombie was a few feet away, he loosed a bullet into its forehead.

  “Gone for good this time,” he declared.

  Ace nodded, smirking. “Francis and Maddox’ll be happy with this story,” he said.

  “Over the moon,” Dante agreed, and his legs began to protest as they ran. It had been an exhausting day, and at this point he was running on pure adrenaline. “So… how are we going to fill the gas tank?”

  The redneck grimaced. “I was hoping you had some thoughts about that,” he huffed, “cause I got nothing.”

  “Well…” Dante began and then sighed. “I’ve got this,” he said, holding up the assault rifle. “Makes a lot of noise.”

  Ace raised an eyebrow. “You saying you draw them away while I fill the tank, and then I come and pick you up?” he asked.

  “Or you could draw them away while I fill the tank,” Dante joked. “That would be cool too.”

  The redneck chuckled through his heavy breaths. “I’m good, man, I’ll take one for the team and be the gas bitch.”

  “Suit yourself,” Dante replied. He spotted the building up ahead where he’d climbed down on top of the sedan, and pointed to it. “I’ll get up on top of that building and draw the horde back down to the other end of the road from the roof. You gas up and then meet me back under that sign.”

  “Gotcha,” Ace agreed, and they nodded to each other before Dante broke off and ran for the busted car.

  He clambered up on top of the roof and crouched, leaping up as high as he could to grab the metal bars. He pulled himself up with a grunt, hooking a leg up on one of the bars to propel himself to the top. The ghouls were almost at his position, and he wanted to make sure he kept their attention so Ace could get away.

  As soon as he clambered up onto the roof, he pulled the assault rifle from his pack and fired into the horde. A few zombies fell, and the rest poured towards him, smacking into the building, confused.

  “Yeah, come party with me, you dead fucks!” he bellowed, and started walking along the roofs of the stores.

  He hopped the first alleyway and then fired again, taking out a few more zombies and drawing the horde after him. He continued to hoot and holler and yell, loosing a few bullets every so often as he walked to the other end.

  “Hurry back, Ace,” he murmured, hoping that the redneck wouldn’t run into any trouble at the gas station.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ace jogged up to the gas station, pocket knife in his fist, looking around everywhere in case of any friends trying to surprise him and eat his face. If he were being totally honest, he was more worried about stray mercenaries, even though after his mental count he was sure that they’d gotten them all.

  He could still hear the crack of Dante’s gunfire in the distance, so he was sure that any zombies wandering around would be more apt to go in that direction.

  He reached the first pump and hit the kickstand, unscrewing the cap for the tank as fast as he could. He grabbed the pump and stuck it in the tank, and pulled the handle.

  Nothing.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. Was the pump empty? He looked at the screen and saw an error message saying to go speak to an attendant. “An attendant that wants to chew on my brains, great.” He looked back and forth and then sprinted for the gas bar. The front door hung open, and he did a quick sweep of the store, finding it empty.

  He skirted the counter and checked the panel for the gas pumps, pushing all the buttons until the cash register gave a ding. With the lights all green, he assumed that the gas would be flowing, so he burst back outside and sprinted for the bike.

  This time when he pulled the handle, gasoline began to pump into the tank, and he let out a sigh of relief.
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  “At least it didn’t want a credit card,” he muttered, and then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

  Once full, he turned and replaced the pump, and then a rotted hand narrowly missed his face.

  “Jesus fuck!” he cried, at high enough of a pitch that he was glad nobody was around to hear it. He ducked and dove around the pump, out of the reach of the excited zombie that had come out of nowhere.

  He stabbed through the pillars at the pump, but the ghoul was fast enough that it passed his arm, staggering around to get to him. He kicked it in the chest, sending it stumbling back into the windshield washing station, the squeegee knocking loose and splattering brown water everywhere.

  Ace took his opening and lunged forward, burying the knife into the zombie’s eye socket. As soon as it fell limp, he whipped around. He had to be fast, Dante was waiting on him, but he didn’t want to start up the bike and make a bunch of noise.

  He quickly replaced the cap on the gas tank and steered the bike around, running as fast as he could with the rolling vehicle alongside him. When he reached the main road, he heard Dante yelling instead of shooting, and assumed he’d either run out of bullets or decided to conserve them.

  He spotted his companion on the roof at the end of the row, waving his arms and jumping up and down. It was an almost comical sight, and he filed it away to describe to Lily later.

  There were no ghouls in sight, so he chanced walking out into the street with the bike, trying to figure out how he was doing to get Dante’s attention without making a sound. Thankfully, his companion seemed to spot him, because he waved.

  Now, how to get him over here? Ace wondered, but it seemed Dante had that covered as well. He fired a few times into the crowd and then ducked down, so that he was out of sight. Ace spotted him coming into view on the back side of the row of buildings, running across the roof.

  He wheeled the bike over to the broken sedan, and got on it, ready to kick start as soon as Dante was down.