Dead America The Third Week Box Set | Books 7-12

by Slaton, Derek

  “Hush you, or you’re not getting seconds!” Kowalski scolded in his old lady voice again.

  Johnson shuddered. “That’s not exactly a threat there, Miss Lunch lady.”

  Kersey approached and slid an empty tray over to his sniper. “Kowalski, not sure if you and Johnson have met Sergeant Copeland before?”

  “Heard some stories from Spokane,” the sniper replied, straightening his shoulders and using his regular voice. “Damn fine work on the island, Sergeant.”

  Copeland inclined his head to him. “Just doing my job.”

  “Humble, I dig it,” Kowalski replied with a grin.

  “I just figure there’s only room for one hot shot in every group,” the Sergeant joked.

  The sniper raised his ladle again in a victory pose. “Happy to fill that role!” He scooped some food for the duo, and then Kersey motioned to the table where David and Johnson were sitting.

  “Kowalski, get yourself a plate too and come on over,” he instructed. “Got a mission for the three of you.”

  The sniper complied and followed them over to the table, all of them clustered around.

  “About eight miles to the west of us is a town called Cle Elum,” the Captain began. “Don’t really care that much about the town itself, but on the eastern side of it is a municipal airport. I need you three to scope it out and come up with a game plan to secure it.”

  Kowalski raised his hand.

  Kersey pointed to him with a smirk. “Yes, the troublemaker in the back?”

  “Just this morning I’ve seen thirty truckloads of men roll down the interstate,” the sniper said. “Why haven’t they just stopped off to clear it?”

  The Captain folded his arms on the table in front of him. “Because they are setting up camps at the ski resorts further up the road,” he explained. “We’re going to be moving tens of thousands of troops up there, so that’s the priority. Now, if you find you need some reinforcements, I can pull them for a short time, but only after we know what we’re dealing with.”

  “Any idea on what kind of resistance we’re going to be running into?” Copeland asked.

  David swallowed his last mouthful and set down his spoon. “The town had a population of about eighteen thousand pre-war, so it’s safe to assume that there would be a fair amount of them in the center of town,” he said. “However, the airport is a mile or so to the east, and off the beaten path, so it should be relatively safe.”

  “If I had a bullet for every time I’ve heard that,” Johnson piped up, “I’d have enough ammo to take over Seattle on my own.”

  Kowalski rolled his eyes. “With the way you shoot, you’d need twice that much.”

  Johnson scooped up some eggs and flicked the spoon like a catapult, sending a glop of yellow goo towards the sniper, who ducked just in time.

  “Any other questions?” Kersey asked.

  Copeland cocked his head. “Do we have a protocol on survivors?”

  “If you can safely extract them, do so and radio in,” the Captain replied. “We have chopper pilots on standby that can usher them back to the camp at Spokane.”

  The Sergeant nodded. “Understood.”

  “Anything else?” Kersey asked. Everyone looked around at each other, but nobody spoke up. “Okay, finish up your breakfast and head out. Sergeant Copeland is going to be in charge,” he shot a playful look at his sniper, “so Kowalski I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

  Kowalski exaggerated a pout, and a chuckle rippled through the men. Copeland took a bite of his breakfast and grimaced.

  “You know, I’m hopeful that you shoot better than you cook,” he joked.

  The sniper held up a finger. “Trust me, there’s no issue there.”

  “Yeah, but he only shoots half as good as he runs his mouth,” Johnson quipped.

  “In that case, we’re in good hands,” Copeland replied, and the room erupted in laughter.

  Kersey gave him an appraising nod, happy to know that the man could hold his own with his crew.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Copeland drove the SUV containing the dynamic soldier trio down the interstate towards Cle Elum. Johnson stared down at the crudely drawn map in his lap before pointing to the exit ramp.

  “Pretty sure this is it,” he said.

  Copeland nodded. “Place ain’t that big, so better to get off early than to overshoot it,” he said.

  “Easy to do with these one stoplight towns,” Kowalski agreed. “Happened more than once this week.”

  Copeland cocked his head. “Well, you just worry about shooting,” he said, “and I’ll handle the directions.”

  “Works for me, Sarge,” Kowalski said brightly.

  Copeland pulled off of the interstate, finding a small road leading to the north with a tiny sign that read Airport with an arrow pointing forward.

  “Should be about a mile up,” Johnson said.

  “Gear up then, just in case,” Copeland said as he drove.

  The soldiers checked their weapons as they reached the edge of the airport. The Sergeant parked the vehicle at the end of the runway before the three of them got out. The airport was small, only three hangars, a small tower, and a building attached to it. There were three zombies roaming around the runway about a hundred and fifty yards away.

  “This looks like a walk in the park,” Johnson said with a relieved smile.

  Copeland shook his head. “Nothing is a walk in the park until we find out what’s in those buildings.”

  Johnson winced. “Good point.”

  The Sergeant scanned the area, focusing in on the trio of zombies on the runway. “Well Kowalski, everybody including you says you’re a hell of a shot,” he said. “Why don’t you prove it?” He motioned to the creatures staggering around in the distance.

  “Challenge accepted,” the sniper replied with a grin. He pulled his rifle from his back, and glanced through the scope before lowering the gun. He licked his finger and raised it up, playfully murmuring to himself as if he were gauging the wind speed. Then he fiddled with some of the dials on his scope to adjust it.

  Johnson rolled his eyes. “If you moved any slower, those things are just going to deteriorate on their own.”

  “Patience is a virtue,” Kowalski sang, and then took a knee into firing position. He raised his weapon and honed in on the zombies downrange. “Left, right or center?” he asked.

  Copeland chuckled at the young man’s bravado. “Left,” he said.

  Within seconds, Kowalski adjusted his aim and fired. The rotted figure on the left flew backwards and fell to the tarmac, motionless.

  “Left or right?” the sniper asked, without taking his eye from his scope.

  Copeland grinned. “Right.”

  Again, Kowalski quickly aimed and fired, dropping the ghoul on the right. Without pausing to ask, he fired again, taking the head off of the last zombie and standing up, lowering his weapon with a smirk on his face.

  “Am I everything I’m cracked up to be?” he teased.

  The Sergeant barked a laugh and clapped him on the back. “I would say hell yeah, but I’m afraid that kind of feedback would go straight to your head.”

  “A thousand percent right there, Sarge,” Johnson cut in.

  Copeland shook his head, still smiling. “Come on, let’s go check out the hangars.” He led the trio onto the airport grounds, casually walking across the runway towards the first hangar. As they approached the building, he and Johnson readied their assault rifles, while Kowalski shouldered his sniper rifle and readied his sidearm.

  They reached the door and the sniper took the door handle, while Copeland and Johnson prepared to breach it.

  “When you flip it open, wait for my signal to go inside,” the Sergeant said, and waited for the nod of agreement before raising his hand in a signal to open the door.

  Kowalski turned the knob and shoved the door hard before stepping back and raising his gun.

  It only took a second for a zombie to appear
in the doorway, and Copeland quickly put it down with a single shot. Almost immediately, several moans erupted from the cavernous space.

  “Back up, back up!” Copeland demanded, and the trio backpedaled as a dozen creatures slowly pushed their way out of the door. “Nobody fires until I do,” he instructed.

  He waited until several of the ghouls cleared the door before firing, not wanting to plug up the doorway. When he opened fire, the others joined him, and the trio made quick work of the dozen creatures until they were a heap on the ground.

  They stayed poised for action just in case there were more inside, but there was only silence. Copeland inched towards the door, peering inside. He stuck his head in and let out a sharp whistle, and as the echo faded he listened closely, hearing no other signs of undead abound.

  “I think we’re clear,” he said, and then headed in, the two soldiers bringing up the rear, guns still at the ready.

  Copeland lowered his weapon and headed for the large rolling door. “Keep watch,” he instructed, “I’ll get us some light.”

  He found the lock, unlatching the door from the wall, and pushed it open. He let in about ten feet of air and light, brightening the hangar. The trio lowered their weapons when they saw two small single engine planes and a mechanics area on the far side, but no more zombies.

  “Wow,” Johnson breathed, “actually looks like some of this stuff might be usable.”

  Kowalski nodded as he approached one of the planes. “Hopefully we have some mechanics left, because I don’t know about you, but I’d feel a lot better if someone checked these babies before we hopped on board.”

  “Not sure what the big deal is,” Johnson teased, “you’ve flown in worse.”

  The sniper shuddered. “Yeah, and I still have nightmares about it,” he said.

  Copeland shook his head at the back and forth, and opened his mouth to say something just as gunshots rang out in the distance. The soldiers immediately rushed back out to the runway, looking in the direction of the town. Another shot cracked.

  The Sergeant narrowed his eyes. “Too far away to be firing at us,” he said.

  “Maybe they heard our shots and are trying to get our attention?” Kowalski asked.

  Copeland nodded. “Could be,” he agreed. “So what do you say boys, you game to check it out”

  “Sounds a lot more interesting than clearing out hangars,” the sniper mused.

  The Sergeant motioned for the SUV. “Saddle up then, let’s go save us some civilians.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Copeland drove cautiously down the main road leading into downtown, if one could call it ‘downtown’ when it was just three blocks of one story businesses and little else. As they crested the hill, they could see straight through, a pack of ghouls on the far side.

  The Sergeant stopped the vehicle.

  “Looks like a crowd,” Johnson said.

  Copeland nodded. “Kowalski, get us some numbers,” he instructed.

  The sniper nodded and peered out the window, making sure the coast was clear. He stepped out onto the road, and looked through his scope at the horde ahead. The group was fairly dense, but small, and focused on a standalone building on the corner. From his angle, he couldn’t tell what the building was, but what was important was that there were no signs of life.

  “Talk to me, Kowalski,” Copeland said through his open window.

  The sniper cocked his head. “Seventy or eighty of those things, congregating around a single building,” he said.

  “See what has them riled up?” the Sergeant asked.

  “No, sir,” Kowalski replied.

  Copeland pointed to the horde. “Squeeze one off,” he said, “let whoever was firing know that we’re here.”

  The sniper took aim, picking a zombie in the middle of the pack. With one shot, the bullet ripped through its head, dropping it to the asphalt. They were far enough away that only a couple of the creatures picked up on the sound, looking around with mouths open, but couldn’t seem to find the source of it.

  The soldiers waited for a response, which came in the form of a gunshot. One of the zombies that was beginning to wander away from the pack dropped to the ground. Kowalski peered through his scope towards the store, seeing a guy with dreadlocks standing on top, waving wildly at them.

  He responded with his own wave. “Found ‘em,” he reported. “Hippie dude on top of the store.”

  “How do you want to play it, Sarge?” Johnson asked.

  Copeland rubbed his chin. “Probably not a good idea to get in a standup fight with that many,” he mused.

  “We did pass that truck rental place a few blocks back,” Kowalski pointed out. “Those things should have enough heft to plow through them.”

  Copeland nodded. “I’m game if y’all are,” he said.

  “Let’s do it,” Johnson agreed.

  Kowalski waved to the survivor, holding up five fingers and hoping that he would understand they’d be five minutes. He looked through the scope and saw the guy giving him a thumbs up.

  A few minutes later, the trio pulled up to the moving truck rental place, with two large moving vans in the lot. Copeland got out and led them up to the office door, a small three-room building with a glass front. He knocked on the glass, waiting for a second to see if there was any movement inside, where there wasn’t.

  He tried the knob, but it was locked tight, so he quickly flipped the assault rifle around and smashed it through the glass.

  Johnson raised an eyebrow.

  Copeland shrugged. “They’re a moving company, they have insurance that’ll cover this,” he quipped.

  The soldiers cracked a smile and followed him inside, doing a quick sweep just to make sure nothing was lurking inside.

  “Clear,” Kowalski announced, and the Sergeant lowered his rifle.

  “Let’s get those keys, boys,” he said, and they set to work.

  The trio dug through the building, searching every wall and drawer until Kowalski finally found a box on the back desk with multiple sets of keys inside.

  “We’re golden,” he declared as he pulled the rings out. He tossed a set to Copeland, and headed back outside.

  One of the vans was slightly larger than the other, with the lift gate on the back being chest high. The smaller one was barely waist high.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” Copeland began, turning to them. “Kowalski, I want you in that smaller one. You’re gonna plow straight through them, stopping at the building. We’ll take out the windshield before you go, so you can get on top of the building. You’re gonna be my eye in the sky, just in case the noise we make attracts any other groups of those things that might be in the area.”

  The sniper nodded. “Not a problem,” he said.

  “So what are we doing?” Johnson asked.

  “We’re gonna be on mop up duty,” Copeland explained. “This one is high enough off of the ground that we can stand safely on it and pick them off one by one.”

  Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Did we bring enough ammo for that?” he asked.

  The Sergeant looked around the parking lot, seeing that the building next door was doing some light construction, so there was cheap orange plastic fencing around the lot. He headed over to one of the metal posts holding it up, wrapping his hands around it and giving a heave to pull it out of the ground.

  He smacked it on the pavement a few times to clear off the dirt, revealing a spike on the end of it. He tossed it to Johnson. “Think you can make do with that?” he asked.

  His companion examined the spike, and then gave a simulated thrust. “Yeah, this can work,” he replied with a nod. “Might want to grab a few extras just in case they get lodged in a head.”

  “Good call,” Copeland agreed. “Let’s load a few up and hit the road.”

  Johnson tossed his to Kowalski, who headed over to his truck and slammed the spiky end into the windshield. It shattered into a million pieces, shards raining down all over the front seat. He blinked
in disbelief at what a moron he was.

  “Didn’t think that one through, did you?” Johnson teased.

  The sniper shook his head. “I did not,” he admitted. “But as the Sarge said, they have insurance.”

  Johnson chuckled at his dumbass partner before grabbing one last spike and tossing it into his van.

  “We’ll follow you in, Kowalski,” Copeland declared as he climbed up into the driver’s seat.

  The sniper nodded and swept what glass he could from his own seat before hopping in and firing up the big truck. It rumbled for a moment before really springing to life, chugging a little from sitting idle for nearly a month. Once it purred happily and didn’t sound like it was about to stall out, he popped it into gear and headed off towards their new battle.

  As he crested the hill and spotted the zombies, he hit the gas, picking up steam. The roar of the engine alerted several ghouls, causing them to break off from the pack and shamble in his direction. By the time he met them, they’d moved about half a block from the horde.

  The first zombie practically evaporated from the impact, exploding into a fine gooey mist. The next few flew backwards into the crowd, of which was soon greeted by the front end of the moving van. As soon as he reached the front of the building, Kowalski slammed on the brakes to screech to a stop in front of it. The truck jangled about as it rolled over some flailing corpses.

  The moans rose in volume as the zombies reached for Kowalski climbing out onto the hood of the truck. He hopped up onto the back, appraising the six-foot gap between the truck and the edge of the roof, which he knew he could easily leap.

  The hippie appeared through a hole in the roof, offering him a smile, the sun glinting off of his blonde dreadlocks. “Hey man, thanks for coming by,” he drawled, voice a little slow.

  Kowalski waved and jumped across, waiting for the guy to approach him before replying, “It’s my pleasure. I’m Kowalski.”

  “Whoa, Kowal…” the guy trailed off for a moment. “Kowalski.” He cocked his head, eyes squinting. “That’s a special name, man. I’m Keith. I wish my name was as special as yours.”