by Derek Slaton
DEAD AMERICA: THE FIRST WEEK
BOOK FOUR
OPERATION BISMARCK
BY DEREK SLATON
© 2019
CHAPTER ONE
Day Zero +4
“First big snow of the year is early,” Emily Walker said quietly, running her hand over the framed photograph of her husband. “But I did as you taught me, brought in the harvest ahead of schedule. So your daughter and I are doing just fine.” She paused, brushing a lock of her sandy brown hair behind her ear and glancing out the window. She took a deep breath and then looked back down at the photo. “Well, as fine as we can be given the sickness going around.” She shook her head. “Jimmy, you wouldn’t believe it. Something straight out of one of those horror movies you loved so much.”
She blinked back tears as she smiled at the photo, feeling—not for the first time—that her late husband would be right in his element in a zombie apocalypse.
There was a light knock on the doorframe and she turned to the tall teenaged blonde standing there, eyes soft. “You talking to dad again?” Florence Walker asked.
“Yeah, seeing the early snow brought back some memories,” Emily admitted. “Thought it was a good time for a chat.” She set the frame back on her desk.
“He always loved the first snow of the year,” her daughter said wistfully as she entered the small office. “He’d have us out in the front yard as soon as the sun came up, making a little snow family. Wouldn’t let me go to school until it was just perfect.” She approached the window and smiled, staring out at the dusting of snow sparkling in the moonlight.
Emily chuckled. “I remember getting yelled at by the school the first couple of years it happened, but the eventually learned that he was set in his ways and wasn’t going to change.”
“Well, if it’s clear when the sun comes up, we’ll have to make a small one,” Florence suggested.
“I think you might be right,” Emily agreed, and put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “So, are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m all right,” the girl replied. “Just wrapped up a movie on DVD, then flipped through the channels. Everything in Bismarck is still out.”
“Based on the pictures they were showing, I get the feeling they are gone for good,” her mother admitted. “All the chaos in those streets, I just… I can’t imagine there are too many people left in town.”
“Are we going to be okay out here?” Florence asked, her voice small.
“Oh honey,” Emily gave her daughter a tight hug, and then pulled back, holding tightly to her shoulders. “Yeah. We’re going to be fine. We’re twenty miles from the city, and we have a nice strong fence around the yard.”
There was a chirping sound from the computer on the desk, and the older woman turned to the screen. “And, we have a motion detection system,” she reminded her daughter. “So we’ll know if anything is out there.”
She flipped on the monitor, and a dozen camera angles popped up in a grid. She scanned them and then enlarged camera five. There was a lone zombie caught up in one of the barbed wire fences.
“See? We’re just fine,” Emily said, motioning to the screen. “The fence caught one of those… one of those people.”
She turned to the gun rack and pulled down a scoped hunting rifle, checking the chamber.
Florence clasped her hands in front of her. “You want some backup?”
“No, honey, I got this,” Emily replied with a reassuring smile. “There’s just one of them and I’m staying in the truck. Why don’t you go get some water boiling so we can have some hot cocoa when I get back?”
Her daughter nodded and smiled back before heading for the door. “Just don’t be gone too long, or else there might be a shortage of marshmallows when you get back,” she teased and then darted off to the kitchen.
Emily smiled and shook her head, and then headed outside, heart dropping into more somber territory as she approached the truck. All it would take was one of those fast ones slipping through their perimeter to destroy their quaint homestead. But she didn’t want to worry her daughter.
The drive from the house to the fence took a full minute, all the way to the far end of the property. Emily made sure to take it slow in the snow, taking care not to skid off of the path and then have to walk back to the house in the dark. As she approached the property line, she squinted at the zombie in the headlights.
It had been a man, once. It wore a black suit that was caught in the barbed wire, the right sleeve ripped completely off and a big chunk of flesh torn from its arm. Its head lolled back and forth from the large hole in its neck, looking suspiciously like it had been torn apart with teeth.
She swallowed bile and put the truck in park and opened the sunroof. She stood on the seat and took aim, but then the zombie managed to break free of the barbed wire and in her moment of panic she hit it in the shoulder. She had seen how fast these things could be, and didn’t know if they could climb, but she wasn’t sure if she was safe in her vantage point.
She quickly chambered another bullet and took aim again, expecting the zombie to have closed the forty yards from the fence to the truck already. However, it took her a minute to find it, and when she realized the corpse had barely staggered a few years towards her, she furrowed her brow.
“Why aren’t you running?” she muttered to herself.
A cold gust of wind hit her in the face and she hid beneath the down collar of her jacket until it subsided, and her brow furrowed. She ducked into the cab and checked the temperature gauge.
“Six degrees,” she read, and then stood back up. “And with the windchill it’s a hell of a lot colder than that.” She bit her lip in thought, and then took aim at the zombie, that had only made it about fifteen more yards in its staggering stupor. She carefully lined up the shot and took off the head of the walking corpse, leaving the dead businessman sprawled out in crimson snow.
She quickly slid back into her seat and threw the shifter in reverse, tearing off back to the house a lot less carefully than she’d approached.
Emily burst through the front door, and then locked it securely behind her. “Florence!” she called.
The young blonde emerged from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in her hand. “You got good timing, mom.”
“Honey, I need you to pack an overnight bag,” her mother instructed.
Florence froze, eyes widening. “Mom? Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, hon,” Emily assured her. “We just have to go over to the Wainwright Ranch.”
“The Wainwrights?” The young woman’s brow furrowed. “Mom, what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain on the way,” her mother said. “We don’t have a lot of time.” She paused at the panicked expression on her daughter’s face. “Honey, we’re safe, it’s just that I figured something out about these things, and I think the Wainwrights might be able to help. I need you to pack a bag, because we might be over there for a night or two.”
Florence nodded with a half-hearted smile, and then looked down at the mugs in her hands. “And our drinks?”
“Pretty sure there’s a couple of travel mugs above the stove,” Emily replied with a grin, and took the steaming cups from her daughter. “I’ll get these poured over, and you go get your things. Deal?”
Florence nodded. “Deal.” She ran off to pack as her mother entered the office.
She set the mugs down on her desk and opened the closet, moving a few boxes out of the way to reveal the gun safe in the back. She punched in the code and it popped open to revea
l a handgun and a few boxes of bullets.
She smiled to herself as she holstered up, remembering the pride in Jimmy’s eyes when he’d gifted her this set on their first anniversary. She’d been so upset, thinking it had been a necklace, and it had crushed him.
“Well Jimmy,” she said as she turned back to the smiling portrait on her desk, “only took fifteen years, but I finally love my first anniversary gift.”
CHAPTER TWO
Emily pulled the truck onto the Wainwright’s ranch, which was by far the largest in the area. It was a massive crop operation, as well as large chicken and hog farming. During harvest season there could be as many as a hundred workers on site, but this time of year it was just the large family in the house.
As she approached the driveway, she stopped at the gate where somebody flashed a flashlight twice at her. That was the local signal for I’m a human in those parts since the apocalypse happened. She rolled down the window and the oldest of the eight Wainwright kids, Chad, approached her in the dark. With his six-foot-two frame, he had to lean down to see her, his broad shoulders nearly taking up the whole window.
“Miss Walker, is everything okay?” he asked.
Emily smiled. “Hi Chad,” she greeted, “yeah, we’re fine, but I need to speak to your dad.”
“Ma’am, it’s a little late in the evening to be making house calls,” he replied gently.
She took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t urgent.”
He took in her face and tone, and then nodded slowly. “All right Miss Walker,” he drawled, and she couldn’t deny that the Miss instead of Missus stung still after all this time. “Just let me lock this gate up, and I’ll hop in with you,” he offered.
“Thank you, Chad,” Emily replied with a relieved smile.
He secured the gate and then hopped into the truck bed, tapping on the window to let her know that he was sitting down. She carefully drove up the lengthy driveway to the house, and put it in park as the young man jumped down into the snow. His thick arms strained at his coat in the headlights, looking like he was strong enough to lift a cow after milking it.
Mrs. Wainwright and her oldest daughter Susanna stood in the doorway, squinting at the truck as Emily shut it down and got out, Florence behind her.
“Chad?” Mrs. Wainwright asked, voice strained. “What are you doing back?”
The young man motioned to the two women behind him. “Miss Walker needs to speak to Pop.”
The older woman nodded, her graying hair glinting in the moonlight. She waved to her daughter next to her, an early twenties tom-girl with a smart black ponytail. “Susanna, go get your Dad and tell Kristin to put some coffee on.”
“Yes ma’am,” Susanna replied with a nod, and disappeared back inside. Chad stepped out of the way so that his mother could greet Emily and her daughter.
“Well my goodness, Florence,” Mrs. Wainwright gushed, motioning the young girl forward and taking her hand. “You are turning into quite the young woman there. Didn’t realize you had gotten so tall!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wainwright,” Florence replied politely. “My momma is raising me right.”
“I have no doubt she is!” the older woman exclaimed. “I tell you what, why don’t you go on in and warm yourself by the fire? I think my youngest, Jonathan, is about to put on a movie.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the young blonde replied, and on her mother’s nod, scurried inside. Chad shut the door quietly behind her and the trio moved down the porch a bit out of the snow to talk.
Mrs. Wainwright turned to Emily, eyes hard. “What in the world is wrong with you?” she hissed.
“Momma!” Chad balked. “Be polite!”
“Trust me son, I am being polite,” his mother snapped, and turned back to Emily. “What could possibly be so important that you’d put that sweet young girl’s life in danger to come over here at this time of night? Don’t you know those things are out there?”
“Mrs. Wainwright,” Emily replied, raising her hands in defense. “I’m here because we’re all in danger. And I think we have a window to do something about it.”
“What in the world are you talking about?” the lady of the house demanded hotly.
“Get your husband and we’ll talk,” the sandy-haired woman insisted. “Probably a good idea for Zach and Chad to join us as well.”
Mrs. Wainwright stared at Emily for a moment, and then took a deep breath, inclining her head to her eldest son. “Chad, go get your brother. Tell Kristin to bring the coffee to the dining room. That way we can talk and the youngins won’t overhear.”
Chad nodded, and headed inside. Emily pressed her hands together.
“Thank you,” she said, sincerity in her tone, and the women entered the house.
“Emily, it’s good to see you again,” Mr. Wainwright greeted as he entered the dining room. His six-foot-six frame hulked over the table, and though he was balding a little, his late-fifties state didn’t show as a result of a life on the farm. Zach entered behind him, almost a carbon copy of his older brother just a little bit shorter. “You and Florence are holding up okay?”
“Yes sir,” Emily replied with a smile. “We’re stocked up pretty well, and been riding this thing out.”
He nodded. “That’s good to hear.” He took a seat at the head of the table as the fiery-haired Kristin entered with a pot of coffee. She poured cups for everyone, and then her father gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Honey, thank you, why don’t you go in the other room?” He took a sip of his hot brew as she did so, and then turned to Emily. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I need your help in blocking off the three bridges over the Missouri River in Bismarck,” she said bluntly.
The silence in the room was immediate, all eyes on Emily as if she’d grown a second head. Several awkward moments passed, until Mr. Wainwright finally took a long thoughtful sip of his coffee and then stood from the table.
“Emily, it’s always good to see you,” he said, “please enjoy your coffee and have a great night.”
She smacked her hand down on the table, startling everyone in the room except for the man of the house. He glared at her with disapproval.
“Don’t dismiss me like that,” Emily demanded. “We’re all in danger and if we don’t act right now we’re going to lose our chance.”
He sat back down and motioned for his wife to pass the carafe of coffee. She refilled his mug as he folded his hands in front of him.
“You know Emily, your husband was a good man,” he began. “Fiery like you. When his family moved to the area, he actually worked on my farm that first summer. I’m not sure if you knew that or not. Hell, he couldn’t have been more than Florence’s age. Worked harder than most of the hired help ever did, and from then on I had a great respect for him.” He paused and took a sip of his fresh brew. “When he passed, and you took over the farm responsibilities, I was skeptical at first. But it didn’t take long for me to see that same level of dedication that he had. You and your family have been a great asset to this community, which is why I will hear you out.” He took a deep breath. “Please, explain why you think we need to go on a suicide mission to Bismarck.”
She licked her lips and straightened her shoulders to the skeptical group. “We’ve all seen the images on TV,” she began. “Hordes of those creatures rampaging down the street, running faster than most of the citizens, swarming through buildings like locusts. Hell, most of us in this room have had up close and personal encounters with a couple of them. I know you lost a son to the sickness, and I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m even sorrier than you had to put down the thing that he became.” She took a deep breath as the table took a moment to regroup after the mention of their fallen son. “One of those zombies got onto my property tonight. I found it tangled up in the barbed wire on the far end near the woods. He was wearing a shredded business suit, which means he most likely found his way here from Bismarck.”
“Come on now,” Chad sc
offed, “you can’t know that.”
Emily cocked her head. “Chad, you’re what, twenty-eight, twenty-nine?”
“Twenty-eight, ma’am,” he replied.
“In all of your twenty-eight years on this earth, how many people wearing business suits have you seen around these parts?” she asked. “Not including weddings and funerals.”
He opened his mouth, and then promptly closed it again as he thought hard. He shook his head. “Not too many ma’am,” he conceded.
“Even if Chad is right and he was a local, we have to assume that sooner or later those zombies are going to get bored and wander out of the city,” Emily continued. “All it would take is one desperate person fleeing the city to draw them our way. I don’t know how good your fencing is, but mine can barely handle six, let alone six hundred or six thousand of those things.”
Mr. Wainwright took another sip of his coffee, seeming to contemplate for a moment before addressing her. “Emily, I understand your point, I really do. But with as fast as those things are, I just don’t see how we’re going to be able to block off the bridge, let alone three.”
“This is why I rushed over, because time is of the essence,” she replied, leaning forward at the opening for her to explain. “The snow is slowing them down.”
Zach’s brow furrowed. “How is the snow doing that?”
“The businessman could barely walk, staggering across the field as if his body was frozen,” she said. “I mean, they’ve lost their minds and souls, but they’re still made out of the same stuff we are. It was a relatively warm day when this hit, and now it’s a negative windchill. Wouldn’t take long for a lightly protected body to seize up. If we have enough people and go about it in an intelligent way, we can pull this off.”
Mr. Wainwright nodded. “Okay, if you’re right and these things are as slow as you say, then we might have a chance,” he agreed, though he sounded reluctant. “Do you have any thoughts on how to block off the bridges?”
“Snowplows,” Emily declared.
He leaned back in his chair, a smile emerging on his hard-edged features. “That… is a brilliant idea,” he admitted. “Those things are big and heavy, and the ghouls aren’t gonna be able to move them. Any idea on where we can get our hands on some?”
