Dead America The Northwest Invasion | Book 5 | Dead America-Seattle [Part 3]

by Slaton, Derek

  Ten zombies pressed up against the row of glass doors at the front, shoulder to shoulder and smacking on the glass. Hess raised his rifle, aiming at the first ghoul’s head and swapping to rapid fire mode. He took a deep breath, and then pulled the trigger, running down the line, taking out a line of them in a matter of seconds.

  As the corpses hit the pavement, he pushed his way out of the store and into the parking lot. As soon as he was out, somebody blared their horn, and he turned to see Kent’s truck about forty yard away, the bulk of the zombies on the passenger side.

  Hess broke into a sprint, running as hard as he could for the truck. As he approached, Kent flung open the door and started firing from the driver’s seat, dropping the few zombies that were directly in his running companion’s path.

  “Come on man, move it!” he yelled.

  Hess reached the truck and clambered up, crawling over the driver’s seat and collapsing on the other side of the cab, chest heaving. Kent slammed the door and turned to him, wide-eyed.

  “Goddamn dude, you okay?” he asked.

  Hess just nodded, still breathing heavily.

  “Well, let’s get Mason and get the fuck out of here,” Kent said.

  Hess closed his eyes, pressing his palms into them momentarily before clenching his jaw, staring helplessly at his friend.

  “Is he…” Kent trailed off, reading the pain on his face.

  Hess simply nodded, unable to form words at the moment.

  His friend swallowed hard. “Do you want to tell Bretz?”

  Hess shook his head, and finally admitted, “I could use a minute.”

  Kent reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then picked up the CB radio. “Corporal.”

  “What is it?” Bretz came back immediately. “Looked like you had some issues over there.”

  Kent took a deep breath. “It’s Hess sir, he had to come out the front of the store,” he replied reluctantly. “Mason… Mason wasn’t with him.”

  There were a few moments of stunned silence.

  “What the fuck do you mean Mason isn’t with him?!” Baker suddenly burst over the line. “What the fuck did he do to him?”

  Kent swallowed as Hess winced from the passenger’s seat. “He didn’t do anything to him.”

  “Bullshit!” Baker yelled. “This should have been easy, in and out. What the fuck?!”

  “Put Hess on,” Bretz said, solemn and low.

  Kent chewed his lip for a moment. “Sir, I…”

  “Put. Hess. On,” Bretz said firmly.

  The Private in question held out his hand for the receiver, not meeting Kent’s gaze as he placed it in his palm.

  “Hess here,” he said hoarsely.

  “Is he at rest?” Bretz asked.

  Hess rubbed one of his eyes, blinking rapidly after. “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay,” the Corporal replied calmly. “Is his truck still running?”

  Hess nodded shakily. “Yes, sir.”

  “Kent, take him around to pick it up,” Bretz said. “We’ve got to get moving.”

  Baker immediately cut into the line. “Bretz, we have to-”

  “We have to keep moving,” the Corporal said firmly. “We have to keep moving.”

  The devastated soldier let out another frustrated yell before the line went silent. Bretz sat in his cab, imagining Baker throwing the radio across his cab in anger. He knew how he felt. His chest ached with the loss of a good soldier, of a friend.

  As he watched Kent drive around to the back, he rubbed his forehead. He’d decided to make this stop because they needed a sixth truck. Now Mason was dead, and they were down a driver, and they still didn’t have a sixth truck. They’d have to complete the mission without the items they needed, and without one of their own.

  “Hess has been dropped off, and he’s ready to go,” Kent’s voice came through the radio.

  The Corporal shook off his cloud of what-ifs and guilt, knowing he needed to focus on the mission, and get the rest of them safely to the end of the line. “Good,” he said into the receiver. “Follow me out and stay close, we’re going to be on surface streets for a while until the interstate clears out.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kent replied, and the line clicked off.

  Bretz popped the truck into gear and started moving, his heart heavy. He took a deep, steadying breath, and forced his mind to focus on the mission.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bretz led the convoy down the highway towards the I-405 crossing, a major interchange where the highway crossed underneath the interstate. It was a couple miles ahead, and he took it slow, only driving about twenty miles per hour.

  He struggled to focus on the task, his thoughts about his decision getting Mason killed pulsing in his brain. There was some light banter over the CB between the men, but it was just a low hum in the background, his worries tuning it out.

  There were a few zombies in the road, which he drifted over a bit to clip, not wanting to damage the engine, but wanting to cause a little bit of pain just for his own personal satisfaction. He continued to zone out, but finally snapped into focus as his name repeated on the radio.

  “Bretz. Bretz!” Baker demanded. “You gonna answer me or am I gonna have to ram you”

  The Corporal blinked a few times and then picked up the receiver, raising it to his lips. “What is it?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Fucking finally,” Baker snapped. “Man, that’s the fifth zombie you’ve made a point to hit. You need to cut that shit out. We’ve got enough going on without you losing it.”

  “I’m fine,” Bretz replied, voice a low monotone. “Just making sure my steering still works.”

  Baker scoffed. “Bullshit,” he replied. “I know you’re upset, god knows we all are, but you need to keep it together man, we still got a lot to get done today.”

  Bretz paused, letting the words wash over him and sink in. “Thanks, man,” he finally said. He knew his friend was right.

  “Anytime,” Baker replied.

  Bretz began to slow down as they approached the interchange. He came to a full stop half a mile from the bridge, Baker pulling up beside him and the other three trucks stopping behind them.

  “Holy shit,” Baker breathed through the radio, “how are we getting through that?”

  There were easily a thousand zombies on the road in front of them, with even more on top of the bridge on the interstate. They were densely packed, shoulder-to-shoulder, with an untold number behind them on the other side.

  “Not trying to be a Debbie Downer or anything,” Kent drawled, “but now way in hell we’re pushing through that.”

  “Is there another way around?” Baker asked.

  Kent paused, and then came in, “According to the map, the only other route is on the interstate, and it isn’t looking much better.”

  “Corporal, what are we doing?” Short asked.

  Bretz stared at the horde, a deep sigh deflating his chest. This day kept getting worse and worse. “I think it’s time to call in air support,” he finally said.

  “Fuck yeah!” Kent bellowed. “Light them motherfuckers up!”

  “All right boys,” Baker said, “let’s back it up a bit. Don’t want to catch some blowback.”

  As the trucks began to move in reverse, Bretz pulled out his satellite phone, dialing up Captain Kersey. It rang for several minutes, and then David answered.

  “Captain Kersey’s office,” he greeted.

  Bretz took a deep breath. “David, it’s Corporal Bretz,” he replied. “We need our air support.”

  “What’s your location?” David asked.

  The Corporal swallowed hard. “Four-o-five interchange.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then the communications expert replied, “That’s gonna be a no-go, sir. Orders are to protect major infrastructure.”

  “There’s a thousand zombies underneath the bridge, and even more on top,” Bretz insisted firmly. “Either we get air support to come in and clear
it out, or this mission is over right here and now.”

  “Hold, please,” David replied, and there was a click as the line went quiet.

  After a few moments, Kersey came in, “Sounds like you’re in a bit of a pickle there, Corporal.”

  Bretz sighed. “That’s an understatement, Cap,” he replied. “We need that air support if this mission is going to be successful.”

  “David filled me in,” Kersey explained. “But tell me, how tall is that bridge?”

  Bretz cocked his head, staring at the bridge. “Twenty feet, give or take.”

  “How’s the road looking in front of it?” the Captain asked.

  The Corporal shrugged. “Surprisingly clear,” he admitted. “Only a handful of cars and most of those are on the other side of the road.”

  “I think we can work with that,” Kersey replied, and then his voice muffled. “David, dispatch two choppers to Bretz’s location.” He moved his hand, and clearly said into the phone, “All right, you got incoming that will be there within a half an hour,” he said. “Just make sure you’re far enough back.”

  Bretz nodded, rubbing his forehead. “Way ahead of you, Cap.”

  Kersey paused, and then asked, “Everything going okay out there?”

  “Mostly,” the Corporal replied, grimacing. “Had some issues at the last stop and we’re down to five trucks.” His voice stayed monotone, not betraying any emotion.

  “Okay,” the Captain replied easily, “if there’s a safe spot to pick up a sixth, you have clearance to do so.”

  Bretz clenched a fist, swallowing hard, trying to squash his emotions to stay focused. “Won’t do any good,” he replied thickly. “Mason’s not with us anymore.”

  There was a long silence, as Kersey processed the information that his friend was dead. “Understood, Corporal,” he finally said. “Do what you can with what you have. Call when it’s complete.”

  “Yes sir,” Bretz replied. “And Kersey…”

  “Yes?”

  The Corporal took a deep breath. “Thanks.” He was glad the Captain didn’t push the issue. He knew the information hurt Kersey as well, but he didn’t want to talk about it, nor think about it, at the moment. They’d have time to grieve later.

  The Captain didn’t respond, and didn’t have to. Bretz set down the phone, popping the truck into reverse and moving back to join the others.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The group sat a mile away from the interchange, yammering over the CB radio about nonsense. Bretz leaned back in the driver’s seat, chomping on a granola bar and reading one of the trashy romance novels to attempt to get his mind off of things.

  After a few moments of solitude, there was a knock at the passenger window, and he jumped. He looked up and saw Baker waving at him, so he unlocked the door.

  The Private opened it and slid inside, closing the door behind him. “We’re looking clear, so I thought I’d come over and check on you,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” Bretz replied flatly.

  Baker leaned over and looked at the book, raising an eyebrow. “You’re reading the Rose and the Rapier,” he said. “Even under normal circumstances, that would be a cry for help.”

  The Corporal didn’t have the energy to laugh. He dog-eared the page and closed it, setting it aside with a deep sigh. “Now’s not the time.”

  “I agree,” Baker said, “which is why I’m here to talk about the mission. We’re a truck short after all, and we need to figure out what to do about it. Thought you could use a sounding board without the newbies.” He reached over and turned down the CB radio before pulling out one of the maps.

  Bretz took a deep breath and nodded, feeling good about being in work mode. “Well, we need two trucks to block off the five-twenty bridge, and I think we should definitely do that.”

  “Once we get past this interchange, we’re less than a mile away from it,” Baker replied. “Are you thinking we drop two off as originally planned?”

  The Corporal nodded. “I think we need to, don’t you?” he asked. “We know for a fact we can complete this part of the mission, and based on what we saw in Redmond, our boys on foot coming in from the east are going to need all the help they can get.”

  “Every zombie we block is a zombie they don’t have to fight,” the Private agreed.

  Bretz nodded. “Meaning it’ll be more likely they’ll get to us sooner rather than later.”

  “I’m all about that,” Baker replied, and picked up the offending book, “especially if this is the level of entertainment quality we can expect.”

  Bretz chuckled, finally giving in to the levity. “It’s not as bad as the cover makes it out to be.”

  “Okay, now I’m really worried about you,” Baker said, shaking his head.

  The Corporal shrugged. “I mean, a dude did get stabbed in the face in the first chapter,” he insisted.

  “All right,” Baker replied, setting the book down. “Maybe it’s not all bad after all.”

  They shared a laugh, both of them trying everything they could to avoid the elephant in the room. After a moment of awkward silence, the sound of helicopter blades came up from behind them.

  “About damn time,” Baker muttered.

  Bretz sat up straight. “You should get back to your truck,” he suggested. “Depending on what’s on the other side of the bridge, we might not have much time to bust through.”

  They exchanged a fist bump and Baker jumped out of the cab. Bretz leaned forward, looking up to see how the chopper pilots were going to pull this off.

  Two Apache gunships roared overhead, slowing down as they approached the bridge. The zombies underneath turned their attention to the flying fortresses, shambling out towards the road. The two war birds hovered about three hundred yards from the bridge before one of them descended, finally stopping about three feet off of the ground. It centered itself on the road and then opened fire.

  The two mini-guns on either side of the chopper spun, sending thousands of rounds of hot lead down the road. The front edge of the zombie mass liquefied, vanishing in a spectacular spray of bone and blood.

  It took a few moments, but the zombie mass started to melt away, like piping hot tap water on a block of ice in the sink. For a solid thirty seconds, the bullets flew, destroying everything in sight. Finally, the bullets ran dry, and Bretz could see through the mass to the other side.

  The first chopper lifted up, moving away from the battle, while the second one dropped down and turned towards the trucks. It lowered down enough so that Bretz could see the pilot, who motioned for them to follow.

  The Corporal grabbed his CB, barking, “We’re on the move!” He popped the truck into gear and raced forward, the rest following behind.

  He picked up steam to make it past the carnage on the road. While the zombies weren’t a threat anymore, the puddles of gore on the ground could be an issue if their speed was too low. As he hit the front edge of the massacre, the truck fishtailed a bit, slipping on the liquified corpses.

  “Watch it, the road’s slick,” he said into the radio.

  Bretz pushed through, getting to the other side of the bridge just in time to see hundreds more ghouls on the road. They were spread out, but still a potential threat. As he pressed up the street, the gunship angled itself while moving forward, unleashing another torrent of mini-gun fire.

  The pullets peppered the horde, ripping them to shreds and clearing a path for the trucks. The fire was sustained, shredding everything in their way.

  The road took a long curve before leading to the bridge, forcing the pilot to maneuver some fancy flying. He continued firing as he made the adjustment around the bend, unleashing the last bit of ammo into the horde.

  Unfortunately, there was a large pack of ghouls surrounding a small hatchback that couldn’t be seen, and the hard fire hit it in just the right way to start a fire.

  “Watch it, we got a burner!” Bretz barked, and sped past the car.

  As Baker passed it, the car e
xploded, and he lost control of the truck, slamming it into the median before skidding off of the road.

  Bretz immediately slammed on the brakes as all of the other trucks behind his friend were forced to stop. Several of the zombies still standing made their way towards the fallen truck.

  The Corporal didn’t hesitate, grabbing his rifle and hopping out of the truck, running as quickly as he could towards Baker. As he ran, he looked up and noticed the pilot frantically pointing towards the bridge. He glanced over his shoulder to see a pack of zombies in the dozens were a hundred yards away and closing.

  He ran as fast as he could as the Apache flew off. There was another second or two of mini-gun fire, before it ceased and the chopper headed for the coast. Bretz remained focused on the current threat of the half-dozen creatures getting ever closer to Baker.

  He opened fire, striking a few zombies in the side, doing little more than distracting them. “Yeah, that’s it, come get me!” he yelled.

  He ran towards the truck, skirting the ghouls and putting himself between the zombies and Baker, choosing his targets carefully. One by one, he aimed and fired, dropping the monsters in quick order. Once they were reduced to a pile of bodies, he whirled around and clambered up into the truck.

  “Baker!” he gushed. “You good?”

  The Private was dazed, but conscious, blood running down from his forehead, and turned to look at Bretz with confused eyes.

  “Come on man, we gotta move,” the Corporal urged, holding out his hand.

  Baker blinked a few times and then reached up to wipe the blood from his face, shaking his head as if to clear it. “What the fuck happened?” he asked.

  “Chopper boy blew up a car,” Bretz replied.

  Baker grunted. “Nothing like a friendly fire IED,” he muttered.

  “Get your stuff and come on,” the Corporal said, motioning for him to come.

  Baker nodded and collected his gear, including his freshly packed food bag. They hit the ground and started running towards Bretz’ truck, as Short pulled up behind it.