Dead America The Northwest Invasion | Book 4 | Dead America-Seattle [Part 2]

by Slaton, Derek

  The soldier nodded and started running up and down the line, firing single rounds into zombie heads. Dixon helped out, and the other four on the line sprung to action. As they went, a torrent of gunfire erupted behind them.

  Dixon turned and spotted the trio by the houses fighting a three-front war. A few zombies had broken through at the first house, as well as two houses across the street, a few yards down from each other.

  “Hurst, y’all hold the line!” he cried, and then tore off towards the others, who were firing in all directions at the dozens of zombies pouring onto the street. He flipped his gun into three-round burst, knowing he had to take a chance as the ghouls grew closer and closer to his men.

  He stopped about fifteen yards from the closest group across the street. He opened fire, sending several bursts downrange, clipping several in the head and knocking others to the ground with the force of the shots.

  Dixon continued firing wildly as more zombies emerged from between the houses, the makeshift barricades not able to stem the tide as another group shambled out from a different house. He fired off the rest of the bullets in his mag and quickly reloaded, noting that he only had two more in reserve. He looked up and saw about sixty zombies in the road, facing the woods.

  Dixon looked over at the trio of soldiers who were not fighting back to back, firing in different directions, in danger of becoming overwhelmed.

  “Back to the safe house!” he screamed, and the trio of soldiers began to retreat, continually firing the whole way.

  They sprayed and prayed, hitting several targets in the head, but mostly in the upper torso. They broke off when they reached Dixon, and the four of them ran for the house on the corner.

  He looked at the cars, seeing them begin to move in a few spots due to the eight of the horde, watching helplessly as Ayers and Hurst concentrated their fire on that spot.

  Just as they reached the house, gunfire erupted from behind them, startling Dixon. He turned to see several men emerging from the tree line, taking aim and firing at the zombies in the streets.

  “We got reinforcements!” Dixon yelled in excitement. “Everybody to the side!”

  The soldiers broke from their position, moving to either side of the street, taking up positions by the houses to avoid the crossfire. They took aim, firing in a way that didn’t endanger their reinforcements.

  The next few minutes were filled with the deafening symphony of gunfire, bodies dropping in the street and a couple dozen reinforcement troops quickly moving in. As they approached the line, a gruff man began barking out orders.

  Dixon recognized Sergeant Kipling from his tall, bearded frame.

  “You men, shore up that line!” he bellowed. “I’m inspecting that line in five minutes, so it damn well better be secure!”

  The men rushed off and started firing, thinning out the horde. Kipling stood in the middle of the road, looking side to side at the soldiers who had taken cover.

  “Who’s in charge here?” the Sergeant demanded.

  Dixon emerged, heading over briskly. “Private Dixon, sir.”

  “Private?” Kipling asked, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell happened to your Sergeant?”

  “Died in the jump,” the younger man explained. “Corporal Herrera is up north blocking off the bridges. Which meant this fell to us.”

  The Sergeant looked around the makeshift safe zone before looking back at the eight other men who had rallied behind him. He nodded in approval.

  “I was ready to rip you a new one for that message on the door,” he began, “but seeing as how a bunch of Privates pulled this off, I’m inclined to give you a pass.”

  Dixon nodded, giving Hurst the side eye. “I appreciate that, Sergeant.”

  “Save your appreciation,” Kipling snapped. “You got capable men here, and more on the way. Tell me what else needs to be done so we can get it going.”

  The Private straightened. “We set up here because the initial school target was completely overrun,” he explained, and motioned to the horde. “Of course, they eventually found us, but we were able to stitch something together. Only have one house on the corner there cleared as a fallback, but the others are secure.”

  “Outstanding,” Kipling replied. “We’re going to shore this area up and when the next group gets in, we’re going to take that school.”

  Dixon nodded. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Where do you want us?”

  The Sergeant looked around at the carnage in the street and grinned. “I want you boys in the safe house for the next thirty,” he declared. “Get some chow and recharge.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dixon replied with a relieved smile, and waved to his team. “Come on boys, you heard the Sergeant. It’s dinner time.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The two trucks sped along the interstate towards the eastern bridge, which was significantly shorter than the western one. Herrera concentrated on the road, feeling the bumps as he ran over the occasional zombie. He finally spotted a sign reading Bridge - 1 Mile, and pulled up his CB radio.

  “One mile, fellas,” he said. “Stay sharp and let’s get this done.”

  He glanced into the rearview mirror, seeing Greer in the pickup truck a few hundred yards back, swerving to avoid the zombies on the road. He looked back at the road, startled by one of the horns on the other side of the interstate going off.

  He slammed on the brakes along with the rest of the group when they spotted the freeway packed with zombies. Not quite shoulder to shoulder, but it was damn close, and stretching as far back as they could see.

  About half a mile past the front edge of the horde was the start of the bridge.

  “Goddamn, that’s a lot of zombies,” Choi said through the radio.

  Eason crackled through, “Can we set the blockade up here and call it a day?”

  “Hang tight, everybody,” Herrera instructed, and looked around, staring down the interstate at the gentle slope leading to the neighborhoods on either side of the highway. “If we don’t block it off, we’re going to get overrun,” he muttered to himself.

  He rolled down his window and motioned for Greer to come up, and the pickup came to a stop right beside his window. The Private slid out his window, sitting on the sill to talk to Herrera over the roof.

  “That’s a hell of a mess up there,” he said.

  The Corporal nodded. “Yep, which is why you need to fall back,” he said.

  “To where?’ Greer asked.

  “I need you to get down to Dixon’s group if you can,” Herrera instructed. “If not, get as far south as you can and find a safe spot to wait on them to move up.”

  Greer swallowed hard, staring up at him with anxious eyes. “But what in the hell are you going to do?” he asked.

  Herrera hesitated, taking a deep breath. “We’re going to block this bridge come hell or high water,” he replied. “When you make contact with Dixon’s squad, you’re going to need to rally some troops to come get us off this bridge.”

  Greer nodded, lips pursed and jaw clenched.

  “Go now,” the Corporal said. “And above all, be safe. Because otherwise nobody is gonna know that we’re here.”

  Greer gave him a thumbs up and then slipped back into the driver’s seat. He made a quick three-point turn and sped off.

  “Hey, where in the fuck is Greer going?!” Choi demanded. “He’s our ride!”

  “Wait, Greer is leaving?” Eason came through. “What’s going on?”

  “Everybody shut up!” Herrera barked and then waited to make sure everyone was quiet. “Now. We have to block this bridge,” he said firmly. “If we don’t, this whole island is going to be at the risk of being overrun. So it’s either we face it now when we have a chance to stop it, or we fuck over not just us, but the entire mission.”

  There were a few moments of radio silence as his words sunk in.

  “Okay, that’s great and all,” Choi finally said, “but how in the hell are we supposed to do it? These trucks aren’t
going to make it too far with that dense of a horde.”

  Herrera sucked his lip for a moment. “We do it the only way we can,” he said. “Put the pedal to the metal and get as far onto the bridge as we can.”

  “Then what?” Eason asked.

  “We sit back and wait for reinforcements,” Gilbert replied.

  Eason groaned. “Fucking hell.”

  “When your truck starts slowing down, do what you can to angle it on the bridge,” Herrera instructed. “It isn’t going to be perfect, but we’re going to do what we can. Everybody ready?”

  He didn’t get a vocal response, instead the truck horns blared in unison, bringing a smile to his face at the bravery of his team.

  “Let’s hit it!” he cried, and all four trucks hit the gas, gaining speed as they approached the horde. Herrera was nearly at sixty miles per hour when they smacked into the mass.

  The truck immediately lurched forward, losing speed as zombies splattered into the front grill. Soon after, the road grew bumpy as the wheels rolled over the fallen ghouls.

  Herrera glanced over to the right, seeing Choi’s truck experiencing the same level of bumping. He refocused on the front, seeing that the bridge was only another hundred yards away, however the truck was really slowing down, barely cracking twenty miles per hour.

  “Come on girl, come on,” Herrera urged. “You can do it.”

  He floored the accelerator, gaining just a small bit of speed that allowed him to get to the edge of the bridge.

  He grabbed the CB. “Choi, make a hard left just after to get on the bridge, but let me pass first!” he said. “We’re not making it much further.”

  “Heard!” Choi replied, and the Corporal gripped the steering wheel tight, holding the truck steady as he hit the bridge.

  When he made it about twenty yards in, he pulled the truck hard to the right, coming to rest hard on the concrete barrier. He looked out the side mirror, seeing that the truck was at an angle, blocking most of the road.

  “Gonna have to do,” he muttered, and watched Choi, who was doing a good job of getting his own truck into position, leaving only a small gap for the zombies to work their way through.

  “How am I looking, Corporal?” Choi asked.

  Herrera shook his head. “Good as we’re going to get,” he replied.

  “What about the gap?” Choi asked.

  “We have enough ammo, we can create a zombie barrier once the sun comes up, and can aim better,” Herrera replied.

  Choi laughed. “Be like shooting zombies in a barrel,” he said, “I love… oh shit!”

  A loud crash boomed from the other side of the bridge, and Herrera watched as one of the trucks slid on its side, laying across the two lanes. Several zombies flailed in the wheel wells.

  “Shit, they must have jammed it up,” he grunted, and watched helplessly as the zombies pounded against the windshield. He pulled his rifle and tried to aim through the window, but couldn’t get a good enough shot without potentially shattering the glass. “Whose truck was that?!” he demanded. But there was just silence. “Somebody answer me!”

  “It was Eason’s,” Gilbert replied quickly. “I’m on it.”

  Herrera watched as Gilbert moved his truck into position, grinding it up against the back of the fallen truck and getting it into a decent position that blocked off the majority of the bridge. A few seconds later, the windshield went flying and Gilbert climbed out on top of the hood.

  He jumped to the back of the fallen truck and raced down it towards the other cab. He leapt over the few foot gap and slid down to the front of the truck. He looked down at the front windshield, seeing it was cracked and only being held shut by Eason’s feet pressed against it.

  Gilbert quickly took out his rifle and began firing straight down, clipping several zombies on the top of the head and dropping them. He knocked on the passenger side window, motioning for his comrade to cover his eyes before smashing it in with the butt of his rifle.

  “Can you move?” Gilbert demanded.

  Eason nodded jerkily. “In theory, yeah,” he replied, “but as soon as I do, these things are gonna bust through.”

  “We’ll get you out of here before that happens,” Gilbert said firmly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m gonna hit these fuckers one more time, then reach in. When I do that, you move like your ass is on fire and take my hand.”

  Eason nodded as he strained against the weight of the ghouls. Gilbert quickly hopped up, putting his rifle into three-round burst, and taking aim. He squeezed the trigger four times in rapid succession and then tossed it to the side and reached inside the cab.

  “Let’s go!” he cried, and Eason reached up.

  Gilbert pulled as hard as he could while his comrade kicked off of the seat. The dead zombies at the glass bought him a precious few seconds, allowing him to get above the windshield before it crashed into the driver’s seat.

  As Eason collapsed on top of the truck, Gilbert leaned over him.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Eason nodded jerkily. “Yeah, just bruised up a bit.”

  “Come on,” Gilbert said, helping him to his feet. “Let’s get over to my truck.”

  They hopped over to the still-standing big rig and climbed into the cab. Eason propped his feet up on the dash, taking a well-needed breather, and Gilbert settled into the driver’s seat.

  “Gilbert, you copy?” Herrera asked through the radio. “You two okay?”

  Gilbert picked up the radio and raised it to his mouth. “Yeah, we’re good, Corporal,” he replied. “How’s life on the other side of the bridge?”

  “We’re alive and kicking, but still have a bit of work to do once the sun comes up,” came the reply.

  Gilbert nodded. “Won’t be that difficult to get things squared away,” he replied. “All in all, I’d say we did a pretty good job holding these things off.”

  “I think you’re right,” Herrera replied, and then took a deep breath. “And for what it’s worth, you did a good job today.”

  Gilbert heard the reluctance in the Corporal’s voice, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Let me guess… still haven’t made amends?” he asked.

  Herrera chuckled. “Hell no, not by a long shot,” he replied.

  “That’s fair, I suppose,” Gilbert admitted.

  “Keep this up through the rest of the conflict, however, and we can talk,” Herrera said.

  Gilbert sat up straighter. “Rest of the conflict?” he asked. “You mean we aren’t done after this?”

  “Being a soldier is for life!” the Corporal replied, feigning shock. “Didn’t anybody tell you that?”

  Gilbert chuckled. “Pretty sure the only thing the recruitment guy told me was that if I signed that piece of paper, it would get me out of my hometown,” he said.

  “I mean…” Herrera drawled, “he wasn’t wrong.”

  “No, no he was not,” Gilbert agreed.

  “Well, you boys get rested up,” the Corporal said. “When the sun gets finished rising, we’ll figure out all we need to do to secure this bridge.”

  “Good with that,” Gilbert replied.

  Herrera tossed down the CB and propped his feet up, taking a deep breath. He stared down the bridge to the east, looking over thousands of undead heads all struggling to get to him. A few minutes later, the sun began to peek up over the horizon, creating a beautiful view over an ugly landscape.

  He tried to reconcile those two things meeting in the middle, knowing that this was just another day in the apocalypse.

  END

  Up Next: Corporal Bretz leads a daring mission to block off the interstate to the north of downtown in “Seattle - Part 3”.

  Seattle - Pt. 3 can be found at this link

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08HY5SQDT