Dead America-The Northwest Invasion Box Set | Books 1-6

by Slaton, Derek

  Calvin opened his mouth, and then closed it, thinking for a moment before shrugging. “That’s a good point,” he admitted. “But, what happens if Wendy doesn’t pick us up?”

  “Then you gonna have to show a leg, cause we will be hitchhiking,” Zion quipped. “But, if it makes you feel better…” He turned and cupped a hand around his mouth. “Jermaine!”

  His companion ran over, cocking his head. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I need you to go to the crossroads,” Zion said. “When Wendy shows up with the transports, I need you to tell her we need a ride.”

  Jermaine gave him a thumbs up. “On it.” As he ran off into the darkness, Zion clapped Calvin on the shoulder.

  “Come on,” he said, “we got work to do.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There were eleven minutes left on the clock as Calvin slammed one more bit of rebar into the side of the trailer. Nearly a dozen spikes stuck out of both sides, with four feet of reach. Zion hopped in the truck and carefully pulled it around the lopper, setting it up in the middle of the road.

  “All right, we’re good,” Calvin announced. “Save us a few pieces of rebar just in case.”

  Zion held out a hand to Jack as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. “I need one of those weights,” he said. “And a little chain if you got it.”

  Jack grabbed a twenty-pound dumbbell and a few feet of chain from the lopper, bringing it over to him. Zion used the chain to tie the wheel down so it remained in position. He looked up, seeing that the horde was within fifty yards of them.

  “All right, stand back,” Zion warned, and Jack took a few steps back.

  Calvin, however, jogged forward. “Hold up a second,” he said, and darted to the passenger side, opening the glove box. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and headed to the hood where he poured it all over the truck and then lit it up.

  Zion nodded in approval. “Bonus fire damage, I dig it,” he said.

  Calvin jogged back, and Zion leaned into the truck, popping the engine into drive. He looked back at the rebar, seeing just how far he needed to get to avoid being torn to bits. He took a deep breath and then tossed the dumbbell onto the gas pedal.

  The tires screeched as he dove back, narrowly missing the rebar as the truck sped by. The flames illuminated the path as the vehicle of death tore off towards the horde. It picked up speed rapidly, slamming into the front batch of zombies. It lost a little speed, but plowed through a good portion of them. The rebar on the side didn’t deliver kill shots, however it was forceful enough to lop off legs, slowing the shambling dead.

  Zion held up a victory fist, a few of the kids letting out hoots of excitement as the vehicle tore through the zombies.

  “Harold, hit the lopper,” Zion declared as the ghouls still standing ambled on.

  Harold hit the switch before rolling out of the way, the extra length of chain making the machine extra dangerous. The group rallied behind the monstrous machine, watching as the truck vanished from view, overtaken by the dead.

  The front edge of the pack slowly made its way to the lopper, the group holding its collective breath that the chain enhancement would work. The first zombies came into range, and the tip of the chain took off a ghoul’s jaw, lopping it off into the woods. More creatures poured into the kill zone, losing chunks of flesh before their skulls cracked.

  The heavier machine held its own, not losing its balance just yet, however even with the extended reach, there were still pockets where the monsters could slip through.

  “Rebar!” Zion cried, and Calvin tossed him a piece.

  He ran up to the coming zombies on one side, spearing one through the chest and driving it back into the reach of the chain, taking off the back part of its skull. He swung wildly, doing everything he could do to hold the monsters at bay.

  Calvin pulled out his gun and began shooting on the other flank, picking off creatures one by one. “You four, get back to the crossroads!” he barked.

  Tori clenched her jaw and stared at him with a worried gaze, but he shot her a wink before turning and continuing to fire.

  The kids retreated, leaving the two warriors alone to stem the tide. The battle went on for several minutes, with Zion pushing hard to keep zombies from breaking the line. Eventually the lopper grew overwhelmed from turning the zombies into a puree and began to wobble.

  “Watch it!” Calvin warned, and Zion glanced over, darting back just as the machine went haywire. There was a deafening blast of metal on pavement, shredding several dozen zombies as it gave its last bit of strength.

  Zion ran back to Calvin, the duo standing forty yards from the crossroads, looking on at the coming horde. He looked down at his watch.

  “Four minutes,” he said, and raised his chin. “You think we got it?”

  Calvin clapped him on the back. “Without a doubt, brother,” he replied. “Without a doubt.”

  They shared a fist bump and prepared to make a final stand to hold off the horde. Once the creatures were within ten yards of them, honking cut through the air behind them.

  Zion and Calvin looked back, seeing two shuttles sitting at the crossroads. Wendy flicked on the internal light, showing that everyone was aboard.

  The duo didn’t hesitate, turning and sprinting for the buses, leaving the horde in the dust. As they reached the door, the redhead put a hand on her hip at the top of the stairs.

  “You boys need a ride?” she asked.

  Zion grinned. “Fuck yeah we do,” he replied.

  Wendy pointed to the other bus. “I think your girlfriend is on the other one,” she said. “She’s cute, you should hang on to her.”

  “I intend to!” Calvin declared and then ran off to the other bus as Zion zipped up to join Wendy.

  She patted the driver on the shoulder. “Let’s roll.”

  The buses rolled across the crossroads safely, and Zion checked his watch. Two minutes left.

  “You’re early,” he said with a smile.

  She shrugged sheepishly. “We may have sped a little.”

  Zion flopped down in a seat in the front row, shaking his head. The reality of the situation fell down on his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

  “I can’t believe it’s all gone,” he said, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Everything we built, just obliterated. And all those people we left behind.”

  Wendy sat next to him. “Who, like Adam and his group?” she asked. “We got him well stocked up, so he can ride it out until we get back. Or whoever sent those damn missiles. Would be nice if they came and lended a hand.”

  “Nah, this is on us,” he replied, eyes darkening. “God help whoever sent those missiles if they ever run into me.”

  She studied his expression, watching the quiet rage boil up in him. Rather than press the issue, she patted him on the leg gently.

  “Monique is gonna be happy to see you,” she said, hoping to defuse him. When he simply continued to stare out into the darkness, she got to her feet. “I’m going to go check on the others. It’ll be okay, Zion. Just be thankful we got so many people out safely.”

  He nodded slightly, his chest burning with the anger building towards the people who destroyed his town, his community. It won’t be today, he thought. It won’t be tomorrow. But soon, someone is gonna pay.

  END

  Up Next: The invasion of Seattle begins as Sergeant Copeland leads a daring mission to the north of the city in “Seattle - Part 1”

  SEATTLE - PART 1

  DEAD AMERICA: THE NORTHWEST INVASION

  BOOK 3

  BY DEREK SLATON

  © 2020

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +23

  Captain Kersey sat in a small back office at the tiny regional airport at midnight. He studied several maps of the Seattle area, multi-colored marks flowing in various directions across them. The desk before him with the radio on it was buried in papers.

  He took a deep breath. The responsibility on his shoulders was heavy. Even t
hough he was just a Captain, and a newly promoted one at that, General Stephens, Adams, and the entirety of the presidential inner circle valued his on-the-ground experience so much that they’d given him command of barricade and diversion forces.

  To the outside observer, that wouldn’t sound all that impressive, however, to those in the know, it showed great confidence in the Captain. These three missions—the northern barricade, Mercer Island, and the downtown run—were all vital to the success of the mission.

  Kersey pored over the maps as the noises outside grew louder. More men moved in, machinery came in and out. The moment was upon them, the biggest single operation since the invasion of Normandy. Not only was this larger, it was arguably more important. That had been a battle for freedom, but this was for the survival of the nation, and possibly the human race.

  As he contemplated, brow furrowed, the radio sprung to life.

  “Captain Kersey, do you copy?” Stephens’ voice came through.

  Kersey picked up the receiver and stood up from the maps, refocusing his attention. “Yes, General.”

  “What’s your status?” Stephens asked.

  “The northern blockade team is gearing up,” he replied. “They’ll be airborne in fifteen. As soon as the planes return, they’ll refuel and the Mercer Island squad will take off.”

  “Good,” the General came back. “And the interstate team for downtown?”

  Kersey leaned on his hand. “Last I heard, Corporal Bretz and his team were securing the trucks and awaiting dawn,” he said. “With where they’re going, they’ll need the daylight.”

  “Understood,” Stephens replied. “I appreciate the work you’re doing for us.”

  The Captain nodded. “It’s my job, General,” he said. “And to be frank, you put your faith in me and I want to make sure you never think it was misplaced.”

  “I appreciate that as well,” Stephens replied. “I’ll never complain about being made to look good.” They chuckled together and then he continued, “I do have one additional task for you, Captain.”

  “Of course, sir,” Kersey said.

  “As you know, ammunition is at a premium,” the General began, “so in addition to the clear teams that will be trailing behind the main force, I need you to set aside some scroungers. They will need to look in every business that would carry guns and ammo, and even homes if they have time.”

  The Captain nodded. “Yes sir, I will make it happen.”

  “I know you will,” Stephens replied confidently.

  Kersey took a deep breath. “Sir, if there’s nothing else,” he said slowly. “I need to brief Sergeant Copeland and his team before they head off.”

  “Of course, Captain,” the General replied. “I look forward to your updates.”

  The line went dead and Kersey took a beat before setting the receiver down and glancing at his watch. It was just past midnight.

  “Okay,” he said to himself, straightening his shoulders. “Game time.”

  He picked up a few of the maps of the northern area, the town of Burlington. It was a sleepy little villa just across the river from Mount Vernon, and if things went well, it would be a perfect choke point for the hundreds of thousands of zombies looming in the north.

  He walked out of the room, maps tucked under his arm, and onto the airfield. There were six small planes lined up on the runway, pilots standing outside of them and biding their time. He made his way to the hangar at the far end of the field, currently bathed in light, both artificial and from barrel fires to keep the men warm. As he stepped in, Sergeant Copeland approached him immediately.

  “Captain Kersey,” he said politely, dark skin glimmering in the firelight.

  “Sergeant,” Kersey replied with a nod. “You boys about ready to go?” he asked, glancing past the burly bald Sergeant at the thirty-four other men prepping their gear for the assault. He pursed his lips, a look of concern crossing his face. “Looks like you’re a little light on men there,” he said.

  Copeland sighed. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he agreed. “Two of the planes conked out, so unless someone wanted to hang on to the wings, we weren’t getting them there.”

  “No volunteers, I take it?” Kersey asked with a lopsided smile.

  Copeland chuckled. “No, sir,” he replied. “Although I’m pretty sure I could get Kowalski to do it on a dare.”

  Private Kowalski looked up from his pack. “I heard my name,” he barked. “Whatever it is, I swear I didn’t do it!”

  “Must not be talking about any hot women, then,” Private Wade quipped from beside him, grinning ear-to-ear.

  Kowalski put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What the hell, man?” he demanded playfully. “I thought us snipers stuck together?”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have cranked up the yacht rock the other day,” Wade shot back, pointing a finger at his friend.

  Kowalski smirked. “Eh, valid point.”

  Private Johnson began muttering obscenities behind them as he tried to strap on his parachute. Kersey and Copeland chuckled and shook their heads before the latter snapped his fingers at one of the other men.

  “Corporal Dawson,” he called.

  “Yes, sir?” Dawson’s short and stocky frame snapped to attention.

  Copeland motioned to the struggling Private. “Can you please help Johnson there before he pulls something?” he asked.

  Dawson laughed and turned to help the wild redneck, who was still grunting and huffing in frustration even as he lowered his arms to accept the help.

  Kersey handed the maps out to Copeland, and the Sergeant flipped through them quickly. They were printed maps this time instead of hand drawn, with multiple locations circled throughout.

  “Not bad quality,” Copeland said.

  Kersey wrinkled his nose. “Printer ran out of cyan before they all came out, so some of your boys will have to share,” he said.

  “First world problems, Captain,” Copeland replied with a chuckle, shaking his head. “First world problems.” He took one of the maps and then handed the stack to Private Mack, who began distributing them amongst the men. “All right boys!” Copeland barked. “Let’s settle down. We got a busy-ass morning ahead of us, so we need to go over the game plan.”

  There was a shuffle as the men settled in, turning towards their Sergeant and holding their maps, a few bending over shared papers. Kersey stepped off to the side to watch the briefing.

  “Our primary goal this morning is to block off the I-Five bridge over the river,” Copeland began. “The bad news is, it’s a four-lane road with thousands of zombies to the north and south of it. The good news is, the tools we need to block it off are already there in the form of concrete median barriers. Only thing we need is to go find a way to move them.

  “Our secondary goal is to block off the town bridge to the east. Luckily, this is only a two-lane bridge, and the expected enemy push is going to be minimal compared to the interstate area, so a few trucks oughta do the trick.” He held up the map, pointing to the north. “There are going to be three teams working together to make this happen. Kowalski, Wade,” he said, pointing to the two snipers.

  They perked up, sitting at attention as their names were called.

  “Your sniper teams are going to be landing to the northwest of the river,” the Sergeant explained. “Assuming you hit your landing target, you’ll be half a mile from your position.” He pointed to a large shopping center between the interstate and the surface road leading to the other bridge. “You’re gonna be set up here, in two teams, one facing each road. Your mission is to draw as many of those things to you as possible, giving the bridge team time to set up the barricade. When you hit the ground, you start lighting them up, cause we’re going to need them away from the bridge if we’re gonna be able to do our job.”

  Kowalski’s brow furrowed as he studied the map closely, focusing in on a dark section of the interstate. “Question, Sarge,” he said, raising his hand.

  �
��What is it, Private?” Copeland asked.

  The sniper pointed to the blob. “Any idea what this dark patch on the interstate is?” he asked.

  “We’re hoping it’s just darker pavement,” the Sergeant admitted, shaking his head.

  The snipers shared a concerned look.

  “Hoping?” Kowalski demanded.

  Copeland held up a palm. “Relax, Private, you boys are good at what you do,” he said confidently. “You’ll find a way to get across.”

  Kowalski and Wade preened with some pride at the praise, even though both knew it was a blatant dismissal of their concern.

  “Corporal Dawson,” Copeland continued, “your team is up next. While the population to the north in Burlington is around ten thousand, the population to the south in Mount Vernon is closer to thirty-five thousand. And it being mostly residential near the bridge, the sniper diversion teams wouldn't be nearly as effective.” He grinned. “So we’re gonna have to get a little more creative.”

  He held up the map, motioning at the landing zone to the southeast of the river, and the group all looked over their papers. There was a long line drawn down a highway running diagonally to the interstate, with a large circle just to the west of the road.

  “You’ll be landing with us to the southeast of the river,” Copeland continued, “then huffing it. It’s a three-mile hike through infested territory, but there’s no other safe landing zone that’s closer.”

  Dawson nodded. “We’ll make do, Sarge,” he assured his superior. “Just let us know what needs to be done.”

  “Good, because you got the most important mission of the day,” Copeland declared. “Your target is a car dealership. You have a few mechanics on your team who are going to set the car alarm sensitivity to maximum, which means a stiff breeze will set it off. The rest of you will be spreading the cars out around town, hopefully attracting those things who will keep the cycle going by bumping into them. This won’t be perfect, but hopefully it will keep the pressure off of my team on the bridges.”