“Okay, we gotta move,” he hissed.
Doyle peeked past him at the zombies still in the way. “What about them?” he asked.
“Plow through them and get across,” Kowalski replied. “Our target is the giant hardware store at the south end of the center. We’re going around the back for roof access.”
Doyle nodded and moved to the back of the line, letting the others know they were ready to go. Kowalski gave one more look to get his bearings and then broke from cover, the rest of his team hot on his heels.
He moved away from the wall and into the center of the drive-thru aisle to prevent any surprises around the corner. They broke out into the open, running across the parking lot as hard as they could. By the time they reached the frontage road, their footsteps had gained the attention of several indecisive zombies.
Rather than attack, Kowalski dodged the first few before lowering his shoulder into the next one, sending it to the side. He was the first to reach the grass and quickly climbed the short incline, about ten feet, with the rest of the group behind.
He glanced back, seeing the others as well as a few dozen zombies within twenty yards shuffling towards them. He turned back to the interstate, coming over the crest of the hill and hitting the pavement.
There were about forty zombies spread out between them and the opposite side. As he paused briefly to plot their course, one creature about fifteen yards away turned to moan at him, but then its head exploded.
Kowalski cracked a smile as the rest of the group caught up to him. “Straight across, we got cover,” he said.
They took off like a shot, running in a straight line as Wade fired at a pretty decent clip. One by one, the creatures in front of them fell, clearing a path.
When they reached the median, Kowalski hopped over the concrete barrier first. As he did, several zombies converged on his position, having been unable to clear the barrier to get to the gunfire noise.
“Move it!” Kowalski yelled. “The hole is closing!”
Doyle, Martin, and Hurley cleared the barrier, the latter barely making it past the outstretched arms. Carver, a few yards behind, hesitated, seeing the window closing. He pulled out his handgun and took aim, firing and hitting one creature in the head. Another zombie on the line fell in a spray of blood and bone from Wade’s bullet.
Kowalski skidded to a stop and looked back. “Move it, Carver!” he screamed, panic rising at his teammates' situation.
Doyle and Martin turned and squeezed off a few shots with their handguns, trying to thin the growing herd around their friend.
“Fuck it,” Carver said, and ran towards the barrier, planting a foot on the median and leaping forward with everything he had. One zombie managed to catch his ankle, stopping his forward momentum and dropping him to the ground.
Before he could even register the pain of his face meeting the pavement, a dozen creatures dove at him, tearing into him with claws and teeth.
As his screams pierced the air, Kowalski grabbed Doyle by the arm. “He’s gone, we gotta move!” he cried, and shoved him away from the carnage.
The quartet slid down the hill on their side of the interstate, getting to the frontage road with handguns drawn. There were a few zombies on the road, with more coming from the side streets and business parking lots, attracted to the gunfire and Carver’s dying screams.
Kowalski stepped through the group, leading them towards the shopping center a few hundred yards away, at a brisk pace. “Only fire if you have to, we gotta shed some of this heat,” he said.
His companions looked lost, ashen faced and unsure of themselves.
Kowalski snapped his fingers, making them look at him. “Carver’s gone,” he said, tone harsh. “We’ll have time to deal with it on the roof. Now let’s move!” he demanded.
The snipers nodded and followed him as he ran towards a side street, making the turn towards the shopping center on the right. Dozens of zombies littered the side street, pouring out from the parking lot.
Kowalski picked up his pace into high gear, the others following suit. They attempted to make it to the truck entrance of the shopping center, but a throng of zombies flooded out of it, drawn to the noise.
He tore off of the street into an overgrown field, trying to cut off the horde. Halfway across, a hand grabbed his ankle, and he instinctively fired down into a zombie’s head, just an inch away from his foot. He stared down at it for a moment, stunned at the close call.
Doyle caught up to him and looked down at the corpse, missing its bottom half, and shook his head. “Way too close for comfort, bud,” he breathed.
Kowalski nodded in agreement and then took a deep breath, continuing their trek. He looked to his left, seeing the zombies from the truck entrance were heading their way now, drawn to his gunshot, entering the grass.
“Gotta get to solid ground,” he huffed, and tore towards the pavement behind the stores, relieved to be out of the tall grass where the undead could be lurking.
He glanced to the left, seeing dozens of creatures moving towards them, but still far enough away that they weren’t yet a threat. To the right was mostly clear.
“Should be a couple hundred yards to the store,” he said, and took off running.
His trio of companions followed him, guns raised and ready for action. As they approached the edge of the building next to a short driveway, they stopped at the sight of a hundred ghouls packed into the area, the back end fifteen yards from their corner.
“Shit, that’s a lot of those things,” Kowalski muttered under his breath.
Doyle looked over and saw the ladder on the back of the store, the same kind as the one Wade had used with the cover over the bottom eight feet of rungs. Unfortunately for them, there was no dumpster in sight.
“Well, there’s our target,” Doyle said. “But we’re gonna need teamwork to get up there.”
Kowalski peeked out again, but a zombie caught sight of the movement and moaned, shambling their way.
“Good enough for me, let’s move!” he urged, and the quartet sprinted across the driveway. As they raced down the back of the store towards the ladder, moaning erupted in front of them. “I’ll cover the front,” Kowalski barked, “start getting up there!”
He stopped just past the ladder, pulling up his rifle and finding the target about thirty yards ahead with his night vision scope. He fired off several shots in rapid succession, buying them some time.
Meanwhile, Doyle crouched and laced his fingers together, giving Martin a boost up to the rung cover. After he was clear, he boosted Hurley up.
“Kowalski let’s go!” Doyle cried, and his team leader fired one more shot before tearing back to him, practically flying up to the ladder.
Kowalski hooked an arm through the ladder rung and looked down at Doyle. “Grab my leg and climb up!” he called.
Doyle took a few steps back before running hard towards the ladder. He put a foot on the wall and launched himself up, grabbing onto Kowalski’s leg. The sniper grunted at the extra weight, but it didn’t take long for Doyle to secure himself and pull his weight from Kowalski’s body.
“Free advice,” Kowalski grunted, “lay off the carbs.”
Doyle chuckled and shook his head as they climbed up to join the others on the roof. The duo took a moment to breathe deep, looking down at the creatures all reaching up to them from the ground. They exchanged a fist bump and then walked to the front of the store to join Martin and Hurley, dropping their bags and gear.
The quartet froze as they looked out over the sea of creatures in the parking lot, spreading back to the smaller bridge and road.
“What do you say we give them a reason to head our way, huh?” Kowalski asked.
The other men nodded and readied their rifles. Soon, the air was filled with high-powered rifle shots, booming off at a consistent pace. Kowalski took a deep breath and pulled out his walkie-talkie.
“Sarge, it’s Kowalski, we’re in position,” he said into the radio.
Sergeant Copeland reigned in his parachute as he looked around the field. Several men had formed a perimeter, keeping watch for the ghouls, while the rest of the men secured their gear. After a few moments, Corporal Dawson headed over to him.
“Your team good to go?” Copeland asked.
Dawson nodded. “Yes sir, fifteen of us ready to go,” he replied.
“Okay, be safe, we’ll see you on the bridge after a while,” Copeland replied. The two longtime friends exchanged a fist bump before Dawson headed off to join his group.
A few moments later, Johnson approached, flanked by a group of ten soldiers. “Sarge, we’re landed and ready to roll.”
“Good man,” Copeland replied, nodding. “So listen up everybody,” he began, turning to the group. “We’re gonna be moving quick. We got a mile and a half to cover, and we need to be there an hour ago. Unless you see me take a shot, nobody is to even draw their weapons, is that understood?”
There was a chorus of yes, sir, and he nodded again.
“One shot could give us away and undermine what our boys to the north and south are doing for us,” he continued. “When we get to the Super Center, Johnson, Raymond, and Schmitt, you work your way to the loading docks and inspect those trucks. If they’re not good to go, then we need to come up with a plan B. The rest of you will fan out in the store, clearing it of any hostiles and securing metal posts so we can build that barricade. If you see anything else that might be useful, make a note of it and we’ll come back once our primary mission is complete.” He crossed his arms. “Questions?”
There was a chorus in the negative this time, and he raised a hand. “Then let’s move ‘em out.” He led the group off of the field and onto the street that ran parallel with the river. They moved faster than an average jogging speed, their footsteps echoing in the darkness.
As they moved, several zombies reacted to the noise, emerging from the neighborhood to the south. Copeland barely batted an eye at the emerging threat, instead picking up the pace to stay clear of them. As they reached the few blocks before the surface street bridge, he stopped the group at a crossroads.
Several moans erupted from the south of them, about thirty yards down the side street. Copeland glanced over, seeing it was about five zombies. He snapped his fingers and pointed, and five soldiers broke formation, pulling out knives and rushing the ghouls to take them out silently. Copeland focused back on the bridge as they returned to formation, leaving a pile of bodies in their wake.
“Johnson,” the Sergeant said.
The Private approached. “Sarge.”
“I need your night scope,” Copeland said.
Johnson handed over his rifle with the night-vision scope, and the Sergeant looked through it to study the large congregation of zombies on the bridge that stretched almost to the road they were on. He let out a low grunt and handed the rifle back.
“Detour,” Copeland said, “let’s move.”
He led the group down a block before turning back to the west towards the target. They reached the bridge road, and Copeland checked out the horde of zombies beginning about sixty yards up. He motioned for them to keep moving, but put a finger to his lips.
They crept across the road, keeping their footsteps as light as possible. When they reached the other side and moved behind cover, they picked up the pace again, continuing to ignore creatures stumbling out from the shadows.
After several minutes, they finally reached the edge of the parking lot to the Super Center. There were a few zombies near the corner of the lot that Copeland pointed to. The same soldiers that dispatched the earlier ones repeated their stealthy kills, ending the nearby threat.
The Sergeant took a knee, and the rest of the squad followed. He held out his hand, and Johnson gave him the night vision scope again. The lot was dotted with abandoned vehicles, as well as a couple dozen creatures wandering about. Copeland looked up towards the bridge, seeing a mass of monsters on it.
As he looked, the first shots from the northern group rang out, and some of the zombies turned to shamble in that direction.
“Those sniper boys don’t waste time, do they?” Johnson murmured from behind him.
Copeland grunted, knowing that the noise was going to quickly bring undead reinforcements from the south. “You all know what to do,” he said, “let’s move.”
The Sergeant led the group across the parking lot, spreading out as they went. As they approached the front of the building, various soldiers delivered knife blows to creatures they encountered, clearing the way for them.
Copeland was the first to the front door, approaching it cautiously in case of undead company. He stood in front of it, motioning for Johnson to throw it open so he could breach.
As soon as the Private opened the door, Copeland rushed inside, delivering a vicious kick to the torso of a zombie, sending it flying across the entryway. He whipped around and jammed his blade into an eye socket of another, and Johnson swept past him to stab the one that was on the ground.
“Trucks, go,” Copeland hissed.
Johnson, Raymond, and Schmitt rushed off down the side aisle of the store, pulling out flashlights to illuminate their path. As they reached the back of the store, they spotted five zombies standing in front of the loading dock door.
Johnson held the trio up, while putting his flashlight down to avoid the creatures coming their way. He glanced over, checking to see they were in sporting goods. He stepped into the aisle and grabbed an aluminum baseball bat, motioning for the other two to do the same.
Once properly armed, they rushed down the back aisle towards the creatures. Johnson delivered an overhead smash to the lead zombie, crumpling it, and held up the flashlight so the other two could swing away. After several batter-ups, the threat was eliminated.
Johnson motioned for them to follow him into the loading dock. He peeked through the small window in the swinging doors, seeing nothing close to it. They moved through and put up their flashlights, illuminating the entire area. There were three zombies at the far end, but nothing else in the sprawling area.
“You two, take them out,” Johnson instructed, “I’ll secure the back door.”
The two soldiers walked down to bash some skulls while Johnson headed to his destination. He removed the bolt lock and gently opened the door a crack, listening for noise. When he didn’t hear anything, he pushed it side open, seeing the back area clear. There were three transfer trucks backed up to the loading bays.
Something brushed up against his arm and he startled, whipping around, bat raised. Raymond and Schmitt backed up, hands out.
“Jesus jump-roping christ, don’t do that!” Johnson hissed, his heart rate tripled.
The two men chuckled under their breaths, muttering sorry in unison.
He let out a deep whoosh of breath and motioned for them to follow him. “Come on, check the trucks,” he said, “make sure the battery is good.”
Each of the trio picked a truck, making sure that nothing was waiting for them beneath the vehicles. Johnson swept the area and then clambered up into his, turning the key and relieved to see the dash lights come on. He checked the gas meter and saw it was a half full.
“That should be good enough to get us four blocks,” he said quietly, and then turned the ignition off and slipped out of the truck.
“My truck is good,” Raymond reported as he approached. “Battery works and full tank of gas.”
Schmitt shook his head. “Looks like I got gas, but the battery wouldn’t cooperate.”
“Two outta three ain’t bad,” Johnson replied with a shrug. “Come on, let’s go find the Sarge.”
The trio headed back into the main part of the store. There were footsteps, moans, and the sound of bodies hitting the floor echoing throughout the building. After a few moments, there were sporadic bellows of "clear”, and then quiet.
“Sarge, what’s your twenty?” Johnson called, cupping a hand around his mouth.
&n
bsp; Copeland’s voice echoed in the store. “Aisle fifteen,” he replied.
The trio made their way over to the Sergeant, who was watching the soldiers running around the store. Some of them carried equipment to the front of the store to stage it, while a few others came up with various items of food and weaponry. Copeland gave a yay or nay to different items depending on need.
“Johnson, what you got?” he asked, as he gave a thumbs up to a case of tire irons.
The Private jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Three trucks in the back,” he replied. “Two are good to go, one needs a jump.”
“Outstanding,” Copeland said, nodding. “While we’re getting prepped here, you hit automotive and see if they have one of those emergency battery chargers. Hook it up, leave it running, then get back here. As soon as Dawson starts pulling some of those things to the south, we’re hitting the bridge.”
Johnson saluted him. “You got it, Sarge,” he replied and then headed off to automotive with Schmitt and Raymond in tow.
As they disappeared around the aisle, Copeland’s walkie-talkie vibrated. He picked it up and clicked it on.
“Sarge, it’s Kowalski,” the sniper came through. “We’re in position.”
Copeland nodded. “Good news,” he replied. “But I heard some gunfire earlier than expected.”
“Ah, let’s just say the interstate wasn’t dark,” Kowalski replied sheepishly. “Had to divert from the plan in order to get across.”
The Sergeant stiffened. “Situation?” he asked.
“Three on the west side of the interstate, four at the designated target,” the sniper reported.
Copeland sighed. Those numbers didn’t add up. “Who didn’t make it?”
“Carver,” Kowalski replied, voice thick.
The Sergeant shook his head, taking a moment to process. “You don’t lose anybody else,” he finally said, firmly. “That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” the sniper replied.
Dead America-The Northwest Invasion Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 16
