Keeping to the darkness, the duo pressed up against the house as more zombies came out of the neighboring yards. They froze when the alarm went silent, knowing that a single noise could doom them with this kind of gathering. A few seconds later, it began blaring again, keeping the attention of the nearby creatures.
They took the opportunity to bolt, running through a backyard and off into the darkness towards the dealership.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Copeland and the rest of his crew waited at the entrance of the Super Center, keeping an eye on the zombies on the bridge and interstate. Johnson stood beside him with the night vision scope, surveying the landscape.
The bridge began to clear out with the zombies moving to the north, attracted by the sniper fire. The ones on the interstate had either joined the bridge group, or had started being drawn south by the sound of car alarms, creating a mostly zombie-free pocket.
“Johnson, how we looking?” Copeland asked.
The Private continued to scan as he spoke. “The bulk is moving away from us,” he replied. “Still gonna have a fight on our hands on the bridge, but I don’t think it’s worth waiting over.”
The Sergeant motioned for Johnson to hand over the weapon, and he did. Copeland did a quick sweep with the night vision scope, and then nodded, handing the gun back.
“Okay boys,” he said, turning to his team, “we’re gonna move and move quick. Got four on the shopping carts, rest of us are on zombie duty. Drop ‘em quick, drop ‘em quiet, and get ready for some heavy lifting on the bridge. We get halfway down and I want everybody focused on that front line. We’re gonna have to reinforce the rear eventually, but those things are way too close for comfort. Questions?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “Didn’t think so. Now let’s move.”
He led the group out, the eight on zombie duty carrying knives and baseball bats. Behind them were four soldiers pushing shopping carts full of supplies, like rebar, basketball goal posts, gloves, and such.
The run through the parking lot was smooth, with no resistance. A couple zombies on the interstate directly ahead had their attention drawn as the footsteps and shopping carts rattled on the pavement. There was nothing but a grass path keeping them apart.
Copeland led the charge towards the small pack of zombies, swinging hard with a baseball bat and cratering in a skull. Several other soldiers stepped up and did the same, while a couple stayed back to help the cart pushers traverse the grass, wheels wiggling.
The Sergeant stood on the interstate, patting one of the concrete barriers in the center. It was about eight feet long, solid concrete with the exception of two holes running through the top, about a foot away from each corner. He scanned ahead, watching twenty zombies between them and the center of the bridge.
These won’t be a problem, he said. What concerned him was the thousands of zombies another hundred yards up that were congregating between the stores. He looked over to the rest of the men, who were standing and waiting for his move.
Copeland started walking up the interstate at a deliberate pace, not wanting to draw attention to them. The zombies were all focused on the gunfire in the distance, so one by one, he and the rest of his men stepped up to dispatch their enemies.
The group didn’t take long to work their way up to the center of the bridge, moving quickly in tandem. The closest zombie on the bridge was fifteen yards up and walking away from them.
“Johnson, take two men,” Copeland said quietly, “set up shop twenty yards up. Any trouble, you tamp it down.”
The Private nodded. “On it,” he replied, and pointed to Raymond and Schmitt. “You two, on me.”
Copeland watched the trio head up to the zombies and take out the last few stragglers with ease, standing guard. He turned to watch the others come up with the shopping carts and stopped in front of him.
The Sergeant kept his voice low. “These bitches are heavy, so we’re gonna be working in teams,” he said. “Four men to a barrier. Get up to where Johnson is and start moving them back this way. One row, all the way across. We’ll worry about reinforcing it later, but right now we just need something in case they lose interest in the snipers.”
They got to work, throwing on work gloves, and grabbing up metal posts and heavy duty floor dollies, rushing their targets. Posts went through the two slots at the top of the barriers, and then there was a quiet countdown before lifting up. As the barrier reached a foot off of the ground, another soldier rolled the metal dollie underneath. Once on wheels, the two lifters could push it along the road, straining to roll the several thousand pound barriers.
The nose they made both straining and moving attracted a few zombies near the back of the pack, forcing Johnson and Raymond to step up and smack them down as quietly as they could.
“Keep watch,” Johnson whispered to Raymond, who nodded.
Johnson jogged back to Copeland, who was helping to unload a barrier on the side of the road. He strained, but they finally got it into place with the two men rushing back to help with the next one.
“What is it?” the Sergeant asked.
“Moving that first barrier drew some of them back to us,” Johnson explained. “It’s loud. The gunfire is drowning it out a bit, but as soon as that goes away, we’re in trouble. And at the rate they’re going, it’s gonna be awhile.”
Copeland nodded. “Understood.” He pulled out his walkie-talkie and dialed in before lifting it to his lips. “Kowalski, update,” he said.
Several moments passed before the sniper came back, “We’re holding our own, Sarge. Pulling a decent sized crowd from the city, but a little too far away from the interstate to do much. Satellite didn’t show that many trees blocking the view.”
“What’s your ammo situation?” Copeland asked.
Another moment of pause. “The four of us at the target are down to about a thousand,” Kowalski replied. “Can’t speak for the others, as they don’t have comms.”
“Well, if you got three men just across the bridge, it’s safe to assume they’ll be at six or seven hundred based on the fire patterns?” Copeland asked, and there was a long silence before he growled, “Kowalski, I know you aren’t smart enough to be doing math in your head, so talk to me, soldier.”
“Wade is alone on the store just up from the bridge,” the Private replied. “The other two, well, I assume two, at least one, are several blocks up.”
The Sergeant grimaced, knowing that once they ran out of ammo, this bridge would become very active. “Well, here’s hoping Wade sticks to a steady rhythm,” he said, “because as soon as he’s out, we’re gonna have a fight on our hands.” He looked up the bridge, seeing the men struggling with the next barricade before finally getting it onto the dolly.
“What do you want me to do, Sarge?” Kowalski asked.
Copeland paused for a moment, contemplating hard before answering, “If you feel like luck is on our side, then just keep doing what you’re doing.” He took a deep breath. “If you’ve been paying attention with how things have been going for the past month, I’d suggest coming up with more ways to stir up some noise.” He stiffened as the men continued to strain, pushing the concrete barrier with everything they had. “Because, unless I’m mistaken, we’re gonna need it.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nearly ninety minutes had passed since the barrier building had begun. The soldiers had built a line completely across the bridge, running across all four lanes. They’d even created a rectangle in the center, stretching eight feet by eight feet, branching off the main line.
Copeland strained with several other men to get the large concrete block into place. Once it was in, the men leaned over it, breathing heavy sighs of relief.
“That’s good work, boys,” Copeland huffed. “Now we just got one more to build in the south.”
There was a chorus of light groans from the men, and the Sergeant chuckled.
“Don’t worry, that’s not till later,” he assured them. “Now, we get
to do a suicide run on the other bridge.”
One of the soldiers threw up his hands. “Finally, some good news.”
Another ripple of tired chuckles rose, and then Copeland took a deep breath.
“I need four volunteers to hold this line,” he declared. “And I’m not gonna lie, it could get messy. As soon as our sniper friend runs out of ammo, those creatures are gonna be looking for something new to focus their attention on, and it’s going to be you. If those car alarms don’t hold their interest, you’re gonna be trapped in this little square of death fighting a two-front war. But we need to defend it, because if we get too many of those things pushing on it, the line isn’t going to hold.” He crossed his arms. “So, who’s it going to be?”
All eight men’s hands shot straight up in the air, and he shook his head, chuckling again.
“I’m going to assume it’s because each and every one of you is dedicated to the mission,” he said, pointing an accusing finger, “and not just because you want to get out of some heavy lifting.”
One of the soldiers grinned. “Can’t it be both?”
The group laughed again, and then Copeland pointed to the four on the left. “Okay, you four win the sweepstakes,” he declared, and then motioned to one on the right. “I need you to go get Johnson and the others.”
The soldier nodded and ran off up the bridge to retrieve the guards.
“Remember, limit your fire until you start getting overwhelmed,” Copeland reminded the team staying behind. “We’ll be back with reinforcements as soon as possible.”
They nodded and started setting up their defenses, laying bats on the ground, knives, and some leftover metal posts. Johnson, Raymond, and Schmitt approached, the former patting the barricade.
“Well hell Sarge,” Johnson drawled. “This is looking pretty good.” He glanced at the eight-foot emergency barrier. “That, however, looks like nightmare fuel.”
Copeland cocked his head. “Good thing you’re going to be with me on the other bridge,” he said.
“Which I imagine is a whole other brand of nightmare fuel,” Johnson replied.
The Sergeant nodded. “Absolutely Private, wouldn’t be any fun otherwise,” he said. “Good luck, boys,” he said to the soldiers staying behind, and they saluted him.
“You too, Sarge,” one of them said.
Copeland led the group of eight back towards the Super Center, a chorus of car alarms bleating in the distance.
“Never thought I would say it,” Johnson declared, “but I’m loving that car alarm sound.”
Copeland grinned. “Hell man, it’s making me want to go take a nap.”
“A nap?” Johnson raised an eyebrow.
The Sergeant shook his head. “Didn’t grow up in the best neighborhood,” he explained. “This was my goodnight song for a number of years.”
“And I thought my mother listening to Liberace was bad,” Johnson said with a laugh.
Copeland joined him as they broke off of the interstate and headed back towards the shopping center. “Stay frosty,” he finally said, “these bastards are sneaky.”
He led the group into the center, checking corners to make sure they were still clear. One straggler had found its way in, but with a quick whistle and point, a soldier broke off and cracked it over the head.
The rest of the store was clear, much to the relief of the Sergeant. They had enough fronts to fight on, without dealing with backtracking. They reached the back of the store and into the back lot where the trucks were.
“Pile in and follow me,” Copeland instructed. “CB radios on channel thirteen, let’s move.”
The soldiers hopped into the three trucks, the first two starting up without a problem. Copeland got into the third one with the recharged battery, Raymond in the passenger seat.
“Let’s hope Johnson didn’t fuck this up,” he muttered, and turned the key.
To his relief, it sprung to life, and he quickly popped it into gear, leading the convoy out of the lot. They drove down a frontage road a few blocks to be able to cross under the interstate, and as they did, they encountered a handful of zombies meandering towards the car alarms in the distance.
Copeland adjusted his trajectory, making sure to slam into the ghouls as they went by, sending them flying into the grass. The other bridge was a half a mile away, and with each passing block, the dread in the Sergeant’s mind grew.
Kowalski had said it was a packed house, but that was an hour ago, so hope began to creep in. As he made the turn for the bridge, Copeland’s concern was realized.
There were upwards of a hundred zombies on the bridge, most of them towards the neighborhood, drawn by car alarms and not paying any attention to the constant gunfire from the snipers. Copeland studied the bridge, seeing two lanes packed with multiple large groups. He reached for the CB radio, flicking it to channel thirteen.
“All right boys, listen up,” he said into the mouthpiece. “This is gonna be a bumpy ride. I’m gonna take the lead and plow through as many of them as I can, get up to the top of the bridge, and block it off. Johnson, you’ll be up next, and I want you to wedge your truck across the road about halfway up. Schmitt, I want you ten yards behind Johnson.” He took a deep breath. “With any luck, we’ll be able to hold off any massive horde with this setup. Also watch your six, this is gonna be loud as hell, so we may have some company from the neighborhood.”
He waited a moment to hear the affirmative responses and then glanced over at Raymond in the passenger seat.
“You ready to do this?” he asked.
The Private offered a grim smile. “If I say no, does it mean we’re not going?”
Copeland smirked and popped the truck into gear, punching the gas.
CHAPTER NINE
The big rig jolted forward and began gaining speed. By the time Copeland hit the bridge, the truck was doing forty, which was more than fast enough to completely obliterate the first trio of zombies that it came into contact with.
Undeterred, Copeland floored it, the engine squealing drawing the attention of most of the creatures on the bridge, the next batch numbering close to two dozen.
“Hang on, Raymond!” Copeland bellowed, and braced as the truck smacked into the dense wall of rotted flesh. Both men surged forward as they lost momentum, bodies careening in every direction, some over the side into the water below. Some crunched straight back into the pavement, flattening underneath the truck.
With only fifteen yards to the next group, the truck didn’t have much time to gain speed, so their momentum slowed significantly when they hit the next pack. They bumped up and down as the wheels crushed bone and flesh, jostling the soldiers around.
Copeland had trouble controlling the direction of the truck, darting to the left and scraping up against the concrete barrier. He quickly pulled it back to the right, barely able to regain control, heart pounding.
“Holy shit, we were almost swimming!” the Sergeant declared, laughing maniacally.
Raymond stared at him, mouth agape, eyes wide as he clutched the handle above his head with white knuckles.
Copeland hit the gas one more time, gaining speed for the final group at the top of the bridge. The horde was huge, well over a hundred as the noise of the zombie demolition derby had drawn them away from the snipers.
“We got this, we got this!” Copeland yelled, and they braced as they smacked into the horde, grinding through bodies and clearing the bridge. As soon as they stopped, they were surrounded by creatures on all sides.
Bloody, gooey hands slapped the side of the truck, pawing it in vain.
Copeland did a three-point turn, taking his time in backing up the big rig so that it was on the surface street and flush up against the bridge support barrier on either side of the road.
“How am I looking over there, bud?” he asked.
Raymond looked out the window, seeing only a sliver of space between the truck and bridge. “A supermodel couldn’t fit through there, Sarge,” he replie
d.
“We’re in business, then,” Copeland replied, and looked out the driver’s side window facing the bridge. Half a dozen creatures stood right outside his door, moaning hungrily.
Down the bridge, there were thirty or so ghouls in various conditions spread out between him and the next truck, which Johnson was skillfully putting into place.
Copeland grabbed his walkie talkie, raising it to his lips. “Kowalski, you copy?”
“I’m here Sarge,” the sniper came back immediately. “Was that you in the big rig at the top of the bridge?”
The Sergeant grinned. “Yes, it was.”
“Gotta say, that was some mighty fine driving outside of scraping the paint job,” Kowalski drawled. “Hope you got a low deductible.”
Copeland chuckled. “Lucky for me, I borrowed it.” He heard Kowalski laugh on the other end, and even Raymond cracked a smile despite his shell shocked face. “Hey listen, can you do me a favor?” he asked. “I seem to have some groupies hanging out by my door. Could you give me a hand with them?”
“You got it, Sarge,” Kowalski replied. “Give me just a minute.”
Copeland rested the walkie-talkie in his lap and relaxed in his seat. Raymond looked out the passenger side towards town and watched easily a couple thousand zombies spread out over the shopping center and streets. A few seconds later, several shots rang out, and blood splattered up onto the driver’s side window.
The Sergeant looked out, seeing that three of the six zombies had dropped. More shots fired off, and the other three exploded, limp corpses falling to the pavement.
“Appreciate it bud,” Copeland said into the talkie. “And if it’s not too much trouble, we’re gonna be making a run down the bridge, so if you want to cover us, I’m not gonna complain.”
“Consider yourself covered,” Kowalski replied.
Dead America-The Northwest Invasion Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 18
