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

by Slaton, Derek

  He immediately shoved his hands up into the creature’s chest, holding it at bay. Ayers stabbed downward, jamming his blade into the top of its skull. Before the creature dropped, however, a chorus of moans erupted from the room.

  “He’s not alone!” Ayers cried, and Hurst reinforced his grip, grabbing the creature’s shirt tightly and holding it in place as a barricade against the several other zombies trying to paw through the door.

  Ayers reached down and grabbed his flashlight, shining it into a duo of creatures pressing against their unmoving brother.

  “When I tell you, lean it to the left,” Ayers instructed. “Okay, now!” he cried, and Hurst moved the corpse, creating an opening for his companion to strike.

  Ayers stabbed one of the zombies in the eye and then leapt back before one of the rotted arms could catch him. “One more, we got this,” he huffed.

  Hurst struggled to hold the ghoul up while his partner found the next target. A second later, a teenage zombie reached past the slumped ghoul, managing to grip his arm.

  “Get this fucker off of me!” Hurst bellowed, and Ayers lined up his shot, stabbing right through the top of the dead teenager’s head.

  Hurst shook off the death grip, and both soldiers waited for a moment, listening to the moaning coming from the room, but not seeing the creature.

  Ayers shone the light over the corpse’s head into the room, and couldn’t see anything. “I hear something, but don’t see it,” he hissed. “We’re gonna have to go in.”

  “Gonna need a second to get up,” Hurst groaned. “You ready?”

  His partner nodded. “Go for it.”

  Hurst shoved the zombie barricade back into the room and scrambled to his feet while Ayers kept watch. The two men slowly entered the room, shining their flashlights all around. The sound of clattering chains echoed, and they both froze at the sight before them.

  “Oh, that’s just fucked up,” Ayers breathed.

  On the bed was an older woman, easily in her late seventies, chained by the arms and legs to a bed, thrashing about. Her mouth was bloody, but it was dried and looked like it had been that way for a while. Hurst shone the light onto the zombies they’d taken out, seeing several bite marks on them.

  “Looks like they were caring for Granny here when she turned,” Hurst said, grimacing. “Set off a nasty chain reaction.”

  Ayers shook his head. “Might explain why my living room assaulter blew his own top,” he said. “Can’t imagine having to lock my family away and listen to them trying to eat me alive.”

  “Almost makes me glad I never had much of a family life,” Hurst added.

  His partner sighed. “Thank god for small miracles, right?”

  Hurst chuckled darkly. “Come on, let’s finish her off and go tell Dixon.”

  Ayers took out granny with a well-placed strike to the head, and then they headed back out of the quiet house to find Dixon. They found him using a flashlight to study his map out front, standing with Private Shaw.

  “Best I can tell, we’re about three blocks to the west of the high school,” Dixon was saying.

  Shaw nodded as he stared at the map and then glanced down the street to the west, a block where there was a thick line of trees. “It’s gotta be,” he agreed, “because that tree line looks like this one on the map. So if we cut through there, we should be at the docks in another three blocks.”

  “Then this is where we’re setting up camp,” Dixon replied, lowering the paper.

  Ayers clucked his tongue as they approached. “Man, you picked a hell of a house there, buddy,” he declared.

  “Find some new friends?” Dixon asked.

  Ayers shook his head and ran a hand through his cropped hair. “Fuck,” he breathed.

  “Rabid Granny murdering the family situation in there,” Hurst explained.

  Dixon wrinkled his nose. “Not high up on my list of ways to go,” he said. “You get it cleared, though?”

  “Yeah it’s cleared,” Ayers replied with a nod. “Although we might want to put a sign on that back bedroom. Nobody else really needs to see that.”

  Dixon nodded. “Good work guys,” he commended, “but we still got a lot to do.”

  “You got a plan?” Ayers asked.

  Dixon motioned to the neighborhood and then pointed to the map. “Yep, and hope we find some ibuprofen in one of these houses,” he said, “because we’re gonna need it.”

  “Well doesn’t that sound promising,” Hurst said dryly.

  “You know you wouldn’t want it any other way,” Dixon quipped with a small smile. “I mean, if you didn’t get to bitch about a mission, did that mission actually happen?”

  The quartet shared a laugh, even Hurst, shaking his head.

  “Okay, so this is what we’re doing,” Dixon began, holding up the map. “This road dead ends at that tree line, which is going to be our backstop. We need to get the cars from the driveways and start blocking off this road. Start with one row from house to house, and reinforce if you can.”

  Hurst raised a hand. “What if we can’t find the keys?”

  “Remember the ibuprofen?” Dixon asked, raising an eyebrow. “Break the window, pop it in neutral, and start pushing.”

  “That’s gonna be fun on grass,” Hurst muttered.

  “Once that’s done, we need to do a sweep of the houses,” Dixon continued, “making sure if a yard doesn’t have a fence that we plug up the hole somehow. I don’t care if it’s another car or we start having outdoor couches like we’re rednecks in rural Alabama. Anything and everything to slow these things down once we start making noise. Shaw, get the others and start making this happen.”

  Shaw nodded. “I’m on it.”

  “Ayers, Hurst, got another job for you,” Dixon said as Shaw ran off.

  Hurst laced his fingers behind his head. “Let me guess,” he drawled, “more zombie killing?”

  “No, just containment,” Dixon replied, shaking his head. “We have an indoor area we can retreat to if things get bad. Now I just need you to make sure the rest of the houses are secure. We’ll let those on the boats deal with them once they get here.”

  Ayers grinned. “I like the way you think,” he said.

  “Glad to hear it,” Dixon replied, and waved them off. “Now get moving. Lots to get done.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Herrera, Jacobs, and Choi emerged from the woods a few blocks south of the church rally point. Their chests heaved from the running and fighting through the multiple wooded areas, still reeling from the loss of Anton.

  “Church should be a few blocks to the north,” the Corporal huffed.

  As they stepped out onto the street, they looked to the west and spotted a small band of zombies, at least a few dozen, about fifty yards away. They weren’t paying attention to the soldiers, so Herrera casually headed across the street into a neighborhood.

  The group took a knee by the house, realizing they’d nearly doomed themselves by not paying attention. The Corporal was silent, motioning for the other two to follow him. He crept around the house, knife at the ready, reaching the backyard.

  It was fenced in, as were the neighboring houses. There was movement from a few other yards, but none in their direct path. They hopped the fences and quickly moved through the neighborhood, seeing several clusters of zombies all around. When they reached the house across the street from the church, there was a handful of ghouls hanging out in the front lawn.

  “Either of you know how to pick locks?” Herrera whispered.

  Jacobs raised his hand. “I’m not the best at it,” he admitted quietly, “but I can get it done.”

  “You go straight for the door,” the Corporal instructed. “Choi and I will handle the zombies.”

  Jacobs nodded and pulled out his lock-picking tools while the other two readied their blades.

  “I’ll take the three on the left,” Herrera murmured, “you get the two on the right.”

  Choi cocked his head. “I can take the
three if you want,” he whispered.

  “Nah,” the Corporal replied, shaking his head. “I need to get out some frustration.”

  The Private nodded and waited for his superior to move.

  Herrera broke from cover, running as hard as he could towards the trio of zombies on the left side of the yard. He jammed his blade into one creature’s face at full speed, the hilt smacking against the forehead of the ghoul.

  He shoved the beast away, preparing to strike at the next two that approached him shoulder-to-shoulder. He darted to the side, grabbing one zombie by the shirt and shoving it into the other. He pumped his legs, driving the clumsy monsters back against the wall of the church. He stabbed one in the eye socket, and then ripped his blade free and gave the one in the back the same treatment, stepping back to watch them slide to the ground.

  He turned to check on Jacobs, who was working diligently on the door as Choi finished off his second zombie. Past him, a dozen creatures shambled around the side of the church building.

  “Fuck,” he growled, and took off like a shot. “Choi!” he yelled.

  The Private looked up, meeting Herrera’s wild eyes as he ran, and then turned around to see the threat growing by the second. The Corporal joined him when the zombies were about fifteen yards away.

  “Jacobs, you almost there?!” Herrera barked.

  “Need another minute!” came the strained reply.

  The duo stared at the ambling horde, shaking their heads.

  “Not sure we can pull this off with knives,” Choi said.

  Herrera sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “We’re gonna have to,” he replied. “If we start shooting, those things are going to be on us before Gilbert gets here.”

  “Fucking hell,” Choi growled in frustration.

  They readied their weapons, falling into loose fighting stances.

  “Charge them, push them back,” the Corporal instructed, “and then start stabbing the ones still standing. Go!”

  They both rushed forward, a few yards apart from each other. They hit the lead zombies on either side of the horde at the same time, shoving them back into the others. Seven zombies toppled to the ground like bowling pins, and then the soldiers immediately began stabbing creatures at the edges of the mass, trying to bottle up the rest so they had a fighting chance.

  They dropped a few zombies each before looking back at the ones that were making it back up to their feet. Past that, a fresh dozen appeared around the corner, attracted by the noise.

  “This ain’t working,” Choi warned.

  Herrera shook his head. “We gotta wait on Gilbert!” he cried.

  The Private let out a frustrated scream and prepared another attack. Just before he leapt forward, several shots exploded in the distance, ripping through the zombies in front of them.

  They turned to see Gilbert, Eason, and one other soldier approaching, guns blazing.

  “Go hot!” Herrera cried, and he and Choi pulled their assault rifles, opening fire on the horde.

  In a matter of seconds, their friends joined them, and the monsters all fell.

  “About time you made it,” Herrera said, clapping Gilbert on the shoulder as the last zombie crumpled to the ground.

  The Private took a deep breath. “Dixon wasn’t lying about those woods,” he said.

  “Yeah, no shit,” Choi agreed.

  Herrera’s brow furrowed. “Down one?”

  Gilbert nodded, his face pale. “Pack of runners.”

  “We had one too,” Choi replied.

  “Come on,” the Corporal cut in, “we gotta get inside before their reinforcements get here.”

  The soldiers turned towards the door, just as there was a satisfying click.

  “Got the door!” Jacobs announced proudly, and pushed on it.

  Several rotted hands emerged, grabbing onto his shirt. He screamed and struggled as they pulled him inside, arms flailing.

  “Jacobs!” Herrera screamed, and the five soldiers rushed to his aid, opening fire at the door, shooting wildly through it and hoping they scored a hit. The Corporal lowered his shoulder and smashed through it, the impact driving several zombies back onto the ground. He fired three precise shots, hitting the downed creatures in the head.

  Gilbert entered next, taking out one remaining creature to the left.

  “Gilbert, Choi, clear the building!” Herrera barked, and the soldiers in question pulled out their flashlights and took off into the main area.

  Eason and Private Greer joined Herrera, who was standing over poor Jacobs, struggling to breathe through the bite wounds on his neck. He held the wounds uselessly, blood pouring out of him in droves.

  “Help me pull him clear,” Herrera said, and the two men dragged Jacobs clear of the door, securing it behind them. “Go make sure the rest of the building is secure,” the Corporal demanded.

  “Sir, I…” Eason said hoarsely.

  “Go,” Herrera snapped. “Now.”

  The soldiers hesitated, but finally nodded and ran off, pulling out their flashlights. Herrera took a knee and swallowed hard, pulling out his handgun.

  “I’m sorry, Private,” he murmured. “I really am.” He stared down into the young man’s fear-filled eyes, and immediately fired a round through his forehead in an attempt not to drag out the kid’s suffering. The blast echoed throughout the cavernous structure, and he stared down at the dead soldier for a beat before taking a deep breath and refocusing on their task.

  He walked into the main chapel of the church, a modest-sized area, big enough to house a few hundred people on a Sunday. As he entered, the four other soldiers stood by the pulpit, solemn after what they knew their Corporal had had to do.

  “Report,” Herrera said.

  Gilbert stepped forward. “Building is clear,” he said, “we’re alone in here.”

  “We’re secure, too,” Eason added. “Nothing’s getting in.”

  Herrera took a deep breath. “Good.” He pulled out his map and spread it on the pulpit, motioning for the soldiers to gather around. He pointed to a school two blocks to the east. “This is our target, a school building. According to the intel, they have a propane cooking system for the cafeteria. We have to get there, rig it to blow, and then get back here before it does. Once it goes off, it should be loud enough to draw everything in the immediate vicinity to it.”

  “Thereby clearing the path to the shopping center,” Gilbert added.

  Herrera nodded and pointed to the shopping center to the northwest. “We’re about six blocks away from it, as the crow flies,” he said. “Hopefully this diversion is enough to make it possible for us to get through.”

  “How are we taking it out?” Greer asked nervously. “I don’t know about anybody else, but I didn’t bring anything that can be remotely detonated.”

  Herrera pointed to the back of the church altar, which housed several candles.

  “Smart,” Greer replied, as the soldiers nodded, getting the gist of the plan.

  “We get to the school,” the Corporal explained, “take out the pilot lights, light these puppies up, and haul ass back here.”

  Eason nodded thoughtfully. “School goes up,” he said, “and they walk right past us.”

  “In theory, at any rate,” Gilbert countered.

  Choi raised an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”

  Gilbert shook his head. “Nope,” he replied dryly, “in fact, this was my idea.”

  “That’s true,” Herrera agreed. “But if anybody has a better one, I’m all ears.”

  The three other soldiers glanced at each other and then shook their heads.

  “Good,” the Corporal replied, and clapped his hands together. “Everybody get candles and a wavy to light them. We leave in five.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dixon watched from the front porch of the safe house as eight men scrambled to secure the makeshift rally point. Several soldiers pushed a car to the top of the road to fill the last gap in the metal wall spanning the s
pace between two houses.

  Another soldier stood guard on the opposite side of the wall, watching for trouble. A few moments went by, and he let out a whistle. Two men immediately broke off from pushing the car and ran over to him. They walked across the street to another house where a trio of zombies shambled out from the side yard. With three quick strikes, the threat was eliminated, and they went back to their jobs.

  Dixon nodded in approval as Ayers and Hurst approached him.

  “We may have an issue,” Ayers said.

  Dixon sighed. “Just the words every leader wants to hear,” he replied. “What’s up?”

  “The side yards are secure, but the other side of the trees are going to be an issue,” Hurst replied.

  “You may just want to come see for yourself,” Ayers added.

  Dixon nodded. “All right, lead on,” he said, and then whistled at the guys pushing the car.

  They glanced up and he motioned that he was heading down the street, prompting them to give him a thumbs up that they understood.

  As the trio walked, Dixon appraised the barricades between the houses. The men had used couches, playhouses, and all things in between.

  “Good thing we picked a ritzy neighborhood to squat in,” he said. “Lots of good stuff to pick from.”

  Ayers barked a laugh. “Ritzy doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he said. “Check out this house on the corner.”

  As they walked by the final house, Dixon picked up a flyer from the For Sale sign on the front yard. He recoiled at the price.

  “Holy shit,” he said, “you could buy my hometown for this.”

  Hurst shook his head. “You could probably buy most of it with just the property taxes.”

  “That’s some serious first world problems right there,” Dixon added, and the three men chuckled as they wandered over to the tree line.

  It stretched about twenty-five yards before it reached the next neighborhood, which led directly to the docks. They walked into it and came across a fence halfway through. It was chain-link, and about waist high.