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

by Slaton, Derek

  Several zombies shambled by the aisle, moaning and dragging their feet as they went. Once they were past, Bretz moved up alone, looking out into the aisle and seeing fifteen zombies hanging out within thirty yards. He pursed his lips and then crept back to Short, speaking into his ear softly.

  “Way too many of them to take out with knives,” he whispered. “So it’s going to be a hit and run.”

  Short nodded. “I got an idea,” he whispered back. “Follow me.”

  He led them back towards the office stairwell, looking down every aisle as they went. After a few he stopped, giving the Corporal a thumbs up, and then pulled out a shopping cart.

  “We load up as much as we can on the buggy, and get it back to the stairwell and unload it,” he whispered.

  Bretz nodded. “I like it,” he replied quietly. “Question is, do you want to shoot or do you want me to?”

  “Truth be told,” Short admitted, “I ain’t so good in low light.”

  The Corporal smiled. “I’ll cover you while you load up.”

  They shared a nod and leapt into action. Short grabbed the cart, pushing it along until they got back to the alcohol. Bretz carefully stepped into the main aisle, looking both ways to make sure the zombies were only in one direction. He readied his rifle and then nodded to his partner.

  Short grabbed the first case of twelve bottles, gently placing it into the cart. When he grabbed the second one, it rattled the display clinking a few bottles together. The noise gained the attention of a few ghouls, who began moaning and heading their way.

  Bretz held off firing as long as he could, allowing Short to load in two more cases. Then he squeezed the trigger rapidly, taking out three ghouls in a matter of seconds.

  “How many more?” he asked.

  “Two more!” Short replied.

  Bretz continued picking targets, dropping them as his companion loaded the cart with seven cases.

  “We’re full!” Short reported, and then began pushing towards the stairwell. They raced down the aisle, Bretz covering their retreat as they went, tearing around the corner towards the office. The noise had attracted a few zombies at the other end.

  Short pulled out his weapon, but Bretz just pushed him forward.

  “Get to the stairwell,” he said, “I’ll cover us.”

  The Private raced back to the stairs, stopping the cart and grabbing a case of vodka, tearing up the stairs to begin unloading. Bretz stood his ground beside the cart, aiming down both directions and firing, picking off zombies one by one as Short sprinted up and down the stairs.

  “We’re good to go, Corporal!” he cried as he grabbed the last one, and Bretz fired one more time, killing a zombie about fifteen yards away.

  He cracked a smile before kicking the cart onto its side, blocking the stairwell and tearing back up into the office. Short slammed the door, and they pushed a desk against it to hold it secure.

  “That went way smoother than anything else we’ve done today,” Bretz declared.

  Short grinned. “Speaking of smooth, bet you didn’t catch my slick little move while running down the aisle, did you?” he asked.

  Bretz furrowed his brow. “Apparently I totally missed it.”

  The Private reached behind one of the cases of vodka and pulled out a large bottle of bourbon.

  The Corporal barked a laugh. “I mean, we are going to have a few days to kill,” he said with a shrug. Short clapped him on the shoulder and they began hauling their loot up the ladder.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Bretz drove the two of them to the bridge, seeing zombies shoulder-to-shoulder as they approached. They were within a couple hundred yards, only a left at the top of the street, but there were dozens of zombies standing in their way.

  “You ready for one last push?” he asked.

  Short leaned forward. “Bigger question is, if this big beauty of a truck is ready for it,” he said, and stroked the dashboard. “Okay girl, you almost home, just need you to push a little harder. Can you do that for me?”

  Bretz raised an eyebrow.

  Short shrugged. “I mean, trucks need encouragement too.”

  “Did you do that to your last truck?” the Corporal asked.

  His passenger chuckled. “Well no,” he replied, “probably why she didn’t make it.”

  “Okay then,” Bretz replied, and gave the steering wheel a tender pat. “Come on, you can do it.”

  Short laughed, and the Corporal joined in, the two of them a little loopy from the absurdity of the situation and what they were about to do.

  “Regardless of what happens,” Bretz said when he finally calmed down, “it’s been a pleasure.”

  Short nodded solemnly. “Likewise, Corporal.”

  Bretz hit the gas, and the truck rumbled forward. He rolled over several zombies, and the noise gained the attention of the ghouls on the bridge. He floored it, gaining as much speed as he could, approaching the turn for the bridge. The sea of undead was dense, covering almost the entirety of the road on both sides.

  The big rig chugged along, slowing with every impact. When Bretz reached the top of the road, he moved far to the right before making a hard left, hoping to keep up the momentum. The truck leaned to one side, several wheels coming off of the ground, crashing back down and crushing several bodies beneath. The impact sent bones jutting out of bodies, and a loud pop sounded as one of the tires blew.

  The sudden loss caused the truck to jar to the right, but Bretz was able to correct it. The zombies on the bridge pressed up against the vehicle, covering it on all sides. The remaining tires squealed, struggling to gain traction between the blood coating them and the dense force of the dead in front of it.

  “Come on!” Short yelled. “You’re almost there!”

  The front wheels crossed the bridge threshold, and as soon as it did, Bretz began to angle the truck. The tires whined as the truck inched along, taking nearly a minute of constant flooring it to make it to the edge of the bridge.

  Bretz checked his side mirror, seeing that the trailer portion stretched across two lanes of traffic, with only a single lane left empty. He took a deep breath and cut the engine, patting the steering wheel.

  “You did good, girl,” he cooed.

  Short shook his head in disbelief. “Hell, if I knew that was going to work, I would have been praising every vehicle I’ve ever been in,” he said.

  “What do you say we go check out the view?” the Corporal asked.

  The two soldiers rolled down their windows, carefully crawling out to the hood before hopping up on top of the trailer. They looked down the bridge at the ocean of death. It was packed so densely that not a single inch of pavement was visible.

  Bretz stood at the front of the truck, staring at the other side of the interstate that was just as packed. A decently sized crowd had stopped moving and staring up at him, arms outstretched.

  Well, maybe everything isn’t lost, he thought.

  “Hey, Corporal, come check this out,” Short said from the rear.

  Bretz headed back to where his partner stood and cocked his head. Short pointed to the water in the distance, where there were a couple dozen small boats on the water, all headed towards Mercer Island.

  “Looks like that island landing went well,” Bretz said. “Hopefully they were able to secure it.”

  Short nodded. “Maybe there’s some hope for this after all.”

  “Could be,” Bretz replied distantly. “Could be.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the satellite phone, dialing it up. After a few moments, David answered.

  “Captain Kersey’s line,” he greeted.

  The Corporal cleared his throat. “It’s Bretz, let me speak to the Captain.”

  “Hang on, Corporal,” David replied, and there was a moment of silence before the line clicked back on.

  “Your team at the bridge?” Kersey asked.

  Bretz nodded. “The five-twenty bridge protecting the eastern force is secure,” he reported. “God t
wo trucks there with three men to pick off stragglers.”

  “And the main target?” Kersey prompted.

  Bretz took a deep breath. “One truck,” he replied. “Two men.”

  There was a moment of silence before the Captain asked, “Resistance a bit more than originally anticipated?”

  The Corporal couldn’t help but chuckle. “You could say that, bud,” he said. “To be perfectly honest, we were lucky to get the one truck we did here. If it had conked out five yards earlier, we would have fallen just short.”

  “How’s it looking up there?” Kersey asked.

  Bretz turned and stared down at the undead ocean. “Like a shitshow and a half,” he said. “Can’t see any pavement at all.”

  “Hopefully the ones across the way will be more interested in you than our teams to the north,” the Captain replied.

  Bretz shrugged. “Well, if they aren’t, we did manage to secure a few dozen molotovs,” he said. “So we’ll be able to stem the tide a bit.”

  “Hopefully that will be enough,” Kersey replied. There was another tense moment of silence, and he quickly added, “And Bretz, I know you did everything you could to complete this mission. I have no doubt in my mind that nobody could have done it better.”

  The Corporal swallowed hard. “Appreciate that, Kersey.”

  “Sure thing,” the Captain replied. “Well, you boys get comfortable, and we’ll get to you as quick as we can.”

  Bretz nodded. “No rush,” he assured him. “The young Private here managed to sneak us a bottle of bourbon while we were securing the molotovs. So we’ll be good for a while.”

  “Did he get good stuff?” Kersey asked, sounding amused.

  Bretz glanced at his partner. “Captain wants to know if you got the good bourbon,” he said.

  “Aww, hell yeah, Corporal,” Short replied with a lopsided grin. “Top shelf all the way, none of that well bullshit.”

  Bretz chuckled. “He says top shelf,” he said into the phone.

  “Remind me to give him a promotion once you guys are back safe,” Kersey replied.

  Bretz laughed and gave Short a thumbs up. “He’ll be pleased to hear that.”

  “Well, you two stay safe,” Kersey continued, “I need to report to General Stephens and let him know what the situation is.”

  The Corporal nodded, tilting his head back to let the sun fall on his face. “If you need us, you know where we’ll be.”

  “You got it,” Kersey replied. “And again, great job today, Bretz.”

  “Thanks, Cap,” he replied, and the line went dead. He pocketed the phone and scratched the back of his head, suddenly realizing the stench wafting off of the carpet of the dead was rather ripe.

  “So what now, Corporal?” Short asked.

  Bretz shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “You want to try out one of those molotovs to make sure they work? You know. For science?”

  “Hell yeah!” Short replied, laughing. “I’ll grab a bottle.”

  As the kid darted to the front of the truck, Bretz pursed his lips, struggling to keep his composure. The fight was over for the time being, which was a relief, but the future was uncertain. All he could do now was drink some bourbon with a country kid and toss some molotovs onto a horde of undead.

  END

  Up Next: The action shifts to the southwest as a single ship makes a desperate beach landing in an attempt to create a southern front in the war in “Seattle - Part 4”.

  SEATTLE - PART 4

  DEAD AMERICA - THE NORTHWEST INVASION

  BOOK 6

  BY DEREK SLATON

  © 2020

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +24

  “What do you think, Jinx?” Private Davila asked, leaning on the railing overlooking the main cargo hold. “This the day we’re finally getting off this boat?”

  Corporal Eddie ‘Jinx’ Jenkins tongued his cheek. “That’s the rumor going around,” he replied. “Of course we’re heard similar rumors for the last two weeks.” He tilted his head, voice rising in pitch as he mocked, “Oh, we’re getting off in Portland. Oh, we’re headed for Hawaii. Oh look, it’s Fantasy Island, I can’t wait to party with that midget dude.”

  “Tattoo,” Davila offered.

  Jinx raised an eyebrow. “Tattoo?”

  “Yeah, that was the dude’s name, Tattoo,” the Private explained. “He would always yell Da plane, da plane! How do you not know that?”

  Jinx rolled his eyes. “How do I not know the name of a specific character from a seventies tv series?” He put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I don’t know, could be because I had a life before the end of the world. Better question is, how do you know the character name? What next, you going to rattle off the crew of the Love Boat?”

  “Well, there was Captain Stubing, Doctor Bricker, Isaac the Bartender,” Davila replied, counting off on his fingers.

  The Corporal chuckled, shaking his head. “Buddy, I’m going to tell you something that someone should have told you years ago,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “You really need to get out more.”

  “Nah, it’s not like that, man,” Davila replied, sharing the laugh. “I spent summers with my grandmother and she loved those old seventies shows. Had stacks of VHS tapes and would watch them over and over again. Even still had the commercials on them. I was so heartbroken as a kid when I found out I couldn’t get New Coke.”

  Jinx grinned. “From what I understand, you dodged a bullet there.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” the Private agreed.

  The loudspeaker in the cargo hold flicked on with a light squeal and fumbling mic noises before a booming voice echoed in the room. “Attention, all team leaders, please report to the briefing room,” it said. “Repeat, all team leaders please report to the briefing room.”

  “Well, looks like the rumors were true,” Jinx said, stretching his arms above his head.

  Davila grinned. “Make sure you get us a good assignment,” he said, pointing a finger at his Corporal. “None of this guarding a gas station nonsense. We’ve traveled this far and we’re ready to light these things up.”

  “You know it.” Jinx winked at him and they exchanged a fist bump. “Get the squad together at our usual table in the mess hall and I’ll brief you when I’m done.” He headed off towards the briefing room, glancing down at the floor below to see a few dozen men doing the same thing.

  This is going to be a packed room, he thought. Guess everybody is chomping at the bit to get off of this boat.

  Jinx worked his way down the narrow hallways of the ship, glancing in every room he passed to see them overcrowded with people and gear. When they’d left port nearly a month ago, there wasn’t much time to load things like normal, which meant vital goods like guns, ammo, and food had been thrown anywhere and everywhere they could.

  The USS Anchorage, a San Antonio class transport ship was state-of-the art, designed to carry all manner of man and machinery into battle. It was complete with a helicopter landing pad on the surface and a battery of weaponry that would put most other nation’s Navy ships to shame.

  Today, however, in the midst of the zombie apocalypse, the ship was vastly different. Instead of cargo holds filled with tanks and vehicles, it housed nearly a thousand soldiers on makeshift bedding. This effectively doubled the intended capacity for the ship, putting a strain on everything from the mess hall to simple things like plumbing.

  The close quarters and constant deployment at sea had begun to take its toll on the soldiers, with numerous fisticuffs breaking out over the previous week. The stress of not knowing when they would get off made it even worse, coupled with the worries that what they would be facing was too much for them to bear.

  Jinx, however, was not one of those soldiers. He was known for a wild streak and had gotten his nickname from his luck that bordered on the supernatural with how many times he’d escaped death in the field. He was itching to get off of this damn boat and dive head
first into action.

  He reached the briefing room, and it was already beginning to get crowded. About forty soldiers had squeezed into a room where twenty would have normally fit comfortably. Jinx looked behind him and spotted a handful of soldiers still working their way down the hallway.

  “Yo man, let me slip by you real quick,” he murmured, and when one of the men in the back turned towards him, he used the opening to slide in and work his way to the front of the room. He found a corner on the front row and knelt down beside the side door.

  A few moments later, the door opened and Captain Odom entered the room. He was an older man, easily in his late forties, with rapidly graying hair. The men all stood at attention in his presence, but he waved them off.

  “Everybody get settled, there’s a lot to go over,” he declared.

  Another soldier entered through the door, carrying a large printed satellite image tacked to a cork board. He set it up beside the Captain so that the room could see. It was focused on a bay just off the ocean.

  “Some of you have no doubt heard the rumors that our assault on Seattle began yesterday,” Odom began, “and I can confirm those rumors are true. Multiple strike forces attacking numerous points on the north and eastern parts of the target launched operations just before dawn yesterday. They have been fighting throughout the day and have been making some progress against the enemy. Now, while the rest of our ships have been moving to the north to assist in the assault on downtown, we have been held back for a special mission.”

  He looked around at the cork board and found a thin pointer nestled in the bottom tray. He held it up and began pointing to different spots on the map as he spoke.

  “This is North Bay, roughly fifty miles west of Olympia,” he continued, “which is our ultimate target. For those of you unfamiliar with the layout of the Seattle Metro area, Olympia is to the southwest, and is the last pocket of major civilization. Our mission is to land and push forward towards Olympia to create another front for the enemy to fight us on. It’s our job to distract as many as we can so that the ground forces can march in from the east.”