Dead America The Second Week (Book 5): Dead America: Heartland Part 3

by Slaton, Derek

  The Private saluted him and jogged over to the road, taking a knee and looking through his scope to size up the situation. There was an overturned car on the side of the road that he estimated as his hundred yard marker.

  In the meantime, Kersey waved Baker in, inching him up to the bumper of the fire truck. He stopped him when the dump barely kissed the vehicle.

  “Okay, you’re looking good,” he said, taking a few steps back. “When you hit the gas, floor it. Keep an eye on me and I’ll let you know if you need to lay off.”

  Baker nodded and dropped gear, then punched the gas as hard as he could. The tires caught on the dirt and slammed into the overturned truck, whining and straining with every last ounce of horsepower.

  “Hell yeah, keep it moving!” Kersey cried, waving to the Private to keep going as the fire truck began to slide off of the tracks. As the cab crossed over the first rail, however, it came to an abrupt stop, and he put his palms out, darting forward.

  “What the fuck happened?” Baker cried as he let off the gas.

  The Sergeant shook his head. “I don’t know, hang tight,” he replied, and laid down on the tracks to get a better view. He noticed on the side of the cab that was facing downwards, a hunk of one of the metal braces had broken free and wedged into the rail. “Something metal is caught on the tracks,” he called, and got up onto one knee.

  Baker muttered a curse under his breath and sighed. “Ideas?”

  Kersey thought for a moment, and then studied the lever on the side of the dump truck that allowed the back to rise and empty its contents. “I’ve got an idea, but we’re going to need some chain,” he said.

  “Sorry Sarge, but I’m fresh out,” Baker replied.

  “Maybe in one of the hangars?” the Sergeant asked.

  “Sarge!” Kowalski shouted from the road. “Whatever you’re going to do, it’s gotta be in the next two minutes, cause these boys are getting close.”

  Kersey scrubbed his hands down his face. “Fuck.” He glanced back at the horde and skirted around to the passenger’s seat. “Kowalski, on me,” he demanded, and the Private followed him up into the cab.

  “Thanks for taking bitch seat, Sarge,” the Private quipped.

  Kersey shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t heard my plan.”

  “Fucking hell,” Kowalski muttered.

  “Where am I going, Sarge?” Baker asked.

  “Go up a couple more blocks,” Kersey instructed, motioning away from the horde. “Turn towards the interstate, then head back to the east. There was a two-story hotel by a roundabout a few blocks back.”

  Baker shifted into reverse. “Here’s hoping they have a mini-bar.” He glanced in the rearview. “Should I be getting them to follow us?”

  “Nope, that’s Kowalski’s job,” Kersey replied.

  “Sarge, I know I got a lot more ammo, but…” the Private in question trailed off.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be on the roof,” the Sergeant explained. “And you get to spend the rest of the day picking off as many as you want. Not to mention you’ll have the unit record for most kills in a day.”

  Kowalski brightened. “Really now? Okay, I’m in.”

  Baker rumbled up the mostly empty street, and sped towards the hotel parking lot. There was a burned-out car upside down in front of the main entrance, and most of the windows on the ground floor of the scuzzy building were broken.

  “Christ, Sarge, you couldn’t have found me some better digs?” Kowalski quipped. “This looks like the kind of place that charges by the hour and comes with a dead hooker in every room.”

  Kersey wrinkled his nose as he imagined a zombie hooker flopping about on a hotel bed. “Good thing you don’t have to go inside, huh?”

  Kowalski barked a laugh and grabbed his ammo bag. He hung out the door and climbed up the side of the truck, making an easy leap over onto the second floor railing. He leaned over as Kersey grabbed the door handle.

  “You boys don’t forget to pick me up, now,” he called.

  Baker offered a grin. “Don’t worry sunshine,” he yelled back, “wouldn’t dream of missing out on weeks upon weeks of you bragging about the most kills in a day!”

  “As soon as you’re in position, start shooting,” Kersey said as he shut the door, leaning out the window. “Don’t stop until we come back. And stay tuned to channel eight on your radio. I’ll let you know when we’re headed your way.”

  Kowalski saluted. “Good luck, Sarge.” He watched as the dump rumbled away, back in the same direction it had come. He turned his attention back to the main road, and the flood of zombies flowing into the streets and parking lots nearby.

  He ran to the end of the exterior hallway to the maintenance room, and kicked open the door. There was a ladder there that led up to the roof, and he burst inside, securing the door behind him.

  The roof was slightly slanted, but easy enough to navigate the metallic shingles. Kowalski took position at the top center, straddling the gentle peak and settling onto the rounded center. He wedged his ammo bag in front of him and unslung his rifle.

  “Okay, who wants to go first?” he asked, and scanned the crowd. He focused on what looked like a bodybuilder, missing large chunks of muscled bicep. “Sorry bud, but you remind me of my high school bully. Here’s a little payback.”

  Kowalski pulled the trigger, and the zombie’s head exploded in an array of crimson, splattering the corpses shambling around it.

  “And, there’s one,” the Private said brightly. He took aim again, this time firing on a short blonde valley-girl with milky dead eyes. “Yeah, take that, Karen!” he cried.

  He lowered his rifle and raised his eyes to the clouds, taking a moment of self reflection. “Yeah, I may have some lingering issues from my formative years,” he said to himself, and then chuckled.

  Kowalski raised the rifle and fired again and again, the cracks drawing even more moans to the hotel. “All right Sarge,” he said with a grin, “I got ‘em occupied. Do your thing.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Johnson studied the map of the south side of town, but was drawn out of his reverie at the thunkthunk of zombie flesh hitting the grill of the truck.

  “Goddamn, Bretz, could you hold off on ramming these sons of bitches?” he demanded. “Making it difficult to hold my train of thought.”

  “I mean, I could always lay on the horn,” the Corporal replied, “but I don’t think they’re going to get out of the way.”

  Johnson sighed and pointed out the windshield. “When you get up to the next intersection, slow down so I can see where we are,” he said.

  Zombies poured out of every opening, attracted to the rumbling of the dump. Bretz pulled up in front of the charred remains of a building, and the sound of hands smacking against the sides of the truck intensified as they stopped.

  Johnson looked at the street sign and then back to the map, lips pursed tightly.

  “You know, it’s okay to admit when you’re lost,” Bretz teased.

  The Private growled. “I know where we are!” he snapped, and after another moment finally tapped on the paper. “There, found us!” He grinned, leaning back in his seat, satisfied.

  “Uh,” the Corporal began, raising an eyebrow, “are you going to share with me, or do I have to guess?”

  Johnson shook his head as if to clear it. “Oh, sorry. It’s two more blocks up, then turn left. We should see the church after that.”

  “I think I can manage that,” Bretz replied, and put the truck back into gear. He easily steamrolled over the hundreds of zombies surrounding them, parting the horde as they headed for the turn.

  The side street only had a handful of corpses milling about, but the church in the distance was surrounded by a horde of easily a hundred strong.

  “That’s gotta be it,” Johnson pointed.

  Bretz pulled up to the side of the church, and as they approached, a pale arm hung a white flag out of one of the windows.

  “Looks lik
e they’ve been expecting us,” the Corporal said. He pulled closer and rolled down his own window, leaning out as if he were in the drive-thru.

  A man in classic black pastor’s clothes surveyed the soldiers. “Well, it’s not an Ark, but I think given our current situation that might be for the best.”

  “Especially when you consider ole Johnson here gets seasick,” Bretz replied.

  His passenger scoffed. “It was one time!”

  “Well I appreciate you boys coming,” the pastor replied, putting a hand over his chest. “I’m Pastor Dave.”

  “Good you meet you,” Bretz replied. “I’m Corporal Bretz, and this here is Private Johnson.”

  Dave nodded to each of them. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Seth gave me a heads up that you boys were coming, so I got everyone moved into the rec center around back. It’s got a flat roof, so I figured that would be easier than having people jump out of windows.”

  “Sounds good,” the Corporal replied. “We’ll meet you around back.”

  He pulled away as Dave closed the window, and the truck rumbled around to the back, drowning out the excited moans.

  “Man these critters are hungry,” Johnson said as they pulled up as close as they could to the side of the one-story building.

  Bretz slithered up into the driver’s door window. “Come on, let’s get up there and help out,” he said.

  They pulled themselves up onto the top of the truck, and a tall man in jeans and a polo shirt rushed over to the edge to give them a hand over.

  “Be careful now,” he said. “That isn’t a fall that you’re gonna be coming back from.”

  “Appreciate the hand there,” Bretz replied as he jumped the gap.

  The man smiled and helped Johnson across as well. “I’m George, the youth pastor here.”

  “Thank you,” the Corporal said, and introduced himself.

  Johnson did so as well, shaking the youth pastor’s hand. “So, what’s the deal, here? Where’s everybody at?”

  George pointed at a hole in the far end of the roof, where a balding man reached down to pull a young woman up.

  “They’re still in the rec center,” he explained. “We have some elderly people in the group, so we thought it best to wait for you to get here before bringing them outside.”

  Bretz scratched the back of his head. “Don’t suppose you have some ladders we can use, do you?”

  “Yes sir, we do,” George said with a grin. “We’ll bring one up right now so we can start getting people loaded in.”

  The Corporal nodded. “How many people are we looking at?”

  “Thirty-seven, including myself, sir,” the tall man replied.

  “Okay, give me half a dozen able bodied men to get down into the truck first,” Bretz instructed. “We’re going to have a couple on the edge and the rest in the bed to help the less abled.”

  “Sounds good,” George agreed. “You wait here and I’ll get them rounded up and over to you.”

  Johnson sighed as he stared down at the sea of hungry corpses below. “Loading elderly people into a trash truck as an army of dead things bang on the side of it.”

  Bretz couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, they left this one out of the recruitment brochure, didn’t they?”

  Several minutes later, they had four burly young men inside the back of the truck, with two more standing at the top of the ladder.

  “Okay, let’s start loading in some of the elderly,” Bretz said, he and Johnson stationed at the edge of the roof.

  George approached with a woman who looked to be in her mid seventies. “Come on, Miss Mary, let’s get you down there,” he said gently. The soldiers helped her over to the men on top, and the ones in the bucket braced her as she climbed down.

  “Christ, we’re gonna be here for days,” Johnson muttered under his breath.

  Bretz shrugged. “At least we’re up here, nice and safe,” he said. “We could be dealing with that fire truck.”

  “Or we could be like Mason with our feet propped up on the train listening to Bill tell stories,” the Private shot back. “I mean, how does he keep getting that gig anyway?”

  “You should take it as a compliment.” Bretz grinned. “Just shows that Sarge has a ton of faith in you.”

  Johnson barked a laugh. “Well, remind me to fuck something up next time I’m around him.”

  All of a sudden there was a metallic screech.

  “What in the fuck?” Johnson breathed, and the soldiers turned to see the back of the dump truck opening up, the front end rising. The people already inside scrambled to hold on to whatever they could, screaming.

  “Oh my god, what’s happening?” George cried.

  Johnson let out a growl of frustration as she spotted the zombies hanging off of the release lever for the bucket. He pulled his rifle from his back and released the mag, making sure the chamber was empty.

  “What are you doing?” Bretz snapped.

  “One of them fuckers hit the lever, and we gotta hit it back,” Johnson replied. “You two are gonna lower me down as low as you can so I can hit it with my rifle.”

  The Corporal glanced at the fearful faces in the bucket as it raised even higher on its ascent.

  “Fuck, let’s do it,” Bretz said, and motioned to George. “Get his leg.”

  Johnson laid down on his stomach and they each took a leg, lowering him down over the side of the roof. “Bretz, if you drop me, I swear to christ I’m going to haunt your ass.”

  “I might not if you weren’t such a fatass,” Bretz grunted.

  In the back, the men were able to grip the sides of the truck, but one struggled to hold himself and keep hold of the elderly lady in his grasp.

  “It’s okay,” Miss Mary whispered.

  He shook his head, his hand loosening on the side of the bucket. “I’m so sorry.”

  She wiggled out of his grip and slid down the bed towards the throng of hungry creatures. He watched in vain, able to solidify his grip now that he had the use of two hands. One of the young men closest to the bottom caught her to stop her descent, but her momentum caused him to lose his grip and they both went tumbling into the horde.

  Miss Mary went headfirst into the asphalt, the zombies descending upon her immediately to snuff out her screams.

  The young man cried out in disappointment and fear as he kicked off of the shoulders of a corpse to try to scramble back into the rising bucket. He almost managed to get a fresh grip on the metal but shrieked in pain as teeth tore into his calf.

  His screams and pleas for help spurred Johnson on, the soldier desperately stabbing at the lever with his rifle. A zombie grasped hold of the butt of it, and they began a vertical tug-of-war.

  “Let go, motherfucker!” Johnson yelled, and pulled out his handgun with his free hand, firing into the zombie’s face. The creature’s grip went slack, and Johnson stabbed once more, finally catching the lever.

  The gears shifted pace and the door began to close, the bucket returning back to its prone position. A few men joined George and Bretz in hauling the soldier back up onto the roof, and he flopped over onto his back in a sweaty heap.

  “Holy shit, that sucked,” he huffed.

  Bretz clapped him on the shoulder. “Could be worse, you could have been on my end. You’re going on a fucking diet, that’s an order.”

  Johnson gave him a playful salute while he caught his breath.

  Screams arose inside of the truck, and the Corporal joined George at the edge of the roof to watch in helpless horror as the door came down on the young man whose legs were being feasted on below.

  The life drained from his eyes as the door severed his thighs, and Bretz took aim. “Everybody stay back and cover your ears,” he said, and the other civilians in the truck complied, turning their faces away as well. He fired once, putting a bullet into the back of the young man’s head.

  “Why did you do that?” George cried, grabbing his arm.

  Bretz shook him off. “If I d
idn’t, then he would have become one of them. And we’ve lost enough lives today.”

  Johnson got to his feet. “We’re going to have to keep a watch, make sure they don’t hit the lever again.”

  “Won’t be an issue,” Bretz replied, and took aim again, firing a single shot that severed the lever directly from the truck with a metallic cling. “That should do the trick. Even so, keep an eye on it.”

  Johnson nodded and reloaded his gun, slinging it back over his shoulder. “If it means I don’t have to be dangled over them like a fish at one of them Sea World shows, I’m all about it.”

  Bretz pulled out his walkie talkie and moved out of the way as they began to move people across into the truck again.

  “Mason, come in,” the Corporal said.

  There was a quick crackle and a click. “Mason here.”

  “You boys getting along okay?” Bretz asked.

  “Yessir, just watching zombies tumble down the embankment into the river,” came the reply.

  The Corporal rolled his eyes. “Sounds like you’re working hard.”

  “Always, sir,” Mason replied easily.

  “Mission update,” Bretz continued, “we’re at the church getting people loaded into the truck. At the pace we’re going, we should be headed your way within the hour.”

  “We’ll be waiting and ready for you, sir,” the Private said.

  Bretz straightened. “Have you heard from Sarge?”

  “Yes sir, they had some complications on their first run, but they’re gearing up for another go at it,” came the reply.

  The Corporal sighed and nodded. “Okay, I’ll contact you when we’re loaded up. If we need to delay transport so we’re on their timeline, let me know.”

  There was a moment of static before another click and Mason declared, “Yes sir. We’ll see you soon.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Baker sped across the tarmac.

  “That hangar looks like our best bet,” Kersey said, pointing to one with an open door and a half-dismantled plane inside.

  Baker eased to the right, scoping out their target as he drove. “Yep, looks like maintenance.” He slowed a little to avoid a hunk of metal from the crashed airplane. “Not saying I’d wish that fate on anybody… but given the way this town ended up, they probably got off easy.” He inclined his head to the charred corpses everywhere, some still strapped into their seats.