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

by Slaton, Derek

  “That may be true,” Kersey said thoughtfully, “but I’d much prefer to go down fighting. I like the thought of taking some of those things out with me if I have to go.”

  Baker snorted. “I’ll remember that the next time we’re in a dead end situation.” He slowed to a crawl and stopped about fifteen feet from the hangar door and killed the engine.

  “Okay, no shots unless absolutely necessary,” the Sergeant said as he drew his machete. “Let’s find some chain, secure it to the back, and get out.”

  His companion nodded. “Lead the way.”

  As they walked to the open door, they heard the crack of gunfire in the distance.

  “Sounds like Kowalski is still having a good time,” Kersey said, shaking his head.

  Baker grinned. “He really wants those bragging rights, doesn’t he?”

  “Just doing what I can to keep him motivated,” the Sergeant admitted, and they entered the hangar. They scanned the large space and didn’t see anything moving in their immediate area, but there were several shadows and dark corners.

  Kersey reached over and smacked the handle of the machete against a metal table, sending a loud clang through echoing through the space. There were no answering moans, but there was definitely sounds of movement coming from one of the offices to the left.

  “You get the chain, I’ll check it out,” he said, and after Baker’s nod, headed over to the office. It had a giant bay window as one wall, and he cringes at the sight inside. There was an overturned desk along the far wall, pinning a pissed-off looking zombie behind it from the waist down.

  Next to the desk sat a corpse in coveralls, a large chunk of his face missing, a double-barreled shotgun sitting in his lap. Kersey shook his head, not envying the series of events that had likely led to the moment this man decided to take his life. He noticed a large box of shells next to the limp man, and drew his bottom lip between his teeth in deliberation.

  “Couldn’t hurt to have a little more firepower,” he muttered, and slipped into the office, careful to stay out of reach of the pinned zombie. He grabbed the shotgun and the shells, securing them to his belt, and then vacated the area quickly.

  “Found some chain?” he asked as he approached Baker.

  The Private stood over a workbench with a whole mess of industrial tools scattered across it. “Yeah, there’s a whole mess of it over there.”

  “Well grab it and let’s get going,” the Sergeant urged.

  Baker crossed his arms and turned to his superior. “I was thinking, Sarge,” he began, “I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to just hook the chain up to the center of the truck back. Too much of a risk it’s going to snap under the weight.”

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

  Baker wrapped his hand around a giant drill and held it up, the thick bit glimmering as he tilted it. “Give me twenty minutes and let me drill a few more holes through the hull,” he suggested. “Then we can hook up several chains and distribute the weight evenly.”

  “I like it,” the Sergeant agreed with a nod, and held up the shotgun he’d found. “And while you do that, I’m going to make this a little more dangerous.”

  As Baker headed off with the drill, Kersey moved over to a large metal saw. It was battery-powered, and he fired it up, laying the shotgun barrel down to line up his cut. The saw went through it like butter, and he held up his brand-new sawed-off shotgun, blowing gently on the cut tip.

  A half an hour later, the soldiers ran the last of the chain through the holes on either side of the center hitch. Baker attached large hooks to the ends that they could use to affix the fire truck.

  “Well, what do you think?” Kersey asked as he took a step back from their handiwork.

  Baker grinned as he piled the excess chain into the back. “I think that’s as good as it’s going to get.”

  “All right, let’s do it,” the Sergeant said, and they clambered back into the cab. As they approached the fire truck, they rumbled through a pothole, sending the chains clanking against the metal frame.

  A dozen or so zombies staggered out of a nearby broken-down store, and Baker shook his head. “Shit, that woke some of ‘em up.”

  “How much time do you need to hook up the chains?” Kersey asked.

  “Five minutes, max,” the Private replied.

  The Sergeant checked his assault rifle, and put his hand on the door handle to get ready to jump out. “You get that truck moved. I’ll handle them,” he said.

  Baker nodded as he hit the brakes. “Yes, sir.”

  Kersey threw open the door and jogged to the center of the street, heading away from the trucks and the other direction of the pack of corpses. He waited until he was at least twenty yards away from Baker before taking aim and firing.

  “I’m over here, boys! Come and get me!” he yelled as he dropped two zombies in quick succession.

  He continued to walk backwards, drawing the group of rotted flesh away from the trucks, brow furrowing as more zombies came out of the woodwork and staggered up onto the road between him and Baker.

  “Well, this isn’t good,” he muttered, and jogged down into the ditch into a vacant parking lot in the direction of the airport. He turned around again and continued to fire, dropping more corpses to get trampled by the growing horde in pursuit of him.

  His rifle gave a dull click as the zombies matched his pace, about ten yards away from him, and he pulled out his new shotgun, firing a spray of metal pellets. The blast sent bits of gooey flesh and bone flying, tripping up a few of the horde.

  The metallic grinding of metal on metal echoed in the distance, and he glanced over at the trucks to see the back of the dump lifting up.

  “Fucking hell,” he cursed as he noticed some stragglers heading in that direction. “Baker, you’d better be back in that truck.” He broke into a sprint, angling himself so he could skirt around the pursuing corpses. He managed to get a bit of distance before reloading his rifle and firing at the zombies heading for the trucks.

  He paused to line up a shot on one of them, but its head exploded before he could fire. Baker gave him a thumbs up from the front of the dump before clambering up into the driver’s seat.

  Kersey took off in the direction of the airport, hitting the runway and pounding pavement towards the wreckage, moving parallel along the train tracks. The piercing screech of metal on metal as Baker floored it in reverse, and caused a good chunk of the horde to switch gears, but with the Private safely in the truck Kersey focused on his own safety.

  He continued to fire and run, fire and run, and then checked back on the trucks through his scope. “What the fuck are you doing?” he murmured when he realized that Baker was pulling the fire truck this time. The screeching was near deafening, even from so far away, but then he realized it was actually working.

  Except the noise had drawn the entire horde.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Oh no you don’t!” Kersey roared, and fired with the shotgun some more, but the metallic squeals drowned him out. He once again sprinted around the horde, back up the tracks towards the trucks, hoping to beat them there.

  He threw his rifle over his shoulder and pumped his arms as well as his legs, heart leaping as the fire truck cleared the tracks. Baker jumped out and hit the lever to lower the door, and then looked up at his Sergeant with easily a hundred zombies in close pursuit.

  “Get the chains!” Kersey screamed.

  Baker got to work unhooking the fire truck, and the Sergeant reached him, huffing as he struggled to undo a chain that had gotten crushed by the twisting metal frame.

  “That worked better than expected,” the Private said brightly, unhooking three of the five chains.

  Kersey shook his head. “Let’s avoid getting eaten before you make that proclamation,” he said, still struggling to get it free.

  Baker grasped the other one on his side, finding the same problem that the chain was completely stuck in the busted fire truck. He
looked up at the approaching horde, only about fifteen yards away.

  “We’re not going to make it, Sarge,” he warned, eyes widening.

  Kersey looked over his shoulder and grunted, kicking the fire truck in frustration. “Fuck!” He shook his head and ducked under the chain to get to Baker’s side. “Head towards the hotel, now!”

  They took off down the road a bit before turning north onto a side street, skidding around the corner at the sight of more corpses in the middle of the road. Two zombies staggered out of the open door of a house to the right tumbling ass over tea kettle as they tried to navigate the stairs, and Kersey shoved Baker in that direction.

  They swept past the tangled creatures and thundered up the front steps, hurtling inside and slamming the door behind them. The soldiers dropped to the floor and pressed their backs up against the wall, staying out of sight and silent as possible.

  The moans and groans outside seemed to be moving past them as opposed to circling the house, but there was a shuffling echo from the living room. Kersey looked over at his companion, putting a finger to his lips. Baker nodded and the Sergeant drew his machete, heading silently down the hall.

  He jumped into the room, prepared to strike high, but the zombie was short, and dove for his midsection. He thrust down into the top of her head, leaping back, her face bouncing harmlessly off of his torso that she’d wanted to devour just a millisecond before.

  He tore the machete from the teenaged corpse’s head, and let out a deep sigh of relief over having narrowly escaped death, once again.

  Baker entered the room, shoulders a little more relaxed. “The bulk of the horde’s past the house, now,” he said. “You okay, Sarge?”

  “Heart’s going like it’s keeping the beat at a rave, but other than that, I’m good,” Kersey replied.

  Baker nodded. “I think if we give it five minutes or so we should be able to sneak out and get back to the truck.”

  The Sergeant shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” he said, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what you did, but that hook on the chain I was working on is completely embedded into the frame. It’s going to take a fuckin’ torch to get that off.”

  “So how are we getting Kowalski?” the Private demanded.

  “Maybe Bretz and Johnson can get him before heading to the train?” Kersey asked as he pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Mason, come in.”

  The response was near immediate. “Mason here, Sarge.”

  “What’s the status on Johnson and Bretz?” Kersey asked.

  “We’re fine Sarge, thanks for asking,” Bretz replied. “All done.”

  Kersey sighed. “Fuck.”

  “I’m going to assume that wasn’t in regards to our safety?” the Corporal joked.

  “Sorry,” the Sergeant replied, “we have a bit of a situation here and could have used your truck.”

  Bretz came back, “Sarge, if you need us to, we can go get another one.”

  Baker waved the Sergeant over to the window.

  “Hang on, I think Baker has an idea,” Kersey said, and lowered the radio to go have a look. “What have you got?”

  “There’s a Humvee at the house across the street,” the Private said. “Should be good enough to get us through the crowd.” He motioned through the curtains at the bright yellow Humvee proudly displayed in the driveway across the way.

  “You think you can hot wire it?” Kersey asked.

  Baker grinned. “Might kill the resale value, but yeah, I can do it.”

  “Bretz,” the Sergeant said into the radio, “getting another truck isn’t going to be necessary.”

  The Corporal let out a sigh of relief. “Good to hear that, because we really don’t want to run from these fuckers any more than we already have today.”

  “You and me both, brother,” Kersey replied. “Mason, can you put Bill on?”

  There was a pause before the engineer said, “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

  “How long do you think it would take you to get to the airport?” Kersey asked.

  “We can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay, you boys get ready to move and wait for our signal,” the Sergeant instructed. “We might not have much of a window to hop a ride.”

  “Ten four, I’ll be ready,” Bill replied.

  Kersey turned the dial to channel eight, and raised the radio once again. “Kowalski, you still having fun?”

  Yet another gunshot echoed in the distance, and then there was a click. “Absolutely, Sarge!” the Private replied. “I’ve taken out a few hundred of these boys! This record is going to stand until the end of the war!”

  “I’m glad you’re excited,” Kersey said, smiling. “I’ll need you to change gears a bit, though.”

  “You on your way to come get me?”

  “Yeah, but there’s been a change in plan,” the Sergeant said, taking a deep breath. “We’re going to need you to find a way down off the roof so we can pick you up at ground level.”

  There was a long pause. There were a few clicks, as if he were starting to speak and then thought better of it. “I’m sorry Sarge,” Kowalski finally said, “can you repeat that? My radio had the bullshit filter turned on.”

  “No. You heard me correctly,” Kersey declared.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” the Private cried. “I’ve spent the last hour attracting every zombie in the city to me, and currently have half the goddamn population of this shitberg surrounding me. And you want me to get down to the ground? What the fuck happened to the dump truck?!”

  Kersey gave him a moment to calm down, and then replied, “It’s permanently fused to the fire truck.”

  “Just…” Kowalski stammered, anger clear in his tone, “fine… goddammit. Give me a minute.”

  “I don’t think he’s happy,” Baker quipped.

  Kersey shook his head. “Yeah, wherever we stop next we’ll have to raid a trophy shop and make him an award for his daily kill record.”

  “I’ll add it to the shopping list.” The Private laughed.

  “Sarge, I just checked the way I came up, and the room is filled with zombies,” Kowalski came back. “Even if I could get by them, the entire upper floor is clogged with those things. So unless you want me to go full frat boy and jump into the pool, I don’t know how I’m pulling this off.”

  The soldiers shared a sly glance.

  Kersey raised the radio to his mouth. “A pool, you say? Where’s it located?”

  “Sarge, we need to work on your sarcasm detection,” Kowalski snapped.

  “Well, if you didn’t want to do it, then you shouldn’t have suggested it,” the Sergeant shot back. “Didn’t you learn anything from the Istanbul mission? Now where’s the pool?”

  “Goddammit,” Kowalski growled in defeat. “It’s in the back of the hotel.”

  Kersey cocked his head. “Are there many zombies around it?”

  “A couple dozen, but it’s gated so I’ll have a safe landing zone.”

  “Okay, you get read to move,” the Sergeant instructed. “Baker and I have to jack a ride, and then we’ll be over.”

  Kowalski sighed audibly. “Fine. I’m shooting a couple more zombies just on principle before you get here.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “How are we looking?” Kersey asked as he joined Baker at the front door.

  The Private peered through the curtain. “Still about half a dozen, but nothing we can’t handle.”

  “How long to hot wire it?” the Sergeant asked.

  Baker shrugged. “Two, three minutes max.”

  “Okay,” Kersey said with a nod, “you make a beeline to the vehicle. I’m on zombie duty.” He pulled out his machete, gripping it tightly. “Gonna be as quiet as I can be.”

  They took up positions on either side of the door, and shared a look before the Sergeant threw the door open.

  Baker sprinted across the street, drawing the attention of the six shambling zombies, and they
turned to follow him, moaning with excitement. Kersey leapt quietly down the steps, coming up behind them, executing a surprise attack. He brought the weapon down hard on the back of the first one’s head, caving in the skull. He immediately spun and thrust, catching the next one in the side of the face with the blade, and as they both crumpled to the ground, Baker reached the Humvee.

  Kersey slashed at a third zombie, but the echoes of more moaning rode to him on the breeze, and he turned to see a good portion of their old pursuers heading back towards them up the street.

  “So much for stealth,” he muttered, and pulled out his handgun. He rapidly dropped the last three zombies still heading for Baker, who popped his head out of the vehicle in surprise. “I got it under control!” the Sergeant yelled. “Keep working!”

  Baker ducked back into the vehicle as Kersey brandished his assault rifle, firing into the oncoming fleet. He dropped as many as he could in the front, sending them stumbling over their fallen brethren as he reloaded.

  “How we looking?” he yelled.

  Baker stuck his hand out the door, keeping his head under the dash. “Thirty seconds!” he shouted back.

  Kersey ran up next to the passenger door, firing again to try to trip up more of the staggering dead. The gap rapidly closed, and when the horde was about twenty yards away, the vehicle roared to life.

  “Got it, let’s go!” Baker cried and jumped up into the driver’s seat.

  Kersey dove inside, and the Private reversed and then floored it, sending corpses flying in every direction as he barreled up the street.

  “Man, I miss this kind of power behind the wheel,” Baker groaned as the vehicle mowed through the zombies like they weren’t even there.

  Kersey chuckled. “Thank god for overcompensating civilians,” he replied, and raised the radio to his lips. “Mason, tell Bill to hit it.”