Dead America: The Second Week Box Set [Books 1-6]

by Slaton, Derek

  “We’re probably going to want to avoid Fort Stockton for as long as we can,” Leon pointed out. “It’s the biggest city between here and Junction. We’re not going to have the manpower or the firepower to deal with that. Hell, we can’t even clear our own backyard yet.”

  Rogers crossed his arms. “If they deliver on those weapon promises, we can start on that at least. But that’s only half the problem.” He rubbed his chin. “We really need able-bodied people. Right now these three are the only people who are able to venture out there.”

  Leon took a deep breath. “It’s a long shot, but I’ll start putting the call out to those military boys out in New Mexico,” he suggested. “Our schedule chat isn’t for a couple more days, but it couldn’t hurt to try.”

  “That’s a good idea, but the priority is finding supplies,” the Detective replied, shaking his head. “So whenever we have satellite coverage, I’d like you to be scouring every inch of ground you can.” He cocked his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. “If you don’t mind, Mister Mayor.”

  “Oh good lord.” Clara put a hand to her forehead.

  Leon smirked. “Nah, I’m good with Mayor,” he said.

  “And on that note, I’m going to go find some food and a bed to sleep in,” she announced, putting up a hand to stop him.

  “You did good today, Clara,” Trenton said softly, his voice sincere as he caught her attention. “You saved the town, really.”

  She shrugged, avoiding his gaze as if it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s my home now too,” she said nervously. “Just trying to do my part to carry the load.”

  “Well, you get some rest, because tomorrow morning we’re back at it,” he replied.

  She nodded and gave a little wave before hurrying out of the command center.

  “We should be doing the same,” Reed said.

  Trenton nodded. “Good call,” he agreed, and gave a salute to the duo in charge. “Don’t stay up too late, amigos.”

  After a return wave, the two remaining Fabens citizens turned back to the laptop as it gave a beep.

  “Looks like you’re up, Mister Mayor,” Rogers said.

  Leon gave him a sly smile. “I’m on it,” he assured him. “You should go get some sleep, Detective. I’ll keep watch.”

  Rogers clapped him on the back. “Oh, be honest, you just want free reign of the coffee pot.”

  “Only a day in and you already know me so well,” Leon replied with a chuckle.

  The Detective stepped towards the door, but then turned back to give his new companion a sincere look. “Thanks for everything you did today. We might not still be here if it wasn’t for you.”

  Leon shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. I get the sense this shit is just getting started.”

  END

  DEAD AMERICA: THE SECOND WEEK

  BOOK 4

  CINCINNATI

  BY DEREK SLATON

  © 2019

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +10

  “Fire! Fire!” somebody yelled as thick black smoke poured out of a storeroom at Cincinnati stadium. Screams erupted in the crowd, and several men in military uniforms rushed forward with fire extinguishers.

  “Move!” one of them demanded, trying to avoid barreling over a young couple in his way. Two of his comrades reached the doorway first and sent a sea of foam into the large room, but the two extinguishers didn’t do much to stop the inferno inside.

  “We need water!” one of the men cried. “Now!”

  One of his teammates tore off down the outer corridor, frantically searching for a fire hose. One of the straggling civilians waved him over in the distance, pointing to a hose box he’d spotted on the wall.

  The man in uniform nodded his thanks and threw open the door, taking the long hose off of its hook. “You wait thirty seconds,” he instructed the civilian, “then open this bitch up full blast, you got it?”

  The man nodded sternly. “I’m on it.”

  The military man threw the coil of hose over his arm, making sure that it would unravel as he ran, and tore off back towards the storeroom. He held the nozzle tightly at the ready, anticipating a strong flow and kickback.

  The hose tightened and straightened and fired almost as hard as a gun when the stream hit. The man grunted as he kept it steady, the water immediately hissing as it began to douse the inside of the storeroom. Steam wafted out the open doorway, and he stepped closer to try to aim farther into the room.

  The smoke and soot soon overwhelmed him and he dropped to one knee, coughing as he tried to keep the hose steady.

  A rough hand clamped down on his shoulder and pulled him back. Somebody took the hose and continued to spray the blaze while he gasped for air.

  “What in the good goddamn is going on here?” a stern voice snapped, and the man recognized it as Captain Hopkins, the military leader at the Cincinnati stadium shelter.

  “F-fire… in the store… storeroom… sir…” the man on the ground gasped.

  The Captain paled when he realized that the black plumes were coming from the particular storeroom that had held six months of military rations. The supply that was supposed to last the fifteen hundred residents while they waited for the greenhouses to start producing food.

  “Fuck,” Hopkins muttered, and motioned for a nearby civilian to come over to them. “You, get this man to the field hospital. It’s outside of section two-thirteen.”

  The man nodded and looped the gasping soldier’s arm over his broad shoulders, helping him to his feet. Hopkins clenched his jaw as he watched two soldiers continue to battle the blaze, one with the hose at a safe distance and the other with a fresh extinguisher.

  The Captain turned to a wide-eyed woman next to him. “You,” he barked, and she jumped but turned to him, back straightening. “When that fire is out, you tell my men I need an immediate status report. Can you handle that?”

  She nodded jerkily. “Yes… sir?” she replied.

  “Good,” he said. “Make sure they understand the immediate part. And they know where my office is.”

  “I’ll handle it,” she assured him.

  Hopkins strode off quickly, snatching his walkie talkie from his belt as he moved. “Bud, it’s Hopkins, come in.”

  There was a crackle from the receiver. “This is Bud.”

  “I need you to find Corporal Strickland,” the Captain said, “and the both of you need to get to my office immediately.”

  Bud paused, and then came back, “I believe Corporal Strickland is leading a team training exercise at the moment.”

  “I don’t care what he’s doing,” Hopkins snapped. “We have a situation and you two need to get to my office, now.”

  This time Bud was far more prompt. “Yes sir, we’ll be right there.”

  Hopkins clipped the radio back to his belt and stepped up to the railing on the second floor. He leaned on both of his hands, clenching his jaw as he looked out over the city. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, bathing the skyscrapers in hues similar to the flames consuming their rations at that moment.

  It would have been beautiful had it been any other morning. But this was the apocalypse. And it was often hard to find beauty in the apocalypse. Beneath the fiery glow of what would otherwise be a breathtaking sunrise were rotting corpses wandering the streets feasting on human flesh. It was enough to put a damper on such a peaceful sight.

  As if on cue, moans and groans echoed up to the Captain, and he looked down at the sea of zombies pressed up against the concrete wall of the stadium below. His presence had excited them, it seemed, and they reached up, milky dead eyes unblinking, mouths open and bloody saliva running down their chins.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to get past you motherfuckers,” Hopkins growled, clenching a fist. “But we’re gonna do it, one way or another.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hopkins sat down at his desk, a piping hot cup of coffee already waiting for him. Thank the heavens for good secretaries, even in t
he apocalypse. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pushed back some folders, rummaging for the large bottle of whiskey hidden there. He unscrewed the cap and poured a generous dollop into his coffee.

  “That kind of morning, Captain?” Bud asked as he strolled in through the open door.

  Hopkins took a long sip of his brew before returning the bottle to his desk. “Where’s Corporal Strickland?”

  “He’s on his way,” the older man replied, pulling out a chair to sit in. His chocolate skin shone under the fluorescent lights as he cocked his head. “What’s going on? You look downright spooked.”

  The Captain reached over and hit the speaker button on his phone. “Cathy, can you please bring us two more cups of coffee?” he asked. “And leave room in them, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cathy replied immediately.

  “I appreciate the gesture, Captain,” Bud said, leaning forward, “but you know I’m not a big drinker.”

  Hopkins shook his head. “You will be.” He ran his hands through his thinning hair and sighed.

  Cathy reached the office door at the same time as Corporal Strickland, a fit man in his mid-30s. He shot her an award-winning smile, his teeth blinding pearls behind cinnamon skin.

  “Thanks, I’ve got those,” he said, taking the two steaming mugs from her. She nodded her thanks and headed back to her post, and he entered the office, setting the cups on the desk. “Apologies for being late, Captain,” he said gruffly. “I was in the middle of a training exercise and had to pass it off.”

  “Please, Corporal, sit,” Hopkins said, waving to the empty chair next to Bud.

  Strickland sat down, and the Captain pulled out his bottle again, topping up the coffee cups with whiskey.

  The Corporal furrowed his scarred brow. “I’ve seen this movie before. How bad is it?”

  “About twenty minutes ago, there was a fire in the MRE storage room,” Hopkins said.

  His two guests remained silent, and then reached for their mugs, each taking a long sip.

  It was Bud who broke the silence, his face somber. “How extensive is the damage?”

  “I’m waiting on the final report.” The Captain shook his head. “But based on the smoke I saw pouring out of there, we’re going to have to assume it’s a total loss. If we are able to salvage anything, it won’t be enough to sustain the people we have here for very long.”

  “What about the greenhouses?” Strickland asked, leaning forward.

  Bud shook his head. “They’re still weeks away from being able to produce anything meaningful,” he said. “Hell, we don’t even have them all built up yet.”

  “Well.” The Corporal sighed. “What are you thinking, Captain?”

  Hopkins took a deep breath. “I’m waiting to be patched through to D.C. My hope is that they can air drop us some supplies to get us through.”

  “And if they can’t?” Strickland asked.

  “You’re gonna have to go out and get us some,” Hopkins said. “Which is why I wanted you here. You’re my field team leader, so you ask whatever questions you need to.”

  The Corporal nodded gravely. “Understood.”

  “Captain Hopkins,” Cathy’s voice came through the speakerphone, “I have John Teeter on line two for you.”

  He pushed the button to reply to her. “Thank you, Cathy,” he said, and then flipped over to the phone channel. “Hello, John, are you there?” he asked.

  “I am, Captain,” John replied. “And you’re also on the line with my top researcher, Whitney Hill.”

  “Captain,” a female voice added.

  “Miss Hill,” Hopkins greeted her. “You are also on the line with Bud, the civilian manager of this facility, and Corporal Strickland who is my field team operator.”

  “Gentlemen,” John replied. “So, Cathy has informed us that you had an emergency, but was sparse on the details. You wanna give me the nickel version? Because have a lot of fires we’re trying to put out at the moment.”

  “Understood.” The Captain sighed. “We had a fire in our store room. It’s still being put out based on what I witnessed, I’m going off the assumption that it’s a total loss.”

  John waited a beat before asking, “A total loss of what?”

  “Food and medicine,” Hopkins replied.

  “What the fuck, Captain?” John exclaimed. “Why was everything kept in one storage room?”

  “Because this is a small facility, and we’re still in the process of setting things up,” Hopkins snapped, unamused with the tone the man had taken with him. “Frankly, it doesn’t matter at this point, does it?”

  John let out a long breath. “No, I supposed it doesn’t.” He paused. “How can we help?”

  “Well, we need food and medicine,” the Captain replied. “Is an air drop in the cards?”

  “I’m afraid not,” John replied. “All of our assets are being moved to the northwest for an offensive. There isn’t a ship or plane within a thousand miles of you.”

  Hopkins clasped his hands tightly around his coffee mug. “What about trucks? I know there are a lot of forces in Kansas.”

  “Yes, there are,” John agreed, “and we’re in the process of creating caravans to get supplies out to survivors. It would take us weeks for us to get anything to you.”

  The Captain scowled. “Why in the hell is it going to take weeks to get us supplies by truck?”

  There was a shuffle and some muffled speech, as the two on the other end spoke quietly.

  “Well,” Whitney finally said, clearing her throat, “this has been kept under wraps for fear of destroying morale within our east coast facilities, so what I’m about to tell you does not leave the room. Are we clear on that point, Captain?”

  Hopkins leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee. “Depends on what you’re about to tell me,” he finally said.

  She sighed. “A few days ago, the decision was made to seal off the east coast by destroying the bridges over the Mississippi River.”

  “What?!” Hopkins slammed his mug down on his desk, coffee sloshing over the sides as he leaned over the phone, eyes wide. “Who was the stupid motherfucker that came up with that bright idea?”

  “I’m that stupid motherfucker,” Whitney declared.

  There was an uncomfortable silence between both parties, and the normally forceful Captain had no idea how to respond to that.

  “Before you have an aneurysm trying to think of some way to recover from that outburst,” Whitney continued, “let me assure you it was done so after careful consideration and a lot of debate. This was not a decision that was made lightly. We are in a very difficult situation and if we don’t do everything just right, we run the risk of becoming extinct.

  “Oh, and in case you think we’re sacrificing you for the greater good, remember that we’re on the east coast, too,” she added.

  Hopkins put a hand to his forehead. “Miss Hill,” he said hoarsely, “you have my apologies.”

  “No apology necessary,” she assured him. “Now, we did leave up a select handful of bridges so we can get supplies across, but they are all to the south, so it’s going to take time to get stuff to you. How long do you think you can hold out?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know yet, but possibly only a few days worth of food.”

  “In that case, we’re going to have to find you a local source of supplies,” John put in.

  “I’ll have my team pull up some current satellite imagery of the area and get it sent over within the next few minutes,” Whitney said. “That should help you scout.”

  Strickland leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “This is Corporal Strickland,” he cut in. “What about the area military bases? I know they were pulling supplies for us. Surely they still have some left.”

  “It’s unknown how much they may or may not have on hand,” John replied, “however I do know they were both overrun by massive hordes. They were slated to be evacuated but only a handful made it out.�
�

  Strickland took a deep breath. “Well, this just keeps getting better and better.”

  There was another shuffle on the other end and some inaudible chatter in the distance.

  “Gentlemen, my apologies, but we’re getting pulled into a meeting with the President,” John said. “Whitney’s team will have those satellite images over to you in a few minutes. Once we’re out of this meeting, we’ll devote some time and resources to seeing how we can help you boys out further.”

  “Thank you John,” Hopkins said, “and please give our thanks to Miss Hill as well.”

  “Will do,” came the reply. “Good luck.” There was a click as the line went dead, and all three men fell silent for a few moments.

  Bud took a deep swig of his coffee. “So, we’re on our own, huh?” he asked.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time the government’s done this to us,” Strickland muttered.

  “Okay,” Hopkins piped up. “While we wait on the sat imagery, I need you to do me a favor, Bud.”

  “What do you need, Captain?” the civilian leader asked.

  “We sure as hell ain’t driving out of here,” Hopkins said, “so we need to know what those choppers on the infield are going to be able to do for us.”

  “I’ll get one of the mechanics up here,” Bud assured him, getting to his feet.

  Hopkins put up a hand. “We’re also going to need someone familiar with the area. It’ll help immensely if we know what’s inside the buildings we’re looking at.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Bud promised, and left the office.

  Strickland’s shoulders straightened. “What do you want me to do, Captain?” he asked.

  “Figure out who your team is,” Hopkins instructed. “It’s going to be a max load of six in that chopper if we want to bring back supplies. We may only have one trip if a horde gets wind of you.”

  “I can work with six,” the Corporal said.

  “I know you can.” Hopkins nodded firmly. “Just be back in fifteen.”