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

by Slaton, Derek

  Becker approached, lowering his voice. “Hey, can you level with me?” he asked quietly. “What am I doing here? Jackson is your second in command now, isn’t he?”

  “You’re here because I know you’re a leader,” Strickland replied as he kicked off his shoes and pulled on a pair of combat boots.

  Becker crossed his arms. “My rank suggests otherwise.”

  Strickland sighed and looked up at him. “Rank doesn’t correspond with being a leader. I know what you went through in the sandbox, and I know what you’ve accomplished. This is a do or die mission, and I need someone I can count on. That’s you. Not Jackson.”

  The Private gave a solemn nod. “Thanks, Strickland,” he said in a rare moment of sincerity.

  “You’re welcome,” the Corporal replied, bending back down to lace his boots. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

  Becker barked a humorless laugh. “Well, from the sound of things, if you do have regrets it won’t be for very long.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The blades began rotating on the chopper, and Paul slid his headset on, checking his gauges. “All right boys and girl,” he declared into the mic, “strap your asses in and hold tight. This is gonna be a short ride that could end very quickly if my math on the gas is off.”

  “Please tell me you at least got a quality education?” Becker joked.

  Paul grinned back at his motley crew. “Best school in rural West Virginia.”

  Becker blanched. “Fuck.”

  There was a round of chuckles as the helicopter lifted off, and within seconds they had a full view of the city. The streets were packed full of zombies, rotting, shambling corpses looking for meat.

  “Think anybody is alive down there?” Goodman asked, eyes wide with awe.

  Yates shook his head. “If they are, they probably aren’t enjoying life very much.”

  They cleared the downtown area quickly, but within view of the landing zone, the fuel alarm began to bleat angrily.

  Strickland leaned forward. “Are we good, Paul?”

  “Gonna be close,” the pilot replied.

  “Are we good?” the Corporal demanded.

  “Yeah, I see the landing zone up ahead,” Paul snapped. “Just shut up and let me focus.”

  Strickland nodded and tightened his grip on his restraints, the rest of the team doing the same as the beeping intensified. None of them had any background in aviation, and didn’t know whether the thing was going to drop out of the sky or not.

  Paul stabilized the vehicle as the engine began to sputter, and at about fifteen feet above the ground, they dropped. He landed evenly, though not without a good jostling, and quickly shut everything down before turning to give the Corporal a thumbs up and a grin.

  Strickland simply glared at him.

  As the blades slowed, the trio of Privates jumped down first, rifles raised to create a loose perimeter around the bird. A few zombies staggered from the construction zone towards the hubbub.

  Becker lowered his weapon and drew a machete, heading towards them at a brisk pace. He casually beheaded one, and then waited for the second to get within arms reach. He stabbed the blade into its face, and then swept the area with his gaze once more.

  “We’re clear,” he announced, and headed back to the group.

  Strickland jumped down and stood aside for Jean and Paul to clamber to the ground. “Okay, you all know your mission,” he said. “The rally point is here, two hours before sundown. If the mission isn’t complete by then, we’re gonna need to come up with a plan B before it gets dark.”

  “Any idea what that might be?” Becker raised an eyebrow.

  “No clue,” Strickland admitted brightly. “Although, if those apartments look nice you’re welcome to pick up a brochure.”

  The Private barked a laugh. “Consider it done, Corporal.”

  “All right, let’s move out,” Strickland said, raising a hand, and the two groups of three split off in their respective directions.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Strickland glanced over at Goodman as they moved through the woods on a dirt bike trail, noting the young Private’s white knuckles around his gun. “You need to relax some, kid, all that stress is going to burn you out.”

  “Just want to make sure I’m ready for anything, Corporal,” Goodman replied.

  Strickland nodded. “I appreciate that, but I’d rather have to relaxed when we encounter some of those things,” he said. “Odds are, we’re not going to find any runners out here in the wilderness, so if some zombies do pop up, we’ll have plenty of time to react. And react quiet and smart.”

  The younger soldier nodded, his shoulders lowering a little, but his eyes still scanning the trees intently.

  “So how much further have we got?” Strickland asked, catching up to Paul, who studied a printout as they walked.

  “Should be a clearing about a hundred yards ahead,” the pilot replied. “There’s going to be a small trailer park and a drop-off point for inner tubes. There’s a popular place a few miles up river and this is where it ends.”

  Goodman offered a small smile. “So we’re going tubing?”

  “Well, I’m kinda hoping there are some canoes as well.” Paul chuckled. “But we’ll take what we can get.”

  Strickland nodded. “Are we going straight across?”

  “We can, if you want, but might be a better idea to ride the current for a half mile or so,” Paul replied, motioning vaguely with one arm. “There’s a drag strip on this side of the river. Once we see that, if we get off on the other side, it’s a straight shot north through fields to my shop.”

  The Corporal nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like a plan to me. Could use a lazy river ride, the way this day is going.”

  As they reached the edge of the woods, they peered around the thick trees to survey the field and street ahead. There were six trailers lined up in two rows, about thirty yards from the river. A few zombies lumbered about, but a cluster of them banged on the side of one of the far trailers.

  Strickland raised his binoculars, scanning the area. “I’m not seeing a boat, raft, or even a single tube,” he whispered. “You sure we’re in the right spot?”

  “Positive,” Paul replied quietly. “This is where we came out last time we went.”

  The Corporal lowered the binoculars. “Then where are the boats?”

  “Could be down by the river,” the pilot replied. “It’s a good thirty, forty yards from the trailers.”

  Goodman squinted as he peered around the tree. “Could be some behind the trailers, too.”

  “Okay, this is what we’re doing,” Strickland said as he clipped the binoculars back to his belt. “We move quickly across the road and get to the outside of the trailer on the left. We hug the outside of it and then make a dash for the water’s edge, grab anything that floats, and hop on.”

  Goodman raised an eyebrow. “And the zombies?”

  “Don’t engage unless you have to,” the Corporal replied firmly. “We make any sort of noise, and we’re going to have a crowd.”

  Paul gripped his handgun tightly and nodded. Goodman gave him a pat on the back and held his own rifle at the ready, loosening his stance to get ready to move.

  Strickland gave them a wave and then darted out of the tree line, leading them quickly across the street. They managed to make it behind the first trailer unseen, moving silently with their backs against the fiberglass.

  Paul suddenly hissed, leaping away from the lineup and firing underneath the trailer. The shot missed completely, a zombie flopping out from underneath, moaning and reaching for him. Goodman, figuring the gunshot had fucked them already anyway, aimed down and put a bullet in the back of the corpse’s head.

  “We’ve gotta move,” Strickland said as Goodman grabbed Paul’s arm to get him back into formation. The moans and groans of the nearby zombies rose as they abandoned their posts and focused on the source of the new noise.

  As the Corporal reached the end of the
trailer, a zombie staggered around the corner, and without hesitation he fired right into its forehead, taking it down. He peered around the corner, and took a deep breath at the sight of at least a dozen creatures heading between the two trailers.

  “Find us a boat!” he barked, and then leapt into the space, firing a volley of automatic gunfire at the mini-horde.

  Goodman jerked Paul past Strickland, hurrying down the side of the second trailer. He stopped short as a door flung open, a clumsy zombie getting tangled in the stairs and falling face first into the dirt. The Private dispatched it quickly and jumped over the limp form, skidding at the corner to look around the front of the trailer.

  There were even more creatures coming out of the thick brush by the river, and he stepped forward to fire, dropping a handful of them with well-placed headshots.

  “Goodman!” Paul cried, clapping him on the shoulder.

  The Private looked to where he pointed, at a canoe leaning against one of the far trailers. He pursed his lips, not liking the distance, but upon looking up and down the riverbank he didn’t see anything else they could use.

  “Corporal!” Goodman yelled.

  Strickland stopped firing long enough to dart over to them as he reloaded his rifle.

  “Found a boat,” the Private explained, and pointed, “but it’s twenty yards that way.”

  Strickland took a moment to look and sighed at the cluster of zombies in their way. “Unless you want to swim, let’s do it,” he said.

  “Not a big fan of shrinkage,” Goodman replied, “so let’s get that boat.”

  The two of them marched forward between the trailers, Paul staying close behind them to avoid straggling. He held his gun tightly, watching the two soldiers take down zombie after zombie with terrifying precision.

  When Goodman’s gun gave a dull click, there was only a trio of corpses left guarding the canoe. He lunged forward and kicked the front one squarely in the chest, knocking the other two back and giving him a chance to reload. He took them out quickly as Strickland whipped around behind Paul’s back to cover their path back to the river.

  “You two get the boat, and I’ll clear the way,” he said as he reloaded his own rifle, taking down the zombies staggering in from the far end.

  Goodman pulled the boat down from its perch, and lifted one end. Paul grunted as he picked up the other, struggling a little, but then managed to get a decent grip and they shuffled after the Corporal. He moved slowly towards the river, aiming carefully but only firing on the immediate threats as they got closer and closer to the water.

  He jumped into the brush on the bank, making sure it was clear of waterlogged corpses before waving them in. They shoved the boat into the water, and Goodman held it steady while Paul scrambled inside. Strickland covered the bank as Goodman pushed off and hopped in, and then the two helped the Corporal clamber up.

  A few runners reached the bank, just close enough to grip the side of the boat, and Goodman fired wildly from the hip, bullets tearing into the zombie’s torsos. They weren’t kill shots, just sending them staggering back, but it was enough for the canoe to reach the safe center of the river.

  The three men caught their breath as the boat caught up in the current, carrying them along their destination.

  “Is everybody okay?” Strickland finally asked, tearing his eyes away from the corpses clustering at the river’s edge.

  Goodman clapped the winded pilot on the back. “You gonna make it, bud?”

  “If I… if I ev… ever say I can keep… up with you boys again…” Paul huffed, “I want someone to… smack me…”

  The two soldiers burst out laughing, partly in amusement but partly just in joy that they were still alive.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Good god, this is a fucking hike, man,” Yates huffed as he followed Becker through a field. They could see the small neighborhood next to the apartment complex in the distance.

  Jean raised an eyebrow at him. “Not afraid of a little cardio, are you?” she teased.

  “I mean, I guess all things being equal, I’d prefer to be here than back in the desert,” he admitted. “Pretty sure I’d prefer the walking dead to a hundred and twenty-five degree days.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, my grandmother lives in Phoenix and I used to spend summers out there growing up, so I know all about that.”

  “Last time I checked, Phoenix doesn’t get up to one-twenty-five,” Becker cut in, glancing over his shoulder.

  “It gets closer than you might think,” Jean replied. “Plus, there’s blacktop wherever you go, so you get baked from the top and bottom at the same time. Kind of an extreme heat spitroast.”

  Becker chuckled. “Extreme heat spitroast. I like that one.”

  They continued quietly towards the neighborhood, crouching in some knee-high brush to survey the area. Becker looked through his binoculars and studied a few zombies roaming around a cul-du-sac. There was a huge open field between the group and the highway, away from the cluster of houses.

  “It’s a little out of the way, but I think we should head south a couple hundred yards before crossing over,” Becker said, lowering his binoculars. “Anything we can do to not draw attention to ourselves is worth it in my book.”

  “Agreed.” Yates nodded. “I get the sense we’re going to be fighting enough of those things today without going and looking for it.”

  Becker cocked his head. “Jean?”

  She blinked at him, looking surprised that he wanted a civilian’s input. “I’m with you,” she replied. “I’m in no hurry to kill more of those things.”

  “More of those things?” Yates asked as they got up to move away from the neighborhood.

  “Like anybody who has survived this long, of course there is a story.” Jean rolled her eyes. “I’m not really keen on talking about it, but if you promise to keep it between the three of us, I’ll share.”

  The Private held up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Yeah, let’s hear it,” Becker agreed.

  Jean took a deep breath and let it out slowly as they strolled through the open field. “Okay, well, when this thing really started to kick into gear, I heard my neighbor screaming for help. I looked out my window and could see two of those things fighting to get into his apartment. And I’ll be honest, if it had been any other neighbor I’d had throughout my life I’d have just cracked a beer and waited for them to shut up.”

  Yates barked a laugh. “Damn, that’s cold.”

  “You haven’t met some of my neighbors,” she insisted.

  He raised his hands. “Fair enough.”

  “This kid was sweet,” she continued, “even helped me move a washer and dryer into my apartment when I got fucked by the delivery guy. So against my better judgement, I grabbed a knife out of the kitchen, snuck out my front door, and stabbed one of the zombies in the back of the head.

  “I had just enough time to pull the knife out before the other one turned on me. It came at my so fast I didn’t even have time to stab. I just aimed and got lucky when it rammed its eyeball through the tip of the blade.”

  Becker let out a low whistle. “Two runners with a single knife. That’s pretty impressive.”

  “Yeah,” Yates added as he ran his fingers through the tall grass, “why wouldn’t you want to share that story?”

  “Because of what happened next,” Jean said, swallowing hard. “He helped me up and took me inside his apartment to get cleaned up, and was extremely grateful that I had saved his life. Just thanking me profusely. I tried to tell him it was nothing, but he was adamant about making it up to me one day. Turned out it only took about two minutes.”

  Becker’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “You know that story sounds like he wouldn’t want it told. Being a two minute man isn’t good.”

  “Nah, it’s not like that,” Jean replied with a laugh, waving her hands in front of her face. “I was still in the process of removing the gore from my hair when there was a knock at the d
oor. It was some of you boys, there to take him to the stadium. Turns out he was some sort of science geek, and deemed vital to national security. As they started pulling him away, he stopped them and demanded that I be allowed to come too, since I was his top research assistant and vital to his work.

  “I’m not certain I could even tell you what his last name is, let alone what kind of research he does, but he convinced them. I don’t know if it was because they believed him, or they didn’t want to take the time to fight about it, but a minute later we were in an armor-plated vehicle rushing towards the stadium as the world descended into chaos around us.” She paused, and took a deep breath, glancing up at the sky for a beat. “If I hadn’t opened that door when I did, I have no doubt I would be dead right now.”

  There was a moment of silence, until Yates shook his head. “Pure kismet,” he said quietly.

  “Don’t you mean karma?” Becker asked. “She did a good thing and was rewarded for it.”

  “No, kismet,” Yates corrected. “Fate. He saved her life so she could be in a position to save all of ours.”

  His companion snorted. “That just sounds like the ten dollar version of the nickel word I used.”

  “You know, the military will pay for your college education,” Yates teased, a sly twinkle in his eye. “They’ll teach you fancy words like that.”

  “Hard to go to school when they keep stop-lossing me and sending my ass back to the desert,” Becker replied, though it sounded good-natured enough.

  “This is true,” Yates agreed. “Well, when we’re looting the SuperCenter, I’ll see if I can’t find you a philosophy book or something.”

  His companion barked a laugh. “That’ll work, I hear Ohio winters can be brutal. It’d be nice to have some emergency kindling laying around.”

  The trio shared a chuckle as they emerged from the grass onto the road. Busted cars dotted the area, but the only zombies were a few about fifty yards away, staggering around an overturned truck.