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

by Slaton, Derek

  As they turned, another dozen or so zombies flooded towards them from another aisleway. They fired, dropping about half of them before they both ran out of ammo. Yates swapped his magazine as Becker grabbed hold of a shopping cart from the cash.

  He ran towards the smaller group, smacking into the lead zombie, the momentum flipping it forward into the cart. He plowed the remaining moaners, sending them tumbling back to the linoleum. As they floundered around, struggling to get up, he pulled his handgun and quickly executed them before finishing off the one in the cart.

  Yates caught up to him, taking a defensive position as Becker reloaded his rifle.

  “Solid move,” he huffed.

  “Thanks, used to watch reruns of Supermarket Sweep with my mother,” Becker replied as he clicked a fresh magazine into his gun. “Taught me a thing or two about proper cart mechanics.”

  They turned towards four zombies emerging from an aisle to their right. They raised their weapons and took them out quickly before turning back to the main group coming from the center aisle.

  “We’re burning through way too much ammo,” Yates worried.

  Becker waved for him to follow. “I’ve got an idea, come on,” he said, and led him down the opposite side of a large freestanding metal display. “Start rocking this bitch so we can tip it over.”

  Yates caught on and they wrenched it back and forth. The noise coupled with their grunts caused the zombies to stay on the other side of it, slapping the metal instead of streaming around to the back.

  “Push!” Becker screamed, and the soldiers both heaved with all their strength, finally pushing the beastly unit over. It crashed down onto the horde, crushing skulls and bones. A few towards the rear simply fell back, but Yates opened fire, taking them out with precise headshots before they could get up and clamber over their fallen brethren.

  Becker listened to the moans and groans coming from beneath the display, and pushed against it with his boot. It didn’t budge an inch.

  “Well, they may not be dead,” he said, “but I don’t think they’re going anywhere.”

  Yates nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Let’s do another quick sweep of the store to make sure there aren’t any stragglers,” Becker suggested. “Then we can get what we need and get the fuck out of here.”

  “I’ll do the sweep,” Yates replied. “You hit hardware and get that metal saw to Jean so she can start opening up the truck.”

  Becker nodded. “Sounds good. Meet back at the garden center in five.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Goodman sprinted through the trees, bobbing and weaving around trunks, brush scraping against his legs. He fired a few shots over his head with the assault rifle towards the horde behind him, but didn’t stop to see if he’d hit anything. He was doing an okay job outrunning them, considering he had a lot more maneuverability what with his being alive and all.

  He slowed to a jog as he pulled the map from his pocket, along with a compass. That hiking trail has got to be pretty close to here… he thought, scanning the paper.

  His eyes flicked up at the echo of moans in front of him, and he quickly pocketed his gear, taking aim at two zombies in the direction of the hiking trail.

  FUCK, they’re in front of me too! he thought wildly, fighting to keep his breathing steady. He marched forward at a brisk pace, and when they were about ten yards away, he took them down with two quick shots. He double checked to make sure they were fully dead, and scanned the area ahead for more surprises.

  “That had better be it,” Goodman muttered as he headed towards a bit of a clearing in the trees.

  The snarls behind him grew closer and he sprinted forward, bursting into the clearing. The hiking trail ran right through it, and he turned in the direction he needed to go, seeing eight zombies staggering towards him in the dirt.

  He raised his rifle and managed to drop three of them before running out of bullets. He ejected the mag, but when he reached for another, his pouch was flat beneath his hand.

  Fuck.

  The ammo bag was in the tow truck.

  He threw his now useless assault rifle over his back, pulled out his handgun and machete, and darted towards the remaining five zombies in his way. Just before reaching them, he ducked under the arms of the one to the side and darted into the brush to get around them.

  Something gripped his belt and he swung wildly with a scream, slicing down with the machete into a rotted wrist. It didn’t come completely free of the arm it was attached to, and the hand still held fast. He fired point blank into the elbow, freeing himself and staggering back onto the trail.

  He sprinted along the trail, pumping his legs harder than ever before. His heart pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the moans of the zombies coming through the woods to converge on the path. He passed a wooden marker that declared 1 mile until the end, and knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this pace for much longer.

  He slowed down to a more manageable jog, just fast enough to keep the distance between him and the horde consistent. Occasionally a straggler would wander onto the path from the trees, but Goodman dodged them easily, not wanting to waste precious time stopping to fight.

  He finally came to the end of the trail, reaching a parking lot filled with several cars and even more zombies. He skidded to a stop to catch his breath for a few moments, spotting the interstate in the distance. He just had to get there and then it would be a straight shot to the landing site.

  He took a deep breath and jogged to the left, giving the parking lot zombies a wide berth. They turned to stagger after him, but most of them just bonked around the cars like rotted pinballs, giving him enough time to tear to the on ramp.

  “Fucking hell,” Goodman huffed at the sight of several hundred zombies packing the road. They were likely the horde that had followed the tow truck rumbling by earlier. He looked at his handgun and then holstered it. There would be no use. He didn’t have near enough rounds to deal with a horde this size.

  He turned to run back down the ramp, but the zombies from the woods had caught up to him, filling the road quickly. A frustrated scream tore its way from his throat and he ran to the edge of the ramp, leaning over the concrete edge to look down. There was a steep embankment filled with thick brush, and he couldn’t tell how deep it was.

  Yeah, this isn’t going to feel good, he thought, and sheathed his machete. He hopped over the concrete wall and slid down into the brambles, sharp branches slicing open his arms and face. He covered himself as best he could, falling into a roll at the bottom.

  His knees hit the asphalt of the frontage road hard, sending jolts of pain up his thighs. But he had no time to think about that as moans echoed around him, closer than the ramp. He staggered to his feet, shaking his head to stave off dizzy exhaustion, and spotted a sign pointing down a side street that boasted River Access.

  “Guess I’m going for a swim,” Goodman gasped the words to himself, and hobbled down the road as the moans behind him crew louder and denser.

  He finally spotted the water, and only two zombies stood in his way. He drew his handgun and fired twice, putting a bullet in each skull, and glanced over his shoulder at the ocean of rotting flesh pursuing him.

  He holstered his weapon and splashed into the water, the cold a welcome boon to both his overheated body and his exhausted brain. He flipped over onto his back and began a nice lazy backstroke, enjoying the relative safety of the water as the creatures lined up on the bank.

  “Fuck each and every last one of y’all,” Goodman declared, giving the zombies the finger. He let out a laugh, a note of hysteria in his voice at how he’d managed to survive this far.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Yates strolled up to the garden center door, having completed his sweep. “You okay?” He furrowed his brow.

  Becker sat on the floor, head buried in his arms resting on his knees. He raised a hand without raising his head, and motioned to the door before letting his arm flop back down.

 
“Just… just take a look,” he said, voice muffled by his arms.

  Yates stepped up, pressing his face against the small rectangular window looking out over the outdoor center. “What the hell?” he breathed, eyes widening. The place was jam-packed full of nearly a hundred zombies. “How are there so many of them in there?”

  “Fuck if I know, man,” Becker moaned, finally raising his head to look helplessly at his companion. “It almost looks like someone decided to use this as a storage facility for the sick once people started to turn. Regardless of why they’re in there, I have no idea how we’re pulling this one off.”

  Yates cocked his head, stepping back from the door. “I’ve got an idea, give me a minute.” He headed off back into the store, and Becker stared up at the ceiling, fighting to control his breathing.

  In the distance there was a beeping noise, and it got closer and closer until Yates came around the corner, riding a small forklift. He slowed to a stop and opened the driver’s door.

  “What do you think?” Yates asked.

  Becker threw his hands up. “What do I think about what?” he snapped. “You want me to compliment your ability to drive one of those things?”

  “No, we can use this to get past those zombies and get the seeds,” his companion replied.

  Becker blinked at him. “Okay. Um. How, exactly?”

  “Well, the cab is well protected, so they won’t be able to get in,” Yates said, patting the open door. “And we can grab a pallet out of the back so you have a platform to ride on.”

  Becker shook his head and then blinked at his companion again, face ashen. “So,” he began, and cleared his throat before continuing, “your plan is for me to surf… on a fork lift… above a sea of flesh-eating zombies.”

  “And grab the seeds, yeah, just like that,” Yates confirmed, and cocked his head as his friend massaged his temples in shock. “I mean, if you have a better idea, I’m all ears.” He shrugged. Silence. “Well?”

  “No, I don’t have a better fucking idea,” Becker growled. “I’m just trying to delay the inevitable of me pallet surfing over a sea of death.”

  Yates grinned. “I’ll go get a pallet, then.”

  “Goddammit,” Becker muttered as his companion put the forklift into reverse.

  A few minutes later, Jean stood beside the garden center door, ready to throw it open. “You ready to do this?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Becker, who bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, testing his footing on the wooden skid.

  “Fuck no, I’m not ready to do this,” he grunted.

  “I think he’s about as good as he’s going to get,” she said.

  “Agreed,” Yates replied, leaning out the forklift door. “When I give the signal, you throw open the door. As soon as we’re through, you slam it shut. When we come back, we’ll be coming in hot, so be ready.”

  Jean nodded. “I will be.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her back pocket and grabbed a bright pink canvas bag, holding it out to Becker.

  He took it, a look of distaste evident on his face as he unfolded the offending fabric, complete with smiling purple flowers printed on the side.

  “You know, for the seeds,” Jean explained, and scratched the back of her head nervously under his death glare. “Yates, you’d better head out before he strangles me,” she joked.

  “On your mark,” the driver replied and settled into his seat, closing the door securely. He cracked the window just in case he needed to talk to Becker.

  She nodded at him before jerking the door open, and he floored the accelerator, picking up a head of steam as they sped into the garden center proper. The door slammed shut behind them and Yates paused, getting the lay of the land.

  “Holy fuck, there are runners!” Becker cried, motioning to a few fast moving zombies approaching them.

  Yates shrugged. “As long as they aren’t climbers, you should be okay,” he called as he moseyed the forklift along the aisles.

  “Motherfucker, don’t even joke about that,” Becker snarled as the zombies reached them.

  They smacked against the sides, leaving bloody handprints along the outer edge of the vehicle, but otherwise parting as it bumbled happily along the aisle.

  “The next one is ours,” Becker pointed, keeping a wide-legged stance and trying not to look down at the sea of hungry monsters waiting to devour him if he fell.

  Yates drove slowly, allowing Becker to grab handfuls of seed packets and stuff his pink canvas full to bursting with various fruits and vegetables.

  “I think we’re good,” he called back, tying the handles securely so nothing would fall out. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  Yates pointed past him. “There are still more seeds that way.”

  “We’re past the food and into the flowers, now,” Becker replied.

  Yates cackled as he sped up to outrun their followers. “Don’t you think some roses would brighten up the stadium?”

  “I’ll draw you a fucking picture, now let’s go!” Becker demanded, bracing himself against the roof of the forklift as they turned the corner at the end of the aisle. They put some distance between them and the horde, but three runners had pushed through the main group and were catching up.

  Becker wedged the bag of seeds securely between his feet and drew his rifle, leaning on the roof to aim. He managed to drop one, but couldn’t manage to hit the other two with their erratic speed.

  “Fuck, I can’t get them!” he cried.

  Yates slammed on the brakes and drew his handgun, rolling down the window. They reached the driver’s side, screeching, and he quickly dispatched them at point blank range, blowing rotted brain matter all over the garden hoses.

  He dropped the gun into his lap and floored it again, speeding towards the door. Jean opened it to allow them to speed through, and then slammed it again behind them, clear of the disappointed zombies on their tail.

  Yates lowered the pallet so that Becker could jump off, and he let out a deep sigh of relief as his boots hit the floor.

  “Did you get what we need?” Jean asked, double-checking the door before heading over to him.

  Becker grinned, holding out the ridiculous pink bag. “I hope you like salad.”

  “Well, I always said it would be the end of the world before I went on a diet,” she replied with a relieved laugh. “Turns out I was right.”

  Yates jumped down from the forklift and the trio headed for the storeroom, in significantly better spirits than when they’d traveled the other way.

  “Are we loaded up?” Becker asked.

  Jean nodded. “Loaded up and got the hole in the roof cut,” she confirmed. “We’re ready to head back to the chopper.”

  Becker let out a deep sigh of relief. “Let’s head out, then.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jean drove slowly along the interstate so that she could weave around the random broken down cars strewn along the highway.

  “The turnoff to seventy-four south should be just up ahead,” she said. “Then, just a hop, skip and a jump away from the landing site.”

  Yates took a deep breath. “Hope the other group was able to get the fuel.”

  “Well, if not, we got enough food to start our own little colony together,” Becker piped up.

  Jean rolled her eyes. “No offense boys, but that doesn’t sound too appealing to me.”

  “What, you don’t want to play den mother to a couple of rough and tumble soldiers?” Becker teased, and then lashed out to brace himself as she slammed on the brakes. “Damn, sorry, didn’t realize it was that bad of a suggestion.”

  “No,” she snapped, “look.”

  The soldiers stared down the interstate, seeing a shambling horde of hundreds of zombies just past the turnoff to the seventy-four.

  “Fuck,” Becker breathed, “if we turn of now, then they’ll just follow us to the landing site.”

  Yates leaned forward. “Jean, if you would please pull
up to those cars just by the turnoff.”

  “What the fuck are you going to do?” Becker demanded.

  His companion reached into the ammo bag and pulled out a block of C4, wiggling it in the air with an excited grin on his face.

  Becker scoffed. “You’ve had that this whole time?”

  “Just saving it until we really needed it,” Yates replied with a shrug.

  His companion threw his hands up. “Yeah, I mean, it’s not like we’ve been trapped and surrounded by zombies how many fucking times this trip.”

  “It just goes to show how much confidence I have in your abilities, oh leader,” Yates drawled.

  Becker glared at him. “We’re having a chat once we get back to the stadium.”

  Yates chuckled as Jean stopped beside a large pileup of cars. He hopped out and attached explosives to several areas of the vehicle wreckage, and then clambered back up into the cab.

  “Okay, we’re good,” he declared.

  Jean popped the truck back into gear, and took the ramp to the seventy-four. About a half mile or so down the road, Yates grinned and hit the detonator.

  The explosion was immediate, and so powerful that the truck rocked on his tires.

  “Christ!” Becker cried. “How much of that stuff did you use?”

  Yates shrugged. “I don’t know, a couple of blocks?”

  “Felt like you used enough to level a couple of blocks,” his companion muttered.

  “Just wanted to make sure the zombies stayed attracted to that, and not to us,” Yates explained.

  Becker let out a low whistle. “Well, if that doesn’t do it, then nothing will. Holy fuck.”

  As they pulled up on the landing site, the mood in the cab rose to significant heights at the sight of a tow truck with a fuel tanker attached to the back of it. Strickland and Paul were in the midst of gassing up the helicopter, and the Corporal turned to the trio as they bustled out of the transport.

  “What in the hell was that explosion?” he demanded. “Was that you?”

  Becker pointed both hands at his companion. “That was all Yates,” he said, and raised his palms. “He decided we needed a diversion for the horde on the interstate.”