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

by Slaton, Derek

  “Ain’t your fault,” Ortega assured him. “We’re just not a fan of this whole let’s send out some disposable assets without proper intel or resources.”

  Hickman pocketed the map with a sigh. “Especially when we’re the disposable assets.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The truck rolled into the north part of town, still chugging away despite running on fumes. There was only one lone zombie lumbering along the edge of the street, and it looked up dumbly with milky eyes as they passed.

  “The school should be three, four blocks up on the left,” Hickman said, pointing through the window.

  As they got closer, zombies began to stagger out of everywhere. They stumbled down lawns, bouncing off the sides of the truck and tumbling back into the grass on the side of the road. As they reached the football field, Harlan slammed on the breaks, the three men’s jaws dropping at the sight before them.

  “What the hell happened here?” Ortega breathed.

  The school was a smoldering wreck.

  The football field crawled with zombies, the fence completely down. There was a massive hole blown into the side of the building proper, and the second floor collapsed into the first along the entire back half of the building.

  They’d been told this was a survivor camp. But there didn’t seem to be a single living thing left.

  All of a sudden a high-pitched buzz echoed in the cab, as the fuel light blinked rapidly. Harlan immediately threw the truck into gear and floored it.

  “What are you doing?” Ortega cried.

  The driver shook his head. “Tryin’ to get us the fuck outta here before we run outta gas. If I can’t get us clear we’re gonna be in a heap of trouble if we’re surrounded by those things.”

  The soldiers shared a grim look, silently conveying that this was the only logical solution. In front of them was a modest downtown area filled with one and two-story buildings. Two blocks up stood a wall of zombies, at least a thousand clogging the street.

  “Can we punch through them?” Ortega asked.

  Harlan dropped gear and punched the gas. “We’re gonna try!”

  As he smacked several corpses staggering around on the road, flinging them harmlessly to the side, Hickman opened his map.

  “It’s a straight shot out of town, maybe a mile and we’re clear,” he said.

  And then the engine sputtered.

  Hickman clenched his jaw. “So much for that.”

  “Hang on boys, this is gonna be bumpy!” Harlan bellowed, and jerked the wheel to the left. They bounced up onto the sidewalk, screeching along the first building on the block which was a clothing store with shattered windows. They ran over a good amount of zombies, crunching them beneath the tires as the rest swarmed around the open sides of the truck.

  “Get to the roof!” Ortega barked.

  He rolled down the passenger window and pulled himself out, careful not to let any part of his body dip low enough into the sea of rotted fingers reaching up to grab him. He knelt on top of the cab, and then reached down to help Hickman up. Harlan struggled to get through the window, his belly catching on the sill. He twisted around to sit there and reached up, screaming as a zombie managed to brush up against his ass.

  “Holy fuck they’re getting me!” he cried.

  Ortega grasped his wrists tightly. “Stay calm, man, I got you,” he said firmly, and pulled.

  The larger man struggled to find his footing, and then pushed off of the window frame to wiggle his way up onto the roof. He flopped over onto his back, chest heaving.

  “Why the fuck did I volunteer for this?” he huffed.

  Ortega clapped him on the shoulder. “Could be worse. You could still be in Kansas.”

  “Well played, son,” Harlan wheezed. “Well played.”

  Hickman stood on top of the transport container, and turned to look down on his two comrades. “Once you boys catch your breath, we can get up on the roof of this store,” he declared. “It’s clear up here.”

  Harlan nodded and sat up. Ortega helped him his feet and they clambered up onto the back, making their way up to the roof. The trio stood at the edge and stared down at the street below. There were at least a thousand zombies covering every inch of the road, a sea of moaning flesh clogging the space between every building.

  “Don’t think the yo-yo technique is gonna work this time,” Hickman said.

  Ortega took a deep breath. “No shit, brother.”

  As they stared at the sea of death below, a sharp whistle cut through the air. They looked around and then saw a flash of blonde hair on a roof four buildings down from them. The figure waved at them.

  “Think they’re friendly?” Harlan asked.

  Hickman shrugged. “Given their current situation, I don’t think they have a choice.” He didn’t want to add that they were in the same boat, and led the way across the buildings to get closer to the waving man.

  Upon approach, they realized it was a young man that couldn’t have been older than seventeen. He stood at the edge of his roof, about eight feet of groaning alley separating the two buildings.

  “Man, are we glad to see you guys,” the young blond gushed. “Are you here to help us?”

  Ortega scratched the back of his head. “Well, that was the original plan, but it doesn’t look like we made it in time.”

  “Yeah, what the hell happened at the school?” Hickman asked.

  The young man shook his head. “I’m still not a hundred percent sure,” he admitted. “Some of the others inside can fill you in better than I can. Why don’t you jump across and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the group?”

  Harlan glanced down and immediately backed up, raising his hands in surrender. “Man, I got a better chance of bein’ kidnapped by porn stars who have a thing for truck drivers than makin’ that jump.”

  “We got you covered,” Ortega assured him. “Hickman, you go ahead and jump across. I got an idea.”

  His companion nodded and took a run at it, springing across the gap with ease. He turned around and took a wide-legged stance.

  “Okay, I want you to do the same thing he just did,” Ortega continued, motioning to Harlan. “Only I’m gonna give you a boost, and he’s gonna pull you in.”

  The driver gaped at him, mouth opening and closing twice, before he scrubbed his hands down his face and shook his head in defeat. He took a deep breath and lined himself up in front of the soldier, psyching himself up for a jump that he was sure would kill him.

  He leapt, with Ortega timing a significant shove to his back, and managed to land on the side of his ankle.

  “Motherfucking goddamn fucking son of a fuckin’ whore bitch!” Harlan cried as Hickman caught his stumbling form, lowering him down into a sitting position.

  The soldier took a close look at his ankle and then patted his knee. “It ain’t broke, just gonna be sore for a couple of days.”

  Ortega jumped across and they helped their now-limping friend to his feet.

  The young man waved for them to follow him. “Come on, the ladder inside is this way.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Harlan muttered obscenities under his breath as he descended the ladder, trying not to put too much pressure on his smarting ankle. Ortega caught him at the bottom, and Hickman followed close behind, the three of them turning to face the room.

  There were about twenty people in the furniture store, all ages and shapes and sizes strewn about.

  “I told you I heard something, Ryan!” a red-headed woman that looked to be in her early twenties cried as she approached the blond.

  He rolled his eyes. “And I believed you,” he replied, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have climbed up. Gentlemen, this is our spitfire, Audrey.”

  “Welcome to our very own little slice of heaven,” she said, extending her hand. The trio shook it in turns.

  “Nice to meet you,” Ortega said. “I’m Private Ortega, this is Private Hickman. And this big ball of joy is Harla
n.”

  The redhead furrowed her brow at the wincing truck driver. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, he’s fine, just twisted his ankle up a bit,” Hickman replied.

  “Oh, well the Doc can take a look at him as soon as he’s done with Jordan,” Audrey said, motioning over her shoulder. An older man sat, wrapping a bandage around a younger man’s leg.

  Ortega pursed his lips. “You know bites are contagious, right?”

  “No fucking shit, dude,” the redhead snapped. “Just because we’re in a small town doesn’t mean we’re morons. It also doesn’t mean we haven’t been dealing with the same world-ending bullshit that you’ve been dealing with. Or did you happen to miss the thousand rotting corpses on your way in?”

  The soldier raised his hands in surrender, shaking his head. “Whoa, whoa, I wasn’t implying that,” he assured her. “It’s just when I enter a room and see someone bandaged up, I just like to check.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re still alive and kicking so it should be a safe bet that we figured that one out,” Audrey scoffed, crossing her arms.

  Ryan stepped closer to her, interjecting himself between the two. “Jordan broke his leg when we escaped from the school,” he explained.

  “Come on,” the redhead said gently to Harlan, holding out her hand to support him and lead him over to the doc. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

  “Thanks girl, I appreciate it,” the big trucker huffed.

  “Hey, Ryan,” a mid-thirties soccer dad greeted as he walked over with a middle-aged black man in a janitor’s uniform. “We got the last big dresser moved over to the windows.

  The blond nodded. “Are the curtains working?”

  “Hard to say.” The janitor shrugged. “They’re still leaning up against it, but I can’t tell if they’re pushing as hard.”

  Ryan’s brow furrowed. “Is somebody watching it?”

  “Yes, Miss Becky is on window duty,” he replied.

  The soccer dad motioned to the soldiers. “So, did the military come to rescue us?”

  “Not really,” Ortega replied, scratching the back of his head. “We were actually coming to help you solidify your survivor camp, but it appears we got here a bit too late.”

  Hickman sighed. “And Ryan here wasn’t any help in filling in the blanks for us. Either of you know what happened at the school?”

  The two men glanced at each other, and the younger man motioned to the older. “You knew it better than any of us, Ruben,” he said, “be my guest.”

  “I mean there were, what, a hundred and fifty, two hundred of us in there, Garrett?” Ruben replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  The soccer dad nodded. “About that.”

  “Well regardless, we were able to secure the old school and the football field before things got too bad out here. And things were going pretty well.” Ruben paused, taking a deep breath and putting his hands on his hips. “We had plenty of food, plenty of room, and that generator was nice and full so we had heating and air. I thought we had enough to keep us going until somebody like you showed up, but then yesterday happened.” He motioned around the room. “See, pretty much everybody here now was out by the concession stand, turning part of the field into some farm land when it went down. I didn’t see what caused it myself, just heard this horrific scream coming from the gate. One of the younger kids had apparently wandered off from whoever was watching them, and they walked up to the horde. I looked up just as the lock gave out, and hundreds of those things swarmed onto the field.” He paused and blinked a few times. “That little kid was swallowed up whole. And the woman wasn’t far behind.

  “Some of the people here wanted to run to the school, but I stopped them, knowing we wouldn’t make it in time. We took cover behind the concession stand and watched as the field flooded with those things. They were able to get the school locked up tight, but the problem was the generator. It was exposed and close to the door. The zombies must have been attracted to the noise, and got caught up in it or something because it didn’t take long for the smoke to start.

  “When we saw that, we got moving, running out of the football field and heading towards downtown. Not long after that, we heard the explosion.” He swallowed hard, and looked to the ceiling, taking a deep breath before composing himself. “Somehow we were able to fight our way in here, and we’ve been here ever since.”

  “And unfortunately for us,” Ryan added, “enough of those things saw us getting in here that they stuck around and attracted the crowd that’s out there now.”

  Ruben leaned forward. “But you fellas went by the school, didn’t you?” he asked. “Were there any survivors?”

  “Most of the building collapsed in on itself,” Ortega said, shaking his head sadly. “If there are any survivors under there, we don’t have a way to get to them or get them out. I’m sorry.”

  The janitor nodded in somber acceptance.

  “So, have y’all thought about getting out of here?” Hickman piped up.

  “We tried yesterday, before the crowd outside got too big,” Ruben explained. “One of the local boys thought he could lure them away and give us a chance. He got down to the end of the street and started making a ruckus, but that only attracted more zombies. Before he had a chance to react, he was surrounded. Ever since then, all we’ve done is lay low.”

  Garrett shifted his weight from foot to foot. “So what about that truck?” he asked, eyes wide with hope. “Can it get us out of here?”

  “We ran out of gas as soon as we pulled up,” Ortega said.

  “Damn.” Garrett winced. “Is there anything useful in there?”

  “Yeah, it’s filled with useful stuff,” Hickman replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s kind of the entire reason we’re here.”

  The portly man narrowed his eyes. “I mean, is there anything useful to our current situation?”

  Hickman sighed. “Yeah, plenty. There’s a shitload of guns and ammo in there, but it’s behind about fifteen pallets of other stuff. So unless you want to start unloading the truck, we ain’t getting to it.”

  “What about diesel?” Ortega cut in. “Is there a gas station in town?”

  Ryan wrinkled his nose. “There is, but we drained it and and took everything to the school.”

  “Great, so no diesel anywhere in the general vicinity,” Hickman declared. “This mission keeps getting better and better.”

  Ruben suddenly gasped. “Hey! What about ole Charlie Russell?”

  Garrett furrowed his brow. “Crazy Charlie down there in Mason?”

  “Yeah, him and I go way back,” the janitor replied, waving his hands around. “I mean, we kinda lost touch when he… well…”

  His companion raised an eyebrow. “Went survivalist nut-job?”

  “I probably wouldn’t have put it that way, but yeah,” Ruben said.

  “A survivalist might have diesel on hand,” Ortega cut in. “How survivalist are we talking?”

  “A couple years back, he decided to turn the trailer park he owned into a compound for like-minded individuals,” Garrett explained. “Didn’t take long before he was the only resident left.”

  Hickman nodded. “How far away is Mason?”

  “A couple miles due south of here, just on the other side of the river,” Ruben replied.

  Hickman raised an eyebrow and turned to the other soldier. “I mean, if we can get some fuel up here, we could employ the biggest goddamn yo-yo this world’s ever seen.”

  “It’ll give us a chance to refuel and get the fuck outta here,” Ortega agreed.

  “Would you fellas mind joining us on the roof?” Hickman turned to the others. “We have some plans to make.”

  Ryan nodded. “I’ll grab Audrey. If she finds out we’re making a plan without her, she’ll cut me.”

  The Private barked a laugh. “After their last conversation, there’s a better chance she’d cut Ortega.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Okay, just give us a lay of th
e land,” Hickman said as the group congregated on the roof. The zombies below sounded excited as all hell, reaching up to try to get to the moving fresh meal above.

  “To your right is the north side of town with the school,” Audrey began, motioning up the street. “Straight ahead to the west, about three quarters of a mile up, you’ll run into the river. Don’t let the name fool you, it’s more like a glorified creek if anything. Most places it’s going to be waist deep at best. And to your left is south, where after a couple miles you’ll hit the bridge that will take you right into Mason.”

  Hickman nodded. “And how big is Mason?”

  “Maybe a hundred people?” Garrett replied. “Honestly, I’d be surprised if anyone is still left there.”

  The Private shook his head. “Well, with the way today’s going, let’s assume it’s going to be full. Even so, I think we can handle a hundred.”

  “Y’all have that much ammo?” Ryan’s eyes widened.

  “I got a hundred for my rifle, and another twenty or so for my handgun, pretty sure Ortega has the same,” Hickman replied, and motioned to his partner. His brow furrowed when he realized how silent his companion was, staring down at the sea of zombies with a steely gaze. “You all right there, man?”

  Ortega drew in a deep breath. “Just thinking,” he said flatly.

  A few awkward moments later, Hickman held up his hands. “You, uh, wanna fill the rest of us in?”

  “The way I see it, we have a variety of problems,” Ortega replied. “We can’t go south to Mason because we run the risk of a lot of these things following us, which means we’ll be overrun.”

  The other soldier shrugged. “So we head north and cross the river.”

  “If we go that way, we can hit the sporting goods store a couple blocks up,” Ruben suggested.

  Ryan’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “Cause they just got in the new four-wheelers,” the janitor replied. “Figure it’s going to be easier to outrun those things on those than on foot. Plus, I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to swim then hike a couple miles to Mason.”