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

by Slaton, Derek

  “I take it there’s a bridge close by?” Hickman asked.

  Audrey nodded. “Yeah, just head due west from the sporting goods store. It’s blocked off with cars, but we should be able to get around them.”

  “There!” the Private exclaimed. “Problem solved!”

  Ortega sighed. “It’s only part of the problem,” he said. “When we come back with the fuel, we need a major distraction. How are we going to accomplish that when we don’t have any explosives?”

  Hickman crossed his arms. “How well stocked is that hardware store?”

  “I worked there over the summer.” Ryan raised his hand. “It’s got pretty much anything you could need.”

  “Propane tanks?” the Private asked.

  The young man nodded emphatically, eyes lighting up when he realized what he was getting at. “Yes, sir. A cage of them up front. There are keys for the cage at register one. Blue plastic keychain.”

  Hickman turned to his partner and clapped him on the shoulder. “So, you think you can lead this group down to Mason without me?”

  “Where are you going?” Ortega asked.

  “I’m gonna take up residence at the hardware store,” Hickman replied, motioning across the street.

  Ortega shook his head. “Nah brother, we can deal with that once we get back with the gas.”

  “I need to get over there and get prepped for when you come back,” his partner countered. “Plus, once I’m over there, I can keep these things occupied and focused on me, meaning fewer are going to follow you.”

  Ruben raised a hand, much like Ryan had just moments before. “Sir, I’m not meaning any disrespect towards your abilities and whatnot, but how exactly are you planning on getting over there?”

  Hickman pointed towards the end of the block where a car had crashed into the corner of the building. “Gonna use that,” he said. “I can get up to the banister on the second floor, work my way across, and get in through the upstairs.”

  “I… don’t know if that’s going to work,” Ryan said slowly.

  Hickman grinned. “Trust me, kid, it’ll work. The Army trained me well.”

  “I’m sure they did,” the young man replied, and crossed his arms in indignant defiance. “But that second floor is a residence. The store owner and his family live there, and if I know him, he barricaded himself inside when this thing started. You may be dealing with some resistance.”

  Hickman sighed. “Fantastic,” he said brightly. “So I’m either going to get shot at, or there’s a family or zombies living there. Good times.”

  “Only question left is, who all is going to Mason?” Ortega asked. All four of the civilians raised their hands immediately, and he nodded in appreciation. “Looks like we have a raiding party. Are you sure nobody wants to stay behind to make sure the survivors downstairs are ready to move?”

  Ryan shook his head. “The Doc and a couple of the others are capable of that,” he assured them. “They aren’t really fit enough to get out here, though.”

  “Garrett, you sure?” Ruben put a hand on the portly man’s shoulder. “What about your girls?”

  “I’m going because of them,” Garrett replied firmly. “The more able bodies we have out there, the better chance we have at pulling this off.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Hickman put in.

  “Okay, it’s settled then,” Ortega said. “If you have weapons, guns or otherwise, grab them.”

  Ryan took a deep breath. “We’re low on guns. I think there might be two down there, I’ll go get them.”

  “Good deal,” Ortega replied. “While you’re down there, inform the Doc what’s going on and tell him to be ready because we aren’t going to have much time when we come back. Does he have a radio?”

  The young man nodded. “Yeah, there’s one down there.”

  “Good, tell him to monitor channel seven,” Ortega instructed. As the civilians headed back down the ladder, he stood next to his companion on the edge of the sea of death below. “You ready to do this?”

  “Nope,” Hickman replied, popping the p.

  Ortega chuckled. “That’s my boy.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Ortega led his team to the southern edge of the furniture store, and they started a riot. They clapped, whistled and yelled, making noise to attempt to draw the horde’s attention to them as much as possible.

  Hickman crept to the far northern end of the block, staying as low as he could. He lined himself up with the back of the truck, taking a few deep breaths to steady his heart rate and be ready for what he was about to do.

  His radio crackled quietly, and Ortega’s voice came through at the lowest volume. “Hey, you read me?”

  “Yeah, how am I looking?” Hickman whispered back into the receiver.

  “I think it’s about as good as it’s going to get,” Ortega replied.

  Hickman chuckled quietly to himself. “Doesn’t sound promising,” he said.

  “There’s about forty or so between you and the car,” his partner said, “but they’re spread out pretty good.”

  Hickman scrubbed a hand down his face. “Oh, forty, is that all?”

  “Well, it’s better than the couple hundred that were there a few minutes ago,” Ortega assured him.

  “Can we give it a few minutes?” his partner asked, swallowing hard.

  “Negative,” Ortega replied. “I don’t know how much longer the front windows are going to hold under the pressure.”

  Hickman sighed. He crawled to the edge of the building, peering out over the street. “Are there any directly beside the truck?”

  “There are a couple, can’t tell how many though,” Ortega came back.

  Hickman got up on one knee, shaking out his hands to psych himself up. “When I go, try to take out the ones that are closest to the car,” he said, keeping his eyes on his path between ambling zombies.

  “I got you, brother,” his partner promised.

  “And for the love of Christ, don’t shoot me,” Hickman said.

  Ortega chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Good luck.”

  Hickman tucked his radio away, and took another deep breath before pushing off the roof. He hopped down onto the top of the truck, the thud fairly insignificant but loud enough to attract the attention of the corpses closest to him.

  He took a run at the back of the truck, hopping down to hang from the edge, dangling a few feet above the street. He made sure there were no gnashing teeth directly below him, and then dropped to the asphalt. As soon as his boots hit the ground, a zombie lunged at his shoulder, and he planted his foot into its chest to shove it back before sprinting in the direction of the car.

  Zombies turned towards him, but heads began to explode. Ortega took out corpse after corpse, the cracks of his rifle from his vantage point serving to draw the attention to him instead of his running friend.

  A pack of a few dozen began to close up the clear path Hickman had planned on heading through, and Hickman dashed forward, putting his shoulder down. He barreled through the mini-horde, ducking under outstretched hands and shoving back and forth like a running back through the secondary. When he emerged from the pack, two creatures came at him from either side, snarling and snapping. He reacted without thinking, snatching one arm and flinging one zombie into the other, knocking them both off of their feet to the street.

  Hickman tore for the car anew, only one zombie left in his path. As he approached it, its head came clean off, and he used the falling corpse as a springboard to jump up onto the truck of the wrecked vehicle. He steadied himself on the roof, and glanced over his shoulder. The remaining zombies converged on his position, and he knew that if he didn’t act fast that they would easily be able to reach him on the roof of the mangled car.

  “I hope this shit is well built,” Hickman muttered under his breath, and squatted down before leaping straight up, grasping the lip of the second floor balcony. He grunted loudly as he pulled himself up and swung a leg up over his head, giv
ing him just enough leverage to pull himself out of the grasp of the zombies angrily swarming the area he’d just vacated.

  He struggled for a moment, his fingers straining to hold his weight, and he gave one last heave to propel himself up onto the ledge. He rolled over onto his back, huffing and puffing as the zombies below moaned in frustration at their lost meal.

  “Man, that was amazing, brother!” Ortega’s excited voice came through the radio. “I knew it wasn’t going to be that bad!”

  Hickman lazily raised the mouthpiece to his lips. “Do me a favor, and don’t talk to me for a minute, will ya?”

  “I understand you,” Ortega replied with a chuckle. “You take a moment while we get into position.”

  Hickman sat up slowly, shaking his head. “Ten-four,” he said. He grunted as he got to his feet and made his way across the wooden awning above the street. He kept his eyes ahead of him, focusing on his footing instead of the hungry corpses below.

  A loud thunk on the window to his left startled him, and he lashed out to steady himself on the siding. He studied the zombie behind the glass, once a young girl in her late teens, blood-soaked blonde hair matted against a deep wound on her cheek. She gnashed her teeth against the glass, clawing fruitlessly with broken fingers.

  Hickman shook his head and continued to move, taking a knee beside the first window of the residence above the hardware store.

  “I’m in position, are you ready?” he asked quietly into the radio.

  “You tell us,” Ortega replied. “How are we looking down there?”

  Hickman unslung his assault rifle and looked through the scope, staring back at the zombies swarming the furniture store. “It’s a similar situation to what I had. But if you give me a minute…”

  He began to fire on the zombies near the truck, heads exploding and splattering crimson along the cab. The crack of his gun attracted not only those zombies, but a lot of the furniture store ones as well, relieving the pressure on the weakening windows.

  “You’re good,” he said. “Go now.”

  “On the move,” Ortega came back. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Hickman continued to fire for a while, clearing out a few more zombies for the group as they made their way to the truck. He monitored them jumping down to the ground and then heading up the road away from the main horde. Once they were safely away, he slung the rifle back over his shoulder and pulled his knife out of its holster, turning to work at the lock on the window. He jimmied the blade underneath and pried hard, and the latch snicked open.

  He opened the window as quietly as he could, and slid into the apartment, bracing his knee on the edge of a sink full of grime-covered dishes. He pulled his second leg in and bonked one of the plates, grimacing at the echo of rattling ceramic. He jumped down to the floor and took a defensive stance, holding his knife out in front of him.

  “If anybody is in here, I’m not looking for trouble,” he called. “Just want to do a little shopping at your store.”

  He tensed at the sound of footsteps from the other end of the apartment, and then whirled in the opposite direction at the pantry crashing open. Two female zombies descended upon him, and he immediately reacted, stabbing downward into the shorter one’s head, burying the blade into her skull. He jerked it back, but instead of the knife coming free, the girl’s head detached from her body, leaving him with a bloody lollipop.

  “Oh fuck,” he breathed, and dropped it to the linoleum before reaching for his handgun, but the other zombie lunged for his shoulder. He braced his forearm against her chest, trying to keep her teeth out of his shoulder, leaning back as he fumbled for his weapon.

  A male zombie entered from the other side, letting out a loud excited moan at the sight of fresh meat. Hickman backed up against the kitchen island, flipping himself backwards and pulling the female zombie with him. He rolled, scattering utensils everywhere, and flung her down to the other side, landing on her chest with his knees.

  She flailed around, arms smacking against the kitchen chairs, and the flimsy table buckled, knocking a set of salt-and-pepper shakers to the floor. He saw the kitchy lighthouse shape and grabbed one, jamming the tip of it into the zombie’s eye. He punched down on it twice to lodge it into her brain, and she finally went limp.

  He leapt back up to his feet and pointed his handgun at the remaining zombie, who stupidly caught himself against the other side of the island, shrieking in frustration. Hickman pulled the trigger and point blank put a bullet into its forehead.

  As the corpse fell limp, he froze and strained his ears for any more movement in the apartment, and after a few beats he did a quick sweep of the space. His shoulders finally relaxed and he checked himself for any wounds as the adrenaline and shock wore off. He let out a deep ragged breath on an exhausted laugh, happy just to be alive.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ortega led the group down the mostly clear road towards the sporting goods store. Zombies began to emerge from the side streets, and Ryan turned to aim at one as they ran.

  “Save your bullets and keep going!” Ortega barked, and the young man complied, sprinting to keep up.

  The Private reached the door first, taking a knee with his rifle, his back to the front of the store. “Somebody get that door open!” he cried, and began to fire bursts of bullets into the oncoming creatures from around the corner. Several zombies fell under his spray and pray approach.

  “I can’t get it!” Garrett barked in frustration as he tried to pick the lock.

  Ortega leapt to his feet as about eighty zombies headed their way, drawn to the sound of gunfire. “Move!” he instructed, and the middle-aged man jumped out of the way as the soldier aimed his rifle at the bottom pane of glass. He fired once, shattering the door, and Garrett quickly reached in to unlock it through the jagged hold before pulling it open.

  Ortega went first, the rest of the group piling in behind him. Audrey clicked the lock once they were all inside, and her and Ruben immediately grasped a nearby chunk of shelving to block off the bottom panel of broken door.

  The Private motioned for Ryan and Garrett to each take an aisle on either side of him, as they were the only ones with guns, and the trio made their way quickly through the store. Two creatures staggered out from behind one of the four-wheelers at the back, and Ortega dropped one. Ryan took out the other with a near-perfect headshot, and the Private clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Good shot, kid,” he said, receiving a nod of appreciation. “Both of you finish doing a sweep, make sure we’re alone in here,” he instructed as he headed over to the trio of four wheelers.

  They were up on a central display, and he blinked at the keys dangling out of the ignition. “This must be a very trusting town.”

  “Not really,” Ruben replied as he walked up behind him. “Everybody just knew the owner was a gun-toting maniac, so they didn’t want to press their luck.”

  Ortega chuckled and shook his head. “Cheaper than an alarm system. I like it.” He climbed up onto the vehicle and turned the key to start the engine thrumming. It had half a tank of gas, much to his pleasure, and he glanced at the others as Ruben fired up one, and Audrey hopped on the third. “Everybody good on gas?” he asked.

  “Little less than half a tank,” Audrey reported.

  Ruben held up his hand in a thumbs-up. “Got three-quarters over here.”

  Ryan headed over as he holstered his gun. “We’re clear in here, but it’s not looking good outside.”

  “How close are they?” Ortega asked.

  “A few of them are at the window right now, and the rest aren’t far behind,” Ryan said, motioning over his shoulder to the front of the store.

  Ortega got down from the four-wheeler and stepped to the side, peering down the main aisle of the store. There was a large bay window to the left of the front door, with four zombies smashed up against it, teeth gnashing at the glass.

  The Private pursed his lips for a moment, and then glanced at the helmet display next to him.
He grabbed a bright yellow one and knocked on the top of it before heading back over to his vehicle.

  “Should we get helmets too?” Ruben asked.

  Ortega shook his head as he got back into his seat. “Nah, brother, I’m leading the charge through the glass, so I wanted that extra bit of protection.”

  Audrey patted the seat behind her. “You coming or not?” she asked Ryan, and the young man shrugged before clambering onto the back, tentatively wrapping his arms around her slender waist.

  “Hey, you look good riding the bitch seat,” Garrett teased.

  Ruben sneered. “Are you ready to go, big boy? Or should I say bitch?” He patted his own passenger seat, and his middle-aged friend visibly deflated as he reluctantly climbed up.

  Ortega clipped on his helmet and pushed the visor up so he could address the team. “Give me a three-second head start,” he instructed. “I’m going to hit that window hard, and that should be enough time for the glass to hit the ground. As soon as we’re out, head down the side street next to us and don’t stop until you hit the bridge. If we run into trouble, hit the field to the south and meet out by the river, where we’ll regroup. Questions?” At the round of no’s, the soldier checked his rifle to make sure it was on three-round burst mode, and slammed down his visor. “This is a bad idea,” he muttered under his breath, and then dropped the four-wheeler into gear.

  He tore down the main aisle towards the zombie-reinforced plate glass window, steadying his gun on the handlebars. About fifteen yards away from the front of the store, he fired into the glass, leaving big cracks along the surface. He grabbed the handles and put his head down in anticipation, and hit the glass.

  The force of the impact sent the quartet of zombies flying, glass exploding in all directions. He skidded to a stop in the street and took quick stock of the swarm headed towards them, and then peeled out towards the side street.

  As he made the turn he heard the other two vehicles keeping pace with him, and they roared down the side street, a mostly clear road ahead. He couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sound of Audrey’s hoot, something charming about the young woman enjoying the wind in her hair despite the circumstances.