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

by Slaton, Derek

  “Solar panels?” Charlie scoffed. “You mean that commie hippie bullshit that ain’t worth a damn? Why in the hell would I want that?”

  The soldier regarded him calmly. “I promise you, it’s worth quite a bit. With what I’m going to set you up with, you’ll be able to run everything you have, above and below ground. And remember. The sun isn’t going to run out of power. Your diesel, however, will.”

  “I ain’t convinced.” Charlie set down his beer and crossed his arms defiantly. “But you are right about my diesel being in short supply.” He stroked his beard, letting out a deep sigh. “But you seem damn convinced it’s gonna work, so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. That said, this is the last part of my apology for shootin’ at ya.”

  Ortega nodded, and put a hand over his heart. “Apology accepted.” He extended his hand, and the old man shook.

  “So how secure do we need to get this place?” Charlie asked. “What you thinkin’? Forty, fifty of them critters coming our way?” He snatched up his beer and lifted it to his mouth once again.

  Ortega and Ruben shared an uneasy glance.

  “Well,” the soldier said slowly, “we have a plan to distract the ones near the truck so we can refuel, but there could very easily be a thousand to fifteen hundred following us down there.”

  Charlie choked on his brew. “Fifteen fuckin’ hundred?!” he sputtered. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Did you see an arsenal down there? Because I sure as shit didn’t!”

  “We’ve got plenty of weapons and ammo in the truck,” Ortega assured him. “We just need to get it here and unload enough to get to them.”

  The old man drained the rest of his beer, and sat back in his chair thoughtfully. Finally, he took a deep breath.

  “Okay.” He ran a wrinkled hand over his hair. “There are a few cars in the neighborhood that we can use to block off that bridge. Ain’t got no clue where the keys are, but there’s enough of us that we can push ‘em up. We’ll get ‘em in position so we can move ‘em on to the bridge once you’re across.”

  Garrett cocked his head. “Do you have anything we can dig a trench with on the other side of the river?” he asked. “Even with all those guns and ammo, it’s going to be tough to take out a thousand of those things.”

  “Nah, you leave that to me,” the old man replied. “Ole Charlie’s got a plan.”

  Ruben snorted. “Last time I heard you say that, I ended up in County for a few weeks.”

  “That was a hell of a night though, wain’t it?” Charlie grinned.

  The janitor shook his head and chuckled. “From what I remember of it, yeah.”

  “All right, let’s get down to business,” the old man said with a groan, and got up from his seat. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got a couple of five-gallon canisters around here somewhere. Private, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand with that.”

  “I can do that, brother,” Ortega said, and got to his feet. “In the meantime, Audrey and Ryan, if you two wouldn’t mind running one of those four wheelers up to the bridge and dropping it off for Hickman? He’s gonna be coming that way and would probably appreciate it if he didn’t have to walk all the way here.”

  Audrey pointed at Ryan. “Just so we’re clear, you’re riding with me on the way back.”

  “I guess I should just be happy that I get to drive one of these for a little bit,” the young man replied.

  She clapped him on the back. “That’s a good attitude. Come on, let’s get this done.”

  “Just go as quick as you can,” Ortega said, “because Ryan, you’re gonna have to come with me into town.”

  The young man ruffled his hair. “Man, my day just keeps getting better,” he said playfully.

  “And I’ll take ole Garrett here and we’ll start tracking down those vehicles,” Ruben said, and stood up, knees crackling. “Judging by the size of that bridge, I’m thinking three might do the trick?”

  “Four might be better,” Garrett replied. “Two end to end and two more shoring them up? You get enough of those fuckers all pushing in the same direction and they can move some cars.”

  “And if we have a vehicle in the rear, we’ll have a firing platform,” Ortega added.

  Ruben nodded. “Four it is, then.”

  The group headed off, and Ortega put up a hand, taking his radio from its clip. “One sec, I just gotta let my partner know what’s going on.”

  “Have at it, sir,” Charlie replied, and collected the beer cans to dispose of them.

  Ortega pushed the button on the mouthpiece. “Hey, Hickman, you still alive up there?” he asked. There was no response. He swallowed hard. “Hickman, you copy?” Still nothing. Heart pounding, he clenched a fist and looked to the sky before asking desperately, “Come on, this isn’t funny, brother.”

  “Man, you are impatient,” Hickman came back. “I’m working over here and can’t drop everything at your beck and call.”

  Ortega let out a relieved laugh. “Apologies, brother. How we looking up there?”

  “I’ve got seven canisters loaded in, one more to go,” came the reply. “It’s gonna be a big-ass boom when it goes off.”

  “Good to know,” Ortega replied. “I figure we’re about thirty minutes out. Will you be ready by then?”

  “Yeah, I can work with that,” Hickman said. “I’m going to be doing a deadass sprint through these things, so you let me know when you’re in position.”

  Ortega nodded. “Ten four,” he said. “Oh, and I’m having some transportation arranged for you up at the bridge. We’re dropping off a four wheeler as we speak.”

  A noise of intense satisfaction came through the speaker. “Much appreciated!”

  “Okay, hang tight,” Ortega said. “I’ll be in touch soon.” He returned his radio to its clip and turned to the old man. “All right, Charlie. Let’s see about getting us some fuel.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hickman stood in the window of the apartment and took a sip from a bottle of water as he looked out over the street. There were still hundreds of zombies outside the furniture store, but at least they weren’t banging on the glass anymore, having forgotten about the fresh meat inside.

  His radio crackled. “Hey, you ready to roll?” Ortega’s voice came through.

  “As about as ready as I’m ever going to be,” Hickman replied, his voice monotone.

  His partner snorted. “If that’s not the voice of overwhelming enthusiasm, I don’t know what is.”

  “Well, I’m about to get chased through the streets by a thousand zombies while pushing nearly four hundred pounds of propane,” Hickman said flatly. “This wasn’t exactly on my list of things to do today, you know?”

  There was a short pause. “I’m sorry brother, I’d switch places with you if I could.”

  “Yeah, I know man, I know,” Hickman replied.

  “So, where you setting this thing off at?” Ortega asked.

  His partner pursed his lips. “I’m thinking the sporting goods store. Only thing I Have to light this with are some flares, so I need a way to keep the gas relatively contained so it filters out to the flame. Kind of hoping there are some tents or something set up.”

  “I’m pretty sure there wasn’t one set up,” Ortega replied. “But there was a small office behind the customer service desk.”

  “You think that’s going to cause enough of a distraction?” Hickman asked. “Going off that deep inside the building?”

  Ortega came back immediately. “Yeah, it’ll be plenty loud, having several of those things go off at the same time. At the very least, it’ll blow out the windows. Although it wouldn’t hurt for you to fire off a few rounds.”

  “Trust me, as soon as I hit that pavement I’m going to be weapons hot,” Hickman assured him. “None of this stealth bullshit.”

  His partner laughed. “Hard to argue with that. And you know where you’re headed, right?”

  “Yep, side street then straight on to the bridge.” Hickman nodded firmly
at his reflection in the window.

  “Just be careful,” Ortega warned, “we had a couple of stragglers follow us out of the sporting goods store. They’ve probably wandered off the main road, but you never know.”

  “I’ll save some shots for them, then,” his partner promised.

  “Be safe, brother,” Ortega said. “We’ll see you soon.”

  Hickman took a deep breath. “Looking forward to it.” He put his radio away and crept back outside onto the awning as quietly as he could.

  He inched his way along to the end, and took a knee to look over. There were two zombies within ten yards of the wagon, but they were too stupid to bother looking up at him. He turned and gave a hard tug to the thick rope he’d previously secured to a drainage pipe.

  This is way too close for comfort, he thought bitterly as he gave the rope another strong tug to make sure it would for sure withstand his weight going down. If I pop off from here, that’ll give me about ten seconds to get down and get moving… this had better be fucking worth it.

  He drew his handgun with one hand and gripped the rope with the other, taking a loose-legged stance to be ready to spring. He aimed his gun at one zombie head, and then practiced swinging quickly over to the other a few times before taking a deep breath.

  He fired, taking out the closest one, and swung to take out the second before it could even react. He shoved his gun back in its holster as the bodies hit the asphalt, and repelled himself down the building. He landed right next to the wagon and braced himself against it, giving a great heave to get it rolling.

  A dozen or so zombies shambled towards him from about thirty yards away, and he grunted as his hamstrings burned and his back muscles pinched.

  “There we go,” he grunted to himself as the momentum began and the wagon picked up its own speed, “there we go!” As it gained speed, he pumped his legs harder, jogging to keep up with the propane projectile. A corpse staggered into the street but the wagon knocked it clean out of the way, sending it into a face plant on the ground.

  Hickman glanced over his shoulder, noting that the dozens have turned easily to hundreds, and he drew his handgun again as he continued to push. He fired a few shots into the air, just to draw more attention to himself.

  As he approached the sporting goods store, he dug in his heels and pulled back on the handle to slow the wagon’s progress. He managed to maneuver it up onto the sidewalk and bumbled over the broken glass.

  “All right, I’m in business,” he chirped as he spotted the small office on the far end, and began to shove across the store. Moans filled the air to his right, and he immediately unslung his assault rifle, unloading into the few corpse shoppers.

  He continued to push the wagon down the aisle towards the office, and then jerked back on the handle to keep it from bumping too hard against the door. He threw it open, gun raised, giving a quick sweep to make sure he was alone. The room was small, about ten feet by ten feet, and thankfully empty.

  Hickman shoved the wagon in and against the far wall, and then started opening valves. After the top row, snarls and moans echoed through the store.

  “That’s gonna have to do,” he muttered, and rushed back to the office door and away from the hissing canisters. He produced a few flares from his pocket and lit them up, dropping them just inside the door and slamming it shut.

  The front of the store was flooded with zombies, blocking off his escape. He looked around frantically for some kind of fire door, but couldn’t find a single one.

  “Oh, come on!” he bellowed. “Even small towns have building codes!” He spotted a storage room and ran for it, the clock ticking on both his enemies and the propane. He went in, rifle first, and scanned the small empty room before finding an unmarked door at the back.

  He ran over and turned the knob, and the door opened about six inches before stopping. Sunlight teased his face and he grunted, looking down at the chain on the outside, padlocking the door shut. He stepped back, braced his foot against the door to hold it taut, and fired half a dozen shots into the eye the chain was wrapped through on the wall.

  The anchor tore off, the door smacking open into the alley, and Hickman tore towards the street, firing wildly at the few zombies milling about in his way. The corpses dropped and he made no move to check them, his only goal to get as far away as possible as fast as possible.

  Legs pumping pavement as hard as they could, he ran, taking a sharp turn towards the bridge and away from the corpses piling into the volatile store. The smattering of slow-moving zombies were sparse on this end, and he didn’t bother to slow down to fire, keeping a keen eye on the prize as he ran full-tilt.

  A block or so later, the store went up in a massive BOOM, and Hickman skidded to a stop to look back, gawking at the smoke billowing up into the air. “All right Ortega, let’s hope that worked,” he muttered, and then continued towards the bridge.

  His immediate task was completed, but the day was nowhere near over.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You think Hickman did it?” Ryan murmured quietly to Ortega, who was crouched next to him by the edge of a building about a block away from the furniture store.

  As if on cue, a loud BOOM rattled the earth.

  The Private smirked. “If I had to venture a guess…”

  The younger man shook his head and smiled, patting his new friend on the shoulder. “Sorry for doubting you,” he said. They watched as the horde in front of the furniture store turned its attention towards the commotion, and began to wander off in search of the explosive noise. “Hell yeah, it’s working!” Ryan hissed, pumping a fist into the air.

  “Don’t get excited yet,” Ortega warned quietly. “Not all of them are moving.”

  He clenched his jaw as a half dozen or so stubborn zombies stayed fixated on the furniture store, unmoved by the epic barbecue happening up the street.

  “How do we handle this?” Ryan asked.

  Ortega drew his knife. “We gotta do it silently.”

  “But it’s six on two!” The young man paled.

  “Which is why we gotta hit ‘em quick,” Ortega replied. “You got your blade?”

  Ryan pulled out a large hunting knife, nodding as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Okay, you follow my lead,” the soldier said. “We walk—not run, walk—as quietly as we possibly can, up to them. I’m going to take the one closest to us, and I want you to focus on the second one. If you don’t drop it with the first blow, I want you to grab on to its chest and hold them at bay. I got your back, so I don’t want you to panic. You understand?”

  Ryan nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s do it, then,” Ortega replied, giving the young man’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Leave the gas here, when we clear ‘em out, you run back and grab it.”

  At another sharp nod, the soldier led the two of them out, walking softly to the sidewalk. In the distance, the tail end of the horde moved past the back end of the truck, leaving just the six zombies between them and their goal.

  The first corpse had mashed itself so hard into the glass with excitement that its cheek was caught in a crack, and as it turned to look at Ortega it left half its face hanging in the window. He stabbed it quickly in the eye socket before it could make a noise, and Ryan strode past to the next one.

  He made a stab for the forehead, but the blade skidded off of the top part of its ear. His heart leapt into his throat, but he took Ortega’s advice and braced his arm against its chest, holding it at bay. The soldier quickly stabbed it in the eye on his way by.

  “Aim for the eyes, not the forehead,” he whispered. “Easier to penetrate.”

  Ryan nodded and focused on the remaining four corpses shambling towards them. They were, at least, spaced out with a few feet in between, giving the duo a tactical advantage. The young man lunged forward and stabbed into the first one’s eye, dropping it easily.

  Ortega grabbed the next one by the shirt and shoved it into the one behin
d, stabbing twice in quick succession to take them both out. Ryan darted around to the final creature, but he hesitated at the sight of the rotting young woman. He couldn’t help but feel that he knew this girl, that they’d shared a class together, or something, and now here she was, about to make a move on eating his flesh.

  He snapped out of it just in time to end her suffering, planting the knife into her face.

  As her body hit the street, Ortega approached. “Did you know her?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ryan admitted, rooted to the spot as he stared at the lifeless corpse.

  “You good?” Ortega asked, brow furrowing.

  The young man took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah.”

  “All right, back to work, then,” Ortega instructed, and they headed back for the door of the furniture store. The soldier did a light shave and a hair cut knock to make sure that those inside knew they were living beings. Soon enough, the barricade on the inside began to shift, and two older men revealed themselves on the other side, eyes wide with relief.

  “Man, are we-” one began, and Ortega quickly shushed him.

  “Quiet,” he whispered. “We need to get everyone out of here now, quietly. Get ready to move.”

  The man nodded without saying another word.

  Ortega turned to Ryan. “Get the gas and fill the tank, I’m going to clear us some space.” As the young man trotted back off to get the fuel, the soldier snuck up to the truck. As he peered around the front grill, he had a clear view of the horde congregating around the burning sporting goods store.

  Unfortunately, the novelty was wearing off, and some of the zombies were losing interest in the flames that weren’t providing fresh meat.

  “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked as he approached with the gas cans, a few civilians trickling out behind him. “Why aren’t you moving?”

  “Because the bait is starting to wear off,” Ortega replied. “We gotta open up the back of this truck and throw some stuff out to make room for everyone. As soon as that door goes up, we’re on the clock, brother.”