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

by Slaton, Derek

  “I’ll let everyone know to move up and be ready,” Ryan said.

  “Get anyone who is even remotely able-bodied up here to help me,” Ortega instructed. “I need two people to help shove stuff off and pull people on.”

  Ryan nodded and took off. The soldier kept a close eye on the horde, chewing on his lip as he attempted to make calculations on their situation.

  Worst possible case, forty-five, maybe fifty seconds before they get here, he thought, and shook his head, glancing over his shoulder at the older people shuffling out of the furniture store. That’s gonna be tight.

  Ryan jogged back up with two middle-aged men in tow. Ortega simply raised an eyebrow at the rotund men, who looked like they’d get winded hopping out of a recliner.

  “Best we got.” The young man shook his head.

  “Gonna have to make do,” Ortega replied with a shrug. “You boys know what we’re doing?” At their nod, he turned back to the kid. “Okay. Where’s Harlan?”

  The man in question hobbled up to them, ducking in behind the grill of the truck. “Good to see you’re still alive and kicking,” he said quietly.

  “Good to see you’re at least doing one of those things,” Ortega replied. “Your ankle good?”

  “Stings like a bitch, but I can drive us out,” Harlan replied with a little salute.

  “Okay, when we go, you get in that cab,” Ortega instructed. “As soon as Ryan gets it fueled, you start it up. And as soon as I fire a shot you start driving south. Kid, I want you in the cab with him so you can tell him where to go.” Both men nodded, and the soldier turned to the group. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  He led his two helpers around to the back, with the civilians following. The doc carried an injured Jordan at the front between him and another man. Ortega waited until everyone was clustered around, and then threw open the door latch, shoving it upwards. It screeched to the top, slamming against the roof, and the soldier winced before leaping up inside.

  The back edge of the horde turned excitedly towards them, wandering their way. One of his helpers gaped at the zombies in fear as Ortega and the other man began tossing things out into the street.

  “Get to work or people will die!” the soldier screamed.

  The frightened man snapped out of it, and grabbed a box, throwing it out. The truck was packed relatively tightly, pallets stacked floor to ceiling, and Ortega managed to create a shelf for people to climb up on without having to haul the heavier stuff.

  “Start getting people up, we’re almost good,” he grunted, scrambling to clear a path as his helpers began to pull people up into the bed. He got down on one knee and hauled one person up, keeping a mental count in his head of how much longer they had before the horde reached them.

  The truck rumbled to life, sitting idle and waiting for his signal.

  “This is gonna be tight,” he muttered.

  They hauled as fast as they could, but the horde was closing in. One woman screamed as they got close, prompting an elderly man to step forward to try to protect her from the oncoming corpses. The creatures easily overpowered them both, descending on the screaming civilians and drowning it out with snapping teeth and tearing flesh.

  Ortega waved to the two remaining people on the ground, and pulled his handgun, firing once before tossing it behind him and reaching down for a hand. His helpers grabbed the other man, and the truck began to move as they dragged the final two civilians to safety.

  The soldier sat back on his haunches, watching with a pang in his chest as the zombies chowed down on the two unlucky people. He hadn’t wanted to lose anyone.

  But as the thousand-strong horde began to lumber after the truck, he had a feeling that losing two elderly was going to be the least of his worries that day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “All right, the turnoff is just up a bit more on the right,” Ryan instructed, pointing through the windshield.

  Harlan nodded. “Any idea where they want me to park this thing?”

  “Just put it right in the middle of the road, right after you get across the bridge,” Ryan instructed. “We gotta get these guns.”

  The driver shook his head and let out a low whistle. “The fun never stops.” He turned towards Mason and rumbled across the bridge, waving at the trio waiting for them. As soon as the truck cleared it, Audrey, Garrett and Ruben began pushing the first car into place as a blockade.

  Ortega was first off of the back, rushing over to the group. Ryan followed soon after, having dismounted from the passenger’s seat as fast as he could.

  “Any sign of Hickman yet?” Ortega asked.

  Audrey shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Okay,” the soldier replied, pursing his lips for a moment. “Hopefully he gets here soon. In the meantime, let’s get that other car on the bridge.”

  “How much time do you think we have?” the redhead asked.

  Ortega let out a deep whoosh of breath. “Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. It’s not that far of a walk.”

  Charlie strolled out of the gate from the trailer park, holding a beer and whistling a jaunty tune. “Hey, before y’all block off that bridge, let me get a couple of ya for somethin’.”

  “Dammit, how can you be drinking at a time like this?” Ruben snapped. “Ain’t nobody got time for your shenanigans!”

  “Oh yeah you do,” the old man shot back, raising his furry white chin. “Gimme three and I promise it’ll be worthwhile.”

  Ortega shrugged. “Ryan, Garrett, Ruben, give the man a hand. Audrey and I will help with the truck unloading. If we don’t get these guns, it isn’t going to matter what Charlie has up his sleeve.”

  Ruben sighed and waved for the others to follow him after a still-whistling old man. Charlie stopped beside two fifty-five gallon drums sitting on moving company grade hand trucks. He leaned on one of them, casually taking a long sip of his beer.

  “Whatcha got there?” Ruben asked.

  The old man grinned and smacked his lips together. “A hundred and ten gallons of the best diesel fuel money can buy.”

  “I guess a better question is,” Ruben replied impatiently, “whatcha plannin’ on doin’ with this?”

  “Well ole buddy,” Charlie said, “we got a shitload of guests comin’, seems rude not to get a barbecue goin’.”

  The janitor cracked a smile, a lightbulb going off in his head. “I’m trackin’ now. Garrett, give a brother a hand.”

  Garrett nodded and they heaved the giant drums one by one onto their sides, rolling them back to the bridge. Once they got across to the road, the cylinders took up about a third of the pavement side by side.

  Charlie pulled out his large hunting knife and slammed it down into the side of one of the drums, twisting it to create a decent sized hole. He punctured it a second time for air flow, and then repeated the process on the second cylinder.

  “All right, roll ‘em forward a bit,” he instructed, and then put out a hand to stop them again, putting a few more holes in each. Once the drums were nice and swiss cheesed, he tossed his empty beer can and helped push the drums along the road. “Okay, slow and steady boys, we wanna make sure this stuff pools up nicely.”

  Ruben nodded as he used a bit less elbow grease. “How are you plannin’ on lighting this thing?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about it,” Charlie drawled. “Your ole buddy has got you covered.”

  “Well, it better be hot as hell,” Ryan piped up, “because in my chemistry class we did an experiment on fuel types and diesel has a higher flashpoint than regular old gasoline.”

  Charlie clucked his tongue. “Well, what do you know, those government indoctrination centers actually taught you something useful.”

  “Government what?” Ryan raised an eyebrow.

  “Nevermind,” Charlie replied with a shake of his head. “You are correct that it takes a higher flashpoint to get this baby going. But a sustained flame on it will do the same trick. Like I said, don’t worry about it.”


  Ryan wrinkled his nose and took a deep breath. “All right.”

  “Now now, ole Charlie here still has a ton of alcohol to drink,” the old man declared. “I ain’t gonna just let all that go to waste by getting us killed, now.”

  About a hundred and twenty yards along the road, the last of the sticky black fuel oozed out of the holes in the drums.

  Ryan gave his a little shake. “What do we do with the barrels?”

  Charlie turned and kicked his and Ruben’s into the ditch, and turned back to the group, swiping his hands together. “What?” He shrugged at the blank stares from his companions. “It’s not like the EPA is gonna come fine me or anything.”

  Ryan shook his head as Garrett kicked theirs off of the road, and started back towards the bridge. Charlie and Ruben moved with him, but they quickly realized that their fourth hadn’t followed.

  “Yo, Garrett, you comin’, man?” Ruben asked, pausing. The three of them turned to see the middle-aged man, stock still in the middle of the road, staring at the front edge of the zombie horde cresting the horizon.

  “I… I can see them,” he stammered.

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “All the more reason to get your ass in gear, boy! We got work to do!” He clapped his hands together, and this seemed to snap the pale man out of his deer-in-the-headlights stare.

  He jogged to the group, shaking his arms as if to bring life back into them, and the four civilians walked briskly back to the bridge. Charlie headed over to the truck as the other three got back to work on the car barricade.

  “Yo, army boy!” he bellowed. “We got company!”

  Ortega hopped down from the back of the truck, brow furrowed. “How close are they?”

  “Fuck if I know, all I know’s we can see ‘em on the horizon,” Charlie replied. “So they gonna be here sooner rather than later.”

  Ortega took a deep breath. “Goddamn they got here quick.” He glanced around at the people he’d rescued from the furniture store, and crossed his arms. “I need another favor.”

  Charlie crossed his arms as well, matching the soldier’s stiff posture. “These solar panels better be worth it,” he muttered.

  “Oh, don’t worry, they are,” Ortega said.

  The old man sighed. “What do ya need?”

  “These people aren’t going to help us in a fight,” the soldier explained. “Can you get them into your compound?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah, I got you covered.” He turned to the civilians and spread his arms, waving them in his directions. “Okay, y’all, follow me! I got a nice cozy little place all set up for y’all. Just one rule: don’t touch my shit!” He managed to keep a stern expression for all of a few seconds before he barked a laugh. “Just playin’ with y’all. There’s plenty of food and water down there. Come on.”

  He led the group away towards his bunker, and Ortega approached the truck, clapping Harlan on the shoulder. “Hey, you go with them.”

  The driver narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you. You boys are gonna need my help. Just prop my plump ass up against the car and hand me a weapon.”

  “All right man,” Ortega replied, raising his hands in surrender, “if you wanna me on the line with us, you’ll be there.”

  Harlan nodded firmly with a noise of indignant pride, and both men turned at the sound of a four-wheeler engine screaming towards them.

  Hickman skidded to a stop just short of them and hopped off with a grin.

  “About damn time you showed up,” Harlan declared.

  The soldier rolled his eyes. “Sorry, I had to blow up a sporting goods store.”

  “Well, these things take time, I guess,” the driver replied, as casual as if they were discussing the weather.

  “How we looking here?” Hickman asked.

  Ortega took a deep breath. “Well, in about five minutes, we’re gonna have a thousand zombies on us, and we’re still waiting on weapons.”

  Hickman unslung his rifle, flipping the scope to long range. “I’ll see if I can’t slow ‘em down just a bit.” He jogged over to the car barricade, hopping up into the hood of one, and took a knee before aiming.

  He squeezed the trigger and took the head of a zombie clean off. As it crumpled to the ground, the corpse tripped up a few of its brethren. The soldier didn’t waste any time sending round after round into the horde. It wouldn’t buy much extra time, but every little bit would help.

  “Got them!” Audrey cried from the truck.

  Ortega stepped forward as she set down a whole pile of assault rifles. “You find the ammo?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she replied, “that’s coming next.” She headed back into the dim tunnel.

  The soldier began doling out weapons, and turned to his two civilian helpers that had stuck around. “Okay, crash course,” he began. “Rule number one, only point them at zombies.” He pushed on the barrels of both guns so that they were pointing at the ground. “Rule two, keep it in three-round burst mode. I get the sense you aren’t going to be the greatest shots, so while it’ll burn through ammo, you’ll have a better chance at hitting the target. And rule three, here’s the release button.” He pointed to his own rifle to show them. “Just smack in another mag, and you’re ready to go. Questions?”

  Both men raised their hands.

  Harlan snorted. “How in the hell did you boys live in rural America and not know how to operate a firearm?”

  “I was a schoolteacher,” one of them replied.

  “Hell, if that’s the case, then you should not only know how to operate it, but be proficient at it!” Harlan rolled his eyes.

  Ortega shook his head. “You’re not helping,” he scolded.

  The driver hobbled over to one of the men and snatched it from his grasp, checking it over and getting it ready.

  Audrey shoved the last of three large boxes to the edge of the truck. “Got us a thousand rounds, but they needed to be loaded in.”

  “You know how to shoot?” Ortega asked.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I can handle myself.”

  “Okay, get down here and get his weapon,” he instructed, inclining his head towards the other civilian.

  She jumped down and did as he asked, checking the weapon with expert grace.

  “Help Harlan over to the cars, and start firing when you feel comfortable you can hit the target,” Ortega continued, motioning to her. “I’m gonna get these boys going on loading ammo.”

  Audrey nodded and took the driver by the arm, heading towards the line of cars.

  “Badass, girl,” Harlan complimented her as he limped along.

  “Okay, grab the ammo,” Ortega instructed, leading his helpers to the bridge, carrying a box between them. “So you press down and slide. Press down and slide. Count to twenty-five, and move on. It’s a tight fit when it’s full, and we got plenty to spare so no need to fill the mags all the way up. Can you handle it?”

  He handed an empty mag to each of them, and they quickly got to work. To the soldier’s surprise, they moved at a decent speed, and he clapped them both on the shoulder in appreciation.

  “Ortega, need you up here!” Hickman called, and his partner rushed over, climbing up onto the hood next to him.

  “What do you think?” Ortega asked as he watched the stumbling horde, now within thirty yards of the bridge.

  Hickman shrugged. “I think barring a miracle, we’re fucked.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “So, how we pulling a miracle?” Ortega asked, squaring his shoulders as he sized up the oncoming horde.

  Hickman shrugged. “Bottleneck them on the bridge?”

  “If we can take out enough of the front line, it might give us a barrier so we can slowly take them out,” Ortega said thoughtfully.

  His partner grinned. “Good a plan as any.”

  They hopped down from the car in unison, and took up defensive positions behind the vehicles. Hickman moved to the far end and Ortega flanked the remainder of their group, everyone readying their weapons.

>   “Okay, as soon as they hit the bridge, start firing!” Ortega instructed as the zombies made the turn, some of them cutting across the grass to approach. “Aim straight down the line, and go for the head. When you need ammo, grab one mag at a time.”

  Ryan let out a deep whoosh of breath. “What happens if they breach the barricade?”

  “Fall back into the neighborhood, and take shelter,” Ortega replied.

  “Fuck that!” Hickman shook his head. “If they breach, we’re dead. Either from them getting us or starvation. Stand your ground and don’t let them through.”

  The rest of the group looked to Ortega for confirmation, and he couldn’t help but concede. He nodded. He’d wanted to give them some hope, but sober reality was the better play. He offered his partner a grim smile of thanks for being the voice of reason and honesty.

  “Nobody fires until we do,” Ortega said firmly. He turned towards the horde, holding his gun up and steady. He watched the zombies stagger towards them, gaping mouths drooling crimson as they moaned their excitement for a fresh meal. They were packed shoulder to shoulder stretching back hundreds of yards, an ambling sea of rotting death.

  Hickman fired the first shot, and the group unloaded into the front line. Bullets tore into the horde, some on target and blasting skulls, some missing wildly. Torsos blew open, limbs fell to the ground, bodies spun and flipped and went down spectacularly, but only to be replaced by more mindless dead.

  The bottleneck had reached the bridge, about twenty feet away, when the first click sounded.

  “I’m out!” Ryan cried, breaking from the firing line to rush back to the two men packing mags with ammo. He unloaded his empty one and snatched up one of only eight that they’d filled. “You guys gotta speed up!” he urged, and then slammed the fresh bullets back in, running back to the line.

  The men fumbled to go faster, spurred on by the panic in the young man’s voice, but shaky fingers and hands made them inefficient in their task. Audrey and Ruben both announced their empties and tore over to grab more ammo.

  Hickman switched from single fire to burst mode, firing at head level across the whole line of dead. Bits of blood and rotted brain matter flew into the air like little fireworks, the bodies slowing the flow of the enemies a little bit while they were two shooters down. Ortega followed suit, but his rifle ran out, and he jogged back to grab a fresh mag.