Dead America The Third Week (Book 9): Dead America, Carolina Front, Part 5

by Slaton, Derek

  The man hit the ground hard, the back of his head bouncing off of the hardwood. As he laid there dazed, Terrell grabbed a nearby chair, winging it down hard like a pro wrestler finishing off an opponent.

  The impact shattered the chair, as well as a few bones in the man’s face. Blood splattered from his nose, and he rolled around, moaning in pain. Terrell gripped one of the shards of wood from the chair in his fist and lunged forward with an uppercut as the man struggled to get up on one knee.

  The splintered stake pierced the man’s Adam’s apple. He stayed on his knees for a moment, gurgling blood. As the last bit of life went out of his eyes, he collapsed on the floor face first, sending the wood straight out through the back of his neck.

  Terrell caught his breath, and patted down the dead men, but he only found rounds for hunting rifles.

  If there’s time after getting the trucks going, we can come back, he thought. Not gonna turn down weapons. He took a moment to compose himself, and then stood up. All right Mario, time for you to get your ass kicked, he thought with a sneer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Terrell went to the front door, looking out and seeing that the zombies that were in pursuit of the two he’d just taken out were coming up the road. Not wanting more trouble than he needed, he darted to the back, cutting through the kitchen. As he passed, he spotted a magnet wall hanger filled with cutting tools.

  He paused to peruse them, grabbing a shiny silver meat cleaver that looked like it could easily cut through bone. This could be some fun, he thought, and headed for the back door with his new toy in hand.

  He paused at the emergency exit and then gently pressed on the latch bar, inching the door open hair by hair. He peered through the sliver of light and didn’t see anything wandering nearby. He stepped out, and then leapt away from the door as a set of decaying hands grabbed it from behind and shoved it against him.

  As he dove out of the way, the door slammed shut beneath the weight of the creature, creating a loud boom in the process. Terrell winced, but shook his head at the badly mangled corpse. He couldn’t even tell if it had been a man or a woman with the amount of bites littering its rotten body.

  “Looks like you were the star of a buffet,” he murmured, and the ghoul staggered forward. He reared back with his new weapon and swung, the tip of the extremely sharp blade cutting through the decaying bone like it wasn’t even there.

  Terrell caught it on the side of the forehead, going about six inches deep, slicing right through and cracking the skull. The zombie staggered dumbly for a moment before collapsing in a heap.

  “Oh yeah,” the Captain said to himself, looking at the shiny blade, “this is a keeper.” He crept to the corner of the building, and stared out towards the incoming horde. They were focused on the front of the building, thankfully not drawn by the sound of the door slamming, and he took the chance to rush across the side street.

  As he got across, he slid on the grass to duck behind some garbage bins. He peeked over them, watching as the creatures moved towards the building, paying him no attention. Just to be safe, he went halfway down the block before crossing back over the main road to head back in Walter’s direction.

  All right Mario, where you hiding at? he thought, and skulked through the neighborhood. He stayed off of the road and out of sight as much as he could, pausing at every house to scan the area, looking for any signs of Mario and his friend.

  After a few blocks, he hadn’t seen much of anything, human or zombie.

  Okay, maybe he went the other direction after breaking out of that house, he thought as he knelt down beside a house a few blocks from where he’d left Walter. Had to do something to lose that mini-horde that was after them. He contemplated the situation, wondering what the correct play was.

  On one hand, Mario had a lot coming to him. Terrell’s fingers itched with the need to make that asshole wish he were dead. But he was wasting time. They had a job to do, and Mario could wait, as much as it pained him to think it. He finally decided to go retrieve Walter and head to the garage.

  As he got within sight range of the house, his heart sank. There were a dozen zombies around the back entrance. He stood up straight, looking over their heads, and saw that the back door was still secure.

  Maybe they heard the others and followed them to the house? he wondered. No, that can’t be it, because those things were following me. Anxiety rose in him. He needed to get into the house to get the kid. He thought about going around to the front, but it could be worse than this situation. Not to mention that could expose him to Mario’s goons if there were any still lurking around.

  He decided to fight. Terrell emerged from his hiding spot, walking to the edge of the yard. He looked around on the ground, surveying a nice little garden area with some flowers and decorative rocks. He reached down and picked up a handful of the shiny stones, the cleaver in his other hand.

  It’s like that carnival game where you knock down the clown with the ball, he thought with glee. Except they’re zombies, and they’ll straight up murder you. He paused. So… just like a clown.

  He chuckled to himself and lined up a throw. The first rock flew through the air, catching a creature in the back of the head. It turned around to see the Captain waving and smiling, sunlight glinting off of the cleaver. It moved towards him, moaning a little, and started to move away from the pack.

  As it broke away, Terrell threw another rock, striking another ghoul in the back, and it turned as well, joining in the pursuit. By the time four staggered throws had sent a handful of creatures coming his way, they were fairly spread out. With their collective moans he didn’t have to launch any more projectiles, as they pulled their brethren away all by themselves.

  He stepped up to the first one, using his cleaver to crack down on the zombie’s head, splitting the skull like a coconut and dropping it. He yanked out the blade and awaited the next one, dispatching it with a quick swipe, sending a good portion of the top of its head flying through the air.

  We are definitely adding kitchen grade cutlery to the shopping list, he thought as he struck the third one down with ease. After the fourth, the remaining eight came at him more bunched together. He didn’t want to risk being overwhelmed, so he began a strike and retreat tactic.

  Terrell darted forward, kicking one creature down and striking the one beside it across the face before leaping several feet back to reset. It took him a few minutes, as he was being overcautious, but he needed to take the turtle way, slow and steady wins the race. Or, slow and steady survived the zombies.

  After he had cleared the congregation, he stood over his pile of bodies, admiring the cleaver, covered in blood but still shiny and silver. He wiped it on a ghoul to clean it off and then moved to the house.

  He gently turned the knob of the back door, sneaking in quietly. As he headed up the hallway, he froze at the sight of the front door wide open, a few dead zombies laying on the floor. His heart raced as he ran to the back bedroom.

  “Walter!” he yelled, all cautiousness gone from his brain. He froze in the hallway, seeing the door cracked open, splinters of wood on the floor and the dresser overturned in the bedroom. He rushed inside, looking around frantically. “Walter!?”

  No reply.

  He checked the closet and then screwed his fists into his eyes, letting out a deep breath before turning back towards the door. Next to the frame was a piece of paper skewered to the wall with a knife. In big letters scrawled across, it read, Still need a tire?

  Terrell roared, tearing the note down and crumpling it in his fists, tearing it apart and throwing the pieces to the floor. He grabbed the knife from the wall, and swallowed hard when he realized it was Walter’s.

  He clenched his jaw as he sheathed the knife. “By the time I’m done with him, this motherfucker’s gonna wish his momma was never born.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Coleman and Miles watched from their windows as the five men in pursuit of them took up positions outside of the schoo
l.

  “Think we should take a few potshots at them?” Miles asked.

  Coleman shrugged. “Honestly, I’d save them for the window once they’re inside,” he replied.

  They continued watching as the gunmen outside motioned for each other to move up, but none of them did so yet.

  “So, any regrets?” Coleman asked, as conversational as if he were discussing the weather that day.

  Miles barked a soft laugh. “You mean in general, or just today?” he asked. “Because I really regret not going back for seconds with that meal Ruth and June cooked up.”

  His friend chuckled and shook his head. “Nah man, I mean any regrets joining up with us?” he asked, voice sincere. “If you hadn’t done that, you could be out there with them, fighting over who gets to be the first suicide runner up here.”

  Miles smirked. “Well, if I was out there with them,” he teased, “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have made it this far.”

  “Bold to think you could catch me,” Coleman quipped with a wink.

  His friend cocked a brow. “Even bolder to think I’m that bad of a shot.”

  “If you were that good of a shot,” Coleman shot back, “we wouldn’t be relying on zombies to bail us out.”

  Miles laughed, nodding. “That’s a fair point.”

  “So seriously though, man,” Coleman said, sobering a little. “Any regrets?”

  His friend shook his head. “None whatsoever,” he said immediately. “I was never a fan of being the aggressor in a fight. Feels a whole lot better to help defend it from invaders than to be one of the invaders, you know?”

  “With you a hundred precent of the way there, man,” Coleman agreed. “Just sad that we’ve had way too many opportunities of late to be defenders.”

  Miles nodded, frowning. “Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

  Outside, it seemed that their invader’s negotiations were at an end as one of them got up from their position to rush forward.

  “Looks like one of them finally drew the short straw,” Coleman said.

  Miles took aim, squeezing off a single shot that caught the running man in the arm, sending him spinning t o the ground. The other four men in hiding immediately opened fire, causing the two soldiers to drop to the ground.

  “Yeah, zero chance you would have been able to shoot me,” Coleman grunted.

  Miles smirked. “In my defense, that guy is a lot skinnier than you,” he quipped.

  His friend rolled his eyes. “Excuses, excuses,” he retorted.

  The two men crawled on the ground of the classroom as bullets tore through the glass. As they got to the door, they slid into the hallway, springing to their feet as the concrete wall gave them some cover. They rushed down the hall to the other classrooms, about ten yards away from where they’d been pressed against the floor. They each took up position on either side of the hall, getting to the ground and aiming up the hallway.

  “How long you think it’s going to take for them to realize we’re not in the windows?” Miles asked.

  The gunfire continued outside.

  “Apparently a little longer,” Coleman replied.

  They stayed out of sight, looking up the hallway. The noise had attracted several zombies to the front wall glass, with half a dozen of them now pressed up against it.

  “Well, at least we’ve drawn out some more reinforcements,” Miles said brightly.

  His friend wrinkled his nose. “Let’s just hope we don’t get too many more of them,” he said. “I would rather not get overwhelmed today if I can help it.”

  Miles nodded as the gunfire outside finally stopped. The soldiers remained silent, listening as the intruders entered the building. Their feet stomped on broken glass in the classroom.

  “You hold them in,” Miles whispered, “I’ll take care of the glass.”

  Coleman nodded, waiting for their enemies to emerge from the classroom. As soon as the first barrel emerged, he squeezed off a shot that missed the target and smacked into the doorframe.

  “Dammit,” he muttered, regretting making fun of Miles’ aim. Karma was a bitch.

  The gunmen began shooting frantically from around the corner, not even aiming at all. Miles, on the other hand, aimed deliberately to the front window. He fired once, creating a crack in the glass.

  “Shit, it’s reinforced,” he muttered.

  One of the gunmen came into the hallway, firing several times towards Coleman as he tried to get to the room across the hall. Miles diverted his aim, shooting the man in the gut and dropping him to the ground. The man screamed in pain, writhing on the linoleum.

  “Hit the glass!” Coleman yelled.

  Miles aimed at the window again. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and unloaded the rest of the rounds in his assault rifle. They tore through the glass, sending spiderwebs of cracks all the way through it. The noise from inside enraged the creatures on the outside, and they started to push against it with all the hunger burning inside their rotted guts.

  The combined force of the zombies against the weakened window caused it to crumble inwards. There was a loud clattering of glass shards on the tiles as they broke in. A large piece hung above them as they started to walk in, which gave way after a moment.

  It fell straight down, scraping against the back of one of the zombies coming in, shaving off the back of it and leaving it behind outside.

  The wounded man on the ground looked back to see that several creatures were headed his way, and he panicked. “Get me out of here!” he screamed at his friends. “I don’t want to die!”

  One of his friends darted out of the classroom in an attempt to rescue his wounded comrade. As soon as he cleared the doorway, Coleman unloaded a three-shot burst, catching the man in the torso and head with two bullets. His blood splattered across the fallen man, and as the body crumpled next to him he began to shriek incoherently.

  Miles tossed his rifle aside, hopping up off of the ground and running up to the doorway, knife at the ready.

  The wounded man looked in at his friends. “STOP!” he screamed, but they must have assumed he was yelling at the zombies, because one of them entered the hallway anyway.

  Miles grabbed the new enemy by the arm, yanking him out of the classroom and slamming him against the wall. The impact caused him to lose control of his gun, which hit the floor. The two of them scuffled, exchanging a few punches that didn’t have much impact in the tight space.

  As they fought, one of the man’s friends took aim at Miles, but ducked back behind cover as Coleman unloaded another few rounds, narrowly missing his opponent’s face. The soldier pulled the trigger again, but there was just a dull click.

  “Dammit,” Coleman muttered, and rushed forward as the two remaining men entered the hallway.

  One turned towards Miles, and the other aimed at the oncoming zombies that inched ever closer to their human buffet. Coleman whipped his empty rifle at Miles’ attacker, and the man instinctively flinched, allowing the soldier to reach him.

  Coleman attempted a headbutt, but the man ducked to the side just in time and the hit glanced off of his cheek. Both men were about the same size, so neither could get the advantage to throw the other. They wrapped their hands around each other’s collars, struggling to gain the upper hand.

  The man focused on the zombies aimed and fired, striking the lead creature in the head. He quickly reloaded and fired at the skinned zombie, taking it out. As he reloaded to take out the other four, he froze, eyes fixed on the shattered window. A mass of creatures swarmed the opening, at least forty of them, drawn by the gunfire.

  “Guys!” the man screamed. “GUYS!”

  The four men engaged in fisticuffs paused, looking over at the oncoming horde.

  Coleman turned back to his opponent. “Truce?” he asked breathlessly.

  The man nodded furiously, and they let go of each other. Miles leapt off of his opponent from the floor, and he and his tentative comrade grabbed the arms of the wounded man on the floor, dragging
him along the linoleum.

  They stopped at the first classroom across the hall from their entry point, looking through to see zombies pressed up against the windows they’d entered in. Coleman grunted and looked around, and then pointed to the end of the hall at the sign for the Library.

  “Library, let’s move!” he cried, and he and his ex-attacker sprinted down the hallway as the other two continued to drag the wounded man.

  They burst in through the heavy wooden doors of the library, giving the room a quick sweep and finding no resistance. As soon as Miles and his gaggle were through, Coleman clammed the door shut as they set the groaning man on the ground.

  “Bookcase, let’s go!” Miles barked, wrapping his arm around one of the heavy shelves. The four of them dragged it together, leaning it up against the door. “Okay Bubba,” he continued, pointing to the shorter heavyset of their new companions, “you lean up against this and make sure nothing gets in.”

  The man simply nodded and complied, seemingly too panicked to offer any resistance.

  Coleman ran over to the windows, attempting to open them but stopping when he realized that they were not only locked, but there were bars on the outside. The man he’d been fighting with headed over, letting out a sigh of frustration at the situation.

  “Why in the holy hell would they have bars on the windows?” he demanded, throwing up his arms. “Who would be riskin jail for some books?”

  Coleman glanced over to the computer lab in the corner of the room. “Probably to protect those,” he suggested, motioning to the machines.

  “Damn computers are gonna be the death of us all,” the guy muttered, shaking his head.

  Miles approached them, and ran his hands through his short hair. “So now what?” he asked, and then they all turned towards the door as zombies began to bang on the hard wood. The portly guy against the bookcase moaned in fear, pressing himself back against it with all he had.

  Coleman pursed his lips as he surveyed the room, only concrete walls and bookcases, with barred windows. “Don’t know yet.”