Dead America: The First Week Box Set Books 1-7 (Dead America Box Sets Book 2)

by Derek Slaton

  He turned his attention back to the fire car, flames billowing in and out of the alleyway depending on the direction of the wind. Frank took a quick hard breath, and sprinted towards it, doing a barrel roll through the flames and landed on his knees on the other side. He slapped at his shoulder, where a little flame had caught him, and then took off down the row of cars as quickly as he could back into the shadows.

  When he reached the original source of the pileup, he raked his eyes over the sedan stopped dead in its tracks by a corpse in the windshield. The neighboring lane housed an SUV with bloody dents all over the front grill, telling a story of meeting a horde that morning. He moved back into the shadows and up to the next storefront, which was a coffee shop.

  Frank gently pushed on the door, meeting no resistance this time, and stepped inside. He clicked the deadbolt quietly behind him and did a quick sweep of the shop. A few of the tables had been knocked over, and there was a dark blood spatter across the specials board that boasted Pumpkin Spice Latte with a hand-drawn jack-o-lantern in a coffee mug.

  Frank chuckled and ducked behind the counter, finally relaxing his tensed muscles. He lifted his radio to his lips.

  “Hey Pumpkin Spice, you there?” he asked.

  There was a crackle, then Freeman clicked through. “That’s Captain Pumpkin Spice to you, buddy.” They shared a relieved laugh.

  “Everybody else safe?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, we’re good, Cap,” the Corporal replied. “Found us an overpriced apartment to hole up in.”

  “Good to know I picked the right second in command,” the Captain said.

  Freeman clucked his tongue. “Damn right you did. Now, where are you?”

  Frank paused. “Some coffee shop about a block and a half in the wrong direction from where you need to go.”

  “We can make a detour,” Freeman immediately replied.

  “Negative, Corporal,” the Captain shot back firmly. “You get to those transports and you complete the mission. That’s an order.”

  Freeman sighed. “We’ll get it done, Captain,” he said reluctantly.

  “I have no doubt,” Frank replied.

  “What about you, though?” came the soft question.

  “I’m gonna see if I can work my way back towards the stadium,” the Captain told him. “Might have you pick me up with the transports if I can find a good spot.”

  “I’ll keep you posted on our progress,” Freeman promised.

  “Likewise,” Frank agreed. “Be safe, Freeman.”

  “You too, Captain.”

  He switched off his radio and leaned back against the cabinet. He looked up at the counter to see if there was something he could make to give himself a little boost. The bottle of pumpkin spice flavoring was right at the forefront, and he chuckled again.

  “Eh, what the hell?” he asked himself, and got to his feet, pouring the syrup into the bottom of an empty cup. “At least I’m smart enough to do this out of sight.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Terrell led his team across an abandoned department store, taking a knee at the front window. The journey from the apartment building had been significantly less exciting than the first few blocks, and that suited the Captain just fine.

  He pulled out a pair of binoculars and peered across the street at the big box store. There were a few zombies milling about the parking lot, with some of them around the transport that didn’t appear to have been breached. He handed the binoculars to Coleman, who took a look.

  “We gotta assume there are just as many of those things inside as there are outside,” Terrell said.

  The Corporal sighed as he lowered the binoculars. “Any bright ideas, Cap?”

  Terrell took the device back and looked again. He noticed a secure ladder bolted to the side of the building. There was a protective covering on it, making the first exposed rung about eight feet off of the ground. He handed the binoculars back.

  “Right side of the building, ladder to the roof,” he said. “Figure we can get up there and find a way in.”

  Coleman nodded. “And, then what?”

  Terrell shrugged. “Fuck if I know,” he replied. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”

  “Good a plan as any, I suppose,” the Corporal conceded.

  “Martinez, Bennett, Foster, you guys hang tight here,” Terrell instructed. “Once we get a lay of the land in there I’ll tell you where I need you.”

  Martinez nodded. “Works for me, Cap, I could use a break.” He coughed violently and took a seat. Terrell looked on with concern and was met with a halfhearted thumbs up from Martinez.

  “We’re on the move,” Terrell said, and waved for Coleman to follow him. They slipped out of the department store and moved above fifty yards parallel to the big box store. They hugged the tree lined driveway to conceal their approach, crouching in the shadows. Terrell faced the tree line, and Coleman kept watch on the parking lot horde, the two of them moving in practiced unison.

  At the end of the driveway, they continued across the grass beside the building, and then took a knee. They surveyed the surroundings and then Terrell turned.

  “You lead,” he whispered, “give me a boost and I’ll pull you up.”

  Coleman nodded, and couch-walked the final distance to the ladder. Terrell paused for a moment, and then followed, moving quickly as the Corporal couched into a launching pad. In a move that would make Cirque Du Soleil proud, they executed a perfect boost. Terrell grabbed the exposed rung, and pulled himself up by his arms a few rungs before he got a foothold. He reached down and Coleman leapt to grasp his arm, and hook a leg up into the bottom rung.

  They climbed to the top silently, and then popped up onto the roof, defensive positions in case there were zombies about.

  “Well, that went a hell of a lot better than I expected,” Coleman said after they determined the roof was clear.

  “No kidding,” Terrell agreed. “Come on, let’s find the store room.” He led the way across the space, looking for any sort of access panel or ventilation duct.

  “Hey Cap,” the Corporal hissed. “I think I found something.” He waved his superior over, and Terrell peered down into the giant fan below. It appeared to go directly into the store room, the blades perfectly still.

  “Hello? Anybody home?” the Captain called down the shaft, voice echoing a bit. He glanced around, but no zombies came into view. “Hand me that brick,” he said, and Coleman grabbed the stray brick on the edge of the roof’s half-wall.

  Terrell dropped it through the vent, and it crashed spectacularly against the cement floor, sending a huge clap reverberating through the storeroom. A few moments passed, and then a few people stepped into view, a store employee and a few guys in military uniforms.

  “Howdy y’all,” Terrell greeted. “Heard you were in need of some rescuin’.”

  “Well hallelujah,” one of the Privates said with a grin, “I thought we were abandoned.”

  “Sorry about that,” the Captain replied. “It’s a bit of a motherfucker out here, so took us a while to get across town.”

  The Private nodded. “Just glad you’re here now.”

  “What’s your name, soldier?” Terrell asked.

  “Private Dixon.” He saluted up at the Captain.

  “All right, Dixon, what’s the situation down there?”

  “There’s eight of us holed up in here,” the Private replied. “Doors are bolted shut so they can’t get in.”

  Terrell nodded. “Any idea how many zombies are in the store?”

  “No clue, sir,” Dixon replied with a shake of his head. “We were here in the back when the store was overrun. We heard gunfire and screaming coming from the front. I went to the door to check it out, and had to slam it shut before half a dozen of those things got to me. A few more seconds and there wouldn’t have been anyone in need of rescue.”

  “You did good, Dixon,” Terrell commended. “Eight people are alive because of you. You boys sit tight while we figure ou
t how to get y’all out.”

  “Ex-excuse me, mister soldier man?” the teenager in the store uniform squeaked. “May I say something?”

  The Captain smiled. “What can I do for you, overly polite store employee?”

  “My name is Jeff… I’m the assistant manager,” the boy replied, voice a little calmer. “If you go to the far end of the roof, there’s a small gray hatch that will lead down into the manager’s office. It should be unlocked because the manager always snuck out to the roof for a smoke break. I made sure to lock the office up tight before helping these nice men, so there won’t be any of those… those people in there. And it overlooks the entire store.”

  Terrell nodded. “Well Jeff, if I have any say in the matter, you just got a promotion to manager.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Jeff grinned, eyes lighting up.

  “No, thank you,” the Captain replied. “Hang tight, we’ll be right back.”

  Terrell and Coleman moved across the roof to the aforementioned hatch. Next to it was a giant bucket of sand that was more cigarette butts than sand. The Corporal popped the hatch open and his superior peered down, weapon drawn.

  “Looks like we’re clear,” he said, and shimmied himself down into the office. Coleman dropped down beside him, and they flipped the light on.

  “Cap, did we just hit a time warp?” the Corporal asked with amusement, taking in the wood paneled office with matted down shag carpet and a metal desk. “I feel like we just stepped back into 1979.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Terrell wrinkled his nose. “I’d rather live in a world with zombies than one dominated by disco and bellbottoms.”

  “Hard to argue with that,” Coleman agreed. They moved to the large sliding glass window. The Captain threw it open, immediately able to hear the dull roar of moans and shuffling feet. The PA system squealed as the Corporal lifted the manager’s microphone to his lips.

  “Attention Thrift Mart shoppers, we are now running a special on whoop-ass,” Coleman said in a jovial tone, voice echoing through the speakers. “Please proceed to the back office to claim your free can.”

  The moans intensified, and Terrell reached out to smack on the wall beneath the window, drawing a crowd of zombies a few dozen strong.

  “Man, we still need to get the ones from the outside to get in here,” the Captain muttered, and then pulled his binoculars. He saw the front doors of the store were closed, the zombies bumping against it not able to get in. He lifted his radio to his mouth. “Foster, you copy?”

  There was a crackle before the Corporal replied, “I gotcha, Cap.”

  “We’re about to pop off a few shots,” Terrell explained. “Wanted to make sure you fellas knew we weren’t in danger.”

  “Good to know,” Foster replied. “You got a plan for us?”

  “Yeah, we’re gonna open the front door for those things, and hopefully lure them in,” the Captain said. “When I give the signal, I want you three to come in and work your way to the back. The shelving units look pretty sturdy, so try and get an elevated position. Then we’ll just pick ‘em off.”

  “Just give us the signal,” the Corporal agreed.

  Terrell stepped out of the way and motioned to the window. “Well, go ahead, Coleman, you’re my glass-breaker, after all.”

  The Corporal grinned and aimed at the front glass doors. He squeezed off a handful of shots, the windows shattering easily. The duo yelled and started banging on the wall, and zombies poured in through the new path opened to them.

  “How’s it looking out there?” Terrell asked into the radio.

  Foster crackled back, “Couple of stragglers but we can take ‘em out.”

  “When you hear us start firing, move on up,” the Captain instructed.

  They reached out the window and aimed straight down at the zombies grasping up in vain at their potential prey.

  “I’ll take right, you take left,” Terrell said, and Coleman nodded. They unleashed a steady stream of shots, carefully taking aim to drop the zombies one by one in the most efficient manner without wasting a single bullet.

  Across the street, Foster raised his hand. “That’s our signal, let’s go,” he said.

  The trio of soldiers ran across the street to the mostly empty parking lot. As they approached the doors, there were a couple of zombies that couldn’t quite figure out how to get through the door frame. They turned around at the sound of footsteps, but the soldiers took them out with silent knives to the face.

  Foster led them inside, motioning for Martinez to go right and Bennett to go left. They split off down different aisles, each climbing to the top of the big shelving units. They walked along the tops, reaching their new snipers nests. In the back corner, Terrell and Coleman had been able to take out a few dozen zombies, corpses littering the floor.

  Foster gave his Captain a brief salute, and the trio added to the firefight. The zombies fell even faster, and after a few minutes of continuous efficient shooting, the floor was a mound of corpses in a cauldron of death, not a single zombie even twitching.

  Martinez coughed as he climbed down from the shelves. “That was a hell of a plan there, Cap.”

  “Thanks,” Terrell replied with a grin. “Kind of proud of that one myself.”

  Foster nodded. “What’s next, Cap?” He dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

  “Foster, you go free our friends from the store room,” Terrell instructed. “Martinez, Bennet, I want you to secure the front. We just made a hell of a lot of noise, and we need to make sure we didn’t attract more hostiles.”

  There was a round of yes, sir, and the trio headed off in separate directions.

  “What about us, Cap?” Coleman asked.

  Terrell turned to him. “We get to study a map and figure out where to go next. We have a lot of shopping to get done by morning.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Frank moved through the shadows along a tree-lined side street. The last six blocks had taken him outside the heart of the city, but he knew better than to let his guard down. There could still be a horde around any corner.

  The neighborhood was a mix of high-end residential condos and posh niche shops. He passed by a little boutique that sold only scarves, and couldn’t help but think, This place only stays open because of the trophy wives spending four hundred dollars on a scarf made by a sweatshop worker who makes less than that in a year…

  It was a heady experience to think about how all of that was gone, none of it mattered anymore. That the apocalypse had taken away the sweatshops and trophy wives and scarf peddlers. He shivered.

  A few fancy cars dotted the road, but for the most part it was clear. As he worked his way forward, there was a slight movement in his peripheral vision. He raised his weapon and froze, but there was nothing more. He continued slowly, senses straining, and approached an intersection.

  “Fuck,” he muttered to himself quietly as he looked around the empty streets. “I have no idea where I am.” There was a small hotel on the corner. All the lights were off save for a faint glow coming from the one of the back rooms. He moved forward to investigate, knowing that he needed a safe place to get his bearings.

  The door was locked, so he slammed his elbow into the small vintage glass pane just above the door handle. He opened the deadbolt through the new hole and let himself in. He locked the door behind him and took in the dim decor. For the first time that day, there were no signs of a struggle, no blood anywhere. He stayed vigilant, however, gun raised and finger on the trigger.

  There was a shuffling sound that seemed to come from the lit room in the back, and he cautiously moved towards it. He waited, and then grabbed the handle, throwing the door open and readying his gun.

  A twenty-something Latina woman screamed and held a knife in front of her. Her shirt was soaked with blood, eyes wild, hair tousled.

  “Whoa whoa,” Frank said, immediately dropping his arm. “It’s okay, girl. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Frank. What’s your name?” />
  She muttered something in Spanish, and he relaxed his stance.

  “Frank,” he repeated, pointing to himself. “No habla Espanol.”

  She nodded and mimicked his movement, pointing to herself. “Millie,” she said, accent thick. “No English.”

  He sighed, realizing his day just got a hell of a lot more complicated. He raised his radio to his mouth. “Bill, you there?”

  “Captain, what’s your status?” Bill immediately replied.

  “I’m just outside the downtown area at some little boutique hotel called...” Frank paused, and rummaged on the desk for a business card, “The Night Cap.”

  “Give me a moment,” Bill said, and the sound of keyboard clicks in the background. “OK, looks like you are about ten blocks due south of the stadium.”

  Frank sighed. “Man, I am way the fuck out here.”

  “And I’m afraid you’re on your own, too,” Bill replied, regret lacing his voice. “Just heard from Corporal Freeman and they are approaching the bus depot. He reported heavy resistance so they are going to be hard pressed to get back here in one piece as it is.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much,” Frank replied. “And it’s going to take some time for me to work my way north. They don’t need to be holding up things just for me.”

  “Agreed,” Bill said. “Sorry. That sounded harsh.”

  “It’s all good Bill,” the Captain assured him, lightening his tone, “I’ve been expendable most of my life. Frankly, it would be weird if I were worth saving.”

  “Don’t worry Captain, we’re gonna get you home,” Bill replied.

  Frank furrowed his brow. “Well, if you have an idea, I’m all ears.”

  “As a matter of face, I believe I do.”

  The Captain chuckled. “Well, that’s why you get the big bucks, right?”

  “Wait,” Bill laughed back, “we’re getting paid for this?”

  “Whatcha got for me, Bill?” Frank asked.

  “So, instead of coming due north to the stadium, I’m going to need you to go west a couple of blocks before making the turn,” came the reply. “The practice field is on the other side of the parking lot, about three hundred yards away from the stadium. The zombie horde hasn’t expanded that far out, so if you are lucky, you should be able to make it there without attracting them.”