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

by Derek Slaton

  Frank took a deep breath. “Understood, Corporal. How close are you to the fortress?”

  “Should be there in a few minutes,” came the reply. “We’re just entering the downtown airsp-”

  An alarm echoed through the radio, noise and cursing filling the airwaves.

  “Bennett!” Frank screamed into the receiver, and everyone at the table leapt to their feet.

  “We’re taking fire!” Bennett cried, and then the alarm and noise drowned him out.

  The Captain and his crew tore from the skybox and into the outer walkway of the stadium. They ran to the edge and looked out towards the city, able to see the transport helicopter with smoke pouring out of the engine as it struggled to stay steady in the air.

  It violently veered to the left, the sound of gunshots following moments later.

  “Who the fuck is firing on them?!” Webb cried.

  Freeman clutched the railing with white knuckles. “Well, we haven’t exactly made a lot of friends recently. Can’t imagine people were too happy about being left out in the cold to fend for themselves while we set up shop here.”

  Webb shook his head in disgust, the group helplessly watching the struggling helicopter with their comrades inside of it.

  “We’re going down!” Bennett cried, and the aircraft lurched again before landing violently on the roof of a tall office building. The group winced at the sound of the crash coming through the radio, and then there was silence.

  “Bennett?” Frank demanded. “You guys okay?”

  There was a moment of pause before a dull click. “Yeah, we’re here and mostly in one piece. Guess we can mark that one off the bucket list, holy fuck.”

  They listened intently as Bennett, muffled, seemed to be checking on Foster. He was cut off with machine gun fire.

  “Contact! Contact!” he screamed, leaving the channel open during the firefight. Frank held the radio to his head, wide-eyed, the group huddled around him, fingers twitching as if they could do something through the feed to help their friends.

  “I’m out!” Foster yelled from the background, and then there was a hollow click.

  “Shit!” Bennett cried.

  An unidentified male voice barked, “Toss your weapons down and come out!”

  “Captain, we’re being taken,” Bennett whispered. “We’re across from a taller blue windowed building and-”

  “Drop the radio!” the voice cried. “Do it now!”

  There was a hard smack and then the line went dead.

  Frank took a deep breath and lowered his hands, mouth pressed in a thin line. One by one, each member of his team seemed to understand what was about to happen.

  “All right,” the Captain said firmly. “Let’s get geared up.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Captain, you can’t go back out there,” Bill insisted as he matched pace with the determined soldier, practically jogging to keep up with him as he led his group to the equipment room.

  Frank narrowed his eyes. “The hell I can’t.”

  “Captain,” Bill whipped in front of him and stopped the group dead. “May I remind you that you are in charge of this entire facility? If you want to mount a rescue mission, you’ll have my complete support, but you must delegate it.”

  “Delegate it to who, exactly?” Frank crossed his arms. “The fresh-faced kids who are setting up greenhouses? How many of those troops down there have even seen combat? Run covert operations? Hell how many of them have come face to face with a zombie?”

  Bill sighed, shoulders slumping as he stepped out of the way. “Fair enough, Captain,” he conceded as he fell into step once again. “How can I help?”

  “Get some people up here who know the city, and try to figure out what building that is,” Frank instructed. “We’re going to need to know every conceivable route to get to it as well. God only knows what the roads downtown are like.”

  “Consider it done,” Bill replied. “What else?”

  “Tell Sergeant Lambert to meet us on the second floor above the transports,” the Captain finished, and threw open the door to the equipment room.

  Minutes later, the team of five climbed down the rope ladders to the top of the large transport vehicle they’d rode in on. Freeman and Marie stood guard, looking out over the sea of thousands of zombies, all moaning and reaching for them like a rotten mosh pit. The truck swayed slightly with the ebb and flow of their push.

  “So much death,” Marie mused. “I don’t even know where to begin comprehending it.”

  Freeman shrugged. “One death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic.”

  She cocked her head. “Did you just quote Joseph Stalin to me?”

  “I did,” he replied and raised an eyebrow at her. “What? Are you surprised that I quoted a historical figure instead of a movie character?”

  “Well, yeah,” she admitted, “but also somewhat confused as to why you thought it applied here.”

  “I thought it was relevant because you said you didn’t know how to comprehend all this death,” Freeman explained, motioning to the crowd with his rifle. “The only way to survive something like this is to think of it as a statistic. You can’t look out there and think about the mothers who watched their kids die, or the fathers who never made it home from work, or the entire family trees that were chopped down. No, you have to look out there at the sea of corpses and think, damn, that’s twenty percent of the city right there, and move on while making some quip to yourself about how you thought it would be bigger.”

  Marie smirked. “I’m guessing I’m not the only woman to have that thought go through her head in your presence.”

  He laughed, glad to have cheered her up. “Glad you took advantage of that one, because they aren’t always going to be softballs.”

  She grinned deviously, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

  “I’m going to go get this thing started up,” Freeman said, and turned towards the front of the truck.

  She nodded. “Good call.”

  Frank stood at the top of the ladder as Sergeant Lambert strode towards he and Bill.

  “Sergeant, thank you for coming up,” Frank said, extending his hand.

  Lambert shook it and nodded. “Yes, sir. How can I help?”

  “We’re going on a rescue mission, and in my absence Bill is in complete control of this facility,” the Captain instructed. “I know it’s a military operation, but things need to get done and he knows what they are. You are to support him with whatever he needs.”

  Lambert saluted. “Understood, sir.”

  “If we are gone more than forty-eight hours, it means we probably aren’t coming back,” Frank continued. “If that happens, your orders are to contact D.C. and let them make the judgment call from there.”

  “Yes sir,” the Sergeant agreed. “There won’t be any power play on my part. We’re in this together.”

  The Captain nodded, putting a hand on his comrade’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Lambert. I’m glad they picked you for this assignment.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the Sergeant replied, and stepped back as Frank turned to Bill.

  “What’s the word on the building?” he asked.

  “They’re still trying to pinpoint it, but said for you to head up to Tryon Street and they’ll talk you in from there,” Bill replied.

  “Thanks,” Frank replied, and took a deep breath. “We’ll be in touch.”

  He slipped over the edge onto the rope ladder, climbing down and landing hard on the roof of the transport truck. He ignored the sea of zombies, walking to the hatch in pure business mode. He dropped into the cab and secured the top hatch before getting comfortable in the passenger seat.

  “All right, Freeman,” the Captain began, “once you get out of the front gate, we’re hanging a left on Tryon. And let’s take it slow, because they’re still working on the building ID.”

  Freeman grinned as he put the truck in gear, corpses crunching under the weight of the tires as
he crawled forward. “Nothing like a leisurely drive to the city.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Man, there’s a whole lotta nothin’ out here,” Coleman said as he gazed out over the rural farmland of eastern North Carolina.

  Terrell nodded as he studied a farm below them, a faded red barn crumpled to the dirt. “There’s a couple of small towns, but that’s about it.”

  “Exactly,” the Corporal replied. “You’d figure that with the small towns we’d see some signs of life, or at least some zombies milling about. But there’s just nothing.”

  The Captain nodded thoughtfully. The gas light flashed furiously, and he sighed. “Well, looks like we get to see first hand if it really is a whole lot of nothing out there.”

  “Where do you want me to set it down at?” Coleman asked. “Figure we have about five more minutes of flight time before we’re not gonna have a choice in the matter.”

  Terrell pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked across the horizon. There was a cluster of buildings in the distance that looked like it could be a small town.

  He pointed in that direction. “Looks like there’s something resembling civilization a few miles that way,” he instructed. “Let’s set it down short of town and we’ll hike in.”

  “You got it, Captain,” Coleman replied and flew to an empty field with a line of trees on one side. He gracefully lowered to the grass, leaving as much open space around them as he could. He powered everything off and the blades slowed as he and his comrade popped out of the cab with their weapons at the ready.

  They swept their surroundings, squinting in the sunlight, and then relaxed as they met around the back of the chopper.

  “What do you know, looks like you were right,” Terrell said good-naturedly. “Ain’t nothing around here.”

  As if on cue, a single high-powered rifle shot cracked through the air, and they ducked before realizing it was too far away to be meant for them.

  “You were saying there, Cap?” Coleman asked.

  Terrell chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, learned my lesson. Last time I give you any sort of praise.”

  “What do you think,” the Corporal mused, “you wanna check it out?”

  “Well, it’s either that or sleep in a field tonight, because that’s about the only bit of civilization I saw,” Terrell replied.

  Coleman held out his arm. “All right lead the way.”

  They moved towards the tree line in defensive position, and upon pushing through the wooded area, saw a big box discount store. There were a few dozen corpses scattered around the parking lot, but there was no movement that could be seen.

  “Up for a little shopping?” Terrell asked.

  Coleman nodded. “Seeing as how we didn’t pack any food or water, it might be a prudent thing to do.”

  They kept their guard up as they slowly moved into the parking lot, finding the lack of movement not exactly reassuring due to the recent gunfire. When they reached the front door, Terrell led the way inside, everything remarkably intact considering the apocalypse.

  There were a few knocked over display and a blood streak here and there, the power completely out, but for the most part everything seemed still together. The bulk of the store was darkened aside from the occasional ray of sunlight peeking through the odd skylights here and there in the ceiling.

  They froze at the sound of shattering glass.

  “Be careful with those!” a stern male voice barked.

  Terrell silently motioned for Coleman to follow him towards the noise. They moved down a mostly stripped bare aisle towards what looked like a flickering flashlight moving around. As they approached the end, an African-American teenager strolled around the corner and stopped dead, eyes widening in fear.

  “Easy now kid,” Terrell said when he realized how young their opponent was, “we ain’t gonna hurt you.”

  The kid turned on his heel and sprinted back the way he’d come, towards the lit up area.

  “They’re here! They’re here!” he screamed.

  Terrell shook his head. “Shit.”

  The duo raised their guns again and turned the corner to see a group of civilians loading up several shopping carts. They were mostly younger, late teens to early twenties, but there was an elderly couple as well. They all had ragged, torn clothes, and one rifle between all of them. But it was propped in a cart and pointed at the ceiling.

  “Please,” the old man rasped, “just take whatever you want. We won’t put up a fight.”

  Terrell relaxed. “Relax there old timer, we ain’t taking your stuff.”

  “Although if you have a couple bottles of water, we’d be very appreciative,” Coleman added, lowering his weapon.

  The old man looked them up and down and then nodded in approval, motioning to the young teenager that had initially spotted them in the aisle. “Walter, get these men some water.”

  The kid chewed his lower lip with nervousness. “But Mister Hoyt, they could be-”

  “Walter, do as I say,” the old man snapped. “I think these men are here to help.”

  Walter shook his head in frustration, but followed the instructions, gathering up a few bottles of water. He stepped forward tentatively, keeping his eyes downcast, and held them out. Terrell took the bottles but grabbed the kid’s wrist, kneeling down to look him in the eye.

  “Walter,” he said firmly, making sure the kid was looking at him, “from now on, I want you to look people in the eye. Never let them think they’re above you.”

  The kid nodded jerkily. “Yes… yes sir.”

  The Captain stood up as Walter rejoined his group, and turned to the old man. “All right, Mister Hoyt, why don’t you give us a lay of the land? Who did young Walter here think we were?”

  “Please sir, just call me Hoyt,” the old man insisted.

  “All right,” Terrell agreed, “I’m Terrell and this is Coleman.”

  “It’s a pleasure, sirs,” Hoyt replied with a slight incline of his head. “This is my wife Edna, and that’s Walter, Ruth, Clara and Henry. We’re part of a group that took up residence in Clinton, which is about three miles up the road. Rather than have us stay at the farms all around the area, Xavier came around and collected us. He felt like there was strength in numbers.”

  “So, what are y’all doing all the way out here?” Terrell furrowed his brow.

  The old man held up a mason jar. “We were running low on canning supplies. This is the only big store in the immediate vicinity so we risked coming out.”

  “So what were y’all shooting at earlier?” Coleman asked. “Get surprised by a zombie?”

  Hoyt pursed his lips before responding, “I’m afraid that wasn’t us, sir.”

  Terrell shot the Corporal a concerned glance. “Has somebody been bothering y’all?”

  “Yes sir, but I believe Xavier will be able to explain the situation better,” the old man replied. “If you don’t mind coming into town with us, I’m sure he’d be happy to have you.”

  “What do you think, Coleman?” the Captain asked his comrade.

  “Pretty sure they’re making some fried chicken for dinner tonight, too,” Hoyt added.

  Coleman grinned. “I think we have our answer.”

  A trio of gunshots rang out, and the civilians all immediately ducked behind Hoyt, who fumbled with his rifle.

  Terrell held up a hand to stop him. “I think you’d better let us handle this,” he said, and took up a defensive stance as the old man nodded. “Coleman, aisle six.”

  “You got it, Cap,” the Corporal replied and rushed off down the darkened aisle that ran parallel to the group’s but still away from the front door.

  Hoots and hollers echoed throughout the store, another shot piercing the air. Terrell stood his ground about ten feet in front of the group, arms crossed and assault rifle slung across his back. A tall and muscular man wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off strolled out of the darkness with a shotgun in his hands.

  “H
ey boys, they’re over here!” he drawled, grinning to show off more than a few missing teeth. “Oh yeah, we’re gonna have some fun with y’all.”

  Terrell smirked. “I would genuinely like to see you try.”

  The redneck clenched his jaw, narrowing his eyes as he stopped a few feet away from the Captain. “Oh, looks like we got one of them tough brothers, here. Tell me boy, what do you think you’re gonna be able to do to me?”

  Terrell looked his opponent up and down before smiling. “Well, my initial thought was to shove that shotgun up your ass.” He shrugged. “But then I realized that you were a backcountry hillbilly and would probably enjoy that.”

  The redneck snarled and raised his gun, but the Captain lashed out and blocked it, punching his opponent in the throat. The redneck dropped to one knee, struggling for air, and Terrell rammed his knee into the guy’s gasping face.

  He picked up the shotgun as the man collapsed into a blubbering mess on the floor, and pointed it at the redneck’s head as his four buddies approached from the darkness.

  “Wouldn’t be the wisest move you could make,” the Captain warned.

  The men kept their guns pointed at the floor, and a slightly overweight one put his rifle on the floor and raised his hands, stepping forward.

  “OK now mister, let’s not do anything crazy here,” he cooed.

  Terrell snorted. “Would have been great if you had instilled that sentiment in your boy here.”

  “Now, I ain’t gonna make any excuses for ol’ Andrew there,” the man admitted. “Boy’s got a shorter fuse than a bootleg firecracker. But I’m a little more laid back than he is. Now my name’s Ralph, what’s yours?”

  “You can call me Terrell.”

  “All right now, Terrell,” Ralph continued, “why don’t you just let my friend there go and we’ll just pretend this little misunderstanding didn’t happen?”