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

by Derek Slaton

  “Oh yeah.” Susanna grinned. “We’re in business.”

  She popped out the spent cartridge and reached down into one of the four large boxes of ammo. She chambered another and shattered another zombie’s cranium before grabbing the side of the truck bed for the turn.

  The horde following them continued to grow into the low hundreds, zombies emerging from every nook, cranny, alley and building. The screeching of the plow had stopped hurting her ears at least, but it was still doing its job.

  Susanna lifted her radio. “Emily, we just made the turn onto Washington,” she said. “The horde is moving a little slow so you may wanna give it a few minutes.”

  “You drawing a good crowd?” the older woman asked.

  “Probably picked up about three, maybe four hundred of those fuckers already,” Susanna replied. “At this rate we’re gonna clear out a good portion of the city on this trip.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Emily came back. “Be safe and keep me posted.”

  Susanna nodded. “You got it.” She clipped the radio to her belt and popped another cartridge into her cattle stunner. “I got something for the next one of you assholes who gets bold,” she declared to her followers. She received lazy moans in return, and lowered to her knees, spreading them slightly for balance.

  She watched the capitol building as they passed, noting the several dozen zombies milling about the courtyard.

  She leaned back towards the cab. “Honk the horn a few times!” she instructed, and he complied, blasting the horn.

  The loud blast drew the attention of a good number of the corpses, but not all of them. When it stopped blaring, she pursed her lips, not seeing as many as she would have liked ambling towards them.

  “When you get to the turn, stop for a minute and lay on the horn,” she instructed. “We gotta get as many of them as we can.”

  The driver’s arm jutted back out the window, giving her another thumbs up.

  “Oh, and you may want to roll your window up in case those things get close,” she said. “I’ll smack the roof when it’s time to go.”

  There was a double tap from the inside of the roof, and she nodded, spreading her feet a little into a power stance.

  “All right,” she growled, “come and get some.”

  The front line of the easily near-thousand strong horde approached the back of the truck, swarming and grabbing for her. The horn blew, and the mass of rotting flesh continued to grow. Susanna dropped them one by one as they got too close for comfort, though more were eager to take their place. She frowned as the corpses grew taller, standing on the backs of their fallen brethren.

  “Yeah, I think that’s good enough,” she muttered, noting that most of the stragglers from the capitol had joined them. She smacked the roof of the truck and then knelt down immediately, so that she wouldn’t tumble into the horde.

  She felt the truck shift into gear, but didn’t jump forward as quickly as she’d like.

  “What’s the fucking holdup?” she barked, and peered through the back window. There was a decent wall of zombies in the way, having come in from the other side. She drew her handgun and stood up, leaning over the roof of the cab, popping off a few rounds at the creatures pushing up against the front. It was just enough to give the truck an advantage, and the driver punched the accelerator, giving them a good twenty yard gap on the horde.

  Susanna knocked on the roof as she knelt back down.

  “Yes ma’am?” the driver asked through his now-unrolled window.

  She leaned over the side of the bed. “The I-94 on-ramp is about a mile up,” she said. “Head east, and when I give the signal, you floor it and get to the next exit to head back to the bridge. With any luck, those things will just keep on walking.”

  “Here’s hoping, ma’am,” he replied.

  Susanna rolled her eyes. “And stop with the ma’am shit. I ain’t dainty, I’m an ass-kicker. My name is Susanna, use it.”

  “You can call me Randall,” he said.

  “Oh no, you haven’t earned first name status with me, yet,” she said, shaking her head. “We survive the day, and I’ll upgrade you from ‘driver’ to your real name.” She caught a glimpse of an amused expression in the side mirror.

  “Sounds like a fair deal, Susanna,” he replied.

  She smacked the side of the truck. “All right, now quit your yappin’ and get back to driving.”

  “Yes ma’aaaaa…” he stammered. “Susanna.”

  She cracked a smile and turned back to the horde, settling in on her knees and pulling her radio.

  “Come in, Emily,” she said.

  The response was immediate. “We looking clear?”

  “Don’t know about clear,” Susanna admitted, “but it’s a hell of a lot clearer than it was ten minutes ago.”

  “Good enough for me,” Emily replied. “I’ll tell Myles to be on standby.”

  “Should be there in fifteen or so,” the younger woman reported.

  “Be safe,” came the reply, “Emily out.”

  Susanna rummaged in the co2 cartridges and found her flask, unscrewing the cap to take a well-deserved drink. She sighed with relief and then buried it back in the box.

  “Mmm, that’ll warm you up,” she murmured.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  7:53 AM

  Chad spread the map out on the dashboard from the passenger seat, studying the roads carefully as one of Glenn’s men drove.

  “All right, Lowell,” the burly Wainwright said, “as soon as we turn onto State the entrance to the capitol building is going to be the first left.”

  The driver nodded. “Yeah, I remember coming here on a class trip once. The driveway circles that big open field.”

  “I’d stick to the left driveway for approach,” Chad suggested. “The library is just off the right side, so there’s a bigger chance of running into resistance there.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Lowell agreed. He turned into the driveway and veered to the left, saying on the path of least resistance. It was lined with trees and perfectly clear, so he accelerated.

  “Easy there man,” Chad warned. “No need to take a risk.”

  “Relax man,” the driver replied. “I drive in stuff ten times worse than this all the time.” He waved his hand and increased his speed.

  His passenger growled. “Slow the fuck down!”

  Lowell glowered at him, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to miss a trio of zombies emerging from the tree line. He glanced back at the road and spotted them, jerking the wheel to the right. He smacked into one of the corpses head on, causing the truck to spin out into a one-eighty and slam into a tree. The impact shattered the back passenger side window.

  The two remaining zombies leaned in the advantageous window, like a drive-thru for human meals, latching onto one cowboy’s throat. One tore his adam’s apple clean off as he gurgled, screams muffled from the blood and damage to his vocal chords.

  The attack shook the others from their shock, and Chad unbuckled his seatbelt to barrel out of the truck. He drew the attention of one of the corpses, drawing a large hunting knife as it turned to him. He slammed the blade into his opponent’s skull and then realized that one of the cowboys had drawn a handgun to deal with the other one.

  Chad put his hand up. “No, don’t fi-”

  His warning was cut short by the thunderous blast of the gun. The zombie’s head exploded, spraying blood and bone towards the Wainwright boy. He turned just in time so that his back caught the worst of the blast.

  The cowboys staggered out of the truck, disoriented from the close-contact blast echoing in such a small space. The shattered door fell open, the bitten victim falling to the snow, blood pouring out of his throat like a faucet.

  Chad ignored him, rushing to his live companions, shoving them towards the capitol building. “Get moving!” he cried. “Those things are going to be coming our way!”

  The shooter got up and stumbled towards the direction of the building,
zombies moans permeating the cold air around them. Chad threw open the driver’s side door and reached in to help a dazed Lowell undo his seatbelt.

  “You ever disobey me again, I will shoot you myself, understood?” the Wainwright boy snarled, and Lowell nodded jerkily, eyes wide. As he exited, one of the others screamed, their reanimated friend having sunk his teeth into one of the other passengers.

  Chad immediately buried his knife into the newly minted zombie’s skull, its jaw slackening to let go of the cowboy’s arm. He looked helplessly at the now-wounded passenger, anger swelling in his eyes at the thought that so much death had been uselessly caused at the hands of one man’s ego.

  A zombie smacked into the side of the SUV in a mad attempt to get to them, and Chad shoved the wounded man ahead. “We’ll deal with it later, go!” he cried.

  They moved quickly through the fresh powder, leaving a trail of footprints and blood in their wake. He drew his handgun, deciding there was no use trying to be quiet anymore. When they were about forty yards from the door, a few zombies came trudging through the courtyard. Chad kept his gun trained on them, but they were semi-frozen and weren’t moving too fast.

  The group reached the front doors of the capitol building. The Wainwright boy pushed on the door to make sure it was unlocked, and it was.

  “When we go in,” he said, keeping his eyes on the abominable snow-zombies, “we’re going to the left. Hug the outside wall until you get to a corner. That’s where we should find the fire escape staircase. Is everybody ready?”

  The group nodded, drawing their handguns. The wounded cowboy took a moment to tear the bandanna from around his neck and haphazardly wrap the wound on his forearm.

  “And remember,” Chad added, “these things have been inside, so they’re probably going to be faster.”

  Lowell flinched at the moans getting louder and louder. “Should we chain the doors behind us so they don’t get in?”

  “No, it might hinder our escape,” Chad replied. “Or our rescue.”

  They all shared concerned glances and then he took the handle in his hand once again. “Here we go,” he declared, and pushed inside.

  Chad entered first, into the spotty fluorescent glow of the emergency lights. The team moved at a quick pace, but cautious, eyes darting everywhere and ears straining over the clicks of their boot heels on the tiles.

  There were a few adjoining hallways off of the main corridor, and Chad stopped at the first intersection to peer around the corner. He waved the group after him after checking to make sure it was clear, and repeated the process at the second hallway. At the sight of a zombie, he backed up hard into Lowell, whose gun clacked against the wall and alerted the enemy to their presence.

  Chad lashed out and grabbed the zombie by the throat, holding him at bay, holstering his gun so as not to attract any attention. The thrashing, however, alerted more corpses down the hall, as shrieks and footfalls echoed towards the group.

  Chad picked up the zombie and tore for the fire escape stairwell, smashing the corpse into the door. Lowell grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open, allowing their interim leader to dart inside and pile drive the zombie head first into the concrete stairs, snapping its neck.

  The rest of the cowboys bustled into the stairwell, and Lowell pulled the heavy door shut behind them before the pursuing zombies reached them.

  “All right, boys,” Chad said, brushing his hands off on his pants and drawing his gun again, “only twenty-one flights up. Let’s get to it.”

  He motioned for Lowell to lead, and the burly cowboy headed up at a brisk pace. His boys followed, and Chad took up the rear with the injured man.

  “How’s your arm…” he asked, and then bit his lip. “I’m sorry man, I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “It’s all good,” the guy replied. “Name’s Rex. And my arm is burning like a motherfucker.”

  Chad shook his head. “I’m sorry, I wish there was something we could do.”

  “We’re doing our part to ensure that the innocent people on the other side of the river are going to be safe,” Rex replied with a determined look on his face. “If I gotta go out doing that, I’m okay with that.”

  Chad nodded solemnly. “You have my word that your sacrifice won’t be in vain.”

  When they reached the twenty-first floor, everyone was huffing and puffing from the exertion of practically flying up so many flights of stairs.

  “You guys all right?” Chad asked.

  Two of the cowboys gave haphazard thumbs-ups, doubled over to catch their breath. He moved to the door and ever-so-gently cracked it open. There were a few dozen zombies milling about the large open space. None were close to the door, and he shut it as quietly as he could.

  “Well, that’s no good,” Chad said with a sigh.

  Lowell chewed his lip. “Can’t be that bad, can it?”

  “I saw about twenty of the between us and the doorway to the roof,” the Wainwright replied.

  The burly cowboy’s eyes widened. “Fucking hell man, there’s no way we can get by that.”

  “What about the elevator?” Rex asked.

  Lowell shook his head. “Fuck that, I ain’t getting in no elevator.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to,” Rex replied, irritation lacing his tone. “What if we used it as a diversion?”

  One of the tired cowboys stood up from his heavy breathing fit. “Not a bad idea. Couple of us can go down a few floors, rig it to stop on every floor to this one. When it dings, it’ll draw those zombies to it.”

  “It’s a tight window,” Chad mused, “but doable.”

  The cowboy grinned and slapped his buddy in the shoulder. “Come on Don, let’s take care of this.”

  “Alan, why you gotta volunteer me for shit?” Don huffed.

  Alan grinned. “Hey, at least it ain’t cleaning out the chicken coop again.”

  “Yeah, it’s just running for my life from zombies,” his friend rolled his eyes. “Totally better.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Lowell cut in, putting up his hands. “Why don’t we just go down a floor and look out the windows?”

  “Because this building was put up in the thirties,” Chad replied. “We wouldn’t be able to see very much due to the tiny windows.”

  Rex nodded in agreement. “Plus there’s no telling how many zombies are on the floor below us.”

  “It’s all right Lowell,” Alan assured him. “We got this.” He and Don headed down the stairs, stopping on the eighteenth floor. Don cracked the door, revealing a mostly empty hallway. He stepped halfway in and smacked the wall a few times, the noise echoing in the dim space.

  When nothing came shrieking and running at them, he waved his partner in and they moved cautiously into the corridor. Guns raised, they worked their way to the far end where the elevators were, and Don hit the button.

  His partner froze. “Hey man?”

  “Yeah?” Don asked.

  Alan motioned to the doors with his thumb. “Think there are any zombies in the elevator?”

  They shared a worried glance and ran a few feet back from the door, taking a stance behind the reception desk. The elevator gave a happy ding, revealing three stumbling corpses.

  “Holy fuck!” Alan cried, and fired, striking one of them in the head. The other two turned and tore for them, the cowboys each emptying half a clip before finally dropping them. The first one had fallen in the path of the elevator, and the doors tried to close on it a few times before letting out an annoying buzzing noise.

  “It’s a shame we can’t keep that sound on to the top floor,” Don said, and his buddy reached down to shuffle some items around on the reception desk. He found a small MP3 radio player and hit the power button. Some new age music blared through the small speakers, and he shook his head.

  “Fucking hipsters, man,” he muttered.

  Don raised an eyebrow. “I think you mean hippies.”

  “Hippies, hipsters, fuck ‘em all,” Alan replied. “Just give me
some Johnny Cash and let’s call it a day.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” his friend agreed.

  Alan headed over to the elevator and set the little unit in the middle of the floor. Don pulled out the barricade zombie and Alan hit the buttons for floors nineteen through to twenty-one. He slipped out and the duo ran back to the stairwell and up to meet the rest of the team.

  “We heard shots,” Chad called down the stairs as soon as the cowboys started to run up, “you guys okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re good,” Alan huffed as they made it to the landing. “Had a few uninvited visitors in the elevator.”

  The Wainwright boy nodded and then carefully cracked the door again. He waited with bated breath as the far doors gave their ding, and then opened to reveal the blasting music.

  “Go!” Chad hissed, opening the door as the zombies all took off towards the elevator.

  The cowboys moved quickly and as quietly as they could towards the stairwell in the center. It was a walled-in staircase in the middle of the room with a door at each end to help insulate the floor. He opened it, but the click of the latch was enough to attract a straggler zombie from the elevator. It shrieked, and Chad knew that there was no point in trying to be quiet anymore.

  He shot it in the head and held the door open. “Move!” he cried.

  He and Rex opened fire on the rushing horde as Lowell, Alan and Don burst through the door and up the stairs. Rex shoved Chad in after them, taking a few bites to his legs as the Wainwright boy staggered up the stairs. From the top, he popped off a few more rounds to allow Rex to clamber up as the zombies piled up on top of each other to give him a momentary lead.

  As soon as he was clear, Chad slammed the door shut and Don and Alan braced it with a nearby beam just in time.

  “My god, Rex!” Lowell cried, accentuated by thumping on the other side of the door.

  The wounded cowboy laid in the snow, several bite marks oozing crimson onto the fresh white powder. Most of them were superficial, but one on his bicep was flowing fast.

  “Is it too late to switch to the decoy team?” he asked hoarsely.