Dead America The Northwest Invasion | Book 3 | Dead America-Seattle [Part 1]

by Slaton, Derek

  “Wade’s out of ammo!” the sniper gushed. “And a lot of those things are starting to move towards the bridge!”

  Copeland grunted in displeasure. “You make that noise,” he instructed. “I don’t care what you do, just do it quick.” He put the radio away and turned to his team. “Our bridge boys are in trouble, so we’re gonna double time it! If it isn’t in your way, you ignore it.” He waved at them. “Now let’s go!”

  He turned and took off at a brisk pace, all seven soldiers keeping up with him. They moved swiftly along the moonlit road, the light reflecting off of the water. It was a mile run to the bridge, and as they got closer, they heard a worrisome sound in the distance.

  Gunfire. And lots of it.

  If they’re firing, then it’s bad out there, Copeland thought bitterly, and pushed harder, picking up more speed and pulling away from the other troops. Despite giving it their all, they just couldn’t keep up with the beastly Sergeant.

  The group finally reached the frontage road, stopping before crossing it. As the rest of the men showed up, they found Copeland staring down at the interstate away from the bridge.

  “What…” Johnson huffed, “what is it, Sarge?”

  His superior just continued to stare, letting out another displeased grunt. Johnson leaned over to see a few hundred zombies coming up the interstate towards the bridge.

  Raymond clustered in behind them, and his eyes widened. “Not sure we have the ammo for that,” he warned.

  “We don’t,” Copeland confirmed, “but we need to slow them down.” He pointed to a quartet of his team members. “You four, on the interstate. Start picking them off, thin them out as much as you can. Use every shot if you have to.”

  They didn’t even bother responding, simply running off as the gunshots intensified on the bridge.

  “Anybody here know how to hot-wire a car?” Copeland asked.

  Raymond raised his hand. “I got you, Sarge.”

  “Good,” Copeland replied, and pointed back the way they’d come. “Find the sturdiest one you can in the Super Center parking lot and get it ready to go. Bring it to the front. Schmitt, you cover him and make sure nothing sneaks up. Johnson, you’re with me.”

  The four of them tore across the highway, glancing over at the bridge barricade. There was a complete line of creatures on the barrier, with the four men frantically running back and forth, using blunt objects to cave in heads and occasionally firing off a shot if one or two toppled over the cement barricade.

  Things were frantic, but the soldiers appeared to be holding their own.

  Copeland and Johnson rushed into the Super Center, tearing in with reckless abandon. As they came around the corner past the front entryway, they encountered a trio of zombies. The Sergeant didn’t even break momentum, just picked up the first one, pile-driving it into the other two and sending all three to the ground past the cash registers.

  Johnson raised his gun and quickly fired, taking them all out in quick succession. When he looked up, he’d lost Copeland, and ran deeper into the store.

  “Sarge?” he called. “Sarge?”

  “Aisle eighteen,” Copeland called back.

  Johnson squealed around a corner and spotted the Sergeant looking at automotive accessories. He finally picked up a handful of road flares and held them out.

  “I’m getting duct tape and a weight,” Copeland said. “I need you to find the propane tank keys.”

  Johnson started to run up to the front, hoping that they were at the customer service desk, but stopped as he passed the hardware section. He checked an end cap and spotted a gigantic pair of bolt cutters, picking it up and smiling.

  “This should do just fine,” he said to himself, and ran outside, where Schmitt and Raymond were just pulling up in a giant eighties Cadillac. It was big as a boat and weighed twice as much. “Where the hell did you find this hoopty ride at?” Johnson drawled.

  Schmitt just smiled. “Amazing what’s still on the road, huh?” he asked.

  Johnson waved for him to follow him. “Come on, gonna need help with the tanks.” He led his partner to the tanks and peeled it open, digging out the canisters. They quickly hauled every single can they could to the car, packing it tight.

  Copeland nodded as he approached, holding his tools. As they finished loading the trunk, he threw open the car door, climbing into the back seat and using his knife to carve out a hole in the back seat. He punched through to the trunk, leaving a three-inch wide hole.

  “You get this car up to the road, and when you do, open up every canister in the trunk,” he instructed. “Throw the road flares into the front seat, throw the weight on the gas, and let her rip.”

  The three soldiers exchanged worried glances.

  “That…” Raymond began, “that doesn’t seem safe.”

  Copeland pursed his lips. “It’s either this or you grab a baseball bat and start whacking zombies.”

  Raymond shook his head, raising his palms in defeat.

  Copeland nodded. “When you get it done, join Johnson and I on the bridge.” As the boys drove off, the Sergeant turned to Johnson. “Come on, our boys need help.”

  As they sprinted, the Private spoke through gasps, trying to keep up. “What… what about… Dawson?” he huffed.

  “Already called him,” Copeland replied, as if he weren’t even breaking a sweat. “He’s on the way.”

  They reached the interstate and ran up towards the line, and the scene was chaos. The four soldiers had been forced to retreat into the center barrier, with a couple dozen zombies completely surrounding it. On the main line, ghouls lined up shoulder to shoulder, hundreds in view and easily thousands behind them.

  It was a sea of moaning and flailing, the corpses trying to figure out how to traverse the obstacle in front of them to get to a fresh meal. Every so often, one would flip over, stagger to its feet, and then join the others at the center barrier.

  Copeland and Johnson stopped about twenty yards from the action, with not a single zombie paying them any attention. The gunfire coming from within the barrier ceased completely.

  “How many mags you got?” the Sergeant asked.

  Johnson checked. “Five, fresh.”

  “Give me two,” Copeland said.

  The Private handed them over, and Copeland grabbed two of his own, putting all four in his giant hand before yelling, “Bridge team, ammo incoming!” He stepped up and underhand threw the four mags. They hurtled through the air, landing perfectly in the center of the ring. “We’re on the flanks, don’t shoot us!” he added loudly, and then he and Johnson broke to either side of the bridge.

  They took aim and fired at the zombies closest to the main line, making sure no soldier was in the line of fire. As they continued to shoot, several zombies turned their attention away from the trapped men, and to the fresh meat.

  One corpse, dressed in military gear, turned and spotted Copeland, and immediately broke into a dead sprint. The Sergeant aimed and fired, but the bullet tore into the creature’s throat. Before he could aim again, the runner was on him.

  Copeland dropped his rifle and pushed against the soldier, gripping its vest and whipping it to the side. He used the momentum to shove it towards the edge of the bridge. It snarled and bit, with far more vigor than an older zombie, and Copeland avoided it as best he could, slamming it into the concrete barrier. He lashed down and grabbed its leg and flipped it over the side.

  As he turned around, he came face to face with four creatures that had broken ranks and closed in on him. One by one, they dropped to the ground, bullets ripping through the side of their heads. He blinked and saw Johnson standing near the middle of the road, aiming in his direction.

  He gave the Private an approving nod and then retrieved his gun, the two of them going back to work. The trio in the center took careful aim and hit zombies at near point blank range to conserve ammo, while Copeland and Johnson delivered decisive strikes of their own.

  After a few minutes of inte
nse battle, grunting, and sweating, and hard beating hearts, the threat on the soldier’s side of the barrier was wiped out. The three men jumped out of the barrier, and one immediately began tending to the line, keeping the creatures at bay.

  The other two walked up, one limping and leaning on the other.

  “What happened to you, soldier?” Copeland asked.

  The young man, no more than twenty-two, turned his leg to reveal a large bite wound on his left calf. Johnson shook his head and swallowed hard, but then spotted a zombie tumble over the barrier, so he ran off to deal with it.

  Copeland raised his chin. “Can you stand, soldier?”

  The young man looked at his friend and nodded that it was okay. He leaned on his own leg and motioned for his companion to get back to the line. When they were alone, Copeland stared straight into the young soldier’s pained eyes.

  “You know what the standing orders are, don’t you, soldier?” the Sergeant asked.

  The kid nodded gravely. “Yes, sir.”

  “You tell me how you want it,” Copeland said gently.

  The soldier clenched his fists, letting out a frustrated grunt and then looking over at the line, watching his three companions fight hand-to-hand with the sea of creatures. “If it’s all the same to you, Sergeant,” he said, eyes blazing as he turned back to Copeland, “I still have a little fight in me.” He glanced down at his leg. “What do you say we don’t report this wound until we have the bridge under control?”

  Copeland smiled at the young man, proud at his force of will. “I think that can be arranged, soldier,” he replied. “Get on the line.”

  The kid saluted. “Yes, sir.” He hobbled off toward the line, ready to fight. As he went, there was a large explosion on the interstate, startling everyone except for Copeland.

  He simply turned towards it and smiled. “All right Dawson,” he said as he readied his weapon, “the route is clear. Now we just need Kowalski to do his job.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kowalski looked out over the interstate bridge battlefield, seeing the horde stretched across the four lanes and back hundreds of yards. Copeland had just given him the order to make noise, and now he had the pressure to draw enough zombies away from the bridge and towards the snipers safely on the roof.

  He ran to the front of the store, looking straight down at the doors. Zombies pressed into the opening, disappearing inside.

  “Damn, the door is open,” he muttered.

  Doyle shrugged. “Not sure why that’s a bad thing, they can’t get up here,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, but I gotta get down there,” Kowalski replied.

  Martin blinked at him. “Man, you’re crazier than we thought,” he said.

  “Got my orders,” Kowalski replied. “And besides, if we don’t do this, our bridge team is gonna get overrun, which means this whole day was a waste.”

  Hurley sighed. “So, how do you want to do it?”

  Kowalski looked around the immediate area. “Okay, spread out,” he instructed, “we have to find an access hatch. Something that leads down into the store, and preferably something with a ladder.”

  The four men branched out, running around the roof, pulling on anything that looked like a doorway or hatch. Finally, after several minutes of looking, Martin yelled out from the back corner of the roof.

  “Got something!’ he called.

  The other three soldiers dashed over to join him. He shone his flashlight down a ladder that dropped ten feet onto a catwalk.

  “Doyle, you’re with me,” Kowalski said. “You two, get back to the front and keep shooting. Anything you can do to keep the focus on you and not me.”

  The duo nodded and ran back to their posts. Kowalski hopped onto the ladder and climbed down, with Doyle not far behind. They dropped down onto the catwalk and surveyed the sprawling network of metal walkways that spanned the entirety of the giant store. The darkness made it difficult to see exactly what they were up against.

  “Christ, haven’t these builders ever heard of ambient light?” Kowalski muttered.

  Doyle shrugged. “You think they got paid enough to care?”

  “Fair enough,” his companion admitted.

  They raised their night vision scopes and began to scout out the top part of the store.

  “Gotta find anything that can get us to the ground,” Kowalski said.

  Doyle continued to search. “And then what?” he asked.

  “Not a fucking clue,” Kowalski replied dryly. They continued to look, and then he finally found a ladder at the far end. “Bingo, let’s move,” he said.

  They crept as quietly as they could, even though they were a good fifty feet above the ground. It was always good practice to make sure the zombies below didn’t know where they were. After a few minutes, they reached the ladder which went straight down into a mechanical room in the back.

  Kowalski glanced over the railing down into the store, seeing several creatures shuffling around in the dark.

  “Okay,” he said quietly, leaning in, “it looks like this room is closed off from the rest of the store. Bad news is, there’s a shitload of zombies in there.”

  Doyle swallowed hard. “What do you want to do?’ he asked.

  Kowalski pursed his lips for a moment, thinking hard. “What in here would make a shitload of noise?” he murmured. “Like noise that would resonate to the bridge?”

  “Power tools ain’t gonna cut it,” Doyle replied. “What about an alarm system?”

  Kowalski shook his head. “Home alarm system?” he asked. “Not even sure we’d be able to activate them.”

  “Hell, what about a regular alarm?” Doyle wondered. “Like an alarm clock? Before all this went down, I saw some infomercial about the supersonic alarm clock. Claimed it was loud enough to wake up a coma patient. These stores usually carry shit like that, don’t they?”

  His companion shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s the best idea we got going,” he replied. “So we’ll need those, and batteries.” He paused as an idea came to him. “Oh, and maybe air horns?”

  “Couldn’t hurt to look,” Doyle agreed.

  They looked out over the store, checking through their night vision scopes, seeing lots of creatures, easily in the mid-dozens.

  “This is gonna be a bitch,” Kowalski said with a sigh.

  Doyle cocked his head. “You want me to stay up here and pick ‘em off?”

  Kowalski contemplated for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, get to the center of the catwalk,” he instructed. “You just follow my movement, hit what you can. Also keep watch and let me know if I'm walking into something bad.”

  “How do I let you know?” Doyle asked.

  Kowalski smirked. “Just yell,” he replied. “They can’t understand you, and if anything it’ll draw them away from me.

  Doyle chuckled, shaking his head at his moment of stupidity. “Let’s do it,” he said, and extended his fist.

  Kowalski bumped it and then began the climb down the ladder. He paused before he got to the bottom, using his scope to see where the door was. He had a hard time looking over the gun, so he removed it and slung his rifle over his shoulder, using the scope by itself.

  He moved to the door, knife in hand, and took a deep breath. Okay, you got this, he thought to himself. It’s just like a Black Friday sale, only less chaotic.

  Before he threw open the door, he looked down and spotted a couple of large tool bags. He gently and quietly removed the tools and then slung two bags over his shoulder. He gently opened the door and inched out into the back aisle. As he moved, a moan rumbled behind the door.

  He darted away and then froze at the sight of a blurry figure moving towards him in the darkness. A booming shot echoed in the store, and the figure slumped to the ground.

  Kowalski looked through the scope, seeing the zombie dead on the ground, and then raised his hand to give Doyle a thumbs up for the assist.

  The shot excited the zombies in the store, starting
up a dull roar of moans and shuffling as they tried to get a read on where their future meal was. Kowalski moved as quietly as he could, using the scope as a guide.

  I know batteries are at the front of the store, he thought. So let’s start there. He looked around for a moment to get his bearings and then crept towards the front. A few aisle down, moans came from just around the next corner, and inched up to peek around it.

  There were two ghouls there, shuffling dumbly, within striking distance. He motioned to Doyle, pointing to the far one, and then did a stabbing motion with the knife to show that he would be handling the closer one.

  A second later, his guardian angel yelled out, “Okay!”

  Kowalski counted down silently before striking. As soon as he lunged forward, a shot ripped through the far creature’s head, causing the closer one to whip around towards the noise.

  He slammed the blade into the base of its skull, and as it dropped, he marveled at his skill in delivering a perfect strike in the dark. If I’m this good blind, no wonder I’m such a badass, he thought, chuckling to himself.

  He continued to the front of the store, getting to the top of the aisle and looking through his scope. There were a dozen or so zombies around the cash registers, but he scanned past them to find the battery display.

  With the target in sight, he checked past it to the front door, which had been completely obliterated under the sight of the horde outside. Most of the creatures were focused on the snipers on the roof, but one wrong noise inside could trigger a tsunami of death.

  He plotted his course, so he could stay low and use the registers as cover from the zombies at the front. But that didn’t help him with the dozen between him and the batteries. He looked over at the shelf next to him, seeing some small bottles of bug spray. He picked one up, feeling the weight to it as well as a metal exterior.

  Okay, so all I have to do is throw this close enough for the register zombies to hear, and far enough away that the mass at the front door doesn’t sweep over me, he thought, and shook his head. Yeah, I totally got this.

  Kowalski broke from the top of the aisle, moving up towards the registers. He knelt down behind the end cap display, about ten yards away from the closest ghoul, a thirty-yard dash to the batteries.