Dead America The Second Week (Book 7): Dead America: Carolina Front, Part 4 Read online

  DEAD AMERICA: THE SECOND WEEK

  BOOK 7

  CAROLINA FRONT: BOOK 4

  By Derek Slaton

  © 2020

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +11

  “And that’s how we ended up fighting off thirty insurgents from their own bunker,” Captain Terrell Graham was saying as he stabbed a stray zombie in the face with his knife.

  Corporal Coleman rolled his eyes. “Last time you told that story it was twenty-five,” he teased, and his friend shot him a playful glare.

  “Says the guy who was comfy cozy back at base while we were out fighting our asses off,” he countered.

  Walter and Hoyt shared an amused glance at the soldiers’ ribbing of each other.

  “The older you get, the bigger your tales,” Hoyt replied, giving his sage wisdom from being the oldest of the group.

  Walter laughed and shook his head. “I knew one or two people as young as me that had tall tales, too, sir.”

  “Might as well check this row of houses and see if there’s anything useful,” Terrell said, motioning to the few modest houses on the left side of the street.

  The town had been pretty much deserted, aside from the occasional zombie here or there. It made for easy scavenging, that was for sure. Their mission was to find steel rebar from the factory in town to help aid their defenses at Clinton, but there would definitely be advantages in collecting whatever they could.

  They approached the first house and Coleman banged on the front door to draw out any corpses from inside. There was a shuffle and a thud, the telltale sign of a slow-moving zombie bonking around in the front hall.

  “One lone dude hanging out in there,” Coleman reported, peering through the window.

  Terrell motioned to Walter, pointing to the younger black man’s crowbar. “You’re up, bud. Let’s see what you’ve learned, huh?”

  Walter rolled his shoulders, raising his crowbar as Coleman wrapped his hand around the door handle. The younger man fell into a loose fighting stance, just as the Captain had shown him, and then the Corporal opened the door.

  The zombie staggered out onto the front porch, groaning and seeming confused at all of the fresh meat everywhere. Walter took that moment of confusion and lunged forward, driving the pointy end of the crowbar into the thing’s eye socket. It dropped immediately, and he thrust his weapon into the air, letting out a victorious holler.

  Terrell clapped him on the back. “Good job! You’re definitely getting more confident,” he commended. “Just don’t let it get to your head, right? You get too cocky, and that’s when you get eaten.”

  “How in the hell are you still alive then, Cap?” Coleman joked.

  His friend smacked him playfully as he headed into the house. “I get karma points for keeping your ass alive.”

  Walter dragged the zombie out of the way so that Hoyt had a clear path up the stairs into the house. The oldest man wasn’t decrepit by any means, but he was definitely a little slower moving than the rest. Walter had worked with their family for so long pre-apocalypse that it was just habit to look out for his well-being.

  “I’ve got the kitchen, Coleman do a sweep of the upstairs to make sure we have no more friends roaming around,” Terrell instructed.

  Walter and Hoyt took the rest of the main floor, rummaging through closets for anything useful. The quartet managed to scrounge up a few cans of soup, a box of stale crackers, a first aid kit, and a bottle of wine, and set everything down on the front porch outside.

  “We can pick everything up with the truck on our way out,” Coleman said as they headed to the next house.

  By the time they reached the factory grounds, the row of houses all had little piles of supplies on their front porches. They hadn’t wanted to trundle up to the factory with a noisy vehicle just in case of a horde, so after securing the area they’d be able to drive around and pick everything up.

  “Down,” Terrell hissed as they approached the fence surrounding the main building. There were quite a few corpses staggering about inside.

  The other three complied and crouched with him in the bushes off the side of the road.

  “There’s a lot of civilian clothes in there,” Coleman noticed.

  Walter’s brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

  “If they were all factory worker uniforms, that would make sense,” Terrell explained. “But the fact that these zombies all look like regular townsfolk… it almost looks like they were quarantined here on purpose.”

  The younger man nodded. “You think somebody put them here maliciously?”

  “Not necessarily,” Coleman replied. “It’s possible, but it could just be that this was the only place for the town to put their sick when the outbreak happened.”

  “Or they’re guarding something,” Hoyt piped up.

  “Or that,” Coleman agreed. “Biggest problem is our utter lack of ammunition.” He held up his half-empty clip.

  Terrell nodded, shaking his own. “It’s abysmal, really.”

  “What do we do?” Walter asked, eyes wide. “There’s so many of them… I don’t think I’m ready to take on such a huge group with just a crowbar.”

  The Captain shook his head, and reached into his pack. He produced two homemade gauntlets and strapped them on. They’d been outfitted with sharpened rebar, giving each of his fists a set of three long claws.

  “I got this,” he said. “You all get them along the fence here, and I’ll get ‘em from behind.”

  Coleman grinned. “Ten-four, Cap.” He stood up from the bushes and pulled out a baton from his belt, dragging it across the chainlink loudly. “Hey, bitches! You want to taste a piece of this?!”

  Hoyt rolled his eyes at the soldier’s antics. He turned to Terrell as Walter jumped up and down next to the Corporal. “Be safe, Captain,” he said, and then joined Coleman, hooting and shaking the fence to draw attention.

  Terrell skirted the bushes and headed over to the front gate, unlatching it and letting himself in. He closed it securely behind him to make sure the zombies wouldn’t get loose and run rampant in the surrounding area, and then crept towards the staggering dead, taking out a few stragglers easily with rebar to the backs of their heads.

  Half a dozen zombies wandered out of a bay door from the side of the building, and noticed Terrell as opposed to the noise attracting the rest of their brethren. They were a little quicker than their outdoor counterparts, and descended on him quickly.

  The Captain ducked, the first zombie toppling over his back face-first. He lunged up and stabbed the second in the bottom of its jaw, and then used it as a shield to shove back against the remaining quartet. He tore his claws free and leapt over the fallen corpse, stabbing two struggling zombies on the ground before slashing at ankle level to knock over the last two. As soon as they hit the ground he stabbed down into their skulls, splattering coagulated brain matter all over the asphalt.

  The one that had tripped over him managed to get back to its feet, and the Captain grinned at it, delivering a ferocious roundhouse kick to the face that caused the zombie’s neck to snap brutally, its head dangling down uselessly as the corpse crumpled into a heap.

  Walter’s jaw hung open, his distraction completely stopped from shock. Coleman barked a laugh when he noticed the younger man’s awe.

  “Yeah, Cap’s a killing machine,” the Corporal said as he stabbed a zombie in the forehead through the chain link. “You couldn’t have asked for a better tutor in the apocalypse.”

  Walter squared hi
s shoulders, stabbing his own corpse through the fence with his crowbar. Pride swelled in him that Terrell had taken him under his wing in the first place.

  Between the trio stabbing on the safe end and Terrell taking them out from behind, they made quick work of the zombies. When there was nothing left but a pile of rotted flesh inside the fence, the Captain grinned at his companions.

  He waved at them with a bloody claw. “Ready to come in?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The quartet cleared the factory quickly, finding no more zombies inside. With every inner door open, any that had been wandering around had been drawn outside already and taken out by Terrell’s killer claws.

  The Captain removed his gauntlets and shoved them back into his pack, careful to keep them inside the plastic bag he’d lined it with to keep it from getting soggy and bloody.

  “Alright, Hoyt and Walter, why don’t you head on back and grab the truck?” he asked. “You can drive it right in through that bay door, and we’ll load up whatever we find in here.”

  “Got it,” Hoyt replied, and he led his young friend back outside into the sunlight.

  Coleman emerged from the lunchroom with a bag of spicy cheese puffs. “Jackpot! There wasn’t any water, but fuck I missed these.” He cracked open the bag and held it out to his friend, but Terrell shook his head.

  “All yours, man,” he replied, wrinkling his nose at the smell. “I’m pretty sure those survived because they’re not actually food. Is there even nutritional value in there?”

  Coleman winked at him. “Nutritional value for my soul.” He popped a salty treat into his mouth and moaned as it made contact with his tongue.

  “You’re disgusting.” Terrell laughed and headed over to a stack of skids in the far corner. He lifted the corner of some plastic covering one of the pallets. “Now that’s a jackpot.” He pulled the plastic back revealing stacks of rebar.

  Coleman munched on his snack as he wandered over to an open truck parked nearby. “Hey,” he called through a mouthful of fake cheese, “what does this look like to you?”

  Terrell turned and approached, raising an eyebrow at the machinery inside. “Looks like a big-ass still.”

  “We could make some killer moonshine with this,” Coleman said with a grin.

  Terrell rolled his eyes. “Or, we could use it for something useful.”

  The Corporal emptied the last of his salty snacks into his mouth, crumpling up the empty bag and tossing it back over his shoulder. “Explosives?” he asked.

  “Explosives,” the Captain confirmed. “If we filled it with something like fertilizer, maybe? Could be handy south of Fayetteville.”

  Coleman nodded. “I’ll get this truck running.” He headed for the driver’s side door to take a look at the key situation. There was a rumble as Hoyt pulled up with their vehicle, and backed right up to him as he waved them over.

  He and Walter jumped down, walking back and noticing the still.

  “Whoa, that’s one hell of a rig,” the older man said.

  Terrell grinned. “You ever use one of those?”

  “Back in the day,” Hoyt admitted.

  Walter raised an eyebrow. “I learn something new about you every day.” He shook his head and headed off to find a pump cart or a forklift to move the pallets up into the back of the trucks, and Terrell clapped Hoyt on the shoulder.

  Coleman jumped down from the driver’s seat, shaking his head as he wandered back over to them. “I’m gonna have to hot-wire it, unless we can find a-”

  He stopped talking at the sound of a revving engine from outside. Terrell immediately strode to the bay doors, Coleman and Hoyt drawing their weapons and flanking him. The Captain peered outside as an unknown truck skidded to a stop.

  The driver narrowed his eyes at them, and both he and his passenger cocked their large guns before pointing them through the window.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Hoyt cocked his shotgun and pointed it at the two men as they got out of their vehicle, their own guns poised.

  “Oh, hey, Miles,” Terrell greeted, leaving his weapon slung over his shoulder and raising his hands. He’d come across this guy before, a member of another nearby town (though he hesitated to think of it as a rival camp). “I think we can lower our weapons, now.”

  “That’s a mighty big shotgun, bud,” Miles replied, his steel eyes warily fixed on Hoyt. But he cocked his head and lowered his weapon, holding up a hand to his partner to do the same.

  His partner complied, though with a deep scowl on his face. “What are you here for?” he demanded, jutting out his chin.

  “Hoyt, it’s okay,” Terrell said, lowering his hands.

  The older man reluctantly pointed his gun at the ground, but kept his finger on the trigger.

  “We were just in the neighborhood for some rebar,” Terrell explained. “We’re looking to beef up our walls in Clinton to keep the zombies out.”

  Miles nodded. “Yeah, we hear that. We came on down here to look for some rebar ourselves, to fortify our front gate.” He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “We thought we’d hit some of the houses in town, too, unless you’ve already picked through ‘em.”

  “We went through a few of the smaller ones on the left side of the street over that way,” Terrell replied, pointing to the row of houses they’d cleaned out. “We didn’t find much, but if there’s something specific you’re looking for maybe we could spare some.”

  “Or we could just fuckin’ crush you and take it,” Miles’ partner snarled, prompting Hoyt to raise the gun again.

  “Mario,” Miles scolded, turning to his companion, “that’s not how we talk to people we have a truce with.”

  Terrell held out his hand to Hoyt, prompting him to lower his weapon again. The older man wrinkled his nose and shook his head at the Captain, showing his distaste for the situation.

  “If we really had a truce they’d give us half of all the shit they found today,” Mario spat.

  “Says who?” Miles hissed. “Stop being a dick for five seconds so we can talk like real men, huh?”

  Terrell took a step forward. “Look, I know supplies are tight,” he said. “It’s rough for everyone, everywhere. I’m not one hundred percent privy to whatever deal our camp has with yours, but I don’t think any of us are high enough up the chain of command to be making calls without our leaders present, right?”

  “Agreed,” Miles said with a smile. He stepped towards the Captain, hand extended. “I don’t know if we’ve formally met. I’m Miles.”

  Terrell raised an eyebrow as he shook the young man’s hand, noticing the outline of dog tags beneath his tank top. “Captain Terrell Graham. What’s your rank, soldier?”

  Miles chuckled and ran a hand over his buzzed hair. “No rank anymore, Cap,” he replied, gently patting his tags through his shirt. “I was a Private First Class, but got discharged on medical when an IED went off too close to me.” He tapped his left ear. “Left me deaf in one ear, and with a brand spanking new titanium knee.”

  “That’s rough,” Terrell replied, shaking his head. “At least you got to keep the leg, though.”

  Miles nodded. “I’m definitely thankful for that, given the state of things. I haven’t many any survivors in wheelchairs or on crutches for a reason, I think.” He turned away from Mario completely, looking the Captain in the eye. “Listen, we don’t want to cause any shit. But we could really use some rebar for our door. And The Boss will come down hard on my face if I don’t bring some back.”

  Terrell took a deep breath. “Since you’re doing a door and we’re doing our walls, would you be okay with one pallet? Or however much fits in the back of your pickup?”

  “Yeah, yeah man,” Miles replied, nodding emphatically. “That would be rad. As long as it’s cool with your partners, of course.”

  Coleman narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything. Hoyt kept his gun pointed at the ground, his eyes suspiciously on Mario. Walter had liberated a pump cart from the back,
and upon listening to the conversation, approached the Captain with a pallet in tow.

  “All cool,” the young man said with a smile.

  Miles nodded at him gratefully. “Teamwork at its finest,” he replied. “Mario, get this loaded up.”

  His partner didn’t reply, but his scowl deepened even further as he approached the group. He grabbed the handle of the pump cart and pulled the throttle so he could pull the pallet behind him, nearly taking out Hoyt on his way by. He grumbled something under his breath and Miles rolled his eyes.

  “Sorry about him,” he said. “I appreciate this.”

  Terrell shrugged. “We do what we have to do, these days. They say you can choose your friends, but that’s not always true when it comes to surviving the apocalypse.”

  “True, my friend,” Miles replied with a laugh.

  Mario trundled back over with the pump cart and practically shoved it back at Walter, who gave him a sarcastic salute and headed off to deal with the rest of the pallets.

  “Well, are we getting the fuck outta here or what?” Mario demanded.

  Miles sighed. “Yeah man,” he held out his hand for Terrell to shake again and offered a smile. “Thanks again.”

  The Captain shook, schooling his expression when he felt a piece of paper forced between his fingers. “No problem.”

  The men walked back to their truck, Mario glancing suspiciously over his shoulder a few times at Hoyt, who just smiled sweetly back at him. Once the truck was out of sight, Coleman let out a low whistle.

  “Well, that guy was a winner,” he declared, sarcasm evident in his tone.

  Terrell opened his hand, unfolding the piece of paper that Miles had snuck him. “Miles is okay.”

  “I meant the other douchebag,” Coleman replied. “What’s that?”

  The Captain shook his head. “Not sure, he gave it to me when we shook hands, and clearly didn’t want Mario to see.”

  Hoyt approached, resting his shotgun on his shoulder.

  “Found military grade weapons at Seymore Johnson Air force Base,” Terrell read out loud, brow furrowing. “Isn’t that just in Goldsboro, to the northwest?”