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

  DEAD AMERICA: THE NORTHWEST INVASION

  BOOK 3

  SEATTLE - PART 1

  BY DEREK SLATON

  © 2020

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +23

  Captain Kersey sat in a small back office at the tiny regional airport at midnight. He studied several maps of the Seattle area, multi-colored marks flowing in various directions across them. The desk before him with the radio on it was buried in papers.

  He took a deep breath. The responsibility on his shoulders was heavy. Even though he was just a Captain, and a newly promoted one at that, General Stephens, Adams, and the entirety of the presidential inner circle valued his on-the-ground experience so much that they’d given him command of barricade and diversion forces.

  To the outside observer, that wouldn’t sound all that impressive, however, to those in the know, it showed great confidence in the Captain. These three missions—the northern barricade, Mercer Island, and the downtown run—were all vital to the success of the mission.

  Kersey pored over the maps as the noises outside grew louder. More men moved in, machinery came in and out. The moment was upon them, the biggest single operation since the invasion of Normandy. Not only was this larger, it was arguably more important. That had been a battle for freedom, but this was for the survival of the nation, and possibly the human race.

  As he contemplated, brow furrowed, the radio sprung to life.

  “Captain Kersey, do you copy?” Stephens’ voice came through.

  Kersey picked up the receiver and stood up from the maps, refocusing his attention. “Yes, General.”

  “What’s your status?” Stephens asked.

  “The northern blockade team is gearing up,” he replied. “They’ll be airborne in fifteen. As soon as the planes return, they’ll refuel and the Mercer Island squad will take off.”

  “Good,” the General came back. “And the interstate team for downtown?”

  Kersey leaned on his hand. “Last I heard, Corporal Bretz and his team were securing the trucks and awaiting dawn,” he said. “With where they’re going, they’ll need the daylight.”

  “Understood,” Stephens replied. “I appreciate the work you’re doing for us.”

  The Captain nodded. “It’s my job, General,” he said. “And to be frank, you put your faith in me and I want to make sure you never think it was misplaced.”

  “I appreciate that as well,” Stephens replied. “I’ll never complain about being made to look good.” They chuckled together and then he continued, “I do have one additional task for you, Captain.”

  “Of course, sir,” Kersey said.

  “As you know, ammunition is at a premium,” the General began, “so in addition to the clear teams that will be trailing behind the main force, I need you to set aside some scroungers. They will need to look in every business that would carry guns and ammo, and even homes if they have time.”

  The Captain nodded. “Yes sir, I will make it happen.”

  “I know you will,” Stephens replied confidently.

  Kersey took a deep breath. “Sir, if there’s nothing else,” he said slowly. “I need to brief Sergeant Copeland and his team before they head off.”

  “Of course, Captain,” the General replied. “I look forward to your updates.”

  The line went dead and Kersey took a beat before setting the receiver down and glancing at his watch. It was just past midnight.

  “Okay,” he said to himself, straightening his shoulders. “Game time.”

  He picked up a few of the maps of the northern area, the town of Burlington. It was a sleepy little villa just across the river from Mount Vernon, and if things went well, it would be a perfect choke point for the hundreds of thousands of zombies looming in the north.

  He walked out of the room, maps tucked under his arm, and onto the airfield. There were six small planes lined up on the runway, pilots standing outside of them and biding their time. He made his way to the hangar at the far end of the field, currently bathed in light, both artificial and from barrel fires to keep the men warm. As he stepped in, Sergeant Copeland approached him immediately.

  “Captain Kersey,” he said politely, dark skin glimmering in the firelight.

  “Sergeant,” Kersey replied with a nod. “You boys about ready to go?” he asked, glancing past the burly bald Sergeant at the thirty-four other men prepping their gear for the assault. He pursed his lips, a look of concern crossing his face. “Looks like you’re a little light on men there,” he said.

  Copeland sighed. “Yeah, tell me about it,” he agreed. “Two of the planes conked out, so unless someone wanted to hang on to the wings, we weren’t getting them there.”

  “No volunteers, I take it?” Kersey asked with a lopsided smile.

  Copeland chuckled. “No, sir,” he replied. “Although I’m pretty sure I could get Kowalski to do it on a dare.”

  Private Kowalski looked up from his pack. “I heard my name,” he barked. “Whatever it is, I swear I didn’t do it!”

  “Must not be talking about any hot women, then,” Private Wade quipped from beside him, grinning ear-to-ear.

  Kowalski put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What the hell, man?” he demanded playfully. “I thought us snipers stuck together?”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have cranked up the yacht rock the other day,” Wade shot back, pointing a finger at his friend.

  Kowalski smirked. “Eh, valid point.”

  Private Johnson began muttering obscenities behind them as he tried to strap on his parachute. Kersey and Copeland chuckled and shook their heads before the latter snapped his fingers at one of the other men.

  “Corporal Dawson,” he called.

  “Yes, sir?” Dawson’s short and stocky frame snapped to attention.

  Copeland motioned to the struggling Private. “Can you please help Johnson there before he pulls something?” he asked.

  Dawson laughed and turned to help the wild redneck, who was still grunting and huffing in frustration even as he lowered his arms to accept the help.

  Kersey handed the maps out to Copeland, and the Sergeant flipped through them quickly. They were printed maps this time instead of hand drawn, with multiple locations circled throughout.

  “Not bad quality,” Copeland said.

  Kersey wrinkled his nose. “Printer ran out of cyan before they all came out, so some of your boys will have to share,” he said.

  “First world problems, Captain,” Copeland replied with a chuckle, shaking his head. “First world problems.” He took one of the maps and then handed the stack to Private Mack, who began distributing them amongst the men. “All right boys!” Copeland barked. “Let’s settle down. We got a busy-ass morning ahead of us, so we need to go over the game plan.”

  There was a shuffle as the men settled in, turning towards their Sergeant and holding their maps, a few bending over shared papers. Kersey stepped off to the side to watch the briefing.

  “Our primary goal this morning is to block off the I-Five bridge over the river,” Copeland began. “The bad news is, it’s a four-lane road with thousands of zombies to the north and south of it. The good news is, the tools we need to block it off are already there in the form of concrete median barriers. Only thing we need is to go find a way to move them.

  “Our secondary goal is to block off the town bridge to the east. Luckily, this is only a two-lane bridge, and the expected enemy push is going to be minimal compared to the interstate area, so a few trucks oughta do the trick.” He held up
the map, pointing to the north. “There are going to be three teams working together to make this happen. Kowalski, Wade,” he said, pointing to the two snipers.

  They perked up, sitting at attention as their names were called.

  “Your sniper teams are going to be landing to the northwest of the river,” the Sergeant explained. “Assuming you hit your landing target, you’ll be half a mile from your position.” He pointed to a large shopping center between the interstate and the surface road leading to the other bridge. “You’re gonna be set up here, in two teams, one facing each road. Your mission is to draw as many of those things to you as possible, giving the bridge team time to set up the barricade. When you hit the ground, you start lighting them up, cause we’re going to need them away from the bridge if we’re gonna be able to do our job.”

  Kowalski’s brow furrowed as he studied the map closely, focusing in on a dark section of the interstate. “Question, Sarge,” he said, raising his hand.

  “What is it, Private?” Copeland asked.

  The sniper pointed to the blob. “Any idea what this dark patch on the interstate is?” he asked.

  “We’re hoping it’s just darker pavement,” the Sergeant admitted, shaking his head.

  The snipers shared a concerned look.

  “Hoping?” Kowalski demanded.

  Copeland held up a palm. “Relax, Private, you boys are good at what you do,” he said confidently. “You’ll find a way to get across.”

  Kowalski and Wade preened with some pride at the praise, even though both knew it was a blatant dismissal of their concern.

  “Corporal Dawson,” Copeland continued, “your team is up next. While the population to the north in Burlington is around ten thousand, the population to the south in Mount Vernon is closer to thirty-five thousand. And it being mostly residential near the bridge, the sniper diversion teams wouldn't be nearly as effective.” He grinned. “So we’re gonna have to get a little more creative.”

  He held up the map, motioning at the landing zone to the southeast of the river, and the group all looked over their papers. There was a long line drawn down a highway running diagonally to the interstate, with a large circle just to the west of the road.

  “You’ll be landing with us to the southeast of the river,” Copeland continued, “then huffing it. It’s a three-mile hike through infested territory, but there’s no other safe landing zone that’s closer.”

  Dawson nodded. “We’ll make do, Sarge,” he assured his superior. “Just let us know what needs to be done.”

  “Good, because you got the most important mission of the day,” Copeland declared. “Your target is a car dealership. You have a few mechanics on your team who are going to set the car alarm sensitivity to maximum, which means a stiff breeze will set it off. The rest of you will be spreading the cars out around town, hopefully attracting those things who will keep the cycle going by bumping into them. This won’t be perfect, but hopefully it will keep the pressure off of my team on the bridges.”

  He took a deep breath, looking around at the men, who were nodding and staring down at the maps, murmuring quietly to each other.

  Copeland looked to his squad. “You boys are going to be with me,” he said. “Our first target is the Super Center just south of the bridge. According to the sat image, there are a few trucks parked in the back, which we’ll use for the side bridge. For the main bridge, we’ll need to secure some rebar or other pole from the store so we can move those barriers. We got a buttload of them to do, so if you see back braces in the store, grab some.”

  A light round of chuckles rippled across the men.

  “Okay,” Copeland continued, clapping his hands together, “let’s talk load out. South teams, you got two hundred and ten rounds for your primary, thirty for your side. Sniper team, you’ve been authorized for double at four-twenty. We’re gonna be relying on you to hold the northern front one shot at a time.”

  Kowalski raised a victory fist. “Don’t worry Sarge,” he piped up, “we’re a competitive bunch, so you can be sure we’ll be making every shot count.”

  “Double check your rations,” Copeland reminded them, “and make sure you have a three-day supply, because we could be there for a while before reinforcements arrive. If you need a top off, they’re handing stuff out in the next hangar.”

  Wade raised his hand, and the Sergeant pointed to him. “Who do we talk to about night-vision scopes?” the Private asked.

  Copeland glanced over at Kersey, and the Captain took a step forward.

  “I was able to score a handful of them, enough for the sniper squad, and one each for the others,” he replied. “They’ll be waiting for you at the planes.”

  The Sergeant nodded and then spread his arms, looking around expectantly. “Anybody else got questions?” he asked.

  There was a moment of silence, and a few replies in the negative came from some of the men.

  “Good,” Copeland declared, and rolled a hand over his head. “Get loaded up, we’re in the air in five.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kowalski, Wade, and six other snipers packed tightly into a small aircraft. There was barely room to move between the men and the gear, all squeezed in like a sardine can.

  Kowalski looked out over the darkness, catching the occasional glimpse of a building in the rural areas as the moonlight caught windows.

  “Hey man, when was the last time you made a jump?” Wade asked, nudging his arm.

  Kowalski tilted his head back and forth, unable to move enough to shrug. “I don’t know, a year, maybe a year and a half,” he said. “What about you?”

  “About a week before all this began,” Wade replied.

  Kowalski blinked at him. “A week?” he asked. “Where the hell were you?”

  “This little vacation spot in Colorado,” his companion replied.

  Kowalski raised an eyebrow at the tattooed sniper in disbelief. “You… you jump for fun?”

  “Hell yeah I do!” Wade replied, excitement in his eyes. “Try to do fifteen to twenty jumps a year if I can. It’s more of a rush than being in a mosh pit.”

  His companion shook his head. “Dude, this is going to be the first time I’ve jumped out of a plane without being paid to do so,” he admitted. “At least I’m assuming we’re not getting paid anymore.”

  “You’re missing out, man,” Wade said. “When we survive this, I’m gonna talk to the higher-ups about setting up a jump school.”

  Kowalski rolled his eyes. “Uh huh, okay, well, if you need somebody to help teach those people how to shoot once they land, give me a shout.”

  Wade grinned and snaked a hand up to give him a thumbs up. Kowalski simply shook his head and leaned back, tapping the pilot on the shoulder.

  “How far out are we from the jump?” he asked.

  The pilot flicked on a small book light and checked his map and then looked over his instruments. “We’ll be over the zone in two minutes,” he replied.

  Kowalski patted his shoulder at an awkward angle and then pulled his arm back down to his side. “Okay, listen up,” he declared, getting everyone’s attention. “We’re two minutes out. It’s gonna be a low drop, so don’t wait too long on pulling your chute. You all know the landing zone. We rendezvous at the small house on the east side of the field. Questions?” When nobody said anything, he nodded firmly. “Then let’s get ready.”

  He shuffled over to the door, and waited by it, checking his equipment one last time as the throttle to the engine dialed back to reduce the speed. When the pilot held up his hand, giving the sniper a thumbs up, Kowalski threw open the door and began ushering his men out of the plane.

  Right after Wade jumped, Kowalski waved to the pilot and then leapt out into the air himself. The wind rushed by his face as he hurtled towards the ground. His heart raced, blood pumping as fear and adrenaline coursed through him. Kowalski was not a fan of flying through the air.

  When he finally pulled the ripcord on his chute, it opened with
out a hitch, and he finally allowed his body to relax a little. He looked around at the rest of his squad, gracefully floating to the ground. He looked down, checking the field within sight, only a minute or so away. From his vantage point he could also look over the interstate, the bridge, and their target shopping center.

  “Holy fuck,” he breathed, heart rate tripling at the amount of movement on the road and parking lot outside of the shopping center. “Guess that wasn’t just dark pavement,” he muttered, and then braced himself for his landing.

  He hit the ground hard, stumbling forward and falling onto his hands and knees. Wade approached, chuckling, and helped him back up as he unclipped his chute.

  “Need to work on that landing there, bud,” Wade teased.

  Kowalski grumbled. “Or, I could just not jump anymore,” he replied.

  Wade continued to chuckle as they headed off towards the rally point a few hundred yards away. “You catch the movement on the road?” he finally asked, sobering.

  “Yep,” Kowalski replied, voice level. “Gonna be a bitch to get around that.”

  His companion clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, good thing they sent the best of the best.”

  “Or the best that they could find,” Kowalski shot back with a smirk.

  Wade rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the morale boost there, bud.”

  “Anytime,” Kowalski replied brightly.

  They reached the farmhouse, a tiny rundown shack with a beat-up pickup truck in front of it. Privates Martin and Doyle came around from the other side, walking casually.

  “Perimeter is clear,” Doyle reported as they approached.

  Martin shook his head. “Can’t say the same about the road.”

  “No shit,” Wade agreed, “I’ve seen major festivals that were less crowded.”

  “Where are the other four at?” Kowalski asked.

  Doyle jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We sent them up ahead to scout the shopping center on this side of the interstate and the road.”

  “All right,” Kowalski replied, “let’s go catch up with them and see what we’re dealing with.”