Dead America The First Week (Book 3): Carolina Front Read online

  Coleman nodded and maneuvered the chopper around the camp, about twenty feet above the ground. The low flying drew the attention of every single zombie, despite the car alarm, and they staggered after the helicopter right out of the gate.

  “Captain Graham,” Wagner came through Terrell’s radio, “looks like the coast is clear. We’re going to move.”

  “I gotcha, Colonel,” the Captain replied, and slid open his door, assault rifle at the ready. “If any of them head back your way, I got a distraction ready.”

  “Do you have the coordinates of the rendezvous?” Wagner asked.

  “Negative,” Terrell said, “we’re pulling in the opposite direction. Don’t know how relentless these things are. Doesn’t do much good to clear a path if we lead them right back to y’all.”

  There was a moment of silence before Wagner clicked back. “Understood. If you can, head to the coast and send a message on emergency channel four. I’ll do everything I can to arrange a pickup.”

  “Thank you Colonel,” Terrell said sincerely, “and good luck.”

  “You as well, Captain.”

  The soldiers in the bird kept a close eye on the base as the men exited the buildings and headed towards the transports. Several sporadic shots rang out as they took out the few zombie stragglers left inside. A few of the horde hanging out by the front gate turned, and Terrell hit the ground on his side of them, refocusing their attention on the chopper.

  The men piled into the transports, but as soon as they fired up the engines several of the horde startled and turned back to the base.

  “Kill the engines!” Terrell screamed into his radio, and the trucks went silent once again. “Sit tight for five minutes and let us draw them away from the gate.”

  “Ten-four,” Wagner replied.

  “All right Pied Piper, lead them away,” Terrell said to Coleman, who eased the helicopter down the road, making sure not to get too far away from the horde.

  After a few minutes of inching away, there wasn’t a zombie within five hundred yards of the front gate. Terrell hung out the door, watching from his vantage point as the transports exited the base and headed safely in the other direction.

  “They’re clear,” he said, and got back into his seat, shutting the door.

  Coleman nodded in relief. “So where to now, Cap?” As if on cue, the gas light began blinking, signifying low fuel.

  “I’m guessing somewhere nearby?” Terrell couldn’t help but laugh.

  The Corporal nodded. “Head west?”

  “As good a direction as any,” the Captain replied with a shrug. Coleman rose the chopper several hundred feet in the air and sped up, leaving the horde in the dust to head west.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Man, I can’t believe we pulled this shit off.” Corporal Freeman crossed his arms as he stared down at the infield. There was a tent city being erected there, a few children nearby playing a game of football in the end zone.

  Gardner nodded, stepping up beside his comrade. “You ain’t kidding, brother,” he agreed. “I can’t think of another time it was anywhere close to that level of FUBAR.” He watched personnel ripping the seats out of the lower level of the stadium to make room for greenhouses.

  “Maybe that mission we ran a few years back on the Afghan-Iran border?” Webb piped up from his relaxed seat at the dining table, feet up as he munched happily on a stick of pepperoni.

  “Whoa now, we have a civilian in our midst,” Freeman said as he whipped around from the massive window of the club-level box they were in. “Pretty sure that mission was classified, soldier.”

  Marie barked a laugh. “Let me guess, Freeman embarrassed himself and doesn’t want the story told?”

  “Yes,” Frank, Webb and Gardner replied in unison, and Freeman threw his hands up before flopping down in his chair and shoveling beans into his mouth. He scowled at Marie’s expectant expression, and then sighed.

  “All right fine, tell the story if you want,” he muttered. “But if you get court martialed, don’t come crying to me.”

  Webb grinned. “You want to tell this one, or should I?” he asked.

  “You’re the one who got the eyeful,” Gardner replied with a regal bow. “I think you’ve earned the honors.”

  “So, without going into all of the boring details, we’d been tracking this warlord for a couple of weeks,” Webb began, lowering his feet to lean forward as Freeman continued to busy himself with scarfing down his bowl of beans. “He had been giving our boys up north a hell of a time, and command wanted us to bring him in for a chat.

  “So we ended up in this little shithole of a town, maybe a thousand people lived in this place. We were split up into three groups, keeping watch on a few locations we thought he would pop up. Freeman and I were in this small metal shack that I’m pretty sure was used to slaughter goats, because that smell was overwhelming. Well, about four hours into this stakeout, Freeman’s stomach starts making noises like a cat puking up a dying rodent.”

  The offending Corporal raised his spoon in protest. “Now now, in my defense, Afghan food can be hard on some people’s digestive system,” Freeman said, and Frank snorted.

  “Especially when said Afghan food is purchased from an unrefrigerated bucket attached to a 1980’s Schwinn,” Gardner added.

  “Anyway,” Webb continued, “it gets to the point where he can’t handle it anymore, so he takes a break from the line to find a restroom. Which in this case, was a metal bucket hidden behind a dangling piece of sheet metal. Let me tell you, if you think slaughtered goat smells bad, then you’ve never smelled recycled spoiled Afghan food.”

  Freeman wrinkled his nose. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.” He pouted.

  “Dude the stench was so bad it alerted the guards across the street,” Webb shot back.

  Marie burst out laughing, her shocked guffaws setting off Gardner and Frank as well.

  “So, here I am, trying to aim my weapon while fighting off dry heaves when one of them hears Freeman doing his business and opens fire,” Webb continued. “Next thing I know, we’re in a full-blown firefight. Bullets are flying, ricocheting off every surface in the building.

  “As I’m hunkered down, I turn and see Freeman crawling across the dirt floor, pants still around his ankles, and the only thought in my head was I’m going to win a lot of bets in the afterlife when we talk about the worst last sights a person had.”

  Freeman simply continued to eat as the rest of the table laughed uncontrollably, ignoring the ribbing from his companion.

  “So…” Marie gasped for air as she struggled to catch her breath. “How did y’all get out of it?”

  “Thankfully, the other two teams heard the fire, and converged on our position,” Webb replied. “The warlord had about forty bodyguards, so there were targets everywhere. Once their attention was spread out, we were able to return fire. I made the mistake of glancing over at Freeman, seeing him on his knees, firing his weapon while his ass illuminated with every muzzle flash. I’ve never openly prayed for death, but damned if it wasn’t a close call there.”

  “I can see why you compared that mission to this one,” Marie agreed. “Horror all around.”

  Gardner raised an eyebrow. “While horrific, there was that one incredible moment. You remember Reyes off the top rope?”

  “That was one of the most surreal things I’ve ever witnessed in person,” Webb agreed, a wistfulness to his voice.

  Marie furrowed her brow. “Top rope?”

  “So we had orders to take this asshole alive,” Gardner replied. “During the firefight, we saw a bodyguard escorting him out of the back of this little restaurant. We couldn’t risk taking a shot at him, so Reyes broke cover, climbed on top of the neighboring building, ran to the back and went full Luchador.

  “He jumped off and landed on top of the two of them. Before the rest of his bodyguards knew what had happened, he had the target in the back of the car and on his way out of town. Craziest thing I ever sa
w!”

  There was a quiet ripple of laughter, but the team sobered up quickly at the cold reminder that their teammate was gone.

  Webb raised his glass. “To Reyes.”

  “And Owens,” Gardner added, lifting his own glass.

  Freeman nodded and extended his own. “And Cole.”

  Everyone else followed suit, and they all took a sip for their fallen friends as Bill Huff walked into the club box.

  “I’m sorry,” he paused, “am I interrupting?”

  “No you’re good Bill, come on in,” Frank said, shuffling over and offering him a seat. “We’re just relaxing and shooting the shit.”

  He nodded his thanks and approached the table. “Well if anybody has earned it, you guys have.”

  “Ahem!” Marie grunted playfully.

  Bill inclined his head to her, putting up a hand. “My apologies. Guys and girl who could whip the hell out of these guys.”

  She preened. “That’s better.”

  “So how’s our new home looking?” Frank asked.

  “We’re a little over our target capacity, but Captain Graham and his team did an exemplary job with the supplies,” Bill replied. “We should be just fine while we wait for the crops to come in. In fact, the extra manpower has come in handy. We’re already about twenty percent of the way there in putting up the greenhouses, and the farmers we recruited are putting in the first seeds as we speak. So in about six or seven weeks, we’ll be dining on fresh produce.”

  The Captain nodded. ”How are the VIPs getting settled?”

  “We got everybody processed and sheltered, although some of them are stuck in tents in the infield for the moment,” Bill admitted. “The engineering conference wasn’t as fruitful as originally hoped, but you were able to secure forty-five engineers and engineering students across a variety of fields. I relayed the info to D.C. and John Teeter wanted me to give you his personal thanks.”

  Frank smiled. “Hopefully they can do some good.”

  “John seems to think they will, once they know what the battle plan is going to be,” the older man replied. “At the moment they are still scrambling to acquire and protect assets.”

  “Well, if Charlotte is any indication, it’s going to get real bad out there,” Freeman piped up.

  Marie cocked her head in interest. “Speaking of that, any word on how the rest of the country is doing?”

  “John didn’t go into much detail when I asked.” Bill shook his head. “But suffice it to say, these are not good times. I’ve known the man thirty plus years, helped him navigate some of the words quagmires in history, and I’ve never seen him this concerned.”

  A thick air of somber recognition fell over the table. If the people at the top were doubting the success of the human race, then things were dire.

  Bill’s radio crackled. “Come in Charlotte Fortress, transport ship alpha is inbound.”

  “Say what you will about Captain Graham,” Frank declared, “but the man has timing.” A chuckle flitted around the table as he extended his hand to Bill. “You mind if I take this one?”

  “By all means, Sir,” the older man replied and placed his radio in the Captain’s hand.

  “Come in alpha, we hear you and are ready for your arrival,” Frank said. “Now with the formalities out of the way, can you please put my good buddy Captain Terrell Graham on the line?”

  There was a long silence. “Captain, it’s Bennett and Foster. Terrell’s not with us.”

  Frank sat up straight, face going white as a sheet. “Bennett, what’s going on?”

  “Just after we took off, Fort Bragg got overrun,” the Corporal explained. “Captain Graham and a few others were safe in the command office, but we don’t know much more than that.”

  “Why in the fuck didn’t you go in after him?” Frank snarled.

  “We had our orders, Sir,” Bennett snapped. “He said that supplying you was the priority, and they didn’t even have a proper read on their situation. We did a quick flyover before heading this way, and there wasn’t a whole lot we could have done. There were hundreds of those things rampaging through the base, and they were making quick work of the men who were there.” He paused, and the group seemed to hold their breaths in anticipation for what came next. “Sir, he wanted me to give you a message. He’s going to work his way towards the city, and when he gets close, he’ll find a way to signal you,” Bennett explained. “He’s resourceful, he’ll be all right.”

  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, sho
ulders 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.”