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

  “Free advice,” Kowalski grunted, “lay off the carbs.”

  Doyle chuckled and shook his head as they climbed up to join the others on the roof. The duo took a moment to breathe deep, looking down at the creatures all reaching up to them from the ground. They exchanged a fist bump and then walked to the front of the store to join Martin and Hurley, dropping their bags and gear.

  The quartet froze as they looked out over the sea of creatures in the parking lot, spreading back to the smaller bridge and road.

  “What do you say we give them a reason to head our way, huh?” Kowalski asked.

  The other men nodded and readied their rifles. Soon, the air was filled with high-powered rifle shots, booming off at a consistent pace. Kowalski took a deep breath and pulled out his walkie-talkie.

  “Sarge, it’s Kowalski, we’re in position,” he said into the radio.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sergeant Copeland reigned in his parachute as he looked around the field. Several men had formed a perimeter, keeping watch for the ghouls, while the rest of the men secured their gear. After a few moments, Corporal Dawson headed over to him.

  “Your team good to go?” Copeland asked.

  Dawson nodded. “Yes sir, fifteen of us ready to go,” he replied.

  “Okay, be safe, we’ll see you on the bridge after a while,” Copeland replied. The two longtime friends exchanged a fist bump before Dawson headed off to join his group.

  A few moments later, Johnson approached, flanked by a group of ten soldiers. “Sarge, we’re landed and ready to roll.”

  “Good man,” Copeland replied, nodding. “So listen up everybody,” he began, turning to the group. “We’re gonna be moving quick. We got a mile and a half to cover, and we need to be there an hour ago. Unless you see me take a shot, nobody is to even draw their weapons, is that understood?”

  There was a chorus of yes, sir, and he nodded again.

  “One shot could give us away and undermine what our boys to the north and south are doing for us,” he continued. “When we get to the Super Center, Johnson, Raymond, and Schmitt, you work your way to the loading docks and inspect those trucks. If they’re not good to go, then we need to come up with a plan B. The rest of you will fan out in the store, clearing it of any hostiles and securing metal posts so we can build that barricade. If you see anything else that might be useful, make a note of it and we’ll come back once our primary mission is complete.” He crossed his arms. “Questions?”

  There was a chorus in the negative this time, and he raised a hand. “Then let’s move ‘em out.” He led the group off of the field and onto the street that ran parallel with the river. They moved faster than an average jogging speed, their footsteps echoing in the darkness.

  As they moved, several zombies reacted to the noise, emerging from the neighborhood to the south. Copeland barely batted an eye at the emerging threat, instead picking up the pace to stay clear of them. As they reached the few blocks before the surface street bridge, he stopped the group at a crossroads.

  Several moans erupted from the south of them, about thirty yards down the side street. Copeland glanced over, seeing it was about five zombies. He snapped his fingers and pointed, and five soldiers broke formation, pulling out knives and rushing the ghouls to take them out silently. Copeland focused back on the bridge as they returned to formation, leaving a pile of bodies in their wake.

  “Johnson,” the Sergeant said.

  The Private approached. “Sarge.”

  “I need your night scope,” Copeland said.

  Johnson handed over his rifle with the night-vision scope, and the Sergeant looked through it to study the large congregation of zombies on the bridge that stretched almost to the road they were on. He let out a low grunt and handed the rifle back.

  “Detour,” Copeland said, “let’s move.”

  He led the group down a block before turning back to the west towards the target. They reached the bridge road, and Copeland checked out the horde of zombies beginning about sixty yards up. He motioned for them to keep moving, but put a finger to his lips.

  They crept across the road, keeping their footsteps as light as possible. When they reached the other side and moved behind cover, they picked up the pace again, continuing to ignore creatures stumbling out from the shadows.

  After several minutes, they finally reached the edge of the parking lot to the Super Center. There were a few zombies near the corner of the lot that Copeland pointed to. The same soldiers that dispatched the earlier ones repeated their stealthy kills, ending the nearby threat.

  The Sergeant took a knee, and the rest of the squad followed. He held out his hand, and Johnson gave him the night vision scope again. The lot was dotted with abandoned vehicles, as well as a couple dozen creatures wandering about. Copeland looked up towards the bridge, seeing a mass of monsters on it.

  As he looked, the first shots from the northern group rang out, and some of the zombies turned to shamble in that direction.

  “Those sniper boys don’t waste time, do they?” Johnson murmured from behind him.

  Copeland grunted, knowing that the noise was going to quickly bring undead reinforcements from the south. “You all know what to do,” he said, “let’s move.”

  The Sergeant led the group across the parking lot, spreading out as they went. As they approached the front of the building, various soldiers delivered knife blows to creatures they encountered, clearing the way for them.

  Copeland was the first to the front door, approaching it cautiously in case of undead company. He stood in front of it, motioning for Johnson to throw it open so he could breach.

  As soon as the Private opened the door, Copeland rushed inside, delivering a vicious kick to the torso of a zombie, sending it flying across the entryway. He whipped around and jammed his blade into an eye socket of another, and Johnson swept past him to stab the one that was on the ground.

  “Trucks, go,” Copeland hissed.

  Johnson, Raymond, and Schmitt rushed off down the side aisle of the store, pulling out flashlights to illuminate their path. As they reached the back of the store, they spotted five zombies standing in front of the loading dock door.

  Johnson held the trio up, while putting his flashlight down to avoid the creatures coming their way. He glanced over, checking to see they were in sporting goods. He stepped into the aisle and grabbed an aluminum baseball bat, motioning for the other two to do the same.

  Once properly armed, they rushed down the back aisle towards the creatures. Johnson delivered an overhead smash to the lead zombie, crumpling it, and held up the flashlight so the other two could swing away. After several batter-ups, the threat was eliminated.

  Johnson motioned for them to follow him into the loading dock. He peeked through the small window in the swinging doors, seeing nothing close to it. They moved through and put up their flashlights, illuminating the entire area. There were three zombies at the far end, but nothing else in the sprawling area.

  “You two, take them out,” Johnson instructed, “I’ll secure the back door.”

  The two soldiers walked down to bash some skulls while Johnson headed to his destination. He removed the bolt lock and gently opened the door a crack, listening for noise. When he didn’t hear anything, he pushed it side open, seeing the back area clear. There were three transfer trucks backed up to the loading bays.

  Something brushed up against his arm and he startled, whipping around, bat raised. Raymond and Schmitt backed up, hands out.

  “Jesus jump-roping christ, don’t do that!” Johnson hissed, his heart rate tripled.

  The two men chuckled under their breaths, muttering sorry in unison.

  He let out a deep whoosh of breath and motioned for them to follow him. “Come on, check the trucks,” he said, “make sure the battery is good.”

  Each of the trio picked a truck, making sure that nothing was waiting for them beneath the vehicles. Johnson swept the area and then clambered up into his, turnin
g the key and relieved to see the dash lights come on. He checked the gas meter and saw it was a half full.

  “That should be good enough to get us four blocks,” he said quietly, and then turned the ignition off and slipped out of the truck.

  “My truck is good,” Raymond reported as he approached. “Battery works and full tank of gas.”

  Schmitt shook his head. “Looks like I got gas, but the battery wouldn’t cooperate.”

  “Two outta three ain’t bad,” Johnson replied with a shrug. “Come on, let’s go find the Sarge.”

  The trio headed back into the main part of the store. There were footsteps, moans, and the sound of bodies hitting the floor echoing throughout the building. After a few moments, there were sporadic bellows of "clear”, and then quiet.

  “Sarge, what’s your twenty?” Johnson called, cupping a hand around his mouth.

  Copeland’s voice echoed in the store. “Aisle fifteen,” he replied.

  The trio made their way over to the Sergeant, who was watching the soldiers running around the store. Some of them carried equipment to the front of the store to stage it, while a few others came up with various items of food and weaponry. Copeland gave a yay or nay to different items depending on need.

  “Johnson, what you got?” he asked, as he gave a thumbs up to a case of tire irons.

  The Private jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Three trucks in the back,” he replied. “Two are good to go, one needs a jump.”

  “Outstanding,” Copeland said, nodding. “While we’re getting prepped here, you hit automotive and see if they have one of those emergency battery chargers. Hook it up, leave it running, then get back here. As soon as Dawson starts pulling some of those things to the south, we’re hitting the bridge.”

  Johnson saluted him. “You got it, Sarge,” he replied and then headed off to automotive with Schmitt and Raymond in tow.

  As they disappeared around the aisle, Copeland’s walkie-talkie vibrated. He picked it up and clicked it on.

  “Sarge, it’s Kowalski,” the sniper came through. “We’re in position.”

  Copeland nodded. “Good news,” he replied. “But I heard some gunfire earlier than expected.”

  “Ah, let’s just say the interstate wasn’t dark,” Kowalski replied sheepishly. “Had to divert from the plan in order to get across.”

  The Sergeant stiffened. “Situation?” he asked.

  “Three on the west side of the interstate, four at the designated target,” the sniper reported.

  Copeland sighed. Those numbers didn’t add up. “Who didn’t make it?”

  “Carver,” Kowalski replied, voice thick.

  The Sergeant shook his head, taking a moment to process. “You don’t lose anybody else,” he finally said, firmly. “That’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir,” the sniper replied.

  Copeland took a deep breath. “We’re at the Super Center, gonna be ready to move as soon as Dawson gets to work.”

  “In the meantime, we’ll pull them our way,” Kowalski assured him.

  “Heard,” the Sergeant replied. “Copeland out.” He put the radio away, crossing his arms as he watched his soldiers work. Come on Dawson, get it done.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Corporal Dawson watched on as several members of his fifteen strong team stabbed and bashed in the skulls of a dozen zombies that had wandered out from a side street. It was the last one before the interstate, but the fourth major confrontation his squad had faced on the three-mile trek to the car dealership.

  This worried him, because if they were encountering so much resistance on the residential streets, it not only made their job more difficult, but it made him wonder how bad the situation at the bridge was.

  After the cleansing finished up, Privates Mack and Ross jogged back from the top of the road that intersected with the freeway.

  “How are we looking up there?” Dawson asked.

  Mack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Flat across the interstate, should be easy to traverse.”

  “Only about forty hostiles between here and there,” Moss added. “Really spread out, too.”

  The Corporal nodded. “How’d the lot look?” he asked.

  The Privates exchanged a look, concerning their superior.

  “That good, huh?” Dawson asked.

  “Couldn’t really get a great look at it, but…” Moss trailed off, scratching the back of his head.

  Mack winced. “There was some movement.”

  “Fantastic,” Dawson drawled. “Looks like it’s gonna be a long ass night.” He turned to two soldiers taking turns curb-stomping a zombie into the ground. “You boys done?” he asked dryly.

  The soldiers straightened up and moved away, falling back into formation.

  “Final push gentlemen,” the Corporal announced. “We got some light resistance on the interstate, and unknown hostiles on the lot. Mack, Moss, and myself make a beeline to the front door, and once you clear out the lot, you follow. Who has the night vision?”

  One soldier with a rifle raised his hand in the back.

  Dawson pointed to him. “I don’t care how you do it, just get on that roof and keep watch on the interstate,” he instructed. “I don’t care about stragglers, but if you see a horde, you start shooting.”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, nodding.

  “Where are my mechanics?” Dawson asked.

  Two soldiers off to the left raised their hands.

  “You’re with me,” the Corporal said. “Until we get those car alarms modified, you stay back. Once we get that done, feel free to run into whatever shitshow you want to.”

  “Yes sir,” they replied in unison, nodding.

  Dawson appraised his team. “Then let’s move,” he said. “Hit teams, up front.”

  Two squads of four moved to the front of the formation as the group jogged down the last stretch of road. Their blood-stained blades and bludgeons sparkled in the moonlight, ready for action.

  As they got onto the frontage road, the hit squads leapt into action to take out a trio of zombies. One squad of four rushed up, with the leader using his bludgeon to drive a zombie back staggering into another one. They fell to the ground and two other soldiers made short work of their skulls.

  The rest of the squad moved to the interstate, several groups of creatures scattered about the pavement. The hit squads attacked in unison and formation, stabbing and bludgeoning, expertly neutralizing the threads.

  They reached the other side of the freeway, not concerned with the zombies that were half a mile down the road. When they got into the lot, the infestation was a lot thicker than originally anticipated.

  Dawson stopped short at the edge, staring at the dozens of creatures moving through the cars.

  “Poor fuckers must have wandered in there and couldn’t figure out how to get out,” Mack murmured.

  Dawson sighed. “We’ll get ‘em out real quick,” he replied. “Hit teams, need a diversion on the flanks. Get that center cleared out for us.”

  The two teams of four ran down the outer edges of the lot on either side. When in position, one member from each team got up on top of a vehicle and started making a racket, jumping and yelling and banging their weapons, while the other three stood in front, waiting on the enemy to arrive.

  Dawson and the remainder of the squad watched as the zombies staggered off towards the hit teams. They bumped off of vehicles, knocking into each other, but one by one, they stepped up to just get smacked down by the soldiers.

  As the fight went on, the center of the car lot emptied out.

  “Let’s go,” Dawson hissed, and led his team down the lot. They moved quickly but quietly, staying low so the cars would provide cover. As they approached the front doors, the Corporal stopped at the sight of several zombies pressed up against the glass, banging on them.

  He stepped up to the door and pushed lightly against it, noting that it opened inward. At the bottom, someone had put door stops down to hold
the ghouls inside. He pulled out his flashlight and shone it into the building.

  There were numerous show cars as well as cubicles set up, but very little in the way of zombies outside of those at the front door.

  “Okay, Mack, Moss,” Dawson said, clicking off his light and turning to the soldiers. “I’m gonna get those door stops. From what I can see, it’s just these three that we have to worry about.”

  They nodded and readied their blades. The Corporal crouched down in front of the doors, getting a good handle on the metal doorstops. He looked back to make sure they were ready, and when they nodded, he dove to the side, pulling the stops with him.

  The trio of zombies burst out from the door, immediately going after Dawson who was closest to them. Mack lunged forward, plunging his blade into the side of the lead creature’s head, and immediately throwing it back into the others.

  Moss slashed a decisive blow to the face of the other zombie, while Mack jumped over the one he killed and booted the chest of the last one struggling to get up. He slammed his blade down into its eye with a vicious kill shot.

  Dawson peeled himself off of the ground, dusting himself off. “Those fuckers came at me like a fat kid at a buffet,” he grunted. “Appreciate the quick action.”

  “If we’re gonna get promotions,” Mack said with a smirk, “it ain’t gonna be that way.”

  The Corporal chuckled and led the group inside. He pointed at the soldier with the night-vision rifle. “Get topside now,” he instructed.

  “Yes, sir.” The soldier nodded and ran off.

  “Rest of you fan out, we need keys,” Dawson said. “And keep a watch out for zombies, those fuckers like to hide.”

  The group spread out, looking around for keys to the lot full of vehicles. After several minutes, Moss popped up from a cubicle.

  “I think we’re in business!” he called.

  Dawson joined him and saw the Private fiddling with a large lockbox attached to the wall. When he opened it up, there were hundreds of keys, all arranged by parking lot number.