Dead America The Second Week (Book 12): Dead America, Heartland Pt. 5 Page 5

  They both closed their eyes, turning their faces up to the warm sun.

  A train horn blared in the distance, cutting into their happy reverie.

  “Well.” Baker sighed, shoulders slumping. “That didn’t last long.”

  “Guess we should go greet them, huh?” Johnson asked, motioning to the tracks just north of the river.

  His companion extended a hand and hung his head. “If you insist.”

  Johnson approached one of the troops keeping watch on the interstate. “We gotta go meet up with the reinforcements,” he said. “You got everything under control?”

  The soldier didn’t even look up from his scope as he gave a thumbs up. Johnson patted him on the back, satisfied with their dedication, and he and his partner headed off towards the train.

  The bridge over the river was about a block away, so the duo walked down the center of the street with their fingers on the trigger, just in case.

  “Have you heard how the rest of the operation is going?” Baker asked.

  Johnson shook his head. “Captain was pretty mum on that.” He shrugged. “Although, I’m pretty sure if anything went horribly wrong, he’d tell us. He’s not the type to hide the fact that we’re fucked.”

  “That’s true,” Baker agreed. “He typically relishes the idea of being horribly outnumbered and outgunned.”

  His companion barked a laugh. “Well, we’re sure as shit outnumbered today,” he pointed out. “Pretty sure we have the gun advantage, though.”

  “We’d better hope so,” Baker replied.

  The two men went quiet, each imagining zombies armed to the teeth, and shuddered. They came to the bridge and made their way across the river, heading straight for the tracks where the engine was parked, having just come to a standstill.

  “I wonder if this is Bill’s ride or not,” Johnson said.

  To their surprise, Bretz emerged from the cab and waved at them.

  “Guess not,” Baker said, furrowing his brow.

  The Corporal grinned as they approached. “What do you say, boys?”

  “Corporal, what you doin’ riding the rails?” Johnson asked, motioning wildly to the train. “I thought you were on a river cruise?”

  Bretz hopped down and shook each of their hands in turn. “Eh, you know, long story involving a crazed chopper pilot from ‘Nam, an apartment building full of survivors, and a new mission that made me wish I had just stayed at the airport like I was originally ordered to.”

  “That good of a mission, huh?” Johnson winced.

  Bretz shook his head, holding his hands out, palms up. “Yeah, me and fifty guys are plugging up the only bridge in the west that goes over the river.”

  “It ain’t no big deal,” Baker replied with a reassuring smile. “We did the same thing last night. Just get you a few transport trucks and you’ll be good to go.”

  “All we have is an apartment complex with a handful of cars,” the Corporal replied with a grimace.

  The duo stared at him and blinked.

  “Yeah.” Johnson coughed. “Good luck with that.”

  Bretz wrinkled his nose. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Baker glanced at the train as troops began to unload from the boxcars. “Looking a little short on men here, Corporal,” he said. “You sure this is everybody?”

  “The Captain said the team that was following you into Post Falls is still clearing out the town,” Bretz explained. “Said they’re making good progress and should be here in an hour or so.”

  Baker nodded. “Gotcha.”

  “So what in the hell are we supposed to do with this lot?” Johnson asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “They have their orders,” the Corporal replied. “All you gotta do is lead them down to the town and point them in the right direction.”

  Baker snorted. “Hell, even Johnson here can handle that.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Johnson gaped at his companion.

  Baker grinned, showing all of his teeth. “It means it’s a task that’s so simple that even you can’t fuck it up.”

  The Corporal chuckled. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Please don’t give him any ideas,” Baker said, putting up a hand. “We don’t have enough action at our position for me to ignore him once he starts whining.”

  The men shared another chuckle until the engineer headed out of the cab, leaning on the railing and looking down at them.

  “Sorry for interrupting, Corporal, but just got word from the back that the troops are unloaded,” he said, pointing to the box cars. “We’re ready to go when you are.”

  Bretz nodded. “Appreciate it,” he said, and then turned to his friends. “Guess that’s my signal, fellas.”

  “Be safe out there, Bretz,” Johnson said, and clapped the Corporal on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, don’t go dying on us, now,” Baker added. “Taking your spot doesn’t come with a pay raise anymore. Would hate to do extra work for free.”

  Bretz barked a laugh and then climbed back up onto the engine car. “See you on the other side, boys.” He waved and headed inside as the train sprung to life, beginning to move forward.

  The troops all stepped back as the train headed off, and once it was clear, the two men turned to look at the thousand or so troops now at their disposal.

  Baker held out an arm and bowed. “Have at it, big fella.”

  Johnson grinned, and took a step forward, taking a deep breath. “All right, everybody listen the fuck up!” he bellowed. “I’m Corporal Johnson, and this is Corporal Baker, and y’all are gonna follow us to the front lines of this battle. So get your shit and get a move on, cause we’re goin’ on a little hike!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Herrera took aim at the sea of zombies in front of the Super Center, their new residence, it seemed. A few hours had passed since they’d arrived, and it had been non-stop firing from the seven men up top. But with every ghoul that dropped, five more crowded over it, in a never-ending sea of dead.

  “Christ, we’ve been shooting half the damn day and it doesn’t even look like we’ve hit anything,” Gilbert complained, lowering his weapon with a groan.

  The Corporal narrowed his eyes. “You keep firing and maybe that’ll change,” he said icily.

  “Snap at me all you like, but I’m just stating a fact,” the ex-Sergeant muttered.

  Herrera lowered his weapon and turned to Gilbert, eyes ablaze. “It’s a face that we can all plainly see,” he snarled as he glared down at his companion. “We don’t need your whining or commentary, so shut the fuck up and do your job. Or do I need to follow my orders?”

  The threat of Kersey’s order to execute him subdued the Private, and he clenched his teeth so hard they clicked as he raised his gun again, continuing to fire.

  Herrera left the line and headed back to the supplies, reaching into one of the bags to pull out a bottle of water. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, but standing in the sun firing for hours on end was training. As he swished the lukewarm water around in his mouth, he caught on to muffled gunshots that sounded different than their own.

  “Cease fire!” he barked, holding up a hand. “Cease fire!”

  The men complied, except for Gilbert, who fired off one extra shot before sneering at his superior. Herrera glared at him, and the Private exaggerated letting go of the trigger, holding his hands above his head and letting his gun dangle from its strap.

  In the sudden quiet, they heard a few more muffled shots again.

  “Where is that coming from?” Herrera asked.

  One of the soldiers furrowed his brow. “It’s too quiet to be in the distance.”

  Gilbert headed over to the edge of the store and looked down. “Corporal, I think I have your answer.”

  Everyone moved to the edge and looked down. The ghouls directly below them had found their way into the store, the front glass windows shattering under the pressure of the horde. The shots were clearer now, throug
h the busted windows.

  “Fuck, there are survivors in the store,” Herrera breathed.

  Gilbert shrugged. “Doesn’t look like for long, though,” he retorted.

  The Corporal whipped around and glared at him. “Well, we’re going to fix that.” He looked around the roof frantically. “Everyone, look for a hatch.”

  “Over here!” one of the soldiers called, and jogged off towards a large square door.

  “This should be it,” Herrera confirmed as he reached it. “Help me get it open.”

  A third soldier joined the, and they pried it open together. It was old and a bit on the rusted side, apparently unused for a long time.

  “Corporal, our orders are to hold this position and keep the enemy occupied,” Gilbert said, bouncing on his heels a bit.

  Herrera swiped his hands against each other. “Our orders also include saving civilians, especially from a fuckup we created,” he pointed out.

  “But-”

  “One more word out of you and you’re coming with me,” the Corporal snapped, and Gilbert’s mouth clicked shut.

  “Sir, the ladder is rusted out,” one of the soldiers said as he surveyed the hole. “That’s a good ten-foot drop to the shelves there. And not really much of a way to get back up.”

  Herrera took a deep breath. “Let’s worry about getting down there, first.” He studied the shelving unit, noting it was about three feet wide and flat on the top. It appeared quite sturdy, made of thick metal. Much like the metal inside of the hatch compartment. “If I can get to that ledge there, I can drop the rest of the way no problem,” he said, pointing. “Do you think you can lower me down far enough?”

  “Let’s do it,” the soldier said, and held out a hand. His partner joined him, and each of them took one of Herreras hands, slowly kneeling to help the Corporal descend into the store.

  He let go of one of the soldiers to grab the ledge, yanking on it once to test it. “Okay, I’m good,” he said, and the soldier let go. The Corporal gripped the ledge, securing himself and dangling still four feet above his target. He took a deep breath and swallowed before letting go, hitting the top of the unit hard and nearly tumbling off of it.

  He dropped to one knee and grabbed the sides of the shelf, making sure that everything was going to stay upright. A shot rang out in the store a few aisles over, and he looked around. There were several dozen rows of shelves that went from one end of the store to the other, with six foot gaps in between. He got up onto his feet, shaking the metal a bit to make sure that the shelf was good and secured to the ground.

  He crouched and sprung, leaping across to the next shelf and the next, landing safely and catching a glimpse of the civilians. It was a young couple, maybe in their early twenties, both of them holding handguns and firing towards the horde coming straight down the aisle at them.

  The creatures were closing in fast, and Herrera pulled his rifle from his back and began firing precise shots to drop zombies in the front row.

  “Climb up here, now!” he barked. “We’ll get you out!”

  The couple didn’t waste any time rushing towards him, throwing merchandise onto the floor to use the shelves as ladders to get up. The Corporal let go of his gun when they were halfway up and pulled them up the rest of the way. As soon as they were clear and safe, there was more gunfire halfway across the store.

  “Please help our friends!” the girl pleaded, grabbing Herrera’s arm.

  He cocked his head to get a read on where the gunfire was coming from, and nodded. “You two stay here, and don’t move until I get back.”

  They nodded, holding onto each other in a scared clump, and the Corporal began his leaping game again. He moved gracefully atop the stacks, the gunfire intensifying from about six rows over.

  As he cleared the last aisle, a gun clicked empty, followed by panicked screaming. He tore up the shelves, but all he could see was a group of zombies clustered around one area. One stood up at the sound of his bootfalls, an arm firmly in its mouth.

  Another ghoul wrenched the arm free and tore a strip off of it, and Herrera yelled, unloading the remainder of his magazine into the horde. Within a matter of seconds, almost a dozen zombies lay on the tile floor with bullet wounds to the head.

  The Corporal took a deep steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment to try to squash the guilt at the mission he’d lead getting innocent civilians killed. He hadn’t thought to check inside for survivors, and that mistake had cost lives. He took another breath and then froze.

  “Psst, psst,” somebody hissed, and he turned to see a young man of maybe seventeen who had shimmied up a large shoe display in the middle of the main aisle. There were about twenty creatures milling about below him, and his eyes pleaded with Herrera for help.

  “Listen carefully,” the Corporal said as he reloaded his gun, “I’m going to clear you a path from your position to mine. When I tell you, I want you to jump down and run like hell to me. Can you do that?”

  The boy nodded jerkily, and gave the soldier a thumbs up.

  Herrera took aim at the zombie closest to the display, then mentally picked out his next few targets close by, knowing he’d have to think quickly once the firing began. He took a more concentrated breath this time, and then unleashed fury on the undead.

  The first shot knocked the zombie back, crumpling to the ground, and then three more quick shots found their targets, corpses flying into displays. There was a narrow pathway to his position, but the zombies turned to approach him at the noise.

  “Move, now!” he screamed, and the kid leapt from the display.

  He hit the floor hard on his feet and stumbled forward, skidding on his knees and scrambling back up. Herrera shot a zombie that dove for him, saving him from certain death, and the boy sprinted past outstretched hands, launching himself up the shelves.

  The Corporal hit the deck, laying down and throwing his arm down to grab the kid, jerking him up to safety.

  They both sat there for a moment, chests heaving, as the zombies clustered below, moaning their disappointment at a missed meal.

  “Thank you so much for saving me,” the boy huffed, eyes wide. “I thought I was toast.”

  “My pleasure,” Herrera replied with a reassuring smile. “I picked up a couple of your friends, too.” He pointed over to the young couple, still clutching each other, who waved back at them.

  “What about… my other friends?” the young man asked, chewing his lower lip.

  Herrera clenched his jaw, and then closed his eyes, shaking his head.

  The young man let out a whoosh of breath, and then said hoarsely, “I’m sure you did your best.”

  The Corporal didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to respond. It was his fault that this kid’s friends were dead.

  After a few moments of awkward silence, the young man looked around, really getting his bearings. “So…” he began shakily, “how exactly are we getting out of here?”

  “Gotta get to the roof,” Herrera replied, pointing up.

  The kid raised his eyebrows. “So what, we’re flying?”

  “Need to make a pit stop by the hardware section, first,” the Corporal explained. “Gotta borrow us a ladder.”

  The kid looked confused for a moment, and then his face fell.

  “Do I want to know?” Herrera asked at the melancholy expression.

  The young man waved for him to follow, and a few minutes later, they stood on the final shelving unit, looking towards the hardware section. It was a good ten foot run to the area, with the ladders hanging on the back wall an additional ten feet beyond that.

  Herrera studied the situation, noting only four or five zombies between him and the ladders. He weighed his options. He knew that as soon as he started firing, there would be dozens if not hundreds of them on him quickly. But he had to think fast, because just the noise of them jumping from shelf to shelf would have attracted some ghouls.

  He slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew his handgun, turn
ing around to climb down.

  “What are you doing?” the kid hissed. “Are you crazy?”

  Herrera kept his voice low. “It’s either this or we die in here,” he said. “Now stay here and be quiet.”

  The young man nodded, eyes wide as saucers, and crouched down, holding his knees with nervousness as Herrera hit the floor.

  As his boots hit the tiles, the zombie closest to him turned and locked her rheumy eyes on him. It was a poor young woman, still in her work uniform, and he delivered a forceful two-handed palm strike to her torso. She went flying back, hitting the ground. Herrera wasted no time leaping past her and dodging the creatures as he sprinted over to the ladders. He pulled a nice silver metal twelve-footer off of the rack and shoved his arm through an opening so it could rest easily on his shoulder.

  One of the zombies came around the edge of a shelf and into his aisle. With physical strikes no longer a possibility due to the cumbersome nature of his cargo, he aimed with his handgun instead, hitting the corpse in the forehead.

  As the creature crumpled to the floor, another came around the corner, and the Corporal fired again. The aim was a bit off, hitting the creature in the mouth and shattering the rotted teeth there, so he quickly fired again, this time finding the brain.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Herrera could see the kid up top waving frantically for him to hurry up. He began running, pausing to fire twice and take out two zombies within five yards of him. He rushed to the shelving unit, and reached it, but there were dozens of creatures emerging from the front of the store, moving quickly.

  He set the ladder against the shelf and clambered up as fast as he could. As soon as he was clear, he and the kid yanked the ladder up just as the horde reached it. Herrera propped it up across the aisle, making a bridge across to the next shelf.

  “Piece of cake,” he declared. “Safer than jumping, don’t you think?”

  The kid smiled and nodded.

  “Come on,” the Corporal said, “let’s get the fuck outta here.”

  CHAPTER NINE