Dead America The Northwest Invasion | Book 3 | Dead America-Seattle [Part 1] Page 5

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Nearly ninety minutes had passed since the barrier building had begun. The soldiers had built a line completely across the bridge, running across all four lanes. They’d even created a rectangle in the center, stretching eight feet by eight feet, branching off the main line.

  Copeland strained with several other men to get the large concrete block into place. Once it was in, the men leaned over it, breathing heavy sighs of relief.

  “That’s good work, boys,” Copeland huffed. “Now we just got one more to build in the south.”

  There was a chorus of light groans from the men, and the Sergeant chuckled.

  “Don’t worry, that’s not till later,” he assured them. “Now, we get to do a suicide run on the other bridge.”

  One of the soldiers threw up his hands. “Finally, some good news.”

  Another ripple of tired chuckles rose, and then Copeland took a deep breath.

  “I need four volunteers to hold this line,” he declared. “And I’m not gonna lie, it could get messy. As soon as our sniper friend runs out of ammo, those creatures are gonna be looking for something new to focus their attention on, and it’s going to be you. If those car alarms don’t hold their interest, you’re gonna be trapped in this little square of death fighting a two-front war. But we need to defend it, because if we get too many of those things pushing on it, the line isn’t going to hold.” He crossed his arms. “So, who’s it going to be?”

  All eight men’s hands shot straight up in the air, and he shook his head, chuckling again.

  “I’m going to assume it’s because each and every one of you is dedicated to the mission,” he said, pointing an accusing finger, “and not just because you want to get out of some heavy lifting.”

  One of the soldiers grinned. “Can’t it be both?”

  The group laughed again, and then Copeland pointed to the four on the left. “Okay, you four win the sweepstakes,” he declared, and then motioned to one on the right. “I need you to go get Johnson and the others.”

  The soldier nodded and ran off up the bridge to retrieve the guards.

  “Remember, limit your fire until you start getting overwhelmed,” Copeland reminded the team staying behind. “We’ll be back with reinforcements as soon as possible.”

  They nodded and started setting up their defenses, laying bats on the ground, knives, and some leftover metal posts. Johnson, Raymond, and Schmitt approached, the former patting the barricade.

  “Well hell Sarge,” Johnson drawled. “This is looking pretty good.” He glanced at the eight-foot emergency barrier. “That, however, looks like nightmare fuel.”

  Copeland cocked his head. “Good thing you’re going to be with me on the other bridge,” he said.

  “Which I imagine is a whole other brand of nightmare fuel,” Johnson replied.

  The Sergeant nodded. “Absolutely Private, wouldn’t be any fun otherwise,” he said. “Good luck, boys,” he said to the soldiers staying behind, and they saluted him.

  “You too, Sarge,” one of them said.

  Copeland led the group of eight back towards the Super Center, a chorus of car alarms bleating in the distance.

  “Never thought I would say it,” Johnson declared, “but I’m loving that car alarm sound.”

  Copeland grinned. “Hell man, it’s making me want to go take a nap.”

  “A nap?” Johnson raised an eyebrow.

  The Sergeant shook his head. “Didn’t grow up in the best neighborhood,” he explained. “This was my goodnight song for a number of years.”

  “And I thought my mother listening to Liberace was bad,” Johnson said with a laugh.

  Copeland joined him as they broke off of the interstate and headed back towards the shopping center. “Stay frosty,” he finally said, “these bastards are sneaky.”

  He led the group into the center, checking corners to make sure they were still clear. One straggler had found its way in, but with a quick whistle and point, a soldier broke off and cracked it over the head.

  The rest of the store was clear, much to the relief of the Sergeant. They had enough fronts to fight on, without dealing with backtracking. They reached the back of the store and into the back lot where the trucks were.

  “Pile in and follow me,” Copeland instructed. “CB radios on channel thirteen, let’s move.”

  The soldiers hopped into the three trucks, the first two starting up without a problem. Copeland got into the third one with the recharged battery, Raymond in the passenger seat.

  “Let’s hope Johnson didn’t fuck this up,” he muttered, and turned the key.

  To his relief, it sprung to life, and he quickly popped it into gear, leading the convoy out of the lot. They drove down a frontage road a few blocks to be able to cross under the interstate, and as they did, they encountered a handful of zombies meandering towards the car alarms in the distance.

  Copeland adjusted his trajectory, making sure to slam into the ghouls as they went by, sending them flying into the grass. The other bridge was a half a mile away, and with each passing block, the dread in the Sergeant’s mind grew.

  Kowalski had said it was a packed house, but that was an hour ago, so hope began to creep in. As he made the turn for the bridge, Copeland’s concern was realized.

  There were upwards of a hundred zombies on the bridge, most of them towards the neighborhood, drawn by car alarms and not paying any attention to the constant gunfire from the snipers. Copeland studied the bridge, seeing two lanes packed with multiple large groups. He reached for the CB radio, flicking it to channel thirteen.

  “All right boys, listen up,” he said into the mouthpiece. “This is gonna be a bumpy ride. I’m gonna take the lead and plow through as many of them as I can, get up to the top of the bridge, and block it off. Johnson, you’ll be up next, and I want you to wedge your truck across the road about halfway up. Schmitt, I want you ten yards behind Johnson.” He took a deep breath. “With any luck, we’ll be able to hold off any massive horde with this setup. Also watch your six, this is gonna be loud as hell, so we may have some company from the neighborhood.”

  He waited a moment to hear the affirmative responses and then glanced over at Raymond in the passenger seat.

  “You ready to do this?” he asked.

  The Private offered a grim smile. “If I say no, does it mean we’re not going?”

  Copeland smirked and popped the truck into gear, punching the gas.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The big rig jolted forward and began gaining speed. By the time Copeland hit the bridge, the truck was doing forty, which was more than fast enough to completely obliterate the first trio of zombies that it came into contact with.

  Undeterred, Copeland floored it, the engine squealing drawing the attention of most of the creatures on the bridge, the next batch numbering close to two dozen.

  “Hang on, Raymond!” Copeland bellowed, and braced as the truck smacked into the dense wall of rotted flesh. Both men surged forward as they lost momentum, bodies careening in every direction, some over the side into the water below. Some crunched straight back into the pavement, flattening underneath the truck.

  With only fifteen yards to the next group, the truck didn’t have much time to gain speed, so their momentum slowed significantly when they hit the next pack. They bumped up and down as the wheels crushed bone and flesh, jostling the soldiers around.

  Copeland had trouble controlling the direction of the truck, darting to the left and scraping up against the concrete barrier. He quickly pulled it back to the right, barely able to regain control, heart pounding.

  “Holy shit, we were almost swimming!” the Sergeant declared, laughing maniacally.

  Raymond stared at him, mouth agape, eyes wide as he clutched the handle above his head with white knuckles.

  Copeland hit the gas one more time, gaining speed for the final group at the top of the bridge. The horde was huge, well over a hundred as the noise of the zombie demolition d
erby had drawn them away from the snipers.

  “We got this, we got this!” Copeland yelled, and they braced as they smacked into the horde, grinding through bodies and clearing the bridge. As soon as they stopped, they were surrounded by creatures on all sides.

  Bloody, gooey hands slapped the side of the truck, pawing it in vain.

  Copeland did a three-point turn, taking his time in backing up the big rig so that it was on the surface street and flush up against the bridge support barrier on either side of the road.

  “How am I looking over there, bud?” he asked.

  Raymond looked out the window, seeing only a sliver of space between the truck and bridge. “A supermodel couldn’t fit through there, Sarge,” he replied.

  “We’re in business, then,” Copeland replied, and looked out the driver’s side window facing the bridge. Half a dozen creatures stood right outside his door, moaning hungrily.

  Down the bridge, there were thirty or so ghouls in various conditions spread out between him and the next truck, which Johnson was skillfully putting into place.

  Copeland grabbed his walkie talkie, raising it to his lips. “Kowalski, you copy?”

  “I’m here Sarge,” the sniper came back immediately. “Was that you in the big rig at the top of the bridge?”

  The Sergeant grinned. “Yes, it was.”

  “Gotta say, that was some mighty fine driving outside of scraping the paint job,” Kowalski drawled. “Hope you got a low deductible.”

  Copeland chuckled. “Lucky for me, I borrowed it.” He heard Kowalski laugh on the other end, and even Raymond cracked a smile despite his shell shocked face. “Hey listen, can you do me a favor?” he asked. “I seem to have some groupies hanging out by my door. Could you give me a hand with them?”

  “You got it, Sarge,” Kowalski replied. “Give me just a minute.”

  Copeland rested the walkie-talkie in his lap and relaxed in his seat. Raymond looked out the passenger side towards town and watched easily a couple thousand zombies spread out over the shopping center and streets. A few seconds later, several shots rang out, and blood splattered up onto the driver’s side window.

  The Sergeant looked out, seeing that three of the six zombies had dropped. More shots fired off, and the other three exploded, limp corpses falling to the pavement.

  “Appreciate it bud,” Copeland said into the talkie. “And if it’s not too much trouble, we’re gonna be making a run down the bridge, so if you want to cover us, I’m not gonna complain.”

  “Consider yourself covered,” Kowalski replied.

  The Sergeant smiled. “Appreciate it,” he said. “One more thing, how is Wade doing?”

  “He’s still firing twice a minute, like clockwork,” the sniper replied. “So unless he’s found more ammo somewhere, he’s gotta be running low.”

  Copeland shook his head, pursing his lips. “You figured out a way to generate some noise for me?” he asked.

  “Got a couple ideas,” Kowalski replied, dragging out the words. “Just not real thrilled with implementing them.”

  Copeland nodded in understanding. “Hopefully it won’t come to that, but if it does…”

  “I’ll be ready,” the sniper promised.

  “I can see why the Captain likes you,” Copeland said, sincerity in his tone. “Copeland out.” He put his radio away and readied his assault rifle. “You ready to do this?”

  Raymond nodded, steeled for battle as he checked his own gun. “What’s the plan?”

  “Run like hell back to Johnson’s truck,” Copeland replied. “Weapons hot, so don’t hesitate to light them up, and hope Kowalski continues being a kick-ass shot.”

  “Good enough for me,” Raymond replied with a nod, “lead the way.”

  Copeland opened the truck door and hopped down onto the pavement, quickly raising his weapon and firing a couple of shots towards the back of the truck. Several zombies fell limp, having been crawling out from under the back end of the vehicle.

  Raymond immediately drew his weapon, eyes widening, but the Sergeant gently inched the barrel down with his hand.

  “Couple of them crawling,” he said, pointing. “Not sure if we knocked them down or they were actually crawling. Come on.”

  They took off running as soon as Raymond hit the ground, tearing across the bridge. They were careful to avoid the zombies on the ground, as even if their backs were broken they could still deliver a lethal bite.

  Shots from the hardware store continued to go off, and still-standing zombies dropped like flies in front of them as they ran. They skidded to a stop in front of a group of eight, and raised their guns, side by side.

  “I got the right,” Copeland said, and then opened fire. Raymond followed suit, and they took down all eight with bullets to the face.

  The truck was forty yards away, with only a few zombies standing in their way, easily dispatched with well-placed bullets. When they finally reached Johnson’s truck, the Private stood casually against the hood.

  “About time you got here, Sarge,” he said.

  Raymond’s chest heaved, but Copeland didn’t even look like he’d broken a sweat from their sprint.

  “Status?” the Sergeant asked.

  Johnson motioned to the truck. “Got this truck wedged in pretty good, as you can see.” It stretched across both lanes, not quite touching the barrier, leaving only a sliver of space. “Schmitt got his too, just at the opposite angle. So if any of those things do squeeze through, they’ll have to figure out to go to the other side of the bridge in order to get through.” He grinned. “Frankly, I don’t think they’re that smart.”

  Before Copeland could reply, several gunshots fired from the southern part of the bridge.

  “Let’s move,” he said, and the trio quickly crawled under the truck, darting towards Schmitt.

  At the south end, five soldiers stood, taking aim and firing sporadically into the neighborhood where dozens of zombies poured out.

  “Cease fire, cease fire!” Copeland barked.

  The men complied, lowering their weapons.

  “Best we can tell, Sarge, one of those car alarms stopped going off, so they got drawn to us,” Schmitt explained, motioning to the threat that was still fifty yards away.

  Copeland pulled out his walkie talkie and clicked to a different channel. “Dawson.”

  “What can I do for you, Sarge?” the Corporal replied.

  The Sergeant kept an eye on the emerging zombies. “Need more decoys up here by the surface street bridge,” he instructed. “Double it up, this time.”

  “Next two set of drivers that get back will head that way,” Dawson promised.

  Copeland nodded. “How many decoys have you been able to deploy so far?” he asked.

  “Got thirty or so, spread out around the city, about six or eight blocks apart,” Dawson replied. “We’re filling in some gaps now to thin them out even more.”

  “Good,” Copeland said. “Keep doing what you’re doing, but be ready to move en masse. We might have a situation brewing on the interstate.”

  “Ten four,” the Corporal replied firmly. “We’ll be ready.”

  Copeland put the walkie-talkie away and readied his assault rifle. “Let’s clear ‘em out,” he declared, and led the charge.

  Everyone spread out in a firing line and unloaded single shots into the horde. The bullets found their targets, dropping the corpses quickly and efficiently. As they stood to admire their handiwork, the walkie-talkie buzzed against the Sergeant.

  “Copeland,” he greeted.

  “Hey Sarge, Kowalski,” the sniper said. “You might have an issue.”

  Copeland’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on your truck,” Kowalski replied, “and I’ve already seen a dozen or so of those things crawl under. They’re on the bridge now and wandering towards you.”

  The Sergeant sighed. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said.

  “You want me to clear them ou
t?” the sniper asked.

  Copeland tilted his head back and forth. “If you’re so inclined,” he replied. “We have to take them all out eventually.”

  “On it,” Kowalski said.

  Copeland replaced his walkie-talkie and looked around at the houses on the other side of the bridge. Spread out over a block, he spotted several sedans, and then checked the crawl space under the truck. He turned to his team.

  “You two,” he barked, pointing at the two soldiers nearest him, “start clearing a path through these corpses. Rest of you, start pushing those cars over here, we gotta plug this hole,” he declared. “Isn’t going to be perfect, but when we start clearing out this part of town, it should limit surprises. Let’s move.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ten minutes later, Copeland watched as the final car wedged underneath the truck. It wasn’t a perfect solution, as there were still a few small gaps, but it was extremely unlikely that even a handful of corpses would be able to squeeze through, no matter how much noise the soldiers made. If anything, they’d probably get stuck and add to the barricade.

  Johnson and Schmitt stood in the middle of the road running parallel to the river, scanning for zombies. Johnson caught one with his night vision scope and fired, dropping it.

  “Damn, I didn’t even see that one,” Schmitt muttered.

  Johnson shrugged. “Yeah, when they get into the shadows like that, they can be tough to see.”

  Copeland’s walkie-talkie vibrated, and he lifted it to his lips. “Copeland.”

  “Sarge, Sarge!” Kowalski cried in a panicked voice. “We got problems!”

  The Sergeant’s brow furrowed. “Settle down, soldier,” he said as calmly as he could. “What is it?”