Dead America: Heartland (Dead America - The First Week Book 6) Read online

  DEAD AMERICA

  HEARTLAND

  By DEREK SLATON

  CHAPTER ONE

  Day Zero +6

  Sergeant John Kersey wandered through Grand Bend, jaw clenched as he scanned the organized chaos around him. There were troops everywhere. The town was a hotbed of activity, supplies being loaded up in trucks, food being transferred to barracks and transports alike. Men loading up to ship out to the front lines.

  It seemed to John that the military had things as under control as they possibly could—but with more and more zombies seeming to crop up every day, he didn’t know how long it was going to take to contain this plague. So many places had fallen back, pulled out.

  But not Kansas. The military had over two hundred thousand troops inhabiting the rural areas, cleaning out north of Wichita and taking control of most of the small towns in the area. Most of the locals seemed disgruntled about staunch military presence in their normally quiet lives, but didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter but to let the soldiers have their run of the towns.

  John entered the small town hall, that had been cleared out of its mayor to be the base of operations in Grand Bend. He lightly knocked on the doorframe of the back office, surveying the form of his superior and long time friend, General Stephens.

  “Sergeant!” Stephens said with a smile, and stood up from his chair.

  John returned his smile and stepped inside, leaning over the desk to shake the General’s hand. “Back in one piece, General,” he replied.

  “Good, good,” Stephens said, and motioned to the chairs in front of his desk.

  John took a seat and leaned back, thankful for the cushy chair cradling his exhausted body. It had been one hell of a week. And he was sure it wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.

  “So,” the General said, folding his arms in front of him over the notebook on his desk, “how is it out there?”

  The Sergeant shrugged. “Same as it’s been for the last six days, General,” he replied. “What have you got for me?”

  Stephens put up a hand and pushed a button on his phone, leaning over.

  “Yes, sir?” a bright young voice asked through the speaker.

  “Can you send someone with some coffee for Sergeant Kersey, please?” he asked.

  “Right away, sir,” the voice replied.

  John was about to protest, but he knew it had already been done, and damn if he wasn’t looking forward to some fresh coffee.

  Stephens leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and stretching them above his head. “Sergeant, do you remember back in Debecka, when your team had to covertly move a prisoner?”

  John scratched the back of his head, fighting a smile. Iraq had been rough. But he was proud of some of the things he’d accomplished back then. “Yeah,” he replied. “You had the troops light a bunch of shit on fire as a distraction.”

  A young woman set a mug of coffee on the desk in front of him, her eyebrow raised at his colourful language.

  “Thank you,” John said, offering her a smile as he lifted his mug. He took a sip and realized she was still looking at him quizzically. “I said shit because I meant literal shit. The troops used an outhouse as kindling, that town stank something awful for days after.”

  “Likely weeks,” Stephens agreed, and the woman wrinkled her nose.

  “Sorry I was curious,” she muttered to herself, and shook her head. She saluted the General, and then left the office, closing the door on the two chuckling comrades.

  “You did one hell of a job getting that prisoner out,” Stephens nodded, his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair not moving an inch with the motion. “I still don’t know how you did it by yourself.”

  “Honestly…” John shook his head. “I strapped him on like a backpack.”

  The General blinked at his subordinate.

  “He was in a pretty bad way, barely conscious,” the Sergeant explained. “I knew with the crawling I’d have to do that slinging him over a shoulder wouldn’t work long term. There were a few short lengths of rope in the barn, so I put him on my back and tied his wrists to his knees and took off.”

  There was a moment of silence, and John took a long loud slurp of his hot, satisfying brew.

  “And that is why I asked you here, John,” Stephens said, shaking his head and flattening his palms on his desk. “Because you think outside the box.”

  Kersey leaned forward, setting his mug on the table, ready to get down to business. “What’s the mission, General?”

  “Hundreds of thousands of zombies are feeling the cities,” Stephens explained, taking a deep breath. He pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and continued, “Both Kansas City and Wichita are hemorrhaging walking corpses. All of my troops are along major roads and interstates to try to prevent a breach.

  “Unfortunately, it’s been reported by one of my scouts that two to three hundred zombies from the Wichita flood have broken free of the main group and are heading up Highway 96 towards Hutchinson. The troops in the area are already overwhelmed with the tens of thousands coming from the front line, so I need you and your team to go and take care of the stragglers before they become a real threat.”

  “What about the civilians in Hutchinson?” John asked.

  “Evacuated to the north, and the bridges across the Arkansas river have been fortified,” Stephens replied. “The plan is to barricade the four-lane highway at the Highway 50 bridge, blocking off the exit ramps to funnel the zombies to the barricade.”

  “I’m going to need ammo,” the Sergeant said, taking one last gulp of his coffee.

  Stephens nodded. “There’s five hundred extra rounds with your name on it, and that should be more than enough to cover it,” he said. “The horde is about three or four hours out, so with a forty-five minute travel time, you should be able to get there early enough to get set up.”

  “Aye-aye, General,” John said, setting his mug on the desk and standing up.

  “Be careful, John,” Stephens said firmly. “And as soon as you get back, come and see me again. I’m working on something else that will need your talents.”

  The Sergeant saluted his General, and headed out of the office to gather his team.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kersey approached a set of Humvees where his team had set up a bit of a rest area in the grocery store parking lot. They sat in a semicircle on folding chairs, tearing into thick sandwiches that a few local young women were passing out to the troops.

  “Well, thank you, little lady,” Private Buck Johnson drawled with a grin.

  The blonde in the daisy dukes blushed and giggled as she handed over a ham and cheese sub. “Y’all are very welcome, sir,” she said, and linked arms with her friend as they trotted off across the parking lot.

  “Those girls don’t even look legal,” Private Adam Baker scoffed as he tore the plastic wrap from his own sandwich.

  Johnson shrugged, a lopsided grin on his leathery-skinned face. “They was legal enough to flirt with me, which means I can look all I want.”

  “I don’t think it works that way.” Baker shook his head and took a bite of his food. “They make good grub, though,” he attested after swallowing his mouthful. “Dijon and everything.”

  “Mine doesn’t have dijon!” Private Stuart Kowalski pouted, peeling back the layers of bread to find just mayonnaise with his turkey, lettuce, and tomato.

  Baker shrugged. “I guess I’m the favourite. I think this is gouda cheese, too.”

  “I don’t need no fancy cheese,” Johnson replied, munching away.

  “Where’s my
sandwich?” Kersey asked good-naturedly as he assessed the group.

  Private Ben Mason held out half of his sub, but the Sergeant shook his head, patting the man on the shoulder.

  “No wonder the locals hate us,” Kersey said. “What with their teenaged daughters making us sandwiches in booty shorts.”

  “They weren’t teenagers,” Johnson muttered.

  “General didn’t feed you?” Corporal Brandon Bretz asked from his perch on the hood of one of the Humvees. “I thought he’d have a personal chef in there.”

  “No, though I did have somebody bring me a nice hot coffee,” Kersey replied, grinning at the envious looks on the men’s faces. He approached the Corporal, his second in command, and leaned against the side of the Humvee. “We’ve got a new mission.”

  Private Jack Edwards scoffed. “Where are they sending us this time? Some other little crap-ass two-toothed town?”

  “Just another standard meet-and-greet with the enemy, nothing too strenuous,” Kersey replied, ignoring his most ornery teammate. Beggars couldn’t be choosers in times like this, but he was often annoyed with Edwards’ attitude.

  “What kind of meet-and-greet?” Baker asked thoughtfully.

  “There’s a horde of a few hundred heading up the Highway 96 towards Hutchinson,” the Sergeant explained. “We’re going to head them off, barricade the town, and take them all out.”

  There were shrugs and nods of acceptance all around, though Edwards wrinkled his nose.

  “I keep waiting for the day that we’ll be making a real push against these fuckers,” Private Marvin Berry piped up as he finished off his sandwich. “Feels like we’re just sitting here, waiting.”

  “A real push isn’t really an option at this point,” Kersey replied. “We’re too outnumbered. Each community needs to do their part, and eventually the higher-ups will figure out what the hell to do. In the meantime, we go where we’re needed.”

  “And kill what’s needed.” Johnson cracked his knuckles. “We’re gonna need extra ammo.”

  Kersey nodded. “General approved five hundred extra rounds,” he said, nodding towards the armory. “Johnson, Baker, you go load up a bin and we’ll split everything between two Humvees. It’s forty-five to Hutchinson and I want to leave us a good window of time to set up those barricades.”

  The two privates headed off to the armory, Johnson with a spring in his step. “Wanna make bets now on whether or not I can dust more of them zombies than you?” he asked, and Baker shook his head.

  “Civilians?” Bretz asked as he slid from the hood of the vehicle.

  “Evacuated,” Kersey replied. “It’ll just be us.”

  “No problem, then.” The Corporal swiped his large hands together as if dusting them off. “Piece of cake.” He paused. “I could go for some cake. And a beer.”

  Kersey laughed. “Maybe we’ll find an intact beer store in Hutchinson.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Baker waved Mason forward until the sedan crunched up against the bumper of the hatchback in front of it. Kersey checked their handiwork, the barrier across the highway complete. The cars were nestled tightly together to stop the zombies but allow the soldiers to fire over them easily.

  “Looks good,” the Sergeant said, clapping both men on the back as he headed over to the Humvees behind him. “You go on and take your station with Kowalski on the overpass,” he instructed Bretz, who finished gathering all of his ammunition. “Take one of the vehicles.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge,” the Corporal replied, giving a quick salute before jogging around the Humvee to get inside.

  Kersey checked his own guns and headed back to the lineup, where his men were spaced out across the line of cars. He pulled the receiver to his mouth. “Sending up Bretz, see anything yet, Kowalski?”

  “Nothing yet, Sarge,” came the prompt reply. “We made good time.”

  “Damn right we did!” Johnson bellowed, prompting a few chuckles from the lineup.

  Baker leaned on the hood of the sedan that was to be his firing range, crossing his arms. “So the redneck here thinks he can outshoot all of us,” he teased, inclining his head to Johnson.

  “Bullshit.” Edwards rolled his eyes. “Just because you’re trigger happy doesn’t mean you’ll hit anything.”

  Johnson clapped a hand over his heart as if he were offended. “Oh, well that’s a mighty bold claim, buddy. Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”

  “Money’s not worth anything anymore,” Edwards muttered.

  Baker raised an eyebrow. “My flask says I get the most.”

  “How about your flask and the pack of cigarettes you’ve got in your boot that you don’t want anyone to know about?” Johnson replied with a lopsided grin.

  Baker blinked at him in shock.

  “It’s the apocalypse, kid.” Johnson shook his head. “You don’t gotta be ashamed to smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. I know I won’t be once they’re mine, since I’m gonna be the one shootin’ the most zombies today.”

  Edwards rolled his eyes. “You two grunts are on,” he said.

  Kersey shook his head in amusement and turned to Mason. “You’re not joining on this?”

  The dark-skinned private shook his head. “Got no flask,” he said simply.

  “Then you just gotta win,” the Sergeant replied.

  Mason smiled, and lifted his radio to his mouth. “I’m betting on Kowalski, then.”

  The three initiators groaned in unison as the sniper from the bridge above came back through the speaker, “What are we betting on?”

  “That you take down the most zombies,” Kersey replied into his own receiver. “Mason’s betting with nothing, too, so you’d better do him proud.”

  Up on the bridge, Kowalski barked a laugh and shook his head as Bretz pulled up behind him and stepped out of the Humvee.

  “What’s funny?” the burly Corporal asked.

  Kowalski shook his head. “I need to shoot the most zombies or Mason’s gonna owe the others more than he can pay back,” he replied.

  Bretz laughed and leaned on the cement railing of the walkway. It was waist-height, and he squinted at the dust rising from the distance.

  Kowalski raised his high-powered sniper rifle, peering through the scope at the horde cresting the horizon up the highway. He froze solid, lowering his gun for a moment and blinking in confusion. Bretz furrowed his brow as the Private raised the scope again, and took a deep breath.

  “What is it?” the Corporal asked.

  “How many zombies did Kersey say were supposed to be coming to Hutchinson?” Kowalski asked, his voice hoarse as if his throat had just gone completely dry.

  Bretz pursed his lips. “Two to three hundred. Why?”

  The Private raised the rifle one more time, and then swore under his breath before lowering it completely. “Looks more like two to three thousand.”

  “Shit,” the Corporal cursed and lifted the radio to his mouth. “Sarge, we’ve got a problem. Whoever fed the General this information was wrong. The horde is two or three thousand, not hundred.”

  There was a pause and he watched his comrades below freeze at the news.

  “That’s a pretty big margin for error on an estimate,” Bretz said, letting out a deep whoosh of breath.

  Kowalski shook his head. “Doesn’t really speak well for the local education system.”

  “Okay,” Kersey came through the radio, “how much time do we have?”

  The Private raised his rifle and looked again. “About ten, maybe fifteen minutes before they reach the barricade.”

  “Take out as many as you can, try to trip them up,” Kersey instructed.

  Kowalski nodded. “Yes sir,” he replied before letting go of his radio to line up a shot.

  “Bretz, what do you see up there on bridge level? There’s no way we’ll be able to hold them all off down here, we’ll need to fall back to somewhere.” the Sergeant asked as his sniper began to fire, each crack taking out a corpse that
would hopefully slow down the horde.

  The Corporal paced across the bridge. “There’s a two-story motel just Northeast of here, and it looks like a suburb behind that,” he replied.

  “Okay, good,” Kersey said. “We’ll hold them off as long as we can here, and then we’ll head to the motel.”

  “Sarge, we only have five hundred rounds of ammo,” Mason cut in. “How are we supposed to take out more than five times that in zombies?”

  Kersey readied his rifle. “We’re gonna burn ‘em.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bretz led Kowalski, Mason and Berry onto the motel grounds, everyone fanning out and keeping their eyes sweeping for zombie activity. There was no gunfire from the highway yet, which meant that the horde wasn’t too close. The Sergeant had instructed to wait until the zombies were within twenty yards to maximize ammo.

  Bretz banged on the door to the motel office, to draw any corpses from inside to the forefront. He waited a moment and there was no noise from inside, so he flung the door open and crossed the threshold, gun at the ready.

  “Clear,” he announced, and approached the wall of keys behind the desk. A few were missing, but enough remained that they had a fighting chance. He emerged with a fistful, and doled out the ground floor ones to Mason. “Kowalski, you take the roof, keep watch and draw the zombies once they’re ready to come this way,” Bretz reiterated the Sergeant’s instructions, and the Private saluted him and jogged off towards the stairs. “Mason and I will start opening doors and searching rooms for anything flammable. Turn on the showers and faucets to try to make as much noise as possible to draw them into the rooms. Berry, you check all of the cars, see if you can find any flammable liquid or bottles to siphon some gasoline if there’s any left in the tanks.”

  They both nodded and rushed off, Bretz himself heading up to the second floor. He had keys for all but one of the rooms, so he started at one end and worked his way across. There were no signs of unlife in any of them, but unfortunately he didn’t find any oil or lighter fluid anywhere either. He did, however, find a chocolate bar on one of the side tables and happily mowed it down while he searched the last few rooms.