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

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 derby 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