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

ammo incoming!” He stepped up and underhand threw the four mags. They hurtled through the air, landing perfectly in the center of the ring. “We’re on the flanks, don’t shoot us!” he added loudly, and then he and Johnson broke to either side of the bridge.
They took aim and fired at the zombies closest to the main line, making sure no soldier was in the line of fire. As they continued to shoot, several zombies turned their attention away from the trapped men, and to the fresh meat.
One corpse, dressed in military gear, turned and spotted Copeland, and immediately broke into a dead sprint. The Sergeant aimed and fired, but the bullet tore into the creature’s throat. Before he could aim again, the runner was on him.
Copeland dropped his rifle and pushed against the soldier, gripping its vest and whipping it to the side. He used the momentum to shove it towards the edge of the bridge. It snarled and bit, with far more vigor than an older zombie, and Copeland avoided it as best he could, slamming it into the concrete barrier. He lashed down and grabbed its leg and flipped it over the side.
As he turned around, he came face to face with four creatures that had broken ranks and closed in on him. One by one, they dropped to the ground, bullets ripping through the side of their heads. He blinked and saw Johnson standing near the middle of the road, aiming in his direction.
He gave the Private an approving nod and then retrieved his gun, the two of them going back to work. The trio in the center took careful aim and hit zombies at near point blank range to conserve ammo, while Copeland and Johnson delivered decisive strikes of their own.
After a few minutes of intense battle, grunting, and sweating, and hard beating hearts, the threat on the soldier’s side of the barrier was wiped out. The three men jumped out of the barrier, and one immediately began tending to the line, keeping the creatures at bay.
The other two walked up, one limping and leaning on the other.
“What happened to you, soldier?” Copeland asked.
The young man, no more than twenty-two, turned his leg to reveal a large bite wound on his left calf. Johnson shook his head and swallowed hard, but then spotted a zombie tumble over the barrier, so he ran off to deal with it.
Copeland raised his chin. “Can you stand, soldier?”
The young man looked at his friend and nodded that it was okay. He leaned on his own leg and motioned for his companion to get back to the line. When they were alone, Copeland stared straight into the young soldier’s pained eyes.
“You know what the standing orders are, don’t you, soldier?” the Sergeant asked.
The kid nodded gravely. “Yes, sir.”
“You tell me how you want it,” Copeland said gently.
The soldier clenched his fists, letting out a frustrated grunt and then looking over at the line, watching his three companions fight hand-to-hand with the sea of creatures. “If it’s all the same to you, Sergeant,” he said, eyes blazing as he turned back to Copeland, “I still have a little fight in me.” He glanced down at his leg. “What do you say we don’t report this wound until we have the bridge under control?”
Copeland smiled at the young man, proud at his force of will. “I think that can be arranged, soldier,” he replied. “Get on the line.”
The kid saluted. “Yes, sir.” He hobbled off toward the line, ready to fight. As he went, there was a large explosion on the interstate, startling everyone except for Copeland.
He simply turned towards it and smiled. “All right Dawson,” he said as he readied his weapon, “the route is clear. Now we just need Kowalski to do his job.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kowalski looked out over the interstate bridge battlefield, seeing the horde stretched across the four lanes and back hundreds of yards. Copeland had just given him the order to make noise, and now he had the pressure to draw enough zombies away from the bridge and towards the snipers safely on the roof.
He ran to the front of the store, looking straight down at the doors. Zombies pressed into the opening, disappearing inside.
“Damn, the door is open,” he muttered.
Doyle shrugged. “Not sure why that’s a bad thing, they can’t get up here,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but I gotta get down there,” Kowalski replied.
Martin blinked at him. “Man, you’re crazier than we thought,” he said.
“Got my orders,” Kowalski replied. “And besides, if we don’t do this, our bridge team is gonna get overrun, which means this whole day was a waste.”
Hurley sighed. “So, how do you want to do it?”
Kowalski looked around the immediate area. “Okay, spread out,” he instructed, “we have to find an access hatch. Something that leads down into the store, and preferably something with a ladder.”
The four men branched out, running around the roof, pulling on anything that looked like a doorway or hatch. Finally, after several minutes of looking, Martin yelled out from the back corner of the roof.
“Got something!’ he called.
The other three soldiers dashed over to join him. He shone his flashlight down a ladder that dropped ten feet onto a catwalk.
“Doyle, you’re with me,” Kowalski said. “You two, get back to the front and keep shooting. Anything you can do to keep the focus on you and not me.”
The duo nodded and ran back to their posts. Kowalski hopped onto the ladder and climbed down, with Doyle not far behind. They dropped down onto the catwalk and surveyed the sprawling network of metal walkways that spanned the entirety of the giant store. The darkness made it difficult to see exactly what they were up against.
“Christ, haven’t these builders ever heard of ambient light?” Kowalski muttered.
Doyle shrugged. “You think they got paid enough to care?”
“Fair enough,” his companion admitted.
They raised their night vision scopes and began to scout out the top part of the store.
“Gotta find anything that