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

his head. Yeah, I totally got this.
Kowalski broke from the top of the aisle, moving up towards the registers. He knelt down behind the end cap display, about ten yards away from the closest ghoul, a thirty-yard dash to the batteries.
This may be your last throw ever, so at least make it a good one, he urged himself, and lobbed the metal bottle towards the center of the store, arching it high over the top of the shelving. A second later, it clanged on the cement floor, rattling around loudly.
The zombies at the registers moaned loudly and began shuffling off in that direction.
Holy shit, did that work? He shook his head in disbelief. Really?
His excitement tempered when he heard moans coming from the front entrance. He peeked around the corner and his stomach sank at the sight of a dozen or so ghouls attracted by the noise.
Gotta move, he thought frantically, you gotta move! He psyched himself up and moved from cover, quickly and quietly going from register to register, pausing at each end cap.
The footsteps and moans got louder as he got closer to the battery display. As he took a knee at the last end cap just before it, a shot boomed from above, and a corpse crumbled a few feet away.
Kowalski dashed past it to the batteries. Fuck, what do these things take? He used the scope to check all the battery types, finally shaking his head and opening one of the tool bags. Fuck it, I’m taking everything. He tore the packages from the shelf, grabbing every type of standard battery he could get his hands on.
Another shot boomed, and another corpse fell. This triggered moaning not just towards the door, but from the aisle he’d thrown the can down.
Good enough! Kowalski didn’t worry about being quiet this time, running parallel to the front of the store. His footsteps excited the zombies behind him, drawing even more into the store and in his direction.
He sprinted about forty yards, holding the scope up to his eye so he had some rough idea of where he was going. He spotted a zombie in front of him, but within seconds the head exploded, so he ducked down behind the paint-mixing stand near the front of the store.
As he caught his breath, he looked through his scope at the main part of the store. There were still several zombies pursuing him, but they were a good thirty yards away and slowing as if they didn’t have him in sight. He looked up at the aisle headers.
Hardware, door fixtures, cleaning… he read. Fuck, where are these things? He kept scanning until he stopped on one sign that read Home goods. Figuring that was his best chance, he checked, and then sighed when he realized that it was the aisle where the can landed.
Well, bad luck is at least a form of luck, he thought, so the fates haven’t completely abandoned you.
He looked up to Doyle, who he hoped was watching him. He motioned to the aisle he needed, that was now filled with zombies.
A second later, Doyle yelled, “Are you insane?!”
Kowalski simply looked up at him, giving a big smile and a thumbs up. He imagined his companion sighing and shaking his head.
“Hang on, I got an idea,” Doyle called back.
There was a moment of silence, and then bullets started flying. In addition to the boom of the gun going off, there were metal pings coming from the front of the store, and then a high-pitched hissing sound. Kowalski’s eyes widened when he realized Doyle was firing at the propane tanks.
He had a moment of panic, though he told himself that without a significant spark those things weren’t going to detonate. Still, it’s a risky move, he thought, but it couldn’t be helped. What was done was done.
At least the zombies from the aisle shambled towards the hissing sound, and he waited for several to go by before moving. As they staggered, one of the ghouls got its sleeve caught on a display, and no matter how much it shifted around, it couldn’t break free.
Okay fates, I get it, I have bad luck, Kowalski thought bitterly. Can you lay off now?
He moved up quickly and quietly, hugging the top of the aisle, and darting across the openings in case something else was waiting for him. As he approached his target, another shot went off and the trapped zombie slumped on the display. Unfortunately the dead weight pulled down the metal structure, crashing loudly on the floor.
Kowalski froze, and then raised his scope, watching several of the zombies that had left turn around and head towards the sound. Nice shooting, Tex, he thought.
“Sorry, I got you!” Doyle called, and shots rang out at a rapid pace.
The returning zombies began to fall like flies, and Kowalski didn’t wait, trusting his companion to have his back. Unconcerned with his noise due to the gunfire, he tore forward, sweeping the aisle to make sure it was empty, and then studied the shelves.
Halfway down, he looked around frantically, hoping the alarm clocks would jump out at him. He finally spotted something promising and picked up a box.
Supersonic alarm clock, he read to himself, wakes the dead, or your money back. He shook his head. So that’s what causes the apocalypse. At least they get to keep their money.
He stuffed six boxes into the tool bag and closed it up. “Got them!” he called between gunshots. “Headed back!”
Kowalski ran down the aisle back towards the maintenance room, awkwardly looking through the scope as he went.
“Big crowd ahead!” Doyle yelled. “Get to the wall!”
Kowalski reached the center aisle and looked down towards the target wall, where several zombies came up from the back of the store. He put his head down and ran, trusting that his partner would do his job.
Blood splattered on his arm as he ran past a zombie, but he didn’t stop. He made it to the side wall, staring at the maintenance room. Several