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

Hit the outbound lane and haul ass. I want a hundred yards between every truck when we’re out there. We have enough on our plates without risking an accident. Everybody clear?”
A chorus of “Yes, sir!” came through the speaker, and he nodded.
“Let’s move, then,” he said, and replaced the receiver to its holder. He rolled out, the rest of the squad falling in place behind him.
The drive to the highway was short, with the road mostly clear. Bretz looked out to the side at another shopping area, watching Murphy’s men get set up on the rooftops, squeezing off shots to pull the crowd towards them.
Bretz led the convoy up to the highway, making the turn onto the ramp, gaining speed as it went up. The road on the outer loop itself was mostly clear, with the occasional car left abandoned on the side of the road. The traffic on the opposite side was a bit more dense, with several people apparently trying to leave town as the mess had started and failing.
“That’s a hell of a rush hour over there,” Kent crackled through the radio.
“We don’t have those sorta issues where I come from,” Short piped up.
Kent laughed. “What is rush hour like in your hick town there, bud?”
“Only time we ever had traffic was when there was a cow break,” Short replied.
“What in the hell is a cow break?” Baker cut in.
“There’s hundreds of miles worth of fencing around the farms, and it wasn’t always the sturdiest stuff,” Short explained. “Those cows were tricky, always finding a way out. So it was a daily occurrence to see them wandering around the streets.”
Kent barked a laugh. “Man, that is some countrified bullshit right there,” he drawled. “I’m up in Chicago dealing with gangs, neighborhood pit bulls, rush hour traffic, lake effect snow and a thousand other things. Meanwhile, you’re getting outsmarted by cows. How in the hell did we end up in the same unit?”
“I dunno,” Short admitted. “Military brass probably saw you came from a town that thinks pizza is supposed to resemble a pie and thought you had a mental defect. Had to put you in with someone with a functioning brain.”
Kent snorted. “Don’t think I won’t run your ass off the road for badmouthing deep dish pizza,” he quipped.
There was a collection of laughter over the CB, and Bretz cut back in. “We’re going to have to table this debate,” he said, “because we’re approaching Overlake.”
The group calmed down, the seriousness of their mission taking hold once again.
The highway made a large turn around a bend, leading to Overlake, the next large suburb they’d have to pass through. As Bretz took the gentle curve, the road was packed full of zombies and cars up ahead, looking like a major pileup completely blocking the path. He slammed on the brakes, prompting everyone behind him to do the same.
The screeching tires were loud, squealing as the convoy suddenly came to a halt. A loud crash echoed from the back, and the Corporal’s eyes widened.
“What in the hell was that?!” he demanded through the radio.
“Hess done fucked it up,” Kent drawled.
“Wasn’t my fault you slammed on the brakes in the middle of a goddamn curve!” Hess exclaimed frantically. “Couldn’t see you in time!”
Bretz rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What’s the damage?” he asked.
There was the loud wheeze of an engine trying to start, and then nothing.
“It’s dead,” Hess replied.
“Ten minutes into the drive and we’re already fucked,” Baker drawled. “Fantastic.”
“Again, not my fault,” Hess said through his teeth.
“Calm yourself,” Baker shot back. “I wasn’t assigning blame, just stating a fact.”
Mason cut through, “Bretz, down the road.”
The Corporal looked up the highway and saw the horde of zombies a few hundred yards away had started moving in their direction, shambling towards all the noise.
“Hess, grab your gear and get in the next truck,” Bretz commanded. “We can’t stay here.”
“On the move,” the Private replied.
Bretz stared down the highway, chewing over what their next move should be. There was an off ramp nearby, with another shopping center shortly past that. He stared at it, contemplating, and then finally raised the CB to his lips again.
“Okay, here’s what we’re doing,” he said. “We’re taking the off ramp and we’re making an unscheduled pit stop at that shopping center.”
“Bretz, you know I’ll follow you anywhere,” Baker said slowly, “but do you think that’s wise? We still have five trucks.”
The Corporal furrowed his brow. “And we need six,” he replied firmly. “If we don’t pull this off, our troops to the north are going to have way more to deal with than they can potentially handle.”
“Yeah…” Baker trailed off, sounding nervous but knowing Bretz was right. “I’m with you. Let’s do it.”
“Got Hess aboard and ready to go,” Mason cut in. “How are we doing this?”
Bretz took a deep breath. “We’re just going straight for the back door,” he replied. “Mason, can you and Hess handle it? Or do you need backup?”
“Should be a quick hit and run,” Mason replied easily, “won’t be any big deal.”
The Corporal nodded. “Okay, the rest of you, follow me,” he instructed. “We’re going to spread out over the parking lot and hopefully keep the crowds around us down. Let’s go.”
He popped the truck back into gear and headed out, with the rest of the trucks behind him. They took the off ramp, rolling into a small neighborhood. The side streets were dirty and deserted, with some stragglers and cars dotting the road.
Bretz pulled the truck into the shopping center lot, a smaller center with a single anchor and some side stores. There were about a hundred zombies in the lot, all of which started moving towards him.
“Okay, pick your corner and go,” he instructed through the radio. “And Mason, don’t take too much time. That horde on the interstate is pretty thick. If they get down here, we’re in trouble.”
“In and out, Corporal,” Mason replied firmly. “No problem.”
Bretz watched the trucks move to the opposite ends of the