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

his way out of the store and into the parking lot. As soon as he was out, somebody blared their horn, and he turned to see Kent’s truck about forty yard away, the bulk of the zombies on the passenger side.
Hess broke into a sprint, running as hard as he could for the truck. As he approached, Kent flung open the door and started firing from the driver’s seat, dropping the few zombies that were directly in his running companion’s path.
“Come on man, move it!” he yelled.
Hess reached the truck and clambered up, crawling over the driver’s seat and collapsing on the other side of the cab, chest heaving. Kent slammed the door and turned to him, wide-eyed.
“Goddamn dude, you okay?” he asked.
Hess just nodded, still breathing heavily.
“Well, let’s get Mason and get the fuck out of here,” Kent said.
Hess closed his eyes, pressing his palms into them momentarily before clenching his jaw, staring helplessly at his friend.
“Is he…” Kent trailed off, reading the pain on his face.
Hess simply nodded, unable to form words at the moment.
His friend swallowed hard. “Do you want to tell Bretz?”
Hess shook his head, and finally admitted, “I could use a minute.”
Kent reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then picked up the CB radio. “Corporal.”
“What is it?” Bretz came back immediately. “Looked like you had some issues over there.”
Kent took a deep breath. “It’s Hess sir, he had to come out the front of the store,” he replied reluctantly. “Mason… Mason wasn’t with him.”
There were a few moments of stunned silence.
“What the fuck do you mean Mason isn’t with him?!” Baker suddenly burst over the line. “What the fuck did he do to him?”
Kent swallowed as Hess winced from the passenger’s seat. “He didn’t do anything to him.”
“Bullshit!” Baker yelled. “This should have been easy, in and out. What the fuck?!”
“Put Hess on,” Bretz said, solemn and low.
Kent chewed his lip for a moment. “Sir, I…”
“Put. Hess. On,” Bretz said firmly.
The Private in question held out his hand for the receiver, not meeting Kent’s gaze as he placed it in his palm.
“Hess here,” he said hoarsely.
“Is he at rest?” Bretz asked.
Hess rubbed one of his eyes, blinking rapidly after. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” the Corporal replied calmly. “Is his truck still running?”
Hess nodded shakily. “Yes, sir.”
“Kent, take him around to pick it up,” Bretz said. “We’ve got to get moving.”
Baker immediately cut into the line. “Bretz, we have to-”
“We have to keep moving,” the Corporal said firmly. “We have to keep moving.”
The devastated soldier let out another frustrated yell before the line went silent. Bretz sat in his cab, imagining Baker throwing the radio across his cab in anger. He knew how he felt. His chest ached with the loss of a good soldier, of a friend.
As he watched Kent drive around to the back, he rubbed his forehead. He’d decided to make this stop because they needed a sixth truck. Now Mason was dead, and they were down a driver, and they still didn’t have a sixth truck. They’d have to complete the mission without the items they needed, and without one of their own.
“Hess has been dropped off, and he’s ready to go,” Kent’s voice came through the radio.
The Corporal shook off his cloud of what-ifs and guilt, knowing he needed to focus on the mission, and get the rest of them safely to the end of the line. “Good,” he said into the receiver. “Follow me out and stay close, we’re going to be on surface streets for a while until the interstate clears out.”
“Yes, sir,” Kent replied, and the line clicked off.
Bretz popped the truck into gear and started moving, his heart heavy. He took a deep, steadying breath, and forced his mind to focus on the mission.

CHAPTER NINE
Bretz led the convoy down the highway towards the I-405 crossing, a major interchange where the highway crossed underneath the interstate. It was a couple miles ahead, and he took it slow, only driving about twenty miles per hour.
He struggled to focus on the task, his thoughts about his decision getting Mason killed pulsing in his brain. There was some light banter over the CB between the men, but it was just a low hum in the background, his worries tuning it out.
There were a few zombies in the road, which he drifted over a bit to clip, not wanting to damage the engine, but wanting to cause a little bit of pain just for his own personal satisfaction. He continued to zone out, but finally snapped into focus as his name repeated on the radio.
“Bretz. Bretz!” Baker demanded. “You gonna answer me or am I gonna have to ram you”
The Corporal blinked a few times and then picked up the receiver, raising it to his lips. “What is it?” he asked hoarsely.
“Fucking finally,” Baker snapped. “Man, that’s the fifth zombie you’ve made a point to hit. You need to cut that shit out. We’ve got enough going on without you losing it.”
“I’m fine,” Bretz replied, voice a low monotone. “Just making sure my steering still works.”
Baker scoffed. “Bullshit,” he replied. “I know you’re upset, god knows we all are, but you need to keep it together man, we still got a lot to get done today.”
Bretz paused, letting the words wash over him and sink in. “Thanks, man,” he finally said. He knew his friend was right.
“Anytime,” Baker replied.
Bretz began to slow down as they approached the interchange. He came to a full stop half a mile from the bridge, Baker pulling up beside him and the other three trucks stopping behind them.
“Holy shit,” Baker breathed through the radio, “how are we getting through that?”
There were easily a thousand zombies on the road in front of them, with even more on top of the bridge on the interstate. They were densely packed, shoulder-to-shoulder, with an untold number behind them on the other side.
“Not trying to be a Debbie Downer or anything,” Kent drawled, “but now way in hell