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

asked.
“Yes sir,” Short replied.
The Corporal nodded to him through the window as he spread his own map over his lap. “Good,” he said into the radio, “let’s start figuring out how we’re going to pull this off.”
They studied the satellite imagery, tracing fingers over the numerous potential routes. After a few minutes, Bretz finally took a deep breath.
“I got one potential, and I’m not a huge fan,” he admitted.
“Pretty sure we’re on the same page, Corporal,” Short replied dryly.
Bretz sighed. “Okay, that’s the plan, then,” he replied. “We’ll backtrack half a mile to the previous exit, then hope to christ that surface street bridge is clear. We’ll have to fight our way through some residential areas and get to the bridge on the north side. Or do you see something different?”
“Nope,” Short replied with his own exhale. “That’s what I had too.”
The Corporal shook his head. “Looks like there’s a break in the median a few hundred yards up,” he said. “Let’s get turned around.”
“I’m on your six,” Short replied.
Bretz accelerated slowly, carefully making the turn through the emergency crossover in the median. As he came about, there were several zombies in the way which Bretz just rolled over. He cut it a little tight, scraping the back portion of the trailer.
“Guess we need to add some pain to the shopping list,” Short quipped.
Bretz found himself chuckling, glad for the levity. “Nah, scrapes build character,” he replied.
He moved up the interstate a bit as he waited for his companion to take the turn as well. He looked to the side, watching the zombie infested neighborhood, the roads packed thick with them.
Every nook and cranny of this town is jam packed with these things, he thought bitterly. Starting to wonder if we even have enough resources to pull this off.
He continued to stare, just shaking his head in disbelief at the sheer number of them. He snapped out of his reverie as Short blared his horn behind him.
“Okay, follow close,” Bretz said into the radio, “those surface streets look like they’re going to be a nightmare.”
“Lead on,” Short said.
The Corporal hit the gas and they convoyed back towards the previous exit. As they descended the ramp, Bretz saw two cars at the bottom that appeared to have been involved in a crash at some point. It blocked most of the road.
He raised the radio to his mouth. “Lay off a bit, I’m going to have to clear this out,” he said, and then hung up the receiver. He sped up, angling the big rig so that it would hit the back bumper of one of the cars. He smacked into it hard, sending broken glass and metal flying through the air. The jolt threw him around in the cab a bit, shaking him up.
The noise of course attracted some unwanted attention, and zombies began pouring out of the side streets, slowly filling the road ahead of them.
“Shit, that woke them up,” he said into the radio. “We’re going to have to haul ass or we’re going to get trapped.” He hit the gas, truck picking up steam as the road to the bridge filled with more and more ghouls. There was a narrow path in the center of the road, and he aimed for it, silently praying.
As he pushed forward, hands smacked against the front grill as the undead reached for it. Soon the light smacks turned into thuds as bodies shambled out in front, and he punched the accelerator even more.
He glanced into his side mirror, watching as more zombies filled in behind him, getting into the way of Short’s truck.
“You gotta keep your foot on the gas,” Bretz said firmly into the radio.
“Trying to Corporal,” Short replied, “engine isn’t too happy about it, though.”
Bretz shook his head, his stomach sinking at their situation. He perked up a bit at the sight of the front edge of the bridge a few blocks ahead. There were zombies there, but it was mostly clear, nothing like the streets they were currently on.
“Just keep pushing,” he urged, “the bridge is just ahead.”
Bretz floored it, giving the truck everything it had. He made it to the bridge, obliterating a group of zombies at the front of it, shaking the truck violently. The impact caused him to briefly lose control, smacking into the concrete barrier on the two-lane bridge.
He struggled with the wheel but regained control, breathing a sigh of relief at the close call. He slowed down a bit, as the bridge wasn’t as packed as the street, Short doing the same thing once he was up.
Bretz checked the side mirror, seeing the front of the big rig covered in blood, several rotted limbs sticking out of the grill, and a few creatures jammed up into the wheel wells.
“How’s your truck doing?” he asked.
“Not too good,” Short admitted. “I don’t know if she’s going to make the bridge or not.”
Bretz muttered obscenities under his breath and then looked in the mirror again, seeing smoke furling out from beneath the hood. “Dammit, no way that’s making it to the bridge,” he said to himself.
He made a westward turn towards the target, reaching a street along the waterfront. When he turned, he glanced to the right, seeing a college campus jam packed with zombies.
“How you doing back there?” he asked into the radio.
“With the way this thing is chugging, I’m going to be dead in the water in under a minute,” Short replied, voice rising.
Bretz frantically looked around for some sort of solution. Finally he spotted a grocery store on the edge of campus.
“Get to that grocery store on the right,” he barked into the radio. “Get as close to the building as you can.”
“See you there,” Short replied.
The two trucks veered off of the road and into the lot, with easily a hundred zombies strewn about. They turned, moaning, arms reaching for the trucks. Bretz drove down the outer aisle, smacking into the occasional ghoul before making the turn to the front of the store.
He