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

again, and they silently moved up, dispatching the two corpses and gently laying them on the ground.
When they reached the alcohol aisle and worked their way up, Bretz took a knee when they reached the end cap he’d seen from the roof. He flattened himself against the shelf, and Short followed suit.
Several zombies shambled by the aisle, moaning and dragging their feet as they went. Once they were past, Bretz moved up alone, looking out into the aisle and seeing fifteen zombies hanging out within thirty yards. He pursed his lips and then crept back to Short, speaking into his ear softly.
“Way too many of them to take out with knives,” he whispered. “So it’s going to be a hit and run.”
Short nodded. “I got an idea,” he whispered back. “Follow me.”
He led them back towards the office stairwell, looking down every aisle as they went. After a few he stopped, giving the Corporal a thumbs up, and then pulled out a shopping cart.
“We load up as much as we can on the buggy, and get it back to the stairwell and unload it,” he whispered.
Bretz nodded. “I like it,” he replied quietly. “Question is, do you want to shoot or do you want me to?”
“Truth be told,” Short admitted, “I ain’t so good in low light.”
The Corporal smiled. “I’ll cover you while you load up.”
They shared a nod and leapt into action. Short grabbed the cart, pushing it along until they got back to the alcohol. Bretz carefully stepped into the main aisle, looking both ways to make sure the zombies were only in one direction. He readied his rifle and then nodded to his partner.
Short grabbed the first case of twelve bottles, gently placing it into the cart. When he grabbed the second one, it rattled the display clinking a few bottles together. The noise gained the attention of a few ghouls, who began moaning and heading their way.
Bretz held off firing as long as he could, allowing Short to load in two more cases. Then he squeezed the trigger rapidly, taking out three ghouls in a matter of seconds.
“How many more?” he asked.
“Two more!” Short replied.
Bretz continued picking targets, dropping them as his companion loaded the cart with seven cases.
“We’re full!” Short reported, and then began pushing towards the stairwell. They raced down the aisle, Bretz covering their retreat as they went, tearing around the corner towards the office. The noise had attracted a few zombies at the other end.
Short pulled out his weapon, but Bretz just pushed him forward.
“Get to the stairwell,” he said, “I’ll cover us.”
The Private raced back to the stairs, stopping the cart and grabbing a case of vodka, tearing up the stairs to begin unloading. Bretz stood his ground beside the cart, aiming down both directions and firing, picking off zombies one by one as Short sprinted up and down the stairs.
“We’re good to go, Corporal!” he cried as he grabbed the last one, and Bretz fired one more time, killing a zombie about fifteen yards away.
He cracked a smile before kicking the cart onto its side, blocking the stairwell and tearing back up into the office. Short slammed the door, and they pushed a desk against it to hold it secure.
“That went way smoother than anything else we’ve done today,” Bretz declared.
Short grinned. “Speaking of smooth, bet you didn’t catch my slick little move while running down the aisle, did you?” he asked.
Bretz furrowed his brow. “Apparently I totally missed it.”
The Private reached behind one of the cases of vodka and pulled out a large bottle of bourbon.
The Corporal barked a laugh. “I mean, we are going to have a few days to kill,” he said with a shrug. Short clapped him on the shoulder and they began hauling their loot up the ladder.

CHAPTER TWELVE
Bretz drove the two of them to the bridge, seeing zombies shoulder-to-shoulder as they approached. They were within a couple hundred yards, only a left at the top of the street, but there were dozens of zombies standing in their way.
“You ready for one last push?” he asked.
Short leaned forward. “Bigger question is, if this big beauty of a truck is ready for it,” he said, and stroked the dashboard. “Okay girl, you almost home, just need you to push a little harder. Can you do that for me?”
Bretz raised an eyebrow.
Short shrugged. “I mean, trucks need encouragement too.”
“Did you do that to your last truck?” the Corporal asked.
His passenger chuckled. “Well no,” he replied, “probably why she didn’t make it.”
“Okay then,” Bretz replied, and gave the steering wheel a tender pat. “Come on, you can do it.”
Short laughed, and the Corporal joined in, the two of them a little loopy from the absurdity of the situation and what they were about to do.
“Regardless of what happens,” Bretz said when he finally calmed down, “it’s been a pleasure.”
Short nodded solemnly. “Likewise, Corporal.”
Bretz hit the gas, and the truck rumbled forward. He rolled over several zombies, and the noise gained the attention of the ghouls on the bridge. He floored it, gaining as much speed as he could, approaching the turn for the bridge. The sea of undead was dense, covering almost the entirety of the road on both sides.
The big rig chugged along, slowing with every impact. When Bretz reached the top of the road, he moved far to the right before making a hard left, hoping to keep up the momentum. The truck leaned to one side, several wheels coming off of the ground, crashing back down and crushing several bodies beneath. The impact sent bones jutting out of bodies, and a loud pop sounded as one of the tires blew.
The sudden loss caused the truck to jar to the right, but Bretz was able to correct it. The zombies on the bridge pressed up against the vehicle, covering it on all sides. The remaining tires squealed, struggling to gain traction between the blood coating them and the dense force of the dead in