Derek Slaton [Slaton - Dead America: Heartland (Dead America - The First Week Book 6)

DEAD AMERICA

HEARTLAND

By DEREK SLATON

CHAPTER ONE

Day Zero +6

Sergeant John Kersey wandered through Grand Bend, jaw clenched as he scanned the organized chaos around him. There were troops everywhere. The town was a hotbed of activity, supplies being loaded up in trucks, food being transferred to barracks and transports alike. Men loading up to ship out to the front lines.

It seemed to John that the military had things as under control as they possibly couldbut with more and more zombies seeming to crop up every day, he didnt know how long it was going to take to contain this plague. So many places had fallen back, pulled out.

But not Kansas. The military had over two hundred thousand troops inhabiting the rural areas, cleaning out north of Wichita and taking control of most of the small towns in the area. Most of the locals seemed disgruntled about staunch military presence in their normally quiet lives, but didnt really have much of a choice in the matter but to let the soldiers have their run of the towns.

John entered the small town hall, that had been cleared out of its mayor to be the base of operations in Grand Bend. He lightly knocked on the doorframe of the back office, surveying the form of his superior and long time friend, General Stephens.

Sergeant! Stephens said with a smile, and stood up from his chair.

John returned his smile and stepped inside, leaning over the desk to shake the Generals hand. Back in one piece, General, he replied.

Good, good, Stephens said, and motioned to the chairs in front of his desk.

John took a seat and leaned back, thankful for the cushy chair cradling his exhausted body. It had been one hell of a week. And he was sure it wasnt going to let up anytime soon.

So, the General said, folding his arms in front of him over the notebook on his desk, how is it out there?

The Sergeant shrugged. Same as its been for the last six days, General, he replied. What have you got for me?

Stephens put up a hand and pushed a button on his phone, leaning over.

Yes, sir? a bright young voice asked through the speaker.

Can you send someone with some coffee for Sergeant Kersey, please? he asked.

Right away, sir, the voice replied.

John was about to protest, but he knew it had already been done, and damn if he wasnt looking forward to some fresh coffee.

Stephens leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and stretching them above his head. Sergeant, do you remember back in Debecka, when your team had to covertly move a prisoner?

John scratched the back of his head, fighting a smile. Iraq had been rough. But he was proud of some of the things hed accomplished back then. Yeah, he replied. You had the troops light a bunch of shit on fire as a distraction.

A young woman set a mug of coffee on the desk in front of him, her eyebrow raised at his colourful language.

Thank you, John said, offering her a smile as he lifted his mug. He took a sip and realized she was still looking at him quizzically. I said shit because I meant literal shit. The troops used an outhouse as kindling, that town stank something awful for days after.

Likely weeks, Stephens agreed, and the woman wrinkled her nose.

Sorry I was curious, she muttered to herself, and shook her head. She saluted the General, and then left the office, closing the door on the two chuckling comrades.

You did one hell of a job getting that prisoner out, Stephens nodded, his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair not moving an inch with the motion. I still dont know how you did it by yourself.

Honestly John shook his head. I strapped him on like a backpack.

The General blinked at his subordinate.

He was in a pretty bad way, barely conscious, the Sergeant explained. I knew with the crawling Id have to do that slinging him over a shoulder wouldnt work long term. There were a few short lengths of rope in the barn, so I put him on my back and tied his wrists to his knees and took off.

There was a moment of silence, and John took a long loud slurp of his hot, satisfying brew.

And that is why I asked you here, John, Stephens said, shaking his head and flattening his palms on his desk. Because you think outside the box.

Kersey leaned forward, setting his mug on the table, ready to get down to business. Whats the mission, General?

Hundreds of thousands of zombies are feeling the cities, Stephens explained, taking a deep breath. He pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and continued, Both Kansas City and Wichita are hemorrhaging walking corpses. All of my troops are along major roads and interstates to try to prevent a breach.

Unfortunately, its been reported by one of my scouts that two to three hundred zombies from the Wichita flood have broken free of the main group and are heading up Highway 96 towards Hutchinson. The troops in the area are already overwhelmed with the tens of thousands coming from the front line, so I need you and your team to go and take care of the stragglers before they become a real threat.

What about the civilians in Hutchinson? John asked.

Evacuated to the north, and the bridges across the Arkansas river have been fortified, Stephens replied. The plan is to barricade the four-lane highway at the Highway 50 bridge, blocking off the exit ramps to funnel the zombies to the barricade.

Im going to need ammo, the Sergeant said, taking one last gulp of his coffee.

Stephens nodded. Theres five hundred extra rounds with your name on it, and that should be more than enough to cover it, he said. The horde is about three or four hours out, so with a forty-five minute travel time, you should be able to get there early enough to get set up.

Aye-aye, General, John said, setting his mug on the desk and standing up.

Be careful, John, Stephens said firmly. And as soon as you get back, come and see me again. Im working on something else that will need your talents.

The Sergeant saluted his General, and headed out of the office to gather his team.

CHAPTER TWO

Kersey approached a set of Humvees where his team had set up a bit of a rest area in the grocery store parking lot. They sat in a semicircle on folding chairs, tearing into thick sandwiches that a few local young women were passing out to the troops.

Well, thank you, little lady, Private Buck Johnson drawled with a grin.

The blonde in the daisy dukes blushed and giggled as she handed over a ham and cheese sub. Yall are very welcome, sir, she said, and linked arms with her friend as they trotted off across the parking lot.

Those girls dont even look legal, Private Adam Baker scoffed as he tore the plastic wrap from his own sandwich.

Johnson shrugged, a lopsided grin on his leathery-skinned face. They was legal enough to flirt with me, which means I can look all I want.

I dont think it works that way. Baker shook his head and took a bite of his food. They make good grub, though, he attested after swallowing his mouthful. Dijon and everything.

Mine doesnt have dijon! Private Stuart Kowalski pouted, peeling back the layers of bread to find just mayonnaise with his turkey, lettuce, and tomato.

Baker shrugged. I guess Im the favourite. I think this is gouda cheese, too.

I dont need no fancy cheese, Johnson replied, munching away.

Wheres my sandwich? Kersey asked good-naturedly as he assessed the group.

Private Ben Mason held out half of his sub, but the Sergeant shook his head, patting the man on the shoulder.

No wonder the locals hate us, Kersey said. What with their teenaged daughters making us sandwiches in booty shorts.

They werent teenagers, Johnson muttered.

General didnt feed you? Corporal Brandon Bretz asked from his perch on the hood of one of the Humvees. I thought hed have a personal chef in there.