DEAD AMERICA: THE NORTHWEST INVASION
BOOK 2
PORTLAND - PART 5
BY DEREK SLATON
© 2020
CHAPTER ONE
Day Zero +22
The dull roar of a ten thousand strong zombie horde murmured in the distance. The situation was dire. After the bombs had dropped, all the hard work from weeks past was obliterated, coming back to haunt them as an army of the undead marched towards their home.
The clock was ticking. They only had four hours before the zombie mass overtook the crossroads, blocking their only means of escape. If that happened, the best case scenario for the apartment complex was that they’d slowly waste away from starvation. The worst case would be the horde overtaking them and breaking in.
Calvin swallowed hard. “So we’re really going to evacuate?” he asked hoarsely. The wiry sniper fumbled with his pocket, pulling out a thin joint and jamming it between his lips.
“We don’t have a choice,” Zion replied, nodding and straightening his broad shoulders. “And if we don’t slow them down, we’re not going to be able to get everybody out safely.”
Mateo rubbed his forehead. “Fire worked pretty well back at the complex, right?” he asked, hope in his lightly accented voice. “Why not give that a shot?”
“There isn’t going to be nearly enough flammable liquid left to put a dent in them,” Zion replied, poking his cheek with his tongue.
Calvin flicked his lighter a few times, finally managing to light up his joint, and took a deep, thoughtful drag. “What if we used it to thin out the crowd a bit?” he mused through a puff of smoke. “Wouldn’t that help with the loppers?”
“It certainly couldn’t hurt,” Tori weighed in, pushing her glasses up her nose. The lopper her and her college friends had invented was a helicopter-inspired machine that had the potential to buy them some needed time. “We’re just kind of making this up as we go, so we don’t know how it’s going to react to hitting numerous corpses at once. The less strain we can put on the loppers, the longer they’ll last.”
Jermaine linked his fingers together and rested his palms on top of his dark, bald head. “I can handle that,” he piped up. “I’ll load up everything I can and start thinning them out.”
“When you do, throw them as far as you can, all around the horde,” Tori instructed, curling a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “We need to create some pockets if we can.”
The moaning grew increasingly louder in the distance, pushing Zion into action. He took a deep breath and turned to Jermaine, who was wearing a digital watch.
“Mind if I borrow your watch for a little bit?” he asked, motioning to his companion’s wrist.
Jermaine divested himself of the watch and handed it over. Zion fiddled with it for a few moments, finally managing to set a four-hour timer.
“Appreciate it,” he said as he fastened it to his own wrist. “Let’s head back to the complex and regroup. We got a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it in.”
The group nodded and piled into the truck. Zion fired it up and sped back towards the complex. He glanced in the rearview mirror, thankful to see an empty road, at least for the time being.
As they pulled into the garage, rumbling over the charred remains of the ghouls who had tried to breach the parking deck earlier, he pulled up next to Tori’s friends, who were hard at work on various machinery.
Tori jumped out and rushed over to them. “Drop what you’re doing right now,” she demanded, pushing her glasses up her nose, “we need to start working on the loppers.”
Her friends blinked at her, confused, but concerned at the tense tone of her voice.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, brow furrowed.
Harold shook his head. “We don’t even have the engines for those, yet.”
“Well, you’re about to get them,” Zion replied as he caught up.
“Tori?” Missy asked, voice shaky.
The blonde glanced at Zion, silently asking permission to fill them in. He nodded his approval, and she clasped her hands in front of her, taking a deep breath.
“There’s a whole lot of those things headed our way,” she began. “If we don’t slow them down, a lot of people are going to be trapped here. So I need you to focus, and start putting them together as quickly as you can, reinforce them as much as humanly possible, because they’re going to take a beating.”
The trio of students nodded firmly and then set to work like a hive of busy bees.
Tori turned to Zion. “I’m going to help them, but please come see me before you leave,” she said.
He nodded. “Will do,” he promised and then waved for Calvin and Mateo to follow him to the stairwell.
“My truck is on the exterior lot,” Jermaine piped up. “I’ll burn as many of them as I can.”
“Thanks, bud,” Zion replied, and held up his wrist. “And I’ll take good care of your watch, too.”
Jermaine chuckled. “I know you,” he said, “if it doesn’t come back with bloodstains on it, I’m gonna be disappointed.”
They exchanged a fist bump before parting ways. Zion led Calvin and Mateo up the stairs quickly, headed for Cheryl’s office. When they walked in, she sat in the corner at a radio, repeatedly trying to get Wendy on the line.
“Wendy, do you copy?” she demanded, voice frustrated as if she’d been at it for a while. “Anybody home? Anybody? Bueller?” She tossed the microphone angrily down on the table.
Zion crossed his arms. “Nobody home, I’m guessing?” he asked.
“No, they’re either out of range or have their radios off,” Cheryl growled.
He cocked his head. “They’ll be to White Salmon soon enough,” he reminded her. “You been able to reach them?”
“Nobody in Edward’s camp is reading me either,” she replied.
Calvin clucked his tongue. “Did you try Fingers?”
“No, just tried Edward’s frequency,” Cheryl said, pointing at him. “But that’s a good idea.” She swiveled around and fiddled with the dials before getting the frequency right.
