“I think we’re in business!” he called.
Dawson joined him and saw the Private fiddling with a large lockbox attached to the wall. When he opened it up, there were hundreds of keys, all arranged by parking lot number.
“Good work, Moss,” the Corporal said, and pulled out his walkie talkie. “Sarge, you copy?” he asked.
After a short pause, Copeland came back, “Beginning to think you were going AWOL there, Corporal.”
Dawson barked a laugh. “And leave all the glory of completing this suicide mission to you, Sarge? Never.”
“What’s your status?” the Sergeant asked, chuckling.
Dawson watched his soldiers work. “Dealership secured, keys located.”
“How long until you can get me some distractions?” Copeland asked.
The Corporal approached one of the mechanics. “Once we pop the hoods, how long to get those sensors fixed?” he asked.
“Two minutes, tops,” the mechanic replied.
Dawson lifted the radio to his lips. “We can have a party favor making noise in ten,” he said. “Where do you want us to start?”
“Get me a pair five blocks south of each bridge,” Copeland replied. “Those snipers are pulling their weight, so I want to pull the ones directly south of us away.”
The Corporal nodded. “Understood,” he replied. “From there, we’ll spread ‘em out.”
“I’ll let you know if we need to adjust the plan,” the Sergeant assured him. “Copeland out.”
Dawson clipped his radio back to his belt and whirled a hand above his head. “All right boys,” he said, “get you a vehicle and let’s roll.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mack and Moss hopped into a bright yellow sedan, rolling down the windows as the car started up. The mechanic slammed the hood down and came around to Mack on the driver’s side.
“Okay Mack, you’re good to go,” he said, leaning on the window. “When you get to your destination, take the keys with you, lock the door, arm the alarm, and give the car a good shove. That should pop it off for sixty seconds.”
The Private nodded. “Is that going to give the zombies enough time to get to it?” he asked.
“No, probably not,” the mechanic admitted, shaking his head. “Which is why you’re going to have to find some shelter and keep hitting the alarm until some show up.”
Moss rolled his eyes from the passenger seat. “You got some flares, too?” he drawled. “Might help them really notice where we are.”
Dawson approached the window, crossing his arms. “No, but if you don’t quit your bitching, I’m gonna have the mechanic here hook an alarm up to your ass and send you on a ten-mile run,” he snapped.
Moss’ sarcasm dropped quickly as the Corporal got his point across.
“And to confirm,” Mack cut in, putting up a hand, “we’re five blocks south of the surface street bridge.”
Dawson nodded. “Correct,” he confirmed. “Put it in an intersection a block off of the interstate, so that you capture the neighborhood crowd. Follow the mechanic’s instructions, then haul ass back here, because we got a lot more cars to spread out.”
Both privates replied with a firm, “Yes, sir,” and Mack put the car into gear, punching the gas. They turned onto the frontage road before crossing underneath the interstate and heading up the opposite side.
“Why not take the interstate?” Moss asked, brow furrowing.
Mack shook his head. “Because if we run into trouble, we won’t be able to hit a side road,” he explained.
“Makes sense,” his companion agreed.
They drove up a few more blocks before stopping. A horde of creatures milled about on the frontage road and on the interstate just above it, slowly making their way towards the bridge. The Privates listened closely and they could hear the faint sounds of gunfire in the distance. It wasn’t rapid, just steady with a shot popping off every couple of seconds.
“Those sniper boys are lighting them up,” Moss said.
Mack shook his head. “Problem is, they’re drawing quite the crowd,” he replied dryly. “We’re still a mile from the bridge.”
Moss shrugged as his partner turned down a side road, driving a couple blocks before turning north. They drove relatively slowly through the neighborhood, seeing the grass beginning to get tall. There were a few paths tracking through the yards where the foliage was stamped down.
Moss wrinkled his nose as he appraised the middle-class brick houses, decaying after a month of neglect. “If it wasn’t for the zombies, this would make for a nice town,” he said.
“Kinda sad to think that this scene is playing out in just about every single town in the country,” Mack agreed.
Moss swallowed hard. “Hell, the world,” he said.
They shook their heads simultaneously at the thought.
“I can’t imagine what those other countries are doing to handle this,” Mack said. “We have more guns than people in this country, and we still got our asses kicked. Not sure a bunch of civilians armed with knives and cricket bats are faring much better.”
Moss sighed. “So much for my European vacation.”
They headed up the side street, stopping in the middle of an intersection.
“Is this five blocks?” Moss asked.
Mack shrugged. “Hell if I know,” he replied, “but I can see the dead end up ahead.”
Moss struggled to count the number of cross streets between them and the end of the road, but the darkness made it difficult. “Well, it’s either four, five, or six,” he said.
“Or in my line of thinking,” Mack replied, “close enough.”
He made the turn back towards the interstate, stopping the car in the middle of the intersection. The two of them checked their surroundings and got out of the vehicle, doing an additional sweep of the area.
“Clear,” Moss said.
Mack nodded. “Same.”
His partner cocked his head. “You got the keys?”
Mack dangled them before pocketing them. “So where do you want to hide out?” he asked.
“Further away from the interstate, the better,” Moss replied.
The duo looked around and spotted a two-story house one down from a place on the corner. The front door was ajar, and Mack nodded towards it.
“They left the door open for us,” he said.
His friend scratched
