The Private continued to scan as he spoke. “The bulk is moving away from us,” he replied. “Still gonna have a fight on our hands on the bridge, but I don’t think it’s worth waiting over.”
The Sergeant motioned for Johnson to hand over the weapon, and he did. Copeland did a quick sweep with the night vision scope, and then nodded, handing the gun back.
“Okay boys,” he said, turning to his team, “we’re gonna move and move quick. Got four on the shopping carts, rest of us are on zombie duty. Drop ‘em quick, drop ‘em quiet, and get ready for some heavy lifting on the bridge. We get halfway down and I want everybody focused on that front line. We’re gonna have to reinforce the rear eventually, but those things are way too close for comfort. Questions?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing, “Didn’t think so. Now let’s move.”
He led the group out, the eight on zombie duty carrying knives and baseball bats. Behind them were four soldiers pushing shopping carts full of supplies, like rebar, basketball goal posts, gloves, and such.
The run through the parking lot was smooth, with no resistance. A couple zombies on the interstate directly ahead had their attention drawn as the footsteps and shopping carts rattled on the pavement. There was nothing but a grass path keeping them apart.
Copeland led the charge towards the small pack of zombies, swinging hard with a baseball bat and cratering in a skull. Several other soldiers stepped up and did the same, while a couple stayed back to help the cart pushers traverse the grass, wheels wiggling.
The Sergeant stood on the interstate, patting one of the concrete barriers in the center. It was about eight feet long, solid concrete with the exception of two holes running through the top, about a foot away from each corner. He scanned ahead, watching twenty zombies between them and the center of the bridge.
These won’t be a problem, he said. What concerned him was the thousands of zombies another hundred yards up that were congregating between the stores. He looked over to the rest of the men, who were standing and waiting for his move.
Copeland started walking up the interstate at a deliberate pace, not wanting to draw attention to them. The zombies were all focused on the gunfire in the distance, so one by one, he and the rest of his men stepped up to dispatch their enemies.
The group didn’t take long to work their way up to the center of the bridge, moving quickly in tandem. The closest zombie on the bridge was fifteen yards up and walking away from them.
“Johnson, take two men,” Copeland said quietly, “set up shop twenty yards up. Any trouble, you tamp it down.”
The Private nodded. “On it,” he replied, and pointed to Raymond and Schmitt. “You two, on me.”
Copeland watched the trio head up to the zombies and take out the last few stragglers with ease, standing guard. He turned to watch the others come up with the shopping carts and stopped in front of him.
The Sergeant kept his voice low. “These bitches are heavy, so we’re gonna be working in teams,” he said. “Four men to a barrier. Get up to where Johnson is and start moving them back this way. One row, all the way across. We’ll worry about reinforcing it later, but right now we just need something in case they lose interest in the snipers.”
They got to work, throwing on work gloves, and grabbing up metal posts and heavy duty floor dollies, rushing their targets. Posts went through the two slots at the top of the barriers, and then there was a quiet countdown before lifting up. As the barrier reached a foot off of the ground, another soldier rolled the metal dollie underneath. Once on wheels, the two lifters could push it along the road, straining to roll the several thousand pound barriers.
The nose they made both straining and moving attracted a few zombies near the back of the pack, forcing Johnson and Raymond to step up and smack them down as quietly as they could.
“Keep watch,” Johnson whispered to Raymond, who nodded.
Johnson jogged back to Copeland, who was helping to unload a barrier on the side of the road. He strained, but they finally got it into place with the two men rushing back to help with the next one.
“What is it?” the Sergeant asked.
“Moving that first barrier drew some of them back to us,” Johnson explained. “It’s loud. The gunfire is drowning it out a bit, but as soon as that goes away, we’re in trouble. And at the rate they’re going, it’s gonna be awhile.”
Copeland nodded. “Understood.” He pulled out his walkie-talkie and dialed in before lifting it to his lips. “Kowalski, update,” he said.
Several moments passed before the sniper came back, “We’re holding our own, Sarge. Pulling a decent sized crowd from the city, but a little too far away from the interstate to do much. Satellite didn’t show that many trees blocking the view.”
“What’s your ammo situation?” Copeland asked.
Another moment of pause. “The four of us at the target are down to about a thousand,” Kowalski replied. “Can’t speak for the others, as they don’t have comms.”
“Well, if you got three men just across the bridge, it’s safe to assume they’ll be at six or seven hundred based on the fire patterns?” Copeland asked, and there was a long silence before he growled, “Kowalski, I know you aren’t smart enough to be doing math in your head, so talk to me, soldier.”
“Wade is alone on the store just up from the bridge,” the Private replied. “The other two, well, I assume two, at least one, are several blocks up.”
The Sergeant grimaced, knowing that once they ran out of ammo, this bridge would become very active. “Well, here’s hoping Wade sticks to a steady rhythm,” he said, “because as soon as he’s out, we’re gonna have a fight on our hands.”
