He pushed his body beyond what he’d ever pushed it before, beating the zombies by a couple of steps, and threw the door open, rushing inside. As he tried to pull it closed behind him, a set of rotted hands grabbed it from the back and pulled.
Kowalski strained, keeping the door as shut as he could, putting his boot against the doorframe. “Any time Doyle!” he yelled.
Another shot went off, and the hands fell from the door, allowing Kowalski to slam it shut.
“Holy fucking balls man,” he muttered to himself as he made his way to the ladder. “I’m never doing that again.” He climbed up, starting at the top when Doyle squatted there, waiting for him.
“You good man?” he asked.
Kowalski huffed. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replied. “Just hoping I get a promotion from this.”
“Does rank really matter at this point?” Doyle asked with a light laugh.
His companion smirked and shook his head. “Yeah, it means I would be able to delegate this to you while I set up here all comfy and shooting,” he drawled.
Doyle chuckled and helped him up, and they made their way back to the roof. Once they emerged from the hatch, Kowalski let out a loud whistle so that the others knew they were back. Martin and Hurley gave a quick wave before going back to shooting.
Doyle and Kowalski walked to the back of the store, where the latter dumped out the tool bags. They quickly ripped open the boxes and battery packages, assembling them.
Kowalski fiddled with the controls on one of the finished ones. “All right, here goes nothing,” he said, and then hit the alarm button. Immediately both men covered their ears as the 115 decibel alarm nearly blew out their eardrums. He switched it off. “Fucking hell, that’s loud.”
“If this doesn’t do it, I have no idea what will,” Doyle replied, and they scrambled to slam batteries into the rest of the clocks.
They brought all six to the air conditioner unit near the back of the store and aimed them towards the bridge, nodding while covering their ears as best they could before hitting all the alarm buttons.
The sound was deafening, blasting through the air in alternating beats. They backed away from the clocks and then went to the far end of the back of the store.
Come on motherfuckers, you know you want to know what this is, Kowalski thought, and both men raised their scopes, relieved to see that some of the creatures from the bridge at the back started to wander towards them.
“Hell yeah!” Kowalski cried, raising a fist. “Sonic doom for the win!”
The men exchanged a high five as they kept watch, surveying more and more creatures coming their way.
Kowalski pulled out his walkie-talkie, lifting it to his lips. “Hey Sarge, come in,” he said.
A few seconds later, Copeland replied, “Not sure what that is soldier, but we can hear it down here pretty good.”
The sniper grinned. “Sonic alarms,” he said loudly, “and if you can hear it there, then you can only imagine what it sounds like up here.”
“Question is,” the Sergeant countered, “are they working?”
Kowalski nodded. “They’re starting to,” he said. “Already have several dozen peeling off and coming our way. Only a matter of time until the others join.”
“Damn fine work Kowalski,” Copeland said. “Damn fine work.”
The sniper straightened his shoulders. “Thank you, sir.”
“Copeland out.”
The duo of snipers stood and watched as more and more creatures wandered off the bridge, heading towards the sonic distraction.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The alarms had been blaring for a half an hour, and the zombie horde at the barricade became smaller and smaller. The sun began to peek up from behind the horizon, illuminating the horrific carnage on the bridge.
There was a pile of bodies stretched across the interstate, easily three deep and piled three and four high in some spots. With the soldiers out of reach, and the alarms blaring in the stance, the stragglers on the bridge had lost all interest and wandered away.
Sergeant Copeland stood proud, nodding in approval of what his men had been able to accomplish. As he admired the scene, Dawson approached.
“Hell of a night, huh Sarge?” the Corporal asked.
“Understatement, soldier,” Copeland replied with a sigh. “Understatement.”
Dawson crossed his arms. “So, what’s next?” he asked.
“I’m going to keep a skeleton crew here to do some reinforcements on this barricade,” the Sergeant explained. “It barely held a couple thousand, so no way in hell it’s holding back a hundred thousand. I want you to take the rest of the men and start clearing the neighborhoods. Those car alarm batteries aren’t going to last forever, so we need to strike while we can.”
“Any word on reinforcements or a resupply?” Dawson asked.
Copeland shook his head. “No, but I’m supposed to talk to the Captain in an hour or so.”
“Good deal,” the Corporal replied. “If you need me, I’ll be on comm.”
“Be safe, Dawson,” Copeland said, and watched him walk away and begin to bark out orders for men to follow him.
Most of the group left, except for five standing at the barricade. Copeland took a deep breath and approached the young soldier who’d been bitten, standing guard as strong as ever. He sighed, showing a brief moment of reluctance as he knew it was time to do what he didn’t want to have to do.
“Rest of you take five,” the Sergeant said, “get some chow from the Super Center.”
The four men shared glances, looking at him and then the young soldier. They nodded at him, silently paying their respects and thanking him for his service that night. As they cleared out, the kid stood firm.
“Is it time, sir?” he asked.
“It is, soldier,” Copeland replied. “You’ve done a damn fine job. I couldn’t ask for a braver soldier to be under my command.”
The kid nodded, but remained stoic. “Thank
