Dixon looked over at the trio of soldiers who were not fighting back to back, firing in different directions, in danger of becoming overwhelmed.
“Back to the safe house!” he screamed, and the trio of soldiers began to retreat, continually firing the whole way.
They sprayed and prayed, hitting several targets in the head, but mostly in the upper torso. They broke off when they reached Dixon, and the four of them ran for the house on the corner.
He looked at the cars, seeing them begin to move in a few spots due to the eight of the horde, watching helplessly as Ayers and Hurst concentrated their fire on that spot.
Just as they reached the house, gunfire erupted from behind them, startling Dixon. He turned to see several men emerging from the tree line, taking aim and firing at the zombies in the streets.
“We got reinforcements!” Dixon yelled in excitement. “Everybody to the side!”
The soldiers broke from their position, moving to either side of the street, taking up positions by the houses to avoid the crossfire. They took aim, firing in a way that didn’t endanger their reinforcements.
The next few minutes were filled with the deafening symphony of gunfire, bodies dropping in the street and a couple dozen reinforcement troops quickly moving in. As they approached the line, a gruff man began barking out orders.
Dixon recognized Sergeant Kipling from his tall, bearded frame.
“You men, shore up that line!” he bellowed. “I’m inspecting that line in five minutes, so it damn well better be secure!”
The men rushed off and started firing, thinning out the horde. Kipling stood in the middle of the road, looking side to side at the soldiers who had taken cover.
“Who’s in charge here?” the Sergeant demanded.
Dixon emerged, heading over briskly. “Private Dixon, sir.”
“Private?” Kipling asked, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell happened to your Sergeant?”
“Died in the jump,” the younger man explained. “Corporal Herrera is up north blocking off the bridges. Which meant this fell to us.”
The Sergeant looked around the makeshift safe zone before looking back at the eight other men who had rallied behind him. He nodded in approval.
“I was ready to rip you a new one for that message on the door,” he began, “but seeing as how a bunch of Privates pulled this off, I’m inclined to give you a pass.”
Dixon nodded, giving Hurst the side eye. “I appreciate that, Sergeant.”
“Save your appreciation,” Kipling snapped. “You got capable men here, and more on the way. Tell me what else needs to be done so we can get it going.”
The Private straightened. “We set up here because the initial school target was completely overrun,” he explained, and motioned to the horde. “Of course, they eventually found us, but we were able to stitch something together. Only have one house on the corner there cleared as a fallback, but the others are secure.”
“Outstanding,” Kipling replied. “We’re going to shore this area up and when the next group gets in, we’re going to take that school.”
Dixon nodded. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “Where do you want us?”
The Sergeant looked around at the carnage in the street and grinned. “I want you boys in the safe house for the next thirty,” he declared. “Get some chow and recharge.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dixon replied with a relieved smile, and waved to his team. “Come on boys, you heard the Sergeant. It’s dinner time.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The two trucks sped along the interstate towards the eastern bridge, which was significantly shorter than the western one. Herrera concentrated on the road, feeling the bumps as he ran over the occasional zombie. He finally spotted a sign reading Bridge - 1 Mile, and pulled up his CB radio.
“One mile, fellas,” he said. “Stay sharp and let’s get this done.”
He glanced into the rearview mirror, seeing Greer in the pickup truck a few hundred yards back, swerving to avoid the zombies on the road. He looked back at the road, startled by one of the horns on the other side of the interstate going off.
He slammed on the brakes along with the rest of the group when they spotted the freeway packed with zombies. Not quite shoulder to shoulder, but it was damn close, and stretching as far back as they could see.
About half a mile past the front edge of the horde was the start of the bridge.
“Goddamn, that’s a lot of zombies,” Choi said through the radio.
Eason crackled through, “Can we set the blockade up here and call it a day?”
“Hang tight, everybody,” Herrera instructed, and looked around, staring down the interstate at the gentle slope leading to the neighborhoods on either side of the highway. “If we don’t block it off, we’re going to get overrun,” he muttered to himself.
He rolled down his window and motioned for Greer to come up, and the pickup came to a stop right beside his window. The Private slid out his window, sitting on the sill to talk to Herrera over the roof.
“That’s a hell of a mess up there,” he said.
The Corporal nodded. “Yep, which is why you need to fall back,” he said.
“To where?’ Greer asked.
“I need you to get down to Dixon’s group if you can,” Herrera instructed. “If not, get as far south as you can and find a safe spot to wait on them to move up.”
Greer swallowed hard, staring up at him with anxious eyes. “But what in the hell are you going to do?” he asked.
Herrera hesitated, taking a deep breath. “We’re going to block this bridge come hell or high water,” he replied. “When you make contact with Dixon’s squad, you’re going to need to rally some troops to come get us off this bridge.”
Greer nodded, lips pursed and jaw clenched.
“Go now,” the Corporal said. “And above all, be safe. Because otherwise nobody is gonna know that we’re here.”
Greer gave him a thumbs up and
