His friend shook his head frantically. “I’m hitting it and nothing’s happening,” he replied.
“Might be too far away,” Moss said, swallowing hard.
“Shit,” Mack muttered. “Hang tight.” He stepped off of the front porch and started walking towards the car, hitting the alarm button the entire way. When he got to the edge of the yard, it finally went off. As it blared, he turned to retreat into the house, but there were a dozen zombies coming around the side towards him. “Moss!” he cried.
He took off towards the house, pulling out his assault rifle. It was dark, and he was twenty yards away, but he opened fire anyway. His three-round bursts tore through the zombies, hitting mostly torsos but hitting one zombie in the head.
The gunfire alerted Moss, who quickly dashed out and opened fire himself, ripping the zombies to shreds at close range. Mack tore for the door, and his partner nearly fired at him, at the last second realizing who it was and stopping just in time.
“Christ dude, you all right?” Mack cried.
His friend nodded shakily. “Come on, let's clear this place out before the alarm stops,” he said, and rushed back inside.
The duo pulled their flashlights and moved through the house quickly. Moss headed up the stairs, and as he approached the top, he spotted two zombies in the hallway, caught in a baby gate that had been wedged across it. They moaned and reached for him, and he quickly put them down with two precise shots to the head.
As they slumped over the gate, the alarm outside stopped. He listened closely for noise, but heard none. He tapped on the hardwood floor to draw any others out, but nothing came. As he descended the staircase again, Mack was just heading out the door.
“Clear upstairs,” Moss reported.
His friend nodded. “Good deal,” he replied. “I’m gonna get another blast going.”
“We may need to hit the house next door,” Moss suggested. “Not that safe for you to keep going outside.”
Mack rolled his eyes. “What’s this me stuff?” he drawled. “You’re up next.”
Before his partner could answer, the alarm began to blare on its own, and they shared an excited look. Mack shut the front door, and they hurried over to the living room window to look outside.
A few zombies hung out around the vehicle, banging on the doors and windows in reaction to the noise. Eventually the alarm stopped, and the duo waited with bated breath for a ghoul to hit it again.
“Come on, come on,” Moss murmured, “you know you want what’s in there.”
A few seconds later, one of the zombies bonked into the driver’s side, setting off the alarm again. This enraged its brethren, and they all began to smack the car with vigor. More zombies emerged from the side streets, a ton of them coming from the north.
“What do you think, give it fifteen minutes to make sure it’s still working?” Mack asked.
Moss shook his head. “Hell no,” he replied, checking his weapons. “We need to get out of here before it really draws a crowd. Then we find a house close to the dealership and hold up for fifteen minutes.”
The two men shared a fist bump before heading towards the back door. They peered out at the smattering of zombies marching through the backyard. As they shambled past, Mack unlocked the sliding door and gently opened it. They silently crept across the back deck and hopped over the side, landing on the soft grass.
Keeping to the darkness, the duo pressed up against the house as more zombies came out of the neighboring yards. They froze when the alarm went silent, knowing that a single noise could doom them with this kind of gathering. A few seconds later, it began blaring again, keeping the attention of the nearby creatures.
They took the opportunity to bolt, running through a backyard and off into the darkness towards the dealership.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Copeland and the rest of his crew waited at the entrance of the Super Center, keeping an eye on the zombies on the bridge and interstate. Johnson stood beside him with the night vision scope, surveying the landscape.
The bridge began to clear out with the zombies moving to the north, attracted by the sniper fire. The ones on the interstate had either joined the bridge group, or had started being drawn south by the sound of car alarms, creating a mostly zombie-free pocket.
“Johnson, how we looking?” Copeland asked.
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
