All eight men’s hands shot straight up in the air, and he shook his head, chuckling again.
“I’m going to assume it’s because each and every one of you is dedicated to the mission,” he said, pointing an accusing finger, “and not just because you want to get out of some heavy lifting.”
One of the soldiers grinned. “Can’t it be both?”
The group laughed again, and then Copeland pointed to the four on the left. “Okay, you four win the sweepstakes,” he declared, and then motioned to one on the right. “I need you to go get Johnson and the others.”
The soldier nodded and ran off up the bridge to retrieve the guards.
“Remember, limit your fire until you start getting overwhelmed,” Copeland reminded the team staying behind. “We’ll be back with reinforcements as soon as possible.”
They nodded and started setting up their defenses, laying bats on the ground, knives, and some leftover metal posts. Johnson, Raymond, and Schmitt approached, the former patting the barricade.
“Well hell Sarge,” Johnson drawled. “This is looking pretty good.” He glanced at the eight-foot emergency barrier. “That, however, looks like nightmare fuel.”
Copeland cocked his head. “Good thing you’re going to be with me on the other bridge,” he said.
“Which I imagine is a whole other brand of nightmare fuel,” Johnson replied.
The Sergeant nodded. “Absolutely Private, wouldn’t be any fun otherwise,” he said. “Good luck, boys,” he said to the soldiers staying behind, and they saluted him.
“You too, Sarge,” one of them said.
Copeland led the group of eight back towards the Super Center, a chorus of car alarms bleating in the distance.
“Never thought I would say it,” Johnson declared, “but I’m loving that car alarm sound.”
Copeland grinned. “Hell man, it’s making me want to go take a nap.”
“A nap?” Johnson raised an eyebrow.
The Sergeant shook his head. “Didn’t grow up in the best neighborhood,” he explained. “This was my goodnight song for a number of years.”
“And I thought my mother listening to Liberace was bad,” Johnson said with a laugh.
Copeland joined him as they broke off of the interstate and headed back towards the shopping center. “Stay frosty,” he finally said, “these bastards are sneaky.”
He led the group into the center, checking corners to make sure they were still clear. One straggler had found its way in, but with a quick whistle and point, a soldier broke off and cracked it over the head.
The rest of the store was clear, much to the relief of the Sergeant. They had enough fronts to fight on, without dealing with backtracking. They reached the back of the store and into the back lot where the trucks were.
“Pile in and follow me,” Copeland instructed. “CB radios on channel thirteen, let’s move.”
The soldiers hopped into the three trucks, the first two starting up without a problem. Copeland got into the third one with the recharged battery, Raymond in the passenger seat.
“Let’s hope Johnson didn’t fuck this up,” he muttered, and turned the key.
To his relief, it sprung to life, and he quickly popped it into gear, leading the convoy out of the lot. They drove down a frontage road a few blocks to be able to cross under the interstate, and as they did, they encountered a handful of zombies meandering towards the car alarms in the distance.
Copeland adjusted his trajectory, making sure to slam into the ghouls as they went by, sending them flying into the grass. The other bridge was a half a mile away, and with each passing block, the dread in the Sergeant’s mind grew.
Kowalski had said it was a packed house, but that was an hour ago, so hope began to creep in. As he made the turn for the bridge, Copeland’s concern was realized.
There were upwards of a hundred zombies on the bridge, most of them towards the neighborhood, drawn by car alarms and not paying any attention to the constant gunfire from the snipers. Copeland studied the bridge, seeing two lanes packed with multiple large groups. He reached for the CB radio, flicking it to channel thirteen.
“All right boys, listen up,” he said into the mouthpiece. “This is gonna be a bumpy ride. I’m gonna take the lead and plow through as many of them as I can, get up to the top of the bridge, and block it off. Johnson, you’ll be up next, and I want you to wedge your truck across the road about halfway up. Schmitt, I want you ten yards behind Johnson.” He took a deep breath. “With any luck, we’ll be able to hold off any massive horde with this setup. Also watch your six, this is gonna be loud as hell, so we may have some company from the neighborhood.”
He waited a moment to hear the affirmative responses and then glanced over at Raymond in the passenger seat.
“You ready to do this?” he asked.
The Private offered a grim smile. “If I say no, does it mean we’re not going?”
Copeland smirked and popped the truck into gear, punching the gas.
CHAPTER NINE
The big rig jolted forward and began gaining speed. By the time Copeland hit the bridge, the truck was doing forty, which was more than fast enough to completely obliterate the first trio of zombies that it came into contact with.
Undeterred, Copeland floored it, the engine squealing drawing the attention of most of the creatures on the bridge, the next batch numbering close to two dozen.
“Hang on, Raymond!” Copeland bellowed, and braced
