Zombie Team Alpha

by Yeager, Steve R.

  But Suvorov still tried to help, crouching low and tugging on the guy, locked in a tug-a-war game with three zombies each wanting the kid as its own, while another one gnawed on the kid’s ear and tore it off. It raised its head, and its exposed teeth ground back and forth on the stolen flesh.

  Cutter and Gauge joined Suvorov, stepping to each side of the man and adding their combined firepower to the mix. The green laser beams from their weapons flicked between targets, and bright muzzle flashes accompanied the virtual wall of streaming death as they switched to the approaching mass of zombies. Lead slammed into the creatures, dropping them like bolted cows. Gooey splatters and chunks of gore flew off and slapped wetly against the rock walls behind them while their guns clacked efficiently and effectively, barely audible above the horrible cries of the dying creatures.

  Cutter backed away like a fireman retreating from a hot blaze and kept shooting at the approaching zombies, watching his bullets destroy heads, popping them open like rotten pumpkins. Each man he was forced to kill, though, hurt him a little inside. He wanted to save them if he could, but he also wanted to remain alive.

  Kill or be killed—the apex law of nature.

  He raised his AR and moved between three targets, firing single rounds in rapid succession as soon as the laser marked them for death. Three zombies dropped to the dust, but another five immediately took their places. Howling, the newly arriving creatures charged, stumbling over the bodies of their fallen brethren.

  Cutter spotted the deception and could hardly believe it. What the—? He blinked. More creatures were circling in behind them and arriving even faster and in greater numbers. They would soon flank them completely.

  Get out. Go. Go. Go.

  Reacting instantly, he raised his weapon and fired again and again one-handed while signaling Gauge to clear a path through the horde.

  Gauge hot-swapped another clip before going into full fury mode, shredding bodies and sending brass bullet casings pouring out of the side of the gun. The brass shells bounced about the shaft chaotically, making high-pitched sounds that Cutter’s earbuds selected for after filtering out the supersonic cracks of the bullets in flight. Gauge kept his attack going until his clip ran dry. He hot-swapped another and went searching for fresh targets. But he did not fire at first and seemed momentarily satisfied with the damage he had wrought. He then reset the stock against his shoulder and pressed the trigger and more flames and fire and lead streamed from his gun. Now he was being more surgical about his kills, and Cutter just held fire and watched. All the lead going downstream was having the desired effect. The flow ahead of them had slowed to a trickle as the bodies piled up and created their own stream-damming effects.

  Cutter then knew what he had to do. He couldn’t wait around to explain it, nor could he save anyone else. He grabbed Morgan by the arm and shoved her next to Gauge.

  “Go! That way!” he yelled, pointing in the direction they had come with his barrel. “We’ll be right behind you. Hustle!”

  Cutter spun and fired at the remaining zombies that were attempting to flank them. He kept short bursts of fire going. Each new shot crashed into the head of an approaching creature, dropping it before it could come near.

  “We can’t leave you, Jack!” Morgan yelled, or that is what he thought she said. He ignored her and nodded a get-the-hell-out-of-here to Gauge. The big man let up on his trigger, nodded back his understanding, and grabbed Morgan by the upper arm and pulled her alongside him. He opened up again with his AR, parting the zombies in the tunnel ahead of him like Moses parting the Red Sea.

  Cutter chanced a peek. The temporary gap that Gauge had created would only remain open for a few more seconds and would quickly collapse when they got through it. The big man was already moving, pulling Morgan along behind him. Zombies reached out to grab them both as they went past, but each one that managed to lay a hand on Gauge got its head exploded in return. With a final burst of rounds, they made it through the last of them to the end and into the cleared spaced behind them.

  Morgan stopped to signal Cutter, but he ignored her and turned again to refocus his effort on the creatures that had gotten behind him and Suvorov.

  Cutter swapped clips just as Suvorov’s gun clicked empty, and the colonel went for a spare clip, but ended up only patting himself and not finding one. Cutter selected three more targets for neutralization and fired his AR to drop them then let his gun go slack and hang from the strap temporarily as he drew his Glock left-handed. He tossed the handgun to Suvorov who raised it and used it to shoot the next few zombies that were almost upon them. In the enclosed space, the report from the Glock was many times louder than the AR’s, but the earbuds were doing a damn fine job filtering all the noise.

  “We gotta go through that way!” Cutter shouted. “Go the opposite way from them.” And as he said it, he headed in the direction with the least number of the creatures, weapon raised, but not firing to conserve ammunition.

  Many pairs of mottled arms in shredded clothing grasped at him, attempting to drag him aside to attack him. He hit back at them with the AR’s stock and tried to drive them backward and on to their heels, but the creatures grew more frantic and began snapping at him with their yellowed, slavering teeth. He dodged and weaved their attacks like a boxer while keeping watch on the colonel. The man was right beside him, being attacked by the same creatures, and striking back at them with his own weapon, sending blood and bits of flesh flying off in all directions with each impact.

  A zombie lunged at Cutter, and he smashed it in the face with the butt of his gun. The telescoping stock then collapsed sideways and sheared off, leaving him with a stunted weapon that he wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to fire. Chancing it, he yanked the AR up and fired off another two rounds, dropping the next two zombies in their tracks. Then he leaned forward and dug in his heels and pushed his way forward, weapon turned sideways to clear a pathway to freedom.

  A few seconds later, he and the colonel stumbled through the last of the mob and broke free of the pawing grips and found themselves on the far side with nothing trying to attack them.

  His hasty plan had worked. He just hoped separating them into multiple groups and trading distance for time was going to work out in the long run.

  Spinning on his heel, he fired his crippled weapon again into the group. More creatures died, but it was not going to be enough to stop them completely. And he could feel by the weight of the gun that he was nearly out of ammunition. He had only a few rounds left, and he did not have any spare clips readily available. He’d have to open his pack to get to them.

  Make ‘em count.

  He fired at the forward-most zombies, wanting to clog the rest up and get them all tripping over each other. He backpedaled again as Suvorov shot a stray zombie that had snuck up from behind them.

  He turned and scanned the tunnel behind them as he backpedaled. The way to safety appeared clear.

  “Watch my back,” Cutter said as he committed to a quick reconnaissance and sped past a sloping ramp leading to a downward tunnel to his right. He peeked inside. No thanks. It was dark inside, too dark to see. The lights that were strung along the upper right continued at the same level. They bypassed the downward offshoot and continued far into the distance before disappearing around a bend. He didn’t give the side route a second glance. He was not about to go descending into the darkness of an unknown passageway.

  No way. No how.

  He rounded the next corner and skidded to a stop in the dirt. He could hear the colonel still firing single shots from the Glock just behind him, so he ran back to where he had left the man. The colonel turned and bumped into him, knocking them both off balance. Together, they held each other up and stilled. Cutter tilted his head to one side and listened. The earpiece Morgan had given him was amplifying the sounds of approaching footsteps, but he couldn’t tell from which direction they were coming.

  He twisted his head left and right. The colonel did the same. Then he so
rted it out. Ah, Crap. Neither direction inside the tunnel was going to lead to any kind of safety.

  “Blocked,” Cutter said, spitting the word out with a mouthful of disgust. “Both ways.”

  “Where then?” Suvorov asked.

  He grabbed the man by the shirt and dragged him back to the ramp that led down the dark path that he swore he would never take, realizing now that he had no other choice but to take it.

  “I’ll be right on your tail,” he said to the man as he unhooked two flash-bangs grenades from his vest, pulled the pins with opposing fingers.

  He tossed the M84s in opposite directions inside the tunnel. Then he pushed the colonel down into the darkness and slid in after him.

  ~36~

  FIRST OBSTACLE

  John Wayland and his team made it to the bottom of the elevator shaft. As his hired man opened the lift gate for him, he held up the small tablet in his hand and found the odd signal the artifact was giving off. But it was impossible to pinpoint. There was too much interference to get a solid lock on it. Still, he knew generally where it was. He pointed to the largest shaft to the left.

  “That way,” he ordered.

  A few minutes later, they arrived at a scene of utter chaos. Blood was everywhere. Bodies were everywhere. Inanimate creatures lay scattered across the mineshaft floor like so many discarded dolls. Most were missing large chunks of their skulls. Many had literally been cut to shreds by some seriously heavy firepower. He had to give Cutter that. The man traveled with a team that could become a virtual meat-grinder. The big man, Gauge, was most likely going to be difficult to bring down. But not too difficult. A single shot from a small-caliber gun would be enough—if fired into the back of his head.

  As Wayland scanned the area, he saw no indication the zombies had inflicted any damage at all to Cutter and his team. The dead were just men dressed in Russian uniforms.

  “They must have gotten away.” He started making a clucking noise with his tongue.

  The man next to him, Briggs, turned to him. “This is too much bad shit. We didn’t sign up for any of this, sir.”

  “Don’t lose your nerve now,” Wayland said calmly. “You are being paid very well. Extremely well.”

  “I cannot guarantee your safety any longer, sir. Or that of my men. I recommend we abort and return to the surface and wait for them to come to us.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Wayland said, irritated. “No, of course we are not returning to the surface. Not until Mr. Cutter and his team are dead, and I have that bitch’s throat firmly between my fingers. I will—”

  He stopped cold. He’d heard something.

  ~37~

  MORE COMING TO THE PARTY

  A third helicopter landed behind the other two already in the clearing. Dawn was just about to break, and the sky was turning a slightly lighter shade of blue. This third Mi-8 had come in heavy because it was carrying a full complement of highly trained and specialized Russian troops. Most were former Spetsnaz and had turned mercenary after their unit had been disbanded by an uncaring bureaucratic government. While not quite as deadly and well-equipped as US Special Forces, these were the very best troops that money could buy on the open market.

  Anton Moray always paid top dollar for the best people. That was how he had clawed his way to the top of his industry. He could spot value, and he could spot frauds. And he’d pegged John Wayland for the fraud that he was the minute he had laid eyes on the guy. But he was a useful idiot. He knew the man would betray him on this project, which was why he had set his plan in motion two days before Wayland brought in Jackson Cutter and team to retrieve the device. That was why he was here now, and the last one to the party—last, but soon to be the first.

  Everyone else were just pawns. One of them was bound to get lucky and retrieve the device. Anton Moray didn’t need luck. He made his own. There was only one way out, and he simply had to wait long enough for them to return to the surface. Then he could just…take it from them.

  “Establish a perimeter,” he told the battle-hardened major to his right. “I want to know the second one of them returns.”

  Orders were given, and supply crates were unloaded, and guns were readied while he watched—and waited. A chair was brought for him and a bottle of some expensive sparkling water. He twisted the top off and chucked it into the weeds. Then he raised the bottle in toast toward the mine.

  “Let’s wait and see who wins,” he said to no one in particular.

  ~38~

  SACRIFICE

  Cutter spat damp earth from his mouth. It tasted foul. He coughed once, then said, “You okay?” He said it half to reassure himself and half to discover the status of the man he was certain had tumbled down the shaft beside him.

  Colonel Suvorov groaned, proving that he was still alive. Cutter fell into a hacking fit while feeling around for his flashlight. Each cough hurt. It also hurt to move and to think, but as he moved, he ran through a mental checklist of his various bones and limbs and discovered that nothing had apparently broken. Maybe just a rib or two, which made it difficult to breathe, but not impossible to do so. Still, that did not stop the pain that afflicted his entire body. It felt like the very hand of God had attempted to smite him down in a series of blows—and had almost succeeded.

  Suvorov hadn’t answered with anything other than moans of pain by the time Cutter found the switch on his flashlight and clicked it on. He shined it around the cramped space and found the colonel lying nearby. The guy didn’t look so good. A splinter of white bone was protruding from where the man’s kneecap should have been, and his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle with the foot significantly out of alignment with the knee. The colonel winced at the pain and blinked as the beam of light fell on his face. He raised a hand feebly and batted away at the glare, causing dust to swirl in the air in front of him.

  Cutter crawled over to where the colonel was resting in the dirt. He tried to help the man sit up, and it became quickly apparent that a broken leg was the least of the man’s worries. The fall had been much harder on the guy than it had been on Cutter, which had been bad enough.

  Colonel Suvorov raised his left arm and patted his chest pocket. Cutter shined the light there and nodded. He unbuttoned the pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes and grinned at the odd lettering on the cellophane-wrapped pack, then back down at the colonel.

  “Lighter?” Cutter asked. “Don’t have one of my own.”

  The colonel nodded to his pants, and Cutter found a metal lighter there, though he felt a little weird digging around inside another man’s pockets. Leaning back, he tapped out two smokes, lit them both, and set one on the colonel’s lips. The man inhaled and coughed spasmodically. His eyes closed and then opened slowly.

  Cutter backed away and rested his battered body against a rock and tried to get comfortable. It didn’t work out so well. With a twist, he clicked his flashlight to the widest beam setting possible and propped it against the wall, which gave them just enough light to smoke by.

  He looked around for the small pack filled with grenades that Gauge had affixed to his vest, but it was not immediately visible. It had probably been torn off in the fall and not made it to the bottom of the shaft yet. Or maybe those zombies had it. Maybe they would find a use for it. Maybe even blow themselves up. If I could be so lucky. His only wish was that he could have grabbed another clip or two before taking the plunge. He also searched the ground for his helmet, but no dice. It was gone as well. The angry swelling lump he felt growing on the back of his head reminded him that one should buckle one’s helmet first if one should decide to go tumbling down a mineshaft into the darkness.

  He figured he’d just have to forget about all that and focus on his immediate problems. His AR was nearby and had made it to the bottom of the sloped shaft. He dragged it over to him with the heel of his boot. Then he remembered the comm device Morgan had given him. It was in his side pocket, so he reached for it only to find it broken. He tossed the useless thing and gl
anced back at the colonel.

  The glowing tip of the man’s cigarette was dim, and growing ever dimmer. Then, suddenly, Suvorov startled and took a big puff, causing the tip to glow cherry red. Cutter sucked on his own cigarette and sampled the foulness of the Russian cigarette.

  “These things taste like shit,” he said, holding his out at arm’s length and then coughing against his forearm. When he finished his fit, he took another drag and contemplated the real meaning of life once given to him by a one-eyed guy dressed like Jimi Hendrix.

  Life happens until you die, man.

  He didn’t have much more time than that few seconds of contemplation because he was already beginning to hear the small avalanches of rocks coming from the shaft they’d both tumbled down. It was only a matter of time before one of those zombies dared to make the descent. Perhaps one had even started down it already. Maybe it got stuck. Wouldn’t that be something? Or, maybe they were proving smarter than he was by not taking the heedless plunge. He drew another breath and chuckled to himself grimly. He figured he was well enough to get the hell out of there on his own, but it was going to be doubly hard doing so while also supporting Colonel Suvorov.

  Suck it up, buttercup, he remembered Morgan telling him. She was right. He would just have to find a way out and stop worrying about it. Worrying got him nowhere fast.

  As he turned back Suvorov, he recognized the grim look on the man’s face. The man was dying. It was only a matter of time. Maybe a minute, maybe two. Maybe ten. But he was going to slip the mortal coil.

  Soon.

  Cutter stabbed out his cigarette. “Time we get the hell out of here, you old Russian bastard. I’ll race you to the top.”

  The colonel started to laugh, but it turned into a coughing and choking fit, and during it, he lost the cigarette dangling from his lips. It rolled away, and the tip sparked and broke off and then went black.