Zombie Team Alpha

by Yeager, Steve R.

  “You go,” Colonel Suvorov said. “I’ll stay here and keep them company.”

  “No, we are both getting out of here. No one gets left behind, right?”

  “Bah! You Americans and your slogans. Go on. Get going. I will catch up with you.”

  Cutter watched as the colonel struggled to draw his sidearm and set it in his lap. He went over to the man and picked up the gun and checked it. “Now, come on. Put that thing away and let’s get going.”

  Suvorov stifled a laugh and grimaced. Nodding, Cutter continued to inspect the man’s weapon. There was only a single round remaining. He made sure that round was loaded and handed the gun back to Suvorov.

  “I will save it,” the old soldier said. “I will not become one of those things.”

  Cutter took the man’s cigarettes and tapped out another. It was the last one in the pack. He crumpled the pack and tossed it aside. More rocks came tumbling down the sloped shaft.

  “Take this,” Suvorov said. He held out Cutter’s Glock, which he must have fallen on. “I have what I need. I want a Russian bullet and die on Russian soil.”

  Cutter then heard the sound of something else falling. Acting on instinct, he bent forward and yanked Colonel Suvorov out of the way. One of the zombies came tumbling down the sloped tunnel and fell into the room.

  Letting go of Suvorov, Cutter fumbled for the Glock, but the colonel acted faster. The man raised his own weapon and fired. The zombie’s head exploded, and it went limp.

  As the sound cleared, Cutter spotted something the zombie had knocked loose—his small pack. He snatched it up over his shoulder and backed away as he shared a grim look with Suvorov.

  More zombies were coming. The noise of falling stones was getting louder. Cutter swapped a fresh clip into his Glock and tried again to pick up the colonel.

  “Go,” the man said, shaking his head. “I do not need the bullet. Those boys became men today. They were too young to die for this. I am old. It is my time. I will be gone long before they get here.”

  Cutter dragged the colonel away from the bottom of the shaft. The man was bulky and every inch he dragged him was excruciatingly painful. But he got him far enough away that he wouldn’t have one of those creatures land on top of him if it came tumbling down the shaft.

  Nodding as Suvorov settled against a rock, Cutter adjusted his flashlight and clipped it to his vest so it would light the entire space in front of him. Then he checked the M203 bolted to his AR and felt the weight of a single remaining HEDP round still in the chamber. If he fired it close enough to the support beam at the bottom of the shaft they had tumbled down, he could bring that section of the tunnel down on top of them both. And if he didn’t fire it, the zombies would certainly overrun them.

  It mattered little. God was in no mood to spare the rod this time. Cutter was ready to go if fate had it in for him. Gauge and Morgan were probably dead already too, and it was all his fault. There was no way they could have gotten through such a large horde of those things. And where could they have run to? They’d been cut off, most likely. And he had been the one that had gotten them killed—just as he’d gone and gotten his wife killed a year earlier.

  If I go right now, it won’t be so bad.

  He heard another noise, and a split second later, a group of zombies made it to the bottom of the shaft, slipping and sliding. They had tumbled into one another but were already regaining their feet. It wouldn’t take them long to mount an assault.

  Cutter gave one last look of respect to the colonel. The man took a puff on his cigarette and raised an arm in salute, touching fingers to forehead. Cutter nodded and backed away as far as he could then squeezed the trigger on the M203. The business end of the tube whooshed as the modified forty-millimeter HEDP round left the barrel.

  ~39~

  FOUND HER

  Somehow, Cutter found himself hovering high above the ocean and watching the waves moving lazily across the water. It was just giant gray ocean as far as the eye could see. The occasional cloud passed him by, obscuring his view, but it was unmistakably the ocean.

  Flying? Am I dead?

  Then he blinked and realized the flashlight on his vest was illuminating the ceiling of the cave, and the water was simply the facets on the rocks, and the dust hanging thick in the air were the clouds floating above him.

  Groaning, he pushed himself over and stumbled to his feet. The dust lay heavy in the mineshaft. He coughed again and fell against the wall for support. As lucidity returned, he checked the way he thought he wanted to go, and could barely see squat in the tunnel ahead, but the way behind him was covered by an unmistakable cave in, so there wasn’t much choice. None of the zombies had made it through, which was good, but Colonel Suvorov had not made it either, which was bad. It would have been a miracle if the man had made it.

  Cutter brushed himself off, and stumbled forward, flashlight illuminating the way ahead, cutting a beam through the settling dust. He had no idea where he was going, but he was going somewhere, and that’s what counted. As he walked, he dug through the small pack and found another full drum magazine for the AR and a couple of flash bangs. Damn. Not much. Have to do. Travel light, my ass.

  He paused to swap in a fresh clip and trudged forward, seeing a light in the distance. How long he followed the mineshaft, he did not know, but soon he came to a T-junction with a much larger shaft. Inside were electrical cables and pipes as big around as his waist. He could hear a whispering from the pipes as if something was flowing through them. Air? Water? He couldn’t be sure. Connected to the pipes was a long string of lights, so he clicked off his flashlight and rechecked his supplies. He found an energy bar and half-consumed bottle of water.

  He snacked on the energy bar while working out which direction he was going to take. One direction led up, while the other seemed to descend further into the earth’s crust. Normally, his inclination would be to go left, but in this case, he overrode his first thought and decided to go to the right. But first he paused to listen, and the earbuds still in his ears picked up distant echoes, but no signs of immediate threats.

  He swallowed the last of his energy bar and chugged his water and tossed the bottle and wrapper. After brushing his hands on his torn and filthy shirt sleeves, he set off.

  Eventually, he reached an opening in the expanse that led to another junction. This one led three directions. There were vehicles parked against one wall along with various mining equipment. He stopped to examine the ground at the junction, searching for what he hoped was the path most traveled. He found it, and that path seemed to be leading to the new tunnel to his right. But he saw something else he didn’t expect. In the mix of prints, he recognized the relatively small bootprints left by Dr. Martinez. They went into the tunnel immediately in front of him. There were other prints following them that obscured all but a few, and most of those prints were scuffed and from a dragging gait, which told him the zombies had been chasing Dr. Martinez. Perhaps they had even caught her. He gave the potential way out one last glance, shook his head, and followed the bootprints of Dr. Martinez.

  It didn’t take long to locate her.

  As he rounded a corner, he heard the zombies. They were still a long way off, but what he heard was the unmistakable sound of them moaning and sighing with whatever attempted vocalizations they could use.

  Certainly aren’t a quiet bunch.

  And when he found them, they were facing away from him and pawing at a metal door on what looked to be a large cargo container, only beefier. When he got close, one of the creatures turned its neck in his direction. Cutter put a finger to his lips and made a shushing noise, as if that would help.

  Then another turned.

  And another.

  One broke free and charged, which caused them all to take notice of him and move away from the container while jostling their neighbors in order to be the first to reach him.

  Instinctively, Cutter raised his AR and clicked on the laser. Nothing. He slapped the side of t
he gun and the green beam still did not come on. Shit. Old fashion way, I guess. He braced and fired, aiming instinctively and loosing a burst of lead at the oncoming zombies with his damaged assault rifle. He settled into the barrage and let the gun do its work while handling the mild recoil and letting the small blowback walk the assault rifle onto the next target, all while moving sideways to avoid hitting the metal container from which they came. He had no idea how thick or thin it was and if the bullets would penetrate it. Some of the zombies still wore their mining helmets, and the armor-piercing bullets went through those metal helmets like they were no more than baseball caps.

  Tragically, every one of the zombies he killed was not a victory, but a defeat. They were once men. Many of them were probably good men, and he was already growing tired of killing them, but he had to keep killing them, or they would kill him. And in a matter of a few brief seconds, he had lured them all away from the large container, corralled them with their own dead, and cleared a space in front of the metal door, which was good because he had just begun to feel the weight of his gun growing a bit too light as it was running near to the end of the large capacity magazine. He took a quick glance down just to be sure. He was right.

  No more buwwets, he thought in the voice of Elmer Fudd. Somehow, the humor struck him as funny, and he started laughing at his own stupid joke as he drew his Glock and kept up the firefight.

  Stilled zombies continued to pile up on the mineshaft floor, raising puffs of chalky dust as they toppled over. He watched them fall, wondering if they were actually dead. Were they undead before and dead now? What the hell does it mean either way? Killing them was becoming too easy. His shots had not been precise. They’d been completely indiscriminate in the death they’d dealt out, and he’d cut some of those dead or undead to pieces more than simply going for head shots on each.

  “You’re slipping, Jack,” he said.

  Shaking his head to clear it, he stopped when he spotted a brief break in the slaughter. The creatures still active were tangled up in the bodies of the unmoving, so he used the brief window of time to rush the metal door and pound on it.

  “Hey! Open up!”

  Stopping, he rested his ear against the steel door to listen for a response.

  Nothing.

  “Hey!” he shouted and pounded once more, then backed away and checked over his shoulder to see how close the creatures were getting.

  Two of the stuck zombies had freed themselves and were coming right at him. His earbuds also picked up a new noise. Footsteps. Lots of footsteps. Like a whole holy herd of stomping feet far off in the distance. Running. He glanced at the door, searching for a way to open it from the outside. There was a wheel. He grabbed it and twisted, but it didn’t budge.

  The sounds were growing louder by the second. He raised his Glock and fired off two more quick rounds, this time dropping the two approaching zombies with brain busters placed precisely where he had wanted them to go.

  That would buy him a couple of seconds.

  But with the sounds of all those approaching footsteps, he quickly realized that it was time to get the hell out of there. But, unfortunately, the container appeared to have been placed at the end of the shaft, so the only path left to him would take him back through the horde of zombies he could hear coming. There was no way he had enough ammunition left in his Glock to make a dent, much less clear a pathway to freedom. And the idea of going for his knife and stabbing them just seemed suicidal.

  “Fine mess you got yourself into this time,” he said.

  Then the door behind him squeaked open.

  For a second time, Dr. Martinez was behind the door at his back, but this time around, she said nothing. Still, Jackson Cutter got the message loud and clear. You owe me big time.

  Letting out a sigh, he jogged back to the door and ducked through it. Dr. Martinez shut the door behind him and spun a small wheel that was set where the doorknob would normally be.

  The place was well lit on the inside, with lights running the length of the space along the ceiling. It was an isolation chamber of some kind that reminded him of a deep sea depressurization chamber. There were no exits other than the door he’d just come through. The walls were thick as the place had to serve as a survival chamber in case of a mine collapse.

  A few seconds later, the pounding on the door resumed. The zombies were knocking, and he was not about to answer their solicitations.

  “Some rescue,” Dr. Martinez said coldly. Oddly, Cutter got the reference. He flashed her a wry grin, and his respect for her grew two-fold.

  “Here we go again,” he said as he rested his AR against the wall and massaged his injured shoulder and tried to rub away the pain coming from the growing bump on his head.

  ~40~

  PRIVATE MOMENT

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Cutter said as he examined the white-painted steel walls of the structure, figuring if it could hold off the weight of the mountain, it could prevent a few zombies from breaking in, even as strong as they were.

  Dr. Martinez said nothing. She returned to a pack she had rested on a bench seat and rummaged through it.

  As Cutter examined the far end of the space, he found various controls and dials and knobs that looked as if they controlled oxygen and nitrogen mixes. The writing was all different, but he recognized the usage. That meant there had to be a self-contained supply of oxygen available somewhere, and as he thought back on it, he recalled the various tanks bolted to the sides of the structure. Probably enough for days? Must be. That meant—

  He turned to Dr. Martinez and asked, “How did you find this place?”

  She was still rummaging through the pack she had set by the wall. She pulled out a tablet computer and switched it on and showed him a picture of the same chamber from the outside taken by a camera. The image was washed out with noise and overexposed, but it appeared to be the same chamber.

  “The artifact was placed in here?” Cutter guessed.

  She nodded.

  “That’s why you came here directly, isn’t it?”

  She said nothing.

  “Where is it?”

  “It wasn’t here.”

  “What?”

  She glanced away. “I think I know where it is, though.”

  “Where?”

  “Not here.”

  Cutter stroked his jaw. “Why didn’t you wait for us? Why did you try this alone?”

  She did not reply, but went to her pack and sat down next to it and rested her back against the wall. She adjusted her glasses.

  He sighed, disappointed. She wants it for herself. He recognized the greed, all green and slimy. “Were you just going to leave us behind once you had it?”

  “You could have gotten out anytime if you had wanted to. You had weapons. You could have left. I thought that was what you planned to do after I left you behind. But getting out of here didn’t coincide with my plans.”

  “True enough,” he admitted. He had been ready to run for the hills.

  “Why did you come after me? Why didn’t you leave behind when you could have? I don’t matter. Only the money matters to you.”

  “Why wouldn’t I come after you?”

  She appeared stunned. Then she shook her head. “No one would. No one ever has before.”

  Cutter watched her for a moment. He sucked air through his teeth. She seemed sincere, but she kept turning her head away from him, so he couldn’t be sure. She reached up to wipe under one of her eyes.

  “I guess we are stuck here now.” She turned to face him, confirming that she had been on the verge of tears.

  “We don’t have much choice. We wait to be rescued. They are bound to send someone after us. I trust my people.” Though, he was not entirely sure of his statement. All he had was hope. But even if Gauge and Morgan did not make it out alive, someone would obviously be sent. And he figured if he searched hard enough, there had to be emergency rations to survive on. Perhaps even enough for a full crew to last a week or t
wo. That would give them a few months’ worth of supplies if it came down to it.

  She lifted her legs onto the bench and folded her face into her knees. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, he thought as he admired the sheen of her mahogany-brown hair. Even the bits of dust and debris that had landed there did not damage her beauty. He’d always been a man who loved the imperfections in the people he kept close. Sharon had had those tiny freckles around her eyes and nose. She tried to hide them, but he appreciated them, just as he appreciated everything about her.

  Damn, I miss her.

  Something about the new vulnerability that she was displaying was getting to him and hitting him with feelings he’d been missing for so long. All he wanted to do was comfort her and forgive her for what she had done. Where is this coming from? Suddenly, he wanted to make her feel better. It was an odd sensation. He hadn’t felt that way since his wife had died. He wanted the feeling to stop. It was wrong.

  But the feeling wouldn’t stop.

  Even though he ached all over, he sucked it all up and came and sat down next to Dr. Martinez and rested his hands on his knees. She leaned closer to him. The pounding on the door continued, which was amplified by the earbuds still in his ears. He pulled them out and buttoned them in his pocket. When he settled back against the wall, she snuggled up closer to him, and he wrapped his arm around her.

  He was a mess, busted ribs—maybe—covered in dirt and dust and stink—definitely—but all he could smell was the sweet scent of her hair, which smelled good to him despite the day and a half of fear and zombies and all the other bad shit he had been through.

  And then, somehow they were kissing, and all pain was quickly forgotten. Soon her fingers were running up and down his chest, probing and unbuttoning his vest, then his crusty shirt. He let it happen and kissed her back, harder, and also worked to unbutton her shirt and slide his hand inside and caress her there. Her breasts were firm, but they yielded to his touch, and he could sense her arousal.