Dead Team Alpha: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Jake Bible

  “Dismissed, TL,” Commander Lee says. She waits for him to leave the Gym then turns to her niece, some of the Commander slipping away and the aunt taking over. “I ran into Juney Belle Lindeloff as the crowd was leaving.”

  “Oh,” Val says. “Great. Yeah, like I said, Dad’s sipping away everything we own.”

  “It’s not that,” Commander Lee says. “Although that is the root. Juney Belle says he went after Harmon with a knife. Cut him deep.”

  “Oh, shit!” Val cries.

  “He’ll be fine, just going to need some wound maintenance for at least two weeks,” Commander Lee says. “It needs to be irrigated and cleaned twice a day. Which puts Juney Belle out of work for those two weeks. That means they won’t get food rations at all without one of them working.”

  “Give them my pay,” Val says. “It will at least keep it away from Dad.”

  “That’s the other part,” Commander Lee says. “My brother is in the jail right now sleeping it off, of course. While your pay may help, it won’t cover everything they need. Your father will need to get a job to make up the difference until Harmon can work again. Want me to go with you after we swing by the hospital to help break the news to him?”

  “No, thanks,” Val says. “I can see you’re enjoying the idea of Dad working just a little too much. You’ll just piss him off more.” She sees the look of incredulity on her aunt’s face. “Don’t even try to pretend. You two can barely breathe the same air without fighting.”

  “True,” Commander Lee admits. “Let’s go see my pride and joy and then you can tend to yours.”

  Val lets the slight against Stanford go. She doesn’t need to get on her aunt’s bad side; she already has enough family drama to deal with.

  Chapter Three- Mission Plausible

  Pre-Z, Boulder, Colorado was a vibrant university town built in the lower slopes of the Rocky Mountains. Due to the classic grid structure prevalent in western American urban planning, as well as the natural terrain, Boulder lent itself to fortification better than the majority of American cities and towns that tried to hold off the zombie hordes and herds that rampaged across the land.

  The first set of fences and barricades were set all along the western edge of the city up to 28th Street, over and down the Foothills Parkway, and then down to Baseline Drive. Due to the proximity of the University of Colorado to Baseline Drive, it was the main staging ground for all of the major battles between the living and the undead.

  It took years, and many lives lost, to perfect, but now the Baseline Drive gate is the first sign of true security refugees see once they have been liberated from the wasteland of Denver below and brought to the Stronghold. A massive fifty foot wall of concrete and steel stretches along Baseline, up Broadway Street to Canyon Boulevard, over to 28th Street and then down back to Baseline. This area houses all essential structures including the hospital, Team barracks and command center, administrative hall, commissary and various small businesses. The majority of citizens live within the walls in either houses or the many refurbished condo and apartment complexes.

  The rest of the residents that lie outside the wall still utilize the security of the original perimeter, but with many modifications and redundancies along almost every block. The people that choose to live outside the wall do so for reasons that are their own, but with the understanding that they are entrusted to be the first alerts if the perimeter falls to an attacking horde.

  Or to other unsavory forces.

  In the zombie apocalypse it’s not just the undead that will kill you.

  The people, man. The people…

  Cannibals, cults, crazies. The three Cs of the apocalypse.

  Bands of marauders, gangs of killers, legions of nutjobs. They all came at the Stronghold to take what they could, destroy what they couldn’t, and kill everyone in their path. It took every single man, woman and child to fight them off in the first few years. Good people were lost, bad people were killed, too many people were left without hope.

  Until the Great El came along with her family and what was left of a doomed convoy. They had escaped a hell in the mountains of North Carolina, fighting every mile along the way, until they limped into the Stronghold.

  And it all changed.

  From a town of survivors just trying to stay alive a few months more, came a culture built on military training and precision. The Great El showed the inhabitants of the Stronghold how to become soldiers, how to become warriors, how to become killers. With her people, she made the Stronghold something that the three Cs truly came to fear. And with the help of her wards, who would come to be known as the legends Granny G and Charlie Big Thinks, the wall was built.

  And just in time, for the herds and herds of Zs from the East Coast had decided to take a walk west. Within weeks of the wall’s completion, the first wave hit Denver below turning the dead city from dangerous to a shark infested sea of undeath.

  The Teams were born, the Sectors created, the protocols put into place. Denver was divided into areas where Teams patrolled and searched for survivors that had made it across the Plains to the foot of the Rocky Mountains. Way stations and safety points were set up throughout the dead city with Runners and sentries left to light the signal pyres. Any refugees that wanted to be rescued and taken up into the Stronghold need but ask.

  The reality is, though, that only ten percent of those that need help get it. The rest die before they find a way station, before a signal pyre can be lit, before a Team can get to them. Denver is truly a dead city, overrun by Zs in numbers that boggle the mind and freeze the spirit. No one knows why the numbers keep multiplying as the Zs march west. Theories abound that they are being drawn by something, or some primal migratory instinct has cut in. Whatever the reason, the military culture of the Stronghold is all that keeps the living from joining the ranks of the undead.

  And that culture is what Commander Lee and Val talk about as they walk their way to the hospital to check on Stanford and the others injured during the Trials. They walk shoulder to shoulder, having always been close as aunt and niece just like many mothers and daughters, their eyes subconsciously scanning the surroundings and faces of friends and acquaintances for unseen threats. They chat easily, seamlessly, but neither can let go of their training and fully relax.

  Their banter is light, then serious, then back to light, then jovial, and back to serious, right up until they walk through the front doors of the hospital.

  Stronghold Hospital is the only building in the sanctuary that has electric power. As the Great El was known to say, “People need electricity to stay alive, not to live.” Like many of the Great El’s sayings, there was a fine line between contradiction and brilliance. Val gives a cursory glance at the wind turbines that ring the building and stand out on top, before she and her aunt walk inside and are greeted by the facility coordinator, Dr. Hamish Terlington.

  “Why do you waste the greatest resource you have?” Hamish snaps as soon as he sees Commander Lee. “Can’t you devise some way of testing your best without breaking them?”

  “If they break inside the wall how long will they last outside?” Commander Lee responds.

  “It doesn’t matter if they don’t get a chance!” Hamish snaps. “I sometimes think you enjoy torturing your men and women.”

  “We all have our kinks, right?” Val adds, trying to defuse the tension. “Hey, guess what, Ham?”

  “Yes, yes, you made it onto the Dead Team, congratulations,” Hamish says. “And don’t call me Ham when I’m at work. I hate that, Val. Call me Hamish or Dr. Terlington.”

  “How about I just call you later?” Val smiles.

  Hamish turns bright red and purses his lips. “You…I…yeah. I’m off at 1900.”

  “And you have to be at the barracks by 1700,” Commander Lee says to Val. “Dr. Terlington will have to take a rain check on that call.”

  A man of average height and size, Hamish Terlington is bookish in every way: mousy brown hair, glasses, and a look
behind those specs as if he wants to run at any second. Not exactly what most Team Mates would call desirable, but for Val he’s just right. Ever since grade school, she has kept close to Hamish, always defending him, always there for him no matter what was going on in her life. He was the rock to her cousin Stanford’s roll.

  And, something that would surprise many of the women in the Stronghold, Hamish is a top notch lover. His knowledge of human anatomy is certainly a plus.

  “Sorry about tonight,” Val says and leans in for a quick kiss. “Duty calls.”

  “This is cute,” Commander Lee says. “And only slightly nauseating, but I’d like to see my son, please.”

  “Yes, of course,” Hamish nods, giving Val a quick, embarrassed smile.

  They make their way down a couple hallways, passing families in for their monthly, and mandatory, health checks. Disease spreads quickly in a small community. Outside each occupied room, there is a stationary bicycle with a volunteer pedaling, generating power to battery banks stored within the room, ready in case the main power glitches. Which happens with increased frequency. Glitches are a part of the apocalypse.

  As the Great El would say, “If there isn’t a glitch, then you aren’t trying hard enough.” Again, plenty of contradictions with that one.

  “Here you go,” Hamish says as he shows the women into a room where a bandaged Stanford is busy arguing with a nurse. “Seriously, Ford?”

  “I’b fime,” Stanford says around the bandages that have pretty much replaced his face. “Nubbing a goob nab wome figs.”

  “Looking good, cuz,” Val grins. “We should go find Cole so you two can compare loser hickeys.”

  “Cole didid mag id?” Stanford asks.

  “Nope,” Val says, shaking her head. “But I did.”

  “Wite on, cuz!” Stanford nearly shouts, then closes his eyes as his face is wracked with pain. “Ow. Dat hurd.”

  “How soon before he can get back out into the field, doctor?” Commander Lee asks.

  “A week,” Hamish says then sees the look on the commander’s face. “Five days? Four?” Hamish’s body language says he wants nothing to do but crawl under Stanford’s bed and hide. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” Commander Lee nods. “TL Wright will be ready to hand over the reins then.”

  “Uh…whad?” Stanford asks, swatting at the nurse’s hands as she tries to finish affixing one last piece of tape to his forehead. “Nog id ovv!”

  “I have promoted Coleman Wright to Team Leader of DTB One and you are taking over his position as Team Leader for DTB Two,” Commander Lee says. “That’s why I came. I wanted you to hear it from me first instead of through the grapevine.”

  Stanford just stares.

  “Finally at a loss for words?” Commander Lee says. “I should have promoted you sooner.”

  “I’b being pwumoded?” Stanford asks. “Why?”

  “Because, despite your sarcastic facade, you have earned it,” Commander Lee says. “And you are the most experienced Mate available.”

  “And I thawd id was becuz you wuvved me,” Stanford says.

  “Now you’re just exaggerating that voice,” Commander Lee says. “You will rest and do as Hamish asks so you are ready for duty tomorrow. 0400. Be there.” She nods at Hamish, smiles at Val, and then gives Stanford a look between reproach and tolerance. “Good day to you.”

  Val gives her a quick salute and holds it until the woman has left the room.

  “Well, that was fun,” Stanford says. “Nothing like motherly love to speed up the healing process.”

  “So you can talk,” Val smirks. “Thank God. I was gonna smack you around if you kept up that fool voice for long.”

  “No smacking,” Hamish scolds. “No slapping, no wrestling, no kicking, not tripping, no nothing. You let him heal, Valencia Stella Baptiste.”

  “Oh, damn, girl!” Stanford laughs. ‘”You got the full name scolding!”

  “He only scolds when he wants a spanking later,” Val says and reaches out and pinches Hamish’s ass. The nurse, completely forgotten, hurries from the room as she tries to hide a giggle.

  “Dammit, Val!” Hamish snaps. “I have to maintain a professional appearance here! I wouldn’t go to your place of work and embarrass you, would I?”

  “Uh, yeah, you would,” Val says, “because you’d last all of two seconds in my place of work.”

  “Well, technically, yes, probably,” Hamish admits. “But that’s not the point!”

  “The point is our girl has made DTA. And I’m now a snooty patootey TL,” Stanford says, getting up and putting an arm around Val and Hamish’s shoulders. “And that calls for some celebration.”

  “I have to work,” Hamish says.

  “And I have to bail Dad out of jail,” Val says.

  “And I have to wait for my face to stop hurting,” Stanford says. “But fuck it, am I right? Beers at The Barrel? Yes?”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  “Well, fuck you two then,” Stanford says. “I’ll just go drink alone and try not to get into trouble.”

  Hamish gives Val a pleading look.

  “Fine, fine, I’ll go with,” Val says, holding up her hand before Stanford can talk. “But you are coming to the jail with me first, Ford. And, we keep it to a couple of beers, and then we’re done so you can rest your face and I can get some sleep before I start my new gig in the morning.”

  “Oh, I doubt you’ll be sleeping much,” Stanford grins. “I bet you two have a little celebrating of the sweaty kind to do. Eh, eh?”

  “1700 call at the barracks,” Val frowns.

  “Of course,” Stanford says. “If I didn’t have all these bandages on you’d see the how sad I am for you face.”

  “I can hear it in your voice, smart ass,” Val says. “Let’s go and get this over with.”

  “No trouble!” Hamish yells after them as they leave the room. “I mean it! Guys? Guys!”

  ***

  A clump of mud is stuck to the toe of Sheriff Ward Marsh’s cowboy boot and he’s busy picking at it with a pencil when Val and Stanford walk the Sheriff’s Office. A big smile lights his face as he sees the two.

  “Well, if this isn’t now my favorite day,” Marsh says. “The sweet Val and Frankenstein’s monster.”

  “His name was Adam,” Stanford says. “Read a book, dillhole.”

  “I have, fuckface,” Marsh replies as he stands up and grabs a set of keys from out of his desk drawer. “That’s why I called you Frankenstein’s monster and not Frankenstein. Whatever the fuck his name is, you’re just as ugly.”

  “Is he awake?” Val asks.

  “Your dad?” Marsh replies. “Yeah, he’s awake. Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

  “Ah, just give us the keys,” Stanford says. “We know the way.”

  “I wouldn’t give you my keys even if it meant saving my life,” Marsh says.

  “What, don’t trust me? What if I told you I’m now the TL for one of the elite Teams in the Stronghold?” Stanford says. “Thousands of lives are in my hands.”

  “Elite? You’re TL for DTB Two,” Marsh says. “Not exactly elite.” He smiles and nods at Val. “And congratulations to you. You’ll kick ass with DTA, which is an elite Team.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff,” Val says. “Hard to be excited when I have to deal with shit like this.”

  “Hey!” Stanford says. Val frowns at him. “Oh, you meant your dad, sorry.”

  “Come on,” Marsh sighs. “Let’s go see the old fucker.”

  Bone thin with shoulders almost as wide as he is tall, Sheriff Marsh looks to many like a scarecrow that’s lost its stuffing, right down to the worn jeans and patched work shirts he wears. He twirls the key ring on one of his long fingers and whistles a random tune as he leads Val and Stanford back to the holding cells. A town, built on military systems and discipline, the holding cells rarely have anyone in them, leaving plenty of space for the few repeat offenders like Collin Baptiste.


  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ward!” Val snaps. “Why the hell is he naked? Couldn’t you give him a jumpsuit or something?”

  “I did,” Marsh says as he unlocks the holding cell and steps to the side. “He pissed in it. Didn’t feel he derived a second chance.”

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Collin growls. “I don’t need you here.”

  “Good to see you too, Dad,” Val says. “Get up. We’re taking you home.”

  “Don’t wanna go,” Collin says, folding his arms across his chest. “I like it right here.”

  “You’re going home to get showered and dressed,” Val states. “That way, you’ll be presentable when we try to find you a job.”

  “A what?” Collin asks.

  “A what?” Marsh echoes.

  “A what?” Stanford adds, not wanting to be left out.

  “A job,” Val says. “Doesn’t matter what it is. Probably only thing I can find you is working the septic crew, but at least that’ll get the ration tickets Juney Belle and Harmon will need.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, girl,” Collin chuckles. “I ain’t workin’ no fucking shitter job. And what’s this about Juney Belle? That cunt can go fuck herself.”

  The space between Val and her father disappears in a blink. She’s in his face, her eyes boring into his, her finger jammed against his chest.

  “Ow, Val, stop it,” Collin says, sounding more like a wounded kid than a father.

  “Does that hurt?” Val asks as she jabs him again. “Good. Think of it as a taste of what’s possible. You will get a job, you will hand over your ration tickets to Juney Belle, and you will stay off the hooch. Or I will fuck you up so bad that Hamish has to hook you to a tube and bag so you can piss. You understand me, old man?”

  Plenty of responses cross Collin’s mind, but for once, he does the smart thing and just nods. Anyone else and he would have laughed, but the look in his daughter’s eyes is too much to fight. His late wife would get the same look, and despite the rage fueling that look, he can’t help but miss it.

  “Ward? Can we get another jumpsuit, please?” Val asks without taking her eyes from her father. “I’ll make sure it’s washed and brought back tomorrow morning. Won’t I, Dad?”