Dead Team Alpha: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Jake Bible

  “Truss her up,” TL Lafferty orders Bobby. “Tight. No room for error.”

  “Does the boy have to be tied?” Hawks asks. “He’s just a kid.”

  “You saw how fast he is,” Junior says. “I’d feel a lot better if he couldn’t fuck me up while I’m carrying his ass through the night.”

  Val slips the woman’s shirt back on and Bobby flips her, ties her hands behind her back, brings the cord down and secures her ankles. Clank gives him a nod as he squats and lifts the woman up and across his shoulders.

  “Want your carbine?” Duster asks.

  “Nah,” Clank replies. “Just adds weight and will slow me down. I got my 9 if shit gets real.”

  “Hawks, you’re with them on point,” TL Lafferty says. “The boy listens to you. That may help when the woman wakes up.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hawks replies, strapping down her kit.

  “Sector Fifty-one,” TL Lafferty says to Carlyle as he finishes double checking the laces of his shoes, tucking them down inside. “You tell TL Lee he’s to send half his Team with these two back to the Stronghold. The rest of you head back our way. Understood?”

  “Got it, boss,” Carlyle says as he stands and twists his body, then jumps up and down a couple of times. “Any specific location?”

  “Saint Anthony North Hospital,” TL Lafferty replies. “They’re pulling copper, so they’ll argue. Tell them to fuck the copper and get the packages home, ASAP.”

  “Done and done,” Carlyle says and takes off out of the room and down the stairs.

  “You three stop for nothing,” TL Lafferty says. “You run into Zs you figure out a way around them. Do not engage the undead, got it? Kill those that actively attack only. You hump it as fast as your asses can and you get to DTB Two. Once up the mountain, these two go straight to Commander Lee. No one else. I don’t give two lousy fucks if God Himself gets in the way. Tell Ford, Commander Lee only. She sees their backs and she’ll understand.”

  “Their backs?” Hawks asks.

  TL Lafferty walks over to Junior and the boy and lifts the kid’s shirt. The Team gasps at the marks on his back that look similar to the ones on the woman.

  “What the fuck are those about?” Alastair asks.

  “None of your concern right now,” TL Lafferty says. “Need to know only. Right now, we have some company to greet. Pack full kits in case we don’t come back. We are off book and it’s time to go into crisis mode.”

  They all nod at her then look out the window at the pyres lighting up the Denver sky.

  “Baptiste?”

  “Yes, sir?” Val asks, turning her attention from the nightscape to her TL.

  “Get up top and bring our new Runner down,” TL Lafferty says. “With Carlyle gone, we need someone to stay and man the Bell Tower. If we get separated, this is home base.” She turns to the rest of the Team. “Got that? You get separated from the Team and you hoof it here. No heroics, no one person army. You lose us or we lose you and your job is to get to the Bell Tower. I’m not liking the variables being presented tonight. Safety first. Every person counts.”

  “Yes, sir,” they say. “Every person counts.”

  Val climbs the ladder up to the belfry and shoves a trap door aside. As she climbs up into the night air, the smell of smoke grows stronger and stronger with each gust of wind. She sees a shape off to the side of one of the openings in the red brick.

  “Hey, you,” Val says. “You’re needed down inside. Looks like the Bell Tower is yours for now. No more pyre gazing, okay?”

  “No need to order me around,” the Runner says as he moves away from the edge and approaches Val, his face still in the shadows. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Me? Yep, it’s me,” Val says. “And who are you, Runner?”

  “Benji,” the Runner says as he moves closer and the light from the trap door catches his face. “We met yesterday.”

  “Shit,” Val says. “Sorry, didn’t recognize you in the dark.”

  “Whatever,” Benji says as he pushes past and descends the ladder. “Well, are you coming too? Pretty sure you have some gun stuff to do, Mate.”

  Val shakes her head. “Pissy bitch is right. No wonder Ford picked him up.”

  “I picked him up!” Benji shouts from below. “And don’t’ talk to yourself about other people! It’s rude!”

  ***

  DTA moves silently through the night, ducking from cover point to cover point, their eyes searching the shadows and gloom for Zs while also keeping their attention on the many pyres that light up the night sky. The flames are currently bright orange, but each station has chemicals at hand that can change the color according to the message that needs to be sent. The current color tells DTA that the company at the city limits just wants to talk.

  TL Lafferty hasn’t made it this far believing what the flames tell her. All the color means is that the first pyre is bright orange. If those manning the Sector One station are unable to change the color then no one will know. It’s a flaw in the system, but that’s why there are the Teams.

  And why DTB One was sent to Sector One. TL Lafferty hopes that the color holds true and DTB One has everything under control.

  Carbines to their shoulders, the Team moves as one unit, every other Mate covering a different direction. Diaz has point, his eyes up front. Bobby is next covering eleven o’clock, while Tiny D is third and covering two o’clock. Duster follows Tiny D and has the nine while Alastair is behind him and has the three. TL Lafferty and Val bring up the six, their eyes and weapons swinging back and forth in a constant semi-circular motion, back and forth, back and forth, making sure nothing catches them off guard.

  Two suppressor coughs up front and all eyes turn to see a Z drop that came lunging from a burnt out doorway. Diaz holds up a fist and the Team stops, their senses pushed to the limits. There’s a silent count to five and then Diaz points forward. The Team continues their hurried progress through the dark city.

  When passing each station, TL Lafferty looks up to make sure they are acknowledged. Far above them, whether from rooftops, church steeples, or old water towers, Runners or sentries give the sign that everything is A-Okay and the Team can move on. Each Mate runs through the possible scenarios in their mind about what they’ll find when they reach the final station and the Sector One pyre that set everything off.

  Close to three hours of constant moving with barely a Z attack worries the Team almost as much as what lies ahead. Not that they don’t encounter plenty of Zs, just no groups. A straggler here, a straggler there. Even the most hardened in the elite team are spooked by the lack of zombies impeding their progress. It’s Denver, for fuck’s sake, there should be Hell on each block.

  Diaz lets out a low whistle and the Team pulls up behind him, all eyes on the Sector One station and the burning pyre on top. The Sector One station occupies a large interchange and overpass where former Interstate 25 and Highway 470 meet. The on and off ramps are fortified, and bridges, walkways, and rope ladders connect the different looping lanes of suspended asphalt.

  The Team should see armed sentries patrolling the station, but they don’t. Not good. TL Lafferty takes point and leads them across the open space between the Park Meadows Shopping Center where they came in and to the first onramp that leads up to the Sector One station post.

  None of them miss the splashes of blood that coat the steel gate that protects the ramp from Zs. Diaz opens the gate with one hand, while keeping his M-4 up. Bobby and Tiny D rush past Diaz, their carbines sweeping back and forth, as they check the ramp for hostiles. The bodies of the sentries that were on duty lay crumpled against the cattle chute-style fencing that lines the ramp’s sides, their heads twisted around 180 degrees.

  DTA moves on as the rest hurry through the gate and Diaz slams it shut, securing their rear. The Team splits in two with each group taking a side of the ramp, slowly working their way towards the main platforms above them. Blood flows in a steady trickle down the center and sides of the ramp, coming fr
om a rope and wood slat bridge dead ahead.

  TL Lafferty motions for Bobby to climb up and assess. He slings his carbine, pulling the strap tight, and jumps onto the side fencing, scrambling up so he can get a view of what’s on the bridge. His lack of immediate reporting tells the Team that nothing good is up there. They wait patiently for him to get down and even in the dim light from the pyre, they can see how pale his face is.

  He shakes his head back and forth while holding up both hands showing the Team seven fingers. Flexing his fingers quickly conveys that the seven corpses are no longer intact. The fact he keeps flexing again and again tells them the dismemberment is extreme. DTA all take a collective breath and push on, heading for a set of steel stairs at the very top of the ramp.

  One by one, with Diaz once again leading, the Mates move up the stairs to the first main platform. The blood is thick and beginning to congeal as it pools around a pile of corpses. A quick estimate puts the count at close to a dozen crammed onto the small platform. It’s difficult for the Team to get around the pile, but they manage without toppling the stacked death. Up another set of stairs and they are on the platform just next to the burning pyre.

  The Team spreads out and checks every inch of the concrete platform, mindful of the eight other corpses they find.

  “TL,” Duster says. “This ain’t good.”

  “No shit,” Tiny D says. “What gave you that idea?”

  “Respect,” TL Lafferty scolds. “What is it, Duster?”

  “DTB One,” Duster says, kneeling next to a mangled corpse. “See the tat on that flap of skin?”

  “Yes,” TL Lafferty says. “A thunderbird, right? That’s Scotty Ming, isn’t it?”

  “That’s him,” Duster says. He stands and looks at the other corpses. “Should we check the rest?”

  “Yes,” TL Lafferty says. “If the faces aren’t recognizable, then look over the bodies for identifying marks. You know these people, Mates. Think what makes them unique.”

  The Team splits up and starts the painful process of identifying the bodies. Some they know as sentries they’ve worked and lived with. Others are the group of Runners that man Sector One at all times, ready to sprint from station to station, passing on news as needed. By the time they are finished rolling over torsos, reassembling limbs, pressing flesh back into place on skulls, they identify each corpse.

  “TL Wright and Mate Franks are missing,” Bobby says. “The rest we can account for.”

  “All of DTB One?” TL Lafferty asks.

  “Yes,” Bobby says, “but not all the sentries or Runners. There are three Runners missing and two sentries.”

  “Maybe they escaped as well,” TL Lafferty says.

  “Maybe, but if they did, they aren’t doing so well,” Bobby says.

  “Explain.”

  “We have too many arms,” Alastair says.

  “And tongues,” Tiny D adds.

  “Too many…?” TL Lafferty says. “How many is too many?”

  “Enough to make up for the Runners and sentries,” Val says, shaking her head. “They don’t belong to Cole or Anna Lee. Cole has a birthmark on his right bicep. Anna Lee has that broken pinky finger that sticks out. None of the arms match that.”

  “So where are they?” TL Lafferty asks. “Where are these armless, tongueless bodies?”

  “TL,” Bobby calls, having climbed up next to the pyre. “I think I can answer that.”

  They all quickly look where he is pointing. Mouths hang open and eyes go wide as they watch what comes at them.

  “Ammo check now!” TL Lafferty shouts. “Find the cache on this platform! We need every single cartridge we can get our hands on!”

  ***

  Tears stream down her face as she stumbles along, the life dripping from the bloody stumps at her shoulders. When Runner Mila Hafferkamp woke up that morning, she had no idea her life would turn into a nightmare just a few hours later. Being a Runner in the Denver wasteland means dealing with a considerable amount of horrors daily, but they are always of the undead kind. She’s never seen the living act so viciously in her short eighteen years of life in the apocalypse.

  The groans and hisses behind her keep her from stopping and giving up. She can see the movement up by the pyre and all she wants to do is get to the safety of the platforms. The thought of “safety” makes her laugh, but it hurts the ragged stump in her mouth and she just ends up weeping silent tears. She would risk a look over her shoulder, but she’s terrified she’ll freeze up and never make it. It’s a testament to the survival instinct of the citizens of the Stronghold that Mila even thinks she still has a chance to live.

  If she did look over her shoulder, she would know that chance is firmly rooted in Hell.

  ***

  The ground is uneven and sentry Bill Viglia wishes more than anything in the world he had arms to stop him from faceplanting every few feet. He knows his time is short as the dizziness from blood loss messes with his vision and coordination, but the sight of the pyre gives him hope. Only a few hundred yards and he will be at the first gate. It’s so close he can almost taste it; if he had a tongue left to taste anything.

  He takes another tumble, goes down hard on his knees, screeching through blood-slicked lips as a sharp hunk of concrete pierces his jeans and tears into his patella. He hears the kneecap snap and when he tries to stand, his worst fear is confirmed. He can’t get up. His armless torso is wracked with sobs as he closes his eyes and waits for what’s behind him to catch up and end it all.

  ***

  Fuck it, sentry Amy Patron thinks. Fuck them using me like this.

  She stops her stumbling, futile escape from the hungry mouths behind her. Turning to face them, she tries to spit at them in defiance, but lacking a tongue, she just coughs a hunk of bloody phlegm onto her chest. Her eyes narrow as she watches the monsters get closer and closer. The cry bubbles up from her throat and she takes off running, but not away.

  She runs head long into the waiting death of teeth and nails.

  ***

  Determined to make it, Runner Brian Wingdon pumps his legs, ignoring the stabbing pains that pummel his body with every footfall. The spots before his eyes spread and he knows his brain isn’t getting enough oxygen. It’s a side effect of quickly bleeding out. Brian shoves every negative thought away, relying on his never say die attitude to get him through. It led him to be the lead Runner in Sector One and to break all sprint records in the Stronghold.

  Brian Wingdon will not give up.

  He dodges around a large pothole in the pavement and hurries past the last building between him and the platforms. Movement off to his left catches his attention and he risks a glance, surprised to see his fellow Runner, Jordan Keith, keeping pace with him only thirty yards away. The competitive instinct kicks in and Brian wills his legs to move faster.

  The first ramp gate is only one hundred yards away, moving closer, and closer by the second. At his peak, he can cover forty yards in less than five seconds, but he is not at his peak. His trained Runner mind calculates his speed coupled with the distance and comes up with twelve seconds to the gate.

  He can make it. He knows he can. Twelve seconds and he’s safe from what pursues him. Safe up on the platforms with what he prays is Dead Team Alpha.

  ***

  “Sir?” Bobby says from above the Team. “Every person counts, but if they get here…”

  “I know, Mate,” TL Lafferty replies as she watches the two armless men sprinting towards the ramp. “But I can’t condone killing our own.”

  “They’re dead anyway, TL,” Diaz says. “You know that, right?”

  “Every person counts,” TL Lafferty says. “Get down there and open the gate for them, then haul ass back up here. We’ll need to regroup and go down the other side.”

  “Out into the Plains?” Duster asks. “Then we’ll have to circle around for half a mile before we can get back in the city.”

  “Well, we aren’t fucking going that way!” Tiny D sh
outs and points at what stretches before them.

  The herd of Zs is the largest any of them have ever seen in their lives. For miles, the ocean of undead stretches back into Denver. Thousands of hungry zombies shuffle, stumble, stagger towards the platforms, led by the trails of blood left in the wakes of the sprinting amputees.

  “TL,” Diaz pleads. “One shot each. It will give us time to get the fuck out of here and circle around the herd.”

  “There has to be at least three, maybe four thousand down there,” Alastair says. “And that’s what we can see. We aren’t fucking circling shit, Diaz. TL is right; we exit out the front and go the Plains route.”

  “Jesus!” Diaz shouts. “Have you gone insane? It doesn’t matter which way we go! Look at all the fuckers! TL, please!”

  “Every person counts, man!” Tiny D yells. “I’m going down there and helping them inside! Then I’ll carry one and you get to fucking carry the other as we bug out of this death trap!”

  A scream pulls their attention to Runner Keith. His legs go out from under him and he falls headfirst. The sound of his skull cracking on the pavement echoes up to the Team and everyone winces.

  “We have another one!” Duster yells, pointing north. “She’s not going to make it!”

  “Diaz, Tiny D,” TL Lafferty says. “Get that gate open and help that Runner inside.” She looks up at Bobby. “Is the fallen one moving?”

  “No,” Bobby says. “Should I put one in his head? Just to make sure?”

  “No,” TL Lafferty says. “Save the round for the woman. When they catch her, show her some mercy.”

  Bobby nods and switches out scopes on his M-4.

  “Nothing,” Val says as she walks up to TL Lafferty. “The caches are empty. Whoever attacked took the ammunition with them.”

  “Shit,” TL Lafferty says. “Mate Breitenberg? Belay that order. We can’t lose even one round at this point.”

  The Team can hear the clanging of the ramp gate below and they hurry to the stairs as Diaz and Tiny D carry the mutilated Runner up to the main platform.