Dead Team Alpha: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

by Jake Bible

  “What…did… you do?” Junior asks, still unable to get up, his head a whirling dervish of pain.

  “I’ll show you,” the woman says as she grabs Junior by the collar and pulls him to the window.

  ***

  The first body leaves Hawks stunned. The second that falls only moments later leaves her reeling.

  She wants to back away from the barricade, but her training won’t let her and she moves forward, climbing onto the unsteady pile of broken furniture and cast off supplies. Her heart hits her throat when she sees the mangled bodies of Clank and Junior outside on the pavement. Her eyes turn to DTB Two, still firing at the herd that has started to claw its way up out of the trench. With the endless gunfire filling the air, Stanford, Tommy Bombs, and Shep have no idea two of their Mates lay behind them, piles of broken bone and ruptured flesh.

  No time to bother with the dead, Hawks slides down the barricade to the floor, shoulders her carbine and sprints towards the stairwell.

  ***

  “What the fuck are you looking at?” Boyd says as he turns and faces the woman that has come walking quickly up to him. He’s holding a lit candle that he’s been using to light tapers set inside sconces that once burnt with electric light. The flickering light illuminates her face fully and his eyes go wide at the lack of hers. “Shit fuck…”

  The knife stabs hard into his gut and is yanked even harder up to his chest, splitting him open from belly to ribcage. He lets out a quiet moan and looks down at the intestines spilling out around the hand holding the blade. Looking back up, his mouth opens, a question formed, but only blood comes out from between his lips.

  The woman pulls the knife out and lets Boyd fall to his knees, his own innards uncoiling through his fingers as he clutches at the massive wound. She places her foot on his shoulder and shoves. Boyd falls quickly, dead before his back hits the floor.

  “Oh, my God!” a man yells as he sees what’s just happened. “She fucking killed Boyd!”

  “Boyd,” the woman says, rolling the name around on her tongue, tasting the pleasure of knowing who she’s killed.

  Her head turns back and forth in an almost hypnotic fashion, like a cobra coaxed from a basket.

  “What’s wrong with her eyes?” someone asks.

  Marshall moves out from behind her and grins at the crowd of people he can’t see.

  “We are Code Monkeys,” he says. “Two of the chosen to keep the legacy of the Codes going.” He takes a short bow. “I’m Marshall Rosado, Thirtieth Code Monkey. My good friend is Skye Lawrence, Twenty-fourth Code Monkey. We have come to kill you all and preserve the sanctity of the Code.”

  “Don’t fight and it will be clean,” the woman, Skye, says. “Fight?” She gives a non-committal shrug of her shoulders.

  “Are they blind?” a person asks.

  “They can’t see us,” another states.

  “We can fucking take them!” a third shouts.

  As soon as the RC starts to move forward, Skye stops weaving her head back and forth. She cocks it one way then slowly moves it the other, as if her neck is made of clockwork gears.

  “They didn’t listen,” Marshall says sadly.

  “They never do,” Skye replies.

  The two blind Code Monkeys step casually over Boyd’s body, ready to meet the crowd surging at them.

  ***

  “Almost out!” Shep yells.

  “Me too!” Tommy Bombs shouts.

  Stanford empties his magazine, ejects it, slams his second to last one back in, racks the slide, but doesn’t open fire. From the right, came Lang and Horton, firing on the run. From the left came the twins doing the same. The Team regroups as a few hundred Zs crawl over each other to get out of the trench and at the meat before them.

  “Right flank is gone,” Lang says, catching her breath.

  “Left too,” Carlito states. “They’ll be on us in thirty… What the hell?”

  Everyone turns the direction he’s looking and sees the bodies of Clank and Junior splattered on the pavement. Clank’s corpse is mush, but Junior’s starts to twitch as his eyes pop open, showing them the dead grey color of a Z.

  “How the fuck did that happen?” Stanford asks.

  Above them, glass shatters and a man comes flying out of a third floor window, screaming all the way down. He smashes on top of the burnt out wreck of an abandoned ambulance, his scream cut short instantly.

  “TL?” Horton asks.

  “We move,” Stanford says. “Get to a defensible position and hunker down until the herd passes.”

  “What about Boyd and his RC?” Carlotta asks.

  Another man is flung from the window above and they watch as he lands almost on top of the first. Their attention is drawn to the shape of someone standing at the window looking down at them. Or maybe not precisely looking.

  “Is that…?” Tommy Bombs asks. “That’s one of the captives.”

  “We move now,” Stanford says, raising his M-4 towards the window, but Skye fades back inside before he can pull the trigger. “By the time we get in there, they’ll all be dead.”

  “Every person counts,” Shep grunts.

  “And we always remember,” Stanford says. “But we can’t exactly do that if we’re dead ourselves, can we?” He slings his carbine and tightens the strap. “Let’s go! Put up your guns and save your ammo!” He pulls a long knife from his belt. “NOW!”

  The Team all take off around the side of the hospital, each trying to ignore the cries of pain and fear as people are thrown to their deaths.

  ***

  She can hear the screams of the dying before she gets to the third floor landing. By the time she’s in front of the door, it’s as if the screams are right next to her. Taking a couple of deep breaths, Hawks grabs the door handle and throws the door wide, stepping into the hallway, her carbine moving side to side. Gorge fills her throat, but she swallows it down as she looks upon the scene before her.

  No one is left standing. The floor is covered by crying, moaning, pleading people, all clutching mortal wounds. Blood is splashed against the walls like paint. Body parts are strewn here and there; the smell of urine and excrement fills the hall.

  Moving through it all, his back to Hawks is Marshall, skipping and dancing from person to person, a knife in his hand, slashing throats as he goes, adding to the already unfathomable amount of blood.

  Then he stops and turns his head slightly so Hawks can see the left side of his face.

  “Oh,” he says. “It’s you.”

  “What have you done?” Hawks asks, her words steady and measured. Any semi-maternal feelings she had for the boy are long gone. All that remains is cold professionalism. “Why?”

  Marshall turns all the way around, reaching out and slicing a woman from ear to ear. His scarred eye sockets face Hawks and he sighs.

  “I’ve already explained it to them,” he says, flicking the knife this way and that, sending droplets of blood here and there. “You missed it, but if you come here I’ll tell you.”

  “Drop the knife,” Hawks says. “Just put it down. I don’t want to kill you.”

  “Yes, you do,” Marshall says, taking a step towards her. “You want to kill me bad. Even through the stench of blood I can smell it.”

  He takes another step.

  “Stop,” Hawks says. “No more warnings.”

  “I know,” Marshall says as he bares his teeth.

  Hawks pulls the trigger just as Marshall breaks into a run. The kid twists to the side as the bullet just passes over his shoulder. He tucks his other shoulder and uses his momentum to dive into a forward roll. His small body tumbles across the wounded then comes up, leaping forward into another roll as Hawks fires again and again, just missing him each time.

  When her carbine clicks empty, Marshall is standing right in front of her, a sad smile on his face. His knife plunges into her just below her sternum and he jams the blade up into her heart. One beat, two, then a struggling third and Hawks’ life is d
one. He pulls the knife free and gives her a shove, sending her falling onto the floor, her corpse covering the body of a struggling, whimpering woman.

  ***

  “There,” Stanford shouts, pointing at one of the old administration buildings separated from the hospital by a wide parking lot. “We get in and onto the roof. Then hunker down and wait.”

  The Team all follow as he sprints towards the derelict building that has already been gutted for salvage. The windows along the first floor are broken and the front door hangs from one hinge.

  DTB Two hurry into the deep darkness of the admin building. Blocked from the light of the burn barrels in front of the hospital, it takes a second for their eyes to adjust. They leap over a reception counter and move through the rows of old cubicles where endless amounts of paperwork were processed and filed on a daily basis.

  In the far corner is a door with a cracked, plastic sign next to it indicating the stairwell. Stanford gets to the door, but stops before pushing it open. The unmistakable groans of Zs can be heard on the other side.

  “When was the last time this building was cleared?” he whispers to his Team.

  “Don’t know,” Horton replies. “The reclaim crews stripped this building a long time ago. I don’t think it’s been in the rotation for years.”

  Stanford can see by the state of the shredded drywall that all the wiring is gone. He nods and looks back at the stairwell door.

  “On three,” he says, gripping the handle. “One, two, three!”

  He shoves the door inward and jams the blade of his knife through the eye of the first Z that comes at him. He keeps pushing forward, shoving the dead Z back while pulling his knife free. Shep follows behind and stabs the next Z while Lang is right on his tail, taking down a third.

  The door is all the way open and a dozen Zs stumble down the stairs towards the Team. Stanford changes tactics and starts grabbing the Zs and tossing them to the side, letting his Team end them with precision stabs to their skulls.

  It only takes two minutes from when Stanford opened the door until the last Z falls. The twins double check the corpses to make sure each blow was fatal then give Stanford a confirming nod.

  “The roof,” Stanford says and takes the steps two at a time until they get to the very top landing.

  Nodding to his Team, they repeat the same process again, but luckily, there are no Zs on the roof as they rush through the door.

  “Clear,” Lang says, checking the north corner.

  “Clear,” Shep responds from the south.

  “Clear,” Horton says from the east while Tommy Bombs gives a thumbs up from the west.

  The twins tear apart a large AC vent that sticks up from the roof. They bend the sheet metal over a few times then wedge it into the very bottom of the stairwell door. Carlotta pulls some cord from her pack and ties it around the door handle as Carlito takes the other end and doubles it through a set of pipes sticking out from the wall. The two siblings check each other’s work then nod to Stanford.

  The Team all move to the side of the roof and look down at the massive amount of Zs that begin to surround the hospital. They watch as a window is broken and more and more bodies are tossed to the ground, sending the Zs into a feeding frenzy at the edge of the parking lot. Lang and Tommy Bombs gasp when Hawks’s corpse is added to the fodder. Horton starts to say a prayer, but Stanford holds up his hand, stopping her words.

  Across the parking lot, from a third floor window, two sightless forms look out into the night, their attention turned due south. After a moment, they withdraw and Stanford lets out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

  “I have first watch,” he whispers. “Everyone else? Grab some sleep. Schuemakers? Second. Tommy Bombs and Shep have third. Lang and Horton take last. Ninety minutes each and no more. Do not let your eyes move from that hospital. I want to know if those blind fucks leave.”

  “We can’t see the other side,” Carlotta says. “They could sneak out that way.”

  “They could,” Stanford agrees. “But did you see the way they were looking? They’re waiting for something else. And I have a feeling we’ll see it when it gets here.”

  “How can they be looking anywhere?” Horton asks. “They don’t have fucking eyes!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Stanford scolds. “And with these fucks I don’t think eyes matter. They wiped out RC Eight, which is incredible in of itself, but to take out three DTA Mates?” Stanford shakes his head. “There’s new players in Crazytown, y’all. And I don’t intend to assume anything about them from here on out.”

  “TL,” Shep says. “Look.”

  At the very back of the main hospital building, a door creaks open.

  “Carlyle,” Stanford grins. “That wily son of a bitch.”

  The Runner looks left then right, nods to himself, and takes off running. The team loses sight of him quickly as he turns a corner behind another admin building, but Stanford knows the direction he’s heading.

  “He’ll warn the Stronghold about what’s coming,” Stanford says.

  “You think the herd is heading that way?” Carlito asks.

  “I would bet my rations on it,” Stanford says. “Now everyone get some sleep. I’ll wake you if I need to.”

  ***

  Hours later, a nudge of a boot brings Stanford awake instantly. Any other morning and he’d be pissed off, but as he gets to his feet and surveys the scene below, he’s grateful that the nightmare he had been gripped in is gone. Unfortunately, the nightmare before him isn’t much better.

  “They’ve pretty much thinned out,” Horton says. “All that’s left are the broken ones fighting over bones and scraps.”

  “Where’d they go?” Stanford asks as he stretches and watches the sun rising across the Plains to the east. “Up the mountain?”

  “Yeah,” Lang says. “Right for the Stronghold. They’re moving slow now that they’ve fed.”

  “That’s the whole RC down there,” Shep says, his eyes watching a small pack of stragglers hiss at each other over a femur. “I counted. The whole fucking crew plus Hawks.”

  “Fuck,” Stanford says. “Grab gear and let’s go.”

  “Where, TL?” Tommy Bombs asks. “We can’t get up the mountain without running into the herd.”

  “Yep,” Stanford says, “which is why we’re moving deeper into Denver. We have a meeting to make at the Bell Tower.”

  The Team all stare at him as if he’s lost his mind, except for Shep who is nodding in agreement.

  “TL?” Carlotta says. “This isn’t one of your better plans. We need to get behind that herd and help when it hits the Stronghold.”

  “Carlyle is the best Runner we have,” Stanford says. “He’s almost to the Stronghold by now. He’ll warn them and they’ll be ready. We have to find DTA. If any are still alive, they’ll be at the Bell Tower. We’ll be a stronger force with them than without.”

  “Down,” Shep hisses and the Team instinctively ducks.

  They watch over the ledge as several figures come out of the early morning shadows and walk towards the hospital. The Zs see them and start to move closer, but the figures just weave their way through the straggling zombies with ease as if they were avoiding something as innocuous as mud puddles. The side door of the hospital opens, and Skye and Marshall come walking out. Without a word to the newcomers, they all turn and start marching north, following the herd, heading straight for the Stronghold.

  “Head count,” Stanford says.

  “Thirty-four,” Shep replies, “including the woman and the boy.”

  “Concur?” Stanford asks.

  He gets agreement from all the other Mates.

  “Two of those fucks killed three Mates and an entire RC,” Stanford says. “Anyone else feel uncomfortable about looking for backup at the Bell Tower?”

  No one speaks up or argues.

  “Good,” Stanford says. “Then let’s put some hustle in our day. I want to rendezvous with DTA and start b
ack towards the Stronghold ASAP. That means we have a march ahead of us.”

  “Yes, sir,” DTB Two all say.

  Chapter Seven- Past The Point…

  The dawn lights up the red brick of the Bell Tower and Val has to shield her eyes from the brightness, having been subjected to the gloom of the night for so long.

  “No pyre,” Cole says. “Just like the last ones.”

  “The fucks probably killed the Runner in there too,” Anna Lee snarls. “Murderous fucking fuck fuckers.”

  “Lafferty ordered Carlyle not to light the pyre,” Val says.

  “Why the hell not?” Cole asks.

  “She had her reasons,” Val shrugs. “And a good thing because every pyre from Sector One to here is manned by dead Runners and sentries. Probably saved Benji’s life up there by it being dark.”

  “Benji…?” Cole wonders aloud. “Oh, the guy Ford took home the other night? Seemed kinda bitchy.”

  “He is,” Val says. “But he doesn’t scare easy, which is good. Maybe he was able to hold out and they passed him by.”

  “Then why can’t I see him up there?” Anna Lee asks. “Protocol is to keep watch at all times, even if you’re the only one.”

  “Good question,” Cole says as the three Mates stand at the edge of the commons. “Let’s find out.”

  The trek from the edge of Denver to the Bell Tower had been fairly Z free, but it was slow going as Val, Cole, and Anna Lee had to make sure they weren’t spotted or followed by any of the blind crazies. A three hour march became a five hour duck and dodge journey. By the time they hit the campus of Colorado Heights University, all three of them are spun from exhaustion and nerves.