Dead Team Alpha (Book 2): The Stronghold

by Jake Bible

  “So she’s a masochist?” Stanford laughs. “She’d have to be to want to talk to the old battle axe.”

  “Not a very nice way to speak of your mother,” Sister responds. “You should show more respect.”

  “Should I?” Stanford asks. “Why? Who the fuck are you to tell me how to talk about my own mother?”

  “She is your commanding officer,” Sister says. “Team code dictates you not disparage her name even if she isn’t around to hear.” Sister looks at the rest of the Mates standing on the outpost platform. “Bad for morale. Makes you a weak leader.”

  “Who the fuck is this piece of wasteland trash?” Stanford asks, turning to Val. “Is there a reason you didn’t put a bullet in her brain when you first saw her?”

  “She fought her way free of the Code Monkeys,” Val says. “Then found us in the stadium.”

  Stanford’s mouth hangs open briefly then snaps shut as he blinks, his eyes assessing Sister a second time.

  “You? You fought your way out of the Code Monkeys’ bunker?” Stanford asks. “How? They must not have been guarding you worth a shit.”

  “They were guarding me,” Sister says. “I killed the guards. Then I killed the others that came to help the guards. I killed everyone in my way, found a ladder, and climbed out. That is how.”

  “Bullshit,” Stanford hisses. “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.”

  “If you say so,” Sister says then smiles. “You’d know.”

  “What?” Stanford snaps, moving at Sister. “What did she just say to me? Lady, you better watch yourself or you’ll end up learning to fucking fly right off this platform!”

  “Ford, stop,” Val says and grabs her cousin by the upper arm. He tries to jerk away, but she tightens her grip, making it painful enough to force him to look at her. “Let’s chat.”

  “You’re not TL, Val,” Stanford says. “Cole should brief me.”

  “I’ll let Val do it,” Cole says as he moves to a suspension bridge that is just rope and a couple of wooden planks. “I’m going to go take a shit in safety then find something to eat.”

  “I’m with TL,” Alastair says. “Just in the opposite order. Food first, shit later.”

  Diaz and Tiny D fall in line with Shep right behind them. The Mates of DTA call out as they see other members of DTB1 perched at their posts along the many platforms and bridges around the outpost. Val watches them go then looks at Sister.

  “Tell him what you told us,” Val says.

  “Everything?” Sister asks.

  “Everything,” Val says.

  Sister repeats what she had said to DTA about the Consortium while Stanford stands there, looking bored and pissed at the same time. When she’s finished he glances at Val and shrugs.

  “None of that means shit,” Stanford grumbles. “Wasteland gossip from some crazy woman.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Val snaps. “You’re acting like a Z crawled up your ass.”

  “That would suck,” Sister says and shakes her head. “Really suck. Nobody likes a Z up the ass.”

  Stanford stares at the woman for a couple seconds then focuses back on Val.

  “Get this whacko nutjob off my outpost,” he says.

  “Yeah, that is not happening,” Val replies.

  “Really?” Stanford snarls. “Because Team code dictates that the TL of the Team in charge of the outpost calls all shots when it comes to who is and who is not allowed up into the outpost.”

  “Cole is TL of DTA,” Val counters. “Technically, he outranks you and could override any order—”

  “Nope,” Stanford says and smiles. “TL of the Team managing the outpost makes all calls. This is my outpost, whether I want it to be or not, so I make the call. If I want this bitch gone then she is gone and there’s nothing that Cole or any of DTA can do about it.”

  Sister clears her throat and raises her hand.

  “Is she kidding me with this?” Stanford barks.

  “May I speak, sir?” Sister asks.

  “Fucking A. Yeah, go ahead and speak,” Stanford says.

  “I’m the only person that has been inside the Code Monkeys’ bunker,” Sister says. “As far as you know, I’m the only person that has ever escaped them. I’m pretty sure that makes me an A-1 important person. Also pretty sure your mother, Commander Lee, will want to talk with this A-1 important person face to face.”

  “A-1 important person?” Stanford asks. “What the hell is she saying? Who talks like that?”

  “You should have known me when I was younger,” Sister says and grins. It’s a wide, honest grin. “I used to drive everyone crazy back then. Man, oh, man, those were the days.”

  “Your mom told me a while ago, a few months after the Code Monkey attack on the Stronghold, that she had a spy in place,” Val says. “Sister is the spy. She’s the one that has been feeding your mom intel on what’s happening with the other survivor enclaves. You heard what she said about the Consortium, right? We need to get her through Denver and up to the Stronghold. We’ll let Aunt Maura take it from there.”

  “No,” Stanford says. “This is my call. I’ll send a Runner, but that’s it. If the Runner comes back with an order from her Majesty then you and DTA can take her up there. I’m not going with. DTB1 has a job to do. This is my outpost, this is my sector to protect. I’m going to stay right the fuck here.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Val says.

  “Fuck you too,” Stanford replies.

  “I used to know siblings that acted like you two do,” Sister says. “A brother and a sister that would bicker. It’s because of the love. So much love you hold inside that fear makes you say stupid things because you’re afraid to feel pain if one of you gets hurt.”

  “She keeps talking and I toss her to the ground,” Stanford warns.

  “Love?” Val muses then looks at Stanford. “Too much love—? Jesus fuck, Aunt Maura didn’t assign you to this outpost, you volunteered. Benji dumped you, didn’t he?”

  Stanford points a finger at Val and starts to respond, but all that comes out is a choking noise. He jabs the finger at her a couple of times then shakes his head and walks away.

  “She’s your responsibility,” Stanford says as he climbs a ladder up to one of the top most points of the outpost. “You watch her ass. Anything happens and I blame you, Cuz.”

  “Ford,” Val calls after him. “Ford! Oh, for fuck’s sake! Come on! Talk to me!”

  “No,” Stanford says as he reaches the top and is lost from sight.

  “Was he in love?” Sister asks.

  “Drop it,” Val says quietly. “Come on. We’ll get some chow and then bunk down. Ford will send a Runner out and all we can do is wait.”

  “That’s not all we can do,” Sister replies. She shrugs when she gets a look from Val. “Just saying. I kinda need to see your aunt. We’re wasting time sitting here playing with our dicks.”

  “Neither of us have dicks,” Val says.

  “Tiny D does, she said so,” Sister replies.

  “It was a joke,” Val says. “She doesn’t really have a dick.”

  “I know,” Sister responds and sighs. “I was just playing.”

  Val stares up the ladder Stanford had just ascended.

  “Family is hard,” Sister says, clapping Val on the shoulder, making the woman jump and spin around. Sister holds up her bound hands. “Sorry. Sorry. Jumpy soldiers. I always forget. All I was saying is family is hard. So much love.”

  “Whatever,” Val says and nods to the rope bridge. “You need help getting across with your hands tied?”

  “Nope. I got it,” Sister says.

  She steps onto the bridge and nearly sprints across. The ropes and boards barely even move, she is so fast. Val stares for a second and shakes her head.

  “You can get out of those ropes at anytime, can’t you?” she asks as she walks across the bridge and joins Sister. “I mean, if you want your hands free they’d be free, right?”

  “I don’t want to
make any of you nervous,” Sister answers, holding up her bound hands. “It makes things easier.”

  “If you say so,” Val says. “Come on.”

  ***

  The noise is subtle, quiet, not the sound of a shambling Z moving through the debris at the bottom of the outpost. No, it’s a deliberate noise, the noise of someone not wanting to be heard, but not quite getting the job done.

  Denver Team Beta One Team Mate Carlotta Schuemaker cocks her head as she listens to the sound. Perched on a small hunk of concrete jutting out from the outpost, Carlotta leans over, peering down into the gloom of the shadowed ground below. The night is clear, but the moon has already fallen, leaving the world draped in darkness.

  The sound comes again, but from a different direction. Over towards the main access point of the outpost. She swivels about, her eyes trying to pierce the darkness. Then a third noise, off to her right, the complete opposite direction of the main access point.

  Carlotta frowns and growls low in her throat, not happy with what she is hearing. She puts her fingers to her lips and lets out a long, slow whistle. It’s not very high pitched, sounding more like someone blowing over the neck of an empty bottle. She waits a couple of beats and repeats the noise.

  A scuff from behind and above makes her turn slowly. She looks up to see Tommy Bombs’ face, his eyes shining in the dark, wide and questioning.

  She points at her ears then off to the left, off to the right, and directly below. Tommy Bombs holds up three fingers and Carlotta shrugs then nods. Tommy Bombs nods back and is lost from sight as he moves away from the edge of his perch.

  Carlotta brings her M-4 to her shoulder and looks through the scope. The narrow view of the world is lit in greens and grays, the night vision tech changing the unseen into a visible spectrum. Usually only DTA is allowed to use the advanced tech left over from a civilization long gone, but after the devastation the Code Monkeys brought to the Stronghold, Commander Lee decided the other Teams should have their fair share of tech available to them as well.

  Unfortunately, that tech is very limited and spread very thin amongst the Mates.

  Knowing she has an advantage the others don’t, Carlotta takes her duty very seriously and slowly scans the area below the outpost, her enhanced vision hunting for the sources of the quiet sounds. She does a thorough sweep to the left then a sweep back to the right, but she doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  Except…

  Straight down, tucked into the debris that the Teams intentionally litter the ground with to act as a barrier and early warning system in situations just like this, Carlotta sees a boot. It’s a nasty, hole-ridden boot, easy to mistake as something lost long ago. But her eye picks up the very subtle movement of something inside the boot. A toe. A toe twitching.

  There’s a scrape of concrete above and behind her again, but she doesn’t turn around. Instead, she holds up a fist, then her index finger, and points down at the ground. A low whistle sounds and in seconds there’s more scraping on concrete.

  “What do we have?” Stanford whispers as he crawls on his belly to Carlotta, patting her on the ankle. “Zs? Code Monkeys?”

  “Not sure,” Carlotta whispers back. “Not Zs, though. Gotta be a target directly un—”

  Before she can finish, the edge of the perch close to her face explodes into shards of concrete. She scrambles back and turns her head towards Stanford, eyes wide with surprise and fear.

  “Looks like they have fucking guns!” Carlotta shouts.

  “Do you think?” Stanford says, grabbing her uniform and pulling her back to better cover as the perch continues to be ripped apart by gunfire. He looks up over his shoulder and sees Breena Lang and Shep standing there, M-4s at the ready. “You fuckers ready to light some crazies up?”

  “Sir, fucking yes, sir!” they shout and dash off in different directions.

  Gunfire erupts from the left of the platform then from the right.

  “Oh, it is so fucking on!” Stanford yells and the first genuine smile in a long time spreads across his face.

  ***

  Cole sighs at the sound of gunfire and sets the plate of food aside as he reaches for his carbine.

  “Not our outpost,” Val says, a sneaky smile on her face. “Ford was very clear about that.”

  “Funny,” Cole says and stands up, his M-4 at the ready.

  Tiny D joins him followed by Diaz. In less than a second, Alastair shows up, buckling his belt and looking for his kit and weapon.

  “Thought that shit would never end,” Alastair says as Tiny D tosses him his gear. “But as soon as the shots started my asshole clenched shut and probably won’t open back up until Christmas.”

  “That’s a good one,” Sister says, still sitting, still eating, not showing any sign she is affected by the shouts and the gunfire that echo around her. “Asshole clenched shut.”

  “Watch her,” Cole says to Val.

  “Me? You may need me,” Val responds. “We can tie her to a post. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Sister says. “I’m not done eating. And you guys are going the same way I am, back to the Stronghold, so I might as well hang for a while.”

  “You watch her,” Cole says to Val again, his tone very clear that there is no arguing the point.

  “Fine, I’ll watch her,” Val says, holding up her hands. “But you owe me, dickhead. I haven’t fought non-Zs in forever.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you can fight the next batch of crazies we run into,” Cole says as he hurries off with the rest of DTA. “I promise.”

  Val watches Sister take a few bites then shakes her head.

  “Who the fuck are you?” she mutters and holds up her hand before Sister can answer. “Sister. I know. You don’t have to say it.”

  ***

  The second there’s a break in the gunfire, Stanford leans over the concrete and returns fire. His M-4 barks in the night, the suppressor on his muzzle keeping the barrel flashes from blinding him. His shots are spaced out, each hitting the ground four feet apart, as he fishes for the locations of the attackers.

  A voice cries out after his last shot. Stanford grins and takes aim, sending three more bullets to the same location. The voice screams then is cut short.

  “That’s right, fucker,” Stanford says as he sprints to the closest ladder and hurries down, his hands barely touching the ropes, his feet only nudging at the steps.

  Stanford drops the last couple of feet and whips around, his M-4 leading the way. He steps through the piles of trash and debris, hunting for the attacker he just took out. It only takes him a few steps before he sees the blood pooling from around a pile of rags.

  He nudges the rags with his boot and it rolls to the side, lifeless eyes staring up at him. Stanford studies the attacker, taking note of the pale skin, the sunken eyes, the mottled flesh. If it wasn’t for the blood, he’d think it was a Z. He jams the barrel of his carbine into the person’s mouth and pulls down, revealing a row of sharp teeth filed to points.

  “Cannies,” Stanford mutters. “Fuck.”

  A grunt and scuffle from his right makes him spin about and he finds himself face to face with a very large man. A very large man with very large teeth that are as sharp and filed as the corpse at Stanford’s feet.

  He squeezes the trigger, but the canny grabs the M-4 by the scorching hot barrel and shoves it aside, sending the shot far to the left. Stanford lets go of his M-4, knowing the carbine is useless while in the grip of the canny behemoth, and pulls his 9mm pistol from the quick release holster on his hip. He fires two shots into the man’s thigh, but the huge canny doesn’t go down.

  “Oh, shit!” Stanford cries as he finds himself lifted into the air by his neck, a massive hand about to crush his windpipe. His next few curses are nothing but choked, garbled coughs.

  Then Stanford is flying through the air, his back slamming against a concrete support, his body sliding down into the trash pile underneath.

&nb
sp; “Fuck,” he croaks as the huge canny stomps towards him.

  “Cover up!” a voice shouts from above and Stanford instinctively wraps his arms around his head and tucks his legs up into his chest.

  The air explodes with gunfire and it’s only Stanford’s training that keeps him from crying out. That and his throat feels like he’s eaten ten pounds of ground glass after the fist hug it got from the huge canny. He hears the clicking of an empty magazine and risks a peek from between his arms.

  The huge canny stands there, still towering over Stanford, but the man’s chest is nothing but gaping holes and pouring rivers of blood. Yet the son of a bitch doesn’t fall. The man sways back and forth, his crazed eyes locked onto Stanford. Impossibly, the man snarls and starts to reach down, ready to finish what he had started. But before he can bend a foot, the front of his face explodes in a mass of blood and skull.

  Stanford shuts his eyes as he is sprayed with grey matter and bone. It keeps the gore from getting into his eyes, but it also keeps him from seeing what’s coming right at him. The corpse of the huge canny. Stanford shouts as the big body collapses on top of him, blood soaking into his uniform instantly.

  “Hold on,” Cole say as he struggles to pull the giant corpse off Stanford. “Don’t move.”

  “Wasn’t going to,” Stanford replies.

  “Nice voice,” Cole says as he finally gets the huge dead canny off Stanford. “You sound like the old guy that lived down the street from me when I was a kid. My dad says he rolled his own cigarettes and smoked like a chimney.”

  “Smoked? What? Tobacco was gone decades ago,” Stanford said as he’s helped to his feet by Cole. “What the hell was he smoking?”

  “I think my dad said it was newspaper and old insulation,” Cole answers. He looks Stanford up and down. “Any of that blood yours?”

  “Not that I know of,” Stanford says and pats his body. “Nope. All good.”

  Gunfire from the far right of the outpost draws their attention. Before they can move that way, a screaming woman rushes them both. Cole drops her with a shot between the eyes as Stanford scrambles to pick his M-4 up off the ground.