Dead Team Alpha (Book 2): The Stronghold

by Jake Bible

  Fitzpatrick picks herself up and spins about, her M-4 back in hand.

  “They’re gonna eat you up,” a croaky voice says from above her.

  Fitzpatrick looks up to see a woman’s weather-cragged, sharp-toothed face, grinning down at her.

  “You dead,” the woman cackles causing some of the Zs to take notice and angle their putrid necks so they can look up at the food far out of reach.

  One shot. That’s all Fitzpatrick fires and the woman’s brains explode out the back of her head.

  Without hesitating, Fitzpatrick sprints towards the water tower ladder and leaps at it just like she leapt at the concrete wall. But this time she’s able to grab on and scrambles hand over hand all the way up until she is standing on the water tower’s walkway and looking down at the enclosure that is quickly filling with Zs.

  Her first thought is she is totally fucked. Her second thought is Crumb had said there were apples. She is starving and thirsty. Apples are perfect for satisfying both.

  She looks about until she finds the pack with apples, pulls one out, inspects it for rot, finds none, and takes a huge bite. Then she looks over at the body of the woman she had shot and sneers.

  With just a few nudges from her boot, all the while still chomping on the apple, Fitzpatrick is able to get the dead canny’s body loose from the walkway. It tumbles end over end, splatting hard on the concrete right next to the pile of Zs munching on Crumb’s corpse.

  The Zs pounce on the flesh, ripping into it like Fitzpatrick is ripping into the last of the apple.

  She throws the core down into the horde and then takes a deep breath. She looks up and out at the city around her and that breath is nearly knocked from her.

  “Jesus Christ,” she whispers as she sees the dozens and dozens of columns of smoke that dot the landscape where fires burn and rage through the dead city.

  She also sees the grand ocean of Zs that march from the East, stretching all the way to the horizon.

  “This can’t be,” she says. “There’s no way there can be this many. How? How?”

  The word echoes in her head as she remains glued in place, unable to tear herself from the cataclysmic scene.

  Chapter Six- Midnight Train To Boulder

  “That’s Fitzpatrick,” Cole says, lowering his binoculars as the Teams dash into a tight alleyway between what used to be a burrito shop and a hair salon so many, many years before. “She doesn’t look too hot.”

  “Can we get to her?” Carlotta asks.

  “Not after the mess Ford made,” Cole says. “That whole part of the city is cut off for good.”

  “Fuck you,” Stanford grumbles.

  “I was just yanking your chain, man,” Cole says. “Calm the hell down.”

  “You have to admit that was pretty epic, TL,” Tommy Bombs says. “If anyone was going to bring a fire escape down only yards from a few thousand Zs, it’d be you.”

  “Thanks, Tommy,” Stanford says. “Your confidence in my ability to fuck up is second only to my mother’s.”

  “I was only kidding,” Tommy Bombs replies, looking hurt.

  “Leave the crab alone,” Cole says, patting Tommy Bombs on his shoulder. “Head up front and let Val know that we need to cut over at 80th and double back to the turnpike.”

  “Got it,” Tommy Bombs says.

  He nods to Stanford, but only gets a frown, then he’s off, squeezing past Alastair and Diaz, with the stretchered and semi-conscious Tiny D between them, past Lang and Shep, and up to where Val and Sister stand at the far end of the alleyway.

  “Cole says to cut over at 80th to the turnpike,” Tommy Bombs says.

  “Yeah, that’s not happening,” Val says. She points at the open land between them and a long abandoned subdivision. “The herd is already at the turnpike. Look at the trees.”

  Tommy Bombs stares out of the alleyway at Zenobia Street and the subdivision on the other side. Dozens of Zs are shambling this way and that. Not nearly a herd, but enough to make a decent horde if they grouped together.

  But those aren’t the problem. The problem is exactly as Val says it is. The huge oaks and massive fir trees that tower over the crumbling houses sway back and forth. They look like a strong wind is going at them except for one problem: they are swaying in different directions.

  “There have to be thousands over there already,” Val says. “Listen. You can hear them pushing past the houses too.”

  Tommy Bombs does listen, he does hear the creaking and groaning of the old structures, he does realize that cutting over to 80th Street is not happening.

  “What do I tell Cole?” Tommy Bombs asks. “Can we go another way?”

  “We keep going up Sheridan and cut over at 88th,” Val says. “Or where 95 crosses over the turnpike. Whatever is safest. But 80th is out of the question.”

  Sister grunts.

  “What?” Val asks. “You have something to say?”

  “Already too many Zs,” Sister says. “Won’t be better up ahead.” She looks over her shoulder and her eyes focus on the stretcher. “We’re too slow.”

  “You have a better idea?” Val asks.

  Tommy Bombs looks back and forth from one woman to the other.

  “Guys, I have to tell Cole something,” he says. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

  “What’s your idea?” Val asks.

  “We drive,” Sister says. “Take a truck up the mountain cross country. Skip the turnpike until we’re away from the herd.”

  Val and Tommy Bombs stare at her like she’s started speaking a foreign language.

  “Did you say drive?” Tommy Bombs asks. “A truck?” He looks at Val. “She said drive a truck, right?”

  “Yeah,” Val replies. “She did.”

  “What?” Sister asks. “You’ve never driven a truck before?”

  “No, I have never driven a truck before,” Val says. “No one has. There’s no fuel for trucks or cars or anything with a motor. That’s why we have the trolleys.”

  “No fuel?” Sister laughs. “Bullshit. Plenty of fuel. Big barrels of it at each safe house.”

  Val tries to form a reply, but her mouth just opens and closes. Tommy Bombs, not always the best conversationalist due to his constant stutter and shaking when not in a combat situation, comes to her rescue.

  “We don’t have safe houses,” Tommy Bombs says. “We have pyre stations throughout Denver, but nothing called a safe house.”

  “Sure you do,” Sister says. “I’ve been keeping them maintained for years. There are two between us and Boulder. One at 108th and one at the Omni. I sleep in that hotel sometimes. It’s fancy.”

  “She’s lost her mind,” Tommy Bombs says.

  “We’ve been up and down the turnpike our whole lives and every house and structure between here and the Stronghold has been searched and double searched,” Val says, finding her voice again. “There are no safe houses and there are sure as shit no working trucks with fuel that hasn’t gone bad.”

  Sister eyes Val for a second then turns her attention on Tommy Bombs.

  “Have you been in every house and structure?” Sister asks.

  “No,” Tommy Bombs replies. “None of us have literally been in every house and—”

  “So you can’t say what’s in all the houses, can you?” Sister pushes.

  “Uh…no?” Tommy responds, his answer sounding like a question. He looks to Val for help.

  But Val doesn’t help. A light goes on in her eyes and she smiles.

  “I’ve never been in the Omni,” Val says. “Every patrol I’ve been on has always shown it as inspected by the previous Team.”

  “Ever talked to a Mate that’s been in there?” Sister asks, her smile wide and beaming.

  “No,” Val says. “It’s never come up.”

  “I thought Big Nails had been caught in a threesome there by his TL a few years back,” Tommy Bombs says.

  “That story screams rumor mill,” Val says. “I’ve seen Big Nails. He’s not threesome
material.”

  “Shit,” Tommy Bombs says. “What else don’t we know?”

  Sister laughs loudly then clamps her hands over her mouth. “Sorry. Sorry,” she apologizes. “There is so much you don’t know it’s just too fucking funny. Hilarious.”

  “Will the truck fit us all?” Val asks.

  “I’ve never seen a working truck before,” Tommy Bombs says like a kid that’s just been told about ice cream. “Is it loud?”

  “Yep,” Sister says. “Which means once we get going we can’t stop. It’ll bring the Zs after us faster than a canny hearing a baby cry.”

  Val and Tommy Bombs grimace at the image, but say nothing.

  “Go tell Cole we have a new plan,” Val says to Tommy Bombs. “We’re following Sister to the first safe house and catching a ride there.”

  ***

  Half of the exhausted Mates stand at the door to the old garage, their eyes nearly bugging out as they stare at the machine housed within. The rest of the Mates rest on the floor of the empty kitchen, all trying to catch some shut eye before they move out.

  “This ride could kill her,” Alastair says quietly as he stands next to Cole.

  He looks back over his shoulder at Tiny D looking grey and wan on her stretcher. Diaz sits next to her, his fingers on her wrist, his eyes watching the hands on the face of his watch. Alastair turns back to the insane looking machine before them and shakes his head.

  “This ride could kill us all,” he says.

  “I’ll take could over will any day,” Cole says. “And those Zs outside will kill us for sure. One by one or all at once, we get stuck in that herd and it’s all over.”

  “What the hell fuel does it run on?” Shep asks, standing just inside the four-car garage that houses only the one vehicle. Sister is off to the side, hand pumping a golden liquid from a steel barrel, through a plastic hose, and into the truck’s fuel tank. “Diesel went bad decades ago.”

  “Cooking oil,” Sister replies. “All that hemp y’all grow. Them seeds is handy for more things than frying up those fritters y’all eats.”

  “Why is she talking like that?” Cole asks Val.

  “I don’t know,” Val replies. “Why are you asking me?”

  “I’m just shit fucking with you,” Sister says as she finishes with the pump and sets the hose aside. She puts the cap on the gas tank and gives it a twist then snaps her fingers and points at the garage doors. “As soon as I start this up, we’ll need to open those doors and go. Don’t bother closing the doors. No one’s coming back here for a long, long time.”

  “Uh…You can drive this thing?” Shep asks. “Like actually drive it without killing us?”

  “Me? Yeah, I can drive it,” Sister says. “I’m an excellent driver. An excellent, excellent driver.” She snickers, no one joins her. “Never mind. Go get everyone. Time to go.”

  Stanford hurries to the garage door and pats Cole on the shoulder. “Zs are filling the street. Time to go.”

  “That’s what I just said,” Sister responds. She opens the driver’s side door and climbs up into the truck. She holds on to the door, letting it swing back and forth as she rests her chin on top. “We can fit five in the cab and the rest in the bed. Tiny D will need to be in the back so she can lie down. Don’t worry about the Zs. The cage will hold. I’ve tested it.”

  “The cage will hold,” Stanford scoffs. “She’s tested it. Great.”

  The truck: a huge double cab, duel-wheeled thing with an iron-barred cage welded to the bed. Welded to the body are large saw blades sticking out by at least a foot. The front has an iron wedge attached to it and the back is nothing but long, sharp spikes.

  Cole shakes his head. “This is insane.”

  “I agree with Cole,” Stanford says.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Val adds.

  “Tiny D is gonna die if we don’t get going,” Diaz announces.

  “More Zs!” Tommy Bombs says running from the front room and into the kitchen. He slides to a stop when he sees what’s beyond the door to the garage. “Holy shit.”

  “Time to go,” Sister says. “Don’t make me honk the horn.”

  “The what?” Cole asks. “Forget it, I don’t care. DTA! Load up!”

  “DTB1!” Stanford calls. “Do the fucking same!”

  “Time to hit the road,” Sister says. She points to the garage doors. “Get those open then hop on in, Mates.”

  Val and Shep hurry to the garage doors and lift them up, opening the space to the insane world outside. Instantly, the Zs that fill the street turn their attention to the noise and begin to shamble in the Teams’ direction. Both Val and Shep lift their M-4s to fire then nearly scream as the loudest noise they have ever heard erupts behind them.

  “Holy shit!” Shep cries as he turns and watches the truck shake and shudder, its V-12 engine coughing smoke out of the two tailpipes just under the tailgate.

  “It’s like it’s alive!” Val shouts. “Come on!”

  The two Mates run back to the truck and help Alastair and Diaz lift Tiny D’s stretcher into the bed then jump up inside the cage, slamming the tailgate and the cage door closed behind them. They secure a set of heavy pins and Val slaps her hand on the side of the truck.

  “Go!” she shouts.

  Before the word is even out of her mouth, the truck whips into reverse, speeds down the long driveway of what would have been considered a McMansion pre-Z, and out into the street, crushing several Zs as Sister whips it around, puts it into gear, and races away from the full herd that is only a block away.

  Val looks at the rest of the Mates in the bed with her and shakes her head as Sister rolls down the driver’s side window, which is protected by a grate of metal just like the rest of the windows, and howls.

  “She’s having fun,” Val says. “The crazy woman is having fun.”

  ***

  When Sister said she’d take them off road, she did not mean through residential backstreets and old highways. She meant off road, away from the natural paths that the Zs tend to follow.

  Val looks over at Diaz as the big man presses his head to the bars over the tailgate and spews vomit in the dusty wake of the big truck.

  “This is not like being in a trolley!” Alastair shouts over the roar of the truck’s engine.

  “No shit!” Val replies.

  “How the hell did she learn how to drive?” Alastair yells.

  “I don’t know!” Val responds, spitting dirt and grit between her words. “How did she get this thing to run? Autos haven’t worked in decades!”

  “Sister seems to know shit none of us know!” Diaz shouts, leaning back and wiping his mouth. “She ain’t right in the head!”

  “No shit!” Alastair yells.

  The truck hits a hard bump and Tiny D’s stretcher bounces a bit causing the wounded woman to moan loud enough for everyone to hear even over the diesel engine that roars in front of them.

  “She’s going to kill us trying to save us!” Val yells.

  “Not if they don’t first!” Shep shouts from his spot by the cab. He points through the cage at the dark mass just ahead.

  “Zs? How the hell did so many get ahead of us?” Alastair asks.

  “Are they being herded?” Diaz asks.

  “I don’t think so,” Val says. “I think they’ve just finally made it here. Sister said the East coast is gone and the Zs are moving west. It’s a natural migration.”

  “Nothing fucking natural about that,” Diaz says.

  The cab window slides open and Carlotta looks back at everyone.

  “You’re going to want to hang on,” Carlotta says. “Sister is driving straight through.”

  “She’s what?” the Mates in the truck’s bed yell at the same time.

  “Yeah, she’s going through them,” Carlotta says. “She’s pretty sure she can do it.”

  “Pretty sure? Pretty sure!” Diaz shouts. “Fuck that!”

  “Just hang on,” Carlotta warns. “She isn’t slowing
down.”

  The window slides shut and the Mates all look at each other then up at the herd of Zs getting alarmingly closer and closer.

  “A hand on the cage and a hand on the stretcher,” Val says. “Otherwise Tiny D is going to get tossed to death.”

  “We’re all going to get tossed to death!” Alastair yells as the truck closes the distance on the Z herd.

  Everyone grabs onto the cage and Tiny D’s stretcher, their eyes locked onto the mass of undead rushing at them. Or them rushing at it. Doesn’t matter because in less than a couple of seconds they are in the thick of it, impact after impact rocking their world.

  To all of their surprise, the truck doesn’t slow down. It rams the herd and just keeps going, the wedge on the front making an instant path while the saw blades and spikes slice and dice the Zs in half and more.

  Black blood sprays up into the air, covering the cab and splattering the Mates in the open air bed. The truck shudders and bounces as bodies are crushed under the heavy duty tires. The sound of the herd moaning and hissing at the meat just out of reach is almost as loud as the breaking of the undead bodies. Almost.

  Sister cuts to the right and slices a diagonal line through the herd, aiming for the hint of a road off to the Northeast. There’s a hard thunk and a thump whump whump and the truck suddenly begins to pull to the left, aiming back the way they were headed.

  “What is that noise?” Alastair yells.

  “I think it’s one of the tires!” Shep yells, pointing to the front driver’s side. “The truck is dipping down that way!”

  The thump whump whump continues for a few moments then the truck straightens out and the noise diminishes, but doesn’t go completely away. Sister gets the truck aimed in the right direction again and the vehicle picks up speed, ripping through the herd at a speed that makes the hardened Mates want to close their eyes. Which isn’t a bad idea considering the spray of Z guts and gore coming up over the hood and sides of the truck.

  There’s a whack and thud then the truck is back on pavement, albeit broken and cracked pavement, and it races around the edges of the Z herd, aiming straight at an on ramp that has been cleared of old vehicles.