Zombie Team Alpha: Lost City Of Z

by Steve R. Yeager

  “So they were religious texts?”

  “Not exactly, but close. They were more akin to instruction manuals for how the living should treat the dead. Some contained a thing called a ‘ro’ or roe. That translated to spell, or more literally, something uttered by the mouth. A lot of the lore around those instructions relates back to lost wisdom or magical incantations that would allow the priests to blur the lines between the earthly realm and the heavenly realm.”

  “Watch out,” Cutter warned. He thrust out a hand.

  She came to a quick stop. Whenever she started talking science, she always seemed to forget where she was walking. It had been some time since she had taken up subjects with him more complex than where they should eat, or what she should wear, mostly because it reminded him too much of his dead wife, Sharon.

  He guided her to one side to skirt the rim of a brackish pit of water that hadn’t dried to cracking mud like the rest of the surrounding area. It wasn’t quicksand, which he knew was a made up thing of fiction, but it would have sucked the boots off her feet, or at least soaked them. Walking in squishy, wet boots was never much fun.

  She nodded her thanks and brushed a lock of hair over one ear. “The hieroglyphs used often were thought of as magical words or incantations, but no one has quite been able to decipher how they all interrelated to one another. There are the surface meanings that were translatable, of course, but there are also deeper, hidden meanings in each pictogram. A lot also depended on how the glyphs were combined. Along with the words, they possessed amulets and different talismans of power. Somehow, they all worked together as one system, but that knowledge has been lost from the world.”

  Cutter kept walking east, toward the distant tree line, but, even though they’d walked for almost an hour, the green line of the jungle’s edge still appeared to be miles away. Soon after they’d started, he’d spotted the KC-390s circling to drop off the supplies along with the vehicles. They’d done a quick flyby overhead and dipped both wings letting him know they’d seen him, and a call from Morgan over the radio had confirmed the contact.

  “Jack, there is more to the story,” Reyna continued. “Here is the almost unbelievable part. Did you know that most ancient civilizations share myths, as if they all have descended from one common culture? There are myths concerning floods, and others about battling giants, and even some about the dead rising to feast on the living. There is something in our collective genetic memory. Often, it is so horrifying to consider, that we suppress those memories. But they still leak through. If you have ever watched a movie or read a book about zombies or the dead rising, have you noticed just how easily it is for you to believe that such an event might have occurred?”

  He wiped the sweat from his eyebrows and flung it away. “I’d always thought the whole idea of zombies, or the living dead, was a bit whacky. Kind of far out there. But Russia…”

  “Yeah, Russia. When…well, Ecuador, too. Sharon knew about this grand theory of a unified, worldwide civilization existing in ancient history. It can seem rather preposterous to many of us now that there might have been a connection between civilizations such as Egypt, South America, and the northern Mediterranean—Greece, Italy, and even as far north as the UK and Scandinavian countries. There is also evidence that such a connection once existed between all these city-states. It had to exist. The evidence is almost overwhelming.”

  “Why don’t more people know this?”

  “Do you?”

  He missed a step and had to start moving faster to keep up with the pace she was setting. “Not really. If it was all connected, how did they travel between the cities?”

  “Ah, that is the big question, isn’t it. No one knows for sure. All we know is that there was some connection, a sharing of stories, cultures, and ideas—and then bam, all of the connected city-states collapsed and died off at once. Why do you think that is?”

  He stepped over the desiccated remains of a deer that had wandered too far out onto the plains. “I don’t know, you’re the scientist, you tell me.”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. Some said a great pestilence wiped them all out. Some have said it was food shortages. Some say it was climate change. You know, despite what some of these global warming experts tell you, carbon dioxide levels being higher now is a good thing. They were far lower in the past than they are now, which led to stunted growth in the planet’s vegetation because they rely on carbon dioxide just as much as we rely on air. We’re all connected. Millions of years ago, CO2 levels were about seven-thousand parts per million. Now the level is closer to four-hundred, which is up from around two-hundred when the ancient populations suddenly crashed. That’s why we still find ancient civilizations existing in places we never would have dreamt possible for any large, agricultural society to survive in today. Back then everything was…quite different. Climate change is very real. It’s just debatable if our contribution to it is harmful or not. What is tragic, though, is that all the grant money out there is shaping the science, and the scientifically inept are buying up all that doom and gloom.”

  “I still can’t believe he’s alive.”

  “Have you been listening to me?”

  “Yes, of course. But.”

  “But, what?”

  “You don’t have anything to say about my theory?”

  “Sounds okay to me, but what do I know?”

  “I think you know more than you are letting on, Jack.”

  He ignored the barbed jib. “How does any of this relate to those ‘Seeds’ Warren spoke of?”

  Her hands came up as she said, “No one knows for sure. All we know is that they are some kind of ancient relic. They might even be extraterrestrial. Who knows? We do know they were both worshiped and feared at one point in our history. The trouble is—we’ve never been able to locate an intact sample to study. Which is why we are here in the Amazon Basin now.” She let her hands drop to her sides. “Since you’ve said you’re familiar with the legends of the Lost City of Z, maybe you can see the connection? If we do indeed find one of these artifacts there, it all fits in with the ‘Seed’ mythology. It’s said that in the city’s center is a temple of sorts, and inside that temple is a golden object that is both worshiped and feared.”

  “A Seed,” Cutter said.

  “Precisely. So if we find the city, we are bound to find another relic. Once we find the relic, it will blow the lid off all we know about ancient civilizations and probably reestablish our place in the chain of life.”

  Cutter thought over what she had said for a moment before speaking again. “Those things in Russia—the zombies. They were once people. When I destroyed the artifact, they appeared to recover. Like it had been controlling them all along.”

  “Yes, that’s true according to what I’ve been able to find out. It seems to be some kind of possession. By what or who? We just don’t understand that—yet.”

  Cutter nodded and kept walking for a few minutes without speaking.

  “But…” he finally said, “why would someone actually want one of those things?”

  “Moray is thinking like John Wayland had been thinking. He’s bullshitting us about this expedition. He doesn’t believe what he’s told us. He wants this for the same reasons Wayland did. He wants it to control people. Haven’t you noticed that?”

  She stopped walking. He stopped as well.

  “But he controls a lot of people already.”

  She locked eyes with him. “Not in the same way, Jack. Moray’s an evil man. If he gets his hands on an artifact…?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “No, he must be stopped. At all costs. Promise me this—if I am killed, you will not let that man get his hands on—”

  Cutter’s hands went up and he backed away from her. “Whoa! Hold on there. Nobody’s going to die here. It’s not gonna happen on my watch.”

  “Everybody dies, Jack.”

  “Not this time. Hell no.”

  She sighed. “Promise me, Jack,” she repeated. “Promise m
e that you won’t let him get to it?”

  Cutter nodded—slowly this time. He turned away from her and began to pick his way across the wasteland again in silent contemplation. He’d been more than just playing the fool. He’d been an actual fool that had been played.

  - 13 -

  SIMMERING ANGER

  “Are we all good now?” Moray asked from behind the wheel of the big Mercedes G-63 6x6 as he drove cross-country toward a line of green trees in the distance.

  Cutter was sitting in the plush passenger’s seat, soaked in sweat and gulping down water from a crackling plastic bottle. He and Reyna had walked for almost three miles before Moray had arrived to pick them up.

  The air-conditioned cabin of the vehicle was a relief from the sweltering heat outside that had been roasting them both. The air vents were blowing full-blast, and Cutter shivered a bit as he glanced over his shoulder at Reyna riding in the back seat. She didn’t appear at all troubled by the trek they’d just made across the wasteland, nor had she shown any signs of suffering in the soul-crushing heat, which was good. She’d do just fine the rest of the trip, he figured, and he wouldn’t have to keep as close an eye on her as he’d first thought.

  Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…? He wasn’t about to let that happen.

  While it was hotter than Hades in August outside, he was used to such heat. In fact, he rather enjoyed it. But here, so near the humid jungle, it might have been just a tad too hot for even his tastes. The circling buzzards that had followed them on their trek were not an encouraging sight either.

  When the vehicle rolled to a stop by a small tin-roofed building at the edge of the forest canopy, Cutter drained the last gulp of water from his bottle, shoved open the door, and stepped back into the oven to roast some more. The sounds of cicadas and birdcalls and howler monkeys almost overpowered his senses after the quietness of the ride inside the vehicle.

  “Stick with us, this time,” Moray warned as he exited the G-63 and headed off to talk to two men standing in the shade of a ramshackle building with a rusting tin roof. Large D-9 Caterpillar bulldozers sat to either side of the building, and the ground had been torn into chunks and clods of reddish clay by their passing.

  During the ride, Cutter had told Moray there’d been a problem with his parachute, and that he’d needed to fix it before he could jump, and that was what had led to the delay. There had been a few too many suspicious questions from the man, and Cutter was not so certain his story had been bought completely, but he’d had nothing else to tell the guy. He didn’t want to blame it all on Reyna and her reluctance to jump, which, in turn, had turned out to be a trick she’d played on him. So, he’d had to go with a simple excuse, one that was easier to digest and didn’t speak to her reluctance.

  Apparently, though, the excuse had come off as thin, or he hadn’t sold it as well as he should have. Moray would be watching, Cutter was certain of that now, and after what Warren had told him about the man, he would watch Moray just as carefully.

  “Jack!” Morgan yelled at him from behind. She grabbed him by the arm, spun him around, and stepped back.

  “What?” He stumbled a little before regaining his balance.

  “Do you see this?”

  “Umm, yeah…?”

  “Look! Look over there! There! Can you believe it?”

  He could, but he wasn’t quite sure why she was so fired up about it.

  “Look at that complete….destruction, Jack! Just look! They’re cutting it all down. For—for what?”

  “Don’t you like Happy Meals…? Cattle…?” he said. “Soybean crops…?”

  “You are god-da—” She cut herself off. She’d almost sworn, and that was one solid way Cutter could tell she was pissed. Morgan never swore if she could help it. But sometimes…

  “I get it,” he said. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “What can I…? We…we, Jack. We are allowing this. We are slitting our own throats by letting this happen.”

  “Not really.”

  “Not…really?” she said, exasperated.

  “Mother Nature’s a brutal bitch. She’s a ruthless killer who has taken out more people than all wars combined. She’ll make a comeback.”

  “Oh? So that’s your answer? Has the sun rotted your brain…? Mother Nature is a bitch…? Really, Jack? Really?” She shoved him hard, and he just absorbed the blow.

  “I said she was ‘a brutal bitch.’ Now just calm down.” The moment after he’d said those last two words, he wanted them back. No one ever calms down after being told to do so.

  “I can stop them!” she said forcefully.

  “No, you can’t. Deal with it.”

  “But…it’s wrong!”

  “Doesn’t matter. Claiming something’s wrong isn’t going to fix it. Maybe you can hold a telethon and get a bunch of Hollywood idiots and dumbass music people behind you? Save the rainforest? It’s been done before, and what has it ever accomplished?”

  She huffed a few breaths then let out a loud “Arrrg!” Then she spun and marched away, passing a confused-looking Gauge who was coming toward Cutter from the direction of the other G-63.

  Cutter sighed. Perhaps, he figured, he’d let it go a bit too far. A single nod of agreement would have been all it took to head off her anger, but he had just trekked across miles of destroyed rain forest and soon to be desert, thinking many of the very same things she’d brought up. Maybe a little righteous anger on her part was good. Maybe she’d do something with it.

  “What was all that about?” the big man asked.

  Shaking his head side to side, Cutter chuckled. “She’s got a pebble in her shoe.”

  “Oh?” Gauge stopped to scratch the coarse stubble on his jaw. “Why doesn’t she take it out?”

  Cutter stared at the big man for a moment, chuckled again. “It’s a metaphor.”

  “Yeah, whatever, boss. I’ve got everything loaded and double-checked. We are good to go.”

  “Thank you,” Cutter said.

  Rubbing his jaw again, Gauge added, “Sucks what they’ve done to all that rainforest shit.”

  “Yup,” was all Cutter said this time. He patted Gauge on the shoulder, stepped past him, and went looking for something to eat.

  - 14 -

  INTO THE JUNGLE

  While Cutter had driven many different vehicles over his lifetime, he was impressed with how the big Mercedes G-63 soaked up the rough terrain and spat it back out, and after he’d figured out that the tires could be deflated to give a better grip, the ride became even smoother, and he could be more aggressive. The growl of the engine was almost as satisfying as the almost effortless steering.

  He felt like a kid playing a video game.

  Driving along in a big six-wheeled vehicle was a far cry better than what he’d read the original explorers of the area had to contend with. Most of them had ventured into the uncharted areas with little more than a machete in one hand and a compass in the other—and balls the size of grapefruits.

  Despite his initial reaction behind the wheel, about twenty minutes into the trip, he started getting bored. With a glance in the rearview mirror and a rapid shake of the steering wheel, he signaled to Morgan. She had been holding the handle attached to the top of the doorjamb above her head and was looking out the side window.

  She sneered at him.

  “What do you have for music?” he asked.

  She gave him the I’m-not-ready-to-talk-to-you look. He glanced at Gauge, who squinted, then nodded and fished into a pocket, coming back with a cellphone.

  “You know those things don’t work down here,” Cutter said.

  Gauge ignored him. The big guy reached for the dashboard and turned on the radio. He started tapping buttons while Cutter drove, and then he said, “Bluetooth,” while displaying his phone.

  Cutter liked what he saw, so he nodded in acceptance.

  Gauge reached forward again to increase the volume on the player in the dashboard, then sank b
ack into his seat.

  A solid bassline filled the cabin, followed by the rapid crash of heavy drums.

  Cutter turned the music up using still more buttons on the steering wheel until he had filled the entire cabin with a wall of pounding sound. He started bouncing his head in time with the music and rapidly tapping along on the steering wheel.

  The first line of lyrics came up, “If you like to gamble, I tell you I’m your man. You win some, lose some, it’s all the same to me…”

  Even though Cutter’s entire body felt as if it had been ridden hard and put away wet, Motörhead played at extreme volumes always charged him up.

  But after a few songs, it was Reyna who shouted at him to, “Turn that shit down!”

  He could go on for hours, music blaring, head bobbing. But, being the good leader that he was, he made the gently asked for accommodation for the good of his team—and their collective hearing. Morgan was probably still pissed at him as well, maybe doubly so now. She hated heavy metal music.

  She’d get over it.

  Maybe.

  With Motörhead playing at levels that truly represented a crime against nature, Cutter followed along behind Moray into the jungle canopy and down a narrow path through the dense overgrowth. He kept the G-63 riding to one side of the twin-rutted trails cut by vehicles and foot traffic. The path was not much wider than the vehicles.

  Moray had stated earlier that their destination was a small village on the distant edge of the wilderness, somewhere along the river. There, they would meet with the local chieftain and seek his permission to proceed further into the rainforest. It would be dangerous to do otherwise because some parts of the forest were so off limits that strangers dared not go there. A diamond mining operation had once sent twenty-nine smiling representatives in the early 2000s. They were never heard from again.