Dead Team Alpha: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (3 page)

Cook
, she thinks.
Run, you marvelous bastard, run your ass off.

***

The ground under his feet is nothing but slick mud as the rain pours down from the sky. Cook doesn’t give the horror behind him a second thought, using all of his faculties to concentrate on keeping his footing. The storm rages about him, lightning striking the ground in the distance, then only yards from him. The air is rocked by ear shattering thunder. He can taste the electricity in the air, which to him is horrifyingly similar to the tang of blood.

Hitting a rise, Cook clambers up a small
hill, then slides his way down the other side, letting the mud and gravity do the work for him. He hits the flat ground and his legs keep pumping, not missing a stride. He focuses on the terrain ahead whenever a flash lights up the landscape. In the best of times, navigating the monotonous country that makes up the Silo Park is difficult, but at night in a thunderstorm? Cook is glad for the years of experience he has as a Runner. A rookie would already be lost or have snapped an ankle slipping in the mud.

His lungs burn and he can feel a cramp sta
rting to stab into his side, but Cook doesn’t stop. He has too many miles to go before he can even think of slowing down.

So many miles.

***

Cook crests the final ridge before the Fort Collins outpost, his heart sinking as he sees the flames licking the sky as the outpost’s building
s burn, burn, burn.

His first thought is to hurry down and look for
survivors, or at the very least, salvage some supplies. But the shapes on the ground that ring the outpost tell him to steer clear. Cook knows corpses when he sees them, and in the zombie apocalypse, corpses don’t always stay down.

The sound of the rain almost hides the approaching footsteps, but even nearing full
exhaustion, Cook’s senses are dialed up to full. He spins around and slams a fist into a woman’s face just as her blade nicks him on the side. The wound doesn’t feel deep, but pain radiates up his side quickly. He staggers back, his hands clenched to the cut, his knees feeling weak. After only a couple of steps, he falls to his knees.

“Who are you?” Cook asks as the woman stands over him, her hand wiping away the blood that gushes from her nose. “What do you want?” The light of the flames illuminates her features and Cook gasps. “Dear God, what’s wrong with your face?”

His head tumbles from his body and rolls down the ridge towards the burning outpost. The rest of him doesn’t move for a good few seconds before the muscles give in and his body crumples into the mud.

The woman stands over him, her face impassive, completely void of emotion. She reaches up and cuts herse
lf just above her left cheek, directly on the occipital bone of her eye socket. She cuts the other side, leaving a matching slice in the flesh.

Flesh that has been cut and scabbed over many times. Flesh that surrounds the dark holes where her eyes should be.

Chapter Two- Induction Junction

As the sun rises and shines down on the lower slopes of the Rocky Mountains the cock crows, signaling the beginning of the work day for the inhabitants of the Stronghold.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU ROTTEN FUCKING BIRD!” a man screams out the window of his house. “FUCKING PISS OFF, YOU WORTHLESS CHICKEN!”

The man –all sagging, sun-browned skin, average height, bald except for a couple wild patches of salt and pepper hair- stands at the window in nothing but a tattered pair of underwear. He scratches his ass, then lets loose with a wicked fart, sniffing his hand after catching a piece of it.

“Classy, Dad,” Valencia Baptiste says as she pulls on a sweat
er made of a surprisingly soft blend of wool and hemp over her t-shirt to fight the late spring chill that still clings to the mornings in the Rockies. “You think you could go sniff farts in your room where the neighbors can’t see you?”

“Fuck Harmon and Juney Bel
le,” the man, Collin Baptiste, sneers. “Couple of twats with sticks up their…” He scrunches his face as he searches for the word.

“
Twats?” his daughter offers, grabbing a jug of water from the kitchen counter.

“Yeah,” Collin nods. “Fucking twats.”

“Well, I see Harmon is ready to have a morning discussion with you,” Valencia says as she quickly picks up her boots and opens the kitchen door. “Good luck with that.”

Twenty-two, tall,
blonde, dark brown eyes, and built like a dancer that’s all muscles and grace, Valencia Baptiste takes a deep breath of the cool, mountain air and sighs as she watches her neighbor walk toward her.

Harmon Lindeloff is in his late fifties, short, thick, and “hairy as a badger” his wife, Juney
Belle, likes to say. Recently retired from service in the Teams, he’s always taken a liking to Val Baptiste. And has always taken a severe disliking to her father.

“Val,” Harmon Lindeloff nods as he steps over the bent and broken picket fence that separates the neighbors’ yards. “Gonna have a word with your dad.”

“I figured, Har,” Val says as she hops on one foot while pulling on a boot. “Word of warning, he’s been drinking the hooch all night. Never went to sleep.”

“Fuck,” Harmon frowns. “I thought Bullet was all out.”

“Cranky just finished a new batch,” Val says as she works on the other boot. “Dad was first in line.”

“Holy hell,” Harman says as he rubs his tired face. “How much did he get?”

“I’ll be eating at the barracks for the rest of the month,” Val says, lacing both boots then standing straight and stretching. “Ration tickets are already gone.”

“Son of a bitch,” Harmon says. “I’ll see if I can find
his stash and get some of your tickets back.”

“Don’t bother,” Val says. “The food’s better at the barracks.”

“Hey, isn’t today the big day?” Harmon asks. “They pick the new Mates for DTA?”

“Yep,” Val smiles. “Eight candidates
. Just have to get through the Trials and I’m in.”

“You’
ll make it, Val,” Harmon says. “If anyone was born to be part of that Team it was you. Lord knows you’ve had enough fighting experience with that asshole in there.”

“Careful now, he’s still my dad,” Val says. “But, yeah, he’s a total asshole. Gotta run, Har.”

“Good luck, Val,” Harmon calls out as he watches the young woman sprint off down the street. He turns back to the rundown house and growls. “Okay, you drunk fuck, let’s do this.”

***

The Stronghold.

Also
known as Boulder, Colorado.

Or was before Z-Day hit the world
close to a hundred years ago and the dead started walking the Earth. No explanation, no warning, just one day corpses began to dig themselves out of graves, sit up in morgues, fight their way our of body bags and caskets. And they were hungry. Attacking the living and feasting off their flesh, the undead, the zombies, the Zs, multiplied quickly as the victims turned and became part of the undead ranks.

That was a Sunday.

By Monday evening, the world was lost and those still alive began their never ending fight to survive.

Many survivors
realized that running wasn’t an option and began to fortify their homes, their neighborhoods, their towns. Boulder was a city that decided the undead wouldn’t be allowed citizenship. They fought, they killed, they died, they endured until they were able to push the Zs back and take back most of the city.

Now,
so many decades later, they have the Stronghold locked down tight against the zombie hordes with a system of ditches, barricades, fences, razor wire nets, pits, and other various defenses, all stretched out before a massive wall.

In the beginning, and for years
after, they had power from solar, wind, and geothermal sources, but that’s all gone as parts, and expertise died out; remnants of a dead society left to live on in memories handed down from generation to generation.

Val jogs past houses with wisps of smoke coming from their chimneys as they start stoves for the morning meal. Everyone gets up when the cock crows, ready to begin another day of work and duty, all to keep the Stronghold running and safe. Val waves at familiar faces and calls out to those that address her by name.

Children rush out of front doors, wooden swords in their hands. They go at each other, emulating the Team Mates they have come to see as heroes. Val smiles, knowing she was once one of those children that wished to be part of the Teams.

A Mate
of Denver Team Beta One, Val Baptiste is in a hurry to get to the Team barracks, and be counted among the candidates for promotion to the elite Denver Team Alpha. Or, as it is commonly called because of the level of shit the Team gets thrown in, and the high casualty rate: Dead Team Alpha.

But she has to make a stop first.

***

“What?” Stanford Lee mumbles as he feels the hand jostle him over and over. “Go away.”

“Someone’s at your door,” a voice says sleepily from his side.

Stanford
, twenty-two, tall, muscular, with blond hair like his cousin Val, but instead of brown eyes, he has ice blue ones, slowly pushes up from the mattress tucked into the corner of a bare room. He looks over at the naked young man in bed with him and frowns.

“What’s your name again?” Stanford asks, feeling like his tongue is made of paste and glass. “Bongo?”

“Benji,” the young man says, grabbing a fistful of blanket and rolling over, tucking it around his bare ass and legs.

“Right,” Stanford says. “Benji.
New Runner guy. Just moved in a few doors down.” Stanford fumbles through the clothes and trash on the floor and finds a canteen. He tips it up, but only a single drop of water comes out. “Fuck. You got any water over there?”

“Drank it all,” Ben
ji says. “We got thirsty, remember? Shrooms.”

“Yeah, yeah, shrooms,” Stanford says as tries to recall the wild night. Bits and pieces come back to him, mainly the sweaty sex pieces, and he reaches over and slaps Benji on the ass. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself, asshole,” Benji says. “Fuck off, I’m going back to sleep.”

There’s a loud banging from the other room and Stanford looks at the open bedroom door.

“I gotta go, okay?” Stanford says as he gets up, yanks on his jeans, and starts rummaging for a clean t-shirt. He finds a clean-ish one and pulls it on. “Uh, did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you,” Benji says as he rolls over and throws the blanket off. He gets to his feet and shoves Stanford out of the way. “I guess that means I can’t stay.”

“Sorry,” Stanford says. “Maybe we could get together later tonight? I hear there’s some hooch ready.”

“No thanks,” Benji says as he gathers his clothes. “I don’t drink.”

“But you take shrooms?” Stanford asks, wishing for a glass of water.

“Shrooms
are great for fucking,” Benji says, turning and giving Stanford a quick kiss. “That hooch will make your dick soft. Hate to ruin a good thing.”

The banging starts again and gets louder and louder until Benji, naked with his clothes wadded in a ball in his arms, leaves the bedroom, crosses through the
pigsty of a front room, and yanks the front door open.

“Oh,” Val says, her fist raised. “Uh, hi there.”

“Excuse me,” Benji says as he pushes past.

Val watches him walk down the walkway of the apartment complex
set aside for single men. He goes a few doors down and drops his clothes, searches through the pockets of the pants, and pulls out a key. He looks over at Val and frowns.

“What?” he asks.

“Nice ass,” Val smiles.

“Whatever,” Benji says as he slips the key in the knob. “Forget you saw it, sweetheart. I don’t do vag.”

“It’s Val,” Val smiles.

“What?” Benji asks.

“It’s Val, not vag,” Val smiles wider.

“Funny,” Benji says in a voice that makes it very obvious he doesn’t find it funny. He shoves his door open and waves a hand at Val. “Have fun with that one. We tripped most of the night.”

Then the door closes, and Val turns back to the open one in front of her.

“Ford? Ford!” Val yells as she walks in and closes the door behind her. “We’re gonna be late, dick. You better not be
hung-over. Not today, cuz.”

“No hangover,” Stanford says as he
walks out of the bathroom, rubbing his face with a wet towel. “But I think I’m still trippin’ on shrooms.”

“Jesus, Ford,” Val says as she looks about the mess of an apartment. “Better pull it together or Aunt Maura will rip you a new one.”

“I think Benji already did that,” Stanford smiles as he pats his ass. “He’s a cute one, huh?”

Val shrugs. “I thought you were fucking that Pickering girl?”

“Pussy gets old,” Stanford shrugs. “Gotta mix it up, ya know?”

“Nope,” Val says, shaking her head. “I’m strictly a cock and balls girl. No switch hitting for me.”

“Whatever floats your boat, cuz,” Stanford says. “Ready?”

“Are you?”

“Born ready,” Stanford says as he grabs his boots and a pair of socks and gestures to the front door. “After you, my lady.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Val says as she walks past then stops and socks Stanford in the gut.

“What the fuck, Val,” Stanford oofs.

“Just double checking,” Val says. “Wanted you to get whatever puking you have in you done now. Can’t have my favorite cousin vomiting during the
Teamtrials.”

“I told you, I’m not
hung over,” Stanford says then yanks the water jug out of Val’s hand. “But I am thirsty as all fuck.” He chugs half the water and then belches. “That hits the spot.”

“Fucking asshole,” Val snaps. “That was my ration for the day.”

“Oh, quit bitching,” Stanford says as they walk down the stairs from the second floor and out to the street. “My mom will have plenty of water at the barracks.”

“Not today, fucknut,” Val says. “No water
until after the Trials. This is a test to find the best of the best, remember? And the best don’t get thirsty mid-fight.”

“Well, that’s bullshit since I’m the best and extremely thirsty,” Stanford grins. “You need to chill, little cuz. We’ve been kicking ass on Beta
One, there’s no way we won’t make it into Alpha.”

“Sure, easy for you to say since your mom is the fucking Commander,” Val frowns. “Not so easy for me.”

“You are my favorite cousin and her favorite niece, Val,” Stanford says. “And way less disappointing than her only child. You have a better shot than I do. Fuck, she probably won’t let me in just to prove she isn’t playing favorites.”

“Fuck that,” Val says, waving to a mother and her children busy throwing food to the chickens pecking at the grass in their front yard. “You’re the best sho
oter in the Stronghold and the second best fighter.”

“You being the first best, I take it?” Stanford laughs.

“Just the best,” Val grins. “No need to qualify it with ‘first’.”

They walk for a couple more blocks, passing old brick and wood buildings, many of them patched together with various materials. In the zombie
apocalypse, you take what you can find and make do. Another block and they come across an entire family in their driveway going through fight drills. The father and mother instruct the children on how to hold an axe properly and where to aim to take down a Z.

The head, of course.

They see Val and wave. She waves back. Stanford waves, but the mother moves in front of her husband, glaring.

“Ford, you didn’t?” Val asks, shaking her head as they walk past the family and turn at the corner
of the block. “The guy has kids.”

“I don’t know if I did or didn’t,” Stanford says. “Don’t recognize the guy.”

“Slut,” Val smirks.