by Jake Bible
Dead Team Alpha
Jake Bible
Copyright 2014 by Jake Bible
Chapter One- Silo, When I Was Young…
“Fourteen checks out.”
“Only twelve more to go.”
“More like twenty-four.”
“What?”
“Twenty-four to go.”
“What’s this all about, TL? First, the increased copper quota for the Reclamation Crews and now these equipment checklists we have to go over at each silo, marking the circuitry that works, the supplies the silo has, and all this crap, for what?”
Silo Team Alpha’s Team Leader turns to the woman on his right.
“Need to know,” TL Joshua Mills replies. “All Command has said to me is we need to be on constant patrol. The silos have to stay secure and they need those detailed lists of what works and what doesn’t.”
The woman frowns and looks about the barren landscape. Scrub brush and sparse grass are all that cover the hardscrabble hills of what the citizens of the Stronghold call Silo Park, a four hundred square mile region of what once used to be where the borders of Colorado, Wyoming and North Dakota met.
But the days of states is long past, and Silo Team Alpha knows nothing about borders or state lines. They only know their carbines, their training, and their hatred for the undead that they occasionally come across in the wasteland.
“We have about four miles before Silo Fifteen,” the woman, Team Mate Tonia Delaney says. “We can clear that one and then move through Sixteen, Seventeen, and Eighteen.”
“Can we make Eighteen by dark?” Team Mate Troy Morrissey asks. “I fucking hate the Park at night.”
“You afraid of the boogeyman?” Team Mate Stephanie Lazzar laughs. “Afraid he’s gonna jump out from behind one of the boulders and grab your tiny dick?”
“No,” Morrissey replies. “Because I don’t have a tiny dick.”
“It’s true,” Delaney smiles. “He has a vagina. A big, gaping one.”
“Fuck you,” Morrissey sneers.
“What’s wrong with a vagina, Morrissey?” Lazzar asks. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t know what they’re for, do you? Still too busy with that love affair between you and your right hand, eh?”
“This is a lovely conversation,” Team Mate Adam Chinn sighs. “But can we cut the little kid bullshit for just five minutes? Been listening to you punks jabber for days.”
“Let them have their fun, Chinn,” Team Mate JT Blackmore says. “God knows we have to have something to talk about in this fucking place. I always hate it once we leave the Fort Collins outpost. It means nothing but blah blah blah for miles.”
“No shit, man,” Team Mate Mark Miller agrees. “We don’t even get to put down Zs out here. We’re so far from any of the old cities that it’s nothing but fucking buffalo and prairie dogs.”
“You fuck buffalo and prairie dogs?” Lazzar asks.
“Fuck off.”
“Bison,” Team Mate John Ellis says from the back of the Team. “They’re called bison, not buffalo. Didn’t you pay attention in school at all, Miller?”
“I paid attention to Ms. Fortney’s tight ass in those jeans she always wore,” Miller replies. “Nearly busted a nut every time she dropped the chalk, man. I’d have to rub one out during break just to get through the next class.”
“Well, I had Mr. Shipley,” Ellis says. “So I actually learned something other than how to spot a panty line.”
“Oh, Ms. Fortney didn’t wear panties,” Lazzar laughs. “Trust me. I studied that ass more than Miller did.”
“Fuck yeah,” Miller says, holding up his hand for a high five.
Lazzar responds in kind, but then quiets down as they see the look on TL Mills’ face.
“You done reminiscing about ogling a woman’s ass?” TL Mills asks. “Because that woman worked harder than you know to educate you ungrateful fucks. Not so easy to expand minds and open new avenues of thought in the fucking apocalypse.”
“They’re just Zs, TL,” Miller responds. “No harder to deal with than rats. Why do so many people get all bent out of shape? This is how the world is, has been for nearly a hundred years, so who cares? Folks need to lighten up and get some joy where they can, you know what I mean?”
“And there was plenty of joy in Ms. Fortney’s jeans,” Lazzar smiles. “Gettin’ wet just thinking about them.”
TL Mills shakes his head and looks towards the horizon. He frowns and holds up his hand. The Team stops instantly, all eyes on him, their M-4 carbines to their shoulders.
“What you got, TL?” Delaney asks. “Zs? Wind’s blowing this way and I don’t smell them.”
“I don’t know,” TL Mills replies, “thought I saw someone up past that hill.”
He nods with his chin and Delaney turns her attention that way. After a couple of minutes, she shakes her head.
“Not seeing anything,” she says. “You sure it wasn’t one of Ellis’s bison?”
“No, no,” TL Mills says. “It was human size. I know what a fucking buffalo looks like.”
“Fucking park,” Morrissey says. “I hate this shit. How many days are we out here?”
“Until we have every checklist completed,” TL Mills says. “We clear the silos, one by one, then send Cook back with the data so the Beta Team can come relieve us.”
Morrissey looks over his shoulder at the wiry man following behind the team. Armed only with a 9mm, Pauly Cook doesn’t come close to measuring up to the muscled and geared out bodies of Silo Team Alpha. However, the look in the man’s eyes tells a story of survival and endurance.
“You looking forward to running back to the Stronghold all by your lonesome, Cook?” Morrissey asks.
“As long as it keeps me from having to stare at your ugly face, Morrissey,” Cook grins, his tanned and weathered skin looking as cracked and rough as the earth around them all.
“You can’t ever get away from this pretty mug,” Morrissey laughs. “Once you see me, I’m in your head, man.”
“Like syphilis,” Delaney says. “But without the fun of fucking first.”
“Shut the fuck up,” TL Mills says, still studying the horizon. “I saw something. I’d bet my commission on it.”
This gets the Team’s attention. No one would dare insult the privilege of being a Team Leader by betting their commission unless they were very serious. The Team life is what drives the survivor refuge of the Stronghold. Military discipline and the warrior ethos are the fuel that keeps the engines of post-apocalyptic endurance running.
“Let’s go have a look then,” Blackmore suggests. “It won’t take us too far off course.”
“No, we move to the next silo,” TL Mills says, “but stay sharp. If it’s not a Z then it could be wasteland trash or one of the crazies scouting new land.”
“Trash wouldn’t last out here,” Delaney says.
“Neither would the crazies,” Miller adds. “No resources, just dirt and shit.”
“They aren’t called crazies because they make sane choices, moron,” Morrissey says.
“Can it,” TL Mills orders and the jabber quits. “We hit Fifteen, then keep going. If we can’t get to Eighteen by dark, then Seventeen is where we dig in.”
The Team all nod, look away from the horizon, and keep marching towards Silo Fifteen. TL Mills wants to look over his shoulder, but he knows that would look weak. A Team Leader can’t be weak in front of his people, not out in the wasteland where the closest backup is miles and miles away at the Fort Collins outpost. Every Team needs to know that they are in steady hands. He shakes it off and concentrates on their mission and the two dozen more silos they have to check
before they can head home to the Stronghold.
***
The pitch-black tunnel is outlined in ghostly hues of green and grey as Delaney moves forward, her vision enhanced by the night vision goggles (NVG) each Team Mate is outfitted with. Having cleared Silo Fifteen, STA is now working its way through Sixteen, ready to secure the site and move on.
Made up of two main sections, each silo site has a launch control center (LCC) and a launch facility (LF), connected by a long concrete tunnel. The LCC houses the missile controls as well as the personnel barracks while the LF is where the actual missile is stored and ready for launch.
Leaving TL Mills, as well as Mates Miller, Morrissey, and Lazzar, back in the LCC, Delaney takes point in the tunnel with Chinn and Blackmore following close behind. They are halfway to the LF when Delaney pulls up, her fist in the air. The two men behind her go into a crouch, with Chinn pivoting so he covers their six while Blackmore creeps up closer to Delaney.
“Huh?” Blackmore grunts. The sound is like a gunshot in the pure silence of the tunnel.
Delaney nudges him with her elbow and points forward, her hand moving from left to right. Blackmore pats her shoulder and crouch walks his way towards the direction Delaney has indicated. He gets to a junction in the tunnel and looks left then right. If he turns right, he’ll move to the maintenance area of the LF. If he goes left, he’ll come to the launch site and the massive nuclear missile that the underground silo houses.
He focuses his attention right and then glance over his shoulder. Delaney and Chinn are holding their positions, waiting for him to give them the clear. There is only a short stretch of tunnel ahead with a large steel door at the end. While the door should be shut securely, Blackmore can see that it’s open a crack and there’s actually a faint light coming from within. He waves his Team Mates forward.
Delaney comes up on him and pats his left shoulder as she moves past, her senses at full alert and muscles tensed for the worst. With light present, it’s highly unlikely it’s a Z that’s made its way down into the facility, which leaves the possibility of a human element.
As every survivor has found out since Z-Day, the human element makes the zombie apocalypse a true nightmare.
Less than a foot from the door, Delaney stops, with her head cocked as she listens for movement. She extends her leg and slowly pushes the door open wider, then hurries through, sweeping the room with her carbine. Nothing moves and she relaxes as she spots the source of the light.
A low whistle brings the other two into the room with her, and Blackmore laughs.
“Poor bugger,” he says as he walks over to a set of shelves and nudges the dead gopher on the ground. The thing is covered in luminescent green goo that drips from a low shelf above its corpse. “Thought it found a snack and instead found Mr. Black.”
“You should be a poet,” Chinn says. “That’s a good rhyme.”
“Glow sticks,” Delaney says as she crouches and pulls the gnawed box free from the shelf. “Rats got to it first, looks like. I’ll bet there’s a nest of glowing rat corpses somewhere in this place.”
“Any still good?” Chinn asks.
“Nope,” Delaney says, setting the box back. “Looks like they’ve all been nibbled on. Come on, we’re only half done.”
“Godspeed, little gopher,” Blackmore says as he nudges the gopher again. “May you find peace in the great burrow in the sky.”
Back in formation, the Mates leave the room with Delaney pulling the door shut tightly behind them.
They miss the glowing handprints smeared on the back of the door.
***
“Seventeen it is,” TL Mills says as he watches the sky darken with a late spring thunderstorm. “Could have made it to Eighteen before dark, but not with that coming in.”
“I don’t mind getting wet, TL,” Lazzar says.
“Yeah, you’ve already expressed that,” Miller laughs.
“We dig in here,” TL Mills says. “Clean sweep first, then lock it down tight. I don’t want any visitors in the night.”
“Who’s going to come knocking?” Blackmore asks. “Ellis’s bison?”
“Fuck you all,” Ellis snaps. “I didn’t invent the fucking word. That’s what they’re called. Bison. So fucking deal.”
“Somebody has buffalo envy,” Chinn whispers.
“Blackmore, Delaney, Chinn, Lazzar,” TL Mills says, pointing at the semi-hidden hatch recessed into the small hill. “You’re up.”
Blackmore works the hatch open and Delaney moves inside fast, her carbine tracking left to right and back. Right behind her is Chinn, then Lazzar with Blackmore bringing up the rear. They move quickly, but cautiously, their NVGs illuminating the entrance for their eyes. Their footfalls bounce off the concrete walls and echo down the hallway. Blackmore looks down, then reaches out, and taps Lazarr’s shoulder. She reaches out and taps Chinn who in turn taps Delaney.
Pointing his finger down, Blackmore indicates for the Mates to glance at the floor. Partially evaporated puddles of water randomly dot the concrete, telling the Mates that either the hatch doesn’t seal properly, or someone has been in the silo recently since the last storm was only a couple days before. That gives all of them pause. A Team hadn’t checked silo Seventeen in well over a year.
Delaney nods then turns and keeps moving down the hallway. The tension ratchets up considerably amongst the Mates as they work their way towards the first checkpoint. A wide, solid door stands before them, securely locked. Delaney motions for Chinn to come forward and he does, with a thick key in his hand. He slides the key into a lock just below the door handle, turns it once to the left, two rotations to the right, then back to the left three times. The sound of large tumblers falling into place reverberates around them.
Grabbing the handle with both hands, Chinn muscles the door open. It’s almost a foot thick with huge, recessed rods inside, and it takes all of Chinn’s strength to get it pushed back. He takes a deep breath and steps out of the way as Delaney, Lazzar, and Blackmore move quickly past him, their carbines leading the way.
A quick sweep of the room and they all relax. The thick coating of dust on the control panels shows them no one has been inside in a good, long while.
“Clear,” Blackmore calls out.
Lazzar rests her M-4 against an old rolling chair and starts flicking switches on the center control console. “No residual power.”
Delany pulls a clipboard from her pack and makes a zero next to the “Power” entry.
“All controls appear to be in working order,” Lazzar continues. “No rust or scorch marks.” She gets on her hands and knees and pops open a panel. “No corrosion in the wiring that I can see. This LCC is stable, just needs power.”
“That’ll be quite the extension cord,” Morrissey says as the rest of the Team joins them in the control center. “Don’t think Mayor Coolidge will authorize that use of emergency resources.”
“Knock off the jabber,” TL Mills says. “It doesn’t have to digress into a kids’ sleepover every time we clear a silo.”
“Can I have Delaney do my hair?” Miller asks. “She does the best French braids ever.”
“You have to have hair first, baldy,” Delaney says.
“Funny,” Miller says. “Don’t be hating on my shiny scalp.”
“Cut it,” TL Mills says. “Blackmore, Chinn, and Morrissey, you get the LF. Complete your checklist and then regroup here. We’ll bed down in the LCC, then move out at first light. Lazzar, you have first watch, so get comfortable up at the hatch.”
“Yes, sir,” Lazzar says as she hurries from the control center.
“It’s getting nasty,” Cook says, pulling up his zipper as he passes Lazzar on his way into the LCC. “Wind is picking up and I see lightning on the horizon. The storm’s going to be ugly. Smells like tornado weather.”
“Great,” Lazzar says. “That’ll be fun for the later shifts. Glad mine’s getting done now.”
She hustles to the hatch and pushe
s it wide, and then steps back into the shadows of the hallway, her eyes scanning the countryside. There’s nothing but the same old shit. She sighs and settles in for the next two hours of her shift.
***
Morrissey notices it first.
He waves the other two Mates forward and they all study the scuffmarks on the wall. Chinn looks up and sees the ventilation grate above them at the top of the wall. He taps Morrissey on the shoulder and the man bends over, his hands clasped, and gives Chinn a boost up.
The ventilation shaft is nothing but green glowing darkness and Chinn struggles to see more than a couple feet, even with the NVGs on. After a good minute, he shakes his head and Morrissey lowers him to the floor. They each study the ground, but can’t see any more marks. Without saying anything, they move on to the LF in order to finish their sweep. Morrissey hangs back just a second to make a note of the discovery on his clipboard, then tucks it into his pack and shoulders his carbine, catching up quickly to his Team Mates.
***
The flash of lightning and ensuing thunderclap are considerably closer than Lazzar is expecting, causing her to jump. If her finger hadn’t been resting along the trigger guard, she would have squeezed off a couple of rounds. She laughs to herself, glad none of her Mates saw her little scare, and steps outside into the blowing wind. A light rain has started and the cool mist wets her skin. Closing her eyes, and opening her mouth, she welcomes the fresh water.
Another flash and clap go off and Lazzar opens her eyes, feeling refreshed. The daylight is completely gone and the barren landscape about her is cloaked in inky darkness. The storm is picking up and the rain goes from refreshing mist to needling drops in seconds. Lazzar begins to back up to the hatch when a third flash lights up the land.
Her carbine is at her shoulder instantly and she drops to one knee as she sees an illuminated figure before her for just a split second. The lightning has messed with her vision and she turns her head slightly to the side, letting her stronger peripheral vision study the area. She goes over the image in her mind, looking for clues as to what she’s dealing with. It held itself upright with a straight back, so not a Z. It also wasn’t moving towards her, further proof it isn’t a flesh-hungry zombie. It also hasn’t come screaming at her with some improvised weapon, which means not a crazy or wild wasteland trash. It made itself known, instead of the normal sneak attack nature of a cannibal.
