Zombie Team Alpha: Lost City Of Z

by Steve R. Yeager

  “I’ve been out for a full day?”

  “Almost two,” she said.

  He stared at her, blinking. “What the hell was in that stuff?”

  “That’s what happens when you drink.”

  “Not…normally. Where is my gun?”

  She shrugged and shook her head. Losing track of his Glock was a badge of pure shame. It was something he had never done before, even while drunk. He hung his head and worked to balance himself well enough that he would not fall over when he let go of the doorway. After a few seconds, he found that he could remain standing on his own two feet without assistance. He took a stumbling step forward, zombie-like. Then he took another, and got better as he continued his shambling gait.

  “What are you waiting for?” he said as he strode past Morgan. “Let’s get this clown and monkey show on the road.”

  - 19 -

  INTO THE VOID

  “We’re just your followers, Jack,” Morgan said from the seat next to him inside the G-63. “All we seem to do is go along behind you and clean up the wreckage. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.”

  Cutter drank from his water bottle and then crinkled and dented the thin plastic as he rolled the half-empty bottle between his fingers. He’d been consuming water like a camel at an oasis. Along with the painkillers Morgan had given him, the cool water was helping with the hangover, but the lingering effects of alcohol poisoning stilled blurred his vision.

  That meant that Gauge was now the guy behind the steering wheel, following closely behind the lead G-63 with Moray and his team inside, along with their new guide, Karo, a short, old native man with another one of those Moe from the Three Stooges haircuts and sticks pierced through his ears.

  Reyna sat up front with Gauge. Cutter had recently learned the hard way that she wasn’t in the mood to talk to him. She was giving him the silent treatment.

  He rubbed at his temples and placed the coldest part of the water bottle against his forehead. “What can we do about it?”

  Morgan showed him a piece of paper, on it was written: Careful. They’re listening to us. She nodded while saying, “After what you did, Jack, can we blame them for being a bit upset about it?”

  He drew a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He took the scrap of paper and wrote on it with a pen she provided: Why don’t they trust us?

  She shrugged.

  He grunted, then said aloud for Moray’s benefit, “I don’t think we have any choice. The bullshit has to stop here. I’m done. No more, okay? I screwed up. I admit it. I’ll make things right, somehow. Still—I have to say that I’m a little suspicious they’re keeping something from us. I’m sure of that now. But again, we’re being paid for this gig—well—and he’s the client. So, I’d say that buys Moray a little privacy as long as he doesn’t put any of us in jeopardy.” He nodded. “Agreed? We do what Moray says?”

  “Okay, but I don’t like it,” she said.

  “Noted.” He scribbled on the paper: For now. Then he passed the note back to her, and she tore it up.

  “Feeling any better?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he lied.

  “Good.” She scrutinized him for a moment. “That wasn’t very cool what you did, you know. I’d thought you put the drinking behind you.”

  He held up two fingers. “Won’t happen ever again. Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a Scout, Jack.” She was kind enough not to challenge him with more than a sly grin. After glancing out the window and shaking her head again, she resumed typing on the tablet sitting on her lap and scrolling about a map with her fingertips.

  “Any idea where we’re going next?” he asked right as they hit a harsh bump in the road. He was thrown against the doorjamb and came away from it shaking his head to clear the haze. He then burped to relieve the bilious gurgling in his stomach.

  “Moray told me that we are headed deeper into this region.” She pointed at a zoomed-in area on her tablet. “There seems to be a village nearby that our guide was told to stop at, or so it seems. So many of these tribes are hostile toward each other. There are some here even, that are so remote, that even today they’ll capture anyone who trespasses into their territory.” She shook her head. “I suspect the outcome from that might not be too good for us—and I’d rather not find out, okay?”

  “Got it,” he said.

  “Jack, you did see those shrunken heads hanging in the chief’s hut, right? Those were real. I’m sure of it.”

  “I saw them,” he said plainly. “But how did…?”

  “You can’t expect me to just wait outside without peeking in, can you?”

  He grunted his disapproval and reached for the Glock at his side. Gauge had stripped him of it right before he had taken a swing at the man and driven off with the chief on the drunken rampage. Because he’d committed that particular form of assault on the big man, he now sported a few bruised knuckles. Gauge had nothing to show for it other than a smile, which was on par for the guy. No apologies were necessary between them. Still, Cutter knew he would have to find a way to make it up to him. It was just part of the code.

  “Be careful when we get there. Okay, Jack?” Morgan said.

  “I’m always careful,” he replied with a grin.

  “Pfff. Why do I keep trusting you?”

  That was a good question, he thought. If their positions were reversed, there was no way in hell that he would trust and follow his own lead. He’d been far too poor a leader as of late. Even the trip to Russia had been filled with him not acting his part. He’d been too self-absorbed and had blamed his piss-poor attitude on Sharon’s death. But that wasn’t it. He’d never wanted to be a leader of others in the first place. He didn’t want to be the guy in charge, and no matter how much he tried to self-sabotage his leadership role, they continued to stick by him. That spoke more of their loyalty to him than his to them. Still, he loved Gauge and Morgan like family. He was getting close to the same feelings of family with Reyna, but with her, things were just—different.

  “You keep trusting me, Morgan, because—”

  They hit another bump in the road. Water splashed from the bottle in his hand and sprayed all over the side window and wetted his button-down shirt. Half a second later, he got control of the spewing water bottle, raised it, and took a casual sip to cover his clumsiness, then put the cap back on and pursed his lips.

  “You listen because you are fiercely loyal to me, even though I don’t deserve any of it. I can be an asshole sometimes. Yeah”—he looked away and out the window—“I know it.”

  He glanced back at her and became curious about the look on her face. He had expected his all-too-brief admission of his shortcomings might soften her up a bit.

  It hadn’t.

  “A dog is loyal, Jack. You want loyalty? Get a dog.”

  He liked dogs. Dogs were loyal. They asked for nothing in return for their loyalty and had many other fine qualities. He grinned at her and nodded, figuring that he was just digging his hole deeper, and the words coming from his mouth were not right.

  “Does that make me one, then? A she-dog?” she asked. “Your bitch? Should I beg for your favors? Is that all I am to you?”

  He lowered the water bottle to his thigh and groaned inwardly. Now was not the right time to continue the argument. He would lose, no matter what he said. For the briefest of moments, he wished she were more like Gauge. Then he could let her punch him in the gut, and she’d get over whatever was bothering her inside.

  But she wasn’t.

  He turned away and glanced at the droplets of water on the window next to him and watched as they slid down the glass and merged with the others to form even larger droplets.

  - 20 -

  FIRST CONTACT

  “Mr. Cutter,” said the clipped voice on the handheld radio.

  Cutter woke from a daze and wiped drool from the corner of his lips with his fingers as he blinked himself awake. He’d been staring out the side window for ho
urs, watching the scenery go past, thinking of nothing in particular other than the pulsating veins in his temples. At some point along the way, he had fallen asleep. The pain meds had helped with that, but they had the converse effect of leaving him lethargic and weak.

  “Mr. Cutter, come in please.”

  “Here,” Cutter grumbled into the radio.

  “We are approaching the final launching off point. I expect you and your team to join me when we make first contact with the villagers. But—you and your team must remain silent and out of the way while we handle the negotiations. Is that clear?”

  Cutter breathed a sigh of relief and glanced out the side window while rolling the tiny mustard-colored walkie-talkie in his fingers. They had just passed an open clearing where he could see the sun, which was sinking on the horizon. It would be nightfall soon. Maybe an hour or so. He was still moving too slowly for his liking, and the prospect of staying quiet and out of the way appealed to him even more than Moray might have intended. Maybe tomorrow he’d feel better and could be more involved in this mission. But for now? Rest was what he required most.

  “Crystal clear,” he breathed into the microphone and then set the radio on his lap.

  “What was that all about?” Morgan asked.

  Cutter stretched and yawned wide. “Hell if I know for sure. Just stay out of their way for a little while and keep your eyes peeled. Okay?”

  “Always,” she replied. “Jack—I’ve been thinking again.”

  “Uh, oh,” he whispered, then smirked at her to cover up the mistake.

  He suddenly wished he hadn’t smirked. Even moving the muscles on his face caused him fresh new pains. He pinched the fingers of one hand between the fingers of his other and rubbed his wedding ring with his thumb. Maybe—he figured as he caught sight of the gleam of white gold—just maybe it was getting close to the right time to finally take it off. Perhaps that had been his trouble all along. He just couldn’t let go and move on. Maybe if he did take it off, they’d all see that he was willing to make a change. Perhaps even Reyna would see the act as some grand gesture and forgive him for whatever the hell he had done wrong.

  But that was all neither here nor there right now.

  Morgan had clammed up and had returned to what she’d been doing, so he prodded her with a, “Thinking about what?”

  “You actually want to know?” She sounded surprised and puffed air through her lips. “Okay, then. According to my maps, Jack, we are headed into territory where we should not be going. This place is…it is a government preserve set aside for the indigenous people still remaining in the Amazon Basin. No one is supposed to enter it. Period. It’s a sanctuary, and the cultural impacts of modern life are supposedly weighed heavily here by the Brazilian government. This village, the one we are headed for, it is on the extreme border of the preserve, and once we cross the river to the opposite side, we will be breaking all kinds of different laws. And, let’s just say that I have moral reservations about it.”

  “Breaking laws? When has that ever stopped us, Morgan?”

  “This is different, Jack. I get it. I understand why we are not allowed in there. Our presence affects those native tribes that are living without any contact with the modern world. Just us being in their territory will disturb the balance. Jack, it’s… Just. Not. Right.”

  Then maybe you should have spoken up earlier, he wanted to say in response, but he kept it to himself. He considered what she’d said for almost a full minute while staring out the window, glad for the cool comfort of the air-conditioned interior of the G-63. It looked damn hot outside.

  Even though the going had been slow, and the long winding road had been not much more than a dirt trail through the wilderness, he was much happier being inside the vehicle than outside. Soon, he was dead certain, that would all change. A lot would change. He wasn’t ready for it. Not yet. Too much was still aching or pounding or making him dizzy.

  “We’ll just have to be careful,” he said.

  “I still don’t think it’s right, Jack.”

  “Noted.” He pulled himself up closer to Gauge, squeezing between the front seats, and whispered in the big man’s ear, “Keep your guard up, K?”

  Gauge grunted as if the mere concept of letting his guard down was beneath him.

  Cutter pivoted to Reyna, who was seated beside Gauge up front. “Are you talking to me yet?”

  She was still giving him the silent treatment. Damn. And after he’d let her get away with that little stunt with Warren? Double damn.

  He sank back into his seat and cracked open another water bottle. He hoped they would get to their destination soon. Not only was he a bit pissed off at them both, but his eyeballs were about to float if he didn’t find a tree and relieve himself.

  #

  - 21 -

  MEETING THE NATIVES

  They didn’t find the time to stop the vehicle and let Cutter relieve himself. Right before he was about to ask to get out, they emerged from the forest canopy into a clearing that butted up against a wide expanse of brown water. The river was at least a hundred feet across. Eddies swirled in the muddy water, which told Cutter that the current was far too swift to attempt swimming across. It was probably treacherous even in a boat. Long skiffs were tied up offshore to a small, crudely built dock.

  Natives dressed in old T-shirts and torn clothing were going about their business in the near distance. A few were dressed in more primitive garb than those in the previous village—which meant wearing nothing at all. The men all had their penises tied up and pinched off by thin belts wrapped about their waists, leaving their ball-sacks dangling.

  It was an odd look, for sure.

  He’d learned the why of that sort of loin girding from Morgan earlier. He’d winced when she’d told him. Apparently, there were miniature water-born creatures that could swim straight inside a man’s urethra and attach to the innermost flesh with tiny barbed teeth. Just the thought of one of those things making itself at home inside of him made Cutter cringe. The fact he still had to piss made it even worse.

  “Remember what he said on the radio, Jack,” Morgan warned as they opened the doors and let in the stifling heat and stench of the jungle.

  Cutter removed his hat and pulled his hair back before readjusting the tattered baseball cap on his head. He took one last breath and stepped outside. This village smelled almost as bad as the other one had, only the foulness here was more organic in nature and did not smell quite so man-made. Birds squawked in the forest behind him, and the constant buzz of the insects resumed in the background.

  Anton Moray, Ajay, and Rogers, along with their guide, Karo, were already outside the lead vehicle and speaking with a short man in rapid pulses. All that Cutter could understand from the interaction was that sharp hand gestures and looks of anger on the faces of the men meant they were negotiating with Moray.

  It wasn’t going so well.

  More men from the village joined those in negotiation, then turned and wandered away, jabbering away to themselves. One guy was smoking rolled leaves that smelled nothing like tobacco. The scent was unfamiliar to Cutter. Two more men held oversized arrow shafts with tips made from what looked like fragments of jagged metal, now rust-covered. At least he thought they were arrows. They were too narrow to be called spears. No bows were present to accompany the arrows, which he found a bit curious. Bright feathers had been used for the fletchings on the arrows, and black rings marked the lengths of the shafts. The men seemed to carry them as if they were ceremonial and not practical, but Cutter could also see how they could be used, which made him wish he had eyes in the back of his head to spot any danger creeping up from behind.

  The conversation between Moray’s team and the two natives continued to grow more agitated by the second and had already reached a fevered pitch. Moray was making suppressing hand gestures and pointing back to the vehicle where Cutter and his team had emerged from.

  “Be ready for anything,” Cutter whispered to Gaug
e as they walked to join Moray. He separated from Gauge while checking the access to the 9mm Glock at his hip. He unfastened the securing strap and glanced back over his shoulder and gestured with his eyes for Reyna and Morgan to remain near the vehicles.

  They both ignored him, and by the time he was ready to say something he didn’t necessarily want to say, they had caught up to him.

  “We are not waiting back there,” Reyna said.

  “Okay, then,” was all he said.

  By the time they joined Moray, things between the little man named Karo and the villagers had calmed, somewhat. The shorter of the two natives who’d been speaking stood on one foot with his other resting pad first against his calf. He was nodding and pointing and making high-pitched sounds interspersed with clicks.

  “Mr. Cutter,” Moray said calmly and precisely, “could you fetch the twin bundles tied with red straps from the back of your vehicle?”

  Cutter flashed him a questioning look.

  “Gifts, Mr. Cutter. They are gifts for our hosts. Please, if you will…? Make no sudden or threatening moves, either. Am I clear?”

  After giving an appraising glance, Cutter motioned for Gauge to join him and they returned the vehicle at a slow walk. After unloading the twin packs, Cutter threw one over his shoulder and offloaded the other to Gauge. Returning, Cutter sensed the conversation had again grown heated. He dropped the heavy pack next to Moray, who, while holding one hand up, palm open, reached inside the first pack and brought out T-shirts still wrapped in plastic and set them on the ground before the men. One of the natives kicked the shirts away, and Moray raised both hands and backed up while both Ajay and Karo spoke rapidly, attempting to calm the two natives. The shorter of the two pointed at Morgan and Reyna and spoke in a burst of sound. Ajay shook his head and also held up his hands, saying, “No, no, no.”

  This seemed to agitate the two men even more. Cutter had a vague idea of what was going on, and it was confirmed when Moray said, “Tell him he can’t have them. That’s non-negotiable. We did bring plenty of—”