Zombie Team Alpha: Lost City Of Z

by Steve R. Yeager

  He blew a sigh of relief, knowing that she was stunned and not injured. Clumsily, he fell onto his butt and glanced back at the smoldering G-63s. There was not much left of them other than the hulking steel frames and the stench of burning rubber and plastic, which was now forming swirling wisps that stretched high into the sky, before being dissipated by the tiny breeze that was blowing in the direction of the river.

  “You okay?” he asked, his own voice sounding somewhat shaky and hollow.

  “That hurt.” She rolled over and shaded her eyes with her hand.

  “Do you think you can walk?”

  She gave a curt nod and lifted herself onto one elbow, then to sitting. Cutter stood and offered her his hand.

  “Thanks,” she said as he pulled her to her feet.

  He picked up both packs, grunted under the weight of them, and started to lead her back toward the village.

  “Wait,” she said as she shielded her face from the flames and returned toward the burning G-63. She knelt and tried to drag the smoldering duffle bag away, but the straps had been melted, and when she pulled, they ripped off in her hands. Brushing her short hair back over her ears, she tried to reach the bag again, and again failed to grasp it.

  She backpedaled a few steps, fell back onto her backside, and kicked at the dirt.

  “That thing cost a fortune,” she said. “Now it’s toast—literally.”

  “What was it?”

  “A drone. New model. I thought we could use it if we got lost. But now…? It’s all melty.”

  “Melty? Is that a word?” he asked.

  “Whatever, Jack. It sucks, is all.” She pushed herself further away from the flames and rose to her feet.

  “Do you think we should run?” she asked.

  “I sure as hell can’t. So, I hope not. I can manage limping, I think. You?”

  “About the same. Ah, my ears. You sound funny, you know.”

  Cutter grinned. Every move he attempted to make hurt him to the core, but he figured nothing serious had gotten broken. He simply needed to rest. A beer would help. Maybe two. Maybe a dozen.

  “Jack—what are we going to do now?”

  “No choice,” he coughed. “We’re stuck with Moray for the time being.”

  “He planned all this out from the start, didn’t he?”

  “As best I can tell,” he answered as Gauge joined them and took away Morgan’s pack and added it to his own burden.

  “You two all right?” Gauge asked.

  “Never better.” Cutter pushed a hand against his back and tried to straighten his spine and stand tall. He gave up and remained hunched over, but he did quicken his step toward the empty village.

  “I don’t like this,” Gauge said.

  “Join the club, Lumpy,” Morgan answered, to which Gauge gave one of his standard guttural grunts that meant neither approval nor disapproval.

  They regrouped inside the same hut they’d taken shelter in earlier. Gauge took up guard duty outside without having to be told to do so.

  It was all Cutter could do not to strike Moray while the man just stood there, saying nothing about all that had transpired. Cutter continued to stare down the man, holding his hard gaze with his own. It was clear that Moray was not going to back down or change his mind.

  Cutter took a deep breath. Can’t go back. Only forward. The only way is through. He knew there was no other choice if they were to have a decent shot at surviving past nightfall, even if that meant having to go along with Moray into the off-limits territory across the river. If Moray had thought enough to have set up self-destruct devices in the vehicles and was crazy enough to have used them to blow up a million or two dollars in one blast, then he was capable of just about anything. Fighting back against a guy like that now would do no one any good. Moray was probably anticipating that too.

  “What now?” Cutter asked from between clenched teeth.

  Moray slowly nodded his approval and jerked his thumb at his assistant, Ajay. “We all cross the river.”

  “Are you insane?” Morgan exclaimed. She lunged forward, and Cutter had to catch and restrain her before she could reach Moray.

  “Not helping,” he whispered in her ear as she backed down.

  He released her. She folded her arms and strode away, arms still crossed, nodding to herself.

  “Okay.” Cutter turned again to Moray. “Suppose we do cross the river. Then what? How do we get out from there? What’s our extraction method?”

  “Helicopter,” Ajay Covenant said, then looked up from a tablet he had been typing on. “Here.” He held up the tablet and showed a location that appeared to Cutter to be many miles away from where they were now. A lot of miles. Hard miles.

  “How far is that exactly?”

  “Fifty miles, maybe a little more since we have to skirt a mountain peak or ford at least one river.”

  Cutter stared at the man, thinking how much trouble they’d just gone through and how much easier it would have been flying all the way in with a helicopter in the first place. Plus, the prospect of now having to travel that many miles through dense jungle and unknown terrain didn’t much appeal to him. He had figured there would be some walking involved, but not that much.

  Hell no.

  “Mr. Cutter,” Moray said, “once we locate the city, the Brazilian government has agreed to let us fly a single helicopter into the preserve for extraction purposes. They would not be persuaded before, to put it bluntly. We have to send proof the city exists in order for them to commit to violating their own laws. I had to bribe quite a few officials to get them to bend even that far.”

  “No, Jack,” Morgan said. “They won’t do it because it is wrong. It’s strictly off limits to go there. Verboten. It could screw up the isolation of the indigenous people. There are treaties in place. So the money you spent on bribes, Mr. Moray, was wasted. I’m sure of that.”

  Cutter held a hand up to ask Morgan for silence and nodded his understanding to Moray. “If you find proof that this city exists, then the government is willing to make an exception? Sounds like a reasonable request to me,” he said, not caring how sarcastic it may have sounded. He glanced at Reyna, who gave him a quick head bob of approval. He grabbed his jaw and rubbed under it then ran his hand down his neck, feeling the stiff bristles of his growing beard.

  “Dammit,” he growled. “Okay, guess we don’t have much of a choice.” He raised his rifle and ducked his head outside the hut. “Did you hear that?” he asked Gauge, who grunted his non-approval, approval.

  Cutter left the hut and Moray followed. Rogers lay dead in the dirt just outside. An arrow still protruded from his neck. “What about him?” Cutter glanced at Moray, who was still emerging from the hut.

  “I’m sorry to say this,” Moray started, “but the man was a bad investment on my part. He should have known better.” Moray closed rank with Ajay as the shorter man exited the hut and held out a map for his boss. Moray gave the map a quick once over, glanced at the sky while wetting his lips, then checked his watch. “We have two hours of daylight left, Mr. Cutter. I suggest we get to the other side of the river and secure our camp before nightfall. Or, at least before the villagers rediscover their courage and return.”

  Cutter grumbled his cold acceptance of the facts before him. Nothing would come from fighting over it. He glanced at Morgan, who was now leaning against the pole with the arrows stuck in it, chewing on her fingernails. She shook her head no, but he continued to stare at her until he saw her come around. Reyna came up beside Morgan, nodding while placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “Gauge,” Cutter asked grimly. “You with us?”

  Gauge worked his jaw and wriggled a finger in his ear. He glanced at each person in turn, then the sprawled-out Rogers and the dead native in the dirt, then back at the smoldering G-63s—and responded with another one of his monosyllabic grunts before stepping in front of Cutter to take up the point position.

  - 24 -

  RUN THROUGH THE JUNGLE<
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  “Keep running. Don’t stop!” Cutter barked as he shoved Morgan in front of him and charged after her, head swiveling back and forth, scanning between a potential path of escape and the looming threat from behind. From somewhere behind him, two rapid blasts from Gauge’s Desert Eagle .50 filled the jungle with and explosive racket. As Cutter ran, blurry green and brown shapes whooshed past, and whipping branches slapped wetly against his skin, leaving marks on the exposed flesh of his forearms and face. His mind was racing along as well, in a state of chaos and heightened anxiety that bordered on complete confusion—or panic.

  But he kept running. Kept thinking.

  Morgan sprinted ahead, gaining distance from him. He stopped and spun on his heel, bringing up his Glock and scanning for a target of opportunity.

  Nothing came at him.

  Not wanting to waste ammunition, he held his fire. If he did nothing, however many were following him would continue to follow the obvious trail he was making through the jungle. He needed a sign. Something to tell him what he faced. He was okay with scaring them off if he could, but the time for that was probably long gone. He’d have to shoot to kill.

  He took a deep breath. No matter which direction he looked, he could find nothing worthy of sending hot lead toward, and, when he turned back around to locate Morgan’s trail, all he could see were the waving leaves of some giant plant. She had disappeared into their embrace and had not waited for him.

  Good.

  He spun in a tight circle, looking for more signs that might tell him which direction he should go. Maybe he could lead those following him into a chokepoint or even a clearing. He tilted his neck and strained his ears, trying to sort through the distant sounds and figure out if they were approaching or retreating.

  Anything? Come on…think!

  “Fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into once again, Jack,” he whispered between labored breaths. “How you gonna get out of this?”

  He was stranded in the middle of nowhere—alone.

  While Reyna Martinez had gone on ahead with Moray, Ajay, and the little guide that had accompanied them, Cutter had decided to stay behind with Gauge and Morgan and deal with the pursuing warriors. But it had all gone so wrong. Gauge was God knows where, Morgan was ahead of him, somewhere.

  He swore silently, knowing he couldn’t pull the trigger for fear he might shoot Gauge.

  But if he stayed still, it was only a matter of time before the hounding warriors flanked him and shot him full of darts, arrows, or whatever it was they had. He hoped Morgan had already made it far enough ahead she could escape. Plus, he’d given her his MP-5K, which she could use to protect herself if necessary. That left him with only his Glock. Right now, though, he was wishing he’d paid better attention to Gauge and grabbed the M4s before they’d been destroyed by the explosion. He could have made good use of the extra firepower.

  Still, the natives were squishy targets, and he was a competent shot with his Glock. He’d fight his way out any way he had to. It was law of the jungle time and, if that meant shooting them all dead, then so be it.

  A peek at the jungle canopy above told him it would be dark soon.

  “Which way, Jack?” he asked himself under his breath. “Which way…?”

  He heard a rustle in the forest behind him. Instantly, he spun and crouched in a shooting stance, bracing his right hand with his left to keep the Glock rock solid.

  The undergrowth in front of him parted.

  In the second that followed, Cutter slacked off the trigger and came out of his shooting stance. A blinking, wild-eye Gauge came through the temporary gap in the dense vegetation, breathing in labored gasps.

  Cutter caught the big man by the arm and held him upright while Gauge recovered for a moment. Huffing air, Gauge wiped blood and sweat from his forehead and flung it away. He’d been hit or had cut himself while running through the jungle, but it was unclear as to what exactly had caused the injury.

  “You okay?” Cutter asked.

  Gauge grunted and waved him off as he backed away, flinging even more blood and sweat from the gash in his forehead. He held up four fingers and gulped air.

  “You got four?”

  Gauge shook his head and sucked another breath before straightening to his full height. He held up four fingers again.

  “There are only four left?” Cutter asked.

  This time, Gauge nodded and grinned, showing his red-stained teeth. The grin was almost maniacal, making Cutter want to back off another step. When Gauge was in this sort of mood, he was like a raging bull that had gored the matador and was trying to do even more damage.

  Listening for any stray, telltale sounds of the approaching men, Cutter circled away from Gauge, but the man’s labored breathing was masking everything.

  One of those remaining warriors would surely take the same path, Cutter figured, considering that the big guy was not necessarily known for his stealth.

  “Any follow you?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” Gauge said as he shook his head no.

  Cutter raised his Glock and covered the spot where Gauge had emerged from and let a few more seconds tick by.

  But nothing emerged from the forest, nor could he hear any signs of approaching danger.

  “There were at least twenty,” he said in a hushed tone. “You’re telling me that you took out sixteen of them?”

  Gauge grinned again, his mouth full of bloody teeth in an even wider smile.

  “Damn,” Cutter said as he sucked air through his own teeth. Killing was such an ugly business—a brutal art—but in the heat of the moment, he understood the necessity. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to know how many had just died. He put a hand on Gauge’s shoulder and squeezed. It was better for them to die than for Gauge to die, or anyone else on Cutter’s team.

  “You did okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Gauge nodded his acceptance and relaxed a bit. The savage bloodlust drained from his countenance.

  “I’m thinking they went that way,” Cutter said, pointing with the Glock’s short barrel into the direction where he had seen Morgan disappear.

  With Cutter leading, they headed back into the dense undergrowth and continued the wet trek to find her, ever wary for signs of passage. Soon enough, the jungle opened up into a clearing, and Cutter spotted red, which was easy to see against a forest of green. He followed the red flashes until they came to another clearing, this one much larger. In the middle of it stood Morgan, Reyna, and Moray. Ajay and their guide were not there with them, which made Cutter narrow his eyes and wonder if they had made it. Ajay had not struck him as the type who would survive well on his own. They’d have to find him. He and Gauge shared a look over it, neither wanting to say anything about what they both knew lay ahead.

  It was even stranger that their recently hired guide was also missing. But Cutter was reasonably certain the little native man with the Moe Howard haircut had simply disappeared into the forest. He might show up, or might not. Either way, Cutter wasn’t overly concerned about it. What he was concerned about was Moray, because as he approached the man, Moray, who had been talking into a handheld radio, raised his sidearm and pointed it in Cutter’s direction.

  - 25 -

  IN DEEP NOW

  Cutter brought up his Glock and aimed it right back at Moray’s center of mass. He knew in an instant that Moray was preparing to fire. The man’s muscles had tensed just enough, and he was holding the barrel steady, looking down the sight. He would not miss.

  Cutter spun on the ball of his foot as he dropped low.

  Moray fired.

  Another two shots went off, one hot on the heels of the other. Both had come from Gauge’s weapon.

  Cutter swung his Glock in an arch and lined up on his new target, which was the unfortunate warrior who had just emerged from the forest behind him. The dark-skinned man had been shot three times already by Moray and Gauge—twice in the chest, once in the head.

  A second, leaping warrior se
emed to materialize from the same spot and was already ducking low as he landed. Cutter tracked his target and squeezed the trigger. The little man’s head exploded in a pink mist. Another shot from Gauge’s massive DE .50 hit the third warrior that emerged.

  The little man shook violently as his eyes turned white. He slumped forward. In his grip was a long barbed arrow that he was readying to throw. It fell from his hand, landed point first in the soft earth, and stuck there.

  Two more in rapid succession raced out from the bushes, jumping a fallen log. Moray fired, Cutter fired, Gauge fired. The remaining two never stood a chance. Both died before their bodies hit the forest floor, crumpling into piles of bone and flesh.

  No more attackers followed.

  “Five?” Cutter asked in a hushed voice. “I thought you said four?”

  “I didn’t stop to count,” Gauge said, sounding a bit dejected.

  Cutter choked a cough. “Any more?”

  Gauge rounded behind him and scanned the jungle with his weapon raised and ready to fire. “Don’t think so. But…could be.”

  As the frightened sounds of the jungle subsided, Cutter lowered his weapon and approached the dead warriors. His perceptions were wound tight, and every little sound came to his ears.

  But those same heightened reactions began to slacken as he knelt beside the first of the dead warriors. Regret crept into his mind. He had wanted to avoid killing them. But he’d had to. They’d had to. He didn’t blame Gauge or Moray. He blamed himself.

  Morgan approached him. “What the hell, Jack?”

  He said nothing.

  “Why did you shoot them? Why did you shoot them all? Couldn’t you have—?”

  He stood and holstered his weapon. “Little pieces of shit got everything they deserved.”

  “What the…hell, Jack? They were unarmed. The fight was unfair. You could have—”

  “Who says I should fight fair?”

  “Jack, you’re being an…asshole again,” she chided.

  He kicked over the limp form of one of the warriors. “Well…I just don’t give a shit.”