Zombie Team Alpha: Lost City Of Z

by Steve R. Yeager

  “When I…when I destroyed the artifact.”

  “Yes?” both Morgan and Reyna said in unison. Cutter’s gaze remained on Reyna. She came out of the dark shadows and squatted down beside Morgan.

  “After I destroyed the artifact in Russia, they seemed to ‘come back.’”

  “What do you mean?” Reyna asked.

  “Yes,” Cutter replied. “They changed. Like they became human again. I tried to tell you that when—” He stopped and clutched his shoulder. The pain was there already, and progressing rapidly into his chest. He could still wiggle his fingers, but his arm felt as though it were on fire and being burnt to a crisp. Wincing, he sucked air through his teeth. His knees almost buckled. “When I destroyed the artifact, they all came back.”

  “Who came back?” Morgan asked.

  “Them.”

  “I don’t understand,” Morgan said. “What do you mean?”

  “I…”

  Reyna pulled Morgan away from Cutter. “I know what he means,” she said. “Can you assemble the explosives? Set them up so I can detonate them?”

  “You?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes,” Reyna stated with dead-seriousness.

  - 38 -

  ONLY WAY IS THROUGH

  Cutter was shuffling his way forward at a frustratingly slow pace. Hanging from a strap at his right side was the MP-5K. Just them trusting him with it worried him to the core. It wasn’t as if it would be easy to use, though, because he’d already lost almost all feeling in his left arm. It no longer burned, and the sensation did not seem to be progressing as rapidly as he first thought. It was almost as if his body was somehow fighting back against whatever poison the zombie had passed to him, and that simple fact kept the pain from reaching much further than his shoulder. Once it tried to make its way into his chest, it stopped cold.

  He could also move faster on his own two feet than how they had been carrying him. With each step toward the center of the city, it got easier. He also had a plan for once he reached there and began gathering and conserving all the excess vitality he could muster. It was going to be difficult, but doable.

  “Just hold on, Jack,” Reyna said. She’d taken his Glock and had added the one he’d given her earlier. She held one in each hand.

  Gauge carried the single backpack into which they’d consolidated all their remaining C4 and grenades. Morgan worked on rewiring a remote detonator as they walked. No one wanted to stop. No one wanted to say what was on their minds. But Cutter knew. They’d try and save him, regardless of the cost.

  He wasn’t about to let that happen and was almost looking forward to going out with such a big bang. He figured if he could destroy whatever was holding all those zombies enthralled, it would free their trapped souls. But maybe it wouldn’t, just as well. Maybe they had been enslaved for far too long and him freeing them would be as good as sentencing them all to death.

  But wasn’t death better than enslavement?

  They reached the outer perimeter of the plaza leading to the temple. Reyna led the way and they crouched behind a low wall. Cutter was breathing a little easier, but his arm was still numb. He peeked his head over the wall and then ducked again.

  “Must be about a dozen of them,” he whispered. “Give me the pack and wait here.”

  “No, Jack,” Reyna said. “We’re coming with you. Once you get inside you need to—”

  “Once I get inside, I’ll distract them. You can follow me then.”

  “We can’t let you do that,” she said. Morgan nodded in agreement, as did Gauge.

  “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. Always have. Plus, I’ve been bitten already. Easier for me just to run in there, drop the pack, and sprint away.”

  “But when El Dorado returns for you…?” Reyna added and let hang there.

  “Then I’ll blow him a kiss and run my ass the other way.”

  “Jack, this is no time for jokes,” Morgan said.

  “I’m not joking. Hand it over.”

  She stared at him, long and hard. Then she handed over the makeshift detonators she had made. Gauge unloaded the heavy backpack onto Cutter and pulled his arms through the straps.

  “Jack,” Reyna started.

  He could tell she wanted to say more. She bit her bottom lip.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I’ll be careful.”

  “It’s not just that,” she said. “When I came here, I thought locating…what we found would…it would change the world. I’m now thinking—”

  “—That it never should be found,” he finished.

  She nodded. “And, Jack—I think I love you.”

  “Good.”

  “Good…? Is that all you have to say to me?”

  “Do we really have time for this right now? Just come running when I signal. I’m going on three.”

  “One.” He didn’t bother to count any higher. It didn’t make any sense to do so. He ducked right and weaved his way past the last of the buildings, coming out on the other side where the way to the plaza was still clear. He continued his half-run, half-stumble forward. As he pulled closer to the temple, the first of the zombies turned toward him, cautiously at first.

  Cutter almost held his hands up in surrender, thinking they should be aware that he was almost one of them and about to join their party.

  But they kept coming.

  “Whatever…” he whispered to himself. “Don’t want to be friends…? Okay, then.”

  He raised the MP-5K one-armed and let go a single shot that took the first zombie in its forehead, dropping it instantly.

  “Tango down,” he mumbled half-heartedly.

  He twisted sideways and took out another with a series of gentle squeezes of the trigger, walking the shots from the zombie’s chest to its forehead. That zombie required three to kill it. One-armed, he was finding it far more difficult to shoot straight.

  Even though his shots had been effective, he realized if he averaged three bullets per zombie, he’d run out of ammo quickly. Possibly even before dropping even half of them. With his left arm hanging useless, he wouldn’t be able to switch magazines, either. He had to conserve what he had and make each shot count.

  He stopped firing and looked for a vector that would take him around the clustered group. But they were closing on him too quickly. He could run away to safety, perhaps back to where he’d left the others behind and let them deal with the zombies, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  There was only one true way to get to his goal—straight up the middle.

  Being bitten again wasn’t going to be a problem, but he didn’t relish the idea of being bitten over and over again. It would be like jumping into a stream filled with piranha, only these piranha were pygmy-sized and had arms and legs with which they could grab hold of him as he attempted to pass by.

  Oddly, it didn’t really bother him. He was starting to feel good again. A gentle numbness crept into his mind. He suddenly believed he could do just about anything and survive.

  Sighing in recognition of what he was about to do, he leaned forward and ran forward while yelling a wordless battle cry to give himself courage. With the force of a football running back, he barreled into the approaching zombies. The first one he hit, he knocked back with his elbow. The second slowed him somewhat, but he pressed forward and kept crashing through tiny body after body.

  But he started moving slower and slower. He was losing momentum. While, individually, the zombies were shorter and smaller than he was, as a group they represented a much larger obstacle.

  Still, he continued. Pushing. Shoving. Yelling. Cursing.

  One grabbed for his gun and tried to pull it away from him. He leaned to one side and shoved off with his feet, digging into the softened earth until his foot brushed against the hard stone of the ancient roadbed. His toe caught, and he found the leverage he needed. He redoubled his efforts to get through the horde by spinning and wrestling his way free, then ran into two more zombies that blocked his path.
Both of them flailed at him and clawed at the backpack filled with explosives. He thought of just setting off the C4 in their midst and blowing them all to kingdom come.

  But that would not accomplish what he had set out to do. He still had to make it into the temple. He had to set off the explosives there and put an end to this once and for all.

  Redoubling his efforts yet again, he pressed harder, shedding the machine gun and strap and letting it be taken away by the crowd of zombies. He felt one bite down hard on the muscles of his upper arm, but he yanked away from it before it could get a good grip and sink its teeth into his flesh. From his hip, he struggled to unholster and bring up the Glock. When it did come free, he fired, taking out the nearest slavering zombie with a head-buster placed point blank and straight between the eyes. Spinning on his left heel, he fired again, taking out another that had gotten too close and was preparing to sink its teeth into his forearm. He shoved it away with the automatic’s barrel. That gained him a bit of breathing room, but the horde continued to swell in size and swallow him. They kept crushing him into a tighter and tighter box, squeezing him from all sides until he could barely move.

  Making a split-second decision, he let the pack filled with explosives slump on his shoulder and threaded his arm down far enough to unclip the detonator that Morgan had made.

  He clamped his eyes shut, felt for the detonator’s trigger, and clicked it.

  - 39 -

  TROUBLED

  Cutter was sure he should have been long dead by now. Blown to bits. But he hadn’t been. Opening his eyes wide, he saw zombie heads exploding all around him as bullets slapped wetly into skulls. Blood sprayed at him from every imaginable angle as the bodies raced each other to hit the ground first. Ducking low, he put his one good arm up to keep from getting sprayed by blood and brains and bits of skulls that were whizzing past. The zombies immediately surrounding him were being taken out first and fell against him like so much meat. Spasming arms tried to take him to the ground along with them. He resisted.

  When the firing stopped, he came out of his duck-and-cover position, and saw a sight for sore eyes. One he thought he’d never see again.

  Standing off about twenty feet behind the zombie horde was Gauge, Morgan, and Reyna. All three were wielding guns, which they had now lowered as the few remaining zombies were dispatched by Gauge. Reyna and Morgan then rushed to Cutter’s side and helped him climb to his feet.

  “I thought I told you to leave me behind and let me do this on my own,” he groused.

  Morgan was the first to answer. “When did we ever start listening to you? Maybe if what you said made more sense, we would give it a better listening to, but, Jack, letting you do this on your own was not an option.”

  “I’ll be dead soon,” he said. “Maybe even become one of those. You should have left me.”

  “Then we’ll be here with you when you keel over, boss,” Morgan replied. “Not even a ‘thanks?’ Not even a ‘Let’s blow this thing and go home?’”

  Cutter stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. Then he smiled. “You know me too damn well.”

  “And that’s a problem?” she replied.

  Gauge grunted. Reyna, nodding, extended her hand to Cutter. Her hair was disheveled, her glasses were slightly cocked to one side, her face spattered with mud and blood and sweat.

  But she looked so damn beautiful.

  “Not now,” Cutter whispered, shaking his head to clear it. “Not really ready for—”

  “What?” Morgan asked from beside him.

  “Nothing.”

  Gauge kept them all covered while Morgan and Reyna extracted Cutter and the pack filled with explosives from the pile of tangled and bloody corpses. Cutter limped his way forward with his team’s support, and right before he was about to clear the pile, a spindly fingered arm reached out for him and grabbed hold of his ankle.

  Morgan spun and fired at the thing’s head with her Glock, and the clutching grip released Cutter.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I know how much you hate—never mind. Now what about this?” He handed her the detonator. “I think you screwed up. It’s defective.”

  “I don’t screw up.” She smiled at him and removed a similar device that was clipped to her belt. “This is the real one, Jack.”

  “So you didn’t trust me?” he asked.

  “Of course I did, boss. I trusted that you’d do something stupid, like try to blow yourself up before you made it inside where we told you to go.”

  Part of him was a little pissed. The other part, the one that kept him out of his grave, wanted to give her a big hug—but that would appear far too unmanly of him, so he just raised a fist and coughed into it instead.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Now what?” Cutter asked. He was already feeling better, but wasn’t sure why. He had a theory, though.

  With considerable effort, slung between Gauge and Reyna, he made his way up the steps of the temple.

  “I can still do this on my own. There’s time for you to get the hell out of here.”

  “Trust me, Jack,” Reyna said, straining a little to get him up the next step. “Now just shut that big mouth of yours long enough for us to get you there, okay? You are not getting any lighter.”

  “If we ever get out of this, maybe you can be on top more.”

  “Is that a challenge?” she asked.

  “It is if you think it is,” he groaned as a wave of pain wracked his shoulder.

  “Shut up, you two,” Morgan whispered. “Too much information.”

  When they made it to their ultimate destination, Cutter glanced up at where the golden statue once stood as they cleared the inner archway into the temple. The platform on which the statue rested sparkled with an iridescent, multi-hued glow in the waning daylight filtering down from above.

  The platform—beckoned to him somehow.

  “Jack,” Reyna said as he closed the distance with the sparkling marvel, hand outstretched to touch it. “Don’t touch it! Not yet!”

  He hesitated for a beat, then resumed his slow walk toward the platform.

  “Stop him,” Reyna said. “Don’t let him near it.”

  Cutter felt himself being grabbed from behind. He tried to shrug free, but was locked in place by an iron grip on both arms. He struggled to break free, but couldn’t.

  But he was getting stronger by the second. He felt a euphoric buzz in his mind. The strength he was gaining would soon be enough to overcome the strong hands that held him.

  “Jack!” Morgan yelled in his ear.

  He lifted his left arm while they tried to restrain him. His fingertips hovered mere inches above the gleaming platform. The patterns in it kept shifting, beckoning him toward it. The pull was so strong in his mind.

  He just had to touch it.

  Then, as his focus shifted to his own outstretched, trembling hand, he saw his wedding ring. The white gold appeared to be growing brighter, and a halo was forming around his fingers, his wrist, his forearm. The glow grew in intensity, brighter, and brighter, until it was all he could see. He squinted against the glare like a vampire exposed to the noonday sun.

  “Jack?” Morgan asked. “What is it? What do you see?”

  A millisecond after she had said that, the glowing halo around his hand collapsed. He ceased all effort to reach the platform and let himself be dragged backward. He collapsed against Gauge, and the big man lowered him gently to the hard stone floor.

  Reyna came around and knelt before him. “Jack, are you okay? What is it…?”

  He mumbled a few words, but he wasn’t even sure what he had said. Somehow, though, Reyna seemed to understand. She glanced back at Morgan and Gauge. “We have to do it. Now. Blow it up.”

  Morgan and Gauge did not hesitate. They ripped the pack from Cutter, and Morgan rushed forward and set it against the platform.

  “Shame,” Cutter whispered, still examining his hand and his ring.

 
; “What do you mean?” Morgan asked as she backed away.

  “Shame to destroy this. It’s—”

  “Do you see any other choice?” she asked.

  “Yes…I mean, no,” he conceded as he got to his feet, turned his back on the platform, and walked away. As he passed by Gauge, he asked, “Are you sure we have enough explosives?”

  Gauge flashed a wry grin. “Enough to make the rubble bounce, boss.”

  “Good.” He patted Gauge on the shoulder. “Now how about you get going? Go on. Git!”

  Gauge halted, as did Reyna and Morgan.

  “I said, go!” Cutter barked. “I’m staying behind to make sure this works.”

  “No, you are not,” Morgan growled at him. She took him by one arm, and Reyna took the other. He easily shrugged them off.

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  “Jack!” Reyna shouted. “Look at me.”

  He did.

  “Focus. Now look at your arm.”

  He glanced down. He raised his left arm and curled his fingers. It was working normally again. He’d hardly noticed that it had started working soon after he’d walked into the temple. He peeled back the cloth that Morgan had tied over the zombie’s bite. The skin underneath had healed. He couldn’t even tell where he’d been bitten.

  “What the hell?” he breathed.

  “Come on, Jack. Hurry, before that thing returns.”

  “Why isn’t it here now—?” he asked as she shoved him toward the exit.

  “He’s coming here,” Reyna said. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Just go,” Morgan spat in his ear. “Trust her.”

  He shut up and led the way out of the temple.

  “Keep going,” Gauge said as they crossed the plaza. “Not far enough.”

  Cutter shifted his gaze forward, and they made their way up a narrowing street. A caved-in rooftop lay just ahead. It had formed a large pile of broken stone. They ducked behind it, and Morgan, with a wide grin on her face, clicked the remote detonator.