Zombie Team Alpha: Lost City Of Z

by Steve R. Yeager

  He continued to hear the sound he’d detected early. It sounded like a distant helicopter. A spotlight ran across the gaps in the canopy above with some few rays penetrating to the city below. The helicopter made its way through the large hole in the canopy, appearing minuscule when compared to the opening.

  Reyna shone a flashlight at the helicopter. She was answered by two quick blips from a spotlight. Soon, the thump of the rotors was all Cutter could hear.

  The helicopter circled underneath the canopy and descended to a clearing about a hundred feet away from Cutter. It landed effortlessly and the rotors began to spin down.

  A shadowy figure emerged from the helicopter’s belly, haloed by bright lights. The shadowy figure was wearing a cowboy hat and carrying something in each hand. While Cutter was ninety-nine percent certain who it was that had just arrived, he was unclear as to what the items were.

  He figured it out quickly enough.

  “Bell…?” he said, surprised, but not shocked. “How in the hell…?” He stepped forward to greet the man.

  Warren Bell held out a six-pack of beer as an offering. He then readjusted what he was carrying in his other hand. “Sorry if it’s a bit cold, but it took us a long spell to get here.”

  Cutter withdrew a single beer from the six-pack and handed over the remaining five to Gauge. Grinning back at his former mentor, Cutter twisted the top from his beer and took a series of long swallows, draining the beer. Smiling back at his benefactor, he rattled the empty bottle in the space between them.

  “Thanks,” Cutter said, lowering the beer bottle and admiring it. “You brought us a little mana from Heaven.” He stepped forward, lifted the lid of a pizza box, and started to take a slice—then stopped himself. He raised a hand and gestured to Morgan and Reyna. “Forgot my manners. Ladies first.”

  Morgan and Reyna came forward and grabbed slices of pizza, then Gauge stepped forward and took one as well. Only then did Cutter select a slice for himself. He bit down on it, chewed a few times, and asked, “How in the hell did you find us?”

  “When my daughter calls me, I come running. Flying, really. We’d been just sitting around waiting for the call. Glad she let us know how to find you. Might’ve been a bit hard there otherwise, ‘cuz we lost track of you days ago. Those tracker chips we used…not sure what to say, but they stopped working. Which gave us all a good worry.”

  “Daughter…?” Cutter asked, thinking right past what the man had just said. The pizza and beer alone had been enough to shock him. But this revelation was even bigger.

  Reyna Martinez was his daughter…?

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t be.”

  Bell nodded an affirmative toward his daughter. “Technically, she’s my step-daughter, but she’s a great kid, and I love her like my own flesh and blood—even though she doesn’t call her mother often enough. Or me.”

  Cutter’s knees went a little weak. He’d known Bell for many years and hadn’t even known the man had any kids at all.

  He turned to Reyna. “You really his step-daughter?”

  She flashed him a coy smile, telling him, that if he had to ask again, he was just being stupid. “It’s a long story.” She turned back to Bell. “It took you long enough…Dad.”

  Bell laughed and closed the lid on the cardboard box. “Yeah, the delivery charge might be a bit steep when you see it.”

  More men were coming from the helicopter, two in military garb, another in pilot’s coveralls. Bell held open the pizza box for them, and they selected slices and nodded their hellos to Cutter and his team.

  “Just be glad we made it,” Bell said. “It was a damn harrowing ride to get down here, son. But I’m glad we could help…now that you’ve found the lost city and tidied it all up for us.”

  “Happy to see you, too,” Cutter said. He took another beer from the cardboard container now set at Gauge’s feet and twisted off the top. He flicked the metal lid from his fingertips, sending it whirling off into the night.

  Bell took one step closer to Cutter, preventing him from lifting and drinking his beer. “Mr. Cutter, I told you earlier that I had your back. We have a lot to discuss, I’m sure.” He then set his thick index finger on Cutter’s chest and glanced at his daughter with a look of disapproval. “I’m also here to make sure you haven’t been doing anything…untoward with my daughter. I know you, Jackson Cutter. I know how you behave. Have you two been…?”

  “Have we been what—?” she said.

  “Have you”—he bounced his finger on Cutter’s chest—“done anything with my daughter that I should be made aware of?”

  “No, sir,” Cutter answered. His arms went up in surrender. “Not me, sir. Never. You got the wrong guy.” He backed away and took a swig from his beer to cover the grin breaking out on his face.

  THE END

  Read on for a free sample of Awake.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Steve R. Yeager is a part-time author who lives in Northern California with his wife, two kids, and a pair of crazy dogs. He has worked as a corporate software engineer for over 25 years and now spends much of spare time reading, writing, playing guitar, and shooting bows.

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  Chapter One

  Years of experience investigating anomalies kept Don from emptying his Glock 19 into the monstrosity huddled next to the beat-up recliner in the corner of the living room. A middle-aged woman with short, jet-black hair sat in the opposite corner with a rifle pointed at the thing. Don assumed she was Mrs. Marie Redro, the homeowner who had called the police.

  “Where did that creature come from, Mrs.…?”

  “That creature is my husband, Phil,” she said, and Don stepped forward to help her. She turned the weapon on him. “Step back. And put your gun away. Now!”

  Don froze, and dropped his Glock into its shoulder holster. He wore his usual blue suit, its once sharp lines faded and stretched. His red tie had a small spot of chili on it, and above that a yellow dot of mustard. One chilidog, two stains.

  “I only agreed to let you in because you sounded different than the rest.” She jerked the gun barrel toward the door. “I called those asshats for help and they show up in a tank. All they wanna do is shoot him. That’s not the help I need.”

  Mrs. Redro had called the police two hours prior at 12:51AM local time, and law enforcement had laid siege to the house, creating a standoff. The delay gave Don enough time to travel to the suburbs of Miami and be on scene before the natives did something really stupid.

  “What happened here, Mrs.…?”

  “You can call me Marie.”

  “Okay, Marie.”

  Emergency lights streamed through the windows, and the house creaked and moaned as the thing Marie called her husband shifted back and forth, pounding the walls. Engorged blood vessels pressed against tightened skin, creating a spider-work of black lines across the creature’s pink and purple face. Orbitals that looked like a Botox treatment gone wrong encircled eyes with huge pupils and shrunken red irises that stared at the floor in a sleepy daze. Saliva leaked from swollen lips as it ground its teeth and snarled, but kept its distance.

  Marie said, “Why did they send you?” She considered him, obviously unimpressed. “You piss-off your boss or something?”

  “I work for the government, and this,” he said, gesturing toward her husband, “is my job.”

  “This kind of thing happen often?” Marie said. She shook her head. “Don’t tell me. I’m never going to be able to sleep again as it is.”

  The creature who had been Phil started forward, but pulled back when Marie screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut, and shuddered like he was having a violent dream. His skin writhed as muscle and tissue swelled.

  “What happened here?” Marie shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “This will be off the record. Tell me so I can help you.”

  “We were just sitting, watching the TV. Phil had just finished dinner, and…” She paused, her eyes shifting to Don, then to th
e floor.

  “Just between us,” he said.

  Phil wailed, clawing at his face.

  “Oh, hush, you fool,” Marie yelled.

  Phil sprang back like he’d been smacked and retreated into his corner.

  “He had a few beers, then took some ride.”

  Don knew what ride was. “I’ve heard of that psychoactive crap. A new designer drug, a stimulant, and what’s in it depends on who you get it from.

  “That it?” Don asked, pointing at a gold pillbox with black skull and crossbones on the lid.

  She nodded.

  “Please, go on.”

  “That’s it. There is no more. We were watching TV. I heard him snore, looked over at him, and he was changing. Blowing up like a tick.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she sniffed between words. Phil pounded the walls harder, and the sheetrock cracked, letting loose a cloud of dust.

  Marie shot him a glare, and he stopped pounding. He tore at the remnants of his shirt instead.

  Marie continued. “When I got the gun, he went ballistic. I ain’t gonna let them kill my Phil.” Desperation filled the woman’s eyes, fear and pain cutting across her face.

  “Did you take anything?”

  “No, I don’t do that shit. It can kill you.”

  “Seems like it’s done more than that. You heard him snoring? Like he was asleep?” Don asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And he was fine prior? Nothing else you can think of? Any other drugs?”

  Her eyes shifted to the floor again, then she said, “Not that I know of.”

  Phil growled and moved towards them.

  “Stop that! This man is trying to help,” Marie said. Phil understood her because he stopped and focused his red eyes on Don. “You look terrible!” she said. “Go sit on the sofa.”

  The thing did as it was told.

  Don was running out of options. In five minutes, the SWAT team would join them, and Phil Redro would be riddled with bullets. So the time for sugarcoating had passed.

  “I have to take him in, Marie.”

  The thing that had once been Phil Redro clawed at the walls and moaned.

  “Nope. That wasn’t our deal.” She swung the gun in Don’s direction again. The weight of it pulled her arm down, and she almost dropped the weapon, only pulling it level at the last instant.

  “You fire that thing and I won’t be able to hold them back. Then it’s over for him.” The tip of the gun barrel dipped slightly. “We can knock him out with a tranquilizer and bring him to the hospital.” Don sold bullshit for a living. It was one of the unpleasant tasks that came with giving people bad news. He saw no way Phil would live unless he figured out what had caused his transformation and there was an antidote to bring him back. Both would take time, and might not be possible. Don’s five-man support team waited outside with a portable quarantine unit and by sun up, Phil would most likely be on ice, his ride over for good.

  “No. Let’s just give it some time and see if it wears off. The ride will end. It always does,” she said.

  “And you’re always there to bring him back. Nurse him to health.”

  “I try,” she said.

  “He listens to you. If you told him to go with us, do you think he would?”

  “Not happening. And he doesn’t always do what I say. When I tried to get close, he went for me,” Marie said. She was relaxing a little, and had lowered the rifle so it pointed at his kneecaps.

  “Who did he get the ride from?” Don asked, assuming that to be his line of investigation going forward.

  Marie’s face twisted. “That loser Teapot on 45th Avenue. He stands on the bridge that goes over the Blue Lagoon, right in front of the cops. They don’t do nothin.”

  “How long has he been copping from him?”

  “Shoot… those two fools go way back.”

  “Any reason Teapot might want to hurt Phil?”

  “None that I know of. Phil always paid cash, so I can’t imagine what the problem would’ve been.”

  Don could imagine many possible problems. Phil’s last batch of ride might not have taken him anywhere, or perhaps it took him some place he didn’t want to go. Or maybe he was shorted a pill, or Teapot didn’t give him back the proper change. With drug deals, there were an infinite number of things that could go wrong.

  “Do you know where Teapot lives?”

  Marie jerked back, and her lemon lips returned. “Why would I know where that dirtbag lives?” She looked over at her husband and frowned. Drool dripped across his swollen chin, and his face undulated like tiny worms were burrowing beneath his skin.

  Don glanced at his watch, and Marie noticed. “What now?” she asked.

  He didn’t want to answer her because she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. The two of them stared at each other, hoping something would give, and when the bullhorn outside started issuing ultimatums, Marie vaulted from her chair. “You said you’d help keep the cops away.”

  Don closed the distance between them, trying not to look at Marie’s gun. “Help me work through this.”

  Marie scowled, lifting the gun as Don moved for the weapon.

  Phil sprang, jaws snapping, arms reaching out to tackle Don, who dodged, letting Phil crash into the entertainment center. The old pressboard unit teetered, the heavy tube TV toppling the cabinet and its years of accumulated crap down onto Phil.

  Don went for Marie but was met with the point of a gun. Marie sucked her teeth and gave Don a look that would have wilted fresh lettuce. She trained the rifle on his head.

  Don dropped to the floor and pulled his gun.

  He swung the Glock forward, only to have the Phil-thing clamp its bloody hand around his wrist. He got tossed across the room, the gun flying from his grasp as he hit the glass doors enclosing the fireplace, shattering them. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheek, and suddenly Don was very aware of the open wound, no matter its size.

  Bleeding in front of monsters could be a very bad thing.

  He backed against the wall and looked for his gun, which lay in the rubble of the entertainment center. His belt buckle was a small throwing knife, but that was the only remaining weapon. Footsteps echoed on the porch outside, and the bullhorn issued one last warning. They would break down the door with a battering ram in sixty seconds.

  “Go,” Marie said, as she pointed the rifle toward the door.

  Don’s mind swam, and for an instant, he thought he might leave. Who said he had to put his ass on the line every time?

  The cops would blow Phil apart, and before he and his crew could get control of the situation, countless officers and emergency workers would be exposed to an anomaly they knew nothing about.

  Don dove for Marie, trying to draw Phil in.

  Phil caught Don in the head with an elbow as he flew passed, and Don crashed into the pile of entertainment center rubble. His Glock lay right next to him, and he grabbed it.

  “Enough!” It was Marie. Phil snarled at her, and she pivoted her rifle towards him, and then back at Don, and back to Phil again. Tears streamed down her face, leaving dark mascara trails.

  When Phil went for Don again, she shot him.

  The rifle blast caught Phil in the arm and spun him around. He went down then, taking bookshelves with him. The police were pounding on the door with their ram, and in seconds, they would be through. Don scurried across the room to where Phil lay, and when he arrived, he stopped short, his mouth hanging open.

  Phil’s eyes were clearing, the blood draining away like dirt down a sewer. He looked bewildered, and when he saw Don, he said, “Who are you?”

  The door broke open, and Don’s men came in before the local SWAT team. “You okay, Boss?”

  Don didn’t have time for that. He positioned himself between Phil and the police, shielding him. “Hold your fire.” The cops were in full body armor, their identities hidden behind tinted face shields. They poured through the door showing no signs of halting. “I will shoot the man who fire
s his weapon.”

  One by one, the officers lowered their guns when they saw a middle-aged man in torn clothes staring up at them, his eyes glassy, eyebrows furrowed. Phil’s natural color was returning, his face smooth. The gunshot leaked blood down his arm, but he didn’t appear to notice. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and thin white lines ran across his face where the blood vessels had pushed against tightened skin.

  “Why are you all here?” Phil asked.

  “You don’t remember anything?” Don said. His men were clearing the room, and the locals retreated.

  “No. I dozed off, then… you woke me?” He hadn’t seen Marie yet. She lay on the couch. She’d fainted. As if reading his mind, Phil asked, “Where’s Marie?”

  “Here,” she said.

  When Phil saw her, his features softened.

  “You’re awake,” she said, and went to him.

  Awake is available from Amazon here.