Dead Team Alpha: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (17 page)

“You coming, Ford?” Hawks asks.

“Nope,” Stanford says. “Lock it down and don’t worry about us. We’ll get in after we slow this herd down.”

Hawks nods and is lost in the semi-panicked crowd of RC workers.

“What are you thinking, boss?” Shep asks.

“Tommy Bombs,” Stanford says. “What do you have for me?”

“What do you need?” Tommy Bombs asks, his nervous eyes on the approaching herd.

“Whatever will turn 84
th
into a crater,” Stanford says. “Can you blow me a moat?”

“Don’t we need water for that?” Horton asks.

“Nope, just need a big pit,” Stanford says.

“I can do that,” Tommy Bombs says. “But we better hurry.”

“I’ll watch his back,” Lang says. “You guys watch mine.”

“We got ya,” the twins say.

Tommy Bombs and Lang grab up the packs of explosive that were going to be used on the trolleys and run to the far side of 84
th
. As soon as Tommy Bombs unzips the first pack, all shaking and twitching cease. A cool calm comes over him and he starts to rapidly, and systematically, pull out canvas wrapped hunks of putty then detcord.

Ja
mming the end of a piece of detcord into one hunk, he sets it on the ground, playing out the cord and walking a few paces to the left. He carefully counts his steps, and then drops a second hunk. He continues down the line, keeping the cord from tangling, and drops four more hunks of putty.

“Anytime now,
Bombs,” Lang says. “As soon as I open fire, they’ll come rushing. That will be bad.”

“I understand herd behavior,” Tommy Bombs replies, hustling back to the packs and grabbing up more hunks. He starts laying them down, mirroring the placement to the left. “I also understand proper placement of explosives. TL wants a moat and he’s going to get a moat.”

“Okay, good,” Lang says. “Just do it faster.”

“Fuck you, Breena,” Tommy Bombs replies as he drops the last hunk. “Now grab the packs. We have the other side of the road
to prep.”

They move the remaining packs to the hospital side of 84
th
and Tommy Bombs continues his work. When he’s finally finished, the herd has just reached the first part of broken and weed covered pavement across from them. Tommy Bombs checks his connections and unspools a long line of detcord, backing up towards the hospital.

“Ready?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at Stanford and the rest
of the Team.

“Ready,” Stanford says as Lang runs up and crouc
hes down with the rest of DTB Two.

“Cover your ears,” Tommy Bombs says.

He affixes the end of the detcord to a blasting cap, which he then attaches to two small, thin wires. The wires he spools out, until he’s backed up to the rest of the Team. He quickly twists the ends of the wire into contacts on a small hand crank. Crouching low, he turns his back to the road and cranks the handle fast.

It takes less than a second for the current of electricity to travel through the wire to the blasting cap. The cap explodes, triggering
the detcord which also blows. The entire length of cord up and down 84
th
goes up at once. The concussive blast buffets the Team and they all hunker down tight as chunks of pavement fly up into the air then come down in a shower of asphalt and dirt.

“Fuck,” Horton says. “
I can’t hear a fucking thing.”

“What?” Lang shouts.

The Team stands and looks out at the wreckage that was once a street, but is now a fifty-yard long, dust shrouded trench. Stanford nods and pats Tommy Bombs on the shoulder.

“Good work,” he yells.

“What?” Tommy Bombs says.

Stanford just gives him a thumbs up. He looks at the rest of the Team and points at the twins, motioning to the left. They take off running, carbines to their shoulders,
and their eyes on the wall of dust before them. Stanford points at Lang and Horton, and motions them to the right. They move out, ready to take down the Zs that get through.

Turning to look towards the entrance, Stanford sees the RC is busy shoving everything they can get their hands on against the front doors. Movement all along the windows tells him they are being
secured also. He can just make out Hawks inside, barking orders before an ancient steel desk is lifted up and blocks his view.

“Take a knee, boys,” Stanford says.

Shep does so immediately while Tommy Bombs just stands there his eyes watching the dust as it begins to settle and thin. Stanford smacks him on the back, making the guy jump. He points to the ground and Tommy Bombs nods, setting his pack down and picking up his M-4.

They all wait, ready for the first wave to get through the trench. Only fools would think a trench, no matter how jagged and deep,
could stop a herd the size of the one coming at them.

***

“Everyone to the stairwells!” Hawks orders, coughing from the massive amount of dust billowing in through the shattered glass and piles of debris barricading the front entrance. “That herd is too huge to be held back long!”

“
How’d she get to be in charge?” Clank asks Junior.

“I don’t know,” Junior replies, shrugging. “But she’s doing a fine job.”

“That’s true,” Clank says. He looks down at the unconscious and bound woman at his feet. “Ugh. Here we go again.”

He bends down and lifts her up over his shoulders.

“Wanna trade?” he asks.

“Nope,” Junior says, hefting Marshall up. “I’m good.”

“Fucker,” Clank says then looks for Hawks. He gives a loud whistle and she turns. “We’re heading up, you coming?”

“I’ll bring up the rear,” Hawks says. “Get to the third floor and secure the captives. Be nice to the kid, okay?”

“No prob,” Junior says. “Don’t hang down here too long. If any of these RC folk lag, then give them a boot in the ass.”

“Got it,” Hawks nods. “Get going.”

Junior and Clank turn and go with the flow of people heading into the first stairwell. They wind their way up to the next landing then the next. A few of the RC start to open the hall door.

“Third floor, morons!” Clank shouts. “Can’t you count?”

A few choice words are directed his way, but he shrugs them off, worried more about his back giving out than some dirty looks from reclaims. They keep heading up the stairs and they finally get to the door with a faded red “3” painted across it. Through the door and out into the hallway, Junior and Clank move in the opposite direction of the crowd and look for a side room they can occupy.

“Ditching us just like Lee and his Team did, eh?” Boyd says. “We’re just expendable to you people. The RCs are nothing but grunts in your eyes. Do our work, break our backs, and be happy about it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Boyd,” Clank snaps. “We’re separating the captives from your crew. Trust me, that’s a good thing.”

“Wha
tever you say, asshole,” Boyd says and hurries off, barking orders for his people to barricade doors leading to all the stairwells on that floor.

The two Mates carry the captives into one of the rooms down the hall. Clank tosses the woman onto the first bed while Junior tosses Marshall onto the second.

“Use the straps?” Junior asks, fingering the cracked leather buckles hanging down from the rails of Marshall’s bed. “I’m worried the kid’s gonna lose circulation in those hands. There are ankle straps too for the woman.”

“If we need to get out fast those straps will be a problem,” Clank says. “Leave them tied with the cord.
If the kid’s hands turn purple then loosen them a bit.”

“Hey, kid?” Junior asks. “You gonna be a problem if I loosen your cord? I fucking hope not. I have zero problem cracking your
skull, if you make a move.”

Marshall mutters something under his breath.

“What’s that?” Junior asks, leaning in. “Speak up.”

Again, Marshall mutters. Junior just shakes his head and walks away, over to Clank who is busy looking down on the scene below.

“Fuck me,” Junior says as the dust from the explosion dissipates in the breeze. “They don’t end. How the hell did a herd get that big?”

“All the ones we saw on the way to the Bell Tower must have merged into a mega-herd,” Clank says.

“Seriously?” Junior says. “I’ve never seen them do that before. They’d have to have one single target that draws them together to join up like this. Can’t be the hospital, the RC knows to keep it as quiet as possible. And Sector Fifty-one has been pretty clear for months.”

A quiet giggle comes from behind the men. Junior and Clank turn to see Marshall sitting up in the bed, his head moving back and forth, back and forth.

“What the fuck you laughing at, freak?” Clank asks.

“Hey,” Junior says. “Be nice, man. He’s just a kid.”

“A kid that nearly choked out Bobby,” Clank says. “What’s so funny, kid?”

“Oh, you know,” Marshall says. “Your deaths.”

“What?” Clank asks, frowning. “Kid, you need to get a better sense of humor.”

“Dead, dead, all of you dead,” Marshall says in a
singsong voice. “Stupid soldiers all in a row.” He twists his body so they can see his hands. He lifts his thumb and points the index finger of his right hand at the two men. “Bang, bang, bang. Down you fall. Stupid soldiers, we kill them all.”

“Okay,” Junior says. “You can call the freak whatever you want, man. That shit is fucked up.”

Gunfire erupts below and Junior and Clank spin around, their eyes watching as DTB Two opens fire on the Zs. The herd hasn’t breached the trench, but the dust has cleared enough for Stanford, Tommy Bombs, and Shep to start whittling down those still pushing forward from the other side.

“Now I wish I had my M-4,” Clank says, patting his 9mm. “This baby isn’t going to be much use if w
e have to get down in that.”

“I can crack the window and start picking off Zs from up here,” Junior smiles. “I didn’t give up my carbine.”

“Don’t rub it in, dude,” Clank says. “And save your ammo. DTB Two gets overrun and we’ll need every round to get them inside or to shoot our way out.”

“You won’t need any of them,” Marshall says. “Dead men can’t shoot.”

“Listen, you little fuck, I’ve had about enough of your crazy bullshit,” Clank says, turning back to Marshall. The boy is up on his feet, hopping up and down on the bed. “And sit your ass down! You fall and you’ll crack your fucking skull open, dumbass!”

The boy doesn’t stop jumping, instead he gets more and more chaotic, jumping from one end of the bed to the other, back and forth, over and over. Giggles and shrieks of joy escape his lips with each bounce.

“Fine,” Clank says. “If you won’t stop, then I’ll stop you.”

He stomps over to the bed and reaches out, but Marsha
ll jumps easily out of his way.

“Knock it off, you fuck!” Clank yells.

Marshall just keeps giggling and jumping. Clank reaches for him again and misses. Then before he can even track it, the boy’s right foot flies out and cracks Clank across the jaw. The big man spins about and grabs his face, bending over and spitting blood onto the floor.

“You little fuck!” Clank shouts, wiggling a loose tooth with his fingers. “Now you’re getting a beat down!”

But Clank doesn’t get the chance as Marshall leaps from the bed right onto Clank’s hunched over back, using the man as a bridge and jumping onto the woman’s bed. The force sends Clank to the floor and his face smashes into the ancient, institutional tile found in every hospital, school, and municipal building across the land.

“Holy fuck!” Junior yells. “Clank? You cool?”

“No, I’m not fucking cool,” Clank moans from the ground. “Snap the shit’s neck and I’ll get to cool.”

“Bad move, kid,” Junior says. “I kinda liked you for a second. Felt sorry for your crazy ass left alone in this fucked up world.”

“Alone?” Marshall says, spreading his arms wide as he stands over the woman’s body. “I’m never alone! I’m the Thirtieth Code Monkey! There are many more of us! More than enough to kill you all!”

Junior blinks at the fact
that the kid has his hands free. He reaches for the 9mm strapped to his own hip, but the kid is so much faster that he barely has it out of the holster before Marshall jumps and plants both feet dead center in Junior’s chest. All of the air rushes from the man’s lungs and he stumbles backwards, his arms pin wheeling, his back smacking up against the window. His head hits the glass hard and stars fill his vision.

“Fuck,” he says, trying to bring the 9mm pistol up, but finding the world swimming before him with several versions of the laughing kid standing and getting back up onto the many beds that split from each other. “You little…fuck.”

Marshall stops laughing, tenses his legs, and leaps.

Before Junior can
move, he is hit again in the chest, his body shoved against the window. The sound of glass breaking reaches Junior’s ears, but the second attack stuns him worse than the first and all he can think about is the pistol that has slipped from his grip and fallen to the floor.