Dead Team Alpha: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (2 page)

Delaney nods then turns and keeps moving down the hallway. The tension ratchets up considerably amongst the Mates as they work their way towards the first checkpoint. A wide, solid door stands before them, securely locked. Delaney motions for Chinn to come forward and he does,
with a thick key in his hand. He slides the key into a lock just below the door handle, turns it once to the left, two rotations to the right, then back to the left three times. The sound of large tumblers falling into place reverberates around them.

Grabbing the handle with both hands, Chinn muscles the door open. It’s almost a foot thick with huge, recessed rods inside, and it takes all of Chinn’s strength to get it pushed back. He takes a deep breath and steps out of the way as Delaney, Lazzar, and Blackmore move quickly past him, their carbines leading the way.

A quick sweep of the room and they all relax. The thick coating of dust on the control panels shows them no one has been inside in a good, long while.

“Clear,” Blackmore calls out.

Lazzar rests her M-4 against an old rolling chair and starts flicking switches on the center control console. “No residual power.”

Delany pulls a clipboard from her pack and makes a zero next to the “Power” entry.

“All controls appear to be in working order,” Lazzar continues. “No rust or scorch marks.” She gets on her hands and knees and pops open a panel. “No corrosion in the wiring that I can see. This LCC is stable, just needs power.”

“That’ll be quite the extension cord,” Morrissey says as the rest of the Team joins them in the control center. “Don’t think Mayor Coolidge will authorize that use of emergency resources.”

“Knock off the jabber,” TL Mills says. “It doesn’t have to digress into a kids’ sleepover every time we clear a silo.”

“Can I have Delaney do my hair?” Miller asks. “She does the best French braids ever.”

“You have to have hair first, baldy,” Delaney says.

“Funny,” Miller says. “Don’t be hating on my shiny scalp.”

“Cut it,” TL Mills says. “Blackmore, Chinn, and Morrissey, you get the LF. Complete your checklist and then regroup here. We’ll bed down in the LCC, then move out at first light. Lazzar, you have first watch, so get comfortable up at the hatch.”

“Yes, sir,” Lazzar says as she hurries from the control center.

“It’s getting nasty,” Cook says, pulling up his zipper as he passes Lazzar on his way into the LCC. “Wind is picking up and I see lightning on the horizon. The storm’s going to be ugly. Smells like tornado weather.”

“Great,” Lazzar says. “That’ll be fun for the later shifts. Glad mine’s getting done now.”

She hustles to the hatch and pushes it wide, and then steps back into the shadows of the hallway, her eyes scanning the countryside. There’s nothing but the same old shit. She sighs and settles in for the next two hours of her shift.

***

Morrissey notices it first.

He waves the other two Mates forward and they all study the
scuffmarks on the wall. Chinn looks up and sees the ventilation grate above them at the top of the wall. He taps Morrissey on the shoulder and the man bends over, his hands clasped, and gives Chinn a boost up.

The ventilation shaft is nothing but green glowing darkness and Chinn struggles to see more than a couple feet, even with the
NVGs on. After a good minute, he shakes his head and Morrissey lowers him to the floor. They each study the ground, but can’t see any more marks. Without saying anything, they move on to the LF in order to finish their sweep. Morrissey hangs back just a second to make a note of the discovery on his clipboard, then tucks it into his pack and shoulders his carbine, catching up quickly to his Team Mates.

***

The flash of lightning and ensuing thunderclap are considerably closer than Lazzar is expecting, causing her to jump. If her finger hadn’t been resting along the trigger guard, she would have squeezed off a couple of rounds. She laughs to herself, glad none of her Mates saw her little scare, and steps outside into the blowing wind. A light rain has started and the cool mist wets her skin. Closing her eyes, and opening her mouth, she welcomes the fresh water.

Another flash and clap go off and Lazzar opens her eyes, feeling refreshed. The daylight is completely gone and the barren landscape about her
is cloaked in inky darkness. The storm is picking up and the rain goes from refreshing mist to needling drops in seconds. Lazzar begins to back up to the hatch when a third flash lights up the land.

Her carbine is at her shoulder instantly and she drops to one knee as she sees an illuminated figure before her for just a split second. The lightning has messed with her vision and she turns her head slightly to the side, letting her stronger peripheral vision study the area. She goes over the image in her mind, looking for clues as to what she’s dealing with. It held itself upright with a straight back, so not a Z. It also wasn’t moving towards her, further proof it isn’t a flesh-hungry zombie. It also hasn’t come screaming at
her with some improvised weapon, which means not a crazy or wild wasteland trash. It made itself known, instead of the normal sneak attack nature of a cannibal.

So what or who is it?

Lazzar stands and slowly walks her way back to the silo hatch. Her back bumps up against the side of the hill and she eases herself into the opening. The lightning flashes once more and the area in front of her is empty, no sign of the phantom form. Being a ten year veteran Mate, Lazzar knows better than to think she made it all up in her head. She saw something, that’s for sure.

Risking a quick glance, Lazzar looks behind her and notes her position to the hatch. The sky above her booms with thunder just as another lightning flash fills her sight.

She has no time to scream before the blade pierces her throat. The sounds she makes as she collapses to the wet ground are nothing but surprised gurgles from choking on her own blood. The blade is yanked back and is flicked to the side, sending splatters of blood mixing with the fresh rainwater.

Lazzar looks up at her attacker and the final thoughts that go through her head are, “What’s wrong with its face?” Then the life leaks out of her and her eyes glaze over as her last breath
wheezes from between her bloody lips.

***

Folding his legs under him, and careful that his knees don’t bump the beeswax candles that surround the large map, Cook grabs a seat next to TL Mills on the floor.

“Spill it,” Cook says.

“Huh?” TL Mills asks, not taking his eyes off the paper before him. “Spill what?”

“Whatever it is you aren’t telling the team,” Cook says. “How long have I been a Runner with STA?”

“Long time,” TL Mills replies.

“And how long have we known each other?” Cook asks.

“A lot longer,” TL Mills says.

“So safe to say I know your moods,” Cook says. “And right now you are hiding something. And that something is bugging the shit out of you.”

TL Mills shrugs. “Not for me to say.”

“Bullshit, Josh,” Cook
snaps. “I was there when you got married and there when Millie was born. We used to tell stories of the Great El and Granny G around the campfire together as kids. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you always have something to say.”

TL Mills looks at the map a while
longer, and then finally turns to Cook. “Before we left the Stronghold I walked in on Lee and Mayor Coolidge arguing. I only caught the last couple of words, but what I heard has me more than worried.”

“And…?” Cook prompts.

“The commander was telling off Coolidge about something,” TL Mills explains, “something about information being kept from everyone in the Stronghold. They shut up as soon as I walked through the door.”

“What information?” Cook asks.

“I don’t know,” TL Mills says, tapping the map, “but my guess is it has to do with the silos. It’s been a long time since Commander Lee last sent STA out to the Silo Park on extended recon missions. The fact that she sent STA out first tells me she expects trouble. This type of sweep and clear job should be for a Beta Team, not an Alpha Team.”

“Huh,” Cook responds.

“Yeah, huh, exactly,” TL Mills nods. “It’s not the way the teams work, keeping back intel. Ignorance gets Mates killed. It’s as deadly as a herd of Zs.”

“All clear,” Morrissey says as he walks into the LCC with Chinn and Blackmore. “LF is
secure.”

Chinn sets the clipboard down on one of the control panels and looks at TL Mills. “We did see some scuffing by one of the ventilation grates.”

“Scuffing?” TL Mills asks as he stands, his back popping and cracking into place.

“Jesus, TL,” Blackmore laughs. “If I heard that in a Denver alley I’d think a group of Zs was coming to get me. You’re lucky I didn’t draw down on you.”

“Give a veteran a break, Blackmore,” TL Mills says. He picks up the clipboard and reads the notation then sets it back down. “Nothing else?”

“That’s it,” Chinn says.
“No signs of anyone. No signs of Zs. Just some scuffs on the wall by a grate.”

“Could be anything,”
Blackmore says.

“Hmmm,” TL Mills says. “Could be…” He points at Miller and nods towards the door. “Go relieve Lazzar. Chinn
, show me the marks. I want to see them for myself.”

***

“There they are,” Chinn says, showing TL Mills the wall. “I’ll give you a boost so you can check the shaft, if you want.”

“Do that,” TL Mills says, stepping into Chinn’s hands. He’s lifted up to the grate and he scans the shaft with his NVGs. “Looks clean to…wait. Do you hear that?”

“What?” Chinn asks.

“Let me down,” TL Mills says and Chinn obliges.

TL Mills looks up and down the corridor then spots another grate about ten yards away. He walks over to it and cocks his head.

“Hear that?” TL Mills whispers. Chinn listens, but shakes his head no. “Lift me back up.”

Again, Chinn laces his hands together and boosts TL Mills up. The sound of quiet scraping reaches Chinn’s ears.

“I hear that
now, TL,” Chinn whispers. “What is-?”

Blood rains down on the man and he jumps away, letting TL Mills fall to the floor. Sticking from the right eye of the Team Leader’s NVGs is a short, steel rod. The man twitches a couple
times, and then stills, black blood pooling around his head. Chinn reaches for his carbine strapped to his back, but screams instead as his hand becomes nothing but pain.

“What the fuck?” Chinn s
hrieks as he brings the bloody stump up to his NVGs, the black blood spurting to the rhythm of his heart.

He starts to scream again, but his throat is slit from ear to ear as a hand yanks his NVGs from his face and grips his forehead. Above, the ventilation grate
came flying out of the wall and clatters to the floor next to TL Mills’ corpse. Chinn is tossed aside as a figure drops into the pitch blackness of the corridor, nearly slipping on the blood that is slowly stretching from wall to wall.

***

“Not good,” Delaney says, as she checks her M-4’s magazine and slams it back into place. “That was TL.”

“Where the fuck is Lazzar?” Blackmore asks. “She should have been back here by now.”

“Morrissey? I want you to go get Lazzar and Miller,” Delaney orders. “Blackmore? You stay here with Cook. If none of us return in five minutes, I want you and Cook to get the fuck out of here and head for Fort Collins, got it?”

“Roger that,” Blackmore says. “But do me a favor and come back before five minutes, okay?”

Morrissey shoves the heavy door open and then stops. Delaney glances over at him and frowns.

“Morrissey? Get moving, man. We need every hand back… Oh, fuck…”

Morrissey turns around slowly, his hand clutching a large knife buried in his belly. He looks down at the blade, and the blood leaking from his guts, and then up at Delaney as he falls to his knees. Before anyone can say anything else, his head goes tumbling from his neck and a gust of wind whips into the control center from the outside corridor, blowing out the beeswax candles that illuminate the room.

“NVGs!” Delaney shouts as she reaches up and yanks hers over her eyes. At the flip of a
switch, the LCC is all shadows and green light. A grunt and a splashing sound to her left makes Delaney spin in that direction, her carbine up. “Blackmore? Blackmore, speak to me!”

The man stumbles into her view, his hands gripped to his throat. He lurches towards her and reaches out with his right hand. As he
does, a fountain of blood gushes from his neck. He reels and turns, and the fountain sprays Delaney’s NVGs.

“Fuck!” she yells as she yanks the goggles from her face. “Blackmore! What the fuck? Blackm-!”

Everything goes numb as her spine is severed just below her ribs. She wants to reach back and pull out whatever has done the damage, but her arms won’t obey. Helpless, she collapses to the floor, her cheek resting in a pool of warm, slick blood. She wants to speak, wants to scream and shout at the attackers, but all she can do is gasp and struggle for breath. Before it all ends, she hears a loud grunt and cry of pain, and then the hurried slapping of feet.