Month: August 2020

Madrid, Spain, 25 June 2010, 1030 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 5 months, 5 days

The man currently known as Castle casually walked into the conference room. It belonged to one of the newer members of the cabal, or more to the point, her company. She beamed with pride as Castle acknowledged her with a simple nod. The new ones were always so eager to prove themselves. Who knew, this one may actually prove more than just financially useful.

There were fifteen men and women seated around the conference table. All were dressed in stylish business attire. Castle had taken great pains to recruit each person. They all believed they were part of Castle’s inner circle, and he did nothing to dissuade them from that belief. They were the levers by which he would direct the world until it was time to bring his god back into this world.

"Buenos Dias," Castle said in his native Spanish, "I must thank you for all of your support since I began recruiting you. This is especially true as we enter the last eighteen months. We have succeeded in collecting several of Xipe Totec’s blessed tools, but more remain. Fortunately none have fallen into our enemies’ hands." The men and women smiled at each other, enjoying the vicarious success of the cabal’s champion and his minions. Castle’s smiling face grew serious. The men and women quickly picked up on this and copied the solemn expression.

"In the next few days, our plans enter a critical phase," Castle explained, "I need each of you to react quickly and ruthlessly to seize the opportunities that will be presented to you." Castle paused as one of the elder gentlemen motioned to speak. Castle graciously nodded at the bald man.

"What kind of opportunities?" the man asked in a deep earnest voice.

"The kind that happens when the services the world has become dependent upon are suddenly snatched away from them," Castle answered, cryptically. "I apologize for the mystery, but it is necessary. My loyal followers, events are in motion. Everything is critical, including your own reactions. We cannot be undone because you acted too smoothly. Believe me, our enemies will be watching for such things. They know of our existence, but have no idea who we are. We will need to work hard to keep that advantage." There was a murmur of general agreement with Castle’s statement.

"Soon, very soon, we will all witness the coming of Xipe Totec," Castle intoned, "When our lord, the Flayed One, returns, we will all be his most trusted servants. All of us will be granted great power and authority. We will make this world into paradise once more." One by one, the men and women knelt at Castle’s feet to receive a blessing before departing to their regular lives. Castle stayed in the conference room, enjoying the luxury of the room.

"That didn’t take as long as I thought it would," murmured a deep voice from behind. The voice startled Castle, but he didn’t let it show. Castle rotated in the chair to look up at the cabal’s champion.

"Mikhail, it always amuses me that someone as huge as you can slip in unnoticed," Castle said nonchalantly. Mikhail was better known as Giant to Zombie Strike, the organization that was the cabal’s nemesis. They have Mikhail that nickname for good reason. Mikhail was easily over seven feet tall, with a powerful build. He wore a tight-fitting black martial arts costume complete with full mask. From the cabal’s spy in Zombie Strike, Castle knew the group mocked Giant about his choice of a "ninja suit." Castle really didn’t care. What he cared about was the aged leather whip that Mikhail wore coiled at his hip. The Flayed One’s own whip.

"Is your team ready?" Castle asked as Mikhail carefully sat down.

"My helpers are in position," Mikhail answered, "The American, Alan, has already started the ritual with your priests. I just came to make sure that you didn’t want to accompany us as we retrieved the key." Castle shook his head.

"It is not time for me to come out of the shadows quite yet," Castle said. He chuckled at Mikhail’s puzzled look. "We may take them by surprise, but you will be facing Zombie Strike." Mikhail gave Castle a smug smile.

"Good," Mikhail said sharply, "This will give me the chance to kill them."

"Your mission is to retrieve the key," Castle snapped, "Zombie Strike will be dealt with as the prophecies foretell." Mikhail nodded, accepting the rebuke. Wordlessly, the huge man slipped out of the chair and strode silently out the door.

Several hours later, NASA was the first to notice something happening. After almost sixty years of humanity launching stuff into space, there was an impressive amount of junk floating around the planet. Dead satellites, spent rocket boosters, and the like floated in space like flotsam and jetsam. NASA kept an eye on the space trash because any of it could be potentially fatal to a shuttle as it rocketed up to near-earth orbit. It was mostly predictable until one piece or another finally managed to fall out of orbit and incinerate itself in Earth’s atmosphere.

Alarms sounded as large amounts of the space junk began accelerating for no apparent reason. Faced with something completely inexplicable, NASA assumed there was a glitch in their tracking systems. Then, the first GPS satellite went down. Then, a communications satellite. Before NASA alerted governments around the world, ten more satellites were destroyed. As experts scrambled to maintain the fragile network of communications and navigation, the accelerating space debris clumped together into dense balls about the size of large kitchen appliances.

A tracking station in Australia first noticed the debris entering the atmosphere. They were in the middle of projecting a splash-down area when the debris started acting bizarre. Dramatic slowdowns followed by bursts of speeds in wildly changing vectors. The Australians immediately handed the problem off to NORAD. The uniformed specialists coordinated with world governments, trying desperately to get people out of harm’s way. Suddenly, the debris settled into straight trajectories. The NORAD personnel watched helplessly six balls of debris screamed towards Mexico City at several times the speed of sound. Each ball was slightly smaller than a dishwasher, but the dense composition and incredible speed from plummeting through the atmosphere gave each ball the destructive power of a small nuclear bomb.

All six slammed into Mexico City at noon local time. No one noticed the unique pattern of the strikes. No one except Zombie Strike.

Zombie Strike Part 5 Chapter 35

Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 19 February 2010, 1030 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 11 days

Jim Collins was getting tired of the hospital. The smells, the beds, the food, the nurses coming to check on him every fifteen minutes, it was all putting him on edge. No, it wasn’t the hospital. It was the waiting. Jim was ready to go back to a life he hadn’t lived for almost a quarter-century. The thought of settling down with Jeannie by his side brought an odd sense of peaceful satisfaction.

There was a quiet knock at the door. Jim looked up and felt his jaw drop. Of all the people Jim expected to stop by, Chris Roberts was not even near the list. Jim’s friend and Jeannie’s husband had aged well, with only the slightest hints of graying hair and extra weight. The two men just looked at each other for a tense moment.

"Hey Nate, you mind if I come in?" ventured Chris. Jim, still unable to speak, nodded. Chris ambled across the room and dropped into a chair next to the bed.

"You were expecting Jeannie," Chris said in a low voice. It wasn’t a question.

"Yeah," Jim said. There wasn’t any point in denying it. Jim was finished sneaking around and hiding. It was time to get everything out in the open. If he’d done that before, maybe none of this would have happened.

"She isn’t coming Nate," Chris said, "We’re leaving Salem, and she didn’t want to tell you goodbye again. We’re taking care of our daughter. We’re taking her to California to a place that can help her."

"She’s my daughter, I’ll take care of her," Jim snapped, feeling his future slide away from him. Chris’s eyes lit with an old rage, but he controlled himself.

"Stephanie’s not yours, Nate," Chris said, barely keeping his voice under control, "I’ve been her father from the time Jeannie got pregnant by you. I’m the one who raised her, while you were on the run. If you try to take her away from me, I will kill you." Jim wanted to scream at Chris, to demand to be a part of his daughter’s life. It was the fear on Chris’s face that stopped Jim. The fear of a man who had seen everything else slip away and was desperate to hold on to the last precious thing in his life.

"Alright Chris, I won’t," Jim gritted out. Chris stood up and walked to the door.

"You know, I really want to hate you," Chris said as he stopped at the door, "I saw the look on Jeannie’s face when she came to see you. She’s never looked that way at me. Even on our wedding day. She would have left me back then, and she will leave me as soon as Stephanie’s better. I should hate you for stealing my wife." Chris paused. "I want to so bad, but you gave me Stephanie. That girl is my world. You might have a good life with Jeannie in the future, but you’ll never have the joy of raising a child with her." The last sentence came out as a curse. Without looking back, Chris walked out of the room.

Kenn Blanchard joined Mateo Cortez in the parking lot of Salem’s small hospital. The Zombie Strike field team leader was puffing away on a cigar as Kenn neared. Mateo noticed Kenn, but was too deep in thought to do more than nod. Kenn pulled out his own stogie and waited for Mateo to finish mentally processing whatever was going on in that head.

"Not one of our shining moments," Mateo finally said. "Bad guy got away with the artifacts. We managed to royally tick off the colonel, who probably won’t be calling us anytime soon, and we’re probably going to lose Jim." Kenn took a long draw on the Monte Cristo before he said anything.

"Matt, you’re beating yourself up again," Kenn said, "No one died this time. The colonel will calm down. It’s not exactly the first time he wasn’t told everything. Alan got away, but I’ve got a feeling we’ll be seeing him again." Mateo shrugged his shoulders, but didn’t say anything.

"It feels like we’re two steps behind the bad guys," Mateo said after a few moments, "We don’t even know exactly who we’re fighting." The team leader was frustrated.

"Working on that Matt," Kenn said, "Working on that."

####London, United Kingdom, 28 February 2010, 2000 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months

Simon West poured a tumbler full of his best Scotch and handed it to his guest. The man called himself Castle, although West highly doubted that was his true name. West didn’t care. As long as their business relationship remained profitable, the man could call himself the Governor-General of Australia for all West cared. At least Castle left behind the monster that normally accompanied him. Castle graciously accepted the glass and settled into the plush leather chair.

"So, what do you have for me?" Castle asked, ignoring the usual pleasantries. West slid a manila envelope across the desk. Castle picked up the packet quizzically.

"My man’s most recent report," West said, "Apparently your most recent recruit is a bit on the talkative side. He said some things to Zombie Strike that could expose my man." West was more than annoyed. He had taken great pains to carefully recruit Collin DuBois. It was one of his most cherished accomplishments. Even more than when he killed Big John Summers and ascended to one of the bosses of the London underworld.

"I see," Castle said, "Don’t worry Mr. West. We’ll see that doesn’t happen again. Now how can we make this up to you?" West smiled congenially.

"I would like your help dealing with some upstarts from the Continent that have decided to operate in my territory," West answered. The two men smiled at each other. Both thought they were getting the best of the other man. Only one of them was right.

Zombie Strike Part 5 Chapter 34

Twenty miles north of Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 18 February 2010, 1830 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 12 days

Jim Collins stared at the horde of zombies as they emerged from the darkness. The movies always made a zombie horde so much cleaner. Jim shook his head to clear the fogginess from being bounced off the mine’s stone floor and walls. It helped a little, but his body and mind protested all of the abuse he had taken since Jim arrived in Wyoming. Jim forced himself off the ground and began to crawl back to his team. Where was his carbine?

"Form firing lines," bellowed Mateo Cortez, "Jim, you’re on stopper detail." The team fell into position at their leader’s commands. This was one of those drills the team practiced rigorously. Billy, Sport, and Jessica crouched down in front with carbines up. Standing behind them and interspersed were Quentin, Collin, and The Steve. Mateo’s job was to watch the flow of the horde to make sure the team didn’t hit crush – the point when the sheer numbers and mass of the horde would overcome all defensive actions. Jim just needed to recover and be ready to jump in if one of the team needed him.

The firing line opened up with full auto fire. With the suppressors, it sounded to Jim like a chorus of angry typewriters. Full auto wasn’t a good thing for fighting zombies. The only reason for the disciplined team to unleash that kind of fire was to open up space between the team and the horde. The leading zombies were less than twenty feet from the team. A normal human could cross that distance in a couple of seconds. Zombies did it in five to eight seconds. Jim saw the first few zombies quickly brought down, and then a barrage of fire tear apart the next group. Zombies collapsed as bullets shattered their legs.

For the first long seconds, Jim feared they would hit crush, but Mateo held the team in place. Then, the horde suddenly thinned, allowing the team to shift from opening distance to engaging the zombies with aimed head shots. The whole fight took less than a minute to finish. Jim realized the horde was less than fifty zombies strong. Billy and Quentin did a routine check to make sure all the zombies were put down as the rest of the team reloaded and prepared for going deeper into the mine. The Steve gave Jim a shot of his infamous "Happy Juice," a concoction of a pain killer and stimulant. As the injection hit Jim, he felt his head start to clear and some of his pain fell away. He realized Mateo was talking to him.

"Jim, how is this mine laid out?" Mateo repeated his question.

"I don’t know," Jim answered, "The kids don’t go beyond the first fifty feet or so. I know the parents always tell the kids the mine was closed down because it wasn’t stable. You could get trapped in a collapse and all that."

"Okay, we’ll take this slow," Mateo said, "I don’t want to run into in any more surprises if I don’t have to." He looked over at Jim with a sympathetic look. "I know you want to get down there fast, but we won’t do her any good if we get dead." Jim nodded. Something felt wrong. He pushed it down to focus on what he needed to do. Still, something was tickling the back of his mind.

The team descended into the icy blackness of the mine. Jim came up to the mine many times when he was a kid, but he never remembered the old mine being this eerie. The team’s weapon-mounted lights pushed back the inky darkness only about twenty yards. Not even the team’s nightvision could penetrate the darkness. Gusts of wind blew out of the mine. On the tails of the gusts were haunting moans. At first, this caused the team to tense up for a fight. The tension turned into annoyance as they continued down. There was little doubt Alan was behind the parlor tricks. It felt almost juvenile from a person who demonstrated the ability to bring down helicopters and drones.

Billy stopped and crouched. The team froze in place. Mateo moved up next to Billy. Jim looked down the mine shaft, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the edge of the team’s lights. Jim didn’t personally like Billy, but he trusted the kid’s instincts. He saw the flicker of movement just on the edge of the light. It moved too fast to be a zombie. Jim brought up his carbine. The weapon was torn out of his hands as something shot out of the darkness. Jim spared a momentary glance to see the black-bladed axe protruding out of his carbine before transitioning to his revolver.

A withered corpse covered in blue runes shot out from the darkness. It let out a howling screech as it attacked Billy with a primitive axe. It looked like a gollum, but it was missing the stone medallion that bestowed its mystical powers. Billy blocked the creature’s flurry of blows long enough for Quentin to slide to the creature’s side and bring down his warhammer on its head. The blow sent the gollum to the mine’s floor and left its head a broken, soggy mess. The corpse just sat there instead of withering away to a skeleton. The group exchanged looks. First the goats and yeti at the mouth of the cave, now a bad copy of gollums. What other new horrors were they going to run into?

"Form up," Mateo ordered. The team fell into its normal lineup, but the annoyance was gone. Alan conjured up things none of the team had ever fought. If he used that much power just to play with the team, what would happen when they finally confronted him? The moaning winds started again. The cold cut straight to Jim’s bones. Everything ached and keeping up the pace grew harder. As the team continued to descend into the mine, Jim decided this was going to be his last field mission. He was getting too old to do this, and he was pretty sure he did some permanent damage to himself on this mission. If what Mateo said about having the proof that Sheriff Jones framed him, then maybe Jim could just stay in Salem. Maybe he could go back to being Nate West and—

The floor fell out from under Jim. His mind had just a second to realize he was falling before he slammed into the floor. He felt the breath whoosh out of him. As he gasped, Alan loomed over him with an insane grin on his face. As Jim looked into the face of his friend turned enemy, the only thought that crossed his mind was how badly Alan had aged. The man’s face was gaunt with sunken features. He sort of looked like a corpse.

"Why Nathan, so good of you to drop in," cackled Alan. He laughed maniacally at his own joke. Jim didn’t bother with a retort. He managed to keep a hold of his revolver after crashing onto the floor. Without a word, Jim whipped the revolver at Alan and fired twice. Alan jerked as the heavy bullets hammered into his torso. He dropped to the ground.

"NO!" screamed a woman’s voice. Before Jim could look where the voice came from, someone leapt on top of him. He felt the padded thumps as the person unleashed a flurry of futile blows. Jim pistol-whipped the person off of him. It wasn’t until she rolled onto her back that Jim recognized his assailant as his daughter. Guilt hammered through him as he saw the angry purple bruise forming up on her cheek. She looked stunned, as if trying to figure out what had just happened.

Jim looked around. He was in some sort of cavern. The chamber was maybe fifty feet wide and lit with a combination of glow sticks, torches, and fluorescent lanterns. A pair of bedrolls and camping gear was in one corner. As he looked up, he couldn’t see the hole he fell through. He glanced at his PDA. The shattered face looked blankly up at him. He mentally shrugged. He had done okay before Mateo foisted all of those gadgets on him. What he needed to do was find the way out.

A wave of excruciating pain washed over him. Every part of him screamed in agony. As the pain faded, he found himself on the ground unable to move. Alan was crouched next to him, just barely within Jim’s peripheral vision. Alan turned Jim’s head gently so the two were looking at each other. Alan had taken off the robes. He was almost naked, except for some sort of underwear and what looked like a conquistador breast plate. The long knife was balanced in a loose grip. Alan’s body reminded Jim of the pictures of the Jews who survived the concentration camps. Jim wanted to scream and vomit at the same time. Unable to do either, he tried to find his hands and feet.

"For the record, that hurt," Alan announced, pointing at two small dents in the armor. "My own fault, really. I didn’t think you had it in you. You’d think after the last time, I would know better." Jim glared up at him. He wanted to throw every evil curse he could think of at Alan.

"Oh, don’t look at me like that," Alan said with a righteous indignation, "You still don’t understand what this was all about." Alan waved dramatically at the cave. "I did this all for you, my friend. All of this for you." He kneeled next to Jim’s paralyzed body. There was a look of compassion on Alan’s face. The look terrified Jim.

"I’m going to explain this to you Nathan, not because I want to gloat, but because I want you out of this. I owe you that much," Alan said. "I know what you’re thinking. Why do I owe you? Because you didn’t kill me all those years ago. Thanks to your mercy, I found out what I was supposed to do with my life. I found my calling. Because of Zombie Strike, I was recruited by the one you call Giant. We find that nickname amusing, even if Mikhail won’t let us use it around him. Anyways, when I was told to retrieve the artifacts here, I knew I had the opportunity to help you, and repay you for your kindness." Alan paused long enough to sit down cross legged next to Jim.

"When Giant told me to get these," Alan said, motioning to the breastplate and the knife, "I knew I could force you to come back here and face your past. I may be insane, but even I can spot a frame-up when I see it. I also knew that your comrades had the proof to clear you. I just needed to push you to confronting your past. Now you’re name’s been cleared, you’ve reconnected with the lost love of your life, and managed to rescue your daughter. Well, what’s left of her. I owed you for killing my son. I took my pound of flesh from her, so to speak." Alan got up from the floor and walked to one of the walls.

"Your team will find you soon," Alan said, "Quit Zombie Strike. Just because some of your teammates are fated to fight us doesn’t mean you have to join them in death. Your daughter is going to need your help. Stockholm Syndrome combined with being used to unleash powerful magic does horrific things to a young woman’s mind." Alan almost sounded remorseful. He stabbed the knife into the wall of the cavern. The cavern filled with bright white light as Alan opened a slit in the wall. There was one more sorrowful look before Alan slipped into the wall and vanished.

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 33 – Epilogue