Derek Ward

Ten miles south of the village of Redencion, Panama, 3 February 2011, 1000 hours local : Countdown: 10 months, 28 days

Former Chief Warrant Officer Eric Stahl pointed his M4 at the biggest of the five creatures as they strode out of the tree line and onto the dirt road. They all walked with a precise steady nature. It reminded Stahl of tigers stalking their prey. The primitive part of his brain was screaming for him to run and flee. Stahl suspected the moment he tried, these creatures would pounce.

“How are they walking in sunlight?” Quentin McLintock asked, transfixed by the creatures. “All of the lore surrounding the vampire says direct sunlight will kill them.”

“Let’s try and figure that after we kill them,” Stahl said, “Cortez, we could use a hand up here.” Mateo Cortez, the Zombie Strike field team leader, was busy helping the team members in the truck flipped by the first vampire. Cortez’s head popped out from behind the vehicle. A string of low curses followed. Cortez was almost as good at coming up with new swear words as a SEAL chief petty Stahl worked with once.

“Jess, see what you can do,” ordered Cortez, “Keep them busy for a minute.” Montgomery hopped on top of the overturned MRAP. Her SCAR was already up as she drew a bead on the big vampire. Three against five were not good odds. Stahl hoped Cortez knew what he was doing.

“Everyone, focus on the big one,” Stahl ordered, “Then roll to the one to the left.” A radio click meant Montgomery was ready. McLintock just nodded. The suppressed SCAR gave its distinctive cough as Montgomery placed a 7.62 mm NATO round dead center in the vampire’s head. The vampire’s head snapped back from the impact. The sudden jerk caught the creature off-guard and it tried to keep from falling over. Stahl opened up with his M4.

An M4 would have burned through a standard 30-round mag in a few seconds. Stahl quit using those after nearly running out of ammo on Corsica. He was using a new quad-stack 60-round magazine. The M4 chattered for nearly ten seconds as he dumped every round into the vampire’s torso. The rounds Zombie Strike were designed to cause maximum damage by shredding as much tissue as it could. Stahl was tearing huge chunks out of the creature as he kept the burst stitching across the vampire’s torso. As soon as the M4 went dry, Stahl dropped the magazine and slapped in a fresh one. The vampire took two steps towards Stahl. Then, it burst into a flash of intense heat and flame. The four remaining vampires paused.

“Chief, get down!” Cortez yelled. Stahl dropped into the dirt. Someone fired one of the team’s XM25’s. The rapid thumps were distinctive. Less than a second later, Stahl felt more than heard the string of explosions. He felt a couple of fragments whistle past him. That must have been Sport. That Brit found his calling with the grenade launcher. It was kind of scary how close he could drop those airburst grenades without killing friendlies. Stahl was on his feet as soon as the explosions dimmed to echoes. The other four vampires were reduced to scorch marks on the dirt road.

“Chief, you two alright?” Cortez asked. Stahl looked over at McLintock. The big man was already poking at the scorch marks. Crazy eggheads. Almost as if to prove the point, Tredegar trotted past the chief to join McLintock.

“Yeah, we’re good to go,” Stahl answered. “What about the truck?”

“Well, it works, but we can’t flip it back over.” Stahl looked over the wreck. The MRAP was lying on its back about ten yards off the dirt road. “Even if we could, we don’t have anyone to drive it.”

“What about the Panamanians?” Stahl asked.

“What Panamanians?” Cortez asked in response, “They all booked when they caught sight of the vampires. I’m going to have Jim drive. I want to get up to the village quickly.” Stahl nodded in agreement. The good news was none of the team members riding in the flipped vehicle had been injured. The team spent about fifteen minutes dragging gear to the other vehicle. Well, all except Tredegar and McLintock. Those two were examining the documents they’d got from the priest. They still hadn’t come up with a good intel by the time the team was ready to move out.

Stahl stayed on the heavy machine gun as Jim Colllins carefully drove the truck up the mountain trail. The chief manned the fifty-cal on the basis he had the most time with the weapon. The truth was, until he got some definitive answers on the vampires, he wanted the biggest gun he could find to kill them with. After a few miles, the forest was cleared for farmland. Stahl counted about six or so small spreads. It looked like little more than subsistence farming. At least it wasn’t coca. Stahl hated dealing with narcos.

Another few miles, and the team drove into the outskirts of Redencion. Most of the houses were solidly built, if somewhat primitive. The villagers may not have much, but they knew how to use what was available. These weren’t shanty-town people. Assuming any were still alive. The streets were deserted. There were no sounds or signs of life as the MRAP rolled down the main road. There weren’t even any animals. Stahl looked towards the town’s center. For a moment, he could have sworn there was a spotlight on the church. It just seemed to glimmer.

Collins gunned the MRAP into town center. Stahl saw two more creatures slamming themselves against the doors of the church. Collins saw them as well and swung the MRAP alongside the church. Stahl had a clear line on the vampires without shooting into the church. The two creatures were focused so intently on the church they ignored the big metal vehicle and the gun atop it. With a grin, Stahl pressed the big machine gun’s firing paddle. The big fifty caliber bullets easily shredded the vampires. After a few seconds, the vampires finally screeched and burst into a flash of flame.

The team was out of the vehicle and taking up positions around the church before Stahl finished firing on the two vampires. They braced as they waited for the next onslaught of creatures. The doors of the church swung open. Every weapon was trained on the darkened opening. Out stepped what looked like a miniature version of a Catholic priest holding a cross in one hand and a bottle of clear liquid in the other. The priest gave the Zombie Strike team an appraising look.

“You took longer to get here than I expected,” the priest said in unaccented English. The voice sounded old, but flat with no emotion. It unnerved Stahl.

“Sorry?” Cortez said, unsure if he should be apologizing or demanding one.

“My apologies,” the priest said, “It was a comment, not a criticism. I am Father Rodriguez. Please come in. I’m sure you have many questions for me.” The priest’s head turned towards Stahl. The man’s black eyes bored into Stahl. The former soldier felt ice shoot down his spine. Stahl had the distinct feeling the priest had been waiting for him to arrive in this village. The chief shook his head. That was just ridiculous.

“I appreciate the offer Father, but I think we need to make sure there aren’t any more of those vampires in the village first,” Cortez said. The tiny priest waved his hands dismissively.

“Oh don’t worry. Those two you destroyed were the last two in the village. The rest are out in the jungle,” Father Rodriguez said.

“And you know this how?” Stahl asked, suspiciously. Something about Father Rodriguez was ringing every warning bell in his mind.

“God told me,” the priest answered, matter-of-factly, “Or more to the point, Metatron told me.”

“The bad guy from Transformers?” The Steve asked.

“No, the archangel Metatron, the Voice of God,” Cortez corrected, “Metatron does the speaking because the true voice of God would destroy the mind of a human.”

“Cool, just like Cthulu!” the irrepressible medic replied. There was a long moment as the entire team just stared at The Steve in either shock or disbelief. The Steve ignored it all with his trademark brilliant smile.

“Please excuse The Steve. His mind to mouth filter isn’t always the best,” Cortez said.

“Believe me Mateo Cortez, I know quite a bit about your team,” Father Rodriguez said enigmatically. “I have been tasked by our father to answer many of your questions.” Stahl could feel the undercurrent in the priest’s voice. His fight or flee instincts were screaming at him to run from this priest and the village. He couldn’t flee, so that left fight. The chief slid down the side of the MRAP and strode over to the priest.

“Perhaps you could answer the big questions. How many vampires escaped into our world, and how are we going to seal the crack between our worlds?” the chief asked, trying to keep his voice calm. The priest gave him a knowing smile.

“Those aren’t your big questions, Eric Stahl, but they are important to the team,” Father Rodriguez said. “To answer your questions though, the crack, as you called it, has already been sealed, but not before sixty-six of the creatures escaped into our world.”

[Zombie Strike Part 7 Chapter 68]

Tocumen International Airport, Panama City, 3 February 2011, 0700 hours local : Countdown: 10 months, 28 days

Former US Army Chief Warrant Officer Eric Stahl walked down the ramp of the small cargo jet. He’d spent a few years in and out of Panama in his twenty years with the US Army. He liked the country and the people, and he was glad to be back. He just wished he’d come here on vacation instead of having to fight a bunch of monsters. Chief Stahl wasn’t quite sure what to make of the transmission from Adams and Tredegar.

The plane taxied into one of the smaller private hangars on the outskirts of Panama’s big international airport. Waiting for them was Adams, Tredegar, and a uniformed Panamanian officer. A colonel by the sigils on his epaulets. The three were waiting by a pair of big armored trucks that reminded Stahl of the MRAPs the Army was using. Adams rushed up to Mateo Cortez as the team departed the plane. The two were doing their little courtship ritual. Stahl didn’t like the idea of the team lead and their employer’s liaison doing this half-on/half-off dating dance, but he kept his tongue. The rest of the team seemed happy about the match. Stahl would wait and watch until it became a problem. Then he’d solve it. That was what he did.

Chief Stahl had fallen into the role once occupied by the now-deceased Collin DuBois. He was the professional mentor of the team lead. After a couple of months, Stahl decided he liked Cortez. The man knew how to handle himself and the team. As much as Stahl hated to admit, he’d seen a marked improvement in Cortez’s performance about the same time he and Adams had started up. Jess Montgomery waited a proper minute or two, and then slammed into Adams with an enthusiastic hug. That was a relationship Stahl approved of. Montgomery was decent with her SCAR rifle, but there was more to life than just killing the bad guys. She needed a good role model for life beyond the scope of her weapon. Adams was somewhere between a foster mother and a big sister for the girl.

Stahl motioned for Tredegar and the Panamanian officer over as the rest of the team unloaded their gear from the plane. Tredegar looked like a casting call for Ichabod Crane. Taller than average, gangly, and with a balding head that made his nose seem even longer. He was wearing a dark suit with a white dress shirt that was plastered to him. His normally pale face had the unhealthy red glow of too much tropical sun. The Panamanian officer was a contrast to Tredegar. The colonel was barely average height, but obviously enjoyed his food. A thick bushy black mustache seemed right on his round face.

“Colonel, I’m Eric Stahl, but you can call me Chief or Chief Stahl,” Stahl said, introducing himself. “If you’ll tell me how you want us to load up, I can take care of it.”

“SEAL?” the colonel guessed in moderately accented English.

“Hardly. Former Chief Warrant Officer with the Army. Used to do some Lurp-Work before I started killing zombies for a living,” Stahl said.

“Oh good,” the colonel answered, sounding relieved. “When I heard this outfit was led by a civilian who’d never spent a day—“ Stahl held up a hand to cut the colonel off. The officer’s eyes flashed with indignation.

“Colonel, that man is one of the most experienced zombie hunters on the planet. He may not be military, or even former military, but the American military listens to him on matters of dealing with the undead. You may want to remember that when you talk to him.”

“Talk to who?” Cortez asked, joining the group. The colonel shifted uncomfortably as an awkward silence fell over the small group. When no one said anything, Cortez turned to Stahl.

“Chief, we’re going to have to brief on the move. Put The Steve, Jim, the Brits, and the extra gear in the first truck. Everyone else on the other.” Chief Stahl almost saluted out of habit. He turned and issued his own orders. In less than an hour, the two trucks were roaring down Panamanian highways towards the mountain village. It was a tight fit in the truck with all of the people, and the dog. Stahl brought up the document Tredegar transmitted to his PDA.

“These aren’t vampires like we know them,” Tredegar began.

“They aren’t sparkly?” injected Cortez. Montgomery flushed at the backhand jibe. She liked Twilight, thank you very much.

“They aren’t even in human form. At least not yet,” Tredegar said, plowing on before anyone else chimed in. “According to the intel from the priest, these creatures are from another time and place. I think that means from another dimension. In this world, they need human life force to survive. Usually through blood. The longer in this world, the more they can adapt and the more human-like they become.”

“How does a priest in a mountain village have all of this?” Cortez asked.

“Not the first time the Jesuits have dealt with this,” Tredegar answered.

“So how do we stop these vampires?” Stahl asked, “We didn’t bring along silver bullets or wooden stakes.”

“Or those nifty UV bullets,” Sport chimed in from the other truck.

“Would everyone please stop making movie references?” Tredegar said, annoyed. “Right now, they’re vulnerable. They haven’t had time to adapt to our world or develop any immunities. Right now, they’re big, nasty monsters that drink blood. Think of them as a variation of the monsters we fought back on Corsica.” Stahl saw a shudder from the team members that had gone down into the Truth’s facility during that battle. “All of that changes in less than twenty-four hours. Then they get stronger, smarter, and harder to kill on an exponential level.”

“Let’s not waste time then,” Cortez said. “As soon as we reach the village, we fan out and look for survivors. Tredegar needs to see anyone who survived so we can try and piece together what happened and how many of these creatures we’re dealing with. If you find one of the monsters, do not engage it by yourself. Call for help. Any questions?”

“Yeah, The Steve wants to know how we’re going to close the hole these vampires came out of,” The Steve said. Stahl reminded himself that under the crazy persona, former Staff Sergeant Mountain was a sharp operator. The man was still talked about among the Special Forces community.

“The papers reference some ritual the Jesuits did last time, but it’s pretty vague.” The trucks jostled as they left the paved roads and started up the trail to the mountain village. Stahl hadn’t even learned the name of the place yet. He thumbed around on his PDA until he found a map of the village. Pretty standard layout. Church and the big merchants close to center with some houses and smaller stores as the village spread out towards the farms and the jungle. Probably no more than a few hundred people all told.

Stahl was torn from his PDA as the first truck was flipped into the air. It looked like an IED hit, but there wasn’t the deafening boom of an explosion. Combat reflexes took over. Stahl shoved a Panamanian soldier aside and jumped up into the turret to grab the Ma Deuce’s controls. As the first truck rolled into the tree line, Stahl saw the cause. The creature was maybe seven or eight feet tall. Its wire-thin body was covered in matty, brown fur. Stahl didn’t even pause to look at the thing’s face before he pressed down on the firing paddle between the machine gun’s handles. The familiar heavy buddha-buddha-buddha of the M2 machine gun filled the air. The heavy .50 BMG bullets tore gaping holes into the creature. Stahl heard its screams faintly over the sound of the machine gun. The creature took a step back, fighting to stay on its feet as bullet after bullet shredded its body. It lasted maybe ten seconds before Stahl nearly removed its lower half with the machine gun. The creature fell to the ground.

Stahl jumped up out of the truck and ran towards the creature with his M4 up. Next to him was Quentin McLintock, the big close-quarters specialist. As they neared the creature, it burst into flames. There was maybe a second of bright flames and intense heat. All that remained of the creature was a scorched outline in the dirt.

“Okay, that went pretty well,” Stahl said to McLintock, “Let’s get back and help the others.” McLintock put a meaty hand on Stahl’s shoulder. The big man wasn’t looking at the scorch mark. He was looking deep into the trees.

“Chief, he wasn’t alone,” McLintock said. The morning air was filled with snarls as several more of the creatures stepped out of the tree line. Stahl gripped his weapon and prepared for the fight.

[Zombie Strike Part 7 Chapter 67]

Lisbon, Portugal, 1 February 2011, 1800 hours local: Countdown: 11 months

The man known to his followers as Castle was doing what most of the world was doing. He was watching as the last of the new GPS satellites was positioned in space. It was a bit over six months since the Truth’s mystics removed almost all of the satellites in orbit and brought them down on Mexico City. The general populace had been slapped in the face with their dependence on the artificial constellation that had floated in orbit. They demanded their leaders do everything to restore the needed satellites, regardless of cost. That demand provided the Truth with an opportunity for control that was now being realized.

Castle spent years cultivating his infiltrators. They were people in key positions in various sectors: political, social, cultural, and economic. For the last six months, these seemingly unrelated people had either stepped into roles or aggressively taken positions that gave the Truth enormous public influence. After all, it had been his infiltrators that forged a world-wide coalition and promised to rebuild networks and fight the economic depression that resulted from the loss of the satellites. With this last satellite, a large part of that promise returned. Now the Truth had their own secret satellite communications and observation network.

The satellite phone next to him buzzed. Castle picked up the now-working device and looked at who was calling him. He’d expected his infiltrator in the UN to ask to begin her operation. Instead, it was one of Alan’s sorcerers. Castle was going to be very annoyed if the sorcerer just called him to congratulate him on their success. He’d been very clear on that.

“Mr. Castle, we have a tear in Panama,” the sorcerer informed him. Castle didn’t say anything for a moment as suppressed the urge to ask if the sorcerer was sure. They wouldn’t be calling him if they weren’t sure.

“Has it begun already?” Castle asked.

“From what we can see, it just looks like a small fracturing as our worlds come close to each other,” the sorcerer answered. Castle relaxed. The Truth wasn’t quite ready to deal with the Great Death quite yet.

“Why didn’t we know that this might happen?” Castle asked.

“The prophecies were vague about this kind of thing,” the sorcerer said, “To be frank, Mr. Castle, it isn’t like there’s a sentence in the prophecies telling us there’s going to be a tear and where it was going to be. The wording could have been interpreted in a number of ways. In light of this new development, Alan and several of the more experienced sorcerers are pouring over the prophecies to find out how often we should expect tears between our worlds.” Castle bit back his annoyance and frustrated. The sorcerer was doing exactly what Castle demanded – telling him exactly what he needed to know, whether he liked it or not. Castle spent a great deal of time reassuring his people that he had no intention of shooting the messenger.

“I understand,” Castle said, “Have a team of experienced sorcerers meet some Champions in Panama.” Castle put down the sat phone and pressed the buzzer on the intercom at his elbow.

“Have Mikhail join me. I have a job for him.”

Plaza de Francia, Panama City, Panama, 2 Feb 2011 1700 hours local; Countdown: 10 months, 29 days

Robyn Adams fanned herself with a copy of La Prensa, the local newspaper. Even in February, it was hot and humid. She would need to take a long shower when she got back to the hotel. At least she had it easier than her companion. Edgar Tredegar was not only sweating in his light gray suit, but his normally white skin was now a bright pink from sunburn. He didn’t complain, but Tredegar was clearly uncomfortable.

“He’s late,” Tredegar said quietly.

“He could be stuck in traffic,” Robyn said, remembering the cab ride over from the hotel.

“Maybe,” Tredegar said. “I don’t like it. We should have contacted the Bureau.” Like Robyn, Tredegar was a liaison to Zombie Strike. She represented the interests of the team’s primary financial backer, the British insurance firm of MacKenzie and Winston. Tredegar, on the other hand, was an FBI special agent assigned to assist Zombie Strike on behalf of the American government.

“You agreed to keep them out of this. The priest wouldn’t have come otherwise,” Robyn said. Before Edgar could say anything, a cab pulled up at the front of the plaza. A round Catholic priest lumbered out. He waved to the pair as soon as he saw them. Tredegar groaned at the lack of tradecraft. Robyn suppressed a laugh. What did he expect? They weren’t meeting some defecting Soviet spy, like in the FBI’s heyday. They walked down as the priest paid the cabbie.

“You are Father Timon?” Robyn asked as they met the priest.

“Si. You are from Zombie Strike?” the priest asked in heavily accented English. Robyn nodded. It was close enough to the truth. The priest let out a string of rapid fire Spanish. It sounded like a lot of thanking God.

“Father Timon, you said you needed Zombie Strike in Panama, but you didn’t say why,” Tredegar said. “We need to know why before we can bring the team in.”

“You are not zombie-killers?” the priest asked, his large dark eyes scrunched in confusion.

“Zombie Strike doesn’t have that many zombie killers,” Robyn rushed to explain, “People like us are sent out to meet with the local contacts to see where the need is greatest.” She didn’t add and to make sure that they weren’t wasting time with kooks.

“Of course. I see,” the priest said, his head bobbing. “About two nights ago, I went to visit my friend, Father Rodriguez, up in the mountains. We were having dinner when it happened.” The priest shuddered with remembered fear.

“What happened?” Tredegar asked.

“We heard screams. We went to see what happened,” Father Timon said, “In the middle of the town, it was like the air had been ripped open. Unholy white light was pouring through. Then the first one came out. It was horrible. It grabbed little Martina and…” Father Timon put his face in his hands and sobbed. Robyn put her arms around the priest.

“Father Rodriguez pulled me back into the church. He shoved this packet of papers in my hand.” The priest pulled out a weathered manila envelope. On the front was a series of odd symbols. Tredegar gasped as he saw the envelope.

“Do you know what this means?” Father Timon asked. “Father Rodriguez wouldn’t tell me. He just pushed me into my car and told me to come back here. He said I needed to call Zombie Strike and give them this.” Tredegar snatched the envelope out of the priest’s hands. He tore the flap open and began searching through the papers.

“Don’t worry Father,” Robyn said reassuringly, “We’ll take care of this.” She escorted the priest back down the stairs. After the priest was in a cab back to his church, Robyn stormed back to where Tredegar was reading one of the papers from the envelope.

“What was that all about?” Robyn demanded.

“Call Mateo and tell him we need the team here,” Tredegar said, examining the paper in his hands. “Make sure he tells Quentin that the Little Death has shown up here.”

“What is the Little Death?” Robyn demanded as she keyed in the radio. With communications satellites out, long distance calls needed to be go through a relay of radio stations. Fortunately, M&W already had a network set up.

“From my best guess, vampires.”

[Zombie Strike Part 7 Chapter 66]