Category: Monday Fiction

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

Ten miles north of Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 18 February 2010, 1700 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 12 days

Jim Collins’ eyes focused on the tiny display of his PDA mounted to the forearm of his armor. The picture was grainy, but Jim could make out his childhood-friend-turned-enemy, Alan, and a young woman who looked like a younger Jeannie. Alan stared up with annoyance at the Predator drone circling around the pair. Alan’s hand was clamped firmly on the girl’s upper arm as he dragged her along the mountain trail. Jim didn’t know where Alan thought he was going. There wasn’t anything around there. What was Alan hoping to find?

Alan looked at something beyond the camera. Rage came across his face. He drew a long knife from under his robes. The blade glinted in the sun. Jim watched in horror as Alan yanked the girl up. He slashed the knife across the girl’s arm. Jim saw the blood trickle down the girl’s arm. As he watched the girl scream, Jim was suddenly very thankful the feed from the Predator had no sound. He didn’t think he could take the sound of his daughter in pain.

"Green Six deploy now," Col. Allen said sharply over the radio to one of the units shadowing Alan and Jim’s daughter. The view from the Predator widened quickly, and Jim could see an Army helicopter zooming down at Alan. Alan raised the now-bloody knife at the helicopter. The picture went a brilliant white. Jim hung in his seat by the straps as a wave of sickening power washed over him. It was stronger than anything he felt from the altar. Frantic calls filled the radio net.

"Blue Six report," Col. Allen demanded, forcing the radios quiet.

"Zulu Six, this is Blue Six. Green Six is down. I repeat, Green Six is down," said one of the team leaders with a forced calm, "The target fired some sort of energy weapon. The Blackhawk just exploded, sir." A tense silence followed the team leader’s words. It was broken again by Blue Six. "Sir, the target just destroyed the Predator. Request permission to fall back."

"Do it," Col. Allen said, clearly unhappy with the order. The colonel’s head whipped around to the Zombie Strike team leader. "What just happened Mateo?"

"Very bad magic," Mateo Cortez answered. Col. Allen simply nodded and ordered the helicopter pilot to land where Green Six went down. To his credit, the pilot didn’t say anything. Apparently, Mateo wasn’t the only boss who demanded the impossible on occasion.

"This is why you’re here," Col. Allen said to Mateo. It wasn’t a question, or even an accusation. Just a simple statement of fact.

"Yes Colonel," Mateo answered in the same tone.

"I’m not sending my men into a fight they know nothing about," Col. Allen said, "I’ll get you close, but your people are going to deal with the target."

"Colonel, we aren’t allowed to engage—" Mateo began before the colonel cut him off.

"Don’t even give me that line of BS," Col. Allen said tersely, "I’m still in command of this AO, and you’re still in my employ. You suspected, if not outright knew, something like this was going on. You kept that from me. That annoys me greatly, but I will deal with you afterwards." The helicopter dropped to the ground, landing with a hard thump. The ramp came down and an icy wind filled the cargo compartment. The colonel gestured for the Zombie Strike team to get out of the helicopter.

"Mateo, one last thing," the colonel said as the team filed out of the helicopter, "Don’t get dead." As soon as the team was clear, the helicopter shot up and away from the mountain trail. The mountains were covered with snow. The only break in the white blanket was the burning wreckage of Green Six’s helicopter. Alan and Jim’s daughter were nowhere to be seen. Jim walked down the trail about twenty yards as the team sorted itself out. He remembered this place vividly. It used to be a stock trail in the early days of the state, but now it was used only by hunters and kids looking to go up onto the hills that surrounded the cursed valley. Jim’s mind flashed with realization. He knew where Alan was. Damn, he should have thought about that before. Mateo and Collin walked up to where Jim was crouched next to the trail.

"There’s an old gold mine from the 1880’s about half a mile up the trail," Jim said, "It’s not on any maps, but the kids sometimes go there to party. There won’t be anyone there this time of year."

"I hate fighting underground," Mateo muttered. "Jim, you know the area, so you’ll lead us to the mine. Collin, I want you to pair off with Jim and keep him covered. I’ll bring up the rest of the team. Once we get up to this mine, we’ll reassess." Collin and Jim nodded as Mateo turned back to the others.

"Lead off, boyo," Collin said. After about twenty minutes of hard trekking, Jim and Collin neared the mine’s entrance. Jim stopped as he saw two lumps in the trail. He crouched and slid to the right. Jim took a closer look through his scope.

"What is it mate?" Collin asked as he crouched next to Jim.

"Goats," Jim said, "Two of them in front of the mine."

"We’re stopping for goats?" Collin asked.

"Collin, those are two mature rams sitting next to each other," Jim said, "Rams don’t do that. Plus, there’s no heat coming from either of them, but they’re still moving."

"Zombie goats?" Collin asked, incredulously.

"Looks like it," Jim answered.

"Bloody hell," Collin muttered, "Odd pair of sentries."

"Not when you think about it," Jim said, "A ram’s skull is thick and hard to crack, especially with an M16’s bullet. Those two could probably fend off a platoon of unsuspecting soldiers." Jim slung his carbine and stood up. Taking off his helmet, Jim let out a screeching whistle. The two zombie goats sprang up and charged the two humans.

"What are you doing?" demanded Collin. Jim drew his revolver. The thundering boom echoed as Jim took down the first goat. The second shot missed when the goat slipped on a patch of ice a split second before Jim squeezed the trigger. The third shot took the goat cleanly through the skull. The creature dropped and slid along the icy trail. The rest of the team ran up to Collin and Jim. Mateo listened as Jim calmly explained the encounter while reloading the revolver.

"Alan probably knows we’re here, and we’ve taken care of his little pets," Mateo said, "Jim, I want you and Billy on point. Quentin follows with Collin. Then Jess and me, with The Steve and Sport pulling up the rear. Let’s move fast, but move careful." The team members nodded and fell into their assigned positions. Jim entered the mine with Billy slightly behind and to his left. As Jim took a step into the shadowy mine, he saw some movement. He turned and saw the club an instant before it crashed into his helmet.

Jim felt a bone-numbing cold as he slammed into the rocky floor of the mine. His mind was foggy and nothing seemed to want to move. He could barely turn his head to see his assailant. As he looked up, only one question came to Jim’s mind. Why was he being attacked by Bigfoot? The creature was easily eight feet tall and looked like an upright ape with long dirty white fur. Its face was ape-like except for two yellow tusks protruding from its lower jaw. It clutched a club fashioned from a tree limb in its hand. As it looked down at Jim, the eyes reminded him of an angry bull.

Billy leapt at the monster with a pair of batons in hand. The creature let out an eerie howl as the small man slammed into it and pounded it with a flurry of blows. It lashed out faster than Billy anticipated. Billy caught the massive fist on his forearm guards, but the impact drove him back nearly five feet. The sound of suppressed automatic fire surrounded Jim. He watched as blossoms of red sprouted across the front of the creature’s white pelt. It screamed in pain. Jim saw it lash out with the club and heard Collin grunt in pain. More gunfire shredded the creature’s chest and arms, but it didn’t seem to even slow it down. It attacked, but the team managed to avoid its swinging club. Billy leapt onto its back. With one hand holding the pelt, Billy drew a knife from his belt. Billy stabbed the knife deep into the creature’s back. It let out a brief howl before erupting into an explosion of light and force. Jim was tossed along the ground until he slammed into the wall of the mine.

"Oh, Grandpa’s gonna kill me," Billy muttered as everyone staggered to their feet, "That was his favorite knife."

"What was that?" Quentin asked.

"A nightmare," said an amused voice from the edge of the darkness, "I should have expected the little Indian to have a spirit knife. Oh well, there’s more where that came from." Jim recognized Alan’s taunting.

"Come on down Zombie Strike," Alan said from the darkness, "Everyone is waiting for you." A chorus of moans echoed through the mine. As the team braced, zombies stepped into the light.

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 32

Five miles west of Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 18 February 2010, 1600 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 12 days

Jim Collins couldn’t move. He failed so completely, more than he ever thought possible. His enemy had his daughter, had the power of the altar, and was about to unleash some form of hell on the world. Jim watched as Mateo told The Steve to stand guard over him. Jim knew he should get up and help the team as they prepared to stop Alan. His mind told his body to get up off the ground, but it wouldn’t move. He barely noticed as there was some loud talking. Two men in dirty brown police uniforms walked up to Jim and The Steve. Jim knew he should be running. He had been running from these men for over two decades now. Right now, there didn’t seem to be any point. He might as well complete his failure. With a great deal of effort, Jim lifted his head to look at the two officers that were now looming over him.

"Hello Sheriff," Jim said. His voice was drained and flat. Sheriff Jones hadn’t aged well over the past twenty-five years. The tanned face was creased and weathered. The black hair the Sheriff was so proud of had melted into a few wisps of white that peeked out from under the Stetson. Had he shrunk a few inches as well? Jim looked over at the deputy standing next to the sheriff. The deputy was the spitting image of Sheriff Jones some thirty years ago. So, this was Hal Jones, the heir to the throne. From the malicious gleam in the younger Jones’s eyes, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

"Well Nathan West, as I live and breathe," Sheriff Jones said with an evil amusement. A crooked face danced across the sheriff’s face. "I never thought I’d see you in these parts again. You must be one of the dumbest criminals I’ve ever had the pleasure of arresting." Hal let out a snicker. Jim looked at the sheriff. A part of him screamed to get up. He had to fight. He couldn’t let this happen this way. Then came the crashing guilt, shame, and hopelessness. He was done. Letting the sheriff cart him away on those trumped up charges would put the perfect end on his failure.

"I’ve waited twenty-five years to do this," Sheriff Jones hissed, "Hal, take him."

"Sure thing," Hal said, reaching behind him for his handcuffs. Hal took a step with the silver manacles in his outstretched hand. Then, he stopped with a look of unbelief and fear on his face. It took Jim a moment to realize that The Steve was pointing his Kimber .45 at the younger Jones’s head.

"The Steve thinks you might want to back off," The Steve said in his normal happy tone. The cheery voice added to the tension. The sheriff fumbled for his pistol. Mateo and Billy appeared with their sidearms drawn and pointed at the two officers. Billy’s dark features were a blank mask, but Mateo regarded the sheriff like a man would a cockroach. Sheriff Jones went red with righteous indignation. Faced with three zombie hunters, the sheriff should have just backed down. Instead he acted the same way he always did.

"You boys might want to think about what you’re doing," the sheriff said in his best intimidating voice. Jim remembered how that voice terrified him so long ago. Now, it just seemed weak. The pistols didn’t waver, so the sheriff threw down the law. "You are threatening officers of the peace and harboring a man wanted for murder. Keep this up, and you’ll be spending the rest of your lives behind bars." Something clicked in Jim’s mind, and his paralysis vanished. It was one thing for Jim to pay for his failure, but he couldn’t let his friends do this. Jones was a vindictive and petty man. He could make life rough for the team. He could keep it from completing their mission. Jones wouldn’t care about an apocalypse. All he would care about was taking revenge on those who humiliated him. Jim stood up off the ground.

"Matt, stop," Jim pleaded, "There’s no need for this." Jim took a step toward his team leader, but Mateo kept his eyes on the sheriff and his son. Jim tried again. "Listen to me, I’ll go with them. You need to go find my daughter. Time is running out. I’m not worth this."

"Yeah, that sounds good," the sheriff blurted out, trying to seize the chance to end the confrontation. "You let me take Nate in, and I’ll forget about all of this. Friends have to protect their own after all." Jim knew Sheriff Jones wouldn’t just let any of the team go. Not after this. Still, Jim needed to give the team time. Time enough to find Alan and his daughter. Time to stop whatever Alan was going to do.

"I don’t think so," Mateo answered with a tone colder than winter. Mateo holstered his pistol. He took a few steps towards the sheriff, his boots crunching the snow and ice under his feet. "You see, here’s the thing. We work for an insurance firm. One of the oldest and largest. The kind of firm that can afford to hire the best investigators." Mateo’s dark eyes bored into the older man’s.

"Funny thing about insurance firms, they like to know who they’re hiring," Mateo continued, "It took a bit of time, but we found out everything about what happened. We know that you framed my man and stole his life from him." The sheriff stood stunned. Mateo’s words hit the man like a baseball bat.

"Oh yeah, we know who killed Sonny Smith. We have the evidence you thought you’d destroyed," Mateo said, his cold tone melting into a malicious warmth, "Now, you have a choice. You can let Jim Collins do his job and save your little town from someone who is truly evil. Or, you can try and take Nate West in and have everything we know come out into the light of day. Better decide fast though. Time is running out." Jim watched in amazed fascination as the man that terrorized him for years broke down under Mateo’s words. Eternal seconds ticked by as Sheriff Jones searched Mateo for any sign of mercy or weakness. There was none. Finding no way out, the sheriff slumped down and waved the team on. He couldn’t even form words.

"No!" bellowed Hal, vibrating with anger. His hand shot down to his holster. Before the young man could draw his pistol, Billy had him on the ground. Billy contemptuously pinned the larger man on the ground and zip tied him.

"As my friend Collin would say, bloody bad move, mate," Billy said into Hal’s ear. Hal struggled a bit, but Billy simply tightened the zip ties and slapped the back of Hal’s head. "You keep fighting, and things are going to get worse." There was a promise of violence in Billy’s voice. Hal went limp. The Steve and Billy escorted the sheriff and his son back to their cruiser.

"Um, Matt," Jim started, and then stopped. Jim was elated, grateful, ashamed, and scared. The emotions threatened to tear him apart. Mateo gave Jim a look and held up his hand.

"I told you before Jim, a man needs his secrets," Mateo said, "I was waiting for you to come to me about it. Maybe ask for our help. I probably should’ve forced the issue before we got here, especially in light of what’s happened, but that’s not important right now. We’ve got to stop Alan."

"How?" Jim demanded, "We don’t even know where he is." Mateo started to say something, but stopped as the steady thrum of helicopter blades filled the area. A large helicopter roared over the team’s heads to land some fifty yards away. Soldiers in full battle gear stormed off as a ramp was lowered from the rear of the helicopter. The last man wore simple BDU’s. Jim recognized him as Col. Bull Allen, the commander of the Army’s anti-zombie forces.

"Seems Alan screwed up and let his little rant be picked up by the Army," Mateo explained as the colonel strode over to where Zombie Strike had congregated. "Soldiers have this thing about young women being taken to be murdered in evil rituals." Jim swallowed back a wave of emotion. Col. Allen saluted as he neared the group. The colonel’s hard face softened as he looked at Jim.

"Mr. Collins, we’ve found them," the officer reported, "Your daughter and the target is maybe fifteen miles from here. We’ve got a Predator tracking them right now. My boys are shadowing them, waiting to engage." The officer turned to Mateo. "Load your team in the chopper, Mr. Cortez. Don’t want to keep him waiting."

"Everyone load up," Mateo ordered. As they climbed into the helicopter, they were met by the rest of their team. All of them were grim faced and ready for combat.

"Come on Jim," Mateo said, "Let’s go get your little girl."

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 31

Five miles west of Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 18 February 2010, 1400 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 12 days

Jim Collins grunted as the SUV bounced over the rocky road. He still felt weak and hated himself for it. Between the physical ordeal of being shot in the head and the emotional ordeal of dealing with the ghosts of his past, Jim was surprised he was still upright. Having to defend his hometown from zombies and evil magic forces worked better than coffee or caffeine pills. Jim let out a grunt as The Steve, the team’s medic, made final adjustments to Jim’s battle rig. It annoyed Jim he needed help, but that was the price he had to pay. He wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines. Not now.

"Jim, could you tell where the power is on a map?" asked Mateo Cortez. As the team leader, Mateo was busily trying to coordinate Zombie Strike’s activities with the Army’s anti-zombie force. From the snippets Jim heard during the drive from the hospital, the Army was sure they finished off the zombie presence in the area, and they were beginning their withdrawal. Mateo needed the Army to stay near Salem, mostly as cover for the team’s covert mission. They were after the person behind the zombie outbreak. The person who was now in possession of an object of ancient evil.

"I can’t pinpoint it Matt," Jim said, feeling the pulsing waves of energy. He had run into the magic twice when he was younger. As a result, Jim had some weird connection to it. "All I feel is the pulses and their strength. For it to be this strong, it has to be out of the valley."

"The Steve would like to know how they got a big stone table out of the valley," the medic asked, "It’s not like we saw any sign of heavy equipment going in." Jim pushed down his normal wariness of the medic referring to himself in the third person. There were bigger concerns than one person’s personal quirk.

"I’m starting to think the altar isn’t the source of the power," Mateo said, "More of a focal point." Mateo paused as he listened to his comm. His face became stern as his dark eyes flashed with anger.

"Collin, you find a way to keep the colonel on the ground," Mateo said into the radio, "As long as he doesn’t leave, the battalion will stay put."

"The Steve says screw the Army. We can do this on our own." The Steve’s normal bravado took on a hard edge. It was about the angriest Jim had ever seen the medic.

"Love to," Mateo said over his shoulder, "But the minute the Army leaves, we lose our official reason for being here and our current exempt status." Zombie Strike’s normal anti-zombie operations were now technically illegal in most countries due to events in Mexico City a while back. None of the governments wanted to be outshone by a private group in defending their citizens against the undead. The colonel in charge of the US Army’s new anti-zombie brought the team in as consultants. Mateo never bothered to burden the colonel with the pesky details of the cabal dedicated to bringing about an apocalypse through an Aztec god, and its minions behind the outbreak here in order to find an artifact of power. As far as Zombie Strike was concerned, the Army had enough on its plate just figuring out how to effectively fight zombies. Why get the feds involved? They’d just screw it up. Unfortunately, that position caused small problems like the one Mateo was dealing with.

"Billy, get us to the valley, now," Mateo ordered, his annoyance clear in his voice. The diminutive Native American nodded and hammered the accelerator. Say what you wanted about Billy Shakespear, the boy never did anything by halves. The jostling in the truck worsened. Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his guts inside. It was worse than his days in the rodeo. If Matt didn’t tell that kid to slow it down…

Billy slammed on the brakes, and the SUV violently fishtailed. Jim was slammed up against the window. What was that kid playing at? The chorus of moans killed Jim’s. A horde of forty zombies surrounded one of the sheriff’s squad cars. The front was crumpled, like it hit something much bigger. The light bar was still flashing with red and blue lights. The windows were cracked, but it didn’t look like anyone was still in the cruiser. Drawn by the noise of the roaring engine, the zombies turned and slowly shambled towards the now stopped SUV.

The bad news was Billy stopped the truck only twenty yards away from the edge of the horde. The good news was the four occupants of the truck were all experienced zombie killers. Twenty yards was all the space they needed. Jim felt his weakness fall away as adrenaline flowed through his blood. He kicked the door open and came out with his .45 in hand. As soon as he hit the dusty ground, Jim fell into a Weaver stance and double-tapped two zombies at the edge of the horde. Jim sensed more than felt as Mateo came up next to him. The team leader fired short, controlled bursts. The suppressed carbine’s report reminded Jim of his mother’s old electric typewriter. The Steve and Billy stationed themselves at the front and rear of the truck. Jim could barely hear their carbines over the ragged chorus of hunting moans. Jim lined up another zombie and stroked the trigger in a practiced double tap. Jim saw the puffs of gray mist erupt from the back of the zombie’s head moments before it collapsed. Jim swiveled to his next target and fired again. He felt as the pistol’s slide locked back on an empty magazine. Jim would never know why he chose to transition to his revolver. It made no sense, no matter how he looked back at it. Reloading the .45 would’ve been faster and easier. Sometimes you just have to chalk some things up to divine intervention.

The zombie emerged from the horde as the ones around it were cut down by fire from the team. It was dressed in heavy black tactical armor with POLICE stenciled in white across the front. The heavy riot helmet was locked into place. The helmet rocked as the zombie hunters put burst after burst into it. None of the rounds penetrated the sloping glacis of the shield. The zombie continued its shamble towards the team. Purely on instinct, Jim took a step to the side, lined up the helmet in his sights, and fired the big revolver twice.

The first .500 Magnum round didn’t penetrate the helmet any better than the rifle bullets. What the big and heavy bullet did do was knock the zombie’s head just enough to the left. The second bullet nicked the edge of the helmet. The nick did two things. It changed the bullet’s trajectory up just enough and caused the heavy bullet to fragment. Speeding shards of lead tore the zombie’s brain into shreds. There was no good reason for that shot to have happened that way. It was beyond the normal probability of physics. Sometimes, you just need to chalk things up to the divine. The team stopped firing as they all stared in amazement as the zombie collapsed to the ground.

The hunting moans snapped the team back into action. Jim brought the revolver around to a group of zombies coming directly at him. Four shots boomed through the air. Four decapitated zombies were on the ground. The Smith was heavy and loud, but it did the job. Jim didn’t wait to revel in his small victory. He thumbed the cylinder open and slammed on the ejector rod. As the spent casings fell to the ground, Jim snapped open a pouch on his armor and fished out five rounds. He really should get a speed loader for the Smith if he was going to carry it into battle. Jim slapped round after round into the cylinder. Once all five rounds were in, he closed the cylinder and brought the weapon back up. In those short few seconds, all of the zombies were down.

"Y’know, if you’re going to bring that antique into a fight, you should really have a speed loader," quipped Billy in his thick Brooklyn accent. Jim glared at the insolent kid, but didn’t say anything.

"Billy, go do something useful and make sure our little firefight didn’t draw more zombies," Mateo snapped. Billy scampered up the road, seemingly oblivious to the rebuke. Jim stood over the zombie in the armor. He knelt down and yanked the visor of the riot helmet open. Deputy Young’s face was older and distorted by Jim’s bullet but still recognizable. Jim hated this man for decades. He’d even thought about killing him once or twice. Now though, Jim felt no satisfaction, glee, or even sadness at his enemy’s demise. Just another zombie.

"Someone you know?" Mateo asked as The Steve checked him over. None of the zombies got close enough to injure the team, but The Steve always did a quick once over. Never could tell if an odd bone chip or something managed to lance through and cause damage.

"Yeah," Jim said emotionlessly, "I think we made a mistake taking so much time on this one. With the visor down, it wasn’t like he could have bitten any of us."

"Maybe not," Mateo said, "As armored as he was, any punches he threw would be enough to take one of us out of the fight. When we get back, I’m going to have the armorers throw something on this rifle to take something like him down." The Steve clapped the team leader on the shoulder. Mateo was clean. The team leader examined of the scene. The Steve began his once over on Jim. Jim felt his adrenaline slipping away. The weakness returned. It was bad enough that Jim wanted to ask The Steve for something to keep him going. Instead, he just gritted his teeth and summoned up all of the strength he could. In a few short moments, The Steve clapped Jim on the shoulder. Jim walked over to the police cruiser.

What was Young doing out here? The sheriff and his deputies were supposed to stay in town to help the Army coordinate its efforts. There was no good reason for Young to be out this way. Mateo was on the far side of the cruiser. There was a scowl on his face. That was never a good sign. As Jim rounded the cruiser, he saw the back door of the cruiser lying on the ground. It looked like a cutting torch was used on it. Zombies didn’t use simple tools, much less something as complex as a cutting torch. What happened before the team arrived? The radio crackled to life. Mateo and Jim were both startled by the sudden noise. The two traded sheepish looks, both amused and ashamed at being caught off-guard by the radio. Jim opened the door to silence the constant sound of static. Then came a taunting voice Jim hadn’t heard in thirty years.

"Nathan, my old friend, I’m so glad you’re not dead," Alan said with a bubbly, almost singsong voice. Jim recoiled from car in shock. Alan continued, "I am quite annoyed with you for killing my son. I don’t know what you used on him, but it was very messy. Don’t worry about finding a way to make it up to me. I’ve already found one." Jim’s blood went ice-cold. He reached for the radio’s handset, but Mateo grabbed him. The team leader slammed Jim against the side of the cruiser.

"Don’t. Let him talk," Mateo ordered, "Steve, get a trace going."

"The Steve, bossman," the medic corrected as he tapped away at his PDA.

"Oh yes bossman, try to find me before it’s too late," Alan laughed over the radio. The three zombie killers snapped into guard stances and began searching around them. They were in the middle of a flat land. Where was Alan watching from? Alan laughed even harder, stopping for a moment as he broke into a fit of coughing.

"Oh come on you fools," Alan said after managing to compose himself, "Do you think I would be stupid enough to come anywhere near rifle range to your little team? We know exactly how dangerous you can be. But because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll let you in on the secret. I rigged the radio so I could listen in on you as well as talk." Mateo let out a string of curses, which elicited another round of laughter from Alan.

"Why are you talking to us Alan?" Jim asked, trying desperately to keep his voice calm despite his fear. The laughter ceased.

"Thank you Nate," Alan said with a disturbing calmness. "Normally, I wouldn’t be talking to you at all. I have read the Evil Overlord list. Plus, my superiors would discourage it. But if I didn’t, then you wouldn’t know how badly I’ve beaten you. How much I’ve taken from you." Jim’s stomach tightened to an icy ball of fear. Did Alan manage to get his hands on Jeannie again?

"You spent all those years running from that murder charge," Alan said tauntingly, "She never had the chance to tell you, did she? What became of that last night before the sheriff and his goons broke down your door? About your daughter?" Jim felt the world begin to spin around him.

"Don’t worry Nate," Alan said mockingly, "She’s right here with me. She’ll make an excellent substitute for her mother. Shame you won’t get to meet her before I sacrifice her."

Jim let out a scream of primal anguish as Alan cackled over the radio.

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 30

Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 18 February 2010, 1100 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 12 days

Jim Collins was silent with shock. It had been over two decades since he discussed Nate West with anyone. Even those he’d considered close friends. Now Mateo Cortez, the Zombie Strike field leader and Jim’s boss, was asking like he’d known about Nate all of this time. Mateo waited impatiently with a look of rage on his face. He had the right. Jim didn’t tell him about things that were important to the team’s safety. Jim never told Mateo about the altar.

"I’m Nate West," Jim said finally, his voice weak, "Nathaniel James West was the name I was born with, in this town." He gave Mateo a somber look. "I know what the minion is looking for." There was a dark silence between the two men. Mateo burned with the rage of betrayal. He wasn’t saying anything because he didn’t trust himself to speak at the moment.

"In that valley is an evil place. The townsfolk avoid it, but they don’t know why. Everyone just stays away for one reason or another," Jim said, "The real reason they stay away is the altar. It just exudes evil. I don’t know why it’s there or what went on there to create the evil. Maybe it’s been there since God created the earth. I don’t know. What I do know is what the altar can do." Jim paused as horrific memories danced in his eyes.

"Tell me what it can do, and how you know about it," Mateo demanded.

"I’ll need to take you back almost thirty years ago," Jim said, straightening up in his bed, "You need to know everything, not just about the altar." He took a deep breath and told a story that he hadn’t spoken of in a long time.

####Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 25 June 1981, 1100 hours local; Countdown: 30 years, 11 months, 12 days

"Nate, I need you here right now!" hollered Thomas West from across the field. Nate looked up from the fence he was mending. Normally if his father yelled at him, it was because Nate did something wrong. This was different. He could hear it in his father’s voice. Nate mounted his horse and galloped across the grassy field to where his father was waiting with the truck. As he neared, Nate’s mind raced as to what could have made his father come out here. The two weren’t on the best of terms at the moment and were staying on opposite parts of the farm anytime they could.

Nate examined his father as he reigned in next to the truck. Thomas West was almost forty, and the years of hard work in the elements showed. Tanned leathery skin and deep creases in his face made Tom look almost ten years older. The thinning brown hair and slight stoop to his normal towering frame added to the appearance. Nate was expecting a somber look, like one would expect upon hearing the news that someone died. Tom’s dark eyes were flashing with anxiety. Something was really wrong.

"Son, have you heard from Jeannie?" Tom asked in a flurry. Nate’s heart dropped. His father only spoke fast when he was forcing the words out. What happened to Jeannie?

"No sir," Nate answered quickly.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Tom asked. Nate hesitated. His parents weren’t too keen on Jeannie, and even less on Nate’s interest in her. The entire reason the normally close Tom and Nate weren’t speaking to each other was because of her. Still, there wasn’t that normal look in Tom’s eyes when he was trying to catch Nate in some indiscretion. This was an urgent need.

"I saw her last night, in town," Nate admitted. He expected some anger from his father. Nate was supposed to be staying away from town, and Jeannie. The total lack of anger in his father’s face scared Nate.

"She’s missing," Tom said with rushed bluntness. "Never came home last night."

"What do you mean?" Nate demanded, "I dropped her off at her house before coming home!" He knew he was yelling at his father, but he didn’t care. The only thing Nate could see was Jeannie waving good-bye from her front door. What in the hell happened? He needed to get over to her house right now and find out. Tom must have seen it, because those weathered arms shot out and grabbed the horse’s bridle.

"You need to calm down," Tom said sternly, "Right now, you are the last person to see her. Do you really think Deputy Young won’t try to pin this on you?" The Wests weren’t well-liked by the new sheriff and his cronies. Young in particular seemed to have some grudge against Nate. It was one of the reasons why Nate was supposed to stay away from town. Nate didn’t like it, but his father was right.

"I want you to stay here until I come and get you," Tom said, climbing into the truck, "Try to see if you can remember anything about last night. Maybe you saw something that’ll help." Nate nodded as Tom sped away in the truck. For endless moments, Nate’s mind was tormented by horrific images of what could’ve befallen Jeannie. Frustration and anger rocked the young man. He needed to do something, and there was nothing he could do. Or was there?

Nate went back over last night in his mind. Fear and determination cleared away the love-colored haze of the night. It had taken some doing to push the ancient pickup out of the barn to the sloping driveway leading up to the West farm. At least he didn’t have to sneak up to Jeannie’s house. Her parents were quote, refugees from California, and they found Nate’s western mannerisms quaint. That grated a bit on the pride of the sixteen-year-old, but he hid it well. After all, it meant they let him take their daughter out. The two of them went down to the new McDonald’s in town. Most of the high school kids hung out there. Besides, none of the bars were about to draw the new sheriff’s attention by letting underage kids in.

Nate remembered hanging out with Jeannie’s friends mainly. Nate knew them from school, but he hadn’t hung around them until he started dating Jeannie. They were the small town’s rich kids, and they tended to stick together. There had been some awkwardness in the beginning, but now he got along pretty well with most of them. Especially Chris Roberts. He was the boyfriend of Jeannie’s best friend, as well as the town’s star athlete, son of the bank president, and all-around super guy. Nate thought he’d hate Chris, but the two became fast friends after discovering shared passions for fast cars, pretty women, and shooting. It had been a pretty regular night. The only interesting thing was some tense moments when Nate introduced Chris to his old friend Alan. Nate’s mind froze. Alan. Everything fell into place. Nate looked across the grassy plain to the hills. The hills that surrounded the valley where Death’s Grove lay. Nate thought it was strange Alan was back in Salem. Nate’s mind lit up with sudden realization. Nate kicked his horse into a gallop back to the house. His mind raced back four years prior, when three twelve-year-old boys ventured into that valley. Only two came out, and they had been forever changed by what happened. If Alan was trying to recreate what happened, Nate was going to need help. And some guns. And ammo. Lots of ammo.

Flashing lights caught Nate’s attention. Deputies were up at the main house. Nate quietly snuck into the barn. His grandpa’s M1 carbine and Colt .45 were stored there. So was Deputy Young. Young still looked like the brute of a linebacker he’d been in high school. The brown uniform of the sheriff’s office stretched to contain the deputy’s frame. Young matched Nate’s height, but easily had fifty pounds on the teen. A malevolent grin cracked Young’s square face as he saw Nate. He didn’t say anything. He had the young cowboy right where he wanted him. He seemed to savor the moment.

A cold calmness came over Nate. He didn’t have time for this. Young took a step towards the still mounted Nate with a hungry glint in his eye. Nate made a snap decision and charged like a knight of old. Young’s eyes went wide with incomprehension. The kid was attacking him? He never saw Nate’s kick. Nate’s nemesis dropped in a heap. Nate didn’t take time to gloat. He collected the weapons and ammo before starting up his pickup truck and racing out of the barn. He didn’t even slow down until he brought the truck to a screeching halt in front of Chris’s house. If Nate was right, he was going to need help. Chris came out onto the porch with a shocked look on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Chris asked, "The cops are looking for you." Chris took a step back as he saw the pistol holstered at Nate’s side and the rifle in the gun rack.

"Don’t have time Chris," Nate said as he bounded up to the house. "We need to go get Jeannie." Chris gave Nate a hard stare. Heartbeats passed in silence. Nate was scared Chris wouldn’t trust him. But Chris was the only one Nate could trust. Chris’s hard stare changed into a look of determination.

"I’ll get my rifle," Chris said, before sprinting back into the house.

In less than twenty minutes, the truck was bouncing along a dirt road that led up into the hills surrounding the valley. Chris tried to hide his fear as the two boys neared the forbidden place. Chris thought his fear was because of all the old folk stories surrounding the valley and the forest in it. Nate knew better. He felt the familiar waves of evil energy as they neared the valley. Through his own uneasiness, Nate felt hope. The energy was weak. There was still time. The two teens left the truck at the top of the hill. Nate led his friend down a trail. This would be the same trail Nate would use thirty years later to lead a group of Army soldiers against a zombie outbreak. The two teens stopped at the edge of the forest. Nate turned to his friend.

"Remember that guy Alan you met last night?" Nate asked. Chris nodded, but was confused by the question. "He’s got Jeannie. There’s an old altar in the forest. That’s where he has her. You’re going to grab Jeannie and get her back to the truck. No matter what you see or what happens, you get her back to the truck."

"What are you going to do?" Chris said, shocked by the sudden change in Nate.

"I’m going to deal with Alan," Nate answered. Chris swallowed nervously. Nate’s grim tone frightened Chris. The two teens gripped their weapons and entered the forest. Nate felt the dark energy strengthen as the two crossed the invisible threshold.

"Nate, how do you know what’s happening?" Chris asked.

"This isn’t the first time Alan and I have been here," Nate said guardedly. Painful memories swirled in his head.

"Was that when Jesse Parker died?" Chris asked. Small towns never forgot when its children died tragically. Jesse had been used for years as lesson on why no one went into the valley.

"Yeah," Nate answered, feeling a pain he long thought buried.

"So why did Alan kidnap Jeannie?" Chris asked. "What is he doing here?"

"When Jesse died, some weird stuff happened," Nate answered brusquely, "It screwed Alan up. It’s why his family left town afterward. Now, he’s trying to get the weird started back up." Nate stopped and turned to face his friend.

"You don’t worry about any of that," Nate said in a voice that sounded much older than his sixteen years, "You are here to get Jeannie and get out. Don’t wait for me and don’t stop until both of you get back to the truck. Do you understand?" Chris nodded. Nate wasn’t sure if Chris really understood, but he’d have to trust his friend. Time was running short.

After a few hundred yards, the forest opened into a clearing roughly a hundred feet in diameter. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of wild grasses. The whole area with its green grass dotted with the colorful blooms of wild flowers and surrounded by mighty evergreens should have been the very picture of a peaceful nature scene. The black stone table surrounded by sun-bleached bones destroyed any peacefulness. The teens stopped at the edge of the clearing. The sickening waves of energy were stronger. Jeannie was lying on top of the altar. Nate couldn’t help but notice she was completely naked. His mind briefly seized up with the conflict between youthful hormones and rage at what was happening to his girlfriend. Finally, Nate tore his eyes from Jeannie to Alan.

Alan’s tall and lanky frame was hidden under an oversized brown robe. It looked like the kind Obi-Wan Kenobi wore. Nate’s one-time friend was methodically circling the altar. He was chanting something, but his tone was too low for Nate to understand the words. Alan swung a large knife in his right hand. With every step, the blade came closer to Jeannie. With every word, the dark energy became stronger. The bones surrounding the altar rattled.

Memories swarmed Nate’s mind. Of Jesse jumping up and down on the altar to prove it didn’t scare him. Of Jesse slipping and cracking his head open on the edge of the table. That’s when all the bad stuff happened. When the dead came up out of the ground. Nate should have been terrified. Instead, Nate found a calm strength to pull his friend’s body from the altar and sprint away from the creatures. He should have seen that Alan wasn’t scared either. He was fascinated. Maybe Nate should’ve just left him.

Nate snapped back to the present as Alan’s knife came within a whisker of Jeannie. Nate looked over at Chris. The teen was shaking with fear, but he hadn’t run away. Nate calmly took the rifle out of his friend’s hands. It was time to act.

"Chris, go get her," Nate said quietly. Chris didn’t hesitate. Chris demonstrated exactly how good of an athlete he was as he launched himself into the clearing. His speed was amazing. Nate waited half a second before chasing after his friend. The sudden noise startled Alan. He whirled to face them, his robes billowing out with the movement. His face was twisted into a mask of rage and evil.

Chris crossed the fifty feet to the altar before Alan could react to the two teens’ appearance. Alan snarled and swung the knife at Chris as he reached the altar. Chris ducked the wild blow before diving for Jeannie’s still form. Alan howled in triumph as he brought the knife up for an overhead stab. He didn’t see Nate’s fist.

Nate hammered Alan in the side. The blow lifted Alan off the ground and threw him away from the altar. Nate loomed over Alan with pistol in hand. He brought the weapon up. The mechanical click of the safety coming off cracked loudly through the clearing. Nate’s finger lay on the trigger. He could put a round into Alan’s head and end the insanity. It made so much sense. Alan looked up Nate and grinned, like this was what Alan wanted. Nate froze. Alan was insane, but he wasn’t stupid. If he wanted Nate to kill him, there was a very bad reason why.

"Alan, I’m not going to kill you," Nate said, clicking the safety up and lowering the pistol.

"Oh, don’t feel bad buddy," Alan said in a soothing voice as he rose shakily to his feet, "I’m going to kill you. Either of us dies here, I still win." His cackle was a slimy, evil thing. It should have frightened Nate, but it didn’t. It just made him angry. The clearing rocked with two barks of gunfire. Alan crumpled to ground as his knees were disintegrated by the pair of .45 caliber bullets. Nate ignored Alan’s screaming. Nate bound Alan’s hands with strips cut from Alan’s robes. Alan pitifully lunged at Nate. Nate responded by punching Alan in the head. Alan’s jaw shattered and several teeth were now on the grassy ground, but Alan was still screaming and fighting. Nate was annoyed. That always worked on TV. Nate tussled with Alan before hoisting the injured teen onto his shoulder. Alan went limp. Nate felt a moment’s panic. Was Alan dead? No, he was breathing. Just unconscious. Nate thanked God for small mercies, and began hauling his one-time friend out of Death’s Grove.

####Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 18 February 2010, 1230 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 12 days

Jim fell silent. There was more to tell Mateo. It didn’t have to do with the altar directly, but it affected the team, especially if they stayed in town. Some of it started that day, but it was hard to find the words to begin telling that story. After grappling for a few moments, Jim took a deep breath to continue. He was stopped cold by the thundering wave of evil energy that roiled through the town.

"Dear God, what was that?" Mateo asked, looking suddenly sick.

"Matt, help me up," Jim said as he began to lift himself out of the hospital bed, "We need to get to the Army."

"Hold on Jim, I know that’s not all," Mateo said putting a hand over Jim’s chest. It didn’t take much effort. Jim glared at his team leader.

"That’s going to have to wait Matt," Jim snarled, "What we just felt was energy from the altar. The only way we could have felt it all the way here is if someone managed to get it out of the valley."

Zombies Strike Part 4 Chapter 29

Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 18 February 2010, 1000 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 12 days

Jim Collin’s eyes snapped open. His senses were flooded as his mind woke up from unconsciousness. Two things overrode everything else. The room was very bright, and Jim hurt. Jim wasn’t a stranger to pain, but this was a level he’d never managed to achieve before. His entire body throbbed with a deep and intense pain like a constant electric current. He wanted to go back to the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. In the eternity of a second, Jim figured he was awake for a reason. He pushed back against the pain as hard as he could. It dulled, but not much. It was enough for him to start processing the rest of the world.

Jim’s eyes finally focused. He was in a hospital room. That didn’t make any sense. The last thing he remembered was with that group of soldiers in the valley. Why had he been in the valley? Jim struggled to remember. Zombies. It had something to do with zombies. That was why the Zombie Strike team was in Wyoming. Was that right? He tried to wade through the soupy mess of memories that wouldn’t form. Then, the door opened and all of Jim’s thoughts stopped.

She looked good. Her auburn hair had some wisps of gray. She was wearing her hair short and straight now. There were some aging on her heart shaped face, but she still looked a decade younger than her age. There was a little more weight on her thin frame, but it just accentuated her natural beauty. Her eyes hadn’t changed. There were still the warm pools of hazel that always managed to make Jim forget everything. Jim knew he was staring. He couldn’t stop himself. Even after all of these years, she was still so beautiful.

"You’re awake," she said, "Thank God for that." Her voice was still the melodious soprano, but there was a new timbre to her tone. They just stared at each other for a long silent moment. Then she gingerly stepped into the room.

"What are you doing here?" Jim blurted out, and instantly wanted to take it back. She flinched at the question. With great effort, Jim held up his hand. "Wait, I’m sorry. It’s a little hard to think straight right now."

"Well, that’s understandable," she answered cautiously, but there was an undercurrent of warmth in her voice. She smiled, and Jim could feel his pain lessen. Her smiles always managed to do that. The silence returned as each tried to think what to say next.

"Where have you been, Nate?" she asked, her smile melting to tears. She stormed to his bedside. "You just disappeared. Everything that happened and you just disappeared. I didn’t know if you were alive or dead or …" Jim didn’t let her finish. With all the strength he could muster, Jim snatched her off her feet and enveloped her in a desperate embrace.

"Don’t Jeannie," Jim murmured, "Don’t." They just held onto each other, feeling emotions neither expected to feel again. It was more than passion, more than love. It was that deep emotional connection poets and songwriters desperately tried to capture in their work. For the first time in years, Jim finally felt like he belonged in the world again. Why in God’s name did he ever leave this? Leave her?

Then the memory slammed through him. Jeannie felt him stiffen as his mind replayed that horrific night. He remembered that desperate look on her face. The look that pleaded with him. His arms went limp. She scrambled off of him with as much as grace as she could muster. From the look on her face, she was remembering that night also. The last time either of them had seen the other. There was panic on her face, and shame. Jim groped for words. He needed to tell her it was alright. It wasn’t her fault. He didn’t blame her for the choice she’d made. He hoped she wouldn’t blame him for his choices.

Memories flooded his mind. Jim could still see her sitting at her dining room table so many years ago. She was sipping a glass of red wine, waiting for impatiently for someone who wasn’t coming. A sudden look of surprise, delight, and something else as Jim stepped through the door. No, not Jim. He was Nate then.

The happy memory was torn apart as the face of a man stormed into Jim’s mind. The lower half of the face was covered by a black bandana, but Jim could clearly see the man’s black eyes. They were smoldering with a dark hatred. It was the face of the minion that led five thousand zombies through Jim’s home state. The man that shot Jim. Pain flashed through Jim’s head. The man’s face opened a torrent of memories. Jim could make sense of most of them. He remembered why the Zombie Strike team was here. He remembered fighting against the zombies with that group of soldiers. He remembered the flash of the rifle’s muzzle as the minion shot Jim. The minion’s face froze in Jim’s mind. Why did he keep coming back to that man’s face? Jim knew there was something that his mind was trying to tell him. Something important about that minion. Jim grunted with frustration. Why couldn’t he remember?

The minion’s face vanished as Jeannie put her hands on Jim. He looked up at her, letting all of his thoughts just fade into the background of his mind. All he could concentrate on were her eyes. Those warm hazel eyes. Those eyes full of concern, of love, and an unspoken promise made all those years ago. Jim wanted nothing more to accept that promise. To leave this life he’d created after that night. To find a life with some semblance of real peace. All he had to do was tell her. A few words were all it would take. The moment was shattered before Jim could form the words.

"Jim we need to talk," growled Mateo Cortez from the doorway of the room. Mateo was Zombie Strike’s field commander, and Jim’s team leader. Mateo was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He could have been mistaken for a refugee from Silicon Valley. Except for the pistol holstered at his right hip and the smoldering fury in his dark eyes. Jeannie involuntarily stepped away from Jim. Mateo had that effect on people when he was angry.

"You’ll have to excuse us, ma’am," Mateo said without looking at her. The tight controlled tone belied the politeness of his words.

"I don’t think that’s…" Jeannie’s protest died as Mateo flashed a glare at her.

"It’s okay Jeannie," Jim said reassuringly, "I’ll be okay." There was reluctance in her look. She didn’t want to leave him alone with Mateo.

"I’ll come by and check on you later Nate," she said before scurrying out of the room. Jim’s eyes darted back to Mateo, but the team leader didn’t seem to notice Jeannie’s slip of the tongue. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two men. Mateo stalked across the room and loomed over Jim. It wasn’t the first time Jim had seen Mateo’s infamous rage, but it was the first time it was directed at him. Jim was at least ten years older than Mateo, but that look made Jim feel like a little boy that had just come face to face with the monster under the bed. Long silent seconds passed.

"Before we left, I asked you if there was anything you wanted to tell me," Mateo said in a tightly controlled voice, "You told me no, and I let that pass. I figured you’d tell me if it was important. After all, a man is entitled to his secrets." Mateo’s face darkened.

"Unless those secrets threaten my team." Jim’s blood went ice cold. "I read the transcript from your encounter with the minion. Some of the things you said to the Army people make me think you know more about why that minion is here. So, now I can’t let you keep your past anymore. No more secrets," Mateo said through gritted teeth, "You will tell me everything you know about what’s in that valley, or so help me God, you will not leave this room alive." Sudden realization flashed through Jim. Not the realization that Mateo was serious. Jim already knew that. No, it was the realization that in his attempt to hide his past, Jim had hidden things his team needed to know. Good God, he had almost let them walk into Death’s Grove without warning them!

"I’m sorry Matt," Jim croaked as he was filled with shame, "I’d been hiding it all for so long, I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you." Mateo held up his hand. There was no forgiveness in the man’s eyes.

"Tell me about Nathan West," Mateo said.

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 28

Salem, Wyoming, approximately 50 miles west of Laramie, 16 February 2010, 0800 hours local; Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 14 days

Jim Collins watched the grumbling US Army soldiers as they carefully made their way down the mountain path. The soldiers were not happy. Not with the weather. Not with the terrain. Most definitely not with having to be led around by an observer who didn’t seem to be affected by any of it. Jim didn’t care. He was just happy to be back where he grew up. He felt the mountains calling to him the moment the squad left Salem.

"Remind me again why we’re tromping through these mountains instead of choppering in?" asked the lieutenant in command of the detachment. The lieutenant was almost as tall as Jim’s six-foot-two, but was draped in enough Army-issued gear that Jim couldn’t tell the difference between the officer and the soldiers he was leading. Jim couldn’t even remember the man’s name.

"Rumor has it that someone is leading this horde," Jim answered, "Don’t want to spook him with a bunch choppers in the air."

"How could anyone lead a horde?" the lieutenant asked incredulously.

"Have to ask the folks that did it in Mexico City," Jim said. Giant’s attack on a museum in Mexico City drew the world’s attention to the zombie problem. Including the army forming up its own anti-zombie force. The lieutenant’s mouth clicked shut. The officer just nodded in dawning comprehension. Jim had been there, done that, and had the scars to prove it. The lieutenant was smart enough to realize Jim might know a thing or two about mixing it up with the undead. The officer gave Jim a half-salute before returning to his squad. After another two miles, the squad of soldiers crested the hill and began the trek down. Everyone froze as the wind carried the familiar moans of zombies. Jim paused to check his PDA. With a few fumbled taps, he managed to bring up the GPS. He scowled. That couldn’t be right. Jim double checked the settings. What was the horde doing there?

"What’s the matter, sir?" the lieutenant asked.

"The horde is congregating around an old altar," Jim said, before he could stop himself. Jim paused as he thought furiously how to cover his lapse. Finally he decided boldness. "The individual leading the horde might be searching the area for some sort of an artifact."

"What kind of artifact?" the lieutenant asked.

"Don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter," Jim said. "At least not from where we sit." The lieutenant thought about it for a moment. The squad’s mission was to find the horde. Now that they succeeded, it was time to bring in the rest of the US Army’s new zombie-fighting force. Jim let the officer find his radioman. He had a different call to make.

"Go Jim," Mateo Cortez said a half-second after Jim pressed the button on his PDA.

"The horde’s been found," Jim reported. He hesitated. Mateo needed to know the rest, but there would be some uncomfortable questions afterward. Jim’s decision came down to two things: Mateo had saved Jim’s life more than once, and even more than that, Mateo was his team leader.

"Matt, the minion is probably there hunting for one of those artifacts Quentin told us about," Jim said, hoping Mateo wouldn’t ask the expected questions.

"I see," Mateo said in a frighteningly neutral voice. There was a pause as Jim heard commotion in the background.

"Jim, it looks like the soldiers you’re with just reported in," Mateo said, "The rest of the force is loading up and moving out. The Steve and Collin are riding along. Help the soldiers with you. If you can find the minion, try to capture him. Mark him if you can’t. Above all, keep those boys alive."

"Sure thing Matt," Jim said, sending silent thanks to God. So far, everything was still buried. As long as he kept the minion from the idol, everything should be fine. He hoped, anyways. Jim crept through the snowy terrain to where the squad was hastily digging fighting positions. Apparently the officer in charge of the Army’s force gave the lieutenant the same orders. At least as far as waiting for the rest of the soldiers. Eleven soldiers and one zombie hunter against a five-thousand strong horde wasn’t good odds in anyone’s book. Wait, there were only nine soldiers digging in. Where were the other two?

"Lieutenant, where are your other soldiers?" Jim demanded. The lieutenant was clearly taken aback by Jim’s sudden forcefulness.

"I sent them forward to eyeball the zombies," the officer answered. Jim’s nostril’s flared as he barely stopped himself from screaming at the lieutenant. The man had no experience with zombies. The closest this young man had been to a zombie was probably the initial screening to see if he was one of those precious few humans who could be near the undead and not flee in panic.

"Get them back here," Jim ordered, "Make sure they do it very quietly." The lieutenant was clearly confused by the sudden change in demeanor, and that worked in Jim’s favor. The lieutenant was one of those rare young officers who knew exactly what to do when encountering something he didn’t understand – defer to the person with the experience. Jim would never know to thank two sergeants who carefully mentored and guided the young officer through some harrowing firefights.

"Sergeant, recall the OP," the lieutenant ordered, "Tell them to be quieter than ghosts back here." The sergeant nodded. The noncom was of the same opinion as his officer. Jim let the soldiers do their thing while he assessed their position. The horde was in the middle of a small valley ringed with large hills and small mountains. Covering most of the valley was an evergreen forest. The edge of the forest ended maybe fifty yards from the base of the hill the squad was digging into. The overcast sky would keep the squad from being blinded by light reflecting off the snow blanketing the ground.

The squad was on the slope of the hill, giving them about another fifty yards from the edge of the forest. Jim would have preferred more distance, but at least the soldiers were keeping their lines of retreat open. Following a suggestion from Zombie Strike, the squad switched out their grenades for claymore mines. The squad placed twelve of the mines along the front of their fighting positions. Another half-dozen were set up further up the hill to give the squad more breathing room as they retreated. Jim was under no grand illusions. If that horde came calling, the squad could do little more than whittle away at the zombies. There would be no way they could hold the position before the horde reached crush.

Jim checked his PDA. In fifteen minutes, the rest of the soldiers would arrive. He looked at the map again. The soldiers were moving too fast. There was no way those armored vehicles should be covering ground that fast. Especially not in this terrain. His heart dropped as he heard the rhythmic thrumming of helicopters. The sound echoed through the valley. The sound of hunting moans erupted from five thousand decaying throats. The soldiers froze as the horrific cacophony swept over them.

"Get into your positions!" Jim yelled. There was no longer any point in being quiet. He needed the soldiers to focus on his voice instead of the moans. The response was almost instantaneous. As the soldiers rushed into their firing holes, Jim continued speaking.

"Tell your scouts to run as fast as they can back here," Jim said to the lieutenant. The officer nodded as Jim addressed the squad. "Zombies don’t run, so don’t shoot your friends as they come out of the forest." The soldiers let out a morbid chuckle. It was a good sign. "Zombies are slow. They’ll give you all the time in the world to put them down. Just try to remember to shoot them in the head." The helmets bobbed as the soldiers nodded. All they had to do was keep their heads and take their time.

"Stilwell, keep that SAW quiet until the zombies are ten meters from the base of the hill," the sergeant ordered, taking his cue from Jim. "As soon as they reach the bottom of our hill, we blow the claymores and fall back. Cover each other and watch your ammo." The sergeant’s calm voice steadied the soldiers. They started a bit as their two friendlies sprinted out of the forest. The soldiers couldn’t see the zombies in the forest, but their moans were coming closer. Jim unslung his ZKC and moved next to the lieutenant. The officer didn’t look happy.

"We’ve been ordered to hold this hill," the lieutenant said grimly. "Colonel said we’d have a company waiting for us at the top." Jim gave the lieutenant a humorless smile.

"Sucks to be bait," Jim said. The lieutenant simply nodded. Complaining wouldn’t change anything. Jim clapped the officer on the shoulder before taking his own spot on the line. The waiting was the hardest part. The moans were growing louder and louder as the horde came closer. A couple of soldiers looked over at Jim. He waited patiently, hoping his own anxiety wasn’t showing.

The first zombie emerged from the forest. Jim ignored anything that made the creature seem human. The clothes, the wounds, the face, none of it mattered. Jim put the reticle over the zombie’s head and squeezed the trigger. The zombie jerked backwards as its head exploded into a red and gray cloud. There were a few shots from the soldiers. The sergeant bellowed a curse-laden reminder to hold fire until they had a zombie in their sights and quit wasting ammo. The squad didn’t have to wait long.

A wave of over a hundred zombies staggered from the tree line. The firing line erupted as the soldiers opened fire. A dozen zombies fell. The pristine snow darkened with blood and other nasty fluids. The squad’s fire became ragged chorus of pops as the soldiers took down the oncoming undead as fast as they could. Jim’s fire was slower, but he was watching the flow of the horde. For every zombie the squad dropped, five more emerged to take their place. That wasn’t good.

The earsplitting chatter of the squad’s machinegun thundered across the battlefield as the zombies approached the hill. The gunner wasn’t even trying for head shots. His only purpose was to knock the zombies down and keep them back from his squad. The impressive fire from the machine gun only bought the squad a minute. The sergeant waited until roughly fifty zombies were at the base of the hill. Jim was deafened as twelve pounds of C4 plastic explosive hurled thousands of steel balls into the mass of oncoming zombies. The claymores scythed down hundreds of zombies. Jim didn’t wait to get an accurate count. He was charging up the slope to the next line of claymores.

The odd black costume caught Jim’s eye. He stopped running. The minion was standing in the middle of the horde, maybe ten yards from the tree line. This one wasn’t wearing the ninja costume donned by his cohorts. Instead he wore a long black duster. A bandana and Stetson hat masked his face. The hunting rifle in the minion’s hands came up. Jim snapped his own weapon up. Jim fired half a heartbeat before the minion. It was just long enough to see the black garbed man fall back before everything went black.

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 27

Skull Island, Southern Pacific, 15 February 2009, 1000 hours local Countdown: 1 year, 11 months, 15 days

James "Jim" Collins silently urged the team in front of him to get moving. The zombie horde was reaching crush, the point where the sheer numbers of the horde would overwhelm anything the defenders could throw at them. Smart zombie fighters knew to retreat and maneuver before crush. This team hadn’t quite gotten to that point yet. They were about to get overrun. Those who fell would be added to the population of undead that roamed Skull Island. Jim took a closer look at the team leader. The man was so busy shooting the zombies in front of him that he wasn’t watching the horde as a whole. It was time to intervene and save them before they were lost.

Jim gave his horse a nudge. It had taken a couple of months, but Seminole was finally able to overcome its fear of the undead. Animals, like most humans, fled from the undead. Jim spent his recovery from his recent injuries during the battle in the Mexican museum training this horse. Jim walked Seminole behind the line of fighters and unslung his new rifle. He took aim at one zombie that seemed to be moving the quickest. The rifle boomed. The top half of the zombie’s head vanished into mist as the .500 magnum bullet vaporized brain and bone. The distinctive report of the rifle drew every team member’s attention. They stopped firing and all turned to look at him. Jim’s stomach plummeted. If he didn’t get these folks out of here quick, the zombies would swarm them.

"Retreat through the woods!" Jim ordered, "Get to the secondary position." To punctuate his command, Jim casually worked the lever on his rifle and took down another zombie. The second gunshot galvanized the team. With practiced fluidity, the team performed a fighting retreat. Satisfied the team would make it to the next line of defenses, Jim took down another two zombies before riding back up the trail to the observation post. Jim could feel his horse’s relief as the gap between them and the zombies opened. Jim was surprised to see Slim at the observation post as he rode up. Slim approached with a slow and careful stride. The other man’s wound was still very tender. Well, that wasn’t all surprising. Slim had been run through with the equivalent of a lance by Giant, Zombie Strike’s nemesis. The lanky Brit damn near died. The very fact the Brit was up and moving was a testament to the power of modern medicine and the raw determination of Slim. Jim tipped his hat in greeting as Seminole trotted next to Slim.

"Mr. Cortez sends his regards and asks that you join him at the command center," Slim said. Jim was sure the man had been a British naval officer in his previous life. Slim sounded exactly like the characters out of Horatio Hornblower.

"Who’s going to watch the kids?" Jim asked, nodding his head at the monitors. The team from the Texas Rangers managed to reach the second defensive position and was engaging the horde. They’d be fine for the moment, but they still hadn’t got the hang of realizing when crush was happening.

"I believe Mr. Blanchard has tasked the Gunny to take over the minding of the trainees," Slim answered. Those poor, poor trainees. Jim didn’t envy them one bit.

"Go ahead and let them know I’m on my way," Jim said. Jim nudged the horse down the trail back to the main compound. Seminole wanted to run, but Jim restrained him back to an easy cant. It wouldn’t do either of them a lick of good if a wayward zombie surprised Seminole. It was a good way to get thrown from the saddle. Jim had just finished healing up from the last mission. The older he got, the harder it was to come back from those injuries.

The main compound was dominated by what was once Skull Island’s hotel. Fifteen stories of luxury accommodations for guests and staff. There were still some guests, but the majority of the people on Skull Island belonged to Zombie Strike, a privately operated anti-zombie unit financed by the world’s largest insurance firm. Jim rode through one of the gates in the fifteen foot concrete walls. The stable was a haphazard affair. Jim and some of his team mates managed to slap it together out of spare building materials. It was functional, but the riot of colors and textures from its mishmash construction would never be anything but ugly. Seminole didn’t seem to mind. The horse just cared it was warm, zombie-free, and stocked with food.

Jim left Seminole in the hands of the stable master, a maintenance tech in his day job. These days, most everyone was wearing more than one hat. Jim was not only part of the training cadre on Skull Island, but he was part of Zombie Strike’s field team. It was in that role Jim was being summoned. He got into one of the gilded elevators, put in his identification card, and braced against the still unfamiliar sensation as the elevator dropped. The command center was below the hotel – several stories below the hotel. It was the main nerve center of Zombie Strike’s operations. The room was stuffed with roughly twenty intel analysts and their workstations. In the center of the room was a conference room where the field team met.

Mateo Cortez, the field team leader, was watching one of the large displays as Jim entered. Collin DuBois, who acted as Mateo’s second in command, was lounging with his boots on the conference table. Jess, Mateo’s foster daughter and the team’s sniper in training, was sitting quietly at the table, loudly ignoring the young man standing in the far corner. If Billy noticed her disdain, he wasn’t showing it. He was concentrating on the same display Mateo was watching. The Steve, the team medic and resident lunatic, was typing away at a laptop.

"Jim, take a seat," Mateo said without turning around, "We need to get started."

"What about Quentin and Sport?" Jim asked as he sat down.

"They’re already en route to the AO," Collin said.

"The what?" Jim asked. Like every other former military in Zombie Strike, Collin used to many acronyms. It was confusing.

"We have a zombie outbreak in Wyoming," Mateo said. Jim felt a cold shock run through his spine. He felt paralyzed as Mateo continued talking.

"Initial report of the outbreak had the zombies overrunning a rest area on the interstate. The horde is heading towards a small town called Salem," Mateo said, "Our people intercepted a report of some guy in all black who seemed to be leading the horde."

"Giant?" Billy asked, extremely interested. The young man felt as if he had a personal score to settle with their enemy.

"Not from what the state trooper reported," Collin answered. With deliberate ease, Collin swung his legs off the table and stood up. "We may have ourselves a minion, mates." Jess perked up at that bit of news. The Steve looked up from the laptop for a brief moment before he promptly went back to typing.

Jim felt a crushing terror. He could feel the karmic wheel starting to roll over him. Why couldn’t the past just stay in the past? Well, it had been almost twenty years ago, Jim’s rational mind reminded him. They probably weren’t even looking for him anymore. Besides, it wasn’t like he even looked like he did back then. Years of hard labor in the outdoors had done their damage on Jim. His black hair was thinning and gray. His face weathered and creased. Plus he would be wearing armor. No one would know. Not even her.

Mateo gave Jim a concerned look. Jim quickly buried all of his fears and smiled at his team leader. The two looked at each other for an uncomfortable moment. Mateo broke eye contact to address the team. What did Mateo see in Jim’s eyes for that brief moment? The possibilities rattled Jim. The only way to go now was forward.

"The US government is sending its new anti-zombie unit to deal with the outbreak," Mateo said, "Officially,Zombie Strike is not supposed to be there. Unofficially, we’ve been asked to assist. The military wants veterans in the field to make sure their troops avoid the mistakes we’ve already made. Quentin and Sport will be setting up the initial contacts and find out exactly what this anti-zombie force needs from us. They’re also there to find ways for us to operate without this force’s knowledge."

"Let me guess," Billy said, his thick Brooklyn accent giving his words a sarcastic slant, "You guys want us to snatch the minion."

"Gold star for the young man," Collin said, "We are wheels up in twenty." That was the signal the meeting was over. The team dispersed to get their gear. Mateo grabbed Jim’s elbow as he tried to leave.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?" Mateo asked. One look at Mateo’s face, and Jim knew he could tell him everything without judgment. Mateo would probably even understand. It just wasn’t enough to overcome twenty years of secrecy.

"No Matt. Nothing at all."

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 26