Category: Zombie Strike

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0800 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Slim Thomas froze as he felt the slight thrumming. His fist halted Quentin and the soldiers. His eyes scanned the immediate area. The hedge-lined pathway was a straight line for about another five meters before taking a sharp right. On the other side of the right hedge was a cul-de-sac. Slim guessed the minion was hiding there.

An odd shape in the grass caught his attention. It looked like a coin. In fact it looked like a British pound coin. Slim motioned for Quentin and Chief Stahl to move up. As they joined Slim, he pointed at the coin with his weapon. Quentin frowned, but the chief just nodded. Slim popped open his bracer and waved the two men over to read his PDA.

Target behind right hedge. Suggestions? Slim tapped out on his PDA. Chief Stahl pointed to two of his soldiers. Convoluted hand signals flashed from between the chief warrant and the soldiers. The two soldiers slung their M4’s and unstrapped unfamiliar weapons from their backs. They looked like bullpup submachine guns. The two soldiers backed up to the left hedge and aimed their weapons skyward. They braced, clearly waiting for the chief’s signal. Slim felt the thrumming speed up an instant before the fireball erupted from the hedge. Slim turned away from the flash of heat and brilliant flame. Screams of pain and terror filled the air. Slim looked back to see a burnt hole where the two soldiers were standing. Another two soldiers were screaming as they grasped at flesh that looked like melted wax. Slim swallowed the sudden urge to vomit.

The minion dropped into their midst. Slim saw the blue flame flicker in his hand. Instinctively, he snapped off the shot. The minion let out a yelp of pain as the lighter was torn out of his hand. Seeing an opening in the minion’s shield, Quentin and Chief Stahl opened fire. The bullets stopped in mid-air as they hit the minion’s shield. Slim really hated smart minions, especially smart and fast minions.

"All of you are getting too good," the minion snarled in anger. The minion flicked his wrist. The coin sailed over them and landed lightly in the minion’s hand. He almost looked disappointed as he stared briefly at the coin. Like it failed to fulfill its destiny. Chief Stahl snapped off another burst. The minion glared indignantly at the chief warrant as the bullets smacked harmlessly against the shield. The minion raised his hand menacingly at Chief Stahl. The soldier unflinchingly kept his M4 trained on the minion. Then, the unit’s machine gun opened up. The burst of gunfire caught the minion by surprise. The bullets stopped a good yard from the minion, but the strain was evident. The minion focused intensely on the gunner. Slim and Quentin opened up with their weapons. The minion’s head snapped towards them as their bullets started impacting the shield. Screaming in frustration, the minion backed up through the still burning hole into the cul-de-sac.

Slim, Quentin and the SAW gunner poured fire into the cul-de-sac. The hedge dissolved as round after round tore through it. The chief fired a couple of bursts, but stopped. He plucked a grenade from his web gear. Chief Stahl pulled the pin, released the spoon, and held the grenade in his hand. His mouthed the numbers as he counted off. On three, the grenade sailed over the hedge. The four men dropped to the ground. Slim felt the grenade explode, but the sound was muted. Chief Stahl was up and moving to the hole in the hedge. Slim leapt up and followed the soldier, but stopped as the chief just stood at the opening. Slim walked up next to Chief Stahl. The minion was on the ground, bleeding from a dozen ragged holes. He writhed in pain, but stopped as he caught sight of Slim and Chief Stahl standing at the edge of the invisible barrier. The minion let out a wet sounding laugh. Slim felt an uncomfortable chill run down his spine. If Chief Stahl felt anything, he didn’t show it.

"By the flayed one himself, I didn’t expect that," the minion croaked. He spat a mouthful of blood. His eyes bore into Stahl while a sincere smile spread across his face. "How did you figure it out?"

"Your little coin didn’t come straight to you," Stahl said flatly, "Flew up over the barrier."

"Well, why don’t you jump over my little shield and come get me?" the minion taunted.

"I saw what you did to the Predator," Stahl said, "We’ll just wait ’til you lose consciousness from blood loss, and then come get you. You killed two of my men, and seriously hurt another couple. I can be patient. It’s going to be amusing to watch as you spill your guts to our intel people." Stahl’s flat tone shifted into a controlled rage.

"Long wait soldier boy," the minion said, "I am gifted with the Flayed One’s own power. These wounds will heal up before I’m in any danger. Then I’ll finish you off."

"I think you’re bluffing," Chief Stahl replied.

"Ask the hunter standing next to you. They’ve seen what the Champions of Truth can do. And I’m not one of the weak ones." Stahl frowned and yanked Slim out of the minion’s sight. The minion laughed as the two men walked away.

"He’s not bluffing," Slim said.

"I know," Stahl said, walking over to the SAW gunner. "Evacuate Dwayne and Bill. We can use that hole." Stahl pointed to the smoking hole where his two soldiers had been killed.

"Already took care of it," the soldier replied. As if on cue, an MRAP backed up to the hole. Soldiers spilled out of the armored vehicle and swarmed over the two burned soldiers. Satisfied his soldiers were being cared for, Stahl knelt down. For a moment, Slim thought the soldier was praying. Then, he saw the chief was burying something.

"Slim, you and Quentin may want to get in the truck," Stahl said, motioning to the MRAP.

"I thought we were going to wait for his shield to drop so that we could capture him," Slim said, his eyebrow arching.

"I’m not that stupid. That one’s too powerful," Stahl said quietly. "As soon as we’re clear, that one’s going to get a taste of eight inch artillery. See him try and shoot those shells out of the sky." Slim nodded reluctantly and followed his teammate into the armored truck. The vehicle roared out of the maze. Mere seconds later, Slim heard the distant thunder. Moments later, he watched as the maze was obliterated as the artillery shells rained down.

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2345 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez froze in shock at seeing Collin DuBois’ dirty face. The sudden surge of emotions flooded him, and he couldn’t fight it. It was just too much. Then, his rage cut through the internal storm. Collin wasn’t his friend and trusted mentor. Mateo jerked the carbine up. Collin needed to die for his betrayal. Collin saw the shift in Mateo’s eyes and was already moving before Mateo started to raise his weapon. Collin wrenched the carbine out Mateo’s hands. It clattered to the floor as Collin slid behind Mateo. In a few blindingly fast moves, Collin restrained his former team leader. Mateo struggled, but quickly recognized the hold. He wasn’t going to break it, and trying was just going to end up with Mateo dislocating his shoulder again.

The room was suddenly bathed in the brilliant white light of several weapon-mounted flashlights. Collin stepped back and crouched behind Mateo. Agent Tredegar stood in the center of a half-dozen of SWAT agents. Tredegar was bleeding from several places, but he didn’t seem to notice. He kept his pistol at the low ready.

"Collin DuBois, I am Special Agent Tredegar," the FBI agent shouted, "We have you surrounded. Surrender now and we can help you."

"Don’t bloody think so, mate," Collin shot back, "Only Mattie here can help me. Why don’t you bugger off so we can get to work?"

"I’m going to kill you," Mateo seethed. He managed to crane his head around to glimpse Collin.

"Mattie, it’s not what you think, but I can’t talk with the FBI about," Collin replied under his breath. Mateo sensed Collin was telling him the truth, and part of him wanted to believe Collin. Then the image of Mercedes in the hospital flashed through his mind. The cold rage swept away any remnants of compassion.

"Listen, Collin, we want to stop the Truth as much as you do," Tredegar said, his commanding tone melting into an understanding one. Tredegar lowered his pistol. "You wouldn’t have sent Mateo that recording if you weren’t trying to stop the Truth. Let us help you."

"Listen mate, I’ve read the manual too. I was doing the hostage rescue thing when you were just figuring out that girls smelled nice. We both know what’s going to happen once I let you take me. We don’t have time for that." Mateo looked at Tredegar. He could tell Tredegar believed Collin. Tredegar was weakening as his need to stop the Truth clashed with his need to bring in Collin. Mateo made his decision. The hold Collin had Mateo in was unbreakable. Unless you were willing to go through a lot of pain. Mateo took a deep breath. Collin realized what was happening an instant too late. The familiar pain shot through Mateo as he wrenched out of Collin’s grip. He felt his shoulder pop as he fell to the floor. Collin released him just before he did some permanent damage.

The FBI agents dog piled Collin. None were willing to take the slightest chance with someone they knew to be extremely dangerous. Mateo met Collin’s eyes as more people swarmed into the house. The look of understanding and sorrow bothered Mateo. He didn’t know why. As the FBI led the manacled Collin out of the house, Mateo dreaded he’d made the wrong choice.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 53

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0700 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Slim Thomas felt his body shaking apart. Waves of thunder reverberated through him. He barely remembered to clamp his hands over his ears and open his mouth. The pulsing force continued to hammer his body for what seemed like an hour. Then, it stopped, and Slim felt hands grab him. Slim lashed out with kicks and punches as he searched frantically for his weapons. His eyes couldn’t focus on the dark blobs standing over him. Slim aimed a snap kick at one of the blobs and realized he was on the ground. When did that happen? Then he started hearing voices. Tinny, echoing voices. Human voices.

"Stop fighting," said a voice Slim could finally make out. The voice sounded gruff, but compassionate. To be honest, Slim could have been imagining it. His hearing was coming back slowly. Hands helped him to his feet. His vision focused on the unmistakable sight of American troops surrounding him. Sudden panic hit Slim as he remembered the wall of armored zombies. Then he looked into the maze. Pieces of zombies were scattered around in a blanket of gray flesh and bone. Slim couldn’t even distinguish the zombies that had been wearing the bomb suits.

"Yeah, the captain says sorry about that," said the soldier holding him up. "The Strykers cut it a bit close with the Bushmasters." More soldiers were mopping up the few zombies that survived the onslaught of heavy chain gun fire. The high-pitched pop of an M4 signaled another crawler put down. Distant thunder rumbled across the horizon. It was only until the heavy chattering of an autocannon Slim realized the thunder was artillery.

Slim knew he was still out of sorts, but the minion was still out there. As much as he hated to depend on the drugs built into his med system, he knew he didn’t have much choice at this point. Slim opened his PDA and triggered a battle cocktail. Slim felt as the pain killers and stimulants hit his system. His hearing was still tinny, but the vertigo and weakness vanished. Slim gave the soldier a quick once over. Slim couldn’t decipher the chevrons, but from the number of them, Slim figured the soldier was probably a senior sergeant. The familiar horned skull patch of the US Army’s anti-zombie Task Force 11 seemed to grin at Slim. He looked past the sergeant to look at his two teammates. Sport was already strapped to a stretcher. Quentin had the same disoriented but ready to fight look Slim suspected was on his own face.

"Sergeant?" Slim ventured, guessing at the man’s rank.

"Daniels, sir," the soldier supplied, nodding his head, "Alpha Company, Stryker battalion."

"Okay," Slim said, not sure what a Stryker battalion was, "Where is the minion? Do your men have him acquired yet?" Sergeant Daniel’s face went pale. That wasn’t a good sign.

"We were told that your team dealt with the minion in charge of this outbreak," Daniels said, clearly terrified with the prospect of dealing with a minion. Slim couldn’t blame him. He didn’t want to go another round with that one either.

"We handled the junior one, but the senior minion was responsible for this ambush here," Slim answered. Slim caught Quentin’s eye and motioned the other zombie hunter over. He needed the big man’s expertise.

"What’s up?" Quentin asked. He took one look at the soldier’s fearful expression and guessed. "Other minion’s still out there."

"Too right," Slim answered, "I don’t fancy leaving him about to wreak mischief."

"You must be feeling better," Quentin commented, "You’re talking Brit again." Slim ignored the big man’s jibe.

"Sergeant Daniels, my compliments to your officers, but I will need you and your men to accompany us as we endeavor to ferret out the minion." Daniels cocked his head, clearly not understanding the order. Bloody colonials.

"He means you need to call your boss and let him know that Slim and I are borrowing your people to hunt down the minion," explained Quentin. Daniels nodded slowly with dawning understanding.

"Not necessary, Mr. McLintock," said another voice. The three men turned to see another group of soldiers hop the entrance to the maze. The leader returned Daniel’s sudden salute. Must be an officer, but Slim couldn’t decipher the four squares on the rank insignia. He made a mental note to study American ranks. The leader continued to speak.

"Sergeant, continue mopping up here, and then report back to your company," the man ordered. He turned to Quentin and Slim. "Gentlemen, I’m Chief Warrant Officer Stahl. You may call me Chief Stahl, or just Chief. My team and I have been assigned to help you."

"Green Berets?" Quentin asked as he surveyed Stahl’s team. The eight soldiers just looked lethal. It wasn’t just their weapons or gear, which seemed much better than those carried by Sergeant Daniels and his soldiers. It was the way Stahl’s soldiers stood. Relaxed, yet ready to do immediate and brutal violence. They reminded Slim of The Steve during an operation, and of Collin. Slim buried the pang of betrayal. The Steve was right. Vengeance could wait until after they survived.

"We’re Lurps, not Special Forces," Chief Stahl answered. "All of us have our Ranger tabs if that makes you feel any better. Well, everyone except for Smith. He’s only Force Recon." From the grins on the men’s faces showed a strong camaraderie. It reminded the two zombie hunters of their own field team.

"Be nice, Chief Stahl," Quentin warned, "The head zombie killer used to be a leatherneck," Stahl didn’t rise to the bait. He just gave a knowing smile.

"Very good Chief," Slim said. He didn’t know what a lurp was, but they had already wasted enough time. "The minion we’re hunting was last seen going deeper into the maze. He can raise a bullet-proof shield, so don’t waste your ammo." The soldiers nodded at the comments.

"You sure he’s still in here?" one of the soldiers asked. As if on cue, a beam of brilliant purple energy lanced into the sky from deep within the maze. Slim’s eyes tracked the beam into the sky. A burning fireball plummeted to the ground.

"Dear God, I hope that was just one of the Predators," murmured another of the soldiers.

"Chief, if you and yours want to wait here while Quentin and I settle things with the minion, I would understand," Slim said quietly when he saw the look of shock on Stahl’s face.

"All of those things they said about the minions are true," Stahl said. It wasn’t a question.

"Mostly," Slim confirmed.

"Well, if I wanted safe, I’d have done as my mom wanted and became an accountant," Stahl answered, "No sense in stopping now. Besides, the colonel would skin my hide if I let you take on that on your own." Slim nodded. He braced his MP5/10 in a low ready and led the group into the maze. As his hearing returned, Slim could hear the minion’s smug laughter.

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2315 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez looked at the screen. He was crouched in one of the FBI’s covert observation vans. In the odd green hues of nightvision, Mateo watched as the entrance team stacked up at the front of the house. Spotters confirmed Ted entered the house some twenty minutes earlier. Mateo felt the rage roar inside of him as one of the monitors watched the average looking man in slacks and a polo shirt walked into the house. One of the techs kept running the footage. Something about getting a clear ID. Mateo recognized the face, and that was enough for the agents. This man was responsible for the kidnapping of Mateo’s ex-wife, and assisting in the killing of Mateo’s friend Nigel Brown, and the near killings of Kenn Blanchard, Zombie Strike’s leader and Mercedes, Mateo’s five year old daughter.

"Team ready," SWAT’s leader announced, "No movement in the house." The special agent in charge of the operation looked at Special Agent Tredegar for any last minute information. Tredegar nodded. The SAIC didn’t even look at Mateo. He’d made his opinion on an armed amateur in his command post known quite explicitly. Mateo was surprised there hadn’t been a PowerPoint with all the buzzwords the SAIC threw around during his little speech. A chill ran down Mateo’s spine. Certain it was nerves, Mateo ignored it and focused on the monitor. His entire body was tensed as he waited to hear the command to enter. A stronger chill flashed through him. Not nerves. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Mateo turned to tell SWAT to abort. The explosion picked up the van and slammed it on its side some fifteen feet from where it had parked.

Mateo heard the moans of the injured techs. He ignored them as leapt out of the van. The front of the house was gone. It kind of reminded Mateo of the dollhouse he’d bought Mercedes for Christmas. Open it up and see all of the rooms. Debris and FBI agents littered the lawn and street. Mateo focused on the movement in the house. His weapon was up as his mind immediately recognized the familiar walk of zombies. The first two zombies were brought down by instinct. Mateo’s eyes scanned the house. Maybe twenty or so. Less now as he pivoted and took down two more.

Screams of panic filled the street as the wounded agents saw the first walking corpse emerge out of the shadows. Some of the wounded tried to crawl away from the house, while others could only lie and scream. The noise just drew the zombies in. Right into Mateo’s sights. Undead after undead fell as Mateo placed hammer pairs into their skulls. Mateo was swept up into the familiar, simple action. Spot zombie, shoot zombie, find next target. Reload. Continue process. Mateo’s mind registered the last zombie at the back of the house. Just as he had practiced many times, Mateo advanced into the house. Something trapped the zombie. From the shadows, it looked like the explosion overturned a table. The zombie was just stuck there, unable to pass the waist high barrier. Mateo flipped on his flashlight. He wanted to make sure he finished this one properly.

Mateo froze as the light hit the zombie. He couldn’t move. He could only stare at the snarling face of Maria. Maria the zombie. The weapon came down as Mateo stared at Maria. She uselessly lunged at him. Mateo tried to bring his carbine up. The weapon was almost excruciatingly heavy. How could he do this? Maria was the mother of his child. And, if he was being honest, the one true love of his life. Each time Mateo tried to bring the carbine up his mind was flooded with memories. Maria when he first saw her, on their wedding day, just after giving birth.

The two gunshots shook Mateo out of his reveille. He watched in horror and relief as the two red holes blossomed on Maria’s head. Mateo stood immobile as his wife’s corpse collapsed to the ground. As soon as Maria was on the floor, Mateo whirled and brought up his carbine. A sad-faced Collin stood maybe fifteen feet away with a smoking Glock in his hands.

"I’m so sorry Matty," Collin said.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 52

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0620 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Slim Thomas looked at the oncoming zombies. He could hear the hunting moans behind his small team. Worse, the lightning bolt that knocked out Sport also burned off all of the team’s Nasty Stuff. They were surrounded by some five hundred zombies who were hunting for Quentin, Slim, and himself. Not good odds by anyone’s reckoning. Well, maybe if you were a Spartan. Slim doubted even Leonidas would have faced his three hundred against a zombie horde. The thoughts triggered memories and a quick plan. The reason three hundred Spartans could stand against somewhere between ten and fifty thousand Persians was because the Greeks forced the Persians into a bottleneck. Essentially, the Greeks avoided crush by forcing the Persians to send only a portion of their force at a time. Slim’s father called a defeat in detail.

"Quentin, hold onto Sport and follow me," Slim said, "We’re heading to the maze." Quentin gave Slim a questioning look, but he followed the lanky Brit as they ran through the forest. Slim didn’t care if the zombies heard every step. He wanted them to follow him. Slim didn’t have the Hot Gates, but he had something that would work in a pinch. The maze was at the edge of the forest. The Frenchies that owned Skull Island before Zombie Strike planted the maze while they were trying to build a resort. Zombie Strike had better things to do than trim up a hedge maze that was outside the compound’s perimeter. Still, they didn’t want the odd zombie wandering in and making the maze a death trap. So, concrete barriers were placed in front of the two entrances. No one went into the maze, except for one brilliant instance.

Jack Winchester had been a Zombie Strike team member killed on the team’s first mission. Before that, he’d been the sole survivor of a team competition when ZS was a reality show. Slim remembered watching Jack hop over the concrete barriers and hold off maybe twenty zombies with his trademark pair of silver Brownings. The hedges had grown so thick, the zombies couldn’t force their way through, and they couldn’t climb over the concrete barriers. Jack whittled down the horde and then escaped. Slim just needed to hold out long enough for The Steve to send out someone to get them.

Slim and Quentin charged through the forest. Slim could hear as the two groups of zombies started to come together as they trudged after the zombie hunters. There were a few zombies in the forest. These were stragglers from when the main horde of zombies came through on their way to the compound. Slim got most with quick hammer pairs. A couple more were put down by Quentin’s warhammer. The maze came into view. Slim and Quentin sprinted the last twenty yards. Slim slung his submachine gun and vaulted over the four-foot tall barrier. He turned to help Quentin with Sport. It wasn’t needed. Slim stood amazed as Quentin leapt over the barrier with all of the grace and ease of antelope.

"Close your mouth Slim," Quentin said as he lowered Sport to the grassy ground. "Have you ever tried jumping over an offensive line?"

"What’s an offensive line?" Slim asked, momentarily dumbfounded.

"In football," Quentin answered, unslinging his MP5/10.

"Football doesn’t have an offensive line. They have forwards," Slim replied.

"American football," Quentin snapped with mock anger.

"Oh, that bloody rip-off of rugby you Yanks call a sport," Slim answered, his tone softening the jab. "It’s almost as bad at that tragedy called hockey you and the Canucks play." Slim brought his MP5/10 up as the first zombies emerged from the tree line.

"Never insult the glory of the ice!" shouted a voice from behind. Quentin and Slim spun as the black clad minion stepped from behind one of the hedges some thirty feet into the maze. Neither zombie hunter hesitated. The two sub guns stuttered with twin bursts. The bullets slammed into an invisible shield with sparks of brilliant purple energy.

"Don’t worry, I’m not quite as idiotic as that other Champion," the minion said. Slim could almost see the smirk behind the black balaclava. "Although, I have to admit, you did surprise me. Mr. DuBois should have completely knocked you out of the fight before my zombies showed up. Instead, you have fought hard, slowed and disrupted us, and managed to kill Isaac. One would think you were a bit more than prepared."

"Maybe Zombie Strike is just that good," Quentin snarled, keeping his weapon trained on the minion.

"That’s a good possibility," the minion said, "That’s why I brought my newest toys to finish you off." The minion stepped back. A line of zombies in bomb-disposal suits walked out. The suited zombies stood shoulder to shoulder and spanned the eight-foot wide path. Slim could see more zombies fill in behind the suited zombies.

"Actually, I have to admit, the idea came from Alan," the minion said. Slim and Quentin shot each other an uneasy glance at the mention of the powerful sorcerer’s name. "Still, you can try to fight it out here, or face the other zombie horde. Either way, you all should be dead within an hour or so." The suited zombies began their slow shamble towards the hunters.

"Well, what do you think?" Slim asked Quentin.

"We can’t run," Quentin answered, "No way we’d make it through that horde with me having to carry Sport. Those zombies in the front are tanks. They’re supposed to make us waste our bullets on them. With those heavy helmets, they can’t bite. It’s the ones behind that are dangerous."

"I’m not so sure," Slim began. Before he could utter another word, his world was rocked with unbelievable thunder.

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2230 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez walked back into the waiting room and pulled his foster daughter aside. Special Agent Tredegar and Robyn Adams looked up in surprise, but didn’t say anything once they saw the look on Mateo’s face. Jess kept her face neutral as she followed Mateo into a secluded alcove. Mateo hesitated for a second. He didn’t want to tell Jess what was going through his mind, but she needed to know. She was as much a member of Zombie Strike as he was. That meant getting to deal with the bad stuff.

"Collin’s the shooter," Mateo said bluntly, "He’s been working for the other side for a while." Jess’s mouth hung open in shock.

"How?" she asked before her voice trailed off.

"He left me a recording of his meeting with Ted after Nigel was killed," Mateo said, "They’ve got one of his family, and they’re using that as leverage against him."

"What are we going to do?" Jess asked, horrified.

"You’re going to stay here with Billy," Mateo said, "I don’t think Collin would try to finish off Kenn here. He’s not that foolish. On the outside chance he doesn’t have any other choice, you’re going to need to be here to protect Kenn and Mercedes. You still have your back-up?"

"Yeah, in my ankle holster," Jess confirmed, still in shock.

"Keep it there until you need to use it," Mateo said, "But if you have to, don’t hesitate. Collin’s not our friend anymore."

"But if they’re holding one of his family hostage—" Jess started, but Mateo’s glare cut her off.

"Then he should have come to us," Mateo said, "He’s a professional. He knew that. He made the other choice and betrayed us." Father and daughter shared a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"I need you to do one other thing," Mateo said, "Ask Ms. Adams to get a hold of Skull Island. We need the rest of the team here."

"Where are you going?" Jess asked.

"I’m going to hunt down Ted," Mateo answered. "I need to save Maria if I can, and Ted’s my best bet for finding Collin."

"What are you going to do when you find Collin?" Jess asked, her voice quavering. The look on Mateo’s face was all the answer Jess needed. She visibly recoiled from her foster father. She never wanted to see that look on his face ever again. Jess fled from the alcove. Mateo watched as she fell into one of the chairs and hugged Billy. The spirit wolf pup licked her face before scanning the room. Nothing was going to get past that one. Mateo walked back out to the front of the emergency room. There were still some of the Metro Police cars in the parking lot. Which one held his weapon?

"Going after Ted?" Special Agent Tredegar asked softly. Mateo nearly jumped. How did someone as clumsy as Tredegar sneak up on him?

"What are you talking about?" Mateo snapped.

"Ted, the member of the Truth holding your ex-wife hostage, and blackmailing your friend and colleague into assassinating Kenn," Tredegar said. Mateo couldn’t hide his astonishment.

"Oh come on, you didn’t think we wouldn’t keep strict surveillance on you the moment you landed?" Tredegar answered his voice suddenly assured and confident. "We intercepted the message Collin DuBois sent you."

"Okay, who are you?" Mateo asked, his voice a dangerous calm.

"Special Agent Tredegar, Federal Bureau of Investigation," Tredegar answered, "Lead investigator on all actions perpetrated by the occult terrorist group known as the Truth. Probably one of the few people in the government who understand exactly how dangerous the people you’ve been fighting actually are." Tredegar paused as he looked away for a moment.

"Part of learning about the Truth is also learning about Zombie Strike," Tredegar said, "Which is why I didn’t keep that message from Mr. DuBois. I knew how’d you react once you’d heard it." Mateo’s rage deepened. It was taking a lot of willpower not to throttle the federal agent.

"Why was that important?" Mateo asked.

"You wouldn’t have believed me if I told you Collin was the one who killed your friend Nigel," Tredegar answered, "You had to hear that for yourself. Now, unless I miss my guess, you’re heading to find Ted to get Collin’s location and rescue your ex-wife."

"Maybe," Mateo said, the words forced through gritted teeth.

"Well, what say we go pick him up?" Tredegar asked with deadly seriousness, "I have an FBI SWAT team sitting on his position. I’d rather have you on scene when we get him." Mateo looked at the agent. Dumbfounded, Mateo followed Tredegar as the FBI agent walked to the unmarked police cruiser he was using.

"Oh by the way, your guns are in the back," Tredegar said as the two men climbed into the car. Mateo could only smile.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 51

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0600 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Slim Thomas emptied his MP-5/10’s magazine into the zombies. Some of the hunting moans were cut short. Most weren’t. Slim needed to open up room between the zombies and his trio of zombie killers. Thankfully, zombies were not very agile creatures. The few that Slim took down with his burst tripped other zombies. The horde slowed as it struggled with the stumbles. Slim darted back to Quentin and Sport. Quentin stood in front of Sport with a submachine gun in each hand. The MP5/10’s looked like oversized pistols in Quentin’s massive hands. Quentin was following Slim’s lead with careful sprays of automatic fire to drive back the zombies as they got too close to their fallen comrade.

Slim dropped next to Sport. The man was flailing about uncontrollably. Slim didn’t know what the minion had done to Sport, but he needed to get his teammate under control. Slim snagged Sport’s left arm and held it tight. A few quick touches and the PDA mounted in the armor’s bracer rebooted. The medical program shrieked at Sport’s condition and dumped painkillers and sedatives into the man’s system. Slim held fast as the drugs took effect. The flailing slowed and then stopped as Sport dropped into unconsciousness. The damage was done though. As Slim looked up, dozens more zombies turned towards them. Another chorus of hunting moans filled the dawning morning.

"Quentin, it’s time to leave. Grab Sport. I’ll cover you," Slim said to his teammate as he inserted a new magazine into the submachine gun and slammed down the charging handle.

"Sure thing," Quentin said as he dropped one of his MP5/10’s. He let the other dangle on its sling as he hoisted the limp form of Sport over his shoulder. Any other time, Slim would be amazed at how Quentin easily scooped up Sport. Now, he was too busy taking out zombies and trying to survive this insanity.

"Where to?" Quentin asked. He used the submachine gun like a pistol and double-tapped a zombie that managed to get within a few yards of the team. The question caused a tingling in Slim’s mind. There was something important he couldn’t quite remember. The team didn’t have time for him to stop and puzzle out what little piece of information was tickling the back of his mind. They needed to move before they hit crush.

"Back to the forest," Slim said. Quentin turned and ran back to the tree line. Slim fired off another quick pair of bursts and followed his teammate. Slim had gone a few yards before he knew he’d made a mistake. Slim didn’t know what it was, but there was the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. He turned and carefully placed several more bursts, taking down nearly a dozen zombies. Slim ejected the used magazine and slapped in a new one. From the sounds of Quentin’s yells, the big man was in the tree line. Time to leave.

Slim turned to sprint into the forest. He took a few steps and stumbled over what he thought was a clump of grass. He let go of his submachine gun as his arms shot forward to break his fall. The grass was slick, and his hands slid out from under him as they hit the ground. The breath whooshed out of him as his MP5 was driven into his chest. Slim’s mind screamed for him to get back up and run. His body just wasn’t responding. His legs were stuck in something. Then he felt the bite.

Everything came into sharp focus as Slim’s body dumped every last bit of adrenaline into his bloodstream. The pistol was in his hand before he realized he was lining up the front sight on the zombie’s head. The crawler started to moan when Slim double-tapped the Glock. The moan stopped abruptly, and Slim felt the grip on his legs loosen. Panic fueled his mind as he scrambled onto his feet and sprinted the last fifty yards to the tree line.

"What happened?" Quentin asked as Slim slid into the ground next to him.

"My God, that zombie bit me," Slim said in horror. It was a death sentence. Worse than a death sentence. Images flashed through his mind as he realized what had just happened to him. He knew he was babbling, but he didn’t care. It was the worst nightmare of every zombie hunter. There was only one real option. He brought the pistol up

"Stop!" ordered Quentin as his hand clenched down on Slim’s wrist and wrenched the pistol away. Slim saw the rage in Quentin’s face. He didn’t understand why Quentin stopped him.

"The bite didn’t go through," Quentin said forcefully. Slim looked down at his leg. The tight fabric wasn’t punctured or torn. The zombie’s bite was no worse than a bad pinch. Slim felt his legs go wobbly as relief flooded his mind.

"Easy there partner," Quentin said soothingly and braced Slim up against a tree.

"I’m not going to die. I’m not going to turn into one of them," Slim said breathlessly.

"Well not yet anyway," Quentin said, motioning to the oncoming horde. Then Quentin let out a string of curses. Slim gave him a quizzical look.

"We should have run the other way," Quentin said, "The bunkers are back that way." The realization hit Slim. That was what his mind was trying to force him to remember. The bunkers. The heavily reinforced and supplied bunkers used as waypoints when Zombie Strike was only a reality television show instead of the prime zombie hunter force. The bunkers with direct lines back to the complex. Slim barely had time to beat himself up over the mistake before the forest echoed with hunting moans.

They were now surrounded.

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2200 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez barely kept his emotions under control as he sat in the molded plastic chair. Rage, sorrow, and fear flooded his mind. His little girl was hurt. Hurt badly, and she might not see the morning. His best friend was shot and also might not live to see another dawn. His ex-wife was in the hands of his enemies. It was all he could do to just sit in that chair and not fall apart. He felt Jess leaning against him and Billy curled up at his feet. One of the hospital people tried to take away the spirit wolf pup. Someone, Special Agent Tredegar, Mateo thought, made it very clear that the animal would go where it damn well pleased. Mateo knew he should be grateful to the FBI agent, but he just couldn’t work up the emotion.

The last forty-five minutes were a blur for Mateo. He knew seconds after the shot, Mercedes was snatched from him. He watched helplessly as the paramedics worked frantically on his little girl. It felt like both a few seconds and an eternity before the paramedics hustled the little girl into an ambulance. Mateo was ushered into a police car, and the two vehicles shot through the city streets with sirens blaring. The DC Metro police officer calmly disarmed Mateo before letting him into the Washington Hospital Center. Mateo didn’t even realize he was unarmed until he sat down in the chair the nurse showed him.

Mateo was told to wait for the doctor. That was all he could do. Mateo Cortez, the zombie hunter who faced down death countless times and gone up against horrific powers, could only sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair and wait. Shame joined the other emotions, and he could feel his reserve start to crack. A feminine hand pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. The warm cup broke Mateo out of his brooding. He looked up into the worried face of Robyn Adams. Mateo wasn’t sure why the lawyer from MacKenzie and Winston was still there. This was beyond anything her duties demanded of her. Mateo had to admit that her presence was comforting.

"You look like hell," Robyn said quietly as she sat down next Mateo. His usual discomfort around attractive women roared up, but he couldn’t summon up the strength to move away. Mateo did the next best thing and stared down into the black, steaming liquid.

"Special Agent Tredegar has every agent he can find looking for Ted and Maria," Robyn said, her voice calm and soothing, "The hospital pulled in its best trauma teams in to take care of Kenn and Mercedes. It’s time to let other people do their jobs." The last statement caught Mateo off-guard.

"What?" he half-sputtered, almost dropping the cup of coffee.

"You’re beating yourself up because you can’t do anything," Robyn said. Her blue eyes bored unflinchingly into his. "You’re used to being in control, and this is tearing you up." Mateo wanted to scream at her, tell her wrong she was. The problem was he couldn’t.

"She’s right Matt," Jess murmured. Mateo shot up off the chair and whirled on the two women. They were almost mirror images of concern. He couldn’t handle their earnest compassion. He let out a strangled scream and stormed out of the hospital. He stepped into the humid night air. Well, it was humid for the locals. Mateo was from Florida. Days where it was like walking around with a wet towel across your face were not unheard of. Still, the fresh air helped. Some of the pent-up frustration lessened. Mateo was taking deep breaths when he felt his phone vibrate at his waist. The sudden vibration startled Mateo. With the destruction of the satellite constellation, cell service was spotty at best. Still, if you were near a hotspot, most phones could download all of your messages. Mateo stared down and saw a message from Collin. That didn’t make sense. Collin was back on Skull Island. It was easier getting a telegram from there than an email. Mateo tapped the icon and listened to the message.

Stunned shock banished all of Mateo’s other emotions. Disbelief followed. Collin couldn’t be working with the minions. He couldn’t have killed Nigel. He couldn’t betray Mateo like that. Disbelief fell away as the message ended. A cold rage surged through Mateo. As he looked back to the shooting of Kenn and Mercedes, Mateo could see Collin’s style in the attack. His fingerprints were all over it. Of all the things that Mateo kept under control, the most important was his killing side. Now it was completely unleashed. Mateo was going to find Collin and kill him.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 50

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0430 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Slim Thomas crept along the tree line. He kept a wary eye on the ever closing line of the zombie horde. A cold chill ran down his spine. Slim, like all of the field operatives in Zombie Strike, was among those lucky few humans who didn’t suffer from an overriding fear at the sight of the undead. Still 10,000 was more than a bit disconcerting. Especially when he needed to infiltrate the line and find the minion controlling the horde.

Slim winced at the rustle of leaves and the unmistakable sound of a human body hitting the hard packed dirt of the forest ground. Quentin cursed as he slowly stood. He froze as he realized how much noise he was making. Zombies homed in on loud noise until their other degraded senses could detect you. Slim, Sport, and Quentin silently stood, listening for the distinctive hunting moan. A minute passed and nothing. The team continued on.

The team had found the minion by simply scanning the horde from the roof of the Zombie Strike compound. The minion was in the middle of a three hundred strong group of zombies towards the rear of the horde. It might have been harder if the minion wasn’t wearing the distinctive ninja costume. Slim wondered if the costume was some sort of uniform. It didn’t seem to have any real utility. Slim held the minion in his sights, desperately wanting to squeeze the trigger. Unfortunately, the range was just a bit too long. Slim didn’t want his target to know he was being hunted.

The plan was simple. Sport, Slim, and Quentin would slip out and make their way to the forest some thousand yards from the edge of the compound. The forest would break up the line of zombies and give the team the best chance of breaking through. Once through, the team would sneak up on the minion from behind and take him out. Without the minion to direct the assault, Zombie Strike should be able to hole up behind their fortifications and slowly whittle away the horde until it was destroyed or help arrived.

The team walked quietly through the forest. The deathly silence was eerie. Slim was used to hearing the sounds of life every time he walked into this forest. Not this time. The only sound was the ragged cacophony of moans from the horde. They were halfway through the forest when they found their first zombies. Normally, the team would have just quietly dispatched the four zombies. The suppressed MP5/10’s each carried would have done the job easily without alerting any other zombies nearby. Killing every zombie between the team and the minion sounded good, but had one major drawback – ammo. Slim, Sport, and Quentin only carried ten spare magazines each for their MP5’s. Three hundred and thirty rounds of 10mm sounded like a lot, but it would go fast if they had to fight off a sizable piece of the horde. So each man was covered in Nasty Stuff.

Nasty Stuff was the latest brainchild of the same lab that developed the ZKC and the armor the team used. It was a foul smelling goop designed to hide the user’s human scent from a zombie. The team braced with their weapons ready. If this worked, they shouldn’t have any problems breaking through. If it didn’t Slim was saving his last bit of ammo for himself. His corpse wasn’t going to be used against his friends and colleagues. The zombies shambled by, completely oblivious to the three team members. Slim let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Sensing the others eyes on him, Slim pointed to the edge of the forest and slowly crept through the trees. In less than ten minutes, the three were through the line of zombies. Slim paused for a moment to locate their target. The tight-packed group of zombies was easy to spot.

Slim, Sport, and Quentin moved in with a predatory stalk. Three hundred against three weren’t good odds, but the team had one of the best tactical advantages – surprise. The team crept to less than twenty yards from the edge of the zombie pack. Slim stood to his full height and took aim at the minion. The man was just under six feet and screaming at the zombies in what sounded like German. The minion’s head filled Slim’s scope. With a gentle motion, Slim caressed the trigger.

With impossible speed, the minion yanked one of the zombies into the line of fire. The three bullets made a ragged mess of the zombie’s head before it collapsed to the ground. The minion whirled to face the team. The pack of zombies let out a ragged chorus of hunting moans. Quentin and Sport opened fire, cutting down zombie after zombie as Slim fired twice more at the minion. The first burst sailed harmlessly over the dodging minion. The second cut off the arm of a zombie trying to turn around. Slim ducked as the minion fired back wildly with a pistol. Slim fired again as the minion darted between two of his zombie shields. The two traded fire for what seemed like ten minutes, but was probably less than a minute. The minion made the first mistake. He slipped behind a zombie an instant before the zombie moved away. Slim saw the opening and placed a clean burst into the minion’s chest. Blood and gore shot out of the minion’s back as the three ten millimeter rounds tore ragged chunks out of him. The minion made no sound as he fell to his knees.

"You haven’t won yet," the minion said in strained tones. The minion pulled what looked like a silver die out of his pocket and tossed it. Slim’s eye caught sight of the small metal cube as it arched in the air. Slim was blinded as a bolt of white lightning shot from the cube. As his eyesight cleared, Slim saw several things. The minion was slumped down dead. Sport was on the ground in a fit of violent seizures. Most important, the pack of zombies finished turning around. Slim opened fire as the zombies’ hunting moans echoed through the night.

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2015 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez quickly pulled on the bracers and helmet. There wasn’t time to put on the entire armor set. These would give him some protection. A simple vest went over his casual clothes. Magazines were quickly stuffed into pouches. The M4 felt both foreign and familiar as Mateo picked up the stubby carbine.

"Glass bullets folks," Mateo reminded Jess and Kenn as the two loaded their own carbines. Glass bullets were excellent for use in the close quarters and thin walls of the hotel. They weren’t actually glass, but made from a ceramic that would fragment when they hit a solid object. Most importantly, they wouldn’t penetrate through the walls of the hotel. Now, Mateo could only hope that the other people in the hotel were smart enough to stay in their rooms and not get in the way. Looking back, Mateo saw Special Agent Tredegar standing in front of the door to the bathroom with a shotgun and a determined look on his face. That man wouldn’t let a zombie come close to Mercedes.

Mateo nodded to Jess and Kenn. With practiced ease, Jess opened the door as Mateo and Kenn strode through. Six zombies clustered around the elevators. From the looks of it, they managed to catch one of the other guests as the poor fellow stepped out of the elevator. Mateo placed a hammer pair at the nearest zombie. Even suppressed, the weapon thundered in the hall. Kenn followed suit. Within seconds, the six zombies were dispatched. Joined by Jess, the three zombie hunters moved to the unmoving corpses. The fallen guest snarled at the trio as they neared and struggled to reach out to them. Mateo felt sorry for the man to have his life ended so horrifically. With sadness, Mateo placed a single round between the new zombie’s eyes.

"Matt, they’re all wearing the same shirt," Jess noted as she examined the corpses. She was right. Something about the shirts were tingling something in the back of his mind. Some detail he wasn’t putting together.

"Saw a bunch of those in the lobby," Kenn said, "I think someone was having a family reunion." The realization hit Mateo like a hammer.

"Yeah, in the big ballroom downstairs," Mateo said. The three traded looks for a brief moment. There was no hesitation as the three bounded the stairs. They could hear the screams mixed with the hunting moans echoing through the stairwell. The sounds urged the trio on.

"Let’s keep it simple," Mateo said as they neared the first floor, "Sweep and clear. Stay together. Try not to shoot anything that’s not a zombie." He didn’t wait to hear their agreement as he kicked open the door. Two zombies were caught by the door. Mateo shot them both as they rolled on the ground. Kenn emerged next, quickly picking off a half-dozen zombies before coming up next to Mateo. Jess matched Kenn’s kills as she flanked Mateo. Kenn and Jess gave Mateo a few seconds to survey the scene. There were another twenty zombies in hotel lobby, most feasting on hotel patrons who didn’t manage to run away. More zombies were coming out of the hotel ballroom. That was definitely the source of the outbreak.

"Clear the lobby and see if we can push them back into the ballroom," Mateo said. Jess led off this time, moving towards the main entrance. They needed to clear an escape route for anyone trapped in the lobby. Mateo followed his foster daughter with Kenn covering their rear. It was methodical and efficient. Scan, find, and kill. Rinse, repeat. Pause for a moment to change a magazine and continue. The biggest problem was the panicking people. In their minds, zombies were terrifying enough. Now, there were armed gunmen opening fire. The patrons darted across the lobby in a desperate attempt to find someplace safe. Mateo winced as one of the guests jumped in front of his line of fire and took a graze to the shoulder.

Within minutes, the trio was advancing on the zombies coming out of the ballroom. The zombies fell as steadily from the continuous and almost rhythmic fire from the zombie hunters. The doorway of the ballroom made a perfect bottleneck. The three zombie hunters formed a line some forty feet from the entrance to the ballroom and let the zombie horde impale itself on their wall of fire. The battle was over quickly. Then came the hard part. The three zombie hunters and some hotel staff worked their way floor by floor to evacuate the hotel guests and search for any zombies that managed to find their way upstairs. It was stressful and time consuming. Mateo heard the arrival of police and fire rescue, but he just concentrated on the task at hand. Once the last guest was evacuated, Mateo and his team made their way to the waiting police. Tredegar met them in the lobby with a dozen or so Metro police officers. The FBI agent had things under control. Mateo allowed himself to relax a bit. Everyone walked out of the hotel where guests were being treated by a fleet of paramedics and fire rescue personnel.

"Daddy, Sissy!" screamed an upset Mercedes. She wriggled out of Robyn’s arms and sprinted to Mateo and Jess. A policeman moved to grab the running five-year-old. Kenn slid in between and fended off the officer as Mateo scooped up his daughter. He just wanted a moment to feel his daughter before he started hunting down Ted and rescuing his ex-wife.

The rifle shot snapped Mateo’s eyes away from Mercedes. The police officer and Kenn were on the ground with blood leaking from both of him. Then he felt a warm stickiness in his hands. Terror clenched him as he looked at his little daughter. She was soaked with blood.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 49

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0315 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Slim and his driver, Michael, bounced back into the Zombie Strike compound. Michael slid the ATV into the laager where the other hunting teams were waiting. They were the last team to return. Slim smiled as he dismounted. It had been a successful operation. None of the teams were lost, and by best estimates, the teams bought Zombie Strike two or three hours. Frank Pierre, the compound’s lead engineer was putting that time to good use. Outer buildings were being torn down to build a wall surrounding the old hotel. The hard packed rubble rising into some semblance of a barrier made Slim imagine he was in a Post-apocalyptic world, like Mad Max. He wondered if he would ever be able to watch The Road Warrior again.

Zombie Strike should have had a proper wall surrounding the compound. Something fifteen feet tall and made of reinforced concrete. It was one of those things everyone knew, but there were always other priorities. Besides, the heavy chain fence kept the odd zombie tangled if it managed to get a little close to the compound, and there were never more than a hundred of the buggers within five miles of the compound anyways. If things got a bit tense, there was always the heavy stuff and the helos. The idea that the compound could be cut off and swarmed never really entered anyone’s minds as a possibility. Not even Slim’s. Sure it could happen, but so could an earthquake or a nuclear strike. Now, he was just hoping they lived through the oncoming siege.

"Okay everyone, good work out there," The Steve said to the hunting teams, "You bought us time. Security people, Gunny is gathering you by the entrance. Everyone else is to report to Pierre for work. Slim, Sport, I need you two to come with me." Slim and Sport traded looks. It was unnerving the first time they had heard The Steve refer to himself in the third person. Now, it frightened them more that he wasn’t. The three men walked through the barricade. The Steve stopped to chat with some of the workers, mostly to give them some encouragement or ask a quick question. Once in the hotel, The Steve ushered the two into an elevator. Slim was surprised when the car went up. The command center and all of Zombie Strike’s facilities were below ground. No one spoke as the elevator zoomed up before stopping at the eighth floor. Slim and Sport fell in behind The Steve as the team medic stormed into Collin’s room. The strong breeze slapped the three as they walked into the room. Slim saw the glitter of glass shards littered across the carpet. The sitting room was destroyed. Not the damage of dozens of people lugging footlockers of weapons and ammunition out of the room. This looked like there had been a fight. As Slim examined the room, he noticed Quentin sitting on bed with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his upper arm. Quentin saw the three. He stood up and walked out of the bedroom. Quentin clutched his warhammer in his right hand. Black and grey slime coated the hammer. Slim felt his stomach plunge.

"Stacy didn’t make it," Quentin said in a low rumble. The Steve nodded, as if he expected the news.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Sport asked his eyes wide in astonishment.

"Gollum came crashing through the window," Quentin answered, in a flat emotionless tone, "Landed on one of the cooks helping drag out the weapons Collin left us. It tore her to pieces. God, I hate those things. Managed to keep it busy while everyone ran. Then took it down. It didn’t go quietly into that good night." There were very good reasons Quentin was the team’s leader in gollum kills. Sport let out a colorful string of curses.

"So why warn us if he was just going to stab us in the back?" Slim asked, thinking about the message Collin had left. Quentin and Sport looked around uncomfortably, but The Steve pushed the question aside.

"Doesn’t matter," The Steve said sharply, "What matters is Collin’s info has been spot-on. Which brings me back to the two of you." The Steve’s evil grin chilled Slim to the bone. He had never seen that look on The Steve’s face, and hoped he never did again. It looked so horrifically wrong.

"There’s a minion out there," The Steve said, looking out the shattered window, "He sent his best killer to cripple us. We’re going to repay him with interest." The Steve turned back to his teammates. "You three are going to find that minion and kill him."

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2000 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez jumped out of the FBI cruiser before it stopped. He sprinted through the lobby, ignoring the confused and annoyed looks of the hotel staff. He bounded up the three flights of stairs and then dashed to the room his daughters shared. Jess opened the door with a pained expression on her face. Mateo gave her a reassuring hug and walked into the room. Billy, the spirit wolf pup, padded over to Mateo. Toddling behind the wolf was Mateo’s five-year-old daughter Mercedes. The child’s face was streaked with red from crying. Mateo scooped his daughter into his arms and hugged her tight. A second later, Jess was also entwined with them. Mateo felt a weight lifting off of him as he just stood there and hugged his daughters. They were safe. Kenn led Special Agent Tredegar and Robyn Adams into the room. Billy growled at the fed and the lawyer, but stopped once Kenn introduced them. Sometimes, the wolf acted more like a human trapped in a canine body. The two warily smiled at the large animal, neither sure of what to do next.

"Mr. Cortez, if your ex-wife has been kidnapped by this Ted Roberts, then I am required to notify Metro Police and my agency," Tredegar said. Mateo shot the fed a deadly look. Tredegar visibly recoiled. Robyn Adams stepped next to the agent.

"Mateo, if you’re not going to call the authorities, at least let me bring in M&W security people," Adams suggested delicately.

"No, we’ll handle this in-house," Mateo said tersely, "If the police or M&W get involved, they’re just going to end up dead. The two of you are only here because I couldn’t get rid of you." Adams looked offended, but Tredegar just looked hurt. Mateo didn’t really care about the lawyer, but Tredegar had stuck his neck out to help Mateo. Mateo glanced over at Kenn, who just shook his head. Mateo needed to fix this. Before Mateo could say anything, the unique hunting moans of zombies echoed through the halls outside of the room. Everyone froze for an instant. In that instant came the screeching howl of a gollum. Billy growled and barked at the door.

"Jess, go get the special crate," Mateo ordered. The teen nodded and sprinted to her room. "Ms. Adams, Tredegar, I need you to take Mercedes into the bathroom and stay there until we come for you." Jess came back into the room lugging a black metal box almost as big as her. Mateo entered a combination into the digital pad on the top of the box. The pad beeped once and the sound of mechanical locks clacking opening rang through the room.

"Mr. Cortez, what are you doing?" Tredegar as Mateo lifted the thick lid and slid it to the floor.

"Well, Special Agent Tredegar, anytime we deploy anywhere, there’s a chance everything will go to hell." Mateo lifted a stubby M4 from the metal box. Tredegar and Adams went pale as the three Zombie Strike team members began pulling out weapons and armor from the metal case.

"This is us dealing with everything going to hell."

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 48

Skull Island, South Pacific, 25 July 2010, 0100 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 6 days

Owen Thomas, better known to his teammates as Slim, was manning the command center as the Zombie Strike field team and support elements worked to determine the extent of the damages caused by the saboteur. How could one person cause so much damage? How could Collin have done this? Slim banished the thought as soon as it came into his head. He watched as the techs talked with the teams on scene. Jaclyn Dekker, the lead tech, quietly moved between her team. Slim had been surprised when the petite woman stormed into the command center. With assured confidence, Dekker organized Zombie Strike’s response. Slim was carefully nudged aside to let the support folks do their job. Slim knew his father would never allow anyone to even appear to undermine his authority. Another thing the Colonel got wrong. If there was one thing Slim learned in his time with Zombie Strike, it was to let the professionals do their jobs, regardless of their rank.

Slim looked down at the tablet in his hands. At least the internal network was still up. Slim flipped through the most recent damage report. All outside communications were gone. They had internal phones, WiFi, and portable radios. Unless a ship got within ten miles of the island, Zombie Strike was cut off from the world. Slim asked about the few planes, helicopters, and boats at the airfield and docks. All of them were disabled. There was a bit of good news there. In his rush, the saboteur screwed up his charges on the vehicles. The vehicles were broken, not destroyed. Still, the best estimate was twenty-four hours before they could hope to get a plane in working condition. Gunny walked into the command center. The hardened former Marine strode up to Slim. The flinty calm on the head of security’s face bothered Slim.

"Slim, what’s the status of the armory?" Gunny asked. The question caught Slim off-guard. He fumbled with the tablet as Gunny waited patiently.

"Gone," Slim answered, looking at the most recent report, "All of the weapons, explosives, ammo, and gear are unrecoverable. The engineers sealed it up and are just letting it burn itself out." Gunny’s face went dark.

"We’re going to need everyone to scrounge up every weapon they have," Gunny said tersely, "Those explosions have brought in a huge horde of zombies." Slim flipped to a perimeter camera. The horizon was crammed with staggering zombies.

"That doesn’t look right," Slim said as he looked at the display, "Did we pull every zombie on the island?"

"Slim, there’s more zombies bearing down on us right now than this island has ever had," Gunny said.

"Where did they all come from?" Slim asked. Gunny just shrugged in response.

"Better start thinking on how we’re going to repel all of those without any heavy weapons or air support," Gunny replied quietly.

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 1900 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez kept his face neutral as the new FBI agent walked into the interrogation room. This one was average height, but skinny and bookish with a long hooked nose. He carried a stack of files under his left arm. Mateo wanted to call him Ichabod. The agent’s face was a professional neutral, but there was an odd fire in the man’s brown eyes.

"Mr. Cortez, I am Special Agent Tredegar," the man said as he sat down. The folders were meticulously spread in front of Tredegar. The FBI agent leaned forward on the table.

"I am very sorry about your friend," Tredegar said. The words sounded flat to Mateo. Less from lack of sympathy than lack of practice.

"Thank you, but I’m not giving a statement until I see an attorney," Mateo said coolly, "Who I’m still waiting to call." Mateo leveled the words as a challenge. Tredegar didn’t seem to notice. He opened a folder and pushed a large photo across to Mateo.

"Do you recognize this individual?" Tredegar asked. Mateo picked up the photo, glanced at it, and then looked over at Tredegar. The FBI agent’s anticipation was barely contained.

"You’re not on Nigel’s case, are you?" Mateo asked.

"No. I work occult cases," Tredegar admitted, slightly surprised at Mateo’s question.

"And why do you want to know if I recognize this person," Mateo asked, tossing the picture back on the table.

"Maybe because your team fought him in Wyoming about six months ago. Maybe because unofficial interviews with Army soldiers describe someone who could bring down a Blackhawk with an energy beam shot from a knife. Maybe because I think Zombie Strike isn’t telling the American government what it knows about these people." Tredegar dramatically spread several photos across the table.

"Special Agent Tredegar, you really don’t know what you’re messing with," Mateo warned. "I don’t know what you think–" The sentence died as his eyes locked onto one of the pictures.

"You don’t know what Mr. Cortez?" demanded Tredegar. "What are you hiding?" Mateo didn’t answer. He stood up from the table and walked to the door. Tredegar awkwardly leapt up at Mateo. In one smooth motion, Mateo had the FBI agent pinned to the wall.

"Tredegar, if you want to find out so badly, then you can tag along," Mateo growled into the agent’s ear. "But you’re going to do what I tell you to do."

"I am a federal agent," Tredegar protested weakly, "Attacking a federal agent is a serious crime." Mateo let out a low, evil chuckle.

"One of your suspects is dating my ex-wife and right now watching my daughters," Mateo said, "Do you really think assaulting a Fed is that high on my list?"

"I’ll drive," Tredegar replied.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 46

Skull Island, South Pacific, 24 July 2010, 2100 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 7 days

Owen Thomas, better known to his teammates as Slim, stepped into the command center. The twenty or so techs didn’t break their vigils over the various displays and communication equipment as the field team member entered. Slim grinned to himself as he imagined his father’s reaction to such a reception. The Colonel would have had a bloody fit if the lowly techs didn’t properly acknowledge his superiority as an officer. Slim wondered again if his father’s attitude was the reason the General Staff failed to promote him. It was certainly the reason Slim left home at the tender age of sixteen. Slim sat down at his computer station. The Champions of Truth had kept out of sight since the destruction of Mexico City. Not like that wasn’t too hard these days. The constellation of satellites the modern world depended on to run its technology was mostly destroyed. What few were left were almost all under government control. Gone were the days of easy surveillance through electronic means. It was even harder here on Skull Island. All of the communications and Internet systems were satellite-based. Currently, Skull Island and Zombie Strike were dependent on a lash-up system of high-end transceivers mounted on high-altitude balloons, retired cargo ships, and a few towers on atolls to communicate to the rest of the world. Trust the largest and oldest insurance firm to have a contingency plan for nearly everything.

Slim didn’t normally mind the command center, but Zombie Strike was a bit understaffed at the moment. Kenn Blanchard and Mateo Cortez, Zombie Strike’s leaders, were in Washington DC. Something about the American parliament conducting hearings about the events in Mexico City. Nigel Brown, Mackenzie and Winston’s liaison with Zombie Strke, was also there, as was Jess Montgomery, Mateo’s foster daughter. Collin DuBois, the team’s de-facto colour sergeant, seemed a bit under the weather the past few weeks, so Slim offered to pitch in and take a few of Collin’s watches. Slim sipped at his coffee. It would be another hour before the next data dump. All he could do was wait patiently. It looked like another slow night. That was until the building rumbled and the command center was plunged into darkness. Slim let out a stream of curses as the emergency lights cut in.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Slim asked to the mass of frantic techs, "That didn’t feel like an earthquake."

"Explosions in the main armory, the electrical plant, and the telecom exchange," one of the techs reported, "Engineering is on damage control, but right now we’re cut-off and running on batteries." Slim grimaced at the report. One explosion could have been an accident. Three was sabotage.

"Jane, my compliments to Mr. DuBois, and would you run up and inform him that I need him here, please?" Slim asked another tech. As she darted out of the room, Slim grabbed the attention of another tech.

"I want everyone on this island accounted for," Slim ordered, "I don’t care if they’re in the loo with the runs. I want them found and in the main dining room."

"Mr. Thomas, one of the planes is taking off," reported the first tech.

"Who’s flying that plane?" Slim quickly asked.

"The airfield reports it was Collin DuBois," the tech answered. Slim stood there dumbstruck as the rest of Zombie Strike began rushing into the command center.

Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 1600 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

Mateo Cortez smiled as he watched his daughters play and tried very hard not to punch the man standing next to him. It wasn’t this guy’s fault. It just didn’t occur to Mateo when he asked his ex-wife to come up for a family vacation that she’d bring her new boyfriend. Of course, if Mateo hadn’t been busy jumping all over the world fighting zombies, then he might have known his wife was seeing someone. Ana made this point quite clearly. Ted wasn’t a bad guy. He was just boring. Ted reminded Mateo of every cookie-cutter professional he had met before joining Zombie Strike. There was nothing distinguishing about the man. It didn’t help that Mateo’s daughter liked Ted. At least she didn’t call him daddy. Mateo wasn’t sure how he could have handled that. At the moment, Mercedes was playing tag with Mateo’s foster daughter Jess and Jess’s new spirit wolf puppy Billy. Since Kenn and Nigel were testifying in front of some Congressional subcommittee, Mateo decided to bring the girls to the Mall and wait for his friends to finish. Ted sort of invited himself along for what he called "guy-bonding." Mateo was pretty sure Maria sent him along so that she could do some shopping on her own. Ted was chattering about the Buccaneers and the Rays. Mateo was ignoring him.

Jess was the one who spotted Kenn and Nigel first. The two men were walking around the Reflecting Pond and heading toward the group. Mateo waved and held up a pair of cigars, much to the dismay of Ted. Ted didn’t smoke, and thought it was a bad idea for Mateo to smoke in front of the girls. Mateo politely told Ted what he could do with his advice. Suddenly, Nigel shoved Kenn to the ground – a split second before his chest exploded in a spray of red mist. The rifle’s report echoed through the Mall. Mateo shot a glance back to his daughters. Jess held a screaming Mercedes on the ground and was covering the five-year-old with her own body. Billy stood over the girls. The wolf pup eyes were locked back at the Lincoln memorial. Mateo could almost see the shimmer of power coming off Billy as the pup protected the girls. Mateo ran through the panicked mass of people to check on Kenn and Nigel. Kenn was knelt over Nigel’s still form, praying for their friend’s soul. Mateo grabbed Kenn and tried to drag the man behind some concealment. Cover was sparse in this part of the Mall. Mateo desperately wanted a gun at the moment. All he had on him was a pocket knife. Kenn shrugged out of Mateo’s grip and knelt back down next to Nigel’s body as police charged towards them.

"Kenn, get behind something solid," Mateo said, "Someone just tried to take you out." Kenn looked up at Mateo with sad and knowing eyes. They spooked Mateo.

"Sniper," Kenn said, "He took his shot and missed. He’ll be evading right now. We’re sort of safe for the moment." Mateo nodded as the two men were surrounded by police. In the confusion, Mateo completely forgot about Ted.

###Washington DC, 26 July 2010, 2100 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 3 months, 5 days

The man Mateo knew as Ted walked onto the Metro Red line. He sat down and pulled out an book reader. He was patient. He had to be. Less than ten minutes later, Collin DuBois casually sat down next to Ted. Collin was dressed in a conservative business suit. At rush hour, he blended into the crowd.

"Good afternoon Mr. DuBois," Ted said, never looking up from his reader.

"I don’t know how Nigel saw me," Collin said in a passable American accent.

"Calm down Mr. DuBois," Ted said, "I did the groundwork. I’ve already told my people that it wasn’t your fault the deal fell through." Ted tilted the reader so Collin could see the picture of his sister.

"We are all professionals," Ted told Collin, "We understand these things happen. We still want you to complete the transaction. We still want to deliver your package to you. Unfortunately, we won’t be consulting you this time. Please don’t let a poison pill disrupt this transaction again."

"I understand," Collin answered. At the next stop, Collin leapt up and darted out of the train. Ted settled into his seat and waited. Collin DuBois watched as the train roared into the darkened tunnel. The man never suspected Collin was recording their conversation. Collin found a WiFi spot and emailed Mateo the recording and some covert photos of the man. It was the only thing Collin could do to balance his betrayal. As he walked through the Metro station, Collin started to plan his next try at assassinating his friend Kenn Blanchard.

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 45

Forreston FL, 8 July 2010, 1000 Hours Local: Countdown: 1 Year, 4 months, 23 days

Jessica Montgomery knelt down. It wasn’t easy in the long dark gray dress. It had been a long time since she’d walked these grounds. Longer than it should have been. Guilt added its unique flavor to her sadness.

"Sorry I haven’t come to visit," Jess said. She didn’t know what to expect. Talking to the dead always seemed so comforting. The granite headstone was silent. Maybe it was something that came with practice.

"So, I guess I came here to talk with someone," Jess said, "Things are so screwed up. I mean, I haven’t stopped thinking about you, but the pain wasn’t as bad. I found someone, and I thought my life was going to be so good." The tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. "Then. we went to Mexico, and we were winning, and then Billy died." The words spilled out of her mouth. She had to get them out before all of her pent-up sorrow finally released. Jess collapsed next to her mother’s tombstone. Deep sobs wracked her body to the point of pain. Jess kept reliving the horrific memories of seeing Billy over her impaled on Giant’s whip. His confidant smile. His last words to her as Quentin hauled her out of the room. The shaking and deafening roar as the bomb exploded. All Jess could do was feel the pain and cry.

Jess’s sobs stop instantly as she felt the danger. The dress tore as Jess leapt to her feet. A thick fog surrounded her and blotted out the sun. She felt more than saw the figure as it emerged from the fog. The large coyote sat down in front of her mother’s grave. It was easily the size of a horse. She could feel the power roll off of the coyote like a warm breeze.

"You!" screamed Jess, "Where was your precious pack when I needed them? When Billy needed them? Why did you let him die?" The animal stood silent. Its even stare incensed Jess. She took two steps and threw a perfect punch. She felt the shock as her blow slammed into the animal’s muzzle.

"That was not my choice to make," Coyote answered. The words echoed through her mind like thunder.

"Whose was it?" Jess demanded.

"Mine," came the answer. The single word drove Jess to the ground. Coyote spoke like thunder. This was an earthquake. Jess slowly turned around. The wolf stood twenty feet tall and larger than the trailer Jess lived in for a time. The air became electrified with the raw power of Wolf stepping into the world.

"It has fallen to mine to protect the Key," Wolf said, lowering the power of his voice, "My pack and my warriors are bound to protect the Key. Including sacrificing their lives for the Key."

"So why was it Coyote’s pack in Mexico City?" Jessica shot back with an accusing tone.

"I had a warrior, and it was not time to reveal the full extent of my obligation," Wolf answered, "And my brother always likes to have me in his debt."

"So why are you here now?" Jess asked, "We destroyed the Key." Wolf moved a tree-sized front leg to reveal a bright-eyed wolf pup. The pup locked eyes with Jess. A part of her mind opened up and she could feel the pup’s mind.

"It is time to foster some of my pack in this world," Wolf answered. The pup bounded to Jess. As the enthusiastic animal knocked her to the ground, Jess realized the pup was already the size of a large German Shepard. Warmth and love poured through the new bond between the two. Wolf, Coyote, and the fog vanished in an instant. As Jess looked around for the two spirits, Slim rushed to her side.

"Are you alright?" Slim asked, scanning the graveyard with his submachine gun. Then he noticed the pup. "Where did that come from?"

"Wolf," Jess answered softly. Something in her tone kept Slim from barraging her with questions.

"Okay," Slim temporized, "So what’s the bugger’s name?" Jess looked down at the pup at her side. Her grief wasn’t gone, but the pure love and joy from the pup made it bearable.

"Billy."

###Barcelona, Spain, 9 July 2010, 2030 hours local, Countdown: 1 year, 4 months, 22 days

The groaning drew Alan away from the window. He put the enchanting flamenco dancers out of his mind as he stepped into the darkened apartment. Alan looked down at the shattered figure in the center of the room. As much as Alan had tasted his god’s power, it still amazed him that this man was still alive, much less starting to awaken.

"Go, tell Mr. Castle that Mikhail is awake," Alan said to one of his assistants. The girl nodded and sprinted out of the room. Alan watched as Mikhail’s body continued to knit itself back together. Those new Truth-Warriors brought Mikhail to Barcelona in pieces. Alan took one look at the fragments of what had been the Truth’s greatest warrior and was sure Mikhail was gone. He didn’t understand why Castle looked so confident as he ordered Alan and his assistants to lay out the body. That was, until Mikhail’s body started coming back together. Mikhail’s eyes snapped open as Castle walked into the room. Mikhail tried to rise, but his weakened body collapsed under his effort. Castle locked eyes with Mikhail and shook his head. Mikhail let out a long breath and settled back. Alan walked up to Castle.

"If he keeps at this pace, he should be back up in less than a month," Alan said. Castle didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stared at Mikhail.

"Good, he will be needed," Castle answered. Absent-mindedly, Castle drew a sphere of pure obsidian out of his pocket. Alan’s eyes were drawn to the baseball sized gleaming black glass.

"In the meantime, I have another assignment for you," Castle said, turning to Alan. He held out the dark sphere to the Truth’s top sorcerer. "I need you to open the Key."

###London, Great Britain, 10 July 2010, 2100 hours local, Countdown: 1 year, 4 months, 21 days

Collin DuBois was ushered into Simon West’s library. The lord who owned the house before Simon had been a voracious reader. His extensive and valuable collection of books came with the house. Collin would have been more impressed if he thought Simon had actually read any of them. Simon sat in an overstuffed leather chair that looked like it had come out of an old bankers’ office. The handsome crime boss leisurely held a snifter of brandy and smiled as Collin stepped into the room. It took all of Collin’s self-control not to reach out and snap the man’s neck. Simon seemed to relish in Collin’s internal torment. The two men stared at each other in silence. Finally, Collin broke the silence.

"Why did you ask me to come here West?" Collin demanded.

"Your employers wanted to speak with you," Simon answered cryptically. He laughed at Collin’s confusion.

"What are you talking about?" Collin asked.

"Oh wake up, boyo. Why would I care about what your group of zombie killers were up to?" Simon asked. Simon let out an evil laugh as he saw understanding dawn on Collin’s face. Before Collin could respond, Simon held up an envelope.

"Here are your instructions," Simon said, handing the envelope to Collin. Inside the envelope was a cell phone. Collin pressed the redial button.

"Sergeant DuBois, who I am is not important," the American said. The voice was cool, controlled, and professional. "On the phone are three photos. These should be considered proof of life." Collin opened the messages. His sister was strapped to a bed. The morning’s Guardian was placed on her chest.

"Your sister will not be harmed as long as you do what we want," the voice continued, "Further, Mr. West has agreed to release her of any and all debts. In return, we want you to kill Kenn Blanchard."

Zombie Strike Part 6 Chapter 44