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