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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 33 – Epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zombie goats?" Collin asked, incredulously.

"Looks like it," Jim answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What was that?" Quentin asked.

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

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

Zombie Strike Part 4 Chapter 32