Mexican Anthropological Museum, Mexico City, 1735 hours local, 2 December 2009, Countdown: 2 years, 29 days

Quentin McLintock heard the stacks of crates crashing down as the corpses inside them came alive and thrashed to get out. He knew in short order there was likely to be forty or so zombies bearing down on him and his three fallen team members. He wasn’t worrying about those zombies. Quentin’s entire attention was on the hand of one of those team members gripping his forearm like a vise and the moaning emanating from the body. Then Quentin’s logical mind finally broke through swirling emotion and terror. Those weren’t undead moans.

Quentin looked down at the arm. Slim’s PDA was blinking furiously. Its owner was dying – not dead – and the armor’s computer was doing everything it could to protect Slim. The PDA was desperately sending Slim’s vitals to the rest of the team. Including the Beta team. Quentin heard the crashing of glass and the sound of someone sliding down a rope. By the time Quentin turned around, The Steve was shoving him aside. The team medic was pulling a variety of supplies from all over his armor. Quentin’s mind was desperately trying to understand how The Steve got to them so fast.

“Quentin, would you do The Steve a favor and keep those zombies busy?” The Steve said with his normal light tone. Quentin looked up. The first of the zombies had freed themselves of the crates. They let out hunting moans and staggered towards the living. An odd sense of relief swept through Quentin. This was something he could understand. This was something he didn’t feel inadequate to handle. Quentin snatched his carbine off the ground. He fell into the fighting stance and brought the weapon up to the nearest zombie. With the reticle on the zombie’s head, Quentin squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

“Don’t get frustrated,” Quentin whispered to himself, as the zombie shambled closer and let out a hunting moan, “Tap, rack, bang.” As he spoke the words, Quentin slapped the end of the magazine, pulled the charging handle, felt the fresh round chamber, and squeezed the trigger. The ZKC coughed as it fired a suppressed burst into the zombie. The moaning was cut off as the rounds shredded the zombie’s head. Quentin didn’t wait to watch the zombie fall. He was busy twisting to bring the carbine on the next zombie. A second burst dropped a second zombie. After the third burst, the weapon locked back on an empty magazine.

Quentin dropped the magazine out of his weapon and felt around for a new one. As his hand grasped an unfamiliar pouch, Quentin remembered the spare magazines were further back. As he fumbled with a new magazine, the chorus of moans grew louder. From the sound, Quentin judged the horde was about to hit crush – the point when the sheer numbers of the horde would overwhelm the actions of the defenders. Quentin inserted the new magazine and released the bolt. Before Quentin could open fire, metal glinted out of the corner of his eye, and an axe screamed over his shoulder to bury itself in a zombie’s head.

Billy Shakespear leapt onto the loading dock with a pistol in one hand and a collapsible baton in the other. The zombies tried to turn to attack the new prey, but Billy was in motion. Billy double-tapped the nearest zombie with the pistol. As the zombie fell, Billy slammed the corpse and threw its weight against two others. Zombies, by their nature, tended to be unable to maintain balance if anything strong collides with them – especially 150 pounds of decomposing flesh, muscle, and bone. The two zombies collapsed. Billy didn’t seem to notice He already was attacking another with a precise flurry of blows with the baton. Broken leg, broken arm, shattered skull. The zombie went limp and collapsed.

Quentin started on the opposite edge of the zombies from Billy. Walking zombies were priority. Quentin took down two of the walkers. He brought his weapon to bear on a third zombie. The creature dropped out of his sight as Billy slammed its legs out from under it. Quentin immediately lowered his carbine. Without stopping, Billy brought down the baton onto the creature’s head and twirled to find his next target.

"Billy, calm down," Quentin said, "You came into my line of fire."

"I don’t ‘calm down’," Billy said arrogantly, as he charged at a newly emerged zombie, "I am William Who Shakes the Spear. My father is a Chiricauau Apache whose grandfather rode with Geronimo and great-grandfather fought alongside Victorio." The zombie’s outstretched arms were shattered by a pair of hammer blows. Billy paused for the briefest instants before sliding to the zombie’s left and slamming the baton into the back of the zombie’s head.

"Top it all off, I grew up in the toughest city on the planet," Billy continued, "So, don’t think for a moment that I’m ever going to slow-" Billy stopped in mid-motion. The baton and pistol fell out of his hands. He stood there motionless as two zombies shambled towards him. Quentin shouted Billy’s name, but there was no response. Without warning, Billy collapsed to the ground.

"Damn kids always push themselves beyond their limits," grumbled Mateo as he staggered to his feet, "Quentin, go get him." The team leader looked weak, but Mateo held his carbine in a firm manner. Quentin nodded to Mateo and lifted himself up onto the docks. He focused on Billy’s still form about thirty feet away, ignoring the quiet staccato behind him and the crack of bullets around him. Quentin easily hoisted Billy up over his shoulder. Quentin ignored the moans of nearby zombies and charged back to where Mateo was providing cover fire. Quentin jumped down off the docks. There was the unique and slightly unsteady sensation of feeling the shock of landing on one foot and one knee. The prosthetic didn’t betray him this time. Or was he finally acclimating to it under stress? Quentin gently lowered Billy to the ground. A quick check of the young man’s PDA showed weakened but steady vitals.

“What happened to him?” Quentin asked, pointing at Billy.

“Fool kid recovered a bit from Giant’s attack and thought he was good to go,” Mateo said, taking down another zombie, “Didn’t think there might be an after effect of that whammy Giant slapped on us. He should be fine in a minute or two.”

“So, what now Matt?” Quentin asked.

“Collin, are you busy?” Mateo asked over the radio.

“Just a bit, Matty,” Collin answered in his calm understated manner, “Managed to run across another patch of the buggers. Dealing with it, but they’re acting a bit odd.”

“Giant is fleeing out the first floor,” Mateo said, “Can you intercept him?” There was a pause before Collin answered.

“Negative,” Collin said, “He’s up here. He’s got those blokes in black with him. Looks like they’re rooting around for something. Oh bloody hell—“ Collin cut off. Mateo checked his PDA, but the faceplate prevented Quentin from seeing his team leader’s face. The quiet string of curses from Mateo worried Quentin. Mateo snapped up his carbine and unleashed a string of bursts that brought down five zombies in less than ten seconds. Mateo let go of the carbine and drew his pistol. With an aggressive fury, Mateo drilled the remains of the zombies with precise fire. Quentin belatedly joined Mateo with fire from his own carbine.

“What is Slim’s status?” Mateo demanded as he reloaded his pistol.

“Critical. That big dude really effed him up,” The Steve answered, not looking up at Mateo, “We need to get him out of here stat.”

“Wake up Sleeping Beauty and have him help you get Slim out,” Mateo ordered, motioning to the unconscious Billy, “Extract to a local hospital and call in for more medical help. Then, I need the two of you back here ASAP.” Mateo turned to Quentin.

“Quentin, you’re with me,” Mateo said as he replaced the magazine in his carbine, “Looks like Collin’s team ran into a pair of gollums.” Mateo tried to keep the neutral command in his voice, but Quentin heard the hint of true fear. The fear a father felt watching his child walk into an inescapable danger. Quentin refused to contemplate the torrent of emotion running through his friend.

The two charged through the museum. Mateo ignored the few stray zombies meandering through the ground floor of the museum. As they charged up the main stairwell, Giant and his minions appeared. The two groups froze in mutual surprise. Mateo and Quentin snapped out of it first and brought up their carbines. The two minions fumbled with pistols tucked into their robes. Giant just stood there with a perplexed look in his eyes.

"How did you get here?" demanded Giant, with a thunderous roar, “Why aren’t you near death?” Mateo responded by shooting one of the minions. Giant lashed out with his whip. Quentin was stunned by the booming crack of the whip and the sickening wave of energy that washed over him. The whip struck Mateo in the head. The faceplate cracked as Mateo’s head snapped back. Mateo staggered back a half-step before regaining his stance. Mateo fired two quick bursts. One hit Giant squarely in the chest and drove their enemy back. The second burst dropped the other minion.

"Quentin move!" Mateo shouted. Quentin didn’t think. He just acted. He stormed up the stairs. Giant loomed over him as he reached the top of the stairs. Quentin didn’t have a chance to be afraid. He lowered his shoulder and aimed for Giant’s stomach. Giant never moved. He stood there like one of Quentin’s old tackling dummies. Quentin felt the familiar crush as his body slammed into the larger man. Quentin lifted Giant off of his feet before tossing him back several feet.

Giant looked at Quentin with a wide-eyed stare, as if he just couldn’t believe Quentin dared to strike him. Quentin felt a sudden rage. He let his carbine fall on its sling and drew his warhammer. Giant scrambled to get to his feet, but Quentin slammed him back to the ground. The hammer came down on Giant’s knee with a wet crunch. Giant let out an unearthly scream. A second blow pulverized the other knee.

"Leave him," Mateo said, grabbing Quentin’s shoulder, "He isn’t going anywhere, and we need to help Collin." Quentin’s anger faded. Mateo continued to rush to their teammates’ aid. Quentin gave the screaming Giant a final look before following Mateo.

He hoped they would make it to Beta Team in time.

Zombie Strike Part 3 Chapter 23

Mexican Anthropological Museum, Mexico City, 1715 hours local, 2 December 2009, Countdown: 2 years, 29 days

Quentin McLintock needed to run away. The shrill howls of the gollums triggered a flood of emotion and memory. Memories of pain and terror. Memories of his friend going insane and destroying his leg with an errant burst of gunfire moments before he was swarmed by gollums. He could clearly remember those leathery fingers digging into his skin.

"Lights on!" barked Mateo, his calm, commanding voice yanking Quentin out of the nightmare and back into the fight. Four beams of dazzling white light pierced the darkness. The four gollums at the end of the hall hissed as the beams illuminated them. The gollums’ withered, leathery skin was decorated with blue-painted symbols. They wore simple leather flaps as loin cloths and clutched carved wooden clubs. Quentin noticed this, but didn’t care. His eyes focused on the stone medallions hanging around the gollums’ necks by leather strips. Until those medallions were destroyed, the gollums were essentially invulnerable.

"Billy. I need into those docks," Mateo said, "Get me there." Quentin could feel the small man’s smile. Billy’s beam disappeared. The snicker sound of two batons extending were replaced by an unearthly yell. William Shakespeare, descendant of a Chiriquaua Apache warrior who rode with the infamous Victorio, attacked with the full fury of his ancestry. Quentin saw glimpses of Billy as he danced amongst the beams of light. The dull thuds of wood hitting armor were intermingled with the wet crunch of a metal baton slamming into bone. One person fighting four gollums was, at best, suicidal. Gollums were stronger, faster, felt no pain, and most importantly, invulnerable as long as the medallion around its neck was intact. Suicidal, if you were fighting to defeat them. Billy was just buying time for the team.

"Into the docks!" Mateo yelled over the noise of the fight. Quentin followed his team leader as the man charged into the narrow opening provided by Billy.

"Don’t fight them until we have more room," Mateo commanded as the gollums reached out from behind the wall of blows provided by their teammate. The door opened to an open-air loading area. The sudden sunlight blinded Quentin. He stumbled forward as his eyes strained to adjust to the brightness. Quentin heard Mateo and the Brit charge past him. Why couldn’t he be as good as he was on that island? Why was he stumbling around like some newbie? Finally the room around him came into focus. The loading docks turned out to be a large concrete room with stacks of crates. The stacks were of uneven height, and in the sudden light, looked like a miniature city skyline. Or decent defensive positions, Quentin’s tactical memory reminded him. He scrambled to set up behind the crates.

"Billy step in and cut right," Mateo ordered. Billy retreated into the docks, still trading blows with the gollums. As soon as he was through the doorway, Billy rolled to the right to come up in a fighting stance with his batons ready. The gollums charged at the team, but stopped short at the doorway. It was like they hit an invisible wall. What stopped them?

"Take them down," Mateo said, before placing a burst into the chest of one gollum. Two rounds lanced harmlessly through the gollum’s withered body. The third impacted the medallion. The 6.8 mm round easily shattered the stone. The gollum let out an unearthly scream as the shards of the medallion fell to the ground. Its torment was cut short as Mateo fired again. Devoid of its supernatural protection, the gollum was violently torn apart by the bullets. Slim dispatched a second gollum with the same efficiency.

Quentin took aim at a third gollum. The chevron in the holographic sight lined up on the medallion. He knew he missed the moment the rifle rocked back with the recoil. He rushed the shot and jerked the trigger. Quentin could feel how out-of-step he was in the fight. The gollum snarled as the rounds punched through its stomach. Enraged, the gollum threw its club at Quentin. The heavy wood club slammed into Quentin’s shoulder as he tried to duck behind cover. Quentin felt the blow as the club slapped harmlessly against his shoulder armor. No pain, but the force of the blow was enough to throw Quentin off-balance. Old football reflexes took over as he slid his right leg out to keep him upright. His new leg just couldn’t move as fast as he needed. Quentin felt his breath rush out of him as he hit the concrete. He heard his weapon clatter off the dock. Quentin stayed on the ground for a second, annoyed with himself. What a stupid way to go down. Especially since his team needed him in the fight.

"Quentin, are you okay?" Mateo called out, between bursts. Quentin couldn’t answer for a moment. His frustration gripped him like a vice. Mateo called again, more concerned this time. "Quentin, you with us?"

"Yeah, just tripped over myself," Quentin growled, finally finding his voice, "Lost my gun."

"Go get it while we deal with these two," Mateo said. Quentin rose to a crouch and walked to the edge of the dock. Mateo, Slim, and Billy could handle two gollums that couldn’t even come into the room. Why couldn’t they come into the room? The question nagged his mind. The rear of the loading area was a pit that allowed trucks to back up to the docks and roll out their crates without the need of a ramp. It was safer for the precious cargo. Quentin’s rifle was a few feet from the edge of the docks in the middle of the pit. Quentin jumped down, picked up his weapon, and inspected it. It didn’t look too bad. Just some scrapes and scuffs on the housing.

Quentin head snapped around as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Giant stood at the corner of the building with about twenty zombies behind him. He was still dressed in the black ninja suit. His dark eyes were wide in surprise. Giant was trying to trap the team, and he wasn’t expecting to find Quentin out of the trap. Quentin had an instant to bring up his weapon.

The crack of the whip boomed with the force of a concussion grenade in Quentin’s face. The sheer ferocity was enough to stun Quentin. He didn’t even feel the whip as it wrapped around his neck. His mind was barely aware he couldn’t breathe. He felt the dimness around him.

Four loud barks of a pistol snapped Quentin back. He saw Giant flinch as four spurts of blood erupted from his chest. The whip loosened a bit. Quentin’s head swam as blood rushed back into his brain. The primal need for survival awoke a part of Quentin’s mind he tried very hard to keep locked down. Rage flooded him. He grabbed the whip. A cold, sick energy rippled up his arm. Quentin didn’t have time or emotion to care. With every bit of his strength, he yanked on the whip. Giant was strong and powerful, but physics still ruled. Giant flew off his feet and into Quentin’s waiting fist. There was no art or technique to the blow. It was pure and simple savagery.

Giant’s head snapped back. The blow would have killed a normal person. It should have, at the very least, dazed the man. Quentin felt the whip slither off his neck like a dead snake. He heard the sound of suppressed fire as Slim and Billy engaged the zombies. Mateo landed next to his friend with pistol in hand. Quentin felt a small rush of relief. Then, Giant stood back up without a hint of any injury. Even the bullet wounds were gone. What was Giant?

"Drop the whip!" Mateo yelled at Giant, rising to his favored Weaver stance.

"Mateo Cortez. You aren’t as tall as I expected," Giant said, his voice flat and cold. The accent was odd. It sounded American, Spanish, and European all at the same time. "You are not supposed to be here." Mateo answered by unloading his pistol into Giant. The seven foot tall man jerked back with each impact, but showed no pain. As the slide on his Sig locked back, Mateo dropped the magazine. The whip tagged Mateo as he was slapping a new magazine in. The team leader dropped without a sound. Quentin moved between his fallen friend and Giant. Slim and Billy jumped down next to him with their rifles raised. They made relatively quick work of the zombies with Giant. Quentin could feel their rage at not being fast enough to protect their leader.

"I didn’t kill him. It’s not allowed quite yet," Giant answered, "Still, you have managed to annoy me." The whip shot out and knocked the rifles out of Slim’s and Billy’s hands. Giant flicked the whip out to the side. The long cord froze rigidly. Before Quentin’s mind could comprehend what was happening, Giant ran the whip through Slim like a lance. The tall Brit was slammed into the wall of the pit as blood poured out of the tiny wound.

Giant flicked his wrist and the whip went limp. Another flick and the whip curled back to Giant. Quentin fumbled for his medical kit. He needed to stop the river of blood pouring out of Slim’s unmoving form. Quentin heard a sick crack and looked back in time to see Billy lying in a heap in front of Giant. The man locked eyes with Quentin. There was no amusement or even annoyance in those dark eyes. They were filled with a fire Quentin couldn’t decipher. The moment was broken as Giant leapt over Quentin and his fallen team. As the man strode into the museum, he cracked his whip once again.

The crates on the dock began to rattle as the familiar moan of zombies echoed through the loading dock. Quentin’s mind raced, trying to figure out what to do. Then, Slim grabbed Quentin’s arm, and moaned.

Zombie Strike Part 3 Chapter 22

Over Mexico City, 16300 hours local, 2 December 2009, Countdown: 2 years, 29 days

Quentin McLintock swallowed down a wave of nausea as he caught sight of the ground speeding under the helicopter. Motion sickness was one of his curses. Quentin swore under his breath. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to concentrate on something else. Like the new gear Mateo foisted upon him before bundling the team onto the helicopter.

The armor was comfortable. In fact, it reminded Quentin of the pads and protection he had worn as a linebacker. The base was simply a version of the popular Lycra sports garments Quentin had worn for years, except this stuff was tear-resistant. That meant it was also very hard to bite through. Then came a harness for the electronics, including the radio, sat phone, GPS, and a few other things Quentin wasn’t sure how they worked. They all tied into a PDA that reminded Quentin of a very rugged iPod. A Camelback went on next. The shoulder, chest, and gut protection was articulated polymer over Kevlar. The arms and legs were protected with leather augmented with plastic at the joints. All of his gear was stored in a series of rigid pouches scattered around the outside of his armor. The helmet was perhaps the strangest piece of the armor. The actual helmet was styled similarly to an American combat helmet with a flip out mount for enhancements. A tinted face shield attached to for a seamless wraparound bucket. Quentin caught a reflection of himself, and felt like the ancient ancestor of an Imperial stormtrooper.

The carbine, at least, was relatively normal. The "Zombie-Killing Carbine", or ZKC as the team called it, started out as a Bushmaster ACR. The rear of the weapon retained the familiar controls and stock. An ACOG-type sight graced the top of the weapon with a flip-up bracket to attach additional enhancements, such as nightvision or a thermal imager. The front of the weapon displayed none of its lineage. It looked like a single piece of molded plastic with an integral suppressor, high-powered white light, laser, and flip-down vertical grip. The whole package was somewhere between combat functional, tacti-cool, and futuristic. Mateo swore the "ZKC" was an easy weapon to master, but Quentin wished he had more time to work with it.

"Okay, the bad guys are in the Mexican Museum of Anthropology," Mateo said over the team’s radio, "The place emptied out fast once the zombies showed up, but intel says at least ten to thirty civilians were turned."

"Where are we getting intel?" asked Collin DuBois from the other helicopter.

"Local control says there are a couple of Mexican police on scene who haven’t run," Mateo answered, "They’re keeping their distance, but trying to watch what the bad guys are doing. Best estimates are fifty or so zombies, two guys in dark clothes, and Giant. The non-zombies are hunting for something while the zombies are keeping away the humans."

"Sounds like a party," Billy Shakespear interjected.

"Glad you think so," Mateo answered dryly, "Control wants us to eliminate the outbreak."

"I know that tone, Matty," Collin said, "What’s the real op?"

"Giant and his two minions are in there for a reason. They need to be captured to find out what their end game is," Mateo answered, "That’s Alpha team’s job. Quentin, myself, Slim, and Billy are on Alpha. Collin, you have everyone else for Bravo. Standard zombie clearing, but be ready to come to the rescue." There was a chorus of mike clicks as the team acknowledged Mateo’s orders.

The two helicopters flared to a hover before dropping to the ground. The first out were the professionals – Collin, The Steve, and the Brit Boys. The rest of the team followed them onto the museum grounds. Mateo flashed hand signals. Quentin couldn’t remember what they meant. It didn’t matter. He just had to stick with Mateo.

Collin and the rest of Beta team moved into the museum’s shattered entryway. Debris and discarded items were scattered over the marble floor. There were no zombies, but the wrecked exhibits left a clear trail. Beta team cautiously moved in. Mateo didn’t wait for them to disappear into the museum. He pulled the four members of Alpha around him.

"The police focused on the zombies, so we don’t have a clear idea of where our target is," Mateo explained, displaying the museum’s floor plans on his PDA, "Suggestions?"

"The museum was the main recipient of the artifacts we were digging up," Quentin said, "They’ll probably be searching the labs and offices for the more recent artifacts." The others nodded.

"Okay, Billy you’ve got point," Mateo ordered, "Quentin, you’re next. You know the place better than we do, so you’re navigator."

"Matt, I’ve never been here before," Quentin protested.

"You know the back side of a museum," Mateo answered, "Good enough for now." Quentin knew better than to argue the point. Mateo didn’t care if he was asking for the impossible again. He just expected Quentin to perform. As Billy led them through the museum’s entrance, Quentin studied the information on his PDA. The best place to start would be the receiving dock. Quentin drew a line on his PDA from Alpha’s position to the dock and uploaded it to everyone else’s PDA. Okay, the technology was pretty impressive. The question was how much was it going to help against someone like Giant?

Quentin winced at the sound as Billy smashed open the door leading to the back. For such a small person, Billy could deliver a lot of force when he wanted to. The corridor was a main access hallway. It was lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The off-color walls and linoleum highlighted the eeriness of the empty and quiet hallway. Quentin felt like he was walking into the set of a horror flick. It was a straight shot of maybe three hundred feet to the docks. Mateo flashed urgent hand signals and the team entered the hallway with trepidation.

About halfway down the hallway intersected another. Quentin’s heart pounded in his chest as Billy slid against the wall towards the intersection. Billy popped around the corner into the other hallway. Endless seconds passed as Quentin strained to listen for the faint sound of suppressed gunfire. He almost longed for action – any action. Anything to break the nervous tension. Billy slipped back around the corner and motioned. Nothing. Maybe the way was clear.

Quentin felt a little better as the team neared the door to the docks. He didn’t expect to find his target in the docks. Maybe something that would give Quentin an idea of why Giant had come to the museum. He started thinking on this as the team skulked towards the door. What had they come for? What could they need from this museum they didn’t find at the dig site? The team was maybe thirty feet from the door to the docks when it all went dark.

"Welcome to the trap gentlemen," came the familiar voice of the man dubbed Giant, and Quentin’s stomach plummeted. The next sound was the familiar howls of gollums.

Zombie Strike Part 3 Chapter 21