Tampa, Florida, 2300 hours Local, 15 October 2009, Countdown: 2 years, 2 months, 16 days

Mateo Cortez woke with a start. Pain flashed through his body as he realized he escaped the nightmare. As he lay back in the unfamiliar bed, Mateo decided it was probably time to seek professional help. The nightmares were getting worse. Mateo finally looked around the room. It looked like a hospital room. Some sort of IV drip was hooked up to his left arm. Other unfamiliar machines beeped and displayed what Mateo assumed were his vitals. There was something though that said this wasn’t a hospital room. Could it be an infirmary in the county jail? Mateo could remember the end of the fight with the zombies in the office complex. The men who appeared at the end were definitely cops. Did they arrest him? He didn’t have any restraints on him.

"Yo, boss-dude, glad to see you’re awake," The Steve said as he entered the room. Mateo relaxed a bit. If The Steve was here, it wasn’t jail. Unfortunately, that meant Mateo had no clue where he was. The Steve ambled into the room with a casual walk. He was dressed in a black t-shirt, tan cargo shorts, and flip-flops. The Steve picked up Mateo’s chart from the foot of the bed and read silently for a minute. Outward appearance notwithstanding, The Steve was an excellent medic – as Mateo could attest to personally.

"Well my man, it looks like you managed to dislocate your shoulder," The Steve pronounced, "Doc put it back in and knocked you out with some pain killers. You’re shiny. It’s just gonna hurt a lot. You should be out of here, no prob."

"Where exactly is here?" Mateo asked, "I take it this isn’t Tampa General. Are we even still in Florida?"

"Oh, yeah, we’re still in Tampa," The Steve answered, putting down the chart, "Mackenzie and Winston rented out one of those medical parks and stashed you. They even had a doc come in and fix you up." Mateo was trying to forget about being involved with the shadowy insurance firm. Now, they just showed back up when he least expected it. What was that line from The Godfather?

"Exactly how did M&W know about this little incident?" Mateo asked in a controlled voice.

"C’mon my man – zombies?" The Steve said as if that explained everything, "As soon as the cops reported zombies in Tampa, M&W swooped in, plucked you out of police custody, and snagged me to watch over you. I think they’re tracking something." Mateo arched an eyebrow in a silent question. Zombies showing up in Florida spontaneously was ludicrous. If M&W was involved, then it was likely the zombies Mateo fought were linked to something bigger. Possibly, something world threatening.

Mateo’s stomach dropped as Nigel Brown walked into the room. Mateo had nothing against Brown personally. The representative for M&W had done right by Mateo and his team the last time. That said, the last time Mateo ended up leading his team against an acolyte of an Aztec god, and not everyone made it out alive, in one piece, or even sane. Every instinct in Mateo was screaming the immaculately dressed Brit’s appearance in Tampa boded ill.

"I’m glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Cortez," Nigel said with a sharp English accent. Brown was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Nigel was worried about something. That wasn’t good. Nigel didn’t worry about small things. Mateo decided not to waste time dickering around with pleasantries.

"What do you want Nigel?" Mateo asked, trying to soften the blunt words with a calm tone, "Or more to the point, what does M&W want with me? Enough to do all of this?" Mateo motioned to the room. The bluntness caught Nigel off-guard. His brown spectacled eyes darted around as he collected himself.

"Um, well, yes, I can see how it appears," Nigel temporized, "Please believe me that M&W didn’t provide this medical care to place you in our debt. You’ve done us a service, and this is the least we could do." Nigel paused long enough to clean his glasses with a handkerchief.

"As you’ve clearly surmised, there is more to those zombies you dispatched earlier," Nigel said, "M&W has reason to believe that an unknown party absconded with at least one zombie from Skull Island." Mateo frowned. Skull Island was the one place on Earth known to be habitated by zombies. It was also home to Zombie Strike!, the reality-slash-game-slash-extreme sport show.

"How did they do that?" Mateo asked. The revenues from the television show and hunting trips, along with M&W’s covert support, paid for highly-trained teams of game wardens to prevent people from snatching a zombie off the island.

"We don’t know. We weren’t even aware of what happened until an outbreak occurred in Panama around the Canal Zone. At that point, we started an investigation and discovered the theft," Nigel continued, "Now the outbreak here. Needless to say, this has the firm’s attention."

"So, what?" Mateo asked with a touch of frustration, "You want me to track down a possible smuggler? I’m not a PI. I wouldn’t have any idea of how to investigate something like this." Nigel was unfazed by Mateo’s retort.

"That part wouldn’t be your concern," Nigel said, "The firm already has retained some of the finest investigators available. Former members of your Federal Bureau of Investigation as well as some from Thames House." Those people would be from the British Security Service, also known as MI5. "We already have an investigative team tracking the perpetrators. What the firm requests from you would be to lead the armed response team being assembled to assist the investigators." Mateo’s eyes narrowed.

"Lead a team again?" Mateo asked with a deadly quiet voice, "Do you really think that’s a good idea?"

"No," Nigel said shaking his head, "I don’t think you’re ready. Yet, you are one of the rare individuals on the planet who can do combat with the undead, and you have led a team previously into combat with zombies. Those qualities cannot be overlooked. Especially with time being a critical factor. We must stop these perpetrators before another outbreak occurs."

"C’mon boss-man, I got you’re back," The Steve said, striking his familiar pose – brilliant smile and both thumbs up.

"I can’t," Mateo said, "You’re right Nigel, I can face zombies without fleeing in terror, and I can fight them, but I can’t lead a team for you. I’ll help your team out as a shooter. I can do that much." The Steve looked crestfallen, but Nigel nodded in understanding.

"Will you be willing to be an operator on the armed response team?" Nigel asked The Steve, "Even if Mr. Cortez is not the leader?"

"Yeah," The Steve said grudgingly, "Someone’s got to show the newbs how things are done."

"Well then, I will leave you two to catch up," Nigel said, "The doctor will be by in the morning to check the shoulder. Barring anything unforeseen Mr. Cortez, you should be released shortly after that. Please expect our team leader to contact you within forty-eight hours." Mateo and The Steve said goodbye as Nigel walked out of the room.

Nigel stepped out into the muggy Florida night. He couldn’t understand how civilized human beings could live in such an environment. The humidity was bad enough Nigel wondered if he would need gills to just walk around. Grumbling, Nigel pulled the phone out of his jacket. He still had one phone call to make before he could retire for the evening.

"I assume you owe me twenty bucks now," said the deep melodic voice in greeting, "How’s our boy?"

"He dislocated his shoulder during his brief skirmish, Mr. Blanchard," Brown asked, annoyed more at himself than anything else, "Mr. Cortez should be fine for our purposes. How did you know how he would react to our proposal?"

"My brother, I know my people," Kenn Blanchard answered. Kenn, aka The Black Man With A Gun, was popularly known as the host of Zombie Strike! and head honcho at Skull Island. Unbeknowst to the general public, Kenn was also M&W’s operational commander for dealing with the growing number of zombie incidents. Kenn liked to see himself as a sort of Nick Fury-like leader of the anti-zombie forces. After being forced to watch some of the American superhero movies, Nigel could see a bit of the character in Kenn’s bearing, but Nigel believed it was the compassionate preacher side of the man that truly allowed Kenn to bring out the best in those under him.

"I won’t deny Mr. Cortez’s ability as a zombie hunter, but I still believe we’re doing him a disservice by bringing him into this operation," Nigel protested, hoping to change Kenn’s mind.

"Nigel, that man’s been Chosen, with a capital C," Kenn said with an earnest sincerity, "You’ve read over what we recovered from that temple. You can call it fate if that makes it easier for you, but Matt’s one of the keys. He just needs a nudge down the right path."

Zombie Strike Part 2 Chapter 12

Tampa, Florida, 1400 hours Local, 15 October 2009, Countdown: 2 years, 2 months, 16 days

Mateo Cortez stepped out of his cool, air-conditioned car into the muggy heat of the Florida afternoon. He felt sweat spring out across his face and back. Florida never really shook the summer heat until late November at the earliest. Mateo could easily expect to wear shorts and sandals for Christmas. At least the bay kept things sort of tolerable.

The office building in front of him gleamed with its newness. Mateo was here to talk with the crew completing the offices for the first tenants. The owners wanted another status report. At least he got along well enough with the crews. They understood he didn’t like these interruptions anymore than they did. He was reaching in for his briefcase when he heard the screams.

Mateo instinctively sprinted into the office building. All he could think was a horrific accident. He fumbled for his phone. Mateo stopped as he saw the workers stampeding to get out of the building. That wasn’t right. These men worked on enough construction sites. Most of them had seen some pretty nasty accidents during their careers. What would send them running for their lives? Mateo spotted the crew’s foreman, Red Shaleman, and yanked the man as he tried to pass Mateo.

"Matt, we need to get out of here. Right now!" the foreman demanded. His eyes were wide with panic. This was definitely not right. Red had nearly thirty years in the business. He was known for being calm under pressure and unflappable in the midst of any crisis. Red wasn’t evacuating a job site after an incident. He was fleeing as fast as he could.

"What’s the problem Red?" Mateo asked as calmly as he could, ignoring the growing pandemonium around the two. Red’s weathered face was tense with shock. The older man couldn’t understand why Mateo wasn’t getting out of the building as fast as he could. Red tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. The howling moans that pierced the frantic din answered all of Mateo’s questions.

"Don’t let anyone in here," Mateo ordered the foreman. Red nodded furiously. Mateo let the man continue running out of the building. He sidestepped as the last few workers sprinted by. Mateo put away his phone. The police weren’t going to be any help until he dealt with the problem. He walked cautiously towards the sound. The moans were definitely coming from the office suite the crew was working on. One of the wooden double doors was jammed open. Mateo stood behind the closed door. He closed his eyes and listened. The moans sounded again. Mateo opened his eyes. There were at least three of them in the office suite. More to the point, those were homing moans. The three weren’t together, but were trying to find each other. Mateo slid off his sports jacket and removed his tie. He drew his Sig P229.

What are zombies doing in Florida? Mateo thought as he peered into the office suite. The reception area was dark with only a little light filtering in from one of the offices. Mateo snuck into the room and pressed the light switch. Nothing. One of the workers probably tore something out by accident in their panic. Mateo took careful steps up to the door separating the reception area from the rest of the office.

To Mateo’s right was a cubicle farm. To the left were the offices. The midday sun streamed through their doorless openings. The light brightened the space between the offices and the cubicles, but the high walls of the cubicles kept the cubicle farm dark. Hunting in there would be nasty and difficult. The walkway between the offices and cubicles stretched back some fifty feet before curving back to a conference room. The zombies moaned again. From the sound, one zombie was in the cube farm. The other two sounded like they were in the conference room. That was a piece of good luck. If they were separated, that made Mateo’s task easier.

First, Mateo needed to deal with the zombie in the cube farm. It was by itself and the closest. Mateo took one look at the darkened cubicles before he fished out the small Surefire flashlight out of his pocket. With the Sig in his right hand and his flashlight in the left, Mateo slowly advanced into the cube farm. The movement was awkward at first, but Mateo’s instructors drilled it into him. It was slow, but it always made sure Mateo was in a stable firing position. It was also very quiet, which was a great benefit when hunting zombies.

Zombies were strange creatures. Not just because they were the walking dead. They didn’t act like any other creature in nature. A zombie would ignore the high-power beam from the Surefire, but any decent noise would bring any zombie within earshot. It was why their moans were so dangerous. A zombie moan could bring the living dead for a half a mile. Of course, if you got too close, the damned things could smell you.

The cubicle farm consisted of two rows of approximately fifteen cubicles with a walkway wide enough for two people. Mateo shone the light down the walkway. No zombie. Probably in one of the cubicles. Mateo wasn’t about to go root it out armed with only a pistol. There were easier ways to commit suicide. A sufficiently dull spoon for example. It would be easier to play the bait. Mateo slipped into the nearest cubicle. It was only the four carpeted walls. The work crews wouldn’t have installed the desks and furniture until the next week. Still, it would give Mateo decent cover.

"COME ON OUT!" Mateo hollered. The sound of a human voice was an irresistible draw for zombies. Better than peanut butter for a raccoon. Mateo braced with his pistol and flashlight up. He was ready to take down the zombie.

Mateo jumped as the cubicle wall crashed down behind Mateo as the zombie burst through. Mateo spun as the zombie stumbled at him. The familiar smell of rotting flesh filled Mateo’s nostrils as he barely escaped the lunging arms. His body fell into the familiar fighting stance as the zombie lunged again. Mateo batted the arms away with his left hand, but couldn’t get his right up for the kill shot. Mateo took a step back and felt the rear foot slide out from under him as he hit the plastic paint cover. Mateo cursed as he hit the carpeted floor. Mateo managed to twist so he fell on his left side. The shoulder shot pain throughout his body as it hit. Mateo managed to ignore the pain as his training took over. The pistol snapped up and barked twice. The bullets slammed into the bridge of the zombie’s nose. Mateo remembered just in time to roll as the zombie collapsed next to him.

Mateo looked at the unmoving corpse. Oh Lord, it was Chris Anders. Mateo despised him when he was alive. Anders acted like the worst stereotype of a construction worker and made Mateo’s job hell on more than one occasion. Yet in that instant, Mateo felt an overwhelming sympathy for the man. In Mateo’s view, death by zombie was one of the most horrific ways to die. At least Anders should be at peace.

The moans snapped Mateo back to the present. Adrenaline shot through his body. He felt the shooting pain from his shoulder lessen. Mateo stood up. The other two zombies were closer. Worse, those were definitely the short, high-pitched hunting moans. Mateo slid out of the cubicle farm back into the main walkway. The filtered daylight illuminated the two shambling zombies. Mateo tried to fall into the Weaver stance, but his left shoulder screamed in pain.

"Buck up boyo," Mateo said to himself, mimicking his former teammate Collin Dubois, as he brought up the Sig. "Put the bloody lollipop on the stick and squeeze." The zombie on the right fell as Mateo placed a double tap into its head. Mateo pivoted and placed the white and green dot on the last zombie. It completely ignored its counterpart’s death. It was focused on making Mateo its meal. A second double-tap stopped that from happening.

"Put the weapon down!" commanded an angry voice behind Mateo. Mateo carefully lowered the pistol to the ground. Rough hands grappled Mateo instantly. He was shoved to the floor while his arms were immobilized. One of the hands gripped Mateo’s left shoulder. The pain shot through Mateo’s body with a vengeance. Mateo could feel his body shutting down from the pain and the loss of the adrenaline.

"Oh my God, those are zombies!" exclaimed another voice. Mateo wanted to say something witty. The blackness consumed him before he could make his mouth work.

Zombie Strike Part 2 Chapter 11