Zombie Team Alpha (16 page)

No way. No how.

He rounded the next corner and skidded to a stop in the dirt. He could hear the colonel still firing single shots from the Glock just behind him, so he ran back to where he had left the man. The colonel turned and bumped into him, knocking them both off balance. Together, they held each other up and stilled. Cutter tilted his head to one side and listened. The earpiece Morgan had given him was amplifying the sounds of approaching footsteps, but he couldn’t tell from which direction they were coming.

He twisted his head left and right. The colonel did the same. Then he sorted it out.
Ah, Crap.
Neither direction inside the tunnel was going to lead to any kind of safety.

“Blocked,” Cutter said, spitting the word out with a mouthful of disgust. “Both ways.”

“Where then?” Suvorov asked.

He grabbed the man by the shirt and dragged him back to the ramp that led down the dark path that he swore he would never take, realizing now that he had no other choice but to take it.

“I’ll be right on your tail,” he said to the man as he unhooked two flash-bangs grenades from his vest, pulled the pins with opposing fingers.

He tossed the M84s in opposite directions inside the tunnel. Then he pushed the colonel down into the darkness and slid in after him.

~36~

FIRST OBSTACLE

John Wayland and his team made it to the bottom of the elevator shaft. As his hired man opened the lift gate for him, he held up the small tablet in his hand and found the odd signal the artifact was giving off. But it was impossible to pinpoint. There was too much interference to get a solid lock on it. Still, he knew generally where it was. He pointed to the largest shaft to the left.

“That way,” he ordered.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a scene of utter chaos. Blood was everywhere. Bodies were everywhere. Inanimate creatures lay scattered across the mineshaft floor like so many discarded dolls. Most were missing large chunks of their skulls. Many had literally been cut to shreds by some seriously heavy firepower. He had to give Cutter that. The man traveled with a team that could become a virtual meat-grinder. The big man, Gauge, was most likely going to be difficult to bring down.
But not too difficult.
A single shot from a small-caliber gun would be enough—if fired into the back of his head.

As Wayland scanned the area, he saw no indication the zombies had inflicted any damage at all to Cutter and his team. The dead were just men dressed in Russian uniforms.

“They must have gotten away.” He started making a clucking noise with his tongue.

The man next to him, Briggs, turned to him. “This is too much bad shit. We didn’t sign up for any of this, sir.”

“Don’t lose your nerve now,” Wayland said calmly. “You are being paid very well. Extremely well.”

“I cannot guarantee your safety any longer, sir. Or that of my men. I recommend we abort and return to the surface and wait for them to come to us.”

“Are you kidding me?” Wayland said, irritated. “No, of course we are not returning to the surface. Not until Mr. Cutter and his team are dead, and I have that bitch’s throat firmly between my fingers. I will—”

He stopped cold. He’d heard something.

~37~

MORE COMING TO THE PARTY

A third helicopter landed behind the other two already in the clearing. Dawn was just about to break, and the sky was turning a slightly lighter shade of blue. This third Mi-8 had come in heavy because it was carrying a full complement of highly trained and specialized Russian troops. Most were former Spetsnaz and had turned mercenary after their unit had been disbanded by an uncaring bureaucratic government. While not quite as deadly and well-equipped as US Special Forces, these were the very best troops that money could buy on the open market.

Anton Moray always paid top dollar for the best people. That was how he had clawed his way to the top of his industry. He could spot value, and he could spot frauds. And he’d pegged John Wayland for the fraud that he was the minute he had laid eyes on the guy. But he was a useful idiot. He knew the man would betray him on this project, which was why he had set his plan in motion two days before Wayland brought in Jackson Cutter and team to retrieve the device. That was why he was here now, and the last one to the party—
last, but soon to be the first.

Everyone else were just pawns. One of them was bound to get lucky and retrieve the device. Anton Moray didn’t need luck. He made his own. There was only one way out, and he simply had to wait long enough for them to return to the surface. Then he could just…take it from them.

“Establish a perimeter,” he told the battle-hardened major to his right. “I want to know the second one of them returns.”

Orders were given, and supply crates were unloaded, and guns were readied while he watched—and waited. A chair was brought for him and a bottle of some expensive sparkling water. He twisted the top off and chucked it into the weeds. Then he raised the bottle in toast toward the mine.

“Let’s wait and see who wins,” he said to no one in particular.

~38~

SACRIFICE

Cutter spat damp earth from his mouth. It tasted foul. He coughed once, then said, “You okay?” He said it half to reassure himself and half to discover the status of the man he was certain had tumbled down the shaft beside him.

Colonel Suvorov groaned, proving that he was still alive. Cutter fell into a hacking fit while feeling around for his flashlight. Each cough hurt. It also hurt to move and to think, but as he moved, he ran through a mental checklist of his various bones and limbs and discovered that nothing had apparently broken. Maybe just a rib or two, which made it difficult to breathe, but not impossible to do so. Still, that did not stop the pain that afflicted his entire body. It felt like the very hand of God had attempted to smite him down in a series of blows—and had almost succeeded.

Suvorov hadn’t answered with anything other than moans of pain by the time Cutter found the switch on his flashlight and clicked it on. He shined it around the cramped space and found the colonel lying nearby. The guy didn’t look so good. A splinter of white bone was protruding from where the man’s kneecap should have been, and his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle with the foot significantly out of alignment with the knee. The colonel winced at the pain and blinked as the beam of light fell on his face. He raised a hand feebly and batted away at the glare, causing dust to swirl in the air in front of him.

Cutter crawled over to where the colonel was resting in the dirt. He tried to help the man sit up, and it became quickly apparent that a broken leg was the least of the man’s worries. The fall had been much harder on the guy than it had been on Cutter, which had been bad enough.

Colonel Suvorov raised his left arm and patted his chest pocket. Cutter shined the light there and nodded. He unbuttoned the pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes and grinned at the odd lettering on the cellophane-wrapped pack, then back down at the colonel.

“Lighter?” Cutter asked. “Don’t have one of my own.”

The colonel nodded to his pants, and Cutter found a metal lighter there, though he felt a little weird digging around inside another man’s pockets. Leaning back, he tapped out two smokes, lit them both, and set one on the colonel’s lips. The man inhaled and coughed spasmodically. His eyes closed and then opened slowly.

Cutter backed away and rested his battered body against a rock and tried to get comfortable. It didn’t work out so well. With a twist, he clicked his flashlight to the widest beam setting possible and propped it against the wall, which gave them just enough light to smoke by.

He looked around for the small pack filled with grenades that Gauge had affixed to his vest, but it was not immediately visible. It had probably been torn off in the fall and not made it to the bottom of the shaft yet. Or maybe those zombies had it. Maybe they would find a use for it. Maybe even blow themselves up.
If I could be so lucky.
His only wish was that he could have grabbed another clip or two before taking the plunge. He also searched the ground for his helmet, but no dice. It was gone as well. The angry swelling lump he felt growing on the back of his head reminded him that one should buckle one’s helmet first if one should decide to go tumbling down a mineshaft into the darkness.

He figured he’d just have to forget about all that and focus on his immediate problems. His AR was nearby and had made it to the bottom of the sloped shaft. He dragged it over to him with the heel of his boot. Then he remembered the comm device Morgan had given him. It was in his side pocket, so he reached for it only to find it broken. He tossed the useless thing and glanced back at the colonel.

The glowing tip of the man’s cigarette was dim, and growing ever dimmer. Then, suddenly, Suvorov startled and took a big puff, causing the tip to glow cherry red. Cutter sucked on his own cigarette and sampled the foulness of the Russian cigarette.

“These things taste like shit,” he said, holding his out at arm’s length and then coughing against his forearm. When he finished his fit, he took another drag and contemplated the real meaning of life once given to him by a one-eyed guy dressed like Jimi Hendrix.

Life happens until you die, man.

He didn’t have much more time than that few seconds of contemplation because he was already beginning to hear the small avalanches of rocks coming from the shaft they’d both tumbled down. It was only a matter of time before one of those zombies dared to make the descent. Perhaps one had even started down it already. Maybe it got stuck.
Wouldn’t that be something?
Or, maybe they were proving smarter than he was by not taking the heedless plunge. He drew another breath and chuckled to himself grimly. He figured he was well enough to get the hell out of there on his own, but it was going to be doubly hard doing so while also supporting Colonel Suvorov.

Suck it up, buttercup
, he remembered Morgan telling him. She was right. He would just have to find a way out and stop worrying about it. Worrying got him nowhere fast.

As he turned back Suvorov, he recognized the grim look on the man’s face. The man was dying. It was only a matter of time. Maybe a minute, maybe two. Maybe ten. But he was going to slip the mortal coil.

Soon.

Cutter stabbed out his cigarette. “Time we get the hell out of here, you old Russian bastard. I’ll race you to the top.”

The colonel started to laugh, but it turned into a coughing and choking fit, and during it, he lost the cigarette dangling from his lips. It rolled away, and the tip sparked and broke off and then went black.

“You go,” Colonel Suvorov said. “I’ll stay here and keep them company.”

“No, we are both getting out of here. No one gets left behind, right?”

“
Bah!
You Americans and your slogans. Go on. Get going. I will catch up with you.”

Cutter watched as the colonel struggled to draw his sidearm and set it in his lap. He went over to the man and picked up the gun and checked it. “Now, come on. Put that thing away and let’s get going.”

Suvorov stifled a laugh and grimaced. Nodding, Cutter continued to inspect the man’s weapon. There was only a single round remaining. He made sure that round was loaded and handed the gun back to Suvorov.

“I will save it,” the old soldier said. “I will not become one of those things.”

Cutter took the man’s cigarettes and tapped out another. It was the last one in the pack. He crumpled the pack and tossed it aside. More rocks came tumbling down the sloped shaft.

“Take this,” Suvorov said. He held out Cutter’s Glock, which he must have fallen on. “I have what I need. I want a Russian bullet and die on Russian soil.”

Cutter then heard the sound of something else falling. Acting on instinct, he bent forward and yanked Colonel Suvorov out of the way. One of the zombies came tumbling down the sloped tunnel and fell into the room.

Letting go of Suvorov, Cutter fumbled for the Glock, but the colonel acted faster. The man raised his own weapon and fired. The zombie’s head exploded, and it went limp.

As the sound cleared, Cutter spotted something the zombie had knocked loose—his small pack. He snatched it up over his shoulder and backed away as he shared a grim look with Suvorov.

More zombies were coming. The noise of falling stones was getting louder. Cutter swapped a fresh clip into his Glock and tried again to pick up the colonel.

“Go,” the man said, shaking his head. “I do not need the bullet. Those boys became men today. They were too young to die for this. I am old. It is my time. I will be gone long before they get here.”

Cutter dragged the colonel away from the bottom of the shaft. The man was bulky and every inch he dragged him was excruciatingly painful. But he got him far enough away that he wouldn’t have one of those creatures land on top of him if it came tumbling down the shaft.

Nodding as Suvorov settled against a rock, Cutter adjusted his flashlight and clipped it to his vest so it would light the entire space in front of him. Then he checked the M203 bolted to his AR and felt the weight of a single remaining HEDP round still in the chamber. If he fired it close enough to the support beam at the bottom of the shaft they had tumbled down, he could bring that section of the tunnel down on top of them both. And if he didn’t fire it, the zombies would certainly overrun them.

It mattered little. God was in no mood to spare the rod this time. Cutter was ready to go if fate had it in for him. Gauge and Morgan were probably dead already too, and it was all his fault. There was no way they could have gotten through such a large horde of those things. And where could they have run to? They’d been cut off, most likely. And he had been the one that had gotten them killed—just as he’d gone and gotten his wife killed a year earlier.

If I go right now, it won’t be so bad.

He heard another noise, and a split second later, a group of zombies made it to the bottom of the shaft, slipping and sliding. They had tumbled into one another but were already regaining their feet. It wouldn’t take them long to mount an assault.

Cutter gave one last look of respect to the colonel. The man took a puff on his cigarette and raised an arm in salute, touching fingers to forehead. Cutter nodded and backed away as far as he could then squeezed the trigger on the M203. The business end of the tube whooshed as the modified forty-millimeter HEDP round left the barrel.