Zombie Team Alpha (18 page)

~41~

FLOODED

Right then Cutter wanted another cigarette. Even if it was one of those crappy Russian cigarettes he’d smoked with Suvorov before he’d pulled the trigger and launched the grenade that had killed the man.

He would just have to make do with the relaxed afterglow of one of the wildest rides he’d had in his entire life. It was E-ticket territory. All through their lovemaking, the door continued to pound, and he and the very warm, very welcoming Dr. Martinez had sought to match the rhythm.

She was up now and finishing the buttoning of her shirt. She had said nothing the entire time they had been entangled other than the occasional escaped moan. For someone he had once thought so cold, she was one of the warmest and most passionate women he had ever been with. She really didn’t need to say a word. Her body spoke for her.
What other surprises does she have to offer?

Perhaps it was wrong. Perhaps the fact that death was right outside the door. Maybe that had changed them both. Maybe that had brought about a level of life and desire that had gone beyond the ethereal. Whatever the case—
it was pretty damn awesome.
Or, maybe it was just him wishing he’d had the same opportunity with his wife before she had fallen away to her death.

Just once more.

And for the past few hours, he had been racking up even more souls and putting too many deep notches in his own spirit.
They’ll be hell to pay one day. A reckoning. But not today.

He swung away from her and stared at the door. The muted pounding continued, making him wonder if those things would ever give up.

No sooner than he had thought that it happened. The zombies outside seemed to have given up and left Cutter and Dr. Martinez in complete silence.

Then that silence was broken by a new sound.

A faint beeping sound.

He heard it again and rose from where he’d been sitting. He flashed a questioning glance at Dr. Martinez. He caught her eyes moving to a small pack sitting on a bench at the far end of the room. He went to the pack and picked it up. It was heavy. He began to open it.

“Wait,” she said.

He returned a questioning look and then unzipped the pack. Inside were various pieces of electronic equipment including a small round device that looked like a remote trigger, three flash-bang grenades, and two bricks of C4 along with detonators. He heard the beep again and dug deeper.

At the bottom of the pack, he found one of the small VLF communications devices Morgan had given him and that he had subsequently broken in the fall down the shaft with Suvorov.

What the hell? How did she get her hands on this?
He pulled the device out and glanced at her. She shook her head and looked away. He then read the message displayed in orange block letters on the screen.

HELP. TRAPPED.

The timestamped identifier preceding the message said it had come from Morgan about ten minutes earlier. He slid open the keyboard and typed a message of his own. Since he was not using the VLF device he’d been given, he made sure to add his initials so she would know who had sent the message.

WHERE? SAFE NOW. JC

He hit send, and the device beeped ten-seconds later letting him know the message had been sent.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

She shook her head again.

“You take it from us? It was you who set the bomb on the crate?”

“Bomb?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, trying to discern the truth. Part of his mind was telling him that she was lying, but his gut was telling him that she was not.
Why would she try to kill us?
He hadn’t stopped to think it through fully. She had saved him twice. If she had wanted to kill him, there were easier ways than setting a bomb in that crate.
But if it wasn’t her, then, who—?

The device beeped again.

WTH? J? WITH L. NO AM. FND ARTFCT.

Dr. Martinez had come over and was reading the tiny display over his shoulder.

Cutter grumbled, “How the hell am I supposed to know where that is?”

“I think I know,” Dr. Martinez said. “I mean I can find out.”

Cutter turned to her. “How?”

She returned to the pack she’d left on the bench and pulled out her tablet computer and switched it on. Returning, she showed him a map. There were a series of flashing gray markers in the upper right corner.

He put his finger under the markers. “What are we looking at here?”

“One of those marks where it is. But I don’t have an exact fix on it. There is too much interference.”

“How can you tell for sure?”

“Complicated,” she said.

He left it at that and chewed on his bottom lip, thinking.

“So where are we?”

She pointed to one of the junctions, and he traced his finger over the map of the mine. “Is there some way I can I make this bigger?”

She set two fingers on the tablet and expanded the map and showed him how to scroll it left and right, up and down. He studied the screen for a moment and all the connecting tunnels. The small shaft he’d fallen down with Suvorov was not even part of the map that he could make out, but he could tell that if he had gone the opposite direction, they would have returned to the correct junction that would have taken them back to the lifts and to the surface. But it also might have driven them straight into the zombie horde.

He returned his focus to the dots representing the possible locations for the artifact. None were far away. They were clustered together. He would only need to take a few short side tunnels and then make a right at the next junction to get to the primary location, and—

“We can get to them,” he stated. “We just need to get the hell out of here first. Are you okay to run? It won’t be easy.”

She sighed, and nodded.

“Okay,” he said as he fished in his pocket for the protective earbuds. He memorized the turns he would need to take. Then he sent one final message to Morgan.

CALVARY COMING.

He gave one last check of his remaining ammo in his Glock. Four shots remained in the magazine. When he clicked the magazine off the AR, he found only two rounds remained in it.

“You still have that PPK?”

Dr. Martinez nodded and drew it from a holster strapped to her back. He checked it. She had a few rounds remaining as well.

“Spares?”

She shook her head no as he handed the weapon back to her.
Great.
He grabbed all three of the flash-bang grenades from the small pack and the explosives. He clipped one grenade to his vest and prepared the first of the remaining two by pulling the pin out and holding the handle down tight.

They both stepped to the door.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Open it a crack and turn away.”

She did as he asked, and he tossed one of the flash bangs through the gap and clamped his eyes shut. The door pushed closed under the weight of the sudden surge coming from creatures outside. He heard the dull thud of the grenade and immediately shoved the door open with his injured shoulder, which barked with pain. Blinking away tears, he scanned the area ahead of him with his flashlight. An entire host of the creatures was there to greet him. Many were the former miners still dressed in their overalls and covered in muck and dust. Those same satanic eyes stared back at him in horror. But the grenade had had its desired effect. The horde was momentarily stunned. But it was recovering quickly.

Hurry.

He rolled the second grenade as he raised his gun to fire. Clamping his eyes shut again, he waited for the next thud then pushed his way through the crowd, shooting twice to drop the zombies immediately in front of him. Then he covered his face and raised the empty AR and slammed it into any of the creatures that did not clear out of his path. He took a brief moment to check for Dr. Martinez. She was tied to his hip directly behind him with her gun out and raised above his shoulder, ready to shoot anything he couldn’t handle. With a final bash to the slavering teeth, he knocked the last of the zombies backward and ran for the junction that was just ahead, bringing his flashlight up and shining it down the long tube he’d chosen to his left.

Clear.

He sprinted as fast as his legs would take him. He could hear the doctor running just behind him, but he also heard the sounds of dozens of more feet pounding dirt echoing from the walls.

“
Faster!
” he yelled as he coaxed her to move ahead of him.

She sprinted, pulling past, and he kept his flashlight up so they could see the way ahead.

Then she suddenly came to a halt.

Crap.

The way ahead dipped lower, and as he flashed the beam of his light across their path, he realized with a stomach-sinking feeling that the tunnel descended just ahead. And it descended into a glassy pool of stilled water.

The footsteps coming from behind them continued and were steadily growing louder.

Faster, faster.

He hadn’t expected the way he’d planned to take be blocked by water. But, if he remembered correctly, the tunnel dipped and then returned to the same level probably a hundred feet ahead.
Maybe a bit more?
He could swim that far underwater.
Can she?

There was no choice.
She had to.

His mind spun. He’d made underwater swims of even longer distances many times before. But he’d never done it deep inside a mine and in the dark. And Dr. Martinez?
Had she? Would she panic?
Would the flashlight even help underwater?
Is the water going to seep in and it short out and leave me in the goddamned dark halfway through?

He sighed.
Suck it up.
 

“We have to go under,” he said, and to his surprise, she nodded and ran straight for the water as she holstered her weapon and withdrew a flashlight of her own and clicked it on. She shined it on the water and waded in, took a deep breath, and disappeared under the surface. He had expected a little resistance from her. Seeing her moving this quickly without any coaxing left him standing there blinking in stunned amazement. He watched as the glow from her beam vanished into the darkness.

And, yet again, his hesitation had allowed the creatures to gain an extra step. When he heard the sounds of them almost crashing on top of him, he spun and stumbled toward the water. The first few zombies were already shambling directly for him. They were feet away. He raised his Glock and fired the final two rounds he had saved just in case and dropped them cold.

With regret, he secured his weapon and raked his hand across his vest to grab the last flash-bang grenade. He tossed it in front of him, spun, and high-stepped into the water at nearly a full run. Deep enough, he gulped air, shut his eyes, and dove underwater.

The dull thud from the grenade was barely audible, but the water lit up and burned the image of the mineshaft ahead deep into his mind. It looked as if he were swimming down the throat of some giant beast. The water was cloudy, but he could see far enough ahead to spot the glow coming from Dr. Martinez’s flashlight. He swam for it and continued to pull himself along with a one-armed stroke while keeping his other hand on the ceiling for guidance and fixating on the question of swimming zombies. He’d seen them learning to walk, so he was sure they could also learn to swim. But how long would it take them and could they do it well enough and did that also mean they could possibly drown as well?

He blew a few bubbles and kept pushing and pulling himself along underwater. His question was partially answered when he hit the first of the bloated bodies floating up against the ceiling where small air pockets still existed. He almost exhaled in surprise when his forearm touched what appeared to be a severed leg floating just above him. Whether it was a piece of a zombie or just a dead miner the zombies had killed, he didn’t know. He re-gulped the air that he’d almost exhaled, steeled himself, and kept going.

The light ahead grew suddenly dim and distant, as if it were getting farther and farther away from him. He pushed even harder, feeling the tingles of oxygen starvation creep into his muscles and fatigue him and slow his strokes. Frantically, he searched with his hand for air pockets above him and found none.

Everything was closing in around him, and the urge to breathe was overpowering.

Hold it, hold it, hold it.

But he couldn’t. He breathed out what was in his lungs, knowing that would buy him just a little more time before he blacked out.

Don’t brea—

With a final kick, the hand that had been following the ceiling shot upward, and he realized he was through to the other side. He surfaced and gasped for air, gulping it down as water streamed from his hair.

Dr. Martinez was there, dripping wet and doubled over and also gasping for breath. There were bodies everywhere, or at least pieces of bodies. It was as if a huge explosion had gone off and torn everything to shreds. Charred leg, arms, torsos, and guts, all were splattered against the walls. The stench was somewhere between an overturned outhouse and rotten, roasted pork. It instantly made him sick to his stomach, and right after he exited the water, he fell to his knees, doubled over, and heaved. Bits of the energy bar he’d eaten earlier came out but nothing more. The heaves ended quickly even though the stench did not. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and wiped the drool from his lips and stayed on his knees.