Zombie Team Alpha by Steve R. Yeager Page B

crouching low, guns raised, nervous, but ready.
    They looked as if they had practiced the maneuver before, but it was also easy to see that they weren’t very good at it, either, because one guy stumbled and the rest piled up behind him causing them all to nearly fall over like toppling dominos.
    Cutter glanced at Gauge, who was drawing his polished Desert Eagle and grinning with pleasure as he followed behind.
    Morgan rose from her seat next to Cutter and prepared to exit, but he indicated for her to stay behind with Dr. Martinez. Stay there , he gestured in his haste, like he was commanding a dog to obey. She looked wounded by the order that he had meant to be a suggestion. Sorry. He grinned an apology at her then grabbed his gear. After exiting the helicopter, he ducked low on instinct and jogged to where everyone was assembling outside the rotor wash. The man who had been running across the field stood on a patch of grass, surrounded by Suvorov’s men.
    The frightened man had his hands on his knees and was bent over panting. He was covered in dirt and muck and filth as if he had come from the mine. There were also wet streaks that were probably blood. 
    Flailing his arms, the guy came alive and spoke rapidly in highly-animated Russian.
    “What’s he saying?” Cutter asked as he closed in on Suvorov.
    “It is nothing for you to be concerned about,” the colonel said from the corner of his mouth.
    The man continued to point back at the cluster of blue buildings in the distance, stabbing his finger repeatedly at them and saying, “ Chudovishe . Chudovishe. ”
    Colonel Suvorov left Cutter standing with Gauge and grabbed the gibbering man firmly by the shoulders, held him still, and then shook him hard, snapping the guy’s neck like a kid shaking a rag doll. The colonel then forced the man to remain still and spoke in slow and reassuring tones. The guy calmed somewhat, coughed, and resumed stabbing his finger in the direction of the buildings making up the mining complex. There was blood under three of the man’s fingernails, and two of them were completely missing.
    “What’s going on?” Cutter asked as he stepped alongside the colonel.
    Suvorov did not initially answer. Instead, he made a series of hand gestures that sent four of his men running toward the cluster of distant buildings. The soldier’s boots crunched with each double-time step they took, and their heads swiveled left and right, and their guns came up, and their backs were bent as if they expected to encounter trouble at any second even though the way ahead was clear.
    That earlier bad feeling Cutter had had was growing worse by the second. “We should get out of here. No amount of—”
    The colonel cut him off with a snort and hand wave. He then said something in Russian to his remaining troops. A laugh rippled through the men.
    What? Cutter could not understand what was being said, but he could discern the meaning. It wasn’t good.
    “He’s calling you a coward,” Morgan whispered in his ear. “Specifically, he’s calling you a ‘ trusikha ,’ which means a fema—”
    Cutter whirled on her. “I thought I said for you to stay behind and keep an eye on Dr. Martinez?”
    She smirked. “And when have I started listening to you when you didn’t make any sense?”
    Never , was what came to mind. When it was truly important, she listened. Both she and Gauge did. Still, she should have remained behind in the helicopter. Someone needed to watch Dr. Martinez carefully until they knew if she could take care of herself and not jeopardize the entire mission.
    “Okay, then,” Cutter said. “Suvorov can think whatever he damn well wants, but I’ll tell you this. We need to scoot on out of here, and do it now.”
    “Should we call you a ‘ trusikha’ as well?” Morgan said. She waited a beat and added, “Just suck it up, buttercup.”
    Cutter looked to Gauge for support. He found none there either. And they were right. He was acting far