by Michael Todd
“Where is it?” he growled.
The little flash drive he’d kept in his care—previously the property of the late Dr. Marie, head of the original experiment on the substance that had come to be called goop—was missing. He’d wanted to plug it into his phone and jot down a note. A reminder to himself to keep an eye out for certain mutated species of palm trees that he’d glimpsed his first time in to see if they’d changed more in the intervening weeks.
He hadn’t lost it, had he? He was generally good at keeping track of his property. Still, there was a lot of hustle and bustle in this place. Shit happened. At least it was the sort of thing that he was pretty sure most people would be smart enough to turn over to a superior if they found it on the floor. It had a G written on one side, and all that was on it was a series of scientific documents. Even if a grunt were to stumble onto the damn thing, he’d probably lose interest once he found out it didn’t contain porn.
“I probably misplaced it in this disaster area,” Chris said to himself. “I’ll find it when I get back.” When, not if. He’d gone over every detail these past three days. The expedition would not fail.
He finished suiting up and gathered the few personal effects he planned to bring with him. Then he left the room and went to the canopied area outside R&D, where the team would assemble. His team. He’d hand-picked half of them, pending the Agents’ approval. This mission wouldn’t be caught with its pants down the way Kemp’s had. It was bigger, better, stiffer.
He opened the door leading outside at 06:58 hours and found himself standing amidst—
Wait, what?
“What the hell?” he said under his breath. There was no one there. Well, hardly anyone. Had they all been waylaid somehow? Had their departure time been pushed back an hour and no one had informed him? Also, he wasn’t sure he recognized a few of them. He did recognize the two suited individuals standing at the front of the crew.
Dread ripped a hole open in Chris’ stomach.
“Good morning, Dr. Lin,” Agent Davis greeted him cheerfully.
“Right on time, my man,” Agent Garcia added. “Everyone’s assembled now.”
Chris couldn’t hold it back any longer. “What?” he burst out. “This is less than half the force we agreed to! And who the hell are these people?” Now that he had a closer look, there were three whom he’d definitely never seen before, and who, judging by their lack of badges and otherwise slightly haphazard style of dress, didn’t even look like US Army. Could they be foreign military personnel? Something off the books? Mercenaries? Mere actors hired to play the part of Chris’ dream team? Whatever the answer was, he suddenly wanted to roundhouse-kick the nearest crate and then try hurling it back through the door.
“Hey, sorry,” Garcia said with feigned sympathy, “but the Boss said no. Kind of a last-minute thing. In order for the mission to go forward at all…well, we had to kind of throw out your plan and substitute our own. Better than nothing, right?”
“Too expensive,” Davis expounded. “Potential loss of equipment. Too much risk—lots of people potentially getting killed again.”
“Not if there were enough of them, with enough firepower, to fight back effectively,” Chris seethed.
“See, you’re thinking in terms of quantity.” Garcia made expansive gestures with his hands. “We find that it works better to think in terms of quality. That’s just Budget Management 101, my friend.”
“More like BS 101. You lied to me, gentlemen. I asked for quality. I gave you a cornucopia of qualified individuals we could all trust to get the job done right.” He narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “It’s mighty convenient that your enigmatic boss happened to pull the plug after you’d already gotten the green light barely a few hours before I’m supposed to guide my team into the Zoo. A team that I can no longer trust because you picked people I don’t know and whose credentials—”
“Are about to be explained,” Davis cut him off. “And on that note, let’s introduce you to your team leader.”
Chris bit back the stream of curses that practically scrambled to be voiced. He folded his arms to prevent himself from lashing out at his superiors. He’d originally suggested that the team be commanded by Second Lieutenant Bokhari, the right-hand man of Lieutenant Danvers at the Wall One camp. Then again, he’d also suggested at least half a platoon, not another goddamn squad.
An imposing black man of middling height stepped forward. His body was broad and muscular. His skin was incredibly dark and his head shaved. A neat mustache coated his upper lip. His outfit smacked more of a safari tourist than warrior. A globe and anchor with the words Semper Fi had been tattooed on the man’s exposed arm.
“This,” said Garcia, “is Arthur Pike, a sniper in the Marines now retired from the Corps and working as an independent contractor. Obviously, being a sniper and all, the man can shoot.” He laughed at his own wit.
So could that idiot Chad, Chris thought. He’d gotten eaten by a carnivorous vine within half an hour of setting foot into the Zoo. He hadn’t even gotten a single shot off.
“Pike is an expert hunter and tracker,” Davis went on. “Highly skilled. Extensive experience, including here in Africa. He’s the best man for the job.”
“That,” Pike said, “is correct.” The man’s voice was smooth and powerful, almost like a stage actor’s. “I may not have been inside this Zoo of yours, but I have been almost everywhere else on God’s green earth. And whether hunting the enemy in the Corps or hunting game in more recent times, I have always gotten my mark.”
“The Zoo is only half part of God’s green earth,” Chris said. “The other half comes from somewhere far beyond the asteroid belt. Have you been out there?”
Pike removed his wraparound sunglasses and looked at Chris. The man’s expression was not exactly hostile, but he positively exuded arrogance. The dull way his eyes regarded those around him, the slight smirk, and the subtle swagger in his bearing all suggested that Arthur Pike’s favorite person was Arthur Pike and that the opinions of others were probably not worth consideration. “Have you, sir?” he retorted.
Someone behind Pike chuckled.
“No,” Chris said, “but I have been in and out of the Zoo. I am one of only two survivors to do so. I’m also one of the primary researchers trying to understand the place and how it works. I may not have much experience as a soldier or a hunter, but I’m telling you right now: If I tell you that the Zoo is this way or that way, or that we need to be careful of something, you’d damn well better listen.”
“I may,” Pike said, already turning his back to Chris to speak to the rest of the team. “I may. Now the rest of you,” he announced louder, “would do well to heed similar advice regarding my command. I am in charge, and there are very good reasons for that. If I tell you our prey is this way or that way, or that we need to do something in order to kill it, you damn well better listen.”
Most of the team nodded. Looking them over, Chris saw that the other representatives of the Army included none other than Gunnar, Private Peppy, and a tall, thin white guy he thought he’d seen before but had never spoken to.
“I know PFC Åkerlund and Private Pérez,” Chris said. The two nodded to him. They looked like they were competing to see who could maintain the most deadpan and morose facial expression. “May I be introduced to everyone else?” He did not direct this request at anyone in particular.
Agent Garcia was the one who responded since Pike was busy posturing and pretending to ignore Chris’ existence. “Sure, why not?”
Chris went over to the team to shake their hands as they were introduced. “This is Corporal Glassner.” Garcia gestured to the third man who’d stood next to Gunnar and Pérez. “Medic. Also a fighter, though.”
Chris shook the man’s hand. Glassner smiled and nodded in silent reply. He seemed like the friendly type.
Next, they moved on to the four individuals who’d stood behind Pike. “Now,” Garcia continued, “the remainder of our independent cont
ractors…”
Chris nodded. “Independent contractors” was such a conveniently vague term for mercenaries. At least if they were working for the US government, they’d probably been through some kind of vetting process.
Garcia went down the line and introduced three men, two of them white and one apparently Southeast Asian. “George Metaxas…James Duchesne…Sawai Pachrapa.” Chris briefly shook the hand of each. All of them were hard to read, but he didn’t think they’d be too fond of him. They were soldiers of fortune. He was a government scientist.
The fourth and last was an attractive woman with short blond hair and elfin features. She couldn’t have been much older than her late twenties and was slightly shorter than Chris. Her skinny frame left her looking almost petite compared to the other men, but there was a definite muscular hardness to her. “Frances Stoudt,” Garcia said, then returned to stand next to Davis.
“Hi.” She shook Chris’ hand and smiled at him. Something in his stomach fluttered slightly. “Call me Frankie. It’s good to know we’ll have someone with us who actually understands that place. It’s so weird just thinking about it…” She put her hands on her hips and looked off into space for a moment as if contemplating what they were about to plunge into.
“Don’t worry,” Chris said immediately. Frankie spoke with a hint of an accent, but he couldn’t quite place it. He definitely liked how it sounded, though. “I’m the closest thing we have to an expert on the place. We’ll be okay, between what I have to offer and—”
“Indeed,” Pike suddenly interjected. “Your contributions may actually be helpful. Now, I’m saying to everyone,” he announced with a raised fist, “that though this place is beyond almost all human experience, it is still bound by Earth’s laws, and I know those laws. I cannot say I’ve ever hunted a Chimera before, but I have hunted dangerous and angry fundamentalist militants and equally dangerous and angry hippos, wildebeest, crocodiles, and grizzly bears.” He lowered his fist and smiled. “We will not have any major problems.”
Frankie glanced at Chris, as though uncertain. Ten people had gone into the Zoo the first time. This time, the team would only consist of nine. Chris couldn’t help but wonder how many would come back out.
“We’ll see about that,” he muttered.
6
Everyone was in awe, even Pike. Chris was the only one who’d seen anything like this before, and it still stunned him the second time around. The Zoo was at once a paradise and a primeval hellhole.
“Good to be back in my element,” Pike boasted, but Chris detected a trace of unease beneath the man’s bravado. There were plants there that resembled no species on Earth. Some squirmed in place, and trees seemed to breathe, slowly and softly but audibly, even under a faint breeze. The shadows ranged from deep jade-green to pitch-black. Shafts of diagonal sunlight penetrated here and there, illuminating the vibrant emeralds of the forest floor. So far, they had encountered nothing that threatened them.
“It seems peaceful at first,” Chris explained. “It’s deceptive like that. Do not get too relaxed. Don’t step on any of those squirming vines. And look out for any large vines hanging overhead. They will literally snake down and eat you. It happened to a guy in the first team. Keep an ear out for any buzzing sounds or anything that sounds like a strong wind coming up. That’s the locusts. And if you hear what sounds like something big scampering and jumping around…”
Chris shuddered just thinking about it. He hated the kangarats more than any other creature the Zoo had spawned. The huge one that had almost killed him and Wallace had shown up in more than a few of his recent nightmares.
“And if you see any blue-and-red flowers, stop. Keep your distance, don’t touch them, and tell me immediately. I need to get a sample of one but plucking or damaging one accidentally is probably the single stupidest, most dangerous thing we could do.”
“So, basically, this place is like Australia,” Gunnar said. “Everything that moves tries to kill you. ʼCept for the drunken guys with huge-ass knives. Has the Zoo produced any of those yet?”
“I heard spiders in Australia can grow to the size of dinner plates,” Private Peppy chimed in. “Though Africa is no slouch in that department either. There’re some tribes south of here that have a legend about spiders the size of people. Even if their venom is only the same potency as a tarantula’s, getting bitten by one that size would be like death by a hundred bee stings. The pain itself might be fatal. It’s easy not to relax in here. Just think of the kinds of spiders that would live in a jungle like this. All those spiders—”
“Please,” Glassner begged, “shut up about spiders. Okay?”
“If you insist.” Peppy grinned. “We could always talk about the man-eating vines. I’m trying to imagine how painful that would be, getting swallowed by one of those things. I imagine it would be like getting shoved into a—”
“Be quiet,” Pike snapped. He held up a hand, and everyone came to a halt. He and Gunnar were on point, with Pachrapa and Peppy behind them. Metaxas and Duchesne were in the rear. Chris, Frankie, and Glassner were in the center.
Chris strained to see what Pike was up to. He seemed to be looking, listening, and sniffing the air. Then he squatted to examine the earth more closely. Hunter-tracker stuff. Chris only hoped the man actually knew what he was doing. He started moving closer to the front of the formation to observe and advise.
“Dr. Lin,” Pike said in a very soft voice. “Do you recognize this?”
Chris walked up and looked at the spot on the ground Pike had indicated. There, mostly hidden by an overhanging leaf, was a footprint in the mud. It looked like it had been made by the clawed appendage of a giant rodent or marsupial.
“Probably a kangarat,” Chris said, feeling nauseated. “Those things are incredibly dangerous. They’re fast as hell, and they can kick about as hard as a wrecking ball. One of them even tried toppling a tree on me. Shotguns will mess them up, though.”
Pike rubbed his chin as he continued to scan the area. The team had brought no vehicles and no big-time hardware, but in Pike’s “expert” opinion, they were sufficiently armed. After all he’d seen, Chris felt it was impossible to have too much firepower in there.
Pike carried a high-powered rifle with a scope. Presumably, he’d used it to hunt big game. He also carried a machine pistol at his side. Gunnar and Metaxas both carried automatic shotguns. The agents had provided these at Chris’ request, since Wallace had used one to good effect against both locusts and kangarats. Frankie had some kind of carbine that Chris had never seen before along with a fairly standard-looking semiautomatic handgun. Everyone else had an M-92 automatic rifle. It was a newer model that the Army had developed as a sort of compromise between American and Russian styles—and higher-caliber than most prior US weapons. Duchesne also carried a backpack containing small-scale explosives, poisonous traps, and other such trinkets requested by Pike.
Chris was, once again, armed only with a pistol—Kemp’s former sidearm, to be specific. Lt. Bokhari and a couple of other guys had at least given him shooting lessons. He no longer felt like jumping out of his shoes when the damn thing all but exploded in his hands. Wallace had also shown him how to fire an M-92 once, but he’d never actually done so.
“This track is rather fresh,” Pike said, “but the creature was heading away from us. Do you happen to know if these things are territorial? Or do they rove, continuously looking for prey?”
“I’m not sure,” Chris admitted. “I never really saw them covering large distances. One of them attacked us when we arrived at the old base in the center, and three more came after us toward the end, when we were almost out.”
“They’re likely defending a particular tract of land, then,” Pike went on. “From interviewing the men at Wall One, I already know that the kangarats have never been sighted outside the Zoo itself. The trail I’ve followed was made by something large, but it began even outside the jungle. That would be our Chimera. Unfortunately, it’s heading
in the same direction this kangarat has gone.” Something about his facial expression and tone of voice suggested that he was almost amused by this fact.
“Well then, we should go around,” Chris said. “We definitely need to—”
“No,” Pike said sharply. “What we need to do is find and kill our prey. We’ll set an ambush of sorts for these rodents. I might even come back with an extra trophy or two.”
Chris stared in slack-jawed astonishment. Arthur Pike was that confident in his abilities, and he was enjoying this. Aside from being black, he seemed to embody the Great White Hunter stereotype from the late nineteenth century, traveling to distant lands to shoot dangerous creatures for fun and profit.
“That is not a good idea,” Chris finally managed to object.
Pike ignored him. He stood and looked back to the center of the formation. “Miss Stoudt,” he called.
“Yeah?”
“We need bait. Which is to say, we need speed and stealth. Those are your specialties, are they not?”
“Yessir,” she replied in a can-do tone. She shot a hasty glance at Chris. A shard of fear hid behind the playful sparkle of her eyes.
“You can’t send her off as bait!” Chris protested. “Those things are twice as fast as any human being, specialty or not.”
“They also need to get within paw’s reach to attack. We do not,” Pike stated. He motioned Frankie to come forward. “Slip ahead far enough to attract their attention, and then hurry back. We’ll cover your return. Fear not.”
She grimaced but nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re making a big mistake,” Chris hissed.
Pike ignored him again as Frankie disappeared into the woods ahead, making almost no noise. Their leader directed the troops to prepare his ambush. Gunnar and Metaxas were to be widely spaced at the front and half-hidden behind a pair of big trees to the left and right of Frankie’s return path. There, they could lay down with their shotguns from the sides. Everyone else was strategically placed at other points where they’d have clear shots at the kangarats from almost any angle. Pike himself climbed with surprising grace and agility for his bulk until he reached halfway up a bent tree and crouched in its lower branches with his rifle at the ready.