by Michael Todd
It was also within earshot of a strange rushing sound. At first, Chris had assumed this was another approaching wave of locusts, but it proved to be the sound of running water. They must have been near the source of the improbable river that he and Kemp had been forced to cross on their way to the old base. He still didn’t understand how the Zoo had been able to produce or consolidate that much water in the middle of the Sahara to transform the landscape to such an incredible extent.
“Stop.” Micky raised a hand and the column came to a halt. They were at the foot of a slight ridge crisscrossed by thick roots and covered with pebbles. “Frankie and Motomori,” the leader said, beckoning.
Frankie and an apparently Japanese man moved to Micky’s side, and the three of them spoke in hushed council. The two of them ascended the ridge, darted behind trees, and made almost no noise as they proceeded. Micky watched them coolly and looked almost bored.
“You guys have an authentic ninja?” said Chris. “Wow, that’s, uh, cool I guess. In a 1992 retro sort of way.”
“Quiet,” the Haitian snapped. He poked Chris in the back with his gun again.
For five, maybe even ten minutes, they waited, with no sounds around them save the faint breathing of the jungle and the muffled passage of the nearby river. Then motion appeared near the top of the ridge and Frankie flashed an okay sign at them with her hand.
“Must be out hunting,” Micky said. “Very good.” He grabbed the man nearest him and shoved him forward, then motioned everyone else to move out.
They all crested the ridge. True to Micky’s word, there was the Chimera’s nest.
Chris’ jaw dropped. First, there was the sight itself, which he had not expected at all. But then, as it registered within the neurons of his brain, everything clicked into place. The attacks on the wall had not been random acts of destruction.
The nest was made from scavenged materials like a bird’s nest made of collected twigs and branches, but this one was obviously much larger and made of far more sturdy materials. Parts of a stolen forklift here and chunks of concrete there. A warped and half-torn chain link fence was wrapped around part of the base. Metal latticework formed something almost like a guardrail or a battlement around the rear of it. Discarded wheels and tires were embedded within the deep structure. And where the Chimera had been unable to steal building material from Wall One, it had, perhaps reluctantly, used wood from the surrounding forest. It looked like some sort of post-apocalyptic fortress for half a dozen bedraggled survivors.
“Pretty wild, ain’t it?” the scar-chinned American remarked as they walked closer.
“I guess so,” Chris responded. As the group congregated around what Chris guessed was the north side of the nest, Micky came back toward him and his stomach clenched. This would not be good.
“All right then, Professor,” Micky began and intertwined his fingers to crack his knuckles. “Now comes part where you tell us everything you know that might shed light on this situation, okay?”
Damn.
“Well, uh,” Chris said and tried to stall and think of something worth saying. “I don’t really know all that much. Obviously, the Chimera has harvested materials from Wall One, but I have no idea why. We haven’t gotten any new intel on the Zoo or anything in it since I was first in here three weeks ago.”
“That is very good but boring review of everything we already know,” said Micky. He took a step closer. He made another beckoning motion with his hand, and the Haitian, the American, and the Turk all moved closer as well. Chris was surrounded on all four sides. “Put down guns,” Micky instructed. His minions obeyed.
“Listen,” Chris said and tried to seem exasperated rather than frightened, “there’s really nothing I can tell you about this creature that you haven’t probably already figured out yourself. If you wanted me to give you some kind of big breakthrough insight on it, I could only do that after it was already back at my lab at the American base.”
“Your job was to study the Zoo,” Micky stated calmly. “This thing is from the Zoo. You should begin now to talk all about that, okay? Then soon, you can go back to that job, and we can go home with paycheck if you don’t piss us off.” He produced his e-cigarette and vaped as he stared at the scientist.
Chris cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes, suddenly angry again. These pricks didn’t even give a shit that they stood in the middle of something that could revolutionize medicine, agriculture, and human understanding of the universe in general. They merely wanted to obtain a new pet for their client while they blasted things carelessly as they went along, and then buy beachfront houses and trophy wives.
“No,” Chris said. He looked directly at Micky’s eyes, or at least at his glasses. “I’m not telling you shit. Very little of what I know would help you, and it seems like you already have everything figured out with your brute-force approach. Screw you guys.”
The American snorted. Micky, meanwhile, raised his eyebrows slightly and pursed his lips, pretending his feelings had been hurt, and nodded. “That was wrong answer to quiz,” he said.
Something flashed, and Chris fell back. Pain exploded through his head accompanied by dizziness and nausea. Micky had punched him right where Frankie had hit him with the butt of her rifle. The man had quick hands, Chris had to admit. The Haitian caught him and shoved him forward. He stumbled. His hands were still tied so he couldn’t use them for balance. He fell at Micky’s feet.
“It is my personal opinion,” the Magyar went on, “that fancy torture methods are for faggots. Beating shit out of someone still hurts enough.”
He kicked Chris in the ribs.
The scientist collapsed into a fetal position and gritted his teeth after a forced gasp. Micky was accurate as well as fast. The steel toe of his boot had cracked a rib in the right place to make Chris’ breathing painful for the next couple of weeks. He rose to his knees.
The Turk, Haitian, and American all moved in like a pack of wolves. They kicked him in the back, in the legs, and in the head. He fell again, flat to the earth this time as the onslaught continued. He couldn’t help but think back to an old favorite. The circumstances reminded him too well of the prison beatdown from The Legend of Drunken Master. There had been more brutality there than was usual for Jackie’s films. And it must have hurt like hell.
The men backed off, and Micky strode forward again. “You should talk now,” he said, “so we don’t have to do the fancy shit, okay? I will make the Turk do that since he enjoys it and is faggot besides.”
Someone, presumably the Turk, grunted angrily over Chris’ head. The scientist coughed. He spat blood and forced himself slowly back to his knees, then inched his way to his feet. He bit his tongue to keep from making any sound more than a throaty growl, though he wanted to cry. He looked Micky in the eye again.
“I already said no.”
“Well, well,” Micky remarked. “You are tough guy after all.” He shrugged. “Not that it really matters.” He looked like he was about to do something but stopped, looked at the e-cig still in his off hand, and put it back in his pocket. Glancing around, he asked, “Does anyone have real cigarette?”
A guy sitting on the ground nearby did. He frowned and handed it over to his boss with great reluctance. Micky didn’t take a drag. He turned and flicked it in Chris’ face. Chris flinched, not so much in fear of injury, but out of simple surprise. Micky ought to win some sort of achievement prize for that level of pettiness.
Frankie had come to watch. She laughed in that girlish half-innocent way of hers. She must have enjoyed the drama and excitement of getting to witness an actual, honest-to-gosh torture session. “I mean, don’t hurt him too much,” she said.
“Anything else to say?” Micky asked.
“Shouldn’t you steal some hot model’s pics and use them to make fake profiles on a dating app or something?” Chris asked. He was probably about to die so might as well make the most of it.
“I have not done that since I was young go
pnik, long ago,” Micky replied, seemingly nostalgic for the moment. “In any event, I have changed my mind. Rather than waste time on fancy shit, we will make you help us right now, whether you want to or not.” With that, he smiled.
The scientist swallowed. He knew at once that seeing this man smile meant he was about to enter a whole new world of even deeper shit.
13
Once again, it was dark, and once again Chris was tied up. They’d given him another couple of swallows of water and a few morsels of food, barely enough to keep him halfway healthy and sated for what they had in mind. After he’d eaten, however, he’d almost thrown up. Partially from the pain in his head, side, and back, and partially because of what they’d done to make him a more attractive piece of bait.
The Irishman was half delirious and couldn’t hold his rifle. The Haitian and the American had held him in place while Micky punched the knife-wound in his arm and smeared the blood-pus mixture on Chris’ face, chest, and arms. “Blood from day-old wound has richer scent, especially with all the whiskey fortification,” he’d helpfully explained as the man screamed and bawled. They’d dragged the poor bastard away. Then they lifted Chris up, tossed him into the center of the nest, and left him there to draw the attention of the Chimera when it returned.
Hours had passed. The bounty hunters had set up their trap in the meantime, and from what Chris could understand of Micky’s orders, Frankie and Motomori would scout around the area to provide an advance warning when the creature finally returned. The majority of them climbed trees or dug themselves into the earth on unlikely paths of approach. Some sort of apparatus ringed the nest—lights on poles, from the looks of it, and something else they’d taken off the JLTV.
Chris had passed out for perhaps an hour or two around dusk. He woke, startled and half-nauseated, to what sounded like a shuffling sound not too far off. He moaned and still felt awful from his abuse. In addition to everything else, his leg was cramped. He must have lain on it wrong. Great.
The mental fog lifted quickly, however. An odd smell, appropriately enough like a zoo but tinged with something alien, was everywhere there. He was tied up and helpless in the nest of a monster, being used as bait. It was true they wanted to capture the creature. But he was pretty damn certain that Micky didn’t care if it killed him before they did so. Even if he were to struggle to his knees and crawl out of the nest like a goddamn worm, the bounty hunters would see him and either shoot him or toss him back in with a stern warning. He was, essentially speaking, screwed.
He thought back to his early childhood in California, followed by the move to North Carolina, of growing up and going through high school there, of his parents’ ambivalence at his wanting to be a biologist. They would have preferred something more guaranteed to be profitable. Still, he was good at it, and soon, he was off to Ukraine for the Chernobyl study. The government gigs rolled in after that. Back and forth, from Charlotte to Washington D.C. and back, from lab to office to library. He thought back to the news reports from a few years ago, of the thing entering Earth’s atmosphere, which NASA had ensnared. An alien missile, as it turned out. A missile which had contained the bright blue bio-elixir officially dubbed AG, for Alien Goop. Very scientific.
He thought back to the phone call he’d gotten about a month ago, inviting him to advise on some development with the President’s new super-agriculture project in the Sahara. The lengthy helicopter ride south from Tunis, the confusion—and excitement—of his first evening at the base, and his debriefing with the late Lieutenant Doctor Emma Kemp. He thought of how she’d confessed her background as a doctor, her own illness, and her desire now to use the AG for the general benefit of mankind. Chris had promised he would pick up where Kemp left off. All that was about to come to an end, now, because the Zoo was about to eat him.
He might as well try to survive, though. He strained against his bonds. Too tight. Maybe he could crawl out silently, cut the ropes on some jagged surface, and slip through the jungle unseen. Just maybe.
Chris wriggled forward. There was a broken-off piece of metal not far in front of him. He could probably use it to cut himself free. He was almost there, and—
He hit the end of his leash. They’d tethered him to something. He looked back to behold the darkening silhouette of a rock that they’d buried in the earth at the nest’s center.
Yup. He was screwed.
The sound grew louder. It passed out of the jungle and into the slight clearing around the nest coming up the ridge. Oddly enough, its steps didn’t shake the earth this time. It moved more lightly than it should. He wondered if it would recognize him from Pike’s earlier ambush or simply view him as a nice fragrant snack and devour him immediately.
It crested the ridge and climbed up on the edge of the nest itself. Chris’ heart leaped into his throat. Even in the darkness, he could see its jet-black silhouette. And yet…something seemed wrong. It was too small.
The air split. Noise was suddenly everywhere. The mechanism that the bounty hunters had set up around the nest was sprung, making a clacking sound followed by a whirring, and the lights they’d set up all flashed on at once in blinding radiance. In the instant before he squeezed his eyes shut, Chris saw a massive heavy net fall over the nest, and a bizarre form thrashed and screeched within it. Armed men ran up from the edges of the jungle. They fired at it but not with guns. Tranquilizer darts, maybe? He closed his eyes. In the ensuing blackness, the noise weakened and then mostly stopped.
Chris opened his eyes again. The bright lights were still painful to look at, but he allowed his vision to adjust. The mercs stood around, high-fived each other, or stared grimly. They enjoyed their success for a moment, then got to work. Slumped just past the edge of the nest, less than ten feet from Chris’ legs, was the Chimera. Except…the Chimera was around the size of an elephant. This was barely the size of a St. Bernard.
“It had a kid,” Chris breathed and laughed. It hurt his dry throat and sides where his expanding lungs pressed against his cracked ribs.
“Well, well,” Micky’s voice said. The man’s lean, scrappy figure appeared next to the baby monster, and he placed one foot on the edge. “It appears we caught bite-sized version. Still ugly weird-looking fuck. Looks like God was drunk that day of creation. This will be easier to drag back than its mother, however, and I think client will be much pleased.” He vaped and blew a cloud of white smoke over the nest. “Good job as bait, Professor Lin. You have much talent at lying there doing nothing. I will give you good reference.”
He turned and made a circular motion with his hand. His men swooped in, consolidated the edges of the net, and checked the baby chimera. It was still somewhat conscious but in no real condition to fight. They removed the net-launching mechanism.
Frankie appeared beside Chris and helped him to his feet, though she didn’t bother to remove his bindings. “Nobody knew those things could breed,” she said. “This is exciting, honestly. I wonder who its father was.” She laughed at the thought.
“I don’t suppose,” Chris asked and tried to back away from the bustle of the crew as they shoved past him, “that you have any idea what your boss plans to do with me now?”
“I dunno,” Frankie said and cut the tether as well as the cords around his legs so that he could at least walk. “It’s not like we really have much use for you at this point.”
“Oh,” Chris replied, and what little hope he still had sank into the mud around him. “So much for my future career in the human bait industry. Even with a good reference.”
14
“Let us get the hell out of here,” Micky said to the troops, “before mother returns, okay? Hurry up.”
They redoubled their efforts. Mostly. Frankie had helped Chris out of the nest and onto the surrounding jungle ridge but of course had not untied any of the cords around him above the waist.
“I have to go help Micky,” she said as if informing one of her girlfriends that she had to run to the store. “Bye.” She vanish
ed into the commotion.
By now, the bounty hunters had pulled the JLTV on ahead and were in the process of jimmy-rigging some sort of setup they could use to transport the baby chimera. It seemed they’d planned to drag the adult behind the vehicle, but the child was probably small enough to simply lash to the front like a trophy deer.
For now, the creature was still wrapped in the net that had first ensnared it with extra lashes staked into the ground to keep it from escaping. It had started to recover from the effects of the tranquilizer darts, tried sluggishly to get to its feet, and collapsed again. It rolled over and pawed at the net, then made quiet, high-pitched sounds.
Chris stared at it. It was the spitting image of its mom, that was for sure, except it was a bright pale-blue. The adult had looked brownish-green. Then again, Chris had only seen it in darkness. Perhaps it was a dark blue. Even now, examining it up close with plenty of time to do so, its appearance was astonishingly bizarre. It only partially resembled the mythological entity for which it had been nicknamed, with elements of cat, goat, and reptile. Of these three, it mostly displayed one when viewed from one angle and another when viewed from a slightly different angle like a creature designed by an abstract painter. And yet, to Chris’ surprise, the single creature it most resembled was a bird. Somehow, he’d failed to notice the avian features of the mother.
There was also the matter of the tentacle things growing out of its back. He’d mistaken them for wings when he’d seen the adult back at Wall One. They reminded Chris of the ones on the displacer beasts from D&D, albeit covered with feathers like the rest of the creature. He thought back to the one that had killed Metaxas. The mercs had wisely tied them down to the mini-Chimera’s back.
The Turk and another man stood guard over it while a few others prepared the setup on the JLTV itself. The other man kept muttering something in what sounded like Spanish at first. But that wasn’t right. Brazilian Portuguese? Maybe Italian? He had a long stick and prodded the creature in the ass and belly, causing it to make feeble sounds of protest.