Birth of Heavy Metal Boxed Set

by Michael Todd

  The other scientist, Monroe, was in the Hammerhead with him. He smiled and nodded again as the Hammerhead came alive with a roar of the diesel engine. After a quick system check, the screens came up and provided Kennedy a decent one-eighty-degree view of what lay ahead. She waited for Davis to draw ahead and accelerated after him.

  Once they were on the move in what was a surprisingly comfortable ride, Monroe moved from her seat to the one beside Sal.

  “Chloe Monroe,” she said and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Sal Jacobs.” At least she wouldn’t crush his knuckles.

  “This is your first time, huh?” she asked with a smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about,” Sal said honestly. “Although I do appreciate the sentiment. How long have you been here?”

  “Oh.” She paused and frowned in thought. “It must be over a year and a half now. I wasn’t with the first guys on the ground, but I was here before…you know, the incident.”

  He chuckled. “Funny how much damage locusts can do, huh?”

  She nodded and chuckled as well. “You know, we got word that the swarm was headed our way about a week after I arrived. I felt like I had accidentally triggered some sort of ancient mummy curse.”

  Sal gestured to the jungle, which grew bigger in Kennedy’s screen. “Well, have you maybe considered a career as a professor? I hear the guys at Harvard could really use a locust plague.”

  She grinned. “I think I’ll stick to alien goop, myself. I like to stay on the cutting edge.”

  “Where did you submit your dissertation?”

  “Yale, actually, in molecular biology. So you’ll understand when I absolutely agree with you when it comes to giving those assholes in Harvard all kinds of ancient mummy curses.”

  Sal grinned and leaned back. He didn’t actually know much about the whole rivalry between the two Ivy League colleges. All he knew was that both had offered him a scholarship in their biology courses and he’d declined since both required that he work very closely with one of their tenured professors. He now began to regret that decision. No way would either of the colleges release him to the government for this bullshit assignment.

  “You look a little young to be a doctor.” Chloe leaned in closer so she could see through his mask. “Where did you do your dissertation?”

  He’d known that this question would come. While the soldiers seemed to assume anyone not wearing fatigues was a doctor, he doubted he could pull it off with someone who had actually gone the distance.

  “I’m still only a doctoral candidate, actually,” Sal said and smiled awkwardly. “I’m doing my dissertation in bioengineering.”

  Her pale blond eyebrows rose in surprise. “Wow. I didn’t know they included a trip into the Zoo in doctorate programs.”

  Sal chuckled. “I’m reasonably sure I’m the first. Honestly, I’m still not sure why I was called in. I was essentially uprooted from my life in California to be…alien beast bait.”

  She made a face. “Come on, you have a good team. You’ll come out of this alive and well-compensated for your efforts as long as you don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” Sal nodded. He glanced at the giant jungle on the screens. “I’ll keep that in mind. Something stupid like trying to bring a whole Pita plant back, you mean?”

  She laughed. “Oh, yeah. I saw the cam footage the few survivors sent back. I can guarantee that it’s a bad idea. I’ve seen hostile critters before, make no mistake. They become more and more hostile the closer you get to the Zoo’s ‘ground zero.’ That’s where most of their habitats and nests are, so it’s easier to intrude on their territory—and believe me, they are territorial.” She had a funny way of talking, Sal realized. She managed to talk quickly while still enunciating each word, like an old-school nineties rapper. “But if you back away from their territory quickly, they leave you alone. Some of them attack unprovoked, I guess, but it’s mostly the runts that are desperate for food. It’s amazing how quickly an ecosystem has developed inside the Zoo.”

  Sal nodded. “But we were talking about the Pita plants?”

  “Right.” She shook her head. Maybe she was the type whose thoughts ran away with her the longer she talked. “Well, the plants have a very high concentration of a condensed form of the goop. We’re not sure if they actually produce more of it or simply take in what’s in the ground and alter it somehow. Anyway, the plant has evolved a defense mechanism. Whenever it’s plucked from the ground, it releases a potent pheromone into the air that agitates the rest of the animals.”

  Sal leaned back. “And by agitates, you mean sends them all into a murderous rage.”

  Monroe laughed. “Yes, exactly. We’re not sure what range the pheromone has or if it has a different effect on different animals. Conducting tests isn’t exactly easy when a mistake means getting swarmed by all manner of unpleasantness.”

  “So when you were crowned queen of understatement,” Sal said and let his sarcasm show, “was there a ceremony, or was it simply a letter in the mail?”

  “The whole ceremony—honor guard, bunch of reporters, a really big thing. I’m surprised you missed it.”

  Well, she was a good sport too, he thought with a small smile.

  Lynch, who sat on Sal’s other side, leaned in and nudged him in the shoulder with his elbow. "Well, don’t tell him all the bad shite only. Tell him the good bits too!”

  The topic change seemed to kill Monroe’s mood, and she shook her head and leaned back in her seat.

  “That’s fine,” Lynch growled and rolled his eyes. “I’ll do it meself. Well, everyone knows there are lots of companies that will pay through their arses to get their hands on the flower petals from the Pita darling, but you can bet that they’re not happy to fight over the small bits that come from the flowers folk like us bring in. It’s piecemeal shite and they want the whole damn feast, you know?”

  Sal nodded. “But getting the plant out means having to hack your way through half of the fauna in the Zoo.”

  “Right, which makes it dangerous.” Lynch nodded. “But let’s say that these companies are more than willing to front a hefty amount of dough for anyone who shows enough entrepreneurial spirit to get a full plant out of there intact. Like…give up the life of crime and retire kind of dough.”

  Sal quirked an eyebrow. “Are there any specifics, or do these companies merely cite how many Lambos you can buy?”

  “There’s no standing bounty like there is with the flowers,” Kennedy interjected from the front as she guided the Hammerhead down a massive dune. “The various interested corporations have a bidding war over what they’d be willing to offer to anyone who comes out with an intact Pita plant. The current bid is at four point five million dollars. In cash. And it’ll only go higher the longer it takes for it to happen. If someone actually does it, though, they’ll start a bidding war that will send that price into the stratosphere.”

  Sal whistled. “They really want an intact Pita plant.”

  “Oh. yes,” Lynch growled. “There have been a few legit attempts from the Staging Area, but after the teams all came up empty and dropped like flies, they eventually suggested that we take only the flowers, not the plants. But the local bounty hunters have made some very ambitious attempts. One team out of South Africa actually tried to airlift the thing out with a bloody helicopter. The plan was for them to run in, find a plant, and activate a GPS ping to bring the helo to pick it up.”

  “Let me guess,” Sal said, and Lynch nodded.

  “They went in. They pinged. The helo went in. None were heard from again.”

  “And we’d hear about it if someone actually got it out.”

  Lynch chuckled. “I dare say we’d be out of a job. With the money invested into the juice from those babies, much more would be thrown at growing the plants artificially or maybe even making the juice without the need for a middleman. Since they’d be able to s
ell the get-young spunk without the additional cost of people risking their lives, they’d be able to undercut every one of their competitors.”

  Again, Sal was surprised. He would never in a million years have thought someone like Lynch would know about the intricacies of market economics. In retrospect, though, a man in his position would have to, since it was how he made his living.

  “Wait.” Sal shook his head. “You talked with the bounty hunters? I thought these guys were unsanctioned? Like looters or deep-sea salvagers?”

  “Sure, on paper,” Chloe said. “In reality, the Zoo occupies too vast an area to properly patrol. Besides, the Staging Area is in place to keep the Zoo in, not keep people out. If criminals want to rush in for a quick buck and get themselves killed, they’re more than welcome to. Off the record, of course.”

  “And much like the blood diamond trade,” Lynch said with a lopsided grin, “the companies don’t much care who delivers, so long as they are delivered.”

  Sal lapsed into silence to process all he had heard. This was a lifestyle for these people—not firmly established since they had only done it for about a year and a half, maybe less. But even so, if you’d put your life on the line for some company’s bottom line and a bounty, he could only guess that people might grow cynical. People like Lynch could get used to it and approach it as simply another job. Maybe those like Chloe wouldn’t see it that way. Sure, the money didn’t hurt, but it seemed she was in it for the knowledge gained by working on what was essentially an alien planet. Even Kennedy seemed as gung-ho about it as Lynch, but from her conversation with him before they took off, Sal felt that she wasn’t used to it. Living this kind of life affected her.

  “So,” he said after the silence had dragged on for longer than was comfortable. “I suppose it’s too late to turn my papers in and head on home?”

  The group in the Hammerhead chuckled—all except Kennedy, who kept her gaze firmly on the screens. After a few seconds, Sal chuckled too. They seemed to think that he was joking so perhaps he should go along with the farce. Maybe, if he played along for a while, he might end up believing it.

  Chapter Six

  Silence reigned in the Hammerhead as they drew closer to the Zoo. At a distance, it looked like most jungles with thick, overgrown, heavy trees with vines and bushes creating an undergrowth. Picture perfect, almost. But the closer they got, the more divergences he saw.

  For one thing, Sal realized that the landscape of interminable dunes ended and gave way to what looked like grass growth. He assumed this was the work of the glowing goop they’d found in the alien missile or pod. The color wasn’t the usual green of grass, though. It looked brighter and more intense—maybe an effect of a more efficient process of photosynthesis? Sal made a mental note to look into that later. Bioengineering was his thing, after all, and if they could recreate that in other plants like soy and corn, not only would it increase production, but it would speed up photosynthesis and reduce CO2 in the atmosphere and thus increase oxygen production.

  For the first time, he felt excited about this endeavor. Sure, there was still the dread of the jungle of death, but there was certainly a lot to learn from this Zoo.

  The grass grew thicker and higher the closer they got to the jungle, and bushes and even smaller tree saplings made an appearance. Kennedy and Davis did their best to avoid trampling anything, but eventually, the plants were too thick for the Hammerheads to proceed any farther. They found a small clearing and brought the massive vehicles to a halt.

  Both squads dismounted, and Sal finally saw the people in action. They gathered supplies while both Kennedy and Davis barked orders and double checked to make sure they had everything. From what he could see, they’d taken every kind of emergency into account.

  Collecting and analyzing was his job. Getting everyone out alive was theirs.

  Sal touched the long grass. It was a brighter and more vibrant green than he’d ever seen before. If this was the effect of the goop, he had to wonder what the intention behind it was. It might be some sort of biological warfare, he supposed, but for the most part, it was an environmentalist’s wet dream. He plucked a leaf from a nearby bush and tucked it away for later study. He was sure that the scientists in the Staging Area already had this, but with everyone so focused on the Pita flowers, the other riches might be left by the wayside.

  “Okay, squads,” Davis called once all the supplies were ready. “Your HUDs have the locations of the Hammerheads permanently logged, so if you need to bug out fast, you know where to go. They have an emergency beacon too, so if you can’t make it to the vehicles, we’ll know where to find you and get you out.”

  Sal again felt like he was the reason for the detailed reminders. Or maybe Davis was the kind of leader who had particular rituals before heading into a hostile zone.

  “The boys back in the labs have developed a new kind of smoke bomb that should mask your scent as well as hide you if you’re attacked. They are in the experimental phase, and they want full reports on how they work in the field, so try to keep track. Again, they are experimental. They must not be depended on and should only be used as a last-case scenario. Emergencies only. The goop interferes with short-range comms, so stay within shouting range of your squad at all times. Stick together and get out alive. If any of you dies during this mission, I’ll hunt you cunts down in the afterlife to kick your asses for making me look bad, understood?”

  All nine team members made some sort of gesture to indicate that they understood. Davis seemed like the kind of man who could deliver on a ridiculous threat like that.

  “Squad One, on me,” Davis called, and he marched to Kennedy, gripped her hand, and shook it. “Good luck, Sergeant Kennedy.”

  “You too, Sergeant Davis,” she responded and looked him firmly in the eye. Sal wondered at their relationship. Was it only of mutual respect, or was it something more? Big brother and little sister? Romantic? He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared. Maybe it was something to keep his mind busy so that he didn’t have to look at the Zoo.

  Monroe nudged him in the shoulder. “Don’t die out there, ya hear?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said with a nervous chuckle. He glanced at the Zoo and forced back a gulp. This wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Well, maybe like a walk through Jurassic Park.

  The terrifying part was he wasn’t sure how literal that might be.

  “Squad Two, on me,” Kennedy called, and Sal responded quickly and moved closer to her. She looked at Squad One, watched them head into the dense jungle, and chose another vector. Sal could see her mark a path on her map, and when she had finished, she sent it to everyone else’s HUD. “That’s the path we’ll take. We’ll update it if we run into any obstacles on the way, but none of the previous missions have any marked. If you get lost and are out of comm range, follow the map. You’ll find us eventually.”

  Sal nodded. He’d never been much of a woodsman. Sure, his dad had tried to interest him in hiking and fishing and camping during the summers, but he’d never thought he would ever need those skills in his life. He didn’t want to be outdoors. He wanted to be inside, reading books or running experiments in a controlled environment inside a lab.

  Well, way to prove me wrong, old man. He had passed away before Sal had finished his BS. His mother was still around, though. A tough old bird, Anna Maria Jacobs always made sure her three kids came home for the holidays when the time could be spared.

  Holy shit. Had these motherfuckers even informed his family about what had happened? Sal’s eyes widened. Sure, he wasn’t that close to them, but they might want to know that he was in an alien jungle with a strong chance of becoming sustenance for a hungrier species.

  He could feel a panic attack stir as Kennedy led them into the Zoo. Sal looked around and noticed a bush with a leaf the same intense green as the grass but which had eight points. Few plants had leaves with eight points. He opened the database in his HUD and studied it. A moment passed before it pinged and showe
d him that the plant had been noted. This was a sapling, apparently. No timeline was given, but trees could reach up to fifteen feet in height with knotted and curling trunks and sometimes, even grew like a vine around larger trees.

  See? You’re calmer already. Use that big fucking brain for something other than how many ways this mission can go sideways. Stay focused, stay on target, and do what you came here to do. The rest of these motherfuckers all survived multiple trips into the Zoo. Even the scientist you replaced is still alive, although recovering from a non-lethal wound. People walk in and out of this place all the time.

  Sal felt calmer. He’d had panic attacks often as a kid. While smarter than everybody around him, it had always come at a price. His brain worked far quicker, and he reached natural conclusions more easily. He tended to overthink, and that made him freeze up on occasion. There were side effects of being a genius. There always were. But he wouldn’t have traded his brain for an athletic build in high school. Hell, his brain was the reason he’d gotten out of it so quickly.

  Then again, it would be nice to have both, right?

  “Jacobs!” Kennedy snapped as the squad reached deeper cover and slowed considerably. “Pick up your damned pace. We don’t want to get caught in the outskirts when night comes. They come out to do their hunting, and they’re mostly nocturnal.”

  Sal nodded and hurried to bring up the rear of the five-man squad. Lynch grinned and patted him on the back, while Cortez and Addams simply gave him an odd look. Sure, it was his first time, but didn’t that mean that he should move the fastest since he was so much more pants-shittingly scared?

  “So, where are we supposed to find these Pita flower plants?” Sal asked Lynch once they’d pushed deeper into the jungle.

  “Well, they don’t grow on the outskirts for some reason.” He hefted a heavy rifle in the mechanical arm of his suit. “The brains back at the Staging Area seem to think that it has something to do with how much of the goop is underground. It only grows where there’s a lot of it, and there’s much more of that closer to ground zero or the very center of the Zoo. Folk assume that there should be a heavy concentration in that area, but nobody’s been there since the locusts came and fucked the whole experiment up.