“Yes, that’s right. Could you tell me where I might find him?” She shrugged. “I seem to have lost Sergeant Wendell, my escort.”
As she posed this question, the emergency lights, flashers, and alarms all ceased and left them in silence and darkness for a split-second. Then, the normal lights returned and restored the hallway’s illumination.
Laura breathed a sigh of relief. That alarm sound had driven her nuts.
“Oh, good,” Sonny said. “Anyway, yeah, you’re already on the right track here. Keep heading down this hall and turn to the left. You’ll find his office a short way down on the right there. A nice big black sign says ‘Director’ right next to his door. You can’t miss it.” He cleared his throat. “Even if you wanted to.”
She laughed again. “Very well and thank you so much. Sooner or later, I’ll have to stop by to sample some of your cooking.”
“My pleasure, miss,” he said and tipped his cook’s hat to her.
Before she left, she looked over the man’s shoulder and a piece of paper triggered her curiosity. DEATH LEAGUE POSTINGS was the heading and below this was only a list of ordered names. At the top, someone had written Jan H Shalwar followed redundantly by the word TOP.
“Death League?” she muttered quietly as she resumed her walk. She could only assume it was some type of contest the silly macho types played to see who could kill the most aliens or some such thing. Or perhaps it was a role-playing scenario like fantasy football only slightly more violent.
As she continued down the hall, she noticed that some of the people she’d seen earlier were returning as normal operations recommenced. As Sonny had instructed, she turned left at the T-intersection and then scanned the offices to her right. Sure enough, a Director sign manifested itself beside a door that was noticeably offset from any others nearby. It must have led to a particularly big office.
She knocked on the door. “Hello,” she said, “I’m new and I was told to speak to you.”
“Who is it?” a voice asked. The accent was English, at least, so that was good.
“Dr. Laura Curie,” she answered. “I…received an assignment here. They said my e-paperwork had already gone through.”
“Ah, yes,” the man’s voice said briskly. “Do come in, please.”
Without hesitation, she opened the door and stepped in. Beyond the door was a lobby, although it was empty. While there was a desk for a secretary or receptionist, no one was seated there. Behind it was an open door from which, presumably, the director’s voice had come.
“Back here. Come along, now,” he said as if to bring a small dog to heel.
Undeterred, she entered the office itself. Behind a large and expensive desk sat a wiry, unpleasant-looking man with side-parted hair of a nondescript grey-brown color and a facial expression somewhere between morose despondency and smirking glibness.
“Hello,” he began. “I’m Ernest Roden, Director of Fort Archway and its facilities and personnel. Formerly an administrator at MI6, if that kind of thing interests you.” His tone strongly implied that he felt it should interest her. “I’m terribly pleased to meet you, Miss Curie, despite the circumstances of your being here.”
Terribly? “Ah, yes, thank you,” she said and kept her tone polite and friendly. “It’s nice to meet you as well, sir. Mr. Roden. Please call me Doctor, though, if you would please.”
“Thank you. And yes, quite right, Doctor. Much like mine, I suspect your job entails a large proportion of administration?”
“Yes,” she replied, “but really, I’m more of a scientist than anything else. I had become quite bored with administration and look forward to plunging back into the field out here, doing real research again. However, I’m happy to help in any capacity, so whatever you might need me to do will be fine.”
She smiled, although not too obviously. Already, she did not particularly like this man, but she did not want to screw this up. She couldn’t afford to blow it now. After being fired and forcibly reassigned, the Zoo might be the only place that would have her. While she continued to work on scientific discoveries the way she and her sister had dreamed they would do, she might also redeem her career.
“Well, there’s certainly more than enough for you to do,” Roden continued as he glanced at a couple of things on his computer screen.
“May I ask,” she ventured, “why there are so many Germans here? I even bumped into one who seems to be one of the high-ranking commanders on base.” It occurred to her that as long as she’d hacked into government servers to read up on the Zoo, she should have read everything about the place—how it was run and by whom, for starters.
Instead, she had neglected all the boring political shite in favor of simply binge-reading about the research being done and the biological and ecological aspects. In particular, the original American researchers, the late Dr. Geraldine Marie and Dr. Christopher Lin, had produced a bevy of fascinating and provocative material.
“Ah, yes,” the director responded. “His Majesty’s Government has tried to keep quiet about it but at present, we have entered a mostly secret partnership with Germany and run this base as a joint operation. As director, I oversee the project as a whole. We appoint the civilian and military heads based on experience, expertise, and suitability. As it so happens, the current commanding officer is German, and although it’s still early days, it seems to be working out. It’s an opportunity to improve relations between our countries—following the slight unpleasantness surrounding our departure from the European Union—but mostly, it’s a matter of pragmatic convenience. Mutual symbiosis, as I believe scientists would put it.” He smiled at his own wit. “Unfortunately, however, our last chief scientist…uh, didn’t work out. Very few people actually want to come here, you see, so we needed a new head researcher.”
“Yes, that would be perfect.” Head researcher sounded dangerously close to administrative, but she felt confident she could finagle things to ensure she was able to do as much of the fun stuff as possible. “When do I start?”
“Why, right now,” he replied. He leaned back in his leather chair and grasped an ink pen between the fingers of both hands. “Normally, of course, a new arrival is supposed to go through a lengthy and tedious induction process—something the bureaucratic higher-ups have insisted upon.” He said that a little sarcastically as though he somehow did not consider himself a member of this category. “However, I’m quite certain we can delay that or even waive it altogether—scientists are in short supply at the moment.” He smiled.
“Of course,” Laura agreed. “I appreciate your trust in my abilities.”
“You’re quite welcome,” Roden said. “Oh, when I said you start right now, though, I didn’t mean in the lab. You’ll go into the Zoo.”
She stood in silence for a moment and simply stared at the man, not sure how she should react. “That’s…wonderful!” she said and her face broke into a grin that was, in fact, quite genuine. There had been a brief palpitation of fear and a moment of hesitation—but only a moment. She was excited at the prospect of going back into the field. Or, rather, the jungle.
“You’ll accompany a military team under Captain Shalwar. I must emphasize that the Zoo can be very dangerous. However, Shalwar is one of our best—he’s very capable and experienced so you should be all right provided you do exactly as he says and observe all safety protocols.”
“Yes, yes,” she said but barely paid attention. All she could think about at this moment was Alicia. She knew the chance to study the Zoo was a dream come true for her sister. In the end, that had killed her, but she would do everything she could to take advantage of the opportunity Alicia never lived to experience. At the same time, she could test her hypothesis which, with a little more observation and evidence, could blossom into a full-fledged theory. She kept the details of it to herself, for now—Roden didn’t seem like the type to appreciate them, anyway—but was already thinking of how best to summarize the whole thing when she had the opportunity to
sit down and write.
Things were happening again.
“Well, then,” she said. “Let’s get going.”
Chapter Eight
Soldat Gunter Grün had thought himself lucky to be selected for a field mission so quickly. The ink had hardly had time to dry on the battery of forms he’d completed when a Feldwebel had come to inform him that he was to go in the next morning at 0800 sharp. He would serve under someone named Hauptmann Klaus Grossman. Gunter had barely managed to stop himself from pumping his fist in the air and shouting an obscene call of triumph. He had, after all, come because he wanted to kick some ass.
Now, however, he had begun to wonder whose ass was actually being kicked.
“Scheisse!” someone behind him cried. He pivoted and had already hefted and aimed his rifle in preparation for another attack when he stilled. The first of many more, his mind told him wearily. There had been so many already.
But it was not an attack. Rather, Obergefreiter Kirsch had collapsed into the mud at the side of the trail. The man had been wounded in the stomach earlier when he’d taken a full swipe of a giant locust’s knife-like claws. He’d groaned and spat up blood as they tried to patch the wound and since then, had been unable to walk by himself and hobbled along only with the help of another soldier who’d supported him with an arm over his shoulder. Now, Kirsch had finally lost consciousness.
“Halt!” the Hauptmann commanded. The column stopped moving.
The soldat who’d helped Kirsch knelt at his side and their medic ran up. Gunter stared at them and grimaced when he saw that the fall had broken the wound open and blood now leaked into the dirt. Kirsch didn’t move at all.
“He’s gone,” the medic said.
The other man cursed, and Grün swallowed. This was not what he had expected. He’d certainly had some notion of the fact that combat could be an ugly business, but this exceeded even his wildest imaginings.
The Hauptmann moved to the men to have a look. “We have to leave him,” Klaus said. “The Americans can’t be far now, though. We are almost there, and we will complete the mission.” He turned and strode toward the front of the column.
“You heard him,” said the grey-haired Feldwebel Schwartz. “Move out.”
They complied but no one spoke.
At first, Gunter had been inclined to like Hauptmann Klaus. The man was gung-ho, tough, and full of charisma and infectious enthusiasm. He seemed like one of the guys and like he wasn’t afraid to lead from the front and get his hands dirty. Certainly, he’d participated as much in the actual fighting as any of the others had.
And the mission wasn’t merely a routine patrol. It was real hero action. An American team had gone missing in this part of the Zoo, in the borderlands between the US and British-German spheres of influence. No word had been sent to their own or any other base. Someone had to search for them and learn what the hell had happened.
Unfortunately, it had not taken long at all to determine what the problem might be. They had wandered directly into something’s hunting grounds.
“Going into the Zoo is not a walk in the park,” Klaus had told them before they’d departed. “The Brits call this base ‘Archway.’ They do have troops at the base but are mostly here to run the research and development side of things. They look at the Zoo and mainly see its scientific potential, so they think this is a gateway to a bright future. Our German researchers share this sentiment to a large degree. We, however, are here as soldiers. The Zoo is our enemy, and we’re here to fight it. If any of you have been around here for any length of time, you’ve probably heard some of the smartasses calling the place ‘Arschweg’ on grounds that it is the gateway into hell’s asshole. That is not much of an exaggeration.”
Gunter and a few others had cracked up at that—really, how could they not laugh? Of course, Klaus had noticed and had immediately marched over to give him the standardized, “Oh, you think this is funny?” speech, which he had pretended to agree with and understand.
Now, though, he did understand.
“Can’t we try our phones again?” one of the younger guys asked. He clearly tried not to sound whiny but mostly failed. The impression wasn’t helped by the fact that he had pestered Feldwebel Schwartz on this matter for the last two hours, approximately once every fifteen minutes.
“Be quiet, Soldat,” Schwartz snapped. “You know it won’t work. The Zoo plants give off some kind of electromagnetic field that blocks the reception.”
He understood the soldat’s concerns. All the men felt antsy. Over the course of two days, something had picked them off one by one and had now claimed eight victims. Plus, of course, Kirsch, who’d been the only one seriously injured in the brief locust attack.
But whatever hunted them at present wasn’t a locust.
To make matters worse, there had been a sudden and bizarre downpour immediately after the fight with the insects. Gunter and several of the other rookies had been stunned to see so much water fall from the sky in the middle of the bone-dry Sahara and with almost no warning. One of the more experienced soldiers had explained that the Zoo was able to produce its own weather systems, independent of the surrounding climate. No one had any idea of how that was even possible, but there it was, very evident and undeniable. At least the rain had washed most of the blood off them, but it had also turned the jungle’s floor into a quagmire.
Hauptmann Klaus refused to turn back. He seemed grimly determined and almost obsessed with completing the mission and bringing back either the American survivors—if there were any—or proof of their death if not.
And so, they had continued, deeper and deeper into the dark jungle. Gunter had lost track of the distance but he knew they were many klicks in. They’d barely slept during the night. There seemed no place that was even remotely comfortable, and the Zoo constantly made faint breathing noises. Worse, it seemed something always scuttered through the trees whenever they thought they might actually doze off. No one had bothered to use a shaving mirror to check, but they all knew they looked hollow-eyed and ragged like men who’d been away from civilization for a long time.
“Why does he want to find the Americans so badly?” Gunter asked the man next to him, a soldat named Darsky.
“He’d say it’s only because those were the orders,” Darsky answered in a very low, very soft voice, “but it’s really because he wants to upstage Jan—also known as Hauptmann Shalwar. That guy with the endless list of rules.”
“Oh, him,” Gunter recalled. “I broke…I forget which number. The one about always carrying a gun on base.” He recalled initially liking Klaus far more than Jan but then again, he also recalled what Sonny the cook had said about Jan being willing to sacrifice himself for the safety of his men.
“Yeah, there’s like three hundred of those stupid rules or something. I forget exactly how many. Anyway, he and Klaus have a rivalry going. Supposedly it’s a friendly rivalry—supposedly.”
“The Death League,” said the guy behind them. “Someone always comes out on top. Not that it’s a good thing. But it’s usually not—”
“Hey!” Schwartz snapped at them. “Be quiet. Those things out there can hear us, you know. We don’t want to attract any more attention than necessary.”
Gunter nodded. Now there was an order he could agree with.
He was about to ask for more details about the missing American team when something whisked almost imperceptibly through the air near Feldwebel Schwartz and the top and side of the man’s head came off. That portion of his skull and helmet slid down and blood leaked from the hole in his head.
“Gott im Himmel!” Darksy exclaimed. In the next moment, something seized the old NCO’s feet and hauled him into the foliage so fast he might as well have been teleported.
Gunter brought his rifle up. He knew his eyes bulged and his pulse rocketed upward to the point where he could hear his own heart beating in his throat. Shrieks and gunfire erupted all around him.
Chapter Nine
&
nbsp; “I am Hauptmann Jan T Shalwar, your commanding officer, and we will depart immediately. But first, a very brief review.” This was his standard opening to any pep talk he gave to a team preparing to enter the Zoo, and those who had been with him on the last occasion did seem to scrunch their faces as they tried to remember why it sounded mysteriously familiar.
“For all that the Zoo is dangerous,” he said, “men and women regularly go in, only to come out alive. The way to achieve this is to be like them. Which means being smart and following the—”
“Hauptmann,” The Bull interrupted. She generally did not interfere with his briefings, so it must have been something of actual import. He turned and looked in the direction from which her voice had come.
Leutnant Ferris stood at attention with her hands behind her back, but she gestured with her chin toward the door, which had opened to reveal Fort Archway’s beloved civilian director, Ernest Roden.
Jan instantly felt his bowels tighten slightly even as his spirits, such as they were, sank. The man’s approach was always much like a large, dark cloud drifting over the sun. Actual dark clouds, at least, were not as smarmy. They didn’t have the power to wrap people in endless tangles of red tape while explaining in impenetrable management-jargon that it was for their own good, all while assuming that everyone loved them for their fearless leadership and personal charm. Given the choice, he would much prefer to simply be rained on.
“Hello!” the director said with a limp, redundant wave as he minced his way into the bay. “I have a lovely surprise for you all…” He paused, looked around for a second, and smiled an awkward, artificial smile. “Does everyone here speak English?”
“Ja,” The Bull answered.
The team began to make subtle jeering noises, not loud enough for Roden to hear yet—or, at least, Jan didn’t think so—but loud enough for their officers to grasp what was going on. He ignored it, for now. In all honesty, he didn’t exactly blame them and would turn a blind eye as long as they didn’t get too obnoxious or obvious about it. Soldiers would be soldiers.
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