by Michael Todd
He Was Not Prepared
Birth Of Heavy Metal™ Book 1
Michael Todd
Michael Anderle
He Was Not Prepared (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2018 Michael Todd, and Michael Anderle
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, December 2018
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Connect with Michael Todd
Books by Michael Todd
Books written as Michael Anderle
The He Was Not Prepared Team
JIT Readers
Kelly O’Donnell
Crystal Wren
John Ashmore
Peter Manis
Mary Morris
James Caplan
Daniel Weigert
Nicole Emens
Micky Cocker
Editor
SkyHunter Editing Team
Dedication
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
to Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
to Live the Life We Are
Called.
Chapter One
This fucking internship was killing him.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like popcorn. It was movie food, something to chew on. Everyone got the munchies now and then, and popcorn met the need. It was low in calories and could be made to last until the munchies ended.
The problem was that it was the only thing close to nourishment in the goddamn house aside from a few ramen packets. It was embarrassing.
Still, it was better than nothing at all. The apartment was provided by the company, which meant it was free. Unfortunately, the downside was that it was miles away from anything. The nearest shopping mall was a ten-minute drive away. While he did drive a company car, they didn’t compensate him for the gas, so that had to be frugally managed. At this point, he couldn’t afford the drive to buy food.
Being a genius was a pain sometimes as it meant his brain never turned off. Even the mindless eating meant hours of mental debate and anxiety about his financial situation and whether or not it was easier to make do with whatever he had. But he would stop at the store tomorrow and get… Well, his heart and stomach said steak, but again, his wallet said something along the lines of mac and cheese.
Of course, Salinger Jacobs, who’d obtained his BS by the time he was eighteen and then a masters in bioengineering, could simply get with the program. He could bow down and kiss the ass of some Ph.D. out there, be a grad assistant, and run errands. Maybe someday, they might accept his already-written dissertation and give him a Ph.D. of his own. But who had the time for that bullshit? He was more or less content to pay his dues as an intern in one of the most prestigious bio labs on the East Coast. Someday soon, someone would see past the mess of his work area and finally decide to give him a chance.
In the meantime, he’d have to accept endless ramen noodles was all he could afford and his continue his irrelevant complaints.
At least the place had a forty-inch flat screen TV to distract him from the mediocre feast. It wasn’t anything to write home about, but it did keep him occupied.
The TV ran a news report about an experiment gone rogue. He had seen a couple of papers published on it. What was believed to be an alien vessel had been located at the borders of the solar system about five years before, the cute blonde reporter said as a 3D rendition of the event displayed onscreen.
Sal remembered it clearly. It was hard to forget since it seemed that nothing else had been discussed for the next six months or so. He understood the fuss. The discovery of alien life was considered the breakthrough of human history, even if humans weren’t actually responsible for it themselves.
Either way, the vessel had orbited Jupiter for three and a half days, launched something at the Earth, and simply disappeared. Predictably, massive upheaval resulted. Many of the world leaders ranted about how this was a declaration of war from an alien species, and people ran around like it was the end of the world. NASA intervened and told everyone to get their collective shit together. They then worked with the various space agencies to launch an interception shuttle.
The alien object entered Earth’s gravity about a week later and was intercepted and brought down after scientists ascertained that it had taken some damage in a collision with a meteor or space debris.
If this was the aliens’ way of declaring war, he’d thought at the time, it was a pathetically weak statement.
Either way, tests had been run on it while it was still in space to ensure it was safe to return with it. Thereafter, it had been sent to isolated labs for further study. He remembered that, too, since he had been probed by the State Department for a minor position on the project. He had almost finished his masters at the time. Nothing came of that, but Sal had still kept an ear out for any news of the project.
Heh. Probed. He chuckled at the irony of his word choice.
It had been firmly established that it had been engineered and wasn’t naturally occurring. Full details were kept under wraps, although it was leaked that it contained a biological marvel that could solve a host of environmental problems on Earth.
During the election campaign about two years before, there was a massive push from various agencies to release what they tested in controlled experiments into the real world. As always, this demand was powered by politicians who used environmental problems as their election platform.
It had been worded as a request, but one with teeth.
Still, the buzz in the scientific community had been palpable. The ground-breaking work could potentially save the world. Political motivations aside, there was every indication that this was one of the greatest advancements ever recorded in bioengineering.
Or so he�
��d heard. Sal still only followed the affair from a distance.
But now, it seemed that everything had gone to shit.
They’d moved the program to a section of the Sahara that was completely devoid of life. For the first six months, apparently, everything seemed to go well. Against all odds, the ground regained nutrients and life returned to one of the most desolate regions of the world, the reporter said. Hope blossomed, and no doubt all those involved had torn rotator cuffs from patting each other’s backs.
There were some side effects, however. The insects in the region reacted exponentially to sudden spurts of growth in their area. The reporter seemed shocked by this, even though she was reputedly an expert in the field. Sal made a face and chewed another fistful of popcorn.
Locust numbers had grown to ridiculous proportions and swarmed and acted aggressively. Arriving from the sub-Saharan regions, this insect army chewed their way through most of the flora in their area and moved north into the testing zone. By now, the alien material spread of its own accord and filled the land with fresh plant growth, which attracted the locusts to that particular spot.
At this point, the swarm mysteriously disappeared.
Sal rolled his eyes when the report broke off into the voices of various news reporters talking about the incident against a background of dramatic violin music. It reminded him of a low-budget B-level action flick.
A knock sounded at the door, and he scowled. He didn’t get many visitors. Surprisingly, not many people wanted to hang out with him.
“I’ve already fixed the clogging issue, Mr. Addison,” he called, assuming his visitor was the building’s super. “I left you a note about it two days ago.”
No answer followed, merely more knocking.
“Fucking— Go away!”
Whoever it was clearly didn’t get the message. They knocked again.
Sal shrugged, grabbed the remote, and turned the volume up. He was too comfortable to get up. More banging, louder this time.
“You’re making this worse for yourself, pal,” he called toward the door and pushed the volume up further. He could hear the thumping but didn’t care. He’d send an official complaint in the morning. Today, he simply couldn’t be bothered.
The story continued at the louder volume. The scientists had worked feverishly to keep the swarm away from their project and now assumed their effort had been successful. For about a second, the scientific community breathed a sigh of relief.
The first signs actually seemed positive. The growth of the project intensified and spread over a wider area at a greater pace and exceeded their expectations. That was when things turned ugly. The first sign was finding flora that was…alien. The plants were collected quickly and studied. The DNA was similar to that of regular plants, but it was entirely unfamiliar.
Cameras cut to images that caught movement, screams, and blood.
Fauna appeared—animals that were as alien as the new plants and extremely hostile.
More B-movie-type music and news clippings followed with the usual flurry of tweets. A few comments from the scientists on site were no help.
The eventual conversation turned current. They now tried to isolate the spread. What had been a carefully controlled growth area inside the Sahara had become a wild jungle of new and inexplicable dangers. They had begun work on a wall at the southern border of the desert to keep it contained. The theory was that the alien goo had a growth reaction when interacting with new forms of life. The critical priority was to keep it away from the African savannahs. The dangers were unknown but frighteningly real, and they increased daily.
Sal sighed and rolled his eyes. This was definitely B-flick material. Maybe the producers would hire him as an outside expert while they let their big burly star drive cars, shoot guns, and spit one-liners.
It had to be a better job than what he had now.
Agent Jackson sighed and tugged at his suit as Andrews hammered at the door again. The sound of the TV had increased each time they knocked, but they had to persist. It wasn’t like they could leave a message for the guy inside to call at his earliest convenience. They had a job to do, and they couldn’t walk away from it.
“Fucking asshole,” Andrews growled when the volume increased again.
“Can you believe this guy?” Jackson asked and shook his head. “Who the hell doesn’t answer their door?”
“He thinks we’re the super,” his colleague replied with a scowl.
“Do you think we should announce ourselves?”
“Yeah, because State Department agents are the best known in the country,” Andrews drawled sarcastically.
“Shut up,” Jackson growled.
“What’s up your ass?”
“My kid has a piano recital tonight. Her mother will let me have dinner with her afterward if I can get there in time. I don’t think I’ll make it.”
Andrews frowned. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. How are proceedings going?”
“How do you think? Divorces are hard, man. She took time off her job. Do you think O’Reilly will give me a few weeks off?”
The other man raised an eyebrow. “I guess not.”
“You know what?” Jackson said. “I’m done. Fuck this guy.” He stepped toward the door.
“We can’t break in,” Andrews reminded his partner.
The agent pressed his ear to the door. “You hear that? I think our man is destroying evidence.”
“That’ll never hold up.”
Jackson took a few steps back from the door and shrugged. “Who cares? They’re shipping this kid out anyway.” That said, he moved in and hammered the heel of his boot beside the lock. It offered no resistance. The door swung open and ripped the hinges off.
Their target jumped from his seat, spilling popcorn everywhere. The man wasn’t very tall, with dark, Hispanic features and black hair a few inches too long. He was dressed in sweatpants and an old tank top, and his dark eyes looked mostly shocked but a little bit amused.
“What the fuck—”
The agents held their badges out. “I’m Agent Jackson, and this is my partner Agent Andrews. We’re with the State Department.”
“Kudos,” the kid said. “Want to explain why you busted my door open?”
They exchanged a glance. Most people’s first question was, “The State Department has agents?”
Andrews stepped in once they had recovered their composure. “I don’t see any damage. Do you see any damage, Agent Jackson?”
His partner looked at the door. “That door was like that when we got here.”
The young man rolled his eyes.
Andrews ignored him and continued, “Anyway, we’re here to inform you that your contract with Caltech Laboratories has been bought out by the State Department. You’ve been specifically requested as part of a joint operation outside the country.”
“What? The State Department can’t buy out contracts.”
The agent turned to look at Jackson. “Really? That’s an interesting point. Isn’t that an interesting point, Agent Jackson?”
“Very interesting point, Agent Andrews. You should probably take that up with the legal department while you’re on the plane to Sudan.”
“The…what?”
“I’d suggest packing a bag with the essentials, Mr. Jacobs. Maybe some clothes, although I’d avoid the winter jackets,” Andrews said. “You have five minutes.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he protested.
“You can take that up with the legal department on the plane too,” Jackson said. “But we leave in five minutes. I suggest you pack.”
Andrews looked at his watch to drive the point home.
Jacobs growled and walked to his room. Fifteen seconds past the five-minute mark, he emerged dressed in a pair of jeans, jogging shoes, and a Caltech T-shirt and carried a backpack.
“Shit,” he said. “I’d really hoped you assholes would be gone by now.”
“That’s hurtful,” Andrews said and took him by
the shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“You’re an American Citizen, Mr. Jacobs,” Jackson replied and took his other shoulder. “You always have a choice.”
Chapter Two
A black SUV waited for them in the street and this late at night, the roads were deserted. Sal lived in a complex in a residential area outside Pasadena, California, where nightlife lacked the staying power of the city.
The agents pushed Sal into the back seat of the vehicle. Andrews sat beside him while Jackson took the driver’s seat. The SUV hummed to life, and they sped away.
“So,” Sal said after five minutes of complete silence, “when you guys said Sudan, you meant Sudan, Texas, right?”
“There’s a city called Sudan in Texas?” Andrews asked.
“Crap.” Sal leaned back in his seat. “So will you tell me why I’m shipped off to the middle of goddamn Africa?”
“No,” Jackson growled. “Now, keep your trap shut for the rest of the ride.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sal leaned forward in his seat. “Does my talking inconvenience you? I mean, it’s not like I’ve ripped you from your home in the middle of the night. I’ll try to keep it down during this ride taking me, against my will, to an airplane that will fly me halfway across the fucking planet.”