A door to his right swung open and two techs pushed out a gurney laden with a black body bag. Reaper stopped in his tracks. “Who is that?”
Winters appeared in the doorway. “A weak link.”
Sinister tendrils practically oozed from her soulless face. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the bright edge blasting in Winters’ pale gaze couldn’t be denied.
“Where are my men?”
“The rest of your team is in the lab straight ahead.”
“The rest?”
Winters lifted her chin. “Dawson didn’t make it.”
He blinked, processing her information through the rapidly descending cloud of rage and dread. He’d spotted Quantum about a week after the lunchroom meeting, but not Dawson.
Not Dawson.
“You killed him!”
Winters didn’t even flinch. “He suffered a massive brain aneurism six weeks ago. We did everything we could to control the internal bleeding, but he succumbed. There was nothing else we could do.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Reaper lunged and the pair of armed guards closed in, blocking him from reaching the doctor. “I’ll kill you for this!”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d overreact. Dawson donated his life and body to this project knowing fully the risks. Second, you can’t kill me. I’m the only thing keeping the rest of your team alive.”
“This happened six weeks ago. You kept him in the cooler this long?”
“We had to make sure this didn’t happen again.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that when Dawson signed his consent for the project, he agreed to donate his body to research in the event of loss of life.”
Reaper shoved through the pitifully weak guards and grabbed the zipper on Dawson’s body bag. The sight that greeted him was more than he’d ever be prepared to witness. A huge, ugly Y-shaped scar covered his chest from shoulder to stomach, the shredded edges of his skin now held together by thick black threads. “This isn’t research.”
A flicker of something beyond sanity flashed behind Winters’ thick glasses. “We needed to see the effects of the dosage on the organs and tissues.”
“You butchered him.”
“He didn’t feel a thing.”
“Bitch!” Reaper lunged again, diving over Dawson’s body and wrapping his hands around her throat. If he could just get his grip right, he’d snap her head from her shoulders. He had the strength, thanks to her.
A guard slammed the butt of his rifle in to Reaper’s temple but he didn’t let go. Winters had to die.
Her pale face turned a wonderful shade of purple and she clawed at his grip. A useless endeavor but he enjoyed her struggle all the same. “How does it feel knowing that you’re going to die and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it.”
The other guard slammed his gun into the base of Reaper’s skull. His grip loosened, out of his control. Winters dropped to the floor, coughing and hacking, shielded by his dead teammate.
Reaper fought off the wave of dizziness and went for her again, but this time they were ready. The men converged as one, punching him without pause until he had no recourse but to retreat to find his footing.
Winters climbed to her feet, her hand around her neck and croaked. “Get him to the test room.”
“Sore throat?” He cast her a merciless grin. The bitch needed to suffer before she died. She might have escaped this time, but that was a temporary state. He’d kill her – sooner rather than later.
Guns trained on him, the guards backed to the doors at the end of the hall.
“Your men are waiting, Captain.” Winters kept Dawson between them and straightened to her full height. “Remember what I said about funding.”
He followed the guards down the hall and pushed open the door to the laboratory.
Blood covered everything. Tables, computers, the walls. Dead bodies littered the floor. Civilians in lab coats screamed. His men attacking them like vicious animals.
Terror crushed his sternum against his lungs.
His team, who’d vowed to protect innocents with their lives, was killing civilians.
A sharp, high-pitched screech penetrated his awareness and the bloodshed faded. Everything faded but the urge to kill. His mind snapped like a huge sheet of tin in the wind, flushed bright white with streaks of lightning and he could no longer see his men going savage. He couldn’t see the scientist falling to the ground.
He saw himself, moving like a bullet. His hands around the technician’s throat. The scalpel buried in the next man’s chest. Grabbing another screaming scientist and breaking him in half over his own knee.
At some point, Reaper returned to conscious, ragged, deep, gasping breaths pistoning in and out of his chest.
Bodies on the ground. Death and destruction that was an orderly lab only seconds before.
His own hands were covered in blood. Blood from the innocents he’d just murdered.
A terrifying dread gripped him, and his bloodstained hands started to shake.
He didn’t know when he woke up or how, but he was standing in the middle of the lab, covered in blood, his knife clenched in his hand. The only people left living were him and his team. The lab technicians who normally manned the research room lay in heaps around their feet, dead.
Reaper dropped the knife, horror creeping around his entire body.
And then a light flicked on across the room, highlighting a line of uniformed men and women standing behind a half-wall of glass, satisfaction on their faces.
Through the thick observation glass lining the back wall, Reaper met the satisfied gaze of his mentor, Jack Mankel, flanked by Dr. Winters and General Rainier.
With a thunderous clap of dread, he realized the high-pitched squeal hadn’t been an alarm, it had been a trigger for devastation that had robbed his control and turned him into a cold-blooded murderer. Project Mayhem hadn’t only been an experiment to enhance his team’s capabilities, it had been a study on mind control.
His mentor smiled, tucked his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving his team alone with their new reality.
Their dreams of saving others was demolished by their own hands. They were no longer heroes.
No longer soldiers.
No longer saviors.
…They were killers.
2
Six months later…
Sweet Caroline … Good times never seemed so good, Sweet Caroline … I believe they never could …
Caroline Cotter fought her way through the grog and pried open her eyes. Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline was playing on auto-repeat somewhere in the room. Every time she woke, it was to his voice, but there was nothing sweet about her situation.
“She’s awake, General.”
Voices floated in and out of her consciousness, strange figures in white lab coats and thick glasses. Caroline tried to move her arms, but they’d been strapped to the narrow, hospital-style bed, not that she had enough strength to actually move.
She could barely lift her head.
Holding her eyes open took all her energy.
A familiar figure appeared next to her, his uniform blurry before it zoomed into sharp contrast. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt heavy and dry, too thick to move. All she managed was a low moan. General Rainier, her spurned ex-fiancé.
Oh, God.
He smoothed a rough hand down her head and cheek, the abrasive contact sending a shock of near pain through her sensitive skin. No one had touched her since she’d been here. The agony of the forced contact was more than she could process. He shouldn’t be touching her. Why was he even here?
Why am I here?
Finally, he drew his hand back to his side, letting it rest next to his snugly fitting uniform. “She seems really out of it.”
Another voice, this one soft and feminine, said, “We’re keeping her heavily sedated. Her body can regenerate the blood and nutrients she needs bette
r that way.”
The woman’s voice was familiar, though Caroline couldn’t put a name to it.
“Ah, not what I expected—” Rainier stroked his smooth chin and she could practically feel his gaze boring into her, “—but effective nonetheless. I’ve been informed you’ve hit a snag in the experiment.”
There was a slight pause and then the female spoke again, from somewhere behind Rainier. “Not a snag, sir. The subject can only give so much blood at one time without incurring death. We test each batch as quickly and efficiently as possible, but so far all tests have failed. There is something we’re missing.”
“Something inside her.” Rainier gestured to Caroline.
She had no idea what they were talking about, but a growing sense of dread enveloped her entire body.
“Yes, sir,” the female answered.
“How much blood have you taken?”
“More than we should.”
“Take more,” Rainier snapped out. “I’m on the clock. I need results.”
“Sir—”
Shuffling broke out in the room before Rainier spoke again. “If you don’t get me the results I need, then I’ll find someone who will. Do you understand?”
The woman made a choking sound. Caroline focused all her energy on turning her head. Rainier had his hand around the doctor’s throat, and his gaze burned with deadly intent. Caroline tried to call out for help, but again, only a moan left her lips.
“Yes, sir,” the doctor croaked out.
Rainier released her instantly and smoothed out his uniform before turning back to Caroline. “This little beauty holds the key to my future. I don’t care if you have to put her on death’s door as long as you can bring her back. I need results. Now.”
He leaned down, and his face, which she’d once considered kind and almost fatherly, was contorted with malevolence. Her insides shrunk, instinctively straining away from the obvious predator. He wanted to cause her pain.
And she was powerless to escape.
His finger stroked her lips and dark terror gripped her insides. No! This can’t be happening.
“Remember, Caroline, I tried to do this the easy way by marrying you. You chose the hard way.” Rainier straightened and turned to the doctor. “She can handle more. Get a new batch running, now. I want your report on my desk by morning.”
Rainier strode away, reaching out to crank up the radio volume just before he left the room. The lyrics pulsed through Caroline’s veins, wrapping around her mind and sucking her under. She could barely keep her eyes open.
“I’m sorry, Caroline. I didn’t want to do this again so soon.” The doctor held up a long needle and stuck it into the large IV embedded in Caroline’s arm.
“No… .”
“It will be okay.” The doctor’s hand smoothed down Caroline’s face, closing her eyes. “Just relax, you won’t feel a thing.”
*
Forty-eight hours later…
Reaper stalked through the rainforest, dried palm leaves scraping across his face and shoulders. The low hum of insects droned in the background, punctuated by an occasional howl from the monkeys infesting the Sudan. He’d already combed his old lab, where Mankel had moved his team after the huge fall out with General Rainier. It had taken him precious weeks to locate the new lab, weeks he and his team didn’t have.
Reaper checked his watch, his mouth firming with dread. Less than seventy-two hours before his men surpassed the hard deadline for their next serum dose.
When he reached the edge of the cliff, Reaper paused and closed his eyes, allowing his heightened senses to reach out beyond the immediate area, feeling for the hidden presence of sentries. He was less than a hundred meters from his destination, a place that would never be left unguarded.
Almost instantly, he felt the vibrations in the air to his left. A man standing still, his only movement a slight twist of the shoulders and neck as he scanned the area. Reaper didn’t worry about being found—there was no way the guard could see him where he stood. Not without a pair of binoculars.
He sensed two more guards easing through the jungle within this vicinity, all of them carrying automatic rifles. Which were great for long-distance combat, but they wouldn’t stand a chance in close quarters, which was exactly how Reaper planned to take them out.
He was no longer under anyone’s control, but he still had his abilities, and he had every intention of using them to achieve his objective. Still, he needed to keep operational silence and hold his cards close to his chest. He could penetrate the bunker—Reaper knew that from personal experience.
But what was inside was more precious than any treasure. If he had to, he’d give up his life to save what was in there, although he had absolutely no intention of dying today.
The setting sun cast thick shadows smudging across the undergrowth, leaving only scattered patches of light. It would be completely dark soon and that was when he would make his move.
Reaper crouched near the cliff’s edge and pulled out a single scope. It was easy for him to spot his target down below, but it would have been nearly impossible for anyone whose abilities and senses hadn’t been enhanced by Mayhem. Vines and vegetation crisscrossed together, so thick they were like long fingers, making it appear as though there was only jungle and more jungle beyond. But Reaper’s vision picked out the small bits of gray through the canopy, the incognito keypad embedded in the rock wall on the left.
It wouldn’t be easy to take.
There was no towering structure to give away the underground bunker’s location, making it impossible to detect by satellite or infrared imagery. You either had to know the location or get lucky enough to stumble onto the spot. Reaper had known about the location for months; he’d been an unwilling resident in this place for longer than he cared to remember. And when he finally left, he’d been forced to leave his very soul behind those locked doors.
He lifted his foot to take his next step when bright lights pierced the darkness below and loud engines blasted through the air. Reaper flattened on the ground, sucking in slow deep breaths to slow his heart rate. A convoy of Humvee Raptors painted black didn’t bother trying to cover up their arrival
What the hell was happening?
He lifted the scope to his eyes again, studying each of the five vehicles that pulled to a stop directly in front of the entrance, the lead of the caravan beaming his headlights on high, spotlighting the door.
The front passenger door on the third vehicle opened and a man emerged.
General Rainier.
Reaper’s vision tunneled and the hairs on his arms stood to attention.
Rainier strode with confidence to the door. It slid open before he got within ten feet. Apparently this wasn’t the general’s first visit.
Reaper strained to hear the general’s voice across the distance. It was faint but audible. “Have Dr. Winters meet me in the lab. I want an update on our subject.”
Without another word Ranier moved through the doors like he owned the place and the grunt at the door snapped to attention with a salute.
Reaper reined in his effort. He didn’t need to hear anything else. Dr. Winters. Subject. Had they already found another team to torture?
The insidious memories crowded at the locked part in the back of Reaper’s mind, fighting with almost inhuman strength to pull him back into the darkness. The blood. The death. The agony.
The present. He needed to concentrate on the present. Reaper slammed down a mental block, shoving those memories back where they belonged. Until this moment, he’d had no idea the general had located Mankel’s private laboratory, much less that he had started experimenting on another group of soldiers. This made his mission even more critical. He couldn’t allow any other human being on this planet to go through what his team had endured.
Since being forcibly removed from the experiment with only a few remaining doses for each man, his team had begun the process of trying to recover from the brain washing and alterations,
but never knowing when or if one of them might crack had everyone on edge.
Reaper had thought the previous owner, Jack Mankel, was evil, but the general made Mankel look like a wind-up baby doll. General Rainier could not be allowed to continue Project Mayhem.
Reaper tucked the scope securely into his pocket and got to his feet in a flash, darting through the jungle on the balls of his feet, his movement too silent for human ears to detect. He was behind the first guard in seconds, slit his throat and lowered him to the ground the next moment.
He felt absolutely no remorse about killing anyone involved in this secret government project. Reaper didn’t care that he had volunteered for it—his mentor had actively misled him into believing he would be serving his country, saving lives.
Instead, he had sacrificed his men.
The three other guards would be a bit more of a problem. They stood within ten feet of each other, so they would sense the natural threat approaching. There was always the chance one of them could get a bullet in Reaper before he took them all out. Possible but unlikely.
He dropped to his elbows and crawled, the soft mossy floor of the jungle cushioning his torso as he snaked his way closer to the guards. The constant cries of animals and deadly insects never let up – he was one of them.
A creature created in this hell hole. He belonged with the night crawlers and predators. It was the only place he felt at home now.
He embraced the spiders crawling along the ground along-side him as he slowed to inches from the unsuspecting guard’s feet. The man’s death was a forgone conclusion – and Reaper didn’t feel a drop of remorse. Any person that was part of Project Mayhem deserved to die.
Reaper pulled his knife from between his teeth and rose like a scepter.
He put his hand over the guard’s mouth and slashed his throat, holding the now lifeless body in front of him as a shield and charged.
The next guard went down before he even had a chance to turn his head, but the third guard heard his friend’s gargled death cry and swung around. His too-long rifle was his undoing—Reaper grabbed the end, yanked the guard to him and buried his knife to the hilt in his jugular, slicing his vocal cords in the process.
Mayhem's Warrior: Operation Mayhem Page 2