Hired Killer
Cryptid Assassin™ Book One
Michael Anderle
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 © 2020 Michael Anderle
Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design
http://jcalebdesign.com / [email protected]
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
A Michael Anderle Production
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LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, January, 2020
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64202-700-6
Print ISBN: 978-1-64202-701-3
The Zoo Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2018-20 by Michael Anderle and LMBPN Publishing.
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
Author Notes
Connect with The Authors
Other Zoo Books
The Hired Killer Team
Thanks to our Beta Readers
Jeff Eaton, John Ashmore, and Kelly O'Donnell
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Dorothy Lloyd
Jeff Eaton
John Ashmore
Diane L. Smith
Dave Hicks
Peter Manis
Jeff Goode
If we’ve missed anyone, please let us know!
Editor
Skyhunter Editing Team
Chapter One
The recruitment poster claimed the operation Taylor had suited up for was the heaviest armored group to ever head into the alien-monster-infested tar-ball called the ZOO.
Although everyone except the rookies knew better.
There seemed to be an unspoken consensus to simply pretend what brass said was true was true.
Part of Taylor resented the fact that they skirted the terrible reality and let it be overshadowed by the hype generated to lure in the numbers they needed. At the same time, he was relieved that no one contradicted the claim.
Mention of it would lead to inevitable demands that he tell those going in all about the first tar-ball mission with a large force he had been a part of.
Taylor would far rather not think about it.
That might have been a little hypocritical of him but he was, after all, the only one who had lived it in the group.
He’d earned the right to his silence.
One thing was certain. No one would be able to suggest that this mission was undermanned. Not only that, it sure as fuck was the largest team heading in they had ever been a part of. Except him, of course.
He was the only one from that first clusterfuck left at the Zoo now.
It didn't really matter, he told himself over and over again. The point of it all was that people simply wanted to be a part of something that appeared to be bold and noble, something out of the ordinary.
If anyone who’d been there for a while recalled the past events and recognized some similarities, they made no effort to challenge the wisdom of such a large force.
Taylor simply kept his knowledge and misgivings to himself and allowed everyone get on with it.
Whoever sponsored the mission obviously had deep pockets. No one knew who it was, exactly, but the fact that it was split more or less evenly between official armed forces from the American and French bases, supplemented by outsider mercenaries, indicated hefty financial and political clout.
With that said, Gunnery Sergeant Taylor McFadden didn't like it. Not one bit.
He had been called in—as one of the soldiers with the most trips survived into the Zoo—to fulfill a leadership role. His first run into the jungle had been four years earlier—what people called the early days now. It seemed like a long time ago, no question about that.
It had been something of an initiation by fire.
They called it the Gulch of Armageddon Battle these days—if people mentioned it, which was seldom—but it seemed more like a massacre in his memories.
He'd been a part of battles during his time with the Corps and none of them had been anything like his memories of the GoA. Two weeks in the hospital and a purple heart somehow seemed to earn him a reputation as a lucky charm.
Some people were stupid enough to call him a leprechaun, thanks to his bright red hair, but only a couple were stupid enough to call him that to his face.
Of course, he made sure those dumbasses never repeated the mistake.
Eighty-three trips into the Zoo later, he couldn't help but think they might have had a point. Not about him being a leprechaun since he was about three and a half feet taller than what they were supposed to be according to his grandmother, but about being a lucky charm.
Not all his trips into the jungle had been successful and he'd lost a number of good men, women, and friends over the four years he had been there.
But, on average, he'd brought his people out alive so maybe it was less about luck and more about competence. Or maybe he had been lucky enough to go in with folk who knew what they were doing.
That counted as luck too, right?
Then again, there was a motto in the Marines—Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat or that fortune favored the bold. And he was bold. There was the Semper Fi motto too, but that was more for all Marines.
That notwithstanding, he still didn't like this walking fustercluck. The nagging itch had surfaced between his shoulders.
There was a reason why teams were kept on the small side when going into the jungle.
The monsters tended to escalate when they realized their home was being invaded, and the only way to avoid the mass assaults directed in retaliation was to push them back and get the fuck out before the rest of the alien mutant cryptids could find them.
With a crew that consisted of a total of fifty-six people in full combat armor—and with some in the personal power mech suits—the Zoo would have to work hard to counter them.
While true, it was equally true that the Zoo would throw everything it had against them.
He knew that because he had the experience to prove the fact. The last time he had been in there with a large force, it had been far more people who headed into Armageddon Gulch.
Eight teams—which together made a total of seventy-two men�
�headed in independently to rescue the young, up-and-coming scientist, Genesis Banks.
Only three people escaped alive that time.
The Zoo had decided to get creative about how it killed humans, and if it had been an actual battle run by humans, it would have been considered the kind of failure that Stalingrad had been for the Russians. The bodies of humans and beasts had piled up but the Zoo eventually overcame the humans when they ran out of bullets.
This time, there was an air of confidence those in leadership seemed to affect that he questioned, and not only because he was cynical.
He’d noticed that Team Heavy Metal was conspicuous by their absence, which both made sense and should have waved a warning flag. They were generally regarded as the most successful and the most competent and professional of all the merc teams, possibly in the entire Zoo area.
If Heavy Metal didn’t participate, it wasn’t due to a lack of courage or resources. It was because they knew the expected outcome and chose not to be a part of something likely doomed from the start.
Those who had signed on, however, seemed to have forgotten a few basic truths and had included a few full-sized combat mechs. By now, brass should know those things had no place in the Zoo—like most vehicles.
The jungle had the uncanny ability to identify the biggest threats and learn their vulnerability. It would target those first, and God help the men inside if the mutants managed to topple them. These massive machines had a role and could be very effective at the wall or outside the flora area but in his opinion—which he’d shared with little effect—they would be more of a hindrance than a help in the jungle.
Sometimes, human arrogance meant you died before some useless lucky asshole learned from your mistakes, because your dead ass certainly had no use for the knowledge anymore.
"Hey, ginger," one of the men called on the open communications channel from the other side of the line he was leading. "Do you think you'll be able to rub some of that luck of the Irish over us?"
"That's Gunnery Sergeant Ginger to you, Corporal," Taylor snapped in response with mock-sternness. "And while I'm sure no one wants to see you and I rub anything together,” he continued, “you should know that my luck comes from Scotland, not Ireland."
"Scotland and Ireland are basically the same thing, aren't they?" the corporal asked.
"Let's see if you still think that when the IRA bombs the shit out of your house, shit-for-brains," he retorted and flexed his shoulders to ease the stiffness.
It was a good idea to maintain the banter between his men. Not all of them were the veterans he and others were. While they were professional soldiers and would act that way until the pants-shitting terror descended on them, it was good for them to see the veterans chatting about it like it was no big deal.
It would calm them and hopefully give them confidence that they would make it out of this situation alive.
It might not improve their chances of survival that much, but being calm would improve their chances of being useful if there was a fight.
And with a team this large, fighting was essentially a given.
"Why would my individual retirement account bomb my house?" the corporal asked.
"That's not what he meant, dummy," one of the other veterans of the Zoo interjected. "And do you guys mind keeping this inane debate off the open channel?"
"You could always simply turn your shit off," Taylor pointed out.
"Sure, and miss it when we're getting torn to pieces by a horde of alien monsters?" the man—a captain going by the name of Pearle—asked.
"Seriously? It's not like it's an easy thing to miss," Taylor responded sharply. "They're alien monsters and they'll attack. Folks will shoot at them. That’s honestly a big red flag if you know what you’re looking for."
"Fuck you. Keep this channel clear," Pearle grumbled.
"Something crawled up your ass and it wasn't the luck of the Irish," the corporal commented.
"Scottish," Taylor corrected.
"Whichever lucks of many origins," the man laughed. "But get your collective undergarments untwisted and let us banter for crying out loud."
"I'm not saying you can't banter. I'm merely saying keep it off the open channels," the captain retorted. "We're all working on this together, and with the different teams, there is a need for open communications that doesn't involve the two of you talking about—"
"Bantering," the corporal corrected.
"Bantering about nothing," he finished.
"Excuse you, but we are having a very important conversation about…about…" The corporal mumbled under his breath as he attempted to come up with something important about the previous conversation.
"Retirement money," Taylor said and came to the man's rescue. "Um, Irish terrorism during the eighties, as well as the origins of the members of our team. Incredibly important topics."
"What the fuck ever," Pearle said dismissively. "Keep it down."
"You're not my superior officer."
"We have movement in the southeastern quadrant," one of the commanders of the mission called crisply. "Gamma squad, could you look into that?"
"Who's Gamma squad?" Pearle asked.
"That's us," Taylor said and his voice immediately became serious. "Give me an update from your scanners, squad."
The collective data streamed onto his HUD and gave him a decent view of the area surrounding them. Sure enough, there was movement in the quadrant but it was headed away from the group.
"Alpha squad, there is movement in my quadrant but it's moving away from us," Taylor reported.
"Roger that, Gamma leader, stay frosty," the commander ordered.
"Roger that, Alpha Leader," he replied.
"Alpha Leader, this is Delta leader. We have movement in the northwestern quadrant," said another man. "It looks fairly big too—no, wait, they're moving back now."
"I don't like this." Taylor looked around.
It felt like the Zoo was testing their reaction times and trying to get them to move out of the formation they had held for the past six hours of marching in an attempt to find a weakness.
People said it was impossible for creatures to be capable of strategic tactics and calculated assault, but given that they talked about mutants spawned from goop of alien origin that had also produced a very aggressive jungle—in the middle of the damned Sahara—he wasn’t willing to rule anything out.
He’d seen too much intelligence in the attacks to be able to dismiss the idea that they might be testing their defenses. There was something happening in the Zoo, and it definitely wouldn’t allow a group this large to advance through the jungle without powerful resistance.
Almost without thinking, he disengaged the assault rifle from his back and synched it to his HUD while he continued to scan for anything that might resemble trouble.
"Do you think we’ll be involved in imminent violence, Gunny?" one of his men asked.
"The Zoo doesn't like us to interfere with what it's doing Dorson," he replied. "Whatever the fuck that is. For the moment, though, it’ll look for a weak place to attack and then…well, we'll be fucked or we won't be.” He noted his people had all begun to respond. “There’s no middle ground here."
"Fun times," the man responded and immediately began to prepare his weapon.
The rest of the troop appeared to think the same thing. The veterans knew better than to assume the Zoo would simply leave them alone, and the rookies followed their lead. There was no chance that the jungle would catch them with their pants down.
Taylor didn't turn at the sound of gunfire from the rear of the group.
"Report, Foxtrot," came the order from the Alpha team.
"We have movement in the back of the line," Foxtrot leader called. "Hordes of critters…they look like the hyenas— Oh, shit, we have one of them killerpillars."
"What the fuck?" Taylor said and finally turned to look. Sure enough, through the motion sensors, he could see one of the massive monsters that never fail
ed to make his skin crawl.
It was backing away, however, and Foxtrot squad chose to give chase.
"Stay in formation, Foxtrot," Taylor said and usurped the role of the Alpha squad leader in giving orders. That was why they wanted him in this mission, right? To act on his expansive experience in the Zoo?
"Negative. We'll give chase," Foxtrot leader said. "If we can show them a little force, they'll decide to back off more."
“What-ever in the fucking history of the jungle gave you that idea?”
The monsters there could practically melt into the tree cover in seconds. That aside, backing away usually meant regrouping for a more powerful attack.
He grimaced when he realized that Foxtrot was one of the merc teams. They tended to run operations their own way and didn't like to play nice with military groups.
And they didn't like to take orders either.
"Fucking hell—" Before he could even complete the expletive, the Zoo came alive in reaction to the attack from the team's rearguard. Suddenly, with a roar he recognized as coming from one of the albino gorillas, the jungle erupted. Foxtrot was almost instantly surrounded and they circled their leader—one of the idiots who controlled a heavy combat mech and used it to provide a limited area of defensive ground together with the other two mechs in their team. Taylor realized then why they’d been so damn sure of themselves.
Hired Killer (Cryptid Assassin Book 1) Page 1