Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1)

by C. J. Fawcett

  “I hate bugs,” he muttered while he tried to wipe the creature’s blood off his suit. He only succeeding in smearing the dark-blue around.

  “Yo, Booker, can you make this thing go any faster?” he asked.

  Booker gripped the steering wheel harder. “It appears this is the fastest speed this thing will go. Ah, shit.” He slammed on the brakes as a giant orange beast blocked their path.

  “What the fuck is that?” Roo spluttered.

  The Brit glared at him. “I wish you’d stop asking that. It’s not like we know the answer any more than you do.”

  “Do you think it’s going to attack?” Charles asked, looking over the roof of the cab to where the beast stood.

  It was in the middle of the road, facing away from them, and looked almost like a saber tooth tiger—if they were bright orange and had a hunchback and no actual saber teeth. The creature turned its head and looked at them, four yellow eyes blinking. It turned slowly, its long, clawed toes digging into the mud, and as it crouched, its lips peeled back in a snarl to reveal a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

  Roo got out of the half-track. “Okay, you ugly son of a bitch. How’s about you say hello to my friend Carl here.” He raised the M3 MAAWS and fired. The shell blasted forward and bounced harmlessly off the creature’s head, doing nothing other than pissing it off. “Ah, fuck. I forgot about the warhead’s minimum arming distance.”

  The monster shook its head, opened its jaws, and bellowed a challenge. Several answering roars sounded nearby. They were surrounded.

  Charles fired his MCS at the creature as it lunged toward them. It took the hits and kept coming.

  Booker lobbed one of his M67 grenades at it. The ordnance exploded under the mutant’s hind legs, destroying the back half of its body. It kept coming, dragging itself closer. The jungle around them came alive with snarls and growls as the animal’s companions revealed themselves. Their muscles coiled, they crept forward.

  Roo took out his Magnum, walked forward to barely out of the creature’s reach, and fired two rounds into one set of its eyes. It lay still. He turned, raising the Carl Gustav again before spinning around, the back of the recoilless rifle now pointed at another of the creatures. He fired and the round hurtled off who-knew-where, but the back blast blew the beast apart as it leapt at his back.

  “Back blast area not clear!” he shouted.

  Another of the enemies charged him. Booker shot it, but that only made it hesitate a moment before it launched itself at the Aussie and drove him down. He wrapped an arm around his attacker’s neck, putting it in a headlock, and turned its dangerous teeth away from him. He managed to raise his handgun and fired directly into its jaw. The creature slumped, pinning him beneath it.

  “You’re one heavy motherfucker,” he gasped, crawling out from under it.

  Charles, still on the back of the half-track, had eliminated two of the beasts. More of the animals crept from the jungle, slinking forward like they had all the time in the world.

  “Booker, get us out of here!” he yelled. Booker inched the half-track forward again, Roo scrambling in as it rolled past him.

  The monsters’ roars resounded through the jungle as they started their pursuit, pissed their prey was moving faster. Charles lobbed the last of his grenades and killed two.

  “How many are there?” the Aussie asked, shooting another as it came up to the side of the cab.

  “Where’s the Gustav?” Booker asked.

  The Aussie looked around him, then groaned. “Fuck! It’s pinned beneath the ugly bastard that tried to rip my face off.”

  “How much further?” Charles asked as he calmly fired another kill shot.

  “You sound like a child on a road trip,” Roo said, lobbing his last grenade toward two more of the creatures in front of the truck. It detonated, the concussion rolling over them as they closed the distance. The Brit had to swerve to avoid the convulsing animals. Charles almost fell over, gripping the crates for balance.

  “Booker!” the American yelled.

  “Nearly there!”

  “How nearly is nearly?”

  “Five klicks.”

  He growled and fired again. His target dropped and rolled, but another directly behind it leapt over its body toward the half-track. Charles fired again, but the shotgun was out of ammo. “Fuck!” He stepped forward and drove the weapon into the creature’s head as it lunged forward. The stock cracked, but the monster fell and he was able to use his pistol to finish the job. He threw the now-useless weapon to the bed of the half-track.

  “I’m out!” he yelled over Roo’s firing and the attackers’ screaming.

  “Aw, shit. Take mine.” Booker passed his rifle through the open window.

  “How do we open the gates?” the Australian asked between shots.

  The creatures seemed to be thinning. The pack apparently lost interest and desire as their targets fought back.

  “They’re under surveillance and triggered remotely,” the driver answered.

  Charles downed another creature, and the four left on the track veered into the jungle, howling and roaring. He let himself slump against the cab. “Next time, I’m driving.”

  “That’s right, motherfuckers!” Roo yelled at the retreating creatures. “We’re still the top of the food chain!”

  “Shut the fuck up, you bleddy wanker,” Booker said.

  The foliage around them thinned. While the creatures howled in the distance, they didn’t seem to intend to attack again. No other Zoo creatures made their presence known.

  “One klick,” the Brit said.

  Roo gave a yop and smacked the side of the truck out the open window as the gate came in sight. They got closer, the throbbing yellow lights on top turned red, and the whine of the alarm shrilled. Booker pressed the brakes as they approached. The gates swung wide at the last second and they barreled through.

  Shira stood waiting for them on the other side of the outer wall, her arms folded over her chest and her foot tapping impatiently in the hard sand. She was surrounded by a crew of enforcers and men in white hazmat suits.

  “Good to see you boys made it back,” she said dryly when they stopped in front of her. “Check the cargo.”

  The three men stood in front of her. She looked them over. Roo was covered in the orange creature’s blood and had the beginnings of a black eye and scrapes along the left side of his face. Charles was covered in the locust-like creature’s blood and had a cut over his left eye.

  One of the hazmat men opened a crate and inspected the contents. It was full of some kind of violet- and blue-colored blossoms. He looked at Shira and shook his head. “No good,” he said. “Too long between harvesting and delivery. We can’t use these. They’re too degraded.”

  She turned from the tech to Booker, Charles, and Roo. “Okay, assholes. I really thought you guys were going to turn this operation around. Guess I was wrong. You’re just as bloody useless as the rest of these dickheads who come in here thinking it’s going to be a walk in the park.” Shira got in Booker’s face, jabbing him in the chest. He stayed still. “I shouldn’t even fucking pay you! You didn’t even deliver.”

  The Brit glowered at her. “We retrieved the asset you asked for—the half-track. We weren’t told there was time-sensitive cargo.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You didn’t deliver. I’m not going to pay you.”

  Roo stepped forward, but Charles grabbed his shoulder.

  “Shira, you can’t withhold their pay,” Ishmael said, strolling up to the group.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Fine. But you three are never working again.” She turned on her heel and stormed off.

  Ishmael shrugged at the three men. “Don’t mind her. Let’s turn your kit back in.”

  They unburdened themselves of all the gear and Charles felt a little sheepish about the broken rifle. Roo shrugged off the lost MAAWS. They turned in what they had, then retrieved the personal gear they’d stored in the locker.

  �
��Where do we get paid?” Booker asked.

  The large man raised an eyebrow, pulled out a thick envelope, and passed over a few bills and some change.

  “Thirty-five dollars eighty-seven cents? Where’s the rest?” the Brit asked.

  Ishmael shook his head, then indicated the turned-in gear. “This is the rest. Did you think this was a free outfitting? You were renting. You didn’t return the gear. You get docked for it. Not to mention the locker you rented to house your original gear.”

  “But you didn’t tell us that,” Roo protested.

  “You didn’t ask. So, with our business here completed, I have to ask you to leave company property.”

  From the way he was tensing up and turning slightly to face them, they knew he wasn’t “asking” anything. He was ordering them to leave, but he was ready for a fight if they pushed it.

  The Aussie looked like he was about to take the man up on that, but Charles and Booker took him by the arms and pulled him toward the door.

  Ishmael relaxed and escorted them from the Lampton building.

  They stood outside for a long moment in silence.

  “Well,” Roo said after a few minutes, “we might as well take our big earnings and get a beer.”

  “Won’t need to work after three months my ass,” Booker grumbled as they walked away.

  “Can they do that?” Charles asked.

  The Aussie shrugged. “We’re guns for hire. They’re some giant company with all the power.”

  “You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Booker said, walking into the bar.

  They chose a table at the back. Roo sat with a shrug. “I’m fucking pissed. But what can you do about it? Nothing. Those motherfuckers want to do business like that, then we don’t need them.”

  The bartender brought them their beers. “Here’s to our first outing in the Zoo. We returned limbs intact, so at least there’s that,” Booker said, raising his glass.

  They cheered.

  “What do you think they call those things?” Charles asked.

  “What? Those things that attacked us?” Roo asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who cares? Do you think they know what all’s in there, or is it all guesswork?”

  They were silent, slowly finishing their beers.

  “I want to know,” Booker said suddenly.

  “You want to know what?” Charles asked.

  The Brit finished his beer. “I want to know what’s in there.”

  His companions drained their glasses and nodded.

  The bartender returned with their tab. Booker looked at it and grimaced. “Fuck.”

  “What is it?” Roo asked.

  He pushed the bill to the center of the table. The amount due glared at of them—thirty-nine dollars.

  “We weren’t even paid enough to cover the tab.”

  Chapter Five

  The Harvesters Camp

  Booker stared at the bar tab and re-counted the few measly dollars they had earned in case he’d made a mistake, even though he knew he hadn’t.

  “Think we can wash dishes or something?” Charles asked.

  Roo glared. “Wash dishes? I’m not some fucking servant.”

  “No, but what you are is broke. Work is work,” the American said with a shrug.

  “Don’t be so obvious about our plight,” Booker said in a low voice, straightening his shoulders. He nodded toward the bartender, who was repeatedly wiping the same glass, glaring at their table.

  The door to the bar opened. A man in tight white jeans, a half-unbuttoned black shirt, and a multi-colored flowing vest strolled in. He took off his Franco Inc. Luxuriator sunglasses carefully, folded them, and tucked them into his shirt. The newcomer was flanked by two guards, who kept their sunglasses on. While they had AK-47s strapped across their chests, the bartender didn’t bother pointing out the No Weapons sign above the bar.

  The stranger zeroed in on the three men and strode toward their table.

  “Gentlemen, mind if I join you?” His voice was deep and had a musical quality that identified him as Nigerian. He grasped a chair and pulled it to their table.

  “You already have,” Roo said.

  The man uttered a big booming laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “I like this guy. He’s very funny.”

  The Aussie leaned away from him and glared.

  “Who are you?” Booker asked.

  “Ah, yes, my apologies. I sometimes forget I must explain myself to newcomers. I am Prince Akachukwu.”

  “Prince Akachukwu?” Roo said, not hiding the derision in his voice.

  “Yes. But please, call me Prince.”

  “Okay, Prince,” Booker said. “Who are you exactly?”

  “Right. I am a sort of benefactor of the Zoo. I am involved in many projects here. In fact, I believe you’ve already worked on one of the missions I am involved in through Shira at Lampton,” Prince said, spreading his arms wide. “You see, she owes me, and I am generous, but only to a certain point, and Shira has reached her point. I heard about how she treated you, so here I am, trying to make amends.”

  Prince snagged the tab off the table and passed it to one of his guards. “Let me take care of this for you.”

  The friends exchanged a look, but they weren’t going to argue.

  “Where are you staying? I heard about how you performed and am interested in employing men like you,” the man said.

  “We’re around,” Booker said. “What sort of work are you offering?”

  “Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. But come, I can show you a better place to live than the tents I’m assuming you were staying at.”

  He thrust back from the table and didn’t wait to see if they were following him but simply breezed out the door of the bar.

  “What should we do?” Charles asked.

  Booker shrugged. “Let’s just see where this leads us.”

  They followed the man out.

  Prince led them to a conglomerate of cargo containers that had been repurposed into living quarters. They were stacked one on top of another, three deep and four high, and appeared to be solidly packed even though it was taller than much of the surrounding camp. Men milled around, some drinking around fires and others in tight groups looking over papers and tablets.

  He approached one of the ground-level units. A small flag of Nigeria had been painted on the side, a black crown emblazoned over it. A door had been cut into the container and he pushed through this.

  The inside was lit by lamps and contained three cots with bedding folded on top. Long wooden boxes with combination locks had been pushed under each cot. Several empty shipping crates were positioned as bedside tables.

  “You can stay here,” he said cheerfully.

  “What’s the catch here? We didn’t get much on our last job, which you seem to know. It might take us a bit to find work. I don’t know how much pull Shira has and she seemed determined to make getting a job difficult for us,” Booker said and folded his arms over his chest.

  Prince shrugged. “Eh, don’t worry about Shira. She thinks she’s hot shit, but we all answer to somebody.”

  “Who do you answer to?” Charles asked.

  The man merely smiled.

  Roo sat on one of the cots. “There’s always a catch, mate. So what’re the strings?”

  “Workers are needed. Mercenaries. Preferably highly skilled mercenaries, which you three seem to be. I will let you stay here, don’t worry about paying for it for now. I can get you work,” he said.

  “You don’t have jobs?” Roo asked.

  Prince shrugged. “After a fashion, I suppose. But I prefer to be involved in as much as possible, so it is easier to help others get jobs than it would be to fund all of them fully. Of course, I do charge a finder’s fee.”

  Booker glanced at his teammates. His gaze darted to the two guards who had silently shadowed Prince. The situation was beginning to make him uncomfortable. He didn’t like the idea of put
ting himself in debt to a man who seemed to have a lot of power.

  “What’s the finder’s fee?” he asked.

  “Thirty percent.” Prince’s smile was wide.

  The Brit winced. Roo’s jaw unhinged slightly and Charles frowned.

  “Thirty percent? You’ve got to be joking me,” Booker said.

  The man shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  “No way, mate. I like getting paid, and thirty is too high for a fucking finder’s fee,” Roo protested. “It’s our asses on the line, not yours.”

  Charles dropped his hand onto the Aussie’s shoulder. “Thank you, but I think we’re going to shop around first.”

  “How long is the offer on the table?” Booker asked.

  “I like you guys. You’re smart,” Prince said. “Of course, look around. See if you can get a job, more power to you. But come find me if you don’t have any luck. I’ll give you two days to decide. After that…” He waved his hand and shrugged.

  He turned to leave the container. “I’ll be seeing you gentlemen. Good luck with the job search.”

  He didn’t have enough information to go about finding a job properly and that made Booker frustrated. As the highest rank amongst the three, Roo and Charles naturally deferred to him. The Australian was becoming impatient. He didn’t doubt that the man was a good soldier, but he needed a mission, a directive to keep him grounded. It was clear that he liked fighting too much, and he needed to move his body constantly or have something to fix his mind on to keep him from exploding. He’d known types like him from his time with the SAS. They were brilliant on a mission but hell to be around in downtime.

  Charles was steady and calm and harder to read. He had a good head on his broad shoulders, and he appreciated the quiet nature of the big man. The American seemed to choose his moments to wade into fights or situations, all with a careful roll of his shoulders.

  The Brit stepped out of another tent and stood in front of his teammates. Charles stood at a modified parade rest, while Roo bounced on the balls of his feet beside him. They both scanned the steady activity of the camp around them.