“We can’t just sit here twiddling our thumbs,” Booker said. He was back at the converted shipping container. Roo was taking another nap and Charles was nodding off in the middle of his whittling.
“And?” Charles asked.
The Brit read the unvoiced What are you going to do about it? and answered the question. “Let’s run through a few immediate action drills.”
They posted up in an empty street just alongside the stacked converted containers.
“Enemies in the rear,” Booker said after they got in position—Charles in front, Booker to his right, and Roo to his left.
The Aussie turned and took aim at the imaginary enemy. Charles kept moving forward and the other man maintained his position, making sure their flanks were covered.
“One o’clock,” the American barked.
Booker adjusted his position slightly and mimed firing.
They shuffled back and forth, each of them taking turns calling out where the enemy was coming from. The drills were good at keeping them sharp and getting their blood pumping through their veins. It also allowed them to take in the particular dynamic of the new team they’d formed. Charles, although he was the largest of the three, had a calmer approach to an oncoming enemy. He reacted rationally and with precision, even though the enemy was imaginary. Booker remembered his competence on their first mission into the Zoo and the calm way he’d faced the alien creatures when they had attacked.
Booker cemented himself further as the leader. He might not always be in the front, but he took the lead. His commands barked more frequently, his teammates reacting instinctively to him. Roo had the tendency to charge, his movements a little more reckless than the other two. He was an intelligent fighter who listened to what his surroundings were telling him. Booker had worked with enough men to recognize that the man’s spatial awareness was phenomenal. He knew how to throw his weight around, and he knew where he needed to be and when.
They were already adept at functioning as a team, but the longer they practiced together and the more they fought side-by-side, the closer their teamwork and comradery would become. They would get to the point where words weren’t needed. All three knew that bond would be formed between them, just like it had with their fellow soldiers on deployment.
Other men walking past couldn’t help but see the three drilling, creating little dust devils of movement in the narrow roadway, the sharp commands and warnings ricocheting off the metal of the containers. Some scoffed and moved on, others stood around and watched. Some sneering, some laughing, but a few others looking on interest.
“What a bunch of amateurs,” one man said as he purposefully walked through the three of them.
The team simply ignored him and kept drilling.
The sun was only thinking about rising when Booker arrived at the building. No one else was there. Two guards gave him bleary-eyed head-nods in greeting. He stood in front of the door, his arms folded over his chest.
Others soon joined him. They murmured amongst themselves while he stood quietly and waited. They didn’t speak to him but glanced at him with bored interest. He knew they were talking about him, but he ignored them.
The door opened and Franco and a few other men came strolling out, clipboards in hand.
“Flora,” one of the men said. “A gathering job.” He looked at the waiting team leaders, pointed to one of them and directed him forward.
“Fauna,” another said. Again, a team leader was selected and ushered forward.
Booker tried to tell how the other team leaders indicated that they were interested. He watched those around him as another flora job was called out. Three of the men around him raised two fingers, just barely, but enough to get the announcer’s attention like a silent auction. He couldn’t tell how they were selected, though. The decision seemed to depend on the dispatcher’s personal opinion.
The Brit indicated that he was interested in every job, but he was never given more than a glance. He stood there until all the jobs were gone. The team leaders dispersed to prepare. The dispatchers returned to the building.
He stayed where he was. The guards watched him with expressions that could’ve been disdain or could’ve been pity. He didn’t care and was willing to wait.
The door opened again when it was about noon and a dispatcher walked out. He looked around like he hoped to see anybody else besides Booker.
“I’ve got a flora or a fauna, what do you want?” he asked.
The Brit remembered all the paraphernalia needed for the creature capture they’d performed with Prince. He also noted the collection chambers that could be seen just inside the still open door.
“Flora,” he said.
The man nodded. “Right. New guy, huh?” the dispatcher asked, flipping through the pages on his clipboard.
“Yeah. So, do we get the collection chambers from you?”
“Jesus, you really are fresh meat, aren’t you?” the man said with a laugh. “Those are for trade-ins. You bring me a full chamber, then I’ll give you an empty one.”
He passed Booker a sheet of paper. “Here’s the general overview. Give me your scan number and I’ll send you more details. You go out grazing, and I’ll go through what you bring back. You get paid for what I can use. Ask for Erik when you get back. If I’m not here for some reason, give the shit to Franco and he’ll set you up.”
“Yes, sir. See you soon.” He shook his hand.
“Yeah, sure,” Erik said, then disappeared again into the windowless building.
“We’ve got a job!” Booker announced.
Roo was eating a sandwich and watching Charles as he did burpees.
“That’s great news,” the Aussie said. Or, at least, he thought that was what he’d said. It came out garbled around a mouthful of half-chewed sandwich.
Charles started stretching. “Awesome. What is it?”
“Flora grazing. We need some sample containers. And possibly a better map. I’m done with these bleddy pace counts.”
“Back to Dan’s?” Roo asked, his mouth empty now.
Booker nodded. “Back to Dan’s.”
The man gave them a broad smile when they walked through the doors. His leg was mostly healed and he only walked with a cane and a slight limp now.
“Ah, it’s my favorite customers!”
“You cheeky bastard, you probably say that to all the girls,” the Brit said, running a finger under his nose. He stood in front of the folding table where Dan conducted his business and sniffed.
“Caught me. What can I do for you fellas this time?”
“We need a map and some flora sample containers,” he stated.
Dan nodded. “Ah, so the registration went to your liking? That’s good. Now, let’s see…I can get you collection containers easy, no problem. The map? Problem.”
Roo raised a brow. “You don’t have any maps? We’re tired of pace counts and azimuths”
“It’s not for lack thereof, more like, I like you guys, and don’t want you wasting your money on something that won’t work,” the proprietor said with a shrug. He placed a box full of collection chambers on the table.
“I know GPS doesn’t work, but why wouldn’t a map?” Booker asked. “We’ve used one before.”
“Yeah, well, they don’t always work. The map needs to be fresh—like earlier that day or the day before at the latest. And I don’t have any of those. Cartographers don’t really hang around this establishment. They like the big companies. The maps need to be fresh because the Zoo likes to keep people isolated and lost if at all possible. Gotta do it the old-fashioned way,” he explained. “Azimuths stay reliable the longest.”
“Guess we’ll keep up our pace counts, gents,” Booker told his teammates before walking up to a stack of collection chambers against the wall.
“How much are these?” he asked, tapping one of them.
Dan tilted his head. “Like I said, I like you guys. Think you’ll go far. I’ll give you a special price, just be
cause I like you so much.”
“Spit it out,” Roo growled.
The man’s smile widened. “I’ll give you the two-for-one special. Two for three thousand, that is.”
Booker sniffed and ran a finger under his nose. The Aussie rolled his eyes and muttered something about a shyster.
“Fine,” the Brit said. He picked up six collection containers and handed over the cash.
“Hey, you got any flamethrowers ʼround here?” Charles asked, turning to Dan, his words measured.
The man’s eyes practically sparkled. Booker glared at the American, wiping under his nose.
“Have I got flamethrowers? You bet your ass I do. Wait here a minute.” He disappeared amongst the racks of weaponry and equipment but soon returned, dragging a large, industrial flamethrower with twin tanks with him. “This beauty here should do the job nicely.”
Charles practically salivated and ran a hand reverently over the flamethrower. Roo jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.
“How much?” the Brit asked with a frown.
“Eighty.”
“All you wankers are delusional. Come on, it’s time to go,” he retorted sharply.
Charles gripped the flamethrower, then reluctantly released it.
Dan laughed. “She’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“I’m sure it will, at that price,” Roo said. “Hey, I’ve been wondering, though. You’re American. Why aren’t you up in the American sector instead of down here, peddling this broken-down crap.”
“I was.”
“You were what?” the Australian asked.
“I was in the American sector, back when this whole place was the Wild, Wild West. But after Wall Two—maybe even before that—the government and the corporations took over, and they didn’t want to let a simple, honest salvage man make a living anymore. Had to come down here where things were…uh, less organized.”
Roo snorted at “honest.”
“I’d like to get back up there someday, though.”
“Would you take seventy?” Charles asked, still focused on the flamethrower.
“Charles,” Booker warned, already walking out of the building. The American sighed and followed.
“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” Roo said, looking over the sheet of information they had been given. “Too bad it’s not a new spot.”
The Brit shrugged. “Probably for the best our first solo is an already established zone. It won’t be as big a payday, but it’ll be easy to set up our reputation that way.”
“We should head out now,” Booker suggested. “We’ve still got plenty of daylight to get to the grazing area. We most likely won’t make it back in a day, but that’s all right.”
“We bringing everything?” Charles asked.
He raised a brow.
“Right.”
“You goin’ soft on us, Marine?” Roo asked.
Charles just rolled his eyes.
“Man, making fun of you is almost boring. You never fight back. I thought the Marines were all ‘retreat, hell’ and all that other macho nonsense.”
“Right, because Charles is the one who needs to tone down his macho nonsense,” Booker commented. He was studying the map Erik had sent over. It was a slapdash thing with vague descriptions, most of which involved someone having died, and general distances. He wondered how many people had worked on what was a scan of a hand-drawn thing. Big sections had been crossed off or circled and then had arrows indicating where it had moved to. It didn’t sit well with him. He hadn’t had much faith in the map they’d used on their first mission with the Lampton Company, but it was better than what Erik had given them.
“I just don’t want to hurt your feelings, Roo. I know how much you love winning,” Charles said.
The other opened his mouth, closed it, then flipped his teammate off with a scowl.
Gate 03FLC was deserted and they didn’t have to wait very long to push through. Before entering the Zoo, Booker made sure the mark he’d made on his compass was still there, pointing true north.
He glanced at the map one last time to solidify what direction they needed to be heading in before putting away his small tablet.
“Move out,” he said. He started into the Zoo with the other men dutifully at his heels.
Chapter Twelve
The Zoo
It was relatively late in the day by the time they passed through the gate, and they wanted to make up for lost time, so the three maintained a brisk pace. Although their destination was not deep into the Zoo, the late start to their day meant they’d need to get to the grazing zone in time to set up a secure camp before it was dark.
The humidity levels seemed higher that day and sweat dripped off them as they marched along, cutting a path through the jungle. The leaves of the plants and the trees had water pooling and dripping off them as well, the earth saturated. Booker still found it a little hard to believe that the rainforest-like ecosystem around them had once been the Sahara Desert.
“I hope there aren’t any leeches,” Charles said. “I hate leeches.”
“Does anyone love leeches?” Roo asked.
“Nineteenth-century doctors,” Booker said.
The American made a face. “Imagine alien leeches.”
“Nope.” Roo shook his head. “Not going there.”
His teammates laughed.
“I’ve got movement at eleven o’clock,” Charles said, bringing his shotgun up from the relaxed position he had been holding it in.
“Something here at two o’clock,” Booker said, also raising his gun.
Roo brought his weapon up and checked their six. “Clear from behind so far.”
A locust burst from the trees and careened toward Booker, its mandibles snapping. He fired a few well-timed rounds, remembering the creature’s mouth needed to be open for a kill shot.
Charles’ shotgun thundered when he fired at two more insects that plunged toward the men, the double-aught buckshot tearing through their carcasses. More poured from the trees and hurtled toward the team.
“Back to back,” Booker commanded. They moved together, Roo now engaged in a firefight of his own with the attackers.
A small swarm of the giant bugs rushed toward them, the angry buzz and whir of their wings almost deafening. Their long spiny legs made snapping noises like dried twigs breaking and their jaws clicked together with the force of their aggressive movement.
The three men methodically and efficiently eliminated the threat, doing their best not to waste any rounds in the process. The locusts weren’t allowed close enough to inflict any damage of their own.
Dead bodies twitched on the ground around them. Some of those merely wounded tried dragging themselves forward toward the men in a dying effort to continue their attack. Charles killed them all.
“Stay down.” He grunted with irritation.
The flow of creatures waned as the carcasses piled up in a neat circle around the three men. As soon as it started, it was over.
“Now I see why these things were a plague,” Booker muttered.
“I can’t tell if these being giant is better”—the American paused to shove a locust that had gotten too close out of the way—“or worse than normal-sized locusts.” He grasped it by one of its pincers and flung it back toward the others.
“Here I was thinking four-inch-long locusts were a menace,” the Brit said.
“Right,” Booker said. “Hop to.”
The shadows around them deepened, but they didn’t have any more run-ins or mishaps, managing to reach the clearing before darkness took over the Zoo. The clearing was big and edged along one side by a sheer rock face that seemed to have simply plowed straight through the earth to get at the sky. They set up camp against the small cliff so they knew at least one side was covered. Heat radiated off the rock as the sun set outside the Zoo and, although the jungle never got truly cold, the temperature dropped enough to have the men shrugging on jackets and needing dry clothing so their swe
at wouldn’t chill them further and lower body heat.
“Who wants to get firewood?” Booker asked.
“It’s more of a two-man job. You know how the trees like to fight back,” Charles said.
“Right. Someone should…I was going to say watch the camp, but who’s out here to disturb it? It’ll be faster if we all go,” he conceded.
They made their way into the trees a little way from where they’d set up camp. Roo started collecting moss that hung in long ropes from the trees. He used a stick that already lay on the ground and wound the moss around the end.
“You making cotton candy?” Charles asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You know, cotton candy. The spun sugar stuff on a paper cone.”
“I know what fucking cotton candy is. I’m just confused about why you’re bringing it up.”
“The way you wrapped the moss reminded me of someone spinning cotton candy,” he explained.
“This is kindling. I’m not fixing on eating this,” Roo said.
Charles sighed. “I know that. Just forget I said anything about it.”
“I mean, MREs are shit, but they’re better than fucking Zoo moss.”
“I said forget it,” he said.
The Australian grinned and punched him in the arm. “Just fucking with you, mate.”
“Are you two finished? I thought we decided getting firewood was a two-man job. It seems I’m the only one doing it,” Booker reminded them. He had a sapling pinned to the ground as he cut through it. The sapling tried its best to fight back, whipping its thin branches at him.
Charles stepped on it, pinning it as best he could while the other man sawed through it. They moved to the next sapling and repeated the process.
“Why aren’t you cutting larger branches? Those saplings won’t last long,” Roo said.
“Listen, moss man, I don’t hear you volunteering to cut a branch from a larger tree,” the American said. He grunted when a branch whipped across his face.
Roo ignored the comment by busying himself with winding another strand of moss around the stick.
Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1) Page 12