Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1)

by C. J. Fawcett

“Didn’t think so,” Charles muttered.

  They worked for an hour to collect enough firewood to last the night, stacked the bundles of saplings, and the other two men watched Roo build the fire. He started it with the moss he’d collected, which created strange green flames when it burned. The saplings smoked more than they burned but combined with the slow-burning moss, it was enough.

  “Who gets first watch?” Charles asked, changing out of his sweat-soaked t-shirt and into his spare.

  “Sounds like you’re volunteering,” Roo said, already settling down to sleep.

  Booker clapped the American on the shoulder. “Wake me for the second watch.”

  Charles nodded.

  The Zoo plunged dramatically into darkness. Twilight wasn’t a concept in the jungle and he missed it—that happy little sigh between day and night. The transition had always been comforting, but of course, the Zoo prevented the better small moments of humanity. The closed canopy of the jungle choked out even the light of the stars and moon.

  He sat near the large fire they’d built, looked up, and wished he could see the stars. All he saw was shifting blackness. He nudged a few pieces of wood around in the flames, then let his gaze wander beyond the semi-circle that the firelight illuminated.

  He might not be able to see the stars, but there was a constellation of eyes in the dark vegetation beyond. Unknown creatures blinked back at him. He made sure he had ammunition handy, then went back to watching the eyes of the unseen creatures.

  Nothing attacked all night.

  Daylight revealed the heavy traffic of Zoo animals that had passed near their encampment during the night. Roo could make out four distinct prints, but of course, he didn’t know what the tracks belonged to.

  “What is it we’re looking for exactly?” Charles asked.

  Booker gave each of them two collection chambers and saved the last two for himself.

  He pulled his tablet out and opened the mission file. “He said find anything that looks interesting, but we especially want these three here.” The three plants looked nearly identical. Each had deep-green, waxy leaves in the shape of pressed down and elongated ovals. The only differences seemed to be in the color of the veins—one had deep crimson veins, another white, and the third a paler green.

  “The best way to do this would be in a grid. We’ll divide it into threes. Roo, you look that way. Charles, you have the other side section. I’ll look here. We move straight forward and then we’ll switch and cut a horizontal path across where we looked first to be sure. Everyone good with that?”

  His teammates answered by shuffling forward along the sections he had indicated.

  He began moving through his section. He wasn’t having any luck so far identifying the highly desirable plants, but Erik had said to collect anything that seemed interesting and worth researching. Of course, everything in the Zoo was technically alien and new, even if it looked as regular as banoffee pie. He plucked small yellow flowers and scraped together a few bits of neon-green moss.

  “Do you think putting all these samples together will, I don’t know, contaminate them or something?” Roo asked.

  “How the hell should I know?” he answered. “I’m assuming it wouldn’t matter. I mean, they have technology that can detect a person’s identity just from a small amount of tissue from under another person’s fingernails. I’m sure a few plants can be told apart.”

  They worked in silence, moving quickly and carefully. Booker was anxious to get back. Not that the Zoo made him nervous. Okay, it did make him a little nervous, but he was only human. He merely wanted to make sure that their first mission as independent contractors went off without a hitch. He knew they needed to build up a following for them to get guaranteed work. Completing the mission in a timely manner would help their reputation.

  “All these plants look the same to me,” Charles muttered as he passed the Brit. “Can you tell the difference? Have you seen any of the plants of interest?”

  “I’m not a botanist,” the man intoned.

  The American grunted and kept moving, filling his collection containers with anything that sparked his interest. Soon, both of his collection chambers were full. He thought he’d found one of the plants, but then had started second guessing himself. The little veins on the dark green leaves hadn’t seemed as brilliantly white as the example, and the underbellies of the leaves were a midnight purple. He figured it was close enough and shoved it in one of his containers.

  The team met at the start of the clearing and compared containers. The collection chambers sweated, and moisture condensed against the clear synthetic casing. The specimens inside were an indistinct jumble of various shades of green with the occasional yellow, red, or purple peeking through.

  “I’m pretty sure I got what we were told to look for,” Roo said.

  Half the containers were shoved into Charles’ rucksack. The other half were delegated to the Aussie.

  “All right,” Booker said, rubbing his now-dirty hands together. “Let’s get these samples back and get paid.”

  “Oorah.”

  “Come on, let’s go. I really want to be back in time for the kitchen to still be open at the Wateringhole. I’ve decided their nachos are some of the best I’ve tasted,” Roo said.

  “I’ve had better,” Charles said.

  His teammate gave an over-loud gasp. “You wanker. You take that back.”

  The other man grinned.

  Booker set a steady, almost unhurried, pace. There was still plenty of daylight remaining to be out of the Zoo and return to the gate before night fell.

  He kept the other two men in check as they made their way back. All three were anxious to have the samples returned and get paid, but the Brit didn’t think it was necessary to waste energy running back. He needed to do more research on the shelf life of plant samples. He picked up the pace a little rather than risk the samples not being viable by the time they were turned in.

  They passed through the area where they’d fought with the locusts the day before. The bodies were gone and he wondered if the creatures carried their dead off or if other Zoo life had taken it, recycling the dead back into chaotic life.

  A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Roo loved a good electrical storm and wanted to be out of the Zoo to see if he’d be able to find a place to watch the storm coming. He was sure a proper electrical storm in the vast nothingness that was the Sahara Desert would be magical. The Aussie let his mind wander farther than he should have, lulled by the stifling heat of the Zoo and the relative quiet around him. He missed the flash of movement off to his left.

  Locusts burst from the trees, vengeance and anger vibrating the giant insects. They came in pairs, one aiming high the other low.

  Charles gritted his teeth and sent slugs flying into the onslaught. “Do you think they’re getting smarter?”

  Booker scoffed, reloading and replacing his magazine. “This isn’t Jurassic Park where the animals are guaranteed to evolve and figure out the best way to eat you alive. Although these ones sort of are too, so that was a bad example.” He drove the butt of his weapon into an oncoming monster. He then adjusted his grip and swung the gun like a bat. The insect catapulted away and bowled over several of its companions as it went.

  He put his hand over his eyes and pretended to watch the creature shoot off into the distance.

  “Homerun,” Charles said.

  “Six,” he muttered.

  “Would you two assholes quit yer yapping and do something about this problem we’re having?” Roo reminded them.

  They went back-to-back again, deciding without saying anything that it was the best position from which to hold off attacking locusts. The assault didn’t last as long as the previous day’s had and the pile of locust carcasses was not as high as it had been before.

  “Must’ve taken out the majority of them yesterday,” Booker commented.

  They surveyed the damage. Possibly twenty of the monsters lay crumpled at the
men’s feet.

  “At least these things seem to be predictable,” Charles said, kicking one out of his way. “And we’ve figured it out. I don’t think an attack from them will be as bad as that first time, and even that was manageable.”

  “Ah, damn,” Roo said, trying to get a good look at his shoulder, although he wasn’t succeeding. “One of those motherfuckers shat on me.”

  His teammates dared to lean in a little closer, and yep, there it was. A white, oozing splotch ran down the back of Roo’s flak vest.

  “Guess this vest is more than just bulletproof,” Charles said.

  The man flipped him off.

  “This isn’t going to wash off easily,” the Aussie grumbled.

  Booker rolled his eyes. “Do we need to wait for you to get your thong out of your ass? Don’t be such a diva. If it’ll make you feel better, Charles will buy you those nachos.”

  “I will?”

  “That would make me feel better.”

  “Not a chance,” the American said.

  After the attack, the rest of the way back was uneventful. Charles had noticed that most Zoo activity was deeper into the jungle, closer to the epicenter of the Zoo itself.

  They were near the walls, the jungle around them spreading out and sand appearing more frequently. They were able to catch glimpses of the top of the sky through the canopy of trees. The saturated colors of the plants lessened, and the Zoo faded into normalcy.

  Charles didn’t let his guard down. He knew being lulled into the idea of safety could get a man killed. Things might be quiet now and they might be almost out, but they weren’t in the clear yet.

  Off to his right, he heard a strange noise and froze, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He raised his hand and his teammates halted behind him.

  He stared in the direction the sound had come from—a large, lush bush with magenta flowers. It looked almost like a rhododendron, but he knew that assumption probably couldn’t be trusted. He tried to remember if the carnivorous plants they’d encountered had made any noises.

  The sound came again, the whine of a small animal.

  “What is it?” Booker asked, his weapon at the ready.

  Charles drew his handgun and aimed it at the plant as he crept forward. “Don’t know.”

  The noise was louder that time and took on the distinctive cry of a puppy. He closed the distance to the shrub and crouched. The leaves shook and the whining became constant.

  He reached his left hand forward slowly, keeping his gun leveled at it.

  “Wait,” Roo said, his voice tight. “Maybe we should—” He wasn’t able to finish the sentence before Charles brushed away a few of the branches and a wriggling ball of brown, black, and tan fur flopped forward.

  “It’s a puppy!” He scooped up the tiny animal and held it aloft. It struggled in his grip, but it was so small it fit easily in one of his hands.

  It blinked back at the human. He could tell it was young because its eyes were still blue. The puppy had ears almost bigger than its body and a thin little tail that trembled uncertainly as it stared at him.

  “What are you doing out here, little guy?” he asked as he brought the puppy closer to his chest. It snuggled against him with a yawn that made its entire body shake.

  Charles stood and turned toward Booker and Roo, who stared at the animal. “What kind of asshole abandons a puppy in a place like this?”

  There were animals in the Harvesters Camp—dogs and a few feral cats. As far as he could tell, most of the dogs were kept as either guard animals or used for entertainment in down times. Men made them fight one another in bloody battles that turned his stomach.

  “We can’t leave it here,” he said fiercely.

  His teammates exchanged a look.

  “Charles, we can’t keep the puppy,” Booker said.

  “Why not? Loads of people have pets.”

  “Loads might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Roo interjected.

  “And pet seems too good a term,” the Brit added.

  “Some jackass probably got the puppy, decided he didn’t want to deal with the hassle and responsibility of raising an animal, and figured he could leave it out here to die.” Charles looked like he was ready for a fight. He clenched the fist that wasn’t holding the puppy.

  “What are you going to do with it?” the Aussie asked. “I don’t think it’s practical to have a pet. Who’s going to watch it when we’re on mission? It’s too small to be of any use.”

  “I’m with Roo on this one, Charles. It’s not practical.”

  “Well, my momma raised me better than to abandon something so helpless like this. You guys don’t have to worry about it. I’ll take care of him,” Charles said. He slipped the puppy into his shirt. It wriggled around, made itself comfortable, and fell asleep. “I’m keeping it.”

  Booker sighed. “Fine. But that thing’s your responsibility. I don’t want anything to do with it.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Roo said.

  “And why not? Maybe he’ll grow up and be a massive guard dog, then you’ll change your tune.”

  The man snorted. “Do you know what kind of dog it is?”

  Charles frowned. Booker shrugged.

  “Exactly. It could grow up and be a monster, or it could grow up and be an ankle biter.”

  “Whatever, man. I’m taking it out of this place. I can’t just sit aside while an innocent thing is slaughtered because some jerkoff decided to shirk their responsibility.”

  Roo opened his mouth to continue arguing, but Booker cut him off. “We’re wasting time standing around here debating it. We’ve got to keep going. We’re almost out and I don’t want the samples to be wasted while we stand here gabbing.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Harvesters Camp

  Charles stuffed an old sweatshirt with an extra pillow he’d found and turned it into a bed. He put the puppy on top of it and the small animal quickly tumbled off. He put it back in place again.

  Roo watched dubiously. Booker had left to get paid.

  “You watch him,” Charles said, straightening. “I’m going to go find some milk or something for it.”

  The Aussie glared. “Yeah, good luck with that. It’s already fucking expensive enough to feed ourselves. Now you want to feed some mongrel. What happens when the wombat gets bigger?”

  He shrugged and grinned down at the animal, who was gumming the end of one of his shoelaces. “It’ll be fine. Don’t be a spoilsport. Besides, he might end up being a small dog. You never know. I can’t tell what kind of dog he’ll be.”

  Roo looked at the puppy again. “It’s not going to be small.”

  “I thought you were convinced it was going to be small and that we couldn’t figure out what kind of dog it was?” Charles asked.

  The man shrugged. “It’d just be our fucking luck if you snagged yourself a monster. What if it’s half-wolf or something?”

  They looked at the puppy. It had toppled off the sweatshirt bed again and was trying to climb back up.

  “Someone scared of the big, bad wolf?” Charles asked.

  “Or maybe it’s part-dingo. It has some of the coloring. Those things’ll kill you.”

  “Whatever, man. I think you can handle him in his current state. Just watch him for a minute or two while I go get some things, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Thank you,” he said, then he left Roo alone with the puppy.

  The Aussie sat on the edge of his cot. The animal stumbled over to him and collapsed against his foot.

  “Look at you, you asshole. I see you with your helpless routine. I’m onto you,” he grumbled. The puppy gave a happy little yip in reply, its tail wiggling awkwardly.

  He picked it up and settled it on his lap, stroking it as it calmed and fell asleep.

  Booker strolled up to Franco’s building, feeling the buzz of adrenaline in his bloodstream. He was alive with the possibility of a good negotiation and could feel the a
nticipation in his fingertips.

  There was no one about but the two guards.

  “I need to see Erik or Franco,” Booker said.

  The men exchanged a look.

  “Which one? Do you expect us to read your mind and go get the one you want to see the most?” one of the guards demanded.

  The Brit held up one of the containers. “Try for Erik first. I’m here with what he asked for.”

  The man who hadn’t spoken disappeared through the door and Booker waited with thinning patience for Erik to show.

  After several minutes of waiting, the guard returned with him.

  “So, how’d it go?” the man asked. He wheeled a small cart out. Rubber gloves, a tiny dropper, a case of empty containers, and other metal tools Booker didn’t recognize were arranged on top.

  The Brit lined the full containers up on the edge of the cart. “You tell me.”

  Erik dumped the contents of all six containers unceremoniously. He started sifting through. Booker watched as he made two piles, one significantly larger than the other. In fact, he started to doubt if there were two piles. The one heap was so much bigger.

  When Erik was done, he picked up the large pile and shoved it into a garbage bag.

  Booker winced. “That bad, huh?”

  Erik gave him a rueful smile. “I can sell these three. Better luck next time. Though I have to say, most people return with completely useless samples their first solo mission.”

  “And the second?”

  “The second what?” Erik asked.

  “What about their second attempt?”

  “Ah. Well, most people either don’t survive for a second attempt or never have a second attempt.”

  He wheeled his cart back into the building but returned shortly with a thick envelope that he gave Booker. The Brit leafed through, counting the money silently. Then, he counted it again. It was fifty thousand, which seemed to be about the standard. That is after Prince took his thirty percent. It wasn’t the windfall the guys had been hoping for, but it was a start.

  Booker returned to the container to get Charles and Roo to celebrate their first completed solo mission as independent contractors.