They waited in silence, their gazes roaming the area around the wallow. It was hot and the humidity of the Zoo closed in. Charles could feel sweat running between his shoulder blades. He was glad the wallow itself had a pungent, earthy smell that would help mask the three sweating men.
Booker could feel the ache settling into his muscles from holding still and vigilant. So far, there had only been the flitting movement of Zoo birds hovering over the pools of muddy water to drink. He calculated their finances in his head while they waited. The deficit they were incurring with each passing day made him nervous, but it couldn’t be helped.
Off to the far right of the wallow, there was a flutter of movement. A giant dusk-blue butterfly winged its way into the small clearing. It alighted on the edge of the ooze, a foot-long tongue uncurling to taste the mud. Its dusty wings slowly opened and closed, revealing the two giant eyes at its back, the black a swirl of iridescent darkness. The men watched, fascinated, as its tongue unfurled again and again, accompanied by the gentle folding and unfolding of its wings.
Mesmerized by the movement of the creature, they almost missed the animal that crept up behind it. About the size of a Great Dane, it looked young and unpracticed and approached the butterfly in fits and starts—first slinking along the ground, then running a few paces. Its three heads wobbled in concentration, the six legs propelling it silently forward. As it approached its intended prey, its three forked tongues flicked in excitement. It raised its tail, the stinger aimed at the butterfly.
It lunged, its jaws snapping and tail whipping forward in an attempt to spear the insect. The startled creature flew up from the mud and hovered barely out of its attacker’s reach. The monster tried to jump up and get at the butterfly, its yellow eyes glowing brighter with every missed jump.
The team crept forward as the animal tried to snag its prey. They flanked it, their movements as silent as death.
The butterfly, tired of the game it was playing, flitted off. The mutant sat in the mud, its tail thrashing in annoyance.
Booker raised the tranq gun and fired. The dart glanced off the target’s thick hide. The animal’s heads looked around to see what had hit it.
“Ah, fuck,” he muttered. He slung the weapon over his back and out of the way.
The creature, wary now, made a move to leave back into the trees. The men picked up speed and converged on it.
Roo reached it first and threw his electric net toward the animal, but it sidestepped at the last moment. The net sailed harmlessly past. He lunged for it, his arms wide like he was going to give it a bear hug. It gave a high-pitched squeal and scrambled away. He tripped over its tail and went face-first into the mud.
The beast tried to run, but Booker blocked its path. He lunged, trying to grab hold of its whipping tail while also trying to avoid being impaled by the stinger on the end. Its three heads swiveled, yellow eyes blazing. It watched the three men as they closed in on it, forcing it into the wallow.
Its plaintive, high-pitched roars and squeals made Charles nervous. The idea of the animal calling for an adult had him sweating. He lunged for it and grabbed hold of one of its legs, but the scales were too slick and the creature shook him off.
Roo tried again. He leapt forward in an attempt to pin the target under his weight, but he missed as it scurried sideways. “You little bastard! Get over here!”
The three mouths snapped, and it tried to take chunks out of the men as they surged forward and retreated.
“We have to rush it together,” Booker yelled.
They moved in as one in a half-crouch, their arms open wide to prevent the animal from bolting. It spun in place, mud flying, hissing and spitting at them and its three mouths taking bites out of the air. Its tail whipped, attempting to reach them. It kept spinning, two of its heads growling at the men while the other kept up the crying.
An answering roar rent the air, which redoubled the animal’s cries.
Roo stilled and glanced at the surrounding Zoo. “What the hell was that?”
“Can’t be anything good,” Charles said, trying to grab the animal again.
There was another roar.
“Seems the little wanker called for backup,” Booker said. “Frankly, I don’t want to be here to meet it. Let’s secure the asset and get the hell out!”
In the distance, they heard the sound of a large body crashing through the trees. They assumed it was an adult coming to rescue the adolescent they had cornered.
When the creature had its back to him, Charles launched forward and old instincts from too many games as a linebacker kicked in. He landed squarely on top of their prey, flattening it beneath his weight. He pressed down on the tail with his foot, preventing it from whipping and catching him. He pinned one head in a moment. His teammates rushed in to secure the other two.
The creature writhed under him. Its scales, already slippery, were made harder to grasp now that it was covered in mud. The Brit grabbed his roll of duct tape and quickly taped the mouth he was holding shut like he’d seen done with alligators. He passed the duct tape to Roo who did the same with the head he held. Charles was focused on keeping the scrambling animal trapped beneath him, so the Aussie secured the third head as well. In a move that would’ve made any calf-roper proud, Booker taped the animal’s legs together.
“We have to get out of here.” The American grunted, still keeping the animal pinned. The sounds of the approaching adult grew louder, and the ground shook.
“No shit,” Roo said.
“Where’s that net? We can scoop it up with that, then high-tail it out of here and secure it better when we’re at a safe distance,” Booker said.
The Aussie retrieved the net and laid it out. Charles rolled off the animal and shoved it on the net while it struggled, thrashing and writhing, its tail whipping menacingly. Roo pulled up the ends of the net, and Charles gathered them together. With a heave, he stood, flinging the struggling bundle over his shoulder and staggering sideways as he tried to gain a foothold.
They took off in as close to a run as they could. The American stumbled and grappled with the fighting captive. His teammates flanked him, lending an elbow or shoulder when needed, trying to keep the monster in check and Charles upright.
Behind them, there was the crashing of a giant animal plowing through the underbrush, trees groaning and snapping, and the earth shuddering beneath their feet. An eardrum-splitting roar chilled the blood in their veins. They didn’t look back.
The men struggled forward until the angry sounds were only background noise. Charles dropped the creature in a struggling heap. He was breathing hard and his limp was more prominent.
“How are we get it back?” he asked.
Booker looked at it in the net and the animal glared back. “Obviously, you carrying it on your back isn’t an option.”
“If we find a good branch, we can suspend it between two of us at a time,” Roo suggested.
“Seems like that’s our best option,” he agreed.
They quickly scoured the area for the perfect branch or sapling to do the job. They needed something that was sturdy enough to stand up to and carry the weight of the constantly fighting animal but not too large that it would make the men’s job of carrying it any harder than it already was.
Roo made the selection, took out a knife, and began sawing through the branch. The second his blade started cutting into the bark, the tree stuttered to life. The branch twisted and whipped, trying to prevent him from cutting it off. Other branches swung at him and a hollow groaning sound came from the trunk.
“Why does everything in this fucking place have to be alive?” he hissed. He gritted his teeth and sawed faster. The tree fought harder against him. Nearby trees shuddered and leaned in, trying to get at him. With a final shove and one last hack, he freed the branch and scrambled away to avoid its wrath. A thick sap oozed up, sealing the wound he had created. He was covered in the sap, which burned and itched, but he ignored it.
They f
ed the branch through the net, and Booker and Charles raised it to their shoulders. Roo took point again, and they set out at as quick a pace as they could muster with the bouncing and still struggling animal suspended between them.
The Australian’s skin now itching and burning, had an even harder time concentrating on keeping them on a straight course toward the gate. His teammates kept a sharp eye out and were able to catch his drifting off course before it took them too far off their chosen path.
They knew they needed to skirt the swamp. In their condition, making it through again would be a feat. Especially while transporting their captive.
“Okay, navigator extraordinaire, how will we getting this thing back and avoid the swamp?” Roo asked.
“Offset by ninety from where we are now, then we can meet up with our original azimuth.”
The man gave him a blank look.
He rolled his eyes and motioned for him to take the branch. “Let me do it. No wonder you Aussies never claimed independence. You wouldn’t have been able to calculate your way out.”
“Low fucking blow, mate. Not necessary,” Roo grumbled, taking the branch.
Charles and Roo tried to carry the branch between them, but the height difference made it slope awkwardly. The animal kept sliding toward the Aussie as it bounced and battled against the net. It would hold itself still, exhausted, and then start fighting again. It was a cyclical pattern that made the branch dig into their shoulders, biting and cutting off circulation. The movement stripped the skin from their shoulders, even through their clothes.
They marched five klicks and the creature had well and truly exhausted itself. It swung heavily from the branch, swaying to the movement of the men’s steps. After a few klicks, Booker had traded places with Roo.
“I need to take a minute,” Charles said, halting. The Brit stopped readily. They lowered their captive to the ground. It struggled for a moment, but the duct tape it was tied with held fast and it soon gave up.
“What do you think—we’ll be in here for one more night?” Charles asked, stretching.
“Should take us the same time to get out as it did to get in,” Booker said.
Roo scanned the surrounding foliage as his teammates stretched their shoulders and arms. “I don’t think we should stay here for long,” he said.
“Your spidey senses tingling again?” the American asked.
His teammate grunted, still scanning the area. Charles frowned. He looked around too.
He couldn’t see anything, only trees with glistening, deep-green leaves the size of dinner plates. It all seemed harmless enough.
Booker did a few lunges, wincing every time he used his bandaged leg. “You want to know what I miss?”
“Not really,” Roo said.
“Cornish pasties. I could really go for a fresh liver and onion pasty right now.” He brushed against a leaf on one of the trees as he turned. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a liver and onion pasty.” He took a step back toward the others, and the tree he’d brushed came alive.
The man was lost in a rain of dark green that dropped around him. It turned out they weren’t leaves at all—they were bugs. A pungent odor filled the air as the creatures rattled and swarmed around him.
“Oh, fuck, that can’t be good,” Roo said. He sighted but didn’t shoot. He couldn’t tell where his teammate was beneath the moving airborne mass.
Booker suddenly tumbled forward, rolling out of the creatures. They swarmed above him, their spindly legs trying to drag him back in. He was covered in a thin green mucus.
“Get them off me!” he yelled, scrambling for a foothold.
Roo opened fire, attempting to clear the space above the man’s head. He aimed carefully, trying to inflict the most damage to the giant leaf bugs while conserving ammo—and not killing the Brit in the process.
Charles stepped forward, his Remington at the ready. He fired a few rounds at the insects that tried to latch onto him. Their leaf-shaped bodies unfurled to reveal eight spindly legs and round teeth-filled mouths. They secreted a green substance that stank of unwashed gym socks.
He reached down, grabbed the back of Booker’s shirt, and yanked him forward. The bugs tumbled off him, their bodies clicking together.
The man scrambled away, swatting the few clinging bugs off. His fatigues were in tatters and blood oozed from superficial cuts he’d sustained.
The creatures stacked on top of one another. They created a rolling wall of green that moved steadily toward the men. Charles pulled the pin on his last grenade and hurled it into the center of the bugs. The mucus caught fire, and the whole swarm went up in flames. White and green smoke plumed off the dwindling mass of insects as they burned and crumbled.
“See,” he said, heaving the stick back onto his shoulder, “this is why we need a flamethrower.”
They spent a tense night. The watches were long. Their captive fought against its bonds through the night. The Zoo menace hovered around them, pressing in against the light cast by the bonfire they’d built.
Booker had gone without food and sleep in training, but just because it was something he’d done before didn’t mean his body would cooperate. He felt his strength waning and keeping his focus was harder. He could tell his teammates were also feeling the effects of their injuries, the lack of rations, and the beginnings of dehydration.
The sooner they got out of the jungle, the better.
They pressed on, moving as quickly as possible with the prize hanging awkwardly between them. There were a few times where they had to drop it as they fought off carnivorous plants and another of the giant green lizard creatures they had encountered on their first foray into the Zoo.
The going was tedious. They were running out of ammunition, which was forcing them to let the animals get closer in attempts to kill them in close-quarter combat with knives and handguns.
They pressed through a closely packed copse of trees and stumbled into a small clearing on the other side. Two giant lizard-like creatures blocked their path, locked in a fight. The animals swung their long necks at each other, their horns digging into flesh and scales. Sharp talons scraped and clawed. The fighting wall of deep-green and bright-blue blood made a dangerous roadblock.
“How do we get around?” Roo asked quietly.
The monsters had yet to notice the men, too caught up with destroying one another, which was fine with them.
They crept through the trees as best they could, giving the creatures a wide berth. But it wasn’t enough. The three-headed animal in the net struggled harder against the men at the sound and sight of the two fighting animals. The creatures disengaged and their blood-lust gazes narrowed in on the team.
“Well, shit,” Roo muttered.
The lizard-like mutants charged. Charles and Booker dropped their captive and prepared to battle the oncoming assault.
Roo threw a grenade, taking out one of the rushing monsters, but the other kept coming. Charles and Roo fired at it. Booker scanned the surrounding for other creatures, his weapon trained on the charging animal, but he let his teammates handle it.
The mutant was almost on top of them when one of the American’s shots rang true and punctured its lungs, dropping it. But the noise was too much and three more exploded from the trees to attack the men.
One approached from the rear and snagged the net with their struggling prize. It jerked the net out of the way, sticking its snout through one of the holes and burying its teeth into one of the three-headed animal’s legs. With a tear, the lizard-like creature ripped the smaller mutant’s leg off. Blood the color of orange antifreeze gushed from the wound. Their captive thrashed harder, trying to escape both its bonds and the biting and clawing of the larger creature.
Booker shot at the aggressor as it took another bite from the three-headed animal’s flesh. He aimed between its eyes and fired, the round drilling into the monster’s skull. Its eyes rolled back in its head and it collapsed on top of their prize.
He l
aunched forward, leaving the other two animals for his companions to take care of. He shoved at the fallen animal, managing to rock it off their charge. It lay quietly and didn’t try to fight him. Its breathing was shallow, and blood seeped from its wounds into the ground.
“You’ve got to be bleddy kidding me,” he protested. He pulled out his spare shirt, cut it into strips, and tried pressing the fabric into the animal’s wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
“How bad is it?” Charles asked, hovering over him. The man was covered in the blood of the creature he’d killed as he’d been forced to gut it with his knife and its entrails had dumped all over him.
“Well it’s not a bleddy picnic,” the Brit said.
The other two men looked grim.
“Okay. Let’s go, we can’t afford to sit around here,” he commanded. He and Charles lifted the animal off the ground again.
Blood trailed behind them as they moved. The attempt to staunch the flow had some effect, but the animal’s blood still oozed through the bandages, dripping behind them. The flesh around its wounds swelled and gave off a rancid stench. The animal didn’t fight the net at all.
“I think it’s dying,” Roo said. “But we’re almost there. We can make it.”
They were back in a familiar-looking landscape. More patches of sky could be seen through the canopy. Booker and Charles attempted to jog but soon gave it up. The movement was too jarring and re-opened some of the creature’s wounds. They could tell their captive was actively dying. The smell of rotting flesh hung around them. A clear, yellowish puss oozed from its scales. Anywhere the puss touched the men, angry red welts appeared, which burned and itched.
“This isn’t right,” Charles said. “Why is it rotting already? It’s not dead yet and it hasn’t even been wounded that long.”
“I’m not a vet, how would I know? It’s the bleddy Zoo. This shit’s not normal,” Booker said.
“We aren’t here to diagnose whatever the hell’s wrong. We just need to get it back still breathing. Or recently dead. We’ve got to hurry,” Roo said.
Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1) Page 17