Reprobates (The Bohica Chronicles Book 1)

by C. J. Fawcett

  Charles crept forward with his receptacle. He leaned down and tried to scoop up the amphibians. Before he could close the container, a few hopped out. One landed on his chest and another on the netting of his mask. He snapped the container shut and flicked them away. One struck Roo in the back.

  He turned and glared at the American. “What the fuck, man?”

  “Sorry. They landed on me and I was just trying to get them off. I wasn’t aiming for you, I swear.”

  “I turn my back for one fucking second and you’re hurling two-second frogs at me,” he said.

  Booker rolled his eyes. “It’s been two seconds and you’re still alive, Roo. You’re both fine. So shut the hell up and keep collecting. It’s not worth getting your knickers in a twist about, Roo. Charles said it was an accident and apologized.” He gestured dismissively. “I swear to fucking Christ you two make me sound like a parent. You’re grown-ass men. You can handle your own shit.”

  Although their quarry lay thick on the ground, it became harder and harder to scoop them up. They jumped sporadically in random directions. Many were small enough to be able to scramble from under the lid before it could be secured.

  Booker looked down at the squelching noise near his ankle. A leech was attempting to latch on, but its teeth couldn’t make it through the rubber of the suit. He kicked it away. “Take that, you motherfucker.”

  The lowered water levels meant the men struggled against the exposed Zoo creatures that tried biting at their heels. The mud made it harder for both the men and the animals to move with ease, leveling the playing field.

  Giant catfish-like creatures with long whiskers, gaping mouths, and nubby leg-like fins, slogged through the mud, eating frogs and other animals as they went. The animals made harrowing inhalation noises as they moved like possessed things out of a horror movie. Even so, one managed to sneak up on Roo, who had been focused on getting a pair of electric blue frogs. Booker shot it as it was about to take a chunk out of the man’s leg.

  They worked carefully and quickly for two hours before most of their sample containers had frogs in them. Some were almost half-full of the writhing, twitching masses, and others contained only three. Charles managed to capture a larger deep-green and violet spotted frog that garumphed at them through the clear chamber wall.

  Booker was working on filling another container when the water around him trembled and a large splashing could be heard rapidly approaching. He looked up to see a massive animal half-running half-jumping toward them.

  “Holy shit, that must be what came at us before,” Roo said, firing at the monster as it got closer and closer.

  It was massive. Its skin was the waxy gray color of a hippo’s but with the slimy sheen of a salamander and its long-toed feet shoveled the mud behind it as it lurched toward them. It opened its long alligator-like jaws and showed the men that color wasn’t the only thing it shared with hippos—its canines matched the long incisors of hippos, but instead of the large blunt molars of the gargantuan herbivores, the mouth was lined with long sharp teeth.

  The men kept firing as it thundered toward them, but nothing seemed to deter it. Even when the rounds tore off chunks of its flesh, the animal didn’t hesitate.

  Charles pulled the pin on the WP grenade and launched it at the oncoming monster. It swallowed it whole. Smoke billowed from its jaws as it caught fire from the inside out. The grenade burned in its gullet and illuminated its bones and organs through its skin.

  It heaved itself the last few meters to the men’s feet where it finally collapsed. Heat radiated from it and rancid smoke broiled off it. It dragged itself a few inches more, its teeth gnashing together and eyes smoldering with hatred. The fire inside its ribcage flickered behind the empty film of its eyes as it died and became nothing more than a burning shell.

  “I hope I never see anything like that again,” the American said.

  “Same. Let’s fill the rest of these containers and head back,” Booker suggested. “No need to press our luck any further than we already have. Just in case there are more of those things out there.”

  The mule, weighed down by the team and their full sample containers, coughed to a stop in front of Franco’s door. He stood there, his arms folded over his chest, and his eyes glinted with calculated curiosity.

  “What’ve you got here?” he asked, stepped up to the mule, and flicked the tarp away. His eyes grew wide when he saw the crate of almost full sample containers.

  “I’ll give you three hundred,” he said, securing the tarp over the cargo quickly. His gaze darted around like he was afraid someone else was going to appear and take his sale away from him.

  Charles made to accept the offer, but Booker put a hand on his arm to shut him up.

  “I don’t know. There’re an awful lot of frogs in there,” the Brit said.

  Franco licked his lips. “Five hundred.”

  “Better, but still not the best.” He shook his head. “I bet we could get a pretty penny from those other companies. Maybe we should see if Lampton wants a piece of this? Frankly, I don’t know why we didn’t go there first.”

  He put the mule in reverse and started it again.

  “Wait! Wait. I’ll give you seven hundred thousand for the lot,” Franco said, gripping the side of the vehicle like he’d be able to prevent it from leaving.

  Booker grinned madly. “Sounds like a fair deal to me.”

  The man transferred the money and unloaded the frogs swiftly from the back of the mule. Charles was driving again, and he went straight to Dan’s to pick up Thor.

  “You guys made it back,” Dan said, handing the leash over. “How’d it go?”

  The dog leapt happily at the men, trying to lick their faces. He couldn’t reach quite yet, but he was getting closer every day.

  “I’d like to buy that flamethrower now,” Charles said, smacking his hands down on the surface of the table.

  “Guess it went pretty well, huh?” The supplier grinned. “You got it, boss. Let me go get that for you.”

  The American looked over his shoulder at Booker, daring the other man to say something. His teammate merely scratched Thor behind his ears.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Container Alley, The Harvesters Camp

  Roo had been trying for days to find a sat phone to call home. His didn’t have a strong enough signal and he’d tried borrowing one but hadn’t had any luck. People either wanted to sell it to him or charge him for the use and all at ridiculously high prices. He’d gotten into multiple fights over it, which also hadn’t helped. Roo wouldn’t normally be so worked up about finding a phone, but it was his daughter’s birthday. He refused to miss it.

  “I just need a phone for five fucking minutes. You think one of these cocksuckers would let me borrow it for a tick,” he grumbled, collapsing onto his cot after another failed attempt.

  “Doesn’t Lampton have sat phones?” Booker asked.

  He stared at the ceiling. “I’m sure they have a whole mess of them.”

  “Why don’t you just borrow one of those?” Charles asked

  “Eh, I’m kind of avoiding Shira right now,” he said.

  “Your novelty’s worn off already? Trying to spice things up a little by playing hard to get?” the American asked. He was working on enlarging Thor’s harness as the dog had outgrown it again.

  “No, asshole. She’s just way more into it than I am. Not to mention, I don’t want her thinking I need her for things. Gives a bird the wrong impression, especially if I’m trying to wean her off me.”

  Charles made a face. “That’s a nasty way of putting it.”

  “What can I say? I’m just that good.”

  “You can’t say that,” Booker said. “Just ask her. It seems like your options have run out.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. I was just hoping something else would come up first.”

  “Did you ask Dan?” Charles asked.

  Roo nodded. “He basically wanted my firstborn to use his phone.
And that ankle-biter is why I’m doing this. Wouldn’t make any sense to give her up just to call her.”

  “If the phone call is that important, then you have to ask Shira,” Booker said. The other man nodded his agreement.

  The Aussie groaned. “Fine. I’ll go ask Shira. But I’m not going to enjoy it.” He stood from his cot.

  “Sure, you won’t,” Booker muttered, loud enough for him to hear. Roo flipped him off and shut the door.

  He returned an hour later, slouched into the container, and collapsed onto his cot.

  “Did you get it?” Booker asked.

  Roo grunted.

  His teammates exchanged a look.

  “Roo, is everything okay back home?” Charles asked.

  “I missed it.”

  “Missed what?” the Brit asked.

  “Her birthday. Twelve fucking years and I haven’t missed a single one. Even on mission. I always made sure to call. And I missed it.” He gripped his hair. “Fuck. What am I even doing?”

  “Did she take it hard?”

  “No. She didn’t. She was a goddamn understanding angel about it.”

  “So what’s the big deal?” Charles asked.

  “I just can’t believe I missed Cassie’s birthday. I told myself I’d always make time for her. I figured that would be the silver lining to getting discharged—spending more time with Cassie. But here I am, in the middle of a fucking desert, messing with alien shit I probably have no business messing with. And what’s it all for?”

  “Look, I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Charles said. “I mean, you’re out here making money. That’s important too.”

  Roo grunted.

  “I think we should all go out,” Booker said.

  “Out where?” Charles asked. “To the Wateringhole?”

  “No. I’m tired of that shit. I mean out-out. Somewhere that isn’t the fucking Zoo. We need a change of scenery.”

  “Where did you have in mind, exactly? We are in the middle of the Sahara in case you forgot.”

  “I didn’t bleddy forget, Charles. I’ve just heard of a place not too far from here—Al Fuqaha. It apparently used to be some shit little town that was basically just for shelter and now it’s got a lot of good amenities. Thanks to the Zoo.”

  “How are we getting there?” Charles asked.

  “We could take the mule,” Booker said, “or we could borrow something.”

  “Borrow something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who exactly are you planning on borrowing from?”

  “Lampton.”

  “They’re not going to just let you borrow a vehicle,” Roo protested. He still didn’t look at the other two men from his cot, but they seemed relieved that he’d joined in the conversation.

  “They might not let Charles and me borrow one, but a certain lady might turn a blind eye and let us commandeer one for the night.”

  The Aussie’s head popped off the cot then. He glared at Booker. “No fucking way.”

  “This is for your own good,” the Brit said.

  “No fucking way,” he repeated.

  “I think we all need to get out of the Zoo or this camp. Do something different,” Charles said.

  “No one fucking asked you, Yank,” Roo said.

  He shrugged. “I definitely think you need a change of scenery.”

  “I don’t want to go out.”

  Booker’s eyebrows shot up. “Right. That means the situation is dire. We need to get you out of this cesspool for the night.”

  “Do you know what I’d have to do to convince her to let us borrow a vehicle? I already had to borrow the phone from her and promise…you know, things. If you knew what I promised to do…” he said with a shudder. “No, I don’t want to do any more of that kinky shit.”

  “It can’t be all that bad. Shira’s hot. You’ll get over it,” the Brit said with a wave of his hand. “Besides, if it’s too much for you, I’m sure you can offer up Charles. Shira doesn’t seem picky, and she did look like she’d like to sink her Israeli claws into him.”

  “Hey,” Charles protested.

  Roo dragged himself off his cot. “No. Fine. I’ll do it. But this place better be the shit, Booker, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Worked like a charm,” Booker said after Roo left.

  “That seemed pretty underhanded, making him get the vehicle to play out your idea. An idea that’s meant to cheer him up.”

  The other man shrugged. “He’ll get over it. Plus, it’s just using what resources we have. Right now, he’s in the best position to procure a more reliable vehicle for a night out.”

  “Is this place really going to be good?”

  “Hopefully. I’ve heard good things about it.”

  Charles shook his head. He picked up his whittling and settled in to wait. Booker cleaned his MP5.

  Incessant honking brought the two men out of the converted container. Roo sat behind the wheel of a customized Jeep Cherokee Deserthawk. Lampton’s insignia was emblazoned on the side.

  Booker pulled open the passenger door and slid in. “I knew you could do it. That wasn’t so hard was it?”

  The Aussie mumbled curses under his breath and his teammate grinned.

  “You’re shirt’s on backward,” Charles pointed out.

  Roo’s gaze snapped to the rear-view mirror and pinned the American as he slid into the back seat. He flipped Charles off, then shrugged out of his shirt and fixed it.

  “You know where we’re going?” he asked as they waited for the guard to open the gate.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Booker said.

  The guard tapped on the driver’s window. “Identification please.”

  The Brit handed over their documents. The guard barely looked at them before passing them back.

  “Where are you heading?”

  “Out,” Roo said before anyone could reply.

  “Don’t be a smartass,” the Brit said to Roo, then addressed the guard. “We’re out for a change of scenery. We’ll be back by morning.”

  The man stared at them. He glanced at Charles in the back seat, who waved.

  “Fine. Just make sure you don’t leave your papers somewhere. No one’ll let you back in if you don’t have papers.” He stepped away from the vehicle and signaled for the gate to be rolled open.

  Booker gave directions and Roo drove for several hours to the town of Al Fuqaha. It had been a collection of sand-colored huts used for sheltering people as they passed through, but now that it was the closest town to the Zoo, it had become a destination. The settlement had been taken over by outsiders who knew a money-making opportunity when they saw one. Alcohol and food were shipped in. The town was converted into a place to drink away your money and regrets. Humvees and other all-terrain vehicles lined the street. Strings of weak outdoor lights had been strung from one building to the next, illuminating the main street. The only evidence of local life was a goat herder leading his flock through the center of town.

  Roo didn’t look impressed. “This is your great idea?”

  Charles also didn’t look convinced.

  “Come on, guys. It’ll be a good time.”

  “How do you know?” Roo asked.

  “How do you know you won’t have a good time? Get out of the bleddy car.”

  Charles opened Roo’s door and pulled the stocky Australian out with a good-natured shrug. “If it’s terrible, we can mock him for it later.”

  They followed Booker into the first converted shack. It was a small space and the walls had been expanded and patched with colorful woven tapestries. The floor had been cleared and a bar with five stools had been installed. There were only four round tables in the room. Despite the size, the bar was completely full.

  A woman with a large afro sauntered up to them. She was wearing a bright orange sarong and a tight red crop-top that barely contained her large breasts. “Can I help you boys find something?” She winked at Charles. Her accent was indistingu
ishable, but she wasn’t a local.

  “We’re here for some drinks and a good time,” Booker said, stepping into the woman’s line of sight.

  She grinned at him. “Sure thing, doll. Why don’t you set yourselves up in back and I’ll swing by to get your orders?” She pointed through a back door which was really just a hole in the wall with a curtain pulled over it.

  Roo pushed through the curtain and into the outdoor section. Empty kegs had been stacked to create a walled-in area. Tables and chairs were set up under the multi-colored lights and the seating was full of men and women eating and drinking. There was one table left and they sat down.

  The team recognized a few of the other patrons from the Harvesters Camp, but the majority of the people were strangers.

  “What’ll you boys be having?” The waitress appeared at their table.

  “Do you have any cider?” Booker asked.

  “Sorry, hon. Only beer here.”

  “Fine. We’ll have a pitcher of whatever’s cheapest. Do you have any food?”

  She smiled. “Sure thing. The boss makes the best couscous and lamb-stuffed peppers.”

  “We’ll have some of that,” Charles said.

  “I’ll bring everything out for you,” she said, winked at them, then walked away.

  She returned quickly with a pitcher of amber-colored beer and poured them each a pint glass full.

  Roo immediately gulped his. He winced.

  “Something wrong?” Charles asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong. They probably water this down.”

  Booker shrugged. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.” He poured himself another glass and drank it just as quickly. When he filled up for a third time, his companions exchanged a look.

  “I thought you didn’t like it?” the Brit asked.

  He shrugged. “Beer’s beer. Most of it’s shit, but you’ve gotta drink something.” He belched.

  The waitress returned with their food. She placed a huge platter of couscous and stuffed, roasted peppers in the center of the table. Then she set another platter of pita squares with what looked like mint and yogurt.