Ambassadors and Scorpions (Apocalypse Paused Book 4)

by Michael Todd

  Initially, Terry Hall had, for some reason, chosen to occupy the relatively small office that Lieutenant Doctor Emma Kemp had used. She was gone now, having become a creature of the Zoo herself. Wallace almost wondered if Hall had chosen that office as a symbolic way to emphasize that he was now in charge. He had, however, since moved to a larger office with its own lobby and reception desk. It suited him better. Hall was a man who was used to having his way and other people to serve and obey him. A self-made multimillionaire, with interests in multiple industries, he had also become a US Senator and even sat on the committee that had authorized the Zoo’s creation and monitored its progress. He was not a man to be trifled with. Still, Wallace wasn’t quite sure how all that qualified him to oversee a military operation.

  “This place,” Hall had once remarked, “needs civilian leadership.”

  The sergeant arrived at his office. He peered in through the window—the one with Senator Terry Hall, Director stenciled on it—and saw no one waiting in the lobby. He opened the door.

  “Sergeant Erik Wallace,” he said to the receptionist. “Hall wanted to see me?”

  She was an older lady whom he’d encountered several times, although she never seemed to remember who he was. “Oh, hi there,” she said in a nasal voice. “I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Hall is busy with something at the moment.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wallace replied. He sat in one of the chairs and tried to get comfortable. At least waiting meant he’d have a few minutes to sit and do nothing—although he’d rather grab a bite to eat and get some sleep, of course.

  A few minutes passed. He looked up. The receptionist still sat at her desk and looked at her computer.

  “Any word?” he asked.

  “No, Sergeant,” she replied and focused eyes on her screen. “He’ll probably inform me when he’s ready to see you.”

  He sighed and leaned his head back. Hall had told him that he, Wallace, was the key to his “new plans,” whatever those were. Something to do with expanding the scope of the Zoo’s involvement in world affairs. The media had gotten wind of what was going on, it seemed, and other governments were making noise. The Brits, Chinese, and Russians had been involved in the building of Wall One right from the beginning, granted, and they even manned their own gates, but so far, the USA had essentially run the show. Wallace hoped it stayed that way.

  The receptionist stood, went into Hall’s office, emerged once again, and sat without a word. Wallace frowned and closed his eyes. More minutes passed. He was about to doze off in his chair when the secretary’s nasal voice interrupted his relaxation.

  “Mr. Hall has canceled the meeting,” she said.

  He looked at her, a brow raised in query. “Canceled, or rescheduled?” he asked.

  “Rescheduled for tomorrow,” she elaborated. “We’ll let you know the details as they emerge.”

  Wallace stood. “Thank you so much, ma’am.” He left the office and allowed the door to close by its own weight as he did so. The Director and some of the other higher-ups had jerked him around like this a lot lately. It made him wonder if Hall’s plan was ultimately simply to turn Wallace into his personal slave and make him do whatever he said, no matter how pointless.

  In any event, he could now consider himself excused for the day. It was too late to eat. He’d skip supper today and compensate with a good hearty breakfast if he had time for one.

  He headed through the halls of the base toward his tiny personal room at the other end of the rambling building. En route, he had to pass through the brig. It was a large room that served mostly as an extra storehouse, although it had a couple of small sub-rooms that the base used as jail cells for insubordinate soldiers. The main area was also the main docking point for things brought back from the Zoo.

  Such as another catshark.

  “Whoa, he’s still got some fight in him, doesn’t he?” someone said, with a mixture of nasty humor and acidic fear. Wallace glanced toward the voice near the left side of the brig and saw two soldiers and two scientists who stood beside a cage in which another of the deadly predators was held. One of the whitecoats held a small device that sparked with electricity.

  “Well, you just shocked the hell out of him,” said another.

  “That was the Low setting. Kessler said we needed to see how it reacted to High.” He adjusted something on the taser.

  Wallace shook his head. He deliberately veered right and opted to go around the other side of the chamber so that he wouldn’t have to see or hear any more of the torture session than necessary. That was the last thing he particularly wanted to linger in his head after a long, hard day.

  He rounded a stack of crates as the taser crackled and the creature screamed in pain and rage again. That was immediately followed by the sound of squealing, cracking metal. One of the men at the cage whose voice suddenly rose to the pitch of a girl’s cried out, “Oh, holy shit!”

  Wallace’s reflexes kicked in. In an instant, he was around the stack of crates and faced the cage, his body tensed and ready for action. His right hand had already drawn his sidearm.

  The gesture was not wasted. The wild-eyed catshark foamed at the mouth and had broken the top off the cage. It scrambled out over the bars as the four men around backed away in terror.

  “Get away from there!” Wallace barked. The two soldiers obeyed instantly. The scientists, however, looked at him in confusion. “Move!” he repeated.

  One did. The other remained frozen. Wallace raised his pistol and took aim as the creature cleared the bars and prepared to lunge. He squeezed the trigger.

  The pistol’s report was percussively loud in the enclosed space. The catshark reeled back, seemingly hit but also stunned by the noise. It abandoned its attempt to attack and kill the unmoving scientist and instead, leapt toward the other end of the brig. It passed behind another stack of crates and out of Wallace’s line of fire.

  “Dammit,” he grunted. He ran after it. The machinery of his exoskeleton whirred with the increased effort. He could hear the scratch and click of the creature’s claws on the hard floor as it scampered desperately away, and the gasps and screams and curses of the other people who were in its path.

  He rounded the crates and saw the catshark headed for the exit. Maddened by pain, fear, and anger, it merely tried to escape, but beyond that door, it would find itself surrounded by even more humans. Then, it would do what all cornered, desperate animals did. It would attack.

  “Out of the way!” Wallace shouted in his most commanding voice. People ducked or ran. He took a bead and squeezed off three rounds.

  The creature’s new shrieks of pain mingled with the fading crack of the gunshots. Blood flowed freely from its haunches. Wallace advanced on it and moved slightly to the side for a better shot. He was not interested in harming the creature simply to see how it reacted. His prerogative, now, was to kill.

  It pivoted and stumbled to the side. Wallace fired one more shot that struck it in the ribs and spilled more blood before it suddenly turned and attacked him.

  He braced himself with one mechanized foot behind him and caught the beast’s lunging bite on the metal gauntlet on his left hand. In the same motion, he raised his pistol with his right and emptied the remainder of its magazine into the catshark’s throat and chest. Its yowl turned to a gurgle and its head sagged off his arm and slumped against the already-dying body.

  People crowded around to stare. Wallace supposed there were some uses to things like advanced tasers and all the other fancy new weapons and toys they developed around here.

  “But nothing beats a classic,” he said as he spun his pistol around his finger and slid it into its holster.

  Chapter Four

  At long, long last, Wallace arrived in his room. He’d completely lost track of time and had no idea how late it might be. Whatever the clock might say, it was most assuredly time for him to lie down for some well-earned shut-eye. He sat on the edge of his bed.

  The headpiece behind his ear
—the control console for his cybernetic brace—crackled and its earpiece and mouthpiece unfolded. He had a call.

  “Wallace!” a deep, soft voice said.

  Wallace took a couple seconds to grind his teeth before he responded. “Sir,” he said into the mouthpiece. “What is it, Director Hall?”

  “I’m ready to meet, Sergeant,” the voice went on. “Things were not quite as they needed to be earlier. Some last-minute matters of great importance arose. But we have business to conduct tonight. Now.”

  There was only one way Wallace could respond to that. “Yes, sir,” he said. He stood once again, breathed in and out, and walked the entire length of the building back to Hall’s office. Fewer people rushed back and forth now, which told him that it was probably even later than he might have estimated.

  As he pushed the door open, Wallace saw that the light was off in the lobby and the receptionist had left for the evening. The door to the back office stood wide and light streamed through it.

  “Wallace…come in,” Hall’s voice said. The sergeant obeyed.

  Terry Hall was a large and imposing man. He was somewhat overweight but also quite muscular, and beneath the fine suits he always wore, the combination made him look all the more solid and powerful. He also shaved his head. This, combined with his distinctive voice, gave him an air that reminded most people of a crime boss from an old movie or comic book. Wallace couldn’t quite remember which one.

  “Sir,” he said and stood at attention before the enormous mahogany desk and leather chair where his boss sat.

  Hall ran a thick finger around the edge of his chin. “Wallace,” he began. “Previously, I told you that I needed you to help me to implement the next phase of our overall plan to improve things here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wallace replied. He tried not to look or sound tired, but it was difficult.

  “The times are changing, Sergeant,” the director continued. “The US of A needed help from our allies to manage this place right from the beginning and we continue to need that help. In fact, we need even more. You know as well as anyone how difficult the Zoo can be to deal with. And if we hoard its potential all to ourselves…well, that might turn our friends against us.”

  The sergeant wasn’t sure he liked the idea of sharing too much with some of the other countries, but he kept his thoughts to himself for now. “I understand, sir,” he said.

  “Our allies are no longer willing to take a back seat and let us do all the driving,” Hall went on. “They’ve all invested vast sums of money in the project. They see it as an investment. The Europeans in particular. My predecessors managed to place a few roadblocks in the way of the Russians and the Chinese since we weren’t sure we could trust them, but the general feeling has been that Germany, France, and the UK are on our side. However…” He steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “They want to see returns on their investment. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wallace replied. The director was building up to some sort of point, but what would that be?

  “They want to see the results firsthand. Some of the other countries in our coalition will soon begin to build their own bases around Wall Two.” So far, the US was the only country that maintained a full-service base at the second wall, the one farther out from the Zoo itself and maintained as an extra line of defense in case the alien jungle were to spread beyond Wall One. “Before they do that, they want to send some of their own people in to observe. Ambassadors and committee chairs, that sort of thing, who will take notes to see how we run things. This is partially to get an idea of how to do it right, of course. They want to know how we came by our successes. But also, to ensure we’re not botching it. We have, after all, also had our failures.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Wallace. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what this has to do with me, however.”

  “You,” Hall replied as he pointed two fingers at Wallace as if he aimed a gun at him, “will be their tour guide.”

  The sergeant said nothing for a moment. He always tried to think before he spoke. “I would be honored,” he began carefully, “to show them around the base—minus any areas we want to keep classified, of course—and even take them up on Wall One so that they can observe the Zoo safely from—”

  “No.” Hall cut him off. “They want the full safari experience. And I’d say they even deserve it. You will escort them into the Zoo itself.”

  He cleared his throat. “With all due respect, sir,” he replied, “I’m not sure how wise that would be. It would be difficult to guarantee their safety, not to mention that some of what they might see could involve highly sensitive information.”

  “That’s odd…” Hall pretended to look off to the side as if lost in thought. “I could have sworn, Sergeant Wallace, that guaranteeing the safety of both people and sensitive information was something you were exceedingly good at. Barring unusual circumstances such as those that arose on the mission to deal with Kemp, of course.”

  “I always do my best, sir,” Wallace returned. “But we have to be realistic here. This place isn’t a literal zoo. It’s a warzone. Well over a hundred men and women have died simply to keep it contained in the few months of its existence. We’d have to treat this the same way as if a bunch of politicians toured the front lines of—”

  “Then treat it that way,” said Hall. “I am ordering you to take a bunch of politicians to the front lines. The current realities of our political situation demand it. Do not question me further.”

  Wallace bowed his head slightly. “I apologize, sir. My purpose was only to ensure that everyone understands what they’re dealing with. I will also need to know more of the details myself. First of all, when will these ambassadors and their teams arrive, and how much time will I have to plan the logistics and assemble a team?”

  “They will arrive tomorrow. I tried to stall them another day or two, but sadly, that might have created a diplomatic incident. And we don’t want that. So, tomorrow it is. Will that be a problem?”

  “No, sir.” He had already informed Hall of the potential problems. There was no point in thinking of the situation as anything other than a success waiting to happen, a set of parameters about to be fulfilled.

  The director leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers again, and looked at the sergeant with his steady, confident gaze. “I need my best on this. It’s very important and you’re a pro. It should be a walk in the park for you. You can handle this for me, can’t you, Wallace?” It wasn’t much of a question.

  “Sir, yes, sir,” he answered.

  Hall smiled the smile of a man who receives exactly the outcome he has both desired and predicted. “Good. You are dismissed. Be up early. I’ll get you more of the details as they come.”

  Wallace saluted, turned, and left. The director had not specified exactly what early meant, so it probably meant very, very early. The sergeant would have liked to sleep. But being prepared was more important, especially in a situation like this where things could get FUBAR very quickly and easily. Even before he had joined the Army himself, his dad, back home in Topeka, Kansas, had explained the Five P’s to him. He’d have to do a lot of the first two.

  Chapter Five

  Five and a half hours of sleep wasn’t too bad. Wallace had made do with less many times over. Then again, every time he’d done something in the past, he’d had the advantage of being younger than he was at present.

  His headpiece unfolded before him and crackled. Hall’s voice spoke: “I will be out to go over a few things and see you off at 0815 hours. Don’t leave before then. Over.”

  “Yes, sir,” Wallace responded. “Over and out.” His headpiece retracted. Originally, briefing had been scheduled for 0800. He tried not to be irritated. That simply gave him an extra fifteen minutes in which to gather last-minute supplies and double-check everything he could think of. Irritation rose easily, though, when he was this tired. In the past when he’d been younger, he’d had more of a temper, as was
typical with young men, and yet he hadn’t felt so grumpy and frustrated all the time. He no longer had as much energy or patience as he used to.

  People who met Wallace for the first time usually estimated him to be in his early-to-mid thirties. He’d taken good care of himself—he didn’t smoke or drink aside from some minor experimentation when he was a kid, ate healthy, and exercised whenever possible. When the job didn’t keep him as busy as it had lately, he tried to sleep for eight hours a night. Hence, the people who guessed his age were usually wrong. He had passed the Big Four-O about eleven months before and he started to feel it.

  Nevertheless, there was an undercurrent of excitement, the sense that there was important work to be done and he was the one to do it. He put his tiredness behind him and focused on the tasks at hand. This was what he was good at.

  Wallace departed his room, and the building itself, with his large backpack on his shoulders. They would not take vehicles this time. The car-killer vines had made that a futile endeavor. They could take only what would fit on their backs. It was potentially risky but old-fashioned and efficient.

  The team would assemble in an open and dusty area outside the brig, the main doors of which were now open anyway. Something big stood there, covered by a massive tarp.

  Wallace had suggested two full squads plus himself for a total of nineteen soldiers, about half a platoon. That would be enough troops to provide sufficient firepower to repel any attack save an all-out assault by the entire Zoo—in which case they’d essentially be fucked no matter what—but also attract less attention than a full platoon would. Hopefully, this would decrease the likelihood of an all-out assault, to begin with. Director Hall had also allowed him to hand-pick almost half of the team.