by Michael Todd
Wallace frowned. He had been afraid of that.
“When we saw her last time,” Chris continued, “there was that thing on her back with…well, like a tube that ran up to her head. She also acted like she was in a state of euphoria, especially whenever she said or did something that served the Zoo’s simplistic, expansionist interests. It produces brain-altering substances of some sort—drugs, basically—and rewards her using operant conditioning. Every time she’s a good girl, the Zoo gives her a shot of happy-juice directly into the brain. She starts to think that she wants what it wants, when in fact it’s simply made her addicted to doing what it wants. Also, the process has had a couple of months to advance itself. The Zoo is using her, learning from her, and when it’s done, it will kill her like it does every other human being. There’s no way to ‘control’ the Zoo. If the idiots in charge at the base had simply authorized an expedition to find one of the goop flowers, we could already be working on our panacea-elixir and have turned this deathtrap into ashes over glass.”
The sergeant walked on but he slowed as he considered Chris’s words. He knew his friend was right. Almost no trace of human sanity had remained the last time they had confronted Kemp, and God only knew how much more she might have changed since then.
“If the surge is imminent, then, and Kemp can’t stop it,” he said, “we have to warn our people at the walls. That’s the most important thing right now.”
“I’ll help in any way I can,” Chris said and they made eye contact again for a moment. “But I have to go back and try to save Kemp. If we can get her away and into detox, there might still be a chance. I have to try.”
“Was there…something between the two of you?” Wallace asked. Chris’s devotion to her was strange. As far as he knew, the two of them had never met before the scientist had arrived in North Africa, and what little time they’d spent alone together had probably been spent trying not to die. Maybe they’d had sex somewhere along the way. People did crazy things when they faced crazy situations. He didn’t know and didn't really care. But even if that were the case, going to the lengths Chris had gone to save her, even months after the fact? That was something stupid, lovesick teenage boys did with the first girls they ever hooked up with or maybe men who’d lost their wives or children and kept the flame burning under the kindling of possibility that they might still be alive. Not adults who might—might—have had a casual fling under stressful circumstances.
“No, not really.” Chris sighed. “It’s more like…hell, I don’t know. She was the one who brought me into all this and we stuck it out together. And you, when you caught up to us, yeah, and she sacrificed her life for us. Or so we thought, anyway. She entrusted something to me—a promise that the scientific discoveries we’d get out of this place could, you know, save the world. Her dream was basically the same as mine. And if we can save her—once we turn her back into a human being, anyway—then her memories, not to mention the process of saving her, could be an incredible boon to the human species in and of itself. I don’t know, maybe I’m…obsessed.”
“Maybe,” the sergeant agreed.
“I have to try to save her, though,” Chris said again. “I simply have to.”
Chapter Fourteen
“This won’t goddamn work, of course,” Wallace said, “but let’s give it another shot.” He once again attempted to reach the base via his headset. Now, instead of solid static, he received alternating intervals of static and dead silence. Fantastic. He tapped the headpiece and allowed it to retreat and retire now that it had proven itself utterly useless.
“The plants seem to interfere with communications equipment,” Chris commented.
“Yes, I know that since you were the one who told me,” Wallace returned.
“Oh. I couldn’t remember if I had or not.” Chris shrugged. “I say many things to many people.”
“Correct.” He removed a portable walkie-talkie from his belt. The device was similar to the advanced ones he’d seen Frankie’s team use when he’d fought them a few weeks before. He had prevailed upon Hall to issue at least a few of them and Lt. Danvers at the base was one of the other proud owners. “Let me try this thing.”
“It probably won’t be any different.” Chris sighed. “Unfortunately.” He looked around the jungle, meanwhile, alert to any possible intrusions by the local denizens. Aboveground, the Zoo was once again eerily quiet and almost dead—so far, at least. The multitudes of locusts that had assaulted Kemp’s palace were nowhere to be seen or heard. He handled his rifle in a way that suggested he’d probably had some practice with it and could at least fire the damn thing with acceptable competence. When Wallace had last seen him months before, he wouldn’t have trusted the man with anything but a handgun.
The sergeant switched the walkie-talkie on and gradually turned the volume up. It provided the same unsatisfactory response as his headpiece—a back-and-forth vacillation between silence and static. Irritated, he turned it off.
“Can I see that thing?” Chris asked. “I might be able to tinker with it. I’m not an expert at electronics, but lately, I’ve been forced to learn a little. Plus, the interference is probably Zoo-related, so—”
“That makes you the closest thing I have right now to an expert assistant,” Wallace interjected before he could finish the statement. He handed the device over.
“Thanks,” Chris said. “So, will we take a break while we figure out how to signal the base, then?”
“I suppose so. I’ll stand watch. We can’t wait forever, but I don’t see any sign of a cave entrance around here. If we can’t get an electronic signal through, we’ll have to head to the wall on foot.” He frowned. There were no sounds of battle on the surface, either. That meant that the remainder of Lt. Bokhari’s company had either successfully fought their way clear or had been completely annihilated. He hoped it was the former. If that were the case, they might be able to regroup with them, send a token force back to warn the base, and re-enter the tunnels with sufficient men to rescue whoever was still down there.
“You know,” the scientist said as he opened the back of the walkie-talkie and fiddled with the wires and crystals and whatever else was in there, “it’s good to be back, in a way.”
“So you were actually in a mental institution this whole time you were gone,” Wallace surmised.
Chris looked up and blinked in astonishment. “Did you just make a joke?”
“It’s been known to happen from time to time.”
“Wow, amazing. I’m not the only one who’s changed, then.”
“Well,” he continued, “things here have been so terrible, by and large, that we’ve reached the point where trying to have a sense of humor about it is the only reasonable response. Other than checking into a mental institution.”
“So now it’s you and Private Peppy,” said Chris. “If only there were some way to weaponize sardonic commentary. We could turn it into a death-ray that dissipates water and leaves everything bone-dry. The Zoo would be fucked.”
Wallace grinned. “Peppy’s death-ray would be a lot stronger than mine, I’m sure.”
“What’s wrong with her, anyway?” Of course, he didn’t mean that in a negative sense, since the two of them had gotten along well, not to mention saved each other’s asses. “Did I ever tell you about the time me and Gunnar and her talked about pickup lines, and she suggested one like…let me remember… Yeah, it was ‘You look like the kind of girl who likes to be choked. And even if I were to choke you to death, I wouldn’t stop, since by then, you’d be past saying no.’ Yeah, she actually said that.”
Wallace raised an eyebrow. “That’s…impressive, even for her.”
“I know, right?” By now, Chris had pulled his cell phone out and seemed to check it against something to do with the walkie-talkie. The sergeant hoped he knew what he was doing.
“Shit,” Wallace went on, “when I saw the hole in the fence last night—that was you, right?—I had her come over and sweep the a
rea, and she said something… Uh, I can’t remember the details. It was something about how she’d prefer to be stationed in a stable climate, but that would be like ‘heat death,’ when all the heat in the universe balances out and leads to the end of the world as we know it. Do you know anything about that?”
“Hah!” Chris replied. “Yeah, heat death. Activity requires a constant exchange of heat energy from higher to lower areas or vice versa. If everything is the same, there’s no activity, so no life. Which means that when the apocalypse arrives, at least it will probably be a nice, even seventy degrees with clear weather.”
“I’d prefer sixty-eight,” Wallace said, “but that’s tolerable.”
“Aye. Oh, speaking of death rays and shit,” the scientist continued and looked decidedly mischievous, “has Gunnar ever had the opportunity to shoot one of those ridiculous plasma flamethrowers? I guess not since those things are as intense as all hell and he’d probably cream his pants so hard he’d die, albeit in a state of deep happiness and satisfaction.”
“He hasn’t. When we escorted those diplomats—not long after you left—we had to deploy the one we had a couple times, but Peppy actually got to do the honors. In fact, now that you mention it, I remember him complaining about the unfairness of that.”
“Sounds about right.” Chris nodded. “Poor, poor guy. Did he actually shoot a cockroach with a Magnum once? Or was that simply a longtime sexual fantasy of his? I can’t remember.”
The sergeant’s brow furrowed in thought as he tried to recall the details. It occurred to him that thinking about stuff like this was a relief after everything else. “No, I think that was one of those things he always wanted to do,” he said. “I guess it’s good for a man to have dreams and ambitions in life. Although, from what some of the other guys said, he apparently did once blast a big-ass spider with an M-92 and half-wrecked the tree it was on while he was at it.”
“That’s certainly overkill,” Chris remarked and whistled. “But I guess it depends on the size of the spider in question.”
“I noticed that your shooting has improved, by the way,” Wallace observed. “I’m glad you were able to practice while you were away. But remember to hold the M-92 tight to your shoulder when you fire. If you get your hands on a shotgun, that’s even more important since some of those things have enough kick that they can even break bones if you’re not careful.”
“Ugh, yeah, I’ve heard of that.” The man grimaced. “But yeah, I think I’m kinda getting the hang of the rifle. It’s still weird to me that humanity’s main weapons consist of multiple small explosions in an enclosed metal space for the purpose of making little chunks of other, softer metal fly outward really fast. Why don’t we have lightsabers yet? And don’t ask me to answer that question myself. I’m a biologist. You’d probably need some goddamn physicists or something to answer that.” He exhaled sharply and wiped the sweat from his brow in the humid jungle heat.
“Still,” he continued, “thanks. For the shooting compliment, I mean. It means a lot coming from you, of all people. I’m reasonably sure there were panes of glass in Police Story that had longer life expectancies than anything or anyone who fucks with you.”
Wallace half-smiled but a little grimly. “Thanks,” he said. “Police what?”
“It’s an old Jackie Chan movie,” Chris said and waved his hand vaguely. “He breaks a lot of glass in it.”
“Oh, I see.” He tried to smile wider although asking his companion to explain the joke had essentially ruined it. The truth was that he had never been much of a comedian. He seemed much better at hurting people—when necessary—than at making them laugh. “Well, sometimes, things need to be broken. Orders are orders.”
“True,” said Chris, “although it would be nice if the people giving the orders had a better idea of what the hell they’re talking about some of the time.”
“We don’t generally have the luxury to choose our superiors.” Wallace enjoyed being able to talk to his old friend like this, even though he knew they didn’t have much time. Still, they needed to at least try to see if Chris could jimmy-rig a way to contact the base. “I have always, during the whole of my career as a soldier, tried to interpret and carry out my orders in ways that are as reasonable and as smart as possible. But a military can’t function without discipline and a hierarchy of command. Sometimes, you have to bite the bullet and do as you’re told.” Irritatingly, Aade Graf’s words came back to haunt him again—particularly the thing about how the Germans, of all people, would know that sometimes, maybe, one shouldn’t follow orders.
“Okay, got it!” His companion interrupted that disconcerting memory. “I think.” He slapped the rear casing onto the walkie-talkie and handed it to Wallace. “I, ah, made some adjustments to the frequency, more or less. Don’t ask. You learn interesting things when you hang out with shady characters in Egypt, not to mention France. Anyway, if my theory is correct and the Zoo’s plants fuck up our comm equipment by secreting something with subtle electromagnetic properties…” He drew a deep breath. “This thing might actually work now if we could get high enough to where we’re not surrounded by a bunch of stupid plants.”
The sergeant hooked the device onto his belt. “In other words, we need to find a nice tall tree. Roger.” He strode off into the woods with Chris close behind and tried to bear in the general direction he suspected their underground comrades might be heading. With the Zoo in its current half-decayed state, it had lost some of its understory but the foliage was still mostly too thick to see very high up. Instead, he looked for especially large tree trunks, since most trees grew taller as they grew wider.
“This one will probably do the trick,” Chris said as they approached a strange gray-green column with a diameter of a good five feet. It provided a few solid, sturdy-looking, low-hanging branches as well. The understory also seemed a little less dense and they could almost see the top, which appeared to extend quite high. The scientist put his hands on his hips. “Now, all we need is for someone to climb it.”
“You weigh a lot less than I do,” Wallace pointed out. “Branches usually get thinner as you get higher up.”
“Well, yeah, but then again, I’m not a video game protagonist with badass power-armor.”
“True.” He sighed. “I’ll do it.”
“Wow, really?” Chris clapped him on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you to surprise me, even after all this time.”
The sergeant examined the tree carefully. Here and there, the bark had cracked in places to reveal a dark, moist-looking material within. The tree, like some of the others they’d seen, had begun to succumb to rot. Still, its exterior was mostly healthy, which meant strong, and its sheer size meant that it would take a significant amount of weight or force to break and topple it.
“Here goes,” he muttered as he scrutinized the lower branches and plotted his route. It occurred to him that he was still tired and had been tired more or less continuously for months. Why the prospect of tree-climbing should remind him of that was anyone’s guess. His weariness had never stopped him before.
Chapter Fifteen
Back home in Topeka, Erik Wallace and his brother Jerry had a big, old tree in their backyard. At about seven years old, Erik had—with the wisdom and good sense so typical of boys that age—decided to try to climb it without even the slightest strategy or experience. Surprisingly, he made it about twelve feet up before a branch broke. He landed on another a few feet down, which bruised the hell out of his back and shoulder and knocked the wind out of him, but it at least broke his fall enough that he didn’t break anything else. His mom had freaked out and his dad had ordered him never to try climbing it again. He had obeyed. On some level, though, he couldn’t help thinking that the tree could still be conquered if he went about it more intelligently.
This tree, however, was a hell of a lot bigger.
“You’ve made good progress so far,” he said under his breath. He was about twenty feet up—maybe a qu
arter of the total distance. Despite the extra weight it added to his already-considerable body mass, his suit had definitely made the climb easier. Where the wood was soft, his left hand or his feet could dig into it. In addition, where a branch was out of reach the old-fashioned way, he could use the suit to vault himself higher than would otherwise be possible. However, even his power armor, as Chris had called it, wouldn’t likely be able to save his ass in the event of a sixty-foot tumble.
A good-sized branch grew within arm’s reach, although he’d have to stand and practically stretch to grab it. Carefully, he did so and managed to take hold of it with his left gauntlet. The suit provided power to his arm as he hauled himself up. The branch bent slightly and shook and the dark green leaves of its many sub-branches shivered and swished in the air. Wallace eased cautiously closer to the trunk and positioned himself partly on the branch and partly on a protruding knob a little to the right with one foot on each. Vertigo was a constant enemy and he forced himself not to look down. He clutched the tree with his left hand and brought the walkie-talkie up with his right.
He had cleared some of the lower trees and most of the bushes although the understory and low-canopy foliage were still fairly dense, even at this height. His movement slow and careful, he clicked the device on. Static was interspersed once or twice with something that almost sounded intelligible but mostly, it was useless. He had to climb higher.
The next branch up was thicker than the current one, at least. He braced himself and drew a deep breath before he hopped upward and caught the thick branch around the middle. With a quick motion, he swung his legs up and shifted into a sitting position of sorts as he straddled the branch with his back to the trunk.
