by Paul Bishop
Sharpe acknowledged the guy with a nod. The mountain sneered, wheeled away, and sauntered to the convertible's trunk. He opened it, leaned into it, and dug through it to retrieve his gear, which he placed on the asphalt.
He finished his cigarette and let Mr Steroids schlep his own gear to the warehouse.
It wasn't long before a black Humvee arrived. The vehicle had been tricked out with armor plating and spikes welded on the exterior. A skull with an eyepatch and missing a couple of teeth had been painted on the hood.
Once the driver killed the engine, the front passenger door flipped open and Hawkins stepped out of the vehicle and slipped on a pair of wraparound sunglasses.
The redheaded weightlifter glanced at the new arrivals, then turned his attention back to his gear.
Hawkins made his way to Sharpe. When he reached him, he jerked a thumb in the big guy's direction and scowled. "That's Liam O'Meara. He's kind of an asshole."
He nodded. "So I gathered."
"But he's good in a fight. He's one guy who won't turn tail and run if shit gets too heavy in there."
"No kidding? I think he seems nifty."
The other man grinned. "Don't worry about it. In a few hours, this'll all be over. You won't have to worry about Liam—or the goddamn Biodome, for that matter—again. Am I right?"
"Sure."
"C'mon, let me introduce you to the rest of the crew."
Hawkins led him to the Hummer. Five people had disembarked from the vehicle and now milled around its exterior. The closest was a guy with thick gray hair and a matching mustache. When Sharpe moved closer, he saw the man was younger than his hair color would've suggested.
"This is Chambers," Hawkins said. "He's another security guy."
The man offered his hand and Sharpe shook it. "First name's Jason," he said. "It's a pleasure."
"Pleasure's all mine."
"Jason's former Army infantry and US Secret Service,” the client interjected. “He worked on presidential protection details for two presidential administrations. He has the perfect background for this mission."
"Have you ever been inside the Biodome?" Sharpe asked.
The other man shook his head. "I trained on simulators in the states and logged more than a hundred hours doing it. And before you tell me, I know there's a difference between fighting mutated jaguars or panthers in a simulator and throwing down with the real thing."
Sharpe nodded. "There is. But everyone has to have their first mission, right? It sounds like you have the right pedigree for this kind of work. Keep your head on straight when shit goes sideways, and you'll be fine."
"Thanks."
"Also, don't rely on the HUD's aiming feature. They'll tell you it works. That's bullshit. It's still no substitute for a steady hand and a sharp eye. The infrared equipment keeps getting better but it's not infallible. Some of the animals can trick it. Don't let the technology make you lazy. And watch the ground, too. It's easy to get so focused on looking for a panther or a swarm of locusts that you end up missing the vines or some other threat."
Chambers nodded. "That's all good to know."
He grinned. "Otherwise, it's a damn picnic in there." He paused. "But seriously, a lot of the shit I'm telling you right now will go out the window once bullets fly, people scream, and the adrenaline pumps. You don't need me to tell you that."
"No, I know that all too well."
Hawkins nudged Sharpe. "C'mon," he said. "I have a couple of others I want you to meet. Try not to scare the hell out of them, okay?"
He led him to two women—a blonde and a brunette—who stood near the Hummer.
The blonde, her hair pulled into a ponytail, smiled nervously as they approached. She slipped her sunglasses off to reveal cornflower blue eyes. Before he could introduce them, she extended her hand. “My name’s Madison Pike. You can call me Maddie.”
Sharpe shook hands with her. She had a warm handshake and she fixed him with an appraising stare.
“My name’s Sharpe,” he said.
“Just one name?” she asked and grinned. “Like Prince?”
"You know who Prince is? I'm impressed."
She smiled. "My Dad was a big fan."
Ouch. "First name’s Scott. Scott Sharpe. But everyone calls me Sharpe.” He felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile in spite of himself.
“You’re my bodyguard?”
He shrugged. “Bodyguard. Tour guide. A little of everything. Is this your first time in the Biodome?”
She nodded. “I’m a microbiologist,” she said. “I spend most of my time in the lab. But we’ve found interesting uses for goop. When you combine it with stem cells it—”
The other scientist appeared beside her and touched her on the forearm. Madison’s cheeks flushed and she scrunched her nose. “I did it again,” she said. “Didn’t I?”
The other woman smiled and squeezed her forearm gently. “Almost,” she said. “It’s okay. You’re enthusiastic, that’s all.”
Sharpe guessed the second woman stood several inches shorter than him, maybe a few inches over five feet. She had dark-brown eyes, coffee-and-cream colored skin, and black hair pulled back into a ponytail.
"Priyanka Patel," she said. They shook hands and he spent a few minutes speaking to Patel and learned she had never been inside the Biodome either. Hawkins also introduced him to two more mercenaries—Tom Elliott and Joel Atwood. As with Chambers, Elliott and Atwood had practiced on simulators but had never been inside the Biodome.
When the client announced that he needed to leave and started toward his car, Sharpe fell in beside him.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he asked through gritted teeth. “This whole crew’s as green as grass.”
“Bullshit,” Hawkins retorted. “Every one of those men has combat experience. You couldn’t ask for a better protection team.”
“They have combat experience. But this is a whole different situation. We’re talking about mutated wildlife and plants, a place where the whole environment turns against you in a heartbeat. That’s not the same thing as traditional combat. You know that.”
They reached the vehicle. The Trask security chief spun, folded his arms over his chest, and glared at him. “You’re not losing your nerve, are you? Because if you are—”
He suppressed an urge to punch the other man. “I haven’t lost my nerve. But this crew has no business going into that environment. You and I both know that.”
“Liam O’Meara has been inside almost as many times as you have. If you two work together, this'll all go fine. Those guys are fighters. Instead of bitching, do something useful and teach them tricks for navigating through that hellhole. It’s the best thing that could happen for you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but since your wife died, your reputation’s gone down the dumper. This could only help.”
And if he didn’t go in, he’d have a reputation as a coward.
Hawkins left that part unsaid. Still, he heard it loud and clear.
The man’s mouth twisted into a smile. He patted his upper arm.
“Three hours. That’s all we’re talking here. Three hours and it's a big payday. Just do it.”
Before he could reply, the client turned away, climbed into his car, and slammed the door. The engine roared and seconds later, he was gone.
Three hours.
So much could happen in three hours and none of it good.
He went to put his gear on.
5
Tense and irritated, Sharpe slipped on the chest plate of Damon's modified armor, then the boots and leg shields, followed by the gloves and arm coverings. Finally, he donned the helmet, pressed a couple of buttons, and the face-screen displays for power levels, temperature readings, and vital signs appeared.
To his surprise, when the suit powered up, a calm came over him. Wearing the armor made him feel safe, separated from the world, and maybe even invulnerable. It was a hell of a feeling even if it was an illusion. He swiveled his head and saw th
e others in various stages of donning their own suits.
While the others suited up, he checked his weapons one last time.
Eventually, a Humvee rolled up and they climbed inside so they could be taken to the drop-off point. As he considered the situation, the uneasiness began to gnaw at his gut again. The security team was an asshole—three guys with no experience in the Biodome and him, a man who'd avoided the place for a year. Even under optimal circumstances, a million things could go wrong. In this situation? Someone going home in a body bag was almost guaranteed.
For a moment, the suit felt too tight as though it had somehow shrunk around his chest and constricted his breathing.
Maybe Hawkins was right—maybe he’d lost his nerve. He caught his mind starting to race and forced himself to hold his breath as he waited for his thoughts to slow. Finally, he inhaled and released a long exhale. Maybe, he decided, he should worry about whether he could handle the Biodome instead of obsessing over the rest of the team.
“Are you okay?” He glanced left and saw Maddie staring at him.
He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. “All good,” he said. He made a show of squirming a little and rolling his shoulders as best he could inside the suit. “This is a little tight. Too many days pounding beers at METRO."
She laughed. “What’s METRO?”
“The classiest place on the continent,” he said. "Patricia the waitress swears at you, belittles you, and questions your manhood.”
“She sounds horrible.”
“Nah, she’s great. She’s tough and funny but has a good heart. And AJ? He’s the bartender. He has great stories to tell. And if he likes you? He’ll guess the perfect drink for you without you telling him what you like.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“It is.”
“I’d love to check it out sometime.”
“I highly recommend it. But make sure you’ve had all your shots before you go.”
She laughed, maybe a little too hard. Probably nerves, he thought. He was scared his first time into the Biodome and he was a combat veteran. For someone who spent most of their time in a lab? This had to be downright terrifying.
The transport slowed. The road noise lessened and the brakes squealed before the vehicle shuddered to a stop. Wordlessly, he clambered from his seat, picked his helmet up, and gathered his weapons and other gear.
A hollow pit of fear had opened in his stomach but he also felt something else—a surge of adrenaline unlike anything he’d felt since he’d sworn off venturing into the Biodome.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Hell, he might even enjoy it.
He’d know soon enough.
Regardless, it was showtime.
6
After forty-five minutes of trudging through the Biodome, Sharpe felt the small hairs on the back of his neck prickle.
He activated the infrared, scanned for predators, and came up with nothing. Was it merely nerves? Before his last mission, he considered his internal radar damn near infallible. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d lost his edge.
Force of habit clicked in and he listened for the buzzing of the locusts. He tilted his head skyward and looked for threats but saw nothing but tree limbs and foliage.
Still, something nagged at him and he couldn't shake it.
Finally, he switched his comms to a channel open only to the mercenaries. “Stay sharp, he said, “I have a feeling something’s about to happen.”
Chambers responded immediately. “I don’t have anything on my sensors. Did you get a hit on infrared? Or do you have eyes on something?”
“Negative,” he said. “It’s only a feeling for now.”
Despite the fact that sensors provided no alert, he swept his gaze continually over his surroundings,
O’Meara guffawed. “You want us to watch out for something that’s not there? What is it—your wife’s ghost?”
Sharpe's jaw clenched and the urge to challenge the man flared through him.
He didn't take the bait. “It's probably nothing—something tiny and ridiculous like your dick,” he responded calmly.
Elliott and Atwood snickered.
The large man retaliated. “Look, lad, your mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”
“Thanks for the warning. But you might want to spend more time watching your ass and less trying to scare me.”
“Or what?”
“Or you’ll miss that vine snaking its way toward your feet, douche bag.”
The Irishman spun to his right, his weapon’s muzzle tilted toward the ground, and searched for a target. The tip of the vine was a couple of yards away from his booted foot. The shotgun thundered and the blast struck the creeper and scythed several feet off it.
Sharpe keyed his comm unit and said, “Form a ring around the scientists.”
A vine snaked up from the ground and appeared a few feet from his face shield. It whipped with cobra-like speed. He triggered his M4 assault rifle and swept it in a horizontal arc. The short burst of rounds chewed through the green and sheared the tip off. The remaining portion, goop leaking from its ragged end, swiped furiously at his face and body. Beyond that, he saw the source of the chaos—a towering plant with wide yellow petals. It’s center held three circular rows of teeth around a red hole that passed for a mouth,
He squeezed off two short bursts that chewed into the flower’s main stalk.
Geysers of blue viscous fluid erupted from the plant’s wounds and it uttered an ear-piercing screech.
Two more roots from the wounded plant thrust from the ground and lashed out at him and the others. The vines sliced furiously and forced him to back away as he emptied the M4’s magazine. When the assault rifle clicked dry, he let it fall loosely on its strap and clawed at the machete hooked to his belt.
It ripped free it from its sheath and he swung the blade at the plant's tendrils.
“Scott!” Maddie yelled. “Your feet!”
Another creeper had wound itself loosely around his ankle. A moment later, it cinched tight around his leg and yanked him off balance.
White light exploded behind his eyes when his head struck the ground. Even with his helmet, the impact left him dazed and he struggled to focus his thoughts and vision. A human form sprinted past him.
In his earpiece, he heard Priyanka shout, "Maddie, stay here."
Shit. This whole thing was falling apart.
He rolled onto his side, pressed both hands against the ground, and pushed himself onto all fours. The machete had fallen a few feet from him. Maddie had stepped forward, her machete grasped in both hands, and she waved it at the plant's long, green tendrils.
Sharpe had to give her points for courage, even if she was about to get herself killed in the process.
“Maddie,“ he said, “watch your six. Another vine's coming for you."
“Watch my what?"
“Behind you. Look behind you."
By now, he was back on his feet and ran toward her.
Before he reached her, though, he heard strangled cries in his earpiece. He glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the mercenaries had a vine wrapped around his throat. The rope-like tendril lifted him off his feet, which kicked wildly at empty air. His hands tried desperately to pull it free but it was too strong.
Chambers stood nearby, seemingly transfixed as the whole violent scene played out in front of him.
Sharpe activated his communicator and shouted, “Chambers."
Hearing his name seem to break the man’s trance. He shook his head as though waking suddenly and responded with a questioning look.
“Kill it!" he yelled.
With a nod, Chambers swung the shotgun at the plant and pulled the trigger. Peals of thunder rent the air as he delivered slug after slug into it.
While he shot at the plant, Sharpe ran toward Maddie. A vine had latched onto her ankle, yanked her to the ground, and began to drag her toward it.
“Who’s with Priyanka?” he asked.
Atwood replied, "I am."
"Copy that.”
When he reached the tentacle holding Maddie, he raised the machete over his head and let it fall with his full weight behind it. The blade bit deeply into the murderous vine. He slashed at it again but it knocked the blade from his hand.
He fisted his Beretta handgun and squeezed off shot after shot at the plant until the slide locked back, the pistol empty. His teeth gritted, he ejected the spent magazine and slammed a fresh one into the pistol.
The plant would eventually regenerate but they'd at least temporarily eliminated one threat.
Gunfire crackled around him. He turned away and scanned the area for Maddie. He saw her rush to Priyanka’s side. Atwood lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood.
In the meantime, Chambers had apparently reloaded and now emptied his shotgun into another plant as O’Meara slashed at its vines.
Within seconds, the two men had rendered their target a wilted husk. Rivulets of blue goop trailed from the bullet holes.
Sharpe decided this would work out well for everyone. Maddie and Priyanka had wanted to gather more goop samples and maybe even some petals to take back to Trask Corp.
With two plants regenerating, they’d bought at least a little time to accomplish that part of the mission. He shoved a new magazine into the M4 and scanned his surroundings. They’d accomplished the mission, but it’d come at a price.
O'Meara walked past. He caught Sharpe's eye and sneered. "Quit your sulking, you bloody codswallop. It simply means more money for the rest of us."
7
The two scientists studied the plant’s wilted remains while Sharpe stood watch. Priyanka had removed her helmet and gloves so she could photograph it with a digital camera. Maddie dictated notes into a small recorder about the size of a pack of gum.
He divided his attention between them and his surroundings. Their fight with the plants had made so damn much noise, they were certain to draw unwanted attention from other wildlife.
