Evolve Read online

  “I know, I know,” Fitz said. “I’ll do my part. Just don’t get plunked, will ya? I don’t wanna have to explain to your sis why you caught a bullet in the bum.”

  Logan shook his head. Fitz definitely had a way with words.

  Continuing his awkward shamble, Logan had to make do with the lack of proper hand and footholds, readying himself the best he could. He’d have to be quick, which shouldn’t be a problem. Glancing over his shoulder, Logan saw the sun hanging low in the western sky.

  Perfect, he thought. The sun would momentarily blind the shooters, hiding Fitz’s and his exact location during the initial counteroffensive. If all went as planned, he and Fitz would have the situation under control in a matter of seconds.

  “Ready, Gray?” he asked, speaking softly into his tactical mic.

  “When haven’t I been?” Fitz replied, his voice clear as day.

  Logan counted down, getting to his knees, but still keeping his head lowered. “3…2…1…”

  Then, like a meerkat, he popped up and quickly acquired two targets, putting a bullet into each of them. Both rounds entered and exited the men’s upper thighs. While the SDF would defend the plains to the death if necessary, they generally didn’t go out of their way to kill anyone. Maiming the enemy was the name of the game. You can’t ask the dead any questions.

  Logan immediately flattened himself against the stone as a volley of return fire was sent his way, but it was short-lived. He smiled as the gunfire was cut off, hearing two more men cry out in pain. Neither shot fired was heard. Fitz and his sound suppressed weapon saw to that nicely.

  He again popped up and put a bullet in another’s shoulder, comically spinning him to the ground.

  “Five down, three to go,” he said.

  “Right,” Fitz replied, “time to take the fight to them.”

  Logan sat up and slid down the front side of the koppie, once more shouldering his identical sound suppressed rifle. As he started his descent, he let fly another barrage of bullets, giving Fitz ample time to make his way forward.

  Suppressive fire was something Logan taught the new recruits—the ones the Americans didn’t supply. Most were locals like his original team. While he loved the idea of having more professional help, he also understood the need to have people from the region too. The potential language barrier was the biggest reason actually. Swahili wasn’t exactly available as a foreign language class in school like Spanish or French. Conversing with other locals was important, plus, Logan wanted the SDF to continue to operate as a conservation group and not a paramilitary unit.

  He kept his suppressive fire steady and erratic, confusing the poachers. A pattern would eventually be detected by the enemy. Generally, you wanted a target to aim at, but if you didn’t have a direct line of sight, you just aimed in their general direction until someone else in your team could move into a better position to do so. He and Fitz were displaying that tactic flawlessly at the moment.

  His boots hit the ground as the last of his three-round burst found the sixth member of the poaching group. The man threw up his arms in pain and fell to the ground, gripping his ruined hand. Logan mentally shrugged. Even the best got lucky sometimes. He wasn’t even trying to hit the guy. The assailant leaned right into it, giving him and Fitz even better odds to walk away from this unscathed.

  “Two more left,” Logan said, advancing. He stepped quickly heel to toe, his upper body rigid and sweeping back and forth for another target. He watched as Fitz stopped and scanned the area, peering inbetween the two parked vehicles they had pursued earlier.

  The two weathered trucks were parked facing away from them. Beyond the vehicles lay the prone body of an elephant. Logan’s eyebrows narrowed at the sight of the clearly lifeless animal. They had just missed saving it by minutes—maybe less.

  “Shit,” he grumbled. “Dumbo’s down.”

  “Bollocks,” Fitz replied, his shoulders sagging a little.

  They both ducked and looked for feet on the other side of the trucks, but found none. There wasn’t anywhere else for the remaining poachers to hide except behind the elephant’s six-ton body.

  Seeing no other way out, Logan and Fitz quickly collected the other six men’s weapons and zip-tied each of the poachers’ wrists to the others’ ankles. If they wanted to try and get away while bleeding, they’d have to drag one another while hopping up and down like drunken kangaroo and risk running into something with teeth and claws.

  They usually stayed put.

  “Take the high ground,” Logan said, moving off, heading for the trucks again.

  “Roger that,” Fitz said, climbing into the bed of the right-hand truck.

  When he landed, Fitz saw dried blood everywhere. Apparently, these guys had been partaking in the business of ivory smuggling for a long time before today. He inched forward and peeked over the cab—just as someone leapt over it and bowled into him, knife drawn.

  The local slashed at him, catching him across the forearm. It wasn’t a serious injury, but it would bleed and sting like a bitch for a while, or at least until he could clean it up and numb it with an ale.

  As the man completed his leaping attack, he fell on Fitz, letting gravity finish off the effort. But Fitz, being as close to a combat expert as it got, slapped at his knife hand and with his other hand reached out for the attacker’s shirt collar, yanking him down further. He quickly got a boot up and shoved, flinging his attacker out of the truck with a yelp and a boom, seeing a look of surprise on the sweaty man’s face as he went airborne.

  Quickly standing, Fitz checked the injury and cursed. It might need a few stitches and if there was one thing Fitz hated more than demonic monsters, it was needles. He turned and saw Logan sidestep his own assailant, the eighth and final member of the group. As the guy passed by, overextending himself, Logan simply kicked out and caught the back of the man’s left knee, aiding his forward progression. The overmatched fool tipped slightly, and was pushed from behind, sent headfirst into the front fender of the pickup. Logan barely broke a sweat and never had to throw a punch. While Fitz was close to the best, Logan was the best.

  Fitz winced at the resounding gong as it echoed around him. He then dusted himself off and retrieved his fallen rifle, Logan doing the same on ground level. Readying himself, Fitz inched forward, unable to see his foe’s landing spot from his current vantage point. The pickup’s tailgate was blocking his view.

  As he stepped forward again, the hidden poacher leapt up from the right side of the bed—Fitz’s left—and latched onto his injured arm, dragging him overboard. Surprised and off-balance, Fitz fell on the man hard and the two tumbled and traded blows. None were overly effective, however, being so close to each other. Fitz waited until they rolled again and he was on top, and then pushed off and spun away, swiftly getting to his feet. The attacker followed but didn’t get very far when Fitz snapped his foot up and kicked him hard right in the crotch. The larger man instantly crumpled to the ground, hands between his legs while letting out a pathetic whimper.

  “Sorry, mate,” Fitz said, “but I don’t fight fair.”

  He took a step towards the groaning man but stopped as he stood.

  “Don’t even think about.”

  The poacher turned, covered in what could only be feces and dirt—a sick natural alternative to tar-and-feathers. As he raised his hands in surrender, Fitz snapped his barrel up at the sight of a glimmering object in the poacher’s right hand and quickly put a bullet in his shoulder. The local shouted but didn’t go down. The gun he just pulled did, however, and Fitz finished him with a non-lethal but very effective Shawn Michaels-style standing sidekick to the jaw—a superkick, as it was called.

  The kicked receiver was out cold on his feet, falling backward to the ground in a plume of dust.

  “Told you not to think about it.” Fitz flipped over the unconscious man and zip-tied his left wrist to his right ankle around his back. “Don’t try it again, okay?” The guy didn’t answer.

&nbs
p; Rude.

  Standing, Fitz looked for Logan, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Curious, he headed for the front of the trucks. As he cleared them, he saw Logan standing in front of the male bull elephant, head tilted down. Ten years ago, neither man would’ve appreciated the sight of the majestic creature—just another animal—but now, they found them as beautiful as CJ always did.

  “You good?” Fitz asked, stepping up next to his friend.

  “No,” Logan said, “I’m not.”

  A grumbling sound caught their attention as the poacher who crashed headfirst into the truck awoke. Logan turned on a dime and marched over to him, grabbing the groggy man by the shirt, slamming him against the hood of the vehicle.

  Fitz stayed back and watched.

  “Who are your buyers?” Logan asked in Swahili.

  “Go to hell!” the man retorted, spitting in Logan’s face.

  Aw, shit, Fitz thought as Logan wound up and slugged the local. For the second time in minutes, the man fell limp, dead to the world. Then, for good measure, Logan kicked him hard in the ribs twice, taking out his frustration. He turned and found Fitz staring at him.

  “Do me a favor…” Logan said, wiping the spit off with his face his sleeve.

  “What’s that?” Fitz asked.

  “Don’t tell Cass.”

  Fitz laughed aloud. CJ hated it when they got rough with people, guilty or not. Kicking a man while he was down would definitely put Logan in his sister’s doghouse for sure.

  “Never would,” he said smiling.

  He then smiled harder, thinking to himself. CJ’s reaction was going to be priceless when she found out.

  This ought to be good.

  He walked forward and zip-tied the slumped man to the grill of his truck, glancing up to Logan in the process.

  “You know you can count on me…”

  Logan knew Fitz was going to rat him out for kicking a defenseless man. The guy just loved to play the role of the middle child, tattling on him to their mom, or in this case, big sister.

  Both men’s earpieces chirped, indicating an incoming message from headquarters.

  “Logan?” a voice asked. It was American and the speaker had a slight Hispanic accent. Navarro—Zeus.

  “I’m here,” Logan replied.

  “We’re ready to go,” he said simply, cutting the communication a second later.

  Fitz raised an eyebrow and looked at Logan. “We’re ready to go?”

  Logan nodded. “Yep… We’re ready.”

  As ready as we can be anyway…

  He looked west and visualized Lake Tanganyika bordering Tanzania. They were miles away but Logan could still feel the breeze coming in off the water. To the west of that, across the other side of the 418-mile-long, 45-mile-wide lake, was the DRC, the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Within the second largest rainforest in the world laid an evil he wasn’t sure they could find…let alone defeat.

  “Don’t worry, mate,” Fitz said, patting Logan on the shoulder. “We’ll be fine.” He then got on the horn and called in for pickup. With the Jeep out of commission, Logan and Fitz weren’t going anywhere for a while.

  Logan glanced at his friend as he finished calling it in. “I hope you’re right, Gray…” He then turned back to the west, closing his eyes, as he was bathed in the lowering sun’s rays. He sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

  * * *

  “They’re almost ready, sir,” he said, keeping his voice low. He was satisfied that he was alone and that his encrypted call couldn’t be listened in on but he knew better than to dawdle. The SDF was now funded by the American government and he wasn’t sure what new tech they had at their disposal. He’d need to keep his call brief regardless.

  “How long?” the caller on the other end asked.

  “Soon, sir. Any day now.”

  “Good, Janus. If this all goes as planned, you will be rewarded in the highest way possible. You shall join me at my right hand.”

  “Thank you, sir,” he said, smiling, shaking with anticipation. It had been his lifelong dream to advance to the highest ranks in the organization. He would truly be able to change the world then and not just do as he was told. He would be the one giving the orders to the other agents in the field and watch as they came to fruition.

  Janus… It was the callsign given to him by his superiors. He was the Roman god of beginnings, passages, and endings, often depicted as having two faces. One looked to the future, while the other gazed back into the past.

  Exactly as we do, he thought, thinking of his organization. They truly used the knowledge of the past to mold the future. And he was as two-faced as it got, working whatever angle he could to meet their endgame: A new world.

  The call ended and the disposable phone destroyed. If everything did, in fact, go as planned, then Janus wouldn’t need that line again. It had served the organization well and before that his intel, along with the countless others within the world’s various governments, had helped as well. Intel that would shape what was to come.

  He glanced down at his forearm and itched the skin surrounding the nearly indistinguishable puncture wound. Inside was a state-of-the-art homing beacon. Once on site, he’d just have to squeeze the muscle around the pill-sized device, activating it. It would do the rest, letting his employers know where he was. A pickup would follow shortly after. Janus would then have twenty-four hours to retrieve what was asked of him. If he failed in his deception, or his mission as a whole, he would be left to rot in the jungles…along with the others.

  Yes, regardless of how this op went, Logan Reed and the rest of the Serengeti Defense Force would be exterminated for good. The only question now was whether he would die along with them.

  Janus smiled as he glanced down at the anti-poaching team’s logo sewn into the left breast pocket of his uniform. The solid black elephant head’s eyes still radiated a demonic red, reminding him of the Nach creatures. Logan had thought about changing it since the epidemic occurred but Fitz convinced him that it would actually scare off the overly superstitious people of the region from hunting in their territory. They would use the very embodiment of the devil as a tool to create peace in the Serengeti. And for the most part, it worked. They’d only run into a handful of poachers since.

  The logo also reminded Janus of the other people that wore it. He really didn’t want to eliminate any of them, but like all soldiers on the battlefield, he knew what was needed.

  Orders are orders.

  2

  The Next Day

  SDF Headquarters, Tanzania

  Carnage, death, and dismemberment… Those were the things that filled Logan Reed’s dreams now. But mostly it was the green eyes that gripped his soul, threatening to never let go. The owner of them had been a friend and a calming influence to everyone who knew him. The now dead man was even more than that to CJ. Currently, in his dream, Logan’s former friend charged them, intent on killing everyone.

  The creature that was Jan Gruber opened his mouth, revealing his newly formed obsidian fangs. He also brandished his other new additions…his likewise blackened, razor-sharp claws. He was most definitely no longer their friend.

  With the inner strength of a mythological goddess, CJ calmly drew her gun, aimed, apologized, and pulled the trigger, putting a bullet into her lover’s head, dropping him at their feet. Logan caught her as she wailed in agony, hysterical over losing the love of her life. Badly injured, Logan crumpled to the ground as well, still holding his distraught sister as he whispered that everything was going to be okay.

  It was a memory he’d never forget—a nightmare that would stay with him forever.

  Before then, Logan’s bad dreams usually consisted of things from his days in the Australian Army—more specifically the SAS. They were the army’s Special Forces division and regarded around the world for their aptitude in combat. Both he and Gray Fitzpatrick served together, Logan being the other man’s superior. Now, “Fitz” served alongside him with a new unit, the m
ilitary trained anti-poaching element, the Serengeti Defense Force (SDF).

  Before the devil showed up last month, Logan had a team of ten highly skilled men—one actually being a woman, CJ. She was the real animal expert out of the group and the one ultimately responsible for the unit’s formation. The SDF specialized in everything from hunting, tracking, combat—armed or hand-to-hand—and tactical driving, to other things like human and animal medical care and overall conservation. They were the first and last line of defense for any living creature that called the Serengeti National Park home. On occasion, they even stepped in and helped the people of the area as well—off the books, of course. Officially, they were only there to be glorified park rangers, not what they truly were trained to do—soldiering. But, if things boiled over in the surrounding villages, they’d take care of the situation like a team of ghosts in the night.

  Their selfless acts earned them the respect of the locals and if asked what happened, the people living around them would denounce seeing anything, keeping the SDF’s extracurricular activities under wraps.

  Logan had seen to the training of the team personally. With the help of his number two, Fitz, they instructed the joining members of the SDF to operate as if they were a well-oiled crew of paramilitary soldiers and not just a run-of-the-mill conservation group. They were lucky to have such a tight-knit team for as long as they did. Ten years together and not a single casualty among them. Yes, some had been hurt—badly in some cases—but never a death. A few of the locals even started joking, calling them gods—immortal.

  Then, it all went to hell. Quickly.

  Late one night, a team of your run-of-the-mill poachers dug up a fabled wealth of ivory, unknowingly releasing a World War Two-era plague into the wilds of Africa—more specifically the plains of the Serengeti. It spread like wildfire, and in less than one night’s time, was responsible for killing more than two dozen people and over a thousand animals. A thousand mammals to be precise... The virus—a negative reaction to the God Blood elixir—only affected mammalian DNA and was initially created by a covert group within the Nazi party, the Wohn Tod—the Living Death. It was intended to be used as a super serum for their soldiers in combat.