Evolve Page 3

  It had some…adverse side effects.

  The infamous Nazi scientist, Dr. Josef Mengele was the engineer of the disease—the Gott Blut. Through his files found within a hidden underground bunker, the SDF, along with the CIA, was able to uncover information on the serum’s origin. It belonged to a reclusive tribe of cannibalistic people dubbed, the Verbraucher—the Eaters, by the Nazi scientists.

  Thankfully, once the crisis was over, the carcasses left behind weren’t contagious. They died of UV poisoning, the plasma-like blood boiling from the inside out. Those which the cleanup crews didn’t locate and burn, were eventually torn to shreds by the various species of scavengers that roamed the grasslands.

  The Serengeti was safe again, but Logan’s psyche wasn’t.

  He thrashed wildly at night now and instead of settling down and giving into a normal sleep routine, Logan stayed awake as long as he could before he passed out from utter exhaustion. Sometimes it would be at his desk. Once it was in the hot tub. But, if there was any consolation, at least he didn’t give in and turn back to the bottle.

  He wasn’t your average drinker, mind you. Like most military men, he could knock ‘em back like a pro. However, since taking the reins as lead game warden and SDF founder, he was wholeheartedly against it. He knew that shit could hit the fan at any moment and he wanted to keep his judgment crystal clear, just in case. While the others had downtime, Logan instilled in himself to have none. He was truly on call twenty-four-seven. Mercifully, his body was in excellent shape and with Jan gone, Logan was easily the fittest of the bunch there, including the newer, younger members of the team.

  Approaching his thirty-ninth birthday, Logan had to work extra hard to keep his body in peak condition, eating a healthy diet and training like a maniac whenever he found time. The easiest way for that to happen was having CJ prepare his meals for him. Logan hated to cook—despised it. She was a health nut back home in Melbourne and he was happy to see that some of her cleaner lifestyle tendencies came with her to Africa when she moved fifteen-plus years ago. She was four years older than him, but looked that much younger, routinely getting hit on by men twenty years younger than she. She believed it was her clean diet that kept her aging as she said, “Like a fine wine.”

  “Yep,” Fitz added, “bitter as shit.” He, like Logan, was a beer drinker.

  “Logan?” a voice asked, startling him awake. He looked up and saw his sister staring at him from the entrance of the second story lounge. “You okay?”

  He groaned and sat up, kicking in the recliner’s footrest. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep. He stood and cracked his neck, releasing the buildup of pressure and tension in one swift jerking motion.

  “You’re going to paralyze yourself one day, you know,” CJ said, cringing at the sound of his popping vertebrae. “You could at least get a massage every once in awhile if your neck is bothering you that much.”

  Logan shrugged. “Unless you want to hire a live-in masseuse—which I highly doubt—it ain’t happening.”

  CJ just shook her head, causing the few strands of unrestrained hair to sway back and forth in front of her face. She tucked them behind her ear and continued. “Seriously, though, you need to get out of here and recharge the batteries.”

  “I will when we leave for the jungle,” Logan said. “Navarro is finalizing the details as we speak. He hopes to be leaving in the morning.”

  This was news to CJ. Her eyebrows lifted high, displaying her shock. “And when were you going to tell me?”

  Logan turned and headed for the living space’s fridge, opening it and grabbing a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and guzzled the entire sixteen-ounce bottle before answering her. He used the break in the conversation to get ready for her rebuke.

  “Look, Cass… I—”

  “Don’t you dare ‘look Cass’ me, Logan. I’m going with you damnit! I owe Jan that, at least. Let me help end this…for him.”

  Logan tossed the bottle into the marked recycling container and whirled on her. “I’m just trying to protect you! The last thing I need is to lose you after everything we just went through. I’ve lost enough men in the last thirty days. I don’t need to lose the one person that means something more to me too.”

  CJ was about to send another volley back at Logan, but she didn’t get a chance.

  “Ouch, mate. That really hurt.”

  Logan glanced to his right and saw Fitz step out of the neighboring shower room, holding a hand to his chest, mimicking a broken heart. His bearded face was still soaked, as was his ample chest hair. The man had barely toweled off before coming to see what the fuss was all about. Either he really cared, or as Logan figured, Fitz just loved drama. He especially enjoyed it when it had to do with brother-sister spats. Fitz would inevitably get in the middle of the fire and put it out before it became a blazing inferno.

  “Eat me, Gray!” Logan retorted, stomping away before Fitz could comment. He headed left, out of the open-walled area, and followed the circular catwalk, heading towards the facility’s living quarters. The spacious interior had been completely renovated and updated due to the damage sustained during last month’s fiasco, but Logan could still sense the bloodied chaos. How couldn’t he? The scars were still fresh as was the guilt and sorrow.

  While the dead were gone and buried, he could still feel their presence within the hollow belly of the Bullpen. It was another thing his mind wouldn’t let go of. He’d even begun to get uncomfortable when he was alone in the dark, something he never experienced before in his life. Being a former soldier, he actually favored the cover of night. He preferred being an invisible phantom while in battle.

  The Nach did a number on his mind for sure, scaring him shitless. As a fighter who’d seen plenty of death, very little frightened him anymore, but these damned demons were real tangible monsters, not just that of legend or folklore. They weren’t the works of fiction authors either or those he’d watched in movies. He bled by their hands…and they died by his.

  “Logan!” CJ yelled from behind, but he didn’t pay her outburst any attention. He wasn’t about to get pulled back into a shouting match and say something he’d regret. He really wanted to keep CJ safe—keep her from getting killed.

  Like Jan and Mo…and Adnan…and Kel and Dada…and Saami and Pandu.

  He cringed as he once again counted the dead. They lost seven men in a matter of hours. They all died in one single night, brutally. The Americans didn’t fare much better either. Worse actually, he thought. Navarro’s Delta team also took heavy casualties, losing ten of their own. It was a cluster-fuck of epic proportions—a literal worst case scenario for them all. Seventeen highly skilled and immensely capable men died in less than nine hours and now the US brass wanted them to go to one of the most unexplored places on Earth and search for an enemy that quite obviously didn’t want to be found. Those were truly the most dangerous of adversaries. They’d fight to the death to keep whatever they were hiding a secret.

  Logan at first refused the offer, not wanting to continue on this journey deeper into hell. He eventually bent to the CIA’s will, though. They made an offer even he couldn’t refuse. The Bullpen was fully rebuilt, better than ever, costing the SDF less than zilch. They made good on their promise and brought in two dozen more men, building a secondary structure a couple of miles north of this one. Bullpen-1 would focus on the southern and western regions of the park, while the newer Bullpen-2 would cover the north and east. The fact that someone tried anything yesterday showed the SDF how desperate the poaching community was becoming.

  Fitz was now in charge of training the new recruits in their ways, even offering to retrain others around the continent. It was all to make Africa a better and safer place. They knew deep down that things were only just beginning and the SDF wouldn’t be able to protect the whole of Africa by themselves. Even the US troops could only venture so far. They were allowed on Tanzanian soil but some of the other countries weren’t so willing. Kenya had also c
omplied, giving them a much-needed ally to the north. Half of the original SDF agents lost were from the country, so it was fitting that they’d help.

  One of Logan’s reasons for eventually accepting the CIA’s lucrative offer was one he’d yet to confide in with CJ. He knew that if he were to die while fighting the good fight—like in the jungles of the Congo—then at least the Serengeti would be taken care of when he was gone. He just hoped he’d be around to see it come to pass and not have to look down on it from above.

  He all but kicked open his bedroom door and slammed it shut, sitting on his bed hard. As his head hit his hands, he heard a photo frame tip and fall, crashing to the floor next to his feet. It landed close enough to him that he saw which one it was.

  CJ had the exact same picture blown up and mounted on her wall. It was the entire team smiling and laughing after their largest bust ever. Things were dangerous back then but everyone knew that the only enemy they ever had to be concerned with was a human one.

  Not anymore, he thought, moving his eyes away from the broken frame and back to the floor.

  From above… he thought, once again thinking of his possible death, or…from below. Logan had killed a good many people in his lifetime, more than he wanted to admit or remember. Most were deserving, but some were as his former bosses in the army called them, collateral damage.

  Bastards. I’ll show you the meaning of ‘collateral damage.’

  He knew that if CJ came with them, he’d more than likely have to sacrifice himself to save her. People disappeared all the time in the Congo. Things were said to happen there that were supernatural in origin.

  No, not supernatural… It was super-unnatural. He was natural. An elephant and a gazelle were natural. The Verbraucher weren’t. If what their research said was true…they were evil to the core.

  There was so much unknown about the territory. Logan was used to being prepared for whatever was to come. How can you prepare for something that has yet to be discovered?

  “Bollocks…”

  A knock drew him out of his mental beating and he glanced through his fingers to see CJ’s boots appear. She then stepped over the threshold, kicked the busted glass away, and kneeled in front of him. He hadn’t even realized he was crying. Warm fluid traced twin lines down his face as CJ also began to cry in his lap. He cradled her shaggy strawberry-blonde head in his arms and squeezed.

  Maybe…just maybe…we might be able to get out of this one alive.

  Then, he thought back to the Nach and to the two biggest of the demons, Shetani and Wustenfuchs. If the Verbraucher were as cunning as he figured they were, he suddenly wasn’t so sure they would return here.

  CJ looked up into his eyes. “Fine,” he said, giving in like he knew he would, “just do me a favor…”

  “I won’t get myself killed, Logan. Besides...” She stood, sniffing but smiling, “…I have an army of watchdogs to look after me.”

  CJ held out her hand. “Come, baby brother. The jungle awaits.”

  Logan wiped his eyes and stood, taking the offered hand.

  He knew one thing… If he was to fall at the end of this conflict, he’d take every single one of the hellish creatures with him. That was for damn sure.

  3

  Logan wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping since they first encountered the Nach. It was the name Jan had given the monsters. He said they reminded him of the Nachzehrer, a German legend that resembled today’s description of vampires or, depending on the translation, zombies. Nachzehrer literally meant dead eaters.

  Fitz looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, shaking his head in disgust. The grey just kept coming in, acting like an advancing team of hostile invaders, waging war on his psyche. He toiled at night, just like Logan did, but the reason no one asked him about it like they did the captain, was that he mostly kept it to himself. Fitz wasn’t as emotionally outgoing as Logan was. He was most definitely outgoing, for sure, but not on a personal level like his friend.

  He looked harder at himself. “Gettin old, mate,” he said aloud, toweling off the rest of the water. He’d heard the Reeds going at it only moments ago and knew he needed to intervene. He planned on drying and dressing first, but by the volume and fervor of their argument, he knew his presence couldn’t wait any longer. Logan and Cassidy were his closest friends—his family—and he did what he could, acting as the “voice of reason.” His latest job was for him to diffuse their discussions whenever they got out of hand.

  Fitz had just recently celebrated his fortieth birthday, something that weighed on him heavier than he let people see. His father had taken his own life upon reaching his fortieth birthday after rotting away in the gutter in a town Fitz had never bothered to learn the name of. His father was dead to him when he was fourteen, more specifically the night he almost killed his mother.

  “Enough of that,” he said, again forcing away the images of his unconscious mother and half-dead father. Fitz had almost beat the man to death with his bare hands that evening. One night, he came home late from a friend’s house and his father accused him of partying. At the time Fitz had never tasted any type of alcohol, but Bert refused to believe him. He stopped calling him Dad the year before.

  Normally, Fitz would have just shrugged it off like all the other times Bert was plastered and angry, but unfortunately, his mom stepped in and did what most mothers would… She tried to protect her son.

  “Wanker…” he said, squeezing the hand towel tighter.

  Fitz was thirteen months older than Logan, but in some respects, Logan was really his elder. He was unquestionably the more natural leader of the two by far, which was fine by Fitz. He didn’t mind playing second fiddle to Logan in the least. He knew his place and gladly helped however he could.

  Like saving his sorry ass over and over again…

  He groaned and stood tall, rubbing his hand over his bald head. It was the newest addition to his look. While he never kept his hair long, no more than a couple of inches in length, the monkey butt had begun to spread further around the back of his head. One day he woke up and said, “to hell with it,” taking a razor to it. Now, the only hair he had on his head was his eyebrows and his ‘trademark’ beard, of which was easily at its longest now.

  He stroked it, wringing out the rest of the water. It was over five inches long and touched his chest when he looked at the floor. It was also a mix of his naturally dirty-blonde hair and now the advancing grey.

  “Damn… Gray is getting greyer.”

  “You good?”

  He looked up and found Logan’s reflection standing in the large bathroom-shower combo’s entrance behind him. His arms were crossed and he had a look on his face that was both tired and awake, like his brain was battling his body—and losing.

  “Besides getting older than dirt… Never better, Captain.”

  Logan’s eyes narrowed at the use of his official rank. Only the men working around them were to call him that. They didn’t know him well enough to call him by his first name like Fitz. CJ would shoot herself twice before indulging him in calling him Captain, though. But…with how Fitz always was, Logan knew he did it mostly to annoy him. They were best friends and titles didn’t exist between them. They both knew there was no better one-two punch around than them.

  “Look…” Logan began to say, but he was cut off.

  “Look nothing,” Fitz interrupted, turning around. “You and Cass need to iron things out, quickly. I’m really getting sick of having to come and save the day all the time. Even Superman couldn’t keep up with you two. Eventually, you guys are going to have to hash it out to the fullest and finish this thing off. It’s eating the both of you alive.”

  Logan opened his mouth.

  “Preferably…” Fitz said, cutting in again, holding up a finger, “before we waltz into the uncharted Hell that is the Congolese jungle and get eaten alive by God-knows-what.”

  Logan closed his hung open mouth and clenched his jaw. He knew his friend was right. H
e and CJ needed to bury the hatchet now, for real, not just on this subject. If they had a blow up in the wild, it wouldn’t end well for any of them. Not the Reeds or Fitz, and not for the six Americans accompanying them in the morning, including David “Zeus” Navarro and Pete “Ares” Samson. For some reason, the Americans preferred callsigns, and in this particular case, the Greek gods. Logan just thought it made things confusing as hell.

  “You ‘bout done baldy?” Logan asked deadpan. He had mastered the look but was cracking up on the inside. Fitz wasn’t the only one who could sling it.

  “Fuck off,” Fitz said, instinctively rubbing his prickly head again. “Gonna happen to you too someday you bloody wanker, just you wait. Genetics be damned. You’ll be grey as a mule soon.”

  Logan smiled. “What I was going to say was, thank you, and Cass and I already talked.”

  “Talked?” Fitz asked, already knowing how it really went.

  “Well…” Logan replied, suddenly more interested in the floor than the conversation. “Well, you know how she is.”

  “I do,” Fitz said, stepping forward and placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “You caved and told her it was all peachy.”

  This time, Logan tiredly laughed. “You know me too well, Gray.”

  Fitz did and leaned in. “You getting any more sleep?”

  Logan just shook his head. “Nah…you?”

  “More than you, but no, not much.” Fitz stepped around Logan and continued left around the large freight elevator that took up the entire central portion of their HQ. It resembled the original lift system, but now had another function, and what that purpose was sat right in the middle of the massive platform.

  Shango-1 and Shango-2 were the SDF’s new Sikorsky MH-60M Blackhawk helicopters. Shango-1 sat in front of Logan now, looking even more menacing than their first chopper. Like its sibling, it boasted twin mounted .50 caliber machine guns outside each side door, perfect for cutting down fleeing vehicles if landing wasn’t an option.