Nightmares From Hell (Apocalypse Paused Book 5) Read online

  Nightmares From Hell

  Apocalypse Paused™ Book 5

  Michael Todd

  Michael Anderle

  Nightmares From Hell (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2019 Michael Todd, and Michael Anderle

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN Publishing

  PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy

  Las Vegas, NV 89109

  First US edition, February 2019

  The Zoo Universe (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are Copyright (c) 2018-19 by Michael Anderle and LMBPN Publishing.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Todd

  Other Zoo Books

  Books written as Michael Anderle

  Nightmares From Hell Team

  JIT Readers

  Nicole Emens

  Micky Cocker

  Peter Manis

  Crystal Wren

  Kelly O’Donnell

  John Ashmore

  Jeff Eaton

  Paul Westman

  Editor

  The Skyhunter Editing Team

  Dedication

  To Family, Friends and

  Those Who Love

  to Read.

  May We All Enjoy Grace

  to Live the Life We Are

  Called.

  Prologue

  Dr. Christopher Lin was undeniably upset. Somehow, it made little difference that he was able to experience the unpleasant reality of that in a rather pleasing place.

  “We are doing our best,” his employee said and pouted in her attractive way. She probably hoped that the usually appealing expression would improve his mood. It didn’t—at least, not in this particular case.

  Marseille, on the south coast of France, had seemed like a good choice of location for Chris’ current base of operations. He was a safe distance from Africa, which was paramount. At the same time, it wasn’t terribly far from Tunis, which in turn, wasn’t a giant leap from the Zoo.

  “Well, I didn’t hire you so you could try your best while we all sit back and see how things go,” he replied. “I hired you to, you know, actually do the job.”

  As Chris said this, he mostly looked at the sights around them rather than at the slim, youngish woman before him. In the last few years, a number of fashionable establishments Europe had debuted that combined the best features of multiple attractions—restaurant, pub, art gallery, and aquarium, in this case. Meeting in such an interesting place made it easier for him to pretend to ignore the mercenary Frances “Frankie” Stoudt, who was far too accustomed to having men pay attention to her. She had made drawing that attention something of an art form and a way to deflect attention from her possible shortcomings.

  “We are in the process of doing the job,” she protested. “We’re as deep in as we can get without the help provided by the extra tech you promised us.”

  He sipped at a fine crystal glass of exceedingly good Pinot Noir—his favorite of all the major varieties of wine—and suspected that doing so helped him to convey an air of relaxed confidence. Nevertheless, he sighed as he set his drink down and ran a hand through his medium-length black hair. For good measure, he allowed himself to sigh in exasperation.

  Chris stared past Frankie and toward the wall behind her. Directly opposite him stood a lovely, backlit fish tank filled with turquoise water. Huge orange goldfish swam idly above a bed of round dark-green stones. To either side of this hung high-quality reproductions of classic paintings. To the left, Nighthawks by Edward Hopper from the 1940s featured a man and woman in cool-looking, period-appropriate dress who languished in a corner pub or cafe at night. On the right, a dramatic forest landscape at sunset—or possibly sunrise—had the feel of the Nineteenth Century Romantic period, although Chris didn’t recognize the painting or the artist.

  “I’ve lost men,” the young woman continued and brushed a lock of her short blonde hair behind her ear. “Which makes it more difficult. It gets violent in there as you get closer and closer to—”

  “I know exactly how violent it gets.” He cut her off. “I was in and out multiple times, all right? One of which I even survived after you walked me directly into a situation that was supposed to be fatal. Don’t pretend you’re speaking to someone sufficiently ignorant that you can get away with simply lying to them like you usually do, Frankie.”

  Before the woman could reply to this, Chris lifted a small suitcase from his lap and pushed it across the table toward her. Her eyes had glinted with growing anger as she’d looked at him while he rebuked her. Now, her gaze drifted toward the case and sparkled with curiosity. She placed a hand on it.

  Their waiter appeared and the man looked at the case. Chris’s glance snapped toward him.

  “Scientific sample, for my colleague,” he said. “Very boring. And we will need more time to order our meals.”

  “Oui,” the man said before he nodded solemnly and stepped away.

  With their privacy once again ensured, Frankie opened the case and looked inside. Her expressions shifted from surprise to understanding, then a mixture of satisfaction and glee. He’d given her a new toy to play with.

  “That ought to allay your concerns,” Chris said. “I’ve been hard at work, and there are plenty more for you on your next mission.”

  “And what would that mission be? Chris?” she asked and he could sense her attention-demanding look.

  He finally returned her gaze. “Calling it your next mission was a bad choice of words on my part,” he replied. “It made it sound like I’ve changed my mind or something. Perhaps it would be better to call it your next try. It’s the same as always. Find her.” Frankie knew exactly who he meant. Anyone who knew anything about the Zoo would know. “Bring her back and out—alive,” he continued. “We both know she won’t come willingly, so kill anything that gets in your way.”

  Frankie smiled at him in a coy, girlish way. “I’m happy to oblige,” she said, “sir.”

  Chapter One

  Sergeant Erik Wallace stood for a brief moment at the center of an expanding ring of scalding lead projectiles, muzzle flares, and adrenaline-laced shouts. Beyond this ring, a wider circle of fangs, claws, and fur delivered a constant wave of blood, savagery, and death. He had assumed the authority of a lieutenant again through the acti
on of some mysterious string-pulling back at the base. And he once again commanded one of the largest forces ever to be sent into the Zoo. Whatever he might have thought before, it certainly seemed like they needed it.

  “Get down!” he barked to a man who knelt and fired beside him before he shoved him earthward with his right hand. In the same motion, he raised his left hand. One of the big, hairy, brown beasts that attacked them had burst unexpectedly from the screen of jungle foliage. Its taloned hands clawed and the drooling maw hung wide open.

  The mouth clamped down on the sergeant’s left forearm, which was sheathed in a plasteel gauntlet—part of his new and improved exoskeleton. The creature’s eyes widened in surprise and it froze as its teeth cracked against the hard surface. This was all the time required for the man Wallace had saved to raise his rifle and unload two bursts into the monstrosity’s soft, furry stomach. It squealed horribly as blood and guts poured from its abdomen. Wallace shoved it back and its head smashed against a tree. The jaws released his arm and the creature slumped to the ground.

  Kangarats, as the men had nicknamed them—probably two dozen of them, at least, the most he had ever seen in one place at one time. They were rodent-marsupial hybrids, with some almost simian characteristics. Despite being the size of men or larger, they were incredibly fast, nasty, ugly, and mean. Wallace had killed a lot of the bastards by now, but they had also killed too many people who’d served beside him.

  Wallace could not be everywhere at once. But he was fast, and he had only stood in the safe center of the circle for as long as it took to get his men in formation and assess the threat.

  “Maintain positions,” he shouted over the noise and general chaos of combat. “I’ll help anyone who—”

  One of the kangarats that had clung high up to trunks of the jungle’s densely-packed trees vaulted over the line of soldiers. Its massive, furry body landed with a loud thud amidst their gear and was about to attack from behind.

  Wallace’s armored suit whirred as he leapt into action. He launched himself forward and directly at the creature, which caught sight of him in the moment that it turned to claw at the two closest men. It tensed in a moment’s hesitation. Clearly, it had not expected a human to flank it while it flanked the humans.

  The kangarat’s reflexes kicked in, but not in time to save it. Out of other options, it simply lashed out with its limbs and the backward kicking motion delivered the ankle of one of its hind legs into the soldier’s grip. He yanked the beast’s legs out from under it, and it fell prostrate on its belly. In a second, the man fell on top of it and his gauntleted fist drove purposefully into the animal’s back above the spine. The punch cracked the bone and damaged the surrounding nerves and muscles. It screamed and Wallace punched it in the head. Finally, he pushed up again and jumped to land deliberately on the back of its neck. The vertebrae snapped.

  “Sergeant, can we blow something up?” asked Corporal Gunnar Åkerlund. He was, as usual, armed with a rotating-barrel automatic shotgun—a weapon Wallace himself had used to good effect against these creatures in the past. He aimed into the woods and unloaded a few barrels’ worth. The barrage blasted a tree into a cloud of splinters but also blew the arm and shoulder off a kangarat that had rushed through to try an attack from a different direction. It stumbled away with a piercing howl. That one, at least, was eliminated. It would soon bleed to death.

  “Herbicide bomb,” Wallace replied. They didn’t have very many of those, but this was exactly the type of situation they were created for. He snatched the kangarat he’d killed by the scruff of its neck. His suit whirred and hummed loudly again with the effort as he heaved the corpse upward to hurl it into the forest where more brown forms dashed around behind the foliage. It crashed through leaf and branch and the shadowed creatures hesitated. “There.”

  “Yessir,” Gunnar said. He retrieved one of the bombs from a pack behind him, pressed the button that lit the fuse, and lobbed it to a point beyond the dead animal.

  The herbicide bombs were an invention, albeit a very simple one, of Chris Lin, who was unfortunately no longer with them. They were simply an M-80 small explosive surrounded by weed-killer. The Zoo seemed to have grown more resistant to them as time went on, but they still withered vegetation and made the jungle creatures sick and disoriented.

  The M-80 cracked and a cloud of yellowish vapor rose and curled around the bases of the trees and through the vibrant, slimy vines that hung from their branches. The greenery turned brown and wilted, which provided greater visibility to the troops. Two more kangarats now staggered, gasped, and rolled their eyes as the poisonous fumes overcame them. Chris had theorized, Wallace remembered, that since the Zoo often behaved as though it were all a single interconnected organism, substances toxic to the plants might also affect the animals.

  “So long!” Gunnar said cheerfully. He and his friend, Private First-Class Monica Pérez, opened fire. The two dazed kangarats were driven back and shredded under the combined onslaught of his shotgun and her automatic rifle. Crimson mist mingled with the yellow vapor as the two monsters fell against one another in a twisted mass of mangled flesh.

  “It always feels good,” Peppy said, “to put something out of its misery.”

  Wallace made a quick perimeter scan. They’d eliminated about half of the kangarats and maddened the others into a frenzy. Something spurred them to continue the attack, though, even as the odds turned against them. In the past, they might have fled by this point. He ran toward the southeast of their defensive ring, where the remaining creatures seemed to have congregated to try to break through the human line.

  “Soldier,” he said to one of the men there as he ran, “watch for—”

  The man, a rookie, was confused by the sensory chaos of the battle. He didn’t even see the two brown, almost simian claws that shot out from the jungle and snatched him by the shoulders. The creature pulled the screaming man back behind the screen of plant life.

  “Dammit!” Wallace snarled. The other troops nearby fired into the foliage but to either side of where the kangarat had vanished, obviously afraid to shoot their own man. Their bursts sheared branches and leaves away, and the sergeant raised his own rifle and aimed. The improvements to his exoskeleton had included a neural link between brain and arm components. Where his eye focused, his arm obeyed with no shaking hand or wavering grip. Even in his prime ten years before, his aim had not been this good. He saw a tiny patch of brown fur and fired.

  The brown turned red and a kangarat shrieked in pain. It stumbled forward, half-in and half-out of the obscuring greenery, and another two soldiers both fired. One round struck its face and one its underbelly, and the creature was dead in the space of a second.

  Wallace now stood between the two men. “Reinforce!” he said and shoved them in opposite directions. He charged ahead through the half-destroyed leaves.

  A stray bullet or two had injured the haunch of the remaining kangarat, but that seemed to make no difference at all. The poor man it had snatched lay dead in its grasp and the creature had paused to chew on his corpse, apparently oblivious to the wounds or the battle. It faced away from Wallace but turned its big ugly head to look at him when he burst through the underbrush.

  The sergeant’s cybernetically-enhanced arm thrust forward before the animal could react. He gripped the kangarat’s tail about six inches from the base and the air expelled from his lungs with a grunt in the effort to jerk the creature upward and to the side. A bone snapped in the tail from the twist and he continued the swing to catapult it into the nearest tree. It made a gasped, almost barking noise and bones cracked and popped as the tree buckled and shook with the impact. Before it could fall in a half-crippled heap, Wallace had raised his rifle and unloaded a three-round burst into its head and neck. Blood and chunks of flesh, bone, and fat sprayed from the wounds and it collapsed with a shudder.

  Wallace turned to the team. They had focused their attention to either side, now, as the remaining kangarats tried to e
ncircle them. The creatures usually followed a recognizable pattern—almost a strategy, he often thought. They would race around to confuse their prey and then strike suddenly after they’d induced a proper level of fear.

  By now, the soldiers were familiar with the process. “Spray,” the sergeant commanded once he’d assumed his position within the ring.

  Soldiers fired bursts in all directions. The brown blurs and shiver of branches came to a stop as the kangarats froze, seemingly afraid now that they were outgunned and outnumbered. One, however, pounced only about ten feet to Wallace’s left, where no one had aimed. He saw the attack in the split second before it happened.

  Without conscious thought, Wallace used the power in his suit to propel him forward with his plasteel-sheathed foot extended. The flying kick landed squarely in the creature’s ribs. They snapped with a satisfying crunch and the impact knocked the beast off its trajectory. It landed almost at the feet of two shocked privates, who then proceeded to fire their rifles directly into the creature’s open mouth.

  A sudden silence followed the short volley and it took a moment for the soldiers to realize it was over. A few kangarats might have remained, but Wallace and his soldiers had killed all the others and the few stragglers had fled. Wallace knew the sound of their retreat by now.