Get Rich or Die Trying by Michael Todd & Michael Anderle

Author:Michael Todd & Michael Anderle [Todd, Michael & Anderle, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2018-12-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

The camp was moving out. Chris woke up again, still bound. He’d passed out for a few hours after midnight. Now, he felt like he’d challenged a black belt yesterday, gotten his ass kicked, and then drank an entire fifth of vodka to cope while forgetting to drink water or take aspirin.

“Uh,” he said through a dry, tight throat, “water?”

The light of dawn crept down into the jungle and the bounty hunters bustled around, grumbling and securing their gear before they resumed their mission. One of them passed in time to hear Chris’ request. “You want water?” he said in what sounded like a Caribbean accent.

“Please and thanks,” Chris gasped.

The man made a barking laugh and turned away. A moment later, Micky reappeared with a canteen.

“I hate to waste precious natural resource,” he said, “but we can’t have you dying before mission is complete.” He more or less shoved the canteen in Chris’ face and upended it in front of his mouth. There was only enough for maybe two quick swallows, and some of it spilled down his chin and chest anyway. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

“We will let you down from that tree in a moment,” Micky went on. “Then we will go on field trip. Of course, you are required to come with us or else we will shoot you in leg and then put knife through your face and grind it around against back of your skull, okay? So do as we say.”

Chris nodded. “Those terms are clear enough.” He didn’t want to help them but getting himself killed immediately wouldn’t do much good. He would go along with them for now. Sooner or later, he’d have a chance to escape. And after he made good his escape from the Zoo, he would be able to alert someone who could stop these people from smuggling an alien bio-weapon into the hands of God-knew-who.

Micky motioned to the Caribbean guy and had him untie Chris from the tree while the leader rested a hand on his pistol, a big silver semi-auto. A Desert Eagle? Did they still make those? Chris half-fell as the ropes came loose. He staggered and put a hand to his head, which still hurt from Frankie’s love-tap the previous day. The dizziness might have been partially from hunger.

“Can I have something to eat?” he asked. As he did, the Caribbean came up behind him and tied his hands behind his back.

“Maybe later,” said Micky, “if you are good boy. We have been in this fucking place for over two weeks now. Rations go to quality fighting men first and civilian passengers second.”

Chris glowered. Kemp had told him that he was not merely a passenger after he’d helped save her from drowning in a river.

Micky turned and walked away toward the center of the group. He passed a man who squatted in place doing something on his cell phone and, without breaking stride, kicked the man in the ass. “Long-distance and roaming fees come out of your cut of total,” Micky said, and was gone.

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