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The Red Zone Warriors
In 2022 the world went to war.
One side of the fight wanted their citizens to have neural implants, enabling them to connect to the computer-driven world with just a thought. The other side wanted to outlaw the implants, fearing the damage they would cause to the human race. The United States, driven by the ambition of its tech companies, was firmly on the side of implanted tech.
To assure their victory, America and its allies deployed an experimental weapon to end the conflict.
They couldn’t have predicted the outcome.
The weapon ended the war. It also produced a toxic fog, a thick, red mist that blanketed the U.S.-Mexico border, killing everything it touched. After a few days, the fog retreated from the water, and scientists predicted it would disperse from the land within a year…or two.
They were wrong.
It’s been one hundred years since the war ended. One hundred years with the border shrouded in toxic mist. It’s called the Red Zone. And nothing can enter it and come out alive.
Nothing except the men and women who were created within it.
A team of Army Rangers was left behind when the bomb dropped. They should have died, betrayed and killed by their own government, who didn’t care enough to pull them out of the blast zone. But they didn’t.
Instead of dying, they…changed.
And when they woke up a century later, they discovered the world had changed, too.
The Red Zone warriors, as they now call themselves, have been displaced from their lives and time. In a world where scientific advancement means everything, the secrets locked inside of their mutated genetics are priceless.
They cannot afford to let themselves fall into the wrong hands.
Chapter One
The mission was simple.
All Mace Armstrong had to do was get into a press conference being held in one of the most secure research facilities in the world, bug the scientist in charge of their bioengineering team, and then walk out the door.
As an ex-Army Ranger, he could do it with his eyes closed—once he’d managed to get into the building in the first place, that is.
He just didn’t want to do it.
“Tell me again why this is our problem?” he grumbled into the mic hidden in the lapel of his bespoke suit.
“Because of it bein’ the right thing to do, mon ami,” his team leader’s Cajun drawl sounded in Mace’s ear. As usual, Luke “Striker” Boudreaux was laid-back and unbothered by Mace’s complaints. It’s what made him a great leader and a pain in the ass as a best friend.
“Why is this our problem?” An outraged voice filled his ear as Striker’s wife, Friday Boudreaux, added her unwelcome ten cents to the conversation. “People will die if that microchip is implanted in their heads. We can’t let CommTECH release a faulty chip. No decent person could.”
“Who said I was decent?” Mace asked.
“He is so infuriating,” Friday huffed to her husband.
“It’s his main skill.”
Mace snorted as he walked up the front steps of one of Houston’s premier nightclubs. The club where his target was currently located—the woman who could get him into CommTECH’s research facility so he could get this job over with and get on with his weird, displaced life.
But first, he couldn’t resist another poke at Friday. She was just too damn easy to wind up, and if he was going to suffer through this job, so was she. After all, it’d been her idea.
“This isn’t our world,” Mace said, “and this datachip isn’t our problem. To everyone outside of our team, we died a hundred years ago protecting a country that no longer exists. We don’t owe our allegiance to anyone. It’s time we focused on protecting ourselves, not a territory that couldn’t care less about who it kills. If CommTECH gets their hands on us, it’s game over. They’ll slice and dice us and sell what they find to the highest bidder. That’s a big risk to take to stop a bunch of people from dying because they’ve got to have the latest gadget installed in their brains.”
“It’s everyone’s responsibility to stand up for what’s right,” Friday said. “If we don’t do something, the loss of life will be as much on us as it is on CommTECH.”
Mace snorted. “Or maybe that’s just guilt talking. You were one of CommTECH’s pet scientists up until a cou
ple of months ago. Who knows what the company did with your work when you weren’t looking? Maybe you’re just trying to make amends for past ignorance and dragging us all along with you?”
“How can you be so hard-hearted?” Friday demanded.
Striker answered before Mace could wind her up further. “He’s messin’ with you. Don’t pay him no nevermind. He gets off on it.”
“Asshole,” Mace grumbled.
“You’re welcome,” Striker said, sounding amused as usual. “Just do your job and find the press secretary. If she doesn’t add you to the list of reporters, this mission won’t happen anyway, and your whining will be wasted.”
Which was all right with Mace.
“And people will die,” Friday just had to add. “Millions of people.”
She was like a bug in his ear. Stuck there, buzzing away, irritating the hell out of him.
“I don’t like blackmailing innocent women.”
And there was the crux of the matter. He was the first to admit he was a bastard, but even he had lines he didn’t like to cross.
