Transhuman a zack wilder.., p.1
Transhuman: A Zack Wilder Thriller, page 1
Transhuman
A Zack Wilder Thriller
N.J. Croft
Copyright © 2024 by N.J. Croft
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Newsletter
About the Author
Also by N.J. Croft
Prologue
The light above the laboratory door flashed red.
Time to get to work.
“Tell me about our subject for today.” He had nothing to do with the cases prior to this point. He always found it easier that way.
Dr. Jenkins glanced at the file in her hand. “Case 1198. Thomas Harrow. He’s a twenty-year-old ex-addict. Heroin.”
“His system’s clear?” There were advantages and disadvantages to using the dregs of society.
“Of course. He’s been with us for six months. In prime condition. All body and brain functions performing within the optimum range.”
“Good.”
He gave the lab a last cursory examination to ensure that everything was in place. He’d done this so many times now it was ingrained, but it didn’t do to get sloppy.
The door opened and the lab assistant led a young man in a white hospital gown into the room. He was a good-looking boy, tall, with sun-streaked blond hair and a lean muscular body. He appeared in good health.
“So how are you feeling, Thomas?”
The boy grinned. “Fabulous. I haven’t felt this good in years. I have to thank you folks for getting me clean. And I want you to know that I’m gonna stay that way.”
He patted the young man’s arm. “Of course you are. Now, why don’t you take a seat and we’ll just run through a few medical checks to make sure you’re all good before we carry out the procedure.”
Thomas sank down onto the chair and peered around, chewing on his lower lip—the first signs of nerves. Dr. Jenkins checked his blood pressure, then inserted a needle into the vein in his wrist.
He winced. “So, what is this procedure, Doc? Is it going to hurt?”
“Of course not. We’re just going to lower your temperature a little and then take some readings. After that, you’ll be free to go.”
“I don’t like the cold. That’s why I moved to California. Because I like to be warm.”
“You’ll be given a light anesthetic first. You won’t feel a thing.”
Which wasn’t exactly true. So far, they’d had the best results when the subject remained conscious through the initial procedure. But Thomas would be given a muscle relaxant to facilitate the process, which Dr. Jenkins was administering right now. They’d deemed it necessary after one subject changed their mind and tried to climb out of the cooling bath halfway through.
He watched as the boy’s facial expression went slack, his eyes dulling.
“Okay, Thomas, let’s move you to the cooling bath before the anesthetic knocks you out.”
Dr. Jenkins took his arm and led him to the stainless-steel bath. He perched on the edge.
“I feel a little strange,” he murmured.
“That won’t last for long. Now lie back.”
He didn’t fight as he was gently lowered.
“Time: 10.15 am. Initiating cooling process.” Dr. Jenkins moved to the head of the bath and pressed the control panel. The bath started filling immediately with a mix of ice and water.
He avoided looking in the boy’s eyes—his facial muscles were paralyzed by this point, but his eyes still revealed a little of what he must be feeling. As if sensing his thoughts, Dr. Jenkins covered the boy’s eyes with a mask. She worked around the body, inserting two catheters below the left clavicle, linking them up to the perfusion machine.
“Commencing blood washout process.”
Within minutes the clear tubes filled with blood.
Next she inserted temperature probes into the chest and naso-pharynx.
“Current temperature 36.5C.”
The bath was full now, the boy’s body floating. He remained totally motionless as the blood drained from his body.
“Temperature 15C.”
Crossing the room, he poured himself a coffee, leaned against the counter. There was a lot of waiting now and he reined back his impatience. He had a good feeling about this one. They were so close to making a breakthrough. Which was just as well—time was running out.
“Temperature 5C. Commencing vitrification with perfusion of cryoprotectant CP-V-26.”
The blood was replaced by a clear liquid that would prevent ice crystals forming within the body, protecting the organs and especially the brain from damage.
“Temperature 0C.”
He stared down at the boy. So motionless. Was there still a level of consciousness in there? Maybe when this was over he could ask. If it worked.
One of the problems that had slowed down his research up until now was that, legally, cryonics could only be performed on dead people. And at this time, no one had the ability to bring the dead back to life, so how the hell were you supposed to know if it worked? You could only do so much with goddamn mice.
Once that limitation had been removed, he’d begun making great progress. He hadn’t yet managed to revive a subject, but he was getting closer each time, and with each subject, he understood the process a little bit more.
He watched as Dr. Jenkins drilled a small hole in either side of the skull to measure the levels of cryoprotectant.
“Refractive index 22.7 percent. Temperature -6C.”
A long way to go yet. He glanced at his watch. “I’m going to get some lunch. Let me know if anything out of the ordinary occurs.”
“Temperature -196C.”
The liquid nitrogen swirled out as the cap was unscrewed from the cryonics chamber. The temperature in the lab was freezing and he wrapped his coat tighter around himself and tamped down his anticipation. There was no way to speed up this process, but he always liked to be present at this initial moment when the body was reborn.
The boy slid out of the chamber into the cooling bath. He looked…dead. Which he was of course—technically. His skin pale, tinged with blue from lack of blood and the cold. But there was something beautiful about him. Perfect in death.
Was this when they would finally prove that death was not the end? Unfortunately, it wasn’t something he could publish in a medical journal.
Dr. Jenkins got to work straight away preparing to reverse the vitrification process. A mix of ice and water was added to the bath to slow down the temperature rise. Cannulation tubes were fitted to the catheters still inserted into the boy’s veins.
Monitors were attached to his forehead and chest. The screens flickered to life but showed only static.
The liquid nitrogen was sucked out of the room and the air cleared.
“Temperature -170C.”
He paced the room. This had to be done slowly or irreparable damage would be done to the organs.
“Why don’t you go get a coffee or something?” Dr. Jenkins said, her tone soothing. “Nothing’s going to happen for a few hours.”
Did she want him out of the way?
He sat down. “I’ll wait.”
He had research papers to read—it was important to keep up with any potential breakthroughs in fields related to his own. Forcing himself to concentrate, he lost track of time, only glancing up when she spoke again.
“Temperature 37C.” He could hear the excitement in her voice. “The heart’s beating. On its own.”
He hurried across and stared at the monitors. She was right, the heartbeat was steady, the rhythm normal. It was a fi
“And the rest of his organs appear undamaged,” she added.
“Brain function?”
She frowned then gave an almost apologetic shrug. “Nothing.”
He scanned the monitor: zero brain activity. Well, he hadn’t really expected any. But they’d got a beating heart. It was a step in the right direction. Next time…
“Send the body for dissection and get back to me with the results as soon as possible.”
“Of course.”
“And the next subject?”
She smiled. “Is available when you want to proceed.”
“Tomorrow.” They didn’t have a moment to waste.
“I’ll get them prepped.”
Chapter 1
FBI Special Agent Zack Wilder had killed many people in his lifetime. Most deserved to die, some not so much. But none of them had ever haunted him.
Until now.
He closed his eyes and saw her standing there; beautiful, small, and deadly. Smiling, so confident.
“You won’t shoot me, Zack.”
Out of all the people he’d killed, she probably deserved it the most. So why couldn’t he let it go?
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself to move faster as though he could outrun his demons. But they clung to his back, claws digging into his flesh.
It was ten miles from the apartment to the office. The streets of Manhattan were busy with people journeying to work, but they melted out of his way, giving him room as though they sensed the darkness riding him.
A mile from the office, his steps faltered as a prickle ran down his spine.
Danger.
During his years in the military, he’d developed an extra sense. It had kept him alive on many occasions. Now he kept his pace steady, everything on full alert.
Rain started to fall, cool on his skin. He ducked into a doorway, bent down as if tying his shoelace, while scanning the street behind him. The roads were busy—if someone was following him it was unlikely to be by vehicle while he was on foot. He searched the pedestrians, but no one stood out. No one hung back, waiting for him to move on.
He remained stationary for a couple more minutes but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Yet the prickle was still there. Finally he stepped out onto the sidewalk, his muscles tensing as if expecting some sort of attack. When nothing happened, he started running again, picking up his pace.
The rain came down harder and he was soaked by the time he pushed through the doors to the FBI headquarters. Once inside, he relaxed; the threat had followed him here, but was gone now.
Maybe it was his imagination, but he didn’t think so. He’d made a lot of enemies recently. Mr. Popular. In the back of his mind, he’d been expecting some sort of retribution. Now he needed to decide what to do about it.
He kept a suit in his locker, so he showered and changed quickly then headed up to his office. It was a large open plan area split into cubicles. He stopped in the doorway. Across the room, a group of people were huddled around something. His eyes narrowed on his partner, Kelsey. She glanced up as though sensing his disapproving stare and raised an eyebrow, daring him to come closer.
He glanced down at the double pram parked by her desk.
What the hell was she doing bringing her babies into the office? It was hardly appropriate.
Kelsey had been with him that day; his wasn’t the only bullet to have taken down Liliane Chen.
The truth was, if Kelsey hadn’t been there, then he would likely have found some way to keep Liliane alive. And then what? The woman had already killed hundreds, maybe thousands, and if her plan had gone through, millions would have died. But he’d…cared for her. Just how much he wasn’t sure, but he’d felt a connection to Liliane Chen that he’d never experienced before.
Which said what about him?
The only person he’d ever gotten close to had been a sociopathic killer.
In the end, he’d chosen Kelsey over Liliane. It hadn’t even been a hard decision.
Again, what did that say about him?
Nothing good.
One of the babies started crying and Kelsey leaned down and picked her up, held her close, then looked at him again. Was there a challenge in her eyes?
She’d once told him he was emotionally stunted. Hell, yes. And he had no plans to change. It didn’t work for him—letting people close.
Which was why Kelsey had to go.
He spun around and headed for his boss’s office.
He knocked on the door and waited until he heard a grunt on the other side. He pushed it open.
Special Agent in Charge, Jessica Ferran, was an African American woman in her forties. Ambitious, with a sharp mind and a way of looking at him that inevitably made him edgy. As though she could see beneath the surface. She was seated at her desk, typing into a laptop, but she glanced up and pushed her chair back as he entered.
“What is it, Wilder?”
Her tone was curt, but that wasn’t unusual. She didn’t like to waste time on pleasantries.
“I requested a new partner,” he said. “Have you done anything about it yet?”
Her eyes narrowed at his tone, and he took a deep breath and curbed his rising frustration.
“I think I said I’d give you a while longer to think about it.”
“I’ve thought.”
She stared at him, and he resisted the urge to twitch. She saw too much. And if she didn’t see, she filled in the dots and came up with an answer. Trouble was, she was usually right. It’s what made her such a good agent.
“Sit down, Zack. I hate it when you hover.”
He didn’t want to sit. He wanted to get out and do something. Preferably something that involved shooting. Or fighting or hurling himself out of an airplane. Even after three years, he still missed the army. But he gave in to the inevitable and sank down into the upright chair opposite her.
“I gave you time because you needed it to come to terms with what you’d done.”
“I did my job.”
“Maybe. You also shot a woman who you’d been sleeping with. I’m not sure what your emotional involvement was…” She paused and studied him, her head cocked to one side, lips pursed. Zack held himself very still. “To be honest, prior to this, I would have sworn you didn’t have any emotions. I’m not sure this development is an improvement.”
“I was not emotionally involved.”
She ignored him and continued, “It shows a worrying lack of judgment.”
He gritted his teeth. “Yeah, because everyone else noticed right away that she was a sociopathic maniac.”
“Actually, she seemed very nice.”
He ran a hand through his hair and slumped in the chair. She had seemed nice. He’d certainly liked her. A lot. But that hardly mattered now. “So—a new partner.”
She sighed. “Why? You and Kelsey work well together.”
He decided that maybe the time was right for a little honesty. “I like Kelsey. But for Christ’s sake, she’s got babies.”
“Aren’t they adorable—your point is?”
“People die around me. I do not want to be responsible for Kelsey’s death.”
“Which might make you a little more…careful.”
“I’m always fucking careful. It makes no difference. She’s too ambitious. She pushes too far, takes too many risks, and I can’t keep her safe.”
“That’s not your job.”
“If she’s my partner, of course it’s my fucking job. One I’ve failed at spectacularly so far.”
“Not your fault.”
“Irrelevant.”
She sighed. “Kelsey doesn’t want a new partner.”
“Like I give a shit.”
She frowned, and he realized he’d gone too far. He took a deep calming breath. He needed to get a grip. “Sorry. That was out of line.”
“It was. Maybe you need to take some time off and get your head sorted.”
“My head is fine. But working with Kelsey is compromising my ability to do my job. Just give her a new partner and keep her away from me.”
“Don’t like babies, huh?”
“No.”
She sighed again and sat back. “You’re my best agent. You get things done—which is why Kelsey likes to work with you. She’s ambitious. But there’s a dark side to that. You’re right—people die around you. I’ve lost more people in this office since you turned up than ever before. I’ve racked my brains to understand what makes you tick—why you always seem to end up in the thick of it. So far, I’ve failed, but I’ll get there in the end.”
