Kaiju: Deadfall, page 17
His attention was drawn back to Ishom when the first oil tank exploded in a ball of orange flame. A cloud of black smoke shot high into the air, as a million gallons of burning oil spilled across the earthen dike built to contain it, spreading the flames to the surrounding tanks. One of the creature’s massive legs smashed a second tank, flinging a sheet of fire over a nest of pipes running from the tank farm to the refinery. Within minutes, the entire tank farm and connecting pipelines were ablaze. Ishom stood unscathed in a lake of fire, a black demon from hell.
A steady breeze blew from the ocean, fanning the flames and dispersing clouds of smoke and oil droplets inland. Tiny drops of hot oil splashed around Matheson and Hayes. Matheson wiped oil from his forehead, as it ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. He could barely see the creature through the wall of smoke and flames, but when the guns around him began chattering, he pressed the trigger on his .50 caliber and held it down. He poured his anger and his fear into each round that sped its way to the creature. He didn’t realize he was screaming until the gun went silent as ammunition ran out. He looked over at Hayes. His loader’s eyes were glazed and his jaw slack. A dribble of spittle ran down his chin, washing a clean path through the sheen of oil.
“More ammo!” he yelled at Hayes to snap him out of his trance.
Hayes fumbled with the ammo can, pulled out another belt, and fed it into the .50 caliber. As he stared at Matheson, his eyes blinked rapidly. For the first time since he had known him, the wisecracking Californian was silent.
The first of the Wasps reached the row of defenders scattered along the interstate. A gun crew fifty yards away disappeared beneath three Wasps. Two of the creatures ripped one man in half with their terrible jaws. He watched a second soldier carried aloft by one of the Wasps, dangling beneath it impaled on a stinger. One Wasp rose from beneath the overpass directly beneath them and hovered in front of his position on its two pair of wings like an alien Angel of Death. He pressed the trigger and held it until the creature’s head exploded. A second took its place. It, too, met the same fate. He was in a killing frenzy. His heart raced as it pumped blood and fire through his body. He willed his rage into his trigger fingers, using it to keep them there, pouring lead into the Wasps.
The sky overhead filled with the creatures. He swept the machine gun from side to side, firing into their midst. He didn’t know how many he killed. He was no longer protecting the city. His mind was fixed on keeping them away from him. Around him, more gun emplacements went silent. More screams filled the air. He paused in his killing spree just long enough for Hayes to change ammo belts, and then returned to his orgy of destruction.
The gun clicked on empty. He turned to look at Hayes. His loader stared at the Wasps, slack jawed and whimpering. Hayes had had enough. He jumped to his feet and darted across the overpass, ready to climb down an overhead streetlight to escape.
“Come back here, you fool,” Matheson yelled at him, as he grabbed his last ammo belt and threaded it into the .50 caliber.
Hayes, in his fright, ignored him. As he began shimmying down the metal pole, a Wasp rose from the far side of the interstate, hovered above him for a few seconds, and then dove at him. He didn’t see it coming. The Wasp pulled him from the pole, stabbed him with its stinger, and attempted to fly away with its prey. Matheson swung the .50 caliber around and fired a burst into the creature’s wings. It fell to the asphalt, dislodging Hayes from its stinger. Injured but not dead, the Wasp crawled toward him. He continued firing even after the creature’s head disintegrated under a hail of bullets.
Hayes was still alive. He struggled to his feet, bleeding from a hole in his upper right side. He stumbled toward Matheson with one of his arms outthrust, while the other hand clasped the wound. He took two steps before falling to his knees. Matheson abandoned his gun and went to his friend’s side. Hayes was breathing rapidly, his face pale. A crimson froth discolored the edges of his mouth. The stinger had punctured a lung. He pushed Hayes hand aside and examined the wound. A tracing of fine black lines radiated from the hole left by the stinger. Hayes’ hand grasped Matheson’s.
“It hurts, man,” Hayes gasped. “God damn it hurts.”
“I’ll get you to a medic,” Matheson promised, knowing it was probably too late for his friend. The alien poison was coursing through his veins.
“Get the hell out of here. I saw a jeep below the overpass.” He gritted his teeth and doubled up in pain. As soon as the spasm faded, he continued, “Take it and head north to Castaic Lake. Ask for Julie. She’s a Park Ranger. Everyone knows her. She’ll put you up.” He began coughing blood. He saw the red liquid on his chest and smiled.
“We’ll both go,” Matheson said. “I’ll get you out of here.”
Hayes shook his head. “No way, man. I feel that shit shooting through my body. It burns like fire. I …” he grabbed Matheson’s shoulder and pulled him toward him. “Promise me.”
Matheson shook him when he stopped talking, but it was already too late. The blackness had spread over Hayes’ entire side and chest. The poison was moving too quickly to stop. He watched the life slowly fade from Hayes’ body, listened to his last bloody, dying gasp, as his chest heaved and his body shook.
“I promise, man,” he said.
He continued to grasp Hayes’ hand for several minutes until the ground began shaking. He looked up to see Ishom standing in the middle of the refinery, tossing separator tanks and cracking towers around like toys. It would be upon him in two more strides.
He gently laid Hayes’ body on the ground, closed his friend’s eyes, and leapt for the light pole. He slid down, paying little heed to the friction burn in his hands. The jeep was where Hayes said it was. The keys were in it, but the driver was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was a victim of the Wasps. Matheson didn’t want to join him. He cranked the jeep and headed north away from the flames and death. He didn’t look back.
Nusku
21
Saturday, August 11, 9:05 p.m. (PDT) Inside Nusku, Nevada –
Walker watched Howard’s death in horror, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The Ticks filled the chamber, pouring through the opening at an alarming rate. Three weapons weren’t enough to stem the tide. Ticks crowded the narrow ledge and crawled along the wall and ceiling. The only place they avoided was the pit itself. One part of his mind considered this for a moment, as his well-trained fighting mind continued to aim, pull the trigger, and fire into the mass of Ticks. The germ of an idea began to take shape. He had no time to weigh the pros and cons. If he didn’t want to lose his entire team, immediate action was called for.
“Retreat to the passageway,” he yelled. He didn’t know if his hastily contrived plan would work, but he saw no other option.
At the tunnel entrance, he said, “Shoot the nearest tubes,” as he fired a burst into one of the overhanging tubes.
Not as dense as the black material, the tubes still required several bursts before spilling their contents. A stream of boiling yellow ichor sprayed the ledge and wall, dripping down the sides of the pit. The creatures completely drenched in the liquid stopped moving, while Ticks caught in the golden shower hissed and scampered away licking their wounds. The sprayed Ticks clinging to the walls released their grip and fell in piles of wriggling, dying creatures that blocked the ledge. Jackson cried out in pain when some of the hot liquid splashed onto his left arm, but he retained his grip on his weapon and fired one-handed. Now, only a handful of Ticks remained. Carefully aimed bursts from the M16s quickly eliminated them as a threat.
However, Walker’s glee was short-lived, as more Ticks appeared from the tunnel. The creatures spread out and surged across the chamber, a new wave of assault. They would soon be overwhelmed.
“Back into the tunnel,” he ordered. He stopped to watch as Ticks clambered over each other in their haste to enter the chamber. It gave him an idea. As Jackson rushed past him, Walker removed a grenade from Jackson’s pack strap. He also unclipped the grenade he had been carrying and pulled the safety pins on both. He didn’t know how much damage the grenades would do to the creature’s flesh, but he was certain it would kill Ticks.
He double-checked to see that Jackson and Evans were still running down the tunnel, and then waited for the Ticks. Just as they had while entering the chamber, they jammed together in their eagerness to enter the smaller tunnel. He shot the creatures at the leading edge to slow the others’ advance, and then released the strike levers of both grenades and dropped them just inside the passage in front of the creatures.
He caught up to Jackson and Evans, urging them to move faster, while counting down quietly. He hoped the twists and turns of the tunnel would dampen the blast.
“5, 4, 3, 2 … Everybody down!”
The concussion of the blast swept over them, as they hugged the floor with their arms covering their heads. After the explosion, he pointed his weapon back down the tunnel and waited. After a couple of minutes, no more Ticks appeared.
“Let’s go.”
When they entered the chamber of black columns, he didn’t stop to consider their purpose. He saw it only as the perfect place for an ambush. He knew they were being watched. The fine hairs were crawling up and down the back of his neck the same way they did just before an attack. He peered into the darkness but saw nothing. He sniffed the air and caught the faint scent of WC 844, the smokeless gunpowder used in 5.56mm rounds.
“Stay alert,” he cautioned.
He detected slight sounds in the darkness. The echo made pinpointing them impossible, but he knew they were closing in. Almost by instinct, he moved aside as something brushed his right cheek. He shined his light on the underside of a small creature just in time to see the row of razor teeth on its underside before it landed on a column and almost disappeared. He reached up to touch a trickle of blood on his cheek.
“We’re surrounded,” he shouted and dropped to his knees.
The three pointed their flashlights in different directions to illuminate their field of view. Hundreds of the small creatures clung to the black columns.
“Fire,” he ordered.
Three streams of bullets tore into the creatures, killing some and driving others to the far side of the columns. The almost constant shudder running through the creature made aiming difficult. Walker watched the plates on the columns sliding over each other and reminded himself not to lean against one. He knew the shudders meant that Nusku was under attack from Groom Lake and Creech Airbase. The colonel had given up on them. He hadn’t failed in a mission yet and was determined not to fail at this one. He admitted to himself things looked bad. He was surrounded by flying hubcaps in a black forest and Costas and Gate were missing.
He could still see the tunnel by which they entered the cavern and knew that Costas would be headed forward toward the creature’s head. He motioned for the others to lay down a field of fire and follow him. He led the way at a fast trot, firing at anything that moved. The creatures had grown wary, deciding the intruders were dangerous. They launched attacks from ambush. One of the critters landed on Evan’s back. He screamed in pain until Jackson skewered the creature with his knife, lifting it off Evan’s back. It left a long gash that spilled blood down Evan’s back, but he shook off the pain and continued firing.
They fought off attacks for twenty minutes, but the creatures had gotten ahead of them. Their perfect camouflage made it impossible to see them until they moved. Each of them had received various cuts and slashes from the creatures’ attack and retreat tactics. It was almost as if they were attempting to delay the intruders. He suspected that the closely packed columns would make it impossible for the Wasps to negotiate the chamber, but Ticks or some as yet unseen creature could manage nicely. They didn’t have enough ammunition to sustain a massed attack.
“We’re going to have to run the gauntlet,” he said.
Evans looked at him and shook his head. “I’m too tired to run. Just leave me here.”
“Screw that, Evans,” Walker snapped. “I don’t leave anybody behind. You know that. Now, haul ass, or I’ll stick my foot so far up your butt you’ll learn to enjoy it.”
They raced headlong down the chamber, firing only when a target presented itself. He hoped they were headed the right direction. He had an excellent sense of direction, but dodging and twisting through the columns was confusing.
“We’ve got company,” Jackson called out.
Walker glanced over his shoulder. Just at the edge of Jackson’s flashlight beam, the floor was covered with tiny, pale creatures the size of mice. They weren’t moving quickly, but their numbers made shooting them all impossible, even if they had enough ammunition. Luckily, the flying hubcaps had fallen back upon the arrival of the mice.
“Evans, toss me your grenade.”
Evans removed his grenade and lobbed it underhanded to Walker, who deftly pulled the pin and dropped it at his feet.
“Run faster,” he told his companions and put on an extra burst of speed.
Behind them, the grenade exploded, thunderously loud in the chamber. The columns shielded them from flying shrapnel, but he hoped it put a dent in the horde of mice. He spotted a light flashing ahead of them and directed the others in that direction. He was relieved to find Costas and Gate on the far side of the chamber; then noticed the downcast expression on Gate’s face.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Your explosion set off the creature’s defense mechanism. We’re trapped.”
Walker glanced down at the nuclear device sitting by Costas’s side and guessed at what Costas was thinking. Had they really failed in their initial mission? If so, he couldn’t let a perfectly good nuke go to waste. The mice would be arriving soon. “We can’t go back and we can’t go forward. I guess it’s time to call the game.”
Gate was visibly shaken. “No, not yet,” he pleaded. “It won’t do any good here.”
“So you say, but I don’t see that we have much choice. We don’t have much time.”
“We’re so close.”
“Close won’t cut it, Doc,” Costas said. “This ain’t horseshoes.”
“Shhh!” Gate replied. “I’m thinking.”
Costas shrugged and looked at Walker. Walker nodded.
“We don’t have much time. Jackson, take care of Evans’ back.”
Evans removed his shirt, revealing a long, bloody gash. Jackson worked slowly, favoring his burned arm. Evans winced as Jackson slapped an adhesive pad on the wound and began wrapping gauze around his chest. Walker watched Jackson work. Jackson’s long-fingered hands were too gentle for a man whose job entailed killing.
He looked down at his own hands. They were large and calloused, weathered by the desert sun. When he was young, he had considered building things with his hands – a carpenter or a woodworker. In the army, they had filled his hands with a weapon and pointed him at an enemy who looked much like the people he had known growing up. Their religion was the same as his adopted religion. They worshipped the same god as him. Their only difference was that they wanted to kill all non-believers or Muslims who didn’t follow their strict tenets. He had done his job. Now, his job was to kill a monster, and for the first time, he had failed in his mission.
As eager as he was to do something, he didn’t want to detonate the device except as a last ditch effort. If Gate could find a way to get them deeper inside Nusku, the chances of killing it improved greatly. He checked his watch.
“You’ve got ten minutes to figure out something, Gate, if those mice don’t get here first.”
He sat down beside Costas to rest. His body ached and his mind felt like mush. He had seen too much, had been forced to accept too much in too a short time. Twenty-four hours earlier he hadn’t even heard of aliens, didn’t believe in them. He thought they were myths, like fairies or leprechauns or jinn. Now, he was crawling around inside one’s guts lugging a nuclear bomb.
He checked his watch. It was past time for his Asr prayer. He didn’t have his musallah, but a prayer rug wasn’t necessary for prayer. It was to provide cleanliness. How could a man feel clean inside the guts of an alien creature? He tried to clear his mind before wudu, absolution before prayer, but the death of Howard made it difficult. Howard’s death lay heavy on his soul. Asking for absolution seemed too self-serving. Instead, he accepted his responsibility and asked for Allah’s mercy. He spoke the words of the Asr silently so that he would not disturb the others. After a while, a sense of peace began growing inside, tiny at first, like the first gasping breath of a newborn. He grasped it with his mind and breathed it to life, allowing it to sweep through him like a calming wind.
He felt the presence of the others around him, but they were shadows imposed upon a cloud, insubstantial and fleeting. He could also feel Nusku around him solid and unyielding, and knew that it did not belong. It was not part of Allah’s universe. It was a thing of evil, a demon from a dark place, Jahannam, the Abyss. It was his duty as a Muslim to destroy it, but how?
A hand shook shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up into Gate’s grinning face.
“I think I’ve found it,” he said. “I need your help.”
Gate worked as he explained his solution to Walker. He ran his hands along a curved line raised slightly from the surrounding flesh. “These ridges are really seams, openings in the wall. I think the creature sealed the openings after it detected us, a kind of internal defense mechanism, like the Ticks. It left one open, the one up there that the LIDAR drone went through.” He pointed above his head. “Your explosion closed it.”
“So how do we get through?” Walker asked. “We’re out of rope.”
Gate smiled. “We don’t have to use that one. Maybe I can figure out how to open one of these.”
Evans raised his M16. “Maybe it’s like the blister cover, Doc. A little lead ought to do the trick.”
