Kaiju: Deadfall, page 22
Another shudder ran through the creature.
“Look at the Wasps,” Walker yelled.
Walker was right. The Wasps weren’t attacking. They’re just hovering in the air as if confused. The pilots of the flight of F-35 Lightnings had noticed as well. The jets swept down on the Wasps with guns blazing, dropping them like clay pigeons. It was a massacre, this time on the good guys’ side.
“Yeah!” Walker yelled in encouragement.
“What stopped it?” Gate asked, confused. “Nothing we’ve tried so far has stopped it.”
Walker was barely paying attention. His gaze was fixed on the jets mopping up the confused Wasps. They fell to the ground, riddled with machinegun bullets.
“Allah willed it,” he said.
Gate’s phone rang, startling him. He yanked it from his pocket.
“Doctor Rutherford,” Colonel Starnes said. “You’re alive.”
“Nusku stopped moving,” Gate yelled into the phone.
“All three creatures stopped moving at the same moment. We don’t know what happened. Do you have any idea?”
“Can we have this discussion later? We just activated the nuke. We have less than twelve minutes. Get us the hell out of here!”
“I’ll advise the authorities.”
“In the meantime,” Gate said, “would you please contact Nellis Air Force Base and tell them not to shoot any more missiles at us. I would like to go home now.”
The colonel chuckled. “Sit tight. I’ll get help to you as soon as I can.”
“We’re not going anywhere. You might tell them to hurry up. These Wasps might get restless again, and we’re damn low on ammo.”
“And tell them to send a pretty nurse to tend to my wounds,” Costas reminded him.
Gate sat down beside Costas, suddenly exhausted by his ordeal. He checked his cell phone. The time was 1:55 p.m. (PDT).
Five-and-a half minutes later, a Blackhawk helicopter hovered just outside the blister. The pilot nodded to them, pointed up, and then rose above the blister. A cable with a sling dropped from the chopper. Walker grabbed it and pulled it inside the blister. He insisted that Costas go first. Costas was barely conscious, as Walker tightened the harness around him. When it was Gate’s turn, he insisted that Walker go up with him.
“We don’t have much time,” he said.
Walker nodded and held onto the harness with both hands. As he rose up the creature’s side, Gate wondered if it was dead or merely sleeping. Soon enough it wouldn’t matter. As soon as they were aboard, the helicopter took off toward Nellis.
Less than two minutes into their flight, the bomb exploded behind them. It wasn’t a large explosion with a blinding flash and a mushroom cloud. Fire and smoke belched from each open blister and from the creature’s mouth. The ebony armor absorbed much of the blast, but the more sensitive internal organs were vaporized, as were most of the Wasps still hovering nearby. Nusku’s legs collapsed and folded and as Goliath felled by David’s stone, the creature fell to the ground head first, pushing up a giant mound of dirt as it slid forward. It lay there a smoking, dead hulk. The helicopter pilot cheered. Gate was just too tired to yell. He was ready to go home.
Girra
24
Saturday, August 11, 4:30 p.m. (CDT) Omaha, Nebraska –
The sounds of the Wasps on the deck had quieted, but as Paige Collins started for the hatch, her passengers cast looks of disbelief in her direction. Michael Cosgrove, a constant thorn in her side since he came aboard her work barge, led the throng.
“They might still be out there,” he warned.
She caressed but didn’t draw the .45 in her waistband. “It’s been long enough. We haven’t heard anything in half an hour. If that fire gets out of control, we’ll burn in here.”
Cosgrove crossed his arms over his chest and assumed a smug expression, trying to look intimidating. “It’s too dangerous. We need to wait.”
Her patience was wearing thin, but she didn’t want to have to shoot him to prove that she was captain. “If I don’t repair that engine, we’ll be paddling down river. We’re up against the bank now, or can’t you tell?”
A brief look of uncertainty crossed his face.
“If Girra decides to move south,” she continued, “I don’t want to be here. Do you?”
Cosgrove’s wife, a woman of infinite patience, walked up beside her husband and took his arm. “Leave the nice lady alone, Mike. It’s her boat, and I agree with her.”
He fumed but nodded.
Paige drew her pistol and opened the hatch slowly, peering out the narrow slit. She saw no Wasps, and the barge wasn’t on fire. So far, so good. She pushed the hatch open wide and stepped out onto the deck. Two of the tires were still smoldering. She kicked them over the side. The barge was rocking gently against the Iowa side of the river, caught in the shallows. Despite her assurances to her passengers, she doubted she could repair the starboard engine. It needed a complete rewire job. However, she could continue down river on one engine and hope she came across an abandoned boat with an engine she could borrow. Oh, hell, steal, she reminded herself. No time for semantics.
A pall of smoke hung over the river from still fires raging in Council Bluffs. She could barely see Omaha in the distance. She removed a pole hook and began to push the barge into deeper water.
“It’s not moving,” the young boy said.
“Then grab a pole and help,” she snapped at him.
“No, I mean Girra. It’s standing still.”
She glanced toward Omaha and saw that he was right. Girra was motionless. She stopped pushing and looked at it, as the rest of her passengers filed slowly onto the deck. Most of Omaha was in rubble. Only one or two skyscrapers remained standing. She recognized the Woodmen Tower and One First National center. Two of the creature’s front legs were impaled in the top five floors of the partially collapsed Northern Natural Gas building. Jets continued to fire missiles at the creature and to attack the swarm of Wasps hovering near the creature.
“What’s going on?” one of the women asked. “Is it dead?”
Paige wondered how she had graduated from boat captain to sage of all things concerning Girra. “I don’t know. I don’t want to wait around and find out.”
She cranked the engine, maneuvered the barge into the center of the river, and headed south. She glanced back one time to assure herself that the creature wasn’t following her. She wasn’t a religious woman, but she felt like saying a prayer of thanks.
Ishom
25
Saturday, August 11, 1:40 p.m. (PDT) Los Angeles, California –
Corporal Elias Matheson sat on the ground in Chino Hills State Park and watched Ishom march closer to Los Angeles. It had destroyed El Segundo and Inglewood and was now an angry Goliath striding through Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, swinging its twelve massive legs like war clubs, smashing buildings and toppling towers. Los Angeles appeared doomed.
After Hayes’ death during the Wasp attack, his plans to take the jeep north had ended at the first snarl of abandoned vehicles along I-110. Realizing that he would never make it through Los Angeles ahead of the creature, he backtracked to Highway 91, just minutes ahead of Ishom’s rampage. He pushed the jeep as fast as it would go east toward Anaheim, dodging abandoned military vehicles and automobiles. He had not been the only soldier to desert his post. He ignored the frantic pleas of fellow soldiers and civilians along the road desperate for a ride and focused on the hills to the east. He took the Orange Freeway into the Chino State Park, but had to leave the car outside the park because of the traffic.
He was not alone on the hill. Thousands of evacuees had chosen to seek refuge on higher ground rather than face the hundreds of thousands of people still fleeing south and north out of the LA basin. Some, with typical California aplomb, had set up tents, treating the invasion and imminent destruction of LA as an event. He was surprised some entrepreneur had not hit upon the idea of selling tickets. He noticed several military uniforms in the crowd, but they discreetly chose to ignore each other. A deserter could not denounce another deserter.
The crowd was hushed, expectant, and perhaps even eager to witness the coming destruction. The carnival atmosphere struck him as macabre, but then it was human nature to appreciate a disaster, as long as you were not personally involved. A few of the crowd were on their knees praying, but most were merely spectators, glued to their seats.
It was several minutes before he noticed the lack of motion in the creature. It was difficult to tell through the smoke and dust, but it quickly became obvious that something had happened. He doubted it was because of the mosquito-bite stings of the jets worrying the creature. The Wasps also seemed confused, hovering around Ishom as if waiting for instructions. A few people cheered, but most, like Elias, simply waited to see what would happen next.
After ten minutes of inactivity, a spontaneous cheer erupted from the crowd. Despite his misgivings, Elias joined in. Whatever had happened, Los Angeles had been spared, at least for now. A sergeant walked over to him.
“Do you think it’s dead?” he asked.
“Maybe, I don’t know, but something happened.”
The sergeant glanced nervously at the patch on Elias’ uniform and saw that it was the same as his. “Are you going back?”
He hadn’t had the time to let events sink in. “Maybe. You?”
The sergeant nodded. “I think so. Most of my squad was killed in the first few minutes of fighting. I wasn’t the only one running,” he said defensively.
“No condemnation here. I ran as fast as my ass would go.”
“They may need us. Even if it’s over, things are going to be bad for a while.”
“I guess it beats looking over your shoulder for the MPs the rest of your life.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a wife and kid.”
“I’ve got a jeep,” Elias said.
“Maybe I can round up a few more men. It won’t look so bad if a bunch of us show up, you know, like stragglers.”
“Yeah, good idea. If things get bad, food shortages and such, being in the army might not be so bad. As long as we don’t have to fight more of these things,” he added.
As the sergeant walked through the crowd rounding up stray military personnel, Elias looked back at Ishom. It remained motionless, as jets continued to fire missiles at it.
“Fuck you, aliens,” he yelled, as she shot the creature a bird. The simple gesture made him feel better.
26
Saturday, August 11, 2:30 p.m. (PDT) Nellis AAFB, Nevada –
The medics rushed Costas to the hospital as soon as the helicopter touched down. Safely away from Nusku, his spirits had improved dramatically. In spite of his severe injuries, he was hitting on the female stretcher-bearer, as they unloaded him from the Blackhawk helicopter. He gave a thumbs-up signal to Gate, as they closed the doors of the ambulance. Gate didn’t doubt that the burly sergeant would recover quickly. He was too stubborn not to.
All three creatures remained immobile. Aircraft were busy mopping up the Wasps still in confused turmoil outside the creatures. Los Angeles still survived, as did most of Omaha. The radiation count around Nusku was above a safe level, but the authorities had evacuated most of Las Vegas before the blast. The levels would drop rapidly with dispersing winds.
Gate was glad he was free of the creature. His initial curiosity had turned to reflection on his life. He had survived when many hadn’t. He had tempted fate, while hundreds of thousands eager to get away had died a horrible death. He didn’t know if it had been luck or divine intervention, but he was still alive.
As he sat in the mess hall sipping coffee and nibbling on a sandwich, he decided to call Director Caruthers. He still stank of alien blood and guts, and his uniform was filthy, but none of the men and women sitting at nearby tables said anything, though a few glanced at him questioningly. He appreciated their discretion. He was a sorry sight.
The Director answered on the second ring. “Gate, are you all right?” His voice was full of excitement, quite different from their last conversation.
“Yeah, I made it out okay. The creatures stopped moving. Why?”
“The object that damaged Lunar One was some kind of communications drone. The collision sent it crashing to the moon. Commander Langston took the lander to the surface and examined it.”
“They’re alive. I’m glad to hear it.”
Caruthers’ long pause made him wonder if his relief was too early. “I’m afraid Langston is dead. He decided to crash Lunar One into the object. That’s what stopped the creatures.”
Gate was crestfallen. Their mission, the men Walker had lost – all for nothing. No, he thought. We didn’t know about the communications drone. We did what we had to do.
“Then the crew of Lunar One … all gone?”
“No, only Commander Langston. The others are safely aboard the Pegasus on their way back home.” He paused. “Langston died a real hero.”
“That’s something anyway. After all this, I imagine there are lots of heroes out there.”
“The military is chomping at the bit for a peek inside one of these creatures. They smell an opportunity to learn from the alien technology.”
“They’ll be disappointed. It’s mostly biotech.”
“I’m sending some technicians to Girra after the military cleans out the Wasps. Do you want to go?”
Gate smiled. “No, I’ve had my fill of aliens. Tell the military that Wasps aren’t the only things to watch out for.”
“I’ll relay the information to them.”
Gate dreaded the next question, but he had to know. “How many dead?”
“Estimates are between ten and sixteen million, but no one’s certain. It could be twice that number, but survivors are popping up from the ruins everywhere. It was costly, but we won.”
“No, we won a battle. There’s still a war on. They won’t give up. We just got a breathing space.”
A long silence followed in which neither man spoke. Gate realized that his ordeal had left him physically exhausted and mentally anesthetized. It would take time to digest all that had happened, time to realize the full horror of the carnage. The world had changed, and he would have to change with it if he wanted to survive.
“I have to go now,” he said. “I’ll call later.”
He hung up abruptly before Caruthers could reply.
Walker crossed the room and sat down across the table from him. Like him, Walker still wore his soiled uniform, but he had washed his face.
“It’s over,” he said.
Gate looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think so?”
Walker glanced away. “No, not really. I think they’ll try again. They strike me as a determined species.”
“So are we,” Gate countered. He took another sip of coffee, marveling at how it tasted so much better after his ordeal. Even the stale ham and cheese sandwich tasted like manna from heaven. “Mankind knows we’re not alone and that not everyone out there is our friend.”
Walker chuckled. “We’re used to that. I’m sure lots of countries were smiling as they listened to the news about America.”
“They may be next. If they are, they’ll need our help. This invasion might just make a real world out of us, united and determined to be free.”
“Allah willing, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. It never stops.”
Gate studied Walker’s face. It bore a look of hardness he hadn’t seen during the entire Nusku operation. “What’s up?”
“I’m headed back to Iraq. The natives are getting restless. They think America is down for the count. I have to remind them we’re not.”
“So soon? No vacation?”
He shrugged. “I go where they send me. I’m finished here.”
“But your …” He stopped. Walker didn't need reminding of the men he had lost.
“I’ll work alone for a while, at least until Costas gets off his lazy ass. Then I’ll build a new team. What about you?”
What about me? “Maybe I’ll take a short vacation on some beach somewhere, soak up some sun. Then, I want to go back to Houston. What I learned might be of some use for the future.”
Walker stood and offered his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Gate. If you’re ever in some Godforsaken desert, look me up.”
“Allah willing,” he replied with a smile, as he shook Walker’s hand. He considered the captain a friend. “You’re leaving now?”
Walker shrugged. “You know the army. I’m catching the next flight out of here.”
Gate nodded. “Good luck.”
As he watched Captain Walker stride away, he wondered how he coped with it – the loss of lives, the daily tension, and the guilt. His own guilty feelings were few, but they nonetheless weighed heavily on his mind. How much more so for a man whose commands sent men to their deaths? Being a catastrophist was better, though maybe it was time for a change in profession. Looking at the stars through a telescope again might reconnect him with the universe. Even then, he wouldn’t be able to forget that one of those specks out there might just be the aliens coming again.
He repressed a shudder and finished his coffee. For now, at least, they were safe.
The End
Read on for a free sample of Hell Walks: A Kaiju Thriller by David Dunwoody
ONE
“I’ve never seen a dead one,” Caitlin whispered.
“Me neither,” Frank replied. His voice was barely even a whisper, but it carried clear as a trumpet across the vacuum which seemed to have enveloped the group. Was anyone even breathing? Frank sure as hell wasn’t, not that he always had a choice. His lungs felt particularly weak in this, April’s damp precursor to dawn. There had been little rain lately but the grass was slick with dew and the air moved like oil over bare flesh. It made Frank feel sick. Sicker.
