How To Train Your Kaiju

by Nicholas Knight

  Isabella is a loyal friend. The way she sees it, Lusitania needs her. And so do the people she’s helping with her volunteer work. I have to respect that even if I don’t like it. It feels like I’ve gone from constantly worrying about Mom to constantly worrying about Isabella instead. With Lusitania still playing the game, attacking and antagonizing the aliens, the Ole Miss is the most likely target for the aliens to send Titanocobra again.

  I’ve spent the morning fixing up an old truck and am texting with Isabella in the living room when Mom rolls in and gives a gentle shake of her head. I can’t tell if the gentleness was deliberate or inevitable because of the disease. If she hadn’t been smiling I think the pang in my gut would be a lot worse.

  “She must be some girl,” Mom says, coming to a stop beside my perch in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. I started sitting here specifically because she could position her wheelchair next to it. I’m still mad at her about the whole thing with Dad and sending me away, but I still love and respect her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on your phone so much.”

  I had probably spent more time on it “playing” Kaiju Wars while away at Ole Miss, but she doesn’t need to know that. How can I really explain that to her? Hell, how can I explain now how talking with Isabella is keeping me from rampaging across cities and causing incalculable death? Or how badly I want to do that again anyway?

  So instead I settle for what she really wants to hear. “She is.”

  And it’s the truth. Not the whole of it but enough for now. As much as I want to make something work with Isabella though I can’t pretend it is a real possibility with the way things are going. She is staying at ground zero for another kaiju attack and I need to look after my mother. A long-distance relationship isn’t realistically feasible for us.

  More importantly, what I’m doing is entirely unfair to her. I’m using Isabella as an anchor to keep me from caving to my addiction of being a giant monster. I think she suspects some of that and I don’t think she minds. That doesn’t change anything. A relationship based on that…damn, I really do have it bad for her. Relationships. So weird to be thinking of them.

  Mom’s smile widens. “I think I’d like to meet her.”

  I chuckle. “That might be a little difficult. See—”

  A knock on the door interrupts me. I glance at Mom. “You expecting company?”

  She shakes her head. Not so gently as before. I feel an inordinate amount of relief, knowing that the gentleness before had been voluntary.

  I get up and go to the door, opening it to find Dr. Warden standing there, still wearing the same damn tweed suit as always. “Hell, Mr. Moretti.”

  I throw the door the rest of the way open and go for him, but he holds up a forestalling hand. “Ah-ah. You’re already skirting the boundaries of your parole. Hitting your psychiatrist when he’s paying you a house call in an effort to save you from yourself would not go over well, I think.”

  “Save me from myself?” I demand. He’s so damn smug I want to break his jaw.

  He looks as round and soft as ever. Knowing what I do now though about the game that isn’t a game and the kind of money his backers are willing to throw at us “beta testers” makes me hesitate. There’s also something of an edge to his smile, and that damn sharpness to his eyes, completely at odds with his otherwise harmless appearance.

  “You haven’t been playing the game,” he chides, waggling a sausage-like finger. “You still have a few hours before the seven-day deadline is up, but as a concerned doctor I thought I’d check in on you.”

  “I’m not playing your game anymore,” I snap.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, dear. I suppose there isn’t much of your sentence left to carry out though. Shall I go ahead and call the police?”

  Mom pulls up beside me. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Moretti,” Dr. Warden says, extending her a hand. “My condolences on your condition. You’re very lucky to have a son so dedicated to your wellbeing. I suppose you have set her up for the foreseeable future then?”

  Mom looks from Dr. Warden to me. “Why would you need to set me up?”

  “Your son and I have an arrangement,” Dr. Warden says, answering before I can. “One that he no longer wishes to uphold. So long as he plays my organization’s anger management game, he stays out of jail.”

  “It’s not a game!” I don’t mean to shout but the words reverberate through the concrete hall outside the apartment.

  “Of course, it is,” he says. “Don’t complain because you didn’t realize the stakes.”

  The stakes? What the fuck is wrong with this man?

  “Aaron,” Mom says. “Please don’t stop. If it’s keeping you out of jail then playing a silly game doesn’t seem so bad.”

  “It’s not a game, Mom,” I say, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. How the hell do I explain this? “It’s because of this, this thing, that Titanocobra attacked Ole Miss.”

  Dr. Warden actually laughs. “You are a sharp one.”

  “It wasn’t hard to figure out,” I snarl.

  Mom is looking back and forth between us, confusion evident on her face. “Will someone please explain to me what is going on?”

  “It’s very simple, Ms. Moretti,” Dr. Warden says to her, though his eyes never leave mine. “Regardless of what your son thinks he knows about our project, if he does not play he goes back to jail. Also, my backers will sue the ever-living-shit out of you.” The last is unmistakably directed at me.

  “How well do you think those winnings of yours will last you when you’re all tied up in court?” he asks. “Something for you to consider, Mr. Moretti. Good day.” And with that, he waddles off into the parking lot.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

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  I play the game.

  If I have to choose between the lives of a bunch of aliens on a planet that may or may not be real and Mom’s wellbeing, there isn’t even a contest. Not that I have any intention of playing the game the way it’s meant to be played.

  I lock myself in my room, pull out my phone, and login.

  Taisaur’s stats have grown since I’ve last been here. I realize he hit level fifteen during my last session and he’s grown accordingly. He’s topping two hundred feet now, and he’s got a new ability. Burning Aurora.

  An examination reveals that it’s tied to his Special Defense stat rather than his Special Attack, which makes sense. It’s a little like the Weaponized Defenses ability. It draws directly from the rage meter, like the special attacks I’ve seen other players utilize. It would be great to have some ranged capacity but barring that this is pretty cool.

  I swear it feels like Taisaur is glad to see me. That might not make as little sense as it used to. If the game isn’t a game and the aliens are real, what about our kaiju? Is Taisaur real, just hovering around in a spaceship somewhere? I find that hard to believe, because if he’s there, that means the others probably are too. The kind of vessel required to transport, let alone contain, over a hundred kaiju is mind blowing.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  I hit ATTACK and it is game on. I am Taisaur. I am powerful. My rage meter is full to bursting and I swear it glows at the barest memory of Dr. Warden and his mysterious backers. What the hell are those bastards after?

  Instead of launching Taisaur into the city ahead of me though, I turn around and run him straight out into the wilderness. I swear I can feel his frustration and confusion. Or are those my own? The lines between us have grown blurry. As I sprint with him, far away from civilization and innocent victims, I recall my first fight with Lusitania’s Halira. I had actually tasted salt. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong, I’d just been too caught up in what was happening to care. Too caught up in my anger, just like before with Dad.

  Powerful as I felt my anger
made me, I was beginning to feel like the world’s biggest dupe.

  Taisaur and I do nothing but run. We pass several highways and leap over them, avoiding the hovering vehicles traversing them. Eventually the flying saucers make an appearance and start dropping their payload on us. It has next to no effect aside from pissing me off.

  Between Taisaur’s natural bulk and now the Burning Aurora, there’s not much they can do. They seem to realize this but it only makes them bring in more saucers. It’s ridiculous, I’m not attacking them or causing any problems. I’m just running around in the middle of nowhere and they’re trying to kill me. The bastards.

  How many of them have I killed though? Vexing though they are, I don’t think I can really blame them for hitting me with everything that they’ve got. I lead them on a chase for I don’t know how long before logging out. The game’s been played. No one was killed. All is well.

  “Aaron!” That’s Mom’s voice.

  I race from my room to find her in the living room. The television is on, showing a sci-fi horror movie. Except that it’s not. It’s the news. Titanocobra is back, attacking Oxford again. Construction equipment is demolished, volunteers are crushed.

  The jets are quicker to respond this time and I watch as an airstrike hits the kaiju with an explosive payload of untold force. It has about as much effect on the snake kaiju as the alien’s attacks had upon Taisaur just moments before.

  Titanocobra strikes at the jets, hooded head bursting through the flames and despite the jet’s speed, it actually manages to catch one in its jaws. The jet is quick to explode and Titanocobra hurls it toward the other retreating planes. They move apart but that just means the burning wreckage has nothing to block its descent. It crashes in a neighborhood and whatever payload it was carrying explodes.

  There goes the neighborhood.

  “Isabella.” My phone is already in my hand, I never put it down after my run with Taisaur. I’ve got it to my ears and call. It goes to voicemail. If she’s alive that’s probably for the best.

  “That’s where your girlfriend is, isn’t it?” Mom asks.

  I don’t bother to say she isn’t my girlfriend. I don’t know what we are. That’s my fault though. It’s up to me to declare what I want out of the relationship. This whole mystery thing we’ve been doing is fun and tantalizing but it leaves us both wondering. And I want more.

  I might not get it.

  “I need to go,” I tell Mom.

  “You need to sit your ass down and explain to me exactly what is going on,” she says. There’s more iron in her voice now than I’ve heard since before my trial.

  I turn to look at her, shock clear on my face.

  She gives a decisive nod. “Don’t you think for one instant that just because I’m in this chair I am not still your mother. I can and will beat you to within an inch of your life, young man.”

  I can’t help it, I laugh. It’s all too much. The sound is hysterical and mirthless. Mom gives me a concerned look. More explosions light up the screen. Titanocobra is moving away from the campus to attack the surrounding neighborhoods. I recognize a landmark on the television as the camera pulls away.

  Titanocobra is moving in the opposite direction of Isabella and Lusitania’s house. “Thank God,” I manage to choke out.

  Mom shakes her head. “Aaron Troy Moretti, you sit yourself down right now and explain to me exactly what is going on or so help me there will be consequences! Who was that man at the door and what do you know about this?” She jabs a finger at the television.

  I sit. And I explain.

  She listens without interrupting. This surprises me. I expect Mom to have a thousand questions. She’s naturally curious. It’s part of why travelling appealed so much to her. What could we find taking an unexplored back road?

  When I finish she gives a small nod. “Okay.”

  Okay? That’s it? I don’t know what I was expecting but “Okay” isn’t anywhere on the list. “Okay?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I have absolutely no idea how to help you with this one, Aaron. You know a lot more about these people and monsters than I do and I don’t know anyone else who could help you out. Even if you stop playing and let yourself carry out the rest of your sentence and risk a lawsuit, we don’t know that the aliens will stop attacking. You seem to be doing the best you can with a bad situation. It sucks, and if I see that fat bastard again I’ll run him over with my chair, but I’m proud of how you’re dealing with this.”

  I’m speechless. My mouth opens and closes several times but no words come out.

  My phone rings. It’s Isabella.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fuck no I am not okay,” Isabella says. Then sighs. “But we are not hurt.”

  We? Oh right, Lusitania. I don’t mention I forgot about her in the face of losing Isabella. “You need to get out of there.”

  “And go where?” Isabella asks. “If it’s coming here after Lusitania then the destruction is being confined. Imagine if it showed up somewhere like New York City. No, we’re going to stop this thing and that means we’re right where we need to be.”

  I stare at the phone. They’re crazy. Do they actually think that they can do anything to stop this thing? If we had our kaiju on this side, on our planet, or our reality—fuck, I have no idea what the right terminology here is because I know so fucking little!—we might have some kind of counter measure. But we don’t. And attacking the aliens on their world is just kicking the hornet’s nest.

  “Isabella, it’s not safe—”

  “I know it’s not safe! Don’t you fucking tell me it’s not safe, Aaron.” She sighs, then takes a deep breath. “I need to call some more family to let them know I’m alive. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She hangs up.

  I’m left shaking my head. Mom catches my eye with an unasked question. She’s not asking very loudly.

  “She’s not leaving the attack area,” I say. And I know what I have to do.

  Mom doesn’t say anything as I go to my room and pack up a few changes of clothes, all purchased within the last few days.

  “I would stop you if I could, you know that?” she asks.

  I nod. “I know.”

  “I love you,” she says. “And I’m proud of you.”

  I hug her, and then I’m out the door. Getting back to the university is going to be hard.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

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  It’s a frenetic journey, but I make good time. A plane ride to a nearby town and a few hitched car rides, culminates in a ride with one Officer Smith seeing me to Oxford in, if not record time, then pretty good time considering everything that’s going on.

  I’ve never been a passenger in a police car before. A prisoner, sure, but a passenger? Not so much. Officer Smith’s a nice enough guy. He’s sympathetic to my situation when I explain my girlfriend was volunteering at Ole Miss when it was attacked again. The place is wrecked, demolished beyond all recognition and getting there is an even bigger hassle than I’d been afraid of.

  The roads are lined with enormous military vehicles, mostly transporting troops and relief, but there’s a number of tanks present as well. How hard was it to get those here, I have to wonder? The only places on US soil I’ve ever heard of those ever being necessary is along the southern boarder where the national guard has the occasional skirmish with the cartels. Those incidents don’t tend to make it into the news as often as other things, but they’re there. It’s funny how often that’s the case.

  Not that I have any room to criticize. I’m one of maybe a handful of people who actually knows what’s going on with the kaiju, not including Dr. Warden’s organization, and I’m not saying a damn thing. In part because I don’t think anyone would believe me. In part because of the guilt that’s eating me up inside.

  Knowingly or not, I’m responsible for these attacks. I starte
d this mess.

  Normally I don’t mind owning up to my shit. When I do wrong I take it standing up. This time? This time I can’t even comprehend the scale of what’s happened. We’re talking giant monsters, aliens, some kind of conspiracy pulling it all together…it’s all so far above my pay grade that the only thing I can think to do to survive is keep my head down and my mouth shut.

  Officer Smith pulls up to a collection of tents that are helping coordinate volunteers and parks. I have to wait for him to let me out of the back of the car, which has more in common with a cage than not. Cuffed or no, there’s no getting out unless you’re let out.

  Fortunately, he doesn’t keep me waiting long.

  “You go find your girl,” he says, and gives me a quick bro-hug.

  Good guy, Smith. Never thought I’d say that about a cop. He knows I’m an ex-con. It’s not the sort of thing you can really hide from a cop and when you get caught trying it only spells trouble. And yet he made an effort to help me get here. It reminds me of that moment when I first saw Titanocobra in the “game,” how that feeling of near instantaneous solidarity had overcome me and Lusitania. In the face of aliens and giant monsters, the greater tribe of humanity is more powerful than the smaller, individual tribes.

  I bro-hug him back, wish him luck, and take off. The roads, those not occupied by relief and military efforts, are wrecks. Titanocobra’s so large that his movements are enough to bring down the less sturdy buildings and churn up the earth. I hardly recognize where I’m at and have to use the GPS on my phone to get my bearings. The poor AI is beyond confused, trying to track and guide me down streets that are no longer there, but it helps me track my destination and eventually I make it to the front of their house.

  It looks deserted.

  It’s possible that they aren’t home, that instead they’ve joined the relief efforts. Or maybe, and here I can only hope, they’ve finally come to their senses and actually gotten out of town. I knock on the door. There’s no response.