Kronos Rising_Kraken vol.1

by Max Hawthorne

  Stacy had finished brushing Gretchen and was back on the pressure washer. Switching it to a softer setting, so as to not risk damage to the pliosaur’s sensitive eyes, she teased it with the pressurized water jet. Gretchen responded like a captive alligator, waiting to be fed. Her jaws yawned wide and she lunged this way and that, making loud snapping sounds as her teeth closed repeatedly on air and water.

  Callahan was emboldened and moved closer. “So, basically, with this thing on my belt, I can get as close as I--”

  He froze as Gretchen’s head whipped in his direction. All playfulness had vanished and the humpback-sized beast eyed him with pure hostility.

  “Stay back, admiral,” Stacy advised. “The controller only works when you’re motionless. As soon as you move, the illusion is broken.” Her hand raised, she stood directly in front of Gretchen, putting herself between the pliosaur and the object of its enmity. Dirk noted that, although the huge reptile’s lips wrinkled up in annoyance, she lowered her head submissively.

  Behind the fence, Dragunova scoffed loudly. “Bah, this theeng is not dangerous,” she said. “Look at it . . . ees just a щенок; a big puppy dog. I bet she feeds it pliosaur chow!”

  Stacy’s amber eyes were hard and glittery as she stared down Antrodemus’s muscular captain. “A puppy, eh?” She plucked the radio from her belt. “Tower three, this is Dr. Daniels. Besides the usual X-fish, what’s the most unpleasant thing we’ve got on the menu?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before the lift crew chief radioed back. “It’d have to be that big Nile croc they brought in yesterday – the maneater from that zoo that closed down. Nasty bastard. The thing must weigh close to a ton.”

  Stacy’s eyes were locked onto Dragunova’s. “Perfect. Drop it in Gretchen’s enclosure.”

  “But, uh . . . I can see you from here,” the operator responded. “You’re pretty close to the edge.”

  “So, drop it at the other end. Now, please.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  All heads turned as one of the hoists’ engines sprang to life. Moving smoothly toward a distant pool, it descended to within fifty-feet before dropping. After two failed attempts, the lift broke the surface with a thrashing, eighteen-foot Crocodylus niloticus locked in its powerful pincers. The hoist made a thrumming sound as it shot straight up, leveling off at one hundred feet. There was a loud, shifting noise, followed by a hum, as it moved laterally toward them across the complex network of girders that spread above the dock like a gigantic drop ceiling.

  As soon as the crocodile realized how high up it was, it stopped struggling. Dirk could see its rough, olive-gray hide and pale underbelly as it drew steadily closer. When it got to within fifty feet of Gretchen’s habitat, the croc sensed something was amiss. It began to struggle wildly, its thick body bucking and its powerful tail flailing back and forth as it fought to break free.

  Callahan snorted amusedly. “Now, this should be interesting.”

  Dirk said nothing. He noticed Gretchen was eying the approaching hoist with what looked like a mixture of hunger and curiosity. She’s probably never seen a crocodile before. As the hoist reached the opposite end of her habitat, the young cow shifted position. Using quick flicks of her four, kayak-sized flippers, she swiveled in the water until her triangular head was pointed at the precise spot the lift was heading for.

  With the hoist nearly in position, Stacy walked briskly along the pool’s edge, clapping her hands loudly and drawing Gretchen’s attention back to her. She held up her index finger as she walked, stopping when she was perpendicular to the pliosaur’s huge head. A moment later, the lift’s light flashed red and its claxon sounded. The pincers sprang open and the still-flailing Nile crocodile plummeted fifty-feet down, landing with a splash.

  One of Dirk’s eyebrows crept upward. The moment the one-ton croc hit the water Gretchen’s entire body tensed, but she held her position. Her eyes were opened wide and focused on Stacy. All the while, Dirk could feel her ratcheting sonar clicks, tickling the concrete under his feet as she targeted her pending meal. Two hundred feet away, the Nile crocodile surfaced. Picking up the presence of a much larger predator, the big reptile froze, hoping to escape notice.

  Stacy remained still with the exception of her hand – the one Gretchen was eyeing. Dirk was fascinated. He could both feel and hear the pliosaur’s hunger building; its near-empty stomach was growling like a lion. It blew his mind that one index finger was holding fifty-tons of ravenous carnivore in check. As Stacy’s hand formed a sword-like blade, pointed toward the ceiling, Gretchen tensed. She was like a monstrous racehorse, waiting for the starting gun. The water around her swirled as she readied herself, and she watched Stacy with unblinking eyes, waiting . . .

  The Nile crocodile began to panic. It started swimming rapidly along the pool’s far end, rubbing its nose along the rough concrete as it desperately sought a way out. Suddenly, Stacy’s hand flipped downward, her fingers directing the strike.

  Gretchen exploded into motion.

  With a power thrust from all four flippers, she rocketed forward, accelerating from zero to thirty in less than a second. Her backwash completely inundated the rear pool deck, soaking Dirk and Callahan’s shoes. A split-second later, the voracious beast slammed into the hapless crocodile, enveloping it, but also overshooting its mark and striking the pool wall with impressive force. There was a sound reminiscent of a tank shell impacting on a bunker and the reinforced concrete floor around the pool shook violently.

  “Jesus Christ!” Callahan spouted as he staggered to one side.

  Dirk covered his ears as Gretchen uttered a deep, vibrating growl that resonated through his bowels. She shattered the water’s surface, the doomed Nile croc pinioned between her jaws. Its head and forelegs protruded from one side, its tail from the other. As the crocodilian twisted about, desperately trying to sink its teeth into the face of its attacker, the cow shook her ten-foot head. Red-tinged seawater sprayed for a hundred feet, coating the surrounding fence and concrete.

  The crocodile was already dead. Its head hung limply, its jaws streaming blood like a broken faucet into the pool’s frothed-up waters. There was a wet, crunchy sound as Gretchen brought her fangs together, cutting it in two. Ignoring the tail portion, she hoisted its mangled upper half aloft and began shifting it in her jaws. Once she had it properly positioned, she let gravity do the work and gulped it down.

  Dirk grimaced as Gretchen’s white tongue emerged from her mouth and ran along her blood-caked lips, like a dog licking its chops. The pliosaur was still unsatisfied, however, and began casting about for the croc’s bottom half. She spotted it a few yards away and snapped it up, her jaws giving off loud, crackling sounds as her ridged teeth crushed the tail section’s bones into mush.

  A smile migrated across Dirk’s angular face as he observed Stacy standing with her arms folded across her chest, proudly watching her colossal “daughter” choke down another eight hundred pounds of meat. She swiveled at the hip toward Dragunova and said loudly, “You’re right, look at her!” Then she added in a mocking Russian accent, “She’s just a beeg puppy!”

  Dirk rolled his eyes as Stacy shook her head and muttered the word “сука.” His high school Russian was all but forgotten, but he still recognized the word “bitch” when he heard it. Thank God Dragunova didn’t. That was all he needed . . .

  “Okay, people,” Dirk said, backing away from Gretchen’s pool, his hands extended before him. “Show’s over. Anyone who’s attending the procedure, please get to your designated seats.” He checked his watch. “Stacy and I will be scrubbed and ready to proceed in approximately thirty minutes.”

  Callahan nodded and then turned to Garm. “Hey, Gate. You got room for an old man in that buggy? I know it’s close, but my hip ain’t what it used to be.”

  As Garm opened his mouth to reply, Dragunova muttered something unintelligible and walked off, making tracks away from the surgical center. Probably off to the gym, Dirk mused.


  “We appear to have an opening, admiral,” Garm said. He moved some small items from the front seat. “Come on down.”

  Dirk watched Callahan hobble over and clamber into Garm’s ATV. He wasn’t even fully seated before he started gabbing away. Something about boxing, from the sound of it . . . His brother just sighed and put the vehicle in gear. Dirk chuckled. Garm was definitely going to be a much happier guy when the admiral’s visit was over.

  Through the fence, Dirk studied Dragunova’s body language. From her gait and the set of her shoulders, she seemed irritated. It must have had something to do with Callahan, he figured. She was the type to hold a grudge. With Led Zeppelin’s “Rock and Roll” jamming in the background, he watched her muscular legs flexing as they carried her across the docks. His sigh of longing changed to a startled yelp as Stacy unexpectedly appeared beside him. He hadn’t heard her approach over the steam-engine sounds of Gretchen spouting.

  “You’re jumpy,” she said.

  “Could it have anything to do with fifty-tons of feeding pliosaur breathing down my neck?” Dirk said, annoyed. He glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure. A hundred yards past the fence, he could still make out Dragunova’s silhouette as she moved past a tech team.

  Stacy’s eyes narrowed as she followed Dirk’s line of sight. “I still can’t believe you broke up with me for that juiced-up piece of Euro-trash.” She snorted irritably.

  Dirk nearly gave himself whiplash as he turned toward her. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what – and who – I’m referring to,” she said icily. “Stalin’s wet dream over there, shaking her ‘beeg Russian ass.’”

  “Stace, that’s ridiculous,” Dirk said. He smiled carefully. “There is nothing between Captain Dragunova and me. We’ve never even--”

  “Oh, I know that,” she said. “But it’s not for lack of desire on your part.”

  Dirk felt a pliosaur-sized surge of panic and faked a chuckle. “That’s crazy. Where would you even get such an idea?”

  “Oh, please,” Stacy scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid? You broke up with me three days after she got here! We women have instincts for such things. I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you’re looking at her right now.”

  Dirk’s lips tightened and he looked Stacy straight in those tiger eyes of hers. “And how exactly is that?”

  “Like you’re a hungry-but-underrated jockey, and she’s a world champion thoroughbred you’ve dreamed of riding your entire life.”

  “Well, she’s certainly built like a racehorse, I’ll give you that,” Dirk chortled. “But just because a guy admires a girl’s physique doesn’t mean he wants to play hide the--”

  “Omigod, are you really that blind?” Stacy’s face contorted with uncontained anger. “She’s a killer, Dirk,” she snapped. “That’s what she is, that’s what she does, and that’s why she was hired – to kill things. Understand?”

  Dirk hesitated. “Stace . . .”

  “Look, she’s nice to look at. I get that. And you’re a red-blooded guy. It’s only natural,” Stacy said, forcibly calming herself. “But she’s got ice water in her veins. You heard her joke about Gretchen being a puppy, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Stacy held up her index finger as if she was talking to her pliosaur. “You’re a great guy, Dirk Braddock; you’re smart, kind, and sweet. But to Natalya Dragunova, you are a puppy. And if you’re not careful, she’ll treat you like one.”

  “I’m a puppy?”

  “Yes. And your stupid male pride won’t let you see it.” Stacy shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s get prepped.”

  Dirk felt his face flush with a combination of embarrassment and annoyance and a spiteful notion slithered into his head. “You’re right. And speaking of prepped: after that bath you took in Gretchen’s mouth, I think you better go see Dr. Bane.”

  “What for?”

  “A booster shot,” Dirk announced. A tantalizing vision of Stacy bending over for one of those horse needles appeared before his eyes and it took every ounce of willpower he had to keep a straight face. “She’s been administering the new formula to anyone who’s been exposed.”

  “Oh, that.” Stacy waved her hand dismissively. “I had one, earlier.”

  Dirk’s jaw dropped. “You did?”

  “Yes, see?” She unzipped the front of her wetsuit and pulled one side down, exposing the red needle mark on her shoulder, along with a healthy portion of one caramel-colored breast.

  Dirk’s face darkened.

  “What’s wrong?” Stacy asked, smiling innocently as she covered back up.

  “Oh, nothing,” Dirk grumbled. When she was looking he discretely rubbed his painfully sore ass cheek.

  Why that sneaky cougar bitch!

  CHAPTER

  12

  Moving with a grace that belied his 200+ tons, the Ancient scoured the borders of the Continental shelf, directly adjacent to the dropoff. He was near the spot where his mate had recently been overpowered, and with barely four hundred feet of water in which to conceal himself, the apex predator moved with caution. He cruised at a depth of three hundred feet, oft-times hugging the seafloor, and surfaced only once every forty minutes. If it wasn’t for the added security of a moonless night, he would not have ventured so close to shore. But the concealing darkness, combined with the unusual scent that continued to tug at him, had tempted him into taking a chance.

  He had followed the trail for many miles; a hunt that started far at sea, eventually leading him here. The scent was unusual – another that his experienced olfactory system was unacquainted with – and he was intrigued. For the last few seasons he’d detected it, usually in this same area, and often coinciding with the new moon. Although he’d been repeatedly frustrated at his inability to pinpoint the source of the scent molecules, the tantalizing smell continued to waft about in the water, popping up here and there, and he continued to find himself drawn.

  After thirty minutes of weaving back and forth, the giant bull finally uttered a cantankerous grumble and gave up. He swung westward and accelerated, following the jagged, coral-tipped edges of the dropoff. Twelve miles to his right lay breakers, a quarter-mile to his left, the precipice, and a two thousand foot descent into darkness.

  Suddenly, the male’s deepset eyes crinkled up. Directly ahead, the decaying remains of a fallen colossus materialized. The whale’s hardened carcass was a familiar sight to the old bull and remained as it had for the last century, draped across a rocky ridge, parallel to the dropoff. Despite the ravages of time, its gray, anemone-dotted skin was still smooth. The only exception was the gaping wound that adorned its broken back, its rusted ribs jutting out for all the world to see.

  The sclerotic ring encircling the Ancient’s eyes compressed as he studied his fallen adversary. Despite the moonless night, his thermal vision was able to filter enough light to see. From three hundred feet out, he circled the behemoth. It was as huge as he remembered: more than three times his current length and many times heavier. He could see its shattered snout where it was embedded in the rock and sand of the seabed, as well as its twisted tail. Its thick conning tower angled upward like the dorsal fin of some primeval shark, still dangerous, and along its back, ahead of the dorsal, was the rusticle-draped spike that once spat fire.

  As he eyed his long-dead nemesis, the old bull found himself unexpectedly sucked back into a moonless night just like this one, only a hundred years prior. He’d been a much younger beast then. Bigger than he was when he escaped his stony prison, but nowhere near the size he would one day attain. Still, at eighty feet in length, his mass and power made him a match for even the largest females of his kind. Or they would have, if there had been any. He had been alone for more seasons than he could remember, and had adapted to his loneliness to keep from going mad.

  One of the tricks he’d acquired over the last thirty years was accompanying the huge, armored whales that prowled beneath the waves. Not just f
or company, but for sustenance. The first time he came across one of them had been by accident; he’d been drawn to a series of painfully loud shock waves that resonated for hundreds of miles. When he reached the source, he encountered a giant, noisy beast. It was far larger than he, and in shape, appeared to be some sort of cetacean.

  Except that it never surfaced. And it was made of metal.

  It turned out that the iron whales were newcomers to Earth’s oceans. Like the Ancient, they were predators. Part of Nature’s way of balancing things, they preyed on the titanic surface constructs that housed the tiny warm-bloods, stalking them as they floated about. These “neo-whales” hunted from below, tracking their prey with sonar, much like the great pliosaur and the sperm whales he sometimes fed upon.

  By comparison, the neo-whales’ fledgling sound sight was clumsy and weak, but it was still effective. Once they’d locked onto a prospective victim, however, the whales did something unusual. Rather than rushing in to attack, they spat younger versions of themselves at it. The first time he’d seen this, the Ancient was baffled. He’d watched as the small, tube-shaped newborns sprang from their mother’s mouth and raced away. Curious as to what they would do, he followed them.

  The chase had proven exciting. The younglings were as fast as he was, propelled through the water by the same underwater geysers that powered their prey. With an effort, he managed to catch up to one and prepared to mouth it. It was a decision that was nearly his undoing. Only the realization he was fast-approaching one of the surface colossi caused him to veer off.

  That innate caution saved his life. A moment later, the tiny metal whale impacted on its target. There was a fiery burst, followed by a powerful concussive blast that sent him tumbling snout over tail, disabling his sound sight and rupturing one of his eardrums.

  He swam away, hurt and disoriented, and watched from afar to see what would happen next. The neo-whale parent regurgitated more of its cylindrical offspring. There was a series of fiery explosions and the stricken vessel began to ooze body fluids and list. Its vast infestation of bipeds quickly abandoned their mortally wounded host, crying out in terror as it was drawn beneath the waves. Many of them lay in the water, dead or dying, and around them, their blood formed tantalizing clouds.