Project Hyperion

by Jeremy Robinson

  Betty flies past overhead. I don’t know if Woodstock knows we’re in the van or not, but he’s trying to help.

  The intersection ahead is generally a busy one. Anyone driving on the cross street might not know about the incoming wave and might T-bone us. But it’s a risk we have to take. Powder Hill is just ahead, rising two hundred feet with the Crow’s Nest at its apex.

  “Don’t slow down,” I tell the driver.

  He looks unsure.

  The water rises behind us, just feet away from the van that is slowing, more because of gravity than the driver removing his foot from the gas pedal.

  My phone rings.

  I answer it.

  “That you in the van?” Woodstock asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Intersection is clear,” he says. “But you better step on it. Second wave is bigger.”

  I lean between the front seats. “The road ahead is clear. Don’t let up. Not until we’re at the top.”

  The driver clutches the steering wheel and locks his eyes ahead. Moving at seventy miles per hour, we crest the rise and bounce through the intersection, hitting the much steeper climb up Powder hill. The van slows on the incline, but also keeps us from flipping around the sharp bend in the road.

  “I think the water is receding,” someone says.

  “It’s not,” I tell the driver.

  I feel Collins’s hand on my arm, gripping as she looks back. I don’t need to look. I know what’s there. The second, bigger wave.

  “What is that?” a man asks.

  “Oh, shit. Oh, shit!” a woman says. They’re seeing it now, too, and their reactions are not putting my mind at ease.

  When the van shakes, I can’t stop myself from looking back. A wave has crested against the hillside, white froth exploding against the rear windows, drawing screams from the group, but also giving us a little nudge forward.

  The water continues to rise around us, consuming the homes at the bottom of the hill. Spray hisses from the tires and then drags us a little slower. Water rises up over the back windows, swirling with debris and dead things. A man seated behind me calmly shakes his head, mumbling, “I should have stayed in Minnesota.” He meets my eyes. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen in Minnesota!”

  The guy is about to lose his mind, and I don’t blame him. But we’re not dead yet. I put the phone to my ear again. “How are we looking?”

  “Clear to the Nest,” Woodstock says, “but the water is rising fast. Would not recommend heading down the far side. Roads are congested. Water is already moving around the hill.”

  “Have them open the doors for us!” I shove the phone back into my pocket.

  The engine surges as the road levels out atop the hill and we pull free of the water. We race past homes that survived Nemesis’s first arrival here, watching the water surround them. The large stone wall of the Crow’s Nest grounds is straight ahead. I point to the marble staircase leading up to the perfectly maintained grass. “Stop us in front of the stairs!”

  The group of people behind stare with rapt attention, perhaps understanding that their lives depend on how they react in the next seconds. “When we stop, everyone gets out. One row at a time. Anyone who pushes ahead has to talk to her.” I motion to Collins, expecting her to just look mean, but she pulls a gun from behind her back and chambers a round.

  Tires squeal and the van cuts hard to the right, slamming to a stop against the curb. The author is out of the passenger’s side before the van fully settles and tears open the side doors. Collins and I are out first, but neither of us leave. Nor does the author or the driver.

  “Get them inside,” I shout to the two men. “Go!”

  The van disgorges its passengers faster than I thought possible. I suppose not drowning in an apocalyptic deluge is a great motivation. When everyone is out, Collins and I follow the group up the stairs, where a brick walkway leads across the lawn to the mansion’s patio entrance. The door is already open. Watson and Cooper are waving us on. Hawkins and Joliet are in the yard helping the few stragglers move faster. Maigo and Lilly, whose help we could really use right now, are nowhere to be seen. Woodstock buzzes past overhead, shouting through a loudspeaker. “Move it! You all are slower than a pregnant three-legged moose!”

  The ground shakes as a wall of water slams into the property’s wall, sending spray rocketing a hundred feet in the air. The van is swept away and slammed through the front door of a neighboring home. Water surges up the walled-in stairwell and explodes over the lawn, slapping Collins and me as we bring up the rear.

  “Get everyone upstairs!” I shout ahead, as the group files through the patio doors, led by Watson and Cooper.

  Hawkins stays behind and greets us, eyes on the still rising tsunami. “What the hell happened?”

  “No idea,” I tell him, “but I think our WCS might have just landed on our doorstep.”

  WCS is shorthand for Worst Case Scenario. Since we discovered the existence of multiple alien species, whose machinations for the human race are uncertain at best, we’ve discussed our response amidst ourselves, with the U.S. government, and with any nations that would take us seriously, despite our lack of physical evidence. GOD is very good at cleaning up their messes. We haven’t seen or heard from them since stealing Future Betty from Area 51, their former base turned flattened husk. Zach Cole and Alicio Brice...or his clones...are in the wind. While I still have the President’s ear and trust, thanks to a little brainwashing, the world hasn’t come to a consensus on the topic yet, let alone a course of action. The movies are wrong. Even when faced with doom from above, the human race probably won’t come together.

  The stoic Hawkins doesn’t say another word. He just shakes his head and closes the patio door. After one last look at the still rising water, we charge up the stairs, past the Crow’s Nest operations center, where Watson and Cooper have gathered our guests, and head for the roof.

  Helicopter Betty is setting down, kicking up dust that would normally be swirling around Future Betty’s invisible skin. But the X-35 is missing. Clenching my fists, I head for the eastern side of the roof and look down. Water laps against the brick-walled flower beds that surround the base of the home, and then it slides away. On all sides, the ocean, now full of battered homes, crushed vehicles and lost dreams, recedes. Some of it heads back to sea. The rest flows further into town. I can’t hear anything over the roar of water and Betty’s slowing rotors, but in a few minutes, all we’ll be able to hear are screams.

  Or will we? How many people within earshot are still living?

  I feel the presence of others and turn around. Collins, Hawkins, Joliet, Woodstock, Watson and Cooper are all there.

  “Our guests?” I ask.

  “In the office,” Cooper says. “In shock.”

  “Do we know anything at all?”

  Watson shakes his head. “No one saw it coming.”

  “And the girls?”

  “My fault,” Woodstock says. “Taught Lilly how to fly.”

  While I would like to blame someone and vent my anger, it’s definitely not Woodstock’s fault. “They’re part of the team. They’re responsible.”

  “I just hope they’re safe,” Collins says, reminding me that we’re more than a team.

  I turn and look out at the ocean, which is partly back where it’s supposed to be, but now full of submerged neighborhoods and countless dead.

  “Watson, coordinate a search with the military. Find out what the hell that was.”

  “On it,” he says, and I hear him head away.

  “Cooper, let’s get Devine online.” While Devine might sound like a 70’s pornstar, it’s actually short for Digital Vanguard Intelligence Network, which allows us to coordinate with state, federal and military emergency responders. It was created in the wake of the first Nemesis attack on this stretch of coastline, but it’s been upgraded recently, thanks to Zoomb. The FC-P is the only government agency capable of activating the communications network, and once w
e do, all information flows through us, which really irks my former superiors in the DHS. “Organize relief efforts.”

  When I turn around, Cooper is headed for the door.

  “Coop,” I say, stopping her. “Is Spunky okay?”

  She looks a little paler when I ask, but nods. “The daycare is fifteen miles from the coast.”

  I nod and she leaves. The others wait for their orders, but I have nothing for them. “The rest of you, eat your Wheaties and get some rest. I have a feeling this day is about to go from shitty to Montezuma’s Revenge. We need to be ready to react.”

  When I turn back to the view, I hear three sets of receding footsteps. Collins steps up next to me, looking out at the scoured-clean view, tears in her eyes. “I’m getting tired of being stepped on.”

  I catch sight of something when I nod. Although most homes have crumbled or been yanked back toward the ocean, a single house stands alone on the far side of the hill. It’s a white home with light blue/gray shutters. After Nemesis first laid waste to the area, the family there, including three boys and two golden retrievers, had left. Thanks to Zoomb, and I suppose to me, they had returned. I’m about to head down and see if anyone is there and alive, when I see motion on the roof. The family is there, safe and dry. Even the dogs. One of the boys is waving at me. I return the wave, and turn to Collins. “Me, too.”

  I take out my phone and speed dial a number.

  “It just came on the news,” Alessi says. She’s Endo’s half sister, and now she’s running the company I own. “What do you need?”

  “Full relief package for every community hit,” I say.

  “On it. Anything else?”

  “Put the WCS protocol on standby.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  I look Collins in the eyes and see the same determination I feel. No more getting stepped on. “I’m sure.”

  9

  “Chill out. It’s not like they can see us.” Lilly leaned forward in Future Betty’s cockpit, looking down at Big Diomede. The surface crawled with Russian military. Helicopters came and went, transporting personnel, most of whom carried assault rifles. Those who didn’t, carried an array of scientific equipment that Lilly couldn’t identify. Lines of men walked patterns around the center of the island, sweeping metal detectors back and forth. At the far end of the island, opposite the ramshackle Russian outpost, stood a series of domes connected by tunnels. The prefab base had been flown in and set up in just hours.

  Maigo stood in the cargo bay, turning slowly to take in the three hundred sixty degree view. “No, but they can still run into us. We’re not immaterial.”

  Four Russian MI-24 Hind attack helicopters, big, imposing and armed with enough firepower to lay waste to a city, circled the island. Further out, the Russian stealth fighters did laps, sometimes cutting through the air just over the island. They were surrounded by enemy activity on all sides, top and bottom. Despite the X-35 being the world’s most advanced aircraft, capable of hiding in plain sight, Maigo had no doubt that they would eventually be discovered if they stayed too long. The island was home to a lot of very annoyed birds. How long before one of them flew into the hull?

  “Bonus points for the five syllable word,” Lilly said. “But we’re not stationary. I can move if anything comes our way.”

  “We should at least let the others know what’s going on he—”

  Lilly craned her head out in slack-jawed shock. “Are you serious?” She extended a black, clawed finger. “First, they’ll make us go back.” Two fingers. “Second, they’ll never let us leave again.” Three fingers. “Third, they still treat us like kids—”

  “Technically, both of us are under five years old,” Maigo said. “They might have a point.”

  Lilly groans. “Seriously? They take us on field operations. Like, all the time. We helped save the West Coast from the Tsuchi. And you nearly sacrificed yourself. It’s cool if we do that? But show a little initiative—bonus points—and what? We get in trouble? They can’t fire us. They can’t ground us. Or spank us. We’re two of the most powerful people—”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of people on the planet. If this is what we have to do to prove ourselves...” Lilly shrugs. “So be it. I can handle red faces and angry voices. But I’m tired of being second string. I love all of them. I respect all of them. But who else can jump two hundred feet out of Future Betty and into a Russian camp without getting spotted?” She turned her index finger to herself, and then to Maigo. “No one else, that’s who.”

  “Still,” Maigo said, “we should at least let them know we’re okay. They’re probably worried.”

  “Radio silence,” Lilly said with a roll of her eyes. “Remember? Unless you think broadcasting our presence to the Russians will make a good impression?”

  Maigo sat down and sighed. While she was good on mission and had few qualms about action, or danger, Lilly lived for this stuff. Like most cats, she didn’t shirk from danger, Lilly headed straight for it. Said it was part of her feline DNA. But how much did that really influence her personality? She grew up on an island where danger and survival were a way of life. Adrenaline and tension were the norm for her. Maybe her behavior was just learned? Nurture over nature? Maigo hoped so, because her DNA wasn’t just feline, or any of the other animals making up Lilly’s patchwork genetic code. Maigo had the DNA of a vengeful alien killing machine polluting her humanity.

  And that was why she was here. She wasn’t seeking respect or thrills, like Lilly. She wanted to know she could do this without being a monster. And if the worst happened, and she went full-Kaiju, she didn’t want Hudson or Collins—Mom and Dad—being anywhere nearby. Lilly could take care of herself, but the others...if things went bad and she lost herself, they wouldn’t stand a chance. And she couldn’t live with the idea of hurting them. So when Lilly approached her about this little side mission, she saw it as a chance to prove to herself that the monster inside her really was contained. Plus, the force beneath this island had reached something inside her, something buried and powerful. She wasn’t sure what it was. She had to know.

  Maigo leaned her head back. “How long until night?”

  “Ten more hours.” Lilly smiled and faced forward again, watching the array of moving targets with the twitchy attention of a house cat.

  “Wake me up when it’s time.” Maigo closed her eyes. She had no intention of sleeping, but didn’t want to spend the next ten hours in conversation. Lilly had become a sister to her. They weren’t just the most powerful sort-of people on the planet, they were also the weirdest, and no one understood their unique issues better than each other. Hudson was a close second. He had been inside the head of a Kaiju after all, but he wasn’t a girl. Just minutes after closing her eyes, her thoughts drifted to the past. To the memories of carnage she fought so hard to block out.

  Go back to Christmas, she thought.

  “You don’t need to open that.”

  She opened her eyes. Christmas morning. Her dad’s childhood living room. The glowing tree. Scent of pine. But it lacked the aura of childhood nostalgia that her dad’s presence usually infused.

  Instead, it felt heavy.

  She looked for the person who had spoken and found Alexander Tilly, her biological father...her murderer...seated across from her in a rocking chair. He smiled at her, bobbing forward and backward. “I don’t know what it is, but it cost a pretty penny. I swear your mother is trying to bankrupt me. We can return it.”

  Maigo looked down at the gift in her hands. The wrapping paper was thick, gold and perfect. A store job. Nothing personal about it. And it was heavy.

  “That’s not for you,” said a deeper, angrier voice. Maigo flinched as General Lance Gordon stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He held a steaming mug in his black hands. His face looked human, but his eyes glowed orange.

  Maigo sneered at the two men. She was strong enough to deal with them both. “Leave. Now.”

  The men chuckl
ed in unison.

  “Leave?” Tilly said.

  “We’re both a part of you,” Gordon said, and then he looked at Tilly. “Or is she a part of us? Doesn’t matter. Either way, you’re stuck with us. Forever.” He pointed at the gift in her hands. “But that...we don’t like it.”

  “Anything you two don’t like has to be a good thing,” Maigo said, and she tore into the gift. With each rip of paper, her apprehension grew. Gifts could be burdens. The packaging was white, red and black, but the logos and images were blurred. With just a single shred of paper still covering the plastic window behind which was some kind of toy, she paused. Her father and Gordon stared down at her, looking serious, but not really complaining, or acting mortified. Was she being manipulated? Did they want her to open the gift?

  She decided to go with the standby advice of her new father: Screw it.

  She tore the paper away, revealing a masked metal face with glowing red eyes.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” the mask said. “Wake up.”

  Maigo flinched away, gasping and swatting at the air.

  Lilly ducked away unscathed. “Geez! Night terror much?”

  “It was Christmas,” Maigo said, rubbing her eyes and stretching.

  “With Hudson?” Lilly asked. She knew about their occasional psychic meeting place. Everyone on the team did. It was part of her dad’s policy of full disclosure. Secrets got people killed. Was sneaking out with the X-35 any different than keeping secrets? She could have told him how she felt. He might have even come with her. But Lilly hadn’t given her time to process all that. She couldn’t blame her though. Lilly was impulsive, and Maigo knew it. But something about this island, about what was hidden beneath it...that was a secret Maigo needed to uncover alone. As alone as I can be with Lilly and a few hundred Russians. She would tell the others everything just as soon as she and Lilly were on their way home.

  Maigo pushed herself up. “Ugh, with Gordon. And my father. The one that killed me. The old me, anyway.”