Does that make valuing freedom wrong?
Or did they simply teach us a lesson? A long, cruel, sadistic lesson.
Are we even free at all? Or just pawns?
I stare at the bedroom ceiling thinking all of this and more, searching the nooks and crannies of the room for any sign of cameras and listening devices. Do advanced alien species even need to bug a room? They might be able to see and hear us from orbit, for all I know.
Despite all this, I did sleep fairly well. Collins and I all but passed out beside each other. We’re both still fully dressed, lying on top of our blanket.
“Find any?” Collins asks. It’s the first thing she’s said since we hit the mattress.
“Nope,” I say, “But we’ll have the DHS and a team from Zoomb scour the Crow’s Nest from top to bottom for bugs and cameras before I feel comfortable here again.”
“There’s nothing they’re going to see that they haven’t seen already.” Her fingers crawl down my arm and interlace with mine.
Memories of heated nights and...compromising positions flow through my mind. I cringe at the idea that someone, or thing, was watching.
“Try to not let it bother you,” she says.
“You’re not bothered by the idea of some alien watching a video feed of us, jerking off and getting his jollies while you change, or we...”
“Might not be me they’re getting off on,” she says.
I turn my head toward her. She’s just a few inches away, her face framed by crazy, red, morning bedhead. She’s adorable, and maybe, somewhere in the world, someone else could be sharing this moment with us.
She pats my cheek. “I know you like Star Trek, where Kirk works his way through a rainbow of alien floozies, but it’s more likely that an alien species finds us as attractive as we do a sheep.”
“Says the person who was a sheriff in the backwoods of Maine. You could yell ‘hey, goat-humper’ and get half the population to turn arou—ouch!”
Collins pulls her fist back, ready to slug my shoulder again.
“Uncle,” I say, rubbing my arm. “But you can’t tell me you never once got called out to a farm for...inappropriate relationship with a farm animal.”
She purses her lips, trying to squelch a smile. She manages to hold on for three seconds before laughing. “Just once. Once!”
“Uh-huh,” I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling again. There’s a crack that looks a little like a Kaiju. I’ve been trying to find something more pleasant in the crisscrossing lines—a pony or field mouse or something—but my life is full of monsters now. There’s no escaping them. But with Collins, I can at least forget them for a bit. “Thanks for marrying me.”
Her arm slides over my chest. “Sorry I almost didn’t.”
She’s referring to a chunk of months between the destruction of Washington, D.C. and the Tsuchi attacks where she got cold feet. She called off our engagement, and given her previous marriage, I never held it against her. I was just happy she didn’t want to leave me. Married or not, I wanted to be with her. But we’ve been married for a year now, and her past is now officially behind her.
Cole’s words slip back into my mind. Collins is the strongest fully human woman I know, but would she be without her hard past? If she had never married an abusive husband, she would have never sought to make herself powerful, would have never pursued law enforcement or become a sheriff. Would have never met me. Would have never helped save multiple cities, and wouldn’t be on the cusp of fighting for our entire planet. And I’m pretty sure I couldn’t have done all of that without her strength supporting me. So can I really say I wish those horrible things had never happened to her? When the Aeros arrive and humanity puts up a fight, can I really say what the Ferox did was wrong? They brought this fight to us, but the Aeros would have eventually come on their own. And without the Ferox influence, the Aeros would have found a docile human race, perfect for enslaving, or consuming.
“Earth to Jon,” Collins says, “Come in, Jon.”
I sit up and put my legs over the side of the bed. Nothing wakes me up faster than thoughts of an alien invasion. I squint at the sun cutting through the sides of the shades. It’s morning. Late morning by the looks of it. I glance at my watch. “Holy shit, it’s eleven.”
Collins climbs out of bed, and after sharing a quick kiss, during which we both hold our breath, because morning breath—Yuck!—we leave the room. We’re greeted with the smell of coffee. The kitchen is empty, but two mugs wait beside a full Mr. Coffee. After sipping the hot brew—Collins’s black, mine loaded with sugar, no cream—we head upstairs to the operations center.
The broad room is silent aside from the hum of computer fans. But it’s not empty. Cooper and Watson are at their desks, eyes on their computer screens. Woodstock is seated in one of a few lounge chairs scattered around the room. He raises a cup of coffee to us in greeting, but says nothing. Hawkins is sitting at his station with Joliet. She gives a wave, but looks exasperated. Hawkins directs a nod in our direction, but he doesn’t look happy either, probably because of the brace on his right arm. The sprained wrist means he’s off of field duty, and stuck here, vexing Joliet. There is no one more discontent than a man of action being forced to watch from the sidelines. When things get nuts, and they will, he’s going to be here, chewing his lips and being grumpy.
At the far end of the room, standing before the shattered window, which has been cleared of its jagged shards, are Lilly and Maigo. They’re both fully dressed in black battle armor, ready and waiting for the fight to begin. Both girls turn their heads slightly, revealing that they’ve detected my silent approach. Their conversation comes to a quick end.
“You don’t have to stop talking about Justin Bieber because of me,” I say. “We’re all beliebers here.”
When Maigo’s face turns red, I realize my jab might have been a little too close to home. They are teenage girls, after all. Talking about boys is what they do, end of the world or not.
I flinch when Hyperion’s big face comes into view. The big robot’s expressionless stare is unnerving. But at least the big guy is on our side. For the first time, we have an actual weapon that can stand up to a Kaiju. But can it stand up to three of them? I doubt it, and that means if I give Maigo the green light, I might be sending her to her death. I console myself with the knowledge that there is literally nothing I could do to stop her.
I stand between the girls, silently taking in the view.
I sip my coffee. Turn to Lilly. “Calm before the storm. Am I right?”
She smiles and leans around me to look at Maigo. “Your dad is a dork.”
“Life would be boring without me,” I say.
She points a furry finger out the window, where Hyperion continues his creepy gaze. “Pretty sure that’s not true.”
“Good point.” Another sip. I turn to Maigo and motion back to Watson and Cooper with my head. “Have they been up all night? Again?”
She nods. “They haven’t found anything. No sign of Lovecraft, Giger, Karkinos or Nemesis.”
“And Portland?” The city, its surrounding suburbs and everyone living in the sixty miles between the city and the Pacific, has been under an evacuation order since ten minutes after Cole left. Part of me wanted to head for the city, but I don’t know if Cole was playing me or not. I can’t trust anything he tells me until I see it for myself. And we can always get there quick enough if things go down.
“People are still leaving, but most are outside the target area...” her pause reveals there’s more.
“But...”
“There are a large number of people refusing to leave.”
“How many?”
“Two hundred thousand, give or take.”
“Geez,” I say. That’s a lot of people willing to put their lives in serious jeopardy. Holdouts are to be expected. Paranoia can make people fear the wrong thing. But two hundred thousand people... “They’re not people.”
I head for Watson.
Ever the pro, Watson doesn’t comment on the fact that I haven’t said good morning, or even hello. His fingers simply spring into action. “I can’t track them all, but I can use Hyperion to access cameras in the city. Security cameras. Phones. Laptops. We can check activity on cell phone towers. Buildings with security logs. Internet activity.”
I glance out at Hyperion, the robot’s gaze as steady as ever, even while it reaches out around the world, pillaging information in a way that would give the NSA a serious case of nocturnal emissions.
“Looks like there are three main groups.” Watson points at a satellite map of the city, displaying thousands of red dots representing the stragglers. There’s a clear pattern, like three walls of defense. “One on the west side of the city, then a second group spread out across the middle and the largest group here.” He points to the city’s core.
There are a few tall buildings that qualify as skyscrapers, but other than a few five-hundred footers, most of the buildings are smaller than the average Kaiju. I scan the buildings for a moment, imagining how easy it will be for the Gestorumque to charge through them. Then I spot an aberration. I point to a building that’s still under construction. It looks a bit like the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, but hundreds of feet tall, and built from shiny metal instead of stone. “What’s that?”
He taps on the building and a scroll of information opens. He reads it faster than I ever could and condenses the information. “The Luminox. It’s a monument designed by a local architect, Becki Tapia Laurent, and it’s being built on what used to be Chapman Park. They lost the park, but the city saw it as a tourist attraction, so they approved construction, which is supposed to be complete next year. When it’s done, the outer surface will display a real time view of the stars, sent from a telescope in orbit. The building will hold a natural history museum, ‘chronicling mankind’s rise from the primordial ooze.’”
“Sounds like Ferox propaganda,” Collins says.
She’s right about that, and I’m sure the museum is just another way to continue conditioning humanity. I’m also sure it’s a cover for something else. I point at the three bands of stragglers still in the city. “They’re setting up a defense. That building is more than a museum.”
“What?” Lilly asks.
I shake my head. “No idea, but we’re going to find out.” I turn to Collins. “Get ready. I’ll be right behind you.” To Woodstock, “Time to fly, old man.”
“Ayuh,” he says, and he pries himself from the chair.
To Lilly, “No funny business. No solo missions. I need to know I can count on you.”
She nods, and I don’t detect a trace of annoyance.
“Go.”
As the group disperses, I’m left with Maigo. I put my hands on her shoulders. “No one will think less of you if you decide to—”
“I can handle it,” she says. “And so can you. We have to, right? It’s what we do.”
I grin. She hasn’t been my daughter for long, and she looks nothing like me, but there’s no doubt about it. She’s my kid. “Just give us a head start. Let us recon the situation before jumping into a city with that thing.”
“And if the Kaiju show up?” she asks.
“Then the Hudsons will kick some ass,” I say. “It’s what we do.”
37
“Where is he now?” I ask, speaking to Watson through the throat mic and ear bud system we’re using. We’ll be able to communicate directly with the team, including Maigo, while Watson and Cooper relay information and/or orders to the military through Devine. Right now, as is usual these days, we’ve asked the military to hang back. All they can really do is cause collateral damage. But when we need a distraction, a few hellfire missiles should do the trick.
“Portland,” Watson says, “like you guessed.”
The moment Future Betty left the Crow’s Nest rooftop, Cole’s tracker made a super speed bolt toward the northwest, reminding me that while we’re tracking him, he’s still watching us. I flip the bird to the wall and then work it around so that anyone watching us gets a clear view. “Woodstock. ETA?”
“Ten minutes,” he says. I look down. The terrain below us, projected onto the floor, is just a blur. At Mach 3, the flight from Beverly to Portland takes just over an hour.
“Send Cole’s coordinates to Woodstock,” I say, and then lean toward the cockpit. “Put us down on his head.”
Woodstock rolls his toothpick to the side of his mouth. “You got—”
“Hudson.” Cooper’s voice brings the conversation to a screeching halt. She doesn’t interrupt unless it’s important. “Reports of deceased whales are coming in from the Gulf of Alaska to Cape Blanco. Most have been partially consumed.”
My first thought is Nemesis, but the only time she ate on that scale was when she was growing. She probably still eats whales, among other large ocean creatures, but she wouldn’t have any reason to start a buffet. But Lovecraft... If reports from the oil rig are accurate, the monster dropped a large portion of its girth into the ocean, lightening the load so it could fly. If it’s replenishing that mass, the dead whales make sense. It also explains why no one has spotted the massive creature in the air. It must have dropped back into the ocean after clearing Alaskan airspace during the night.
“Incoming,” Watson says, sudden and loud, his voice cracking. “At the coast. Tillamook Bay.”
“Get us there,” I say to Woodstock. “Now.”
There’s a subtle shift in our speed, but not much. Woodstock’s had the speed pegged since we left Beverly.
“It’s Karkinos,” Watson says. “Heading east.”
Portland comes and goes in a flash. The city looks mostly empty. I get a brief glimpse of the Luminox. It’s a lot bigger than I thought. Big enough to fly a spaceship through, I think, and when my stomach clenches, I think, Holy shit, it’s big enough to fly a spaceship through!
A theoretical problem for another time. The remaining sixty miles pass in moments. When we reach the coast, Karkinos has moved beyond the bay and into the evacuated Bay City, which is smaller than it sounds. But that doesn’t change the path of destruction it’s carving through people’s homes, or its obvious destination.
We need to stop it, here and now.
“Maigo, are you ready?”
“Good to go,” she says, and even though the voice is a digitized projection of her actual voice, I can still hear how nervous she is.
“Second target incoming,” Watson blurts, and I turn toward the ocean in time to see it. I’ve seen photos of the bony exoskeleton covering Giger’s body, but it’s far more frightening in the flesh. The creature’s otherworldliness is exaggerated by the twitchy way in which it moves. And where Karkinos is big and lumbering, this Kaiju is fast. It’s through the bay in seconds, charging through Bay City and past Karkinos, heading toward Portland with the eagerness of a golden retriever chasing a ball. Between Bay City and Portland is a good thirty miles of rough terrain and rain forest.
“Get after that thing,” I say to Woodstock. We spin around and give chase.
“We need to stop them now. Before they reach the city. Maigo, is Hyperion tracking Future Betty’s—”
“Coming,” she says.
“Third target,” Watson says. I look back at the now shrinking coast. Lovecraft explodes from the ocean, as large as ever and fueled by gorging upon whales. His wings splay wide, sending cascades of water in all directions. The morning sun refracts through the beads, forming a rainbow around the beast. Then the monster steps through the bands of color, surging west behind his brother, or sister, or whatever the hell they are. Kaiju don’t have sex organs—at least, not obvious Michael Bay Constructicon balls. If they did, we’d know where to target.
Before I can warn Maigo about the odds, Hyperion appears ahead of us, and ahead of Giger. The fast Kaiju flinches and tries to sidestep around the robot, but there’s no avoiding the collisio
n, which Maigo was prepared for. Giger is lifted WWF style, flipped up over Hyperion and then slammed into a hillside. The terrain collapses under the monster’s mass, its arms and legs scrambling through the air like an overturned bug. Three blades, the only weapons available after teleporting across the country, pop out of Hyperion’s forearms. Maigo’s going to skewer the monster with all six blades, and if she can hit the right spot, maybe it will be enough.
But Giger’s speed is unmatched. The long, bony tail snaps up like a whip and wraps around Hyperion’s head. With a tug, Hyperion is lifted off the ground and flung. The robot rights itself in midair, compensating for the move like only an AI-controlled robot could, landing on its feet. But not fast enough.
Giger takes off at a sprint, headed east like a running back who’s just outwitted the defensive line.
“I can’t catch it,” Maigo says.
“Don’t bother,” I tell her.
“But Portland—”
“I don’t think the city is as defenseless as it looks.”
When a shadow falls over Hyperion, her choice is removed. Karkinos has arrived, and Lovecraft isn’t far behind. In fact, it seems to be giving Hyperion a wide berth, heading to Portland with no intention of stopping to fight. I miss the days of primitive-minded Kaiju, unable to turn down a good scrap.
Karkinos spins around, swinging its massive tail toward Hyperion’s waist. If the blade at the end struck, it might very well sever the robot in two. But as powerful as Karkinos is, it’s not fast enough to catch the alien mech. Hyperion leaps back, waits for the blade tip to sail past and then attacks.
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