Kaiju Inferno (Kaiju Winter Book 3)

by Jake Bible

  He slings his rifle and walks forward. The others behind him tense and raise their rifles higher, watching Bolton closely.

  “Who you calling with that thing, soldier?” the man asks. “The government? Is that your hotline to the White House?”

  He laughs and the others laugh with him.

  “Yeah, actually it is,” Bolton says. “But the battery is dead and I need to recharge it. I have a solar panel in there and as soon as the sun is bright enough, I can plug it in and it’ll be working in about four hours.”

  “Will it?” the man asks. He holds out his hand. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  “I’m Sergeant Connor Bolton,” Bolton says, taking the man’s hand and shaking it. “You are?”

  “The guy that’s going to take your cell phone,” the man replies. But he doesn’t pull his hand back. He pumps Bolton’s then withdraws and cocks his head. “Come on, Sergeant Bolton, don’t make this hard.”

  “The reality is it won’t be hard on me,” Bolton says. “Your people are amateurs. I’m not.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a lot more of them than you,” the man replies. “And you aren’t moving so well, Sergeant. We’ve been watching you since you crawled out of that crap over there. How those legs feeling?”

  The man is close enough now for Bolton to make a move, but he isn’t sure how fast that move will be. Training or no training, his legs feel like blades are piercing his bones and slicing at his muscles. He might get in one or two good shots, but the first blow to his shins and he’ll be down and out.

  Bolton pulls the sat phone from his hip and hands it over.

  “There you go,” the man says. “Not so hard.”

  “You live in these trailers?” Bolton asks.

  “What? Oh, no,” the man says, inspecting the sat phone. “That’d be idiotic. Damn things are death traps.”

  “Oh,” Bolton says. “Yeah, they are.”

  The man looks up at Bolton then past him to the trailers. He tucks the phone in his pocket then angles his head back at his people.

  “Jeremy? Go check the trailers,” the man says. “Might have squatters.”

  The man that had taken Bolton’s pack nods and runs over to the row of trailers. He jumps up onto the first porch, kicks in the door and then fires randomly. After a couple of minutes, he comes out and moves to the next trailer. Before he can kick in the door, the door flies open on its own, knocking Jeremy onto his ass.

  A man and a woman, both looking like they haven’t eaten or bathed in some time, bolt from the trailer’s porch, running around the other side as fast as their malnourished legs can carry them. They are almost out of sight when two shots ring out and they both drop.

  “I’m no SpecOps soldier,” the man says as he lowers his AR15 and gives Bolton a harsh smile. “Yeah, I know what you are, Sergeant.” He slings his rifle again and walks forward, clamping his hand on Bolton’s shoulder. “Like I was saying, I ain’t no SpecOps soldier, but I can shoot.”

  “They were running away,” Bolton says.

  “They were a danger,” the man replies. “Did you see them? Desperate. One of my patrols would have come across them eventually and who knows what would have happened? Someone would have gotten hurt.”

  “I’d say someone just did,” Bolton snaps.

  “Better than one or two of mine,” the man says. He clamps his hand tighter. “Mark Halpern. Good to meet you, Sergeant.”

  “Not sure I feel the same way,” Bolton says.

  “We’ll see,” Halpern smiles. “Sun’s about up, so how about we get comfortable and plug that phone of yours in. Then in what, four hours? You can call your people and we can see if maybe some patriotic US citizens can get a little help from their government. Maybe fly us out of here to one of those refugee stations down in Texas or on the West Coast?”

  Bolton laughs. “If there are even refugee stations left, I don’t think you’ll be flying to them. Not a single aircraft works. None of them.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Halpern replies. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  “Come with me to Schriever and I’ll show you,” Bolton says, inspiration hitting him. “You get me to Colorado Springs and I’ll make sure you get entrance to either the AFB or Fort Carson. They’ll take care of you and your people.”

  Two shots ring out and Jeremy whoops as he stands over the corpses of the man and woman by the trailers.

  “They weren’t dead yet!” Jeremy shouts. “They are now!”

  “If you stop doing that,” Bolton says. “Keep on killing innocents and the way you’ll get taken care of is by hanging at the end of a rope.”

  “Something to think about,” Halpern says. “Something to think about for sure. But first we talk to your people. I want a solid deal in place, not some empty promise from a man that can’t make deals.Sergeant.”

  “So we wait?” Bolton asks.

  “We wait,” Halpern says. “Have a sit down.”

  Bolton obliges and is glad to be off his legs. He watches as Halpern waves at the others and they take off to search the trailers one by one. Halpern plops down next to him, slipping Bolton’s knife from its sheath.

  “I’ll hang onto this,” Halpern says.

  “Yeah, you do that,” Bolton says.

  One of the women comes out of a trailer hollering and laughing, a vibrator jiggling in her hand. “It works! It works!”

  Halpern laughs and smacks Bolton on the back as the woman dances around with the sex toy, keeping it out of reach of the others that grab for it.

  ***

  With Roy clean and asleep, and a strong pair of crutches under both arms that she found in one of the supply wings, Terrie clomps her way down the tunnel and into Tony’s room. Krissy sits next to the young man, her eyes wide and attention glued to a small box between them on the workbench.

  “Yes, that is good,” Tony says into a handset. “Keeping sepsis from setting in is good. I know that from reading and from watching medical shows.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t mean I’m going to make it, kid,” a voice that is mostly static says. “I’ll run out of water and food before this damn wound heals up.”

  “Tell him that we’re trying to contact others,” Krissy says. “Tell him maybe we can find someone else close to him.”

  Tony relays what Krissy says as Terrie hobbles over to the bench, grabs a stool, and gratefully sits down.

  “What is this?” Terrie asks in a hushed voice. “How is he talking to someone?”

  “He got his gizmo working,” Krissy whispers, not wanting to disturb Tony as he continues to chat with the person on the other end of the transmission. “He says he’s talked to six people so far.”

  “Yeah, but how are they talking to him?” Terrie asks. “How are their radios still working?”

  “Some folks had enough parts that they fixed their radios,” Krissy says. “Some are really deep underground. Like in old mines where the EMP didn’t hit. It’s taken this long for a couple to dig out and set up antennas.” Krissy taps at a map of the United States. “I’m checking them off as we find them. We have Nevada and Kentucky. Arizona and Tennessee. Even one all the way up in Maine. I think one said they were down in Oregon, but we got cut off before I could hear for sure. The guy Tony’s talking to now is in Oklahoma.”

  “Dang,” Terrie says, smiling. “It’s good to know others are out there.”

  “Yeah, there’s one thing,” Krissy says. “Tony was talking to someone that says he’s part of the White House situation room. They want to have Tony help triangulate signals and create a network with them so everyone can communicate.”

  “The White House situation room?” Terrie asks, her voice not hiding how skeptical she is. “What did Tony say?”

  “At first, a lot,” Krissy says. “He jabbered away about being able to create his blah blah blah gizmo. Then he shut up and his face went white. He told them he had to go and cut the connection.”

  “He di
d? Why?” Terrie exclaims.

  “Shhhh,” Tony scolds. “I’m losing this signal and need to—”

  Terrie grabs the handset from Tony’s hand and gives him a look that stops him instantly from trying to take it back.

  “I’m not saying that you actually were talking to the White House situation room, but if you were, why would you cut off the communication?” Terrie snaps.

  “They’re the US government,” Tony says. “They’ll confiscate my technology and take it for their own. I won’t get any credit and they will use it without me.”

  “First, we are stuck in a bunker underground on an island in the middle of the Puget Sound,” Terrie says. “There is an entire continent between us and them, so they won’t be taking anything.”

  “They have agents everywhere,” Tony says. “Ask Roy.”

  Terrie sighs. “Second, getting credit for your creation is not a priority. If it can help establish a communications network then you need to let that happen.”

  “But it’s mine and they can’t have it,” Tony says. “Unless they buy it. Always get paid for the work you do.”

  “What are they going to pay you with?” Krissy laughs. “Money doesn’t mean anything. What do you want? A lifetime supply of juice boxes?”

  “That would work,” Tony says and slowly reaches out for his handset. “I’d like that back now.”

  “Only if you promise to call the White House back,” Terrie says. “I know some people and I know how to tell if the people on the other end are legitimate or not.”

  “How?” Tony asks, his eyes narrowing. “Are you a government agent?”

  “Do I look like one?” Terrie asks.

  “Not really,” Tony says. “You’re an old woman. The government doesn’t hire old women.”

  Krissy laughs and Terrie shoots her a look. Krissy stops laughing, but not right away.

  “Call them for me, Tony,” Terrie says. “We may be able to get ourselves out of this mess.”

  Tony looks at Krissy and she nods her head a few times. He sighs and slumps his shoulders then takes the handset and starts fiddling with the box on the workbench.

  “I want half apple and half grape,” Tony says. “No, wait. I want a third apple, a third grape, and a third fruit punch. No, hold on…”

  He continues to mutter his juice box ratio demands as he tries to reconnect with the White House. Terrie and Krissy just let him mutter as he does his work, both trying not to look too hopeful.

  ***

  Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst are laid out on the concrete floor, Lowell sitting only a few feet away. He watches them carefully, looking for some sign that their situation is changing. But it isn’t, they just lie there, blood dried on their faces and necks, not moving a muscle except for the slow, rhythmic breathing they all do in unison.

  It has been hours since they succumbed to the power of the Substance, or whatever happened to them, and Lowell has been debating the entire time about what to do.

  “Okay, let’s go over the pros and cons one more time, shall we guys?” he asks aloud. “The pro of opening those doors and going back up is that I can maybe get you to a room that has beds and medical supplies. Plus food and water and all that jazz.”

  He waits for a response, not really expecting one.

  “The con being that we maybe didn’t kill the roly poly flesh beast and it’s maybe waiting outside those doors right now, its tentacles waving and all ready to ooze us into a paste it can slurp up with its feeding tube.”

  No response.

  “Not that I know it has a feeding tube,” Lowell continues. “It just stands to reason that it does. I mean, with all of those tentacles and that slappy flesh body, a feeding tube makes more sense than a mouth, right? Right.”

  He looks at the cart hold and sighs.

  “I say we go with the pro part,” Lowell says. “The good doctor is passed out, so no way for her to work on her theory of what’s happening with the Substance. The laptop is broken anyway. Even if she wakes up, she can’t do anything with the readings because there are no readings to do anything with.”

  He stands up and claps his hands together.

  “Pro, it is!”

  He goes into the cart hold and drives out a fresh one. It takes him a while to get Kyle, Lu, and Dr. Probst loaded onto the cart, but he manages it without smacking their heads around too much. Lowell drives the cart right over to the doors and then steps out and goes to the panel by the side.

  “Let’s hope this shit opens,” he says as he activates the doors. “Not cool if I can’t— Oh, hey, it’s opening.”

  Lowell moves back to the cart as the doors split apart slowly, the whole tunnel fills with the sounds of grating metal and gears grinding. He’s about to sit in the driver’s seat when his legs go out from under him and he is suddenly racing towards the gap in the doors.

  “Fuck!” he yells as he sees the tentacles waving and flapping through the gap, two of them wrapped around his ankles. “Oh, shit fuck!”

  Lowell lifts one foot up and brings the heel down on the tentacle holding his opposite leg. The tentacle splits open and black pus oozes everywhere. There’s a loud screech from the other side of the doors. Lowell doesn’t pause, repeating the motion with the other heel, splitting that tentacle too.

  Slipping and sliding in the black pus, Lowell scrambles back and gets into the cart, puts it in reverse, and slams home the accelerator. The cart squeals backwards and Lowell whips the wheel around, driving them all right into the cart hold. Then he looks over his shoulder at the ever widening gap between the doors.

  “Fuck,” he shouts as he jumps out of the cart and races to the panel.

  He smashes his hand against it over and over until the doors stop then reverses their direction, closing on the tentacled monster that is trying to squeeze its way into the tunnel. Lowell walks backwards, his eyes locked onto the monster as it struggles to keep from being crushed. The doors continue to close, their gears whining, whining, whining until there’s a loud crunch and smoke begins to waft about.

  The monster snarls and shrieks, causing to Lowell almost pisses himself. He turns about, panic about to grab hold of him, when he realizes he really only has one option.

  He rushes into the cart hold and picks a new cart, one without three unconscious bodies draped across it.

  “Sorry to bail on you all,” Lowell says as he backs the cart out. “But you’re getting the better end of this deal anyway. Good knowing you, Morgans and Dr. Probst. Hopefully you wake up and aren’t nasty monster things. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem.”

  He gets the cart out of the hold then jumps out and shuts the hold doors, sealing in Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst. The creature behind him screeches and Lowell looks back to see it almost all the way into the tunnel.

  “Shit,” he mumbles. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  He gets back into the cart and waits, watching over his shoulder for when the monster is finally free. Lowell has no idea if it takes seconds or minutes or hours, but the thing finally pops through and comes rolling right at him. He hits the accelerator and the cart shoots forward, the engine revving up until it hits its peak speed.

  “Come on, come on!” Lowell shouts, leaning forward in the driver’s seat. “Come on!”

  He glances back and the tentacled monster that was once Drs. Burkhorst, Scofield, and McDaniels is only a few yards back. And gaining. Lowell faces forward once more, his eyes focused now on the bright orange light at the end of the tunnel.

  The bright orange light he is racing right towards.

  “Okay, you slimy fuck,” he grunts. “Let’s see how you do when you get back to where you came from.”

  The monster shrieks and Lowell winces, wondering if the thing can actually hear him.

  “Yeah, suck it!” he shouts back over his shoulder. “You think you can get me? Fuck off! I’ve been running my whole fucking life! I’ve had monsters worse than you catch me and do things to a person that should never
be done! You think all those flappy tentacles scare me? They don’t!”

  Lowell’s knuckles pop as he grips the steering wheel. The sound of slapping tentacles against concrete is almost as loud as the whirring of the cart’s motor. Lowell pauses and cocks his head. No, it’s not the cart’s motor he hears. And it’s not whirring.

  It’s whispering.

  He can’t make out any of the words, but he knows he hears a voice. And the voice is directly in front of him, coming from out of the Substance, getting louder with every minute he gets closer.

  He is only a few meters from the massive opening and is surprised that he doesn’t feel any heat considering how bright the Substance is. Actually, he doesn’t seem to feel much of anything as he gets closer. His intent was to swerve at the last minute and let the tentacled monster blow past him into the Substance. But that intent, and any desire to not go inside, is quickly gone.

  “Ooh, pretty,” he whispers as he is three meters, two meters, one meter from the opening.

  Then he is inside and the world, his entire existence goes orange then black.

  There is a bright flash from the Substance and the tentacled monster rolls to a stop, its body pulsing and heaving as it waits just at the threshold of the opening.

  After a few seconds, there is another flash and a shape appears in the orange. A black shape, wavering and ethereal, that walks out of the opening and past the monster. It stops and studies the tentacled thing then reaches out and gives it a pat before walking over to the panel on the wall and pressing it with a hand that grows more substantial by the second.

  The opening begins to shut. The shape turns and solidifies, becoming a man of pure, pure ebony black. He has no facial features other than the rough outline of where a nose should sit and indentations where eyes would normally be peering out. The Ebony Man’s mouth opens and stretches into a grin, revealing row after row after row of pure white, razor sharp teeth.

  It says something to the tentacled monster then begins to walk away as the opening to the Substance closes. Soon the orange glow is gone as the door slams shut behind him. The Ebony Man continues down the tunnel, the halogen lights above sputtering and going dark as he passes.