by JE Gurley
The sub captain turned and strode down the corridor to the sonar room, leaving Walker standing there with more unanswered questions. Seeing his plight, the XO walked over.
“Don’t think too badly of him, Major. He’s under a lot of strain. Our orders are unclear and we’re not certain exactly what ships are available to back us up, if any. Communications between U.S., British, and Australian units is all routed through USPACOM. We play hell getting timely updates.” He glanced toward the sonar room. “His younger brother was a warrant officer on the Colorado.”
Walker nodded. “I see. We’ve both been left standing with our asses in the breeze. Please offer him my condolences. My men could use some chow. No time for sleeping.” He looked at the manila envelope marked ‘Top Secret.’ “Have you seen my orders?”
Dobbs nodded. “I have and I wouldn’t blame you for taking an Article 92 instead. An Australian C-17 Globemaster did a low flyby four hours ago and airdropped a container for us. It’s in the missile room awaiting your inspection.”
Walker’s curiosity got the better of him. If the XO thought a court martial for refusing to carry out an order might be preferable to completing his mission, it must be one for the crapper. “What is it, a baby nuke?”
Dobbs cleared his throat. “It’s an NBC all right,” he replied using the term for Nuclear, Biological, or Chemical weapons, “but not a nuke. It’s a chemical called K-2, a nerve toxin derived from Wasp venom. They discovered that in concentrated doses it’s as deadly to the alien tissue as it is to humans. Some asshat in a lab coat decided to mix it with Novichok A-230, a Russian acetyl cholinesterase inhibitor. It escaped their testing room and killed fourteen people. It’s some deadly shit. The captain is not happy about having it aboard. Neither am I. You’ll be delivering two canisters containing tiny nanites infused with K-2.” At Walker’s raised eyebrow at the word nanites, he explained, “They’re microscopic organic robot factories, viruses really, that make more K-2 from the Kaiju’s own tissue. Theoretically, you simply set the timers on the canisters and run like hell. The nanites will infiltrate the creature’s body via its bloodstream.”
“They couldn’t have designed this weapon for this specific Kaiju. They’re assuming the aliens aren’t making improvements based on any data the previous creatures transmitted before Langston took out the communications node on the moon. They’re just sending us in hoping they’re right.”
Dobbs’ face clouded. “The alternative is a nuclear strike. It might kill the creature, but it could just as easily precipitate a war. Countries like Iran and Korea are itching to push the button, hoping to add to the chaos and pick up what real estate they can grab in the aftermath. China has issued warnings that it will consider a nuclear detonation anywhere in the South Pacific as a Western attack on Micronesia and will defend its island neighbor comrades with all its might. I’m quoting there,” he added.
“Aliens are trying to destroy the Earth and countries are still trying to out-piss one another. I hope one of these bastards lands in downtown Beijing in the middle of Red Square and stomps some commie ass.”
“We can always hope. Major Walker, I agree with you about your mission. The chances of success on your first Kaiju mission were equally dismal; and yet, you succeeded. I’m betting on you.”
“The three of us who survived escaped only because of Commander Langston’s sacrifice. This one doesn’t have a control module; at least NASA hasn’t discovered one yet. It’s autonomous, therefore capable of making decisions based on its environment and any threats it encounters. It’s more dangerous than all three previous Kaiju combined.” He crunched the envelope in his hand. “This is a death warrant for my team, and Washington expects me to deliver it.”
“But you’ll deliver it,” Dobbs said.
Walker sighed. “What choice do I have? Someone has to try it. I’ve been inside one of those things. I know what to expect, and what I expect is that the aliens are one step ahead of us this time.”
“Good luck, sir.”
“Lieutenant Commander, I’ll take all the luck I can get.”
By the time he reached the forward missile room where his team was waiting, he had built up a head of steam at the callous manner in which the brass was using his team. He slowly looked them all in the eyes. Costas, who could read his moods, frowned. Walker held out the envelope for them to see. Their gazes followed its movement as he waved it around.
“Here are our orders.” He wadded the envelope and tossed it to the deck. Several pairs of eyes followed the envelope’s path to the deck. “Most of you, perhaps all of us, won’t be coming back from this one. I won’t bore you with details or try to sway you with tales of heroic sacrifice and do-or-die efforts. You’re all volunteers. This is the mission they’ve assigned us, and we will perform it to the best of our abilities. However, if any of you feel your lives are too important to waste trying to save the world, step forward, and I’ll release you for other assignments, no hard feelings. Hell, I might join you.”
Captain McGregor shifted in his seat, appearing slightly uncomfortable with the tone of Walker’s speech.
“You’ve all been inside one of these creatures. You know what it’s like. I can only add that in a fully sentient Kaiju, the creature’s biological security system is ten times worse. I’m sure you’ve viewed the video Doctor Phillip Rutherford filmed during our little venture inside Nusku.” A few heads nodded. “That’s the equivalent of watching a battle on TV rather than participating in it.” He paused to let that sink in. Whatever resistance the S.E.A.L.S had met inside the dead Kaiju Girra, it had been undirected, random attacks. “The aliens are smart. We don’t know where these Kaiju pods originate or how long they’ve been in transit. This one could simply be number four in the series, identical to the others, or more likely, they’ve made a few adjustments to compensate for us obstinate humans.”
He directed their attention to the two unlabeled black neoprene canisters, each the size of a quarter-barrel beer keg, sitting conspicuously in the center of the room. “Gentlemen, let me introduce you to our Kaiju killer.”
Before he could begin, the ship’s intercom, the 1MC, came alive. “This is the captain. We’ve picked up a distress call from the cruise ship Radiant Princess. The same creatures that sank the Colorado have attacked her. She’s sinking. Despite my orders, I will not allow a civilian vessel to go under without trying to rescue as many passengers as possible and protecting the rest until more rescue ships can arrive to assist. Major Walker, will you please come to the control room? I have a mission for you and your team.”
Costas smiled. “Lock and load, boys! Looks like we got some Kaiju ass stompin’ to do.”
6
Saturday, Dec. 16, 6:15 a.m. Kiritimati Island, Republic of Kiribati –
Teana Moss was confused. She had walked from her home in Tabwakea to her job at the Beach House Fishing Lodge only to find the doors locked. She saw the owner, Kema Tebura, peeking furtively out the second-story window at her, but he wouldn’t answer her repeated calls, only lowered the shades. It was a lousy job, answering telephones and booking guests, but it was better than being a housekeeper at the Captain Cook Hotel or working with her father at the copra groves. At twelve years old, she had seen herself living in New Zealand or Australia by the time she was eighteen, attending a university. Now, at twenty, she knew her dream would never happen. She would never leave Kiritimati.
On the way back home, she noticed how deserted the beaches were. Usually, in December, tourists lazed in the sun on the sugar-white sand or cast their lines in the surf for fish. Some chose to wade in the shallow offshore flats to fish for bonefish, trevally, or giant triggerfish. She saw no one. Had she missed a holiday? Unlikely. On an island as tiny as Kiritimati, any holiday was a cause for celebration. She supposed by Kiribati standards, Tabwakea was populous with twenty-three-hundred people living there. In fact, Kiritimati comprised seventy percent of all the land area of the thirty-three islands of the Republic of
Kiribati.
She left the path and cut across the shrub-covered grassland to her home, sniffing the fragrant white blossoms of naupaka and bay cedar shrubs. Butterflies fluttered around the naupaka tasting their sweet nectar. She tore off a thick, succulent naupaka leaf and rubbed the oil on her hands to soften her skin. Fresh holes in the dirt showed where feral pigs had been rooting for grubs beneath some of the plants, exposing their roots. She raked the dirt back over them with the side of her shoe.
She suspected something was wrong when she saw old Chun Lao sitting on his porch smoking one his awful-smelling Chinese cigarettes. Chun took his small boat out very day, rain or shine, to catch trevally or crab for the hotel’s kitchen. Only something dreadful would keep him off the water. She was hesitant to approach him. Although she had been born on Kiritimati and spoke Gilbertese as fluently as she did English, he still didn’t consider her a true I-Kiribati. Her grandfather had been a member of the American 102nd Infantry Regiment stationed on the island during WWII. He had fallen in love with the island and its people, married an island girl –her grandmother – and never left.
Chun Lao glanced up at her as she approached him and laid his still burning cigarette on the edge of the porch.
“Why is the Beach House closed?” she asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” he asked in his low rumble of a voice.
“Heard what? Our television is acting up. I can’t get a signal.”
“One of those Kaiju things smashed into Maiana yesterday evening. It wiped out all the islands around it. Tarawa’s gone.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs beneath her breasts. The air suddenly seemed too thin to breathe. She clasped a hand to her chest and pressed against her sternum to quiet her runaway heart. Her legs turned to jelly. She plopped down on the porch beside Chun. She had heard a noise like distant thunder in the night, but thought it was a passing storm. She had known it was the screams of thousands of people dying.
She noticed Chun’s double-barreled shotgun lying on the other side of him. He claimed he used it to hunt feral pigs and to shoot nosey sharks that got too close to his boat, but she had heard rumors that he had been known to take pot shots at people he thought were raiding his crab traps. He seemed the type of person who would shoot at another human being, cold, always on the verge of anger.
“Tarawa gone?” she asked when she found her voice, hoping she had misheard Chun.
He nodded. “The tsunami swept over half the islands in the Phoenix chain too. Didn’t you hear the surf pounding last night? We had five-foot waves crashing on the beach.”
She shook her head. “I went to bed early because I had to work today.”
“I think everyone took the day off,” he said as he stared to the west. “I did.”
“What’s the shotgun for?” she asked.
He frowned. “When Kaiju attacked the U.S., the flying monsters carried people off and fed them to the Kaiju.” He patted the shotgun. “It’s not happening to me.”
She stood. “I have to go home. My parents …”
She turned and raced away. When she arrived home, her father had already left for his job as supervisor at the copra groves. He mother met her at the door, her face ashen. Her eyes darted to the sky to the west.
“Mrs. Pelu was just here. She said …”
“I know. Chun told me. What are we going to do?”
“Pack a bag. Quickly!” she added when Teana stood there staring at her. “We’re going to the airport and leaving the island.”
“Where …?” she began to ask; then shook her head. It didn’t matter where they went. “We have to go to the grove and get Father first.”
“He didn’t go to work. He’s at the airport buying tickets. We’ll meet him there. Hurry!”
Her mind was in a fog. She didn’t know what to pack. She stood in her room and surveyed her life’s possessions. Her CD player and collection of CDs, her television, her seashell collection, her photo albums – she had room for none of them. She settled on two pair of shoes, a good dress, a few pair of shorts and shirts, and underwear. After a moment’s hesitation, she threw her iPad, her hairbrush, and a handful of toiletry items into the overstuffed bag.
Her mother was waiting at the door, a large suitcase in each hand, and her purse slung over her shoulder. “We’ll take the canoe across the lagoon,” she said. “It’s too far to walk carrying heavy luggage.”
They tossed the bags into the small outrigger canoe pulled up on the beach and pushed it into the water. Teana paddled as fast as she ever had in her life, picking the most direct path through the coral reefs and small inter-connected lagoons. They reached the far side of the lagoon in fifteen minutes. She didn’t bother beaching the canoe. She leaped into the shallow water and grabbed her suitcase. They carried one of the large suitcases together to share the burden. They hurried through the town of Banana, seeing hardly anyone on the streets. The shops were closed, the shutters pulled tight. Even the bus from the town to the airport wasn’t running. It sat empty and driverless on the side of the road.
Cassidy International Airport had three airlines – Fiji Airways, Air Kiribati, and Coral Sun Airlines. Most of the latter’s planes were large enough for local hops to Tarawa or Canton, but Tarawa was gone, possibly Canton too. Fiji Airways operated a Boeing 737 into Kiritimati from Nadi, Fiji, for the crowds of fisherman visiting the island. The big 737 sat on the runway preparing to leave.
Her family wasn’t the only people wanting to leave the island. The small terminal building buzzed with the noise of the frightened crowd. It seemed as if half the island was there. She knew many of the people but didn’t recognize their faces. Instead of their normal island serenity, they wore masks of fear and anger. The harried ticket clerk behind the counter argued with three people simultaneously, as they attempted to buy tickets by shoving handfuls of cash at her. Most of the crowd was islanders.
The fishermen had purchased round-trip tickets. They were standing outside apart from the crowd, waiting to board the jet. She spotted her father by the door waving to them.
“Teana! Soria!” he yelled.
She and her mother rushed over to him.
Her father’s normally placid mien was twisted into anger and disappointment. He nodded at the strident crowd. “Look at them. Animals! There are no more tickets available. I bought the last three. People are paying all they have for tickets to anywhere on anything leaving the island. I don’t know where they think they’re going. Most of these planes don’t have the range to get them anywhere safe.”
The fear was a virus, contagious, affecting everyone it touched. The islanders had always thought themselves safe secreted thousands of miles from the troubles of the world, but overnight, they had become the center of a crisis, a second alien attack. Not since the bitter horrors of World War II, or the second horror of forced displacement during the nuclear tests, had they felt so helpless and so lost. The earth had been pulled from beneath their feet, leaving them floundering in the murky waters of apprehension.
Teana knew, because she shared their terror. It had no taste, color, or smell. She could not point to it and say, “That is what I am afraid of.” Most, like her, had not seen the Kaiju in America even on television. Their sheltered lives had no room for the misery and misfortunes of others. Hurricanes, tsunamis, poor fishing, poverty – these they knew and understood. Tales of monsters were for frightening small children. Now, they knew the monsters were real.
As soon as the boarding ladder rolled up to the 737 jet, the people waiting with tickets rushed the plane, fighting for a place on the steps. The stewardess didn’t look at the tickets or check their names against her passenger list. She stood aside as they thrust their tickets and boarding passes at her. The crowd inside the terminal saw the plane loading and started for the doors as well.
“Come on,” he father yelled.
They raced toward the 737 with her father waving their tickets in the air. Behind them, the frightened islanders
– their neighbors and friends – had become a frenzied mob fighting to exit the building. The press of the crowd shoved the people at the forefront into the glass doors, crushing them against the glass with the weight of the crowd. Finally, the glass doors and adjacent window wall smashed and shattered. The people pressed against it fell, trampled beneath the feet of the mob.
Teana reached the steps ahead of her father and mother. Above the noise of the 737’s engines, another sound, more ominous for its unnaturalness, like the flapping of hundreds of sails luffing in a changing wind, filled the air. Teana glanced up and saw a cloud of giant winged creatures descending on the island from the west. Their black and orange bodies gave them the appearance of bumblebees, but all resemblance to earth creatures ended there. They swooped and hovered on double pairs of leathery wings. Vicious, razor-edged talons tipped their eight, multi-jointed legs. A three-foot-long stinger protruded from the rear of their abdomen.
A section of the swarm broke away and dipped down among the houses of the village of Tabwakea. They rose into the air again moments later grasping struggling people in their forelegs. They turned west toward their master, the Kaiju, laden with their human offerings. Teana heard Chun’s shotgun fire twice in the distance and then went quiet. She waited, hoping he reloaded, but it remained silent.
The largest part of the swarm, numbering in the hundreds, continued across the island toward the airport. She stood transfixed in horror, as the swarm split again. Scores of creatures attacked Banana, repeating the grisly process they used in Tabwakea. They were near enough to see the blazing orange strips of their eyes and to hear the dying screams of their victims. The people around her finally began to comprehend the danger. Many of them raced for the jet, while others either ran back toward the safety of the terminal building or raced across the runways toward the surrounding trees.
Close up, the creatures, Wasps, she now remembered their names, were even more terrifying. They were savage, mindless creatures serving one purpose: providing fuel for the Kaiju. Jagged rows of teeth like the edges of band saw blades filled their mouths. Their stingers dripped drops of viscous, milky venom and were long enough to skewer a human body. They dove toward the tarmac.