by Greg Keyes
“Okay, class, listen up. In the midst of Godzilla’s attack on Apex Pensacola, I found some crazy tech with no official classification. What I saw didn’t match any of the engineering specs I’ve ever seen, so what are they working on in such a black-ops secrecy room? This could be the thread that finally unravels the Apex sweater of conspiracy. You better believe I’m gonna keep tugging. For now I’m secure, anonymous and hiding in plain sight…”
It took a while, but she found it. The thing about the bleach, and Chinese grocery stores…
She jerked at the loud bang outside of her window, her reflexes immediately pulling her back in time, to the gunfire in the Monarch facility in China, the bodies everywhere, people she knew, alive one minute, gone the next. And then later, in Antarctica, all of those people…
She jumped up and ran to the window, heart thumping, but there were no guns, just a van backfiring. An ugly, dirty, beat-to-pieces van. Music blared from within; her friend Josh sat in the driver’s seat.
She smiled. She had known he would come through.
She grabbed her things and ran down to the curb. Josh had stepped out, meeting her halfway to her door. As usual, his mop of dark hair was in disarray, and he looked put-upon. He was here, obviously, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“Just to be clear,” Josh said, scowling at her through his black-rimmed glasses, “my brother can never know.”
“To be clear,” Madison retorted, nodding at the junked-up van, “even if we got into an accident, I don’t think he could tell.”
Josh started for the driver’s seat, but Madison beat him to it.
“No, no, no,” he said. “My brother would never let you drive.”
“My mission,” Madison said. “My wheel.”
He reluctantly walked around to the passenger window, but he stopped, a conflicted expression on his face, one that she had come to know quite well.
“I just don’t think it’s the best idea to go looking for some secret weirdo off the internet,” he opined. “We had a school assembly about literally exactly this.”
“He’s not a weirdo,” Madison said, putting her hair up in a ponytail. “He’s a covert investigator, the only one looking for the truth about Godzilla and Apex.”
“So let him look,” Josh said. “Why do we have to help him?”
“Because if we don’t, nobody else will.”
She caught his gaze and held it. “So you coming or not?”
Josh sighed. “Obviously I’m coming,” he said. He reached for the door handle and pulled. Nothing happened.
“It’s stuck,” he said.
As she hit the gas and started to peel out, he yanked open the sliding door in the back and scrambled in, hollering the whole time.
ELEVEN
“Talk! Converse! Do not moan or wail. Talk, each of you to your kind, within your type,” they were told—the deer, the birds, the pumas, the jaguars, the serpents. “Say our names. Revere us, we who are your mother and your father. Speak, and say: ‘Huracan, New Thunderbolt, and Brutal Thunderbolt, Heart of Sky and Heart of Earth, Creators, Formers, Bearer of Children.’ Speak! Pray to us! Venerate us!” they were told. But they could not speak like people. Instead they screeched, chattered, bellowed. Their language was not understood because each one made a different noise. When the Creators, the Formers heard this, they said, “This has not turned out well. They cannot speak. They are not able to name us. We made them. This is not good.” The animals were therefore told: “You will be changed, replaced, because you could not speak.”
From Popol Vuh: Sacred Book of the Quiché Maya
Pensacola
Josh reached over from the back to turn off the radio, but he slipped and his hand hit the wheel. Madison beat him back.
“We’ve been listening to this dude for hours,” Josh complained.
“Knock it off,” Madison snapped. “This is the part I was telling you about.”
“…because one or two gallons won’t cut it, I need my bleach in bulk ya’ll because spy dust is real. Soviet-designed pollination technique, invisible to the naked eye, need special UV to know you been marked and I’m taking exactly zero chances here.”
Madison switched it off.
“That’s how we find him,” she said. “The bleach.”
“Bleach?” Josh said.
“He consumes tons of bleach,” Madison clarified.
“He drinks it?”
“Showers with it,” Madison said.
“Oh, yeah,” Josh said. “Wait, what?”
“Prevention against organic tracking technology,” she said. “See? Tradecraft.”
“Drinking would have made more sense,” Josh muttered.
There were a lot more places near the plant that sold bleach than Madison would have thought, but they were able to narrow things down; Mad Truth liked Asian grocery stores. He had done a whole podcast on why, but it was not one of the more coherent or memorable ones. It seemed to have something to do with wherever he had lived before moving to Pensacola.
“Really?” Josh sighed, as they piled out of the van in front of yet another grocery store.
“Yes,” Madison said. “Just one more place.”
“It’s just, it’s getting old,” Josh said. But he followed her in.
It was an everything-sort-of store. Outside, they passed huge bags of various kinds of rice and open produce boxes full of ginger, bok choy, empty-heart vegetable, taro, chiles, and twenty other assorted vegetables. In the front were a few tables, and a string of red paper lanterns, and in the back a guy tossing something in a wok. But there were also shelves full of colorfully packaged foodstuffs, cooking gear, bowls, plates, flip-flops, postcards, tanks full of live fish, canned goods … a real general store. Madison made straight for the guy at the register.
“Hey,” she said. “You sell bleach?”
The man looked at her suspiciously. “Is this another one of those internet challenge things?” he asked. “Because when I sold those kids all those detergent pods, I had no idea they were gonna eat them. I’m still dealing with the lawsuits.”
“I told you this wouldn’t work,” Josh said.
“Look,” Madison told them man, “we’re looking for a guy who works for Apex industries and buys a lot of bleach. Like every night.”
“Probably paranoid,” Josh added, “high strung, doesn’t really like daylight, lots of leftover crumbs in his beard, if he has a beard…”
“Look,” the man said. “You kids want some candy? Because I can help you with candy.”
Madison felt her fuse starting to shorten. “Look at me in the eye, okay,” she said. “I need information—”
Josh slapped a ten-dollar bill on the counter.
“We want lots of candy,” Josh said.
“Josh,” Madison began, “What are you—”
“Oh!” the guy said. “You mean Bernie. Yeah, I know that guy. Buys like a ton of bleach.”
Madison and Josh exchanged a surprised look.
“I know where he is, too,” the fellow went on. “If you buy a live fish, I’ll give you his address.”
* * *
A few minutes later they were at the address the man had given them. Madison knocked on the door. Nothing happened, and she was about to knock again when there was a sudden loud crashing sound from inside, as if someone had thrown a kitchen’s worth of pots and pans on the floor.
“Bernie!” Madison shouted.
There was a light pause.
“Mister Bernie not at home,” someone finally responded, in a weird accent that dithered between being Spanish or Russian or something else entirely.
“That was definitely Mister Bernie,” Josh whispered.
“Listen,” Madison said. “We want to talk about Apex … and Godzilla.”
A sudden buzzing drew her attention to a camera on the wall.
“No! Ah, no! I’ve got your faces!” the Spanish Russian said. “I contact the authorities!”
“For what?�
�� Josh said. “Knocking on your door?”
“Bernie, you don’t trust the authorities,” Madison said. “Bernie—please. My name is Madison Russell. My father works for Monarch. My mother was—”
The door flew open. Standing there was a man wearing welding goggles and holding what looked like a modified Taser gun. He lifted the goggles, staring at her with wide eyes.
“Emma Russell,” he said. “Right?”
“That’s right,” she said.
He looked dubiously at Josh.
“And this guy?”
“He’s all right.”
Bernie glanced behind him into his house, then seemed to think better of it.
“Wait here,” he said. “I know a place we can go.”
* * *
The “place” was a Chinese restaurant, lit almost entirely by red neon. Madison was surprised at how hungry she was and realized she hadn’t had breakfast, or anything since. The three of them ate, mostly in silence, with Bernie eying them furtively from time to time. But when they were done, Bernie pulled out a notebook and leafed through it. From what she could see, it was filled with rambling notes and clippings. He stopped on a page labeled “Emma Russell.”
“Before we go any further,” Bernie said, “I’ve got one question—tap or no tap?”
That was an easy one, if you had listened to any of his podcasts.
“No tap,” Madison said.
“Excuse me?” Josh said. “What is tap?”
“Water,” Bernie said. “They put fluoride in it. Learned it from the Nazis.”
“The theory is it makes you docile,” Madison said. “Easy to manipulate.”
“I drink tap water,” Josh admitted.
“Yeah,” Bernie said, “I kinda figured that. But she does the thinking for both of you, so it should be all right.”
“Thanks?” Josh said.
“Okay,” Bernie said, turning his attention back to Madison. “Whatya got?”
“I believe Godzilla’s most recent attacks haven’t been just random,” she said. “I think he targeted Apex.”
Bernie looked her over. He seemed to like what he heard, but he also seemed … well, paranoid. Of course, if half of the stuff he laid out in his podcasts was true, he had a right to be.
“I’m of the same opinion,” he finally said.
“But why?” Madison asked. “What is Apex up to that’s provoking him?”
She didn’t want to bring up her own suspicions just yet; she wanted to hear what he had to say before giving up that much.
Bernie lowered his voice further. “You know,” he said, “for five years I’ve embedded myself inside this company. Trying to figure out what their game was. I started at a plant in Port Huron making ELF transmitters. Not like the elfs from the North Pole, which is something they tried to cover up for years…”
“Got it,” Madison said. She had heard the North Pole stuff. Bernie had done three podcasts about it. Mad Truth—Bernie—could get really derailed by the North Pole stuff.
“Okay,” Bernie said. He looked like he was trying to focus. “Then one day the design changed—they wanted us to create a circuit that conducted bone. Bone! Did some snooping, found out those transmitters were being sent here, to the Pensacola factory. So I asked for a transfer.”
He produced a thumb drive, holding it like it was the most valuable thing on Earth.
“Then last week I stole this—a manifest of heavy cargo sent from here to Apex headquarters in Hong Kong, which makes no sense because we are not equipped for heavy shipping.”
He smiled slightly and leaned back in the booth. Like the case was closed.
“And then what?” Josh asked.
“And then, boom, Godzilla shows up. Caved in half of the facility, but gave me a quick look at some suspicious tech inside a secret bunker—some pretty suspicious tech.”
Bernie had been leaning closer to Josh as he spoke; Madison saw Josh’s eyes flick down and widen.
“Yeah, but, uh … what is that?” Josh asked.
Madison saw it too—a concealed gun holster.
Bernie reached into his jacket and drew out a flask.
“This?” he said. “Katzunari single malt whisky.”
“Yeah,” Josh said. “But it’s in a gun holster.”
Bernie looked at him blankly for a moment.
“It was a gift from my Sara,” he finally said.
“You have a Sara?” Josh said.
“Had,” Bernie said. “She was my wife. She passed on.”
He flipped through his notebook until he came to a picture. He held it so they could see. It was the two of them together. She looked happy and sweet, and the smile on her face could have lit up ten rooms at least.
“Lost her in a car accident,” he said. “Happened a week after she left her job … at Apex Industries.” He let that hang for a second, his eyes on the picture. Then he looked back up at them. “She was my rock. My true love. I’ll tell you something,” he said, indicating the whisky. “The day this is empty, that’s the day you’ll know I’ve given up.”
Bernie stared back at the picture of Sara, and Madison knew that look. It was what she probably looked like when she saw the old family pictures, the ones with Andrew and Mom. Still alive, still smiling.
She had read a book once that said that every time a person died an entire universe was lost, a universe with planets and stars and infinite space and unlike any other universe that had ever or ever would exist. That was how she felt when she thought about Mom and Andrew. And she could see that was how Bernie felt about Sara. He had lost a universe; they had that in common. But what Madison had trouble imagining was how lonely Bernie must feel; because no matter how screwed up things got for her, she’d always had someone. Yeah, her dad was dismissing her right now. But he was there. And even though school in general was awful, she did have Josh.
Bernie didn’t have anyone but an audience. He needed a partner in crime. And she needed that, too. And loss was not the only thing they had in common. There was also Godzilla.
“Bernie,” she said, “I think we can help each other.”
“Okay,” Josh said, a little nervously. “I guess, now we’re a team, I feel like we should have a plan.”
To Madison, that part was obvious. And she knew Bernie was on the same page just as surely as if she could read his mind.
“We’re breaking into Apex,” she told Josh.
“Wait, what?” Josh said, as Madison got up and headed toward the door.
“You heard her, Tap Water,” Bernie said.
“Well … shit,” Josh said.
Tasman Sea
Ilene watched as Kong tucked into the several metric tons of fish one of the trawlers accompanying them deposited on the deck. They had packed away a ship’s worth or two of concentrated protein rations in case they had a few bad catches, but so far, the sea had provided well, and Kong seemed to enjoy the catch well enough. She had been trying to engage him in conversation, but since demonstrating he could sign, Kong hadn’t been inclined to do so. Not with her, anyway. She had hoped he would, now that the secret was out. It would be better if Jia wasn’t the only one who communicated with him. She hadn’t been getting anywhere, but once the food arrived, she knew it was hopeless. So instead she went to see the other half of the equation. Jia.
She paused at the door to her quarters. Jia was there, drawing, her Kong doll near at hand. For an instant she might have been any little girl, anywhere. But she wasn’t, was she? She had suffered unimaginable loss. Ilene had believed she could fill part of that void, and perhaps she had. But until now, she hadn’t realized to what extent Kong and the girl had a hold on each other. She knew that Jia was emotionally connected to Kong, but she had never realized that the relationship went both ways, or how strong it was. Strong enough for Jia to lie to her—or at least to omit the truth.
She sat on the bed.
Why didn’t you tell me? she signed. You know I’ve been trying to communic
ate with him. To understand.
He didn’t want you to know, the girl replied. He was afraid.
Afraid of what? Ilene wondered. But now she knew; Kong did not trust her. And after what had been done to him—what she had allowed to happen to him—he probably never would.
“Now everyone knows,” Ilene said.
Jia nodded, continuing to draw.
If he had talked to me, maybe things would be different, Ilene said. Does he understand that?
I told him that, Jia said. He didn’t believe me. Now I’m not sure either.
What do you mean? All I want to do is protect him.
Jia paused for a moment. Her face was without expression, which Ilene took to be a bad sign. The Iwi expressed so much meaning in their facial and body language that when they chose to be neutral, it could be interpreted as an active sign of distrust.
You have him tied up, Jia said. It is not the first time. He doesn’t know how you make him sleep, but he doesn’t like it. It makes him helpless. He is helpless now. Are you stronger than a Skullcrawler? If one comes to get him, could you stop it?
There are no Skullcrawlers here, Ilene replied.
No, Jia signed. Worse. Godzilla is out here. You say what you are doing is best, but if Godzilla comes, you cannot protect him.
You saw all of these ships, Ilene said. All of the flying machines. They can protect him.
Do you really believe that? Jia said. Kong knows what is best for Kong. No one else should get to say. That is why he doesn’t trust you.
And you? Ilene asked. Do you trust me?
You do what you think is best, she replied. But you are not Kong. And you are not… She stopped signing and went back to her drawing.
Ilene felt her breath catch in her throat.
I’m not Jia, she signed. I’m not you. Is that what you meant to say?
Jia didn’t answer, but she turned the picture around.
It was a drawing of Kong, lying down. He was surrounded by human figures bearing spears, maybe twenty of them, but most of them didn’t have legs. From what Ilene knew of Iwi iconography, that meant they were ghosts, or ancestors. Only two of the figures had legs; one was smaller than the other. At the edge of the picture Jia had colored a dark cloud, and in it a pair of evil-looking eyes. It appeared to be entering the frame, coming down on the helpless Kong. The human figures had their spears pointed up toward the cloud.