“Exactly,” Richard said. He began retreating back down the hall toward the aquarium. “We need to be on top of this. Besides, those idiots at the national weather bureau are still arguing about the storm and where it’s going to hit. They say it will stay down south, but you know how that goes. I think we should expect the worst and hold down the fort here.”
“I agree.”
“Good. Start making plans to batten down the hatches. They’ve already brought the seals in from the outside tanks, and sealed over the rain forest’s windows.” The aquarium had an actual walk through replica of an Amazonian rainforest, with greenhouse-style windows facing the sky. “Call around and see if you can get some footage of these creatures. We’ll see if we can get a comparison going.”
“Comparison to what? You saw them yourself. There’s nothing like them in the fossil record. This is an entirely new species we’re talking about.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just worried, is all.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m worried, too.”
“I’m going to make sure my wife is okay, and then I’ll check in with you.”
“Go,” she urged. “Just be careful.”
“You, too.”
Richard headed toward the exit and Jennifer Wasco turned her attention to the television. Part of her was excited, but another part was scared to death. And as she started making phone calls to her parents in Hunt Valley to check in with them and assure them she was okay, she couldn’t help but think again about the original story that had first sparked her interest in all of this; something that happened off the coast of New England the government had allegedly covered up. It was all rumor, of course, and the official story was that a hurricane wiped an entire town off the face of the earth. But the rumors remained— creatures that were half crab and half scorpion, along with some other species that couldn’t be described. She’d always wondered if the stories were true. Her research had turned up nothing.
But now the very subject of that research had turned up along the nation’s coast.
She hoped that Richard would make it home okay to his wife, and that he’d find her safe and sound when he arrived. Then she found herself wishing—not for the first time—that she had a family of her own to worry about. Her parents were getting older, but they were self-sufficient and active, a by-product of their generation. They were nothing like how she remembered her grandparents. Jennifer was an only child. No siblings, and as a result, no nieces or nephews. She wanted a child. She loved children, got along well with them. Her friends told her to adopt, or get a sperm donor, but she wanted to go about it the old fashioned way. She wanted more than just a child. She wanted a family. She wanted a man, someone she could love and who loved her—an equal partner, in both marriage and parenting. But with the demands of her career, Jennifer had little time for a social life. Now here she was, early thirties, and not a single date in the last nine months. Her last serious boyfriend, Stan, had been a risk analyst for the MBNA credit card company and worked at their office in Hunt Valley. They’d had absolutely nothing in common except for sex, and they’d differed even on that. The first time he’d asked her if they could introduce another partner to her bed, she’d balked. He’d broke up with her soon after.
Jennifer’s sole companion was her cat, Tucker, and he ignored her most of the time, unless he wanted to be fed. She thought of him, worrying, hoping he was okay. She was sure he would be. She’d left plenty of water in his dish, and if that ran low, he’d drink from the toilet (which he seemed to prefer anyway).
The television interrupted her thoughts. The Breaking News logo flashed across the screen.
Breaking news, she thought. What could be more important than what’s happening out there right now?
Jennifer turned the volume up.
“…meteorologists say it defies all logic, but they have confirmed that Hurricane Gary has indeed abruptly changed course. It is now expected to skirt the Carolina and Virginian coasts, shoot up the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay, and make landfall around Baltimore and the nation’s capitol.”
Jennifer gasped. “Jesus Christ. Welcome to life at ground zero.”
Sighing, she turned the television’s volume down and began leafing through the reports she’d collected over the last several years, trying again to piece it all together, and adding the new information. After twenty minutes, she rubbed her eyes. There were so many unknowns, so much information they still lacked. If only she could see a captive specimen, have an opportunity to view one up close.
She paused in her reading, and smiled. It occurred to her that she did have the opportunity. The creatures were here, according to the news. No deep-sea dive was needed. No rushing to inspect a Japanese fishing trawler’s nets. No examining a grainy photo on some half-baked cryptozoology website. They were in Maryland.
And so was she…
Jennifer’s cell phone rang—playing her favorite riff by the Dixie Chicks.
“Hello?”
“Jen?” Dr. Linnenberg, his voice almost lost beneath the static. “Jennifer?”
“I’m here, Richard. Where are you?”
“Stuck on 83. I made it about two miles. The roads are packed. Have you heard?”
“The storm changed course? Yes, they just announced it.”
“You need to initiate final evacuation procedures, make sure all personnel are gone, and then get out of there yourself.”
“Will do.”
“My God…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Unbelievable.”
Jennifer grew concerned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“A bunch of teenagers are looting this tractor trailer. It’s sitting in the breakdown lane. I think they might be gang members or something. One of them has a gun just sticking out of his waistband. In broad daylight.”
“Lock your car doors,” Jennifer said. “Can you get off the highway?”
“No, and I don’t recommend you take it when you
leave, either. Where will you go? Your parent’s place in Hunt Valley?”
“No,” Jennifer said, staring at the television. “Actually, a thought occurred to me just as you called. I’m not going to Hunt Valley.”
“Good idea. The storm will reach there, too. What’s your plan? Head up into Pennsylvania?”
“No. Ocean City.”
Richard squawked in surprise. “What? But that’s where—”
He paused, unable to finish the sentence. Jennifer’s silence was answer enough.
“No,” he said. “I absolutely forbid it. You can’t—”
“Richard, this connection is really bad. I can’t hear you.”
“Jennifer, you listen to me and you listen good. I do not—”
“Be careful, Richard. Get home safe. Sarah needs you.”
“Jennif—”
She thumbed the off button. Her cell phone went dead.
“Ground Zero,” she repeated.
She could stay here and wait for Hurricane Gary to make landfall, or she could head further south, closer to where the creatures had been sighted, and observe them from a distance and try to learn more about them.
“Frying pan or fire,” she muttered. “It’s not like I had plans tonight, anyway.”
* * *
Taneytown, Maryland
4:56 PM
Colonel Livingston had his bag packed and was just about to exit the house when the phone rang.
May answered it. “Hello?”
Livingston paused, watching May. She’d called her son, convinced him to come north, and had been glued to the television ever since. Now she passed the phone to him wordlessly. He mouthed, “Who is it?” and she shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said, and turned back to the TV.
Livingston put the phone to his ear. “Yes.”
“Colonel Livingston?” He couldn’t place the voice.
“Speaking.”
There was a pause. “They’re back. They’re doing what I told you they would do. Remember?
And after they come, then—”
With dawning apprehension, Livingston recognized the voice.
“Sychek?” He whispered. “Rick Sychek?”
The voice stopped. Confirmation.
“My name is William,” Rick insisted.
“How did…how…” How did you get my phone number? A silly question, really. Somehow, Rick always found a way to track him down. He’d been doing it for well over a decade now.
“You know what’s going to happen next, right, Colonel? You remember?”
“Yes,” the old man said, gripping the receiver. His stomach sank.
“Do you know how many times I tried to warn them?” Rick asked. “Sons of bitches. They wouldn’t listen to me. Instead, they just wanted to make me disappear. Well, I disappeared all right. And now that the shit is happening right before our eyes again, do you think they’re—”
“I just got the call,” Livingston said. “I’m being reactivated.”
“Reactivated?” Rick paused for a moment. “But you retired.”
“Not anymore. They need me. Because of Phillipsport and what happened there. I’m hoping they listened to what I told them in the report I turned in to the Joint Chiefs of Staff eleven years ago. Otherwise, I don’t think they would have called me back for service.”
Another pause. “I really would like to believe that.”
Colonel Livingston’s next question was probably futile, but he asked it anyway. “Where are you, Rick? Can you tell me?”
“I told you. My name is William. I don’t know who this Rick guy is you keep talking about.”
“Sorry, William. Where are you?”
“You won’t believe me if I told you, so I won’t.”
“Try me.”
“Haven’t you forgotten? They wanted me gone.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten. It was me who warned you. If I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”
Rick’s voice was thick with derision. “Only thing keeping me safe right now is that they think I am dead.”
“What about Melissa?” Even now, over a decade later, he could still remember Rick Sychek and Melissa Peterson, the only two survivors of the Phillipsport incident. When they’d turned up missing on October 27, 1994, three days after being rescued by Army Reservists and brought to the command post headed by Livingston, he’d been livid. In the weeks that followed he changed his opinion: if he were in their shoes he would have done the same thing. Soon after, he’d learned that several different clandestine government groups had orders to terminate Rick and Melissa with extreme prejudice. He’d warned them when Melissa finally contacted him. At that point, the two were holed up in a motel on the Maine border. Since then, they’d apparently gone their separate ways. Livingston pitied them. Living on the run, under assumed names. Each time Sychek had contacted him, the man had been drunk or panicked.
But Rick didn’t sound drunk now. He didn’t respond to the old man’s question, so Livingston tried again.
“What about Melissa, Ri—William?”
“What about her?”
“How is she?”
“Is this a secure line?” Rick’s voice was tinged with suspicion.
“Of course not. Judging by the sound, you’re calling me on a cell phone.”
“Then I can’t talk. Gotta go.”
“Wait!”
The line went dead.
Livingston put the phone down on the small end table in the entry hall of the house. May was still glued to the TV. The two major stories were the attacks by the creatures in Ocean City, Atlantic City and other parts of the eastern seaboard, and the anticipated arrival of Hurricane Gary, which had unexpectedly changed course and was now expected to make landfall along the Maryland/Virginia border. In short, chaos. Or as they’d called it in the military, a real cluster-fuck.
Something else was bothering him. Most of the Clickers he’d seen on the news so far were bigger than the last wave had been. The creatures in Phillipsport, for the most part, had been around the size of a large dog. This new wave was much bigger. He wondered what that meant.
Livingston cleared his throat and May glanced up,
and then gasped in surprise.
“Sorry. I’ve never actually seen you in your uniform before, sir.”
The Colonel grinned. “How do I look?”
“Quite handsome.”
“It’s a little snug. Been a while since I wore it. Still, it feels natural. Right.”
May’s eyes drifted back to the screen. Her hands were curled into fists.
“Has your son called?”
May shook her head sadly. “Not since they left. The news showed some of the roads. It’s bad. Congestion everywhere. The traffic isn’t moving. What if they can’t make it here? What if they run out of gas?”
Smiling, he patted her hand. “Your son is a resourceful young man. He’ll be fine.”
“And what about you, sir? Will you be okay?”
Touched by her concern, Livingston straightened up and puffed out his chest. “I’m reporting to Fort Detrick. They’ve set up a forward operating command post there. The base is entirely secure.”
“Fort Detrick? That’s in Fredrick. Won’t traffic be backed up between here and there, too?”
“I’m not driving.”
There was a distant roar outside. Startled, May rose from her seat. The noise grew louder, drowning out everything else. Livingston looked out the window. The horse galloped around in fright. Dust clouds billowed across the lawn, and the trees swayed. The helicopter landed in the field, just beyond the barn and the stables. Livingston frowned, anticipating the damage it would do to his pasture.
“Is that your ride?” May asked, her eyes wide.
He nodded. “They’re over fifteen minutes late. Not a good start. Take care of yourself, May. Stay safe.”
Without waiting for a response, he left the house, wondering if he’d ever see home again.
* * *
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
5:10 PM
The cell phone was registered to a William S. Mark, as were the credit card and drivers license in his wallet, but that wasn’t his real name. He still thought of himself as Rick Sychek. Even now, when people called him William, it took Rick a moment to realize they were talking to him.
He’d hung up on Colonel Livingston and was sitting outside of the hospital, scrolling through the names and phone numbers in his cell phone, not even thinking of who he should call next, when he came across Melissa’s number.
He’d been thinking of Melissa ever since the Colonel asked about her. He’d been thinking of her before then, as well. In truth, he thought of her every day.
The minute he saw her phone number, more memories came and went, leaving him with a strange sense of sadness. A different kind of sadness than what he currently felt, but sadness nonetheless. He hadn’t spoken to Melissa—who was now called Jessica Barron— in over a year, and he briefly considered calling her to tell her he was back on the east coast. His index finger poised over the “Send” button that would put the call through, but then he chickened out. He folded the device up and placed it in the left breast pocket of his shirt and resumed what he’d been doing before he’d gotten the wild urge to call Colonel Livingston: sit on the concrete bench along the walkway that led to the hospital and stare into space, thinking of his mother.
He remembered old faces from Phillipsport—Janice and her son, Bobby; Jack “The Ripper” Ripley, who’d owned the comic book store; Lee Shelby, owner of the local drugstore; old Doc Jorgensen and Deputy Russell “Rusty” Hanks, who’d been a fan of Rick’s books; and even that son-of-a-bitch Sheriff Conklin. His expression soured at that last memory. It brought to mind old fears.
It was his mother’s grave illness and impending death that had broken through his latest fears—flying and being near large bodies of water, primarily—and brought him back home, to Philadelphia, where he hadn’t set foot since he’d left the city for what had then been a
temporary move to Phillipsport, Maine to write a novel, the second in a two book deal his ex-agent, Cynthia Jacobs, had arranged for him.
His fingers absently stroked his graying goatee as the memories flashed by. His stomach felt clenched; at times, his hands shook with nerves. He’d gotten completely shit-faced on the plane and somehow made it to the terminal where he’d caught a cab to a motel. His family had wanted him to stay at his sister’s house in Lansdale, but he refused. Even now, after all this time, the government could be watching. With the exception of his parents and two siblings, nobody in the family had a clue that he’d survived the hurricane. His parents and siblings had played along over the years, understanding that it was the only thing keeping him safe, keeping him alive. He might as well not have been. It had broken his heart to cut off all contact with them. Twice a year, on Christmas and Rick’s birthday, his brother used a pay phone out of town to contact his good friend “William S. Mark” and Rick would catch up on what was happening in his family’s lives, but that was it. So when his brother unexpectedly called a week ago, Rick was immediately alarmed. When he got the news that Mom had pancreatic cancer, he’d flipped out.
And now he was here, over a thousand miles away from Fargo, North Dakota, which he now called home, sitting outside the hospital because some of his aunts and uncles were inside and he couldn’t risk them seeing him.
He waited.
Waited for Mom to pass on.
The cancer had been detected two weeks ago. His mother had been complaining of severe abdominal cramps for the three weeks prior to finally seeing a doctor. That visit had confirmed everybody’s worst nightmare. Pancreatic cancer, the most horrible, most painful, most evil cancer in the world had taken root in his mother and was eating her alive.
Clickers II: The Next Wave Page 6