Hershey looked at the CIA official. “Did you people know about this?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s classif—”
“They knew about it,” Livingston interrupted. “They were on the ground same time we were. Took specimens and photographs, disposed of the rest.” He started to add that they’d disposed of the witnesses, too, but thought better of it. He couldn’t risk giving Rick and Melissa away and if he admitted his knowledge of the Agency’s involvement, then he also risked revealing that he knew about those witnesses still in hiding.
“So why are these creatures resurfacing now?” Barker asked. “What’s driving them ashore?”
Hershey spoke up quickly, cutting off the others. “Obviously, it’s a direct result of Hurricane Gary. The storm is forcing them inland. The same thing happened in Phillipsport with Hurricane Floyd.”
A meteorologist from the National Weather Service murmured something under his breath. Livingston turned to him.
“You have something to add?”
The scientist blushed. “Um…well…”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Craley. George Craley, sir.”
“And what were you just muttering?”
“Well, that is…Mr. Hershey’s hypothesis is ridiculous, sir. The creatures first appeared off Atlantic City, while the storm was still hundreds of miles to the south. They began emerging onto shore long before the hurricane changed course.”
Hershey scoffed. “So let me guess…Doctor, is it?”
Craley nodded. “Yes. I was previously with the Oceanic Institute and now I work for the National—”
“Oh, I’m sure your credentials are impeccable, Doctor Craley.” Hershey’s voice dripped with derision. “But you’re not a biologist, are you? And you’re going to tell us this is a result of global warming, aren’t you? Or mankind’s abuse of the environment, and the ozone layer. Or perhaps El Niño?”
“Hershey, quit being a snide little prick,” Livingston snapped. Then he nodded at Craley. “Please continue.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” The nervous scientist sipped water, and then continued. “They’re not following a migration pattern. It seems sporadic—just popping up here and there.”
“We know that.” Livingston was growing impatient. “We’re trying to determine why.”
“They’re being hunted. There’s a bigger predator, and it’s forcing them out of the ocean. They’re seeking safety.”
“Hunted,” Baker said. “Hunted by what?”
Craley shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe these ‘Dark Ones’ the Colonel was telling us about?”
The CIA representative nodded. “We were able to confirm the Clickers are a main staple of their diet.”
Livingston was taken aback. “And just how did you determine that?”
“We have our ways, Colonel, and you have yours.”
Livingston dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and turned back to Craley. “Is that your educated opinion or a guess?”
“A guess—but a logical one. These Clickers are an invasive species. They’re upsetting our ecosystem, possibly because their own ecosystem is being disturbed, perhaps by these Dark Ones. As I said, however, I don’t know for sure.”
“Who would know?”
“A marine biologist, preferably one specializing in invasive species.”
Livingston pressed the intercom and summoned Corporal Adams, ordering the young man to find someone with those qualifications immediately. Before they moved with their planning, Livingston glanced at Craley.
“I hope you’re wrong, son. Because if you’re right, then things just got worse.”
Hershey snorted. “We’ve got killer crabs swarming our beaches and a category five hurricane bearing down on the nation’s capitol and some of our most populated areas. How could it be any worse?”
It was a moment before Livingston spoke. When he did, they had to strain to hear him.
“You have no idea.”
* * *
Baltimore, Maryland
7:35 PM
After nearly two and a half hours of sitting in unmoving traffic at the foot of Interstate 83, Dr. Richard Linnenberg finally decided to walk instead. He’d literally moved less than two miles in the entire time he’d sat there, and was still only blocks away from the aquarium. His car’s engine was close to overheating. The temperature gauge edged into the red. He smelled oil and coolant.
His decision to go on foot was helped by the fact that marauding gangs of youths were pulling people from their vehicles and robbing them in plain sight, disregarding the possible repercussions because none were forthcoming. Richard had seen one police officer since getting stuck in the traffic jam, and the man had deserted his own patrol vehicle and headed off on foot, vanishing behind the Port Discovery building. His eyes had looked empty. Haunted.
Richard crammed all of his important belongings into his laptop bag; his satellite radio receiver, insurance paperwork, the car’s title, several compact discs, and all of the loose change lying in the console. He tried his cell phone one last time but once again, received a message telling him that it was out of service. He’d watched others go through the same thing over the last hour. All of the networks were down, regardless of the service provider. He’d looked around for a payphone earlier but had been unable to find one.
He shoved the worthless cell phone into his bag as well, then rifled through the glove box and found his can of pepper spray. He’d never used it. Never had a need. It was there more for his wife than himself, something to safeguard her when she was driving alone through the city. He slung the laptop bag’s strap over his shoulder, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Clutching the canister of pepper spray and his car keys, Richard got out of the vehicle and thumbed the remote control. The car’s doors locked behind him with an electronic chirp. Nervous, he glanced around to see if the noise had attracted attention. It hadn’t. It was barely audible over the sounds of chaos. Horns blared in futile frustration. Children—and some adults—cried out. Angry shouts rang out, followed by the meaty smack of flesh against flesh. Blows were struck and bodies fell. Glass shattered. A fire alarm wailed in the distance, yet no one came to answer the shrill call. More glass broke as a group of men tossed a newspaper box through a store window and jumped inside. Sporadic volleys of gunfire echoed through the concrete canyons.
There was no way he could walk home, not with the unrest and violence gripping the streets, not with Hurricane Gary bearing down on them, this entire region square in the bullseye. His only choice was to make it back to the aquarium. Hopefully, their landlines would still be functional so he could call Sarah, tell her what had happened. She’d be worried sick about him by now, glued to the television (if there was still power in their neighborhood) and waiting for the phone to ring. She was probably trying to call him, unaware that his cell phone service was out.
He weaved around a burning tire and gripped the pepper spray tighter in his fist. Richard held his breath as a man approached him. It was the middle of summer, but the stranger was dressed in filthy black pants, a ragged pullover sweater, and a knit cap. His body odor hung in the air around him like a thick cloud. When he smiled, his teeth looked like black sunflower seeds.
“Got some Old Bay seasoning?” the vagrant asked, his speech slurred.
Richard was momentarily taken aback. He’d expected the begging plea, the outstretched hand, but he’d assumed the bum would ask for a quarter or a dollar—not Maryland’s popular steamed crab seasoning.
“N-no,” he stuttered, “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Sheesh,” the bum wheezed, “that’s too bad. There’s a bunch of crabs down by the harbor. Was gonna cook ‘em up and toss on some Old Bay.”
God Bless the homeless, Richard thought. Cops aren’t around to roust them from the harbor district, so they’re moving in and already thinking about their next meal.
It occurred to him that Jennifer would appreciate the iro
ny—one invasive species—the homeless—invading an area they didn’t normally frequent—the Inner Harbor tourist district. Just like the crab-things. He hoped Jennifer was okay. Their last communication had been two hours ago, just after he’d gotten stuck in traffic. She’d said she was going to Ocean City. He hoped that wasn’t the case. Certainly she was smarter than that.
Jennifer truly was a blessing to the entire staff. With her background and accreditations, she could work anywhere she desired and he was grateful that she chose to stay with the aquarium. She was a boon, both financially and scientifically, and her enthusiasm, dedication, and skill kept the funds rolling in. In many ways, Richard thought of Jennifer as a daughter. He and his wife, Sarah, had only one child, Susan, who’d passed away when she was fifteen. She’d been electrocuted by downed power lines after a thunderstorm many years ago. Very sudden and very unexpected. As a result, Richard didn’t like storms. He still felt the grief each day, and it had changed his and Sarah’s relationship. There was a gulf between them, a void in the shape of their daughter. Jennifer was now the age Susan would have been, had she lived.
The homeless man shuffled away, moving deeper into the city. Richard continued towards the waterfront. The wind picked up and the sky grew darker. A few scattered raindrops splattered against the pavement as the storm’s outer bands moved over the city. The last projections he’d heard were that the hurricane would make landfall by midnight, but Richard wondered if perhaps that timetable had been moved forward. Something rumbled in the distance. He couldn’t tell if it was thunder, an explosion, or gunfire. None of them were options he wanted to consider, so he picked up his pace.
He spied the Inner Harbor district in the distance; the vaulted glass roof of the National Aquarium towering over the series of shops and clubs, and the giant Barnes & Noble and Hard Rock Café complex and Marriott hotel looming over the aquarium in turn. The World War Two-era submarine and the Coast Guard cutter, both permanently docked at the harbor so that tourists could parade through them, were noticeably absent—taken out to sea by skeleton crews so that they wouldn’t be bashed against the concrete barriers as the expected storm surge swamped the area.
He’d expected the harbor to be completely deserted, but it wasn’t. Gone were the tourists and shopkeepers, but there were still people—fire and medical emergency crews, public works officials, the homeless, and white-collar employees from the various buildings ringing the waterfront. Richard watched a man in a business suit hurry by. What were they still doing here? he wondered. He understood the presence of the emergency workers, but why were all the business people still here? Maybe they hadn’t heeded the evacuation order, or perhaps they’d heard about the traffic jams and the futility of trying to escape the downtown area, and had stayed behind. Whatever the case, they were fleeing now. As one, the crowd swarmed towards him. Their expressions were terrified. Then Richard heard the screams.
What was it the homeless man had said?
There’s a bunch of crabs down by the harbor.
“Oh no.” Despite his mounting fear, Richard pressed through the onrushing crowd. They battered him back and forth like a pinball, but he kept his footing. He had to see.
He heard the creatures before he saw them, heard their claws snapping together like giant shears.
Click-click…click-click…
All at once, the last of the fleeing pedestrians surged past him, and Richard found himself standing alone in the midst of carnage. The pavement was stained with gore. His shoe slipped. He glanced down and saw that he was standing in someone’s intestines. The crab-things were all around him, feasting on their victims or scurrying off into the city, scuttling down alleyways and side streets.
He held his breath and did not move. One of them stood only a few feet away from him. It was approximately twelve feet in length and taller than an average adult man. The thing was busy eating. Its victim, an overweight construction worker, judging by his bloodied and torn attire, was still alive. The helpless man screamed as the monster’s claws tore at his flesh, slicing skin and muscle away and shoveling the meat into its beaked mouth.
The rain fell harder, picking up speed. Blood ran through the gutters and into the storm drains. Thunder boomed overhead. His exposed skin stung as the droplets pelted him. He barely felt it—his attention focused on the nightmare in front of him. Cringing, Richard quietly exhaled and took another deep breath. The creature’s stench was horrible. It smelled like rotten fish and brine.
Richard licked his lips and slowly backed away.
The beast finally noticed him, stopped eating, and crept forward.
Richard’s mind spun. I guess it doesn’t matter if Jennifer went to Ocean City after all. She’s no safer here than there.
Overhead, thunder rattled the sky. The sound of breaking glass echoed from farther down the street. The wind howled.
Richard took another tentative step backward. The thing followed. For each step he took, it took two, closing the distance between them. Richard knew that if he turned his back to run, it would be on him in an instant. It drew closer. Richard could smell the briny stench wafting off its shell, hear its claws tap against the concrete. Venom dripped from the stinger on the end of its long, segmented tail. The Clicker’s serrated pincers were tinted with a delicate crisscross pattern of red and magenta, deepening to a thick shade of black at the tips.
Sweat and rainwater ran into his eyes. Richard blinked and the creature edged nearer still. He took another step and his foot came down in a puddle—water or blood, he didn’t know which and couldn’t risk looking down.
The thing made a warbling sort of hiss.
Remembering his canister of pepper spray, Richard raised it slowly and depressed the button. The spray hit the Clicker directly in the face, clouding around its black, stalked eyes. They reminded Richard of ball bearings. The creature squealed. Its tail thrashed, whipping back and forth. Then the crab-thing lunged at him.
“Drop,” someone shouted from behind him. Richard complied, not out of understanding but because his knees had given out from under him. He tumbled to the gore-slicked pavement and two shots rang out, the blasts deafening in their proximity. Gun smoke tickled his nose, and his ears rang. He dropped the pepper spray, and his laptop bag slipped from his shoulder.
The creature reared back, more startled than injured or fearful. Indeed, even as he cowered on the ground beneath it, Richard could see no wounds on its body. He didn’t know if his mysterious savior had missed or if the rounds just had no effect on the hard shell. Probably the latter, given their proximity.
Richard cast a fearful glance up at his rescuer. The man was young, mid-twenties. His hair was buzzed short, and he wore an aquarium security guard uniform. He stood with his feet a shoulder’s width apart. A black pistol was clutched in both hands. Richard flinched as the man fired again.
This time, the creature rocked backward. Its eyestalks waved like wheat.
“Run,” the man shouted, his eyes not leaving the predator.
“I…I don’t think I can.” Richard’s entire body trembled with fear. He’d never been more afraid in his life, not even when Susan died. He couldn’t stop shaking.
More of the creatures were converging on their position now, attracted by the noise. Hissing, the crab-thing stalked forward again. The guard squeezed the trigger repeatedly, firing three more shots directly into its face.
“This is a fucking forty-five,” he yelled. “You better die, you son of a bitch.”
The thing responded by leaping over Richard’s prone form. He backed away, his eyes glued on the struggle. The man fired another shot. A second later the creature attacked with both its claws and tail. The man sidestepped the first claw, but the second seized his right arm and squeezed, severing the appendage just below the elbow. Blood jetted out around the pincers. The arm fell to the pavement. A fountain of blood jetted from the stump. Screaming, the guard dropped the pistol from his left hand just as the bulging stinger sank in
to his neck. His cries turned into choked gobbling as venom was pumped into his body. His skin began to bubble and hiss as if he were being cooked from the inside. Blisters formed on his body, swelled, and then burst, oozing fluids.
Overwhelmed with terror, his mind on autopilot, Richard stumbled to his feet. He didn’t consider grabbing the discarded weapon. He didn’t think about the other Clickers charging him. He let shock override him and just ran. His feet pounded the pavement. His tie fluttered behind him. The rain began in earnest now, falling in sheets, lashing at his skin. Within seconds, his clothes were drenched.
He leapt over a dismembered corpse and ran towards the aquarium’s employee entrance. Lightning flashed overhead, reflecting off the building’s large glass panels. When it flashed again, he saw his pursuers reflected in the panes. At least a dozen of them charged after him. Their clicking claws drowned out both the thunder and his screams.
* * *
National Aquarium
Inner Harbor
Baltimore, Maryland
7:45 PM
Jennifer was growing more nervous by the minute.
She was sitting in her cluttered office, her attention focused on the TV. Her office was in the interior of the large structure that housed the aquarium and reinforced with thick, concrete walls. Nonetheless, occasionally she could hear the moan of the wind outside. CNN was broadcasting from several different vantage points, and all the coverage was on the crustacean attacks that were occurring with alarming ferocity along the eastern seaboard. Jennifer took a sip of bottled water. The tuna-fish sandwich she’d purchased from the employee break room vending machine was half-eaten. She hadn’t brought much change today, and she supposed if worse came to worse she could break in to the machine to get more food, though her hurricane rations she had stocked would last for days if needed. As things turned out, aside from her there were three technicians and a security guard. The rest of the staff had been sent home, along with all the alarmed tourists, who’d fled for the safety of their hotel rooms and vehicles. The Baltimore Safety Director’s office had called to ensure the aquarium was being evacuated and that phone call had been an hour and a half ago. The techs had worked quickly to secure the outside exhibits and then they’d retreated inside. They were all gathered together in the break room now, playing a half-hearted game of Scrabble and trying to ignore the approaching storm while she stayed here, doing research. She had no idea where the guard had gone.
Clickers II: The Next Wave Page 9