8:00 PM Excerpt from televised speech by President Jeffery Tyler
“…so you should be assured that this government is amassing on two fronts. One, I have ordered and given the authority to state and local governments to enact martial law in their jurisdictions at their discretion, under the Emergency Powers Act. As of now, the states of Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Delaware, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Virginia, New Jersey, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida are all under martial law, and will remain so until the State of Emergency is lifted. Two, troops have been dispatched on my order to the affected areas including Baltimore, Atlantic City, Roanoke, Myrtle Beach, Norfolk, Long Island, and Boston. Three, because of my giving our local and state governments these powers, those officials in more rural beachfront communities can mobilize more quickly and efficiently. Four, I want to assure the American people that despite what you’re seeing on television we have things under control. We are…we are killing hundreds of these things and we are beating them back. We still don’t know what they are or where they’re coming from, and we will have the top scientists flown in after Hurricane Gary has passed to collect specimens and study these creatures to determine what they are…”
* * *
O’Mally’s Bar
New York City
8:03 PM
“They’re giant fucking crabs, you half-wit!”
The comment brought a swell of laughter from the bar and Connie Stewart grinned as she wiped down the bar top. Behind her, President Tyler droned on with the same bullshit on the overhead TV. She was scheduled to work the five to two a.m. shift tonight but her boss, Paul O’Mally himself, told her as she arrived to work that he was closing at eight. “This damn Hurricane might hit us,” he said in his thick Irish accent. “Best you head home, lass.”
That was fine by Connie. Despite hearing the rumors that the same creatures that were currently wreaking havoc south of them were spied along the docks and near Staten Island, things were going along normally in midtown. Broadway was a mess as usual, and the streets were clogged with pedestrians and taxis. Despite the dire news, people in this part of town weren’t panicky…yet.
The patron who’d made the witty comment was looking up at the TV bolted behind the bar. His buddies were with him, and they’d all just gotten off of work as day laborers over on Forty-Fifth and Broadway. They wore jeans, dirty T-shirts and heavy work boots and were all nursing pints. Connie knew them well; they were good customers. “One more round for you guys before Paul shuts us down?”
“Why the hell not?” Derek Brubaker set his empty pint glass down and Connie took it and refilled it with Guinness on tap. “You taking off for Westchester County tonight?” Derek asked her. Connie’s sister lived in Westchester County.
“To tell you the truth, I was just going to head back home to the Bronx and ride it out.” Connie let the pint settle before tapping off the head and handing it to Derek.
“I’m surprised Paul’s keeping the place open,” one of the other guys said.
“What else can he do? Subways are crowded and the tunnels are clogged with people trying to get out of the city. I wouldn’t want to be stuck in the Holland Tunnel if Gary decides to shift to the east and hit us dead center.”
Nervous laughter from the guys. “You can say that again,” one of them said.
“I heard some of these things were coming up along Long Island,” Derek said. He took a sip of his beer.
“I heard a few were spotted along the Hudson.”
“No shit?”
“Wonder what they are?”
“It’s like something out of some horror movie,” Connie said. She turned around and looked at the TV with the rest of the guys. The bar was unusually quiet today; Derek and his co-workers were the only patrons now. The rest had trickled out in the past hour or so. “Scientists don’t even know what they are.”
“Scientists know what these things are.” This came from Bob Ellison. He lit a cigarette, ignoring the No Smoking sign that Paul had posted at the bar. The smoking rules had been ignored on September 11, 2001, too. “You can bet somebody out there knows what these damn things are. We just aren’t going to hear about it for days…maybe weeks or months until after this shit blows over.”
“What do you think they are then?”
“I think they’re some kind of species that’s never been discovered,” Bob said.
Derek turned to him. “You mean a new species?”
“Nope.” Drag on the cigarette. “One that’s always been around but we never knew about.”
“How can—”
“That sounds plausible,” Connie said. She drew up a stool and sat down. “Scientists are always finding these strange things thousands of feet below the ocean.”
“There’s that jungle somewhere in Asia where they found a whole bunch of shit earlier this year,” one of the other guys said. “It was on the news back in February. They went in and found a whole bunch of animals nobody’d ever seen before. Weird birds and reptiles and other critters. They’d been living in this remote jungle for thousands of years.”
“I remember hearing about that,” Connie said, nodding.
Bob smoked, looking reflective. “Remember that shit from the nineties that happened in Maine? That little town that got wiped out by a hurricane?”
Scattered nods. Connie said, “Yeah, I vaguely remember that.”
Bob gestured at the TV. “It’s happening all over again only on a much larger scale.”
“But that was a hurricane that—” Derek began.
“I’ve got a buddy that’s into all this Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot and conspiracy theory shit,” Bob continued, ignoring Derek’s comment. “And he told me that a lot of people who study that shit think these crab-things,” he gestured to the TV where President Tyler was still droning, “were actually responsible for all those deaths. He said they might be a species long thought to be extinct, that there’s been legends about them that go way back and that it might have been a combination of the hurricane and under water currents that brought them to Maine that day. I remember when that happened. I remember hearing everybody in that town died except for a couple people, and that scientists found the remains of these giant crabs the government was trying to say washed ashore with the storm surge. Then all of a sudden you didn’t hear anything on the news about them. Nothing. Not a word.” He drew on his cigarette deeply, dark eyes riveted on the screen. “Now we got this happening. What does that tell you?”
There was silence in the bar as they digested this. Connie shivered. It was warm outside, over eighty-five degrees, but she felt a shiver nonetheless.
“Somebody’s been keeping this shit secret for a long time,” Bob said, his eyes still focused on the TV. “And I have a feeling the worst is yet to come.”
“Hey,” another of Derek’s co-workers shouted, “everyone quiet down. The President just said martial law’s been declared in New York.”
“Shit.” Derek’s face grew pale. “There’s gonna be troops on the streets. We can’t go anywhere if they lock the city down. Can’t leave here. What’s that mean for us?”
Connie grinned. “It means that drinks are on the house.”
Outside, an armored Humvee raced by. In the distance, a fire siren wailed.
The first fat raindrops hit the ground.
* * *
Fort Detrick
Fredrick, Maryland
8:15 PM
“Sir?” Corporal Adams snapped off a salute, but Livingston could see the exhaustion etched in the young man’s face.
“Report, son.”
“We’ve been trying to get a hold of all the scientists on the list. Most were unavailable. The few we’ve been able to reach had no idea what the creatures were or if they could even be properly called crustaceans.”
“What the hell else can they be? They look like crabs and they came out of the goddamn ocean! What more do they need? Did you find me anybody useful?”
“Colonel,
we found a marine biologist specializing in invasive species. Her name is Jennifer Wasco and she’s employed right here in Maryland. She works at the National Aquarium in Baltimore.”
“Excellent. Have you contacted her yet?”
“No, sir. Phones are down in Baltimore. We’re not sure if it’s the entire grid and a result of the storm or those…the enemy. However, Baltimore’s FEMA office and the city’s Safety Director both confirmed that Wasco was on duty as part of the emergency staff at the aquarium. We know she was still there an hour ago. I’ve mobilized forces in the area, but they’re heavily engaged right now. Baltimore’s inner city is overrun with the creatures. Soon as our men arrive at the site, secure it, and confirm Wasco’s whereabouts, I’ll advise you.”
“Never mind that. Can we still get a bird in the air?”
“The hurricane has increased speed again, sir. The outer bands are making landfall already. But yes, we can fly if need be.”
“Need be then, son. Get a chopper ready for me. I’m going in myself. I’ll lead the extraction team.”
“Sir?” Corporal Adams looked stunned. “That’s highly inadvisable, not to mention against protocol.”
“Fuck protocol.” Livingston sighed. Acid churned in his stomach. “If I stay here, I’ll end up shooting that officious little prick from Homeland Security. This whole thing—these screens, the chairs—this isn’t what I do. I’m a solider. I belong on the battlefield.”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Go ahead.”
“Begging your pardon, Colonel Livingston, but with all that’s happening, do you really think this is the wisest choice? We need strong leadership here.”
Livingston smiled. “They’ve got you to lead them, Corporal. You’ll do a damn fine job, too, if the last few hours have been any indication.”
Adams looked frightened. “M-me sir?”
Livingston nodded. “This is something I have to do. You see, for the last few years I’ve been breeding racehorses up in Taneytown. And each day, I’ve died just a little bit more. But now—now I feel alive again. You ever see combat, son?”
“No, sir.”
“I hope you never do. You’re scared right now. I’m scared, too. But when you’re facing down the enemy, it’s even scarier. It’s also highly addictive. Do it enough times and you start craving that fear. I’m an old man. Only thing I feel these days are the aches in my joints. I need to feel that fear one last time. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, sir.” His tone didn’t sound convinced, but the Corporal nodded.
“Good. Then get me a bird ready. I want to be airborne in five minutes.”
“Right away, Colonel.”
“Dismissed.” Livingston returned the young soldier’s salute and then turned back to the wall of video monitors. President Tyler was on television, assuring the American public that they had nothing to fear.
Livingston thought maybe the American public needed to have something to fear. They needed to be afraid. Otherwise, the Clickers could win the day.
He picked up an outside line and called the farm in Taneytown. He’d expected the phones to be down and was surprised when it rang and relieved when May answered. She sounded on the edge of panic. Her family still hadn’t arrived and there was no word on their whereabouts. He told her to arm herself with the 30-30 deer rifle in his gun cabinet, and command the upper floors of the house. “Keep the outside lights off,” he’d said. “And stay inside no matter what you hear. Keep the cell phone charged up and on. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
Then he told her something he’d never told her before in the time she’d been in his employment. He told her he loved her and that he hoped he’d see her soon.
Then he hung up before she could respond.
* * *
Stone Harbor, New Jersey
8:22 PM
Franklin Young was scared.
He was crouched on the floor on the third story of the large house on Newton Street as the rain pelted down and the wind howled outside. He’d volunteered to stay behind at the house while the rest of his extended family, which included his mother and sister, two aunts and three uncles and ten of his cousins, packed their belongings up and left. Mom had argued with him against staying but Franklin assured her he’d be fine. The house was old and built solidly, not like those million dollar beachfront homes the out-of-towners bought and lived in for the summer. Those things were made out of cardboard compared to this solid brick home. It had survived more than its share of the handful of hurricanes that had blown this far north. Besides, somebody had to stay behind and salvage the place if looters decided to ravage the town. Mom had begged him to forget the house; there were those things out there, too! Franklin held up his Ruger .22 semi-automatic handgun that he’d gotten out of the safe in his room. “I’m a good shot and I have twelve boxes of ammunition and my Ruger. The house will be locked up tight and those things won’t get in. If they’re like normal crabs, they’ll go by sight. They won’t see me. I’ll be fine. Now go!”
That had been the end of it. His family had left five hours ago and Franklin had battened down the hatches from the inside, dragging up the plywood paneling he’d been intending to use to remodel the basement and nailing them over the windows on the first floor. The town was deserted, of course, those things had either killed or chased off mostly everybody, and he had no idea where most of them had gotten to. He’d gone upstairs to his room and peeked out the window, looking for any sign of life on the streets below. He could see Second Street, Newton Street, and the beach two hundred yards away.
Deserted.
There were a few cars either sitting in the middle of the street or crashed into each other, their occupants dead and devoured. Franklin had been at the house when the things started coming from the ocean, and his cousin, Tim, was the first to run into the house to yammer the news. “There’s monsters coming out of the water eating people!”
By some strange coincidence, most of the Young clan was at the house for lunch when the creatures struck. Tim and his sister Barbara had been at the beach when the things came ashore and they’d managed to make it to the house, but Barbara’s friend, Mary, hadn’t been so lucky.
Tim had to drag Barb up to the house with them as the things ate Mary on the beach. Barb had been hysterical. Franklin had felt a twinge of sadness at hearing this— he’d had a little crush on Mary, but he couldn’t deal with that loss now. He’d had to act, had to let his training take over. Franklin was nineteen years old and studying to be an EMT in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. His family had owned the one hundred year old brick house on Newton Street in Stone Harbor for twenty years and lived in it year round. The rest of the family lived near the Philly suburbs and came every summer to visit for days and weeks at a time. The house had six bedrooms, four on the second floor, two on the third, and sometimes there could be as many as twenty-five people crammed inside during one of their holiday excursions. It was like a big sleep-over. And it was a family tradition.
Now the family tradition was probably gone forever.
Hell had come to Stone Harbor, New Jersey.
It had come in the form of the giant crab-things with stingers, the things that Franklin saw attacking and eating people as they screamed in agony. It came in the form of chaos, death and destruction. It came in the form of widespread panic as people were killed by the creatures and by each other on accident as they raced away to safety. Franklin had seen dozens of people get hit by friendly fire as police officers and civilians alike shot at the creatures. He’d seen more get hit by cars, even more get trampled in their mad race to escape.
Uncle Ben had been at the wheel of his SUV when the first of the Young’s left the house, and by then most of the surging crowd had pushed inland, leaving the streets relatively clear. They simply gathered everybody up and piled into the vehicles along with the few personal items they’d managed to fit inside with them. They’d been planning on leaving today anyway, but th
e kids wanted to get a few morning hours at the beach before they left. Besides, the hurricane wasn’t expected to hit until late tonight.
Now Franklin was alone in the house. And the hurricane was approaching.
The wind had been picking up steadily all afternoon and by six it was dark outside. Franklin had been listening to the radio and the TV, monitoring both the storm and the news of the creatures attacking in other parts of the country. Franklin was astounded at first when he heard these things were popping up all over the place; it was a goddamn natural disaster. He remained glued to the news, unable to tear his attention away from it, until the power went out, halfway through the President’s address.
Now the wind started to howl and the rain pelted the house. He looked outside. The sky was an ugly black. There was no way the ocean would come this far up, but it was possible the storm surges would push the fishing boats that were docked along the little bay nearby, spilling them and the Atlantic this far. If that was the case, the water could rise four feet. Which meant the basement would be completely flooded. The first floor of the house might be spared, but he couldn’t chance that. And if those crab things came from the ocean they might float by and—
It was that thought which sent Franklin to the third floor with his gun, the TV and a radio where he was now sequestered against the corner.
Thank God they’d just replaced the roof.
Franklin hunkered down, still dressed in his swimming trunks and nothing else. The battery-operated radio droned on in the background.
He waited for hell to come to the Young family home.
* * *
York, Pennsylvania
8:30 PM
Rick headed west, and made it as far as York when the military cordoned off the Interstate and forced everyone towards the exits. He’d passed through a series of checkpoints, manned by nervous-looking troops, before being funneled into York and told he could go no farther. Now he was sitting in a motel room, staring at the monitor of his laptop. Through the thin walls, he heard a radio next door playing the tinny, honkey-tonk strains of Jeanne Pruett’s “Satin Sheets.” For some reason, the song made him think of Melissa. He wondered if she was okay, and what she was doing right now. Outside, the rain hammered against the motel room’s big picture window. It sounded like someone was throwing handfuls of gravel against the glass. He wondered if the rental car would be okay, then decided he didn’t care. He’d tried calling the rental company earlier, and extending his contract. He’d decided not to fly back home. He couldn’t take it—couldn’t handle that right now, so he’d decided to drive.
Clickers II: The Next Wave Page 11