Decrepit tenement buildings and the skeletons of abandoned warehouses and factories surrounded them, adding to the gloom. Rain beat against the car’s roof and windshield, and the wipers did very little to clear the torrent away. Rick’s vision was severely limited and he drove slowly. He thought he glimpsed headlights ahead, but they’d turned away before he reached them. The pounding rain made him uneasy. It was like Phillipsport all over again.
“Can I turn on the radio at least?”
“Yeah,” Tim said. “That’s a good idea. Go ahead. Just keep it low.”
Rick clicked it on. All of the local stations—those still on the air—were broadcasting local emergency procedures, so he switched it over to the car’s satellite radio receiver. He dialed in one of the nationwide news channels and both men listened to several media pundits and scientists arguing over President Tyler’s approach to the crisis and his State of Emergency address.
“—and then he said that we should disregard what so many of our colleagues are beginning to surmise, that it appears the species is Homarus Tyrannous or a distant cousin of them…that they were thought to be extinct since the Mesozoic Period. And that numb nut…”
“Sir, need I remind you that this is the Commander in Chief we’re talking about? Show a little respect.”
“You’re right. He’s not a numb nut. He’s a damn fool. That Jesus freak…he had the nerve to say that he didn’t accept the scientific community’s hypothesis…he had the gall to say that he was rejecting what the top scientists of the country were saying because according to the Bible, the earth is only ten thousand years old!”
In the backseat, Tim chuckled. “Yeah, I had the news on before the power went out. The talking heads on TV are in a tizzy over it. You should see what those lunatics on Fox News are saying. They’re scrambling like chickens with their heads cut off. They put that little fascist commentator on…that Sean Hannity guy…and he’s spinning this story like you wouldn’t believe. Saying that all the so-called liberal media outlets are now making a big deal about the President’s religious beliefs and that they’re ignoring the real tragedy of the hurricane and the goddamn things the fucking President refuses to believe in that are killing people on the fucking street!”
Rick listened to him rant. His speech was rapid, his voice high-pitched. Tim definitely showed signs of some sort of mental duress. Rick changed the station to catch some of the White House Press Secretary’s babblings as Tim said, “And that little douchebag has been spinning this story since it broke. This administration makes the last one look like they were goddamned saints!”
“You know what he always reminded me of?” Rick asked, feeling a sudden kinship with his captor. “Remember those pig-looking creatures in The Empire Strikes Back? The things working at Cloud City? He looked like them.”
Tim laughed. “You got that right.”
They focused on the Press Secretary fielding questions from an undisclosed secure location. “…was saying was it is up to us to secure our homes, our businesses, and weather this storm out. We have to help each other, look out for each other, and if that means taking arms and taking some of the local wildlife out, then you should.”
“Local wildlife?” Rick gripped the wheel. “He’s calling the…he’s calling them the local wildlife?”
“Yeah. Unbelievable, isn’t it? It’s all so carefully orchestrated.”
Rick didn’t reply, but he was in silent agreement. He bet there were some respected journalists in the crowd, important questions ready to unleash from their lips, but they would go unrecognized, instead being passed over in favor of those who were in the Administration’s pocket who would throw softballs at the Press Secretary.
They turned their attention back to the press conference. “…and when the military arrives at whatever town or community you live in, they will help you. In the meantime, all we’re suggesting is to batten down the hatches and wait the storm out. A lot of people have already left the affected areas and that’s a good thing. The National Guard and Army and other Federal Disaster Units are already working with State, Local, and the Federal Government in various relief efforts relating to the storm and the attacks. Once the storm has lifted the first thing to take care of will be those injured. There will also be a separate team dedicated to securing the affected areas of the attacks and killing the remainder of the wildlife species that have caused these attacks.”
“It will take more than guns to kill them,” Rick whispered to himself.
“How do you know that?” Tim sat up, clutching the gun. “Did you see one of them tonight? I thought they were near the oceans.”
“They are,” Rick told him.
“Then how do you know?”
Rick took a deep breath, and then told him.
The storm grew worse.
* * *
9:00 PM
Scenes from a slaughter:
From Florida to Maine, highways were clogged with traffic as people rushed to escape the marauding Clickers. Once martial law was declared in several of those states, the traffic jams erupted into anarchy. As the Clickers headed inland, they came across the grid locked freeways and killed those who had set out on foot. Those who’d remained inside their vehicles fared no better as the creatures cracked open their cars like cans of tuna.
In Dade County, Florida, an alligator went head-tohead with a baby Clicker that wandered into a nearby creek. The creek turned red as the alligator spun into a death roll, trying to tear the dog-sized crustacean apart in its massive jaws. Minutes later the water turned black and sludgy with ‘gator flesh as the Clicker emerged from the depths and began to feed.
In Fort Bragg, North Carolina, a trio of Clickers chased a twelve-year old boy up a tree. He yelled for help for several minutes, throwing apples down at them, and then started to cry for his mother as the wind picked up.
When he finally fell asleep three hours later, his upper body resting comfortably in the tree’s stout branches, the Clickers had already scampered off for better pickings elsewhere. He was jolted out of his light sleep with a great crack of thunder and almost fell out of the tree. Unable to see that the danger was gone, he could only cling to his safe haven and cry in frustration.
Baltimore’s Inner Harbor area was deserted, except for the Clickers feeding on the dead and pouring into the National Aquarium where more captive prey awaited them in tanks. Debris blew in the city streets. The rain pelted down and the gutters ran with blood and gore. Further into the city, people were either at war with the Clickers—some were holed up in buildings and houses with various weapons, trying to fight them off—or had escaped town altogether, evacuating into Pennsylvania. The streets and highways were jammed with vehicles, some broken down or abandoned, others containing partially devoured corpses. Clickers dotted the city, scampering to and fro, pausing occasionally to nibble. The army arrived and fought back with heavy weaponry and mobilized infantry.
The nation’s Capitol resembled a ghost town when a large force of Clickers crawled out of the Potomac River. They skittered across the mall, destroying national monuments and attacking anyone unfortunate enough to still be in the city. They gained access to the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History, and engaged the fossilized remains of their ancient enemies in battle. The fossils broke apart and the creatures moved on. Back on the riverbank, more of the creatures slipped onto land.
The Susquehanna River fed into the Chesapeake Bay and hundreds of Clickers were migrating upstream. Communities along the river were unaware of this danger, however, as most people hunkered down to ride the storm out. An Amish man who had just stepped outside to make sure his barn was secure was cut in half as a monstrous Clicker bounded onto his property. More of the creatures slaughtered his livestock and family with equal fervor. Farther inland along the river, the staff at the Peachbottom Nuclear Power Plant hunkered down to weather the storm, unaware of what was creeping towards them.
In New York City, all points of entry leaving the
city were hopelessly blocked. Most had given up hope and abandoned their vehicles, making their way over bridges and through tunnels on foot. They were turned back at the military checkpoints. Rioting broke out, and civilians battled armed forces in an effort to escape the city. Then the ravenous Clickers arrived and fell upon both.
Hurricane Gary, which had remained unpredictable and had stymied the world’s best meteorological efforts to predict its patterns, made landfall, striking like a nuclear bomb.
* * *
Magog Bunker
The White House
Washington D.C.
9:00 PM
“Your will be done, Lord,” President Tyler whispered, tears streaming down his face. “Your will be done. On Earth as it is in Heaven.”
“Sir?” Special Agent Clark Arroyo glanced into the room, his face etched with concern. “Did you need anything?”
“No thank you, son. The Lord provides me with all that I need. Please shut the door behind you.”
“Yes, sir.”
When he was alone, Tyler bowed his head in prayer and began to quote the Book of Jonah.
“But the Lord hurled a great wind upon the sea, and such a mighty storm came upon the sea that the ship threatened to break up. Then the mariners were afraid and each cried to his god. ‘Tell us why this calamity has come upon us,’ they cried.”
His smile was grim.
“We know why this calamity has come, don’t we, my Lord. Praised be Your name. But You will not let this mighty ship break up. ‘But the Lord provided a large fish to swallow up Jonah so that he would not drown.’ You will save us, Lord. You will save your children. You will deliver us from evil and snuff the fires of Hell.”
* * *
Dundalk, Maryland
9:09 PM
“Sir,” the pilot shouted into the com. “We’re getting batted around like a kite up here. I’ve got no choice but to set it down soon.”
“Understood,” Livingston hollered back, competing with the roaring winds and the whine of the helicopter’s whirring blades. “Try to get us as close to the Inner Harbor area as possible. Radio Centcom and advise them of our status, then get a hold of our boys on the ground. Mark our position and have them send a welcoming committee. We’re going to need it.”
The soldiers aboard the chopper prepared for landing, checking their weapons and gear one last time, and making sure all essential equipment was stowed. Livingston reminded them to load armor-piercing rounds, rather than what they normally packed.
Several of the young men’s faces were pale.
“Gentlemen,” Colonel Livingston said, “welcome to Hell.”
Below them, the feeding frenzy continued.
* * *
Interstate 83
Glen Rock, Pennsylvania
9:10 PM
Tony Genova drove as fast as he dared, given the hazardous road conditions. The highway was slick with rain, and the downpour obscured landmarks and road signs. Lightning flashed overhead, casting an eerie glow over the landscape for a second. Tony shivered. The whole day had been strange. One minute, they’d been sitting in Atlantic City, waiting to make the exchange with Frankie Spicolli. Then a bunch of crab-things straight out of a bad Sci Fi Channel movie had shown up and started killing people. Now here they were driving through the middle of a fucking hurricane near the Pennsylvania and Maryland border with a captive in the trunk and a briefcase full of top-grade heroin.
A thumping sound came from the trunk, barely discernable over Pink Floyd’s Animals, which was currently in the car’s CD player. The banging sounds got louder. The Greek was awake and pissed off. In truth, Tony couldn’t blame the old fuck. The annual fireworks display, where they were originally supposed to nab him, had been cancelled because of the weather. Instead, they’d had to snatch the old guy from his home in Leader’s Heights. The plan had been to drive him out to a secluded location near South Mountain or LeHorn’s Hollow, kill him, and then drive him back to Roosevelt Avenue in York, where they had a man who specialized in body disposal. Killing him at Roosevelt Avenue was out of the question; too many neighbors equaled too many potential witnesses.
But now everything was going to shit. They couldn’t get into York, couldn’t get to South Mountain, and couldn’t get to LeHorn’s Hollow. Couldn’t get anywhere, really. And now they were driving around, trying to figure out what the fuck to do, as Hurricane Gary ripped into town. So yeah, Tony could understand why the Greek might be angry. Kidnapped, knocked the fuck out, locked in the trunk of a car and driving all over Central Pennsylvania and the backwoods of Maryland. And to top it all off, he’d missed the fireworks. Yeah, he had reason to be pissed. Tony couldn’t blame him. He felt the same way. Tony’s simmering anger grew stronger with every fruitless mile.
“For fuck’s sake.” Tony gripped the steering wheel harder, as a strong gust of wind battered the passenger’s side, pushing the car onto the median. “We need to figure this shit out—and quick.”
“We shoulda just dropped him on Roosevelt Avenue,” Vince said. “I don’t like driving around in this storm. It’s scary.”
“How were we supposed to drop him on Roosevelt when the road was closed due to flooding? Fucking National Guard was everywhere. What if they’d heard him back there? I told you to tie him up better.”
Vince shrugged. The big man rummaged through a plastic bag at his feet and produced a package of Devil Dogs. He unwrapped the cellophane.
“You want one?” he offered.
“No thanks.”
Tony veered around a downed tree, its trunk lying across part of the southbound lane. He heard the briefcase slide around in the backseat. They’d had no choice but to lug the heroin all the way from Atlantic City.
“Hey, Tony?” Vince sat up straight, looking puzzled. “What’s a charade?”
“Huh?”
“In this song.” He pointed at the CD player. “They say, ‘ha ha charade you are.’ What’s a charade?”
“It’s got two meanings. Like when you play charades? That’s one of them.”
“What’s the other?”
“An absurd pretense.”
“What’s an absurd pretense?”
“This whole fucked up situation, man. This whole god damn day…”
* * *
York, Pennsylvania
9:11 PM
“…they’re about nine, maybe ten feet tall and I want to say they’re amphibious but they looked more reptilian to me, like giant Komodo Dragons that can walk upright like a man!”
Tim listened to Rick—who’d originally told him that his name was William. Tim forgot all about his wounded leg or the gun in his hand or the storm hammering their car. He was spellbound by the tale his hostage was spinning.
This had been a bad night, starting with the moment he’d decided to shoot his ex-wife, hoping to blame it on looters during the civil unrest breaking out because of the storm and martial law. It had gotten worse when he’d been shot in the leg by her new husband, worse yet when he’d killed them both, and had slid into madness when he’d hijacked Rick and his car in the parking lot of a nearby motel. His belly was already a gnawing pit of nerves. But this…
What Rick was telling him was alarming. It was terrifying.
But it was also exciting.
“—hunt the Clickers! They hunt them! The Clickers are their natural food source. I’m sure they eat other things, they have to wherever the hell it is they’re from, and for all I know maybe they’re the ones responsible for all those lost boats out at sea or the occasional person that disappears on a sandy beach somewhere. Hell, maybe their range spans as far south as the Caribbean and one of ’em got that Natalie Halloway chick and ate her up right in front of those college kids who were busted for her disappearance! Remember that?”
Rick had opened up to his captor ten-fold, unleashing a torrent of built-up memories and emotions in the tide of information he was letting run forth. It came fast and furious and Tim listened to him with ra
pt attention. The story was so incredible, and to the average layman would probably sound like the ravings of a lunatic, but Tim believed him. How could he not? Especially with what was going on now, all over the east coast? He’d seen it himself on television.
“—years is what I figure. But get this. I’ve been reading up a lot on global warming and how ocean currents in the Atlantic—hell, all over the world!—are changing due to the rising temperature and the shifts in climate. I mean, you’ve got Arctic glaciers melting away, dropping chunks of ice in the ocean and that causes a ripple effect, you know? It’s all physics, like that theory that the beating of a butterfly’s wings in South America can upset the balance in the atmosphere enough to cause a hurricane in the United States. So this shit has been happening in the oceans for years now, and the underwater currents have been shifting because of it and it’s bringing the Clickers and the Dark Ones to the surface on a much more frequent basis now!”
Rick finally stopped babbling and Tim spoke up.
“Who else besides you and this Melissa know about all this?” Rick had told him about he and Melissa escaping government custody in the days after Hurricane Floyd in 1994, but he didn’t tell Tim where they’d traveled to or eventually settled down in; he didn’t even tell him Melissa’s new name, just that she was still alive.
“Nobody! Well, I told Colonel Livingston. He’s the military guy I told you about who interrogated us in Phillipsport. I told him and another guy…I forget his first name, but I remember his last. Richrath. Don’t remember what rank or branch of the military he was. I told them, and I’ve been in contact with Livingston since then.”
Clickers II: The Next Wave Page 13