Clickers II: The Next Wave

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “You must, since you knew where to look for me,” Jennifer said.

  “Thank God you got to us in time,” Richard said from the back seat. He looked under the weather, tired, worried. “Those things would have gotten in if you hadn’t—”

  “We don’t have much time,” Livingston said, cutting Richard off. “So pardon me if I seem rude or disinterested in your ordeal. We’ve all been through a lot tonight.”

  “Yes,” Richard agreed. “I suppose we have.”

  “How much do the two of you know about Homarus Tyrannous?”

  “Not much,” Jennifer admitted. “Just what’s publicly known from the fossil record.”

  “Tell me about your work on invasive species,” Livingston said. “Did it include any of your work on Homarus Tyrannous?”

  Normally Jennifer would have hesitated before freely divulging such information, but Livingston had obviously done his homework. She sighed. “I’ve had an interest in invasive species for the past few years. Some of my research led me to what happened in Phillipsport. Naturally, that led me to the paleontological record and when I read about Dr. Ian Sinclair’s findings I was astonished. I started drawing comparisons between Homarus Tyrannous and other specimens, most of them previously thought extinct. It was just a pet project, nothing I had the money to pursue seriously.”

  “I’m sorry to say, I originally thought she was off her rocker,” Richard said from the back of the Humvee. “Especially when I peeked at her research material.”

  “When I saw what was happening today it brought everything back,” Jennifer continued. “It made everything I’d studied official…made it seem that all that time wasn’t wasted. And when I was observing what was going on today, I came to the realization that the creatures we saw aren’t being pushed onto shore from the hurricane. They’re being driven out. Their movement is far more invasive than simply being driven out of the ocean from a hurricane.”

  “And that’s what I’ve been wondering,” Richard said. He wiped water from his forehead. After all this time, he was still wearing his white lab coat. It was bloodstained and torn. His glasses sat crooked on his face. “What the hell could be chasing them?”

  There was silence for a moment. Jennifer knew that Colonel Livingston was silently agreeing with her hypothesis. After all, he’d told her he’d been in Phillipsport. He’d seen what happened there, had confirmed to her the reason why the military swooped in at the Aquarium to pluck them out was not to rescue them per se, but to consult with a leading scientific expert.

  Lucky she’d been that leading scientific expert, or she and Richard would be dead now. “They’re being hunted by a species I’ve seen before,” Colonel Livingston said. “Something that doesn’t exist anywhere in the paleontological record.”

  “These things came ashore in Phillipsport too, right?” Jennifer asked.

  Livingston nodded. “Yes.”

  “What are they?” Richard asked from the back seat. “For God’s sake, Colonel, they can’t be anything worse than what we’ve already seen?”

  “They’re far worse,” Livingston said. He kept his gaze on the road, trying to pay attention as the memories from that last battle in Phillipsport flashed in his mind. “But that isn’t what has me worried.”

  Jennifer watched Colonel Livingston. She noted the grave features, the look of fear in his eyes. This was a man who’d been through hell and lived to tell about it and his expression told her that something worse was in store. Jennifer found her voice. “So…what has you worried?”

  “You’re correct in saying that the storm isn’t what’s driving the Clickers up,” Livingston said. There was a flash of sudden lightning, and for a moment 83 was lit up and Jennifer could see nothing but sheets of water pouring out of the sky. It was like God had a giant bucket of water and was pouring it endlessly down on the world. “Hurricane Gary will have something to do with washing some of them ashore and driving some up various rivers. But if you remember, they were beaching themselves in Jersey hours before Gary even shifted north. That didn’t happen in Phillipsport.”

  Jennifer knew very little about Phillipsport, just what she’d learned from the few cryptozoology websites she’d visited. Obviously there had to be more than what the conspiracy theorists had postulated. “Yeah, I remember that. So what the hell is driving them up then, if not the hurricane? They’re being hunted by something, is my guess.”

  “Your guess is one hundred percent correct,” Livingston said. He took his eyes off the road long enough to catch her gaze, then turned back to the road. “They’re being hunted by what I can only describe as Dark Ones.”

  “Dark Ones?” Richard asked. There was just the tiniest hint of disbelief in his voice. Jennifer wanted to smack him for it.

  “Dark Ones,” Livingston acknowledged. “That’s what one of the survivors of Phillipsport called them.”

  “Rick Sychek?” Jennifer asked.

  “Yep.”

  “And there was another one, too…Melissa something.”

  “That is correct.”

  “They’re still alive?”

  Livingston sidestepped the question. “I saw these things myself,” he said. “And I want you two to listen to me very carefully. These things are going to be coming ashore any minute now, and when they do it is going to be utter fucking chaos.”

  “Tell me everything you know,” Jennifer urged.

  And when he did, she almost wished he hadn’t.

  * * *

  Shrewsbury, PA

  10:59 PM

  Surprisingly, Rick remained calm as they drove down the lonely road running parallel to a creek that, according to his captor, fed into the Susquehanna River. Tim remained in the backseat, gun trained on him the entire time they were traveling. It was getting harder to see through the driving rain, and Rick realized with sinking dread that Hurricane Gary was going to hit them dead center. He’d tried to think of a thousand different ways to try to convince his kidnapper that driving into the heart of the storm was a bad idea, but each time Tim told him to shut up and keep driving. Rick remained silent the last ten minutes of the drive, his mind racing. They’d been slowly making their way south towards Maryland and the storm was growing stronger. Even worse than that was the scattered click-click of the Clickers; Rick pointed out the sound to Tim thirty minutes ago. “Fuck,” Tim had said. “They’re that big?”

  “Yeah,” Rick had said. He was leaning forward over the steering wheel, peering through his glasses out the windshield, trying to see the road.

  “Goddamn.”

  “They’re obviously being washed up the river,” Rick said. He could feel himself beginning to panic now, all the bad memories from Phillipsport coming back.

  “They won’t find us at this B&B,” Tim assured him. “It’s in the woods, away from the river. We’ll be safe.”

  Rick had been thinking about that over the past thirty minutes now as they reached an intersection. Tim told him to turn left. Rick turned, heading down another narrow back road. What Tim said bothered him. He’d told Rick almost two hours ago that he just wanted to ride the storm out, that once Rick dropped him off he’d let him go. But when he said that they’d be safe there, he was speaking plural. We’ll be safe. Not he’d be safe, but we. Plural. Not singular. As in, the two of them were holing up at the B&B. As in, Tim had no intention of letting Rick go.

  Rick’s over-active imagination was what kept him from thinking about what was outside: the nearby river, the Clickers, the approaching Dark Ones. And what he was thinking was that Tim had something else on his mind. There was the possibility that what Tim said back there was a slip of the tongue, that he was now thinking of them as fellow Hurricane Gary survivors, but Rick didn’t think that was the case. Still, he couldn’t slip up now, couldn’t show Tim he was nervous. He had to be calm and get Tim to the B&B, and then get the hell away from him when the chance presented itself.

  Tim scooted up in the backseat. “We’re almost there,” he
said.

  Rick slowed down a bit, trying to see through the wind-blown rain.

  A moment later the headlights of the car picked out a structure set back behind some trees. Tim motioned with the gun. “Turn here.”

  Rick made a right turn down a narrow driveway and the car’s tires crunched wet gravel. He coasted down the driveway, and then they were suddenly in front of the building.

  The bed and breakfast was an old Victorian house. With no lights on, the place looked like a haunted mansion. Rick didn’t see any cars around. Tim had said earlier that it was closed down.

  “Come on,” Tim said. He had the gun pointed at the back of Rick’s head again. “Let’s go. Open the door and get out.”

  “Okay.” Rick opened the door and stepped out. He was immediately soaked again by the rain.

  Tim managed to get out of the back seat at the same time. Rick heard him hiss with pain. Rick shut the driver’s side door. Tim was behind him, prodding him forward with the barrel of the gun. “Let’s get inside.”

  Rick marched up the steps and a moment later they were on the porch. Tim tried the front door and found it locked. He pointed the gun at the doorknob and Rick winced as the shot cracked over the howling wind. The lock snapped and Tim barked, “Come on, get in, get in!”

  Rick shoved his way through the door with Tim behind him, and then they were inside the house.

  In the dark.

  Rick felt Tim behind him, panting as he closed the door behind them. “Hurricane’s probably almost here. Baltimore ain’t too far away, so we’re still gonna get it pretty bad. We should probably head upstairs. River’s maybe a mile or so away, and if there’s a surge who knows how high the water will get.”

  “Yeah,” Rick said. His throat was dry.

  “Come on.” Rick felt the barrel of the gun at his back, urging him forward. Rick took a step. He couldn’t see shit, but his vision was slowly adjusting to the darkness. The drapes over the windows were drawn back, and what little light that came in from outside made the interior less dark. Rick could barely make out a staircase in front of them. “Upstairs,” Tim said. “Let’s go.”

  They made their way slowly up the stairs. Tim held onto Rick’s arm. The Asian man was clearly in pain, but he was managing it well. Rick was trying not to be too scared; being close to the river was hard, and knowing the Clickers were out there was absolutely terrifying. Somehow, he was riding this out well. “You’ve stayed here before?” Rick asked.

  “Yeah,” Tim said.

  “Upstairs?”

  “Uh huh.”

  They reached the second floor landing. “Down this hall,” Tim said, steering Rick left.

  Rick started heading down the hall, feeling his way through the darkness. The house was obviously well-taken care of. Rick moved down the hall slowly, making sure Tim was being guided towards his destination and paying heed to the barrel of that gun on his back. “Maybe once we get you in a room I’ll look around for a flashlight, see how bad you’re hurt.”

  “Here,” Tim said, pulling on Rick’s arm. “Stop.”

  Rick stopped. He heard Tim’s palm tap on what sounded like a door, then felt movement and cooler air. The door to a room had just opened. “This way,” Tim said. He steered Rick toward the dark room and urged him forward.

  Rick’s heart began to trip-hammer in his chest. “Listen man, I don’t think I should—”

  “Just shut up and get inside!” Tim was right behind him, practically pressed against him. Rick could feel the man’s breath on his ear.

  Rick felt his way inside and all of a sudden he was more frightened than he’d ever felt in his life.

  Tim was sporting a huge erection through his slacks. Rick felt it brush against the seat of his jeans briefly.

  Outside, the winds howled.

  * * *

  Hunt Valley, MD

  11:10 PM

  “So where are we going again?” Richard asked.

  “The Peachbottom Nuclear Plant,” Livingston said. “It’s right on the Susquehanna River, on the border between Pennsylvania and Maryland. In fact, some of the facility is on each side. Makes state regulations a big mess and causes a lot of headaches for the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.”

  “And tell me why you think that’s a good idea?” Richard sounded sarcastic. Jennifer wanted to smack him again.

  If Livingston detected Richard’s sarcastic tone, he didn’t show it. “Peachbottom is strong, secure, and sits very high up from the river. It’s built to withstand a nuclear holocaust. A little Category Five hurricane like Gary should be no trouble.”

  Richard squawked. “Little?”

  “Will we be able to get in?” Jennifer asked.

  “With my credentials, yes,” Livingston said. “I’m overseeing the current situation. They’ll have no choice but to let us use the facility as a base of operations.”

  In the past thirty minutes they hadn’t seen a single vehicle. When they passed Hunt Valley and got off the exit to head toward the river, Jennifer fought the urge to plead with Livingston to swing by her parents to pick them up. She hoped they were okay.

  “What then?” Richard asked. “If these Clickers are being blown up the Susquehanna, won’t we just have to—”

  “I can get in contact with my units at Peachbottom. I guarantee their power won’t be out. Once I’ve made contact, I can have convoys dispatched when the storm begins to ease. I need to resume my command. I’ve got a mission to accomplish, and Peachbottom will not only keep us safe, it’ll serve as a temporary base for me to direct my efforts in fighting these things. Plus, I’ll have you two with me. Especially you, Dr. Wasco.” Livingston glanced her way. “Your government needs you now.”

  “You sure about that? President Tyler sounded like he didn’t want to even consider Homarus Tyrannous.”

  “President Tyler is a fucking idiot. Forget about him. And pardon my French.”

  “That didn’t sound like French,” Richard joked.

  Jennifer suppressed a grin. It felt nice to be sharing a vehicle with a high-ranking member of the U.S. Military who shared her view of the Commander In Chief.

  “Let’s get to Peachbottom in one piece,” Livingston continued. The wind buffeted the vehicle, making it shake slightly. “We’ve got another ten miles. We’ll make it. Okay?”

  Jennifer met Richard’s eyes in the rearview mirror briefly. She saw the worry in them. Then she shifted to a more comfortable position in her seat. “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  Shrewsbury, PA

  11:23 PM

  Rick finished dressing Tim’s wound and sat back, surveying his handiwork. In the harsh light of the high-powered battery operated flashlight he’d found plugged into an electrical outlet, Tim’s features looked strained, yet flushed. Rick was still high-strung, and he’d had to use all his will power to control the shakiness in his arms as he dressed Tim’s injury, which was an ugly flesh wound in the thigh. He’d had to cut Tim’s slacks away to get at it. Tim had watched with bated breath, still clutching the gun. Once again, Rick had performed well under duress.

  Rick had been trying to tell himself for the past twenty minutes that what he’d felt had not been an erection as he worked at dressing Tim’s wound. No sooner had he felt it, Tim told him where to find the flashlight. “They keep battery-charged flashlights plugged in each room. There should be one directly in front of you at floor level, plugged into this wall.” Sure enough, there was. Rick had unplugged it and turned it on. That’s when he saw that Tim had directed them into a large room with a king-sized bed and a very large bureau. There was a large, antique-looking desk pushed against one wall and a love-seat at the foot of the bed. A bathroom was attached to this large room, and Tim had directed Rick into it for a first aid kit, which was in the medicine cabinet.

  Tim had sat down on the bed, wounded left leg splayed out. In the glare of the flashlight, Rick got a better look at his captor now; he was probably ten years younger, stocky, his skin pal
e, most likely due to stress from his ordeal. His facial features suggested Chinese or Vietnamese descent. He’d held onto the gun, keeping it trained on Rick the entire time his wound was being tended to. Rick tried making conversation with Tim as he worked on the injury.

  “So what happened to you?”

  Tim shook his head. “You don’t want to know. Everything turned to hell today. I didn’t plan to shoot her, it…it just happened.”

  “Shoot who?”

  “My ex-wife.”

  Rick tried to keep his voice calm and his expression neutral. “Got into an argument, huh?”

  “I guess you could say that. Her new man, too.”

  “The other guy…he shoot you first?”

  Tim didn’t say anything for a moment. When Rick finished, he inspected his work. The wound was dressed and patched up good and tight.

  “What happened was…” Tim said, wincing as he tried to bend his knee. “…it just shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t…things just didn’t work out.”

  “I understand.” Rick began replacing the first aid items, already deciding not to continue questioning Tim on the events that led him to be shot. If Tim wanted to tell him, he would. “You should probably lie down, get some rest.”

  Tim said nothing. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly moving his wounded leg. In the glare of the flashlight, he could see the wound wasn’t as bad as he’d originally thought it was. It appeared the bullet had put a deep graze in the meat of his left thigh. The wound hadn’t looked that deep, and Rick cleaned it as best as he could with the alcohol he found in the medicine cabinet. Tim had gritted his teeth through the pain, and then it was done. Even with a graze like this, his leg was going to be stiff.