Clickers II: The Next Wave

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “Mr. President, if I might make one observation.” Barker sounded like he was getting his confidence back.

  “This isn’t about the troop situation again, is it Barker?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Good. What is it?”

  “Colonel Livingston submitted a report to the Joint Chiefs of Staff over ten years ago following a similar incident. Remember Hurricane Floyd? 1994?”

  “Vaguely, and your point?”

  “Here’s the short version. New England got hit with a Category Five Hurricane that formed late in the season. One of the hardest hit areas was the coast of Maine. One of the towns there, Phillipsport, was basically wiped off the map. In addition to the National Guard, the Army was called in to provide assistance at various spots where the hurricane hit. Livingston wound up in Phillipsport and witnessed what we’re seeing now with the Clickers.”

  “The what?”

  “The creatures we’re seeing on TV, Mr. President.”

  “That’s what they’re called?”

  “That’s what he called them, Mr. President.”

  “Is there a point to this, Barker?”

  “The point is, Livingston arrived as the second onslaught was receding. He personally saw them, and he claims over a dozen of his convoy unit witnessed them. Only two people survived Phillipsport. They provided detailed descriptions on what really happened and it dovetails with what is happening now, only what we’re seeing is on a much grander scale. They say that—”

  “Hold on, hold on, what are you talking about? What is this about a second onslaught? What the heck are you talking about?”

  Barker fell silent. For a minute, Tyler wasn’t sure if the Secretary of Defense was going to continue. “The second onslaught was a race of creatures more vicious than what we’re seeing now. He said they were reptilian, that they walked upright, that—”

  “Oh my God, they’ve got you brainwashed with this evolution malarkey that these things are dinosaurs!” Tyler couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was absurd, and he had to stop it now.

  “Please let me finish—”

  “Enough! I don’t want to hear any more of this drivel!”

  Barker was insistent. “This is all in Livingston’s report that he submitted to—”

  “Why haven’t I heard about this until now?”

  Barker stopped. There were quiet murmurs in the background. “His report is marked classified, sir,” Barker said.

  “Is Livingston a Democrat, Mr. Barker?”

  “Uh…I…I…I don’t know, Mr. President.” Barker sounded flustered.

  Donald Miller came to the rescue. “Colonel Augustus Livingston is a registered Republican, Mr. President.”

  Tyler snorted in disbelief. He shook his head. He had to get things moving. “Enough of this about Livingston. I don’t care what’s in his report, and I wasn’t made aware of it. Nobody at the Pentagon has called, have they, Miller?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, Mr. President.”

  “Then we’re going to go as planned. Miller, get my speech ready. I want to go before the cameras in fifteen minutes. As for the rest of you, you are not to speak a word of what just went on to anybody. Do you understand?”

  Murmurs of agreement and acknowledgement sounded.

  “Barker, you are still under my command. You will override anything Livingston says, or anything any of our other military advisors have to say. What is happening is a test. God is testing our faith as a nation. Dinosaurs are not going to attack this country because there are no such things as—”

  “I didn’t say these things were dinosaurs—”

  “Do not interrupt me, Barker! These Darwin-polluted scientists think these crab-things used to be extinct, that they used to live millions of years ago and you and I both know that these same deluded fools believe dinosaurs lived back then. You and I know that is impossible, right?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” The tone of Barker’s voice suggested to Tyler that the Secretary of Defense wasn’t so sure. My God, have those godless evolutionists gotten to Barker, too? Barker, who was endorsed by the Christian Coalition?

  “If Livingston wants to live in his little fantasy world, more power to him. He just isn’t going to give orders based on this fantasy on my watch. Understood?”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “As far as these so-called reptilian-things, they are obviously the product of more…of more…oh Lord forgive me for saying this…they’re the product of bullshit, okay? I want to know more about this Livingston character. Miller, when you’re finished with my speech, get me everything you can on Livingston. I want to know everything about him, up to and including what he had for dinner last night.”

  “Right away, Mr. President.”

  “You’re all dismissed. Remember, not a word about this to anybody. And is Agent Bacon back yet?”

  Bacon: “Here, Mr. President.”

  “You stay here. I’m going to finish my prayers and then I will be right up.”

  Tyler sighed as he heard the shuffling sounds of footsteps retreating. A moment later there was silence.

  He turned off the communications button, got down on his knees, closed his eyes and began to pray. He prayed for strength, for guidance, for wisdom. It was a quick prayer, direct and to the point, and when he was finished he was filled with a sense of righteousness. He was doing good. He was steering his flock in the right direction. Some were protesting, and others were violently hostile like Arroyo. Those people would be dealt with. For now, Tyler felt that the Lord had things in control. He would see them through this. All they had to do, as a nation, as a government, was to put their faith and trust in Him.

  He sighed and rose to his feet. And he would have to watch Barker a little more closely. No question about it.

  Now feeling calm and confident, President Tyler exited Magog and headed upstairs ready to take the reins for the Lord.

  Chapter Eleven

  Shrewsbury, PA

  11:50 PM

  Rick had never received a blowjob from a guy before, and he kept his eyes closed the entire time Tim went down on him. Tim kept the barrel of the gun pointed at Rick’s chest. Rick was so scared his penis wanted to retreat into his body rather than get hard. He shuddered.

  Tim sat on the edge of the bed, Rick standing in front of him, jeans pooled around his ankles. Outside, the wind was howling and the rain sounded like buckets of water were being dumped on the house. Through it all, Tim continued to work his penis, trying to get Rick hard.

  Rick had gotten his pants down with shaky hands and had been somewhat relieved when Tim ordered him to step forward. He’d gotten right down to business, keeping the gun trained on him the whole time, only pausing long enough to say, “I’m gonna get you all hot and worked up first, then I’ll be hard and then your ass is mine!”

  Rick had trembled and fidgeted the entire time Tim sucked him off. He wasn’t gay, and he didn’t consider himself homophobic at all. He’d had gay friends for as long as he could remember and never felt uncomfortable around them. What he was feeling now was violation, plain and simple. It was unwanted sexual contact and that constituted rape, and therefore Rick was nervous, scared, and angry. But with a gun pointed at his chest, he was terrified to do anything to defend himself.

  “Fucker, get hard!” Tim glared at him menacingly. “I want you to have a hard on when I fuck you!”

  “Oh man…” Rick begged. “Please…”

  Tim moved the barrel of the gun into the hollow of Rick’s throat. With his other hand he began stroking Rick’s shriveled dick. “Get hard!”

  And for five long minutes Rick was frozen as Tim continued to suck his shriveled penis, the barrel of the gun slowly descending down his throat to his chest. The wind continued to howl outside. Rick forced himself to calm down. There’s got to be some way to calm this guy down. Got to be some way to distract him, get him to let down his guard. Got to be—

  He was looking aro
und the room, trying to think about how to get himself out of this when he saw the flashlight.

  It was sitting on its side on the bureau beside the bed. It was still turned on, its beam the only source of light in the room. Rick saw it and began to think about Ashley Jacobs, his ex-girlfriend and mother of his daughter, Samantha. He thought about how much he missed Ashley, how he still loved her and wished he hadn’t screwed things up between them. And then he began to think that if there would be one more thing he could do before he was raped and murdered by Tim, it would be to make love to Ashley just one last time. He began to think erotic thoughts of Ashley; how her mouth felt on him, how her lips felt when he kissed them; the feel of her breasts, the arch of her back, the skin at the hollow of her throat when he kissed her there. He thought those things and felt a stirring in his groin. Tim noisily continued to suck him, grunting in pleasure. Rick watched him, the plan suddenly dawning on him as he continued to think about making love to Ashley, letting himself get hard.

  He reached out with his left hand toward the flashlight.

  “Oh man,” Tim said, pausing for breath. In his lust, Tim had lowered the gun; the barrel was now pointing toward the wall, the weapon dangling from his fingers. “I knew you could do it. Yeah, get it hard for me, baby.” Tim dived back in.

  Rick’s body was a bundle of tension. Suddenly he wasn’t afraid anymore. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

  Tim stopped and moved back on the bed. The hand holding the gun was planted on the bed, the weapon lying flat on the mattress. “Get on the bed!” Tim commanded.

  There was a loud thump on the wall.

  The noise startled both of them, but Rick saw the window of opportunity and went for it. Tim had jumped slightly from the sound, his gaze directed at the wall. “What was that?”

  Rick grabbed the flashlight with his left hand and, just as Tim turned toward him again, he brought the front end down into his face.

  The blow rocked Tim’s head back and he fell on the bed screaming.

  Rick swarmed over him and brought the flashlight down on his face again.

  And again.

  …again…

  The adrenaline was running so strongly he was barely aware of the flashlight breaking apart in his hand as he smashed it into Tim’s face, or that he was yelling at the top of his lungs. “Motherfucker, I’m gonna kill you I’m gonna kill you gonna kill you!”

  The sudden ferocity of his attack was more than enough to catch his would-be rapist and murderer off guard.

  Rick had no idea when Tim was beaten into unconsciousness.

  He didn’t remember stumbling back from the bed to trip over his jeans, which were still pooled around his ankles. Didn’t remember getting up and grabbing the dead lamp on the bureau, didn’t remember bashing the heavy base of it into Tim’s head.

  The next thing he was aware of was suddenly being warm. His arms hurt and he realized he was holding the ruined remains of a lamp, that his arms and face were coated in something warm and wet and then he realized he’d beaten Tim’s head into an unrecognizable pulp.

  He dropped the lamp and stumbled away from the bed. He became entangled in his jeans again and he fell down on his bare rump. He was suddenly aware of the howling wind outside, of another thump hitting the side of the building.

  Ohmygodijustkilledhimjesusfuckingchrist!

  And then once again he received another adrenaline spurt. He was on his feet in a flash, pulling his jeans up and fastening them as he ran out of the room, crashing into the wall and fumbling for the doorway before he finally found it, his fear propelling him out, his brain telling him to slow down, slow the fuck down, it’s dark in here! And then just as his legs obeyed the command, he felt himself tumbling down the stairs. He reached out and gripped the banister, which slowed his tumble somewhat. He rolled down half a dozen steps and came to rest with his back against the banister, his breath coming out in gasps.

  Rick didn’t pause to assess his injuries. Forcing himself to slow down, he descended the rest of the staircase and stumbled blindly in the dark toward where he thought the front door was. He plunged forward like a blind man; arms outstretched, and felt his way around walls and through doorways until he reached the front door. He gripped the doorknob and opened the door; he was immediately blown back by the strong wind. At least it wasn’t as dark outside as it was in the house. He struggled out to the porch, hunched over against the driving wind and rain. The last time he heard a weather report was well over an hour ago. Hurricane Gary was expected to make landfall in Baltimore sometime around 1:00 AM. What time was it now? Rick had no idea. He thought Tim had abducted him around 9:00, maybe 9:30, and it seemed like it had taken almost two hours to make the drive down to Shrewsbury. He couldn’t have been inside the Bed and Breakfast for more than forty minutes. Which meant it was probably close to midnight and he had an hour or so to reach shelter before Hurricane Gary hit.

  He staggered down the steps, the wind carrying him along. The rain drenched him and for once it was a welcome relief; it washed Tim’s blood off him. Rick ran to the car and got in, slamming the driver’s side door. He sat hunched over the steering wheel for a moment, trying to collect his bearings.

  Oh my God, I made it, but I just killed somebody, but I made it, I made it, I’m fucking alive!

  He had to get out of here. No way was he staying at this Bed and Breakfast, not with Tim’s corpse upstairs. Fuck that.

  Rick reached into his soggy jeans and pulled out the keys to the rental car. He got the vehicle started, turned on the headlights and began making his way back down the driveway.

  There was another thump that sounded amid the wind and Rick caught a glimpse of what it was. The rising winds of Hurricane Gary had blown something against the side of the house. He recognized it right away; it was the size of a dog, and had a red shell. He’d seen them in his mind ever since Phillipsport.

  He caught the barest glimpse of the latest Clicker as it scuttled along the ground at the base of the Bed and Breakfast and just seeing it, realizing how close he’d come to possibly running into one of those things as he’d rushed to his car, made him accelerate down the driveway.

  The wind buffeted the car around, rocking it on its shock absorbers. He’d never driven in such a strong storm before. It scared him to think that this was only the outer fringes of Hurricane Gary, that the inner circle of the storm was probably only fifty miles away and rapidly gaining. Those winds would be strong enough to blow this car into a tree. He had to reach shelter, and he had to do it quickly.

  He made a left out of the driveway and drove as fast as the weather would permit. He had no idea which direction he was going in; he’d become completely turned around during his ordeal with Tim. Surely he would come across another building somewhere.

  He drove through the heavy winds and rain and he didn’t see a single vehicle.

  All he saw were woods.

  Rick felt his panic rise as he strained to see through the blinding sheets of rain. He could barely see five feet in front of him.

  Where the hell am I?

  He counted down the minutes as he drove. One minute…two…three…

  The woods cleared away on either side of him but he still couldn’t see for shit. A gust of wind rocked the car slightly. Rick gripped the steering wheel, fighting to keep the vehicle on the road.

  …four minutes…five…

  The wind seemed stronger here and it was a struggle to keep the car on the road. Rick didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he exhaled, releasing some of the pent-up tension.

  …six minutes…seven…

  The wind appeared to die down slightly. Rick kept his grip on the steering wheel. He knew he had to come across some form of civilization soon. Shrewsbury was the last town in Pennsylvania; Tim had directed him down a back road that apparently ran parallel with the river. How far away was the Susquehanna? Rick had no way of telling. He was completely disoriented. At this point he would pull into a dilapi
dated gas station if he found one. He didn’t want to be stuck in his car when it was picked up and tossed around like a tin can.

  There was something ahead of him in the distance. Rick squinted, trying to make it out. It looked like a light.

  Headlights.

  Oh God, please let it be a cop or something, hell it can be anybody just as long as they aren’t crazy!

  And as Rick kept driving, fighting to keep his rental car on the road amid the high winds, the headlights drew closer. He reached for his high beams and flashed them. The vehicle ahead flashed its high beams. Rick breathed a sigh of relief.

  The headlights grew larger. Rick slowed down. It wasn’t until he was ten feet from the vehicle that he saw it was a military Humvee.

  And it was leading an entire military convoy.

  “Oh shit…”

  * * *

  The White House

  Washington DC

  11:55 PM

  Clark Arroyo was hunkered in a corner of a public restroom on the fifth floor of the parking structure adjacent to the White House. Overhead Hurricane Gary passed northward. The storm’s fury was relentless. Twice, Clark cringed as debris crashed into the parking structure.

  The restroom was the only place Clark could find refuge in. After being relieved of his duties and surrendering his service weapon, he’d been escorted to the main entrance by his superior, Ken White, who’d come up from the command center in the West Wing. Ken had been diplomatic. “I’ll put you up in a room in the East Wing,” he’d said. “You’ll be safe there for the night.” The East Wing of the White House contained rooms where staff members could catch some sleep should they need to during times of crisis or, in many cases, during times when business kept them at the White House for long periods of time. Clark was fine with that; he was pissed off and afraid for his country, but he was okay with spending the night in one of the rooms because he knew he’d be safe. But then Secretary Barker had come in and demanded in no uncertain terms that Arroyo was to be escorted off the White House grounds. Now!