“The President has demanded my resignation. It is not forthcoming. I will not step down. I will not retire. I will continue to fight until every one of these creatures is either dead or running back to the sea. Join me. Help me defend our country by defending yourselves. Thank you.”
Jennifer wiped tears from her eyes. The emotion and earnestness in Livingston’s tone had moved her. She noticed that Richard was sniffing as well.
“I don’t think,” Richard whispered to her, “that I’ve ever been prouder to be an American.”
Livingston stepped away from the podium and Rick moved through the crowd towards him. They shook hands.
“Thank you,” Rick said.
Livingston turned to the technician. “Getting that out to the media and any other sources you can is our number one priority. Right away, before anything else happens. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to see how our defenses are holding outside.”
* * *
Falls Church, Virginia
1:44 AM
The leader of the Dark Ones surveyed the scene ahead from the safety of a deserted building. Behind him were hundreds of his kind, temporarily sated on horseflesh and the occasional human. Thousands more of their kind were making headway all along the seacoast. The main forces were pressing onward to humankind’s seat of power—Washington D.C.—and would surround it on all sides before pressing forward with the main assault. They knew there were other human nations, but it had been this one that declared war, and thus, this one would pay the price.
The need for vengeance was instinctual, primal. It burned within them all. Acting as a single, cohesive unit, they’d driven the Clickers up from their deep-sea enclaves, making special efforts to drive out the elders, which were more massive and destructive than their younger and smaller counterparts. The elder Clickers had communicated with their own kind, sending subtle signals beneath deep-water trenches and the result had been a chain effect that rippled along the seacoast. Havoc had spread among humankind, making them more vulnerable for the Dark Ones and their final invasion.
What then, once the plan was completed?
The leader wasn’t sure. That was for the elders to decide. But he tasted victory on his forked tongue. Ingrained in their memories was the taste of victory from centuries ago, before the lands above had been heavily populated with humans. There had been long centuries of relative peace when humankind and the Dark Ones coexisted. The Dark Ones rarely came ashore; when they did, it was to forage for the Clickers that were driven up by undersea currents. The few times they’d come across humans, they’d dined extensively. All that changed with the last rising, which had not been so long ago. There were many more humans now, so many that it seemed they’d taken over completely. Had the humans not annihilated them in that cave, the Dark Ones might have remained hidden in their underwater enclaves.
Humans had started this war.
It wouldn’t be the first time they’d fought against the Dark Ones.
The leader’s forked tongue tasted the air. Among the many legends passed down among their kind was one involving a company of humans that sailed over to the northern parts of their territory. This family of humans was lighter in skin and hair color than those normally found on these shores and they were more hostile. They’d come in large ships, the first ever the Dark Ones had seen, and they’d bore large, heavy weapons made of iron: swords, sabers, tridents. Some of them wore heavy iron over their chests, and others wore an iron-like covering over their heads—some of the coverings had the horns of bulls or rams on them. The Dark Ones had never come across humans like this.
Humanity had made that first strike without warning and the Dark Ones had been forced to defend their own. They’d driven the fair-skinned humans away, had killed and consumed most of them. Centuries passed before they saw humans like this again.
Now they were everywhere.
The Dark Ones had attempted to live out of sight of this newer breed of humans, and had done so for a few hundred years. Then they’d come ashore during the height of a storm much like this and acted on instinct, as they always did. The settlement they’d struck was one they’d sacked centuries before, back when the land was still fertile. It was still relatively remote from other humans.
They did not expect to rile up the humans. Did not expect to be hunted themselves.
They did not expect to be slaughtered so ruthlessly in that cave.
The leader yearned for the wisdom of the Great One, who had been killed during that last invasion. The leader had found the body himself, when the Dark Ones were retreating into the ocean. He and some others had taken the Great One’s remains to their watery abode and laid him to rest.
During the retreat, other Dark Ones were killed but their kind always managed to whisk the bodies of their fallen brothers away. Only one had been unaccounted for.
That fallen brother was the reason why a party of Dark Ones had been sent ashore after the initial retreat. They’d made a home in a remote cave, a large family of Dark Ones, and were slaughtered by a surprise invasion of humans.
The message this attack brought was simple.
The humans knew who they were now.
The scent of the humans was everywhere in this place above the sea. The leader had learned to recognize the scent from the scant underwater invasions they’d undertaken in the few years since the massacre. As the leader, he’d communicated with his kind to stay hidden, to let the humans search and find nothing. The leader and the other elders of their kind would plan an assault that would wipe out the humans and eliminate the threat once and for all.
Now that time was here. The storm had blown over, just in time for their own storm. They rose en masse and intended to end the threat of mankind forever.
* * *
Peachbottom Nuclear Plant
1:57 AM
Livingston listened to the incoming reports. Outside the nuclear power plant, the storm had begun to abate slightly. But even as the hurricane’s force lessened, the Clickers’ assault reached full strength. So far, his troops had managed to hold them back and without suffering heavy casualties.
From behind them in the technical bullpen, one of the techs said, “We’ve just lost our internet connection.”
Jeremiah turned to him. “That’s it. Now we’re cut off entirely.”
Livingston felt cut off, too. Cast aside. Set adrift.
Once again, alone.
“Did we manage to get that transmission out to the public?”
The technician who’d filmed the speech nodded. “Yeah, it’s out there. Whether the media will grow some balls and broadcast it or keep kissing Tyler’s ass is another story.”
“They’ll show it,” Livingston said. “They feed off situations like this, same way those things outside feed off us.”
The lights flickered, went out, and then came back on.
“Don’t worry,” Jeremiah told Livingston. “We’ve got all sorts of backups and generators. It’s inconceivable that this facility could lose power.”
Then the lights went out.
And stayed out.
“Not a problem,” Jeremiah whispered. “The emergency lighting will kick on in just a second.”
A second passed. Two. Ten.
The corridor stayed dark.
Jeremiah’s voice sounded very small and afraid.
“Colonel, perhaps we have a problem, after all.”
* * *
Just within the secured perimeter of the Peachbottom Nuclear Power Plant, in what was formerly a locked room before the cable that supplied power to the security system was pulled, a dark shape fumbled with something. There was a horrible bleat of frustration and then the outer lights dimmed, flickered briefly, and then went out entirely. The thing backed out of the room and rose to its full height.
The Dark One grasped a conductor in its spade claw and threw it to the ground. It had breached the high concrete fence that guarded the nuclear power plant unseen and took down the cables tha
t fed the security cameras. Then, while the Clickers and the soldiers had done battle, it managed to sneak through the fray and enter the facility, slaughtering several soldiers at their posts in the process. It had found the room where the backup generator was located and destroyed the unit completely. In doing so, the Dark One had not only taken down the electrical power of the facility, it had effectively neutered the backup system. Deeper inside the massive facility, a separate power source was keeping the nuclear reactors humming along smoothly, despite the power outages. Should that source go down, there was another one buried well beneath the facility that would take over. That was the last line of defense. If that one failed and the reactors malfunctioned, the result could range from nuclear seepage to an all out meltdown that would affect the entire Mid-Atlantic region.
The Dark One smiled. All was going according to plan. It only hoped that its brethren in Washington D.C. were having as much luck.
Chapter Thirteen
The White House
2:08 AM
Clark Arroyo hid inside a closet and tried to figure out what was going on. All around him people were running and shouting. He heard footsteps pounding down the corridors and voices crying out in frustration and anger. He wondered what the cause of all the alarm was. It couldn’t be the hurricane. The worst of that had passed now. It couldn’t be the Clickers. No way those dumb beasts could breach security around the White House, and even if they did it was inconceivable that they’d gain access to the Magog bunker. He pressed his ear against the panel door and listened.
“—wants his fucking head on a platter. It’s a fucking coup attempt, plain and simple.”
“We could dispatch Delta Force. Have them secure the plant and take down Livingston and his forces.”
“Call in the Airborne.”
“Can’t. They’ve broken off contact, too. Sworn allegiance to Livingston.”
“I’m telling you, send in Delta.”
“No, activate Black Lodge. At this point, I’d say this is more up their alley anyway.”
“Tried. They say they’re busy elsewhere.”
“There has to be some way to recapture the plant.”
“What about the reactors? If he wanted to, Livingston could—”
The speakers hurried off, out of Clark’s earshot. The air inside the small closet was stifling. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to think. A vein in his head throbbed from the stress. What the hell was happening? Livingston—that was the Colonel they’d reactivated earlier to deal with this crisis. Had he gone rogue? Was he defying a Presidential directive—an order from his Commander-in-Chief? And what had they been saying about a reactor?
Clark Arroyo had been hiding in the closet for the past thirty minutes. He’d left the men’s room of the parking structure over an hour ago and, braving the hurricane-force winds, managed to make it to the outer perimeter of the East Wing of the White House where he’d gained access via his key card, which Ken White had failed to confiscate when he was thrown out of the building. Once inside he didn’t waste time. He slipped into an empty room and hunkered in the closet. He knew it was possible that the storm hadn’t knocked out the security cameras and if so, armed guards would be coming his way shortly. He’d waited in the closet, gripping his Sig Sauer tightly, and waited.
Nobody came.
He waited for fifteen minutes, battling a rush of emotions. Fear for his wife and daughters. Anger at his mistreatment and the disrespect shown to him. Most of all, he felt fear for his country. All these conspired in him to take action: he would gain entry into the White House and, if he wasn’t caught, he would sneak inside and either gain enough valuable insider information that President Tyler was off his rocker and was jeopardizing the nation due to his ineptness and religious zealotry or, if the opportunity presented itself, he’d take the bastard out along with those closest to him.
When he was positive that his fellow Secret Service agents hadn’t been tipped off by the building’s security system, he’d let himself out of the closet, opened the door to the hallway and peered out. The coast was clear.
He’d spent the next forty minutes moving deeper into the recesses of the White House. Hiding in empty conference rooms, crouching beneath desks, and hiding in closets.
He’d concealed himself in his latest hiding spot when he heard the commotion ahead of him.
He had to get out of there. Sneak out of the White House, find his wife, make sure she was safe, and then get clear of Washington. But if the Clickers were still running rampant he wouldn’t make it a block, let alone all the way home. Still, he had to try. The power in this place was crumbling. President Tyler wasn’t just dogmatic or pious—he was downright insane. Now it sounded like even his own men in the field were turning against him.
Carefully, Clark edged open the door and peered through the crack. The dimly-lit corridor was empty. He crept out of the closet and headed for the nearest exit. He heard several distant shouts. The sound of running footsteps pounded towards him. Quickly, Clark turned and headed back the other way, towards the bunker entrance. More footsteps came from that direction as well. He ducked back inside the closet and drew his weapon.
“Shit,” he whispered to himself. “What now?”
The lights blinked, and then went out. Red emergency lighting clicked on automatically, illuminating the corridor.
Then the screams started.
* * *
Peachbottom Nuclear Plant
2:17 AM
Rick wanted to do nothing more than recline on a sofa in the lounge and fall into dreamland. He was dog-tired, but the events of the past day had done a number on him. His mind was wide awake, turning everything over, processing it. And what he was processing wasn’t very reassuring.
The Peachbottom Nuclear Plant had lost all emergency power, including that of the backup generators. All remaining power was being channeled to the reactors to avoid a meltdown. Everything else was dead. That could only mean one thing.
The Dark Ones were here.
He’d whispered this warning to Livingston in panic shortly after it was discerned that the generator had, indeed, come on briefly after the power went out but then shut down. The techs had been scrambling to find out why the backup generator failed, and Jeremiah Brown had worked with another team to insure that the generator powering the reactors was functioning properly. Livingston had pulled Rick and those two scientists aside and told Jeremiah they were retreating to the lounge. “Under no circumstances are you to go out to the main generator,” he’d said.
“Why not?” Jeremiah replied. The bullpen was dark. The techs were babbling in frustration, trying to get things back up. “We can’t work in the dark!”
“Get flashlights,” Livingston said. “In the meantime, don’t set foot outside. The reactors will be safe.”
“But—” Jeremiah had sputtered in protest.
“I’m ordering you to stay inside!” Livingston thun
dered. “Tranning? Secure the bullpen exit.”
Rick had heard Tranning make his way to the exit of the bullpen. Some of Jeremiah’s staff members muttered. He heard one of them say, “They’re just as fucked up as President Tyler!” Rick wanted nothing more than to bitch-slap whoever said that.
“Gentlemen, you saw the Clickers outside,” Livingston said, his voice commanding. “Correct?”
Jeremiah and his team murmured that, yes, they’d seen the Clickers. “But this plant is secure!” Jeremiah said. “Even giant crustaceans can’t—”
“I don’t have time to provide you with a history lesson, men,” Livingston continued. “But like I said in the broadcast, in addition to the Clickers, Hurricane Gary, and the ineptitude of President Tyler and his followers, we have another threat to take seriously. That threat is a race of creatures called The Dark Ones. Not much is known about them, but they’re extremely dangerous. In fact, they’re more deadly than the Clickers and they possess a cunning that is deceptively frightening. I witnessed
these things over a decade ago in Phillipsport, Maine. These creatures are—”
A flashlight was turned on. One of the techs was holding it, and he placed it on the desk. Rick saw Lieutenant Tranning was holding his rifle in a stable position, ready to deploy.
“Good,” Livingston said. “Do we have any more flashlights on hand?”
“Hold on.” Another tech fumbled along his desk and brought out another flashlight. Once turned on, the bullpen was illuminated with more light.
The bullpen looked even more frightening with the flashlights turned on, especially with the howling of the storm so audible from outside. It gave the room a haunted, bleak appearance, filled with shadows.
“As I was saying,” Livingston said. “These creatures are extremely deadly. They hunt the Clickers for food. Part of my mission in this operation was to lead efforts in educating the military on their threat and coordinate efforts to destroy them and protect the American public. I’ve spent the last ten hours trying to do so, to no avail. Make no mistake, these things will make the devastation Hurricane Gary and the Clickers are causing look miniscule by comparison.”
“How could these Dark Ones…or whatever you call them…how can they breach the security of this plant without being spotted by your men?” one of the techs asked.
Clickers II: The Next Wave Page 22