Clickers II: The Next Wave

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “And the bird?”

  “Call it back. Tell the pilot to stand down.”

  Richrath smiled, and then saluted. “You’re doing the right thing, Augustus.”

  Livingston didn’t respond. Exhausted, he wondered if his farm was still standing.

  He wondered if he could ever return to it.

  * * *

  Washington DC

  3:51 AM

  Specialist Terry Wright had wanted to operate a tank since she was a little girl, when she and her older brothers used to play army in their back yard as children.

  That was years ago, and now Terry was grown up and in the Army for real. She was in her third year, serving out of Fort Detrick, and when she was discharged she was going to college for a degree in nursing.

  Terry had taken to the tanks almost instinctively. She learned to drive them, service them, and operate the cannon. Now she was in an M1A2 Tank, positioned in the gunner’s station, her target sighted in the two-axis view piece.

  She called down to her driver, Private First Class Barry Moore, via her shoulder-mounted radio. “Enemy sighted. Hold back.”

  She felt the tank slow down a bit. She maneuvered to the left, the massive Clicker dead center in her sights. It was gigantic; it had to be well over a hundred feet in length and probably twenty or thirty feet in height. A bunch of those lizard creatures had been herding it toward the White House, and as Terry pressed the trigger she felt a sudden burst of adrenaline as her shot caught the giant Clicker dead center in the middle of its eyestalks.

  The explosion was loud, even amid the scatter of gunfire and the sound of the creatures. The shot pulverized the Clicker, sending exoskeletal matter and white, gooey crap everywhere. Terry saw the thing was still standing, its top half bearing a giant hole in the center, and she lowered the cannon to aim at its mid-section. “Shit, I hope this thing takes the shot. It goes through, I’ll be taking out half the White House.”

  “Blow it the fuck up!” Barry shouted in her earpiece.

  Grinning, Terry drew a bead on her target and fired.

  This time, the shot took the creature down for good. She saw its mid-section blow apart, spraying gunk over the lizard creatures and the smaller Clickers, and then the giant was down for good.

  It was hard to tell if that last shot did any damage to the White House, but that wasn’t the point. She’d obtained her objective. She’d blown the fuck out of that giant Clicker.

  She never knew firing a real tank would be so rewarding.

  * * *

  Potomac River banks, near DC

  3:55 AM

  The leader seethed in anger.

  It was forced to watch from its safe vantage point in the abandoned warehouse as the humans began making headway in their defense. The Dark Ones had been stealthy in their attack, and had killed an untold number of humans, more than enough to take revenge for the slaughter of their kind in the caves. The goal to eliminate the threat once and for all, though, was now in serious danger.

  Herding the Clickers had been genius; finding the Queen of the Clickers had been even better. The leader was aware of her presence, knew she often dwelt in deep trenches in the ocean, hardly ever surfacing. To drive her out of the ocean, onto land, would wreak terrible havoc on the humans.

  The leader had hoped to use the Queen of the Clickers to destroy the building where the humans had their central government. That was his intention. He hadn’t anticipated the slow movement of the Queen, nor her restlessness. The leader lost a dozen of his brothers to her claws and the Dark Ones had kept a safe distance from her, being sure to stay in her blind side as they herded her toward their destination. As they guided her, they allowed the Queen to destroy other works that the humans had built—mostly buildings and cars. And when their goal was finally in sight, the leader had watched while the Queen crawled up to it and began tearing into the structure with her sharp claws.

  He hadn’t anticipated such a heavy attack from the humans, not this soon. The storm was still in force, but it was weakening. He was hoping the storm and the general confusion they’d caused with their attack would have been enough to scare the humans away long enough to take out their infrastructure once and for all.

  But that wasn’t to be.

  The leader roared in frustration as he watched the Queen get blown apart by the green thing that blew fire. Infuriated, the leader swept a car off its tires, hurtling it over on its side.

  It stopped. Now wasn’t the time to go on a rampage. If he wanted to live to fight another day, at another time, he had to retreat now. And he had to save as many of his brothers as he could.

  Calling out a signal to retreat, the leader roared its message across the Potomac. He waited, his hearing poor, but his senses tuned to the vibrations of his own kind’s vocal cords. What came back was a roar of acknowledgement from his brethren: they’d received his message and were heeding it. The message was being relayed to the others. They were retreating.

  With one last grunt of dismay, the leader leaped down from the parking structure and began making its way toward the black waters of the Potomac, away from the humans.

  Hopefully, not all of his army would be slaughtered.

  * * *

  The White House

  3:58 AM

  They moved in darkness; hunter and prey—and the things chasing them both.

  When the echoes of the President’s footfalls suddenly faded, Clark halted and then crept forward with caution. He rounded a corner and there was a loud crack and bright flash from ahead of him. The bullet slammed into the wall, inches from his head. Clark aimed at the flash and fired two shots. He heard a shout, and then the sound of someone pulling the trigger on an empty weapon.

  Grinning, he stepped around the corner and approached his quarry.

  President Tyler lay slumped against the wall, bleeding from a gunshot wound in his stomach.

  “It takes a long time to die from a gut shot, Mr. President.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Tyler gasped, his voice slurred. “Flesh is weak. The soul is eternal. Kill me now and I’ll stand before God, and be welcomed into the kingdom.”

  “Give him my regards.”

  Clark placed the barrel of his gun against the trembling man’s head. Moaning, Tyler closed his eyes. A dark stain appeared on the crotch of his slacks.

  “The Lord is my shepherd...”

  Before he could pull the trigger, Clark heard a noise; talons clicking on the corridor’s tiled floor. The Dark Ones—closing in on them. He pulled the gun away. Tyler opened his eyes in surprise and stared up at him.

  “You see, Arroyo? It’s still not too late for you. You can find redemption. Pray with me. Ask that He forgive your sins and wash you in His blood.”

  Clark grinned. “You think that if I kill you, that you’ll go to Heaven?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “So you’ll miss out on Hell? The demons can’t touch you?”

  Snarls and hisses drifted down the corridor as the Dark Ones became aware of their location. Padding footsteps turned into a run.

  “Y—yes,” the President said. “Clark, please. We have to...”

  “Guess what, Mr. President? You’re wrong. The demons are coming for you right now.”

  He turned and fled down the corridor, plunging ahead into the darkness.

  Behind him, President Tyler screamed.

  Then came the ripping sounds.

  Clark Arroyo navigated the secret passageways and eventually he emerged onto the White House lawn. The entire area was teeming with troops, and the bodies of the dead lay everywhere. Lying dead near the front lawn of the White House was a giant Clicker, its shell pulverized. Clark saw with a sense of numb amazement that part of the White House itself had been demolished. There was a large gaping hole in the building. Dusty smoke hung in the air, which reeked of brine and fish.

  “Are you okay, sir?” A soldier approached him, concerned.

  “I’m fine,” Clark s
aid. “But the President…Those things got inside. The President is dead.”

  The soldier appeared shocked and fumbled for the proper response. Clark interrupted him.

  “Should we take shelter? Are there more of the creatures out here?”

  The soldier brightened. “No sir. This area is secure now.”

  “Then we’ve won. It’s over.”

  “Yes, sir, I believe it is.”

  “President Tyler,” Arroyo said, interjecting sorrow into his voice. “He’s dead. Those things got him. There’s still some in the White House.”

  The soldier spoke into his shoulder-mounted microphone. “Prepare to enter the White House. More of them are inside.”

  And as a battalion of soldiers began making ready to storm the White House with heavy weaponry, Clark Arroyo smiled as he made his way to a medical station and waited for the dawn.

  * * *

  Various Locations along the U.S. East Coast

  5:00-9:00 AM

  As fast as hell came to earth, it settled down with almost equal quickness.

  As Hurricane Gary weakened and military personnel from across the country swept in to the affected areas, the scales began to tip. Tanks obliterated Dark Ones. Troops bearing high caliber automatic weapons mowed down Dark Ones and Clickers alike. The National Guard assisted, beginning the task of performing mop-up duties and maintaining law and order in a few areas that had begun to slip into civil unrest. As if the Dark Ones and Clickers knew the tide was turning, they began to retreat; the Clickers appeared to sense that the currents were changing and migrated back into the ocean. Most were destroyed by heavy gunfire. Likewise, the Dark Ones heard the call of their leader and almost immediately began relaying the message along the Eastern Seaboard. Within minutes they were racing to the shore, diving into the watery depths. Many of them made it to safety; many others were slaughtered mercilessly.

  In New York City, Connie Stewart peeked her head over the windowsill of the storage room over O’Mally’s Bar where she, Bob Ellison, and Derek Brubaker had taken refuge. The three had kept each other awake all night out of pure fear and necessity. When Connie saw powerboats equipped with military personnel come charging down the still-flooded Seventh Avenue below her, she reached down and shook Bob Ellison out of a light doze. “Hey, I think I see military out there!”

  Bob and Derek were up in a flash as more speedboats roared by. “Those are Navy guys,” Derek said, excited. “Thank God, I hope this is over!”

  As military, law enforcement, and civilian volunteer rescue teams began the effort of locating victims and helping to evacuate people, they were greeted with cries of relief and shouts of victory. People emerged from storm shelters, basements, attics, amazed and sad at the carnage. In Baltimore, a homeless man (the same vagrant that Richard had met earlier during his attempt to reach the aquarium) stepped out into the morning sun from his second floor refuge of an abandoned house as the last clouds of Hurricane Gary broke apart, grinning gap-toothed. He was carrying a large fishing net and was scooping up small dead Clickers by their legs, throwing them inside. “Gonna have me a big ‘ol crab feast tonight. Hell yeah, jus’ gotta get me some butter and some Old Bay and I’m there!”

  At a make-shift command center outside of the Peachbottom Nuclear Plant, Rick talked to Melissa Peterson on his cell phone. Despite being tired, he felt a sense of relief…it felt like something had been lifted off his shoulders, that for the first time in over a decade, he could feel free and relaxed. “—I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he told her, after sighing in relief when he heard her voice. “So much has happened that you don’t…well, it’ll take forever to tell you about it.”

  “I’ve been worried sick about you,” Melissa said. “How are things down at ground zero? Anything like before?”

  Rick shook his head. He had seen some of the news footage, which was being broadcast all over the world now. Despite hearing verification of President Jeffrey Tyler’s death and Vice President Danny Bower’s slide into the position of President, the political talking heads were already doing a number on the Tyler Administration. “They’re over,” one of them said. Rick could only grin at that.

  “Naw. It’s nothing like Phillipsport. For one thing, we really won this time.”

  “Seriously?” There was a sense of doubt in Melissa’s voice. Rick didn’t blame her one bit.

  He glanced over at Colonel Livingston, who was fielding questions from reporters about fifty yards away from him. In the past few hours, Livingston had become the de facto leader of the country and everybody knew it except the surviving fragments of the Tyler Administration. Rick had heard Livingston make a call to the CIA to put in the order to cease Project Phil, the code name for eliminating all the Phillipsport witnesses and survivors. He was made aware of the code name fifteen minutes ago from a CIA defector who used his security clearance to get to Peachbottom. Normally, the CIA would not take orders from a high-ranking military official, but their displeasure toward the Tyler Administration was the deciding factor. Besides, the whole world knew about Phillipsport now. There was nothing left to cover up.

  Rick told her this. Melissa was silent for a moment. Then: “What does that mean for us?”

  “We’re free, honey. We’re free.”

  Melissa’s voice cracked. “I wish I could believe that.”

  “Believe it.” Rick closed his eyes, suddenly feeling tired from his ordeal. “I’m flying back home as soon as possible. I want to get on with my life. I want to see my daughter, want to try to patch things up with Ashley. I’ve spent the last twelve years running, Melissa. I’m tired of running. I ran away from Ashley when things started going bad between us, and I want to make things right if I can.”

  “And if you can’t patch things up with her?”

  “Then I’ll feel better knowing I at least tried. At least I can still be a part of my daughter’s life.”

  Thirty minutes later, Colonel Livingston was on the phone with his housekeeper, May. “I’m so glad to hear you’re okay,” he said.

  “You too, Colonel,” May said.

  “And your son and his family?”

  “They made it over here an hour after you left.”

  “Good.” Colonel Livingston was relieved to hear that. “May, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Yes, Colonel?”

  “In the bottom right hand drawer of my bureau in the bedroom there’s a spiral bound phonebook. Under the letter “W,” you’ll find a listing for Josh and Maryann Waggoner. Can you read that number off to me?”

  “Sure, Colonel, just a moment.”

  And as May headed to his bedroom to retrieve his phonebook, Colonel Livingston looked up at the blue sky overhead and hoped that he would get to see his grandchild, that his long and frequent absences from his son’s life had not proven to be a disaster.

  Epilogue

  BOMBARDMENTS CONTINUE

  Tod Sylva

  Associated Press

  July 12, 2006

  Military operations continued today along the Eastern seaboard of the United States as the American Naval and Coast Guard forces destroyed further breeding grounds and dwellings of Homarus Tyrannous...

  DEEP SEA CAVERNS DISCOVERED

  Val Lann

  Associated Press

  July 30, 2006

  Military operations and marine biologists today discovered a catacomb of underwater caverns that extend from the Chesapeake Bay to the Maine coast that is believed to be the entrance to the breeding ground of the species that are now referred to as “Dark Ones.”

  Marine Lt. Robert Brennan told the Associated Press today that a full scale search and destroy mission was underway. “We’ve got a number of dead specimens in our possession now that we’re studying. It’s through those findings that we were able to discover the entrance to these caverns.”

  It’s not known how large these underwater caverns are, or how many of the creatures may be hiding inside them. But Robert Brennan
says that extreme caution is going to be made in eliminating the creatures. “We can’t afford to sit idly by and let these Dark Ones have a chance to become a threat again.”

  SYCHEK’S BIOGRAPHY DEBUTS AT NUMBER ONE

  Kelli Datlow

  Hellnotes.com

  September 22, 2006

  As clean-up and humanitarian efforts continue across the Eastern seaboard, one of the principle players in last July’s disaster got some good news today. Author Rick Sychek, who spent several years living under an assumed identity and on the run from clandestine government forces, saw his autobiography debut at number one on The New York Times bestseller list. A Conspiracy of One, which details Sychek’s ordeal, was released this week by New York-based publisher Diamond Books. Movie rights have been optioned by Hollywood producer John Boucher...

  MID TERM ELECTIONS BLOWOUT

  Mark Jennings

  New York Times

  November 6, 2006

  As a result of the fallout with the Tyler Administration over Hurricane Gary and the Clickers/ Dark Ones catastrophe, voters sent a clear message to Washington—the United States is no longer represented by corporate interests or ideologues. It is clearly, we the people.

  House Republicans lost over half their members, with the new seats being taken up by a mixture of seasoned Democrats, Independents, and what is looking to be a new breed finally gaining voice in the Republican Party comprised of Senators and Congress people who explain they were never comfortable with Jeffrey Tyler’s extreme right-wing brand of government in the first place…