Kingdom of Monsters

by John Lee Schneider

  Kate was therefore going anyway, and would just skip the asking part.

  She had the crew – a little team she'd set-up and kept together in a loose alliance for years.

  First and foremost, she had a crazy pilot, willing to fly any aircraft, credentialed or not, and hadn't been killed yet. An important first step, all the more ironic in that Betty had been their initial contact.

  Kate made wide use of unpaid interns, particularly at the start of her career. As a student at NYU, Betty had operated in this capacity since she was a sophomore.

  On this particular evening, Kate was due in Chicago for an on-set interview, debuting her first mainstream film release – an exposé on war-profiteering, that would really piss-off her father. It was also intended to be a career kick-starter – the first time one of the major networks had agreed to promote her.

  But she had to get there, and damned if one of the biggest storms to hit New York in years hadn't up and blown through, shutting down all the goddamn airports.

  Kate had called all the charter pilots and found them either grounded or already booked. Betty, however, mentioned a guy she knew on campus – a film-student, whose mini-feature class-projects featured a lot of aerial footage.

  “He has a friend who's a pilot,” Betty said. “I think they do charter work.”

  “Is he any good?” Kate had asked.

  “Well, he's hot,” Betty said. “That's actually why I was talking to his friend, because I wanted to meet...”

  Kate interrupted. “Can you get him here quickly?”

  Betty produced a phone number – the film-student, who agreed to meet them. With Betty in tow, Kate spent an hour driving through the deluge and flooded roads, out of the city to a small, commercial air-park on Long Island, that catered to small aircraft and private charters.

  She was even less enthused when she met the duo waiting with their twin-engine plane.

  The burly fellow who was apparently the pilot, introduced himself as Maverick.

  “You know,” he said, “after Top Gun.”

  Kate had glanced doubtfully at Betty, who shrugged.

  His companion smiled reassuringly. “He'll get us there,” he said. He reached to shake her hand. “My name's Cameron.”

  “You're the film student. Why are you here?”

  “Maverick needed a ride. His driver's license is currently suspended.”

  His grin widened as he grabbed up their bags. “All aboard.”

  It didn't get any better once they were in the air, especially after the turbulence really started tossing them – out over the Lakes, right around where the Witch of November had taken out the Edmond Fitzgerald.

  “Where did you get your license?” Kate had asked – shouted, actually, over the thundering storm.

  “License?” Maverick had replied, playing the wheel, seeming to dodge lightning strikes like slalom flags. “I learned to fly on my daddy's crop-duster.”

  Kate had glanced back to where Betty was retching into a bag, her voice an involuntary moan. “Ohhhh God.”

  “You might as well relax,” Cameron told Kate, as they had barreled along, headlong, “he'll either crash us or he won't.”

  It was a remark that Kate had not found very reassuring.

  But Maverick had gotten them there. In Kate's world, that was first and foremost. And while he wasn't an unpaid intern, he was a sight cheaper than most charter pilots.

  Of such auspicious beginnings...

  Maverick, as it turned out, was quite reliable, at least, in the sense that she could count on him to be talked into anything – if the cash was there, he did not care.

  It dovetailed nicely that Cameron's role on their charter business had been filming the trip for customers, and his film-school skills adapted quite nicely as Kate's personal cameraman.

  To her credit, Kate had kept this little Scooby Doo team together ever since. And when she had contacted them this morning, in the very early a.m. – via a text, no less – they were available on a dime.

  “Got a communication/tip – you have to hurry – we need to GET there!!!”

  When Cameron and Maverick had appeared on-scene, Kate showed them the craft she had acquired, just for the occasion.

  It sat at the end of the boat-dock, floating on pontoons. A two-engine Cessna.

  “We might need to make a water-landing,” Kate said, “so....”

  Maverick chuckled. “I've always wanted to try out one of these.”

  Then she had shown him the route.

  “You realize,” he said, “that this is deep within restricted waters?”

  Kate nodded. “Is that a problem?”

  “Well,” Maverick asked, eyeing her meaningfully, “what would Han Solo do?”

  “Ask for more money,” Kate replied, pulling out her checkbook.

  They had been in the air in twenty minutes.

  The flight should not be more than three hours, the largest practical risk simply being the possibility of flying out into the middle of nowhere and running out of fuel over empty ocean.

  They would also have to fly low to avoid radar, which would be harder on gas, and of course, way more dangerous.

  Fortunately, Maverick was crazy enough on all necessary levels, and didn't require much convincing. And Cameron always just seemed to show up.

  And Betty, who sat looking pale-green? Well, Kate hadn't exactly told her about the restricted air-space – or more accurately, she might have implied, by mentioning her father, that she'd gotten special clearance.

  Kate operated on the philosophy that, if you needed someone's help, and it involved committing a federal and international crime, and you were pretty sure that person wasn't predisposed to do so, it was better not to tell them until after they'd already done it.

  Ideally, it wouldn't come up until after they got back. Betty's mind was currently occupied with all the jumps and gyrations as Maverick wrestled with the unfamiliar craft, even as the surface winds from the ocean below tugged at the cumbersome pontoons.

  “Jesus, Maverick,” Kate barked, as she was tossed in her seat. “Can you fly this thing or not?”

  “So far,” he called back, and then dipped one wing, knocking them all back into their seats. “Now hush up in the peanut gallery.”

  Kate bit down her reply.

  They'd been in the air nearly three hours. If their destination was there, it should be soon.

  If it was there.

  The next twenty-minutes would tell.

  But then there was a crackle of static as Maverick's radio barked – a hailing frequency. Maverick hit a switch and a woman's voice came on the speaker.

  “Attention! Unidentified aircraft. Please come in. You are traveling in restricted airspace in violation of international law. Please come in.”

  Maverick had tipped an eye to Kate. “Um. Boss? Does anyone know we're coming?”

  Kate leaned forward, taking the co-pilot's headset.

  “My name is Kate Rhodes. I received communication from Professor Nolan Hinkle, and was provided these coordinates.”

  There was a pause. When she replied, the woman's voice was doubtful.

  “We accept visitors under absolutely no circumstances.”

  “Well,” Kate replied, “we're here.”

  And for the first time, just ahead, on the endless stretch of ocean, they could see the peak of land-mass on the horizon.

  From a distance, it appeared to be a flat plateau, rising out of the sea. But as they grew closer, they realized it was actually the mouth of what must have once been a huge volcano.

  As they passed over, they saw the mouth created a circular wall around an interior bay, surrounding a smaller island within – a craggy mass that had likely once been a massive lava-cap.

  The radio crackled again.

  “Listen to me,” the woman said, “you are in extreme danger. Do exactly as I say. Circle north. We have a dock at the lagoon. Maintain altitude. Do not drop below a hundred feet until you pass
the reef.”

  Maverick glanced back at the cabin. Kate nodded.

  Pushing the limits of his instruction, Maverick held at exactly one-hundred feet.

  As he approached the island, the water below suddenly erupted.

  Riding the exploding geyser were a massive set of crocodile-like jaws, attached to an enormous body that blasted out of the brine like a breaching whale.

  The jaws snapped shut just below their ponderous dangling pontoons.

  There was a second deluge of ocean as the beast crashed back beneath the surface.

  “What the hell was that?” Maverick had barely reacted before the attack was over, like a croc missing a strike at a passing bird.

  “Oh my God,” Betty said, staring out the window. “It's all really true.”

  Cameron belatedly had his camera out, filming empty water where the creature had disappeared.

  Properly impressed, Maverick held his altitude until they were well past the reef, and approaching the lagoon.

  There was a long dock, probably where supplies were delivered. Maverick brought them in low, touching the pontoons down experimentally.

  Kate had almost forgotten it was Maverick's first water-landing, but he promptly reminded them, as the plane skipped the waves like a tossed stone, threatening to tip, roll, and break apart.

  Even Cameron held his breath as Maverick lurched them back up in the air, wings wobbling wildly, before finally stabilizing and dropping down onto the water.

  “Just like water-skis,” Maverick said, as they plowed the surface, and now he circled towards the dock.

  He coasted the Cessna to a stop and cut the engines. The plane bumped against the pier.

  Maverick turned to the cabin.

  “Well,” he said, “we're here.”

  When they pushed open the cabin door, the scent of heavy vegetation was cloying, and the heat hit them like a sauna.

  The tropical lagoon sat sultry-still, greeting the four trespassers as they filed out of the plane. The dock led to a small clearing. A path, paved with gravel, was cut into the trees.

  But so far, the road beyond was empty.

  Maverick tied the plane to the dock. Kate snapped her fingers at Cameron, who was filming the beach and surrounding jungle.

  “Camera on me,” Kate said, posing in front of the clearing, as Cameron zoomed in on her.

  “We have arrived,” Kate said, in her best narrator's voice. “We are standing on what modern folklore has called Monster Island.”

  Cameron panned back to reveal the island behind her.

  “Rumors have persisted for years,” Kate continued, “dismissed as urban legend, dreamed-up in popular culture, stories of mutations and genetically-bred monstrosities. Scientific mythology.

  “Yet today,” Kate intoned, “before even landing on this island, we have already encountered irrevocable evidence that the impossible is true.”

  As she spoke, there was the sound of crunching movement from the gravel road. The heavy vegetation had grown together over-top, hedged together, like a gateway to the rest of the island, and now the bushes lining the path began to shake.

  Cameron frowned as something dark filled his viewfinder. He pulled back from the camera, looking up.

  “Uhhhh, Boss...?”

  Kate saw his expression and started to ask, when Betty suddenly screamed aloud, full throated and shrill.

  Beside her, Maverick let out a blue curse.

  Kate turned.

  Her gaze turned up.

  Standing in the road, reared on its haunches, pushing the overgrown brush aside, was a silverback gorilla.

  It stared down at the four paralyzed humans from better than twenty-feet high.

  Kate sucked in breath and joined Betty's scream with her own.

  The giant ape cocked its head, appearing somewhat displeased at the piercing shriek.

  “Shit!” Maverick blurted, making a dash for the plane cabin. He emerged a moment later with a rifle. In a single movement, he shouldered it and fired.

  In the same moment, Cameron reached up and pushed the barrel aside.

  The ape looked startled as the shot zinged past its head. Then its lips pulled back into a growl.

  Maverick rounded on Cameron. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Wait!” a voice cried out.

  They heard the revving engine of a four-wheel Jeep as it appeared on the path, kicking up gravel and skidding to a stop protectively in front of the giant ape.

  There was a young woman at the wheel, waving frantically.

  “Don't shoot him!” she shouted.

  The woman, presumably the same voice from the radio, stepped out of the Jeep, offering their first look at her.

  Maverick whistled respectfully through his teeth.

  Kate frowned at Maverick, although to be fair, the young woman did cut a figure that could distract from a twenty-foot gorilla.

  The best description was that she seemed like a walking mirror of the surrounding tropics, radiating a lush, healthy bloom – in the tone of her muscle and the flush of her skin, she almost seemed to glow.

  Kate was also struck by her direct, penetrating eyes, as she scanned each of them – narrowing particularly sternly at Maverick, who dutifully shouldered his rifle, holding up both hands apologetically.

  She also spared a grateful eye to Cameron, who had diverted Maverick's errant gunshot.

  Then she turned to where the giant ape was now shuffling cautiously towards them. The puny humans from the plane shrank back.

  The young woman held out her hand. The big gorilla touched it gently.

  “Are you okay, Congo?”

  Congo grunted. He sat back and began making movements with his hands.

  Kate realized the big ape was signing, just like Coco the chimp.

  She nudged Cameron in the ribs. “Are you getting this?”

  Cameron, filming more or less on auto-pilot, nodded numbly.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” Kate said. “But who exactly are you?”

  The young woman turned, her hand still resting comfortingly on the four-foot palm of an eight-ton gorilla.

  “My name is Shanna,” she said. “Professor Nolan Hinkle is my father.”

  Chapter 6

  “You people are in a lot of trouble,” Shanna said.

  The Jeep bumped along the gravel road as they traveled briskly through the jungle. As Shanna had loaded them aboard, Betty muttered unhappily to Kate, “You lied about getting clearance, didn't you?”

  Kate shrugged.

  Betty started to sigh, but instead let out another scream, as she climbed into the back and was greeted by a shrill, birdlike squawk.

  From under the seat hopped what looked like a little plucked emu – no more than two-feet tall, with a whiplash tail, and a scaly head and neck like a lizard.

  The creature hissed, and while its body was small, its gangly forelimbs ended in large claws, with a wicked-looking sickle on each big toe.

  Betty froze as the little lizard-thing hopped into her lap, staring into her eyes like a hypnotizing cobra. Betty chittered like a trapped squirrel, trying to speak.

  “Leave her alone, Otto,” Shanna said. “Get in back.”

  In a flash, the obedient lizard hopped over the seat into the open trunk. Its lizard-head bobbed like an ostrich as it peered over the headrest.

  Kate gave Betty a little push, sliding into the seat next to her. Betty looked uncomfortably behind her as Otto perched just at her shoulder like a parrot.

  Maverick crowded in last, filling the back, and Cameron took the passenger seat in front.

  Shanna glanced sideways at the camera on his shoulder.

  “You shouldn't be filming,” she said. “I'm serious. I already reported in when I first detected your plane. I'm pretty sure they're going to wake a few generals over this.”

  Kate nodded confidentially to Betty. “That'll piss my father off.”

  She leaned forward. “Where exactly are you taking us?�
�

  “Up to the compound,” Shanna replied. “This island is dangerous.”

  Kate glanced over her shoulder, where Congo loped along behind them.

  The gravel road had taken a dramatic slope upward. As they emerged through the umbrella of foliage, breaking through into daylight, they came up along the canyon wall, and the road continued up into the highlands.

  Kate estimated the entire island was no more than five-miles across – a lava plug that had once bubbled over the top of the mountain – a post-eruption regurgitation that had cooled and sealed the volcanic mouth.

  It also seemed to have spent the last few thousand years breaking apart. The flat plateau was split by canyons, creating segregated valleys of wetlands, inundated by brush.

  And as they circled the cliff, they got their first view of one of the triangulated valleys below.

  Kate recognized the view – it was from the video clip that had been e-mailed to her.

  Maverick let out a long slow whistle. Betty leaned over Kate's shoulder. Cameron held up his camera.

  Monster Island. If the Nevada Desert was Area 51, this was Area 65,000,000 B.C..

  These were the beasts on the video.

  Even from the hilltop, looking down, the sight was majestic.

  Prehistoric monsters, resurrected through genetics, just like the urban legends claimed.

  Long-necked sauropods dominated the living diorama below, like elephants might lord over an African waterhole, except some of these creatures approached a hundred tons.

  Smaller, but no less formidable, were herds of elephant-sized ceratopsians – mutated reptilian-rhinos in battle-armor.

  A bevy of other plated and spiked denizens milled together, in what seemed an over-congested gathering – a lounge-spot where the falls cascaded down from the cliff, feeding the river on its way out to the ocean.

  Since she'd first received the video, Kate had been reviewing her dinosaur species.

  “These animals aren't just large,” she said, “they're all the largest of their kind. Those aren't just sauropods, those are titanosaurs. And Triceratops is the largest of the ceratopsians.”