Kingdom of Monsters

by John Lee Schneider

  As the little bastards came for her, foot-claws outstretched, reaching for her throat, Shanna snatched the folding lamp off of her desk and caught it in a wide-open swat, catching the two-foot lizard flush, batting it clear across the room, where it twitched like a broken toy.

  The other two were on her in a flash, one going high, slashing for her eyes, the other bringing its foot-claw in low for a disembowelment.

  Shanna side-stepped the belly-strike while bringing up her monitor screen to block her face, knocking the offending Otto aside. With a follow-up strike, she brought the flat-screen down on top of the other one, pinning it to the floor. She stomped her weight on the monitor and heard the lizard's bones crack.

  Shanna turned to the last of them.

  The little lizard hissed and Shanna felt pressure in her head.

  Whatever it had done to her before on the island, it was trying to do again.

  This time Shanna pushed back.

  The sensation was like holding your breath underwater too deep. She felt Otto resist.

  Then the little lizard staggered back with a squawk.

  “Not this time, you little bastard,” Shanna whispered.

  The little lizard eyed her, claws spread.

  But then it turned and made a dash for the elevator. Shanna chased after, armed with her keyboard, but it turned, hissing, claws spread, holding her at bay until the elevator doors closed.

  Shanna, however, had now gotten a better look at the guard's body lying in the elevator car behind him. The man's throat was gone – large wounds, more in line with a tiger-sized beast.

  Otto had not killed that man.

  The little lizard hissed as the doors blinked shut.

  Shanna glanced back at her desk. Her intercom was still beeping, with no answer – not from the desk downstairs.

  This was a big facility – a lot of people worked here – even some civilians, mostly scientists and researchers, all oblivious, working from the museum just up the street.

  Shanna pulled up the security monitor on one of the surviving PCs, bringing up the overhead view of the lobby levels.

  It was a slaughter.

  And as she tapped to the screen in the main hallway, over to the security desk in front of the elevator that took you to this very floor, she saw a pack of sickle-claws waiting patiently for the light.

  Behind her, the elevator light beeped.

  She was trapped.

  The windows didn't open, and even if they did, it was a thirty-story-tower – minor among the Manhattan skyline, but a two-hundred-foot drop to the street from her own perch on the twentieth floor.

  She pulled the control box on the wall, yanking the circuit that controlled the door so it would not automatically open.

  Which meant all they had to do was push the doors apart.

  She looked around desperately for a weapon. A keyboard wasn't going to help her versus a full-size dromaeosaur.

  The elevator dinged. There came a snarling from inside and banging on the metal door.

  As distracting as all that was, Shanna could perhaps be forgiven for failing to sense the approach of another, even though his very footsteps shook the ground.

  But then the entire building shook, and he now commanded her full attention.

  Shanna turned to the window as Big Rex nudged the building, like a dog pawing at a cabinet.

  Twenty-stories high, the rex stared her nose-to-nose through her window. His eyes blinked, glowing green.

  “Hey, big guy,” Shanna whispered – pointlessly, the glass was as soundproof as it was bulletproof. Nor could the Big Rex smell her. But he knew she was there.

  He bumped the building again, and now there was a crack in the unbreakable glass.

  The elevator door slid partly open. Pushing between the six-inch crack, Shanna could see snapping jaws and reaching claws.

  Apparently, Big Rex did too.

  He hated sickle-claws.

  The window rattled with his very roar, before the massive spike-toothed jaws smashed in, this time stepping with his weight, rocking the very building.

  It was hard to know the mind of a rex, or if he perceived the danger to Shanna herself – most likely, he thought he was moving to her aid.

  But the building shifted on its very foundation.

  The elevator door was pushed all the way open – a moment before the cable snapped.

  One sickle-claw made it halfway through before the descending car chopped it in half against the floor, leaving its top half to quiver and squirm at Shanna's feet.

  She could hear the elevator sing along its rails as it sailed twenty-stories down, before landing with an impact that reverberated all the way back up to the roof.

  The rex bumped the building again – not an attack, not yet, or else it would have already tumbled down – but it wouldn't matter soon.

  “Rex!” Shanna called through the now broken window. “Stop!”

  And for a moment, Big Rex did, his glowing green eyes blinking, his roars settling to a low rumble.

  The chemical, Shanna knew, was just beginning to addle his brain. The madness hadn't settled in yet – and a rex would always follow his nose.

  With the window broken, he no doubt smelled her. Big Rex cocked his head, looking crazily like a giant Labrador as he peered in the window.

  Then he bumped the building again.

  Shanna felt an alarming tremor ripple up through the foundation.

  “Rex,” Shanna whispered. “Please.”

  But then there came another, challenging roar.

  With the impact of his steps shaking the streets, his head rising above the surrounding towers, Congo stepped into the square.

  Rearing to his full height, staring the twenty-story rex in the eye, the giant gorilla beat his chest, and then dropped to all fours, smashing his fists like pistons into the city streets.

  Shanna could see the green glow in Congo's own eyes.

  Big Rex almost seemed to smile.

  After all this time, this was the fight they both wanted.

  Shanna knew she had to get out of this building before they brought it down.

  With the doorway pried open and the elevator car itself now gone, Shanna had access to the empty shaft. She stared down twenty-stories.

  Climbing into the narrow corridor, she latched onto the service ladder and began to climb.

  She had barely gone two stories when she looked down and saw sickle-claws working their way up from below.

  The clawed devils scaled the walls the way Shanna had seen bats climb trees. There were too many to count.

  There was no way through.

  With no other choice, she turned back and started climbing for the roof.

  Chapter 35

  Congo and Big Rex circled in the street.

  This battle was personal. And a long time in coming.

  When they came together, there was nothing like it in the history of the Earth – and the world indeed shook to attention.

  Circling choppers broadcast the images worldwide, even as police choppers gave up on useless gunfire, and simply turned their attention to diverting the citizenry out of their path.

  So far, that wasn't hard – their path had been straight as an arrow.

  And now they faced each other, the chemical in their veins amplifying a long and mutual animosity into a panting rage.

  It was the rex who attacked first, and also drew first blood.

  Congo had been watching for it. T. rex' armaments had evolved into one massive super-weapon – its jaws. Where an allosaur might have kicked with clawed feet or slashed with clawed hands, a rex attack was like the big carcharodonts, and came from the head.

  Oh, it could kick alright, but the claws were blunted like an ostrich, or a horse's hoof.

  This was a killing battle, and the rex came after Congo with bio-armament that had raised its kind to the top of the food chain. Back on the island, Congo had seen tyrannosaurs drop ceratopsians with a single bite, and cripp
le a full-grown titanosaur.

  But your greatest weapon can become a weakness if you rely on it overmuch, and Congo had mastered a tyrannosaur or two in his day – usually skirmishes with the smaller, albeit aggressive adolescent males, but occasionally he had battled the big female pride leaders.

  The trick was simple wrestling – evade the massive jaws and go for the powerful but unarmed legs.

  Of course, this was no juvenile male or even a female pride leader. Big Rex was a fully-mature, dominant rogue.

  He was experienced, as well, lunging forward with the suddenness of a striking snake. Congo had been on his guard, but the teeth still snagged his shoulder, chopping out a divot.

  Congo returned with a mighty blow of his own, a truck-sized fist that crashed against the rex' jaw, shaking the beast's entire frame.

  The blow echoed in the streets. The impact might have crippled a carcharodont – broken its jaw, or possibly its neck. But the rex, with a skull designed to absorb the headlong impact of its own attacks, merely rounded back, landing a heavy return stroke with its bony brow.

  Congo caught the head, grabbing with both arms and clamping the lethal jaws shut.

  The titans grappled, widening the city block as they crashed into the buildings around them.

  Congo was attempting to take his opponent's back, pulling himself beyond the reach of the jaws, to where his long arms could encircle the thick bulldog neck. The rex responded with simple brute force, bucking like a bronco-bull, slamming his rider against the base of the tower.

  The impact knocked out Congo's wind. Sensing advantage, the rex dug forward with both legs. Congo maintained his hold on the jaws, but now he found himself pinned.

  The rex snarled in anger and Congo felt himself answering in kind – and in doing so, began to realize his own disadvantage.

  Instead of the tactical battle that might have allowed him to hold his own, Congo found himself fueled by a mindless rage, an urge to meet the rex' brutality with his own.

  That was a battle he simply couldn't win. The rex was larger and better-armed – a true primordial engine of power. Congo had to get control of himself or the matter would soon be finished.

  As he struggled against the base of the tower, Congo was also well aware that somewhere, not far above, Shanna was feeling every tremor.

  Fortunately, the building was sturdier than it looked. A normal to-code structure would have already collapsed, but this was an Area 51 branch office.

  The rex pushed forward, and Congo slipped suddenly aside, sending the lunging jaws face-first into the building.

  Stepping in quickly, the big ape delivered another bludgeoning blow to the rex' head.

  Taking the impact cleanly, Big Rex whirled, bent low, connecting heavily with the bony ridge of its massive skull. Congo was knocked backwards, and sent rolling into one of the neighboring towers – a more modest ten-story structure that crumbled under him like a sandcastle.

  Congo was on his feet in a moment, shaking off dust, pounding the street in anger.

  Both combatants circled, both unbowed.

  But the rex had a shade better of the battle. Congo's shoulder was bleeding and he found himself backing up, forced on the defensive.

  The rex allowed no quarter, moving in relentlessly.

  It was a second too late when Congo realized the cagey tyrannosaur had again maneuvered him against the tower.

  The moment his back touched the concrete, the rex launched forward, its massive jaws yawning wide.

  Congo realized he couldn't get out of the way.

  The jaws closed over his already-wounded shoulder. But this time, the teeth sank down deep, piercing into bone, clamping down like a vice.

  In another moment, it would begin to shake and rip, and the cookie-cutter-action of the teeth, combined with the torque from the powerful muscles in its neck, would sever Congo's arm from his body, along with most of the meat and bone across the big ape's shoulder and back, leaving a wide-open, hollowed-out wound. Congo would not survive it.

  Evolution had curved rex-teeth inward and back – pulling away would sink the hold deeper.

  So instead, Congo pushed forward.

  The unexpected shift in direction gave Congo one last chance to regain the offensive.

  His massive paw swept along the street, scooping up a semi-trailer, and brought it in a wide, sweeping arc against the rex' skull. Big Rex let out an angry grunt, but did not release his grip.

  Congo hit him again. And then a third time, his strength fading fast.

  The third blow, however, happened to strike the rex in the eye, the hard metal digging past the protective bony brow, into the soft tissue of the iris.

  Big Rex screamed, releasing his grip, and Congo rolled clear.

  The rex danced madly in the street, pawing at the bleeding socket, which was blackening like a prizefighter’s, and starting to swell shut.

  But Congo was badly wounded. His right arm was clutched tightly to his side, nearly useless, tendons and muscles completely severed, perhaps bone as well.

  Blood splashed the streets at his feet. As Congo moved, the wound yawned.

  It was enough, he realized, to kill him.

  But he knew he was already dying. That's what the Food of the Gods did.

  The rex was already advancing again, glaring at his longtime rival with his one good eye.

  If this were merely a hunt, now would be the time to sit back and wait for the wound to do its work, letting the prey expire on its own.

  But this was personal. So the rex stepped forward menacingly – albeit with a touch of caution, blinking his damaged eye – an experienced killer who knew a wounded prey was the most dangerous.

  Still, Big Rex sensed he had scored a telling blow and that his opponent was fading.

  As he retreated, Congo again found his back pressed against the tower wall. He looked up over his shoulder, where he could still sense Shanna somewhere up above.

  He could feel her fear.

  Worse, he could sense that nasal stench as well.

  Otto – somewhere near.

  No doubt it was egging Big Rex on as well.

  Congo, however, still had his mind.

  He pitched the trailer at the advancing tyrannosaur's face. And by happenstance or good aim, it struck the already-injured eye.

  The rex turned away, stamping its feet, roaring in pain – for a brief window, fully distracted and vulnerable.

  But Congo was beyond counterattacks. In the seconds before the rex rounded back in angry pursuit, the big ape turned to the tower behind him and began to climb.

  The rex realized Congo's escape a moment too late. The big tyrannosaur charged, striking the building, its jaws snapping shut mere yards from Congo's retreating foot.

  Big Rex smashed his head against the tower, roaring in frustration. The foundation shook.

  Reinforced or not, the structure wasn't going to last much longer.

  Shanna was somewhere above, and Otto was up there with her.

  Keeping his injured arm tucked at his side, Congo climbed.

  Chapter 36

  Shanna could hear the sickle-claws coming up fast.

  The service ladder took her to a small platform leading out onto the roof. The doorway, however, was locked. Shanna cursed under her breath – only in a government building did you get locks going in and out.

  Shanna glanced over the railing. The nearest of her pursuers were less than two floors below.

  She had never seen this kind of coordinated behavior before. Dromaeosaurs weren't particularly smart animals – just bone-deep evil.

  But she knew the answer, even as she again felt that throb of pressure in her skull.

  There was a jolt of pain, but now Shanna was ready for it. She flexed back – and that's really what it felt like – straining a muscle.

  As if in response, a warbling hooting echoed in the corridor, as the sickle-claws all catcalled out together.

  The first of them made the leap
, catching the access ladder deftly, like a squirrel.

  In another moment, it would be standing on the platform next to her.

  But then the building itself was rocked, accompanied by a crescendo of savage roars and bellows from out on the street.

  The sickle-claw perched precariously on the ladder was knocked loose, tumbling nearly fifty feet before snagging its claws along the wall, and arresting its fall.

  Without missing a beat, it began climbing again.

  Apparently oblivious as the tower itself shook around them, two more sickle-claws leaped for the platform, one catching the wall just below, and clinging like a spider.

  The second caught the railing, and like a giant crow, hopped up on the platform beside her.

  Shanna knew her life could be counted in seconds.

  Then the roof above her was suddenly torn away.

  Concrete and rubble tumbled past, bouncing down the narrow shaft as the rooftop was peeled like a sardine can.

  Congo peered in from above.

  The sickle-claw screeched, but instead of fleeing, it moved on Shanna, claws up.

  Congo's massive paw reached down, squashing the clawed beast like a bug.

  Shanna looked up at the giant ape's glowing green eyes, even as she saw the terrible wound the rex had left across his shoulder.

  She could feel his pain.

  “Oh, Congo,” she said, touching his hand. “I'm so sorry.”

  The building shook again, and now Shanna felt herself snatched-up bodily.

  Congo cradled her in his giant paw as he leaped from the tower to the top of the next building over.

  There was a loud and angry objection below from Big Rex.

  Congo hooted down from the neighboring rooftop.

  With a roar, the rex charged, even as Congo turned to retreat.

  Tucking Shanna in the crook of his injured arm, the giant ape leaped from rooftop to rooftop, straddling the New York skyline like a cat running along adjoining fences.

  In the streets below, Big Rex followed.

  Shanna clung to Congo's fur as she felt herself flying through the cold night air.

  She could clearly see their destination – the Wall Street district of lower Manhattan, and the single tallest structure in the city.