Kaiju Inferno

Kaiju Winter: Book Three

Jake Bible

Copyright 2015 by Jake Bible

One

She sits, her hands on her pregnant belly, and waits. Her long legs crossed and her blonde hair hanging against her shoulders, framing her wide face and rugged looks. The question she just asked should have elicited at least a couple squeaks of curiosity, but still she waits, sitting, pregnant, in the silence.

Adrianna VanderVoort quickly realizes that the morons in the presidential situation bunker several, several meters below the surface and directly under the White House, thought her question was rhetorical. They don’t understand that Adrianna VanderVoort doesn’t ask rhetorical questions. She also does not repeat herself.

“Fine,” she says, retuning her attention to the banks of monitors filled with faces of scientists from around the world; scientists that answer only to her. “Stay in your ignorant bubbles if you don’t want to know.”

“I’d like to know the real story of how life on Earth began,” Dr. Blane Hall says from the corridor that leads to the sleeping quarters for the staff and personnel, as well as the Cabinet and other government officials housed in the bunker. He raises his hand and gives VanderVoort a shy grin. “Please?”

“Good boy,” she grins back. “I knew I could count on you, Dr. Hall.”

She winks and his face turns pink. VanderVoort is flattered that even six months pregnant she can still get a nerd to blush. The feeling makes up for the severe disappointment in the bureaucratic idiots that have gone from staring at her to staring at Dr. Hall.

“Dr. Hall, you were about to go rest, were you not?” President Nance says, breaking the silence.

“I can wait,” Dr. Hall says. “This sounds kind of important, sir.”

“A little more than kind of, sport,” VanderVoort says. “It is the most important thing ever.”

“VanderVoort?” a voice asks from one of the monitors. “Are we ready to proceed?”

“Hold on a sec, Dr. Burkhorst,” VanderVoort replies without looking at the screen.

She knows her people in and out, she knows their voices, she knows their mannerisms. Hell, she’d probably know them by the smells of their farts. She doesn’t leave much to chance when it comes to people. That’s how accidents happen. Leaving things to chance.

VanderVoort is the person that avoids accidents, not the one that causes them.

She pushes up from her chair and faces the men, and too few women, that are staring at her once again. The President’s Cabinet, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, heads of various national security departments, staff, assistants, techs, secret service men and women. They all look at her like she is the second coming of Moses and holds two brand spanking new tablets in her arms.

VanderVoort likes that. She likes that very much.

“Before I begin, I need to make something very clear,” she says. “If you are one of the goddamn creationists that think the Earth is only three thousand years old then I want you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up right now. You are wrong. You are so wrong you might as well be considered an overgrown preschooler that has just learned not to shit in his or her pants. I kid you not, people. I have zero tolerance for mumbo jumbo and will kick you the hell out of this bunker if you so much as make a peep about the Holy Bible. You hear me? Are we clear?”

“Adrianna? That may be a little harsh,” National Intelligence Director Gordon Miles says, not without a sly smirk on his face. “President Nance did campaign on a platform of good ol’ Christian values, don’t forget.”

“Don’t care,” VanderVoort shrugs. “Don’t have to. But let me clarify. You are all welcome to your personal beliefs, this is still America in some abstract way, but do not ever let those personal beliefs get in the way of reality and the truth. Understood?” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder at the monitors filled with waiting, sciencey-looking faces. “These are your new priests. What they say is sacred now. If we want to survive this nightmare.”

The silence still lingers except for a couple of throat clearings and a sad sniffle or two.

“Good,” VanderVoort says. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

***

The scientists quickly move from the central table over to workstations against the walls as the banks of monitors come fully to life, the central one dominated by the impressive image of Adrianna VanderVoort.

Unsure of exactly what her position is in everything, Dr. Cheryl Probst keeps her mouth closed and ears open as she stares at the large monitor where VanderVoort’s image is about to explain the impossible truth of how life began on Earth.

“We should have popcorn for this,” Dr. Edward Scofield chuckles as he leans close to Dr. Probst. He begins to stand up from his station. “I’ve heard all of this before, so—”

“Sit down, Edward,” Dr. Glenda Burkhorst, the woman in charge of the Yellowstone Substance facility, barks. “You may have heard this, but I highly doubt you were paying attention. You might just learn something.”

“And we are out of popcorn,” Dr. Clark Mannering adds.

“No, we’re not, Clark,” Dr. Valerie McDaniels says. “There’s plenty in the third cupboard from the left in Pantry Four.”

“No, there isn’t, Valerie,” Dr. Mannering responds. “We finished that off last Wednesday.”

“That was Pantry Three,” Dr. McDaniels snaps. “Can’t you count, Clark? Six pantries. Six.”

“Shut it, both of you,” Dr. Burkhorst says.

“So, no popcorn?” Dr. Scofield smirks, giving Dr. Probst a wink.

He receives a patented Burkhorst glare in response.

Dr. Probst tries to tune it all out as VanderVoort begins speaking.

“Listen to her,” Dr. Burkhorst says, startling Dr. Probst as the woman leans in over her shoulder. “This is important to the work. You have a lot of catching up to do.” She stands straight and turns to the control room. “The rest of you get to work. I want details on what exactly is coming out of the Substance. Facts! Not guesses!”

“The first bunker discovered was in Montana, miles from the Yellowstone caldera, but connected to the Substance by underground tunnels,” VanderVoort states on the monitor. “The rest were discovered later over the next few decades.”

A question is asked off screen and VanderVoort smiles.

“1911,” VanderVoort says. “During what began as a fossil expedition. It changed quite rapidly. The first scientists to explore the bunker were changed in ways that suggested the Substance was perhaps not to be underestimated. Hallucinations, delusions of grandeur, psychotic breaks, pure madness. Some became violent, homicidal in the most brutal of ways. Each facility, no matter what country of origin it resides in, has many layers and protocols of safety in place to make sure that the current scientists are not affected the way the first, poor men were. I’ve seen the photographs, ladies and gentlemen. Not pretty.”

Dr. Probst glances over at Dr. Scofield. “You spend a lot of time around the Substance, right?”

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Scofield says. “Bennet checks me out twice a week. Lots of ink blots and word associations. I haven’t had a psychotic break in a long time. Not since I voted Republican back in the nineties.”

“Edward,” Dr. Burkhorst growls. “Keep your eyes on the energy levels. I want to know when they hit their peak. That’s when it’ll push through.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” Dr. Scofield says.

Dr. Probst goes back to listening to VanderVoort and the rest of the room dissolves away, her attention so focused on the impossible story being told.

“It took a long time for anyone to figure out what the Substance was, not that we have even come close to a true answer,” VanderVoort says. “But my guess? And it is just a guess, people, so don’t get your holier than thou panties in a wad. My guess, is it is God. Or a god, at least. That makes more sense since there are multiple facilities. Multiple facilities equals multiple gods. Maybe the Hindus have it right, yeah?”

Another off screen question.

“Yes, I know I just gave you all shit if you were a creationist,” VanderVoort snaps. “One does not exclude the other. I need you to broaden your tiny, government minds here, people. Wake up and pay attention.”

Yet another question. VanderVoort looks bored, but answers readily.

“Ten in total,” VanderVoort answers. “That we know of. We hope there are only ten. An unattended facility could prove a problem. We barely know what’s coming from the ones we have accounted for. A rogue Substance scares the piss right out of my already battered bladder.”

Someone tries to ask another question, but VanderVoort cuts them off.

“Just shut up and listen,” VanderVoort says. “I’ll make this simple. There are signs that all life on Earth came from the Substance. DNA coding similarities. Basic building blocks of carbon based lifeforms. Too many coincidences. And here’s the rub, people. This shit is billions upon billions of years old. Billions. Old as the Earth. It may have been here from the beginning, it may have arrived later, or it could be what created this planet in the first place. It found a nice little corner of the Universe to settle down in, grabbed up some floating rocks and space debris, and built a cocoon. Wouldn’t that be something? That we are nothing but bacteria on the outside of a cocoon, insignificant and unimportant, all the while thinking we are the hottest shit ever.”

Dr. Probst can hear the others talking, wants to focus on what they are saying, but can’t turn her attention from the dynamic woman holding not just her attention, but the attention of world leaders across the globe. For someone else it would all be too much, but for her it’s an orgasm wrapped like a Christmas present and handed to her by Einstein on her birthday.

“Well, I say gods because we believe the Substances at each bunker are slightly different,” VanderVoort says. “They have almost identical properties, but with enough singularities to lead folks way smarter than me to hypothesize that each Substance is unique. If that is the case then whatever comes crawling out of the other volcanoes could be vastly different than what we have already seen in ours. Hell, for all we know, the things that are about to come out of Ball’s Pyramid will look like giant kangaroos. Wouldn’t that be something?”

A claxon rings out and Dr. Probst jumps. Dr. Burkhorst grabs up her laptop, moves it to her workstation against the wall, and starts typing furiously. She gasps then leans across the computer to a mic on a workstation in front of her.

“VanderVoort?” she says as she depresses a switch on the mic.

Dr. Probst can’t help but think she’s in some updated, yet considerably smaller, throwback to a mini version of NASA’s mission control room in the sixties.

“VanderVoort? It’s starting to breach,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “It’s breaking through.”

VanderVoort turns and looks right out at them from the monitor. She smiles sadly.

“Thanks, Dr. Burkhorst,” VanderVoort says. “We are relying on your observations to tell us what the hell ‘It’ is. Patch all data through here and be sure to share with the other bunkers.”

“All lines of communication are wide open,” Dr. Mannering says. “The other bunkers are the same. Firewalls and partitions are gone. We are sharing in real time.”

“Good,” VanderVoort. “Keep it that way, people. I’m talking to everyone. If any of you decide to get territorial then you’ll deal with me personally. We all know how dealing with the Spook can be. It’ll be the last thing you do in your short, painful life.”

The temperature in the room drops a few degrees at that statement. Dr. Probst even notices Dr. Scofield’s playful irreverence disappears quickly. She stares at the monitor where VanderVoort holds court. Until she notices someone is calling her name.

“What? Yes, sorry,” Dr. Probst says, turning to Dr. Burkhorst. “What was the question?”

“I need seismic readings at ground zero,” Dr. Burkhorst snaps. “Pay attention, Dr. Probst. This isn’t the USGS anymore. Answers are needed when questions are asked. What are the readings at ground zero? The Yellowstone caldera? I need those now!”

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Probst says as she looks down at the readings on the laptop in front of her. She’s barely paid the thing any attention since coming into the control room. “I, uh, well…”

“Doctor?” Dr. Burkhorst asks, her impatience far from hidden.

“This can’t be right, can it?” Dr. Probst asks. “Even this far away we’d feel this.”

Dr. Scofield rolls his chair over to Dr. Probst and looks at the readings.

“Shit,” he says. “You’re right.”

“What are the readings?” Dr. Burkhorst asks.

“Magnitude of twenty-three,” Dr. Probst says. “The readings show magnitude of twenty-three. The earth should be completely splitting apart.”

“It is. Look,” Dr. McDaniels says, pointing at a bank of monitors to the side. “The thing is tearing the planet open.”

Dr. Probst doesn’t even have time to register the fact they have a live feed of the Yellowstone caldera, or that the feed is crystal clear, all she notices is that something beyond imagination is trying to pull itself up out of the Earth’s crust and is tearing open the planet in the process.

***

“I’ll rip this damn place apart when I get out of here,” Sergeant Connor Bolton says as he paces back and forth in the large isolation cell. “They had better have a damn good explanation for keeping us in here this long.”

“Why?” Anson Lowell asks as he lounges on one of the bare bunks.  “Something I learned as a guest of both the state and federal prison machine is that no one has to have a reason to do a goddamn thing to anyone else when it comes to incarceration. And you won’t care either. You’ll just be so glad to get out that you’ll forget all about your little threats and angry promises.”

“No, I won’t,” Bolton says. “I am very good at keeping my promises.”

Lowell snorts.

“What? You have something to say?” Bolton asks, turning away from the thick wall of clear plastic that makes up the front of the cell. “Say it if you do.”

“I already said it, Sergeant Slaughter,” Lowell replies. “You just didn’t listen.”

“Shut up, both of you,” US Marshal Lucinda “Lu” Morgan says from one of the other bunks. “All of your words mean zero right now. They let us out when they let us out. Get some rest while you can. We have no idea what is in store for us if or when we are set free.”

She glances over at the sleeping form of her son, Kyle, and sighs.

“I wish I could have the napping ability of a teenager again,” Lu says.

“I’m not napping,” Kyle replies without opening his eyes. “Just bored as shit.”

“One thing you learn as a SEAL, kid,” Sergeant Gary Holt says from a third bunk, his hands laced behind his head. “You sleep every chance you get because you don’t ever know when the next opportunity to close your eyes will come.”

“My eyes are closed,” Kyle responds. “Just kind of hard to sleep after all the shit that has gone down.”

“Where do you think they have Probst?” Lowell asks. “A different cell? Some dark, single-bulbed interrogation room? Or is she part of all of this? Doctors do like to stick together.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Bolton asks.

“It means that no matter what psychologist, psychiatrist, expert therapist, or whatever the fuck they were that came and talked to me every few months in the pen, they all walked out and wrote the same report,” Lowell says. “None for them wanted to be the one to rock the boat and give me a new story.”

“Or it could be you’re just that crazy,” Kyle snorts. “You think of that?”

Lowell smiles. “Of course I have. But I doubt that’s the truth. Maybe a half truth, but not the whole truth.”

“This is not prison,” Lu snaps. “This is something apart from the federal government.”

“What makes you think that?” Lowell asks, swinging his legs over his bunk. “What indication have you been given that we haven’t to think this isn’t the good ol’ US of A? Feels like prison to me. Looks like prison to me. Fuck, it even smells like prison to me. Government cleansers all smell the same. This room has been sanitized and approved for human incarceration by Uncle Sam himself.”

“Just because a donut shop uses the same cleanser as a salon doesn’t mean you’re getting your haircut while you wait for your cruller,” Kyle says. “There’s a military bunker above. They probably have crates and crates of the shit up there. Use your brain, Lowell.”

“Damn. Getting a mental smack down from the kid,” Lowell chuckles. “Nice.”

“This is technically a government facility, but it is also not a government facility,” Dr. Ryan Bennet says as he walks up to the cell. He holds two pizza boxes stacked in one hand and a jug of water in the other. “For those of you used to dealing with clear lines of governmental distinctions, that may be hard to understand.”

They all stare at him, their eyes narrowed, adversarial, dangerous. Except Kyle who is still lying on his bunk, eyes closed, body language showing complete disinterest in what the adults are dealing with. A classic teenage pose.

“I have pizza,” Dr. Bennet says.

Kyle quickly rolls over and stands up.

“Pizza?” he asks. “Seriously? Aren’t we like ten miles under ground or something? How did you get pizza?”

“We have more than a few of the topside creature comforts down here,” Dr. Bennet says, grinning as he approaches the side of the clear wall. He tries to juggle the pizza boxes and water then shakes his head and sets the water down. “I am not a jailer. This is ridiculous.”

“So we are being held prisoner,” Lu says. “This isn’t really a quarantine.”

“What? Oh, no, sorry, a bad choice of words,” Dr. Bennet says as a large drawer opens outside the cell. He places the pizza boxes inside then bends and picks up the jug of water. He looks in the drawer and sighs. “It’ll crush the pizza.”

He pushes the drawer closed and there are a series of whirls and clicks before a drawer inside the cell opens and the smell of hot pizza quickly fills the space.

“Sausage and onions?” Kyle nearly shouts as he rushes to the drawer and pulls out the boxes. “My favorite!”

“Yes, we know,” Dr. Bennet says. “The files on all of you are quite extensive due to your government employment or proximity.”

“You just got lumped in with me, kid,” Lowell smirks. “We are the proximity people.”

“Don’t put my kid in with you,” Bolton growls.

“Don’t call me your kid,” Kyle says, glaring.

“Kyle, be nice,” Lu responds.

“Holt? You want in on this?” Lowell asks, laughing slightly as the Navy SEAL sits on his bunk, watching everything happen.

“When do we get out of here?” Holt asks, his attention on Dr. Bennet.

“Eat first,” Dr. Bennet says. “Tests are almost complete.”

“Tests? We’ve been in here for hours,” Lu says. “This is the first sign of you. What tests?”

“Yes, sorry for the wait,” Dr. Bennet says. “As you can see there are three bunks, but five of you. The system is compensating as fast as it can, especially with the differences in ages, sexes, nutritional histories, physical conditioning, etc.”

“We just got etcetera’d,” Lowell says as he grabs a slice of pizza out of the box that Kyle is holding. “Nothing says human worth like being etcetera’d.”

“This facility is highly advanced,” Dr. Bennet says. “All necessary tests needed to determine if you have been compromised by the Substance can be done without human contact. Now, once you are released, if there are any specific health issues I need be concerned about then we’ll conduct more traditional exams in the infirmary. I can assure you I am more than qualified in all fields of medicine to give you an adequate work over.”

“Well, then color me assured,” Lowell says around a mouthful of pizza. “And this tastes like it was frozen.”

“Yes, well, no matter the technology available, no one can fix that, unfortunately,” Dr. Bennet sighs. “Fine dining is not one of the perks of living down here.”

“What are the perks?” Lu asks. “How are we any safer from those monsters down here than up there? From what I saw, they will eventually get down here and then what? Where do we go from there?”

“They cannot get down here, Marshal Morgan,” Dr. Bennet says. “There would be no need for them to get down here.”

“You sound pretty sure of that,” Bolton says. “Do you know what those things are? Where they come from?”

“What they are? No,” Dr. Bennet says. “Where they come from? Yes. They come from down here. From under the ground. They have worked very hard, for a very long time, to get above. Coming down here is not on their agenda. You can trust me on that.”

“Yeah, trust isn’t my thing,” Lowell adds.

“Nor mine,” Lu says. “Especially when I don’t even know the name of the person I am speaking with and is feeding us.”

“Oh, forgive me,” Dr. Bennet exclaims. “Dr. Ryan Bennet. I am the person in charge of all medical needs and medical research down here in the facility. I apologize for not introducing myself first. Having new people to talk to and interact with has me excited. I got into medicine because I am a people person. Being down here has not utilized that skill set of mine.”

Everyone waits. Lu and Bolton stare at Dr. Bennet. Holt just sighs and lies back on his bunk. Lowell and Kyle finish off the first pizza then look from the empty box to the full one.

“I guess this is yours,” Kyle says, prying the box from Lowell’s hands and offering it to his mother. “We ate the other one.”

“I can see that,” Lu says. “But I’ll pass.”

“At least drink some water,” Dr. Bennet says then snaps to attention and looks at his feet. The water jug is still outside the cell. “I am off my game today.”

There is a loud dinging and Dr. Bennet frowns.

“Tests are complete,” he says as he picks up the jug and places it in the outside drawer. A second drawer opens inside the cell and Lowell grabs out the water. “Please, hydrate. I will be back shortly with the results. If all of you are clear then I can move you to your new quarters. If Dr. Burkhorst gives the okay then I can even show you around. Give you the nickel tour.”

“That’d be swell, doc,” Lowell says, swigging straight from the jug. “Just gosh darn swell.”

“Yes, well, be back in a few minutes,” Dr. Bennet says, smiling. “Please. Drink up. Staying hydrated down here is very important. The environmental conditioning system can be very hard on the body.”

“Hydrating right now, doc,” Lowell says then burps and hands the jug to Kyle. He receives a disgusted glare. “I don’t see any cups, do you?”

Dr. Bennet nods and hurries off.

“Dude, you got pizza grease on the jug,” Kyle says. “Gross.”

Lowell shrugs and sits back down.

“Mom?” Kyle asks, offering the jug.

“No, thank you,” Lu replies, her eyes locked on the clear wall.

“Connor?” Kyle asks Bolton.

“I’m good,” Bolton replies.

“Holt?”

“No, kid, you and Lowell keep it,” Holt says. “That way I can watch you two freak out from whatever drugs they put in there. Never eat or drink from what has been offered to you by the enemy.”

Kyle looks at the jug and sets it down quickly. Lowell picks it right up and takes a swig.

“Man, talk about paranoid,” Lowell laughs then belches. “They aren’t going to put drugs in the food and water. Why would they? They could easily gas and knock us out then inject us with the exact amounts they want. Trust me. I know how this incarceration thing works.”

“I’m sure you do,” Holt says.

Lowell looks at the second box of pizza.

“So…I’m guessing this all mine then,” he smiles.

“Bullshit,” Kyle says, grabbing at the box. “In for a penny, in for a pound my grandmother always said.”

“Smart woman,” Lowell says as the two of them tear into the second pizza. “Mmmm, pepperoni. Nice.”

***

Secret Service Agent Paulo Alvarez sits on the stark cot, his hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly. His eyes study the grey tile floor of the bunk room provided for the agents being housed down in the presidential bunker. It is grey tile he’s seen in a hundred different government facilities across the country and across the globe.

His debriefing had finished over an hour ago and he was told he could come and go as he pleased, just be sure to keep his radio on and ready to be called when needed.

His radio is lying next to him on the cot, turned off. He has no desire to come and go. He has no desire to do much of anything.

The thoughts of the other agents that died above, of Zackarian and his team, of Alvarez’s own team, and what happened to them, tear at his soul. Such a waste of great men, loyal men, capable men that had so much more to give for their country.

He chuckles at the thought that they gave everything in the end, right up to the last minute. The chuckle chokes in his throat as he thinks of the creatures that forced those ends.

His mind tries to close itself, force the images of the ooze creatures and all the death and destruction they caused to go sit in a dark corner of his grey matter. He almost succeeds then something, an inkling of what he saw above as he and Dr. Hall sprinted towards the White House.

He simultaneously wants to grab at the thoughts and reject them. The agent in him knows there is an answer, or at least the right question, in the thoughts. But the human in him wants nothing to do with the nightmare that had taken place far above on the surface in DC.

It takes all his willpower to stand up from his cot and move towards the bunk room door. Just as he reaches it, it bursts open and six fellow agents come hurrying in.

“Alvarez, man, you have to come see this,” one of the agents says. “We’ve patched into the main feed and are watching what the situation room is watching. This shit is crazy.”

Alvarez stares at the men. He recognizes them, knows he’s seen them at various agency functions and briefings, but they are all part of a different division and he can’t quite remember their names. The men stare back then begin to get a little nervous.

“Alvarez? You alright, buddy?” the first man asks. “You need to go to the infirmary? Talk to one of the doctors there?”

“I’m fine,” Alvarez replies. “Just exhausted.”

“Tell us about it,” the man laughs. “We’ve been pulling double shifts down here for days. I could sleep a week straight, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Alvarez nods. “You’re right.”

“We’re just grabbing some chairs,” the man says, smiling. “Grab yourself one and come crowd into the conference room. We found a tech that doesn’t have clearance to be in the situation room during all of this and he totally hooked us up. This shit is insane.”

“Like the world is ending insane,” one of the other agents says.

“No shit,” Alvarez says, nodding again. “Which way?”

“Grab a chair and follow us,” the first man replies. “It’s gonna be sick.”

***

“She going to be alright?” Roy Waldruff asks as he and Terrie Morgan stand on the rocky beach of Haver’s Island, a tiny chunk of land in Puget Sound.

“Which one?” Terrie asks as she continues staring through Roy’s high-powered binoculars at Mt. Rainier. “Linda or Krissy?”

“Either. Both,” Roy says as he rolls a cigarette and tucks it behind his ear then begins to roll another one. “Those things doing anything new?”

“Still digging,” Terrie says, her eyes locked on the giant monsters that are tearing into Mt. Rainier with a strength and speed she didn’t think possible on Earth. “A lot of steam coming up from the holes they’re making. Some ash too.”

Roy glances over at Terrie and tucks the second cigarette behind his other ear. He reaches out, his palm up. “Let me have a look.”

Terrie sets the binoculars in his hand, placing her hands on her hips, her eyes switching from long distance viewing to short distance and the water that laps at the rocks a few yards in front of her. She watches carefully, waiting to catch sight of a shape or shadow in the waves, a sign that one of the mutated sea creatures is out there, possibly watching her as well.

“They sure are going for it,” Roy says as he pulls the binoculars down from his eyes and glances at Terrie. “Any theories?”

“Not a one,” Terrie says. “I ran out of theories when the beasts left Purgatory and started walking the land.”

“Beasts? The way you say that word I’m guessing you ain’t talking about lions and tigers and bears, oh my,” Roy chuckles.

“I am not,” Terrie says. “No fiction here. This is Biblical. The End of Days.”

“I don’t know nothing about that, to tell you the truth,” Roy sighs. “I’m Buddhist.”

“How is that working out for you?” Terrie asks.

“Can’t complain,” Roy says. “Keeps me from panicking. At least I know my karma has brought me here, to Haver’s Island. Probably to show you three ladies a safe place, a refuge from the end of the world as we know it.”

“Fate,” Terrie says. “God’s Hand pushing us in the direction we are supposed to be.”

“Could very well be,” Roy says. He hooks his binoculars to his belt and takes a cigarette from behind his ear. He pauses before lighting it. “You mind?”

“It’s your island, Mr. Waldruff,” Terrie says. “Considering all the ash and ammonia and crud in the air right now, I don’t think a little second hand smoke is going to be what kills me. If it is then God will have played one seriously funny practical joke on this old lady.”

Roy draws deep on his cigarette then laughs as he lets out the smoke.

“I wouldn’t call a fine-looking woman like you old, Ms. Morgan,” Roy says. “You got more life in you than most of the hipster chicks that flitted around Seattle going from coffee house to coffee house, trying to look important and intellectual.”

“Wrong tree, Mr. Waldruff,” Terrie smiles. “But I appreciate the compliment.”

“Wrong tree? How so?” Roy asks.

“Your flattery is nice, but it will get you nowhere,” Terrie says. “Not with me or with Linda. We play for the other team, if you get my meaning.”

“How about you just come out and say it?” Roy pushes. He takes a couple more drags and offers the cigarette to Terrie. She waves it away. “You ever said the word? Actually said it out loud to yourself?”

“Excuse me?” Terrie asks, giving Roy a sharp look. “You were gaining ground before, Mr. Waldruff, but now you’re sliding backwards.”

“Ms. Morgan, these are the days, whether the actual end of them or not, that we must be as honest with ourselves as we can,” Roy says. “I, myself, am an old man that has lived my entire life preparing for a day I never, ever thought would come. I prepped and prepped, squirreling away enough supplies to last me and mine for years, possibly decades. I railed against the morons that thought I was crazy, all the while not even believing my own horse shit.”

He smokes until the cigarette burns down to the skin of his weathered knuckles then tosses it out into the rocks.

“I guess I was wrong and I guess I was right,” Roy continues. “My predictions came true. The world is ending. But it wasn’t because the governments collapsed and man turned on man like I had said a hundred times to my family. Nope. The world has ended because some giant monsters crawled up out of the ground and decided to tap dance on the little ant hill we built.”

Terrie frowns and shakes her head. “Mr. Waldruff, is there a point to all of this rambling?” she asks. “Exactly what does any of that have to do with being honest with oneself?”

“Simple,” Roy says. “I’ll admit I am a damned fool if you admit you’re a lesbian. Just say it.”

“You are a strange person,” Terrie says. “Is the rest of your family just as strange?”

“My girl and her son are considerably more put together than I am,” Roy laughs. A deep belly laugh that’s strained through a smoker’s throat. “They subscribe to neither religious dogma nor political propaganda. Damned if they aren’t the very same intellectuals I have mocked for most of my life.”

“You daughter looks more like the Earth Mother, hippy type than an intellectual,” Terrie says. “Your grandson, to be honest, looks like a slacker.”

“She’s a Professor of Botany and he’s some programming whiz kid just out of high school,” Roy sighs. “Academia and tech. Two of the biggest illusions forced onto humanity.”

“Now, that is something that makes sense,” Terrie agrees.

“She’s alright, though,” Roy says. “She has a lot of useful skills with that botany education of hers.”

“What about your grandson?” Terrie asks. “He seems withdrawn. Wasn’t very thrilled to see us come walking into the bunker.”

“Well, my grandson’s karma is to be wired different than others,” Roy says. “He doesn’t see the world like the rest of us.”

“Because we both seem to see the world in such a normal light,” Terrie smirks.

Roy responds with a nod and smirk of his own.

They stand there as the sky brightens and morning wakes into an early fullness.

“You aren’t going to say the word, are you?” Roy asks.

“Not right now,” Terrie replies. “Maybe once we get a little farther along in our journey. I could just surprise you.”

“I believe you could,” Roy says and lights his second cigarette. “I have to finish this one up here. Belle hates it when I smoke. She threatened to throw away all of my tobacco if I lit up down in the bunker.”

“I don’t blame her,” Terrie says. “Nasty habit.”

“We all have them,” Roy says with a shrug.

***

Tony Rochester wipes his face with his hand for the fourth time then sits back, his eyes squinting in the gloom of the single lantern that illuminates the main room of the Haver’s Island bunker. He sits on a handmade wood chair and stares at the girl with the bandaged face that sits in a ratty recliner all the way at the other end of the room.

“Stop it,” Belle Rochester says, her mother voice in full strength. “You are being creepy, Tony.”

Tony jumps a little when Belle places her hand on his left shoulder. He tries to brush it off, but Belle only grips tighter.

“Are you listening to me?” Belle asks, crouching down so she’s even with her son. “You can’t stare at people like that. It’s rude.”

“She’s not supposed to be here,” Tony says in a conversational voice. It echoes against the metal walls and roof of the bunker. “She’s not family. Roy shouldn’t have let her in.”

“Well, your grandfather did and she’s here now, so be polite and be nice, Tony,” Belle snaps. “You need to work on those things if we are all going to be down here for a long time.”

Tony stiffens at those words.

“How long?” he asks, looking around at the space.

It is basically a large Quonset hut buried deep underground with access doors that branch off to other huts connected by large, and long, metal pipes.

“I can’t stay down here for more than two weeks,” Tony says. “Two weeks is when I am supposed to turn in my app to Herschel Industries. They paid me to build that app. I have been paid to do a job.”

“Sweetheart, Herschel Industries probably doesn’t exist anymore,” Belle says, stroking her son’s almost pitch black hair, brushing the long bangs away from his brow and forehead. “We’ve talked about this. When the volcano erupted things changed. When the monsters came out and—”

“There is no such thing as monsters,” Tony insists. “Those are flights of fancy and cannot be quantified by rational thought.”

“Are you fucking retarded or what?” Krissy Renault shouts from the other end of the room. She turns her bandaged face towards Tony and Belle. “Those fucking things are pretty fucking quantifiable! Why don’t you go outside and have a look? Maybe tell them face to fucking face how they don’t fit in with your retarded rational thought!”

“Hey, now!” Belle snaps.

She stands up and closes the distance quickly, stalking the length of the room until she’s almost to Krissy. The only reason she stops is that the very large half-wolf, half-husky lying at Krissy’s feet looks up suddenly and decides to show a couple of bare fangs.

Belle takes a step back, but doesn’t let the hybrid’s aggression stop her defense of her son. “You do not call my son retarded and you do not act like you have some bitchy little right to be here! You can easily be the one to be walking outside and standing face to face with those things!”

Krissy’s eyes blaze with rage and she points at the blood-stained bandages that cover most of her face. “Can’t really do that, lady. I don’t have much of a face left. The guys that raped me for hours and then skinned me made sure of that.”

“Everything alright in here?” Linda Walton asks as she comes through one of the doors, her hair in a towel and fresh clothes on her bruised body. “I heard yelling.”

“We’re fine,” Krissy says.

“You’re talking!” Linda shouts and hurries over to Krissy.

“No shit,” Krissy says. “Hurts like a motherfucker. Pulls at my skin.”

“Oh…wow,” Linda says. “Um, you have quite the voice and, um, vocabulary.”

“You fucking think?” Krissy growls.

“Does who fucking think what?” Roy asks as he comes into the room, his hand holding a door open that leads to a long, winding staircase. “Oh, hey there, young lady. Good to know you’ve come back to the land of the communicative. Why don’t you pick yourself up and all of you follow me outside. You’ll want to see this.”

“Not going outside,” Tony says.

“Yes, you are,” Roy replies. “The monsters are done digging. It is a sight to see.”

Two

“Why aren’t we being ripped apart?” Dr. Probst nearly shouts as she watches the seismic readings on her laptop climb beyond anything she thought possible. “We should be feeling this!”

None of the other scientists pay attention to her, all too engrossed in the information streaming across their own laptops and work stations. Dr. Burkhorst barks orders, asking for data at random times, typing every number she’s given into her workstation. Her eyes flit from her laptop to the large monitor on the wall.

The monitor that shows the Yellowstone caldera cracking all the way open and a massive taloned finger working its way through the earth and rock.

Dr. Probst’s mind catches up to her astonishment.

“Wait, how are we seeing this?” she asks. No one responds. “Hey! How are we seeing this when the EMP took out all the cameras in the area?”

“Edward! Explain!” Dr. Burkhorst orders.

Dr. Scofield rips his attention from his laptop and looks over at Dr. Probst. “What was the question?”

“How are we seeing this?” Dr. Probst repeats. “Where did the cameras come from?”

“Probes,” Dr. Scofield replies. “Right after the last EMP. The bunker is automated in many ways. We were as blind as the rest of the world for a couple hours, but the probes got our view back up in no time.”

“So they are drones?” Dr. Probst asks.

Dr. Scofield doesn’t answer then shakes his head. “The amount of raw energy coming off this thing is incredible. It doesn’t match the Substance, but it’s close.”

“Dr. Scofield. Edward. Ted!” Dr. Probst snaps. “The probes are like drones?”

“What? No, not at all,” Dr. Scofield replies, paying attention to her once again. “More like space probes. They’re orbs with the most incredible array of sensors and data collection equipment. Far more advanced than what the military is building.”

Dr. Probst almost doesn’t want to ask the next question. Almost.

“Who built them?” Dr. Probst does ask.

“We did,” Dr. Scofield says. “Sort of. We used tech and plans housed here in the facility. We couldn’t build them completely to spec, but we came damn close.”

“Tech and plans? Housed here? In the facility?” Dr. Probst repeats.

“Tech and plans, Cheryl,” Dr. McDaniels says. “They were here from the beginning. It took almost a hundred years for them to be understood and the machines to be built. Get over it.”

“No need to browbeat her, Valerie,” Dr. Mannering says. “You were just as confused as she was when you first got here. We all were.”

“No time for confusion,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “Pay attention to your stations! What we see and observe is what the world sees and observes!”

“We have a second talon!” Dr. McDaniels announces. “Now a third!”

“Those fingers must be close to one hundred meters long each,” Dr. Probst states. “Can that be right?”

“Looks like it,” Dr. McDaniels says. “The whole hand is coming out! Three fingers only! With, whoa, wait… Look at the joints in the fingers! Six? Yes, six!”

“What could an animal possibly need six joints in each finger for?” Dr. Mannering asks. “You’d think the things would just bend back on themselves, sticking those talons into the back of the poor creature’s hand. Bad design.”

“Poor creature? Are you joking? Maybe you should complain in person, Clark,” Dr. McDaniels says.

“I don’t mean poor creature as in I feel sympathy for the thing, just that those fingers look almost useless,” Dr. Mannering replies.

“Shut it!” Dr. Burkhorst yells. They do. “Dr. Probst, what are the readings from the surrounding area? Give me a sampling from a five, ten, and twenty mile radius.”

Dr. Probst checks the readings and compiles them. “Aftershocks are incredibly strong at five miles, but quickly disappear at twenty. Ten miles is at eight point four.”

“Still a devastating quake, if you were caught in it,” Dr. Scofield says. He smacks his hand on the table. “Incredible. We have just reached the amount of energy found on the surface of the Sun, yet look at the landscape. No sign that the energy is doing any type of damage, other than the obvious physical destruction. We are witnessing physics getting its ass handed to it right now.”

“Your joy is less than professional, Edward,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “Please control yourself.”

“I’ll try, but these readings are making it hard,” Dr. Scofield says. “If I didn’t know how accurate the probes were, I’d think there were malfunctions. This is fusion at a level we’ve never seen on this planet.”

“Seismic readings are diminishing,” Dr. Probst announces and looks from her laptop to the main screen. The clawed hand continues to shove its way up out of the earth. “How? That kind of movement, that kind of destruction should increase the readings. What is going on?”

“Ain’t that the question,” Dr. Scofield laughs. “The land should be molten and crumbly, but it’s not.”

“I have something here!” Dr. Mannering shouts. “The probes are picking up genetic material! This thing is giving off DNA!”

“He’s right,” Dr. McDaniels agrees. “It’s sloughing skin cells at an enormous rate.”

“It’s an enormous hand,” Dr. Scofield says.

“Give me data,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “What are we looking at? What DNA is it? What’s the classification?”

Dr. Mannering starts to answer then closes his mouth and shakes his head. He tilts his laptop towards Dr. McDaniels. She glances at it then looks back at her own and shakes her head.

“No classification,” Dr. McDaniels says. “We do not have anything even close on record.” She looks about the room, her eyes wide, frightened. “I hesitate to call it DNA. It’s a quadruple helix with proteins unidentified.”

“Not possible,” Dr. Burkhorst snaps. “Check your readings again. There are laws of nature, doctor. The building blocks of life have been clearly defined.”

“So have the laws of thermodynamics and nuclear energy,” Dr. Scofield laughs as he taps at his screen. “And I’m watching those laws get broken right before my eyes.”

“I do not care to hear your professional failings, people!” Dr. Burkhorst shouts. “I want accurate readings and I want them now! Re-crunch your numbers, Edward! Rescan the DNA, Valerie! Assist her with that, Clark! I want the data to be collected and analyzed properly or none of you are of use to me!”

“I have gone over them several times, Burkhorst,” Dr. Scofield snaps. “Don’t even think of threatening me, understand? We are well past the point of you lording over your little fiefdom!”

“I will remove you, Edward!” Dr. Burkhorst yells. “I will do it myself and you know I have the skills to see it through!”

“Eh hem,” a voice calls from one of the monitors. “You kids done freaking out yet? It’s getting boring on my end.”

All eyes turn and look at the amused face of VanderVoort staring at them. She raises her eyebrows and shakes her head.

“Stress is a shitty thing, I know,” VanderVoort’s image says. “That’s why you have your psyche workups twice a week. All of you should be stable enough to handle what is happening. If not then I can just purge the whole facility you’re at and have one of the other facilities take over your duties.”

“You can do that?” Dr. Probst asks, turning to Dr. Scofield. “She can do that?”

“Who wants to find out?” VanderVoort asks. No one replies. “Exactly. Glenda? Dr. Burkhorst? Who is your facility physician?”

“Dr. Bennett,” Dr. Burkhorst replies.

“Have him come do exams on each of you right now,” VanderVoort orders. “I want to rule out any influence of the Substance on your team due to the new activity. I’d hate to chalk this all up to stress and find out it’s your brains being fried by the unknown.” She wiggles her fingers at the screen. “Oohhhh, scary.”

VanderVoort cocks her head and listens to someone off screen.

“I know, right?” she laughs. “Are we understood, Glenda?”

“Understood,” Dr. Burkhorst nods. “I’ll have Dr. Bennet get right on it.”

“Thank you,” VanderVoort says. Her eyes widen. “Wow. Better hurry. Looks like Junior is cracking through the egg. This is just fascinating.” She turns and looks over her shoulder. “Isn’t this just fascinating?” She waits. There are slight murmurs. VanderVoort shrugs. “Chicken shits.” She pats her belly. “I may learn how to change diapers before this little guy even pops out considering all the fucking babies around me right now. Glenda? Get to fucking work.”

Dr. Burkhorst swallows hard then looks at her team.

“We’re done panicking,” she says. “Myself included. This is our facility. This is our job. We will complete the mission and save this planet.”

“Works for me,” Dr. Scofield says.

Dr. Mannering nods as does Dr. McDaniels.

Dr. Probst gives a small smile and focuses on her laptop, completely unsure about everything and anything.

***

VanderVoort pushes back from the workstation she’s commandeered and stands up. Stretching her arms above her head, reaching as high as she can, until there are several loud pops from her spine.

“Oh, shit, that feels good,” she says, her arms still stretched up. “This little fucker is trying to rearrange every vertebra in my body. Not to mention the redecorating of my abdominal cavity. Little shit has the ottoman sitting on my bladder and the recliners pressed up against my lungs.” She looks about at the faces that are paying zero attention to her and focused on the large monitor above her head. “So, ladies and gentlemen, any thoughts? You’re watching what I’m watching. I know many of you aren’t scientists, but that doesn’t mean you can’t connect dots. Let’s brainstorm, folks. I want ideas, no matter how far out there they are. Your random association could help my people make some intuitive leaps they haven’t been able to make.”

President Nance clears his throat and VanderVoort lowers her arms, pointing at the former most powerful person on the planet.

“Charles?” VanderVoort asks, getting more than a few gasps at the use of the informal.

“How can we stop this?” President Nance asks. “That…that thing will be massive. Larger than any of the other things that have come out of the caldera. Nukes didn’t work on the smaller ones, so how do we destroy this one?”

“Straight to the fight and kill,” VanderVoort grins. “That’s what I like about you, Charles. Business first.” VanderVoort starts pacing back and forth, her hands pressed against the small of her back. “I don’t think we can kill it. Not with nuclear weapons or any other conventional weapon. Maybe we could hack it to pieces if we had a mile high hatchet, but that’s not really possible.”

“Laser?” Dr. Hall asks from his inconspicuous seat in the back of the situation room. “Do we have lasers powerful enough? Maybe we can’t destroy it, but we could cut it down to size once it has emerged fully.”

“This is why you’re here,” VanderVoort smiles. “That and you ran here on your own two feet. Good on you for not dying up above.” VanderVoort gives a small golf clap. Then she turns to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. “Gentlemen? You have the weapons, the weapons that go boom. Anything in the deadly, focused light department that might fit the bill? Something that slices and dices and can still cut a tomato? I know you’re short on members, what with there only being three of you here, but maybe those three heads could equal one?”

The present members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff -Admiral Malcolm Quigley (Navy), General Mark Tulane (Air Force), and General Lawrence Azoul (Army)- do not hide their disdain for the woman in front of them. The relationship between the military world and covert ops world was tenuous before the crisis at hand, it is strained to breaking now. Especially with VanderVoort’s less than diplomatic way of taking control, sanctioned by international law or not.

“I believe we may have something available,” Tulane replies. “It is a holdover from the Star Wars era, big enough to possibly be effective. But it is clunky and mothballed. Retrofitting it to our current systems would take some time.” He nods towards the monitor with the image of the massive beast jamming a second claw through the cracked and broken earth. “I doubt we have time for that kind of work.”

“Start work on it anyway,” VanderVoort says. When the general doesn’t move, she claps her hands together. “Now! Jesus, this isn’t a game of Simon Says, Tulane.”

“Communications are down with all bases, Ms. VanderVoort,” Tulane replies, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips. “I can’t just make a call.”

VanderVoort looks around. “That’s a bullshit excuse. Strike one, General. Strike three and you are useless to me and the human race. Give me options.”

Before Tulane can respond, Admiral Quigley clears his throat. “If it is the system I believe it is then we may have a shot.” He looks over at General Azoul. “Plus, it should be housed close to your drones. Those have laser capabilities, do they not?

“They do, but on such a small scale, I’m not sure what effect they’ll have,” Azoul replies.

“A thousand paper cuts,” Quigley says.

“Quigley!” VanderVoort exclaims. “How Zen of you. Or whatever that would be called.” She focuses on Azoul. “How many drones do you have?”

“Close to a hundred,” Azoul says. “If they haven’t been destroyed.”

“That’s a lot of paper cuts,” VanderVoort smiles. “Start making calls, gentlemen.”

“How?” Tulane snaps. “Our communications with our bases are down.” He sweeps his hand at the many monitors showing the facilities crews from across the globe. “Unless you have a way to patch into them.”

“I do not,” VanderVoort says. “Not yet. What options do we have then?”

“Boots on the ground,” Quigley says. “We send men to the drones first, get them operational, then send them on to Tulane’s laser.”

“All good ideas, but who do we send?” Tulane asks. “And how do we get ahold of them?”

“Good question,” Quigley asks. “But I have an idea. Hopefully, it’s not a dead idea.”

***

Bolton stares out of the front of the cell, his eyes narrowed, his mind working a mile a minute. He ignores the actual enclosure itself, knowing he can’t break through. His mind is focused on what lies beyond the cell, out in the bright area the cell faces. He looks for cracks in the security, but he can’t find any cracks. Not even the simple crack of a door jamb or seam where the walls meet.

“Rounded,” Bolton says.

“What?” Lu asks as she sits on the floor, her back against one of the bunks. “What’s rounded?”

“The corners,” Bolton says. “No right angles out there. No sign there is even an exit.”

“Well, we know there’s a door,” Lowell says from his seat on the floor, empty pizza boxes next to him. He takes a swig of water from the jug and sets it down. “The doc came and went through a door.”

“Why all of this security?” Bolton asks. “If the facility is locked down as tight as we have been told then why bother with seamless walls and rounded corners?” He places his hand against the clear plastic that makes up the front of the cell. “Heavy duty plastic, clear enough for full observation, but thick enough that an elephant can’t break out. Why have this if all that are down here are scientists?”

“Maybe there didn’t use to be just scientists,” Holt says, still lounging on one of the bunks. “Maybe there were some more dangerous elements down here.”

“Like you and me?” Bolton asks. “SpecOps?”

“Maybe,” Holt says. “Or like the things we dealt with topside. Not much could contain those ooze creatures. This cell might, though.”

“Hmmm,” Bolton muses. “If that’s the case then they must have access to that ooze somewhere down here. A breach, contamination, then incarceration for study before elimination.”

“That’s a whole helluva lot of ations,” Lowell chuckles. “None of them good.”

“We can’t stay in here,” Bolton says.

“Why not?” Kyle asks, yanking the jug away from Lowell and taking his own sip. “We’re safe here. If we can’t get out then those things can’t get in. I like that arrangement.”

“Kid has a point,” Lowell says.

“Stop calling me a kid,” Kyle replies.

“Ah, I say it with affection, you little scamp,” Lowell says and musses Kyle’s hair. “You’re just so damn cute.”

“Fuck off, Lowell,” Kyle replies, but not without a smirk on his face.

Lowell holds up the jug with one hand and smacks the empty pizza boxes with his other. “Plus, there’s eats and drinks, man. Sure, it was frozen pizza, but better than I’ve eaten in a long fucking time. We haven’t been poked or prodded or harassed at all. This is a vacation compared to the pen. Or compared to up there with those fucking monsters.”

“They give us some pizza and you roll over and show your belly, is that it?” Bolton sneers, eyes still studying the outside of the cell. “I thought you had more fight, Lowell.”

“I have plenty of fight,” Lowell says. “And yeah, I’m showing them my belly. But like a cat, not a dog. As soon as the time comes, I strike, all claws out. That’s how I roll, Sergeant Slaughter.”

“It’s not how I roll,” Bolton says. “I’m done being kenneled.”

“But pizza,” Lowell says, shoving the empty boxes at Bolton’s feet.

They hit his heel and Bolton looks down at them. Then he looks at the wall that the boxes came through. He smiles broadly.

“I don’t like that look,” Lu says, getting up and going to him. “That’s your going to cause trouble look.”

“Mine is like this,” Lowell says and scrunches up his face like he’s going to crap himself. “Guards see that and they move quickly. Everyone hates the pants shitter.”

Lu flips him off, but stays focused on Bolton. “Connor? What are you thinking?”

“The doctor seemed nice enough,” Bolton says. “He was genuinely concerned. Gave us pizza and water. But not in a way to ingratiate himself for future questioning. He actually wants us fed and hydrated.”

“So?” Lu asks.

“So, we take advantage of that,” Bolton says. He turns and looks at Lowell. “We give the man a reason to care more. Care enough to open this cell and hurry inside.”

“Damn, Marshal, I see what you mean about that trouble look,” Lowell says, frowning at the way Bolton looks at him. “I don’t like it either. No, sir, don’t like it at all.”

“Not going to work,” Holt says, pointing at the ceiling. “If this cell has been conducting tests on us all this time then it’ll know if any of us are faking.”

“Then we don’t fake,” Bolton says, still looking at Lowell.

“Don’t fake? Don’t fake what?” Lowell asks, quickly getting to his feet. His eyes dart from Bolton to Holt and then to Lu. “Marshal, I am not liking how the super soldiers are looking at me.”

“What are you thinking?” Lu asks Bolton.

“I’m thinking that with the proper pressure to the proper areas of the human body, we don’t have to fake anything,” Bolton says. “Whatever is scanning us will pick up the issue immediately and the doctor will come running.”

“Assuming he’s not watching and listening to us right now,” Holt says. “Or that somebody else is.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone else to spare,” Bolton says. “You see the bags under the doctor’s eyes? Hear the strain in his voice? This place is understaffed and pushed to the limit.”

Holt shrugs. “Probably right.”

“Probably right about what?” Lowell exclaims. “What pressure to what parts? Why are you all looking at me like this? Knock it the fuck off!”

“You are going to have to trust me, Lowell,” Bolton says, taking a step towards the man.

“Like fuck I do!” Lowell says and yanks Kyle to his feet, shoving the teen between him and Bolton. “Stay the fuck back!”

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Bolton grins. “You won’t feel a thing.”

“No shit!” Lowell shouts. “That’s because you’re going to keep your paws the fuck off me!”

“Kyle, move,” Bolton says.

“Are you going to hurt him?” Kyle asks.

“Nope,” Bolton replies.

“Will it get us out of here?” Kyle asks.

“Possibly,” Bolton replies. “Hopefully.”

Kyle nods and yanks away from Lowell.

“Sorry, man,” Kyle says as he steps over to his mother. “Nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal? Fuck all of you!” Lowell shouts. “This is very personal!”

***

Dr. Bennet sighs heavily as he walks into the infirmary, a case of blood samples tucked under his arm and his medical bag clutched in one hand. He sets the case on a table and leans heavily on it. A couple deep breaths and he’s ready to get to work on the samples from the facility’s staff.

He knows it’s a waste of time and resources, but if VanderVoort wants workups on everyone then VanderVoort gets workups on everyone. He knows what the results will be: high stress and all the physical and psychological signs that go with it. He is one hundred percent certain the scientists are not being affected by the Substance.

He knows exactly what that looks like. Not something he’ll ever forget.

Dr. Bennet grabs the case and turns to a bank of equipment. He’s not even two steps before a warning claxon sounds out in the infirmary. Dr. Bennet spins around, looking for the source then sees the controls for the quarantine cells.

The system is detecting a medical emergency.

“Just great,” he sighs. “If one of them dies on my watch, Burkhorst will make a very painful example of me.”

He sighs again at the fact he’s talking to himself, a sure sign of his own stress level.

He grabs up his medical bag and hurries out of the infirmary.

***

Terrie, Linda, and Roy stand at the tree line of the rock beach, their eyes watching in disbelief at what’s happening to Mt. Rainier far off in the distance. Behind them stand Belle and Tony, with the shadowed presence of Krissy a few feet further back, Biscuit leaning against her leg.

“Are they standing guard?” Linda asks. “They look like bouncers.”

“That’s it,” Roy chuckles loudly. “I knew something was familiar about them. They look like bruisers standing by the VIP section of one of those damn swanky bars that were popping up everywhere. You know, the ones that were replacing all the good dives in Seattle?”

“Not from around here, remember?” Terrie replies. “Not one for bars, dive or swanky, anyway.”

“When were you ever in a swanky bar, Dad?” Belle asks, moving up to stand with the older members of the group.

“Preppers come from all walks, Belle,” Roy says. “Especially the ones with money.”

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Belle says. “I have never known you to suck up for money.”

“No sucking up needed when dealing with fools,” Roy chuckles. “Sell the right fear and the idiots write you a blank check. You didn’t think I built our bunker with Green Stamps, did ya?”

“Green Stamps,” Linda laughs. “Haven’t heard of those in a long, long time.”

“VIP is coming,” Tony says from behind them all.

“What was that, sweetie?” Belle asks.

They all look back at the young man and he points at the far off, formerly dormant volcano. “VIP is coming. The bouncers are getting nervous.”

There’s a loud rumble and the waters of the sound out in front of them begin to ripple violently.

“Back up,” Terrie says, grabbing on to Linda’s arm. “Could be more creatures.”

“No creatures,” Tony insists. “The VIP.” He fidgets a couple seconds then turns and starts walking back through the woods. “I’m going inside. Don’t like this out here. Not where we should be.”

Krissy grabs his arm before he can pass her.

“Nice try, weirdo,” Krissy says. “But if I’m out here then you’re out here.”

Tony tries to pull his arm away, but Krissy just holds on tighter.

“I don’t like to be touched,” he whines. “Mom! Tell her!”

“He doesn’t like to be touched,” Belle says. “Let him go back inside.”

“If I have to be out here then so does he,” Krissy says again.

“Krissy, sweetie,” Linda starts. “Let Tony go back inside if he—”

Her voice is drowned out by the roars of the monsters standing around Mt. Rainier. Before any of them can react and ask what is going on, the top of the mountain explodes and half the west face dissolves in a deafening roar of rock and mud sliding thousands of feet towards what is left of civilization below.

They all stand there and watch in horror as millions of tons of hot mud and rock roll across the landscape, moving at hundreds of miles per hour. The giant monsters standing guard bolt out of the way, large enough that they can clear the distance before being swept up in the wave of liquid earth.

The humans stand there long enough to witness the obliteration of the remains of the SeaTac area. They stand there long enough to see two massive claws rip their way through the remains of Mt. Rainier. They stand there long enough to see the earth wave crash into the eastern edge of Puget Sound.

The humans freeze, their minds barely able to comprehend what they are seeing.

Luckily for them all, a non-human mind knows exactly what to do.

Krissy looks down, tearing her eyes from the destruction, as Biscuit nips at her fingers then at the legs of her pants. The hybrid tries yanking her backwards and it takes her a couple of seconds to figure out why.

“Oh, shit,” she whispers.

She shoves Tony away from her, back towards the bunker’s entrance. The young man doesn’t even hesitate, he takes off running without a glance back.

“The wave!” Krissy yells, ignoring the pain as her wounded face stretches under the gauze and bandages. “Get off the beach, idiots!”

The noise from the continuing destruction is too much for anyone to hear her, especially since Belle and Linda both have their hands clamped over their ears. Krissy sighs and runs forward, grabbing Terrie’s shoulder and spinning her around.

“The wave!” Krissy yells, pointing at the Sound. “There is going to be a wave!”

Terrie frowns down at Krissy then looks at where the teenager is pointing. Her eyes go wide just as Roy reaches out and gives her a harsh shove.

“Go! Run now!” Roy yells, pulling at Belle. “Come on!”

Linda sees the panic and joins quickly.

The group hurries at a stumbling sprint from the rocky beach and into the dense woods beyond. They dodge past huge fir trees and pines, working their way deeper and deeper into the island’s meager forest, all the while the roar of water and mud increases behind them.

Roy skids to a stop at the bunker’s entrance and gives the exterior wheel a hard spin. It doesn’t move. He stares at it for a split second and tries again. It still doesn’t budge.

Belle pushes past him and bangs on the bunker’s entrance.

“Tony! Tony, open up this instant!” she yells.

“Come on, come on,” Krissy mutters as she hops from one foot to the next, her fear mimicking a need to pee. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Grandson! You hear me?” Roy yells as he joins his daughter, both their fists slamming against the thick metal door.

Biscuit spins in circles behind them all, yowling and barking over and over.

“Is there another way in?” Linda yells. “Tell me there’s another way in!”

“Not that we can get to!” Roy yells back.

Another sound joins the roaring wave headed for the island; a sound from a throat of impossible size.

“Ah, man,” Krissy says as the sound echoes through the trees. The need to pee is no longer mimicked as a stain spreads across her crotch. “That was big. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck.”

“Watch your language,” Terrie snaps, but her admonishment is lost in the apocalyptic cacophony.

“Tony! Open up now!” Belle screams. “This is your mother! Open up! PLEASE!”

They all start pounding on the door as the roar becomes all encompassing. Throats go raw as they scream, muscles grow tired as they hammer at metal, hands become bruised at the beating, spirits become open wounds at the realization of what is about to come down on them.

But the entrance does not open. The wheel does not spin.

The first sound of the wave hitting the island is of the rocky beach being lifted up into the air, joining the great swell of death. Then comes the cracking of the firs and pines, snapping like toothpicks before the onslaught.

Terrie shoves away from the door and grabs up the barking Biscuit under one arm then wraps her other around Krissy. She carries them as far as she can before her knees give out and she collapses to the ground, her body on theirs. Krissy lets out a violent scream as Biscuit’s barks become one long howl of pure terror.

Then the weight of the world collapses upon them and all light is snuffed out in one massive, wet breath.

***

Alvarez only stares at the screens before him, ignoring the “What the fucks?” and “Holy shits!” being yelled by the other agents crammed into the small room. He stares and stares, not surprised at all by what he is seeing. He made it from Alexandria to the White House, after all, while being chased by hideous beasts straight out of a toddler’s nightmare.

The thing pulling up out of the earth on the screen may be a thousand times larger than the mutant crab or the ooze mammoth he dealt with, but his brain deals with it the same way.

“Is that a mouth?” someone yells. “Holy fuck! It is! It could swallow the Empire State building in one bite!”

Alvarez agrees. Silently. Yes, the mouth that is pushing up from below, and between the two massive clawed arms that already surfaced, can swallow the Empire State building. The mouth can probably swallow Mount Rushmore as well. It could feast on all of America’s great monuments all day long, using the thousands of road side attractions as mid-meal snacks.

“What was that?” one of the agents asks Alvarez. “Are you hungry?”

“No, never mind,” Alvarez says, suddenly aware he may not have been as silent as he wanted. “Just exhausted.”

“How can you be tired when that thing is right there?” the agent asks, pointing at the monster that continues to tear apart the landscape around it as it births itself from its subterranean womb. “Man, I may never sleep again.”

That is something Alvarez can agree with also. Too much runs through his mind. The death, the insanity, the end of the world as he knows it. Everything.

“Man, this thing isn’t as whacked out as those whale-squid things!” another agent laughs. “Did you get a look at those, Alvarez? Man, they are freaky! We saw some pics of when they attacked the Everett base in Seattle. Crazy monsters, man. Crazy.”

“I just saw giant crabs,” Alvarez says. “They were crazy enough.”

“Yeah, I bet,” the agent nods like he knows what Alvarez is thinking or feeling. Alvarez just shakes his head and sighs.

“Tell me when we die,” Alvarez says as he stands up suddenly, his folding chair flipping backwards behind him with a clattering crash. “I’m going back to the bunk room.”

Voices shout at him. A couple hands grab his arms, but he shrugs them off. He yanks open the door and rushes out into the hallway, looking right and left, thankful the corridor is empty as he shuts the door behind him. The voices call to him for a couple more seconds then go back to their “What the fucks?” and “Holy shits!”

In a daze, he stumbles back to the bunk room, thumbs in the code on the keypad, shoves through to his cot, and collapses fully clothed. He prays for sleep to take him, but knows that even in slumber he will be tormented.

The faces of the dead, the shapes of the monsters, the gigantic teeth of the creature, the behemoth that is tearing apart the planet, all swirl through his conscious brain.

He wishes he had a side arm. He wishes he had a knife. He wishes he had some relief from it all.

Alvarez no longer wants to be in this world where nightmares live and people hide in deep bunkers, pretending to be awed when they are truly only terrified and waiting out the clock until all the lights go out.

But something nags at him as he starts to drift off. Something about the giant crabs and the whale-squids. Atlantic and Pacific. Two coasts. Two fronts…

***

“What happened?” Dr. Bennet asks as he hurries to the front of the quarantine cell. “The system says he had a seizure. How?”

“We don’t know,” Lu says as she stands by the limp, supine form of Lowell. “He started mumbling then fell over and began to seize. We tried holding him down, but the seizure got so bad we were afraid we’d break his arms or dislocate his shoulders.”

“He’s bleeding,” Dr. Bennet says, seeing a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. “He probably bit his tongue.”

“I’m sure he did,” Lu says. “It was pretty bad.”

“I’m coming in,” Dr. Bennet says. “Everyone back against the far wall. Do not move or the defense system will respond.”

Lu backs up to where Bolton, Kyle, and Holt are standing, as far away from Lowell as possible.

Dr. Bennet places his hand on a spot by the side of the cell and waits. In only a second there’s a beep and the clear plastic begins to withdraw into the wall. The second there’s enough space, Dr. Bennet starts to walk into the cell.

He doesn’t make it.

With blinding speed, Bolton launches himself off the wall, shoving his body right at Dr. Bennet. The large soldier collides with the smaller doctor and their bodies fly out and away from the cell, slamming onto the floor of the space beyond.

Dr. Bennet cries out before the wind is knocked from him. Bolton wastes no time and flips Dr. Bennet around so he can wrap his forearm around the man’s throat. He rolls onto his back, putting the doctor between him and whatever security measures are coming.

And come they do.

Just as when they exited the purge shafts, small gun turrets reveal themselves from panels at the tops of the walls, up near the ceiling. They instantly take aim at Bolton and Dr. Bennet.

“Don’t!” Bolton yells. “You shoot at me and you’ll catch the doctor too!”

“Connor!” Lu yells from the cell.

“Hold on!” Bolton yells back. He keeps his eyes focused on the turrets. “I want to speak to the person in charge! I want Dr. Burkhorst down here now! We’re done being prisoners!”

“You are not prisoners,” Dr. Bennet gasps. “I tried to tell—”

“Shut it,” Bolton hisses in his ear. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Connor!” Lu yells again. “We have a problem!”

“What?” Bolton shouts.

“There are guns in the cell with us!” Lu yells.

“What?” Bolton asks then focuses on Bolton. “Why are there guns in there too?”

“The security system is designed to deal with violence swiftly,” Dr. Bennet says. “Violence can be…contagious down here. Your friends have been tagged as possible problems. If they twitch the turrets will open fire. Tell them not to twitch.”

“Don’t twitch!” Bolton yells.

“We heard him!” Lu yells back.

“Override the turrets,” Bolton orders.

“I cannot,” Dr. Bennet replies. “I am no more safe from them than you are. The system is designed to see all of us as potential problems.”

“What? Why the hell would it do that?” Bolton asks.

“Because we are all potential problems,” Dr. Bennet says. “Every human being down here is. You have no idea where you are, Sergeant Bolton. This is so much more than a government facility. This is a whole other world. Trust me. The best thing you can do is to let me go so we can just all relax. The system will assess our aggression levels and reset once it sees we are no longer a threat.”

“Are you kidding me? I let go of you and I’ll get torn to pieces,” Bolton says. “Nice try, Doctor.”

“Sergeant, if you continue on this path you will kill us both,” Dr. Bennet says. “The system will weigh the reality of the situation and fire through me to get to you. Losing one doctor is better than letting a trained killer loose in this facility.”

“It won’t fire on you,” Bolton says.

“As I said, you are in a different world, Sergeant,” Dr. Bennet replies. “Stop thinking like you did above and adapt to where you are. The rules are vastly different down here. So are the stakes.”

“Connor,” Lu says calmly. “I think we should listen to him. My gut says he’s telling the truth.”

Bolton debates. He hesitates. But the black eyes of the gun barrels are what finally convince him.

“Okay,” he says. “How do we do this without getting killed?”

“We do everything slowly,” Dr. Bennet says. “Very slowly. Try to calm yourself. Get your breathing and heart rate under control. Think about peaceful things. Visualize not being aggressive.”

“Seriously?” Bolton asks.

“Connor,” Lu hisses.

“Alright, alright,” Bolton says as he eases his grip around Dr. Bennet’s throat.

“I will count to three and slowly roll off of you,” Dr. Bennet says. “Stay perfectly still.”

“You better not be shitting me,” Bolton says. “If this is a set up then know that my son is in that cell watching. You’ll be responsible for him seeing his father killed.”

“I am not shitting you,” Dr. Bennet says. “One. Two.”

The gun turrets retract back into the walls and the panels close just as the door to the space opens. Dr. Burkhorst stands there, her eyes filled with surprise and anger.

“Ryan? What in God’s name are you doing?” Dr. Burkhorst snaps. “Why is that cell open? Why are you on the floor with Sergeant Bolton? Why was the security system engaged?”

“A misunderstanding,” Dr. Bennet says as he rolls to his hands and knees and slowly gets to his feet. “One I was worried about, as you know.”

Bolton gets to his feet slowly as well, his eyes watching, waiting for the gun turrets to return.

“We’ll discuss this later,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “For now, I need Sergeants Bolton and Holt to follow me. VanderVoort and the President of the United States need to talk to them.”

“Um, I know who the president is,” Holt says, taking a tentative step towards forward. “But what’s a VanderVoort?”

“The new leader of the world,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “And she is not a patient person. Less patient than I.”

“What about us?” Lu asks.

“You will remain here with Dr. Bennet,” Dr. Burkhorst says, seeing the still form of Lowell on the floor. “Help get your friend to the infirmary. Dr. Bennet will find you suitable quarters after that.”

“We’re free to go?” Lu asks.

“No one is free to go anywhere,” Dr. Burkhorst says, her voice grating and harsh. “I don’t have time for this. Bolton. Holt. Follow me now. Ryan? Take care of this mess and make sure I do not have to deal with it again.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Dr. Bennet nods. “My apologies.”

Dr. Burkhorst gives him a withering look then turns about and marches away swiftly.

“You should go with her now,” Dr. Bennet says to Bolton and Holt. “She’s more dangerous than the gun turrets. Believe you me.”

Bolton gives Lu a quick look then takes off after Dr. Burkhorst with Holt right on his heels.

Dr. Bennet stretches then looks at Lowell.

“What really happened?” he asks.

“Connor applied pressure to a nerve cluster until he passed out and seized,” Lu admits. “He’s had to do it before in the field.”

“Your little rouse could have killed your friend,” Dr. Bennet says. “But he looks to be breathing fine. Hopefully there’s no permanent brain damage.”

“That can happen?” Kyle asks.

“Your father induced a seizure on a man,” Dr. Bennet says. “Brain damage is very possible.”

He looks at Lowell then looks at Lu and Kyle.

“You two appear more than capable of carrying him,” he says as he turns and starts to leave. “Hurry up and follow me.”

Kyle shakes his head as he squats at Lowell’s feet. “These people are fucking bossy as hell.”

“Kyle,” Lu snaps. “Stop it with the language. Your grandmother would be appalled.”

Kyle opens his mouth then closes it and nods as he and his mother lift Lowell up and carry him out of the cell.

Three

“There is just too much going on,” VanderVoort says to herself. “Look at this place. It’s like an ADHD convention when the Ritalin runs out. Fifty million video monitors, a hundred techs all warbling at each other, bureaucrat after bureaucrat blabbing, blabbing, blabbing about God knows what. And what am I doing?”

She sighs and looks up at the monitor that shows Dr. Burkhorst with Holt and Bolton flanking her.

“I get to help plan a road trip for two overgrown Boy Scouts,” she says and twirls her finger in the air. “Yay.”

“It’s not easy being the leader of the free world, is it?” President Nance chuckles at her side.

“Don’t,” VanderVoort warns. “You cannot even come close to comparing your corporate sponsored principal’s job to what I’m doing here. When you cut your puppet strings and actually make a difference, then come have a chat with me. I’ll be the one doing the heavy lifting, trying not to piss my pants as my unborn child does the Macarena on my neither parts.”

President Nance begins to protest, but stops as VanderVoort shifts her eyes in his direction. He closes his mouth and nods.

“The facility is on full lockdown, Ms. VanderVoort,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “I don’t know how I will get them outside without compromising our security.” She looks over her shoulder as a reading is announced. “And the creature coming from the Yellowstone caldera is not going to stop and take a break so we can coordinate a journey for these soldiers over nearly a thousand miles.”

VanderVoort looks at a different monitor and the scene of the giant monster, now with its shoulders out of the ground, destroying miles of what had once been pristine wilderness landscape. At least before the supervolcano exploded.

“Are those four shoulder sockets?” VanderVoort asks. A dozen techs and scientists in the situation room scramble to bring up more detailed views.

“Looks like it,” Dr. Hall says from her left, seated a few stations over from where she stands. “I bet the other two arms are helping clear space under the ground so it can wriggle its midsection out then bring up its legs. How many legs do you think it has?”

“Six?” VanderVoort guesses. “Eight? Or maybe two. Yeah, just two.” She looks over her shoulder. “Get a pool going. I claim two.”

“I’m going with four,” Dr. Hall says.

“That’s quite enough, Doctor,” President Nance says.

“Bull,” VanderVoort counters. “It’s not nearly enough. Better stop being so afraid and squeamish, Charles. Even if we do manage to kill the biggun’ here, we’ll still be sharing the planet with quite a few other monstrosities. You know, the Greeks learned to create theatre and comedy around their nightmares. Laugh it off, Charles, or go crazy fighting it.”

“I do not understand how you got where you are,” President Nance replies. “Who in their right mind would put you in charge?”

“I got where I am by a combination of guile, street smarts, and perfectly timed assassinations,” VanderVoort says. “If you can’t out think ‘em, out maneuver ‘em, or intimidate ‘em then be sure to put a bullet between their eyebrows.”

Those behind that had been trying to eavesdrop while also looking like they were having their own conversations suddenly go silent.

“Kidding,” VanderVoort announces. “Relax, folks. I applied for the job and give great interview. Sheesh.”

She leans in close to President Nance. “I’m also an amazing shot with a twenty-two at close range. Right behind the ear. Click, bam, done.”

“You are insane,” President Nance says. “Certifiable.”

“Ms. VanderVoort?” Dr. Burkhorst calls. “What shall I do with the sergeants? What would you suggest? If I open things above then this facility could be breached.”

“Capsule them up through the Substance?” VanderVoort suggests then shakes her head. “No, too much risk of pure insanity.” Again she leans in close to President Nance. “You want to talk insanity? Spend a night by yourself right next to the Substance. The whispering of Gods will be in your head for months. No thanks.”

“So I breach our security and send them up through the elevator?” Dr. Burkhorst asks.

“Unless you have a better idea,” VanderVoort replies. “Do you?”

“I do,” Bolton says, raising his hand. “Uh…ma’am.”

“Polite yet bold,” VanderVoort says. “I like it. What’s your idea, Sergeant Bolton?”

“We go back up the way we came down,” Bolton says. “Through the purge shaft.”

“Through the purge shaft?” VanderVoort asks. “Those haven’t been sealed?”

“Have they?” Bolton asks Dr. Burkhorst.

“Well… Uh, I’m not exactly sure,” Dr. Burkhorst answers. “They should have been. All of them. To prevent the creatures from above getting below, but…”

“But you’ve been a little busy and don’t remember if the task was completed,” VanderVoort finishes for her. “This could be one time where a lapse is a blessing. Check on that, Burkhorst. Get back to me in no more than ten minutes. At that time, I want those men prepped and ready to ascend back to the ground level and get to hiking. It’s a long walk to Colorado Springs.”

“Ma’am, if I may?” Bolton asks. “Even fully armed, and outfitted with plenty of supplies, we still have the caldera between us and Colorado Springs.”

“Then plot a course around,” VanderVoort says. She makes a big circle in the air with her right hand. “A-roun-duh. Get it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bolton nods.

“Ten minutes,” VanderVoort says and walks away, moving swiftly over to Dr. Hall. “What have you got for me?”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Hall asks. “You never gave me an assignment.”

“Exactly,” VanderVoort replies. “You’ve been topside, dealt with the creatures first hand, watched people die, and are now safely down here with us. I specifically didn’t give you an assignment so you could get your work done. What do you have for me?”

“A theory,” Dr. Hall says, tapping at his keyboard until his screen is split into six panels, each showing different footage of the events that have occurred at the Yellowstone caldera.

“I like theories,” VanderVoort says.

“You hate theories,” Director Miles says as he walks by. “Heading to the mess for some chow. Need anything?”

“Pudding cups and nacho chips,” VanderVoort says. “And an apple. I’m completely backed up. I need the fiber.”

“Gotta keep the pooper shooting,” Director Miles says. “Back in a minute with your goodies.”

Dr. Hall just blinks.

“We’re long time friends,” VanderVoort says. “I’ve seen him naked.”

“Oh,” Dr. Hall nods as if that explains it all. “Okay, uh, my theory?”

“Go on,” VanderVoort says.

“Look at these here,” Dr. Hall says as he points to the screen. “See how some of the monsters seem to prey on the others? Or have no regard for their safety? Like that there. The bigger ones crushed those smaller ones then ate them. Why would they do that?”

“Some just like to be bullies,” VanderVoort says. “Stop asking me questions. Give me answers.”

“Let me through!” a voice calls. “I have to speak with the president!”

“Ignore the commotion,” VanderVoort says. “Continue.”

“I don’t think they all like each other,” Dr. Hall begins again. “I think we are dealing with not only different species of monster, but different factions—”

“It’s a war!” the voice calls out.

Dr. Hall turns from his station. “Let him in. Let him in!”

VanderVoort nods and Alvarez comes stumbling into the situation room looking worse for wear. He turns in a daze then sees Dr. Hall and hurries over.

“It’s a war,” Alvarez says. “Or something like that. They aren’t all working together. Remember? Like we saw outside the Mall? Some of the ooze creatures went after the others. The new ones attacked the crabs. They fucking attacked the crabs! Then someone said something about whale-squids on the West Coast. They came up out of the water. Out of the ocean. Two fronts, attacking at the same time. It’s a war.”

VanderVoort stares at Alvarez and wrinkles her nose. “You could use a shower. But I’ll get you a chair. Have a seat next to Dr. Hall. I want your crazy to mix with his crazy and get me some more theories. I like this war between the monsters idea. Could explain a few things.”

“Ms. VanderVoort?” a tech calls. “We are getting reports of activity increasing tenfold at the other facilities.”

“Are we now?” VanderVoort grins. She slaps Dr. Hall and Alvarez on the shoulders then walks off. “Show me the data, boys and girls! Show me the data!”

***

“I see a bright light,” Lowell says. “Is it all over for me? Be straight. Should I go towards the light, doc?”

“You seem fine,” Dr. Bennet says as he pulls the pen light away from Lowell’s face. “And you didn’t need to take off your pants. Please put them back on.”

“Hey, Doc, where I come from, when you wake up from a violent event, your pants are usually already down around your ankles anyway,” Lowell smirks. “I figured you’d forgotten that part and was just trying to be helpful.”

“Is he always this flippant?” Dr. Bennet asks, looking back at Lu as she leans against the infirmary’s wall.

“For as long as I’ve known him, yeah,” Lu replies.

“I’m just a product of the system, man,” Lowell says. “I am what the corporate run penal machine has made me. I have tried to rehabilitate, but I’m caught in a pattern of self-destruction and depravity. I’m hopeless, I say. Hopeless!”

Kyle snickers as he walks around, checking out the various machines and drawers of medical supplies. “Penal.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Lu snaps at her son.

“And please don’t touch anything,” Dr. Bennet says. Kyle holds his hands up at his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Not a kid person, Doc?” Lowell asks, hopping off the exam table and yanking his pants up. “They’re just little people, ya know. Like you and me. Although the kid isn’t exactly little. He’s taller than you are.”

“Not a kid,” Kyle says.

“Really? Ever gone down on a chick?” Lowell asks. “When you have then you can call yourself a man.”

“Hey!” Lu shouts.

“Please, all of you,” Dr. Bennet says, pinching his nose. “Can we keep our voices down? There is no need to continue to shout and yell. This is a civilized place.”

“Yeah, with gun turrets in the walls and weird sex cells,” Lowell says. “Don’t think I don’t know you like to get freaky in those cells when the lights go out at night. A little anonymous buggering, am I right? Eh? Eh?”

“Your file said you were disturbed, but I had no idea it would be this severe,” Dr. Bennet says.

“My file? Can I see my file? I would so love to see my file,” Lowell says.

“I’ve seen it,” Lu says. “It’s not that exciting.”

“I know you’re lying, Marshal,” Lowell replies. “You’ve tried to use it against me more than once. If it was boring then you’d never have referenced it.” He taps his temple. “I’m a smarty, remember?”

“Smarty ass,” Kyle says.

“Zinger!” Lowell laughs. “Score one for the kid!”

“You next, please,” Dr. Bennet says, motioning for Lu to get up on the exam table.

“Wait, what?” Lu asks, pushing away from the wall, looking more than surprised. “I didn’t have a seizure.”

“I thought the holding cell was doing all the tests,” Kyle says.

“It can do quite a few tests,” Dr. Bennet says as he tugs at the stethoscope around his neck. “But the system is not a doctor. I am. I’d like to confirm the findings for myself. That many people in that cell could lead to false readings.”

“Fine,” Lu says and walks over to the table. “Clothed or unclothed?”

“I call for unclothed,” Lowell says, raising his hand.

“Gross, dude,” Kyle says. “That’s my mom.”

“Oh, like you haven’t already seen the goods,” Lowell says.

“Dude!” Kyle shouts.

“Hey!” Lu shouts.

“Please,” Dr. Bennet cries. “I am developing a migraine from all the stress. Can we please stop yelling?” He waits until everyone nods. “Thank you. Clothed is fine, Ms. Morgan.”

“Party pooper,” Lowell mutters.

Dr. Bennet begins his exam of Lu as Lowell starts to walk around the infirmary, following Kyle’s lead and opening drawers and fiddling with the machinery.

“So, Doc, we are obviously way deep underground,” Lowell says casually. “But why? What does this place do exactly?”

“You are not cleared nor qualified to have that question answered,” Dr. Bennet replies.

“Huh,” Lowell nods. “I may not know exactly where we are, but I get the distinct vibe that the jailers are as much captives as we are.”

“I am not a jailer,” Dr. Bennet says. “Neither are the other members of the facility’s staff.”

“That’s what the guards at every penitentiary I’ve been in thought, too,” Lowell laughs. “But you could see it in their eyes. They were just as trapped. Sure, they could go home at night, but they took the bars with them. Prisoners of the mind. You know what I mean?”

Dr. Bennet stops examining Lu and turns to Lowell.

“Yes, Mr. Lowell, I do,” Dr. Bennet says. “I do very much.”

“Oh,” Lowell says, looking stunned. “Well, alright then.”

“Not used to people agreeing with you?” Dr. Bennet asks.

“Not usually. No,” Lowell admits. “I’m used to the yelling. And the beating. Marshal Morgan is just so cruel.”

“Cram it, Lowell,” Lu says.

“So if this isn’t a prison,” Kyle asks, “then what is it?”

Dr. Bennet sighs and looks at Lu. “You’re all done.” Lu gets down and he motions for Kyle. “Your turn.”

“Not until you tell me what this place really is,” Kyle says.

“Son, I didn’t get this position because I easily cave to pressure from a teenage boy,” Dr. Bennet says.

“Don’t,” Lu says, holding up a finger at Lowell.

“I wasn’t going to say a word,” Lowell responds. “Not one word about the doctor here and teenage boy pressure.”

“This is what I can tell you,” Dr. Bennet says as he puts the stethoscope to Kyle’s chest. “This facility is directly related to what is happening above.”

“I knew it was all a government conspiracy!” Lowell exclaims.

“No, you didn’t,” Lu says. “Just shut up.”

“See?” Lowell says to Dr. Bennet. “Nothing but abuse.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?” Dr. Bennet asks.

“Sorry,” Lowell says. “Go on.”

He taps at Kyle’s knees and then checks his pulse before smiling and moving to the side so Kyle can get down.

“How about refreshments while we talk?” Dr. Bennet asks. “I’ll show you to the cafeteria. I can pop some popcorn and open some sodas. I believe we still have sodas. Might only have seltzer. But it’s flavored. Orange or grapefruit?”

The three stare at him, none sure what to do with the mood change.

“Uh…grapefruit?” Lowell replies.

Dr. Bennet chuckles. “My apologies for the about face. I have decided that with all that is going on up above, and the fact that Burkhorst is more than occupied with those events, not to mention whatever she needs Sergeants Bolton and Holt for, I might have a little leeway to explain your current circumstances in a civilized manner.”

He sighs as they walk out of the infirmary.

“That and I’m just so fucking tired of the lies and subterfuge,” he says.

“Now you’re talking, brother,” Lowell laughs.

***

For the waves of death encompassed me; The torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.

For the waves of death encompassed me; The torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.

For the waves of death encompassed me; The torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.

The verse runs over and over in Terrie’s mind, but she can’t remember what part of the Bible it comes from. Her memory tries to stretch, tries to grasp the exact passage, the chapter number, the verse number.

Then her eyes open and she sees nothing. All there is to the world is blackness. A soul penetrating blackness like the kind she experienced in one of the deep caves by her childhood home. No matter which way she looks there is nothing, not even the slightest hint of light.

Not that she can look far. Her neck turns and her shoulders can move somewhat, but her arms are pinned to her sides as well as her lower half. She struggles to move her left arm and there is a terrible groan from all around her.

She stops immediately.

For the waves of death encompassed me; The torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.

Her conscious mind catches up to what her subconscious has been trying to tell her.

She’s buried. Under who knows how much mud and debris. She wiggles her fingers, moving her hands as much as possible, and feels the roughness of bark. Trees. She’s wedged between trees.

Whether deadfall that was lifted up by the wave of volcanic mud and seawater, or fresh trees, newly toppled and destroyed by the ferocious power of the wave, she cannot tell. Everything is coated in the mud, cold and wet, no way to tell a rotten log from a recently standing fir.

She knows her position is precarious, having tested it briefly, but that is not what she fears. She realizes she is trapped with a pocket of air. But how much air? And how deep is she?

Terrie had witnessed a mudslide in Wyoming that had ended up fifty feet high when it finally came to rest in the valley below. Fifty feet of mud, rocks, trees, and the unfortunate debris from vacation homes and some locals’ cabins.

Too many of the homes and cabins had not been vacated in time and she had spent a week with local law enforcement and the National Guard digging out corpse after corpse.

Will that be her fate? She doesn’t know. She tries not to think too much about it.

Instead she thinks about Linda. About Krissy and Roy and Belle. They had been with her when the wave hit the island. They had been standing right by her side as they all tried to get back inside the bunker. But the bunker was locked because of that young man.

Not that Terrie blames the young man. He was sacred, terrified, and had done what he’d been taught to do when danger presents itself outside the bunker. He ran, locked things down, and didn’t open the hatch for any reason. As much as Roy and Belle had pleaded for him to open up, Terrie knew the young man was only doing what he thought right. She’d been around enough preppers to know they had a strict code of procedures. Once the hatch closes, it doesn’t open back up until safety can be confirmed.

Even if that wasn’t the case with Roy and his family, if they didn’t have that strict procedure in place, Terrie knew the young man, Tony, wasn’t quite right in the head. More than one misfire happening in that mind. Too much stimuli, too little filter. Not everyone is cut out for the end of the world.

Samuel! The Book of Samuel!

Terrie feels a thrill at remembering where the Bible verse looping in her head had come from. Not that it does her much good. She is still trapped under mud and trees and has no idea where her companions are.

She takes a deep breath then holds it as long as she can before letting it out. Many say to take short, shallow breaths, but she always found that made her lightheaded. The last thing she wants to do is pass out and then not be able to control her breathing at all.

To pass the time from one breath to the other, Terrie assesses her physical condition. She concentrates on her arms, moving as little as possible, but enough to discover whether she has any broken bones or not. She does not. Not severe enough to set off any pain.

She does the same with her legs. No major pain. Some serious bruising, for sure. She can already feel the soreness creeping through the flesh and down into her bones.

Not to mention the cold.

The mud may have come from a piping hot volcano, but it travelled for hundreds of miles and across frigid water before hitting the island. She could feel the cold seeping into her bones as well. It isn’t long before her teeth begin to chatter, ruining her disciplined breathing technique.

She tries to get it under control, but the chattering is on a rampage, turning into full body shivers in seconds. At least shivering is designed to create body heat and warm her up. She just hopes it doesn’t shake her position too much and kill her instead of saving her.

A voice in her head says she forgot to think of someone. Not so much a voice, actually, but a bark.

Biscuit.

Biscuit was out with them too. The hybrid had been there with her and Krissy, barking and whining as the wave of destruction came at them. The poor thing. Dead for certain.

Or not?

The voice in her head, the bark in her head, starts to happen more frequently and Terrie realizes it isn’t in her head, but up above her. Biscuit is above her! He is barking for her!

“BISCUIT!” Terrie yells, calling to her wolf-dog. “BISCUIT! DOWN HERE!”

The barking increases, becomes more frantic and insistent. Mud starts to drip down onto Terrie’s face and she tries to shake it off, but even that movement begins to dislodge her deadly pocket of safety.

“BISCUIT!” Terrie screams, eating some of the dropping mud in the process. She doesn’t care, just spits it out. “BISCUIT!”

Terrie has no idea what will happen when/if Biscuit reaches her. The poor thing doesn’t have opposable thumbs. Not like he can assess the engineering of the trees she’s trapped in and carefully remove the correct ones like giant pick-up sticks. She suddenly shivers, not from the cold, but from the thought that her salvation may in fact kill her.

As she thinks of this new predicament, a tiny sliver of light appears above. It is enough so she can look at where she is stuck. Three large firs have her boxed in with several smaller pines criss-crossed like perfect braces yet angled enough that if they shift they’ll roll right across her exposed head and shoulders.

Several curse words run through her mind, words she’d never say out loud.

The barking increases even more and the sound of paws scrabbling fills her ears.

“Hold up, Biscuit,” Terrie cries. “Hold up, boy!”

“Biscuit! Back!” a voice shouts. “Get back!”

The hybrid barks harshly, obviously not happy about the order, and continues to dig.

“Dammit, Biscuit! Move your furry ass!” the voice yells. “You’ll crush her!”

Krissy.

“Krissy? Can you hear me?” Terrie calls out.

“Yeah,” Krissy says. The light goes dim and Terrie can just barely see a shadowed eye peering down at her through the space between two of the firs. “How bad is it?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Terrie chuckles. “Is it worth coming up there?”

“Not much to see except for mud,” Krissy says. “But probably better than down there. Plenty of firewood up here.”

“I bet,” Terrie says. “Listen, I am wedged between some trees. There are some smaller ones ready to take my head off if things aren’t done right. Do you understand?”

“Can you move at all?” Krissy asks.

“No,” Terrie says.

“Shit,” Krissy replies.

“Please don’t curse,” Terrie requests.

“I’ll try,” Krissy laughs. “But no promises. I’m really fucking scared, okay?”

“You and me both, girl,” Terrie says. “Now, from what I can see, if we can get the top firto move then I may be able to shift enough to get an arm up and block the pines from taking my noggin for a ride. Do you think you can carefully,very carefully, get the top fir off this pile?”

“I can try,” Krissy says, her voice quivering with fear.

“That’s all I ask,” Terrie says. “Just try really, really carefully, alright?”

“Don’t pressure me,” Krissy snaps. “I don’t exactly feel so great.”

“Are you injured?” Terrie asks.

“Yeah, I’m fucking injured,” Krissy growls. “I wasn’t one hundred percent before the big wave of death mud hit us.”

“Right, yes, sorry,” Terrie replies. “I forgot about your previous injuries.”

“Whatever,” Krissy says, grunting. “Lay off until I try to lift this thing.”

There is a lot more grunting and the sliver of light becomes a line of light, a wedge, a gap, an opening.

“What now?” Krissy asks, the strain in her voice evident. “Where the hell do I put this?”

“Hold on,” Terrie says as she slowly wiggles her right arm free then raises it up and grabs onto the closest log. Pain rips through her midsection and she realizes that her stitches are now long gone. She prays she can get free and not bleed out. Just one more worry to add to the already massive pile of worries. “You got it?”

“For now,” Krissy hisses. “But hurry.”

Terrie twists her body, almost passing out from the pain, then gets her other arm free. With both arms grasping onto the log above her, she pulls hard and frees her lower half. Then the pine trees come loose and shift right at her.

“Help me out!” Terrie cries.

“Oh, fuck!” Krissy says and tosses the tree she’s holding to the side. She dives at Terrie and grabs her under the armpits, pulling up as hard and fast as she can. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck!”

Terrie comes popping out, but not before one of the pines catches her across her right ankle. She cries out, feeling all the muscles and tendons bend in a direction they do not like bending.

“Oh, shit, did it take your foot off?” Krissy cries, falling back on her ass, perched on the very log she’d just lifted and tossed aside. Her hand is over her eyes. “I can’t look. Just tell me.”

“I still have my foot, thank God,” Terrie says. “But I won’t be hiking any trails today. You can uncover…your… Oh, sweet child.”

“What?” Krissy asks. “What’s wrong?”

Terrie stares at Krissy then turns away. The bandages that had been covering Krissy’s facial wounds are gone, lost to the mud. Only exposed flesh is left to the elements, flesh that is missing most of its skin.

Krissy opens her mouth to speak then her shoulders slump and she starts to cry.

“Is it that bad?” she sobs. “Oh, shit, is it that bad?”

Despite her excruciating pain, from ankle and midsection, Terrie scoots over to Krissy and takes her in her arms. The girl can only rest her chin on Terrie’s shoulder, unable to lay her flayed cheek down. In seconds, Terrie is crying with her, the two shaking and shivering from anguish, fear, exhaustion, and cold.

Biscuit raises his head and lets out a long, mournful howl.

***

“Here we go, folks!” VanderVoort announces, her hands on her hips as her head turns from one monitor to the next.

Director Miles walks up to her and hands her a cup of chocolate pudding.

“Sorry it took so long,” he says. “I had to get the head cook to open a new case. Apparently, he does not like opening a new case. Also, apparently, he has not been informed about who you are. I mentioned your name and he only blinked at me.”

“But you straightened it out, right?” VanderVoort asks, ripping into the pudding like it’s oxygen. “Mmmm.”

“Oh, the guy is straightened out,” Director Miles laughs. “You will have access to pudding twenty-four seven.”

She looks at him. “Where’re my chips?”

“Dammit,” Director Miles frowns. “So close.”

“Australia is going up,” a tech calls out.

“So is Japan!” another cries.

“Kenya!”

“Chile!”

“France!”

“Italy!”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” VanderVoort says. “They are all erupting at once. Let’s get past the blowing up and move on to theories on why. Any ideas on how volcanoes all across the world, most not connected in any way, can be erupting simultaneously? Come on, folks! You aren’t down here to repopulate the world! We have places with much prettier people for that! Give me ideas!”

“Do we really have those places?” Director Miles asks.

“Nah,” VanderVoort replies. “But I figured they’d work harder if they thought they could be more important than the college quarterback chosen only for his loins and breeding potential.”

“You are one sick broad,” Director Miles smiles.

“I have to be in this job,” VanderVoort says.

The situation room is total chaos as techs, scientists, and everyone else shouts over each other to be heard. The monitors are filled with scientists’ faces, red with excitement, splotched white with fear. Their voices are part of the chaos and VanderVoort only smiles. A fire has been lit.

Then she notices that the Yellowstone facility scientists aren’t joining in. They all look passive, pained. Silent.

“Hand me that headset, will you?” VanderVoort asks, pointing to a stray headset sitting at one of the stations.

“Sure,” Director Miles says. He reaches out and hands it to VanderVoort. “What channel do you want?”

“Yellowstone,” VanderVoort says, pointing at the screen. “They look okay to you?”

Director Miles gets one of the techs to dial in the channel then steps back and looks at the monitors.

“No, they do not look okay to me,” Director Miles says. “They look like they’re each about to have a stroke.”

“Burkhorst? Glenda? Do you read me?” VanderVoort calls into the headset. “Hello? Burkhorst?”

The face of Dr. Burkhorst stares directly into the camera, her eyes wide, her mouth opening slowly. The rest of the scientists mimic the behavior- Dr. Mannering, Dr. McDaniels, Dr. Scofield, and last, Dr. Probst.

Then the open mouths let out an ear-piercing shriek, all in unison, all at full volume.

VanderVoort yanks the headset off her head and tosses it aside as the situation room goes silent.

“Someone turn that the fuck down!” Director Miles yells. A tech responds and the shrieking is lessened to a quiet screech. “Thank you.”

“Gordon?” VanderVoort asks. “I know you aren’t a scientist, but does that seem healthy?”

“Not even close,” Director Miles replies. “Pretty sure you’ll get the same answer from all the scientists in this room and on those monitors. The ones not screaming their heads off, that is.”

Everyone stares as the Yellowstone facility scientists continue to shriek and shriek and shriek until one by one their eyes roll up into their heads and they pass out, their faces lost from view.

“I want eyes on those monitors at all times,” VanderVoort says. “And I want a tech trying to contact them continuously. When one gets too hoarse to speak, switch them out and get a fresh one at it. Am I understood?”

“Loud and clear,” Director Miles says. “I think everyone here wants to find out what the hell just happened as much as you do.”

VanderVoort looks about and half the people in the situation room are staring at her while the other half are staring at the empty monitors.

***

The agony is nearly more than her body can handle, but the moment Dr. Probst achieves a semblance of consciousness she fights through the pain and pushes herself up onto her hands and knees. That is the easy part. Opening her eyes proves a much bigger challenge.

“Hello?” she gasps, even the sound of her own voice sends daggers splintering through her brain. “Anyone awake?”

Her left eye seems to be the most compliant, so she slowly cracks the lid, wincing at even the small amount of red light that filters in. Red light? She forces her lid another millimeter and another until it is almost completely open. The control room is bathed in red light, the main illumination no longer functioning. Only a couple dim, red bulbs shine in the corners of the room, coloring the unconscious scientists in blood.

But it isn’t all just light. Dr. Probst can see a black pool under Dr. Mannering’s head. His eyes are wide open, not shut against the torment of stimuli, and rolled up into his head. Dr. Probst can tell, as she crawls slowly closer, that Dr. Mannering is not dealing with the same pain she is; he is no longer dealing with any pain or feeling at all.

“Jesus,” she whispers, her ears getting used to hearing once more. The pain from her voice is only a five instead of an eleven. “What happened?”

***

Lowell is nearly in a state of panic as he sits at the cafeteria table and watches the still forms of Kyle, Lu, and Dr. Bennet. He wrings his hands together, some fleeting memory from his tortured childhood trying to push its way forward. He nearly cries with joy when Kyle begins to stir.

“Mom?” Kyle croaks. “Mom?”

“Mmmm?” Lu moans as she rolls onto her back, her hand instinctively reaching out to find her son. “Mmmm?”

“Can you guys hear me?” Lowell asks as he scrambles over to Lu and Kyle on the cafeteria floor. “Hey? Wake up. What the hell happened?”

“Lowell?” Kyle asks as he struggles to open his eyes. “I hurt bad, man.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Lowell says, helping the teenager up to one of the cafeteria tables. Kyle sits on the bench and promptly folds his arms on the table and rests his head, his eyes closing. “Open up, kid. Don’t go back to sleepy land, okay?”

“Kyle?” Lu asks. “Kyle?”

“Here,” Kyle grunts.

“Someone help me up,” Lu says.

“That would be me,” Lowell says as Kyle doesn’t move a muscle. He squats by Lu and gets his arms under her, gently lifting her next to her son. “How do you feel?”

“Like I drank all of Kentucky’s bourbon in one sitting,” Lu mumbles. “Then decided to slam my head into a bulldozer over and over.”

“If this is what a hangover feels like then I am never drinking,” Kyle says.

“I know you’ve had alcohol before, Kyle,” Lu replies. “I am a US Marshal.”

“Listen, this family discussion is great and all, but we need to get the doctor awake too,” Lowell says, looking down at Dr. Bennet. “And he ain’t looking so hot.”

Lu forces her eyes to open and slowly swivels her head to look down at Dr. Bennet. “Is he breathing?”

“Not sure,” Lowell says. “I haven’t checked.”

“Then check,” Lu orders.

Lowell sighs and crouches down, his hand to Dr. Bennet’s nose. “Yeah, he’s breathing. It’s weak, though. Probably shouldn’t move him.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Lu says. “I can barely move myself.”

She is quiet for a few seconds then her eyes open and she stares at Lowell.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. “You seem fine.”

“Little headache and my teeth hurt, like when you bite down on aluminum foil,” Lowell replies, shrugging. “But other than that I’m good to go. It’s you guys that did the pass out routine. Totally synchronized. Bam, you were down. Right after that screeching.”

“Screeching?” Lu asks.

“Yeah, you three were like the Edgar Allan Poe chorus,” Lowell says. “You opened your mouths and just screeched. Loud. Really loud. That hurt the most. I had to cover my ears until you went night night.”

“But you didn’t screech? Or go night night?” Lu asks.

“Nope,” Lowell says. “I was just the audience.”

“How long were we out?” Lu asks.

“Too much talking,” Kyle says. “Quiet time please.”

“Hush,” Lu snaps. “This is important.”

Lowell looks at the wall clock above the cafeteria door. “Thirty minutes? Maybe not that long. At least twenty, though.”

“Twenty to thirty minutes,” Lu muses. “That’s some heavy duty shit.”

“It was freaky as hell,” Lowell says. “The whole facility started to shake. Not bad, but enough that I knew something was happening. Then you started up with the screeching, your eyes rolled up and you hit the deck. Sorry I didn’t catch any of you.”

“I appreciate that you’re sorry,” Lu replies. “Maybe we’ll make a real person of you yet.”

“Ha fucking ha,” Lowell says giving her both middle fingers. “The convict/marshal act is getting old. Time to drop the old roles, Lu. We are in some new shit now.”

“Yeah, because the giant monsters up top were getting so old,” Kyle mutters. “Please. No more with the talking.”

“Can you get me some water?” Lu asks.

“On it,” Lowell says and hurries to the kitchen. He’s back in seconds, two bottles of water in hand. “Here.”

Lu takes one and downs it quickly then taps Kyle’s arm with the other.

“Stop with the hurting,” Kyle says.

“Drink,” Lu orders. “It helps. Trust me.”

Kyle reluctantly lifts his head and takes the water. He guzzles it greedily then sighs.

“It does help,” he says then looks down at Dr. Bennet. “We just going to leave him there?”

“He’s probably going to want to wake up in the infirmary,” Lu says then smiles at Lowell. “Remember where it is?”

“I’ve memorized every inch of this place since we got here,” Lowell says. “I’ll go find a gurney and be right back. We’ll all go to the infirmary. He’ll want to do his test thing.”

“If he wakes up,” Kyle says.

“He’s older than us,” Lu says. “Whatever happened may have hit him harder.”

“Or being down here as long as he has made it worse,” Lowell says.

Lu and Kyle look at him, the reality of that statement evident on their faces. Then they all look at Dr. Bennet and frown.

Four

The floor is cold and vibrates slightly against Bolton’s cheek.

“Get up, Specialist,” Holt says as Bolton opens his eyes and wishes quickly he hadn’t. “Mission is still on.”

Holt is up, but leaning heavily against the wall next to the purge shaft entrance. A gas mask is perched on top of his head, ready to be pulled down at a second’s notice. He reaches out and smacks the purge shaft entrance.

“Double coded,” Holt says. “Remember? We have to key in the code at the same time one of those scientists do. Once the doors open, we are on the clock.”

“What the fuck happened?” Bolton asks as he pushes up to his knees, waits for the world to stop spinning, then slowly gets to his feet. He quickly joins Holt in the leaning against the wall position. “Did we pass out?”

“We did,” Holt says. “I don’t know why, though. I remember something loud in my head then it was all over except for the pain.”

“Yeah. The pain,” Bolton sighs. “Fuck this pain.”

“I second that sentiment,” Holt nods then winces. “Ow.”

Bolton looks at the purge shaft doors and the keypad by them. “This shaft leads directly outside?”

“That’s what they say,” Holt replies. “Not that they’re saying much right now.” Holt taps his ear and the com device tucked inside. “We have radio silence for the moment. None of the scientists are responding.”

“Not even Probst?” Bolton asks.

“Not even Probst,” Holt says. “Maybe they were affected as well.”

“If it hit us, stands to reason it hit them too,” Bolton nods. “What now?”

Holt points at the keypad. “Know how to hotwire that thing?”

“Nope,” Bolton says.

There’s a crackling then a screech of feedback in their ears and they both cry out.

“Sorry,” Dr. Probst voices says. She sounds weak and breathy. “Bolton? Holt? Are both of you there?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Holt replies. “A little worse for wear, but up on our feet.”

“That’s more than I can say for these folks,” Dr. Probst says. “Dr. Mannering is dead. The others won’t wake up.”

“Dead? Shit,” Bolton says. “How are you?”

“I feel like hammered shit,” Dr. Probst replies. “Where are you?”

“We’re at the shaft doors,” Holt responds. “All set to get this mission on.”

“Okay, good,” Dr. Probst says. “I have the code here. Ready?”

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Bolton replies. He goes to the keypad. “On three?”

“One, two, three,” Dr. Probst says.

Bolton keys in the code and steps back. Holt joins him and they wait for the shaft doors to open. After a few seconds, a loud groaning sounds then the distinct noise of heavy gears engaging echoes through the corridor. The doors pull slowly apart until they are open far enough for the men to squeeze through.

“Masks on,” Holt says and pulls his gas mask down over his face.

Bolton unclips his from his belt and puts it on as the distinct smells of heavy sulfur and ammonia waft in at them. They walk into the shaft and look at the caged ladder that extends several stories up.

“This is going to hurt a lot,” Holt says.

“Doctor? We’re in,” Bolton reports. “Give us about fifteen—” Holt shakes his head. “Make that twenty minutes at least to climb up and out before you close the doors. I don’t want any purge protocol to initiate when you shut these doors.”

“Understood,” Dr. Probst says. “Good luck, gentlemen.”

“Thanks,” Bolton says as he reaches out for the first rung and grips it tight. “We’ll need it.”

***

“Dr. Probst?” VanderVoort’s voice echoes from the speakers in the control room. “Dr. Probst, is that you moving about?”

Dr. Probst looks around, crouched over Dr. Scofield’s still form, and glances up at her laptop on her workstation.

“Yeah,” Dr. Probst says. “I’m the only one.”

“Can you come into view, please?” VanderVoort asks.

“I’m a little busy, Ms. Vander-whatsit,” Dr. Probst replies. “Checking to see if the rest of these people are going to live or not. Dr. Mannering is already dead.”

“Yes, I know, we heard your talk with Sergeants Bolton and Holt,” VanderVoort responds.  “And before you ask, yes we have taken over surveillance of the entire facility. Audio and visual. The second we lost contact we patched it all through. You just happen to be at a bad angle and I’d like to look you in the eye as we talk.”

“Hold on,” Dr. Probst says as she gently sets Dr. Scofield’s head on the floor then stands and sits at her workstation. Her laptop screen is filled with VanderVoort’s face. “Shoot.”

“We have vital signs of the facility staff in front of us,” VanderVoort says. “They have been fitted with sub-dermal sensors. Helps us predict if things might go sour.”

“Rather invasive,” Dr. Probst says.

“A needed invasion,” VanderVoort replies. “You haven’t seen what I have seen or watched what people are capable of when things get out of hand in the facilities. You are in a dangerous place, Dr. Probst.”

“Ya think?” Dr. Probst laughs then rubs at her temples. “Damn. I really got the shit knocked out of me. You folks have any sensors that can tell me what happened?”

“We have theories,” VanderVoort chuckles. “We are rich in theories here. We’re the damn one percent with the theories.”

“Care to share one?” Dr. Probst growls. “I could use some help since I am the rookie and have no idea what the fuck is happening around here.”

“That’s the other thing we need to talk about,” VanderVoort says. “If you move to Dr. Burkhorst’s workstation, you will see her laptop has been unlocked. It is now yours.”

“Uh, what about Burkhorst?” Dr. Probst asks.

“Is she awake?” VanderVoort asks.

“No, she’s still unconscious,” Dr. Probst says. “I was thinking of moving her, and the rest, to the infirmary. Lying on this floor can’t be good for them.”

“Leave them be,” VanderVoort says. “It sounds harsh, but we don’t have time for musical chairs. I need you working right now and focusing on the Yellowstone caldera. Our view shows that the creature is almost fully out. Do you see the same thing?”

Dr. Probst starts at those words and begins scanning the video feeds. The breath leaves her and she fears she’ll pass out again as she sees the monstrosity shredding the cracked earth and pushing itself out of the smoldering caldera.

“Fuck me running,” Dr. Probst says.

VanderVoort grins. “My thoughts exactly, Doctor. Here is the plan, are you listening?”

“I’m your captive audience,” Dr. Probst says, her head cocked to the sound of VanderVoort’s voice, but her eyes locked on the image of the giant monster. “Plan me.”

“You will need to remain in that control room twenty-four seven,” VanderVoort says. “There should be food and water in cabinets under the work stations. There is also a small commode you can use.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dr. Probst says. “You want me to piss in here?”

“And shit,” VanderVoort says. “We can no longer leave anything to chance. You’ll also find stimulants in with the provisions. Until the rest of the staff wake up and can show they are not compromised then you are our only eyes and ears.”

“Eyes and ears for what?” Dr. Probst asks. “The thing is already coming out. You have the same view I have.”

“I no longer care about the thing,” VanderVoort says. “No, let me backtrack. I care a great deal about this thing. But, you are right, we can handle it from here. What I need you to do is monitor the Substance. I have to be assured that it does not change, that it does not try to do anything other than churn and swirl like it has for as long as it has been there.”

A cold feeling grips Dr. Probst’s guts and she suddenly wishes she has quick access to that small commode.

“How could it change?” Dr. Probst asks. “Why would you think it will change?”

VanderVoort licks her lips, the cocky look she has kept firmly in place slipping slightly before being reaffixed in the blink of an eye.

“There was a surge of energy from the Substance,” VanderVoort says. “Facility readings picked it up and we have timed it to be exactly when you and the other scientists took a siesta. It also occurred exactly when the rest of the volcanoes erupted and the Substances at those facilities became active. This is all new, Doctor. New to you, new to us, new to everyone.”

Dr. Probst takes a few seconds to process that. VanderVoort lets her take those seconds.

“What did you mean by the rest of the staff being compromised?” Dr. Probst asks.

“We have files, paper files with anecdotal evidence only, from when the Substance and facility was first discovered,” VanderVoort says. “A surge like the one you experienced may have occurred before, but we can’t say for certain. If it is the same then when the staff do stir they may not be the…same.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Dr. Probst exclaims, throwing her hands up. “You mean they could get violent and try to kill me? They have all hinted and mentioned that shit gets crazy down here with too much exposure to the Substance. Is that what you mean?”

“That is precisely what I mean,” VanderVoort replies. “You will also find restraints and a small caliber pistol with the provisions. Unless you are already armed. Are you?”

“No, I’m not already fucking armed,” Dr. Probst snaps. Then she sighs. “What about the rest of the people with me? Marshal Morgan and her son? Lowell? There’s also Dr. Bennet somewhere in the facility.”

“They are settled in the infirmary,” VanderVoort says. She licks her lips again. “Do not worry about them. Worry about yourself and monitoring the Substance. I am counting on you.”

“Great,” Dr. Probst says as she stands up and steps back, her head tilted so she can see the cabinets under the workstation. “I love being counted on.”

“That sounds like sarcasm,” VanderVoort sneers.

“Does it?” Dr. Probst says, all fear of being the new person in a crazy place gone. Dr. Cheryl Probst, geologist, volcanologist, survivor of giant monsters, militia crazies, and ammonia ooze creatures is back. “Listen, I have work to do making sure these folks don’t wake up and try to gouge out my eyes. Plus the whole watching the Substance so it doesn’t do whatever the fuck it is you think it may do. Do you mind letting me get to work?”

“I don’t mind at all,” VanderVoort says. “Just remember that we are watching and listening. You are not alone if your circumstances change.”

“Yippee,” Dr. Probst says and gives the screen a thumbs up. “I feel safer already.”

***

“It’s probably for our own safety,” Lu says as she tries to get the infirmary doors to open. No matter what she does, a harsh beeping and red light emit from the keypad by the doors. “A lockdown procedure.”

“Yeah, that’s not how lockdowns happen and you know that,” Lowell says. “We’ve both spent enough time in our country’s finest rehabilitation facilities. Lockdown happens when shit first goes wrong then doesn’t let up until that shit is cleaned up all spic and span. If it was a lockdown, we would have been left in the cafeteria. We’re locked in here to specifically keep us in one place.”

“So we’re quarantined again?” Kyle asks.

“Imprisoned,” Lowell replies. “No two fucking ways about it this time. This is our new cell and passing some blood tests won’t get us out of here.”

“What will?” Kyle asks.

“Someone pushing a button,” Lu says, pointing at the small video cameras in the corners of the infirmary ceiling. “Once they decide we aren’t a threat or the threat out there has passed.”

“I like your optimism, Marshal,” Lowell chuckles. “You actually assume that button will get pushed. Something has gone wrong, very wrong, in secret government facility land. You think our survival and well-being is a priority for anyone on the other side of all of this shit? I sure don’t.”

“This blows,” Kyle says, finding a seat on one of the exam tables. “Why didn’t they lock us down in the cafeteria at least? There was food and shit in there.”

“Probably food and shit in here somewhere,” Lowell says. “Place like this will be prepared for all contingencies. Start rummaging, kid. You’ll find snack bars and bottled water.”

“Maybe a weapon,” Lu says as she moves towards the supply cabinets that ring the room from floor to ceiling. “I’ll look, Kyle. You stay seated.”

“You just want to find it before I do,” Lowell says, leaning against the gurney that still holds Dr. Bennet. “Can’t have the crazed convict arming himself.”

“You two are boring,” Kyle says. “You keep going back and forth between trusting each other and fearing each other. Get over yourselves.” He hops down and points at Lowell. “You are not a prisoner anymore.” Lowell raises his eyebrows and glances at the locked doors. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Kyle points at his mother as she opens the first cabinet. “And you are not a US Marshal anymore. You may think you are, but you aren’t. Why? Because the Marshal Service doesn’t exist. Half this country doesn’t exist. What does? Giant monsters that kill everything in their paths and make weird ooze eggs so that anything they don’t kill turns into glowing green mini-monsters.”

“So?” Lowell smirks. “Don’t get me wrong, kid, I like the speech, but get to the fucking point.”

“The point is we are three people in the same room under the same circumstances,” Kyle says. “We are all equal. We want to live. We would like to keep living for a long time. Playing cops and robbers is not going to help us do that.”

Lowell claps slowly and looks at Lu.

“One thing you are forgetting,” Lu says to Kyle. “We are not all equals because I am your mother and you are my son. That never changes.”

“She’s got ya there, kid,” Lowell says. “The earth could be on fire, but you still have to listen to mommy.”

“Fuck you two,” Kyle snaps.

“Hey!” Lu growls. “Not cool.”

Before it can go any further, Dr. Bennet lets out a slight moan and shifts on the gurney, causing Lowell to jump back, fists up.

“What are you going to do?” Kyle laughs. “Punch him back out?”

“Shut up,” Lowell says.

Dr. Bennet moans again and slowly blinks into the infirmary lights. He takes a few deep breaths then rolls over and pushes up into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the gurney. He glances around and his eyes slowly focus on everyone in the room, one by one.

“Hello there,” he rasps. “I know I should know your names, but they seem to escape me at the moment.”

“I’m Lucinda Morgan,” Lu says. “This is my son Kyle and that is Anson Lowell. We came down from the bunker above, remember? You were showing us the cafeteria when we were knocked out.”

“You three were knocked out,” Lowell says. “I just got a headache.”

“Is that so?” Dr. Bennet asks, his eyes focused on Lowell. “Merely a headache? You did not lose consciousness?”

“Nope,” Lowell says. “All conscious and shit the whole time.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Bennet says and lies back down. “I think I will rest some more before moving from here. Would you mind handing me a blanket from that cabinet? There is a chill in this room.”

“Yes, of course,” Lu says as she opens the cabinet Dr. Bennet indicated and pulls out a blanket. “Just one?”

“Just the one,” Dr. Bennet nods. He smiles when she walks over and hands it to him. “Thank you. That is quite comfortable. I should probably be working, but I am just so sleepy. A quick nap and then we’ll get everything sorted out.”

He sighs deeply and then his breathing evens out as his eyes close. He’s asleep in seconds.

“That was fucking creepy,” Lowell says, looking at Lu and Kyle. “I’m not the only one that found that fucking creepy, right? That shit had some major creep going on.”

“I’m with Lowell,” Kyle says to his mother. “Major creep going on.”

Lu only nods and frowns, her eyes watching Dr. Bennet carefully.

***

The mud sucks at her boots and Terrie has to struggle to keep from sinking up to her knees, or falling through a hidden deadfall of trees, as she, Krissy, and Biscuit traverse the destruction that covers Haver’s Island. Her wounded ankle and midsection do not help with the effort.

“Why are we walking back towards the water?” Krissy asks, adjusting her position so Terrie can get her arm around her shoulder better.

“We need a point of reference,” Terrie says. “There is nothing for us up here. But there’s still the bunker below all this mud. We find the bunker and we may find the others.”

“You think they’re still alive?” Krissy asks.

“We are,” Terrie says. “If God saw fit to spare us then there is no reason to think God did not spare Roy, or Linda, or Belle. This was their sanctuary, not ours. They have more of a right to it than we do.”

“You think God is that fair?” Krissy asks, all teenage girl snotery. “Puh-lease.”

“Be careful, young lady,” Terrie replies. “Belief is a two way street. If you believe in Him then He will believe in you. Having God believe in you is a powerful thing.”

“So is that,” Krissy says, nodding towards the smoldering ruins of Mt. Rainier and the massive monster that paces back and forth in front of it.

The beast is so tall that smoke and clouds obscure its head and shoulders. All four of its shoulders. The four arms that end in three-fingered claws sway back and forth as the miles high beast paces across the landscape. Its bottom half is made up of only two legs, but they are squat and powerful, rippling muscles bundled on top of rippling muscles. Its skin glows an iridescent greenish yellow and steam rises from, joining the smoke and clouds above.

Biscuit gives a low growl and then a quiet, yipping bark.

“You got that right,” Krissy says. “What is it doing?”

“Waiting,” Terrie says.

“For what?” Krissy asks.

“How would I possibly know that, girl?” Terrie snaps.

“Right, sorry,” Krissy says.

“No, I’m sorry,” Terrie sighs. “I should be thankful you can ask questions and help me walk. Many would be scared little mice hiding in the first hole they find right now. You have a strength to you, Krissy.”

“Not much choice,” Krissy says. “All the holes are filled with mud.” She nods at the far off monster. “We still going to walk towards…that…thing…” Krissy stops talking.

“What is it?” Terrie asks, looking down at Krissy. “What’s wrong?”

Krissy doesn’t have to answer as Biscuit trots across the mud and starts digging at what sticks up between a small pile of rocks.

“Oh,” Terrie says as she sees the hand with its fingers twisted and broken in all directions. “Get me over there. We’ll help Biscuit dig.”

“You aren’t helping anything,” Krissy says as she lowers Terrie to the ground. “Stay here. I’ll see who it is.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Terrie says. “I can dig. You should rest after basically carrying me this whole way.”

“You can dig?” Krissy laughs and picks up a stick. She tosses it at Terrie.

Terrie reaches up to catch it and gasps in pain, her arm instinctively grips her midsection and Krissy shakes her head.

“That’s what I thought,” Krissy says. “Rest. I don’t know how to stitch up wounds, so how about you not make things worse, OK?”

Krissy’s eyes dart to the giant monster that paces miles away then return to the broken hand that occupies Biscuit’s attention. She slowly moves close, dodging the flying mud and dirt coming from Biscuit’s paws, kneels down, and starts pulling the larger rocks away from the hand. The hint of nail polish on the nails quickly tells her she’s not going to uncover Roy.

It takes almost an hour of digging before she reaches the first sign of the corpse’s head. Krissy rocks back and plops down on her butt, exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

“Who is it?” Terrie asks after Krissy has taken several deep breaths. “Linda, Belle or Roy?”

“Belle,” Krissy says. “She’s missing a lot of her head, but it’s her.”

Biscuit whines and starts to dig some more, but Krissy reaches out and grabs him by his scruff and pulls the hybrid back. “No, boy. No more. Doesn’t matter.”

“It might,” Terrie says, looking around. “The hatch to the bunker might be underneath her. We may want to find out.”

“Why?” Krissy asks. “We got tossed halfway across the island. She could have too. Who knows where the hatch is. And even if it is down there, so what? That asshole Tony isn’t going to let us in.”

“He might,” Terrie says. “Once he realizes he may be all alone forever if he doesn’t.”

“Yeah, right,” Krissy replies. “I don’t think he cares what happens to other people.”

“I think he cares more than he shows,” Terrie says. “Or knows how to show. But it doesn’t matter. There is still one reason he may open that hatch.”

“Really? What’s that?” Krissy asks.

“You,” Terrie says. “I saw how he looked at you. He’s not much older than you and he’s a boy. You’re a girl. The only one on the island.”

“Gross!” Krissy snaps. “That’s just gross! You think I’m going to let that freak anywhere near me? Not on your life, lady!”

“I won’t let him near you either,” Terrie says. “But if a few kind words get him to open the hatch then you better be prepared to say a few kind words.”

A roar rips across the land and water. Biscuit starts barking until Krissy pats him on the shoulder. She and Terrie look over at the giant monster, the pacer, the mountain killer.

“Better than being stuck out here, right?” Terrie pushes. “The bunker has food, water, clean clothes. It has bandages and antiseptic, both things we need right now.”

Krissy reaches up and almost touches her face, letting her fingers hover over her flayed cheeks, then drops her hand in her lap.

“That guy doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Krissy says. “No guy would. Look at me.”

“You overestimate the male brain,” Terrie chuckles. “And he never saw under the bandages. His imagination has filled in what you look like. His other parts could care less.”

“You are being so gross,” Krissy says. “I want to throw up.”

“Then throw up,” Terrie says. “But do it away from where you’re going to dig. We have to be practical, girl. We have to think of making it through not just tonight, but tomorrow and the next day and the next day. The bunker is how we do that.”

“Whatever,” Krissy says. She hesitates for a long while then sighs and shifts her weight back up onto her knees. “If there is hot water then I get the first shower, okay?”

“Fair enough,” Terrie chuckles.

“Come on, Biscuit,” Krissy says as she starts digging. The hybrid obeys readily and gets to work, his front paws moving furiously. “Good boy.”

***

“Two fucking legs,” VanderVoort says as she surveys the screen that shows the monster in all its bipedal glory, standing over the Yellowstone caldera. “Who won the pool?”

She chuckles and points to herself.

“That’s right. This pregnant bitch did. Two legs, people. I totally called it.”

No one responds and she looks around to find all eyes glued to the huge monitor that shows the massive creature.

“You people have no sense of fun,” she sighs. “You have to learn to find the fun in all situations or you’ll go mad. And madness is for the poor souls in the facilities, not for us down here living the high life.”

“Ma’am, the coms are open,” a tech says. “The facilities can hear you.”

“Why the hell are the coms open?” VanderVoort snaps. “Did I say for them to be open?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the tech replies. “A while ago, but you didn’t give the order to go to private.”

“Well, a little dose of reality for everyone then,” VanderVoort says, waving at the screens showing the less than pleased faces of the facilities’ scientists. “No offense meant. But we all know you may go cuckoo for cocoa puffs at any time. Right?”

She receives some glares, some sighs, and some nods of agreement. VanderVoort makes mental note of the nods of agreement. There may be more stability in the facilities than she had hoped.

“Alright, let’s sum up,” VanderVoort says, turning to address the president, his cabinet and aides, and the Joint Chiefs. “We have various species of monsters roaming North America with one obvious apex species having just shown itself.”

“Um, Ms. VanderVoort?” Dr. Hall asks, interrupting without taking his eyes off his screen. “I believe summing up would be premature.”

“And why is that, Dr. Hall?” VanderVoort asks.

“Because we now have brand new players on the field,” Dr. Hall says.

“Did you just use a sports reference, Doctor?” VanderVoort asks. “Go on with your nerd self.”

“He means the battlefield,” Alvarez says, pushing away from the workstation and standing.

“Yes, well, OK,” Dr. Hall replies as he stands, lifting his laptop from his station. He taps at the keys and overrides the screens in the situation room, showing everyone only views of the various volcanoes. “Let’s start with Japan, okay?”

“Let’s,” VanderVoort says, amused, but also enrapt by the image that takes over the main screen. “What have we here?”

“Classic kaiju,” Dr. Hall says. “The Japanese lore pretty much nails it on the head. Massive body, with powerful legs on either side. Upright with strong, but short arms. Good-sized head. Godzilla, but with the obvious differences in skin type, number of eyes four instead of two- and a mouth that is in need of serious dental work. Some of those teeth look like they are pushing up through its lips.”

“So it’s Godzilla’s methed out cousin,” VanderVoort says. “Any others?”

“Various types, smaller, more agile, but all scrambling away from the apex,” Dr. Hall says.

“Some of the smaller ones look like advance troops,” Alvarez says. “Some look like food. Just like when Yellowstone erupted.”

“OK,” VanderVoort nods as if Alvarez had just explained the rules to a new card game. “What else?”

“That’s Japan,” Dr. Hall says. “Here’s Chile. Vastly different.”

The screen changes and everyone gasps. Even VanderVoort takes a step back and shakes her head.

“What the holy fuck is that thing?” she asks. “Looks like the Earth just shit out an angry baby.”

“Yes, well, it sort of did,” Dr. Hall explains. “The Chilean volcano was pretty much hot mud. Not much gas release or ash. But lots of mud. As you can see, the apex creature here is not reptilian in any way. Not like the ones we’ve seen in Japan or some we’ve seen here in North America.”

“I’ve been to Chile,” Alvarez says. “My mother’s side is Chilean. I know what that is.”

He reaches across Dr. Hall, but gets his hand slapped.

“I can do it,” Dr. Hall says. “Jeez.”

Dr. Hall brings up the image of a squat, stone idol. Underneath is the caption “Easter Island.”

“Well, I’ll be,” VanderVoort says. “I didn’t see it at first, but now that you mention it, the thing does have a resemblance. Look at the head on it.”

The monster on the screen is hunched down, but suddenly lurches up, its massive head stretching on its neck, its arms that had been tucked in to its sides, shooting out and grasping a smaller monster, a thing looking like a skinny turtle without a shell. Its huge mouth opens, hinging its head backwards and then it chomps into the turtle thing, sending greenish blood spurting everywhere.

“Baby is hungry,” VanderVoort says then puts her hand to her swollen belly. “Mommy is not. Not after seeing that.”

The massive beast stands fully upright and shows it has over a dozen legs under its squat torso and huge head. A dozen thin, spindly legs that quiver and twitch around it, moving it swiftly from one spot to another.

“That’s just wrong,” Director Miles says. “What the hell?”

“This region doesn’t have advance troops,” Alvarez says. “Just feeders.”

“Move on,” VanderVoort says. “Before I lose my appetite.”

“Australia,” Dr. Hall says.

“If it’s a damn giant kangaroo then I’m quitting,” Director Miles says. “I’ll spend the rest of the apocalypse in the lounge making mint juleps and mojitos.”

“Not a kangaroo,” Dr. Hall says. “More like a giant monitor lizard.” He switches the view. “In fact, it is basically exactly like a giant monitor lizard.”

“Komodo Dragon,” VanderVoort says. “On some serious steroids.”

“Pretty much,” Dr. Hall nods. “The second it emerged, it swam to the mainland.”

“Only advance troops,” Alvarez says. “No feeders. And the advance troops are just small versions of the big one.”

“A brood?” VanderVoort asks.

“Possibly,” Dr. Hall says. “The lack of feeder creatures makes me nervous. That could mean these are highly skilled predators and plan on finding food easily.”

“I share your nervousness on that,” VanderVoort says.

“China,” Dr. Hall says. “This one is simian and reptilian at the same time.”

“Monkey lizard,” Alvarez says. “Not as big as the others, maybe half the size. It’s staying close to its volcano and is ignoring the smaller ones scurrying away. That’s troubling too.”

“It may be guarding something it feels is important,” Dr. Hall says. “Could be this isn’t the apex and it is waiting for a larger species to emerge.”

“Keep going,” VanderVoort says.

“Iceland,” Dr. Hall says. “This one is aquatic. Gone from view in seconds.”

Everyone watches the video as the thing bursts from its volcano and flops towards the ocean, diving quickly, lost from sight in a blink.

“It looks to be similar to a wyvern,” Dr. Hall says. He receives blank stares. “Like a dragon, but no front arms. The wings are the arms. But these wings are more finlike and the rear legs look bunched, like they can add a lot of speed by kicking hard.”

“No advance troops, no feeders,” Alvarez says. “This one is solo.”

“Move it along, gentlemen,” VanderVoort says.

“Kenya is a spider,” Dr. Hall says. “Well, if spiders had thirty-six legs that sprouted all over their bodies.”

“Damn, that one is worse than the Easter Island freak,” Director Miles says.

“We can do without the commentary, Gordon,” President Nance says from his seat at the table behind them. “It is distracting. Ms. VanderVoort is allowed her running dialogue, but the rest of us would appreciate you being silent as we all try to process this.”

“Yes, of course, sir,” Director Miles says. “That’s my cue for a mint julep. I’ll catch up later. You aren’t going anywhere, are you?”

“I plan on sticking around for a bit,” VanderVoort sneers.

“Good,” Director Miles nods. “Call me if one looks like a giant Angelina Jolie.”

“As I was saying,” Dr. Hall continues. “It is segmented like a spider, with hundreds of eyes above some very scary looking mandibles, but its legs are distributed all over its body.”

The room watches as the thing scrambles in all directions easily, never having to slow down since it has enough legs to always propel it and keep it on balance.

“What’s that leave us?” VanderVoort asks.

“France is about as dragon like as they get,” Dr. Hall says. “Including wings. No scales, though. The skin is smooth and almost translucent.”

“Yuck,” VanderVoort says. “Others?”

“Squat advance troops,” Alvarez says. “Like bulldogs with armor and spikes covering their backs.”

“Food?” VanderVoort asks.

“Snake things,” Alvarez says. “Slow like worms, but they still have teeth to them.”

“Italy?” VanderVoort prompts.

“Just a different version of France,” Dr. Hall says. “Three heads, though.”

“Like the ones that spit out the flying tortillas?” VanderVoort asks.

“Uh, sure,” Dr. Hall says. “Like that.”

“That leaves Antarctica,” Alvarez says. “No apex. Only advance troops and feeders. The advance troops are very similar to the six-legged ones that came out of Yellowstone. Feeders are like the four-legged ones.”

“Strange,” VanderVoort says. “What’s the connection?”

“We have no idea,” Dr. Hall says.

“Find out,” VanderVoort orders.

“We will,” Alvarez says.

“I’m sure,” VanderVoort smiles. “You two make a good team. A weird team, but a good one.”

She turns to the men and women seated at the long table.

“Now, let’s get back to summing up,” she says. “I want everyone working on our original plan of attack. The monsters around the globe are not the main priority. We need to secure our turf first. We test strategies and see what works. Take down the home team and then we look to the visitors. Understood?”

The many nods and murmurs say it is understood by all.

“Adrianna?” President Nance asks, standing and walking to the woman. “A word?”

“As many as you’d like, Charles,” VanderVoort says.

“When this is all over,” he says, sweeping his hand across the room. “If we make it out alive and can return to the surface, what then? What becomes of you? What is the structure of power?”

“Marshall law, of course,” VanderVoort replies. “It will take an iron hand to get things put back together. I won’t be part of that. I’m strictly the big game hunter, not the zookeeper. You get to deal with the animals when we are finished here.”

“I’m confused,” President Nance says. “You are the one dealing with the monsters, not me.”

“I didn’t say you’d deal with the monsters, Charles,” VanderVoort says. “I said animals. It was a euphemism. I was talking about the people. Anyone up there is not going to be as civilized as you will like.” She pats him on the shoulder. “I wish you all the luck in the world getting them back in their cages.”

Five

The keys click at a furious pace as Dr. Probst tries to get a handle on the readings coming at her from the various sensors arrayed about the Substance. It’s a dizzying amount of data and is exactly why there is a team of scientists in place at each facility. She has to remind herself not to get discouraged if she can’t take it all in at once. The scientists lying behind her used to solely focus on the Substance before the Yellowstone caldera erupted and Hell came to Earth.

“Temperature is stabilizing, but still at an impossible level,” Dr. Probst says to herself. “Way hotter than the surface of the Sun. How can that be and the integrity of the containment structure stay sound? This place should be melting deeper into the Earth’s surface, not staying cool and business as usual.”

She laughs out loud.

“What the fuck is business as usual around here?”

She ignores the seismic activity readings, knowing she can plow through those quickly when she has time, since that is her field. It’s the Substance’s energy outputs that worry her the most. Not being a nuclear engineer, or any engineer, she has a hard time making sense of the complex data the system is showing her.

Her fear is she’ll misinterpret something and the whole place will go kaboom.

But a voice in her head says that isn’t the real fear. Her real fear is that the place won’t go kaboom, but will take her over, make her its bitch. VanderVoort’s warnings about the Substance are what really strike fear in her.

There’s a moan behind her and she freezes, her fingers hovering on the keys, no more typing, no more clickety-clack.

“Who’s awake?” she asks without turning around. “Hello?”

“What happened?” a woman asks.

Slowly, Dr. Probst spins in her chair and sees Dr. McDaniels trying to sit up, but the restraints Dr. Probst secured her with preventing that movement completely.

“What the hell?” Dr. McDaniels asks, her eyes drilling holes in Dr. Probst. “What have you done?”

“What I was advised to do,” Dr. Probst says. “Keep any of you from hurting me in case you didn’t wake up as yourselves.”

“In case we didn’t wake up as…” Dr. McDaniels echoes. “Why wouldn’t we wake up as ourselves?”

“Because I’ve been led to believe that the Substance may have tried to influence us all,” Dr. Probst responds. “I was unconscious for a short time. You have been out for hours. Same with the others.” She swallows hard. “Well, except for Dr. Mannering.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Clark?” Dr. McDaniels asks then looks at the cold corpse in the corner of the control room. “Oh my god… Is he dead?”

“Yes,” Dr. Probst says flatly. “He was dead when I came to. You’re the first to wake up.”

“Hours?” Dr. McDaniels asks, her eyes refusing to move away from Dr. Mannering’s body. “What’s happened during those hours?”

“The monster has ripped out of the caldera,” Dr. Probst says, turning to point at her laptop. “And I have gone mad trying to monitor the Substance and understand what any of this shit means.”

She clears her throat.

“I don’t mean literally mad, of course. Just a little confused and frustrated.”

“We need to do something about Clark’s body,” Dr. McDaniels says. “We can’t leave him here like that. Cut me loose and I’ll go get a gurney. We have a small morgue near the infirmary.”

Dr. Probst flinches and looks away.

“Cheryl? Cut me loose so I can take care of Clark,” Dr. McDaniels says. “I’m obviously not a threat to you.”

“I don’t know that,” Dr. Probst says, focusing on her laptop. “I barely know you. I could cut those restraints and then you end up cutting me.”

“You are mad,” Dr. McDaniels says. “I am sitting here, my hands and legs bound by zip ties, talking very rationally to you, despite the fact one of my closest friends and colleagues is only a few feet away and dead, and you still don’t trust me? You crazy bitch.”

“Yeah, name calling won’t help you much,” Dr. Probst says. “I’ll tell you what.”

“You’ll tell me nothing!” Dr. McDaniels shouts as she thrashes violently. “I’ll fucking kill you when I get free if you don’t cut these restraints right now!”

Dr. Probst slowly swivels in her chair and stares blankly at Dr. McDaniels. “Really?”

“OK, OK, I’m sorry,” Dr. McDaniels says. “I apologize for losing it. I realized as soon as the words left my mouth that they were the wrong things to say. I’m upset, I’m angry, my head hurts like nothing I have ever felt before, and I’m beyond sad. Please. Cheryl. Dr. Probst. Please.”

“Are you thirsty?” Dr. Probst asks, getting up and going to a stack of water bottles off to the side of the room. “We don’t have a ton, so we’ll need to ration until VanderVoort lets us out, but you’re probably dehydrated right now. I can give you some water.”

“Oh, can you?” Dr. McDaniels sneers. “What a brave soul you are. Giving the bound woman some water. Did you do your post-doctorate with Mother Fucking Theresa?”

“Okay, fuck off,” Dr. Probst says. “Do you want water or not?”

Dr. McDaniels glares then sighs through her nose loudly. “Yes. I would love some water.”

“Promise to be nice?” Dr. Probst asks, moving slowly towards the woman.

“No,” Dr. McDaniels says. “But I won’t give you any reason to trust me less.”

“Fair enough,” Dr. Probst replies. She uncaps the bottle and walks over. Then sees her dilemma. “Uh… Huh.”

“Either find a straw or put the bottle to my lips,” Dr. McDaniels says. “I doubt there are any straws.”

“No, there aren’t,” Dr. Probst says. “I’ve done an inventory. Hold still.”

Dr. McDaniels opens her mouth and Dr. Probst begins to pour slowly. Just as the water reaches Dr. McDaniels’ lips, Dr. Probst finds herself falling through the air, her legs swept out from under her. She screams as Dr. McDaniels springs onto her, knocking the wind from her lungs.

“You think you can tie me up, tie all my friends up, kill one of them, and I’ll just let you give me a drink like a lap dog?” Dr. McDaniels snarls as she slams her forehead into Dr. Probst’s nose. Blood squirts everywhere and Dr. McDaniels laughs. “Fat chance, bitch! I should have shot you when you were up in the warehouse! Would have saved us all a lot of trouble!”

Dr. Probst chokes on the blood that fills the back of her throat. Then she begins to choke from the weight of Dr. McDaniels’ shoulder pressing against her windpipe. Animal instinct kicks in and she grabs Dr. McDaniels’ ears, pulling down and out as hard as possible. The woman screams, rolls off, and keeps rolling until she collides with Dr. Burkhorst’s unconscious body.

“CUNT!” Dr. McDaniels roars. “You tore off my ear!”

Dr. Probst scrambles to her feet and basically climbs up onto her workstation, her ass pressing against buttons and levers that work who knows what. She sees blood pouring from behind Dr. McDaniels’ left ear, but the ear is still attached. Dr. Probst pulls the .22 revolver from her pocket and aims it at Dr. McDaniels with shaky hands.

“You stay away from me!” she shouts. “Stay right where you are and I won’t shoot! Move even an inch towards me and I’ll put a bullet in your fucking eye!”

Dr. McDaniels glares for a very long time then her face slackens and she starts to laugh.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dr. McDaniels says. “When Ted and Burkhorst wake up there will be too many of us to handle. Even tied up we can take you. You think we can’t? Just you wait and see! JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE!”

“I’d rather not,” Dr. Probst replies as her finger twitches by the trigger. “Calm down so the gun can go away. Please. Just calm down.”

“No,” Dr. McDaniels says. “No. I will not. You want me calm? Shoot me.”

Dr. McDaniels waits and laughs again.

“Didn’t think so, bitch,” she says. “You’re a gutless pussy. An empty-headed moron that got a degree and thinks she can handle the real—”

The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space. Dr. Probst screams and the .22 drops from her hands, clattering to the floor, sliding under the workstations. Dr. McDaniels lets out a huff and looks down.

“You gut shot me,” she mumbles. “You shot me in the belly. Jesus. That’s the worst thing you could have done. Jesus.”

Dr. McDaniels relaxes back against the wall, her eyes watching Dr. Probst carefully.

“I guess I can’t jump you now,” Dr. McDaniels says as she coughs up a pink spray. “You put me in my place. Didn’t get rid of me, though. I’ll be here a while, jabbering in your ear. Takes a long time to die from a belly wound. A long time. And I plan on reminding you of that every second of the way.”

Dr. Probst bursts into tears and slides off the work station into her chair as Dr. McDaniels continues to taunt and cajole her. She wipes at her eyes and stares at her laptop, the words and numbers fuzzy lines before her.

Then she focuses harder and gets back to work, doing everything in her power to ignore the dying woman behind her.

***

A spray of mud and a few rocks fly up out of the hole before Terrie hears Krissy calling to her from below.

“What was that?” Terrie ask as she slowly scoots across the mud and rocks to the edge of the hole and peers down, very aware of her precarious position and the instability of the mud. “Did you find it?”

“Doesn’t it look like I found it?” Krissy snaps, her hands resting on the metal of the bunker hatch while her mud caked face turns up to Terrie. “Hours of digging and you were right. The hatch was right here.” She pounds on the wheel in the middle. “Still locked.”

“Knock,” Terrie says.

“I have,” Krissy says, wiping at her face then wincing as she grinds dirt into her flayed flesh.

Biscuit begins to whine and Terrie glances over at him. He lies right next to Belle’s corpse, refusing to leave the dead woman’s side for some reason. He is looking off towards the water and whines again. Terrie follows his gaze, but doesn’t see anything.

“What’s he bitching about?” Krissy asks, turning and slumping against the hatch. “He find Linda’s or Roy’s body?”

“No,” Terrie says. “But it doesn’t matter. Knock again. Call to Tony. Maybe your voice will bring him around.”

“You really plan on whoring me out, don’t you?” Krissy growls. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? This is so not cool, old woman. So not cool.”

Terrie lets the old woman remark slide, knowing exactly what Krissy has been through. The flayed face was the least of her traumas. Deep inside, her soul was wounded in ways no woman should be wounded. No woman.

Biscuit whines some more and Terrie decides maybe ignoring the hybrid is not a good idea. She carefully pushes away from the hole and scoots over to Biscuit.

“Hey!” Krissy yells. “Where are you going?”

“Quiet,” Terrie orders, using that mother/grandmother don’t fuck with me voice that always gets right to the primal in all.

Biscuit stands and takes a few steps forward, huffs, then takes a few steps back and barks quietly. His hackle raise and he starts to growl low, another sound that reaches the primal in all, taking anyone that hears it back to the times of the campfire and the cave.

“Krissy, get us in that bunker,” Terrie says calmly, her eyes searching the ruined landscape and the destroyed beach beyond. “Get us in there now.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Krissy asks as her head appears from the hole. She throws her arms over the edge and digs her hands into the mud and rock for purchase. “What is going on?”

Biscuit’s low growls turn into sharp barks. He leaps forward then jumps back, barking excitedly over and over.

Krissy looks off at the former beach then at Terrie.

“Terrie?” she asks, her voice missing all the teenage cockiness. “What does he see?”

“Nothing yet,” Terrie says. “But he either smells or hears something. Or he just knows. Dogs and wolves sometimes just know. It’s the Divine protector in them.”

“Okay, can you ask God what Biscuit smells or hears?” Krissy asks.

“Don’t be a smart mouth,” Terrie snaps and wheels on Krissy. “Get down there and get that boy to open that hatch! Do it now!”

Krissy shrinks back and drops into the hole. She grunts harshly and Terrie almost fears she’s rushed the girl into more injury. Then she hears her pounding on the hatch and calling Tony’s name.

Terrie finds a good sized stick and uses it to get herself to her feet. She stands next to Biscuit, her eyes searching in the twilight for some sign of danger, something to show that Biscuit hasn’t just snapped with the stress of it all. Monsters, mud waves, corpses- it is a lot for any creature, great or small.

Then Terrie hears it, an increase in the sound of the waves lapping at the mud shore. Instead of the rhythmic slapping sound, the waves are now making more of a thrumming, further apart and stronger.

Thrum, whoosh.

Thrum, whoosh.

Thrum, whoosh.

Like something big was moving close to shore. The sound of the wake from a large ship. Or a large creature.

“Hurry!” Terrie hisses out of the corner of her mouth at Krissy.

“I am!” Krissy calls back. “But he’s not answering!”

Biscuit’s barks stop and the hybrid cocks his head, his ears taught, his eyes wide.

Then he takes off running towards the beach.

“Biscuit! No!” Terrie yells.

Terrie starts to follow, but her ankle protest and she nearly falls over into the mud despite the assistance of her makeshift cane.

“Biscuit!” Terrie yells again.

The barking gets louder, more intense, but Terrie can no longer see her hybrid. The sun set behind her, the East is nothing but long shadows and pockets of deep purple.

“Biscuit!”

More barking, furious barking, and a yelp.

The barking stops.

“Biscuit! Biscuit?” Terrie shouts. She listens hard, but can’t hear him. All she hears is Krissy below, pounding and calling out for Tony.

And something else. Something heavy. Something wet and moving towards her.

“Oh, no,” she whispers, her mind filling in what she prays hasn’t found the island. “Oh, Lord, please no.”

She limps over to the edge of the hole and sits down heavily, swinging her legs into the open space.

“Look out,” Terrie says. “Move.”

“Careful!” Krissy snaps as Terrie drops down, pinballing herself against the walls of the tight space to slow her fall. “Are you okay?”

“It wasn’t fun,” Terrie says, looking immediately back up at the hole opening. “Something is up there.”

“Great,” Krissy says and starts to pound again.

“No, stop,” Terrie says, grabbing Krissy’s wrist. “Be quiet. Listen.”

Krissy tries to fight, but stops when Terrie refuses to let go. Her shoulders slump and she tilts her head.

“I don’t— Oh. What is that?” Krissy whispers.

“I think I know,” Terrie says. “Stay quiet and stay still.”

The heavy, wet sound gets louder and louder. Terrie watches as loose dirt, mud and rocks start to tremble then fall into the hole. Krissy’s eyes go wide, two bright spots in a mud dark face and dusk dark hole.

A slithering noise echoes down at them and the tip of a tentacle appears at the top of the hole. It swishes back and forth, feeling at the open space then begins to dip down inside. Terrie clamps her hand over Krissy’s mouth before the girl can cry out or gasp.

Then the wheel behind them spins with a noise like a train’s squealing brakes and the hatch swings open on rusty hinges, creating even more noise.

“I have thought about it and you can come inside,” Tony says, standing there in an X-Men t-shirt and his boxers. He has a juice box in one hand, casually puts it to his lips and slurps.

The juice box is yanked from his hand as the tentacle shoots down the hole and into the entrance of the bunker. Tony screams, turns and runs, but another tentacle shoots down and grabs him by the waist, yanking him into Terrie and Krissy, knocking them both against the sides of the hole. Tony keeps screaming as his bulky body gets wedged in the hole, the tentacle pulling and yanking at him.

The screams turn from shock to pain as Tony’s body doubles over on itself, the pressure from the tentacle obviously about to rip him in half.

“Grab his legs!” Terrie yells and reaches up, grabbing the boy by the ankles. She pulls down hard and he slips towards her. “Do it!”

“I can’t!” Krissy shouts.

Terrie looks over and sees a second tentacle has the girl by the arm and is trying to pull her up as well. There isn’t enough room for Tony, let alone Krissy, and the two become hopelessly wedged as the tentacles continue to pull.

Then a loud roar, like a deep, rotten whale song that rattles the molars and grabs the guts, fills the hole and the island around it. There’s a second roar and Terrie is afraid her eardrums will burst with a third, but instead she hears the distinct muffled snarls and barks of Biscuit when he has something in his mouth.

First Krissy then Tony are set free and fall onto Terrie, leaving all three in a heap on the bunker’s threshold.

“Get inside!” Terrie orders, slapping both of them on the ass as hard as she can.

Neither argue and both scramble up off her, their terrified legs carrying them quickly down the metal tunnel of the bunker’s entrance to the second hatch that stands open at the end, a dim light coming from within over the spiral staircase leading down to the main area.

Another roar and Terrie looks up out of the hole, watching as tentacles fly and dance over the opening, flicking back and forth, undulating with a force that looks to be able to chop anything in their way in half.

“BISCUIT!” Terrie yells.

A fourth roar then a yelp and a bark. Biscuit appears at the edge of the hole and leaps down, but is caught halfway by a tentacle. Terrie screams for him as the hybrid is yanked up and out. More barks, more yelps. Then silence.

Terrie holds her breath, conflicted. She knows she should scramble inside and slam the hatch shut, turn the wheel, then hurry to the other end and do the same to the internal hatch. But she can’t move. The silence is too much for her, paralyzing.

A loud snarl and an even louder bark make her jump. Then Biscuit is falling down at her, his fur matted and bloody, his eyes wide with anger and fear. He collides with Terrie and she screams at the impact. But she doesn’t hesitate. She pulls at the canine and yanks him through the hatch, slamming it shut once there is room to move. She spins the wheel on the inside and collapses to the floor, her hands digging into the fur of her wolf-dog.

“There’s a boy,” she whispers as Biscuit pants and whimpers. “That’s a good boy. That’s the best boy.”

She leans back against the metal of the tunnel and closes her eyes, all the strength gone from her.

***

The wheels of the mountain bikes whoosh in the night air. The tires crunch over gravel and dirt, the chains rattle and clatter.

“It still there?” Bolton asks, not risking a glance over his shoulder at Holt as the man follows closely, their bikes separated by mere inches. “Bolton?”

“Yeah, it’s still there,” Holt says, also not looking over his shoulder, focused on not running into Bolton. “I can hear the damn thing. Listen.”

Bolton does listen and he quickly hears the sound of the pursuing beast. He doesn’t need to see over his shoulder to know what the thing looks like. He’s encountered them before. He knows the thing is well over 75 feet tall, with four multi-jointed legs. Its body is segmented like an insect’s, but with many more regions than just the standard three. The huge legs seem to work independently of the others, creating a dizzying effect if you stare too closely.

Bolton and Holt did not stare too closely.

After finding the bikes in a collapsed garage, they had only pedaled a few blocks through some nameless, mostly destroyed backwoods town before the creature spotted them and gave chase.

Now they are on mile fifteen or twenty in the chase by Bolton’s guess and the beast refuses to slow or give up.

“Watch your right! Watch your right!” Holt shouts.

Bolton ducks his head, avoiding being taken out by a stray pine bough. His front tire slips on the loose gravel, but he keeps the bike upright, standing tall in the seat and holding tight to the handle grips.

They are still in Montana somewhere, although Bolton can’t tell exactly where. No time to check a map before getting the bikes up and going, no town markers, nothing but destroyed and buckled landscape for as far as he can see.

Holt doesn’t have any more clue than he does. They are traveling dark until they can find some type of landmark that gives them a definite position.

But the compass says south, so they keep moving south.

With a huge monster on their asses.

The night sky is bright with stars and a fullish moon, making their flight less deadly than it could be. Although, Bolton knows that only means the monster can see them easier. He shoves the thought from his mind and focuses on the road ahead.

“Culvert! Twenty meters up!” Bolton yells, veering to the left, crossing the open street.

He hears Holt’s acknowledgement and then a sharp roar from the monster. Holt cries out and Bolton swerves to avoid the silver tongue that darts in front of him. The thing must be only a few meters back for the tongue to be so close. Having dealt with the things before, Bolton knows exactly what kind of reach they have with their tongues.

“Push! Push, push, push!” Bolton yells, steering the bike into a drainage culvert. The large ditch is about six feet deep and littered with debris, but clear enough that he can maintain a steady pace as he hunts for an opening, a way to get up, out and find cover away from the monster.

He sees a small bridge that spans the culvert, just a simple extension of the driveway leading from the house an acre off, hidden back in the shadows of pines and moonlight. Bolton digs deep and pushes himself so he picks up some speed, angling the bike to take the side right by the bridge.

“Get under! Slide!” Bolton yells as his bike climbs the side and he pulls up on the handle bars while also lifting slightly with his legs, making the bike soar into the air as he reaches the lip of the culvert.

He lets go of the bike and lets it fall away, readying his body for the impact. Bolton tucks his shoulder and rolls with the fall, coming up so he is facing back towards the monster.

The thing roars at him as he opens fire, peppering its head with bullets. It shakes them off, enraged, and charges right at him.

It never sees the grenades that Holt lobs at its feet from under the bridge.

Bolton tucks himself into a ball as the grenades go off, ripping the thing’s legs apart, sending blue blood and flesh splashing everywhere. The monster collapses, its 75 feet of bulk toppling right at him. He glances up and sees what’s about to happen, springs out of his ball and takes off running, hoping he can get clear in time.

The monster’s head falls at the back of Bolton’s legs, sending him sliding and tumbling across dead brown grass and into a mailbox long since empty. His back collides with the post and he cries out, swearing his spine is snapped in half. Bolton lies there, his chest heaving and his eyes open wide, taking in the stars. The bright, bright stars.

“Get up, soldier,” Holt says, walking his bike up to him. “We need to find your vehicle and continue the mission.”

“Fuck you,” Bolton grunts. “I’m fucking paralyzed.”

“Bullshit,” Holt says, reaching down and lifting Bolton up by the straps of his pack. “That feel paralyzed to you?”

Bolton stands on his shaky legs and stretches. “No. Feels like shit, though.”

“You see where your bike went?” Holt asks.

“Rolled across that yard,” Bolton replies. “Right there.”

“Next to the fucking monster that’s still breathing?” Holt chuckles.

“Fuck,” Bolton sighs. “Yeah, right next to that.”

Bolton looks around, hunting for an answer. He quickly sees it.

“Watch and learn,” Bolton says.

He limps over to a collapsed shed and yanks a gas can free that is sticking out from between the boards. He finds a garden hose and slices a length off then walks the can and hose over to a dual axle pickup truck across the street. He says a quick prayer, unscrews the gas cap on the truck and sniffs.

“Yes,” he says.

He sticks one end of the hose in, opens the gas can, sucks on the hose until he is spitting fuel then jams the spewing end into the gas can. He waits until it overflows then yanks it away, ignoring the fuel that continues to spit from the makeshift siphon.

“I am very interested to see where this is going,” Holt says as Bolton walks by him. “Very interested.”

Holding the gas can up, Bolton pulls one magazine from his vest then tips the can, dowsing the magazine in fuel. He tosses the magazine as close to the monster’s mouth as possible. The silver tongue darts out and swallows the magazine in a flash.

Bolton looks back at Holt and smiles then lobs the gas can at the monster. Out comes the silver tongue again, yanking the entire can into its mouth. The creature sighs with contentment and struggles to move. Then it begins to thrash and Bolton hurries over to Holt.

“You’ll want to get down,” Bolton says.

Bolton and Holt crouch low as the monster’s body swells, swells, then bursts open, grey foam spilling out in every direction, spreading quickly across the yard until it slows and hardens, looking like cement with a strange greenish tint to it.

“You do know these things,” Holt says, standing up.

“I also know they don’t travel alone,” Bolton says. “Let’s get my bike and get back on the road. A thousand miles is a thousand miles, wheels or no wheels.”

Holt nods and they hurry over to Bolton’s bike. Which is half covered in hardened grey foam.

“That’s going to make for a nice smelling ride,” Holt chuckles.

“Asshole,” Bolton says.

***

National Security Advisor Joan Milligan leans across the table in the situation room, getting President Nance’s attention.

“Sir?” she whispers. “Do you think it’s appropriate for a Secret Service agent to be working with Dr. Hall? Agent Alvarez is a good field agent, but he is hardly a scientist.”

“You know, I have excellent hearing,” VanderVoort says from a few feet away before the president can respond. “And it’s not his call anymore.”

“I believe Joan is within her rights, and duties, to ask me that question,” President Nance says. “It is highly irregular for a field agent to collaborate with a scientist on something this important. Consult, perhaps, but partner and work side by side? That is far outside the Secret Service’s duties.”

“Let’s play the duties game, shall we?” VanderVoort says, turning her attention on the entire table, not just President Nance and Joan. “The Secret Service is there to protect the President of the United States as well as other heads of state and important political figures. Then there’s the whole financial crimes and counterfeiting thing, but that doesn’t apply. Let’s stick with the protection aspects.”

She surveys all of the faces and smiles broadly.

“Who here doesn’t want to be protected? Raise your hands,” VanderVoort says. No one raises their hands. “Exactly. Now, it stands to reason that by Agent Alvarez helping find a solution to this nightmare he is serving in his capacity to help protect all of you. Hell, he’s helping to protect the entire nation and world. That’s over and above his duties. When this is all over, and if any of us survive, I will make sure the man gets a goddamn medal. Anyone arguing against it can kiss my pregnant ass. Which just keeps getting bigger and bigger by the day.”

She turns away, making it very obvious anyone’s unspoken arguments are completely irrelevant.

“Ma’am? We have movement,” a tech says, bringing up a multi-split screen on the main monitor. “All winged monsters, and even a couple of the more lizard types, have left their regions.”

“Give me specifics,” VanderVoort says. “Start up top.”

“The Icelandic monster has already slipped into the ocean,” the tech says. “We have been tracking it and it is headed directly for North America. It seems to be the one in the lead.”

“Next?”

“The European monsters have taken wing and are flying across the Atlantic right now,” the tech continues. “The Japanese and Australian monsters are in the Pacific, swimming at unbelievable speeds. All are headed for North America.”

“Why?” VanderVoort asks. She looks at Dr. Hall. “Doctor? Give me an answer.”

“A theory?” Dr. Hall replies. “It goes back to our war theory. The Yellowstone volcano erupted and many monsters came out. They all have different functions, just like different troops do in an army. While they may seem at odds at times, like the bigger ones eating the smaller ones, they all serve a purpose towards the greater cause.”

“Which is?” VanderVoort asks.

“Excuse me?” Dr. Hall asks.

“The greater cause? What is it?” VanderVoort asks.

“I, well, don’t know,” Dr. Hall replies, looking about the room. “I thought you would know that. I’m just studying the monsters, not figuring out their end goals.”

“Start working on the end goal part as well,” VanderVoort says. “We all have, so you might as well take a crack at it too.”

Dr. Hall just blinks a few times.

“Go on, doctor,” VanderVoort sighs.

“Let me,” Alvarez says. “I understand the military aspects better. Here’s the thing- the monsters are acting like an army on the move, forces spreading out and taking control. Laying waste to enemy territory and securing areas they see as strategic. But there have been some anomalies in the monsters’ behavior.”

“The crabs and whale-squids,” VanderVoort says. “Yes, you’ve mentioned those before.”

“Here’s the thing,” Alvarez says. “We think there are two other volcanoes, deep undersea, both in the Atlantic and Pacific that erupted when the second huge EMP went off. Their eruptions could have added to the Yellowstone EMP. Have some techs check the numbers. I bet they find evidence of that. These new volcanoes spit out other creatures. Forces designed to box in the Yellowstone monsters, to keep them on the continent.”

“But some flew out over the water,” a tech says. “Some made it off the continent.”

“Did they last?” Alvarez asks. “My guess? They got picked off before they could go too far.”

“Okay, let’s work with this theory,” VanderVoort says. “What are they fighting over?”

Alvarez and Dr. Hall look at each other then back at VanderVoort.

“We don’t know,” Dr. Hall says. “That’s the end goal stuff.”

“But wars don’t just happen,” VanderVoort states. “Trust me. They are begun and fought for certain reasons. What are the reasons here? What do the monsters from Yellowstone want that the others don’t want them to have? One force has one set of goals and another has either an opposite set or their goals are to merely thwart the first force. I want to know why.”

“With more research of the monsters—” Dr. Hall begins.

“To hell with research of the monsters,” VanderVoort says. “They are big, they are ugly, they destroy everything and we haven’t even put a dent in stopping them. Now they are all over the globe. They are insignificant, as far as I am concerned. Like a hurricane or tsunami. They have happened, now we deal with the aftermath. Knowing the whys and the goals and the reason should be our new focus.”

She turns to the situation room.

“The pregnant lady has changed her mind again, people!” she announces. “I no longer care about what the monsters are, I only care aboutwhy they are! I want to know their motivations. I want to know what makes them tick and why. I want childhood psych workups, letters from their kindergarten teachers! I want you to read their diaries and find the notes they have passed in class! You will stalk them, harass them, make them tell you their deepest, darkest secrets! Am I understood?”

No one replies.

“Those were metaphors,” VanderVoort sighs. “Just figure out why they are fighting and what they want, okay? Get to work.”

The room gets to work.

VanderVoort looks about.

“Pudding,” she says, snapping her fingers. “The lady needs more pudding!”

***

The three sit and wait. They wait. And they wait.

“Are we going to let him sleep the whole time?” Lowell whispers. “I’d like to leave here now, please.”

“What makes you think he can get us out?” Lu asks.

“He works here,” Lowell shrugs. “Lives here, knows this place. I bet he knows how to override the locks. Or maybe there’s a secret passageway.”

Lu gives him a pitying look.

“Okay, okay, there’s no secret passageway,” Lowell admits. “And the doctor probably can’t get us out of here anymore than we can.”

“Lockdown,” Kyle says.

“Locked in,” Lowell corrects. “Locked in with Sleeping Ugly there.”

“Rude,” Dr. Bennet says without opening his eyes.

Lowell, Lu, and Kyle jump. Lowell puts his fists up again.

“Dude,” Kyle laughs. “You’d stop doing that if you could see yourself.”

“I’m trying a new look,” Lowell smirks. “So shut your trap, kid.”

“Talking about someone while thinking they cannot hear you is rude,” Dr. Bennet says, this time opening his eyes. He fixes his gaze on Lowell. “And calling someone ugly is doubly rude. You should apologize.”

“I should?” Lowell asks. “Uh, I’m sorry?”

“That was not sincere,” Dr. Bennet says and sits up, swinging his legs off the gurney. With one push he is down and on his feet. “Sincerity is required in a true apology. Sincerity shows that you are truly penitent. That you believe in your transgression. That you understand you have broken a sacred code amongst men.”

“Yeah, I was just being a smart ass,” Lowell says. “So, pretty sure there was no code broken. Men get to be smart asses with each other. That’s just how life works.”

“Hmmm,” Dr. Bennet says. “I am sure that is how you see things. But, then, you are a convicted murderer and kidnapper. Your codes in life are vastly different than mine.”

“Vastly different?” Lowell responds. “Uh, is it me or have you started talking like some 1950’s mad scientist?”

Dr. Bennet doesn’t reply. He stretches for a long while, arching his back until each vertebrae pops. He rolls his neck, rolls his shoulders, twists at the hips.

“Getting ready for your Jane Fonda workout?” Lowell laughs.

“It is best to be limber before extreme physical activity,” Dr. Bennet says.

“Kyle, get behind me,” Lu orders. “Now.”

“Yep, the creepy is back,” Lowell says, backing as far away from Dr. Bennet as possible. “Listen to your mother, kid. I don’t think the good doctor woke up with all of his marbles in place.”

“You feel I am a threat, Marshal Morgan?” Dr. Bennet asks, his attention moving from Lowell to Lu. “What makes you believe such a thing?”

“First, your speech pattern is different,” Lu replies. “Second, your body language is telling me you are about to attack. I’ve seen it a lot in my job. Third—”

“There’s a third?” Dr. Bennet laughs. “How quaint.”

“She already mentioned the speech pattern thingy, dude,” Lowell says. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Third,” Lu continues. “Your eyes have darted to that cabinet at least four times since you woke up.” Lu removes a revolver from the small of her back where she had it tucked in her pants. “I’d wager you want this. Am I right?”

“You are correct, yes,” Dr. Bennet nods. “That pistol would have been helpful. Not just to make my job easier, but also to keep you from defending yourselves. Now my job is that much harder.”

“Sorry about that,” Lu says. “Care to say what your job is?”

“Killing the three of you and sacrificing your corpses to the Substance so it may learn from your neural networks and better defend itself against the threats of this planet.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty specific answer,” Lowell says. “That covers a lot right there.” He gulps then clears his throat. “Shoot him, Marshal. Put one right between his eyes.”

“A couple more questions,” Lu says.

“Ah, come on, Lu!” Lowell snaps. “Blow his fucking brains out! We’ve all seen this movie! One of us gets it if you don’t stop him now!”

“None of you can stop me,” Dr. Bennet says. “And all of you are, as you put it, getting it. If you surrender it will be painless. If you fight I will make more than certain that you suffer so greatly you will beg and beg for a mercy that I will not grant.”

“Oh, come on!” Lowell snaps. “You have to shoot him after saying weird shit like that!”

“Shoot him, Mom,” Kyle says.

“Not yet,” Lu replies. “He can tell us more.”

“Tell you more? Such as what? What I could I possibly tell you that will help you understand the complex actions taking place on this planet at this very moment?” Dr. Bennet chuckles. “Your simian brains are not equipped to deal with intricacies such as what are occurring on the surface.” He gives a wink and takes a step towards Lu. “And under the surface.”

“What complex actions? What intricacies?” Lu asks, standing her ground as Dr. Bennet takes another step towards her. “If we are too stupid to understand then it won’t hurt for you to try to explain.”

“Oh, there you are wrong,” Dr. Bennet says. “It will hurt greatly.” He smacks his head twice with the open palm of his right hand. “Having to even communicate with you ape things at all hurts not only my intellect, but my pride. You are gnats, the insects of this planet.”

“So what does that make the actual insects then?” Lowell asks.

“Lowell, leave this to me,” Lu says. “How about you try us, Dr. Bennet? Or whatever your name is. I am guessing it is no longer Dr. Bennet.”

“Bennet,” Dr. Bennet says. “Bennet, Bennet, Bennet. He was strong for a long time. Longer than most. So were all of the latest members of this pr— This place’s staff. They hold out and hold out, but in the end they succumb. It just so happens that Dr. Bennet has succumbed at such a very opportune time. His form could live on for quite a while if it isn’t damaged prematurely.”

“Am I going to get answers?” Lu asks.

“No, Marshal Morgan, you are not going to get answers,” Dr. Bennet responds. “At least not to the questions you have. But when I am through with you, you will have learned so much more than you could have even thought to ask about.”

Lu squeezes the trigger, but Dr. Bennet isn’t there. He’s suddenly at her side, his hand coming down on her wrist, sending shockwaves of pain up her arm. She cries out and the gun tumbles from her fingers, skidding across the tiles, clattering against the baseboards under one of the cabinets.

Lowell instinctively makes a dash for the gun, but comes up short as he’s clotheslined by Dr. Bennet’s arm. Lowell is down and on his back, the air knocked from his lungs, his throat swelling up, all in the blink of an eye.

Lu throws a punch at Dr. Bennet’s belly, but the man sidesteps easily, catching her fist in his hand. He twists back so hard and fast that Lu is flipped onto her back, her skull smacking against the tile floor with a thickening thud. Lu’s eyes glaze over and she blinks several times before she can refocus.

“I could stomp on your windpipe,” Dr. Bennet says, still gripping Lu’s fist. “That would be too fast an end. I could rip your arm off and beat you with it. But that would make me the simian savage, wouldn’t it? What to do, what to do…”

“How about you die, asshole?” Kyle says, the revolver leveled at the back of Dr. Bennet’s head. He pulls the trigger and blood, brain, bone splatter across the infirmary.

Dr. Bennet stands there for a second then turns slowly and cocks what’s left of his head.

“Shit,” Kyle says and pulls the trigger again.

The rest of Dr. Bennet’s head vaporizes, leaving only a bloody, ragged stump of a neck. The man’s body still does not fall. Kyle aims at Dr. Bennet’s chest and pulls the trigger three more times until the revolver clicks empty.

Still the man stands.

Then the body begins to shudder and bulge.

A gurney slams into it and Lowell keeps pushing until the body and the gurney ram the far wall. Dr. Bennet is split in two, his legs flopping to the ground and his headless torso rolling onto the gurney.

“Burn it with fire!” Lowell yells, his voice a raspy growl. He runs over to an oxygen tank and aims the nozzle at Dr. Bennet’s split corpse. “Find me something to make a spark with!”

“Like what?” Kyle yells as he hunts around.

“That!” Lowell yells, pointing to a defibrillator. “Charge it up and turn it on!”

“It won’t spark!” Kyle says. “Trust me! I’ve volunteered as an EMT!”

“It’ll spark if you discharge it against metal!” Lowell argues.

The two halves of Dr. Bennet’s corpse continue to bulge and swell, changing form before their eyes.

“Oh, just use this,” Lu says as she stumbles between them and Dr. Bennet’s corpse, a small torch in her hand. “Give me that.”

Lowell quickly wheels the tall oxygen tank over and cranks the valve open. Lu puts the torch to nozzle and four feet of blue flame shoot out at the swelling body parts. The halved corpse begins to sputter and then catches, its flames a bright green.

“Damn,” Lowell says, cranking the valve closed before the fire can backtrack and blow the tank up. “Will you look at that.”

Then the automatic fire suppressant system kicks in, spraying every surface, including Lu, Lowell, and Kyle, with white foam. The green flames of Dr. Bennet’s corpse sputter and die. The body parts stay still for a moment then begin their swelling again.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lowell yells.

The infirmary doors open suddenly and Lu doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Kyle and Lowell by the arms, yanking them from the room just before the doors slam shut once again.

“Contagion purge protocol in effect,” a computerized voice states.

Then the infirmary is nothing but a room of fire. Every square inch is scorched and cleansed. Lu backs up, her arms shielding her eyes. Once the flames die down she, Lowell and Kyle step closer and cautiously look through the doors’ windows.

The room is a charcoal graveyard.

“That was lucky,” Lowell says.

“Not really,” Lu replies, pointing to a video camera in the corridor. “I have a feeling someone finally checked in on us.”

“Thanks,” Lowell says, waving at the camera then nudges Kyle. “Be polite, kid. Big Brother just saved our asses.”

“Sometimes I have no idea what you are saying,” Kyle admits as he waves at the camera.

“Oh, the youth these days,” Lowell sighs, looking at Lu. “I weep, Marshal. I weep.”

Six

Voices. The room is full of nothing but voices.

“Shut up!” Dr. Probst screams. “All of you shut up!”

It has been hours. Hours and hours of the facility scientists shouting at her, screaming for her to kill herself, to put that pistol in her mouth, point up, and pull the trigger. Or slash her wrists, going lengthwise in order to do it properly, and just letting her veins open up.

But Dr. Probst has made it through the many, many hours without succumbing to their suggestions. She has stayed fast at her work station and fought against taking the last five bullets and putting them through Dr. Burkhorst, Dr. Scofield, and Dr. McDaniels’ skulls. She has been patient, disciplined, strong.

But strength can only last so long and now her resolve is slipping. She can feel the weakness in her getting stronger. She chuckles at the thought of a strong weakness.

“Something funny, cunt?” Dr. McDaniels asks. “Something tickle that tiny brain of yours?”

“Tell us, Cheryl,” Dr. Scofield says. “Tell us the joke. Come on. Share. I love a good joke. I’m a jokester myself. Care to hear one?”

“No,” Dr. Probst says.

“Too fucking bad,” Dr. Scofield laughs. “Too fucking bad. Here it goes. Ready? I don’t really care if you are or not. Gonna say it anyway.”

He takes a deep breath.

“I’M GOING TO SKULL FUCK YOU, BITCH!” Dr. Scofield roars.

“That was amusing, Edward,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “But hardly a joke. More a prediction. Knowing your sexual proclivities, I would be surprised if you didn’t do something so perverted as to copulate with her skull.”

“You take the fun right out of things, Burkhorst,” Dr. Scofield sighs. “So clinical. So cold. So calculating.”

“It is the burden of my profession,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “Would you like to hear the other burden, Dr. Probst? Eh, Cheryl? Would you?”

“Not particularly,” Dr. Probst replies, her eyes studying the latest data.

She watches as the readings by the Yellowstone caldera continue to increase, setting energy levels far greater than anything ever recorded. The area should have theoretically gone super nova. A star-sized explosion on a planet, in a National Park, right where Old Faithful used to spout.

Old Faithful. Something about the landmark geyser makes her think…

“CHERYL!” Dr. Scofield yells. “CHERYL, CHERYL, CHERYL!”

The thought, the glimpse at a possible answer, rushes from her mind.

“Dammit!” she yells and whirls around in her chair. It’s the first time she’s looked directly at the scientists in hours. She freezes, the pistol in her hand, her jaw hanging open. “Oh.”

Dr. McDaniels has a pool of black blood surrounding her. The others have smeared their bodies with it, rolled in it, coated themselves in McDaniels.

“Hi,” Dr. Scofield smiles, dried blood caked around his mouth. “Like the new look? It was considerably more dynamic when it was fresh.”

“It’s dull now,” Dr. Burkhorst says.

“Boring,” Dr. McDaniels adds.

“Yes, quite,” Dr. Burkhorst agrees. “Very boring.”

“Gonna use that?” Dr. Scofield asks, nodding at the .22. “Gonna shoot us dead? Or shoot yourself? Come on, Cheryl, do it. Shoot yourself.”

“Or shoot us,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “You could quiet us quickly. Place the barrel to our temples, one at a time, and pull the trigger, one at a time. We’ll be quiet forever. Then you can concentrate and not lose your train of thought.” She smiles, grins, smirks, cracked blood flaking off her cheeks, falling into her stained lap. “Yes, Cheryl, yes I saw you lose that train of thought. Your shoulders tensed, your body showed nothing but anguish. Rage, even. Now I see I am right. Your eyes tell all. You’d be horrible at poker.”

“I am horrible at poker,” Dr. Probst says.

“Shoot yourself and live forever,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “Live down here forever and be part of something bigger than the sum of all life on this pitiful planet.” More smile, grin, smirk. “Am I bluffing, Cheryl? Am I?”

“I already told you I am horrible at poker,” Dr. Probst says, the pistol shaking in her hand.

“Do you see us playing cards?” Dr. Burkhorst asks. “Do you? I see no cards, Cheryl. This isn’t poker we are playing, this is life. This is the real thing, not some luck of the draw entertainment. No penny ante here, Cheryl. Big stakes. All the stakes.”

“I could go for all the steaks,” Dr. McDaniels says and looks down at her wounded belly. “My stomach is a bit empty right now.”

“Ha!” Dr. Scofield guffaws. “Now, that’s a joke!”

“I’m not killing myself,” Dr. Probst says quietly. “I have a job to do.”

“A job for whom?” Dr. Burkhorst asks. “For VanderVoort? That whore doesn’t care about you. Let’s say she succeeds in saving the world, do you think she’ll share the credit? No, she will not. She’ll take all the glory. She’ll take all the glory, birth that bastard growing inside her, and live the life you could have had. You’ll be a footnote, if you are lucky.”

“Let us free and you can be so much more,” Dr. Scofield adds. “Be the lead. Be the name on the top. The lone scientist that cracks the code, that discovers the thing that…well…you know. The thing.”

He starts giggling and shakes his head back and forth.

“Sorry, sorry, I tried,” he says to the others. “I just couldn’t keep going. Do you really believe a wimpy little thing like that could be more than a lab assistant?”

“I am more than a lab assistant!” Dr. Probst yells. “I was lead on the—”

“I was lead on the,” Dr. Scofield interrupts, mocking Dr. Probst with a high-pitched voice meant to be hers. “I was lead on the, I was lead on the, I was more than a lab assistant. Were you? Like what? Head of Giving Head? Handjob Manager?”

“You are disgusting,” Dr. Probst says. “All of you.” She whirls back to her laptop, setting the pistol on her workstation. “I have work to do. Important work that will help, that will save this planet, and I don’t give two shits if I get credit. I’m not in it for the credit.”

“Then what are you in it for, Cheryl?” Dr. Burkhorst asks.

The question hangs there, heavy in the room like the rancid smell of coppery blood that permeates everything.

“To save lives,” Dr. Probst replies.

“Not to stay alive yourself?” Dr. Burkhorst asks.

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Probst snaps.

“I can help you stay alive,” Dr. Burkhorst says.

“What? Forever, right?” Dr. Probst laughs. “That was just sad, Burkhorst. Dr. Bennet made it sound like your psychological skills were formidable.”

“Dr. Bennet is dead, Cheryl,” Dr. Burkhorst replies. “Killed by Marshal Morgan, her son, and that convict.”

“Lowell,” Dr. Probst says. “His name is Anson Lowell. And I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth,” Dr. Scofield says. “They killed Dr. Bennet. Blew his head right off then set him on fire. Hours ago. They’ve been slowly working their way through the facility, hunting for you.”

“Whatever,” Dr. Probst says. “If they’ve been doing anything they’ve been hunting for a way out.”

“No, they are hunting for you,” Dr. McDaniels says. “They will kill you as soon as they find you.”

“In fact…” Dr. Burkhorst smiles, grins, smirks.

There’s a loud bang against the door followed by three more in quick succession. Dr. Probst jumps and nearly knocks the pistol off the workstation.

“Huh. I wonder who that could be?” Dr. Scofield asks.

Dr. Probst rolls her chair to a different workstation and presses a couple buttons. The feed from the video camera right outside the control room door comes up and Dr. Probst does everything in her power not to shudder.

Lu, Lowell, and Kyle stand there, obvious signs of blood on them, none of them looking like they are in good shape.

Another bang and a far off voice.

“Thick door,” Dr. Burkhorst says. “It’ll take them a long time to get in. They’ll get bored and move on. Find something to use to cut through. We have that type of equipment down here. Cutting torches. I bet Lowell knows how to use one. He’s probably worked in a machine shop in prison at some point. What do you think a killer like that can do with a cutting torch on human flesh?”

More banging. Dr. Probst waits, watches, shakes. She shivers and rolls to a different station and holds down the button on the adjustable mic.

“VanderVoort?” Dr. Probst calls. “VanderVoort?”

“Dr. Probst? What can we do for you?” VanderVoort asks, her face appearing on the main monitor. “Do you have something for us? Something we can use to stop these things?”

“No, not yet,” Dr. Probst says. “It’s just that Marshal Morgan, her son, and Lowell are outside the door. They’re banging and want in.” Dr. Probst looks over her shoulder at the bloody scientists. “My guests believe they murdered Dr. Bennet and may want to harm me.”

“They killed Dr. Bennet,” VanderVoort nods. “Sort of. He became something else. How are you guests? They still the same?”

“Became something else? What the hell does that mean?” Dr. Probst cries.

“It means you need to keep your guests alive,” VanderVoort says. “They change when they die. If one of them does die then get out of there.”

“Is this happening at the other facilities?” Dr. Probst asks.

“Not so far,” VanderVoort says. “But we have a theory about that. No time to go into it and I don’t want to skew your findings. I need you objective there. Are you objective?”

“Yes,” Dr. Probst says. “But I’d really like to get out of here.”

“I’ll tell you what,” VanderVoort says. “How about I get in touch with Marshal Morgan and have her work out some plan to extract the others from that room for disposal? Will that work for you?”

“That would be great,” Dr. Probst sighs.

“Excellent,” VanderVoort says then nods to someone off screen. “Gotta go, Dr. Probst. Big monsters tearing through the world and all that. You stay strong and we’ll get your situation all fixed up in no time.”

VanderVoort’s image disappears and Dr. Burkhorst chuckles.

“She’s lying,” Dr. Burkhorst says, nodding at Dr. Mannering’s corpse. “If we change when we die then Clark should have changed by now. He looks the same to me. If she was lying about that then do you think she was telling the truth about Marshal Morgan helping you? She’s shining you on to get you to keep working. Using you.”

Dr. Probst glances back at the security feed and watches as Lu, Kyle, and Lowell shake their heads and walk quickly away from the door.

“Now you have to wonder if they left on their own to find a way in or if they talked to VanderVoort,” Dr. Burkhorst smiles, grins, smirks. “We’ll all be quiet and let that mull around in your brain for a while. Until they come back, at least. Then we’ll all get to find out.”

Dr. Probst doesn’t respond. She rolls back to her station and gets to work.

“SKULL FUCK!” Dr. Scofield yells.

“Jesus!” Dr. Probst says, nearly falling out of her chair.

The three bloody scientists laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

***

He doesn’t know if it’s the ground shaking or the far off screams that bring him out of his sleep, but Bolton is awake and grabbing for his M4 CQBR before he even has his eyes open.

“Holt?” he whispers.

“I’m up,” Holt whispers back in the darkness of the tool shed they’d stopped at to grab a couple hours sleep. “Doesn’t sound too close.”

“Close enough,” Bolton says.

“Listen, Army, our objective is not saving civilians,” Holt says. “It’s to get down to Fort Carson and Shriever AFB, hope someone is still manning those bases, and get the drones and the weapon up and operational.”

“All so we can save civilians,” Bolton replies. “No point if the Godzillas eat them all before we save them, now is there, Navy?”

“You suck.”

“You suck more,” Bolton chuckles. “Got your gear on?”

“Gear is on,” Holt replies. “Let’s have us a little recon and then decide, alright? No point in dying to save civilians if they’re already dead, now is there, Army?”

“Fair enough, Navy,” Bolton says.

They both get up cautiously, their senses tuned, ready for danger. Bolton goes first, pushing the tool shed door open quickly then stepping out into the early morning light. He swings his M4 to the left as Holt comes out, swinging his MK14 to the right, each men’s eyes sighting down the barrels, watching for any sign of aggression, no matter the source.

The two men step quickly across the overgrown and ash-covered backyard of the small ranch house somewhere in southern Idaho. Or they think. Again, no GPS, landmarks destroyed, towns ripped in half or buried under feet of ash, the mountains themselves barely recognizable anymore. Bolton guesses they are north of Boise, in some town maybe called Emmett.

More screams fill the air followed by a distinctive roar the two recognize instantly. Bolton motions forward with his left hand and Holt nods, taking point as they start to jog, making it around the ranch house easily, eyes open, weapons up. Another scream, but cut short and then the wails of anguish. The men glance at each other, knowing looks guessing at the outcome.

“You sure about this?” Holt asks.

“Not really,” Bolton admits. “But I want to sleep at night at some point in my life. If we don’t try that’s going to be a hard thing to do.”

Holt nods and they keep jogging. They pass a row of crushed homes, brick, wood, and stone littering dead yards and spilling out into the street. The smell of fire, of rubber burning, begins to waft towards them, almost a welcome break from the never-ending sulfur and ammonia smell. Although the ammonia has cleared up considerably.

And they haven’t seen any sign of the flying egg-dropper monsters on their journey so far. Small miracles and all that.

Bolton skids to a halt and holds up a fist as the sound of angry voices reaches them. The two men bend low and crouch walk to a pile of scorched metal and asphalt where the street buckled and a driver didn’t respond in time. Slowly, they peer around the side of the debris and both nearly gasp in shock, but their professional training keeps them from revealing their position.

Holt looks at Bolton; Bolton looks at Holt. The two men glare and then check their weapons.

“Enough,” Bolton says, calmly stepping away from the debris, his M4 covering the six men that stand close to the trussed up beast. “Step away from the creature.”

“You four. Step away from the people,” Holt says, his MK14 covering the four men guarding a group of six straggly looking survivors- two older men, two older women, a young boy and a girl in her early twenties, maybe late teens. “I do not ask twice.”

“Neither do I,” Bolton says.

He sizes up the armaments- pump-action shotguns, good-sized deer rifles, 9mms and .45s strapped to hips, large hunting knives strapped to thighs or across the belts in the smalls of backs. At least two are former law enforcement, maybe ex-reserves, possibly National Guard. The rest are just yahoos having fun in the apocalypse.

They all look mean, hungry, and not in the mood to deal with strangers.

“Come on,” Bolton says. “Back away, all of you. Set your weapons down and take off. We help these people, put down that monster, and we’re gone. You can come back for your weapons later. We know what the world is like now. Not going to leave you unarmed in it.”

“We’re not?” Holt whispers.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bolton whispers back.

“I guess you’re right,” Holt says.

No one moves. Then everyone moves.

Bolton rushes to his right as Holt rushes to his left, both firing systematically at their targets. Triggers are squeezed, muzzles flash with fire, men cry out, a woman screams, a man shouts, bodies fall. Bolton and Holt stop.

“Shit,” Holt says and hurries over to the group of survivors, two of their number lying on the ground, both bleeding profusely. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Bolton moves towards the bodies close to the monster. Three stare up into the grey, grey sky, seeing nothing. Two lie face down and Bolton toes them onto their backs. They join in the nothing stares.

One man moans quietly, gripping the side of his head, blood pouring from between his fingers. He looks up as Bolton approaches and his eyes try to focus.

“Why’d you do that, mister?” he asks. “Ain’t none of your concern.”

“I don’t know,” Bolton shrugs, kicking away the shotgun lying by the man’s feet. “It upsets me to see people get fed to monsters. I’m weird that way.”

“We was teaching them a lesson, mister,” the man, which Bolton quickly realizes may have only started shaving a few years earlier, says as he clamps his other hand on his head wound. “They came in the night and broke into one of our storage sheds. Had half a bag of rice and two crates of canned vegetables in their hands when we found them. They shot Holly in the head. Gut shot Manuel. Manuel was a good guy. Quiet because he didn’t speak English so well, but good. We defended ourselves. That so wrong?”

“Maybe,” Bolton shrugs. “Maybe not. Either way, you don’t feed them to a fucking monster. What’s wrong with you?”

“Mutt was hungry,” the young man says. “He was getting sick.”

Bolton doesn’t know how to respond. He stands there, taking it all in. He looks over at the trussed up monster, seeing the outlines of bones under the slick skin. The thing is tied down with heavy, heavy chains that loop through hooks cemented into the ground. The chains stretch from tail end all the way up its neck, leaving it only enough room for it to open its hideous mouth.

It groans and grunts, alien eyes watching Bolton carefully.

Then it lets out a roar and Bolton knows the thing isn’t long for the world. The roar is pitiful, sick, weakening rapidly. Just making the sound seems to take all the strength out of it. Its head rests on the pavement in a pool of greenish-grey gunk and blood stains. A few swatches of fabric and the sole of a boot are stuck to its lower jaw.

“See? The thing is sick,” the young man sighs. “We was going to put it down, but these folks came along and we thought we could save it.”

Bolton stared at the thing’s mouth a couple seconds longer then turned back to the young man that wasn’t a man. “Why?”

The young man blinks for several seconds then shrugs, wincing at the pain it causes him. “Why not? What else is there to do? It’s their world now, right? Best make nice and see what we can learn.”

“Jesus,” Bolton mutters.

Then realization hits him. The men, the bodies around him, may not be the threat, after all. He whirls about and sees Holt untying the survivors. Bolton rushes over, carbine raised, and takes aim at the older man, the guy with the look of authority amongst the survivors.

“Holt, stop,” Bolton says. Holt doesn’t even flinch. He stops untying the young woman, flips his rifle forward, and steps back towards Bolton.

“What’s up?” Holt asks.

“Did you try to steal from these people?” Bolton asks. “Kill a couple of theirs?”

The older man sneers. “Man has to look out for his own. They should have just shared.”

“Did you ask?” Bolton responds. “Or did you watch and then take?”

“Man has to look out for his own,” the older man replies.

“Jesus,” Bolton says, shaking his head. “Shit!”

“We fucked this up, didn’t we?” Holt asks.

“No, it was already fucked up,” Bolton says. “Tie them back up.”

The two older women hold up their untied hands. One starts to stand, but Bolton motions for her to stay where she is and she eases back down onto her haunches.

“Please, sir,” the woman says. “We aren’t family. We just stumbled together one day.” She nods at the older man that lies dead, half his head torn off by a shotgun blast then nods at the young boy, his chest ripped open by rifle fire, both dead as can be. “They was mine. This is my sister. We don’t know the girl.”

“Fucking cowards,” the young woman spits. “You was one of us when you shot that wetback.”

“Fuck me,” Holt says. “What the fuck do we do now?”

“Cover them,” Bolton says. He sees a glimmer in the older man’s eyes. “He’s a fucking SEAL, dipshit. You twitch and your head will be wide open. That goes for all of you. Do not move.”

Bolton slings his carbine and begins hurrying from stray weapon to stray weapon, unloading each and tucking the ammunition in his pack. He keeps a sawed-off shotgun -a good looking single barrel, 12 gauge Mossberg in nice condition- and two of the .45s, but leaves the rest to lie in the ash, empty, impotent.

He walks over and hands the .45s to Holt who quickly sticks them in his pack as Bolton covers the survivors with the Mossberg.

“Not tying them up?” Holt asks.

“Leave them,” Bolton says. “They can do whatever they want. I don’t care.” Holt brings his rifle back around and Bolton takes the time to strap the Mossberg to his pack. “But they aren’t going to follow us or harass us in any way, are you?”

The older man glares. “I make no promises.”

“Jesus,” Bolton says. “We’re letting you people go, even if you don’t deserve it.”

“Who are you to say we don’t deserve it? There’s no law no more, pal,” the older man growls. “You have your fancy uniform with patches and shit, but that don’t mean you actually are who you want us to think you are. Nobody is no more.”

“No, I guess they aren’t,” Bolton says.

He and Holt back away from the survivors. Bolton’s eyes never leave the older man’s until he is close to the bleeding young man by the monster. A quick glance tells Bolton the young man is no longer who he used to be either, his glazed eyes focused on the far off distance, seeing nothing.

“What about the monster?” Holt asks quietly.

“It’s almost dead,” Bolton says. “The thing can’t even shoot out its tongue. Leave it. Let it die.”

“Is it fucked up that makes me sad?” Holt asks as they continue to back away from the scene.

“No more fucked up than any of this shit,” Bolton says.

Once a good distance away, with enough wreckage and debris between them, Bolton and Holt turn and jog back to the shed where they left their bikes. They check over their equipment, making sure chains are good, tires are full, and everything is tight for the rest of their journey.

They bike off, getting only a mile away before they are forced to ditch the bikes and duck into a mostly collapsed pile of rubble that used to be a Burger King. Three of the four-leggeds stomp past, their heads swaying back and forth. Once past and out of sight, Bolton and Holt move ass, grab their bikes and keep going.

Five minutes later the sounds of gunfire reach them just before the air is split by the roars of the monsters. If there are screams, Bolton doesn’t hear them. Even if he did, he isn’t sure he’d care.

***

His head sinks, sinks, then nods and jerks back up, his eyes blinking and focusing on the door to the staircase.

“I don’t think he’s slept all night,” Terrie says as Krissy hands her a bowl of hot tomato soup. “He won’t leave that spot until he knows that thing is gone.”

“You think it’s still out there?” Krissy asks, curling her legs under her as she sits down and blows on her own bowl of soup. “Still up top? Waiting for us?”

“I don’t see why,” Terrie replies. “I don’t think it wants us, we just happened to be making enough noise to get it interested. The thing is probably back in the Sound, doing whatever it is those things do.”

“They rip the world apart,” Krissy says.

The two women eat a few spoonfuls then both glance over at one of the closed side hatches.

“You think he’s hungry?” Terrie asks. “Maybe you should take him a bowl of soup.”

“We split the can,” Krissy says. “No more left.”

“You could always make more,” Terries says.

“I could, but I won’t,” Krissy replies. “The asshole can feed himself.”

“This is his bunker, you know,” Terrie says. “It was his grandfather’s, but Roy is gone. Now it’s his. Family rights.”

“Fuck family rights,” Krissy says. “It’s ours now. We outnumber him. Squatters’ rights.”

“Please watch your language, Krissy,” Terrie responds, some of the patience gone from her voice. “There is no need to talk like that and it’s offensive.”

“Offensive to who?” Krissy asks. “You? Only two of us here, so why should I let you tell me what to do?”

“Because I’m your elder and it’s respectful,” Terrie replies, finishing her soup and setting the bowl aside. “We aren’t animals, young lady. We are humans and will act like it.”

“Whatever,” Krissy says. “I’m still not making the jerk some soup.”

“Fine,” Terrie says, pushing up from her chair. She grabs her makeshift cane and limps her way to the small kitchen in the corner of the large room. “I am the adult here, so I’ll act like one.”

“Act away,” Krissy says, slurping loudly from her spoon.

Terrie ignores the pain in her ankle, the pain in her midsection, opens a can of pasta and meatballs and starts heating it up over one of the burners on the gas stove. She has a feeling that Tony likes canned pasta and meatballs. It fits his personality.

Once hot, Terrie puts a lid on the pot, grabs up a large spoon, and carries both with her as she limps heavily towards the side hatch.

“Going to have a hard time getting that hatch open by yourself,” Krissy says.

“I know,” Terrie replies.

“Need some help?” Krissy asks.

“Are you offering?” Terrie responds. “Or just being a brat?”

Terrie turns and sees Krissy staring at her, the young woman’s face cleaned of mud, but not covered in bandages. Krissy had refused, saying they itched and if her face was going to get infected then it’s happened already. Terrie knows the girl is using her flayed skin as a defensive mechanism, a shock tool to keep people at a distance.

Krissy sighs and gets up, taking slow, exaggerated strides towards the hatch. She spins the wheel and shoves the hatch open, waving her arm with a theatrical flourish.

“Thank you,” Terrie nods.

“Want me to close it after you?” Krissy asks. “In case the man-child goes rogue and decides to run rampant through the bunker in his undies? Oh, wait!”

Krissy trots off, hurrying to the kitchen then hurrying back. She tucks a juice box in Terrie’s front pocket.

“Can’t forget Big Boy’s juicy juice,” Krissy smirks.

“I have a feeling you weren’t the most pleasant child before all of this happened,” Terrie says and turns and limps quickly into the metal tunnel before Krissy can respond.

The hatch slams shut and Terrie winces at the noise as it echoes in the tunnel. She slows her limp, wincing at the pain in her ankle as well.

The hatch at the other end is cracked, a weak light streaming from the room on the other side. Terrie gets to the hatch, takes a deep breath, and knocks lightly before pushing it open.

“Tony? I brought you some food,” Terrie says as she moves into the room, her eyes taking in the four sets of bunk beds and the long workbench lining one wall.

Tony sits at the workbench, hunched over something, still dressed in his X-Men t-shirt and boxers, both considerably dirtier than when he had first opened the hatch to the bunker. He shakes his head a few times, but doesn’t look back at Terrie.

“This is my room,” Tony says. “You aren’t allowed in here. This is for the kids. I’m not a kid anymore, but this is my room. It’s where I stay. You stay in the room on the other side. You and the angry girl. That’s where you stay. She’s younger than me, but she can’t stay in this room even if it is the kids’ room because this is my room and she’s a girl.” He stops shaking his head. “An angry girl without a face.”

“That’s true,” Terrie says. “She is an angry girl.” She lets the without a face part drop. “But I think she has a reason to be angry. I don’t agree with her behavior, but she has a reason. Just like you.”

Tony’s shoulders stiffen. “I’m not angry. I just don’t like people in my room. And I have a face. So she’s not like me at all. I’m not like her at all.”

“You both lost family,” Terrie says, moving cautiously to the far end of the workbench, about six feet from Tony. She sets the pot of pasta and meatballs down then grabs a stray stool and eases onto it, sighing as the weight is lifted from her ankle. “She lost her parents and her little sister. You lost your mom and grandfather.”

“I didn’t lose them,” Tony says. “I know where they are.” He points up at the ceiling.

“Yes, well, what I mean is—” Terrie continues.

Tony looks at her sharply. “I know what you mean. I’m not stupid. I’m not retarded like the angry girl thinks. I’m smart. Very smart. I just don’t like people in my room.”

“Her name is Krissy,” Terrie says. “You should call her Krissy.”

“Why?” Tony asks. “She calls me man-child and Big Boy.” He lifts a hand and points with a small screwdriver at a set of vents above his head. “I can hear everything since I’m quiet and not busy being mean and angry.”

Terrie glances at the vents and nods. “Oh. Good to know, Tony. Thank you for telling me.”

“Listen,” Tony says. “She’s crying. The angry girl is crying.”

Terrie does listen and she can hear the faint sounds of Krissy sobbing. She looks over her shoulder at the hatch and thinks to get up, but doesn’t. It might be best if Krissy doesn’t know about the vents. Let the girl have her cry and maybe she’ll get some of that anger out of her system.

“What are you making?” Terrie asks, looking at the circuit board in front of Tony. “Is that from a computer.”

“Radio,” Tony says. “Broad spectrum, digital radio. Long wave, short wave, UHF, FM, AM.” He looks up at her and grins broadly. “Microwaves. If I can get an antenna set up outside.” The grin goes away. “But…”

“But the monster is out there,” Terrie says. “I’m pretty sure it’s gone.”

“You don’t know that,” Tony says, focusing back on his work.

“You seem good at computers and technology,” Terrie says. “Is that what you did before the eruptions?”

“Yes,” Tony says. “Programmed. Built things. Made good money. Helped my mom. Helped Roy. Made good money.”

“And you’re building a radio now?” Terrie asks. “How will it work? There was a big EMP that ruined all the electronics.”

“EMPs are bad,” Tony says. “But not perfect.” He taps the circuit board gently. “I can test each component. Test until I find one that works then set it aside.”

Terrie looks at the piles of equipment up and down the workbench. The little hope she had for a working radio quickly disappears.

“You aren’t building the radio right now, are you?” she asks.

“Nope,” Tony says. “Quality control. Testing parts. Then I’ll build it. Hard part first. Put in the work then get the reward.” His voice stumbles a bit. “Roy said that.”

Terrie reaches out to put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, but he flinches and she stops.

“Oh, here,” she says, taking the juice box from her pocket and setting it by the pot. “You’re probably thirsty.”

Tony doesn’t respond.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” Terrie says, reluctantly getting back up. “Try to eat something. You’ll work better with food in your belly. Hard to do the work if you don’t have energy.”

Tony hesitates and glances over at the pot.

“Thank you,” he says, surprising Terrie.

She smiles and limps away. “You’re welcome.”

She’s about to the hatch when he calls out softly.

“Tell the angry girl thank you for the juice box,” Tony says. “I know she meant it to be mean, but I am thirsty.”

“I’ll tell her,” Terrie says. “And I don’t think she meant it to be mean.”

Tony huffs in reply and hunches lower over his work.

Terrie watches him for a second then limps out of the room, leaving the hatch slightly open as it had been before.

***

“Is everything in position?” VanderVoort asks. “Where are we with the satellites?”

“Ones we can spare have been tasked and are in position,” a tech replies. “Eyes in the sky are wide open.”

“Don’t get cute,” VanderVoort says. “I’m the cute one. Just say they are in position.”

“I did,” the tech replies. “They are in position.”

“Good,” VanderVoort says. “What do we see?”

New views pop up on the screens, various images of North America, especially the western and eastern coastlines. One image flickers and zooms in, flickers and zooms in, until it shows a churning sea and something pulling itself from the heavy waves.

“Landfall at Nova Scotia,” a tech announces. “The Icelandic creature has come ashore.”

All eyes watch as the massive monster crawls its way up onto land, its giant body dwarfing the small fishing village it tromps through. No one says a thing as the satellite tracks its movement, the image sweeping along as the monster destroys everything in its path before finding the other side of the huge island and sliding back into the water.

“Where’d it go?” VanderVoort asks, breaking the silence.

“Trajectory would suggest it is heading south,” a tech says. “We won’t know until it… Hold on. I think it’s surfacing again.”

The satellite pulls out, changes view, then zooms in on the eastern seaboard directly above Boston. The image adjusts, refocuses, pulls back, zooms in, adjusts then stabilizes. Pixels become sharp images and there are more than a few gasps as the Icelandic behemoth pulls up out of Boston Harbor and onto Logan International airport. Or what is left of it. Most of the terminals look burned down to their steel struts and beams.

The thing stands tall on its webbed rear legs, its fin wings flapping and flexing back and forth until everything in its path that isn’t bolted into the earth begins to shudder, shiver then blow away as if a massive box fan has been turned on. The monster lifts its head to the sky and opens wide.

“Is it safe to say we do not have sound?” VanderVoort asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” the tech replies. “All local surveillance is fried, so no way to tap into that.”

“Then our imaginations will have to do,” VanderVoort says. “I’m thinking it sounds somewhat like a giant seal, but I could be way off.”

The creature closes its mouth and begins walking across the airport, destroying everything still standing, creating more loose debris in its wake. It reaches the far side of the airport and keeps going until it runs into where the Chelsea and Mystic Rivers converge. But instead of slipping into the water, it flaps its fin wings and leaps high into the air, gaining enough altitude to carry it over the bay and far into the mainland.

“Didn’t know it could do that,” VanderVoort says. “Doesn’t have a ton of range, but the thing is so big it covers—”

“We have another coming!” a tech announces.

A new view pops up, this one of the Mid-Atlantic region. Everyone recognizes the location instantly.

“Where is it landing?” VanderVoort asks.

The situation room shudders slightly as the image of the huge winged beast, the French dragon, comes down on the banks of the Potomac.

“Right on top of us,” the tech says. “Two steps and it’ll crush the White House.”

The monster looks around then opens its mouth in what looks like a roar. Then bright green flames issue forth and scorch every single building before it. The Mall is nothing but burning ruins, the Smithsonian complex a massive campfire, the Washington Monument a five hundred foot torch.

Then the creature takes its two steps and everyone grabs onto what they can as dust rains down from above, the entire complex shuddering and shaking about them. When it settles, the monster has taken wing again and is lost from the satellite’s view.

“Get it back,” VanderVoort says, her voice calm even as many in the room cry out in panic. “Find it now.”

While the tech searches, pulling the satellite view back, everyone gets a good, brief look at the ruins from above. The White House is rubble, the debris field nothing but a massive, clawed footprint in soil that had once been swamp hundreds of years before.

“We have it again,” the tech says. “Flying over Pennsylvania, about to reach the Appalachians.”

“Keep your eyes locked on that one,” VanderVoort says. “Someone tell me what else.”

“Italian creature is getting close to Florida,” a tech says.

“Japanese is three quarters across the Pacific with the Australian close behind,” another tech announces.

“Chilean is walking,” a tech says. “Moving up from South America and into Central America.” The tech gulps hard. “It’s eating everything in its path. Wiping out villages as it goes, tearing into rain forests. That mouth hasn’t stopped chewing for miles and miles.”

“At least it’s getting its fiber,” VanderVoort says then rolls her eyes at a few grumbles. “Oh, come on, people. We are well past being squeamish and faux offended. If I can’t have my inappropriate jokes then I’ll have to vent in other ways. None of you want that, I get very unpleasant when I have to stifle my sarcasm.”

“Chinese creature is moving via land as well,” a tech says. “Heading up through Heilongjiang province and into Russia. Probably to the Bering Straits.”

“Call Sarah Palin and ask her to let us know when she sees it,” VanderVoort chuckles. “Really? No one is going to laugh at that? You people, I swear.”

“Why did China move away from its volcano?” Dr. Hall asks. “It seemed content before. Now it goes on the move? Strange.”

“Kenyan creature is not heading north, ma’am,” a tech says. “It’s moving south and is almost through Zimbabwe.”

“How are the locals fairing?” VanderVoort asks.

“No so well,” the tech says. “It’s eating almost as much as the Chilean creature.”

VanderVoort detects a tone in the tech’s voice.

“And?” she asks.

“The thing spins webs,” the tech says. “And is using them to net entire villages, scooping up people and livestock then affixing them to its back.”

“Saving some snacks for later,” VanderVoort says. “Which means it knows it may get hungry and won’t have a food source. Who wants to bet its heading to Antarctica to whoop it up with the penguins? We may find out more about why only feeders and advance troops have shown up in the land of happy feet.”

“Ma’am? I think we have some problems,” a tech says. She taps at her keyboard and six views are brought up. “Those are the Cascades. All volcanoes. They are being torn open. Rainier is already open.”

“And our Yellowstone ugly seems to have a cousin,” VanderVoort says, sighing heavily. “Same with the other Cascades?”

“Mt. McKinley, Mt. Hood, Mt. Shasta, Mt. Bachelor, and even Mt. St. Helens,” the tech says. “All have creatures coming up out of them.”

“Lovely,” VanderVoort says.

“The creatures must believe the Pacific Coast to be the main front,” Dr. Hall says. “The Japanese, Chinese, and Australian creatures may be stronger than the ones coming in from the East Coast.”

“Or not,” VanderVoort says. “We won’t know until the fireworks start.”

VanderVoort rubs at her belly, her eyes moving from one screen to the next, trying to figure out if the fireworks will leave anything for humanity to salvage or if they are going to blow the whole hand off.

Seven

“This is some heavy gear,” Lowell says, a large duffel bag strapped to his back. “Why am I the pack mule and you get to carry the guns? I can carry guns too. We could plop this pack on those gurneys and let the kid roll it all down the halls.”

“Because gurneys aren’t stable when stacked this way,” Lu says as she gets to the corner of the corridor and stops, ducking her head around and back quickly before stepping out and waving them on. In her hand she grips an M16 with a second one strapped to her back and two .45s pistols on her hips.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Kyle asks as he pushes the three stacked gurneys. All are collapsible, like EMTs use, and wobble precariously as Kyle turns them around the corner, following his mother. “Dr. Bennet is dead and the other scientists are in the control room with Dr. Probst.”

“We don’t know those are the only members of the staff,” Lu says, the M16 up at her shoulder, eyes sighting down the barrel.

“Didn’t that VanderVoort lady say they were?” Kyle asks.

“She did,” Lu nods. “But I don’t know her and frankly don’t trust anyone connected to this facility.”

“Good thinking,” Lowell says. “I’d go one step further and just not trust anyone at all. Works for me.”

“Yes and it has gotten you so far in life,” Kyle laughs.

“Cram it, kid,” Lowell says. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I? Better than I can say for a lot of people.”

“Quiet,” Lu orders.

They reach the end of the corridor and take one more turn before facing the doors to the control room. Lu holds up her hand and Kyle stops. Lowell takes off the duffel bag and lets it fall to the ground. He follows along and sits down, slumping against the huge pack.

“Get up,” Lu hisses. “This is not break time.”

“Give me a minute,” Lowell says. “I’m fucking exhausted. It’s not like we’ve gotten to sleep late and eat three meals a day. I was in better shape back in prison.”

“One minute,” Lu says, moving to the control room doors. “Then get up and get ready. We’ll need to be fast and thorough. VanderVoort said these scientists are no longer strictly human. We have to get them restrained more securely, up on the gurneys, and out of Dr. Probst’s hair fast.”

“Then they go to our old quarantine cell?” Kyle asks. “Why not take them to the infirmary and torch them like Dr. Bennet?”

“VanderVoort says they haven’t fully given in,” Lu says. “If they die then they get torched. If they still live then there’s hope.”

“Yeah, that makes all kinds of sense,” Lowell says. “But then so does everything else in this shitty world right now, so I guess we’ll roll with it.”

Lu pounds her fist on the doors and glares back at Lowell. “Your minute rest is done. Get your ass up.”

“Yes, ma’am, right away, ma’am,” Lowell says as he stands and salutes. Then he sighs and picks up the duffel bag. “My sarcasm would be so much better if you didn’t get the last laugh.”

Lu stares into the video camera affixed above the doors, a hand on her hip, a look of impatience on her face. She raises her fist to pound again, but the doors click, clang, then slide open.

“Hi,” Dr. Probst says. She nods at the three and then turns and goes back to her workstation. “The assholes are over there. They’ve been trying to convince me you are the enemy. They are not very good at the convincing. I would be beyond appreciative if you could remove them permanently.”

“Permanently? Like kill them?” Lowell asks. “Damn, Doc, you are cold.”

“Shut up, Lowell,” Dr. Probst says. “I am not in the fucking mood for your bullshit.”

“Amen to that,” Lu says.

“Women, kid, am I right?” Lowell smirks at Kyle.

“Not going there, man,” Kyle replies. “You’re on your own.”

“Gender traitor,” Lowell says, still smirking. The smirk leaves his face as he sets the duffel bag down inside the control room and sees the scientists trussed up in the corner. “Damn…”

“Yes, I did that,” Dr. Probst says before Lowell can even ask the question. “They were still unconscious when I restrained them. I shot McDaniels in the gut, so she isn’t in the best fighting shape, but still dangerous. Watch her.”

“You shot her in the gut?” Lowell asks then whistles. “Bad ass, Dr. Probst. Bad ass.”

“Regardless of how bad ass or not,” Dr. Probst says, “I am very, very close to something here. The data is right before my eyes and I can almost see what it is trying to tell me.” She points a finger over at the scientists without taking her eyes off her laptop. “They keep pushing me off course. I get close, they start in with the insanity. Can you just take them now please?”

“Listen, Cheryl, we aren’t the trash collectors,” Lu says, her voice even and controlled. “We could use your help with this. It’ll go faster with four.” She glances over at Dr. Mannering’s corpse. “And we didn’t know about the body. We’ll just have to drag him into the corridor until we can come back.”

“Did you not hear me?” Dr. Probst snaps, still not looking away from her laptop. “I am so close to a breakthrough that I can taste it. Now is not the time for me to get up and play prison guard.”

“Well, if you ever want to play prison guard later, just let me know,” Lowell says. “I could totally role play that with you. You got it going on under that snotty and pissed off scientist too good for everyone else act.”

“Fuck off, Lowell,” Dr. Probst says. She finally turns and then smiles. “Oh, hey, Kyle. Sorry, I didn’t say hello before.”

“He gets the polite treatment?” Lowell says. “No fair.”

“Yes, well, I’ve known him longer and we’ve been through shit together,” Dr. Probst says.

“Let’s get to work and get out of the doctor’s space,” Lu says.

“What’s the hurry?” Lowell asks. “Not like we can do our chores and then go goof off above.” He holds up a hand before anyone protests. “Just messing. I’m moving, I’m moving.”

“Oh, are you?” Dr. Burkhorst snarls.

“It speaks,” Lowell says as he unpacks the duffel bag, pulling out lengths of heavy duty nylon rope, arm and wrist restraints, even three face masks. He puts one up to his face. “Tell me about the lambs, Clarice. Tell me about the screaming of the lambs.”

“It’s silence of the lambs,” Kyle says.

“No, it’s screaming,” Lowell says. “That’s the line. The movie is called Silence of the Lambs, but the line is screaming.”

“Did they let you watch that movie while you were in prison?” Dr. Scofield chuckles. “Seams counterproductive for a psychopathic killer like you.”

“I know, right?” Lowell replies. “But then look who is all tied up and who isn’t? The world is a strange, strange place.”

Lowell looks at the ropes, out into the corridor at the stacked gurneys, at the scientists, then at Lu.

“Uh…how do we want to do this?” Lowell asks. “You’re the professional when it comes to transporting dangerous peeps. Going to be hard to move them while they’re tied up.”

“Hard is better than stupid,” Lu replies.

“That’s what she said,” Kyle says.

“Damn! High five, kid!” Lowell laughs.

“No, no high fives,” Lu says. “Pay attention.”

“I’ll make it easy for you,” Dr. McDaniels says as she shoves her back against the control room’s wall and pushes up with her feet until she is in a standing position.

She smiles at everyone and pulls her hands from behind her back. From the wrist to the tips of her fingers, there is no skin. It lies in a pile on the floor. Without skin, there is nothing for her hand restraints to hang onto. She holds her flayed hands up in the air and wiggles the bloody fingers at everyone.

“You are playing by the wrong rules,” she says. “Time to rethink your strategy.”

Kyle turns and starts retching at the sight. Lowell merely stares, his mouth wide open.

Lu reacts, lifting the M16 and taking aim.

“Move and I put you down,” Lu growls.

“Please do,” Dr. McDaniels says as Dr. Burkhorst and Dr. Scofield both stand up, repeating the same motions, showing the same skinless hands. “Shoot us, Marshal Morgan. Shoot us all. Shoot us dead!”

“Shoot us dead!” Dr. Burkhorst yells.

“Shoot us!” Dr. Scofield shouts.

“You’d like that,” Lu says. “Then you can change like Dr. Bennet.”

“Then we can become,” Dr. Burkhorst says.

“I am more than halfway there,” Dr. McDaniels says, pressing a hand into her belly so a fresh spurt of blood oozes out. “See? Almost a goner.”

“Marshal?” Lowell asks, coming out of his shock. “Um, this changes things.”

“Dr. Probst?” Lu asks. “Cheryl? Can you become mobile? I believe our best option is to abandon this room and lock them in.”

“Hold on,” Dr. Probst replies. “I’m seeing a surge in—”

“NO!” Dr. McDaniels yells and leaps at Lu despite her feet still being bound.

The wounded woman springs like a rabid jackrabbit, her mouth open in a toothy snarl, her skinless hands bent like claws. Her hands grab the barrel of the M16 and jam it against her forehead, ready for the killing shot.

But Lu doesn’t bite, instead she flips the M16 upside down, tearing it from Dr. McDaniels’ grip, slamming the butt up into the woman’s chin, shattering teeth and cracking bone.

“Fucking bitch,” Lu yells as she pulls back and then gives the woman another smack in the face with the butt of the rifle. And another.

Dr. McDaniels stumbles back, her nose pulp, her mouth a ragged gash dripping blood and spitting shards of enamel.

The other two scientists begin to lunge as well, but stop in mid-attack, their eyes rolling up into their heads. They fall to the floor, followed immediately by Dr. McDaniels. Then the screeching starts.

“Oh, shit,” Lowell says as Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst quickly join, their hands on their ears, their mouths wide with agony. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He winces at the earsplitting sound and slowly backs out of the control room. As soon as everyone stops screaming, and there are only unconscious bodies on the floor, he walks back in.

“Are you shitting me?” he sighs, looking at the mess. “Great. Now I have to get everything done and take care of—”

He almost finishes when simultaneously, Dr. McDaniels’, Dr. Burkhorst’s, and Dr. Scofield’s heads explode, splattering the room with brains and bone.

“Oh, shit fuck!” Lowell yells, wiping gore from his face. “No way!”

He stands there, even more stunned than before and shakes his head. Then realization dawns on him and he scrambles out of the room, separating the gurneys as fast as he can. He runs back in and starts dragging Lu out to one of the gurneys. He yanks her up onto it then lifts and it rises into the air. Lowell dashes back in and grabs Kyle, repeating the same steps, then Dr. Probst.

He snatches some of the rope he was going to use on the scientists and lashes the gurneys together in a clumsy line. He starts pulling the gurney train down the corridor then stops and sprints back to the control room. Lowell spots Dr. Probst’s laptop and he hurries over, snatching it up just as the headless scientists begin to twitch.

“Fuck me,” he mumbles. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

He gets back to the gurneys, tosses the laptop onto Dr. Probst’s chest, and pulls as hard as he can.

Then he hears the slithering, the thrashing, and the inhuman cries for his blood.

“FUCK ME!”

***

The Icelandic monster thumps to the ground, crushing boulders under its webbed claws. Its fin wings flap for several minutes, kicking up dirt, the air pressure strong enough to create a dust cloud a couple thousand feet high. It opens its mouth and razor sharp teeth, yellow and black, glint in the dull light.

Then it roars and begins to move forward.

The roar is answered and the dust cloud parts to reveal the Yellowstone monster, nearly two miles high and bristling with violence. The creature is much taller than Iceland, but it doesn’t immediately attack. Instead it watches the smaller monster, its impossible, alien eyes sizing up the competition.

Iceland roars again and takes flight, launching a thousand feet into the air with one pump of its fin wings. It banks right, twisting its strange, wyvern body around so its thin, sleek tail whips out fast, striking Yellowstone across its left thigh. The larger monster howls, but doesn’t retreat, its eyes tracking Iceland.

Iceland keeps flapping, putting some space between it and the long reach of Yellowstone’s four arms. It flaps and dips, flaps and dips, keeping itself airborne with some difficulty. The tail whips out again, but Yellowstone dodges and the tip misses the right thigh by several meters.

A harsh roar and then Iceland lands, its legs bunched underneath it as its head swings back and forth, a cobra ready to strike. It tucks its fin wings into itself and straightens slightly, a long, red tongue darting out over and over.

Yellowstone waits. Watches. Then stumbles as it shifts its weight. Its left leg wobbles and it almost goes out from under it. For the first time, Yellowstone takes its eyes off Iceland and looks down at itself. It grunts then howls as it sees the oozing, bubbling gash on its leg. It shifts its weight to its other leg just as Iceland leaps, those bunched muscle legs launching it straight at Yellowstone’s head.

One of Yellowstone’s left arms, the forward one, shoots out and grabs Iceland by the neck, but quickly lets go as the red tongue darts out and strikes the back of the three-clawed hand. Smoke streams up from the wound and the skin begins to bubble, just like the wound on Yellowstone’s thigh. The giant monster clamps its other left claw over the wound and shrieks loud enough to ripple the air, creating sonic waves that rush at Iceland.

The smaller monster slams into the ground, rolling across the scorched and broken landscape, end over end, side over side, as the sonic waves pound against its slick skin. It tries to break free, but the pressure is too great and it can’t get its wings extended enough to fly free of the attack.

After several minutes, Yellowstone stops shrieking and Iceland is left in the mud and dirt, ash and rock, quivering and shaking, its body battered and stunned. With one cautious step on its wounded leg, Yellowstone moves forward, all eyes on its downed foe. Each step it takes sends cracks running across the ground, creating new crevices in the earth. It reaches Iceland and raises all of its arms, bringing them high above its head.

As the arms come down, Iceland rolls out of the way, tucking its legs under, its wings around, into a tight ball that is propelled by its tail. It rolls and rolls, putting several miles between it and Yellowstone before it comes out of the ball and stands on shaky legs.

A quick roar and then it takes flight, one wing visibly weaker than the other. Iceland circles about, maintaining the distance between itself and Yellowstone. Yellowstone simply pivots on its good leg, its attention never wavering from the smaller monster. The two giant beasts turn and turn, a rotating face-off of impossible proportions.

Then Iceland swoops in, diving at Yellowstone’s bad leg. Four hands shoot out, but the smaller creature is ready, twisting away and up, slashing Yellowstone across the chest with its tail as it climbs, climbs, climbs just out of reach of the larger monster’s grabbing claws.

Yellowstone shrieks again, aiming its maw at Iceland, trying to sonic blast it from the sky while also raging at the wound taken to its chest. It swipes at the flying creature with three hands while the fourth presses against its chest, holding the wound closed with the tips of its three talons, pus already oozing from the gash.

Iceland roars with triumph, but doesn’t rest, its wings continuing to beat and flap, taking it well, well out of reach of Yellowstone’s swiping claws. It lands a few miles away, a massive ash cloud poofing up from the ground. It never sees the boulder that comes rocketing towards it.

The smaller monster is sent flying, one of its fin wings bent and twisted behind its back at an angle that causes it to screech and cry out in pain as it comes down hard. The boulder flies past, purple blood speckling its surface. Iceland tumbles a short ways then lies there, crying out as it tries to get the strength to stand. The bent and twisted fin wing lies impotent, a useless weight, torn and bloodied.

Yellowstone wastes no time. It rushes forward, no sign of pain from its wounds, and reaches Iceland in seconds, grabbing up the smaller monster in its four claws. Then it begins to tear.

The broken fin wing is first to go, ripped right off and thrown to the ground where it is stomped deep into the ash and mud. Yellowstone uses the second fin wing to keep ahold of Iceland. It slams the creature into the ground once, twice, three times, then lifts it up and grabs the moaning beast’s left leg. There is a deafening pop that echoes across the landscape as Yellowstone pulls the leg out of its socket, tossing it over its shoulder like a broken twig.

Iceland opens its mouth to screech, to protest, to wail at its pain, but it doesn’t get the chance. Yellowstone jams a claw down its throat and curves the talon, piercing Iceland’s throat from the inside out. Purple blood sprays across Yellowstone and it howls as the blood begins to bubble on its skin.

Iceland is tossed aside as Yellowstone grabs up handfuls of mud to rub into the burning blood. The smaller creature struggles to move, desperate to get away, but its body is beyond yielding an escape. It flops about, looking like the strange mix of fish and lizard that it is. Its purple blood flows freely across the ground, turning the grey ash into a blackish sludge.

With its wounds tended, Yellowstone once again focuses on Iceland. It hunts about, finding two large boulders, both the size of a two-story house, lifting them easily and bringing them up high. The monster clomps over to the beaten creature and surveys it for a few seconds, almost mocking its pain as it continues to flop about. Then the boulders come down hard and fast.

There is a last screech that is cut off almost as soon as it starts. After that, only silence.

Except for the exultant roar that Yellowstone lets out as it raises its mouth to the sky. Sonic waves ripple up into the atmosphere, clearing the grey clouds completely. Bright sunlight illuminates the monster, haloing it in a triumphant glow.

***

“Satellite fifty-eight is lost,” a tech announces. “The sonic waves took it out almost immediately. New satellite being re-routed now.”

“We still have plenty of eyes on the thing,” Director Miles says as he hands VanderVoort a tall glass. “Those probes are handy.”

“What’s this?” VanderVoort asks, sniffing the drink. “A mojito? Really? I’m pregnant, Gordon.”

“The kid isn’t going to turn into a lush from one cocktail,” Director Miles says. “And I have a feeling mommy needs a drink.”

“Mommy does, but not right now,” VanderVoort says, setting the cocktail down on the workstation closest to her. The tech sitting there flinches and quickly moves it away from the equipment and down onto the floor. VanderVoort rolls her eyes and looks over at Dr. Hall and Alvarez. “Thoughts, boys?”

“The smaller one, the Icelandic monster, looked as if it knew how to attack the larger one,” Dr. Hall says. “But it wasn’t prepared enough to take it down.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” VanderVoort frowned. “Was it just me, or was the Yellowstone monster unfamiliar with the Iceland one?”

“It wasn’t just you,” Alvarez replies. “The big one didn’t know about the tail or the tongue until after the attacks. That says it hasn’t come in contact with a monster like the Icelandic one before.”

“Of course it hasn’t come in contact with a monster like that before!” Secretary of Defense Jeremy Borland snaps. “How could it? These things have just now come crawling out of the ground!”

“Jeremy,” President Nance says. “Calm yourself.”

“Mr. President, this is ridiculous,” Borland responds. “These people talk like they are observing wildlife on the Serengeti. As if these monsters are part of some natural way. They are not! These are abominations from Hell and they need to be sent back there! Now!”

There are more than a few voices that respond in agreement, all eyes turning to President Nance for his input.

“Ms. VanderVoort is handling the situation,” President Nance says. “She is the expert in this type of crisis and we will defer to her. Mainly because we have no choice and an international directive prohibits any of us from stopping her.”

“Loving the vote of confidence, Charles,” VanderVoort says. “I’ll have to remember to get you a thank you gift basket when this is all done.”

“You have my confidence,” President Nance replies. “In fact, I am glad it’s you in charge and not me. I have a distinct feeling this war of monsters will not go our way.”

“Come on, Mr. President,” Director Miles says. “That’s not exactly the team spirit.”

“It’s okay, Gordon,” VanderVoort says. “I knew what I was getting into when I took this crap ass job. The bright side is if I fail then I probably won’t live to know it. No one will.”

Director Miles downs his drink and clinks the ice against the side of the glass. “Nice bright side.”

“Ma’am?” a tech calls out. “The French monster should reach Yellowstone within the next hour.”

“That soon?” VanderVoort replies. “What about the others?”

“The Italian monster is resting in Georgia,” the tech says and shakes his head. “Or waiting. Hard to tell. It does look like the advance troops from both the French and Italian regions are making it across the Atlantic. That should make things interesting.”

“Yes, it should,” VanderVoort says. She walks to an empty chair and sits heavily, her hands rubbing at her belly. “I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes. Wake me when the interesting happens.”

People look about uneasily as VanderVoort closes her eyes. The noise in the room diminishes considerably.

“You all can keep talking,” VanderVoort says. “I can cat nap through an earthquake, a hurricane, and Dorothy’s twister.”

It takes a while for the volume to build back up, no one quite sure if she’s kidding or not.

***

The store is in ruins, but stable enough that both Bolton and Holt feel confident to venture inside. They let their eyes adjust to the gloom before they begin their hunt for supplies.

“I’ll look for bike parts and ammo,” Holt says. “You hunt for food and drink.”

Bolton looks about the demolished sporting goods store and frowns. “If there’s anything left. Most of this country was looking for freeze dried food and sports drinks just before it all went to shit. Despite evacuation orders, a lot of people decided to hunker down in place.”

“Find what you can,” Holt says, nodding. “I’ll do the same.”

Bolton gives a thumbs up, and with M4 up to his shoulder, hurries off to the left of the store while Holt moves off to the right.

It takes Holt a few minutes to navigate the mounds of junk and broken shelving. He steps over piles of workout clothes that will take a century to breakdown due to their synthetic fibers and recycled plastics materials. He tucks a shoulder and shoves a leaning display of Nike merchandise out of the way so he can then scramble over the hill of running shoes only a meter beyond.

He tries to be as quiet as possible, but gives up after the racks of empty sports bottles comes clattering down on top of him after he is forced to shift an end cap of tennis rackets to the left to squeeze past the bin of deflated basketballs.

It isn’t until the last sports bottle stops bouncing on the concrete floor that Holt hears the scraping sound coming from the far corner of the store. His MK14 is up and aiming at the shadows, the flashlight under the barrel barely making a dent in the darkness of the big box store. He sweeps his rifle back and forth, eyes straining to make out a shape, a threat, anything that could be a danger to him or Bolton. After a minute of seeing nothing, Holt relaxes, slightly, and continues his trek to the bike section up against the far wall.

Another noise, more scraping, and a quiet thunk.

“Hello?” Holt calls. “Who’s there?”

He’s greeted with silence.

“Show yourself,” Holt orders, moving away from the direction of the bikes and towards the direction of the noise. “I will shoot if you don’t respond. I’ll give you to the count of five.”

He starts and finishes his count then sighs, not liking the situation at all. He walks a few feet, stops. Listens, walks some more, stops, listens, continuing that way for a while. Holt could call out to Bolton, but he’s fairly certain the man is making his way over if he’s even half the professional Holt knows him to be, so Holt remains quiet. A few more feet, stop, listen, wait. Nothing.

“Shit,” Holt mutters as he gets to the corner and sees a door with the words “Employees Only” stenciled on it. His instinct is to forget about the door, let whatever is creating the noise stay undisturbed. But his training is to clear the area, making 100% sure nothing can come up on his six while he’s hunting down needed bike parts for his and Bolton’s journey. “Fucking shit.”

He glances around, double checking the immediate area, looking for any threats he hasn’t caught. No movement, no sounds except for the scraping coming from behind the door. Holt reaches out with his left hand while his right maintains a solid grip on his rifle. Carefully, slowly, he tests the door handle, pushing down on it until the audible click of the latch releasing echoes into the store.

Before he can get the door open even an inch, it is yanked free from his hand and he has to lean back on his heels to keep from toppling forward. Hands, all glowing green, push between the door and the jamb, their fingers made of dripping ooze.

“Shit!” Holt cries out, knowing exactly what he’s unleashed. He makes a grab for the door handle, hoping he can slam it shut, but the hands push harder and the door is lost from his reach as a dozen ooze creatures try to get out of the storeroom at the same time.

Holt backs away quickly then turns and runs, almost colliding with Bolton.

“Holy crap,” Bolton says, seeing the ooze creatures. “Looks like the employee meeting is over.”

“You find anything?” Holt asks as the two men rush around the debris to get back to the front entrance.

“No,” Bolton says. “The place has been picked clean. I saw that right away and came over to help you. I’m guessing you didn’t get to the parts.”

“Heard the noise and went to investigate,” Holt replies. He glances over at the wall of mountain bikes and the collapsed rows of shelving that hold the parts they need. “Should we risk it?”

Bolton shakes his head, pointing is chin back towards the storeroom. “We won’t have time.”

“Next town then,” Holt says.

“Next town then,” Bolton agrees.

They climb over shoes, clothes, around bins, between shelves, until they are at the front of the sporting goods store once again. Then they both freeze.

“They must have followed us,” Holt says, his eyes doing a quick tally of the ooze creatures that shamble across the cracked and buckled parking lot.

“Or were called by their friends in back,” Bolton says.

“Can they do that?” Holt asks.

“I have no idea,” Bolton says. “But I wouldn’t be surprised.”

At least a hundred human-shaped ooze monsters converge on the store, the front wave less than twenty yards away from where Holt and Bolton parked their bikes.

“Make a break?” Bolton asks.

“Do we have much of a choice?” Holt responds.

“Nope,” Bolton sighs.

Holt pulls a smoke canister from his pack, yanks the pin, and tosses it out into the parking lot just in front of the mob of ooze creatures. The two soldiers use the cover to run to their bikes, get on, and pedal parallel with the things. They are almost to the edge of the mob when they both hit their brakes, swerving to avoid the crowd of creatures coming from around the side of the building.

Another smoke canister, a change of direction, and they are biking along the side of the parking lot mob, both very aware of their proximity to the ooze creatures and the insecurity of their position. Holt points to the edge of the parking lot where several skeletons of dead hedges stand, their dried out branches vibrating in the slight wind that kicks up. Bolton nods and they take aim.

Holt hits the curb first, lifts up on his bike, and pedals over the border that used to be brown mulch but is now grey ash. His front tire wants to sink into the soft earth, but he pulls up more and keeps it from getting stuck.

“Careful!” he shouts at Bolton over his shoulder. “It’s soft!”

“Thanks!” Bolton yells back, right on his tail.

Holt bounces his bike over the far side and down into the feeder road that connects the sporting goods store with the big box electronics store right next door. Holt has to laugh as he sees the fire scorched front of the electronics store, shaking his head at the fact people took the time to loot it when none of the equipment stolen even works anymore.

There are some loud hisses and Holt glances back to see the ooze mob shifting directions, turning to pursue the two men. He doesn’t panic, knowing the bikes will outrun the ooze creatures easily.

“Fuck!” Bolton yells and slams on his brakes.

Holt turns back and nearly shits himself as he sees what’s coming towards them.

“No fucking way,” Holt says, his head turning left and right, his eyes trying to find shelter, somewhere the men can get to safety. “Diesels.”

A herd of the four-legged, silver tongued, 75-foot-tall monsters -diesels- is rushing right at them. Close to twenty of the things thump and thud forward with their segmented, independently jointed legs, covering the distance in seconds.

Holt is about to unsling his rifle and take aim, but Bolton grabs him first and yanks him off his bike. They stumble over to the corner of the road and down into a shallow culvert. Then Holt sees what Bolton sees and he smiles, tightening the strap on his rifle as he crawls inside the large metal drainage pipe half buried by muddy ash. They are both inside and turned around when the large monsters begin to roar.

The metal of the drainage pipe vibrates with the sounds of the nightmare herd and Holt winces. He looks over at Bolton and can see the man is in just as much discomfort as he is. Their view is obscured by the culvert’s edges, so they just hunker down and wait.

More roars, more vibrations, then a loud hissing sound, as if a basket of snakes is shaken and upended. The roars become more urgent and the metal pipe is no longer vibrating from just the sounds, but also from the impacts of the giants’ footfalls. The things are rushing past the culvert and Holt and Bolton tuck themselves into balls, heads between legs, arms over heads, both waiting for the world to collapse on them.

It takes all of Holt’s self-control to keep from screaming as his whole body shakes. He tries to wedge himself against the pipe, but the curved sides are so coated with ashy mud that he just slides down to the center, piling up against Bolton and storm debris.

The men lie there, back to back, their bodies shuddering from the impacts above, their ears ringing from the roars and thuds. To Holt it feels like eternity before things begin to quiet down. He can hardly believe it when the last thuds shake him and the roars become far off echoes, not ear-bursting immediacy.

Neither man moves for a very long time, both making sure the threat has passed.

Cautiously, Holt uncurls from his fetal position of safety and glances at the opening to the pipe. A few feet of mud and dirt have collapsed over the opening, but sunlight can be seen. Holt and Bolton crawl forward, both feeling that now is the time to move. They quickly dig enough space to squeeze through and pull themselves free, clambering up out of the culvert as soon as they are clear of the pipe.

The outlines of the monster herd can be seen far, far off. What they see immediately before them is what holds their attention.

The parking lot is nothing but rubble, pocked with steaming spots where ooze creatures met their demise. Many look like they have been stomped into the ground so hard their very molecules have come undone. A few ooze creatures slither about, trying to reform into something mobile after their encounter with the large beasts.

“Do those look they have been bitten in half or is it just me?” Holt asks.

“That’s exactly what they look like,” Bolton says. “And what’s that smell?”

“Ammonia? No, something else,” Holt says.

They stand there, their senses alert, waiting until they feel confident to move on.

“Store is still there,” Bolton says.

“Yes, it is,” Holt agrees. “Worth another try.”

“Maybe some of the ooze things retreated back inside,” Bolton suggests.

“Maybe,” Holt says. “But I doubt it.”

“Me too,” Bolton responds. “Don’t know why, but I do.”

They walk over to their bikes and frown. Both are mangled into useless scrap.

“Don’t really have a choice,” Holt says, nodding to the sporting goods store. “We won’t get far without wheels.”

“Full bikes only,” Bolton says as they slowly step around giant cracks in the asphalt. “We’ll deal with parts later. Right now we get up and get going.”

“Agreed,” Holt says.

They traverse the destroyed parking lot, keeping well away from any remains of the ooze monsters. They get halfway across the lot when Bolton pulls up, his hand over his nose and mouth. He points with his M4 at a pile of steaming something.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Holt replies, his hand up as well. “That’s monster shit.”

“Jesus,” Bolton says, nearly gagging from the fumes coming off the giant pile of excrement. “I almost miss nearly choking on ammonia gas. Never thought I’d smell something worse.”

“It’s now a world of firsts and surprises,” Holt says, fumbling his gas mask from his belt. He shakes out the mud and ash then slips it over his head. “It’ll make seeing inside a bitch, but better than sucking in the fumes from that.”

“No shit,” Bolton says, doing the same with his gas mask. “Actually, a lot of shit. Way too much shit.”

The men hurry back into the sporting goods store, ready for a second try at outfitting their impossible journey.

***

She clears her throat and sees him stiffen at the noise. She pats at the fresh bandages on her face.

“Hey,” Krissy says, finally going to look in on the young man like Terrie has pestered her to do for hours. “Listen—”

“I am sorry I didn’t let you in,” Tony says. “I am sorry I killed people. I am very sorry. Please leave me alone now.”

“Uh…okay,” Krissy replies and starts to turn, but stops halfway and spins back. “You know what? Not okay. I know Terrie says you are working on a way to make a radio so we can call for help, but that doesn’t mean you get to hide in here by yourself.”

“This is my room. This is my area,” Tony says. “This area is where I can work and think and not have to worry about interruptions. So far there have been interruptions. Due to those interruptions, there is no way you could extrapolate that I am hiding. To hide, I would have to be hidden, and I would have to not be in an area designated as mine. If anything, I am in plain sight, right where I should be.”

“It’s just an expression,” Krissy says.

“Stupid expression,” Tony replies.

Krissy thinks for a second. “Yeah, it is. My mom used to say it to me all the time when I’d go up to my room to be alone. That was my area. My room. Can’t really hide in your own room, can you?”

“Not without being very clever,” Tony says. “You do not strike me as that clever.”

“Hey!” Krissy snaps. “Fuck you too!”

She turns again then just as before she whips back around, angry.

“We’re going up top to look for Linda and your grandfather,” Krissy says, “That’s really why I am in here. There is a gun locker in one of the other wings and we need to get into it so we can be armed up there.”

“Won’t make much difference,” Tony says. “The ratio of size of the creatures to the firepower of the rifles in that gun locker is horribly off. You would be killed and eaten before doing any significant damage.”

“Probably,” Krissy says. “But at least we’ll be trying to save lives while you’re just sitting there playing tech nerd.”

Tony looks back at her, his eyes filled with anger.

“Don’t call me a nerd,” he snaps. “I am not a nerd. I have diverse interests that are well outside the parameters of what are considered part of a typical nerd’s interest. I am more than a slur.”

“Aren’t we all,” Krissy says. “So maybe not call me a mean girl, alright?”

Tony’s eyes widen then narrow, he turns back to his work. “That was not supposed to be repeated,” he says. “I now know that Terrie cannot be trusted with words of confidence.”

“Listen are you going to help us open the gun locker or not?” Krissy asks.

“I am not,” Tony replies.

“Then screw you very much,” Krissy says, this time fully committing as she turns and leaves the room. She is down the tunnel and into the main room quickly, her face burning with anger. “Fuck that guy!”

Terrie looks up from where she’s sitting on the ground next to Biscuit. She holds out a hand and Krissy reluctantly goes to her and helps her up on her feet.

“Didn’t go so well?” Terrie asks.

“No. It didn’t,” Krissy snaps. “He’s fucking retarded.”

“Hey now,” Terrie replies. “No need to be so harsh.”

“Well, he is,” Krissy says. “The guy can barely communicate. He got all pissed when I called him a nerd.”

“People get offended when they are called names,” Terrie says.

“Well, he is a nerd,” Krissy growls. “A retarded nerd that—”

“That is tired of mean girls being mean,” Tony says as he walks into the room. He strides past Terrie and Krissy to a door on the other side of the room. He opens it and stands to the side. “Coming?”

“Where?” Krissy asks, pointing to another door. “That’s where we found the gun locker.”

“I told you I’m not opening the gun locker,” Tony nearly spits. “Now who is retarded?” He points at Krissy. “You, mean girl, that’s who.”

Before Krissy can respond, Terrie puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder and clamps down. Hard.

“Where are we going, Tony?” Terrie asks.

“Armory,” Tony says, sighs, and walks through the door.

Terrie and Krissy share a look then follow.

Tony is halfway down the tunnel, waiting for them with his hands on his hips. The lights above flicker and he grumbles. “Going to need to charge the batteries. I’ll have to ride the bike, since you two are going outside to die and leave me all alone.”

When Terrie and Krissy reach him, he stretches until his fingers touch the ceiling, a few inches from a caged lightbulb. He jumps once then twice then smiles as a loud click echoes in the tunnel. He pushes against the wall and it swings away, revealing another, shorter tunnel.

“Come on,” he says and walks down the tunnel to the door at the end. He grabs the wheel in the center of the door and gives it a hard twirl. It spins quickly then clunks to a stop. Tony pulls the door open and lights inside the room automatically flicker on. “See. Armory.”

He grins from ear to ear at the looks on Krissy’s and Terrie’s faces.

“My Lord,” Terrie whispers. “There must be hundreds of guns.”

“Four hundred and thirty-one,” Tony says. “Most are semi-automatic rifles with the rest semi-automatic pistols. There are some hunting rifles, but not many. Those are in the gun locker.”

“Uh, what are those?” Krissy asks, still standing in the tunnel as she points at a wall of large, strange-looking weapons.

“SAMs,” Tony says. “Surface to air missiles. Those should drop the monsters. But you don’t know how to use them, so they are pointless for you to take.”

Terrie turns to Tony. “Do you know how to use them?”

“Of course,” Tony says. “But I’m not coming with you.” He points at the long wall of weapons. “You’ll have to use those and hope they work well enough to keep the monsters from eating you.”

Then he turns and walks off.

Terrie and Krissy look from the room, to each other, and back to the room.

“We need those SAMs,” Terrie says.

“Yeah,” Krissy replies.

“You are going to have to stop being cruel to him,” Terrie says. “Or he won’t ever show us how to use them.”

“You don’t know how?” Krissy says. “I thought you were military or something.”

“Former US Marshal,” Terrie says. “I never used a SAM before. Wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“Great,” Krissy says. She starts to say more then shakes her head.

“Will it be so hard to be nice?” Terrie asks.

“Yeah,” Krissy says.

“Tough,” Terrie says and walks into the armory. “Come on. Let’s get some gear. I’ll show you how these work.”

Krissy grumbles, slumps her shoulders, and follows Terrie into the armory.

Eight

Lowell checks and double checks the doors to the lab, making sure they are secure and locked. He stares at the keypad and sensor plate on the wall, wondering if he shouldn’t smash them to make sure nothing can get in. But with his luck he figures the second he does, the locks will disengage and the doors will slide wide open.

He sits heavily on a lab table, M16 in his hands, his legs dangling and kicking back and forth. A couple feet away, staggered between the other lab tables are the gurneys holding Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst. Lowell glances at a wall clock and realizes that they have been unconscious for a couple hours. Whatever happened in the control room was the same thing that happened when they were in the cafeteria. Except this time he didn’t even get a headache.

Well, not a bad one.

He glances around the lab, in the dark completely about the equipment and apparatuses that line the work benches and walls. The lab wasn’t his first choice, he wanted to go back to the armory and equipment areas, but those doors wouldn’t open for him and he didn’t have time to figure out why. Not with three headless freaks on his ass.

But as he checks out the lab, he realizes it may have been the right choice after all. Labs are dangerous places, filled with all kinds of ways that accidents can happen, especially fiery accidents. And fire killed Dr. Bennet so stands to reason that fire will kill the other headless monstrosities that are probably roaming the corridors of the facility looking for his ass.

“I really wish you people would wake the fuck up,” Lowell says.

“Who are you calling ‘you people’?” Dr. Probst grumbles, her eyes still closed, but one hand slowly reaching up to her forehead. “Oh, wow. Moving is not good.”

“Then don’t move,” Lowell replies. “You’re the closest thing to a doctor around here, so I wouldn’t push your luck.”

“I’m not a medical doctor, Lowell,” Dr. Probst says. “I’ve told you—”

“I know, I know,” Lowell interrupts. “That’s what I mean. You are the closest to a medical doctor we have. Those other three yahoos aren’t even in the running anymore.”

Dr. Probst slowly opens her eyes and blinks against the glare of the overhead lights. She shields her eyes and pushes up on one elbow. Lowell lets her take a couple minutes to look around and size up the situation.

“Where are the others?” Dr. Probst asks. “Did you leave them in the control room?”

Then she gasps and sits up straight. Her body sways and she turns quickly before throwing up over the side of the gurney.

“Too fast,” she mutters. She wipes the back of her mouth with her hand and squints over at Lowell. “Please tell me you grabbed my laptop.”

“I did,” Lowell replies, pointing to the computer on a counter against one of the walls. “Snagged it right away. Wasn’t what I wanted to do, what with the headless bodies thrashing and warping and turning all Thing and shit.”

“That’s a lot of ands,” Dr. Probst says then freezes. “Headless? What do you mean?”

“Their heads exploded,” Lowell says. “You three passed out and those three went kasplooshy. Brains everywhere. I’m still picking shit out of my hair, man. Not cool. Not cool at all.”

“So Burkhorst, Scofield, and McDaniels are all dead?” Dr. Probst asks.

“Well, not sure I’d go that far,” Lowell replies. “If your definition of dead means anything without a head shouldn’t be able to move and grow weird tentacles from their neck holes then, no, they are most certainly not fucking dead.”

“Tentacles from their neck holes?” Dr. Probst repeats. “Hand me my laptop.”

“Yes, ma’am, right away, ma’am,” Lowell smirks and jumps down from the table. He saunters over and grabs the laptop then saunters back and gives Dr. Probst a deep bow before handing it to her. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“Fuck off, Lowell,” Dr. Probst says and opens her computer. She logs on and sighs, her whole body relaxing. ‘‘It’s there. The data is still there.”

“Good for the data,” Lowell says. “Not sure how that helps us.”

“It doesn’t,” Dr. Probst says. “But it may help save the world.”

“That’s good,” Lowell says. “But I’d like to save our asses first, if that’s possible.”

“Working on that,” Dr. Probst says. She taps at the keys for a minute then swears up and down. “I need security clearance. I’m just a guest here.”

“Aren’t we all,” Lowell says. “And I have to say our hosts’ hospitality sucks so far.”

“Maybe I can fix that,” Dr. Probst says. More key tapping then a smile. “I need to speak to VanderVoort.”

“She’s, uh, very busy right now,” a tech’s voice replies.

Lowell comes around the side of the gurney so he can see what’s on the screen. The image of the White House situation room bunker fills the screen with a freaked out looking tech taking up most of the space.

“We’re, uh, stuck in a facility with headless freak monsters coming after us,” Lowell snaps and flips the tech off. “So go get the boss lady now, please.”

“Lowell,” Dr. Probst snaps. “I have this. Go check on the others.”

Lowell looks over at Kyle and Lu. “Still asleep. Checking all done.”

“I need authorization to take control of the facility,” Dr. Probst says. “Drs. Burkhorst, Scofield, and McDaniels are all dead. I’m all that’s left. And I think I may have an idea of how to stop the giant monster.”

“Which one?” the tech grumbles. “We have a lot of giant monsters we’re dealing with right now.”

“Just get me VanderVoort!” Dr. Probst yells. The tech blanches, turns from his workstation, and starts calling out for VanderVoort.

Lowell takes a step back and appraises Dr. Probst. “Wow. You would probably last a lot longer in the pen than I originally thought.”

“I am assuming that’s a compliment,” Dr. Probst replies as VanderVoort’s face moves into view.

“Dr. Probst? I have been informed the others are dead,” VanderVoort says. “And you want control of the facility?”

“That is correct,” Dr. Probst replies. “Although, Lowell has informed me that the doctors may not be fully dead.”

“They’re fully dead,” Lowell says. “Just not exactly staying down, if you get what I mean.”

VanderVoort sighs. “Unfortunately, I do get what you mean.” She looks to the side and frowns. “They are currently three corridors away from you and have mutated considerably. I wish you’d contacted us sooner. We could have disposed of them faster.”

“But you can dispose of them now?” Lowell asks. “Pretty please?”

“No,” VanderVoort says and then waves her hand back at someone trying to get her attention. “Hold on! Jesus. As it stands, I can only access individual room purges or full corridor purges. If we purge the corridors then they will be impassable for hours. I have a feeling you do not want to stay trapped in that room for the next few hours.” More voices call for her off-screen. “I know, dammit! Hold on! Listen, Dr. Probst, we are in the middle of something right now. I’m not sure what else I can do for you at the moment.”

“I need full control of the facility,” Dr. Probst says. “That’s what you can do. Hand it over to me and I’ll figure out how to get us out of this mess. I can also reroute the databases to my laptop and access all info on this facility and the Substance. If I do that, I may be able to confirm my theory on how to stop this thing. Or at least slow it down.”

“You want to fill me in?” VanderVoort asks then sighs and slams her hand down. “OKAY! Listen, I have to deal with the next giant monster battle, so I am going to trust you, Dr. Probst. But tell me one thing first. How certain are you about this theory?”

“Did she say giant monster battle?” Lowell asks.

“Hush,” Dr. Probst snaps. “I am not very certain, that’s why I need access to the data. If I can compare readings, and some past behaviors of the Substance, then I can get very certain.”

“Fine,” VanderVoort says. “You are now being promoted. That facility is yours. I’ll have a tech get you full access in the next few minutes. Hang tight until then.”

VanderVoort turns from the screen, yelling at several people at once, her hands gripping her belly.

“Uh…Thank you,” Dr. Probst says as the screen goes dark, the connection severed.

“She did say giant monster battle, right?” Lowell asks. “And next? What the hell does that mean? The next giant monster battle? Was there a first?”

“Apparently,” Dr. Probst says as she taps at her keyboard. “Now leave me alone. I need to analyze the data I have before I dive into the facility’s database once I’m granted access.”

“I have a better idea of what to do when you’re granted access,” Lowell says. “Kill the mini-monsters stalking the halls.”

“You heard VanderVoort,” Dr. Probst says. “If we purge the corridors then we will be stuck in here for hours. I don’t want to be stuck in here for hours.”

“Why the hell not?” Lowell grumbles. “Stuck in here or stuck anywhere else in this fucking hole in the ground, all the same, right?”

“No,” Dr. Probst says, looking up at Lowell. “We may need to move closer.”

“Closer? Closer to what?” Lowell asks then realization dawns. “No way. You want to go see the Substance up close and personal, don’t you? That is fucked up, Doc. Seriously fucked up. You have heard how that shit will drive you mad, right?”

“Yes, Lowell, I have heard that,” Dr. Probst says. “But that’s with long-term exposure. I think that is why the other doctors changed. They have been down here too long. The sooner I get to see the Substance, the better chance I have of not being influenced by its…”

“Influence?” Lowell chuckles. “If that’s the real issue then you should send me there. I didn’t pass out once when all the weirdness went down. You and the others went night night right away. I’m not saying they are related, but… Shit. I am not liking that smile on your face. Why are you smiling like that?’

“When the other doctors changed is when the energy pulse was emitted,” Dr. Probst says. “Same with us passing out. I believe there is a direct correlation. And the fact you didn’t lose consciousness is very promising.”

“Promising for who?” Lowell snaps. “And what energy pulse?”

Dr. Probst taps at her screen. “That is what I have been talking about. That is the data I need to compare. And if you are immune to the pulse, for whatever reason, then you just became one of the most important assets in this facility.”

“Nope,” Lowell says, shaking his head and holding up his hands. “Don’t want to be an asset. Not on my bucket list.”

There’s a soft thud against the lab doors. Dr. Probst and Lowell both turn and look that direction. Another thud quickly follows. Then another and another. Dr. Probst looks around then points to a desktop computer in the corner.

“As soon as I have access to everything, I want you to monitor the things out there,” Dr. Probst says. “Find us a way to get around them or kill them without having to purge the corridors. You think you can do that?”

“Figure out an escape route and save our butts?” Lowell asks. “Yeah, that is something I can do.”

“Good,” Dr. Probst says then looks at Lu and Kyle. “We should probably wake them up.”

“Yeah, waking up a grumpy US Marshal and her surly teenager is a great idea,” Lowell says. “How’s that going to help your productivity?”

“Good point,” Dr. Probst says. “We’ll let them wake up on their own.”

Several more thuds against the doors echo in the lab. Lowell swallows and sits down by the desktop computer, his hands still gripping the M16. He makes sure he keeps his finger away from the trigger, just in case he gets twitchy.

***

“You keep that shotgun pointed down and away from me when we get outside,” Terrie says, turning to look Krissy in the eye.

Which are about all that show from her face. Terrie had made sure to clean the wounds and put fresh bandages on the girl again before they even left the main room. The outside is a dirty, ashy, mud-filled place now and Terrie isn’t sure she could handle it if Krissy’s face becomes infected. Handle it medically or emotionally.

“I know, I know,” Krissy replies, her voice slightly muffled from the way the bandages bunch up around her lips and under her chin. “Keep it pointed down and only bring it up if I am going to fire it.”

“And…?” Terrie prompts.

“And make sure you aren’t standing in the way if I do fire it,” Krissy answers. “I’m not going to shoot you, Terrie. Shit.”

“Famous last words the person getting shot hears,” Terrie says. She slings her own shotgun over her shoulder and grabs the wheel to the outside hatch door. “Ready?”

“Not even a little,” Krissy says. “I don’t know why we’re doing this. They’re probably dead.”

“Probably,” Terrie says. “But I was probably dead and you found me.”

“Biscuit found you,” Krissy replies and looks back over her shoulder at the far end of the tunnel. “And we don’t have him with us.”

“Getting him up and out of here would be a problem since neither of us are in the greatest shape,” Terrie says. “And he needs his rest. The tangle he had with that monster hurt him more than he’s letting on. I know my Biscuit and he’s probably got a couple broken ribs, some torn ligaments and a sprained something, for sure.”

“A sprained something?” Krissy snorts.

“Not a vet, girl,” Terrie replies, spinning the wheel on the hatch. She yanks it open and hobbles back out of the way. Once open, she slowly peers outside. “Dark again. We’ve been down here a lot longer than it feels.”

“Speak for yourself,” Krissy says. “Because it feels like forever.”

Terrie doesn’t reply, just walks out into the hole that is now several feet shallower than before.

“Looks like the monster tried to dig down at us,” Terrie says, nodding to the edge of the hole that is only a foot above her chin instead of several feet. “Cleared things out for us. I’ll give you a boost up and then you can help me.”

“I’ll give you a boost up,” Krissy counters. “You have the bad ankle. You won’t hold my weight.”

Terrie starts to argue, but realizes Krissy is right. A step towards the edge on her ankle proves that quickly.

“Fine,” Terrie says, taking the coiled rope from around Krissy’s shoulder and tucking her head and arm into it. “I’ll get up there and secure this then you can climb out.”

“I can reach the edge,” Krissy says. “I can climb out fine on my own. It’s my face that’s fucked, not my legs and arms.”

After a few grunting attempts, Krissy manages to boost Terrie up out of the hole. The older woman rests for a minute, keeping all the weight off her bad ankle. She looks down and Krissy is sizing up the side of the hole, looking for the best purchase.

“Here,” Terrie says as she limps over to a thick, fallen tree and ties one end of the rope around it. She limps back and tosses the other in at Krissy. “It’ll just be easier.”

Terrie can see the defiance on the girl’s face and waits for the refusal. But Krissy surprises her by grabbing the rope and walking herself up out of the hole. Without being asked to, she begins coiling the rope until she’s at the fallen tree. She unties the end, coils that, and slings the rope over her shoulder and chest, snug against her shotgun.

“Ready?” Krissy asks, finding a nice-sized walking stick and handing it to Terrie.

“Ready,” Terrie says, taking the stick gratefully. “I would say we go further into the island. The wave will have pushed them that way like it did to us.”

“Sounds good,” Krissy says. She looks around with wide eyes, her head twitching this way and that at every noise.

Terrie grins and pats Krissy on the shoulder. “Relax,” she says. “If anything comes for us, we’ll have plenty of time to hear it.”

“The big ones, yeah,” Krissy says. “But what about those ooze things? Haven’t seen those in a while.”

“We’ll be fine,” Terrie says, but glances up into the darkening sky, remembering the monsters that had dropped the ooze eggs, melting and turning things into more terrible creations.

***

“Fuck, man,” Bolton hisses at Holt. “They are everywhere.”

Hours of riding and the two men are exhausted, forced to climb onto what is left of a supermarket roof. It is a defensible position from the ooze creatures that swarm out in the broken streets outside the town of Glenns Ferry, Idaho. The two men made good time, keeping to smaller highways and back roads that seemed to survive the planetary upheaval that has destroyed most of the area.

Holt tracks a large group of ooze creatures with his night vision goggles, many of the things looking like they were once cows or elk in their previous incarnations. He flips his goggles up onto his helmet and nods at Bolton, no words of agreement needed.

The two men slowly, quietly scoot away from the crumbling edge of the building to a small hide they made out of sheet metal and broken wooden pallets. They slide inside and Bolton pulls out a plastic-coated map. He turns on a small flashlight, shielding the light with his fingers, only allowing enough out so they can see their route and destination.

“Here,” Bolton says. “We’ve come a long way in a couple of days.”

“My legs are very aware of that,” Holt sighs. “We need to find water soon or we’re going to be a pile of cramps.”

“True,” Bolton says. “It looks like there is a nice string of small towns from here to the Utah border. We’ll keep checking for supplies along the way. You have salt tablets?”

Holt pats a pocket in his gear vest.

“Good,” Bolton says. “We conserve the water we have and make sure we take our salt.”

“Thoughts on getting past the mutant Disney Light Parade down there?” Holt asks.

“You sound like Lowell sometimes,” Bolton smirks. “But that was a good one.”

“Anything to keep from screaming,” Holt replies.

“There are a couple of roads that lead away from this town,” Bolton says, tapping at the map. “The ooze things seem to like whatever road that is out there. We’ll take this one, cut around here, and then get back on course. We’ll lose about an hour, but it’s better than dealing with those things.”

A far off roar and shudder make them both freeze. They look up from the map and out of their hide, Bolton twisting the flashlight off immediately. There’s another roar, but this time from a different direction. The building shakes for a second then settles after several ominous creaks and groans.

“First was a diesel,” Bolton whispers. “Second was bigger.”

“You sure?” Holt asks. “Maybe it’s just closer.”

“Nope,” Bolton says. “They have different roars. That second was one of the big ones.”

Holt chuckles quietly and shakes his head. “The big ones. Like the diesels are the size of a poodle.”

“The diesels feed on the ooze things, we know that,” Bolton says. “And I’m pretty sure the big ones feed on the diesels. We stay out of their way and they’ll take care of each other.”

“Who takes care of the big ones?” Holt asks.

“We do,” Bolton replies. “Once we get down to Colorado and complete our mission. With any luck, the bases will still have personnel and all we’ll have to do is relay orders.”

“Bummer,” Holt says. “I was hoping to fly some laser drones and slice and dice the bastards myself.”

“Could still happen,” Bolton says. He folds the map and tucks it away then looks out of the hide at the thickening darkness. “Sleep or ride?”

“We may not have a better place to sleep,” Holt says. “I say we catch some shut eye, just an hour or two, then we ride. We’re getting good at reading the road with the NVGs.”

“True,” Bolton says, stretching out with his head propped against his pack. “Two hours tops and we hit the road.”

Holt gives him a thumbs up and is already closing his eyes. Bolton closes his eyes as well, making a mental note to wake up in two hours. Most people would fall asleep and keep sleeping, but years and years of training will make sure that Bolton wakes up at the right time. Odds are he’ll wake up in an hour then fall back asleep for another hour until time to go.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get that chance.

The building shudders violently and several roars fill the air.

Bolton and Holt sit up and grab their packs, moving out of the hide and towards the side of the building where they left their bikes and had climbed up. Both pause at the edge to survey the area, their NVGs turning the dark night into a glowing green landscape.

“There,” Bolton whispers, pointing to the northeast. “Diesels.”

“They have something on their asses,” Holt says.

Obscured by distance and ashy fog, one of the big monsters stomps its way after the herd of diesels, closing quickly on the smaller monsters that only stand 75 feet tall instead of a few hundred feet.

Bolton takes one last look then quickly climbs down, uncovering the bikes they’d hidden under a pile of trash. He waits for Holt then hands the other man his bike once he’s down on ground. They both stare out at the line of ooze monsters trudging along in the street, turn their bikes the opposite direction, and quickly pedal off through the remnants of the demolished strip mall the supermarket anchored.

Past a burned out Starbucks, past a Subway, a discount cell phone store, an e-cigarette emporium, Bolton and Holt ride as fast as they can, hoping to put some space between them and the oncoming herd of diesels. There’s nothing they can do about the bigger monsters, so neither of them even consider that thing a factor.

They cross a dried-up creek bed then come out into a small residential neighborhood. A few ooze creatures wander about, either mutated residents or stragglers that got split off from the main group. Bolton hears them hiss and swears under his breath. He has no idea how the things communicate, so he prays they can’t alert the others to his and Holt’s position.

“Left,” Holt grunts. “Next street.”

They turn left, heading for the back highway that will skirt the rest of the town and keep them from running into the ooze creatures. More roars, closer, tell them they don’t have much time before the diesels are close enough to spot them. Bolton has no doubt that if the diesels catch up they’ll come for them fast and it’ll be all over in a chomp. Despite their earlier successes fighting the things, Bolton knows that fatigue has severely cut their survival odds.

Down a side street, over to another, and then around a crater that was once an intersection and the two men are biking onto a two lane highway. The asphalt is buckled, like all the roads, but not nearly as bad as the main road. They hop chunks of pavement, swerve around deep potholes, and keep pedaling, their legs pumping and pumping without relief or rest in sight for a long time.

A thundering roar nearly knocks them from their bikes as they pass the vestiges of an elementary school. Bolton looks over his shoulder to see the bigger monster closing on the town, its body towering high into the air, its arms reaching down, down, down until it snatches up a diesel and twists it in half, jamming one half in its massive, snaggle-toothed mouth, chomping for a second then jamming the other half in.

The herd of diesels’ roars turns to screeches of fear and terror, a strange thing to hear from beasts that stand taller than three stories.

Holt cries out and Bolton looks forward again in time to dodge a pickup truck that lies on its side, half of its bed crushed as if stomped. Bolton doesn’t doubt that it was stomped. Once around the pickup, Bolton squeezes the brakes, sliding his bike to the side before he topples into the chasm before them.

Holt reaches him and they look one direction then the next.

“Some weird fault line,” Holt says. “It runs forever in both directions.”

“Can we jump it?” Bolton asks.

“On the bikes?” Holt chuckles. “Maybe when I was seventeen, full of stupid and light beer. Not happening now.”

“Then which way?” Bolton asks.

The diesels screech and screech as a roar shakes the earth. The chomping of a second diesel is easy to hear and Bolton and Holt don’t even turn around to look. They focus on their problem at hand.

“It’s only twenty feet across,” Holt says. “We can crawl that.”

“There,” Bolton says, spying a fallen telephone pole. “Stand that up and then let it fall. If we’re lucky it’ll stay put.”

“Yay,” Holt says.

They hurry to the telephone pole and slowly lift up one end, walking it upright until they have it precariously balanced. It is a shifting dance of shuffle and move, shuffle and move, to get the pole over to the edge of the chasm. They line it up with what they think is the most stable part of the opposite side then let go, both hurrying out of the way in case the pole kicks out.

It doesn’t. The pole lands with a thunk in the muck on the other side of the chasm, wedging itself in tightly between two hunks of pavement. Bolton checks the stability of their end and nods at Holt. Both men pull ropes from their packs and each tie an end to their bikes. They set the bikes close to the edge then tie the other ends to their belts.

“Probably going to fuck these up when we pull them over,” Bolton says.

“We’ll try not to,” Holt says.

Packs and equipment secured, the men waste no time shimmying across the chasm, one at a time. On the opposite side, Bolton reels in his rope, walking along the edge of the chasm so the rope loops and hangs over the pole. Once he has the right angle, he pulls until his bike falls off the far edge, swinging out into the open air. Carefully he pulls on the rope, spooling it around his hand and triceps. The bike moves along easily until the rope gets caught on a large splinter sticking up from the pole.

“Shit,” Bolton says.

“I got it,” Holt says, taking his pack off and setting it down before crawling back out onto the pole.

He gets to the rope, unsnags it, then starts crawling back.

Just as the huge monster roars and begins to stomp on the diesel herd. The monsters are only half a mile away and the force of the giant beast’s feet sends the pole bouncing up and down. Holt starts to grab onto the pole, but the far end bounces loose and he is suddenly in a free fall.

“The rope!” Bolton yells.

Holt reaches out, grabs the rope falling away from him and then loops his arm around it a few times before he is lost from Bolton’s sight. Bolton digs his heels into the ash and muck, ready for the impact. When Holt’s weight snaps the rope taught, Bolton is nearly yanked off his feet, but he manages to stay upright. His boots slide a meter until he can jam the heels into a crack in the road.

“Holt!” he shouts.

“Yeah!” Holt yells back from below. “You got me?”

“Barely!” Bolton shouts. “Let me tie this off! Don’t move!”

“Fuck you!” Holt calls back.

Bolton slowly walks backwards, mindful of each step on the uneven, slick ground. He makes it to a downed oak tree and wraps the rope around and under, around and under, until it snaps tight. He rushes back to the edge of the chasm and looks down. Holt is several feet below, the bike dangling under him.

“Climb on up,” Bolton says. “It’s secure.”

“Can’t,” Holt replies. He nods at his right arm where he looped the rope. “Shoulder is dislocated. Popped right out. I’d pop it back in, but the walls of this hole are too soft.”

“Fine,” Bolton says. “Cut the bike free and I’ll pull you up.”

“We’ll have to find you a new one,” Holt says.

Bolton points at Holt’s bike that still lies on the far side of the chasm.

“We’ll be shopping for both of us,” Bolton says. “Got a blade?”

Holt snorts and pulls a knife from a pocket in his fatigues then flicks out the blade. He reaches down, wincing in pain as his dislocated shoulder shifts. It takes him a minute to slice through the rope, but he gets it and Bolton’s bike falls loose, lost in the darkness below. It’s about thirty seconds before they hear it hit bottom.

“Shit,” Holt says. “Deep.”

“Come on,” Bolton says and starts pulling Holt up.

When Holt is finally at the edge, Bolton grabs onto him and hauls him out in one enormous yank. Holt’s face is white, almost glowing in the dark night, from the pain in his shoulder.

“Gonna hurt,” Bolton says, standing and grabbing Holt’s wrist. “One, two, three.”

He pulls and twists and the shoulder pops back into place. Holt gasps and lies there for a few seconds before offering his other hand. Bolton yanks him to his feet and they stand there looking at each other.

“Nice trick going on three,” Holt says. “No one ever goes on three.”

“Exactly,” Bolton says.

The ground shakes again and they watch as the huge monster stuffs its mouth full of diesel bodies, chomping hard enough to send hunks and chunks of the smaller monsters flying this way and that. One chunk lands only a few meters from them.

Bolton grabs up Holt’s pack and hands it to him. The man straps it on, his eyes narrowed as his shoulder protests. They take off at a jog.

They make it only a couple blocks before they realize they aren’t even close to out of the shit. Heading right at them, scurrying from a side street, is the parade of ooze monsters, all fleeing the stomping, chomping huge monster that has devoured the herd of diesels and is now looking for dessert.

“Fuck me,” Holt sighs.

The ooze creatures aren’t fast, but they have enough of a lead that they will obviously cut off the two men in seconds. Bolton makes a split second decision and pulls two grenades from his vest. He yanks out the pins with his teeth and tosses the grenades right in front of the ooze creatures, grabbing Holt by the pack and pulling him out of the street towards a leaning convenience store.

The grenades go off as they reach the glassless front doors and dive inside. Bits of asphalt and globs of mud spray the convenience store, but neither of the men get hit by the shrapnel. Bolton instantly gets to his feet, helping Holt up, and starts to rush outside, but slides to a stop as he sees the massive legs obscuring the night’s sky.

“Oh, fuck,” he says as the ground and everything around them shakes so violently they are knocked off their feet.

All the two men can do is scurry back on their asses, trying to get farther into the convenience store as the massive legs get closer and closer. Everything collapses around them and the last thing Bolton sees is a giant claw reaching down and grabbing up a stray ooze monster like it’s a bug being snatched by a toddler.

Then the roof comes tumbling down and Bolton’s world goes dark.

***

VanderVoort holds her forehead with one hand while she rubs her belly with the other. Her eyes are locked on the monitor that shows the torn apart corpse of the French monster. The Yellowstone beast is busy scooping out guts and cramming them into its mouth, swallowing without even chewing.

“Yeah, I’m off pudding for a while,” VanderVoort says. “How fast was that?”

“French monster was dispatched in fifteen minutes,” a tech says.

“Fifteen minutes,” VanderVoort responds, shaking her head as she runs her hand down her face. “That thing could breathe fire like a real fucking dragon and the Yellowstone bastard acted like he couldn’t give a shit. Fifteen minutes.”

“We had better hope our plan of lasers and drones isn’t for nothing,” President Nance says from his seat at the table.

Half the table is empty. Most of the advisors having gone to grab a quick nap or find food before sitting down again as helpless spectators to the end of the world. Nance looks at the few people still seated.

“Do we have any other ideas? Any thoughts on how we can stop this thing when its own kind can’t even get close?”

“These monsters are hardly of the same kind,” Dr. Hall says, his eyes bloodshot and the bags under them so dark he looks like he’s wearing stage makeup. Alvarez is asleep with his head cradled in his arms on the workstation. “We are looking at distinctly different species here.”

“Why? How?” President Nance asks. “For what purpose can these things even exist?”

“Different factions allied together against a common enemy,” Dr. Hall says. “Similar to how animals on the Serengeti see lions and the other big predators. They form an alliance at the waterhole in order to keep from being attacked and eaten. Not that that is a very good analogy since all of these monsters appear to be predators.”

“Yes, we have seen how they eat the small ooze things like snacks,” President Nance responds. “Yet none have eaten their advance troops like the North America monsters.”

“The dynamics are not the same,” Dr. Hall replies. “The larger of the North American monsters seem to be of the same species, with the Yellowstone one being the largest, by far. The next largest monsters, the six-legged ones that had originally emerged after the first eruption, are the advance troops. They seem to be under the control of the apex monsters, clearing a way for the Cascades monsters to emerge.”

“But not the same species?” President Nance asks.

“No, still not the same species,” Dr. Hall says. “An alliance between species, but not the same.”

“Another alliance,” President Nance says. “So what would the analogy be for these?”

“A bunch of punk ass bitches,” VanderVoort says. “I don’t care about analogies, I care about facts. Stop trying to equate these monsters’ patterns and behaviors with our animal kingdom.”

“Ma’am? Italy has arrived,” a tech says.

“Well, let’s hope the Italian fights better than the Frenchman,” VanderVoort sighs. “Bring up every angle we have.”

***

The Italian monster aims its three heads at the Yellowstone beast and fires three blasts of bright blue flames. Yellowstone shakes its fists at the flying monster then jumps to the side, barely avoiding the attack.

Rolling to a crouching position, Yellowstone watches and waits as the Italian monster banks and swoops in a wide circle, two heads aimed right at it while one looks forward, keeping the monster on course. More blue fire and Yellowstone leaps, this time easily avoiding the attack. It comes down hard and the ground cracks and crumbles, dropping a hundred feet before stabilizing again.

Yellowstone kicks its way up out of the insignificant divot it has made and turns about, staring right at the circling Italian monster. Two more bursts of flame, another dodge, and neither monster gains any ground in the conflict.

Then Yellowstone leaps backwards, landing right in the path of the Italian’s circle, two of its hands shooting out, each grabbing a neck and pulling down hard. The Italian monster slams into the earth as it roars in surprise. Yellowstone reaches for the third head, but gets a chest full of blue flame instead. It is Yellowstone’s turn to roar in surprise as it flings the Italian as far away from itself as it can.

The Italian skips across the earth, turning small hills into just more rubble for the apocalyptic landscape. When it finally skids to a stop, one of the heads is bent at a horrible angle and the other two are crying out, screeching in pain and anguish. But it manages to push itself up, its wings beating steadily until it can attain some lift and rise up into the sky once again.

Yellowstone roars and sonic waves pulse towards the Italian. But the winged monster is able to get enough altitude to avoid the attack, turning itself towards a far off ridge of a mountain that is still left standing. Yellowstone watches it go, tracking the retreating monster’s path. It seems to relax for a few minutes, waiting until the Italian has landed, then takes off running, its powerful legs, despite their wounds from the previous fights, carrying it at a blinding speed across what was once Wyoming.

The Italian fires more flames then launches itself skyward. But it isn’t fast enough. Yellowstone reaches it and grabs the thing by its tail, spinning it about like an Olympic hammer thrower, then lets go, sending the Italian rocketing across the land.

It smashes to the ground miles away and Yellowstone is already sprinting back at it, covering the distance in seconds. On its way it picks up two large boulders, one in a left hand, one in a right hand, and then leaps into the air, the arms outstretched and the boulders leading the way.

The Italian whips its working heads about, ready to shoot more flames, but instead it gets two boulders jammed down its throats as Yellowstone lands on it in a brutal impact of monster flesh. Yellowstone roars in pain as the Italian’s teeth clamp onto its forearms, but instead of yanking its hands free, Yellowstone pushes forward until it is up to its biceps in Italian throat.

The Italian flops like a fish caught on a hook, its body flapping about, its arms trying to claw at Yellowstone, its legs desperate to get under to assist its wings in pulling itself free. Then its throats burst open as Yellowstone drives the boulders out through the necks. Blue flames spill out and sputter before dying. The Italian monster is not far behind, its massive body twitching a few last death throes before going still.

Yellowstone frees itself and then tears off the Italian’s heads, one by one by one. It rips into them, bluish blood spilling down its chin and onto its chest as it feasts in triumph once more.

***

“We are so, so fucked,” a tech whispers.

But the situation room is so quiet that the whisper easily echoes around for all to hear. No one argues with or chastises the tech, not even VanderVoort.

Nine

“I am not happy with this plan,” Lowell says, standing at the far side of the lab, directly opposite the room’s doors. “This plan does not make me happy.”

“It’s your damn plan. And it doesn’t have to make you happy,” Lu says as she sets a gurney between a lab table and the doors’ wall, blocking off access to the right of the room. “Just has to work and trap those things so we can get out.”

Kyle, still a little shaky, sets a second gurney across from Lu’s, creating a gauntlet of gurneys and lab tables from the door to where Lowell stands. He locks the wheels in place then rests against the gurney.

“How are you holding up?” Lu asks him, climbing over her gurney and covering the space quickly. “You going to be able to handle the escape?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Kyle nods, pulling away from his mother as she reaches for him. “I’m a big boy.” He takes a deep breath and looks over at Dr. Probst who is busy typing at her laptop. “That last knockout was a rough one, though. What did you call it?”

“A sub-psychic autonomic reaction,” Dr. Probst replies without looking up from her computer. “That’s what it’s called in the database. Apparently it has happened before, but not quite as harsh. Periodic pulses emitting from the Substance over the years have rendered several different rotations of this facility’s staff unconscious. If the accounts in here are correct then we have nothing to worry about until we’ve been knocked out at least five or six times.”

“Then what?” Lowell asks. “You all turn into those things?”

“If the pulses get stronger then you may be affected as well, Lowell,” Dr. Probst says. “However, I find that unlikely. There are reports of some staff being immune to the pulses. They were the ones that kept the facility from being destroyed by the others. Yet…”

“Yet? Not liking the yet,” Lowell says. “Not liking much of any of this.”

“Yet it looks like those that weren’t rendered unconscious were removed from duty shortly after new staff could be assigned,” Dr. Probst says. “Their files end there. No known addresses or future assignments.”

“Oh,” Lowell says, looking up at one of the cameras in the lab. He flips it off. “Better not disappear me when we get out of here!”

“If we get out of here,” Kyle says.

“There,” Dr. Probst says, closing her laptop and stowing it in a backpack. She puts the pack on, tightens the straps and smiles at the rest. “Ready to go. I have unlocked corridor doors from here to the Substance. Or to the carts that will take us to the Substance. It’s too far to walk to. Dr. Scofield showed me that.”

“Great. I’m going to die riding a golf cart to Hell,” Lowell says. “If I don’t die in here with the Doctors Horrible trying to tear me apart.”

“Quit whining and get ready,” Lu says. “You came up with this idea so start showing some balls, Lowell.”

“Oh, I got balls,” Lowell says, jumping up and down as he rolls his head on his neck. “Big balls. Big, big—”

“We get it,” Kyle says. He crouches under the gurney. “Let’s get this over with.”

Lu crouches under the gurney with Kyle as Dr. Probst crouches under the gurney opposite them.

“Here we go,” Dr. Probst says, reaching up to activate the doors then yanking her hand back quickly and tucking herself into a tight, unobtrusive ball.

The headless things that used to be Drs. Burkhorst, Scofield, and McDaniels scramble into the lab, their legs mutated and bulging against their uniforms. Several spots in the material have torn, revealing squirming, squiggling masses of red flesh. The creatures instantly see Lowell standing across the lab and rush at him.

“Ah, fuck,” he says as he stands there, waiting, timing, prepping for the one shot at trapping the things.

They are almost to him when Lu rolls out from under the gurney and jumps to her feet.

“Go!” she shouts at Kyle and Dr. Probst.

Both of them scramble out from under their gurneys and hurry into the corridor. Kyle takes a quick second to look at his mother, but Dr. Probst grabs his arm before he can hesitate too long. They are lost from sight quickly.

The headless creatures spin about at Lu’s voice and slither sprint at her. But she stops them in their tracks as she flicks a flame from a long utility lighter. Just the sight of the small flame causes the headless creatures to pause.

Lu reaches out, placing the flame close to a jet on one of the lab tables and bright yellow fire shoots out. A jet on the opposite side of the gauntlet catches as well and the space between Lu and the creatures is nothing but fire, growing and twisting into a barrier the things want nothing to do with.

They turn on their deformed heels and move towards Lowell, but he has a lighter out as well, flicks it, and sets the flame to his own set of jets.

“Bummer, huh?” Lowell smirks then sprints to the side, running as fast as he can to get away from the creatures and their temporary trap.

And temporary is the word. Lowell knows the things won’t stay put for long. Fire seems to scare them, but it takes a full purge to really stop them. He witnessed that with Dr. Bennet.

He reaches Lu’s gurney and hops over it, helping her free it from where it’s wedged. Before shoving it out into the corridor, Lowell and Lu grab up several packs of supplies and toss them onto the gurney.

The creatures screech and hiss, looking from one end of their fiery gauntlet to the other. Then they see the flaw in the trap and are leaping over the tables, their legs extending impossibly long, their arms warping into long vines of flesh.

“Shut it, shut it, shut it!” Lowell yells, shoving the gurney away from the doors as Lu turns to lockdown the lab.

She gets her hand to the control pad, but screams as a tentacle shoots from the lab and wraps about her wrist. Her skin sizzles under the thing’s touch and she tries to pull back, but as she does a swatch of her skin peels away.

“Dammit!” Lowell yells and grabs up the M16 lying on the gurney. He puts it to his shoulder and fires at the tentacle, missing spectacularly.

Until the last slug rips into the thing, sending black blood splattering everywhere and Lu falling to the ground, suddenly free. Lowell keeps pulling the M16’s trigger, but it only makes a hollow clicking noise.

“New magazine!” Lu shouts, trying to get to her feet as she cradles her hand to her chest. “In that first pack!”

Lowell moves to the pack, but there is no need as the M16 is yanked from his grip by two tentacles.  A third grabs him around the ankles and pulls him off his feet, sending him falling hard and fast. Stars explode in his eyes as the back of his head slams into the concrete.

His mind fuzzy and a loud ringing in his ears, Lowell feels himself being pulled towards the lab and he scrambles to grab onto the gurney as he slides past. He hooks a hand around a strut and the gurney starts to follow him then stops as Lu brakes the wheels.

The pressure on Lowell’s ankles increases and he fears his bones will be crushed by the tentacle that has him. Then the pressure is gone. So is his hearing as Lu opens fire with the .45 pistol she pulls from her hip, obliterating the tentacle.

Lowell slips and slides his way to his feet, tentacle blood nearly keeping him from getting upright. He reaches out and smacks his hand against the door controls, sealing the lab off as a mass of tentacles rocket at his head. There is thud after thud after thud against the doors as they slam shut and the tentacles, along with their owners, are locked in.

“That wasn’t so hard,” Lowell smirks as he gasps for breath. He limps to the gurney and leans against it. “Wanna give me a ride, Marshal? My legs feel like jelly.”

“No,” Lu says and shows him her wrist where the flesh hangs in tatters. “Want to give me a ride?”

“You’re going to want to put something on that,” Lowell says. “Neosporin, at the very least.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Lu says. “Come on, let’s find my son and Dr. Probst. You are pushing.”

“Ugh,” Lowell says. The thuds against the lab doors get louder and louder, joined quickly by howls of frustration and rage.

“How the hell are they making those sounds?” Lowell asks. “The motherfuckers don’t have any heads.”

“I don’t really care,” Lu says. “As long as they stay put.”

“I’m with ya there,” Lowell says.

They make a few turns then catch up with Dr. Probst and Kyle. Lu limps to her son and throws an arm around his shoulders. He quickly pushes her away, but not in embarrassment. His eyes lock on her wrist.

“What happened?” he asks.

“They got grabby,” Lowell says, pointing down at his shredded pants legs. “Nearly got us both. But your mom was fast on the draw and I was fast on the door closing.”

“Good,” Dr. Probst says. “This way. Let’s get to the elevator.”

They all nod and make their way down the corridor, through two more sets of security doors and into a small atrium space where at the very end sits the elevator, open and waiting.

“Everyone in first,” Lu says, slapping a fresh magazine into her .45. “We stand at the back and put the gurney between us and the doors.”

“Won’t that box us in?” Kyle asks.

“Yes, but it will also put something between us and anything that may surprise us when the elevator opens,” Lu says.

“There’s more?” Kyle asks.

“I don’t know,” Lu says. “And I don’t want to be surprised if there are.”

“I like your paranoia, Marshal,” Lowell says, limping quickly into the elevator.

Kyle and Dr. Probst follow him then Lu wheels in the gurney. All but Dr. Probst look at the walls to each side of the elevator doors.

“Uh. Where are the buttons?” Lowell asks.

“What? Oh, sorry,” Dr. Probst says. She takes her laptop from her pack and sets it on the gurney. “Let me get us moving.”

She taps at the keyboard then stops suddenly and frowns.

“The lab doors have been opened,” she says.

“Then fucking close these!” Lowell yells.

Lu raises her .45 and Kyle presses his back against the elevator wall as the howling sounds of the creatures begins to be heard.

“Doctor,” Lu hisses, her head cocked and listening. A loud, wet slapping noise, like the brushes of a car wash, echoes through the corridor. “Dr. Probst?”

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” she snaps. “The signal to my laptop is weak.” She looks around at the elevator. “Shit.”

Dr. Probst pushes the gurney out of the way and steps from the elevator.

“There!” she says as the doors start to close. Before she can take a step, they are shut and she is lost from everyone’s view. They quickly reopen. “Uh, we have a problem.”

“Move the crap off the gurney!” Lu yells. “Now!”

Lowell and Kyle grab the bags and packs and toss them onto the floor of the elevator car.

“On,” Lu orders, nodding at Dr. Probst as she steps forward, her .45’s aim never straying from the corridor. The slapping sound is considerably louder. “Lowell, Kyle, grab onto the end of the gurney and get ready to pull.”

“What are you…? Oh, good idea,” Dr. Probst says.

She hops onto the gurney and places her laptop at the end closest to the corridor. Lowell and Kyle push the gurney part way out of the elevator then hang on tight as Dr. Probst taps at the keys.

“I have a good signal. Ready?” she asks.

“Do it,” Lu says.

Dr. Probst is about to activate the elevator doors when the thing comes rolling into the corridor. No longer even close to a semblance of three people, the creature is one mass of black and red tentacles. It speeds towards them, the wet slapping filling the air.

“Holy crap,” Kyle whispers.

“No shit,” Lowell agrees.

“Doctor!” Lu yells.

Dr. Probst shakes off her shock and hits the key. Kyle and Lowell yank on the gurney, pulling it and Dr. Probst into the elevator just as the doors close. The last thing they all see are hundreds of slick tentacles shooting out at them.

The thuds are like ball bearings dropped onto sheet metal. But as the elevator lowers, the sounds grow quieter and quieter until they can no longer be heard.

“It’s still up there,” Lowell says.

“I’ll track it once we get out of this elevator shaft,” Dr. Probst says, closing her laptop and stuffing it back into her pack. “Right now we rest until we get to the bottom.”

“How deep are we going?” Kyle asks.

“Deep,” Dr. Probst says. “Dr. Scofield showed me one way to the Substance, but I think that was only a guest observation portal. I’m taking us to the real entrance.”

“Guest observation portal?” Lowell laughs. “What the fuck would they need that for?”

“Government officials,” Lu says. “Visiting scientists. People they want to impress, but not reveal the whole story to.”

“But we get to see the whole story?” Lowell asks, looking at Dr. Probst. “Do we need to see the whole story? Is this whole story safe?”

“Safer than that thing up there,” Dr. Probst says. “I think.”

“Awesome,” Lowell sighs.

They are silent for a few minutes then Kyle clears his throat.

“How’d that thing get out of the lab?” he asks. “It can’t open doors, can it?”

“No, of course not,” Dr. Probst says. “It’s a monster, not a person. It can’t think”

“It used to be three persons,” Lowell says. “You may be assuming a lot there, Doc.”

Dr. Probst begins to reply then closes her mouth. She shakes her head and gets her laptop back out.

“Getting the hunt ready?” Lu asks.

“No,” Dr. Probst says. “Entering the protocols to purge the levels above us.”

“Do what?” Lowell snaps. “Are you fucking nuts? We’ll be trapped down here!”

“Only way to be sure it’s dead,” Dr. Probst says. “Once I can connect again, I’ll gut the facility except for the bottom few levels. That’ll give us a safety buffer. There’s no way it can travel fast enough to reach us down here. I’ll catch it on one of the upper levels before it can get even close.”

The elevator jolts then begins to slow. A few more seconds and there’s a second jolt as the car reaches the bottom of the facility. The doors open and Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst all wince and clamp their eyes shut for a second then shake it off.

“That’s not a good sign,” Lowell says. “How about we get the gear back on the gurney and get the fuck out of this shaft?”

They toss the packs and bags onto the gurney, push it out of the elevator, and wait as Dr. Probst reconnects to the facility’s system. She presses the enter key and then closes her laptop.

“Done,” she says.

“I don’t hear anything,” Lowell says.

“You wouldn’t,” Dr. Probst says. “We’re too far down.”

“I heard a thunking sound,” Kyle says. “From the elevator.”

“Safety protocols,” Dr. Probst says. “It probably locked in place when I initiated the purge.”

“Didn’t sound like metal on metal,” Kyle says. “Anybody else hear it?”

“No,” Lu says, turning her attention to massive steel doors before them. “Let’s move.”

The elevator doors close tight and Dr. Probst smiles then moves to an old-looking keypad by the steel doors. She enters a code and the doors clunk then slide open on huge tracks that creak and groan under their weight.

As they walk through, Kyle looks over his shoulder at the elevator.

“I totally heard something,” he says to Lowell.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, kid,” Lowell says, his attention on the edges of the steel doors, specifically the recessed metal rods in the center of each. “What you want to worry about is what these fucking doors are trying to keep in. Not what is already behind us and out there.”

Any argument Kyle has is lost as they stand before the gigantic concrete tunnel. Halogen lights begin to flicker on all the way as far as they can see until they are lost from sight.

“How long is this tunnel?” Lowell asks.

Dr. Probst checks her laptop. “Eight miles.”

“Eight miles?” Lowell exclaims. “How is that possible?”

“How is any of this possible?” Lu asks. She nods at a set of doors to the right. “No locks.”

“Don’t need them,” Dr. Probst says, going over to the doors and shoving one open. It slides into the concrete wall and more halogens light up, revealing a fleet of Army green golf carts. “Only way to get down here is to have clearance for everything.”

“Not like you can exactly joyride on those things and no one will see you,” Lowell says. “Pretty straight view.”

The massive doors behind them begin to close, making everyone jump.

“Do we each get our own?” Kyle asks.

“I don’t see why not,” Dr. Probst says. “Although, I’ll ride shotgun with someone. I need to watch the readings as we get closer to the Substance.”

“And keep an eye out for another knock out pulse,” Lowell says.

“That too,” Dr. Probst says.

They walk into the cart holding area and start picking out vehicles just as the massive doors slam shut. The sound of the posts locking in place, securing the doors from basically any type of attack short of a nuclear blast, is almost as loud as the doors themselves.

“Not to sound clichéd,” Lowell says. “But I have a very bad feeling about this.”

***

The two women stand by the pile of fallen timber, neither wanting to look at the white that stands out in stark contrast with the dark mud that coats everything.

“Maybe it’s just an animal,” Krissy says finally, nodding at the jagged edges of bone sticking out from between two fir trees.

“Maybe,” Terrie replies. “But we have to see for sure.”

Terrie studies the pile of timber, looking for a way to access what is crushed inside without collapsing the entire thing. It stands close to five feet tall and is made up of thick firs and small pines, all jammed and crisscrossed together. She eyes a specific pine and points it out.

“That one,” she says. “We pull that loose and we’ll be able to know for sure.”

Krissy doesn’t answer, just grabs onto the pine and begins to pull.

“Hold on, hold on, I’ll help,” Terrie says.

“Just sit down,” Krissy insists. “Your ankle won’t be able to handle this.”

“My ankle can handle a lot more than you think,” Terrie grumbles, but doesn’t move to help, just continues standing where she is.

“Sit. Down,” Krissy growls. “Both bodies may not be in here, ya know? We’ll probably have to keep looking.”

“Not tonight,” Terrie says. “We uncover this and head back. It’s already late.”

“Whatever,” Krissy says and keeps pulling at the pine.

She is drenched in sweat by the time she gets it loose. Collapsing onto the ground, she nearly rips her bandages off as sweat pours underneath.

“You look,” Krissy says. “I’m done.”

“See? We’ll need the rest after this,” Terrie says.

She pulls out a flashlight that hand cranks, one of the pieces of equipment that didn’t get fried by the EMP, and starts it up. She takes a deep breath and then shines the light into the hole where the pine had been. She angles the light and her head, but grumbles after a minute.

“I can’t see,” she says. “The hole is at a bad angle.”

“Great,” Krissy grumbles. “My face feels like it’s on fire for nothing.”

“Maybe if I shift this log here,” Terrie says. “Yeah, I think I can make this bigger.”

“Gonna bring the whole thing down on ya,” a voice says from the dark.

Krissy brings up her shotgun as Terrie whirls around, the flashlight shining towards the voice. She cries out as she places too much weight on her ankle.

“Careful,” Roy says, shielding his eyes from the flashlight. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

His clothes are nothing but a shell of mud. His hair is caked against his scalp and the skin that does show through the mud is red and bruised, a patchwork of cuts and scrapes. He holds his left arm tight to his side, part of his jacket tied around his chest.

“Roy,” Terrie sighs. “It’s good to see you.”

“You as well,” Roy says. He nods at Krissy. “Young lady. Glad you both made it.”

“Belle is dead,” Krissy blurts out.

“Oh,” Roy replies, his eyes glancing at the pile of timber and the broken bones. “Well…”

“It’s Linda,” Terrie says. “Tony is back at the bunker. So is Biscuit, although I doubt that’s a comfort knowing my dog made it.”

“Comfort enough knowing my grandson is still alive,” Roy says. “And a comfort that he saw reason and let you in.”

“Took him a while,” Krissy says, getting up slowly. She eyes Roy. “You don’t look so good.”

“Not feeling so good, miss,” Roy replies. “I have at least three cracked ribs and my left arm is busted up somewhere. Too painful to really check.”

“Let’s get a sling on it,” Terrie says. “That’ll help.”

“Maybe once we’re back in the bunker,” Roy says. “Not sure I can move it enough to get a sling on and still stay conscious. It’s not a good break.”

“Are there good ones?” Krissy asks, teenage sarcasm in full force.

“Some better than others,” Roy says. “This feels like I got shards ready to slash their way through my skin.”

Terrie’s eyes go wide and Roy nods to her.

“Do you have the equipment back at the bunker we’ll need?” Terrie asks.

“I do,” Roy says. “You think you can do it?”

“Yes,” Terrie says. “Don’t have much choice. We let it go too long and gangrene will set in then there’s nothing we can do.”

“I have enough antibiotics at the bunker to kill half the bugs in Africa,” Roy chuckles. “But no need wasting them on a lost cause.”

“Will you two tell me what you’re talking about?” Krissy snaps.

“May have to take my arm, young lady,” Roy says. “Sad, but true.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Krissy replies, her eyes wide. “Can’t we just set it with a cast or splint or something?”

“Not the way it feels,” Roy says. “We’ll need to—”

His words are cut off as the entire island shakes. Terrie grabs onto the timber for support. Roy cries out as he is forced to his knees, and Krissy just falls back down to where she had been before, her shotgun slipping from her hands.

“What was that?” she whispers “Earthquake? Another eruption?”

“I think it has something to do with that,” Roy says, taking several shallow breaths as he tries to shift his position and take pressure off his ribs. “Looks like a new boy has come to town.”

Terrie quickly turns off the flashlight as a massive shape rises up out of the Sound, silhouetted against the night sky and the far off glow of the destroyed Mt. Rainier.

“Oh, wow,” Krissy says. “You think it’s here to help those others?”

“I doubt that,” Roy says.

They all watch the shape move swiftly from the water and onto land, its huge, muscular legs moving it at a speed and distance that boggles their minds.

“Looks like something from those old Japanese movies,” Terrie says. “But that is not a man in a rubber suit.”

“No, ma’am, it is not,” Roy agrees.

***

“Japan just made landfall!” a tech calls out. “It is out of the Puget Sound and moving across the SeaTac area towards Mt. Rainier!”

“Australia has landed in San Francisco!” a second tech reports. “It is heading north and fast. Trajectory will take it right to Mt. Bachelor in less than an hour. The thing moves so fast!”

VanderVoort doesn’t respond. There is nothing to respond to. They are all spectators to a war they have nothing to do with.

***

The smaller monsters rush towards Japan, flinging themselves from their perches on what’s left of the old volcano. The six beasts, jaws open, throats bellowing, claws out, do not split up to surround Japan, instead they group tighter together, a massive cluster of monstrous rage and violence.

Japan roars back and its thick body tenses, ready for the attack.

Behind them all, the massive Rainier monster cries out, thumping its chest with its four fists, its teeth gleaming in the glow coming up from the broken volcano. It roars again, egging on its smaller brethren, pushing them into the fight with the much larger monster that has emerged from Puget Sound.

The six beasts converge on Japan, all arms and teeth and claws. Japan takes one step back, brings up its beefy arms, showing the thick muscles that are coiled and ready. Unlike the monsters that crawled from out of Yellowstone and the Cascades, Japan isn’t all segmented arms and body; it isn’t a mix of reptile and insect.

Japan is a full lizard creature, upright on its massive two legs, a reptilian beast of immense proportions. A true kaiju of legend and ferocity that folklore has been built around. Its eyes watch the six come at it, sizing them up, timing the attack.

A quarter mile from Japan, the six break apart and fling themselves at the larger monster. One, Two, and Three dive for the legs while Four, Five, and Six aim for the chest and head.

Japan lifts a leg and stomps hard just as One reaches it. The smaller monster is pulverized, its body exploding across the ground, pulp and bone creating a mile wide splatter. Two hits Japan in the knee, but merely bounces off, too light to destabilize the stout creature. Three rams into Japan’s other leg, a solid hit to the thigh.

Japan roars as the muscles under its thick skin go numb. It grabs Three by one of the rear legs and slams it into Two, twisting its wrist so the leg snaps off on impact. Three screeches in pain and Japan reaches for the smaller monster, ready to finish it off, but Four, Five, and Six collide with Japan’s torso, sending the giant monster tumbling backwards.

Using its long, thick tail, Japan springs back onto its feet. It spins about, keeping that tail in play, and swipes at Four and Five. Six dives to the side as its brethren go flying for miles, their bodies limp and broken.

Six scrambles to its feet and rushes Japan, but the larger monster is ready. It opens its mouth and instead of a mighty roar, it lets out a belch of electric blue flame. Six manages to roll away, but not before losing one of its front legs, the limb seared right off. The smaller monster cries out, but doesn’t retreat. It waits, it watches.

Japan takes a step forward then howls. It looks down to see Two clawing and biting its calf, tearing through skin and getting deep into the meat of the leg. Japan reaches down to pluck the creature loose then withdraws its hand as Three comes awake and snaps at its fingers. Japan shakes its massive head and then leaps high into the air, swinging both arms for more lift and momentum.

Two stays attached to its calf while Three tumbles hundreds of feet away. Japan comes down hard and the ground shakes and cracks. Two, still attached, tries to get more claws dug in, but Japan is done. With both hands, Japan grabs Two and twists, tearing the smaller beast in half. Then, as if it was a simple dog tick, Japan plucks Two’s head free from its calf and flicks it towards Rainier.

Rainier roars. Japan roars back.

Six makes its move.

It sprints at Japan, jumping at the last second, arms and legs forward, showing nothing but razor sharp claws.

Japan slams its right fist down onto Six, ending its attack with one punch, hitting the smaller monster so hard that it is driven deep into the ground, nothing left of it but a brief geyser of blood.

Breathing hard and bleeding from various wounds, Japan slowly straightens up and turns to Rainier. Like a cat uncurling itself, Rainier moves from the volcano, taking deliberate, careful steps down to the ground below.

The giants face each other, both of impossible size, both quivering with violence, both ready for death or victory.

Rainier moves first, its legs carrying it quickly off to Japan’s left. Japan pivots towards the monster, but does not face it directly. It stands at an angle, providing a smaller target, if that is possible considering the scale of the creature.

Rainier stops. It slams its fists together, the noise like thunderclaps, the sounds rolling across the land. Japan waits then hears a far off response; identical thunderclaps in reply. It risks a look over Rainier’s shoulder, its eyes looking off into the smoky distance.

Coming out of the ash and fog are two more beasts, identical in size and species as Rainier. Japan growls low, creating its own storm-like rumble that shakes boulders at its feet.

Rainier claps again and is answered again. It then lets its arms swing loose, swaying back and forth like a charmed cobra, ready to strike yet perfectly relaxed.

Japan opens its mouth and emits its electric blue fire, but Rainier is ready. Leaping out of the way, it rolls over and over, a tumbling mound of monster flesh, keeping ahead of the fiery attack. When Japan pulls up, clamping its mouth shut and taking a few steps back from the effort, Rainier comes out of its roll and immediately goes in for the kill.

Still slightly drained from the prolonged burst of electric fire, Japan only gets one arm up to block Rainier as the monster leaps for it. Japan manages to connect an elbow to Rainier’s jaws just as the monster reaches it, but the impact sends Japan stumbling back, its feet slipping as it stomps into a mud and ash-filled lake.

The giant monster goes down and Rainier is on it, its four hands grabbing Japan about the throat and shoving the beast’s head under the swirling black and brown lake water. It leans in, putting all of its weight into its shoulders, pushing harder, its toothy mouth open and silver tongue hanging to the side; a dog happy with its kill.

Then the toothy mouth slams shut, half its tongue falling into the water. It gurgles from deep in its throat, a wet sound, a sad sound; a sound of death and surprise.

From Rainier’s chest bursts the tip of Japan’s tail, a barbed monstrosity of immense strength and precision. On the tip of the tail beats Rainier’s three interconnected hearts. They pulse once, twice and then still as the monster slumps over Japan’s body, sliding to the side into the puddle of a lake.

Japan shoves the corpse off of it and pushes itself back upright, shaking its head, clearing the tons of water it snorted up its enormous nostrils. Further south, and coming closer, the sound of thunderclaps can be heard. But this time they are not answered.

The deadly tail curls around and Japan wipes the black blood from the tip with its fingers then flicks the blood across the landscape, turning the earth into a grotesque Jackson Pollock canvas. Japan roars and shakes with rage as the two other monsters come at it, their eyes wide at the sight of the half-submerged corpse of their comrade.

Japan’s massive mouth splits in a hideous approximation of a self-satisfied grin.

Ten

All eyes in the situation room are on Japan as it readies itself for the oncoming attack. Until.

“Shasta and Bachelor have turned their attention south!” a tech announces. “They are moving to engage Australia!”

“My God,” Secretary of the Interior Bonnie Landis gasps. “We are losing the West Coast one giant footstep at a time. There’ll be nothing left to salvage after these monsters are done fighting each other.”

“Salvage is not our priority,” VanderVoort replies. “Survival is. Even if Japan and or Australia win, then what? We still have giant monsters to deal with, Bonnie. Let’s not worry about the California Delta or the Seattle real estate market right now, okay?”

“I wasn’t talking about real estate,” Bonnie grumbles. “I just meant—”

“You don’t know what you mean,” VanderVoort interrupts. “None of us do because none of us has ever dealt with shit like this before. Unless you have some brilliant plan that will poof these monsters into another dimension then I advise you keep your mouth shut and focus on the here and now instead of the stupid aftermath. The aftermath will be the aftermath. There’s not a goddamned thing we can do about it. Understood?”

Bonnie only nods in reply, sliding deeper into her chair, a sure sign of resignation and surrender.

“Switch to Australia,” VanderVoort says. “Let’s see how this one fights. We’ve seen that Godzilla son of a bitch, now let’s see the Komodo dragon do its thing.”

***

Its body long and sleek with four true legs, two up front, two in back, Australia walks with determination across the former fertile farmlands of Northern California. But instead of thousands of acres of strawberries and tomatoes, the land only yields pockmarked fields of ash piles and muddy trenches.

As Australia walks, its body twisting in the middle, its legs in perfect synchronized lock step, the monster’s claws dig deep, deep furrows in the soft soil, leaving a trail behind it that can be traced from San Francisco all the way to its current location. With each step its tongue darts out, the fork at the end at least thirty meters long in and of itself. Methodically, the monster moves- step, tongue, step, tongue, step, tongue.

Until it hears the roars and thunderclap smacks from the two giant monsters coming at it from the north. Then it slows and lifts its head, its tongue sliding out and staying out instead of darting back in. The massive appendage sways in the air, grabbing billions and billions of molecules before finally sliding back into the mouth for the data collected to be processed by the enormous lizard brain.

Its understanding of its enemies strengthened by the scent molecules it has processed, Australia stands erect on its hind legs, its long body reaching far into the sky. It sways that way for only a minute, its eyes staring off into the distance at the approaching foes. Unable to keep that position for long, Australia drops back to all fours and continues its plodding journey north.

Only a few minutes go by before the roars of its foes reach it again. This time Australia doesn’t pause, doesn’t waste time standing up for a better look. Instead, it lowers its head and increases its speed. The methodical walk becomes a brisk jog, the body still twisting in on itself this way and that way as shoulder meets hip, shoulder meets hip.

More roars, but no thunderclaps. Shasta and Bachelor stand on the California/Oregon border, each with their four arms raised above their monstrous heads, their fists clenched, ready for violence. Australia sees them, its black eyes locking onto the monsters, its mouth opening with a hiss of aggression and expectation.

Miles still stand between the beasts, but they are swallowed up quickly by Australia’s increased speed. The monster, a lumbering giant at first glance, all of a sudden turns into a creature of immense speed. The shoulders to hips become a blur and the land between it and Shasta and Bachelor shrinks so fast that the two upright monsters barely have a chance to lower their arms before Australia launches itself into the air.

Shasta tries for a grab at the springing beast, but catches only several long furrows across two forearms from the creature’s immense, razor sharp teeth. Falling backwards, Shasta tucks into a reverse roll and comes up in a crouch, its two left hands clutching at its two right forearms, black blood dripping onto the dry earth, sending up plumes of smoke with each drop. It grunts and then roars at Australia.

Australia could give a shit about Shasta’s discomfort. Its focus is on Bachelor. The long lizard, its launched attack thrown off, rolls across the ground, but comes up quickly, springing to its feet like a cat. It immediately sprints at Bachelor, shoulders hips, shoulders hips, mouth wide and saliva dripping from between its bloody lips. Scraps of skin from Shasta hang from its teeth and its tongue darts quickly, snatching a morsel and pulling it all the way into its wide maw.

Bachelor holds its ground, squatting low, bringing its center of gravity down to Australia’s level. When the giant lizard attacks, Bachelor pivots on its left leg, letting Australia’s momentum carry the monster past. Bachelor gets two arms under the beast and lifts with all of its strength.

Australia is sent flying. An end over end tumble through open air. Long tail over long snout, over long tail, over long snout, until the ground comes up and greets it with a violent collision. Small hills become piles of crushed earth, the few trees that haven’t fallen to the eruptions and earthquakes snapping like toothpicks. It takes a few seconds for Australia to gather its wits. The monster’s black eyes swim in its head then focus at the oncoming monster.

Bachelor reaches down for the fallen Australia, only to yank its hands back, one of them missing two of its segmented, clawed fingers. The monster howls in pain and moves out of reach of Australia’s snapping jaws. It turns and looks at its ally and roars, a call for assistance, but only sees Shasta crouched on the ground, its forearms still cradled, black blood seeping from its every pore.

Turning back to its foe, Bachelor watches as Australia casually gets to its feet. It favors its rear, right leg, but still places the foot on the ground, ready for another attack. Then Bachelor looks down at its missing fingers and the blood that pours forth. A glance to Shasta as the monster begins to grunt and heave then a glance back at Australia and its dripping wet mouth.

Bachelor opens its mouth in a screech so loud that Australia is forced to hunker down, its shoulders coming up as it tucks its head back to stifle the noise. Then Bachelor grips the shoulder connected to the arm that is connected to the wounded hand and pulls. It twists and yanks until the arm snaps free, black blood spewing everywhere, coating the ground around it.

Australia takes a few steps back, stunned by the sight. It cocks its head, confused at the violence Bachelor has inflicted on itself. The forked tongue darts out again and again, gathering more information, looking for clues that will tell it if the monster has succumbed to madness. The data it receives tells it that the discarded arm had not delivered the venom to the rest of the body. The smell of decay remains in the arm, but does not affect Bachelor at all.

Australia hisses at being out maneuvered. It eyes Bachelor, watching the black blood flow from the stump at its shoulder, calculating the blood loss and how much strength the monster can still have.

Bachelor doesn’t give Australia enough time to finish its cold calculations. It leaps at the creature, three arms raised, taloned claws extended. The world wavers as sonic waves erupt from its mouth, nowhere near as powerful as Yellowstone’s, but enough to get Australia to shrink back in pain and discomfort. As Bachelor comes down, all of its rage and hate focused on the long lizard, it strikes, swiping with its three remaining claws.

But Australia is not there and Bachelor’s talons find nothing but earth to dig into.

Australia is behind Bachelor, having launched itself across the ground under the striking monster instead of retreating further. Its tail whips out and smacks the backs of Bachelor’s legs, sending it reeling and off balance. Bachelor pivots, ready to defend itself, but Australia’s body is designed to twist nearly in half, which is what it does, and its long snout clamps hard onto Bachelor’s right ankle.

The taller monster roars and moves to smash down on Australia’s head, but the massive lizard has already detached, letting the venom get to work, and Bachelor’s curled fist hits empty ground. Then the fist is seized by Australia’s jaws and snapped off, swallowed whole in one quick gulp. Bachelor stumbles and collapses, its right leg weakening as its shoulder bleeds, the new stump for an arm joining it.

Australia’s tongue flicks, flicks, flicks and it snorts contentedly. It waits and watches as Bachelor’s strength seeps out into the ash and dirt, creating a bloody river that grows and grows. Bachelor tries to push up with its two intact arms, but it only manages to scoot itself across the ground, spreading the swath of blood.

Bored, knowing the outcome, and quite ravenous, Australia directs its attention on Shasta which is a barely breathing lump of monster flesh; a small mountain of a beast that is struggling to stay conscious. It stops its struggle as Australia reaches its exposed belly and rips into the flesh, tearing massive chunks out one at a time, chewing for a couple seconds before swallowing hard and going back in for more.

Bachelor howls low, but Australia only responds with a muffled hiss, too busy feasting to bother even looking back over its shoulder at the dying foe.

***

“Dr. Hall?” VanderVoort calls out. “Doctor? Explain that.”

“Of all the creatures, the Australian one seems to be the only direct analog to an actual Earth species,” Dr. Hall replies from his workstation. “I have cross referenced everything we have and Australia is simply a gigantic Komodo dragon. That being the case, Komodo dragons, as with other large monitor lizards, have a toxic venom they transfer with their bites. Those other monsters were essentially dead as soon as Australia broke skin.”

“All it has to do is bite the others?” VanderVoort asks. “Inject its venom and then wait?”

“More or less,” Dr. Hall responds. “It depends on the individual creature’s immunity, but it seems the Cascade monsters, which are only slightly smaller versions of the Yellowstone one, do not have much of an immunity to Australia’s venom. They reacted negatively almost at once.”

Dr. Hall holds up a hand and shakes his head before VanderVoort can respond.

“No,” he says. “We cannot synthesize the venom in order to use it as a weapon. It had been thought for years that it was the virulent bacteria in a Komodo dragon’s mouth that was the killer. Only in the past decade or so has the venom been isolated. We still do not know enough about it to recreate it, regardless attempting to produce it on a scale needed to defeat these things.”

“I don’t care,” VanderVoort says. “That venom is a weapon. A weapon that took down two of the Cascade monsters faster than anything else we’ve seen. Yellowstone has already defeated Iceland, France, and Italy. It took some hits, but not enough for it to even come close to going down. If that venom can help us kill it then I want it explored. Now!”

“How?” Dr. Hall asks. He pushes back from his workstation and clasps his hands behind his head. “Tell me how.”

“Excuse me?” VanderVoort snaps. “You do not ask me how, Doctor.”

“Yeah, I do,” Dr. Hall replies. “Because I don’t even know where to start. I can get the data you need so you can see the venom’s compounds, but how in the hell would I even begin to produce it on a scale we need to kill Yellowstone? That is way, way, way outside my expertise.” He points at the screens. “These things, I can help with. Weaponizing a Komodo dragon’s venom? You’re snapping at the wrong scientist.”

VanderVoort glares for a second then nods. “Fair enough,” she says. “Keep studying the monsters. But I’m not done—”

“Ah-hem,” Joan interrupts. “Ms. VanderVoort? We may have a solution to this issue. And we may also have the pieces in play to make the solution a reality.”

“Is that so?” VanderVoort asks. “What is the solution?”

“Colorado Springs,” Joan replies. “There are more than just military bases there. We also have a facility that—”

“Diamondback,” VanderVoort grins. “Of course.” She points at Dr. Hall. “You get that venom compound to Joan.” She points back at Joan. “You get Bolton and Holt on the sat phone they were given. Tell them we’ve added to their mission load. Before they get to Schriever or Fort Carson, they are to go to Diamondback. I want that venom in production immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joan nods. She gets up and moves to a workstation where a tech hands her a phone.

“Japan is up again,” a tech announces. “We also have China bearing down on McKinley. They will be in proximity within the hour.”

“McKinley is still up north?” VanderVoort asks. “It hasn’t come down to help against Japan?”

“No, ma’am,” the tech says. “It is staying put. These things seem to sense when others get close.”

“They do, don’t they,” VanderVoort says. “Give me Japan again, but be ready to split screen and show McKinley when China gets there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the tech says as the satellite images of Japan come up on the main screen.

***

The sound waves from Hood slam into Japan’s back, knocking it forward as St. Helens brings up all four fists and lets loose with an onslaught of haymakers, cracking Japan’s head back and forth until the last punch sends its spinning around and down onto its face.

Japan tries to get its hands under it and push up, but Hood stomps down onto its spine, shoving it into the muddy earth. A new valley is created instantly and Japan struggles to get loose of the divot while Hood continues to stomp, stomp, stomp.

St. Helens comes up and grabs Japan’s tail, careful of the sharp barb on the end, and lifts with all four arms. The giant muscles ripple from the strain and Hood jumps out of the way so St. Helens can get a better grip. Choking up on the tail, careful of Japan’s powerful legs, St. Helens lifts then swings wide, sending the fallen monster flying out towards the coast.

Japan soars through the air, its flight stopped only by the Olympic Mountains, pulverizing the once majestic peaks into crumbling avalanches of useless rubble. Japan’s back balances upon the range, dazed and bloodied. It struggles to get upright, but instead topples over, rolling down the destroyed mountainsides to the rocky beaches below. It tumbles for miles then comes to rest in the surf, face down and limp.

Hood and St. Helens clamber up and over what’s left of the Olympics, staring down at the fallen beast. They watch it carefully, looking for the feint, but when Japan doesn’t move for several minutes they slowly walk down for a closer look, still keeping a respectful distance.

Hood opens its mouth and slams more sonic waves into Japan’s back, causing the monster to roll further into the surf. Still, Japan does not move. Not even a twitch from its tail or fingers. Hood smacks it again with a sound attack and Japan slowly sinks from sight, having reached the ocean shelf and a drop off into the deep.

Standing stock still, St. Helens and Hood wait. Their black eyes locked onto where Japan had been seconds before. They wait and wait, but when the monster does not emerge, they turn as one then hike up and over the broken range and start to turn north, skirting Puget Sound, increasing their speed until they are running out of Washington State and into British Columbia, their trajectory obvious.

***

VanderVoort shakes her head.

“Japan handled Rainier almost with ease,” she says. “I don’t see how two of the monsters could take it out so quickly.”

“Fatigue, possibly,” Dr. Hall replies. “Or those sound waves do more damage than we know. Yellowstone used them effectively to defeat three foes. Even though it appeared the smaller versions didn’t emit quite the same power, it was still obviously an effective attack.”

“I don’t buy it,” VanderVoort says. “Someone tell me you are tracking Japan? That you have a lock on it.”

“No, ma’am,” a tech responds. “The moment it dropped into the Cascadia Basin, it was lost. That water is over two-thousand meters at its deepest point. It could be wedged against the Juan De Fuca ridge, making it even harder to see. We’d need a ship with deep sonar to—”

“I get it, I get,” VanderVoort snaps. “It took a deep dive and is gone.”

“Maybe not gone completely, but gone from sight,” the tech says.

“I said I get it,” VanderVoort responds. “Sheesh. Beat a dead monster, will ya?”

“China has reached McKinley,” a different tech says. “We can see these.”

“Smart ass,” the first tech mumbles.

“Hood and St. Helens are en route,” the second tech announces. “They will arrive at McKinley’s coordinates in less than one hour.”

“It’s insane how fast these things move,” Dr. Hall gasps. “Yes, I know that their size allows them to cover ground at a rate unimaginable before, but still. Moving north across an entire region in less than an hour? Incredible.”

“Yes, very incredible,” President Nance says. “Someone show me their path.”

A tech looks at VanderVoort and she nods. The tech instantly brings up Hood and St. Helens, the satellite tracking their northern progress. President Nance points at the screen.

“Speed? Incredible,” President Nance says. “But look at the devastation they are leaving behind. Washington State through British Columbia is nothing but a wasteland. It was fragile before, after the Yellowstone eruptions, now it is a quagmire of epic proportions. Anyone left alive in that region will be lucky to survive a winter. All resources are gone- water, food, fuel, shelter. Gone. It’ll be generations before it can be rebuilt. So be impressed all you want, Doctor, but your awe is at the expense of millions of lives.”

“I wasn’t… I mean, I, uh…” Dr. Hall shakes his head then nods. “Right. Sorry.”

“Now that the guilt trip is over, has anyone gotten in touch with Sergeants Bolton and Holt?” VanderVoort asks. “Joan?”

Joan looks up from where she sits, a satellite phone handset perched on her shoulder and pressed against her ear. “Neither are responding. The phone they took from the facility may be damaged or lost.”

“Or they are dead,” VanderVoort says. “Keep trying. They could also have the phone off to conserve power. It’s a long way from the facility to Colorado Springs and there probably aren’t many places to plug in a phone charger.”

“They have a solar charger,” a tech says.

“Yeah, because with all the ash in the air, it’s nothing but sunny days for them out there,” VanderVoort smirks.

“You switch from optimism to pessimism and back to optimism at an alarming rate,” President Nance says. “Almost faster than those monsters destroy our planet.”

“I’m moody. We’ve established that,” VanderVoort says. “Sue me.”

“China is now engaging McKinley,” a tech announces. “Monkey lizard versus whatever the Yellowstone-looking things are.”

All eyes turn to Dr. Hall. He doesn’t notice for a second then Alvarez nudges him.

“What?” he asks. “Oh, um, quad-apes, maybe? Because of the four arms and squat legs.”

“No,” VanderVoort says. “That’s a horrible description and not worth our time. They are Yellowstone monsters. The big one is the boss and the smaller ones are the grunts. There. Established.” She shakes her head at Dr. Hall. “You just keep on the venom task. Leave the names to us.”

“That’s what I was doing,” Dr. Hall mutters as all eyes turn away from him and back to the main screen as the image of China closing in on McKinley pulls everyone’s attention.

***

A mix of simian and reptilian form, China has a long, prehensile tail, skinny, muscular legs with arms to match, and a squat body. The entire body is covered in iridescent scales, more reminiscent of a pangolin, the mammalian anteater relative, than a reptile. Yet the head is long and pointed, looking very lizard like. The claws at the ends of each finger represent the same characteristic- long, pointed, and very sharp.

The beast moves cautiously, approaching the McKinley monster one step at a time. Once it is only a couple miles away, and still out of McKinley’s reach, China stops, sitting down with its tail wrapping around its hindquarters. It begins to pick at the tip of its tail, seeming nervous and ready to bolt at any second.

McKinley roars and China flinches, its cheeks twitching involuntarily. But it doesn’t move from its position.

Slowly, keeping the same distance, McKinley starts to circle China, its eyes staying locked on the beast. Its feet create massive depressions in the meters of ash and snow that cover everything. The dim light of the North casts deep shadows, creating an almost surreal angularity to the monster’s body. It pauses and waits then raises its arms and roars, shaking its fists in the air.

China does not move, only watches with huge, saucer eyes that blink from side to side, two horizontal lids meeting in the middle.

McKinley rolls its shoulders and moves backwards, setting its feet into the frozen tundra. It takes a deep breath and then lets loose with a blast of sonic waves that pulse towards China.

Still China doesn’t move. Not until the sonic waves are upon it, then a large frill of skin extends from around China’s neck, just like a frilled dragon lizard from New Guinea or Australia. The skin cups around China’s head, creating a perfect dish. When the sound waves hit, they are deflected by the frill and redirected back at McKinley.

The larger monster roars in frustration as its own weapon is turned on it. It hurries out of the way, letting the fractured sonic waves dissipate as they fly past. Stomping its feet on the ground, McKinley flexes its muscles and squares its shoulders, tensing for a new attack.

Still China does not move. It only folds its frilled defense back to its neck, brushing at it until it is smooth once again. Then it returns to nervously playing with its tail.

McKinley is twice its size, yet the monster hesitates, watching the smaller creature closely, waiting for a new surprise. Seconds tick off, minutes go by, but China does nothing except blink and wait. The lack of action, whether offensive or defensive, infuriates McKinley and the larger monster closes in quickly.

China only waits.

McKinley towers over the crouched monster, its four arms raised to strike. They come down and fast, and just as fast, China leaps up and to the side. McKinley adjusts its attack instantly, but China seems to predict this, its tail shooting up and wrapping around one of McKinley’s wrists.

China curls itself into a ball and lets the momentum of its body swing it up and over McKinley’s arm. Its tail lets go as it hits the apex of its swing then it uncurls and spreads its arms wide, all those long, sharp claws suddenly above and only feet from McKinley’s head. It executes several swipes in the second between the start of its attack and McKinley’s huge hands coming up and swatting it away.

China grunts and squeals then slams into the earth, rolls back into a ball, tumbles a mile away, and comes to a stop against a small hill. It uncurls once more and holds its arm to its side, glancing down at the huge bruise that begins to color quickly. It shakes its head and chatters at McKinley, scolding the larger monster.

McKinley glares then wipes the blood from its face. Blood that continues to pour from the many wounds China inflicted in its quick counterattack. McKinley shakes its head, sending black red blood flying everywhere then takes a couple deep breaths and a couple tentative steps, testing its steadiness.

It pats at the wounds carefully then roars at China as its hands come away bloody, but not so bloody as to indicate serious wounds.

China chatters a few times then quiets down as it squats and its tail wraps about it once again. It continues to hold its bruised arm to its side, its eyes never leaving McKinley. Side blink, side blink, side blink.

McKinley scoops up a handful of ashy snow and earth and wipes it across its face, staunching the flow of blood almost instantly. It applies more until the wounds are packed tight and no longer causing an issue with its vision. Its massive eyes narrow, their deep black emptiness suddenly filling with violent rage.

China sniffs loudly then scratches its ass.

A roar and a leap and McKinley is back on the attack. It lands halfway between them and grabs up a large boulder, flinging it at China as it leaps once more. China squeals and dodges to the side, avoiding the boulder easily, but suddenly placing itself right in line with McKinley’s leaping attack.

Two massive hands grab China by its skinny shoulders and lift it up so that the two monsters are nose to nose. McKinley opens its mouth and roars, ready to finish the smaller one off with a hard chomp. China spits in the open monster’s mouth then rocks forward, slamming its forehead right into McKinley’s lower jaw. Teeth snap off and rain down to the ground as McKinley’s roar turns to a screech of pain.

China is sent flying once more. It lands in a tangle of limbs and tail then slowly pushes itself back into its squat. The tail resumes its position and the eyes side blink, side blink, side blink.

Grabbing at its wounded mouth, McKinley stumbles to the side, shaking its head back and forth, back and forth. It retreats to a position close to a rocky outcropping. It slams an angry fist into the outcropping, knocking several large boulders loose. It does it again and again until it stands next to nothing but a large pile of rubble.

China stops its blinking and tenses, its tail slowly uncurling. It screeches and chatters loudly as McKinley starts flinging the boulders at it, all four of the larger monster’s arms whirling one after the other.

Ducking low, China avoids the first couple of boulders, but it is quickly forced from its position, sent scurrying across the landscape. It dives and rolls, ducks and dodges, catching a boulder in the shoulder, one in the back, another in the hip. More miss than hit, but enough hit that the smaller monster is soon winded as well as wounded, blood dripping from its temple and gashes across its arms and legs.

McKinley presses the attack, tossing boulders ahead of it so it can move in and still have enough ammunition to keep China from settling down. Once out of boulders, it sprints as fast as its powerful legs will move it, closing the remaining distance in a blink.

China tries to avoid the grasp of the four hands, but one snags it around the neck, pinning its frill down, and squeezing hard enough that its eyes begin to bulge from its head. The giant mouth opens once more as China’s tail is gripped in place by one of McKinley’s hands, making sure the appendage cannot strike from below. The smaller monster tries to protest, but no sound can escape its constricted throat.

Then McKinley gasps and staggers, its grip loosening enough for China to drop to the ground and scamper away as far and fast as possible. China gets a safe distance and turns, its arms wrapped about its body and tail coiled again.

Japan stands behind McKinley, electric blue fire ripping into the monster’s back, tearing through flesh and bone, forcing the monster to its knees. It tries to turn towards Japan, but the creature does not let up, keeping the fire flowing, burning, searing through McKinley.

As McKinley’s chest begins to bubble, China claps in approval and then leaps up and down several times before settling back with its tail in place.

McKinley falls onto its face, a wide hole from its back to its front allowing whatever organs haven’t been scorched and fused to its ribs to spill out upon the tundra. Steam billows up from the corpse as the frozen ground thaws instantly, creating a mucky mire. McKinley’s corpse sinks into the mire, its heat being sucked down into the cold, cold earth below.

Japan roars at China and China chatters back. The two stare at each other until two far off roars grab their attention. They both turn and look to see St. Helens and Hood sprinting at them. Japan stomps its feet and turns to face them. China stays where it is and waits, its tail right where it’s supposed to be.

***

“I do not understand these things,” VanderVoort says. “You’d think we’d be ready for this shit since we had over a century to study the Substance. But, no. Not a fucking clue any of this was going to happen and not a fucking clue how to deal with it.”

She folds her arms across her belly and sighs.

“Joan?” she asks, turning to the National Security Advisor. “Anything?”

“I’m still trying,” Joan says. “This tech was able to confirm that the signal is getting through and being received by the other phone. The problem is no one is answering.”

“Yes, that is a problem,” VanderVoort says. She looks around. “God, what I wouldn’t give for that mojito now. Where the hell did Gordon go?”

Eleven

It’s the constant buzzing of the phone that finally brings Bolton back to consciousness. His subconscious had worked it into a bizarre dream he was having, making it seem like he was at a call center and no matter how many times he tried to answer the incessant buzzing, he couldn’t connect to the call.

When his eyes open, he realizes the buzzing is coming from only maybe a foot away. The problem is he can’t even move that foot. His whole body is pinned under a rusty beam that stretches as far as the dim light allows him to see.

He swallows a few times then says, “Holt? Holt, you there?”

A moan. Close to where the buzzing is.

“Holt? Wake up,” Bolton grunts. “Hey! Wake up!”

“No,” Holt replies, his voice a harsh whisper. “Hurts too much to wake up.” He coughs a few times. “I think I’m fucked, Bolton. Seriously.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bolton says. “I’m stuck under a roof beam.”

“Stuck…or crushed?” Holt asks. “Because stuck…would be…better. From the way….my guts…feel…”

Bolton waits. “Holt? Holt!”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m awake,” Holt responds, his voice weak.

“You were saying something about your guts,” Bolton says. “What’s wrong with your guts?”

“I don’t think they…” He coughs some more then moans. “Fuck. I don’t think my guts…are staying put. I can’t…move my hands…to find out.”

“Shit,” Bolton says. “I can’t move at all or I’d come help you.”

“Monsters?” Holt asks, so quiet Bolton has to ask him to repeat the word. “Monsters. Still…around?”

“No fucking clue,” Bolton says. “I don’t hear them and can’t feel the ground shaking, so that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah…fucking wonderful,” Holt coughs.

“Hold tight, man,” Bolton says. “I’m going to see if I can shift out from under this thing.”

“Try not to die…doing it,” Holt replies. “Try not…to kill…me either.”

“Can’t promise jack shit on either count, man,” Bolton says, twisting his left shoulder down, hoping to get some leverage to scoot his body to one side.

He’s able to move a few inches before things around him start to slide in a way he is not comfortable with. Bolton quickly freezes, hoping he hasn’t set off a chain reaction. Some quick breaths, a couple prayers, and he knows he isn’t going to be crushed to death. Not yet, anyway.

“That was touch and go,” he says. “I’m going to try again. Sit tight, Holt.” Bolton chuckles at his bad joke. He does not hear a chuckle in return. “Holt?” No response. “Holt?”

The buzzing starts again and Bolton jerks in surprise, slamming his head against a chunk of concrete only inches from him. He tilts his head and realizes he has shifted away from the buzzing, not towards it. He has a choice to make, either get to Holt or get to the buzzing which he realizes is the sat phone he and Holt were given when they left the facility. There is supposed to be radio silence, so things must really have changed for VanderVoort or her people to be calling.

“Holt!” he yells. No answer.

At least not from Holt. A far off roar filters down through the debris and Bolton strains to hear it again, but there is no second roar. He chocks it up to coincidence and takes another deep breath then shouts, “Holt!”

No moans, no groans. But there is a roar. And it is closer.

“Shit,” Bolton mutters.

The buzzing stops and he’s grateful. The phone only has so much power and eventually it’ll run out of juice if they keep calling him. He’s hoping they realize that before draining the battery while he’s trapped under a damned collapsed convenience store.

“Okay, okay, think,” Bolton says. His eyes have adjusted somewhat to the gloom and he tries to make out the shapes around him. “Look for an opening, stay away from the weak points.”

He tests the stability below him by trying to tuck his legs up, bending them at the knees. He doesn’t get far. His legs are completely pinned and all he does is pull his torso down and shift some drywall enough that he now has a lungful of white dust.

“Fuck,” he coughs. “Holt, I hope you’re just sleeping.”

Another roar, much closer. The debris shakes slightly from the far off, giant footfalls.

“Fuck,” Bolton says again, coughing up more white dust.

***

The doors are enormous, larger than the ones at the far end of the tunnel, larger even than the ones where Dr. Scofield had taken Dr. Probst to observe the Substance before. The carts come to a slow, rolling stop until they are nearly touching them.

“I know these doors,” Lowell says quietly.

“What’s that?” Dr. Probst asks.”How can you possibly know these doors?”

“No, he’s right,” Lu says. “There is something familiar about them.”

“They look like the doors by the elevator,” Kyle says.

“No, kid, they don’t,” Lowell says. “They look like something else.”

“The look like they are meant to keep something in,” Lu says. “Like prison gates.”

“Exactly,” Lowell says. “Just like those. Jesus, you don’t think…?”

“That we may be opening the cell doors on something that should stay locked up?” Lu responds. “I sure as shit hope not.”

“I have the code to open the doors,” Dr. Probst says, standing up from her seat in the cart Lu is driving. She walks over to a panel set into the wall off to the right of the gigantic doors. The panel is about four feet square, each side two feet long. “Be ready to drive through as soon as possible. I don’t know how long the doors stay open.”

“You sure this is a good idea?” Lowell asks. He gets nothing but bored looks from the rest. “I know, I know. I have been asking that the whole drive down the tunnel. But, seriously. I’m not so sure we should be cracking open something that is obviously built to stay shut.”

“I need direct readings,” Dr. Probst says. “I need to observe the Substance’s behavior while I’m getting the readings. If my theory is correct then we might be able to stop the monster, maybe all the monsters, by stopping the source of their power.”

“The Substance?” Lu asks. “You think if we destroy the Substance then we destroy the monsters above?”

“That is my hope,” Dr. Probst says.

She looks from her screen to the panel and presses her hand against the panel. With a little effort, the panel slides it to the right, revealing an old and dusty keypad that is screwed next to a series of levers and gears.

“That doesn’t look rigged at all,” Lowell mumbles as he grips the steering wheel of his cart, his hands wringing the plastic. “I’m sure it’s perfectly safe. What could go wrong when you hotwire a keypad to some weird looking gears and shit?”

“Just be ready to drive,” Dr. Probst says. She taps at her laptop and then her eyes go wide. “Oh, here we go! A new surge is about to happen!”

She reaches out and keys in the code then stands back, her eyes going from the readings on her screen to the open panel to the massive doors.

They all feel the doors opening before they hear them. A deep rumbling that travels right to their guts, making each of them feel like they have indigestion. Then the doors turn out to be a door. Singular. Instead of splitting down the middle, the door begins to withdraw from one side of the wall and into the other. Pulling away from the side with the keypad and panel, the door slowly, slowly cracks and bright orange light seeps out, blinding them all after the dim light of the tunnel.

“The surge is happening now!” Dr. Probst announces. “We’ll be able to watch it- AAAAAHHHH!!!”

The laptop clatters to the ground, its screen snapping off from the impact as Dr. Probst brings her hands up to her head. She falls to her knees and screams, blood dripping from her nostrils and starting to seep from her ears.

Lu and Kyle both collapse over their steering wheels, screaming and thrashing, their hands to their heads as well. Blood begins to drip from their nostrils and ears as Lowell stares, stunned by it all.

“Ah, fuck me,” he grumbles as he jumps up, grabs Dr. Probst under the armpits, despite the fact she tries to fight him. But she’s too weak to put up much of a struggle, the blood flow increasing from her nostrils. “Just hang on. Everyone hang on.”

He gets her into his cart and then hurries over to Kyle, grabbing the teenager around the chest and dragging him over. Lowell manages to slump the kid in the small cargo area of the cart and then turns and goes to Lu.

The marshal is staring at him, her eyes wide and bloodshot. She’s screaming at the top of her lungs, but she doesn’t fight Lowell as he tucks his shoulder into her belly and lifts, carrying her like a sack over his shoulder. He unceremoniously dumps her into the cart so she is draped over Dr. Probst’s lap as well as his as he scoots back behind the wheel.

The door continues to pull open and Lowell stares at the light coming from inside. He is almost lost in the power of it when the screaming around him reaches a pitch that becomes too painful to ignore.

“Hold on,” he says more to himself than his passengers.

Lowell whips the cart around and speeds away from the opening door, the glow from behind lighting his way as he retreats down the tunnel, back towards the other doors and the elevator. Lowell takes a quick second to flip off the door and the Substance behind him as he presses the accelerator all the way to the floor. Readings or no readings, source of power or no source of power, Lowell is getting the hell away from the insanity that is killing everyone around him.

***

China struggles, its tail swiping back and forth, trying to grab ahold of the monster that has its head pressed down into the muck and mud churned up by gigantic feet and bodies engaging in mortal combat. The monster that grips China, a roaring Hood, leans in with all of its weight, pushing China’s head even further down into the muck, watching as the smaller monster sucks up some of the mud into its simian nose.

Two roars from behind it make Hood turn its attention away for a split-second. China fights with a sudden burst of energy, but Hood is just too big and it leans its weight down harder, shoving China deeper.

A mile away, circling each other, Japan and St. Helens face off. Neither of them are distracted by what is happening between Hood and China. They both only have malevolent eyes for each other.

St. Helens screeches out a sonic pulse, but Japan moves out of the way easily, responding with a stream of electric blue fire. St. Helens jumps to the side, rolls for half a mile then pushes up on its four arms and springing onto its legs. It moves like it’s going to jump at Japan, but another stream of blue fire sends it diving and rolling once more.

Japan follows the monster, barking fire every couple of seconds, like short blasts from a cannon. St. Helens keeps rolling and springing, going from hands to feet, arms to legs, tucking its shoulders and coming up fast. The giant monster is a gymnastic display of gargantuan proportions.

Hood roars and howls as Japan keeps its comrade on the constant defensive. It shoves harder on China, bouncing up and down, pushing the beast deeper and deeper into the ground until the smaller monster stops moving all together. Hood waits a few seconds, then eases off, jumping back, a sonic pulse belching forth from its maw, impacting with the back of China’s skull as the smaller monster stays right where it was left.

China’s body shudders all over, its limbs shooting straight out, taut and rigid. Then the limbs slowly relax with one final shudder. Hood blasts it again with a sonic pulse and the smaller monster’s back rips open, exposing a bloody spine and rib cage. Another blast and another and China’s corpse is pulverized, crushed by the sound waves into a messy pulp of bone, and organs, and black blood.

Hood turns from the dead beast and focuses its attention on Japan. The large monster is still keeping St. Helens from regrouping for an attack. Hood moves in and Japan instantly swings in its direction, electric blue flames rocketing towards it.

St. Helens takes the momentary distraction to get its legs under it and leaps. Japan is almost turned back when the two collide, sending them both sliding backwards, gouging a quarter mile wide and deep trough through the frozen ground. Not that the ground is very frozen anymore. The heat coming off the violence has pretty much turned it all into a shallow swamp of melted snow over dead winter grass and mud.

Rolling backwards, head over tail, St. Helens and Japan finally come to a stop, their bodies pressed up against a large hill of exposed rock. Limbs tangled together, both monsters try to get free and upright, but as each moves it sends the other shifting back down to the ground.

Until Hood comes over and grabs onto Japans legs, lifting the monster away from its ally, and sending it flying back for a couple miles. Japan skips across the ground, adding more divots to the destruction of the landscape. When it finally comes to a stop, Japan pushes up to its knees, its body weaving back and forth like a boxer trying to get up after already suffering a seven count.

Hood rushes at Japan, with St. Helens close behind. Japan gets onto a knee and then pushes itself upright just as Hood reaches out with all four hands, twelve taloned claws total ready to slash and slice. Black blood splatters the landscape as Japan’s chest is torn open, exposing silvery muscles and cartilage that cover its massive ribcage.

Japan grabs at its chest and stumbles back, ducking to the side as St. Helens comes in for the attack. A swipe across its haunch sends Japan down to the ground hard, a howl of pain shaking the earth around it as blood begins to pour from the new wound.

Hood and St. Helens regroup, standing close together as they watch Japan struggle to get back to its feet. Neither monster moves, their black eyes studying their foe, looking for the easy weakness they can exploit and end the fight right there and then.

But Japan doesn’t give them the easy weakness. It refuses to do their jobs for them and when it does get to its feet, it belches out more fire, stream after stream aimed not just at the two monsters, but the areas on either side of them. Hood falls flat, catching a stream of fire across its back, bubbling and blistering its skin into a mess of future scar tissue.

St. Helens dives to the side and catches a stream directly to its right shoulders, sending the two connected arms flying off in a tumbling arc of blood and spasming muscle. St. Helens screeches and screeches as it clamps its remaining hands over the smoking wound. It lies there, blood and mud coating its body as it writhes in pain and agony. Then a well-placed stream of fire ends the writhing, ends the screeching, ends the pain.

Like a grotesque fan, what is left of St. Helens’ head spreads out across the ground, the last sparks of the electric blue fire dying down, letting the cold ground cool the corpse while the bloody heat warms the earth. The cycle of death.

Hood gets up and sprints towards Japan, no roar of anguish or mourning in its throat, only violent rage in its eyes and its twitching, bunched muscles. Japan tucks its shoulder and rolls, moving out of Hood’s trajectory, turning its body so it has a perfect shot, then fires more flame. Hood leaps at the last moment, letting the flames shoot past, doing no more damage than a light singeing of its toenails.

Japan rolls a few more times then gets to its feet, its squat and powerful legs slightly wobbly from the beatings it has endured. Defiantly, Japan sets its feet, standing its ground as Hood regroups and spins about to face it. Hood hisses. Japan’s lips curl back to show its gigantic, razor sharp teeth. The monsters square off, neither making the next move.

They stand that way for several minutes, a stalemate of epic proportions.

Without a signal from either, the two beasts rush each other, arms out, jaws wide open. Hood lets loose with a sonic pulse while Japan sends a geyser of fire before it. The two collide with such force that the concussive power of their collision scrapes the earth bare for a mile around them, creating a barren circle of combat for them to destroy each other in.

Japan hammers a fist into Hood’s face while Hood jabs four fists into Japan’s midsection. Hood’s head rocks to the side and Japan doubles over. Without slowing, Japan rams its head into Hood’s chest while Hood lifts two fists up and slams them into Japan’s spine, its other two fists punching forward, numbing Japan’s upper thighs.

Hood’s mouth opens wide and it goes for a chomp to the back of Japan’s neck, but Japan’s tail comes up over its back and slashes Hood across the neck, sending black blood spurting out everywhere. Hood’s open mouth widens and a gurgling roar issues out as it disengages from Japan, taking several steps backwards, each one weaker than the previous.

Japan collapses onto the ground, its arms barely keeping it from slipping into the loose earth of the combat circle. It lifts its head to watch as Hood stumbles about, all four hands clamped to its neck, keeping its lifeblood inside. Blood seeps from between its taloned claws, streaming down its torso, its legs, to pool at its feet. Hood tries to roar, tries to open up for a last sonic pulse, but all it can do is screech lamely, a pitiful sound coming from such a massive creature.

Getting slowly to its feet, Japan takes a tentative step forward. Hood answers with a weak step back. After repeating the motions for several steps, Hood finally falls to its knees, unable to keep Japan from encroaching on it. Its head held up, face split by a snarl, Hood watches as Japan comes to a stop and towers above.

Then Japan’s fists slam together, coming from each side of Hood’s head, pulverizing the monster’s skull. Gore shoots up into the air then falls back down like a thick, lazy rain. Japan flicks brain and bone from its hands and stumbles back a few feet.

Wobbling for several minutes, close to collapse, Japan takes several deep, deep breaths. Then it lifts its head to the sky and roars so loud that the ash clouds above part and scatter. Once the sound dies down, Japan lowers its head and looks at the corpses around it. It limps over to Hood’s body and falls on it, its jaws ripping into the flesh, devouring as much as it can, as fast as it can, shoving great hunks of beast into its mouth.

An hour passes, two hours pass, before Japan’s hunger is slaked. It gets to its feet, sending a quick glance at the cold corpse of China, then turns to the south and starts to jog, moving its legs faster and faster until it is a full out run. Then it jumps high into the air, covering dozens of miles in a single leap. It comes down and repeats the process. Jog, run, jump, soar, come down. Over and over until it is almost to the border of Canada and the United States.

Far off ahead of it, its final foe stands, haloed by the glowing power of the Substance under its feet.

Yellowstone turns at the sound of Japan and lifts its arms into the air, banging its fists together again and again in anticipation of the battle to come.

***

“Stay there,” Terrie whispers as she holds out her hand, making sure Krissy and Roy stay put.

Roy staying put is not a hard thing since the man is hurt pretty bad with broken ribs and a shattered arm. Krissy on the other hand, in typical teenage fashion, rebels against any order given, regardless of the order’s merit.

It has taken the three of them several hours to get from where they found Linda’s corpse, and a wounded Roy, to the hole leading down into the bunker. Krissy’s natural rebellion wouldn’t be a problem, except that Terrie can easily see the outline of something large standing down by the waterline, its giant body quivering in the strong wind coming off the Puget Sound.

“Stay there!” Terrie hisses as Krissy starts to move away from Roy. “Keep your eyes on him while I make sure the bunker hatch is open and we can get inside as fast as possible.”

Krissy begins to argue, but stops at the sight of Terrie’s lips pulling back in an angry snarl. The teenager shakes her head and huffs then settles back next to Roy as they sit in the shadows.

Limping hard, Terrie takes careful step after careful step towards the hole that slides down to the bunker hatch. She pauses every couple of steps, her eyes studying the monstrous silhouette to see if her movement has piqued its interest. But the creature remains far off on the beach, facing away from Terrie and the bunker.

Once at the hole, Terrie slips over the muddy edge. She braces her hands against the sides to keep from falling too fast, but even with that help, she still lands on her ankle too quickly and gasps as pain radiates up her leg. Taking several deep breaths to get herself under control, she limps the last feet over to the wheel in the hatch and gives it a spin.

A loud barking from the other side makes her wince as she gets the hatch open.

“Biscuit! Quiet!” Terrie snaps. “No!”

Biscuit lets out a whine, hackles up and teeth bared. It relaxes slightly at the sight and smell of Terrie, but its hackles remain raised and its snout rises, smelling the outside air. Terrie can see he is about to bark again and she gives his nose a quick swat.

“No barking at the monsters,” she growls. She points down the tunnel to the open hatch at the other end and the sight of the spiral staircase. “Get back inside now. Why in heaven’s name are you up here?”

Then she smells it and can see the outline of a couple of small mounds in the tunnel.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, I’m glad the boy let you up here to do your business instead of you doing it down there.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “Too bad you couldn’t go all the way outside though.”

There’s a scraping noise behind her and Terrie whips about, her shotgun up and ready. Krissy frowns down at her as she stands there with Roy’s arm around her shoulder and the older man slumped against her side.

“He passed out again,” Krissy says. “I wasn’t going to just sit there. Help me get him down.”

Terrie swallows the angry response that almost passes her lips and nods. She limps over and helps as Krissy gets Roy into a sitting position on the edge of the hole. Trying to keep her weight off her ankle, she leans against the wet mud wall of the hole and eases Roy down against her shoulders then her chest. The older man grumbles in his sleep, but he does not wake up, not even when Terrie almost drops him and ends up shoving him hard against the wall in order to keep from collapsing onto her ankle.

There’s a low rumbling that shakes the whole area as Krissy slides down and drops next to Terrie, taking Roy’s weight back on herself.

“What’s—?” Krissy starts to ask, but quiets as a far off roar answers the rumbling.

The roar sounds plaintive, almost sad, and is quickly answered by dozens more from farther out in the Sound. Terrie motions for Krissy to hurry as the roars crescendo into a high-keening, collective wail. Biscuit immediately starts up barking again and Terrie tries to hush him while Krissy stumbles Roy into the bunker’s entrance tunnel.

“Jesus,” Krissy gasps, trying to breathe through her mouth. “What is that?”

“Careful where you step,” Terrie says. “Tony let Biscuit up here to do his business.”

“Great,” Krissy says. “Just great.”

Terrie listens at the hatch for a minute to the wailing then shakes her head and closes the door tight, spinning the wheel until it locks in place. With the outside air gone, the stink in the tunnel quickly becomes almost unbearable.

“Let’s get below,” Terrie says, limping around Biscuit’s leavings and down the tunnel to the far hatch. “Maybe Tony has made some progress with his radio.”

It takes them a while to get Roy down the spiral staircase and into the main room. They let him fall into one of the soft chairs then both collapse onto the floor, sweaty and exhausted.

“I need a shower,” Krissy says. “But I don’t want to deal with taking my bandages off and putting new ones on.”

“You probably do need to change your bandages,” Terrie says. “But no shower. We’re going to stink for a while until Roy wakes up and can tell us the status of our water reserves. I’d rather smell like I do than risk running out of water and dying of thirst.”

“This place has to have filtration systems,” Krissy says. “This is Washington. Water comes from the sky pretty much all the time.”

“Filters might be clogged,” Tony says as he comes out of one of the hatches, drying his hair in a towel. He only has a pair of thin boxers on and he stands there without any modesty as he switches the towel from his hair to his back. “Water pressure is bad. I know how to clean them. I’ll do that later.”

“Right now may be best,” Terrie says.

“Yeah, after you put your pants on,” Krissy says, turning away from Tony’s nearly naked form. “And why did you need a shower? You’ve been sitting at your workbench for hours while we were up in the fucking mud.”

“I smelled,” Tony replies. “I shower when I smell.” He stops drying himself and drapes his towel around his shoulders. “Is that Roy?”

“Yeah, it is,” Terrie says. “And if anyone needs a shower, he does. I want to get him clean so I can see how badly he’s hurt.”

Tony looks at his grandfather for a second then shakes his head. “Ribs and arm. Careful he doesn’t drink too much when he wakes up. He’ll want to drink a lot for the pain. You’ll need to watch that.”

“We’ll need to watch that?” Krissy snaps. “What the hell will you be doing?”

“Talking on the radio with my new friends,” Tony says, turning and walking out of the room.

“What?” Terrie and Krissy exclaim at the same time.

“Tony! Get back here!” Terrie calls.

“What the fuck, dude?” Krissy shouts.

Tony responds, but his voice is muffled and the words impossible to make out.

“Go find out what he means,” Terrie says to Krissy. “I’ll get Roy taken care of. Once I have him cleaned and fixed up as best I can, I’ll join you two.”

“What about his arm?” Krissy asks. “He said it might have to go.”

“He needs rest before we try that,” Terrie says. “Now get and go find out what Tony is talking about.”

Krissy starts to argue then just growls and shakes her head. She gets up and walks slowly out of the room after Tony.

“If you are fucking with us, I’m going to beat your ass!” Krissy yells.

Terrie sighs then looks over at the mud and blood-caked Roy that is snoring in the easy chair. She almost scoots over and leans her head against the chair, so desperate for a nap, but she fights the urge and struggles to her feet. Biscuit whines as she winces.

“I’m fine, boy,” Terrie says. “Still alive and fighting.”

Biscuit gives a quiet bark then lays his head on his paws and closes his eyes as Terrie stands over Roy, trying to figure out how she’ll get the man up, undressed, and into the shower without having proper use of both legs.

“Still alive and fighting,” she mutters again.

***

Except for a few of the smaller screens to the sides of the situation room, all screens are dialed in on various angles of the two gigantic monsters that are locked in combat, blood dripping from various wounds on their massive bodies.

“Where the fuck is Australia?” VanderVoort shouts. “Japan is getting its ass kicked right now!”

“I wouldn’t say Japan is getting its ass kicked,” Dr. Hall says. “Considering it has fought and defeated more than its share of monsters, not to mention swam across the Pacific, travelled up to Alaska, then leapt its way through Canada to Yellowstone, I’d say it’s doing fairly well.”

There’s a loud screech and Japan goes flying, lost from view on many of the screens, techs scramble to reposition cameras to get it back in sight. When they do, the image is of a monster down on one knee, its hands resting on the ground while blood pours from gashes in its head and across its face.

The thing spits tooth after tooth out onto the ground then shoves back upright. It takes one step, wavers, then falls back to its knee.

“Okay,” Dr. Hall admits. “It’s getting its ass kicked.”

“I know,” VanderVoort snaps. “Will someone please tell me where the fuck Australia is?”

“Sleeping,” a tech says. “It’s sleeping in a valley in Nevada. It ate both those monsters, walked for a while, then just lied down and went to sleep.”

“Shit,” VanderVoort says. “I thought these things were going to coordinate. What the fuck?”

“Might be for the best,” Alvarez says. “Let the thing save up its energy before it goes after Yellowstone. Japan is exhausted and isn’t doing so well, like you said. Yellowstone is too big and good to take on when weak.”

They all stare at the screens for a minute.

“Still no answer,” Joan says. “I’m afraid we’ve lost contact with Bolton and Holt.”

“Crap,” VanderVoort says. “There goes our chance to get word to Fort Carson and Schriever.”

“Uh… Maybe not,” a tech says. “I’ve been talking to someone that has rigged up a radio with multi-spectrum broadcast capabilities. And something he calls a “trapper”, whatever that is. The guy says he’s locking in on other radio signals around the country.”

“Are you telling me a civilian has reestablished cross continent radio communications and our own military bases are still silent?” VanderVoort asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” the tech replies slowly. “He says he’s networking the signals into one strong stream. I have no idea how he’s doing it. The guy is a little off and doesn’t really answer questions well, but it sounds like he’s part of some prepper bunker up in Puget Sound.”

“People are still alive up there?” President Nance exclaims. “After what we saw happen to that area? This means there have to be others somewhere else.”

Director Miles snorts from his seat towards the side of the room.

“Preppers,” Director Miles says. “There are probably a few hundred bunkers across this country that have working radios despite the EMPs. Those bastards are wily. The only thing is, they hate the federal government with a passion. I can guarantee that most of them think these monsters are designed by us to go after them. The odds of getting them to help is slim. I advise we stop talking to this guy in Puget Sound and let the preppers come out of their holes on their own. Then we slide into the conversation and see what we can get them to do.”

VanderVoort points at Director Miles. “That. What Gordon said. Do it. I want four more techs monitoring radio channels. I also want someone dedicated to contacting the bases. If these homegrown nutjobs can get the radios back on then our professionals in uniform can as well.”

“Depends,” Director Miles shrugs. “These nutjobs aren’t using government equipment. So they kind of have an advantage.”

“Japan is down hard!” a tech shouts.

All thoughts of radio transmissions are gone as everyone turns to watch the last moments of the unfortunate battle.

Twelve

Strips of skin hang from Japan’s jaw, most of it holding on by strings of tissue, ready to tumble to the ground at the first strong breeze.

Which hits it square in the head as Yellowstone sends a wave of sonic pulses. Japan shakes its head and teeth scatter across the ground, joining the strips of skin that quiver and vibrate as Yellowstone rushes towards the monster. Japan doesn’t have a second to even get its arms up to block the attack as Yellowstone comes in swinging.

A right to the jaw. A left to the eye. A right followed by another right to the ribs, two lefts to the temple. Japan wobbles and then collapses face first in the cracked and broken ground. It tries to push up, but Yellowstone slams its right foot into Japan’s spine, the cracking and snapping of vertebrae echoing like explosive detonations across the land.

A hard kick to the ribs and then a solid head stomp at the base of the skull are the last moves Yellowstone makes before raising all four hands and walking away, an almost human swagger to its gait. Japan groans and grunts, its arms twitching by its side as blood streams from its eyes, nose, and mouth. Sparks of electric blue flame try to ignite, but they never get more than a few feet away before fizzling to nothing.

Yellowstone spins around suddenly and sprints at Japan. As the four-armed monster reaches the downed beast, it leaps into the air, bringing its muscular legs up tight to its chest. The second before impact, Yellowstone pistons downward with its legs, crushing Japan’s torso, sending blood spurting out from every orifice. Japan cries out, a warbling belch of pain and agony, then shudders and is still.

With one hand, Yellowstone grips Japan’s spine. With the other it grips Japan’s skull. A wrenching twist and the spine comes free, skull intact. Yellowstone begins to gnaw at the flesh and muscle still left on the body parts, methodically stripping the bones clean.

Once free of tissue, Yellowstone whips the spine about, bringing the skull down hard on a pile of black rock and boulders. The skull splits and Yellowstone jams a talon between the crack, pulling the bone apart until the brains are visible. It scoops out a claw full and stuffs it in its mouth, barely chewing before swallowing and going back for more.

Japan’s corpse lies there at Yellowstone’s feet, defeated, deflated, useless. The triumphant monster gives the corpse a hard kick then continues eating, sitting down on the huge pile of black rocks and boulders.

***

The situation room is quiet except for a couple of techs coordinating new camera angles between them. Even they fall silent as the lack of conversation becomes ominous.

“Australia?” VanderVoort asks quietly.

“Still sleeping,” a tech replies.

“There is movement in Africa,” a tech says. “The Kenyan monster has left the continent and is apparently swimming towards Antarctica.”

“This helps us here how?” VanderVoort asks.

“It doesn’t,” the tech replies. “I was just updating you.”

“Consider me updated,” VanderVoort says. “And since we’re in the updating mood, what’s the Chilean doing? Stopping by Tijuana for some margaritas and cheap heroin?”

“It hasn’t gone past Mexico City,” a tech says. “It paused in the rain forests directly south and is waiting there.”

“Let me guess? It’s having a siesta?” VanderVoort says. “This is the south of the border version of Australia, right? What the hell is wrong with these southern hemisphere bastards anyway?”

“Uh, no, ma’am, it is not having a siesta,” the tech replies. “It has been patiently waiting, very alert and tense.”

“Has it now?” VanderVoort asks. “Wonder what it is waiting on that has it so tense and alert?”

“Mexico City is situated on top of a dormant volcano,” Dr. Hall says.

“Have we received any readings from the volcano?” VanderVoort asks.

“None that I could find,” Dr. Hall says.

“Then what the hell is it doing?” VanderVoort snaps. “Someone figure that out!”

“Ma’am? Australia is yawning,” a tech announces.

“Really? That’s the news you’re giving me?” VanderVoort shouts. “Australia is yawning? Let me know when it scratches itself and farts!”

“Sorry, ma’am, I mean that Australia is waking up and starting to move east,” the tech replies. “My apologies for not being clear.”

“About damn time that monster got back to work,” VanderVoort says. “Good thing it doesn’t work for me or I’d can its ass and put in one of the dark holes we have in Eastern Europe.”

“We closed the last hole down a few months ago,” Director Miles says.

“We did? Why?” VanderVoort asks.

“Resources,” Director Miles replies and shrugs. He waves his hand around. “We had to get ready for all of this.”

“Dammit, now I’m depressed,” VanderVoort says, patting her belly. “I had some good times in those sites. Oh, well. Progress, right?”

***

The beam shifts just enough that Bolton can pull his leg free. Once it is loose, he is able to get his other leg free and he finds himself suddenly able to scoot backwards through the rubble until his back is against a pile of concrete chunks. The buzzing sat phone is only a foot away. In his pack. Under the concrete.

Bolton sighs and takes a deep breath. He turns around, his body bent into a small ball, all the room he can manage in the collapsed convenience store. The breath he takes in tastes like dust, mold, and feces. Bolton is more than sure Holt passed away an hour ago. That was when he noticed the shit smell coming from where Holt’s voice had been before.

Carefully, with slow, deliberate movements, Bolton pulls one chunk of concrete free then another. He nearly cries when he sees what he uncovers. Not only is his pack sitting there, the sat phone sticking out of a side pocket and looking unharmed, but he can feel a cold breeze and see a hole leading out of the debris.

Bolton grabs the pack and takes out the sat phone. He activates it and squats down, ready to deliver the bad news. There’s a loud hiss and crackle then three short beeps. He looks down at the phone and the green lettering on the black screen.

“Battery Low,” the screen says.

Bolton nearly crushes the phone against the concrete, but he calms himself and stuffs the phone into his pocket. He takes a few more breaths, ignoring the stench that fills his lungs, then pushes his pack forward and crawls out from under the collapsed convenience store. The air outside is frigid and damp, but Bolton can see signs of dawn approaching and he’s thankful that he’s lived another day.

Turning to the debris pile, Bolton considers taking the time to go back for Holt; to do right by the man’s body and bury him in a proper grave, not some trash heap filled with stale peanut butter crackers and diet energy drinks. But a far off roar changes his mind quickly. He has a mission to complete and almost no equipment to complete it with.

He pats his body and realizes he has a .45 with three magazines, two grenades, two smoke canisters, his combat knife, and his pack which holds some rations, water purification tablets, extra clothes, a thermal blanket, and another pair of boots. There are five magazines for his M4 strapped to the sides, but he has no idea where his M4 is. Then he finds the mother lode and nearly cries.

He stares at the small black rectangle and the wires protruding from it. A solar panel with charger for the sat phone. He’d hoped it was in there, but didn’t know. His fear was it had been lost in Holt’s pack.

Bolton straps his pack to his back, making sure it is tight and secure, then takes a couple steps south. His legs protest and he almost falls to his knees. He has to stop and sit on the fender of an abandoned Toyota Camry. He pulls up his pants legs and hisses at the black and blue bruises that spread all the way up both shins. He turns his calves and hisses again, seeing the bruising there as well.

The beam really did a job on him. He stands again and takes another couple of steps before stopping. The pain is like the worst set of shin splints ever. His shin bones scream with every movement and his calf muscles feel like fire and ice at the same time, agony and numbness that make it almost impossible to walk.

Bolton hobbles his way over to a row of trailers a few yards away. The things look like they have seen better days, but Bolton guesses they didn’t look any more sound before the ash started to fall. He scrambles up a couple of steps and yanks on the door. It’s locked tight.

He slams his fist on the door, and balances his way down the steps. The dawn light is brightening more and he swears he sees a window shade move in one of the other trailers. Bolton draws his pistol and waits. He watches the window for a good five minutes before he slowly backs away from the trailers.

Bolton knows he’s in no shape to take on any crazy survivors. Especially not ones that are dumb enough to hide in a single wide trailer when the world is collapsing all around. Trailers aren’t exactly known for their stability and safety during a cataclysm.

When he’s back out on the road, he finally turns away from the trailers. He stops in his tracks once more, but not because of the excruciating pain in his legs.

“Hey there,” a man says. “Something you need?”

The man is holding an AR15, aiming it squarely at Bolton’s belly. Behind him stand six others, three men and three women. They all hold various semi-automatic rifles. Bolton has no doubt in his mind all of the semi-automatics have been converted to fully automatics. He knows what country he lives in, and by the looks of the men and women, who he is dealing with.

“I need to get down to Colorado,” Bolton says. “That’s what I need. My partner is dead and I’m injured. We were tasked with getting to Colorado Springs ASAP. The big monsters scuttled that plan a few hours ago.”

“Yeah, those big beasties will do that,” the man nods. “What you got in the pack?”

“Just some basics,” Bolton replies. “No weapons.”

“I didn’t ask if you had weapons,” the man says. “I just asked what you have in there.”

He jerks his head and one of the other men moves forward, his rifle aimed at Bolton. It’s not hard for Bolton to tell that the guy coming for his pack has zero military training. He acts and moves like someone that has studied how to be a soldier from YouTube videos. And considering the intelligence level of the militias these days, Bolton is fairly certain that’s exactly how the guy got his training.

“Here,” Bolton says, holding out the pack. “Check it. No weapons.”

“Ammo,” the man says as he snatches the pack away from Bolton and holds it up for the others to see. “Three magazines.”

“Five,” Bolton says. “5.56 NATO. For my M4, which is under that pile of shit over there.”

“Yeah, five,” the guy with Bolton’s pack says.

There is a beeping from Bolton’s hip and he sighs.

“Huh,” the first man says and grins. “That sounds like a phone. A working phone.”

“Well, not so working,” Bolton says.

“That so?” the man asks. “It beeps but doesn’t work? I doubt that. Nothing beeps anymore. It’s all gone dark. So if that thing is able to make just the tiniest of sounds, I’m willing to bet it can make the tiniest of calls.”

He slings his rifle and walks forward. The others behind him tense and raise their rifles higher, watching Bolton closely.

“Who you calling with that thing, soldier?” the man asks. “The government? Is that your hotline to the White House?”

He laughs and the others laugh with him.

“Yeah, actually it is,” Bolton says. “But the battery is dead and I need to recharge it. I have a solar panel in there and as soon as the sun is bright enough, I can plug it in and it’ll be working in about four hours.”

“Will it?” the man asks. He holds out his hand. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

“I’m Sergeant Connor Bolton,” Bolton says, taking the man’s hand and shaking it. “You are?”

“The guy that’s going to take your cell phone,” the man replies. But he doesn’t pull his hand back. He pumps Bolton’s then withdraws and cocks his head. “Come on, Sergeant Bolton, don’t make this hard.”

“The reality is it won’t be hard on me,” Bolton says. “Your people are amateurs. I’m not.”

“Yeah, but there’s a lot more of them than you,” the man replies. “And you aren’t moving so well, Sergeant. We’ve been watching you since you crawled out of that crap over there. How those legs feeling?”

The man is close enough now for Bolton to make a move, but he isn’t sure how fast that move will be. Training or no training, his legs feel like blades are piercing his bones and slicing at his muscles.  He might get in one or two good shots, but the first blow to his shins and he’ll be down and out.

Bolton pulls the sat phone from his hip and hands it over.

“There you go,” the man says. “Not so hard.”

“You live in these trailers?” Bolton asks.

“What? Oh, no,” the man says, inspecting the sat phone. “That’d be idiotic. Damn things are death traps.”

“Oh,” Bolton says. “Yeah, they are.”

The man looks up at Bolton then past him to the trailers. He tucks the phone in his pocket then angles his head back at his people.

“Jeremy? Go check the trailers,” the man says. “Might have squatters.”

The man that had taken Bolton’s pack nods and runs over to the row of trailers. He jumps up onto the first porch, kicks in the door and then fires randomly. After a couple of minutes, he comes out and moves to the next trailer. Before he can kick in the door, the door flies open on its own, knocking Jeremy onto his ass.

A man and a woman, both looking like they haven’t eaten or bathed in some time, bolt from the trailer’s porch, running around the other side as fast as their malnourished legs can carry them. They are almost out of sight when two shots ring out and they both drop.

“I’m no SpecOps soldier,” the man says as he lowers his AR15 and gives Bolton a harsh smile. “Yeah, I know what you are, Sergeant.” He slings his rifle again and walks forward, clamping his hand on Bolton’s shoulder. “Like I was saying, I ain’t no SpecOps soldier, but I can shoot.”

“They were running away,” Bolton says.

“They were a danger,” the man replies. “Did you see them? Desperate. One of my patrols would have come across them eventually and who knows what would have happened? Someone would have gotten hurt.”

“I’d say someone just did,” Bolton snaps.

“Better than one or two of mine,” the man says. He clamps his hand tighter. “Mark Halpern. Good to meet you, Sergeant.”

“Not sure I feel the same way,” Bolton says.

“We’ll see,” Halpern smiles. “Sun’s about up, so how about we get comfortable and plug that phone of yours in. Then in what, four hours? You can call your people and we can see if maybe some patriotic US citizens can get a little help from their government. Maybe fly us out of here to one of those refugee stations down in Texas or on the West Coast?”

Bolton laughs. “If there are even refugee stations left, I don’t think you’ll be flying to them. Not a single aircraft works. None of them.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Halpern replies. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Come with me to Schriever and I’ll show you,” Bolton says, inspiration hitting him. “You get me to Colorado Springs and I’ll make sure you get entrance to either the AFB or Fort Carson. They’ll take care of you and your people.”

Two shots ring out and Jeremy whoops as he stands over the corpses of the man and woman by the trailers.

“They weren’t dead yet!” Jeremy shouts. “They are now!”

“If you stop doing that,” Bolton says. “Keep on killing innocents and the way you’ll get taken care of is by hanging at the end of a rope.”

“Something to think about,” Halpern says. “Something to think about for sure. But first we talk to your people. I want a solid deal in place, not some empty promise from a man that can’t make deals.Sergeant.”

“So we wait?” Bolton asks.

“We wait,” Halpern says. “Have a sit down.”

Bolton obliges and is glad to be off his legs. He watches as Halpern waves at the others and they take off to search the trailers one by one. Halpern plops down next to him, slipping Bolton’s knife from its sheath.

“I’ll hang onto this,” Halpern says.

“Yeah, you do that,” Bolton says.

One of the women comes out of a trailer hollering and laughing, a vibrator jiggling in her hand. “It works! It works!”

Halpern laughs and smacks Bolton on the back as the woman dances around with the sex toy, keeping it out of reach of the others that grab for it.

***

With Roy clean and asleep, and a strong pair of crutches under both arms that she found in one of the supply wings, Terrie clomps her way down the tunnel and into Tony’s room. Krissy sits next to the young man, her eyes wide and attention glued to a small box between them on the workbench.

“Yes, that is good,” Tony says into a handset. “Keeping sepsis from setting in is good. I know that from reading and from watching medical shows.”

“Yeah, well, don’t mean I’m going to make it, kid,” a voice that is mostly static says. “I’ll run out of water and food before this damn wound heals up.”

“Tell him that we’re trying to contact others,” Krissy says. “Tell him maybe we can find someone else close to him.”

Tony relays what Krissy says as Terrie hobbles over to the bench, grabs a stool, and gratefully sits down.

“What is this?” Terrie asks in a hushed voice. “How is he talking to someone?”

“He got his gizmo working,” Krissy whispers, not wanting to disturb Tony as he continues to chat with the person on the other end of the transmission. “He says he’s talked to six people so far.”

“Yeah, but how are they talking to him?” Terrie asks. “How are their radios still working?”

“Some folks had enough parts that they fixed their radios,” Krissy says. “Some are really deep underground. Like in old mines where the EMP didn’t hit. It’s taken this long for a couple to dig out and set up antennas.” Krissy taps at a map of the United States. “I’m checking them off as we find them. We have Nevada and Kentucky. Arizona and Tennessee. Even one all the way up in Maine. I think one said they were down in Oregon, but we got cut off before I could hear for sure. The guy Tony’s talking to now is in Oklahoma.”

“Dang,” Terrie says, smiling. “It’s good to know others are out there.”

“Yeah, there’s one thing,” Krissy says. “Tony was talking to someone that says he’s part of the White House situation room. They want to have Tony help triangulate signals and create a network with them so everyone can communicate.”

“The White House situation room?” Terrie asks, her voice not hiding how skeptical she is. “What did Tony say?”

“At first, a lot,” Krissy says. “He jabbered away about being able to create his blah blah blah gizmo. Then he shut up and his face went white. He told them he had to go and cut the connection.”

“He did? Why?” Terrie exclaims.

“Shhhh,” Tony scolds. “I’m losing this signal and need to—”

Terrie grabs the handset from Tony’s hand and gives him a look that stops him instantly from trying to take it back.

“I’m not saying that you actually were talking to the White House situation room, but if you were, why would you cut off the communication?” Terrie snaps.

“They’re the US government,” Tony says. “They’ll confiscate my technology and take it for their own. I won’t get any credit and they will use it without me.”

“First, we are stuck in a bunker underground on an island in the middle of the Puget Sound,” Terrie says. “There is an entire continent between us and them, so they won’t be taking anything.”

“They have agents everywhere,” Tony says. “Ask Roy.”

Terrie sighs. “Second, getting credit for your creation is not a priority. If it can help establish a communications network then you need to let that happen.”

“But it’s mine and they can’t have it,” Tony says. “Unless they buy it. Always get paid for the work you do.”

“What are they going to pay you with?” Krissy laughs. “Money doesn’t mean anything. What do you want? A lifetime supply of juice boxes?”

“That would work,” Tony says and slowly reaches out for his handset. “I’d like that back now.”

“Only if you promise to call the White House back,” Terrie says. “I know some people and I know how to tell if the people on the other end are legitimate or not.”

“How?” Tony asks, his eyes narrowing. “Are you a government agent?”

“Do I look like one?” Terrie asks.

“Not really,” Tony says. “You’re an old woman. The government doesn’t hire old women.”

Krissy laughs and Terrie shoots her a look. Krissy stops laughing, but not right away.

“Call them for me, Tony,” Terrie says. “We may be able to get ourselves out of this mess.”

Tony looks at Krissy and she nods her head a few times. He sighs and slumps his shoulders then takes the handset and starts fiddling with the box on the workbench.

“I want half apple and half grape,” Tony says. “No, wait. I want a third apple, a third grape, and a third fruit punch. No, hold on…”

He continues to mutter his juice box ratio demands as he tries to reconnect with the White House. Terrie and Krissy just let him mutter as he does his work, both trying not to look too hopeful.

***

Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst are laid out on the concrete floor, Lowell sitting only a few feet away. He watches them carefully, looking for some sign that their situation is changing. But it isn’t, they just lie there, blood dried on their faces and necks, not moving a muscle except for the slow, rhythmic breathing they all do in unison.

It has been hours since they succumbed to the power of the Substance, or whatever happened to them, and Lowell has been debating the entire time about what to do.

“Okay, let’s go over the pros and cons one more time, shall we guys?” he asks aloud. “The pro of opening those doors and going back up is that I can maybe get you to a room that has beds and medical supplies. Plus food and water and all that jazz.”

He waits for a response, not really expecting one.

“The con being that we maybe didn’t kill the roly poly flesh beast and it’s maybe waiting outside those doors right now, its tentacles waving and all ready to ooze us into a paste it can slurp up with its feeding tube.”

No response.

“Not that I know it has a feeding tube,” Lowell continues. “It just stands to reason that it does. I mean, with all of those tentacles and that slappy flesh body, a feeding tube makes more sense than a mouth, right? Right.”

He looks at the cart hold and sighs.

“I say we go with the pro part,” Lowell says. “The good doctor is passed out, so no way for her to work on her theory of what’s happening with the Substance. The laptop is broken anyway. Even if she wakes up, she can’t do anything with the readings because there are no readings to do anything with.”

He stands up and claps his hands together.

“Pro, it is!”

He goes into the cart hold and drives out a fresh one. It takes him a while to get Kyle, Lu, and Dr. Probst loaded onto the cart, but he manages it without smacking their heads around too much. Lowell drives the cart right over to the doors and then steps out and goes to the panel by the side.

“Let’s hope this shit opens,” he says as he activates the doors. “Not cool if I can’t— Oh, hey, it’s opening.”

Lowell moves back to the cart as the doors split apart slowly, the whole tunnel fills with the sounds of grating metal and gears grinding. He’s about to sit in the driver’s seat when his legs go out from under him and he is suddenly racing towards the gap in the doors.

“Fuck!” he yells as he sees the tentacles waving and flapping through the gap, two of them wrapped around his ankles. “Oh, shit fuck!”

Lowell lifts one foot up and brings the heel down on the tentacle holding his opposite leg. The tentacle splits open and black pus oozes everywhere. There’s a loud screech from the other side of the doors. Lowell doesn’t pause, repeating the motion with the other heel, splitting that tentacle too.

Slipping and sliding in the black pus, Lowell scrambles back and gets into the cart, puts it in reverse, and slams home the accelerator. The cart squeals backwards and Lowell whips the wheel around, driving them all right into the cart hold. Then he looks over his shoulder at the ever widening gap between the doors.

“Fuck,” he shouts as he jumps out of the cart and races to the panel.

He smashes his hand against it over and over until the doors stop then reverses their direction, closing on the tentacled monster that is trying to squeeze its way into the tunnel. Lowell walks backwards, his eyes locked onto the monster as it struggles to keep from being crushed. The doors continue to close, their gears whining, whining, whining until there’s a loud crunch and smoke begins to waft about.

The monster snarls and shrieks, causing to Lowell almost pisses himself. He turns about, panic about to grab hold of him, when he realizes he really only has one option.

He rushes into the cart hold and picks a new cart, one without three unconscious bodies draped across it.

“Sorry to bail on you all,” Lowell says as he backs the cart out. “But you’re getting the better end of this deal anyway. Good knowing you, Morgans and Dr. Probst. Hopefully you wake up and aren’t nasty monster things. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem.”

He gets the cart out of the hold then jumps out and shuts the hold doors, sealing in Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst. The creature behind him screeches and Lowell looks back to see it almost all the way into the tunnel.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He gets back into the cart and waits, watching over his shoulder for when the monster is finally free. Lowell has no idea if it takes seconds or minutes or hours, but the thing finally pops through and comes rolling right at him. He hits the accelerator and the cart shoots forward, the engine revving up until it hits its peak speed.

“Come on, come on!” Lowell shouts, leaning forward in the driver’s seat. “Come on!”

He glances back and the tentacled monster that was once Drs. Burkhorst, Scofield, and McDaniels is only a few yards back. And gaining. Lowell faces forward once more, his eyes focused now on the bright orange light at the end of the tunnel.

The bright orange light he is racing right towards.

“Okay, you slimy fuck,” he grunts. “Let’s see how you do when you get back to where you came from.”

The monster shrieks and Lowell winces, wondering if the thing can actually hear him.

“Yeah, suck it!” he shouts back over his shoulder. “You think you can get me? Fuck off! I’ve been running my whole fucking life! I’ve had monsters worse than you catch me and do things to a person that should never be done! You think all those flappy tentacles scare me? They don’t!”

Lowell’s knuckles pop as he grips the steering wheel. The sound of slapping tentacles against concrete is almost as loud as the whirring of the cart’s motor. Lowell pauses and cocks his head. No, it’s not the cart’s motor he hears. And it’s not whirring.

It’s whispering.

He can’t make out any of the words, but he knows he hears a voice. And the voice is directly in front of him, coming from out of the Substance, getting louder with every minute he gets closer.

He is only a few meters from the massive opening and is surprised that he doesn’t feel any heat considering how bright the Substance is. Actually, he doesn’t seem to feel much of anything as he gets closer. His intent was to swerve at the last minute and let the tentacled monster blow past him into the Substance. But that intent, and any desire to not go inside, is quickly gone.

“Ooh, pretty,” he whispers as he is three meters, two meters, one meter from the opening.

Then he is inside and the world, his entire existence goes orange then black.

There is a bright flash from the Substance and the tentacled monster rolls to a stop, its body pulsing and heaving as it waits just at the threshold of the opening.

After a few seconds, there is another flash and a shape appears in the orange. A black shape, wavering and ethereal, that walks out of the opening and past the monster. It stops and studies the tentacled thing then reaches out and gives it a pat before walking over to the panel on the wall and pressing it with a hand that grows more substantial by the second.

The opening begins to shut. The shape turns and solidifies, becoming a man of pure, pure ebony black. He has no facial features other than the rough outline of where a nose should sit and indentations where eyes would normally be peering out. The Ebony Man’s mouth opens and stretches into a grin, revealing row after row after row of pure white, razor sharp teeth.

It says something to the tentacled monster then begins to walk away as the opening to the Substance closes. Soon the orange glow is gone as the door slams shut behind him. The Ebony Man continues down the tunnel, the halogen lights above sputtering and going dark as he passes.

***

The world is bright despite the constant whirlwinds of ash that swirl everywhere. Lowell blinks for several minutes, his brain adjusting to the view before him. It is an impossible view. A view that stretches for miles. He doesn’t remember ever seeing a view so spectacular.

“Holy shit,” he says, but what he hears is a thundering roar that shakes the ground around him.

Lowell freezes. After a couple minutes, he slowly raises his hands to his face. This is not an easy task because his brain is split between two sets of hands on each side of his body. He lifts the massive, three-clawed, taloned hands up and stares at the alien appendages.

“Oh, no fucking way,” he says. Again the ground shakes from a thunderous roar. He clamps all four hands over his mouth.

Taking a deep breath, he looks down at the rest of him. At the slick body and the thick legs. At the ground that is broken and cracked and a couple miles below him. He instantly realizes that the view is so good because he’s several thousand feet tall.

Several thousand feet tall…

“Oh, fuck me running,” he thinks, learning his lesson about what happens when he opens his mouth.

Lowell really, really wants to just sit down and cry. What the hell else can a person do when they suddenly find themselves inside the body of an impossibly large monster?

He’d love to sit down and just close his eyes. Then he wonders how many eyes he has? Before he can answer that question, a loud hiss comes from behind him. He spins quickly, nearly toppling over as his brain tries to catch up with the height and power of his body.

Running at full speed, its mouth wide open and hissing, is a lizard straight out of the Discovery Channel, but much, much bigger than it would appear on TV.

“Is that a motherfucking Komodo dragon?” he shouts, not giving two shits about the huge roar that comes from his monster mouth. “God dammit! WHAT IS GOING ON?”

The End

Read on for a free sample of Kaiju Fall

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror and sci/fi tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Mega series for Severed Press, as well as the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

-2 days

5:36 pm

“John Clayton Scott, get in the car,” Tamara ordered her son, John Clayton. She used her Auntie voice, the one that made children stop their foolishness and come to attention like soldiers in an army. John Clayton stopped running in circles with his Lego spaceship and climbed into his seat in the mini-van. His brother, James, was already in the van, strapped into his toddler chair. James was looking at the pictures in a book that he could not read yet. Herbert the Timid Dragon. Herbert was coughing flames all over a Mercer Mayer army because Herbert was afraid. And when Herbert got afraid, he coughed.

John Clayton wished he was as easily absorbed by things as his brother. John Clayton was like his dad. He liked to build things. Legos, pinewood derby race cars, Legos, Minecraft castles, Legos. He liked to build. One day he hoped to build things like his dad. For now, though, he was content with his Nintendo DS.

On the other side of the driveway, Rylan checked the straps on the Silverado. All the straps were tight. Nothing would fall out.

He leaned over and kissed his wife through the window as she started the engine.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Rylan said.

“You got the checkbook?”

“Yes. I also got the drive and the sim cards.”

“Everything is on the Cloud. You got the lockbox?”

“Yep.”

“And we double-checked to make sure all our house information and insurance records are in the lockbox?”

“Yes.”

“I think that’s everything we have to have.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be far behind.”

“I’m getting into the truck and pulling out. I’ll be right behind you. I just want to check the workshop first.”

“You mean the garage.”

He smiled.  “I mean workshop.”

She kissed him again, full on the lips.

“Mom!” John Clayton groaned.

Rylan ducked out of the window, then into John Clayton’s and growled at him like a bear.

“Dad, stop!” John Clayton giggled, but he liked it anyways. His dad bear-hugged him. Then he ran around the back of the minivan and jumped across James’ window. James was waiting for this like a Jack in the box. When his dad finally popped out, he jumped in his seat and laughed. He got a big bear hug from his papa bear, too.

“When is Kaiju Goliad coming, Dad?” John Clayton asked.

“Not for two more days, at least.”

“Is a kaiju going to smash our house?”

“Kaiju like lights, and all our lights will be out. Don’t worry about it.”

“I want a kaiju,” James said.

“We get to visit Uncle Dre and vacation in Austin now?”

“Something like that.”

Both boys erupted in cheers.

“Be good for your mom,” Rylan said. “I don’t want to strap any of you to the hood of the truck.”

As Tamara pulled out of the driveway, she made her boys wave good-bye to their house.

7:54 pm

All evening as they drove, the relentless Texas heat came at them. The heat wavered off the highway above the long line of cars like a giant vaporous snake, a sidewinder of heat sliding up and down the highway. It made Tamara glad for air conditioning. It wasn’t just the physical, almost tangible effect of the heat that bothered Tamara but the stench of it, too. Her nostrils burned with the smell of melted tar and exhaust fumes. She would need a bath when they got to her brother, Andre’s, house. He had a nice new limestone off of MOPAC. Had one of those bathrooms that were as big as a small bedroom. It had a shower with two showerheads. She could get a lot of the road off of her with two showerheads.

The diaspora of cars moved at little more than a snail’s pace, which was something Tamara had hoped she would never live to see. She wanted to look it up on Google, a snail’s pace, wondering where the phrase came from. But she and Rylan had agreed to turn off their cell phones so they wouldn’t sap the battery. Her husband said he would try to talk to her when the cars stopped, but the line never fully stopped. It moved just fast enough, maybe a turn of the wheel every minute, to prevent him from getting out of the truck and walking over to the van for a discussion on whatever. Something. Anything as long as it wasn’t about kaijus. She was sick to death of kaijus. For the past week, everything was kaiju, kaiju, kaiju. Where will it land? Why was it going to Texas instead of out into the Atlantic like so many others?

Thank God for satellite radio, she thought, and turned it to her favorite station, a channel called The Groove. She liked the classics. Marvin, Stevie, and Michael. They were always good to her. They made her feel, which was important. Rylan could be an artist, but he was not fond of music. Never had been. He was fine for it for background noise, but he was just as likely to play talk radio as he was to play rock music when he was working in the garage. His phone had less than twenty songs on it when they married.

Two hours, and they had barely left the Clear Lake area. They weren’t twenty minutes from their house under normal traffic conditions. That was an order of magnitude. At this rate, it would take thirty hours to get to Austin, and by then Kaiju Goliad would be bearing down on Houston.

“Mama, I want a kaiju,” James said. He hadn’t given up hope that one day he would have his own pet monster that stood as tall as a skyscraper.

“Well, kaiju aren’t adoptable, so we can’t have one.”

“Why are we going to Uncle Dre’s?” John Clayton asked. “Mike’s family is going to a shelter in Huntsville.”

“Well, we could go to a shelter in Huntsville, but we had to leave Solemnity Bay. Houston and Galveston are under mandatory evacuations.”

“Mama, I gotta pee,” James continued without missing a beat. John Clayton had the urge, too, but wanted Mama to know that he was holding it because he was a big boy.

“Okay.”

She turned on her signal light and pulled over. Rylan followed in the Silverado. He watched John Clayton hop over James and burst into the tall roadside grass like a sprinter, then run back to the mini-van, unbuckled his brother, and then they both charged head-first into the grass, reaching for their zippers. Within seconds, the boys were trying to spell their names in urine. He chuckled, and caught his wife smiling at him in her rearview mirror.

9:02 pm

“Mama, James looks like a dead dinosaur again.” James had a way of contorting his body in the car seat so that his head was arched up and back and his legs were stuck out at odd positions. When he did this, he looked like a fossilized dinosaur skeleton where the neck has craned back far enough that the dead dinosaur looks like it is trying to eat its tail.

“Get his pillow, John Clayton.”

John Clayton searched the floor of the minivan for the neck pillow. He shoved it clumsily under his brother’s head. He did it in such a way that it was amazing James remained asleep. But little boys can be heavy sleepers.

The sunflower yellow in the sky had gone to the great Crayola box behind the horizon, and now the lid was shut and all the world was dark except for the long train of brake lights and the faraway lights of oil factories. This was Baytown, after all, and those refineries would keep pushing until the very last moment when they were forced to shut down and stop producing money.

His dad worked at one of the plants. Tonka Oil. That wasn’t it. Tanonka Oil? John Clayton wished he could remember how to pronounce the name of his dad’s company. He was the oldest, so he was supposed to remember things. James wouldn’t be expected to because he was too little. But John Clayton was a big boy. He was supposed to remember things like how to add multiple numbers, the water cycle, and the name of his father’s company. It wasn’t Tonka. Tonka was little kid’s toys.

A shadow appeared off the side of the road. (Or maybe it was better to say a black form appeared because it was night, but it felt cold like a shadow.) John Clayton couldn’t figure out what she shadow looked like because it stood behind tall, Southern pines. But the top of its head seemed to hover like the silhouette of a water tower in the night. This was no water tower, though. Water towers didn’t move. This one moved with purpose. While the minivan crept down the highway, the shadow followed them.

He didn’t want to say anything to his mama. Only little boys are afraid of the dark, and only little boys say every little doubt they have. John Clayton was expected to be more reserved. He would study the problem first, then tell his parents about it. If it really was a problem and not just his imagination running away with him.

As they snaked along the highway and out towards the Fred Hartman Bridge, John Clayton noticed little lights winking out as they passed behind the shadow. It was only then he started to get an idea of its shape. He didn’t know how many arms and legs it had because they got mixed up with the trees, but he was sure it was as wide as two cars based on how long it took the lights to pass behind the shadow.

John Clayton climbed out of his seat and leaned over James so that he could get a better view.

“Son, get back in your seat,” his mama yawned. She took another sip of her coffee.

“There’s something out there.”

“It’s late and past your bedtime. You’re seeing things, baby. Sit back down and try to go to sleep. Whatever it is, I’m sure it will go away.”

John Clayton yawned. He was sleepy. The day had been exciting. He had been a big boy, helping his mom and dad pack for the evacuation. Sometimes he just watched his little brother. But that was a big deal, too, because James liked to wander.

John Clayton leaned back in his chair, pulled the belt buckle over his shoulder, and watched the night sky through sleep-slitted eyes. Soon he was drifting off to sleep.

He closed his eyes and listened to the gentle hum of the road. He opened his eyes one last time, just to be sure.

A red eye opened in the shadow. It was looking directly at him. Looking down at him from up above the tree line. Then a second eye, this one orange, opened and looked at John Clayton. The boy inhaled sharply and caught his breath as a stark fear wrapped around him. Two more eyes, one green and one yellow, opened on opposite sides of the head.

“Kaiju!” John Clayton yelled. When his mom didn’t react, he said it over and over, pleading for his mother to solve the problem he was powerless to do anything about. “Kaiju! Kaiju! Kaiju!”

9:04 pm

The giant shape emerged from the tree line and stepped towards the line of cars. As it came towards them, Rylan did the math in his head and realized the “little” kaiju would be coming up behind the Silverado. He honked his horn at Tamara to urge her to get around other cars, even if it meant driving off the road.

He was too late, though. The cars behind him had seen the shape, too, and they were speeding down the shoulder.

Remembering that Kaiju were attracted to light, Rylan cut the engine and turned off his lights. The cars behind him did not. The monster entered the highway. Light from car headlights showed the creature to be a sinewy, toothy creature with strangely colored eyes. These were not true kaiju, though it was easily the largest animal Rylan had ever seen in his life. They were called lampreys because they followed kaiju. It was theorized that, like lampreys, they fed on the scraps that the kaiju did not eat. However, they also were known to precede kaiju falls, like they were scouting out food sources for a kaiju to make landfall. The lamprey behind his Silverado, however, seemed more intent on wanton destruction.

The lamprey grabbed the car behind Rylan and flipped it with the ease a person would flip a chair. The car crashed against another car and landed on its side. The lamprey hissed and bit another car. Its tail flung over the Silverado, and then the creature turned south towards the refinery lights and more traffic.

The long line of cars broke like a million ants suddenly breaking from their pheromone-laced line. They slammed into each other and forced their way away from the lamprey. The moving lights seemed to excite the creature more. Rylan got an idea.

He got out of the cab and climbed up to the bed, standing on the tire of his pickup. What he needed was close by and easily accessible. In that way, he was lucky. He opened a duffel bag full of his kids’ favorite toys and found exactly what he was after. He set the quad copter on the ground and turned it on.

Gently, the glow-in-the-dark quad copter rose into the air. He had painted it this way because John Clayton wanted to fly it at night like an alien UFO, and Rylan, who had over-purchased for his son, did not want to lose an expensive toy that easily. So he painted it in glow-in-the-dark and tied a long glow-in-the-dark kite string to it.

The quadcopter zoomed across the lanes of traffic and over the lamprey. This was engineering on the run, literally, but if it worked, the pay-off would be tremendous.

The lamprey ignored the quad copter hovering above its four colored eyes. It was enjoying the car’s shaking lights. The driver, however, had crawled to the back seat of his car to pray.

But then the lamprey did a funny thing. It glanced up, and it stared at the tiny quad copter like a kid staring at a firefly. And then it snapped its loathsome jaws at the quad copter. A little glow-in-the-dark kitestring dangled from the lamprey’s mouth.

Then military copters appeared in the sky. Rylan had not heard them coming, and it was too dark to see what kind they were. They just suddenly existed, like drops of thought conjured into the sky. Missiles deployed, and machine guns chainsawed, and suddenly the quad copter-chewing lamprey was retreating back into the woods. Rylan looked down at the remote control unit in his hand. He could throw it away, but then again, that would be denying his pack rat sensibilities.  He stuffed it back into the duffel bag and mentally noted the data point for future reference:  kaiju follow lights.

In the dark, the lamprey fell, and the ground shook.

The little ones were easier to take down than the big ones.

The convoy continued.

Zero Day

Goliad was the sixth kaiju of the summer, and the first to veer towards Texas. Unlike most kaiju that ended up returning to the trench or dying in the middle of the Atlantic, Goliad curved back into the Gulf of Mexico. For five days, Rylan and Tamara watched the reports, studied the charts, and did everything they could to make sure they were ready if Goliad committed to making landfall on Houston.

On September 5, the mayor of Houston ordered the city’s evacuation. Surrounding towns quickly followed. One week later, the fourth largest city in the United States was a ghost town.

On September 13, Goliad came ashore…

Kaiju Fall is available from Amazon here