Project Maigo (16 page)

“Aim for the eyes,” Collins says. “Won’t do any permanent damage, but if he can’t see, it will slow him down.”

Gordon shoves himself off the rock and looks for Endo. Not seeing him, the traitorous general throws himself at Alessi, who looks a lot less sure of herself, now that the plan has fallen apart. She manages to duck his sweeping arms, but he recovers quickly and reaches out to grab her head. One good squeeze and she’s done.

She stands in between Gordon and me. His hunched body is just a little taller than hers. And they’re both moving. It’s an impossible shot. The odds of my hitting her are—

Crack!

Collins squeezes off a single round. It doesn’t hit Gordon’s eye, but the impact on his cheek is enough to get his attention. Alessi uses the distraction to duck away, running into the maze of rocks lining the ocean. And now Collins and I are Gordon’s only remaining targets.

He lumbers toward us, yellow eyes blazing. “You’re making this too easy for me. You should have stayed away.”

As I depress the trigger and hold it down, emptying my magazine at Gordon, I realize he’s right. The attack in Beverly was all about me. If I really am what’s keeping Gordon and Nemesis from having a mental pow-wow, the results could be catastrophic, especially if he’s able to influence her the way he is these other Kaiju.

As Collins and I both run out of ammo and move to reload, Gordon breaks into a run. I quickly move my hand to the weapon’s second trigger and pop off a grenade. It hits Gordon head on, stumbling him, but nothing more. While I unload another magazine at his head, Collins fires her grenade. The fragmentation device strikes Gordon’s forehead, exploding with enough concussive force to knock the wind out of me. The shards of metal sprayed by the grenade have no effect on his thick skin, but there’s enough of the stuff flying around that his eyes both take hits. His approach grinds to a halt as he rubs at his face, growling in frustration.

It’s just a momentary delay. But it’s enough.

When Gordon opens his eyes again, fully healed, Collins and I are gone, hiding behind a granite block inscribed with information about the park. In our place is Betty, chain gun already spinning.

A look of unadulterated annoyance wipes across Gordon’s face a second before Woodstock pummels it with a stream of bullets. The weapon sounds like a giant, angry bee, firing ten rounds per second. Just a fraction of a second is enough to reduce the average person into a hunk of unrecognizable meat. Nasty stuff. But Gordon takes it like it’s a fire-hose blast of water. He just leans forward, arms raised to protect his face, and keeps on coming.

For me.

But then there is hope. Flecks of black start shooting away from the flesh on Gordon’s arms and chest. The high caliber bullets are punching through his skin!

And that’s when Betty runs out of bullets.

Gordon straightens up and flexes his chest. The black flesh is all torn up. As his broad chest widens, its cracks open up, revealing lines of bright orange.

Then he’s running again, his big feet pulverizing the earth with each step. At least it won’t be hard for a forensics team to put together the story of my death. Realizing that wasting more ammo on Gordon isn’t going to do anything but put us in harm’s way, I shout, “Run!” and turn to follow my own command.

I’m a pretty observant guy, so as I spin 180 degrees and move my legs, I notice the tall, green grass ahead, the way it glows yellow in the sunlight and waves in the cool ocean breeze. I also notice the grasshopper, clinging to a thick blade, perhaps watching the unfolding scene with detached curiosity. But all of this flashes in and out of my mind in a fraction of a second, overwhelmed by the appearance of a moving shadow. It slides across the grass, shrinking just above the grasshopper, until Gordon lands. He jumped clear over me.

The grasshopper is a goner.

So am I.

Before I can fully stop, Gordon reaches out and catches me around the waist with his left hand. He lifts me from the ground, and I feel like a kid again, lifted off my feet by that horrible Gravitron carnival ride, helpless and ill. He quickly drives his right fist into my stomach. The armor I’m wearing helps absorb and redirect some of the force, but I still feel like I’ve been hit by a car. And I’m promptly hit by it two more times, each impact getting closer to liquefying my insides.

A gun fires, close and fully loaded. Six shots. Collins. She manages to pause his barrage, but only long enough for him to spin around and use me like a club. When my body strikes Collins, Gordon lets go, and the two of us topple to the ground. I’m not sure if I black out or not, but before I can even think about getting up, he’s above me, blocking out the sun, the grin still on his face.

He has no quipy final words for me. He just raises his meaty fist, eyes on mine, ready to squash my head. Bruised, battered and out of breath, I don’t have the energy or ability to move anything more than my hand, which I use to find Collins’s hand, and squeeze. A silent goodbye.

The fist descends like a blunt guillotine.

20

“Stop!” The voice is distant and weak, but the effect is impressive.

Gordon’s fist freezes, cocked back, still ready to mash my face, but unmoving. That’s not entirely true. The limb shakes against the invisible force holding it. Gordon, his face scrunched tightly in anger, teeth bared, is still trying to kill me. He just can’t.

Still unable to move and save myself, I let my head loll to the side. Endo limps toward us, his weight supported by Alessi. He’s clutching his ribs and he’s soaked through, dripping tide-pool water.

Why is Gordon—the neural implant!
It’s attached to his temple. And it
works
.

“Step away,” Endo says. It’s almost a request, but Gordon obeys. Not without some resistance though. His body shakes with agitation, revolting at the idea of obeying his former subordinate.

A deep growl builds in Gordon’s chest, escaping through his grinding teeth as a muffled roar. His yellow eyes blaze with fury. I suspect the growl is an outward sign of his mental resistance, because Endo grunts and falls to his knees, holding his head.

I push myself up, despite the pain. If Endo loses his grasp on Gordon, I don’t want to be laying down waiting for him like a loose floozy.

Alessi helps keep Endo upright. “Are you okay?” She turns to Collins. “Help me.”

Collins seems torn between helping me up and assisting Endo. It’s nice that she cares, but we kind of need Endo to stay conscious.

“Go,” I tell her, pushing myself up like I’m tough shit and quickly regretting it. My whole body hurts. Going to for days. Despite me being Gordon’s punching bag, Endo looks worse off than me.

“What’s wrong with him?” Collins asks Alessi, helping hold Endo up.

“It’s Gordon,” Endo says between gasps. His eyes are clenched shut. “He’s fighting it. He’s—”

“Get out of my head!” Gordon screams, clutching the sides of his skull. I don’t think he knows the neural implant is there, but he could still break it by accident. However this ends, it seems clear that Endo’s control of Gordon is only temporary.

Endo spasms and falls back, hanging limp in the women’s arms. “I...know...what...he—argh!” Endo’s back arches. Blood pours from his nose.

This connection with Gordon’s brain is killing him. I reach for Endo’s ear piece and yank it away. Nothing changes. I’d assumed the headset was what allowed Endo to connect with the target mind. I was wrong. “How can I break the connection?”

“You can’t,” Alessi says.

“It’s going to kill him,” I counter, and part of me asks,
why do I care?

She looks down at Endo. “Only he can break the connection.”

Endo’s eyes open wide. He reaches out and clutches my arm. “I was right. It’s you. He’s going to kill you. But it...has to be...
him
. Ahh!”

Gordon is seething. He stumbles about, grunting and groaning, thrashing back and forth like Endo is still clinging to his shoulders. As I watch the twisting giant, his chest flexes. The ruined skin splits, revealing bands of orange light.

Like Nemesis and the other Kaiju, Gordon now has an explosive defense system, which I now know from experience, also makes for a useful propellant. As strong as Gordon is, I suspect he lacks the mass to stand against the force of that kind of explosion.

“Endo,” I shout. “Move him away. Get out of his thoughts, and move him toward the ocean!”

Endo and Gordon gasp in unison. Their thoughts in sync for just a moment as they both turn toward the ocean and speak, “She’s coming.”

Since the events of the previous year, there is pretty much only one reason why someone might look to the ocean in fear and speak those words. Nemesis. My unwanted protector. Racing to the rescue. And she’s hard to miss. Two miles out, a 50-foot-tall mound of water rushes toward the shore, cut through by the 30-foot-tall spikes that line the carapace of her back.

While the monster’s intentions are noble, or instinctual as the case may be, she’s going to get us all killed. When she stops—
if
she stops—that massive wave is going to keep right on coming. I think it’s safe to say that Nemesis has no understanding of Newton’s first law of motion.

But before we can head for higher ground, we need to deal with Gordon.

“Endo,” I say. “Focus, you son-of-a-bitch. Push him toward the water.”

Gordon, eyes still on Nemesis, takes a furtive step. Then another. He must realize that he’s being controlled again, because his movements become shaky and unbalanced. Endo’s body quivers. His eyes roll back. But Gordon keeps on moving.

I point to the large cube of inscribed granite. “Take cover!”

Collins and Alessi drag Endo behind the five-foot-thick marker while I drag myself. All of my limbs are working, but the pain I feel with each step slows me down. When I reach the others, I look back to Gordon. He’s a good two-hundred feet away.
Far enough
, I decide, and I draw my pistol.

“Endo, if you can hear me, turn him around.”

Gordon slowly faces us, his eyes locked on me.
I am so getting sick of being on the receiving end of a Kaiju glare.

“Open his arms,” I say. “Flex his chest.”

My unwanted teammate shakes. Drool slides down his cheek.

Gordon shakes, fighting the movement, not because he knows what I’m going to do, but just because he’s a stubborn prick who doesn’t like to be controlled. Which is understandable. I’ve been in his position.

With a pain-filled shout, Endo arches his back and falls unconscious.

My head snaps back to Gordon. He roars with victory, raising his fists. He turns his head skyward and lets out a howl, doing exactly what I wanted him to.

Looking over the barrel of my handgun, I notice that my vision is a little blurry. No time to let it clear. I squeeze off a shot. Then another. And another. They have no effect. Because I’m missing.

A louder gunshot rings out to my left.

Collins.

Oh crap. Collins won’t—

The world turns orange as a hand shoves down on my shoulder and pushes me behind the large stone. Heat and flames rocket past. My face stings. My armor heats up. And then it’s gone. While the explosive force from those orange membranes is impressive, the blast begins and ends very quickly, as the wound gets cauterized.

The grass on either side of us is charred and smoldering. I stand to find Gordon still on the rocky coastline, the area around him blackened by the blast. He’s on his knees, clutching his chest.
He didn’t know
, I realize. The explosion must have come as a shock, and probably hurt like hell. For the first time, he looks weak. Wounded. Perhaps vulnerable.

I’m not sure
we
could kill him, but having seen how Nemesis handled Scrion, there is no doubt she could make a snack of him.

Speaking of which... “Woodstock, we need immediate evac!”

Betty circles around overhead, dropping toward the stone between us and Gordon—and the giant wave, which is now just a half mile and thirty seconds away.