Project Maigo (31 page)

41

I stand transfixed by the sight of my impending doom. Drakon rises through the air, eager teeth seeming to stretch out, ready to puncture the membranes on the sides of Nemesis’s neck and erase the drama unfolding at the White House. Strategically, it’s a smart move. Only Gordon would survive. But since Gordon wants, or maybe needs, to kill me himself, it’s contrary to his wishes. He’s just a little too busy to realize that Drakon’s gone off-plan.

But all of my concerns are for naught. Nemesis is far from defenseless. And Drakon is half her size.

Leaning back, away from Drakon’s biting jaws, Nemesis reaches up and catches her attacker around the waist. The lizard Kaiju thrashes wildly, raking Nemesis’s arm with her claws. When that doesn’t work, Drakon thrashes out with her massive tail, striking Nemesis on the side. But the flat flesh of the creature’s tail is better for swimming than injuring a beast like Nemesis, who takes hold of the tail and pulls. At first, I think she’s trying to rend Drakon in two, but she lets go of the monster’s waist and swings all 200 feet around, slamming it into the EEOB, destroying what remained. And she’s not done there.

Nemesis continues thrashing Drakon, slamming the monster back and forth, pummeling the life out of the smaller Kaiju, while decimating the city. I cringe, fully remembering why I shouldn’t cheer for Nemesis. If there was anyone in those buildings... And I brought her here. Like with Alexander Tilly, I offered the nation’s capital up as a sacrifice, and like the blood sacrifices of old, I hope it will somehow atone for mankind’s darkness with the higher power known as Nemesis.

Buildings crumble, one after another, filling the air with plumes of debris and smoke, partly concealing Nemesis and Drakon. The duo roar in tandem. Nemesis sounds angry and wrathful. But Drakon just sounds pitiful, like a giant wailing beast. And then I get to see why.

Nemesis steps forward, clear of the smoke, lifting Drakon high into the air, her claws piercing the smaller Kaiju’s sides. With a victorious roar, Nemesis slams Drakon down onto the angel-topped First Division Monument, a spear-like statue. I’m sure the memorial will be crushed, but to my surprise, it emerges from Drakon’s back with a geyser of brown flesh and blood, creating the world’s first Kaiju-kabob.

Drakon’s body writhes and thrashes, but the monster can’t move. Nemesis has it pinned. With a shudder, the Kaiju falls still. Dead. Nemesis has now killed two of Gordon’s five. I hear him scream, his voice distant, but full of anger and anguish. He’s either witnessed Drakon’s demise or felt it. Possibly both. If he reacts to their deaths the way I might Collins’s or Woodstock’s, he’s going to be more dangerous than ever.

Pushing my concern for Lilly aside, I turn my attention back to Nemesis, wondering what she’ll do now that Drakon is dead. Will she go for Gordon? While that would be a good thing, generally speaking, Nemesis isn’t exactly worried about her surroundings. She might level the White House in her effort to reach him, killing me, Endo and Lilly, not to mention all the soldiers, Secret Service agents and the newly brave President.

But that’s not what happens. Nemesis stands up tall with a huff, looking east. She’s spotted something and lets out an earth-shaking roar. A moment later, a second roar, like a warbling fog horn, replies. I recognize the call.

Scylla. The hammerhead Kaiju. It’s in the city!

Nemesis charges across the South Lawn, crushing monuments, felling trees and destroying an unfortunate tank, killing the crew. The men and armaments on the far side of the lawn have wisely begun to retreat, but Nemesis doesn’t slow, and not all of them make it out in time. Nemesis’s giant feet crush the stragglers, and she begins wading through the Commerce Building like it was a field of grass.

Scylla roars again, clearing the shock from my mind and reminding me of what I need to do. I charge inside the White House, now empty except for distant shouts and a gray smoke that hangs in the hall like a fog. I run through the oval-shaped entryway and slide to a stop on a royal-looking, red rug in the hallway. I turn back and forth, trying to remember the building’s layout.

Motion through the haze catches my attention. I move toward it, hoping to find a Secret Service agent. Instead, I find President Beck, dragging a bloodied and unconscious Agent Dunne. Beck stops when he sees me. Blood covers his face, and the neural implant is missing.

“What happened?” I ask.

“That thing nearly got us,” he says. “There’s no way to reach the bunker that way.”

Despite the connection between us being broken, Beck seems oblivious to my presence here being strange, and he’s still acting brave. Perhaps the effects will be permanent? I almost feel bad about altering the man’s mind, but seeing him in action and saving Dunne’s life? It’s inspiring.

“Is there another way down?” I ask.

He nods. “A tunnel in the West Wing, beneath the situation room.”

“The West Wing isn’t in any danger now, sir. Take him that way, and stay down there until I come and get you. I’ll take care of the Kaiju.”

He pauses, staring at me.
Is his old self returning?

“I’ve always admired your resolve, Hudson,” he says. “I’m sorry for ever doubting your ability to respond to this crisis. I can’t explain why, but I don’t think I could have ever said that before today.”

I’m dumbfounded, mostly because I didn’t put the words in his mouth. “Thank you, sir. You should get going.”

He nods and starts dragging Dunne away.

“And when you get there, make sure everyone knows to not attack Nemesis.”

He pauses again, looking unsure. “Not attack? Why the hell not?”

“Not enough time to explain,” I say. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

He looks like he might disagree, but then says, “Good enough,” and continues on his way through the gray smog.

“Oh!” I shout, before losing sight of the man. “Where are the stairs up?”

Beck motions to the right side of the hall with his head. “Second door on the right.”

I give him a casual salute, say, “Thanks,” and make for the stairs, taking them two at a time, despite the pain continuing to wrack my body.

By the third floor, I’m above the smoke, and I know where I’m going. I find the dark hallway easily, following the trail of injured soldiers and Secret Service agents being treated by their less injured comrades. One of agents sees where I’m headed and snatches my wrist. “You can’t go out there. It’s too dangerous.”

“Anyone else out there?” I ask.

“Just one guy,” he says. “He’s dressed as an agent, but I don’t recognize him.” He squints at me. “Or you. Who the hell are you?”

I answer honestly. “DHS Fusion Center-P.”

He lets go of my arm. “Thank God.”

I’m a little bit stunned by this reaction. I’m not sure I ever realized how much hope people put in my small division of the government. But since we’re the only ones who really specialize in Kaiju, he must believe I’m as adept at my job as he is at his. Speaking of which... “President Beck is headed to the PEOC via the West Wing tunnel. He’s got Agent Dunne. Best if you all get down there. There’s a good chance things will get...explosive.”

“Understood,” he says with a nod. “God speed, sir.”

I offer him a half smile and enter the red-lit tunnel leading to the roof. My legs feel heavy as I ascend the stairs at the end. Doing my best to ignore the pain and the scent of blood, I push through the now deformed door at the end. The roof is quiet, abandoned by the White House’s defenders. The missile launchers and chain guns are in shambles. The most defended building in the world is now defenseless.

Well, almost.

I’m still here. But am I alone?

“Endo!”

No reply. I hobble northeast, around the destroyed south side and toward the sound of wanton destruction being dished out on the city. “Endo!”

“Over here!” I see Endo standing by a large air conditioning unit, which blocks my view of the city. He hurries over, grinning strangely.

“I thought you were dead,” he says.

“Pssh,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Getting tackled off the roof was all part of my plan.”

He tugs me along, not acting at all like himself. He’s almost jovial. “You have to see this.”

He gets me jogging, which hurts, but starts to feel good as my stiffening limbs loosen. As we round the air conditioning unit, and reach the back wall, Endo thrusts his hands out at the view. The sight saps my energy. My legs go wobbly. And all I can think is,
I did this.

Endo looks at me, a twinkle in his eyes. “Isn’t it amazing?”

42

Mark Hawkins had seen some crazy things in his life. He’d fought and killed a grizzly bear with nothing but a knife. As a park ranger at Yellowstone National Park, he had worked on a number of search-and-rescue missions that ended with a corpse, which as an expert tracker, he was always the first to find. And just two years ago, he’d been shipwrecked on an island in the Pacific full of horrible, scientifically created chimeras. The monsters, which included a crocodile with tentacles, were perfectly good at one thing—killing people. The worst of them was Lilly’s mother,
Kaiju
, a name he never thought he’d hear again, but which he had now heard in countless news reports since Nemesis emerged in Boston. After escaping the island and going underground with Lilly, Hawkins had believed the strangest, most dangerous days of his life were behind him.

He was wrong.

He was so wrong.

Sprinting down Pennsylvania Avenue, Hawkins ran against the flow of fleeing humanity, moving among the brave soldiers and tanks headed toward the sounds of battle, which for the most part were shrieking, roaring monsters.

“Look out!” Someone yelled.

Hawkins looked up as the corner of the Commerce Building disintegrated and debris exploded out in all directions. He dove to the sidewalk, taking cover as concrete sprayed past. A soldier with slower reflexes fell beside him, a slab of sharp marble embedded in his face.

Hawkins stared at the grim sight. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. But he’d seen worse than this soldier’s deformed face. He’d seen friends turned into monsters, into incubators. And he’d survived that mess by acting, not lying down.

Nemesis roared as Hawkins stood, drawing his attention. The monstrous Kaiju was heading in the direction he’d come from, which was a good thing, but he wasn’t there to deal with the full-sized monster; he was there for someone else. A man named Gordon. A traitor to his country, perhaps not all that dissimilar from the clandestine group at DARPA who had kept Island 731 operational since World War II.

Hawkins turned right onto Executive Avenue at a sprint, dodging past a burning tank and a group of soldiers tending to the wounded. He wanted to stop and help, but he wasn’t responsible for those men. It was Lilly he was concerned about. Hudson had offered to create a preserve—fenced-in private land, where Lilly and her daughters could live in peace. But it came at a high price. He needed Lilly’s muscles. He needed Lilly the monster, not Lilly the girl.

While Lilly, who had been separate from the world but desperate to experience it, was on board from the get go, Hawkins had had serious reservations. It wasn’t until Hudson offered to look into the DARPA mess and find out who was responsible, that Hawkins had come around. If Lilly and her...litter, could be safe—truly safe for the rest of their lives—the risk could be worthwhile.

But Hawkins had never pictured anything like this. It was a warzone.

He slid to a stop in the mud of what once was the White House’s front lawn. In the distance, past a stand of flattened trees, he could see the Kaiju known as Drakon, impaled atop a monument. Brown blood pooled around the scene.

This was
worse
than a warzone.

An aggravated shout turned his attention north, toward the White House. He didn’t recognize the baritone voice, but he recognized the tone of it. That was Lilly’s doing. She was kind and gentle, but she was a young woman and could be infuriating when she wanted to be.

Sticking to the trees, and feeling more at home, Hawkins moved through the shadows, well concealed thanks to the body armor Hudson had given him. He held his weapon of choice, a compound bow, at the ready. The bow shot arrows at 400-feet per second. It was quieter than a BB gun and highly accurate, thanks to its fiber optic sight. The weapon was powerful enough to take down nearly any living thing on land, short of an elephant, and the prey—or in this case, the enemy—wouldn’t be tipped off to his location because of sound. Even better, Hudson’s colleague, Endo, had supplied some specially modified arrow heads. If they performed as promised, he thought they would make a real difference.

His back-up weapon, supplied by Hudson, was slung over his back. The Benelli M4 semi-automatic shotgun could fire eight 12-gauge shells as fast as Hawkins could pull the trigger, each of which could remove a man’s limb. He wasn’t hunting a man, though. Hudson seemed to think the shotgun would only slow Gordon down. A weapon of last resort. “Aim for his face,” had been Hudson’s advice.