The Montauk Monster (23 page)

The creature bore no resemblance to any of the others he’d seen. A failed experiment in one sense, and yet a grand success if the goal was to create an animal that looked like it was straight from the pits of hell.

Its face was a contorted mass of flesh and bone—one jaundiced eye slumped down into the sagging jowls, a muzzle that looked as if it had been twisted like pulled taffy and pushed into a malformed skull. It was completely hairless, with teal skin, lean, sinewy muscles and paws the size of a man’s hand.

It did have teeth, rows and rows of them, a landlocked shark with bat ears.

A strangled growl rumbled in its chest as it swooped down to rip the flesh from Meredith’s exposed neck.

“No!”

Dalton jammed the butt of the M16 into the beast’s mouth, driving it backward. He kept pushing, wedging the rifle hard into its jaws until there was a loud snap. It pulled away, mouth hanging open, its jaw hinges shattered.

He dropped the infected rifle.

Its head snapped from side to side, its lower jaw flapping like an untethered flag.

Though he’d wounded its mouth, the damn thing’s legs worked just fine. It came at him with long, loping strides, back muscles heaving.

He spun to his right just as the creature brushed past, lunging with its corded neck. His shirt ripped as a jagged fang caught the fabric. Dalton stumbled, landed on his knee, and bounced back up.

Frantic, he inspected the rip in his sleeve.

The skin underneath was unbroken. He didn’t have time to be grateful because the creature made a sharp turn and was headed back for him. Running, his feet flew from the pavement and onto the hood of the squad car. As he scaled the roof, the car shuddered from the weight of the beast. Dalton’s foot caught on the lights and he fell face-first onto the trunk. His top teeth clanged off the unyielding metal, one of them ripping from the root and sailing onto the blacktop.

The pain was like a needle to the center of his brain.

The fall itself was Lady Luck making her presence known. Unable to adjust its trajectory, the beast flew over him, tumbling across the lot.

Before the creature could attack again, he grabbed his Glock, firing four shots into the flayed target that was its mouth. The bullets raced down its gullet, exploding out the rear and sides of the man-made nightmare.

It staggered for a moment, took a step toward him, upper lips curled back, bloody shark teeth hungry for more. Its knees shook, and it collapsed on its side, a pool of blood and bile flowing from its mouth onto the blacktop.

Meredith!

She was rising to her knees, holding her head, blood seeping between her fingers. “What the hell happened?”

“You were almost a Montauk monster meal,” he said, checking the gash on her forehead. It didn’t look like she’d need stitches. He took off his uniform shirt, wadded it into a ball and pressed it against the wound. “We better get in the car before more of those things show up.”

She looked at his bloody mouth and blanched. “You don’t look too good yourself.”

His mouth throbbed in time with his galloping pulse. “It’s just a busted tooth. I’ll live.”

Helping her into the car, his head swiveled on all points of the compass, looking for the next attack. She leaned her head against the window.

“Be careful what you wish for,” she said.

Dalton started the engine. “Huh?”

“All these years, I wanted to get to the bottom of what I saw on the beach that day, to unveil the mystery of these monsters that people have seen. Now I wish I just took the disability after my accident and went back home to Jersey.”

Pulling out of the IGA lot, he said, “Yeah, but then you’d have to deal with the Jersey Devil.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m a hockey fan,” he replied.

Meredith fiddled with the radio as they headed out of Montauk. Dispatch was silent. The claustrophobia of dense trees gave way to open views of the ocean on their left. Dalton considered his options when they approached the military checkpoint. Did he stop and try to talk his way through? That would leave them exposed, kill their momentum. He couldn’t plow through their trucks. Was there enough room on the sloping shoulder to squeak by? Would the car even stay upright when he tried?

There was always the grenade. He could threaten them with it. No, they’d probably open fire on them. Meredith could toss it, clear a path.

Dammit. That was action-movie crap. He didn’t want to kill people.

The radio blared to life.

“. . . over on Lake Avenue. Family of four, I can see them on the roof. Three war machines are in the vicinity.”

Dalton looked at Meredith, both of them mouthing “war machines?”

“Proceed with caution. If you don’t see a safe way to approach, get your men out of there. I need you to report back as soon as you can. We have new directives coming in.”

There was a long pause.

“Over.”

In his mind’s eye, he could see the men running to their jeeps, abandoning the trapped family. All in the name of following orders.

“There are no safe ways to approach those things,” Meredith said.

“It’s nice to know they now have an official name.”

“That also erases any doubts I had about who was behind everything.”

Dalton slowed and made a sharp turn.

“Where are we going?”

“The military is going to leave that family there. Lake Avenue isn’t far.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm. No matter how desperately he wanted to get away from Montauk, he couldn’t now. It was good to know Meredith was on the same page.

“When we get to the house, let’s not waste any time. You hit them with the flamethrower. I’ll use the other M16 we picked up. Take those things by surprise, get the family off the roof and in the car.”

“Easy peasy,” she said, her eyes fluttering when she touched the tender spot on her head.

Yeah, easy peasy.

Don Sorely fought against the Winnebago’s wheel. Something darted through the headlights. There was another loud crash in the back. He looked in the side-view mirror and his heart fluttered like a spastic hummingbird.

One of the war machines had buried its teeth into the side of the RV. Its front paws, or hooves, if he was seeing right, scrabbled to lift it up to the window.

He took his foot off the brake and goosed the accelerator, turning into the skid and straightening the RV. The doctors and techs in the rear were thrown about like rag dolls.

Driving like a madman down the residential street, he clipped a few parked cars, sending up a shower of sparks. The RV lurched forward as something heavy hit it from behind. He knew it wasn’t a car. Those things were determined to get them.

“Everyone hold tight!”

Spotting a large pickup truck parked ahead, he swerved into it, mashing the war machine between the massive vehicles. He watched with grim satisfaction as the wounded beast lost its grip, tumbling into the darkness.

Victory was fleeting.

Dr. Ling shouted, “Two of those things are right behind us. Can you go any faster?”

“Not in this bus.”

Damn, the war machines were fast. He had the RV up to fifty and they were still hot on his heels. Speed wasn’t the answer. He’d have to use its bulk against them.

“Everyone, brace yourselves,” he barked.

He slammed on the brakes. Someone grunted and the floor thudded with falling bodies.

There were also two heavy raps against the rear of the Winnebago.

Weren’t expecting that, were you?

He couldn’t help the smile from playing across his face. Getting the RV going again was like chugging through swamp water. Those war machines took a hard hit. That should daze them long enough to put some space between them.

A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed Dr. Greene on the floor, cradling his head. Dr. Ling was trying to help him onto the couch. “Is everyone still in one piece?”

“Barely,” Dr. Ling replied.

Her boss moaned before passing out.

“Dr. Greene?” Ling tapped his cheek but got no response. She grabbed his wrist, checking for a pulse.

“Is he dead?” He didn’t mean it to come out as callous as it sounded.

“He’s alive, no thanks to you. I think he has a concussion.”

“Isn’t it bad for him to sleep if he has a concussion?”

She glared daggers at him.

He avoided her gaze in the mirror, instead checking on the techs. They were sitting on the floor and conscious. That was a good sign.

Don’s cell phone rang. Fumbling to get it out of his pocket, he checked the display. Dammit! It was his boss, Sam Bunker.

“Sir, this isn’t the best time to talk,” he said, hitting the
speakerphone
button and jamming the phone in a cup holder.

“I don’t have time to wait until things are better for you!” Sam Bunker screamed so loud, the tiny speaker crackled with distortion.

Spying the main road ahead, Don gripped the wheel and eased off the accelerator. He didn’t want to spill out making the hard right onto the Montauk Highway, their only means of getting out of town on four wheels.

“If you need a status report, it’s going to have to wait,” Don huffed. At best, his job was over and he’d have to sharpen his skills making fries at a McDonald’s somewhere in the sticks under an assumed name. That was a coveted option over the alternative that he sensed coming.

“No need, Sorely. I’ve gotten sitreps from military command already, which is why I’m calling you. I’ve spoken to the President and all are in agreement that we need to move to Operation Megiddo.” The director fell silent. Don could no longer hear the sounds of the rumbling Winnebago or Dr. Ling’s shouted questions. His entire body flushed numb. “I’m sorry, Don. You know as well as I do that we can’t take any chances of the war machines or their contagion spreading any further, especially this close to a major metropolitan city. We’ll take good care of your family, in honor of your service and sacrifice.”

The highway was littered with cars. In the dead of night, it should have been empty. In only a quarter mile, traffic was at a standstill. No one was getting out tonight—or any night.

“Sir, if we just had more time and boots on the ground, I’m sure we could contain this. We were never given a fair chance. Plus we have those DARPA bastards running around, probably making home movies of these things. People are dying out here! But that doesn’t mean we abandon them. This thing has been fubar from the jump. If you’re going to do this, at least extend me the courtesy of a little honesty.”

Bunker sighed heavily into the phone. He cleared his throat and said, “Pandora’s Box has already been opened. The military is not about to send more men to die. I just got word that one of the war machines was captured alive by a DARPA-led team and will be en route to a lab in Kansas City.”

No!
Those fucking lunatics think they can somehow learn from the mistakes made here and use the war machines to their advantage in the future. He’d been around long enough to know that odds were high the war machines would be turned on whatever country had been designated the scapegoat for what happened on Long Island.

“You motherfuckers,” Don growled.

There was no sense pleading his case or arguing. Bunker started to say something but Sorely threw the phone on the floor before he could finish.

He turned to see Dr. Ling had crawled into the passenger seat.

“What’s Operation Megiddo?”

He jerked the wheel hard, swerving into the empty oncoming lanes. They whizzed past the idling cars, some horns blaring. It was hard to tell whether they were upset at his breaking the rules of the road or just pissed that they didn’t think of doing it first. A check of his side-view mirror confirmed that he had started a trend as more headlights gathered behind the barreling RV.

“It’s the end of everything,” he finally said. “Megiddo is a biblical root for the word
Armageddon
. They’re going to burn everything to cinders. The official story will be that terrorists ignited a dirty bomb. The military is going to use their colossal fuckup as a means of strengthening their position. I almost feel sorry for the Middle East bastards that will bear the brunt of this.”

Ling punched the dashboard.

“They can’t do that! Do they realize how many corporate CEOs are out here in the Hamptons? The economy will go into a tailspin.”

“It’ll recover. Things will shift from Wall Street to the military. Don’t think they haven’t considered every option. Operation Megiddo was devised a year after the 9/11 attacks. I’ll bet people have been itching to use it ever since.”

“So what do we do?”

“I’m going to try to get us past the roadblocks. If we’re lucky, I’ll catch a buck private I can bluster through.”

A mile past Main Street, Dalton and Meredith came upon another roadblock. Two camouflaged Humvees were parked nose to nose, blocking off the westbound lanes. A handful of men bearing rifles stood in front of the all-terrain vehicles, staring down angry motorists.