Kaiju Rift

by Ian Woodhead

  Fred blinked which broke the spell. He dropped the remaining covers before falling back. His body crashed into the wall at the same time as his bedroom door burst open. A figure ran in, saw him then stopped dead. A fragment of Fred’s rational mind, the piece which had escaped all those coffin nails, calmly informed the rest of his wailing and shrieking mind that his new arrival had just spotted the dry remains of Hilda.

  The new arrival rushed over to Fred, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the room. On his way past the window, he saw a flash of something huge, scaly, and grey in the distance. The mind screamed dinosaur at him, but Fred had no time for anything that useless lump of muscle told him right now.

  Fred was sat on the wooden dining chair in the hallway, while the other figure slammed the bedroom door. Fred believed that the sound of that door smacking into the frame had just signalled the start of the demise of his existence, which is ironic considering he had thought that to himself at least three times since the reality of what he had been convinced to join sank in. Could it be the addition of this new arrival which triggered that stray thought? That did sound likely as the man, now pulling out a service revolver tucked into his belt, had been there when that German shell landed just yards from the dugout, occupied by Fred’s section. The blast tore through the men, shredding their corporal, lance-corporal, and three of Fred’s mates. Only he and the chap passing him the pistol survived with all their limbs still attached.

  “I need you, old man Dodger!” He looked nervously back towards the stairs. “We all do. There’s not much of us left.”

  The cold steel and the faint odour of gun-oil lifting from the pistol he pushed into Fred’s hand helped to push back enough of the mental insanity to give him limited function. “Pardip?” He took his eyes away from the gun and gazed into his friend’s expressive brown eyes. “What’s happening? Who did that to my Hilda?” Fred increased the pressure on the handle, keeping his finger well away from the trigger.

  “Take a deep breath, Fred, then tell me who I am.”

  “You’re Private Pardip Basra, assigned to the Brandale Pals when some idiot from above ordered your company to charge a German defensive line. You were the only survivor.” Fred winced when the building shook. “Please, what’s going on?”

  His friend had towered over all the over lads by a good few inches. Looking back, Fred thought that his huge height was probably one of the reasons why the others tended to keep their opinions of his colour to themselves; that and the sheer fact that no German bullet could touch him.

  Pardip pulled him out of the chair. “What’s going on is that we’re getting out of here before Vritra turns your house into rubble.”

  “Before who?”

  Pardip shook his head. “It’s from a tale that my grandfather used to tell us as children, concerning a huge dragon which—” He abruptly shut his mouth. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Just follow me.”

  Fred held on to the bannister and ran down the stairs. Once he reached the bottom, he looked up just the once and whispered a quiet goodbye to Hilda. His gut told him that it would be unlikely that he would be returning here. Why his gut suggested such a ridiculous idea bore out when Fred reached the front door. Pardip stood to the side, so he could look out at all that remained of his beloved town.

  He cast his gaze across the landscape and felt his memory taking him back three years to their passing through all those nameless Belgian towns, each one flattened by artillery shells from both sides. Brandale now joined their ranks, only no gun had caused all of this devastation. The instigator of Brandale’s destruction was at the far end of the town, close to the town’s brickworks. Even as Fred asked Pardip if that was his so-called dragon, a limb belonging to this nightmarish beast lifted and swung to the left, catching the side of the brickwork’s chimney. The structure toppled over and smashed into the ground, throwing up thick clouds of grey smoke which mixed in with the plumes already circling this massive, moving behemoth.

  The surrounding cloud lessened enough for Fred to get a scale of its incredible size. Even from this distance, he knew that the creature was no dinosaur. He remembered his father taking him to the British Museum in London back when he was a child and the sight of all those huge ancient animals had blown his mind. Compared to this thing, those animals would have been like kittens to an elephant.

  It took Fred a few seconds to find an animal which remotely resembled the creature now heading towards the steel works further away from the centre of town. More like an amalgamation of a couple of animals. It had the body and head of some giant beetle with eight spider legs, but those legs were a lot fatter and with double the joints.

  Fred looked at the pistol that Pardip had given him and put a firm lid on the hysterics which threatened to explode out of his mouth. “Is this gun loaded with something other than normal shells, Pardip?” He glanced across at the giant monster currently demolishing a steel gantry, close to several brick chimneys. “I don’t even think artillery shells would make much of a dint against that thing.”

  “The gun isn’t for that, Fred,” replied Pardip. The soldier ran over to the side of Bailey’s bakery and tapped three times on the front door. “Come on, over here, man. Away from the road.”

  “I don’t understand this. That creature is miles away now.”

  Pardip reached over, grabbed Fred’s nightshirt, and pulled him closer. “Look, man. Look at the monster. In particular, its back. Tell me what you see.”

  It didn’t register the last time he looked at the giant. At least, it probably did, but Fred had just assumed it was flying residue, leftovers from its continuous destruction. Now though, now that Pardip had ordered him to take a closer look, Fred now saw that the creature had friends, or parasites. Whatever they were, they moved across its hide, along its back and up and down its legs, as well as flying around the creature. “What are they?”

  “Believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to know.”

  Fred noted the undertone of fear in the man’s voice and felt his own terror announcing an unwelcome return. Pardip wasn’t a man to openly display his emotions, especially fright. “What do you mean?”

  Before he could reply, the bakery door opened a fraction. “Paddy, is that you?”

  Fred recognised that voice. He took a couple of steps closer to the door. “Arthur?”

  The door opened a little wider, enough to show him that the owner of the Oak and Crown wasn’t the only one to live through the destruction of their town. Arthur pulled him and Pardip inside then shut the door.

  “Good to see you, young man,” said Arthur, locking and bolting the door. He looked at Pardip and then at Fred. “Hilda?” Arthur’s expression changed from hope to sorrow when he caught Fred’s quiet sigh. “Oh Lord. I’m so sorry.” Arthur pulled Fred into a tight embrace. “The bastards took my wife too.” He pushed Fred back to arms-length. “We’ll get them for this,” he growled. “You mark my words.”

  Mrs. Clough, one of Fred’s old school teachers, gently pulled Fred over to a chair. She sat him down and placed a white cup in his shaking hands. “Here, drink. It’s tea. I popped in a bit extra sugar too. I think you need it.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? You know, given our circumstances? Perhaps we should think of keeping a close eye on what little food we have left?”

  Fred took a sip of the drink and gave the woman a grateful smile before turning his attention to the last member of their little group. Angus Hardy’s wife, Maude, returned to her place beside the window, sat on a stool, and stared out of the window.

  “I’m just saying, that’s all,” she muttered to nobody in particular.

  “Stop your natter about provisions, woman,” snarled Arthur. “Don’t you think we are all aware of our situation?” He moved back to the front door and grabbed a rifle leaning against the wall. He looked through the door window before walking over to Pardip. “Mind the women while I take a look at our guest.” Arthur nodded over to Fred. “You�
��re with me, young man. You need to see this.”

  Fred drank as much of the teas as he could before placing the cup on the scratched glass counter, grabbing the pistol, and standing up. “See what?”

  “See why we’re all stuck in here, Fred, and not running through the remains of Brandale, looking for anyone else who might have lived through this.” He looked across at Pardip. “The only reason I let him out is because the Indian knows how to handle himself. Now stop your dawdling and follow me.”

  The man took Fred over to another door. Even before Arthur reached it, Fred heard some quiet muttering coming from the direction of the window. Pardip sighed heavily before moving closer to Maude Hardy.

  “You should calm down, miss. Don’t worry, it can’t get out.”

  “Oh, and suddenly you’re the expert now? Mr. Basra, I will not tolerate being spoken to in that manner and to think that I allowed you all those sandwiches last night.”

  Fred watched the old man bristle. He then nodded over at Mrs. Clough. “Come on, Fred. Let’s get this over this. Pardip, you know what to do.” Arthur opened the door and ushered Fred inside. “Mind the steps.”

  The temperature in here had dropped significantly and dropped even further as he made his way down the stone stairs. Fred also noticed a strange smell in the air; a deeply unpleasant odour, one that had offended his nose recently, only Fred could not recall when that had happened.

  “I’m glad that the boy stood his ground now.”

  “You mean Pardip?”

  “Yeah, if he hadn’t risked his life to search for more people, that woman upstairs wouldn’t have stood a chance. By the time we found her inside one of the classrooms, Pardip and I had already found over thirty people.” He put his hand on Fred’s shoulder. “Oh Christ. I know you lads saw some horrible sights over there, but I don’t think any of that could be worse than what we found all over town.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, turning his head. Looking at the man’s blood-drained face, Fred wasn’t sure that he wanted to know either. He took a deep breath and immediately wished he hadn’t. The strength of that vile odour almost knocked him out. What was that?

  “Did Pardip show you the other things? Its pets?”

  “Yeah, I saw them.”

  “Yeah, well, the giant thing had killed Christ knows how many of us, but it’s the things which follow it that’s killed the most.” He licked his lips. “They don’t just kill them, Fred, they…” He pulled his arm back. “You’ll find out soon enough. Now, come on, let’s get this over with, down you go.”

  Fred was about to do just that, curious as to why the old man had brought him down here, when he remembered why that stench was so familiar. “Oh no!” he gasped. The smell had almost woken him up last night! He placed his hand against the lime-painted brick next to him when the realisation of what must have happened slammed into him. He gave the man behind him on a higher step a pleading look only for Arthur to gently push him down one more step.

  “You can do it, son. Just a couple more steps.”

  Fred held his nose and continued his progress down to the cellar floor. The pistol now felt like his only friend. He paused again only for Arthur to push him into the first room. Piles of old packing crates were stacked against the left wall and over a dozen wooden chairs, which looked just like the ones on the floor above, had been placed against the wall opposite, leaving a narrow gap in which to walk through and into the main room. It was from there where the stench originated.

  He almost jumped out of his skin when Arthur picked a wooden box off the shelf next to him and threw it onto the floor. Its contents of rusty bolts, screws, and nails bounced across the dirty concrete floor.

  “Come on, you!” yelled Arthur. “Show me your ugly face. Somebody wants to have a look at you.” Arthur nodded over to the next room. “Go on, lad. It’s time to see the face of the real enemy.”

  Fred looked into the darkness beyond the chairs and the packing crates. He couldn’t see anything, but he did pick up a loud clatter and a very human-like grunt. The trepidation of encountering the unknown vanished when he realised that something which awaited him in there was probably related to whatever had murdered his wife while he slept.

  “Wait, let me throw some light on it.” Arthur flipped the switch then pushed Fred along the narrow gap.

  Something in that room smacked into metal and made another grunt. That noise did shock him as it sounded exactly like a small boy’s weep. He looked at Fred. “It did that a lot when I put it in there.”

  Fred stopped dead and gazed, more in morbid curiosity than horror at the dog-sized creature curled up in the corner of the cellar. They had made sure that the thing couldn’t leave by walling it up with boxes full of bottles and placing a thick sheet of glass over the top. He looked into its prison, trying to figure out what the hell it was.

  Just like the huge thing out there, this had eight legs but a thick black pelt covered this creature. It didn’t look all that dangerous. That opinion changed when Fred tapped on the glass and it uncurled and leapt forward. Fred then saw bristling fur, razor-sharp claws, and a mouthful of needle-like grey teeth.

  Arthur joined him. “We pulled this one off Mrs. Clough, seconds before that evil-looking mouth was able to fasten around her face.” He pulled Fred away. “That is what we are facing. There’s hundreds like that running through the ruins of Brandale.” He tapped his rifle. “Hundreds against three? It doesn’t take much working out to know that we won’t stand a chance out there.”

  Fred looked into the creature’s prison. “Tell me something, why did you save it? Why did you endanger yourself and the others by bringing it back here? If there are hundreds out there, it makes more to have killed it as soon as you dragged if off the woman.”

  “I agree.” Arthur tapped the gun again. “Your notion does make sense until you consider how far the noise from a bullet travels.” He walked over to the other side of the cellar, leaned against the wall, and slowly slid down. “Fred, there were eight of us who tried to rescue the teacher, and that doesn’t include the Hardy woman. She was already cowering in this shop before we arrived.”

  Fred listened to that thing in the corner restart its child-like noises while waiting for Arthur to continue. It was fairly obvious what the man was about to tell him. After all, until a few hours ago, there were hundreds of soldiers in Brandale and that didn’t include the old man opposite him. Despite wanting to fight, he was turned down due to his age. At fifty-four at the start of the war, he had no choice but to stay home. Brandale had more of its fair share of old soldiers who saw combat in the minor skirmishes in the years before the Germans got too big for their boots and thought they could take on the Empire.

  “Alistair Parsons was the first one to buy a plot. Just off Fleet Avenue. Three of those things leaned out of an open window and just pulled the poor bugger inside. He never stood a chance. His screaming only lasted a second or so which, I suppose, was one mercy. Naturally, we all opened fire. It’s then when we understand just what big mistake we’d just made. They must have zeroed in on the gunfire.”

  “Stop. Please, I don’t wish to hear anymore.” Fred resisted the urge to boot the boxes beside him, in the vain hope that the foul beast would stop it with that God-awful noise. “Just tell me how you plan to get us out of here.”

  The old man grimaced. “That’s one of the reasons why I brought you down here. Away from the others. You see, because of what happened earlier, we’re the only military men left in Brandale.”

  “No, you’re wrong. There’s also Pardip.”

  “I didn’t count your friend because he isn’t a local. Use your head, man. I need soldiers who know the lay of the land. Men who can help us find a route out of town.” Arthur nodded over to the creature, who had, thankfully, stopped making all that pathetic whining. “I was thinking that the little demon might be useful in helping us get past all its pals. You know, like using it as a hostage perhaps?”

  �
�A hostage?” Fred’s blood suddenly ran cold. The old man had obviously lost something in the past few hours. His damn marbles, that’s for bloody sure. For a start, how could Arthur dismiss his friend so easily? After all, if it hadn’t been for him, Fred wouldn’t be down here, listening to this loon talk about hostages. Out of respect for the man’s previous military experience, he shut his mouth and decided not to explain the utter madness of such a wild idea. The damn thing was an animal. It had done nothing to even suggest that there was an ounce of human intelligence rattling about in that nasty little head.

  His opinion changed in an instant when he heard the sound of human laughter. Fred glanced back towards the steps, convinced that the woman from upstairs had followed them down.

  “You need to see this, son. Look to your left,” said Arthur. “I had a feeling it would do this.”

  The man’s hushed tone suggested that looking to his left was the last thing that Fred should be doing. Fred looked anyway. The creature had somehow lengthened its hind legs so it could press its face against the glass, only the face pressed against that glass did not belong there. He gasped aloud at the sight of his darling wife’s distorted face with her mouth open wide and those delicate blue eyes staring straight at him while it laughed and giggled.

  “Stop doing that, you foul thing!” he yelled. “I said stop it.” If anything, its noise grew in intensity. Fred raised the pistol. He heard Arthur yelling at him, ordering the young man to lower that weapon, but he was having none of that. This vile thing was laughing because it knew there was nothing they could do to stop them. He listened to its teasing laughter for enough second before squeezing the trigger.

  The report in such a confined space deafened the pair of them. Not that Fred cared. He leaned over. The bullet had torn it into two pieces. Blood, blackened lumps of flesh, and shattered glass now covered the bottom of the thing’s prison and yet, despite the damage, the bloody thing still moved! Fred fired one more time, snarling in satisfaction as its head literally disintegrated.