The Montauk Monster

by Hunter Shea

  A little girl, clutching a teddy bear to her chest, stared at them from behind an upturned shopping cart. Her dark eyes swam with tears.

  Screw it.

  Dalton turned his back on the creatures and started to run. That was all they needed. Both left their feet, lunging at him.

  There was a heavy whoosh, and it suddenly felt like the sun had fallen from the sky. Dalton rolled behind a car. Looking up, he watched as Meredith rained fire on the beasts. They skittered and scampered, noiselessly, into the street, collapsing into a smoldering heap.

  A loud cheer went up in the IGA.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. The ambient heat from the flamethrower had given him one hell of a burn. Dalton went to the doors. “It’s best you stay inside and away from the doors. You might want to keep all the lights on, too. It’s not safe out here.”

  Several heads nodded.

  Of all the people they’d seen, these were in the best position. The IGA building was sturdy with very few windows. They had enough food and water to last them for a good while, at least until things settled down. It was either that or get stuck in a roadblock and sit in their cars, waiting for those creatures to tear at them like sardines in a can.

  There was just one more thing that needed to be done to make things extra-secure.

  “Meredith, help me with this.”

  She was still admiring her handiwork, watching the creatures burn. It smelled like someone had set a garbage barge on fire. He rolled a shopping cart past her, tipping it over at the door and wedging it in place.

  Snapping out of it, she worked with him, piling more shopping carts on the outside of the doors. Glass wouldn’t hold those things back for long. They needed to mask the most vulnerable part of the small market.

  “At least there are a couple more down,” she said.

  “But who knows how many are left?”

  They pushed the last cart in place, the metal scraping against the concrete. Dalton saw Mr. Hempill, the store manager, through a gap in the carts. The burly man gave him a thumbs-up and ushered everyone deeper into the store.

  Dalton was so hot, he’d sweat through his pants. “We do good work,” he said, sluicing perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.

  “I almost wish I was in there with them. I could go for a Yoo-hoo and some crumb cake,” she said.

  Meredith’s body was suddenly thrown into the hodgepodge of carts. Her head cracked against one of the thick, black wheels. She slumped to the floor. Something scampered atop the barricade.

  Dalton looked up, right into the eyes of a monster that had no place on this earth.

  “Fire! Fire! Fire!”

  The order was barked from the darkness. Muzzle flashes lit up the lighthouse as round after round bit into the landmark, as well as the beach and surrounding cliff face.

  A plume of sand shot up in front of Can Man’s hiding space. He recoiled, pulling his legs to his chest, pressing his back into the soft earth as far as he could.

  Sweet Jesus, it was an abomination.

  What were those things? Were they demons? Was this the end times? He grew up with a Pentecostal aunt who actually prayed for the Rapture, imploring him to do the same. This life was the true hell. Better that God set the devil loose so he could call his children home where there was peace and love, an eternity of no regrets, no worries, just pure light.

  Soldiers scrambled, abandoning the beach. Everything seemed to be concentrated on the lighthouse itself. He couldn’t make out much from his vantage point. The noise, though, was deafening.

  He couldn’t believe he’d actually chosen this as the safest place to be. When soldiers fought other soldiers, they stood a chance. Not so when hell spawn were let loose.

  There was no way he could stay here. If he ran now, while the creatures were focused on the soldiers, he might be able to slip by. But there was the chance he’d be struck by a stray or ricocheting bullet.

  “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

  A man screamed for his life. There was a quick burst of gunfire, followed by more peels of terror.

  It was madness to stay. He had to go—now!

  Can Man jumped from the reeds and ran as fast as he could up the gravel-and-seashell-lined path. Bright spots danced before his eyes as the bursts from dozens of rifles burned into his retinas.

  Huffing wildly, he made it to the top of the path. The parking lot, with its row of olive military vehicles, lay ahead of him. He just needed to get past them and follow the road out to the Montauk Highway. He’d find a better place to hide once he put this place behind him.

  A heavy clack echoed across the lot. A spotlight sprang to life, beaming onto the lighthouse.

  Can Man stopped at the bumper of a jeep and turned.

  At least a dozen of the demons were climbing the lighthouse. A band of soldiers stood at the base, firing at them with reckless abandon. Chunks of the mortar poured down on them, as well as the occasional wounded beast. The demons scampered away from the light like vampires. The men ran to the dark, firing above in a nonstop barrage.

  Another spotlight snapped on, illuminating the area at the foot of the lighthouse.

  A dozen more beasts were gathering, pulling themselves from the jagged shoreline.

  The soldiers out there were as good as dead. A few turned their attention from the lighthouse, training their guns on the approaching demons.

  “Grenade!” someone to Can Man’s left shouted.

  An explosion of dirt, men and one of the creatures flew ten feet into the air.

  They’re killing their own men!

  More grenades were lobbed. Can Man had to turn away. So far, no one had noticed him. Crouching, he darted between two jeeps, straightened and ran like hell.

  He was no more than ten or so yards away when he felt a presence at his back. He didn’t need to turn back to know it was gaining on him.

  His foot landed on something hard and his ankle rolled. He fell to the ground, slamming his shoulder. A dark shape flew over him like a man-sized bat.

  Can Man looked at his foot. An empty soda can, crushed, wedged itself across the arch of his shoe.

  The sound of nails skittering on pavement brought him back to his feet. It chased him back in the direction of the military. The soda can clinked with each step.

  For the first time in his life, he prayed his aunt was right.

  Take me now, before the demons! I’m all yours, Jesus, if you’ ll just save me!

  CHAPTER 40

  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?”