Kaiju Storm (Kaiju Winter Book 2)

by Jake Bible

  “Change? Where?” Dr. Hall asks. “This is just one room? Where’d the guys go and the girls go?”

  “Guys and girls?” Alvarez laughs. “This isn’t sixth grade gym class, Doctor. People know how to strip down to their civvies and still be adults about it.”

  “Oh,” Dr. Hall says. “Yeah. Right. Of course.”

  “Have you ever seen a woman in her underwear?” Alvarez mocks as he finds a pair of thermal jogging pants. He shimmies out of his wet pants and pulls on the thermals, sighing with relief at the sudden warmth that envelopes his legs. He looks over and sees Dr. Hall watching him. “What?”

  “Where are we going from here?” Dr. Hall asks. There’s a loud crash, and the man almost jumps out of his skin. “Are we going back outside?”

  “Yeah,” Alvarez replies, hunting through the clothes for a t-shirt his size he can put on under the hoodie he has draped over his shoulder. “Kinda have to in order to get you to the White House.”

  “Those things are out there,” Dr. Hall says. “And they are faster than us.”

  “Then we’ll have to be smarter than them,” Alvarez replies. “So get dressed. What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Tens,” Dr. Hall says.

  “Okay,” Alvarez says, digging through the lockers’ contents. “Shit. I don’t see tens. Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” Dr. Hall hisses as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants over the first pair he’d put on. “Don’t go out there!”

  “I’m going to find some shoes your size,” Alvarez says. “Hopefully there are some that haven’t been cleated yet.”

  “Cleated? Wait! You mean golf shoes?” Dr. Hall whines.

  “It’s a pro shop, Doctor,” Alvarez says as he listens to the banging coming from the other side of the door. “I doubt I’ll find Air Jordans.”

  He counts to three, then yanks open the door and sprints out into the shop. The outer doors are completely demolished, and a raging crab monster is trying to squeeze itself inside. As soon as its eyestalks catch sight of Alvarez it begins to thrash violently, and the walls around the demolished doors start to groan.

  Alvarez finds the shoes and grabs several boxes of size tens, tucks them under his arms, and sprints back to the break room. He tosses the boxes at Dr. Hall and slams the door closed behind him.

  “Hurry,” Alvarez says. “We’re about to have large company.”

  There’s a wrenching and tearing sound from the shop, and dust and plaster fall from the ceiling above. The key fob flashlight bounces on the small break room table until it tumbles right off and into the pile of discarded clothing. Dr. Hall reaches down and sets it back on the table as he grabs a chair and starts tearing open shoeboxes.

  “Cleats,” he says, and throws the box aside. “Cleats. These too. Cleats. Cleats. No cleats!”

  “Get them on fast,” Alvarez orders. He crosses to the old golf club bag and hoists it over his shoulder. He reaches out and grabs the nine iron, then looks to Dr. Hall. “Ready?”

  “I’m still lacing,” Dr. Hall says.

  “Jesus,” Alvarez says as more dust and plaster falls.

  He glares at Dr. Hall until the man has two shoes laced and on.

  “They’re a little tight in the big toe,” Dr. Hall says.

  “Tough fucking shit, Doctor,” Alvarez says as he fishes a five iron out of the bag and hands it to Dr. Hall. “I don’t think blisters are what you need to worry about.”

  Alvarez yanks open the door and hurries out of the room, the nine iron held out in front of him. Most of the wall with the glass doors is gone, and half of a crab monster is wiggling its way inside the building.

  “There,” Alvarez says as he points with the club at the other set of doors on the opposite side of the pro shop. “Go.”

  Dr. Hall doesn’t argue and runs over to the doors. He gives a shove, but they don’t move; he turns, giving Alvarez a panicked look.

  “Move,” Alvarez says as he smashes out the glass in one door with his nine iron. “And keep moving.”

  They hurry from the pro shop and out across a small parking lot towards a bridge that connects the golf course to the Mall.

  ***

  The light of the flames of Everett, Washington play across the choppy waves of the Sound as Terrie keeps her grip on the sailboat’s wheel, having taken over again from Lester. Linda stands on the bow, her eyes straining to see in the dark for signs of their destination, as well as obstacles in their path.

  “I don’t think we’re alone,” Lester whispers as he comes up slowly next to Terrie. “Port side. There was a shadow in the water.”

  “It’s a trick of the light,” Terrie says, more to convince herself than to convince Lester.

  “No, I saw something under the waves,” Lester replies. “It was big, and it was moving fast.”

  “How big?” Terrie asks. “Big enough to hurt this boat?”

  “Big enough to eat this boat,” Lester says. Terrie raises an eyebrow. “Maybe not that big. But close.”

  “Great,” Terrie says. “It could be one of those things. Or something new.”

  “Something new?” Lester asks, the distinct sound of panic in his voice.

  “No telling anymore,” Terrie says.

  Linda spins and gives a low whistle as she moves from the bow and back to them.

  “I think we’re close,” Linda says, pointing out into the darkness. “See that shape?”

  “No,” Terrie says. “What shape?”

  “Right there,” Linda says, still pointing. “Look out about a hundred yards. There’s the silhouette of trees. If I’m right, then we’re at Gleibling Bay.”

  “Gleibling Bay? Never heard of it,” Lester says.

  “It’s not a real bay,” Linda replies. “Just a small cove on the east side of Havers Island.”

  “Havers Island?”

  “Only a mile wide,” Linda says. “Doesn’t register on half the maps. No infrastructure, so most people never visit it. But if we can get ashore, then we’ll be safe for a while. I know where some supplies are stored.”

  “Why? What is this place?” Terrie asks.

  “Bolt hole for preppers,” Linda answers. “I knew someone that was way into that scene, and she showed it to me. There’re are tons of caches on the island. Preppers of the nautical persuasion stashed all kinds of stuff here so they could grab it on their way out to open waters. Hopefully, there’s still stuff left.”

  “You think they already came by to get their stash?” Terrie asks.

  “The second the earth started rumbling,” Linda says. “These aren’t wait and see types we’re talking about.”

  There is a slow scraping sound from under the sailboat, and Terrie grips the wheel.

  “Rocks?” she asks Linda.

  “I don’t think so,” Linda says. “The cove is pretty clear. We’d see the edge of the island before we even came close to hitting any.”

  “I knew I saw something,” Lester says.

  “What’d I miss?” Linda asks.

  There’s more scraping, and the sailboat tilts slightly before righting itself.

  “We should be quiet,” Terrie whispers.

  They all shut up as another scrape, and then another, jolts the boat.

  Then Biscuit starts barking madly from below.

  “Dammit,” Terrie says as the boat shudders from a sudden impact.

  Ten

  The door creaks open, and the light from the corridor falls across the sleeping form of President Nance. Sensing the intrusion, the man is instantly awake and rubbing his eyes.

  “Report,” President Nance says as he stands up, stretches, and straightens his rumpled suit. He walks over to the small sink against the wall and squirts a glob of toothpaste on his toothbrush. “Well? What is it?”

  “We’ve received more information from the Russians,” Joan says. “And quite a few images.”

  “Video?” President Nance asks.

  “Some,” Joan
replies. “What they did send us is grainy at best, but…”

  The President turns from the sink and looks at Joan, toothpaste foam at the edges of his mouth and threatening to tumble down his lip and onto his chin.

  “Naval Station Everett is lost, sir,” Joan says. “The things wiped it off the map. It looks like fires have spread from the base and into the city, moving fast enough that the entire SeaTac area could be burned to the ground in days unless some of that legendary Pacific Northwest rain puts it out.”

  “Fire?” President Nance asks as he spits and then rinses. “Volcanoes erupting and giant monsters stomping the Earth, and we lose Seattle to fire? That’s not news I want to hear, Joan.”

  “It’s not news I want to tell, Mr. President,” Joan says. She looks up and down the hallway, then steps into the President’s small quarters and closes the door. “There’s more, sir,”

  “Since every single person out there is vetted and has security ratings that require zero secrets, I’m guessing what you have to say is personal,” President Nance states.

  “Not entirely, sir,” Joan says. “It’s about the bunker in Montana.”

  “The bunker? What bunker?” President Nance asks.

  “The one close to Missoula, sir,” Joan says. “We sent the SEAL Team to extract Dr. Probst, but they never made it out because of the nuclear strike and then the second eruption.”

  “Right, yes, of course,” President Nance says. “We lost contact with them, right?”

  “Yes, we did,” Joan says. “But possibly not.”

  “Joan, I’m exhausted and ready to get back to work,” he says as he checks his watch. “An hour and a half nap is a luxury I shouldn’t have taken. Please tell me what’s on your mind right now.”

  “Sir, who is VanderVoort?” Joan asks bluntly.

  President Nance studies Joan for a second, then shakes his head.

  “I’m not familiar with that protocol, Joan, I’m sorry,” President Nance says. “If I’m supposed to respond with a specific phrase, then you have me at a loss.”

  “So you haven’t heard of a person named VanderVoort?” Joan asks. “I caught Secretary Borland and Director Miles talking privately, and Miles mentioned the name VanderVoort just before they saw me. I wasn’t snooping, I promise, sir. I just needed Jeremy for something.”

  “Miles?” President Nance asks. “Gordon Miles is down here? When did he arrive?”

  “Late yesterday evening, sir,” Joan says. “He’s stayed out of the situation room until a couple hours ago. I figured you knew.”

  “No, I did not,” President Nance replies. “Let’s go find our mysterious National Intelligence Director and have a word with him. I’d like to know where he’s been and why he didn’t come see me directly when he arrived.”

  “We were busy, sir,” Joan says. “I don’t think his knowledge of spies and thugs would have been helpful.”

  “It’s my job to decide what is and what is not helpful, Joan,” President Nance says. “Take me to him.”

  Joan nods, and opens the door for the President. The man strides past and is immediately flanked by two members of the Secret Service.

  “Hang back, gentlemen,” President Nance says. The agents slow their pace until they are a couple yards behind the President and Joan. “So, Joan, what kept Miles so long?”

  “Sir?” Joan asks.

  “He had the right to be down here from the beginning, but chose to stay up in the city until now,” President Nance. “Why did he do that? Why not choose safety down here with us?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Joan says. “Maybe he had family he needed to see off.”

  “No family, Joan,” President Nance says. “Lifelong bachelor. The intelligence business is not for everyone.”

  “No, sir, I expect not,” Joan says.

  “So, he’s been in the city all these weeks while we’ve been handling things down here,” President Nance says. “I want you to get me a list of everyone he’s spoken to in the last year.”

  “Year, sir?” Joan asks. “Is that really a good use of my time?”

  “Don’t do it personally,” President Nance chuckles. “Put a tech on the job. Make sure he flags any mention of this VanderVoort person.”

  “Yes, sir,” Joan says. “I’ll get right on it.” They reach a door, and she nods. “Would you like me to join you?”

  “No, Joan, go ahead and get that search underway,” President Nance replies. “I’d like the information as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” Joan says.

  President Nance waits until she is down the hallway and out of sight before he opens the door and steps inside.

  “Gentlemen, I hear you have some information for me,” President Nance says as he walks into a small lounge with a couple easy chairs and three leather couches pushed up against the wall.

  A man stands at a wet bar by one of the couches and frowns as he looks over at Jeremy Borland sitting in one of the chairs.

  “News to me, Mr. President,” National Intelligence Director Gordon Miles responds as he raises a glass. “Cocktail? I’m muddling some mint for a mojito. I know, I know, it’s winter, but damn if I didn’t get hooked on these things the last time I was down in Charleston. Whatever you want to say about the South, sir, they sure know how to drink. I’d put one of their dive bar bartenders up against any of those fancy, dancing mixologists in New York any day of the week.”

  Miles is six feet, four inches with a head of thick, stark white hair. The hair on top of his head is in direct contrast to the black Van Dyke on his face. He’s always reminded President Nance of a mad scientist or evil Bond villain. The striking image of him intensely crushing mint in a glass adds to that notion.

  “One drink, and they’ll never wake me up again,” President Nance says. “Good to see you, Gordon.”

  “You as well, sir,” Miles replies. “And what’s this about us having news for you?”

  “I hear you are bandying about the name VanderVoort,” President Nance says. “Should I know this name?”

  Borland starts to speak, but Miles interrupts him. “Never heard of the man. Who is he? No, let me guess. A tulip broker that’s developed a hybrid that fights off giant monsters. No? Maybe he’s your weed dealer?”

  “You are such an asshole, Gordon,” President Nance says. “Why did I ever give you this job?”

  “Because we’ve known each other since college, and I’m the only spy you trust,” Miles laughs as he takes a sip of his mojito. “Dammit. I can never make these as good as that redneck on Sullivan’s Island.”

  “Who is VanderVoort?” President Nance asks.

  Miles eyes the President for a second, then sets his drink down on the bar. “No one you should worry about, sir.”

  “Are you sure about that, Gordon?” President Nance asks, his eyes straying to Borland who only sits there, looking like a child caught between his parents fighting.

  “The second that name needs to come into play, sir, you will be the first to know,” Miles responds. “I promise.”

  There’s a knock at the door, and Joan looks in. “We need you, sir. We’re getting calls from all across the world. Something is happening.”

  “When isn’t something happening?” President Nance sighs. He looks back at Miles. “We aren’t done, Gordon.”

  “Never thought we were, Mr. President,” Miles nods.

  President Nance hurries from the lounge and follows Joan into the situation room where he sees every monitor lit up with images streaming from around the globe.

  “Talk to me,” he says as he takes his seat at the table.

  “Japan, China, South Korea, Australia, and most of South America have contacted us with news they are experiencing seismic activity similar to what we experienced before the Yellowstone supervolcano erupted,” Admiral Quigley says. “Only Australia is telling us where.”

  “That’s it? What about Japan?” President Nance asks.

  “After the Fukushima d
isaster, the Japanese are afraid of rumors spreading and riots breaking out,” General Tulane says.

  “Riots?” President Nance asks.

  “Because of the Kaiju,” Borland says as he takes his seat. “The Japanese culture is a little sensitive to giant monsters.”

  “Oh, right,” President Nance says. “I can see that.” He glances at Borland. “Gordon?”

  “Still in the lounge, sir,” Borland replies. “He says he doesn’t have anything worthwhile to add to the discussion.”

  “How he became a spy, I don’t know,” President Nance says. “He is a horrible liar.”

  “I think that’s part of his cover, sir,” Borland says.

  “Can we get back to the issues at hand?” Admiral Quigley asks. “Director Miles is not essential to this crisis, so he is correct that he should remain in the lounge. If we run up against any intelligence issues, then we can call for him.”

  “That’s my call to make, Admiral,” President Nance frowns. “Don’t overstep your authority or importance, Malcolm.”

  The man starts to reply, then takes a deep breath, and just nods.

  “What do we have from Australia?” President Nance asks. “And why am I not speaking to President Lowry directly?”

  “President Lowry sends his regrets, sir,” Joan says. “I just spoke with Secretary Jefferson, and he says that they have already begun evacuation proceedings on the west coast. It appears an island known as Ball’s Pyramid is where they are seeing activity.”

  “Ball’s Pyramid?” President Nance asks. “That’s just part of a submerged caldera and hasn’t been active for millions of years.”

  “Yes, uh, that’s correct, sir,” Joan replies, surprised.

  “My wife and I got to see it the last time we visited Australia and New Zealand,” President Nance says. “It is quite impressive.”

  “It’s about to get even more impressive,” Borland says as he swipes his finger across his tablet. He taps at the screen, and the image he is looking at is brought up on one of the large monitors. “Here is the latest satellite images. As you can see, the island itself is actually a ridge to the volcano’s caldera which is fully submerged.”