Kaiju Winter: An End Of The World Thriller

by Jake Bible

  “Sheriff Stieglitz?” Linder asks, holding up his badge. “I’m Special Agent Tobias Linder. You have a quick second?”

  Stephie looks the man up and down. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, muscular. She can see the outline of a pistol on his right hip under his suit jacket that’s getting covered in ash. She catches the hint of a backup pistol on the inside of his left ankle. When she looks up again, Linder locks eyes with her and she knows everything she’s heard about the man is right. This guy is a predator.

  “A second is about all I have,” Stephie says as she walks towards Linder. “What brings the FBI up this way? I thought all federal agencies were gearing up for the impending order of martial law?”

  “Yes, well, I’m trying to tie up some loose ends before everything turns completely to chaos,” Linder replies, putting his badge back into his pocket. He pulls out the photo of the boy and holds it out for the sheriff to see. “This boy went missing over ten years ago and new information just came in that he could be around this area.”

  “That so?” Stephie says. “I hate to burst your bubble, Agent Linder-”

  “Just Linder, please,” Linder says, his mask stretching as he grins.

  “Well, Agent Linder,” Stephie says and smiles inwardly as she watches the man’s eyes narrow at the edges. “I know every face in this county, and probably the next two over, and I haven’t seen that one.”

  “He’d be much older by now,” Linder says. “More a young man than a boy.”

  “Strange time to be working a missing persons case,” Stephie says. “I’m surprised the FBI authorized your trip here.”

  Linder doesn’t reply, just stands there with the photo held out.

  Stephie takes the photo and studies it closely, careful to keep her emotions in check and expression neutral.

  “Handsome kid,” Stephie says. “Bet he’s a fine looking young man now.” She hands the photo back. “Must have been hard for his parents when he went missing.”

  “It was,” Linder says.

  “You deal with that a lot, Agent Linder?” Stephie asks. “Breaking bad news to parents when their children go missing? I deal with lost hikers and hunters up around here and that’s difficult enough. Couldn’t imagine what it’s like being in the Missing Persons Division of the FBI.”

  Again, Linder doesn’t reply. He looks at the row of school buses. Stephie follows his gaze.

  “Well, as you can see, I’m a little busy today. Have a deadline to meet so we can get down to Coeur d’Alene,” Stephie says.

  “Coeur d’Alene?” Linder asks. “I thought all civilians in this area were to head due south down to the gulf?”

  “We’re meeting the federal convoy,” Stephie says, “then on to Seattle. We have space reserved on one of the carriers in Everett.”

  “That must have taken some string pulling,” Linder laughs.

  “I have a friend,” Stephie replies. “Didn’t take much, just a phone call.”

  “Yep,” Linder nods. “That’s all it takes. One single phone call.”

  Stephie’s blood runs cold as she realizes why Linder is all of a sudden in Champion. So many years of being careful, then she picks up the phone and decides to call in a decade of favors.

  “Listen, Agent Linder,” Stephie says. “I hate to be rude, but I’m going to need to focus now. Wish I could have been more help. I’d offer to have you caravan with us, but I’m sure you’re busy.” She points at the six buses. “And you can see we’re still filling up two buses, so you probably don’t want to waste your time waiting on us. Better get that car of yours out of the ash fall before that engine gets gummed up.”

  “Actually, I think I’ll stick around and talk with some of your fine citizens here,” Linder says. “I came all this way and it would kill me if I didn’t at least put in the leg work. You don’t mind, do you Sheriff? I promise not to hold you up or get in your way. Like you said, you’re still waiting to fill two buses.”

  “No, go right ahead,” Stephie replies. “But try not to push too hard. Folks around here aren’t always the most friendly to the federal government in the best of times. Put the threat of martial law on them and their tolerance level drops fast. You know what I mean?”

  “Oh, I do,” Linder nods. “I certainly do.”

  He holds out his hand and Stephie shakes it.

  “A pleasure, Sheriff,” he says as he walks towards the first bus. “Hope your trip is a safe one.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Linder,” Stephie replies. “Good luck with your search.”

  Linder pauses and looks at Stephie for a few seconds then shakes his head. “Thank you, Sheriff. I can use that luck.”

  He moves quickly to the first bus and pulls out the photo of the boy as he takes the steps and stands by the driver’s seat.

  “Hello, folks, my name is Special Agent Tobias Linder of the FBI. I’m not here to hassle anyone, just need to know if you’ve seen this boy.”

  ***

  “Grandma!” Kyle Morgan shouts. “Eric’s here! We need to go!”

  Seventeen and still growing, Kyle stands six feet tall with a shock of pure blond hair peeking out from under his baseball cap. A medical mask covers a big toothed grin as he waves at the patrol car pulling up to the cabin he shares with his grandmother, Terrie Morgan.

  Not that they’ve used those last names in a long time. Most folks know to refer to them as the “Holdens” when strangers are around. Their identities are a loose secret in Champion, but a secret everyone accepts. Northern Montana is a place where people go to escape pasts that they would rather forget, so Kyle and Terrie fit in just right and have for quite a few years.

  “Hey, Kyle,” Mikellson says as he gets out of the patrol car. “You and Terrie are supposed to be in town by now.”

  “Hey, Eric,” Kyle says as he comes up and shakes the man’s hand. “Biscuit took off after something and Grandma is chasing after him again.”

  “We can’t wait for your dog to show up, Kyle,” Mikellson responds. “You know that.”

  “Grandma won’t leave without Biscuit,” Kyle laughs, “and you know that. I think she loves that dog more than me half the time.”

  “Well, that’s a crock of shit,” Mikellson says. “Everyone in Champion knows how much Terrie Morgan loves her grandson.”

  “Terrie Holden, you mean,” Kyle says.

  “Well, that’s what I’m here about,” Eric says, nodding towards the two story log cabin. “Can we go inside and out of this ash? I’m getting sick of this shit.”

  “Watch your mouth, Eric Mikellson,” Terrie Morgan snaps as she comes around the corner of the cabin, preceded by the massive half-husky, half-wolf named Biscuit. “What the heck you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be watching the road?”

  “We have a problem,” Mikellson says. “Someone’s come to town looking for you.”

  A handsome woman in her early sixties, Terrie Morgan stands almost as tall as her grandson. Her bright red hair is now mostly white and it is twisted up into a bun under her ash covered black cowboy hat. Her face is weathered from a life out in the elements, but still holds a glow of youth and strength common to the people of northern Montana. Some of that strength drains away at Mikellson’s words.

  “Get your butt inside,” Terrie says. “Tell me all about it.”

  She turns and smacks her leg and Biscuit heels instantly, the 100 plus pound canine falling in step as they all walk inside the cabin.

  Terrie shakes off her hat and sets it on a rack by the door. They strip off their ashy coats and hang them up as Biscuit runs to the huge deer hide couch and jumps up, spins around four times, then lies down in a puff of ash.

  Animal heads of all types and sizes adorn the cabin’s walls, side by side with pictures small and large of Kyle with Terrie, as well as Terrie and Kyle with a woman younger than Terrie, who looks just like the two of them. There are also quite a few pictures of Terrie standing arm in arm with Stephie, some with Kyle, some without, but it’s obvious the
cabin is home to the sheriff as well.

  “You aren’t boxing everything up?” Mikellson asks as he looks around the cabin, seeing only a few duffel bags and suitcases stacked by the door while the rest of the cabin’s contents remain where they’ve been for years.

  “No point,” Terrie says. “That supervolcano blows and this cabin will be buried under several feet of ash. Won’t make a difference if this stuff is packed in boxes or sitting out. We won’t be coming back for it anytime soon, if at all.”

  “True,” Mikellson nods and takes a seat at the breakfast table next to the open kitchen.

  “This is a sitting visit?” Terrie asks, her hands on her hips. “Better just come out and say it.”

  “Special Agent Tobias Linder just rolled into town,” Mikellson says. “Sure you don’t want to sit down?”

  “Shit,” Terrie says, surprising both Kyle and Mikellson. “Pardon my French.”

  She takes a seat and gestures for Kyle to do the same.

  “Where is he now?” Terrie asks.

  “Talking with Stephie, last I heard,” Mikellson replies. “She’ll get rid of him, but I don’t know how long that will take.”

  “Who’s Special Agent Tobias Linder?” Kyle asks.

  Mikellson gives Terrie a surprised look, but the woman just shakes her head and the deputy drops it.

  “FBI,” Terrie says to Kyle. “He’s one of the reasons we live here.”

  “I thought the FBI helped with witness protection?” Kyle asks. “Why are we afraid of him?”

  “I’m not afraid of that man,” Terrie snaps. “Not ever.”

  Kyle looks from his grandmother to Mikellson then sighs and crosses his arms.

  “So, who is he?” Kyle asks.

  “Trouble,” Terrie says.

  “And a delay,” Mikellson says. “If he stays in town, then that means you can’t get on a bus.”

  “I’d rather drive the Bronco anyway,” Terrie says. “The thought of being cramped in one of those school buses gives me the creeps. And Biscuit won’t like it none either.”

  At the mention of his name, the huge hybrid looks up and gives a low woof, then settles back down and closes his eyes.

  “See?” Terrie says. “He’s completely stressed out.”

  “You two still haven’t told me why we are hiding from this Linder guy?” Kyle says. “Maybe Mom sent him. The US Marshals and FBI work together all the time. Maybe he’s here to help escort the buses to the convoy?”

  “He’s not,” Mikellson says. “He’s here for you two.”

  “I’m confused,” Kyle says. “Mom’s a US Marshall, Stephie is the sheriff of Lincoln County, and you pretty much live here.” Kyle points at Mikellson. “Or at least you always eat here. It’s not like we’re hiding from the law. Why are we worried about an FBI agent? Isn’t he one of the good guys too?”

  “No, he’s not,” Terrie says. “And I don’t have time to explain it all to you.”

  “Probably should have done that a while ago,” Mikellson says quietly.

  “Shut your meat hole,” Terrie says, jabbing a finger towards Mikellson. “You have no idea what it’s taken to keep us hidden here.”

  “I have a pretty good idea, thank you,” Mikellson replies. “Don’t think I don’t, Terrie Morgan.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you do,” Terrie nods. “Sorry, Eric.”

  “So no one is going to tell me who this guy is?” Kyle snaps. “Just gonna leave me in the dark like usual.”

  “Oh, stop being such a drama queen,” Terrie says. “Finish packing the Bronco while I talk with Eric. You do that and maybe I’ll fill you in once we get on the road.”

  The sarcastic reply dies on Kyle’s lips as he sees the look in his grandma’s eyes. Not the time to be a shit.

  “Fine,” Kyle says as he stands up quickly, knocking over his chair.

  Biscuit jumps from the couch barking, his massive jaws open wide.

  “Biscuit!” Kyle shouts. “Shut up! It’s just me!”

  The hybrid gives a last bark, then looks over at Kyle and whines.

  “Come on, boy,” Kyle says as he walks over and grabs his coat. “You can help me pack.”

  “Keep an eye on him,” Terrie says. “We’re leaving as soon as the Bronco is ready. We won’t have time to chase him down if he takes off after another darn squirrel.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kyle says, sounding just like his grandma. “Come on, B.”

  The boy opens the door and Biscuit rushes out, straight for the firs and pines that surround the cabin.

  “Biscuit! Dammit! Get back here!” Kyle yells as he closes the door behind him.

  Mikellson looks at Terrie, but she holds up a finger. “Don’t say it.”

  “You still haven’t told him who Linder is?” Mikellson asks.

  “I said not to say it,” Terrie replies. “And, honestly, it wasn’t my choice. Lu is the one that said she’d tell him when she thought the boy was ready.”

  “But, Terrie, knowing who the man is, is important to keeping you safe!” Mikellson exclaims. “You know better!”

  “And so does my daughter!” Terrie snaps. “But no matter how many times I bring it up, she just says she’ll do it later.”

  “Why do you think he’s here now?” Mikellson asks. “There’s a freaking volcano about to fully erupt and cover most of this country in feet of ash. Strange time to all of a sudden pick up the trail.”

  “It’s not strange at all,” Terrie says. “He must have gotten a hold of Lu’s call logs.”

  “Why would that matter?” Mikellson asks. “Lu uses burners when she talks to you. You never call her work number. Did she screw up and call here with a damn federal phone?”

  “She didn’t screw up, Stephie and I did,” Terrie says. “When the evacuation information came in, and we found out it was going to be a lottery system for all civilians to get on the ships leaving Galveston, New Orleans, and Mobile, Stephie called Lu directly to see if we could get the folks here in Champion on one of the military carriers.”

  “I know all of that,” Mikellson says. “Why would that lead Linder here?”

  “Lu didn’t have a chance to get a new burner when this all happened,” Terrie explains. “The only way to get a hold of her was to call her on her official cell phone. It was one call and only lasted five minutes.” Terrie spreads her arms to indicate the cabin. “It has taken Stephie a lot of work to make a home for us and keep us safe. To say Lu owes the woman a favor or two is an understatement. Stephie took a risk to cash in on those favors. We thought that even if Linder was snooping on Lu’s phone logs there’d be no way he could come up here now, not with the chaos of everything.”

  “I guess you were wrong there,” Mikellson says.

  “Yeah, we were,” Terrie says. “Don’t rub it in.”

  “What’s the plan?” Mikellson asks. “How do we get you two out of here without Linder knowing?”

  “I’ll take Kyle with me in the Bronco and we’ll head over to Bonners Ferry,” Terrie explains. “We’ll wait for you there.”

  “But you have to go right through town to get to 37,” Mikellson says. “If he’s still there he’ll see you. I can tell this guy doesn’t miss much.”

  “He doesn’t know my Bronco,” Terrie says. “And I won’t be driving.”

  “Who will?” Mikellson asks then pauses. “No...Kyle? You think he won’t recognize him?”

  “It’s been years,” Terrie says. “Lu barely recognizes the boy each time she sees him and that’s every three months or so. It’ll be enough to get us through town and onto the highway.”

  “I hope so,” Mikellson sighs. “For that boy’s sake, I really do.”

  ***

  “Just stay right there,” Kyle growls at Biscuit as he drags the hybrid over by the Bronco. “Don’t move. No more chasing squirrels.”

  The hybrid woofs, and then lies down in the ash by the rear wheel of the big SUV. A classic 1984 full size Bronco, the vehicle has been outfitted with
heavy duty suspension, a turbo charged V-8 multi-fuel engine, oversized tires, and reinforced front and rear bumpers. Kyle calls it the Tank.

  He lowers the back and tosses in two duffel bags, then turns to go back to the porch for the suitcases. Biscuit watches him go, then his hackles rise and he jumps up barking.

  “Jesus, B!” Kyle yells, leaping a foot into the air. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  Biscuit keeps barking and barking and Kyle is about to stomp over there and whack him on his massive snout, but he stops as he feels his legs start to tremor.

  No, not his legs, but the ground. The ground is tremoring. Then it’s shaking and after two or three seconds, it’s full on quaking.

  “Grandma!” Kyle yells. “Grandma!”

  Terrie and Mikellson burst from the cabin and stare at the swaying trees around the cabin.

  “This can’t be good!” Mikellson shouts over the sound of the earthquake.

  Two

  “We have to send someone out there!” Dr. Probst shouts as she stands in front of Dr. Alexander Bartolli’s desk. Short, thin, with dark hair and hazel eyes, Dr. Probst’s physicality is far from intimidating, but the tone in her voice puts her immediate superior on edge in seconds. “We haven’t heard from Coral or Bob in a full day!”

  “The interference from the volcano is the problem,” Dr. Bartolli says, trying to dismiss her with a casual wave of his hand, but all it does is stoke a fire in the woman’s eyes. “Are the sensors working?”

  “No,” Dr. Probst replies quickly. “But-”

  “Have you tried the local authorities?”

  “There are no local authorities and you know that!” Dr. Probst snaps. “The whole area has been evacuated down to Mobile or Galveston or one of those places. Coral and Bob are on their own out there and it didn’t sound like the radio went out because of interference. I heard…”

  “Screaming, yes you said that,” Dr. Bartolli sighs. “I’m going to have to default to interference again. It was probably a static squeal you heard. The stress we are all under, it’s no wonder, really.”