Kaiju Winter: An End Of The World Thriller

by Jake Bible

  “What? Here?” Kyle asks.

  “Where’d you think we’d look? The liquor stores?” Gil laughs. “Those got looted a long time ago. Best place to find booze now is in people’s homes. Most folk didn’t have time to pack up the vodka and bourbon when the National Guard came through and goose stepped everyone out of town. They were too busy trying to convince the Jackboots to let them keep their precious Fluffy and Rover.”

  “Government had no right taking people’s pets away from them,” Moss sighs. “No right at all.”

  Linder snorts then tries to stifle a laugh as Gil and Moss turn on him.

  “Something to say, Agent Linder?” Moss asks.

  “Nope,” Linder says, shaking his head, a smile barely contained.

  “Spill it, Fed,” Gil grumbles. “What government propaganda do you have for us?”

  “None,” Linder says. “Just strikes me as funny that of all the offenses and mistakes this government has perpetrated during this crisis, the one you focus on is how pets had to be left behind or put down.”

  “You ever had a dog or cat, Fed?” Gil asks.

  “Not since I was a kid,” Linder says.

  “Well, then maybe you don’t understand the bond between a pet and their owner,” Gil says. “There’s a loyalty there that can’t be bought. Killing that loyalty just shows the evil lengths the government will go to in order to crush our spirit. They gassed Fluffy and shot Rover to show us that we are the pets now and Washington DC is our master.”

  “Ain’t my master!” Scoot calls out.

  “Mine neither!” Tiff says.

  The rest voice their agreement, but Linder just shakes his head.

  “They killed every animal except for livestock, because pets take up resources and space that we can’t afford right now,” Linder says. “There’s no room or food for cats, dogs, birds, gerbils, lizards, or even goldfish. Do you think they have a ‘pets only’ cruise ship waiting down in Galveston or New Orleans? They don’t. And you aren’t even considering the waste disposal issue. Pets were a noose around people’s necks; an anchor weighing them down and keeping them from getting priorities straight.”

  “Yeah, you’d say that,” Kyle snaps. “You killed my dog.”

  All eyes fall on Linder.

  “I didn’t kill your dog,” Linder replies. “I shot it. As far as I know, it could still be running around out there somewhere.”

  “That true?” Moss asks, looking at Kyle. “He shot your dog?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fucking Fed,” Gil says and spits in Linder’s face. “We should shoot you.”

  “Then shoot me,” Linder says. “Go ahead. Do it.”

  “We might,” Gil says. “But then again, we might not.”

  “Could find a use for you,” Moss says. “Maybe use you as a bargaining chip when the government marches through here looking for our bunker.”

  “You actually think the government is going to send ground troops anywhere near here?” Linder laughs. “What they’re going to do is drop a nuke on this place and kill those Leviathans and Behemoths!”

  Gil and Moss stare at him for second then both shrug.

  “I say we tie him up with the horses and leave him,” Moss says.

  “Good idea,” Gil replies. “I sure don’t want to hear his bullshit anymore. Scoot, you stay here with the Fed. Keep an eye on him.”

  “Do I have to?” Scoot asks.

  “Yeah, you have to,” Gil says. “And gag the asshole while you’re at it. Don’t let him try to get in your head. Federal agents are trained to make you believe stuff you don’t wanna.”

  “You going to leave me here too?” Kyle asks.

  “He really shoot your dog?” Moss asks.

  “I already said he did,” Kyle snaps. “Not something I want to keep thinking about.”

  Moss and Gil share a look.

  “What do you think?” Moss asks.

  “Kid hasn’t shown any love for this guy since we found them,” Gil replies. “We have to trust him at some point. Or just go ahead and kill him.”

  “What?” Kyle shouts.

  “Hush,” Moss hisses. “Sounds carry, kid. We may not seem like we’re worried about the big monsters, but they’re just right over there.”

  Moss points to a random spot over the houses that surround them. Everyone turns and looks, their eyes wide with caution and fear as if they can see the monsters as clearly as they did from up on the ridge.

  “And we don’t want to rile up the crazies,” Gil says. “Maybe one or two hiding around here.”

  “No, wouldn’t want to stir up the crazies,” Linder says. He watches as the cuffs are taken off of Kyle’s wrists and someone hands the teenager a backpack for any supplies he may find. “Be careful, son.”

  “I’m not your son,” Kyle snaps. Linder just smiles at the boy. “I’m not!”

  “See?” Gil says, pointing at Scoot. “They try to get in your head.”

  Scoot nods and takes a step away from Linder.

  “You’re with me, kid,” Moss says to Kyle. “Tiff’s with Gil. Morgie and Paul. Jim and Tomboy.”

  They all split up and take off in different directions. Kyle glares at Linder then hurries to catch up with Moss as the man strides away, his eye on a two story, brick colonial diagonal from them.

  Linder looks over at Scoot. “Have any water?”

  “None for you,” Scoot says and takes another couple of steps away from the man, not wanting to get close enough to gag the man, let alone give him water.

  ***

  “When was Missoula evacuated?” Dr. Probst asks quietly as she struggles to keep up with Coletti. “I didn’t expect it to be such a ghost town.”

  “Pretty much all of Montana, Wyoming, and the Dakotas were cleared out weeks ago when the first major tremors started,” Coletti replies, his eyes on the CLD. When the red lettered coordinates turn green, then he knows he’s within 400 yards of the beacon. “Everything I heard was that it wasn’t an easy task getting people around here to leave. Kinda independent population in the west.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Dr. Probst says. “I’m from Maryland.”

  “And I’m from Ohio,” Coletti says. “Which was once considered the west a century and a half ago. Not so much anymore.”

  “I don’t think I could live in a place like this,” Dr. Probst says. “So remote. Out in the middle of the wilderness.”

  “Trust me, Doctor,” Coletti laughs. “Missoula is not remote. I’ve been deployed to areas that haven’t seen electricity yet, even in the 21st century. That’s remote.”

  Coletti stops and holds up a hand, his eyes staring at the CLD.

  “What?” Dr. Probst asks. “Are we close?”

  “Yes,” Coletti says as he hurries a few yards forward. Dr. Probst starts to follow, but he shakes his head. “Stay there. I’m trying to zero in on the direction.”

  Dr. Probst stands still as she watches Coletti run from one point to another; his eyes looking at the black disc then up at his surroundings, down at the black disc then back up to his surroundings.

  “I think it’s this way,” Coletti says, pointing towards what looks like was once an affluent area of Missoula. “Now you can follow me.”

  The two make their way through the empty streets; the direct path blocked by high fences and locked iron gates. Coletti swears under his breath every time a street takes them away from the signal, but then sighs with relief when it turns and doubles back, taking them closer once again. All around them the houses get bigger and bigger until they are surrounded by mini-mansions with front yards alone bigger than the house Dr. Probst grew up in. Of course, most of the mini-mansions are demolished and stand as piles of rubble, but they are expensive looking piles of rubble.

  Dr. Probst is almost glad to see the symbols of American excess looking so shabby, until she catches sight of a hand sticking out from underneath a collapsed stone chimney. Then she remembers that no matter what people were before
the supervolcano, they are now just refugees and survivors. At least the lucky ones are.

  Coletti stops and follows Dr. Probst’s gaze.

  “Don’t dwell on it,” Coletti says. “Better to just keep moving and shove it from your thoughts.”

  “How?” Dr. Probst says. “How do you compartmentalize the horror and violence?”

  “You just do,” Coletti shrugs. “Or go crazy. And you might as well kill yourself once you get there.”

  Dr. Probst nods and they keep walking.

  “Highlands Country Club?” Dr. Probst asks. “What you’re looking for is on a golf course?”

  “Could be,” Coletti shrugs. “We’re almost there.”

  The green light in the CLD is flashing faster and faster as Coletti and Dr. Probst walk through the broken iron gates of the country club entrance. They go a few more yards and the light starts to flash so fast it almost looks like it isn’t flashing at all. Coletti looks about the landscape, his eyes studying the golf course for signs of anything that would resemble a military drop.

  “It should be right here,” Coletti says as he cuts across the ruined golf course.

  The grass is brown and the greens are no longer smooth, but ripped apart by the seismic nightmare of the eruption. Yet, in the middle of it all, a deep water hazard is still intact and that is where Coletti finds himself as the flashing green light becomes solid, telling him he’s reached his destination.

  “In there?” Dr. Probst asks.

  “In there,” Coletti nods. He squats down and peers into the murky, muddy water. “Somewhere.”

  “Do you know exactly what you’re looking for?” Dr. Probst asks as she opens a water bottle, leans over and fills it, and then drops two purification tablets inside. She caps and shakes the bottle for a second, then opens it and gives a sniff.

  “Gonna taste like crap,” Coletti says. “But it won’t kill you.”

  Dr. Probst takes a sip and almost gags at the sulfuric taste. Coletti smiles.

  “Told you,” he says as he unlaces his boots, slips them off, then unzips his jumpsuit and slips it off. He takes off his shirt and begins to remove his pants.

  Dr. Probst blushes and looks away, her eyes focusing on the horizon to the east.

  “Why didn’t the big ones leave the chasm?” she asks aloud. “The smaller ones did, but the big ones stayed. What are they waiting for?”

  “Not sure I want to know,” Coletti says as he wades into the water. “But from what we saw, I think those smaller ones are plenty happy to be away from the bigger ones.”

  “Why invade a place, but turn on your own kind?” Dr. Probst asks.

  Coletti is about to dive into the water, but stops and looks at the doctor.

  “What do you mean by invade?” Coletti asks.

  “Well, isn’t that what’s happening?” Dr. Probst replies. “I mean what else would you call it? There are giant monsters coming up out of a hole in the earth; some are moving out into the land while others remain back by the point of entry. An advance guard and then a defensive force. Oh, and an air force to control the skies. That’s textbook, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I guess it is. Interesting,” Coletti says. “I never saw it like that. I was thinking more of just a mad attack by unthinking monsters. You’re framing it as an intentional invasion by a foreign force.”

  “Doesn’t get more foreign than thousand foot nightmares coming out of a supervolcano,” Dr. Probst says. “And they haven’t exactly asked us to take them to our leaders, so I’m guessing the goal is to conquer and destroy us, not start diplomatic relations.”

  “Keep thinking like that,” Coletti says. “I’ll be right back.”

  He takes a deep breath then dives down into the water, lost from sight in seconds. Dr. Probst sits by the edge of the water, her knees up against her chest as she takes another disgusting sip from the bottle.

  ***

  Linder watches as Scoot paces back and forth along the broken sidewalk. The man’s eyes are looking at everything around the area, except what he should be looking at.

  “You sure I can’t have a sip of that water?” Linder asks, moving his body at an angle so Scoot doesn’t see the warm blood trickling down his wrists. “I’m really thirsty, buddy. Just one sip and I promise not to bug you anymore.”

  “Shut up, Fed,” Scoot snaps. “I’m not going to talk to you and let you get inside my head.”

  “Do you think FBI agents have super powers or something?” Linder laughs. “I’m just a regular guy like you. I used to get up in the morning, put my clothes on, and go to work. Sure, I got to have a badge, but doesn’t make me any different than you. I had bills, I watched football, and I liked to go to the movies. Regular guy with a regular life.”

  “That’s what all the Germans said after World War II,” Scoot replies.

  “Wow, really?” Linder laughs. “I used to work bank robberies and missing persons, buddy. I wasn’t in charge of gassing people. This is the USA, not Nazi occupied Europe. Huge difference, buddy.”

  “Stop calling me buddy,” Scoot says.

  “Fine...Scoot, is it?” Linder asks. “Come on, Scoot. All I need is one sip. My throat is killing me. Just one.”

  Scoot looks over at the man secured to the porch railing and sighs. “I ain’t even supposed to be talking to you, man. Gil said I should gag you.”

  “Give me one drink and then you can gag me. Deal?” Linder smiles. “This air is bad, Scoot. My throat feels like sandpaper.”

  “At least the ash isn’t falling anymore,” Scoot says as he looks up at the dark sky. “Gonna suck when it does start again, though, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah, Scoot, it is,” Linder nods. “That’s why a drink of water now would go a long way. That ash up there could start falling any second. When it does, I’d rather have a wet whistle than a dry tongue.”

  Scoot frowns at Linder. “You talk weird sometimes, you know that? You don’t sound like a fed.”

  “Really? What do I sound like?”

  “I don’t know,” Scoot says. “Like this preacher guy my parents took me to when I was little. He was all nice and friendly, then he’d start talking and I’d get scared. But I got to have pop and cookies afterwards.”

  “I’d settle for just water,” Linder laughs. “Although soda and cookies would be pretty great right now, huh?” His shoulders slump and he coughs a little. “Come on, Scoot, just one little drink. Please. I can’t do anything to you when I’m tied up.”

  Scoot watches Linder for a second, nods his head and walks over, his water bottle held out like a crucifix warding off a vampire.

  “You’re gonna need to pour it into my mouth,” Linder says, turning his body some more so his back is almost all the way to Scoot. He looks over his shoulder and opens his mouth.

  Scoot moves slowly closer until the bottle is near enough to angle and pour a small bit of water into Linder’s open mouth.

  “Thanks,” Linder says, smacking his lips once Scoot stops pouring. “That was more than I could have hoped for. You sure are stupid.”

  Scoot looks puzzled. “I’m what?”

  Linder spins about, his hands free, wrists bloody, metal wire gripped in both fists. He rushes forward and jams the wire into Scoot’s eyes, then sweeps the man’s legs. Before Scoot even has a chance to cry out, Linder drops down with all his weight, his knee crushing Scoot’s throat. A couple of bloody bubbles gurgle from between Scoot’s lips and Linder grinds down with his knee some more until he hears the cracking of Scoot’s vertebrae.

  Scoot’s eyes gloss over and Linder gets to his feet, a look of pure contempt on his face.

  “How’s that for your pop and cookies, you fuck?” Linder snarls, then spits on the man’s face. He looks about, scanning the area for anyone else, kneels down and takes the .38 pistol from Scoot’s hip. “Thanks.”

  Linder turns and hurries off, heading in the direction he last saw Kyle go with Moss.

  Eight

  “Most of these
folks aren’t going to make it,” Lu says, looking back at the struggling band of survivors as they work their way through the dense woods and broken ground. “I still think we should stick to the interstate.”

  “You think that because you didn’t see what we saw,” Bolton says. “Trust me. We can’t afford to be out in the open.”

  “We have got to be getting close to Coeur d’Alene,” Lowell says. “These people can rest when we get there.”

  “If they make it,” Lu scowls. “You really saw a monster? Like some alien thing?”

  “No idea what it was,” Bolton says, “but it was huge. Like three stories tall. Thick legs, mouth full of teeth.”

  “And that tongue,” Lowell says, shivering. “Won’t get that image out of my head for a long fucking time.”

  “It drank diesel fuel?” Lu asks. “Then tried to eat you?”

  “It tried,” Lowell laughs nervously. “But all it got was soldier boy’s rifle.”

  “Carbine,” Bolton says.

  “You know what I mean,” Lowell replies.

  “There’s a difference.”

  “Boys? Knock it off,” Lu sighs.

  “Rifle or carbine, I think it gave it indigestion,” Lowell says.

  “My bet is on the diesel,” Bolton suggests. “You don’t drink a gas station’s worth of diesel and not walk away with, well, gas.”

  “Good one,” Lowell smirks.

  Lu looks from one man to the other and shakes her head. “No way. Are you two bonding? Connor, this man is a cop killer! Not to mention two judges! The only reason he’s not behind bars is because a goddamn fucking volcano erupted!”

  “And you need me to help keep the meek alive,” Lowell smiles.

  “Don’t do that,” Lu snaps.

  “What?”

  “Smile. You look like Hannibal Lector,” Lu says. “But not as sane.”

  “Ouch,” Bolton says. “Listen, Lu, I know who this guy is, trust me.”

  “You do?” Lowell says.

  “Yeah,” Bolton says. “I know your type. Seen it on a hundred battlefields. You don’t live for the blood or the killing. You live for the chaos. That’s your fix. Pure chaos.” Bolton spreads his arms. “And now you have all the chaos you want. I’m betting this is the calmest you’ve ever felt in your life. Kinda like coming home after a long, tiring vacation.”