by David Meyer
His brow furrowed. He’d fought and killed some of these animals, or rather their smaller counterparts, over the last seventeen months. But it was one thing to go up against reborn megafauna. It was something else to face behemoths.
Shifting his gaze, he noticed some new species. New, at least, to him. He wondered if they’d been harvested from the Pleistocene epoch or if they’d come from even earlier times. After all, the groundwork for the Holocene extinction had been laid some thirty-five million years ago during the Mammalian Plateau. Chances were good that Corbotch had taken that into account when creating his animals.
A giant armadillo-like behemoth waddled down a snow-covered street, its large shell slicing through glass and crashing against metal poles. On its back right foot, Caplan glimpsed a gooey red blob. His stomach churned. Was that a person? he wondered.
His gaze fell upon corpses, covered by a razor-thin layer of snow and illuminated by roaring flames. Thousands of people had been smashed into pulp and now lay amongst the smoke and rubble. He couldn’t make out individual faces and the bodies were squished beyond recognition. But he could see their clothes. Some, presumably soldiers, had died in battle gear. Others had worn everyday attire. Skirts and blouses, dresses and slacks. T-shirts and polo shirts, jeans and cargo shorts.
“They’re dead.” Mills exhaled. “They’re all dead.”
Roberts unbuckled her belt. Standing up, she walked to the metal container and rummaged through it. She returned with three objects, which she tossed at Caplan’s feet.
He gave them a quick glance. Well, you always wanted to take a sightseeing tour of Boston, he thought. Now’s your chance.
“Obviously, those are parachutes. We’re going to release you from your restraints and send you on your way.” Smiling lightly, Roberts studied their faces. “Any questions?”
“Forget it.” Toland’s face turned ashen. “There’s no way I’m putting one of those things on.”
“You can always jump without it.”
He swallowed.
“How do they work?” Mills asked.
“You reach in here, pull out the pilot chute,” Roberts said, mimicking the act. “It’ll catch air and drag out the deployment bag. If that fails, pull the ripcord to deploy the reserve parachute.”
Toland shook his head. “Knowing my luck, I’ll land right in a behemoth’s jaws.”
“That’s up to you. There are two steering lines. Pull the left one and you’ll turn left. Pull right and you’ll go right. It’s simple.” She paused. “We’re going to push you out over the Financial District. Now, before you get any ideas, we’re not going to give you much space to maneuver. You won’t be able to leave the city or even the district. The best you can hope for is a clean landing. Now, who wants to go first?”
“Me,” Mills said quietly.
Caplan arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “First one out is first one done, right?”
Soldiers rose from the benches. They strapped on monkey harnesses and clipped the harnesses to the floor. Hoisting their weapons, they took careful aim at the trio.
A soldier unlocked Mills’ restraints. Then he helped her into the parachute and hauled her to the door.
“What about jackets and gloves?” Mills asked. “It’s cold out there.”
“I’m afraid you won’t last long enough to make good use of them,” Roberts replied.
The soldier unlocked Toland’s restraints. He waited for the writer to secure his glasses in a pocket. Then he helped him put on a parachute. After directing Toland to the door, the soldier turned toward Caplan.
“Oh, no,” Roberts said. “This one’s all mine.”
She unlocked Caplan’s ankles. She waited for him to stand up before unlocking his wrist restraints. He took the parachute from her outstretched hand and strapped it over his sore shoulders.
She donned a monkey harness and clipped it down. Icy air rushed into the cabin as she slid the door open.
Caplan stood still, utterly helpless and furious about it. He saw no way to overcome Roberts or her many soldiers. His only option, like it or not, was to make the jump and hope for the best.
The helicopter jolted to a halt. Blades whirring, it hovered above the Financial District. A rudimentary plan began to form inside his head. Once they landed, they’d stick to the rubble. Make their way to Boston Harbor and commandeer a boat. They’d sail north, well clear of the city. Then they’d find a car and start to look for other survivor communities. It was the ultimate long-shot plan. But it was a whole lot better than nothing.
Roberts pulled Mills to the open door. Without further ado, she shoved the woman into open space.
Caplan held his breath. Released it when he saw Mills’ dark green parachute fly open. Held it again as she slowly descended into the smoky abyss.
“Your turn.” Roberts pushed Toland toward the door. He grabbed at the edges of the doorframe, but she just pushed him harder. He pitched outside without so much as a shriek. He tumbled through open air once, then twice. His parachute flew open. It jerked him out of a spinning somersault and he started to drift toward the Financial District.
“Your turn.” Roberts glided behind Caplan. Her fingers touched his back and he felt himself propelled toward the door. At the last second, he reached down. Wrapped his fingers around the duffel bag’s strap.
Corbotch’s eyes widened. “What the …?”
Caplan yanked the strap, pulling Morgan’s bag free from the netted sack. Then he dove headfirst into the waiting sky. As he plummeted toward Boston, an electric charge shot through his body. He was about to enter Corbotch’s killing ground.
But at least he wasn’t going there empty-handed.
Chapter 37
Date: November 30, 2017, 11:11 p.m.; Location: Airspace, Boston, MA
Rushing wind, whirring rotors, and angry screams filled Caplan’s ears. Bone-chilling cold accosted his face.
The air thickened and started to vibrate. Shooting a quick glimpse upward, he saw the helicopter angling across the sky. Oh, you want this back? he thought, wrangling the duffel bag over his left shoulder. You’ll have to catch me first.
Wind screamed in his ears and the ground came up fast. He saw behemoths, ravaged streets, and crumbling skyscrapers. But he didn’t pull his parachute.
The helicopter descended toward him. Roberts leaned outside, supported by her monkey harness. She stared at him, face flushed, unblinking.
He could see the fury in her eyes. She didn’t care about the duffel bag. She just cared he’d gotten one over on her.
He gave her an oily smile. Her face twisted with rage and she shouted something he couldn’t hear.
The rotors shifted direction. The helicopter angled to the north. Cold air blasted against Caplan’s face.
Then the chopper flew away.
Searching the sky, he saw Mills descending toward Boston Harbor. The water glinted in the moonlight and he noticed a boat. A luxury yacht, from the looks of it. A pleased smile crossed his visage. If they had to travel by sea, better to do it in style.
Looking straight down, he spotted Toland. The man’s parachute was swirling through the air, a slave to the currents.
Face tightening, he shifted his gaze to street level. Toland was heading toward a smoke-choked intersection. Five or six cars filled it. They were flattened and smashed up together, making it almost impossible to distinguish one from another.
He looked up and down the snow-covered cross streets. They were crawling with behemoths. He saw a moose with a long snout and giant antlers. A horse with zebra-like stripes and a long blonde mane. A grotesque pig-like animal with plenty of bulk and a mouthful of powerful, sharp teeth. This really is a killing ground, he thought. Come on, Brian … steer away from here. Go east. East!
But Toland continued to descend unchecked toward the intersection. And as much as Caplan wanted to join Mills on the yacht at that very moment, he couldn’t just abandon one of their own.
Despite all of the smoke, he could see the behemoths quite clearly. He could see their height, their drooling jaws. At the moment, they stared at buildings, at the street. But if even one of them glanced up, well, Caplan knew he and Toland wouldn’t make morning.
The smoke thickened and he checked over both shoulders. The tall buildings locked them into the general area. But there was still time to steer away from the intersection. If Toland could land on one of the still-intact smaller buildings, Caplan could join him. From there, they could sneak out onto the street and make their way to Boston Harbor.
But Toland continued to drop with very little movement. He hit the street with a soft thud and his parachute deflated. Rolling onto his back, he tried to sit up. But a gust of wind caught hold of his parachute. It reinflated and started to drift southward, dragging a cursing Toland along with it.
The pig-like behemoth rotated toward the intersection. Its lava-orange eyes scanned the parachute and the now-shouting Toland. Cocking its head, it scraped its cloven hooves at the snow.
Fierce winds slashed into Caplan’s face, forcing him to squint. A loud bellow rang out and he saw the pig-like behemoth take a step toward Toland.
He maneuvered the steering lines and drifted into the middle of the street. The wind blew faster, pushing him closer to Toland.
The road rose up to greet him. Right before striking the pavement, he turned his head. He stared at the behemoth, stared at its blazing lava-orange eyes. Let’s do this, he thought.
Chapter 38
Date: November 30, 2017, 11:25 p.m.; Location: Downtown, Boston, MA
His feet struck snowy rubble and Caplan fell sideways, distributing the shock along multiple points of contact. He rolled to a standing position and pulled the kill-line, collapsing the pilot chute. Then he unbuckled the container and shrugged it off. In one swift move, he replaced it with Morgan’s duffel bag, donning it like a backpack.
The pig-like behemoth towered before him, its coarse hair bristling in the chilly wind. Then its nostrils flared and its head dipped to the street. It didn’t grunt or bellow or squeal. Instead, it inhaled and exhaled, inhaled and exhaled.
Caplan’s knees weakened as a sense of horrid awe and strange unease came over him. It felt like evil spirits were invading him, dipping in and out of his body. His mind unhinged itself from time, traveling back to that market in the North Maine Woods. Back to that odd feeling he’d experienced just before spotting Dire. It’s emitting infrasound, he thought. Which means …
Other behemoths spun in Caplan’s direction. Their eyes widened. Their faces grew taut. Their lips peeled backward, revealing dirty, bloodstained teeth.
… it’s communicating, he thought with a groan.
Staring through the dense smoke, he took in the behemoths and their heaving, rippling flesh. Adrenaline pumped through his body. His breaths, visible in the cold air, came faster and faster. He could feel the massive creatures. Their raw power, their unrelenting energy. He could smell their fur, their feces, their rancid breath.
His senses, fueled by adrenaline, expanded past their normal range. He heard wind slashing against the metallic wrecks in the intersection. He tasted snowflakes, smoke, and brick dust on his tongue. He felt shifts in the air flow as it passed by gaps—alleys, open doorways, the ruins of former buildings—on either side of the street.
He took a step backward, his foot leaving a slight imprint in the thin snow. Then another step. And then another one.
The behemoths continued to stare at him. Their facial expressions hinted at deep, conflicting emotions. Furious anger offset by intense curiosity. Hunger offset by strange disgust.
Tiny shards of glass crunched under his feet. Then his boots pressed into a squashed metal door. Keeping his gaze locked on the behemoths, he continued backward, passing over the smashed and burnt-out hulk of a car wreck.
“Get this stupid thing off of me,” Toland shouted.
Caplan stepped back a few more feet and passed onto a second car wreck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Toland pinned against a wreck, his parachute whipping in the wind.
Approaching Toland, he knelt down. His icy fingers fumbled with the man’s parachute container. He found the kill line and pulled it, collapsing the pilot chute.
Snow kicked up as Toland fell to the street. Moaning, he shrugged off the parachute container. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his now-bent glasses, and wrangled them back into the proper shape. “What took you so long?”
“I was making friends.” Caplan nodded at the behemoths. “A whole bunch of them.”
Donning his glasses, Toland turned his head. He groaned softly. “What are the chances they’ll let us walk away from here?”
“Only one way to find out.”
He stood up and took a practice step. His knee nearly buckled under his weight. “I must’ve twisted it.”
Caplan shot a quick glance to his left, then to his right. He saw more behemoths on either side of the cross street. Some were farther back, a couple of hundred feet away. Others were much closer. They hadn’t seen him yet, but it was just a matter of time.
Looking forward again, he saw the behemoths begin to shift back and forth. He could see the hunger, the impatience in their eyes. Not that he was complaining, but why hadn’t they attacked yet? Were they waiting for something?
He saw Toland out of the corner of his eye. He saw the man take another step and wince. They’re waiting to see if anyone helps us, he realized. They’re hoping for a bigger meal.
Of course, it was just him and Toland. But the behemoths didn’t know that. That was the trick, he decided. Pretend you’re looking for people. Maneuver into a good position. And then disappear.
Wind whistled as he shifted his eyeballs. He studied the rubble of fallen buildings. The missing doors and broken windows of still-intact structures. The sidewalks, the ravaged cars. The dark alleys.
“Over there.” He gave a slight nod toward a thin alley. It was situated between an old Chinese food restaurant and an apartment building. “Walk slowly. Keep your eyes moving. Act like you’re looking for people.”
Toland inhaled a deep breath. Then he hoisted himself over one of the wrecks and hobbled toward the alley. Caplan, still staring at the behemoths, tightened his grip on the duffel bag’s straps. Carefully, he weaved his way between a trio of wrecked vehicles.
The pig-like behemoth grunted. It scraped its cloven hooves on the pavement for a second time. Then it sprang forward.
Planting his hand on a flattened roof, Caplan vaulted over it. “Run,” he shouted.
Toland, still limping, picked up speed and hustled into the waiting alley. Caplan’s gaze shot from the behemoth to the alley. His lip curled in irritation.
He wasn’t going to make it.
The pig-like behemoth galloped down the street, followed closely by the others. Cackles and deep-throated grunts rang out. Thick snorts and ear-piercing bellows. Vicious roars. Eerie howls.
Caplan veered away from the alley. His boots pounded against the snow as he sprinted toward the massive creatures.
The pig-like behemoth closed the distance in a matter of seconds. Grunting, it lowered its head to the ground. Its jaws opened wide.
He dodged to the left and rolled. A hot breeze struck his side as the creature’s teeth, long and thick, shot past him. They struck pavement, stabbing deep into the street and unleashing a thunderous quake. The behemoth jolted to a halt. Other behemoths crashed into it. Losing their balance, they fell into a pile of hissing, thrashing flesh.
Shifting course, Caplan sprinted toward the alley. He saw Toland on the far end. The man leaned against a brick wall, breathing heavily and grinding his teeth. His eyes were locked on a spot just behind Caplan. His face showed intense concentration.<
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The air shifted. Caplan sensed something—a giant hoof?—swing toward his head. Legs churning, he ran into the alley.
Debris, snow, and smoke exploded as the swinging object collided with the apartment building. A shockwave knocked him to the ground. A discordant ringing noise flooded his ears.
Dazed, he turned his head. Behemoths were stacked up at the mouth of the alley, forming a bottleneck of terrifying proportions. Jaws clamped onto the adjoining buildings, crunching glass, biting through concrete. Clawed feet scraped the pavement.
The ringing noise faded away. Coughing and gasping, he climbed to his feet. Then he staggered to the end of the alley.
Toland stared at the frenzied pile of behemoths. “They look hungry.”
“Agreed.” Caplan studied the buildings on either side of him. The eastern building looked tougher, sturdier. He turned toward a metal door and tried the knob. It didn’t open. He gave it a kick. The door flew open, revealing a dark, cold interior. “So, let’s make sure they don’t get fed.”
Chapter 39
Date: November 30, 2017, 11:33 p.m.; Location: Downtown, Boston, MA
The cackles, growls, and shrieks didn’t go away when Caplan closed the door. But at least they weren’t as loud. At least he could hear himself think.
Shivering, he rubbed his shoulders. A bit of fiery light filtered through the dingy windows and the thin space beneath the door. They illuminated an industrial kitchen with metallic walls. Pans and pots lay upon multiple stoves. A thick layer of dust covered the long counters. The stench of rotten meat hung heavy in the chilly air.
Out of habit, he flicked the light switch. He wasn’t surprised when nothing happened.
“Nice work, Zach.” Wincing, Toland took a few halting steps. “You managed to trap us in behemoth central.”
