Kaiju Inferno (Kaiju Winter Book 3)

by Jake Bible

  “Because gurneys aren’t stable when stacked this way,” Lu says as she gets to the corner of the corridor and stops, ducking her head around and back quickly before stepping out and waving them on. In her hand she grips an M16 with a second one strapped to her back and two .45s pistols on her hips.

  “Why do you keep doing that?” Kyle asks as he pushes the three stacked gurneys. All are collapsible, like EMTs use, and wobble precariously as Kyle turns them around the corner, following his mother. “Dr. Bennet is dead and the other scientists are in the control room with Dr. Probst.”

  “We don’t know those are the only members of the staff,” Lu says, the M16 up at her shoulder, eyes sighting down the barrel.

  “Didn’t that VanderVoort lady say they were?” Kyle asks.

  “She did,” Lu nods. “But I don’t know her and frankly don’t trust anyone connected to this facility.”

  “Good thinking,” Lowell says. “I’d go one step further and just not trust anyone at all. Works for me.”

  “Yes and it has gotten you so far in life,” Kyle laughs.

  “Cram it, kid,” Lowell says. “I’m still breathing, aren’t I? Better than I can say for a lot of people.”

  “Quiet,” Lu orders.

  They reach the end of the corridor and take one more turn before facing the doors to the control room. Lu holds up her hand and Kyle stops. Lowell takes off the duffel bag and lets it fall to the ground. He follows along and sits down, slumping against the huge pack.

  “Get up,” Lu hisses. “This is not break time.”

  “Give me a minute,” Lowell says. “I’m fucking exhausted. It’s not like we’ve gotten to sleep late and eat three meals a day. I was in better shape back in prison.”

  “One minute,” Lu says, moving to the control room doors. “Then get up and get ready. We’ll need to be fast and thorough. VanderVoort said these scientists are no longer strictly human. We have to get them restrained more securely, up on the gurneys, and out of Dr. Probst’s hair fast.”

  “Then they go to our old quarantine cell?” Kyle asks. “Why not take them to the infirmary and torch them like Dr. Bennet?”

  “VanderVoort says they haven’t fully given in,” Lu says. “If they die then they get torched. If they still live then there’s hope.”

  “Yeah, that makes all kinds of sense,” Lowell says. “But then so does everything else in this shitty world right now, so I guess we’ll roll with it.”

  Lu pounds her fist on the doors and glares back at Lowell. “Your minute rest is done. Get your ass up.”

  “Yes, ma’am, right away, ma’am,” Lowell says as he stands and salutes. Then he sighs and picks up the duffel bag. “My sarcasm would be so much better if you didn’t get the last laugh.”

  Lu stares into the video camera affixed above the doors, a hand on her hip, a look of impatience on her face. She raises her fist to pound again, but the doors click, clang, then slide open.

  “Hi,” Dr. Probst says. She nods at the three and then turns and goes back to her workstation. “The assholes are over there. They’ve been trying to convince me you are the enemy. They are not very good at the convincing. I would be beyond appreciative if you could remove them permanently.”

  “Permanently? Like kill them?” Lowell asks. “Damn, Doc, you are cold.”

  “Shut up, Lowell,” Dr. Probst says. “I am not in the fucking mood for your bullshit.”

  “Amen to that,” Lu says.

  “Women, kid, am I right?” Lowell smirks at Kyle.

  “Not going there, man,” Kyle replies. “You’re on your own.”

  “Gender traitor,” Lowell says, still smirking. The smirk leaves his face as he sets the duffel bag down inside the control room and sees the scientists trussed up in the corner. “Damn…”

  “Yes, I did that,” Dr. Probst says before Lowell can even ask the question. “They were still unconscious when I restrained them. I shot McDaniels in the gut, so she isn’t in the best fighting shape, but still dangerous. Watch her.”

  “You shot her in the gut?” Lowell asks then whistles. “Bad ass, Dr. Probst. Bad ass.”

  “Regardless of how bad ass or not,” Dr. Probst says, “I am very, very close to something here. The data is right before my eyes and I can almost see what it is trying to tell me.” She points a finger over at the scientists without taking her eyes off her laptop. “They keep pushing me off course. I get close, they start in with the insanity. Can you just take them now please?”

  “Listen, Cheryl, we aren’t the trash collectors,” Lu says, her voice even and controlled. “We could use your help with this. It’ll go faster with four.” She glances over at Dr. Mannering’s corpse. “And we didn’t know about the body. We’ll just have to drag him into the corridor until we can come back.”

  “Did you not hear me?” Dr. Probst snaps, still not looking away from her laptop. “I am so close to a breakthrough that I can taste it. Now is not the time for me to get up and play prison guard.”

  “Well, if you ever want to play prison guard later, just let me know,” Lowell says. “I could totally role play that with you. You got it going on under that snotty and pissed off scientist too good for everyone else act.”

  “Fuck off, Lowell,” Dr. Probst says. She finally turns and then smiles. “Oh, hey, Kyle. Sorry, I didn’t say hello before.”

  “He gets the polite treatment?” Lowell says. “No fair.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve known him longer and we’ve been through shit together,” Dr. Probst says.

  “Let’s get to work and get out of the doctor’s space,” Lu says.

  “What’s the hurry?” Lowell asks. “Not like we can do our chores and then go goof off above.” He holds up a hand before anyone protests. “Just messing. I’m moving, I’m moving.”

  “Oh, are you?” Dr. Burkhorst snarls.

  “It speaks,” Lowell says as he unpacks the duffel bag, pulling out lengths of heavy duty nylon rope, arm and wrist restraints, even three face masks. He puts one up to his face. “Tell me about the lambs, Clarice. Tell me about the screaming of the lambs.”

  “It’s silence of the lambs,” Kyle says.

  “No, it’s screaming,” Lowell says. “That’s the line. The movie is called Silence of the Lambs, but the line is screaming.”

  “Did they let you watch that movie while you were in prison?” Dr. Scofield chuckles. “Seams counterproductive for a psychopathic killer like you.”

  “I know, right?” Lowell replies. “But then look who is all tied up and who isn’t? The world is a strange, strange place.”

  Lowell looks at the ropes, out into the corridor at the stacked gurneys, at the scientists, then at Lu.

  “Uh…how do we want to do this?” Lowell asks. “You’re the professional when it comes to transporting dangerous peeps. Going to be hard to move them while they’re tied up.”

  “Hard is better than stupid,” Lu replies.

  “That’s what she said,” Kyle says.

  “Damn! High five, kid!” Lowell laughs.

  “No, no high fives,” Lu says. “Pay attention.”

  “I’ll make it easy for you,” Dr. McDaniels says as she shoves her back against the control room’s wall and pushes up with her feet until she is in a standing position.

  She smiles at everyone and pulls her hands from behind her back. From the wrist to the tips of her fingers, there is no skin. It lies in a pile on the floor. Without skin, there is nothing for her hand restraints to hang onto. She holds her flayed hands up in the air and wiggles the bloody fingers at everyone.

  “You are playing by the wrong rules,” she says. “Time to rethink your strategy.”

  Kyle turns and starts retching at the sight. Lowell merely stares, his mouth wide open.

  Lu reacts, lifting the M16 and taking aim.

  “Move and I put you down,” Lu growls.

  “Please do,” Dr. McDaniels says as Dr. Burkhorst and Dr. Scofield both stand up, repeating the same motions,
showing the same skinless hands. “Shoot us, Marshal Morgan. Shoot us all. Shoot us dead!”

  “Shoot us dead!” Dr. Burkhorst yells.

  “Shoot us!” Dr. Scofield shouts.

  “You’d like that,” Lu says. “Then you can change like Dr. Bennet.”

  “Then we can become,” Dr. Burkhorst says.

  “I am more than halfway there,” Dr. McDaniels says, pressing a hand into her belly so a fresh spurt of blood oozes out. “See? Almost a goner.”

  “Marshal?” Lowell asks, coming out of his shock. “Um, this changes things.”

  “Dr. Probst?” Lu asks. “Cheryl? Can you become mobile? I believe our best option is to abandon this room and lock them in.”

  “Hold on,” Dr. Probst replies. “I’m seeing a surge in—”

  “NO!” Dr. McDaniels yells and leaps at Lu despite her feet still being bound.

  The wounded woman springs like a rabid jackrabbit, her mouth open in a toothy snarl, her skinless hands bent like claws. Her hands grab the barrel of the M16 and jam it against her forehead, ready for the killing shot.

  But Lu doesn’t bite, instead she flips the M16 upside down, tearing it from Dr. McDaniels’ grip, slamming the butt up into the woman’s chin, shattering teeth and cracking bone.

  “Fucking bitch,” Lu yells as she pulls back and then gives the woman another smack in the face with the butt of the rifle. And another.

  Dr. McDaniels stumbles back, her nose pulp, her mouth a ragged gash dripping blood and spitting shards of enamel.

  The other two scientists begin to lunge as well, but stop in mid-attack, their eyes rolling up into their heads. They fall to the floor, followed immediately by Dr. McDaniels. Then the screeching starts.

  “Oh, shit,” Lowell says as Lu, Kyle, and Dr. Probst quickly join, their hands on their ears, their mouths wide with agony. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  He winces at the earsplitting sound and slowly backs out of the control room. As soon as everyone stops screaming, and there are only unconscious bodies on the floor, he walks back in.

  “Are you shitting me?” he sighs, looking at the mess. “Great. Now I have to get everything done and take care of—”

  He almost finishes when simultaneously, Dr. McDaniels’, Dr. Burkhorst’s, and Dr. Scofield’s heads explode, splattering the room with brains and bone.

  “Oh, shit fuck!” Lowell yells, wiping gore from his face. “No way!”

  He stands there, even more stunned than before and shakes his head. Then realization dawns on him and he scrambles out of the room, separating the gurneys as fast as he can. He runs back in and starts dragging Lu out to one of the gurneys. He yanks her up onto it then lifts and it rises into the air. Lowell dashes back in and grabs Kyle, repeating the same steps, then Dr. Probst.

  He snatches some of the rope he was going to use on the scientists and lashes the gurneys together in a clumsy line. He starts pulling the gurney train down the corridor then stops and sprints back to the control room. Lowell spots Dr. Probst’s laptop and he hurries over, snatching it up just as the headless scientists begin to twitch.

  “Fuck me,” he mumbles. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

  He gets back to the gurneys, tosses the laptop onto Dr. Probst’s chest, and pulls as hard as he can.

  Then he hears the slithering, the thrashing, and the inhuman cries for his blood.

  “FUCK ME!”

  ***

  The Icelandic monster thumps to the ground, crushing boulders under its webbed claws. Its fin wings flap for several minutes, kicking up dirt, the air pressure strong enough to create a dust cloud a couple thousand feet high. It opens its mouth and razor sharp teeth, yellow and black, glint in the dull light.

  Then it roars and begins to move forward.

  The roar is answered and the dust cloud parts to reveal the Yellowstone monster, nearly two miles high and bristling with violence. The creature is much taller than Iceland, but it doesn’t immediately attack. Instead it watches the smaller monster, its impossible, alien eyes sizing up the competition.

  Iceland roars again and takes flight, launching a thousand feet into the air with one pump of its fin wings. It banks right, twisting its strange, wyvern body around so its thin, sleek tail whips out fast, striking Yellowstone across its left thigh. The larger monster howls, but doesn’t retreat, its eyes tracking Iceland.

  Iceland keeps flapping, putting some space between it and the long reach of Yellowstone’s four arms. It flaps and dips, flaps and dips, keeping itself airborne with some difficulty. The tail whips out again, but Yellowstone dodges and the tip misses the right thigh by several meters.

  A harsh roar and then Iceland lands, its legs bunched underneath it as its head swings back and forth, a cobra ready to strike. It tucks its fin wings into itself and straightens slightly, a long, red tongue darting out over and over.

  Yellowstone waits. Watches. Then stumbles as it shifts its weight. Its left leg wobbles and it almost goes out from under it. For the first time, Yellowstone takes its eyes off Iceland and looks down at itself. It grunts then howls as it sees the oozing, bubbling gash on its leg. It shifts its weight to its other leg just as Iceland leaps, those bunched muscle legs launching it straight at Yellowstone’s head.

  One of Yellowstone’s left arms, the forward one, shoots out and grabs Iceland by the neck, but quickly lets go as the red tongue darts out and strikes the back of the three-clawed hand. Smoke streams up from the wound and the skin begins to bubble, just like the wound on Yellowstone’s thigh. The giant monster clamps its other left claw over the wound and shrieks loud enough to ripple the air, creating sonic waves that rush at Iceland.

  The smaller monster slams into the ground, rolling across the scorched and broken landscape, end over end, side over side, as the sonic waves pound against its slick skin. It tries to break free, but the pressure is too great and it can’t get its wings extended enough to fly free of the attack.

  After several minutes, Yellowstone stops shrieking and Iceland is left in the mud and dirt, ash and rock, quivering and shaking, its body battered and stunned. With one cautious step on its wounded leg, Yellowstone moves forward, all eyes on its downed foe. Each step it takes sends cracks running across the ground, creating new crevices in the earth. It reaches Iceland and raises all of its arms, bringing them high above its head.

  As the arms come down, Iceland rolls out of the way, tucking its legs under, its wings around, into a tight ball that is propelled by its tail. It rolls and rolls, putting several miles between it and Yellowstone before it comes out of the ball and stands on shaky legs.

  A quick roar and then it takes flight, one wing visibly weaker than the other. Iceland circles about, maintaining the distance between itself and Yellowstone. Yellowstone simply pivots on its good leg, its attention never wavering from the smaller monster. The two giant beasts turn and turn, a rotating face-off of impossible proportions.

  Then Iceland swoops in, diving at Yellowstone’s bad leg. Four hands shoot out, but the smaller creature is ready, twisting away and up, slashing Yellowstone across the chest with its tail as it climbs, climbs, climbs just out of reach of the larger monster’s grabbing claws.

  Yellowstone shrieks again, aiming its maw at Iceland, trying to sonic blast it from the sky while also raging at the wound taken to its chest. It swipes at the flying creature with three hands while the fourth presses against its chest, holding the wound closed with the tips of its three talons, pus already oozing from the gash.

  Iceland roars with triumph, but doesn’t rest, its wings continuing to beat and flap, taking it well, well out of reach of Yellowstone’s swiping claws. It lands a few miles away, a massive ash cloud poofing up from the ground. It never sees the boulder that comes rocketing towards it.

  The smaller monster is sent flying, one of its fin wings bent and twisted behind its back at an angle that causes it to screech and cry out in pain as it comes down hard. The boulder flies past, purple blood speckling its surface. Iceland tum
bles a short ways then lies there, crying out as it tries to get the strength to stand. The bent and twisted fin wing lies impotent, a useless weight, torn and bloodied.

  Yellowstone wastes no time. It rushes forward, no sign of pain from its wounds, and reaches Iceland in seconds, grabbing up the smaller monster in its four claws. Then it begins to tear.

  The broken fin wing is first to go, ripped right off and thrown to the ground where it is stomped deep into the ash and mud. Yellowstone uses the second fin wing to keep ahold of Iceland. It slams the creature into the ground once, twice, three times, then lifts it up and grabs the moaning beast’s left leg. There is a deafening pop that echoes across the landscape as Yellowstone pulls the leg out of its socket, tossing it over its shoulder like a broken twig.

  Iceland opens its mouth to screech, to protest, to wail at its pain, but it doesn’t get the chance. Yellowstone jams a claw down its throat and curves the talon, piercing Iceland’s throat from the inside out. Purple blood sprays across Yellowstone and it howls as the blood begins to bubble on its skin.

  Iceland is tossed aside as Yellowstone grabs up handfuls of mud to rub into the burning blood. The smaller creature struggles to move, desperate to get away, but its body is beyond yielding an escape. It flops about, looking like the strange mix of fish and lizard that it is. Its purple blood flows freely across the ground, turning the grey ash into a blackish sludge.

  With its wounds tended, Yellowstone once again focuses on Iceland. It hunts about, finding two large boulders, both the size of a two-story house, lifting them easily and bringing them up high. The monster clomps over to the beaten creature and surveys it for a few seconds, almost mocking its pain as it continues to flop about. Then the boulders come down hard and fast.

  There is a last screech that is cut off almost as soon as it starts. After that, only silence.

  Except for the exultant roar that Yellowstone lets out as it raises its mouth to the sky. Sonic waves ripple up into the atmosphere, clearing the grey clouds completely. Bright sunlight illuminates the monster, haloing it in a triumphant glow.