Kaiju Inferno (Kaiju Winter Book 3)

by Jake Bible

  “This place has to have filtration systems,” Krissy says. “This is Washington. Water comes from the sky pretty much all the time.”

  “Filters might be clogged,” Tony says as he comes out of one of the hatches, drying his hair in a towel. He only has a pair of thin boxers on and he stands there without any modesty as he switches the towel from his hair to his back. “Water pressure is bad. I know how to clean them. I’ll do that later.”

  “Right now may be best,” Terrie says.

  “Yeah, after you put your pants on,” Krissy says, turning away from Tony’s nearly naked form. “And why did you need a shower? You’ve been sitting at your workbench for hours while we were up in the fucking mud.”

  “I smelled,” Tony replies. “I shower when I smell.” He stops drying himself and drapes his towel around his shoulders. “Is that Roy?”

  “Yeah, it is,” Terrie says. “And if anyone needs a shower, he does. I want to get him clean so I can see how badly he’s hurt.”

  Tony looks at his grandfather for a second then shakes his head. “Ribs and arm. Careful he doesn’t drink too much when he wakes up. He’ll want to drink a lot for the pain. You’ll need to watch that.”

  “We’ll need to watch that?” Krissy snaps. “What the hell will you be doing?”

  “Talking on the radio with my new friends,” Tony says, turning and walking out of the room.

  “What?” Terrie and Krissy exclaim at the same time.

  “Tony! Get back here!” Terrie calls.

  “What the fuck, dude?” Krissy shouts.

  Tony responds, but his voice is muffled and the words impossible to make out.

  “Go find out what he means,” Terrie says to Krissy. “I’ll get Roy taken care of. Once I have him cleaned and fixed up as best I can, I’ll join you two.”

  “What about his arm?” Krissy asks. “He said it might have to go.”

  “He needs rest before we try that,” Terrie says. “Now get and go find out what Tony is talking about.”

  Krissy starts to argue then just growls and shakes her head. She gets up and walks slowly out of the room after Tony.

  “If you are fucking with us, I’m going to beat your ass!” Krissy yells.

  Terrie sighs then looks over at the mud and blood-caked Roy that is snoring in the easy chair. She almost scoots over and leans her head against the chair, so desperate for a nap, but she fights the urge and struggles to her feet. Biscuit whines as she winces.

  “I’m fine, boy,” Terrie says. “Still alive and fighting.”

  Biscuit gives a quiet bark then lays his head on his paws and closes his eyes as Terrie stands over Roy, trying to figure out how she’ll get the man up, undressed, and into the shower without having proper use of both legs.

  “Still alive and fighting,” she mutters again.

  ***

  Except for a few of the smaller screens to the sides of the situation room, all screens are dialed in on various angles of the two gigantic monsters that are locked in combat, blood dripping from various wounds on their massive bodies.

  “Where the fuck is Australia?” VanderVoort shouts. “Japan is getting its ass kicked right now!”

  “I wouldn’t say Japan is getting its ass kicked,” Dr. Hall says. “Considering it has fought and defeated more than its share of monsters, not to mention swam across the Pacific, travelled up to Alaska, then leapt its way through Canada to Yellowstone, I’d say it’s doing fairly well.”

  There’s a loud screech and Japan goes flying, lost from view on many of the screens, techs scramble to reposition cameras to get it back in sight. When they do, the image is of a monster down on one knee, its hands resting on the ground while blood pours from gashes in its head and across its face.

  The thing spits tooth after tooth out onto the ground then shoves back upright. It takes one step, wavers, then falls back to its knee.

  “Okay,” Dr. Hall admits. “It’s getting its ass kicked.”

  “I know,” VanderVoort snaps. “Will someone please tell me where the fuck Australia is?”

  “Sleeping,” a tech says. “It’s sleeping in a valley in Nevada. It ate both those monsters, walked for a while, then just lied down and went to sleep.”

  “Shit,” VanderVoort says. “I thought these things were going to coordinate. What the fuck?”

  “Might be for the best,” Alvarez says. “Let the thing save up its energy before it goes after Yellowstone. Japan is exhausted and isn’t doing so well, like you said. Yellowstone is too big and good to take on when weak.”

  They all stare at the screens for a minute.

  “Still no answer,” Joan says. “I’m afraid we’ve lost contact with Bolton and Holt.”

  “Crap,” VanderVoort says. “There goes our chance to get word to Fort Carson and Schriever.”

  “Uh… Maybe not,” a tech says. “I’ve been talking to someone that has rigged up a radio with multi-spectrum broadcast capabilities. And something he calls a “trapper”, whatever that is. The guy says he’s locking in on other radio signals around the country.”

  “Are you telling me a civilian has reestablished cross continent radio communications and our own military bases are still silent?” VanderVoort asks.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the tech replies slowly. “He says he’s networking the signals into one strong stream. I have no idea how he’s doing it. The guy is a little off and doesn’t really answer questions well, but it sounds like he’s part of some prepper bunker up in Puget Sound.”

  “People are still alive up there?” President Nance exclaims. “After what we saw happen to that area? This means there have to be others somewhere else.”

  Director Miles snorts from his seat towards the side of the room.

  “Preppers,” Director Miles says. “There are probably a few hundred bunkers across this country that have working radios despite the EMPs. Those bastards are wily. The only thing is, they hate the federal government with a passion. I can guarantee that most of them think these monsters are designed by us to go after them. The odds of getting them to help is slim. I advise we stop talking to this guy in Puget Sound and let the preppers come out of their holes on their own. Then we slide into the conversation and see what we can get them to do.”

  VanderVoort points at Director Miles. “That. What Gordon said. Do it. I want four more techs monitoring radio channels. I also want someone dedicated to contacting the bases. If these homegrown nutjobs can get the radios back on then our professionals in uniform can as well.”

  “Depends,” Director Miles shrugs. “These nutjobs aren’t using government equipment. So they kind of have an advantage.”

  “Japan is down hard!” a tech shouts.

  All thoughts of radio transmissions are gone as everyone turns to watch the last moments of the unfortunate battle.

  Twelve

  Strips of skin hang from Japan’s jaw, most of it holding on by strings of tissue, ready to tumble to the ground at the first strong breeze.

  Which hits it square in the head as Yellowstone sends a wave of sonic pulses. Japan shakes its head and teeth scatter across the ground, joining the strips of skin that quiver and vibrate as Yellowstone rushes towards the monster. Japan doesn’t have a second to even get its arms up to block the attack as Yellowstone comes in swinging.

  A right to the jaw. A left to the eye. A right followed by another right to the ribs, two lefts to the temple. Japan wobbles and then collapses face first in the cracked and broken ground. It tries to push up, but Yellowstone slams its right foot into Japan’s spine, the cracking and snapping of vertebrae echoing like explosive detonations across the land.

  A hard kick to the ribs and then a solid head stomp at the base of the skull are the last moves Yellowstone makes before raising all four hands and walking away, an almost human swagger to its gait. Japan groans and grunts, its arms twitching by its side as blood streams from its eyes, nose, and mouth. Sparks of electric blue flame try to ignite, but they never get mo
re than a few feet away before fizzling to nothing.

  Yellowstone spins around suddenly and sprints at Japan. As the four-armed monster reaches the downed beast, it leaps into the air, bringing its muscular legs up tight to its chest. The second before impact, Yellowstone pistons downward with its legs, crushing Japan’s torso, sending blood spurting out from every orifice. Japan cries out, a warbling belch of pain and agony, then shudders and is still.

  With one hand, Yellowstone grips Japan’s spine. With the other it grips Japan’s skull. A wrenching twist and the spine comes free, skull intact. Yellowstone begins to gnaw at the flesh and muscle still left on the body parts, methodically stripping the bones clean.

  Once free of tissue, Yellowstone whips the spine about, bringing the skull down hard on a pile of black rock and boulders. The skull splits and Yellowstone jams a talon between the crack, pulling the bone apart until the brains are visible. It scoops out a claw full and stuffs it in its mouth, barely chewing before swallowing and going back for more.

  Japan’s corpse lies there at Yellowstone’s feet, defeated, deflated, useless. The triumphant monster gives the corpse a hard kick then continues eating, sitting down on the huge pile of black rocks and boulders.

  ***

  The situation room is quiet except for a couple of techs coordinating new camera angles between them. Even they fall silent as the lack of conversation becomes ominous.

  “Australia?” VanderVoort asks quietly.

  “Still sleeping,” a tech replies.

  “There is movement in Africa,” a tech says. “The Kenyan monster has left the continent and is apparently swimming towards Antarctica.”

  “This helps us here how?” VanderVoort asks.

  “It doesn’t,” the tech replies. “I was just updating you.”

  “Consider me updated,” VanderVoort says. “And since we’re in the updating mood, what’s the Chilean doing? Stopping by Tijuana for some margaritas and cheap heroin?”

  “It hasn’t gone past Mexico City,” a tech says. “It paused in the rain forests directly south and is waiting there.”

  “Let me guess? It’s having a siesta?” VanderVoort says. “This is the south of the border version of Australia, right? What the hell is wrong with these southern hemisphere bastards anyway?”

  “Uh, no, ma’am, it is not having a siesta,” the tech replies. “It has been patiently waiting, very alert and tense.”

  “Has it now?” VanderVoort asks. “Wonder what it is waiting on that has it so tense and alert?”

  “Mexico City is situated on top of a dormant volcano,” Dr. Hall says.

  “Have we received any readings from the volcano?” VanderVoort asks.

  “None that I could find,” Dr. Hall says.

  “Then what the hell is it doing?” VanderVoort snaps. “Someone figure that out!”

  “Ma’am? Australia is yawning,” a tech announces.

  “Really? That’s the news you’re giving me?” VanderVoort shouts. “Australia is yawning? Let me know when it scratches itself and farts!”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I mean that Australia is waking up and starting to move east,” the tech replies. “My apologies for not being clear.”

  “About damn time that monster got back to work,” VanderVoort says. “Good thing it doesn’t work for me or I’d can its ass and put in one of the dark holes we have in Eastern Europe.”

  “We closed the last hole down a few months ago,” Director Miles says.

  “We did? Why?” VanderVoort asks.

  “Resources,” Director Miles replies and shrugs. He waves his hand around. “We had to get ready for all of this.”

  “Dammit, now I’m depressed,” VanderVoort says, patting her belly. “I had some good times in those sites. Oh, well. Progress, right?”

  ***

  The beam shifts just enough that Bolton can pull his leg free. Once it is loose, he is able to get his other leg free and he finds himself suddenly able to scoot backwards through the rubble until his back is against a pile of concrete chunks. The buzzing sat phone is only a foot away. In his pack. Under the concrete.

  Bolton sighs and takes a deep breath. He turns around, his body bent into a small ball, all the room he can manage in the collapsed convenience store. The breath he takes in tastes like dust, mold, and feces. Bolton is more than sure Holt passed away an hour ago. That was when he noticed the shit smell coming from where Holt’s voice had been before.

  Carefully, with slow, deliberate movements, Bolton pulls one chunk of concrete free then another. He nearly cries when he sees what he uncovers. Not only is his pack sitting there, the sat phone sticking out of a side pocket and looking unharmed, but he can feel a cold breeze and see a hole leading out of the debris.

  Bolton grabs the pack and takes out the sat phone. He activates it and squats down, ready to deliver the bad news. There’s a loud hiss and crackle then three short beeps. He looks down at the phone and the green lettering on the black screen.

  “Battery Low,” the screen says.

  Bolton nearly crushes the phone against the concrete, but he calms himself and stuffs the phone into his pocket. He takes a few more breaths, ignoring the stench that fills his lungs, then pushes his pack forward and crawls out from under the collapsed convenience store. The air outside is frigid and damp, but Bolton can see signs of dawn approaching and he’s thankful that he’s lived another day.

  Turning to the debris pile, Bolton considers taking the time to go back for Holt; to do right by the man’s body and bury him in a proper grave, not some trash heap filled with stale peanut butter crackers and diet energy drinks. But a far off roar changes his mind quickly. He has a mission to complete and almost no equipment to complete it with.

  He pats his body and realizes he has a .45 with three magazines, two grenades, two smoke canisters, his combat knife, and his pack which holds some rations, water purification tablets, extra clothes, a thermal blanket, and another pair of boots. There are five magazines for his M4 strapped to the sides, but he has no idea where his M4 is. Then he finds the mother lode and nearly cries.

  He stares at the small black rectangle and the wires protruding from it. A solar panel with charger for the sat phone. He’d hoped it was in there, but didn’t know. His fear was it had been lost in Holt’s pack.

  Bolton straps his pack to his back, making sure it is tight and secure, then takes a couple steps south. His legs protest and he almost falls to his knees. He has to stop and sit on the fender of an abandoned Toyota Camry. He pulls up his pants legs and hisses at the black and blue bruises that spread all the way up both shins. He turns his calves and hisses again, seeing the bruising there as well.

  The beam really did a job on him. He stands again and takes another couple of steps before stopping. The pain is like the worst set of shin splints ever. His shin bones scream with every movement and his calf muscles feel like fire and ice at the same time, agony and numbness that make it almost impossible to walk.

  Bolton hobbles his way over to a row of trailers a few yards away. The things look like they have seen better days, but Bolton guesses they didn’t look any more sound before the ash started to fall. He scrambles up a couple of steps and yanks on the door. It’s locked tight.

  He slams his fist on the door, and balances his way down the steps. The dawn light is brightening more and he swears he sees a window shade move in one of the other trailers. Bolton draws his pistol and waits. He watches the window for a good five minutes before he slowly backs away from the trailers.

  Bolton knows he’s in no shape to take on any crazy survivors. Especially not ones that are dumb enough to hide in a single wide trailer when the world is collapsing all around. Trailers aren’t exactly known for their stability and safety during a cataclysm.

  When he’s back out on the road, he finally turns away from the trailers. He stops in his tracks once more, but not because of the excruciating pain in his legs.

  “Hey there,” a man says. “Something yo
u need?”

  The man is holding an AR15, aiming it squarely at Bolton’s belly. Behind him stand six others, three men and three women. They all hold various semi-automatic rifles. Bolton has no doubt in his mind all of the semi-automatics have been converted to fully automatics. He knows what country he lives in, and by the looks of the men and women, who he is dealing with.

  “I need to get down to Colorado,” Bolton says. “That’s what I need. My partner is dead and I’m injured. We were tasked with getting to Colorado Springs ASAP. The big monsters scuttled that plan a few hours ago.”

  “Yeah, those big beasties will do that,” the man nods. “What you got in the pack?”

  “Just some basics,” Bolton replies. “No weapons.”

  “I didn’t ask if you had weapons,” the man says. “I just asked what you have in there.”

  He jerks his head and one of the other men moves forward, his rifle aimed at Bolton. It’s not hard for Bolton to tell that the guy coming for his pack has zero military training. He acts and moves like someone that has studied how to be a soldier from YouTube videos. And considering the intelligence level of the militias these days, Bolton is fairly certain that’s exactly how the guy got his training.

  “Here,” Bolton says, holding out the pack. “Check it. No weapons.”

  “Ammo,” the man says as he snatches the pack away from Bolton and holds it up for the others to see. “Three magazines.”

  “Five,” Bolton says. “5.56 NATO. For my M4, which is under that pile of shit over there.”

  “Yeah, five,” the guy with Bolton’s pack says.

  There is a beeping from Bolton’s hip and he sighs.

  “Huh,” the first man says and grins. “That sounds like a phone. A working phone.”

  “Well, not so working,” Bolton says.

  “That so?” the man asks. “It beeps but doesn’t work? I doubt that. Nothing beeps anymore. It’s all gone dark. So if that thing is able to make just the tiniest of sounds, I’m willing to bet it can make the tiniest of calls.”