Obliteration

by James S. Murray

  The creatures’ screams filled his ears.

  The black mass closed to within a few hundred yards of the marina.

  There’s no time left . . .

  Justin put the boat in neutral and turned the ignition key. He drove the accelerator forward, making the engine blades whir to life while still in the air. The moment the blades hits the water, he wanted to be moving.

  The creatures reached the dock and bounded toward them.

  “Come on, goddammit!” Justin yelled.

  The motor hit the surface of the water, and the boat powered forward at full speed just as the creatures reached the edge of his dock.

  They crouched on their hind legs, ready to jump.

  But didn’t.

  The boat had now cut through the choppy water to around forty yards clear. No way the creatures could make that jump now. And it seemed that they didn’t swim.

  Justin and the couple were safe. He turned back and looked for the other boats. All had pulled away from the dock just in time. Everyone who had been trapped with him in the Sheraton made it safely away.

  Justin let out a long, deep breath.

  The twelve boats rode alongside one another in the direction of North Island, toward the distant aircraft carriers. Spray battered the windshield. Wind ran through Justin’s hair. Exhilaration replaced the terror. A sense of freedom rose through him. He screamed out loud with joy, releasing the tension of spending the past forty-eight hours in constant fear.

  Suddenly, his body jerked forward from a rapid change in momentum.

  “Fuck!” he exclaimed, catching his balance.

  The boat began to slow down for some unknown reason. But the engine still roared. It better, considering all the work he had put into it to fix it a few days ago.

  “Why are you slowing down?” Tim asked.

  “I’m not,” Justin replied, confused.

  He looked at the other boats alongside him, baffled.

  What the hell?

  They, too, were slowing down, all in unison.

  A man behind the wheel in a boat to their right threw Justin a look of equal confusion.

  Justin slammed the throttle down to full speed. It had no effect. The boat slowed to a complete stop, like the engine wasn’t even there.

  All dozen boats now bobbed in the water.

  Justin twisted in his seat and looked back toward the shoreline. Hundreds of creatures had formed into a massive circle by the side of the hotel.

  What are they doing?

  Without warning, all twelve boats jolted and reversed direction toward the marina, as if they were being yanked backward like a yo-yo by some unseen force.

  Desperate, Justin threw the anchor overboard. It snagged on the ocean floor, but immediately ripped right off the bow of the ship from the tremendous force pulling his boat backward.

  Two people in the craft to his right leaped from their boat into the warm waters of the bay. But both, despite desperately attempting to swim forward, were dragged back in the same direction.

  Back toward the dock.

  Back toward the creatures.

  Back toward their certain deaths.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Diego Munoz peered out from the cool, air-conditioned bridge of the USS Nimitz. On the flight deck, the final two hundred supersoldiers lowered on a massive elevator to the hangar below, under the guidance of Roux. Bowcut stood by his side, taking in the proceedings. However, it didn’t matter how impressive any of this was. All eyes were transfixed on something else.

  Munoz, like Bowcut, the Caffertys, and the entire bridge crew, stared across the bay toward San Diego in absolute horror.

  First, the sight of thousands of creatures rushing toward the coastline. Then seeing those brave people run for their lives and successfully make it to sea. But now, this . . .

  The civilians’ boats were being dragged back to the shore.

  Diego could only imagine the panic they were feeling at the moment, having no clue why they could not escape.

  But he knew why.

  Munoz crouched, ripped open his backpack, and fished out his binoculars. The creatures had formed into a tight group in Harbor Island Park, a thin strip of grassed land in front of the marina’s yacht club.

  They must be focusing their telekinetic power. He’d seen them do this before in the subway tunnels of New York City and underneath Paris, but never like this.

  Stopping speedboats dead in the water? Have their powers grown that strong that quickly?

  “Captain, every moment wasted, countless scores perish,” Van Ness said, dismissive of the drama unfolding on the water. “May I suggest we get moving?”

  “Get moving?” Cafferty interjected. “Captain, we have to help those people!”

  The captain watched the slow-motion slaughter about to happen with a sickly look on his face. “Just how powerful is that force they are using, Van Ness?” the captain asked, weighing his options.

  “Their telekinesis?” Van Ness asked. “It grows stronger by the day.”

  “I mean, can enough creatures use it to stop this aircraft carrier?”

  “Know this, Captain—your ships are their real targets,” Van Ness replied. “They are baiting us. Might I suggest we not tempt fate?”

  “Captain,” Cafferty implored, “we can save those people. If we stop fighting for every single life, we lose everything. This is a risk worth taking.”

  Munoz could hear the passion in Cafferty’s voice. That’s what Diego liked most about the former mayor. Cafferty still believed, even after everything their team had been through the past three years, that they could actually win, that they would come out on top, that they would save everyone. Cafferty still believed, still hoped that redemption was possible. In the darkest of times, in the moments when Munoz thought all was surely lost, it was Cafferty’s unflinching belief that good would ultimately triumph that kept him going.

  Van Ness grinned at Cafferty’s childish optimism. “Save twelve, Captain, or save the world. I leave it to you.”

  Collingwood dropped his head down, considering his decision carefully.

  “Captain, an unmanned boat is drifting toward us,” a crewman interjected.

  Collingwood peered through the windows of the bridge at the listless speedboat approaching the aircraft carrier with the current.

  Suddenly, a creature burst from the lower deck of the abandoned ship and leaped onto the side of the Nimitz. It clawed its way up with lightning-fast speed onto the main deck of the ship.

  A single supersoldier instantly followed its path.

  Crew members scattered in terror at the sight of the creature. But the creature ignored them, bounded up the deck, and scaled right up the structure toward the bridge. It crashed through the side of the glass, bursting onto the bridge, just feet from the commanding officers.

  Munoz drew in a sharp breath, in shock at the sight of the captain moments from death. Not only that, the creature had made easy work of the strong protective glass. Every time he saw them again, they appeared to have gained strength.

  But before the monster could strike, the chasing supersoldier entered the bridge and crashed a fist down on the creature’s head.

  The creature collapsed.

  The soldier grabbed its tail and drove the razor-sharp tip right through its own skull, impaling the creature onto a metal table. Its carcass instantly went limp.

  Collingwood staggered back, face etched with fear and confusion. He took a moment to compose himself, then said to the crew, “We are leaving, right now.”

  Munoz glanced back toward the marina at the desperate people fighting for their lives. All twelve boats were being dragged back to shore. It looked as if the creatures had pulled a giant plug from the edge of the water. The people who dove into the bay were being dragged back, too—two dozen arms and legs uselessly trying to swim against a force they knew nothing about. Some threw their hands in the air, waving toward the Nimitz for help.

  The cr
eatures onshore stayed in their tight formation, focusing their collective power on the task at hand. Cold and callous. Waiting for most of their prey to reach them. It would only be a matter of minutes before the boats reached shore and the people slaughtered.

  Munoz let out a long, deep sigh. If they were not going to help these people, then at least he shouldn’t waste the opportunity at hand: the opportunity to study the creatures’ collective telekinetic power from a safe distance.

  He slung off his pack and grabbed a mobile spectrum analyzer and a portable frequency scanner from inside. It was a long shot, but he might never have the chance again to scan all frequencies while the creatures used their power. What it might lead to, he had no idea. But these creatures must have the ability to communicate with each other over great distances. That’s the only way they could have organized a worldwide attack of this scale.

  If I can just figure out how these sons of bitches chat . . .

  He turned his scanners on and studied the displays carefully. Munoz prayed the creatures stayed in position long enough for him to make a discovery. Anything to help turn the tide in humanity’s favor. He’d seen how badass the supersoldiers were in Lima. But the millions of creatures meant they might need an extra edge—an edge that he could hopefully provide.

  The Nimitz’s engines roared to life, sending vibrations through the entire ship. The massive aircraft carrier pulled away from North Island and headed in the direction of San Francisco. As the boat gained some distance from the shore, Captain Collingwood rested his hand on Cafferty’s shoulder.

  “We’ll never lose everything, Tom,” the captain said quietly. With that, he addressed his commanding officer, Captain Vasquez. “Nick, do me a favor. Target that yacht club with a RAM missile, would you?”

  Captain Vasquez grinned widely. “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  Munoz and Cafferty smiled as well. As the Nimitz sped away from San Diego harbor and toward their mission that would decide the fate of humanity, sometimes it was the little victories that mattered.

  “Ready,” Vasquez said.

  “Fire!” Captain Collingwood exclaimed.

  An RIM-116 Rolling Airframe Missile rocketed off the deck of the Nimitz at incredible velocity. Within a minute, at a speed of over Mach 2, it reached its target: the very spot the creatures huddled onshore, harnessing their telekinetic abilities.

  The twenty-four-pound blast fragmentation warhead hit the yacht club with shocking destructive power, tearing the creatures to shreds.

  Instantly, the telekinetic force that had been dragging the boats back to shore faltered. The ships broke free, and the civilians resumed their course safely away from San Diego.

  But a moment before the telekinetic signal went dead (along with the creatures), Munoz’s frequency tracking equipment picked up an unusual, massive blip.

  Could that be it?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Darkness had enveloped the makeshift military base on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay. But in this relative safety, Karen still received constant reminders of the terror unfolding on the mainland. Haunting shrieks echoed across the water from the devastated city. A few of the tall buildings burned bright, sending smoke belching into the star-studded sky.

  She had taken a short break from the field hospital to check on Joey. He ignored the noise from the city while he raced around the outside of their tent playing with little Taylor. The oversized fleece jacket she’d found, protecting Joey from the cool night air, dangled over his hands and went down to his knees. Seeing the kids laughing and playing gave her hope they’d pull through this all right. He showed no outward signs of the intense stress they’d been under. Taylor sped after him with a flashlight. The two had quickly formed a friendship that put Karen’s mind at ease.

  She scanned their immediate surroundings now that night had set in.

  Other flashlight beams speared around the camp and glowed inside of tents. Artificial light shone out of a few of the surrounding buildings lucky enough to have generators to provide power.

  Thank God it’s not winter.

  A small mercy in the current disaster.

  The deep thwacks of a helicopter grew louder in the sky.

  Karen looked up.

  The rescue chopper sailed over the edge of the island. It slowed to a hover and lowered next to the camp. The rotor wash rattled the closest tents. As soon as it landed, the side door slid open.

  “We’ve got six more here,” one of the crew bellowed. “Five for the hospital.”

  Dark figures raced from the awaiting truck to the side of the chopper. One of the triage nurses had been waiting with the ground team to provide any urgent assistance before the injured reached the field hospital.

  The arrival spelled the end of her break. Joey was in safe hands. She could go back to being of wider use. During the last few hours, the crews had brought in dozens of survivors, mostly injured. Those with a clean bill of health still had to deal with the mental scars of their experiences.

  Karen knelt and grabbed Joey in her arms as he ran around the tent one final time.

  “What’s up, Mommy?” he asked.

  “I’m going back to help more sick people, baby. Be a good boy for a few hours.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Taylor’s going to tell me a story. And I’m gonna tell her all my jokes.”

  “That’s my little man.”

  Joey raised his hand for a high five. Karen slapped her palm against his. With that, her son and Taylor disappeared inside the neighboring tent.

  She grabbed a bike that Scott Kohler had given her and cycled back down the dark road toward the hospital. The headlights from the truck briefly lit her way until she got in range of the light shining out of the warehouse.

  Karen pedaled in to the sounds of moans and groans, dropped the bike, and immediately went over to Scott. He was making notes next to a patient with bandages covering his arms.

  “Back so soon?” he asked.

  “We’ve got five more coming in.”

  “You look exhausted.”

  “Right back atcha, Scott.”

  He smiled.

  Karen looked at the hundred-plus occupied beds with patients in various states of distress. Every cot was occupied—they’d ran out of room earlier in the evening.

  “I’ve got two staff checking if anyone is okay to take a chair,” Scott said.

  “Any takers yet?”

  He shook his head. “A few, but I doubt it’ll be enough.”

  The sound of the truck closed in on the warehouse. Raised voices could be heard over the hiss of the brakes. Two stretchers came in shortly after. The teams efficiently placed them on the ground by the front of the warehouse and returned outside.

  “What have we got?” Scott asked the accompanying nurse.

  Karen recognized the nurse as Emma, who also looked like she hadn’t slept for days. The young, redheaded woman looked back at the two patients on stretchers, both with bloodstained bandages on their legs.

  “These are the two priorities,” Emma said. “Deep lacerations. Both have morphine. I’ll deal with the others.”

  “Thank you.” He turned to Karen. “You take the left.”

  Karen grabbed a tray of medical supplies and went over to her new patient, a middle-aged woman in a shredded cream trouser suit. She carefully raised the bandages around her calves, revealing a deep gash across both, probably from the swipe of a creature’s tail. To call this lucky seemed wrong, despite the numerous decapitations she’d seen on the streets of San Francisco.

  Nobody is lucky.

  She looked into the woman’s glazed eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Betty,” she answered groggily.

  “You’re gonna be okay, Betty,” Karen said. “But I need to close your wounds.”

  Betty nodded and gripped the sides of the stretcher.

  Karen administered local anesthetic to her legs and comforted her while waiting for the area to numb.

&nb
sp; “Where are you from?” Karen asked.

  “Oakland. Is my husband here?”

  Karen glanced over to the nurse, who shook her head.

  “Please, I need to know if my husband is here,” Betty repeated.

  “I promise you I’ll check right after we’ve closed up your wounds.”

  Karen didn’t know what else to do but conceal the sad truth. The woman had already lost a lot of blood and was about to get her legs stitched up. She’d learned from experience that she had to choose the right time to deliver news to a trauma patient. Now wasn’t it. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

  “This’ll only take a couple of minutes,” Karen said.

  “Thank you,” Betty said. “I’ve been through worse. I’ll make it through.”

  The bravery and defiance of the people flowing into the field hospital had come as a surprise. A few arrived in a state of shock, though most had a stoicism and strength about them that filled her with pride.

  Humanity was being obliterated, but the human spirit was not being extinguished.

  She grabbed the tweezers from the tray and clamped them around the already threaded needle. Next, she used a pair of forceps to expose the wound on the left calf to see the depth of the injury and the angle she needed to stich.

  Deep.

  Not too bad, though, in the grand scheme of things. She’ll recover.

  Karen inserted the needle at ninety degrees, roughly half an inch from the gash. She threaded the wound, pulling until the knotted end hit flesh, and tightly stitched the entire length of the laceration. After tying off the loose thread and cutting it, she wiped away the excess blood and applied another bandage. She then repeated the procedure on the other calf.

  Throughout this, Betty remained calm and composed. Karen knew her missing husband—almost certainly dead like Danny—played in her mind. This wasn’t the time to compare experiences, though.

  A man in a naval officer’s uniform leaned out of an office at the side of the warehouse. “Captain Kohler, there’s a call you need to take.”

  “I’ll be a minute,” he replied from the side of an injured man.