They could hear the rumble of jet engines being prepped. Jonah had counted six F-16s – all nuke-capable.
He wondered what their target might be. A single infected giant had caused them to burn down an entire forest.
Jonah shut his eyes. Speculation would only start his imagination running wild.
His cell-mate was very little inspiration. Naomi sat silent and morose.
She had once spent the night in a drunk-tank holding-cell – a bit of the personal knowledge Jonah had picked-up over the last year. It had been a DUI, after a fight with her husband, and she had been deeply humiliated – as much as anything, after being bailed-out the next morning by her oh-so-sober-and-responsible man.
Jonah knew about the incident because Lieutenant Lucas Walker had made the strategic mistake of jokingly referring to the incident as “the only argument I ever won.”
Backfire was not the word – it was a remark that would live in infamy, and one Lieutenant Lucas' freshly-sprung young wife would never let be forgotten.
Jonah, himself, had been in trouble more than once, just being in the room when she thought of it.
The drunk-tank had been in downtown LA, and the company she'd spent that night with had been suitably colorful. A military-brat and pilot's wife, Naomi was no stranger to roughing it, but the concept of being confined, of being gathered up like refuse, because you couldn't be allowed in public – to be given a time-out against your will like a child? Naomi twisted just at the memory of it.
Jonah wondered if she was flashing back to that now, as she huddled herself in the tightest corner of the cell, pressed against the wall, legs folded-up into the little ball she always enveloped herself in.
It was her protective cocoon, and like so many things in living with her, it was something he'd learned not to touch.
The back of their little cell was walled-off to the outside, and did not allow for a view into the yard, but they could see well enough into the main walkway.
Something had really stirred things up.
Major Travis had told them several caravans had been attacked. He also said he believed them about Otto.
Now they were scrambling nukes.
And the two of them were locked-up, unable to even run.
Jonah was tempted to hang it on Naomi. It was her insistence to follow the military supply chain, right from the moment they'd out-distanced the forest-fire.
On the other hand, if this time, they were about to go nuke someplace, at least Jonah could be certain he wasn't going to be standing ground-zero on their target.
They were safe in a cage.
Although, Jonah did find himself wondering how long he and Naomi would continue to be caged together.
She had been right before. He was a redundant component – a dime-a-dozen male, getting a little long in the tooth. And he was never that good a pilot anyway.
Jonah suspected that this little interlude in holding might be their last time alone together before being tossed into the system. Major Travis had mentioned refugee facilities, indicating that, security breaches aside, this was where protocol typically dictated they should go.
Naomi would no longer need make do with his civilian company. She was going to be surrounded by nothing but American heroes, just like her ex.
Not EX, he reminded himself. Better not forget that again.
As he stole a glance at her, folded-up in her corner, head bowed and her face bent in the frown she wore far too often, Jonah wondered if she would miss him.
He was already starting to miss her. And it seemed that their final hours together would be spent in stony silence.
But then abruptly, she spoke.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
Jonah perked. That was a first.
“For what?”
Naomi sighed, resigned and tired.
“For all of it,” she said. “You've been great. Through everything. Right from the beginning.” She sighed. “And I've put you through your paces.”
“You're a pace-setter,” Jonah allowed cautiously.
Naomi unfolded from her ball, and turned to face him directly.
“I just wanted to tell you that you deserved better,” she said. “After our night together, I mean. You deserved better.”
Jonah sat back, listening. It was the first time she'd brought it up.
Naomi held up the ring she still wore.
“It was our anniversary.” She looked at Jonah apologetically. “I should have told you that.”
Jonah had actually surmised as much.
“You know what?” he said. “I'm sorry. I saw the wine...”
“It wasn't the wine,” Naomi interrupted. “I'm a big girl. All grown up. You didn't take advantage of me. What I'm apologizing for is that I totally used you. And in the morning, I just utterly blew you off.”
With extreme prejudice, Jonah thought. But he waved it away.
“Forget it,” he said. “I've had more than one woman regret me in the morning. Like my ex-wife.”
Naomi smiled a little.
“That was never a problem for Lucas. I was always so proud of him. I bragged on him with my friends. I paraded him about town. The way it felt when we were together. I thought we were so special.”
She shook her head, puzzled.
“But with you,” she said, “it was just the same.”
Naomi paused a moment, looking strained.
“A deliberate drunk surrogate,” she said. “And it was just the same.”
Deliberate drunk surrogate, Jonah repeated quietly in his head.
“I'm not stupid,” she said. “I understand psychology. Imagination. It just scared me that what I felt with Lucas... that I could have just projected that on anybody.”
Naomi eyed him seriously, clearly wanting him to understand.
“It made me feel like I couldn't trust my own head,” she said. “And I guess I needed to separate a little until I reminded myself what was real.”
Jonah nodded stoically, saying nothing, but couldn't help note her unquestioned presumption.
If it's good with you, it must be my imagination.
Even his ex-wife wouldn't have hung that one on him.
And the hell of it was, the one night he got to step-up as deliberate-drunk-surrogate, was a night he wouldn't give up for his life.
He almost said it out-loud. Part of him wanted to.
If I died tonight, at least I got to be with you.
That was his reality.
Instead, he simply sat silent. Naomi said nothing more, satisfied the air between them was cleared.
Jonah supposed it was. And he supposed he had an answer to his question – you didn't miss a surrogate.
They sat quietly together, strangers who had been thrust together in a storm – perhaps finally about to separate once again. After all, the only thing that had ever held them together was the continuing crisis and lack of options.
The silence in the cell highlighted the sound of activity in the yard outside.
It also boosted the acoustics of the first gunshots, followed by the familiar warbling yodels of sickle-claws.
And just behind that, the echoing dragon-roar of a Tyrannosaurus rex.
Jonah and Naomi both sat bolt upright, exchanging alarmed glances.
An explosion of military fire erupted from the main yard – the gun-turrets from the towers now aimed down into the compound itself. Baying roars turned into screams as the high-caliber ammunition tore like a rototiller into saurian hide.
Jonah could imagine it all clearly enough – just like the convoy – the smallish dromaeosaurs darting through the grounds, drawing the rex pack to the chase, in turn, drawing gunfire.
It was the kind of behavior sickle-claws only displayed when Otto was around.
And this time, they were on a top-secret site, commanding nuclear assets.
Shouts echoed in the hall outside their cell, and a rush of soldiers filed in front of the main entrance, rifle
s drawn.
Jonah saw Major Travis himself, his hand pistol aimed and ready, as they faced the doorway. Beside him, Sergeant Meyers had his rifle shouldered.
Almost simultaneously, there was a crash as the main doors came down, followed by the eruption of gunfire, and a goon-squad of sickle-claws flooded the main hall like a wave.
Jonah and Naomi could see it from their cell.
In the close quarters, it was a massacre.
These sickle-claws were big – larger than Utahraptor – all arms and legs, with a small body, and slender neck and head – difficult to hit while moving – definitely hard to hit under pressure.
Major Travis shot two of the beasts before he was beheaded by a slashing foot-claw.
Sergeant Meyers was taken a moment later, disemboweled.
Most of the men barely had a chance to cry out. The two-dozen armed soldiers crowded into that hall might as well have fallen into a cage full of hungry lions. It was over within minutes. Absolutely and graphically over.
And as the sickle-claws hovered over the torn and scattered remains, with the main hall now secured like a trained infiltration unit, a troop of Ottos came scurrying in between their feet.
“Aw, shit,” Naomi muttered. “You little bastards.”
And the sound carried.
The sickle-claws perked at the bare whisper, uttered among screams and munitions fire, and the pack turned in the direction of their cell.
The troop of Ottos bobbed at their feet, and recited Naomi's voice back in stereo, “You little bastards.”
In the blink of an eye, the sickle-claws moved, taloned hands wide and flailing, reaching for purchase, with their lethal foot claws poised and cocked.
Naomi and Jonah both fell back against the cell wall as the first of them hit the bars.
But the cage saved them. These dromaeosaurs were the size of tigers and the gap between the bars was not quite wide-enough.
Jonah looked around for anything to use as a weapon, but there weren't even pillows for the flat-stone bench.
The beast snarled, reaching with its claws, straining, as it pushed through the gap.
Two more hit the bars, with a heavy, crashing clang, jaws snapping, claws slashing.
Otto's chorus chittered again. “Little bastards!”
Then the entire front wall of the building crashed in.
Rudy, his hide splattered into bloody meatloaf from turret fire, burst into the main hall, bringing the roof and wall crashing down behind him.
There was a shriek from the Ottos, again broadcasting Naomi's voice, this time in a stereo-chimed, “Aw shit!”
The sound echoed as the little lizards scampered down past the jail-block.
But now the cell-wall crashed in.
Jonah and Naomi dived aside, dodging cinder and rubble, as Jughead stepped into the holding cell with them.
The hapless sickle-claws wedged between the bars shrieked horrible reptilian/avian curses as the big rex tore the entire wall of iron bars from their mooring, collapsing the cell-block.
Trapped beneath the bars, the snarling sickle-claws kicked and struggled, as Jughead dipped his massive jaws, and snapped both of the clawed beasts in half at a stroke.
There was a Hail-Mary screeching as Rudy was swarmed by the dromaeosaur pack. The big rex bellowed in outrage, as he began to thrash up against the remaining walls.
With sickle-claw feet still protruding from his lips, Jughead paused, looking down at Jonah and Naomi, lying stunned amid the scattered rubble.
The big eyes focused – binocular vision – and its nostrils sniffed.
From down the hallway, where the Ottos had disappeared, came another echoing chorus in Naomi's voice.
“You little bastards!”
Jughead turned, knocking out the neighboring wall in pursuit.
Rudy heard the echoes as well. He was already in a frenzy, as the swarming sickle-claws targeted his eyes and throat. Unfortunately for the dromaeosaurs, the cramped space worked to the tyrannosaur's benefit, allowing Rudy to simply crush most of them against heavy breakable objects, any lingering offenders to be snapped up as they tried to retreat.
With the wall to their cell now gone, Jonah and Naomi peered out into the yard, just in time to see one of the turret towers come tumbling down, landing in a resounding crash of mortar and brick.
Big Moose had simply just charged the tower, absorbing the hail of gunfire, and crashed face-first into the base. At six-tons, he was the largest of the JV squad and took the tower out at a stroke.
But Big Moose took his own damage, and was clearly staggering. He tried to roar, but his breath came out in bloody coughs.
The second turret opened fire, and angry spurts of blood exploded across the big rex' back and neck, running a race all the way up to the back of the giant skull.
At least one of the shots hit something vulnerable and Big Moose dropped in his tracks, his breath grunting out with the impact as he bonelessly struck the earth, his legs kicking briefly, as if attempting to run. But then he stiffened and lay still.
Archie took out the remaining tower, charging past running soldiers, stepping on the ones that he could, even as they pumped bullets into his thighs and ribs. Mimicking the tactics of his bigger brother, the five-ton rex hit the turret square at the base.
This time, the tower itself held, but the gunner was knocked loose, falling nearly forty-feet, right at Archie's feet.
There was a low moan, as the soldier, his back broken, cried out weakly, trying to move.
Archie's jaws dipped, snapping the man up, and tossing him down his gullet like a raw oyster.
Then the big tyrannosaur turned as a fresh hail of gunfire erupted from the dwindling troops.
Jonah wanted to shout at the soldiers to stop. All they really had to do was simply get the hell out of the way – the T. rex wanted the sickle-claws.
Most especially, they wanted the Ottos, and would do anything to get at those little bastards.
Jonah had said as much to Major Travis. If he were alive, the Major might have realized to call a stand-down order.
But he was dead. And so his soldiers instead did what they were trained to and kept fighting – and kept antagonizing the rex pack until they smashed the base flat – helpfully providing cover for the sickle-claws as they sprinted between the tyrannosaurs' towering legs, chasing down any remaining human resistance.
It was as costly for all sides as it could possibly be. It ended with a final burst of gunfire, and the sound of an aborted scream.
The warbling calls of the sickle-claws were quickly silenced as well. Steadfastly holding their ground, they were easy pickings for the teen tyrannosaurs.
The JV squad, however, had also taken their lumps. The turret-guns had done their work. T. rex were known by fossils to have recovered from seemingly ridiculous amounts of damage, but it was always about surviving the initial injury in the first place.
Operating on the adrenaline of their attack, and no doubt juiced-up by whatever antagonistic psycho/chemical reaction Otto's presence seemed to inspire, the rex pack had walked through weapons intended to take down fighter-jets.
To their credit, they seemed to have won their fight.
But once the skirmish was over, the JV squad's injuries caught up with them.
Jughead's hide was flayed open all along the ribcage, and his breath rasped through ragged holes blown clear into its lungs.
Big Moose was already down, and Archie, with the last sickle-claw's legs still dangling from his jaws, just stood panting, like a hard-run dog, with ragged munitions wounds scoured along his hide.
And Rudy, now that the dromaeosaur-pack seemed accounted for, simply sat down to wait.
There were still Ottos around somewhere.
T. rex were stubborn. They didn't mind dying, but they had to get you first.
For the moment, the little lizards remained hidden.
Naomi stole from the collapsed holding-cell out into the smashed hallway.
Rudy had knocked away a substantial portion of the roof. What was left looked practically eager to drop on top of them.
Jonah followed as Naomi peeled a bloody rifle off the body of a fallen soldier. She turned and tossed the crimson-stained weapon to Jonah, who caught it reflexively, the impact knocking droplets of gore into his face.
Naomi purloined a second rifle for herself, and then hunted through the carnage until she found clips.
Without waiting for Jonah, she poked her way past the collapsed entrance, looking out over the demolished yard.
Rudy and Jughead both sat at a short distance, immobile, like lions under a tree, momentarily off-the-clock. In the yard behind them, Archie's eyes blinked their way, but the big rex continued to pant, as if trying to catch its breath.
Keeping a wary eye on all three dragons at once, Naomi started out across the grounds.
“Where are you going?” Jonah called softly.
Naomi pointed to the radio tower.
Cautiously, her rifle ready, Naomi made her way across the yard. Cursing under his breath, Jonah followed.
The sickle-claws had left a trail of corpses right up to the front steps. Jonah kept his eyes averted as Naomi pushed open the door.
From the broadcast booth upstairs, they heard the crackle of static, and a voice blaring over the speakers.
“This is General Rhodes. Come in. For God's sake, is anyone there?”
Chapter 29
Rosa could tell Shanna's leg was hurting her.
It was cold on the mountain, and despite being bundled by the fire, they had precious little cover from the wind beyond the vertical-hanging chopper, which itself rocked on the tenuously clinging vines as the gusts kept trying to snatch them all off the cliff.
Allison and Bud hung around Lucas, rocking together, unconsciously, a universal tempo of comfort.
Mr. Wilson occupied himself with keeping up the fire, frowning each time the vines holding the chopper above their heads creaked with the wind.
Rosa could picture him in the old world, out on the farm, one ear ever-perked for that malfunctioning sprinkler or pipe – a life of constant maintenance.
She tried to imagine young Maverick on the farm.
“That son of mine hasn't got a brain in his head,” Mr. Wilson had told her. “But he's proven that he's damn hard to kill. Which makes it beneficial to be standing next to him.”
Kingdom of Monsters Page 18
