Catalina kicked over a toolbox. “Look in there, find a knife and standby to cut the hawser. But don’t do it till I gun the engines. If we start drifting with the current we’ll turn sideways.”
Micah dug a knife out of the overturned box and made his way to the bow.
Catalina twisted the ignition switch, firing up the twin 180 horse power diesel engines.
After allowing them a few seconds to level out, she muttered, “Here goes nothing,” and engaged the water jets.
The boat lurched forward, straining against the taut mooring line. Micah crouched down, sawing at the rope, but the log dock gave way first. The gunboat launched forward, dragging half the boat slip behind it. Micah nearly went overboard before latching on to the boat cleat. He slashed the rope, releasing the boat slip.
Catalina took a minute to experiment with the water jets, sending the gunboat in erratic circles, thrilled by its maneuverability.
Micah hung on for dear life as the boat swerved and spun like a drunken sailor.
Feeling confident, Catalina turned the boat against the rushing water. Micah staggered into the pilothouse.
Catalina shouted, “I gotta get me one of these!” Then, by alternating the water jets, she pivoted the boat, steering it back toward the demolished dam.
Micah asked, “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going through the dam, straight for the Christmas ball. We’ll hold that position and just keep shooting. That oughta draw Batista’s fire away from the boys long enough to escape.”
“But Batista’s men will shoot at the Anomaly, maybe even with mortars. That’s probably bad!”
“That lunatic came all the way here to get that thing, so I doubt he’ll let his men drop bombs on it.” She tossed him the AK-47. “If somebody comes at us, shoot ’em!”
Looking down at the rifle, Micah said, “After this I’m going to be a professor at some podunk community college where I can walk to work every day!”
“Bullshit, you’ll be wrestling sharks and banging lady pirates till you’re ninety. Face it, handsome, you’re Indiana-fucking-Jones!” Gunning the water jets, she yelled, “Hang on!”
Seeing what was up ahead, Micah grabbed the handrail.
Moving at twenty-five knots, the gunboat shot through the breached dam, knocking aside any floating debris. The boat went momentarily airborne before slamming down into the lake. Catalina cut right hard, swerving around the drifting LST.
Micah slid in next to her, raising the binoculars to get a good look at the Anomaly.
He wished he hadn’t.
The Anomaly and the causeway leading to it were enveloped in a white cloud. Lightning bolts flashed across the otherwise clear sky.
Catalina said, “I’ve seen that before.”
“Me too, and it ain’t good.”
Bolts of lightning shot down into the churning water, sending explosive geysers into the air. The water at the opposite end of the lake was boiling like a witch’s cauldron. The lake’s surface burst upward, forming a giant waterspout.
Then something rose up from beneath, surrounded by the swirling sixty-foot waterspout.
Micah stared at what had just emerged, his fingers tightening around the binoculars. He’d been correct—this time it wasn’t a snake or piranhas.
In a near whisper, he said, “I am become death, the destroyer of worlds.”
Catalina saw this latest manifestation and yelled, “You gotta be shitting me!”
#
Micah stared at an unholy hybrid of every imaginable primordial horror.
It towered sixty feet over the water, balanced on a pair of powerful T-Rex-like legs. Its mottled skin was grayish green—the color of decay. Its gnarled arms reached below its knees, ending with four-fingered taloned hands.
A thick layer of mucus dripped off its body, accompanied by the stench of rotting fish.
The head was huge and bulbous, as if a giant squid had been set down on the creature’s shoulders. If there was a mouth, it was hidden by a layer of writhing tentacles dangling down to its chest. The spherical skull was covered in a gleaming, ridged exoskeleton. The squirming tentacles groped upward, wiping away a layer of mucus from the face, revealing a pair of milky pink eyes.
The chest was covered in a layer of rippling tendrils, but in its center was a vertical gash lined with canine teeth. The vertical mouth had scorpion-like articulated mandibles on either side.
Catalina pivoted the boat sideways, yelling, “What the hell is that?”
Micah gazed up at it, his mind reeling back to a HP Lovecraft story he’d read in his teens— something about demonic elder gods.
He said, “It’s everything bad, all rolled into one. The Destroyer.”
The creature’s pink eyes locked on to the boat and it strode in their direction.
Batista’s men saw the monster too, opening fire with half a dozen machine guns. Bullets tore at the creature, serving only to get its attention. It changed course, making for land at a speed that belied its enormous size. A mortar round detonated at its feet as it stepped onto the shore. More explosive rounds followed. The creature staggered for a moment.
Micah saw black sludge that he assumed was blood pouring from its legs.
Catalina said, “It looks hurt. You think they nailed it?”
Within seconds, the bleeding ceased, as it if had healed itself. The creature went back on the attack. A fusillade of arrows arced through the air but bounced harmlessly off the creature.
Catalina yelled, “I hope our boys are smart enough to run!”
The beast leaned forward, its long arms whipping at the ground. It stood up straight, clutching a man in each hand. The mandibles on its chest grabbed the screaming men, guiding them into its vertical maw.
#
Batista stood on the causeway, staring up at the creature, the helium fog offering him a degree of camouflage. It was like glimpsing into a child’s worst nightmare.
But he didn’t have time for nightmares. He’d learned long ago that paralyzing fear could be an ally. The ideal time to strike was when others were too consumed by terror to act.
His true enemy was the Anomaly resting only a few feet away. Its protective shell had been breached—meaning it was vulnerable.
Batista yelled, “Where the hell is that case?”
Getting no response, he ran down the causeway until he cleared the frigid haze enough to see the shore. The dead crewman lay there, sprawled on top of his precious case.
#
Micah shifted his binoculars to the Anomaly and saw Batista emerging from the helium cloud. He was running toward shore.
Micah leaned close to Catalina, saying, “I need to get to the Anomaly.”
She glared at him in disbelief. “Are you nuts? That thing’ll have you for lunch!”
“I just saw Batista on the platform and I think he’s up to something.”
“What makes you think that?”
“’Cause he’s running towards that monster, and he wouldn’t do that without a reason.”
Catalina shook her head. “No way. I say we scoop up our boys and make tracks then come up with a new plan.”
“We can’t leave this thing running loose.”
“Maybe it’ll just stay here, protecting the egg thing.”
Micah pointed to the beast standing atop the crater rim. “It’s not staying here. Look at its back.”
The creature momentarily ceased its attack, arching its back, contorting and twisting as if in pain. The sound of ripping flesh echoed across the lake, accompanied by a putrid stench. A pair of boney appendages burst out from between its shoulders, dripping mucus as they unfurled.
Catalina asked, “What’s coming out of its back?”
Micah said, “It’s sprouting wings. Once it has those it’ll go on the hunt, attacking the village and anything else it can find.”
The appendages stretched out into a pair of enormous bat-like wings. The creature went back on the hunt.
&n
bsp; Micah said, “Drop me off then go grab the warriors. Once you’ve got them, come back for me, if you can. If not, run like hell.”
Catalina said, “I ain’t leaving you behind and breaking the news to Faye. Plus, if you die I’d never get to hear your sexy pirate story.” She gunned the water jets, steering the gunboat toward the platform.
#
Batista sprinted along the causeway towards shore. An unearthly howl echoed across the lake. Looking up he saw a huge tree trunk spiraling through the air, heading straight for him. He ducked down just as it splashed into the lake, mere feet from him.
The creature was about fifty yards away, standing atop the crater’s rim, tearing the forest apart. It hurled more trees until its taloned hands snapped up a screaming man. It stuffed him into its vertical maw.
There was a soft thud, followed by a puff of smoke. A mortar round struck the creature squarely in the chest. Chunks of squirming tendril shot through the air. The creature staggered, letting out a banshee wail, viscous black mucus spurting from its wounded chest.
Batista yelled, “Yes, perfect shot.”
But within seconds the layer of tendrils covering the creature’s abdomen grew back. It quickly spotted the mortar’s smoke and went on the attack.
Batista pressed on. Once he reached the lakeshore he dashed for the explosives. Shoving the dead crewman aside he popped the case open, relieved to find the Semtex and ball bearings inside undamaged. He took a moment to assess his situation. The machine gun fire had grown sporadic, and the mortars had fallen silent, indicating that most of his men were dead.
He thought, I’ve got explosives, a cutting laser and the yacht. I can still kill this thing and leave with enough pieces to bring the world crawling to my doorstep.
A gruff voice shouted, “There he is!”
Batista spotted eight of his men staggering down the crater’s rim. They were ragged and bloody but still had their weapons.
A wild-eyed man advanced on Batista, screaming, “You bastard, you got us all killed!”
The desperate men surrounded Batista, rifles at the ready.
He calmly held up the wireless detonator, declaring, “There’s forty pounds of Semtex wired in that case. Shoot me and you’ll all die.”
Recognizing the detonator, the men took a few steps back.
Seizing the moment, Batista pointed up at the creature. “You see that thing up there? Well, I know how to kill it.”
The creature was standing atop the crater, arching its back, exercising its newly formed wings. It sniffed the air, searching for new prey.
The crewman said, “It can’t be killed.”
“You’re right, it can’t. But that thing out in the lake controls it.” Batista tapped the case. “And I’ve got enough explosives in here to destroy the Anomaly. But to do it, I need you men to fall back toward the yacht while giving me cover fire. Draw that monster off me for two minutes and I’ll blast the Anomaly to bits.”
“But what about that monster?”
Batista said, “Destroy one and the other dies.” He didn’t know if that was true, but men with a ray of hope were more easily manipulated.
“How do you know it’ll work?”
“Do you have a better plan?”
The men looked to each other, muttering.
Batista said, “Then just do it!”
The lead man said, “Alright, but don’t try screwing us over,” while holding up his rifle to punctuate his threat.
The eight men raced along the water’s edge, firing up at the creature as they went. The moment the first bullet hit, the creature went on the attack.
Batista ducked behind the generator, allowing them enough time to draw it off. He knew the bastards intended to steal the yacht and abandon him, but that didn’t matter. They’d all be dead long before reaching the boat.
He grabbed the case and made for the causeway. At eighty pounds it was like hauling an anvil. He trudged along, thinking, Maybe I should’ve used two cases.
#
Catalina pulled the gunboat alongside the platform, barely slowing down.
She said, “Get out fast, I don’t want to draw it over here.”
Micah scrambled onto the mist-shrouded platform. Catalina pulled away the moment he was off. The frigid air against his wet clothes chilled him to the bone. Through the haze he could make out a ruptured cryogenic tank, emblazoned with the chemical symbol for helium.
He muttered, “Son of a bitch, you froze it,” momentarily impressed by the complex rig. Then he saw the neatly cut hole and the pulsing light emanating from within. “Oh no.”
Hans lay a few feet in front of the Anomaly, his silver fire suit in peeling tatters. Micah knelt down over him, amazed to discover he was alive—barely. The Austrian gazed up at him, his face a mass of cryogenic burns.
Micah cut to the chase. “Did it react when you cut into it?”
Through scarred lips, Hans whispered, “No. My theory was correct.”
“Yeah you were right.” Along with reckless and arrogant. “What went wrong?”
“Accidental discharge.”
Micah saw the line of laser torch burns leading directly to the hole. The torch must have fired into the breach. It might as well have been a declaration of war.
Hans said, “I saw inside. It’s not a closed space… It’s infinite.” He tried to say more but it proved too painful. He closed his eyes, drifting off.
Micah took a moment to process what he’d just learned. Hans’s subzero trick successfully skirted the Anomaly’s outer defenses but still led to disaster. Something clicked in Micah’s head. The outer shell and the internal intelligence must work independently.
It made sense. The Anomaly’s outer defenses would function constantly, protecting the Anomaly during its long journey and while on Earth. But the intelligence within, be it artificial or organic, would only awaken to seed life or defend itself at a long distance.
One thing was clear—Pandora’s box was open and it needed to be shut.
#
The gunboat roared across the lake. Catalina saw a cluster of Batista’s men in the distance, firing erratically while dashing towards the demolished dam—some becoming monster chow in the process. She gave them a wide berth, keeping plenty of distance between her and the creature.
She thought, My boys are brave, but even they wouldn’t move closer to that thing.
After maneuvering the boat a few feet from shore, she killed the water jets, banking on the assumption that the warriors would have retreated in the opposite direction.
She muttered, “Come on, where are you knuckleheads?”
Her answer came in the form of a hail of arrows pinging off the pilothouse windows.
“Shit, you think I’m the bad guys.” But she couldn’t step out on deck to show herself without becoming a pin cushion.
She switched on the boat’s PA system and grabbed the microphone then remembered she didn’t know their weird birdsong language. In lieu of that, she whistled her imitation of a meadowlark. Her childhood rendition of Nebraska’s state bird had won third prize at a state fair. The humiliation of only being in third place had branded the song in her mind.
The distorted bird song echoed from the bullhorn speaker. A few seconds later, the arrows stopped.
There we go. Third prize my ass.
One of the warriors charged down the crater rim and onto the shore, his bow at the ready. Catalina stepped onto the deck, holding her hands over her head. The warrior grinned then let out a series of loud singsong whistles. More warriors slipped out of the thick brush. Catalina counted eight out of the original fourteen. Sad, but still a better survival rate than Batista’s lunchmeat brigade.
She frantically waved for them to board. After some hesitation, they filed onto the deck, gathering up any arrows they’d shot at the boat.
The moment they were aboard, Catalina fired up the water jets. The startled warriors jammed themselves into the pilothouse with her. Catalina mimed
grabbing the rail then kicked in the jets. The warriors scrambled to grab the rails as the boat roared off.
#
Micah surveyed the tools at his disposal. Two charged super capacitors, a high-voltage AC power line and one non-ruptured canister of liquid helium. It wasn’t much. He pondered applying an AC charge directly to the Anomaly then decided it might not be enough to get the reaction he needed. It had to be something bigger.
Machine gun fire chattered in the distance. He watched the last of Batista’s men scrambling to reach the boats while battling the creature. It was turning into a bloodbath.
Through the frigid haze he saw someone lumbering down the causeway towards him. It was Batista, lugging a heavy case.
Micah shouted, “What’re you doing?”
Seeing Micah alive stopped Batista in his tracks. “You! Get out of my way!”
Micah recognized the case he was lugging—the same type Catalina had found the explosives in. And from the way he was struggling, it was a heavy load. He scooped up the crowbar lying beside Hans and pointed it at Batista, shouting, “Tell me what you’re planning!”
Batista marched forward, saying, “I’m going to stuff this down that thing’s throat and kill it. Now move!”
Micah remembered what the shaman had shown him about the global consequences of “breaking the egg” and Hans saying the interior was infinite. Batista’s plan wouldn’t kill anything, but it would guarantee a global reset.
Micah implored him, “It won’t work; it’ll just make it worse! You’ve got to trust me.”
Batista stopped and set the case down. Micah lowered the crowbar, relieved that he was listening to reason. Then the big man drew a pistol from his belt, aimed, and fired once.
Searing pain tore through Micah’s side. He collapsed onto the log platform, clutching at the wound. His hand came back bloody.
Batista slipped the pistol back in his belt, picked up the case, and strode on.
Micah begged him, “Please, don’t do it. It’ll destroy everything. Literally everything!”
Batista yelled, “Shut up,” kicking Micah in the side as he passed.
Micah kept crawling towards Batista, the low-hanging helium fog stinging his eyes.
Batista stopped a few feet from the Anomaly and studied the hole, muttering, “Hmm, that outer shell might interfere with the wireless signal. Better do this the old-fashioned way.”
Primeval Waters Page 27
