Project Hyperion (A Kaiju Thriller) (Kaiju #4)

“Uh-uh.” Wilson motioned back toward the mountain rising behind them. “We’ll head up.” He cut off Endo’s argument with a raised hand. “Listen, Ketchup, you’re here to learn from me. You do what I say, when I say it. We’re heading up because no one likes to. There’s all kinds of hell in the mountains and these assholes aren’t going to want to follow us.”


Endo gave a nod, conceding the point. Without a sound, the pair crawled up the hillside until they were deep in the tangle of pine branches. Concealed for the moment, Wilson took a deep breath and mumbled, “Smells like Christmas.” The scent conjured memories of his family. He tried to not think about his wife and two sons, but failed. He missed them terribly when he was deployed or training. He believed in the Marine Corps. Dedicated his life to it. But his family was his heart. Without them he wasn’t whole. Not that he’d ever admit such a thing.

A sharp hiss snapped Wilson from his reverie. Endo stood higher on the hill, pointing to his ear.

The men seeking them out had arrived early, moving faster than Wilson anticipated. Wilson gave a curt hand signal that looked a little like he was chopping wood with his hand. They continued their ascent, moving as quickly and as silently as they could.

It had been six very cold hours since the exercise began and they were one of two teams still in the game. They’d begun as twenty-five two-man teams. The drill was basically a glorified version of Hide and Seek, but the men took it seriously, and winning gave you gloating rights—something Wilson enjoyed. Every time a team was spotted and laser sighted they joined the hunt. Since the men below had already been caught, they had no good reason to endure the cold. They were more motivated than ever.

“Here!” someone shouted.

Wilson plowed up the hill, forgoing any attempt at stealth. They needed to find someplace the others wouldn’t want to follow and they needed it fast.

Shouting erupted below. The sound of pursuit followed.

Endo was a fast little shit; Wilson had to give him that. He ducked and weaved around and under branches that Wilson had to bulldoze his way through. Endo pulled ahead, disappearing into the dense foliage. A stab of fear coursed through Wilson. If he was the reason they were caught, he’d never live it down.

A shout of surprise rose up ahead of him. Had Endo injured himself? Maybe tripped or rolled his ankle? If so, they’d be done, but at least he could peg the loss on Ketchup and avoid some of the ridicule. Although they were one of the two final teams, he’d done enough trash talking to ensure anything other than first place would be humiliating.

Wilson pushed through a large tree branch and paused. Endo’s footprints disappeared. He glanced up into the trees. “Ketchup! Where are you?”

No reply.

He took a step forward and the snow didn’t give way. The snow here had melted and refrozen, forming a solid, inch-thick layer of lumpy ice. Knowing that Endo had most likely slid over the solid surface, Wilson lowered himself onto the ice and got down on his belly, dispersing his weight. He pushed himself forward, careful not to break or even scuff the surface.

But the voices of his pursuers grew louder, moving closer at a pace that far exceeded his flight. And they didn’t have to worry about concealing their tracks. His only remote hope was to reach the next tree, duck behind it and hope they moved in a different direction.

The hunters were just out of sight, maybe thirty feet back.

Wilson slid beneath a pine branch weighted down by needles and snow, and he found himself facing a stone wall. Nowhere to go. He pulled his feet up close, held his breath and waited.

If asked, Wilson would have said he was a brave man. Perhaps one of the bravest. He’d seen action in Afghanistan twice. He’d killed and nearly been killed. It took a lot to ruffle his scarred feathers, but when Endo emerged from the base of the rock wall like some kind of giant gopher, Wilson nearly pissed himself.

Endo grabbed hold of Wilson’s jacket and hauled him back. Despite being seventy-five pounds heavier than Endo, Wilson slipped up over the ice. Darkness enveloped him, and he felt a strange pressure that told him he was underground. Gravity helped him complete the second leg of his five second journey, dropping him onto a solid slab of stone. It took all he had for Wilson to not shout in surprise or cough in pain, but he completed his passage into the darkness without a peep.

Wilson listened to the men outside. They stopped at the frozen snow. Some punched their way through, some searched the trees and two were sent back to make sure it wasn’t a false trail.

Five minutes later, everything was quiet again.

Wilson knew he should thank Endo. Maybe even use his real name. He’d not only kept Wilson from being discovered, but also ensured they would win the hunt. Although they weren’t armed, they did carry food and water. Properly rationed, they could make it a week, though he doubted they’d even need to spend the night.