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

More grumbling. Elliot could tell the General was working hard at not getting upset.

“We have a perimeter set up,” Endo continued. “The roads are being patrolled. And if they keep heading on their current course they will have to cross seventy-five miles of rough terrain before reaching civilization.”

Gordon rolled his neck and said, “Hound, I need you back here.”

“But we’re close.”

“Keep your men on it. Patrol the roads. Scour the woods. But I need you back here. Now.”

“Longhorn, sir,” Endo said, “is it...time?”

“Yes, Hound.” Gordon looked at his wristwatch. “1800 hours.”

“I’ll be back in thirty,” Endo said, his voice quick now. “Out.”

Gordon lowered the radio and leveled his eyes at Elliot. “You get that? 1800 hours.” He started toward the door, but paused. “Kendra, live or die, well done. This is your finest work.”

He stomped away with a determined stride. If the heart was compatible, Elliot had no doubt the General would pull through just fine. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that his compliment, unusually sincere, was really a goodbye.

Live or die, goodbye.

She shook off the feeling. Gordon’s ambitions exceeded his desire to live. Besides, once he had Maigo’s heart in his chest, she would no longer have anything to fear from General Lance Gordon. The DNA kill switch she built into the organ guaranteed it.

“Live or die,” she said, and then grinned. “Goodbye.”





11



The cat and mouse game lasted for most of the day. There were a few close calls early on as Collins and I pushed our beaten bodies to the limits, and then beyond. Doubling back toward the compound is what finally did it. They just didn’t see the move coming and walked right past any trail we left. A skilled tracker like my friend Mark Hawkins would have seen it, but these guys were trained for combat, not search and rescue...or search and destroy as the case may be.

They know Collins is the sheriff, but they don’t know anything about me other than my U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service story. They have no reason to think we’d do anything more than head for the hills. We’re severely outnumbered and outgunned. We have no idea what’s really going on. And yeah, we probably should try to find some way to get help.

But here’s the thing.

They killed Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.

They tried to kill Collins and me.

And damn it all, they shot Betty.

I’m not leaving before I get some answers, in part because I really want to put a bullet in the guy who killed the Johnsons. I’m certain that was a sniper and not the goons who chased us into the woods.

We’re only a few miles from the compound now, where the woods are thick and full of rocky outcrops, caves and crisscrossing streams. Hobbling like a phony panhandler in Manhattan, I lean against a tree, breathing hard. “I think we’re good.”

Collins stops next to me and drops my backpack on the ground. She leans over, hands on knees. Her chest presses against her uniform with each breath. My pain and exhaustion are momentarily forgotten. Her voice pulls my attention higher. “You sure?”

“Sun will be down in two hours.” I hold up the wool blanket I’ve been lugging around all day. “Will be impossible to find us in the dark.”

“And here I thought you were trying to save your blankie.”

“Har har,” I say, and honestly, I’m having fun, which is ridiculous. I’m either far too bored in general, which is possible, or I’m just digging the good Sheriff’s vibe, which is also possible. Probably both.

I lean over the edge of the shallow ravine that made me stop in the first place. It’s not much, just ten feet deep and maybe eight across. One side slopes up to level ground and the other ends in an earthy overhang. It’s actually kind of a shallow cave, maybe six feet deep. “This is perfect. We can rest here. Head out at first light. If they spend the night looking for us, they’ll be exhausted by morning. If not, we can get a look inside that fence before they’re out of bed.”

Collins looks over the edge. She’s not impressed. “If they see us in there, we’re dead.”

“They’re not going to see us.”

“Right, your blankie.”

“And the storm,” I say.

Collins looks to the bright blue sky above us.

“Listen,” I say.

She does. The trees bend in the wind, creaking and swooshing. It’s not much, but a few hours ago, there was no breeze at all. “Now smell the air. Deep breath.”

I take a deep breath through my nose with her. Pine. Earth. Rot. And then a mix of water and ozone. The storm.

The look on her face says she can’t smell a thing.

“Trust me,” I say. “It’s coming.”

“Okay, Mr. Nature,” Collins says, “but we’re not going to get much rest if we’re soaked. Maybe we should—”

“Ye of little faith,” I say.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow.