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

“I have no idea. But a lab can tell us exactly what it—”

There’s a snap in the forest. It’s gentle, like a dry twig, but it’s followed by a loud crack that’s more like an explosion. I jump back as the top of a pine tree slams to the ground between us. Pine needles scratch across my face, stinging my skin, but I barely notice. The tree could have pulverized us, so I’m pretty psyched to still be breathing.

Collins and I stare at each other in shock, and then slowly crane our heads along the path of the fallen tree. The hundred foot pine isn’t broken, as I expected. It’s uprooted. A circular patch of earth rises from the ground like a crashed UFO, held in place by a network of roots. Ten feet from the base, the bark is scratched up.

A guttural grunt sends a chill through my body.

That tree didn’t just fall over.

It was pushed.

Whatever flattened the fence, left a trail of human bits and gouged the tree is still here. Or rather, returned. I’m fairly certain it’s what we passed in the woods. It must have caught our scent, or found our trail, and followed us. That’s why the scent is so strong, we’re downwind of it.

I silently flag down Collins, which takes a few seconds, because she’s watching the base of the tree like a deer that’s spotted a lion. When she finally looks in my direction, I point to myself, then her and then past the fallen fence, indicating that I want to go inside. She looks unsure, but we have no other options. If this giant bear, or whatever, is hunting us, our only chance at finding someplace to hide, or making some kind of sheltered last stand, is on the other side of this fence. Out here, it’s just trees for miles in every direction, and I don’t think Collins’s hand-to-hand combat skills are going to help much against something that can shove a tree over.

I repeat my silent message, this time pointing to the fallen fence a bit more forcefully. When she nods her agreement, I put my fingers to my lips. She nods again, and we both tiptoe back toward the fence.

I can hear the thing moving, shifting through the leaf litter a hundred feet behind me. But I don’t look back. I’m careful to keep a tree between me and the base of the fallen tree so that I won’t be seen as I make my snail’s pace retreat, but then I think this is a waste of time. If the tree really was meant for Collins and me, then it already knows we’re here. Stealth might be the wrong approach.

A roar rips through the air. It’s like nothing I’ve heard, and as I cup my hands to my ears, motion above draws my eyes upward.

The trees are bending away from the sound.

The fucking trees.

Collins meets my eyes again, and this time I mouth the word, “Run,” and neither of us wastes time debating it. Like Olympic runners off the starting line, we sprint forward, hurtling the fallen razor wire and passing the downed fence. We’re officially in enemy territory now, but I’ll take a hundred shotgun-wielding Special Ops guys over King Kong back there any day.

As we leave the fence behind, I take a quick look back.

On the one hand, I wish I hadn’t; the image of something dark and monstrous rearing up behind and above the ten foot tall circle of roots is going to be impossible to forget. On the other hand, I’m glad I did, because when orange light starts glowing out of the sides of its head, I run faster than I ever have in my life.

The forest gives way to tall grass and then a winding, uphill, paved road that’s cracked and in disrepair. I head up it. If this place was actually built like a Nike site, the access hatches will be on top. If not, at least we’ll have a better view of our surroundings, and the high ground—not that I believe that’s going to help us much. 9mm bullets work wonders on people, but they aren’t the ammo of choice against elephant-sized animals.

The ground shakes.

Another tree cracks.

If we don’t find someplace to hide, we’re screwed. As we reach the crest of the hill and get a look at what’s on top, I say it out loud. “Yup, we’re screwed.”

There are bodies—half eaten bodies—everywhere. A helicopter, burning, lies on its side. What remains of the pilot is smeared against the windshield. Beyond the dead is a large building—easy to see by satellite—but it’s ruined. Smoke billows from the second and third floors. And a wall on the bottom floor has been blown out, I suspect from where our large friend made its exit.

The pavement beneath my feet shudders.

What choice do we have? I grab Collins’s wrist and yank her toward the building. A second roar pursues us, sending my hands to my ears and blowing out the burning building’s remaining windows.

So screwed.





15



Ceaseless hunger gnawed at her gut. It was all she knew. All she could think about.

Hunt.

Kill.

Feast.