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

When they hit, Endo uses their momentum to roll and winds up on top of Collins, straddling her waist. He might be in pain, but he’s a pro, and doesn’t have a problem hitting girls. He sends a flurry of punches toward Collins, but she gets her arms up in time to block most of them.

I’m still doubled over and could spend a few minutes in an oxygen bar, but the sight of Collins being punched sends me into a rage. Half stumbling, I charge. My attack isn’t graceful, but I’m pretty heavy. My intention is to use my body as a battering ram and hope the blow knocks Endo for a loop long enough for Collins and I to both recover.

I lower my shoulder and dive.

But Collins beats me to the punch. Endo sees me coming and delays a punch for just a moment while he glances in my direction. It’s all the opening Collins needs. She lifts her legs, wraps them around Endo’s head and yanks him back, smashing the smaller man to the ground.

While this is great—kudos to Collins for being a badass—I sail through the air, striking nothing. Instead, I soar over Collins and slam into the roof, sliding to a stop like a seal on an iceberg. The gravel scores my skin and burrows into my palms.

With embarrassment now fueling my anger, I push quickly to my feet and find Collins and Endo already facing off. Collins has her fists clenched, but carries herself with the easy gait of someone who knows how to deliver physical punishment. Endo remains mostly motionless, like a coiled snake, but he’s standing awkwardly, in pain from the blows to his side.

Endo’s hand goes to his ear. It’s a reflex that many people do when they’re wearing an ear bud and the audio is breaking up. He’s receiving orders. Probably from Gordon.

A distant chop fills the air. Back-up is on the way, and it’s actually a little sooner than I expected. For a moment, I worry that the approaching helicopter isn’t for me, but I see Endo’s eyes look to the sky in surprise.

Before Collins or I can continue the fight, Endo gives a little nod as though to say, “good fight,” and then he bolts.

Collins starts after him, but I stop her saying, “Let him go.” He’s too quick to catch and he’s not our first priority.

She turns to face me, and I’m surprised to see blood flowing from her nose. Before I can voice my concern, she says, “He hits like a girl.” She wipes the blood away with her sleeve and pinches the top of her nose. “Not even broken.”

The chop of the helicopter turns us around. It’s a red Bell 407 helicopter, which is a popular multi-use chopper used for everything from medevac to air tours, but this is the first time I’ve seen one outfitted for battle. A large FN MAG machine gun is mounted in the open side door, though no one is manning the weapon. In fact, the only person I can see is the pilot. Regardless, this chopper is our ticket out of here.

I head across the roof, waving my arms. The pilot gives me a nod and brings the chopper down, descending slowly. As it lowers, rotor wash kicks up the gravel and grit on the roof, stinging my exposed skin. The chop of the blades is deafening, but evenly spaced. So when I hear a loud whump between chops, I know it’s not the helicopter. I turn around, toward the sound and see the far end of the building fall away. A plume of dust billows up.

Collins and I glance at each other. Is it the creature, or—

Whump! Whump! Whump-whump-whump-whump!

Ten-foot sections of the building fall away, one at a time, as a series of detonations demolish the structure. I bolt for the chopper, which is just a foot off the ground, but slowly rising and moving away. The pilot can see what’s happening too, and he probably doesn’t want to be above the explosion when it arrives.

The roof shakes beneath my feet.

The helicopter is out past the front of the building now, maybe five feet up. The pilot waves us on, his shock visible on his face despite the mustache, aviator glasses and headphones hiding most of it.

Whump! Whump! WHUMP!

As I hit the edge of the building, the roof falls away beneath me. My foot hits the small wall at the edge of the roof—

—and I leap.





19



The helicopter skids slap hard against my hands, sending a vibration through my arms that nearly knocks me loose. My left arm, still numb from Endo’s beating, falls away first, but my right hand closes down like a vice. As I twist around, I find Collins hanging next to me, two hands on the skid. She shouts something to me, but I can’t hear her over the thunderous helicopter. I can read her lips, though. Hold on.

No shit, I think, but I don’t say anything.

My hand is starting to slip.

I try to raise my left arm, but half way up, something cramps, and the pain nearly throws me free. So I focus on holding tight. I stare at my hand, willing it to hold. I watch as my hand slowly but surely slides over the metal, which I’m only now realizing is coated in condensation created by the combination of cool metal and humid air.