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

She turns and runs.

The church explodes outwards as the creature roars and fights its way through the building.

The roar is so loud that I’m momentarily stunned, but then I’m sprinting and bunny-hopping over the dead. I reach the girl quickly. She screams as I scoop her up. And even though she must realize that I’m trying to save her, she continues to scream as I run through town like a wide receiver being pursued by an opposing team armed with assault rifles. Of course, the truth is much worse than that.

A loud crack and rumble behind me signifies the destruction of the church. The girl’s scream rises another octave. The ground shakes. A roar weakens my limbs. As I approach the far side of town, I look up for the car and feel all hope drain away.

The car is missing.

Collins is gone.





26



By the time I reach the far edge of town, my legs, lungs and just about every other part of me is burning with the kind of tired I know is going to hurt worse in two days than it does right now. But I’m pretty sure I’ve got about ten seconds until I feel a crushing pain and then nothing at all.

In my darker moments, usually when I’m bored, I have imagined what it would be like to be on death row, or a POW before a firing squad or diagnosed with something terminal. It’s morbid, but what does it feel like to know you have just seconds, minutes, hours or days left to live? Granted, anyone can kick the bucket at any time for a million different reasons, but to know, without a doubt, that death looms just over the horizon is different. I know that now. I can feel death thundering up behind me, brazen in its approach.

It moves in for the kill with a squeal.

From the side?

As I turn to face my end, I see a flash of blue slide up next to me.

The Mustang!

Collins throws the door open from the inside. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to. I throw myself and the girl into the car and before I’ve had a chance to right myself or close the door, Collins hits the gas.

The car’s acceleration combined with a hard thump from behind that pushes the car forward, knocks the door shut—on my legs. I shout, thinking I’ve been bit, but then realize the pain isn’t that bad. The girl moves herself off of me, giving me space to pull my legs in and right myself in the seat. Once upright, I slam the door closed and pull the girl into my lap, quickly adjusting the seat to accommodate both of us. In the few seconds it’s taken me to do all this, Collins has accelerated to 50 mph.

I close my eyes and sigh with relief.

“Hudson!” Collins shouts. “Snap out of it!”

I sit up fast, my relief shattered, and bump my head into the girl’s elbow. I turn to Collins to ask what’s wrong when I see a flash of movement in my periphery. I glance back in time to see a large, clawed leg land just behind the car.

My head twists to the speedometer. 55 mph. Collins shifts and gives the engine all the fuel it can handle. 60mph.

I look back and the creature has only fallen behind enough that I can see its whole body. It’s definitely bigger now, but no less agile. It runs on four legs, just like the first time I saw it outside the secret BioLance lab. The spines on its back are longer now, and the carapace they’re attached to is thick and looks harder than tank armor. With every step it takes, the membranes on the sides of its neck and body glow brighter.

The whine of the Mustang’s gears grows higher. Collins takes her foot off the gas for just a moment to push in the clutch and slam into the next gear, but in that momentary lag, the monster strikes.

Its jaws drop open to reveal monstrous, scimitar teeth, a thick wriggling tongue and a throat that’s glowing orange, though more dully than the membranes on the neck. A roar vibrates the entire car, along with my teeth, and the creature lunges forward. As the giant jaws snap shut, the Mustang’s gears catch and we surge out of reach.

I watch the speedometer climb.

70 mph.

The angry monster leaps after us, keeping pace.

We hit the hill leading toward the McMansions and their unharmed occupants.

75 mph, fighting gravity.

We seem to find a momentary equilibrium with the creature. Is 75 mph its top speed? How is that even possible? But then I look at the speedometer again.

80 mph.

It’s keeping pace. Does it think the car will grow tired? Does it know the car will eventually run out of gas? Or has it detected the homes full of people up ahead and it’s happy to just follow us?

85 mph.

“We need to get off this road,” I say.

“There aren’t any side roads,” Collins points out, but I already know this.

“We need to run,” I say. “On foot. Through the woods. Three different directions.”

The girl whimpers at this idea. Collins balks. “Why the hell would we—”