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

She figures it out. “Damnit.” We passed somewhere between fifty and a hundred people in the jam-packed family neighborhood. By continuing any further we are sentencing each and every one of them to death.

“Kid,” I say. “I saw you run. You’re fast. Just keep to the trees. Find a cave, or some fallen trees to hide beneath. If it comes your way, I’ll distract it.”

It’s not exactly a wonderful pep-talk, but I’ve just offered to take the fall for her if it comes to it. So when she says, “Are you stupid?” I’m a little surprised, but then she explains by pointing at the speedometer.

90 mph.

Yeah, it’s a stupid plan. But I can’t very well lead this thing into a neighborhood to save my own skin. Odds are, I’ll be eaten anyway and then have one more thing to answer for upon reaching the Pearly Gates. I’m still not sure how I’m going to explain breaking into my neighbor’s house to look at Juggs magazines when I was sixteen.

“Collins,” I say. It’s just a name, but she knows what it means. It’s time.

She lifts her foot from the gas.

Before she can hit the brakes, a large shape comes over the top of the hill. At first I think it’s a giant grasshopper head, but then the rest comes into view. Woodstock! The helicopter pulls up hard and swivels to the side just in time to miss being crushed in the monster’s jaws.

As the chopper circles fast, the monster spins around and roars before lunging and missing again.

Collins’s foot finds the gas pedal again, and we race up the hill while the creature pounds after the chopper, which is now well out of reach.

It must remember the helicopter, I think. I didn’t think we hurt it much, but given how fast it went for the chopper, we must have made an impression. That doesn’t give me any kind of satisfaction. It’s far larger now and the helicopter’s machine gun will be even more useless.

When we reach the top of the long hill, Collins pulls over in front of a three-story home with a three-car garage. The owner stands by the garage, waving us over. Collins pulls into the driveway and rolls down her window.

“Looked like that thing wanted your car bad,” the man says. His eyes are wide and his skin probably far whiter than usual, but he’s speaking clearly. “Pull into the garage. We can close the door and hide you.”

Collins gives the man a nod and accepts his offer.

“We have a bomb shelter in the back if you want to hide,” he says. “Been gathering the neighbors.”

I climb out of the car with the girl and look down the street. Where there were rows of families lining the streets, there are now just a few stragglers rushing this way, led by a woman in a nightgown.

“That’s Deb,” the man says. “My wife. She’s a lot faster than me on account of the arthritis.”

I nearly make a sarcastic remark about not needing the man’s medical history, but if that creature had reached the top of the hill, a lot of lives might have been saved because of this man. Still might be. “Thanks,” I say. “For what you’re doing.”

“Who’s this?” he asks, looking at the girl in my arms.

Before I can answer, the girl turns to face him and I see a flash of recognition. “Joy?”

“You know her?” I ask.

He nods. “I’m her softball coach.”

“Found her in town,” I say. The message and my tone carry the weight of what this means. “She’s going to need help finding her family when this is all over.”

The man looks grim. “All right.” He reaches his hands out to the girl and she slides over to him. “I gotcha, Joy.” With a nod, he departs. As they head for the back of the garage, I see the girl bury her face into the shoulder of a man she clearly trusts. Her body shakes with deep, heart-breaking sobs.

I storm back into the street, looking toward town and wishing I could grow into a giant version of myself, like in one of those Japanese kids shows, and beat the living shit out of this thing. Collins joins me, watching in silence as the helicopter becomes a speck in the distance.

I can’t see the creature past the ruins of the town, but its frustrated roar pierces the air one last time.

When my phone rings, Collins and I both jump. I answer it quickly. “What?”

“Just got the live satellite feed,” Watson says.

“Little too late,” I growl.

“The request was delayed by the Deputy Director’s office. They wanted to confirm the legitimacy of your request. Why? What happened?” he asks.

My face turns red with anger. Having satellite coverage might not have done much to save lives, but any future delays might. Of course, there is another question along these lines. “I asked for you to warn all law enforcement in the area. Why wasn’t anyone in town notified to evacuate? Half the town was there for a damn farmer’s parade!”

“We called,” Watson says, sounding upset. “Three times. Got the same secretary each time. Said she was trying to get the call out, but no one was answering on account of the parade.”

I sigh. It’s not Watson’s fault, but he needs to know what’s at stake. “Still tracking Collins’s phone?”