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

“What is it?” Cugliari asks.

I ignore him and speak to the Guardsman. “Can we get infrared on that thing?”

He nods.

“Do it. And center on us,” I order.

Five seconds later, the screen becomes a rainbow of colors. We’re looking at a city, so there are a lot of hotspots, but I’m not looking for car, home or people sized hotspots. The Guardsman points to the center of the screen where a large number of small, bright pink dots can be seen. “That’s us, but, something is wrong with the image.”

“What?”

He turns the screen toward me and points to a large, solid hotspot.

“Where is that?” I ask.

He points across the highway, to the trees. “Right there.”

“Aww shit,” Woodstock says.

“What?” Cugliari says. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s already here,” Collins says.





29



Cugliari looks at the woods lining the far side of the highway. The trees are mostly maples, standing fifty to seventy-five feet tall, mixed with new growth pines that are nearly as big. “I don’t see any—”

A loud crack cuts him off. Then another. The woods on the other side of the highway shake and sway. Trees fall, swooshing to the ground. And then rising above it all, standing on its hind legs and towering over the tree line, is the creature. It turns its head toward the sky and lets out a roar that shakes the pavement beneath our feet.

I take Cugliari’s arm in my hands and squeeze until the pain draws his eyes away from the monster and back to me. “Get me those Air Force jets. Get them now!”

He stumbles away, but fishes into his pocket for a phone. As he quickly speaks, he walks backward, toward the warehouses without taking his eyes off the creature.

I turn to Woodstock and motion to his chopper. “Get her ready!” Then to Collins, “Come with me or stay here, it’s up to you. I’m not sure either will do any good.”

Then I’m running toward the collection of Humvees, and though I don’t show it, I’m thrilled to find Collins keeping pace. As I pass by lines of soldiers, who have taken aim, but wisely held their fire, I shout, “Wait for it to clear the trees! Aim for the legs!” I have zero faith in this force’s ability to actually kill the creature, but if we can immobilize it long enough for an air strike, that might do the trick. At the very least, we might be able to wound its legs, giving it a limp or the equivalent of monster hangnail.

“Cougar!” A man yells to me. I recognize him as one of the FC-Boston investigators under Cugliari. His name is David Price. He’s clearly mistaken me for his boss, probably because I’m shouting orders. When he sees my face, he stops short. “Hudson? Where’s Coug—Cugliari?”

I look back for the FC-Boston director and spot him far off, retreating toward the warehouses. “The cougar has become a cowardly lion.”

The man sees his boss running. “The fuck!”

“You’re under my command now,” I say.

Price nods.

“Make sure these men aim for the legs and hold their fire until I give the order, understood?”

“Yes sir!”

I hear him barking orders as I sprint away and continue to shout my own, repeating the message to aim low and hold. When I reach the Humvees I’m fairly out of breath, but I repeat the orders to the five men manning the machine guns mounted to the top of the vehicles.

A second roar spins me around and the volume of it nearly drops me to my knees. Trees crack as the giant takes a single step forward.

“Hold your fire!” I scream.

“Hey!” A hand on my shoulder spins me around. I come face-to-face with a third FC-Boston agent whose name I either never learned or forgot outright. But he clearly knows who I am. An older National Guardsman with an arm patch that reveals he’s a Sergeant Major—likely in charge of this unit—and whose name tag reads Humm, stands behind him looking equal parts terrified by the monster and confused by the confrontation. “You’re not giving the orders here, Hudson!”

“We don’t have time for this,” Collins says, pushing me aside and driving her fist into the agent’s stomach. The man folds over her fist with an expulsion of air and falls to the ground.

Sergeant Major Humm looks a little shocked, but when I step over the fallen man and say, “I’m DHS Fusion Center-P, Director Hudson. I’ve taken command,” the man just nods.

“You have anything with more punch?” I ask.

More trees fall, many of them into the far side of the highway. Behind me, I hear Price shouting for the men to hold their fire.

“Humm!” I shout, regaining the man’s attention.

“Uh,” he says, coming to his senses. “More punch than the .50 cals?”