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

Endo followed the kick with a second strike to the back of the General’s leg that dropped the man to one knee.

With a growl of frustration, Gordon struck out hard with his club-like arm, but Endo had already leapt back and drawn his weapon.

“Arms up, General.”

Gordon didn’t move. He just looked back and stared at Endo. Through grinding teeth he said, “I should have known you would betray me eventually.”

“Drop the weapon,” Endo said.

When Gordon didn’t comply, Endo added, “I know you’re fast now, but you also know how fast I am. I will kill you before you can get a shot off. Now drop the weapon!”

Stanton got to his feet, his face full of fear and anger. “Forget that! Shoot him!”

Gordon must have known that Endo would obey his new master because he dove to the side. Endo fired, striking Gordon’s shoulder. But he didn’t have to fire again. Gordon struck the large window with enough force to shatter it. He and a thousand shards of glass fell from the 50th story.

Endo and Stanton dashed to the window and looked down.

A second crash of glass sounded from below. Ten stories down, the General began pulling himself back into the building, though a second shattered window.

“How is that possible?” Stanton asked.

“He has the alien’s DNA inside him,” Endo said, telling the truth. “He is no longer fully human.” Endo turned to Stanton. “Make me your personal body guard.”

“W—what?”

“Hire me,” Endo said. “And give me access to everything you have on the alien. It is the only way you will survive.”

Stanton seemed to be considering the request. “You can protect me from him?”

“I am the only one who can protect you from him,” Endo said.

Stanton thought on it for just a second longer and then nodded. “Done.”

“From now on, I go where you go,” Endo said.

“Yes!” Stanton shouted.

“Is there another way out of the building?” Endo asked.

“There’s a helicopter on the roof,” Stanton said, “but the pilot isn’t here.”

“I can fly it,” Endo said, and then led the Zoomb CEO on a pell mell sprint to the nearest stairwell and charged up two flights to the roof. He got the chopper started and lifted off without incident, but he couldn’t help feeling the General would suddenly leap out and crush his skull. Once they were fifty feet above the Prudential Tower, Endo’s fears faded some, but as they flew away, he saw Gordon standing in Stanton’s office, watching them.

He knew at that moment that neither of them would be safe until General Lance Gordon was dead. He also suspected the same would be true for anyone who looked at the man the wrong way. Endo always knew that Gordon was cold and remorseless—maybe even a sociopath, but the man was now part something else.

Something not human.

Something that ate people. Exclusively.

And that, Endo thought, is unacceptable.





31



The rhythmic chop of helicopter blades reaches into the darkness and pulls my eyes open. The sky above is the most beautiful shade of orange—sunset on smoke. My head lolls to the side. I see grass. And blood. And Collins. She crawls toward me, her orange curls bouncing, her eyes blazing with a radiance that brings a smile to my face. She’s shouting something, but I can’t hear her. And then, I can’t see her, either.




I wake, once again, to the sound of a helicopter. But the sunset is gone, which I find disappointing. I look up and see a window. The sun is just a streak of dull purple on the horizon. Night has fallen and I’m in the helicopter. Motion draws my eyes down, and I see Collins again. She’s sitting in the seat next to me, eyes closed. I’m lying down, I realize, when I see my legs over her lap. Feeling safe, I close my eyes and give in to the exhaustion and pain.




The third time I wake up, it’s in response to something wet on my cheek. A kiss? “Collins?” I ask sounding a little confused, but equally hopeful. I groggily push myself up and open my eyes.

The black, brown and white face peering at me isn’t even human. On the bright side, it was a kiss. “Hey, Buddy.”

The Australian sheep dog wags his stumpy tail. I’m not sure what happened to the rest of the tail, but I’ve never asked. Buddy Boy—Buddy or Bud for short—belongs to Watson and has been our unofficial mascot for the past five years. He has full reign of the house and the walled-in grounds that serve as home base for FC-P, including my bedroom.

I sit up in bed and Buddy joins me, lying down next to me so his paws hang off the side. He’s not normally known to initiate a snuggle, but I think he senses my injuries, which I am now sensing as well. A groan escapes my lips as a pounding headache grows in my skull and sends roots down into my spine. Muscles ache in places I didn’t know I had. And a sharp sting draws my hand to my forehead. There’s a bandage there, beneath which I can feel a few small lumps. Stitches.