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

“Huh,” I say, both to Collins’s observations and the fact that the knife is barely scratching the surface. “What should I call myself?”


“If you have to, use ‘investigator’,” she says, “but if they’ve already seen your ID, just use your last name.”

I get a tiny flake of what I believe to be Nemesis’s skin into the bag and seal it up. I don’t think it’s going to be pertinent to our investigation, but we’ll learn what we can from it. There’s more than enough to go around, but I don’t know if continued exposure to salt water will degrade the sample. I look up, out to sea, and I can see a Coast Guard cutter illuminating a patch of black nearly a hundred and fifty feet from shore. Given the size and current toughness, I don’t think the rest of it will be going anywhere soon.

I stand and head toward the detective. “Zandri.”

“Yes, special investigator,” he says.

Holy crap, she’s right, I think, and say, “Call me Hudson.”

He looks a little surprised and slightly placated, then seems to remember I’m looking at him and says, “What do you need?”

“Just inform your men that I’m going to discharge my firearm.”

He looks at the black thing. “I think its dead.”

I nod. “Yeah, it’s a husk.”

“A husk?”

“The creature that attacked Portland is growing,” I say. “It molts.”

“Like how a snake sheds its skin,” Zandri says. “But the reports I hear put the thing at seventy-five feet tall.”

“Taller,” I say.

“And it’s still growing?”

I look at the massive sack of skin floating in the water. “Apparently.” I draw my .45 and he gets the message. While he informs all teams present that I’m going to fire my gun, I walk back to the water and aim the weapon.

“See how much better that went?” Collins says.

“Watch it,” I say, “or I’ll make Zandri my new partner.”

“He wouldn’t look as good in body armor,” she says.

I look down the sight of the gun. For the purpose of my test, I’ll need to keep my grouping tight. I’m firing at close to point blank range, but the .45 has a good amount of kick. “There isn’t a single situation in which that man would look better than you.”

“I could be a Zombie,” she says. I can’t see her, but I can sense her smile. I let out a breath, allowing her presence to calm me.

I pull the trigger. The single shots rolls out over the ocean. I look around the gun, see the damage, and then pull the trigger nine more times, emptying the clip. As the last thunderous report rings out, I look around and see lights coming on in the bedrooms of homes lining the beach. I turn to Zandri and point at the houses. “Have someone tell them that was kids with fireworks.”

“They’ll see it in the morning,” Zandri says.

“Yeah, but at least they’ll be well rested when they see the monster skin covering their beach.”

He sends an officer running down the beach and then joins me beside the black fold of monster skin I just shot the shit out of. He adds his flashlight to mine.

“Holy mother,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. It’s all I’ve got. I bend down and pick up one of the mushroomed bullets. It crumbles in my fingers. All ten rounds simply rest atop the skin in small divots created by the force of their impacts. Not one of them penetrated the skin. While a higher caliber might, it definitely wouldn’t get far.

“Detective!” The shout is distant and shaky.

I look toward the voice and see a flashlight bobbing madly. The man Zandri sent away is running back.

“Detective!” he screams again, sounding shaken.

Zandri steps forward to greet the officer as he stumbles out of the dark.

“Is it here?” Zandri asks.

The officer shakes his head, no, as he leans forward and tries to catch his breath. He points behind him. “Down the beach. By the old wharf.”

“What is it?” Collins asks.

“I—I’m not sure,” he says and points to the flotilla of skin. “It’s like this, but...bloodier. I didn’t see much. I just ran.”

When I take off in the direction the officer came from, Collins, Zandri and a few officers follow closely. Woodstock’s spotlight follows us for half the run, but then he must figure out there is something ahead of us because he takes the lead, following the surf line until he lands on a mass of bloody pulp.

I stop short when I see it.

“What is that?” Zandri asks.

I walk closer. It’s a body. A large body. And it’s been bitten in half. I can see the tooth marks lining the meat.

“Looks like a giant took a bite out of a king-sized apple,” Zandri says.

“A bloody apple,” I say.

“It’s a whale,” Collins says. “A fin whale. It’s the second largest whale after the blue. Grow up to ninety feet.”

“Ninety feet!” Zandri says and I understand that his outrage has nothing to do with how large the whales grow and everything to do with how much is missing.