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

She flinched at this and dropped the vial. A gasp slipped from her lips as she bent down and tried to catch it. She missed.

But Gordon didn’t. He snatched the glass vial from the air just inches above the floor. She looked up into his angry brown eyes. “That is the last mistake you’ll make. Understood?”

She nodded quickly, her eyes locked on his for just a moment, before she snatched the vial from his hand and made for the door. The clock was ticking. Her life, and she suspected Gordon’s, depended on her success.

“Try not to worry, Kendra,” he called after her. “I think you’ll be surprised by the results.”

She held up the vial and looked at the clear liquid. What the hell is this?





3



My body and the screen door behind it are no match for the bear. It lowers its head like a bull, plows into my gut and shoves. As my insides shift and the air bursts from my lungs, I feel the door’s crossbeam flex and crack across my back. Pain lances through my arms and legs, and for a fraction of a second I worry that I’ve broken my spine. But then I feel the tug of the metal screen on my body as I pass through it and catapult to the ground, my landing cushioned only by my ass and the layer of brown pine needles covering the forest floor like wall-to-wall carpeting.

Wheezing for air, I scramble back from the cabin until my head whacks Betty’s side. My head spins from the impact and from lack of air, but I notice my arms and legs are working just fine.

Not paralyzed, I think. Yet.

The bear steps out of the cabin’s front door with all the grim intent of a father who’s just found his teenage daughter in bed with a boy. It stands again, looking at me, trying to intimidate me and succeeding.

I find my breath and shout at the bear, “Hiyah!” But it comes out as a pitiful wheezy thing. If I ever do come up against a Sasquatch, I’m screwed.

My legs shake beneath me, but I manage to get to my feet. Now the bear thinks I’m trying to intimidate it. I’m not, but if I was, I’d be failing. The bear grunts again, taking two steps toward me before dropping to all four paws and pounding down the steps.

I grab the driver’s side door and yank. My hand painfully rips away from the handle. Locked.

Why the hell did I lock my truck out here? Even in Beverly, Betty wouldn’t be a blip on a car thief’s radar.

The gun, I remember. I left my gun in the cab. That’s why I locked it. Unfortunately, that’s also why I’m trying to get in the cab.

The bear grunts as it reaches the bottom of the steps and makes a beeline for me.

An involuntary shout rises from deep inside me, fueling my flight. I turn around, plant my hands on the side of Betty’s flatbed and leap over and in. I land hard on my back, coughing for air and wincing in pain. But I’m hidden.

For about half a second.

The bear rises up, grabbing on to the side of the truck. Its long black claws squeak against the metal, grating on my ears. I roll to the far side of the flatbed, out of reach. As the truck rocks and more screeching fills the air, I realize the bear is actually trying to claw its way inside.

Black bears are rarely this aggressive, though there are plenty of accounts of people being mauled. And there is always the chance that this bear is rabid.

I reach into my right pants pocket, fumbling for my keys, but don’t find them. I’m momentarily confused, as though I’ve looked up and found the sky had turned red. I always keep my keys in my right pocket. I check the left anyway and as I suspected, find nothing.

That’s when I remember.

I unlocked the door.

When the bear charged, the keys were still in my hand. And since they’re not now... I sit up fast, which makes the bear flinch and fall, landing hard on its side.

I look over the side and can’t help but smile at the suddenly silly looking bear. “Looks like we’re both kind of screw-ups,” I tell it.

The bear gets back to its feet with a quickness that surprises me, lunging up and swiping at my face, missing by inches. I stumble back, catching myself on the cab before falling out of the flatbed with less grace than the bear.

“Keys,” I tell myself. “Find the keys.” Without them, I could be playing tag until the bear either gets bored or I get dead.

I glance toward the cabin, but have trouble focusing as my eyes keep flicking back to the black ball of death beating the shit out of my darling Betty’s paint job. I scour the porch. Nothing. No key.

I look into the dark doorway, but the cabin’s interior is deep in shadow. I strain my eyes, looking for the keychain, which holds five keys, a pocket jackknife and a mini-flashlight. A breeze tickles my skin and sifts through the trees. The pines creak. The maples sound like a librarian quieting some unruly patrons with a serious “Shhhhh”. Light dances across the pine floor of the forest, then up the stairs and into the doorway.