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

“Actually, I am.” I have no idea if these guys are going to take me seriously, but they’ve been listening so far, probably because they’ve seen several Navy ships get torn apart and just lost a chopper. “This thing took four Tomahawks and walked away. You won’t be able to stop it.” Every one of the men listening knows what a Tomahawk can do. I have their attention. “There is something in Boston. Something it wants, bad. And I think I can lead it away. I just need to get there first.”


Several seconds pass before the cool jet pilot says, “Copy that. Will do what we can.”

“I’m coming in from the north. Red civilian helicopter. Try not to shoot me.”

“Will do,” says one pilot.

“Copy that,” says the jet pilot, and a few more join the affirmative chorus.

“Godspeed,” I say. “Out.”

Woodstock flips the switch again and we’re back to internal communications.

Collins looks back at me. “Do you really think it’s heading for Gordon?”

I shake my head, “Not Gordon. The hostage.”

“The hostage?”

“Gordon has been out and about from the beginning. She wouldn’t have headed for the ocean if she was following him. She wouldn’t have made the pit stop in Beverly, either. She wasn’t interested in Gordon until he showed up on the roof with a hostage.”

“But it’s still a guess,” Collins says.

“I thought you cops called it a hunch?”

“Not a cop anymore,” she says. “But it’s a good guess.”

Actually, I think, it’s my only guess. And if I’m wrong, the Boston skyline looming ahead might not be there a few hours from now.

We’re just two miles out and Nemesis fills a lot of the windshield. In a minute, we’re going to be flying right through the action. For a moment, I think we’re going to look like a bright red treat to Nemesis as we fly past, especially if she recognizes the chopper from our previous engagements.

The Apache helicopters take up stationary positions around Nemesis, each facing her. Nemesis swings out with her hands, but comes up short. The choppers maintain a safe distance, two hundred feet above sea level. That’s when they open fire, all five of them, aiming for the creature’s knees. A roar draws my eyes to the left and I see three F-22s cruising in, side-by-side, just a hundred feet above the water. Once they’re in range, all three planes open fire with their 20-millimeter cannons. The combined firepower shreds the monster’s thick hide.

My eyes widen when I see chunks of flesh go flying.

Fluid sprays.

Nemesis stumbles and roars.

This might actually work, I think.

That’s when the giant’s tail explodes from the water and thrashes through the air like a monstrous whip, catching two of the choppers off guard and reducing them to metal confetti. As Nemesis spins toward the fast approaching F-22s, I see one of her giant eyes rotate and land right on us.

Crap.





42



The tail finishes its arc through the air and slams into the water, sending a massive wave toward the shore. I shift to the right side of the chopper and look out the side window, watching the water rise up the beach and engulf entire neighborhoods.

An explosion draws me back to the left window. Nemesis has reached down and caught one of the F-22s. The collision must have been like slamming into a wall of steel. She crushes the burning heap in her hand.

Then, she looks back up.

At us.

I look down, out the side window, as we pass a few hundred feet above her. Something looks off. “Are we ascending?”

“Nope,” Woodstock says. “Straight and steady. We’ll be through this mess in thirty more seconds.”

Collins looks out her window, craning her head to get a view of Nemesis below. “Is it sinking?”

It looks like it, but I don’t think so. Then I see it. Her knees are bending.

She’s crouching.

Getting ready to jump!

“Holy shit!” I shout. “Woodstock, look o—”

He figures out what I’m in the middle of saying, and with a twitch of his hand, the helicopter pitches to the side, fast and hard. I’m thrown around the back like a Mexican jumping bean. We level out for just a moment, but it’s long enough for me to see Nemesis’s open jaws snap shut just twenty feet away.

“Look out!” Collins shouts, looking up.

I’m tossed in the other direction as the chopper banks hard to the left, circling around Nemesis’s head. As I land on the side door, I look up through the opposite window and see a giant black, clawed hand dropping toward us.

“Faster!” I shout. “And down!”

The helicopter dives forward, and I manage to catch myself on the big mounted gun. Below, the ocean waves grow larger. And still, we pick up speed. Then I’m thrown back, into a seat as the chopped strains to level out, just ten feet above the waves.

We quickly ascend back to a hundred feet, and while still moving forward, Woodstock spins us around so we can see Nemesis. All three of us shout with surprise when the giant winds up and tosses the crushed F-22 at us like Roger Clemens, after the ‘roids. I’m crushed into the seat as Woodstock pulls us up and the hundred-and-forty-three million dollar ball of scrap metal spins past beneath us.

Nemesis follows the throw with an angry roar.

“I think it remembers us,” Collins says.