He had gone back to Alaska and found the eggs, still whole, buried in the back of the cave their mother had died in. He suspected that when Nemesis-Prime had died so long ago, the site had been buried by a landslide, and that the eggs had gone into some kind of hibernation. When he removed them from the cave and the light of day struck their shells, the young had quickly emerged.
He wasn’t really sure how it worked, but he believed the original creature they’d found in Alaska, what Zoomb now called Nemesis-Prime, was like many species of plants and animals. It only reproduced when death was near, helping to ensure the survival of the species. Under natural circumstances, the five young might have fought amongst each other until the last one remaining took up its mother’s mantle as judge, jury and executioner. But under Gordon’s direction—with his genetic duplicate of their mother’s heart, albeit human sized—all five had survived. They’d been connected to him since, but rather than him following their desires, they followed his.
And right now, that was vengeance. Against Jon Hudson. And against Nemesis for turning away from him.
His dark skin kept him concealed in the shadows, as he watched the woman in the car. She looked to be waiting for someone. A moment later, a red helicopter lifted away from the roof and headed toward his child.
His distraction.
He couldn’t see who was inside the chopper, but he had little doubt Jon Hudson would be one of them. Hudson would either die in that chopper or upon his return. Either way, he was going to die. Like all people, Hudson was frail, but his real weakness was the people he cared about.
When the helicopter disappeared from view, Gordon slipped from the brush and moved for the car. His instincts told him to charge forward, to roar and beat his fists. But he still had the mind of a military man. Stealth was the superior tactic. Even for a monster. An enemy taken by surprise is an enemy defeated.
The black-haired woman didn’t detect his approach until he was two steps away. Before she could scream, he’d punched through the driver’s side window of the small car with his sledgehammer fist, taken hold of the door and yanked it off. She fought to escape, but the seatbelt already around her chest held her in place. He took hold of the belt with both hands and tugged. It came apart like old yarn.
She fought against him, kicking and screaming, but when his large, thick-fingered hand compressed her forearm, the fight went out of her. Just a little more pressure and the bones would break. Gordon lifted the woman from the car and turned toward the large brick building’s side entrance, just as a pudgy man with curly brown hair exited. A dog jumped out after him, but took just one look at him and bolted.
The man jiggled as he stopped in his tracks. A ridiculous man.
Gordon lifted the woman by her arm, her toes dangling a foot above the gravel driveway. “Back inside.” His voice was deep and rumbling, unrecognizable to anyone who’d known him before—
“General Gordon...” the man whispered.
—except, apparently, this man.
“Inside, now,” Gordon said. “Or I’ll remove her arm.”
The man nodded and turned to the door. He struggled to get through it thanks to his bulk, nervousness and the several bags he carried. Gordon watched the man through squinted eyes, wondering how such a person could work for any government agency, and how he would taste. Nothing sated a hunger like fat.
Later, he told himself. He needed them alive until Hudson returned, or died in battle.
After squeezing through the door, Gordon let go of the woman’s arm. Pudgy wasn’t going anywhere fast, and the way the woman ran into his arms meant she wasn’t going anywhere without him.
“Upstairs,” he said. He knew they operated out of the fourth story, which would also provide a view of the battle below. He took the stairs four at a time, the old wood creaking, but not breaking beneath his sizable mass. “Solid construction.” He spoke the words like he was considering buying the place. Really, he just liked seeing the pair squirm when he spoke. So frail.
The top of the fourth flight of steps opened up into a large space with enough computer terminals for a decent-sized intelligence team. “You’re the only ones here?” Despite Gordon’s gruff voice, he couldn’t hide his surprise. He’d seen only one person come and go that morning, but he had assumed a large crew was working inside.
“Just the two of us,” the woman said. “Everyone else is evacuating.”
“The woman,” Gordon said. “The redhead.”
The fat man nodded.
“There are only five of you here?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He just chuckled like Jabba the Hut. This was going to be so easy, it was almost disappointing.
“Hey!” the shout was so loud and forceful that Gordon nearly jumped. Instead he turned toward the voice. The redhead had returned. She was a tall woman. Curvy too. Dressed in tight jeans and a not quite too tight blouse. Gordon glanced at her feet. Boots. Real shitkickers. This woman was a looker, but she was more than that. She held a large revolver in two hands. Probably held .50 caliber rounds. A good weapon. And it was aimed between his eyes. Gordon liked this one. Too bad he had to kill her.