She nods. “I know. But... I...” She shakes her head. “I will always be—us. The past is inescapable.”
I get it. She’s not apologizing for Boston. For the deaths of countless innocents. She’s apologizing for whatever happens next. The destruction. The judgment. She can’t stop it. She knows we might be enemies again. That the struggle will continue. The history that made Maigo and Nemesis destroy Boston still exists. The urges, while tempered by a young girl, drive the monster, whose strange origins compel her to execute those she deems guilty, no matter who or what stands in her path.
And still, I understand.
Nemesis, like Maigo, is a victim.
Maigo walks toward me, a smile on her face. “Thank you for understanding.” She reaches out, places a hand on my forehead.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Your gift,” she says, and we’re suddenly back in my living room, two kids in front of a Christmas tree. “To help stop the dark man.”
A white hot heat burns my skin. I scream as that ancient, white-hot rage courses through my body.
“Hold him down!” I hear someone shout.
“I can’t! He’s—”
My eyes open. The rage fades like a dream. The blue sky above is blurred and fluttering. Two shapes lean over me. I recognize the red hair before my vision focuses. “Ash,” I hear myself say.
Collins turns and says, “He’s okay! He’s back!”
My vision clears, and I see Collins above me, her long red hair tickling my cheek. Beside her is Alessi, and I’m surprised by the concern I see on her face. I grunt and turn my head to the side. Betty is on top of the apartment building roof, just a few feet away. The rotor blades chop above us, twisting hair and filling the air with bass-drum thunder.
“Where is she?” I ask.
Collins understands the question and looks out to sea.
“Help me up,” I say.
Alessi moves first, more accustomed to following orders than questioning her boyfriend. But Collins helps her out, and I’m on my feet a moment later, hurting so badly I nearly ask to be put back down. But from my standing position, I can see what I need to.
Nemesis.
Maigo.
She’s in the harbor, trudging back into the ocean, no sentence to carry out.
I sigh with relief, thinking about my bed. I turn to order everyone home.
That’s when I hear the jets.
28
“What is that?” I ask, but Collins and Alessi have no answer. They turn toward the east along with me, confusion in their eyes. Looking over the ruins of Boston’s North End, I see a squadron of jets, more than thirty of them. F-18s, F-22s and the tank-killers called A-10 Thunderbolts, whose distinctive high-pitched whine shrieks like a Valkyrie’s battle cry. All heavy hitters. That I can hear them before they arrive means they’re flying slow, below the speed of sound. Cautious. Deliberate.
This is no patrol. They’re not here to watch or escort Nemesis back out to sea. They’re here to attack. This is ridiculous for three reasons. First, it won’t work. And there isn’t a single person in the chain of command that doesn’t know this. Second, to assemble a strike squadron this size means they’ve pulled jets from the north and south, leaving large portions of the country partially undefended. While ground defenses will still be in place, the jet patrols can see things coming first and react faster. Three, Nemesis might be in Boston, and an easy target at the moment, but we know that there are at least four more Kaiju roaming about, not to mention Gordon.
All of this is bad. Really bad. But none of it pisses me off more than being kept out of the loop. This was done behind my back. Again. And there is only one person who could have approved the assault, which explains why I wasn’t consulted. The President knows I would have opposed this plan. But by not having my objection on record, he won’t look like a complete fucking moron when this blows up in his face. And that’s the rub. He knows this is going to go sideways. At best, it won’t work and Nemesis will escape. At worst, he’s going to piss her off. Then we’re all screwed.
Despite Maigo being a very real part of Nemesis, I felt the creature’s tortured past. It’s not going to react well to being prodded.
With an aching hand, I lift my phone and switch Devine on so I can communicate with all emergency forces. “This is FC-P director, Hudson. Incoming Air Force personnel, please—”
“Target is acquired,” a pilot says, his voice cool. “We are green across the board.”
“No,” I say. “Do not—”
“You are go for stall action,” someone responds. “Fire when ready.”
They’re not hearing me. I’ve been cut out.
“Dammit!” I shout. I grip Collins’s arm, as I turn toward Betty. “We need to go. Now!”
I shout in pain as we run to the chopper. The pain is excruciating, but I know to linger is to die. Updates continue to flood my ears. A countdown. Ten seconds.