As frightening as Nemesis is, she’s never put off the kind of vile hatred these three put off. Even Scrion and Drakon were different. Scrion was a monster, but had the personality of a pug on crack. And Drakon, compared to Nemesis, wasn’t very threatening; dangerous for sure, but built for speed, not sheer power. But these three... If the Earth was the prize and Nemesis the champ, Typhon, Karkinos and Scylla would be serious contenders. And the problem with that is I’m not expecting a fair fight. Three on one, the odds are not in Nemesis’s favor.
Brazil’s military is quick to respond. Before Scylla is even out of the water, jets streak past the camera operator, nearly knocking him over. But he rights the camera in time to see missiles streak away. He follows their course all the way to Typhon’s head, where they explode. Harmlessly. I’m not sure the giant even noticed.
More missiles cruise by. Helicopters sweep in from the sides, launching rockets. The camera lurches to the side as the operator picks it up and runs. When the view stabilizes again, the camera twists to the side, as a tank rolls into place, stops and fires a rounds. The camera shakes, moving further back. The operator is running again. If there was sound, I’m sure he, or she, would be screaming. Who wouldn’t be?
A safe distance from the action, the camera operator sets up again, pointing the lens back at the mayhem. We’re higher now, viewing the city from more of an angle. Scylla is still on the beach, ravaging the string of hotels that line the shore. Karkinos is the closest. His massively thick, armored body is bent forward. His giant jaws are snapping open and closed. I’m not sure, but I think he’s eating people.
And then there is Typhon.
“Jesus,” I say, and it’s not a swear. I avoid using the name as a cuss, out of respect for the people it deeply offends. In this case, I’m literally talking about Jesus. Typhon has tromped across the city and is scaling a mountain toward the Christ the Redeemer statue. It’s not as big as the Kaiju, but standing on top of that mountain, with his arms outstretched, the giant Jesus must look like a potential threat. Or a very large meal. Typhon makes short work of the mountain, grips Jesus’s arms and snaps them off. Then, with a single swipe, he knocks the top half of limbless Jesus off and sends it rolling down the mountainside, toward the city. Rio’s most famous symbol of hope and forgiveness crushes through the mass of small homes at the base of the incline.
“Hey,” Endo says.
Lost in the scene of destruction, I flinch at the sound of Endo’s voice.
Endo turns toward me. “Jon.”
Considering that this is the very first time Endo has referred to me by my first name, I’m a little disconcerted when I look at him. Not only does it reflect the somewhat friendly rapport that has developed between us while being bedridden, it also means he must have had some kind of revelation.
“I know who Gordon is after,” he says.
“Please don’t say me.”
“Besides you,” he says.
“That’s still includes me,” I point out.
“Just shut up,” Endo says. “When Gordon first found Nemesis, he took the information—”
“To Zoomb,” I say. “I know.”
Endo shakes his head. “They were his second choice. Gordon was a good soldier. A true patriot. He brought it to the one person in the government he thought would take his wild claims seriously.”
I wait for the revelation, eyebrows raised to say ‘any day now.’
“At the time he was Senator Gary Beck.”
My mouth slowly opens.
Endo nods. “Two years later he became—”
“President Dickface.”
Son-of-a-bitch. “So if they’re not coming for me...”
“They’re headed for the Capitol,” Endo says.
I hold up my hand. “Wait. Stop. Two things. First, we need to stop finishing each other’s sentences. This isn’t a bromance. Second, we need to warn—”
“Nobody,” Endo says, face grim.
I groan in annoyance. “What did I say about finishing my sentences? And why the hell would we not warn the President? Besides the fact that he’s a tool.”
“If the President feels that he is a target, he will run. Inland. He’ll try to hide, but there isn’t anywhere he can go that Gordon doesn’t know about. The Kaiju will pursue him across the country, destroying everything in their path. And when that happens—”
“The king of bad decisions will start dropping nukes,” I say, ignoring my bromance moratorium. Endo is right. President Beck is two balls short of being a man and a few billion brain cells short of the scarecrow. He’d put the whole country in jeopardy. The question is how do we prepare to fend off three colossal Kaiju combatants without tipping our hand or evacuating the nation’s capital? It’s damn near close to treason.
Gordon is the answer. Without him, the Kaiju might become subservient to Nemesis. They might go mad. Or they might just swim around the ocean gobbling up whales. They never endured the tortures of Nemesis’s past, so it’s very possible the thirst for vengeance that drives her, and Gordon, won’t be part of the equation.
The door opens. Collins rushes in, holding my clothes. Alessi is behind her with a bag for Endo.
“Have you seen?” Collins asks.
I point to the news channel still playing the live footage of Rio being used like a bag of snack chips.