“Hudson!” The voice is deep, booming and hits me like an emotional missile. Gordon charges across the roof, covered in other men’s blood. His eyes burn with fury. Froth slides from his clenched teeth with each step.
I lift my P90 and hold the trigger down, unleashing fifty rounds in seconds. His body shakes from the barrage, but he doesn’t slow. While I reload, Endo takes aim with his more powerful assault rifle, punching round after round into Gordon’s forehead. The engine-killing rounds just get stuck in the thick flesh. But it hurts. Gordon, unlike his Kaiju, still experiences pain like a human being. He reacts like one, too, raising his meaty hand, to defend his face.
With the P90 reloaded, I aim more carefully, but hold the trigger down again. I have to fight the recoil, but I manage to send most of the rounds into my target—Gordon’s knee. The leg buckles as Gordon shouts in pain, but he lunges forward with his good leg, arms outstretched.
My brain tells me to move. To dive. To duck. But there’s no avoiding this freight train. The best I can do is take it like a man, or in this case, like a ragdoll.
Gordon hits hard, but he doesn’t slam me to the roof as expected. Instead, he lifts me up and over the sidewall, tackling me over the edge of the roof. On the inside, I’m rolling my eyes and thinking, “Shiiiit.” On the outside, I’m screaming.
40
The world turns through Jell-O. Or at least that’s what it feels like. I’m falling, wrapped in the tight embrace of my mortal enemy. But I’m also spinning. No, not spinning...flipping. I’m fli—
The impact sends a wave of pain through my body, numbing my toes and fingers. But I’m not dead! And I’m no longer held in place. Despite my body screaming to remain motionless, I sit up and stagger away.
Gordon lies atop the granite staircase of the White House’s south portico. We fell two stories down, but rolled so that Gordon absorbed most of the impact. A stroke of good luck.
Gordon sits up, grinning.
Or...not.
He could have killed me if he wanted to. It’s obvious now. He could have popped my head in his hand like a too-full water balloon. He could have not flipped over. But he wanted me alive for a little while longer. Although that suits me just fine, it confuses me.
Until I see the look in his eye. He’s enjoying this. Like a cat, toying with a mouse, he’s going to kill me slowly, savoring each injury. And then, he’ll kill me. It’s a strategic risk, but why would he doubt victory? He’s virtually impervious to harm and has four Kaiju for back up. He has enough power to destroy entire nations. What would he have to fear from me?
I smile back at him, knowing the answer to the unasked question. I’m a sneaky son-of-a-bitch.
“I admire your confidence,” Gordon says, getting to his feet. “But it’s misguided.”
I stagger away, clutching my side, acting a bit more injured than I am. Doesn’t take much acting. I’m pretty messed up, but the pain is still so broad that I can’t identify specific injuries. As Gordon stalks toward me, I glance over my shoulder, but all I can see is Drakon, rampaging around the East Wing of the White House. I try not to react to it. It’s where I sent Beck. If they haven’t made it to the PEOC yet, they might be in real trouble.
“There won’t be any help coming,” he says, glancing up. I follow his eyes. Not a soldier in sight. “You’re on your own, Hudson.” He smiles. “Time to see what you’re made of.”
“You probably mean that literally, right?” I say, buying time.
He makes a show of licking his lips, almost seductively. “I’ll keep you alive long enough to tell you how you taste.”
A shadow shifts on the portico behind Gordon.
I stop my retreat. “Do you even know how nasty you are?”
Gordon sneers. Prepares to throw himself at me. But he never gets the chance. The shadow from the portico leaps through the air without a sound and lands hard on Gordon’s shoulders. I see claws, razor sharp, slip into his flesh, locking on tightly. Gordon shouts in surprise and pain, falling forward under the weight of his attacker, who falls first, using Gordon’s own momentum to lift him up and over. Powerful black legs extend and the claws release.
Gordon sails through the air, slamming into a tree, thirty feet away.
I wince-smile at my rescuer. “Just in time, Lilly.”
“He’s bigger than you described,” the cat-like Lilly says, crouching low to the ground, her tail twitching. And she’s right, Gordon is growing. Far slower than the Kaiju, but if he kept growing, he might become a Kaiju himself in twenty years. We’re not going to give him that chance.