Kaiju Storm (Kaiju Winter Book 2) Read online

  “Great,” he sighs then coughs. “Just fucking great.” He takes a deep breath. “HELP! WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYONE?”

  ***

  The noise in the secure situation room deep under the White House is almost overwhelming. President Charles Nance sits at the head of the large table in the center of the room, his eyes moving from one video screen to another, his mind barely keeping up with the data coming in, while the voices of his Joint Chiefs of Staff, cabinet members, various advisors, assistants, as well as techs and other support personnel, drone on.

  “Quiet, please,” President Nance says as he tries to make sense of what he is seeing. “Everyone, please be quiet.”

  The chaos continues, most of it in various forms of panic, as eyes watch the destructive results of the last volcanic eruption. Each video screen is a different satellite view of regions of the United States, some of the East coast, some of the West coast, and only one from directly over the massive chasm that once was the Yellowstone supervolcano. Then one by one, the images grey as another massive ash cloud billows out of the volcano’s caldera and begins to obscure the entire country.

  But the images that were captured show gigantic creatures that are something like a cross between a stingray and a rotten tortilla flying over the American landscape, dropping what look to be gelatinous eggs of various sizes, from the size trash bins to compact cars. The stunned eyes watch as the eggs fall to the earth below and rupture on impact, their contents melting and melding with everything they touch.

  “Are they reproducing?”

  “What could possibly be in those?”

  “I can’t see eyes nor any semblance of animalistic features.”

  “Quiet.”

  “On the monsters or the eggs?”

  “The monsters.”

  “The other creatures were obviously of an endoskeletal nature. These appear to be cartilaginous.”

  “Quiet.”

  “So they are like stingrays?”

  “There’s no way to know.”

  “What happened to that Hall asshole?”

  “Quiet.”

  “He was sent home after the nuclear strike.”

  “Why in God’s name would someone do that?”

  “Quiet.”

  “With the chasm sealed, there was no need for him any longer. We got all the intel we could from him regarding the Godzillas.”

  “Don’t call them that. They are not some B movie nightmare. This shit is real.”

  “Quiet. Quiet! QUIET!”

  All voices stop, and the eyes turn to President Nance. He stands at the head of the table, his face flushed and red, his tie loose and hanging from around his neck, his own eyes sunken in, deep circles underneath.

  “Mr. President?” National Security Advisor Joan Milligan asks. “Are you feeling well?”

  “Have you lost your fucking mind, Joan?” President Nance snaps as he waves weakly at the video monitors. “Are you seeing what I am seeing? Do you think anyone is well right now? If you do then you are either made of stronger stuff than me, or you have gone mad. Considering how I feel, I wouldn’t be surprised if both were true.”

  He takes several deep breaths and attempts to straighten his tie, then gives up, and yanks it off completely.

  “I ordered the first nuclear strike since Hiroshima, and it was on my own country’s soil,” President Nance continues. “I watched as the supervolcano was filled in, and all signs of whatever was beneath was lost. Then we get reports of no radiation, which is great news, except that no more than four hours later the volcano erupted again, and those things came out. Just before that Dr. Hall called to say he was wrong, but the EMP which has disabled all electronic equipment in the entire USA cut us off, and I never heard why he thought he was wrong. Is it because we are now dealing with entirely new monsters? Is it because when I look at that previous view of the Yellowstone chasm I don’t see a mass of tails, but something unimaginable? I don’t have any answers to anything at this moment. Except, to be honest, I do have an answer to your question: no, I am not feeling well.”

  “I meant no disrespect. My apologies, Mr. President,” Joan replies. “I was concerned with your physical health. God knows, none of us could be considered at the peak of mental health at this moment.”

  This elicits a small smile from President Nance, and he nods as he sits down.

  “The apology is mine, Joan,” President Nance says. “I’m the leader of the free world. I shouldn’t bark at you like that.”

  “Bark away, sir,” Joan responds. “It’s my job to take the barking.”

  “And it’s my job to lead us out of this situation,” President Nance says. “Do we have any information on these new things?”

  “No, sir,” Secretary of Defense Jeremy Borland answers. “The EMP was so powerful that it has fried every single component of this country’s communications grid. We have minimal contact with NORAD due to their shielding, but other than that we can’t get a word from any military base in North America. As for satellites?” She points at the monitors. “Those are the last images. Some satellites are still operational and blind, while others are dead from the EMP.”

  “No communication with a single base in North America? It was that bad?” President Nance asks.

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Borland replies. “We just reestablished contact with Canada and Mexico, but they too are dealing with nationwide communications silence. Power grids are down everywhere. We can only imagine what is happening out there.”

  “National Guard?” President Nance asks, his eyes turning to Army General Lawrence Azoul.

  “We can’t deploy them if we can’t communicate with them, Mr. President,” General Azoul replies. “Luckily the vast majority of cities have been evacuated because of the supervolcano. Most of the population of this country is either in the South or heading in that direction under the supervision of the National Guard.”

  “So some order could still be in place,” President Nance says. “That’s good news.”

  From far down the table, Secretary of the Interior Bonnie Landis clears her throat.

  “Bonnie? Yes?” President Nance says.

  “We are dealing with something that is far beyond our singular capabilities,” Landis says. “I know I am Interior, but I believe we should involve the State Department and ask our foreign allies for assistance. They could bring us needed electronic equipment that we can use to set up some type of rudimentary communications network. We have to establish clear and open lines with people on the ground. Speaking with other nations is good, but actual accounts from our own citizens will be even more helpful. Martial law is in effect to help protect the people of the United States through this difficult time, but I worry that without direct oversight, some of the more aggressive personalities within our military may take this occurrence to be a sign that protection comes second to intimidation.”

  “Intimidation?” Navy Admiral Malcom Quigley laughs. “This isn’t China or the old Soviet Russia. Our men and women out there know they are only there to serve and protect, not intimidate.”

  “I understand that, Admiral,” Landis responds. “But we all know that not every person that joins the military is as idealistic as that. Some join in order to exercise their more violent natures in a sanctioned environment.”

  “Spoken like a true liberal,” Air Force General Mark Tulane mutters.

  “Excuse me?” Landis snaps. “I don’t think labels like that are appropriate at a time like this. You forget, General, that I hold three PhDs, one of those in psychology, of which my dissertation was on the inevitable corruption of unsupervised, isolated, and authoritarian forces such as prison guards or rural police forces. To think that eventually those with the power and weapons will not turn on those without is not only false, but dangerously naive.”

  General Tulane is about to respond, but President Nance holds up his hand. “There are valid points on both sides of this, not that I am declaring there are, or shoul
d be, sides.” He rubs his face and looks at Joan. “Have we been able to get ahold of Dennis?”

  “Secretary of State Jefferson is still in Beijing,” Joan replies. “He has almost finished negotiations with them to allow some of our refugees to stay in Hong Kong. I’ll contact him immediately and see if he can acquire the equipment we’ll need to get a basic communications infrastructure in place.”

  “Good,” President Nance replies. “That is a start. ¨Until then, we keep studying these things and try to figure out what they are doing.”

  “As much as I hate to say it,” Borland sighs, “we could use Dr. Hall again. Has a car been sent for him?”

  “There are no cars,” Joan answers. “None that work, anyway. Not a vehicle in DC or Northern Virginia is running.”

  “Then perhaps we should send some Secret Service agents to fetch him,” Borland suggests. “The man was a pain in the ass, but we could use that pain right now.”

  “Yes, I agree,” President Nance says. “We’ll send a team for him. Hopefully, he can make sense of the new creatures.”

  There are several grumbles from the table, but no one outright disagrees with the President. President Nance leans back in his chair and watches the video monitors once again, making it clear the discussion is over for the moment. Soon the conversation volume in the room grows, but it never reaches the panicked volume of a few minutes before. President Nance lets his people talk, knowing that they need to let off steam, and he hopes that someone may have a breakthrough and come up with some insight on how to get his citizens safely out of the surreal nightmare they have been plunged into.

  ***

  “You! Halt! Stop right there!” a National Guard soldier shouts as he raises his M4 at the ash covered and grime coated figure that slowly approaches the side gate in the chain link fence. The man’s eyes are instantly drawn to the large dog that heels closely to the figure, just as ash covered and grime coated. “I said stop right there!”

  The person slowly stops and waits about twenty yards from the fence. The soldier watches the figure stand there, swaying back and forth, while the dog sits down on its haunches and licks its lips, clearing off some of the ash that covers its muzzle.

  The soldier looks the person up and down, not sure if it is a man or a woman, but betting on man due to its height and size. The person wears a thick winter coat over snow pants. Heavy-duty boots are on the person’s feet, while the head is covered in a black balaclava with tinted snowmobile goggles over the eyes, and a sturdy respirator over the mouth. The soldier can’t help but think the person looks like they just walked out of some cold weather, post-apocalyptic movie.

  Considering the state of the country, he isn’t too far off.

  “State your name and business!” the soldier orders.

  There is a muffled response, then the figure wavers and goes down on one knee.

  “Jesus,” the soldier mutters behind his own respirator.

  After the second eruption, orders came down that respirators were required once more, even though the ash clouds had receded. Looking towards the East, the soldier isn’t surprised by the order. It is obvious the ash is back and rolling its way quickly across Washington State.

  The soldier pulls a whistle from his pocket, yanks down his respirator, and blows on the whistle as hard as he can. His M4 still trained on the person that kneels in the road outside the fence, the soldier waits for others to arrive and help him figure out what to do with the new refugee and its dog.

  “Gibbons? What’s up?” a lieutenant asks as he and two other soldiers jog up behind the man. “What we got here?”

  “Don’t know,” Gibbons replies. “The guy won’t answer me.”

  There’s a grunt from the kneeling person, and the lieutenant frowns at Gibbons. “Seriously, Corporal? It sounds like they are trying to respond, but you can’t hear them.”

  “Then he should take his respirator off so we can,” Gibbons replies. “Or get closer.”

  The person pulls down the respirator and coughs a couple seconds before speaking. “You told me to stop, you moron. I’m not going to get closer if you are going to shoot me. What kind of idiot are you?”

  “Jesus, it’s a woman, Lieutenant,” Gibbons gasps.

  “I can hear that, Corporal,” the lieutenant replies, then turns to the woman. “Ma’am? What’s your name? Are you injured? What business do you have here? This is a secure military installation, and we are not allowing civilians access. I am sorry, but I will have to ask you to leave.”

  “My name is Terrie Morgan, and I’m meeting my daughter here,” the woman says. “U.S. Marshal Lucinda Morgan. She is part of a Federal convoy that was supposed to rendezvous with several buses from Champion, Montana and bring them here. I believe you have some ships waiting for us.”

  “Champion? Ma’am, no one from Champion ever arrived,” the lieutenant states. “We did have them on our list, but even if they do show up, it makes no difference.”

  “And why is that, Lieutenant?” Terrie asks.

  “Because the ships are dead in the water from the EMP,” the lieutenant replies. “Any machinery that relies on electronics is toast, ma’am. Nothing to be done about that. Trust me, I’ve been asking everyone in the Navy I can pin down. I’d love nothing more than to get my men out of here. We were supposed to be on one of those ships too, ma’am; now we’re stuck doing grunt duty while the Navy brass figure out a new plan.”

  “Huh, ain’t that a kick in the backside,” Terrie sighs. “Well, I don’t suppose I could ask for a little assistance in the meantime. I’m not exactly at full strength, and the past few days have been rough, to say the least.”

  “Are you injured?” the lieutenant asks.

  Terrie slowly unzips her coat and opens it wide. She lifts the heavy sweater that covers her torso, and the soldiers gasp at the blood soaked bandages wrapped about her midsection. Terrie grins at their shock.

  “If you think that’s bad, you should see my back,” Terrie smiles, then coughs hard and goes down on both hands. She takes a second to gather her strength, then pushes herself back up to her knees. “A couple through and throughs. I sutured what I could, cauterized what I couldn’t, but I can smell the infection getting worse.”

  “Lord have mercy,” the lieutenant says, and motions for his men to go to Terrie. “We’ll get you inside and fixed up. That dog going to be a problem?”

  “Biscuit? Nah,” Terrie says, then looks at the half husky, half wolf. “Calm, boy. Friends.”

  The large hybrid eyes the soldiers as they open the gate and cautiously approach.

  “Big sucker,” Gibbons says. “Sure he ain’t gonna bite my face off?”

  “Well, as long as he’s by me you’ll be fine,” Terrie replies. “Oh, and don’t try to touch him. He got clipped on his left haunch. Just a flesh wound, and I sutured him up, but I wouldn’t try and pet him.”

  “Yeah, not a problem,” Gibbons replies as he and one of the others carefully sling their carbines then each take one of Terrie’s arms and help her up.

  She throws her arms over their shoulders and sighs as they basically carry her through the gate while Biscuit watches their every step, only a foot from their heels.

  “Lieutenant Bobby Houlihan,” the lieutenant states as he extends his hand. Terrie awkwardly shakes it. “You wouldn’t happen to have some ID on you would you, Ms. Morgan?”

  “Lost that back near Champion when I got shot,” Terrie replies. “Fetching my purse wasn’t my number one priority. I figured God had other things in mind for me.”

  “Wait, you were shot back in Montana and walked all this way?”

  “Heavens no,” Terrie says. “When I was up on my feet, I found a truck that ran and drove that almost to Idaho before it died. Once I was past Coeur d’Alene, which wasn’t so easy considering the state that area is in, I hitched with a family in a working RV until Seattle. Walked the rest of the way here.”

  “What happened to the family?” Gibbons
asks.

  “Same thing happened to the RV,” Terrie sighs. “The flying ones got them. A whole flock came by and swooped down and ripped that vehicle apart with those poor folks still inside. Luckily, I was out with Biscuit using nature’s facilities, or we would have met the same fate. God was smiling down on us then.”

  “Not so much on that family,” Gibbons replies.

  “Corporal, show some respect,” Houlihan snaps.

  “He’s right, Lieutenant,” Terrie says. “God had other plans for those folks.”

  “I’d like to know what His plan is for us,” Houlihan says “because I’m beginning to feel a little abandoned. The gates of Hell have opened, and God decided to take a vacation.”

  “God never takes a vacation, Lieutenant,” Terrie scolds. “He just doesn’t always answer the phone when we want him to. His plan will be revealed in due time, mark my words.”

  “Well, ma’am, I sure hope that’s true,” Houlihan nods. “Now, let’s get you to the infirmary and fixed up. There’s some fine Navy docs here on base.”

  “I’ll bet there are,” Terrie says. “They get the infection under control, prescribe me some antibiotics, and I’ll be ready to head back out.”

  “Ma’am?” Houlihan asks, looking thoroughly confused.

  “I can’t stay around here, Lieutenant. Not while my daughter and grandson are stuck out in Hell. God may have a plan for us all, but I am never one to wait around and find out what it is. Easier to ask forgiveness than ask permission, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Houlihan chuckled. “But let’s have the docs check you out before you start making travel plans. That ash cloud is almost on us, and I don’t think it’s going to make things easy on you.”

  “Nothing has ever been easy on me,” Terrie says. “No reason it should start now.”

  ***

  The Secret Service agents hurry from the apartment complex, pistols drawn and sweeping the area as one of them steps up to the small group that waits out in the street, securing the area as gunshots continue to punctuate the night.