Holes in the Ground (29 page)

“It’s for me. I’ve got got got it.” Frank opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

“Dr. Frank Belgium? The President sent us. Your country needs you.”

“Tell the President I’m not interested.”

“Please, sir. Can we have just one moment of your time?”

Frank was thrown by how polite they were. Asking, not demanding. Reserved, not threatening.

“I’m done with all this,” he said. “I have a family now.”

“Believe me, Dr. Belgium, your country recognizes the sacrifices you’ve made, and they are appreciated. But we truly need your help. Even if it is only on an advisory basis.”

Frank sighed, then let them in. “Okay, but but but let’s keep it in the hallway. I don’t want you upsetting my wife or son.”

He let them in, and one of them handed Frank a manila folder. Frank didn’t want to take it. As if sensing his reluctance, the agent opened it and held a picture for Belgium to see.

It was of a cow. A very dead cow, almost stripped to the bone.

“I’m a very good scientist, gentlemen, but even I don’t think I can help help help you save that cow.”

“Here is a close-up of the lower right hand section of the picture, Dr. Belgium.”

He held up a second photo, grainier, zooming in to the cow’s ribcage.

Perched there, staring into the camera, was a tiny, red creature with bat wings and large horns.

“Do you recognize that, Dr. Belgium? We believe it is one of the demons that escaped from the facility you worked at. Project Samhain.”

The biologist made a face, and the first thought that popped into his mind escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Uh oh.”

Jerry
and
Lucas
first appeared in the Iain Rob Wright horror novel
THE FINAL WINTER
.

Nosferatus Hominic
first appeared in the horror novel
DRACULAS
written by Blake Crouch, J.A. Konrath, Jeff Strand, and F. Paul Wilson.

Mu
first appeared in
TIMECASTER SUPERSYMMETRY
by J.A. Konrath.

Dr. Frank Belgium
appeared in
ORIGIN
and
HAUNTED HOUSE
by J.A. Konrath.

Before I was a writer, I was a reader, and one of the dudes I loved to read was Jack Kilborn (aka J.A. Konrath). Little did I know that only a few years later I would be trying to make it as a writer myself, and that Joe would be instrumental in helping me get there. I was lucky enough to find success as a writer, and it was in large part due to the selfless and never-ending advice on Joe’s blog. He is a pioneer and my hero, and a pretty sexy guy to boot, but once upon a time he was just a writer I liked. I loved how he wrote whatever he wanted, and how he would always ‘go there’. When I started writing my own fiction, I wanted to write books like Joe, Brian Keene, J.F.Gonzalez, Jeff Strand, and all the other ‘pulp’ authors who blew my frikkin mind. I wanted to be a writer who didn’t give a shit about anything other than entertaining people. If you told me back then that I would be writing a book with one of the guys I adored for so many years as a reader, I would not have believed you. That is why it is such a crazy, unbelievable experience for me to have written a book with Joe. To me it’s like kneeling down to pray with the Pope, or kicking around a football with Pelé. Not many of us get to work with our heroes, but I have. I am blessed.

My favourite book of Joe’s was a genre-bending little novel called
ORIGIN
. It was like nothing else I had ever read and I loved it. It stayed with me forever and influenced my own fledgling ideas. When a certain story started to float around my head (which would go on to become this book), I knew that it was heavily inspired by
ORIGIN
. Because of that fact, I emailed Joe and asked him if he would let me write a book that was a direct sequel to his book, while also including some characters (Jerry and Lucas) from my technothriller
FINAL WINTER
.

Joe loved the idea and told me to go for it. So I did. Once I was done, Joe still loved it, and quickly got to work adding his own contributions. The finished book is about 50% his and 50% mine—it is as if our literary DNA mingled together and gave birth to an abomination that calls us both ‘dad’. It contains characters from both of our earlier books, which has been a heck load of fun for us to write, and hopefully a lot of fun for our fans to read.

I think I’m right in saying that neither Joe or I are bothered about winning a Pulitzer with this book, or winning some stodgy publishing award. We don’t care about writing humanity’s next great novel or becoming the next F. Scott Fitzgerald. We write books because we like it, and because we want to make a living by entertaining people. We don’t try to change the world, we just try to change you, our readers. By putting a smile on your face or making you squirm, we change you into a fan. That’s enough for me and Joe. Our only intention when writing this book was to entertain the pants off you. So make sure you have a spare pair handy.

As an added bonus, we’re including the original version that I wrote on my own, before Joe did his additions. It begins right after this middleword.

There are significant differences with both versions, and we hope you enjoy this alternate take. So sit back, relax, and enjoy. The shit is about to hit the fan.

The hotel room’s phone rang so loud that the receiver rattled on its cradle. There were many things that Andrew Dennison was thankful for: Worldwide Translation Services was finally making a profit, his debts had evaporated, and his beautiful wife lay sleeping and naked beside him, but an early morning phone call still brought misery regardless of how great life was otherwise.

RING RING.

Andy glanced at the clock next to the bed. Coming up on 7am San Diego time. If he didn’t pick up the call he’d only lie in bed wondering who it was. Any chance of regaining sleep was ruined.

Andy rolled over and fumbled for the receiver. He managed to pluck it from its holder and pressed it against the side of his face. “H-hello?”

“Mr Dennison?”

Andy sat up against the cushioned headboard. “Yes.”

“This is the hotel manager. I’ve been receiving reports of a disturbance on your floor. Is everything okay?”

Andy cleared his throat and rubbed sleep from his eyes. “Huh? Yeah, everything is fine. I was sleeping.”

“My apologies, sir. I have been trying to call the rooms adjacent to you, but they are not answering. I’m unsure what exactly is going on, but other guests have been complaining of shouting and…someone speaking in a strange language.”

“I’m American. I speak English.”

“Of course, sir. It’s just that the credit card details you provided us are registered to Worldwide Translation Services. I thought-”

Andy sighed, blinked his crusty eyelids. “I understand why you made that jump but, like I said, I’ve been asleep with my wife. It’s our honeymoon.”

“Of course, sir. I am sorry to have woken you. Please call reception if you hear anything.”

“Will do.”

The manager was still speaking when Andy put down the phone. He slid back down beneath the covers and turned to face his bride.

Sun was awake. Her eyes were open. A smirk adorned her face as she spoke in a dozy whisper. “I hope you’re not making clandestine calls to other women, Mr Dennison. I only married you yesterday.”

Andy thought about the previous day and how wonderful everything had been. The small ceremony in a rural church. He smiled. “It was the hotel manager. Apparently someone has been making a racket and he thought it was me. Obviously I look like some kind of hell raiser.”

Sun laughed. “If only they knew the truth.”

Andy chuckled and ran his fingers along Sun’s naked hips. Her skin was hot and inviting. Her perfume mingled with her natural musk.

It was time to do what honeymooners did.

There was a knock at the door.

Andy sat back up in bed. This time he shoved the covers aside and stood up. “Goddamn it. If that’s somebody from the hotel I’m going to blow a fuse.”

“Maybe it’s the
real
hell raiser,” Sun called out from the bed.

Andy stopped and stared at the door. There was a chance that whoever was at the door was the aforementioned troublemaker, the person causing all the complaints. It might be a bad idea opening up.

Then again, how dangerous can somebody staying at the Coronado be? Not many gangbangers staying in five star luxury resorts.

Andy sighed, pulled on his pants and shirt then padded over to the door. He opened it huffily, ready to give whoever was on the other side an earful.

“
TlhIngan maH!”

What the Hell…

Andy blinked, then frowned at the bleary-eyed teenager standing in the hallway. He couldn’t help but shake his head in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

The boy wobbled in place, part human being part strawberry jelly. Then he repeated the strange expression. “
TlhIngan maH!”

Andy rubbed a hand across his chin and felt stubble. “Is that… Is that
Klingon?
”

“
Qapla!”

Andy got over his surprise and remembered his irritation at being awoken. “Look, son. I speak many languages—probably some you’ve never even heard of—but right now I have no idea what gibberish is coming out of your mouth. You’ve obviously had too much to drink at the hotel bar. You should go to bed. There’s already been complaints about you, so I’d lay low if I were you.”

The boy leant forwards, almost staggered into Andy. Andy had to put a hand out just to stop the boy flopping into the wall.

“W-what are you doing in my room, dude?”

Andy shoved the boy back a step. He did so firmly, but not so hard as to provoke a fight. “I think you’ll find this is
my
room,
dude.
Now go away before I call hotel security.”

“You gotta help me. I’m…I’m so goddamn high right now.”

Andy growled. “That’s your problem. Why should I help you when you can’t even help yourself?”

The boy wobbled again but smiled merrily as if his lack of balance was an amusing challenge to contend with. “I thought this was my room. It looks like my room.”

“It’s a hotel. All the rooms look alike. Are you on holiday? Here with your parents? It sounds like you’re from England.”

The boy sneered but couldn’t seem to control his facial muscles enough to keep the expression on his face. “Parents? Don’t talk to me about…about parents. Bloody parents. Bloody knobhead England. Screw it all.”

Andy sighed. The boy was a complete mess, flying high on God knew what. Yet there was something about him that was quite innocent, almost cheerful. Besides being an annoyance, the boy was obviously harmless and in need of assistance.

“What’s your room number, kid?”

The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment, then a brief flash of sobriety returned to him. “204,” he mumbled.

Andy huffed. “This is the fourth floor. You’re not even on the right floor.”

“Let’s get him cleaned up,” said Sun, moving up behind Andy and surprising him. She rubbed a hand over his rump and squeezed. He noticed that she had gotten dressed while he had been dealing with the kid.

Andy shook his head at her. “You want me to let this moron inside our room?”

Sun shrugged her shoulders. “Today is our first day as man and wife. What type of family do you want to be? One who closes the door in people’s faces, or one that helps people when they need it?”

Andy looked at the inebriated boy and considered what a bad idea letting him in would be.

He grabbed the lad by the scruff of his jacket and dragged him inside before closing the door with his foot.

Sun took the boy by the arm and sat him down on one of the room’s plush armchairs.

“I’m too tired for this nonsense,” said Andy as he rubbed at his eyes. “I just woke up.”

“Well, we’re up now,” said Sun, “so let’s get this mess cleaned up and then we can go get breakfast.”

The thought of hot, fattening breakfast meats made Andy’s tummy grumble. Instantly his tiredness was gone. He pulled up a seat opposite the English boy and stared at him. “What’s your name, kid?”

“J-Jerry.”

“Okay, Jerry. My name is Andy and this is my wife, Sun.”

“Sun? Funny name.”

“I’m Vietnamese,” Sun added.

Jerry nodded and smiled. “I like Italians.”

Andy frowned. “Yeah…
okay
. Sun is a vet and I am a translator. We’re here on our Honeymoon. Why are you at the hotel?”

“Comic Con.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Sun chuckled. “It’s a convention they have here every year in the city. Part of the reason this room cost so much is because it’s going on right now. It’s for people who love comics and superheroes, that kind of stuff.”

Andy looked up at his wife, entertained by the fact that she knew such a thing. “So this guy’s a big nerd then?”

“Hey, who you calling a nerd?”

“Sorry, would ‘walking train wreck’ be more appropriate?”

The boy tried to sit forward but failed. He looked like a floundering fish in the oversized armchair. “I ain’t no train wreck, man. I just have a few…issues.”

Andy softened a little bit. “Okay, well, let me just tell you that getting shit-brained on whatever substance you can get your paws on is not the way to solve whatever
issues
you may have. It’s not my place to judge you, kid, but you’re not doing yourself any favours.”

The boy stared down at the floor, whether in shame or because he was having trouble focusing was unclear.

Sun went and made some coffee while Andy sat with the boy in silence. His best guess was that the lad was late teens to early twenties. He was wearing jeans and trainers with a stripy blue-and-white soccer shirt. His jacket was tatty leather. A badge clipped to the lapel read: ‘
PROBE ME HARDER
’. The boy’s greasy shoulder-length brown hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks.