Project Maigo (33 page)

“Typhon,” I say. “Target Typhon.”

“Are you sure?” Endo asks. He’s only heard one side of the conversation, but he knows the plan. “Typhon looks...”

“Smart,” I say. “Yeah, I know. But there’s no way the neural implant is going to get past Karkinos’s armor.”

He thinks on it briefly and then nods, turning back to the impending rumble. I glance up, too, watching as Nemesis turns to fight the two newcomers. For a moment, I think she’s made a mistake, turning her back on Scylla, but she raises that killer tail in the air and slams it down on Scylla’s belly. It doesn’t pierce the skin, but Scylla lurches up, howling in pain.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask into the phone.

“I already adjusted the frequency to match your headset and we’re locked on,” Alessi says.

I put my hand on top of my head, feeling the modified beanie cap. It’s tight and in place, ready to connect my mind to another. If my bucket list included an entry for
Most Idiotic Thing Anyone Has Ever Done in the History of the World and Probably the Universe
, I could check it off after this. Connecting to Nemesis was one thing. She didn’t resist. But one of these Kaiju? They’re the very definition of hostile. My mental presence isn’t going to be welcome. I could end up in a coma, like Endo, or I could end up lobotomized. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

44

I’m able to pinpoint Betty’s position when they launch the neural implant. I can’t hear the rocket propelling the device through the night sky, but I can see the plume of fire at its rear. As I watch the projectile’s progress, I’m struck by a realization. Whatever defense force that was assaulting these Kaiju, has stopped or pulled back.

“Endo,” I shout. “Find out where the military is!”

He looks at me, confused for a moment. I probably shouldn’t be focused on such things right before a Kaiju mind-meld. But then I can see he understands the significance. If the military is heading for the hills, maybe I made Beck a little too brave, and he’s willing to drop that nuke on his own head.

And ours.

And Collins’s.

Endo gets on his phone while I continue watching the implant’s progress. It slides through the air, a twinkling light.

Too bright
, I think.

While Karkinos starts an emotion-fueled roaring match with Nemesis, the two long-tailed Kaiju squaring off, Typhon stands still, watching. His head is titled slightly, his eyes unwavering. I’m not sure Typhon feels much at all, beyond loathing. As the implant closes the distance toward the side of his head, he glances at it.

I breathe deeply, preparing myself for the connection. I’m not sure what to expect, aside from the agonizing pain Endo described.

Typhon slowly turns toward the implant, and the rocket adjusts its trajectory, remaining on course. But then the Kaiju proves his intelligence by raising one of his mighty hands and swatting the implant from the sky like it were simply an annoying bug. I don’t think he knew exactly what it was—there’s no way he’s that smart—but he recognizes it as a threat. He’s seen enough missiles to know they’re not friendly.

Although part of me is relieved that I’m not currently engaged in a mental scuffle with Typhon, this is a horrible development. Karkinos is naturally defended from the implant and it seems that Typhon won’t let anything strike his face. Even if the Air Force were bombarding the pair with missiles and the implant snuck through, it’s likely it would be destroyed by an errant explosion.

That’s when I realize we have an easier target. I turn my attention back to Scylla. The Kaiju looks like he’s lounging in the little water that remains in the Reflecting Pool. His upper lip crinkles over and over, revealing his long teeth. He’s still stunned, but for how long?

I’m about to dial Woodstock when my phone chirps. I accept the call without looking at the screen. “Scylla.”

“What?” a female voice says.

The voice is familiar, but it’s not Collins or Alessi. “Who is this?”

“Betty,” says the woman.

I feel like I’ve been slapped. “
Girlfriend
Betty?”

“What other kind of Betty is there?”

“How did you get this number?” I ask.

“Some guy named Watson,” she says. “But listen. With everything that’s happened, I’ve seen you on TV. I started thinking. Maybe I was—”

I say the only thing I can think of, “Click,” and then hang up, making a mental note to have a chat with Watson about security.

My phone rings again and I answer. “Betty, you better—”

“You can address me,” Alessi says. “Not the helicopter.”

Helicopter Betty. Thank God.
“Target Scylla,” I say.

“I hear you,” she says. “I’m just not sure where to target her.”

“Endo,” I say, pulling him away from his conversation with whoever it is he called. “We’re going to try the implant on Scylla. Where should we—”

“Back of the head,” he says. “Behind the eye. Either side will do.” Then he’s back to his conversation.

I relay the information, and Alessi hands me over to Collins while she preps the second—and final—attempt.

“Hey,” Collins says, almost casually. “I just wanted to let you know that if you become a vegetable after this, I’m not going to sit around feeding you pudding.”

I can’t help but smile. “But I love hospital pudding.”

“It would make you fat, lying there all immobile,” she says.

“This is true. What if I give you permission in advance to take advantage of my vegetative body? Have your way with me?”

She laughs, which further dispels some of my tension. “You sure know what to say to a woman.”

“What?” I say. “Who wouldn’t want to fool around with a pasty white, atrophying, unconscious man?”

I’m laughing now too, and I’m starting to second-guess this plan. We could just walk away now. Let nature take its course. Sure, we might spend the rest of our lives in hiding from Gordon and his Kaiju, but we’d be alive and together.

Unfortunately for me, I’m drawn toward doing the right thing like Nemesis is to vengeance. I can’t walk away. No matter what the cost. Someone has to put an end to this madness, and I’m pretty much the only one who can.

“We’re almost in position,” Collins says, her voice sobering up.

I scan the night sky and find the running lights blinking red and white, much closer than before. They’re a half mile from Scylla, holding steady at a hundred feet.

Before I can order them to fire, I hear a rough, organic scraping sound and turn back to Nemesis. Karkinos and Typhon have held their position, a safe distance from Nemesis. Perhaps sizing her up, looking for weaknesses. But Nemesis, who has more experience in the destruction category, not to mention the Kaiju-slaying category, isn’t about to give them time.

Her chest heaves. Her mouth opens.

She’s about to hock another explosive loogie. I’ve come up with a few different names for the attack. Meteoric Boom Wad was in the lead for a while. But when I thought about the act of spitting at someone and what it means, I came up with Scorching Contempt, an attack reserved for when she’s just had enough of her attacker’s shit. “Hold your fire,” I shout into the phone. “Get down. Down! Down! Down!”

I have no idea if Collins heard me or if Woodstock took action. There isn’t time. I take hold of Endo’s arm, yanking him along. He’s running behind me a moment later, sprinting across the White House roof. There’s a wet pop behind us. I can’t see it, but I know Nemesis has just fired off a bright orange wad. We have just seconds.

The door is open when we arrive, soldiers venturing outside again. “Back!” I wave my arms at them like a wounded bird. “Back inside!”

Happily, the men listen, ducking back while one of them holds the door open for Endo and me. We partly run, partly fall down the stairs. The soldier slams the door closed behind us. He looks down and shouts something at us, but his voice is drowned out by a thunderous boom that rattles the entire building. The shaking lasts for just five seconds, but the power goes out, plunging the already dark, red-lit hallway into absolute darkness.

For a moment, the men in the hallway are silent, perhaps all as surprised as I am to still be alive. I find the stairs in the dark and climb to the top, placing my hand against its steel surface. It’s warm, but not hot. The explosion didn’t reach the White House.

I yank the door open and stumble into the night. The air reeks of smoke, and not the campfire variety. This is the acrid smoke of civilization burning. Concrete, plastic, chemicals and people. It can’t be healthy to breathe, but I hardly notice it as I run back to my rooftop perch. Putting the binoculars to my eyes, I look for Betty. The helicopter is nowhere in sight.

But are they dead?

I take my phone out, but notice my surroundings for the first time. Glowing orange timbers float through the air like a million fireflies. A massive circle, a mile around Nemesis in all directions, has been scorched. The White House is just a half mile beyond the destruction. Nemesis stands at the center of the destruction, unfazed. Her opponents appear equally uninjured by the explosion. They’re the only things still standing.

Endo steps up to me, looking concerned. “The helicopter?”

Like me, he’s selfishly more worried about the chopper than the fact that a large portion of Washington, D.C. just got erased. I shake my head and ask, “Who is she? Alessi?”

She’s not a girlfriend or lover. I’ve never gotten that vibe. But they care for each other deeply.

“Half-sister,” he says.

Geez. I dial the number. It rings through to voicemail, and I try again with the same results. I’m about to suggest we go find them when twin roars make me cringe. Karkinos is charging, head down, spikes up. Typhon is moving too, arcing around to flank Nemesis. The real fight is about to begin.

45

Ashley Collins awoke to the smell of smoke. She coughed twice, each flex of her lungs bringing a fresh stab of pain to her skull. She groaned and put her hand to the side of her head, the source of the pain. Her hair was tacky wet. Blood.

She blinked her eyes. With clearer vision, she looked around Betty’s interior.
What...?
Unable to make sense of the sideways world, Collins closed her eyes again and took several long breaths, focusing her thoughts.

They had received a warning from Jon. She remembered a sudden, lurching dive behind a building. Then the helicopter tilted and they dropped.

We crashed
, she realized, opening her eyes again.

The helicopter lay on its side. Collins was still strapped in place in the back seat. A spider-web fracture in the window beside her, now looking down at the pavement, revealed where she’d hit her head. Woodstock and Alessi were both missing. The view through the shattered cockpit window was fractured, but she could see a city street, lined with cars. Further ahead, at an intersection, black smoke rolled down the side street, lit by thousands of glowing, fairy-like embers.

One of the Kaiju immolated,
Collins thought.
We’re lucky to be alive.

Bracing her left arm against the window, she unbuckled from the seat. Gravity yanked her down, slamming her against the window. Her body ached all over, and she felt a nearly overwhelming desire to sleep, but she fought against it, remembering what was at stake.
Who
was at stake.

Jon is depending on us.

She slid into the front seat and noticed two things at once: the chopper still had power and the passenger door was open. Careful not to break anything on the control panel, Collins climbed up and out of the open door. Outside the chopper, she could hear the distant roaring of angry Kaiju, unaffected by the blast, but the sounds of the city and the military had faded. Now other sounds filled the void.

“Sonuvabitch!”

Woodstock.

Collins slid herself over the chopper’s side, moving toward the voice, and leaned over the edge. Woodstock and Alessi were both below her, working on the chopper, but they didn’t look good. Woodstock had a visibly broken leg. Alessi yanked on a wrench with one arm while the other hung useless. Despite their injuries, they were trying to free the neural implant launcher mounted to the chopper’s underside.

“I can’t get it with one arm,” Alessi complained.

“Well, I can’t very well stand, now can I?” Woodstock said, “So you’re going to have to—”

“I think I can get it,” Collins said.

Alessi looked up, saw Collins and all but collapsed. “Thank God.”

Collins slid over the side and dropped to the macadam. She landed gracefully, despite the protests of her body and her head. She was in serious pain, but compared to Woodstock and Alessi, she was healthy.

Alessi held up the wrench. “There’s just one bolt left.”

“You should have woken me up,” Collins said, taking the wrench.