Raiju: A Kaiju Hunter Novel (The Kaiju Hunter) (10 page)

How do you approach a god, except on your knees? I felt the massive pressure of its contempt and felt my legs weaken and turn to water, spilling me to the ground in front of the sword. The sword! The sword was responsible, somehow. I grabbed the hilt as the massive Kami towered over me, a fiery brilliance with a grin of saber teeth. I never would have guessed that it hated me so much. The blind, bottomless hatred of angels and demons. It snarled at me, telling me I was stupid and useless. Weak. Telling me to give up, to give in.

But I resisted the temptation to beg for my life. I might be ignorant, I might not understand what had just transpired here, but I had never been
weak
. It was not in my make up. I had been through too much already. Instead, I used the sword to pull myself to my feet so I was standing against it. It was like standing in a gale-force wind, standing against death or the end of the world, and it was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. But if I was going to die tonight, I promised myself, it would be as a man on my feet, not a child on my knees.

“
I’m not afraid of you,” I hissed through my teeth.

You will be
, it said, its lightning-blue eyes ripping through me like blades with a single look.

“
Oh go to hell,”
I screamed and yanked the sword from the ground like a modern-day King Arthur pulling Excalibur from the rock. It came out easily, no resistance at all.

The Kami halved its burning eyes at me. I couldn’t tell if it was pleased with me or infuriated by my act of insolence. With a flick of its tail, its living coat of fire seemed to go supernova, burning up like a candle flame being snuffed between two invisible fingers. Then it was gone, leaving spots of light and darkness burned against my retinas.

The sword burned up the moment it was free of the ground. Me? I fell down in the rubble of the street, trembling with exhaustion, my hair and clothes smoking coolly. I was still lying there, gagging and shaking like an epileptic some fifteen minutes later when the paramedics finally found me.

4

There’s nothing like seeing the inside of the 84
^th
Precinct when you haven’t done anything wrong. You know you’re innocent, yet you still manage to feel nervous. Like they’re going to find some dirt on you that even
you
didn’t know existed. I was still messed up after the monster tried to eat me. Being taken down to the precinct to give a statement didn’t help much.

A couple of older police officers guided me through a crowded, squalling bullpen to the desk of a young plainclothes detective. I noticed, rather absently, that KTV had finally caught up on the events of the evening, though the footage being shown on the TV in the corner of the squad room was strictly
ex post facto
at this point. The detective started asking me questions, but it took several tries before I was able to answer with any coherency. I felt numb, detached, and had a vague craving for a smoke. He asked me again and again what happened. Again and again I explained everything while staring wild-eyed at the news broadcast, but after an hour or so I found myself wallowing in mental Jell-O. I realized I was talking about flaming swords and monsters and other such things that I realized would probably contribute greatly to my long-term commitment to a nice, high-end mental institution.

“…
it happened because of the sword…the sword summoned Raiju…”

The young detective looked worried, as if he was afraid I was going to break down into hysterics.

I cupped my hands over my face, feeling like my head was going to explode. I rocked back and forth in my seat. “Mr. Serizawa knew. He knew that Raiju was waking. Somehow. He knew I would summon it with the sword!”

“
The…sword?” said the detective. He’d stopped writing my wild shit down a long time ago and just sat there, staring at me with pity-filled eyes.

“
The one I made when my hands caught on fire.” Way to go, Kev.

I was feeling panicky again and I wished I would just shut the hell up. I put my head between my knees and concentrated on just breathing and not passing out as the room swam around me like a giant aquarium. The detective must have seen something in my face because a few seconds later he was on one knee, holding a wastepaper basket under my chin while I horked violently into it. He squeezed my shoulder, said something about that being enough for now, and I never felt more affection for a stranger than when the officer gave me a paper napkin to wipe my mouth with.

He left me to talk to some other eyewitnesses. I stared at the TV as the chattering sounds of the bullpen closed in around me. I had summoned Raiju with the sword, and Raiju had fought the other monster, but none of this was
my
doing. It wasn’t like I had gone out there into the world in search of the magic sword of Castle Greyskull, for fuck’s sake.

They’d gotten all they would out of me. I wasn’t going to tell them
anything
. Not until I found out what the hell was going on.

According to the TV, the governor had declared a state of emergency for the City of New York so the National Guard could move in. The part of downtown Brooklyn where the monsters had fought had been declared a disaster zone, damage in the billions. Projects were reduced to smoldering holes in the ground. The club was completely demolished. It was like 9/11 taken to the max.

I wanted my dad. I wanted to get the hell out of here. But when I started looking frantically around for an escape, I spotted a group of men in dark suits and coats and plastic-looking hair pushing through the squad room self-importantly. They tripped my trouble radar
big
time. Definitely not police or plainclothes detectives—you can tell the difference. These guys wore all black and favored designer shades that can’t be bought on a cop’s salary. I would have guessed FBI or CIA, except they were all Japanese.

I felt a small surge of hope when I recognized the older man in the lead. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was steely-haired Dr. Mura of the infamous MuraTech—Aimi’s dad. He had made the news often enough that anyone who was a science or Greenpeace geek would recognize him. Maybe Aimi was here to take me home, I thought. But I felt my little hope wither away as soon as Dr. Mura stopped at my chair, his coat on his shoulders Mafioso-style. He didn’t look like he was here to take me home. He looked like he was here on business.

You should know something. That old joke about all Asians looking alike is totally false. Dr. Mura looks
nothing
like my dad, even though they’re both Japanese and about the same age. Unlike Dad, Dr. Mura is small and fragile-looking, with grey, sunless skin, and myopic eyes behind heavy glasses. My dad is fat and muscular, and he has the kind of open, boyish face that you trust in a heartbeat. You just know he’s looking out for your best interest. Dr. Mura, on the other hand, looks skittish, like the little nervous guy in the zombie movie that messes everything up in the end. Standing there beside his tall, muscular men in their dark, undertaker-inspired charcoal suits, a deep crease pulsing between his eyes, he looked less like one of the country’s top scientists and more like a put-upon Yakuza kingpin.

I looked up at all the Japanese men standing over me, wondering why Dr. Mura and his goons wanted to talk to me, what MuraTech could possibly want with
me
. I scrunched back in my seat when a half dozen Dagger shades turned their attention on me. They smiled like mannequins, eyes black and empty like windows to machines. Then they opened fire and the questioning began all over again.

5

Around three in the morning the MuraTech men finally let me go. By then I was beyond tired, almost punch-drunk. The windows of the old cinderblock station were pitch-black with flickering lights glinting in the darkness beyond—fires. Japantown was burning. I heard sirens as firefighters busily doused the buildings and the surrounding streets. Tomorrow there might be more. Tomorrow New York might not exist anymore.

I walked down the long, grubby hall toward the waiting room, past people sitting in cold plastic chairs, crying in groups or alone. I watched babies screaming and old people praying to gods that must have gone blind and deaf to let this happen. I felt numb somewhere in the deeper part of my bones.

I turned my thoughts back to Dr. Mura and his mannequins. Most of the questions had been standard fair, why I was there, what I saw, etc. Nobody asked me about the sword business—I guess they thought I was a crazy boy after what I had witnessed. But something about the MuraTech men were different. They seemed obsessed with every little detail. One even analyzed me by passing a Geiger counter and a wand over my clothes. I wasn’t fooled any. They might have worn dark business suits and glasses, but they all had fancy gadgets and the antiseptic smell of scientists. Their questions were far too detailed for cops or G-men. I’m not as stupid as I look.

“
It’s a qilin,” I told them.

They looked at me in confusion. They might have been Japanese by birth, but they obviously had no idea what I was talking about. The genius IQ comes in handy sometimes. “That’s a Japanese chimera, guys. It’s made up of all kinds of things—snake, centipede, frog.” They looked even more confused, but instead of explaining, I decided to annoy them some more. “You know, in Japanese mythology, centipedes look like beautiful women before they try and kill you. It couldn’t even afford the courtesy.”

I was tired and pissed off. So sue me.

The four scientists-in-disguise started grumbling in Japanese, but Dr. Mura killed that with a single look. Gotta love a guy who can give the ol’ hairy eyeball. They still looked confused by my assessment, but seemed satisfied overall by their findings. Nobody laughed at my joke, but they did let me go after that.

“
I hope you catch your monster,” I said as I slipped into the remnants of my tattered jacket. I didn’t say anything about MuraTech. I knew they were on the payroll, but some stuff is better off if it stays between you and me. I exited stage left without a goodbye.

Out in the hallway, though, Dr. Mura stopped me with a hand on my arm. “I heard you helped my daughter with some bullies,” he said, mincing his words not because he didn’t know English, but only because it was obvious he didn’t use it a lot.

I was surprised by his out-of-freakin’-nowhere statement, let me tell you. I shrugged so he didn’t think I was going to be cocky about it. “Yeah, Troy and Zack. They’re a couple of jerks.”

“
My daughter can take care of herself,” he growled, surprising me further. “Just leave her alone, Mr. Takahashi.”

Oo
kay.

I stared at Dr. Mura’s rock-hard face until he suddenly let go of my arm and stepped back so he could assess me like some new form of bacterium in need of eradication. This was going to take some getting used to. Back in my old school I was the safe, geeky guy that fathers actually
liked
when he came to pick up their daughters, fat and harmless. I wasn’t used to this new
suspicious-parent-ready-to-beat-down-on-bad-boy
play, you know? I just backed away, then turned around and wasted no time exiting stage left.

My dad was waiting for me in the reception room, looking more shrunken than ever. I almost didn’t recognize him except that he was still wearing his stained cook’s whites—complete with deep-fried calamari smell—and a ratty green Army surplus jacket that I would have recognized anywhere. He had gotten it off a relief truck the night San Francisco was leveled, and he’d never parted with it again. He was leaning forward in a cold plastic chair with his hands pressed together as if he was praying, but I knew better. He was remembering, worrying. Obsessing.

He jumped up when he saw me, then just hung there for a second like a puppet without strings. Like everyone else, he didn’t know why this was happening, what we had all done to deserve this.

Come to think of it, neither did I.

6

On the ride home things got better in the van. And worse.

Dad drove clutching the steering wheel like a lifeline, downshifting constantly to make the van grip the road that was slicked by all the junk the fire trucks were using to douse the flames in the streets. His face was as impenetrable as a fortress, like he was trying to keep everything from spilling in. Or out.

I felt the gnawing need for a cigarette. Biting a dirty fingernail, I turned to the window. The city had sprouted small, random patches of flame that licked upward like monstrous tongues. A derelict car burned. People drifted together to watch a restaurant being doused by the fire brigade. Squads of roving police chased looters away from abandoned shops. A dog howled in response to the never-ending scream of sirens. Great stuff to rattle your nerves. None of the fires seemed to be spreading, but it had taken the firefighters all night to get them under control.

Traffic was detoured around the disaster zone, which stretched twelve city blocks. Traffic being what it was in this town, that meant it was going to be some time before we got home. “Are you sure you’re all right?” Dad asked for the zillionth time. He looked me up and down. “I could take you to St. Mary’s, if you want.”