Beyond Armageddon: Book 02 - Empire (22 page)

As the trio of rescuers regained their composure, a pair of black-clad Hunter-Killer handlers stumbled from the ruins of the museum as well as a bunch of German shepherds and Rottweilers.

“I hate things like that,” Nina’s driver said as he wiggled a finger in his ear to clear away the ringing bell.

“Things like what?” The navigator asked.

“They don’t serve no purpose, it’s not like they’re animals,” the driver answered as he took to stretching his mouth in a series of yawns in another attempt to clear the ringing. “The Sloths and the Stumphides…they’re just animals. But things like those statues, they don’t eat, they don’t shit, they just walk around trying to clobber us.”

Nina added her two cents: “I guess all monsters aren’t created equal.”

The rescued HK squad offered their thanks but a radio call interrupted.

“Overwatch to Boss, you copy?”

Nina unclipped the walkie-talkie from her belt.

“Boss here, go ahead, Overwatch.”

“You know that Stumphide you were looking for…”

…Islands of grass and trees separated the east and west bound lanes of
Market Street
as it ran spine-like through
Wilmington
.

A Stumphide straddled one of those islands as it moved along in search of unlucky prey.

The “Stump” came from four legs as thick as trees capable of pulverizing a car—let alone a man—into a pile of scrap. The “Hide” referred to the thick, green leathery skin stretched over a cylinder shaped body.

Two yellow eyes sat menacingly above a crescent maw filled by sharp teeth with wiry fir atop a football-shaped skull. Making matters worse, a dozen short tendrils sprouted from what might be its ‘cheeks’ to grasp prey.

Judging by the tub of fat dangling from this one’s belly, it had enjoyed thinning the heard of Sloths infesting
Wilmington
.

Nina stood fifty yards from the big monster, watching and waiting for the thing to take notice of her. The creature grabbed a rusting motorcycle with its tendrils, crunched down on the chrome, decided it did not like the taste, and threw the bike aside. At that moment, its yellow eyes looked ahead and saw.

Flanking Nina stood a wall of K9s staring and panting.

The monster and the dog army eyed one another like gunfighters in the old west waiting to draw.

Nina heard the Rottweilers, Dobermans, and Shepherds growl and snarl, their paws scraping the pavement in an anticipation held in check only by the invisible fence of their obedience; waiting for the command.

She gave it.

“Swarm.”

The army of canines ran at full gallop toward the hideous creature capable of splattering any single one of the dogs with a step. Their paws clattered off the pavement as they rolled forward like a flood of claws and fangs. No hesitation. No fear. Nothing other than the desire to follow the master’s command to kill.

They smashed into the Stumphide, first a dozen snouts grabbing and biting, then twenty, then thirty, then more.

It stomped its legs and grabbed with its tendrils, throwing dogs off like rag dolls, their bodies crashed into buildings, the sidewalk, fences, and abandoned cars.

Nevertheless, the dogs charged.

That hideous mouth swallowed a Shepherd whole.

Yet the K9s did not falter.

Its short tendrils strangled a Rottweiler while its massive feet crushed two more.

The Grenadiers concentrated on the tree-trunk-like legs, tearing at them until the flesh cracked and splintered, laying bare muscle and bone.

A gargled howl came from the beast and it stomped with its wounded leg, killing three K9s and crippling another. The dogs tore into the wound, gnawing, tearing, chewing, and clawing.

           
A mound of Grenadiers—alive and dead—formed around the Stumphide with some actually climbing on their comrades to rip into the face of the monster.

           
It threw more off, smashed others, but its legs stamped with less power, less enthusiasm.

           
Finally, as two dozen Grenadiers lay dead on
Market Street
, the monstrosity collapsed to its side.

           
With its belly exposed, the creature was doomed.

           
The K9s enveloped the animal as if they were a school of piranha, ripping and tearing with a ferocity that even gave Nina a chill…

…For the rest of the day, the helicopter circled above relaying information. Human hunters used more heavy weapons to dispatch several larger hostiles including a giant turtle with an insect head, but the K9s were the shock troops.

Battering rams knocked open doors and Grenadiers poured in. They moved along the boulevards and alleyways relentlessly. No battle fatigue, no hesitation, no second thoughts.

Elements of the second column reached and cleared the college campus at the center of town by late afternoon while other elements pushed east toward the coast.

By nightfall, sixty K9s from the first column and half that number from the second died in the invasion, but an untold number of hostiles also met their fate.

Darkness did not stop the hunt.

Human fighters used night vision while the dogs relied on their acute hearing and smell to track prey.

Several of the humanoid-like Mutants—with their oversized mouths and forked tongues—were found and killed while others made at least a temporary escape on hoverbikes.

Grenadiers shredded a pack of Ghouls and both types of Sloths fell by the hundreds.

As morning neared, the intensity of the fighting waned as hostiles disappeared from the street, retreating to hiding spots. Extermination changed from massed attacks to smaller units tracking and cornering alien creatures.

Not long after dawn,
Captain
Nina
Forest
traveled by helicopter to the eastern part of the city in response to a civilian request for emergency assistance.
 

The helicopter landed on a stretch of gorgeous beach near a row of fancy condominiums and ocean view homes in an area known as
Wrightsville
Beach
.

She exited her ride and moved out from under the whirring blades that spawned a miniature sandstorm. There she found a small gathering of Hunter-Killer units among a group of human survivors.

One of those people—dressed in patchwork clothes but in decent physical shape—approached her in an urgent gait. The older man with white hair and a permanent tan offered his hand but Nina felt it a gesture born of impulse, not thought.

“Hello, hello, are you the commanding officer?”

Nina nodded. “
Captain
Forest
. What’s the emergency?”

“We need your help, desperately.”

“Yes, I know,” Nina told him. “You’ll be safe soon. Most of the city is under our control already.”

“Yes, yes, that’s wonderful, but that’s not the problem. It’s the children. They took them.”

She tilted her head and asked, “Children? What children? Who took them? Where?”

The man caught his breath and explained. “The orphans. Jim Brock’s orphans. A bunch of what you call ‘Mutants’ snuck over the bridge and grabbed them. They left one behind to tell us they want safe passage out of the city or they will kill all the hostages by sunset.”

“Mutants leaving messages? Taking hostages? That’s new.”

“Please, you have to help us. They’re just kids.”

Nina rested a hand on his shoulder and assured, “Nothing to it.”

en-clave
n.
1
. A country or part of a country lying wholly within the boundaries of another.
2.
A distinctly bounded area enclosed within a larger unit.

           
Jon Brewer closed his eyes and filled his lungs with a deep inhale.

           
A fine mist carried across his face and the distinct aroma of salt water filled his nose. He heard the splash and surge of the ocean parting as the shark-like craft cut through the
Labrador Sea
.

           
He opened his eyes again and did not see much more than he saw with them closed. His entire trip felt shrouded in darkness. Perhaps that was appropriate.

           
Built for stealth, the submarine did not offer any external lighting. Its colorless hull pushed through a lightless ocean.

           
Jon stood in the conning tower of the
Newport News
as it sailed northeasterly. It would be a long while before they made it to Qaanaaq. Even then, their journey would not be complete. The coordinates indicated that the “X” marking the spot on Jon’s version of a treasure map waited even further north and further inland.

           
He expected that being bottled up in the submarine would become difficult over the next several days, particularly once they submerged again. Yet he wondered if it would be easy compared to the low temperatures, the bone-chilling wind gusts, and the hazardous terrain that awaited the
Greenland
leg of their trip.

           
“What’s on your mind?” Captain Farway stood in the cramped conning tower next to Brewer. They each held a cup filled with a liquid close in taste to hot tea.

           
“Just looking ahead.”

           
Farway said, “Not much to see out here. Not on a cloudy night like this.”

           
“Oh I can see it just fine,” Brewer answered. “I can see the snow and the cold and Lord knows what else is waiting for us up there.”

           
“I sure hope it’s worth it,” the Captain said. “Me? I’m not much for all this…all this…well I guess I’m not sure what to call it.”

“I’d call it crazy ass bull shit.”

           
“You certainly have a way with words.”

           
“Problem is,” Jon said, “I reckon as crazy as it may sound it sure as hell ain’t bull shit.”

           
‘Reckon’ had become a regular part of Jon Brewer’s vocabulary after having spent so much time around Jerry Shepherd.

           
The submarine Captain agreed, “I suppose you may be right about that.”

           
“So tell me,” Jon asked. “Where did you spend the Apocalypse?”

           
Farway chuckled, probably in reaction to the ease with which words like “apocalypse” and “Armageddon” were used.

“Now let me try and remember,” the Captain put his fingers to his chin in a reflective posture. “We were assigned to the George Washington Battle Group touring the
Persian Gulf
. Always seemed a reason or two for heading in that direction, you recall.”

           
“Yeah, I watched the news back then.”

           
“Anyway, we didn’t know as much as the surface boys because you don’t get to watch too much CNN when you’re several fathoms underwater. But we started hearing about the higher alert status, then Defcon 2, then all sorts of shit.”

           
Jon watched the skipper as he gazed at the field of blackness ahead. He knew Farway’s eyes looked not at the horizon, but back through time.

           
“Lots of confusion, no real info. I guess it was a week into things and we launched a bunch of tomahawks in support of the ground forces in
Baghdad
. They didn’t tell us what we were shooting at but I have to assume it wasn’t a bunch of terrorists or insurgents. You don’t need four cruise missiles for that. I also heard that the air sorties picked up so much that some thought we were back at the beginning of the war again.” Farway licked his lips. “Then the
Vella
Gulf
went up.”

           
“
Vella
Gulf
?” Jon recognized the name but could not quite place it.

           
“Aegis class cruiser. Part of our strike group.”

           
“Oh.”

           
“Something in the water hit it. Something big. Came up right from underneath so fast that the sonar didn’t give much warning. The whole thing went down in about ten minutes. We could hear the transmissions from the rescue teams. Whatever took out the Vella stayed around for a while and went after the rescue boats. We didn’t get much of a description, just lots of yelling. Whatever it was, somebody finally hit it with something and sent it down. We weren’t a part of that action but I think I speak for the entire crew when I say we found it rather disturbing. I’m sure you can understand.”

           
Jon nodded. “Yeah, I understand.”

           
“So then we get orders for the battle group to return to port in
Norfolk
. We had a big problem at
Suez
. Apparently, no one was around to let us through. Didn’t matter, though. We sent teams ashore to take care of that. There aren’t any locks on the
Suez
, so it’s not nearly as big a deal as
Panama
. Must have been late July when we were half way home. What happens then? The group gets split up.”