Kaiju Rising: Age of Monsters (23 page)

I should have specified the right to choose my own costumes.

Derecho is wearying. She will have a full day between this bout and the next—there is no question that we will win and move on to the finals, Goodnight Industrial doesn't keep me for nothing—but she must have some rest.

Derecho's tusks will be gilded on Saturday, for the finals, but today, they gleam a soft, waxen cream under the harsh lights. We groomed her well, and showed her affection, bolstered her flagging spirits. She does not understand, but she will fight.

Her opponent is alien, I'm sure of it. I haven't seen her, but in my head, she's sleek and sharp as a razorblade. Doesn't need a Shepherd, probably can't actually be held by one but restrains herself so she can torment him. Poor kid. He is real proud of himself, how easily he tamed her when she was found. Sociopathic fuck. Just waiting for him to get boring. The doctors probably can't explain what is eating his body and mind, turning him into a puppet. Not all monsters are worthy of my pity, but I do appreciate the irony. I will not abide competition though, and this one...

...this one's angular white head flies across the arena, torn whole from her neck. Derecho is wounded, badly, raining blood and panting in exhaustion, but I am glad of her victory. The alien beast is not something I want in my head anymore.

I finger the chain around my neck, disguising my disgust as nerves. Two more days. One more fight.

~

“You should be committed.”

My punished body is limp and quieted, but he has not, for some reason, left. We have played this deadly game for four years, since I was old enough to want a man in my bed, and he has always left as soon as possible.

“Whatever are you talking about, Hunter?” I stretch languidly, but he growls and grabs my jaw, dragging me up face him.

“I hate this world as much as you do, but you are mad to think you can change it.”

Ahh. That. The playfulness flees, bloodlust nibbling the corners of my mind again.

In the aftermath of the apocalypse, those few fortunates who maintained control of the most necessary resources—oil, steel, guns, copper, food—leveraged their power to turn themselves into fat parasites on the broken backs of humanity. I'd lost count of how many soldiers I saw wandering the streets those few times I was allowed out, missing arms, legs, souls. How many broken hovels housed how many families, how many slaves powered the dawning age.

“It is a madness worth indulging, if it changes.”

“You would alert them that our kind exists.”

“Maybe that's the plan. We've hidden behind our cousins long enough, made them suffer while we stayed safe. We're not much better than the barons.”

His powerful hand tightens even more. He is making speech difficult. “It wouldn't end for them, just because you put us in harm's way. You think you'd be a free woman if they knew? Think you'd have those beautiful gowns and the luxury of choosing your bedmate?”

I envy my bestial cousins. Some of them can spit fire, and I would dearly love to melt him right now. “Maybe they won't be around to threaten us.”

I beat my fist into the bed and sit up, heat burning in my eyes. “I
hate
this life, hate making the beasts kill and die for someone's momentary pleasure.”

He holds me for a minute longer, before pulling me into his lap and kissing me deeply. “What can I do?”

~

My gown today is cloth-of-gold in an outlandish style, the sheer bodice beaded with purple and pearl, my hair caught in a net of gold wire, a filigree of gold covering my face. The weather reports are good, the wind blowing any contamination away from us. Today only, the roof will
be drawn back, the public will be welcomed into the cheap seats, and I will shine in the hot sun like the vengeful goddess I am. My hunter stands in the shadows, protecting me in case I miss a few dangers, ready to bolster me if I encounter unexpected resistance. He is no longer my escape, but my consort and right hand. He fears that I am not prepared for what I will unleash, but he will stand with me.

Derecho senses my turmoil. Her tusks gleam as brightly as my dress, her little eyes squinting, dazzled by the sun she hasn't seen since her capture. Perhaps she knows that she will not be the one on display today.

The band is lively, the crowds eager to see the monsters. Charlie Goodnight takes my hand and leads me onto the platform, facing the crowd, and introduces me. His smart cream suit and burgundy ascot do nothing for his doughy face, and I can only imagine how awful our costumes must look next to my fellow Shepherd, who wears the yellow and green of Hercules Oil.

I am briefly annoyed, as Melusine, the HO monster, is a beautiful, draconian beast, but devilishly hard to manage, as I recall. I would have preferred Emma Innismoth's privately-owned beast, a tentacled, horrific monstrosity who struck fear into human and monster alike, but was relatively stupid and tractable. Ah, well. Melusine's beauty next to Derecho's terrible, raw strength would play well on the news, when my plan was finished, and I had handled worse.

The brass band strikes up, the introductions must be done. I am already deep in the other Shepherd's head, although she doesn't seem to know it yet. I am similarly curled beneath the waking minds of every luminary in the crowd. The commoners may or may not survive, I really don't care. It is the bright and beautiful I will collect today. Peasants die all the time. I should know, I was one. I would be sorry for them, but they had chosen to be here, to revel in the sickness.

“What do monsters fear?” my hunter asked me that day, sitting next to me in Nikolai's office. My lip had been split a few days, and was oozing again, and he'd wiped it away, gently, and given me water. I realize now that he wasn't much older than I was, making a living, hiding as best he could in plain sight, the hunted masquerading as the Hunter, comforting the monstrous queen in the garb of the slave. Looking back, I can appreciate what brought us together.

“Monsters fear nothing,” I'd said, but now I knew better.

The stage is set. I step away from Charlie, a strange, thrilling certainty stringing through me.

They fear the greater evil, and today, that evil is not tentacled horror from the depths, or blood-stained hell-pig, or beautiful, mythological monster.

In each mind, I stretch. This is the first time I have unfurled my full power. Even I do not know what I am capable of, or what other monsters are hiding in plain sight. I relish the possibilities.

Monsters fear waking to something worse leaning over their beds, reaching from between the stairs to grasp their ankles, pulling that one critical tile from their empire.

They struggle, no more to my power than wiggling worms on a hook. One by one, they rise from their seats. Melusine's handler opens the cage door, as does Derecho's. Melusine will not hold for long, she is slippery and fractious. Derecho is curious, the fog of battle cleared from her mind. This is what I was made for.

Perhaps it is the most fearful who scrabble the most power to themselves, creating shells and buttressed walls of influence and wealth. Perhaps they forget that this armor is a thing outside themselves, but they never forget that empty space just a breath below their feet.

I puppet-march the kings and queens of the world to the killing floor for my kindred to feed on, and in their blood is painted retribution, and revolution.

Monsters fear what we all fear: that someday, they will find they are not the sharpest teeth, the greatest hunger, or the most dreadful nightmare.

Heartland

Shane Berryhill

“Carol, let’s talk about this, honey.”

Carol Blevins stood in her kitchen doorway, keeping her distance as she aimed her husband’s Glock at his chest. The gun felt light in her hands and smelled of fresh oil. Joe had always been meticulous in the upkeep of his police-issue sidearm.

“There’s nothing more to say, Joe. Now, pick those up off the counter, and cuff yourself to the hinge of the refrigerator door.”

“Carol.”

“Now.”

“Carol…!”

The Glock barked, and a spot of tile next to Joe’s feet vanished as the bite of gunsmoke filled the air, overpowering mingling scents of cleaner and disinfectant.

Joe hurled curses at his wife, but Carol didn’t care. He was moving now, doing what she wanted. What she needed.

“Good and snug,” she said.

“What is it you think you’re going to do?” Joe snapped a cuff around his left wrist. “Take the kids and run? Where are you going to run to? There’s no way you’ll escape us. None.”

Carol knew who her husband meant by
us
—Joe’s fellow policemen, the sheriff and his other deputies. But her problems were even bigger. The entire town of Heartland itself was her enemy, now.

“Lock the other cuff on that top hinge.”

“Carol—”

“Do it!”

Joe obeyed, and then Carol was down the hall and into their bedroom. The Glock went into the back of her jeans, and her husband’s duffle bag came out onto the bed. Entire drawers of clothing quickly followed. As Carol packed, she attempted to block out the sound of Joe’s grunts and swears as he repeatedly tried and failed to pull the refrigerator from its resting place between kitchen counter and wall.

She moved into Janie’s bedroom, and her husband’s voice came thundering down the hall.

“What the hell is the matter with you? What you’re doing is wrong, Carol. I mean, think it through, babe. You’ve got nowhere to go. You’ll be a fugitive. No one will take you in. No one will hide you. There’s not a single place in Heartland you can go where you’ll be safe.”

Carol stuffed a final pair of blue jeans into the duffle bag and moved into her son’s room.

“Carol, baby, please.” The edge was gone from Joe’s voice. “You know what will happen if you go through with this. You know what will happen to—”

“You and Heartland can go to hell!” Carol bit her lip. She’d allowed Joe to draw her in. She couldn’t afford to let her emotions get the better of her. Not right now.

With the pills, she’d kept things under control when her mother had died of cancer. When she’d found out about Joe’s affairs. And if she could keep her cool then, she sure as hell could do it now.

She had to. Pills or no pills.

Carol slung the duffle bag over her shoulder and returned to her bedroom to grab a final item—her husband’s duty belt. If nothing else, the radio on it might help her stay a step ahead once the Heartland police came for her. And the police would indeed come for her and her children. Them and more.

Much more.

Carol fast-walked down the hall. She dreaded having to pass Joe on her way to the garage, but short of hauling the duffle bag through the front door and coming back around, there was nothing for it.

She entered the kitchen and kept walking, her eyes fixed on the door opposite that led into the garage, her back already beginning to ache from the load she bore.

“Carol, Please. We can work this out, babe.”

Carol reached the door and opened it. The scent of the police cruiser’s settling engine wafted up to her on dry, dusty air.

“Carol, baby. Please. I love you, K-bear.”

Carol halted. Unable to help herself, she turned and peered at her husband. He stood, his left arm dangling from the fridge, gazing at her with pleading blue eyes. The brown curls that had draped over those frost-chipped eyes in high school were no longer present, but her husband was still as handsome as ever.

“I love you, too, Joe.”

She felt tears wanting to fall at the truth of her words, but caught them before they could. She turned and pulled the door shut behind her, muffling Joe’s renewed pleas.

The black duffle bag and duty belt went into the rear of the olive green Jeep Cherokee parked next to the cruiser. Next came the tent and sleeping bags bought for a camping trip they’d planned but never taken thanks to life always getting in the way.

Bags loaded, Carol slammed the Jeep’s rear door and made her way to the vehicle’s left side. Joe’s muffled shouts continued to bleed from the kitchen.

Carol slid into the Jeep’s driver seat and shut the door behind her, eclipsing her husband’s cries. Her purse sat just where she’d left it—between the captain’s chairs. She fished out her car keys. Dropped them. Picked them up. Dropped them again. Picked them up again and tried and failed to stick them into the Jeep’s ignition.

She sighed, her
body deflating as she sank into her chair. She laid the keys on the passenger seat and brought up her right hand so she could gaze at her outstretched fingers.

They trembled.

Carol looked at her purse, wanting the Zoloft she had tucked away inside. Wanted it like an itch wants a scratch. Like the desert wants water.

No. If I have any chance at this, I’ve got to keep a clear head.

She balled her hand into a tight fist. Held it that way. Opened it again.

A little more steady, this time. Not much, but a little.

That a girl. You can do this.
For Janie, you can do this.

Carol exhaled the breath she only partially realized she’d been holding and scooped the keys off the seat. This time, when she went for the ignition, the key struck home, and the Jeep rumbled to life. She punched the remote hanging from the passenger-side visor, and bright sunlight spilled into the garage.

Carol placed the Jeep in reverse and backed outside, dead leaves powdering beneath her tires. Once out on the street, she shifted into drive and pressed down on the accelerator. Dead lawns and prefab brick homes decorated with pumpkins and hay bales moved past her on either side, the Appalachian Mountains keeping pace behind them. Heartland was just like thousands of other small towns across America. If Carol hadn’t known what went on in the town—hadn’t been a part of it—she never would’ve suspected the evil that dwelled just beneath its surface.

A shadow fell across the Jeep, and Carol’s heart froze in her chest. She looked up and sighed with relief to see only a cloud drifting across the sun’s face. The tears she’d been holding back finally began to fall.

~

“I need you to stay in the car while I get your sister, Luke.”

Carol Blevins stared at her thirteen-year-old son in the Jeep’s rearview mirror. Luke sat in the backseat, immersed in his handheld video game console. He was built like Joe—long and lean—but fate had robbed him of his father’s blue eyes. All things considered, Carol thought it was just as well.

Janie was another matter. She was her father’s daughter, through and through.

“Luke, I’m talking to you.”

Luke nodded, but his eyes remained glued on the game. “Sure, Mom. Right here.”

Carol sighed. “I love you, pumpkin. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Mom. Love you, too.”

Carol opened the door and got out of the car. She paused for a moment, turning her head in either direction to gaze up and down the street. She expected to hear the wail of sirens just before police cruisers like the one she hoped was still parked in their garage came barreling around either corner bookending the high school.

But no sirens sounded, and no police cars came.

Still, she knew she was running out of time. Carol imagined the cops showing up and taking Luke and quickly shoved the image from her mind.

She had to get moving.

Carol entered the high school through its glass-paned doors and marched straight into the principal’s office. It was across the hall from the school cafeteria, and the smell of cooked meat hung heavy in the air.

Debbie Hester, the school’s lead admin, sat in the office’s foyer behind an ancient metal desk. Sequins blanketed the obese woman’s layers of sweaters, and she reeked of off-brand perfume.

Their eyes met, and Debbie’s fleshy cheeks rose to reveal a well-practiced smile.

“Hey, Carol. Missed you at church, last Sunday.”

Carol shrugged. “I wasn’t feeling well, Debbie. A virus, I think. I’m all but over it. I’m just glad I didn’t pass it on to Joe and the kids. Speaking of, would you mind paging Janie for me? I need to sign her out for the day. The rest of the week, in fact.”

Debbie’s smile dissolved into an equally practiced expression of concern. “Nothing’s wrong, I hope?”

“No, not at all. Joe and I are just taking Janie and Luke up to Fall Creek Falls for a long overdue family camping trip.”

“Oh, I see.

“Are you sure that’s wise? Like you said, you’re just getting over—“

“Debbie, please. We’re kind of in a hurry, if you don’t mind…”

A long pause. The faux smile returned to Debbie’s face. “Of course.”

Debbie picked up her phone and spoke a salutation into the receiver, Janie’s name on its tail.

Carol glanced back over her shoulder. Through the office windows, she saw Danny Hillyard, the school resource officer. He stood across the hall in the cafeteria, talking on his handheld radio.

Carol’s heart pistoned inside her chest.

“Here she is.”

Carol turned to see Janie entering the office. Janie had Carol’s pale skin and freckles, but it was Joe’s baby blues that peered out at the world from beneath the girl’s luxuriant crop of auburn hair.

At fourteen, Janie was already a lovely girl—one well on her way to becoming a beautiful young woman.

Carol was determined to see it happen.

“Mom?

“What are you doing here?”

Carol moved to Janie, took her arm, whispered in her ear. “I need to talk to you. Outside. In private.”

“Uh, oh. Okay.”

Carol ushered Janie into the hall. Debbie’s voice trailed after them.

“You guys have a good trip.”

“Trip? What trip? What’s she talking about, Mom? What’s this all about?”

Carol continued pulling Janie along, but she didn’t bother making eye contact with her daughter. Carol’s eyes were locked on Hillyard, watching for the slightest tell
—the slightest change in his body language—anything that might indicate what he was saying into his radio was more than idle chatter.

Hillyard looked up. Their eyes met. Carol grinned, waved, and quickened her stride.

Almost to the door. Almost free. Just get to it and then get the hell out of here.

“Outside, dear,” Carol said. “I’ll explain everything once we’re
—”

“Mrs. Blevins?”

Carol didn’t turn her head to see who was addressing her. She didn’t have to.

Un-fucking-believable.

Carol’s brisk pace became a speed-walk. She burst through the school’s exit doors, and the scent of impending rain filled her nostrils. Dark thunderheads had filled the sky, turning it gray.

She had to get her children out of Heartland.

Fast.

“Mom, slow down.”

“Mrs. Blevins? Carol?”

Carol kept walking. “Sorry, Sam. I’m in a bit of a hurry and can’t talk right now.”

“I tried calling you. A lot. It will only take a second, Carol, please.”

Carol and Janie reached the Jeep. Carol gave a mental shout of victory to see Luke still sitting inside, alone, no cops in his vicinity.

“Get in the car, Janie.”

“Mom, why won’t you speak to Ms. Davis?” What’s going
—”

Carol locked eyes with her daughter. “
Now.
”

Janie rolled her eyes, huffed, and got into the car.

Carol whirled to see Samantha Davis standing before her. The high school teacher was dressed in jeans, high leather boots, and a curve-hugging sweater that Carol had no doubt was driving the boys crazy.

It certainly
bewitched Joe the first time they’d seen Sam wearing it at El Meson. She’d dismissed her husband’s ogling at the time. Sam had just returned home from grad school, unquestionably grown up. The men were going to look.

But now Carol thought, deep down, a piece of her had known what the future held even then.

Carol opened the Jeep’s driver-side door. “Now’s not a good time, Sam.”

“Look, I know you’re probably furious with me.
You have every right to be, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to ever talk to me, again. But I just wanted to say that I finally understand. When I found out Joe had taken up with Betty, I thought I would absolutely—”

“Look here, you little bitch.” Carol’s voice was a whisper spoken through a toothy smile. “If you think that just because my husband has now screwed around on you, too, that you and I are part of some fucked-up sisterhood, you’ve got another thing
—”