Project Nemesis (A Kaiju Thriller) (8 page)

Gordon lowered the radio and leveled his eyes at Elliot. “You get that? 1800 hours.” He started toward the door, but paused. “Kendra, live or die, well done. This is your finest work.”

He stomped away with a determined stride. If the heart was compatible, Elliot had no doubt the General would pull through just fine. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that his compliment, unusually sincere, was really a goodbye.

Live or
die,
goodbye.

She shook off the feeling. Gordon’s ambitions exceeded his desire to live. Besides, once he had
Maigo’s
heart in his chest, she would no longer have anything to fear from General Lance Gordon. The DNA kill switch she built into the organ guaranteed it.

“Live or die,” she said, and then grinned. “Goodbye.”

11

The cat and mouse game lasted for most of the day. There were a few close calls early on as Collins and I pushed our beaten bodies to the limits, and then beyond. Doubling back toward the compound is what finally did it. They just didn’t see the move coming and walked right past any trail we left. A skilled tracker like my friend Mark Hawkins would have seen it, but these guys were trained for combat, not search and rescue...or search and destroy as the case may be.

They know Collins is the sheriff, but they don’t know anything about me other than my U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service story. They have no reason to think we’d do anything more than head for the hills. We’re severely outnumbered and outgunned. We have no idea what’s really going on. And yeah, we probably should try to find some way to get help.

But here’s the thing.

They killed Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.

They tried to kill Collins and me.

And damn it all, they shot Betty.

I’m not leaving before I get some answers, in part because I really want to put a bullet in the guy who killed the Johnsons. I’m certain that was a sniper and not the goons who chased us into the woods.

We’re only a few miles from the compound now, where the woods are thick and full of rocky outcrops, caves and crisscrossing streams. Hobbling like a phony panhandler in Manhattan, I lean against a tree, breathing hard. “I think we’re good.”

Collins stops next to me and drops my backpack on the ground. She leans over, hands on knees. Her chest presses against her uniform with each breath. My pain and exhaustion are momentarily forgotten. Her voice pulls my attention higher.
“You sure?”

“Sun will be down in two hours.” I hold up the wool blanket I’ve been lugging around all day.
“Will be impossible to find us in the dark.”

“And here I thought you were trying to save your
blankie
.”

“
Har
har
,” I say, and honestly, I’m having fun, which is ridiculous. I’m either far too bored in general, which is possible, or I’m just digging the good Sheriff’s vibe, which is also possible.
Probably both.

I lean over the edge of the shallow ravine that made me stop in the first place. It’s not much, just ten feet deep and maybe eight across. One side slopes up to level ground and the other ends in an earthy overhang. It’s actually kind of a shallow cave, maybe six feet deep. “This is perfect. We can rest here. Head out at first light. If they spend the night looking for us, they’ll be exhausted by morning. If not, we can get a look inside that fence before they’re out of bed.”

Collins looks over the edge. She’s not impressed. “If they see us in there, we’re dead.”

“They’re not going to see us.”

“Right, your
blankie
.”

“And the storm,” I say.

Collins looks to the bright blue sky above us.

“Listen,” I say.

She does. The trees bend in the wind, creaking and swooshing. It’s not much, but a few hours ago, there was no breeze at all. “Now smell the air.
Deep breath.”

I take a deep breath through my nose with her.
Pine.
Earth.
Rot.
And then a mix of water and ozone.
The storm.

The look on her face says she can’t smell a thing.

“Trust me,” I say. “It’s coming.”

“Okay, Mr. Nature,” Collins says, “but we’re not going to get much rest if we’re soaked. Maybe we should—”

“Ye of little faith,” I say.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Help me get some sticks. I’ll take care of the rest.”

She does, and twenty hurried minutes later, we’re done. As the first drops of rain tickle my exposed skin, I toss the last handful of dry leaves into the small ravine. The air is thick with humidity now and I’m soaked with sweat. I could really go for a swim, or a shower, but I’d also rather not be shot. We’ve spent too much time out in the open as it is.

I step back and inspect our handiwork.

“Can’t even see it,” Collins says.

The large wool blanket is pinned to the ground over the highest point of the ravine. It then comes down at a forty-five degree angle, supported by several long branches wedged into place, which also gives it a natural shape. The whole structure is covered with layers of leaves that camouflage the shelter and will help repel the water.

“Shall I carry you over the threshold?” I ask with a grin.

She laughs at me. Really laughs. “You don’t look like you could pick me up if I said yes.” She heads down the slope.

I manage to keep myself from pointing out that she did not, in fact, say no. Then I pick up the backpack and follow her into the valley. At the base of our structure, the wool blanket hangs down. It’s just a foot high and fringed by sticks and debris. The only way in is to shimmy under it, which Collins does quickly. I take one last look at the sky. The clouds overhead are dark gray, but they’re black in the distance. Thunder rumbles through the forest. Sleep is going to be hard to come by, shelter or no shelter.

At least I’ll have good company, I think.

I duck down and shove my backpack through before following after it.

Collins is sitting against the back wall where the ceiling is earth rather than leaf covered blanket. Her head is lolled to the side. Her eyes closed.

Asleep.

“Fantastic,” I say and sit down next to her. It’s dark inside the shelter, and warm. I nearly fall asleep too, but the pain in my arm and legs keep me focused. I drag my backpack close, open up the largest pocket and pull out a large green poncho. I throw it over Collins like a blanket, just in case water makes it through. Next
comes
a first aid kit. Yeah, I carry a first aid kit among other things like a compass, a map of the area, a flashlight, measuring tape, string for setting up a search grid, sample bags and even a magnifying glass. I’d like to say it’s all for show, to make people think I’m really investigating their
Chupacabra
sighting, but the truth is, I like to be prepared...just in case the easily-spooked senator who added the FC-P to the DHS bill wasn’t actually nuts.

I flick on the LED flashlight and inspect the wounds on my arm and leg. The one on my arm hurts worse. It’s a puncture, and not very wide, but the soreness comes from the muscle beneath. Luckily, the bleeding has stopped, but the arm is going to hurt for a while. I clean it with alcohol, gritting my teeth against the pain, and then coat the area with antibiotic cream before applying a bandage thick enough to absorb any blood that might flow if it reopens. The leg is next. There’s a lot of dry blood, so I have to clean the area first, but I can tell it’s not too bad when the alcohol barely makes me flinch. The bullet just grazed my skin, leaving an inch-long slice. After applying more antibiotic ointment, I cover the gash with a really tough looking band-aid. Going to hurt a lot more when I pull that son-of-a-bitch off.

How Michael Phelps keeps himself hairless, I will never know. Nor do I really want to know.

I could probably use some ice on a dozen different places, but the rest of my wounds are going to have to wait. My day is catching up with me. I shift to get comfortable, and I find the best spot is half leaning against Collins. She doesn’t seem to mind, so I tip my head back onto her shoulder and close my eyes.

As I drift to sleep, I pull my handgun from my waist, check that the safety is on and place the weapon by my hip.

I dream of thunder. And revenge.

12

Maigo
was on her back. Elliot had prepped the rapidly growing woman herself, dragging her up out of the womb. It was a wet and clumsy affair, but Gordon wanted the surgeons, who had been flown in and knew nothing about the nature of their research, to remain unaware of
Maigo’s
...special features.

The girl’s tail had grown three feet. The skin at her feet and the tip of the tail had grown dark and thick with hard, nearly black nodules. If she’d been allowed to continue growing, Elliot thought the condition would eventually expand to the rest of her body, which was a shame considering the girl’s beauty. But it was
Maigo’s
toenails that disturbed Elliot the most. They’d grown thick and rough at first, like the skin, but then they grew out and hooked into talons, like polished obsidian.

Maigo
currently measured nearly six feet tall and though slender, weighed in at nearly two hundred pounds. Despite the weight, Elliot had managed to hoist her onto a gurney. After giving the girl more sedatives, she tucked the long tail beneath one of
Maigo’s
legs and taped it in place. She then covered the nude lower body with several white sheets. A thick leather restraint went over everything ensuring that the girl and sheet couldn’t move. Elliot bound her ankles and wrists, just to be safe. The doctors had questioned the restraints at first, but Elliot wrote them off as a precaution and showed them the paperwork that declared
Maigo
brain dead and authorized the transplantation of her heart to Gordon.

Elliot scrubbed her hands for the tenth time in the past hour. She knew
Maigo
had no transferable diseases, but knowing the girl was only part human repulsed her. She slipped on a pair of blue rubber gloves, straightened her plastic face shield and turned back to join the doctors. There were six of them—two surgeons, a
perfusionist
, an anesthetist and two nurses. She knew none of their
names,
didn’t care to and would likely never see them again. Her job was to observe the operation and make sure
Maigo
stayed sedated.

Gordon sat on his operating table, prepared for surgery. The doctors had wanted to sedate him so the transplant could happen quickly, but Gordon demanded to see the heart that was being put in his chest. Elliot knew that Gordon really wanted to see if the heart would turn to sludge. If she had failed to grow him a viable heart, the surgery was off.

Endo was also present. He stood in the corner of the room, arms crossed. He watched the surgeons prep
Maigo’s
chest, smearing it with brown iodine. His presence bothered her far more than
Maigo’s
, because she knew what it meant. Endo was there in case the surgery failed and Gordon died. If that happened, she doubted anyone, including her, would leave the room alive.

“Making incision,” declared one of the surgeons. He drew a scalpel quickly across the skin.

Elliot thought the man was being a little careless, but decided it was simply because he knew
Maigo
would not need to be stitched up afterwards. He cut two more incisions, making a capital “I” shape on her chest. When the man shoved his fingers beneath
Maigo’s
skin and began to lift, Elliot looked away. They were handling the girl like a pig in a slaughter house. Although Elliot felt unnerved by
Maigo
, she was still the girl’s creator. She winced at the wet sound of separating flesh. When the
shick
,
shick
of scissors followed, she nearly gagged.

“Clamp this,” one of the surgeons said.

Elliot looked back up. Her view was mostly blocked by three of the doctors and a tray of surgical tools, but she could see
Maigo’s
white ribs through a gap. A sharp whine filled the air. She saw the circular bone saw just before it was placed against
Maigo’s
sternum. As the saw chewed through bone, the sound became grating, like nails on a chalkboard. Elliot was about to stand and leave when the saw was lifted away and shut off.

“Splitting the ribs,” one of the surgeons said. “What are the vitals?”

“Elevated heart rate and blood pressure,” the anesthetist said, looking at the silent heart monitor. She turned to the EEG display showing
Maigo’s
brain activity, which showed very little since
Maigo
had no real brain. “No change in brain activity.”

“Good,” the surgeon said before placing a rib splitter in the sternum’s incision. He turned the crank, quickly separating the flexible ribs and exposing the lungs and heart below.

Elliot stood and walked closer. The scene was horrible, but this was the moment of truth. She needed to see. Gordon leaned in closer too, eager to see whether he would live or die.

“Deflating the lungs,” the surgeon said,
then
rather callously poked each lung with a scalpel. Air hissed from the puncture wounds and the lungs sagged away, revealing the heart.

Elliot held her breath.

The surgeon roughly probed the fist-sized heart with his fingers. Then, as though holding a newborn baby, he declared, “Looks like we have a healthy heart.” He turned to Gordon. “Congratulations, sir.”

Gordon didn’t reply. Instead he looked at Elliot and gave her a smile.
An earnest smile.
It felt so strange, coming from the gruff General, but she had come through for him in a big way. If the surgeons were any good—and she was sure they were—then Gordon would have a new, fully compatible heart beating in his chest in the next few hours.

She returned the smile, thinking, you’re welcome.

The anesthetist laid Gordon back on the operating table and directed the bright lights above him toward his chest. “Just lie back and relax,” she said while checking the IV already in his arm.
“Time for a nap.”
She took a rubber stopper off the end of a previously prepared syringe and injected the sedative into his IV line.

The wrinkles in Gordon’s forehead smoothed out as he relaxed. He turned his head lazily toward Endo. “She’s okay.”

Was he talking about
Maigo
? Or were the drugs already making him silly?

But Endo nodded as though he knew what this meant.

The anesthetist slipped a mask over the General’s nose and mouth. “Count back from ten.”

He made it to “four” before losing consciousness.

“We’re good to go,” the anesthetist said.

While the nurse began shaving Gordon’s chest, one of the surgeons lifted
Maigo’s
freshly severed heart from her chest. The organ should have captivated Elliot, but she couldn’t look at it. Instead, she gazed at
Maigo’s
still form.

She’s dead.

A deep sense of sadness confused Elliot. Researchers sometimes became attached to their specimens.
Rooted for them.
Secretly wished they would live. But
Maigo
had been around for such a short amount of time. Then again, in that time, she’d become a fully grown and stunning woman. And now, she was a bloody, torn-open corpse.

Ignoring the doctors prepping for the real surgery, Elliot stepped up to
Maigo
and looked down. She cringed at the sight of the girl’s spread ribs and the open cavity between them, where her heart and inflated lungs had been. She shook her head slowly. Moving on autopilot, Elliot disengaged the rib separator and placed it on the medical tray. The ribs flexed back together at a jagged angle. It was then that Elliot noticed a few of the ribs had broken. The surgeon had been unnecessarily rough.

A sudden burst of anger gave her clarity. She was identifying with
Maigo
, who’d been just a girl not long ago and had just undergone a gross abuse. Elliot wanted to be angry at Gordon and the doctors, but she was really to blame. She created
Maigo
to save her own life.

You had to die, she thought. I’m sorry.

With tears in her eyes, she lifted the skin back in place. She pushed everything back together and kept her eyes on
Maigo’s
face.

A hand on her shoulder made her flinch.

She turned.

Endo.

Her pulse quickened, but she saw no threat in his eyes.

“She was beautiful,” he said.

What was this? Endo had never spoken to her. Not once.

He turned to Elliot. “We are aligned, you and I.”

Aligned?

Then she understood. When Gordon said, “She’s okay,” he was talking about her!

“You two really don’t need to be here now,” said one of the masked surgeons. “In fact, it would be great if you could remove the body.”

Endo lifted a sheet up over
Maigo’s
body, covering her torso and head. He turned to Elliot again. “You can take her. I’ll remain here.”

The way he spoke those last three words churned up old fears. There was a threat in his tone, but it wasn’t directed toward her. It’s the doctors, she realized. I’m okay, but the doctors...

She decided that it didn’t matter what happened to the doctors. Elliot let out a sigh and smiled. “Thank you, Endo.”

He gave a nod and stepped back to the door, opening it for her. She unlocked the gurney’s wheels and turned the mobile bed toward the door. As she passed by Endo, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Thank you, Dr. Elliot. The General is a good friend.
To both of us.”

Before she could reply, he stepped back inside the room and let the door close.

Endo’s transformation from silent killer to kind ally felt so strange, but she wasn’t about to debate it with the man. She rolled the gurney down the long white hall, took the elevator down two flights to the basement and then headed for the morgue, where she would later oversee a post-mortem dissection to learn what she could about
Maigo’s
altered physiology. She wasn’t sure she could figure out exactly what the foreign DNA had done to
Maigo
, but if she was now in the General’s good graces, he might well tell her.

She stopped the gurney next to a large refrigeration unit where the body would be kept until the rest of the
BioLance
staff returned.

But who knew how long that would be?

Elliot decided she couldn’t wait to learn more. Although she wasn’t qualified to perform a post-mortem examination, she had five more
Maigo
embryos ready to go. She could have another adolescent and still-living subject to examine by the time Gordon woke up. Feeling invigorated, she pushed the corpse quickly inside the refrigeration unit. As the gurney passed through the open door, the sheet covering
Maigo’s
body caught on the door’s lock and slid away, exposing the body.

With an annoyed groan, Elliot turned toward the falling sheet. She caught just a glimpse of
Maigo’s
body as she turned, but it was enough. With a shout, she jumped back and slammed into a wall of chilled supplies. A bottle, filled with some kind of horrible smelling chemical fell to the floor and shattered. But Elliot barely noticed. Her eyes were locked on
Maigo’s
chest.

The I
-shaped wound was now covered in a dark crust that resembled the skin on the girl’s feet and tail.

“What the hell?” she whispered and leaned down for a closer look. She touched the hard growth with her finger, but had forgotten she was still wearing gloves. She stood up and removed the gloves one by one. She placed them on the shelf from where the bottle had fallen and turned back to the body.

In the split second it took to discard the gloves, everything changed.

Maigo’s
eyes were open.