Project Maigo(61)

“Holy shit,” I say, not because I’m surprised that yet another city is being attacked, but because Karkinos has made really good time crossing the Atlantic. It’s only been three days since the attack on Cape Town.

The camera turns to the right. Typhon. He’s bigger than I remember. Easily 300 feet tall. They both are. The orange membranes covering his chest and abs glow brightly in the gloom. His brilliant yellow eyes seem to be peering straight at the camera. At me.

Impossible, I think, which is enough beyond ‘unlikely’ that I believe it.

The two monsters rise from the turbulent ocean unchallenged. They’ve managed to cross the deep undetected, and I doubt anyone in all of South America expected a visit. They’re probably wondering what they did wrong as several ‘authorities’ on the subject have decided that the Kaiju operate similarly to Nemesis, proclaiming judgment, carrying out death sentences. Wishful thinking.

I glance at Endo. He’s paused mid-thumb nibble to watch the TV. When his eyes widen, I look back to the news feed and gasp. An orange glow moves through the ocean, sliding up behind the two Kaiju. For a moment, I think it must be some kind of weapon. A torpedo or suicidal submarine. But then a 50-foot wide, black head lifts from the ocean. Scylla. Like its siblings, the destroyer of Sydney is pushing 300 feet in height now. All three monsters are together, one big happy family. The camera operator zooms in on the new arrival. Scylla opens her mouth, roaring. Her curved needle-like teeth hold the remnants of meals past. Boat parts. Large hunks of whale meat. Human bodies. Of the three, Scylla is the smallest, but her savage appearance is unnerving.

As frightening as Nemesis is, she’s never put off the kind of vile hatred these three put off. Even Scrion and Drakon were different. Scrion was a monster, but had the personality of a pug on crack. And Drakon, compared to Nemesis, wasn’t very threatening; dangerous for sure, but built for speed, not sheer power. But these three... If the Earth was the prize and Nemesis the champ, Typhon, Karkinos and Scylla would be serious contenders. And the problem with that is I’m not expecting a fair fight. Three on one, the odds are not in Nemesis’s favor.

Brazil’s military is quick to respond. Before Scylla is even out of the water, jets streak past the camera operator, nearly knocking him over. But he rights the camera in time to see missiles streak away. He follows their course all the way to Typhon’s head, where they explode. Harmlessly. I’m not sure the giant even noticed.

More missiles cruise by. Helicopters sweep in from the sides, launching rockets. The camera lurches to the side as the operator picks it up and runs. When the view stabilizes again, the camera twists to the side, as a tank rolls into place, stops and fires a rounds. The camera shakes, moving further back. The operator is running again. If there was sound, I’m sure he, or she, would be screaming. Who wouldn’t be?

A safe distance from the action, the camera operator sets up again, pointing the lens back at the mayhem. We’re higher now, viewing the city from more of an angle. Scylla is still on the beach, ravaging the string of hotels that line the shore. Karkinos is the closest. His massively thick, armored body is bent forward. His giant jaws are snapping open and closed. I’m not sure, but I think he’s eating people.

And then there is Typhon.

“Jesus,” I say, and it’s not a swear. I avoid using the name as a cuss, out of respect for the people it deeply offends. In this case, I’m literally talking about Jesus. Typhon has tromped across the city and is scaling a mountain toward the Christ the Redeemer statue. It’s not as big as the Kaiju, but standing on top of that mountain, with his arms outstretched, the giant Jesus must look like a potential threat. Or a very large meal. Typhon makes short work of the mountain, grips Jesus’s arms and snaps them off. Then, with a single swipe, he knocks the top half of limbless Jesus off and sends it rolling down the mountainside, toward the city. Rio’s most famous symbol of hope and forgiveness crushes through the mass of small homes at the base of the incline.

“Hey,” Endo says.

Lost in the scene of destruction, I flinch at the sound of Endo’s voice.

Endo turns toward me. “Jon.”

Considering that this is the very first time Endo has referred to me by my first name, I’m a little disconcerted when I look at him. Not only does it reflect the somewhat friendly rapport that has developed between us while being bedridden, it also means he must have had some kind of revelation.

“I know who Gordon is after,” he says.

“Please don’t say me.”

“Besides you,” he says.