Project Maigo(81)

He looks like he might disagree, but then says, “Good enough,” and continues on his way through the gray smog.

“Oh!” I shout, before losing sight of the man. “Where are the stairs up?”

Beck motions to the right side of the hall with his head. “Second door on the right.”

I give him a casual salute, say, “Thanks,” and make for the stairs, taking them two at a time, despite the pain continuing to wrack my body.

By the third floor, I’m above the smoke, and I know where I’m going. I find the dark hallway easily, following the trail of injured soldiers and Secret Service agents being treated by their less injured comrades. One of agents sees where I’m headed and snatches my wrist. “You can’t go out there. It’s too dangerous.”

“Anyone else out there?” I ask.

“Just one guy,” he says. “He’s dressed as an agent, but I don’t recognize him.” He squints at me. “Or you. Who the hell are you?”

I answer honestly. “DHS Fusion Center-P.”

He lets go of my arm. “Thank God.”

I’m a little bit stunned by this reaction. I’m not sure I ever realized how much hope people put in my small division of the government. But since we’re the only ones who really specialize in Kaiju, he must believe I’m as adept at my job as he is at his. Speaking of which... “President Beck is headed to the PEOC via the West Wing tunnel. He’s got Agent Dunne. Best if you all get down there. There’s a good chance things will get...explosive.”

“Understood,” he says with a nod. “God speed, sir.”

I offer him a half smile and enter the red-lit tunnel leading to the roof. My legs feel heavy as I ascend the stairs at the end. Doing my best to ignore the pain and the scent of blood, I push through the now deformed door at the end. The roof is quiet, abandoned by the White House’s defenders. The missile launchers and chain guns are in shambles. The most defended building in the world is now defenseless.

Well, almost.

I’m still here. But am I alone?

“Endo!”

No reply. I hobble northeast, around the destroyed south side and toward the sound of wanton destruction being dished out on the city. “Endo!”

“Over here!” I see Endo standing by a large air conditioning unit, which blocks my view of the city. He hurries over, grinning strangely.

“I thought you were dead,” he says.

“Pssh,” I say with a wave of my hand. “Getting tackled off the roof was all part of my plan.”

He tugs me along, not acting at all like himself. He’s almost jovial. “You have to see this.”

He gets me jogging, which hurts, but starts to feel good as my stiffening limbs loosen. As we round the air conditioning unit, and reach the back wall, Endo thrusts his hands out at the view. The sight saps my energy. My legs go wobbly. And all I can think is, I did this.

Endo looks at me, a twinkle in his eyes. “Isn’t it amazing?”





42



Mark Hawkins had seen some crazy things in his life. He’d fought and killed a grizzly bear with nothing but a knife. As a park ranger at Yellowstone National Park, he had worked on a number of search-and-rescue missions that ended with a corpse, which as an expert tracker, he was always the first to find. And just two years ago, he’d been shipwrecked on an island in the Pacific full of horrible, scientifically created chimeras. The monsters, which included a crocodile with tentacles, were perfectly good at one thing—killing people. The worst of them was Lilly’s mother, Kaiju, a name he never thought he’d hear again, but which he had now heard in countless news reports since Nemesis emerged in Boston. After escaping the island and going underground with Lilly, Hawkins had believed the strangest, most dangerous days of his life were behind him.

He was wrong.

He was so wrong.

Sprinting down Pennsylvania Avenue, Hawkins ran against the flow of fleeing humanity, moving among the brave soldiers and tanks headed toward the sounds of battle, which for the most part were shrieking, roaring monsters.

“Look out!” Someone yelled.

Hawkins looked up as the corner of the Commerce Building disintegrated and debris exploded out in all directions. He dove to the sidewalk, taking cover as concrete sprayed past. A soldier with slower reflexes fell beside him, a slab of sharp marble embedded in his face.

Hawkins stared at the grim sight. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. But he’d seen worse than this soldier’s deformed face. He’d seen friends turned into monsters, into incubators. And he’d survived that mess by acting, not lying down.

Nemesis roared as Hawkins stood, drawing his attention. The monstrous Kaiju was heading in the direction he’d come from, which was a good thing, but he wasn’t there to deal with the full-sized monster; he was there for someone else. A man named Gordon. A traitor to his country, perhaps not all that dissimilar from the clandestine group at DARPA who had kept Island 731 operational since World War II.