Project Maigo(87)

I have no idea if Collins heard me or if Woodstock took action. There isn’t time. I take hold of Endo’s arm, yanking him along. He’s running behind me a moment later, sprinting across the White House roof. There’s a wet pop behind us. I can’t see it, but I know Nemesis has just fired off a bright orange wad. We have just seconds.

The door is open when we arrive, soldiers venturing outside again. “Back!” I wave my arms at them like a wounded bird. “Back inside!”

Happily, the men listen, ducking back while one of them holds the door open for Endo and me. We partly run, partly fall down the stairs. The soldier slams the door closed behind us. He looks down and shouts something at us, but his voice is drowned out by a thunderous boom that rattles the entire building. The shaking lasts for just five seconds, but the power goes out, plunging the already dark, red-lit hallway into absolute darkness.

For a moment, the men in the hallway are silent, perhaps all as surprised as I am to still be alive. I find the stairs in the dark and climb to the top, placing my hand against its steel surface. It’s warm, but not hot. The explosion didn’t reach the White House.

I yank the door open and stumble into the night. The air reeks of smoke, and not the campfire variety. This is the acrid smoke of civilization burning. Concrete, plastic, chemicals and people. It can’t be healthy to breathe, but I hardly notice it as I run back to my rooftop perch. Putting the binoculars to my eyes, I look for Betty. The helicopter is nowhere in sight.

But are they dead?

I take my phone out, but notice my surroundings for the first time. Glowing orange timbers float through the air like a million fireflies. A massive circle, a mile around Nemesis in all directions, has been scorched. The White House is just a half mile beyond the destruction. Nemesis stands at the center of the destruction, unfazed. Her opponents appear equally uninjured by the explosion. They’re the only things still standing.

Endo steps up to me, looking concerned. “The helicopter?”

Like me, he’s selfishly more worried about the chopper than the fact that a large portion of Washington, D.C. just got erased. I shake my head and ask, “Who is she? Alessi?”

She’s not a girlfriend or lover. I’ve never gotten that vibe. But they care for each other deeply.

“Half-sister,” he says.

Geez. I dial the number. It rings through to voicemail, and I try again with the same results. I’m about to suggest we go find them when twin roars make me cringe. Karkinos is charging, head down, spikes up. Typhon is moving too, arcing around to flank Nemesis. The real fight is about to begin.





45



Ashley Collins awoke to the smell of smoke. She coughed twice, each flex of her lungs bringing a fresh stab of pain to her skull. She groaned and put her hand to the side of her head, the source of the pain. Her hair was tacky wet. Blood.

She blinked her eyes. With clearer vision, she looked around Betty’s interior. What...? Unable to make sense of the sideways world, Collins closed her eyes again and took several long breaths, focusing her thoughts.

They had received a warning from Jon. She remembered a sudden, lurching dive behind a building. Then the helicopter tilted and they dropped.

We crashed, she realized, opening her eyes again.

The helicopter lay on its side. Collins was still strapped in place in the back seat. A spider-web fracture in the window beside her, now looking down at the pavement, revealed where she’d hit her head. Woodstock and Alessi were both missing. The view through the shattered cockpit window was fractured, but she could see a city street, lined with cars. Further ahead, at an intersection, black smoke rolled down the side street, lit by thousands of glowing, fairy-like embers.

One of the Kaiju immolated, Collins thought. We’re lucky to be alive.

Bracing her left arm against the window, she unbuckled from the seat. Gravity yanked her down, slamming her against the window. Her body ached all over, and she felt a nearly overwhelming desire to sleep, but she fought against it, remembering what was at stake. Who was at stake.

Jon is depending on us.

She slid into the front seat and noticed two things at once: the chopper still had power and the passenger door was open. Careful not to break anything on the control panel, Collins climbed up and out of the open door. Outside the chopper, she could hear the distant roaring of angry Kaiju, unaffected by the blast, but the sounds of the city and the military had faded. Now other sounds filled the void.

“Sonuvabitch!”

Woodstock.

Collins slid herself over the chopper’s side, moving toward the voice, and leaned over the edge. Woodstock and Alessi were both below her, working on the chopper, but they didn’t look good. Woodstock had a visibly broken leg. Alessi yanked on a wrench with one arm while the other hung useless. Despite their injuries, they were trying to free the neural implant launcher mounted to the chopper’s underside.